Let me pretend.

Well, no, if we only get ONE of those passes, then I’m saving it for the HEAD LICE.

It took me way too long to figure out. She’d been sleeping poorly for weeks, but I thought it was just the holidays. Then a growth spurt. I didn’t even associate it with the hands-down-the-back-of-the-pants we caught her doing a couple of times, because, well, 3-year-olds just DO that sort of thing. Then yesterday she actually complained about incessant itchiness, and my Mom Brain kicked in. Thankfully the pediatrician trusted my assessment and called in medicine without us having to scotch tape her nethers. (Though we did, the two of us, go in there with a flashlight last night to check things out, and I don’t ever want to do that EVER AGAIN IN MY LIFE except I have to again TONIGHT so we can keep an eye on Vio to see if she needs to be treated as well. AIN’T NO PARTY LIKE A TAPEWORM PARTY.) So anyway if around 10PM tonight you’re wondering what Matt and I are doing, think of us fondly with a pig-shaped flashlight trying not to wake the children with the cries of our 21-year-old selves who really had no idea what hilarity would befall them.

I like to think if our life were a movie, there would be shots of us in our carefree college days, doing the typical college student things — jigsaw puzzles at 4AM and going to movies at the student union on Friday nights and drinking way too much Dr. Pepper, whatever we were totally awesome — mixed in with flashes forward of all the poop-related hijinx associated with child-rearing.

Except I don’t really do that just with flashes forward (I keep wanting to call them FLASH FORWARDS, but NO, DIANE. NO.) Especially with things like this PINWORM situation. There must be a moment, out there in space and time, where Roo picked UP the PINWORM. I keep seeing things in slow motion, as though there is some magical camera that RECORDED the moment that they would then use the footage of in a sitcom or something. Slow motion as she wipes her mouth while sitting in the grocery cart! A (canned) gasp from the (fake) studio audience! Or after holding hands with her friend down the street who unknowingly has the same affliction! AUDIENCE GROAN. As I’m trying to launder everything in the house (I NEVER STOP DOING LAUNDRY LIKE I SAID LAST WEEK AND I EVEN CAUGHT UP ON IT AND THEN BRAGGED [TO ROO, FOR SOME REASON] THAT I HAD CONQUERED IT AND NOW BLAAAAH) I keep picturing stills of two microscopic PINWORM eggs resting within the tangles of Rapunzel’s hair or wafting gently through the room (THEY CAN DO THAT) and settling on one of Leo’s biting toys.

I also do it with lost items. Whatever I’m missing, I’m imagining someone at home is getting a shot of the item, panning out and fading to black. The back to my earring! LOOK UNDER THE BED, DIANE! IT IS UNDER THE BED, JUST BEYOND WHERE YOU CHECKED BEFORE!

You guys, I do this ALL THE TIME. And the worst part is, part of me ACTUALLY BELIEVES IT. I seriously, a tiny bit, believe that I could find that thing I lost if only I could see the FAKE SURVEILLANCE VIDEO.

Of course, applying the Temerity Jane Rule of the World, I can’t be the ONLY one who does this, so out yourselves! We can have a crazy little party up in here!

I just pictured shots of each of you calmly closing this tab and finding something better to do. You are all SO screwed when I get my hands on the footage.

2. Which … did I even talk here about Evil Pharmacist? From the Evil Compounding Pharmacy? If you follow me on Twitter, you saw me have this breakdown involving probably seven straight hours of shouting. <LONG RANTING RANT REDACTED> I just deleted a good 600 words that basically boil down to: the pharmacy said they were giving us corn-free medicine, but they were not. We stopped giving him the medicine, his eczema stopped flaring up constantly, he caught up on motor skill milestones, and now I can eat almost anything so long as it’s corn-free (so almost nothing but it feels like almost anything). I wish I could somehow get that pharmacist to understand what she put us through. MONTHS of eating the way I was eating, and it was all because he was continuing to ingest corn. I’m furious, more furious than I have EVER BEEN, so furious I can’t even think of an ironic sort of thing to put here in second place, like AND I AM A JOSS WHEDON FAN SO I KNOW ANGER WAH DOLLHOUSE or whatever, because I AM JUST THAT MAD. I almost quit nursing him! DEEP BREATHS WHILE ALSO FANTASIZING ABOUT FORCE-FEEDING THE PHARMACIST THREE MONTHS’ WORTH OF RICE AND OATMEAL.

