Lessons from the ER

They say you never stop learning, and boy did I get an education last night when my 5-year-old swallowed a quarter and we subsequently rushed to the Emergency Room.

First, I learned to stay calm. I have always fancied myself pretty even-keeled in emergencies, but then again, I've never had a real emergency. Just before my husband held our daughter's hair back and she vomited, I had the foresight to grab a bowl and put it in front of her. Yay. I saved my kitchen floor from vomit. That's about the only smart thing I did for the next 10 minutes or so.

We didn't know if we should go to the hospital or do the Heimlich or just wait for the coin to do its thing (preferably work its way through her system and end up in the sewer). I remembered calling the Tele-Nurse once when our daughter was sick, so I scrambled through kitchen drawers looking for the Tele-Nurse number. I couldn't find it. I spun in a circle in my kitchen looking for a phone book, apparently forgetting my soapbox speech about what a waste of paper the telephone book is, the speech I delivered to my oblivious family the day I canceled the phone book delivery.

Ok, no phone book. No Tele-Nurse magnet on the fridge or stuck to leaking batteries in the junk drawer. I'll go online. That's what smart, savvy people do in 2012 A.D. We're not neanderthals anymore, we can Google it. So I Googled "Tele-Nurse, Carson City, NV." Or, that's what I meant to Google. But my fingers just couldn't seem to hit the right keys. And the netbook was slow. I waited for the search results of whatever I typed to appear on the netbook screen while I moved over the full-size laptop. Yes, we are quite the techie family, aren't we. A lot of good it did us. The laptop froze, the netbook was still thinking, and my daughter was still panting over her bowl of vomit.

That's when I learned another lesson: Listen to your partner. Sean made the decision: just get in the car, we're going to get help. We each scooped up a child, assigning shoe duty to our youngest but forgetting to ask her to grab sweatshirts (lesson to be learned when we left the hospital: Prepare for the temperature it will be, not the temperature it is.). With the kids strapped in their car seats, hubby in charge of calming Emma down and me in charge of getting us to a doctor in one piece, we sped off.

The first stop was the nearest Urgent Care, which was closed. Off to the hospital instead. As I sped 70 mph through 45 mph speed zones, praying to be pulled over so we'd at least have the comfort of a cop in our midst, I found it fitting that there was no officer to be seen. No black-and-white cruisers anywhere along the 25-mile drive. Sure, I attract attention quietly exceeding the speed limit by 5 mph on my way to work, but here I am driving like a felon on the run, and there's no one around to give me a ticket.

Oh, and another Murphy's Law realization: You WILL hit every red light possible when you're in a hurry. Just know that and avoid stop lights at all costs.

We managed to arrive at the hospital calm and in relatively good spirits. Even messing up my daughter's birth date on the registration form only set us back a few minutes, and we were all thankful to just be in the presence of professionals.

I held my panic-weary daughter in my arms and rocked her, secretly reveling in the fact that two elderly ladies were pointing and murmuring, surely to say what a cute family we are and what a lucky girl this is to have such a caring mom as me. OR they may have been remarking that it's completely indecent to be hoisting a young child in the air with her booty hanging out of her dress. Yes, my daughter had no underwear on. She likes to strip down and put on dress-up clothes when she gets home from school, and apparently she forgot to put underwear on under her dress that night. I didn't find this out until about Hour 3 at the hospital when the doctors had her lie back on the bed and her dress shifted, revealing her oversight to two indifferent nurses and a horrified mom (me).

Remember your mom telling you to always wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident and have to be taken to the hospital? Well, let's start with just wearing underwear at all.

Maybe I should tell you what a motley crew we were last night: I was still in my slacks, sweater and heels from work. Sean is on vacation (enjoying that time off, baby?) and had been butchering a deer in our garage. Thank God he didn't have a blood-stained shirt on when this all happened, but he was hardly well-groomed either. And he didn't smell that great either. We think that Abbi likes to roll in the dirt at daycare. Or that's just what she looks like when we pick her up, and she was still in her daycare clothes. So we have a sundress-wearing daughter going commando, a dirt-stained daughter asking what everything is over and over again, a stinky grungy dad and a frazzled mom... still in heels. From now on I'm keeping a pair of flats in my car for just such an emergency! 

