The Dump's Lasting Effects

Today, during family lunch, Jet tells Adam and me, "I've had night vision for a long time." Adam looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. I held my laughter, because my son was dead serious.

"Oh, and how does one acquire night vision?" Adam asked. "Did you fall in a vat of toxic waste? Get bit by a radioactive bug?"

"When....when I was four," (which was just a couple of months ago) "I tripped over a toy in my room and hit my head." he explained in earnest while reenacting the event. "Then I woke up and I could see in the night." Jet's eyes were huge as he recounted the event.

"Wow", was all I could muster. I tried not to remind him that he wouldn't have gotten hurt if they would keep that dang room clean.

He proceeded, "Then I put my arm up to my eyes like this....and now my bones are green!" After pulling his arm away from his face, his expression said to us that there was no doubt in his mind that he was speaking the truth.

"So, you have x-ray vision too?" Adam asked. Jet fervently nodded

I glanced over at Adam, "I told you that room was dangerous."

Lesson 55: obtaining mutant powers and radioactive bones after tripping over toys in your bedroom = white trash

The Dump

My poor boys. Four of them are crammed into a 10 x 12 room, and when we rearranged the living room for our Christmas tree this year I decided I wanted my living room toy free. We used to have a toy organizer shoved in a corner of the living room where toys spilled out all over the main room of our house. I'm sure there are plenty of you who think it is horrible that I de-kidded my living room, but I have 6 kids! The amount of toys in this house is ridiculous!

Now, the toy organizer fits snuggly between their two sets of bunk beds, leaving the overflow of toys to clutter their floor. I'm so happy. Jude has a bad habit of dumping all the bins on the floor while searching for a toy then leaving everything there after it's been found.

The last month of my pregnancy with Stone, I was very tired and lazy. I didn't have the energy to clean their room, or even to fight with them to clean it themselves. Needless to say, their room eventually got so bad, looking at it made me desperately need a nap. The only visible piece of carpet was by the door from us closing the door at night. Despite the disaster, the only thing that ever happened was, "Your room looks like a garbage dump!" coming out of my mouth.

A few weeks after I returned home from the hospital, and after a night of poor mom-of-a-newborn sleep, I went into their room early one morning to retrieve clothes for school. I climbed the mountain of broken toys and stuffed animals, and in an extreme lunge, reached desperately for Jagger's pants drawer. As I stood there I heard Tickle Me Elmo, "Ha-ha-ha...that tickles." I looked down and couldn't see one strand of fuzzy red fur from that annoying monster. If you've ever seen a Tickle Me Elmo you know it's not a small toy. I tried to move my foot because Elmo wouldn't shut up, causing my sleep deprived soul to slowly turn black. "To infinity and beyond!" cried a large Buzz Lightyear completely invisible under the mound beneath my foot.

Lesson 53: kids bedroom being so cluttered you're standing on large talking toys and can't even see them! = white trash

"That's it!" I yelled.

I did a gymnast routine to get out of the bedroom and stomped downstairs. I took the kids to school and upon my return went back up with garbage bags in my frustrated hands, and didn't emerge until 3 1/2 hours later. I came out with a crazed look and three garbage bags full of broken toys, and for some reason, food wrappers. My kids know they are not permited to have food upstairs, but I felt too victorious to yell at them when they came home.

Their room was so spotless it brought a tear to my eye. The floor...I could see the floor, and it stayed that way for a month. I think they were just so happy to get to their beds without hurting themselves, that they took better care of it. The only problem was the occasional food wrapper or popsicle stick laying on their carpet. I would reaffirm the fact that they were under no circumstances to eat food in their room, and ask who had broken the rule. No surprise, no one owned up. Despite my yelling, it continued. Then one day I found a balled up dirty diaper. Weird. Why were my boys playing with a dirty diaper? I asked them why. No answer.

