Pillow Talk

This is an honest-to-goodness conversation I had just moments ago with the Samster...  God help me.

Me (with eyes closed- trying to look asleep- and jaw clenched): Mommy's getting mad, Sammy.  Go to sleep.
Sam: Okay.
...
...

Sam:  I patting yuhs arm, Mom?  I pat yuhs arm.  ... That nice, Mom?  I be nice, Mom?
Me:  Yes, that's nice.  You are very nice.  Mommy is still getting mad because you're not trying to go to----
Sam: BOOP! I gots yuhs NOSE, MOM! (laughs)
Me: Yes, I noticed that.  You have quite the sharp fingernail, there.  Is Mommy bleeding?  Is my nose blee--- can you let go, hon?  You're seriously hurting me.  NOW, please. 
Sam: HAHAHAHA! (I assume he's laughing because my voice sounds all nasal and funny, not because he's hurting me.  He let go.)
Me: Thank you.  No more talking.  Go the... to sleep.  I MEAN IT.
Sam:  Okay.
...
...

Sam: You get yuhs own widdle baby chicken.  On yuhs own widdle baby plate (these are lines from a tv commercial he loves to repeat...  at 11:00 p.m., apparently)
Me:  I stopped drinking before having children.  Did you know that, Stinkleton?  Sometimes I question that decision.
Sam: Drink?  I has a drink?
Me: No.  Sleep.
Sam:  I not tie-yud.
...
...
Sam:  You tie-yud, Mom?
Me: God, yes.  Samuel ROBERT, it is after 11:00.  I want you to stop talking and GO------
Sam: Eight, nine, ten, ewebben.
Me: SAM!
Sam: (fake snores, eyes squeezed shut) Nigh-night (more fake snores).
Me: Night-night.  That's my good boy (I kiss his forehead).
...
...

...
...

Me (thinking to myself): Thank God.  I think we're in the clear. 

...
...

Sam: Yeah.  I good boy.  ...I good boy, Mom?

Me (to myself): You've gotta be kidding me.

Next time? Just say NO...

Sam speaks clearly enough that our family understands most of what he says, even if you wouldn't.  For example, I know that "Foosh a bunion" is "Push a button."  But, sometimes- like when he's trying to pronounce a word we haven't heard him say yet, he's excited and speaking quickly, or when he's rattling off entire one-sided conversations- we have no clue. 

Sometimes I have to say, "Honey, I'm sorry.  I don't know what you're saying."  But then he looks so disappointed, or maybe it's disgusted- I'm not sure.

This is the short version of a lovely chat Sam and I had this morning.  Please, puhlease tell me what I've agreed to do:

Sam: "Tay uhno fee nay BICK honno uhfeh (...something, something, something)!"
Me: "Are you serious, dude?"
Sam: "MOM! No. Tay. Uhno. Fee. NAYBICK. Honno. Uhfeh (...something, something, something)!"
Me: "Ummmm... ...  ...  ...  ...  ...Ohhhhkay ...(???).  Yeah."
Sam: (jumping up and down)"YAAAAY!!  TayuhnofeeNAYBICKhonno dooooOOOOO!"

Naybick honno do, guys.  Naybick honno do.

Dude, you're confused...

As you can see, I've moved the poll (about starting another blog) to the sidebar, since the votes are still pouring in. I mean, it just doesn't stop, people. You know, you often hear celebrities talk about how hard it is to be so famous, and I really can see they're right...  I'm just getting pounded by these things (that's what she said).  The count is in the tens, now, so it's quite exciting and clearly anybody's guess how it will come out.  You still have time to answer, if you haven't already (meaning, please, please answer my sad little poll.  This is me, on my knees, begging- oh, and just ignore the creaking noise.  It's normal.  It's just hard for a fat girl to get down on her knees.  And, there' no guarantee she's gettin back up, either).  Come on, people!  Let's silence all those naysayers (I think there were like 2 of 'em... maybe 3) who said I could never reach the masses and be the incredibly successful blogger that I am today!  Let them see that literally tens of people would want to read what I say.  TENS!  That's like...  around a hundred, just about.

Anyway...  Massive, celebrity-like, blog popularity aside, I do actually have something to tell you today.  Something funny.  This will be a shorter-than-usual story, but too cute not to share.  And, let's be honest, you've earned a short post or two from me, haven't you, my long-suffering little friend?   I was going to post it only on FB, but didn't want to embarrass one of my boys, and you'll see why in just a sec... 

