TWO HUNDRED FIFTY ONE…cold white fluffy stuff

Before I delve into tonight’s post, I wanted to let everyone know that it is official. My computer and I have parted ways. After 6 long intimate years, my MacBook Pro from 2012 has chosen a much more simpler life of playing educational DVDs and providing services in terms of educational games as well as mind-numbing games, to three little giggly girls. In my mind, I have created a beautiful montage of magical moments of the MacBook and myself together complete with amazing music. It is a great visual. Wish you could see it.

Without further ado, and with Snowden’s ‘Black Eyes’ gently serenading me in the background, I bring you this evenings post…which technically, was written over the weekend. But I was extremely busy laying around and just couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to hit the publish button.

I was in college when I first learned about the term sensory processing disorder.

Halfway through the middle of my first semester I wrote a research paper on my findings regarding tactile issues, for the special education course I was taking. Because of this assignment I was able to identify or make sense of my odd proclivity for scratchy materials against my skin. Of course, with the powerful information I had uncovered about myself, I didn’t seek rehabilitation.  Rather, I used it as a way to excuse some of my peculiarities.

Like the time I just had to have those $80 brown leather Oluki flip flops. They had this incredibly gorgeous design on the footbed…you know, the part of the shoe no one ever sees. I needed them to be mine.

Fast forward to the day I paid for and brought them home. As soon as I slid my feet in I had this twinge of buyers remorse, which of course I chose to ignore. This nagging feeling in the back of my mind telling me the ‘all leather’ footbed, because it was slick, wasn’t going to be my favorite shoe.

Rather than returning the extravagant purchase, I convinced myself they just needed to be “broken in”.

I won’t tell you how one year later, I took them to our local resale shop, barely worn to be sold for a measly $15 dollars, because who in their right mind pays more than $15 dollars for a pair of flip flops for everyday wear?

Certainly not a native Floridian.

During this time of year, my sensory issues become more apparent. Just like the time I first tried on the flip flops and immediately took them off to scrape my foot on the cement sidewalk, I replace all of our 200 ply cotton bed sheets with rough flannel sheets and a scratchy heavyweight electric blankets. I pull out my old scratchy wool sweaters and purchase a brand new set of stiff socks. It probably goes without saying, but every year I enjoy knitting a set of hats, gloves, and scarves out of the itchiest 3~ply wool or mohair yarn I can find. And I cannot forget my most coveted winter apparel must have item, the one and only heavy pea coat.

So basically if it’s high in texture, I’m all in.

If I’m being honest with myself, I prefer scratchy cotton sheets all year long. Hence the measly 200 thread count sheets. In the summer I like heavy-weight canvas shorts, scratchy cotton tee shirts, and of course, now we are all aware, the scratchier the shoes, the better.

I don’t know what makes me this way, any more than I know why certain people have PICA.

All I know, is that if it’s lightweight, and silky soft against my skin, this girl is NOT INTERESTED!

And yes, before you ask, I do like weighted blankets at night.

All this to preface the real point of this story which is to explain why I spent half of my Monday morning looking for the girls snow suits in the basement. After last years experience in the northwestern Michigan snow, I vaguely recall storing the fancy snow suits I found on consignment, in the basement.

Yet, I also vaguely recall taking them to my favorite local consignment store in town after Phoebe and Cecilia kept dragging them out in the middle of June, just because they were laying around, demanding we find a snow hill.

Who knows if I actually reconsigned them or not but one thing is for certain, the bin I thought they were in, sits in the corner of my very own painting room with all the other empty bins. So, pajamas underneath jeans and sweatshirts to keep the kids warm while playing in the snow it is.

The kids on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Fall and get your pants wet? No biggie. Get smacked in the face with a powerful snowball thrown by Daddy, while I’m sure it hurt, still no problem. Wear long socks with rain boots and feel your feet frost over…they can handle it. “We’re fine Mom…we don’t feel anything and it’s really not even that cold outside” my oldest insisted while the snot dangling from her nose began to solidify.

“Okay fine” I said as I withdrew myself from the bleak conditions of the frigid outdoors to the warmth of our car, where I continued to watch my lovely children frolic in the snow with their purple lips.

The skin tight silky smooth moisture wicking workout gear from their spring and fall wardrobe didn’t seem to bother them or deter their spirits in any way. Obviously, if my only choice was my adult version of the kids workout clothes underneath my jeans/sweatshirts, I wouldn’t be able to partake in all of the fun without throwing myself on the ground and thrashing up against a rose bush or a rock hill. I would need those waffle knit long johns my mom used to make me wear underneath the puke green snow coveralls and matching jacket. But then again, lucky for them, they are not me.

Sadly, two hours later, all that beautiful white fluffy stuff was gone. But, for three whole hours in the frigid grey weather, fun was had by all.