3. Don’t we all feel better now, having that off our chests? Let’s just relax for this quick take. You don’t even have to read this one. Me mentioning Dollhouse got me thinking about Paul Ballard, though, so that’s another thing you can thank me for in the comments.

4. The actual reason I sat down to write this post today is that the housework is just out of control now. It’s smacking me in the face with its not-doneness pretty much constantly. Every time I think, “Let’s do all the laundry!” I start with the kids’ laundry, because they get one hamper between the three of them, and of course it is always full. Especially in “winter” which means putting one of our two long-sleeved t-shirts under a short-sleeved t-shirt and applying one (1) extra hoodie/sweater for each 10-15 degree drop in temperature, meaning we dirty all of the things on each of the days. [ASIDE: Where would we even be as an internet right now if not for Allie Brosh giving us the phrase "CLEAN ALL THE THINGS"? What would we even SAY? She's defined a generation! Or at least an internet meme cycle!] Anyway, I always start with their laundry, but by the time I get to the end of their laundry, there is no more time to do other laundry. Then the next day I feel like “WOW! I did so much laundry yesterday I won’t need to do any today!” so I don’t do any and then the next day I STILL feel that way because I’m still folding the 900 pairs of pants and socks and onesies that fit into a single hamper at which point the laundry is even more out of control and I think “NOW LET’S START WITH THE CHILDREN.” If I keep putting their laundry’s oxygen mask on first, I’m going to be naked and WITHOUT AIR.

5. The actual reason I sat down to write Quick Take #4 was to tell you the actual reason I sat down to write this post today and I am now actually going to tell you what that reason was which is that I think maybe it’s gotten to the point where I need to make myself some sort of CHORE CHART. Like I am five. But basically breaking down the things that need doing and then assigning them to days of the week. For the most part, I manage to keep up with the kitchen and sort of the laundry and a good chunk of the tidying, but you don’t want to know how long it’s been since the mopping or the sweeping or the other deep-cleaning things that need doing FAR more often than we do them. So something like a laundry schedule where I always do linens on Tuesdays and whites on Wednesdays and then always do floors on Fridays and dust on … well, let’s not get out of hand. Do any of you do that? Or are you just really awesome at remembering what needs doing? WELL GOOD FOR YOU I NEED A CHART.

6. Another thing we’ve had going on around here lately is teething. I am not even talking about THE BABY exclusively, because all three of my children are cutting teeth right now. All of them. How. How did they coordinate this? I mean, for the love, Vio is cutting her first 6-year molar at the age of 5, and Roo is cutting her last 2-year molar at the age of 3, so they really REALLY had to work to line that up. AND AND. They are in the same place (upper left) in their mouths. Leo is working on cutting his first tooth, one of the bottom front ones as babies are wont to do, which is the exact tooth Vio just LOST, so she is cutting her first ADULT tooth in that EXACT SAME SPOT. I can make Venn diagrams with overlap on the teeth my DIFFERENTLY AGED children are cutting.

7. Today is my half-birthday! I mentioned that on Twitter this morning, and it is something that stupidly excites me (on the years I actually notice the date, anyway. Usually I’ll find myself on January 7th or 8th REALLY REALLY bummed that I missed it.) Another reason I love my half-birthday is that it is on TOPSY TURVY DAY. If you don’t know what Topsy Turvy Day is then you aren’t as big a fan of Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame as I am which basically means you don’t know what Topsy Turvy Day is because I have never met ANYONE ELSE who actually liked that movie and SO WHAT if I was 14 when it came out IT SPOKE TO ME GOD HELP THE OUTCASTS etc. etc., but in one of the songs they sing, “Scurvy knaves are extra scurvy/on the 6th of January/all because it’s Topsy Turvy day!” Really though the best part about it being my half-birthday is that that means tomorrow is Leo’s half-birthday, making him a ripe old One Half years old. I am really really excited about age one-half, you guys. So! Be extra scurvy for me, won’t you?

(More quick takes here.)

