I had to brag.

I am such an idiot.

After two lovely days with PK, me foolishly believing I could handle two kids, we got a whopper.

Not one, but two molars cut last night. Screaming baby clinging desperately to my torso for an hour and a half, and I couldn't do anything to make it better (and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the boring speeches or even Hillary's hideous orange suit.) Her diaper rash came back, though it disappeared by morning. And of course, I couldn't find the teething tablets or orajel, either. I ended up sleeping in the guest bed with her, so she wouldn't be alone when she woke up in pain. Neither of us slept much, and I woke up more than drained, because nursing was the only thing that would calm her in the wee hours of the night.

Bleary-eyed this morning, I turned the house upside down, but the magic meds were nowhere to be found. PK left early today, but Dr. B had the car (first week of school--he's swamped with meetings and planning and teaching and is still at work at 9 PM) so I couldn't even go to the store. He came home for supper, and watched her for a bit while I ran to the big box, desperately searching for the homeopathic air pills and goop to make her a little more comfortable. She took them without question, and even came back for more gel (I guess she likes that fake weirdberry flavor).

She went down easy tonight. Hopefully, she stays down. Mama's tired, too.

Red!

It took 4 coats, but my Bolero red wall is finally done, and the other walls are looking gorgeous in their pale, peachy-beigey-light-tannish color. (Flan! It's Flan!) The Handi-Tak yellow is finally history, and we painted the ceiling a clean, pure white. Tomorrow I will touch up the trim, and hang new electric plates on the walls. I'm really looking forward to having everything done and put away, so I can get back to normal in this house! I'm glad to be done with the red paint--it looks gorgeous, but I had the icky feeling that someone, poking through our garbage, may wonder if I was a serial killer or something. Going on, it looked like ketchup, cleaning up resembled surgery, and the rags in the trash looked rather, um, frightening. But it's done, and it looks fabulous, if I do say so myself. It fits our home, our personalities, and our furniture so much better than that sickening, migraine-inducing yellow.

We decided not to paint the cabinets after all. In discussing it with my FIL, he thought it would affect resale (though the cheap, tacky cabinets we have are not my idea of a big boon to the selling price), and he didn't think everyone would share our taste. (What??? Crazy talk.) But the decision was finally made when he said, "it'll take you the rest of the summer." OK, that's decided then. I still hate them, but I don't want to live on paper plates and take-out for 2 months, so they stay as is. (Or until I win that lottery I never play and get all brand-new cabinets put in by professionals, that is.)

I still want to replace the light fixtures, but the ones that are there are less obnoxious than they were with yellow walls, so it can wait a little while. I haven't decided on cabinet pulls, but those will be changed, too. We also have to order curtains for the living room and our bedroom, choose final colors and paint our bedroom, and buy and install shelving in the laundry room. The never-ending saga of homeownership...

I promise to post pictures when we get it all done and everything put back where it's supposed to be. Please be patient!!! I'll get some up, soon--well, as soon as it's cleaned up and the laundry is done, that is.

In other news, we spent yesterday afternoon at the Arts Fest in town. Found a great little wooden truck for Rowan (which she loves playing with) and a gift for someone who reads this so I'm not going to elaborate but let's just say someone in North Dakota is going to love what they're getting for Christmas. And if they don't, I'll take it because I love it. And I wish I was super-rich and could buy one for everyone I know. OK then.

It was hot, but Rowan enjoyed a bit of time playing with her new truck in the grass and sharing crackers with a caramel colored standard poodle named Toulouse, while some sort of bugs crawled up my shorts and had a feast on the backs of my thighs. We walked around, checking out the booths and people-watching, while Dr. B had a meeting with his student. When he was with us, I noticed that he was greeted by many university kids. "You must be a good teacher, if the students say hello to you in the street," I said. After going home, laying Rowan down for a nap, and pouring a cool drink, two of his other students called and said they had a gift for him. They stopped by and joined us on the patio, bringing with them an adorable Life is Good monkey blanket (they think it's hilarious that Dr. B calls Rowan "Evil Monkey".) You don't see students bringing gifts to professors they hate--so this is proof. He is very good at what he does!

