can I get any lazier?

I just sit around all day, nursing and looking at this...

3 different boys

Harry, Chilly, and the babe all about the same age. Can you tell they are brothers??

more of the birth...

check out big-d's blog...
http://e-bigd.blogspot.com/

The birth

I have a sleeping baby at my breast> My heart is very grateful for that. My little boy arrived on Monday evening.

I had a restless night on Sunday. My body ached and my heart ached. My pride was a bit bruised too. All day long, all I could think of was the fact that my due date was here and my baby was not. I had been to church and heard the endless suggestions about starting labor, most of them involving use of a trampoline. Ignoring their wise council was tedious and frustrating. Going to bed that night was a bit sad. I knew my boy wasn't making an appearance, and I was crossing the line of "this is the longest I've ever been pregnant". I woke up a couple of times due to contractions, but nothing big.

amazingly I woke on Monday feeling really well. I still had my stink of a cold, but I had some energy. That should have been my first clue. I made arrangements with my mom for lunch out, seeing it was her birthday. I cleaned the house, did some laundry, all after getting Harry off to school. I even went to the new walmart that just opened!

Chilly and I met my sister, aunt, and birthday mom and walked to a great mexican place for lunch. I started feeling crampy, and my back was achey, but I ignored it. We had a yummy lunch and visited for a while. I started feeling more contractions, but that weren't serious, just annoying. We finally left a little before three pm, so I could go pick up Harry from school. At that point my mom asked me if I was okay. I insisted I was, and it couldn't be IT, because I had zero bloody show and never noticed the loss of a mucus plug. So I got into my mini van headed for home. Chilly fell asleep, so I bent over to change the music and had a huge contraction. I took my breath away, doubled me over. I called big D. I told him not to stay late at work. I didn't say hurry home, just that maybe something might be starting.

I picked up Harry from school, big d got home early. /he started messing with setting up our birthing pool, just because we hadn't practiced yet. We needed an adapter to fill it up, so we went off to walmart, my second trip of the day. I was having mild contractions here and there. Enough that a shopping cart to lean against was helpful. We walked around for a half hour or so, then came home where I started the tub, just to stop my back from hurting. My sister showed up with a couple of her kids and we sat and visited for a few minutes while big d made dinner for the boys. I started feeling queasy, so I mentioned to my sister that she might want to leave. I think I might have used the words barf and go away at the time. I finally got in my tub of hot water and Harry came in and sat by me. He got a watch and timed the contractions and kept me company.


The contractions started picking up in both speed and intensity. At one point they were a minute apart and double peaking! I decided big D should call the midwife and doula. It was about 6 pm. He started to fill the pool. I started to get scared. I got into the pool and took a few contractions. They were hard. They hurt. I didn't want to do this anymore. Midwife showed up, I took a few more contractions. Serious business. The kids kept to themselves and checked on my once or twice. My doula showed up. More hard contractions. 3 minutes apart. I had no idea how dilated I was because I never was checked. Overwhelmed by the sensations, I think I said a few prayers, closed my eyes and just surrendered to it. I chanted open to myself. I talked to my baby.


I got to the point where I needed some support. The pool was too soft, too watery. I got out and got on my bed. Midwife checked me and I was ready to push. But it hurt. He wasn't there yet. I pushed a few times. My water exploded. I felt his head move down. Rest. More pushing and I felt it move down more. I don't remember how long I did push, or how many times. Midwife had her hand in there moving things, I pushed again. Somewhere from something that wasn't me, pushed. I had the strength of something and I used it all. The boys were right there, big d was right there. I felt a head right there. Shoulders, out. ahhh. And then he screamed. The baby just cried. I was so done. Thank goodness!

Big d caught, Harry cut the cord. I held a squirmy, little baby in my arms. I was tired. It was 8:30.

he was 8 pounds, 6 ounces. Measuring 14 inch head, 21 and a bit tall.

So he has fussed, he has pooped, he had nursed. We feel blessed to have him here finally.

please don't call

I will call you. Please let me spend the remainder of this pregnancy un annoyed by endless and repetitive phone calls.

annoying person: how are you doing

Me:I am fine

annoying person: have you seen your midwife yet ?

Me: no, I'm okay, she's okay.

annoying person: any signs? contractions, cervical mucous?

Me: NO, I promise I will call you if anything happens.


My "due" date is in 3 days.

The upside is that I've never felt so popular.

I've also contracted a nasty cold, see so big d, in all his niceness and sweetness decided to take Chilly to work with him today. So I could spend the morning (it is early out day today at harry's school) in bed. But the phone kept ringing...CONSTANTLY. And it isn't like I can throw it at the dog or leave it off of the hook. If Harry's school were to call, and it has happened before, I could be in trouble, you know, like if he were puking or broke his arm or threw a book at his teacher. Whatever.

So my blissful morning of sleeping was intereupted at least 5 times. I've got a gorilla stuck in my chest, my neck is stiff, my nose and head is filled to capacity. And I'm loosing my voice. A morning of sleeping would have been a wonderful thing.

This must be the reason I have yet to spurt forth an infant, who would want all those pictures with a seriously sick momma?

At the end...

Pregnancy is a wonderful time. Filled with glorious moments and joyful experiences. That said..

Am I done yet?

please, don't get the wrong impression here, I am greatful for this experience, especially since I really questioned if I'd ever get to again. But here I am, I have, I've done, and I'm done.

I haven't crossed the line to castor oil, not yet, but you could probably tell that I am evicting my baby.

Today for lunch I had doritos and a coke. Yup. And some cookies. I'm trying to make my womb as inhabitable as possible. I've tried to have "good" nutrition this whole time, I've exercised, drank water and tea's. I've taken my vitamins, my calcium gook, and assorted other magical things to help me feel better. Not anymore. I've started the coke cleans. Mostly because there is no way I'm going to look or feel any better until after I have this baby. lets get the show on the road.

I've turned away any kind of clothing with a stupid brand name. Like baby's nest, in due time, motherhood, baby sling...etc. You get the point. I'm not going to wear that stuff anymore. Mostly because it doesn't even fit me anymore. No, right now I'm hauling out my oversized pajama bottoms and ill fitting t-shirts. Like I said before, there is no use even trying to make myself feel lovely.

I've started loudly telling everyone that this baby could come at any time. They say that the baby can hear you. Can mine? obviously as well as his older brothers.

There is no more space in my stomach for this kid. he stretches, he pulls, he smooshes. I'm sure I've got bruising on my pelvic bone. I've started pushing back. Maybe I should start with a few jumping jacks anytime this kid gets the hiccups.

I know, soon there will be a post from me about "what was I thinking" and how "hard it is to have a baby again" . I know that in a short time, my belly will be jiggly with extra skin, and my boobies will be rock hard. And I still won't be getting any sleep. But the sooner that happens, the sooner I can get back into some kind of routine of bleary eyed mothering. I will be able to wear the super fat clothes i've got stored away. I'll be able to tolerate eating healthy again. I'll be able to have normal conversations about poop and sleep, instead of the condition of my cervix. And hopefully I won't miss the kicks and jumps from my innards too much.

power tools ain't just for men

alright, well, I've always been shy around the big yard things. You know, the lawnmower. But out of desperation to keep my yard looking nice, I learned how to use the thing (and I only broke it once). I've even stolen the cordless drill a time or two for "projects" around the house.

But I think today I stepped over that mark out of girly-ness. I used a snowblower. This is a real man's thing. I had to plug it in, and read a lot of directions. Unplug it, use the choke, figure out what the heck the spinney things did. Then I had to endure fumes and loud noises. But I got my driveway "shoveled" in a lot less time than with the regular shovel. And I did my neighbors house too.

Okay, so I didn't get as much exercise as I would have using the traditional method, but hey, 38 weeks pregnant, and I need a break. Maybe I should have use the regular old shovel, maybe this kid would've got the hint?

There's a time and a season...

Like David's son quoted in the old testament, ecclesiates chapter 3, There is a time and a season for every purpose under heaven. Or you could recall that old hippy ballad. Either way, I guess, the message is the same.

But it is true. Life comes in rounds. Just as we are adjusted to life as it is, it changes, and a new season can start. Most times we are not ready for the change, sometime we can plan it, or schedule it out. But we do know it is inevitable.

Sometimes these changes include things that bring us joy, such as a birth of a new baby, or a wedding, or change in a job. But still included in these things are the stress from one day doing something, and the next day, doing it differently. You don't just get married and have everything the same as before. But that is change. That is a new season.

As I contemplate the impeding arrival, the change of season in my life, that of changing from mom to small kids to mom of a newborn, I am humbled by the fact that I could, at any moment be thrust upon this change. Sure there can be warning signs, but for the most part, it is out of my hands. As if any power I had ever had over my body has been relegated to eating, and getting a nap when Chili is quiet.

But there are other changes that bring many down. There are changes in relationships, between husband and wife, or parent and child, that can at once seem as if you are standing on the edge of the storm. You don't want to go there, but you're old way of life is behind you dead. So you step into that stormy season with hopes that life doesn't change too much, or if it does, it would be a good thing. And most times it is. Like readjusting the straps on a bra. It is needed, and welcomed by the end. Like a sweet relief that you found something more comfortable. More workable, dare I say it, more supportive. The change in relationships is probably the hardest for us to receive.

