Another Okinawan Friend

I have started to make a few Japanese friends here.  This, however, is not one of them!!!!

We were outside last night playing basketball, and lo and behold look who showed up to play with us?!?!  Spiders do not scare me, as a general rule.  But this... this thing made the hair on my arms stand on edge.  I mean seriously... absolutely, positively DISGUSTING.  He is ENORMOUS (see pen comparison), hairy, and has fangs.  Go ahead and double click on that picture and check him out.  He is over half the length of the pen!!!I was convinced that if we got bit we would immediately be headed to the emergency room, so half a can of Raid later our friend was shriveling up and dying.

After looking it up on Google it appears that he is actually 'harmless.'  He is an Okinawan brown spider and not venemous, even though the size of his fangs measure approximately 1/2 centimeter.  I know, because I measured them.  When he was dead, of course.

GRODY!

"Twice-Baked" Baked Goods

THIS is what happens when you have two sick kids who are screaming, fighting, and bored and a mama-san trying to explain to you in half Japanese and half English what kind of mop you should buy because the one you have isn't good enough, and are fitfully trying to get dinner made and in the oven so it can be done before you have to leave for a pre-deployment brief in less than 45 minutes.

Go ahead and double-click on that image to enlarge it and make it REAL BIG.  Note the singed edges of the rope ties and the melted plastic saran wrap on the individually wrapped pumpkin muffins.  Know that in the center of the black plate there is a very large hole where the plastic has melted completely through.  Now imagine the scent of something burning in your pre-heated oven, and me opening the oven to find the baked goods that I had made earlier that morning (which, I may add, were something I had to make to bring to a meeting today and then had to re-make) and stored in the oven so the cat would not get to them, unwrap them, and destroy them.

**Sigh.**

The Case of the Missing Keys

Wednesday morning started out like any other morning... coffee, shower, Dora the Explorer, breakfast for me & the kiddos, load up the car for swim lessons.  Except that by the time I loaded up the kids and the towels and the swim suits and the stroller and the Diet Coke and everything else, I couldn't find my car keys.  Sort of a problem, considering they are usually attached by a clippie to my house keys, which were staring at me in my hand.

Let me explain how much I detest losing my keys.  I do not think there is anything more frustrating in this life than that.  After all, there are only so many places they could be!  It's about 10 feet from my car to my concrete bunker. Add in about 3 feet of hallway, and there's only about 13 feet of space.  And they simply weren't anywhere within those 13 feet.  And, P.S., how did they get separated from my clippie in the first place?!?

Whatever. I decided to worry about it later since my kids were baking in the million degree sun.  I ran to the hallway to grab my spare keys.  They were inside my calendar-hanging-thingy. I reach in, feel for the keys, pull them out, and...what the....?!?! My hand was BLUE. As in BLUE INK. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from, so I kept passing the keys back and forth from hand to hand, spreading more and more BLUE INK, which the keys were covered in.  Pretty soon both hands were covered in BLUE INK!!!

Ummm.... okay... obviously some cleaning of the hands and keys was necessary but the kids were already strapped into the car seats.  They were within sight range but I had to get them out of the car because this was clearly going to take awhile!  So I un-load the car, the kids, etc, ever so delicately so as to not spread the blue ink any further than necessary. I was proud of myself for not cursing yet.

Wyatt's favorite word right now is "Why?"  So here went our conversation:
M: C'mon, we gotta go back in for a second
W: Why, mommy?
M: I got some ink all over my keys
W: Why, mommy?
M: I don't know, there was just ink on them and I can't find my other keys
W: Why, mommy?
M: Because I lost them...
W: Why, mommy?
M: I don't know, do you know anything about where they might be?
W: NOPE! [Ear-to-ear GRIN]
M: Mmmm hmmm....

Ahhhhh..... life with a 3-year old.... !!!  Anyway, I got the keys relatively clean, but my hand is still sort of blue two days later.  Oh, and guess where I found the car keys............................in Olivia's car seat carrier!  She had been sitting on them the entire time!  Believe me, the irony was not lost on me.  Oh well, at least now I know the secret to getting off ink!  Alcohol.  Lots and lots of alcohol.  The rubbing kind, not the drinking kind... although I was tempted, believe me :)

The Night that Never Ends

So this was my night last night...which sadly has actually been the norm lately for some reason. It makes me feel better to whine about it a little bit, since I'm fresh out of big girl panties.  Nights like these result in me doing stupid things like I did yesterday - going into the grocery store and leaving the car unlocked, with the keys in the ignition.... and the car still ON.  Oops!!

12:30 - 2 a.m. Olivia is awake for the first hour coughing, sneezing, cooing, pushing the button on her musical soother thing and listening to it. Not crying... just hanging out...She is the happiest "sick" baby I've ever see.  I finally went in and fed her just to get her to go to sleep because I couldn't sleep hearing her on the monitor. Fine, I still have at least 3 1/2 more hours of potential sleep to be had.