We had supper, and Rowan threw a fit mid-meal. A shot of Tylenol seemed to help, but it reared again, so I gave her a finger full of Orajel, and she stopped crying right away. (I couldn't find my teething tablets, but those were next.) At 3 AM, she woke us up. I sent Dr. B in to soothe her (if I go in, she usually needs to nurse to calm down, but if he goes in, she'll go back to sleep without it.) He said she was hot, so I came in to take her temp while he went down to lower the temperature on the thermostat. She was running around 100.8 or so (she kicked out the thermometer before it really finished, but it was right around there), so we gave her more Tylenol, I nursed her, and she slept with me while Dr. B took up residence in the guest bedroom (for as small as she is, she takes up a lot of space in our bed.) She slept until after 8, and woke without a fever but in a good mood. Off and on today she was fussy and warm, and really had a hard time at dinner once again, despite doses of Tylenol and teething tablets. Her fever at 8 PM was 102.4, so the teething is wreaking havoc with her system. Poor little bug. She's going to sleep with me tonight, and Dr. B will again take the guest bed.

Speaking of which, it is getting late and I've finished my book, so I better head to bed myself. 3 AM comes early...

I call my baby nasty names.

Before Rowan was born, we called her Zizou. She kicked like a soccer player, so it really did fit. Since she showed up, she's been labeled a lot of things. Sweetpea, Starshine, Sweetie, Honey, Pea (not to be confused with Pee), Pooper (well, yeah, that's gross, but at least it's only one icky nickname), Sunshine, Sugar, Sugar-Booger, Booger (OK, 2 more icky nicknames), Boog, Punkin, Stinker, Evil Monkey, Pickle, Sweaty Betty, Stinky and probably another forty or fifty names that I can't think of right now.

Today, she earned a new one. She got a new tooth.

But it's not in the usual, cute place mirroring her bottom two that came in a few months ago.

Nope, not our girl. I guess having a dog has influenced her. The new one? It's a canine.

So now, she's Fang.

Appearance

I woke up today feeling much better. Rowan was cheerful, and we had a great morning. She played happily and then napped, and I showered (and it was wonderful; after two days I reeked.)

After lunch, we took Lucy on a long walk, and around 3:30 I began the pre-nap ritual of changing the pants, reading the stories or singing the songs or reading the poetry (today it was Shel Silverstein), snuggling her in her blanket, and laying her down.

No go.

OK, more singing and rocking.

Not.

Extra play time.

More rocking.

More singing.

Lying down with her.

Nope.

Lying with her and singing. When she screamed I just sang louder.

Finally.

I threw some towels in the dryer, put some bacon in the oven for dinner and grabbed a bowl of ice cream and my book. 2 bites in... "Waaaaahhhh!!!"

Again. I tried the whole gamut. Nothing worked. I let her scream for a few minutes and ate my ice cream. (That was not going to waste. It was fudge brownie, people.)

The oven beeped, and I had to get the bacon out or it would burn. I put her in the basket of clean towels, and she played happily for 3 minutes while I drained it and put the pan in the sink. I went to feed the dog, and she tipped over, banging her head on the ground.

Woo! That really made her happy.

She screamed and screamed until I nursed her into submission. Finally, following an hour of screaming and hiccuping, she belched. Big time.

I got her calm enough to play for a while, phoned my grandma, and waited for her dad to get home. While I made the oatmeal (yeah, the menu plan went out the window this week), he took the dog for a walk and I fed her some squash, mashed potatoes, green beans and applesauce. As I was spooning the orange squash into her mouth, I saw the reason for the screamin'.

Tooth #2. It's here.

Thank God this didn't happen yesterday.

She must be teething

The vacation was wonderful. She was a charmer. We got home, after the flight home from hell, and still she was an angel, though she was tired. Smiling, laughing, trying to entertain me. She'd catch my eye and give me a big, gummy grin. Bouncing away in her jumperoo, she played happily while I waded through mountains of laundry.

Then came today.

She shrieks and complains from dawn to dusk, and beyond. No naps. Screaming, twisting, writhing, crying. Tylenol gives me 20 minutes of respite, that's it. Her lower lip is red, and she sucks on it constantly. She bites me. And then tries to swallow the entire boob.

She coughs, gagging, and then tries to shove her fist further down her throat. Her attention span has shortened to 4 seconds. She sleeps only in the car when "Baba O'Reilly" is cranked, loud. Then the radio DJ changes to some drippy light rock crap and she wakes up wailing. She's not happy sitting, lying down, being held, standing, rocking, in the jumperoo, in the carseat, in the stroller, anywhere. I've tried the orajel, the cool teething rings, Sophie la Girafe, sucking on a rag, everything. There's just no way to make her happy. She's hurting. (So am I.)

Her dad has had a lot of late meetings and events, so Mom has been going it solo. Thank heavens for red wine.

And chocolate.

Did I mention brownies?

PS. Ice cream. I forgot the ice cream. Who needs meals?

PPS. She finally passed out as I wrote this. Hallelujah. I need a refill.