B-I-N-G-O spells SCAM!

Give me a "B"

Give me an "I'

Give me a "N"

Give me a "G"

Give me an "O"

What's that spell?

SCAM!

Yep, we've been scammed, and this unbelievable nightmare story is not for the faint of heart.  This whole business has made me SO MAD!!! (Not some ordinary hey-that-guy-cut-me-off-and-stole-my-parking-space mad, or the how-dare-she-talk-to-me-like-that mad, but the heart-pounding, fist-pounding, I-think-blood-will-squirt-from-my-eyes-if-my-head-doesn't-explode-first kind of mad.  OK.  My fingers are pounding the keys as I write this.  I better calm down a bit.

There.  Much better.

So for my birthday/anniversary present, I asked, well, begged, for a new zoom lens for my camera.  I asked around, did some research, and told Dennis exactly which lens I wanted, then hoped for the best - like my very own version of a Red Rider BB Gun!

On my birthday, Dennis told me he had bought my lens, and that it would be coming in the mail very soon.  I asked if it was the Canon lens I wanted.  "Yep," he said, "even better!"

Hmmm, thought I, I don't want better, I just want the lens I asked for.

When the lens arrives I couldn't wait to open it up.  The box was a taped together crumpled mess and when I opened it I was certainly surprised when it wasn't the lens I wanted.  It was a lens with the same distance and f-stop as the one I wanted, but it was made by Sigma, and I knew right away it was not near the lens the Canon was.  Dennis didn't like the look on my face when I opened it - like I had just opened pink bunny pajamas.  Poor guy.  Not the reaction he had payed out the big bucks for.  I googled the lens I got, and it retailed for about half of what the Canon lens had cost, and, unfortunately, about half of what Dennis had paid for it.  Dennis had bought the lens from Bingo Cameras, and online company who had the lowest price he could find for the lens I wanted.  He had originally bought the lens I had asked for, but then received an email that stated that he needed to call the company to confirm the order.  When he did, the guy said that there was a small problem.  The lens Dennis had ordered was in the process of being discontinued by the manufacturer, so it might take weeks to months to send it, because they had to get approval from Canon before sending any out.  Of course Dennis was disappointed, because this was a birthday present.  So the guy, Ralph (if that is his real name - he sounded just like the ShamWow guy, Vinnie) who claimed he was a manager, said he had a suggestion, a brand new lens that is SO much better than that Canon I thought I wanted.  He said it had top reviews, and was so new, that it was hard to find.  He said that it was retailing for $1,600 but that because it was my birthday and all, he would sell it to Dennis for $1,000, about the same price as the Canon, out of the goodness of his heart.  Then he spouted all this information about the specs of this lens, knowing full well that Dennis knew nothing about lenses, and promising I would LOVE it.  Dennis asked if it was a Canon, because he knew I was very specific that I wanted a Canon.  The guy said, "Ya, ya.  Its for a Canon.  Definitely."  

That's why Dennis was so shocked that the Lens was a Sigma, and not a Canon.  Not knowing anything about photography he didn't know there was a difference between a lens by Canon, and a lens for Canon.  How would he know?

He called Ralph and explained that they sent the wrong lens.  He said, no, it was the lens Dennis ordered and there was no mistake.  Dennis told him that the lens we received sells for about $500 everywhere else.  And the guy explained that no, we were confused, that that is the "old" Sigma lens, and that it is clearly labeled on their website the "NEW!" Sigma lens, which is so extraordinarily better than the old one, that any photographer, even a pro, would be excited to own it.  Then again he espoused the great specs and advantages of this lens in a ton of technical terms that Dennis could not possibly keep up with and then just told Dennis that he needed to let me try the lens and promised I would love it.

Well, I wasn't so sure.  The "new" lens looked exactly like the "old" lens, and the box said nothing about it being new.  It even had the same model # as the old one.  Common sense tells me that if this "new" lens was so incredibly different and fantastic as to make it three times the price they would label it differently, and stamp something new on the lens itself - a new letter or number to differentiate it from the old one.  I went to the Sigma website, and they had nothing on the site about a "new" lens.  Things were looking more than a bit fishy, so I called our friend Ralph myself this time.  That was an exhausting call.

I explained to him what I had found.  He brushed of my concerns like I was a silly school girl, saying of course the lens looked exactly the same on the outside, but was totally revolutionary on the inside and that it was so new that they didn't have a chance to make it look different or label it differently (ya, sure.  How hard it is to stamp an extra letter on a lens?)  When I asked why this new lens wasn't on the Sigma website, he gave me this long explanation about how the new stuff comes out in Japan first and comes to the US much later, and how when a certain new Japanese car came out, he had to get it ordered straight from Japan, because none of the dealers in the US carried it yet.  He told me that if I went to the Sigma Japan website I would certainly see it there.  Then he sent me on my computer to a couple other online camera stores, his "competitors" to show me that they also carried the "NEW" Sigma lens, selling for much more than the "deal" he had given us.  I asked him if these companies were really his competitors, of just run by the same folks.  He acted offended at such a suggestion. The phone call ended without him giving me a return authorization code, only a plea that I actually take out the lens and use it and decide if I like it or not.

But I didn't dare get it out of the box and use it for fear that they wouldn't let me return it.  Instead I got online to the Sigma Japan website.  I don't read Japanese, but my sister does, so I thought I would have her look at it with me.  But when I got to the site, I realized the the names of all the products were in English and right on the front page was a list of what was "NEW" with the date next to the entry.  The list went back several years.  The supposed "new" lens was not listed anywhere.  I didn't have to know Japanese to see that.

So I called Ralph right back and told him enough was enough.  I wanted my return authorization code.  He asked why, again.  So I explained the whole thing to him again, and he gave me the same old lines. When he explained to me again,  like I was a complete idiot, that this lens was so new, etc., I told him that I had seen the Japanese website and that there was nothing about a new lens on it.  He just brushed it off saying "That's strange.  Maybe you didn't know where to look."  Um, don't you think a new lens would be listed under "what's new"? Where else could one possibly look?  He said I must have gone to the wrong website.  Huh?  It was the sigma.com.ja site.  Pretty sure that was the official Sigma Japan site.  Then he just dropped the subject all together.  Again he asked me if I have tried it.  I told him no way.  I don't want it.  I want to return it.  I want the Canon.  Period.  I have no interest in even trying it because it is not what I wanted to begin with, and I didn't want any trouble about it being opened  when I returned it.  He told me I was being silly, and that I can't return a perfectly good lens without even trying it first. He promised me that it was not a problem to try it out.  In fact, he said he wouldn't let me return it unless I tried it first.  He told me to put it on my camera right now and try it.  I refused, but he wouldn't go anywhere in the conversation unless I did.  So I unwrapped the lens and put it on my camera and took a picture.  "What do you think?"  he asked.  I don't know.  I was in my bedroom and took a picture of my dresser.  "It's fine."  "Just fine?  It is incredible!" he tells me.  He can't even see the picture.  No, it was just kind of ordinary.  "OK, I tried it, can I return it now?"  Nope.  He went on to "educate" (his words) me about camera lenses, since it was obvious by the fact that I was unimpressed, that I was clearly uneducated about camera lenses.  Then he went on to tell me all the technical jargon and mumbo jumbo in hopes of losing me.  Finally he told me to take the lens to a real photographer who actually knows something, and they will tell me how incredible a lens I have and what a great deal I got.  He wouldn't let me return it until I did that.