I mean, it’s AWFUL, this story. Rudolph’s father is unarguably the worst ungulate father ever to set foot on claymation earth. Santa is portrayed as a HORRIFYING snoutist with a murderous streak (OH YES) and an eating disorder. Poor Hermey is laughed at for wanting to be a dentist by a bunch of cavity-ridden elves in matching clothing. (We know the four elf food groups! No chance those clowns have decent chompers.) Then the abominable snow monster has them all ready to eat, and Hermey YANKS OUT ALL OF HIS TEETH. How does he even DO that? He doesn’t even have his LICENSE TO PRACTICE DENTISTRY YET.

But all of it, every last bit of it, is excusable in the face of Yukon Cornelius, THE GREATEST PROSPECTOR IN THE NORTH. I … well, I find myself proclaiming MYself the greatest prospector in the north fairly often. Whatever, Florida is north of some stuff. I could be a prospector. You don’t know me.

I told Roo the Bumble was my favorite part. I mean, Bumbles BOUNCE. That’s pretty impressive. He goes over a huge cliff, and then just BOUNCES. But also my favorite part is where they are all holed up in the cottage and turn off the lights to go to sleep and the second the lights are out THEY ALL JUST FALL ASLEEP INSTANTLY. It’s grand comedy!

BUT THEN I am completely forgetting the Island of Misfit Toys! That doll, there is nothing wrong with her. NOTHING. I have wanted one for my entire life, so much do I love that doll. And the spotted elephant, too. And the Charlie in the Box. HIS VOICE. His is the voice I use for any of my children’s stuffed animals I decide need an OBNOXIOUS personality. Let’s be honest, though. Some of those toys actually do suck. They DESERVE to be on that island. They probably all signed up to be there, even. Sent in audition videos and compete in challenges and I bet the squirt gun that shoots jelly wins EVERY single time because, seriously. How are you going to beat that, boat that can’t stay afloat? HOW?

Honestly, though, my favorite part. My absolute FAVORITE thing to come out of that movie. When Rudolph’s father shouts

HIS BEAK BLINKS LIKE A BLINKIN’ BEACON!

You guys. YOU GUYS. It’s brilliance. Read it back over. Take it in slowly. Yell it at the top of your voice.

So, yeah. Rudolph’s family shuns him and makes him wear a fake nose. He is only accepted back into the community when he SERVES A PURPOSE.

Santa manages to go from emaciated to fat in under 10 minutes (as do we ALL during the holidays, except for the starting out emaciated part.) The Misfit Toys get all emo around the campfire and assume Santa has forgotten them again.

But he picks them up! Happy ending!

OR IS IT?

Because then he delivers them via PARACHUTE. MISFIT TOYS! He is not giving you to children! He is HURLING YOU TO YOUR DEATHS. Everyone knows Santa goes down chimneys. He doesn’t just throw crap examples of shoddy workelfship out of the sleigh with toy parachutes on their backs!

See? MURDEROUS STREAK.

It is impossible for me to talk about this child without sounding like I’m bragging. And FINE, maybe I AM bragging, but not in any sort of “don’t you wish this were your kid?” or “don’t you wish your kid did this?” way. I am just in awe of this child. The things she knows and says blow my mind on an hourly basis, and I can’t wait to see what her little brain becomes capable of in the next couple of years.

She knows most of the states by shape, and she insists on checking out a book on a different state each time we visit the library. She draws like a big kid and writes her name and her sister’s name and she’s memorized the words to every book she loves. She wants to be a Kindergartener more than anything and pulls up her little chair and a piece of paper to do her sister’s homework with her. Mostly I’m sharing that because I am going to forget all those things she learned when she was just two. I can’t remember what Vio could do at two, because it blended in to what she learned at three and four and now she’s in school and it all happens so quickly. Surely the first six months of their lives lasted longer than all the years that have gone by since.

Her love for her baby brother is ENORMOUS. I was so nervous she would be jealous, and I’m sure that will eventually hit (I know it often waits for age three, which, as I’ve mentioned, WE ARE JUST NOT DOING), but for now she chases me around the house while I carry him, shrieking, “Baby, come back! PWEASE, baby!” She thinks he is HER baby and refers to him thusly. As soon as she sees him, she tells him, “Oh, you are such a cute baby. I never knew a baby could be so cute. I MAY kiss you!” And then she kisses the top of his head and his whole face lights up. Then there are the times she lovingly pats him and tells him, “I didn’t know you would be a boy baby. I really wanted a girl baby.” So, you know. It evens out.