Except that then I was coughing and sneezing from 2-3 a.m. and so was just drifting back to sleep when, at 3:15 a.m....

Wyatt woke up and had an accident in his bed... his first since transitioning to underwear during the nighttime a few weeks ago.  So I got up and changed his p.j.s and tried to get him back to sleep.  The wet spot was in the far corner of the bed somehow so I figured it'd be ok til morning and didn't change the sheets.

3:45 a.m. - drifting back to sleep when Tommy's alarm goes off.

4:00 a.m. - drifting back to sleep when the water in the bathroom turns on full blast, which is very LOUD.  Seriously, who takes a shower at 4 a.m.?!?

4:15 a.m. - Wyatt has apparently not gone back to sleep and has found the wet spot. Sheets changed. Seriously child will you please go to sleep now?

4:45 a.m. - Wyatt bounds into my room and says, "Good Morning!"  Um.... NO. It is NOT a good morning. In fact, it is still dark out. Go back to bed.

5:00 a.m. - Again.  For the LOVE... Go back to bed please!

Somewhere in here the cats decide it is time to get up and start harassing me....

5:15 a.m. - Again with Wyatt.  Fine. Get in bed with me. Just please go to sleep.

5:30 a.m. - Olivia is awake.....

And so I give up.  But now Wyatt has decided that bursting into tears for something like spilling syrup is entirely appropriate.  I'm guessing that's because he's been awake since 3:45 and didn't get enough sleep.  Silly mommy, wanting sleep....

Does it ever end? Ever? Someday - will I get 8 hours of sleep in a row without a cat, husband, son, or daughter waking me up?  I guess I should look at it as each of my little blessings letting me know they're there...

I've Been Robbed!

So today I logged into my PayPal account for the first time in months, and I had trouble logging in.  By trouble, I mean that they asked me to verify like 15 things before I could 'see' my account. At first I was annoyed, but then I became suspicious that I had been roped into an online scam, so I logged out and re-logged back in to make sure I was at the 'right' PayPal site (I had linked there originally from what I was paying for.)  And to my surprise, turns out those were legitimate security measures because I had been scammed just a few days earlier!

There was a partial lock on my account, and upon further inquiry I realized that a transaction for $750 had been completed from my PayPal account and the money had been pulled from my checking account!!  I couldn't figure out what was going on because it said the transaction was "pending an investigation."

Luckily PayPal operates on extended business hours and is on Pacific time, so even though it was early afternoon here I could still get through to them. luckily the guy on the other end of the phone was an intelligent lifeform, because I was trying not to freak out and the conversation could have taken a nasty turn.  He did a great job of calming me down and explaining everything, assured me I would get my money back in two days and helped me secure my account for future.

So apparently someone accessed my account. How, I'm not sure, because I hardly ever use PayPal - haven't used it in months, actually. A few months ago I did use a wireless connection for my email and maybe that's how they got the information, since it maybe wasn't a secure connection.  I don't know. 

What I DO know is that I'm sufficiently ticked off.  People suck. I don't even understand how people come up with these ideas to rip people off.  I consider myself reasonably intelligent, but I don't understand how these idiots figure out how to garner people's information over the internet and actually know how to use that information to get money without landing themselves in jail.  And if they're so smart to actually get away with this stuff, why can't they use those brain cells toward something more productive, like researching cancer or any one of a myriad of life threatening illnesses?

I just don't get it.

So now I get to spend umpteen hours monitoring my credit score, changing passwords, putting alerts on my credit cards... the list goes on and on.  If I ever find out who did this, I have already come up with some creative revenge tactics.  It involves string, testicles, and a tree, in that order!! :)

Can't Get By Without A Little Help from My Friends...

I hate asking for help.  I didn't really realize this until we moved 8,000 miles away.  I guess I never really had a need for much of it until now... but this move has put me outside of my comfort zone in more ways than one.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I've spent more time outside my comfort zone than in it the last 7 months. 

Growing and learning, learning and growing... famous last words from a student affairs practitioner...

In the last two weeks, I've asked my mom to send me a package of stuff I can't get here, like a toddler backpack for Wyatt, hairball treats for the cats, etc.  Robin and my mom both sent me a huge stack of coupons (we can use them up to 6 months after the expiration date here, and I love coupons!)  My friend Kim sent me some Tylenol & Motrin for the kids because there's none available on the island that hasn't been recalled.  And today I asked a new friend to watch my two kids on Friday night because our babysitter is busy, but I don't want to miss my husband's promotion party.

Looking at this on the screen, it doesn't seem like such a big deal.  So I asked some people for a favor - not a huge deal.  The problem is, I feel like I do it all the time here, because I am without the comforts of "home" and I have two small children and a husband who is frequently MIA.  Before Japan I never would have considered asking a friend I just met 3 months ago to watch my two kids for the night, especially my 3 month old baby.  In fact, I debated about it for a solid hour before doing so, and probably only did it because she had offered before and then I just happened to run into her at the commissary today. 

