Not Everyone Gets Me, and That's Okay

Last week, I jokingly told Alana to have a mediocre day at school. Then she started crying. I will accept my Mother-of-the-Year award now, thanks. She did not get that I wasn't serious, and she thought that "mediocre" meant "bad", which it doesn't. Most of her days at school are probably closer to mediocre than great, but the irony of that is lost on a seven year old.

When I shared this information on Facebook I know most people thought it was funny. They get me. But I'm sure that there were people who didn't think it was amusing, and probably thought it was kind of mean. Those people don't get me. But that's okay. It is possible that I have become so fluent in sarcasm that people do not know when I'm joking. Most of the time I am probably joking, and people should know that, but its fine if they don't think its funny.

When I was a kid and I would ask my dad what we were having for dinner, he would often respond with something like lizard lips and frog legs. At first I believed him, until we ate fried chicken or something that was clearly not frog legs, as far as I know....When I was little I did not find this joke funny. I thought it was annoying. But now, as a parent, I cannot honestly say that I have never told my own children the same thing. They don't think its funny, but I don't care. I will crack myself up if I have to.

My children are kind of gullible, and my sense of humor insists that I take advantage of that. David has Alana 100% convinced that his middle name is "Justice" and we both laugh about that all the time. His middle name is not Justice, but she doesn't have to know that. She wouldn't get why its funny. Maybe she will when she's an adult, about the same time that she starts to think that telling your kid to "have a mediocre day" is hilarious. I already think that, maybe my sense of humor is just more refined than hers...

I should probably work on my timing, so that I offend fewer people who don't realize that I only tease people I like, but that would suck the fun out of it. If people don't get me, and they don't get my weird, dry, possibly offensive sense of humor, that's okay, because I still think I'm funny and that's all that matters.

Tipping-Over Insurance

Since this dude can officially sit up, that is all he wants to do. Sit up, chew on stuff, and play. But that giant head makes him a little unsteady, so occasionally he tips over. If he hits his head on the floor he gets kind of pissed off, so I have to give him something to land on. That's where the throw pillows become useful. I have to put one behind him in case of accidental tipping, just to prevent head-conking. He appreciates the gesture, I can tell.

Smolder

Witten is working on his smolder, you know, for the ladies. So far its working, since random women approach him and ask to hold him. He just can't keep the chicks off of him.

A First Name Basis

I consider myself a fairly socially capable person. I'm not overly social, I'd actually prefer to be at home most of the time. But put me in nearly any social situation and I can hold my own. I can carry on a conversation with a stranger, even if I have nothing in common with them. I can chat with a random old lady at the grocery store who was admiring my baby. It's fine, I'm good. I don't even mind talking to these people. I can usually even make them laugh with some random witty remark, cause you know, I'm funny like that.

Even though I'm pretty sociable, I don't really have tons of *friends. I have friends, but I never hang out with them cause I don't go out of my way to see people, like ever. So usually I just hang out with my husband, cause he is here at my house already. Or my sister, cause she is the only person I ever go out of my way to see. But other people I only see occasionally. It's not that I don't like people, I just don't know that many people who I have that much in common with.

Enter: kindergarten. Alana makes friends easily. And with those friends come a convenient accessory: moms. Moms who I have at least one thing in common with: a kindergartener. Moms with an average age of 25-35. I fit right in the middle there. I pick Alana up from school everyday, which gives me about 10 minutes of standing outside of her class while Ava plays. There are other moms there, although I think most of the kids ride the bus. I talk and make conversation with these moms and its my perfect opportunity to socialize. I've established at least a casual friendship with them.

The only roadblock: I don't really know people's names. And they don't know mine. I know kid's names, if Alana has told me who they are. Or I looked on her class picture to see who is who and what their last name is. Since I'm not "from" Benson and didn't go to high school here, I went to the oh so distant "town" of St. David, I don't know most of the people. But David does. The people who I've managed to assign a name to the face of are people who David knows, so he told me their name. Other than that, they are "so and so's mom."

