My bad

I'm studying/reading/typing up OBGYN reports in school right now. I'm also learning the mother load of abbreviations for all these reports...
I was to expand the abbreviations, and my 'corrected' page came back with this:

BPD = ?
Your Answer: bipartisian diameter
Correct Answer: biparietal diameter


I guess that's what I get for thinking about political things while taking an OBGYN test.

Pests

Before Alexis was born, I decided that I would not be allowing young children to hold her. Our church has an abundance of children, and it seems that half of them are trying to carry around the other half most of the time.

After Alexis was born, I became the meanest mother in church, when I refused to allow the horde of little girls to pass my newborn around. Despite the fact that I repeatedly told these girls no week after week, they continued to ask. After about 6 months, they finally got the picture (not everyone can love children AND be smart), and would just talk to her as I held her. I think I developed a dislike for these girls, due to the 6 months of nagging.

Alexis started walking at 9 months of age. At first, seeing as she was pretty unstable, I would walk around the church holding her hand. Now that she's practically running, however, I prefer to just keep an eye on her from wherever I happen to be standing. She loves all the other kids her age, and I'm pretty sure she's been casting eyes at the cute little 2-year-old boy who likes to run around with her.

Up until two weeks ago, everyone seemed to remember that she's to be left on the ground. And then Levi, a cute older boy, whom she's 'talked' to since she was born, picked her up. I'd never told him no, so I didn't mind, but went over to tell him I preferred her to be left on the ground. Before I could even get to him, a gaggle of girls surrounded him and started (literally) grabbing for my child. I was taking on heat as I crossed the auditorium, and watched as an older girl pulled an unwilling Alexis from his arms.

Fortunately for all involved, I'm a mature woman. I calmly took Alexis, who appeared shaken from the pulling and grabbing experience, and said we had to be going. At the next service, I explained to Levi why I didn't want her to being held by all the little girls, and asked that he also leave her down, so that no one could complain.

Tonight I watched Lexi waddle to the back, and promptly get picked up by a very young, very small child. Entering the group of girls, I informed them that I didn't want Alexis to be held, and to please not pick her up. Two minutes later, another girl from within that group picked her up.

What is up with this?!?! Do I have to spray her with skunk spray to keep these kids OFF? I know she's pretty adorable, but you can worship from afar, for goodness' sake. Is it so enjoyable to hold her for the 10 seconds it takes for me to reach them, that they don't mind my taking her and telling them to leave her alone? I was polite, smiling and kind when I spoke to the first girl. With the second one, I lost the smile, and the 'please'.


If this keeps up I'm gonna have to lasso my cop man and have him come in, in uniform, and scare them witless.

It is finished.

We've done it. After weeks of just about zero calls on the house, we've bitten the big one and signed up with a realtor. We did not want to, as we have put a lot of money, work, and time into this little place, therefore wanting *all* of the equity to line our pockets, and not someone else's. But it's taking too long. We will be unable to handle many double payments, and so we've cast ourselves into the murky waters of realtors...I will now have to be sure that my house is never so dirty as to take more than 30 minutes to clean up. This means that the laundry is not allowed to sit out in the basket for days on end, the crumbs under Alexis' ever-messy high chair must be swept constantly, the dishes may not stay unwashed for more than one meal, and I must be ready to drop everything I'm doing and leave for an hour whenever I get a call. *groan*
I'm already having a bad attitude.

So. Now that my kitchen is *near* spotless , and the living and dining room are straightened to perfection, I must go fold laundry. This may sound like a simple task to the average person, but the average person has not been informed that I did four mountain-sized loads of laundry yesterday. I do not know why I detest folding laundry. Actually, it's more the thought of having to fold laundry that makes me want to fling myself to the floor and kick my feet...once I actually start doing it (folding, that is, not throwing a temper tantrum), I enjoy the neatness of each fold, and the wonderful clean smell that lasts for--oh--two minutes.


I think the main reason God gave me a child is so that I have to stop acting like one myself. I will only allow myself a small pout as I pull myself away from the ever-compelling computer, and go to my laundry.

loathe, despise, and abominate

Here I am, sitting in my perfectly clean home, waiting for people to come to our open house. Unfortunately I am the only person here, which doesn't make for very good sales. This whole house-selling thing is pretty discouraging. I am *so* tired of people walking around exclaiming about how adorable, charming, and cute the house is--just buy the house if you like it so much!!! Of course, shouting in frustration at over-enthused potential-buyers doesn't make for good sales either. It's a good thing I'm such a controlled person. (choke)

I just don't get why some people even come to our open house. We have small little place--perfect for someone who's just starting out. A little house that has three bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, dining room, kitchen and den. Just the other week, a family with about 45 small children rushed up the deck steps, and swarmed in through the front door. The over-weight, frazzled mom tells me they're looking for a bigger place. Um. What were you living in before? A tent? Does this look like a bigger place to you?!

Believe you me lady, you do NOT want a house with only one bathroom when you have that many kids...been there, done that. As the oldest of 8, I can stand and testify that our having one bathroom was probably the sole cause of 99% the fights we had as children. Standing outside the bathroom door for 20 minutes when you have to go bad does not leave you feeling very loving toward the person occupying the bathroom. There were certainly no restful bathroom breaks...just when you thought you might actually get away with one, someone would pound on the door and insist that they would die if you didn't let them use it pronto.

And privacy? What was that?! You'd think that being one of 8 would've formed me into a not-so private person...but just the opposite was true. I would've given just about anything to be able to take one shower, JUST ONE, without someone barging in while yelling that they had to go. Arg. I probably spent more time scrunched down into a tight little ball (we had glass shower doors), than I did showering. The time that was spent showering was done in such a rush, so as to finish before the last bit of the hot water ran out, that it was not enjoyable. And oh ya, it would run out. There is nothing worse than only having your hair half washed, and being unable to get the water any warmer than ice cubes.

I do *not* miss that house one iota. When we finally moved, our new house had four bathrooms. FOUR BATHROOMS. We practically didn't know what to do at first. We were so used to forming a line to the bathroom after outings, that we had to be reminded that there were 3 other empty ones available to the fastest, or the one with the most leverage over the the others.

Hmm...I got sidetracked. I was originally talking about Open houses and how much I loathe them. Maybe it's just the whole house-selling thing that I dislike. Last week this shrill little old lady called me on the phone and wanted the weirdest details about my house. After measuring the depth and width of our window sills for her (saying 'they're just normal small sills' wasn't good enough for her), I began to wonder if she had maybe escaped from the local looney bin. Seeing as I didn't adequately describe things for her, she decided that she'd just have to come to the open house. And I sure could tell which one she was, because she looked exactly like she sounded...scary stuff.

Maybe we should start giving away beer to anyone who comes in...or highly illegal drugs...chocolate? Anything to get more traffic and sell this place!!

laughing

The Pastor's faux pas concerning the woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears, and dried them with her hair.
"She washed his hair with her feet."

I have to say that the mental image that sprang up from that unfortunate statement was enough to make me snicker, despite my best efforts to remain sober and focused.