Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Happy Birthday Chilly!

Three years ago today I held you in my arms for the first time. Three years ago today. Well yesterday, um, okay 1:20 am.

It all started while we were watching "the Natural". (Baseball, seems to be the running theme with me and going into labor) I was having on and off contractions for several days (either I wasn't ready, or you weren't) so I really didn't think anything of it. We put big brother to bed, and realized that this was IT.

So we filled up the big huge garden tub, and I took a soak. The contractions kept on coming, in fact they were getting stronger. I was getting excited, so was big D. He called Chris, she said she would be right over. She came, and checked, and sat, and almost fell asleep. I was totally in my groove, so to say. If birthing can ever be called groovy. WE called grandparents, they came, they sat, and most fell asleep. I sat on my big bed and waited. I breathed through the contractions one by one. Grandma held my hand, and you did backflips in my belly. Everyone watched in amazement, as it really seemed you were going to kick yourself out. You were flipping around so much that it was hard to keep my focus, without laughing.

Chris kept close tabs on your heartrate, and how well I felt. She mentioned that the contracts were feeling pushy, and that I should push with a couple to see what happened. I did, it hurt. Something was wrong, I wasn't ready yet. Chris checked, no you are ready, lets break your water, and that baby will be right out. So she again acquainted me with the orange peeler, and out gushed gallons of amniotic fluid. All over my bed. Surprise, Chris has been a midwife for 30+ years and knows how to contain it. Magical absorbent sheets caught it all.

Get Harry. Big D holds him so he can watch. Try pushing again. Okay. It hurts, something is wrong. Then Chris does the unimaginable, well up to this point it was to me. She crams her hand up there and "adjusts". I guess half my cervix wasn't really paying attention to all the commotion. It was content to just stay it's hard ol' self. So Chris dilated it for me. Sweetheart. That was the most painful part of your birth. She told me to push, I told her to get her freaking hand out of me. She told me to push again, I think I grunted at her, but I did it, and moments later, your head popped out. I reached down and touched my transworldly child. More contractions, I grasped down at you, and found your shoulders and pulled you out. You fell into place on my chest. Sweet birth. I cried, grandma's cried, I think Chris even got a little teary.

You were so fat and plump and sweet and juicy. Nine pounds and 11 ounces. Holy CRAP. And another boy. A little brother for Harry. Two Boys! ACKK, what am I going to do? Then you cried a little, I nursed you, and you were quite the pro. We bathed, grandma dressed you, Chris swaddled you, and you slept. We all slept, we all crawled into bed. Chris said goodnight, and we all fell into a magical warm sleep that lasted for over 6 hours. You haven't slept that long through the night ever since.

So happy Birthday Chilly. You made me a mom again. You make me laugh when you play with water. You make me happy when you sleep. I can't believe you have only been with us 3 years. Your spirited nature, your wise looks. You complete me in lots of ways. So very different from your big brother, and so special. I love you sweetheart.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

In Loving Memory Of

There were a few people that I would love to pay tribute to on this memorial day weekend, but I don't want to bore you with family history. I also don't want to do anything silly. So I am going to write something that has been building on me for years.


So for a minute, since that is all I have, I want to talk about the woman who gave birth to my father.

I didn't grow up with a grandmother. I had a step grandmother who was one of the nicest people in the world. But she also was a step grandma, and when my grandpa died, when I was 12, she sort of blended into the background. My real grandma, my mom's mom, she died a while before I was born, so I never did meet her.

So how can I pay tribute to a grandmother that I never knew? Well my dad was raised by his grandparents, and I of course never me them either. That is one of the things about being the last born. Everybody's dead by the time you get there. But there was this one woman who made an appearance in my life when I was 16 years old. My grandmother Illa.

Now Illa had lived a very colorful life. The stories abound that she was a barmaid, that she liked her alcohol, and that she lived a very fast life. When I met her, she seemed old. Really old, like the old that comes from living too much. She smoked non stop, and she was about 300 pounds. She was a feisty one too, with not much by the way of answers on why, how, and who. Ornery, stinky. And who was left a lone grandchild in the house with her, yes, that would be me. She came to visit us from California. She stayed for a week or so (and never took a shower or bath the entire trip) She sat on the back deck smoking cigarettes, talking to my dad. Who shuttled her here and there and everywhere. Who talked to her, helped her, served her. Why on earth would he do that for someone so mean and abusive. Stories about what she did to my uncle and aunt. Stories of how she lived her life. One cannot comprehend what my dad felt in the presence of someone so...Repulsive.

so how did that taste? Not so good. Honestly I didn't think that was still in me. I though the years had softened my heart, and that she would just be a memory. So why all the anger from me?

