Love Note To My Family

When people ask me how many kids are in my family, I tell them I have two brothers, but am really the oldest of eight.  You see, my grandparents raised their daughters to be very close, and in turn, their children were also raised to be close.  There are a total of eight grandchildren, and in many ways we are more like siblings raised in different houses than cousins.  We are five girls and three boys, and each of us was the baby at some point.  We range in age from 36 to 18, and speak to each other, either in person, on the phone or via facebook often.  They are some of my favorite people in the world.
When we were younger, our moms took us to whatever photo studio a) they had a coupon for and b) would be willing to take on a group photo of this crazy bunch and gave it to our grandparents as a Christmas gift.  We stopped when I was around 20, and Bridget (the baby) was around 2.  The next year, I was about to be a mom myself, and our mothers were probably tired of hearing me whine about having to find something green to wear to match whichever of the little girls fit into the green velvet dress that had been worn by all of us.  I had this thought that since I was the oldest, maybe the littler ones should dress to match me...
This Thanksgiving, we crowded into my brother's garage and re-created that picture, including making Bridget sit on my lap.  My brother and his wife printed the picture and framed and wrapped it for our moms for Christmas.  Needless to say, it was a huge hit.  The day after Christmas, my Aunt Nancy called to let me know how special it was to her and how she loves that we all really DO both love and like each other.
The thing is, I don't think any of us realize how incredibly special the bond we have is.  Because to us, that is just normal.  We forget that some people barely know their cousins, much less have actual relationships with them.  Taking that silly picture in the garage was actually FUN.  We told the younger kids what brats we were, and how difficult we would be.  We remembered the year my aunt assumed the picture would be from the waist up and dressed Colleen and Megan in beautiful sweaters and mismatched stretch pants, only for all the pictures to be full length.  Or the time Erin had a tantrum and was crying so hard we really thought she puked down my back.  And the year Aunt Nancy fought the face off the studio to make them accept her coupon (she was right, by the way).  To make it worse, that year, they cut the very tops of both of my brother's heads off in the pictures.
So thank you to my crazy family for giving us the kind of bond you can totally take for granted.  Thank you for raising us to just know that we are both loved and liked.  Thank you for our shared humor, our love of matching Irish sweaters and our shared history.  Because really, we don't take it for granted at all.

That Which Does Not Get Done

Over the years I have come to accept that my plans exceed my capabilities.  Every year, there is some wonderful holiday thing I want to do, but it just doesn't get done.  Until this year.  This year I refuse to beat myself up about what I just don't manage to find time for. And I refuse to even teasingly call myself lazy.  I have 4 kids and a full time job for Chrissakes.  I don't have time to be lazy.
This year, Christmas cards did not get done.  I know, many of you were pining for my traditional, non-red eye corrected photo card of all of my kids looking almost at the same place at the same time.  Who knows?  Maybe I will take a page from Julia Child and send the card I created but never had printed as a Valentine.  Or Arbor Day greeting. 
I didn't really bake any cookies either.  Sorry.  I was tired.  Did I mention that I have 4 kids and a full time job?
We DID get almost all of shopping done prior to Christmas Eve.  (So it was the 23rd, but it was still BEFORE Christmas eve).  We went to the beautiful Kris Kringle market, ate chocolate covered marshmallows, had a picture with Santa and saw the windows at Marshall Fields (take that Macy's.  Always Fields in my heart!).  We watched Christmas movies together.  We had friends over, and went to friend's homes.  I re-read The Bird's Christmas Carol, like my grandmother did every year.  We admired our lovely tree and wrapped gifts. 
It may not be a Martha Stewart Christmas, but it's mine and it is plenty.  May you all have a holiday season of plenty.

Hug a soldier

This time of year, I always notice the number of service men and women around town, either those lucky enough to be home for the holidays, or those, while not home, at least safe and stateside.  This year, though, I am noticing something a little unsettling.
Most of the young men I see in uniform are starting to look like boys to me.  It dawned on me that, really they are just boys.  Many of them are just three tiny years older than my own sweet baby boy. 
So, now when I see these young people, in addition to thanking them and sending my silent prayers into the universe for them, I send an extra thank you and prayer to their mothers.  I cannot imagine what it must be like to see your sweet baby, who you have protected so well, walk headlong into a danger that you can do nothing about. 
This holiday season, consider sending a Christmas card, or a USO care package to one of our service people.  Whether you agree with our presence in Iraq and Afghanistan or not doesn't matter.  What matters is that our boys and girls know that we are thinking of them.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

HOLY CRAP!  It's COLD out. 
This should not be a surprise, as I am a native Chicagoan and cold is what we do here.  I hate the news reports where they stop and ask motorists if they are surprised by snow.  In February.  Now, snow in June?  THAT would be a surprise.  But that it is roughly freezing out on December first should not be a surprise.
But there I stood, on the train platform.  Shocked that the wind was blowing right through my coat.  Stunned that my gloveless hands were cold.  Why wasn't I wearing gloves?  Because it's just December first.  It's not "cold" until at least Christmas, right? 
So, now I do what I do every winter.  Perch on our radiators, in an attempt to thaw my bum out and complain that I am freezing.

