Things that I love love love - or possibly don't love, but am grateful for.
1) A story to tell that hopefully brings something good to others. (I was lying in bed last night and realized that it's going to be a never ending story - mainly because I'm writing every blue-dog detail of 5ish years.)
2) Ed saying to Murnice, "Murny, you wanna make babies?" - Meaning, draw babies. Um, I fell in love with him 31 pounds more.
3) Sister Bear calling me at quarter of eleven last night to ask what my message was that I gave B.B. Bobby. (Seriously!) The message I gave to Bobby was, "tell S.B. 11 o'clock at the beach". And Bobby couldn't remember that? And then S.B. has to call me when I'm fast asleep? I guess at this point you're all thinking, "don't answer the phone." But I have to keep my phone 3 inches from my head at night because I've had just enough late calls that have to do with spousal fights and cockroaches and smashed Tupperware and tinker on the edge of having to call the SWAT team in to diffuse.
4) Ed has been telling Big D for a few weeks now that he loves him. It's very sweet. But Ed hasn't shared his love with anybody else, and being the person who pushed him out of my vagina - I feel I should be the first that he loves. Out of pure devotion. But yesterday, when I was scrounging in the fridge, Ed saw a whole bowl of hard boiled eggs. And he told me he loved me. a) I am thrilled he finally found it in his heart to utter those words to me. b) I am horrified that the only reason he loves me is because I boiled some eggs for him.
5) Getting a text from S.B. saying that she was going to McDicks. (for coffee). Um . . . "mcdicks" cracks me up. Or maybe I'm over tired from less than important phone calls in the middle of the night. Yes, quarter of eleven is the middle of the night.
6) Ed obsessed with his "nest" in our bedroom. Ok, so Ed has been sleeping in our bed for weeks now. And it's so sweet and not snugly with very little sleep. Big D gets very hateful over this topic. And I'm getting grumpier night by night. So I ended up making a "nest" on the floor by our bed that he is, can we say - in love with. I made it so when he woke up in the middle of the night he could come to his nest. But his nest is the only place he's sleeping. And for quite a few nights in a row, it has greatly impinged on Big D's and my very adult time that was supposed to go down.
7) Finding some "workout" clothes at TJMAXX that I can stomach wearing. AKA - Big D hates them. I say they are "workout" clothes because I found them in the workout section. I legitimately will feel like a queen wearing them. You may find me wearing workyouty clothes every once in awhile. But you will NEVER find me wearing sneaks. EVER. Or if i do, it will be a very hidden and private affair.
8) Watching B.B. Wensleydale twirly grow into man. He recently became a believer, and his maturity has just blown me to the moon. And possibly the stars. I'm so excited to see what this next year has for him.
9) I recently became privy to some very disheartening/angering/appalling/shocking/wear-my-boxing-mitts, information. And I want nothing more than to yell it from the roof tops. Shedding light where the darkness is. Bringing truth to the deceived. Letting the world know what's happening to a blind eye. So I prayed about it. Asking God what I was supposed to do with this information. And he IMMEDIATELY said, "use it for good". Not fully sure what that means, but I'll do my best. P.S. have I ever mentioned how much I love getting an answer, not to mention an immediate answer from God?
Take Aways
1) I think there are 13 more things I want to chat about - but I must get ready for the leachy beach.
2) I'm not quite sure why I'm in such a grateful mood this morning.
3) Also I said a blessing over Big D has he walked out the door to work. He got really weirded out. And left real fast.
4) Can you believe today is Thursday?!
5) Now that's good news. I love Fridays best.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 3
Back to doom and gloom . . .
On a side note - I would like to acknowledge the ladies who have written comments to my posts. Thank you. It means a lot to me, sharing a part of your story. And your past hurt.
Back to massage school . . .
While in school I started reading a lot of John Eldredge books. It actually started when I walked into a Christian bookstore with no direction but to buy one book. I let my heart lead, and it took me to this book.
It was a great beginning of healing. Not so much with my infertility - but more a healing of being a woman, and breaking barriers of who I thought and what I thought about myself.
And sometime during this time, I can't remember if it was while reading this book, or after - but I was reading 1 Samuel chapter 1. Now I know that this was Hannah's story. But promise #2 came. Verse 17: . . . go in peace: and the God of Israel grant thee thy petition that thou hast asked of him . . . verse 20 . . . Hannah had conceived, that she bare a son, and called his name Samuel, saying, because I have asked him of the Lord.
Through reading this, I knew that I was going to have a son. It was as if God walked down and said, "this is for you - I'm talking about you."
Also a key part of our story was what we were praying. Both Big D and I want, truly want God's will. And even though I knew I would have a son, I didn't know where or how he would come to us. Meaning, I didn't know if I was going to conceive or if we would adopt. My heart wanted to conceive. . . . . . We would pray, "God, if it's your will, we would like to have a baby. But if its not what you want for us, then we're ok with that too." It was the most wishy washy whiney prayer ever. More on that later.
Every month I would go beserk with pregnancy tests. I really should have bought stock . . . any person who has struggled/struggles with infertility knows what I'm talking about.
Days before my period was supposed to arrive, I just needed to take a test. I needed to emotionally prepare myself. I needed to know as soon as possible, to expect my period, versus hanging on to a few late days thinking there was a possibility. Because after getting 24 periods back to back, you believe that they will always come. But you always hope that maybe one day . . . And every month, there is hope. Small as it may be, there's always hope. And after every failed pregnancy test and first period day, it seems there is no air left to breath. And you wonder how much longer, how many more periods until there isn't one.
I understand that was the most confusing paragraph known to man-kind. And that kind of sums up how it actually is - emotionally. It's hope and dread and despair and maybe all wrapped into one.
Period number 29 was due. I took my too early test - which came back negative. But by the 5th week of being period free I thought I might need to take another test.
I remember I had to work my lifeguard job that day. I was out of tests, so I left to go to work a little early - giving myself enough time to pick up some more tests at the drugstore. I took the test, in a very secluded bathroom. After a few minutes a very faint line appeared. I almost had to convince myself that there was a line.
I don't remember how I felt at work. I don't remember telling Big D that I was pregnant.
But I do remember the next day. I woke up feeling so free. So queenish. Thinking, "this is it. This is where my story of infertility ends". So happy.
And that's all I'm going to write today.
On a side note - I would like to acknowledge the ladies who have written comments to my posts. Thank you. It means a lot to me, sharing a part of your story. And your past hurt.
Back to massage school . . .
While in school I started reading a lot of John Eldredge books. It actually started when I walked into a Christian bookstore with no direction but to buy one book. I let my heart lead, and it took me to this book.
It was a great beginning of healing. Not so much with my infertility - but more a healing of being a woman, and breaking barriers of who I thought and what I thought about myself.
And sometime during this time, I can't remember if it was while reading this book, or after - but I was reading 1 Samuel chapter 1. Now I know that this was Hannah's story. But promise #2 came. Verse 17: . . . go in peace: and the God of Israel grant thee thy petition that thou hast asked of him . . . verse 20 . . . Hannah had conceived, that she bare a son, and called his name Samuel, saying, because I have asked him of the Lord.
Through reading this, I knew that I was going to have a son. It was as if God walked down and said, "this is for you - I'm talking about you."
Also a key part of our story was what we were praying. Both Big D and I want, truly want God's will. And even though I knew I would have a son, I didn't know where or how he would come to us. Meaning, I didn't know if I was going to conceive or if we would adopt. My heart wanted to conceive. . . . . . We would pray, "God, if it's your will, we would like to have a baby. But if its not what you want for us, then we're ok with that too." It was the most wishy washy whiney prayer ever. More on that later.
Every month I would go beserk with pregnancy tests. I really should have bought stock . . . any person who has struggled/struggles with infertility knows what I'm talking about.
Days before my period was supposed to arrive, I just needed to take a test. I needed to emotionally prepare myself. I needed to know as soon as possible, to expect my period, versus hanging on to a few late days thinking there was a possibility. Because after getting 24 periods back to back, you believe that they will always come. But you always hope that maybe one day . . . And every month, there is hope. Small as it may be, there's always hope. And after every failed pregnancy test and first period day, it seems there is no air left to breath. And you wonder how much longer, how many more periods until there isn't one.