Ugh!

So that afternoon I took my lens into the local camera shop to get their opinion, but unfortunately the camera guy wasn't in.  They asked me to come back tomorrow.

That night I couldn't sleep.  I was so mad!  I didn't know what I could say to get these idiots at Bingo Cameras to listen to me!  I knew I was being scammed, of that I was certain.  Ordinary companies, that are straight up, don't give you this much trouble, and they never require you to open something and use it before returning it.  So I decided to do a bit more research.  I called my brother in law, a computer guy, and he looked at the bingo website with me, pointing out all the signs that this company wasn't legit - the security icon did nothing when you clicked on it, there was no address or email, only a phone #.  The products had no specs listed, and the prices of the most popular items were WAY below retail.  Too good to be true - all part of the classic bait-and-switch scam.  I did more digging online, and found a blog post where someone had warned about Bingo Cameras as a scam operation, and there were about 200 comments by people who told how they had been scammed with a bait-and -switch where they ordered a Canon, and were sold something else, or had ordered a camera at the low price but were sold all the accessories at hugely inflated prices, etc.  Others said that their card numbers had been used to make unauthorized purchases, etc.  What a mess we had gotten ourselves into!  Yikes! 

 I also found this website done by some ordinary guy who had been ripped off by a similar camera operation.  He lives in NY and most of these operations operate out of Brooklyn.  So now for fun he rides his bike around Brooklyn looking for the addresses to photo companies and takes pictures of their storefronts.  He has hundreds of them on his website.  Most are mailbox places or back alley doors.  But he also puts on the legit photo places, like B&H photo, which, surprise, surprise, is a real company with a nice big building that is being expanded.  It is eye-opening.  I looked through all of the many entries and couldn't find Bingo Camera listed, but did find a different company, High Point Cameras, at the very same address, same floor even.  Apparently this guy gets death threats all the time for having this website up, but he keeps doing it.  Hurray for him!

By morning, I had complied a pageful of notes in my defense.  Since it all began with the line that the Canon lens Dennis had originally ordered was being discontinued and thus the delay, I called Canon to see if this was true.  They guy at Canon was so nice, and confirmed that that certainly was not true.  In fact, that was one of their most popular lenses, and they had no plans of discontinuing it.  He said that Bingo Camera was not a authorized Canon dealer and that they had no contact with that company.  He said he'd be willing to bet that Bingo Cameras had no access to Canon lenses at all. 

So then I called Sigma, to ask if there was such a thing as this "NEW" lens.  She was also really nice.  She told me that there was no such lens, that the "new" lens and the old lens were one and the same, and that there is no "new" lens coming down the line.  If there were, she assured me, there would be announcements and promotions for months before, and everybody would know about it.  She said that if a new product came out, it would come out to both the JA and US markets at the some time.

Both the Canon and Sigma people told me the same thing.  Whenever you want to buy an electronics product, from whatever manufacturer, always go to the manufacturer and get a list of their authorized dealers , then price compare among those companies.  Then there is a lot less chance of having a problem.  And if there is a problem, the manufacturer can take recourse with that company and help solve your problem.  They both told me that they had heard a lot of this kind of thing before and wished me good luck.

Well, I decided not to bother taking the camera back to the camera store, as I was fully convinced by now that there was no new Sigma lens, and I knew exactly what I had in my possession and it was a $500 lens with that $1000 price tag.

So I called Vinnie, I mean Ralph, back.  This time I was armed and ready for a fight!

I told Raplh that I was ready to return my lens now.  I told him I had brought it to the camera store, and the camera guy told me it was the same as the old Sigma lens and was worth about $500.  (OK, so that was a lie.  I hadn't actually gone to the store.  But I knew that's what would have happened, and this creep had lied to me and Dennis enough already.  Two can play at this game.)  He acted really surprised, and then said, fine, I could return the lens, no problem.  I would just have to pay a 10% restocking fee of $150.  Hold on.  10% of $1000, is not $150.  he explained that $1,500 was the original price of the lens, and $1000 was the special deal that he gave Dennis, but that we had to pay the restocking fee for the original amount, thus $15o.

Is this story beginning to curl your hair yet?

But wait, it get better (if by better I mean worse)!

I say I will not pay a restocking fee since everything Dennis and I have been told from the beginning was a lie.  He seemed shocked and offended!  "Ma'am, I have only told you the truth this whole time."  So I began to list all the lies he had told.  I told him how I had called Canon, and disproved the very first lie he started with, that the Canon lens Dennis had ordered was being discontinued.  I told him of my conversation with Canon, and how they enlightened me.  Then I told him about my conversation with Sigma, and how the this "new" lens doesn't exist.  Then, again, I demanded my money back, ALL my money back.  "Of course that's what they said... ", he replied, like the folks at Canon and Sigma were not to be trusted, when he was the scam artist.  He finally said "Fine, you can have your money back" and sent me to another guy to take care of the return.  Good, I thought. Were were getting somewhere.

So this new guy, Kevin, says that he understands that I want to return the lens I ordered.  I say, "Yes, only it is not the lens we ordered, and that is why we are returning it."  He is very polite.  "Fine, and you understand that there is a $150 restocking fee."  Here we go again!  I said that Ralph agreed that I didn't have to pay the fee, but he said the Ralph didn't have the authority to tell me that.  (Funny, because earlier Ralph told me he was the manager.)  Kevin said I had to pay the fee.  I refused, of course.  Then he asked my why I wanted to return the lens.  Did I even try it?  I said yes, I had.  He asked how it was, and I said it was fine.  He said "If you tried it and it works fine, then you should be happy." I explained again that it wasn't the Canon lens that we ordered.  He said " So you are just upset that you paid so much for a Sigma lens.  How 'bout I just refund you $500, and you keep the lens, since you said yourself that the lens was fine."  I was really starting to loose my cool now.  "I don't want THIS lens, I want the Canon that we originally ordered!  I want a Canon, period!"

He tells me to calm down, and that he will be happy to return my money, but that I will have to pay the restocking fee, especially since by my own admission I had used the lens, and I would be returning a "used" lens!  AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH! My head is showing all warning signs of being about to explode! Can you feel the pressure behind your temples and the buzzing in your ears too?  

