Happy trees

Remember the painter guy on TV from the 80s with the hair fro? May he rest in peace with his happy little trees. See, I have always loved doing art (both my parents are artists) and as a small child, I totally loved watching him paint. So..to that, yay art!

Anyways, strange art (not as strange as that poop Virgin Mary) amuses me, the semi-absurd makes my day so in honor of absurdity and the happy trees guy, here is something that made my day...on my way to my son's preschool, I found a happy little tree. He (the tree) actually has two eyeballs but I didn't feel like stopping my car on a blind corner to snap a pic so I did my best attempt (hence one eyeball) from a safer location. I was so amused, I made my husband drive with me to pick up our son, just so he could see the happy tree.

Next time someone visits, I just have to tell them to turn left at the happy tree!

Fear the Ear

My son has constant ear infections. He had an unrelenting double ear infection from 6 months old to a year, when he got tubes put in. I had a clingy, don't leave me, miserable child for 6 months straight.

The tubes helped but helped is relative. His ear infection would be just...one ear, then both, every month or two. He had a terrible bout over the summer, and we saw the doctor three times, the last time she said "wow, the worst case I have seen in a while" and we ended up staying out f state, extending our vacation and pocketbooks because there was no way my amazingly ill boy would do a 2,000 mile road trip.

This January he got croup which morphed into an ear infection. Then a double ear infection. Then an ear oozing blood from the infected ear being so swollen.

Guess what? He has napped two hours today (he is usually a brief napper) and I look over to see his ear glistening in waxy orange. I grab the pen light and look into his ear to see...blood. Not oozing out, not staining the pillow, but freshly dried blood coating the ear canal.

His January ear infections did go away, as he saw the ENT specialist last week who said he looked great, but that the tubes had turned, ready to fall out, time for new tubes and an adenoidectomy, the adenoids likely spewing germs into his eustacian tube and causing never ending infections.

So now I hold my sweet napping guy, it's three weeks till his surgery (gosh I hate surgery, surgeries freak me out like no other) wishing he could be well. Always. Heck, I will happily settle for more often.

The homestead

If you squint you can see where I grew up...my yard, driveway, house, storage barn.

The tree on the left with signs on it had a little notch where I was convinced an elf lived in. Behind the tree, a forgotten dog was buried and sometimes I would walk past with sadness.

The wooden fence holds in a steep grass lawn where I would play slip and slide on a steep incline, sometimes plowing into the fence (ouch!) and I would also roll down the hill on summer days. A large oak tree provided a branch for a large slow porch type swing and other branches to climb. Daffodils lined the hard and shielded eggs during an Easter hunt. Two like trees lined the left side of the fence and one held a huge wooden moon, pained white with lights around it.

Between the chain link fence and the winding stairs is the steep dirt driveway which was a blast to sled down and a pain to walk up. The fence wasn't there when I was a child, and a small pine tree stood partway up, the "home" to my imaginary friend, Betty.

Near where I am parked is the spot my mom parked, and sometimes channel 9 news would pull in and film the falling s is for the flatlanders to see on live TV.

The storage barn was my summer home for a summer or two in college, giving me a private place except of course I had to walk outside and inside the main house to use the restroom or get food.

The house is a cabin, a modified a-frame built by a man, Mitch, for his wife. It has gnarled wood and little holes that let in the cold and spiders. An old wagon wheel hangs as a light fixture.

And this my friends is where I grew up. Not the best photo as there is window glare but I did not feel like hiking up for a better shot...I have hiked that hill enough for a lifetime.

I moved nearby and have decided to stay put now that I will have kiddo number two. I want my children to get outside, appreciate nature, use their imagination to look for elves and other types of "pretend". I see so many city and even suburb kids with no appreciation I the outdoors and no imagination. Kids that ask, why would you want to play outside? What do you do outside? I want my kids to have an awesome exploratory childhood just like I did.

Leg-less pirates

Drop kick Murphy's has a song, "Shipping off to Boston" how he climbed the topsails and lost his leg, so he ships off to Boston to find his wooden leg.

Some weird distant echo of my heredity likes this song and is all, ooh sexy leg less pirates. My logic and well 99% of me says eew leg less pirates! But 1/4 of my ancestry hails from dirt poor scots-Irish shipbuilder's blood and that party is my crazy pirate side.

And it isn't just me. My dad claims he was a pirate wench in a past life. I can't make this ><¥# up; he says he was a red-headed pirate's wench in a past life because he has these déjà vu type dreams where he is the wench.

So perhaps the sexy leg less pirate is some distant relative of ours?!?!

Stay at home mom

I suck at being a stay at home mom. And I hated it....yes, past tense.

I was unemployed for a year and a half, even though I have a MA and experience and bla bla. Long rant short, no one outside of education hires teachers in this economy, not even minimum wage jobs. There are 50-500 applicants per education job.

So I stayed at home and raised my son. I love him and watching him go from newborn to toddler was something I would not trade for the world.

But I hated being a stay at home mom. The mom part, albeit challenging, was fine. I mean I have worked in preschool through adult education so I love working with children.

