Yeah.  That whole thing.

UGH.

So, anyway…I’m just all over the damn place these days.

My weeks are crammed full of things.   It’s hard to remember what happened on each day.

Our Easter holiday was pretty good.  My parents had the boys overnight on Saturday so that Sunday morning Doug and I could go to church and actually listen the Homily instead of tossing a very fussy Owen back and forth and listening to Dawson ask “Is church almost done?” for the 80th time.

I was a little miffed that we had to grab chairs from the Mary Room (also known as the multipurpose room) and place them behind the last row of pews because all the Christmas-and-Easter-Catholics decided to venture out to Mass.  I love our church.  I’ve been a member of St. Bron’s since birth and I’ve watched the parish grow tremendously over the last 32 years, but honestly, when I can’t sit in a pew even when arriving 20 minutes early I get a bit annoyed.

After church Doug went home to do yard work and I took a long nap before we had to go to my parents’ house for dinner.  The boys were sugared up because Grandma had an Easter egg hunt (oh, the chocolate and jelly beans they consumed) and they refused to eat any ham and potatoes (I wonder why?) and I was ready to go home after 2o minutes.  I know I should love spending time with my family, but I think I was just exhausted.  Starting the new job and getting into a new routine is tiring.

I confess I didn’t even take one single photo at Easter.  I feel awful about it.  Everyone knows I take my camera with me everywhere and I take pictures every day.  That day I was just too tired.

The rest of this week has been busy.  Work is going well.  I love my new job.  My hours are 7:30 to 4:00 and getting home well before 5 o’clock is such a bonus.  I like what I do and my co-workers are really awesome.  I don’t even know if I mentioned that I got a job at Sentry Insurance in the Premium Audit Department.  I absolutely love it.  LOVE it.

Dawson had his first T-ball practice tonight.  He was so excited when we got to the field.  Three of his classmates are on his team, as well as our neighbor’s son.  He couldn’t stop talking about the practice all the way home.  I’m just happy he likes sports.  I think he’s going to have a lot of fun this summer between T-ball and soccer.

Owen went to bed an hour earlier than usual tonight.  I was so relieved because I had some homework to finish for my Employment Law class.  The topic is Privacy in regards to Social Media Sites and Blogs.  Right up my alley, don’t you think?  Considering I’ve been using Twitter since early 2007 and Facebook almost as long (or longer?  Can’t remember), my report on the topic is sure to be an A paper.

That’s what’s up in my world.  Life is good.  Busy, but good.

When I’m Queen of My Own Life, I will rule that I be given two straight hours each day to read.  Considering I have a stack of books on my end table that I’d love to read, and magazines piling up in every corner of every room, I’ll probably need a full work day each week to catch up.  My husband will just have to deal with the diaper changing, the picking up of the toys, the constant yelling and craziness.

I just got the new issue of New York Magazine and haven’t had the chance to read about The Social Network, which is on the cover.  I’m not sure I want to watch this movie.  Anyone see it yet?  I love me some Facebook (hello, I’m on it every damn day), but do I really care about Mark Zuckerberg or whatever his name is?

It’s weird that Hollywood is making movies about social media.  I can’t wait for them to make a movie about Twitter.

Okay.  These kids of mine are whining.  The only think I’m queen of is chaos.  So much for blogging.

“Mom!  I see a rat!  On the ground!  I think he’s dead!”

I immediately turned on my Mom Voice.

“DON’T touch it.  It might be full of germs.  Or rabies!”

When I got a closer look, this is what I saw:

Ugly, but cute at the same time.

“Dawson, that is not a rat.  That is a little baby squirrel.  He must have fallen out of the tree.”

It was very windy yesterday and I assumed one strong gust tossed the little thing to the ground.

“Oh, Mom, he’s dead!” Dawson began to cry.

My heart melted as I witnessed my son’s innocence and compassion toward this helpless little animal.

Then the wind blew and we saw the squirrel’s legs move.  His tail twitched.  His body curled slightly.

“HE’S ALIVE!” Dawson shouted.  His sadness was replaced with happiness, then he became distraught.  ”Mommy!  We have to save it!  We have to bring him in the house and warm him up and feed him and help him!”