Okay, now for the Story of the Day, titled:

Dude, you're confused... 

(Dim lights, begin music)...

The other day, while sitting on our couch next to Sam, one of my older sons (I will refrain from humiliating the boy by revealing his identity, although I'd like to.  I really would) engaged in a certain... oh, let's say, a 'flatulatory behavior, ending  with a thunderous release of what can only be assumed was a fetid, evil presence.'  Are we on the same page, here?  It was a belch that took a wrong turn, in other words; a canary killer; the song of the South; an air biscuit; the barking spider's mating call...  a *F*A*R*T. 

And the big kid obviously did it. There was much smirking and proud snickering involved.  Sam was right there, but he was completely innocent of the heinous, disgusting act of biochemical warfare perpetrated upon the whole Fam Damily, leaving the room aglow in the haze of a thick, neon-green fog, which, incidentally, made the dog's hair fall out...

This sequence of events makes sense to you, yes?  I guess it didn't to Sam.  He heard the noise and suffered the following assault on his other senses, and he said...

"Uh-oh! I pooped!"



Another Sam Post

Sammy, Part 1
Thanks for the input on Sam's rash.  Several of you suggested I talk to Laurie.  I'm sure she would know- I feel a little weird though, since I really don't know her.  Asking doctors I don't know for their opinions, seems... I dunno.  Tacky, maybe?  Impolite?   Don't they kind of frown upon such things?  I did check her blog for contact information (since, you know, I'm all about the tacky and impolite) but didn't see an email.  Am I blind? 

Anyway, Sam's better for now.  His elbow is still driving him nuts.  I get him snookered up on Benadryl at night, so we he can sleep.  Hydrocortisone still bothers him.  He acts like it burns, although the patches are healing well and no longer look as swollen or inflamed.

I emailed all the pics I took to his doctor, who is forwarding them on to the doctor at CMH.  That doctor is going to make an effort to make sure he gets in sooner next time this happens, so they can do some scrapings.


Sammy, Part 2
This part is for Sam (and his mother's failing memory), although you're welcome to eavesdrop.  We'll call this part:

"What I Like About You"

Sammy, these are just a few of the things you're doing lately (at 28 mos) that make me fall more in love with you every day:

• The way you count...  I love listening to you count!  Juan, Two, Fee, Foh, Fibe, Sick, Sebben, Eackt, Nine, Ten, Ewebben, Telb, Furtee, Fohtee, Fawtee, Nightee (I don't know what happens to 16,17,18 and 20).  And watching you try to fingerspell the numbers is one of the cutest things ever!  You try so hard to get it right.
• There is a female in our family who has a butterfly tattoo on the back of her hip.  You've seen it.  You love it (God help us).  And apparently, you think butterflies just come standard on everyone, because you will spin in circles, like a dog chasing his tail, trying to catch a glimpse of your own butterfly tattoo.  If I ask what you're doing, you say, "Buttfwy.  Butt."  Loosely translated, I'm thinking this means, "Mom, I'm looking for the butterfly on my butt.  Obviously."  I'm sorry, honey- you don't have one.
• Our bedtime routine:  We sing 39 songs.  I say, "Okay, now it's night-night time.  You need to stop singing and close your eyes."  You sweetly say, "Uhhhh... noooo.  I can't."  You squeeze your eyes shut for 3 seconds.  You sing 2 more songs while I try to feign sleep.  I whisper a reminder, "Shhhh. Nighty-nights.  Go to sleep...  I love you."  You whisper, "No, fanx you...  I yawz (love) you." Forty-two minutes later, you are asleep.
• When we ask you to point at different colors, i.e.: "Show me something purple... Show me something green," you will always point to something in the room of that color.  But when we ask you to show us something brown, you point to your own leg.
• You love to draw sunshines with smiley faces, snowmen and letters. 
• Your love of music... You are the most musical little guy I've ever seen. And you can really carry a tune, too. I've never seen such a young kid sing or hum so well. You are fascinated by music videos (we watch your favorites every night on my computer), Guitar Hero, Just Dance, iPods, cell phones- anything musical. You do the most awesome dances, too. If the guys are playing Guitar Hero, you will do these cool little moves, where you strike a pose and freeze (kind of like fat Elvis in Vegas). It's hilarious! You will often grab two spatulas to use as drum sticks, or strum one as your guitar. You ROCK, dude!
• Like any other two-year-old, you like to say "No!" and "Stop it!"  But, unlike many two-year-olds, you still mind your manners.  If I'm tickling you, or trying to talk to you while one of your favorite commercials is on, or otherwise being obnoxious and ruining your day, you don't demand that I "Stop it, Mama!"  You say, "Stop it, Mama, please?"
• Sometimes, you'll say, "Yous uh good boy, Mama."  Thank you, Sam-Sam.  I think you're a good boy, too.