I don't know what my problem is, but it's just hard for me... you know, the whole independent woman thing.  I am so grateful for people's help... I feel like I write these thank you notes to people, but I wish there was more I could do to return the favors people do for me on a regular basis.  I just feel like every time I turn around, I am asking someone for something.  The list is endless, ranging from "Can I please borrow your water hose," neighbor I hardly know? to "Can you please watch my kid while I am in labor," random person my husband works with?

It's humbling, really. Apparently I can't do everything on my own.  Which makes me super excited about trying to for 7 months when Tommy is deployed.  Move over, comfort zone...or maybe please just expand a little so I don't feel so bad all the time. ;)

The Day I Almost Burned Down the Bunker

I have decided to start volunteering more for Tommy's unit.  This week I volunteered to make 10 pounds of Spanish Rice for the Cinco de Mayo dinner for the single Marines in the Barracks. It didn't sound hard, and I thought what is the difference between making one pound and 10 pounds? Seemed easy enough, just buy more ingredients, right?

Wrong. Ooooooohhhhh so wrong.

First off, it didn't occur to me to find a *bulk* recipe until the last minute, after I had already done my shopping. So right away I had a problem because I didn't have some or enough of the ingredients, but I thought I could improvise easily enough. So I put the kids down for naps... or so I thought... and set out combining ingredients.  I was throwing things in left and right and realized I was actually behind schedule. So I wasn't exactly taking my time, and the improvising of ingredients turned out to be more difficult than I thought.  This led to me making last minute decisions like, "How much chicken broth do I really need?"  "Can I use tomato sauce instead of tomatoes and that will make up for some of the aforementioned lack of chicken broth?" "Is 1/2 cup of chili powder really necessary?"

So I just dumped things into the pan. Then I realized I did not have enough pans for all 10 pounds of rice.  More like 7 pounds of rice.  And even if I had enough pans, I certainly didn't have enough oven space! Well, 7 pounds will just have to do. I shove the first pan in the oven, then realize the racks are too close together. I take everything out and rearrange the racks in the 425 degree oven, then shove both pans in.

I re-read the recipe and happen to see a key phrase - "cover and bake for 45 minutes."  Hmm. I had forgotten the covering part. I remove both pans again (these suckers are heavy!) and cover with tinfoil, then repeat - yet again - the shoving into the oven part. By this time I am getting annoyed.

And that's when I heard the "...sssss...." sound.  And started to smell something bad.  It smelled like... plastic. Burning plastic. Confused, I look inside the oven. Nope, nothing plastic in there. What the...???

Oh my Lord.

In my rush, I had set down the ginormous bag of leftover rice right on top of one of the burners. The burner that releases heat from the oven.  The burning plastic was the rice bag MELTING and the "...sss..." sound I was hearing was the rice falling out of the bag... into the burner... through the burner hole....and right into the oven. All 3 pounds of leftover rice.

And now there was black smoke pouring out of my oven at an alarming rate.

@*&$*#$*(@&*!!!

I tried to remain calm, but I'm not going to lie. I wasn't calm at all. I was freaking out. Our smoke detector was right outside the kitchen, so I quickly shut the kitchen door, threw the storm screen off the window, opened it, shut off the oven, and tried to assess the situation.

My oven looked like a billion rats had been running around crapping in it for about a week.  There were crusty black droplets of rice everywhere!

I gloved up and removed absolutely everything I could from the oven.  I obtained a hand-held broom and dust pan and began sweeping the rice turds out of the oven.  My goal was simply to clean everything out so I could resume cooking the food.  Therefore, there were now rice turds all over my kitchen, as they were flying everywhere in my panic.  Sweet.

Then the kitchen door opened and Wyatt walked in.  Aaaahhhh!  Why aren't you napping?!?! And don't touch the oven!!! Of course he wanted to know what was going on, and I don't blame him. But seriously? Could the timing be any worse?  And that's when I heard Olivia crying in the living room.  Awesome. Both kids fully awake!

It was all I could do to get Wyatt back to his room. I literally had to carry him. I calmed Olivia and resumed the process of getting everything in the oven.  I put all the racks and pans back, restarted the oven, and said a silent prayer that the food would cook quickly!!

Then I set about the task of cleaning up the rest of the kitchen.  I regret not taking a picture... it was quite the sight.  Cans, pans, jars, food, ruined burners, window screens, and black rice turds everywhere. I am pretty sure people will be finding rice turds for centuries to come in this bunker. There is no way I could get them all. Some fell on the floor. Some fell in the drawer below the oven. They are literally everywhere.

The good news? The Bunker didn't burn down. And the rice cooked quickly, and made it there only 15 minutes late. Bon apetite!

Conversation at the Breakfast Table

Wyatt: "What you doing, mommy?"

Me: "Just checking my legs to see if I need to shave today."

Wyatt: "Why you gotta shave, mommy?"

Me: "Because my leg hair gets too long and I have to shave it."