I didn’t know what to do, but I was not about to nurse a squirrel back to health.  I mean, it’s a rodent.  Rodentia and I do NOT get along.  I’m terrified of the creepy, scurrying little things.  (When I was very young I found a dead mouse in the garage and it scared me silly.  Still have this phobia about it, all these years later.)

I tried to explain to Dawson why we could not bring the animal in the house.

“Call Daddy!  Daddy will save him!”

Doug was at a friend’s Trivia party and I called his cell phone and told him the news.  He assured me he’d be home soon to help me with this situation.

When Doug arrived he got on the computer and Googled “baby squirrel fell out of tree” and found a wildlife site that gave detailed directions on how to help the squirrel.  Next, he found a cardboard box, lined it with an old towel and tucked a heated water bottle underneath.  Using gloves and a paper towel he picked up the little squirrel and tucked him inside the box.  It was like a baby squirrel crib.  My husband was my hero.  I knew I couldn’t have done what he did. Little Dawson was so happy that his father rescued the squirrel.

The website said that the mama squirrel would most likely retrieve her baby as long as he hadn’t been severely injured.  Since we weren’t sure of his condition we didn’t know what to expect.  Doug told Dawson that all we could do was hope the squirrel would survive the cold night and that his mother would get him in the morning.

Dawson awoke at 7:45 and was eager to check on his little friend.  We went outside and looked in the box but didn’t see the baby squirrel.  I told Dawson that his mother probably retrieved him.

Ater the Doodlebug went back in the house, I moved the towel a little and saw that the baby squirrel was still tucked inside, but he had died.  I touched his leg with a twig.  No movement.  No breathing.  I cried. I knew I couldn’t tell Dawson the truth.  It would break his heart.

I feel very sad.  I don’t like that I’ve lied to a 5-year-old.  I know he’s old enough to understand the truth, but I do not want to upset him.  On the other hand, lessons on life and death could be learned.  But is Dawson ready for that?  I don’t know.

What would you do?

I could give you a list of excuses as to why I’m not here, but you already know the answer.

Two weeks before Owen was born, I stopped working for BlogHer as a headline editor.  My contract ended and the financial difficulty that has followed has been miserable.  We’ve made drastic changes to our lifestyle, and have become very frugal.  The last thing I wanted to do on maternity leave was hunt for another job when I was nursing and bonding with Owen.

Just after Owen was 3 months, I began my job search only to discover there are no jobs.  The few positions available in the job market here in Wisconsin are being filled quickly.  So many applicants applying for the same jobs.  It’s depressing.

I’m grateful that my husband is still employed, although his company is making cuts, too.  Sixty people were let go in the last month due to this crappy economy.  It makes us both very nervous.  No one is safe from a lay-off.

I’ve been through two interviews this last month.  I was offered a position with one company and completed paperwork, only to find out later that their corporate office decided to down-size.  Several new hires were let go.  I never got to start the job.  The other position was filled by someone with more experience in the field.

Because of this insanity in the job market, I’ve decided to go back to school.  It’s time to finish my degree while I’m not working.  I’ve finished the application process and applied for financing (student loan) and now I wait for acceptance into the program.  I’ve got one year left and it’s now or never.

Dawson is still loving 4K.  He can’t wait to go to school each morning.  He tells me how much he loves his friends and his teacher, and his favorite part of the day is story time.  Last month his class took a field trip to the local library.  Dawson was so excited to check out a book under his very own library card.  We spend a lot of time at the library now that he can use his own card.

Owen is growing leaps and bounds.  He’s barely 4 months old but he weighs 20 pounds.  He’s my mini-linebacker.  Lately he’s been refusing to nurse on one side and is very fussy, mostly in the evening.  I thought he had an ear infection, but his pediatrician thinks he’s just got a preference and he’ll grow out of it.  I hope it happens soon.  Fussy baby makes me a little crazy.

Last month my grandmother’s house burned down.  She passed away in 2005, but my aunt and uncle still lived there as they run the farm.  It was caused by a chimney fire and it ruined the 100-year-old house.  My uncle is staying with his another uncle who lives down the road, and my aunt is staying with my parents.  I’m so thankful they made it out of the house alive.  They lost everything.  It’s devastating.

2010 has not started off on the right foot.