"B--- S---!"  I told him (I know, I know.  I'm sorry.  I just lost it.  We had been on the phone for hours over a period of days, and I just lost it! Sorry.)  "the only reason I opened and used it in the first place was because Ralph insisted that I HAD TO try it before I returned it!  He insisted and reassured me it was not a problem to try it!"  Kevin told me that I had no right to curse at him, and that since he had no idea what condition I was returning my 

"used" lens in, he had no choice but charge a restocking fee.  I said that I had taken ONE picture, and that it was in PRISTINE condition!  I yelled it actually.  He said, "Ma'am, you are yelling and cursing at me and I am as calm and polite as can be with you.  I said, "of course you are.  You are a scam artist.  You get paid to stay calm!"  Then he gets all offended and asks how I could possibly accuse him of such a thing.  OK, you asked for it, Buddy!  I then roll off a list of every thing - the bogus website, all the lies I was told etc.  He once again assured me that I was never told a lie and that I was not scammed.  I then asked him about this other camera company, High Point Cameras, with the same address.  He says he doesn't know what I am talking about.  He has never heard of them.  I said, "they have the same address, and you have never heard of them?"  He tells me it is a big building.  Both companies are on the 7th floor and he has never heard of them?  They are the same company!!!  He asked me where I got that information.  I don't say.  He says, "We know about that guy's bogus website.  What?  Do you think we are stupid?"  I say "No, I'm sure you know about that website.  I just want you to know that I know about that website."  I was yelling again, of course.

"Ma'am," he interrupts me, "you are being very rude to me, and I don't like it.  Have you ever thought of being nice.  Don't you think I would be more willing to return all your money if you were polite?"

Lost it again!!!  "Polite?  Polite?  I have been politely asking for my money back for two days straight, and my husband was super nice before that and nobody listened to either of us in our politeness!"  I was yelling louder than ever into that phone.

"Ma'am, perhaps I can talk to your husband because you seem to have lost your self control."

"You may not talk to my husband.  He is out of town.  You may talk to me, and return my money, all of it, or you can talk to the credit card company, the Better Business Bureau, the New York State Attorney's office, the the NYC Department of Consumer Affairs, and the county DA!!!"

"Ma'am.  Calm down.  Lets try something.  I really don't like being cursed at (I only said BS once) and yelled at.  I think you should try being nice.  Why don't you try it and see what happens.  I might just give you your money back. Go ahead."  

I was not going to apologize and "see what happens."

Then he promised me that if I would just apologize for cursing and calling him a scam artist, he would return all my money.

Fine.  I figured that if he and Ralph would lie to me so much, I could certianly lie to him, so I apologized.  I mean I REALLY apologized to the point where it was anything but credible.  "OH, Kevin.  I am SOOO sorry that I said that NASTY word to you after you had been trying SOOO hard to help me in my distress.  Of COURSE you are not a scam artist, and you have had only my best interest in mind.  I am deeply apologize for any hurt or distress I have caused and ask you to PLEASE forgive me."  Sweet as butter, and not a lick of sincerity in it - just like a scam artist.  I have learned from the best over the past few days.

"Great," he said, and gave me the return authorization number and return instructions, just like that.

Unbelievable!

So it worked, right.  Well, not so fast.  The story doesn't quite end there.  That was Tuesday.

On Friday night Dennis tried to get a hotel room and our card was declined.  It was midinght, and he had no idea why.  Another LONG story, but he ended up having to sleep in the car with my two older boys becasue he could not get a room with a declined card.

When he called the card company in the morning, he was told that they put a stop on the card because there was an unauthorized purchase of $9,400 from Tokyo on our card!!!  $9,400!!! Any guesses who made the purchase?  I have no doubt that it was the folks at Bingo Cameras and Co.  Apparently they didn't accept my apology after all.  Huh? And I thought I had delivered it so well.  We were being punished.  Nice.

Fortunalety the card company didn't let the purchase it go through, but had cancelled our card, so we spent our getaway San Diego weekend with no card, and no access to our cash since it was a holiday and all the banks were closed.  Good times!

So that's where we are. I just spent $20 to send the lens back with delivery confirmation.  We will see if the money gets returned when they recieve the lens back.  How much you wanna bet it will get "lost" in the mail, or be damaged or such?  This story just keeps getting worse and worse. 

See what I mean about blood squirting from my eyes?

So the moral from this long sad tale is that Bingo Cameras is a scam, but so are dozens, perhaps hundreds of other camera/electronics online stores, many of them run by the same sleezy folks.  Buyer Beware!!!  If something sounds too good to be true, it is.  Buy from the manufacturer's authorized dealers, and you should be fine.

Please, warn EVERYONE!  This has been a nightmare for us!  If you can, all you bloggers out there, please post a warning about these online companies for your readers, and invite them to warn their readers.  Post a link back to this post if you want to.  I sure wish someone had warned me.  We would have never had this nightmare, had I known.  They change business names every several months, so it is not enough to warn about just Bingo Cameras.  These guys simply won't back down and are very good at what they do.  The only way to stop these guys is to to warn enough people about them so that they don't get any more business.  BEWARE!  BEWARE!  BEWARE!

(Sorry this was so long, but I had to document it all for my own sanity.  Thanks for hanging in until the end, although I think you just kept reading to see if my head really would explode, didn't you?  Almost, my friend.  Almost.  We will not be clear of the threat of my head exploding until I get every penny of my money back, and with the way these guys operate, I have probably not heard the last of them.)

Why Can't Anything Ever Just Work Out?

It all started Friday morning when I went to give Dylan his 8am infusion.  When I pushed the syringe to flush his line, saline squirted everywhere.  There was a leak in his line.  It was coming out where the connector and the tubing met.  I didn't give him his medicine, since I figured it would just leak out everywhere.  So I just clamped it off and called the home nurses.  They sent out a nurse right away, who confirmed that there was a problem, and got on the phone to try to find someone who could fix it, but first they had to know what size tubing was used so they could get the correct fix-it kit.  So she called the hospital to find out, but they wouldn't release the information because it is confidential (She was asking for a size of tubing, not a full release of medical history.  Geeze!).  So she had to go back to the office and fax in a signed request, then they had to locate the right size fix it kit, and then they had to locate the one nurse qualified to fix it.  I'm thinking it is basically changing the nozzle on a very small garden hose.  It really shouldn't be that complicated!  Meanwhile, hours pass, and the time comes and goes for his 11 o'clock dose.  Finally I call the nurse and say that I am just going to put tape on it too keep it from leaking, so I can give him his medicine.  She freaked out about that a bit, since it isn't sterile, but whatever.  The kid needs his meds, and he is taking so many strong antibiotics that any germ stuck to the tape wouldn't have a chance.  Besides, I used medical tape, not duct tape or anything.  The tape worked - no leaking.  We waited for the qualified nurse, who was found, but very busy.  Finally it is afternoon, and I am getting ready for my trip to Hollywood to see Phantom of the Opera.  The nurse calls back and says the one qualified nurse is too busy to come, and just to take Dylan to the ER to have them do it there.  I love the "JUST", like hopping over to Loma Linda is no big deal.  I told her the tape was working fine, but she insisted I take him right to the ER. If not, she could come fix it on Monday.  I was furious.  It wasn't like this was a sudden emergency.  I had called them at 8am, as soon as I knew it was a problem, and now it was after 3pm, and they couldn't get their act together to help us.  I was not about to miss Phantom, especially when the tape was working just fine.  So stressful.  I went on a tyraid.  Why can't anything ever just work out???

