Remember this. It's Very Important.

alright - well that last post got a little heavy.

But you should know that I blog this stuff to keep track of our memories. 

And not all memories are good. 

But they are still a part of our story.

And if I only wrote about the good stuff, you would probably be laboring under the misconception that we are like the Cleavers or something.

Well, you now, 

if June liked halter tops and cussed a lot - 

if Wally and The Beav' were little girls . . . 

OK maybe not then. 

But still - things happen that are not always cute and funny. 

And so I write to remember.

I know that in 5, 10, 15 years I won't be able to instantly recall the little things we did each day. But if I write them down, I can look back and that will help me remember. 

I need help remembering - I don't sleep enough for my brain to work properly, I'll take all the help I can get. 

Because it's these little moments that comprise our lives: 

 

So what's worth remembering today? 

Right now, I'm remembering how much UNfun 

(is that a word? I doubt it) 

it is when Paul travels for business. 

This go-around, he's gone during Spring Break which means I don't have to get the three of us anywhere on time but I am solely responsible for the girls - all day- every day - all day long every day.

We are making the most of things and keeping ourselves entertained.

So far we have been to Hobby Lobby twice,

(it's Lexi's favorite place in the world. 
True Story.)

Target, and Dillons. 

And it's only Wednesday. 

We have also had a lot of sit and stare at each other time because it's raining Biblically. 

Seriously - you get the ark, I'll get the animals!

I was a smart mom and put away some of the toys they got for Christmas so they could have new exciting things to play with over the long week at home. They were PUMPED UP  . . . . 

about the large cardboard box that the Diapers.com order came in. Way to go, me. 

 

 

The time with my hunny-bees has been sweet. 

It's been so great to have time together without the rush and stress of our normal routine. 

(FYI: I spell Hunny the Winnie-the-Pooh way. It's more fun. Try it out sometime. Guaranteed to make you feel more whimsical.)

So far - so good. 
But hurry home Daddy. 
We miss you!  

 

She'll never have a peanut butter cup

 Scary, isn't it? 

We found out (the scary way) that Emma has a peanut allergy. I gave her a small taste of peanut butter and within minutes her face broke out in hives. 

BEFORE you start lecturing me in your head - I've already heard your thoughts on this. I know the rules used to be 2. I know that you think what I did was border line child abuse. BUT, I was told to try everything - all kinds of table food - try it all. And just in case you think that you still need to let me know that you still think I did a stupid thing - fear not, I already know. 
I knew without anyone telling me. 
This one is on me. 
I did this to her. 
I did this to my child. 
Not intentionally, but still. 
The guilt is overwhelming. 
No one can say anything to make me feel worse than I already do. So don't worry. 
I know. 

After her hives, we gave her Benadryl. To add to my shame, I had to speed (literally - 55 in a 40 mph) to the pharmacy to get some. But now I know that I can get to Dillons and back in less than 10 minutes if necessary. 

30 minutes later she vomited the Benadryl up. 

Then she broke out in a full body rash - nose to toes.

And then I had to take my sweet girl to the ER. 

She was red and bumpy skinned all over. I looked terrible - in retrospect I'll bet the nurse had the thought cross her mind "where did this homeless woman steal this baby from?"

Either way, the staff did a great job of talking me down and keeping me calm because I was one raised eyebrow away from totally losing my ?*%#$, if you know what I mean. 

After the nurse checked her oxygen levels (which were fine) they took us back to see the doctor. He was very kind and knew not to make any sudden movements around me. I was looking a bit like a frightened animal at this point. They gave Emma a dose of steroids, and within minutes she fell asleep in my arms. 

We left with a terrifying diagnosis: 

peanut allergy. 

When we got home, I needed to give her a bath. 
I say needed because we just spent 3 hours in the ER and I am a germ-a-phobe.  
She wasn't awake for most of it.

 

All I've been able to say to Paul about this is food related :

"she'll never have a snickers . . . or a peanut butter cup"

"Halloween is totally going to suck for her"

"She won't ever know the taste of a peanut butter cookie"

"She'll never eat fries from Five Guys"

"There will be no Peanut Butter-jelly time for Emma"

I know it seems shallow, 
but I truly believe this is my brain's way of coping. 
If I let myself think about what COULD have happened, 
or what might happen NEXT time, 

I'll crumble 
(like a peanut butter cookie). 

Choot Em!

 Ok, so you know how my favorite show on TV is Swamp People? What . . . you didn't know that about me? 

yeah, huh, well . . . it is. 

