I did mention a baby shower here somewhere, didn't I?

Yep... I knew there was something I was forgetting.

Jenny, being the unconventional girl that she is (and one of the reasons why I truly love her so) didn't want to have a traditional baby shower. Nope... there would be no girls only tea parties for her. She was having none of that.

Jen's party would be an eclectic mix of company complete with a full bar (courtesy of the Elk's lodge), karaoke, and quilt decorating. That's right... I said quilt decorating.

After two uneventful but packed flights I arrived in Pittsburgh accompanied by Shea, a friend from high school and also Jenny's oldest friend. We had a lovely conversation about fresh foods and Heinz ketchup chips with a mentally questionable woman while walking to baggage claim and then Jenny was there to rescue us.

After retrieving Shea's monstrous bag from the conveyor belt (she had to open it to be sure it was hers) we were off to Braddock.

The first stop was the no longer a convent that Shea and I would be staying in for the next few days.

The convent is owned by the mayor of Braddock and is a place where people traveling through or moving to Braddock can lay their heads for a few nights or more. There is a communal kitchen and dorm style bathrooms for everyone to share and sinks in every room.

The rooms are simple and to the point. The window in mine refused to close, though it only bothered me one night when I had to sleep in my sweatshirt and socks. A 24 hour steel mill is located directly across the street from the convent and the constant humming lulled me to sleep every night. Seriously, I need a noise maker with a steel mill setting to get me to sleep, evidently. Rain forest and thunderstorm aren't cutting it.

My lovely shower co-host and super long time friend, Liz, had driven down from Massachusetts so it was exciting to get over to Jenny's house and socialize and see her after years of not seeing her pretty face. Not only that, but Lizzie has a baby bump to ogle too!

The next day was filled with much shower planning and then dinner and an impromptu baby celebration for Lizzie at this little restaurant that served the literal best Reuben ever. (I think it was called Big Jim's - Jenny, correct me if I'm wrong.) Seriously, if you're ever in Pittsburgh go get a Reuben there. That sandwich was so good I wanted to curl up in bed with it. No joke.

Lizzie was pleasantly surprised to get a happy little party for her and a kick ass Reuben.

Saturday was shower day for Jenny so Jenny's mom, Liz, and I were all a flutter in preparation. There was cooking and decorating to be done!

We got it all done and set up just as the first guest arrived at the Elk's lodge and the party was in full swing soon enough. We all ate, drank (virgin pregatinis, of course... oh, and beer), sang (horribly), made quilt squares, and were merry.

A thief named Parkinson's

I don't think I've written too much about my mom here on the blog but the time has come when I'll probably be talking a lot more about her.

My mom was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease when I was about 15 or 16 years old. It started as a small tremor in her left hand and remained relatively minor for several years. Over the course of about 10 years, though, her disease progressed to a more advanced state. A few years ago, when traditional Parkinson's medications started failing her, my mom and her doctors decided she would be a good candidate to undergo a procedure called Deep Brain Stimulation. With this procedure a neurostimulator was placed in my mom's chest to transmit signals to a lead implanted in her brain.

When my mom had this procedure done she had trouble walking and controlling her tremor. She would occasionally just completely freeze and be stuck wherever she happened to be, which was sometimes quite frightening for her.

Last week the battery in my mom's neurostimulator died and we all got a cold awakening to how much her disease has advanced in the past few years. She is almost completely immobile. She is unable to adjust the way she is seated in a chair or lying in bed. Walking more than a few steps is nearly impossible and even those few steps takes what seems to be a lifetime. Not to mention difficulties with bathing and using the bathroom.

Today mom has gone down to Miami to have the battery replaced and is recovering nicely at home. But it has become apparent to the rest of our family that mom needs a little more care than she used to. So it has been decided that I will stay with her while my dad is at work and the Spaz kids are at school.

As much as I worry that there will be days when taking care of mom will be difficult for both of us, I am really looking forward to opening this new chapter of our relationship.

I took a skip through blogland and look what I found!

Stacy at "Shhh... don't tell the kids I'm here..." (don't you love that blog name?) nominated me for this lovely award!

