BLOG HAS MOVED January 31, 2011

Hello buddies and readers and secret friends who read but never comment…shamey shamey I don’t want to go to Mexico no more, more, more, more there’s a big fat policeman at my door, door, door.

The time has arrived just like New Kids said on Step 5.

If I haven’t lost you in the past two references, I’m glad you are here to know that I have moved to a domain. This page won’t disappear so if you forget the new domain, you can come here for redirection. For that matter, if you can’t remember the new address when you are referring someone here, just guide them to this page and they will find their way home like big hardy dogs.

Please follow me to:

www.the1sthundred.com =0)

See you round, kids.

January 26, 2011

Due to scheduling conflicts, I cannot sit down with my computer master to move my blog on Thursday. I’ve been trying to do it myself and I usually get part way, have to web chat customer service, ask them my questions, they answer, I don’t understand and just say thank you. It’s hard being me on a computer.  I’ve talked to George, Kacy, and Chris.  I ask real dumb questions and I tell them up front that it’s gonna be stupid, buuuuuuut I’m pretty sure they talk about me over their cubicle anyways.

I’ve been trying to move these words of mine, finish decorating the new extension of our church (for sure not going to happen in time), working on my latest craft addiction that replaces cakes, AND my old job asked me if I would come back in and train a new hire and believe it or not, I’ve been back at work. Don’t get carried away. It’s only for this week and next.  What do you think I like money or something?  Preposterous.  I like babies.  In your face.

Speaking of babies, I also forgot to add that I’m a mother to that list.

Mom is tired tonight. Not even bad American Idol auditions can save the day now.

Well, maybe.

Maybe if it’s really funny and they won’t take no for answer and just keep starting songs over and over again as if a different song is going to change the sound.  Those are funny.

Anyways, lucky for me I posted Stronger this week because, if not, this week would be a total blog sham.  Thanks to the person who subscribed last night in spite of its shame.  Also, thanks to my dad for singing Jesus music to my baby or I would’ve had nothing to say.

My life is falling apart from now until approximately Wednesday.  Alls I want is a new, shiny blog page with my own name and neat little things to look at that will make you say something fancy about it. When I finally get my new page, mail me candy and I’ll open the envelope real hard so it flies everywhere and I’ll say, “A parade for me?  Really?” 

Just consider it.

Get Your Passport Ready January 25, 2011

There are some things you will learn about your spouse only after you marry them. For example, I had no idea Lance snored and had conversations in his sleep on a regular basis until our honeymoon. Also on our honeymoon, I learned something about him that affects the way he handles minor stresses:

with a full-blown panic attack breakdown.

My first glimpse of this was when we were flying out of Mexico to go back to the states. We had
P
L
E
N
T
Y

of time but Lance was SERIOUS about getting in line with his passport ready. I remember sitting there in one of the seats at the gate watching him standing up around where they board with his passport in hand, ready and open. This was apparently a life or death situation and he could not take the chance of the pages being stuck together in his passport causing us to not be able to show his face and miss our flight.

I laughed at him then but really, I was the fool. This would be the rest of my life. We still joke about that in moments where he is, lets say, “over-reacting”. I call it “Get your passport ready” and that’s exactly what I say when he is entering his flip out mode. We even have a gesture to indicate the breakdown. All you have to do is give a big, dorky nervous smile and hold your hand up to your face as if you are holding your passport for quick and optimal identification. Even 6 1/2 years after the honeymoon, we still do this.

Last night we experienced this effect. I was on the phone (unfortunately) so my sister heard the total loss of Lance control.

He had chipped a ceramic bowl, stepped on the broken piece, and then upon trying to remove said piece, cut his finger. Sound the alarm, Lance has cut his finger!

Now what Lance would wish for me to tell you is that is wasn’t ‘a paper cut, Rebecca!’. It was a real gash.

True, and while it did bleed for about 45 minutes, worst case scenario is going to the ER to get it glued up.

I understood this so I was calm, as the situation would cause one to be. He acted as if he had severed his arm off onto the kitchen floor and here I was just a talking on the phone while he fought for his life.

Get your passports ready, please.

Because I wasn’t acting in accordance with this terrible disaster, he does what all logical people do and begins to walk around the house bleeding on to the floor, washer, sink in both the bathroom and the kitchen, hmmmmm, where else?

Of course this was because he needed a towel or something and, “I am selfish and don’t care!”

“Don’t care!!!!!” is one of my favorite things he says in times like these because he is acting like something traumatic has happened and I’m just humming a little tune to myself like it’s no big deal.

Sort of like when we went running in our neighborhood at night and he turned his ankle. I totally get that it hurts but all sympathy is lost when he sits on an electrical box and says in all teary drama, “I’ll never be able to play basketball AGAIN!” Not, “I’ll have to sit out a season. Guys, this is forever. Put the ole’ basketball shoes in a shadow box on the wall for memorial.

When that starts to happen I just completely watch him like he’s a sideshow and I can no longer take him seriously. It’s almost like the more he freaks out, the more I’m just a normal ole’ person.  This usually makes him freak out more.

The thing is, he never spazzes about things that matter or the big issues which is I guess good because I, like a normal person, do that. He’s more of the “foil got stuck to my oven pizza” explosive type.

“Lance, I want to use fertility treatments and have 14 kids.”

He would be totally calm.

“Lance, I burnt your chocolate chip cookies.”

You know what to do. Get out your passport.

Inevitably, he calms down after these ordeals and realizes that he was being a freakazoid.

I wanted to end this piece with a picture of the injury. Lance knew I was going to write a blog about it so I walked into his office and said, “I’m gonna need a picture of this.” He laughed and told me no.

I don’t know if you guys were ready to see a picture of an index finger with a band-aid on it. If you weren’t, Lance would totally understand. You could always google phrases like “cut my finger” “cut my finger with a knife” etc. like Lance did last night when I was “not caring” about the “tragedy at hand”.  I will warn you though that you may end up pulling up graphic images of hands slashed by knives which is totally not what happened to Lance.

At the end of the day, I’m just glad we pulled through.  He didn’t even get blood on his passport.  It was a good day.

Announcement January 19, 2011

I’m excited to announce that my blog will be moving to its own domain name next week! If you’re white, raise the roof or fist pound somebody. Then be ashamed. If you are black, do the Dougie and be proud. If you are Asian, do any kind of hip hop move because judging by all the dance competition shows, you could probably do that really well.

I’m super excited for years and days.

The domain will be www.the1sthundred.com and some of you have used that domain to be directed to my wordpress blog from other sites.  Now that blog will take you to my new page instead of to here.

Eventually, I hope to buy www.thefirsthundred.com but some dork domain company is selling it for 894 dollars. Basically that means that they don’t use it but want to sell it for some poor blogger or business person to buy. I have sad feelings towards them doing that. Until then, I’ll have the one I just gave you above and will probably keep both domains if I ever buy the one my heart REALLY wants.

When I move at the end of next week (or the following Monday), I’ll still be using a wordpress compatible host so not much should look different to you guys. HOWEVER, I will have more bells and whistles with the new site. Yesssssss!  Hopefully some things will look different.

I decided that this is my year to start making baby steps to make my blog even better and dare I say, money-making. Making this move will allow me to monetize my site which makes my wallet say thank you.

If you forget that I’ve moved, it’s okay because although there won’t be new posts on this page, there will be a final post on the top of the page with a link, telling you I’ve moved.

I am my hero. Also, my brother-in-law who is computer savvy and helping me do all this. He is before me in hero-ship.

Get excited.

Ann Wade Parrish Photography- Shelly’s Wedding January 18, 2011

Stronger January 16, 2011

I run in just a little late like I always do these days after having a baby. I hand Eden off to my dad. He smiles, admiring her face while she excitedly reaches for his styrofoam cup. Leave it to babies to like cups, spoons, and paper more than toys.

I quickly walk up to the stage and take one big step up to my spot at the mic and immediately began practicing for worship with Lance singing and playing right beside me.

Nothing is any different this Sunday than all rest: always busy, familiar songs, typical practice.

I turn the page and we start to sing the song “Stronger”. It’s one of my dad’s favorites so I look up to see if he realizes that we are playing “his” song.

With the light of the sun bursting in behind him, I see the silhouette of my father, holding my daughter with her little cream tutu and leggings bulging out around his shirtsleeves.

I can’t hear him over the roar of the music and the sound of the monitors in my ears but I knew what he was doing.

With one arm holding up my child and another raised in the air, he was singing the song to her.

Their faces were just a few 6 or so inches away as he convictedly sang in his nothing fancy, holding a tune in a bucket voice. sincerely, he looked at her and she intently studied his face.

With the sound of the electric guitar, piano, and percussion behind me, the sound of my husband to the left, I couldn’t help but watch him sing those precious words to my child.

“You are stronger;
You are stronger;
Sin is broken
You have saved me
It is written
Christ has risen
Jesus you are Lord of all….”

In my predictable fashion, I couldn’t help but to well up in my eyes a bit. Between the chorus end and the next verse, I ran over to Lance’s mic to tell him to watch them on the floor.

When the chorus played again, sure enough, my dad raised his hand and sang to Eden.

I watch Lance.

He glances at me.

We both smile, thankfully, back at one another for a brief moment.

It’s hard for me to describe what it does to me to see three generations there on the church floor: me on the stage, and my dad holding his grandchild on the floor.

There was something about singing those words and watching that take place that moves me. I felt a simultaneous gratitude to God for who He is and who He gave me in my father, and then for my father and who he has been to me and is being to my child some 28 years after I was born to him.

I felt an intense feeling of being rescued by the grace of God in my life both spiritually and the earthly grace I had to be raised the way I was. When I was just a little baby like my daughter with no choice or control in the world of who would take care of me, he gave me my parents.

It was another one of those moments in my life where I’m standing in the middle of the result of my parent’s faithfulness and God’s provision.

When he is gone, I will remember him in that mid-morning light singing God’s grace over my first-born on a regular Sunday morning.

Some days God’s faithfulness is apparent immediately.  Sometimes, it takes life times, and even generations to see clearly.  Three to be exact.

When that song finished, my dad and Eden ran up to me before the next song began and he said, “Some time when no one is around, I’d like for you and I to sing that song together up there.”

I smiled in a sort-of tickled way and said, “Okay”.

Eden and my dad went walking out of the sanctuary and I think to myself, “Sometimes he just doesn’t know how good of a man he is.”

As they disappeared around the corner, I’m so glad I do.

Please Break-up With Me January 13, 2011

I don’t like those ads that run down the side of a Facebook page. Number one, they look cheap. Number 2, they know your information and tailor the ads to you specifically.  I feel like they are trying to trick me.

“Are you a mom in your twenties?”
“Do you like babies?”
“Do you like eating so that you can live?”

Anything that applies to you, most likely will run as a janky ad on your page. Today, I saw the mother, father, sister, and homie of all ads.

The banner said:

SURPRISE YOUR BOYFRIEND!

Now one would think it’s something some sort of product you could by him, perhaps an iPhone or iPad. Maybe it could also be advertising entertainment, restaurants, or something you could do with him on a date.

One would think, at least.

Then at the bottom it had a picture of a baby. Now this is getting confusing.

Turns out the ad was for a site called ourbabymaker.com and you can surprise your boyfriend with a computer generated version of what your baby would look like.

There is nothing that a boyfriend wants less than for their crazy girlfriend to morph their pictures together in a computer to make a pretend baby.

I just had to laugh.

“Honey, I have a surprise for you!!!!!”

“I made our babyyyyyyy!!!”

I wish you could hear me saying that because a lot of comic relief is lost without my facial and vocal expressions.

If you want to be single at the quickest rate possible, please go to ourbabymaker.com and go on with your crazy bad self.

Your baby won’t judge you. Make-believe baby will love you unconditionally. Unlike the boyfriend you have who will make you look like a psychopath to the whole town.

So go on friend, make a freaky looking generated baby and give your boyfriend the surprise he really wants:  a picture of what his child would look like if he was crazy enough to stay with you after you make fake children on-line.

SURPRISE!

Disclaimer:  It is okay to make computer babies if both parites are conscenting and the baby is NOT a surprise.  Jillian’s could possibly have a machine that will morph your faces into children or half of your face and  half  of a monkey’s face.  I probably have never done that.

A Day at a Time January 11, 2011

It hit me that in 12 weeks Eden will be one. Really? How is that possible? People always tell you that time will fly but it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. What happened to time? I’ve had years of my life go faster than others but this is so fast that it’s disorienting. I have NO CLUE where time went. More than that, I don’t know what makes time so different now. Is it because I love her so much and enjoy being her mom so much that is zooms by? Is it because she is always changing so much that I can’t stay on top of how much time is passing? Is it because I don’t have a job-job anymore so I don’t look at dates so time just gets away from me? I don’t know what is happening.

My mom and I talked a lot about it this morning. She says it’s because I’ve never been so invested in something before as you do when you’re a mom. She says it’s because you are savoring every moment. She’s right. Every day I can’t believe who she is and who she is becoming. A week in baby time, definitely two weeks, makes all the difference in baby world. If a skill isn’t mastered in one week, the following week will have major improvements. One week they are learning to sit up and then a few months later your daughter is sitting on the table in her Bumbo mimicking you telling her no and she’s trying to say it! Who is this wonder, genius baby?

I think sometimes about how much I love her and how she won’t remember these precious times we spent together and it makes me sad. I feel like these days won’t matter as much to her as they did to me. I just want her to know how much I loved her, spent time with her, did anything to make her laugh, anything to makes things special for her and I know some day she will….. when she’s a parent.

You really can’t explain a parent’s love. You can’t understand it until you’ve looked at your child and you cherish even the sticky up hair on her head so much that you feel sad when it starts to lay flat. Where is my little fuzzy headed baby going one week at a time? It bittersweetly breaks my heart to see this tiny, rolly polly baby waving spoons above her head on the floor to look at her and I think, “I love you so much and one day, I’ll never see this baby again.” It may sound dramatic but something about knowing almost a year has passed without me even knowing it has made me so sad to think/feel these things. And when I say I’ll never see this baby again, I’m not talking about some exaggeration about when she leaves home. I’m being literal in that one day she will be 5 and I will never have this baby back. It’s the most quickly fleeting joy to have her as a baby. I’m gonna miss this little person one day.

Here I am talking like this and she doesn’t even talk or walk yet. I hear ya.  I guess seeing how these first 8 or so months have vanished makes me certain that those next milestones will come and go before I know it. Well, hopefully they won’t ‘go’ because I kind of dream of her being able to walk and talk her whole life.

In the stage I’m in now, it is so hard to look forward and see it all clearly. As stupid as I always thought it sounded when other people said it, and as much as it pains me to say out loud, I’m having a hard time seeing how I could love another child as much as Eden. Sounds sooooooo dumb.  I’m having a difficult time conceiving a lot of things about parenting and that, hypocritically, is one of them.

I read this quote on a new mom’s facebook page yesterday.

“A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, your bankroll smaller, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for.”

Not only is Eden worth living for but she makes me feel like I just started to really live.  I am honored to be her mother and I love who she is every day.  I’m just sad you lose them little by little in the process.

Planted January 9, 2011

I never dreamed I would be a pastor’s wife. Some girls I know prayed that they would be but that was not what I was praying. Not that there is anything wrong with it but it’s not something I was seeking or pictured myself as when I was in college. When Lance first told me he was going to be in the ministry, I was singing in Nashville and pursuing that professionally with a nice offer on the table. He said he was going to do youth ministry and I was like, “Hold up!” How would that work? I would be singing and you just tell the church, that sorry I couldn’t be there because I had some tunes to sing…..

It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t a fit.

Obviously, things worked out but me, a pastor’s wife? I never really saw myself with 3 foot long hair, wearing crocheted sweaters with doves embroidered on the front.

Wait, I’m not done.

….with a white turtleneck underneath and a long denim skirt with a seam that runs up the middle.

One more thing….

With with white ankle socks folded down with chunky brown clogs that make my skirt too short.

Still, minus all the deep south Baptist stereotyped attire, I find myself a pastor’s wife. Oddly, but to God, purposefully, it all makes sense.

When I look at my gifts, it makes so much sense to me that I’m in this church with this man. I sing. We needed musical folks as a new church. I counsel. Not sure of a skill much more helpful in the church. I even decorate which seems weird to be used at a church but not when your church is in the new stages and under construction. We moved into a shopping center so it needed “a little transformation”.

I always been compassionate loved helping the down and out and where is our church? In the projects.  

I have always said I should’ve been a black woman because I love black people and their culture so much. I know, I know, black people are just like us…. except they are better atheletes most of the time and my favorite, better singers. I LOVE the soulful african american voice. Sing to me Beyonce! Yoddle to me, Jasmine Sullivan. Vocalize sweet melodies, Alicia Keyes. Yall know what I mean. You feel me.

I get to be in such a diverse community with all sorts of races and cultures. It’s like a little concentrated melting pot and I adore it.

More than any other church I’ve been a part of, it’s a joy for me to be there. It’s authentic. Sincere. There is such a missional purpose to everything done and I thoroughly enjoy it there.

I was just sitting there this morning, listening to my husband preach an excellent sermon and thinking, “This is exactly where I’m supposed to be and exactly where Lance is supposed to be.” It’s a good feeling because a lot of our lives we spend longing for something else but in this, I know this is where I’ve been planted and I’m content.

Two years ago this month, a small group of people started a church in an unconventional way in the small projects of my hometown. I look at around our church of African refugees, retired missionaries in their 70′s, college students, young families, even homeless people at times, and I know that everything God has given me and equipped me with my whole life has been for such a time as this,  for these people for God’s church.

In a 5 thousand square foot corner space of shopping center off a Kentucky highway…..

I was made for this.

Who works harder, men or women? January 6, 2011

There are two ways to really get to know someone: marry them and then have children with them. In some ways, it brings out the truest colors you will ever see of your other half.

Having a baby will either strengthen or destroy your marriage, or so my father says. I think he is right. One of the common times for divorce is not only when you first have kids, but also, when they leave and the nest is empty. The stress of children coming into your life impacts your marriage and totally redefines both your lives and, for many, that redefinition becomes about you and the kids and less about each other which leaves two strangers in the house together when the kids hit the road.

As a new mom, I naturally end up talking to other moms and I think the issue with most new families is the same thing from one couple to the next and it’s a BIG issue. It seems that the song everyone is singing is a two-part harmony. The lassie is singing that “he never helps me or doesn’t help enough” while the lad is singing “I work all day, I’m tired”. I think this has been a hit song since about 1400.

Luckily for me, I find myself on the good side of this story. My husband is wonderful at helping me out, although we both have our moments of pointing the finger at the other when we are tired. Sometimes this isn’t with words but certain glances or sighs when the baby cries and we both feel like it’s the “others” turn.  You know what I mean.  If you have kids, I’m positive you do.

BUT even though he’s great, I am still human and I have definitely felt like most women when I have those days that I feel like I do it mostly on my own.

I don’t work outside the home so I can’t speak for working moms but this is how a lot of stay-at-homers feel….

Our job is 24/7 and even when we leave ‘the office’ our office comes with us. Most of the time, getting out of the office is more stressful because it requires packing up the entire building and if the building gets out-of-order in the middle of a trip to the grocery, well….it can get ugly. Price check on anxiety pills aisle 3.

Lance and I recently had a real fast exchange of words about feeling like we never get breaks. He said to me that his job is stressful and non-stop. I totally agree and really, really, really appreciate that he works so hard so that I can stay at home with our daughter. But since we were one upping each other, that was beside the point… =0)

I said, “The day you carry your boss around with you all day on your hip and he cries and demands everything from you that very instance, then we will talk.”  Also he needs to poop his pants and play with baby musical toys all day long to add to that list.  Think you are going crazy at work?  Add add the ABC’s over top of your most stressful moment.  Ah, what a sweet melody.

It sounded like it was a serious argument but really it was lighthearted. I hate even typing stuff like that because it makes parenting and Eden herself seem like a burden but we love her and I want to spend all my time with her sometimes even if I feel like I need a break and that’s true for us both. Even in the moments when neither of us feels like going to get her when she cries, when she enters the room and starts smiling, all of the frustration sort of drifts away. At least until she fusses again…. ;0)

Still, I don’t care how much you love each other or how much you love your baby, at some point or at many points, the old familiar tune of who works harder or who is more tired starts to play.

Let me tell you what Lance and I have learned in this 8 1/2 months.

He works like a dog and he’s tired.

I work like a dog and I’m tired.

When that argument or thought comes up, here’s the universal deal: YOU ARE BOTH EXHAUSTED! And exhausted is exhausted no matter which way you cut it and since you can both relate, that is why you have to do it as a team. Parenting isn’t a one-man game and I pity the people who find themselves married but doing it all alone. If you can both do it together then you can both share the load rather than one person going way over their limit and then becoming useless in both areas of parenting and in being a spouse.

A spouse who is forced to carry the load alone is someone who is secretly heaping fault after fault of their spouse on top of each other building one serious case of bitterness towards their partner. This can and does destroy a marriage.

They argument should never be who works harder.  The whole premise of that argument is selfish because it’s saying, my time and need for a break outweighs yours.  If you are being a selfless spouse, when you and your partner find yourselves pooped on the couch together that’s where you should find yourself working together too out of love for your family and each other.

If you cook, he cleans.

You do the dishes while he folds a load.

He bathes the baby and you feed her dinner.

I heard my sister-in-law say that if my brother gives her a break with time out of the house on her own, when she gets home, it’s still team work and not one person taking on all the responsibility to make-up for having personal free-time.  If you do the whole ‘It’s all you now’ attitude then you will start to dread your break because you know you will have to pay by working overtime when you get home.  Team work works all times, in all situations.  I think this attitude and way of helping your spouse and your family actually creates within you to want to out help your partner. 

This is just how it works, folks.  It’s a practical way to love not just your spouse but your whole family.  You are teaching a silent but loud message to your kids this way too.  Living your life this way in your family breeds feelings of love from the wife and brews respect up for her husband.  At the end of the day, your partner’s needs are met and your kid’s  needs simultaneously.  It kills a lot of arguments to just support each other and be the active player in your family’s life like you should be, anyways.  

Dads:  You don’t want to check out when you get home because your job has been so tiring because only having the interest in spending time with your kids on the weekends means you only get to spend real-time with them 144 days a year out of the full 365.  Your time is short anyways and most dads have, at best, 3 or 4 hours with their children when they get home.  Your bonding time with them as children is reading the books, bathing them, feeding them, etc.  That is how you bond.  Hopefully you miss your kids during the day and see it as a joy to get the privilege of coming home to them.  When they are older they won’t care how tired you were.  They will just know you weren’t involved.  They grow-up one missed day at a time.

Furthermore, love your wife by caring for her and making her job feel important.  Love your wife so your kids will know how to love their spouses and be able to see how a man should love a woman when they make their choice in a partner one day.  When you miss out on your kids because you’ve had a long day.  Someone has to take care of them so your wife will end up doing it solo.  Then, you miss out on them both.  Be what you are:  a family.

Moms:  Trust your husband to care for your kids when he wants to and don’t criticize his efforts.  Even if he leaves poop on the baby changer and the wipes open.  I’m being such a hypocrite right now but I know I’m wrong for doing that to him. 

Staying at home is hard and it’s easy to think you are spending a lot of time with your child because you are physically present but that isn’t always the case.

It’s easy to give your child things to entertain them rather than being engaged with them.  You can be living for your child’s next nap or your next break and doing everything you can to make your day easier and in the midst of that, not be intentional in investing in your child.

You too can be so tired that you are checking out so it’s not specifically a man’s problem.

Both men and women can be MIA due to exhaustion.  Basically, you have to both be intentional in loving each other, loving your children, and working together.  As contrary to popular culture as it may be, love only occasionally comes easy.  The rest is work. 

So, who does really work harder, men or women?

If you are asking that question, you’ve already decided that it’s you that wins this argument.  I challenge you to not ask who works harder but value that you both do and get to workin’! 

Together.

Husband Techniques August 23, 2008

There is this game I like to play with Lance. I call it ‘Pretend I’m not here’.  This game serves a variety of purposes.  I feel like it helps him develop man skills or, independence skills.  Here are some everyday uses of “Pretend I’m Not Here”:  Where is the broom? Pretend I’m not here.  Where did I leave my headphones? Pretend I’m not here.  The toilet is overflowing.  Again, pretend I’m not here.  This game works because it teaches him to handle these everyday queries without asking me.  Some of you may be thinking, “You should help him find his headphones or find the broom.”  Sure, but the problem is that I’ve found that men are not problem solvers as they are stereo-typically said to be.  More often they will not do anything on their own unless absolutely necessary…such as bathing.  It is so much easier to ask a million questions a day rather than to actually pay attention to what is going on. Because hey, I’ll just ask Rebecca and she will give me the answer. However, if I in fact wasn’t actually there to ask he would figure something out.  So its not that he can’t figure it out but rather that he wants me to.  Are you starting to see the benefits of a technique such as “Pretend I’m Not Here”?

 

Let’s look at a real-life application of this game.  Tonight I am sick a home.  Satan has come to dwell within my tonsils for the past 6 days.  This means that Lance has had to do many things around the house which has been somewhat confusing to him.  Tonight he cooked me dinner:  sausage bean soup.  Basically this recipe consists of dumping all ingredients into a pot.  I thought, “This will be easiest for him so I won’t have answers any questions.  I can just lay here on the couch and relax.”  Yeah right.  Within the first traumatic 30 seconds of trying to gather the ingredients I see that I am going to have to write this down.  Despite the ingredients being listed in the recipe name.  As I am writing down the directions he is still continuing to ask me the very things he knows I am writing down. 

Finally, I make it back to the couch. 

“Hey, where are the beans?”  Bear in mind that Lance is the one who neurotically organizes the cabinets into categories: seasonings, things for baking, etc.  Now, let’s review this question again with this new knowledge.

He said, “Hey, where are the beans?” 

Dramatic pause.

This is the appropriate time to say, “Pretend I’m not here.”

As you get started, something you should know is that the recipient of this technique will not like learning the process of independence through this game.  It may get to a boiling point as we will see in this example.

 

Let’s continue….

 

In the case of sausage bean soup, the ingredients and recipe are as follows: 

 

Cook and drain sausage

One can of white beans

One box of chicken broth

¾ c. of rice

Pepper soup at end

 

This is where we found our problem.  About ten questions into the game our client begins to lose his cool.  This experience has become quite challenging and stressful to him.  He begins to be frustrated and opens and shuts cabinets in a tissy and this is what he says:

 

“WHERE IS THE PEPPER SOUP?  I CAN’T FIND IT JUST TELL ME WHERE THE PEPPER SOUP IS!!!”

 

I now reply, “Pepper soup? Are you serious?” 

 

(client using mocking voice) “Yes, I’m serious!  It says pepper soup at end! It’s not my fault that you don’t even know what

you write down!”

 

With secret joy of his impending realization I say, “Just read it over to yourself and get back to me.”

 

He reads over the extensive recipe and then begins to laugh.  I begin to laugh because I am now crazy. 

 

End game.

 

He has now learned what to do in a situation when confused and frustrated.  The steps he has learned are:

Pretend no one is here.

Stop. 

Think. 

Rethink. 

Think some more. 

Now with some common sense.

And celebrate solution.

 

Using these 7 simple steps 25 times a day, everyday will give you the freedom to live your life question free from your personal man-child.  Just look at me! We are down to situations such as sausage bean in just 4 years!!!!!!

 

I’m a believer aren’t you?

 

“Pretend I’m Not Here”….offering everyday solutions, to everyday problems.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How a Heart Breaks March 4, 2009

I was laying on top of my mom’s quilted guest bed.  Phone pressed to my ear and a roundtrip ticket to Chicago staring me down from the nightstand.  It was his voice on the other end of the line.  I heard that voice everyday for a little over 3 years.  There was always something up until that point that he could give me that would be reason enough for me to keep hoping.  Maybe it was in the way he was looking at me.  Maybe in his tone of voice.  Or some time or conversation we had together.  This time there was nothing there in his words and tone.  I couldn’t in my best days of denial convince myself that I had a reason that I should stay his.  I faught for him to be mine everyday that I had him.  I had moments of him being mine and that was enough for me to keep going.  But after all those years, I just couldn’t keep trying to convince someone that I was worthwhile enough that they should love me like I did them.  I knew if I got on that flight that next morning, I would be avoiding the envitable.  I knew that I might not be able to walk away from it all and every month that I would spend with him from that moment on would be a  bittersweet chance I took at being hurt again. I knew I would be left in the end.  Or maybe worse, with someone who could just take me or leave me.  

I would describe that relationship as a constant state of holding my emotional breath.  I had to exhale.  My life craved it.  Probably the last blow he took at me was letting me do so without even a hesitation. 

We all leave realationships with questions.  Most of mine began with “Why” or “Did”. I left though with the closure of knowing that there is nothing else I could’ve tried.  I never had to question if I had tried hard enough.  Been forgiving enough. There was literally not a question left in my mind.  That’s the peace I could give myself.  The questions were now left for him to have later.  The only form of closure I could’ve had, outside of peace with what I had done, is hoping that someday he would sit alone with himself and ask.  I wanted him to someday feel the weight of what I paid at his expense and not so that he’d be burdened, but so that it all wouldn’t have been in vain.  If I could be appreciated.  If choices could be regretted.  Then there could’ve been an ending other than a heart barely there and an empty to seat on a round-trip flight to Midway. 

I took the last crack to my heart 1,095 days after it started. 
I breathed. 
I hoped. 
I called my dad. 

Told him I was sorry but that I couldn’t take the flight he paid for.  He exhaled too.  I can’t imagine watching a child I loved go through putting their hope in someone who only wanted it there half the time. 

I’m not angry at the maker of my cracks.  He cheated on me the first 3 months of our relationship.  I chose to stay for 3 years. That’s kind of like blaming a prisoner of war for not fleeing camp when his captors broke his legs but still….I should’ve known.  I guess I did.  I just didn’t want to leave.  I didn’t know what would hurt worse anyways, leaving or staying. 

As odd as it may sound to you, I still believe he loved me.  I think he loved me with everything he had at the time.  And at the time he was a confused, teenage boy who was being loved by a girl like he was someone he wasn’t. 

I was 15 years old when it started and 19 when I left but I perservered and forgave like I was 35. 

At my job I see these girls all the time in the same kind of relationships.  I had a full-circle moment with one of them recently and it was so surreal.  I swear it was like having Rebecca, age 15 and in love sitting next to 26 year old Rebecca wishing she could just give the clarity that I have now.  These sweet, vunerable girls selling their hearts for pennies, betting it on all the stability of what their junior year can give.  Still, I know exactly where they are.  I pray that I don’t have to watch a child of my own go through a relationship like that at that age.  Love is hard enough when you’re an adult. 

That was 7 years ago.  It’s one of those experiences that ages you.  Makes you feel like so much time has passed. Makes you miss a little of being young and full of passion: being able to sing a love song with every part of your gut, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying.  It’s also one of those things that makes you glad you are where you are now.  Chasing someone’s love is dangerous.   I’m so glad now at 26 that there is no doubt in my mind that, in the purest of ways, it’s finally chasing me. And gladly, I let it catch me.

33 Things I Bet You Didn’t Know About Me But Wonder Every Night January 20, 2009

1-I fear the depths of the ocean and stomach viruses. Every year I pray several times that I won’t get the stomach virus. I threw-up yesterday.