So here's to change, good or bad. We can't control it, but we can make the best with what we are given.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

My Birth

It's my birthday on Monday. I'll be 37 weeks pregnant and finally legal for my homebirth. If my little babe decides to make an appearance on that day, I am so naming him Elvis. Why? Well, Elvis and I have shared the day since I was born. I think I should take my mom out to dinner.

29 years ago, my poor mom wasn't doing so well. She was big with child. A little background for you. My mom is 5 feet tall (if she jumps) and my dad once told me that seeing my mom pregnant, she looked like a snake that had swallowed a rat. Of course I was the last of the 4 kids. My mom was having blood pressure problems and for some reason, I guess, being pregnant with me was taxing her system to the limit.

The doctor wanted to "start" my mom before Christmas, but being the good mom that she is, she decided to wait a couple of weeks after. Remember, she had 3 other kids and a mom out of commission for Christmas isn't really a good thing. So anyway, on the day January 8, 1978, my mom packed her bags and checked into the hospital.

I know it was a Sunday, because specifically my mom has remembered to tell me about the doctor leaving to go to church. But that comes later. So Sunday morning, my mom checks in. Everything is cool, she gets all hooked up, and they start her on the pitocin. By this time, she had already had 2 natural births, preceded by my big brother who she had a saddle block with and assorted other interventions. She has no desire to do that one again.

I don't think she was really worried about the pit. She is one tough cookie, and determined NOT to have an epidural, or whatever they used 29 years ago. So they start her going. Things are going slow. Right? So this is where the Dr. Leaves to go to church, figuring it would be a few hours. My dad also leaves to get his daily cup o joe. So it is just my mom and her cervix. Apparently the cervix was ready.

Mom suddenly gets the urge to push. Nobody is around. She feels it very strongly and starts pushing the "call" button. The nurse comes in expecting something silly, and my mom tells her it is time. The nurse checks and realizes that it is time. She runs down the hall to catch the doctor before he exits the building.

This is where the details get a little fuzzy for me. Apparently every time a contraction hits my mom, my heart rate took a nose dive. Funny thing about being induced, not every time is the baby in a "good" position to be born. So my mom and her super uterus is pushing my head out and they realize that the cord is wrapped around my neck. That is the only possible explanation for the heart rate drop. So they start to get her going. She needs to push me out as fast as she can.

Sidenote: had this happened not 29 years ago, but today, my mom would have been wheeled into the operating room where she would have been knocked out and they would have performed a cesarean.

So the doctors are upping the pit, my mom is pushing me out fast. In the process my heart stops. I'm stuck in and I imagine the dr's are freaking out. My mom already HAD high blood pressure, so you can imagine what the pit is doing to her. She is not doing well. This is where the doctors are trying to make the choice...Baby or mom. Finally my head makes an appearance, and I am sliding out, purple bodied. Oxygen deprived (don't worry, I've already heard all the jokes). Somehow on my exit from the womb, I grabbed the nearest thing, mom's bladder and took it with me. Somewhat.

So the cord is cut and I am whisked off to the nicu where they resuscitate me. Mom is doing better, but not great. She is in for a few hours of being put back together. But she makes it. She is doomed to be on blood pressure medication for the rest of her life. And it all started with me. Well kind of.

And so my friends, that is why I want to take my mom out to dinner on my birthday. She totally deserves it. Besides raising me and all that, she went through THAT birth just to get me here.

A day of sadness

One of our faithful chickens has passed away. It must be hormones, but I think I cried more than my children. And I was having a crappy day before I found my frozen friend.

Christmas is over....what's next?

That means that there is a big event in our family that is coming up. And no, it isn't my birthday. I mean it is, but that isn't the big even I'm talking about.

The present that big d and I talked about giving to each other this year for christmas could be anywhere from 2 weeks, to 5 weeks away. But there are hints that it may be sooner than we think.

Am I ready? Can I do this again?

I don't know! It seems so foreign to me, yet I have known this was coming. It seems weird that this wiggly thing inside my belly is about to burst forth. Things feel so different this time. Time had both slowed down and sped up. Am I more mature, or just lazy?

And then I look into the eyes of my boys, and I amazed at the wonder that they hold. I am humbled by the fact that they have come into my life. This is the end of my childproducing. Do I really want that to end? In all area's I can honestly say yes! Give me the small child, school child and beyond. let me have my body back and let me learn more about raising my children beyond the age of 10.

And then these little hands paw at my swollen belly and are amazed at the life growing inside. They giggle like girls at the kicks and wiggles they feel. This is amazing. They wonder at the way their new sibling will look, they ask questions about the birth, and how he will grow just like them.

I feel so torn inside. I can't do this again. I love it and hate it at the same time. Just the trying to get pregnant is more than I can handle, and then the 9 months of being miserable. Yet I know, that is only a very short time in what could be another amazing experience. But I don't think I could do it again. Does that make me a bad mom? Or a bad woman? Am I ready to throw in the towel?

I know I don't have to make up my mind right now. I know it could change, just like anything. Our situation could change, and I could never have a child again if I wanted too, or I could be blessed with a surprise a year from now. But the important thing I need to remember is that I've got one more shot to do it right this time. I have another opportunity to have a newborn. For better or worse I've got the responisibililty and the right to have a baby again.

and this time it will be different because I am older. I am wiser. I am not as freaked out. And it will be the same all over again. Newborns are newborns, babies are babies, and toddlers are toddlers.

So here's to more messes, more sleepless nights, more worries, doctor visits. Here's to the endless questions and first words. To the teeth that bite, and the boobies that feed them. To the poopy diapers, spit up rags. To the concerned neighbors who haven't seen me out of the house in months, and to the insta care that has seen me for 2 solid weeks. To the big brothers that will be set aside for a month or two, and for the daddy that will help out. To the food allergies, dog allergies, grass allergies. To the stictches and broken limbs. Here's to the giggles, the coo's. Here's to the hugs and the cuddles and the power to heal anything with a kiss. Here's to the sweet sleep on my breast, and to the hand wrapped around my finger. To the warm breath on my cheek, and the soft spot in my heart. Here's to having a baby. Let it be quickly here, and let that baby be as wonderful as my others have been.

my cousin's new kid!

Alexander Reed

6 lbs 13 oz

20 inches tall

Stinkin' cute

Hooray for another baby born! That puts me at the top of the list (in my family at least!) See there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

whats the craziest thing you do for Christmas?

Mine was the going to the walmart ( I know) on a Saturday. Okay, not just any Saturday, THE Saturday before Christmas. I did escape alive, with only minor bruising, and a few scratch marks. Thank goodness I've got extra "bumper" protection with my extended belly. It might have helped with a few sympathy points as well.

All in all, Christmas is done with. At least the shopping part. Maybe Santa didn't find all the candy she wanted to put in the stocking, or the fun toys for Big D, but you live with it, right? Now it is time to put my swollen ankels up, steak up my black eye, and finish supervising the cleaning of the house!

Merry Christmas

What is in your heart?

It's no secret that I don't much like the Christmas season. I mean, I do love the anticipation, the Christmas morning rush, the buying of the gifts for my kids. I don't like the wondering-what-to-buy-for-other-people buying gifts. I don't like going to the store. I don't like spending of lots of money. I love the Christmas hymns, but I prefer to keep them in the two week window during Christmas. I'm all annoyed with the sending and receiving obligatory Christmas cards. Lighting up the whole neighborhood with twinkle lights. I don't understand why this particular holiday has just blown up, gone way overboard. What did we do?

Why is it that we spend the entire month of December planning for this one day? We spend so much money on making sure that everyone has a gift, and that everything is perfect.

Then you take a moment and pause and think about the nice things that people do for each other. How many people really do donate to the red cross or angel trees? How many good citizens buy toys for needy kids? How many people reach out to their neighbors with plates of cookies or other goodies, standing on a doorstep in cold weather to make sure that your neighbor is okay? How many people surprise somebody with a 50$ bill in a Christmas card with no return address?

We are not a needy family. We very well could be. We don't do the extra stuff in life, and are very conservative with our money. We budget, plan ahead, and save. There are times when just being poor sucks. But we are not "needy". Our kids will have Christmas, and I prefer the small Christmas of only a few toys and some needed socks and underwear.

Then something comes in the mail, and you swallow your pride and accept it with graciousness and humility. Why? Because someday, when I have extra to share, I'm going to do the same thing. Not because somebody is destitute, but because maybe they need a bit of a boost. Maybe they have worked hard all year, and a baby is coming, and they don't have everything that they need just yet. Maybe they are worrying about paying for the insurance deductible, replacing the soggy kitchen floor, or buying meat for the next two weeks. Maybe by somebody taking the time to slip some money in an envelope, makes them feel like they are loved, noticed, or cared about. Just maybe.

So I guess that is the reason everybody gets all mushy and soft on Christmas. Has it happened to you? Have you been the recipient of something uplifting? Or have you been the one to give? Have you had the blessing of knowing that somebody is thinking about you, and really does wish you well for the next year? Or have you been the one who worried about someone, and just wanted to make sure they knew that someone cared?

