because I really can't get enough of myself

Denise, LisAway, Wonder Woman, Emmy, cc, That Girl, Rachel Sue, and MissOlea: You are all on my list to get bloggy whatever designs according to your hearts desires.  (Just as soon as my eyes recover from surgery.)  So be thinking of what you'd like and email me the details, melissabastow AT hotmail DOT com.  (Don't worry, you probably have a few weeks to mull over the intricate specifications...)

First of all, I want to thank everyone who commented on my last post and said how I awesome I am.  I mean, that wasn't the point of sharing that story, but it's really really nice to hear that you guys think I'm amazing.  It was like...validation.  I wish I was a blogger back when Monkey was born.  I wouldn't have felt so alone. And for the record, I think that you are ALL amazing too!!  I think mothers have to be amazing, just to endure motherhood in general.  Anyone who has ever had to potty train another human being deserves a trophy.  A big one. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Husband and I threw a birthday party for our boys yesterday.  I'm so glad we combined their parties this year, because they are SO MUCH WORK.  Not to mention entertaining 11 kids between the ages of 3 and 6 isn't exactly my idea of a good time. Before the party I was trying to find a place near us that would blow up some balloons.  Just regular latex balloons

I dedicate this post to my little Monkey who turned 3 today. From the beginning things were rough with Monkey.  And I'm talking, from the VERY beginning.  I have never thrown up so much in my entire life than I did in that first trimester (I think my record was 11 times in one day.)  And then once the puking stopped the contractions started. But fast forward 8 months and you would have found me wishing to be either puking or contracting, because life got rougher. Monkey was born only 4 1/2 weeks early with a chub totaling 8 pounds 9 ounces (the biggest baby in the NICU.)  He was beautiful.  Unfortunately he wasn't quite ready.  Although it's uncommon for baby's his gestational age, he hadn't made lung surfactant and couldn't breath on his own.  It was a quick and painless fix, but it was just the beginning of his trials. Some of the things on the list of worries for his first 6 weeks of life was: a PDA that wouldn't close (heart thing); recurring ja

I'm considering offering my services as a blog header/button/makeover designer.  But I think I need practice.  I also think I need advertising. Which is where you come in.  Because I was thinking, "How could I pull off practicing AND advertising all at the same time?"  And then, of course, it hit me, "I'LL FORCE MY FRIENDS INTO IT!!!!!" And by "friends" I mean YOU.  (Because in real life I only have like 2 friends.  I'm horribly socially awkward.  Haven't you already picked up that vibe from reading my blog? Yeah, I thought so.) So if you want a free blog header/button/makeover design (all custom and original and stuff), let me know.  And in exchange you have to advertise for my super design services by way of button AND a really great post about how you absolutely adore your new blog header/button/makeover (even if you hate it, which hopefully you won't, hopefully you'll really adore it, because I'll want you to adore it,

So I have this stupidly irrational fear of the dark.  Every morning I open my bedroom curtains and blinds, and then shut my door and promptly forget about spending any time in my room because there is too much insanity to control elsewhere in this house. But then I don't remember to close the blinds and curtains in there until after it gets dark.  Sometimes it's only semi-dark.  But mostly, just dark.  And every day I'm thoroughly convinced that just as I'm reaching up to pull the blinds that some deranged psycho-stalker and/or mutant claw-beast is going to spring up in front of my window on the outside. EVERY DAY. I realize that it is the most idiotic fear on the planet.  Except that one of these days there really could be a deranged psycho-stalker and/or mutant claw-beast outside of my window just as I close the blinds and then I'm going to be blogging to all of you with a big "I told you so!" I also have this other fear - but it's kind o

I am a horrible person.  Seriously, what is wrong with me? I feel like such a whiner.  "Oh, woe is me, I'm a bit stressed."  How about I write a whole blog post about it? So my kids are hard, my life is busy, money is tight, and I don't get enough sleep.  BIG DEAL. Reading * this , put things into perspective.  I may not have the easiest life, but what are my problems compared to that?  *warning: do not read that blog if you are wearing non-waterproof mascara.