TWO HUNDRED FORTY EIGHT…really scary stuff

I am quietly obsessed with Unknown Mortal Orchestra, a band I have recently discovered. I enjoy all their music but my favorites are Hunnybee and Everyone Acts Crazy Now Days.

I write “quietly” because I am exploring music on my headphones while putting CC down for a nap. It’s really great toe tapping music. I feel like I need a disco ball and swivel office chair when listening to this band.

Twirl twirl twirl.

Swivel swivel swivel.

Twirl, swivel, twirl twirl.

Speaking of putting Cecilia down for a nap, lately I just fall right to sleep after story time. My whole “pretending” to go to sleep so she’ll settle down is backfiring on me in a big way. So in an attempt to stay awake during yesterday’s siesta, I caught myself thinking about…if you thought to yourself, ” I bet she was thinking about the horror film The Exorcist”…you would be correct.

I used to be enamored with the horror film genre.

For the longest time, The Exorcist was my all time favorite movie. Of course there was The Shining, Poltergeist, The Omen, Rosemary’s Baby, and whatever else used to keep me and my girlfriends up and scared out of our gourds all weekend long. I don’t know how we managed to survive. We could probably send a thank you card to Pizza Hut and Mountain Dew for starters.

But honestly, I cannot count the number of times I have seen the classic of all classics and suffice it to say, every time that little girls head turns the whole way around and I hear the crunching and breaking of bones in the background, every hair on my being stands straight up.

It never disappoints.

Yes there were more for sure but The Exorcist, for me, was the one that launched my fondness for an honest to goodness guttural scream and consequently the standard for all horror films I would ever be exposed to.

And then I had children. Not chicken as my computer spellcheck wants me to writealthough I probably had a lot of chicken during those times as well.

When I became pregnant, my psyche went through a strange transformation of invincibility to fragility all at once.

I no longer wanted to know or be associated with anything unsavory. I didn’t want to think about death in any of its forms including vindictive justice, which made it very difficult to watch anything from Martin Scorsese, whom I enjoyed immensely.

Through the years I have reconciled with my psyche on certain forms of “death in cinema” and ever so slowly, have begun my journey back to the dark side. And luckily for me I have come to my senses about Martin Scorsese.

But to this day, I absolutely cannot watch the new horror films. They have morphed into something darker, more sinister and worse… kind of real.

With that being said, I take you back to yesterday afternoon, when it was time for Cecilia’s nap.

First, allow me to set the scene for you. Right from the moment we awoke at the wee hours of the morn, the sky had banded all of its clouds together to block the sun from coming through. It just looked as if we were in for something more than a couple of little rain drops.

And holy wha…it was the storm of all storms complete with thunder, lightening, and random power outages.

As I stated before, Sometimes when I put CC down for a nap, I end up falling asleep right beside her. Her rhythmic heavy breathing, pummeling my neck with that warm strawberry breath. Watching her little hand with those jagged dirty fingernails rising and falling on her tummy. Both of these little CC nuances doing everything in their power to lull me into taking an afternoon nap right along side her. Like I don’t have dinner to prep, laundry to start, a bathroom to clean, dust buffaloes to sweep up, Kindergarten, 3rd, and 6th grade lessons to prep for AND implement, calls to make/return, appointments to schedule, tons of stuff to put away…the list goes on.

Sometimes when I don’t want to sleep, I mindlessly search social media. I have been an infrequent voyeur lately and therefore quite happy. Until yesterday, when I needed to stay awake. So Instagram it was.

I was just browsing, trying to pass the time. My finger must have hovered over a button because all of a sudden my camera was on and getting ready to record “my first IG story” whatever that is.

Before I could blink, an older version of me, with forehead wrinkles, sourpuss facial expression, dark circles surrounding my eyes was staring back at me. Scared out of my mind, I scrambled to press what ever button would get that old woman’s scary face off my phone screen.

Mission Accomplished.

Phew, what a relief! Holy cow…what was that?

But wait, that old lady staring back at me was…me. No way! It was straight out of an 80’s horror movie. And trust me, I’ve seen them all. Thus my plummet into the downward spiral began:

And just so you know, I would not under any circumstances post a horrific picture of myself on social media. Nor would I “print” out a horrific picture of myself and frame it for our entryway…or put it in our children’s baby books. In other words, I won’t post the horrific images here either. But since this post is about CC and myself, I will post pictures of us enjoying one another on Busha and Grandpa’s swing a month ago.

Trying to rationalize with myself I thought “No…I don’t look like that without makeup on…right?” So I did what any sane human being would do in that moment and turned on the camera again.

“WOW. How long have those forehead wrinkles been that prominent?” I said to myself.