I guess that is what Christmas is all about, really.

"It's not what lies beneath the tree; but in the hearts of me and thee."

Christmas decorations and a neighborhood gone to pot

It seems to be more than a tradition now days. Decorate the hell out of your house for the holliday season. there is no more stringing up the lights on the roof, no, the entire roof is covered in bright lights. I don't mind the tradition, and even let my poor big d take part. I mean, as soon as it is december, I am all for christmas lights. The power company needs all the support it can get.

But what I don't get are the inflatable christmas decorations. Have you seen them? If not, you don't live by me. No really, I haven't seen so many of the cheesy things until this year. Reingdeer, big ass santas, snowmen, grinches, nativities.... Big D worded it perfectly for me the other day. Lazy. Yup, just pay the money, plug it in, and bing-o. You're festive. No fuss. Maybe a couple of tie down so it doesn't blow away.

And then there are the people who outdo everybody else on the street with everything imaginable decoration. gingerbread houses, santas, penguins, igloos, presents, trees. And everything else that would be found on kids pajamas. (why is it okay to put it in your yard, something that you would refuse to wear?) All lit up. The neighbors draw their blinds not only for the privacy from the onlooking cars, who've stopped to take a glance, but from the blinding light of gabillions of lightbulbs. The poor neighbor with his two deer and a string across his garage might as well just pull the plug. The cars driving by just laugh at his pathetic attempt at decorating.

All in all, it really does make me wonder a few things. I mean, what is it about decorating your yard that makes us happy to celebrate christmas? Is it the fact that you are overcoming the darkness that makes winter so horrible and long? Are we in competion with our neighbors to see who can be more "festive"?

Really, I am quite happy with a string of lights across my stairs and some garland. Oh and a few trees in the corner of my porch. The simplicity of it, reminds me of the season. I mean, aren't we remembering the birth of our Savior? Shouldn't that light be the one that gets us through this cold and dark time of year?

Be careful what you name your kids.

I believe this morning could have started out like any other. Tired parents, grumpy kids getting ready for school. It really didn't though.

My first thought as I rolled over and saw the Big D was missing from bed, and listening, I couldn't hear him in the shower, was that something was wrong. But I rolled back over and cuddled with the stuffy, germ laden three year old. When Big D walked back into the room, we had a sort of conversation that went like this:
"Is everything okay"
"Uh, NO"

My eyes perk open and I look at an uncalm husband.

"What's the matter"
"Oh there's a lake in the kitchen and it's raining in the basement"

Okay. Hmmm. Well it shouldn't be too much of a surprise, I mean, we've had a dishwasher problem, a shower problem, and now this problem. I am actually relieved because now I can stop stressing about the third thing to go wrong. Don't they always come in threes?

Well I started thinking, wondering, why we have had such awefull problems with water. Especially recently. then it dawned on me. Both of Big D and my name "mean" from the sea. Or something to do with water. So water is attracted to us. In some freaky weird sort of way it is true, just let me show you what I mean

1st house: (not too bad for 5 years of living there)
main sewer line problems had to be cleaned out several times while there (shudder, barf, etc)
bathroom flooded and needed fixed, including new flooring and vanity

2nd house: (2 years+ of living there)
main water line wasn't hooked up (idiots!)
main water line leaked (a lot)
craptastic house included non-standard fittings so we couldn't hook up basic things like dishwashers etc.
the bay window leaked a lot during times of precipitation, needed a new roof to fix the dang thing.

3rd house (1 year and a bit)
toilet issues
shower problems, inluding leaking into the ceiling of my family room
stinking non draining sinks, bathtubs and showers
dishwasher woes (we needed to replace just a couple of months ago)
dishwasher water line explodes and floods the kitchen, AND the basement.

So, we kind of started off slow, but there it is! water water everywhere. I'm really grateful though, our names don't mean something like "fire" or "wind" or "earth". I could be prone to burning something down, hurricanes or earthquakes.

That said, just be careful what you name your kids.

Santa wears a brown ups uniform

Ahh the sweet sound of the door bell on a weekday afternoon. As chilly runs to answer the door, he is puzzled, because there is nobody there, just a brown package. We look out to the street and we see him, climbing back into the truck and going on his way. Yes dear chilly, you saw it right. That was Santa Claus. He has so many toys to deliver that he cant do it all on Christmas eve, he takes the entire month of december to do it. Don't worry, those gifts will still be left under the tree for you to find on Christmas morning.

As I was grumpily cleaning up the floor today, Ii had a sudden craving of chocolate. You know the kind. Sweet and smooth, melting in your mouth kind of stuff. Normally I don't crave chocolate. Or even eat much of it. Somehow I really wanted some.

well, I wondered if it were just the hormones that were bugging me. I mean, I know my kids don't mean to be messy with playdough, or they don't mean to forget to flush the toilet for the 1000 time. It must be something else that is making me hunger for the "good" stuff.

When I was little, my mom worked for a chocolate factory. She made the most divine things. And every Christmas and Easter were the same....Lots of chocolates were in the house. The memories are just there, fuzzy, creamy, and full of lots of dark chocolate goodies. The best part was, they were always cold. See, mom hid the chocolates (as well as the presents)from dad in the storage room in the garage. On Christmas morning, or afternoon, whenever the indulgences began, out to the garage she would disappear, only to reappear with delicious chocolates that were cold. Not frozen, but cold. The chocolate has a bit more crunch to it, a little firmer than normal, but the centers were just fine. Cordial cherries, billie mints, chocolate truffles, creams, and other assorted fine delights that I can't remember the names.

Mom came home from work, smelling of chocolate. Warm chocolate. When we would go visit her at work, we could see the big chocolate melting vats, full of either dark or milk chocolate. Ever seen "I love Lucy" when they are packaging the chocolates? That is exactly what the candy factory looked like inside. The women dipped the chocolates in a different room from the melting chocolate and it was always just a little cold. And then there were the boxes of the stuff that was "imperfect", just the right height for a 5 year old, eager girl who loved the chocolate covered toffee.

The front counter had ice cream, not the soft serve stuff, but the good stuff that you need a real strong arm and a hefty scoop for. And popcorn fresh from the popcorn popper. Just like you went to the movies. There was rock candy, and jaw breakers the size of small planets. Everything a kid, or adult could ever want. Sold by the pound, or by the box. There were tables to enjoy your purchases at, all with 3 legged chairs. And the woman behind the counter, whose beehive hair resembled the color of the ice cream, used an ancient cash register. She also used to pinch my chubby cheeks.

It is no wonder that the real Christmas season for me, begins when I open that first box of chocolates. Slightly cold. Those childhood memories crowd over my eyes and in one bite I feel safe and warm, and I smell those smells, taste the sweet air that hovered over this chocolate Mecca. Of course I can never have the same feeling again. I will never again be a five year old girl amazed at production of the goodies. I can't go back in time when the chocolates were hand made and nearer perfection than any other goody in existence. I can remember the smells, remember the love of those boxes mom had bought to share with her family.

this was supposed to be a thanksgiving post....

Oh well, when something this momentous happens at our house, all plans are put on hold. Hooray Harry! Finally you've lost a tooth.... well two actually.

why do you blog?

I blog therefore, because I like it. I like to write stuff down. That it might help me think things through. And behold, I don't really do it for sympathy or attention, but I think in unrighteous judgment, it might come off that way. Behold, the ironies? I don't really like people who are all about themselves, yet my blog seems to be all about me. But it is my blog, and like unto an online, non-private journal.

So thus I ask you, faithful reader, do you blog? And lo, what do you blog about? Do you cry unto heaven for the bitterness you encounter? Or are you thus thankful in your online rants?

Not my finest mom moment

My dear Big D, provider for our extravagant living, has been working a lot of nights. True, it is because of his job. He is in the theatre business...well sort of. Anyway, during the preview performances this week, he wanted us (the family he leaves at home when he is usually working) to come and view the show. Tickets were free.

I had went the previous evening, taking with me a load of silly teenage girls. They were to be spiritually uplifted by the beautiful Christmas message portrayed by this show. It was a nice evening. Even nicer because, I had taken the kids to my mom's house, where they spent the night. So not only did I have a nice kid free evening, I also wasn't woken from my sleep numerous times by a belly pinching Chilly. The kids loved staying with Grandma, and she promises that she enjoyed it too. So maybe in a few weeks, I can drag her into it again.

But last evening, it wasn't so much fun. We had a six year old and a three year old. There is usually an age restriction for these shows, but since it was a preview, we decided what could go wrong taking the kids?

Harry, I must add, is not an issue. He is a perfect theatre attending child. We have taken in to many shows, including Evita done at an outside venue. He was 2 and loved it.

Chilly on the other hand, hasn't been to much theatre. He hasn't been to much of anything except church. Water and food is allowed at church. Noisy children are not looked down upon at church.

You see where I am going with this.

