The Post-Holiday Post.

I know you've been waiting for it.

There was such potential for blog fodder - two weeks at home with the kids, the obligatory Christmas visit to Chez Inlaw, my parents' visit (and yes, they stayed at our house) - I almost hate to tell you that the last couple of weeks have been remarkably unremarkable.

I did, however, create a new word. I'm hoping it gets picked up like The Yarn Harlot's "Kinneared", a practice which I personally love, and I think my vast readership appreciates my skill at surreptitiously taking photos of unsuspecting people.

The PK twist, though, is that I like to take pictures of my kids and capture the actual thing I want to get a picture of in the background, like the pic of Robert Goulet I got at Tito's Christmas Play or the one of Mark Twain at Ted Drewes. It's an actual picture of something, it's just that the focus of the photo is not in the foreground, it's in the background. I'm sure you're familiar with my work, if you read BMB with any regularity.

Ok, so my new word - let me set this up a bit. Sometimes, no matter what I do, I never feel like I did enough. This is particularly true at this time of year. This year I sent Christmas cards to blood relatives only, complete with the cheesy newsletter that contains absolutely no information that I haven't already shared with you on here. (Yes, you know more about me than the people which whom I share DNA. You're welcome.) I felt bad that I didn't send cards to all of you, even though I know you won't be mad at me.

This year I also had all of my shopping done before December 1st. That's how R and I like to do it. December is stressful enough as it is. And R and I had already 'splained to the kiddos that in terms of gift quantity, this year would be a little thinner than last year because of the house and the van that we all love. And they were really cool with it.

R and I did great with our budget, and each Ape had exactly 4 gifts to open on Christmas morning. And although each Ape was extremely happy with each of their gifts, I kept feeling like I didn't do enough. I knew it made more sense (both logically and financially speaking) to limit the number of gifts so that there would be nothing I bought solely for the purpose of giving the recipient something additional to open, which would surely be forgotten in favor of a few of the Favorite gifts, which, for all intents and purposes, could have been the only things we bought in the first place.

It also helped that we knew what the Inlaws were giving the kids, and anything we got them would be completely eclipsed by their gift. More on that later.

So even though I knew I did fine with the gifts, I still sensed that the kids were disappointed and just not saying so, and I felt like I'd done an inadequate job with Christmas. Not even just with the gifts, either - we didn't bake cookies, didn't put up many decorations other than the tree and the stockings (we usually make a day of cutting out snowflakes and putting them in the windows), didn't drive out to see Christmas lights, nothing like that. It never felt like Christmas to me, not on Christmas Eve, not on Christmas Day, not even the day after. And I didn't go Day After shopping either, because my parents were coming that day.

I just couldn't shake the feeling that I hadn't done enough. And not even just the Christmas stuff - I hadn't cleaned the house enough, hadn't washed the sheets and towels for my mom and dad's visit, hadn't bought enough groceries, nothing I'd done (and I did a LOT, by any definition) was enough. And just to be clear, it wasn't that I feared anything specific happening as a result of anything I hadn't done; nothing I had left undone was a big deal. And no one was making me feel that I hadn't done enough, no one was giving me a hard time about it or anything; I was simply unsatisfied with myself.

I was consumed by this overwhelming sense of general inadequacy, and it was making me sick to my stomach. So here's the word I came up with, to describe the helpless feeling I was experiencing - the feeling that I'd messed something up irreparably and I wouldn't have a chance to go back and fix it to where I'd feel better and I knew there wasn't a damn thing I can do about it, but I couldn't stop thinking about it...

RETRO-STRESSED.

(Adj.) Stressed about something that's completely in the past that you can do nothing about, and unable to shake the feeling of utter powerlessness that you should have done something differently and now, obviously, you can't. And it's important to add the element of "I know that it makes absolutely no sense for me to even feel like this" resounding in your head all the while.

Annnnnyway, I was retro-stressing the entire way out to the Inlaws'. I should have made peppermint fudge, I should have taken a whole Xannie instead of a half, I shouldn't have drunk that caffeine, I should have worn my Wonder Woman panties; everything that entered my head was some mistake I'd made in the last 24 hours. And it was eating me alive.

But we got out there and everything was reasonably stress-free. MIL had ham and lots of snacks, and plenty of liquor, including Mimosas made with the GOOD stuff. Sweet.

