Digging ditches. . .

(After some medical issues accompanied by my medical history and my family medical history I had to visit a cardiologist and have a stress test.)
On Monday morning I psyched myself up for the big event. I put on some "loose fitting clothes" per my instructions then packed up the kids and dropped them off at a friend's house. I drove the Dr.'s office thinking "I can do it, it's no big deal." I sign in, got called back and immediately given my 1st task--take off everything from the waist up and put on a pitiful excuse for a top. Then I lay down on the table and had sticky, itchy leads attached to me to monitor my heart rate. Once again, no big deal. Then the nurse starts doing the echo cardiogram and smearing goo all over my chest in the process. Finally she gets the pictures she needs and we move to the adjacent room. Then she hooks me up to even more leads which makes my torso look like a bad sci-fi movie. Anyway, more echo pictures, then she proceeds to tape the top together (yes, it opens in the front) with 2 tiny pieces of not very sticky tape. It is a medical facility and I know they have that tape they use when you get an IV that rips the whole 1st layer of your skin off but nooooo, she uses the scotch tape. The Dr. comes in, I shake his hand and chat for a minute about what is next. Then I get up, careful not to trip over the many wires attached to me, tackle my 2nd task--walking on the treadmill. This whole time I am truthfully thinking that it will be easy as pie. I've taken my Grandma to have these tests so it can't be that hard, right? I thought, "I'll get up on the treadmill walk 10 minutes, break a little sweat and sit back down, no problem". Boy, was I in for a surprise. They started me off at a walk that I would consider brisk (it was 3.something miles an hour). Then the Dr. tells me that he will increase the speed and incline every 3 minutes. At this point I'm still talking and joking with the Dr. and nurse because I can walk like this for 10 minutes. Three minutes passes by and my heart rate is still low and BP is great and so the Dr. increases the speed. Now, this is when I get a little worried. I thought he used the word "gradual" when he talked about the increase but I must have misheard him because now I was in an all out legs stretched, hips swinging walk. I looked like one of those "overly fanatic about working-out" middle aged women who walk through downtown with their CD players and sweatpants walking faster than you can drive. My talking/joking began to subside as the minutes crept by and as breathing was taking precedence. As the next "gradual" change grew closer so did my anxiety about how I was going to survive this test. Once again they checked my BP and upped the pace. By this time I'm seriously thinking that I can only do this for 3 more minutes at this rate. My heart rate was only moderately up though so the Dr. continued to push me. As minutes 7 and 8 go by I'm thinking "if he ups this thing again he better bring in the code cart". Well, the point of the test is to push you to the limits and see what your heart does so that's exactly what the Dr. does. (I'm sure they have some guidelines for this based on your statistics because goodness knows that if the average 80 year old person had to walk this fast then let's just say they might be leaving on a gurney.) Those three grueling minutes end and the Dr. ups the pace again. Now, this is the point in a work-out where I would think I had pushed myself far enough, my plateau. Keep in mind that not only is the pace increasing but so is the incline of the walk. The bar that I was loosely gripping in the beginning now has indentions from my fingernails as I clutch it hoping that I won't lose hold, fall and break my neck as the machine zooms me across the room. I actually say (or pant) to the Dr. at this point "3 more minutes, are you serious?". He says (in his very thick Indian accent) "yes, you can, come on, just 3 more minutes, you can do it." Now, this Dr. is a very nice guy. He sounds so genuine and encouraging that part of me starts believing in myself a little more. I end up having to jog, body parts jostling to and fro, to keep up with the pace, which he had increased to almost 6 miles an hour. I continue to trudge on, leaning forward on the bar a couple of times thinking my legs might fail me. I'm breathing so heavy that I think my lungs might explode and my heart is beating so fast that it feels like a person trapped inside my ribcage trying to free himself. Finally I achieved my target heart rate of 164 and it continues to climb to 176. At this point I don't care about the numbers or anything other than my body screaming to myself "stop, death is imminent"! Just when I think about what song I want at my funeral the Dr. says "only 1 more minute. . .40 more seconds. . .30. . .15. . .10. . .okay STOP." You know how when you work out you're supposed to cool down when you're done so that your heart can get back to its resting rate? Well, that is not the point of this test. They want to get me to my breaking point then immediately stop me and put me back on the table to do more echos on my heart so they can see exactly what my heart is doing under extreme exercise. So, I go from jogging to laying down in a matter of seconds. I was seriously so worn out that the Dr. and nurse both grabbed an arm and led me to the table (only a couple feet away) and I lay down as they got the shots. During the middle of the walk I can remember thinking "oh great, the tape is coming undone and I'm about to flash this Dr. mid-walking, poor guy!" but when I was laying there when it was done I was so exhausted I didn't even think about the paper shirt gaping open or the sweat rolling down my face or the completely limp posture I had as I lay there recovering from the walk. Instead I was thinking about how pitiful it was that I was so out of shape. I mean, I was drained! I felt like I had just run a complete marathon and all I had done was walk on a treadmill. To be honest it was a little embarrassing to feel so out of shape. Knowing you're out of shape is one thing, but looking it in front of strangers is another. Several minutes pass, the nurse gets her pics and the Dr. looks at them. As I'm regaining composure the Dr. begins explaining the results of the test to me. He shows me the different angles of the heart and compares the resting to exercise then he shows me the EKG and then at the end shows me some numbers that mean something to him (nothing to me) then interjects in his very thick accent, "see, this shows the amount of work you did, it's equal to if you had just dug a ditch." I say "dug a ditch?" because I think that I may have misunderstood. He says "yes, same amount of work you would do to dig a ditch 2 feet wide, 2 feet deep and 6 feet long." A smile breaks across my face because just when I'm feeling horrible about my lack of physical endurance he tells me I just did a work-out comparable to "brute strength, sweaty men", hard manual labor. This helped renew my hope that I could get back into shape and be strong again. And of course I will never again look at a treadmill the same way! The best news was that the Dr. was encouraged by my results and sent me on my way with a happy report that my heart was doing exactly what it was supposed to. Now maybe I'll train for a marathon. . .don't laugh, it could happen! :)