It is the wife part, the homemaker part, I despised. I still hate the cleaning part. My house is a disaster. Partly I blame my son's poor health and 6 months of non stop double ear infections. Poor guy! So I could barely leave his side. I partly blame my parents because my mom's house...isn't a case of Hoarders but every surface is covered with trinkets, framed art, etc., every inch. I grew up thinking that was normal and it is a hard habit to break. Besides, I still must argue, why out away the can opener, toothbrush, Elmo doll, laptop, etc into a drawer if you are going to take it out and use it multiple times a day? Drawers are to put stuff away. Away away. I also partially blame myself cause I am lazy and hate hate hate cleaning. Especially folding and putting away laundry (yeah so it lives in the dryer or heaped on a chair), mopping, and anything requiring fine detailing.

I also at least hated cooking. No let me rephrase that. I love food and enjoy cooking but am slow as hell. I have lots f disasters. I forget ingredients. I try and get too creative and make inedibles. I also have an often sick child so it makes cooking a pain.

So I got a part time job. Yippee!

However, now I am expecting a second child due right when work is back in session, IF my contract is renewed. I have never been renewed, always victim if "Last In First Out" (google it!). I don't want to take 6 weeks off with a sub in my class. I don't want to only take 6 weeks off. I want more time. I don't want to lose my job and go through the pains of unemployment again. Of adding another temporary job to my repertoire of having worked over 15 jobs in 13 years.

I have began to come to terms with being a stay at home mom even though I am currently working. I want finances to magically do cool things so I can stay at home come August. I have began to learn to clean. Hubby wants a house that looks like a hotel. Ummmm it doesn't. I am so far from that but I am working on it. I am cooking almost every day and having fun doing it. My speed has increased and I have had less inedible disasters...although hubby is bummed I made goulash today instead of beef stew. I have psyched myself up to be a stay at home mom, in the face of adversity. I will either get renewed and work 6 weeks postpartum- boo a 6 week old in full time daycare. Or will struggle to find a job and end up doubting my abilities, while embracing being a stay at home mom.

Who knows what will happen, only time till tell.

First Love

My first love may have been really an infatuation or obsession but nevertheless here goes my lengthy story.

P went to my high school and man oh man was he hot. Olive-tan skin, that 90s curtain hair style the skater boys had, haunting olive shaped Spanish eyes...and he was SMART and funny. Yet also an bad bit and yet he went to church and had manners. I mean what was not to love? A bad boy you could bring home to impress the parents, who was smart (yeah I'm into brains...not in the zombie way) and beyond hot. Like the hottest guy ever, Johnny Depp's doppelgänger or something.

And in science class, we got assigned seats for the entire year and his was fatefully next to mine. Oh how I swooned and how my heart pitter-pattered. I looked forward to science class every single day. Being science partners, we chatted some- the seating arrangement forced beyond-painfully- shy me to, gasp, communicate. We competed with one another for the best grade in class. We talked about our shared love for Metallica. We had matching skater shoes (even though I am too uncoordinated to skate. Ever.) We even wrote a silly story about the pig we dissected, Lenny. A match made in heaven.

But those who read my post about my first crush ( http://disorderlywanderlustblog.blogspot.com/2013/02/saint-valentine-was-arse.html?m=1 ) will know I had been scarred for life. I just sat there all year, dreaming of what would never happen, him just popping the question (date me, not marry me...although I was guilty of signing my name with his surname in my diary, as every teen girl has ashamed lay done). I mean, how could he not like me? We were like soul mates!

Summer was fast approaching and who knows...I might never see him again. What to do? I tried to hint things, test the waters. My uncle was renting a cabin nearby for the summer and I was excited to spend the summer away from home, going inner-tubing, fishing, creating ruckus. So I asked what his plans were and mentioned mine. Nothing happened an a proverbially kicked myself for the rest of the day.

The next day I psyched myself up as I had back in 4th grade, and this was a critical mission as the last day of school was the following day; sink or swim! So when the other two science partners at our table were discussing pubic hairs or something(they were gross boys) I mumbled something like, hey, have you ever been water skiing? Cause you can come up to my uncle's cabin this summer, I am having a few friends up. (As in me, myself, and I, and occasionally my real life BFF). And he said....

....he said, sure, maybe. I was probably turning blue at that moment, from holding my breath, and I likely said while shaking from nervousness and disbelief, @hey then let's exchange numbers". And we did. And I am sure I was blushing and grinning ear to ear like a big old fool but I was so ecstatic I did not care. I probably danced through the school halls that day.

I eventually got the guts to call him and his mom said he could come for a week! A week! We went and picked him up an he spent the night on the couch at my house because my mom was too tired to drive us to the cabin. He kissed me that night but felt all guilty or something? So my best moment turned into a moment of pensive silence but by the time we got to the cabin, things were better. We hung out with my cousin and watched bad movies and played truth or dare. My cousin who was only 12 was not dumb so he knew I liked P. So he dared P to ask me out and P said he had wanted too anyways. OMG!
We finished the night watching bad movies and all crashed in the same bed but it wasn't, you know, sexual because my cousin was there and plus I was a good girl. But I didn't sleep a wink that night, thinking, OMG my boyfriend is in bed with me. I mean my cousin was in between us but OMG a few feet over was my boyfriend. My first boyfriend. My first kiss.

We had fun making flaming arrows and holding hands and cracking jokes for the week. The next week we chatted on the phone a bit and all was wonderful.

Until the call. One day he calls to say he had been arrested for vandalism or something, and that his mom says he cannot see me again. I said okay, hung up the phone, and fell apart. I cried and hollered for hours.