The evening started out with a tired mom (me) trying to wrestle my kids into the van. We were late leaving the house, mostly because the three year old lost his shoes. How do you loose shoes?? I don't know, and I still haven't found them. Anyway, I was a little sharp with them. Maybe a little loud. I mean, this is dad's work! WE need to be on time and looking our best. And in rushing out the door, I forgot certain things that helps to make a very pregnant woman look better. But there was no time to go back. The kids got quickly into the van, and slammed it into gear, and made the trek to the big city, to see the show. Explaining the reason for my frustrations to my two crying children while driving. Chilly passed out with exhaustion by the time we were on the freeway, so Harry and I just listened to music. We hit traffic. Bad traffic. We are so not going to make it on time. Frustrated I call big d and ask him if he'd rather us not show up. But we both are persistent, I mean, how bad can it get?

Eventually we make it to the theater, and by that time I had realized that not only had I forgotten my earrings, I had also forgotten to buckle my three year old into his car seat. Better yet, I had forgotten to actually re-install the car seats from when I had taken them out of the van to transport the teenage girls the previous evening.

Don't flame me for this one. I am probably the worst mother on the planet, and AM FEELING that way as I ask my the six year old why he didn't say anything. "well because mom, you were so mad already".

So my kids both sat un carseated for the journey there. Good thing the van comes with a pre-installed car seat, and big d has an extra in his car.

But I have to continue this tale of woe.

We get to the theater, we find big D. Chilly awakes and is confused. We find our seats. Almost the front row. They are down many stairs in the theater. Chilly needs me to carry him, because he is sleepy, and mean. I am pregnant, hugely pregnant, noticeably pregnant. Chilly asks for a drink before hand. I've got about two minutes before the show starts. Big D is being Mr. Producer and running around. I've got two kids. We trudge up the stairs to the drinking fountain, but the ushers don't let me out. Why, because I don't have my tickets on me to get back in. I send the 6 year old to find his dad. He does, but can't remember what ask him. I trudge back down the stairs to grab some tickets, up the stairs again, still carrying the 35 pound toddler.

To the drinking fountain they go, Harry gets his drink and runs off back to the theater, I suppose, because I didn't see him. Chilly is now mentioning that he has to go potty. Agh! Where is Harry. I pause and look around, when the usher shuffles me to the door. The show is starting, I need to be in my seat. I pray the chilly's mention of the potty is just his fascination with public restrooms (another blog for another day) and that he doesn't really need to go. I trudge back down the stairs, still holding a whiney chilly and make it to my seat, over some cute sister missionaries as the curtain goes up. Harry is sitting next to his dad, thankfully. I can sit and watch the show.

Not so much. A few scenes in, maybe ten minutes or so, chilly starts in that he needs another drink. I can't get up and leave. People are looking at us because...well...because he's three and probably shouldn't be there in the first place. I shush him and tell him "in a minute" hoping that the show will entertain him enough to get him through until intermission. He is amazed by the songs, but during the dialog he managed to utter his disappointment at the fact that I had no drinks on me, very loudly.

I have to say that the first act is probably almost an hour. Chilly starts getting more persistent at needing a drink, and becoming louder with each request. Finally it is too much for him and he starts to cry and say he wants to go home. This pushes me over the edge and I look at big d with a look of, "you did this you bastard, this is all your fault, this is your theatre, your show, you fix this". He takes Chilly for a minute and offers him a bribe of a water bottle at intermission. It worked, for maybe 10 minutes. After which the whines and cries became beyond bearing for me.

I would have walked out, but I didn't know what to do with Harry. I would have walked out, but the sister missionaries were blocking the aisle. I would have walked out, but I really wanted Chilly to see the angels singing to the shepherds. It is torture. I'm sure it didn't last an hour, but it felt as if it were days. Trying to keep a kid quiet isn't an easy task.

The curtain finally comes down, end of the first act, and Chilly is clapping like mad. He knows he is going to get a drink. I've had it. I pick him up and up the stairs we go. Harry needs to use the potty, and Chilly needs a drink. I am beyond that. Harry ends up staying with dad, to enjoy the rest of the show, and chilly gets strapped back into the van and home we go.

So I'm feeling a little guilty about the whole evening. Mostly because I really do know better. I know my kids, and what they can handle. I must start trusting myself and saying "no, I don't think taking a three year old to the theater would be a good idea, or any fun at all"

I guess I needed that wake up call. I hate to admit it publicly, but I really have some very weak moments as a mom. But I guess every mom does. Or at least should. I mean really, who could have predicted I would have had such a terrible time?

Heaven holds my little girl

It probably wasn't a year that we had tried to get pregnant with Harry, but it was close. It felt that way at least. But eventually he came. We were concerned that it would take a while to do it again, but when we had a positive pregnancy test when he was 15 months old, we were elated. We tried for one month and had successfully gotten pregnant!

And I was overjoyed. I was breathless. I was excited, and I was getting sick. The first part of pregnancy is really very weird. I mean, I had just done it not 2 years ago, and I felt so weird doing it again, almost like it was the first time all over again. But I remembered the nausea. I remembered the bloating.

We took pictures of the test. Not only that but I still do have is saved somewhere. My edd was almost the same as it had been with Harry. I was going to have a baby 2 years after the first. You know, that is the optimal spacing...so I've heard.

It was fall. The leaves on our huge tree in our back yard had fallen. I was raking them up. Putting Harry in the leaves and playing with him. I was painting a fence headboard for my brand new king size bed.

And then, suddenly, I felt weird. I went to the bathroom and found blood. A lot of blood. Big d didn't understand. I called my mom, I called my doctor. There was nothing to do but wait. I bled pretty heavy for a week or more, got a blood test to show there was no more pregnancy, and that was it. The book closed. Try again later they told me. This happens a lot they told me. You'll be fine they told me.

And I was. And I wasn't. It hurt when I heard my sister in law was having her second baby, and then my other sister in law told me she was having her second baby. And I still didn't have my second baby. Harry's birthday when he was 2 was hard. I was supposed to have a baby. I missed my baby. I looked for my baby.

Then I found out, or at least my mom told me, that I was pregnant. I didn't believe her. I didn't want to believe her because I was scared of loosing again. But I was. And it sticked. I passed the 8 week mark. Then I began to have dreams about my baby.

I have always been a dreamer. I feel that is the way I learn things from my Heavenly Father. I have seen many things in dreams that have come to pass. I dreamt my first baby was a beautiful baby boy, and he was. I dreamt about my grandfather, and my grandmother who I never knew. And I dreamt about a little girl.

She had on a white dress. She was there with my grandma who had died before I was ever born. My grandmother told me many things that I never knew. I looked at this little girl and knew that she was mine. I knew that she was my daughter. So I thought I was going to be having a baby girl.

As the months passed by, and I finally had my second child, Chilly, very obvious a boy, I reflected back on the vivid dream. It's details never had faded from me. And I remembered this little girl holding a little boys hand, leading him on. A little blonde boy. My second born. I was so focused on the little girl that I almost missed seeing my premortal little boy.

I have since understood that sometimes there needs to be a spirit left behind to help the others come. I don't think this is true for every miscarriage, but for me it really did bring comfort to know that, at least in heaven, my little girl is there holding down the fort, sending forth these little boys.

Maybe it doesn't help a whole lot, maybe it is really just my own imagination, but I don't think so. I have had miscarriages since and before, but I never did have a connection, other than sadness and defeat. This single one has carried me on depressing and hard days.

But even then, I still mourn her. I mourn the chance to raise her here. I will always miss out on the little girl dreams, and the mother daughter relationship. And I've seen her, at least with my spirit eyes, and I know she is real. I mourn the date that she was due. She is the one I didn't get to keep.

Every miscarriage is hard. Every time. If you haven't done it, you won't understand. You may never have been honestly pregnant, but the loss is still there. And it doesn't get easier with time, it just gets less...Intense. You have good days and bad days, but it is always with you. It makes you who you are. Some people gain strength, and some don't. Some people look back on it as a blessing, and some don't. Every person mourns it differently. I have seen some try and get pregnant weeks later, and I've seen some who never get pregnant again. I don't know what is right, and I don't' think there is one thing that is right for everyone.

But my advice for anyone who has done it, is to take the time and cry it out. Ask the questions, mark the date. Live it. It was you, and your experience. Don't let others tell you the statistics and try to make you feel better. Stop them. Tell them it doesn't make you feel better, because no matter if you were 8 weeks or 36 weeks, a baby died. And not any baby, your baby. Don't let them tell you it is going to be okay, because it isn't. At least for a while. It sucks. It's hard. But do take from the miscarriage a lesson learned. That life is precious. Life does go on.

And you are not alone.

Our stories may not be similar. But there are many sisters out there who have done it before. Some so many times, they've lost count. It's a club nobody wants to belong to, but one that I'm grateful for.

walmart...and the death of a sahm

I admit it, I shop at walmart. Merely out of necessity, since target is so far away. Of course, after today, I think walmart will get no more of my money.

It starts out like this... I need groceries. Like most people, I cook at home, therefore, I need the stuff to make meals. Big D is working this evening, so silly me, thought he could go with me today. Just because. Well, after he rushes off to work to some all important meeting, I feed Chilly some lunch, off we go to the almost local walmart (the one by our house won't be finished until later next year). So I have my 3 year old, and my shopping cart. Things are fine. We stopped by the Halloween clearance stuff, and I find a sweet deal on superhero costumes (4.95!) So I put a few in my cart( Halloween next year?) And I get ready to dig in and do the crazy grocery thing. We start. We finish. About 40 minutes. Typical. I have my trusty list, made off the menu at home. Everything is looking good. Until I look for a place to check out.

