The past couple days...

On Tuesday Riley had her "class day". What this consisted of, mainly, was her class going outside and screaming and running around in no sort of order whatsoever. I was lucky enough to be wrangled into "volunteering" for being a helper to their teacher. I have a great respect for elementary school teachers. I know that most days Riley overwhelms me; her energy, her questions, her constant talking, etc. And she's not even one of those annoying kids. Cole is...and he's enough to do me in each and every day. I don't know what kind of Hell I would find myself in, if I had to deal with an entire class full of them. They are cute, though, and I don't think many people realize how many lives that saves, each and every year. Cole came with me, but didn't want to participate in any of the activities. He basically graced us with his presence solely for the snow cone everyone got afterwards. I have to say I ruined one pair of cute canvas shoes because I volunteered to help make the 35 snow cones needed. This is the kind of stuff that happens when I try to be nice...also, the same reason I'm a raunch most of the time. (So, see, I try to be nice). From there I went to Mcdonald's to get lunch. Riley's been begging me to eat with her in the cafeteria...(that wasn't easy on the morning sickness, let me tell you), so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone. Of course, Mcdonald's wasn't the best choice meal-wise. Both Riley and Cole were so obsessed with the Speed Racer toys inside, and the whole time I had to threaten to take them away, just to get them finish. Ah, it was just as enjoyable as I had imagined it would be. At least Riley scored some massive points with her friends, she shared her fries and everyone was happy. When I picked her up after school, her friend Olivia, and Cole's friend, Henry came over for a couple hours. While I tried to ignore Riley and Olivia's "fairy speak", Cole kept yelling at Henry that he couldn't play with his new Speed Racer car, cause it was his "best one". But if Henry would like to play with one of his old cars, that would be okay--just don't take it home. Tuesday was LONG.

Wednesday one of my fantasies, as a PARENT, you dirty dogs, came to pass. It happened quite surprisingly. We were actually getting ready to take Riley to her dance recital, that her Aunt Amy had prepared her for, and I really got a look at my daughter. When I was young, I had imagined motherhood as taking my little girl to a dance lesson or recital, and she'd was dressed in an outfit just like this...the little skinny blond girl in a black leotard and sweats, hair in a bun, getting ready to do her thing. It was...nice. I never got to do that kind of stuff as a kid, so I'm thinking that was one of the reasons it was something I'd imagined myself doing. A bit surreal, in a very good way. Also, I was grateful that Riley had this opportunity, she's always been interested in this kind of stuff, even as a tiny thing. So my thanks to Amy, for giving of her time and talents to let this come to pass. For those of you that would like to see, I also included the video of her dance recital. (I noticed that Amy's blog has it, too...however, it is that good, so I'm sure no one will object to seeing it twice. (Unless you aren't attached to your hair...because any rude comments, and I swear, I will rip it all out). Anyhoo, Amy did a great job picking out their outfits and coaching them through the moves.





Riley's last day of school was today. I'm pretty stoked about this, as now I won't have to pick her up at 3:00pm each day, or even have to remember what day it is. No homework...I am already feeling the absence of stress and it's lovely. I know, it doesn't sound like school takes that much work on my part, but public school is amazingly involved. I think that because these days, there are so many kids and so little teachers, that parents are depended on to do a buttload of stuff. Some ways this is good, but other ways, it makes a lazy person's life harder. Believe me, that's no fun. I'm always skeptical of this so-called last week of school. It involves the "class day, the "field day", and then a half day. It's also only three days long, as they insist you come back after Labor Day...lame. Just let the kids go, already. By mid-may, they have all checked out...and so have the parents, really. However, I don't have to complain, anymore, do I? Nope. So maybe that's where I will end this post. Bring on the summer! (Just lay off the heat....I'm so not looking forward to sweltering in my constant state of fatness).

ps. Check out my virtual baby...it's actually looking more human/monkeyish rather than reptilian. This makes me feel less creeped out. However, I'm sure my baby isn't that skinny. Anyway, I hope not. That means all the eating for two hasn't been for the baby as much as it's been for me...anyway, I wanted to point that out for Kory, because I know that he really notices those things.

What I know.

After my last post, I'm hesitant to do this again. I'm still a bit gun-shy because of, you know, admitting all my failures as a mother and such. But, it felt good to get out. I am a crap mom sometimes...more often than not, lately. But, as I had mentioned before, I have been having particularly bad days. Today was good. (Even though I slept a bit more than I should have, but I feel justified because it's a holiday). Anyway, I was feeling bad because of my long nap, until Jeff told me what Cole had told him. He said, "It's good to have days like these". I don't know what was most enjoyable. Watching a movie? Jumping on the trampoline? Going outside? Playing inside? I'm completely at a loss, but there is one thing that I'm sure of. I have great kids. I love that they are so patient with me, and try to understand why their mother is a total drag right now. Even though I seem to be MIA, they are still confident that I love them, and to me, that's most important. So these next few months may not be that bad.

Oh, and thanks, Brandi and Moriah, for your comments. I was worried that I'd find child services at my doorstep this morning. Although deserved, I was really glad I didn't.

Officially four months and a day.