Wyatt: "Why you got hair on your legs, mommy?"

Me: "Because that's where it grows, honey."

Wyatt: "You grow hair on your legs?"

Me: "Yes, Wyatt, I grow hair on my legs."

Wyatt: "You grow hair on your butt, too, mommy."

Me: "Ummm.... what?!?"

Wyatt (pointing to his crotch): "You got hair on your butt, mommy."

Me: (Dumbfounded): "Uhhhhh.... yes, yes I do have hair there too."

Wyatt: (Looooong pause): "Hmm.... I just got hair on my head, that's all."

Just One of Those Days

Most days I feel like I generally have it all together. Yesterday was not one of those days.

The week had been rolling along great, even while "holding down the fort" with my 5 week old and 2 year old while Tommy was in the States doing some training this week.  I was looking forward to Saturday because we had an Easter Egg Hunt in the morning and a birthday party in the afternoon, and I knew Wyatt would have a fun day!

The morning started off with Wyatt waking up even earlier than usual - 5:45 a.m.! At which point he proceeded to wake up Olivia. So fabulous - both kids up even before the crack of dawn.  After some time we all ventured downstairs, and things started to get a little out of control.

One would think with 4 hours before the Egg Hunt I would be able to get out the door and there on time.  Oh contrare, mon frair!  Not so.  I did manage to get both kids fed and dressed and talk to Tommy on the phone.  I took a shower and meantime, Olivia started screaming because she was hungry (again) and had gas.  I needed to pump so I had something to feed Olivia at the Egg Hunt, so fed her and pumped at the same time and things went downhill.

Wyatt decided to come upstairs and "help" me with the pump.  He turned it up all the way and I thought my nipple was going to twist off.  Then as he was moving away he tripped on the lines to the pump and it pulled off my boob.  Olivia was once again screaming, both boobs were dripping milk, and Wyatt was on the ground trying to untwist his legs from the mess.  He got up and spied the gift bag for the birthday party later that day and made a beeline.  Tissue paper everywhere.  Go play in your room for the love of Pete! He looked at me like I ran over the cat. Sweet.  Now I made him feel bad.

I finished feeding Olivia and this must have relaxed her enough to get out aforementioned gas. There I am, with a kid attached to one boob and the pump on the other, and bam! Poop everywhere. Out of nowhere.  Well, out of her butt, I guess.  Apparently it is time to move up to Size 1 diapers because the Newborn ones aren't holding it all in.  Swell.

I get her cleaned up and go talk to Wyatt. We kiss and make up.  I run around gathering up necessary supplies for the morning outing - bottles, diapers, underwear, extra clothes, purse, keys, diaper bag, stroller, blanket, Easter basket... and am exhausted before we even leave the door. As I am doing so, I knock over the bottle of milk that I had just spent the last 15 minutes pumping. Seriously!!!  Every drop of breastmilk is like a nugget of gold to me. I worked hard for that milk!  Crap.

I finally think we'll be out the door and then Wyatt pooped in his pants. Or rather, in his pants, in his underwear, up his back, and then on his legs and socks when he proceeded to take off said clothing. I think I used half a box of wipes cleaning everything up. Olivia is once again crying, and at this point I realize we're going to be late.  You all know how much I like to be late. And my house now smells like poop upstairs and downstairs.

Eventually we get to the egg hunt and we made it before they started. Can you imagine if we had gotten there and it was over? Wyatt would've had a coniption fit.  So we walk down this embankment (read: steep hill) to get to the start of the egg hunt. I'm holding Olivia and have Wyatt's hand in the other. Wyatt sees the eggs and starts pulling me, he is so excited.  Slow down, buddy, don't pull on Mommy!!!  Crap. I totally bit the dust. I fall down on my behind and slide a few feet down the hill.  People turn and look, gasping because I'm holding the baby. She's fine, but I have approximately 40 people staring at me wondering who Mother of the Year is.

Wyatt sees I am okay, sees the Easter Eggs, and takes off.  Let me rephrase. He sprints toward the colorful Easter Eggs laying in the grass just ahead, and starts screaming with joy and picking up the eggs. All the other kids are waiting patiently at the start line with their parents. I am running behind him screaming, Wyatt, stop, it's not time yet! He ignores me and has 3 eggs in his basket by the time I reach him.  Again, 40 people and kids staring at me.  I am totally mortified!  Did I mention these are all people from our unit?  They are probably wondering, who is this nut job falling down the hill with the out of control kid? Good times.

To top things off, we went to the post office on the way home and I got a letter from the "customer relations" department from the Virginia Dept. of Taxation.  I am the lucky winner to be chosen for a tax AUDIT!  Sweet. This is what I get for changing my residency by using the new Military Spouse Residency Relief Act.  I don't have anything to hide, so fine, Audit me...

