The First Snowfall of the Season

The first snowfall conjures up images of a magical time, a time of enjoyment and bliss, a time when people of all ages are like kids playing in the soft whiteness. Did I mention fact that we live in the south? The deep south? And the fact that I'm overwhelmed in papers, files, and excess documents everywhere? Stuff that must be shredded.

So welcome to our first snowfall of the season...my style!



We had a blast, but what was even more fun was the following night. I shredded about ten times more paper, and had two more kids joining in the fun. Of course I forgot to take pictures until halfway through cleaning time. Some things I will stage to get a good picture, but five garbage bags of confetti does not qualify. I guess you just have to take my word for it...it was so much fun and so much mess!

I think Babiest decided to hide some for later. I've found handfuls in a couple of different drawers, a pot, his closet, and the Little People Farm (I'm guessing for animal bedding since we've lost the hay bale). I doubt I've found all hiding places because some kept appearing today, but I never found the stash. Too bad it doesn't melt and disappear. I wonder how long I'll find paper shreds in hidden places...

You Know You're a (Baby) Redneck When...

You must always teach your kids to define themselves and you must give them a sense of self-worth from early on. In an attempt to define the Babiest, the Baby Redneck looks like a very appropriate category. In order to determine if he qualifies as a Baby Redneck, let's look a bit closer, shall we?



A Baby Redneck likes miscellaneous colorful plastic things in the yard...

A Baby Redneck never lets his swim diaper match his rubber stomping boots...

A Baby Redneck accessorizes with a hose pipe and a plastic sprinkler...

Yep, I think we've found the right category. But I'll not let him place any large appliances on my front porch. Without my permission.

Deal, or No Deal

I'm not really going to say much about what's been going on. Here's the abbreviated version: burns (but you probably already read about those) pneumonia, more pneumonia, yucky virus, ear infection, more ear infection, and more ear infection, termites, and a very nasty stomach virus (repeat that to yourself four more times, please; I don't have the energy to retype it). I'm not going to say all is finally well here because, ahem, I'm not quite ready for that much commitment. My commitment-phobia pops up in the strangest places, as you see.

Needless to say a lot has happened since I last posted. I'll walk you back through everything in upcoming posts, but for now I'll just start at the, um, now. Okay, ready?

So, what's the deal about Deal, or No Deal, you ask? In the past D and I have spent the first couple of weeks in November hiding in the closet, avoiding the sugar-induced pandemonium that follows a tremendous windfall of the trick-or-treating variety. A couple of years ago I came up with the brilliant idea that I could possibly "buy" the candy back from them--for a price, of course. Knowing that the guys are not very concerned about growing their wealth (or protecting their teeth), I had to come up with something really enticing to cause them to give up the stuff they walked so hard to earn. Cold cash wouldn't do it for them. Uh-huh.

This is where Deal, or No Deal comes into play. The boys really like the show, so I made our version of it at home, with Halloween candy as the currency. In the "case" (a gift bag) I had a special mystery treat. On the white board is listed three or four options to earn the case. They choose an option of their liking, but they all end with me receiving the vast majority of the candy. Don't ask what happens to it after that. I'll never admit tell.

So here is the November 1, 2007 Deal, or No Deal.

First we are in accumulation mode...

...and accumulate they do!


Here is the final haul, with very heavy bags. Our neighbors are very generous, especially when a tiny little cow is in the group.



They chose option three, which gave them one piece of candy a day for the next fifteen days. I get to dispose of the rest in exchange for the precious "case." Oh, did I say it was a gift bag? Well, this year I couldn't find a gift bag big enough to hold it. I really couldn't!



So here we are, with the new Super Soakers (Arctic Blasts, of all things) and swim trunks. A plan is formulating. Suddenly a fortress appears.

The fortress needs defending.

Defending at all costs. Get back you filthy invaders!

Artillery, check!

Filthy invader, check!

Target. Site. Attack!

And attack!

And attack some more!

"I can't help you, you filthy invader."

"I'm much too busy being adorable."

The victory laps, er, swings.

And we're off to formulate a new plan. Who wants to be a bank robber today?

I think M chose the right weapon...no reload necessary!

Now, will someone please remind me about this November 1st post, with the Super Soakers, swim trunks, and plastic pools when I start complaining about the hottest day of the year next summer? I occasionally need to be reminded why I like living in the south.

My Full Disclosure Statement

My boys do not sleep. It's a fact. They require very little, and were born that way. It's not unusual to find J reading in his bed at 1:30 am. Nor is it unusual to find N fully awake and bright-eyed at 4:30 am. At one month old the Babiest began pulling his own hair in an effort to stay awake.

I'm not sure why they do this, except that I think it's genetic. Poor D, he gets the blame for this one too! Apparently, he didn't sleep as a baby either.

Now I didn't find this out until I was completely baffled why J wouldn't sleep. I was a great sleeper as a baby. So was my sister. I was under the mistaken impression that all babies sleep. My theories revolved around him being a premie...until my in-laws informed me that he was acting just like his father. Now why was I not aware of this earlier? Perhaps this is something that should have been mentioned before the wedding? I must have been such a good catch that they were afraid of scaring me off. We'll stick with that theory. I doubt it would have made any difference because at the time, I was not aware of how precious a sleeping baby is...and how cranky a sleepy baby is.