And that's where I am today. Four months along, plus one additional 24 hours. I'm still sick, and I'm fighting the effects of being off my medication, cold turkey for this amount of time. Shauna, thanks for the offer of reprieve. If I get too desperate, I'll certainly give you a call. Though I've done it before, and found the hard way WHY I continue to be on anti-depressants, it's always kind of a let down that I still need them. It's not that they give me some fabulous high, or make me feel like Mary Poppins, where I'm up for singing a song about everything at any time, and will even scrub my toilet with a smile....it's more about the little things I take for granted every day.
Getting out of bed. I've said over and over again that I walk in the mornings. That, for me, is worth mentioning because after I get Jeff's pitiful lunch ready and Riley's, and see her off to school, my bed is the next place I'm longing to go. Usually, that desire wins out and that's where I am for the next half of the day. It's a disgusting cycle. I'm so grateful that Cole is content with his toys, some snacks, some movies, and having free reign in my room while I doze, because I'd have one severely unhappy little boy on my hands. I feel really certain that this baby is the last I will be having. I'd not forgotten what it was like for me, but I had glossed over what it was like for Riley and now Riley and Cole. Like I said, my children put up with a lot, when it comes to their mother.
Taking care of myself. I usually will shower and get ready...yes, even though I just put on clean pajama pants, I still count this as getting dressed. But this is usually around 2:30pm, right before I have to pick Riley up from school at 3:00. I'm aware of the pathetic-ness of this action, however, feel too much apathy to care. I try for a good solid four hours of interactive time...and sometimes have to cut that short. (I can feel your opinion of me and my mothering skills dwindling with each new sentence. I can't defend myself a single bit, so continue judging).
Controlling my emotions. This is confusing to me, as well. Most of the time, and I think this is due to depression, I just can't care about anything. With the exception of my children and husband. I may not be that great at showing them, but I do try to let them know of their importance to me, especially now, when my actions say otherwise. But, and I think that this is mainly because of the pregnancy, I'm angry and sad and impatient and worried at any given second. I say things I regret, and I do things, when I actually do things, that I regret as well. I think it's better that I find a hole and crawl in, because I do less damage that way. I am reminded of my childhood, and how out of control I felt. It was the most terrible time, ever. Not only was I dealing with these emotions, but I was dealing with all these people that didn't understand, either, and just assumed I was mean. Or hateful. Honestly? I was...that's how I felt, constantly.
Blah, okay...no more pity party for me. My point, and amazingly enough, I have one, is that I only have five more months left. And I'm not crying as often as I have during my other pregnancies, so this, believe me, is a positive. And in all honesty, I have more good days than bad ones. I hate when I do have bad ones, because I can't even explain why it is bad. I just have this defective brain and when taking the proper meds, I can usually hide this embarrassing fact. But without them, hiding it progressively gets harder. So, don't be surprised if I just kind of, check out. This is what works for me, and somehow, makes everything easier. As a kid, this was my go-to response, and it's a working system. I know that there are things I could probably do, meds that would probably not have too much of a negative effect on the baby. (Supposedly this is to be somewhat reassuring?) But as with Riley and Cole, I've made the decision that this time I just need to concentrate on what's best for our new one. Having no education whatsoever in the medical field, maybe I'm just being overly ignorant. The thing is, though, I've dealt with this my entire life. I was that kid that acted strangely enough that my kindergarten teacher took my mother aside and said she was concerned about me...and why I wasn't happy. If there is any chance at all that I can save my kids from this, and I'm aware it could very well be hereditary, I'll do it. When they are happy, laughing their maniacal laughs and almost to the point of puking, because those of you that know them, know they will, that's when I am completely okay with this decision. And so far, no teacher has told me I have melancholy kids....so I'm hoping that at least I'm not making anything worse. I feel like if I can just concentrate on Jeff, Riley, and Cole, then I can get through this next five months without any massive break-downs. I promise that my next posts will be better, less on the drama. I just thought a little heads up was in order.

A serious one.