So I went to Phantom, and forget my frustrations for one glorious evening!  

Saturday morning the tape was still working, but my mom-guilt started working too.  "You should really take him to the ER", said the good mom voice.  "But the tape is working just fine.  It will last until Monday", said the dominant bad-mom voice. " But the nurse was really concerned," said the good-mom voice.  "If she was so concerned, she would have found a way to come over and get it fixed," argued the bad-mom voice.  You don't want to spend the whole Saturday driving to and from, and waiting in the ER .  Besides, you have righteous plans.  You are going to work on disaster preparedness all day, remember?"  

The argument in my head continued all day, and the two voices were about to get into a cat fight when Dylan made my mind up for me.  He had been at my mom's house, helping her paint the fence.  He was running around, and his medicine got caught on something and the whole PICC line pulled right out.  Lovely!  

So while my mom brought him home I packed a bag with stuff to do, water bottles, snacks, etc. - anything I could think of that I might need at an all-night ER stay.  After all, this wasn't a life or death thing, and he wouldn't be top priority.  I was in a foul, foul mood, muttering things like "Why can't anything ever just work out?  Why is everything ALWAYS such a stinkin' pain?  Doesn't the Lord know that I have a bit too much on my plate right now, and I really don't need to drive all the way to Loma Linda to sit in an emergency room all night.  Is it too much to ask to have something go right for once?"  Bad mom was acting as my mouth piece, and she was pretty noisy about it.  

So I grabbed my bag and my kid, and slammed the door on the way out.

When we started driving, I could see that poor Dylan felt really bad.  He said that it was because his arm stung from when he yanked his line out, but I could tell that he was really feeling bad and guilty, like it was all his fault, and that I was mad at him, which I really wasn't.  I never was.  I knew that line was bound to get yanked out as some point.  He is nine after all, and after being down for 3 months, I really didn't have the heart, or even the ability, to keep him down now that he was feeling better.  I wasn't mad at him, I was just really, really tired, and have a list a mile long of things I need to do that I just keep falling further, and further behind on.  Saturday was supposed to be the day to get a lot of things crossed off my list.  Now this.

I felt bad seeing Dylan so sad.  I pulled the car over, and explained to him that I was not mad at him, and at least we wouldn't have to worry about the leak anymore, etc.  Then I had him say a prayer.  He prayed that we would drive there quickly, that they would be able to help us quickly, that we'd drive home safely, and that we would have a nice time.  His sweet prayer softened my heart.  I determined to change my attitude right there, and sent bad-mom packing.  "Okee doke, Dyls, its a mommy/son date to the ER."  We turned up our CD of "Joseph and his...Dreamcoat" and sang at the top of our lungs all the way.  It was fun.

When we got there it was 6:45pm.  A Saturday night.  When we drove in the parking lot Dylan said, "That's weird.  It doesn't look like there are a lot of people."  He wasn't kidding.  There was only one person in the waiting room!  A few weeks ago, when Dennis took Dylan to that ER to get his line unblocked, there was standing room only, literally.  People were sitting on the floor and standing outside.  It had been a Friday night, about the same hour.  They had waited almost three hours, and were told it wold be another few hours before they would be seen, so they finally just left.  We signed in, and were just getting settled in the waiting room, when they called us back.  We didn't even wait 5 minutes.  Who would have thought?

We waited a little while in the exam room.  A doctor came and assessed what needed to be done, and left.  A short while later she came back in.  She said that the vascular access team, which does the PICC lines, didn't come on weekends.  They would probably have to give him a regular IV for the weekend, and we'd have to come back next week to have the PICC line put back in.

Oh, here we go again.  the bad-mom voice started to reemerge in my brain.  A regular IV?  You want to hook this kid up to a regular, drip bag, needle in arm IV?  How would we work that?  What a PAIN!  I could have driven to a local hospital to get a regular IV.  Doesn't anybody work on weekends anymore?  I have to come all the way BACK here next week (I already have a Dr. appointment here on Thursday!) And then came the familiar refrain, Why can't anything ever just work out???

I explained my concerns to the doctor and she said she would see shat she could do.  She returned a short while later and said that she had good news.  There happened to be someone from vascular access who was still on call for a few more hours, and before the doctor could leave the room, the cute little gall from VA was there already, like magic!

The procedure takes some time.  She has to measure and prepare, etc.  When she was ready to start, I stood to watch, and she told me that wasn't a good idea if I was squeamish about blood.  I assured seeing blood really didn't bother me.  When I told her I had six boys, she believed me.

Dylan was so brave.  He was awake the whole time, which was really, really good, because if we had to put him to sleep, we definitely wouldn't be able to get it done that night.  It would have been way to complicated.  She did a good job, and got it right the first try.  Just as she was finishing another guy from VA showed up to do it.  The doctor had said there was nobody from VA, and now we had two!  Then Dylan had to get some chest Xrays to make sure everything was in place just right.  It was.  Then, when Dylan was feeling better, they discharged us!  That was it.  With the procedure and everything we were in the ER only about 2 1/2 hours! 

Several doctors and nurses commented that our stars must have been aligned just right because "nothing ever works out this quickly!"  Their words struck me.  I suddenly remembered my bad-mom mantra -"why can't anything ever just work out?" and I was humbled. My stars weren't aligned, I just had the Lord on my side.  No, I didn't need a trip to Loma Linda on a Saturday night.  I would have much rather stayed home, but since I did have to go, the Lord knew that I was overloaded, and that I had had only 3 hours of sleep the night before, and was exhausted.  He knew that if I was going make the drive home, we couldn't be in an ER all night long.  That was why the Lord just made it all work out.  He knew my limit, took me right up to it, then he made the rest as easy as possible.  Oh, why to I have to be so ungrateful sometimes?  I was truly humbled, and grateful for a loving merciful God who made it all just work out.

We left the ER, and even had time to stop for dinner at El Pollo Loco - Dylan's choice.  It was fun.  It was mommy/son date night after all.  

We drove home and made it before midnight.  I sang Phantom at top volume all the way home to stay awake while Dylan slept.  Still, I felt myself slipping into a doze a few times at the end.  I am not a night person and I was exhausted.  I knew that if it had taken much longer than it did at the ER, I might not have made it home.  But Dylan's sweet prayer at the beginning of our excursion was answered completely.  We made it there quickly, got everything fixed quickly, made it home safely, and had a nice time too!  What a wonderful little boy!

