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.