As most of you know, I grew up in Buffalo, Wyoming. All in all there were about 4,000 people, give or take, that made up the entire population. Now this included TWO African Americans, about nine or ten Latino families, the Bask settlers that basically founded the area, and white-whiteys, which was probably about 98.2% of the people there. I considered myself part of the last group, but really, what does "white" mean? Who really knows what color their heritage was? I know there was some Native American, Scottish, Irish, (probably some severe in-breeding as well, when I look back on the town of Burlington Wyoming, where my Granny came from, and that curiously enough, I was related to each and every person in the area). My point is, I was raised in a predominantly white area with a lot of prejudices toward anyone different. Perhaps it's not that way now, because I'm sure the tiny town of Buffalo has grown a bit. However, old habits die hard, right? Still to this day I'm culturally challenged and that's because I grew up there, AND that my parents and grandparents had no qualms about using racial slurs...and until a certain age, (not too old, I am thankful to be able to say), I didn't even realize that type of thing was wrong.
Back to my point, being the one I'm trying to make. I pretty much knew all the kids in my graduating class by third grade. We quickly put each other and ourselves in a crude caste system depending on richness of parents, home locations, religion...etc. I look back and have talked to others about their childhood, and apparently, the BHS class of 1996 started early in being overly concerned about who belonged in what category.
As we all know for certain, kids are mean. I remember being in the fifth grade. I can't recall my teacher's name, but I remember her short hair, glasses, and southern accent. That it wasn't something I'd heard before, so it stands out. Anyway, a kid that was different sat across from me. We were seated at the same table of desks, much to my chagrin, because he'd been different since I met him in second grade. First strike against him? His name was Guy. Second? He had severe scoliosis and had to wear a big brace type thing every once in a while. The third strike was that he was effeminate. I'd never known him to be otherwise. He was friends with all the girls, very kind, and dressed...weird. He was very style conscientious...more so than a normal kid that age would be.
So, from second grade on, he was just known as "Gay Guy". I thought that he would be okay with this, because that's really all I had ever heard him referred to. We'd snicker at recess and talk about him and say he was gay, even though we really didn't comprehend what that meant. But somehow, I'm sure someone's parent had said something about Guy's difference, and that kid decided to pass it on to every kid within earshot. (Another reason parents need to be cautious about things they say in front of their children).
Back to fifth grade. I still didn't know exactly what Gay meant, but it didn't stop me from saying it to Guy daily. Anytime he was seated across from me or passed by me I would seize the opportunity to say something rotten. Besides, I had been teased mercilessly since the third grade about how fat I was, (a trend that would continue until I entered High School), so I knew what to say to make it hurt, and because I had been teased, I felt that I was truly justified in doing the same thing. (I'll remind you now that I have never claimed to be an immensely intelligent person).
One day, after many comments from me, I'm sure, Guy decided to take matters into his own hands. Which, what else could he do? He couldn't tell the teacher, he'd be a tattle tail. He couldn't cry, that would just invite more ridicule. He couldn't get mad and freak out, I would have pounced on that immediately, thinking that that would have been the best reward for my behavior, ever. So on the playground, after saying something terrible....I can't remember what I said, of course, but I can remember what he said. He looks at me, shaking because he's so tired of how mean I am to him and says, "Tomorrow you'd better not come to school. I'm bringing my knife and I'm going to kill you."
Needless to say, I didn't see that reaction coming. I immediately got this sick feeling in my stomach and I started bawling. If the tables had been turned, I would have been glowing from my verbal triumph. As it was I was scared, and sick and knew that I needed to talk to someone about it, but also knew if I did, I would have to tell them what I did to warrant that sentence that would ring clear in my memory twenty years later...and counting. After going home and going into my room, crying and praying because I was sure it was my last day of life, my mom came into my room and asked me what happened. Eventually, I told her. And I couldn't leave out the things that I said, because I figured it would be worse if she heard the whole story from someone else. She wasn't happy with me. I wasn't happy with myself, I was so embarrassed and ashamed, I almost welcomed the thought of dying. At least I wouldn't have had to face Guy and his knife the next day at school. So I told her that the next day I would tell him I was sorry, because I was. Mom asked if I wanted her to call his mom, and for some reason, I couldn't bear thinking that his mom would know the awful things that I had said to Guy every day. I just hoped that I could get rid of that sick feeling.
The next day, I went to school. I saw Guy, and he saw me, and I waited. I went to first recess, and was still alive. I made it to lunch recess, and somehow survived that as well. During last recess, I went up to Guy, and I said, "I'm really sorry for what I said...all those times. And I'm not going to do it anymore, I promise." Guy looked at me like I was crazy, and asked what I was talking about. At that point, I just stood there, and thanked the Lord for the next X amount of life I had left.
I actually kept my word, though. I didn't tease him after that. Sure, I was still teased, and I still hated it, and thought it was unfair. But I was truly nice from then on. Guy and I actually became really great friends, and stayed that way throughout high school. In our Junior year, he came out. He said he was gay and I really don't believe anyone was surprised. Yeah, he was still given a hard time by tons of people...especially guys, because as you know, Guy was attracted to all of them. Because he was gay. Whatever. My long point is, if I would have succumbed to the Buffalo Wyoming mindset, I would have never been friends with Guy. If he wouldn't have ever threatened me, I'd probably be as homophobic as most people I know. I would say especially here, but I think it's really everywhere. There are few truly tolerant people in the world. He wasn't what people accused him of. He wasn't some attention seeking flamboyant person that just tried to make you uncomfortable. He was kind. He was funny. There were many times that he saw me cry and he always made me feel better. I would have missed out on his friendship, and I would have missed out on one of the best parts of my adolescence. So I guess the point of this post is to encourage you to step outside of your paradigm when it comes to other people. I won't list the exact reason for this post, but I heard something today, and it made me sad...and it made me think of this past event in my life. I hope that some of it made sense...and wasn't perceived as me just telling you what a fabulous person I am, because I'm not. In reality, I have far more stories that end in my embarrassment or shame because I handled a situation without any compassion or thought. So enough preaching for tonight. I wish you all of you well, and happy, open minds.

