Ah......glorious beer. Mr. Chaos once said the reason he found me so attractive was because I had a healthy appreciation for beer. Duh.....I'm German and from Wisconsin, whaddya expect?

On one of our first dates he took me to a bar he knew of in Tempe. I had never been there. We sat down at a table and I grabbed a menu pages thick. It was.........the beer menu. 500 bottle beers and over 100 on tap. We had found "our place", and I began to feel that night I might have found "the one."

Tonight Mr. Chaos brought home a six-pack of my favorite to celebrate a good job well done. Yes, I can now have beer. And it tastes damn good.

God, I love that man.

Yawn......

So yesterday I finally discovered the source of Youngling's fussiness. It had nothing to do with the "secondary infection" the doctor said he had, or with his imminent teeth.

It had to do with me. Or lack of me.

Yes, this is yet another entry relating to breastfeeding. Yawn for you, too, huh?

I am not one of those lucky women who has the weight magically melt off her frame as she nurses. Pregnancy and all things nursing related pretty much ensures I will wear fat clothes until my hormones go back to something resembling normal. What happens is I lose weight quite well, hit a number on the scale, stall out and then dramatically rebound and put back on the 10 pounds I worked so hard to lose.

Last week I broke through that number. Crashed that little bastard in half, actually. (Just the number, not the scale....although the argument could be made either way.) Shortly after this, Youngling started his fussiness.

I attributed it to many things....his teeth, a tummy upset due to antibiotics, congestion...

Finally out of sheer desperation and attempting to nurse him for two hours with no success, I gave him a bottle. He greedily gulped down 6 ounces and conked out. He woke from his nap a new little man, refreshed and ready to tackle barrel rolls.

He hasn't looked back. I am doing much better than I thought I would be, with him being our last and all.

Because I can now drink coffee. Praise God, for he is good.

Because as long as she exists doing things like this, I feel I have a rock-solid grasp on this parenting thing.

Of course, I have never had a stalkerazzi problem with the Chaos kiddos, so who's to say.

Today LMD, the Youngling and I went to our weekly neighborhood playgroup. It was hosted at a friend's house. Her house is gorgeous and should either be in A. a pottery barn catalog or B. Better Homes and Gardens. Everytime I go over there I am in awe of how perfect everything looks. I weakly remind myself that she is a mom to one, a gorgeous 5 month old, whereas I am a mom of three, and you know who they are. *Ahem.*

The day ended and we were getting ready to go when LMD went to grab one of her toys off the coffee table when I heard a scriiiiiiiitch. I run over, frantic. Sure enough, my neighbor's coffee table which probably came from Ethan Allen or somewhere else (no kiddin', y'all, her taste is GORGEOUS!) now has a 3 inch long scratch in the previously pristine mahogany veneer. Shit.

I go to peek in on my friend who is trying to get the baby down for her nap. She is too wrapped up in getting the baby down, so I go home planning to call her the second I walk in. But I get home to find she is calling me. To thank me for cleaning up the dishes from playgroup. Damn. I suck.

"Yeah, um, you won't be thanking me when you see your coffee table."

She tried really hard. I give her mad kudos. We have both joked about our type A personalities before: mine, a reformed laid-back mom to three who will one day be type A again and hers, a comfortably settled acceptance of type A. I knew it was killing her the second I told her. Knew it. I mean, I would have been ticked, so it had to have bugged her. She told me she would look and would call me back.

If you haven't figured out by now, I am a tad bit obsessive. Just a touch. I STARED at that clock. After 10 minutes or so, I called her back, got the machine, and left a message. Sent an email. Stared at the clock. Fretted over what she was telling the neighbors. Gnawed my lip. 25 minutes. Ring!

"Hey, you know, it's small. I could make you pay for a new coffee table, but why? Mine will get hold of a marker and color on someone's couch some day. It happens."

God bless the fact that I have a friend who, even though it was clearly not so much ok, was cool enough to play it off for me. I owe this girl a Starbucks and a spa pedicure. And a new coffee table.

Those of you who came here for humor today can go elsewhere on your blog list. Kirdy needs to do some blogger therapy today. Ya don't like it? Sorry, my blog, my rules. More fun tomorrow, promise.