Skin problems

HELP!!

I know some of you with IA kids have had to deal with some odd skin disorders.  We're going through that with Sam, now, too.  I'm posting some pics below, hoping you've seen this before and can tell me what it is.  Any and all input is appreciated.

From the time we brought Sammy home, he'd get these bumps that look exactly like large mosquito bites.  He'd scratch them, they'd scab, then heal, leaving a scar.  In the beginning (the first 2-3 times this happened), there were only two or three bumps.  Honestly, we assumed they were mosquito bites at first.  Then winter came.  No mosquitos.  Yet, he still broke out.  He breaks out every 4-5 months, or so.  Each time it happens, it gets a little worse.  Now, instead of a few bumps, he's covered.  The break-outs don't last long.  Only a few days.

We just had a large batch of bumps show up on Thursday morning.  Sam was miserable.  Scratching, crying...  It's awful.  I took him to the Ped. on Friday morning (it was the soonest they could see him).  She has no idea what it is.  One of her partners suggested flea bites, which almost made me foam at the mouth and run, cursing, down their hallway.  I might be an idiot, but don't insult my intelligence.  I think I'd know if my home was so infested with fleas that my baby is being eaten alive.  If fleas were that bad in our house, why would the bumps heal after a few days?  Wouldn't the sores be constant?  Do fleas take breaks?  And why wouldn't the rest of the family get bitten, as well?  Stupid. 

Anyway...  The Ped. scheduled him to see a specialist at Children's Mercy, to get some samples of it, but Chilren's Mercy couldn't see him until tomorrow (Wed, 24th).  His bumps were almost completely gone yesterday (Mon, 21st), leaving only a red spot, like a scar, where the bumps were.  He still has a couple scabs left, too, from the ones he picked at.  So, the Dr. said to cancel the appt. at CMH, since they'd have nothing to test.

I cancelled, but I'm left feeling so frustrated.  How can I help him, if the outbreaks are so short, that they heal before the specialist can see them?  (Another local dermatologist wasn't even willing to look at him until August.  AUGUST!  How can I predict whether or not he'll have it in August?)

I sent a message to a doctor in the RMI who was a great help to us while we were there, asking if she knows of anything that may be unique to the Marshall Islands, like a parasite, or something, that I could tell my doctor here about.  Unfortunately, I think there may have been a bit of a communication barrier, because she apparently thought I was wanting her to diagnose him, without seeing him.  So...  That was a bust.

Here's what they look like. These photos were taken Friday, after his Dr.'s appt.  With this recent outbreak, he had some large patches of little bumps, instead of just sparse, large, red bumps, as well as some on his fingers, which has never happened before.

Torso

 Elbow

 Side

If you recognize this, or have any ideas, I'd be grateful!

To begin with...

Okay.  The "boy" I wrote about in the last post?  I had a couple people (including my mom) email me privately to mention how young he looked.  Way to make me feel old, friends and neighbors.  People, please...  That dude is in his 30's.  Like, only 12-13 years younger than me.  Big whoop.  That's not even a Demi/Ashton age difference.  I think my rockstar may even be married and have a kid or two. 

I also do not believe that an occasional glance at the opposite sex is wrong.  I tell my husband this all the time.  He is free to glance at Halle, JLo, or Brooklyn Decker.  Who wouldn't?  Besides...
1.  If Mormons can glance, I figure, so can I (and I happen to know for a fact that Mormons glance.  I won't say how I know, or mention any particular Mormon by name... *cough, lookingforgeorge, cough*). 

2.  Philippians 4:8 says, "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." 

I have thought about some abs that are truly lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy, so that's 5 out of 8.  And I always give God all the glory and thanks for the beauty of His creation.  So...  there you go.

I have a very strict policy:  I only look if they are 21 and older.  It's my personal code of honor.