Cole's episode

Today as I was waiting for Riley to get downstairs and eat breakfast before school, Cole came down, and proceeded to tell me what a rotten night he had, and it's raining, and he's just not gonna have a very good day. I tried to give him the proper sympathy and told him that sometimes I don't feel great in the mornings, either, and that you just have to see how the day goes. Sometimes it gets a lot better and then you have a great day. (Maybe not great, but when dealing with a five year old, optimism works so much better than my usual pessimistic demeanor). Cole's going through this thing where he just adores a good argument, and while I was in the midst of explaining that you have to see how the rest of the day unfolds, he interrupts me with, "No it doesn't, Mom". I stopped in my mid-sentence, and tried again to get some words in and was cut off with another, "No Mom, it doesn't". I just rolled my eyes and stopped talking at that point, thinking that he probably would have reacted better to pessimism. Anyway, Riley came downstairs, and went into the bathroom to fix her hair, and brush her teeth. I went back to checking my email, and vaguely hearing Riley and Cole talking.....Cole trying to enlighten Riley with some of his good-morning cheer, and, telling her, for the 800th time about his Iron Man figures that technically he's not supposed to get until Friday. However, he's carried the box around, slept with it, and memorized each figure's name inside for the last week and a half. (Every two weeks my kids get an allowance. They DO have to do chores, and clean their rooms, and basically be on alert for any cleaning whim I have at any given time. I'm a stickler for making them "earn" their allowance, and they are good about doing it).
Now, Riley, being the good sister she is, listens for the 800th time as he goes on and on about who is and who isn't a bad guy, and how he imagines the heroes would look if they were to take off their helmets. By that time, I've totally tuned out, because personally, if I have to hear another imagined iron man scenario, my head will explode. Suddenly, Cole starts his cry of despair. It starts out like, Uh....wahhhhhhAHHAAHHHHHAHHHHH! He's seriously like an infant in that he has to do some serious ground work before he hits his plateau but once he's there, he is in full force and can go on forever. I used to get worked up about this. But, I've also come to understand that he's a bit on the dramatic side, so now it just more or less pisses me off that I have to hear him scream. (And I'm having yet another kid....what am I thinking?)
He runs out to the kitchen table where I'm at and says, " Mom, Riley sc-scared me....wahhhhhhhhh!" I'd had it. All my sympathetic mothering skills have been used up. For those of you that have witnessed me around my children lately, you know what I'm saying. Heaven help them. I not-so-patiently asked what happened? Cole says, "I was standing dere, and Riley scared me, I said". I again asked, "Well, what did she do?" "She scared me, I said! Wahhhhh!!!!!" and then he just went on and on while I dumbly stared at him. Finally, I go: "Oh come on, Cole! You need to suck it up. What if you were a super-hero, or Iron Man? Do you think he'd cry and freak out if his sister scared him while she was brushing her teeth?" He stopped fake crying long enough to yell at me, "MOM! I'M JUST A KID! Don't you know that?" I looked at him with all his tears streaking down his face, and Riley had poked her head out of the bathroom to look at me like, "whoa, he just freaked out, big time". I started laughing because he was so angry with me he was almost shaking. I calmly said, "sorry. I know you're a kid. But you need to realize that sometimes you'll be scared, and it's really not an excuse to start crying and screaming. You just have to be like Iron man and shake it off". He calmed down, and took some deep breaths. Came up to me and let me give him a hug. And goes, "Mom, it's just hard sometimes to be so brave always". I told him that I'm sure it was, and I wouldn't know, because I'm not brave all the time. He let me hug him for a few more seconds and then started telling me what Iron Man would be afraid of if he were a kid, and then on and on it went. He's seriously the weirdest kid I've ever met.

results....WARNING: Do not read if you are eating or just generally squeamish, cause I'm gonna go there.

So I went to the doctor's office yesterday afternoon. My Dad and Teresa watched Cole, and Riley was in school and was later picked up by them, giving me a nice three to four hour period completely to myself. Amazingly, I was seen by my doctor in under 30 minutes...that NEVER happens. I think it was because my appointment was scheduled right after the office's lunch hour, so he didn't have time to get backed up. However, there had to be a down-side somewhere, and that was in the form of some guy that apparently was a doctor-in-training, and he was a bit on the creepy side...just stood in the corner with his arms crossed and smiled with all his teeth showing. This was the entire time I was on the exam table--luckily NOT being fully examined, but it was time to see again if we could hear this baby's heartbeat. (Said baby is represented to the right and below this post, and its Uncle Kory had the audacity to call it "alien like". Even more so than his sister, Kassie's. As insulted as I was, I had to agree that though I hate the wait and the carrying of a baby for nine plus months, it's necessary for the cuteness factor to set in. Also, as mentioned before, my babies don't want to come out at the due date and choose to just hang out in my uterus for as long as they are allowed. The end result? My babies come out ADORABLE. With the exception of a cone-head setback for a day with Riley. But other than that, mark my words, this baby's gonna be pageant material. Take that, Kory).
Anyway, back to the examination table. So that guy is staring at me from the corner, with his arms crossed and showing me ALL his teeth, and I have to hold my pants down to an uncomfortable place where you get a nice view of the top of my pubes. I know, I know, too much information. However, this is the thing that surprised me. I mean, I have had two kids and when I had Cole I had about 5 students watching me as I had my legs spread and gushed disgusting things, unable to control any of it, and not caring. I really had thought I was beyond being embarrassed by my body...when it comes to an impending birth. But no. I didn't like that smiling guy. I wanted to tell him that in his line of work, he needs to have the "I don't care that I'm looking at your nether-regions face", rather than the, "Niceeeeeee" leer that he was giving me. And yeah, I am well aware that possibilities are high he was thinking no such thing...it was just too weird. Someone needs to tell that guy, or he's going to be one poor doctor...figuratively and literally. That's probably why my Doctor had him come in before my crazies really kick in. He didn't want me to be the one to say it.
And we heard the heartbeat. It was fairly loud...and strong. My doctor says it "sounds girlie-like". That means it will probably be a boy, because going by his previous predictions, he's 0 for 2. Speaking of, I truly believe this baby is a girl. Not only because I have the name picked out and have bought various girlie outfits, but: I am craving mashed potatoes. I did this with Riley my entire pregnancy, but not at all with Cole. They can't be mashed potatoes with anything in them other than butter. If they have a trace of garlic, I will barf right there. But now it's official. This is my little Sydney that I'd been thinking about. I'm also taking bets because I told the kids that whoever guesses correctly will get ice cream when we find out. If anyone wants to get in on that action, let me know. Later Dudes.