“Angie Beth, you shouldn’t squint like that, you’ll get wrinkles” my older and wiser sister used to say to me all the time when I was a spring chicken refusing to wear my glasses. Glasses got in the way of the carefree image I was trying to put out there. Clearly. Ugh, She was right though.

“Holy Crevace…those lines run deep…and, are my pores always that big? Is my nose swollen… or are my eyes swollen? Are my eyes AND nose swollen?

I think my phone camera is jacked up. Plus the lighting in this room is wonky.

Ugh, should I start doing Botox? Will botox get rid of that extra fold of skin above my eye lid? Have my eyes always been this different from one another? There definitely NOT the same.

I look like an alien.

Oh my… holy wha… SERIOUSLY are my pores really that BIG? Is this phone on “magnify mode”?

Do I know anyone who throws Botox parties? But then what if I have an allergic reaction? That would be my luck.”

Whatever happened to “growing old gracefully”…there’s nothing “graceful” about those crevices deep DEEP lines.

I typed in the word “graceful” in my search engine and followed with “antonym”… here are some of the adjectives I can choose to replace “graceful” with…

“Growing old Rigidly

Growing old inflexibly

Growing old bunglingly

Growing old stiffly

…ooh here’s one “Maladroit”

Growing old maladroitly

or damn…

Growing old “gracelessly”.

Awe…That one hurt.

Gracelessly.

“I can’t afford Botox. Abby is a growing machine…she needs food, clothes, shoes, possibly braces.

We are re-doing a house… “Oh hey, Greg, when I go to Home Depot to purchase the circular table saw, would you mind if I stopped by my dermatologists office and had him apply some botox…it’s only a BAZILLION dollars a vile…I don’t know how many I’ll need…20 viles, maybe 40…no it only lasts for a couple of months…”

With my heart racing, I gently rolled out of Cecilia’s bed and quietly sprinted to the bathroom tripping over every sharp tiny animal LEGO piece laying on the ground just so I could examine my granny face in the mirror.

With my palms sweating, I stood approximately 1 and a quarter-inch from the mirror poking, prodding, and pulling my skin taught in places where gravity had taken over.

“This is by far the scariest, most alarming moment I have had since the first time I watched “No Country for Old Men” back in…well, it’s been a while. When did this happen? I’m only 41. Aren’t the forties supposed to be the new thirties? Thirties are the new twenties and fifties the new forties?”

I had to self talk…I remembered the first time I saw The Exorcist, the subliminal messaging in that movie always fascinated me…the feeling in my stomach due to my little old brain working over time trying to decipher the images and their meanings. Yesterday, I was experiencing some of my own personal subliminal messaging:

 All of the sudden, I was transported to this older 1970’s decor living room. And there stood this 60-year-old woman. She had short dark black hair teased to perfection, in sort of a Jackie O style, dark tan skin, and this is the truly strange part, bright pink lipstick bleeding not-so-subtly outside her lip line.

She was wearing a house coat lined with gold snaps, over a bold red sequenced shift dress and a pair of open toed house shoes that showed her crinkly old bright red nail polished toenails that were turned aggressively towards her more innocent smaller, helpless toes.

I imagined the ring leader toe…the big one…but you probably guessed that one…would aggressively accost all the other toes if they stepped out of line and viciously scratch them until they bled.

So scary right?

My subliminal messages show her holding a sifter with a giant ice-cube and a quarter of the glass filled with gold liquid, which sloshed everywhere when she walked.

In this subliminal message, she begins to lead me to a bathroom. We walk down into a sunken living room, she misses a step and stumbles backward catching herself on her heels and used my shoulder to steady herself.

As she steadied herself, the gold liquid from her sifter sloshed onto this ugly striped shirt I hated wearing as a child.

Back to the present: I looked at myself in the mirror again to make sure I am still my curly frizzy haired self…when the same subliminal image continually presenting itself in boomerang mode:

She keeps laughing, with her lipstick bleeding outside her lip line and each time she laughs lipstick appears on her tooth…and then she repeats the trip and steady movement as she shows me to the bathroom…and then my striped shirt appears and…BOOMERANG…the scene repeats itself again

And again

and

Again.

“Are these scenes playing out in my mind because I am actually morphing into this lady?” I quietly looked down at my feet to see if Bunyan’s had appeared overnight. Nope. Still my long skinny skellator toes.

And I don’t own a house coat or a bathrobe if there’s a difference. So I’m all good there. Nor do I own a red sequence dress. But as I think about it, I did wear a red sequins dress to prom my sophomore year…hmm.

As thunder rattled the window panes of our current 1940’s bathroom, I leaned my face close to the sink and splashed cold water on my eyes…silently willing them to go back to normal.

Luckily it was around this time I decided I was putting WAY too much stock into this one isolated incident.

Problem solved.