Klingon

I have a stalker.  My 5 year old, Harry.  Apparently, this change in our family dynamic has cause the little man to be more than a bit clingy to me.  At this precise moment, I am typing this has Harry screams "Moooommmmmmyyyyyy" over and over again.  It sounds remarkably like someone is killing him. 
Except he is completely safe.  And I have done multiple hugs and kisses and glasses of water and one more hug and a kiss and answered just one question (which is often actually a declarative sentence about how much he hates going to bed).
I know change is rough on a little guy. I get it.  I do.  But I may need a preschooler restraining order if the kid doesn't stop following me into the bathroom.

Giving Thanks

Yeah, I know I am a couple days late, but I spent the bulk of my weekend puking and sleeping, so give a girl a break.
I am thankful for so very much this year.  I am grateful for a return to good health after my adventure in the ICU in March.  I am beyond thankful to be off the blood thinners that did an excellent job of dissolving the blood clots in my lungs, but made things like brushing my teeth and shaving my legs look like a horror film. 
I'm thankful for healthy happy kids.  I am thankful for my Jake, who is turning into such a young man but still was over the moon excited to go see Toy Story 3 with us.  I am thankful for my Abby, who makes me laugh every day, even though she is personally responsible for most of the gray hairs I am covering up.  I am thankful for my Aidan who still cuddles with me.  I am thankful for my Harry, who greets me every afternoon by telling me how much he "misseded" me.
I am thankful for my husband, who braved Black Friday crowds to get me popsicles and ginger ale to cure my upset stomach.
I am thankful for my big, nosy, Sout-side extended family for raising me in more than a little chaos and doing the same for my kids.
I am thankful for dear friends, both near and far, whether we met in High School, work or on the internet. 
I hope you are as blessed this holiday season.

Who ACTS like that????

So last night, we went to the annual Disney Magic Lights Parade downtown.  Mickey and friends parade down a rather magnificent stretch of a mile and turn on the holiday lights as they move along.  It's a big deal and we've been taking our kids to this since Abby was 2 months old in a Snugli.  She's 13 now.
Well, unfortunately, the weather was nice yesterday.  So the crowd was huge.  And this truly HORRIBLE woman in a gray beret with a black bow on the front just won the award for bitchiest woman on the planet.  The police had left their road closed signs laying flat on the ground, taking up a ton of space and Abby had a bit of a hissy about having to stand near a trash can instead of right by us.  Eventually the police came and took all but one of the signs, so my husband lifted the sign and propped it up against the bus shelter, making a lot more room.  Abby was trying to get into a better spot, while making sure her two younger brothers were in front so they could see the action.  Obnoxious hat lady had the absolute NERVE to tell my child that she was behaving poorly and was "making me uncomfortable".  I think more than that was said, because Abby was off to the side, by the trash can she so objected to and away from her friend.  I went to talk to her and my baby burst into tears.  Full on tears.
And the issue the woman was soooo uncomfortable about?  Her uncollapsed, $700 EMPTY stroller.  So, wretched woman, I hope you and your overpriced stroller have a very merry Christmas together.  Though I don't think Santa stops for adults who make kids cry at a Mickey Mouse Christmas parade...

November 18

Today is my dad's birthday.  He'd be 62 this year.  For those of you who never met my dad, all I can say is boy did you miss out.
My dad was a goof.  The king of the goofs.  The emperor of the goofs, really.  He was the kind of dad who rode my pink Huffy Sweet Thunder bike through our neighborhood because we couldn't fit kids AND the bike in the station wagon to get it to my grandparent's house and I wasn't allowed to cross the busy streets yet.  He was the kind of dad who played hide and seek in the house, but always hid in the furnace closet.  He told spooky stories starring a Big Black Toe that still give me the heebie jeebies.
But better still, he was the kind of grandpa who thought the sun rises and sets in his grandchildren.  As far as Poppa was concerned, my kids could do no wrong.  None.  And vice versa.  Oh the adventures they had, roaming our neighborhood, with the kids riding in my blue grocery cart because he couldn't figure out how to collapse my stroller.
Mind you, my dad was not without faults.  He was a Viet Nam vet, with PTSD and in otherwise poor health.  He had a short temper, and many times growing up, you weren't sure just which Dad you were getting.  But today is his birthday, and the awesome always outweighs the difficult. 
So, if you have a moment, raise a boneless rib sandwich in a toast to my dad...

Someone's got the gimmes!

And it's not the kids in this house.  It's me. 
Given the new work situation in the house, we are, once again, looking at another Christmas where the adults don't exchange gifts.  Which, rationally, is OK.  It really is more for the kids than us.  But it still sucks.
We made the decision that I am keeping a hair appointment I considered canceling.  A new salon in my town is offering 50% of their services if you book by the 26th, and then you lock in your rate for the next 6 months.  Making the fancy place about the same price as our local Hair Cuttery. 
I am hoping this haircut puts me in a better frame of mind.  Mike already had someone call about his resume, so hopefully a new job is on the immediate horizon.  And if all else fails, I will have great hair...

Yay! More Crisis!