I understand that was the most confusing paragraph known to man-kind. And that kind of sums up how it actually is - emotionally. It's hope and dread and despair and maybe all wrapped into one.
Period number 29 was due. I took my too early test - which came back negative. But by the 5th week of being period free I thought I might need to take another test.
I remember I had to work my lifeguard job that day. I was out of tests, so I left to go to work a little early - giving myself enough time to pick up some more tests at the drugstore. I took the test, in a very secluded bathroom. After a few minutes a very faint line appeared. I almost had to convince myself that there was a line.
I don't remember how I felt at work. I don't remember telling Big D that I was pregnant.
But I do remember the next day. I woke up feeling so free. So queenish. Thinking, "this is it. This is where my story of infertility ends". So happy.
And that's all I'm going to write today.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Worst Idea of the Year Thus Far
I'm derailing from doom and gloom today. Just need a little break.
So, once upon a time, I woke up last Sunday with a strange persona. Normally I LOVE just sitting home on my (fill in the blank). But this particular morning I got dressed, looked super fancy, and fully expected to go to church. But, Big D was incredibly grumpy and said he wasn't going. So I made sweet, sweet love to him and whispered something along the lines of going canoeing with the kids.
This day was going exactly the way Big D would describe his wildest dreams. Naughty Karen and then gross adventure time. (See, I said I woke up with a strange persona.)
He eager beaver agreed. Since this was one of his dreams for the summer. And I quickly moved before I realized what I had agreed to.
It could not have been a more perfect day. Weather was insanely divine. We were text-book renters. Arrived on time. Grabbed the proper floatation devices. And waited by the shuttle. Not all the other renters where as fine as we were at following the rules.
We survived our third-world-country ride to the launch destination and were the first to be launched. That was neat, because we were the only ones with kids. And also the only ones who hadn't canoed together. Ever. Actually I'm making that up. I don't know if we were the ONLY ones. But because we were first, we were made a spectacle of.
It started out so romantic. Big D in the back. Me in the front. Kids in the middle. Perfect family. Minus the fact that Big D had never had canoeing lessons. And I have. Big D thinks that in order to make a turn, you paddle really hard. (Did I emphasize "really"? Because when a turn appeared, it was like he turned the jet engine on in the back)
Now this quickly got old. Quickly. I was getting tired of crashing into the banks. (Remember, we are in front of all the other boaters) And I decided I was going to be the steer-er. And kicked Big D to the front. He cried. But we did not tip over.
Probably an hour into the trip things started to go from romantic to worse decision of the year thus far. (Today I like using the words "thus far.")
I am comfortable and fine with steering. I enjoy steering. However, Big D still thought that he had to paddle as fiercely as he could when he spotted the next hair-pin turn. I basically did not do any paddling - I was just a rudder. And we were still crashing at a anger inducing rate.
An hour and a half into the trip we started noticing an alarming amount of very large spiders in our boat. I don't know if I've shared this or not - but I don't do spiders. If there is a choice of: spider gets too close OR boat gets tipped - boat gets tipped. Also, Ed decided he was tired of sitting nicely, and blue was wet - so the next sensible thing to do was to start screaming. Which showcased Big D's very pleasant mood. He started hooting and hollaring. Yelling things to the other boaters. Snarling and gnashing of teeth. I literally wanted to whale him over the head with my oar. But he was too far away. Lucky for him.
The only non-complainer of the whole trip was Murnice. Who just kept on paddling, aka hitting our oars with her oar and throwing water up on Ed and blue - which was not helping Ed's attitude, which only gave fuel to Big D's fire attitude.
At this point I had mentally, emotionally, physically, and almost spiritually given up. My right arm was burning due to the fact that I had to keep my oar on the right side of the ship. Emotionally I couldn't handle Ed crying and Big D being a fruit tart. I wanted to just stop and snuggle the poor wet boy. But I was too afraid of a) tipping over b) losing sight of the spiders c) drifting into more spider homes d) collecting more spiders e) wasting time f) never making it back home g) getting lost at sea. My left butt bone had dug a hole through my small amount of muscle and large amount of jiggle and was sitting squarely on the hard metal seat.
And then, we came to a fork in the river aka stream. We were with a large group of people. And everybody went to the left. And we went to the right. Before I knew it, we were paddling against the current. And everything began to escalate into a down-right emergency. With one final dramatic huffy paddle, I threw our boat head on into the biggest, spideriest, reptile filled bank there was. We rammed hard. Which got Big D really excited. I think he also realized that it was his turn to wear his grown up panties, take control, and get us home.
He started to paddle really hard. Making his earlier jet engine look like a paddle boat.
The part that I didn't tell you, was that our boat had flipped around with my massive crash, and we were now backwards.
Big D didn't care. He was going home. And I decided I might be able to scrounge up the energy to help.
You know the Olympic boat races, where they're going so fast that bodies are flying forwards and then lunging backwards? Yeah, we could have been medal contenders in the Olympics. Ed was holding on for his dear life. Not a peep was coming out. Murnice had put her paddle away and was hanging on hard.
And we were flying. I think we were actually flying up over the water, like they do in the cartoons.
Wouldn't you know that we ended up taking the short cut. Beat everybody by a mile. Or maybe a 1/2 mile. I think the workers were a little confused to why the canoe was coming in at such a disconcerting speed backwards.
And that will be the last time that I EVER come up with ridiculous ideas.
Take Aways
1) Just because you wake up with a different attitude towards life, doesn't necessarily mean you should embrace your new ideas.
2) But if you choose to embrace your new ideas, be sure you know how long of a ride it's going to be.
3) Or, just stay home.
4) On the couch.
5) And watch tv.
So, once upon a time, I woke up last Sunday with a strange persona. Normally I LOVE just sitting home on my (fill in the blank). But this particular morning I got dressed, looked super fancy, and fully expected to go to church. But, Big D was incredibly grumpy and said he wasn't going. So I made sweet, sweet love to him and whispered something along the lines of going canoeing with the kids.
This day was going exactly the way Big D would describe his wildest dreams. Naughty Karen and then gross adventure time. (See, I said I woke up with a strange persona.)
He eager beaver agreed. Since this was one of his dreams for the summer. And I quickly moved before I realized what I had agreed to.
It could not have been a more perfect day. Weather was insanely divine. We were text-book renters. Arrived on time. Grabbed the proper floatation devices. And waited by the shuttle. Not all the other renters where as fine as we were at following the rules.
We survived our third-world-country ride to the launch destination and were the first to be launched. That was neat, because we were the only ones with kids. And also the only ones who hadn't canoed together. Ever. Actually I'm making that up. I don't know if we were the ONLY ones. But because we were first, we were made a spectacle of.
It started out so romantic. Big D in the back. Me in the front. Kids in the middle. Perfect family. Minus the fact that Big D had never had canoeing lessons. And I have. Big D thinks that in order to make a turn, you paddle really hard. (Did I emphasize "really"? Because when a turn appeared, it was like he turned the jet engine on in the back)
Now this quickly got old. Quickly. I was getting tired of crashing into the banks. (Remember, we are in front of all the other boaters) And I decided I was going to be the steer-er. And kicked Big D to the front. He cried. But we did not tip over.
Probably an hour into the trip things started to go from romantic to worse decision of the year thus far. (Today I like using the words "thus far.")
I am comfortable and fine with steering. I enjoy steering. However, Big D still thought that he had to paddle as fiercely as he could when he spotted the next hair-pin turn. I basically did not do any paddling - I was just a rudder. And we were still crashing at a anger inducing rate.
An hour and a half into the trip we started noticing an alarming amount of very large spiders in our boat. I don't know if I've shared this or not - but I don't do spiders. If there is a choice of: spider gets too close OR boat gets tipped - boat gets tipped. Also, Ed decided he was tired of sitting nicely, and blue was wet - so the next sensible thing to do was to start screaming. Which showcased Big D's very pleasant mood. He started hooting and hollaring. Yelling things to the other boaters. Snarling and gnashing of teeth. I literally wanted to whale him over the head with my oar. But he was too far away. Lucky for him.