The day improved greatly after that (read: nap time) and we had a great time at the birthday party. Wyatt told me, "I had fun today, momma. I just picked up the Eggs and put them in my basket!" Yes. Yes, you did, buddy.  More than once. :)

Wordless Wednesday

Yes, yes, it's Thursday here. But this "event" took place on Wednesday, and most of my readers are in the States and it is still technically Wednesday there.  So, I feel I have the right to still call this post Wordless Wednesday.  Especially since Wordless is what I was when I saw what Wyatt had done to my living room chair.  I was completely speechless!

This picture doesn't actually do his drawing justice.  The upright part of the chair (where your back would go) actually has crayon in lots of places.  You just can't see the yellow, and there is light blue over a good chunk of it as well.  Ughhhhh.....

My "Dirty" Little Secret

So I'll let you all in on my "dirty" little secret... I have a Mama San.  That's a Japanese housekeeper, FYI.  Before Christmas, my neighbor Lisa stopped by to tell me that her Mama San had an opening, and was I interested in hiring her?  Of course I said no... I would feel silly "staying home" and having a housekeeper.  But my husband, who admittedly spoils me, heard all this and decided we should hire her since he will be gone so much on training exercises and not here to help me with things, and of course with the upcoming addition to the family he thought it would be helpful.  Not to mention, Mama Sans are dirt cheap here compared to cleaning services in the States.

And that's how we ended up with a Mama San.  I admit it is taking some getting used to.  Particularly given the language barrier; although she does speak some English, there is just so much that is either lost in translation or difficult to communicate.  How do you tell someone to stop hanging up your pajamas on hangers in the closet??

Anyway.  In order for Japanese nationals to get on base, they have to have a "sponsor" to vouch for them. Long story short, I am the lucky winner who got to become Mama San's sponsor since we are newest to the island and therefore have the furthest rotation date.

So today we go to the "pass office" which she told me was at Futenma.  There are 11 bases here on Okinawa, and each base has different offices.  Camp Futenma just happens to be where Tommy works. I drop Wyatt off at Preschool and come back to pick Mama San up.  We get in the car and I ask her, "Futenma, right?" She says yes.  I start driving there. Now mind you, I am a little gun shy about driving around here since my accident.  If a Japanese national hits you, it is still your fault and you will have to pay for it.  I guess the rationale is that if we weren't here occupying their island, we wouldn't have been there for them to hit.  Bizarre, but true, and it totally freaks me out.

Okay. So I am ever-so-carefully driving and Mama San is jabbering a mile a minute about something I can't understand, and then she suddenly yells "Ayee!" and motions to the left. I hit the brakes because she scared the crap out of me and look at her like she's lost her mind.  She tells me, "Futenma, Futenma" and I try to tell her that Futenma is straight, not to the left.  She obviously disagrees but I keep driving straight. My heart rate eventually returns to only slightly elevated.

We pass Camp Foster and she yells "Ayee!" again and motions to the left.  This time it scares me so bad I actually do veer to the left and I am now very, very frustrated and not at all sure she knows what she is talking about.  I know for a fact that Camp Futenma is straight ahead. I try to explain that this is Camp Foster and try to ask AGAIN her which base she needs to go to, because I have absolutely no friggin' idea!

So there is now broken English, broken Japanese, lots of hand signaling, and very poor driving happening in this car.  To make matters worse, Mama San tells me she "knows" where the office is but has never actually driven there because she has no driver's license.  Sweet. I'm also getting stressed out because I only have another hour before I need to leave for my Japanese Language Class.  FINALLY it dawns on me that she is talking about the Village of Futenma, not CAMP Futenma.  These are two very different places, and the Eastern part of Camp Foster is actually in the town/village of Futenma.  How confusing is that! 

She directs me to Foster Gate 5, and we drive up to the gate guard. The gate guards on the Marine bases here are all Japanese (they are going away from MP's), so I greet him with an over-enthusiastic "Ohayo Guzaiymos!" and let Mama San do the talking.  All I get out of their conversation is that we are clearly in the wrong place.  At this point I am getting downright mad.  I consider Wyatt's time at preschool "my" time and I am getting annoyed that I am driving this woman, who I think at this point may be certifiably nutso, all over the stupid island.

I ask her if she knows where she is going and she says across to the other gate.  I turn around and start driving but she says she does not know how to get there.  Since I have no idea what gate she is talking about and there are like 6 of them, this is a problem.  So I just drive to the next closest gate and THANK THE GOOD MAN ABOVE that this is the correct gate!  Lo and behold, a clearly marked "Guest Pass" office is right there in front of us. Small miracles, friends, small miracles.

At this point I would pay a lot of money for someone to do one of 3 things:
1. Walk up and hand me a Starbucks grande iced 1/2 decaf latte with caramel
2. Walk up and hand me a glass of red wine.
3. Walk up and steal my Mama San. I don't want her anymore.

We "take a number" at the pass office and when we finally get called up, I hand the lady my dependent ID card and the lady asks me if I have a Power of Attorney since my husband is not present.

Mama San has no idea what this is, but I had specifically asked her if HUSBAND needed to attend and she had said no.

I wanted to choke her.

