My Fantasy For That Deranged Psychopath

Over the weekend, I have become fanatically obsessed with the kidnapping of Jaycee Lee Dugard. Words cannot describe how much this has touched a nerve with me. Tell me I'm not the only one, because I harbor feelings of malice and ill will toward that sick bastard who stole that innocent little girl and wrecked her life and the lives of her parents.

I read Philip Garrido's blog. Then I read most of the comments.

And you know what? I don't care if he is crazy. I want him to die. After he is tortured.

Jayce Lee Dugard was my friend's daughter's best friend's cousin.

I practically knew her.

Do you know why this makes me so sick too? She could have been any one of our kids. This could have happened to us. This is why people are afraid to let their kids walk to school or stand at the bus stop.

And you know why else this strikes such a nerve with me? Because I live in a neighborhood where we have walled, deep properties like that, where it's impossible to know or see what is going on deep in someone's backyard. You can't even tell from the street how far back the property goes, what is back there, and whether there are buildings in the back.

Remember when I took the virtual walk around my neighborhood by satellite in February? I encourage all of you to do that. Look in your neighbor's backyard.

Remember this guy in my neighborhood? The guy I refer to as Dirt Man? I want to know what all the crap is in his backyard now. What ARE all those? What is that son of a bitch up to? Got some people living in those bunkers?

I like to think if I had lived next to Creepy Phil, I would have heard those kids, and I like to think I would have been WAY WAY WAY too nosy to not figure out what he was doing.

Look at his backyard. Look at all those tarps.

I like to think that I would have discovered his tent set-up by satellite, and then I would have had Greg jump the wall and go investigate. I like to think Greg would have found him and then beat him and choked the life out of him, only to let him live, so I could run him over with my car, then back up, and then mow him down again.

This would be after I electrocuted him and then poured gasoline on him and threw him in a boiler.

My fantasy is out of control.

I so hope that poor woman can somehow overcome the psychological and physical torture she has gone through. I just can't imagine how her stepfather and mother must be feeling right now.

Now I gotta go check in on the neighbors via satellite.

If you are up to something in my neighborhood, be afraid. Be very afraid.

My Multiple's Mom Club Is Crazier Than Your Club

We had our Las Vegas Mothers Of Multiples Fall Picnic today. It was a 110 degrees. Literally.

Can I just say that as much as I love living in Vegas, I hate this time of the year. This is the time of the year when summer just will not end. And it won't. It just won't. This will go on until October.

Uhg.

But that's okay, because multiple moms are crazy anyway, so bring it. This is what living in this kind of heat does to a person.

Speaking of crazy, remember when I was talking about a new MOM that joined our group who was spontaneously pregnant with identical triplets girls and has four older children and homeschools them? She was at the picnic 33 weeks pregnant with her four kids by herself.

Did I mention it was 110 degrees yesterday??????? She is a freaking rockstar. She carried her one year old around for HOURS, spotting him on the play equipment, 33 weeks pregnant with TRIPLETS.

I told her I was taking her picture because it might be the last one ever taken of her pregnant. Ten bucks says she has the babies tomorrow.

Remember the pregnant MOM that came to dinner 34 weeks pregnant a couple of months ago? She had hers within 24 hours of that dinner.

When I was 33 weeks pregnant, I couldn't even walk. I would regurgitate acid and vomit all day. I couldn't breathe. My feet were so swollen, there was no discernible difference between my thighs and my ankles. I looked like I was related to elephants. I was in a wheelchair.

Gregory patted me and whispered really loudly, "Does that lady have a baby in her stomach?"

"She has three babies in there."

"Did you have to eat a lot to get that big? Do the babies eat the icky, squishy food in your stomach? Ewwwwwwwwwwww.", Amanda wanted to know.

So while we stood around in the heat and caught up, the kids played in the water and were completely oblivious to the inferno.

There is nothing like seeing old friends.

Misti's triplet son lost two teeth the day before kindergarten. Her trips are one month older than mine. This works really well for me because now I know which kid he is. It only took 5 years. I bet that makes his teacher pretty happy too. Mike is the identical twin of his triplet brother Matt. You figure that one out.

Speaking of identical twins, I never got around to telling you what happened to me when we made a pit stop in Illinois on our way home from Michigan. We stayed the night again at Greg's college buddy's house the day his son was having his graduation party. We got there when the party was in full swing.

I walked in the house into a room full of people and saw Mrs. S from Chicago and her husband Mr. S.

Mr. S looked fantastic. He'd lost weight. He was SO TAN.

"OMG. Look at you! You look FANTASTIC! Have you lost weight? You're so tan!!!", I said as I went on and on and on and gave him a big hug.

Then everyone in the room was laughing hysterically, then I looked around and sitting right next to the thinner, tanner version of Mr. S, was the real Mr. S.

"What are you twins?", I asked in disbelief.

Then everyone was REALLY HYSTERICAL.

Turns out that all the years I've known Mr and Mrs. S from Chicago, I never knew that Mr. S. was an identical twin. And here they are in their seventies STILL TRICKING PEOPLE.

I asked Mr. S later if he had enjoyed growing up as an identical and he said, "It was absolutely fantastic. I loved it."

I bet he did, switching places for seventy years.

I'm sure you have nothing to worry about Misti. Bahahahahahahhahahahhaha.

Kindergarten IS Still Fun

We made it through the first week of school and I have run the gamut of emotions over this week.

I've had this weird feeling. It is sort of like a feeling of loss of control. It's not an overwhelming feeling, it is just this weird sort of background feeling. I'm all kinds of discombobulated.

I am thrilled with their teacher though. She seems to really enjoy the kids. I am thrilled that that she IS making it fun for them. They sing songs and color and yesterday they did Show and Tell.

I asked her on the way out if the kids were doing okay being in the same classroom and she said, "There are doing great. They are great kids. I just love this afternoon class."

Sarah has a new friend named Amalaya. Amalaya came up to me and told me that she had the same shirt as Sarah was wearing. She is just a tiny little peanut and Sarah towers over her, but the two of them seem to really like each other.

I love that these kids are going to school with kids from such diverse ethnic backgrounds. Our kids will grow up being able to flit around in different circles, and we all know how much I love to do that.

I woke up to an anonymous commenter making a point of telling me the reason our school is Blue Ribbon is because we have more than 40 percent of our children from disadvantaged backgrounds, and have improved our test scores to within the top 10 percent of the state scores. (This was after they said that there was NO WAY our school was Blue Ribbon, not that I really gave a rat's ass if it is or not, it was just an interesting sidebar after the police car incident. I'm sure the principal was lying when he told us that at the school assembly during Open House.)


But, wow, after reading that I am actually really impressed. That means our school is scoring in the top ten percent of all schools in our state (think fancy shmancy private schools) and is able to do it DESPITE having 40 percent of its kids coming from poor homes and being a lowly, underfunded public school to boot. (Ha! I could qualify for a poor home with our lack of income!) So that just warms the cockles of my heart to think that with everything these kids have going against them, they are receiving a stellar education.

That also means every school in the country could do it, doesn't it?

For Show and Tell, yesterday, Amanda brought a book she has been working on for days. The book is about her Daddy. It's 10 pages long, front and back, and she draws the pictures then dictates the text to me.

This was my favorite page.

This one made me laugh. I guess it's a good thing that I didn't sign them back up for ballet this year!

Mrs. P told her that maybe she will be an author someday, which would certainly be better than working in a chinese buffet, which is what she has been wanting to do for the last couple weeks since eating there on one of her Daddy Days.

So all and all, it has been a week of learning for me too. I learned that I have to let go of my preconceived notions about people who are less fortunate than me. I learned that it is possible to have a good school even if the front staff is lazy and sloth-like. I learned that just because a principal is a poor public speaker or even shy, it doesn't mean he isn't an excellent administrator.

But most importantly, I learned that kindergarten is still fun!!!!!