2-I ate king sized Butterfingers in the 4th grade until I got sick and I haven’t eaten one since.

3-I had a birth mark under my eye for the first 8 years of my life and then it disappeared.

4-I have never smoked, taken a drink, or done any sort of drugs.  I did however use to snort pixie sticks in middle school while in groups for entertainment.

5-My big toes flip upwards.

6-I can talk with my mouth closed.  I can also sing and scream this way.

7-I have had well over 22 pets in my entire life. I bet you didn’t know their names were snowflake, andy, oreo, dusty, vickie, smudge, simon, willy, rascal, annie, tobi, alley, skittles, tate, whoppie, bonkers, fluffy, 5-7 names of fish & hamsters I can’t remember, one nameless mail-order tadpole, and one nameless rat that my brother’s python wouldn’t eat. These names represent rabbits, dogs, cats, one mouse, one chamelion, and one turtle.

8-I hate it when people close doors behind them and leave me closed in a room.

9-I get migraines and these are the triggers that I know of: yeast, sour cream, chemical smells, allergens, too much sleep, lunchmeat, root beer, hormones…..I live an exciting life. One day I’m just going to have to be pushed around in a big clear bubble.

10- I have kissed 8 guys in my life but I had to count a musical for one of them. I had a crush on them though so in my heart, it was for real.

11- I’m a walking contradicition. Love writing, hate to read anything! I’m also the cake decorator who hates to bake.

12-I feel extremely closterphobic if my feet are trapped under a blanket or being sat on.

13-I did first grade twice and graduated high school and college early.

14-I didn’t go to either of my graduations.

15-My eardrum split open from an infection when I was a child.

16- I’m in the will to get 6 children if anything ever happens to two couples. Last week someone told us we were their back-ups to their first choices. So…if everyone decides to kick the bucket, I’m going on Extreme Home Makeover to get a crazy big house.

17-When I was in elementary school, I “dated” a boy with half a finger. He was a total dreamboat.

18-When I was kid I ate 8 apples in one day…including the cores.

19-I have a belly ring. In high school it was because I liked it…now it just covers what I call an in betweeny belly button. Not all the way in yet not out.

20-I hate returning phone calls. REALLY hate it and I can’t tell you why.

21-I am a recycling fanatic.

22-I don’t own any jewelry other than my wedding rings, except for two necklaces that people gave to me. And, my belly ring of course.

23-I wore my hair in a ponytail every single day in 6th grade. In seveneth grade I wore it up in a clip, every single day. Literally every day. No one saw my hair down until mid-year 8th grade. Don’t ask me why. At first I think it was because I liked it, then convience, then it became such a big deal that I always wore it up that I was afraid of how everyone would react when I wore it down. I made it out okay.

24-I first learned that I could dance and had rhythm while doing the macarena at a school dance in 8th grade. It was the part where you put your hands on your hips and sway them side-to-side as you dip down. I remember thinking, “Hey, hey, hey I can really get down!”

25-On a related note, me and fellow dance team buddies were national champs in high school.

26-I love rap music and r & b. I should’ve been a black girl.

27-I love drinking things. When I go to the grocery I could come back with half a cart of beverages. Lucky for me, I never drank alcohol because it could’ve been ugly.

28- I have a crazy detailed memory.

29-I blank out when I have to do math in front of people or out-loud no matter how simple. (Thanks to the math teachers who tramatize you in front of the class and make you do math drills.) And I can’t type when someone is watching me.

30-Five things I know more about than your average Joe on the street: types of flowers, sign language, diamonds, cake decorating, and counseling. What are some of yours? I think that’s a neat question.

31-I love Jack Handy quote books.

32- I use to be way more social than I am now.

33-I feel like I’m going to be on Oprah someday. I don’t know what for but….I’m just pretty sure.

Confessions of a Housewife February 12, 2009

Confession 1: My husband neurotically checks the dates on the food in our house. If bread is two days old, sound the alarm. I’m not sure what he thinks happens to it after it “expires” but he acts like it becomes lethal. So sometimes, because I’m the one who cooks, I feed Lance things that are passed their expiration dates. Things that he would refuse to eat if he knew. And by sometimes I mean constantly.

Confession 2: Lance doesn’t like me to use his razor. He says it grosses him out for some reason. This has always confused me because he wouldn’t be grossed out to put his face on my hairy leg if we were laying on the couch….why then is it gross for me to use his razor to save my legs? Is it gross because “ewww the razor I use on my face goes all over your legs”? If so, that doesn’t make sense because, as I said earlier, he wouldn’t mind putting his face on my leg.
Confession number 2: I shave my legs with his razor. And ocassionally…my arm pits.

Confession 3: When people come to my door, I hide from them. Not really because I’m scared but because I don’t want you to see me because I don’t want to see you. I’m particularly suspiscious of the people who knock more than once and don’t leave anything on my doorknob or doorstep. Why did you come fair stranger? Why?

Confession 4: I have only ironed 10 times or less in 4 1/2 years of marriage. If it’s wrinkly, I usually check to see if the wrinkles are in places where the legs or arms bend naturally. If they are, hey, you don’t know if I just didn’t iron or if I’ve been bending my joints a whole bunch. If there are too many wrinkles, I’ll throw it in the dryer to see if I can work out some kinks. If that doesn’t work, it will go back into the wash and we’ll take another stab at getting it from the dryer more quickly next time to avoid deep inset wrinkles.

Confession 5: When Lance and I are at home, spontaneously one of us will sing some sort of song…perhaps do some free-style beatboxing, and one of us will dance while the other one continues with the song. I would say that this random outbursting of song and dance happens 2-3 time a week at minimum. One song we like to sing a lot is co-written by us both and it’s called “What Cha Wanna Do”. We sing this song while we are deciding what to do which I know is kind of a curve ball going by the title. This song was born when we were newlyweds and it will live on for all times.

Confession 6: Sometimes when I pee it just shoots straight through the space between the toilet rim and the toilet bowl. There is just nothing I can do about this.

Confession 7: Instead of killing a mouse in my house last year, I bought a mouse friendly trap where it just gets trapped inside and you can let them live out their mouse life in peace and tranquility. But, he lived in my house for freely for an unreasonable amount of time without a trap being out. Why? Because he is so innocent and cute looking. I hoped he would just go away and we could all just be brothers. Then, I realized that mice are gross even though they are cute and fuzzy. I bought a friendly trap to set him free. I don’t know how to say this but he also had a friend who shortly thereafter committed suicide in our bathtub.

Confession 8: I say a lot of mean things in the morning. Like I was in bed this morning and Lance kissed me on the cheek while I sleeping. I woke up and said, “You better never do that again!” I think I say things like this because I’m sleepy but also mad because he usually scares me when he does this. Sometimes I also wipe it off really dramatic and notice-able like. I know when I’m fully awake that’s it’s childish but it really seems like ultimate defiance at the time.

Confession 9: I harbor secret resentment for people who wear their shoes on my carpet. It usually only lasts while they are walking on the carpet. One time my best friend’s, fiance wore these big black work boots on my carpet. He was totally unaware. He decided for some reason to walk like a robot while he walked to the door. He violently shifted his feet firmly on my light colored plush carpet. In my mind it was slow motion. In my mind it was gruesome.

Confession 10: Sometimes I take advantage of Lance in his sleep. Not physically but more emotionally and mentally so, no harm done. When he talks in his sleep I try to ask him questions no one could be fairly asked unconsciously. I can’t tell you what they are because I’m still waiting on those answers.

Confession 11: Lastly, I may or may not have run out of toilet paper and used one of Lance’s shirts on the floor. I said I may not have so don’t be judgemental.

What Else Do You Have To Do December 23, 2008

http://www.todaysbigthing.com/2008/11/11

http://www.todaysbigthing.com/2008/10/24

http://www.todaysbigthing.com/2008/10/14

http://www.todaysbigthing.com/2008/11/03

When I Grow Up December 31, 2008

Do you ever wonder what you are going to look like when you are older? Not just old but like I need a walker, go to bed at 6:30 old. I do sometimes and then I start to laugh at the thought of it. Then I get real sad and quiet until the next time it happens again. Laughing…solemn moment of realization…laughing…moment of realization…You understand.

Did you know the bone in your face completely replaces itself every 7 years? Totally replaces itself. So…if you are 21, you have a third generation of your face. No copy is as good as an original which is why as we age, our faces become more and more asymetrical and our features become more pronounced. So if you have a big nose, it’s only downhill from puberty. Eyes a little off centered? You are going to be called Old Lady Crazy Eyes in your neighborhood one day.

When I’m sitting at home alone thinking about what will become pronounced in me in elderly years…its a stunning picture. I think it’s going to go a little something like this….4 feet tall, 72 pounds, casper white skin turning transluscent & on a real veiny day perhaps irridescent. And of course, balding. I just don’t own enough head hair to be sloughing it off one day. My bowed legs will become even more distinct, thankfully! Whew! I’ve been looking for new ways to get my legs even farther apart. Wonder what the kids will call me? Old Haggie Hullahoop legs? There’s no way to know.

But hey, there has to be total freedom in having absolutely nothing left to salvage about your body. When that fanny finally hits the floor you just have to say, “Yes! Game over! Pass me the waist high control top panties and the brownies.”

I suppose getting to total body freedom is a gradual phase. I’m not sure how many phases there are in this process but I can safely asess that I’m somewhere in phase 1 or 2, as I should be in my 20′s. You enter different phases of total body acceptance as you accept defeat to mother nature. I’m making this up as I go along.

This first time I waved the white flag to my body was about the fifth time I tried to rub off that “smudge” on my leg. As it turns out, spider veins don’t rub off but they sure look like you accidently got some marker on your leg. Moment number one of phase 1. Eventually a spider vein gives way to wrinkles, sun spots, sagging chesticles, and at some point during all of that you just have to get all crazy like a body suicide bomber and say there is nothing left to lose now….all engines are failing…might as well just crash the whole thing into the ocean and enjoy the rest of the ride. This is when you have arrived at total, “I can’t do anything to save this body” FREEDOM.

Because really, at some point, your butt doesn’t look good in jeans and no contraption on the face of the earth can help you. So you don’t have to think about the fit of a pant anymore. You can just get your light pink sweat shirt and wear it with your darker pink elastic ankled sweat pants and call it day. Why not? Not like a nice christmas embroidered pair of pants is going to accentuate your mom butt. Just wear whatever your old, crazy unhibited self wants to.

At some point, even the people that spent all that money on plastic surgery can’t be helped. Did you know that if a woman gets breast implants that as she ages that the implants stay up high and her skin sags down around the implant? Who’s sexy now sucka!!!!! Well, no one at that point so my comeback is totally un-effective and contrary to the point I’m trying to make.

Dang it.

My point is that someday we are all going to be in the same boat. And the beauty of it is–is that we just won’t care when we get there. The key is getting to the point of total body freedom as early as possible. If you read this blog and thought, “What is this 26 year-old talking about with “surrendering to mother nature one phase at a time”?! Congratulations! You are at least in a 5 or 6 phase. You must’ve already surrendered to a lot of things at your age to get this point. You must be really old. You’re almost to the body suicide bomber phase. I’d say you have like 5 or 6 phases still to go but like I said, I’m just making this up as I go along.

I think a good way to open the pathway in your mind to begin this process is to think about how you will look when you are really old. It has really been effective for me. You have to know where you are headed and take it in to begin the process of absolute body defeat. I think I’m really on to something here.

Hello Sperm, It’s me….Egg January 2, 2009

Hello Sperm, it’s me…egg. Have you been avoiding me? Do you realize that you have stood me up 16 months in a row! The appointment is the same every month and you can’t seem to remember. Let me remind you… the 14th EVERY month, in the tubes. Approximately 9 pm.
Do you think I can’t replace you? There may be a lot of fish in the sea but there are like 100 million of you in my uterus pond, okay?!

I gurantee you don’t even know where you are going. It’s like ONE turn, are you serious? I forget the guy that keeps bringing you to my house has ADHD. Are you like him? Do you start off to my place thinking “fallopian” “fallopian” and then two seconds later you’re like….”Ooooo what a pretty uterus!” Ugghhh. You are such a child.

You are waiting for a “prettier egg” aren’t you? You are so shallow. You disgust me. You and your stupid big head and crazy little tail….

I’m giving you one last chance to meet me this month on the 14th. If you can’t find you’re way, follow your friends. I will take in your BFF this time if you can’t make it. You better make like Michael Phelps…I’m warning you….

Sperm…..

They’re all the same.

The Countdown January 19, 2009

I’ve had several friends who have had c-sections. I’ve heard many of them say that there is some intial, fleeting disappointment that they didn’t get to push the baby out. It’s almost this sense of “not getting to give birth” even though you do, essentially, either way. I suppose, it’s not how you pictured it your whole life as a child. Sometimes I feel that way with trying to make a baby.

Everything we daydream about when we are young never has a flaw to it. On your wedding day, photographer’s don’t step on your veil and rip it out of your hair as you walk down the aisle. (Shout out to Sherly Lockett Studios)

And when you picture having a baby, you picture casually being with your hubby and enjoying life, only to to wake-up 2 weeks later screaming with surprise, fear, and joy on what you just read on the toilet seat.

There is an innocence to that type of conception. That innocence gets chipped away at when it becomes something you work for, literally.

My journey to conception thus far looks more like the mating rituals of wild beasts….at least for two weeks. There could be nothing more un-romantic than “trying to conceive sex”. The first two weeks, like we are programmed to do…literally because we use this computer that tells us when to…..Lance and I retreat to the bedroom on schedule. The first two weeks of the month, primarily the second week, is like running some sort of scientific marathon of endurance against desire and mother nature. There are times where we are getting ready to go to bed and I’m like, (boo hoo voice) “The computer says we have to do it.” =0( Lance: Boo Hoo Hoo.

If you’ve ever been there, then you understand. It’s a far cry from, “I’m feeling frisky tonight and SURPRISE frisky got us a baby this month!”

So I evny the 50th person this month who on my facebook has posted that they are pregnant with their first or even with their second. I evny the simplicity with which they arrived at their announcement. Most of their journies don’t involve science, 100 pregnancy tests, wondering what could be wrong, and blogging from the perspective of an egg.

However, my journey is my journey for it’s own good reasons. I’m grateful we are young and healthy. I’m thankfull all of the cards are “stacked in our favor”.

But as I sit here and anxiously countdown the minutes and hours until I can take the big test, I still evny the creation of a child where the process was protected from the repetitive disappointment of one simple pink line.

The days before I test are always the hardest and always when I feel the bumps of and bruises of the journey the most. It’s hard to be excited. It’s a journey that pulls you 50 different ways, 50 different times a month.

Today’s direction is that I don’t think I’m pregnant again which makes me envy people that pop-out kids like a pez dispenser. That’s the spirit Rebecca!

BUT I’m still trying to keep in perspective my blessings.

This is quite a ride….tick tock tick tock….we’ll see.

Chickens Are My Favorite January 7, 2009

So today I went to the gyno. Boys this is your chance to click on another post……unless you are a REAL man.

Let me say that my doctor is the best doctor every made. If she were a Girl Scout cookie, she’d be a thin mint. If she were a jungle beast, she’d be a lion.

She is so caring and compassionate that you would think that I was her first patient. I am in love with my gyno.

It’s no secret that my womb has not yet been occupied by a person.

Lance and I both have been checked out & tested and we are all clear. So where is this child of mine?

Well, today I was talking to the doctor and telling her about the bedroom happenings of Lance and I. I mentioned a certain product that we use. Just so no one feels uncomfortable I’ll give you a subtle hint as to what it is….it sounds something like slubricant only with less of an “s” sound.

The doc said, “You shound never use slubricants when trying to conceive! They have the same damaging effects as “mermicide”! (another code word) This could’ve been the problem all along!”

I said, “Well, I don’t know what to do then!”

Her solution…Egg Whites! This has really made some people grossed out but I don’t really mind at all. I’m so exicted that my no baby problem could be only a few eggs away from being over!

Praise the Lord for chickens! Who knew there were so many uses for the common egg. It’s beginning to make me wonder what other options await me in the dairy aisle. Yogurt for yeast infections, egg whites as lubricants, I mean slubricants. Next time I have a problem with anything I may just give it a whirl and slap some milk on it and see what happens.

This is such a simple problem to fix! I really hope this works!

Oddly enough my father-in-law just bough a chicken coop on his farm so that I could have fresh eggs to use for the cakes I sell. Little did he know, he is now running The Dogwood’s Farm Fertility Clinic!

When I told my mother-in-law, she referenced the chicken coop and said in her funny southern drawl, “The Lord works in mysterious ways!” She’s a hoot. But then again, she is right and this definetly would qualify as mysterious.

When I left the office today my doctor smiled and said, “Now I expect to see you back soon!”

Based upon my determination and the number of eggs in my fridge, I’m thinking that I will. I mean I would hate to disappoint her. She is, after all, a thin mint and a powerful jungle beast.

Long live chickens!

Bail Out Your Own Boobs January 10, 2009

I have read a lot of news titles recently. Ones about women so obsessed with babies that they carry around real-life looking dolls, to one about a man hanging upside down by his pants from a ski lift thus exposing his butt. But NONE compare to what I just read today.

PORN INDUSTRY SEEKING FEDERAL BAIL OUT.

Can we have a moment of silence please. Not necessarily to honor the absurdity of this statement but more because I need a little personal time-out before I lose my religion over a headline.

The porn industry in America is unforntunately one of the single most successful products produced in this world. FACT: Last year the adult-film industry had a profit so large that it made more money than all professional sports COMBINED!. Unfortunately, there will always be a profit and a massive market for pornography.

The industry is requesting a 5 BILLION dollar bail-out. This request being made by Flynt, of Hustler magazine, and Francis, the CEO of Girls Gone Wild.

CNN quoted them as saying this,

Francis said in a statement that “the US government should actively support the adult industry’s survival and growth, just as it feels the need to support any other industry cherished by the American people.”

End quote.

You have got to be kidding me!!! If there ever was a euphamism used, it is here with the word cherished. Sitting in a hormonal sweat watching people degrade themselves and broadcast it for profit is not something we “cherish”. We cherish time with our families and relationships. We cherish things that are meaningful and things of substance and hell will freeze itself ten times over before there will ever be an ounce of diginity muchless meaning and substance to the flith of pornography.

CNN further quoted Flynt and Francis as saying this,

But the industry leaders said the issue is a nation in need. “People are too depressed to be sexually active,” Flynt said in the statement. “This is very unhealthy as a nation. Americans can do without cars and such but they cannot do without sex.”

“With all this economic misery and people losing all that money, sex is the farthest thing from their mind. It’s time for congress to rejuvenate the sexual appetite of America. The only way they can do this is by supporting the adult industry and doing it quickly.”

End quote.

The issue is a nation in need? In need of pornography?! There are no words in the English language to capture the absolute ignorance of this statement.

Pornography is an addiction.
Pornography is boredom and discontentment with your partner.
Pornography destroys lives.
Pornography breaks-up marriages.
Pornography is a perversion of intimacy.
Pornography is the master of people who spend their hard earned money on indecency.
Pornography is degrading to women and a trap to the men who can’t escape from it’s tempting pleasure.
Pornography is not the need, it’s the problem.

It’s problem enough that it drives a man to say, “People can live without cars, but people can not live without sex.” It’s a problem when a man thinks this world needs pornography to run as if it is a necessity. Furthermore, robbing the world of pornography is not robbing the world of sex, it’s robbing the world of being voyers and watching strangers have sex with one or many people for a dime. Sex will not die if your industry does. You didn’t author sex and you won’t end sex. Pornography is a perversion that we would be lucky to have robbed from us. Gosh, then what would do…be left to enjoy only the sex with our spouses? Poor us.

Let me give you analogy for what a sick pleasure this is.

If I were to watch you have sex through a window in your house, no one would think that was normal much less appropriate. That’s called voyerism. As a matter of fact, if I were to be caught watching you, I would be put in jail by the same government that you want to you pay you to stay in business. But somehow we aren’t perverts if we purchase a copy of strangers having conscentually viewed sex which is essentially viewing paid prostitution. I realize the difference between watching porn and watching someone without their consent, is the issue of the privacy. However, my arguement is not about the people being watched, but the how the dysfucntion of the people watching is the same. If I want to watch people I don’t know or do know, in any setting, have sex, either through a window or on my TV, there is no difference in respect to the watcher. Consent of the party being watched doesn’t change the perversion of my motivation to want to watch you. That’s why we think voyers are gross, right? Because what’s so wrong with a person that they’d want to secretly watch people have sex. Well, pornography in any form is secretly wanting to watch people perform sex acts. It’s no more than respectable voyerism.

Pornography has never enriched the life of a person watching it or the lives of the people making it anymore than a fleeting temporary rush or pay-off that leaves them hungering for the next hit or high like a drug addict. It’s the chase after fullfillment in something that is utterly empty. What this world needs is not more emptiness. We need not another cheap form of instant gratification that only offers us a picture of the perverse which perverts our minds and makes us crave it’s dysfunction.

How do I know it’s a dysfunction of soceity? How do I know it’s a perversion? How do I know it runs our world and control’s it’s people?

Because no other thing on earth consumes us like this:

Every second – $3,075.64 is being spent on pornography

Every second – 28,258 Internet users are viewing pornography

Every second - 372 Internet users are typing adult search terms into search engines

Every 39 minutes: a new pornographic video is being created in the United States

US adults who regularly visit Internet pornography websites: 40 million

Daily pornographic search engine requests: 68 million (25% of total search engine requests)
Monthly Pornographic downloads: 1.5 billion (35% of all downloads)

Monthly Worldwide visitors to pornographic web sites: 72 million

Internet Pornography Sales last year: $4.9 billion

The United States leads in the number of porn pages on the web with a total of : 244,661,900

Number 2 is Germany with 10,030,200. Be proud America, we lead by 234,631,700 millon pages.

Trust me, I’m not some naive person that doesn’t understand the allure of the forbidden. That is in our nature. My harsh tone is not condoning, however, not in judgement of the people who struggle with this temptation. It’s towards the people who are arguing that this is a wonderful, life enriching, healthy thing for our world. I get why people are so hooked on this stuff. I know boys, girls, men, and women addicted pornography on many levels. I know marriages that have been destroyed by it. I know children who have been victims of sexual perversions that started with some sick persons click of a mouse. I know of a teenage boy who killed himself because he couldn’t stop looking at pornography and the control it had on him was driving him crazy. I know of men who have lost their jobs because they couldn’t control viewing it at work. I know of parents whose 8 year-old child kept viewing their pornography tapes and they couldn’t throw them away to protect their child because they wanted to keep it so badly for themselves. I know why it hooks people and I know anyone can become hooked. That’s why this is so serious and not just some carefree entertainment industry that needs saving as if it’s the equivalent to movie theatres or some harmless past-time.

It hooks people because it’s a rush, it excites them, it feels good to them. In the same way, I’m sure doing drugs gives you a pleasurable physical high, but not all things that are pleasurable are beneficial. This is one of the most addictive and accessible poisons a person can take and they are, second after second, click after click, page after page.

I wish I could say that I would’ve never imagined the day the there would even be a mention of a bail-out to save pornography, but that’s not the hopeful world we live in. We live in a world driven by sex and we don’t even mind it because sex makes us crave more sex, thus resulting in things like pornography. We live in a world where sex is sung out in detail on the radio, where commercials have girls in bikinis to sell hamburgers, and in a world of where your kids can see dear Mr. Flynt’s magazine while walking down the aisle in a Barnes and Noble . Why wouldn’t we live in a world where there are people that think material acting out the explicit should be saved as a cherished necessity of our soceity?

So go ahead and make your silly request to save your little industry so that you can pay some girl millions of dollars to sell her body in hopes to sell it to people’s sons, daughters, and husbands. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me there is freedom to do all things and that whatever a man does can be right for him. Tell me that people would rather have access to pornography than cars to drive and food to eat. Tell me it’s a healty desire, tell me it’s normal because we all do it. Tell me that we need it, tell me that I’m narrow-minded.

And I’ll tell you that, “Tolerance is the mark of man with very little conviction.”

You can try to take our 5 billion dollars.

It’s already cost us way more than that.

Putting All My Eggs In One Uterus January 14, 2009

The week of using dairy products in the bedroom has come to an end. Thankfully. I think I enjoyed the experience more than Lance did. Poor guy. I found it rather comical while he found it to be the single most un-sexual experience of his life.

You know, a lot people told me before I tried these doctor’s orders how gross they thought this was. Honestly, it didn’t really strike me as gross until seconds before. As I have been telling people, I would stick a whole pizza up there if I thought it would get me pregnant. Extra large pizza, cheese, and pepperonis? Whatever is necessary. One girl even told me, “You’d probably stick a whole chicken up there and let it lay it’s own egg!”

How can one person know me so well?

But anyways, back to seconds before it began to gross me out….

Lance was standing thrilled to death by our bed covered in towels. A sexual experience that begins in draping the bed in terry cloth is bound to be one of the most tantilizing experiences of your life.

So as the story continues, I’m standing in my adult dinosaur-printed footed jammies whipping an egg white and preparing to make myself a fertile egg of my own. As you can see, I like to start out already incredibly sexy experinces with tempting attire to top it all off.

Watching the egg whites beat around started to give me a gagging feeling. However, none so gaggy as when I had to suck it up in the medicine dropper…it was very much like, well, I can’t say. It’s just too gross. Am I having boundaries in blogging? (says the girl who posts about food slubricants….)

What happened moments later? You will never know. This will just have to be a cliff-hanger for you. I can promise you that it ended in our matress, most likely, becoming a carrier of salmonella. You may get food poisoning just from laying in our bed.

Some other words that come to mind to help you capture the event….ummm….un-sanitary, scrambled, natural disaster, maybe thoughts of toast and bacon, sad husbands, laughing wives….things like that are all good indicators of the experience.

HOPEFULLY approximately 3-4 chickens is all it took and there will be no need to fertilize my womb with food products next month.

Overall, I will give the week of eggs an 8 1/2 for cost effectiveness and good laughs. My husband will give it a 2 for being the exact opposite of every man’s fantasy. Chickens would probably rate it about a 7 for creativity. So…Lance is out numbered. Me and the chickens win. If needed, the chickens and I will gang-up on him next month and get him in his sleep if necessary.

Would you rather… January 15, 2009

Listography July 26, 2009

I love making lists. This has got to be the Type A, obsessive compulsive disorder part of me. I found this book called “Listography” a wee bit ago and it made my heart sing some sort of glorious song like “My Heart Will Go On” or “Baby Got Back”. It’s basically the dream book for lazy people who are also sentimental. The sub-caption of the book is “Your Life In Lists”. Basically, each page is a question about a time in your life, a memory, a “love/hate” list, etc. The author says its, “your way of making an autobiography through lists.”

I would keep writing about this book but I can’t because of all of you guys screaming at me to share some of lists.  Get off my back!!!!

Biggest Pet Peeves

people singing the wrong lyrics to songs

 people stepping on the back of my heels

 people not paying attention when I’m talking to them

someone without commonsense

List Things You are Glad You Did

-get married

-did the musical

-moved out of BG even though at I didn’t want to

-lived in a big city

-not going to either of my graduations

-being on Dance Team in high school

-took a year of sign language classes

-graduating high school and college early

-fell in love

-broke up with him

-taken good care of my skin

-never drinking or smoking

-getting braces

-making sure my parents have heard me say in unmistakable words what I love and appreciate about them

List The Times You’ve Had an Audience

-tons of dance team competitions/performances

-Once on this Island the musical

-over 100 tours of the Corvette Plant

-speaking at Western Kentucky University and singing for Campus Crusades for Christ on Campus

-my first solo in 1st grade: Away in a Manger

-singing at church

-singing in Nashville and Atlanta

List of Famous People You’ve Encountered

-Jonas Brothers (Street in NYC)

-Jodie Foster (store in LA)

-Reese Witherspoon (Nashville intersection)

-Dolly Parton (Nashville airport)

-Denzel Washingtond (bottom 3 all on David Letterman Show)

-Regis Philbin

-David Letterman

——————————————————————————————————————————————-

Don’t you love this book?  It’s so fabulousity and easy to do.  It has 150 some odd pages of questions and writing space and it’s simply splendid.  If you are neurotic like me, you want this book.

Call Me Mrs. Teacher January 17, 2009

We have been teaching English to African refugees at our church and we asked one of the kids to write a sentence.

Do I think we are doing a good job?

So yeah….
pretty good job….

Google tells me I’m creepy January 27, 2009

If you knew someone and you associated them with sexual references, you would probably think they are kind of creepy.

You know how on your dashboard it tells you what people searched on the web to end up on your page? Well, here are a few things that people were googling when they ended-up on my page:

how to make a perverted ornament, skinny dwarfs/little people, dress-me-up panty stories, buy your own boobs, boys-how to grow your own boobs, january ski accident man with his pants down….

What does this say about my blog? I’m kind of like the internet version of your creepy friend you associate with sexual or bizarre references.

Can we still be friends?

Avalanche March 31, 2009

January 2009

Dating is the most broken system in our world. I think it all but prepares you for marital struggles.

You meet someone, honeymoon begins, gets rough, gets better, gets rough again but worse because of the baggage from the last time, you break-up, you miss each other, you avoid calling each other, then someone breaks down, “oh i love you”, “I’m sorry”, honeymoon begins again, and then final breakdown, gameover….

Yeah. That’s how it goes.

So what happens when you get married? You love each other and go in cycles just like dating and at some point, get to a point where you think, “Man, if we were dating rightnow I’d be like PEACE OUT.” But the difference is, you’re not dating…you’re married. You’ve never had to get to a breaking point and then keep going. All of your life prior when you get to a dead-end, you end the relationship and start over again with someone else.

It’s weird though when you are working through things in the early years of marital bliss because you start to think to yourself, “I’ve never been here before, how do I keep going on from this point on anew?” Anew being the key word.

This process of getting to the end of your rope and continuing is like a snowball. Every battle scar piles and piles. One fight, one hurt heart at a time, the pressure mounds until you are left with one big snowball just waiting for someone to yell avalanche and run out screaming.

Tonight me and my snowball (who sometimes is at least half of a snowman) watched a murder mystery on 48 hours. The interviewer asked the brother of the victim what her husbands motive would’ve been for murder. The brother laughed like the answer was obvious and said, “Marriage. 1,000 hurts, 1000 insults, 1,000 fights….after 27 years of marriage, if you don’t have some moral center than you can get to a breaking point.”

Now, most people would get a divorce and not find murder as the ideal breaking point. I feel crazy sometimes but I don’t think either one of us is going to take an ole’ axe to each other. Although, the thought is less offensive, at times, more than others. (Disclaimer in case Lance dies and someone reads my blog to incriminate on me on 48 hours. I, Rebecca, have not seriously thought of axing my husband. Whew, you can never be too careful these days.)

But back to the point…I kind of thoughtfully said, Hmm out loud when the victim’s brother made that comment. I’ve only been married 4 and 1/2 years and I understand that words are hard to overcome. Shortcomings of your spouse start to feel like personal attacks. An empty dishwasher and sink full of dishes and a husband on the couch can sometimes feel like he screamed the B- word at you. Nights where you roll over and go to sleep instead can make him feel defective. Never before marriage did I understand that dishes and sleep could be weapons.