I am so grateful for the Lord's hand in my life.  I will remember this next time I feel like nothing is working out.  Life isn't easy.  By definition it can't be.  But sometimes, just when we really need it, the Lord bestows his tender mercies on us so stuff just works out.  The Lord is always working it all out for us somehow, isn't he?

Only Two Exceptions

Caleb was having a VERY bad day, because he wasn't allowed to do a few things that he was just too young for.  He came into my room fuming mad and announced: "Everything in the whole world is super dumb!" (Don't we all feel like that sometimes? I sure do!)

 Then came the exemptions.  "Everything is dumb EXCEPT only for my Grandpa that died, and Jesus.  They are NOT dumb.  I don't want grandpa or Jesus mad at me, but everything else in the whole world is super dumb!"  

That kid knows how to cover his tail, doesn't he?

Another Sad, Sad Tale of a Gift That Was, and Then Wasn't

(Like any sequel, this one is not near as good as the original.)

 I am sure, in reading the tale of the Christmas gift that never came, you asked yourself  "What did that miserable poor maiden get for Christmas?  Certainly she got something from her good husband." And the answer to your question, whether you asked it or not, is Yes, of course she got a present - a thoughtful and wise gift.  

After hearing his dear maiden call her bluetooth some of the same derogatory terms he had heard her call that small purse camera of hers, he decided to intervene, and possibly save the life of that tiny, helpless bluetooth.  So he purchased her an in-carriage bluetooth device, that attaches to the visor instead of on her ear.  It also converted her MP3 player to FM so the maiden's own ipod collection of  lyre music and minstrel's ballads could be played on the carriage radio.  Sure, it didn't take great pictures, thus not helping the torturous dilemma on Christmas morning, but it was a great gift, nonetheless.

So she brought it with her on the long ride to her Queen-in-law's house on Christmas Day hoping the new gadget would prove a distraction from the thoughts of the days events, and the pictures that might have been.  She managed to tear open the impossible plastic packaging, and pulled out device and the accompanying cords, instructions, papers, and pieces.  Distraught, and not being a technically minded maiden in the first place, she became overwhelmed but the tangle of chords, and techno-lingo instructions, and quickly gave up trying to sync her cell phone to the device.  (This is the same maiden who was given an XM satellite radio receiver for her Christmas last year, and it sat there until she got it installed as her birthday present 6 months later.)

The new Christmas present, and its parts remained splayed all over the front seat and dashboard of the Maiden's carriage, like the guts of a slain dragon, until well past the new year.   Finally, when the maiden came to her senses, and got past some of the grief over her lost camera, she realized that she had shamefully neglected the gift she had received, she remembered what her neglect had done in the past, and decided to take action, before it was again too late. So she shoved the device, and all of it's accompanying papers and pieces back into the torn open plastic packaging, so as not to lose all the pieces, and left it on the front seat, hopefully to be pulled out and used later.

Days passed, and then today, on this very day, the maiden had to take a long carriage journey to the far off land to Loma Linda Castle, with her brave knight, Dylan.  She grabbed her cell phone because she had a zillion phone calls to make on the ride.  But, search as she might, she could not find her old, little bluetooth anywhere!  Now, when she needed him, she discovered that he was gone.  Perhaps having grown weary of the name calling and badgery from the maiden, and knowing he had been replaced, the little bluetooth, now more blue than ever, had apparently run off with the pocket camera. 

 When would she ever learn?  Her despair was short lived, however, when the maiden remembered her new suitor, the Christmas gift blue tooth waiting patiently in the front seat for her to return.  She was saved!  She knew with a little love and patience, she would have a newer handsomer blue tooth installed and ready to use on her journey.

Rushing out to the carriage, she discovered that the package was not there.  Desperately she searched the seat of the carriage, and her little cottage as well, but it was not to be found.  Time was running short.  She had to get Knight Dylan to Loma Linda Castle before the stroke of midday.  She ran in and asked her husband where the Christmas gift was, where was the new bluetooth.  He declared that he hadn't seen it.  She exclaimed that she had put it all back into the plastic package so that she would not misplace all the pieces, as she had been heretofore done.  

"You put it all back in the packaging, you say?" asked her dear husband for clarification.

"Yes, of course!  Have you seen it?"

The husband's face fell as realization set in, and a cloud of agony lighted on his brow.  "Oh my dear.  All is lost.  I have thrown it away!  I have thrown it away."  Apparently, as he was taking the trash cans down the driveway to prepare for the coming of the great garbage trucks, he had most kindly leaned into the carriage to remove all the trash  that had accumulated therein.  Seeing the torn open plastic packaging on the front seat, he took it for garbage and tossed it into the can, the very same can that was later was dumped into the belly of the great garbage beast.  

Sadly, the love affair was ended before it had begun!  

The Christmas gift that was, was no more!

The husband, was most broken up about what he had done.  After all, it was his own hard earned money he had used to purchase the gift.  But alas, the misfortune of the maiden was not his fault.

Such is the luck if the fair maiden, or rather, such is what she deserved for not appreciating the gift  her loving husband had thoughtfully given her rather than pining hopelessly over the gift that could not be.

And thus ends the sad, sad tale of the gift that was, then wasn't.

Christmas Morning and the Sad, Sad Tale of the Gift that Wasn't

It is a classic tale of love and loss.

There once was a fair, not-so-young maiden who loved a camera, and the camera loved her.  They traveled the world, Venice, London, Hawaii, Yellowstone, taking beautiful pictures together.  But the maiden became increasingly selfish, used and abused her camera, carelessly dragging him everywhere, even places he did not wish to go, using him whenever she needed him, carelessly banging him into stuff, then tossing him to the side and paying him no mind when she didn't need him.  

The poor camera - cold, neglected, alone.  He dreamt of the days when she would pamper him and take care of him, lovingly caressing his lens with a soft cloth and carefully placing him in his nice warm padded case.  He had not seen the inside of his case for so long.  He, as any camera would, could only take such abuse for so long.  Then one day in early October, he clicked his last click... and he was gone.  

The maiden rushed the poor camera to the camera store, but the diagnosis was grim.  An operation could be performed, but at great cost, and he probably would never be the same again, and would die anyway.  She, tragically, discovered too late what her neglect and abuse had done and had to let him go.  In her sorrow, she made a solemn vow to never treat another camera that way again. 

The kind camera doctor, seeing her distress, offered to introduce her to another fine young camera friend of his, that he thought she might want to get to know.  The doctor pointed him out to her.  He was sitting in a glass case across a crowed room.  Her eyes, and his lens, met, and it was love at first sight.  She knew they were meant to be together, and she bought him on the spot and brought him home to occupy her now empty camera bag.  