MIL and FIL have a Wii. It's made them rather popular party hosts in their neighborhood, apparently. The kids were playing with it while they waited for dinner. My nephews 1Gig and 2Gig are quite adept at it, as they have not one, but two Wii's at their house, along with their two Lexuses. Hey, I'm thrilled for their parents' success. I just kinda shake my head in bewildered awe at it sometimes because, try as I might, I just can't imagine having that kind of money.

Anyway, at one point, FIL mentioned a game called Rayman Raving Rabbids (or something like that) and one particular game within this game he said was, and I quote, "right up your alley, Sarah."

He went on to describe a game which involves the various deranged rabbit-like creatures atop the Arch De Triomphe shaking up a bottle of booze, guzzling it quickly and letting out a belch that shatters the windows on the Champs Elysses and sets off the alarms on all the Peugots. Charming. And the fact that it made FIL think of me? I have a tear in my eye.

So the kids were so good at Chez Inlaw, FIL asked me if there was something wrong with them. Gee, FIL, if this is how you want them to behave, then why question it? Act like there's something wrong with my kids if they're being good? Yeah, that makes sense. And it makes me feel like a fantastic parent. Thanks.

Ok, so what did MIL and FIL get my kids for Christmas?

A Wii.

(WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!)

I hereby retract all the smack I've talked about my inlaws.

R and I have known about the Wii for months. FIL asked both R and Reverend Aldi if they thought the kids would like one. R said uh, YEAH! without hesitation. The Reverend kinda hemmed and hawed, knowing he'd have to clear it with Mrs. Aldi, and Mrs. Aldi didn't want one in her house because they're too viiiiiiiolent.

Um, Mrs. A? Two things. First of all, your husband is a total fucking pussy, and secondly, you could use a little violence in your house in the form of a lil swat on the BEE-hind because, let's be honest, your brattyass kids could sure use one. There, I said it.

Eventually she caved and the Aldis got one too, but for the record, Reverend Aldi is the most pussy-whipped man I've ever encountered in my life. Perhaps she figured if The Rev had a Wii to play with, he'd quit bugging her for sex. We're pretty sure he's not gittin any.

Oh, and let me share what they got Beebie for Christmas. Not just the High School Musical DVD game. No, no. THIS TOO.



Oh, it's fuckin ON.

So the Wii has become a cherished member of our family, as has the hutch we got on Craigslist to go with the dining room table we got for free. R and I unpacked dishes that we got for our wedding ten years ago that were still in the boxes, and as we placed them on the shelves we realized that we have an alarming lack of liquor in the house. We have beer, sure, but if you're a mixed drinks kind of person, you'd be shitouttaluck at my house. We're thinking of having a bar-stocking party. We'll invite people over for dinner and Wii games, and they'll be asked to bring a bottle of whatever they want to add to our bar. Sure, it's tacky, but I'm like that and y'all know it.

I also got to do a little yarn shopping over Christmas break, which was awesome. It was the first time I've bought yarn in a shop since February. I got some Debbie Bliss Cashmerino so I could make my very first cabled project and my first FO of 2008 - Fetching!


I added a cable round at the end to make them longer, and I didn't bother with the picot bind-off, and they're not perfect, but I think they came out pretty good. I absolutely love the yarn; the color especially.

I'm waiting for the kids to go back to school, then I'm going to sneak up on the Ice Queen while she's sleeping and kick her ass. I was afraid to pick Her Majesty up while my parents were here because I wouldn't be able to give her my full attention.

So, moving on to the Parental Visit. I was really nervous, especially about them staying with us. I certainly didn't want it to come down to me screaming "GET OUT... OF THE HOUSE YOU BOUGHT FOR ME!!" Oh, and let me just say that Beeb was a good sport for letting Nana and PopPop stay in her bedroom, but she did request that I wash the sheets after their departure, just in case they took a "nap" while they were here. Tee hee!!!

Some of the highlights of their visit include Tito's Birthday Party. He's 5 now. It's the beginning of the six weeks out of each year that the boys are the same age. After a few days of Wii Bowling, Tito thought we should go real bowling. So we did. I bowling a 248 in Wii Bowling. And in real bowling? Well, I SUCK. But I'm an excellent ball-handler. And I look hot under bowling-alley lighting, do I not?



Another highlight was Mom and Dad offering to watch the kiddos while R and I went to see Sweeney Todd.