Two minutes ago in the Bastow household the following conversation took place. Scene: Kids seated at the table eating aliens for lunch (aliens are actually rolls with marshmallow and pretzel antanae.)  PBS Kids is playing in the background, because Mom is busy, and PBS Kids is a great babysitter. Opie: "Four is my favorite number!" Two Bits: "Mine is 10!" Mom: "What about you Monkey, what's your favorite number?" Monkey: "BOOTY!!!!"

My left shoulder hurts.  It started about a week ago.  At first it felt like my muscles were just tired from lugging around Number Four all day.  But then it got worse.  Plus, yeah, it's lasted a week.  Sometimes it feels like someone is trying to shove the handle of a wooden spoon in my shoulder socket.  It's lovely, I tell you.  Ibuprofen is my friend. Being a righty, I never realized how much I relied on my left arm.  It's the arm that reaches and grabs and pushes and lifts while my right arm focuses on the fine motor stuff.  It's been my baby holding arm for a non-stop 6 1/2 years.  It's my diaper bag shoulder, and my milk pouring arm.  I also realized that I steer the car mostly with my left arm, and I like to hold the phone on that side too.  So I may be right handed, but I think I'm definitely left armed. I have three theories as to why my shoulder is painfully freaking out: 1- A migrating genius virus that has set up camp in my shoulder to breed. 

I gave myself a blog makeover. Because it was time. So what do you think?  (Is my sidebar confusing?  Because it kind of confuses me.  But I'm used to looking at the old one, so it could just be a matter of perspective?) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In other news: Number Four has RSV. Actual, diagnosed, the real thing, RSV. You know how I mentioned the kids were sick and how grateful I was for modern medicine?   Yeah, well, that was all RSV.  It's just that Number Four has decided NOT to get over it. We had to take her back to the ER again last night.  Because paying ER bills is the number one thing on my "I SO MUCH LOVE TO PAY" list.  But when your toddler is struggling to breath you really don't question it. And now we know: RSV. Yay.

I don't really want a 'dream home'. I don't want to settle down in one house to raise my kids and then grandkids and then great-grandkids. I don't want to be trapped within the confines of the same exact walls from this moment until the day I die. The whole idea sounds like torture. Sometimes my house feels like a prison. (Although, I think it may have something to do with the little wardens that keep me from leaving at my leisure.) And once I've lived in one place long enough I just get really really bored. We've been married for 8 years and moved 7 times. I always hate the moving part, but I do like being somewhere new. And the house we're in right now is actually perfect for us. Just the size we need, great neighbors, close to the school, blah blah blah. The only thing is that we're renting and I can't paint the walls. I like painting walls. But for the most part, I really like living here. Granted, we've only lived here for seve

Ever wonder what your 1 1/2 year old would look like with a 106 degree fever? Yeah, me neither. I hope I never have to see that one again. So we have this virus at our house that is attempting to kill off my children one by one. Two trips to the dr's office for non-breathing kids and last nights run to the ER. Plus two full bottles of childrens motrin and another of tylenol. (Some antibiotics that are probably doing nothing.) Plus countless breathing treatments, constantly running humidifiers, vicks, steamy bathrooms and extending the kids Christmas vacation an extra week. I'm so tired. Also, I'm extremely grateful for modern medicine. I keep thinking about how kids used to die from croup all the time and how scary that would be. I think I can safely say that if it weren't for modern treatments and medicines we would probably have a few less kids at this point. I am happy to live during these times. Though they be the 'last days,' and the state of the wor

First of all, I have to announce that after 3 attempts RhondaLue got all the questions on my quiz right! 1- birthday gift bag (Husband's doing - not my fault.) 2- Lincoln Logs (I know, that was an easy one...) 3- Yes, socks. (However unexcited the kids were about this, I actually requested socks this year. And underwear. Really. And I got them both and was very happy.) 4- Although there is a Cotonelle box sitting on the floor, that's not what I meant. This is where the mind reading came in, because I meant that big bulk package of T.P. sitting on the green bin in the background. (Which was one of the most awesome Christmas presents of all time.) 5- bean bag (Although technically also on the Lincoln Log package, but I meant the bean bag.) So, RhondaLue , what should your prize be? I should really give you something for your ingenious detective skills. What do you want? (As long as it's not really the big taco, because I don't make that great of tacos anyway, a