She calls Vio her “Sweetie”, and she can’t stand when she’s out of the house. Of course, as soon as Vio gets home from school, they are fighting like cats and dogs. Or whatever is worse than cats and dogs. Sisters, pretty much.

The very best part of my day right now is the hour or two we have in the morning while Leo takes his nap. We sit on my bed and play board games and ipod games and giggle. She routinely beats me at all versions of Memory (“Membery”) and excitedly chants “Come on, Donalds and cwubhouses!” while she shakes the dice for Yahtzee Jr.

She loves the color yellow and elephants, they’ve been her favorite for over a year, but now she’s suddenly telling me pink and giraffes. I just jam my fingers in my ears because that sounds like growing up.

She is fierce and fearless and everything I am not in so many ways and I love that so much I cannot even get out more than a measly run-on sentence about it.

I’ve never cut her hair. I call her my baby Rapunzel, and I’ll probably WEEP the first time it needs a trim. Well, the first time I admit it needs a trim. She’s asked for a haircut, like her big sister gets, and I’ve been telling her “when you’re three! when you’re three!”

So, really. It’s for the best I don’t tell her, right? I think one day she’ll understand.

The only wrench in my plan was that Leo had his 4-month well-check scheduled for 8:40 the next morning. I didn’t want to send an overtired, hungry, fussy baby in for his first immunization. We agreed we’d start after the appointment. I ate a small bit of a turkey sub — literally the first cold food I had eaten in three months, all the rest was hot, cooked food — with a whole mess of enzymes. I figured I’d give it one last test. Maybe his system was stronger, maybe I could get away with “bad” food every once in a while. Maybe maybe maybe. My last ditch effort to keep this bond with my last sweet baby.

In the past his reactions have been a slight flare in the eczema on his forehead, gas, and the pinpricks of blood in the diaper. I assumed that would be what I’d see if he reacted to what I ate. HA! Ha. This morning, after his first feeding, I noticed a bit of red around his mouth. I thought maybe my hand had been pressed against there, or his had, or something. But it didn’t go down, it got brighter. And it was hot to the touch. It’s still there, nearly four hours since he last nursed. He also threw up most of the feeding.

So I gathered my resolve, and I sterilized the bottles, and I started to come to terms with the fact that this is happening. After three solid years of nursing my daughters (well, with 8 months of pumping for Vio, but it was still all breast milk that she got) I am going to have to give my baby formula. Even though I know that I would tell ANY OTHER WOMAN in my situation that absolutely this is one of those cases where breast milk is no longer best for everyone involved (and may not even be CLOSE to best for the baby) I am having trouble forgiving myself what I perceive to be my own personal failing.

There have been things I’ve been reciting in my head the past few months, trying to prepare myself for this moment. Ways and words to convince myself this IS okay. I don’t know how convincing any of them are, but I’m putting them down here so I can read them over and over again until I believe myself.

First and foremost, the diet I have had to be on to keep him happy and minimally bloody is not sustainable for my health. When this first started was around that point after you get the baby home that maternity pants are NO LONGER AN OPTION. When he was about a month old, I went to Old Navy and bought myself some pants in what I called a “depressingly large size”. I am now comfortably wearing pants that are three sizes smaller than that. That’s a pants size A MONTH. I weigh less now than I ever have in my adult life. (I’d be almost a little bit excited about that if not for the fact that I am REALLY SAD right now, and there are bags upon bags of Halloween candy in our kitchen. Plus Thanksgiving in two weeks, HA HA HA.) That aside, I have had nagging symptoms off and on since starting the low salicylate diet. I finally put it all together, and I think I have some vitamin deficiencies. My skin is dry and awful. I’m getting headaches. And if I’m not getting enough vitamins (read: NONE), Leo isn’t either.

Second, what is best for Leo (if that were somehow breast milk) may not be best for the rest of the family. Matt, saint that he is, has stepped up to take over a lot of the dinnering for the girls. It was too much on me to try to make them a meal AND make me a meal, and try as I might, there just weren’t meals I could make myself on this diet that I could adapt for them. What that boiled down was that they were more often than not eating food from cans/the freezer section/the magical blue box. Now, I am FINE with kids having those foods, but for my family, I try to keep them in moderation. These children were used to fresh vegetables with their dinner every night taking up half of their plates, and I feel as though I have undone YEARS of work by them eating less nutritious food for the last three months. (Not years of the nutrition they got, but years of them eating plate after plate of vegetables without whining for something else.)