And So The Plague Begins

I have a killer sore throat, enlarged tonsils, swollen lymph nodes in my neck. Amanda was up and in bed next to me for hours, needing her back tickled and rubbed. She said her eyes hurt (pink eye?) and she can't breathe.

How long have they been in school? Five minutes?

I haven't been sick in MONTHS. Which is very unusual for me.

The kids came out of school yesterday and all three of them told me about Arthur and how they don't like him because he disrupts class and doesn't listen.

"What does he do?"

"He does this.", Sarah explained. "Waaaa. Waaaa. Waaaa. Waaaaa. Waaaa."

"How often?"

"During the whole class. Mrs. P tells him to be quiet but he doesn't listen."

"Is that correct, Gregory? Amanda?"

"Yeah. He's crazy. He rolls around on the floor and says Waaaaa. Waaaaa. Waaaaa.", Gregory replied.

"We don't like him.", Amanda chimed in.

"Does it bother you and the class? Who sits by him?"

"I do.", Sarah said. "It bothers me."

"What does the teacher do?"

"She tells him to stop and be quiet, but he just says Waaaaaa. Waaaaa. Waaaaa. I don't think he understands English."

"Okay, if he's bothering you tomorrow, Sarah, I want you to say, 'Callate! Ya basta!' Okay?"

"Callate!!! Ya basta!"

That would be Spanish for be quiet and enough is enough.

I'd talk to his mother, and tell her what my kids said, but I sat next to her at the PTA and she doesn't speak any English. They arrive late to school every day in their Mercedes with the limo tint windows. Then she steps out all glamorous with her skin-tight hot pants, with an eagle across the butt, while her man is all hunched down in the driver's seat, looking like Antonio Banderas. Think Colombian Druglord Glam.

So hopefully Arthur is acting out because he doesn't know what anyone is saying and not because he's on the spectrum and hasn't had any services.

Anyway, we went to a barbecue/birthday party last night and I found out that the kindergartners at Golesby are already doing 45 minutes to an hour of homework every night.

Yikes. Wouldn't that be dreadful? They had to write their names "perfectly" over and over on 2 sheets of paper. Then they had to cut out sight words and paste them to index cards. In addition to all that, they have 4 more sheets, front and back, to do.

Whoa. I think we should send Arthur over there.

My School Is More Ghetto Than Your School. OR IS IT?

I drove the kids to school yesterday because I had Austin and wanted to go shopping, and two cops cars went by me, zoomed into the parking lot, and the officers charged into the school.

Okay, if that isn't enough to freak a person out, then I'm not sure what is. The kindergarten room entrance is outside, so I went ahead and dropped the kids off, but as soon as I got in the car, I called Greg and told him that we were sending our kids to school in the GHETTO and GOD DAMN IT, I WAS RIGHT.

Education is one thing. Safety is a whole nuther issue and the children's safety is paramount. If I didn't feel they are safe in school, I would be unable to send them there.

Then I called my sister and she told me that the police were called to her school once because Hale's classmate tried to catch her desk on fire.

So I fretted and freaked out the whole 2.5 hours they were gone. Was it drugs? A gun? Violence against a teacher? WHAT?

We had our first PTA meeting last night and then Open House. I was going to find out, by golly.

Turns out the reason the police were there was because a non-custodial parent came on campus and tried to take their child without permission. So they are cracking down on security and that is just fine by me.

So I was ready to pull them out yesterday only to discover that there is an active PTA. Very active actually. You would never guess it by the website or the president.

Then after that meeting was the Open House, where the elusive principal spoke and I discovered that our school has done so well that we are receiving the distinguished Blue Ribbon Award in Washington next month for being in the top 10 percent of all public schools in America. Only two schools in all of Nevada are being awarded with this distinction.

I'll be damned.

Here's what it says about Blue Ribbon Schools.

The Blue Ribbon Schools Program honors public and private elementary, middle and high schools that are either academically superior or that demonstrate dramatic gains in student achievement to high levels. In addition to being honored at a ceremony in Washington, DC, where each school receives a plaque and flag signifying their status, these schools serve as models for other schools throughout the nation.

The kids cut out parrots yesterday and colored them. These are Blue Ribbon parrots here people.

So in addition to volunteering in the classroom, I'm on a whole bunch of commitees now. I have no idea which ones. They just kept passing around lists.

Sending these kids to school is going to be the death of me, either from a heart attack or the workload.

You Should Run Me Over For My Own Good

Look at the first kid in line in front of Gregory. Are his parents giants? Or is he 35 years old? He's like twice as big as the smallest kid in class. He is actually their buddy, Roman, from cooking/art/game class. Roman must actually descend from a Greek God, given his stature. But that's pretty cool that Gregory is now best buddies with the largest kid in school. That could work out well for him some day.

The kids came home in a much better mood than their first day. They did complain on the way to school that I was making them walk in the heat and it was SO HOT.

"I can't walk in the heat. It is SO HOT."

"I walked in the heat 20 miles a day, so I don't want to hear it. Pick up the pace. We're going to be late."

When I got home, Greg said, "I can't believe you make them go to school all sweaty."

Oh, please. It's just under a quarter of a mile. It was only a hundred yesterday. While the school is only a block away, the entrance is on the whole other side, which is down another block and up half another. But I figure if I walk them there and then home, then walk back to get them, then home, I am walking almost a mile a day.

I bring a snack with me when I pick them up and then they eat while they are walking home. Sarah ate and sang a song they learned called "School is cool."

I asked them what they learned and she said they learned more about germs and colored.



I would say the school is a little freaked out about the swine flu. I think it is important to note for their history, that they started school right before the big pig flu pandemic. How scary is that?

So what are you going to do about vaccinations? I am still unsure about it. If we could even get one, I'm not sure we should get it given the speed with which it's being brought to market. It scares me as much as the flu itself due to what happened in the 1970s when they rushed a pig flu vaccine and people ended up paralyzed. On the other hand, I was watching the news on PBS last night, and they expect half of our population to have it by mid-October.

But I'm going to try and stop thinking about that and hope we've already had it.

The kids took a tour of the school and colored yesterday and that's it. I'm not sure when they will start learning anything. Of course I am not going to slow down with what I've been doing with them at home, so if and when they ever get homework, they will probably not even know it's homework. They'll probably just think it's MOM.

Whatever it is they are doing right now is making them happy though, and they babbled quite a bit about the new kids in class. Amanda blurted out at dinner that she likes the boy at her table and that he's from Chinatown.

"He's probably not ACTUALLY from Chinatown, he's likely just Asian.", I tried to explain to her, which went nowhere. How do you explain ethnicity to a five year old?

Anyway, she digs him. She's a fickle one. I'm sure she won't break any hearts in the future.

Sarah has made friends with a girl named Erin, and she was in their kindergarten prep class they took last year, only in the mornings. Her mom was zoned for another school last year and she is thrilled that they are going to our school now. Our school is a big move up for them. Which means I likely fought to try and keep her out of my school when I fought the zoning change.

I am a terrible, terrible person. You should run me over when you see me walking to school. Just make sure you don't hit the kids.

When My Mouth Is Quicker Than My Brain

Since the kids started preschool at three, I have taken a first day picture in front of the prickly pear cactus. Greg can't quite figure out the significance of the cactus and what that has to do with school, but it's our tradition now, and someday when they look back at the pictures, I'll say, "Remember when we lived in the desert and I used to take your picture in front of the cactus on your first day of school?" Thanks for that tip last year, Cathy.

Sarah.

Thankfully she did not have black eyes.

Gregory

Amanda

Greg and I loaded the kids in the van and drove the one block to our school at 12:30. We arrived at 12:31. The reason we couldn't walk is because I had a box full of my portion of supplies for three children. I did walk later to pick them up. It took me 4 minutes.

Gregory was really afraid. When he gets afraid, he freezes. Actually they all stood there. They weren't quite sure what to do. Then Mrs. P opened the gate and we escorted them to the playground to line up. The first child's name was Arthur, which made Austin start laughing hysterically.

