It's a coupla days later and I'm still shaking my head over the whole octuplets thing.
Eight babies? At once? There are days when I'm overwhelmed by two. And they're not babies anymore.
What really irked me is the unfairness of Mother Nature -- this woman in California popped out eight babies in 5 minutes. It took me more than 36 hours to push out my first, and she was lucky she was 6 pounds, 6 oz. with a small head or she wouldn't have her brother. (I'm not sure she sees that as "lucky" at this point ...)
The other thing that struck me was that No. 8 (Baby H), was a surprise. They were really only expecting 7. Almost like when you buy a dozen bagels and they throw that extra one in for good measure. You get home and think "Hey, lucky day. Extra bagel."
The anesthesiologist (and ladies, if you're having a baby in any denomination you want an anesthesiologist) Dr. Jalil Riazi, said the mother responded calmly to the news of the extra. “Her question was, ‘Really, an eighth baby? How did we miss that baby?' " he related.
From the latest reports though, it may not be the last time one of the kids is overlooked. There are apparently six siblings at home. Fourteen kids under one roof. God love 'em and good luck. If it was me, they'd all get those ankle-bracelet monitoring devices. Or maybe those ID chips many puppies get these days. I need all the help I can get.
Seriously though, it's almost too bad they didn't find a ninth baby. The family ended up one shy of its own Little League baseball team.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Separation of Church and State
Welcome to aliasmom, my offshoot of aliasmichelle.
I've been thinking for awhile about just having a kid-, family-, mom-centric blog -- a separation of church and state if you will.
After all, when it comes to my kids I try not to use words I wouldn't say in a church or other houses of worship. (Except when I get cut off in traffic and they slip out -- usually the "worst poop" as Josh calls it. "Mom, I know what you said." "Josh, what did I say? Spell it." "C-R-U-D" "Honey, if you think that's what I said, then that's what I said.")
And as you know, when it comes to my opinions on everything else, from bailouts to basketball to bears of the polar persuasion, I got plenty to state, church-worthy or not.
So I'm giving Separate a shot. Let me know what you think.
I've been thinking for awhile about just having a kid-, family-, mom-centric blog -- a separation of church and state if you will.
After all, when it comes to my kids I try not to use words I wouldn't say in a church or other houses of worship. (Except when I get cut off in traffic and they slip out -- usually the "worst poop" as Josh calls it. "Mom, I know what you said." "Josh, what did I say? Spell it." "C-R-U-D" "Honey, if you think that's what I said, then that's what I said.")
And as you know, when it comes to my opinions on everything else, from bailouts to basketball to bears of the polar persuasion, I got plenty to state, church-worthy or not.
So I'm giving Separate a shot. Let me know what you think.
From the Mouths of Babes
originally published Oct. 9, 2009 at aliasmichelle
So, should you worry when your 8-year-old starts a sentence with: "Mom, I don't mean this in a bad way, but ..."
My daughter, now nearly 10, has actually started a few sentences in such a way. I guess it's good that she's curious. She's also a cynical little thing. She may have been H.L. Mencken in a previous life.
That particular instance was, "Mom, I don't mean this in a bad way, but isn't it a little weird for a grownup to be playing on Webkinz World?"
This came the same day my son logged on to WW and said: "Mom, you didn't win me any money last night. Don't you know it's your job?"
Welcome to my damned if you do, damned if you don't life. I gently explained to my daughter that grownups like playing video games (at least that's what they were called back in the day) as much as kids. And while it may be a little unusual, I like to play games to clear my mind ... or better yet, to not have to think about anything at all ... And because I like to win.
In short, it's how I veg out.
I also explained to my son that winning him money on Webkinz world is not in the official Mom Job Description, however it is one of my special skills from which he benefits. He didn't buy it, so I'm off for some Color Storm. Or maybe Get Eleven Solitaire. After all, I've got a job to do, even if it's weird.
So, should you worry when your 8-year-old starts a sentence with: "Mom, I don't mean this in a bad way, but ..."
My daughter, now nearly 10, has actually started a few sentences in such a way. I guess it's good that she's curious. She's also a cynical little thing. She may have been H.L. Mencken in a previous life.
That particular instance was, "Mom, I don't mean this in a bad way, but isn't it a little weird for a grownup to be playing on Webkinz World?"
This came the same day my son logged on to WW and said: "Mom, you didn't win me any money last night. Don't you know it's your job?"
Welcome to my damned if you do, damned if you don't life. I gently explained to my daughter that grownups like playing video games (at least that's what they were called back in the day) as much as kids. And while it may be a little unusual, I like to play games to clear my mind ... or better yet, to not have to think about anything at all ... And because I like to win.