School started the next week and I saw him in the hall and he ducked away from me, looking at his feet. Granted we broke up but he wouldn't even look my way? So in some sort of masochistic torture, I purposely made sure I walked past him every day after first period. Was it to torture him or myself? I really am not sure but I was not done with him. I was not over him and our relationship lacked proper closure, and now had this "ignore her" mystery. I don't deal well with mystery. I then learned he had history third period and I knew the history teacher well- his wife taught next door to my mom and I had helped his wife in her classroom a lot. Plus he secretly sold candy at passing period to collect money for the team he coached. Who couldn't resist a snickers bar, friendly teacher, and a glimpse at P?

My senior year, supposed to be the best, was punctuated with sorrowful depression, self doubt, hatred. I had finally got the guts to ask a guy out again and it had crashed and burned. With him now actually averting his eyes to my presence, did he ever actually like me? Was it all one big lie, the only guy in all of high school to even note my existence really didn't like me in the first place?
I spent my days penning sad poems and listening to sad songs on repeat. Fade to Black or any song by Stabbing Westward for hours straight. It was a dark time that in retrospect was kind of pathetic, but I didn't know it then. I thought my world was dark and done for, and I wallowed in it.

The story here of first love, infatuation, obsession does not have a proper ending. I graduated that year and he was younger so he was still in school. I never saw him again but my mom ended up being really good friends with his mom (also a teacher) and his aunt (yup a teacher). I ended up going to concerts with his aunt and went swimming at her house where I had missed him by a half an hour! So I got random updates which fueled my pain.

I have forgiven him and forgiven my obsessed crazy self since I was young and dumb and it was 15 years ago, but, you never fully forget your first kiss, boyfriend, love. Even though I could care less about him and the past is passed, the past is still your past and shapes you somehow.

Saint Valentine was an arse

As a small child, I loved Valentine's day. I still fondly recall in school that halfway through the day, we'd stop our studies and get out shoeboxes, doilies, glitter, and colored paper and craft our own Valentine's day card boxes. We then would display the boxes on our desk and walk about the classroom, placing a valentine card into every box. Some cards included candy, and often a few mothers would come in bearing cupcakes for the classroom. It was a sugar and crafts filled fiesta of great awesomeness. On a sad side note, few schools do this anymore, what with NCLB, testing, healthy school initiatives...

Once the opposite sex became part of the marvel of Valentine's Day, coincidentally around the time Valentine's Day class parties became simpler, this special day became anything but.

I had my first crush in 4th grade; I was head over heels in child-like love with a boy named Kevin. He was the popular and "hunky" boy of the class, not my usual forte, but he seemed to like me back..something that was unheard of for dorky old me. He chose to sit next to me, me of all people! So when Valentine's rolled around, I decided to say goodbye to painfully shy me and into his Valentine I slipped a candy heart which read, "Date me".

I remember watching him open it up as I held my breath, the envelope seemed like it took forever to open. Slowly, a smile began to creep across his face when, lightning fast, his jerkwad friend ripped the card from his hand and laughed deviously,"Kevin has a girlfriend". The class went quiet and I did my best to find composure and stay unnoticed. A whisper began to fill the room, as the jerk whispered to the person to his left who then whispered to the person to their left...a game of telephone sped towards me. I then heard the words in my ear, something about a date me candy inside the card, ha ha, how funny, pass it on. I shuffled my feet nervously, bit my lip, and pretended to pass it on. I could feel a heat rise in me, could feel tears swell up behind my eyes, could feel my body expand like it would explode in a wail of pain. I sat frozen, in agony, looking at the door. To leave the class to say, use the restroom, "cost" 200 points, something that could take weeks or months to earn. I did not have 200 points. I could not get out of jail free, but I had to. I had to let this pain and sorrow, this humiliation, this hatred of myself and my stupid stupid lovestruck decisions, out. I did it. I ran for the door and collapsed in the hallway, racked with sobs. A few minutes later, my teacher walked out to find me sitting in the hall, sniffling, trying to calm myself. She had to know, I thought, but no one can know. This was my secret. I mumbled a pathetic lie, that I had to use the restroom but was short points and that was why I was in tears. My teacher, not the consoling type, said whatever points I had would be used, and at least to tell her next time in such an emergency. I walked back into class, numb, and do not remember the rest of the day.


After this day of doom, I began to hate Valentine's day, yet still romantically held onto hope. I would see girls get extra lovey dovey cards from a cute boy, flowers, chocolates...boys would strut around with teddy bears and chocolate heart boxes. As classes no longer had everyone give Valentine's, my figurative card box went empty. Like my sad little soul. I would hear announcements over the PA system in high school, about candy grams and Valentine's dances and hold on for hope, yet knowing I would just be lonely. No one wanted me, and I sure as hell wasn't going to take the initiative again and give a boy a candy gram or ask him to a dance. I had learned from my mistake. And I had come to conclusion that Valentine's day exists to torture the less fortunate. That Saint Valentine's guy (and the Hallmark card industry) was a giant arse.


(As a happy ending, I am married, loved, and yet still harbor a resentment for Valentine's Day. But duh, I of course gorge myself on a huge heart shaped box of candy. It is Valentine's Day after all.)

Cats the Musical

My mother in law loves musicals, me not so much. Sure I was an extra nun in The Sound of Music, the too-early for marriage pick for Sprintze in Fiddler on the Roof. But being in a musical is night and day different than watching one.