Here's my assessment of Sweeney Todd: If you can't stand the sight of blood, you and Sweeney Todd really can't be friends. However, if the thought of seeing Johnny Depp and Alan Rickman together on the big screen is as hot to you as it is to me, you'll figure out a way to deal with the bloody stuff and concentrate on Johnny's extremely sexy eye makeup. Beeeeeyootiful.

That's enough for now, I think. The kids go back to school tomorrow, and let me just say... I CAN'T WAIT.

I'm gonna Wii Bowl ALL DAY.

The downside of meds, and the story of The Pie

So I've been back on the meds for a couple of weeks now and I think it's affected my ability to identify blog-worthy events in my life. For the unmedicated, I should first explain how my meds work.

Disclaimer: I don't know if it's true for all anti-depressants, but this has been my experience with WellbutrinXL, my med of choice.

If you imagine your emotional responses to the events in your life as a series of waves on a continuum, for me, meds take out the peaks and the valleys, so to speak, and keep me closer to the center. It's a good thing. Unless you blog a lot. Then it just kinda feels like nothing remotely interesting has happened since the last time you posted. Nothing really great, nothing really sucky, and that's usually the stuff I write about.

Looking back, I know that there are several things that might interest you, the reader. Particularly if you knit. Or have kids.

What have I been doing with the time I usually spend writing witty and clever cathartic musings for your amusement? You won't believe it. Seriously, you won't.

Is knitting your guess? Good guess, but wrong. Ok, I have been knitting like a crazy person, but that's not as unbelievable as the fact that I have been...

(drumroll)

READING.

A BOOK.

OF MY OWN CHOOSING.

Not a parenting book, not a knitting book, not a self-help book, not a money-management book, not a diet book, not an organization book, and not a crappy kids' book with pictures.

A book by Celia Rivenbark called Stop Dressing Your 6-Year-Old Like a Skank. How could I have walked away from that title when I saw it in the library? It reads as if I had written it myself, which has made me wonder if I have it in me to actually write something publishable.

The caveat, of course, would be that it would have to be something that my in-laws could read without causing major humiliation to them. And there's the rub.

Ok, so, yes, I've actually been reading a book. I can't even remember the last time I read a book just for fun. And this one is a lot of fun.

I've also been knitting like crazy. I finished the back of the shell I was working on for my class, and I've gotten a good bit done on the front. I really liked my class and I even signed up for another class... SOCKS! I'm really quite excited.

Other things going on include Mr. Pie turning 5. I don't know if I've ever gotten into the drama surrounding his birth, so this is as good a time as any to give you a sense of just how significant it is that he is now five years old.

R and I were both laid off from our jobs in 2001, and we were both unemployed for four months. Not much to do when you're sitting at home all day, is there? We found out we were having Pie right after R found a job. One day when I went in for routine bloodwork, my OB said that I needed to have a Level II Ultrasound.

Rewind to four years earlier when the same blood test (AFP) indicated that I needed a Level II Ultrasound for Beebie. They sent us to genetic counselors and gave us all kinds of worst case scenarios - Spina Bifida, Down's Syndrome, all that stuff, and then when they did the ultrasound it turned out to be nothing. I remembered all the stress and panic that I'd been through and if they had given me the option whether I wanted to take this particular blood test, I would have said no, but they went ahead and did it and thank God they did.

I reminded my OB that I'd been through all of that before, and couldn't I just come in for my regularly scheduled ultrasound in two weeks? No, she said, I want you to come in, like, NOW. Tomorrow was the soonest I could get.

I went into the ultrasound room, and for a full FOUR HOURS, the doctor pushed and poked and prodded me with the transducer, without saying one single word to me. You kinda have to appreciate how much I hate that. I talk to everyone. Really. Elevators, in line at the bank, whatever. I don't enter a conversation with everyone, but I do always say "Good Morning" or something like that. You'd probably hate sitting next to me on a plane.

I can't stand it when I'm getting my haircut and the stylist doesn't make idle banter (Oh, incidentally, remember my kickass haircut and the chick that sliced herself in my hair? I just got a postcard from the salon saying that she was no longer working there. Never fuckin fails, as soon as I find somebody good.). And here I was, in a rather intimate setting, with a doctor who wasn't saying ANYTHING. You know it's bad when the doctor's aren't talking.

After the ultrasound, I got dressed and met the doctor in his office. The first thing he said to me was that I was having a boy. Ok, I thought. Then he said, "This little guy might not make it."