She abandoned my dad. She left him. But that isn't all. She gave up his brother for adoption. But that really isn't it. She contacted my dad one day. Out of the blue. He got to know her again. Sent her flowers and Christmas gifts. He talked to her. He found his half brother. Things were looking up. I was going to have a grandma at last. After a lifetime of having no one to call grandma, and suddenly here was one. And she was legit. She birthed my dad. So she came to stay with us. She gave us no answers on who my grandfather was. Or anything. She let us get to know her. She talked to us. She connected us to family history. And then you know what she did? She took it all back and never talked to us again. She silenced her communication forever. She had sent me a baby blanket and asked me to come and visit her for a couple of weeks, but she being a stranger to me, having only met her once, I declined. Well I guess that pissed her off. She sent nothing. She took her love back.

Illa was buried in the summertime. My dad went to her burial, as well as some missionaries who were helping out. Her daughter didn't even put on a clean pair of jeans. That is what this woman got in the end. A memorial which no one knows about, or probably nobody cares about. And it is how she lived her life. With no respect to the world around here. Eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we die. Well tomorrow came for illa, and not one damn person could care.

So I honor you Illa. For you showed me what family is all about. You showed me what true family means. It doesn't matter who birthed you. Or who raised you. You showed me that kindness and living honorably is the best way, and that when you die, if you daughter doesn't even care to clean her clothes, then that is the way you must have lived your life. I don't want to be you. I love my family dearly, deeply and more than anything in this world. I would never dream of giving up any of my children to live more "independantly". I never want to know what it is like to have grandchildren who don't know my name. Or even that I don't know them.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Boys and water, and sand...

While I was down running on the treadmill, the boys escaped. Harry is officially off track right now, so of course they got up before 7 am. So they went outside.

The sprinklers came on this morning. Our sprinklers are possessed and run on eastern standard time, or something like that. Big d just can't figure out why they go off at 6 am when they are programmed for sometime in the earlier hours of the morning.

There is a broken pipe in our sprinklers that causes the sandbox to flood. You know, standing water. A couple of inches or so.

Add all these things together, and you have my boys. Soggy from head to toe with bits of sand sticking too them. *sigh* They are burying dinosaurs, cars, anything they can find. They are being brothers, the best kind, the kind that share, don't fight and let mom get in her 3 miles, some laundry and hopefully a shower.

I love summertime!

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Why in the world did my parents name me meemer?

Well, this is all part of the my life Monday thing-y going on, and since I love trying to be popular, I'm going to participate. So the question is why?

I've said it before, and I have a post on it somewhere. But I'd just like to restate the fact that my parents were not hippies, they lived in the 60's, but they just didn't do "those" kind of things. Well, I'm not really sure on that one. You know, they keep surprising me all the time, so maybe....

I was the third girl of three. I have an older brother, honestly I do, I know, I rarely claim him. He's the oldest. He got the family name. William. Stately huh? The name I passed down to my first born. Then there was my 2 older sisters, who all got very normal sounding, and highly popular names. Then there was me. When it came time to name me, my parents must have been sick of the seventies and were trying to embrace their good old English roots.

My name...Yup... I hated it. I hated it because it was different, and I didn't want to be. I hated it because nobody said it right, and nobody spelled it right. I hated it because old people would pinch my chubby cheeks and tell me it was a BEEE-UUU---TIFUULL name. I hated it so much I didn't want to use it. Ever.

Sad huh? Well, it was years later when I was all growed up, when I finally embraced my name. I dating this dude from college, and he said my name in such a way, made me week in the knees. I don't think I ever admitted to that one before. Finally when the family history bug bit me, and left a big old bite mark, I did some research on it. I actually found the death certificate for the woman I was named after. Same name, first and last. It was kind of eerie. I guess my parents really just liked the name. Maybe they pulled out the pedigree charts, closed their eyes and pointed. I can't really complain anymore. Honestly, I got chilly's name from a headstone at my grandparents cemetery.

So what is in a name? A lot of letters. A piece of nostalgia, and a social security number. No, there is a bit of history. Not from the lady who died about a million years ago, I'm talking about my history. I don't' think I could have ever been who I am now, without that name. If I hadn't hated it SOOO much, I wouldn't have ever picked the name meemer. If I had never had that cool nickname, I never would have been a class officer at my local high school. Which never would have set me on the path for the scholarships, which never would have led to my school choice, or my major choice. In which I never would have met Big D. Therfore never having this so-called stay-at-home cozy lifestyle. Never. So it all comes down to my name. Sort of.

