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?
Monday, December 18, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
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.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
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.
Friday, November 17, 2006
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?
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?
Thursday, November 16, 2006
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?
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?
Friday, November 10, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, October 09, 2006
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?
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"
"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"
Thursday, October 05, 2006
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?
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?
Monday, October 02, 2006
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?
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?
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