"Stop bugging me! Be NORMAL!"

"I can't help it. I'm a Lauck."

Posted by Jenny at 12:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just in time for the BlogHer conference, my hair has begun to fall out. Something happens every year at this time that makes my scalp decide to just let go of inhibitions along with handfuls of follicles. It has happened for the last 5 years. June through October. We're not talking a little hair, either - we're talking small ponytails, every time I shower or brush my hair or run my hands through my hair.

I am 99% sure it is my thyroid, for reals this time.

A few months back, I took a battery of tests, and one of them indicated that my thyroid numbers were still in the normal range, but were high-ish. A friend advised me to investigate further, and I learned that my numbers were actually considered outside the norm.

But okay, not everyone agrees on the number that indicates thyroid issues, and while my "symptoms" could easily be related to half a dozen other things - ie - can't lose weight? How's that desk job? I've got family history backing me up. Virtually all the women on my maternal side have thyroid issues.

Do I believe taking a little pill will magically reverse all the unpleasant physical changes that have been going on? No. But if it can stop it from getting any worse, I'm willing. I've got a doctor's visit for next week, and hopefully I'll be able to stop this infernal shedding before I'm flashing scalp this fall.

Posted by Jenny at 9:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Because this: is totally, exactly, 100% how my kids and I have been interacting

We had a good week of them cooperating, but then it got hot, and summer camps aren't happening for us this week, and we're just hanging out at home, taking trips to the swimming pool, eating popsicles and playing in the yard (and I'm working, and the husband has been on 900 business trips) but man, you ask 'em to clear a plate or pick up their toys, or refrain from yelling "JERK!" at each other and you get the dramatic sighs, and the slamming things down and the tears of woe and unfairness.

One more week of kids at home before they start up another week of summer camp... will we survive it? Will there be enough popsicles in the right color combos to prevent a "Jerk!" off?

Posted by Jenny at 8:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Man, I don't have anything intelligent to say about the loss of both Farrah and Michael Jackson today, but I'm tempted to break out the curling iron and attempt a moonwalk in my own private form of mourning.

I sort of left the whole "drama camp" thing hanging, didn't I? Fact is, I'm still sort of stunned by what happened that day. Actually, let me back up a bit. While the two big kids were in drama camp, my youngest had half-day soccer camp.

I mean, okay, look at this kid. Is this not hilarious? She's running around with a flower pinched in her fingers. She loved every second of camp, except for that one time when she got hit in the face with a ball and cried for half an hour - but she didn't tell me about that until the next day. I'm sort of shocked that she attended a camp for a sport that she's never, ever played, and didn't know a single kid, and still had a fantastic time.

Now, it could be because the camp is run by a group of brothers who told the kids a story about their own youthful love of soccer, and how one time they were at home and their mom was at work and they had a game to get to or something and they STOLE HER CAR, but because they were TOO SMALL TO DRIVE one worked the gas and brake and the other turned the wheel and WHY GOD WHY would they tell that story to a group of 6 and 7 year olds? WHY? My daughter dismissed it as utter crap. I've gotten a good look at those former kids, and I'm betting on true, but who am I to argue with my daughter? Crap it is.

Okay, so! Saturday morning, we had to get up and out early, as it was Little League closing ceremonies. As one of the moms pointed out, that required thanking the league officials, and the coaches and managers, and the sponsors, and the parents, and the kids, and the doctor that delivered the kids, and the DJ who was playing that song on the night that the kid's parents met, and on and on... surprisingly, all three kids did not have issues.

Then, we quickly ran over to the quickie hair salon and got my son's hair buzzed off. A quick lunch at home and both kids were hustled off the the school for dressing and makeup before the play. I fully expected "issues" but there were none.

At the appointed time, we arrived, clutching flowers, and sat in our seats. And? The scenes went off without a hitch. My kids remembered all their lines, their dance steps, everything.

That's right, I said dance steps. My son was a singing, dancing fool to I'd Do Anything For You from Oliver! Look at the little fella!
He's the one in the blue shirt kneeling in the front.

Even more surprising - he growled like a tiger! On cue!

My daughter did fantastic. Yay for tween girl drama energy.

Here she is as the snarky larkspur from Alice in Wonderland

And pretty in pink veil with bonus red, demonic eyes as Jasmine in Aladdin.

Can I just say that aside from the productions? THERE WAS NO DRAMA. It was amazing. The whole day, all three kids were really, really good.

A week later, and my son is still sneaking up behind me, singing "I'd do anything for you, dear, anything..."

And then I give him a chore. Hah. Might as well work that compliant mojo.

Posted by Jenny at 6:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

For years and years, I've been telling my dear friend E to get herself a blog.

All the cool kids are doing it, I'd tell her.
Your art is amazing, and it should have a home online, I'd say.

She made charming, bashful aw-shucks noises and never got that darn blog going... until a few months ago.

Elise Durenberger is an amazing artist and scrapper-extraordinaire, and I'm so pleased to share her site with you: Mamacow Creations.

Seriously, will you look at the adorableness? I could just die from it. I've learned my lesson, though - scrappin' is best left in the hands of the pros.