"Arthur, like on TV?" Bahahahahahha.

There was a little girl in front of Amanda with a Bratz backpack. My kids think Bratz are Rugrats for some reason. I don't let them have Bratz dolls and I don't let them watch Rugrats. So Amanda pointed out, loudly, that we don't like those.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

So we went inside the classroom with them and as I glanced around, I noticed immediately that there were nowhere near 25 children in the class. There were only eighteen. The morning class has 33 children. I have no idea why, but I've got my spies working on it.

I also already knew Mrs. P, because she had worked with Austin before and was actually present during his final evaluation when he tested out of the school district. She is really awesome.



Then I looked over and noticed my pharmacist. The very same pharmacist that has worked at the Walgreen's by my house for over 10 years. The very same pharmacist who has seen me covered in vomit and formula, with dirty hair, crying at her counter. The very same pharmacist who rushed an order for me when I was seven months pregnant, and alone, and all three kids had rotavirus, and I begged my doctor to call in suppositories for Sarah because I thought she was going to die if any more liquid came out of her body. The very same pharmacist who filled my order when Amanda was covered from head to toe with hives when she had erythma multiforme. The same pharmacist who has seen me through every ear infection and bout with strep throat. I made her look in mouth too.

Seriously, this woman has only seen me in crisis mode. I think she was worried I might burst into tears or show her pus in my mouth.

Her daughter is in our class. After class, she introduced me to her mother and I started talking and talking and talking to her mother and she said, "My mother is deaf." after I was talking to her for several minutes. "But she reads lips."

I hadn't noticed.

The classroom demographics was good too. There was about an equal mix of white, Hispanic, and Asian. Oddly, after all that craziness about black children and the zoning mess, there isn't a single black kid in class. How weird. Of the eighteen kids, I would estimate that about four might not know a lot of English, but I don't think that will be a big problem.

When Mrs. P came out after class, she said, "Mrs P is very, very, very happy with her afternoon class. This was like a breath of fresh air."

So it doesn't seem like she is that thrilled with the morning class, where there are 33 kids.

The very first thing Sarah said as we were walking away was, "I didn't get to read at all."

I asked her for five things that she did during class, because that is what my friend Leslie does with her daughter, and I have a problem with competing with my friends. I got more than five though. HA!

1. They talked a lot about germs. When the teacher asked them if they knew what germs were, Sarah told her, "Germs are really, really tiny. You can't see them, but they make you sick."

2. They went over coughing in their elbow.

3. They learned the correct way to raise your hand if you have to use the restroom.

4. They practiced criss-cross-applesauce (aka Indian-style for you older folk) in circle time.

5. Sarah told the class she had seen real wild quail at her grandmother's and at Red Rock Canyon. I don't know why that came up.

I couldn't get five things out of Amanda. I got two.

1. There are these really great flowered beanbag chairs in the library that you can sit on and read books.

2. There is a boy named Colin in class and he's cuter than the Colin she knew in preschool.

Gregory wouldn't talk at all when we first got home, but he eventually loosened up and gave me four things.

1. There is a boy named Roman at his table and Roman was in their cooking/art/game class during the summer.

2. He played basketball on the playground during recess and a lot of boys played with him.

3. A teacher came in during class and she had a fake leg and a funny sock.

4. He is going to get his very own library card and go to the library.

Anyway, despite my initial misgivings, and the fact I spent about 6 months of my life fretting over the decision to send them to this school, I am happy.

Of course Greg wasted no time in saying, "I TOLD YOU IT WOULD BE FINE."

When we were walking away from the playground, Mrs. P approached me, and then before my brain caught up with my mouth, I heard myself say, "I can volunteer on Thursdays if you need help."

"That would be GREAT. I can use all the help I can get.", she replied.

OH MY GAWD. What is WRONG with me?????

What will they ever do without me at the soup kitchen?

Boogers, Broken Noses, And Diarrhea: Our First Day Of School

The children start their first day of kindergarten today.

Sarah did a face plant off the monkey bars yesterday. Greg brought her home with a bloody nose. Her nose is all scraped up and she looked like she might have two black eyes when she wakes up today.

Gregory has diarrhea. That started yesterday afternoon.

Amanda has had a runny nose for days and days and keeps wiping her upper lip. The skin is all red and chapped and bleeding.

We've never met their teacher because our school never did any sort of Meet and Greet. In fact, our school website hasn't been updated since 2007. If you want to know when Open House was two years ago, I can tell you.

My vast network of spies have informed me that our principal is socially handicapped, a sort of misfit, who is unable or unwilling to communicate. He's anti-PTA and doesn't really want parents involved.

I finally heard back from the new PTA president, who started our phone conversation like this, "Hi, this is So and So, the PTA president. I really didn't want this job, but nobody else would do it. I have no idea what I'm doing, so don't expect much. I sort of got stuck with it because the one lady that ran it got pregnant and the other one had to go back to work. We sort of fizzled out last year completely."

I swear to you on my mothers grave, that was our phone conversation.

GO TEAM!

So all of that doesn't really work for me at all.

As if all that isn't enough fun, Austin's teacher called my friend Laura, whose triplets go to the same preschool, and wanted to know what she thought about them moving all the start times of classes, with afternoon preschool from 2-4, instead of 1-3. The other kids go to school from 12:50-3:20. Which means my luxurious four hours a week off would only be 2 hours a week off, and I would have to schlepp all three kids back to the preschool just to pick up Austin.

Didn't I already do that for an entire year? I am so over that, there are no words.

In a fit of hysteria, I called Laura seventeen times after that, making her give me the teacher's number off her cell phone, and then called the teacher myself to tell her, OH HELL NO. We will find out Wednesday what they decided.

Who sends their kid to preschool from 2-4? That's just stupid. Why not just have night school? But that's cool. It will condition him for working swing shift in a casino someday.

It's already bad enough that my kids start kindergarten at 12:50. I wonder if they'll get there on time? I've only been up since 4:30am. My friend Leslie said that afternoon kindergarten is completely wasted on a person like me.

So off we go to kindergarten today, bruised, bleeding, and leaking from the anus and nose.

I have high hopes that it's going to be fanstastic.

I'm Eating Disabled Now

We went to a barbecue last night and I had to bring my own food.

I'm eating disabled now.

If you know me in real life, you know I'm pretty easy. I'm a go-with-the-flow kind of person.

Where do you want to eat? Mexican? Chinese? Italian? Japanese? Seafood? Wherever. I'm good. I like everything.

If I come to your house and you only have beer, I'll drink beer. Or wine. Or hard liquor. I'm easy.

Coke, pepsi, no name brand. Whatever.

Tap water? I can drink it. It's not my favorite, but I'll live.

Red meat, pork, chicken, fish. I eat it all.

I'll try stuff. I just like to do whatever you are doing. When I visit somewhere or I'm hanging with you, I like to experience the things you like.

But now I have restrictions and it's crimping my style.

I don't like bringing my own hamburger buns to a barbecue. Or showing up with my own cupcakes so my daughter isn't left out of dessert.

This requires a lot of planning. I can see people not inviting me somewhere because they might be afraid they have to accommodate me. Yuck. There's nothing worse than hanging out with someone who is constantly complaining they don't like something or they won't eat something.

For the record, I still like everything. I just can't eat it because it makes me sick.

So if you invite me somewhere, I will fend for myself. Do not worry. I'm still open for travel.

I'm still open for travel.

I'll just have my own hamburger buns. You can pretend like you don't know me.

Hopefully, The Conclusion

Today.


2 years ago.

Note: The skull is losing it's teeth. I think he's five years old.

I have wonderful news. Austin's brain tumor is not growing. It's not growing. IT'S NOT GROWING.

I'm doing cartwheels, I am so happy.

Regarding the radiologist"s report, my doctor said, "I think he was smoking crack."