So, my husband lost his job today.  Apparently, in some companies, it's OK to pick a fight and the one who GETS bullied gets fired because he asked for an explanation rather than walking away.  Especially when the bully is the boss's brother.  And the boss herself is a bully.
See, my husband had the absolute nerve to ask for a raise a couple of weeks ago.  A raise he deserved.  A raise his bosses knew he deserved.  A raise that was two years late.  He was turned down.  Again.  For absolutely no reason what so ever.  Instead, they fired him.  And gave a completely false reason for his termination.
Of course we are upset.  We thought we were going to have some breathing room for Christmas this year.  But mostly I am so incredibly disappointed.
See, his boss is my old boss.  The one who fired me.  I used to really like, respect and admire her.  Instead, I learned the hard way that she is just an unethical, unreasonable bully.  I hope she reads this, and I hope it hurts.  Bad.

Growing Pains

My third child, Aidan, has always been my baby.  He's always been very content to be little.  Getting big has never been much of an enticement for him.  Aidan is the kind of kid who loves to cuddle up; he just kind of melts into you.
Until now.  Aidan is starting to feel his oats apparently.  He is suddenly balking at us treating him "like a child".  Which is especially funny because sometimes he has a bit of a speech impediment that makes "l" sound like "w".  He wants to roam the neighborhood like our two teenagers.  He wants sleepovers with his friends.
Which is another problem.  Aidan asked if he can have a sleep over.  I said sure and who did he want to invite.  Jordan.  I nearly said OK, until my daughter told me Jordan was a girl.  Yeah, no.  Go Fish.  So he said Aaron.  Except it's an Erin.  Another girl.  Sorry, dude, this mom is not cool with the co-ed sleepover.  Even at 8.

I'm back-- Again.

So this time, we had a reliable computer, but less reliable monitor.  Hopefully we are set for awhile.  In my absence, we moved, to a more comfortable neighborhood.  Our old neighborhood was lovely, but not quite a good fit for my boisterous family of six.  We are now in an equally lovely neighborhood, but more family centered.  And I am right across the street from a hospital.  Which to me means, not easy access to an emergency room when needed.  That would be logical and make sense.  I'm excited by being across the street from a hospital cafeteria.  Hospital cafeterias always have kick ass grilled cheese sandwiches.  And I LOVE grilled cheese sandwiches.
We also decided to medicate Aidan for his ADHD.  We fought the good fight against added chemicals to our healthy boy's body.  We resisted medicating  him to make other adults happy for three long years.  Ultimately, we decided that Aidan wasn't happy.  Aidan knew he is smart, but couldn't figure out why school was so hard for him.  We found a terrific doctor who respects our reluctance to medicate a healthy child and meets us half way.  He takes the smallest dose of Concerta and only on school days.  He is having the best school year of his entire school career. 
Nothing else terrifically noteworthy for now... 

Tradition!

The cooler the air gets, the more our family traditions come to mind.  Summer is too relaxed for our already loosey goosey family for a lot of traditions, though I suppose that could be a tradition in and of itself. 
Most "normal" families tend to think of traditions being related to the "big deal" holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas.  And we have a lot of those, from using my good china for Thanksgiving dinner to our annual trip to the Kristkindle Market for chocolate dipped marshmallows and a visit with Santa near Christmas.
To me though, it's the little traditions that matter.  Every Friday our family has cheap, grocery store pizza and pop in the living room while we watch Wizards of Waverly Place together.  Sundays, we go to Mass as a family, then the grammar school age kids attend religious ed and Mike and I hit McDonalds and a local discount store along with whichever kid doesn't have class.  Those surprisingly beautiful days, when it hits 70 in March for no good reason, we hit the zoo.  On birthdays, we have the favorite meal of the guest of honor.  Even if it's peanut butter and jelly on Eggo waffles (which is actually remarkably tasty, for the record).
We ut so much emphasis on tradition sometimes, that I think we miss out on the best ones. 

Reduced Circumstances

Like a lot of people in this current economy, our family is making do with less.  Unlike a lot of people, in our case, much of it is our own damn fault.  I wish I could blame the government or falling stock markets for our poverty, but nope.  It's all our doing.
Seven years ago, we were actually living pretty comfortably.  Two full time jobs, three kids, affordable rental in the city.  Then I got laid off and we mutually decided to let me stay home a little while with our kids.  Jake was being diagnosed with learning disabilities and Abby was starting school.  Aidan was still small enough to need a lot of mommy time.  It made sense.  I needed to manage Jake's special ed and potty train Aidan.  Then my grandpa died, followed by my grandma and my dad, all within about eighteen months.
So, we had the brilliant idea to have another baby.  Except my husband's insurance cost a fortune, and that cute city apartment wasn't big enough for 6 and the city's public schools were not meeting our expectations.  So we moved to the suburbs.
And I went back to work, for much less than I was making before, but with uber cheap insurance.  And Mike went back to school.  Then I lost my job, and he lost his. 
Things are better now.  I work full time, at close to my old pay level and Mike works almost full time in addition to going to school, but we're still not nearly as comfortable as we used to be.
There are some things I have learned I live just fine without, like a car payment, premium gas, multiple trips to Starbucks.  There are some things I really miss though. 
I miss department store cosmetics and shampoo.  I miss spontaneous haircuts, and the occasional mani-pedis.  Sure I am surviving on less Starbucks, but I still miss it.  Surprisingly 7-11 Brazilian Bold coffee though is very tasty and cheap.  While I don't really miss fast food, I miss it being an option when I am exhausted from working all day and just want to throw food at the kids so I can go to bed.  I miss just buying a book that interests me, rather than hunting it down on Amazon.com or BN.com for a used copy. 
This too shall pass, I know and one day I either just won't miss that stuff any more or I'll be using it again.  Just once in a while a girl needs to whine a bit.