Isn't it beautiful, y'all?

The rules of the "One Lovely Blog Award" are accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award, and his or her blog link. Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you’ve newly discovered. Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

Honestly, I haven't been newly discovering any blogs lately so I decided to take this opportunity to go ahead and discover some.

So here are my nominees:

As Seen On The Bathroom Wall
Pumpkin Delight
Twenty Four At Heart
Juggling Life
Choosing My Own
Dogs and Jeans
Suburban Bliss
Cheaper Than Therapy
Laid-Off Dad
Okay. Fine. Dammit.

10... that's all I've got for now, Blogosphere. :) I have to move on to my real, much more boring, life.

Why Delta Sucks, in 500 words or less

My trip to the wonderful city of Pittsburgh was lovely, but Monday afternoon I was ready to jump on a flight home and see my family.

Jenny drove me to the airport and dropped me at departing flights, we hugged, and I rolled my carry on into the airport, very happy to be going home.

I got to the little Delta self check-in machine and entered my confirmation number.

"It's too late to check in for your flight."

Excuse me?

I entered the number again.

Sure enough, Delta had been so kind as to cancel my original 4:30 flight and put me on a 1:30 flight without any notification whatsoever. No phone call (yes, they had my cell phone number), no text message, no email.

In fact, the people at Delta couldn't get me home at all on Monday. Nope. I would be staying in Pittsburgh another night.

I was comped a room at the Hyatt attached to the Pittsburgh airport and put on a 5:30 AM flight out Tuesday morning. Delta was even kind enough to give me a voucher for $7 for dinner and one for $7 for breakfast. Thanks, Delta.

I hope you're picking up on the sarcasm here.

I checked into my lovely room at the Hyatt (it really was a nice room and the service at the hotel was wonderful) and decided to order room service.

What can I get for $7?

Um... nothing.

I decided to order a blue cheese burger and fries for $14 (plus a $3 delivery charge and 20% gratuity and I think something extra for the cheese) and jumped in the shower. It was a lovely hot shower with delicious smelling white ginger shampoo and soap.

Before I was even dressed the burger had arrived. I scrambled to get my clothes on and opened the door. And my burger? It came with the most adorable little Heinz condiment bottles!

I ate, Jenny came back and visited me, I sent the little Heinz bottles home with her, and I tried to get some sleep.

Now, the beds at the Hyatt are like queen sized clouds of happiness. But I still couldn't sleep. I began the attempt around 9 and it wasn't until after 2 that I finally found sleep.

Remember when I said my flight left?

Yep, the wake up call came in at 4:00 AM and I was not happy. I managed to pry myself out of bed after my 10 minute reminder call and get my crap together. Back to the airport I went.

I got on my 5:30 flight with no problems and landed in Atlanta to make my connection to West Palm Beach. My boarding pass told me I had 50 minutes to get to gate B12. In Atlanta that means "MOVE YOUR ASS!!! RUN!!!"

We pulled into gate A33 and I hauled ass to get to gate B12.

And when I arrived I noticed that the plane leaving from gate B12 was going to White Plains, NY.

Thanks again, Delta.

I had to locate someone to help me figure out what gate I was supposed to be at and it was then I was told I had to get back to concourse A and get to A2.... the absolute farthest point in the concourse.

As I was hauling ass a Delta Sky Miles representative hounded me to stop and learn how I could get my next flight on Delta for FREE! And I told her I wouldn't be flying Delta again so that wouldn't be necessary.

I hauled even more ass, arrived at gate A2 just as they were boarding, and made it on the plane.

And when we began our descent into West Palm Beach, I had to fight back the tears of joy. It's good to be home.

Bringing Back Braddock

Thursday I got my first taste of Braddock, PA - the defunct steel mill town my friend, Jenny, and her husband have chosen to build their life in. I visited to co-host her baby shower with another friend of ours and Jenny's mom. I'll talk more about the baby shower in another post - because right now I want to talk about the town.

Braddock is a town long lost and just recently found. Even before we officially entered the town neglect was apparent. Everywhere we turned houses were abandoned, boarded up, condemned. Storefronts on Braddock Ave were long ago forgotten and the town took on an eerie quiet.