Why can’t we love our spouses like people love their children? There is something much more effortless to a parent-child love. My job, for those of you who don’t know, is working for a privately owned therapy place here in town. Next week I will spend 12 hours with parents who are so fed up with “Billy” punching them, stealing their cars, shoplifting, etc. Or I’ll listen to a mom talk about her daughter “Sarah” who keeps lying to her over and over or yelling them at stores. It almost never fails though they will end up telling me how much they love them and how they never use to be this way and how they hoped they could get better. These children have betrayed them, hurt them, devastated them BUT it’s almost like they don’t know how to feel bitterness towards them, unforgivness for them. If that was a woman talking about her husband or vice versa…FORGET IT! The conversation turns more to, “I hate him”, “He’s a jerk”, etc. Why is that? Why does there seem to be more grace between parents and kids than between spouses? Is that because when your child came screaming into your arms that they didn’t make you any promises? Is it because they came to you innocently and you invested in them so much over time that’s it’s something you can’t possibly ever give up on? Is it because they were given to you but you chose your spouse and things you “choose” you can then regret? We can’t regret what we can’t help. We can’t help the children we have but a spouse can be regretted? I don’t think we should regret our spouses but I wonder if the element of choosing someone to marry makes us less forgiving of their actions because you “took a chance on them” and they aren’t “giving you what you feel due”. I don’t fully understand the difference but I know there appears to be one.

The answer is, I know the answer to my original question. I know the answer to loving during the breakdown is in forgiveness. I know it’s in grace. I know it’s in not being prideful. It’s in “I’m sorry” and actions to prove that you mean it. It’s in knowing that you’ve been forgiven. It’s in the Lord. It’s in knowing that they’re human and that you have a list of your own failures. It’s in not being afraid to be vunerable and not being so arrogant that you can’t humble yourself to say “I was wrong” or “I forgive you”.

Still, marriage is hard isn’t it? I feel like Lance and I’s marriage has been front loaded as far as struggle. GASP, did she say that? Did she admit they’ve had real struggles in their marriage already? You aren’t supposed to admit those things!!!

But that’s wrong too. When we don’t admit our snowballing struggles to each other we lead others to believe that it’s just them in the blizzard. That’s a selfish, prideful thing to keep to ourselves so that we can save face with others. I’m not saying that everyone has to brodcast it but we have to stop being afraid to tell people when we’re hurting and struggling. Even if they tell people…”Oh did you hear of so and so, I think they are having hard time.” People who say that are sort of dumb anyways because having a hard time isn’t “having a hard time”. It’s having a marriage and that’s true for all of us at some point.

You know, the weird part of is, is that no matter what, I still miss him when he’s gone and I still always love him. There are times just like last night where I feel totally dis-enamored with him. We were sitting on the couch and I was watching him from my end while he watched TV. I was thinking about how I felt and I was doing so in amazement because it’s almost like through the blizzard of it all, I can still seem him as a snowflake. Even if I don’t always want to tell him so.

Those flakes mound in our lives one after the other. They keep us prideful, hurt, and disappointed. But after all the snow balls have been thrown, I’m still glad to be sitting with him in a snowsuit. If I’m mad at him, just don’t tell him I said so okay?

It Is Finished. January 22, 2009

Looks like this month was another one-liner.

How’s that old saying go? 18th times a charm?

LOL-ers Beware January 22, 2009

It’s really hard for me to type the letters LOL. Not so much physically, but more from knowing I’m way to cool to use that specific abbreviation. If you’ve typed that to me, don’t be afraid. My blog is a circle of welcoming. I’m just saying that I think it’s SFR…silly for real. It’s true, I have typed it and sometimes, if I really mean it, I will break-out of my shell and hand-out a few of them. For example, Heidi just inspired me to do so. I will admit, however, that I wasn’t fully comfortable with the vunerability of subjecting my personality to such technological cliches. Thus, this blog.

People type this all the time and I don’t think that they realize that there is actually some risk involved. For example, there are two people who I talk to either through text or on the internet the majority of the time. A lot of our conversations will involve a bunch of hahaha’s and LOL. Occasionally they may scatter in a few exclamation points. So, when I started seeing these people in person after a boat load of texting and chatting what did I expect? Well some laughter that would probably be out loud. Maybe a few sentences that would be likely to end in a strong mark such as the exclamation. But I was so confused because I don’t think these people have ever giggled in public nor have they ever made statements that would cause others to do so.

The deception of LOL-ers is real. Why when we were talking and something funny was said did they not just text SPTM (smiling politely to myself) or SHQ (sitting here quiet). I felt so confused and un-prepared for how they were in person that I just wanted to run out of the store screaming, “I thought I knew you!”

But LOL-ing is a no win for anyone because either you are too cool and funny to type LOL or you don’t have an expressive personality so you shouldn’t type it to avoid sitting on a throne of typing lies. The moral of the story is, LOL…well, it’s not really for anyone.

So don’t give in. The next time you find some comment made over the internet that you feel entails things of a comical nature, you don’t have to describe via abbreviations what actions those comments are causing you to take. Try something like you would do in a real-life conversation such as, “You are so funny!” etc. This way when you meet this person out in public they won’t be confused because you didn’t lead them astray with a mis-representation of your expressiveness.

GWCWTTTG.

(Glad we could work this through together guys.)

TNOEIRDTW

(There’s no one else I’d rather do this with.)

TFRMBF

(Thanks for reading my blogs friend.)

Jack Handy Deep Thoughts January 23, 2009

One thing kids like is to be tricked. For instance, I was going to take my little nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old burned-out warehouse. “Oh, no,” I said. “Disneyland burned down.” He cried and cried, but I think that deep down, he thought it was a pretty good joke. I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but it was getting pretty late.

Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis.

Maybe in order to understand mankind, we have to look at the word itself: “Mankind”. Basically, it’s made up of two separate words – “mank” and “ind”. What do these words mean ? It’s a mystery, and that’s why so is mankind.

If you define cowardice as running away at the first sign of danger, screaming and tripping and begging for mercy, then yes, Mr. Brave man, I guess I’m a coward.

To me, boxing is like a ballet, except there’s no music, no choreography, and the dancers hit each other.

We tend to scoff at the beliefs of the ancients. But we can’t scoff at them personally, to their faces, and this is what annoys me.

Probably the earliest flyswatters were nothing more than some sort of striking surface attached to the end of a long stick.

If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.

Better not take a dog on the space shuttle, because if he sticks his head out when you’re coming home his face might burn up.

If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is “God is crying.” And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is “Probably because of something you did.”

If you saw two guys named Hambone and Flippy, which one would you think liked dolphins the most? I’d say Flippy, wouldn’t you? You’d be wrong, though. It’s Hambone.

If you’re a young Mafia gangster out on your first date, I bet it’s real embarrassing if someone tries to kill you.

If you go parachuting, and your parachute doesn’t open, and you friends are all watching you fall, I think a funny gag would be to pretend you were swimming.

Children need encouragement. If a kid gets an answer right, tell him it was a lucky guess. That way he develops a good, lucky feeling.

Just because swans mate for life, I don’t think its that big a deal. First of all, if you’re a swan, you’re probably not going to find a swan that looks much better than the one you’ve got, so why not mate for life?

If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid looking in a mirror, because I bet that will really throw you into a panic.

If you’re in a war, instead of throwing a hand grenade at the enemy, throw one of those small pumpkins. Maybe it’ll make everyone think how stupid war is, and while they are thinking, you can throw a real grenade at them.

Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you’re a mile away and you have their shoes.

I wish I would have a real tragic love affair and get so bummed out that I’d just quit my job and become a bum for a few years, because I was thinking about doing that anyway.

If you go flying back through time and you see somebody else flying forward into the future, it’s probably best to avoid eye contact.

It’s easy to sit there and say you’d like to have more money. And I guess that’s what I like about it. It’s easy. Just sitting there, rocking back and forth, wanting that money.

Instead of a trap door, what about a trap window? The guy looks out it, and if he leans too far, he falls out. Wait. I guess that’s like a regular window.

During the Middle Ages, probably one of the biggest mistakes was not putting on your armor because you were “just going down to the corner.”

If I ever get real rich, I hope I’m not real mean to poor people, like I am now.

Most of the time it was probably real bad being stuck down in a dungeon. But some days, when there was a bad storm outside, you’d look out your little window and think, “Boy, I’m glad I’m not out in that.”

It’s sad that a family can be torn apart by something as simple as a pack of wild dogs.

Instead of having ‘answers’ on a math test, they should just call them ‘impressions’ and it you got a different ‘impression’ so what, can’t we all be brothers?

Somebody told me how frightening it was how much topsoil we are losing each year, but I told that story around the campfire and nobody got scared.

I hope that after I die, people will say of me: “That guy sure owed me a lot of money.”

Ambition is like a frog sitting on a Venus Flytrap. The flytrap can bite and bite, but it won’t bother the frog because it only has little tiny plant teeth. But some other stuff could happen and it could be like ambition.

How come the dove gets to be the peace symbol? How about the pillow? It has more feathers than the dove, and it doesn’t have that dangerous beak.

Instead of studying for finals, what about just going to the Bahamas and catching some rays? Maybe you’ll flunk, but you might have flunked anyway; that’s my point.

I hope that someday we will be able to put away our fears and prejudices and just laugh at people.

It’s funny that pirates were always going around searching for treasure, and they never realized that the real treasure was the fond memories they were creating.

Deep Thought of the Week by Jack Handy: Week 1 January 27, 2009

“I can still recall old Mister Barnslow getting out every morning and nailing a fresh load of tadpoles to the old board of his. Then he’d spin it round and round, like a wheel of fortune, and no matter where it stopped he’d yell out, “Tadpoles! Tadpoles is a winner!” We all thought he was crazy. But then we had some growing up to do.”

Shiver me timbers… January 29, 2009

We’ve been in and out of power and without phone service for the past two days. I’ve been working from home which means my usual computer time has been devoted to work junk. I’ve been working on a post today and you will be so happy tomorrow night to have a big fat blog!

I hope you guys haven’t been weeping every night wondering where I’ve been.

Un-Stumped. January 30, 2009

I read the other day on a blog post on here where a person posted a very popular blog on how to stump the anti-abortionist. The quesiton he posed was, “If abortion should be illegal, then what should be the punishment for those who get illegal abortions?”

Just think about that for a second and see if you can feel what he’s trying bring about in you.

The purpose is to make the anti-abortionist realize that they do not agree that this should be severly punishable by law like in the case of murder. Something about it makes them feel uncomfortable and that uncomfortable feeling is the proof that it shouldn’t be illegal because consequence doesn’t seem appropriate. That then leads him to prove his point that abortion should not be illegal because you just agreed it’s not punishable by law. The problem is, people say abortion is murder and if it is, shouldn’t they be punished as murderers? Seems too severe, seems to prove his point that abortion isn’t murder at all, even though he is still not pro-abortion himself.

So there are two points:

1-”You” (the anti-abortionist) just proved that abortion shouldn’t be illegal because illegal things must be punished and you don’t feel that it should be.

2- “You” also just proved by your reponse to the question that you don’t really believe that abortion is murder because you don’t feel that they should be punished as murderers.

3- A third point that was made in general by the post and the people that commented on it was mainly that the people who don’t believe in abortion do so mindlessly and don’t understand their own arguments. They posted a script of an anti-abortionist being asked this question and it ended with them being dumbfounded.

I’m going to take this point by point. This is way too hard to reduce down into a blog so I realize that many make break down my arguments and gather implications that are incorrect just because I can’t be thorough enough in short blog but I will do my best. To be clear, I do think abortion is wrong and I don’t support it. I do believe a baby is a baby from conception. Some of my arguements will be coming from a law perspective because this is viewpoint of the original blogger.

Okay…here I go…

Point 1: “You” proved that abortion shouldn’t be illegal because you don’t think or feel comfortable with abortionist being punished.

When I first heard this question, I did get this feeling. But I got that feeling not because I don’t think broken laws are punishable but because the death penalty and life in prison would seem very severe which is the punishment for murder, typically at least. Why did I get that feeling? I’ll explain that in the second point. But lets be clear, if this became a LAW, breaking it should be punishable in some degree just like any other offense. I would thus support a penalty for breaking this hypothetical law we are talking about just like I support fines and tickets for speeders and jail time for robbers etc. But what makes us feel uncomfortable about punishment for someone who gets an abortion, is an understanding for who the person who is getting the abortion. We don’t see people who get abortions as going to clinics saying, “HaHaHaHaHa! I’m going to kill this destroy this baby!” which IS how we see the stereo-typical murderer but we’ll discuss that in the second point.

The question, all emotion side here is, if abortion was illegal should there be punishment for breaking the law. The answer of course would be yes because the law was broken.

Point 2- “You” also just proved by your reponse to the question that you don’t really believe that abortion is murder because you don’t feel that they should be punished as murderers.

That is not what that proves. I think we both emotionally and judicially make a distinction between murder and taking a life. How so? Well emotionally, do you look at a paranoid schizophrenic man who kills the same way that you look at a man who was jealous of his ex-wife so he murders her boyfriend? Do they both scare you? Yes. Should they both be taken off of the streets? Yes. But you don’t look at the crazy man as heartless. You look at him as crazy. It’s the man who is a “normal-ish” type of person who goes and kills out of hate, greed, or power that makes you scream “Lock him up!” Why? Because the intent. Crazy people are just crazy, evil people have no excuse but hate and their evilness. One could help it. One of them could have decided to stay home and not go buy that gun and settled for slashing her tires. One couldn’t because they are crazy and don’t have the mental compacity to be anything but crazy. Justice looks different between these two. The question is not wether or not there should be punishment and judgement but rather, how it should be applied.

This is because murder takes on different punishments by law and the law is what we are talking about here. I believe that the consequence boils down to intent. If I intentionally plan to kill you then it’s usually life in prison, murder in the first degree. If I drive drunk and accidently kill you, which is still murder, then it’s manslaughter. A lesser charge. The difference is intent which I believe is the difference between murder as we know it and murder via abortion. I don’t believe a person who gets in abortion realizes or agrees with the idea that it’s the act of killing wether it is or not. Therefore, the intent is different. It’s considered ‘okay’ and ‘not murder to them’ so it’s not the first degree violent, spiteful killing of the first degree murderer. I’m not saying it’s not violent, I’m not saying that I think intent or view point changes the morality of the decision. I am saying though that legally speaking from the viewpoint of the blogger who posted the question, that intent is why the LAW wouldn’t treat an abortionist like a murderer and also why anti-abortionists in general would not support such a severe punishment of someone who got an abortion.

Is the person who gets an abortion intentionally taking a life? Yes. Does her view point on wether or not she feels that she is taking a life change that a life was still taken? No. Is she a danger to soceity and going to go kill you tonight in your house because she didn’t want to be pregnant? No. So do I think we should treat people who get abortions like dangerous criminals who threaten our well being? No. But do I think there should be some sort of consequence for tresspassing a law and doing something wrong? Yes. I realize that not everyone agrees with me that it is wrong but you would have to agree that law breaking should be punished. That is what we are talking about here so agreeing on the wrong-right issue has to be put aside. The blogger asked the question if it was ILLEGAL, what should we do legally with anti-abortionists. I am telling you that law breaking should be punished and how its punished boils down to intent. What should the punishment be? I couldn’t tell you that and I don’t want to be the one deciding for anyone, for any law.

Point 3- The third point that was made in general by the post and the people that commented on it was mainly that the people who don’t believe in abortion do so mindlessly and don’t understand their own arguments. They posted a script of an anti-abortionist being asked this question and it ended with them being dumbfounded.

I really think these out-right comments and implications ruffle my feathers the most. It’s the least logical of all of their arguments and it’s a very simple one.

Do people get their beliefs handed to them and never study about them or seek out answers to tough questions? Of course, which is a shame. And people are right to point out, as people do to many Christians, that they don’t even know their own Bible because that is wrong and we/people should seek to educate oursleves. HOWEVER, someones inability to explain something doesn’t immediately discount what they can’t defend as wrong. That would be like someone not believing that Physics are real and then asking me to defend my view point. I would stutter and stammer over every word I can’t explain so would they then be able to say, “Ha! Told you it wasn’t real!” That’s ridiculous. My inability to explain why the sky is blue doesn’t change my accuracy of my belief that it is so.

Furthermore, these people went to this anti-abortion protest and asked the protestors that question. You can’t go up to most people and ask them a weighted ethical question on the spot and expect an immediate eloquent, well thought out question. I had an answer to that question but I had to think through all of the implications and questions and answers it raised in my own mind first. I will probably continue to do so. Maybe the people they asked really don’t know what they feel about the subject. Maybe they couldn’t defend their position BUT even well-educated people could’ve had a moment of pause when asked a question they have never heard before. Heaven forbid. So I don’t believe it is right for them to say that these people don’t even know what they believe. I’m sure they’re right many times and many times, I’m sure they’re wrong.

Lastly, in fairness to the dude who wrote the “How to stump the anti-abortionist” post, he himself is doesn’t support abortion but he supports it being legal to chose abortion. Hope I got that right for you man. Only fair that I tell you that part of his view point as well since he isn’t here to speak for himself. I would’ve posted a link to his blog but I couldn’t find it anymore in the Hawt posts.

Anyways, I read his blog over a week ago and kind of stewed things over in my mind. While doing so my husband was reading a blog by John Piper on desiringgod.org that spoke about abortion and I decided to read it for myself. I’ll leave you with more great straight-forward questions and statements from him, from a pro-life perspective. My comments that I added are in parenthesis.

1. Existing fetal homicide laws make a man guilty of manslaughter if he kills the baby in a mother’s womb, except in the case of abortion. (Example: Scott Peterson was charged with 2 counts of murder: Lacey, his wife, and that of his unborn son.)

2. Fetal surgery is performed on babies in the womb to save them while another child the same age is being legally destroyed.

3. Babies can sometimes survive on their own at 23 or 24 weeks, but abortion is legal beyond this limit.

4. Living on its own is not the criterion of human personhood, as we know from the use of respirators and dialysis. (Living on it’s own argument is a popular defense of abortion because they say real humans/people are not dependent to live while a fetus cannot be human because it can’t survive on it’s own.)

5. Size is irrelevant to human personhood, as we know from the difference between a one-week-old and a six-year-old. (This comes from the argument that people make that a child at conception and up until the legal time abortion is allowed, is not fully human merely based on size.)

6. Developed reasoning powers are not the criterion of personhood, as we know from the capacities of three-month-old babies. (From the argument that the child in the womb cannot think and reason like a person/human can.)

7. Infants in the womb are human beings scientifically by virtue of their genetic make up.

8. Ultrasound has given a stunning window on the womb that shows the unborn at eight weeks sucking his thumb, recoiling from pricking, responding to sound. All the organs are present, the brain is functioning, the heart is pumping, the liver is making blood cells, the kidneys are cleaning fluids, and there is a fingerprint. Virtually all abortions happen later than this date.

9. Justice dictates that when two legitimate rights conflict, the limitation of rights that does the least harm is the most just. Bearing a child for adoption does less harm than killing him.

10. Justice dictates that when either of two people must be inconvenienced or hurt to alleviate their united predicament, the one who bore the greater responsibility for the predicament should bear more of the inconvenience or hurt to alleviate it.

11. Justice dictates that a person may not coerce harm on another person by threatening voluntary harm on themselves.

And lastly, questions he poses:

Are you willing to explain why a baby’s right not to be killed is less important than a woman’s right not to be pregnant?

Or are you willing to explain why most cities have laws forbidding cruelty to animals, but laws oppose forbidding cruelty to human fetuses? Are they not at least living animals?

Or are you willing to explain why government is unwilling to take away the so-called right to abortion on demand even though it harms the unborn child; yet government is increasingly willing to take away the right to smoke, precisely because it harms innocent non-smokers, killing 3,000 non-smokers a year from cancer and as many as 40,000 non-smokers a year from other diseases?

And if you say that everything hangs on whether the fetus is a human child, are you willing to go before national television and defend your support for the “Freedom of Choice Act” by holding in your hand a 21 week old fetus and explaining why this little one does not have the fundamental, moral, and constitutional right to life? Are you willing to say to parents in your town who lost a child at that age and held him in their hands, this being in your hands is not and was not a child with any rights of its own under God or under law?

Hope you enjoyed this post wether you’re pro-life or not. Go give your mind a rest now. =0)

Cake-a-liscious February 3, 2009

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Tears & PJs February 6, 2009

The year before I got married was such a bittersweet one. I was so excited to be getting married but so much of my life was about to change. I was actually really sad to lose my last name. I was, afterall, Rebecca Catlett. Who was Mrs. Parrott anyways? That was Lance’s mom.

I was graduating college the day before my wedding and quitting a job I loved that I had worked through most of college. It was like several chapters closing at once.

I remember my last birthday before I got married. I had been in class allllll day and didn’t get out until 8-ish at night. It was one of the first birthdays that wasn’t “a big deal” and when you come from a family that treated birthdays like a national holiday…it was more of a traumatic shock. It couldn’t have been any different though because I was busting my tail with 21 hours of classes so that I could graduate. My 21st birthday was shot.

I remember leaving class that night and walking through the dark parking lot of campus. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man who started walking really quickly to keep pace beside me but they weren’t saying anything. So I had two options of who this person could be: either a weirdo or a rapist. I took my chances and made eye contact and realized it was a weirdo….my dad who had waited for me in the parking lot. He was bookin’ it beside me with a silly grin and a box in his hand. He handed me the gift and showed me how he had maticiously carved out a pattern on purple wrapping paper and layered it over yellow paper so that the pattern would show up two-toned.

I opened it and it was a pair of cotton pajamas that he had matched and picked out himself. That was sweet for many reasons. For one, I love to picture my dad walking through a store coordinating pj tops and bottoms. And two, it was sweet because we had been talking about how I would like to have cute comfy things to wear when I was married to Lance so that he wouldn’t go into shock with the pj’s I normally wore which looked more like a homeless man’s clothes. And I mean homeless MAN too. Nothing feminine about oversized man pants on a girl who is three times smaller than the pants. I should add that I went back to hobo wear within months of being married.

At any rate, it was so special. It was so bittersweet. I was so thankful that he came to surprise me that night. It’s almost like he knew I was bummed out about my birthing festivities.

Before he left he said, “Do you know what we were doing a year ago today?”

I smiled and said, “Running 2 miles in our neighborhood together.”

He proudly says, “Yea, not too bad for an old man.”

He just smiled and got into his car and left.

I cried the whole way home. Cried because I knew that our late night runs and a father coming to meet his college age daughter in a campus parking lot were done. I am so thankful that I had such a good life with my dad that it was ‘tears on my face’ hard to see it change. I was also so thankful to know that the man I was about to marry was the type of man who will be finding his own daughter one cool, college night in a parking lot somewhere. It was the essence of bittersweet to me.

I went home that night to my roomate who surprised me with a Finding Nemo birthday cake. I told her what my dad had done just minutes earlier and boo hoo-ed while I showed her the wrapping paper he made and the jammies he picked out for me. It turned into to one of those crys where I couldn’t get a hold of myself and started laughing. All resulting in a picture of me crying over my Nemo cake like a 5 year-old throwing a fit at their birthday party.

I wore those pants my dad gave just last night. Unfortunately, they did become a pair of ugly pants that were dreadful for me to wear. They shrunk from ankle length to about mid-calf and it was time for them to go. I stood there over my trash with those pants in my hands and rubbed the seams and re-lived the moment that my dad came to make me feel like I was still his little girl just months before he would give me away in marriage as a woman.

I stood there for minutes with the pants in my hands and gave thanks for the dad who helped make the woman who was raised in a way that I could find a wonderful man to marry and believe that I deserved to do so.

Those pants had become quite ugly.

But………..it was really hard for me to watch them go.

I Could Do These All Day February 7, 2009

I could do these all day long with new facts. This is the one from my facebook that I just did. I didn’t want any segregation between my book and my blog. I did 35 for this one because I have skills to pay the bills.

1. If I could have 5 wishes…one would be for a beautiful ponytail.
2. I listen to my music in the car ridiculously loud. There could be a terrible wreck behind me and I’d keep on ” If you like you like then shoulda put a ring on it….”
3. The hair on my ankles grows like a wild beasts but the rest of my leg seems to not have much hair ever. Dang these ankles!
4. If you do something wrong, I will call the police on you. I feel like I’m calling some form of enforcement all the time. I’ve seen three women get beat up in three totally different incidences over the years and I of course called the police. So if you’re boyfriend is going to beat you up…just do it inf front of me somehow. I’ll save you. Also, I have called animal control 3 times this year on three different people in my neighborhood. YOu better take care of your pets or else I’ll drive by your house singing, “Bad boys, bad boys, what cha gonna do…what cha gonna do when they come for you.” Also you should know I get scared everytime I call that someone I called on will get mad and come after me.
5. If I could have one thing every week to do for myself, some little frivilous thing…I’d get fresh flowers every week.
6. One thing on my bucket list is to sing in front of a crowd without any nerves…just like I would if I was alone.
7. I have always been good at English but something is happening to me and I’m forgetting how to spell and when to use the correct punctuation marks. I won’t be able to write my name in a few years.
8. Almost every relationship I have had has been long term and long distance.
9. I pooped my pants for the first time this year. Never trust a fart.
10. I like to call people names that aren’t words. A lot of times they come from predicitve texts. For example I may call you snarli or danglah.
11. Once my hands have touched a germ infested object like a shopping cart etc., I know every place my hands touch until they are clean.
12. I’m a control freak perfectionist and I’m really anxious. I’m such a perfectionist that I never feel fully satisfied with anything I do. Jealous? I’m working on this though.
13. I use to change my pillowcase every single night for years. Now I’m not so bad about it but I do have several and probably change it way more than most people.
14. 80′s music is terrible. I don’t care what you say.
15. I love 90′s music and anything that sounds like it came out in the 90′s. I don’t care what you say.
16. I’m really sensitive and hate confrontation. Probably because I’m a worrier and I can’t stop thinking about it. If you are confrontational I’ll probably not ever let myself get close to you. I also don’t like people who are easily offended as in people who you can’t joke with or who are moody.
17. I grind and clench my teeth at night like a professional teeth chomper and sometimes my jaws hurt.
18. I get really scared of anything about ghosts or demons and if I hear a story it will take me weeks to recover.
19. I know a boatload of animal facts and animals are my favorite. It’s mainly exotic animals so don’t ask me some lame question about a robin. I have been known to take notes while watching animal planet.
20. My top three fav songs of all time are: SWV Weak, Extreme More Than Words, Goo Goo Dolls Name. Also could add songs to that list such as Counting Crows Colorblind.
21. My top three fav. albums I’ve ever owned are: Fly Dixie Chicks, Writings on the Wall Destiny’s Child, and by a llloonnnnggg shot: The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill by…Lauryn Hill. I also loved Jagged Little Pill by Alanis Morisette.
22. Sometimes I beatbox around the house and sometimes it sounds okay.
23. When I was a little girl, I came up with the commercial they could air for razors during the summer Olympics. I still think it’s pretty good.
24. I pick my cuticles.
25. One time I picked-up my brother’s goldfish and squeezed them when I little. This is disturbing and nothing like me. I’m sorry I told you that. That’s a real sad story.
26. I’m a stomach sleeper w/ no pillow.
27. I use to say I would I never have kids. Annnnnnnnnnnnnndddddddd…..WISH GRANTED! I didn’t want kids ever until I was about 19 years old. My sister reminded me of this other and I had actually forgotten how certain I was of having NO kids.
28. Texting is the love of my life.
29. I gag when I brush my tongue. It’s real sexy like.
30. I have a raccoon and an opposum that come in my garage every night and eat my cat food. I named the opposum crazy toes and the raccoon garbage.
31. I don’t really like eating candy anymore. Esp. when you compare it to how I loved it as a kid. Also, I don’t really like solid chocolate things (choc. ice cream, hershey kisses, etc.) I do, however, like choc. cake.
32. Doing office work/being a secretary is my nightmare job!
33. I feel more compassion for animals than humans sometimes…just cause, hey, animals can’t help anything they do. They don’t deserve punishment. They are just wild animals so sometimes they bite you and go wild. It’s what they’re supposed to do.
34. On a related note, I think circuses are the worst thing ever to happen to entertainment. Minus prostitution. It’s like, “Hey big elephant! Do you want to leave your jungle and go ride in a cramped semi your whole life? You don’t? Why not? When you get it out I’ll tap you on the butt with a pole and make you do un-natural tricks? Still don’t want to? What if I told you that you could wear an under-sized hat and vest?

I hate circuses. They are full of the richness of all the wrongness in the land.

35. Lastly, I’m going to NYC in 3 months. Yes! Wildest Dreams Come True!

Genius vs. Un-Genius February 8, 2009

This scene will be acted out in a short and powerful script. I will be the role of Genius and Lance will play the role of Un-Genius.

Genius: Ugh, you are being so mindless! You have a problem with this. So far today you have baked a pizza and left the oven on at 400 degrees. We had to jump your car today because you left your lights on all day yesterday and then today we find your car that had just been jumped in the parking lot and you had left the lights on again for over an hour! Then you use the flashlight 15 minutes after I find stove still burning at 400 and you put it down on the counter and walked-off and never turned it off. Do you see that you have a problem with not paying attention?

Un-genius: No.

End Scene.

Quote of the Week: Week 3 February 10, 2009

“I’m telling you, just attach a big parachute TO THE PLANE ITSELF! Is anyone listening to me?!”

I say fertility you say center…Fertilitly! (Center)! February 24, 2009

So I ventured out of state with the hubby yesterday to the Fertility Center. I went to see if the doctors could till the fertile or unfertile soils of my uterine goodies. It was quite the adventure. It was the first time Lance had ever been with me to a doctor’s visit where the star of the show was my lady business. He had a really hard time when I went to the doctor and they had to pull up my shirt and unbutton my pants to press on my stomach so I figured this would be a real challenge to his comfy meter.

Oddly enough, I ended up being the one who was more paranoid about him witnessing the intrusion of my secret places. I had to make him promise not to directly look it in the face. I’m not sure what happens when you do that but I feel like some sort of trauma would be involved followed by feelings of disgust. I think I will have to be in the pain of birthing before I’m comfortable being in the jumping jack position with a spot light on me.

Anyways, it wasn’t so bad when it was all said and done and Lance was very obiedent and obeyed his orders of no peeking, not that I think he was tempted. Thanks brother Lance.

After the “procedure”, we went back into the office and they asked us some questions. One of which was, “Have you fathered any pregnancies before?” I said, “Nope” and noticed a really awkward look on the resident doctors face. This was because when she asked that, Lance leaned back behind me and gave her big eyes and was mouthing yes to having fathered other children. As you can see, we handle infertility with a lot of maturity and dignity. It was funny though. Thanks again brother Lance.

When all said and done, turns out I look as healthy on the inside as a horse. Not just any horse though…a hearty birthing horse. Like some sort of prize winning mare.

BUT (screeching braking sound) they said we are still considered infertile because couples who don’t conceive in over a year are “infertile” wether they test like strong birthing horses or not. Doc says that 75 percent of women who test fine and don’t conceive in over a year will have endometriosis. So, that’s the next step. Surgery to see if endo is there and if it is, then they’ll remove it then.

She said “infertile” couples have 5 percent chance or less conceiving every month. SOOOOO glad I went to see them. I had no idea that a couple not pregnant in a year have a 95 percent chance or greater that they will NOT conceive every month.