Damn you Twizzlers!

Ok, I have zero self control, especially when it comes to candy.  Basically, grocery shopping with me is like taking a 6 year old.  Because I love candy.  Almost every kind of it.  Sure, I can pretend to be a grown up and eat small quantities of anti-oxident rich dark chocolate, but who would I be kidding.  I will follow that adult sweet with a Sour Patch Kids chaser.
But oh those damn Twizzlers.  I used to have a thing for the Pull and Peel variety.  I love food I can systematically dismantle, even better if it is encouraged by the name.  And the classics are wonderful.  The little bite sized pieces, lovely.  But I have recently discovered the Twizzlers Sweet and Sours.  It's a mix of yellow and red candy with a sour filling and I am completely and totally hooked.  We are not even discussing how many of them I have eaten over the past week. 
Not helping matters is that I work over a drug store that keeps them in stock.  And I am not supervised in the store.  So far my pants still fit but time will only tell for how long...

Play Date!

No, silly, not the kids.  My husband is doing a film project with my very dear (male) friend from college, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.  Oh, make no mistake, he's DOING the project.  It's good for him and he needs to do something creative to remind him of why we've been going through four years of hellishness while he goes to school.  I'm just not sure if I like my husband and my buddy playing together without yours truly.
It's not like there is any scandalous behavior between K and I.  In fact typing the very IDEA of scandalous behavior between us makes me shudder.  Not that K isn't attractive (he's freaking ADORABLE, but very taken), but I haven't thought that way about him since I was fresh out of all girls school and he had a mullet.  I know what you are thinking, but it was COOL then.  And I am reasonably certain my crush was unrequited, as K's better half is a lovely gentleman, whom I adore almost as much as K.  So, nope, no skeletons I am worried about Mike finding out.  Mike even knows that I used to stalk, I mean casually walk past, the store K worked at when we both worked in the same mall.  Which was totally a coincidence and it wasn't like there were tons of malls where we were living.  I swear on a stack of Kate Spade purses that I did not obtain a job to stalk a cute boy.  If you really know me, that is HUGE.  I <3 Kate Spade.
And it's not that I am worried that K will find out how socially inept my husband can be.  He already knows.  And seeing as Mike has won a local Emmy (it has a much longer title, but it boils down to a student Emmy) K knows Mike knows what he is doing with a camera.  And K knows that Mike thinks I am pretty damn awesome, so he's good with Mike's awkwardness. 
I think I'm worked up because K is MINE.  Not OURS.  Mike and I have been together for a long time (since high school), but we had a brief period that we broke up.  That's when I met K and we spent too much time doing community college theatre and drinking too much coffee in the local Denny's and me gagging over his clove cigarettes.  K is part of a brief period in my history where I was just Jenn, not JennandMike, or JennMikeJakeAbbyAidanandHarry.
I'm glad the boys in my life get along.  I really, truly am.  I am so incredibly thankful that I married a man who is smart enough to accept that I have remained friends with a man I had a (brief) crush on.  Lots of men are cretins about that kind of thing.  And I am blessed to have a friend from almost twenty years ago who is still around and keeps up with me and my family.  It's a pretty rare thing.  I'm just not sure if I like them playing without me.








 

An Interv iew with Aidan

My 8 year old son Aidan has asked to be interviewed in the major media outlet that is my blog.  Apparently he feels he has some project to plug, but alas, Letterman and Leno aren't interested and while Conan might have been an option, Aidan can't wait for his new show.  For the record, I am a pretty hard hitting interviewer.  So here goes...
Mom:  Hi, Aidan, why would you like to be interviewed today?
Aidan: Because it's cool.
Mom:  So what do you think about the situation in the Middle East?
Aidan: I have no idea what you are talking about. 
Mom: What would you do to fix the oil spill in the Gulf?
Aidan: Hey, that's the president's job, not mine.
Mom:  Would you still vote for President Obama?
Aidan: Yes.  His daughter is pretty.  And I have a mug.
Mom:  Do you think Lindsay Lohan should get out of jail early because of overcrowding?
Aidan: No, that's a bad thing.
Mom: What do you think of France's ban on the veil or Muslin Hijab?
Aidan: I have no idea what you are talking about.
Mom: What movie should we see today?  Ramona and Beezus or Despicable Me?
Aidan: I am not sure.  Selena Gomez is pretty, but she doesn't have minions.

This, my friends, is not an unusual conversation with any of my children. 

Well ya gotta have fri-EEEEEEENNNNNNDDDDDSSSSSS!!!!!

For those listening in my head, this sounds exactly like Bette Midler singing...