Then he roared with laughter. Then he got very serious and said, "In all honesty, I only trust about four radiologists in this town to have the same level of expertise I do."

Cocky bastard, ain't he? But he's being truthful and that's sooooooo scary, I can't even think about it.

Then he said, "Of course it's not growing. I've never seen one of these grow in my career. I've never seen a case study of one of these growing. They're indolent. Doesn't mean you couldn't be the first, but it's highly unlikely. Let's move the next MRI to 9 months, then every year, then every other year."

So he could of told me TWO YEARS ago that they NEVER grow. Sheez.

But it isn't growing and I am so thankful. Now we can hopefully move on and he can grow up having a completely normal childhood and get married and have kids and...... gosh it makes me so happy, I'm almost faint.

Thank you so much for all your heartfelt comments and prayers over the past two years. I really needed your support to get through all this.

Thinking Outside The Square

Austin's neurosurgeon appointment isn't until 9am today, so I thought I could distract myself with Food Talk. There's been a lot of food stuff going on here lately.

I would say my entire life has been revolving around food lately, as I try to navigate through the world of gluten free eating. Since I stopped buying food containing gluten for the entire family, the children have eaten over 20 pounds of fruit in seven days. I literally have gone to the store 3 times just to buy produce.

Remember a long time ago when I went on a big kick to find locally grown food and came up empty-handed? It's Vegas. Stuff doesn't grow here. We get 7 inches of rain a year. Our soil is white. We don't have farms.

So when I discovered that a farmer's market that was exclusively open to chefs in the fancy restaurants on the Strip was opening to the public, and featured food grown within a 120 miles of Las Vegas, I made a point of driving out to it yesterday.

Amanda won't leave the house anymore without her sunglasses, jewelry, handbag, and water bottle. I have a feeling this will be an adjustment on Monday when she starts school, minus fashion accessories.

When we pulled up to the half empty industrial warehouse strip mall, and I announced we were at the Farmer's Market, Amanda and Sarah protested, "This is a store. I thought we were going to the Farmer's Market like in Michigan."

The farmer's market was in a warehouse. Which worked for me, because it was a 109 yesterday now that it's autumn. Brrrrrrr.

It was packed. Packed like sardines in a warehouse in 109 degree weather. There were only three local growers and that was Gilcrease Orchard, a lady who must grow cantaloupes in her backyard, and someone who grows stuff in greenhouses in Pahrump. The other "local farms" were from Northern California and they were selling things like rasberries for $6 a pint and peaches for $5 a pound. Considering my kids ate their weight in peaches from our neighbor's trees this summer, there was no way I was forking out that kind of money.

Jo, do you need to supplement your retirement? I've found you a job.

I did buy a pound of pluots though, because I had never had one and couldn't resist. Pluots are a cross between a plum and an apricot. I have to say that this was the most delicious fruit I've had in a long time. They were scrumptious. We devoured them all on the drive home.

So when I'm not spending my retirement on fruit, I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to make an edible gluten free bread. I've probably spent $100 trying to make bread. Gluten free bread is nasty in the extreme. It either has the worst aftertaste known to man, or it collapses, or it tastes like shit AND collapses.
Look at me. I came out so big and pretty.

Oh, no. Help me. I'm shrinking. I'm shrinking.

I've fallen and I can't get up.

This bread tasted so bad, I threw the whole thing out and then it smelled so bad, I had to take the garbage out because I could smell it.

I developed such an aversion to the gluten free flour concoction I came up with that I ended up throwing out 10 pounds of flour. I can't even smell hasa marina corn flour now. SHUDDER.

So I scrapped my need to have the flour be healthy and I think I FINALLY found the PERFECT gluten free all purpose flour.

Here it is:

6 cups rice flour (I use half Asian white and half brown)

2 cups potato starch

1 cup tapioca starch

2 tablespoons xantham gum

This flour has zero aftertaste.

I made a chocolate cake with it yesterday that was seriously the best cake I have ever made from scratch. Ever.

The kids climbed up on the table to fight over the bowl. It was exceptionally moist. It was really, really, really good. I can't say it enough. Even GREG ate it and didn't know it was gluten free.

Then I used the new flour in my chicken and dumpling recipe and these were the biggest, lightest dumplings I have ever made.

Amanda said, "These are the best dumplings ever, Mom."

The added bonus is I didn't have to sift my flour for the dumplings. There aren't any lumps in gluten free flour.

Next experiment? Bread.

Meanwhile, I've learned to get along without bread. We just don't eat sandwiches anymore. Which means I've had to get creative with lunches. Now that the children have more options, the other three don't even want sandwiches either. Why would they when Amanda and I are eating quesadillas or taquitos or chili or soup or sushi?

Sandwiches? Yuck.

I'm thinking outside the square now. And I'm feeling so much better physically you couldn't believe it.

Holding My Breath Until Friday

I got Austin's MRI findings yesterday. I tromped all four kids in, and while I was telling the lady what I was there for, Austin ran down the hall with the other three kids to show them the spaceship he went on.

We were there at 2pm and it was packed. People who have been waiting a long time for a procedure are completely not amused by a pack of children. When we were walking out the door, this woman was so mad that she had to wait to walk in until we exited, she nearly snarled at me, while audibly sighing.

But I got the findings. I'm not sure what to make of them. Here's what it said.

"Comparison was made to an examination performed on 01/09/09. There has been no demonstrable significant interval change in the size, signal or enhancement characteristics of the tectal mass lesion."

That sounds really good. But I have every single MRI and every single MRI finding since he was diagnosed, so I know the size his tumor has been on each report.

On all six of his previous reports, his tumor has been 20 x 20 x 15 mm. This time it was 24 x 24 x 15 mm. That's nearly half a centimeter in difference.



That would be a difference. That is a visible difference.

If I had any faith at all in the radiologist, then that would be shattered by this sentence in his report.

"There has been no change in the size of the ventricular system and the continued presence of the VP shunt catheter, the tip of which is difficult to delineate on MRI."

NO KIDDING. You can't find his shunt? That's because HE DOESN'T HAVE A SHUNT. So how could there be no change in the shunt when there isn't one?

This is why it is so important to have a doctor who can read the films himself. If not for my neurosurgeon's ability to read films, I wouldn't have even known Austin had a brain tumor. If your doctor cannot read films, then you are relying completely on the radiologist, who may or may not being doing drugs while exposing himself to radiation.

I see our neurosurgeon on Friday.

So we hold our breath until then.

I LIVE In A Soup Kitchen

No word on Austin's report. I called the second time at 4pm and it was still in transcriptions.

Just give me the radiologist's notes and I'll type them myself.

That's how I took home his first MRI findings. Handwritten.

I'll just drive over there tomorrow with all the kids. That always seems to work for me.

Make yourselves at home, kiddos, while we wait.

Meanwhile, I stopped napping the kids 10 days ago to get them adjusted to not napping so they could go to afternoon kindergarten. We have had virtually no adjustment at all. They go to bed at 8pm now and sleep between 7 and 8 in the morning.

So I napped my kids all the way to kindergarten. Do I get an award? A high five? A back hand spring?

It can be done. It can be done.

Greg is having a hard time adjusting. The days he's been home, he nods off in his recliner while the kids figure out how to torture him.

"Why is Daddy napping? Is he a baby?", Gregory wanted to know.

I've had virtually NO down time without naps, so I've been thinking of all the things I want to do with my four hours off a week once the kids start school. Oh, the possibilities of what I can accomplish in four hours is almost endless.

So when we went swimming at our neighbor's a couple nights ago, when his daughter asked me what I had planned for my time off, I was all prepared to answer. Her daughter is the same age as Austin and she will also be starting preschool in a four hour program this year. She is a stay at home mom too and this will be her first break. They are visiting from Portland.

"Oh, wow, I'm going to go to lunch by myself and buy bras and get someone to work on my pig hooves, I mean feet. What are you going to do?", I asked.