Ok, back to the saga. The next step was making it past the waiting room and into a triage room. This is where Emma puked all over the floor and splattered the nurse's shoes. I think she was used to it. She called for cleanup, handed us some wipes and asked if we heard a coin drop. No such luck. However, I learned a valuable lesson here too: If you ask for extra supplies, they'll give them to you. And that's why I now have hospital-grade puke bags in the glove box of my car. I almost can't wait for the girls to get carsick again!

Next came the Emergency Room room. I don't know what it's called, but it's the room within the Emergency Room where we posted up for the next three hours or so. We watched reruns of terrible '80s sitcoms (but hey, my daughters now adore Uncle Joey and want to be adopted by the Tanners) and snoozed, chatted, and waited.

And waited. And waited. Yes, the stories of long waits at hospitals are true. There is no rushing in medicine, I guess.

Emma's x-ray revealed the size and location of the coin she swallowed - clearly not a penny as she first claimed. This sucker was a quarter and it wasn't budging. A doctor and anesthesiologist were called in so we waited for them. Sean took Abbi to McDonald's and I combed Emma's hair with my fingers and waited.

I think part of the ER strategy is to make you wait so long that you're no longer scared or worried when the doctors finally arrive. The human body can't possibly listen to the drone of TVs, the incessant beeping of machines and the shuffle of nurses in Crocs and maintain a high level of anxiety over an extended period of time. I think it must not be possible, so hospitals strategically make you wait it out until you cross the threshold between nervous wreck and impatient patient.

By the time the anesthesiologist arrived and bought my mini-fib that Emma hadn't eaten anything since lunch (it was mostly true... a fruit roll-up doesn't count as food in my book), we were ready to get this show on the road!

Oh, another lesson I learned during the waiting game: Everyone has a choking story and is eager to share it. One nurse called it a rite of passage. And apparently every nurse's and doctor's children have gone through this rite. And lived to tell about it. That's encouraging. And I supposed that's the real lesson here, if I'm to be serious for a moment. The nurses were there to do more than check Emma's blood pressure; they were there to keep us comfortable and calm. They chatted about their own lives and embarrassing choking-on-dinner stories. They looked at Emma's x-ray and teased her about not fooling around when it comes to lodging money in her throat. They made sure we were as comfortable as we could be in an ER, watching "Full House" reruns.

And when things got serious, they did too. They talked TO Emma, not over her or around her. They explained what would happen, what she should expect, what is likely to hurt and what isn't. They let me stay in the way without making me feel like I was in the way. They suited me up to go into the O.R. and let me hold my daughter's hand and talk to her as she drifted off under the spell of gas and drugs. They even took our picture together in our goofy blue hospital hats.

Less than 10 minutes after the anesthesia knocked Emma out, the quarter was gone from her throat, the doctors were telling me how well she did, and she was soon wheeled into the recovery room. Another interesting lesson here: Anesthesia makes you sleep really well, and when you sleep really well during the time that should be bedtime, and you're wrapped up in warm blankets with your mom caressing your cheek and murmuring to you, you have no reason to wake up to harsh hospital lights and reality. The 10-minute recovery took closer to an hour because Emma was sleeping so soundly. The doctor said the gas had more than worn off, she was just really tired and really comfy.

Abbi and Sean showed back up with Big Macs, which doesn't sound very good on a normal day, and really didn't sound good at 11 p.m. after a day like this. I nibbled on my sandwich, reminded Emma to be careful of the I.V. in her arm, listened to Sean drill Emma on why she'll never put anything other than food in her mouth again, and entertained Abbi. And we all waited.