At some point, probably pretty soon cause it's only going to grow increasingly awkward, I should breach the topic of names. Like I didn't catch your name by the way mine is Jennifer and our kids will probably go to school together for the next 13 years cause I have no intention of ever moving away. You know, somewhere along those lines. Before it gets too awkward.

Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Ava has been framed for a crime she did not commit. The 3 bears have accused her of eating all of their porridge, but she swears it was the big bad wolf. I'm skeptical because word on the street is that the big bad wolf isn't so bad anymore, but maybe he still really likes porridge.

I Need an I.O.U.

This lady has lost 2 teeth in the last month, both on the bottom. Plus one that the dentist pulled. Three gaps in her mouth = $3 that the tooth fairy had to pay her. The problem with the tooth fairy in these parts is that she doesn't carry cash. And she doesn't want to put her debit card under her kids pillow. So the tooth fairy has "borrowed" a dollar from Alana's piggy bank twice now. And then Alana puts her money in her piggy bank, so the tooth fairy has another dollar to recycle and give her next time she loses a teeth.

The tooth fairy now owes her $2, and she doesn't even know. It's like a pyramid scheme for kindergarteners, and she doesn't know she's investing. The tooth fairy should really hit up an ATM and keep some 1's on hand, cause she has another lose tooth. Otherwise the tooth fairy is gonna have to "borrow" another dollar bill and the interest is really starting to add up.

School Spirit

This girl of mine is still so excited about school, even after a month and a half. On Fridays she makes sure to wear her Bobcat shirt to show she's a Bobcat citizen. Today she even wore red & blue rubberbands in her hair and had me paint her fingernails red. She is a happy kindergartener, ready to learn and she always makes me look good by being such a good student. She's also happy to make friends and even took a box of M&Ms to a boy who invited her to his birthday party.

I can't believe that this little independent person was ever a little baby. She is so grown up, ready to turn six in a couple of weeks. My sweet little KinderCat!

I've Been Meaning to be Lazy

This weekend I wore the same clothes for 48 hours, didn't comb my kids hair, ate a whole bag of Dove Promises, and watched some dumb crap on TV. I wish I could do that every weekend. I brush enough hair during the week. My kids were lazy too. And football was on, so David didn't do much either.

Besides holding down the couch my kids blew bubbles in their pajamas at noon.

Then Witten slept on my bed next to me while I watched TV that did not make me any smarter.

Also: Alana made some sidewalk chalk masterpieces and claimed the ground as her property.

In spite of how this picture kind of looks, that is a foot with a shoe on it.

It's nice to be lazy when every weekday is suddenly filled with driving back and forth to get Alana from school and dumb errands and just way too much leaving the house. The only time I left my house this weekend was to buy some Dove chocolates and Food Network Magazine. I did this wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt and green plaid pants and by some miracle I saw no one I knew. That's how I know that fate pre-destined this weekend as a lazy one, because if I'd been seen in public it would've been a sign I should've gotten dressed that day. 

Not An Exaggeration

This photo is not staged. When Alana took her shoes off after school on Friday this is what they looked like. She had half of the playground in her shoes, just hanging out with her feet. Why even wear shoes when you're practically walking around in a sandbox all the time? It's a good thing we don't have a cat or it might have mistaken them for a litter box.

Putting Yourself Out There

When I was in kindergarten I regularly wrote letters to my best friend. They all said the same thing:

Dear Camille,
I love you.
Love,
Jennifer

The message was clear, concise, to the point. Plus I was in kindergarten so the words that I knew how to write were limited. I don't recall if she ever wrote anything back to me, but that wasn't what was important to me. What mattered to me was getting my feelings out, on paper, and making sure that she knew we were BFFs.

I shared this story of my love for my bestie with Alana, my always friendly kindergartener. This inspired her to write a letter of her own, which I'm kicking myself for not taking a picture of before she gave it away this morning.

Her letter said:

Kenna,
I love you.
From Alana.
From Ava.