Going along with that is the resentment I feel toward the ENTIRE WORLD for eating things I can’t eat. I go in the grocery store and I’m actually angry at the people in there. They can just buy whatever they want! Such freedoms they have and do not appreciate!

I’m really really FAIR is what I’m saying here.

Seriously, though. I should copy and paste the food log I’ve been keeping since August. It is a sad, sad document. Every day basically looks like, “Quaker oatmeal, sugar, salt, white rice, green peas, potatoes, sunflower oil.” Copy and past that 90 times, and you get the basic idea.

Now, as far what is best for Leo, nothing else considered, I don’t think the breast milk was going to work. No matter how carefully I ate, the blood was still coming back. Sometimes I could trace it to something I did (like taking a multivitamin I desperately needed, researched the hell out of, and even rinsed off the sucrose coating to make it as safe as possible) but sometimes it wasn’t easily explained. And that is MADDENING. With the formula, I will know there is one constant input. If he continues to have flare-ups on that? Well, then we may need to get some testing done.

There was a short period of time when I think the stars aligned and we got everything right. He had no blood, and he was STRONGER. You guys, though we know he CAN do the mini-pushup (because he did it that week when everything was awesome) he mostly doesn’t. Sometimes, when he’s flared up, I can tell he’s trying, and he just can’t. I don’t know if it’s related. He’s got some other physical/motor skill things we’re keeping an eye on, and I feel like it would be negligent for me, at this point, not to at least give the formula a try.

Formula feeding comes with so many negatives. The bottles to wash, the loss of that closeness, the bottles to wash, the cost. The GUILT more than anything. The feeling that every single anything that he deals with later in life that his sisters don’t deal with will leave me feeling like it was somehow tied to the formula. But I guess I’m hoping the good will outweigh all the bad. I won’t get a pit in my stomach whenever it’s time to change his diaper. I will be able to cook my family a proper meal at night. I will be able to trade off sleeping through the night.

I am so afraid of what is going to come next when it is time to start solids. I want his body to be as healed as possible before we can even think about it. Starting today means he can get two solid months of easy-to-digest nutrition before his little body has to think of breaking down anything more complex.

This does not undo what I have already done. That’s the hardest bit for me to accept, but it is so important, and my heart knows it is true. I still breastfed three children for a total of 39 months. If he had been my first baby, Roo my last, I would be ending on a positive note, and I would feel content. I can’t beat myself up that they came in this order. This does NOT undo what I have already done.

I am going to pump. I’m going to keep pumping as long as there is something there to pump. I’m going to file it all in the freezer, just in case. Maybe I can donate it? Maybe it doesn’t have to go to waste. (I’m also afraid of dealing with the hormonal drop from weaning. IT IS NOT FUN, and I’m already a ball of anxiety. Let’s deal with that NOT RIGHT NOW.)

I always thought there was no breastfeeding situation I couldn’t rise to the occasion and beat with research and discipline. Maybe I could have beat this if I tried harder, I can’t really ever know that. But I don’t think I’ve got any fight left in me. And he needs me to make this change, even if he isn’t going to like it. This IS what is best.

So. Deep breaths. Enough giving myself a pep talk. He’s starting to wake up now, and it’s time.

I am done trying to figure this out with the doctors. Just … I’m done. I mean, unless it gets really really really bad again. (OMG PLEASE DO NOT GET REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD AGAIN.) They are providing none help. Every improvement we’ve seen in Leo has been by MY research and experimentation. I feel like a gigantic wang for saying that, but it’s seriously true.

Well, either that, or he has slowly slowly healed over time and I had nothing to do with it. But I wouldn’t suggest suggesting that to me, because I’m cranky. All I eat is oatmeal and tears. And not even tears anymore, because who knows what’s in those. Probably fluoride.

Anyway.

HAHAHAHA. I just typed up the whole story! Over 1000 words’ worth! Then I tried to read it back, and I just couldn’t. Maybe I just needed to write it all out beginning to end or something? Closure? Who knows. What I DO know is that none of you needed to read that. Well, maybe some other woman who is googling around the whole internet trying to figure out what’s going on with her baby might need to read it, but I already deleted, so I AM SO SORRY CRAZY LADY. If you come over to my house I will tell you the whole story and make you a nice pot of water and peas or something. Maybe we’ll add salt if we’re feeling fancy.