The nurse was finally convinced that Emma wasn't going to throw up the ice water she'd been allowed to sip, so the discharge process began. Take out the I.V., unhook the monitors, sign the paperwork, read the after-care instructions (which primarily told us to make sure our patient doesn't put foreign objects in her mouth again.... done), and go home. This is where we we realized that shoes don't do us much good if we leave them in the car. And that sweatshirt that wasn't necessary at 6 p.m. was definitely necessary six hours later. We wrapped Emma up in a hospital blanket (which I thought was a nice gesture from the hospital, but Sean reminded me that we will definitely be paying for it with our insurance deductible!) and carried her to the car.

By the time we were home, both girls were happy, if exhausted, and so were Sean and I. Sean plans to drill a hole in the quarter and put it on a chain for Emma (although I doubt she'll wear it; she's pretty embarrassed about the whole thing). And Sean gets to spend the last day of his vacation at home with two tired daughters. The best part was the clock striking midnight as we were in the car, and both girls wishing me a happy birthday.

Yes, it's a happy birthday! We all survived our first emergency and are smarter for it.

Hike to Angora Lakes, Tahoe

I'm often lamenting that it's a shame we live to close to Lake Tahoe but rarely go there, and even worse that we don't take advantage of all the great hiking and outdoor activities there. I kind of fancy myself an outdoorsy girl, but when it comes down to proving it, well, I lack the follow through.

Sean was out of town this weekend, and I complained to myself that it sucks he's gone on such a nice weekend, because if he were home, we could be going to Tahoe instead of sitting at home. And then I quickly gave myself a little "tsk, tsk" and shake of the finger for relying on HIM to get MY butt in gear. I don't need someone else to drive me to a trailhead and put my feet to the dirt! So I rallied the girls to get dressed and find their tennies while I made some sandwiches and dug around the medicine cabinet for bug spray and sunscreen (ok, and band-aids, Bactine and the rattlesnake-bite kit... hey, I like to be prepared!).

I Googled "best Tahoe hikes for kids" and found directions to Angora Lakes just outside of South Lake Tahoe. That area burned pretty badly a couple of years ago, so I was a little curious about what it would look like now, and I thought it'd be fun to hike to a lake rather than just a quick loop trail.

The directions I found described the hike as an easy-to-moderate trail to two lakes, the lower one being dog-friendly, so yay!, we could take the dog too!

Angora Lakes ended up being about an hour and a half from home, and the last 15 minutes are on one-lane, windy mountain roads. At one point, we could see Fallen Leaf Lake far below us on the right and the remnants of the Angora Fire on the left. The parking area was still pretty full when we got there at 1:30 p.m., but there were still spots available, so we paid our $7 access fee and hit the trail.

Have I mentioned that during this whole time, Emma was complaining that she HATES hiking and didn't want to go, and Abbi was babbling nonsense at the top of her lungs??? I pat myself on my back for keeping the mood light on the drive there, but I was more than happy to get out of the car and into the Great Outdoors where they could whine and yell as loudly as they wanted.

The websites I read said the hike is about a half-mile, but I doubt it's even that far. It took us about 20 minutes to get to the lower lake, but that's only because Abbi insisted on bringing her hiking stick (she called it her hocking stick), which is taller than she is and more than unwieldy when actually used for hiking. We finally found a hiding spot for the stick and grabbed it on our way back down.

The lower lake is small with a handful of cabins on one end. We ate our lunch, the girls and dog swam, and we chatted with the myriad of other hikers making their way up and down the trail. It wasn't crowded, but this definitely isn't a well-kept secret either.

We finally headed to the upper lake and I was surprised to find a full resort with cabins, store/snack bar, kayak rentals, and bathrooms! I so want to stay there some day! There were "dogs on leashes only" signs everywhere, so I didn't expect to spend much time at the upper lake... Rusty wasn't happy about being leashed after running free in the lower lake.