Mother's Day

I had a great Mother's day. It was nice and relaxed. We went and visited my mother-in-law, and I love it when we go there, because no matter how long or how short our visit is, it's always appreciated. And there's no pressure, and no guilt about when the last time we made it over there was. It makes me look forward to visits and comfortable being there. Also, I got the best Mother's Day's gifts, ever. My family seemed to know exactly what I needed. Cole got me Dove chocolates (the kind he won't touch with a ten foot pole, because they have almonds in them), Riley got me some bling (earrings and a necklace), and Jeff got me Ben and Jerry's cheesecake brownie ice cream. Yeah, Cole and Riley both ate some of it, but it's okay because I was feeling generous. Also, I picked out some maternity shirts, and Jeff unknowingly paid for them. I let him in on the fact yesterday, and told him that would be my Mother's day gift, and yet I was still surprised with Ice cream...fabulous? Definitely.
Jeff brought to my attention that this was my first Mom's day being pregnant...he also wrote in my card that I must be a really great Mom, because my babies hate to come out when it's time. Instead they like to stay in me, not coming out until the doctors have given me the proper drugs to MAKE them. Now, to be truthful, I don't know if that was supposed to be just a little poking fun at me and how much I looooove being pregnant, but he said the right thing. For some reason, that was one possible teasing statement that I needed to hear. Sometimes I get overly emotional, thinking about what is ahead. How my stomach will keep growing and growing until I can't move without being in pain. How everything I eat and drink and breath and think aren't mine anymore, but shared with this new life that's developing. Because I really believe this. Whoever this new little person is, he or she is involved with everything I do each day, and they are someone that is on my mind every second...just because I feel so many changes within myself that they are the cause of.
I'm scared. I have been terrified each time I've been pregnant. And this time isn't any different. On Tuesday I go to my second doctor's appointment. I've been neglecting this not only because of the financial issue, but because the first time I went, though I was far enough along, my doctor couldn't find the heartbeat. I listened to his explanation of this not being a big deal because of positioning, and how tiny the heart is, but I'm still terrified of what will happen when I go back. Sometimes it's just easier not knowing. What if I go and they don't hear anything again? What will I do? What will happen? I try not to focus on this stuff, but it's always there in my mind. The worst part, is that it really doesn't get better. Even if I hear the heartbeat (fingers crossed), then there's the ultrasound...is the baby the right length? Is there enough amniotic fluid? And the list goes on. It isn't until the pregnancy is actual, that you realize how many things can go so wrong, and what a miracle it is when everything goes right. Anyway, I realize that the direction of this post is slowly making a massive turn toward the "downer" side. So I'll just upload the picture I took today of my perfect family and tell you that this is obviously why I do it. When I came out of the bathroom tonight, this is what I saw. Jeff read the kids a night time story and apparently, I took too long. But do you see what I mean as far as wanting nothing to throw this off? Constantly needing to hear good news, because the possibility of endangering this is just too much to risk. Anyway, this is my world. And soon this new one will be an obvious part of it...so I just hope and pray that all goes well and everything turns out for the best. I'll let you know what happens on Tuesday. For now, I'm going back to my happy Mother's Day place...and I'm also going to go fish my Ben and Jerry's out of the freezer. And perhaps my Dove chocolates. Is it a mistake, right before bedtime, you ask? Well, obviously I am one brave mama...and I'll just have to risk it. BTW...I thought you all would like to know, Cole HATES my little floating "countdown" baby. He says, "If that's how it's gonna look, Mom, I don't wanna look". So we'll give it a few more months, and hopefully, that will improve on its physical appearance. For Cole.

