I survived my birthday - the world did not stop spinning, I did not explode into a pile of aging goo, and no one is pointing and laughing at the artifact that is walking among them. So no different than before. This birthday did make me realize how many fantastic friends I've got, though; birthday cards and email arrived from all over the place. I stood back Monday night and took a good look at all of the people that I've surrounded myself with, and I have to say, they all kick ass. So thanks, y'all, for doing such a great job of making me feel like a million dollars. Age IS just a number.

And according to the Wii Fit, I'm 28 anyway, so suck it, Father Time.

Life: 1 
Blog Updates: 0

Sarah's party went really, really well. We bought too much food, which is pretty normal for us (I seem to be in constant fear that we're going to run out of food for some reason, like everyone will swoop in and demolish the food and then be all, HEY, WE ARE LEAVING NOW, YOU LOSERS) which means that we ate hot dogs for two days afterwards. No matter. Sarah was gifted with mounds of clothes and plenty of toys, and everyone had a blast. The Wii Fit was put to good use in entertaining some of the older kids at the party.

The bakery did a fanastic job with the cake; I was very impressed that they were able to do all of that from the napkin that I handed them. She did the dantiest cake smash ever; I gave her a corner peice, and she picked the little pink edging parts off and stuck them in her mouth one at a time. She had a little icing on her mouth and her hands, and that's about it; it's like she knew we were giving her permission to be a total mess, and she decided to do the exact opposite. And she refused to eat any of the actual cake; she would only eat the icing.

The combination of school and work and kids and husband and...well, LIFE, is kicking my ass right now. Time is at a premium. I'm not sure what happened, but somehow I'm scheduled solid from the time I wake up until the time I collapse in bed at night. I just keep telling myself that I can get through these two classes; but there are days when I stop and think about how stupid I was to take them at the same time in a shortened semester. There is nothing I can do about it now but muddle through as best as I can, but next time I come up with some hairbrained scheme to "knock out those two classes", please pick up the nearest heavy object and wail on me thoroughly. With gusto.

I was a part of a fantastic stitch marker swap on Ravelry, and somehow I ended up with the greatest assortment of stitch markers ever. My girls did a FABULOUS job; each set was made by hand, and will be put to good use if I ever get out from under my life. 

There is one additional set that I can't show you here, because y'all, this is a FAMILY SHOW, and two of the stitch markers may be shaped like a part of the male anatomy that rhymes with SCHMENIS. And others are a little more gross than that. I had a picture of it up on Flickr, but I took it down for fear that it would violate their terms, as well it should. Dirty, dirty stitch markers that I'm not sure should ever see the light of day.

Next up: the BIG BIRTHDAY. Of which we do not speak. But I think I did just speak of it. Crap.

One year ago today, I was in the hospital at the unGodly hour of 5:30 am, bribing the nursing staff with bagels and cream cheese. Other patients told us that the nursing staff in any hospital can be bought, and buy them we did with fresh bagels. I definitely got top notch care, but I think that's just how that particular hospital rolls anyway.

One year ago today, I watched the weather in a pre-op gown while hooked up to an IV.  They had TVs in there, to distract you from all of the rest of the things that they were doing at the time. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything after 10 pm the night before, so when they started the IV, all of that fluid went straight to my bladder, and I had to manuver myself into the bathroom while still hooked up to it. I told the nurse they would have been better off just emptying the IV bag directly into the toilet. She didn't get my joke, and proceeded to explain all of the Good Stuff In The IV to me. I forget that not everyone understands my humor.

One year ago today, I cried as they walked me down the hall to the operating room; I was so scared of what was about to happen that I couldn't stop shaking.  When they got me up on the operating room table, after they had located a step stool (how could you expect me to CLIMB UP THERE, you dolts?), my anesthesiologist leaned over my shoulder from behind to make sure I was doing okay. I told him that I was fine, just terrified out of my freakin' mind, but ready for the spinal block. I hardly felt it. Next thing I knew, there was a rush to get me flat on my back before the drugs took full effect and I couldn't move at all. What I do remember is praying that they would wait to put the catheter in when I couldn't feel it. Thankfully, they did. 

