Vicodin is my newest friend.  Why? Well, a tooth of mine that has both crown and root canal was acting up. Went to the dentist today and found out that the root canal was drilled too deeply or something like that.  Now part of the filling is coming out of the bottom of where the roots used to be and my jaw is all inflamed and swollen.  To fix it, (stop reading now if you are squeamish) they will peel back the gums and drill in through the side of my jaw, clean out all the problem, then refill the root area from the bottom.  Well, that sure sounds like fun.

I have to go to a specialist for this new torture and money sink, so until I can get in there, I have Vicodin to keep me company.  I blame all misspellings, bad grammar, and other errors in this post, and life in general, on Vicodin for the foreseeable future.

For my birthday, I received some nail polish.  Three different colors picked out by the three members of my family.  As Stella used two of them to paint my toenails, she exclaimed, "and these are not for chickens or kids, these nail polishes are only for mommy."

Good to know that I don't have to share with the chickens & children, because if I did, the polish bottles would be scattered about the back yard instead of put away on the lovely shelf I made.

And yes, the children DO paint the chicken's toenails.  The chickens seem to not mind this procedure.  They look on in confusion (which is a pretty normal chicken state,) but don't squawk or struggle.  If a chicken doesn't like something, they do let you know, generally by making noise and running around in what appears to be an aimless fashion, but which to them, is their perfect defense.

In any case, here are some pictures of chicken nail painting.  Sorry, no pictures from my own.

Chicken: Yes, I'm upside-down and confused.  This is normal for me.

Add the polish - no red or they'll peck it.  This chicken gets a lovely greenish-yellow

See how happy they are? 

Post pedicure loveliness.

If you have chickens that are in need of pedicures, bring them over.  The girls would be more than happy to make them beautiful!

Allow me to give you a small glimpse into the chaotic ramblings that inhabit Stella's brain..

Stella sees a football player on the sidelines using an oxygen mask.  She lights up, "mommy, if I play football when I grow up, can I have an oxygen mask?"

So many thoughts go through my head.  Things like why she would want to receive oxygen.  Or play football.  I answer that if she played in the NFL as an adult, she may get to use an oxygen mask, but this is unlikely as she has never wanted to play football, ever.  I asked if she wanted to play now.  No, she doesn't.

"Ok, what other ways can you get to have an oxygen mask," she asks, clearly, not giving up easily.

Brian says that if you plane crashes, you get an oxygen mask.

"No, that's for something bad that happens. I don't want bad things to happen. How else can you get one," she posits.

"Well," I say, "you sister had one as a baby when she was really sick."

"How come she got to have an oxygen mask when she was a baby and I didn't," Stella sneers.

This is Stella.

The kids have had 11 days of quasi-school this year.  I've had 2 days of lunch duty, 2 days of helping in class, 1 day of sick kid, 1 day of bringing in the lizard for show-and-tell, 1 day of bringing cupcakes for a birthday and 2 forgotten lunches.  As you can see, that leaves me with two, TWO, days that I have not had to go back to their school during the day.

This week I told them that since it was my birthday, and since I didn't have lunch duty, I did NOT want to worry about having to schlep forgotten lunches.

What did they say when we get out of the car? "We forgot our lunch."

Of course you did.

It was out of the fridge and. in. their. hand. before we left.  But, they set it down to pick up something else (oooh, shiny!) and left it at home.  So on the one day I don't have to go back to school, the one day I should have to myself, I drive their lunch to school.

This is my life.

What do you say when you turn 44? I'm really not sure.  I've not had a great year, that goes without saying.  I really don't want to rehash that mess today, now do I? No, no, I most certainly do not.

Did I do 44 interesting things this year? Or learn 44 new bits of knowledge? Or???

I guess I'll say that I survived 8.295x44 days.  Yes, I did.  I made it through.  That is the best thing that happened this year.  But there were some other good things, I suppose.  I'll start with 10 good things that happened this year:

1. We had 25 baby rabbits survive and thrive
2. The 5 breeding rabbits are doing well too
3. We got a new dog
4. Sandis got her blue-tongued skink
5. We have 6 happy chickens in the coop
6. My car is still running
7. And so is Brian's
8. Sandis did very well in the county fair with both rabbits and vet science
9. Stella's dances both did well and went to state fair
10. Stella has a whole new group of friends that are HER friends, from dance

And follow with a few good things about today:

1. Two words, Gingerbread Latte
2. Many episodes of Torchwood
3. Some knitting
4. Alone time
5. Time with Brian
6. It's not hot
7. I don't have to work
8. Lovely birthday messages on FB
9. Some writing done
10. Some errands done

Now I need to build this new year up bit by bit, until, one year from today, I have 45 reasons that the past year was amazing

Sandis has become British.