And poof…my version of “the exorcist” and the obviously alcoholic Jacki O person, along with my ugly striped T-shirt disappeared….

As I straightened up, dried my eyes, and blinked several times at myself in our warped ‘Made In Taiwan’ mirror, I had one last image of the lady:

She was standing outside in her driveway that was actually alongside a pretty steep cliff sloshing her gold liquid all around as she waved goodbye to me. And with her lipstick teeth yelled something unintelligible, laughed, winked flirtatiously and turned for a, I’m not making this up, swan dive off the cliff behind her.

What? What does that mean? This whole sequence is so messed up.

For a split second I considered rushing to and looking over the edge. But then, would this damn story ever end?

What is the point of this whole saga you ask? I’ll be asking myself that same question for weeks to come.

All I know is that I feel rattled inside. Like I’ve just experienced something awful. Maybe I should just resign myself to taking the short afternoon naps with Cecilia. Or I could just listen to and purchase music. But last month, my iTunes bill was a little ridiculous.

I will be searching for the meaning to all of these horrific images for weeks to come. But in the interim, Unknown Mortal Orchestra and Bat Dad it is!!

I have reconciled that my deep DEEP forehead crevices lines are due to the fact I had horrible sleep last night and I’m most likely dehydrated. It was a scary moment though.

TWO HUNDRED FORTY SEVEN…the trenches of parenthood

“Good morning sweet pea…I love you too! No you cannot have the Ipad. Please go peepee on the potty…yes I want you to go peepee on the potty…should mommy put you back to bed, cause you aren’t being a good listener right now…very good…thank you for listening…big girls go peepee on the potty…are you a big girl…yes you ARE mommies big girl. Yes I am getting ready to make your cinnamon raisin bagel, just like we do every morning. Cecilia, please be patient…I can’t do everything at once…I am making your bagel, and can you say that magical word that makes mommy happy…oh good girl…yes we say please don’t we? No Daddy went to work remember? Yes daddy works in our basement…yes daddy is downstairs…yes daddy loves you. Here’s your bagel…yes I’m getting your water, please be patient and say that magical word that mommy loves…very good… Thank you. Yes, I will let you have the Ipad, if you’ll let mommy watch some news…thank you. CC, can you please turn it down, it hurts my ears, it’s too loud…yes it’s too loud. No Cecilia, you cannot go upstairs to wake your sisters up…Cecilia, I said NO…No CC!…ok now your sitting in time-out…yes I see that your crying….your in time-out because you didn’t listen to mommy, remember…that’s right, you weren’t listening, you need to listen, mommy and daddy are trying to keep you safe and happy. Yes daddy is downstairs…yes Abby is still sleeping…yes she is upstairs…Yep, Phoebe’s up there too…oh you love Abby…you love Phoebe too don’t you….Of course you do…you can’t forget about Phoebe…do you know who mommy loves….that’s right, Daddy, Abby, Phoebe and CC….no, you cannot go upstairs to wake up your sisters…Cecilia, what did I say. Okay, do you think you’re ready to listen…you can come out of time out now….but only if your going to be a big girl and listen…are you going to listen…I hope so…big girls listen Please turn the Ipad down….turn it down or I will take it away…Excellent, yes, thank you for listening. No Busha is at her house…she is at her house with Grandpa…No Busha isn’t sleeping here, remember, she’s at Grandpa’s house…yes we will got to see Busha and Grandpa very soon. Of course mommy loves Nana…Nana is mommy’s mommy…that’s right she is mommy’s mommy…yes you love Nana too. Yes mommy and daddy love Busha and Grandpa…you cannot have both the ipad and the t.v….no that’s not fair…yes mommy is drinking coffee…hey CC, can you go get a new pair of underpants and put them on without waking your sisters up, please, and thank you…no this is mommy’s coffee…I love you too CC…are you mommy’s girl…yes daddy is downstairs…no, we aren’t taking a bath this morning, you took a bath at Nana’s yesterday remember…no CC, it’s too early for crackers and you just had a bagel. Cecilia, you turned your Ipad up again…Please turn it down…yes, turn it down or mommy gets to take it away…no, it’s too early for crackers remember. Yes I know Uncle JB…What did you say…oh, wow yes, Scout is a sweet dog…I can’t believe you remembered her name…good job…No, remember, this is mommies coffee…Yes, where is Nana…that’s right….Where’s Busha…and Daddy…what about Abby and Phoebe…your so smart…what about Mommy…where is Mommy? Uh Oh, I see a little girl who needs to be TICKELED…tickle tickle tickle…yes yes yes…tickle tickle…ok I’ll stop…uh oh, tickle tickle tickle…oh don’t cry, mommy was just playing…oh the couch hurt your leg, you mean couch, don’t you hurt my big girl CC…mean couch”…

I recorded our dialogue for 45 minutes this morning. It is roughly the same every single day.