Now, the other part to this story is my daughter. She is constantly trying to be helpful. She loves to get stuff for me, helps me unload the dishwasher, and clean up messes. As soon as she started to walk, she knew how to throw away her garbage. She has always been so helpful that I am able to ask her to throw stuff away for me.

Jovie has always seemed to know exactly what I am talking about. I felt like I was talking to myself for years with the boys, but Jovie came out knowing the English language. Even as a baby she would give me the stink eye when I would make a bad joke, and before age 1 could nonverbally let me know she understood everything I said.

One day, after I changed Stone's diaper in my room, I asked Jovie to throw the diaper away for me. (We have garbage can in the bathroom.) She gladly nodded, took the diaper, and disappeared out the door. A few seconds later she returned for her praise. I thanked her and she left smiling to go see what her brothers were doing downstairs.

After I got Stone ready for the day, I left my rooom. Walking past the boys room, I saw the diaper. Hmmmmm. Jovie must have been distracted because it laid next to a couple of toys on the floor. I picked the diaper up and disposed of it.

Later that day, Jovie had a popsicle. When she was done she brought me the stick. "Put it in the garbage." I told her. She smiled, and started up the stairs. "Where are you going?" I asked, but she kept going. Confused, I got up and followed her. She walked straight to the boys room and threw in the stick. She turned and smiled, waiting for praise. I stood with my mouth agape.

I know she probably heard me saying their room was a garbage dump, but having to retrain my daughter to throw her fruit snack wrappers in our garbage cans and not on her brothers' floor is just plain sad.

Lesson 54: kids' bedroom being so cluttered, your 1 year old thinks it's an actual garbage can = white trash

Million Dollar Smile

Marky is finally getting baptized this weekend during the Easter Vigil. Being Catholic, he was required to participate in the Rite of Election a few weeks ago. The Rite of Election was held in Saint Paul's Cathedral in Oakland. The Cathedral was completely packed with all others participating, along with their families, from the whole Pittsburgh diocese. The bishop presided and a television crew was there taping the event.

Well, being the stress-bag that I am, I was in a tizzy trying to get Marky there on time. We stopped at McDonalds on the way so Marky could eat. (It was a long day for the two of us.) When we got there, I grabbed Stone and quickly lead Marky and Adam to the Cathedral doors. We made it just in time. I sighed with relief as I sunk into the pew, happy that we weren't late. (We had gotten lost in downtown Pittsburgh, resulting in tears on my behalf.)

Stone was perfect, letting me listen to mass. Amazing. They soon called the names of those getting baptized. Calling Marky's name, we both made our way up to the front with the others so they could sign their names in books. I proudly stood behind Marky. That's when Marky turned and gave me the most beautiful smile.......covered in ketchup!

I stood mortified. We're standing in front of the whole church, the bishop, and PUBLIC TELEVISION, and my kid has McDonalds ALL over his face. A spit wash would be embarrassing for him, and would probably be inappropriate to do during a ceremony. So I left it.

That following Wednesday, I picked up the copy of the Diocese Catholic newspaper that was delivered to my house, and there we were in a picture. Awesome.

Lesson 52: Kid in front of the whole church during mass with the bishop, that is televised with McDonalds smeared all over his face = white trash

Don't worry, I learned my lesson. I will most definitely be checking his face before mass this weekend. Luckily, this one won't be on TV!

Jovie Smorgasbord

Jovie has been a real hot mess lately. I need an extra set of eyes.....or maybe a whole other body. A 19 month old needs constant supervision, and having five other kids, one being a new baby, my attention is drawn thin. A disaster follows wherever she goes, and she has now decided that she must taste everything she picks up. Whether it be just a lick or a whole-in-mouth chewing experiment, it doesn't matter, she just has to give it a taste.

Lesson 51: daughter licking bubble solution off a bubble wand, chewing on a cigarette butt off the ground, and drinking a cup of (non-toxic) paint water with paint brush still in it....all in a half an hour = white trash

Going Outside

The sun is out and the million inches of snow have melted. You know what that means? I get to sit on my front porch!