"I'm volunteering in a soup kitchen. At that time of the day, it's mostly clean up."

I wish each and every one of you could have been there to see my expression.

"I live in a soup kitchen, so I'm going to branch out."

You people from Oregon are IN-SANE.

I'd really love to spend some more time serving food to people and then cleaning it up, but I've got to get my girls harnessed back up before they are down by my navel, and that's something I just can't do with four kids in a dressing room stall. Are you feeling me?

We've got to have our priorities.

When I get six hours a week, I'll look into soup kitchens. I might be bored then.

Austin Went On A Rocket Ship

I woke Austin up and carried him out of his room today, and told him we were going to the doctor and he started crying.

"Am I going to get a shot?"

I told him he was and then he really started crying and he wouldn't put his clothes on. Greg came in and tried to help me get him dressed and out to the car. He cried all the way there.

I reassured him that it would only hurt for a second and he could pick out any donut he wanted when we were done. He stopped crying for about 10 seconds while he thought about that.

We've been having all his MRIs done at Nevada Imaging. They aren't covered under the HMO portion of my policy anymore, so I'm paying way more out of pocket, but it is SO worth it. He has to be sedated for the scan and the only place my HMO will cover now is in a hospital setting. My two experiences getting MRIs in the hospital with him were dismal. It takes hours and hours. They actually check us in and give us a room, and then we have to wait for 2 to 3 hours before anyone even gets around to sedating him. The whole process takes 6 to 7 hours.

At Nevada Imaging, we go in, and we are the only people waiting for sedation. So we get a room to ourselves with the same nurse and same anesthesiologist that we've seen the last 4 times. He's sedated Austin five times now. The whole process takes 2 hours. Even though it took me 2 months to get an appointment this time, it's so less traumatic for Austin that it is well worth the extra money.

Not to mention that they have the best and newest MRI machine in the state. There's that too. Not all MRI machines are equal. I'll talk about that another time.

So when Austin saw the nurse he's seen so many times before, he stopped crying and even started joking around with her. She's a really, really good nurse.

I had to sign new forms this time saying I understand that the contrast used in MRIs, called gadolinium, has been given the strongest black box warning from the FDA, because it's been discovered to cause renal failure and Nephrogenic Fibrosis Dermopathy, which is some horrible disease where your skin thickens to the point you can't move and become paralyzed.

Sweet. Shoot my kid up with that.

Everything was going well until the anesthesiologist entered the room and Austin started crying and freaking out. He knew exactly what was coming. This time there were two nurses and the doctor, so instead of trying to help the nurse hold him down, I stood up and over to the side and held his hand. He didn't fight the two nurses nearly the way he fights when I'm holding him, so they were able to get the needle in very quickly and he stopped crying right away.

In fact he was so cooperative, they let him get up and walk by himself into the MRI room. All the other times he was so upset that as soon as they got the IV in, they put him out. He got right up and walked in there and let them put him on the table and put his oxygen on. He didn't even look for me. They hooked him all up and then put him out.

As soon as he woke up, he said, "I went in a rocket ship."

The Good Nurse told him that the MRI machine was a spaceship that took his picture. Then he demanded to see his picture. And he demanded to walk out. Then he refused to let me carry him into Starbuck's to get his donut and chocolate milk and he fell down inside because he was still loopy, and he was still in the belligerent stage of inebriation.

Then he sobered up and the minute he got home, he told everyone that he'd been in a rocket ship and had a donut.

"Did you see Mars and Jupiter and Venus?", the other kids wanted to know.

"I had a breathing tube in outer space and I had chocolate milk.", he bragged.

Which made Amanda irate and now she's demanding that she have an MRI and go to outer space too. How about I send her to the moon?

His ventricles look fantastic, so his hydrocephalus is under control. None of that black stuff should be there in the middle. That's cerebral spinal fluid. But given the fact his brain used to look like this:

He is a remarkable succes for the surgery he had, endoscopic third ventriculostomy. Notice the difference in detail between those two pictures? That's not just bad photography. That's the difference in detail between an old machine and a new machine. It's why the radiologist missed the GOLF BALL sized tumor right in the middle of his brain the first time he had an MRI.



His tumor is still there. It's the large round lighter area in the middle of his brain. I can't tell if it's changed. I'm going to go over and get the report tomorrow. His brain looks so good though. I am so happy with his brain appearance.

I am so happy that he thinks he went on a rocket ship too. This is such a relief to me. Thank you all so much for keeping him in your prayers. It means a lot to me.

I Hate This

Austin has his MRI today at 7am.

While I'm not expecting to see a difference in his brain tumor, I am a bundle of nerves.

I hate that he will never not have memories of being held down while someone gouges him with a needle, while he screams and screams.

I hate it.

I absolutely hate it.

I hate that he gets shot up with contrast every six months. Who knows what it's doing to him? You can hardly watch cable television without seeing class action lawsuits about it.

I hate that I have lost count of how many MRIs he's had in his four short years. Six? Seven?

I hate that someday he'll know he has a brain tumor.

I Hope Kindergarten Is Still Fun

I found out on Friday that my children will have 25 kids in their class. Last year, the PM kindergarten class only had 18 kids. But we still only have one kindergarten teacher and we expanded our zoning.

I went and pulled out my kindergarten class picture and I had 23 kids in my class.



Guess which one is me?

I went back and counted all of my classes from kindergarten to eighth grade and I always had between 22 and 31 children in my class. So at what point did the government decide that the answer to our education problems was smaller classroom sizes? We certainly didn't have smaller classes in the 70s.

We are almost a week away from the kids starting school, and looking at the kindergarten picture made me think about my first year. I didn't go to preschool, so going to kindergarten was the first time I had ever been away from home (home being my grandparent's house, because that's where I was during the day because my parents worked.)

I can remember riding my purple banana seat bike to school and my grandfather would follow behind me in the car. My parents must have used my grandparent's address for zoning, so I could go to the school right by their house.

I can remember chasing a boy named Robbie around on the playground. I would catch him and throw him on the ground and kiss him and he would cry. He's the fourth boy from the left in the second row. This technique continued working for me through my twenties. It's how I bagged Greg.

I can remember eating paste.

I can remember learning about ABCs and I still have all my ABC workbooks. I already knew how to read, but I still enjoyed it.

I sat next to a girl whose fingers were deformed. I can remember my mom telling me it was from a drug her mother took for morning sickness while she was pregnant. She was my bestfriend. She's the first child on the right in the second row.

And that's pretty much all we did, and all I remember about kindergarten. I was in the PM class. My grandmother would make me take a shower after lunch, because I would play outside all morning.

I never felt like I was ever under any academic pressure. Kindergarten was a lot of fun for me. I hope that it's fun for my kids and they have light-hearted memories too. I loved school. I mean, I really, really, really loved school.

I sure hope they haven't taken all the fun out of it. Or maybe that's where they went wrong?

Saying Goodbye To Ms. Pat

Today, with great sadness, I will attend the funeral of my children's former preschool teacher. Ms. Pat loved children. When she was diagnosed with stage IV inflammatory breast cancer in 2005, she continued to come to class.

I used to wonder how she did it? How could she possibly put herself in that room with all those runny nosed children while undergoing chemo? She taught the three year old class. I was sick almost the entire first year they were in school.

But it didn't seem to effect her. She rarely missed a class. Sometimes I could visibly detect that she wasn't feeling well, and I would tell the kids that they should be especially nice to her that day.

When she came back to teach Austin at the beginning of last year's school year, she was much weaker. When she finally announced she wouldn't be back after Christmas break, we were all devastated.

She loved children so much. I can't say that enough. They were her life. She had already worked for almost four years with cancer and chemo and she proved all the statistics wrong.

This article was written about Ms. Pat. I'm copying and pasting it here today in hopes that someone might someday google the symptoms Ms. Pat had and find information that could help them.

