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.

And Riley turned 8!

I need to give big props to my sister, Muffy. She and my brother-in-law Chris came to Riley's birthday party with us to Chuck E. Cheese, and then afterwards, made this picture collage. They are both troopers and when I innocently invite them to things, they come. Regardless of the fact that they know I will ask them to help me out. So, thanks Muff and Chris, for all you do. I don't think it would have been as fun or organized, without you guys.

Anyway, Riley turned eight! (Get ready for your question to be answered, Keri). Her birthday was actually on the 14th, but we celebrated her party on the 12th, as that was a Saturday. I told Riley she could invite a lot of friends, but by the time we weeded out the kids whose feelings would be hurt, and thinned out the girls that Riley really likes verses the ones she says are, "kinda mean", I reneged on that plan and said that she could invite one friend. It turned out better that way, because then they could have a buddy to go around to all the games and stuff with, but they wouldn't get into the little cliques that always seem to occur at birthday parties. Riley chose her best girlfriend from school, Olivia. Olivia brought her younger brother, Henry to come as well. That way, Cole would have someone, too. They all had a fun time, and were funny to watch. Riley and Olivia went out and played games like mad....and Cole had Jeff go around with him for a while, so that left Henry by himself, and he didn't really know what to do, as he hadn't been there before. He came over to the table with me, and told me it was time for him to go home because his birthday had been yesterday and his dad was putting together his Star Wars Lego Star Fighter. I told him to take these two tokens, and go have Jeff show him how to play one of the games. He did as I said, and quickly became a junkie. Each time he ran back, breathless with a handful of tickets, (a thousand, according to his count), and would ask for "Just two more....", tokens. I'd give him a little handful, and off he'd go. He was at the same game for the entire time. Riley was a skee-ball expert. She and Olivia spent the majority of their time there and Cole basically wanted to ride all the jeeps and spaceships and other little rides that I never let him ride when we go into a store.
After Riley opened her presents, and we had exhausted all the tokens, and gorged ourselves on pizza, it was time to get Olivia and Henry home, and time for my nap. The night before I'd tossed and turned, and I could only take two hours of screaming, playing kids. So we all headed back to Springville and dropped the friends off. Then we got to go home, and I told everyone I had to take a nap, in order to avoid being seriously grouchy for the rest of evening. (Oddly enough, I heard no protests). Jeff and Cole and Riley all got a trampoline from Grandpa Steele this year for their birthdays. Since we go to Canada tomorrow morning, I told them it would be better to set it up when we got back. Jeff gave me a "yeah, sure", and I practically ran to my room....lusting after my bed. After a couple hours, I woke up to a quiet house...highly unusual for us. I grabbed some pajama pants and a clean shirt and went down stairs, wondering where my children and husband were. To my surprise, they were in our backyard with the trampoline two-thirds finished. I have to say, it's enormous. I tried telling Jeff this before he put it up, but he couldn't appreciate my actual honesty until he had started working on it. So we all played on the trampoline for about three hours, and it was time to go to bed. Surprisingly, for my kids, they were out within ten minutes of laying down. But before they were out, Riley told us that this was the best birthday she'd had in a long time. This made me feel good, especially since I'm that crap mom that has to take a nap on her special day. But she said that she had so much fun, and that she has the best parents ever, and that she loves how we play with her, because that means we love her when we spend time with her. That actually kind of broke my heart, because it's hard to make time for my kids. I am with them practically all day long, but not WITH them, I've got all this other stuff going on. So I was happy that she'd had a good birthday, sans birthday blues. The trampoline turned out to be a great gift, not only because it's tons of fun, but also, we really have family time with it...we play ball, and we bounce, and we laugh. It's been so nice to have something that takes us outside to all play together. Okay all, I have gotta get my last-minute items packed, including this computer. We're on our way to Canada tomorrow, so hopefully I'll get to post while I'm up there, as well. Later!

due date

I'll keep this short, as I was up all night barfing. Pregnancy is such a beautiful part of womanhood. I went to my Doctor's office, and he did a very thorough check of my lady business, and this kid is due November 10. So, I'm almost through my first trimester. Which is good, however, I'm sick the entire time, so basically it's just me counting the days down until I can have my body back and use it as I will. Also, tradition has shown me that my little ones like to stay where they are for as long as possible. So I'm predicting that this baby won't be here until I make my doctor cave just by letting him in on how unstable I am in the last month. I'm thinking....November 23rd. So there you all are, that's all for right now. Ciao.