See walmart likes you to come to the store, but they don't like you to leave the store. Well at least that is the impression that I got. My cart is full, overflowing. I've got frozen broccoli, and ice cream. I find a "short" line to check out. With the invention of the self-checkout (which I have no problem with, just not real practical when you are grocery shopping for 3 weeks worth of food) there are less lanes open with actual checkers. I find one, although I am unconvinced that this girl was an actual checker, much less human. I don't know how anybody can move that slow. And I've bought groceries in New York. Even the 90 year old man who checked out my groceries last time could have spun circles around this person.

But that is my problem right? There were 3 available checkers. It is only Wednesday afternoon, November 1st, at 1:00pm. I know it isn't a real "rush" time, but there were quite a few people in the store. Mostly moms with small kids. Like mine or smaller. Because the bigger ones were at school....See where I am going with this.

Anyway, I should have changed lanes. I should have packed up my soggy ice cream and my e-coli chicken fryer and went to lane 21. That checker looked like she knew what she was doing. But I was boxed in. There were people behind, and people in front. It was an ally of hell. Screaming babies, tired 2 year olds and a rambunctious 3 year old who was trying to help everyone. I think there should be a separate line for moms with grumpy children, but I digress...

So instead of moving, I politely think, oh this isn't so bad. Maybe this woman is having a hard time. Maybe the scanner is broken. Maybe she has vericose veins in her crotch that hurt when she stands for more than 20 minutes...Oh wait, that is me. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. Until about 30 minutes into waiting. I'm tired, chilly is tired. So I start in on the mean grumpy face. So does Chilly. He wants me to buy him air fresheners and wiggly pens.

40 minutes into the wait and I finally have room on the conveyer belt to start loading up my drippy ice cream and my spoiled hamburger. There is a woman that comes around and tell the people behind me that there is another register with a real human two lanes over that is now open. What to do? Do I throw stuff back into my cart and switch lanes??? NO. I. Am. An. Idiot. I stay and wait.

The mom in front of me has 5 or more WIC tickets to be rung up. I swear this checker doesn't speak English. Maybe Martian or jupitarian or something similar. As slowly as she can, and I assume, without a pulse, she gets those rung up.

50 minutes into my wait time, I have almost everything squished onto the belt, when it is finally my turn. Wahoo! I made it! I am keeping a close tab on the time because I have to pick up Harry from school at 3:30. I've got 20 minutes. Surely it won't take her THAT long to ring up all my purchases.

Sometimes in life, we refuse to see what a bad situation we are in. I find it comforting in a way, that I can still judge a person innocent, when obviously they are sent from satan just to work at walmart.

So 60 minutes in, and I am huffing the bags back into my cart, as she lazily fills them up. She oops as she drops my apples that I picked out. She gives me a dirty looks when the ice cream starts to run down her hand.

70 minutes in and she almost has everything rung up. I'm dying. I've got to go. Can you hurry please?? But isn't it obvious that I am in a rush, since I keep saying "we've got to hurry to pick up your brother from school". Wouldn't that be a clue to a normal person? I get my credit card out, ready to slam it through the slot thing as the potatoes cross the scanner. She totals, I've got the card out, I mention she needs to hit the credit button. She hits it and then says she needs to see my id.

Now why is it that last month, the old dude didn't need to see id, and it was a grocery bill much larger than this, but this time, when I am in a hurry to save my 6 year old from certain humiliation, they have to check and make sure it is really me. So I sling out my id. Do normal people really check the signature? Well this girl did, and she double checked it on the back of my credit card, which plainly reads "see ID".

As this point, I am already late for school, and I still have to load the groceries into the back of the van, and race the 10 minutes back to the school. I am imagining tears from Harry as he will be convinced that I have forgotten him.

"have a nice day" the human imposter tells me as I grab my receipt (hoping to give her a paper cut) and start the jog to my van. In which Chily tells me he needs to pee. Something falls to it's doom from the cart, as we are running in the parking lot. Dryer sheets and capri suns scatter in the middle of the road. I throw them back in, and load the car, careful not to squish buns. Record time in loading the van, record time in escaping the parking lot. I tell chily to drink the rest of his water and then he can pee in the bottle, but for some reason, he doesn't like that suggestion. I wait to get out of the parking lot because EVERYBODY is driving on the road to go pick up their elementary school kid. I finally just pull out and cause the rest of the world to stop and let me in...

I'VE GOT TO PICK UP MY KID!!! I yell at the other drivers. Which I am sure they understand. I'm a frazzled mom on the edge, don't push me.

I pull into a parking space and grab soggy chilly out of the back seat. We run across the street and find Harry, just fine, waiting for me to pick him up. The only tears are from me and my enormous amount of frustration.

So it all worked out in the end. I raced home and put the liquid ice cream in the freezer along with the assorted meat. I am just hoping that we all don't get sick off it. The food is all packed away in it's various places, and I am promising you, Walmart will not get me to step a foot in that store ever again. For at least 3 weeks until I go shopping for food again.

I just seem to not do anything right

Maybe I am an extreme case, I don't know. Have you ever felt that no matter what you do, you just can't win.

I guess I am a very passionate person. I get excited about things, I get depressed about things. I guess there is no middle ground with me. I go through spurts where my family annoys me, or big d's family drive me crazy. But I honestly do care about them.

That is what makes it hard when I offend someone. If I am excited about something, I like to share. Sure, maybe it isn't my business to share others good fortune, but when so little happens to me, I guess I just want a small piece of it. And if I don't share, but am more concerned, then, well, then there are other issues.

So where does this leave me? Besides being an outsider? Obviously I set my standards for other peoples' behavior way to high. Am I too selfish, too demanding?

It is like the day you realize that your parents are human. That they do make mistakes, and that some mistakes were probably made while they were raising you. Sure your children are not perfect, because they don't know any better, but how can adults, who know right and wrong, how can they be so stubborn as to not change their behavior?

It seems life's little ups and downs have been trudging right over me. As soon as I scrape myself out of one pit, I am thrust back down into the next. Maybe I should just get a shovel and tunnel my way though life. Blocking my view of anything good, just slinging mud and dirt with every inch forward.

Saturdays. One of the ironies of life-

Not only did big d have to get up and go to work this morning, for some reason, every saturday, the boys seem to wake up, unassisted and have the need to play. Now don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with them playing, or even the loud yelling of "wake up". I just don't get it. Every other day of the week, when school is in session, I end up scrambling to get my 1st grader out of bed. I use all the tactics my mom did. Some mornings he budges, others he yells. It's a battle of wills I guess, and I know it is my punishment for what I did to my own mother.

But saturdays, well, the boys can be up and early to school, if school was in session, fully dressed and well fed on candy snitched out of the cupboard. So I asked Harry why.

"because we know we can play on saturday"

It isn't early morning cartoons, or the fact that we get to go to our ward's trunk or treat later, it is just simple play time that rouses them before my neighbors roosters.

why is it??

that the first born can get a sick that makes him sleep all day. And the second born will get the same thing, and yet be awake and ready for entertainment? And I believe it is only because I had about 2 hours of sleep last night, and could really, really use a nap.

The end of the line

I was the end of the line for my parents. When my mom birthed me, she almost gave her life. The doctor stopped short of asking my father who he was supposed to save, the baby or his wife. I'm a miracle. A blessing to be here.

My brother is the oldest, then my two sisters, and then me. Each with about 4 years between us. I, of course, was supposed to be the second boy, not the third girl. My parents never threw that in my face, but it was every day inferred. Not because they didn't love me, but because I think, they were done with raising girls. (Interestingly enough, girls have now become the treasured grandchildren at my mom's house. Mostly because they are outnumbered by boys 5-1.)

Also in my family, I have been the only one to really "have religion". My dad is an self-proclaimed atheist, although my mom does now hold down a calling, she had been inactive for most of my life. My oldest sister was sealed to her husband a year after they were married, but they have become lax and sway with the worldly winds. Both my brother and my sister are free spirits, with no thought to rules or guidelines. Morality on my siblings part, was pretty sketchy growing up.

I am not saying that I was a perfect child. I was close, but surely not as perfect as it seemed. I had my own rites of passage, and I have my own tattoo. But considering the amount of positive example given in my life, I think I turned out better than could be hoped for.

So is it any wonder that I go through my own moments of self-doubt. Moments lacking of testimony, or of determination. Some days staying in bed would be ideal. I make too many mistakes. I don't have the courage, the drive, to fight the fight.

I have been trying my entire life to please my parents. There was always something there that I didn't understand, something that I could never overcome. I didn't know what it was, until that moment I found out that I was carrying my third boy. All the dissapointment, all the frustration, anger, it all came out. And the only thought I had, was that my parents felt this same way when I was born.