She had no hesitation to write this letter. She even added a heart made of glitter glue in the corner. Glitter really solidifies the message she's trying to convey.

When she took her letter to school this morning I was kind of nervous for her. Although I know the recipient is a nice little girl who isn't about to crumple up the token of Alana's affection and throw it on the ground, I still feared her reaction. I was afraid of rejection for her, and its not even me putting my feelings out on the line. From a distance it appeared as if she really liked her letter, glitter heart and all. She carried it around the playground and didn't throw it down or anything.

Alana is never afraid to be anyone's friend. She isn't scared of rejection, or of them not liking her back. She just wants to play and laugh maniacally and run around till her face is red. She greets all of her classmates with the same enthusiasm everyday, hugs her teacher, high fives random aides at the playground.That's a good quality to have. Especially in kindergarten. But as her mom I'm scared for her. There will at some point be a mean little kid who doesn't want to be her friend. Who doesn't want to hear about how she went and saw ParaNorman. How she brought Spaghettios in her Tinkerbell thermos for lunch today. Then eventually there will be boys. Boys who don't like her back. Boys who are mean. Boys who break her heart. And I can't do anything to stop it. I don't want those people to change her and make her afraid of being someone's friend. I don't want fear to stop her from telling people how she feels.

Kindergarten me may have been unafraid to tell Camille "I love her" in a letter. But every other version of me wouldn't have been so open about my feelings. I was always afraid of rejection. Afraid of mean kids. Outgoing kids who didn't seem to care what others thought of them. Afraid of not being liked back. I never "made the first move" in friendship or with boys. If they weren't nice first, if they didn't show interest first, I didn't even talk to them. I never invited myself anywhere, because I didn't want to be unwanted. I waited till the other person said something first, to insure they were really my friend. With every high school boyfriend I ever had I was constantly wondering if he still liked me, if he was going to break up with me, if he thought I was annoying, if he liked somebody else better.

I wanted to be liked, but I wasn't about to talk to anyone so that they could get to know me. I didn't outgrow that till at least 18. I was so afraid of being that one person there that no one liked. No one wants to be the smelly kid, the weird kid, the ugly kid, the one who stands out because they just can't help it. I lacked the courage to stand out, but I wanted to be noticed. That's a weird combination. And a difficult one, because I wanted to be noticed for the right reasons, not because there was a "Kick me" sign on my back.

Alana is always loving, always open about how much she likes people, always ready to party. Everyone is her friend, even if she's only known them for 10 minutes. She's brave enough to let everyone know how much she likes them and lucky enough that so far everyone likes her back.

The Official Kindergarten Post

Now that I'm starting to come to terms with leaving my baby with a bunch of strangers everyday at that crazy place called kindergarten, I guess I can document it.

The first day she woke up early, all excited and sleepy eyed. I almost overslept, which I never do. Then the next hour was super hectic as I got myself dressed and Alana ready and cooked up some pancakes cause I couldn't just send her to school with an empty stomach.

She was so excited that she packed her lunch the day before. Then she was too excited to eat most of it. She got over that the second day though.



Clearly I need to work on my pancake shapes. It was supposed to be a heart.

 

Sleepy eyed and excited.

David and I took Alana to school, along with the giant bags of school supplies that public schools can no longer afford to buy, like kleenex, while Ava and Witten waited at David's parents house. She was super excited. I was not. We took her to her classroom, found her cubby and nametag, looked around for a couple of minutes and then took her out to the playground to say goodbye. She quickly hugged both of us and then went on her way to get to know her classmates and do some playing.

I didn't want to let her see me cry, because she was being so grown up about going to school and I'd rather have an independent girl than one who is crying and begging me to stay. I'll have to deal with that when Ava goes to school probably. So I enlisted my sunglasses to disguise my tears and tried to be brave as I walked away from my baby who was clearly not as sad about the separation as I was.

I was mostly okay till we got about 50 feet away, which was about the time she got to the top of the jungle gym and yelled Bye! as we were walking away, then I had to deal with waving and saying bye again, all behind the sunglasses that were not hiding my sadness as well as I hoped they would. Then David had to drive home because I was too sad.