Good news is—is that she told me I WILL have a pregnancy. It’s all in the Lord’s hands but I guess she thinks we are too healthy to not be successful in this whole bearing fruit thing. I’m really thankful for that. My mom and sister were very excited about the news but I think trying to have a baby after so long makes you sort of cautious. Sometimes cautious can be slang for “I don’t believe it will happen for me” anymore but I mean cautious. I’ll wait until they poke my uterus to death with cameras and probes to see what’s there before I jump the gun and throw a My Reproductives Rock party. See that’s cautious…I’m not saying there won’t ever be a party…I’m not even saying things don’t look in my favor…I’m just saying that I’m not buying ovary ballons yet.

Hope to have surgery to check out the goods in March. Hope to write you a blog somewhere between April and July with a big fat baby in my belly. Well not maybe big and fat but maybe a minature size baby that will easily leave my body in the appropriate 9 months.

The journey to Operation Coolest Baby That Has Ever Been Created continues….

Rander Randersome February 26, 2009

1. I have this fear of a bolt lossening from a semi-truck wheel and flying through my windshield or window at 80 mph.

2. I love glow sticks so much.

3. I love crazy straws. They are like glow sticks you can drink from except swilry and not full of a poison glow juice.

4. 0000.5% of questions are personal questions in my opinion. You can pretty much ask me anything. Sometimes what people consider personal questions are nothing but big sacks of ridiculous lameness.

5. You can typically tell how excited I am about going somewhere based on how I dress. If I don’t want to go…my outfit will be old and uncaring. If I’m excited, it will be festive and attractive.

6. What makes the above sentence tricky is that I ache to wear PJs to everyone’s house when they invite me over. I consider it “wasting” an outfit to come sit on your couch and eat dinner at your table. Why wouldn’t I just want to be comfortable?

7. I feel like my blog peer pressures me. “Why aren’t you writing? You haven’t posted in days! No one will ever come back!!!! Ha Ha Ha Ha……”

8. I believe in absolute truth and conversly NOT in moral relativism.

9. I can’t eat bread and haven’t been able to for over two years. This is what I miss the most: PB & J, Pizza, Pizza Hut breadsticks, and O’Charley’s rolls.

10. I hate jokes. They are almost never funny and then you feel like you have to laugh and I’m a real bad faker.

11. I moisturize my neck every night and have done so for years. Most people don’t realize that your neck is like facial tissue. No use having a healthy un-wrinkly face and big ole’ saggy neck.

12. When I was a little girl I would play homeless family christmas with my dolls. The dolls would “unwrap” gifts that were old used items wrapped in old blankets and washcloths. The “kids” would always be really happy for what the got but the mom would always get really sad and say, “I wish it could be more”. There is seriously no telling how many times I played homeless family christmas.

13. The first movie to ever make me cry was Fifel. How do you spell that? It’s that Disney mouse movie where the mouse loses his family and sings “Somewhere Out There”. You know what? Homeless family christmas could’ve really fit into this plot beautifully.

14. It makes me real sad when people name their pets serious names. Its a pet…go wild with it. You can’t name your kid Skittles but you can your cat. I’m real sad for all the pets with people names. I know a lot of people reading this rightnow just felt really ashamed of their pet names.

15. I saw my brother accidently launch a bottle rocket in to his fore arm when I was a child.

16. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen a ghost.

17. It takes alot to shock me and make me feel uncomfortable.

18. Another fear I have is structures collasping. For example, bridges, balconies, and parking garages. I should probably learn something about construction to help me deal with my anxiety. I just don’t understand how a parking garage can hold several layers of millions of pounds of cars and concrete.

19. I feel a strong sense of empathy and compassion for people. Anyone.

20. One thing that is the stupidest thing ever that I could get on a soapbox all day long about is ultimate fighting!!! Why does anyone think it’s normal to watch people get injured for entertainment? Why does anyone think it’s normal to want to watch people inflict harm on each other? Even more so, frequent hits the head cause parkinson’s and dementia in elderly years. Exhibit A: Muhammad Ali. What are you gonna say…”Hey, my nervous system and brain maybe degrading but at least I hit a lot of people in the head before I died!” Congratulations dude.

21. I have gotten leeches on my body before. Ewwwwwwww….gives me the jitters.

22. I jumped into the deep end of the pool when I was 2 or 3 and remember my mom having to snatch me out. I can actually remember floating slowly to the bottom of the pool and seeing the people on the pools edge as I was floating down. I also vividly remember thinking, “I’m going to jump in the pool.”

23. If I see something that has fallen off of rack in a store etc., I have to pick it up. I feel really bad and lazy if I don’t.

24. I HATE soap operas. Who watches them? How can you watch them? They are ridiculous.

25. The first animal I came close to running over was a black bear. I had my permit and I was driving with my dad through the mountains to go visit a friend. Very exciting.

Quotes of the past 2 weeks March 2, 2009

“I bet a funny thing about driving a car off a cliff is, while you’re in midair, you still really hit those brakes.”

“Whenever someone asks me to define love, I usually think for a minute, then I spin around and pin the guy’s arm behind his back. NOW who’s asking the questions?”

Explosive Personality March 5, 2009

I have always said that if we all had guns attached to us our whole lives, that we would all eventually shoot at least one person. You may say, “Oh no I wouldn’t!” but I’m pretty sure you are totally wrong.

That’s why it was such a good judgement call for us not to be created with gun arms or feet. We would all, in time, fire them off. Plus imagine the dancing obstacles if we had gun feet.

I can tell you that I’m sure that I would’ve shot my gun at two people for sure. Possibly a third guy in my neighborhood who I think is mean to his dogs via ignoring. Wait a second, make it 4 people. If they ever needed someone down at animal control to get crazy and impassioned and shoot animal cruelty offenders, I would totally be the best person to hire. I’m not saying that I want to kill people but I’d have no problem shooting you in the leg if you abused your animal in some way. Maybe I’m really impulsive or maybe….really passionate about things in the heat of the moment? Or maybe, there’s a fine line between passion and impulsivity? Ephiphany! Maybe all these ADHD kids I see all the time aren’t impulsive. Perhaps they are just really passionate about moving around and blurting stuff out.

Anyways, this blog is kind of creepy if you really think about it because I’m telling you that I would have probably shot people if I had a gun at the wrong time. BUT I really beleive that we are all capable of doing anything given the right situation and I really believe we would all shoot people. So I guess what I would say is…if you ever have the chance to permanently strap a firearm to your body, don’t do it. You are absolutely going to shoot it someday. I know you may be thinking that it would be cool and you could be like Inspector Gadged but, Inspector Gadget was probably a really dangerous man to be around and the irony is, people thought he was hero. I don’t even want to get into what would happen if we had go-go gadget arms and tools that popped out of our hats.

Quote of the Week March 9, 2009

If your kid makes one of those little homemade guitars out of a cigar box and rubber bands, don’t let him just play it once or twice and then throw it away. Make him practice on it, every day, for about three hours a day. Later, he’ll thank you.

No Home for Fabulous April 8, 2009

I feel like I walk around with this blog on my heart everyday. I watched the below clip from an ABC show a few weeks ago and finally decided that I would write this. Fast forward the video to 4:00 minutes and watch from there. This is a social experiment with an actor acting like a homeless man who has collasped on the street with a beer in his hand. It’s amazing how few people stop. The woman who did stop to help and how she was treated as a real homeless person is what breaks my heart. No one really even acknowledged that she was speaking. I cried the whole time I watched her. If you would, humor me for a 3 1/2 minutes and watch this clip and then you can read the blog I finally decided to write.

No Home for the Fabulous

He may have been in a wheelchair. He may have propositioned my sister and I for sex. Annnnnnnddddd….he may even go by the name Fabulous. But, he’s still a man. Still a person. And every night he rolls his wheelchair in front of Neiman-Marcus on Chicago’s famous Michigan Ave. and he waits. Waits for no one really because there is no one waiting for him and he waits for no appointments or obligations he must fulfill because the opportunities aren’t his to have. At least for today. He’s homeless and that’s the most credit the world gives him.

That night that we saw him there, my sister and I gave him our leftovers from PF Changs and stopped to talk to him for a minute. I always have to stop and ask homeless people questions. I have to value them and take a sincere interest in them and remind that not everyone just passes them by. Most of the time I take pictures with them. You would not believe how much this tickles some of them. Dont get me wrong, I don’t just walk up to homeless people and tell them to say “cheese”. It’s usually after we’ve talked for a while and I tell them I’d like to remember them and could I take a picture with them. They are use to people ignoring them all day long and when someone not only wants to speak to them but remember them…it makes them feel a way either haven’t in a long time or a way they’ve never felt at all. I know some people think that’s weird and maybe it is but I’ll take my chances.

I have some sort of fascination with homeless people. One that’s born of compassion and a sense of something that’s so difficult that I can’t possibly grasp it. I can’t imagine sleeping on streets, eating out of garbage cans, freezing to death through winters, and yearning for a shower in the summers. But of all of the things that come with losing your home and living on the streets, I think the thing that would be the hardest would be losing your personhood. No one looks at you. Most people will judge you. Most people won’t look you in the eye even if you were to catch them staring. You become unhuman and shameful simply because you are less clean or….I don’t know…I can’t even think of the reasons why the homeless become unhuman to people because I just don’t understand that thinking.

I will never forget being in Chicago two years ago and seeing another man streched out and twisted on Chicago’s busy streets like he was a towel that had been rung out and thrown on the concrete. His hand was open where the cup had been and the empty cup that no one would care to even throw their left over Starbucks change in, had rolled out of his open hand and into the streets. His eyes were shut. His hope was gone. His pride and dignity were reduced to lying on a street while the people stepped over him like he was an uneven place in the sidewalk. I gasped when I saw him. He haunts me to this day. The only thing I can think is that he has a mother, a sibling, a family….somewhere. He was born in a hospital into the arms of a mother who, even if only for that moment, cared and thought he was lovely. I don’t know how he got to that cigarette covered street. More importantly, I don’t care because it’s irrelevant to my choice in the moment. He came in this world the same way I did and he laid there on that street just as much me as I am him: living, breathing, hurting, humbled, human.

My favorite scripture verse in the Bible is this:

“Do not withold good to whom it is due when it is in the power of your hand to do so. Do not say to your neighbor, go and come back and tomorrow I will give it, when you have it with you today.”

When I see a man like Fabulous sitting in his poverty, ironically sitting his life away in front of a store that I can’t believe the wealthy owners even “allow him to sit in front of” for fear of offending customers….I hear those words in my head. They would convict me if I walked away. “Do not withold good to those whom it is due….” How you evaluate “to whom it is due” depends largely on how highly you see yourself and how much grace you have when you look at others. It is due to all people. To garbage eaters and to the person who sits blessed on their laptop and reads this blog. If we “consider others greater than ourselves” then we will see that everyone is due mercy.

And, “when it is in the power of your hands to do so”….goodness, kindness, and 50 cents? It’s always in the power of our hands to do so.

You know the popular saying that comes around this time is, “They’ll just go spend it on booze…” You are right. They might. But you don’t know that and in the two seconds I have to make that judgement call, I’d rather aire on the side of maybe he needs a coke. If you are that worried about it then go buy them food yourself and bring it back. That’s wise too if you have the time to go get it and come back, then that’s great. If you get to know a homeless person over a period of time, then you could be more wise as to how to proceed with the best way to help them but most of us will pass them by once and never again. A dollar won’t get them drunk or buy crack. It might, however, make them feel remembered or at least human.

Honestly though, I roll my eyes (in my mind) when people say, “Don’t give them money, they will scam you or go buy this or that!!!” I would hate to think that we gamble our money on 8 dollar movies with 5 dollar cokes and popcorn but wouldn’t dare risk the loss of dollar on a person that may actually be hungry. It repulses me. More than not giving someone my dollar, I’d hate for them to think that I didn’t think they were worth it. But as their cups roll into the streets, I know they feel it.

Still, I know for fact that I have been scammed before. My dad and I once fed a “homeless” man in our hometown and went a bought him a hotel room only to find that he lived there and was able to pay on his own. It was very different story from what he told us.

When Lance and I were brand new newlyweds, we picked up a woman and gave her 50 dollars which was about half of our bank statement that day. I found out later that she is a big time scammer around town and I know people who have seen her eating out at nice restaurants. But you know what? I don’t regret it. Compassion never loses. I almost feel worse for people in these cases because of how bad their lives must be or have been for them to make the choices they are doing now. My heart was in the right place when I gave that money and I will continue to risk my money on the hopes that it may actually go to a big mac and fries.

Ya know, there are a lot of things wrong with this world. If there weren’t, then people wouldn’t end up on the streets. But there are bigger things wrong. There are things wrong with how we treat people. Wrong in how we can justify not being compassionate because we’ve come up with some reason that makes us feel better (They should go get a job., It’s their own fault. etc.) There is something wrong in walking by a person on the streets and not even having a twinge in your heart. Tragedy should never become commonplace, but it does. And the sad thing is, it’s not that it becomes less tragic, it’s that our hearts become more hardenend.

Sometimes I don’t know what’s more sad: the family on the street or the families that pass them by.

I often think back to Fabulous and that nameless man who was twisted on strewn over bustling, wealthy Chicago streets. I wonder if they’re alive or if anyone would even care if they weren’t. I don’t know the answer to that. But what I do know for sure if they are living is this.

There will be a homeless man in a rusty wheelchair sitting on Michigan Avenue sitting like a visual contradiction in front of a swanky store. He will have a styrofoam cup and a stack of StreetWise newspapers he will try to sell you for a little bit of change. He won’t look like you. He can’t make you promises of what he’ll do with the change you toss his way. But, he was made in the image of God, born of a mother, loved by someone, breathing the same air, hurting like you, and hoping for a little mercy. Mercy is due him. Compassion should befall you and the gratitude you have for your blessings should move you to stick your hand in your purse or pocket and throw him the leftover blessing you have aimlessly clanging in your pocket. Compassion has never been so simple.

Fabulous 2001

Kenard 2006

I love this… March 13, 2009

I have to have chapstick on me at all times. We all know that Burt’s Bees is the most wonderful chapstick in the whole world. The other day I found Burts Bees chapstick with pomegrante oil. It is SUPER delicious and gives your lips a noticeable shade of color but still subtle and nuetral. I love it so much I’m going to eat it and put it in my belly. You should try it…on your lips first. If you love it so much, then you can eat it.

The Boyfriends. March 12, 2009

I have had a lot of these guys. Lots of real interesting ones. Join me on this list journey, will you?

1-Nathaniel Jones. Preschool deliciousness. He gave me a hot pink Espirit purse with a birthstone ring and totally made me his girl. Other than that, he gave me a lot of kisses in the play ground tunnel and made me late coming back in for recess. Scandalous. I know. Our relationship probably ended around the time my show and tell kaleidescope was stolen from my locker. I could trust no one and take no chances.

2-Scotty Herman…if you ask me, you know he was hot just by the name. Scotty? Herman? Ohhhhhh yeaaaaaahhhh. He was my boyfriend in the first grade. Pale skin. Lots of freckles. He totally rocked my world. Lets be honest though, nothing rocked my world quite as much as when he followed me around the classroom from chair to chair singing, “The Way You Make Me Feel” by Michael Jackson. My honeymoon was nothing compared to the desire I felt for him that day. I don’t know where my teacher was while all this went on but she was probably somewhere totally jealous.

3-Eric Hodges. He was my first real butterflies kind of dude. He brought me a heart shaped box of chocolates to class on Valentine’s Day with a birthstone ring hidden in a fake flower on the front of the box. I didn’t tell him I had already been given a ring from a strapping young lad with a strong name. It didn’t matter. I wanted Eric’s ring so bad that I would’ve given up all my chicken rings at lunch for him. Eric actually came over to my house for trick or treating. He dressed up like a dead baseball player and I showed him that I dressed up like a princess once I finished crying in the bathroom over how dumb I looked. It was like a little date. It went really well which is why he asked to Pizza Hut with his mom and then to a Pee Wee Herman impersonator show….followed by Paddington the Bear at the theater. You thought I was done after the Pee Wee Herman Impersonator but, no. I don’t deal with cheap dates. He’s lucky Pee Wee gave me a slap bracelet or I may never have gone out with again.

This relationship sadly ended abruptly when I saw him and another girl holding up the “I love you” sign to each other across the room in class during a movie. Dang you, Bethany. Dang you.

3-Paul Collins-No, not Phil Collins, PAUL Collins. Now I was in fourth grade and I had no time for carrying on with boys who cheat on my with hand signals. No, no, now I was in love with Paul. We dressed as princess Jasmine and Aladdin for a parade we had at our school. He wore only a vest and exposed his man chest…probably why we continued to date for three more months.

But then I met….

5-Charlie King. He only had half an index finger which was totally cool, of course, but not as cool as his big blue eyes. I think I dated him in between boughts of Paul, on and off for fourth grade. I bet he was real sad as he watched me in my Jasmine outfit, riding a box that looked like a tiger down the hallway with Paul by my side. I bet he went home every night and listened to “A Whole New World” and cried. I forget how we broke-up. Probably because we did so many times. I still him around town sometimes although we’ve never spoken. Wonder if he remembers how gallant I was as I rode my box tiger down the hall?

6-Eric Coomes. All joking aside, he was a true looker. He went to another school and was a baseball player which made he seem thrilling and mysterious. If you refer to one of my other blogs, “Ahhh To Be Young”, he’s the one I snagged with that snapshot of me sitting on lace in a cheerleader pose. He was my boyfriend many times. And many times, I enjoyed it. My elementary school diary is pretty much solely about this dude and my mom making me mad.

7-Deyar Goodman. Be still my soul! I loved this kid. We dated for a whole year and he was the best of all the beaus that any girl in any elementary school has ever beaued. He was hispanic and spicy! No lie, I still have almost every note he wrote me.

When he asked me out at the Chili Supper my wildest dreams came true. We never kissed except for in my dreams. He did tell me he loved me and I said, “I love you too.” Then he told me he did drugs with a boy at the movies and I was real sad. It was probably some sort of candy but sadly I knew he was too much of a wild one and I wasn’t going to start dating wild guys….at least for a few more years.

8-Jared Marquette. Jeff York. Wade Yeoman- These were my main squeezes in 8th grade. Jeff wore Grateful Dead tie-dyed t-shirts and had short brown curly hair. No need to explain the attraction. Wade Yeoman was a quieter type who did the ole’ “act like I’m streching” put my arm around you gig. He was bad at the phone so he was bad at our relationship. Jared Marquette was a year younger than me. First time I tried my hand at younger lads. He was very charming and I was terrified he would kiss me so I broke-up with him.

9-Blake Beliles.- We will end with trusty old Blake. He was my first taste of innocent young love. My “Strawberry Wine” kind of dude. He was the first boy to defile my lips. On the church van, on a ski trip. It was about 6:30 in the morning and the youth group had just arrived at Paoli Peaks and we were all waiting in the van. I was asleep on his shoulder and he woke me up with a kiss. Tongue and all. I was totally off guard and so were my orthdontic appliances but if it I didn’t happen that way, I may never have kissed a boy due to lack of guts. It was quick and disorienting. It was awkward. It made me want to scream hallelujah and throw up simulataneously. I was nervous the rest of the trip because, apparently, you never knew when he would strike. I got over it though and went on to kiss his 15 year old lips for 9 months. Then I broke up with him for this dude named Lance. Then a year later broke-up with Lance for a dude named Ben. That’s who the “How A Heart Breaks” blog is about. Then 3 long years later I broke-up with Ben and dated Lance. And two years later, married Lance. The night I got engaged, the first person I ran into was Blake. Ironic. It was a full-circle experince in the life and time’s of Rebecca’s boyfriends. Hope you’ve enjoyed yourself. I hope your daughters don’t like boys as much as me someday. The end.

Quote of the Week March 16, 2009

When I found the skull in the woods, the first thing I did was the call the police. But then I got curious about it. I picked it up, and started wondering who the person was, and why he had deer horns.

Un-barf March 16, 2009

These two recipes I’m going to suggest may sound like something that will make you barf. But what if you un-barf and realize that they are delicious? For example, saying that I ate 1 pound of brown sugar asparagus makes you want to barf. But you should un-barf because if it weren’t so divine, could I eat a whole skillet full? That’s what I thought. So I dare you to do these. Double-dog.

Brown Sugar Asparagus

3 tbsp. butter, margarine, or reduced-fat spread
2 tbsp. light brown sugar
1 bundle of fresh asparagus with the bottom two inches cut off of the stalks
½ can reduced-fat or low-sodium chicken broth (1 cup)
Large skillet

1: Warm the brown sugar and butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat until the sugar is dissolved.
Step2: Mix the asparagus in the skillet with the brown-sugar-and-butter mixture. Cook for 2 minutes, stirring constantly.
Step3: Pour in the chicken broth, mix well and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover the skillet tightly and simmer for 8 to 10 minutes.
Step4: Put the asparagus into a bowl or dish and set it aside. Make sure the asparagus stays warm.
Step5: Continue cooking the brown-sugar-and-butter sauce in the uncovered skillet until the mixture has been reduced by half.
Step6: Pour the sauce over the asparagus and serve.
Step 7: Scream “delicious” and run around

Pineapple Cheese Casserole

If this name offends you, try a on a name for size like Pineapple Delight. This is what my bff calls it to her friends so that they won’t judge the dish so harshly before trying. My husband ate this at my step mom’s house and begged me to make it. I am not picking but thought it was so gross sounding so I made a dish just for him annnnnnnnnddddd then I ate like 75 percent of it. This is really so good that I could eat it like a dessert even though its a casserole. I will say that I usually cook it just a little longer than most recipes call for, just to get the flour and juice to thicken a little more. Just check it towards the end. Just trust me on this dish dudes. Its from the gates of heaven.

3 (15 ounce) cans pineapple chunks
2 1/2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese
8 tablespoons pineapple juice
8 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup white sugar
30 buttery round crackers, crushed
1/2 cup butter, sliced

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
In a large bowl combine pineapple chunks, cheese, pineapple juice, flour and sugar. Spoon into a 9×13 inch baking dish. Top with crushed crackers and butter slices.
Bake in preheated oven for 30 minutes.

Regrets May 28, 2009

“I don’t regret it because I learned a lot.” This is a popular phrase and one of my least favorites, probably because it doesn’t make sense to me. I can learn a lot from something that is still a mistake no matter what I gleaned from it. Learning good lessons from something, doesn’t mean the choice was all made better because of what you learned. There are lots of things I regret that I learned from. I realize that mistakes are inevitable in our lives. I get it. I get that mistakes are supposed to teach us things, but I’m not going to say I don’t regret something because it taught me something. Teachable moments can still be regrettable ones. Not to mention, many times, you can learn the same lessons mistakes taught you in healthy ways so they aren’t always the necessary means although I know they can be.

So,

I regret not calling you that Mother’s Day. I was young and stupid and didn’t understand grace.

I regret not breaking up with you sooner.

I regret saying that to you all the times that I have.

I regret not trying to have a baby earlier because I was “so sure” this wouldn’t happen to me.

I regret not just doing it anyway even if people would judge me or criticize me.

I regret all the years of worrying about other people.

I regret not knowing that before I made up my mind.

I regret taking that birth control patch.

I regret saying that to you in front of the whole class.

I regret not deciding to go with you first.

I regret dressing like a trash ball in high school.

I regret giving you that much of me.

I’m a lazy sack of trash March 17, 2009

My laziness is effecting the eating life of my family. Dinner use to be cooked to the recipe details and I now I just guess at measurements and think, “Ehhhh, it will be fine”. Not because I’m a really good chef and can do this but more because I’m a really lazy, risk taking chef who likes to live life on the culinary edge.

I fantasize about crock pot recipes so that I can use my little cooking robot to cook for me while I’m gone all day long. But then I simultaneously fret over my cooking machine because I’m too lazy to clean out the left-overs from the pot when it’s done so I know I will end up puting them in the fridge until it’s old and odd smelling. Then, after the appropriate time has elasped to where I won’t feel guilty throwing it out, the next step is making Lance stand gagging on the deck while he pours out “the remains”. I tell myself, at the time of storage, that we will eat it again to make myself feel better but I’m just lying to myself and that’s okay if it means I don’t have to dump the pot out. Plus our disgusting lazy left-overs feeds our nature opposum, Crazy Toes, and our raccoon, Garbage, when we throw the junk overboard. I mean what would Crazy Toes and Garbage do if they didn’t eat all of our trashed food? Be real wild animals? That’s silly. I guess it’s a win, win for us both. If only they would come eat it directly out of the crock pot inside then all I would have to do is bring myself to put it in the dishwasher.

Also, I think I loathe chopping things. Like if you were to ask me a house chore or duty I hate the most, after scrubbing tubs, it would have to chopping things. Even though when I cook I know it would taste so much better to have this or that cut up and mixed in….I just can’t do it. How am I already like this? I don’t even have kids yet! DANG IT! And the weird thing is, I use to enjoy cooking even a few years into our marriage. Now grocery shopping I hated much sooner but cooking I could do and not dread.

I think this all changed after I had surgery this summer. I had a stint in the hospital and then a tonsilectomy one month later and it’s like they also removed the organ that is responsible for completeing tasks with enjoyment. Oh my gosh is that my brain?

After a month of no cooking and having people bring me restaurant food or home cooked meals, I can’t go back. Is no cooking black because I went there and I can’t go back.

So if anyone has any recipes that require dumping only rather than mixing, chopping, and cooking ingredients, let me know. Also, I hate browning meat so you should suggest some sort of freeze dried, pre-cooked, and drained meat product to use as a substitution in any recipe you may suggest. And as gross as that sounds and as much as I am totally kidding there is a part of me that wonders, does such a dream meat exist? I’m sure it does but it probably has cancer as one of it’s processed ingredients.

As my punishment tonight, I am making myself prepare a real meal in hopes that I might enjoy the food so much that I may desire delicious food more than easy cooking. I hope its aromas fill the air and its tastiness touches my tummy and I remember that me and cooking use to be old pals. Pork loin, apples, diced potatoes with olive oil and seasoning drizzled on top, and maybe some sort of bean if Lance is lucky. Three sides at dinner is like a freakin’ all you can eat buffet at my house. Don’t push it.

Toilet Tears August 12, 2009

I unwrapped it. Held in my hand and peed all over it. Inhale.

My minds drifts to all the times I’ve done this and to how many days have passed since I’ve taken the first one. During this time, I’ve cried. I’ve laughed. I given up and believed again. I’ve been disappointed and hopeful. I’ve been frustrated at careless comments people have made. I’ve taken three tests for one cycle and then had to take one again even after my period started because, “Hey, this happens to people!” I’ve been embarassed to hope. I cried when I heard you were pregnant. I felt sincere jealousy of others for the first time in my life. I was disgusted with myself. Sitting on the phone crying to my best friend has happened more than once. Trying not to cry while talking to others? Too many to count.

I have felt so pregnant that I would’ve bet the house on it. I have passed fertility tests with flying colors. Eggs have been in places they shouldn’t. Computers have dictated my sex life. I’ve laughed while laying huge pillows under my pelvis and then been sad that I felt like I had to. Facebook statuses became my enemy. I have typed every possible symptom I have felt during the two week wait into ask.com. If I farted too loud I’d probably type “loud farting while pregnant in the first two weeks”. I have figured every possible due date I could’ve had on the online baby predictor calendars. Everytime I would hear someone else that had gotten pregnant, I could always determine how far along they were because I knew when I had to get pregnant to have a September, October baby, and so on. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on tests. I’ve felt like the “boy who cried wolf” every month. I had an omish guy diagnose my fertility correctly just by looking at my eyes two years before the doctors figured it out. I let my doctor convince me he was wrong.

I’ve watched the Easter baskets come and go on the shelves, turning into stockings, two times, and wondered when I’d need a basket or stocking to fill. I’ve gotten great news. I’ve come to terms with it, all to lose those terms again. I’ve been angry. I’ve prayed and prayed. I had cameras and lasers go in through my belly button and places where the sun don’t shine. I’ve taken pregnancy tests during the wee hours of the morning and the late, late hours of the night so I could get the news in secret so I could surprise Lance later just in case this was our month.

I became a scholar on conception and a novice at patience. I named my babies…okay so I did that 4 years ago. I looked at pictures of a live birth and thought, no thank you. I’ve talked to people that I never would’ve gotten the chance to bond with if not for this process. I’ve followed the stories of others in my position and when I heard you got finally got pregnant yourself I told person after person about it even though you were a stranger to them. I couldn’t believe it was finally happening for someone just like me and I felt the joy and relief for you. I’ve had the way I was going to surprise Lance with the big news hidden in our house for over a year and a half now, just in case. I’ve sat alone in a doctor’s office a week and day late for my period almost crying as I sat there because the possibility that this blessing would be mine to have was overwhelming. I started my period 2 hours later. I’ve prayed for you little baby. I’ve prayed for me, future parent. I’ve pictured a little child in a car seat years from now that I can see through my rearview mirror and I imagine thinking, “Oh how I loved you and labored for you before you were even mine to have.” My soul has yearned and desperately waited on the Lord.

And as I sat there on the cold, familiar toliet with the test in my hand, the past 2 years floated through my mind. I stared at the stark white stick that had mocked me too many times and I waited for any trace of life on its screen. And as one line gave way to two, questions gave way to answers.  Face buried in my hands crying,  finally….finally… Exhale.

ailurophile. March 23, 2009

It is no coicendence that the word “meow” is in the middle of the word “homeowner”. It’s like we were all meant to have cats but cats are totally misunderstood and get the total shaft. People compare cats and dogs and say that cats are no good based upon how they are not dogs. That’s nut-so. That’s like buying a duck and saying its crappy because it doesn’t talk like parrot. Only, that makes more sense than comparing dogs to cats because at least ducks and parrots are in the same animal family…

Comparing canines to felines….shesh.

Did you know that cats are 200 times smarter than dogs and that in the animal kingdom only the apes & chimps are smarter? Did you know that cats are cuddlier than dogs by my evaluation? Did you know that my cats come running when I call their names? Did you know that 1 million Americans go to the hospital each year for dog bites? You can put a BEWARE OF DOG sign up but never, BEWARE OF MY BEAUTIFUL PRECIOUS KITTIES. Did you know that my cats smell like fabric softener, NATURALLY?!

Cats are calmer. They don’t fill your yard up with poo. They don’t need to be bathed or walked. You don’t need to board them in a kennel when you go out of town. Kitties are independent. They won’t disturb your neighbors with meowing all night like dogs.

How many times do you come home to find your dog sleeping like this?

When is the last time you saw your dogs headlock kissing?

I rest my case.

Knock, Knock March 24, 2009

Knock, Knock.

Who’s There’s?

Human Resource Worker.

Human Resource Worker who?

Human resource worker who handled your husbands W4 and saw that he claimed 0 but set it up so that NO federal tax was taken out of his pay check, despite of what he claimed, so now you owe the government a check for a year’s of federal tax.

HAHAHaHahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha……………

I love that one!

Mid-Week Quote of the Week March 25, 2009

“If you’re an ant, and you’re walking along across the top of a cup of pudding, you probably have no idea that the only thing between you and disaster is the strength of that pudding skin.”

Quote of the Week March 30, 2009

“To me, it’s a good idea to always carry two sacks of something when you walk around. That way, if anybody says, “Hey, can you give me a hand?”, you can say, “Sorry, got these sacks.”

