While we await the results of Taterbug's blood test for Celiac disease and a gluten allergy, I've tried to remove all gluten from her diet. It's pretty cool to see her no longer in pain and to be a much happier little kid. I'm pretty confident we've discovered the cause of her digestional discomfort and I just hope the tests confirm this. It would make life so much easier to know what is making her feel so yucky.

I stopped by Eureka Natural Foods tonight and picked up a few items to tide her over until we get the results. I about had a heart attack when I began looking at the prices. I also quickly realized what a major life change she'll have should she test positive. I've heard that even McDonald's french fries have gluten but I haven't really found a solid answer on that. Thankfully, I've found gluten free brownie and chocolate chip cookie mix to ease her little sweet tooth. And tomorrow morning, she'll dine on gluten free pancakes. We'll make it work.

Any suggestions on local places for the anti-gluten child? Crazy enough, but Amazon.com has some great prices on gluten free groceries. My brown truck boyfriends might be visiting again, and soon.

After snooping, I sat on the bench and pretended to channel Mozart or at least Sara Bareilles. Instead, I just ended up playing the first few notes of the theme song to Beverly Hills Cop (you'd know it if you heard it), but I really rocked it. Sticky keys and all.

Here are a couple of pics I took tonight. My boys seem to also share my love of this beast and I can see many hours of music in our future.

Gunny pounding the ivories:

C-dubs grimy fingers tickling the ivories:

This is the part I hope still works. It's were the piano rolls go and it appears to be the cleanest part of the whole piano:

The resemblance is uncanny - especially with that cigarette perched precariously in Mrs. Grumpy's fingertips. Please keep in mind that I had to get Tater's permission to post this rendition. This was also in addition to the 23 page letter of release I had to sign in blood, promising that I would not share my findings with the paranormal institute nor would I directly profit from her drawings without first giving her a 50% cut. That's my girl.

...to say:

Feliz Cumpleaños
Suk San Wan Keut
bil hoozho bi'dizhchi-neeji' 'aneilkaah
Hau`oli la hanau
Tillykke med fodselsdagen

Happy Birthday Aunt Dina! Have a beautiful day filled with anti-wrinkle cream, Preparation H, and some easy to digest fiber! You go girl!

I had a late birthday present arrive this weekend, in the form of an old Crown Combinola player piano. My wonderful cousin had this beautiful beast sleeping in his storage unit for the past several years. Not wanting to pay the rental fees anymore, he asked me if I wanted to adopt it. I just couldn't say no to a free piano; it was a bargain music lover's dream! As you can probably guess, the little things like where I was going to keep it, how I was going to maintain it, etc., never really crossed by mind. It's amazing what a bargain high can cause you to do and say yes to.

I've always wanted a piano although I have no clue how to play one and can't carry a tune in a bucket. I seriously make small children and animals cry when I sing or attempt to play a musical instrument. I have given music the good old college try and even took a semester in college playing the viola. I was banished to the horse stall for practice sessions as my playing gave my mother migraines. I do have one musical instrument that I play very well - prodigal if you will. It's the song flute and I was the best in my third grade class. Here's a pic of my mentor:

I don't know what it is about pianos that I love. Maybe it's the shiny white keys or the sweet sound tinkling from it's belly when the right person pulls up to fondle the ivory. They're just cool. Add to the fact that this certain model has the "player" feature (no, that does not mean it picks up other "loose" pianos with ease), I can totally fake like I know what I'm doing, with just a few easy pumps of the pedals.

This old thing still plays but is in need of a lot of love and tenderness. I've ordered a few books off of Amazon that promise to show me how to become a piano refurbisher extraordinaire. Hubby isn't holding his breath that I'll actually make it work any better than it does now, but I'm going to prove him wrong. If I can't do it, I have a perfectly working phone that will allow me to call for help.

I've ordered a couple of piano rolls off of e-Bay so we're ready to rock - well, actually waltz since they really don't have any Britney Spears or Metallica piano rolls. My kids are going to be in for a pleasant shock when they hear what real music sounds like. I'm hoping to find some more rolls so if you know of anyone looking to unload some, give me a holleh.