The only non-complainer of the whole trip was Murnice. Who just kept on paddling, aka hitting our oars with her oar and throwing water up on Ed and blue - which was not helping Ed's attitude, which only gave fuel to Big D's fire attitude.
At this point I had mentally, emotionally, physically, and almost spiritually given up. My right arm was burning due to the fact that I had to keep my oar on the right side of the ship. Emotionally I couldn't handle Ed crying and Big D being a fruit tart. I wanted to just stop and snuggle the poor wet boy. But I was too afraid of a) tipping over b) losing sight of the spiders c) drifting into more spider homes d) collecting more spiders e) wasting time f) never making it back home g) getting lost at sea. My left butt bone had dug a hole through my small amount of muscle and large amount of jiggle and was sitting squarely on the hard metal seat.
And then, we came to a fork in the river aka stream. We were with a large group of people. And everybody went to the left. And we went to the right. Before I knew it, we were paddling against the current. And everything began to escalate into a down-right emergency. With one final dramatic huffy paddle, I threw our boat head on into the biggest, spideriest, reptile filled bank there was. We rammed hard. Which got Big D really excited. I think he also realized that it was his turn to wear his grown up panties, take control, and get us home.
He started to paddle really hard. Making his earlier jet engine look like a paddle boat.
The part that I didn't tell you, was that our boat had flipped around with my massive crash, and we were now backwards.
Big D didn't care. He was going home. And I decided I might be able to scrounge up the energy to help.
You know the Olympic boat races, where they're going so fast that bodies are flying forwards and then lunging backwards? Yeah, we could have been medal contenders in the Olympics. Ed was holding on for his dear life. Not a peep was coming out. Murnice had put her paddle away and was hanging on hard.
And we were flying. I think we were actually flying up over the water, like they do in the cartoons.
Wouldn't you know that we ended up taking the short cut. Beat everybody by a mile. Or maybe a 1/2 mile. I think the workers were a little confused to why the canoe was coming in at such a disconcerting speed backwards.
And that will be the last time that I EVER come up with ridiculous ideas.
Take Aways
1) Just because you wake up with a different attitude towards life, doesn't necessarily mean you should embrace your new ideas.
2) But if you choose to embrace your new ideas, be sure you know how long of a ride it's going to be.
3) Or, just stay home.
4) On the couch.
5) And watch tv.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 2
This is not my favorite thing - going back and remembering. Trying to gather all the small parts that have made up this big part of our life. Because there are so many small parts. I wished I had journaled it all then.
With the birth of Murnice, I knew that I wanted to pursue something in the more natural field of medicine. I thought a good place to start was becoming a doula. It was a simple weekend class, read a few books - and that qualified you to attend births. Which I wanted to do. I wanted to be part of the magic that happens when babies enter the world.
I liked the class. Abhorred the instructor. And never finished the course to qualify becoming a doula. Ok, the honest truth is - I didn't think I was good enough/knew what I was doing. (which goes back to my lie that I'm not good enough) And I did abhor the instructor, which didn't help with me feeling supported in pursuing.
So then I decided that I was going to go to massage therapy school. Murnice was 18 months when I started. I loved, loved, loved, massage therapy. I loved my classes. I loved my classmates. I loved the consistency and schedule. And I loved that I was at the top of my class. I met some really great people. And I became in the know of the body and how to naturally treat. I loved learning. And I started learning about how to naturally treat infertility. I felt like a queen.
A couple of things I remember about my infertility and going to massage school.
1) My closest friend at school had a miscarriage (years ago) when the baby was 3 months. She was so lovely to me during this time in my life.
2) I decided to try infertility treatment at a clinic (which I'll write about more in a bit) but for those of you who have taken Clomid - (and for those of you who have NOT taken Clomid) know that the vaginal area smells worse than 7 rotting fish carcases. And when you smell that special, and you're naked on a massage table - you feel pretty self conscious. Not to mention, hyped up on all sorts of hormonal highs and lows. . . . . I was treated so lovely and gently.
3) In the back of my head, or you could say - in my mind's eye - I felt that at graduation I would be pregnant. It was just a feeling I had.
With infertility, you must be baby free after trying to conceive for one full year before you are named "infertile". After trying for almost two years to conceive I decided I wanted to give drugs a try. Because I firmly believe that God is not always just going to hand over what's wanted. Sometimes you have to work hard. Sometimes you have to open yourself up to new ideas. God has given us a brain. And God has guided the brain to create medicine. I remember not wanting to do the meds, but that want of a baby was bigger.
The clinic was awful. But that was my own perception. I walked in with an almost 3 year old. And there was a lot of hate and anger and judgment given to me through eyes. I felt awful parading my 3 year old around and wanting another baby.
I remember having to go to the clinic it seemed like every other day. Getting blood drawn, checking levels, checking viable eggs. I remember freaking out about taking Clomid - the possibility of having multiples. And not wanting that. To the point where if the choice was multiples or none, I was choosing none. The medical team decided that I should take only half of the recommended dose. I remember wigging out with having so much blood drawn. And crying a lot. I remember the nurse who was a Christmas Angel who was so sweet to me, and used the baby needle. And I literally didn't feel a thing. And I thought she was magic. I remember when it was time to have my eggs checked, there was only a male doctor to do it. And he was so rough and insensitive, physically and emotionally. I am angry that I allowed somebody to treat me the way he did without standing up for myself - physically and emotionally. I am angry that Big D just stood there watching what was happening. But I think he was in as much shock as I was. I never went back. And I didn't get pregnant.
That's all I'm writing today.
With the birth of Murnice, I knew that I wanted to pursue something in the more natural field of medicine. I thought a good place to start was becoming a doula. It was a simple weekend class, read a few books - and that qualified you to attend births. Which I wanted to do. I wanted to be part of the magic that happens when babies enter the world.
I liked the class. Abhorred the instructor. And never finished the course to qualify becoming a doula. Ok, the honest truth is - I didn't think I was good enough/knew what I was doing. (which goes back to my lie that I'm not good enough) And I did abhor the instructor, which didn't help with me feeling supported in pursuing.
So then I decided that I was going to go to massage therapy school. Murnice was 18 months when I started. I loved, loved, loved, massage therapy. I loved my classes. I loved my classmates. I loved the consistency and schedule. And I loved that I was at the top of my class. I met some really great people. And I became in the know of the body and how to naturally treat. I loved learning. And I started learning about how to naturally treat infertility. I felt like a queen.
A couple of things I remember about my infertility and going to massage school.
1) My closest friend at school had a miscarriage (years ago) when the baby was 3 months. She was so lovely to me during this time in my life.
2) I decided to try infertility treatment at a clinic (which I'll write about more in a bit) but for those of you who have taken Clomid - (and for those of you who have NOT taken Clomid) know that the vaginal area smells worse than 7 rotting fish carcases. And when you smell that special, and you're naked on a massage table - you feel pretty self conscious. Not to mention, hyped up on all sorts of hormonal highs and lows. . . . . I was treated so lovely and gently.
3) In the back of my head, or you could say - in my mind's eye - I felt that at graduation I would be pregnant. It was just a feeling I had.
With infertility, you must be baby free after trying to conceive for one full year before you are named "infertile". After trying for almost two years to conceive I decided I wanted to give drugs a try. Because I firmly believe that God is not always just going to hand over what's wanted. Sometimes you have to work hard. Sometimes you have to open yourself up to new ideas. God has given us a brain. And God has guided the brain to create medicine. I remember not wanting to do the meds, but that want of a baby was bigger.
The clinic was awful. But that was my own perception. I walked in with an almost 3 year old. And there was a lot of hate and anger and judgment given to me through eyes. I felt awful parading my 3 year old around and wanting another baby.