So, if you are reading this mom and dad, thanks for the name. No, really. I love the fact that it is different, and that I always have to spell it for everyone. I love the fact that every once in a while I come across someone living with it. It really is one of my favorite things, and no matter what I threatened when I was 10, I don't think I will ever change it. It is who I am.

...Of course that offer does not apply if I ever become part of the infamous witness relocation program, and have to change my appearance by altering my boobies, gaining 50 pounds, shaving my head, and lasering off the stretched out and moldy tattoo. If that happens, I plan on sticking to the name meemer.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

If you couldn't tell...

We are Harry Potter fans. All four of us. While Big D and I have read all the books, the kids have seen every movie...So far (bad mommy, that last one was pretty terrifying!).

I started reading the books when I was nursing Harry all day, every day, from sun up to sun down, and mostly at night too. It was exhausting, and I didn't get anything else done, except nursing. So I picked up the Harry Potter book for the 2nd time (I just couldn't get into it the first time) and I didn't put it down until I finished it. And then I went after the next and on and on. I read all 4 of them by the time Harry was a couple of weeks old. Almost. I read the 5th one the weekend it came out, a few weeks after Carter was born. We were in Nauvoo for the release of the 6th book, and after a long day at the pageant, Big D drove to Keokuck to the local Walmart, to be there at 12:01 AM. I had most of it read by the time we got back to Utah. I am anxiously awaiting the release of #7 HOPEFULLY sometime next summer.

So, I guess you could say, we are a little..Um..Obsessed. Now after my conspiracy theory post, I know a lot of you would like to tell me about JK Rowling, and how she isn't real, and how the whole thing has been written to brainwash us. Um, I really don't care. I love the world of Harry Potter, even more than I love the world of Star Trek, and that is saying something. I dress up at Halloween, and for any and all releases. I dress up my kid as HP and win free movies. We frequently use the same spells at home (although they don't work as well, imagine 2 boys with cooking chopsticks yelling expeliarmas at each other.) My kids have their own homemade wands, robes, etc. I plan on buying a broom for Chilly for his 3rd birthday like this one . I adore the Harry Potter world. We have bumper stickers, hogwarts ties and a bunch of HP candy that we got for Christmas. (Anybody want some Bertie Botts every flavor beans? "When they say any flavor they mean it..." Dirt, earwax, earthworms. We can't stomach them.) We know all the websites, and all the toys. I've got some Golden snitches in my dresser, just waiting for the day the boys need a new treat. School books, toy puzzles. Pretty much everything.

One would ask why? I have to answer quite simply... Good always wins, the brave are honorable and a hero can be a 16 year old boy. When most of the world says "down with teenagers", these books find their inner qualities. Your choices in life mean more than your abilities. Life may not be easy, in fact, you can end up with the cards stacked against you, but strength of spirit, and sheer determination can get you past all the bumps in the road.

Plus the characters are so much fun.

So if you haven't read the books, or even if you have seen the movies, I suggest picking up the books. It's a quick read, and I promise, you will enjoy the magical world. And if you don't, then you can come back here and call me nuts.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Happy Mother's Day

To all the mother's out there, and to all the women who wish to be a mother. To all the little girls who carry their dolls around. To all the young women who babysit. To the sisters, aunts, cousins, friends who have held a sleeping child. And to all the women who have held on to someone else's.

To the mother who watches the street and yells at the drivers speeding in her neighborhood, to the moms who hold their baby's hands as they cross the street, or take a test. To the women who heal the scrapes and falls, to the mom who mends broken hearts. To the high fevers, and upset tummies. To the nightmares. To the dog bites and dust bunnies. To those who have lost a child, and to those who have found one, covered in mud, or worse. To those who have seen the last breath, to those who have just fallen in love again with the toothless grins.

To the mothers of every nation and world. We all want the same thing, for our babies to grow up, and grow old. No matter our religion, or our nationality, we are all equal by the bonds of motherhood. This is for you moms who don't have a minute to spare, or time to think. Moms who spend every waking moment caring for a child with special needs, or moms who spend every moment praying for two lines.

And lastly, to my own mother, who taught me the value of life, and love. She taught me about faith, God, and respect. She who comforted me when the world told me no, or that I wasn't good enough. She who attended every event, every show, and every dance. My mom, who taught me to go for my dreams. She taught me to know what I want, and not accept anything but the best.

So thanks Mom. You teach me about motherhood everyday, and everyday I am grateful for you. I am grateful for your selfless example, your honesty and integrity. And for your unconditional love.

It's all a conspiracy

I'm a conspiracy theorist.