The Besties March 30, 2009

These breadsticks are amazing and fill my life with joyous bliss. They come in two flavors: Hallelujah Garlic & Smack Your Granny Parmesean. These breadsticks are yeast free for those few of us who can’t eat yeast. To those of you who can, yeast free doesn’t mean it tastes different, it just means that they use baking soda to leaven it instead of yeast. Don’t be confused, they are yeast free, not gluten or wheat free so don’t try to feed it to your friends who can’t eat those things. For some reason, people get these food allergies mixed up or lump them all together. At any rate, you can usually only find them at Kroger, not Walmart. They are fast, easy, and a delight on your tonguey tongue tongue.

YES FAKE TOENAILS!!!!! I have used tons of different brands of these and I love them all! They are 5.87 at Walmart or you can get them at any Walgreens, CVS, etc. I love my fake toenails way better than the results of a real pedicure and I pay way less than half of the price of going to a salon for a pedi. They will last 1-2 weeks depending what you do with your feet. If you wear open toed shoes or flip flops they will last the longest. If you work out or wear tennis shoes or closed toed shoes then they won’t last as long. BUT they take ten minutes or less and you can throw them on for that one event you need them for. Fake toe nails have a piece of my heart for life. Look at how good they look (my toes are crooked so that’s why one nail is lopsided): &

I hate cleaning my stainless steel appliances because I feel like they don’t really look any different when I’m done. I recently switched from Pledge stainless stell wipes to this Weiman product and it works 1,000 times better. Sometimes on hard spots I’ll let it sit for a few minutes. I don’t know if you are supposed to do that but for the time being there are no holes eaten through the finish. I also use their stove top cleaner but I’m hoping that I find something easier and less chemical smelling.

<My mother-in-law bought me this key chain holder for hand sanitizer and I love it. This way, I can attack germs at any moment. If you are germ aware like me, this is way easy, small, and what you daydream about after touching a shopping cart.

Why do they make men’s products stronger than women’s? I love this deoderant for dudes. I guess if it’s unscented it can be for anyone but they have obvious girl ones that are way wussier than this one. This product says you can skip a day and you can…unless you have way sweaty pits. However, even if you do have really sweaty pits, I know people who do who love this. I’ve heard some say it’s better than over-the-counter clinical versions of lady deoderant. Give it a chance and roll it on your pits.

Kentucky’s Best Kept Secret April 2, 2009

Me and turtleman have a lot in common. Mainly being from Kentucky. Also, I like turtles.

Kissy Kiss April 3, 2009

Okay, only answer these polls if you’ve been married at least 2 years. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how often married couples kiss and then ironically, they talked about it on Oprah today. Just be honest, no one can see who voted including myself.

Clinique Kind of Confidence April 6, 2009

I worked with this teenage girl recently who hated the way she looked. She couldn’t come up with one positive attribute about herself when asked. Too fat. Too short. Everything, literally, everything was wrong. It broke my heart just to listen to her.

I tried to talk to her logically and honestly about it. But truthfully, people don’t get themselves into situations because of logic and you telling them simple logic isn’t going to make them snap out of it. Still, what do you do? I couldn’t give her what she needed to feel okay.

However, I still went on with her. I told her if she looked like Britney Spears than someone out there would say was too thick. Told her she could be as little as me but then someone would whisper in the corner, “I wonder if she’s anorexic?” She could stay the way she is and people would point out her flaws in their cruel, typical 16 year-old way. Or I told her she could embrace who she was created to be and be hated for what jealous peers would deem as “arrogance”. My point, which sounds much less delicate all typed out, was simply that no matter which angle you decide to attack this problem, people aren’t pleasable so you always end up just having to wrestle with that being okay and putting your concern for their opinion up on a shelf.

What she needs is something that no person can give her. Sure, I could’ve given her a makeover but faces have to be washed and hair will be blown by the wind. What then? She would still be herself at the end of the day. I tried in all ways possible to show her the futility of putting your hope and confidence in beauty but she still thought that if she could be pretty “enough” than she would be happy. As we were walking along, I told her a story of this girl I know who was and is so beautiful and how she is one of the most unhappy people I have ever met. I went into detail and as I drew towards the end of the story, I heard her start to cry. It was the first time she had cried in over the 7 sessions I had with her. I don’t know if she was crying because she started to feel the freedom to give up the empty fight or because she was afraid that she is in some part the girl in the story.

This girl was a girl from the projects with very little money for clothes and no money for make-up or getting her hair done at a salon. Honestly, while every word I said was true, I felt like a hypocrite talking to her. Am I truly confident and satisfied with how I look? Are you satisfied with you? Because women are generally critical and unhappy with at least something about their looks, the answer to that question would obviously be, “Of course not” or “I try to be” or “I’m happy about some of how I look.”

I think that I’m a fairly content person but if I were like her and couldn’t afford a nice hair cut, make-up, and clothes that make me feel attractive then I might not be confident at all. Maybe the truth is, my confidence teeters on a compact and good blow dry with a roll brush. With all the products stripped away and nothing to give me a superficial sense of beauty I’m, well, just like that girl. Some women are deceived into self-acceptance and others are left without the money to buy products to cover-up their insecurities. I fear we are only as happy as our best product.

So when all is scrubbed away at the end of the day and all the hairs have fallen out of place, can you say that you are beautifully made? Are you satisified in knowing that your Creator says you are beautiful and that’s the only approval you need? Or are we all just one bad outfit and one broken flat iron away from the truth?

Quote of the Week April 7, 2009

“If you ever fall off the Sears Tower, just go real limp, because maybe you’ll look like a dummy and people will try to catch you because, hey, free dummy.”

I Hate Vicky and Her Secrets April 13, 2009

Dear Victoria Secret,

You have no secrets. I can see all your secrets. This is the problem. When I called you to quit sending me your catalogues it was because I didn’t want to keep finding you and your secrets on display when I open my mailbox. BAM! Barely dressed girl in my box! Catches me off-guard.

I’m so glad you quit sending me your magazine but quit sending me coupon/brochure books with nakedy-ish women on them. There is only woman half naked woman in this house and that’s me. There’s only one perfect body in this house…

And that’s you. That brings me back to my original point. Please quit sending me nakedy coupons for a free pair of nuetral cotton panties that I will only use while on my period. You wouldn’t wear those. Don’t lie to me.

And another thing, I hate going in there to get my free panties anyways because I have to stand in line with the woman in front of me who just bought 600 dollars worth of bras and then say, “Umm I was just wanting the free panties.” It makes me feel like an underwear homeless person.

Don’t get me wrong…I have really enjoyed a few pairs of these and I love free stuff as much as the next but if you told me to get a free t-shirt that you’d have to send a girl in a bikini to my house then I’d probably say no.

So dear Vicky, please leave my mailbox alone.

Sincerely,

Rebecca

April 9, 2009

I have a 5 yr. old little brother with high functioning autism. He LOVES sea creatures. Yesterday in chapel at his school, his principal got up on stage and said…”…We all know how Jesus died..” which was a rhetorical question. Sam yelled out, “The sharks got him!”

Classic.

Death by Cake April 27, 2009

I just finished a cake. I spent 4 hours on it yesterday and embarassingly, 12 hours on it today. People have no idea how much work goes into these things. They should be 20 dollars a slice. When people act like cakes like these are expensive I just want to say, “Oh, you must’ve been wanting a WalMart cake with an icing border and plastic figurine then because that is exactly what a 15 dollar cake looks like!” I also want to leave a cake on their front porch that has a big knife on it with the words “”Think again Batman!” but that’s far too threatening.

But anyways…

Everytime I make a cake I go through a process:

1-Feelings of enjoyment and other thoughts of a positive nature.
2-I come to the first fiasco of the cake. For this cake it was breaking a cake layer, two dog heads that kept falling off, and putting my finger in the icing when I put the completed cake into the fridge.
3- Pray that the Lord will let this cake turn out okay and that I can keep it together.
4- Feelings of it all falling apart and sensations of being overwhelmed and panicked like it will never be over. This is also followed by, “I will never do this again. Why do I keep doing this? Life is too short.”
5- A moment of seeing it come together.
6- A moment of relief.
7- Completion.
8- A prayer of thanks.

Inevitably, after a cake is done I will be really attracted to Lance. I’ll really want to be close to him. I was just explaining this phenomenom to him. It’s like I feel emotionally exhausted and physically tired and I need his love. It’s like I just survived this ordeal with him and I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. If Lance and I’s married is on the rocks…please someone, order a cake.

This is what insanity and me loving me husband looks like. It looks like it could maybe be simple but unbeleivably it will suck the very life out of your being.

The moral of this story is…if you order a cake, you better respect the crap out of it! It’s worth every penny you paid for it and typically worth even more than what you paid. You better recognize fool!

(DISCLAIMER: The buyer of this cake was amazing and was very pleased and paid me very well. This blog is an overall rage that I have gathered from an abundance of cake and silly people that want to pay 15 cents for a cake that took my life away for an entire weekend.)

Cake-a-liscious April 12, 2009

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Quote of the Week April 13, 2009

“To me, clowns aren’t funny. In fact, they’re kind of scary. I’ve wondered where this started and I think it goes back to the time I went to the circus, and a clown killed my dad.”

Be Careful With My Uterus April 14, 2009

I believe my fertility problems are in their final chapter. This Thursday the 16th I am going to have a surgery to see if I have endometriosis. This is the last possible test that I could have done and it’s either this or there is nothing wrong with me. The surgery is called lapraoscopy and I can’t WAIT to finally have an answer after all this time.

This journey to truth is going to start with an enjoyable colon cleanse starting on Wednesday. My doctor failed to mention that they are going to starve me the day before surgery and, not only deprive me of food, but empty any remaining remnants from my colon as well via constant pooping. Yippeee!!! I went today to buy the bottle of stuff I have to drink to make me “go” and it was only 1.88 so at the end of the day, I’m the winner. At least if they are going to make me poop all day, they made it a good bargain. Always love to save a good penny from the grocery store to me bum.

Anyways, I can’t eat from Tuesday night until Thursday afternoon so I’m going to totally look like Skeletor while I’m in surgery. Hope all the residents don’t notice when I’m butt naked on the table. Fingers crossed.

To put all minds at ease I will post the results of my reproductive findings as soon as I can remember too after all of the pain killers. It may be somewhat incoherent and while it might not educate you on my status, it may fill your faces with smiling. I’ll have my husband write a few boring sentences if nothing else.

Now I know before I go everyone wants to know what this surgery looks like:

They inflate your stomach with gas so they can move around all your junk. They go into your body several ways with cameras and laser and look for endo. If it’s there, they burn it off. Game over.

Now I’m sure you guys want to know what endometriosis looks like. There are 4 stages, one being the best, four the worst. Here’s a picture of a stage one and four:

Do you want to throw up? I sure do. The stage one picture shows little lesions called implants. Stage four shows the endometriosis going all wild style and putting the cobwebs of endo all over the place. If my uterus looks like Spiderman came and visited, I will be sad. Either way, the surgeon will remove it and make it like new.

NOOOOOOOWWWW, you are probably wondering what endometriosis is. Endometrium cells grow normally on the inside of your uterus lining which is what you shed during your period. Endometriosis is when these cells grow outside of your uterus. They bleed/shed no matter where they are which is one of the things that causes pain. If you have endo on the outside of your uterus or ovaries…the outside of your uterus and ovaries will bleed. You can have endo growing anywhere in your body in advanced stages. I know a girl who has it on her lungs. It really can grow anywhere. You can have a severe case with no symptoms at all or a very mild case with extreme symptoms. You can never tell. I would be in the little to know symptom category.

Endometriosis is one of the most common reasons for infertility and luckily, typically it’s very fixable. Doc said there’s a 75 percent chance statiscally that I have some stage of it and we will finally know for sure in a few measley days.

My doc also said that most women will be pregnant in 6 months or less. Six months sounds like a year to me at this point so I’m hoping and praying to be one of the lucky ones that get pregnant the very next cycle.

I’ll let you know how it goes. My blogs may be a little spotty the next week or so but we’ll see.

Pray for my surgery, uterus, and bottom.

Here goes nothing!!

Results April 17, 2009

I am on drugs so this is going to be simple.

I had to stay in stage 1 recovery for 3 1/2 hrs. instead of 30 mins because they were trying to get a hold of my pain and also because my heart rate was too high. I was supposed to leave Nashville at 12 and we didn’t get out until 430 but I’m glad its done. I wasn’t anxious at all.

Dr. said I have a significant amount of endo but I was not able to get the stage I was in. I have endo on my left ovary, back of my uterus, abdomen wall, and on my bladder. They found 3 polyps inside my uterus as well. She said endo was definetly the reason why I wasn’t getting pregnant. Polyps didn’t have anything to do with it really but she took them off anyways so they wouldn’t be a problem later.

Dr. said the surgery was great and she got all of it. Now I’m FINALLY like all the rest of you and for the first time in almost 2 years I can actually get pregnant. Praise the Lord.

I love oxycodone.

Pills, Poop, & Pondering April 20, 2009

I don’t understand addiction to pain pills. They are great if you are in pain but at the same time, I feel so spaced out and tired that I could scream. They make me feel awful and good. Also, did you know that they cause constipation? Oh, I sure do.

Last night was terrible! Two hours of screaming in pain on the toilet and all at the hands of dear old constipation. I mean I could not think straight I was hurting so bad. Who knew your bowels could be the devil? I sure am glad Lance loves me because it all came to an end when he ran to Houchens and bought an enema. And then, gave me one. These things are little miracles in squirt bottles. It takes a lot of love to do that for someone. Although it also takes a lot of love and desire to get your stomach cut open and your organs burned with lasers so that you can give you and your spouse a child. It’s worth it though and I did get good news…not complaining. Baby or not I got fixed and that’s superb.

However, sometimes when I’m sitting here paying my baby dues and I look at Lance I think, so let me get this straight: I have had tons of blood work, painstakingly tracked my every fertile day, had dye pushed through my cervix to check my tubes, had surgery to get checked out and fixed followed by a 1-2 week recovery…then I’ll hopefully get pregnant, carry a baby for 9 months, go through labor, and then try to get my body back for a year? And what did Lance have to do, have sex hundreds of times? Wait a second….something seems off.

It’s hard being a woman.

Quote of the Week April 20, 2009

“If you’re a horse, and someone gets on you, and falls off, and then gets right back on you, I think you should buck him off right away.”

Lance April 21, 2009

I always want to touch feet at night even though he is strongly opposed to feet touching him at all times. Sometimes at night he will slide his foot over to mine without saying a word and I go to sleep with a smile. It’s like hugging without your arms while sleeping. To me at least.

He lets me order him around when I’m sick and just when I think I’ve made one request too many, he’s already on his way to do it before I even have the chance to finish the thought. Even when I was sick for a week one time where I couldn’t speak and I had to clap at him to get his attention (cringe), he had the patience of Job.

He’s surprised me with flowers twice in the past 3 months.

He stands in the back of the shower and freezes so I can take a shower first.

He’s just enough of a woman to be a good man: cries when moved and shops with me for the house when necessary.

I would swear the house gets 10 times less spooky just having him around.

He folds clothes better than me and is slower to anger than me for sure.

Not often does he yell.

He’s grown to love animals AND cats as much as me just because of my love for them.

He’s always proud of me.

“I don’t feel like being around anybody…” only means everyone else but him.

He goes to work and I can’t wait for him to come home.

He woke up in the middle of the night this week while I was trying to get out of the bed after my surgery and cradled my back like a baby and helped me out of bed and to the bathroom.

I can’t get enough of his time.

He pursued me like crazy both when we dated and when we weren’t dating and he wanted me to be his. He will still pause every now and then and say, “I can’t believe I actually got you”, with the most precious awe in his voice and face.

I really miss him when he’s gone.

He tries to dress cute for our dates.

He’s mine and that’s really the best part.

Question April 23, 2009

If kankles are when you have no distinction between your calf and ankle, what do you call arms that have no disctinction between the forearms and the bicep? Cause I’m pretty sure I have that. Pretty sure like in a 100 percent sort of way. I vote friceps pronounced fry-ceps. Any other takers?

Quote of the Week April 28, 2009

“The first thing was, I learned to forgive myself. Then, I told myself, “Go ahead and do whatever you want, it’s okay by me.”

Love and Crackers April 30, 2009

When I was a little girl in the first grade, I use to rip off the name ‘Lance’ from Lance brand crackers packages and carry it around in my pocket. I don’t know why I did that then. Lance didn’t really even talk to me until I was in middleschool. I don’t think in the first grade you really notice guys that much but I must’ve noticed him. From 7 years old until 6th grade, that’s all I really remember about when Lance moved to Bowling Green and came to my church.

But then…I mean a BIG ‘but then’, I fell like crazy for him in 6th grade. I remember when Alanis Morisette’s song “Head Over Feet” came out, I would just ache to hear it on the radio so I could daydream about him. It got so bad that one night I actually called a friend of mine and, in all seriousness, asked her to sing it to me over the phone because I didn’t know the words to sing it myself and I loved the Lance butterflies it gave me. At this point of time he pretty much ignored me for the most part but I made sure I dressed up “cute” for youth group every Wednesday and I always tried to stand next to him during prayer so we could hold hands.

Years passed until the summer of my 8th grade year came. The youth group went on a church trip to Birmingham and this is where my love story of chasing after Lance finally became reciprocal. I remember with great detail arriving at the retreat and going and sitting a round table with my friends. The room was dimly lit and the carpet was burgundy. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lance start walking. Was he walking towards me? No way. He did pay attention to me on the ride down but never really much outside of that two hour trip. But, no matter how unreal it seemed, he was, in fact, walking over to me. My stomach dropped as he asked me if I would go outside and talk to him for a minute. That walk to the hotel sidewalk was the most exciting 20 feet I had ever walked.

He leaned up against the hotel wall that was white painted brick that had begun to chip. I sat on a short wall that had planted flowers in it and I held my breath because I couldn’t imagine what he wanted to say to me publicly muchless privately. Then he started,

“I just wanted to tell you that I think there is something different about you and I can’t get you off my mind. I just wanted you to know that I always know where you are in a room.”

I would say I was exhilarated but that would’ve been a gross understatement. I had told my mother 2 years earlier as a young, “I’m sure you’ll change your mind” little girl that I would marry him someday. 730 days later, I thought for the first time, “Oh my gosh, you might actually be right.”

I was soaring the rest of the trip. The night before we left he sang me a Garth Brooks song that he changed the lyrics of to make it about me and him. Cheesy? Perhaps, but that didn’t keep me from playing the first verse of that song over and over again on my discman the whole ride home. Also on the ride home you should know that he finally sat next to me on the bus like I had dreamed about for all those years. There was a pillow over our hands and our hands were touching but not holding because neither of us had the guts. It was a four hour ride home and he didn’t move the brave 4 centimeters to hold my hand until we pulled back into the church parking lot. When he did…fireworks! There is such a sweetness to a time where all you want to do is hold hands and it takes you all day to get the nerve to intertwine your fingers. I can still remember my whole body going to mush when he squeezed my hand.

We started dating that day and it lasted a whole 9 months until I gave the ole’ sweety the boot. But, to me, that’s where the story really gets good.

From the time we broke-up until the time we dated again was over three years and I was with another guy this whole time. This guy wasn’t the best in the world to me and I picked up a big emotional ticket for it but during this time, there was someone commited to me and it was Lance. For 3 years he hurt and missed me dearly…loved me dearly. He still brought me flowers, sung outside my window at night, and still always knew where I was in a room. Two and a half years into my relationship with the other guy and right before Lance went to college, he left me quite the farewell. One morning he called me very early and told me to go outside. I lazily opened the front door and stepped on a long stem rose. I ran back inside to get my contacts and ran back to my front door to see a trail of roses end to end. They went all the way into my yard and formed a big heart made of flowers and the inside of the heart was filled with rose petals. There was another trail of flowers leading from the heart all the way to my car where there was a ribbon tied rose with a letter on my windsheild. The letter told me he loved me and with that, he was gone to Jackson, TN. to start his college years. We still always talked but as expected and as he deserved, he finally moved on and dated a girl so beautiful. The kind of girl you worry about your ex-es dating. But then again, I deserved it and I did have a boyfriend. While Lance was with this girl, if you can believe this…he left my picture up in his room. A year into their relationship they broke-up and she told him, “Either you are going to date Rebecca again and marry her or date her again and realize she’s not the one but until then, you will never give anyone else a chance!” When Lance and I began dating again a short while later, she sent me an email, a sweet one, that said, “I just want you to know that you always had his heart”.

As all of this went on, I was at the point where I couldn’t take my old relationship. 6 months later I called it off and two weeks after that, I kissed Lance for the first time in 4 years and it was the single best kiss of my entire life hands down. He had always tried to kiss me EVERY time he saw me, boyfriend or not, and finally we did. Lance told me he loved me right away because even after all that time, he never stopped. One year later we were engaged and married the following year. Coming out of the last relationship I had I was so damaged, hurt, and anxious but God blessed with a man who had already proven to me that he could love me even when I didn’t love him. Not only that, he did so not as an adult but as a young, teenage boy who didn’t have to wait around for unrequited love. Loving him again was one of the easiest things I’ve ever had to do.

That year leading up to our wedding was so wonderful and so exciting. We bought our first little house and fixed it up and I loved every second of every minute of getting to that altar. On August 7, 2004, teary eyed I put on a dress and took the arm of another great man who walked me down the aisle to the person that it seemed like it took me a lifetime to get to. It was the most exciting 20 feet I’ll ever walk.

The Red House April 30, 2009

In a small town in, I think, one of the Carolina’s there are these two young guys who go around and film free commercials for people in their area. This is a real commercial that is aired. The guys asked the workers to tell them about their company and they said that they have alot of black and white customers. Naturally this commercial only makes sense.

Happy Mother’s Day Cake May 4, 2009

Here is my latest cake…my first attempt at making a person. The person who ordered the cake wanted a “shopping” theme because that’s what her mother loves to do. DAV is her favorite store. She also wanted books on the cake because she’s an avid reader so this is what she got! I’m not taking anymore orders until July and I’m pretty happy to have a break! All of the figures are gumpaste. Edible but not delectable.

Post-Op Bo Bop May 4, 2009

I had my post-op Friday and it was divine. My stitches are gone and realved a newly formed belly button beneath. This was totally fine by me because my belly button was weird to begin with. I’m not totally sure but I think I’ve decided this is an upgrade. When I was kid I use to stick small broken pieces of spaghetti noodles in my belly button to push over this fold of skin that I thought looked weird. I have a feeling these stitches are going to leave me with more of a long term result that couldn’t be obtained with pasta. So…yay me.

The doc answered a lot of questions for me and showed me some more pictures of my baby factory. She said we could start trying that night which was a big hooray for us. This nurse at the center had told me a week earlier that we couldn’t until next month. I believe we call that sabatoge!!!

Needless to say we followed doctors orders….

Basically the appointment was short and sweet and she told me to call her in 3-4 months if I hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. I’m so glad the wondering is over. I’m a little nervous about trying again just because I hate the disappointment train but I’m trying to keep a good balance between hope, reality, and acceptance for whatever will be.

No matter what happens, I still got a free belly button. Surgery that cleared up my endo and a free complimentary navel on tha’ side! It should be on the hospital value menu.

In My Head May 6, 2009

Why does Oprah always try to sing along with the singers on her show when it’s obvious that she doesn’t know the words? She does realize that there are video cameras there, right?

Why don’t penguin’s feet freeze to the ice? They get wet and still don’t freeze to the ice.

Oprah always interuppts or cuts off the people on her show….does she realize that? Have you noticed?

Don’t ever get a black car. They look great when they are clean but that only lasts two seconds and why would you want a car that requires extra and constant care to keep it clean looking when you could get another color? Plus, bird poop cooks on black ten times faster and eats holes through your paint.

Has anyone realized that Lady GaGa is kind of like a more revelant Spice Girl who is doing a solo act?

The person who discovers a cure for cellulite will become one of the richest people ever recorded in history.

Who keeps stealing my recycling bin? It disappeared one day and then came back on my porch the next week. Then someone took it again this week.

Why do millions of people have infertility today but pilgrims and stuff could have 13 kids a pop?

The most used bathroom stalls in a public restroom is the first stall on the right. Typically, people will go to the right when doing something directionally.

Why are jeans SO hard to find?

I saw a pair of styrup pants in the store yesterday.

Why does ankle hair grow at ten times the rate of thigh hair?

Why do I always go into the stinkiest stall in a public restroom when I’m intentionally trying to avoid it?

Dancing, singing, and playing with children can make a man 48 times more attractive.

If Lance doesn’t stop twittering I’m going to beat him up. Maybe he should start dancing or singing.

Ovaries look like small white brains or califlower.

Cocker spaniels are so freakin’ cute and nobody ever has one.

It’s really funny to take a credit card and slide it through someone’s butt crack and say “Beep” or “Approved”.

Wishing for Words May 11, 2009

This just in: men and women are totally different. Lance’s needs are totally different than mine. A lot of his needs are those that a mother fulfills which is totally barfy, but I will accept it. You know what I mean, cleaning, giving him schedule reminders, telling him to pluck his eyebrows….standard things. Emotionally he just needs to see me and be with me in the house. Also, he needs the russian bed dance which we can not fail to mention if we are trying to avoid any elephants in the blog room.

But me? I ,ultimately, need a connection with him every day. Of course with our busy lives, it’s hard to get that in on a daily basis. I can spend all day with him on the couch watching TV and then when our show is over he’ll be ready to hit the hay. I’m like….”Wait…let’s talk….let’s play Yahtzee…let’s SOMETHING!” Really all I’m wanting is to be his focus and to feel like we bonded or shared some sort of verbal intimacy for the day.

When you think about girls growing up and compare it boys growing up, it all makes sense. How do girls form friendships? We talk, we share, we sympathize, we make ourselves vunerable to each other. What makes two girls classify themselves as best friends? Two things: the frequency of which we do the above things I just listed and the sharing of personal secrets which creates vunerability which builds trust which equals the announcement that a girl prizes: “You are my best friend!” There is so much pride in that statement for girls. Especially young girls.

Boys on the other hand bond in ways that we don’t. A lot of their friendships are built in common interest and frequency of time spent together. Boys don’t have to tell each other things that require a pinky promise to feel close to each other. They grow up their whole life not being especially vunerable to each other and their communication is very, very different than ours. Their friendship is more in presence and similarity, not in deep emotional sharing. That isn’t a requirement for their closeness. They don’t need to “talk things out” or tell their friend that they are more handsome then their ex’s new boyfriend. No, the more they are together with similar interests/personality, the more likely they are to give a best friend title to each other. But only in their minds, of course. Boys don’t take each other aside and say, “You are my best friend”…that’s a girls way of bonding.

And herein lies our problem. Lance or (enter your own spouse’s name) can sit next to me totally absorbed in a book or on the computer and feel like we spent time together. I, on the other hand, wish he would stop and say, “We are best friends forever”. When you are new in a relationship it is easier to have this effect lessened because you are riding the number 9 cloud so hard that all you want to do is speak emotionally to each other: “I missed you today.” “You are so beautfiul.” You know, whatever….

But then you come to a point where you still feel that way but because of our lives, routine, and schedules, we don’t have the time, energy, or whatever it is to put the time it takes into really connecting with each other. In time, once comfort sets in, we all revert back to our instincts of communication. And for Lance, that’s being fine with us both watching our favorite show and for me, that’s wishing he would just tell me a secret.

There are times though, just like this week, where I nag him to put down the book, magazine, newspaper, laptop, cellphone and I turn off the TV or quit trying to pick-up that last thing that fell into the mysterious stack on the countertop that never seems to disappear and then it’s silence, it’s just us. I’m dying to just have a conversation and then sitting in our quiet house, there is NOTHING TO SAY! I guess no matter how much you love your spouse, when you live every single day of your life together, there are no new stories, no surprises and a lot of “what happenened today” isn’t intriguing even to the one who is telling the story. This phenomenon is no one’s fault and it happens to the best and worst marriages alike. I’m the one yearning to have a real conversations with him and I’m like…ummm…Bonkers had a hairball today…

So how do we find that intimacy with our spouses that we as women need to connect? As I sit here watching the cursor flash at me waiting for the next word…I have no idea. Today, I’ll settle for a close second.

Anyone have any good secrets?

Quote of the Week May 7, 2009

Sometimes I wish Marta was more loyal to me. Like the other day. The car parked next to ours had real dirty windsheild, so I wrote THIS CAR LOOKS LIKE A FART in the dirt. Later I asked Marta if she thought it was a childish thing to do. She said, “Well, maybe.” Man, whose side is she on anyway?

And they called it kitty love… May 11, 2009

About ten times a week I point to my cat and say to Lance, “Do you know what this is?”

“What?”

“A good man.”

Or I say, “Do you know what this is?”

“What?”

“A good poosie cat.”

Poosie cat is less offensive than…you know….

I asked Lance if all of this talk about my cat made him feel jealous. I do afterall describe Bonkers as being a really good man.

I can’t help it though. Bonkers is handsome and strong. He’s affectionate and independent. He’s athletic. He eats really scary spiders and kept mice out of my house all winter (with the help of really great woman: Skittles). He purrs instead of scratching when the vet sticks a thermometer up his behind. He’s patient and loves me even when I don’t give him what he wants. He makes me laugh and I miss him when he’s gone. He watches out for his sister and he works real hard at cleaning his privates.

Could he be the perfect man?

TMI August 26, 2009

What exactly is too much information?  It drives me Bah-nanas when people act like silly comments are TMI. Example:  Tonight someone was talking about their hairy legs and I said, “You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen the likes of these (pointing to my pits) or the likes of these (pointing to my legs). That comment is honest and funny simultaneously so double good. The people standing there didn’t see how wonderful of a comment that was.  They acted sheepish and laughed uncomfortably like I just mooned them or something.

I have a tendency to say things like that and it surprises people.  Not to be left out, it surprises me back that it surprises them.  I don’t say vulgar or inappropriate things, just things that usually you only tell close friends but I say them in front of people who aren’t close friends.  But here’s the deal, if it’s not vulgar or offensive when I say it to someone I know, the content or appropriateness of what I’m saying doesn’t change just because I said it to someone I don’t know as well.    Does that make sense?  Basically, if it’s not inappropriate for my friends, it’s not inappropriate and if it’s my personal info that I’m choosing to share then it should be fine for me to say it to anyone if I feel comfortable.  Sure people can be offended by statements like, “I’m having the worst period today” but I will never get why.  You are NEVER going to make me uncomfortable by being human in front of me.  Just  as long as you don’t say it while people are eating or at a job interview.  I mean you can’t be a total idiot.  Assuming you’ll use some discretion, I don’t think it should matter. 

Here’s the deal,  if I’m with my friends and some  of their buddies that I don’t that well, I may just talk to them like I would a friend I’ve known for some time.  They could say I was weird but I’m just saying the same things they say to their friends when they are alone.  The only thing that keeps people from being more transparent with people like that is fear that they will be judged or looked at as weird.  I think of it as just being more your true self right off the bat instead of waiting until you know each other “x” amount of time before you say what you are only supposed to say to your best buddies.  You will get to see me and my personality right away rather than having to wait out this weird imposed social norm of how long you should know someone until you are totally yourself. 