However, it was her lucky day.  Apparently I have learned enough about this place to know that I should never leave home without a POA, so I went out to the car and retrieved the one I had stuck in there earlier that morning.  All was well.

Except one thing.

Kind lady behind the desk tells me that we need to go to the hospital at Camp Lester for Mama San to be deemed physically fit and then come back to that office to get everything signed.  What???? I do not have time for this!

Seriously, people.  How do I get myself into these situations?!??!

So what do I do?  I take Mama San to the hospital.  Yes, friends, I got my Gold Star for the day.  And then I told her that I couldn't take her back to the Pass Office until next week, because I had to go to my Japanese Class, and I might hurt her if she didn't get out of my car.

Maybe I'll get lucky, and I'll be in labor next Monday.  Wouldn't that be just peachy.

Weirdest. Day. Ever.

So yesterday was just one of those days. I don't know how or why or who chose it to be so, but it just was.

Started out fine. Did the morning routine and dropped Wyatt off at pre-school. Drove to my 36-week Dr. appointment.(!) Checked in.  "Hi, I'm here for my 9:50 with Dr. Q."

"Oh.... .hmmm..." she says and goes to the computer.  They are not the brightest lightbulbs so I didn't bat an eye but this should have tipped me off.

"He actually depoloyed last week. Your appointment was changed to 1:10 today."

I'm sorry.  Did you just say deployed?

So now I have no husband and no doctor and I am on an island.  SWEET.

"Does that time work for you? We're pretty booked. It might be awhile."

Well, I'm pretty pregnant.  So I guess it's going to have to work.

I call Jen and she says she can pick Wyatt up from school for me. Great. Fine. Wonderful. I leave and run some errands. Well, sort of errands. One could call them shopping errands.  One of which had me thinking I was on candid camera. I had been trying on a shirt in the dressing room of this store so I would have something to wear to my baby shower on Saturday, and when I came out, there was this uber-skinny American lady fashionizing in the mirror. She stops me and says, "Can you give me your honest opinion?  I mean, really honest opinion. Does this look okay?"

I felt like a man cornered by his wife when she asks, "Does this make me look fat?"

Never in a MILLION YEARS would I try on, purchase, or even consider an outfit such as this.  She's got on a spandex strappy, navy blue tank and a pair of those "stretchy" jeans that do not look like jeans, but more like a piece of rubber stretched over your skin so tight it may actually burst if you eat so much as a lollipop.  The jeans are light blue with navy piping or trim.  She has no shoes on.  She is skinny, but not tone.  This is not a good combination.

"Umm.... well, where are you wearing this outfit to?" I dumbly ask, not wanting to tell her the truth.  I am hoping, praying that the mirror is a 2-way mirror and that some famous guy will jump out of it and tell me I'm on candid camera.

"Well, you know, just around," she says.

"Hmm... are you going to wear shoes?"

"Yeah, I figure I'll just wear boots over the stretchy jeans.  You know, like tall boots with really high heels on them."

Of course.  That would make all the fashion sense in the world.

"Yes," I say, "I think you would have to wear boots with those pants."

"So you think it looks ok?" she asks, clearly admiring herself in the non-2-way mirror.

Hard swallow. "Yeah, I think so...sure," I lie.

For the love of Pete!  What am I supposed to say?!?  I literally ran out of the dressing room to safety.

I head home and my cell phone rings; it is the Preschool telling me Wyatt has had an allergic reaction to something he ate.  He's fine, but no further details. I go pick him up. The allergic reaction around his mouth has gone way but of course he wants to leave with me since I am there. Fine, whatevs.... 

I go to my NEW Dr. appt. and I happen to know him, sort of.  Like Dr. Q, he lives in my neighborhood too, and his kids play with mine on the playground.  Sweet.  Why doesn't every doctor in my neighborhood just come line up and see my vagina?!  How awkward!

We chit chat and do the usual routine stuff, then he measures me. Hmm. Seems I haven't grown any since my last appointment... which was, coincidentally, the day before my car accident.  Double sweet.  The concern is that I and the baby are measuring "too small."  This earns me a trip to L&D to do some fetal monitoring, which turns out to be fine, but they also set me up with an appt. for a growth scan the next day (today) at 11 a.m. and a return visit to see my new Dr. to follow up.  Swell.

I return home to a lack of internet and phone line AGAIN.  Jen and I plow around the house resetting every electrical box, router, modem, and tech gadget we have. Eventually we bring everything back to life, but then I start getting crank phone calls.  Four of them. From untraceable numbers.  At the age of nearly 32.

I cannot make this stuff up, people.  I only tell you what is my life.

This goes on until Jen calls me from home, telling me there is a prenatal massage appointmnet opening in 20 minutes and did I want to go?

Hell, yes.  Sayonara.

Have I mentioned that Jen is my favorite person on this island?  She is. She is amazing.  Thank you Jen!!