Body by Cole

I thought I would just tell you a little about what goes on in our day to day here. While Riley is at school, Cole and I waste time just hanging out, and I learn a lot from my son. He has an opinion on everything, and most of the time, it's pretty entertaining to me. If it's not entertaining to you, no offense taken...
So for those of you that care, Cole has made some bodily discoveries lately that I find humorous. But first let me kind of set the scene. The poor boy has been so sick. Last night he was feverish and out of it. He came into my room about 1:00AM and was saying, "oh dear, oh dear....oh dear, oh dear." He and Riley both sleep walk and have a tendency to freak me out while doing this, because they can not be coaxed into coming out of wherever they are, it's just better to put them back in bed, give them a kiss and walk away. Even if they talk to you they aren't talking to YOU...so just walk and let them drift back to wherever they are. Anyway, when he's feeling this way, Cole makes discoveries that he likes to tell me about--usually four or five decibels above the normal talking range, as his nose is so stuffed he can't hear anything unless you or he shouts it. Today I was reading if anyone had commented on my previous blog posts...(Thanks to Moriah and Amy and Brandi and Kory and Kass. That's right, I have no shame), and I hear the, "Mom! I need some wipes!" Now, as a sick woman anyway, this is so not my favorite thing to hear. I love my son, but there's only so much I can take. So instead of getting off my butt and going right away to get some wipes, I counter with, "There are wipes right behind you, Cole. Look on the back of the toilet". He proceeds to tell me that those are all gone, which totally warns me that this situation is already out of control...if there is one thing I try to keep up with, it's the stuff you need while on the toilet; being in stock. It's just a good idea, especially when kids are involved. So I get up and get the wipes from my bathroom, take a deep breath, hold it, and give him the package...I also notice complete and utter grossness in the can and he proceeds to tell me what is obvious: "I gots the diarrheas." I manage a "sorry honey" and try to get out of there before I add my own grossness all over the hallway.
So after I have MADE SURE that he had washed his hands and flushed, I told him that maybe he should take a bath, and after a light argument, he got into the tub. Cole likes to talk non-stop, for those of you that don't see him that often. The entire time the water is running he's talking about things that are on his mind. Mind you, even though he keeps the door open to the bathroom so it's not "scary" and he's not alone in the bathroom, I have to stay on my bed where I can't see his nakedness. He's very particular about this. Not that I want to see, I just find it a little inconvenient sometimes because though he doesn't want me to see his body, I need to make occasional EYE contact only, to let him know that I'm listening to him. Yes, it's a slippery slope at times. Basically, I was looking online at my bank account stuff, when Cole says, "Mom! Are you listening to my stories?" I apologized, and asked him to repeat what he had said. So He goes on, telling me, "I said, I was going pee out my butt today". I stopped typing, and tried not to laugh as I asked, "Oh you were?" He went on: "yeah, cause when I got diarrheas, I pee out my butt and it sounds like, 'psssssss', deep breath, 'psssss'. And then some poop goes out and it sounds like, 'psssss, bloop, bloop-bloop, psssss'. Cause that's what diarrheas sounds like, Mom. Yep, I know that's what it sounds like." I just kind of stopped and stared at him, digesting that my son just schooled me in what having the runs both sounds and feels like. I wondered what I could say next, when he yelled, "You can't look at me when I'm naked!"
I told him I wasn't staring and that he needed to wash his body--but use the washcloth on his face, first.
After he got out of the bath, I had to do my expected job of going to get his underwear and clothes and putting them on the lid of the toilet, because I can't just hand him that stuff when his hands are all "crinkly". While he dressed himself he continued to educate me on various bodily functions. "Mom, when I'm kinda stuffy I get lots of boogers." I agreed to that statement, and listened to him as he continued to fill me in on where he gets boogers. "Yeah, I get boogers in my nose, and sometimes on my chin, and in my eyes, and sometimes on my cheeks...." I told him that's why I made him take a bath. "Mom! I can just pick those goobers off like this". And I watched as he picked imaginary boogers off his face. "Or sometimes I just frow 'em on the floor." That's when I had to stop him. His detail was just a little too perfect for my lurpy stomach to endure anymore of his stories.
Anyway, this is what I deal with when I've got sick kids...and why I complain so much when they aren't feeling well. There's so much more cleaning and disinfecting, and now the horror of boogers being flung about at any given time on my carpet. So there you go. Now you have a little insight about what goes on in our home on a day to day basis....and probably will never set foot in it again. In this case, I can totally understand.

I need a sign.