For reasons I still cannot legally disclose on the internet (don't I sound so interesting) I got some craptastic news yesterday.  And like most craptastic news, it involves money.  Most notably the lack of it.  And I was livid.
I immediately went to my online girlfriends and launched into a profane diatribe that used a word that starts with F and rhymes with duck.  A. Lot.
Do my girls shirk from this abuse?  Even the super sweet ones that I would desperately try not to cuss in front of?  Nope.  They join in with a string of curses that would make a gypsy grandmother proud!  Wishes for financial failure was for amateurs.  One wanted the evil doers shoved down a flight of stairs (remind me to stay on the good side of a certain librarian from Ohio).  My favorite though was a wish for an airplane to empty their chemical toilet over my persecutors house.  That ante was upped with a wish that the crumb bums be standing outside their house, looking up with their mouths open during said chemical toilet flushing. 
This is why I love my girls.  The indulge my righteous indignation and join in.  There was no calm, cool headed discussions of how to win legitimately.  I know how to do that.  My pals knew I needed to be pissed off, and were right there with me.  They knew I needed an outlet, not advice.  Plotting revenge has never been so damn sweet...
 And for those not so blessed with evilly minded friends...

Thoughts in Church

I m what my aunt calls a "cafeteria Catholic".  I take what I like and forget about what I don't.  I'm cool with that.  We found a great parish that goes along with our more modern interpretation of Catholicism and it works for us.
We attend Mass almost, well, religiously.  We go more Sundays than not, with all four kids in tow and I often have to remind my kids that God gives us 7 days a week, they can give back an hour or so.  We get to church on time, but we DO leave right after Communion.  But we do that for everyone else's comfort, not ours as that's about all the being quiet and still Aidan and Harry can handle before having a meltdown.  Seeing as our church usually has ten minutes of announcements at that point, it's worth it for everyone.
I try really hard not to be holier than thou about this stuff, but there are a few things that just bug the bejesus out of me. 
1) Why must people bring food to church?  Catholic Mass is only a little more than an hour.  Really?  Your kid can't go an HOUR, SIXTY PUNY MINUTES, without Goldfish crackers?  I'm not talking about tiny babies here, I'm talking 4 and 5 year olds.  I don't think they will blow away if you leave the Cheerios at home...
2) Hey lady who gets to church every week during the Homily and climbs over everyone else and lets her ten year olds play with PSPs during what's left of the Mass?  It's bad enough that you make a spectacle every week with all the commotion you cause finding seats and huffing and puffing that you can't sit together, but really, the kids can't leave the video games in the car?  If you were on time you'd have seats together.  And it's Mass.  Not the place to be playing Grand Theft Auto.
3) I don't think your kid is cute when the run up on the altar or kick my seat.  It makes MY kids think that's acceptable, and it's not.
4) And finally, dude sitting behind me yesterday?  Don't tell your 9 year old to "pay attention" and then have  full conversation with your teenager about ipod downloads during the readings.  At full conversation volume.  At the very least, pretend to whisper.  Your kid isn't going to pay any more attention that you were.
Boy, I feel better.  Probably going to get smote by lightening, though.

Sneaking Out on a Date With Myself

Ok, I know I just complained a couple of weeks ago that I had no one to go get coffee with.  But truth be told, I am a person who needs their solitude.  Hey, Superman got a whole FORTRESS of Solitude.  I personally would decorate it a little better, warm it up with some throw pillows or something, but on the whole, I could use one.
This evening though, we found ourselves pretty much out of toilet paper.  How we ran out of toilet paper, I don't know since I do buy it in large quantities, but it provided me with a lovely opportunity.
I "volunteered" to walk to the local CVS to buy a roll to get us through until we do the big trip to Target this weekend.  See how selfless I am?  I came home from work and walked in the Chicago July heat for TP. 
Yeah, I totally snuck into Barnes and Nobles while I was blissfully alone with my thoughts. I literally only had the money with me for the necessity of my errand, so I was truly browsing.  Good thing I was broke, too, or I would have been the proud owner of the James Taylor/Carol King CD they were playing . 
I would like to argue that I wasn't really all that alone.  I have met some of my best friends in bookstores.  Holden Caulfield, Scarlett O'Hara, Jo March and you too Sookie Stackhouse.  That's part of the beauty of being alone, no one judges your reading material. 
I even browsed the Children's section and looked at the new editions of the Ramona books and Fancy Nancy.  My own daughter has no interest in the books I loved, declaring Ramona "too long" and Little House on the Prairie "boring".  I am actively hiding Little Women and Anne of Green Gables from her.  She will positively kill me if she doesn't love those.
I probably stayed out a little too long.  But I came back reacquainted with myself.  And with a shopping list for my next book run..


And, just a little business.  You guessed it.  I monetized my blog.  But I promise not to put anything on here  I wouldn't buy for myself or someone I love.  I'm a big old sellout.