Okay, that's a lie.  But, if they're under 21, I just take a brief glance at the abs and move on.  Really.  Okay, brief-ish.  But I don't give the face time to become engraved in my mind.  That's what separates the Normals, like me, from the Pervs.  Just a peek at the abs.  And pecs, maybe.  Okay, probably pecs, too.  

Oh, that reminds me of a funny story...  A few years ago, I was on one of my exercise kicks.  These come around approximately once a decade when I will buy whatever exercise program is currently being schlepped on some late-night infomercial.  I have so much optimism and motivation when I order... and then the box arrives. 

It gets put under my bed, usually unopened, until I can clear a good exercise space. 

I've never cleared a good exercise space.

Sooo...  a box of DVDs, with those big rubber band thingies, etc., was recently pulled out from under my bed by a curious 2 yr old, and a poster from inside the box was opened up and left lying on my floor (the poster, which I'm assuming was included for motivational purposes, has a ripped, tan man on one side and a woman who must have sold her soul to the devil- because her body is just too dang good- on the other).  The poster was lying with the man side facing up. 

Evan and I walk into the room.  Evan sees the naked, tan torso of a man.  The first thing he thinks of to say is, "Oh, Mom (all disappointed-sounding, like I'm 5 years old and just peed on my Easter dress)...  Tell me you didn't.  Please tell me that is not a Taylor Lautner poster."

How do you spell that little breathless noise you make when you're really exasperated?  Because that's the noise I want to spell right here ___________________. 

What is with you people?  Does everyone think I'm a perv?  Gee whiz.  You mention one kid's abs and one rockstar and the whole world goes nuts.

I'm offended.  Deeply hurt. 

Okay, not really.  I couldn't care less.  I ocassionally take notice of man-boys.  Deal.  I'm a fat, Chaz Bono-looking, dangly, old, wrinkly house frau, with no evidence of my once-hot former self.  It's not like the man-boys are looking back.

Onto other topics, shall we?  Before I either get depressed about my pathetic, desperate, wrinkled, be-Chazzed state, or get another email from Mom (kidding, Mom.  Love getting emails from you). 

How about a little Sammy Story to finish this post?

Sam loves Reese's.  LOVES them. 

But he can't say 'Reese's.'  He calls them 'Feces.'  It's so funny to watch him hop around when he spies the package, then hearing him say, "Feces, Mom?  Feces?  Feces!!! Mom?  MOM?!?  Yaaaayeeesss! FECES!" 

Today, I gave him a bite of a Feces and he said, "That's good, Sir!"  Hahaha.  Gosh, I love that boy.

Does it make me a bad mom if...

I encourage Sam to shout, "Afflack," because it sounds like he's screaming, "OH F**K!"  ???  I can't help it.  It's funny.  I need prayer.  Or something.

Onto other things...
I haven't posted anything in a while and figured I should.  We had a hectic week around here since Darrell was out of town last week, so all the little things that happened (that I thought would make funny posts) went unblogged and are now forgotten.  Lost in the fog of a tired mommy's brain.

Darrell had a small job to do for an uncle and was gone from early Saturday morning to late Friday night. I can never sleep when he's away from home, and I already don't sleep well enough as it is.  Plus, I had a small, crazy man in my bed all week. 

When Sammy sleeps with me, he likes to be close to his mama.  CLOSE.  Like, right in my armpit.  So, I end up sleeping with my right arm crooked up high in an unnatural position, while my left hand tries to stay clamped on my right bosom, either pulling it back up onto my chest, or tucking it under my armpit (so as to keep the "armpit boob," which happens after you've breastfed five babies and your jumblies are too tired to remain on your chest, from sliding over into the baby's face, obviously.  Not because I just like to hold onto it while I sleep).  (And if you cannot tuck your boob behind you, and therefore have no idea what I'm talking about, just offer up a prayer of thanks and shut up about it.  I don't want to hear about your perky, young, fancy-schmancy, non-saggy jumblies.  Geez, I'm practically stepping on the d*#n things over here when my bra comes off.  That may have been a little more than you really hoped to know about me.  But, I digress...).  In addition to my own personal game of Twister, I lay awake listening to Sammy's breathing all night, making sure he won't suffocate (in the armpit boob). 

"Why don't you just slide him over?" You may ask... 

Don't you think I've tried?  How crazy of you to ask me such a thing. 