I know, right, you totally never would have guessed that about me, but it's true. 

It's OK, you can laugh a little. 

It's kinda funny. 

Well it's not that funny - you don't need to laugh like that. 

Whatever, I'm moving on with my story. 

So back to the Swampage - I love it. 

CANNOT get enough of watching people shoot (choot) alligators. You know it's going to be the same people in the same swamp 

(in the same clothing every episode - weird) 

shooting alligators but it doesn't get old.

I thought no one understood the awesomeness of this but me. So when I heard that The Landrys 

(look them up, they are kind of like Swamp Royalty) 

were going to be at the Cabela's opening, I went a little loopy. I could not wait to get my picture taken and dork out over meeting Mr. Choot 'Em 

(again, look this up - you are going to have to know about this). 

HOWEVER, I had to beg and plead for someone to take me. 

No one in my family wanted to be a part of this phenomenon with me. In the end, it was my dad 

(NOT my husband, take note) 

who loved me enough to drive me 25 miles on a Saturday afternoon during March Madness to take my picture with two of the greatest alligator hunters on the bayou. 

When we got there, my heart broke a little. 

The line was over a quarter mile long. 

It wound through the store and into the parking lot. 

There was no way he was going to wait in THAT line, even for his favorite child. 

So we did the next best thing.

 I wiped the single teardrop from my eye, trudged into the store, and elbowed as close to the autograph table as I could without being bitten (gummed) by the toothless gawkers who also share my affinity for Swamp People. 

One of these things just doesn't belong . . . it's me! 

I didn't get to meet them, but as I was wending my way through the racks of camo bikinis I realized that I was able to be within 10 feet (about the size of a 900 pound gator) of them. 

Not too bad, this, not too bad. 

Choot Em!

Well this should be entertaining

Lexi is playing soccer with 

some of the other girls from her preschool. 

Adorable. 

Hilarious. 

Chaos. 

Their first practice was last Tuesday and Lexi was OUT OF CONTROL excited. She sort of got the hang of it. 

 

The first thing their coach asked was, "What do you know about soccer?" and my Lulu responds: "You gotta get dirt in the skirt!" (I'll take responsibility for that one - I'm big on quoting 'A League of Their Own').

 

 Later, when he told the girls they were going to practice dribbling the soccer ball, Lexi picked up her purple soccer ball, and started bouncing it around like a basketball. 

And wouldn't stop. 

Gonna be a great season!

Are you feeling lucky?

 

Happy St. Patrick's Day 

I-Rish you were here. 

XOXO, 

Emma 

 

And now, Lexi would like to show you how to Sham-Rock! 

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Sleep is for the Weak

So you can't tell it by these happy, smiley photos but our dear Emma has had a rough couple of weeks. 

On Friday February 16th, I took Emma in for her 9 month checkup. Which meant that we were in the doctor's office, exposed to the germs of many children. 

I'm a germ-a-phobe. 

I hate going to the doctor's office because of the potential for germs. 

Anyways, I'm sure she picked something up while we were there, because by Sunday her nose was running like a faucet. 

Nice visual, huh? 

 I'm sure Paul is to blame for that fact that Em has food ALL OVER her face in this pic.

So, because she was so miserable with the congestion, she slept not a wink Saturday or Sunday night. We caved and let her sleep in the bed with us after a couple hours of screaming each night. It's the only thing that soothes her.

By Monday, things were even worse. 

Apparently, when babies swallow their own snot, it can upset their stomach and make them puke. 

Twice. 

All over themselves. 

And the bed. 

And me. 

 When I called the doctor they said to put a humidifier in her room, give her lots of water, and a basic diet. 

That stopped the vomiting, but not the screaming. 

By Wednesday, I knew things were not right, so I left work to take her to the doctor. 

She had a temp of 102. 

An hour and a half before she had been normal. 

I was told to watch her closely for seizures, because with her temperature changing so drastically, she would probably seize. Thank goodness, she did not. I was a mess for 48 hours though - seizure watch is not my idea of a good time. 

After a check in Emma's ears, the doctor told me, "No wonder she's been throwing up and screaming - her right ear has a pretty nasty infection."

A week of antibiotics, a lot of pain and fever meds, and tears from both of us later - she's mending. 

Not sleeping well yet, but we'll get there. 

I'm sleep-training her for the 3rd time this weekend. Because Momma can't live on 4 hours a night.