Everyone told me when I was young to watch Cats. I loved Cats and art and music, I means, it's the perfect thing! But I hadn't any interest.

My mother in law was watching it one day, and so I decided to pay attention to it so I'd be worldly or cultured or something.

Tra la la, music jingled and cat-people danced and my mother in law was enamored. Until I began to giggle uncontrollably.

Why? Well, if there are supposed to be cats, where is their stinky litter? Why aren't they sitting on books and homework the owner is working on? Why doesn't the old cat hack up hairballs and lick his potty parts at inappropriate times?

I'd totally go to see that version of Cats.

The Man Who Changed the World

You know, I don’t even remember his name – and I’m okay with that.

Karen missed her dad. He went from stay at home dad to disappearing dad overnight, leaving her mom in tears at the coffee table. Karen was shuttled from friend to friend, caring for her while her mother worked two jobs in the evening. Her mom was too caught up in things to do much, so Karen would practice her cursive and then microwave some canned soup for dinner while her mom stared vacantly at the television. She missed her father terribly, and her mother was more absent than ever. If her mom spoke it was a mumble about "drug abuse", whatever that was, and to ask Karen for marriage advice. Like Karen had a clue! At only 8 years old, boys still had cooties! All she knew was she wanted her family back.

One Saturday, Karen's mom looked mournfully into her eyes, stroked her hair, and said dryly, "grab your sleeping bag. We're visiting your father". Karen leaped at the chance and sat impatiently in the car while her mom nonchalantly packed the car.

They drove in silence for what seemed like hours, deep into the night on a desolate road. While the road seemed lonely and her mother stoic, the mood could not quelch Karen's excitement.

After what seemed like forever, Karen's mom pulled the car to the shoulder. "What's wrong mommy? Where's daddy's house", inquired Karen. Her mother gave an exasperated sigh and snapped, "Here, your damned father lives here like some wild animal, out in the bushes". Karen was confused why daddy would live in the bushes, and was scared of the wild animal her mother spoke of. She opened the door, stepped out, and froze in fear. "Get going, follow my flashlight beam, don't stray, c'mon now" her mom squawked, grabbing her hand. They hiked up a steep hill, nearly slipping on the loose rocky soil, and came upon a plateau where Karen could see a campfire and some shadowy figures roaming around.

A tall silhouette approached her and she jumped, only to feel a warm calloused hand catch her fall, a familiar hand and smell and giggle-her father.

She jumped into his arms and didn't want to let go; she was carried to the campfire and her dad set her die on a log used as a seat. Karen saw her mom pitch the tent, crawl in, and turn off her flashlight, exhausted. Karen missed her once jovial mother, but she brushed away her sadness, basking in the love of her father.

Another dark figure approached and patted her head. "Do you like songs, darlin'? I know a song my daddy taught me, a song that goes back before time. It's in my people's tongue, Apache, but you are smart like your daddy, I bet. You will catch on, wanna try", he suggested, as he broke into a melody. The words were full of whispery sounds and strange utterances that seemed oddly soothing. Karen caught on quickly and began to sing the chorus.

She kept singing the song, as she watched the Milky Way cross the sky and could hear the crackle of the fire die down. The strange lyrics were comforting and addictive and she could not stop.

Next thing she knew, she could feel someone shaking her awake. "Karen, hurry up, we've got to get going, your mom has already packed us up sweetie" whispered her dad. "Daddy, you are coming home?" Karen inquired, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Yes", he confirmed, "I had this profound dream. I went to a heavenly place full of music and love and was told to go home. My family needed me. Everything would be okay. Your mother said she had a similar dream. Sure wish I could remember the tune, it was lovely. Now c'mon sleepy head, we've got a long drive." Karen grabbed her dad's hand and they began to walk to the rocky hill leading to the car. "Daddy, do you know the name of the man last night? He sang me a song, it goes like this..." Karen said, beginning to hum the melody and mumble the words. Her dad froze in his tracks and bent down in front of her, tears in his eyes. "Who taught you that song, sweetie? I know it. It was the song from heaven in my dream", he cried, stroking her hand. "Daddy, it was the other dark shadow by the fire. He was there all night and he taught me the song. I sang it all night while watching the stars. You were right there, daddy, he was in your campsite, silly daddy. I don't know his name but that's okay. I hope he finds his way home too" Karen giggled earnestly. Her dad's face had gone pale and he mumbled, "I, I don't understand, I...never mind. I guess some things aren't clear. But I'm going home with you. To be a happy family here on Earth, my strange little sweetheart." And with that, she climbed in the car and off they drove, Karen looking towards the plateau and waving until it vanished into the distance.

My little hobby

One of my hobbies is postcard collecting. My goal is to have one from every country, as well as each US state and Canadian Province. I also like I just plain collect them. They are like little snapshots into another place, with an excerpt from a stranger's life. As a blog writer, the glimpses seem poetic to me, fascinating.

I got my first postcard in fourth grade; to practice letter writing our teacher had us write a postcard to a classmate. My first postcard was pink with a tabby cat. Sadly I have lost that one but have one from 4th grade that I did not write on and kept for myself.

My relatives and one of my mom's friends found out my hobby and sent me cards when on vacation. Then my great Aunt Edna passed and she had a box of postcards that I fought my cousins for, tooth and nail. In the box was a metallic looking card of the cityscape of Russia. I love that card even now.