There's no way to defeat him.  He's far too skilled.  When I move him over (which happens around 78 times a night, on average), I have all of two seconds to get in a comfy spot before he starts finding his way back.  His little arm shoots out and his hand starts feeling the bed as he scoots his body back over to me.  He doesn't stop until he feels armpit (or boob) (or both) against his skin.   And he does all that dead asleep.  It's an amazing thing to watch.  

And it's a king-sized bed, for Pete's sake.   The tiny, twenty pound squirt winds up with 7/8 of it, while the 1++ pound mom has her butt cheeks hanging off the side.

He also sometimes sits straight up in his sleep, says something unintelligible (possibly a warning I should have been heeding all along), then falls back down onto my face.  He remains asleep, but I'm kinda funny about sleeping with someone ON MY FACE.  I don't care much for it.  Personally, I don't recommend being awakened by body-slams, but you know, to each his own... 

So, I'm dragging.  Big time.  My eyes have been watering all day from yawning.  I hope I'll get a good sleep tonight.

Two quick bits...

1. Sam saw a picture of Martin Luther King on PBS this morning and shouted, "Daddy!"  I'd never noticed a strong resemblance between MLK and Darrell before, but I'll take another look when Darrell gets home tonight from work.
2. Rhetoric is already on my list of Most Overused Words of 2011.  Please, I beg you, don't say it anymore.  I.can't.take.it.  I'll vomit.  I swear, I will.

That is all.  Return to your Monday.  Hope yours isn't sucking as much as mine.

Updates, Pt 1

Okay, so it turns out I didn't need much coaxing.  However, before I begin, we need to have a brief refresher on the rules.  If you've never been here before, these are the things you need to know in order for us to get along. 

Rule #1: Absolutely do not, under any circumstances, compare me to, or ask if I'm trying to be like...  Angelina Jolie.  The only similarity there is the large, trans-racial family.  I don't like or respect anything about her, so you diss me greatly when you put her name in with mine.  I don't even think she's all that good-lookin', so don't try to butter me up with all your, "Oh, Michelle, you even look like her."  It. Just. Won't. Fly.
Rule #2:  This is not a classroom, so we do not pick my grammar apart here.  When we feel almost ready to pick apart my grammar, we remember that I live in Redneck Central, and I write like I talk (and like I hear ever-one else 'round here talk).  College was years (and years) ago.  So we cut me some slack.  My participles are danglin' just as bad as the rest of me, and my sentences almost always end with a proposition preposition.  I will not be using the word "Whom" anytime soon, unless of course, I'm feeling a little snooty.  I will lay, lain or lie however I dang well please.  I'm comfortable enough in my own skin to know I ain't gotta use flashy words and all them seminal colons and whatnot to let my smarts shine. They shine good enough on there own. 
Rule #3:  I love comments!  I welcome comments!  I treasure comments!  As long as they do not violate Rules #1 or 2, and are always positive, uplifting, and supportive in nature.  In other words, as long as you agree with me, we're fine.  The mean, crappy comments, must be referred to: kiss_it@mymail.com
Rule #4: You have to at least attempt to have a sense of humor to hang out here and to participate.  I don't like people with sticks protruding from their gluteal clefts. 

Thank you.  On with the show...



I guess the best place to begin again is with Mr. Sam.  He was the reason this blog started, so it makes sense that the first "official" post upon my return would be about him (and it really is "official."  I have a very official-looking document propped up next to me, welcoming me back to blogging.  I feel so honored and special as I gaze upon the fancy writing and the big words I barely understand.  It has a raised seal on it and everything, so...  That pretty much says it all, right there.  I can show you how to make one for yourself, if you want). 

Sam is doing great!  He turned two in November and is a shrimpy (but healthy) little dude.  He weighs in at a hefty 21 pounds and is 32 inches tall.  That puts him in the -3rd (yes, that is a negative) percentile for weight and the 10th percentile for height.  Again, I must say SHRIMPY.  His doctor laughed when he finally made it onto the chart at all.  Of course, she also laughed when Darrell used a politically incorrect and widely frowned-upon (everything about my hub is politically incorrect and widely frowned-upon) term to ask her if Sam might possibly be a, um, Little Person.  He's not.  You have to remember that he was only 4.9 pounds when he was born, and the Marshallese aren't known for height.  But...  what he lacks in size, he makes up for in personality. 

Right now, he sits next to me, taking tissues out of the box one by one, pretending to blow his nose into each one, then wadding them up and putting them back into the box.  He "blows his nose" by spitting and huffing air through his mouth.  So next time I need to blow my nose "for real" I will grab a crumpled tissue of dried-up Sammy Spit.  I love this kid.