I'll post photos as I progress or digress depending on how things go. Wish me luck.

According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the 40's, 50's, 60's, or the 70's probably shouldn't have survived.

The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke a law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law.
Imagine that!

It's my berfday, as Gunny would say. I've hit the ripe old age of 33, can someone please put me out to pasture? Seriously, stick a fork in me because I'm done. I don't wanna age anymore so I think this will be my last one. I know I should have stopped at 30, or maybe even 26 (that way I could still rent a car if I needed to), but I guess 33 will have to do since I procrastinated.

I know I shouldn't complain too much because I have had more memorable birthdays. On birthday #13, we had my Grandmother's funeral (Mrs. Grumpy). I was getting birthday wishes with my mourning tears. There was also birthday #24, where I had a week old Taterbug to contend with. Sore boobs, a screaming infant, and incredible exhaustion made that day a keeper. And who can forget the incredible birthday #30, where I was hugely pregnant with Gunny and spent my evening having a non-stress test at the hospital with contractions that eventually stopped. So yeah, I really shouldn't complain too much because today's #33 is going to be a good day, and hopefully, a good number for an age.

In case you were wondering what sort of fascinating things have happened on my birthday, here's a link. Check yours' out as well.

1. Start on my MS degree. Yuck, more homework and bitchiness but it will be so worth it when I have that little piece of paper in my hand.

2. Lose 20 lbs. Ok, maybe 10 lbs. Alright, just keep the 5 lbs. off I lost due to that nasty intestinal thing from a month ago.

3. Work on my photography and make my first $1! Momma needs a new camera! Well, Momma doesn't really need a new camera but she would sure like a beefier one. I'd also like to shoot my first wedding but I am a huge chicken - bock, bock.

4. Get out of debt. I'm working with the California State Lottery on this one.

5. Stay healthy! No more intestinal traveler's yuckiness and certainly no more poison oak. The occasional head cold is ok, but absolutely no stomach flu. Got that God?

6. Strongly consider the idea of my fourth and last little heathen.

7. Pay it forward - at least quarterly. I will find something good to do, for the benefit of my community and not just myself. But in a way, it is just for myself since it makes me feel really good - a true win-win situation in my book.

8. Work on being a better mom. I'm going to make myself play Barbies with Tater (other than taking naughty Boudoir pictures which she still doesn't about nor did she see). I'm going to allow the boys to keep using my good pillows and rug as ramps for their Hotwheels and not be angry when the occasional Hotwheels gets thrown down the toilet or shower drain. I promise to complain less and love more.

9. Work on being a better wife. I will attempt to look past his inability to throw things in the trash and his unwillingness to pick up after himself. I will ignore his morning phlegm sessions and his routine evening bathroom trips where the lighting of a match ends a successful event. I promise to love, honor, and cherish him for the great man he is. Notice I did not say obey. That word wasn't in my vows and surely isn't a word I recognize in a marriage.

10. I'm going to work on my trucker tongue. Taters says I have a mouth that would make a sailor blush, so I need to change that. Gunny learned "Gawd Damwit" somewhere and I'm not so sure I can blame his Grandma.

That's all I can think of now. Here are some celebrity resolutions that I find quite entertaining:

I took this picture today after trying to soak up the 60 degree sun Mother Nature decided to share with us. Do you know where it is? I'll give you some hints to this beautiful spot:

* For several months of the year, you really can't access it.
* You can sometimes see Union soliders hiding behind the logs.
* If you walk far enough, you might find the purrfect present.

So I probably just made this way too easy, but we'll see.

P.S. Like the logo?