I’m just so ready for this to be over, you guys. This has been the most frustrating and drawn-out experience of my life. I honestly and truly cannot think about other things! Well, when he’s doing badly. When he’s doing WELL, I’m all LA LA LA WE HAVE FINALLY FIXED THE PROBLEM!

You should see my reaction when he next has a bad diaper. Oh, it is not pretty, you guys. It is not pretty at all. And then I do the super healthy thing and take it out on everyone around me.

But we’ve been sans (visible, anyway) blood in the diapers for over three days now. I added back a few vegetables that should be low enough in the salicylates for him to tolerate them. I might start some digestive enzymes soon to see if that helps him at all. I don’t suspect we’ve seen the last of the blood, but I do know what I have to eat to make it go away again. I figure I’ll keep pushing the boundaries of what I can eat and maybe by New Year’s I’ll be able to eat something crazy! Like plain chicken!

I just know I’m done going to doctors and saying, “I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out what is irritating him and I’ve stopped eating it and now he is doing better. Do you think he will outgrow this?” only to have them tell me they’ve never HEARD of what I’m telling them is going on.

Look, I will admit, I don’t think he has a TRUE salicylate sensitivity. I think salicylates irritate the GI tract, and I was ingesting dairy and soy and whatever the actual allergen was that initially caused the allergic colitis, and then we loaded him up on salicylate-laden ranitidine syrup (peppermint flavoring? salicylate PARADE) and it did a bunch of damage. Damage that has slowly but surely begun to heal over the last two months. I think removing those irritating foods from my diet has done him WORLDS of good. I’m not trying to diagnose him with some rare, ridiculous, zebras-not-horses disorder. Mostly I’m telling the doctors this because I think there’s a chance it MIGHT help other women breastfeeding babies with allergic colitis. Hey! Look into food chemicals! They might be continuing the irritation!

Really. That’s ALL.

But instead, they just tell me they’ve never heard of it. Then they forget about us the second we walk out the door. And then another woman walks in with the same problem, and no one can tell her what is wrong, because that thing they’ve never heard of? THEY WOULD HAVE JUST HEARD OF IT IF THEY HAD BEEN LISTENING.

(I’d like to add that our general pediatrician DOES think I’m onto something. Or else he is just familiar with my brand of crazy and knows I won’t shut up about this and is nodding along politely. I don’t really care which it is, I WILL TAKE IT.)

I don’t even know where I’m going with any of this. I guess I needed to get it all out. Put it out there on the internet, however NOT SUCCINCT it may be, just in case. My little ribbon on the internet for salicylate sensitivity awareness.

I do want to thank each and every one of you who has listened to me vent about this, either over Twitter, or IM, or the phone, or email, or in person — you have all held me up through this, and I would have crashed and burned long ago without the encouragement you’ve given me. I KNOW it is all I ever talk about anymore, and I cannot wait for the day this is just some awful, awful memory that I can look back on and through the fog of hindsight can determine I was probably overreacting and overthinking and overdoing and overtrying and overeverything. Ing.

First off, can you even imagine? Watching your child eat that combination of foods? Just my imagination is REELING at the thought. Dairy + citrus is NOT ALLOWED. No! Not even that! Don’t tell me in the comments how it’s totally okay in this one situation, because it’s not. (Note: chocolate FLAVORED with a hint of citrus is different. I’m talking the juicy actual citrus fruit. It is not okay. It’s never okay. No.) Cereal commercials are great at trying to get you to believe it’s normal to drink a glass of orange juice with your Rice Krispies. You should also eat some toast and some fruit, too. It’s part of this complete breakfast. Does anyone really eat all that? I MAY BE STRAYING FROM THE TOPIC.

But anyway, this sparked a whole discussion about different foods eaten in combinations with different drinks and how all of us are gross and if you want to know all about that conversation you should clearly follow all the hilarious people I follow because this is just the sort of thing we do with our lives. It got me thinking how YooHoo is not even a little bit delicious. But more than it not being delicious, it is NOT CHOCOLATE MILK. Do you know how many times in my life I was offered chocolate milk, an offer I gleefully accepted, only to then be provided with an obnoxious yellow can of MURKY CHOCOLATE-HINTED WATER? It’s like someone took a Hershey’s Kiss, dropped it in a pot of old pasta water, and then started ladling it into cans and serving it to children.

