Finding Yourself Despite Yourself » Uncategorized

Cheeky lil thing

fidget — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 19:05:02 +0000

What do you think you are doing???

fidget — Mon, 10 May 2010 21:10:59 +0000

I caught Bodie knee deep in trouble and silly me asked what he thought he was doing.

“I do wike dis Mama, you see? You see dat?”

Yes, yes, my son, I see. It was my fault for asking.

But things were so far gone when I found him that it seemed silly to holler and fuss over what was already done. He’ll be 2 in a few weeks. It’s not like he has the self control to stop himself when an opportunity for naught merriment arises. Oh he knows it’s wrong

Clearly, he knows it’s wrong (check that face^^^) but he hasn’t learned how to resist temptation just yet.

I think you’ve got a little something on your face, son. And the floor.

It’s a damn good thing you are so cute

But you seem so normal

fidget — Thu, 06 May 2010 18:07:51 +0000

When you see a larger then your family out and about, what do you think? Do you assume they are on assistance? Do you assume that they must be crazy bible thumping lunatics? Do you think that they must be too stupid to figure out how to stop? Do you assume that they desperately need your thoughts on the situation and they they will shrivel up and die without your advice?

I’ve, sadly, started assuming that is exactly what you are thinking.

When people meet me and hear I have 5 kids they think “Whoa!” When they meet me WITH my 5 kids, they often think all of the above. And frankly, I don’t want to hear it. I also don’t like hearing about the ones that manage to bite their tongues, later turning to my friends and hissing “Are they on assistance? They must be! I don’t want my taxes feeding those oversexed maniacs’ children!”

So please forgive me if the smile I greet you with doesn’t always look 100% sincere. Chances are, I’m already bracing myself for the comments.

I may just order some business cards to hand out. They would say

Yes, we know what causes it
Yes, they all have the same Daddy
Yes, my hands are full
No, it’s not any of your business
No, we aren’t a part of some cult
Yeah, I am pretty normal
No, I don’t need/want any advice
No really, keep that assvice to yourself

Does that cover it? Am I forgetting anything? Also, when did 5 kids become a large family? In the “large family” world, we are like a medium small family.

ps Assy cloaked comments about my family are happily deleted so you can keep em to yourself.

(Gluten free) chocolate sparkle cookies

fidget — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 15:58:02 +0000

(Modified to be gluten free from a martha recipe)

Ingredients

Makes about 100

* 1 1/4 cup rice flour
* 1/2 cup potato starch
* 1/4 cup tapioca starch
* 3/4 cup Dutch cocoa powder (I used special dark with delightful results)
* 1 teaspoon baking soda
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 1 1/4 cups unsalted butter, room temperature
* 2 cups sugar, plus more for dipping
* 2 large eggs
* 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Directions

1. Sift together flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt; set aside.
2. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (you can do this in a bowl with a spoon but I ~~hump~~ heart my KitchenAid mixer), beat butter, 2 cups sugar, and eggs on medium speed until light and fluffy. Add vanilla, and mix to combine. Slowly add dry ingredients, and combine with mixer on low speed. Cover bowl with plastic wrap, and chill until dough is firm, about 1 hour.
3. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Roll dough into 1-inch balls. Roll each ball in the sugar. Place on prepared baking sheets about 1 1/2 inches apart. Bake until set, about 8 minutes. Cool on baking sheets for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely- we had trouble getting them to the wire racks, they kept detouring into our mouths.

During the baking process the cookies puff up and while cooling they collapse giving you those lovely crackles that sparkle with sugar. You can skip rolling them in sugar but they they wouldn’t sparkle and the baby Jesus would be sad.

4 words I thought I’d NEVER say

fidget — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 16:13:40 +0000

I need a Snuggie

*hides face in shame* No, wait! Don’t leave! I have a valid reason, VALID I say:

What.the.fuck? I LIVE IN FLORIDA PEOPLE!

To make matters worse, my house has two heating / cooling systems and one of them is broken. Half of my house is like a friggin icicle factory. So yesterday in a fit of frigid delirium I declared:

And you’ll notice that my friend Dave there said the same thing The Hubster keeps saying:

THEY HIDE BOOBS

which, in the Fidget household is a massive sin. Spit on Jesus? Well, we’ll get over it but hide your boobs? DAMN YOU TO HELL! So, in the spirit of heavenly salvation, I came up with a new and more man-friendly version of the Snuggie

I’m betting they’ll be the must give gift of Christmas 2010.

