The Shitstorm

I've gotta be honest and upfront here.  I don't want you to think you're coming here to read this post and it's going to be all fun & games, flowers & rainbows, something inspirational, or a real fabulous end to your day, because IT'S NOT GONNA BE.  This post is gonna get ugly.  REAL QUICK.  If you are squeamish, you *MIGHT* not want to read past this point.  Just "X" outta this bad boy PRONTO.  Trust me, you'll thank me for the warning.

Those of you who are making the poor choice of reading on, I apologize in advance for this crappy manifesto.  It's a real load of shit, straight up.  Really, I'm sooooo sorry.  I've been absent for 10 days & THIS is the ish I come up with?!  Damn. 

OK, so yesterday was going to be a fun, family day.  We were headed over to celebrate my niece's 10th birthday, stopped to pick up a veggie tray at the local Dillon's store, and I sent Scott in to grab it while I stayed in the car with Cal & the girlies.  Easy peasy.  He'd be in & out and we'd be off to the party on time, for once!!!  SHOCKING, I know, but I was feelin' good about it. 

Cal & I are chatting away while we wait for Scott to come out with the goods when I spot him exit the premises, heading our way.  Instantly I smell poop.  Maybe one of the dwarves is "prairie doggin' it."  No wait... it's not that hint-of-a-turd, fart-like aroma which dissipates rapidly.  It's that full-on, disgusting, rank, hideous feces stench that hits you like a ton of bricks THAT EXACT MOMENT, you feel nauseous, and you vomit a little in your mouth.  And seriously, we have a PARTY to get to!  We don't have time for someone to grow a tail, for the love of God!!!!!!

I scream, "I SMELL SHIT!  Someone shit on the coats (for you Dane Cook fans!)!!!!  Seriously, Scott, CHECK MIMI.  I think she shit like 3 seconds ago."

Scott says, "Gwen, she's clean." 

I question, "Cal, did you fart?  And do you have MAJOR intestinal distress if you did?!?!" 

Cal retorts, "NO!  IT WASN'T MEEEEE!!!!"

I panic.  I know that it can only be one person then.  And that one person is sitting directly ON MY LAP.  And she didn't strain.  AND she looks guilty.  And it smells like straight cha-cha.  I lift her up rapidly & take a whiff, and folks, it was THE WORST, most FOUL-SMELLING Dump of the Century.

As soon as I realize the culprit, I swiftly set her back down on my lap, muttered the F word, got in a huff about being on time & not having time for Pocket to "drop the kids off at the pool" as we've got a party to get to, and as I let go of her, I realize that my hand is.... ummmm... WET.  And brown.  More vomit in mouth.  OMFG.  We've got B.M., folks.  &*#$!!!!!

I turn Lola's ass around to get a better look -- and yes, all of this IS still occurring in the back seat of our truck (which is just one year old & seriously Scott's pride & joy STILL...) -- NOT GOOD.  REALLY not good.  Let's just say this wasn't exactly a minor dingleberry to blame, a simple shitkabob, a run-of-the-mill dookie.  This was a liquid shitstorm of epic proportions... Mississippi Mud at it's finest... the work of a massive dose of Super Colon Blow.... Queen of the Sharts.  BRUTAL, yo.

What ensued after this moment is but a blur to me now... a frightening blur.  I'll do my best to recount, with more apologies, of course. 

OK, so somehow, Polly Ann Pocket, all 9-10 whopping pounds of her, managed to defecate in her diaper in such a way that it not only filled the diaper itself & perhaps slightly escaped one or maybe even both leg holes... but instead she magically channeled this effortless, non-straining poo out a SINGLE leg-hole with such velocity and force that it actually was bubbling out through her darling, boutique sweater pants onto my hand and jeans and a burp rag in the general vicinity of this caca.  It was one of those deuces where you almost don't even know where to start... how to proceed to rectum-fy... oops!!!... I mean RECTIFY the situation. 

Scott tried to play it off on me, saying, "Since I'm The Shit Whisperer and all, I end up changing WAYYYYY more shitty diapers than you, so I'm just gonna let you handle this one." 