She woke up yesterday with a British accent that hasn't left.  I am her "fake mummy," because I can't be her actual mother, being that I'm not British.  Her sister is "small child," or occasionally, "fake sissy."  She keeps asking for cheese crisps and wishing that her football season wasn't over.  Much more babbling when you are British, I've found.

The story is that she is really The Doctor's ginger child.  He implanted fake memories into our family so that we think she's our child, but really The Doctor gave her to us for safe keeping.  Some day, he will return for her.

Having seen the show, I can't argue with the logic.

Sandis' "Fake Da" has challenged her to keep up the British accent for an entire week.  She was British today at the dentist, but didn't speak during the library program.  Not sure if that counts or not.  She's planning on doing it tomorrow at quasi-school.  Should be quite the shock for her teachers.

BTW, her accent is quite good, to an unrefined American ear.  All from watching Dr Who and Harry Potter.
I guess she was inexplicably "from Boston" a bit as toddler.

Sometimes you have one of those days.  Days when your younger child is ranting about how she doesn't know how to highlight things on her computer or how writing an outline of something she's read is a skill that will never be useful in her life . Ever.  And then it takes your elder child half an hour to put on her shoes so she can go outside to feed her rabbits, which will take another half hour, and you have TEN minutes until you have to leave.  And then the two children meet in the hallway, like ships passing in the night, except those ships are loaded with cannons and snipers and an epic battle ensues over nothing.

Finally you shove them both in to the car.  You'll only be fifteen minutes late for whatever activity.  Now the children are in close proximity to each other.  Eyes narrow, lips curl.  Epithets begin to spew and then next thing you know, a jar is thrown at a sister's head, a pinch is administered that MUST have broken the skin (it didn't.)

You've modeled and taught patience, caring, understanding, non-violence.  You wonder where you went wrong with these children.

Then, someone tells you that your children are leaders. Multiple someones, actually.  They take charge of situations in a calm and kind way.  They help out children who are struggling to understand. No one is left out or left behind on their watch.  They have empathy.  They don't disrupt situations, but lead them in the right direction.  They are model citizens.

And you realize, you're doing alright after all.  They will become helpful citizens of our world.  You have not failed as a parent, you have succeeded, they are giving, caring human beings.

The rest is just noise.

 

So, I might have just uttered the sentence, "It is 8:30pm, I haven't had any dinner, I'm hungry and trying to clean up the kitchen enough to make something to eat, please, go wash your dead rabbits in the bathroom."

Yeah, maybe having the baby rabbits due on Stella's birthday wasn't such a good idea seeing as how Mayahuel is an abysmal mother.  Of course, we didn't know that given that it's her first litter.  Still, RIP Mr BoJangles and two siblings.  Let's hope the remaining ones make it.

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In better news, STELLA IS TEN!!! Double digits, a whole decade, the big 1-0.  She is thrilled.  And she's glad she was well enough to go to quasi-school, because, as she said, "it would be horrible to have to miss school on your birthday!"  Yes, that is what all the cool kids say.  At least, all the cool kids who go to school one day a week, and get to take super fun classes like Animalia and Geography Through Art.

She had cake twice today. Twice. And she got a Rainbow Loom, which she's desperately wanted for months now.  She thought she wasn't getting one as none of the packages looked big enough.  Ha! I was so tricky having Sandis wrap it in the box it came in :)  She got several other gifts from us and her grandparents - cds, a new purse, more rainbow loom bands, B&N gift card, Piggly Wiggly sweatshirt, money.  She's a pretty stylin' ten yr old.

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And now, to write directly to Stella, my baby, my last baby.

Stella, I can't believe you are ten.  How on earth did I end up with a BABY who is TEN? The years have flown by.  It seems like yesterday that you were born, and yet, I barely remember that time.  I do remember some, and when I tell you stories, you always laugh and smile.  You love the stories from when you were a little girl.

I know that you don't always have it easy.  Life isn't fair.  You are the youngest.  You have impulse control issues, ADHD, anxiety - these make life harder for you to navigate at times.  Still, through it all, you are loving and sweet.  You have moments when we want to strangle you, but then you turn around and offer your last cookie to someone who doesn't have one.  You offer to help without being asked.  You give hugs when you see someone down.  Your kindness knows no bounds.

Those things that people may see as problems now, will be called "spunk" and "fire" when you are older.  I don't worry about you, my girl, you will have your way with this world.

I love you from the bottom of my heart, Stella.  I truly do.