However, the owner/manager of the resort told me that dogs are allowed off-leash on the other side of the lake, just a short walk past the cabins. So we spent the next hour or so there, with only three trips to the bathrooms (someone tell me when I can expect my kids to take care of ALL their business on the first bathroom run so we don't have to keep going back???). Rusty fetched the ball in the lake, I dropped my camera and likely broke it, Abbi forgot to take her shoes off before going in the lake so she had to hike back in wet shoes, and Emma discovered the fun of drinking out of a CamelBack. So all in all, it was a good day.

I tend to over-think things, so when the sun started to hover just over the treeline, I panicked that it would get dark before we got back to the car. I've been in the woods when it gets dark, and that's when it gets cold, fast! That's also when the animals start to move, and "animals" means bears. So I hurried the girls back into their clothes and gear, leashed Rusty, and headed back down the trail. Silly me. There were still people arriving when we left, including a mom with two girls younger than mine, and none of them seemed concerned by the impending darkness.

If I thought a hike, swim and the fresh air would wear the kids or the dog out, I was wrong. They didn't got to bed any earlier or easier than usual, although Rusty did chow his dinner pretty quickly and then retire for the night. But I'm proud of them for going along with my little adventure. And I'm proud of myself for making the adventure happen.

Am I supposed to sigh louder? Sorry, I'm too busy helping my husband clean the house

I'm totally over politics - or over discussing them, at least. Politics have led to more than one argument in my home and more than one awkward family dinner. You know what's great about this nation? I can go to the polls and vote my way, and you can vote yours. And we never have to talk about it. Freedom to vote. Privately. It's a beautiful thing.

But I couldn't resist telling my husband that while I liked Ann Romney's convention speech and found her to be very personable and First Lady-ish, I was somewhat offended on his behalf by her claims that women do all the heavy lifting around the house. I told him that something felt wrong about her claims that women sigh just a little louder than men, and it's women who basically run the home and feel the pain of a down economy more than men.

There's a pretty succinct column on Gawker, written by a man, about why her speech was so out of touch with today's modern family. And it got me thinking about exactly what didn't sit right with me about the speech, and I started to feel like maybe, in my equal marriage where both my husband and I split most of the duties, I am supposed to be pulling a little more weight around the house. And that's when it hit me: that's the guilt I feel almost constantly as a working mom.

My husband is a fantastic cook. And that makes me feel guilty sometimes. Aren't I supposed to be the better cook? Aren't I supposed to have dinner ready when he gets home? Well, maybe, if I weren't pulling into the driveway at the same time as he is. Maybe if I were better about starting the Crock-Pot in the morning. But my mornings are filled with those silly tasks like getting dressed for work and getting the kids ready for school.

Speaking of getting ready for school, I finally handed off the chore of making lunches to my husband. My husband, who can roll out of bed, throw on work clothes and be gone within about 15 minutes of waking up, was more than willing to take on the lunch-making duty in the morning.

That's what we do: We share the load. And that makes me feel guilty and inadequate at times.

"It's the moms who always have to work a little harder, to make everything right... You're the ones who always have to do a little more," said Ann Romney. 

Well, no. My husband and I both work pretty damn hard, and I think he would take great issue with any claims that I work harder to hold our house together. Believe me, we've had that argument and neither one of us wins.

But am I supposed to be working harder than my husband? Yikes! Am I supposed to be doing more, because I gotta tell you, I'm about tapped out!

And up creeps that guilt again. That feeling that I should somehow be doing more, whether I work or not, and if I'm not doing more than my husband, than I'm slacking. If I ask him to do something that is traditionally done by the mom, then I'm just lucky he's such a progressive guy who doesn't mind doing "women's work."


The fact that my husband had to take our youngest to a friend's birthday party and a haircut because I was traveling for work makes me feel inadequate.

That he sweeps and mops the floors while I scrub the toilets makes me wonder if he feels I'm a letdown as a wife. Not because I really feel like he shouldn't do those things, but because I feel like other people feel like they're my duties, not his.