I freak out, yelling, "Ummm, heeeeeeeeeeeeell no, get your ass over here & help me!  This is wayyyyy more than a one-person job.  I need you -- right f'ing NOW!!!!!" 

He hems & haws, then finally saunters over, sees the wreckage, and I think, fearing for his truck, decides he might want to help me after all.  We both aren't sure where to start, Polly Ann is looking innocent as ever, and we're both in a full lather trying to get her disrobed while also maintaining the safety of the truck, its surroundings, my clothes, the seat, the door, the door jam, the floor, and our dung-covered daughter. 

My mind is racing... what did she eat different than normal?  OK, that would be NOTHING.  Is she sick?  Ummm, NO.  Has she been really fussy?  Not a bit.  Did she sleep well last night?  Ironically, she HAD.  Anything different going on whatsoever?  ZILCH.  What the F is going on then?!??!?  FULL MOON!??!?!  F'in A.

I barely know where to touch, what to try to remove, it's all a clusterf***.  Scott dives into the skids, carefully pulls the pants down to expose Mrs. Poopypants' blow-out, which by this time has smeared down to her SOCK on that one leg.  We act fast, remove the socks, curse some more, make note of Polly Ann's amused look on her face, proceed with pant-removal only to realize it's wayyyyy worse than we thought.  FUDGE EVERYWHERE.  Smell intensifying.  Nausea in waves.  I'm in Turd Town, and Lola's the Mayor. 

OK, pants off, socks off, leg COVERED in doodoo, we send Cal into the store to grab a few plastic grocery bags for the fall-out.  One for baby wipes/diaper/trash/possible vomit, and one for the clothes.  Half-way through the clean-up, we realize that's not enough.  We send him back in for more bags.  We need to divide the clothing into TWO bags.  One that is only partially soiled, and one that is completely drenched in warm trots.  Cal remained at our sides, opening the bags & providing commentary as needed.  Good times.

As soon as the clothing was completely removed, I tackled my jeans/lap skids with a baby wipe, only to smear it in further, I'm sure, but at least most of the stain was "gone."  It would have to do, as I didn't have back-up jeans on hand, dammit.  After I scrubbed my jeans for like 3 straight minutes until the baby wipe wore completely through, we cleaned up Mrs. Pocket's cling-ons.  27 baby wipes later, swabbing from mid-back to ankles, we had 'er whooped.  (as well as ourselves, but that's a whole 'nother story...)

Our daughter is now nekked, in a new, fresh, clean diaper, and ready to take on the world after her run-in with Mr. Hankey, who clearly reigned victorious.  I dig to the bottom of the diaper bag, which I admit, I've not cleaned out or "updated" in quite some time.  I seem to just toss a few new diapers/burp rags on top & NEVER check to see if I've got back-up outfits on board.  Until today...

It seemed a fitting "punishment" for Polly Pocket to have to wear a hospital, baby bag, newborn-sized, one-piece number (which fit her PERFECTLY, ironically... *sigh*) to the party instead of her cute, festive Halloween get-up.  Karma, babyyyy.  She seemed smug after taking me to Browntown.  Maybe even happier in this outfit than her previous adorable one.  Brat!  HA!  (kidding... sort of!)

iPhone snapshots from the car (excuse the blurs -- Scott was driving like a bat out of Hades to get us to the party on time.  I'm happy to report that we made it with 1 minute to spare!  YESSSSS!)...

Notice the witchy barrette... it perfectly completed her Halloween garb till she ruined it allllllllll!!!!  HA!

What did I doooooo????

Notice the plethora of burp rags under her volatile booty?!  Ummm, yeah.  Necessary for this Mama's peace of mind!!!

I present you with the evidence... you are damn lucky I didn't take pics with my iPhone "at the scene."  You're welcome.

I will luckily only bless you with the view from the outside... observe shit stains/fecal matter from hell smeared all over the inside of the bag... ewwww. 

Later that evening, Lola tried to charm me at the birthday party by looking SUPER cute in my niece's new American Girl doll's glasses.  Cal NEVER thought they'd fit her, but they were PERFECT.  I'm gonna have to bookmark the American Girl website now for Mrs. Pocket.  Greeeeeeat.