I will start by saying Cman was born with a rare form of spina bifida. It was discovered in OR minutes after his birth. He had neurosurgery to repair his lesion 12 hours after he was born. We were told by the doctors at that time we would be looking at a lifetime of surgeries, shunts, and therapy. We did monthly, then biannual, then annual visits to the neurosurgeon. At his last visit we were told he is about 95% out of the woods for developing complications. Yes, he is one of the lucky ones. He has not needed any additional surgeris, is shunt-free, and is able to walk, run, use the toilet and do a thousand other things "normal" kids can. All he has is a small scar on his back.

Mr. Chaos and I have always been told to watch for signs of a tethered cord. Loss of mobility or sensation in the feet is the major sign of a tethered cord. Any time a child goes through a rapid growth phase (which the Cman is doing now) it puts the cord at a greater risk for tethering.

Yesterday the Chaos family went to Target to run our weekly errands. I took off to one part of the store with Youngling, and Mr. Chaos went off with LMD and Cman. I picked up the things I needed and was going to find Mr. Chaos when I heard Cman crying, and found him sitting on the floor. I figured he tripped, stumbled, hurt himself somehow.

I asked him what was wrong and he said his "foot was gone". I looked at Mr. Chaos over Cman's head and he said, "He can't feel his foot." I felt like I was sucked through a wind tunnel. The air rushed around me and everything became bright. Colors surged, the light was blinding, I could hear noises previously silent. I felt sick. I remembered feeling like this often five years ago. And I'm fairly certain that I stopped breathing for a moment.

I dropped to the floor and took off his shoe. Yep, right in the middle of the main aisle, right in front of the candles. People were having to walk around us, but I only cared about my boy's foot. I took off his sock and started to rub the foot.

At which point he giggled and said, "That tickles."

Yep, along with being a hypochondriac, yours truly is also a drama queen. The boy's foot fell asleep from riding on Mr. Chaos' shoulders. Geez, could I be more of a dumbass? Really.

I was so relieved I had to leave everyone for a minute, go down another aisle and cry. I remembered how thankful I was once was for all the blessings we had been given, and how in less than five years I had quickly taken it all for granted. I was ashamed.

Lesson for the day? Don't be a drama queen, but don't take things for granted, either. Homework assignment is list one thing in the comments section you take for granted, but probably shouldn't.

If a mother who is nursing gets a flu shot, does she pass the antibodies she gains from the shot through her breastmilk to the baby?

Hypothetically speaking.

Or is that too much like looking at a mirror with a mirror?

How could I have forgotten to consult my calendar? Really. Everyone knows that in between the Christmas season and cupid bows flying we have one of the least anticipated seasons of the year.....

Flu season.

I was foolhardy enoguh to believe that because we had our flu shots this year, we could escape it, but alas. It all began last Thursday when the youngling began this evil, pissed-off sounding growl whenever you would try to put him down. Self-assured third time mom said, "It's just teeth, give him some Tylenol." For 5 days, y'all. Five hellish, time warped days of carrying anti-napping baby all day long. Interspersed in these five days were five wake-filled nights of, "It's your damn turn. Get up if you want to ever have sex again." (That's what Mr. Chaos claims I said, anyway. I was too tired to recall those events accurately.)

Yesterday, just as the youngling was finally channeling happy normal baby again, Cman woke up. He went to use the bathroom. I found him there, curled up on the floor next to the toilet moaning. "Mommy, my tummy hurts." Damn. Followed by the whine of "I don't want to miss my field trip today." Double damn.

At least the flu gods were kind this year. Cman managed to get through without a single puke. He is now playing Harry Potter on the Xbox and telling me he's too sick to go back to school tomorrow. Ha. Double Ha.

LMD is wheezing and Youngling just puked. Looks like another long night without sleep.

Anyone who dares mock me will have the pox visited upon them thricefold. I will this to be so.

Editor's Note: Stef the Hater (just kiddin', you know I love ya) has been by my blog and has asked that I clarify. Yes, I know the flu shot does not protect against the stomach flu. I was referring to the flu virus the rest of us got a week ago and passed on to Youngling, which led to his secondary sinus infection and general pissiness. So there.