Anyone who knows me, knows how much I love to rock in my Amish rocking chair and bask in the sunlight on my front porch. In the summer I spend most of my time after the kids have gone to bed enjoying the beautiful hillside full of trees on the opposite side of the Ohio River. The river itself is brown and disgusting. I'm glad neighboring houses block that view. I rock away while praying or enjoying the occasional neighbors company. (When I say occasional neighbors, I mean Jackie. She's the only one who doesn't mind being seen with us!)

Today was not only sunny, but also quite warm. My kids have had an extreme case of cabin fever after being stuck in the house for four excruciating months, so the prospect of going out into the fresh air lifted their spirits. My kids are quite simple and were totally stoked they got to trade in their bulky winter coats for hoodies. I, on the other hand, am just as simple, and couldn't wait to reunite my big butt with its most favorite seat.

Giddily, we made our way outside. Now, I have to tell you, we never use our front door in the winter. It's just easier to go out the back door, which is closer to where our cars are parked, avoiding the bitter winter wind. Plus my front door gets stuck in cold weather making it impossible to open unless you know the secret trick; but the door opened easily today.

I stepped outside as the kids barreled out the door like a clown car vomiting clowns. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath of fresh air.........choke, choke........fresh air? I opened my lids and scanned my porch. I expected a certain amount of disarray after a harsh season of neglect, but what I saw caused much confusion.

We have not had a pet in the house since Jasper died. I don't need anything else pooping, peeing, or vomiting on my floors, my kids are enough. Seriously! When I walked out on my porch, my favorite spot in the world, I found a pile of regurgitated hairball, a nice plop of feces on my front step, and the whole front of the house had a lovely cat pee smell.

Grrrrrrrrr........Now, I don't hate animals. I love dogs and most cats. Jackie's cat, Cheddar, is the best cat ever! He makes sure both Jackie's house and our house are mice free. He's an outside cat (most of the time), but he is clean and taken care of.

I do, however, have a problem with the nasty inbred cats that roam around the neighborhood. There are a million of them, and they all look the same. All five gagillion of them are thin with scraggly gray fur, looking as if they just crawled out of Pet Cemetery. They're creepy! And they're deficating on my stairs and spraying my house with their strong smelling urine!

Lesson 50: my house being the neighborhood cat toilet = white trash

Needless to say, my butt had to just look longingly at my Amish rocker while I cleaned my front porch. Don't worry butt, there's always tomorrow!

Thinking Arby's

The first few weeks after bringing a baby home, those who come to meet the new addition looks them over and tells you who they think they resemble. Sometimes it’s generic, “He looks like you.” I think the best comparison I ever got was when my mom looked at Jude as an infant and told me, “He has Poppy’s nostrils.” Now that was specific!

Stone has been no different. Though I’ve heard very different opinions about most things about him, the one thing they all agree on is that he has my lips. Poor kid, he inherited the full lips that practically ruined my childhood.

I have to admit, at that age my lips didn’t fit my face, and it was pure ammunition for cruel kids to torment me every day. They called me horrible names and would stick out their bottom lips and use their tongues to make big upper lips, pretending to be me. I went home upset quite often. To make me feel better, my mom would tell me, “Those lips will make you famous one day.” She would then show me people like Mick Jagger or Steven Tyler who are known for their large smackers. This is why, though I’m not the one in the family obsessed with the Rolling Stones, I have a special affection for Mick Jagger.

Stone’s lips are just the same. Being entirely too big for his face, we have a good time watching what his amusing lips can do. For instance, since he has no teeth, occasionally he will suck in his bottom lip in the middle, creating two perfectly sized bottom lips. Adam’s favorite is when he flattens his bottom lip and sucks in the sides of his top lip, forming a cowboy hat shape. When this happens, Adam lovingly states with a grin, “Look! Stone’s Thinking Arby’s!”