But all was not well, for this fair maiden had a husband.  He had known about his wife's love affair with the first camera, but he was not the jealous type.  In fact he was the one who had introduced them in the first place.  He figured her little stint with the camera made her happy, and that made him happy.  However, he had watched with concern how she had used the camera, and had feared for the life of his digital friend.  When the husband discovered what had happened to the camera, and that his wife already had a new camera in her bag he was distressed.  He feared she had bought that new camera on the rebound, without carefully checking into him.  So the husband took it upon himself to do a little digging into the new camera's past.  

What he found was that his wife had indeed chosen well.  He was an upstanding fine young camera from a remarkable family with an excellent history.  But while the price she had paid for him was good, her husband discovered the same camera at an online store for much, much cheaper.  So he took it upon himself to return the camera she had brought home, and order one from the online store, only to find that the camera he had discovered for such a great price was back ordered.  He reassured his hysterical grieving wife, who had lost not one camera that she loved, but two, in one day, that all would be well, and that a few hundred dollars would be saved if she could just hold on, alone and camera-less, for a few days.  So the woman, who loved her good husband even more than she had loved her camera (and that is a whole lot) agreed to wait.  But those days turned to weeks, and the weeks months, and alas, no camera.  

The maiden watched time pass and her children grow without being able to capture those precious memories.  Sure, she was a modern woman, and had another portable camera in her purse, but it took terrible pictures and was ornery and stubborn. As time passed she began to miss her beloved camera more and more, and hate her stupid purse camera more and more as well.  Her iphoto suffered, her blog suffered, and she became more and more despondent each day.  When her husband asked her what was wrong, all she could utter was "my camera, my  camera." He vowed to get her the camera of her dreams... someday.

Then disaster struck again.  This time a sick child and the accompanying medical bills.  All thoughts of a new camera were swept aside.  When a decent camera was needed, the maiden's father lent her his, and she survived this way for some time.  

Time passed, and Christmas was drawing near.  The camera widow mentioned to her good husband that Christmas was coming, and that if ever she needed a new camera, it was during this season of giving and love.  She believed that he was planning to get her the camera for Christmas, but in her greed she begged him to give her the camera before Christmas, so she could take pictures of all the holiday happenings.  Opening the camera on Christmas morning would simply be too late.  She just couldn't get though the holidays with that stupid pocket camera she had been using.    Her husband assured her that money was tight, and there would be no new camera.  But she held out hope, as any blogger would.  

Meanwhile, the crappy pocket camera apparently had heard all the nasty things she had said about him and disappeared - walked out the door and never returned.  There was no love lost there, after all, a new camera was coming soon, she thought.

Then suddenly, it was Christmas Eve.  She saw her children all dressed up snugly in their festive caroling attire and once again begged her husband to give her her camera early so she could capture the moment.  He assured her there was no camera coming for Christmas.  Frustrated that her husband, who usually gets too excited and can't wait until Christmas or birthdays to give gifts,  had suddenly decided this year to hold out until Christmas morning, the maiden ran to her father, told him her woes, and he let her borrow his camera for the evening.

That night she dreamt of her her old camera that she had loved so much, and hoped that her new camera would love her has much as she would love him.

Then it was Christmas morning.  The children were stirring, anxious to run into the living room to discover the plethora of gifts that Santa had left them.  In her heart she knew, that one of those gleaming packages also held the camera for which she had waited for so long.  It was going to be a very happy Christmas, indeed!

  She went to grab her father's camera to capture those first few moments of discovery when the children see the tree for the first time.  But the camera was not there.  Her father, believing she was getting a new camera for Christmas, had taken the camera home with him the night before.  She ran to her purse, and started to dig around, before remembering that her purse camera was long gone.  Desperately she went for her video camera, at least it would be something, but it was out of memory.  She ran to her husband, and pleaded and begged him to tell her which package her camera was in so she could capture the magic that was Christmas morning before it was too late.  

Again he told her that there was no camera at all, and a look into his eyes told her it was true.  There really was no camera!  He really couldn't afford it.  He was so sorry.

She crumpled to the floor, hopeless and camera-less.  How had it come to this, on Christmas morning of all morning?  Her despair overwhelmed her.

The children, who could no longer be held back, came bouncing into the room, their eyes gleaming, and shouts of wonder and joy escaping their lips.  There was tissue flying and paper tearing, stockings un-stuffed and shrieks of delight.  But the maiden could do nothing but watch those moments as they quickly passed, becoming mere memories fading into the distance of Christmas past. 

 Oh the depths that her own selfishness and greed had gotten her!  She had had a camera she had loved, and it had died due to her abuse.  Then she had another camera in her hands, but because of her greed had lost that too.  And her little camera, the only camera she had left in the world, she had hated and called names, until he, too, was gone.  

And so the end of the tragic tale of the Christmas gift that wasn't.  (Not a classic Christmas tale, to be sure).  That is why there are no pictures of Christmas morning this year.

 Let this serve as warning to all.  Love your camera while you still have it.  Treat it well, pamper it and let it know you love it.  Lives of cameras are short, and you just never know when they are going to stop clicking. 

 (By the way, that goes for people too.)

Fair Warning!

This is just a disclaimer.

If you plan to be cheery and merry and jolly this holiday season, you might want to refrain from reading this blog until after the holidays, or to make it safe, for the next 11 weeks, in order to avoid my whining. 

I suppose I could just not whine, but really, where is the fun in that?

If you continue to read these posts, just remember - you have been warned.  I don't want to be responsible for anyone else's Bah-Humbug.  And now that I have posted this disclaimer you can't sue me if I bum you out because it will not hold up in a court of law.

Thanks.

Oh Crud!

Last night I got that tickle in my my throat, and, despite a valiant effort with Zicam, I woke up with a yucky cold.   Correction: the term "woke up" is a misnomer - it would indicate that I actually slept.  Let me rephrase.  I have a cold.

Lovely.  Just what I need.

I am washing my hands a zillion times a day, and I still managed to catch a cold.

Any guesses as to what's next?

Bring it on!

Alex' Birthday: an Series of Unfortunate Events

Poor Alex.

Today was his birthday.  He turned 13.  He is now a teenager.  Officially.  (OK, Obviously I am way too young to be the mother of a teenager!  Don't you agree?  It is some weird time warp thing.  Can't explain it.)

So becoming a teenager is kind of a big deal right?  (I remember my dad used to torture us.  When we turned 13, 14, 15, etc. he would always say, "So, you're finally a pre-teen!"  Drove us crazy.  Apparently he had a problem dealing with the fact that his little girls weren't so little anymore too. He still does, I think.)

Today was a big day -  but not for Alex.

Dennis' dad died this morning.  

Grandpa V. had been slowly dying for a long time, but he took his last breath this morning.  He was only 65.

We are all grieving.

Birthdays and death days should never be the same day.

Never mind that of all the birthdays, Alex is the most often neglected because it falls during the holiday season, so even in a good year, mom is a bit too busy to usually give him the kind of party I can give his brothers at other times of the year.