In short, it's how I veg out.
I also explained to my son that winning him money on Webkinz world is not in the official Mom Job Description, however it is one of my special skills from which he benefits. He didn't buy it, so I'm off for some Color Storm. Or maybe Get Eleven Solitaire. After all, I've got a job to do, even if it's weird.
That's My Girl
originally published Oct. 27, 2008 at aliasmichelle
I knocked on my daughter's door to wake her up around 7:30 one morning last week and there she stood, already dressed, complete with baseball glove on her hand. A few days before, we had been watching the Red Sox during dinner and somebody slid hard into second.
My son said, "He should watch it. He could hurt somebody."
Nina said, "Yeah, like Ty Cobb used to," and went on to explain that Cobb used to sharpen his spikes for just that reason -- to discourage a play when he was stealing a base. That's my girl.
Sometimes, it's like living with Mini Me. I backed off a little early on, when at age 2 or so she spent as much time arranging her crayons in a very precise, very straight line as she did coloring.
I must not have tried hard enough. Nina's as cynical and sarcastic as they come. Which is saying a lot since she's not quite 10. She constantly rides her brother, correcting and challenging almost every sentence out of the poor kid's mouth. She loves sports and books and animals and exploring.
She's fascinated by finding things out, always wanting to learn something new and she gets distracted halfway through a project and moves on to what's next. She'll finish it eventually. She likes games and competing, though she's more interested in beating her brother or her parents than, say, the other soccer team.
In other ways, she is as unlike me as she could possibly be. Not particularly organized. Much more, um, relaxed in the neatness department. She's built like a Russian tennis player. She has her own pace, own agenda, and I'm not quite sure what color the sun is in her world, but I believe it's a happy, girly color like cotton candy pink or a luscious lilac.
Admittedly, these things often want to make me want to scream loudly and rip my hair out. But I know if I did, I'd hear Nina's voice saying, "You know Mom, that's really not a good look for you. But at least it's not gray anymore."
I knocked on my daughter's door to wake her up around 7:30 one morning last week and there she stood, already dressed, complete with baseball glove on her hand. A few days before, we had been watching the Red Sox during dinner and somebody slid hard into second.
My son said, "He should watch it. He could hurt somebody."
Nina said, "Yeah, like Ty Cobb used to," and went on to explain that Cobb used to sharpen his spikes for just that reason -- to discourage a play when he was stealing a base. That's my girl.
Sometimes, it's like living with Mini Me. I backed off a little early on, when at age 2 or so she spent as much time arranging her crayons in a very precise, very straight line as she did coloring.
I must not have tried hard enough. Nina's as cynical and sarcastic as they come. Which is saying a lot since she's not quite 10. She constantly rides her brother, correcting and challenging almost every sentence out of the poor kid's mouth. She loves sports and books and animals and exploring.
She's fascinated by finding things out, always wanting to learn something new and she gets distracted halfway through a project and moves on to what's next. She'll finish it eventually. She likes games and competing, though she's more interested in beating her brother or her parents than, say, the other soccer team.
In other ways, she is as unlike me as she could possibly be. Not particularly organized. Much more, um, relaxed in the neatness department. She's built like a Russian tennis player. She has her own pace, own agenda, and I'm not quite sure what color the sun is in her world, but I believe it's a happy, girly color like cotton candy pink or a luscious lilac.
Admittedly, these things often want to make me want to scream loudly and rip my hair out. But I know if I did, I'd hear Nina's voice saying, "You know Mom, that's really not a good look for you. But at least it's not gray anymore."
That's My Girl, part ii
Originally posted at aliasmichelle on Nov. 10, 2008
Lessons in DNA
We all -- and by all I mean my fellow females (and BTW, is that an oxymoron? fellow females) -- Anyway, we all have that Oh-My-God-I've-Become-My-Mother moment. Hopefully, someone else is driving at the time. Hopefully, we're not holding anything sharp. Hopefully, the moment passes.
Sometimes that moment comes looking in the mirror, finding a wrinkle or yet another gray hair. Often it comes when some particular sentence jettisons itself from your mouth, , usually starting with "If you don't cut that out I'll ...," "Wait 'til your father ... " or "Just wait until you have kids ..."
I think that moment came at least two decades too early for my daughter this week. I showed her the pictures posted here, one taken in 2004, the other in 1971.
All she could say was "Mom, put it away. That's really freakin' me out." At least she wasn't holding anything sharp.
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