Yes, this is 2012, and I'm embarrassed that I feel that way. But I do. I feel like there is still an undercurrent of expectation that I'm supposed to be Super Mom and Wonder Wife, despite being gone from the house from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. Somehow I'm supposed to do all those things that moms and wives do, but I'll just do them after dinner and on weekends. I should be a strong, proud woman who can do it ALL and not whine about it.

To be fair to the world around me, I really think I put this pressure on myself. But why? Could it be because the martyr mother is still glorified in society?

"I'm not sure if men really understand this, but I don't think there's a woman in America who really expects her life to be easy. In our own ways, we all know better! And that's fine. We don't want easy," said a very respectable woman who could be our next First Lady.

Wait a minute... Did Ann Romney just tell the nation that women don't have easy lives, but that's ok because we don't expect life to be easy? We're women and we know life isn't easy for us? And that somehow bonds us? Women, unite!

Unite over our sleepless nights with sick kids, and our hours spent in doctors' waiting rooms and principals' offices. Unite over the hot stoves and endless piles of laundry. But where does that leave the men who do those things? Or the women who live with the men who do those things? Are we kicked out of the sorority because we don't suffer enough?

I don't begrudge the Romneys their money or success. That's the American Dream, and I'm glad they achieved it! But Ann, don't try to commiserate with me over the fact that I likely make 80 percent of what my male counterparts in my career make. It's your party who blocked this year's effort to even the salary score. Republicans refused to vote for the Paycheck Fairness Act for fear that it would generate too many lawsuits. Well, why not make it easier for women to sue when they have been discriminated against? Answer that for me, Ann, and we might actually have a bonding moment.

Ok, that's getting political again, her speech didn't especially strike a political chord for me. It struck a social nerve instead. I am grateful that I am married to a man who sees me as his equal and gives me credit for trying to be a Super Mom, and who understands my frustration when I fail. Because I do fail. Constantly. So does he. We can't do everything, and we shouldn't be expected to. He doesn't expect me to. I try not to expect it of myself. But I get the feeling that women like Ann Romney - and most women who grew up in the era of The Cleavers - do expect it.

* Ann Romney's quotes are pulled from the transcript of her speech, found here. And lest I be accused of referring to a left-leaning website, it was just the first one that popped up in my Google search results.

Testing Blogger app

Abbi is in her first-ever swim lesson, so I decided this would be a good chance to test the Blogger app on my tablet. I think I'll update more if I can do it on the go.

A gubernatorial day

On a welcomed day off last week, I told the girls we could do anything they wanted to do. We could go to Tahoe, or hit the Carson Hot Spring. How about bowling? Or a movie and popcorn? Anything they want, it's their day. So what did they choose?

A bus ride.

Yes, they wanted to ride a city bus. Well, ok. I did say it was up to them and they could choose anything. So I found some quarters (seriously, at $1.50 for three of us to ride, this was the cheapest day ever!) and we drove to the bus transfer station in Carson City. I did my homework on the bus routes and found that each loop takes an hour, and one particular route went by a park we like to play at, so I figured that if the girls got bored, we could always hop off at the park and kill an hour there before getting on the next bus.

But the girls didn't get bored. They loved the bus ride! We rode for a whole hour (with endless commentary from them about who was getting on, why people were getting off, where they might be going, etc.) and then took transfers to get on another route.

Thankfully I was able to talk them out of riding a whole second loop, so we got off after a couple of stops and walked back toward my car. We walked by the capitol so I showed the girls the capitol building, and they wanted to go inside so we did! The receptionist at the governor's office gave the girls a commemorative coin, and we walked through an exhibit on Nevada history and looked at all the portraits of past governors.

Then we meandered back outside and walked through the Legislature grounds and looked at the statues of Kit Carson, Abe Curry, a miner and a memorial for fallen police officers. I got to explain some of the town's history to them, and then we just played in the grass and hung out in the sunshine.

We stopped at a Chinese restaurant for lunch and finally made our way back to my car. It was such a nice day, one we're all sure to remember.