I decided it was time to call the doc. I knew it meant a shot but I didn't care; the oozing, itching, skin cracking and weeping was driving me nuts and the prospect of getting it there, just didn't sit well with me (literally). Thankfully, the doctor's office was willing to take me in between patients and they even agreed to see me after I told them I'd have the three kids with me. The receptionist laughed - clearly thinking I was joking - and I again repeated that I'd have three little mongrels all hyped up on Christmas cookies and candy, riding the high that winter break can bring. She finally got a little quiet, understanding the seriousness of my tone. I thought the warning was more than fair.

Prior to going to my appointment, Taterbug had a follow-up visit with her pediatrician. The poor little gal has been dealing with what we thought was acid reflux. When an upper GI showed her innards to be in tip top shape, we shifted gears and started exploring a food allergy. So far, we think she might have a Gluten allergy but I wanted to confirm my suspicions with someone who went to school much longer than me.

When we got to the Ped's office, I immediately noticed the clock was missing from the room. This office is notorious for running late so I guess the absence of the clock means out of sight, out of mind. If you can't see that they're running late, then you really aren't - works for me. Thankfully, our waiting was relatively short and I was able to herd the animals on into the examination room. Gunny promptly turned into a kitteh kat, and proceeded to crawl around the room, meowing and at one point, licking the floor. As I pulled out my hand sanitizer, I thought better against making him gargle with it, but it was so very tempting.

As the Ped knocked on the door, Gunny heard her, and threw himself to the ground. Gunny doesn't like the doctor's office so much, and even being armed with the knowledge that it wasn't a trip for him, he wasn't so convinced. As he looked up at the doctor, I heard him utter the words I'd hoped he'd previously forgotten:

Gawd damwit!

I thought I was going to curl up right then and there, slammed forever into a fetal position preventing me from ever having to deal with my almost three year old trucker son, who had a mouth that could make a sailor blush. I corrected him the best that I could without totally going nutso and I honestly don't even think the Ped noticed.

Our appointment went quick, which I was very thankful for, since I was starting to sweat and itch in places that good girls normally do not touch - at least in public. Taters kept a stiff upper lip even when told she'd need to supply a blood sample at the hospital lab. She has my fear of needles and nothing you can say or do makes the sampling process go any easier. The Ped also told her she'd have to provide a stool sample. I was surprised when Taters started laughing because I didn't realize she knew what that meant. She then looked at me, still laughing, and said I'd have to collect it. It's so great being a mom sometimes...not. The ped mentioned Celiac Disease which in all seriousness, really scared me. I know it's an Autoimmune disease but other than that, I just don't know enough about it to not be freaked out. Ultimately, I know she'll be fine but I hate when any of my kids are sick.

After her visit, we rushed over to my doctor's office because the swooshing of the cool air combined with the way my Levi's rubbed my legs, felt surprisingly good. As we walked in, Gunny started to complain that "he was bowwinnggg" (boring but he meant bored) and wanted to "weave." The nurses took pity on me and quickly placed us in the examination room. Through the door, I could hear the doctor quietly asking how many people I had brought with me, as Gunny once again was channeling his inner kitteh kat.

After a quick exam and a couple of questions, he left the room and the nurse came back in, complete with a huge syringe loaded with murky goo guaranteed to ease my need to scratch and itch. I started to unbutton my pants while the kids watched through grimy, finger covered faces. The three little heathens were all belly laughing at the thought that Momma was going to have to get a shot in her butt. The nurse saw me do this and said they normally gave the shot of hell in the arm so my cheeks would be safe.

She told me to relax as I got the injection but as soon as I felt the initial pang of pain, I instantly tensed up. Big mistake. Getting the shot really didn't bother me, but afterwards I thought I had been injected with snake venom because it hurt so bad. Here I was telling Taters to not be a wuss about giving a blood sample, and I couldn't even use my right arm. I looked like a stroke victim when I left the office, my right arm sadly dragging behind me. I moaned and yelped the entire way home. I instantly felt bad for making light of my kids when they had their normal vaccines. Paybacks are a bitch and I really got mine.

We are now home and I'm slowly able to use my arm again. I haven't told the kids yet, because they are still somewhat babying me and leaving me alone to watch grown-up TV. I figure I can milk it at least another hour and then I'll need to fess up and do the mom thing again.