For the rest of the day I randomly cried, and so did Ava. She kept saying she missed Alana, which made me even sadder and reminded me of how much I missed her too. The day went really slow, and 3 o'clock took forever to arrive. We all went to pick her up and she just casually walked out of her classroom like it was a normal thing for her to be gone from me all day. Then we went to McDonald's for an ice cream cone, because surviving that day needed to be rewarded. Especially for me.

Ready to go to school.

She's pretty proud of her puppy backpack.

After this our normal life will never be the same. I can't lay around my house everyday and not brush my kids hair. I'll save that for the weekend. I have to leave my house daily, even in the winter when I despise going outside. Since I'm picking her up instead of having her ride the bus since the dropoff for our house that is 3 miles from the school is almost an hour after school gets out, I actually have to go in public everyday and I don't want to look like a crackhead so I have to put on non-pajama clothes.

Everything feels different. Sunday nights, which I always hated when I was in school or working, are suddenly a time of anticipation for Alana. She was excited last night at the prospect of going to school today. She didn't get that from me, I used to get grouchy and anxious as the day passed just because I knew I'd have to go to school/work the next day.

Being a stay at home mom who has kids in school feels so different than my previous normal day where we got to stay home everyday. Suddenly I feel like I don't know what I've done with everyday that I've had at home with Alana for the past almost six years. That whole part of my life with her is done, now she's only home on weekends and evenings and summer break. She grew up into a kindergartener when I wasn't looking. I don't know how this happened.

I don't know when, if at all, it gets easier to be away from your kids all the time. Its kind of a crappy deal. You spend all this time growing them in your belly, then you take care of them and feed them and teach them everything, only so that they can eventually abandon you. I don't recall signing up for this.

I suppose that kindergarten isn't the end of the world. She still comes home everyday excited to see me. But by tomorrow she'll be graduating from high school and moving away and it will seem like yesterday that she was a little girl with a puppy backpack waving bye to me on the playground.

A Sendoff

Since Wednesday was Alana's last official day of not being a school kid we decided to cram some of her favorite summer activities into that last day. These included McDonald's hashbrowns, playing in the sprinkler, and building a fort in the living room. She wants to do all of these things everyday but they somehow don't always get done, and since our new normal life won't have her at home with us all day I figured we should do all those things one more time.

Clearly I am an awesome fort builder.



Witten was unimpressed with my fort building skills.



Enjoying the awesomeness of the fort and watching a movie.

Ava is cautious about getting wet in the sprinkler.

She is a wild girl.

This was our original sprinkler spot, till we moved to the driveway cause they kept turning the water up full blast, then Ava broke the first sprinkler and we had to use a different one.

Alana going to school changes everything. Days like this where we just play and stay home all day are going to be far less frequent. And now I have to brush her hair more often too. I'm gonna miss her, but I'm glad we took the opportunity to play the whole day right before she moved on to being a Kindercat. 

Beware of Too Much Information: Witten's Birth Story

If you don't want to read about labor and delivery, turn away now.

At 38 weeks and 2 days pregnant with Witten I went to the doctor. He had prewarned me that I would probably get induced because I had low platelets my whole pregnancy and he wanted to have more control of the situation and have me deliver while they were stable. I knew I'd probably be hearing news about when I was gonna have a baby, but I was a little bit in denial.

After getting weighed, yikes 149 is a scary number even though it was only one pound more than the last week, and getting checked, 4 centimeters is also a scary number when you're 38 weeks pregnant and aren't quite ready for a baby, my doctor announced that I would have a baby by Tuesday afternoon. Thanks Dr. Decker cause I really wanted to go see Brave.

I tried to mentally prepare myself, but it was impossible. So instead David and I went to TGI Friday's, a pre-baby tradition when I was pregnant with Alana, then Dairy Queen, which was my personal pre-baby tradition with Witten, and home. Then we decided to use up the last chance for pre-third child spontaniety and take the girls to see Brave. Then we spent the rest of the weekend further mentally preparing to have a baby on Tuesday. Well that was mostly me.