The best part, however, was after we got home. Emma dressed up in her heels, scarves, tiara and jewelry like she usually does and sauntered out to the living room where I greeted my little princess. Well, my "princess" quickly corrected me on her title. "I'm not a princess! I'm the governor!"

YES! My baby can be the governor any day she wants!

Bruised

When I picked up Emma from school today, her teacher warned me that she had a little mishap, namely a face-plant into the pavement while running a relay race. And sure enough, the poor kid has a reddish-purple goose egg on her forehead, a red nose and a scraped cheek. She's probably going to have a nice shiner in the morning.

But through it all, Emma has had a good attitude about her injuries. She said she forgives the boy with whom she collided (yes, I understand that it was an accident, but she's very big on forgiveness, so who am I to discourage her?). And she happily recounted the story for Daddy when she got home. She's quite proud of her injuries. She told us that she cried and even SCA-REAMED when it happened, but then she played games and danced to music and forgot that it hurt. She's so brave.

Tonight after bath time, I sent her into the bathroom to brush her teeth while I got Abbi into her PJs. A moment later, I heard a wail and then sobs coming from the bathroom. I ran in there, thinking Emma had fallen and bumped her already-tender head. She just sobbed as I checked her over for blood or other signs of injury.

I asked her what was wrong, what had happened, and her answer both relieved and scared me: "I don't WANT to look like this!"

Yep, she is so totally a girl. She sobbed on my shoulder as she told me that she doesn't want her friends to see her like this, and her face looks terrible and she's SOOOO upset.

So there you have it. My 5-year-old is worried about her looks.

I reminded her about one of her books, the one about Sammy the Sea Shell whose shell gets chipped, and after he saves his lobster teacher from a lobster trap, his friends learn that it's his inside that matters, not his cracked shell. I reminded her that his friends see his inside, not his outside, and her friends will do the same because they like EMMA, not Emma's face.

Thankfully she understood and launched into her own analogy of a kid in Lemonade Mouth who gets a black eye. I'll ignore the fact that it's probably Disney Channel teen sitcoms that caused this situation in the first place, and just be happy that she got the point.

I think she'll definitely look worse tomorrow, and she'll probably be pretty sore for a few days. But hopefully the emotional damage will wane as her friends ask her about her cool bruises.

Abbi one-liners

Abbi was full of one-liners tonight. The best was this:

Emma was singing a nonsense song and said, "Do you like my song, Abbi?"

Abbi replied: "No. I like... to lick butts!"

Endless giggles from the girls, and a stifled chuckle or two from me too. Hey, there's a time and a place for low-brow humor too!

New Year's Kinda-Resolution

Hello everyone! Obviously I haven't been very good about updating this thing. It's not that there's nothing to write about... every day is full of great blog possibilities. But by the time I sit down to write something, I'm just tired! Or I have other things to do. Or I'm just not inspired anymore.

I didn't really make any New Year's resolutions this year. Not that I don't have things in my life to improve. I just didn't want to. And that attitude is leading me into making one belated resolution... kind of.

This year I'm trying really hard to not do things because I'm supposed to. Or because I feel like someone expects me to. Don't worry, I'm not going to turn into a big flake falling through on promises because I just don't feel like keeping them. But I'm also trying really hard to eliminate some of the excess in my life.

This blog, for example. I love writing down my thoughts here, but at times it feels like I write something just because I'm supposed to. Because you all are expecting me to, and I don't want to disappoint.

It happens at home too; I feel like I have to clean the house, do laundry, make dinner, buy groceries, read bedtime stories... be the ultimate mom! And c'mon, that's just not realistic. OK, so really, I've never been good at doing ALL that stuff, but I've been great at guilt-tripping myself about it too. This time around, I'm trying to be OK with slacking on a few things. Laundry not done? Well, we have plenty of clothes to get us through until I have time to do laundry. Dinner not planned? That's ok, we have food and I'll figure out something to make.