This pregnancy has been the end of the line for me. There is no way I want to ever do this again. With all the work that went into getting pregnant, and all the prayers, the sacrifices that we went through, it doesn't change the fact that I have been sick, daily puking. That my back hasn't ever been the same, that veins that are supposed to stay inside the skin, have made themselves public. I am constantly tired, worn out. Achy. But that is all small potatoes. The biggest problem; I am depressed. It has been a journey of self discovery, and a light bulb moment.

With Harry, I had post-partum depression. I had thoughts about hurting myself, and my baby. I let the ugly girl from the back row in my subconscious rule out the other nice girls on the front row. She was mean, and scary, a dictator, and I was a different person. When I couldn't get pregnant, the ugly girl started in on me again, so when finaly, the positive test came up, I thought she was beaten down for good. But guess what, she has always been there, she just was quietly waiting her time out, and with recent events in my life, she is back with a vengeance.

Physically, emotionally, mentally I cannot do this again. I can't fight within myself. So dear third boy, you are the end of the line, and I hope that I don't make you feel inferior, or lacking. I hope I can give you enough of whatever is left in me, that makes you know that you are still wanted.

So another example of how kids can be different.

Child #1- eats fruits and vegetables sparingling. Heck, he eats everything sparingly. He's a lightweight. He eats like a bird. He doesn't drink milk. that sort of thing. I pack his lunch for school because I know what he'll eat, and it isn't school lunch. Picky.

Child #2- He's a monster. He eats all day. constantly. And the words I hear out of his mouth most often "can I have some chocolate milk please?" Yeah, thanks granma for hooking him up with that one. He's addicted. The kid has about 5 more pounds to go until he catches up with his brother who is three years older. seriously. But he loves his apples, two or three a day. I suspect it balances out the milk addiction. He eats sweets like his brother, but is just as content to eat fruit or vegetables. Give him some broccolli and he'll be just as happy as if you gave him a sucker (well almost, he isn't dense). But there is always something traveling to his mouth. I guess that is why he used to eat dirt and sand.

meet baby number 3

we did it. We decided to peek. After two surprises at birth, we decided to look to see what gender we are going to be blessed with.


This one looks like the baby already has a preference for thumbs.


Here we are with a look at the general cozy-ness of the womb. Good thing the kid is flexible. future gymnist?


And here is the between the legs shot, and as you can clearly see, this one has external plumbing! clear as day...well, clear as static tv.

And the freebe that they did for us. 3d ultrasound (or is it 4d?) is really cool. You can totally see the babe sucking his thumb!



much to the delight of our family, here is boy number three, arriving sometime this winter.

It really doesn't matter if you win or loose...

as long as you get further than Boston.

Still, it would have been nice to see the Yanks get past the first round. HOWEVER, I firmly believe that baseball has been fixed. I mean...Detroit? I'm telling you, next year the favorite will be the Royals with the best record in baseball.

And it kinda sucks too, because we don't have cable or a baby named espn. So we have to get our baseball from regular TV. *gasp* So the question is, how can the baseball playoffs be like the last thing you can find without having to first endure football, nascar and golf?

"you know, you have to be good for Santa to bring you presents" I tell Harry as we are walking around walmart, looking at the various gruesome halloween gore.

"yeah, when you are good Santa will bring you toys!!" He tells his brother with excitement

"And what if you are bad?" I ask.

"He brings you clothes"

Do you want to have a discussion?

We live in perilous times, that is for certain. Whether or not you agree with me on my religious front, or not, you must agree that our world is vastly changed morally from what it was 20-30 years ago. You must also agree that something big is coming.

Now with all due respect to my last post, this isn't personal. Knowledge can be dangerous. Knowledge can be frightening. But how many of us want to turn a blind eye to what is really going on? How can we protect our families?

Our Prophet encourages us to have at least a year supply of food. I agree, and in fact, I plan on working on mine more earnestly. We have been taught to become more self-reliant, to garden, to can, to learn to sew. Baking bread, using our food storage. Do learning these things make us a super mom? I disagree, these are things that are going to keep our children fed during a time when food may be scarce. And I don't' think a major tsunami is going to wipe out our food supply. But how could food in the most powerful country ever become scarce?

Consider this...War with Iraq. As everyone knows, but not everyone agrees, we went to war on a lie. Our great nation is in the middle east for some other reason rather than terrorists. Do you have any idea what this would be? Money or ...Oil maybe?

Consider this...Oil reserves in this country peaked in the 1970's. Does anybody remember those history lessons about the long lines and gas hoarding? What happens when oil production peaks? Well, it goes down hill. Isn't it strange that we don't drill in our own country anymore? Isn't it strange that we rely heavily on imported oil?

Consider this...Our government put us at war with an oil rich country on purpose, our goal is not democracy, but domination.

Are you scared yet?

This my friends is that red pill. That moment of discovery. And it doesn't end with the thought of conspiracy theories that make you go hmm. For a while now, I have been on a path that makes me question our own government in it's official explanation of the 9/11 attacks. I've already swallowed that red pill, and I know many people have. It is out there, easy for anyone to find.

But I feel I've only scratched the surface. this is the real catch.

How many of us gritted our teeth when gas shot up to over $3.00 a gallon? But how many of us demanded an explanation from our federal government? Did the recent price jump set us off talking about hybrid cars and alternative fuels?

Consider this...Not only are we completely dependent on oil for transportation, we are dependent on oil for production. From processed foods, to plastic, to electronics, to electricity. Fossil fuels provide our entire spectrum of energy. No matter if you heat your home with natural gas, or electricity. Our fossil fuels are peaked or will peak soon. We are on the very edge of a global disaster. And being the most powerful country in the world, we have a reason to fear the most.

Our economy will crumble. Not only will we be unable to get food to our table, we will be unable to grow food without the pesticides and fertilizers derived from our petroleum products. Our farm equipment will fail. Our factories will close. The industrial age will be over, and back to the dark ages we go. And that isn't even the worst case scenario.

So, you don't believe me. Surely our government would tell us about this. If there is anything I encourage more, it is to find out for yourself. With any question, with any problem, there are resources out there. And it is a whole lot easier than doing that report in 6th grade. Just do some looking on line.

http://www.fromthewilderness.com/free/ww3/022806_world_stories.shtml
http://www.peakoilplanning.net/

So what do you think?

Isn't it funny

How quickly life can change? How in just a single minute, your future will never be the same as the one you planned or thought out? In one short second, you can hold the world, and in the next, it is gone, like a misty dream as you are waking out of sleep. One minute you are on solid ground, and the next, you are on a high wire balancing your family on your head.

And like pandora's box, it can't ever be shut again. You can never go back to that dream once you've woken up. It is like the red and blue pills in that one movie, you know, where he wakes up and finds himself in a different reality, only this one is the "real" one.

There are days when I wish I could go back to my dream world. Days where being a mom is too hard. And then there are days where it feels like being a mom is a dream, and I know that the real world is harsh and cold, and I don't really want to be there.

But these moments of discovery are immanent. These moments happen. You can't control them, they just are. And I guess the bigger question is "what next?". How do you take this new information, this new perspective, and create a new future for yourself?

Fall

It breaks my heart

As a mom, the hardest thing to bear, is when your kid has something bugging him, and feels they can't tell you. Like Harry going to school today. There was something wrong, but he wouldn't tell me. And when we finally got to school, he decided right then and there, that no force on earth could make him go to class. I begged and pleaded with him to tell me what was wrong, I took him into his class. He finally let me go, but I am now a mess here at home. What is wrong? What is bothering him so much that he doesn't want to go to school today?

I hate this. You know it really doesn't get easier the older they get. It just changes.

Another post about my kid

Since I have refused to potty train Chilly, thanks to the advice given here, and the fact that I AM lazy, tired, and sick of cleaning poo; Chilly has thus decided to train himself. My only demand is that he not wear pants if he pees in his underwear.

See that is how kids work. When I was all hot on getting him to, he had no desire, when I decided it was better off to not do it at all, he starts.

But I am happy, because he is starting to get it. Not just the potty training stuff, but the fact that he is growing up.

Maybe I should start demanding that they not pick up the toys, not eat their dinner, or take a bath.

She made it seem easy

She never once complained about getting up early. Or getting her children out of bed. There was always a warm breakfast waiting. Lunches were always made, or the lunch money was tucked neatly beside the plate. The laundry was always folded and put away. And she made the beds. Garbage out on the curb by 6 am. All this at home, and then she went off to work. She was prepared, she was scheduled. The house ran smoothly. Dinner was always at 6, and she always remembered to put out the meat to thaw. Even when she didn't want to cook, there was always something nutritious. The family sat around the table for dinner. Kitchen dishes were always washed, floors were always vacuumed. She went to the grocery store every other week, and that was it. The kids had nap times, bed times, which were ruled with an iron fist. She dropped off and picked up, and never, ever forgot picture money. Doctor visits, county health department for shots. She went to church on Sunday, she taught lessons, and organized relief society socials. She did her visiting teaching every month by the 15th. She quilted. Cross-stitched. She canned peaches and made jam. She sewed Sunday dresses, and had birthday parties.

She made it look so easy.

Was she the typical super mom? She must have had a time turner to get all that done in a single day. She didn't have a nanny, and her children really didn't help out that much. How did she do it. I don't' know, I don't think there was an option of NOT doing it. She just did it. Every day.