Back to work

Next Tuesday, my summer of leisure will end.  I was hired in my field to do AR management for Neurosurgery.  Makes me sound smart, huh?  What I actually do for a living is call various insurance companies, ask when they intend to pay for services and enforce the physician's contractual relationship with your insurance plan.
I have to say, it's pretty damn thankless work.  When an insurance company refuses to pay for service, they generally tell their customers that the doctor must have billed it wrong.  Then the patient calls and yells at me, usually using the term "YOU PEOPLE", to school me on what we did wrong.  Except 90% of the time, we aren't wrong.  They had a service their insurance company doesn't cover and doesn't have the balls to take responsibility for not covering. 
I can't change a code unless the medical record dictates it is appropriate and the physician tells me it's OK.  I cannot change a tax ID number to one that is in network with your plan.  I can't change a date of service to one that gets your service covered.  These requests are all fraud, and I don't look cute in an orange jumpsuit.
What always gets me is that no one ever thinks to yell at their insurance company for taking their monthly premiums and then not giving them what they are paying for.  The assumption is that since you pay the insurance company, their answer is worth more than my answer, which you are not paying for.  Trust me folks, you doctor is much more interested in your well being than any insurance company.  Your insurance company is a for profit industry.  They make their money by NOT paying out your claims.  So they take your money, hoping to never provide you with a service.  Your physician provides you with a service and then requests payment. 
And really, please, do not argue with me about how much your doctor charges for his or her service.  you don't question your hairdresser or mechanic about how much they charge.  Isn't your health worth more to you?  I know mine is.  If you feel you need to negotiate, do so with the doctor BEFORE you get a bill. 
Sorry about the work rant post.  Now the question is, am I sure I really want to go back to this?

You're OUT! Right?

My 8 year old, Aidan has ADHD and we have just decided to put him back on medication for it.  We had tried it when he was six, and didn't like it.  He lost a lot of weight, seemed kind of stoned all the time and built up a tolerance for it pretty quickly.  So we went au naturel, and were trying to set routines, cut processed foods and other chemicals, all that crunchy granola stuff.
For the past 3 summers, Aidan has "played" baseball.  OK, he put on a baseball uniform and sat and played in the dirt and waited almost patiently for his turn to hit.  But since we started this new medication, he has been actually PLAYING baseball.  He's gotten some good hits, and scored a couple of times.  He's still not too great at fielding though, mostly because his coach keeps letting play in close proximity to his best pal on the team.  To best explain this as a problem, you should understand that the boys great each other with the word "SHENANIGANS!" every time they see each other.
Tuesday was their last game, and finally Coach Bill got the idea to separate the Shenanigans and put Aidan on second base.  His other half was catcher.  There is a runner on first, 2 outs.  The next batter hits directly to my boy, who catches the ball, steps on the base and then tags the runner.  It's hard to tell who was most surprised when the ump called the out; Coach Bill, me or Aidan himself.  This has never happened before with Aidan.
Of course, he is now insufferable.  He wants more baseball and tells anyone who will listen for 2 minutes about his heroic play on second.  He has berated me for this being the ONE game I did not have a camera in my purse.  Daddy has heard about it too, as he missed the play by 15 minutes.  Looks like we are playing again next season after all.  And, it turns out, the other Shenanigan is moving to Arizona.  That should be enough distance...

I'm Booooooored!!!

 I bet you thought this was going to be about my kids.  Nope.  I would be the whiny, cranky, bored one right now.  I am still out of work, but had an interview yesterday.  The weather here has been crummy.  Apparently the midwest is experiencing monsoon season this year.  Funds in the household are more limited than usual, so anything that costs money is out.  I'm sick of our library, which is testimony to how bored I am, as our library is stunning and I love to read.  I hurt my toe with the car door and got a big old sunburn at Aidan's baseball game.  We got stuck with snack duty the day before payday, so I have to pull something right out of my butt for that.  Maybe it will rain out the game and it won't be an issue at all.
I just feel at a loss.  I know these past couple of posting have been kind of rambling, but I am so vastly uninspired lately.  I am trying to take some writing advice that I got from a writers magazine.  It said to write every day, whether you are inspired or think you have something to say or not.  So, dear readers, I am sorry you are stuck with it, but I got nothing.  I need something to get me out of this funk, and soon.

Rain, Rain Go Away

Have you ever tried to keep 4 kids of different ages entertained cooped up in a "vintage" three bedroom apartment during summer vacation because it keeps storming?  Then you feel my pain.
It's hot and sticky and because we live in a vintage apartment building, we do not have air conditioning.  We do get a lovely lake breeze courtesy of lake Michigan (Ooooh, clues to where I live...) but it does nothing for the humidity.  The kids are bored.  Harry is already sick and tired of Candyland.  Which is fine with me as he is the fourth kid and we have played a lot of Candyland over the years.  Aidan is a pro and Lego Indiana Jones on the computer.  Abby had blessedly been invited to a girlfriend's house for the past several days.  Jake is almost patiently waiting for his new skateboard to come from Kohls.com. 
They fight on an almost hourly basis. And did I ever mention that we only have one TV?  Stupid principles...  We definitely need another TV.  Right now, I am hiding in the dining room from my kids, claiming to be "working".  I am really hiding from yet another episode of The Suite Life on Deck.  Who said those Sprouse twins are entertaining enough for another TV show?  Wizards of Waverly Place or Phineas and Ferb I can watch though.
Here's hoping for a sunny weekend, so these kids can blow the stink off (as my grandfather used to say).

What to do, what to do...