Inflammatory breast cancer has some characteristics that set it apart from more typical forms. Eye on Health spoke with a local expert who says the symptoms are often ignored.

At first, Las Vegas pre-school teacher, Pat Wintermute developed what she thought was a simple infection on her breast. "I was denying it. Nobody wants to think that they have breast cancer."

But it continued to get larger and was unresponsive to antibiotics. She was eventually diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer, or IBC.

"I had not heard of it prior to my own condition," said Wintermute.

Wintermute's oncologist, Hamidreza Sanatinia says that IBC is often mistaken by patients to be a rash or common infection.

"You might not see a mass. You might not see a lump. But the skin, you might notice some changes in the skin. They used to call it orange skin," said Dr. Sanatinia.

IBC is a fast-moving form of cancer.

"Stage 4 means that the patients unfortunately have metastasis, the involvement of cancer in other parts of the body," said Dr. Sanatinia.

Symptoms of IBC include: swelling, usually sudden with one breast much larger than the other; a pink, red, or dark colored area sometimes with texture similar to the skin of an orange; and the breast may be warm or painful to the touch.

As with more typical forms of breast cancer, early detection greatly increases the chances for survival.

Wintermute was diagnosed in 2005, and although she's still undergoing treatment, she has been able to continue teaching.

She always told us parents at every holiday party and at the end of the year, "Thank YOU for letting me teach your children."

She made a big impact on my kids and on me. Thank YOU, Ms. Pat. Part of you will live on in my children.

My Children Act Like They Don't Know Each Other

I met two other triplet moms, Laura and Cathy, and their seven children to go swimming at the Henderson Multigenerational Activity Pool yesterday. It's such a gorgeous facility. I've never taken them to a community pool before because I didn't think I could keep track of them.

And I couldn't.

Which was a little stressful. I was trying to keep a close eye on Austin. He wanted to hang out in the shallow water under the water features.

The other three wanted to go on the slide.

This is probably the only picture where the three of them are standing together. My children do not stay with each other. Laura's triplets stay right with each other and were practically glued to her.

My triplets don't even act like they know each other.

"Oh, hey. Do I know you from somewhere? Did we share the same womb?"

They seem to have no fear at all of being alone. Which is probably a super great trait to have, but does not work for me at all at a gigantic community pool with two unattended exits and locker rooms out of my line of vision.

When I couldn't find Amanda at all, all I could think is what if someone had grabbed her and had her in one of the locker rooms? That is just such a yucky scary feeling to not be able to find your child. I don't like it.

I was telling my sister about it later and she told me that I should assign them to each other and they MUST stay together. She said her friend that has eight children does that. Everyone must stay with one other person. I'm going to try it. Any other ideas?

But other than that issue, it was a really fun time.

It was really awesome to see Cathy's son wading through the pool.

Matthew was never supposed to be able to walk according to the doctors. He was never even supposed to be alive. Cathy's water broke on him when he was 12 weeks. Over and over they told Cathy that Matthew would not live. Cathy gave birth to her triplets at 27 weeks. Matthew went 15 weeks without any water in his sac.

But he's walking. He's super smart. He is not letting anything slow him down. Her other two boys are up on the slide in the second picture. It was just a delight to see him cruising around in the pool.

Then Laura's husband, Mr. Don, showed up and he is like the Pied Piper.



My rats came out of nowhere and were on him like glue.



So it was another successful outing. I didn't lose anyone and nobody drowned.

Do First Impressions Really Last A Lifetime?

I could no longer take the suspense of not knowing when my children were going to school. Morning or afternoon. Morning or afternoon. When was Austin going to go? Morning or afternoon. Was I going to spend a whole nuther year getting four kids in the car just to drop off Austin?

It's been eating at me. Day after day after day after day.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. So I drove over to the preschool and found out that Austin did win the lottery enrollment and we are in.

What a relief. He'll be going on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 3pm. He might be in Friday too, but that has yet to be decided.

And, yes. That's four hours a week. Austin can do any single kindergarten worksheet I print out. We were doing a Kumon worksheet last week, where you count nickels and write the amount of money represented in a box. I wasn't even paying attention to him because I was working with the other kids. I looked over and he had scrawled the correct answers outside of the boxes, because he can't write that small yet. But he had them all right.

He can read all the beginning phonics books.

I am not sending him to preschool to get an education. I just want him to continue getting a little classroom experience.

So I left there and drug all the kids into the school office and interrupted Super Sloth's lunch. She was stuffing a ginormous burrito in her face when we walked in. Oh, yes, she was eating. That's a new one.

I was on a mission. I was on such a mission, I didn't notice that Gregory didn't hold the door open for Amanda when we walked in and it slammed her in the face.

Oh, no. I marched in there and said, "HEEEELLLLLLOOOOO, ladies. How's lunch? I need to know today if my kids are in afternoon class. Can you tell me that? Gosh, those burritos look awesome."

Let me tell you. Super Sloth was in a good mood, because she dropped the Mexican food and smiled and told me that they were in afternoon.

While all that was going on, Amanda had fallen to the floor. clutching her nose and the side of her head, but I hadn't even noticed.

Then the principal, who I never met before, popped in and I said, "HEEELLLLOOOO there! I'm Michele S and these are my children and they are attending your school this year! It's so great to finally meet you."

Do you ever come out of your bat cave?

That's when I noticed Amanda on the floor.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"It STINKS in here. Oooooohhhhh. It stinks in here. This school smells", she said, looking at Super Sloth's burrito, and then she started bawling.

Do first impressions really last a lifetime? Or is that some cheesy commercial?

Let's not get crazy obsessive about that though.........

I'm getting four hours a week to myself!!! Whatcha gonna do with all that time?

When People Think Of Me, They Think "Community Service"

I had a mother's helper from the time the children were 9 months old, until right before they turned three. She worked three days a week from 3pm-7pm, and her sole responsibility was to entertain the children.

While she did that, I would take care of Austin, make dinner, and clean up from dinner. So things ran like a nice tidy machine on those days. She gave the kids her absolute undivided attention, which meant they got spoiled to death, and I got peace and quiet because I would have her take them outside.

So the most amazing thing happened. I got a new mother's helper! And get this. She isn't a witch. After having Kindra for so long, I sort of thought all mother's helpers called in sick with snake bites and asked for Halloween off.



And even better than having your mother's helper cast a good behavior spell on your kids, this new mother's helper is FREE. My neighbor called on Monday and told me that her 12 year old daughter must complete 20 hours of community service for social studies. So could she be my mother's helper?

Who better to help in the community than the poor mother of triplets? SIGN ME UP AT SCHOOL. I'll be the poster child for community service.

When my neighbor first asked me, I thought I really didn't need a mother's helper anymore. My kids are 5.5 years old. What would I have her do? I haven't had someone in my house working for me for 2.5 years. Would it be weird?

Oh, by golly, it's not weird. It's absolutely fricking fantastic. I have no problem whatsoever telling someone what I want them to do. I immediately put her to work reading to the kids. They played in their rooms with her. They laughed and laughed. Then I had her play board games with them. They laughed and laughed and cried.

We all know how much board games suck, so I figure she is really earning her service hours. This is going to be so good for her. I'm almost certain this experience with my children will go further in terms of "birth control" than any other method available.

While all the was going on, I leisurely made a chicken casserole and a salad. Then I read the paper. When her mother came to get her, I had the table set and dinner ready to serve, and I hadn't dealt with one single catastrophe or battle. It was just so insanely civilized.

Can you believe I get 18 more hours???????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My sister has had a horrible time finding community service hours for my nephew's school requirement. She ran into a lot of dead ends trying to locate suitable volunteer jobs. She wasn't willing to just drop her 12 year old off at food shelters, and a lot of people wouldn't take anyone his age due to legal or insurance restrictions.

"Do you know what's going to happen now that your name is out there?", she asked me. "All the parents are going to call you. You'll have the kids lined up at your house to help."