I've been thinking about some sort of physical badge or sign or something to let others know that I'm a pregnant woman, and I'm pissed all the time. You know, there are a lot of them: The rainbow sign to let people know you're gay, the pink ribbon to let people know you're very aware and a fighter of breast cancer, the red ribbon to say the same about AIDS, the yellow ribbon/magnet that tells people you have some sort of relative in the war, or that you support the troops, (which even though I'm not a supporter of the war, I can respect, because I do support the troops as well and wish they could all just come home and be with their families already), the baseball cap that says, "white trash" ....(something some people don't even need a sign for, i.e. my neighbors), anyway, you get what I'm saying. Just a little something to let others know about what's going on in your head, life, body, etc. I personally think it's a great idea. That way people can be like, "oh, that's why she has that look on her face--the one that says she is perfectly capable of running you over and not feeling bad about it." I just need to let people know that I can't handle their crap. Normally, I can laugh stuff off and deal (or just chalk it up to being a good story for later), but right now that's not working out so well. You know how I went on and on in my last post about how I had a good day and it was a pleasant surprise? Well that trend ended way too quickly. Luckily for you, my two readers, I have a few somethings to fume about.
So, as it was Sunday, I went to church. Normally when I go, it's hard to get myself out of bed and get there, but I always feel better about myself when I get home. There was always a lesson I needed to hear, or I ran into someone that said something to make me feel really good about myself, or I just come away from the whole experience feeling like I did my good deed for the week. (Now please don't assume that this is how all LDS people are. I am one of those few that know I should/need to do better, be better and try harder, but instead of taking it to heart and being that go-getter, I am satisfied with the baby steps that I make, and am content with the thought that I try to be nice and be honest and do what I'm supposed to. I've come into contact with amazing people in my ward that can and have accomplished things I could only imagine, and yet they are still are motivated to constantly do and be better. I just pray that somehow my good aspects will kinda even-out all the negative stuff like laziness and bitterness, and sarcasm, and lots of other less-than-positive attributes I have. Most importantly, I am trying each day to find joy in the little things, because seriously, that's all I can handle).
Anyway, onto my stories. Firstly, I am a person that has to have my own space. It's been this way forever, the only people I truly feel like I can be physically close to are Jeff, Riley and Cole. And my sisters. Obviously, these people have seen me pee and when I first wake up in the mornings and really, nothing could surprise them at this point. That being stated, at church sometimes I feel really claustrophobic. Mostly because I'm with people that I know, but only as church acquaintances. (I have a few friends, but it's hard for me to get too chummy with people in my ward...then all of a sudden you're expected to attend all these functions like, BBQs, play dates, service projects, any type of Tupperware or Pampered Chef party, etc. I'm talking like, five days a week). So when there is a class at church where we all have to squeeze together, and yes, I'm practically sitting on someone's lap, it's awkward. And then I get bugged. For example, I was sitting next to a woman that always eats Doritos during class. So not only do you smell the processed nacho cheese flavoring every time she opens her mouth, (And she's one of those people that answers every question and reads every quote, so it's open often), but she's a loud chewer and breather. She is also about nine months pregnant, so I try to focus on this fact, because as you get more and more pregnant, and I know this from experience, you breathe louder and you're just really uncomfortable, so you move around a lot. However, reminding myself of these facts wasn't really helping. Every time I "smelled the cheese" if you will, I got nauseous. And then she started with her hair. She has about three feet of curly brown hair that she lovingly caresses all through class each Sunday. It usually starts out in a braid, but then she plays with it, combs it out, and winds it around her fingers during the hour. Because it was so crowded in the room we were in, she didn't have as much room to play, however, this did NOT stop her from swinging her braid around to her front where she could pick it up with her hand and examine the ends or pick out the hairs that were starting to come undone. Every five minutes, she needed to make sure the status of her hair hadn't changed and each time she swung it around, it hit me in the boob and shoulder. I counted four times before I thought I would grab that braid and keep yanking on it until I had all three feet and the bloody roots in my hand. After a while I had to just lean on Jeff, who at the time was being stabbed by the legs of a toddler in his hip. (Apparently his mom didn't think that this would bother the man that had to sit an inch away from her). He was also kicked at, as well, when the baby got tired of sitting a certain way. Needless to say, I wasn't "feeling the spirit", if you know what I'm saying.
My next beef was when I went to the restroom. Sweet relief, if you know what I am saying, because A, I got to go pee, and in my condition, I'm always up for that, and B, I got to go to a place where I could sit for a few moments in silence without anyone touching me. I walked into the restroom and literally sighed in relief. There was a cute little two or three year old twirling in her dress as I walked in, and I smiled, because she was just entertaining herself while her mom made arrangements in the mirror. I looked down at her pigtales as I was trying to scoot by and saw that her hair had been sprayed with glitter. Ah, cute. However, as I passed her my skirt brushed her arm and I smiled and said, "Excuse me", apparently, this was unacceptable. Because suddenly I felt my skirt being yanked aside like you would curtains, and her little voice say, "MOVE outta the WAYS!" Suddenly, she was the homeliest child I had ever seen, and I had visions of picking her up and washing all that hair glitter out and into the toilet. The other thing was, her mother just stood there, adjusting her boobs and wiping at some lipstick smears. (What the heck had she been doing?) I came this close to saying something less than religious.
So you see, people need to know what they are dealing with these days, when it comes to me. I can't be held responsible for the next woman's hair I rip out or the next child I drown in the nearest toilet. If I could just give them some kind of warning, perhaps life would be more livable. I don't know. This is my new challenge, to come up with something that is catchy enough that when others see it, they immediately know to steer clear and tread lightly. You are all invited to brainstorm with me. Oh, and for the love of your children, watch them when I'm around...otherwise, they might just end up emotionally scarred from a really bad encounter.