She made it seem so easy.

And now that I am all grown up, I struggle every day. The laundry is a burden, the lunch making is a chore. The dishes pile up, and my mopboards are disgusting. The dusting doesn't get done, and I always forget the meat.

I feel like a failure, I don't' even go beyond my own home for employment, and yet, I cannot keep up with my domestic duties. How did she do it?

I have a dishwasher. A super capacity washing machine. I have cool little gadgets that can mop and sweep at the same time. I've got disposable toilet cleaners. Prepackaged food. I've got a husband who helps, and half as many children.

Of course, in the 14 years that I remember, I never did see her smile. So maybe accomplishing all these feats didn't really make her happy. Maybe she fell into bed every night as exhausted as I am. Maybe she had sleepless nights with sick children. Maybe she did have heartburn and indigestion. Maybe she resented her husband for just doing his one job, and not having to worry about keeping the family together. Was it any wonder that she would just leave? She'd take the car for a ride by herself. She must have hated the ironing, or the dishes. She had to have relished in summer vacation. She must have gotten burned out. Bored with doing the everyday menial tasks. Did she regret having her children? Did she yearn for a life without the drudgery?

But I never heard her complain.

Is my generation a bunch of spoiled brats?

Fall has arrived at our house

Chilly and Harry have the first cold of the season. Blech! So now my moral dilemma... To drug or not to drug.

I generally apply to the whole "healthy" thing. I know a cold is just a virus that will play out in 5-7 days. A runny nose or stuffy nose is just an annoyance really, and good handwashing and keeping the kids out of the drafty backyard, canning more peaches to rehumidify the house, and plenty of liquids, probably will do as much good as any medicine will.

But I am also lazy. And sometimes it is just easier to give them a shot of over-the-counter-knock-em-out-cold-medicine. They sleep. I sleep. The house stays clean.


All is well with the world.

Rules to remember while on a field trip with 1st graders

I'm not a grumpy mom, honest. I tend to think of myself as a fun mom, who likes to try and catch bugs, who spends time outdoors, who takes her kids for "hikes". I just wanted to say that, so the following post doesn't...Well...Seem like it is all about me. 'Cause it really is not.

Harry's first grade class had it's field trip to the Ogden nature center. Do you know this place? Probably not if you aren't from around here. I visited this place when I was in elementary school, and it was really cool. They showed us animals, they had us do fun craft like things, and they took us out and around the grounds to see what we could see. Granted, that was something like 20 years ago, but still, I have fond memories of the place.

I didn't think I'd be able to volunteer. I mean, Chilly isn't allowed (no preschoolers should have been the first sign), so I'd have to find a babysitter for who-knows-how-long during a school day. So I put down that I WOULDN'T"T be able to attend, and sent back Harry's signed permission slip. This was about 2 weeks ago.

Fast forward to yesterday. I picked up Harry from school, and he asked me if I was going on the trip. I told him "no, I have to stay home with Chilly", he asked "well then daddy will be there!" I told him that daddy has to work, like most people, on Thursday, and that he wouldn't be able to go. And then Harry burst into tears. He mumbled something about having to stay home then. What?

So the first item on my list is...
1. Don't tell 1st graders that they have to stay with their parents during the field trip. This can easily be construed as "if you parent comes, then you can too", thus upsetting the child who's parents are not actually going.

So after trying to calm down Harry, I made a call. To my mom. She stays home, usually, and maybe she could watch the three year old, while I went to the nature center. Called, done, cool!

So off we go, the next day to school. I've got a lunch packed for both of us, seeing that I wasn't going to pay for a field trip school lunch. I remember them. I still have nightmares. Anyway, back to the story. We are at Harry's classroom, when I realize that for 25 kids, there are about 7 or 8 mom volunteers. I thought that was pretty good odds. Only one had tried to buck the system and had brought her 18 month old terror...er, I mean kid. And then I notice that I am the only parent with 5 kids to my name (that I am responsible for) while the other parents have like 2-3. What?

2. Don't let the pregnant, hormonal woman, be in charge of more than 2 kids unless they are angels.

These kids were not. I could tell. They were the kind of boys that I don't let my boy play with. Not because they teach him bad words, but because they know how to build dynamite. You know this kid. You might have one. If you do, I'm sorry. But I suck it up. I'll be okay.

So off we head to the bus. Man, it has been a long time I have ridden a school bus. I figured about the time I want to go into actual labor, I find a class going on a field trip and bounce along with. Seriously. I don't get car sick, but for some reason, I got bus sick.

3. Don't heat the bus to 110 degrees when you have 75 first graders aboard. They don't' like it, and neither do the moms.

We arrive to the nature center about the time my bladder, and the rest of my organs had finally settled somewhere in my furthest of nethers. And then we walked. It was a cool little path with interesting bird houses. Fun, some were really cool. And we arrive at a really neat building where the kids were ushered onto a rug and told to sit still while they talked to them for about 45 minutes.

4. When you have 75-80 first graders crammed into a classroom with interesting things, don't talk to them about seeds. They don't care. They want to see animals, they want to walk around and look at the snake and the tarantula. They will not sit still for your entire presentation, especially when you toss around words like "field ecology" explaining the specific definition of the words, broken into Latin.

After that we learn about prey and predators, and although my Harry (yes, I am bragging here) knows these terms well having independently studied dinosaurs for years now, understood the terminology, and the skull specifics for each. Most of the kids couldn't hear, didn't care.

5. Bones are cool and all, but let the kids touch them. Or find ones that they can. And when explaining something way over their head, like ocular chambers, don't stay silent until and answer comes up, otherwise we will be there all day, listening to really odd responses.

And then it was off to the wide open field, where they played predator and prey by camouflaging themselves and hiding. Which takes me right into..

6. Letting first graders run and hide could prove disasterous. You know, they might not want to be found later.

And then we go to a kid size mouse hole. Or a tunnel that someone dug. And the kids got to crawl through. Did I mention it was dug in loose dirt? Did I mention it was kid size? Most of the kids came out looking like they had belly slid down a hill of dusty dirt. The kids loved it, basically because they got dirtier than most mothers would allow.

And then off to the classroom where they got 4 minutes to see the snake, and the turtle, and the tarantula. And then off to catch bugs.

Another open field. A bunch of nets. hmmm

7. When working with children and nets, just think of anything else they can use them for, and they will., especially if it involves something like building dynamite. Okay not really. Most of the kids just got a good bonk on the head.

So the catch of the day, a squished grasshopper. Wow. And off trudging back to get our backpacks and off to lunch.

Remember the frustration of the morning trying to make sure that everyone got a lunch. Well apparently we missed one, and one little girl didn't have a lunch. At all. I saw that she wasn't eating, and I caught the teachers eye. We sort of made a lunch for this little girl out of my meager pb&j, and the diabetic teachers lunchable.

8. Don't take the child's word when they tell you they each have a lunch, check each backpack for proof that they have something to eat while away from a food source during a meal time.

After our lunch, the teachers had plenty of time. I guess. The kids were running wild, and the teachers were looking back and forth at each other, wondering what was next. How about a walk? So the kids line up, and off we go. We trudge through brush and weeds, they almost got knocked over by a rabid deer. We hiked through thistles and briars, over gigantic grasshoppers, and rickety bridges. It was about a mile. Honest. And at the end of our one way trip was...ta da...A tower of stairs so they could look over the field. The kids loved it. The teacher were a little concerned about liability of someone being pushed off. Oh and then...

9. When with children, prudence tells us to have restrooms accessible at least ever hour or so.

Just imagine about 75 1st graders all holding themselves walking the mile back over rickety bridges and grasshoppers the size of my neighbors dog. A few of the boys excused themselves while they disappeared into the brushes. But I was concerned, having seen the rabid deer out for blood. So the mile hike back to the place that had a bathroom, and bathroom breaks for all 75 kids, took about 10.5 hours. Well, it honestly felt that way. Especially since...

10. Make sure the field trip location doesn't plan on watering the weeds during a time that you will be needing the area as a rest stop.

Now I do want you to remember that the distance these kids had all walked from destination to destination was easily 3 miles! They were tired. As we finally said goodbye and trudged past the bird houses, back to the bus, the kids were exhausted. And we all know how happy exhausted kids are. Back on the bus, and back with our internal organs bruising themselves on our pubic and rib bones. Back to school we go. We made it back, only to find the classroom locked, and the teacher tardy.

So see, I have a reason to be tired. A reason to be grumpy. It isn't that I am not a fun mom, but C'mon, a field trip like this could easily wear out the toughest of moms.

Of course the best part of the day was when Harry, getting ready for bed, told his daddy about all the cool stuff he had learned that day, and about how much fun he had. And he gave me an extra big hug telling me thanks for coming with him.

11. Children might get board, tired, and sick of the field trip, but ultimately, they really do learn. And it really is worth it.

How is it?

How is it that two people can come together from basically the same geographical area, be raised by basically the same set of morals and values, and still have completely different families.

And not just mildly different. Off the charts.