I just googled, and that’s actually how they make it. Huh.

You know what else drives me nuts with chocolate? When you excitedly order a hot fudge sundae from somewhere, completely expecting a thick velvety chocolate topping, and you are served ice cream topped with Hershey’s syrup. THAT IS NOT THE SAME AS HOT FUDGE. It’s not even in the same category! I know this, because when I made the categories, I filed “hot fudge” under “YES PLEASE” and “Hershey’s syrup” under “BUT WHY?”

Trust me. I am a LIBRARIAN.

You guys, we have to stop the madness! I don’t really know how, but we have to! Because these things are not even sort of chocolate. And before you start thinking I’m some crazy chocolate snob, let me assure you, I AM NOTHING OF THE SORT. No. My proof is that my favorite hot fudge comes on a sundae from McDonald’s. I know. So. Not a chocolate snob, just someone in possession of a tongue with fully operational taste buds.

AND. TOOTSIE ROLLS. Look, I love Tootsie Rolls. Even more than that, I love the big old bag of Tootsie Roll mix. I EVEN LOVE THE DOTS. My brother and I used to fight over the Dots. Dots are awesome. But Tootsie Rolls? NOT CHOCOLATE. The flavor of a Tootsie Roll is “tootsie roll,” Mr. Wonka, and I will accept NO OTHER answers. Really, you’d think Willy would have more respect for chocolate. Do the Oompa Loompas really believe they taste like chocolate? I doubt it. You’d get drowned in the chocolate river for so much as suggesting it.

What am I forgetting here? I know there are other foods out there masquerading themselves as chocolatey goodness, but I’m so hot with YOOHOO TOOTSIE IMPOSTOR FUDGE rage, I can’t remember what they are.

I should have gone into sales!

But anyway, LOTS of ladies who are going to the Blathering (and some who are NOT) have been doing these accent vlogs, and I decided if I was going to keep whining at people to do them, I should get with the program and make one myself. (Note: no one asked me to do one. I’m just ASSUMING that everyone wants to hear my lovely voice.)

Because last year? At the Blathering? I HAD NONE VOICE. NONE.

So here I am! (I apologize for the weird background sound … my Macbook is a few years old and the microphone probably has a Cheerio in it or something.)

If you want to join in, here’s what you’re supposed to do:

Say the following words:

Aunt, route, wash, oil, theatre, iron, salmon, caramel, fire, water, sure, data, ruin, crayon, toilet, New Orleans, pecan, both, again, probably, spitting image, Alabama, lawyer, coupon, mayonnaise, syrup, pajamas, caught

And answer these questions:

What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?

What is the bug that curls into a ball when you touch it?

What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?

What do you call gym shoes?

What do you say to address a group of people?

What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?

What do you call your grandparents?

What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?

What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?

What is the thing you use to change the TV channel?

See, okay. We moved into our house over five years ago. We moved in here with one not-yet-fully-cooked baby in the ol’ uterus, and now we’ve got three actual children. A lot can go down in five years, apparently.

Now, I’ve talked before about how bad I am about decorating the house. I even wrote a post like a year or two ago (I’d go looking for it, but then I’d read it and realize it says all the stuff I’m about to say and that would ruin EVERYTHING) about how I hate stuff but I was going to make an effort and maybe paint some walls or get throw pillows or whatever it is you people who are good at this just do ON A WHIM.

I haven’t done any of those things. What I HAVE done is have more children so I have the I’m Too Busy to Decorate excuse. Okay, I didn’t have them JUST for that, but the early baby days suck and I need some benefit.

I did try to do some things! I swear! And what I did was hang this picture frame I got from an end cap at Target for CHEAP (orange stickers, my precious). See, it’s one of those MONTAGE frames or whatever they are supposed to be called. You can put lots of pictures in it. A multi-picture picture frame. But I asked Matt to hang it before I actually had photos printed to put in it, at which point it had ALREADY been sitting in a closet collecting dust for at least six months.