But when I took a moment to really look, it became obvious that Braddock was once something great. The houses that remain have large bay windows and wide open front porches where one can imagine the occupants enjoying a cool drink and a neighborly chat on a cool spring afternoon. The abandoned churches and schools, all unique in their architecture were once proud and grand - now they find themselves crumbling and exhausted, waiting patiently for the wrecking ball.

Upon even closer inspection, Braddock shows real hope. Sort of like a single green sprout of life in a long forgotten barren field. The town has become a sort of haven for artists and free thinkers. People who take the ruins of the town and create undeniable beauty. Gardens are flourishing in empty lots where rotting houses once stood. Life is being breathed back into this town that perhaps once seemed hopeless for recovery.

Visiting Jenny in Braddock, really seeing what she has become a part of - it makes me proud to be her friend. The people who can see the value there in a town most would simply detour around - well, those are the kind of people the world needs more of.

Leaving on a jet plane

So tomorrow morning I'll be getting on a plane to fly to Pittsburgh where I will be co-hosting a baby shower for one of my closest friends, Jenny.

It seems like only yesterday (it was April 1st) that Jenny called me up and told me she thought she just might need to get a pregnancy test. Maybe.

I, of course, urged her to go get one immediately.

And what do you know? Jenny's preggers. It was a little funny that she found out on April Fools Day.

No really, honey, it's really NOT a joke. Really.

So tomorrow's the day that I get on the plane and all the hoopla can ensue.

I'm really excited because it will be the first time in a long time I'll see a couple of my old friends. And it will be five WHOLE days that I don't have to check homework or make anyone go to bed on time or anything like that. And I got a window seat on all flights there and back and I do love window seats.

But I do have a little confession to make.

I'm totally not a seasoned flyer. I mean, I'm not at all afraid of the flying part. Or the landing part or any of that. I'm just nervous about the whole airport thing. The security and the checkpoints and the "does my mascara count as fluids?" and "will I need a seatbelt extender? the HORROR!" and "what if my e-ticket doesn't work for some reason??" and all that stuff.

It would be one thing if I wasn't flying all by myself. Hopelessly alone.

Another if The Man could actually go through the security checkpoints and stuff with me and all that.

But no. I will be all by myself.

And it's the first time I'll be flying by myself since 9/11. And only the second time I'm flying at all since 9/11. And the first time since 9/11 I'll be flying on a real plane. Cause I sort of don't really count the 19 passenger plane we took to the Bahamas a couple of years ago.

19 passengers... yeah. It was an experience.

So I'm nervous, yes. And I think I might make a trip to the airport bar before I board. Because it's never too early to drink in an airport, is it?

If I could just get a few minutes, I might not rip their heads off as often...

There are times, and those times seem to be coming more frequently than they used to, when I have a strong desire to be able to control my environment.

Having three kids and a dog make that almost impossible. This causes me great amounts of stress.

See, I just want everything to be still. I want everyone to stop moving. I want there to be no noises, no changes in light, no phones ringing, no 9-year-old boy sound effects being made, no tattling, nothing.

I want to be able to sit with my thoughts and think them.

And it really makes me sad that I want it so badly, because it prevents me from enjoying my family as much as I should.

Perhaps I should look into prescription drugs? Happy pills anyone?

The New & Improved Spaz Is Back!

I think I may be able to write again. Maybe.

After a long summer of not being able to pull a cohesive thought out of my head, I think I may be able to blog again. I think that maybe, just maybe, I'm ready to get back into the swing of things.

When I was young I used to think I worked well under pressure. In high school and college due dates and deadlines sort of thrilled me. There was just something about that last minute scramble in the wee hours of the morning, putting a project together and getting those finishing touches in just before the moment of truth, my body running only on adrenaline and caffeine until I could finally just let it all go once the assignment was out of my hands.

I lived for that crap.

These days? Not so much. And blogging sort of started to become an assignment. First it was all the blogging carnivals - Works For Me Wednesday, Sincerely 'Fro Me To You (I don't even know where to find that one anymore... anyone know?)... there were others, too. I had to blog, had to get my post up at just the right time, had to fill in my Mr. Linky as close to the time it was posted as humanly possible.