Owen is ten weeks old today and he has grown so much in the last few weeks.  He still eats often.  I call him “the linebacker” because he is rock solid.  He’s almost 13 pounds!  I think we’ve hit the 3-month growth spurt because he’s back to eating every 2 hours or less.  I miss those few short weeks when he’d go three hours between feedings.

Dawson is 5 1/4 years old and has acquired somewhat of an attitude these last few days.  When I ask him to do something he gives me these looks that could kill, and he says things I would expect from a teenager instead of a sweet pre-kindergartner.  Lately, asking him to get dressed in the morning or put on his pajamas at night warrants a snotty remark.  When I ask him why he is acting this way he storms off to his room and slams the door.  I’m hoping it’s just a phase.  Doug thinks he does this for attention because he’s no longer the one and only child.  I’m sure he’s right.

We had a wonderful Christmas.  We spent Christmas Eve with Doug’s parents and siblings and their spouses, and his aunt and uncle were present, too.  Dawson and Owen made out like bandits with all the new toys they received.  I may have to down size to make room for the new additions.

Christmas Day we traveled a few miles to my parents’ house.  My brothers and sister gave Dawson more toys!  We should never need to buy any toys for at least a year.  My brother Nathan’s girlfriend (future sister-in-law, I hope!) made a beautiful afghan for me.  It’s so gorgeous.  I’m going to take a picture of it to post at Flickr.  I love it so much!

Tomorrow is Owen’s baptism.  We need to get up early to get everyone ready and out the door on time.  I’ve been so busy trying to get things done, and I’m so tired these days, I’m afraid I’m forgetting something.  I’m sure everything will be just fine.  I really need to learn to worry less.

In other boring news, I’m really considering taking the rest of the year off from blogging.  I just don’t feel like forcing myself to write.  I know this blog needs an overhaul, a little refreshing perhaps.  If I’m going to be completely honest, I’m also feeling the need for more privacy in my life.  I almost prefer to shut TDF down and blog anonymously.

Maybe I’m just tired.

Maybe I need to take a break until I have something interesting to say.

Three of them were total bitches, but that’s just part of the job I suppose.

Who knew that my not so great (but desperate) decision to break a seat belt law for half a minute could drum up such outrage.  Meanwhile, millions of babies are being aborted, children are starving in third world countries, Obama is sending more troops to the war zone and bankrupting the nation with his proposed health care bill, but Lilith could care less. Instead she links to little ol’ me!  How sweet.

I’d link to the blog I mention, but I’m just not that into it.

It started with this intense desire to start organizing the bedroom that Dawson and his baby brother will share for awhile.  Doug took the doors off the closet and I went through every single item in that space.  The urge to purge hit me like a ton of bricks.

Three large boxes of stuff were sealed up and are now ready for donation to the Easter Seals.  I got rid of toys no one has played with in years.  Clothes that Dawson cannot wear and the baby wouldn’t be able to wear for years were packed for others to use.  Anything that had not been worn or used in a year or more was tossed into the boxes as well.  I realized that Dawson had a lot of clothes when he was born, more than the new baby could ever wear.  Gone it is.

It took a few hours to figure out the correct floor plan for the room.  The furniture was arranged with efficiency in mind.  I delegated while Doug moved things around several times.  It’s very functional now.  I should have taken before and after photos.

Next, we took a trip to Target and bought one of these awesome toy organizers:

All of the most played-with toys were sorted into these 12 magic bins.  Because I had sorted through everything first, we ended up with two smaller bins being empty.

After the kids’ room was complete I crashed into bed and slept like a rock.  It was a long, rough day.

Sunday morning we went to church and after we got home Doug made a delicious breakfast of eggs, bacon, hashbrowns and toast.  It was delicious.  I decided to tackle our closet after that, and 5 more boxes of clothes, shoes, purses and other miscellaneous items were donated.

I finally got rid of all those clothes that had sentimental value or emotional feelings attached them.  I haven’t worn them in more than five years.  Someone else can use them.  It was tough to let go of some of those things, but I noticed that an uncluttered house has also cleared my psyche.

Doug did all the grunt work and heavy lifting, and I’m so grateful for his help.  After tackling closets we cleaned out the pantry together, as well as the linen and coat closets, too.  My house is almost perfect.