I'm swooning. Did I just win the lottery?

Preventing Stinky Kid Feet

My kids have stinky feet.

Their shoes have to be washed and dried.

I know I'm not the only parent with kids whose feet stink, because someone I know (who will remain nameless) child told my kids, "Smell my stinky feet."

They told me about it in the car.

"_____ told us his feet stink and he told us to smell 'em. Ewwwwwwww.", then they all started laughing.

I took the kids shoe shopping yesterday and got suckered into buying Amanda a pair of trendy shoes. I don't buy trendy stuff, then I gave birth to Amanda.



She spotted these outside of a store window and before I knew it, (CHA CHING), I had bought them. I may have to go back to work just to keep her in shoes and clothes someday.

These are not worn with socks, so I calculate that they will begin to stink in a week.

BUT I have the solution for stinky feet. This stuff prevents ALL foot odor, no matter how vile and repugnant.

It's called Certain Dri Feet Microsponge Powder. You can buy it here for $7.45. It prevents odor by not allowing bacteria to grow in your shoes that cause foot odor. So it is not just a powder that masks odor. It actually prevents odor.

I've been using it in all of our shoes over the summer and it one hundred percent prevents ANY odor. It's like a miracle. I just sprinkle it in about once a week and so far, no stench.

If I can figure out anything to make my car smell better after a 39 hour car trip, I'll let you know.

Chinatown Smells Weird, Mom

"Oh my GAWD!", Sarah said as we entered our first Asian supermarket in Chinatown and saw all the live crabs in a bin, waving their claws around.

"Shhhhhhhh. Don't take the Lord's name in vain.", I hissed at her. "Say gosh. Oh my gosh."

I'm really not raising complete heathens, in case anyone is wondering.

I took the kids Asian supermarket hopping in an attempt to acquire cheap ingredients for gluten free flour, and it turned into a three hour tour, as we went up and down every aisle, and the kids gawked at all the alive, semi-dead, and dead marine life for sale. They were totally into it.

If I was into killing and gutting my own fish, they have some smoking deals too. Maybe I'll take Jerry with me next time. He likes to kill things. Live tilapia swimming around in a fish tank are only $4.99 a pound.

"Chinatown smells weird, Mom.", Gregory told me while holding his nose by the semi-dead crawfish.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...ttt. You caught one of those in Michigan, remember?"

"But we threw it back in. Daddy said people don't eat those."

I was in Chinatown looking for brown rice, sweet glutinous (which is made from sticky rice), and tapioca flour. I didn't find any brown rice flour in three different places. I could only find white. But the tapioca flour and sweet glutinous flour were only 99 cents a pound.

I spent the entire weekend baking and mixing flour.

I'm trying to make my own flour for two reasons. One, I know I can assemble the raw ingredients for less. Secondly, I'm unhappy with the fiber and nutritional content of the pre-assembled gluten free flours. Most are comprised of cornstarch and white rice flour, which literally has no fiber whatsoever and zero nutrition. Since I've put Amanda on a gluten free diet, I really want to make sure she is getting enough fiber, because I'm afraid she'll get constipated again.

I'm on my third blend and here is where I'm at right now with an all purpose flour that would replace evenly with regular flour.

3 cups brown rice flour (fiber in brown)
2 cups sorghum flour (this adds protein, iron, and fiber)
1 1/2 cups tapioca flour
1 1/2 cups potato starch
1/2 cup almond meal (adds protein and calcium)
1/2 cup hasa marina flour (this is corn flour used to make corn tortillas and in the Mexican aisle at any grocery store. It adds moisture.)
8 tsp xantham gum

So far I've made two loaves of bread. Amanda and Gregory ate french toast from one loaf yesterday morning, but Amanda would not eat it at lunch with peanut butter and jelly. She didn't like the texture.

I also made pancakes, chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, and crepes. Those were gobbled down by everyone and nobody noticed anything.

I'm going to keep on keeping on. I know I can figure out the bread thing.

Amanda seems to be doing well. She hasn't had any uncontrollable crying jags in the last 3 days and has been unusually pleasant. She is also really into trying not to eat wheat. We talked about it, and she is shunning it completely.

Greg, on the other hand, was banging cupboards around like an angry bear last night. I guess not everyone likes rice crackers and trail mix. Guess he can't tell me HE buys all the groceries anymore, can he???? I wonder what he would do if I came home with 10 pounds of crawfish?

The Sun Is Not THAT Bad

Did anyone read the article published last week that 7 out of 10 children lack sufficient Vitamin D?

The children lacking vitamin D were found to also have poor bone growth, high blood pressure, low calcium levels, and less good cholesterol.

Vitamin D is actually a hormone and it comes from the sun. We actually NEED the sun to survive. The sun has been so villianized over the past decade for causing skin cancer that people aren't letting their kids get in it or they are lathering them up with so much sun screen that they still aren't getting enough vitamin D.

Or their kids just aren't playing outside anymore. Or drinking vitamin D fortified milk.

Here's where I interject that I can say with a hundred percent accuracy that my kids do not lack in vitamin D. I haven't used an entire bottle of sunscreen on all five of us this summer. I do not put sunscreen on them every day. The only time they get sunscreen is if I know they will be in the direct sun in the middle of the day for more than 20 minutes.

If you have darker skin, your child needs even more than 20 minutes to absorb adequate amounts of vitamin D.

The sun is important for our health in moderate amounts. Don't be afraid to let your child get some sun.

I'm shooing mine outside right now. Go eat breakfast outside kiddos and get your vitamin D.

Austin Fell Off A Polar Bear And Landed In A Cactus Garden

A few months ago, the kids and Greg were exploring through the desert when they came upon a polar bear.



The kids were so excited by this find, they convinced Greg to haul it back to the house where he dumped it in our rock and cactus garden.

After it had been out front for a few weeks, our retired neighbor Andy came over to bring us produce from his garden and spied our polar bear.

"Hey? Did Jo give you my bear? I made that in college in an art class."

I've lived next to Andy and Jo for 13 years, so I would NEVER accuse Jo of dumping her husband's beloved bear in the desert, but that's where we found it. Cough. Cough. Cough. I'm sure there is some perfectly valid explanation how after 40 years of marital bliss that bear ended up in the desert. I don't know what it is, but I'm sure there is one. Right, Jo?

So I asked Andy if he wanted it back, but given the attachment the kids had formed to it, he graciously agreed it looked better in front of our house instead of his.

While I was at my monthly triplet mom dinner Thursday night, Austin was standing on the polar bear, and took a nose dive into the saguaro cactus then bounced off that and landed in the barrel cactus, causing huge thorny spines to break off in his leg and hand.



From what I've been told, there was a tremendous amount of blood and crying. After Greg and Jerry operated on Austin, trying to remove the thorns, Amanda told me that she got him his blanket and monkey, and Sarah read books to him.

I had no idea any of this was going on. Greg never even called me.

When Austin got up yesterday, his hand and leg were swollen and he wouldn't walk. It was just awful.

I immediately got on the phone and called my friend Misti, whose bestfriend is a dermatologist and I got Austin in right away. We had to hold him down while they shot him up with a numbing agent and she then was able to extract the remaining thorns from his leg.

He fought so hard when the needle was in his leg that he bent it right in half. OUCH. My poor baby. It was really, really terrible and he gets his MRI on the 17th and he's going to hate it so much.

Honestly, I don't know what to do with my gentle giant. He is getting himself hurt CONSTANTLY.

I'm going to chalk this one up to a natural consequence though. Don't tangle with polar bears and cacti, cuz you're bound to get hurt.

I'm Getting All Disenfranchised

My children start school on August 24th and I've yet to get anything from the school telling me anything. All of my friends have gotten their children's welcome packets and classroom assignments, but not me.

My friend Cathy got her triplet's classroom assignment and they had put two in the morning class and one in the afternoon class. So she had to call them and try and get them all moved into afternoon.

