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.

I feel like----

Poop. Amongst other things. I am tired and I am cranky and I just want to reach inside my stomach and empty it out with my hands because there must be some way to alleviate the urge I have to eat and vomit at the same time. I'm looking good these days, too. I have the red burst blood vessels all around my eyes and forehead. Again I am convinced that I could never be a closet Bulimic, as I always look thirty years older when I'm in this phase of pregnancy. (With severe adult acne, unless you look close enough, and realize they are red splotches of traumatized skin). And then I start to look like a man as my nose starts to swell and I gain weight everywhere, not just in the belly bulge that those little whores-who've-never-had-children at Motherhood will tell you. Obviously it's all a question of why I don't love having a bun in the oven.
I've also embraced Pregnancy Bitchiness. Ah, ten months of constant PMS. Is it any question why Jeff is always hesitant to go through this? Yeah, I have to deal with the physical and emotional part, but I believe in giving my husband the full experience. I mean, this is hard for me. I have to let him know just how hard it is, or perhaps he'll make a joke that I couldn't handle, and then I'd have to kick him wherever my tubby legs could make contact. Or stab him. It would just be cruel and unfair to keep how truly traumatic an occurence this is from him. So here's some friendly advice: the next time you see me, try to refrain from comments like, "Oh, you're starting to show", or "hey, you look tired". Because guess what? I am already well aware of this. And when I hear it again and again, it just pisses me off. All my love.

I'm Baaaaaack...

And we are home. Yay for all that severely missed us, namely, Jeff. We missed him, too, so it's a happy ending. I will say this: "I will NOT fly on a plane for the next couple of years, minimum. At least until I've forgotten the travel part of this trip". I had to add the quotes for the severity of my statement. I've never been more frustrated, more ready to murder my children, and more ticked off at an organization. When one pays massive amounts of money, you'd expect a little back. Not with the airline industry, I'm afraid. Luckily, my mom and Scott flew us up there, as I would have never been able to afford it, but I still felt like I was going to lose it with everyone around me, regardless of not having to fork out the big bucks. After every flight, and there were four, of being either canceled or drastically delayed, I was done. With everything. And guess what? Riley and Cole decided to make it as difficult as they possibly could. Do you know how much airport food is? Especially when you're stuck with two picky eaters and no snacks, because you were told you had a four hour maximum of waiting around for the flights and getting to our destination? Well, I didn't realize how much it would be, either, and that four hours turned into about ten. Both my children know how to milk sympathy; I'm pretty sure it's one of my divine traits they inherited. So yesterday, after we found that we'd be delayed for a couple hours, again, we went to find a cheap snack. But no, my children were SO hungry, and SO tired of walking, they started crying...smelling hot dogs at some grill-place, saying they were starving, and they'd been walking all day; instead of flying like we were supposed to be. Embarrassed because I was getting the "lady, feed your kids and tell them to shut up" look, I told them we would buy lunch. (Mind you, this whole production is in addition to all the whining, and fighting that was continuous throughout the day). Two seven dollar hot dogs and three dollar fries later, we were trying to find a place to sit. My children were so hungry that they started to eat...only to notice that the grill place had split the hot dog down the middle when they cooked it. The audacity! Who does that? Then Riley found that there was no honey mustard. So even though she begged through tears for fries as well, she couldn't eat them, because, without honey mustard, it's apparently impossible. Cole ate all his fries but didn't want his hot dog, because it was cooked "wrong". So when I wasn't looking, he dumped his meal in the recyclables bin, and Riley asked if she could do the same.
I'll admit, I didn't answer that question with greatest of patience, and as I laid into Riley and Cole both for making me spend money on crappy food, that they wouldn't even eat, I noticed I was being watched open-mouthed by a couple seated across from us. At that moment, I realized that I was that mom...the one that beats her bratty kids in Wal-Mart. The one that, yeah, has those kids that you wish would just shut up, but when she does something about it, it's about a bazillion times more awkward than you imagined it could be. And instead of feeling satisfied with the quiet, you worry about those kids going home with that lady because surely she's mentally unstable and their little bodies are covered in bruises. So I stopped and took a deep breath, put a movie on my computer and tried to calm down while my children were content to watch Casper.
My point is, even though I am pregnant and was tired and pissed and impatient, I have to learn to relax. I have to be better for Riley and Cole. They were just as agitated as I was, and I'm sure that if they yelled at me every time I was being annoying....well, it would happen quite often. Thankfully, being an adult I can avoid that possibility. Until they're teenagers. Maybe. So, all in all, Riley, Cole and I are so grateful to be home. We had lots of fun, (Thanks Mom and Scott!), but it's nice to be able to have a place where we can all go to have time for ourselves, and not have to depend on something else, no matter how incopentant it may be, to get us there. (Aka, the airline--as I'm trying to wrap this post up, and noticed it's kind of gone all over the place). So, goodnight to you all, and don't worry, my children's bruises are all in the obvious places, as now they mostly are dressing themselves, and so I can't hide anything. I'm totally kidding. Promise.