I SO love this #2 girl o' mine.  :) 

And again, I am so sorry for the graphic images, 39+ crap references, and for detailing out our daughter's shart attack.  My apologies!!! 

"When you're up to your nose in shit, keep your mouth shut."  ~Jack Beauregard

xoxoxo

THANK YOU...

... to all of our friends, family & loved ones who rocked their yellow yesterday in honor of Claire, Lola & all other individuals with microcephaly.  You will never know how much this meant to us.

We love you.

xoxoxo

"I would thank you from the bottom of my heart, but for you my heart has no bottom."  ~Author Unknown

Yellow

Five and ten years ago, our family was forever changed.  We were blessed with two precious daughters, Claire & Lola, both of whom happen to have primary microcephaly.  In our daughters' cases, the condition is autosomal recessive, meaning the chance of recurrence is 25%, or 1 in 4.  We submitted DNA almost ten years ago to try to isolate the gene(s) responsible for our daughters' diagnoses.  Suffice it to say, we are STILL waiting for results (and recently sent more DNA to the UK for further testing focusing specifically on the microcephaly + dwarfism link).  To complicate things further, our girls have additional diagnoses such as dwarfism, epilepsy, spastic quadriplegia cerebral palsy, cortical visual impairment, reflux, and more.  I don't often mention or focus on these characteristics because to me, they are just tiny pieces of who our girls are, and they *certainly* do not define them.  They are SO.  MUCH.  MORE.

Tomorrow, September 30th, is National Microcephaly Day.  In honor of Claire & Lola, we ask that everyone please wear YELLOW in support of all families who have loved ones with microcephaly!  WE HOOLIGANS THANK YOU (!) for supporting our family, following our blog, and most of all, for LOVING OUR GIRLS.  It means the world to us.

Enjoy the following pics of our girlies, sportin' their yellow bows... they intend to milk the yellow for all it's worth in honor of all their "peeps" with microcephaly! 

(And please, PUH-LEEEEASE, try to ignore the dwarf sibling rivalry below... it turned into a real clusterf*** part-way through the photo shit shoot.  Claire-bug insisted on being a real jackknob to her sister today.  Cracked.  Me.  UP!  Maybe because Lola deserved it after keeping Scott & I up ALL DAMN NIGHT, or maybe just because I loved seeing Pocket pout as a result, or maybe because I've known all along Mimi was a badass, and these pics just prove it... I don't know, but regardless, ENJOY!  :)

Claire Elise  ~  Age 10

Lola Grace  ~  Age 5

"When life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show life that you have a thousand reasons to smile."   ~Author Unknown

xo

Our Triple Threat

Just droppin' in to give props to our boy for winning Student Council Vice President today!  CONGRATS, CAL!!!  Apparently there were some incredible candidates, stellar speeches & overall, it was a suuuuuuuper close race.  I am so proud of all who ran for STUCO this year!

Yours Truly recorded Cal's antics election speech a few nights ago in our backyard in order to thoroughly embarrass prepare him for the real deal at school the next day.  HAD to share (with his permission, of course!)...

ENJOY! 

(Be sure to hit PAUSE on my playlist at the bottom of this blog to turn the music off first... THANKS!)

As always, we are SO proud of you with all you do, Cal!

We love you very much.

xoxo

Communication

I know this doesn't seem like much to most, but you have NO IDEA how much it means to our family to hear Claire cry.  Why, you ask?  Because for her, this is a rare occurrence.  I can almost count on two hands (OK, maybe three...) the TOTAL number of times in her life -- 10+ years! -- that I've heard her cry.  It doesn't happen very often, and I'm not sure what triggers it.  Trust me, we've evaluated, over-evaluated, tried to deduce a jillion scenarios which would explain this elusive phenomenon, but we have arrived upon a total of *ZERO* explanations for what makes Claire cry.  All I know is this... it's COMMUNICATION, babyyyy!  And whether it's "positive" or "negative," we.  will.  TAKE IT.

I toooootally love how my Mimi can turn that shit off like a switch.  My girl's an actress, yo.   And you can bet your sweet ass I smothered her with smoochies after her big crying debut on film (which I've tried for YEARS to catch!).  It was short lived, thank goodness. And I got some Buggy-grins shortly thereafter, so it's all good. 