I remember having to go to the clinic it seemed like every other day. Getting blood drawn, checking levels, checking viable eggs. I remember freaking out about taking Clomid - the possibility of having multiples. And not wanting that. To the point where if the choice was multiples or none, I was choosing none. The medical team decided that I should take only half of the recommended dose. I remember wigging out with having so much blood drawn. And crying a lot. I remember the nurse who was a Christmas Angel who was so sweet to me, and used the baby needle. And I literally didn't feel a thing. And I thought she was magic. I remember when it was time to have my eggs checked, there was only a male doctor to do it. And he was so rough and insensitive, physically and emotionally. I am angry that I allowed somebody to treat me the way he did without standing up for myself - physically and emotionally. I am angry that Big D just stood there watching what was happening. But I think he was in as much shock as I was. I never went back. And I didn't get pregnant.
That's all I'm writing today.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 1
I'm going to do this. I'm going to write about my journey of infertility and miscarriage. I've never written down the whole story. And I need too. Time has healed some and I feel brave enough to share about Big D's and my very personal story.
I also hope that you will share your story. When you feel brave enough. Because what I've found, is that so many women have and are bathed in infertility and miscarriage. This is a part of who we are. But we women hold it too close. And the new mama's don't know that we have a history. And the cycle continues. Are we ashamed? Or in grief? Whatever the case, we have turned it into this taboo topic.
I hate that nobody talks about the very realness of infertility and miscarriage. I hate that we get asked, "how many kids do you want?" And we except to have what we want. I hate that people are rude enough and ask very personal questions that revolve around you and your partner's sex life.
Anyway, here's our story:
When I got pregnant with Murnice, it was a "whwhwhoooooaaaaa" thing. I don't like to say a "whoops". Anyway, the point of that whole statement is that I got pregnant very easily. On the first explosion inside my lady bits.
I promptly got an IUD after giving birth. And I don't regret that decision. After exactly a year, I had it removed because I felt emotionally stable enough to have another baby. I assumed I would be pregnant within a month.
Within "that" month - (I'm not sure if it was the following Sunday, or 3 Sundays later) I was up front shaking my money maker (kidding, just dancing) and God said to me, "I'll give you a baby at the right time". And I said, "yeah that's neat God, but now is the right time." And he chuckled and snortled. And I went on dancing.
That was my first promise. It was August 2006.
From that first promise to Ed, time has become very jumbled in my head. I don't have a timeline, just a general idea.
The next two years were filled with a lot of frustrations and anger. It was really easy to question the IUD, wondering if that was the culprit. I just needed something to blame at that time. It was awful whenever friends or family announced that they were having ANOTHER baby. I felt I needed this personal warning that Billy and Susie were going to start trying to have a baby. I needed to emotionally prepare myself that there was going to be a baby announcement sometime in the future. It was the absolute WORST being taken off guard with a baby announcement. And I would have to force a smile out and say something nice. When in reality I hated their very being, and would cry for a million hours after I was alone.
I remember Big D and I didn't make too much of a fuss over actual intercourse. I never got crazy about temperature or secretions, or feelings of love, or any of that stuff that can make infertile couples hate sex. We bunnified when we wanted and how we wanted. Although we did start using a pH friendly lube that wouldn't kill Big D's baby makers.
And that's all I'm going to write today.
I also hope that you will share your story. When you feel brave enough. Because what I've found, is that so many women have and are bathed in infertility and miscarriage. This is a part of who we are. But we women hold it too close. And the new mama's don't know that we have a history. And the cycle continues. Are we ashamed? Or in grief? Whatever the case, we have turned it into this taboo topic.
I hate that nobody talks about the very realness of infertility and miscarriage. I hate that we get asked, "how many kids do you want?" And we except to have what we want. I hate that people are rude enough and ask very personal questions that revolve around you and your partner's sex life.
Anyway, here's our story:
When I got pregnant with Murnice, it was a "whwhwhoooooaaaaa" thing. I don't like to say a "whoops". Anyway, the point of that whole statement is that I got pregnant very easily. On the first explosion inside my lady bits.
I promptly got an IUD after giving birth. And I don't regret that decision. After exactly a year, I had it removed because I felt emotionally stable enough to have another baby. I assumed I would be pregnant within a month.
Within "that" month - (I'm not sure if it was the following Sunday, or 3 Sundays later) I was up front shaking my money maker (kidding, just dancing) and God said to me, "I'll give you a baby at the right time". And I said, "yeah that's neat God, but now is the right time." And he chuckled and snortled. And I went on dancing.
That was my first promise. It was August 2006.
From that first promise to Ed, time has become very jumbled in my head. I don't have a timeline, just a general idea.
The next two years were filled with a lot of frustrations and anger. It was really easy to question the IUD, wondering if that was the culprit. I just needed something to blame at that time. It was awful whenever friends or family announced that they were having ANOTHER baby. I felt I needed this personal warning that Billy and Susie were going to start trying to have a baby. I needed to emotionally prepare myself that there was going to be a baby announcement sometime in the future. It was the absolute WORST being taken off guard with a baby announcement. And I would have to force a smile out and say something nice. When in reality I hated their very being, and would cry for a million hours after I was alone.
I remember Big D and I didn't make too much of a fuss over actual intercourse. I never got crazy about temperature or secretions, or feelings of love, or any of that stuff that can make infertile couples hate sex. We bunnified when we wanted and how we wanted. Although we did start using a pH friendly lube that wouldn't kill Big D's baby makers.
And that's all I'm going to write today.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Just Call Me the Poop Cleaner
I started writing this post a few weeks ago when I was at Mothers - and am just now finishing it up. What I'm trying to say, this is old news.
****************************************************************************
I finally made it to the local creamery this week. It was much anticipated - and when things are much anticipated, they taste 31 times better.
A friend and I sat on a table and watched Ed play with the trucks. And then we watched him poop. (he was wearing a pull-up) And we cheered him on, it being the 4th day of no poo. And we were so thankful that he wasn't wearing his man-unders. Win win for everyone.
We were finally done licking and chatting, and I decided it was time to go - put Ed to bed since it was dusk.
Now, my friend and I drove separately, and she scurried off - not having a child to drag behind her and such. But I had a child to drag behind me. And so began the process.
In my prideful heart, I decided that I was going to have much more success with having Ed obey and come to me when I called to him that it was time to go. (When we went to get ice cream a few days prior, Big D did not have much success with looking like he was in charge)
So, I authoritatively called Ed to me - and we all know that pride goeth before a fall . . . . which ended up with me chasing him around like a typical woodchuck brat. Eventually I grabbed his hand and began the long march to the car which also entailed a tongue lashing.
But my tongue lashing was interrupted when I happened to glance down.
Just to help with the visual - Ed was wearing these shoes and pants.
****************************************************************************
I finally made it to the local creamery this week. It was much anticipated - and when things are much anticipated, they taste 31 times better.
A friend and I sat on a table and watched Ed play with the trucks. And then we watched him poop. (he was wearing a pull-up) And we cheered him on, it being the 4th day of no poo. And we were so thankful that he wasn't wearing his man-unders. Win win for everyone.
We were finally done licking and chatting, and I decided it was time to go - put Ed to bed since it was dusk.
Now, my friend and I drove separately, and she scurried off - not having a child to drag behind her and such. But I had a child to drag behind me. And so began the process.
In my prideful heart, I decided that I was going to have much more success with having Ed obey and come to me when I called to him that it was time to go. (When we went to get ice cream a few days prior, Big D did not have much success with looking like he was in charge)
So, I authoritatively called Ed to me - and we all know that pride goeth before a fall . . . . which ended up with me chasing him around like a typical woodchuck brat. Eventually I grabbed his hand and began the long march to the car which also entailed a tongue lashing.
But my tongue lashing was interrupted when I happened to glance down.
Just to help with the visual - Ed was wearing these shoes and pants.
And when I glanced down, I was startled to see a brown glob, the size of a doughnut hole just sitting nicely on top of his shoe. Upon further investigation and smell, I discovered that it was a shit bomb.
All in about 3.0487 seconds I went through an array of emotions. Horror, helplessness, hysteria, disgust, and gumption. I looked up in just enough time to see my friend's tail lights turn on as she sped away. And realized that I had to go into no-man's-land by myself, with whatever tools I had in my car.
I'm outside, which is a good thing. But there is no bathroom to hide the unpleasantries of what's going to happen next, which is a bad thing. This ice cream shop is a business after all. And the only thing I can do to help save all the other guests stomachs, is to open a car door and try to hide behind it.