I don't believe we ever went to the moon. I think Lee Harvey Oswald killed JFK, but only on orders. I think that the Japanese Mafia run the world. I think that the united States went to war merely because of our oil interests. I think that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are doing a publicity stunt.

I mean, why in the world would a celebrity go out only 2 weeks postpartum? Nobody looks good who has had a baby 2 weeks before. And if she is breastfeeding, what is she doing out? The average newborn nurses every two hours! Just a thought. Did Katie look in the mirror before she left?

Of course she did. She is playing the role of new mom, who looks cranky and tired. Ah the moms in the world sigh with relief. If Katie Holmes, who has everything, looks like crap 2 weeks post partum, then we are allowed. Why would anyone in "the business" ever do that to their career? They are supposed to look good at all times (unless it is a paparazzi shot, which is what we all want anyway). There is no way that a mistake can be made when it is a real publicity event. Those photographers know what they are doing. There is no way a photographer who works for tomkat would ever release a photo of Katie's nursing bra hanging out! Well the answer is simple. TomKat wanted it. They only do things that they think will further their career. So she is going out in public to support Tom, in an attempt to further either his or her celebrity status.

Now I could go on and on about his gayness, his sterility, their contract, the scientology birth, and the baby. But I won't. Big D got me going on this subject and I didn't shut up. Now I don't really do the celebrity gossip thing, I usually don't care. But this is just so...transparent. It is really annoying, and I don't think they are doing a good job at hiding their true intent. For goodness sake, if you really did just have a baby, why aren't you staying home with her?

Ah, I feel so much better.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

These hands were made for...

In high school, we had one of those regular substitute teachers. She sub'd all kinds of classes. She was one of those really nice ladies that teenagers took advantage of. To see her in your class meant that nothing would be accomplished due to the loudmouth jocks that never did anything constructive (I'm not bitter..) So this sub was very interesting. She was alsoa fortune teller. She could read palms. Now I'm not a believer in any way of fortune telling, not much anyway, but I found this woman to be quite curious and entertaining.

All the girls would line up, and she would tell you how many kids you were going to have, if you were going to have a long life, lots of tragedy, that sort of thing. The boys would sit back and laugh and makes jokes (rudely) about the girls, and our fascinations with husbands, babies and so forth. I don't remember anything that she predicted about me, but I do remember that she commented on the lack of a lot of lines in my palms. I thought that was a weird comment, but I guess I didn't have a lot of lines telling about babies and junk.

So I am in the bathroom the other day, doing my business, and I looked at my hands. I was looking at my palms, not really paying attention, just gazing I guess. I noticed that my hands were well lined, like almost as if someone had crinkled up a Reynolds wrap all over my skin. I got to thinking about this substitute and what she would think about my wrinkly palms now.

So it looks as if life has caught up to me. My hands have worked pretty hard these last 10 years, birthing babies, feeding them, washing them, and doing all manner of housework, working outside of the home, gardening, traveling, yard work, feeling fevers, rubbing bellies, changing diapers....

I'm wondering, what does it really tell? Do you think that looking at ones palms tells where they are going, or where they have been? Of course, maybe mine were all wrinkly because I had just got out of the shower.

Monday, May 08, 2006

A tribute to Reuben

Do you name your appliances? I usually name my cars. Last night when I was getting ready for bed, I thought of a name for my treadmill- Lois. Lois Lane maybe? I don't' know why, I guess it just sounded fun. I'd like to go take a run on Lois. I don't know, sound catchy?

Well that thought got me thinking about the things that I do name, piano's, 'fridgerators, computers?. Cars. I had a bright orange pinto. I don't' think I named her, but I love the fact that I had a bright orange pinto. It was as old as me. But I don't' think I ever named her. My next car was a white '92 nissan sentra. I named her Marta. Marta kicked butt. She drove fast and was a sweet ride. Marta had a rack and pinion problem that cost me over $400. After that, Marta was just into driving for the money. She was a lady of the night kind of car, if ya get my drift. A two door kind of gal. So we got rid of her. And we got Reuben.