I know it's still kinda the holidays, but I certainly don't have visions of sugarplums dancing in my head; rather, I'm dreaming of fat shots of cortisone paired with a round of muscle boosting prednisone. Poison oak is not my friend and when I get it, I get it really good. I'm an overachiever when it comes to nasty rashes - we all have something to be proud of and this is it for me.

I'm currently working on a tube of Benadryl cream and just to be a biotch, I hid it from Hubby when he asked if we had any. Serves him right - I'm hoarding that liquid gold until my skin returns to it's normal shade of pink. It's his fault, afterall, and nothing's fair in love and war.

Got any home remedies? Can you soothe this savage beast? Help an itchy gal out!

Nine years ago today, I was inducted into the secret life of motherhood. My baby girl, queen of our castle, and boss of her brothers came silently into the world at 1:41 PM on 12-26-99. I had been laboring since midnight the night before and was unpleasantly surprised at how painful the whole process was. When it was time to push, I vehemently denied wanting to participate and rather asked the midwife to hook up a chain and pull her on out. After all, I had done my part and was physically and emotionally exhausted.

I did end up pushing and after an hour, she was finally delivered; a silent, beautiful, purple little baby doll. She was not breathing and did not have a heartbeat. Hubby was videotaping the whole process, unknowing that our little girl was on the verge of something terrible. The nurses feverishly revived her as the rest of us were oblivous to what was going on. You can actually see her start to pink up in the video and her first kitten-like cry makes me bawl everytime I watch it. A few minutes of resuscitation brought us a screaming little girl and she hasn't shut up since.

Happy birthday Taterbug, Shalimar Keisha, Ms. Fashionista, Tea, Butthead, T-Bug, Bubba and whatever other name fits her at the time. We love you!

Why's she smiling so big? Does someone have a secret? Is someone's left hand being weighted down by a large piece of carbon?

Aunt D is gettin' hitched!!!

The best present our family could have received came on Christmas Eve during the present exchange at my in-laws. During a lull in the frantic present opening, Aunt D's longtime boyfriend, Uncle S, whipped out a pretty little sparkler and asked her to be his wife! I was in shock and started crying, Aunt D was bawling, and Taters was evening wiping away the tears. It was such a neat and very surreal moment.

And guess what? My camera was at home. Oh well, the wonderful feelings will forever be recorded in my heart. I'm so happy for them. No date yet - but we're super excited for the upcoming shindig!

Here's a pic of the married couple to be:

Congrats!!!

Or so I thought.

Gunny has a new friend and I was introduced to her yesterday. Her name is Mrs. Grumpy and she's an "owed yady." She likes to sit on the couch and enjoys watching the kitties play. Her preferred resting spot is on Gunny's Spiderman blankie, either on the couch or just next to it. She loves C-dub and Taters but isn't so sure about Mom and Dad.

She's Gunny's first imaginary friend and it's seriously freaking me out.

I thought Gunny had just thought of a new name for the kittens but he was adamant that it was a "yady." He'd walk over and pat the couch where he said that Mrs. Grumpy was sitting. A few minutes later, he'd tell me that Mrs. Grumpy was "yaffing" or "goin' outta da room," and then point to a certain area. It was so strange to see him act like that; as if he thought there was a real person there.

Taters is freaked out and wants me to buy a Oujia board so that she can "talk" to Mrs. Grumpy. I vetoed that plan. She swears she's feeling temperature changes and has a tingly back of the neck feeling whenever she sits on the couch. No more "Goosebumps" books for her and certainly no more "Ghost Hunters."

Is it coincidental that he discovered an imaginary old lady friend named after my Grandma's personality on the anniversary of her death? That was a mouthful but my nerves are as frazzled as that last sentence sounded.

What do you think? Is it Grandma Joe? Or could it be just the active imagination of an almost three year old? I'm not sure what I believe but I don't think anyone can have too many angels looking after them.