The problem being:
1) Ed thought it was now a game of peek-a-boo.
2) I was not hidden from all the new guests driving in, since we were in the fielded parking lot.
I ended up finding a few half-dried wipe-ups, a bag, and diaper in the car. For you parents out there, you know how pleasant and lovely it is to take a pair of pants off that is filled with poop. The sort-of gross mess turns into a full-fledged mud slide. It's one of those things where it gets worse before it gets better. And by worse, I mean stooping to the lowest level of humility and humanity.
As I peeled his pants down, it was as if I was in the middle of a boulder avalanche. Except they were poop boulders. Flying and splattering. And then I had to make the awful moral decision of using my few dried out wipe-ups to clean up the poop pies in the grass where lots of customers park and walk, or use them on Ed who needed to get into my car to get home.
I hate making grown-up decisions. Especially poopy decisions.
I poopied-scooped the parking lot and then smeared and smeared Ed's butt with my 2 remaining dried wipe-ups. Not a corner remained white. I reduced, reused, and recycled those wipes. Al Gore would have been proud.
It was awful. Poop was everywhere. Including up to my elbows and under my fingernails. And Ed was laughing and still playing peek-a-boo. And I then had to pack up all that poop and put it into my car. And pray that the cops weren't called on me. And cross my fingers that I found all the BM boulders. And keep my eyes down to not make eye contact.
And I slithered into my car where I grumbled and roared all the way home. Because this WAS going to be a night where I didn't have to give Ed a bath. . . . . And all because he bomb shot himself . . . .
I think I was grumpier about the bath giving then the poop cleaning.
Take Aways
1) Always make sure that you have diapers, wet wipes, and bags if you go ANYWHERE with children.
2) Never expect to not have to do something. Because it is inevitable that you'll have to do it anyway.
3) Also, carry elbow-high rubber gloves with your diaper supplies.
4) And maybe a privacy curtain.
5) A power washer?
6) Or, just leave the babies at home.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Murnice Turned A Year Older
Murnice turned 8. And I am so so so thankful that she looks 5. (Mmmmm, so pleased with that outcome.) Mainly because I couldn't handle having a big kid - because I just don't feel old enough to be parenting a real kid. And 8 is on the cusp of pubes and rosebud nips. And I feel like I just went through puberty. Because in my head I'm still 14. (I guess if I were 14, I would be going through puberty now.)
Murnice's Birthday Wish List
1) skirts with shorts in them
2) a book about "the ship that sank"
3) a jump rope with an actual rope
4) Playmobiles
Murnice's Birthday Activities
1) eat chips
2) drink pop
3) watch tv
Mission accomplished. Bag of Doritos finished - between Ed and herself. Hours of tv watched. Lots and lots of pop downed. Chinese for dinner. And diarrhea for dessert.
Can I just say, it was a great day for me. I didn't have to cook a bloody thing. I didn't have to entertain or teach a bloody thing. I sat on my butt all day. And only got up to refill sodypop glasses.
Take Aways
1) I'm too tired to care about a "take away". Make your own up.
Murnice's Birthday Wish List
1) skirts with shorts in them
2) a book about "the ship that sank"
3) a jump rope with an actual rope
4) Playmobiles
Murnice's Birthday Activities
1) eat chips
2) drink pop
3) watch tv
Mission accomplished. Bag of Doritos finished - between Ed and herself. Hours of tv watched. Lots and lots of pop downed. Chinese for dinner. And diarrhea for dessert.
Can I just say, it was a great day for me. I didn't have to cook a bloody thing. I didn't have to entertain or teach a bloody thing. I sat on my butt all day. And only got up to refill sodypop glasses.
Take Aways
1) I'm too tired to care about a "take away". Make your own up.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Trouble in Rivercity
Dear World,
I am living with a Velociraptor. And this is what he looks like. He is quite manly, has large upper thighs. And quite gentlemanly-ish. Wears a top hat and mustache. On occasion he will ride his bike to work - following all bike rules: staying on bike path, staying to the right of other riders, singing while riding to let others know that he is approaching, and keeping his tail in a straight line behind bike - to not get tangled in wheels nor wallop passerbyers.
I understand that living with a Velociraptor sounds actually quite nice. And I would say for the most part, it's lovely.
However, there is a problem. Whenever I get close to my manly Raptor, he gouges my feet, ankles, and or legs (depending on what position we are in) with his ginormous toe issue.
He was created this way, so there is nothing I can physically do about this - minus an amputation.
But I'm wondering world, how can I go about a peaceful, physical relationship with all my bottom leg accessories intact?
Yours Truly,
Shredded Legs
Take Aways
1) For realz.
2) Advice needed.
3) Getting desperate.
I am living with a Velociraptor. And this is what he looks like. He is quite manly, has large upper thighs. And quite gentlemanly-ish. Wears a top hat and mustache. On occasion he will ride his bike to work - following all bike rules: staying on bike path, staying to the right of other riders, singing while riding to let others know that he is approaching, and keeping his tail in a straight line behind bike - to not get tangled in wheels nor wallop passerbyers.
I understand that living with a Velociraptor sounds actually quite nice. And I would say for the most part, it's lovely.
However, there is a problem. Whenever I get close to my manly Raptor, he gouges my feet, ankles, and or legs (depending on what position we are in) with his ginormous toe issue.
He was created this way, so there is nothing I can physically do about this - minus an amputation.
But I'm wondering world, how can I go about a peaceful, physical relationship with all my bottom leg accessories intact?
Yours Truly,
Shredded Legs
Take Aways
1) For realz.
2) Advice needed.
3) Getting desperate.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Low Lady on the Totem Pole
Big D and I have a severe difference. It's "OUR" fight. (You know, every couple has a fight that ALL the fights go back to)(Sister Bear's is about cockroaches. Friday Friends is about car key placement.) Our fight is about Big D never being home.
It used to be sports that took him away from home. He was on 5 different teams of various ball-themed activities when we first met and into our first couple years of marriage. Then it briefly went to friend visits. Then work meetings. And now it's a pleasant mixture of rabbi activities and work meetings. (I say "pleasant" with a twisted tongue.) He saves his friend get-togethers for the weekend. When the family can come. (This sounds so kind of him - but it's actually awful)
So in my eyes, I am competing for attention with all of these activities. And I want to be #1 at all points of the day, week, (including weekends) and forever. I am an introvert and love my couch. And I want Big D to love my couch almost as much as I do. AKA sit on the couch with me till he puts his butt before me, and farts.
Ok, I know I sound awful and greedy and so selfish. And truthfully, I'm all of those things.
However, that being said - I know that after 9 years of fighting to be the top of the totem pole, I know that I will only get as far as right below the scariest face. I have tried threats, seduction, food, promises, and other sorts of techniques that a lady should not admit too. . . . . . And he always leaves for whatever is more exciting than the couch.
I promise you, he sits in his big empty office at work, and thinks up ways to avoid the couch. Last night he went straight from work to a "peer support group meeting for fellow MBA graduates - minus Big D who is not a graduate - yet". AND get this! They got the college to provide food for them. How do people even think up these things?!
If I were on that committee - or any committee . . . .
"Foxy, we need to have a meeting ." "Ok, my couch is comfortable, lets meet there. And we'll drink tea."
"Foxy, lets have mom's group." "Ok, lets have it at my house. We can sit on my couch."
"Foxy, lets have intercourse." . . . . . . . (Secret: that's the real reason why my couch is so smeared)
(I'm getting so sidetracked)
Anyway, sometimes I try to act like a grown-up. I try to have a somewhat mature attitude. I'll put Big D's activities into my calender to try and make it seem a bit fancier than it really is. Sometimes when things appear fancy I have a better attitude.
So last night I started out with a better attitude. I took an afternoon nap while the kids watched an abundance of tv. I made boxed mac and cheese with tuna for dinner. (it was incredible) Then I read a few chapters to them to alleviate my guilt, put them to bed - and eagerly awaited Big -who was going to sit on the couch and watch Burn Notice and then New Girl with me, while we chatted about our days like grownups.