Then my mom's friend sent me a card from Chile, a Christmas postcard, but the man who sent it to my mom's friend had written it on a boat on his way to Antarctica. Isn't that awesome?

Within the last ten years, I have received among thousands of cards, one black and white card from 1969 of Kabul, Afghanistan, given to me by a news reporter. I also won some contest from a world traveller and got a very propaganda filled card from North Korea.

I'm moving so most of my cards are packed but you can see one from Mauritius and one from Belarus.

A bit over a year ago, I joined a website (for free!); postcrossing.com (sorry dunno how to link from my not so smart phone) and you send a card to a random user and receive one from a different random user. So I might send one to Stanislav of Moscow and get one from Aiko of Kyoto. It is pretty neat, I think. I love the element if surprise as to where I will send a card, and I try and choose one I think the recipient will enjoy. Then I eagerly visit the post office almost daily waiting for a mystery card in my box. Who will it be from? What will they write about? What will the image be of? What wonderment will it spark in my mind?

No wonder my blog is partially named, "wanderlust" for I have it!

Crafty card

I usually do "art" not "crafts", if there is a difference. However, I wanted to get crafty for my son's upcoming birthday.

On sprout tv (a PBS thing for small children) they have daily birthday announcements and you can send in a handmade card with Sprout TV characters and it just might, may e, possibly be awesome enough that thu show it on TV. I really hope they do...

Here's the outside; I still have to do the interior.

Black Friday

I survived Black Friday. I hate Black Friday but hubby had a very rare day off work; we might not get another shopping opportunity before Christmas.

I hate crowds. I hate shopping. I hate the want want want.

I started out okay, with some tea from Starbucks and a sugary treat. We went to Barnes and Nobles, a place I could spend over a grand at. It was fun to dream and browse.

Then my son pooped and I had no bags to put it in. Then I forgot and left the diaper in the car to stew in the 85 degree heat. Eww.

Did I mention it is 85 out and I hate te heat?

I met hubby at Bed Bath and Beyond but it, as always, smelled too strong and I didn't want to go in. And I was thirsty and did I mention it is hot out?

So I went to Cost Plus to avoid the stench and get a drink and their line looked short and the drinks cool and refreshing. Except the line wasn't short. It snaked all around the store. Dammit! I was thirsty and hot and felt like I'd explode in a dry poof!

Defeated, I trudged to Target. The toy and electronic section was BEYOND crowded. Chaos. And I was thirsty.

The Target line looked hellishly long but it was deceiving thank God and we were in and out in a jiffy and I got my drink. I got my drink!

Then we finally made it in the car, after being certain I'd lost my hubby's keys.

We talked about pregnancy brain. It is real folks. I hate having caught stupid. We then got lunch and hubby said, "do you realize the trips to the bathroom you will have after that burrito?" And my response was, "I'm pregnant. I'm stupid and poop a lot. Your point?"

And that my friends was my Black Friday adventure. Off to eat my Mexican food. But guess what? Hubby got me a macho sized cool drink for my farty food. God bless him.

Thankfulness

Everyone and their mother is posting, tweeting, blogging about what they are thankful for.

Not me.

I'm not a Scrooge but I refuse to blab on about what I am thankful for, and I am tired of hearing why everyone I thankful for. Big freakin deal.

There are people out there, glad to have scavenged some recyclables from the mall garbage. Others glad to own one pair of clothing. Glad that they have not died of famine or AIDS or cancer, yet. I know, there goes the holiday cheer out the window. But when I hear someone say they are thankful for their XBox or a huge turkey dinner, it infuriates me. When they say thy are thankful for family and friends, it either sounds empty or like they only have to be thankful one day a year.

Besides, the things I am thankful for are my own. For me, it is a private, introspective kind if thankfulness, hat I wish not to share. In fact, some of it can't be put in words, it is just a feeling.

But anyways, off my soap box...have a happy Thanksgiving!

Disbelief

I took a test yesterday.

To be more accurate, I took three. When you get the same results from all three, it should be believable. And then I took another.

I was just talking to my husband this weekend about expanding our family, but that we would not purposely try and instead leave it up to God or nature or date or whatever.

So I took a pregnancy test two days ago being that I was late. I spent $12 on the box of two and nervously urinated on one. No pink line or blue plus mark or happy unicorns or anything. Just plain blank. For hours. So I urinated on the second one and same thing. I didn't want to spend $12 for duds again, but sure as hell wasn't going to wait till I could feel kicks to confirm anything. So I dashed over to the 99 cent store and searched and searched. They weren't by tampons or feminine wash. They weren't by pain killers, shampoo, or diapers. Where were they? Then I got into the zen of 99. I envisioned cheap cigarettes an Jerry Springer, malt liquor and knock off stale Cheerios made by enslaved Chinese toddlers. My couch and decency gone, it came to me. Check out stand! I mean, a pregnancy test is totally an impulse buy- gum, candy lighters, stickers, and pregnancy tests. Got it.

So the next morning (morning pee is super concentrated and thus more "valid") I did the potty dance again. And I got a faint result. And more disbelief.

So like the obsessed crazy lady that I am, I did it two more times. They all showed a "yes" but the last was super faint. I didn't believe it. In statistics there are false positives and these lines took longer to appear and were fainter than when I was pregnant with my son. Again, I had disbelief.

But being a mother, I was also excited so I put my news on Facebook and called my parents and the in laws. My parents were doubtful and worried that "this is the wrong time", and my in laws...keep gleaming and asking me if I feel okay like I am a f€%^ing invalid.