After the massage, Wyatt and I had a yummy dinner at she & Kyle's house.  I came home, answered more crank calls, and called it a day.  A day that began and ended well, but not one I want to repeat.  It was just WEIRD!  How does this stuff happen to me?!?

P.S. If you are wondering - the growth scan went fine today.  Baby is weighing in at approximately 5 lb, 10 oz right now so hopefully everything else is on track too.  Will keep you posted.  No worries, though.  Everything so far is turning out fine!

I Heart Technology

Except when I have to fix it. Which has been a lot lately. Which always seems to happen when husband is TDY.  I am using a friend's laptop right now because, in this order, over the last 4 days:

1. My laptop died.  Black screen of DEATH.
2. The Skype (U.S.) line died.
3. Backup laptop is password protected and I couldn't talk to husband to find it out because...(see #2)
4. Cable box died.
5. Repaired cable box.
6. The grill died - ignitor switch no longer works (yes I am counting this as technology)
7. The DSN (base land line) phone line died.
8. Reset some things and magically #2 and #5 work again.
9. Retrieved 5 voicemails from freaked out HUSBAND who had not talked to his 8-month preggo wife in 4 days
10. Called HUSBAND who gave me password for backup laptop, which is "our" password, which does not work so still no laptop.
11. Friend to the rescue with their backup laptop. Online again.

Seriously! How much fun is THAT!

On a different note, I took Wyatt to see the new Chipmunks movie yesterday with some friends.  Watching him dance in a dark, crowded movie theater to "All the Single Ladies" with the Chipettes singing it was comedic relief for the entire weekend!  Hilarious.

My Cat is Stressed Out

One of my cats, Peaches, has been peeing outside her litter box. Mostly on the linoleum floor, but twice in the laundry basket, which is a problem. She did this one other time a few years ago, and it was because she had a urinary tract infection, so I knew I had to take a urine sample to the vet. Collecting that urine, however, turned out to be a problem.

So on Friday night I separated her from the other cat, which meant putting her upstairs in our bathroom. Then I took these crystal-looking things that are the size/shape of cat litter and put them in this box to make her “think” it was her litter box, and of course put food and water there too.

I checked several times before I went to sleep, but no urine sample. So then I tried to go to bed. Only I couldn’t, because she was in there meowing because she wanted out. “Meow! Meow!” And then my other cat, Tenga, started clawing the carpet by the bathroom door and harassing me because I wouldn’t let Peaches out. So I got up out of bed and threw Tenga out of my bedroom and closed the door. But again, all I heard was, “Meow! Meow!” followed by scratching and clawing at the carpet outside the bedroom.

I got back up and took Tenga downstairs and put her in the big storage room, where her litter and food are located, and went back upstairs to bed. But all I heard was, "Meow! Meow!" coming from the bathroom.

I slept fitfully and woke up at 5 a.m. to go to the bathroom, and discovered that Peaches had, in fact, peed. Not in the fake litter box, mind you, but on the linoleum. Hmm… how to collect a urine sample from the linoleum… Think, Megan, think. Aha! There’s a medicine dropper right here on the dresser. I’ll use that! I took the plastic wrapper off and pushed the dropper down, feeling rather smart.

I push the dropper down, and all of a sudden, stuff is shooting out all over the place. What the…?? Oh crap. The dropper was a dropper that had tooth whitening liquid in it that came in a free sample of something Tommy ordered. Double Crap! I now had tooth whitening gel all over me, all over Peaches, and all over the carpet. Sweet.

I wipe it up to the best of my abilities and go downstairs to get a new dropper (the suction kind) and a plastic cup. I then proceeded to suction up cat urine off the floor for a good five minutes. Little by little, I suck it up and squeeze it into the plastic cup. I have plastic gloves on, but the smell is making me want to puke. I start gagging. Then I throw up. Then I knock over the plastic cup with the cat pee in it.

God Bless America!

For the love of all things holy! Why is this so complicated????

I try again, exhausted. I hold my breath and resume suctioning cat pee off the floor. I stop for a minute and think how ridiculous this scenario is. It is 5:16 a.m. in the morning and I am suctioning cat pee off of my floor. For the love.

For the second time, I gather what I think to be an acceptable amount of cat pee and put the lid on and take it downstairs, along with the fake litter box. I put all the rugs back in my bathroom and crawl back in bed. I am just nodding off and Wyatt wakes up. Of course! It is almost the crack of dawn, mind you!

Fast forward to 8:30 a.m., when I start calling veterinary clinics (the one we use on base isn’t open on Saturdays). The one I call says they are accepting new cat patients. Swell. I tell her the problem and tell her I have a urine sample and can they please test it?

Her response?

Did you refrigerate the sample after collecting it?

Um, no. I did not.

Did you capture the sample within an hour of the cat urinating?

I have no idea. Probably not, because I was sleeping.

Oh, well we can’t test the urine unless those conditions have been met.

So you’re telling me that I just sucked up cat urine off my floor for no reason?

I’m sorry, ma’am. You can try to get another sample and bring her in on Monday.

