The Week That Will Live in Infamy

Oftentimes, I feel like I don't have much of note to post here. Enter, this week. I won't waste any more time on deliberation. Here goes...

Monday, one of my upper back molars started hurting like the dickens. This tooth has given me problems a few times before. I actually had a root canal done on it and a crown. When I woke up on Tuesday, the pain was excruciating. I immediately sent out an email to Wheaton friends (seeing as I... uh... haven't been to the dentist in a while), asking for dentist recs. I got Dr. Beck's name twice, so I quickly made the call. I immediately fell in love with his office. The secretary was amazing sweet, and, considering my pain, she booked me an appointment for 3, that day. Later that day, she called back to make sure I could still tolerate the pain because they would do everything they could to fit me in earlier, if possible.

I toughed it out, though, and a little before 3:00, I walked in and met with Dr. Beck. They took x-rays, which nearly made me jump out of my skin. The long and the short of it-- he saw what looked to be an abscess, so he called an endodontist, Dr. Brandys, who could fit me in right away.

I left the office, the pain from my tooth now shooting up through my whole face, got in my car and turned the key. The engine revved but wouldn't turn over. I tried it a few more times. Nothing. I called Mike, asked if there were any quick fixes I could try. No. I trudged back into the dentist's.

The secretary, again, super-nice, asked if I had cables to jump it. I went out to check, and then Dr. Beck himself came out. He told me his son was driving around, but since they expected me at the endodontist now, he thought that maybe Mark could just drive me there, and we could deal with my car later. Really, talk about full-service dentistry: a check-up and chauffeur service!

So, Mark and I had a nice drive to Glen Ellyn, where he dropped me off, gave me his number-- just in case my life continued to fall apart in a uniform way and I became stranded again-- and I went to the endodontist.

I'll skip the non-exciting details, but Dr. Brandys said that I'd have to have a root canal... or, I guess, a re-root canal? He'd have to undo the old one and replace it. Now, it was 4-something, I was in Glen Ellyn, and I had no ride. Naturally, pretty much all my Wheaton friends were either sick or working, but I called THE MOST WONDERFUL WOMAN IN THE WORLD, Connie Tameling, who came to my rescue.

She drove me home, and the girls and I waited for Mike to come home.

This would be a fairly good end to the story, I think. But wait... there's more!!

We had to go check on my car, still parked at Dr. Beck's office. The battery was fine, the car couldn't be jumped, so Mike dropped all the Green girls back off at the house and went to wait for the tow truck.

Wednesday went fine. I didn't have a car, but it was gorgeous out, and I had Tylenol with codeine. I love Tylenol with codeine. :)

Thursday was my root canal day. The car still wasn't ready, so Mike worked from Wheaton and stayed with the girls after dropping me off at the doc at noon.

Root canals aren't necessarily a good time, but really, it's not all that awful either. I was numbed, and the doc put a little prop in the other side of my mouth, so I didn't have to just hold it open the whole time. Dr. B did his thing, sat my chair up and said, "Well, we have a problem." Now I don't want to sound like a defeatist or a complainer here, but my only thought was, Of course we do. He then went on to tell me that the previous guy had used three posts instead of one, which he'd seen before. What he hadn't seen before was the type of cement used. He tried every trick in his book, and he couldn't break through it. So I get to brag about being a first IN HIS CAREER! Root canal fail.

This left us with one real option: surgery in which he slices my gum, lifts up the flap, removes the infected tissue, puts a filling-type-thing on the root, closes it all up and stitched my gum back down. That's happening next Tuesday. Awesome.

I left the office, and remember, I'm car-less, so I called Mike to see if the girls were awake. Nope. Fortunately, there was a Starbucks about a block away, so I went and hung out there for about an hour. Figures that this is the day both girls set records with their napping times. At a little over an hour, I realized, Why am I just sitting here? I'll just start walking home. I called Mike, told him the plan. We were both certain the girls would be up soon, and he could intercept me.

