Hi, this is Tresa writing for Kerrie, who's chained to a hospital bed (picking the lock, as I was talking to her this morning, though), unable to get online to write and say hi.
Samuel flew into the world yesterday morning, and has since been transferred to a different hospital NICU because of meconium aspiration at his birth. As soon as Kerrie is released from the hospital she's at, she will go to spend a week or so with him until he's released also. I talked to her this morning and she says he's a little fighter, already trying to cough out the tubes they have running into him, and she hopes to be able to nurse him in a few days. She's doing well, feeling better after some sleep last night, and will be back soon with pictures and (I hope/request) a birth story.
Welcome to the world, Samuel, and congratulations to Kerrie, Aron, and their family!
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Floam and Moon Sand
We like to provide a service here at The Kerrie Show, so I’ll let you in on what to buy and not to buy your kids, grandkids, whatever for Christmas.
Don’t by Floam. It sucks. It sticks to your carpet. It’s hard to get off your table. It’s like tiny Styrofoam dots in goo. I hate it.
DO BUY Moon Sand. Prepare to lose some along the way, but it vacuums up like a dream and wipes right off the table. Aron says it’s the consistency of what you’d get if you sat and erased stuff all day … it’s like eraser dust that sticks together. But it’s not sticky. Get a set with the blow-up “pool” for it so you can keep it contained.
And don’t worry: I’ll post pix of the new baby as soon as it’s born and as soon as I can make it to a computer with Internet access.
Don’t by Floam. It sucks. It sticks to your carpet. It’s hard to get off your table. It’s like tiny Styrofoam dots in goo. I hate it.
DO BUY Moon Sand. Prepare to lose some along the way, but it vacuums up like a dream and wipes right off the table. Aron says it’s the consistency of what you’d get if you sat and erased stuff all day … it’s like eraser dust that sticks together. But it’s not sticky. Get a set with the blow-up “pool” for it so you can keep it contained.
And don’t worry: I’ll post pix of the new baby as soon as it’s born and as soon as I can make it to a computer with Internet access.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Gurgling Eva (like a babbling brook)
Dangit, sometimes I hate Blogger. I keep trying to upload a video of Eva gargling and cracking up. Wonder if I'd have better luck putting it on YouTube and then linking there? I don't have time for this crap. I have slothful things to do. Don't cry; someday maybe you'll see the video. It's all about exploiting my kids, right?
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Mind Your Own Business, Neighbor Lady
Thursday night comes and that flipping neighbor who can’t mind her own business comes to my door at dinnertime to bug us about bikes in the yard. Gripes that these other kids leave their bikes out front overnight and wants to make sure we don’t. Which we don’t. We put our crap up every night in the garage.
She asks when I’m due. Aron tells her in 2 weeks. I say, “Any day now, and you’re gonna make it come faster by bugging us, lady.”
Then she tells my kids to put their shoes on so they don’t step in dog crap. I’m sorry, lady, but last time I checked, the kids came out of MY vagina. Caring about their wellbeing because I’m incompetent is one thing, but assuming I’m a deadbeat mother all the time gets old when you don’t even know me. And she loves to snipe at the kids when I’m not around. Snipes at my little babysitter about keeping Eva out of the street. Ya think?!
Why do people do that? It just makes ornery people like me wait until my upstanding husband leaves town and then put ALL our bikes in the yard and park my van in the front yard overnight and jack it up on blocks. Ooh, and devils and skeletons in the yard for Halloween.
Aron’s so sweet and listens to her and nods and makes her think he agrees with her. I get snippy and yell from the other end of the house, “Get a life! You bug everyone on this street and the next.”
So I get all pissed off and then I think, “That could be me when I’m old. I mean, I hope I don’t snipe at kids and stuff, but what if Aron’s dead and my kids never come around because I’m bitchy and I alienate people and all I do is call the city on people’s cars being 2 inches past the sidewalk? I have to NOT be like that.”
She asks when I’m due. Aron tells her in 2 weeks. I say, “Any day now, and you’re gonna make it come faster by bugging us, lady.”
Then she tells my kids to put their shoes on so they don’t step in dog crap. I’m sorry, lady, but last time I checked, the kids came out of MY vagina. Caring about their wellbeing because I’m incompetent is one thing, but assuming I’m a deadbeat mother all the time gets old when you don’t even know me. And she loves to snipe at the kids when I’m not around. Snipes at my little babysitter about keeping Eva out of the street. Ya think?!
Why do people do that? It just makes ornery people like me wait until my upstanding husband leaves town and then put ALL our bikes in the yard and park my van in the front yard overnight and jack it up on blocks. Ooh, and devils and skeletons in the yard for Halloween.
Aron’s so sweet and listens to her and nods and makes her think he agrees with her. I get snippy and yell from the other end of the house, “Get a life! You bug everyone on this street and the next.”
So I get all pissed off and then I think, “That could be me when I’m old. I mean, I hope I don’t snipe at kids and stuff, but what if Aron’s dead and my kids never come around because I’m bitchy and I alienate people and all I do is call the city on people’s cars being 2 inches past the sidewalk? I have to NOT be like that.”
Monday, October 5, 2009
Another Brick in the Wall
Hey. Teacher. Leave them kids alone (grammatically incorrect sentence, dangit). Eva clearly is going to be a difficult student.
Can you tell I feel like crap and don't have the energy to put out thought-provoking posts? I'm doing these in advance in case I head to the hospital. Wouldn't want to leave you high and dry on the blog, pals.
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