I often feel like I need to look right, act right, think right, etc. The problem is that "right" differs from person to person. And I'm just tired from trying to keep up with it all.

Someone once advised me: "Don't let anyone 'should' on you today." And I like that thought. I'm a responsible, smart person. I'm not going to let my house fall apart or my kids run around like hooligans (I love that word!). But I'm also really going to try to stop demanding so much of myself and feeling like crap when I don't meet my own standards. I'm going to let more of the real "me" shine through. And love it or hate it, love me or hate me, that's just the way it is.

And what does that mean for you? This blog may or may not get updated. I may or may not get Valentine's Day cards in the mail (I think you all know I love you, do you really need a Snapfish card to remind you?)

The real resolution here is that I'm going to try to remind myself of this resolve. It doesn't come easy for me, because I'm a people-pleaser. But I am going to spend this year really trying to wear the clothes I like and not worry that you don't like them,; to do the things that I like to do and not worry that I'm dropping the ball in other areas; to enjoy each day with my kids and not think about what else I should be doing, or on the other hand, admit that I don't always relish every moment with them, and be ok with that. We're all human, right?

OK, enough preaching. I mostly just wanted to explain why I may not be as active on this blog as before (well, I haven't been very active on it lately anyway!). Wish me luck!

Vacation at home

I'm on vacation this week... at home! We just returned from Oregon on Tuesday, so I have three weekdays to do whatever I want. Lest you begin to think "so what?" let me remind you that I have almost never had a day off and at home that wasn't a sick day, weekend/holiday, or maternity leave. I've had furlough days, but I usually schedule those around long weekends (therefore out of town with my family) or to do something I just can't do during the week. I've never used vacation days to do... nothing.

Oh, I shouldn't say I'm doing nothing. I'm actually busier than usual, but I'm busy with nothing planned. I have no appointments, no meetings, nothing I HAVE to do.

So today I went to the grocery store in the morning. I had no idea what Raley's looks like in the morning! Wow, it's so calm! The few customers there were elderly and quiet. There were no harried moms dragging around screaming kids (that's usually ME!) and there was no rush to get home and start dinner (me again!). It was so quiet. Even the piped-in music was '80s soft rock. Sigh... I could get used to buying my groceries in the a.m.

I did three loads of laundry and a load of dishes. I put away Christmas presents and started crocheting a baby blanket. I downloaded all my holiday photos from my camera and uploaded them to Facebook. That alone usually takes me a few days, but today I was able to just let it run in the background while I did other things.

And on a whim, I painted my fingernails electric purple. Just because I can. It's a color I'd probably never wear to work (although it's starting to grow on me) but I have five more days to worry about what to wear to work.

Tomorrow I'll drop the girls off at school and go to the gym. And then I'll start taking down the Christmas decorations and perhaps scrub a toilet or two. I'd love to go to the hot springs sometime this week, but we'll see if there's time for that. As luxurious as three days of free time sounds, it speeds by really quickly. But I'm liking this taste of free time. It could get really boring really quickly, but for now, I like it!

Santa's Cookies

This morning my girls asked if they can leave a present for Santa on Christmas. I told them that it's a fantastic idea, but maybe we could leave cookies out for him, since he'll get hungry flying all over the world. And maybe a little glass of milk too?

"Yes, mommy! That's perfect!" Whew, that's a relief. (Mom, I hope you have cookies in Oregon!)

Abbi: "Mommy, can I have a bite of Santa's cookies?" (how stinkin' cute is she!?!?!)

Emma: "Abbi, you can't eat Santa's cookies or you'll get on the Naughty List!" (always the practical one!)

Abbi: "But, well, sometimes I LIKE Santa's cookies."

Abbi finally decided that she could pass on the cookies and leave them for Santa, but I wouldn't be surprised if she asks again before Christmas Eve. And Emma decided that she needs to leave some carrots for the reindeer too, because reindeer like carrots.

And that sums up the important parts of Christmas Eve traditions in the minds of my kids.