Now most cars are females, granted, because women always work harder than men. Obviously. But as we were in the car dealerships office, buying our 1999 kia, I had the distinct impression that this car was a boy. A pubescent boy with acne. Maybe that is just what the kid that sold it to us looked like. I don't remember specifics, just that he reminded me of the kid on the Simpsons, the dorky teenager boy. And his name was Reuben. Reuben the salesman=Reuben the car. The sweet first car we ever bought new and still have after 7 years car. Ah the memories. Yeah okay, so it is a KIA, it is blue and it is getting a little old. The sweet boy still runs well, and has become our main mode of transportation around town due to the insane gas prices. He has been in an accident, totally not his fault. He has had a few repairs here and there. Tires, wipers, that sort of thing. He works so well in fact it is a wonder. We actually got on offer on Reuben and we weren't even looking to sell. Some person left a note on his windshield for big d to find. How dare they? Reuben is a loyal and hard working family member. He can't just "switch". Yeah, he's loud, and his windshield needs redone, but all in all, Reuben has worked hard these last 7 years. And hopefully for 7 more, and another 7 after that, just to be sure.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Banana rama

I bake on Sunday. I know, a day of rest, but today, baking is restful. So I made cookies for our neighbors to thank them for the ballet tickets (sorry, I haven't blogged that yet, check out big d's, he might have had time) so looking at the ripening bananas on the counter, I figured I ought to make some banana bread. The funny thing about me, is that I see baking as a challenge. I'm not half bad, if I stick to the recipe and pay attention to the time and oven temperature.

So I crack open the Fanny farmer, and take a close look a the banana list. Only to find a recipe for banana cake. Fond memories of serving banana cake to Harry on his 1st birthday...(banana cake would be so much more healthy..yada yada yada)

So I decide that I will attempt to make banana cake. With whole wheat flour. And I've mysteriously run out of white sugar, so I'll just substitute brown sugar. And I'm making a banana custard to put in the middle. Yum, sounds good huh?

Long story short. The boys enjoyed it. I slathered enough whipping cream over the top to please even my pickiest of cake eaters. Visually it wasn't much to behold. It sort of looked like someone got sick all over a nice respectable brownish thing. However it was banana. If I'm going to consume cake, let it be chocolate. Big d thought it was okay... From scratch!! With honest to goodness banana custard ( I had a lot of ripening bananas) from scratch! I think he likes the idea that if we can never afford the finer things in life, like boxed cake mixes, at least I will be able to provide him with sugary pastries. However, I have to admit that bananas aren't my favorite. I mean I like them if I need to eat some kind of fruit. I'm not repulsed by the flavor or texture. I enjoy them, I do. Banana bread is okay, but not for dessert, and that is what I thought I was eating, a big ol slice of slightly dry banana bread with chunky banana pudding on top and in the middle.

I don't really care for banana cake. So in Marie Antoinette's famous words..."let them eat cake". Maybe she just didn't like dry chunky banana cake either.

Friday, May 05, 2006

I know I've said it before, but what is with dinosaurs?

If I get to watch Jurrasic park (1, 2, or 3) one more time, I think I might turn into my own t-rex and dump my mini van over a cliff, eat some stupid scientists, scare the beegeebies out of big d, wreak havoc on my neighbors, go stomping around squishing dogs and cats, and/or, eat my children.

Just a thought.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006


My peas that I planted a couple of weeks ago are peeking above the soil, and the weeds are doing their best to keep up. The chickens are snuggling warmly in the coop, and the boys are engaged in working at the desks, making some more books. Harry has been working on making books all week, and so far he has made 4. His imagination and determination are incredible, as are his phonetically spelled words, my favorite being kowbooy.

So, as the rain is falling, and the windows are closed, the air is quiet. All I hear is the chatter of little voices and the coloring they are doing, or the stapler they are using. The furnace has kicked on again, we are all feeling the comfortable sleepiness of a spring day indoors. What magic and what joy to know that the only thing we need to do, is to stay inside and cuddle. Too bad my boys don't feel the same way. They will adventure out to the back yard, get muddy and wet, lost in some dinosaur adventure, and be back for a warm bath and some serious snuggle time. I hate winter for being cooped up in the house for months on end, but spring is magical. You get to take a breather from the endless movies and indoor activities, but yet, you still have the rainy days when being inside together is all the adventure you need.

So I salute you spring weather, and ask you to keep it up. Lets have those warm days when we can ride bikes, run wild outdoors, walk around the neighborhood. Days when we can loose our white winter pallor to the sun. Those wonderful days when the weather isn't too hot yet to spend the day gardening, or lounging in the sun. Complimented nicely by a rainy day here and there, watering the garden. But be warned spring, your day is almost at an end! Summer is inching around the corner.

Monday, May 01, 2006

I don't have anything exciting or wonderful to say. I just thought I'd show you a picture of my boys on Sunday. It was stake conference, and we are lucky enough to have ours close to the temple. So we did a quick walk through, before we headed to see my nephew's baptism. It was a good day, and my boys seem to be growing up way too fast.

Sorry about the picture quality, Big D took the picture with his phone.