So Tuesday morning at 5 am I got up and washed my hair and put on makeup, cause I didn't want to look horrible in the post baby hospital pics, and headed to the hospital for my 7:30 induction. This time I was allowed to eat before, another reason why I love my doctor, so we stopped at McDonald's which seems to be another pre-baby tradition for us since we've done it before every kid. When we got to the hospital I checked in, greeted my doctor as he passed by, and headed to get the show on the road.

By 7:45 I was wearing an oh-so flattering hospital gown and laying in an uncomfortable bed with an IV watching crappy daytime television. David was sitting on the couch nearby playing on his phone. By 8:30 I had pitocin and some mild contractions. Having a baby was getting to be inevitable. I started out dilated at 5, so I probably wasn't going to walk around pregnant for much longer anyway. Since my doctor had to be somewhere else at noon and was convinced that my labor would be quick, he didn't break my water until he came back. The only reason I didn't mind was that I knew I would get my own doctor, which is important to me.

After 3 hours of contractions that were not really anything to write home about came the final verdict on whether I could have an epidural. Luckily for me the answer was yes, since my platelets were at 96 for the past 3 weeks they considered that stable enough to let me be pain free. And I was pretty relieved about that. At 11:30 the anesthesiologist came and I got an epidural, allowing me to lay in bed and feel nothing for the rest of labor. I don't think there are words to describe how much I love epidurals, because labor would not be a picnic without them.

When my doctor came in at one and broke my water I was at about 7 or 8. Then we just waited. And waited some more. I laid in bed half asleep and David played on his phone yay for hospitals with free wi-fi and finally gave in to eating lunch instead of trying to be a martyr and go hungry. After laying there and watching Man vs Food for awhile because lets face it daytime TV is garbage I was at about 8 or 9, but the nurse was getting impatient and kept asking if I felt pressure, which I didn't. So then she brought in a giant yoga ball that she made me put between my knees while I laid on my side, because that allegedly helps you dilate. Didn't matter to me at that point because I couldn't feel my legs anyway. After I flipped over to the other side and still felt no pressure she checked me again. Guess what lady, I can't feel anything because half of me is numb. And I'm at ten anyway so I'm ready to have a baby, call Dr Decker.

When my doctor came in a minute later and people were properly positioned to hold up my legs, because even though I could still move my legs they felt like they were about 100 pounds each, it was time to push. For some people this part takes a long time. For others they can feel pain or pressure even though they have an epidural. For some who opt not to have wonderful numbing medicine pumped into their spine its painful.  For me epidurals have always been a saving grace. They allowed me to have 3 quiet, calm, pain free births. And I was especially grateful for the numbness when I had to get stitches afterwards. After 5, maybe 6 or 7 rounds of pushing, I really can't remember exactly how many times I pushed cause I was drugged up and sleepy and I really wasn't counting, there was a little slimy boy. Then David actually cut the cord, because the nurse essentially gave him no choice. He opted out with both the girls, but this time they put those scissors in his hands and told him what to do and he listened. Weighing in at 8 pounds, 4 ounces, at 19 1/4 inches long, at 3:25 pm on June 26th 2012, Witten David was born.

The doctor put him on my chest while he was all slimy and I briefly admired my newest baby, while not breathing through my nose because he was all slimy and you don't even want to know what that smells like. Then the nurses moved him over to clean him up and the doctor set out to stitch me back up cause I just had a fricking 8 pound baby. After an endless amount of stitches and some other things that made me grateful for an epidural, the doctor declared me done. Then I got to hold my now clean baby.

 I am seriously so grateful that my doctor ended up being someone who I liked just as much as my first doctor. Dr Decker was the one I ended up with, and he was actually the doctor who delivered Alana because he was the other doctor in the two doctor practice. I like the same things about him that I liked about my old doctor. He has a very calm demeanor and something about his bedside manner is just comforting. That's something you want in an OB, since they are there for one of the most important moments in your life, and in the case of Dr Decker he was there for two of mine.