Warning!

Just so you know this is a warning about reading my blog. I tend to have a crude sense of humor, use sarcasm and am brutally honest. Of course, if you're reading this then chances are you already knew that about me. Also, I unfortunately don't usually conform to society's rules about what is politically correct and not. So, if you're easily offended or don't want TMI about me then it's best not to read the blogs but instead just scan through the pictures. Anyway, having said that I will be sure to post a blog later about my experience at the beginning of the week. It should be filled with lots of crude humor, sarcasm and tremendous honesty. Hopefully the combination makes you laugh!

Fun Festival and Ballet Class

This past weekend we took the kids downtown in Augusta for the annual Arts in the Heart festival. The featured country this year was Ireland so we got to see the Irish Dancers which was entertaining. Emerson was very excited about seeing the girls dance but she had more fun playing with her brother and dancing with her daddy in the park. Of course the highlighted moment of the day was the "kids area" where Emerson got to do lots of crafts (projects as she calls them!). She was thrilled to get to color, string beads and get her face painted. I thought I would post several pictures. It was so hard for me to just choose one or two.

Also, yesterday Emerson went to her 1st ever ballet class. She was absolutely adorable in her leotard and tights and she knew it. She pranced around in her outfit and couldn't stay still so all the pictures are action shots of her dancing around the living room. She was super excited until we arrived and then she panicked. I sat there in the room for a few minutes (because that's what I told her I would do) but that was a bad idea. She just sat and looked at all the other little girls doing just what the teacher said and but she wouldn't do anything. Then she started crying and reaching for me across the room. That was one of those moments where I'm over analyzing the situation trying to figure out the best way for me to react to her to cause her the least amount of emotional scarring. I'm thinking, "do I smile and coddle her or be mean and force her to participate". All the while I'm doing a mental checklist of pros and cons to each reaction. I opt for the mean "do what the teacher says" reaction laced with a slight smile but not too overly sympathetic to her crying. Anyway, that doesn't work and the crying progresses to an actual audible sound distracting the other girls. After a couple minutes I decide to sever the cord and leave. I felt bad at 1st because I told her I would stay but I hated that she was taking away from the other kids experience and figured she might be performing for me to see what she could get away with. So, 30 minutes goes by and I don't hear screaming and the teacher hasn't emerged from the class with my child clutching her arm and sobbing for her mommy. The class ends and I figure Emerson is first in the line to run to see me but instead I see all these precious little girls start filing out and no Emerson. I go in the class and what is she doing? She's saying good bye to the girls still in there. She was just dawdling around the room, the same room where she just cried to leave. The teacher said she warmed up as soon as I left and did everything that she asked. It's a miracle how different kids act when their parents aren't around! Finally, we get in the car and Emerson starts talking about going back next week. The funniest thing about the whole experience was that she actually absorbed everything the teacher said even through her dramatic performance of "I need my mommy and I don't want to be a ballerina today." Last night she stands up in the living room and looks at me and this is the conversation we had:

Em: "Okay class, stand like this with your feet together. Now, spread them out. Now, back together. Good job."