4.2 miles later, I was finished with my post-root canal stroll down lovely Roosevelt, the girls were still sleeping, and my face was still numb.

Oh, and that night, we decided to go to the grand opening of Chik-Fil-A for dinner (because gosh darn it, we deserved it!), where Noelle puked up her entire stomach contents all over me.

The End.

Update: Our toilet broke last night, right before we had company over.

funny girls

It's been a little while since an update. This is how I seem to roll: a burst of blogging, a long silence.

In case you haven't been around, our girls are funny. I think so, at least. Riley regularly cracks me up. Recently, she's been test-driving different names for me. The last three or four days, I've been "Mom" instead of "Mommy," and today, inexplicably, I became "Mama." Every time she subs another name in for Mommy, I can't help but laugh. It's not because these are inappropriate but because she says them with the air of someone who is highly clever and creative. Really, she's quite proud of herself.

She's a little chatterbox now, that one. And she has definite "likes." She likes macaroni and cheese. Any time (and I mean ANY time) I ask her what she would like to eat, she volunteers macaroni and cheese. And she prefers the easy mac Velveeta, in case you're needing specifics. She likes (though it's more like LOVES) Pixar's Cars.

She has been allowed to pick out some fabrics when we hit Jo-Ann's or Hobby Lobby. Guess what she chose.

red flannel Mater and Lightning pants

a little Cars peasant top

...and a Cars pillowcase dress

Then, when we went to Sonny Acres, she actually got to ride in a car! Wow! She told us that this one "looks like Ramone." :)



Here's another one of Riley's habits: lining things up. Not a day goes by when we don't have a line of cars and trains. Sometimes, I move one-- just a little; it doesn't go over well.


Noelle is also a little character. She's saying "Mamamamama" a lot and loves to clap and wave. Oh, and bounce. Bouncing's always a winner. She's taken to screaming (in joy), too. And she has an EXCELLENT indifferent face. See?

She can crack herself up, too, though. But really, no one makes her laugh like Riley does.




Really, we are so blessed. Both girls are such sweethearts. We like 'em. Don't you? :)

Fall Fun

Mike took Riley out for a fun Fall activity in the backyard. Here are the pics, plain and simple. :)

Arts and Crap

Before you're offended by my title, let me explain. Riley loves doing crafts. Her favorites, thus far, are making fingerprint pictures (under the close supervision of Mom, who doesn't need the whole house covered with ink) and play-dough. My favorite is everything because Riley cracks me up. She's a pretty darn good little speaker, but some words are still pretty unclear. When she wants to create, she looks up at me and says sweetly, "Mommy, please make crap?" She asks to do this nearly every day, and I still have to hold my laughter back. Does that make me immature? If it does, I don't care. If you could see her sweet little face, imploring me to make crap, you would laugh, too.

I don't have pictures of our fingerprint creatures, but here are some of our play-dough creations.

This alligator gets a kiss.

It's a good thing he got that loving send-off because, shortly after, he was consumed by our ravenous dog. Rest in peace, alligator.

Speaking of crafts, Riley turned painter during one of her naptimes last week. I won't go into detail (you're welcome), but here's, really, all you need to know.

In case that's not clear enough, let me just say that it's not chocolate, and the whole event was actually grosser than it looks. Think encrusted hands. Ew.

Alright, so there was double meaning to the title of this post. So sue me. :)

Potty Time Fail

There are going to be no surprises in this one. The title gives it to you straight. I decided, once again, to attempt potty training with Riley. Granted, I probably could have prepped a little more, but it was at least a somewhat measured attempt. Yesterday, we went to the library and picked out the Potty Time with Elmo DVD. She already had Elmo underwear, and we already had the Riley-sized potty.

(Sidenote: Elmo was and is entirely her choice. That red furball's voice grates on my nerves. Seriously, Sesame Street, why?!)

Last night, we watched the DVD, and I made sure to intersperse comments about how "awesome" and "neat" it was that Elmo was going on the big kids' potty. I mean, wow!