Now, I just have to talk her into an Etsy store so I can gleefully buy her glorious handmade cards (and other fine art) for all my social occasions.

Get on over to her site and admire and comment and add her to your blogrolls!

Posted by Jenny at 6:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

BlogHer is partnering with Discovery Health to share some amazing birth stories in honor of Baby Week. It's like Shark Week... except with babies! Baby Week runs Sunday, June 14th through Friday, June 19th at 8 pm, with an marathon on Saturday, June 20th from 10am to 5pm, so you can catch up on all the episodes you missed.

The lineup looks amazing:
Twins by Surprise; LIttle Parents, Big Pregnancy; Births Beyond Belief; Obese & Pregnant; I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant and the Deliver Me season 3 premiere, plus Freebirthing and Double Identical Twins: Four Years Later. That's a whole lot of red-hot Baby Week action for you.

The Births Beyond Belief preview really resonated with me - with my first child, I had every intention of doing everything as naturally as possible...until about two hours into labor, when an epidural suddenly sounded like a fantastic plan. My son's birth was also (blissfully) under control with an epidural. But all hell broke loose with the birth of my third child, now six years old...

After a relatively fast (6 hours, no ruptured membranes) labor with our second, I suspected that my third labor could be speedy. As usual, I was right on the money.

My official due date was December 14, 2002. I had joked on my favorite discussion boards that I would no doubt deliver on Friday, December 13th. The afternoon of December 12th, I had groceries delivered. Feeling lazy, I put away only the perishables, and left the boxes, bags, jars and cans piled on my kitchen island. My husband brought home dinner, and we got the kids to bed at around 8pm. I went to bed, watched some TV, and finally fell asleep.

I slept fitfully. My son joined us around 1am, and I clung to the outer 18 inches of our king size mattress, dodging the flailing limbs of my snoring two year old. Around 3 am, I had a contraction. It lasted a full minute. I watched the glowing numbers on our alarm clock, but it seemed to be an isolated event. I mounted my body pillow in Child's pose and snoozed.

At 3:30, another contraction, again lasting a minute. And again, that was all.

At 4am, things got rolling. I visited the bathroom repeatedly, checking for leaking, but since I was wearing a maxi-pad the size of Texas, I couldn't tell. Contractions were coming every 5 minutes, lasting a minute at a time. I didn't want to wake my husband and the kids yet, and since my parents would have to come and get the kids, I kept thinking it would be nice if I didn't wake them for another hour or two. I also experienced a moment of panic realizing that my neat-freak mother would be arriving to groceries stacked all over and a generally trashed home. I got over it.

I made some coffee for my husband, and then decided I should pack bags for the kids. The contractions were just too much, and I gave up, and sat in a semi-reclining position on our couch. Our Christmas tree lights were twinkling at me, and I breathed through the contractions. At 5 am, I figured I should wake my husband and get my parents moving, since I wanted pain meds, and things were starting to get intense.

Now, my husband's morning routine is the source of much hilarity in our circle of family and friends. He must drink coffee while reading the paper in an upright posture (preserving the line) so that he can proceed to the bathroom at the precise moment, sports section tucked neatly under his arm. A shower immediately follows. However, this whole business usually takes an hour, and I was in LABOR. I believe I made a few pithy comments along the lines of "Oh, just GO already!"

I called the hospital, and informed them that I was in labor and would be arriving soon. The receptionist was very perky and didn't seem to buy it that I meant business. She said, "okay, well, why doncha have some light breakfast, and take a nice shower, and then come on in and we'll check ya."

I then called my parents who asked "Are you REALLY in labor?" Um... shuddup and get over here, already!

I spent the next half hour watching Christmas lights and thinking of a special friend and her Christmas time birth experience. I felt connected to laboring women everywhere. Meanwhile, the contractions seemed to get longer and longer, and I couldn't wait to get me an epidural. Giddy-up, Husband!

At 6am, we shooed my parents out the door with both kids in weird outfits chosen by Grandpa from the laundry pile. My husband walked me out to the car, and I reclined the seat after clasping the belt around my copious belly. I was wearing a lovely blue velour dressy pantsuit, but still managed that je ne sais quoi that comes from rolling out of bed at 4am. I swear I was in one solid contraction from the time we pulled out of the driveway until we arrived at the hospital 20 minutes later.

I walked quickly with my husband trailing behind (men!) to the elevator, then into the L&D where Nurse Perky awaited. She was all "Okay, let's get your card and get your forms..." I gritted my teeth and said very clearly "I WOULD LIKE SOME PAIN MEDS NOW." She smiled and said "Okay, well, we've got your room all ready. Let's get you into your gown, and get a listen to that baby..."

She leads me into the room, hands me a gown and a cup for a urine sample and traipses off to her desk. My husband returns to the car to get my bag. I waddle into the bathroom, wondering how the heck I'm going to get a urine sample, when it dawns on me that the pressure I feel is not just another bowel movement waiting to happen.