Except that's not how it went. Lets just say that after 2 episodes of Burn Notice AND 2 episodes of New Girl Big D still had not come home. And I got *ahem* a little excited. And then stormed off to bed like a spoiled poop stain.
So, 3 readers . . . What is your main fight? Do share. And then tell me if you have a solution for your main fight - or if you just take the opportunity to really duke it out. Because sometimes a duke session is really what the Dr. has ordered.
Take Aways
1) Find a permanent couch buddy and pay them handsomely.
2) Never have expectations. Especially if they're romantic.
3) Continue to rock as a mother and have outstanding evenings with your children.
4) I can't decide which one is better - tv or chemical dinner. Both were amazing. So . . . do both.
5) Maybe add something, like a little sodypop with dinner.
6) Have "poor me" treats hidden in the cupboards.
It used to be sports that took him away from home. He was on 5 different teams of various ball-themed activities when we first met and into our first couple years of marriage. Then it briefly went to friend visits. Then work meetings. And now it's a pleasant mixture of rabbi activities and work meetings. (I say "pleasant" with a twisted tongue.) He saves his friend get-togethers for the weekend. When the family can come. (This sounds so kind of him - but it's actually awful)
So in my eyes, I am competing for attention with all of these activities. And I want to be #1 at all points of the day, week, (including weekends) and forever. I am an introvert and love my couch. And I want Big D to love my couch almost as much as I do. AKA sit on the couch with me till he puts his butt before me, and farts.
Ok, I know I sound awful and greedy and so selfish. And truthfully, I'm all of those things.
However, that being said - I know that after 9 years of fighting to be the top of the totem pole, I know that I will only get as far as right below the scariest face. I have tried threats, seduction, food, promises, and other sorts of techniques that a lady should not admit too. . . . . . And he always leaves for whatever is more exciting than the couch.
I promise you, he sits in his big empty office at work, and thinks up ways to avoid the couch. Last night he went straight from work to a "peer support group meeting for fellow MBA graduates - minus Big D who is not a graduate - yet". AND get this! They got the college to provide food for them. How do people even think up these things?!
If I were on that committee - or any committee . . . .
"Foxy, we need to have a meeting ." "Ok, my couch is comfortable, lets meet there. And we'll drink tea."
"Foxy, lets have mom's group." "Ok, lets have it at my house. We can sit on my couch."
"Foxy, lets have intercourse." . . . . . . . (Secret: that's the real reason why my couch is so smeared)
(I'm getting so sidetracked)
Anyway, sometimes I try to act like a grown-up. I try to have a somewhat mature attitude. I'll put Big D's activities into my calender to try and make it seem a bit fancier than it really is. Sometimes when things appear fancy I have a better attitude.
So last night I started out with a better attitude. I took an afternoon nap while the kids watched an abundance of tv. I made boxed mac and cheese with tuna for dinner. (it was incredible) Then I read a few chapters to them to alleviate my guilt, put them to bed - and eagerly awaited Big -who was going to sit on the couch and watch Burn Notice and then New Girl with me, while we chatted about our days like grownups.
Except that's not how it went. Lets just say that after 2 episodes of Burn Notice AND 2 episodes of New Girl Big D still had not come home. And I got *ahem* a little excited. And then stormed off to bed like a spoiled poop stain.
So, 3 readers . . . What is your main fight? Do share. And then tell me if you have a solution for your main fight - or if you just take the opportunity to really duke it out. Because sometimes a duke session is really what the Dr. has ordered.
Take Aways
1) Find a permanent couch buddy and pay them handsomely.
2) Never have expectations. Especially if they're romantic.
3) Continue to rock as a mother and have outstanding evenings with your children.
4) I can't decide which one is better - tv or chemical dinner. Both were amazing. So . . . do both.
5) Maybe add something, like a little sodypop with dinner.
6) Have "poor me" treats hidden in the cupboards.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Queen Day
Reasons I feel like a queen today.
1) I'm washing my laundry with this. And I couldn't feel a smidge fancier.
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Read all about my soap nuts here. But only if you're super interested in feeling like a queen. Oh, may I add - 1 lb equates to 300-400 washes. Who's the money saver now???!!!!! (sorry, I said that with a really snarky attitude and wild hands) (I think that was aimed towards Big D)
2) I just placed an order for a million different fragrances. Because I make my own candles. And if I were annoyingly fancy, I would have ordered essential oil (like I did in the past) - but that jizznizzle is too expensive for my taste. I'll just stick with my soy wax and feel fancy as I burn my brain cells with the highly toxic man-made chemicals known as fragrance oil. PS. If you think you might need a candle, you should let me know. Also, if you have extra salsa jars or tea tins - you should give them to me.
3) I made a zucchini boat for dinner last night. The reason I feel fancy and queenish? Um, because it was called a "boat". Here's the recipe. And, my my my my my goodliness. Just picture a drooly chin. Because that's probably what will happen to you. *A few side notes 1) I hate that there is no picture for the boat. 2) I was the one that gave the recipe the 5 stars. 3) If you like savory comfort food slash somewhat healthy - then grab a bib.
4) I went on a very fancy date with Queen Bee. It was a quick after-dinner for me, before-dinner for her drinky. And we chatted heart to hearts. And maybe squealed one-too-many times. Have I mentioned how good Queen is for my moral? Have I mentioned that everyone should have a friend like Queeny? She scoots around in her fancy car. Squealing into small parking spaces. And I feel like I'm in a different world.
Reasons that I don't feel like a queen today.
1) Finding a leg hair growing on my back. Blunt and sharp and thick. It was awful.
Take Aways
1) Make queen days a priority.
2) Always and continuously check your back for things that don't belong.
1) I'm washing my laundry with this. And I couldn't feel a smidge fancier.
2) I just placed an order for a million different fragrances. Because I make my own candles. And if I were annoyingly fancy, I would have ordered essential oil (like I did in the past) - but that jizznizzle is too expensive for my taste. I'll just stick with my soy wax and feel fancy as I burn my brain cells with the highly toxic man-made chemicals known as fragrance oil. PS. If you think you might need a candle, you should let me know. Also, if you have extra salsa jars or tea tins - you should give them to me.
3) I made a zucchini boat for dinner last night. The reason I feel fancy and queenish? Um, because it was called a "boat". Here's the recipe. And, my my my my my goodliness. Just picture a drooly chin. Because that's probably what will happen to you. *A few side notes 1) I hate that there is no picture for the boat. 2) I was the one that gave the recipe the 5 stars. 3) If you like savory comfort food slash somewhat healthy - then grab a bib.
4) I went on a very fancy date with Queen Bee. It was a quick after-dinner for me, before-dinner for her drinky. And we chatted heart to hearts. And maybe squealed one-too-many times. Have I mentioned how good Queen is for my moral? Have I mentioned that everyone should have a friend like Queeny? She scoots around in her fancy car. Squealing into small parking spaces. And I feel like I'm in a different world.
Reasons that I don't feel like a queen today.
1) Finding a leg hair growing on my back. Blunt and sharp and thick. It was awful.
Take Aways
1) Make queen days a priority.
2) Always and continuously check your back for things that don't belong.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Q: Do Actions Speak Louder Than Words? A: Correct
You know in the Bible where Jesus says something to the effect: If you love me, then obey my commandments?
Welp, this statement has been on my mind for a few years. There are so many commandments. I get boggled. Then grumpy. Then overwhelmed. Then I throw my arms up in the air (wave them violently) and say negative statements, like "how in the world am I supposed to remember all of those commandments???!!!" And then I think "I hope Jesus doesn't think that I don't love him because I forgot a commandment." All in that order.
It gets gnarly.
Oh, but then beauty happened today. I was talking to one of my goodest pals, and she was chatting about husbands *ahem, cough* and how they say things like: "I love being married to you" and "you're such an amazing mother" and other unoriginal statements - but then they have the audacity to forget special days. Unacknowledged that is. And where does that leave us, the mothers. The wives? Believing your words of praise and love? Or believing your actions?
And in that moment I got my answer. Jesus said, "it's your actions, love me through your actions".
Um, phew!