My Little girl's Baptism

I'm happy with how today's activities worked out. This is saying something, especially since right now my usual mental state is to complain about everything. Well, I guess that's not very different in itself, but I'll try this again: "Today was good".
I appreciate the people that were at Riley's Baptism. If there's one thing that I do realize, it's that my family, (mine and Jeff's, whom are both considered mine), is truly supportive and go above and beyond. When it comes to my children, especially, it means so much to me. I know my invitation was a bit deprecating of the true event, but I did want everyone to know that I personally understand how hard it is to get myself ready at that time in the A.M....and when you throw some kids into the mix, a morning like that can set the mood for an entire week--and usually it's not overly-positive. I am confused as to why Kassie and Kelli thought it wasn't important enough to show up...oh well. I'll try to get over it. I have already told Riley that it wasn't her, and not to take it personally.
(I'm also totally kidding. Kelli, I got your message, and relayed it to Riley. Sometimes I'm so delighted with the hilariousness that is me...I can't really apologize for being evil. It's fun, and it's genetics).
Anyway, before I get into a long-winded something or other, because I am really comfortable right here, right now typing, and I can feel it coming on, I want to say how proud I am of my husband. As many of you know, Jeff is a quiet guy. Not only quiet, but so painfully shy it's sometimes hard for him to make eye-contact. Though he's really grown in the past few years socially, I know that it's still an effort for him, each and everyday, to do things that I take for granted, like talking and joking and just B.S.ing. Baptizing his daughter, though scary for him, was something that he completely put all of his insecurities aside to do. Most days I forget that something like this would be so difficult for him, because with us, he's my husband, and he's Riley and Cole's dad. And he gives us all of his love and attention freely, with no reservations. However,when he gets around others that he isn't as comfortable with, I'm reminded how hard it is for him to not just shut down and disappear. For the record, as usual, he went above and beyond my expectations. Time and time again he has proven to me that there is nothing he wouldn't do for us, and again, I wonder at how I lucked out. Because as you all know, everything is always about me.
I feel like I need to explain myself a bit, as far as my relationship with my daughter goes. It's complicated. Of course, I love her. I am amazed by her intelligence, her inner and outer beauty, her kindness, and her sensitivity. That being said, I screw up with her often. She's not a baby anymore, and though completely unfair to her, stopped being my literal baby when Cole was born. She was only three. And at that time, she looked so big to me in comparison to the new baby in my arms. She was my helper; got me diapers, ran upstairs for Cole's clean clothes, got me wash cloths for when Cole puked, and watched him while I had precious seconds of alone time on the toilet. She had to be the big kid and she was so little. I look at Cole and his humongous head and his little lisp, and how he's so tall for his age. But he's still my baby. He'll most likely be until this new one comes along. And as I think about this, I'm torn again, because I realized how badly I feel about Riley missing out. She was a victim of timing; having to move to second place so much earlier than Cole does. I hate putting it like that, but when a new baby comes, they are so much more demanding, and the older kids soon learn that they don't have the luxury of acting like that anymore. Riley's always been so sweet, and she let Cole's arrival and the changes it brought happen. She encouraged it, even, because she immediately loved Cole as much as we all do. I remember when he was born, he had some problems with a little fluid in his lungs, and he wasn't breathing and eating the way he should. The nurse came in and told me that they were going to take him for some tests, and Riley, sensing my worry and confusion, went right up to the nurse and said, "That's our baby. He needs to stay with us". The nurse smiled at her and went around her, not really understanding her three year old speak, and Riley, knowing that the nurse didn't get it, started shouting, "That's our baby! Mom, they're taking our baby"! It was a bit odd to see, because when she first came into the hospital to see me, she wasn't really excited about Cole, she kind of saw that this was a new threat to her place in our home, and was a bit sullen about it. But her protective instincts kicked in quickly, especially when she saw how much her new brother meant to her mom and dad. She's always been an astute kid. She sees me for who I am, and she can read how I'm feeling. And sometimes, this isn't a positive thing for her, yet she continues to love me, and tell me that she couldn't have ever had a better mom. (Though I know this to be untrue...as there isn't anyone that would love her as fiercely as I, I'm sure there are some that could be "better" at the mothering job. But hearing her say it, makes me want to believe that maybe some days, I'm doing something not totally wrong).
With Riley I've made some terrible calls and went about some situations so wrong, it embarrasses and shames me to think about it. Today, after everyone left our little breakfast, Jeff and I were joking around. I had said something to Riley about her picking her stuff up and maybe I should just do my regular: start yelling about it. Jeff called me on the yelling comment, and Riley was there so I said, "Because my routine is to yell at her morning, noon, and night, don't you realize that?" Riley cut in, all serious, "Just in the mornings, I don't know anything about the other times". Jeff and I laughed, because we were surprised that she had been following our conversation. However, I was also touched that even though I do yell,(and not just in the mornings, I'm afraid), she was protecting me. I get after her before school because she is a classic doddler. And true, I don't always handle it like a sweet, even-tempered mother would. And she forgives me...even tries to understand why I blow things way out of proportion like that. My daughter is a force that I never saw coming. She is so like me physically, but emotionally, she's ten times the person I am. She's strong and she isn't bitter and negative like I am. I'm grateful for this, and I'm learning from her example.
So today I am feeling the afterglow of being able to be the mother of a child that I know is going to do amazing things. I have no doubt that she will change lives...because I'm already an example of that. The love that I have for my daughter and the person I know she is makes me physically lighter, and makes the world a better place. Yes, we do have our differences. And more unfortunately, yes, her mother is 64% of the time a mental case that is selfish and stubborn. I will say, though, that I would do anything for my daughter. I truly try each day to be better for her, and sometimes there is progress, and sometimes there is a severe backslide. Either way, miraculously, she loves me, and for some reason, thinks I'm a great mom. I'm a blessed woman. I'm so proud of my daughter for being who she is for her, and for me. Hopefully, I will become a better person just from her example. I would list a million more circumstances where she's completely shown me up, but I've still got my pride, and I like to have some secrets. (Especially ones where my flaws outweigh any good aspects I may have at any given day).
And this was a good day. It truly was.