Shortly after we finished our work, my mother-in-law called to say that my father-in-law was having health issues.  He has been feeling disoriented, experiencing hallucinations and memory loss, as well as sleeping a lot and not wanting to get out of bed.  I’m not sure what the medical condition is, but it reminds me of dementia.  My grandfather suffered from the disease.  I also wonder if my FIL was experiencing a mini-stroke.

We went to Doug’s parents’ house to help get my FIL to the hospital, but later decided an ambulance was a better choice.  Doug’s dad was taken to the ER and later admitted to the hospital for observation.  We got home a few hours later.  Doug’s brother and uncle stayed to help my MIL.  Doug wanted to stay longer, but he had to work very early this morning, and his mom said not to miss work until they know exactly what my FIL’s condition is.  We’re praying that he recovers from whatever it is that is ailing him.

After we got home last night, we all crashed into bed.  Another long day under our belts.

I’m hoping today is uneventful, and that no one else is admitted to the ER.  They say bad things happen in threes.  Here’s hoping that’s just an old wives tale, or a myth.

Later this afternoon I’m taking Dawson to see a free matinee showing of Transformers 2.  The theater is offering this show for customer appreciation week, and my little guy cannot wait for the DVD to come out on October 20th.  It’s our last mommy/son “date” before little Baby O arrives.  I plan to treasure every second of it.

The last time I had a flu shot was five years ago, and after it was done I felt so sick, as if I had contracted the flu immediately.  And the injection itself hurt terribly.  I vowed never to have that vaccination again.

I don’t know why I changed my mind this time (and my mother now believes my baby is going to be born autistic, based on all the articles she’s read about the links and risks and THANKS MOM for making me even more nervous about this subject), but now I wish I’d have said no to the shot.

Right after I got home from the appointment I felt fatigued and took a 3 hour nap.  Exactly 24 hours after the injection was given, I was experiencing upper abdominal pain, shortness of breath, rapid heartbeat and elevated blood pressure.  I thought I was having an episode similar to when I had pre-eclampsia with my first pregnancy.

I felt winded as I walked from living room to kitchen.  I had to sit down and my heart was racing.  The sudden onset of these symptoms made me panic.  Pre-eclampsia usually does not “happen” so quickly, but over the course of several weeks instead.

I called Doug at work first.  He was in a meeting.  I waited half an hour and then called my doctor’s office.  The on-call doctor told me to head to the emergency room right away, just to have the pain checked out.  I interrupted Doug from his meeting and he rushed home to drive me to the hospital.

Once there, the nurses and doctors sent me to the OB/GYN area and started asking millions of questions.  I answered accordingly, blood was drawn, a urine sample was collected, and over the course of three hours we waited for results.

The ER doctor came back and said my protein levels were fine, blood work is good, no liver problems, and after he consulted with the OB/GYN on call upstairs in the maternity ward, I would be free to go home.

Except, I wasn’t.  Dr. J was on call and she wanted to keep me overnight at the hospital for observation, simply because my blood pressure was still higher than she liked.  I tried to reason with her, to tell her it was probably panic or anxiety, but she insisted that monitoring be done and I was too tired (and hungry!) to argue.

While I was getting situated in room 307, my nurse was getting all the monitors ready.  Suddenly, another nurse came in and yelled, “308 needs pain meds, NOW!”  Off my nurse went.  I soon discovered why she ran out in a hurry.

Thirty minutes later, I witnessed the screaming of the woman who was delivering her baby in the room next door.  She was in a lot of pain, that’s all I can gather.  I had to turn the television on with the volume a little bit higher than normal just to try to drown out the painful screams.  At one point I heard her scream, “Get it out!  GET IT OUT! PLEASE GET IT OUT!”  I seriously thought I was going to faint, and I wasn’t the one in labor.

Doug was still at the hospital with me when this was happening, and he told me, “I don’t ever remember you screaming like that.  You looked so calm.”

“Probably because I had an epidural,” I told him. “I was too drugged up to scream.”

After several hours of monitoring and blood pressure checks, my pressures came down, especially when laying on my left side.  I didn’t get much sleep while there, however, and I’m so glad to be home this morning.

Another 24-hour urine collection has been ordered, and results will be received later this evening after I drop off the jug of pee.  Ugh.  I hate these collections.  Such a gross thing to carry around.