Dispelling the myth of ‘professional mom’

fidget — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 21:19:35 +0000

Over the last 2 weeks, I have dared to venture from home with the 3 littles in tow. Traipsing around town with a 2 yr old, a 1yr old and a newborn tends to attract attention. Everyone has something to say about my brood and heaven forbid Ive got all 5 with me- the stares are more then a little uncomfortable.

One phrase that has been, quiet unexpectedly, repeated by several folks is “professional mom” as in “Wow, look at you! You’ve got this situation totally under control, you’re like a professional mom or something!” Which, I smile and maybe blush a little because it’s far nicer to hear this then the folks who want to know if all my kids have the same baby-daddy but I must confess to you, dear readers, that accepting that assessment would be a total farce. I am ANYTHING but a professional mama.

Last Thursday, I took myself to the chiropractor and Saffi to the pediatrician. I loaded everyone up (which is quite a sight to see since I now have to climb into the trunk to reach over the seat so I can buckle Levi into his car seat), made certain I had diapers, wipes and a change of clothes for all, and 37 minutes after I started leaving the house we were finally on our way.

The chiropractor was unremarkable aside from the horrific symphony of adjustment noises my body emitted- Saffi’s labor was not so kind to my body, particularly my left hip. Prior to leaving there, I paused for 10 minutes to nurse Saffi because there was no way she was going to survive the 1.5 mile drive between my doctor and her’s. Trust me, she told me and everyone else within earshot that this was so.

Once again, we loaded up, beating our 37 minute record by a whole 2 minutes. Levi was in the far back singing along to “Put a ring on it,” which is the cutest dang thing ever because he often says “wadies” instead of ladies. The only thing that comes close on the awesome scale of cuteness is when he sings Better Then Ezra’s song “Juicy” (yes, I know I totally need to document these both on video).

So, we are driving along with Levi singing when Saffi starts WAILING, prompting Levi to ~~scream~~ sing louder. “Awl da single wadies, put your hands up!” and then this sound RIPS through the car “OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH OH NO NO, Ut oh oh oh oh oh oh Mama, Saffi poop!”

Sonofa….

In the pediatrician’s parking lot I pull Saffi from her seat and discover that she’s off loaded a pile equal to her in size. I lay her down on a waterproof pad that I keep in the car, covering it in poo. I peel off her outfit, further covering her in poo. I scrap the car seat situation into a little plastic bag and start wiping Saffi up. Next I rediaper her and slide on a new outfit which suddenly starts oozing poop from her sleeves. Apparently she crapped in her armpits- something a “professional mom” would have looked for. Further damning me to ordinary mom status? That was my only backup outfit for Saffi. Who thinks that they are going to need 12 outfits when you are less then 5 miles from your own home? A professional mom, that’s who.

Of course, it’s a COLD and windy Florida day. Who would have seen THAT coming? A professional mom, from a mile away. But, as we have already established, I’m no professional mom and at this point we are late for Saffi’s appointment so I do what any practical but kind of slack ass mom would do- I stuck her diapered yet otherwise naked body in my ring sling, cinched her up tight, stuck a hat on her head, and strutted into her appointment.

Professional mom? *Snort*

Camping out in the NICU

fidget — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 05:06:25 +0000

I can’t exactly say why we are still stuck in here, nor when we will escape. They are very vague in the NICU

Live From Isolation

fidget — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 03:04:59 +0000

After a crack-ho-on-a-diabetic-bender filled visit to the ER, I found myself in isolation at a local maternity ward.

I am a victim of the PIG FLU.

It was kicking my ass for a few days, along with my asthma, but Chubbers McGee is doing dandy.

I am hoping they send me home soon. Though it may be like Bingo night, I might come home wielding an Oxygen tank.

Thanks to Jenni ( www.mom2nji.blogspot.com ) for relaying this, since I am topless of lap variety.

Comments will be approved after I get back.

The flu has landed

fidget — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 13:49:05 +0000

Think pretty happy pink puffy cloud thoughts for us. Tessa has the flu. My asthma is acting up- being pregnant and asthmatic, the last thing I need is the flu. So like i said, think of happy unicorns farting rainbows and other very very very healthy thoughts for us

Worth it

fidget — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 13:46:05 +0000

They aren’t beautiful, but I consider them badges of honor.

At this stage, belly button upkeep drops off dramatically

and you can tell there’s a baby in there. Bumps, lumps and ripples. Sometimes you can see the vague outline of an arm or leg as it presses to and glides across my belly, just under the surface like a swimmer skimming the top of water.

People often ask me if it gets boring after 1 or 2 kids but every pregnancy, while sometimes hard, uncomfortable and challenging, is amazing. There is a little person in there- a little person with her own thoughts, personality and potential. I don’t know how you can’t get excited about that.