I'm still here...

Well, so I'm not the most frequent poster, but I have a pretty good excuse. Austin fried the laptop. And the computer. So I've been unable to write for a good month now. And now that I have it back, I find I have nothing to say. Not one single interesting thing. Nada. So I will share some UNinteresting things:

I had two jellybeans for breakfast today. I am babysitting my nephew. I need a pedicure. My closet is a mess. I am really, REALLY craving potstickers right now. Our ward just split and I am hoping that now we can finally sit in a regular row in church. I hate all of my clothes. I think Kai's haircut makes him look like a doofus. Same with Austin's. I am not responsible for either of these haircuts. I am avoiding doing the dishes by blogging. The refrigerator smells funky and I just can't deal with it right now. I think I will never eat ham again. I seriously need those potstickers. Kate poops in her room during her naps and it's really making me angry. I was hoping that by writing something interesting would come to mind, but it looks like it's not happening, so I guess I'll leave it at this. Bye!

Stink City

So not only do I live in the stinkiest house on the block, but apparently also in the stinkiest city in the U.S. That's right! Las Vegas wins the grand prize, courtesy of MSNBC, of the #1 City With The Worst B.O. in America. I have to say I'm a little insulted by this. And frankly, I question just how scientific this "study" was. Was it based on rigorous scientific research? Did they send interns to every city in the U.S. to do some sort of sniff test of people's armpits? Is it based on litmus strip testing or some sort of measurable chemical analysis? Apparently not. B.O., according to Dr. George Preti, Ph.D, of the Monell Chemical Senses Center (which sounds pretty fishy and probably smells worse), is "caused by a complex cocktail of sweat, skin and bacteria." (Gaaah.) "Under the right conditions: hot, muggy weather, dry skin, stress and smoke, this aromatic stew can thrive and create body odor." And according to...wait for it...OLD SPICE (a company reknowned for its high scientific research standards, snort), Las Vegas is one of the hottest cities in the country and has a high percentage of smokers; therefore, we surely must smell the worst.

This kind of bugs me. So some quack doctor who holds a Ph.D in...what? Stinkology? That's something to brag about!...and a deodorant company deduces that since Las Vegas is a hot place and there are a lot of smokers, we must be the stinkiest?? Come on! It's not humid here, so that's an advantage over pretty much every city in the South or on the East Coast. We don't have the smog cover of some cities (cough*LA*cough) or the mix of methane/industrial waste of others (I'm looking at you, Fresno). So I'm sorry, but if you're going to toss out insults like that, you better back it up with facts.

Now don't get me wrong. Las Vegas does stink. Especially walking down the Strip on a July evening, shoulder (mine) to belly (theirs) with a pack of sweaty fat guys huffing and puffing their way to the next casino bar. Or entering the lobby of a movie theater for a Saturday matinee. Or standing in line for a PortaPotty in the wake of a hippie pothead at an outdoor concert. Or in the airport parking lot. (Or the airport, for that matter.) But I've lived in many different cities and recall several of them being a whole lot worse than Las Vegas. Riding the bus to work in downtown Pittsburgh was a thoroughly disgusting experience. Strolling the waterfront on an August afternoon in Baltimore was nearly as bad. And my personal vote for the all-time, #1 top stinkiest city is by FAR Washington, D.C. Now that's some stank. I don't know what it is about that city, but I've been there a fair number of times and I can smell it 10 miles away. There is literally a stink cloud in the air above the whole town. They should just put biohazard tape around the entrances to the Smithsonians in the summer months. It's not just sweat; it's a pungent, bone-deep funk that takes a few days and some heavy-duty body scrub to get out of your skin and hair after you leave. The stink molecules there must be bigger than normal or something.