Right after delivery with Witten was a little more symptomatic for me than after the girls. My legs still felt like they weighed 100 pounds each, even though my weight at the hospital that morning was 152, putting me at 30 pounds for this pregnancy. I'm totally counting one of those pounds as the extra one on my chunky baby. I was hungry, but my hands were shaking like I had Parkinson's disease. They stayed like that for over an hour too. Before I had even regained feeling in my legs my parents got there to visit, then my in-laws got there to visit with my kids so they could meet their new brother.

 To say they were excited is an understatement. They're still smothering him with love and he's 11 days old.

Since I no longer had a catheter I eventually had to get up to go pee cause they were still pumping me full of fluid. The urge to pee sort of vanishes after childbirth, but I got up because there's a 2-pee minimum to get your IV out. My wobbly legs, the nurse, and David all worked together to get me to the bathroom after the nurse kicked everyone out because I was wearing an open in the back hospital gown and no underwear. Kind of hard to have a baby if you're wearing underwear. I sat there, no urge to pee, with the looming threat of a catheter minus the epidural. So the nurse did something that skeptical me always doubted, put my hand under warm running water. Who knew? It actually works. I still had to pee one more time to get that dumb needle out of my arm, but I was halfway to the 2 time goal.

After that my time on the labor and delivery floor was over. There was no more laboring and no more delivering to be done, so I moved upstairs where they keep the ladies with babies. After a little while once everyone had left, my kids with more than a few objections and tears, I was alone with my new baby and it wasn't even 8 pm yet. Being mildly obsessive compulsive like I am I then got up and straightened up my room, because people had put my purse and bag and stuff down all messy and it was really bugging me, plus I needed to know where all my stuff was. Then I got out my camera, since it had been in other people's control all day and therefore on auto with a flash which I despise and took some pictures. I snuck in some iPhone pics too, cause the people of Facebook and my blog needed to see the cute person I made. Once again, yay for hospitals with free wi-fi.

After washing off my makeup, which is clearly long wearing if you observe the non-smudged state of it in the above pictures, I was officially tired. The problem with that is that new babies can sense when you have visitors and they use that time to sleep. The moment you are alone in a hospital room flipping through the channels and trying to get the taste of hospital fish for dinner out of your mouth, that's when they awaken. For the next few hours every time I would drift off to sleep he would wake up and demand food. Its against the rules for you to let your baby sleep in your bed with you at the hospital, which is a good idea cause that's a narrow bed and a hard floor, so at some point I sent him to the nursery because I physically cannot stay awake in the middle of the night for a long period of time. Maybe its because I'm old and 30 now, but my eyes have a mind of their own and just start to close. He went to the nursery the next night too, because he had really stinky gas that was making him kind of grouchy and that's what the nursery is there for. Especially if you're staying in the hospital by yourself and your body is completely exhausted from 7 hours of labor.

After another day in the hospital, lots of visitors, Dairy Queen from my sister and Rubio's and Jason's Deli from my useful husband which are my 2 favorite restaurants and David doesn't like to eat at either of them, a whole package of awesomely stretchy one-size-fits-all hospital underwear and a bottle of Dermoplast and a squirt bottle of warm water (if you don't know what those last two things are for then you haven't had any kids and you probably don't want to know), and another night of watching Bravo and the Daily show at 2 am, it was time to go home.

I showered and put on some yoga pants because elastic pants are your friend when you have a newly changed body shape after accomodating a baby bump for what seems like forever. Then in what seemed like record time the pediatrician came and saw Witten and released him, my doctor came and saw me and gave me the thumbs up to go home, and the hearing test lady came to re-test my previously too cranky hand-eating baby. All before 9 am. David wasn't even there yet. After David got there the nurse cleared us to go home and David went to get the car, and I put Witten in his carsear, which he decided is tolerable and a great place to nap. Then transport wheeled me down so I could leave the place where people bring me food and beverages at the touch of a button and watch my baby at night so I can sleep. It was the quickest hospital discharge in the history of my having babies. After 2 stops for food, Eegee's and Dunkin Donuts never tasted so good, we set out to drive back to Benson with a new baby to join our girls.