Just a glimpse at the first 45 minutes of every morning of my life. Because I know you are just DYING to know.

Sometimes, I can’t believe I am the same person who was once planning on a career in theatre. I don’t know what happened, but I just didn’t want to hear myself talk anymore.

And here I am…talking..talking…talking….ALL THE TIME. It never ends. I mean, this is just a guess, but maybe this repetitive conversation has something to do with the reason I turn my brain off around that 6:30 witching hour. Oh that’s funny, did I write 6:30? Of course I meant 5:30.

Fast forward to this afternoon when I treated the girls to a Wednesday matinee. As usual we were waiting in line and I put Abby in charge of CC. As Abby chased her around the theatre lobby trying to make her listen and stand still, I felt so warm down in my body. All this running around after her takes away from spending time with Abby and Phoebe. Is it too much to ask to be able to go out to a public place and just enjoy being with one another?

I feel like it is sometimes.

Fast forward and somehow, amazingly enough, we made it through the movie. As we are leaving the theater, the shit hits the fan and all cecilia wants to do is run away from Abby and myself, scream when we come near her, hit us, and stiffen her body so I can’t possibly pick her up.

I’m getting all these stares from other families, and the “pouty” lip from adults who clearly pitty us. I don’t want people to see her like this. She’s such a smart little girl but when she acts this way, no one sees that.

I was so deflated and disappointed. I just came home, locked my bedroom door, sat on the edge of my bed and cried. I needed to release that pent-up energy and frustration. As always, after a good honest cry, I felt ready to try again.

I was thinking about how to convey my two conflicting emotions; complete adoration and unconditional love along with frustration and of course anxiety sprinkled in there for extra measure.

My sister-in-law once asked me if it was difficult raising a child with special needs…Cecilia at the time was a mere 3 years old.

She was so tiny, so sweet, funny, still wanted to be carried everywhere…wanted to please me and her daddy…wasn’t really into voicing her own opinion and her protestations manifested themselves in the form of the cutest pouty lip I’ve ever seen.

So, at the time, I answered as honestly as I possibly could, “It’s just like raising any other child…I am not doing anything for her, that I woudn’t do for my other kids.”

I would probably have a different answer today.

In so many ways, it does get easier. For example, she is now all about dressing herself, going number 1 on the potty all on her own, she can now nap without a diaper, she goes to the grocery store with me and pushes her own little tiny cart, randomly tells me she loves me, gives me kisses of her own free will.

She is able to communicate her needs, she can turn on her own music and dance and sing whenever the moment strikes her, as long as it’s within reason, although we frequently discuss how, “early morning is not a good time to blast Joan Jet’s ‘Do You Wanna Touch Me There’ on your iPad” especially at it’s highest decibel and by the way anything at it’s highest decibel is never a good idea…unless of course, it’s mommy’s music, and when I tell her this she makes the correct adjustment per my request.

She can brush her teeth by herself and frequently chooses to do so at various times of the day.

She loves to help with laundry, dishes, and cooking. She loves to help me put the clothes into the wash, dryer and then the clean basket. With the dishes, (because we don’t have a dishwasher) I’ll dry the silverware and she puts them away.

And cooking pancakes is her most favorite Saturday activity.

Her maturity has really allowed her communication and therefore her independence to reach another level. And she likes to talk. A LOT. I love getting to know who she is and how she sees herself fitting into our crazy family dynamic.

There are so many more positives I am confident I am forgetting…but sometimes all the wonderful little nuances to her little being, become overshadowed by the things she still struggles with…

Like playing independantly for more than 10 minutes. Let me restate that, she has trouble playing independantly in a NON-DESTRUCTIVE way for more than 10 minutes. I know why, but it makes it hard when I have two other kids who also want to talk to me about… e v e r y t h i n g.

When we are in the grocery store and she is pushing her own cart, she is awesome for about 15 minutes…and then she begins acting out; running away from me, running into the shelves or other people with her little cart, randomly walking off, not listening when I demand she put ALL of the items back on the shelf after she has either pushed them off or put them all in her cart.

AND of course, and this is a big one, taking advantage of me when I cannot devote all of my attention to her. The word D E S T R U C T I V E just doesn’t seem to cover it. And it’s not always convenient or realistic for me to adjust my time or schedule based on her 15 minute time period.

I feel like I have to keep going about my daily life and she has to learn to adapt or the consequences are a stressful parent/child relationship.

Who wants that?

As soon as she hits a mile stone, we check off a goal on her list and replace it with another one.

So, in a lot of ways, as she gets older it does get easier. And in other ways, it also gets a little more difficult.

Ebb and Flow.

Here is my hope, and I am only basing this on the fact that I have experience with two other children who are becoming mature. I know she has special needs and though it may take her a little bit more time, She will always be able to scaffold her knowledge…and her opportunity for growth is far reaching.