I can even tell you the exact location of the stinkiest place in the city. When I was pregnant with the triplets--and, granted, I was extra sensitive to smell at that time; the smell of bread made me gag--Kurt and I went to D.C. in August and visited the National Aquarium. (Which, by the way, is a sad excuse for an aquarium. It has like eight tanks of trout and a stingray.) It is located underground, and to get there you have to stand in line outside in the blazing summer sun with all the other tourists, thus ensuring everyone is good and sweaty, then wait for your hand stamp at the check-in counter which is three feet from a unisex bathroom with bad plumbing. Then you walk through a slow-moving turnstile with stale breath-scented air, then down a narrow, windowless stairway with soggy wads of what I only hope is toilet paper ground into the grooves of the rubber stair mats. Even the handrails stink: a sharp metallic odor that makes you feel like you're living under a bridge. I can't even begin to imagine what this place must smell like when it rains. Through the door at the bottom of the stairs you enter a low-ceilinged tunnel carpeted (?!) in orange indoor/outdoor that's fraying at the seams and stained in suspicious places. Then, of course, you are trapped underground in the Aquarium itself. Can't go back; it was a one-way turnstile. The only way out is straight on, down the dimly lit corridor behind the sweaty hands and moist feet of hundreds of schoolkids trudging through on their class fieldtrips. The smell of fish is a welcome relief. At least to me. Animal stink is better than human stink, for some reason. (Dog poo being the exception.) After passing a few pictures of fish on the walls with signatures like "Marcus Jackson, May 1977" and some random thank-you notes to the "Aqwuariom" from Mrs. Sanchez' Fifth-Grade Class, PS 162, you come to an intersection. To the left, the trout. To the right, the stingray. Ahead, a tank of water and some sea snails. So, there you are. Trapped in the bowels of downtown D.C., and I mean do bowels. Breathe through your shirt and get through it as fast as you can. Push past the schoolkids if you have to.

(Sorry, this kind of devolved into a post about the dinginess of D.C.'s National Aquarium. I don't know why it's so lame. Maybe because it's free...? But the National Zoo is very nice and quite well-kept. (And also not underground.) It obviously got better funding for some reason. Maybe the NEA people like koalas better than fish, I don't know.)

Anyway, back on point, I have a feeling Mr. George Preti has never been to D.C. or he might not be so quick to point the Stink Finger at us. Las Vegas usually comes out at the bottom of all the good polls and on top of the bad ones, so maybe I'm just a little sensitive. But I really don't think we are the worst. Or it could be that it's so smelly in my own personal house that when I get outside in the fresh air of our fair city, it smells downright pleasant in comparison.

Best Blog Ever!

I would like to call everyone's attention to a very interesting blog. Austin has been blogging for a couple of months now and has quite a few posts to his name. He has a lot to say about a number of topics-as you can imagine-and would like to share his observations with a wider audience (beyond me and Grandma). Topics range from bloody noses to substitute teachers to burritos to the sad state of affairs of our nation's schoolchildren. I encourage you all to visit the link on the left and leave a comment or two or twelve. He would love your input.

Prayers for Bronson

With everything that is going on in our life, with all of the challenges facing our family these days, our burdens are light when compared to what's going on in the life of one of my good friends from high school. On Saturday, January 30th Matt and Sara Staker's 16 month old son Bronson drowned at home in their bathtub. What transpired afterwards was nothing short of miraculous. Fast forward to today, little baby Bronson is conscious, responsive, interactive and simply amazing everyone: doctors, family, friends and complete strangers, anyone who has followed the whole ordeal. Sara is a talented writer and had the strength and foresight to chronicle each day, each moment in honest, humble and often painful detail. Their journey from the depths of sorrow 11 days ago, to peaks of joy today is truly faith-inspiring. I encourage you to take some time and read about Bronson at www.stakerzxposed.blogspot.com, starting from her intial post immediately after the accident. Literally thousands of prayers of the faithful called down the healing powers from heaven which were then manifested in the life of this little boy and his loving family.

On a separate, yet similar perspective-adjusting event, another friend of mine, who I have known for more than a quarter century, experienced what I can only imagine would be one of the most painful and sorrowful things a family can endure. A few months into his wife's pregancy the doctor gave them the tragic news that their baby girl had some fatal birth defects which didn't allow her vital internal organs to develop properly, and in some cases not at all. She was born on Sunday at 10:45 AM and died about 3 hours later.

The reason for relating these two stories is that I would like you to remember them in your prayers. So often when we bow our heads in supplication to our Heavenly Father, we pray for our family, friends and "all our many loved ones....and all those who stand in need of thy blessings". Well, these two dear families need our Father's blessings right now.

The endless stream of diapers, the rice pilaf ground into our freshly cleaned carpet, difficult times at work, sleepless nights, expanding waistline (mine, not Elizabeth's), shrinking bank account........All these things are dust in the wind, grains of nothing, miniscule smudge marks on life's eternal spectrum. Family, faith, life and health....kindness, charity, compassion and humility. These are the things that matter...sometimes you just need a little help to get things back in perspective.

Kurt

I guess I spoke too soon.