The doctor still isn’t certain why I was having such a hard time last night, but thank God it’s over and I can rest at home.  Dorothy was right when she said there’s no place like it.

My mother and grandmother were devastated over the loss of such a talented actress, who was 8 1/2 months pregnant at the time of her death. They also felt sad for Tate’s husband, director Roman Polanski, and the grief he felt over losing his wife. My family is of Polish heritage and back in the late 60s, there was a kinship felt for “one of our own.”

Several years later, in 1977, Polanski was convicted of “unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor” and subsequently fled the United States prior to his sentencing. He has said in interviews that he was afraid the judge would give him a harsh sentence.

Polanski raped a 13-year-old girl.  Thirteen.  He was 44 years old at the time. Forty-four.

Polanski plead guilty to the lesser charge of “unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor” but didn’t stick around to serve his time.  He spent 42 days incarcerated while undergoing a psych evaluation, but he never paid for his crime.  He fled to France immediately after his release.  His victim did receive a settlement from Polanski,  and has since stated she has forgiven him for his crime and just wants to move on.

I understand this woman just wants to be left alone, but if Polanski is let off the hook for raping a young girl, what does that say about our American justice system?  That sexual assault is okay, as long as you’re famous and can buy your way out of it?  That all you need to do to get away with rape is to flee the country in which you committed the crime?

Polanski himself said he didn’t think anyone was truly hurt.  He doesn’t believe he raped this young girl.  His victim was drugged and pumped with alcohol.  He forced himself on her multiple times, despite her pleas to stop.  She said no. Last time I checked, NO means NO.

Polanski has been living life as a free man for the last 32 years.  He has continued to make films, despite having an arrest warrant out for him since 1978.  He’s taken every action imaginable to avoid extradition, by choosing not to travel to countries that may arrest and extradite him.  In so many ways, he “got away with it.”

The fact that many Hollywood actors and actresses, journalists and artists are defending Polanski, and asking for his release sickens me.  It makes me want to vomit.

Whoopi Goldberg saying “it wasn’t really rape-rape” is infuriating.  Rape is rape, Whoopi.  If this were any other Joe Schmo, and not a famous director, you would be screaming from the rooftops that the offender be locked away in jail.

Debra Messing saying that Polanski served his time is outrageous.  If this was a case against Mel Gibson and his drunken rants and insults to Judaism, you would be outraged.  I’m certain some anti-Catholic rhetoric would be thrown in to the mix as well.

And this bullshit that Polanski has lived a difficult life and suffered through the Holocaust makes me angry.  Yes, it’s awful that his mother died at Auschwitz.  Yes, it’s horrible that his wife and unborn child were murdered.  I understand the grief and the trauma he has suffered, but this does not make it acceptable to rape a 13-year-old girl.  It does not make it okay to flee the country to avoid jail time.

Should we let every rapist who suffered the loss of a parent or the murder of a family member go free?  Of course not.  Doing so undermines the rights of the victims to receive justice.

I’m so angry about Polanski, it’s hard for me to express every thought running through my head.  But this article says everything I’ve wanted to get out.   I couldn’t have put it better myself.

Roman Polanski, you deserve to serve your time.  You committed a crime and should be punished for it.  Thank you, Switzerland for doing the right thing and arresting Polanski.  May justice be served.

The house must be clean!  CLEAN, I say!  The littlest things will bother me.  Like socks on the floor (I’m looking at you, Doug and Dawson).  Or toys.  ALL. OVER. THE HOUSE.  And the clutter.  Magazines, school papers and half-opened mail are piling up on my kitchen table.  I have six million tomatoes on my kitchen counter. And I cannot deal with it. Not any of it.

Add to this mix of chaos and insanity the fact that I’ve been trying to clean out the pantry for two weeks, but I cannot get to it because those other things (see above) are nagging at me.  So I take time out of my day to deal with that and then have no energy whatsoever to do anything else.

I started sorting baby clothes a few days ago, and then I was sidetracked by vacuuming the living room, because in my mind people could show up unexpectedly, and why would I want them to see that a child actually lives here?  One with too many toys?