So in the interest of full disclosure I make the following statement to my future daughters-in-law:

Your husbands did not sleep as babies. Your husbands did not sleep as toddlers. Your husbands did not sleep as kids. They have many wonderful qualities, but sleep is not one. Unless you have really, really, strong dominant sleep genes in your family please bank your sleep now. And when you have children I promise to rock them and cuddle them and explain how sleeping makes them grow big as they pull their own hair and flap their arms to stay awake. While you get some sleep. Just take care of my boys, and their children, and I will be there to help.

So there. I've made my point. Now I need a nap. And so do my daughters-in-law.

So a kid stumbles into a bar one night...

...and it's no joke! I guess while we are on the subject of injuries and emergencies, I'll tell the little story of how N surprised me on my birthday.


It was a very uneventful birthday, which is a good thing given it's the last one I'll acknowledge. We were winding down the evening and the boys were getting snacks before heading off to bed. The way their ginormous appetite works in combination with their supreme dislike for anything related to bedtime, we usually start the process three or so hours before they really do have to be in bed.


N is nearly full after about two hours, so we're doing great so far. He spills some water on the floor and promptly forgets about it. Being the wild child that he is famous for, he be-bops and dances around and slips. His head hits the counter in the kitchen, squarely centering his ear on the edge. OUCH! One look at it and no doubt we're in for stitches.


Now, as luck would have it, we have a nice new after hours clinic open a couple of minutes from the house. And as more luck would have it, we are less than two weeks into the provider change in our insurance that allows us to use the clinic. We're good. So N and I head out. Getting in to see the doctor was fairly quick. He walks in and sweetly asks N what happened. N says "I fell and my head hit the bar." Long pause. Followed by really strange look. "What bar are you talking about?" N looks confused. "The one in the kitchen" he finally gets out. I step in to explain he fell against the edge of the serving bar in our kitchen.


The doctor seems to accept the story. He looks closely at N and asks where the cut and bruise across the bridge of his nose came from. N calmly replies "Oh, that happened last night...I stumbled and fell into the bar stool." Another long pause. The doctor muttered he'll be right back, or something that sounded remotely similar. If I had opened my ears enough to really hear him, the hysterical laughter I held so delicately inside would surely escape from them. Surprisingly when he returned he only brought a nurse. At least that's what she claimed to be, but sometimes I still wonder if CPS officers go undercover as medical personnel.


He sewed up the ear, N stayed very still and quiet, and I took advantage of the opportunity of having a captive audience. I mentioned no less than three times and probably closer to a hundred how I was so glad this was our first stitching but with three boys I felt sure we'd be seeing him from time to time. I hope he bought it.

Little did I know then he'd be the doctor who forwarded us from the clinic to the ER with M. We were nowhere near the bar, doc. I promise!

The Solution

We are to keep the little pint-sized mummy wrapped up in his gauze bandages. As if putting the ointment on the wounds (like cream cheese on a bagel, Dr. said) with a wooden stick was not hard enough, we must then wrap said wounds with a stretchy gauze stuff, tape the gauze on (no tape on the skin, it irritates him), and keep it on for twelve hours. No simple task at all when we're working with a cranky 17 month old in pain and wanting to go. Just go.

The trip to the burn center proved to be the relief we all needed. With the acknowledgement that the burn would heal well, and had already begun to do so, we took on the task of simplifying the bandaging process. Here is the result.

The gauze comes already soaked in the ointment; we just slap it on. The dry gauze wraps around next, and finally a mesh tube is put over his arm. To keep this all on and to keep the burned part of his back covered they put a larger tube over his head and cut slits for his little arms. A few strings to tie the sleeve to the shirt and voila, we're in business. WITH NO TAPE! Probably the best thing is that we only have to change it once a day, not twice! And he still hasn't figured out how to get it off. He's working on it, though.

I call it his "pretty lace blouse." The Bigs and D give me dirty looks. He really doesn't seem to mind it that much.

In fact, he wants to throw on a little makeup and head out for a night on the town.

Where I've Been

Okay, I admit I really intended to write a little every day, not every ten days! Unfortunately, sometimes life sends you a detour. And another unfortunately...sometimes that detour you'd rather not take. Such is the case recently with M-the Babiest, a bowl of hot soup, a trip to the after hours emergency clinic, a trip to the real emergency room, and a trip to the burn center.


With a smile like he has, you really can't downplay the magnitude of a positive attitude and a sweet disposition, and of course a heckuva lot of Codeine!

He had such a hard time keeping the bandages on his arm, chest, back, and especially his hand. He's very dominant right, very dominant. Not having use of the right hand really bugged him. We tried initially making him a "boxing glove" and he did use it on Daddy and The Bigs. When that didn't work we wrapped it as a mitt where he could move the thumb separately from the fingers. That worked for a few hours. Finally we gave up and, with the blessing of the burn center, let him remove it. I figured if it hurt him too much he just wouldn't use the hand, right? We wash it extra often and let him go. It's healing nicely.

Keeping his upper arm, back, chest, and side area bandaged is a different thing. It has to stay bandaged and moist to heal properly. The edges are already looking much better but the area that was third degree burned is still requiring a cover. The burn center came up with a great, albeit not very visually pleasing, idea. I'll post pictures of it shortly, but it really is a nice setup!

Here is a peek at the worst part. The bandage change is quite painful, but he's quickly over it and ready to play again.

Our sincere thanks are sent out for all who have prayed for his recovery, and all who continue to do so. God works wonders and we see it every day with this injury. Thank you and watch for the next update!