I know our actions go back to the commandments, but it's so easy to get overwhelmed and wrapped up in the magnitudeness of the word, "commandment". Especially when there are a lot of them.
It's so much simpler staying in tune with my day to day actions. Moment to moment. Focusing on now.
On a side note: This happened.
Ed chewed off the back-tail. And ate it like a potato chip.
Take Aways
1) Search for truth, and the truth will set you free.
2) My hair salon won't call me back. I think they're avoiding me. But I have officially entered the Sewer Rat pageant - and I have a good chance of winning.
3) I'm going out tonight with Queen Bee, and I can't wait and Big D will miss me because he doesn't know how to handle being by himself AND the children.
4) That wasn't true at all.
5) Murnice asked me if sometimes I tell tall tales on my blog - I said, yes.
6) I can't wear any makeup tonight because of my wanky eye. Feeling even more sewer ratish.
Welp, this statement has been on my mind for a few years. There are so many commandments. I get boggled. Then grumpy. Then overwhelmed. Then I throw my arms up in the air (wave them violently) and say negative statements, like "how in the world am I supposed to remember all of those commandments???!!!" And then I think "I hope Jesus doesn't think that I don't love him because I forgot a commandment." All in that order.
It gets gnarly.
Oh, but then beauty happened today. I was talking to one of my goodest pals, and she was chatting about husbands *ahem, cough* and how they say things like: "I love being married to you" and "you're such an amazing mother" and other unoriginal statements - but then they have the audacity to forget special days. Unacknowledged that is. And where does that leave us, the mothers. The wives? Believing your words of praise and love? Or believing your actions?
And in that moment I got my answer. Jesus said, "it's your actions, love me through your actions".
Um, phew!
I know our actions go back to the commandments, but it's so easy to get overwhelmed and wrapped up in the magnitudeness of the word, "commandment". Especially when there are a lot of them.
It's so much simpler staying in tune with my day to day actions. Moment to moment. Focusing on now.
On a side note: This happened.
Take Aways
1) Search for truth, and the truth will set you free.
2) My hair salon won't call me back. I think they're avoiding me. But I have officially entered the Sewer Rat pageant - and I have a good chance of winning.
3) I'm going out tonight with Queen Bee, and I can't wait and Big D will miss me because he doesn't know how to handle being by himself AND the children.
4) That wasn't true at all.
5) Murnice asked me if sometimes I tell tall tales on my blog - I said, yes.
6) I can't wear any makeup tonight because of my wanky eye. Feeling even more sewer ratish.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Romanticism
I have had the most romantic thoughts about what life was going to be like once I moved back home.
Sometimes, I get a bit silly - thinking such foolish thoughts. There has been nothing even remotely romantic about the past few days - minus that one time on Saturday that I got a movie from Red Box. But it was Lincoln. And although it was educational, and the script was excellent - I have never enjoyed watching movies that are filmed in the dark. It makes me quite batty. Physically and mentally. I chomped Big D's ninnies too hard. He screamed.
So in lieu of my romantic dreams being smashed and for my love of lists, here is a list of my grossly unromantic life here, at the Witherhalls:
1) Finding massively large, leggy, fast, spiders all throughout the house. Hidden is secret corners that aren't really secret. But when SOMEBODY doesn't clean for 6-weeks, including sweeping the kitchen floor because they think that they are as crumb-less as a piece of turkey breast - (*cough cough*) spiders do indeed take up residency. And then I have to spend my whole day babysitting these said spiders because I'm too afraid of trying to kill them. Missing completely while closing my eyes and screaming - and then the spider is lost, crawling over cozy spots instead of corners.
2) Sitting on my own toilet seat, and bathing my bottom in urine. Thank you Ed. Who pees 3000 times a day because he gets a starburst every time he pees. And he literally will pee, grab his "ink" starburst (that I have to unwrap because they are from last year's candy hunt and too old and too sticky for any sane person to unwrap is any sort of distinguished manner) And while he's still slurping the juice running down his chin from the very old and sloppy starburst, he will then run back to the toilet to squeeze out another 1/2 a drop of urine (that inevitably lands on the toilet seat) just to have another tasty "reat". Over and over. Multiplied by 3000 . . . . . .
3) Almost screaming and knifing make-believe person 17 times, in the bathroom. Big D has decided that triathlons are for him. And I'm so pleased that he is in love, working his degenerating muscles. However, Big D wants to feel fancy, and has bought any and everything that you could possibly need, want, use, think-about, dream-about, fantasize-about, lust after, wonder-about, and or wear. Including the full body size wetsuit. It's black. And very large. And Big D hangs it in the shower. Today I am cursing my peripheral vision.
THIS JUST IN THIS JUST IN !!!!!!!!!!
Ok, so as I was typing all the unromantic love busters, the most romantic thing happened.
It comes with a little story:
For those of you that talk on the phone with me (Sister Bear and Mother) know that my phone (my beloved Blueberry) is a piece of rotten butt juice. And PRAISE THE LORD, it was time for my early get-a-new-phone. And I got the iphone 4s. Not because I want to feel fancy, but more because it is the relative size of my Blueberry - and my hands are small. *snicker snicker* Now all weekend, nobody had called me. Because I only talk to Sister Bear and Mother - and they were busy with their important lives. But today, today I got a call from the very important Iss. And gee darn barn, I missed the call. But she left a voice message. Well, the iphone is a piece of junk that tries to appear fancier than it really is. It tells you that you have secret codes to get your voice mail. It said that I had an old secret code, and needed to make a new secret code. That's the biggest bunch of diarrhea squirts I've heard all day. So I tried to rectify the situation by calling my phone company. Alas, everything is under Big D's name and I don't have his important numbers memorized. (This is the longest lamest story ever . . . . ) Jumping to the end . . . . I just got a text message from said phone company that said what my secret wizard twirls had been changed. Which means that Big D, in the throws of trying to act professional and flirty with all the bimbos he works with - made a very important phone call. And fixed my ever alarming problem. (Ooohh baby, mama's getting hot tonight.)
(Kidding. But maybe not.)
I feel like a queen. And I'm going to make dinner now. And it's going to be good.
Take Aways
1) I hate surprises, but I loved this one.
2) You need good peripheral vision for spider babysitting, but not for wetsuit hangings.
3) My wanky eye is still wanky.
4) I am so hungry because I've eaten minus three corn kernels all day, due to my starburst unwrapping.
5) I'm going to eat 7 bowls of soup tonight.
Sometimes, I get a bit silly - thinking such foolish thoughts. There has been nothing even remotely romantic about the past few days - minus that one time on Saturday that I got a movie from Red Box. But it was Lincoln. And although it was educational, and the script was excellent - I have never enjoyed watching movies that are filmed in the dark. It makes me quite batty. Physically and mentally. I chomped Big D's ninnies too hard. He screamed.
So in lieu of my romantic dreams being smashed and for my love of lists, here is a list of my grossly unromantic life here, at the Witherhalls:
1) Finding massively large, leggy, fast, spiders all throughout the house. Hidden is secret corners that aren't really secret. But when SOMEBODY doesn't clean for 6-weeks, including sweeping the kitchen floor because they think that they are as crumb-less as a piece of turkey breast - (*cough cough*) spiders do indeed take up residency. And then I have to spend my whole day babysitting these said spiders because I'm too afraid of trying to kill them. Missing completely while closing my eyes and screaming - and then the spider is lost, crawling over cozy spots instead of corners.
2) Sitting on my own toilet seat, and bathing my bottom in urine. Thank you Ed. Who pees 3000 times a day because he gets a starburst every time he pees. And he literally will pee, grab his "ink" starburst (that I have to unwrap because they are from last year's candy hunt and too old and too sticky for any sane person to unwrap is any sort of distinguished manner) And while he's still slurping the juice running down his chin from the very old and sloppy starburst, he will then run back to the toilet to squeeze out another 1/2 a drop of urine (that inevitably lands on the toilet seat) just to have another tasty "reat". Over and over. Multiplied by 3000 . . . . . .