Then it was the statistics. How many readers did I get every day? How long did they stay? What keywords were they using to find my blog? Where did they come from? How could I get more? MORE MORE!!!

Finally, the straw that broke my camel's aching back, was the Nickelodeon Parent's Choice Award Nomination. I wanted to win win win!!

Except as soon as I felt pressure, as soon as I felt like I needed to get the stats up, get the votes, be a popular blogger... I just sort of shut down.

And thus, a blogging hiatus was born.

So now, I haven't linked up to a blogging carnival in months and my stats are in the toilet and I don't even know who won the Parent's Choice Award Nomination but it wasn't me. And now that all that pressure is off? I feel GREAT.

**It was Tropic of Mom - who is wonderful, btw!**


So here is my promise to all of you three wonderful readers out there. I won't ever let that happen again. Sure, I may link up to a carnival... but only because I really think I've got something to add to it. I'm blogging now because I love blogging, because I think I might have something to say, something to share, something that might make y'all laugh.

That's right, baby. I'm back.

Now he is SIX

ZOMG I'm posting something.

I know it's been over a month since I last posted and it had been a while before that. It's just... the pressure... the pressure got to me.

But you know what? I'll get into that more in another post.

Because today's post is for something else. It's for GOOBER!

Today is Goober's 6th birthday. SIX! My baby, my last child, my youngest. He's six. It boggles my mind how fast the time has flown by.

So, of course, we must have another birth story.

Goober was scheduled. It was a Friday. My doctor wanted me to schedule him for Thursday but I refused, not wanting his birthday to be a day of mourning for the rest of the country. I remember she seemed irritated by that. Whatev.

That Thursday night, as memorial programming graced our TV, I folded laundry and scrubbed the floors. I washed the bathroom, I dusted the windowsills, I made sure every dish was put away and everything in place for when we brought our brand new baby home. I didn't get even a wink of sleep. Because, really, who sleeps when they know they're going to have a new person the very next day??

We arrived at the hospital at some ridiculous hour. It was still dark outside. I was dressed in my favorite maternity shirt and our bags were packed. Sitting in the hospital bed, all hooked up to monitors and waiting for the doctor to get there and perform my Cesarean, I carefully applied makeup and made sure my hair looked great. I knew people would be taking pictures and for ONCE I was going to be prepared.

As the sun came up, family began arriving. Our hospital room was filled with all the people who loved us, all fresh faced and excited. Before long, The Man was dressed up in some weird meshy get-up, and I was being wheeled into the operating room. Yeehaw!

I sort of wish The Man was writing this because his perspective of the whole thing is so much different than mine. His involves blood and a screaming purple alien and a horrible fear that I would die.

Mine is much less gory.

Perhaps from lack of sleep or a bad reaction to the anesthesia or who knows what else, I had to continuously ask my poor anesthesiologist for one of those little barf trays while they prepped me. It never stopped. Luckily I had followed directions and not eaten anything for 12 hours so it was nothing but water. Oh how fun.

It all seems like a blur... not as clear to me as when Munchkin was born. The Man was very attentive... perhaps a little horrified at what was going on around him.... and before I knew it we heard him cry.

And yes, he was screaming and purple, but somehow my heart grew again and made room for another love of my life.

It wasn't a perfect delivery, though. I was reacting badly to anesthesia and caused The Man some huge amount of worry. Poor Goober had a ton of fluid in his lungs that had to be cleared out and all in all we had the nurses running around in a small panic.

Once my vomiting was under control and I was simply an odd shade of greenish blue and shaking uncontrollably, I was deemed a-ok and ready to head back to see my family. Goober was already in the room being fawned all over by everyone.

And he certainly was adorable.

And he still is!

And then there was Munchkin

The summer of 2001 was a tough one for me. I was hugely pregnant in South Florida, which is way too close to the equator for anyone to be pregnant during the summer months. I believe that health insurance plans should cover a flight, hotel, and hospital stay in a cold climate for mothers living in any latitude lower than 30. I mean, most plans cover the epidural, right? Living for months as a swollen watermelon in 90+ degree temperatures is equally cruel.

