Things have been a bit crazy lately.

Adjusting to being out of "real world" work, trying to whip together something that resembles a home office and bracing for the kids' return to school (and a few of you know THAT ordeal...) has left me feeling beaten. Perhaps even left for dead. My adventure to the unemployment office alone left me with the impression I was about one tattoo and a skipped shower away from being declared "white trash."

Yesterday I experienced yet another lesson in swallowing one's pride. I discovered that with my recent lay-off, we are technically eligible for the free/reduced lunch program. You never really know how much you pass judgement on things like that until you are face to face with the application. Hopefully, I will land a job out of the seemingly million apps and resumes I've got out in limbo. BUT... for the time being, every little bit-o-help is ..., well, a great help.

I gave myself the pep talk during the drive to the school administration office. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing wrong with accepting a little help when it's available. But then I remember not too long ago, certain people I encountered had a very different opinion of the free/reduced lunch program. From where they were sitting on a couple of extremely high horses, they looked down upon it as a tell-tale sign of worthlessness and disgust. As in, if you use this program, you might just as well throw in the towel because anything you have to offer the world isn't good enough. And you bring down everyone else -- drag them down and keep them from achieving all they can.

Well. That is not entirely true.

Of course, taking half a step into the administration office and being greeted BY NAME by an old acquaintance didn't help matters any, but you know what? This situation? It is what it is. And we are not some bunch of deadbeats who are trying to ride "the system" and get freebies because it's easier than actually working. Jeff and I work hard to provide for our family. And if the current economy stinks and we're experiencing a small hiccup in the scheme of things, well then... so be it. We're definitely not alone. And, as our entourage of family and close friends keep reminding us, things will get better.

Things. Will. Get. Better.

Why I love age 7...

Driving in the car:

Sam: Mom?

Me: Yes, Sam?

Sam: Can Bobby chew on my ear?

Me: ??? Umm... no.

Sam: Oh. OK.

Me: Any particular reason, or were you just checking?

Sam: Just checking.

She wore what...?!

There's an urban legend circulating of a woman who was embarrassed beyond belief at an OB/GYN appointment because the washcloth she used to "freshen up" was the secret hiding place for her daughter's glitter. And I remember hearing of another woman who was in the same situation, but grabbed a tissue from her purse to "freshen," only to have the doctor discover a postage stamp stuck to her nether-regions.

My story involves neither glitter, nor postage stamps, but it was mortifying all the same.

*NOTE: If you are a reader who considers knowing what type of underwear I wear as Too Much Information (TMI), come back tomorrow. This may include but is not limited to anyone under the age of 18, my parents or any other family member whose name isn't "Jeff."

So, I had an appointment at the dermatologist last Friday to have a once-over done on all my freckles. A non-sunscreen using tanner in my youth, I'm just positive there's something unpleasant lurking just below one of those innocent-looking brown patches. Since a number of them are on my back, and I can't always get a good read on how they look, much less how much they've changed, I have made a point of seeing the doctor once a year for a check up. I was escorted to the exam room and given the mandatory paper two-piece suit: the vest to open in the back and large sheet to wrap around my middle. I was told to leave my undergarments on. Fine.

The doctor came in (first time seeing this particular gentleman) and after initial chit-chat, he started the exam. Face. Neck. Ears. Right arm. Right leg. Left arm. Left leg. Upper chest. Abdomen.

"OK, flip over and we'll have a look at the back of your legs and your back," he says.

I turned over on the exam table, careful to keep the large, paper sheet wrapped around my middle. He examined my back first. Then. My. Heart. Stopped. Because as he examined various freckles and such on my legs, I felt the back of the paper sheet tug and he proceeded to examine the back of my upper thigh. This might be a good time to mention that I had forgotten about this particular part of the exam from last time. The part where the doctor will UNWRAP THE PAPER SHEET from my midsection, thus exposing my behind. My behind that was barely covered thanks to the thong underwear I had put on that morning. And not just a thong -- but a lace thong. Now, before you judge... let me explain that many years ago, I had heard of a particular brand of thong underwear that women swore were the most comfortable pair of underwear they'd ever worn. I tried one pair and was sold. They are, indeed, THE most comfortable underwear I've ever worn. Now they're basically all I wear. No elastic pinch. No bunching into your butt -- despite, yes, it being an actual thong.

So, there I was, with my very out-of-shape butt exposed, yet delicately framed with lace. And a doctor who was undoubtedly stifling laughter. And my face turning bright red, as I tried to pretend no one noticed. I glanced up at the nurse standing at the desk, taking notes in my file as the doctor commented on different areas. I could swear I saw her biting her lip so as not to smile. Or laugh. And I'm sure somewhere in my file she wrote, "OH MY GOD, SHE WORE A THONG!" I have never wished so hard for a huge, gaping hole to open in the planet right beneath me -- falling head-first into a rocky abyss would've been a piece of cake compared to rolling back over and finishing up the conversation with the doctor. Nervous laughter (mine, not his) was rampant.

And, undoubtedly, after I left the office (which I couldn't do fast enough!) I'm sure I was referred to as "Thong Lady," in sentences which began, "You won't believe what just happened..."

My diagnosis? No dangerous, pre-cancerous looking freckles or moles. Just a major case of embarrassment. Next on the calendar is my yearly GYN appointment. Humility and embarrassment be damned... Bring. It. On.

Welcome Home, Again, Mama!