Never mind that our family life is kind up turned up on its end with Dylan sick.  

Then, Grandpa dies on top of all that.

Dennis was with his family until late.  I was away at Loma Linda for doctors' appointments much of the day, then at home I was rushing around trying to put out fires and get everybody to do what needed to be done.

Alex was neglected.

He even had to make his own birthday cake.

I tried, though.  I really did.  His only request was homemade pizza, and I made him his pizza, but it didn't get on the table until very late, almost 9, like an afterthought, and nobody was in much of a celebratory mood.

He opened his few presents.  (I haven't had much of an opportunity to go out shopping, as of late.)

He did get some very cool night vision goggles.  Wonder what he will do with those?  

And he also won the birthday drawing on the radio, which was very cool, but nobody heard his name on the radio or had a chance to go pick up his prize - a free birthday cake.

Good old Al, he never complained.  He was sad about grandpa too.  He said he understood.  But I was sad for him.  I believe birthdays should be a really big deal, especially monumental ones, like becoming a teenager.  I tried to make it as special as I was able, but it just wasn't in the cards for him today.

Today I had to be several people at once: On top of the bus driver, house cleaner, disciplinarian, etc. that I have to do everyday, I also had to be the doting nurse to a sick kid, the supportive wife to a grieving husband, and try to be the happy party planner  for the birthday boy.  I didn't handle it all very well.  Alex got the short straw today.

I'm so sorry, Dennis and family!  I love you all, and I pray for Mom and all of you!

Happy Birthday, Big Al!  

I'm throwing you a big party in my heart, OK?

Day of Tears

 I should have thought to wear waterproof mascara today, as I have been brought to tears several times today by the memory of that terrible day, Sept. 11, 2001.  

I still remember that morning.  We got up and Dennis jumped in the shower.  I turned on the TV.  The news was on.  I glanced up at the TV and saw two tall buildings with smoke billowing up from them, the commentator was saying something about a possible terrorist attack.  I wondered where it was, perhaps Israel, or some other war-torn country.  It never occurred to me that it could have been in America.  I kept waiting for the news to say what country had just been attacked.  They said something about trying to get a response from the president.  The president of what country? - I asked.  Then they said the president was in Florida, and I thought how strange it was that that country's president was in America.  I am so incredibly slow sometimes.  Suddenly, devastatingly, it all clicked.  America.  America.  Someone had attacked America!  Dennis came out of the shower and saw me frozen in the middle of the room watching.  Watching and crying, as I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening.  Could such a thing have really happened?  Couldn't their be some other explanations for what was happening.  One plane - a freak accident.  But two?  To use our own people, innocent people, as weapons against other innocent people, people who had just kissed their families good-bye and went to work.  Just people.  My mind couldn't grasp such evil.  Before that moment, I couldn't have believed that such evil existed.  That morning I saw the face of evil, rising in the smoke, reflected in the terrified, ash covered faces of people running through the streets of New York, running for their lives.  Who could hate us SO much?  Why?  WHY?

I sat there in my room and watched all day, and for days after.  So many images, images that I still can picture today, each new image ripping my understanding of the state of the world further into shreds. Images of papers streaming down like obscene parade confetti, and the horrifying image of people...jumping.  What horror did they face that jumping 100 stories to their certain death was preferable?  I remember watching the first tower fall, collapsing on itself. I could hardy comprehend what it meant.  People inside.  How many?  Then the unthinkable, the other tower fell, dropping out of the skyline.  Who could survive that?  No one, apparently, we learned as we waited, and waited, then stopped waiting , stopped hoping for survivors.  I remember the terrifying reports of another airplane hit at the same time - the Pentagon - edifice of our Nations strength and security -  a punch in the face of America.  The NERVE!  And then speculation.  What next?  The White House, the Capitol, or the west coast?  Disneyland?  LA?  So many possible targets.  And more reports of another plane crash, but this time in a field in Pennsylvania?  Something went wrong?  Then realization.  Something went right!  Heroes were born... and died..  at the same moment!  Some of the strongest images weren't images at all, but sounds.  Phone calls made to wives, husbands, children.  Last messages.  Voices of dead men walking.  "I'm fine."  "I'm scared." "I love you."  So many "I love you"s that really said "Good-by."  Or then eerie sound of empty skies.  No planes flew.  Not for days.  No white streaks in the sky.  Nothing.  

One image hurts more than any other.  Even seven years later it stings my brain.  It was the wall.  Remember that wall?  My eyes swell with tears right now as I think of it.  It was the wall near ground zero where people placed pictures of their missing loved ones, desperate to find them, hadn't heard from them.  Pictures of ordinary people, smiling, doing ordinary things, photos with friends, and pets.  All ages.  All races.  Just people.  Titles: "missing", "loving mother", "come home" with descriptions, and phone numbers.  Please call!  And as the days passed, there were more and more faces, names, stories, lives on that wall, not fewer.  Heart wrenching! I still remember how that wall just filled me with despair - their despair, the despair of those who hung those pictures there.  I remember how I cried.  It was the kind of crying that hurts your sides, aches with each breath, and burns your throat and eyes.  

I didn't cry like that today.  Thankfully.  Today's were the short, quaking in the chest, eyes fill with tears, try to control my breath type cries.  Maybe that is bad.  They say time heals all wounds.  Perhaps it is true.  I hope that it isn't.  I fear the day this wound heals over, and people forget, and get lax.  I'm afraid it had already started to scab over.  

Remember the other images.  The FLAGS!  Flags everywhere.  The real America rose from the ashes.  United.  Strong.  Unashamed of calling upon their God.  Remember that?  But I didn't see too many flags today.  I flew the GIANT one.  My kids and I all wore red, white and blue.  Not too many others did.  

Today I watched the memorials, and cried.  On Saturday there was a documentary about the twin towers on the Discovery Channel.  I made my kids watch.  They were amazed, they had so many questions.  I told them.  They saw me cry.  It was good for them.  My children were too young to remember much about Sept 11.  The twins were only 2.  My oldest was only 5. They are old enough to understand now.  I want my children to know that evil exists, secret combinations, just like we read about in the ancient days.  They need to see what evil is.  What evil does.  Why we fight.  They need to also see how heroes are made from ordinary people.  Americans are good, and strong.  Americans help each other.  There could be heroes everywhere.  They could be heroes.  They must be heroes if a day like this comes to them.  My boys need to see that too.

They showed more images today.  Not many.  There were so many that day.  But the ones that they showed seemed so fresh.  Raw.  And the sounds... Oh!  

They need to show more images.  And show them, and show them, and show them.  We need to cry more, and remember more.  And then we need to stand up and be that America again!   

One of THOSE Mornings!

Ever feel like this?

I had one of those mornings, a real humdinger! Roxanne and Alysa have already heard it - thanks for the ear my friends, and Roxy said, "You SO have to blog that." I think I will feel better when get it all down and throw it into the blogosphere. It's long, but it involves a lot of poop, so it might be worth reading, if you're into that kind of thing.