SO in love with my girl!

xoxo

*TEARS*

Thank you to my friend Alison for sharing this amazing video with me.  Tears before 11:00 am...WORTH EVERY SECOND.

(Be sure to hit PAUSE on my playlist at the bottom of this page before playing the video... thanks!)



xo

Blindsided

I have had MANY startling realizations this past month or so, and quite frankly, I am not sure WHY.  Lately I've just been emotional (do NOT say it's pre-menopause, or I'll totally sack-tap/bitchslap your ass!!!!!  HA!).  OK, FINE, I've been MORE emotional.  I'll admit, I AM an emotional person.  I pretty much wear my heart on my sleeve.  I'm way too of an open book.  But I just have felt BLINDSIDED by all these feelings I've been having recently.

I mean, SERIOUSLY.  I have been living "this life" for 10+ years now (twice over, yo), and I'm USED to all of this.  I'm that person who sees the seizure, makes a pirate joke about it (my girls squint one eye during seizures -- it's soooooo adorable!), and MOVES THE F ON without a second thought (unless they linger for hours... then I might take notice...but then I probably still am just going to let them go, because I know my fear/worry just make them worse, and that's not helpful for my dwarves -- nor me, and I know that their protocol is to have days that SUCK with regards to those & then be PERFECTLY FINE for days/weeks afterwards, and so just like with everything else in life, I RIDE THAT WAVE... try to not get too high or too low.  Love it ALL.  How's THAT for a run-on sentence/thought!  DAMMMMMN!).  I'm COOL with this life.  I *LOVE* and completely embrace it.

So, here goes.  I have felt blindsided by the following shit lately & I wish to all things holy I knew why:

1)  OK, so Lola is soooooooooooooo f'ing SMALL.  Like CRAZY tiny.  Like newborns aren't this small SMALL.  NOT REAL almost?!??!  And see, I KNOW all this already.  I've been around it for 5+ years!  But why NOW is it suddenly hitting me that it's such a different KIND of itty bitty?  Because I've known for the past several years that:

A) She doesn't really grow much at all.  PERIOD.

B) She has ALWAYS been teensy/in single digits/the same height (23" approx.!) for like EVER.

C) She is still in size 1 diapers (maybe SOME size 2's, depending on brand... but they overlap at the waist by a good inch!) and 3-6 month clothing and she wears TWO swim diapers to hydrotherapy because her legs are sooooo tiny (can't let Mr. Hankey escape!  Need a double barrier!  LOL) at age 5 years 4 months old... yes, ummmm, STILL. 

D) She eats like a horse (and loves every second of it!) but just is apparently incapable of utilizing those calories for actual GROWTH (and development, but that's a whole 'nother story...!).  Oh, and Scott & I totally calculated up that since she's now 5 & has maybe 5-6 bottles daily ON AVERAGE -- that equals close to 10,000 bottles in her lifetime & she's STILL only 9-10 lb.?!?!?  WTF?! 

So WHY am I JUST NOW starting to realize all this & see her size in actuality?!  I take TONS of pictures of her.  I see her in other people's arms all the time.  Nothing has changed... so why am I having these thoughts NOW?  Has my mind been protecting me for some reason?  Am I equating her tinyness with lack of viability?  If so, WHY? 

NO MF CLUE.

Even more scary is the fact that this year, Lola would have been starting KINDERGARTEN.  My 9-10 lb. "baby" = a kindergartner?!  The emotions of saying/typing that make tears well up in my eyes for sooooo many reasons.  I just cannot imagine her in that type of environment -- being "old enough" to go to school, being on her own, and most of all, being TYPICAL.  She is who she is & I love her AS she is, but something about the wistfulness of this possibility/age/experience... it makes me teary.  Hello lump, meet my throat. 

The one thing I DO KNOW is that with each passing day, I love this child so much more than I can even put into words... She makes me ME.  She makes my world feel RIGHT.  She's so much a part of who I am.  We are SO connected.  She can keep me up at night for hours STILL -- AGE 5!!!! -- & I love her even more.  It's intense, this love. 