Yes, so this is the post that should've appeared Wednesday. Where did this week go?

I was sitting down to feed Bobby on Tuesday afternoon, after making it to Kate's new orthodontist appointment. Remember how I failed at the first one? Anyway,... I sat down, got the baby situated on my lap and he went to town on his bottle. Perhaps I was lulled into relaxation with his rhythmic slurp, sigh, slurp, sigh, slurp, sigh -- or my brain was numbed by some ridiculously inane article I found to read online about a Hollywood "wanna-be-somebody." I was instantly snapped back to reality with all the ruckus coming from Bobby's general direction It was the mother of all BMs, which he expelled with such force, it shot out the side of his diaper and into my lap.

Tap, tap, tap. Is this thing on?

Did you hear what I said, people? Shot. Out. The. Diaper. Into. My. Lap.

All the while, Bobby's just sort of got this relaxed, ho-hum, just-another-day-in-my-life look on his face. Slurp, sigh, slurp, sigh, slurp, sigh...

The carnage: one large bath towel, my shorts, baby blanket, romper, wash cloth, diaper, too many wipes to count.

Welcome home, Mama!

KA-CHIIIIIING!

What? What was that?

That was the sound of an axe swinging down onto the chopping block. And that would be my job sitting ON the chopping block.

Last Friday, I joined the throngs of folks laid off due to the ugly economic conditions. Not that I ever felt my job was untouchable, but as a part-timer, hourly, no-benefits employee, I did figure I was a bit further down the list. Apparently not.

I spent a good chunk of Sunday afternoon hunched over the computer, trolling for jobs on the Internet. Found a few and applied for them, but have no idea what or who I am up against. In the meantime, I do have a healthy amount of freelance work to keep me busy – although the pay cut will require some major adjustments on the home front. I’m not sure how the kids are going to feel about giving up lunch for a while … oh, I kid.

Since my main responsibilities have now shifted squarely into co-running the household with Jeff, I resigned myself yesterday to doing just that. Donning the “stay-at-home mom” cap once again (although now there are three more children in the mix) felt great yesterday. I made breakfast biscuit sandwiches yesterday, which appeared to be a hit. I cleaned, straightened … got Bobby fed and napping a few times … finished making a fleece IU blanket for Sam (7) and still had time to hop on the computer a few times to check email and see if the business world was crumbling without me. It wasn’t.

With the “Mom” feather tucked firmly in my cap again, I set my sights on today. I woke with a start at 8:20, after having been up with Bobby around 6. Kate had an orthodontist appointment at 8:30. Uh-oh. First assignment for Tuesday? FAIL. Got the appointment rescheduled for later. Now we’ll see if I remember THAT appointment, and the boys’ checkups at the pediatrician later this afternoon.

Having time to really hang out with the family is the definite silver lining on this cloud of corporate/business unemployment. Technically, I still own my own freelance writing business, which is obviously off hiatus now. But not having a daily desk job is already giving me little treasures. Last night, during a time which used to be reserved for attending to household stuff and getting ready for the bedtime routine… I walked out to get the mail. Sam joined me, and we had a lovely walk. On the way back, we did something we’ve never done together before: catching fireflies.

And no matter what, whether you’re employed or not, catching fireflies with a child makes everything OK.

Just another Friday morning...

Chewing fingers... num-num-num

And now I'm bored.

Happy Birthday, Jeff and James!

Photo taken 07.15.08 -- James, Jeff (a.k.a., "the birthday boys")

Dear Jeff--
Happy Birthday to my wonderful husband! :)

We have often joked about how last year's birthday played out. And the need for THIS year to make up for things. (Backstory: We had one day to pack up and move the entire contents of my house, and bring them to Jeff's. One day. On which it was about 150 degrees. And we discovered that morning I was pregnant. This was an unexpected discovery.)

I think back to the hectic pace of that hot day in July and wonder how we ever made it through. The photo of you and James that night at dinner speaks volumes. James seems relaxed and happy. You? I can see the effort you're making to appear festive.

Well, 365 days have passed, and this morning I saw happiness on your face. True happiness, joy and love as I wished you a happy birthday with a kiss, and as you sat on the bed watching Bobby sit up by himself for the first time. I am blessed not only by having you in my life as my best friend and love, but also watching you be a great father to the "yours/mine/ours" group we call our children. You are a wonderful example to the kids through action and words. The active role you play in their lives as a father, teacher and role model is one of the most endearing qualities I see in you. Days may come and go without them saying it, but I know each of them love you and respect you more than mere words can express.

As a husband, I couldn't ask for a more outstanding partner in life. Someone with whom I share so many similarities, yet someone who continually shares new things. We live, laugh and love together, and have formed a family that I couldn't be more proud of. Our first meeting -- "falling in love at a coffee shop," -- to our most romantic wedding on Captiva Island and the birth of our son... these memories and all the million others in between are framed with the image of you smiling at me with such true, honest love. I thank God each and every day for bringing our paths together; grateful for every minute we spend together. I look forward with genuine love and anticipation at spending the rest of our lives together. Neither of us know for sure what the future holds -- there will be ups and downs, good times and stressful times... but I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you and I will face everything together, with more love in our hearts than was there the day before. And there is nothing -- no person or event -- that will break the incredible bond you and I share. Ever. It just grows stronger and stronger each day.

You are the love of my life, Jeffrey, and I hope you have a very happy birthday.

Love, Rebecca