But I digress.

So I was hugely pregnant, hot, sweaty, a mother of a very active toddler, newly single, and living with my parents.

Not exactly how I had expected my life to be at 24 years old.

Sometime in the first few days of August I acquired a gigantic hemorrhoid that caused me to cry like a baby and beg my obstetrician to induce my labor. I knew my baby was ready, I knew she was overcooked, and all I could think about was getting her out of me.

My evil obstetrician looked through my teary eyed pleas and denied any sort of induction. I was sent home to cry for another week.

My sister and I took to taking long walks in the evenings trying to push me into labor. She bought me Raspberry Leaf Tea and forced me to drink it. We waited. And waited. And waited some more. During one of these walks I said to my sister "If for some reason I have to go in for a c-section, will you come in with me?" And my sister responded quickly, "Of course, honey."

That is what we call foreshadowing, my friends.

August 8th was my due date and I had still had no signs of labor. So I did the unthinkable... the thing your mother may have done back in the 60s and 70s... but the thing that is severely frowned on by today's standards.

I drank castor oil.

And then I spent the next hour or so in the bathroom wanting to die and being just a little worried I would pass my baby right there in the toilet along with everything I'd eaten throughout my entire pregnancy.

But you know what? After that hour was done, I went into labor.

Good, strong, real, contractions regularly every 4 minutes labor.

I arrived at the hospital in good spirits knowing that finally I would be having my baby. I was admitted, it was confirmed that I was dialating, and then the pain really started.

The pain was so bad I actually tried to run away from my body at one point. I literally got out of the bed, bared my gigantic white ass to the room, and tried to run away from the pain.

It didn't work.

While waiting for the saint that was the anesthesiologist to bring me an epidural I screamed at my mother and sister and threw small items at them when they giggled.

And then the epidural came and all was good.

I endured the humiliating "checks" like a champ. Every hour or so a nurse would come in and violate me in ways that I would never allow a man I loved to do, give a report to the room, and walk out.

And then the nurse made a strange face when she "checked" me. And she called in another nurse, who also fisted "checked" me. And they both made faces at each other. And the told me the baby was breach.... they thought....

So then my doctor came in and she also "checked" me and she also made a strange face. And then the nurse did it again and the other nurse did it again and I didn't even have time to be concerned with the fact that I was being passed around like a drunk stripper at a bachelor party because what the hell was wrong with my baby??!

So the doctor ordered an ultrasound machine to be brought in and that's when they discovered that my little girl was preparing to enter the world face first.

All that poking and prodding the nurses were doing, trying to figure out what part of my baby they were feeling, was to my poor little girl's face.

After an hour or so more of labor baby hadn't moved at all and that's when my doctor told me she wanted me to go in for surgery. It was time to get my little girl out... she'd been stuck in the birth canal for just too long and hadn't made even a smidge of progress. There was no way I was going to be able to deliver naturally.

So I agreed. And my sister's face went white.

It was about two milliseconds before I was somehow transported into the operating room and they were prepping me for surgery. I was scared-to-death while they prepped me. I kept turning to the anesthesiologist and asking him to get my sister (who evidently couldn't come in until I was good and prepped) and finally finally she was there.

And as I laid there on my back, my sister looked over the half sheet placed at my neck and said over and over again "Can you feel that??!?" "Are you sure you can't feel that??!?" "Oh my Gosh!" and was great comfort to me in my time of need.

And then there was a huge amount of tugging and pulling... and then she cried. And then I cried. And then they showed me her beautiful face with her bruised little eyes because the nurses had poked them so much while "checking" me and my heart immediately doubled in size with love for her.

And then the doctor said to the nurse "Hand me that bladder."

And that's when my sister asked the anethesiologist "Is it warm in here?"

And then there was much commotion to "GET THE SISTER OUT" before she passed out cold on the floor.

She came into the world at 4:42 AM on August 9th, 2001, weighing in at 9 pounds, 8 ounces (remember how I knew she was overcooked the week before?? yeah....) and today she is EIGHT.

Happy Birthday, Munchkin!