I get into the gown as quickly as I can, and then open the door to my room and say to Perkybutt, "Uh, I feel the head coming"

She smiles and says, "Okay, let's get you up on the bed and see if we can check your progress, okay?" I heave myself up onto the bed, she snaps on some gloves, and performs a quick check. Her demeanor changes immediately. She throws back her head and bellows "SHE'S COMPLETE!" Suddenly my room fills with (apparently) every doctor and nurse on the L&D floor. It was very three stooges. They ripped the foot off the bed, turned things on, turned things off, told me to not push, to push, yelled names and titles at me.

All the while, I felt a sense of ease and complete control. Despite the whirl of action, I was very at peace. My husband moseyed back in just as I began to push. I grinned at him, told him to get the camera. He looked bemused, but also took it in stride. One push delivered the head, and the next our baby emerged with wide open eyes and a startled look. No doubt she was feeling rushed, too.

We arrived at 6:20. The baby arrived at 6:29. After my placenta delivered and my tears were repaired, it was determined that I was still bleeding problematically. Despite a round of Pitocin, a short nursing session and several brutal rounds of massage, it continued. The doctors suspected a tear in my cervix, and needed to take me to the OR to repair it.

And so I DID get my epidural, after the fact. My husband stayed with our baby as I was fixed up, and I was reunited with them 40 minutes later. I was cracking the corniest jokes imaginable the whole time this was going on. Interesting to learn that in times of stress, I become a raging dork. I could be dying, and I would be cracking one liners. Great.

It was a wonderful birth. It coincided with the biggest storms of the winter. As the baby and I relaxed in our room, my husband returned home to the big kids, who were sick as dogs. It was so peaceful to be snug and warm with my new baby as storms raged outside. The nurses spoiled us rotten, and I was grateful for the night of alone time with my wee one. I left the hospital in good health and spirits the next morning, with the baby nursing and sleeping like a champ.

Check out the rest of the fantastic birth stories from BlogHer Moms at the roundup page.

Posted by Jenny at 2:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

My eight-year-old son and ten-year-old daughter are attending a two week drama camp held at their elementary school. I'll admit, my motivating factors when registering them were not pure, exactly. I didn't think "hmm, what enrichment activities would rock their socks off, and allow them to blossom?" I was more interested in the 9am to 3pm 5 days a week for two whole weeks. Plus, you know, enrichment, blossoming yadda yadda.

After the school variety show this year, where my daughter's act was not selected (she and two friends had decided to sing Caramelldansen. In Swedish. Swedish-ish) she came home with a burning desire to perform. Drama camp sounded perfect, because not only does she want to perform, she is also a ten-year-old girl and therefore dramatic. All the time.

My son, however, while an eight-year-old boy, and therefore also dramatic, also all the time, is not as interested in performing. He does like to play imaginatively, and he was also old enough to attend so you know how hard I thought about that. One kid out of the house for two weeks, or two kids? What Would Jenny Do?

At drop-off this morning, one of the instructors came running out to the car to ask me about my son's quirks during the program.

Eh? Quirks? My kid? Surely not.

So, it turns out that my son is hanging on the periphery of the acting exercises, and is sort of brushing off the instructor's request to join the rest of the group in pretending to walk through a swimming pool through of Jell-O. He's looking a bit lost, she said, and doesn't seem to want to let go and throw himself into the process.

I spluttered about it being his first experience with acting exercises, and how he can be a little reserved, especially if the requested behavior is outside his norm (don't get me wrong, the kid is a regular goof-ball, but more on that in a minute.) She assured me he isn't being disruptive, or messing with the group mojo, however, she did hint heavily that there is a waiting list for this camp filled with kids who are super-enthusiastic about theater, and would just love to take his slot if he's not enjoying himself.

Here's the thing - while I made my kids both play baseball, sometimes at gun-point (not really) I'm not into forced enrichment as a rule. So when I picked them up on the first day, and both kids were talking at once, full of excitement about the first day at camp. They ran in eagerly on the second day, and both kids came out all fired up on day two.

I gave the teacher a bit of the stink-eye, I'm afraid, and I said "well, he's assuring me he's having a great time. He's coming home excited and eager to return the next day." She gave me sad eyes and said - when we were casting the roles for our showcase, it became apparent that your son did not specify any preferences in roles. He didn't even officially try out for anything.

Oh noes! I thought to myself. I don't care if they make him a tree, or a lamp, or whatever. He's obviously not very clear on the concept of what he's doing there.

With a final sigh, she mentioned that when they asked the kids to pretend they were dying of thirst in the desert, most of the kids dropped to the floor and writhed about, moaning. My son, however, called his (insert water-squirting pokemon here) to give him water, and he was saved, and also still standing, unlike the rest of the poor unfortunate actors.

You give the kid a problematic situation to act out, and he just moves right through to the conclusion.

"He's a Virgo," I said, by way of explanation.

This afternoon when I picked the kids up, they were again bubbling over with joy at the day's activities. My son apparently is going to be not only a pickpocket in Oliver, but he's also got the role of a tiger who gets to bite the pants right off of another character.

I'll give those ladies some props, because if there is something my kid knows how to do, it's pick a pocket. And biting the pants off? That's old hat for the original Nudito Bandito.

It's got to be better than this.

Posted by Jenny at 6:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)