“If we wait around for me to pick out pictures and order prints, we’ll be waiting forever. If you hang it now, the stock photos will annoy me and I’ll be more apt to order prints.”

You guys. YOU GUYS.

HE HUNG THAT THING OVER A YEAR AGO AND IT STILL HAS NO PICTURES IN IT. My family teases me every time they are here. But do you know how many photos we have? DO YOU EVEN KNOW? And if I HAD put photos in it over a year ago, do you think they’d still be CURRENT? I had a four-year-old and a one-year-old back then! Did you read the part above about a whole extra child? I WOULD BE BEHIND ANYWAY.

And please. Don’t think I’m writing this to be all ISN’T IT ADORABLE HOW MUCH OF A SLACKER I AM? Be amazed by my precious personality quirks! No. Not that. Because I hate that. I hate when ANY OF YOU do that. Really. It makes me crazy. That’s why I’m disclaiming all up in here. Because this? This is a PROBLEM. It’s a problem I have JUST figured out I even have. Because.

That’s not the only thing like that I’ve done. This morning my brother (I love you, Scotty! I’m not mad about this! We ALL do it!) came by to hang out with the kids (and me, sort of, I guess, possibly, I mean we are RELATED and all) and tracked in a little bit of dirt. NOT a big deal. But it would be even LESS of a big deal if there were a mat inside the front door on which to wipe one’s feet. (We have one OUTSIDE the door, but it’s a piece of crap from IKEA, and I swear it just makes our shoes DIRTIER.) We used to have a mat there! We really did. For like the first year we lived here. Then it got ratty. So you know what I said?

“Let’s just throw it out. If we leave it there, I’ll never bother replacing it, because every time I see one in the store I’ll think, ‘We already have one. It’s dirty, but it’s good enough.’” So we threw it out.

YUP. STILL HAVEN’T REPLACED IT. In fact, it has been so many years since we even had a mat there, I’d forgotten it was an OPTION. I haven’t even been looking! Just sweeping up little piles of dirt by the front door on a near daily (FINE, weekly, if we’re lucky) basis.

Do you do this? Try to trick Future You by setting up a situation in which she is GUARANTEED SUCCESS only to have her laugh in your face? I AM MAKING IT SO EASY FOR YOU, FUTURE ME. Man. It’s almost like she’s exactly as smart as I am.

Whatever. It’s not like my photographs could possibly be more awesome than these.

IS SOMEONE GOING TO VOMIT? OH MY GOSH, THEY ARE, AREN’T THEY. They don’t have sore throats or stuffy noses or coughs WHAT IS LEFT I ASK? Is … is my stomach hurting? No no, that’s just the baby rearranging my ribs.

I BET IT WAS THAT VISIT TO THE PEDIATRICIAN’S OFFICE LAST WEEK. You take them in for an inflamed bug bite and they bring home an Actual Ailment. It was probably the damn sticker bin. NO MORE STICKERS. SHOULDN’T THEY HAVE A SPECIAL WELL CHILD STICKER BIN?

Wait — NO. After that visit we were told to give Roo some Benadryl … did we WASH the dosing cup super well after the last time they were sick, or did it just get rinsed? I HAVE TO GET BETTER ABOUT THE ACTUAL WASHING. HOT WATER IS NOT ENOUGH. I can’t believe I was so stupid! Sick from old medicine cup germs!

Hmm. My dad was sick last week. And we went over there this weekend. These children lick everything. But he had a sore throat! They don’t have sore throats! PLEASE DON’T THROW UP.

I KNEW GOING TO THE PARK THIS AFTERNOON WAS A BAD IDEA. NO ONE EVER LISTENS TO MEEEE. What about heat exhaustion? That can come on hours later, right? Probably I should google it. It also has an elevated pulse rate as a symptom … let’s check pulses. OMG THAT NUMBER IS HUGE IT IS HEAT EXHAUSTION hmm wait they are pretty small what is the normal pulse rate for a 4-year-old? Oh.

That takes us up to … well, now. Where I continue to wonder about the origins of the fevers, because my brain just NEEDS ANSWERS for these things. Incredibly REASONABLE answers, if I do say so myself.

(8 hours later, still fevered, still no other symptoms, unless staring glassy-eyed at episode after episode of Dora is a symptom, in which case, I AM ILL AS WELL.)