Go ahead!  Tell your new acquaintance in the office that you wanted to punch your husband in the head last night.  People will like your humor and be drawn to your sincerity.  If you feel like sharing personal information, just do it.  I pretty much told my entire office overtime that I was struggling through infertility.  Sure that info is “personal” and you don’t have to share it but I gained so much support by wearing my heart on my sleeve.  It was so wonderful to announce my pregnancy today at a business meeting and have everyone applaud and be so delighted for me.  I like the pay off of baring your soul to people.  While it can be a risk, it can be so rewarding.  Don’t let some illogical social rule determine if you will be confident to be yourself and say what you want to people. 

Let’s work this through:

Why did someone think it was so surprising for me to say that I have hairy legs?  The reason to them might be because “You just don’t say those things!”  Okay…says who?  Says “I don’t know that just how we do it”?  That is never a good enough answer to me.  They are my hairy legs and if I want to joke about them publicly then laugh on Beckycat!  That same person would tell their spouse or friend that they had hairy legs.  Was it crazy then?  Nope.  They are just fine with it.  Why?  Because it’s okay to talk about having hairy legs they just aren’t comfortable enough or sometimes, confident enough, to do it in front of others because of what they might think.   So it’s not really about appropriateness.  It’s about whether or not you feel comfortable.  BOOM.  Busted.  That’s not me and not enough reason for me not to make you laugh and free you with the sincerity of my true colors.  I find that a lot of people like my funny frankness and are comfortable with me doing it, just as long as it’s not them.   That just lets me know that it’s really okay and people not only don’t mind it, they enjoy watching the humorous interactions of someone being that uninhibited.  It just comes down to whether or not you’re comfortable enough to speak things as they come to you.  It’s not so much about what’s “appropriate” according to the invisible social norm that came from who knows where that everyone lives by.  If you don’t want to tell me after knowing me a short while that your underwear is riding up then that’s okay.   Just don’t avoid telling me because you are insecure of what I might think.  And for the record, my legs are hairy tonight and it feels like someone stuck knives in my chest because of my tadpole baby growing inside of me.  Whew, that feels good! Goodnight!

Check it May 13, 2009

3 websites you have to check out:

Pandora.com- This is internet radio for free. Not radio where they play Lady GaGa or Taylor Swift every other song in between thirty commerncials but commercial free music that YOU can personalize. What you do is type in an artist, song title, or genre and they create a “station” for you. You can create as many stations as you want. What they do is play other artists or similar songs to what you typed in so it’s the perfect station. I do this while I work and just let it run in the background. Love it. Give her a looksie.

Failblog.org- If you like giggling and joy then you like failblog. This site is made up of images of real-life things people have seen and sent in. Stupid things…kind of like the misprinted advertisements that people send into Jay Leno to read on his show. It’s really funny and a mindless type of blog to enjoy. Unlike this deep analytical piece I’m typing rightnow. Here’s a sample:

see more pwn and owned pictures

see more pwn and owned pictures<

You can select “show me only G-rated photos and videos” to avoid any trauma. The site isn’t intended to be bad, it’s just that random people can submit and every now and then you get a rascal or two.

Cakewrecks.com- As a cake decorator, I find comfort in this blog at times. This is a professional site where people send in terrible cake disasters of cakes they paid for. Sometimes there are regular pictures but 90 percent are all cake gone wrong with funny blurbs about them. Sometimes they show you a picture of what the cake was supposed to look like and then what they people got. I hope and pray I never make this site. This is, however, what I’m up against:

Letter To My Mother May 15, 2009

July 31, 2004

Dear Mother,

You have always been faithful to be present and supportive in all the events of our lives, and as I stand here on the eve of my wedding day, it is still no different. I’m thankful for the blessing of wonderful parents who started me on the right path so that I can stand before Lance in a few days as a woman who is ready to love and share a life with another person. Many traits in me that Lance and our future children will love have all been gifts from you. I thank you for all of the things that you have instilled in me that have allowed me to be who I am today.

Just remember as my life changes that, in your words when your father passed, “We always need our parents.” I hope that you can look at this transition as a time where you can teach me new things about life and, eventually, motherhood as I open a new chapter. I thank God that He gave me a mother like you who taught me as a chlid to follow Him which has allowed me to be thankful for my past and hopeful for my new future ahead. I love you very much.

Your Daughter,

Rebecca

Love Learned May 18, 2009

My mother always made our lives something to celebrate. Every year she would go to the store and buy a cake mix and make us a special cake that had something to do with our lives or what we loved at the time. I’m sure this is where I started thinking that cakes were really interesting & exciting. Here are a few….

| View Show | Create Your Own

Worst Advice May 20, 2009

It’s hard to know what to say to someone who is unsuccessfully trying to have a baby. All of the below things are said by sweet people who mean well and in the words of Tupac, “I ain’t made at cha’”. But  let me help you out.  Don’t say this:

1- You need to quit worrying about it.

This makes me so frustrated that it makes me want to give YOU something not worry about. (Deep breath, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

And we’re back. For starters, there is no scientific evidence or otherwise that states that worry throws your cycle off. If that was the case then no one would ever get pregnant EVER because day to day the average person is worrying about something. If worry keeps your body from ovulating then it would almost never happen for any woman. It’s not like your egg goes to release and then thinks, “Wait, was that a regular worry thought or a baby worry thought?!? I can’t decide if I’m supposed to go!!!!”

PLEASE People!!! My gyno says only major life stressors (family member dying, etc.) have the ability to throw your cycle. If worry kept you from conception then no person who has ever had fertility issues would concieve. Can I get an amen from my fellow barren sisters?! Thank you, think I heard one from the blog in the back.

2- Just adopt a baby and then you’ll get pregnant.

Okay, okay a lot of people have told me this advice, as well as all these others. I know it’s all in good fun. No one is actually saying that I should adopt as a magic recipe to get pregnant. However, this phrase becomes kind of like any cliche someone may hear when pregnant. An example for someone who is pregnant with their 2nd plus child, “You know what causes that, right?” It becomes one of those things that you have to generically smile and laugh at.

As a sister of adopted siblilngs, I don’t know how to respond to that anyways. I usually just say something heart felt like, “Yeah I’ve heard of that” or “That’s what they say”.

Here are the facts people, that happens 12.5 percent or LESS of the time which is the actual statistic. Do you know what those odds are? Worse odds than what a couple has of  getting pregnant every month on their own which is 20 percent every month. Just as many infertile couples conceive after deciding to live a child-free life as they do when they adopt.  People think that happens all the time because you only hear the good news. You aren’t hearing about all the thousands times it doesn’t happen which means it seems more frequent because the good is the only thing actually being reported. I can accept that comment as a space filler but this comment gets old super fast.   This coming from someone who has plans to adopt regardless.

3- Well it took my friend 15 years to have a baby and then she did at 65. (Insert other similar stories)

Really?! Only 15 years? Well ring the bells and hallelujah consider me comforted!!! I understand the point of this story is to give comfort that, even when it seems like it’s not going happen, it can. And while that’s very true, it tends to make you feel worse. You don’t want to tell someone exhausted from the journey of infertility, a journey that makes weeks feel like years, that in just 8 plus short years this could be over for you!. What you need is to just take it a day at a time and not focus on possibilities but just get to place where you can accept where you are. Telling someone extreme stories like that is like telling someone with a diease, “My aunt had the same diease for 20 years and then they cut all her legs off and one thumb and now she is better!”  You don’t know if you should be encouraged or just look at your legs and thumb and hold on to them for dear life!  It’s the same with the baby stories.  Feel me?

——————————————————————–

Small Town May 19, 2009

I drove to a restaurant in a small little town out on the outer edges my hometown. On the square there was a salon and it was called, “Curl Up and Dye”.

Awesome.

Hometown September 1, 2009

Sixteen and one month old. Sun tan and a milkshake. Sunshine and wind blowing between the smattering laughter amongst the beats of a song played too loudly. No where to go. No where to be. Just sixteen for the day and what felt like forever.

Songs filled my ears, the heart throb that was the heart ache filled my every thought. Freedom and being stuck simulataneously.

Every tree, car, shirt had a memory attached to it.  Still do.  When it was all done, it took me years to get use to driving around this town without the distraction of all the stories that came with it.  After we broke-up it took years for a tree to be a tree and sidewalks to a place for walking and not some where we had been together.

Hundreds of carefree kids standing aimlessly in a dark field.  Me and a six pack….of Mountain Dew.  One, two, three…too many kids in a car.  Coming in late, sleeping until 2 the next day.  Laughing, crying, loving the life of day after day floating freely and sincerely.

Red van, white suv, red jeep, white Camry caught my eye every time one went down the street.  They carried some of the most memorable people to me to and from the school that was our life for 4 years.

Driveways covered in chalk in the middle of the night by sneaky girls.  Cops at your door when your parents went out of town.

Silver pom poms, yucky spandex, nervous stomach, a blast everytime.

I can drive your streets with my eyes closed and they can take me in any direction to people that I love.

People let you over in traffic.  You smile at strangers and ask every one how they are doing.

Safe neighborhood streets, paths taken for candy on late, chilly Halloween nights, pond with a Willow tree, the perfect place for late night walks.  Trees by the creek with my name carved in.

The place I never wanted to leave that welcomed me right back.  Keeper of friends, family, and stories.

A short drive to anywhere you want to go.  Big enough to please, small enough to be home.  Big enough to be lost, small enough to be found.  Charming comfort where life was really lived.  There’s no place like home.

The Walk & The Thing May 21, 2009

I hate being married today.

There are probably more euphemistic ways of saying that but I’d only be doing that to be socially acceptable which is pleasing no real person but adhereing to an idea of being appropriate.  Did I offend you?  Get married and get back to me.  I think as a pastor’s wife I’m not supposed to say that but I hate that too because christians AND non-christians feel this way at times and that’s normal.  I’m not saying it’s great but I’m saying we are messy people and it’s normal and somebody should be talking about it in real terms.  So I’m saying it Mr. World, in unmistakable words which means they sound verbatim like the same thoughts you have in your head… the ugly, blunt ones that you fluff up before you say them out loud. 

Why am I mad?  Why do I hate marriage’s guts?  I hate it because every long-term relationship of any kind has it’s “thing”:  the conversation that just won’t quit that you are tired of having,  the thing that you’ve rephrased a million times that they don’t understand,  the thing they should get but they don’t,  the situation that keeps reoccuring like groundhog day wether it’s something more serious or just the freakin’ pair of socks that are daily left somewhere in your house like a dang sock easter hunt.  Believe it or not, socks are not what I’m mad about today which is surprising based upon the expressive emotion I just gave to the example.

I’m mad about our real thing.  The thing that is the root of all things in our marriage thing.  And to make it worse, doesn’t your “thing” always seem to glare it’s ugly grin at you before company comes over?  Faking your way through a dinner is THE WORST!  And, I’m no good faker.  That’s one of the reasons I hate to be told jokes.  I’m going to want to laugh at you really bad because I don’t want to hurt your feelings but I’m really not good at faking laughter.  Unless of course I can turn it around to be secretly laughing at how awkward your joke was and laugh at that instead of your actual joke.  This is besides the point though…

I’m about ten minutes away from going on “the walk” to talk about this stupid thing that I’m so over.  The walk was even my idea because I have to “talk it out” or I won’t “talk to him pleasantly” for a few hours if not a day or two.  I’m forcing myself to be a big kid and take this walk that I’ve been walking for years now.  If you could walk a mile in these shoes you’d say…ummmmmm….nothing because you’d walk off a bridge and it’d be over.  I sure hope you weren’t thinking of the “thing” on your way down poor shoes.

It’s 1o:3o pm on May 20th 2009.  Here goes walk number 436.

Rebecca’s Life Lessons That You Better Write Down June 4, 2009

If you have a nice car, park next to other nice cars that won’t dink your door with theirs.  Don’t park next to an old junky car.  Those cars have nothing left to lose.

If you want to keep your back yard nice, avoid the following: chain link fences, mulitiple toys in the yard, multi-color swing sets, & objects that are the same length/width of your house such as a boat in the driveway, trampolines, and, of course, above ground pools. 

If you insist on taking baths then take a shower first and then a bath.  If you just jump right in the tub, your nasty will float around and you’ll just splash it all over you and become imaginary clean.

If someone catches you singing a song in your car at an intersection and you’re doing hand gestures and the whole 9, I think it’s best to just go ahead and finish the song.

Never let one go in public, discreetly or otherwise.  I’ve come to learn that as soon as you do, someone WILL come around you.  It’s almost like it beckons them.

No matter what the ad says, don’t sign up for a free gift card to a place in exchange for watching a demo at your house.  It will just end with a guy in your house hassling you  to buy something.  Then they will get mad when you say no and they’ll slam up their breifcase like a little baby and give you the silent treatment in your own house.  Then you’ll say, ”I’m sorry  Roy Flowers I just don’t think this water filter is a necessity.” Then he’ll yell at you like you just insulted the Queen and say, “It is for my family!”   And then he’ll just walk away and never mail you your gift card. 

If you are looking for new ways to devalue your vehicle, put a bumper sticker on it. 

If someone lets you pull out in front of them or stops so that you can turn across traffic, you better give the courtesy wave.  You just better.

Never break in a curve. 

Don’t shave anything that you don’t want to shave for the rest of your life.

This is a good one.  If you can’t remember someone’s name and you need to do an introduction, look at the person you are with and say this is my (insert relationship).  Don’t say anything else.  Once you’ve said that then the person you are with is in the position to make their own introduction and say, “Hi, I’m Charley”.  Charley sticks out his hand to give a great handshake and what happens next?  The person you can’t remember the name will introduce themselves to your person, thus giving you their name.  Then you can use it for the rest of the conversation as if you knew it all along.

Don’t tan very much.  It’s great to look good when you’re young but you’ll spend a lot more time being old.  When you’re old, you’ll need a lot more help than you needed when you were 16 so go ahead and do something for future you.

Get your act together and figure out a good handshake.  Not so much a handshake routine between friends but a real, firm, I’m no noodle handed girl so you better hire me for this job handshake.  If I were a boss and a girl came in for a job interview and gave me one of those handshakes where they bend their hand and only give you their fingers to shake, then I would say “You are fired” and she would know to just turn around and leave.

Teach these to your children.

Diary 02 June 2, 2009

I am a person who wears her heart and everything that entails on her sleeve.  Being so full of feeling can, as all things, be a blessing and curse.  I’m really sensitive but I’m also really empathetic and sympathetic.  I could sit down with the biggest butthead and still find some way to relate to them and feel their pain.  Usually it’s the pain that helped them be a butthead.  I could sit down beside a lizard that has a scratch on its back and feel really bad for it. 

Another example of my heart sleeves, I love to feel every detail of all things feelable.  It’s my favorite.  How does this show itself?  Probably in 565 blogs about memories.  If you notice, I love to reflect about things in life that stirred up my already freshly stirred heart.  Divorce, marriage, infertility, relationships, good times with buddies, you know…the standards. 

Since I love reflecting, I’m sentimental.  Since I’m sentimental, I have a deep appreciation for all of the things and people that make up my life.  I love living and experiencing the gammit of what that does on my old ticker. 

When I think about my life, especially the teenage years, young love always plays on my heart and the thrilling firsts you go through during those years: getting your braces off and feelin’ all stunning with your pearly whites, first date, first car, first dance, etc.

My writing well feels empty at the  moment so I pulled out the old diary and apparently, the longing I have for emotionally engaging situations apparently has been around for a long time.

August 9, 2002 (2 years till Lance and I married)

12:05 am

On the ride home I was thinking a lot about falling in love for the first time.  There are the nights where you go out nervous stomached wondering if you’ll see “that guy”.  The first kiss.  Oh, it makes me smile!  Falling in love is such an adventerous rush.  Break-ups and all.  Even though if I could go back I wouldn’t date around, I’d like to do the “firsts” all over again.  There is nothing like the first kiss whether it’s literally the first or the first one with a new person.

I love Lance so much and I’m not wishing things were different but even still with him I wish I could do it all over again.  For example, the first time we kissed again at Covington Woods, wait a second, Keriakis first, then Covington.  I just remember Covington more.  There were few things better than that night.

Just like that night, one thing I’ve always been good at is knowing the moments.  Sometimes people don’t realize when the best day or moments in their lives are happening.  I’ve always been good at seeing those moments for what they are and savoring them.  I’ll always look around and take a deep breath and think, “Look around because the next time you see this will be in your memory when your are thinking about what an amazing day this was.”  I just hope my children will remember those moments as they pass.  I hope they know that some of the best things in life only happen once.

So maybe all of this stuff plays into my fear of getting “use” to someone in a relationship.  I think it’s my biggest fear about marriage.  Few things compare to the sensation you get the first time he holds your hand or kisses you.  I’d hate to think of never feeling this way again just because it’s the same hand I’m still grabbing.

What is it about time that makes lips just a part of the body when it use to the thing you waiting all night for?  It’s funny to me that people will say that they can’t wait to wake up next their future spouse everyday but then grant them their wish and the other body in the bed becomes something you bump into as you roll over to dream about the next thing to wish for.

How can time and routine kill passion? Time is irrelevant to love.

NYC June 11, 2009

Posting this from NYC because the stupid thing didn’t post for me like it was supposed to.  Dumb.

Three days ago, Lance and I decided that we would leave for the big apple…today. This is against everything in my nature that desires to plan, dream, organize, dream, and pack.  And save.

Nonetheless, I’m being a big girl and jumping on an airplane (which I don’t like doing anymore) and we are flying to a well needed vacation amongst smog and smelly subways.

Once we arrive, we don’t have much extra funds to actually survive while we are there but hey, who cares right? Me, my anxiety is screaming at me to care and I say, “You better just shut that stupid mouth!” 

I got our hotel off of priceline and I was thinking, “Hmmmm, will someone accept a bid for a 3 star hotel right outside of Times Square for 50 dollars…” Okay I’m exaggerating but it does sound good to me. I spent so many hours searching for hotels for this trip that I was becoming pre-menstral without being pre-menstral. Lance always seems to think that he can do things better than me even though he does the exact same things I do so he said, “Give me the computer I’ll do it.”

I had no faith in him, it’s true. What could he do that I couldn’t type into a search engine myself? After 10 minutes of hearing nothing from his office I went in to see what he had found. I said, “What are you doing Lance?”

“I typed in free hotels in New York to see what I could find.”

Oh brother. I hope whatever skill set he used to think that he could find a free hotel in New York, are not the skill sets he will be using to protect me and navigate us through NYC.

I ended up booking us a hotel two nights ago and it looks nice from this end of the world, on this laptop.  I think it will be pretty good. 

Got tickets to blue man group and Taste of Time Square will be the first thing we do when we arrive.  That’s all I know.  I’m just happy to be somewhere with Lance where our phones can’t ring and we don’t have appointments to keep and dinners to make.  That last one applying to me of course.  I always look forward to a week of someone else cooking for me!  Whoot whoot.

I’m so excited!  Please refrain from all jealousy. 

Can’t wait to blog when I’m back because I’m-a sure I’ll have-a lots-a to say.  I will be posting a slideshow on here too so all of you who have never seen what Lance and I look like will need to brace yourself for extreme eye candy.  Start preparing yourselves now.

Not Acceptable! June 15, 2009

I was looking on Southwest.com before my trip to see how big my carry-on bag could be and this is what I found.  Just so you know, these items can’t be packed into your carry-on bags.  I’m sure there are a lot of disappointed people after reading this.  What else is there to do on a flight these days but play with your sword?  Airlines are so uptight. Item	Carry-on	Checked
Box Cutters	No	Yes
Ice Axes/Ice Picks	No	Yes
Knives – except for plastic or round bladed butter knives	No	Yes
Meat Cleavers	No	Yes
Razor-Type Blades – such as box cutters, utility knives, razor blades not in a cartridge, but excluding safety razors.	No	Yes
Sabers	No	Yes
Scissors – metal with pointed tips and blades shorter than four inches	Yes	Yes
Swords	No	Yes

 

Whew, glad I can still bring my butter knife.

Big Apple Slide June 14, 2009

1969 June 30, 2009

My dad has told me this one particular story many times. The first time he told it to me was simply because it came up. The other times are because I bring it up from time to time.

When my dad was in college he was a shy, quiet boy from a small town in Kentucky where Abraham Lincoln’s birth place was the town’s claim to fame. If Abraham Lincoln and my dad had lived at the same time, they would have pratically been neighbors. In this little town, despite growing up extremely poor, he was able to go to college and put himself through school. My dad, not Abe Lincoln.

One year in 1969 when it was time for his university’s Homecoming, he didn’t have enough nerve to ask a girl to go with him or the money, for that matter, even if he had the guts. So, he worked really hard and spent a whole months pay check on a brand new coat and he went and sat in the football stands alone. He’s told me a million times that it was no big deal and that then, people would go alone to things like that. No matter how many times he tells me that I either choke up or all out cry when I think of my sweet daddy sitting by himself in that brand new coat.

Somewhere soon after that night, a beautiful young stranger would walk onto his elevator in the campus parking structure, the future mother of his four children. And for once, he wasn’t afraid to ask.

35 years later I sat on that same campus taking this joke of a class with a sweet hippie professor. One night, instead of a lecture, she had us all go out to the lawn to have us spend the hour writing about whatever we wanted. I sat there for a second trying to decide if I should just act like I was writing. Maybe make-up some sort of bull crap to simply finish the assignment? Decisions, decisions… As my mind drifted I looked up and there in front of the sunset sat the very stadium my dad sat in all those years ago. The way it’s built you can see all the stands and I just stared at them and pictured him sitting there that night. I thought to myself that on that Homecoming he sat there alone having no idea that three decades later he would have 3 daughters and one son, all of which would graduate from that same university. No idea that his baby would be sitting there picturing him sitting in that very spot. I could see him there in my mind and I imagined what he was thinking that night. I wondered what he thought his life would be like the next 5, 10, 15 years. I wasn’t even a glimmer in his eye then and something about that thought puts me in awe.  Maybe because I can’t picture not being around.  I”m very much here but then, I wasn’t even a passing thought in his mind. You truly never know where life will take you.

Amazingly, that night on Western’s campus in 69, my dad wasn’t waiting for his ship to come in. He simply was where he was and fine to be there. There are two things that baffle me about that story. One, thinking of how much he had in store and how little of a clue he had about it all. Two, that he was fine to sit alone and live his life without counting the days away until he was the new and improved Michael because of some life change. We all need a bit of that in ourselves. A good mix of those two things: knowing that there is so much in store but content to enjoy what was in store for you for that moment.

Often we find ourselves in the opposite place as my dad was that night, sitting by ourselves waiting for something or someone to show up. Ready for that next big thing or stage. Very, very rarely do we bloom where we are planted.

Single people want marriage. Married people sometimes want to be single. Women want to be moms and for every woman dying to have a baby, there are 20 more watching in envy as the childless get in and out of store before they get their last child out of their carseat. We are a very discontented people.

When I first married I went through about a year of feeling like there was nothing good or exhilarating to experience in life. Nothing could surprise me because, hey…look at the facts: bought my first house, graduated college, had my first love, first kiss, first car etc…and that was years ago. Gotten engaged, had a wedding, and, consequently, had a husband. What was there left to do other than have kids and watch them relive all of the fun that wasn’t left for me to have any longer? Seemed so logical. However, as I was on my honeymoon, I had no, absolutley NO way of knowing that a little boy was born to a mother in the projects who couldn’t take care of him and that 6 months later via adoption, he’d become my little brother.

My point is this, we get so confident in the day to day that we almost become arrogant that we know tomorrow, we know what to expect. In all reality, we can’t know tomorrow because we don’t even know the possibilities. We don’t have the tools to forsee the possibilities of our future and it’s just a joke to say or act like we do. My father sat alone in that nice, new jacket and he wouldn’t have been able to tell you shortly after it would be on an elevator ride that his life would change. He could’ve thought, I will never meet anyone. I know all the girls in my classes. I know everyone at work. Where is it going to happen?! That’s what our daily logic tells us and hey, it does make sense for all we know. “All we know” being the key words there. We know there are moments that change our lives: children, death, and so on. What we don’t know is that change can come at any day. Even in a parking structure.

So for today, what we need is a dose of satisfaction for where we are and patience for what is to come. If you are student longing for graduation, you were never a student. If you are a single person consumed by finding a spouse then you never have the blessing of what singledom can give you. If you are a woman waiting on a baby, you forget to appreciate running into a store for 30 seconds to buy a pack of gum without a ten minute gymnastics routine of the carseat dance. Honestly, we spend so much of our time chasing after the next stage that we never really live in any of them. One of my favorite quotes is, “Enjoy yourself. These are the good ole’ days you are going to miss in the years to come.” We are always in the midst of something miss-able.

So you, well you are just like me. You are probably fine with today, hoping for something greater, and at times, dreaming of how things use to be. What we really need to do is realize that today you are in the middle of something you onced hoped for. Forget your assumptions about what your future holds and embrace the joys of a day that started with the same old alarm clock that woke you up to the blessings of your present.  Pour that last dollar into that new jacket, sit with a smile, and enjoy the view.  You may be just one elevator ride from never seeing it the same way again.

Calling All Parents June 24, 2009

Okay, okay you got me. I have nothin’ to say this week. I do have a question though for all of you parents out there.

What did you take for granted about your life before kids?

If you could go back to the time before you had kids and live that part of your adulthood again, what you would do differently in light of knowing how having kids changes your life?

Are You? June 24, 2009

June 26, 2009

When I have a baby I’m sure there will be tons to write about.  You know about how I’m tired and crazy, how happy I am, how funny my baby is, the stupid things I did, how I love being a mom, how I feel like I can’t handle motherhood, and so on and so on.  But today my life is a little run of mill.  Good, but mill running.

I could tell you that last night I went on a blind date with my powerwasher.  We had never met.  For one hour we got to know each other before I learned enough about him to actually start the date.  Once we began, I cleaned cement, walls, steps, and random things I sprayed to see what would happen.  We fell in love and then I left him in the garage all night and told him I’d look forward to hanging out tomorrow. I’m ashamed to tell you that I accidently killed a bug with my powerwasher.  It must’ve been a terrible way to die.  He was so innocent.  He didn’t even need cleaning.

The day before I murdered innocent life I got chewed out by a client’s mom via voicemail & passive aggressison and I worked through not caring.  It was pretty easy to do, surprisingly. 

Today I’m going to Walmart and to buy some new flowers to water and I’ll buy some food to cook.  I’ll probably buy some toilet paper too because there are no more napkins left in the house if you know what I mean.

I’m taking the ole’ man out to eat tonight for Father’s Day last week.  Then I’m going to get sick to my stomach and lose all that delicious food via the south end because I have to sing twice this weekend which equals at least one visit to the flusher.  Some people prepare for performance by practice. Me?  I prefer toileting.

My 8 week break from cakes will be coming to an end in 2 weeks. I’ve been really proud of myself for being able to say no to people too.  Not only “no” but being okay with saying no. If I’m being completely honest, I haven’t really missed it.  I’ve really needed a break.  I’ve been able to relax a whole lot more than I do on weekends when I’m despairing over a bowl of icing.  I’m sure I’ll continue to do them but fewer and far betweener.  It’s very satisfying at the end result but it’s also hard to say, “Look Lance, spent all weekend on this cake and you never got to see me BUT we made 5 dollars!!!!!!”  I understand his frustration.  Sometimes I even lose money on cakes…yowsers.

In other news, still no baby.  Two periods have come and gone but don’t be dismayed.  BEHOLD a new month is upon us!  I’m feeling like this is my month.  I don’t know why people say that because it’s based on nothing.  But still, based on that nothing my calculations tell me that this month is going to be my month!  I’m just thinking that my body is probably healed now from the surgery and that it can hardly wait to get busy on human buildling inside of my loins.  Go go gadget uterus!

Okay, so no earth shattering, tear jerking, make you roll on the floor blog but it should do.  I’m going to go scrub the Fruitty Peebles off my teeth and bid you adue!

Kristen Wigg June 29, 2009

I am in total love with Kristen Wigg from SNL.  Enjoy snickering with me, will you?

 http://www.hulu.com/watch/16388/saturday-night-live-surprise-party

http://www.hulu.com/watch/50941/saturday-night-live-virgania-horsens-hot-air-balloon-rides

Basically Bernie July 2, 2009

Would it make you mad if I told you that I felt compassion for Bernie Madolf? If you said no, would it make you mad if he had actually taken YOUR money and I told you I felt compassion for him? Is there a point to where you don’t feel compassion for people?

Now think about that. I didn’t ask, “Is there a point where you aren’t just?” Wrong should be punished. Why am I clarifying that? Because the logical argument when you ask someone a question like, should you feel compassion for Bernie Madolf, is going to be what? They are going to say, “No he did wrong and heartless things! And he did them intentionally!” But isn’t that really a cry for justice?  Can’t you be just and still be compassionate?   He, in fact, DID wrong and heartless things.  I’m in no way disagreeing with that.  Furthermore, I agree he should’ve been punished like he was.

To all of you who are rolling your eyes, bear with me.

I heard on ABC yesterday that Bernie smirked as he walked out of the court room after being sentenced 150 for destroying people’s lives. Although he apologized, he wasn’t remorseful which consequently isn’t a apology. So here’s another question:  Do you need someone to feel remorse to feel compassion for them? If you have a child or a friend who is a drug abuser and they’ve hurt you repeatedly, you still feel sorry for them. Now because we instinctively seek justice we might let them fall on their faces at their own expense but you knowing the tragedy of the situation may look on someone like that with pity or compassion.

Why in the world would I feel compassion for Bernie?  He’s not a “good man”.  I suppose it’s because of this.  When people make those types of decsions, I ache for the emptiness in them that caused them to be the “terrible” person they are.  What situations in their life aided their journey to a road of arrogance and self-hatred?

If I see a little boy in my office who has been repeatedly sexually abused, I see an innocent child who was taken advantage of and destroyed at the hands of someone who is sick and dysfunctional.  If you saw that same boy 15 years later who has gone on a path of destruction, abusing other kids, you’d see him as a pedophile who deserves no sympathy.  Who is he then?  The victim young boy who causes your heart to ache at the heinous things done to him, things that changed him forever?  Or is he a disgusting gross adult man who went on to do unspeakable things?  To some, he’s a little bit of both. But how compassionately you see him today depends on whether or not you see him as a pedophile adult or the little boy who lead him there.  I see people more as stories than decisions. 

I know this stance probably offends a lot of people but I think my perspective could do this world some good.  If teachers could look at ”bad kids” at school as the little boy who was ignored all night by his parents all to wake up in the morning to no breakfast and no parent to help him do his  project the night before while all the other kids walk in with their new clothes and fancy book reports, then they might see as more than just a brat. Why? Because they’d understand his rage and hurt.  If we could look at our parents and the mistakes they made in the past while raising us and not look at them as the person that let us down but as the person who did what they could as they tried to fight against their own temptations to be better than what our human nature tempts us to be, then we might see them more as humans than clumsy people responsible for our pain.  Look at people as the stories who brought them to that moment where they let you down in little or major ways and you might just have the ability to see them compassionately.

Some people are glass half full, glass half empty people.  I’m a half full person which some of you will think contradicts with the next statement. 

Some people are “people are basically good” people, and others “people are not basically good” but have sinful natures that are the driving force in their lives as they try to be different apart from God.  I’m a people are not basically good kind of gal.  Wow.  That’s an unpopular view in today’s world.  But let me explain to what that means to me and how it shapes my world view, including compassion.