More news from the North....

Greetings. I am regretting my decision to just bring a couple of hoodies for myself and the kids. It's been FREEZING here. The day we landed, it was nice. And then they had word of a storm. We have been mainly staying inside and looking for activities around the house. At first I was afraid this would eliminate all hopes of fun, but we've been well taken care of. Yesterday we went to Costco...as we wanted a REAL Canadian experience. Actually, it was because Mom and Scott decided to humor me as I wanted part of a Canadian experience, and I was hungry for Poutine. Mom and Scott stuck to the normal Costco Menu. I had tried Poutine last time I was here, but Jeff makes fun of me, and says that something with a name like that can't possibly be a food item. Obviously it is, and it is delicious. You see that Styrofoam boat filled with greasy goodness? That, dear readers, is worth the trip up here. The bottom is a layer of perfectly made crispy on the outside, mealy on the inside, french fries. Then on top of those are cheese curds. What kind of cheese? Goat cheese, I guess. Yummy cheese, for sure. Then it's all topped with a brown gravy. I ate every bite....as I also documented, because I know that Jeff wouldn't believe that I really would touch it. There is something a bit different about Canada, though. They really have no personal space issues, when it comes to a place where you sit down and eat. Anyplace, really. Like, you know that if you go into a fast food place in the states and you sit down and there are like, no empty tables in the general vicinity, that usually a person isn't going to sit right next to you...I mean right next to you, like share the actual booth or bench you're sitting at. But up here, it's the normal. You'll be sitting down, and if there is any empty space at all where you are, in order to save space for all that choose to eventually sit and eat, someone will come up and ask to share your table. It's really weird for me, because I am from the school of being with me and my own when I'm eating...I don't really feel comfortable when there's a stranger like right next to me...almost touching me. But up here, it's totally normal. I think that's the hardest thing for me to understand, because it just feels very wrong. In the states, most people would stand and eat their hot dog, rather than ask to squeeze right in with the family sitting closest to them. Here, it's perfectly okay. Not that I'm saying it's wrong, I guess it's pretty nice to think that people are open enough to be comfortable with that. I don't think I'd be getting used to it any time soon, though. I'm also amazed at what a melting pot it is here. In Utah, you might hear some Spanish and occasionally, if you're next to one the the Universities some Japanese or Chinese. But here, it's everything. I even ran into some people from a Polygamist sect here in Calgary. It was odd, and yet, it had the same effect on me when it occasionally happens at the Wal-mart next to my house...I just want to follow them around and maybe observe some clue as to why they are sporting that crazy old lady braid, or the apron dress with actual pockets that will hold like, items five inches wide and three feet long. What are those for? I don't know. It's all very different, and yet, so close to home, and a lot is the same. My children, on the other hand, have decided that they aren't going to test the boundaries of our culture. No Poutine for them, they just went with an American original...the hotdog. I thought this picture said exactly what they were thinking when I asked them the question, "why won't you try some of this stuff. Look it has Fries, french fries! It's obviously delicious." Well, Riley just rolled her eyes and said, "That looks really gross." And Cole tried to be nice but totally went the wrong way, when he told me, "It smells really yuck, too, Mom." I then told them both that they both were going to have to try some because they were being so rude. Riley has some insight to my sarcasm after her eight years with me. Cole still gets really worried. So this is my step brother, Graham. I hope that's how it's spelled...I don't know, it's not like we've known each other forever. I doubt he knows how to spell my name, so I'm not going to worry about it. But he is a really nice guy, he's really great with Riley and Cole and as a mom, that always scores big points. Riley and Cole think he's pretty funny, and Cole is always the first to volunteer when it's time for dinner to go get Graham, so we can eat. I think he feels some kind of "young dude" solidarity or something. The other day he sat next to Graham for about two hours and just talked about all his new toys while he was on the computer. I was impressed that Cole wasn't sent away within the first two minutes, because he's not very sympathetic to people trying to get work done. Anyway, the rest of the time we've pretty much been inside, playing games and reading and messaging Jeff, and missing him, and checking my email, and watching movies. Riley beat Scott today on his "Are you smarter than a fifth grader?" game. Sure she had a little help, but you could tell her victory was pretty encouraging. And Cole stayed in his jammies the entire day, and played with the toys that Mom and Scott got them for their birthdays. Apparently he's reminded my mom that she got Riley three toys, when she only got him one...nevermind the fact that his toy is about five times the size of Riley's. My mom told me this today, as she was worried about it and was actually considering going to find something to buy just so Cole would be appeased. I told her to forget it. Tell him he's a spoiled rotten brat if he brings it up again, and be done with it. I love my son...but sometimes I really worry about the way my shallowness is rubbing off on him...I mean, jeez. Lastly, my momma took me out and bought us some stuff to make jewelery with. Really nice stuff; stuff I couldn't in a million years afford for myself. But she wanted us to have something to do, and so we did. I'm pretty proud of myself, actually. Tomorrow I just might make some earrings after Church, if I so feel inclined. Stormy, Snowy, Calgary is apparently my oyster, so I'm gonna live it up. Well, I had probably go. I'm tired, and I'm starting to feel the ever more prevalent pangs of all day sickness. I have to go to sleep. That usually helps. So, adios, fellow Americans. I will keep you informed should anything else exciting happen...but can it compare to this? Please don't hold your breath!