Now, Stone is not the first person in our family to Think Arby’s. About a month after we moved into our house, and a few years before the Thinking Arby’s campaign, we were driving to Walmart. Adam was the person physically driving. I sat in the passenger seat needing to be sedated. I don’t do well as a passenger. About a year before this incident Adam and I had had a fight about me being too over critical of his driving. I told him when to brake, when to slow down, and would hold onto the “Oh shit” bar the whole time looking completely terrified. It’s not that Adam is a bad driver. I’m a bad driver. I’m way too cautious, the type of person who brakes as soon as I see another car’s brake lights ahead, even if they’re five miles down the road. It’s pretty sad, and it Adam crazy when I'd warn him that cars were stopping at a red light.

“Yeah honey, I see it.” he’d tell me in a very annoyed tone. It got to the point where he asked me not say anything ever again or he’d leave me on the curb. Realizing I was driving my husband to insanity, I decided to keep quiet no matter how scared I felt. I did well for the following year. Even though my heart raced and I would often break into a cold sweat while Adam sat behind the wheel, I still kept my mouth shut.

Then, on the way to Walmart, on that beautiful warm clear day, we neared a stop light. Since it was such a nice day, no rain or snow, I was able to see things very clearly. We neared the light, a pick-up truck in front of us. My heart beat erratically as the truck’s bumper got closer and closer and our car’s speed didn’t seem to be slowing. The next thing I knew our car had been fused together with the truck’s rear end.

I looked over at Adam and all he had to say for himself was, “Whoops.”

Whoops? I thought to myself. This wouldn’t have happened if I was permitted to be annoying and overbearing.

“What were you looking at?” I demanded, confused at how he didn’t see the large truck now sticking out of our hood.

“Did you know they have two Arby’s melts for four dollars?” he asked with a grin.

Lesson 49: Wrecking your car because you want a roast beef sandwich = white trash

I looked to my right, there sat an Arby’s restaurant with a sign that read exactly what Adam had just told me. I whipped my head back around to glare at my husband, “You wrecked the car because you wanted a sandwich?!”

“Honey, it’s two Arby’s melts for four dollars!”

I was not amused.

A few years later the “Thinking Arby’s" commercials made their debut. The first time we saw one of those commercials, Adam and I both broke out in laughter. We joked about him getting out of the car after the accident with a big red outline of a hat floating above his head.

Now when we’re in the car and Adam suggests stopping at Arby’s, I immediately grab onto the “Oh shit” bar and hold on for my life.

Labor and Delivery

Ah, labor, the final step before holding your baby in your arms instead of your womb. On the evening of February 4th I had a feeling that my water had broke. Then, to confirm this I began having contractions. I had contractions until 4 am when they pretty much stopped. Feeling very confused I called my doctor in the morning.

“Come on in.” he told me.

Adam and I packed our things (just in case) and headed to the doctor’s office located above the women’s hospital where I would eventually deliver.

We got to the office around 10:30 on February 5th, and were sent down to Labor and Delivery shortly after. They hooked me up to Pitocin around noon. I hate Pitocin. It’s the devil’s drug, making contractions ten times worse, and I’m lucky enough to have had Pitocin with every delivery. What a prize to be won!

Around the same time it had begun to snow. I’m just glad we got there before the storm that dumped feet of snow on Pittsburgh. Adam wasn’t so happy. He has always wanted to deliver one of the kids himself. He has grand visions of driving me to the hospital and then having to pull off on the side of the road, roll up his sleeves, and deliver his offspring like a pro……..Uh, no thank you. First off, I tell him, “You’re a chef, not a doctor. It’s not like taking a turkey out of the oven.” I can just see it. He’d take the baby out with a pair of tongs and put it lovingly in a pan of warm water. Scary. Second, I want an epidural. He’s cruel and unusual to wish extra pain on me just to have something to put on his resume. (Yes, he’s mentioned it.)