I am awesome.

I've been online for a while tonight. Checking other's blogs. Trying to get some ideas for my own posts; something that doesn't fully revolve around my children or my husband. Not that I get tired of these subjects, I just wonder if others do. And then I realized that I don't have a lot going on. If you take Jeff, Riley, and Cole out of my life's day to day, I'm a really boring person. Today I went to Sam's, as in, Sam's Warehouse Store. (See?) I noticed a tall, skinny girl standing behind me wearing skintight jeans, a low-cut top, and bright red high-heels with little white lacy socks. That was interesting. Her hair was, too. It was a black bob with about six, inch wide streaks of blood red throughout. She looked like she could be older than I, however, I'm not a good judge on stuff like that. When women wear a lot of make-up, it completely blows any chance I may have had at guessing their age. It totally throws me off. As I stood in line, trying to appear to be reading the directions on my new boat-sized bottle of shampoo, I found myself checking out her outfit and hair, and trying to evaluate her age; wondering what she does for a living. Then I focused on what she was buying. A humongous package of AA batteries and a humongous chocolate fudge cake. I suddenly had all these rude, kind of obscene, and somewhat catty thoughts about what she would need with those items. And then I had to mentally chastise myself, because I have become this total wench that stands in store lines and judges people for what they are buying. Embarrassed, I looked at the conveyor belt that now held my stuff: the aforementioned shampoo, a gigantic bottle of stool-softeners, some fiber capsules, and Miralax. Oh, and some strawberries, for my kids. Clearly, I have reason to be judgemental. I stood there contemplating my items and hers...and imagining a conversation we'd have, because we obviously have so much in common.

Me to girl: "Hey, I like your hair. I've always wanted to do something like that, but have been too wimpy to try...I'm 30, and I'm just not sure how well it would go over. But I am wearing two braids, see? I can be a little out-of-control sometimes."

Girl to me: "Oh, I would have never guessed you were 30. You totally look younger than that. And I love those braids, they are definitely making a subliminal statement.

Me to girl: "Ahhh, thanks. Also, I've been admiring your clothing ensemble. I can't wear skinny jeans. But I am pregnant. So I can't really wear skinny anything right now." (We both laugh, because in my imaginary dialog I am hilarious).

Girl to me: "You're pregnant? I totally would have never known. (If you would have seen her, you'd agree she'd be a person that says 'totally' a lot). How far along are you?" (Now I would have to lie, because I can't let her know I've never been able to wear skinny jeans...not since I was eight). (Also, in my imagination she's never been pregnant in her life, because she has one of those model bodies. And if she has, I won't waste a perfectly good delusion with reality).

Me to Girl: "Well, I have a few more months left, but I'm already feeling like I'm done being pregnant, you know?"

Girl to Me: "I've never been, but I can imagine." (We then end our conversation because it's time for me to purchase my stool-softeners).

Yes, it's a bit pathetic that I played out that entire scene in my head. And she probably thought I was mentally handicapped--especially because I have a severe staring problem when I'm daydreaming, and who seriously reads the directions on their shampoo? This is the kind of crap you have struggle through when it's all about me. I like to pretend that I'm a lot more interesting than I am....but this is it; like my picture, rolls and zit-cream and all. If I wasn't married, if I wasn't a mom, this would be all I had. So be grateful for me having others that I can tattle on, and tell stories about,and possibly over-exaggerate about. Need I say more? Please, please, no.