So it appears that I will be a stay at home mom for a little while. Aidan and Harry are thrilled.  Jake and Abby, not so much.  Yeah, I've given up on keeping us anonymous.  I re-read my post about my cousin's tattoo and it was just confusing.  And I know who I was talking about.  So I will be using my immediate family's names.  I'm Jenn, my husband is Mike and the kids are Jake, Abby, Aidan and Harry.  Please don't stalk us, and I would highly recommend you find an identity with a better credit rating before you steal ours.  The last name remains a secret.  A girl's gotta keep some mystery, right?
Anyhow, for reasons I am legally prohibited from disclosing in public, I am not working at the moment.  Well, I've been trying to clean and take care of my kids which is definitely working, but no one's paying me for it.  My little guys (8 and 4) and like pigs in poop with so much of my attention and I am happy to give it to them.  There's been a lot of cuddling and playing and thanks to crummy weather, oodles of Playhouse Disney.
The older kids, not so much.  I am interrupting their good time.  We only have the one TV.  I am here to stop all the MTV watching, junk food eating, and friend sneaking over.  There is room cleaning, book reading and reasonably healthy lunches.  I'd be annoyed with me too.  I liked my independence as a kid. 
One of the best gifts I have given my kids is that independence.  My older kids can take a city bus without me.  They can do a load of laundry and cook a couple of basic meals.  They can go to CVS for a gallon of milk. They have opinions, thoughts and insights, many of which are completely opposite their parents.  They volunteer without being prompted.
All this leaves me with not much to do.  Oh, there is lots I would like to do, but alas, they all cost money.  I am thinking this is going to be a long summer...

A couple of new lessons learned

1) Do NOT click on the "weird stuff" category on ebay. Just don't. Unless you really need a slightly used ball gag. Which I do not thank you very much. Stupid curiosity.
2) While Old Navy's Vneck tees are rather sexy and vanity sized (thank you Old Navy, I always feel thinner in your clothes) they do NOTHING for you walking home in a downpour. I am pretty sure I won the stupid mommy wet Tshirt contest today. Good thing I was wearing a decent bra. I saw the clouds. I listened to my husband say " Wow it's going to storm" and I proceeded to stroll to the library with the little boys instead. Then I continued to have a leisurely ice cream with them. Actually, a frozen custard. They are apparently different.
3) Ice cream and frozen custard are different enough to be corrected by three employees. Because my four year old really needs to know the difference. Dude. If it's frozen and on a cone, my kid will call it ice cream. Get over yourself.
4) Scented deodorant gives me a migraine.
5) Old Navy flip flops are slippery in a downpour and hurt my feet. But they are pink and only $2, so I will continue to wear them.
6) There are things in the ebay "weird stuff" category that I do not even want to know what they are for.
7) I cannot stop clicking on the "weird stuff". I am glutton for punishment.

I blinked

Tonight, the 6 pounds 4 ounces that shook my world to it's very core and changed my name permanently to Mom graduated 8th grade. Of course he is now 5'11, weighs roughly 175 pounds and a mens size 12 sneaker. He's also wicked smart, funny, sarcastic, kind and gentle (when he thinks we aren't looking).
He always stays to help Sr Christina at church, not because he needs the service hours, but because she may need his help. He was infuriated at the Rosa Parks bus story, not because of the blatant racism, but because didn't the man know that a GENTLEMAN always stands for a lady? He requested his school stop playing "Superman" by Soulja Boy (I probably spelled that "wrong", sorry Soulja) because he found the lyrics offensive to women. He held his own discussing politics with his dad and I when we voted for Hillary in the primary and he wanted Obama. He can give me a withering dirty look when I embarrass him in front of his friends (all of whom think I am pretty damn awesome, by the way.) He is on his second "girlfriend" though he has no money and can't drive, so his dating abilities are pretty severely limited.
The trouble is, I swear, ten minutes ago, he was brand new. Just an instant ago, I was a terrified new mom, trying to convince my discharging nurse that it was not a good idea to leave me in charge of a whole human being. Oh, I am still a terrified mom, as going into the high school for a meeting caused me to have a bit of a panic attack. But I don't know what happened... I must have blinked.

Kids These Days...

So, my baby cousin B turned 18 the other day. B was a wonderful surprise package to our family that arrived just after my own high school graduation. She is the classic "baby" of the family, using her baby-ness to get her way all while trying to act just as grown as the rest of us. And we all adore her for it. I mean it, we literally ADORE her. Her nickname as an infant was "Precious". Her first Halloween, I stood in my aunt's backyard spray painting white fun fur neon pink so we could dress her as a magic troll doll.
She was one of the first people to ride in my convertible when I was 19. Seeing as it was new, we drove with the top down. Seeing as it was March in Chicago, we left the windows up and the heat on. B begged me to "Turn the wind OFF!" and was not pleased that I couldn't.
My own son is just 4 years younger than B, and my daughter just 6 years, so they have always had a special relationship. My daughter A especially adores her. B spent a weekend with us when she was 8 and A was 2. A insisted on dressing as much like B as humanly possible. That was also the weekend B refused to hold my husband's hand because he was a "boy" even if he did teach her how to hail a cab. Which is a skill she has used recently, thank you very much.
Well, B used her new found adulthood to make a permanent decision. She got a tattoo. Now, I am not anti-tatoo. I have one myself that I got when I was 27. I wanted one when I was 18, but my parents would have killed me, and I was scared enough of them not to do it.
I'm glad B knows she is so loved that we will still adore her, inked or not. But I worry about 35 year old B regretting her choice. Her tattoo screams 18, almost as bad as the theatre masks I wanted at her age. And she put it in a rather conspicuous spot, one that isn't easy to hide. My husband and I have been giving her a hard time on facebook. We've been getting flamed a bit by her fellow 18 year olds who probably don't realize we are people that love B enormously and are trying to make her think about her life a few more years down the road.
What I want to know is when did I get so un-cool to be the one trying to talk someone out of getting inked. When B was 4, we were AWESOME. Now we get the old @@. (That's teenager for eye roll, see, I am awesome).