Like every parent, I want what’s best for all of our kids. But more than that, I want a true relationship with her. I don’t need to be her “best friend” but I do hope they all confide in me.

I want to get to a point where we can walk the isles of the grocery store together. Enjoy a movie and popcorn with each other. Walk calmly, side by side in a store. Walk into her therapy waiting room and be able to sit with one another, while waiting for her sessions to begin. I would probably pass out if she actually walked side by side with me in a parking lot, but I would love to do it just the same.

I know one day I will look back and read this post and think to myself, “I should have just relaxed, not been so stressed out, put my trust in time and faith, enjoyed every minute, kissed her little chubby cheeks, scratched her back more, and recognized these moments for what they are…fleeting.” It seems I have to constantly re-learn the lesson that time really will bring answers to my questions and also peace.

I’m working on that.

It’s just hard right now because I’m in what I like to call the “Mattel and Fisher Price Trenches”. I’m right smack in the middle of just trying to make it from one day to the next in a healthy, productive way. One day it will get better. I know it will. I’m just in the middle of the parenting trenches.

TWO HUNDRED FORTY SIX…roosevelt was allergic to frugs…what?

I have one word for you today

Roosevelt

No, not as in FDR or Teddy.

I have discovered a new band that is similar to Beach Fossils. Their song moving on, makes me want to lock myself in a large dark warehouse with a multi-colored magenta disco ball and turn the bass all the way up and just watch the lights play off the walls and floor. I see myself sitting in the center of this empty warehouse on a glow in the dark BLACK Adirondack chair, with a straw hat, and a strawberry daiquiri. No. Scratch that…pinacolada.

And no, before you ask I’m not on LSD. It’s just that good. Just listen to it. If you don’t have a similar feeling, that may be a good indicator that we do not have the same taste in music. Which is fine. I think we would still get along. I like all music.

I am now on a quest to acquire all of Roosevelt’s music. Apparently they’ve been around for a while. Why I haven’t I heard them on my Pandora Beach Fossils station you ask?? Well, let me respond with, “My sentiments exactly!” What the hell are those algorithms for? I’m thumbing up Small Black, Kuyuckas, Wild Cub, Washed Up, Fleet Foxes…I could go on ad nauseum.

One thing is for sure, I’m going to need hearing aids and medicine for the tinnitus I will surely develop listening to my Beats headphones on their loudest decibels. That’s assuming all those damn B52’s and Dave Mathews concerts I attended back in the day didn’t already cause all the damage.

I’m laying here, my eyes are itchy, watery. My nose is stuffed up. This happens every night around the 10:00 hour. Finally after 3 nights of staying up past 10 I’ve come to the realization I must be allergic to 10:00. Just like my allergy to housework . I have Elena, one of my 3 best girlfriends to thank for my late nights…

SIDENOTE: Abby, Phoebe and I have decided we are ready to adopt not one, but TWO baby pugs.

And not just any pugs…this is where my friend Elena comes in….she is going to try to impregnate her pug within the next 10 days. She has a most brilliant plan to throw her little Lupi in a room with a French bulldog for the next week. And hopefully 63 days following their “spiritual” meeting, we will be gifted a boy and girl frug (French Pug).

For the past 3 nights we have been discussing our excitement about being PMILS together. “What’s a “PMIL””, you ask. Why it stands for Puppy-Mother-In-laws. DUH. We are already planning Holidays, Birthdays, weddings…vacations together, grandmother siestas. There are so many events that need to be pre-arranged. It’s exhausting.

The Tennessee Spranger’s are ready. It has taken us a solid 3 years to get to the point where we are ready to open our hearts to a new canine member. We obviously looked at golden retrievers again, but ultimately decided we would not feel comfortable putting a new innocent dog in that position of constantly being compared to the one and only Bear Spranger.

Also, the one lone picture of myself in this blog is taken by my other one of three best girl friends…Mrs Stephanie, who also owns a pug. The signs are all around us. I just need to find out if my third best girlfriend Karla also has a pug she is hiding from us. If not, she probably needs to get one so we can all siesta together.

Oh wow, I’ve got to start adding more planning to the list…

I also see myself roller skating in a giant ware house again with a disco ball (blue and green this time though, not magenta…that’s not a good color for skating Gods) again with the bass blasting and it’s just me and my PMILs in our Bikinis, pig tails, and bubble gum. That’s a much better dream.