Oh, yes, because this is something I absolutely want to repeat again! Aaarrrgggghhhh!
Whatever. I made the appointment. I had no choice.

So, I repeat the Friday night scenario on Monday morning. I actually managed to see the pee and suck it up off the floor within an hour and refrigerate it. I was so proud! I went to work and came home and picked up the pee, the cat, and her records and went to the clinic.

Only to be told that despite my efforts, they were just going to go in and take a sample from her bladder directly. It was more reliable.

Well by all means, then… take the freakin’ sample! But could you at least tell me that's what you're going to do anyway before I spend half my sleeping hours trying to collect cat urine from the floor?????

And all for naught. $300, an ultrasound and a urinalysis later, the official diagnosis? She is stressed out. No UTI. Just stress.

I can see where sitting around licking yourself all day, watching cars go by could be stressful.

For the love. I’m stressed out too, but I still pee in the toilet!!!

She is soooooo lucky I like her.

The 2-Year Old Pictures that Weren't

Wyatt turned two on July 11th, and I am so over the two-year old behavior, let me tell you. He got sent to his room again this morning. That's twice in three days. The first time was for biting me (among other things) and this morning it was just back-to-back-to-back temper tantrums. The straw that broke the camel's back was him repeatedly taking his automatic toothbrush and scrubbing the floor with it...and the mirrors...and then freaking out when I took it away. Ugh.

But I digress.

So the day after his birthday I had scheduled some time for his 2-year old birthday pictures at Walmart. Yes, I said Walmart. Please don't ask me what I was thinking. I knew it wasn't a good idea at the time, but I did it anyway. I could give you my rationale (unwilling to pay exhorbitant prices and no Target studio near here...) but I will save you the lengthy explanation.

Instead, I decided to give it a whirl. Well, whirl we did, but it was unsuccessful. My first clue should have been that when I showed up 5 minutes early the girl was still turning on lights and booting up the computers. Granted, I had purposely booked the first appoinment of the day, but I expected a little more professionalism than that.

My second clue should have been that she looked about 16. And not a cute 16.

Third clue? There are no doors on the studio. For a two-year old, that is a major problem.

Determined to make a go of it, we sit on Ronald McDonald for a few minutes until the 16-year old figured out how to work the cash register and photo equipment. Then she asks me which background would I like? And proceeds to recommend the fake "fall scene." You know the one - the same one that was used in my 2-year old pictures in 1980? Yeah, that one. I tell her I'm really more of a solid-color background person, and she ignores me and puts up the fake "dock by the water's edge" background circa 1982 and says, "Let's try this!"

Crap... and I forgot Wyatt's sailor's cap.

She puts Wyatt up on the big box thing and tries to tickle him with the feather. He actually humored her for about 3-4 minutes, but everytime he smiled, she just laughed at him instead of clicking the button! Then she would rearrange his hands so they were sitting on his lap, folded. Seriously? The hands? That's what you're worried about? The kid is sitting there, smiling, in your stupid posed position, with your dumb dock in the background, and you're worried about his hands? JUST SNAP THE PICTURE for Pete's sake!

Pretty soon I started saying things like, "Oh, that would have been a good one..." so she would GET A CLUE! After four minutes of this she has taken only TWO pictures. One, he wasn't even looking at the camera. The second was okay, but nothing spectacular.

Then Wyatt decided he was done. The end. He wanted down off the box.

The 16-year old says, "Oh, don't worry, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Umm.... well, I sure as shoot hope so, because this kid is going to bolt.

Yep, he's gone. I have to go and retrieve him from the McDonald's next to the studio, where he's insisting on "Fries." Problem is, they don't make fries at 10:04 a.m.! I haul him back to the studio and she gets out a red ball.

Yes, my friends, a red ball. Which she proceeds to throw to him, engaging him in a game of catch.

So she plays catch with him and he is running all over chasing this ball. I have no idea on earth how she is going to get him to sit still at this point to take a picture, and apparently neither does she, because pretty soon Wyatt figures out he can throw the ball out into the store, and that is much more fun that playing catch with the 16-year old!

If this is one of the "tricks" up her sleeve, she better switch sleeves fast. Because my kid just pulled a disappearing act on her.

I haul him back in the studio and he's getting crabby at this point. I look at her point blank and say, "What now?" She is, after all, the professional here. She says, "I don't know. Usually after they get down off the box it's harder to get them to sit still."

Especially when you start throwing a ball at them!!!

I tell her, "Well, I don't know how to do this - this isn't my job. What do you usually do when this happens?"

"I just have the parents walk them around the store for awhile."

Umm.. okay... Well I was not in the mood for "walking around the store." Neither was Wyatt. So we left. Without pictures. She looked at me like I had just burst her 16-year old bubble, but I didn't care. I had seen all her tricks, and I could see where this was headed, so in an effort to avoid a full-blown temper tantrum in the middle of Walmart, we left.

Next time I'll remember the sailor's hat.