People Who Annoy Me for No Rational Reason

Welcome to the first installment of "People Who Annoy Me For No Rational Reason". I warn you, there will be lots of installments, because I am easily annoyed. The first to be picked on is American Idol runner up, Adam Lambert.
Hey Adam? I get it. You are gay. You like men. You are out and proud. Go you! However, there is an ENTIRE SECTION of the population to whom this is NOT shocking. For a lot of us, this is merely one facet of your personality and not your entire identity.
For the record, there isn't a "double standard" of criticism because you got spanked for miming casual oral sex on network television. It was in poor taste and was unnecessary. It had nothing to do with you being a gay man. We stopped allowing our kids to watch Brittney, Christina and Miley without previewing it too.
And why were you a "mentor" on AI this year? Hello? You lost. If I were those kids, I'd like to be mentored by the winner, thankyouverymuch. "Try to be more 'Uuugggghhhhh'" is not advice. And for chrissakes, wash off like 80% of the makeup. You look like an insecure 15 year old girl sneaking into her mother's Mary Kay collection. Boy George already did it 25 years ago (how is that possible) and did it better.
Now I realize this rant seems like old news, but it came back to my attention because I just saw the "spelling" of Mr. Lambert's single. For those of us who completed second grade, it should be "What Do You Want From Me". Instead it is "Whadaya Want From Me". I'm sure spell check has discriminated against you Adam...
See I told you this was irrational, but I am glad I finally got this out of my head.

The Outsiders

I've come to realize that I don't have a single "mommy" friend I can just grab an impromtu cup of coffee with. I come from a fairly long line of women who understand the importance of girlfriends. My own daughter is named for my grandmother's two best friends, who became the family we chose. My mom quickly bonded with her fellow cheer leading moms when I was a kid. The actually gave themselves a name and performed geriatric (compared to our 12 year old selves) versions of our routines. The Outrageous Eight were legendary. My aunts both have friendships they have cultivated since high school and college.
I, however, appear to be a bit of a lone wolf. It doesn't help that I have always been one to go my own way. I had my first baby at 21, when my contemporaries were finishing college, hooking up and could still be irresponsible on occasion.
Now they are having babies, but the chasm is already too deep. They are in the honeymoon phase of parenting. Their babies will never watch more than two hours of TV a week, eat McDonalds, and don't even have to worry about whether or not they will spank, because they are using 1-2-3 Magic and will never need to.
I one the other hand, am mired in the trenches of teen and tween-dom. Also known as Parenting Purgatory. Sure, they sleep through the night, but they want to stay up all night and sleep until noon. True, no more diapers, but that also means I am no longer in charge of their hygiene. Nothing smells worse than puberty. Of course they can "use their words" but they really aren't any more rational than toddlers, with the added bonus of being louder.
Most of the other moms of kids the age of my "big" kids are ten to fifteen years older than me, and in my community, about four socio-economic classes ahead of me. I went to the New Kids On The Block concerts; they dropped me off at the door. Their kids were planned, or conceived through fertility treatments, my first was conceived on the Pill.
It's not any easier with my younger kids. We are closer to contemporaries in age, but I am not a stay home mom, and not a mom with a real "career". So I am neither fish nor fowl there either.
I am blessed with a wonderful group of long distance friends and several non-parent friends. So I am not terribly lonely, or anti-social. It just would be nice to grab the occasional cup of coffee with someone other than my four year old.

And we're back...

For multiple reasons, some in my control (laziness) some not (teenager downloading a skateboard video with a nasty virus) I've been mostly off line since October. But, here I am, giving this another go.
It turns out I think I've discovered I want to be a writer when I grow up. And as my mid 30's are upon me, I'd better get cracking. I'm not thinking the great American novel here. I have zero imagination. But I think essays are where my heart and head lie.
I had this epiphany when I found myself in the hospital, in a Cardiac Step Down Unit with a pulmonary embolism. Theoretically, I could have died, had I dismissed my "pulled muscle" pain much longer. That feels a bit dramatic, but does get my kids to do what ask them to on occasion. The thing is, there isn't a lot else to do when in the hospital like that except think. And for some reason, my thoughts sound like newspaper columns. It's a lot like I have a poorly dressed Carrie Bradshaw talking in my brain at all times.
So, look for me more often. Send constructive criticism and encouragement, and hopefully enjoy the effort.