Because two days after my last post about how healthy all the kids were...BAM! They all got sick. Very sick. High fevers, nasty coughs, earaches, chills, extra-gross diapers, etc. I'm sure they picked up this little bug at the doctor's office. Chase, as usual, got it first and got it worst. Kai followed him the next day, and Kate got it the day after that. Of course I got it too. And since Daddy was OUT OF TOWN for three days(!) and Austin was up in his room in survivalist mode with a bag of pretzels and some water bottles, it's just been me and the three Sicky Sickertons, coughing and wheezing and barfing and crying and sniffing and snorting and rooting around for food and lying on the couch watching "Max and Ruby" over and over and over and over and over for the past week. Because this is all they will watch and there's no point in trying to win an argument with sick children.

And maybe it's just because I'm sick and grouchy, but does anyone else hate Max and Ruby? Because I think it's the most irritating cartoon ever. Where do I even begin? Let's start with Ruby: She's prim and bossy and I suspect she's a little OCD. She's like a grandma in seven-year old form. She's a slow-talker with a prissy voice. She spends her days waddling around with her friend Louise working on Bunny Scout badges and very slowly making cakes. She throws tea parties for her dumb toys, passing cookies to Curly Shirley and the Tooth Fairy, and pouring tea for Mr. and Mrs. Quack-Quack Duck. Her main goal in life is to get Max out of the way so she and Louise can get ready for Bunny Scout Leader to come over.

I don't really blame her for wanting to get rid of Max, though. He's even worse than Ruby. I hate his sly little eyes and the lurpy way he walks. His toys are even dumber than Ruby's: an ant farm with no lid, a squishy jelly spider, a red "rubbah" elephant, a Deep Diver Submarine toy, a yappy puppy, and a bunch of chickens. He keeps rotten eggs in his underwear drawer, and sics his robots on Ruby when she's trying to draw. Plus, I think there's something wrong with him. Seriously. He only says ONE WORD per episode, and he says it over and over. Is this a sign of autism? I'm guessing he's about three, so he should be talking a lot more than that. Ruby needs to waddle on down with him to a doctor and get that checked out.

But the thing that bothers me the most is: WHERE ARE THEIR PARENTS?? There is a picture of the parents with Max and Ruby over the couch, but you never actually see them. Did they die? Are they picking up extra shifts at the local casino? I know parents aren't in most cartoons, and that's fine, but usually the kids are in Dragon Land or off on Backyardigan adventures or somewhere you wouldn't expect parents to be anyway. But Max and Ruby pretty much just hang out at home. Sometimes Grandma comes over to watch their puppet shows and stuff, but you never see a mom. Who takes care of the house? How do they get money? Where do the groceries come from? Why don't they just live with Grandma? I Googled this the other day because it was really bugging me, and I found an interview by Rosemary Wells, who wrote the Max and Ruby books. She said the parents exist but we don't see them because she wants Max and Ruby to work out their issues and learn on their own. Whatever. A seven-year old and a three-year old should not be cooking smores over a fire or taking the bus alone downtown. It's not Ruby's job to bathe Max or clean his room or feed his stupid ants. My personal theory is that the dad ran out on them and Mom's got some "problems" and stays in bed all day nursing a bottle of vodka, thus forcing Ruby to step in and parent Max. And all the people in town know what's going on and feel sorry for the kids, so they give them free stuff and drop off food. Grandma will pop in now and again for Ruby's tea parties, but she's not much help because she's on a fixed income and pockets their cupcakes. The neighbors give Ruby babysitting gigs and buy her overpriced lemonade so she doesn't feel like the town charity case.

So that's the backstory I'm going with. Anyway, when Kurt got home he deleted a bunch of shows off the DVR to make room for a basketball game. He left ONE episode of Max and Ruby. Which sucks for me because at least before I had a couple of episodes to rotate through. Now I'm stuck with only the one where Max ties a string on his finger and it drives Ruby crazy trying to find out what the string is for. Is is so he will remember to clean his room? Nope. (But it's a mess, so Ruby cleans it.) Feed his ants? Nope. (She does that too.) Eat some chocolate cake with raspberry fluff icing? Nope, although they both seem happy to dig in. Finish his jigsaw puzzle? Nope. (Ruby steps in again.) Clean up the toothpaste he left in the sink? Nope. (Ruby to the rescue!) It's driving her crazy. There is a note of true desperation in her voice. She just can't figure out why anyone would tie a string to his finger for no reason. It makes no sense and everything in Ruby Land must make sense. Her orderly world is falling apart. Memories begin to emerge, sweet yet painful...memories of better days with a mother who cooked breakfast for her children and a father who gave them horsey rides on his back after work. No. Stop. Can't think about that now. Back to the mysterious string.