Now if you are me, and are from my family, the things that big d's family does, it is like you landed on an alien planet. So completely foreign to me. Does it mean that I don't like them? NO, it just means that I am lost in confusion and frustration. This frustration that I occasionally feel with big D when we have our own misunderstandings. However, it is different when it is a whole family, against, say, 1 person.

Now if you are big D, and are from his family (who I think are all nutters) and are involved with one of my families "issues", you seem to handle any and all problems with the ease of a politician. Or perhaps, say, a mute. How he does this, I cannot say, but he does. And it is only on the car ride home from said problematic issues that I can even get a simple "Ugh" out of him.

There are just differences in they way we communicate (less ketchup throwing with the inlaws) to the way we share our problems (way more sly at the alien planet). And then there is us, the newly formed family of 9 years, who have both shed our previous families skin and are making a go of our own.

And that is the problem, we can't side with either, which makes me terribly moody at family functions, and dh, again, a mute. So when something comes up that is BIG, like life changing, in our families, at the same time, and we are both in the throws of it, do we revert back to our roots, or do we climb out of that trench and come to even ground, which we have built up for our own family? I ,personally, tend to revert back to the tossing of objects, which, dh objects too. And he, well, although his work responsibilities have somewhat tripled in the last few months, well, he tries to take the time to help people understand. Occasionally he will send out an email stating his concerns. Not because he is angry, or "wants to throw ketchup", but because it is the most efficient way he can possibly reach the whole family at the same time.

Now since it isn't my family that is going through this specific set of problems,I probably shouldn't comment. Although no one has ever really asked me about my opinion, occasionally I feel the need to state it. That is just how I was raised in my family. In fact, as I am finding, I probably should keep my nose out of the whole problem completely(which is what I am not doing right now) and keep on making grandbabies.

So that is the trick really, is time to get involved or stay silent. Either way, I run the risk of offending someone.

My Midwife

When I was pregnant with Chilly, I knew something wasn't right. Every time I went to my Dr. appointment, I would come home sick, tired, worried about something. I dreaded going in to see him. Don't get me wrong, I love my Dr. He is kind, jovial, and a bit nutty. Plus he is L.D.S. which was a big plus in my book. He delivered my first baby, and he did a fantastic job, I only had a couple of stitches! He was cool with my natural childbirth choice and all that. But I usually came home feeling icky.

I came home after my 24 week appointment (or somewhere around there) with the news that I probably had gestational diabetes, or that I would develop it soon. Because Harry had been over 9 pounds. I felt fine. I had no symptoms. The ultrasound that we had done the previous weeks showed a healthy baby.

So I got up the gumption to go and find a midwife that would accept me as a patient at such a late date. And I did, I found one, and I haven't looked back since.

My first appointment with Chris was a test. To see how much I liked her, to see how well she "worked" with our personalities. Big D included. She was so layed back, relaxed. She told me that she had 9 babies, each over 9 pounds, and she never once had GD. She even told me that she honestly believed that GD was a very unlikely disease for me. All my worries went out the window, and so did big D's. Little did I know, that she was conducting the same test about me! About my beliefs, my diet, my goals, my desires.

And then the day came, and although I was initially concerned with NOT going to a hospital, it totally felt natural. It was a blessing to see her in my bedroom, the most intimate setting in my house, totally at ease with showing my naked behind.

So this time, when I was having problems conceiving, who did I talk to? And who found out before most of my family? Yeah, no big surprise. Because a midwife is like a friend. Or a close Aunt, or grandma, or even mother. She treats all of you, and in so doing, she becomes much closer than any MD really can.

I went to my appointment today, a little worried, not because of all the weight I have thus far gained, nor all the unhealthy foods I have managed to keep down, not even the lack of movement from the imenent I have felt thus far. or even the pinched nerve that has been causing me daily excrusiating pain. Or my blood pressure which surely has been elevated due to family drama. None of that was on my mind as I crossed the parking lot to the office.

I had been to see Chris 2 times in this pregnancy thus far. With the first I was really worried about hearing a heartbeat, which we did hear, and the second time, I was just taken back from her blunt manner telling me that I was off a week. She just seemed, I don't know...off. Sort of grumpy, like she was having a bad day. So I had been sitting there stewing on this recent behavior for 5 weeks. I had spent the last 5 weeks wondering if I was doing something different, or if she had changed from her easygoing manner, to someone more business or dr. like.

As I walked into the tiny clinic, with my fears in my gut, I was greated by the fact that there was laughter coming from the room where she sees people. Laughter and smiles. I chose my seat carefully because I didn't want to hurt my already sore back. I sat there for 10 minutes listening to the ease in which she gave this mom to be advice about excersing. She talked to her abut sex, about pushing out a baby, and about traffic. random, I know, but it was sweet talk to me. When this other mom to be left the clinic, she had a smile on her face, and a bounce in her step, which, I assure you, is difficult when you are 9 months pregnant.

My turn. I peed, she took my test strip and told me it was fine. She asked my weight, she took my blood pressure, she measured my belly, she exclaimed she hadn't seen a belly look this wonderful all day! She told me I was beautiful, that my weight gain was excellent, that my blood pressure was amazing for what we were going through. And then we talked. See that is what she does. Not only did we talk about how I was feeling physically, but how I was feeling emotionally. How did I feel. well I was worried, I was a little depressed, emotional, hormonal. that sort of thing. And what did she do? She didn't perscribe any drugs, or give me any shots, she didn't scribble anything in her notebook. she looked at me and listened. NOt just with her ears, but with her heart. She explained some exercises for my back, she showed me some too. We talked, and we laughed.

See that is what a midwife does. She takes the time to take care of you, the whole you. She knows that a healthy baby needs a healthy mom too. That the most important part of a relationship between a baby and a mommy is love and trust. She teaches moms to trust in thier bodies and to love what is happening to them. To look upon pregnancy as a chance to touch divine.

She also introduced me to some associate midwives that will be practicing with her, and we all talked for much longer than any of us intended. When I finally left the office, with a hug from all three, I left so much lighter and confident than when I went in. There is no drug that can do that. There is no shot that can give me the knowledge that I can do this, that I can bring this baby into the world. That the best gift I can give my baby, is to love me, and to be happy with my life, my choices. To care for my body and my soul, in any way that I can.

That, dear readers, is the essence of midwivery.

Today...only 9 years ago

I married him. Big D. And although we have had some ups and downs, I still love being with him. No really. When other girls are serious about their nights away from the spouse, I still enjoy every moment we can squeeze in. We are nuts like that.

As for the time, I can't really believe it has been that long, or that short. Although I am glad it has. We sure have grown and not just in pant sizes.



So here is to you sweetheart! Thanks for making my life complete. Sounds cheesy huh? Oh well, you know what I mean.

Love
Meemer

The cost of raising kids...

is immeasurable. And so varied.

I think we always assume the financial costs of having kids, and the ultimate responsibility of sending them to college with handsome billfold and plenty of quarters to call home. Does Hollywood give us this ideal so we can feel horrible when the actual college fund is in fact a missionary fund? Na, not me. But it is true. Kids cost money. Babies start out costing money. You have to buy that first pregnancy test, and of course, two or three more, just to be sure. And then they have all those darn appointments with Dr.'s or midwives, each one taking more and more spare change out of the coffers. And then the baby gets here, and you've got diapers and wipes, and clothes and underwear, and that is just for you! And it really doesn't get any better the older they get. Soon you've got preschool and kindergarten snacks. You've got the unexpected expense of replacing the front room carpet. Pretty soon you're paying for designer jeans and year books, and like, car insurance! It never ends.

And then you have the mental costs of raising children. The late nights, early mornings, the puke fests, the who-gave-my-child-this-deadly-sickness phone calls. The questionable play dates with friends you haven't met yet, and the dread when pulling into the driveway to find your child naked and running down the street. The pretend play that is so adult boring, and the never ending picture book reading. Followed shortly by the weird music and TV shows. The feeling of being out of touch with "cool" or whatever word it is now days.

But the cost that is hitting me most is the emotional heartbreak. The growing up factor. I watched big D and chilly playing in the pool the other day, and realized that chilly didn't want to or need to be with me. He isn't attatched to momma anymore, in fact he had spent the entire day without a hug or kiss from me. He was happy, and as I watched his face beam with admiration and adoration for his daddy who has suddenly become the coolest person on the earth, my heart ached a little bit. My little chilly who came into this world on my bed, who nursed just seconds after escaping from my defiant cervix. My sweet chilly who spent more time attatched to my hip, walking on my feet! His constant need for hugs and loves, has been silenced and he has grown up just a little bit more over the summer. I feel left behind. He got what he needed from me. He is happy, content with himself.

I know I should be enjoying this respite, for in a few short months it will begin all again, with the birth of yet another dependent. Another helpless newborn that will need my constant attention. But in some ways, just this short glimpse into the future of motherhood's hardest task, seems to have sobered me up to the fact that my children are not mine, that they are growing up, and it will be faster than anything I will experience. A few years ago, that thought would have cheered my postpartum soul! During the throngs of a newborn and a toddlerhood, but this new perspective has given me determination to enjoy all that I have right now.

like I said, the cost of raising kids is immeasurable. The joys are great, the sadness is real. But I guess that is the great circle of life, right?