Sam loves, loves, loves anything musical.  He sings, he dances, and does it all with gusto.  His favorite song right now is "Whip My Hair."  But he prefers the Jimmy Fallon as Neil Young, with Bruce Springsteen version to Willow Smith's (sorry, Willow.  He likes yours, too).  We (Sammy and I- not the entire family), honest-to-goodness, I kid you not, must watch this video at least three times a day.  He is riveted.  Huge Springsteen fan.  He also likes to sing "You Are My Sunshine," the "ABC Song," and "Say Hey (I Love You)," which is a song that gets on my nerves so intensely, that the fact I will listen to it and at least try not to vomit, proves how much I love my son.  I blame Sam's love for that annoying song completely on his dad.  He does things on purpose to irritate me, and everyone knows it, but that is a post for another day.

He detests his crib.  It is an abomination as far as he's concerned.  He has never once spent an entire night in the dumb thing.  He sleeps either in his portable crib, or in bed with me.  Since he didn't seem to give a flip when I would say, "That crib cost almost 300 bucks!  By gosh, one of us is going to use it," and I wasn't actually prepared to make good on my threat to sleep in it myself, I decided to give up on the crib for now, just wait til he's ready for a toddler bed, and try again.  Honestly, I don't mind having him in my bed.  He's a snuggly little guy, and those moments are so precious to me.  If I've learned anything from having 7 children, it's that it all goes by much, much too quickly.  I hope I've learned to treasure those sweet moments as the gifts they really are.  But, someday I'd like to learn how to sleep without someone snoring into my armpit, too.

As any other mother, I'm convinced of Sam's incredible brilliance.  But I'm right.  He is smart.  Sorry.  That's obnoxious.  But he is.  He recognizes/identifies all the letters of the alphabet and can count to around Uhlebben or 12 before he gets bored and wants to do something else.  He knows most of his colors.  He's so-so on shapes.  He knows circles, for sure.  And "sunshine" shapes -which, loosely translated, means anything sort of star-shaped.  He can recite the entire Constitution and will gladly call you a Poop, if you say his mama is a liar (okay, so one of those might be an exaggeration.  It's your problem to figure out which one).  

He still has the entire family wrapped around his little finger, which shows he's no dummy (Well, almost the entire family.  Bri?  Not so much.  There have been a few jealousy issues, but again- that is a post for another day).  It still melts my heart to see my big, manly boys scoop my sweet baby into their arms and love on him.

I have a whole household of people to update you on, but it can wait.  Don't want to overwhelm anyone my first time back.  I'm hard to take in large amounts.  Oh, and speaking of large amounts, I'm still fat!  More on that some other time.

Feels good to be back.  Thanks for your comments and emails yesterday.  What a mood lifter!  I've really missed you guys!

A Goodbye

Hope you all had a great Christmas.  I know we did.  Too great.  The amount of gifts under the tree this year made me sick to my stomach- a total obscenity.  And I take all the blame.  The overspending... the gift gluttony... my fault.  All of it.  Darrell would be happy to give everyone a 5 spot and a nice, shiny apple and be done with it.  I, on the other hand, get a little carried away.  I try to buy each kid as many items on their lists as we can, then...  I always want to buy "one more thing."  I don't know why I do that because I can't stand overindulged, spoiled children (meaning those belonging to other people, of course- not my own.  I love my overindulged, spoiled children, for the most part).  I also become overwhelmed and forget what I've already bought (my closet gets so stuffed, you can't see what's in there), so one kid (or two... or three...) winds up with more than the others.   Instead of returning a few gifts to even things out, I go out and buy more for everyone else.  Some part of my brain forgets that I'm not a Trump or a Hilton.  Next year, we are scaling back.  I mean it.  No, really.  I do. 

Onto a different subject...  I think I'm done, guys.  Blogging, I mean.  I've run out of things to say.  My daily life is...  what's the word?  Busy? Boring? Hectic?  Mundane?  SoincrediblyuninterestingthatnobodywouldwanttoreadaboutitwhilealsobeingsounbelievablybusythatIdon'thavetimetowriteaboutit?  Yes, that's it. 

The funny thing is that I never intended for this to be anything other than a way to keep family updated on our adoption, our kids, and a place to post pictures.  Now that my blog has actually become that, I don't wanna do it anymore. 