"Are you going to send the bus to my house four times a day?", she asked.

I finally couldn't stand the lack of information and went over to the school. The same lady I yelled at for cleaning her purse instead of helping me, refused to even look up and acknowledge me when I walked in. For the sake of the blog, we'll refer to her as Super Sloth from now on. Then she huffed and puffed when she had to get up and go get me a supply list so I can start shopping while stuff is ON SALE.

My only goal over the next eight years is to get her sorry ass fired.

She said that the principal hasn't decided classroom placement yet and to not expect it next week, but possibly the week after. OMG. Can you imagine if you worked and didn't know if your child would be in morning kindergarten or afternoon? How would you figure out daycare?

Meanwhile, despite my concern over the rezoning of our school and the fact that the zoning board failed to count nearly 100 children coming in due to inner city busing, and the fact everyone assured me they had their numbers right and they weren't putting too many kids in our school, while we were gone, they loaded our playground up with mobile teaching units.

DID I SAY THEY WERE PUTTING TOO MANY KIDS IN OUR SCHOOL OR DID I SAY IT?

So I had to chuckle when I read an article in the paper about African-American activists getting all pissy that West Las Vegas children are having to go to school in trailers. They want a big piece of the economic recovery money to build additions at their overcrowded schools and have been showing up at all the board meetings and making a big stink about it.

Well, what about MY 100 black kids? They're going to be going to school in trailers too!! I want some economic recovery money, dammit. If all I have to do is show up at board meetings and make a big stink and get a new building, I'm all over that!

DON'T MAKE ME GET ALL DISENFRANCHISED.

What's the number for the ACLU?

As if all of that wasn't enough to give me the vapors, I have no idea where Austin is going to preschool. I have a plan, then three back up plans, because I'm a PLANNER.

1. If I win the lottery system for enrollment for the preschool they were all in last year, he will go from 1-3 pm on Tuesday and Thursday and be in class with 30 kids and two teachers. Cost. $90 per month. This is 5 more kids in each class and a half an hour less of instruction than last year due to budget cuts. I have no idea if he will get in. They are pulling 90 names out. It's like gambling. It's a city of Las Vegas program, what can I say.

2. Or I could try to get him in a different community center that would be from 1 - 4pm on Tuesday and Thursdays with 20 kids and one teacher. Cost. $250 per 3 month session. Problem is it runs on year round track and doesn't start until October.

3. Or I could send him to an LDS lady who started her own preschool 2 miles from our house on Mon, Wed, Fri from 9-12, with 10 kids and one teacher. Cost $300 per month. For triple the money, I will never get a break because the other kids will be in afternoon kindergarten. Maybe. Super Sloth won't tell me.

4. Or I could send him to a different Mormon lady who runs a preschool in her house from 9-11:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Cost. $100 per month. 8 kids in her class. It's quite a drive though and that would suck and I still wouldn't get a break. Plus, I'm really not quite comfortable with the whole "in someone's house" thing.

Vapors. Vapors.

School is turning into the "S" word.

So should I call the district and find out why my school won't tell me whether my kids are in morning or afternoon kindergarten? Or should I go directly to the ACLU and tell them I am disenfranchised?

I Need To Purge

Literally 10 minutes before we were getting in the car and leaving Michigan, the furniture people called and said they were at Grammy's condo to deliver her furniture.


We lived for 2 weeks in a 900 square foot condo with no furniture. And you know what? I was happy. We brought no toys. I had no stress. I had a very small area to keep clean.

Why do we think that the key to happiness is to get bigger and bigger homes and acquire more and more stuff? Because my kids don't even need toys at all. And I really don't need to clean more space.

My friend Laurie called me while I was there, stressing about what to get her daughter Ava for her fourth birthday, because all her other friend's kids have everything.

We have "everything" and they don't even play with it. They move it around and dump it. Please people. Learn from me. Don't buy all the crap. The kids don't need it. I brought five pair of clothes for the whole trip too, and you know what? That's all we need.

So over the next couple weeks, I'm getting rid of some stuff. Oh, yes. There will be a purging going on over here! We make our lives so much more complicated than they are.

Speaking of complicated, after buying a couch and sending it back, then spending 5 days picking out another couch, and waiting 2 weeks to get it, Grammy's couch has a big mark across the front.

It seems like a defect in the fabric. They came out and looked at it and told her that it might "settle" down in a year.

What?????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Come get your stuff, Mr. Furniture Man, we don't really need that couch anyway.

While I Was Sleeping, The Rocky Mountains Died

Last year we when drove to Michigan, we drove through the Rockies in the middle of the night so we didn't get to see them. Then when we drove out three weeks ago, we drove all night and missed them again.

My motivation for pulling over in Nebraska and spending a few hours sleeping on Sunday was to see the Rockies during the day. The last time we were through them was when we spent a year traveling around in a motorhome in 2002.

I wanted to point out the old mines and talk about Colorado's mining history.

I wanted to take them through all the tunnels, like the Eisenhower Tunnel and talk about the engineering marvel.

I wanted to point out the ski resorts.

I wanted to show them the beginnings of the Colorado River, where our all of our water comes from.

And I did. We showed them it all.

What I wasn't prepared for was the death.


I didn't see it last year because it was dark. Mile upon mile upon mile upon mile of dead and dying trees, spanning 1.5 million acres. Whole entire mountain ranges ------ dead, all of the lodgepole pines are dying or already dead. If you've waited all of your life to see the Rocky Mountains, you waited too long.

I've seen this devastation before in Utah and Northern Arizona, so I knew it was the mountain pine beetle. But to see so much land gone, was such an emotional and sobering experience.

We pulled over at a visitor center in Eagle and I talked to the lady there, and asked her if maybe the infestation was abating and if anything could be done to save the remaining forests? Tears welled up in her eyes and she said, "No. We've lost our forests. Our lodgepole pine is gone for my generation. There's nothing we can do."

There are 1.7 million acres of lodgepole pine in Colorado and 1.5 million is infected. The pine beetles carry bluestain fungus on their body and legs. When the beetle bores into the trees, the fungus multiplies and spreads inside the wood. The fungus then prevents the transport of water up the tree's trunk and the tree, unable to get nourishment, dies. The needles turn red, then fall off.

I can't imagine what will happen when it all starts burning.

The big resorts are trying to save the high value trees in their ski areas, but each tree has to be completely sprayed from the bottom all the way to the top, and if anything is missed, the beetle will get in so it would be impossible to try and save nearly 2 million acres. Now the epidemic is spreading to Wyoming, the Black Hills, and Glacier National Park. Rocky Mountain National Park is heavily infected, with many campgrounds closing or closed due to risk of falling trees.

So why is it happening? Drought. Climate change. Unhealthy old overgrown forests. Fire suppression. Before the 1870s, an acre would hold approximately 25 to 45 trees due to natural fires that wiped out seedlings and left mature trees. Now there are twice that number on an acre. Once we stopped allowing fires to occur naturally, the forests became much denser. It also takes approximately 5 days of temperatures of minus 30 degrees to kill the beetle larvae and it just hasn't been getting cold enough. Add to that, old stressed trees due to drought and you have our current epidemic.

So now the question is how to handle the removal and use of 1.5 million acres of bluestained wood? Colorado is working on it, but it hardly has the infrastructure or funds to handle anything on the scale they are seeing. The dead trees have to come down within a year of dying or the wood is useless.

The new landscape will likely be much more diversified than the forest we know now, as it's unlikely that lodgepole pine will ever make a full recovery. As the trees continue to die, Colorado must brace itself for a huge economic impact in tourism, fires, and watershed protection.


I can remember back in 2002, we decided to not go all the way to Glacier National Park, instead opting to go home and go another time. I can remember Greg saying, "This might have been are only chance to see it before it's all gone."
We never did get up there. Sigh.
I'm so glad the kids saw the Rockies in the daytime. It probably won't look the same until they take their grandchildren someday.