I can look at Bernie Madolf and see a little of myself.  Just like parents are biased to their kids, if you can see yourself in someone else, you’ll look at them with more grace. 

See if I think people are basically bad, then I think people are capable of anything.  For example, I think anyone can commit adultery.  That shatters lives in a greater way than losing millions of dollars if you ask me.  People who think they aren’t capable of anything are actually the ones at a greater risk of doing the very things they think they’ll never do because they are so sure that they won’t become “that person” that they are doing nothing to make sure they won’t.  In the adultery example, people who are so sure that they won’t commit adultery are the ones who are putting themselves at risk by emailing a coworker back and forth because, hey, no big deal I would never commit adultery, this is a harmless email.  Until one day he tells you that you look nice and then you hang on every letter hoping for the rush of his words until one day BOOM it’s already happening. That situation doesn’t happen to mean, vilanized people.  It happens to me and you because we are all able to become anyone and make any decision.

How does this apply to Bernie Madolf?  I’m only guessing but I’m sure when he was young he probably thought he would never do something like that.  Until one day he gets a job.  He becomes powerful.  First it’s a few thousand here.  Few thousand there.  The rush becomes addictive and before you know it, he’s billions of dollars away from the man his wife married and from the man he thought’d he’d become.  Destruction comes to us in discreet doses.  If it came in one time, full dose prescriptions, most of us would never take it because we would be able to better see the fullness of what it  is.

So, I do believe we are a people very capable of evil.  I know that there are many criminals who do life altering, horrifying, atrocious things.  I know many of those people are sociopaths that were born sick minded and don’t have the sanity to know any different but to those who do know or have known different, I pause a little bit. 

Condoning them is the farthest thing from something I’d do. 

Sparing them punishment, even harsh punishment, isn’t even in the realm of possibilities in my mind. 

But when I heard the ABC commentator say that Bernie sat in the court room alone with no friends or family there and walked away to spend the next lifeless years in jail, I’d be lying if I didn’t have a moment where my heart twitched.  Evil he may be.  Lives he may have ruined.  But no consequence, at least for the sane man, is greater than total abandonment by those who have loved him.  As evil as he may be, human he is and the humanity in me ached for any trace of need for human love that he may left.

Is Bernie a sane man?  Maybe, maybe not.  Is he himself totally uncompassionate?  Perhaps, and by all the evidence presented I’d say so.  But how you see him or anyone else will depend largely on how you see people: basically good or bad.  If you see them as basically good then it’d be logical to cast him out and say that he’s not like us.  If you see him as basically bad,  you may say those aren’t choices I agree with, ones I’d never want to make, but you might also say the spark that took fire in him is the same one in me that if given the fuel, I might just fall too.

It’s not a popular way to look at the world.  But it’s a forgiving one.

There are two ways to look at someone when they’ve hurt you or someone else: stories or decisions, basically good or basically bad.  I hope you see me as one crazy story wrought with pain and joy, hurt and success.  And when you take in to consideration that story, I hope you see those decisions I’ve made and you can say, that could’ve been me.  It could’ve been you because you have fallen and were capable.  Then I hope you take that and spread it to a broader context and say,  it could’ve been anyone because we all fall. 

In that, we find grace. 

In grace, compassion and when it’s all said and done, we are better for having read the chapter that way.

Over Spilled Milk July 8, 2009

When Lance and I were very new newlyweds we were broke. We had this house that had been flipped that was our own little romantic bungalow. I mean, romantic except for the toilet that would clog everytime Lance graced it with number 2. Seriously, every time. If my babies make diapers like he makes toilets then I will have to start taking donations for diapers. All wussy toilets aside, it was a sweet, small first home to two giddy kids.

Then, we lived precious penny to precious penny and I, being the bank Nazi that I am, watched our dollars carefully. Lance had a hard time with the concept of being frugal. I’d be shopping for affordable meals at Walmart and he’d be sneaking Oreos and a newspaper in the cart whenever I turned around. We faught about that then. We fight about it now, sometimes, but it’s not so much specifically about the groceries anymore. Let’s be honest, husbands only go to the groceries with you in the beginning when it’s fun like you are playing house. After that, come rain, sleet, sun, or snow, you’re on your ladies.

But back to being broke… 

One night we decided that we needed milk and we came up with the spontaneous idea to walk a mile to the Walgreens at 11 at night. Oh yes, this would be fun. We’d walk a mile down one of our hometown’s busiest streets, get the jug, and walk back.

The adventure began. We felt silly walking down the busy road and laughed most of the way. We arrived at Walgreen’s, grabbed our 450 dollar gallon of milk and started the journey back to our humble abode. Somewhere along the way, the silliness increased and Lance began acting like a Jamaican woman, “carrying” the milk on his head. I, in my infinite wisdom, said, “Don’t do that! If you drop the milk after we walked all that way then I’ll kill you!”

Laughter continued. Lance’s ignoring of my wisdom continued. Five driveways from our house, Jamaican Lance dropped the milk. Shatter. Shatter precious milk shatter.

Lance began laughing wildly as our theorhetical money gushed all over the sidewalk.

Here’s the scene: Lance is red in the face laughing over the spilled milk. I am screaming “Pick it up” “Pick it up” like I had dropped a bowl of diamonds in the midnight street and thieves were circling.  I was dead serious.

I rushed to pick it up and sprinted it back to the house for emergency surgery. It may have just been milk but it was overpriced milk and I walked for it.

By the time I got it into the kitchen it had less than half a gallon left. The handle was busted so I held it by the bottom and put it in a casserole dish to save any last precious drops that might trickle out. I served the beverage by pouring it through the handle over the next week. Ahhhh the sweet satisfaction of money saved.

Although I must admit I was hypocrite.  I sacrificed many a potroast on our lawn in anger as I tried to get his mother’s recipe right.  I must’ve chucked at least 30 dollars of pot roast into my backyard while having a tantrum.  My grandfather use to remind me of all the starving children when I didn’t clean my plate as a child.  I’m so glad he wasn’t around to see me populate my yard with angry beef.

I at least gave the last pot roast a proper burial.  Lance came home and there in a plastic container on the counter with RIP written on the top, laid my final newlywed pot roast.  He didn’t have to asked what had happened. He already knew. I swore off roasts for a good year until I made my next one which was as tender as tree bark.

Those days seem like forever ago. 

I can cook a pot roast now just as good as my mother in law.  In yo’ face!  The only food product I’ve thrown in my yard has been one measley cake that deserved it.  Now if the milk gets dropped, I’ll say crap and buy a new one.  That’s right, we have it like that.  We can dispose of milk at leisure.

We still laugh and act Jaimacan if the mood is right. Still go on walks.  But as good as we have it, I still miss the days of the simple things where you laughed over clogged toilets, cried over meals gone wrong, and ocassionally…still jumped when you walked in on your spouse naked cause you just weren’t use to it yet.  The emotional depth to a long term marriage rivals it’s newer counterparts and honestly, I wouldn’t go back.  But , it’s still fun to remember.  So for old times sake I think I know what I’ll do.  I’ll go buy a glorious ripe roast, stand on the deck, and laugh as I launch it into the grass.  Lance may find it when he mows but if he looks at it long enough, he’ll understand.

Latest Creation July 13, 2009

This cake was done for Amanda and her 1 year old daughter Ava in Murfreesboro, TN.  I can’t take full credit for this design…a picture was given to me by the person ordering the cake.  The pic was found on the internet so I have no idea whose idea it orignially was.  I made variations to it but it’s all in all like the pic.

 

Here’s a before shot when I was just getting the basics set up…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here’s the final shot……

 

 

 

 

 

Smash cake….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More pics….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baby Gap July 16, 2009

Today I walked aimlessly around the mall with Lance, in search of a replacement pair of shorts. Roaming from store to store, we ended up in GAP where all the cheap shorts are. (note the sarcasm) After Lance showed me the third shirt that confirms that he WILL be rapidly declining in fashion to meet his final demise in his 40′s with dad jeans, I looked past the ugly shirts to tiny baby clothes that I never knew were there.

I have several pregnant people in my life so I started thumbing through the racks and piles. It’s hard to believe humans can be so small. It’s hard to believe they can charge you the same price for a shirt that’s 6 inches by 6 inches just as they would for a men’s XXL. Standing there and rumaging through piles I started to feel the ache that I always have stuffed somewhere inside. It’s a strange emotion to describe. Holding little vests and jeans in my hands isn’t bittersweet like some might think. I think the excitement of a future child would be the contrasting sweet part but I’m rarely full blown excited.  After so many months and now, 2 years, I know that there is a big fall from excitement to disappiontment.  In place of that feeling I have more of a vunerable hole that we as maternal beings have. It’s a hole that longs to be filled with a child but a hole that has hurt enough that it skirts around the edges of hope with caution. It’s almost more of a sense of loss than a bittersweetness.

It’s strange to mourn something you never had.

Even stranger still to mourn something that you will have somehow, someway. But I do.

I liken it to a Bride who is engaged whose father is absent, uncaring and won’t be there on that day to give her away. It wasn’t her’s to have. She knew it wasn’t hers to have but that doesn’t prevent the heart from dropping when it comes to mind.  Maybe this bride is lucky enough to have another special person to walk her down the aisle to take his place. Even still, as she sits in the pew and music plays, and she watches the bride walk arm and arm with her father, she still feels the ache of that absence.  That privelege.  It doesn’t have to be envy. It doesn’t have to be bittersweet. But it can be the loss of something. Even if it’s just the dream.  And it’s okay to grieve that.

Standing underneath the flourescent store lights at a baby clearance rack, I held the crumpled brown infant shirt in my hand. And I ached.  I felt the absence and I grieved.

I was suddently interrputed by Lance  who came proudly out of the dressing room wearing his final pair of replacement shorts. I put the 4.99, 100 percent cotton symbol of my solemn heart back on the rack and walked away. 

Many will have just read those words and think this is a story about self-pity.  Others will read the bride example and see it as a ephumistic story that describes envy.  Some will say this is all just a different take on bittersweet.  A quiet few will understand alongside of me that mourning doesn’t have to be self-pity.  Desire doesn’t have to be envy.  And pain doesn’t have to be bittersweet.  Albeit a fine line between them all.  

Standing at the checkout today, I finally came to terms with that myself after feeling so wrong for feeling sorrow over my infertility.  I wasn’t wallowing around as poor pitiful me.  I wasn’t desiring a child in an opposition to someone else having a child.  I wasn’t bittersweet.  I was mourning the loss of the dream where babies are conceived without pain and disappointment.  Mourning the absence of something I desire to love.  To those who have miscarried, I’m sure it is much of the same way.  The world doesn’t understand how you can feel so much affection for something you never had and never met.  But you do.  They were real to you.

This little nameless dream I have is very real to me and until that void is filled in my life from my own womb or someone elses, I’ll mourn it’s absence.

Punching in these final last keys, I silently appreciate that the tear on my cheek doesn’t represent the fact that I can’t accept my present, only that I am mourning and letting go of the dream that we have as children where will get married, have 3 kids, maybe 1 boy, 2 girls,  and we’ll all play in the yard behind the picket fence.  It’s hard when things don’t go as you planned.  No matter how necessary.

I’m no longer wrestling with my sorrow but rather sitting by it quietly, respectfully…letting it be.

It’s weird to mourn something you’ve never had. 

But I do.

Tails July 14, 2009

There is the first time you see your parents cry. Then there is the first time you see them naked. I know some of you guys saw your family members naked growing up and still do today. Not in my house. I haven’t seen my sisters naked since the ole’ bubble bath days. Even typing that makes me feel uncomfortable. If I were to see my family members naked, ANY of them, I would feel intensely visually violated. To put it mildly.

There was, however, a time when it was okay. Almost exciting. Clean your barf up and continue reading.

The first time I saw my dad naked I was a wee little girl in diapers. I want to say I was about 3 but who knows these things? I was standing innocently in the bathroom while my dad showered. Little did he know. He stepped out of the shower and my mom said a look of sheer delight came over my face as my big eyes widened, “Daddy, you have a tail!!!!” I could not believe it! After learning all of my animals, how could it be that the very man I called daddy was a part of this exquisite animal kingdom! My mom said I was so pleased. My dad was not pleased. I think he was embarassed that I had seen his tail. Probably also embarrassed that it looked pretty likely that I would be telling others about it. I couldn’t help it. If you found out your dad was part animal part, man wouldn’t you be pretty excited too? Put yourself in a three year old mindset. You work your zoo puzzles tirelessly everyday and then one day your dad comes out of hiding and emerges as a glorious zebra!!! Probably get excited just thinking about it…

The second time I saw my dad naked I, once again, was innocently and unknowingly in his room talking to my mom. He came out of the bathroom into the bedroom but this time I wasn’t delighted. This time I was 8 and I knew what tails were for and that I didn’t have one and that I wasn’t supposed to see tails. So I did what any kid would do and I went and sat by myself in front of the piano and played the piano song from BIG and I cried. My mom came in the room and tried to talk to me about it but there was nothing she could say. I just kept pushing the keys one by one.

Bum bum bum (sniff sniff)
Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum (sniff)

If I only I could remember simpler times when naked parents were nothing more than foxes and bears that you welcomed into your home.

So parents, be careful. Your kids will remember you naked the rest of your life. They may think it’s fascinating or they may cry. They may even write about it on the Internet. Guard your tails.

Pleasure Pamphlet: For Adults Only…& Teenagers July 20, 2009

I love reading news stories about sex because every time I do, I get a little bit more shocked and a little bit more fired.  Just when you think the world couldn’t be less inhibited, they surprise you.

“Britain’s National Health Services has a message for teens:  Sex can be fun.  Health officials are tyring to change the tone of sex education by urging teachers to emphasize that sexual relations can be healthy and pleasurable instead of simply explaining the mechanics of sex and warning about diease.” – The Associated Press

Whew!  I was so worried that teens weren’t enjoying sex!  Just wait until they hear it’s pleasurable. They are going to blow their lids!  Here these teenagers were forcing themselves to have sex all the while getting no satisfaction because of their excesssive fears of herpes.   When they find out that sex is fun they are all gonna start doing it! 

Paahhhhh–lease!  If there’s one thing kids know they like at that age, it’s sex and they don’t need a teacher to tell them it’s pleasurable for them to figure that part out.  But still, someone had the idea that “sex is fun” is a better way to spin sex ed to teens. Thus, Britain’s educational system came up with a new booklet to circulate around their schools with a title that sounds like it was ripped from a Playboy add: The Pleasure Pamphlet.

In this outrageous pamplet there is a section encouraging daily pleasure.  That’s not what they entitled it but that’s what I’ll say.  It says it’s purpose it to,

…encourage educators to tell teens about the positive physical and emotional effects of sexual gratification…

This is an important section because hey, it’s important to endorse daily self-gratification along with encouraging no self-control because our teens are so uptight and inhibited these days, you know?

Again, my sarcasm meter is sky high.  Telling a teenager that there is a positive physical effect of sex is like telling a hungry baby that milk is really good and they don’t have to fight it anymore. 

The article went on to say that,

“This booklet suggests ways that teachers can encourage sexual awareness and responsibility while teaching young people that sex is meant to be enjoyed.”

They said that they want to shift the tone of sex education from STD’s and simply the mechanics of sex to more of pleasure based approach where sex is so much more.

Let’s bring this to a screeching halt.  Simply the word sex was disgusting as spoken from the mouth of my polyester pants wearing, never had a girlfriend, 70′s dressing, “knock off the laughter and be mature guys” teacher.  I can see the scene in the hallways across Britain now where there are floods of kids that come screaming from their classrooms as their un-hip, old teachers who wear their pants up to their shoulders utter the words pleasure from their mouths.  Pandimonium.  They should’ve thought about this because kids are going to be so distracted by their teachers giving the message that they might miss the part about sex being fun.  How will they ever know if we don’t teach them?

This approach to sex education is an ignorant, laughable attempt to be relevant and cool to kids, befriending them and relating to them on things that they don’t need this kind of relating to.   What’s next in health classes? Books titled:  Drugs are fun.  Check em’out.  Maybe there could be sections entitled things like: Joints, joints, good for the heart…  It would need to be something like that to keep up with the playful banter of the drug books pre-quel, the Pleasure Pamphlet.  

I thought the whole reason the system blasts teaching abstinence over sex education is the fact that KIDS ARE ALREADY DOING IT so it’s not relevant.  If that’s the case, what they DO know about is the pleasure.  What they DON’T know about are the repercussions.  Especially the emotional ones.  Why would we take the focus in our schools off of the reality of sex and put it all on how fun and recreational it can be?  And to think that Britain has really high rates of teen pregnancy and they are the ones that thought emphasizing pleasure would profit them?  Give me a break!

The most frustrating thing about all of this is that I know that some day that the Pleasure Pamphlet will come to the states because we are always just one more slight value shift away from becoming more and more liberal.  

 In five more years you will be able to have your hamsters married, get them hamster social security numbers, and demand that your state offer books on hamster marriage in your kids 1st grade class so that we can all understand their flourishing relationship.  Is there no limit to what our kids can see and hear in school?  You can’t pray with my child at school but you can encourage them to get some sort of daily sexual gratification? Unreal!

It’s sad that you can teach kids stuff like this in school and it’s ridiculous that someone thinks teaching that sex is pleasurable is even necessary muchless beneficial.  Even dolphins have recreational sex so I don’t think your high school senior missed the memo.   

Heaven forbid we reinforce the negatives of sex to teenagers.  When you are 15 years old, all effects of sex will ultimately be negative. 

Heaven forbid we even teach them about how sex should truly be.  This brochure is supposedly trying to teach teenagers about what a healthy sexual relationship is but what they are missing is THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A HEALTHY SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN TEENAGERS. 

This approach to sex ed is a weak, sorry, and broken attempt to treat kids like adults and aid them in doing something that isn’t healhty in the first place.  

If there is one thing we know about high school, it’s that secrets aren’t kept.  The ones about sex being pleasurable are usually the first ones exposed.  The pleasure pamphlet isn’t a new spin on sex ed but it’s really just as old as time as it goes in and out of every ear and conversation during locker breaks all over the world everyday like it has been for 50 years.  This packet is a teenage conversation packaged as a new idea but really it’s old news.  And if they haven’t noticed, it’s not doing anyone any favors.

Literal Video July 21, 2009

Someone recently showed me a few of these literal videos and I think they are hilarious.  Basically these guys take an old music video and sing on the track what the people are literally doing rather than singing the lyrics.  These are my two favorites.  The second one of Total Eclipse of the Heart is really funny until they a stupid commentary on the video somewhere around the middle when there are no sung parts.  Other than that you will love this! 

The embedded code wouldn’t work for this one so I had to post the link. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj-x9ygQEGA

Gift Cake July 23, 2009

This cake is for a 44 year old woman’s bday who gave me no guidelines on what to do.  Not even so much as a single color.  So, I opted to do a gift cake with an art deco sort of wrapping paper.  Hope she likes it.  I actually haven’t delivered it so we’ll see. 

This was my first time doing a bow on a cake and I was pretty pleased with it.  With no further adue, this is why I didn’t post a blog today.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Danger of Desire July 30, 2009

Mine was cute. A soccer player. Fun to be with. And of course, the necessary ingredient for intoxication, hard to get. Most of us had one of these: the bad boy type that you had to have. The mysterious one. The one you wanted to win. The one you wanted who you wanted them to want you. That’s a mouthful. An honest mouthful, but a mouthful nonetheless.

Guys don’t typically have these girls in their life. They typically have girls that are too needy, overbearing, jealous, etc. Maybe those girls are the ones they wish they could want. This problem between guys and girls seems to start somewhere around high school and unfortunately, lasts for many their whole life long. Why does the allure of the “hard to get one” last? It’s self-punishing to love someone who doesn’t love you back so why is it addicting?

In a perfect world, the way as God intended, guys lovingly pursue girls, honor them, care for them. Likewise, girls are to be loving, respectful, freed by their spouses love rather than bound by it. That’s in the perfect world. It’s how God tells us treat each other and the way we should be as partners. How God tells us to be as men and women in relationships says alot about what are emotional needs are as men and women. Men need respect, they want a sense of being the provider for their family, the protector, and so on. And so the Bible tells us to respect our husbands. Women need to be listened to, cared for, have our needs taken into account, etc. Not surprisingly, the Bible tells men to love their wives which encompasses all of our emotional needs. Given how we are created, we are left here on the earth as girls who seek to be loved, and men who seek to respected. This can be a good thing within in the right context but let’s switch back to the common problem of women who want those who don’t want them. The girls who chase a man that shouldn’t need catching if you are to have the above described love.   At least for some time in our lives, we get what we should have, what we need and what we want, all mixed up. 

With my guy, I loved being with him and I loved his personality. That added desire onto my need as a woman to be loved and validated.

So, why the bad boy? You don’t have to agree with everything I just said about God above. However, I believe firmly that that’s context for how we are created. You may say though that it’s not how we were created it’s because some girls had rejection from their father’s or some girls just like a guy because they do and so they end up relationships with those type of guys. While I believe that all of those are driving forces for such relationships, I believe it all comes back to the NEED we have as women to be loved. I believe that need can be exposed, abused, and tormented by many life circumstances but I believe that need comes from how we were created as God to be as women: someone needing love. Of course men need love too which can be a facet of respect, but it’s more often than not women who are seeking validation in men because of that need.

Okay, so come back to me now with that guy from your past who played the role of a man who always left you hungry. If you didn’t have one, picture your friend who does or did.

Why did you, they, she, stay with this person? When you are with a guy who emotionally dances on you because they leave you questioning their commitment or love for you, what keeps you with them? Of course you love them but why do you continue to endure? Well once our need as a women to be needed is in the middle of a dysfunctional relationship, it breeds more neediness. The more he keeps you guessing, the more he moves forward and back from you over and over again, the more you crave HIS love. It’s not enough that someone else wants to date you or thinks you are pretty or whatever. You need HIS love, HIS approval, HIS validation. You need it from him because he is the one who is rejecting you. He made you feel invalid and since you are wrongly depending on his validation for your fulfillment, for your ticket to be okay, you need him and only him to let you know you are desired and worthy. The other guy who wants to date you or your best friend who thinks you are pretty? They don’t matter because they have validated you so they can’t fill that hole. You want to know that he can say you are okay because he took away your validation, you are dependent on him to make you valid again. It’s like a drug. The more hits you take, the more hits you need to be “okay”. The more he pushes, the more you need him to pull you back in so that you can feel valid so that you can feel loved.  Why? Because he’s become the one and only source you will accept as validating. Only he can make you feel loved.

This process is isolating, just like drugs. A drug addict can’t take an aspirin to get a high and a girl who longs to be loved can’t receive healthy affirmation from God or someone else because they are dependent on an unhealthy source for their approval, self-worth, and acceptance. They are hooked on the dysfunction of chasing love when love is supposed to freely given to us by a man. Dysfunction breeds dysfunction and chasing love always leaves you starving. It should. It wasn’t meant to make you full.

Girls want to find this validation in any way she can. Some girls sleep around because for a second, in that heat of the moment, they are wanted. They can see it on his face, hear it in their voice. They want me.

Some girls dress provocatively. I remember being this way although I thought I was dressing just like everyone else at the time. I didn’t realize that I had formed a secret dependence on it until I stopped dressing that way and dressed appropriately. All of the sudden, guys stop looking at you and all of the sudden I realized, I didn’t feel attractive. I didn’t feel valid. I wasn’t a whore in high school by any stretch and that’s just the thing.  I didn’t want the end result of what my attire would lead a guy to want to do.  I just wanted them to want to.   I just wanted the part where they wanted me and not even sexually.  I wanted their DESIRE of me where I was an attractive worthy girl. Girls cash in wanting to feel beautiful for a guy lusting over them because it fills the whole quicker and it’s easier to get a guy to lust for you then it is to get a guy to respect genuine beauty, no matter how you define beauty. Many girls will read this and not ever know it’s them too until they remove the unhealthy, persons or things in their life that they are getting validation from.

Whether it’s through, appearance, sex, or relationships, when it’s all said and done, we as women want to be adored. That is a good and healthy thing. We want to be pursued with romance. We want our boyfriends, fiances, and spouses to look at us with weakness in their knees and desires in their hearts. In the right balance and with the right man, the right love will make us soar. The right desires, with the wrong man will leave us chained.

We all had a moment, a time, an experience, a love, where even if our love for that person was real, even if our desire to be wanted started out as pure, we all had the moment where the desire to be wanted became greater than the desire to be loved rightly.

My “hard to get” one was someone who I truly and deeply loved many years ago. Not just because he wasn’t as mine as I wanted him to be, but because I simply loved him.  And while my love from him naturally made me desire his love, it was my God given need to be looked at as precious, loved, and prized that kept there even when he treated me as if I was everything but. I needed to know, why not me? I could’ve had someone elses love but which would be more validating: a guy who gives his desire to me freely or the one who I have to win his validation? In the perversity of my heart, the one who made his love a prize to be won was what both my love and my needing heart sought.  It just felt like the ultimate victory in the game of feeling loved.  It took me years to see it for what it was.

However, there is a love that doesn’t need to be chased and that’s in the Lord.  When the Lord finally gave me a man who gave me the love I needed which is an example of His love for me, it was hard to adjust to aspirin over heroin.  Not just adjust, but it was hard to even desire a functional relationship.  I was addicted to the emotional highs and drama of the “fulfilling” chase of a boy I once loved.  Being in dysfunctional relationships teaches you lots of secret messages.  You start to desire the tough guy because he seems manly and strong.  You forgot that manliness can be simple, quiet, honest, sensitive, sincere, and patient.  God gave me a picture of his love for me in a man who taught me that I was worth loving and I didn’t have to run around behind him constantly to make sure I was lovable.  As quickly as you would think I would’ve run to that, I didn’t.  Emotional rehab takes its time.  It takes time to the change the heart long after the circumstances have been altered.

I wish I could say that I didn’t still desired to be desired…sometimes in the wrong way .  A human heart, even with the best of men, doesn’t give you the ability to not be wanted.  As always, from the time you passed your first love note, you have the choice of what will be your fulfillment.  Will the fact that you were beautifully and wonderfully made be enough for you? Your validation can’t be on your man or any man’s opinion.  If it is, you will spend your days basing your value on the number of compliments you’ve received or the number of wrinkles on your face.   Secondly, will the fact that you have healthy love keep you from desiring the old familiar hit of wanting that guy to think you are attractive or wantable?  Don’t bet on it.  I believe this need we have makes anyone susceptible to divorce and adultery.  Like anything, we have to keep our desires in a balanced proportions or they will consume us and lead us astray.

At the end of the day, it’s not a matter of whether or not you will want to be loved.  Not a matter of if you will have the need to be desired or loved.  Only a matter of where you will meet that need and where you will find your satisfaction.  People will always be looking to be filled and be the filler.  What is filling your need?

25 and Prayin’ August 3, 2009

Alright so I ovulated this week. Okay, so I’ve ovulated about 25 times, literally, since I’ve started this whole process but one of those eggs has to be a winner. You know, a regular prize winning golden egg like the ones in the Wonka Factory.

Lance and I have our 5 year wedding anniversary Friday and we’re hoping for a nice late anniversary gift. 5 years of marriage and not so much as a fetus to show for it! What is this relationship coming to? =0)

Actually, I have felt pretty confident about this month but everytime after the egg has been put on the market ,I start to think, “What if I didn’t do enough or did something wrong?” I was feeling okay about it all until we got a call from another couple who is pretty much in our same situation and they brought up using Robitussin. If you don’t know why you would take Robitussin while trying to conceive, I’m not going to tell you. Just goggle your little fingers away.

They were telling a story about how the month their friends got pregnant after 5 years of infertility, was month they  used Robitussion. Of course everyone has a story of what they did “that month”. Who knows if it actually had anything to do with their conception. Ridiculous right? Why should another one of those stories ruffle my feathers? Speaking of feathers…it did. I ran to my fridge and reached for the eggs. Eggs? Foreshadowing? Hopefully.

The story reminded me that I only used eggs and Robitussin before I found out that I had endometriosis. Why did I stop? Dear girl, get ahold of yourself and some eggs and come to your senses!!!!

It was 11 pm at night and Lance was working on his sermon. I delivered the good news, egg in hand. Then it hit me, this egg is too cold. It’s supposed to be room temperature. Hmmmm, time is a ticking and it’s late so what I can do? Ironically, like a mother hen, the only thing I could think to do was sit on it on the couch. I wasn’t trying to be a chicken but I really think they are on to something with whole sitting on the egg idea. I wrapped mine in a washcloth just in case my crushing 105 pound body would shatter my baby egg. AND, I wasn’t in a roost so no laughing. There were many differences between me and the mother hens.

The egg warmed and so it was finished.

We’ll see if now I have my story to drive trying to conceive couples nuerotic with: a washcloth, egg, and couch roost. As they laugh I’ll giggle my baby in their face and yell, “WORKED FOR ME!” Man, some people are so judgemental.

Thoughts August 10, 2009

Does Vanna White feel fulfilled?

How do paper and sticky labels get seperated off of all of the millions of recycable bottles and boxes? 

God sure did make a lot of animals look like they are smiling.

Where do fruit flys come from?  They almost grow out of my fruit.

What’s the purpose of toe hair?

Why does the amount of corn you put it, not come out?

Why do people buy dogs to cage them and chain them and never touch them?  Why don’t they just give them away?

Why do vultures circle their food?  Why don’t they just go right to it and eat it?  They just circle and circle and then more and more vultures come and circle with them.  Then by the time they eat, they have to spilt it 4 or 5 ways when he could’ve had it all to himself if he just would’ve eaten instead of flying around it over and over again.

If God didn’t mean for us to squeeze blackheads, then why did he make it so much fun?

Brace yourselves for this one.  How does all of our toilet paper and “feminine products” get out of our water so that they can process it and turn it into drinking water?  Quit gagging, it’s a fair question.  Hopefully I’m right on the logic of that question.  All of our water is drinking water at some point, right?  I know there is no new water since the beginning of time, just the same water cycling through the water cycle of rain, evaporation, and then rain again etc.  This question is getting really complicated.  Okay I just looked it up.  In California they are working on turning sewer water into drinking water.  Eat your heart out:  http://www.ask.com/bar?q=does+sewer+water+eventually+become+drinking+water&page=1&qsrc=0&ab=3&u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ocregister.com%2Fnews%2Fwater-system-district-1931461-bilodeau-treatment

How do people know what kind of skin a dinosaur had just from finding it’s bones?  Books have colors and everything.  How could we know what color they were and what their skin looked like from their fossils?

Why did people make up words with silent letters?  Knife?  Really?  Why? Serisouly, why?

Did you know that bears in captivity don’t hibernate?  That’s because in the wild there is little, if any, food in the winter so they need to hibernate to survive it.  In captivity, someone feeds them daily and they don’t need to “sleep” through the season.  (Just thought I’d answer a question since I’ve just been asking them.)

Did you know without bees that we couldn’t sustain farming and thus, have enough food to eat because they do all of the pollenating for us?  How did I know that?  Because I watched a really terrifying NOVA show about the colony collaspe of bees and how they are disappearing by the millions in the US. 

Why do humans need so many nutrients to survive but big strong animals twice our size (like horses) only need grass/hay and water?

Can anyone believe that Bob Saggett has another show on TV?

Wonder why God made some animals to mate for life?