My bad morning actually started last night. Dennis and I went to the temple. That part was good. But it was our first time leaving the kids home alone to go all the way to Redlands. My mom was 5 minutes away if there was a problem. It was fine. There were no problems. In fact, when we got home after 10pm, the boys were all asleep. That was a good thing, right? School night. But that was also a problem, because they were too asleep! We realized that neither of us had a key and the house was locked up tight. Another good thing - no strangers were getting into that house. Only neither were we. It was serious lock down. No amount of ringing door bell or calling on the phone was waking anybody. Were we going to be spending the night on the trampoline? (Actually, Dennis might like to rough it out there!) After banging on their bedroom window until I thought the glass was about to crack, a light switched on and the shutters flew open, and when my oldest assessed that I was not the boogie man, he unlocked the front door.

The house was a mess. To be fair, I could see that they had attempted to do their dinner chores, but surprisingly their definition of a successfully completed job is remarkably different from my own. I give them credit for trying. I really didn't want to think about the mess by that time. I just wanted to hit the sack.

I found Caleb asleep in my bed. He had peed all over the bed, the comforter, and it went into the mattress. Nice. Dennis stripped down Caleb, and I stripped down bed and hauled it to the laundry room. The mattress needed airing out, so we finally crashed on the sofas. It was late.

So this morning when the alarm went off, we didn't hear it. When I woke up, it was almost 7. Wednesdays are Dennis' early day - 7am meeting. Of course its Wednesday. He jumped up, showered, and ran out the door. Then I hurried and got my middle schoolers up and ready, noticing again my dirty house and realizing that I had a friend coming over at 9am so I could help her make some invitations. My house was no condition for anyone to see it - six boys, six hours, no supervision, remember? It looked even filthier in the light of day. I rushed to clean as much as I could before I had to take my kids to school. When you have a mess like that, and limited time, where do you even start?

In my mad cleaning spree I happened to look up and see the clock. We had to get out the door right now if I was going to get my boys to the middle school. So I herded everyone into the car, snatched Luke out of his crib, and threw him into his car seat in his bulging night diaper. I remember thinking that I should probably change him first, but decided I didn't have time. Hind sight is 20/20, and now I see so clearly that a two minute diaper change would have changed the whole course of my morning, and saved me hours of trouble.

This morning, this very morning, was the morning that Luke figured out how to wiggle out of his car seat. On the drive to school, in the rear view mirror, I saw him bouncing around in the back. It was chaos! The kids were screaming, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. I was yelling at them to get him back into his seat. It is the first week of school, and I knew cops would be everywhere. It took me too long, and another look in the rear-view mirror to realize what the screaming was all about. Luke, in his escape form the confines of his car seat, had torn off the front of his diaper. He was trying to climb over the back of the seat, and his diaper was hanging in a flap behind him. Poop was everywhere! Not in a neat little pellet form, but the sticky, stinky kind. Bad. Bad. So very bad.

I stopped to let the kids out at the school. They squawked and moaned that they had poop on them. I thought of taking them home to clean up, but there was no time. Bad mom told them to find a bathroom. Use lots of soap. I couldn't listen to their protests, as I was out of the car, leaning into the backseat, trying to grab the naked poopy slippery little monster and wedge him back into his poopy seat. Ugh! I was digging around trying to find the wipes. No wipes. I remembered the my good husband had spend labor day cleaning out and vacuuming out the car. He must have taken out the wipes along with the 27 socks, candy wrappers, unmatched shoes, sandwich crusts, and 18 action figures. So much for a clean car.

I didn't know what else to do, so I just rolled down the window and drove home. That was a long ride. At home, I tossed Luke into the tub, then went to tackle the car, armed with disinfecting wipes and lysol. Man, what a lot of work, and so HOT even this early in the morning. It is amazing what heat does to the smell of ripe feces. I cleaned up the car as best I could, but realized that I didn't have time to take the car seat out, take it apart, clean it, and get it put back together and in the car before I had to get the twins to school. Why do they make car seats so hard to clean? Hasn't anyone thought that a toddler might make a mess in their car seat? Hello? Maybe someone needs to ask a mom about designing a car seat. I just grabbed an old towel and threw it over the mess on the car seat, then ran into the house to get a nice fresh diaper on Luke, and get the kids into the reeking car.

While I was in the garage, Luke had dumped water out of the tub all over the floor, and was now in the kitchen, naked, swinging a full open bag of cheerios around over his head- imitating a helicopter, I think. My other three boys stood frozen two feet away while cheerios rained down all around him. By the time I got to him the bag was empty...and breakfast was over.

After a quick sweep of the floor, a diaper and clothes for Luke, and a short but energetic temper tantrum (me, not the toddler), I drove the boys to school. The windows were still open as the car now had the tangy aroma of baked poop and lysol. Back at home I went to get Luke out of his seat, and found that he had adeptly yanked the poop barrier towel out from under him. Of course he had. Another bath, and another change of clothes for Luke. Suddenly it was 9 o'clock and my friend was on her way. My house was still a mess, but it smelled a lot cleaner than a hot car full of poop, so I figured it was good enough. Besides, I figured that if anyone had an excuse for a dirty house, I did.

I was exhausted. After my guest left, I spent the rest of the day on my stripped down bed, and did nothing (except for six loads of laundry, disassembling, hosing down, washing, reassembling, reinstalling a car seat, and five more trips picking up/dropping off kids.) After all, I deserved a break.

Crying Over Spilled Milk

Whoever coined the phrase "there's no use crying over spilled milk" said it before milk was $4.65 a gallon. (Isn't that the same price as gas?) Holy Cow! (You'd think cows really were holy, for how much we spend on their milk!)

Yesterday I opened the door to the fridge and a whole unopened gallon of milk plopped out, busting on the floor, all over my shoes, the floor, the cabinets, running under the fridge. Some brilliant child - they're all brilliant, really - had cleverly perched the milk on top of some other items in the door, just enough to get the door closed. Silly me - I opened the door. We used every dirty towell in the house to soak it up. Luckily, being summer, we have a plethora of dirty towells lying around. Of course we were just running out the door for Church!

Then last night, Luke dropped a whole huge cup of milk on the floor. Cup went down - milk went up. You get the picture.

Then this morning, Derek was carrying a full gallon of milk to the kitchen table when he tripped and half of the gallon of the milk spilled onto the floor as he watched. What is it with kids just watching stuff spill? Pick it up, will ya?

And literally, as I was typing this, Caleb, carrying the unspilled half of the milk, told he couldn't have another yogurt, got mad and, in his fit, dropped the milk. This time it didn't spill or break, just spouted out the top! Unbelievable!

That is nearly 2 gallons of milk spilled in less than 24 hours.

So I'm crying over spilled milk, and I feel perfectly justified in doing so.