So in my confusion, disbelief, and indifference, I went to the hospital for the blood test version, fool proof.

So...? I find out for sure today after 1:395. Or tomorrow, with people of or the holiday. I have from two and a half to twenty six and a half hours to did out and time can't go by any slower. I barely slept and dreamed I was pregnant and didn't know it till I have birth (like that tv show) and I was all panicked about prenatal care. Them they wanted to do a c-section and I had twins with complications. Not a fun dream.

I awoke before dawn and have since been counting down the minutes.

Tick tick.

A what's it thingymajig called a liebster because I am awesome and wonit!

I won a liebster award!!! (Thank you a ton, Angela at
http://notappropriate4.blogspot.com/?m=1. Visit her blog she is awesome).

What is a liebster?
Well first, it is German for favorite and other happy words that make me think of rainbows and unicorns and good wine and laughing. Okay, it is an award supposedly from Germany that is part chain letter (without the pyramid scheme gimmick or bad luck for 13 years or a million dollars from Ghana. You don't even get a jelly of the month.) it exists solely to give brownie points of recognition for nifty, snazzy, awesome bloggers

Veterans

In honor of Veteran's Day, I want to reflect back to the veterans I know.

http://disorderlywanderlustblog.blogspot.com/2012/10/perspective-exersize-and-what-you.html?m=1. Talks about one veteran.

Another is a friend of my husband's too. He has Purple Hearts (yes, plural) and has been through tough times. After a bad divorce, he came to our place for a bit to get back on his feet.

One morning he needed to get to the vet hospital and it had snowed like mad. The berm was four feet high and full of ice, we were rendered immobile. He and my hubby picked at it as the doctor's appointment neared. The friend went Inside to get a cup of hot coffee and my hubby stood outside, nearly at the point of tears as he struggled against nature, the berm now growing as snow began to fall rapidly. He prayed for help; the strength to power through the berm. To just get his friend to the doctor on time.

Suddenly, our neighbor (a county maintenance guy) drove up in his plow and without even asking, he plowed out our driveway. For free. We tried to give him money, coffee, an offer of dinner and he refused. He drove away to plow the county roads and do his job, off into the snowy abyss. My husband was nearly in tears again.

That night the friend told me he was completing chemotherapy and had to get to his appointments. He is still among us, but he was humble and didn't want us to know his health problems and the severity.

Sometimes you get an answer and a miracle you never expected.

So to veterans, you are heroes to be remembered and honored, every day of the year.


(Why did I show a photo of people gazing at the shimmering Pacific? It was a beautiful moment, captured before I rounded the bend to meet my husband s friend, after his Veteran's bike run. I could hear the bets cheering and saw this image and thought: it says hope, peace, wonder, the past and future all in one. It was a beautiful sight for a beautiful moment, as I thought, wow these veterans are awesome people.) and yeah I wrote this on Nov 11 but since I just write it, my iPhone changed the date to today.

Christmas-Birthday

I hate that my birthday is so close to Christmas. I'm not referring to those people that whine and moan about a birthday so close to Christmas, you know, on December 3rd or January 14th. They don't get my sympathy.

See, I celebrate my birthday when, in other parts of the world it's Christmas. That is too close to Christmas my friends.

Ever opened your birthday gifts under the Christmas tree? Ever had them wrapped in Christmas paper? Ever been told to open them on Christmas to appease family? Ever not had a birthday party cause no one can come?

For a few years as a child, my mom mom gave me a birthday party in June. She called them half birthdays. This gave me the childhood right of passage, a bonafide party with games, streamers, cake, friends, gifts without pine needles and Santa paper.

As an adult I have come to accept my crappy birth date but yeah... I am still a bit bitter, my childhood left a bad taste for birthdays in my mouth.

The day my life changed

Today I make a life altering decision. Okay the decision has been made in my head but must be made in life, acted upon. It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation. I will be persecuted and ostracized by many. But I am doing what I feel is right, correcting a mistake.

I will let you, my readers, know how it goes and what "it" is. I hate posts where you're like WTF is she talking about, just tell us! But there is a valid reason why I'm keeping you in the dark.

Just know this...family comes first.


(And yippee week two of the nablopomo challenge begins! A post a day!)

Insomnia

It is almost midnight and I am wide awake. As in, I could go run on the treadmill kind of awake. As in why can't I be this alert in the daytime kind of awake.

When I usually encounter this I take a Benadryl and crash out. We are our I'f Benadryl. I'm screwed.

At least I know the nature of the beast tonight.

We were going to move but now, probably not. We are doing a load mod, or trying to, which is stressful. I just found a great daycare but its where we were going to move and it opens when I'm scheduled to begin work. An hour away. And my overly sensitive son will not do well there, I just know it. And I worry he needs speech therapy because he is about at the level of your average one year old (meaning just turned one) as he is stomaching his second year of life. And my hubby is snoring and I can not and never have been able to sleep if someone's snoring. And I am likely quitting my job. After gas and day care I come out negative so why work? It's stressing my son out. Hubby's job has been threatened- he can no longer miss work to watch or pick up my son early. I feel the grading policy and school culture fosters apathy and cheating, and the kids just refuse to do work and instead disrupt me and throw paper wads cause they can. Nothing can be done to change that. So why work? Add in the elections and ugh. My pick was 3rd party so of course a loss but the winner? Don't like him one bit. You can love him, each to their own and most of my friends love h. That's okay, I just think differently. But four more years depresses me. I got through the 8 Bush years, ugh, but was in my carefree 20s and didn't really care. And I lost an election I ran for; I ran locally and knew I'd lose but it still sucks. Oh and my moms visiting; I love her but she stresses me out more than any other person on Earth.