And I think: Ruby! WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT THE STRING IS FOR???!? Who gives a crap? Kids do weird things. They tie strings on their fingers because they found some string and they have a finger. It means nothing. And you just did all his chores for him. Again. No wonder he's so incompetent. And he probably doesn't talk because YOU won't shut up. And the neighbors are only coming to your pathetic garage sales because they're hoping to get a peek inside your house and maybe even a glimpse of your mom shuffling around, squinting at the light, kicking back aspirin in her tattered bathrobe and dirty slippers. Ha ha on you, Ruby.

I think I better just block this show before I really start overanalyzing things.

A Visit to the Doctor

Relax, it was just a checkup. I mostly just want to share their height/weight results: First of all, I'm proud to annouce that for the first time in three years, Chase is ON THE GROWTH CHARTS! Period! He never even made the 1st percentile before. He is 28 1/2 lbs and 36 1/2" (although that was with shoes and clothes on, so I must be honest and round downward a little) putting him at a solid 15% for weight and 10% for height. I did an online growth predictor which said he would be 5'7" at age 18. That's short, but at least he will be taller than his mom. And Frodo. That's Kurt's and my yardstick: as long as he's taller than a hobbit, that's OK with us.

Kai was 30 lbs (30%) and 38" (50%). I have to say, I was a little surprised by this. He feels a lot heavier when he body-slams you as you're sitting on the floor watching TV or leaps onto your back from the couch as you walk by. I thought I was carrying a lot more weight when lugging him upstairs to bed. Whatever.

And then we have Miss Kate, with the enviable body measurements of 29 lbs (30%) and 39" (90%). Maybe she can support us in our old age with the money she will make walking the runways in Paris. That's why I let her wear lip gloss and paint her toenails. Just grooming her early.

Nothing much else to report from the visit. The kids were in fine form for the doctor (meaning: insane), prompting him to say "Well, they definitely have their own...interesting personalities, don't they?" Kurt tried to keep them quiet with a crinkled-up piece of paper off the exam table and by drawing scary/happy/funny/sad faces on tongue depressors. (There's not much to play with in those rooms.) I had some Red Vines in my purse I was saving as bribes, but they spotted them as we walked in and they went through the entire box in 15 minutes. So the doctor got to examine a lot of sticky red teeth and slimy fingers. Kate threw a fit and refused to let the doctor look in her ears, mouth, eyes, nose or anywhere else, so after a few minutes, he gave up and said, "Well, she seems healthy to me." Kai was fine until he saw how Kate was acting, and then started fake-crying about the ear exam. Chase liked it all, especially the part where he got to open up and say "ahh". Well, that's what he was supposed to say. What he really said was, "AAAAHHHHHHAHAHAHA! HAHAHA!" When we got to the car he even started yelling, "I wanna go back and see the doctor!" (There were no shots at this visit, obviously.)

So we're all good for now. Nobody is sick, knock on wood, everybody is where they should be developmentally, and things are good. At the end of the exam, the doctor told us were were very blessed to have healthy, normal kids, especially for preemie-multiples, and we definitely are. Sometimes I forget how intensely worried and scared I was about my kids when I was carrying them and in the early days. Anxiety took over my life from the minute I found out I was pregnant to the day they were born. There were many scares along the way (some real, some only in my mind) but everything turned out perfectly. And I'm sitting here now, January of 2010, they are three years old, and everything is fine. No matter what fears I had in the past, no matter what happens down the road, things are good right now. I don't always appreciate that on a day-to-day basis, I guess. I often take their health for granted these days until I see something on TV or hear stories about others who weren't so lucky, and then I say a little silent thank-you prayer for my normal, healthy, amazing, crazy, funny, darling, quirky children. They are miracles--in many ways--and I don't use that word lightly. Even though sometimes it takes getting locked in a small exam room with them for 45 minutes to make me remember that. :)

Short and Sweet

Kate loves toy horses (not the real kind!) and has a bunch that she named Mommy Horse, Daddy Horse, Grandpa Horse, Katie Horse, Baby Horse, etc. We gave her some little tiny horses for Christmas, which promptly got lost. Last night she spotted one under her bed and asked me what kind it was. I told her it was an Appaloosa. This morning I found her carrying around an armful of horses and crying. I asked her what was wrong and she said, "Where my horsie go, Mommy?" I said, "Kate, you have all your horsies right there!" She said, "No, Mommy! I need my Apple Susie!"