Now that he is home life is different, but good different. My other kids have been driving me slightly crazy because they want to literally smother him with love nonstop. He is a newborn, so he sleeps all the time. And I'm still adjusting to my shrinking belly and the different reflection in the mirror after so many months of looking down at a growing belly that contained one small perfect little boy.

I'm having a lot of mixed feelings about the concept of him being my last baby. I get sad thinking that I'll never be pregnant again, and never have that growing belly with a little person I don't have to share in it. Never feel those kicks again, never have another ultrasound telling me whether to buy blue or pink, never hold a newborn who I'm so happy to meet again. I miss being pregnant, which is weird, but I felt the exact same way after I had both girls, but with them it didn't feel so final. I told myself for nine months that I was only having 3 kids, and now that I have 3 kids it just seems like the end of something that I really love. From here on out they will just keep growing up at breakneck speed till one day I'll look at them and not be able to remember when they were babies and had such tiny little fingers and toes and were such new, perfect people.

Witten is already 11 days old and I'm sad. I love brand new babies with little butts that fit into my hand who will just lay on my chest and sleep so peacefully that I never want to get up or put them down. That's how I feel right now. I don't want to share him, I just want to sit in my recliner all day, every day and hold my little guy so I can remember what he was like and how it felt to hold him when he was so little and snuggly. Then I stare at him and his little toes and get all emotional over how fast babies grow up and Alana asks me why I'm crying and I pretend that I'm not.


Congratulations if you made it to the end of this post. It took me at least 2 hours to write it, so believe me I know its lengthy.

Super Extra Glamorous

You may think that the glamorous side of motherhood starts when the baby is born and you have a little person who tries to pee on you and needs you to change their diapers and occasionally throws up on or near you. But you're wrong. It starts when you're 30 weeks pregnant and you cough/sneeze/breathe and come seriously dangerously close to peeing your pants. Like, really really really close. Scary close. That's when the real fun begins. And I still have 10 weeks of near-peeing my pants to go. I hope its just near-peeing and not actual peeing my pants. Fingers (and legs) crossed.

I'm Not a Redneck, I'm an Innovator

Its springtime. Its warm. My girls think that bathing suits are a complete outfit, and they look pretty cute in them so I'm not complaining. With warm weather comes a whole other list of possible activities.

My ladies love to play with water. Water guns or a bowl of water, doesn't matter. I was feeling generous and filled up this blue container with water, and it was intended to be a swimming pool for Barbies. My Barbies swam in a cooler, so this is a step up for these Barbies. They should feel priveleged. But as the course of evolution took us, the Barbies weren't the only ones wearing bathing suits and looking to take a dip. These ladies kept dipping their feet in, which ended up with both of them squeezed in there, water spilling everywhere, and the Barbies thrown out on the ground. I inadvertently made a redneck swimming pool for my children, but like all rednecks, they thought it was fun and expected nothing more out of it. Just a good time with a tub of water, that's all a pool really is anyway.

Don't Mind Me, I Just Cry in Public

Pregnancy is full of hormones. Good hormones, bad hormones, and everything in between. But mostly ones that just make you look or act like an idiot and/or grouch. That's a nice way of putting it. These hormones make you cry over dumb things and get enraged over other dumb things. Overall, its just not normal behavior. Well, mostly. Cause sometimes I cry at dumb stuff when I'm not pregnant.

It is important to have a good OB when you are pregnant. Someone you trust bringing your kid into the world. That's why when I found a doctor that I liked with my first pregnancy I kept going with my other pregnancies. I liked him. He was nice, calm, induced me the day after my due date in my August pregnancy, you know, all the things I look for in a doctor. I was a return customer.