Me: "What are you doing?"

Em: "Ballet class. I'm the teacher. Now, feet together and now apart. Now, plie (which she says plea-lay and squats to the ground) and back up."

Me: "What is that called?"

Em : "Plea-lay, Mommy." (she says it like "duh, don't you know that Mom?")

Me: "Oh, okay."

Em: "Now, plea-lay slow. (and she goes across the room doing I guess what is a plie walking) Now, fast. Now, lets turn on the music and dance. (she goes over to the chaise and touches the pretend CD player and turns it on.) Is this too loud? Okay, now dance. Is that how butterflies dance? Noooooo (she says this with the same southern draw the teacher had). Okay, now let's do ballet to the ballet music. Plea-lay again. Now dance around. Okay mommy, you have to dance around like this." (she changes the pretend music and starts dancing around shaking her booty and sticking her tongue in and out)

Me: "Emerson, what is this called?"

Em: "This is dancing like a butterfly mommy, see.?"

Me: "Oh!"

Needless to say it was hilarious. Probably funnier at the time than reading it, but take my word for it, Tripp and I were cracking up. I can't wait to see what she comes home to teach us next week!

Drama King?

When I was pregnant with Cullen and Emerson was having one of those "I've got too much estrogen already and I don't know whether to cry, laugh or scream hysterically" kind of days, I remember thinking, thank goodness I'm having a boy this time. I mean, I just imagined a little testosterone surged kid who was always doing daring things and injuring himself or blowing up GI Joe men, or whatever it is little boys do. So, when Cullen was born I was in for an awakening!

At first Cullen only cried when he was hungry or riding in the car. However, one day he discovered that crying and drama was quite exciting and got him lots of attention. And that was the birth of "Cullen, The Drama King"! I don't mean that to say that all he does is cry because it's really quite the contrary. He is the jokester of the family always trying to make someone laugh. He will go to great lengths to make someone laugh, showing off his big silly teeth as he grins and giggles. But when he gets upset. . .he's really upset. Truthfully I think it is because he is so sensitive (one day he'll be embarrassed that I'm saying that). Every time I get on to him he immediately pokes out his bottom lip and whimpers and if he's really in trouble he puts his head down on the floor like he's surrendering to some awful punishment. It is truly the most dramatic thing I've ever seen a baby his age do. Seriously, as dramatic as Emerson is (and she is dramatic) she was never like this at his age. Maybe she just didn't know she could do it or didn't have any motivation since she wasn't competing for attention but whatever the reason she didn't do that type of acting when she was his age, she decided to save it all up for later when it is much more effective in public places! hahaha However, Cullen is so funny when he's trying to be upset that all I ever do is laugh at him. It's just so dramatic and fake that it is hilarious. Just the other night Tripp got on to Cullen for trying to play with the computer and Cullen went on and on for several minutes burying his head in the couch (literally) and crying this sad little muffled cry and looking up every few minutes to see who was watching. Then he made his way into the kitchen stopping every few feet to bury his head in the carpet and cry some more. It was so funny that we got the camcorder out. Anyway, when he's doing one of his head down on the floor Oscar award winning performances he usually goes from face down in the carpet then he rolls over on his back to see whose attention he's caught. Most of the time he ends up turning over and trying to be mad until someone makes him laugh. So, this is one of those "I did have on my angry face but Mommy made me laugh" poses. What a little drama king!

Good news!

Good news! A huge sigh of relief came when I called the optometrist office and they said it wouldn't cost me a thing to get Emerson some new glasses. I'm so happy to not be out of $100 more. Yay! Thank goodness for those very sweet people in the optical center. :)

I failed the mommy challenge of the day.