One year ago today, Mike sat and wiped my tears as they started the surgery that would change our lives and our family forever.  Not to mention my reproductive status, as we got that FIXED while they were in there. They started the surgery, and I had a fabulous nurse anasthesiologist helping out; when I mentioned that I felt like I was going to puke, he worked his magic in my IV, and I immediately felt better. I remember my doctor commenting on how large I looked, and then saying that they needed a vacuum to get the baby's head out. Dr. Orth exclaimed over her size compared to my height when she finally got her out of there. 9 lbs even, 21 inches long. 

One year ago today, the nurses smacked my bed into a wall while they were rolling me back to my room; they felt horrible about it, but I was so hopped up on morphine that I didn't feel a thing and actually giggled at them for doing it. Once I was in my room, the urge to heave up my guts just wouldn't stop; they had me try a bit of jello, and the second it touched the back of my throat, my body started convulsing. Not such a great thing right after abdominal surgery. I tried the holistic things that they recommend, but finally I gave in and they shot me up with some anti-nausea drug that made me very, very sleepy.

One year ago today, I held my daughter for the first time.  

We've got a rather special occasion coming up soon, and, well, I...I hate to spoil it by just yelling it up front and all, but let's just say that a little someone in my house is about to have a lot of people over, and we have to do some things to get ready for these people.

That's right, folks: my carpet has a date. With the steam cleaner. It will get hot and heavy, I can guarantee it.

I really, really hate having my carpets cleaned. It seems like it takes hours for them to dry; we have to put the furniture up on blocks for a day or two because apparently, my couch needs an oil change, and while you're under there, can you rotate the tires too, please? Thanks. But the carpets, they need it badly; between the two cats that have no other purpose in life than to shed and hork up hairballs on my carpet and the three year old that doesn't understand why mommy needs the juice to stay in the kitchen, the carpets are a mess. The steam cleaner guys come out, work their magic, and ta-da! I have beige carpets again instead of, uh, grey? Whatever color they are now.

Sarah turns a year old at the first of June, and we're going to throw a party, but that also means that we've got to get some things done around the house. Like getting new patio furniture (and by new, I mean ANY patio furniture). And one of those tent/gazeebo things to shade us from the volcano we call The Sun here in Texas. And artwork to match the recently changed up living room. All of this adds up to Mike having to do things, and while he's generally happy to hang, assemble, and clean, I have a feeling that I'm getting on his nerves when I'm looking at YET ANOTHER lawn furniture set. He would like me to MAKE UP MY MIND already and also, just freakin' get stuff done instead of talking about it OVER and OVER and OVER. What can I say? I like the planning just as much as the actual doing. I'm weird like that. But he's getting geeky things out of it, like speakers mounted to the outside of the house and speaker plates inside. And it's forcing me to de-packrat a bit, so he can't complain TOO much.

Speaking of, I need to order a cake. Gak!

I'm lucky. Seriously. In real life, I complain a lot about blah blah blah everything, but when I stop to think about it, I realize that I've got it pretty damn easy.  So for Mother's Day, the only thing I wanted was to get a few trees planted in the back yard. What I got was a day of shopping all by myself while my husband watched the rugrats, which I think is a much better idea than some stupid old trees. Although I still want those trees planted.

It was fantastic. I had three entire hours where I wasn't changing diapers, or getting someone juice, or responding to demands for a movie. I didn't have to hold, or bounce, or feed, or drag anything out of anyone's mouth. No one pooped and required a wipe. No one sneezed and needed snot cleaned off of their face. I walked from store to store in our outdoor outlet mall, looking at things that had nothing to do with anyone but me. Shoes, purses, clothes, jewelry...whatever I wanted. I even stopped by Starbucks and got an Iced Tea Lemonade, which I didn't have to share.

But then, I realized how late it was getting, so I got in the car and drove home, where the shiny faces of my kids were waiting for me. They missed me. They aren't used to having their father watch them alone, and when I sat down in the floor to say hi to them, they both dog piled me. And I realized that while I sometimes really need some time to myself, I always look forward to coming home and seeing them. They love me, and they only drive me crazy because they love me. Folks tell me that before too long, Bryan will think I'm NOT COOL and Sarah will be asking me to drop her off a block from the school so that her friends don't see her mom actually driving her. They are only small for so long (Sarah's first birthday is in THREE WEEKS), and I'm trying to soak it up while I can.

My only request - STOP PRYING MY EYELIDS OPEN when you want me to wake up, Mr. It's Time To Get Up Because I Damn Well Say So.