TWO HUNDRED FORTY FOUR…grocery disas…er…trip

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Trips to the grocery store with the our clan always seem to elicit an array of interesting faces from patrons: sad faces, annoyed faces, concerned faces, contorted faces due to rubber necking, happy to see us faces (although those are far and few between), and scared faces. We probably see the latter most often. Hey, it’s what we’re here for. Most likely it makes them feel great about their lives, their not as “crazy” as they previously thought. Or the more unlikely “Gosh, I should have more kids so I can look the way that Mom looks…so disheveled…but those kids look super happy”. Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY SIX…warm breezy beach or cool snowy mountain

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108 days on the road and there’s so much more to see. Feeling the love today folks. I am in love with our life choice. Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY FIVE…watermelon, the potpourri of life

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Sometimes spilling an entire brand new watermelon on everything you own, can turn out to be a good thing. You just have to shift your perspective. Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY ONE…my petal tips are turning brown

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Sometimes I see myself as a flower whose petals are solely dependent on outside factors for their healthy vibrant color. If that were the case, my petal tips are beginning to tarnish. Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY NINE…tomfoolerative

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Sometimes I think maybe, if we stopped our “normal adult behavior” and adopted our children’s “play anywhere and everywhere” mentality, maybe we would be a more productive, happy and successful society. I think we should label it, tomfoolerative. And I think we should make it a new legislative branch of government. Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY EIGHT…arm in arm

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Living in Florida for 4 years and having a daddy who loves to surf, has ultimately given our girls an appreciation for the sport. So, it’s no surprise to Greg and I when each of their Barbies have at one … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY SEVEN…shoes are NOT optional

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“get dressed girls” in 6 and 9 year-old girl world means, “put our clothes on and our dolls clothes on we’re going somewhere. But she didn’t say shoes, so we probably don’t need them.” Do they have a lingo book for 6 & 9 year olds somewhere? Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TWO…we can do this

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letting go of something or somethings (plural) is often more difficult than the actuality of living without it. I think for me, it’s the incontrovertible process of having to say goodbye. Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY ONE…WE DID IT!!!

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We never really know the impetus or the catalyst behind some of our personal choices. We can speculate, presume, and try to make sense, where there is no sense to be made. Sometimes, you just have to follow your dreams. And that’s what we’re doing… Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY…just swinging

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What’s more romantic than a tree swing which allows you to watch and capture moments of your life as a family together? I can see the girls (at various stages in their lives) in a montage of images with music playing in the background…maybe playing at their weddings many years from now. I can see the girls keeping the videos for their own kids to watch and I can imagine how “old” and “Long ago” it will seem to their children. Musings of the traditions of a simple yet beautiful tree swing. Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED SIXTY SIX…Spring Chickens and Ceramic Bunnies

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Random minis: We spent last week at my brother’s vacation home in Beech Mtn. NC. On Wednesday, for dinner, Greg and I were in the mood to try something new. Whenever we visit Boone, Banner elk and Blowing Rock we … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED SIXTY FIVE…this southern girl is feeling appreciative

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Crisp cool evenings chilly air wafting through the house at night through the open windows the constant smell of freshly cut grass the constant sound of birds of different species singing to one another in all their different languages the … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED FIFTY SEVEN…the pitfalls of homeschooling

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I was unpacking our bicycles from this mornings ride when Phoebe approached me in the garage with a serious tone in her voice saying, “Mommy, something’s wrong with Abby. She is saying she doesn’t want to play dolls with me. I … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-FOUR…daddy the hero

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We went to church on Sunday. Abby and Phoebe attend the Childrens’ moment in our church. It’s always interesting to hear what Phoebe is going to say in front of the entire congregation. People enjoy her random verbal diaharea…as long as … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED FORTY THREE…a comedy of errors

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Cecilia had therapy this morning. My plan for the day was to take her to therapy, rush home for a quick shower and then head south 72 miles. Cecilia had an Orthopedic appointment in Boca Raton at 1:30. By my … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY SEVEN….premium octane please

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My tolerance level is running on fumes right now. People never tell you when your pregnant that, once those cute adorable little babies turn into toddlers you will have to repeat yourself constantly. Ask those cute innocent little beings the same … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY THREE…an ending in pictures

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The last week of our 3-week hiatus included an adventurous, rocking and might I add “freezing” night on a boat, 5 amazingly fun and very different playgrounds, An amazing garden filled with beautiful purple flowers, ‘Moomers’ the famous ice cream … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY SIX…sisters and their acrobatic dolls

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On Thursday Abby, Phoebe and I met my sister at good ole’ Yeehaw Junction. The girls were going to spend a couple of nights with her. Their plans included visiting the American Girl Store for an afternoon of tea, a … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY FIVE…fruit and poop randomness

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Little Phoebe and her sentence structure is really blowing us away. She stomped her way into our bedroom bright and early and proclaimed, “Guys, I had the worst dream last night.” This perfect sentence from our 5-year-old. At 3 this … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY TWO…