For awhile, I thought I was just having a little block.  Then, I thought it was because I got sick for so long and wasn't getting out of the house enough to have anything to say.  But... no. 

I just don't have anything left to tell you that I think you'd want to hear.  My stories have been told, my insights revealed (um... insights?  Where were the insights?), and my jokes are beyond stale.

So...  I think I'm done.  To the two of you still visiting:  Thank you for sticking with me and I'll miss your comments.  I've made a few "friends" through this blog who I truly wish I could know in real life.  You know, they have that new email thing now, I hear- so hopefully we can still touch base from time to time. 

I thought I'd leave you with a few of my favorite posts.  These were fun to write and also fun to go back and re-read.  Here are my top five favorites. First, the funny (at least in my own estimation):

5. Has the Whole World Gone Nuts...? (During my super fun time belonging to the VN Yahoo Group craziness)

4. Last Sunday's Adventure

3. Today on "Survivormom" (During our famous ice storm/ power outage adventures)

2. Spanx are a Tool of the Devil. 

And this one has to be the Number One.  It's what this blog was created for:

1. ... BIG News!

 I hope you had a few favorites, too. 

And also...  A few last pictures of Sam.  He was the reason for this blog in the first place, so it seems fitting to end it with his beautiful, funny face.  Sammy, I love and adore you (your whole family loves and adores you) more than words could ever say.  No amount of blogging could cover it.  You have blessed our lives and enriched our family beyond measure.  You were most definitely, without a doubt, worth the wait. 

From yesterday (Our first Christmas morning with The Samster):

And a few pics from today.  Sam loved his first time playing in the snow!

To all of my children,
I hope you know that no matter how many sarcastic comments I've made about "putting up" with all of you, or how "terrible" you are... or the number of jokes we constantly hear from others for having "this many" kids,  I wouldn't trade my big family for anything.  Each one of you is a miracle to me.  I honestly never thought I'd be so blessed.   Having you has given my life meaning, purpose, and value.  You are my life.  I love you, I love you, I love you.  I hope this blog will be a place you can visit later on down the road to see what your nutty old mom thought about things, but mostly I hope that as you read it, you will take with you the knowledge that you enriched my life in countless ways.  When you look past the jokes, the complaints, and the sarcasm, I hope you'll see in these posts that: You are loved.  You are wanted.  And you were (are, always will be) my everything. 

Love,
Mom

Happy Birthday, Sam!

Today is Sammy's first birthday! Sam, we are so thankful for you and we love you with all our hearts!  Happy birthday, my sweet boy!

The least messy cake-eater I've ever seen.  I don't think he liked it.

He did like gift-opening time...

Sammy wasn't the only one who enjoyed his new toys...

Who needs college when you have blocks?

Kyle came over tonight to see Sam, too, which was nice.  Been a while since I've seen him.  He's too skinny-  Needs to come around more often for home cookin'. 

My handsome little cowboy on his new horse.

And...  A few from Halloween that I never got posted:

My Mad Scientist, Beautiful Princess, and Tired Mommy

And one from my birthday...  My kids are so sweet to me.  Yes, that's me under the silly string.  Their father was behind this.  I will get him back.

More Sam Video

Oh my goodness, what do we have here? Could it be? I said I would post more video today, and I did. Two days in a row!

This first one is Sam with his birth mother ("G") on our last day in Majuro. It was only about an hour before we had to leave. There's not much to this in the way of audio- G. is humming softly, but you can't really hear her- so this may be boring to some of you. But not to me... Watching Sam being rocked to sleep by G. both breaks me and blesses me every time I see it. The way they're looking at each other is so sweet, I think. This is one I like showing Sammy often, and he seems to like watching.


And this one is of Sam with his foster mama, Mary, and her two adorable granddaughters, Mary Ruth, and Mary Something Else (that I couldn't pronounce or spell). Mary's daughter (the girls' mother) is named... Anyone, anyone? Mary Lenn. Go figure. I really loved Mary (all of them) and her husband, Lenn. They were so good to Sam and to us. Sam loves watching this one, too. I always wonder if he's remembering Mary as he watches? Is that possible? He's probably too young, but his little ears sure seem to perk up as soon as he hears Mary speaking Marshallese and little Mary Ruth saying, "Junior, Junior." Isn't she a doll, btw?