After getting my epidural, I laid on my side and watched huge white flakes fall from the sky. It was beautiful. It helped take my mind off the fact that my contractions weren’t strong or regular enough to have a baby any time soon. To add to my frustration Adam was restless. He’s never had to wait long in the hospital for a baby to be born. I usually get there and POW….done. This time was different and Adam didn’t know what to do with himself. He went through all the drawers, put on a stethoscope and listened to my heart beat and my stomach. He finally had enough and tried to lure the baby out with a trail of Skittles.

Lesson 47: Luring your child out of the womb with a trail of Skittles = white trash

Around 7pm all the nurses had left me and Adam decided he was going to go to the bathroom. I was all alone watching Jeopardy. I thought to myself, “This baby is never going to come out.” Right after the thought crossed my mind my body doubled over as it tried to push a baby out on its own. “Oh crap,” I thought to myself, “Button, where’s that emergency button?!” I looked up and spotted what I needed. I stretched my arm out but the darn thing was just out of reach. I will never make fun of those, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” commercials ever again. I looked to the door but no one was coming to save me. No Adam, no nurse. I was going to have a baby all by myself.

Then I heard it. The most beautiful sound, my nurse coming through the door, “Someone’s having a baby.” She sang out.

How did she know?

Adam returned from the bathroom, “Who’s having a baby?”

“Meeeee.” I grunted, not able to speak in my normal tone. I was trying so hard not to push that my voice sounded like a caveman learning to talk or Satan after suffering a stroke. I haven’t been able to decide which one is more accurate.

Within minutes, a flood of nurses were by my side. “We’ve paged your doctor, but we can’t find him. Don’t push.”

“Seeeeeriouslyyyyyy?!” the caveman asked.

Adam ran to my side and held my hand as I turned his bones to jelly. You think pushing is hard? Try keeping a baby in. Did you ever have to poop so bad that you’re walking on your tiptoes holding your butt cheeks together the whole way to the bathroom just to find out there is already someone on the pot taking their time, and you are reduced to breaking a sweat while dancing outside the bathroom door as you prairie-dog it? Imagine your feces is a 7lb 11oz child. A thousand times worse. Trust me.

Ten minutes passed and they still hadn’t found my doctor.

“I’m starting to worry. I don’t know if your doctor will make it. If the baby starts to come out I know what to do.” the doctor-in-training told me.

I looked over and saw Adam’s face light up. “Maybe I can talk her into letting me catch the baby.” he whispered.

“Staaaaaaayyyy awaaaaaay from meeeeeee!” Satan responded.

He ignored me. “Should I scrub up? Put on a gown?” he giddily asked. “Let’s do this thing!” he shouted.

I rolled over to face the onslaught of nurses. “Keeeeeeep him awaaaaaaay from meeeeeee!” It was definitely stroke Satan this time because I’m pretty sure there was fire in my eyes.

Adam’s hopes were dashed when seconds later, my doctor came into the room. He had been delivering another woman’s baby, whose doctor wasn’t able to make it in to the hospital because of the horrible weather.

“Ok Jess, give me a little push.” my doctor told me.

Hello? I’ve been holding this child in for over 15 minutes. I guess my 'little push' was a whole lot different than the 'little push' he meant. I gave one push and the entire medical faculty in the room yelled at once, “Whoa! Whoa! Stop. Stop.”
“No more pushing Jess. Just wait a minute.” my doctor said.

Ugh! I threw my head back on the pillow and looked up at the TV. I sighed and audibly solved the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. My doctor looked up at me and then the TV and gave a little smirk.

Lesson 48: Being able to take time to solve a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune during the hardest part of labor = the sad truth that I’ve had one too many babies!

Stone was out seconds later, ready to face the world. He had dark hair, dark blue eyes that will most definitely be brown like mine, and despite the snow storm raging outside, he was born with a beautiful tan, compliments of either my dad’s or Adam’s dad’s genes. (Neither of us were lucky enough to get that nice skin, but half of our kids have it.)

Welcome to the world baby Stone! We’re so happy you’re here!