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I turned 38 years old 20 days ago. My husband and I have a continual dialogue about our dreams which almost always include travel of some sort. Occasionally I dream out-loud about photography equipment and encourage him to fantasize about a … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN…i am missing something, am i missing something

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I woke up this morning with a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach…”I forgot something or am forgetting something”. Lucky me, I know the mystery will reveal itself to me before the day is over, most likely too late … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN…3 is a good number

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My baby girl turned 3 at the end of July. I had this *brilliant* idea that I would go through each and every picture file on my folder and pull out my favorite pictures of Cecilia over the past 3 … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED NINE…i don’t want a stinky heart

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oh hell, I guess I’ll write a post.. I have been eavesdropping on my girls lately and I have heard some pretty funny stuff… Abby:  Phoebe, CC has a sweet heart. You have a stinky heart. Phoebe:  I don’t want a … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED EIGHT…worth celebrating

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All week long I have been waiting for Friday.  I wanted to remember the special day in March. I forgot it last year until the very last minute, which made me feel like the WORST mom on the planet. Friday … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED SEVEN…let ’em eat cookies

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A day off from school is equal to a day of absolute and total chaos in the kitchen. WE MADE COOKIES!!!!! butterfly cookies heart cookies circle cookies star cookies, triangle cookies, dragonfly cookies, apple cookies, Teddy Bear cookies, flower cookies, … Continue reading

ONE HUNDRED THREE…Friday night, my brain is fried, randomness

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Phoebe has been spitting a lot lately. I’m not sure where she picked up the habit, but when she’s mad, she spits. When she’s sad, she spits. When she falls down and hurts her knee, she spits. If there’s a … Continue reading

NINETY-NINE…next stop – normal

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Sometimes I forget that plateaus lead to progress. I felt as if we had been on a plateau for so long. I thought the plateau was something to do with me. There is one theme which continues to remain prevalent … Continue reading

NINETY-EIGHT…and we’re back

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I have a love/hate relationship with this face… I love that lip. It’s so adorable. But seeing her upset hurts my heart. But that lip!!!! MAKE IT STOP!!! Cecilia is still screaming…and working on getting on to her knees and … Continue reading

NINETY-SEVEN…blob out

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I have reached a point in my life where, at a certain time of day, my brain stops working. 5:30 in the afternoon rolls around and I can’t seem to form a single intelligent sentence or thought, if I do … Continue reading

NINETY-SIX…

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PhoebeShe eats with her mouth wide open. And makes little noises when she eats her food. Chunks of food fall out of her mouth and at the end of a meal she has food all over her face, hands, clothes … Continue reading

NINETY-FIVE…new dreams

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We have turned a corner at the Spranger house. Cecilia has adopted a personality and she wants everyone in this house to know.  The above picture is a moment captured in a day in the life of Cecilia.  If Cecilia … Continue reading

NINETY-THREE…memories and anniversary’s

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In 7 days, it will be our one year anniversary since moving to Florida. Greg reminded me today.  on the one hand, it is so hard to believe it’s only been a year We have built a life here, I … Continue reading

NINETY-ONE…productivity

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I have discovered a productive way to take Phoebe to the grocery store 1. Phoebe 2. Phoebe’s personal grocery cart 3. first stop…bakery, the ladies at the bakery know her and great her by name. She stands and chats with … Continue reading

NINETY…shake it like a polaroid picture

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Thanks to Abby and her sudden discovery and thus interest in Katy Perry and Justin Beaver (I like the way she pronounces it!!) I too have Beiber Fever! “Mommy can we listen to Katy Perry please…please…Mom, please put Katy Perry … Continue reading

Eighty-Eight…

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Lately, Phoebe and I like to play this game where I ask her what her name is and she responds simply by saying, “Chris-mis”, then she proceeds to sing the ‘jingle bell’ song and finally following up with a, “Santa, … Continue reading

EIGHTY-FOUR…bring on the festivities…

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I remember babysitting for my niece and nephew were around the ages of my kids now. I would watch my sister-in-law and think to myself, “man she is so busy, running a household, raising kids, taking care of pets and … Continue reading

EIGHTY-TWO…it’s all good

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When Abby was born, Greg and I had the brand new tv monitors. We placed it in her crib angling it perfectly so it would look right into that amazing little face. By the third night, we had to unplug … Continue reading

SEVENTY-NINE…sometimes there are no words

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Siblings… When I went to my first Down Syndrome Awareness Group meeting I met a mother who spoke about her sons’ older sister. When her son was younger, in elementary school, his older sister (who was only 9 or 10) … Continue reading

SEVENTY-SEVEN…is having spirit the same thing as being stubborn??

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Last Sunday we took the kids downtown after dinner for a little ice cream treat and a nice evening walk around our little quaint beachy village. It was a nice way to end the weekend. It is always an EVENT to … Continue reading