Somebody explain to me why I have the worst luck in the world! Today I was on the way home from the Dr. with the kids (and may I add that I did take both kids with me to the Dr, bad idea in the 1st place!). I was less than a mile away from home and Emerson tells me that she dropped her glasses. A couple minutes later we pull into our driveway, Emerson unbuckles her seat belt and gets out of her booster. At the same time I'm opening up her door and see her stepping on the glasses that she just dropped. Of course I start yelling but it was too late. She bent them and when I tried to bend the arms back into the right spot one broke off. Yes, broke off! We've had them for how many days and they're already broken? Aaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!!!!! I am so irritated. I know she didn't mean to do it, but didn't she remember she had just dropped them? I guess considering her age it's not a big surprise that she wouldn't think "hey, I just dropped my glasses and I might step on them, I better look before I get down." Anyway, I got upset with her then she got upset and now I feel like a horrible mommy for being mad that she had an accident. I completely lost it and failed the mommy challenge for today. I feel like I should go ahead and save money up for the day Emerson has to go to therapy because her mother yelled at her for breaking her glasses. I apologized for over reacting and hopefully I haven't scarred her too much for one day.
But honestly I'm still thinking, "great, now we're going to have to fork out another $100 to get the glasses fixed" because we have to pay 50% of the cost of the frames and lenses for repairs. Oh why didn't I just immediately stop the car and look for the glasses? I mean, I'm the adult, the supposed responsible one, right?!
*takes a deep breath*
It will all be okay.
*takes another deep breath*
Okay, sorry for the rant but it's been quite a frustrating day.

The first of many. . .

blogs, blogs and more blogs. They are all over the Internet and I find myself completely fascinated by them. It's a way to talk about life and put your thoughts out there for someone to read. Rather or not someone reads the blogs isn't always the point though. I guess it's more like free therapy, which I probably need a lot of! ha ha ha Honestly, I want to share the little things that happen day to day in my life that I find entertaining. I really enjoy writing, and although my misuse of commas and such are rather embarrassing at times, I find myself writing in spite of myself. I constantly log my day, either just in my head or on paper (or computer!). Anyway, I figured there was no better time than the present to start a blog to record my life. Most of my exciting moments come from the 2 silly tots that live here (hence the name of the blog!) so I figure this blog is really more about them than me, but I will be sure to include completely random ramblings of total nonsense that leak from my brain. If you know me, then you understand this happens all the time, whether or not anyone is listening! So, I hope everyone enjoys getting a glimpse into my wonderful world of mothering 2 amazing little kids.

It's in her genes. . .

At Emerson's 2 year check-up, we found out that she needed glasses. Of course this wasn't surprising to me since I had noticed her left eye wandering and her squinting. So, off we went to the optometrist to start spending her inheritance on her first pair of glasses. I let the people talk me into wire frames since they were more durable for her age group and Emerson picked out a cute pair of Dora glasses. However, after we got home and they were too big and the nose pieces were always uncomfortable looking, I knew I had made a mistake. Too bad though because we'd dropped a chunk of change and Daddy-O wasn't feeling the "I don't like them, can we buy her another pair" attitude I had. So, for almost a year we suffered through those glasses. We were constantly repairing them. Since they were too big we had to cut off the arms and add wrap around ear pieces. Let me just warn you if you ever are in that situation that it is a bad idea to have an ear piece that pulls off on any glasses, much less the glasses of a toddler. So, this past month I have not been enforcing the "you can't see out of your left eye, put on your glasses" law because the Dora glasses were scratched beyond help. Thankfully, Emerson had a scheduled appt. for last week and when we went I was briefly lectured on the importance of Emerson wearing her glasses (as if I didn't know since I'm blind too) until he held up her glasses and declared them almost impossible to see anything clearly out of them. Then once again, I dug into the wallet and forked over $218.00 for new glasses (no, that didn't include the eye exam which was $50!). However, I'm really not complaining because truthfully I was ready for Emerson to have some comfortable cute glasses and I'm happy they survived almost a year with a toddler and new baby in the house. All that to say, this time we picked out what I think may be the cutest little pair of glasses I've ever seen. They're cute, sassy and pink! They fit Emerson's personality and best of all she picked them out right away. She loves seeing herself in them and better still she loves being able to see again. Oh, and Emerson would definitely want me to share the exciting fact that they came with their own pocket book eyeglass holder that has Princess written on it in rhinestones. . .tacky, but cute!