Today, I asked her if she wanted to wear her big-girl underwear. Initially, she refused, so I dropped it. I've heard, enough times, that it's not worth it to push your kid. A few minutes later, though, she told me she wanted to wear them. On they went.

After playing cars and modeling a little...




... here's where we ended up.

She sat there for OVER AN HOUR, watching VeggieTales, with no urine or excrement to show for it! For heaven's sake, I even let her eat her lunch, sitting on the potty! Sheesh. The kid's a model of self-control (or something?).

So I suppose I'll be waiting a while longer. Like my mom apparently used to say, "How many 21-year-olds do you know who can't do this?"

Bad Blogger (and the Allergy Saga)

Sorry, folks... It's not that we haven't had any news; it's that I haven't been blogging. Slap on the wrist for me.

Let's start with some of our most exciting news...

Two weeks ago, I took Riley in for her follow-up appointment at the allergist. She had gone in a year earlier, when we discovered that she was allergic to eggs. Because of that allergy, she also had to avoid nuts and shellfish. With my gluten-intolerance and her allergies, things were getting a little restrictive in the Green household. Needless to say, I was excited and hopeful for her follow-up, praying that Riley would FINALLY be able to eat "normal people" food.

We went, armed with stuffed animals, toy cars, and my iPhone, loaded with Pixar's Cars. The doctor ended up testing for a variety of nuts, some fish, sesame, and, of course, eggs. As Riley watched Cars, I watched her arms. It seemed, to my untrained eye, that she was NOT reacting. After all, the first go at this, the egg test site had puffed up and reddened almost instantly. Now, I wasn't seeing anything, at any of the sites. When the time was up, the doctor declared Riley ALLERGY-FREE!!!

Elated, I started trying to decide where we were going to go to get Riley a celebration cupcake. As we were driving home, I stopped at Culver's to pick lunch up for her, and when I looked back at her, one of the sites that had been negative was showing a late reaction. I wasn't entirely certain (though I was about 92% sure) that it was the egg site. I quickly called the doc, and she confirmed it. Late reaction to eggs. Gosh darn it! The nurse said she would get back to me with the doctor's updated course of action.

I was absolutely crushed. I can hardly explain how ecstatic I was that Riley could now eat eggs. The late blow was hard to take. I felt like I had gotten kicked in the gut. I put all thoughts of cupcakes out of my head.

Late that night, I finally heard from the nurse. I don't know how to build the suspense here, but I will say that my jaw hit the floor when she told me that Dr. Ozog still gave us the go-ahead to introduce eggs into Riley's diet. Two weeks later, she's reaction-free! See! :)

Daddy's Little Girl

So, I saw a dress like this the other day, and I thought I'd give it a shot. Riley's going to wear it to church tomorrow, so I'll snap a shot of her, sporting her new attire, then. I like the whole idea behind it. It's made from one of Mike's old button-downs. I mean, Riley adores Michael, and now she gets to dress like him (kinda)! How great is that?

8 months!

Noelle is 8-months-old! And cuter by the day.

Megan, you're not alone

This is a re-post from one of my earlier blogs, in honor of Megan. See, you are most definitely not alone. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll just come on out and admit it; my sense of direction is about the same as a 4-year old girl in a school relay race who has just completed the portion of the relay in which she places her head on a bat and spins around about a dozen times. It's really that bad. If you need proof, call my mother. When I was in high school, and I was going someplace new, she would write out directions for me. This, in itself, was no big deal. The embarrassing part is that she would also have to write me directions BACK HOME from the place. I would get so anxious about getting lost that I couldn't think straight enough to backwards navigate. Clearly, my driving career was off to a shaky start.