A few videos I've been meaning to get up... Must keep the grandmas happy, you know.

The first shows why Sam is going to be the most spoiled baby on earth (and I don't care). This was taken several weeks ago, when he was just beginning to pull himself up to stand. Listen to the reaction he gets from the entire family. This kid is going to expect drumrolls and confetti for every little thing he does.

This one was taken just the other night. Mr. Sammy recently waved at me "on purpose" for the first time and we were all Just.So.Excited. Our claps and shouts made him so proud of himself, apparently, that he now gets really excited every time he waves. This shows what he does after a wave. So cute... To Mama, at least.

Tomorrow, I'll get a couple clips up from our time with birth and foster families in Majuro. Only three short months after returning home. That's not too bad, right?

Tomorrow is also the first day of school (at home). Wish us... something. I don't think luck could help me at this point, but I need to be wished something.

"But, Michelle! You said school would start on August 20th."

Oh, please... Since when does anyone remember what I say? School was supposed to start on the 20th. It did not. Let's move on, shall we?

Yeah... We're getting off to an excellent start.

Arranged Marriage

I just wanted to show off my future daughter-in-law. Isn't she precious? This is my friend Kate's daughter, Esme. Sam and Esme met in Majuro and hung out almost daily, being hauled around town together by their moms. A relationship quickly blossomed and they became engaged in the lobby of our hotel.

See how they're holding hands in the pic below? We didn't make them do that. Esme reached down and put her little hand in Sam's- in acceptance of his proposal, no doubt.

Aren't they a cute couple?

So... What IS he, exactly?

I've been home only a week and The Question has already been asked several times. I knew it was coming, I just wasn't expecting an onslaught.

Um... I was just wondering...what do you call him?
We call him Sam.

No, I mean, like... Is Sam Asian... or what?
No, Sam is not Asian. You could call him a Pacific Islander, I guess, but he's not from an Asian country, so it wouldn't make sense to call him Asian, would it?

But is he, like... I mean, Biracial or Hispanic, or something?
He is definitely something.

So, is your baby Samoan, then?
Ummm, no. If he had been born in Samoa, with Samoan geneology, he would be Samoan. He was born in the Marshall Islands (RMI), and is of Marshallese descent, which makes him Marshallese. The Samoan Islands are actually closer to Fiji than to the Marshalls.

Is that, like, some kind of Hawaiian?
(Oh, Precious Lord, help me please.) I'm not familiar enough with Hawaii and its culture to know how many kinds of Hawaiian there are, but... No. Sam is not "some kind of Hawaiian." He is some kind of Marshallese. There are similarities in appearance, I guess, to Hawaiians, Samoans, and other Pacific Islanders, and they are all located in the Pacific, but Sam is (flippin') Marshallese. It's really not that hard, it's just unfamiliar to you. Let's attack it from this direction... If you were born in Japan, and your parents were of Japanese ancestry, you would be called Japanese... Yes? So, it's the same thing.

Wait, I don't want to cause any confusion... Sam is not Japanese.

The Marshall Islands are in/a part of Guam, right?
No. Guam is a separate place... In anticipation of your next question, I'd like to add that the Philippines are also a separate place. And, as previously established (I hope), Samoa is a separate place. The RMI is actually closer to being part of Micronesia than it is to being part of Guam, but it is its own country.

I'm really not irritated, and I hope I'm not coming off as offensive- I'm just having a little fun with you. I know lots of people have never heard of the Marshall Islands, and have no idea where they are, so I expect questions and I honestly don't mind (as long as you don't get all obnoxious on me).

So, here's the deal:
Sam was born in the Marshall Islands. His birth family is Marshallese. He is Marshallese (specifically, he is from Majuro, the capital atoll (island) in the Ratak chain of the Marshall Islands. The pop. in Majuro is approx. 25,000 and the island is less than 5 square miles).


To recap: He is from the Marshall Islands and he is Marshallese. He is a Pacific Islander. He is not Samoan, Hawaiian, Filipino, or Guamanian.

And yes, by the way, he is an American.

He is also gorgeous. He is loved. He is my precious, gift from God. My sweetie-pie. My beautiful little lamb.

Not to be a total smart*$$, but this... is a map. I'm told these are widely available on that World Wide Web thing, and they show you the locations of places. They are amazingly helpful little things. Sometimes they are flat, and sometimes they can even be round. The round ones are called Orbs, I believe. Or maybe Globs... Something like that.