So yeah. I can't sleep. It's now past midnight, my stomach in knots, a sub called for my class tomorrow ( stress is making me feel crappy) and to boot I am worried they won't get a sub. Gr. stop worrying and start sleeping.

And so ends my stream of consciousness, off to find some website to lull me to sleep. I hope.

And suddenly, a baby was born

This post is about giving birth so if you are not quite interested, look at the end for the "you might like" and read a different post by me .

I had, in a week's time, done my exit interview, final exam, and thesis for my Master's degree; I had completed my entire Christmas shopping one rainy night, finished working (as in, last day before maternity leave); and baked, frosted, and delivered something like ten dozen cookies. I was stressed about the holidays and my always disappointing birthday coming in the next few days, and I just wanted to give birth, get through the holidays, and be done.

I told my mom to fly down by Dec 21, no later, to be there for the birth. She complained that she'd just be waiting around "forever" because "first babies come late so you will certainly deliver in early January". I kept telling her, I know I am not due till after Christmas and my birthday but be here no later than the 21st.

She didn't listen but after much nagging on my part, in a "okay, fine have it your way" moment, booked her flight for the evening of the 22nd. I told her, mom, make it the 21st, but mothers never listen.

The morning of the 21st came and I was bored stiff. I did the dishes and decide to take a bath (in a crappy but humorous attempt to shave the hairy legs I could not see or reach) and then go to the library, since the county was under a state of emergency (rain, flooding, mud slides) and I needed a book before we lost power/got flooded/Armageddon or whatever.

My mom rang and told me, "one more day till I see you! Now don't have your baby till I get there. And promise that to your father; last night he dreamed you had your baby. You know he never dreams. Do you feel any contractions?" I told her I felt fine, bored, no baby in sight. I hung up, filled the bath, and gave up on shaving without even trying. I yearned for a hot bah on this cold day, but pregnant ladies can't have scalding hot baths. I basked in the lukewarm water, trying to waste time until the library opened at ten. I casually stepped out once I looked like a pink prune, toweled off, and began to put on panties when I realized, crap, my pants were in the laundry room. And then it happened.

Everyone I knew well enough kept warning me about incontinence your third trimester, so I was like, eww I just peed in my panties, but yes! Finally I know what they are talking about! So I waddled over and got new panties and called for my hubby to get my pants. Except it went, "honey? I need my pants. (Dramatic pause). And umm I might have peed myself or umm my water broke? I don't know. Quick. Help."

He dashed in, tripping over the dog who disgustingly was nosing my wet panties. I stood there now naked again, second pair of panties wet, looking confused. I was confused, not the panties but if they were sentient they'd look confused too. That would be creepy.

"I think my water broke?" I queried, as I mean peeing myself or my water breaking were both new experiences. I expected, if it were my water, to have felt contractions. So I put on my pants and my mouth went agape. Again I was wet. I ran around, digging for period pads that were long forgotten, and ended up with a hand towel between my legs. I giggled to myself, remembering how the pads in the nurse's office at school were that thick. And how now I waddled even more.

I called my Bradley Birthing Coach, even though I had dropped out two weeks prior(cause I drop out of everything) because I figured she was the most experienced, being that my mother and mother in law hadn't given birth in decades, and my sis in law had done scheduled c-section. We chatted for a moment, where she asked about contractions (none) and said to delay the hospital as long as possible -a Bradley trademark, and besides, I wasn't eager for the hospital either. Then I called my BFF and left her a message. Then I had one small contraction. Then I noticed my towel-pad was sopping wet and kind of tea-colored. Meconium, meaning baby poop, meaning doctors freak out and induce you or do a c-section or whatever. Crap. Literally. In just a bit over half an hour I had gone from "is it pee?" To "dammit, let's go to the hospital". My contractions came again, and I called my mom as I headed to the car. "Told you, be here today. My water broke. Hospital. Bye."

The contractions worsened on the 15 minute drive to the hospital, quickening, feeling like food poisoning cramps. Hubby dropped me off by the door while he went to find parking. I had a bad contraction right there in the parking lot, in pouring rain, and had no option but to head inside in hope I could find a seat to wait out the pain.

I walked into some not-labor room and for a moment, forgot what I learned on the hospital tour. Then I remembered, and headed towards the elevator.

Another, worst-yet contraction hit in the elevator, and I recalled a seating area right outside the elevator on the second floor. I can do it, I can make it to a seat where I can sit down, the pain so bad I could barely stand.

After an eternity going up just one floor, I dashed to the chair just in time for the contraction to stop. I figured, might as well check myself in, and headed towards the labor area.

There were those hospital double doors, locked so you cannot get in and steal babies or anything, and I remembered there was some admittance button to open the doors. Somewhere. In a panic, I looked everywhere, to no avail. I definitely did not want to give birth outside the elevator and I also didn't want to be the stupid wife who couldn't find the damned button. I was in tears. Where the f**k was the button? Why can't they have some button, big as a steering wheel, bright red and blinking, all Vegas-style, "baby, ouch, open"? Where the f**k was the giant red (or, soon to find out, doorbell sized wall colored button) when I needed it?