I'd like to say I'm better now than I was in high school. Really, I think I am. For example, when we just moved, I was able to drive to school WITHOUT directions after only doing it twice before! And, I mean, there were something like six turns involved. Whoa. However, there is this one recurring incident that makes me feel like the same directionless fool I was in high school. It happens roughly once a month, but it's not limited to this number. I'll actually give you a specific story, complete with all the gory and humiliating details:

Over the summer, my friend, Sharon, had left her car at an auto shop, and she needed someone to drop her off, so she could pick it up. She asked when a group of us were together, and I knew I was free that day, so, with a twinge of foreboding, I volunteered. Two days later, I picked Sharon up at her house, and she directed me turn-by-turn to the shop. Really, I paid attention as closely as I could-- trying to memorize the street names, directions we turned and any key landmarks we passed. All this while making conversation.

Probably about 25 stressful minutes later, Sharon hopped out of the car, thanked me and started to jog into the shop. Quickly I asked, "Do you need me to stay?" while silently I willed her to say yes. Apparently, I don't possess The Secret. Thus, I rolled up my window as the shop door closed behind her, took a deep breath and prayed that I would find my way home.

As I drove, my eyes widened to the size of plates, searching frantically for roads that looked familiar. I flipped off my music--too distracting-- and gripped my steering wheel with a death hold. I progressed down the road, knowing that I had to turn right at some point. I passed one road that looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't be sure, and it didn't have a sign. I stayed the course. But as I kept driving, none of the street names were ringing a bell. This, I think, is when the hyperventilating began. I tried to drag in slow, laborious breaths. I tried to calm myself down, prodding myself on, You can always turn around, Green. You can always turn around. No Big DEAL. That didn't help at all. Once I had been going for roughly five minutes into the Arlington Heights wilderness, I did the inevitable: I called my husband. The conversation went roughly the same as all the other conversations that took place between us in times like this.
"Michael!" I sobbed (because, naturally, I was sobbing now-- huge gut-wrenching, eye-blinding, voice-stopping sobs). "I'm lost and I don't know where I am and I'm never going to get home and I just don't know WHERE I AM and I should never have volunteered to drive Sharon IknewsomethinglikethiswasgoingtohappenI'msuchanidiotI'mSOLOST!!"

It went on from there, but you get the picture.

After I ran out of breath, Mike broke in. "Okay, babe, it's okay," he said with irritating calmness. After all, it was very apparent that things were NOT okay, and I was going to die somewhere out in this foreign land. However, he continued, "Just tell me where you are."

"I DON'T KNOW! I'm driving and there aren't any signs...and I'm not coming up to any roads...I don't know where I am!" I gulped out the usual refrain.

Still, in that clear and measured voice, he directed me, "Okay, just keep driving, and let me know the next road you see. I have a map in front of me, and I'll help you get back."

This time I answered with silence. Which, I'm sure a nice brief respite for Michael, until it became too silent, and he asked, "Heather, you okay? Keep talking to me." But I was all out of words. I mumbled something inarticulate but mostly felt my head swimming with anxiety and disappointment. After all, what kind of a person gets lost in the town she's lived in for over 12 years!? Finally, I saw a street sign and mumbled it over the phone. Michael took it from there.
About 25 minutes later, I slung myself up my front steps and collapsed on the couch. Michael called a couple minutes after to see if I was alright. I sighed and softly said, "Yeah." Then, after a brief pause, I whispered, "Thank you."

"No problem, babe. I'm just glad you're okay. I'm glad you called me."

Gosh. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

I love you this much

Okay, Riley and Noelle, this one is for you.

For my readers, I'm going to reveal something of a secret of mine, unless you know me particularly well. I have some OCD tendencies, and these are growing more and more each day. I don't like numbers that end in 0 or 5; therefore, I always set my alarm and the microwave to numbers like 6:23 or 48 seconds. I get the chills from touching the cheap outdoor chalk that Mike bought for Riley (thanks, babe). When walking on a sidewalk, I start to feel slightly off-kilter if I'm stepping on the cracks more often with one foot than the other (thank goodness we don't have sidewalks on our street!). And I think that's just about enough revealing info about me for now.

