Holy Crap, it's a post! And it's NEW!

Well, I'm not dead, and I didn't run all far away (yet), so I thought I'd take a break from sweating, cleaning corn chips off the floor, and ungodly amounts of laundry, to post.

Actually, I wrote a post a few days ago, and it was almost finished when the whirlwind that is Phoebe came and deleted it.  I would say it's a shame that the best post ever written got deleted, but that wouldn't be true.  It was only like, the 3rd or 4th best. 

I remember, back when Phoebe was barely mobile, and Charlie was just a twinkle in my eye, I used to have a life.  I used to be able to sit on the computer for 5 uninterrupted minutes, and I used to be able to pee in peace.  I used to be able to set things down on the table, and come back to them undisturbed.

My life now involves multiple children screaming at me from multiple rooms, while I hide in the closet.  If I set anything down on the table, it's pulverized in 2.3 seconds.  If I come to sit at the computer, I have a small child pestering me (like right now, Phoebe came up, inspected my hair, screamed, "That's so CUTE!" at my barette [which happens to be very close to my ear] and then pulled the bun out of my hair.  She's now trying to remove my barette, and it hurts.  As I was typing that last sentence, she sneezed on my face.  Now she has a felt-tipped pen, and is using it to color her fingernails.  I'm not going to stop her.)... do you see the problem here?

There isn't actually much going on, but my life is crazy.  Charlie is mobile.  Phoebe is loud.  Marissa gets BORED now, and I mean bored in that 8-year-old-follow-me-around-the-house-until-I-entertain-her bored.

So, I have to go, Charlie is hollering for me, and Phoebe won't stop molesting my head.  It's not that my life sucks, and it's not I'm miserable... it's just that with every passing day I'm trying to adjust to the changes, but I can't keep up.

I'll try to post more often.  It would help if I could find a straight-jacket in two-year-old size.  Wish me luck!

Fever.

Last night Phoebe had her first non-teething related fever.  It was unsettling.

Phoebe never, ever gets sick (*knock on wood*).  She never has.  To date, neither has Charlie.  Marissa was a whole 'nother story, but my guess is if she had been breastfed she wouldn't have gotten sick.  As an older child, she doesn't get sick, either.

We're generally pretty sick-free around these parts.  When people say, "Oh, I'm not feeling well, I don't want to come over and get the girls sick" I always laugh and tell them to BRING IT.  They underestimate our immune systems.

Anywho, Phoebe was burning up last night, and she had a temp of 102.5.  After I took her temp, Bryan and I looked at each other with wide eyes, and we both said, "We don't want to take her to the doctor."  I explained to him what a fever is, and what it does, and that she's not actually sick, and that if her temp went too much higher I'd have to medicate her, and yadda yadda yadda.  I thought it was interesting, though, that neither one of us wanted to take her in.

Had this been 6 years ago, and had it been Marissa, I probably would've taken her in to the doctor, lickety split.  It's amazing how a few years and some really bad experiences will completely change your take on the medical field.

Phoebe's fine this morning, however.  Know how I can tell?  She ran into the kitchen, opened the 'fridge, got out a box of donuts, and started chowing down.  I laughed, and asked her if she felt better.  She smiled, nodded, and yelled, "YUP!", while spraying the floor with donut dust.

That's my girl.