2)  Claire's TEN.  As in ten YEARS old.  Like a freakin' DECADE!  I had her in 2001.  It's now 2011.  TEN YEARS!  How is that possible?  DOUBLE DIGITS?!?!?  And going along with point #1 above, she's reeeeeeeally small, though maybe not as small as Lola, she's microscopic for a 10 year old.  She's 19 lb. and maybe 33" tall?!?!?  Not to mention she would be in the 5th grade this year.  Ummm, WOW.  I am just gonna go out on a limb and say that I think it must be a GOOD THING that it doesn't feel like ten years to me.  Must mean we're living and loving A WHOLE LOT.  Or maybe we're just in a neurological time warp... yeah, I think BOTH are accurate.  :)

3)  I'm feeling ridiculously overprotective of Cal.  I am hesitant to go into too much detail right now, but suffice it to say ----> Eggs in 1 basket.

It pains me to even say that out loud or hint at it... makes me feel grim and negative, and that's just not me.  Maybe another time I'll get ballsy enough to elaborate... but dammit, I just can't right now.  The thought of him maybe leaving the house in 6 years has me more than a little flustered.  How is that possible???  He makes me smile EVERY.  SINGLE.  DAY.

I found this clown wig at a garage sale & dared Cal to wear it into the next store we went to -- the only catch was that he had to keep a straight face, and if anyone said, "Hey, nice wig!" he had to reply with, "What?"  I bet him $5 he wouldn't do it... guess who won???   This is his best attempt at a straight face whilst wearing THE MOST RIDIC wig evahhhh.  It lasted all of 0.73 seconds.  :)

4)  Ten years of sleep deprivation's a BITCH!!!!!!!  And this night owl gig I've had goin' since college has got to change BECAUSE of that fact.  Dwarves who wake 3-4 times nightly for hours at a time do not make my ideal "go-to-bed-at-1-or-2-am-and-get-up-at-9-or-10-am-thing" work too well.  It's kicking my ass.  And Scott's fine ass.  (and my thyroid/adrenal's asses, too!  Grrrrrrr!)

I'm sure I could come up with a 5, but that would just be to appease my Type A, and I'm SO letting that goooooooo.  :)

Anyway...

I leave you with NO explanation of WHY the above emotions are surfacing, no imminent solution, no silver lining (yet... except for the fact I don't give a rat's ass WHY I'm feeling this, I'm STILL just gonna love the HELL out of my kids as long as I have 'em!!!) and best of all, NEW PICS OF MY GIRLIES!  xoxo

From now on, Lola's known as "Dolla."  HA!  I keep singing, "$50 dolla bills, y'all..." adapted from the classic Montell Jordan number "This Is How We Do It."  Polly Ann's a HUGE fan of 90's booty jams... oh yeahhhhhhhh.  She's got some Silk, H-Town, Jodeci, & Intro queued up as we speak!  HA!  (wait, maybe that's me... LOL)

Hand-made dress & flowers by my friend, Jill Cox, of JillyBean Designs (look her up on Facebook, too ~ tons more incredible designs pictured there!)

More JillyBean Designs...  <3

"You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should." 

~Max Ehrmann (Desiderata: A Poem for a Way of Life)

Dwarf Dojo

OK, so I recently found this ol' gem-of-a-folder on Scott's bulging hard drive (HA!), and it was just TOO CLASSIC to not share.  These pictures were taken on December 12, 2007 when Lola was just over a year & a half old.  As usual, we were doing childish things with her -- big surprise!  Apparently Scott found an old crocheted scarf that his grandma had made for a Christmas snowman decoration, and when I came into the room, he had Lola suited up & ready to fight.  I am pretty sure a little pee came out when I saw it.  I knew I HAD to capture that moment in time, and I am *SO* glad I did!!!  Judging from the footage and size discrepancy, I'm assuming these sparrers were clearly competing at the same skill level (just like Kramer in Seinfeld!).  Enjoy our chubby (see, she actually *DID* go through a baby fatty stage!), eczema-ridden, mini karate (that's pronounced "ka-rot-tay!") star in silent-film-style action!  Wish I had a flip-book of this bad boy.  HA! 

God, we are SO immature. 

And I LOVE IT!!!

xoxo