Well, okay, I'll have to reveal one or two more things, for the clarity of the story. First, I hate hate hate walking on damp floors. Really, it nearly makes me hurl. One of my most recent traumatic memories is accompanying the high school youth group to an indoor water park. I mean, seriously, like it's not bad enough that the whole place is slimey and nasty, but all that gooey grossness is trapped in this moist, tepid area. I have to stop writing about it now. Sick. Second, I abhor the feeling of having dirty feet. After going for a walk on the prairie path or the dog park, I pretty much have to sprint to the bathroom.

(Sidenote: I'm sounding like an absolutely LOONEY in this post. Maybe I'll say that I'm exaggerating for a more effective story...)

If you've been tracking, it's not going to be tough for you to guess that a pool deck is not the ideal place for me to hang out. Now imagine that that pool deck is cozying up to a little sand area with water running through it, so kids can form little rivers and tributaries. For you locals, imagine Northside Park.

Last week, I decided to take the girls out to Northside. Riley loves water (as long as you don't splash her in the face, which is a whole other story), and Noelle seems to be a fan, too. Plus, OCD or no OCD, the sand and water idea is a pretty darn good one for the kiddos. So I got them lubed up with sunscreen, into their swimsuits and into the car.

Riley wanted to go into the sand straight away, so I pulled up a chair and tried not to look too closely at the bubbly, sewage-looking water flowing through the tiny kid-made streams. Soon, Riley wanted to hit the pool, so we made our way there. Now, once I get in the pool, I'm good to go. I can be in water, apparently; I just don't like walking on watered surfaces. I know... what?! Noelle loved it when I "swam" her around between my legs, and Riley stuck close, as she's in a timid phase. After some time splashing around, Riley requested a return to the sand, and I obliged. I pulled up another chair and set Noelle down in my lap. As I laughed with Riley and encouraged her to play with other toddlers, I glanced down and noticed that the water dripping off of Noelle and down my legs was not clear but yellow. The girl had unloaded in her swim diaper, and I was not only sitting just inches from sewage, but I was also now covered with poop juice.

I stifled my gag reflex and waited for as long as I could (which, I think, was at least five mintues. Pat on the back for me...) before telling Riley it was almost time to pack things up.

I'm not even going to go into the whole locker room debacle. I'm looking crazy enough. So I'll just conclude with this:

I love you, little ladies.

A Little Pick-Me-Up

Whenever I start feeling bad about how I look now, post-two-kids, I just take a quick glance at this shot (from our HORRIFIC engagement pic professional photo shoot)...


... and I feel much better.

Here Goes...

After the epic gluten-free, egg-free blondie disaster (see below), I'm back on the horse.


Right now, I have gluten-free, egg-free carrot cake in the oven. I placed a sheet pan beneath the cake pan (this time before the massive, bubbly explosion), just in case. In about 30 minutes, we should have either a wonder, another disaster, or-- let's be honest-- something in between. So really, all our bases are covered.

UPDATE: Apparently, it's impossible to actually bake something that's gluten- and egg-free. After doubling (DOUBLING!!) the cook time, I'm still left with slop. Fail.

Sister Photo Shoot

This is one of the cutest series of pics I've gotten of the girls in a while. I couldn't choose which was the most adorable, so you're getting a bunch. :)

Chalk and a Good Friend

I missed these few photos yesterday, and that really is a doggone shame. The quality isn't the best, but the joy is abundantly clear. Riley truly does love Robbie. She talks about him every day, at least once. Can you blame her? Look how much fun he is!

our girls are cute

It's true. Here's the evidence...

I apologize for Riley's low-cut top. It will be remedied soon. :)

This last picture was taken at the glorious reunion of Riley and Robbie. Look closely at Noelle's lips, and you'll notice that she got in on a little of the chalk action, as well. Speaking of chalk action...

He's a ham, that one. :)

Let me interpret that adoring look in Riley's eyes: Robbie, I missed you so much. I love you.