Poor, poor husband.  I’ve been a raging ball of hormones and have yelled at him repeatedly for not helping me enough.  Several times each day he tried to escape my wrath by heading to the garden and harvesting tomatoes that I swear he already picked.  The very same tomatoes on the counter.  I really think he takes some away at night and brings them back in the house the next day.  You know, so that it looks like he’s doing something.

Also, I think he’s shoved cotton balls in his ears because I have to REPEAT MYSELF CONSTANTLY.

I asked him five times to take the broken bread machine to the garage to be thrown away.  After it sat on the dining room floor, next to the deck door, for TWELVE days, I finally took it out to the garage myself.  An F-bomb was said and the neighbor across the street heard me.  She no longer waves at me when we pass each other on the road.  Apparently, I am now the closest thing to the devil himself.  At least to her.  Okay, and my husband. Whatever.

Doug was all, “Geez, Louise!  Settle down!  What is wrong with you?  And F-word?  Over a bread maker?”

And I lost my mind.  I began crying and shaking and raving like a freakin’ idiot.   I was sputtering, “You don’t understand!  YOU JUST DON’T GET IT!”

We didn’t speak the rest of the night.  The next day things were fine.  That is until he buried the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream behind a bunch of other crap in the freezer.  The yelling ensued.  More tears were shed.  I promptly sent myself to bed.  I didn’t want the damn ice cream anyway.  What I really wanted was a big fat margarita in a glass the size of my head.  With lots of Tequila.  But alas, the things we give up to bring a beautiful, chubby baby into the world.

Speaking of babies, I don’t think we’ll be having any more children after my outbursts.  What man wants to have sex with a stark raving lunatic?

In my defense, I just can’t help it.  It seems like I have no control over anything anymore. Especially my hormones.

Also, I’m the the only one who does anything around here.  The huz tries to help, but things go unfinished because he thinks he has other, more important priorities (like painting the garage door and trim, and installing a new garage door opener, because he thinks winter is arriving tomorrow).  Then I become infuriated and the stupidest things set me off.  I can’t do it all.  I physically cannot do everything.

Poor Dawson thinks his mother has turned into the chupacabra from his Scooby Doo DVD.

I probably have turned into a monster.

My days are chaotic.  This is my typical daily routine:

• Wake up early (most of the time)
• Work for 2 hours
• Check e-mail
• Wake Dawson
• Get Dawson dressed
• Let Murphy out to pee
• Feed the dog
• Make breakfast for Dawson
• Make sure Dawson brushes his teeth
• Check Dawson’s backpack and folder to be sure all forms and things are signed and sent back
• Get Dawson on the school bus
• Work 3 more hours
• Check e-mail
• Wait for the bus to drop off Dawson
• Make lunch for Dawson (oh yeah, and for me!)
• Let the dog out to pee, again.
• Put on Spongebob to occupy Dawson
• Finish working
• Straighten the living room, dust and vacuum
• Wash dishes
• Check on the laundry and try to put it all away
• Check Dawson’s backpack and folder for new notes and/or forms
• Pay bills that may be due
• Check e-mail
• Pick-up stray toys around the house, or command Dawson to do it
• Take Dawson outside to play
• Return books to the library and check out new ones
• Try to read a book that does not have colorful illustrations and rhyming words
• Sort toys and set aside two boxes for Goodwill
• Clean out the storage closet and donate more items to Goodwill
• Fold more laundry but forget to put it away
• Read books to Dawson
• Ask Doug seven times to load the boxes in the car so I can drop them off at Goodwill the next day
• Ask Doug to make dinner while I take a nap
• Fall asleep watching television (most likely Dancing with the Stars)
• Yell at someone for something because my hormones are out of whack

Oh, and did I mention the 349 times I have to stop what I am doing at any given time to pee or wipe a certain 5-year-old’s butt.  And let’s not forget the occasional adjustment to the schedule for conference calls or MOPS and MOMS Club meetings, or Church Activities.  And Saturday Soccer.  Or going to the bank, post office and grocery store every Friday.  And the fact that my husband is most often working (or hiding in the GARDEN) while I’m trying to manage this damn household.

And you people wonder why I’m crazy?

To my husband and son I say:  Y’all better hope I don’t die in childbirth, because it appears you CANNOT FUNCTION WITHOUT ME.