3) Almost screaming and knifing make-believe person 17 times, in the bathroom. Big D has decided that triathlons are for him. And I'm so pleased that he is in love, working his degenerating muscles. However, Big D wants to feel fancy, and has bought any and everything that you could possibly need, want, use, think-about, dream-about, fantasize-about, lust after, wonder-about, and or wear. Including the full body size wetsuit. It's black. And very large. And Big D hangs it in the shower. Today I am cursing my peripheral vision.
THIS JUST IN THIS JUST IN !!!!!!!!!!
Ok, so as I was typing all the unromantic love busters, the most romantic thing happened.
It comes with a little story:
For those of you that talk on the phone with me (Sister Bear and Mother) know that my phone (my beloved Blueberry) is a piece of rotten butt juice. And PRAISE THE LORD, it was time for my early get-a-new-phone. And I got the iphone 4s. Not because I want to feel fancy, but more because it is the relative size of my Blueberry - and my hands are small. *snicker snicker* Now all weekend, nobody had called me. Because I only talk to Sister Bear and Mother - and they were busy with their important lives. But today, today I got a call from the very important Iss. And gee darn barn, I missed the call. But she left a voice message. Well, the iphone is a piece of junk that tries to appear fancier than it really is. It tells you that you have secret codes to get your voice mail. It said that I had an old secret code, and needed to make a new secret code. That's the biggest bunch of diarrhea squirts I've heard all day. So I tried to rectify the situation by calling my phone company. Alas, everything is under Big D's name and I don't have his important numbers memorized. (This is the longest lamest story ever . . . . ) Jumping to the end . . . . I just got a text message from said phone company that said what my secret wizard twirls had been changed. Which means that Big D, in the throws of trying to act professional and flirty with all the bimbos he works with - made a very important phone call. And fixed my ever alarming problem. (Ooohh baby, mama's getting hot tonight.)
(Kidding. But maybe not.)
I feel like a queen. And I'm going to make dinner now. And it's going to be good.
Take Aways
1) I hate surprises, but I loved this one.
2) You need good peripheral vision for spider babysitting, but not for wetsuit hangings.
3) My wanky eye is still wanky.
4) I am so hungry because I've eaten minus three corn kernels all day, due to my starburst unwrapping.
5) I'm going to eat 7 bowls of soup tonight.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Last Week!
I'm not going to write this week. It's my last week at Mothers, and I'm letired and slightly burnt. But not from the sun.
Ok, the honest truth is, I write a lot on the weekends. And this weekend Big D filled my weekend up with red-neck birthday parties and Friday Friend celebrations. Which leaves me no time to think of something worthwhile to say.
So that's the truth. Also, I'm letired and burnt. And my skin has reached a record hive-fest. Mainly only where it would be slightly unladylike to scratch. My eyes also reached an ultra sexy red, puffy, watery permanent glow to them.
So I'm hoping today - my last half day at home before the final stretch at Mothers - I'll be able to look at new computers, phones, and bathroom tile amidst celebrations, laundry, grocer trips, packing, and scratching.
We'll see if I actually get dressed today.
On a side note, Big D and I watched Identity Thief last night. I thought it would be watchable since it had Melissa McCarthy in it and lately I can't get enough of her. But alas, it was a painful-getting-through-it movie.
On a high note, Big D told me it would make him feel so much more manly if I patted and rubbed his ninnies more. I think I can handle that. However, the same does not apply to me. I do not have this need to feel manly.
Take Aways
1) I am a selfish lazy lady.
2) Who dreams of a lovely bathroom.
3) And a phone and computer that works.
4) With really uncomfortable skin and eyes.
5) The end.
Ok, the honest truth is, I write a lot on the weekends. And this weekend Big D filled my weekend up with red-neck birthday parties and Friday Friend celebrations. Which leaves me no time to think of something worthwhile to say.
So that's the truth. Also, I'm letired and burnt. And my skin has reached a record hive-fest. Mainly only where it would be slightly unladylike to scratch. My eyes also reached an ultra sexy red, puffy, watery permanent glow to them.
So I'm hoping today - my last half day at home before the final stretch at Mothers - I'll be able to look at new computers, phones, and bathroom tile amidst celebrations, laundry, grocer trips, packing, and scratching.
We'll see if I actually get dressed today.
On a side note, Big D and I watched Identity Thief last night. I thought it would be watchable since it had Melissa McCarthy in it and lately I can't get enough of her. But alas, it was a painful-getting-through-it movie.
On a high note, Big D told me it would make him feel so much more manly if I patted and rubbed his ninnies more. I think I can handle that. However, the same does not apply to me. I do not have this need to feel manly.
Take Aways
1) I am a selfish lazy lady.
2) Who dreams of a lovely bathroom.
3) And a phone and computer that works.
4) With really uncomfortable skin and eyes.
5) The end.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Peener Problems
Poor Ed has a peener infection. A possible reason why he's been so special the past few days?
I took his morning diaper off to find a pile of cheese.
No fever. No complaining. Just his typical foul attitude towards life.
I smelled the cheese and it smelled like a grown woman's vagina. And with that I assumed it was possibly a yeast infection.
But I wasn't too concerned and went to work - all of 9/10th's of a mile away and called his Pediatrician who answered right away. (Christmas miracles happen when you make early calls) And she immediately connected me to the nurse (*gasp* where I didn't even have to leave a message and get called back around bedtime) who advised me to come in to the office. (1 hour away) They had a 9 am appointment open.
I did a bunch of tire squealing and baby snatching and made it to his appointment on the dot.
And as the doctor was taking the diaper off, a glob of white puss came oozing out of his little peener. The timing could not have been more divine. I did not have to show her the cheese filled diaper that I had brought from home. Phew - cuz that's kinda gross and obnoxious.
She said to me "good call" about bringing him in (a royal robe was placed around my shoulders as queenship took over)
So, with my first peener infection under the belt - and I feel all the wiser. Ed is not oozing any more. And he's a super eager beaver to take his pink peener medicine.
And now I have to be a responsible mother and give my poor children a soaking bath every night. Lame. I guess the soaking part helps to clean out all the "debris" that gathers in tips of penises.
Moment of honesty: I hate giving baths. Therefore, the children don't get a bath unless Murnice's hair smells like old moth balls and Ed has visible dirt smeared on more than 3 different body parts.
Take Aways
1) Peeners are just as complex as vaginas.
2) The words "peener" and "wanker" are so much better than other penis verbiage.
3) Big D called me more than he's ever called me at Mothers to check up on the peener infection boy. I think I got 4 calls? Hmmmm how does a peener infection trump just pure missing love?
I took his morning diaper off to find a pile of cheese.
No fever. No complaining. Just his typical foul attitude towards life.
I smelled the cheese and it smelled like a grown woman's vagina. And with that I assumed it was possibly a yeast infection.
But I wasn't too concerned and went to work - all of 9/10th's of a mile away and called his Pediatrician who answered right away. (Christmas miracles happen when you make early calls) And she immediately connected me to the nurse (*gasp* where I didn't even have to leave a message and get called back around bedtime) who advised me to come in to the office. (1 hour away) They had a 9 am appointment open.
I did a bunch of tire squealing and baby snatching and made it to his appointment on the dot.
And as the doctor was taking the diaper off, a glob of white puss came oozing out of his little peener. The timing could not have been more divine. I did not have to show her the cheese filled diaper that I had brought from home. Phew - cuz that's kinda gross and obnoxious.
She said to me "good call" about bringing him in (a royal robe was placed around my shoulders as queenship took over)
So, with my first peener infection under the belt - and I feel all the wiser. Ed is not oozing any more. And he's a super eager beaver to take his pink peener medicine.
And now I have to be a responsible mother and give my poor children a soaking bath every night. Lame. I guess the soaking part helps to clean out all the "debris" that gathers in tips of penises.
Moment of honesty: I hate giving baths. Therefore, the children don't get a bath unless Murnice's hair smells like old moth balls and Ed has visible dirt smeared on more than 3 different body parts.
Take Aways
1) Peeners are just as complex as vaginas.
2) The words "peener" and "wanker" are so much better than other penis verbiage.
3) Big D called me more than he's ever called me at Mothers to check up on the peener infection boy. I think I got 4 calls? Hmmmm how does a peener infection trump just pure missing love?
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