Canada's great, Eh?

Okay, first of all, I know that people get really tired of the Strange Brew way that Canadians are portrayed. But it's true. Not for all of them, mind you...it's a lot like being in the states and running into someone from Minnesota. But it's definitely here, and I got enough of it on the plane ride up. First of all, let me just warn all of you. If you really don't have to depend on flying as your way to travel, then don't. Right now it's an absolute madhouse...flights being canceled, and being re-routed and being over sold. Also, add that to like, 150 people that are in pissy moods anyway, and have just, FINALLY been told, after four hours of waiting around for news that was supposedly going to be received 'in just ten minutes", their flight has been totally canceled. It's chaos, my friends. And a lot of cursing and yelling, and just your average awkward scenario that you don't want two impressionable children to witness, as you tell them everyday of their young lives that only babies through fits and temper tantrums. And throw stuff. And flip people off. And yell at others for "cutting in line".
But now, six hours later and a city longer than it was supposed to take, we are here in Canada. Actually, have now been here an exact day. My son, a brave pirate by day, and scared that the "skeelies" will get him by night, is snoring next to me in my bed as I make this post. I don't know what a skeelie is, but apparently it's pretty horrific. My daughter, braver than I would ever have given her credit for, is sleeping two floors down, alone. She decided that it would be cool to sleep in my mother's basement, and I really only gave her an hour before she ran up here, saying that there's too many spiders or some other logical, It's-not-that-I'm-afraid-it's-that-there-is-a-legitimate-problem, excuse. But no. You all are witnesses that once again, I end up eating my words...or thoughts, as this case entails. Both of the kids miss Jeff terribly. This is the only part of being here that I find hard to take, as well. Mom and Scott have agendas for us, and treat us so fabulously. So don't worry, we won't starve by any means. Also, on that note, I can't suck my stomach in anymore. I am now officially at the, "Possibly pregnant? or just fat?" phase of my pregnancy. And guess what? It just keeps going on strong from here on out. Apparently you get bigger sooner with each child. Since I was a complete whale with Cole, this isn't the best news for me. I imagine me soon rooming downstairs in my living room, with the hideaway couch my bed. I don't use the stairs anymore because not only is it a safety hazard, I imagine there's no way my lungs would continue to work through all that stress. Then I would call out to my go-to girl Riley to, "Get mama some bacon, or Cut mama's toenails, she can't reach that far, or Mama needs to use the bathroom bowl, Riley. Now make sure you scrub it out with bleach after I'm done." Needless to say, it's a bit on the depressing side.
So I'll fill you all in on our Canadian adventures. Apparently there's a big storm coming, so it might get me out of wearing my bathing suit. If that's the case, perhaps it's a small miracle. Today I slept until noon while my mother took care of my children. Heaven? Yeah, that has to be what it's like. Only, Jeff would be here. So goodnight to all of you, dear readers. It's long past the point in which I can formulate sentences and realize what could be, and what could never be, a passable story. So, I'll end your misery.