Hubby found me pacing the hall, crying, and he asked why I didn't push the button. "I....can't....find....it" I whimpered in defeat. He found it like that and in we went.

I signed an X for my name on the admittance papers. I was in too much pain to even remember how to sign my own name of 30 years. We got ushered into a steel room with a bathroom where I was handed a paper gown and a cup.

Luckily, I was able to pee. I exited and just stood there, in a cold paper gown, with an open cup of urine, biting my lip in pain. Ten painful minutes later, I was directed to a steel table. The same table at the veterinarians. Bark. They hooked me up to crap and left. I watched the contraction monitor make cool Himalayan style graphs and I saw some blood pool on the table, and I chucked my steel water bottle across the room, some weird pain-dealing issue. The contractions were 3 minutes apart and so bad I nearly vomited from the pain. Deer-eyed, I asked hubby to find a damned nurse.

She walked in all casually, slowly gloved up as I writhed in pain, as went to feel my cervix. " hmm, don't feel it" she said', making me expect her to say next, "so you are not in labor, go home" at which point I'd go postal and knock her down. But she felt again and was all, " Oh my! 6 or 7 cm, you are in labor (told you, b1tch, I may have thought out loud) "lets hurry and get you into a labor room" (no sh1t Sherlock). Bloody towels and pants swept away, put in a bag, you know, in case I wanted my bloody panties towel back. Ha.

New less metallic table, and a new set of monitors. It was about 11:30, I had waited in that stupid steel room for an hour. The pain increased and was nearly constant. The nurses kept asking for me to rate my pain, which confused me. Was a 1 no pain or hangnail level pain? Was ten labor, or I was just skinned alive while passing a kidney stone level pain? They were not happy I could not answer, and were unable to provide me with a pain rubric. I may have even told them it was bad data/statistics to not have a pain rubric to accompany their stupid scale. They kept suggesting an epidural which I was vehemently against.

Hubby went at about noon to get my iPod, his laptop, you know, entertainment stuff. The few I had known to give birth naturally had their first labors from 14-55 hours and here it was a bit past hour two, I was here for the long haul.

Hubby told me I was in transition, ready to actually give birth, this was the short lived but most painful part. Apparently he paid attention before we dropped out of birthing class, and apparently I didn't hear him. All I heard was "epidural now? How about now? Stop squirming!" While I thought, animals in pain squirm and scream so f**k you that is what I will do.

Hubby gone, pain constant, I weakly mumbled "yes" to the epidural. I had figured I had what, 12-53 more hours of this pain. Sure it was the worst pain EVER but if it was an hour more, I would live, but ten, twenty, or more? F**k no. Epidural please. As the epidural guy was paged, the nurse tried to get me to do the huh hug Lamaze breathing. I refused and may have said something to the effect of, how the hell is breathing like a freaking idiot going to help? I was unable to breathe like an idiot because I was laughing. Okay no, I was in too much pain to laugh but I was laughing in my head, that a nurse thought breathing like a dragon who chain smoked would magically ease the pain. Let me tell you, it's bullsh1t.

I forgot to remind them to check my dilation before the epidural. Well, really I was in too much pain to properly communicate, and besides it is their job, protocol, to do that. Which they didn't.

The needle went in and ahhhhh the pain diminished. Then the nurse checked my dilation as my hubby came back in. "Umm you're at ten inches and I see the head. There are two ER c-sections, waiting for the doctor to get here, with all these road closures. Don't push. Just wait." My body wanted to push and I did a bit until the epidural made me so damn numb I couldn't even feel my boobs.

At two o'clock, I could actually reach down there and feel the head, but not see it. The doctor rushed in, gloving up while running, and I was relieved. Not only was a doctor here ( I could finally push!) but he was my obgyn. Of all the probably 50 or so L&D doctors, I had. my doctor. He was supposed to start vacation that day but was called in, other doctors were flooded in or whatever. I was so relieved.

No one told me the stupid epidural had an on, off, high, low button so I had been in taking the high dose for two hours. I'm surprised I could feel my face. So by now, I had no clue if I was pushing, pulling, resting, or anything. So the actual birth took a bit, because by now if you looked at me from the view of the doctor, you could see the head. But one has to push to get the bulky shoulders out. So I tried.

At 2:44pm, just 5 hours after my water broke, I gave birth.

I saw a blue-red-yellow slimy baby figure in the nurses arms, and the doctor said with shock, "meconium. Not breathing". The longest three seconds of my life, until the other nurse aspirated him and you heard a sweet cry. Tears began to run down my face as they moved my child over for weight, length, and apgar score which they argued over, "8, no, 9, no, 8...." Then they asked, "what name shall we wrote down?" I let them know,, I need to know the gender first (see, everyone knows nowadays, with modern technology but I went old school, something no one understood but I wanted a surprise!). "It's a boy" they said, handing this wrinkly pink thing of perfection to me. I cried. I snuggled. They stood there waiting to write his name, but I didn't have one yet. Sure, I had a few picked out but. I had to see him first. So on his hospital bracelet and crib it just says "baby boy".

It took the 24 crappy hours of stay in the hospital ( seriously, people like staying here? Wtf? I wanted out at like... 3:00!) to name him, and I did.

But his name here is Baby Boy. Can't give away too much information. But he is the cutest guy in the world.