Last week I got a call from my doctor's office wanting to reschedule my appointment. The previous one couldn't be kept. Because the doctor had a heart attack in his sleep the previous Saturday and had passed away. That was a lot to process, so I just agreed to see the other doctor and got off the phone. I really didn't know what to think. Hormones were coming at me from different directions, all surrounding this one issue. I called David to tell him and was surprised at how emotional I got. I couldn't even talk. After that day I was still sad but busy enough to remain distracted.

Then I actually had to go back to the doctor's office. To switch doctors a little more than halfway through my pregnancy. I was fine for awhile. Got through the actual appointment, and the other doctor is also really nice so I think I'll live. But then when the really nice nurse practitioner came up and hugged me I got all weepy crazy crying pregnant lady again when I tried to bring it up. Then the nurses had to give me tissues while I stood there trying to make an appointment crying over someone who I only knew because he delivered my babies. And 14,000 other babies in the last 40 years. And every time I thought about it the rest of the day I got all sad and weepy. Crying in the doctor's office. And the elevator. And my car. All in public.

All this stupid crying over stuff comes with pregnancy. But that doesn't mean you get used to it with subsequent pregnancies. You still get surprised that you are standing in public crying over something, no matter how many times it happens.

Before I Start High-Fiving Myself

I love Turbo Tax. It takes the guess work out of doing your taxes. Its cheap. Its easy. But its not idiot proof. Or pregnant woman brain proof. I've demonstrated that twice now. My downfall is the whole personal information section. I double and triple-check all my numbers and everything, but I can't seem to get my own name right. Yeah, my own name. Or my kids.

When I was pregnant with Ava I entered my own last name as my middle name instead, so my return was rejected and I had to fix it. This year I mispelled Alana's last name, so my return was sent back to me this morning. They get all preachy like This name does not match the social security number we have on file. And I'm all like What? I double and triple-checked everyone's social security number! Cause I did. And this year I double-checked my own name. But I didn't double check that I added the necessary "i" into the spelling of Alana's last name. Whoops.

So I found myself fixing a dumb mistake, then re-efiling and crossing my fingers that I fixed it and they still refund our money on the day I'm hoping for. Before I start spending that money in my head I should check my spelling, cause I'm prone to dumb obvious mistakes. And I'm gonna blame my pregnancy brain, cause last year I wasn't pregnant, and I did nothing stupid on my tax returns. Coincidence? I think not.

Proof That One Time I Willingly Went to a Church

Yesterday something inconceivable happened: I willingly went to a church. Not church church, where they get all preachy and pray and stuff, cause I don't do that kind of church. Like a really old historical church in Tucson called San Xavier.

Its all historical and old and stuff, and I guess its one of those places where if you live near it you should go, just to say you have. Like Tombstone. Or the Grand Canyon. You know, touristy crap where there's lots of old ladies with nametags and random men who are there by themselves with a really expensive camera and a huge lens, just taking pictures of the building for an unknown purpose. Well, the Grand Canyon is actually really cool, just cause its so pretty, but its still boring cause there's not really anything to do there but hike or ride mules and I'm not really an outdoors mule riding kind of girl.

In reality San Xavier doesn't hold a lot of meaning to me, because I'm far from religious. Its a pretty old building and all, but at the end of the day its still a church which is filled with a lot of religious people lighting candles and way too many random people with pictures. The one selling point for me is that its on an indian reservation so there are about ten booths selling fry bread, which I happen to love, because hello people its fried dough covered in honey and powdered sugar! That was the highlight of my trip actually, because that's how my mind works. Good food = who cares what else happens cause I'm full of honey and powdered sugar and fried dough.

Now, photographic proof I went to a church one time.

My cute Ava. Its like she wants my to take her picture cause she is so cute.

Husband. Ava.

I got kinda bored so I took some pictures of the buildings. That's what boredom does to me.

They act like its so bright outside. They need sunglasses like me. I'm the cool one. And the bottom pic was taken by Alana. She's my prodigy.

Actual proof I was there.

Me and the sunglasses thief.