Turns out, his bladder wasn't emptying properly. Pie had some sort of bladder obstruction that was causing urine to back up into his kidneys. There was potential for it to affect the lungs, which was obviously a huge concern. He painted a rather bleak picture that included catheters and kidney transplants and paralysis, and basically a lifetime of medical problems, and he pointed out that I did not have to have this baby. For me personally, that was never an option, so I told him I would not consider it.

And here's my Knight In Shining Armor moment for R. He hadn't heard from me and he knew something had to be wrong, so he left work and came all the way to the hospital to find me. He found me as I was walking out to my car. I just started sobbing as I told him all about the four hour ordeal and what the doctor had just told me.

Over the next several months, we researched Prune Belly Syndrome. As birth defects go, it's very rare, so not a lot is known about it, but of the 40,000 babies it affects each year, 50% of them do not live to be born. Of the remaining 50%, half don't live past the age of 2. The rest live with varying degrees of functionality, sometimes requiring multiple surgeries.

At 20 weeks gestation, they removed 100 ccs of fluid (about a 1 cup measuring cup) from Pie's bladder using a giant syringe through my tummy, keep in mind, and after that the problem appeared to improve. I went to three ultrasounds a week for about 6 months, but there was no way to tell how bad it would be until after he was born. That really sucked.

At one point they recommended that I meet with a specialist in Tampa who performs in utero surgery on babies and places tiny shunts inside them somehow so that their bladders can empty like they're supposed to. It's extremely risky both to the baby and the mother, and I was terrified. R couldn't go with me, so my dad flew from San Antonio and met me in Tampa.

I had never been so scared in my life, and to this day, still haven't. Mostly I was scared that something would happen to Pie and I would have to tell Beebie she wasn't going to have a little brother anymore, or that something would happen to me and R and Beeb would have to go on without me. I broke down in the hospital chapel with my dad before I met with the surgeon for, what else, another ultrasound. This one was that awesome 4-dimensional kind that allowed the doctor to turn the image completely around to the back, side, top view looking down, it was amazing to watch.

The doctor said that Pie actually was too well to do the surgery. Only he didn't say it like that, it was something like "I think the risks outweigh the potential benefit", which at the time didn't really sound like good news. As soon as the doctor left the room and it was just me and Dad again, I nearly collapsed in tears. It was like having been wound so tightly in anticipation of this absolutely terrifying thing, and then having someone say, "Never mind!" It takes a minute or two to decompress.

So all they could tell us was that we had to wait. Oh, and then they put me on bed rest for two months. If only I'd had a blog back then.

And in the end, Little Pie was born and as soon as I got to hold him and kiss him and say "You made it!!", he was whisked away to the NICU where they had to wait and see if his urinary function was working right. And somehow, it was. He stayed in the NICU for four days, and we had to keep a close eye on him for a while and give him penicillin daily to prevent infection (which he took like a champ), and he's had two surgeries for undescended testicles (which we were prepared for), but he's really fine.

You probably wouldn't know there was anything wrong with him, unless you saw him without a shirt on. He has a big kinda doughy belly, and sometimes kids make fun of it, but he knows that he was born that way and it's not because he eats too much. One time, in fact, Aldigirl told Beebie that Pie was fat and he needed to go on a diet. And ya know what my Beebie said? She said,

Aldigirl, it's a miracle he's alive.

When she told me about that, I teared up. I was so proud of her. It IS a miracle he's alive, and everything works like it's supposed to. And now he's FIVE. And he's brilliant and hilarious. And I just registered him for Kindergarten. Good thing I'm back on the meds or I would have wept the whole time I was there filling out stupid paperwork.






I must say, while I don't miss the emotional valleys that the meds counter, I do kinda miss the high points. Good stuff doesn't seem as good. For example, can you believe I haven't mentioned the cool new knitting bag I got? Just look at it! It's the Lexie Barnes Lady B bag in the kickass Baja print with the little skulls on it. It is SO effin righteous, it makes me want to be a better knitter so that I might one day be worthy of it. I cuddle it at night.

Oh yeah, like the other Knittyheads, I made a Calorimetry and it was too big so I made another and I like it better. I actually made a gague swatch and everything. I learned that in my class.



Lest you think I've completely lost my sense of humor to the meds, let me show you what Pie took to school when it was his turn to fill The Counting Jar with sixteen items for the class to count and share...



Other moms send lollipops, I send funny glasses. Yes, I'm still me.