Can the world wide web “crash” and every site loses everything it ever had?

I wish they made seatbelt cleaner.

The best way to slap a friend or spouse in the face for a comedic moment is by using their instincts against them.  “Smack” them on one side of their face and they will instintinctivley turn away from that hand.  That’s why you have your other hand ready to smack them on the other cheek as they turn it towards you away from the first blow.  SHAZAAM! They won’t know what hit them.  Just a little something I learned from the streets.

We’ve Interuppted Your Life To Bring You This Important Message… August 5, 2009

You interrupt my life, my dates, my sleep, my time with my husband.  You constantly buzz him to tell him that you just, “Watched the best movie” or “Ate the best chicken”.  I hate you Twitter.

Twitter is the most ridiculous of all of the social networking sites.  I despise that Lance gets a million texts a day from people that he rarely talks to all for them to say what they just did.  This process of sending messages sounds a little familiar…oh yeah, A TEXT MESSAGE!  Here’s an idea, if you want someone to know what you just did, send them a personal text.  What?  You wouldn’t send a text to someone to say that you “just watched Ghost Busters on TV and fell asleep”?  I think you are on to something with that line of thought.  Keep going with it.  If you wouldn’t send a text like that out of the blue to your friend , you probably shouldn’t send it out in mass quantities to groups of people. 

Some people follow people they don’t really even know.  Following celebrities, singers, people in the media of any type that you admire is basically like getting a first hand tabloid to your phone.  You wouldn’t pick up a magazine to see what “Britney Spears  did today but by golly if you can get a mass message, impersonal text that she just went to hot yoga then by golly you do it!

Why do I want to know what you are doing every five seconds?  If you want to update the world, then do facebook statuses.  It’d be twitter only better though because my facebook status isn’t going to ring to your phone during your dinner, all to tell you that I just went for a jog. 

Of all of the Internet things to do with your time, Twitter is the most pointless.  There are more noble things to do with your life than interrupt your time with your family and friends by receiving a  play by play of someone’s life.  Someone who 99 percent of the time you don’t even care to invest in  a real relationship with or someone who you don’t even really know.

And then there are the times when Lance gets Twitters from respectable, well known family men who have slammed busy schedules and the text says, “Getting to enjoy my family at PF Changs tonight”  The only thing I can think is, “You are busy all the time.  You don’t have much family time.  Heaven forbid you don’t take out your phone while you are with them and just BE with them!”  Surely you can sever your ties with your electronics at least momentarily!  I, in all sincerity, lose respect for people when they are busy, busy men and they text meaninglessness to people during their precious family time.

I realize you can get any social networking to your phone: myspace, facebook, etc.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m against all of them when they’re something you have with you at all times that alerts you when there’s a new video you need to watch or an action you need to know I’ve just taken.  It’s hard enough to get away from your daily schedule and even harder still, from technology.  Thankfully though we can have it allure us, tempt us, and even send us a signal to our phones when a new piece of “juicy” information is waiting.

Someone out there is inevitably reading this blog and thinking, “She’s writing about technology being disruptive and pointless and she’s writing an Internet blog….hmmmmm.”  First of all, don’t make me beat you up.  Second, I blog when I don’t have the opportunity to be with my family.  Lance is mowing.  I am venting.  So no time is really lost.  Moreover, I like to think that I’m using my gifts and it’s something I do to enjoy myself and blow off steam.  I hope I blog honestly and encourage others in the process so that there is actually some bigger purpose.  I don’t like blogs that are extended Twitter messages detaling that, I went to the grocery and then I slept etc.  Some might say, “Well Twitter is my hobby and I enjoy it.”

The day my hobby becomes sending update sentences to people on their cell phones….

Just shoot me.

Happy Anniversary August 7, 2009

Celebrating 5 years of marriage today and all of the blogs it’s given me. =0)

I Dare You To Pray This August 10, 2009

Francis Chan is an amazing pastor in California. He doesn’t take a salary from his church so that all of his would be salary can go to missions, etc. He makes 500,000 a year in speaking engagements and book sells and gives away 450,000 a year. Yes, that’s what I said. He gives away 450,000 dollars a year of his own earned money. Francis lives with his wife and children off of 50,000 a year, living in California.

This is a 2 minute video his daughter recorded of him talking on a plane. Come on, give this guy 2 minutes of your day. He dares you to pray this.

The Lines That Changed Our Lives August 17, 2009

So here’s the dish.  I know a lot of you having  losing sleep racking your brains with how I told Lance the big news and how I found out I was pregnant.  I really want to help you be less anxious so I’m going to share it with you now.  Please enjoy.

Monday morning:  I got out of bed after a long night of sleep and felt like I had been hit by a mac truck.  I’d definetly never felt that way before but I only thought of it in passing moments during the day.  When you have been trying to have a baby for so long…eventually…you don’t take any symptom seriously.  Later that day I felt dizzy but hey, I do that all time with migraines and allergies.

Tuesday night:  I felt like my body had been running marathons along with rock climbing and kick boxing  and like I had been doing killer dance moves all day, even though I’d mainly been sitting.  I went to bed with a smile and thought to myself, “You are pregnant”, but again, I wasn’t fully buying the idea.  I wasn’t even supposed to start my period for 3 days.

That night I peed 3 times like a champion race horse in mass amounts.  Hmmmm…weird.  7:30 in the morning, I awake again to be a race horse.  I think to myself, “There are 2 tests in the bathroom.”  Then I think to myself, “You’ll be disappointed and you always regret taking early tests.”  5 minutes later I’m on the toilet, test in hand, fearing disappointment.  The control line shows up on the test like always and I thought, “See, I told you!  Doing what they always do when they are negative!”  Then to my disbelief I see a faint line appear.  I grabbed my face, gasped, and sobbed out loud.  I immediately stopped.  Was I seeing this?  I held the thing sideways, tilted it, stared holes through it, did whatever I could to disprove myself.  But the line got darker and darker and I held my face and cried out loud.  And cried.  Looked at the test…and cried.  I ran to the bathroom mirror and said, “I’m PREGNANT!  YOU ARE PREGNANT!  I’M PREGNANT!”  I took pictures of myself with the test, pictures of the test, and laughed and cried.

I thought, “I can’t tell anyone before I tell Lance.”  Next thought, “Who can I tell?”  So I called the Fertility Center as soon as they opened and told them I needed an appointment.  The receptionist said, “Date of birth, Dr. Name…”  I blurted out, “I’m pregnant. I’m so excited!”  Telling the receptionist wasn’t as thrilling as I had hoped so to make a long story short, I told two doctors, three co-workers, an 8 year old client who asked me if Lance would be mad I was pregnant, and my entire family all while Lance sat at work having no idea he was going to be a father.  I had NO self-control and enjoyed every second of it!  I found out at 7:30 am and Lance wouldn’t be home until 5!  What’s a girl to do?!

Here’s why I waited to tell him though.

When Lance and I were engaged, I gave him a scrapbook that chronicled our whole relationship.  I mean it had pictures from 6th grade until college, notes, tickets, name tags from church  camps, stories typed out of all of our memories…everything!  I had the idea 2 years ago when we first started trying to conceive to use the scrapbook for the announcement and I didn’t want to do it over the phone, I wanted to give him a BIG planned surprise the way I dreamed I would.

At 5 o’clock, Lance walks through the door.  I’m sitting on the couch with the scrapbook in my hand, heard pounding out of my chest so loudly that I fear he can hear it. I ask him, “Will you sit with me and look at our scrapbook?”  I thought he would at least say, “Let me take off my work clothes..”, but he didn’t.  He sat right down.

He flipped through the pages one at a time and I was a total mess and totally distracted.  Then he turned the page and saw something he hadn’t ever seen before, randomly placed in the book, right after high school homecoming pictures, was a new scrapbook layout.  And this one said, “The first time you heard, “We’re pregnant!”  In the middle of the page were the pictures I took earlier when I just tested positive: one of me holding the test smiling & a picture of the test stick.

He paused and stared at the page and said…”What?”

Moments of silence passed and then it hit him…

“SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!”

He turned to me and I was silently crying.  He grabbed me and hugged me so tightly and cried too.  Quickly, he pulled back, face grinning wall to wall and yelled, “NO WAY!  I DON’T BELIEVE IT! YOU’RE PREGNANT?!!!!!”  I pulled the test out from between the couch cushions just in case he had any doubts.  He laughed, jumped up and danced, yelled…he did it all.  I couldn’t have asked for a better response or a happier husband. Well, maybe I could’ve.  At one point soon after the announcement he got really excited and said, “Is that why your cheeks are getting fat?”  I looked at him sarcastically and silently and then he said, “No seriously!!!  Is that a side effect?”   Poor Lance.  So excited his commonsense went out the door. Fat cheeks or not, we were both elated.

So that’s how the story goes in a nutshell.

Each day I feel a little worse but I lay on the couch with my body aching and my stomach churning and I soak up every ache and yawn.  It’s the constant reminder that I have this baby growing inside of me.  It’s the reminder of everything I’ve wanted for the past 2 years.

I would say that I’m in shock and I suppose in some ways I am, but I have yearned for this for so long that I simply feel like I’ve slipped naturally into the role.  I feel so absolutely overjoyed and content that I’m calm and settled.

Very few times in life do things meet your expectations.  Then again, sometimes they are everything you ever hoped for. Today, I’m in the middle of everything hoped and I praise the Lord for this 1/25th of an inch blessing beating in my womb.  I’m humbled, thankful, and blessed as I type the words that felt like they’d never be written from my hands.  Thank you Jesus!  I can’t wait to meet you baby =0)

August 20, 2009

I’ve been without internet this week but I’ll be posting Monday as usual. =0) Sorry buddies…

The Life & Times of Invisible Baby August 24, 2009

If you bought stock in Clear Blue Easy  or First Response pregnancy tests, sell it.  I’m not buying those anymore.  Now a better investment would be shares of Planet Smoothie or as I refer to it: Survival Smoothie.  This little grain of rice size baby thing is sucking the life out of me but I’m not going down without throwing a few smoothies at it first.  I shutter to think of how much money I’m spending on smoothies now but I but I cringe more at the thought of starvation and looking like Popeye’s girl, Olive Oil, so I’m doing what I have to do, one drink at a time.  I’m usually only hungry one time a day because of nausea so I try to really sink one killer meal and live the rest of the time by sipping my dollars away.  It’s amazing how much this tiny thing wants from you.  I’m feeding you once a day what more do you want from me?!  All smoothies aside, I love this little kid tadpole alien baby.

As I’m starting out this bumpy, blessed road of pregnancy, I’m learning very quickly 2 things about being pregnant:

1- Everyone has advice.

2- Everyone goes out of their way to be courteous. 

For example, my 1 o’clock appointment cancelled today.  She said that her daughter has the swine flu and that she figured that I might not want to be around them since I’m pregnant.  She’s right because if I wasn’t pregnant I’d say, come on in, nothing like a good case of the swine flu for 12 dollars an hour but since I’m pregnant…I’ll take a rain check.  Lucky for me, I told her I was pregnant a week earlier so she figured she’d be courteous.  My baby prevails! Note to self: Tell everyone you are pregnant just in case.

Take another sitaution that happened to me last week.  Lance and I were at a restaurant and I was noticably sick and the waitress took to feeling sympathetic for me since she was really sick with all of her children.  So to remedy her compassion for my barfy state, she brought out my entree and said, “I didn’t give you very much food.  See if you can eat this.”  She smiled and patted my back and walked away.  In an attempt to be motherly, the waitress charged me full price for an entree with half the food.  I started to think…wait a second….and then I realized I was being blessed by another case of courtesy.  Smiles for everyone.

Again, all courtesy aside from the weirdos, I love this little pregnancy.

Yes, these days have had their ups and downs but this is how I’m living my life these days.  I changed my hours at work to be afternoon hours so I can work during the best part of my days.  I spend the rest of the time looking at baby magazines, setting up pregnancy countdowns in my phone, and reading books that tell you week by week what’s happening with your baby.  Typically I read the week I’m currently in and then argue with myself about not reading the future weeks.  Somewhere about 3 months beyond my current point in pregnancy, I usually stop reading.  I have taken a liking to sleeping.  I’ve replaced googling infertility questions with pregnancy ones.  I’m also taking an interest in pee racing and my favorite, bra filling.  I enjoy nightly foot rubs and gagging on foods with a mushy texture. 

I’m also coming up with several ways to be lazy.  I have lots of these easy-to-do modifications to only half-way do necessary things.  For example, when I go to the grocery and come home to put the bags up, I simply put the whole bag in the fridge.  Hey,  you either have to look for food on the fridge shelf or from a bag.  At the end of the day, I’m better for just throwing the whole bag in the fridge.  The best part is, Lance loves it!    In other attempts to save myself extra energy, I’ve set up a cracker fort by my bed and a reading/eating/2nd house on my coffee table so I can live from the couch if the desire strikes to do so.  Living the good life playas!!!  I’m trying to enjoy it now because Lord willing the next time I’m pregnant I’ll have another baby so living on my furniture won’t be an option. 

Me and my invisible baby are living the good life and enjoying all of the special treatment.  Next week Lance and I have our first ultrasound BOO-YEA!  There’s a good chance we’ll hear the heartbeat and a good chance I will post a picture of my baby bean.  There’s also a good chance I will talk about this baby alot but I won’t run you off.  You’ve got to believe in me!  If I get pregnant and you leave me, I’m taking you to the people’s court and suing for child support.

Boobie Cake August 27, 2009

 

Please? August 27, 2009

I need a favor.  And yes, this applies to all of my closet blog readers that never post comments. =0)  Reveal yourselves! =0)  I want to know, what are your top 3 favorite posts I have written?  I know I have around 250 posts so it might take some thinking but I’d like to know.  Try not to read other people’s comments and say, “Oh yeah…that’s one of mine too….”  I’m afraid it might make you forget other blogs you would’ve otherwise thought of on your own.  I’m thinking about doing something with some of my writings so I’m interested in what you think.  Was it one of marriage, infertility, one about my father, about love and heartache, maybe a funny one?   You tell me.  Drum roll please for your top three favorite/most memorable blogs. 

Thanks!

Knitted August 31, 2009

I was talking to my best friend this morning who is also pregnant. She asked me if I sometimes worry about everything coming together okay inside of me. Is the baby going to be normal? Are it’s parts forming correctly? My answer to that is, yes. I worry sometimes. When I read the week by week books that tell me whats happening with my baby this week,  as fascinating as it can be, it can be equally unsettling. This week my baby’s nueral tube is closing. Don’t want that to go sour if you know what I mean. But when I start thinking things like that, I realize that I’m thinking of this baby as a pure haphazard science experiment and not a real person who God is making. Psalm 139 says:

“13For it was you who formed my inward parts;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
   Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
¹⁵   My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
   intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
In your book were written
   all the days that were formed for me,
   when none of them as yet existed.

All of the sudden it doesn’t seem like a wreckless crashing of cells but a sovereign making of a person who is already known by Him.

My baby is the size of an orange seed but in reality it’s not just that. It’s a story. In my body I hold a boy or a girl with a day they will be born. A day that they will die.   A life that entails so much takes it’s first beat inside of me. I hold a lifetime of heartbreaks and blissful days.   A real person who will be spouse of another woven baby, friend to many, a life purposed for a particular path. I hold the key to my grandchildren and great grandchildren. I’m carrying generations in my womb. Talents, failures, traces of my parents and grandparents, love, anger, marriage, relationships, choices…beating in me one pulse at a time until on an unknown day in a delivery room a breathe is drawn and the story that’s already written, begins.

Suddenly, I’m in awe and it doesn’t seem so scary. Suddenly, I’m writing the preface of a person for chapters that are soon to be played out, instead of the safe harbor for a science experiment.  I realize that it’s totally and utterly out of my hands.  And that’s exactly the way I want it.

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Little Polka Dot-a Baby September 2, 2009

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can see little arm and leg buds in the curly c of the body.  I have another ultrasound in a week and a half so it will be neat to see how much its grown in a little over a week. 

I got to see the heart beating and hear it.  It was so wonderful!

Compliment Guys September 9, 2009

No not like complimenting guys but like two guys who are called the compliment guys. They are these 2 guys who stand on Purdue’s campus every Wednesday with a sign that says “free compliments” and they yell compliments at people for hours.  They estimate 1000 compliments per Wednesday.  They are always just simple, non-vulgar compliments to anyone they can get the words out to as they pass by.  For example: 

Nice sunglasses.

You have nice curly hair.

You are a snappy dresser.

Just little simple & honest things.  I love this idea more than hunting easter eggs or making gingerbread houses.  This is one of my favorite things I have heard in a long time.  I seriously try to do this in my own life minus the sign and screaming.  Although the idea of signage and verbal loudness does not offend me.  I might just start doing this in my front yard and if no one passes by, I’ll just yell nice things at my cats.  I pretty much do that on a daily basis with them anyways so it wouldn’t be that different.

But for real, I always try to tell people, anyone really, if I think something nice about them.  Sure sometimes my heart beats harder in the Target line when I blurt out to someone that I really like their top.  It usually only beats hard when I think about it first but I don’t know why I care or why anyone should feel weird about telling someone a kind word.  What are they going to say?  Mind your own business?  If so, I suggest giving this person 5 more compliments to break down their walls. 

What if they next time you find yourself admiring some girl’s hair that you just tell her.  That way she won’t think you are another girl just sizing up another girl.  She will be pleasantly surprised and encouraged and it will make you feel good too.  If I , in all honesty, could pass something along that I do to others, it would be to tell everyone your kind thoughts about them.  That and I would also encourage the utilization of keychain hand sanitizers and it’s liberal use.

The other night I was with a guy friend who none  pervertedly commented on how pretty a girl was.  Now I realize in this situation that it might be weird for him to go tell her that but I just thought to myself that this girl will go back to her dorm room and think it was just an ordinary night but really she was being admired for something.  I wonder how many times you’ve been that girl for whatever reason and had no idea.  Wouldn’t we all be better for encouraging other, stranger or not, in this simple little way.  You never know, you might tell a mother in Walmart how sweet and polite her daughter or son is and it just may give her a  moment of perspective and gratitude in the midst of a hard day of mothering.  Why wouldn’t we do this for each other?  There is no good reason to keep ecouragement from each other.

So, you don’t have to get a sign and scream even though you would go up like 110 percent on my cool meter.  It doesn’t have to be that complicated.  This week (and forever) when you are in line at Walmart or the gas station…where ever it is….tell him or her, nice hat, I like your hair, whatever kind thing you are thinking.  You will make someone’s day.

Not to be a hypocrite I will expose my complimentary soul to close.  Please, picture me screaming this.

DUSTMITE WHEN YOU COMPLIMENT MY BLOGS YOU ENCOURAGE ME AND MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I HAVE TALENT AND I’M ALWAYS GLAD TO SEE YOU AROUND.

JESSIE WHEN YOU TOLD LANCE YOU STALKED MY PAGE IT MADE ME SMILE FOR DAYS. I LOVE THAT YOU SMILE AT ME IN PUBLIC AND YOUR REPUTATION AS A GODLY WOMAN PRECEEDS YOU.

ANN BLAIR YOU HAVE IT SO MUCH MORE TOGETHER THAN YOU KNOW AND I’M EXCITED ABOUT WHO YOU ARE AND THE POTENTIAL OF YOU.  YOU ARE MUCH MORE WONDERFUL THAN YOU KNOW.

DIANA I LOVE THAT WE ARE BACK IN TOUCH AGAIN AND I LOVE TO SEE YOU AND JOHN SO HAPPY TOGETHER. TONS OF MY FAVORITE MEMORIES HAVE YOU IN THEM.

AUDREY YOU KEEP ME SANE WHEN MY BABY FREAKS ME OUT AND YOU ARE AN ENCOURAGEMENT AND BLESSING TO MY LIFE.

KRISTIE YOU ARE SUCH A FAITHFUL FRIEND AND ONE OF THE MOST THOUGHTFUL PEOPLE I KNOW.

KATIE YOU ARE ONE OF THE MOST UNIQUE AND FUN PEOPLE I KNOW AND I LOVE HAVING YOU IN MY LIFE.

STEPHANIE I HAVE LOVED GETTING TO KNOW YOU DURING THIS TIME OF MY INFERTILITY AND YOU HAVE BEEN SUCH AN ENCOURAGEMENT TO ME.

MICHELE I MISS YOU AND YOUR FAMILY AND I LOVE YOUR HEART.  I LOVE SOME OF THE MEMORIES I HAVE LAUGHING WITH YOU OVER NOTHING IN THE FAIRDALE CHURCH BASEMENT.

BONKERS AND SKITTLES YOU GUYS ARE REALLY GOOD PEOPLE AND YOU HAVE REALLY STRONG TALONS.

LAURA I LOVE READING YOUR BLOGS BECAUSE I LOVE THE HUMOUROUS AND HONEST TAKE YOU HAVE ON LIFE.  I’VE ALSO LIKED GETTING TO KNOW YOU BETTER THROUGH ALL OF THIS TYPING AND READING =0)

HANNAH I LOVE YOUR HEART FOR THE LORD AND THAT YOU ARE SERVING HIM OVERSEAS.  I LOVE YOUR HONESTY ABOUT LIFE AND MARRIAGE.

(I’M STILL SCREAMING. I HOPE YOU HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN. WITH ALL OF THESE TENDER WORDS YOU PROBABLY ARE PICTURING A KIND, DOCILE VOICE BUT YOU’RE WRONG.)

PATTI I LOVE HOW SUPPORTIVE YOU ARE IN ALL THINGS AND I LOVE THAT YOU MAKE MY BROTHER HAPPY.  I LOVE YOUR HUMOR ABOUT LIFE AND YOUR BLOG IS MY FAVORITE TO READ.

SARAH BALLANCE YOU HAVE SUCH A JOYFUL SPIRIT AND KIND HEART AND EVERY TIME I THINK OF YOU I THINK OF ONE OF THE SWEETEST PEOPLE I KNOW FROM ONE OF THE SWEETEST FAMILIES I KNOW.

NANCY BLACKETER.  I HOPE YOU ARE READING THIS AND NOT PLAYING FARMTOWN.  I LOVE YOUR LAUGH AND I LOVE MAKING YOU LAUGH.  YOU ARE A TALENTED ARTIST AND I’VE ALWAYS FELT WELCOME IN YOUR HOME.

ALICE I’M SO GLAD TO HAVE FORMED A NEW BOND WITH YOU.  I LIKE SWAPPING PREGNANCIES STORIES WITH YOU ON A WEEKLY BASIS AND I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL THEY TURN INTO BABY STORIES.  I’M ROOTING FOR YOU DURING THIS FIRST TRIMESTER.

SABRINA EVEN THOUGH I DON’T REALLY KNOW YOU THAT WELL I HAVE NEVER MET ANYONE WHO HAS ANYTHING BUT KIND THINGS TO SAY ABOUT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY.  YOUR REPUTATION ALSO PRECEEDS YOU ALSO AND I KNOW THAT YOU ARE DOING WONDERFUL THINGS FOR THE LORD.

SARAH MARCUM YOU ARE A SWEET, SINCERE FRIEND AND EVEN THOUGH WE DON’T TALK CONSTANTLY, YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN SOMEONE I CARED FOR AND CONSIDERED A FRIEND.  I’M SO GLAD I’VE KNOWN YOU ALL THESE YEARS.

NANCY YOU ALWAYS MAKE ME LAUGH AND YOU HAVE THE BEST AND UNIQUE BABY NAMES.  I LOVE WHAT A GOOD FRIEND YOU’VE BEEN TO MY SISTER AND IF I NEVER KNEW ANYTHING ELSE ABOUT YOU I’D LOVE YOU SIMPLY FOR THAT.  SHE RESPECTS YOU SO MUCH.  THANKS FOR READING AND COMMENTING FAITHFULLY AS I MAKE UP STUFF TO BLAB ABOUT =0)

JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE I’M SORRY WE NEVER WORKED OUT BUT YOU WERE GREAT ON THE MICKEY MOUSE CLUB AND EVERYDAY SINCE THEN.  YOU ARE MY FAVORITE PERSON.

I’m going hoarse now and I hope and pray I didn’t leave anyone out.  If so, I’ll scream at you later.

See….I told you that you guys would like this =0)  Make sure to scream at someone this week.

Honestly September 21, 2009

I, in all seriousness, pee so much because of pregnancy that I wish I could wear some sort of diaper. When I wake up in the middle of the night to pee I think, “Man, what if you just had a diaper…mmmmmm.” They couldn’t be called diapers though. It’d need to be something more sophisticated like pregnancy panties.

I, in all actuality, am thinking of going to someone’s house in my neighborhood and offering to buy their dog from them. They NEVER touch it or play with it and it stays chained 24/7. Lance doesn’t want me too because he thinks its weird but he loses. If they say no, it will be hard for me to not say something like, “I understand. I know it’s important for you to have him there for absolutely no purpose but to buy him food.” I won’t say that to their faces but I will in my mind and out loud on the phone to others. There was another family in our neighborhood that kept their dogs caged 24/7 and I resorted to buying them toys and sneaking over in the middle of the night and throwing the toys into their cages. Rebecca is saving this world one dog at a time.

For seriously, my cats are taking over this house since I haven’t felt well enough to battle it out with them. They are sleeping on two of our chairs which is not allowed but I just stare at them helplessly from my couch and say, “Dang you felines! You win! You always do…”

For real, my road rage is out of control.  I am being ashamedly impatient with elderly drivers.  I feel so bad about it too because I think how I’d feel if someone was frustrated with my grandparents.  But this beast inside of me keeps winning.  If I say, “Are you kidding me?” or any such variation while behind an elderly person on the interstate who is driving 50 mph again…I’m going to revoke my own license.

If I’m going to be honest throughout this post I need to correct or rather expand on my first statement. I not only fanatasize about pregnancy panties but also about peeing my pants.  I have seriously considered peeing my pants in moments of bathroom trip exhaustion.  How many times of peeing does it take for someone to get to their breaking point?  My personal bottom is 3-4 times in the middle of the night.

If I could ask my baby one question it’d be, will you please let me brush my tongue?  Also, I might ask what’s sprouting up in the way of gender identifiation.

I’m not lying when I say that Lance made Bonkers’ tail crooked by slamming it in the door.  Poor little guy.  He was probably just trying to balance out when he slammed Skittles tail in the garage door.  I am suspiscious about the frequency of Lance’s infrigements against Skittles these days because she’s now afraid to run through our front and back door.  Lance has got to remember that there is still a foot or so of cat behind their little bodies once their torsos are safely in the door.  I’m going to buy them tail guards.

Okay so I don’t know who designs bathroom stalls but who came up with the genius idea to have the doors open INTO the stall.  The door is the same size as the stall space if you didn’t notice.  I weigh like 104 pounds and I struggle to get out of those doors.  Who is escaping from these things?  It’s amazing anyone makes it out alive. 

I promise you that there is a guy in my neighborhood with a baby opposum as a pet.  I love him.  I dont’ care what you say.  He is cute.  So what if he has a little naked tail?  So do you.  Can’t we all be brothers?

My Frog September 16, 2009

Look how much my baby has grown in only 9 days!  Crazy!  And also, look how much it looks like a frog!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When wordpress stops being an idiot…I’ll post a video of my ultrasound with the baby and it’s heartbeat.

 

 

Dearest Faithfulest Friends September 16, 2009

Dear friends,

My internet is not working at home so that’s why I’ve so violently and abruptly abandoned you.  It is driving me so crazy that I have abbreviated and spelled more cuss words than any preacher’s wife should ever do.  I’m writing you from work now and I will figure something else out by next week.  I have a few blogs in the works so get real, real excited.  I’m sorry I have forsaken you.  Enjoy the following blog with a picture of my frog child.

Sincerely,

Your Favorite

I present you to my fetus bump September 22, 2009

  Here is my little 9 week belly.  Some days its there and then others it hides from you.  This day it was definetly there.  Not too many places to hide a fetus on my bag of bones. 

With me is my bff, Audrey (left), who is 15 weeks pregnant.  Audrey and I’s bday are two weeks apart and our babies bdays will be 6 weeks apart.  That will be a neat story for them to tell when they get married.  They really hit it off when we pressed our bellies together.

PS- Why do people think we look like sisters?  We’ve been asked that more than once.  Weirdos.

Heart Beat of a Champion September 24, 2009

http://www.facebook.com/v/129709048334

Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater September 27, 2009

What would you do if your spouse cheated on you?  I can’t say this is the best idea but I’d be lying if I said that there wasn’t some part in me that wants to raise my fist and yell “YEAH” when I see this picture. 

I’m not sure if this was written by someone who is always this bold or by a woman that just went crazy.  Putting a moving billboard about your husband’s adultery on your family van is a whole new level of “I hate your guts.  You deserve this.”  Oh the things people do in a passionate rage.  Both affairs and adultery vans would apply to that statement I suppose.

I have to say that this would be my worst fear for my marriage.  I was cheated on several times in a long term relationship and it about did me in.  I went emotionally crazy during that time and I would’ve really liked to write a message on my car like that.  I would’ve liked to do more emotionally unstable things than that actually.  I can’t imagine it happening to me in a committed marriage.

Tonight on ABC there was a special on adultery.  1 in 4 married men cheat and 1 in 3 married women cheat.  Shockingly, the scientist speaking said even the infamous monogamous swans cheat.  Can we not even spare the birds?!! 

There was even a man on the special that said that, “Adultery saves marriages.”  Below is his commercial for the website he runs where millions of married people go to find people to cheat with:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8gJzecN_Ho

It represents itself as a dating service for married people.  The guy who invented the site says he doesn’t date outside of his marriage and that this is nothing more than a site providing a service for profit.  Well at least he has integrity.

A Life Heard September 30, 2009

It’s odd to think about but in the lists of our favorite things you most likely have your favorite sounds.  One of mine would be the sound of my little brothers and sisters voices when I open their front door and they yell my name when they see me.  I know it’s temporary because one by one on a day far too soon they will be much to cool to yell my name in excitement publicly or privately.  I savor it every time.

Another sound would be the sound of real wood crackling in a fire place.  The convience of gas logs robbed the world of the character and comfort of a real fire burning in a real fireplace.  convenience always causes us to lose character and the quality of what you had before it was simplified.  Sort of like how a dinner made from scratch is always better than a dinner where the ingredients came from a can.  In the same way, cheap looking gas logs with fake ashes never quite give you the warmth or comfort of a real fire smoldering in front of you.  You miss the sounds, the smells, and the intensity of its heat.    All my life I grew up in a house with a REAL fireplace and my dad would build winter fires and I would sleep in the silence on the couch with only the sound of crackling logs breaking the stillness.  I really miss that sound.  Especially when I smell the smoke of an outdoor fire in the cold winter air.  I’d trade a  key to turn on fake logs for hauling real logs into my house, any day of the week.

Thirdly my favorite sound would have to be the sound of my father singing hymns at church.  He doesn’t have an especially good or special voice.  Maybe that makes me love it even more because he sings loudly and unashamedly.  When I hear my dad standing next to me or around me in a church service singing a song like “It Is Well With My Soul”, I feel so blessed.  When I hear my dad’s voice trumpeting over mine it’s like I’m listening to the sound of a summation of who he is, of how I was raised, of how he proverbially sang the meanings of these songs over me my whole life.  I simply feel grateful.  Grateful that he was my dad.  Exceedingly more grateful because he believes those words.  It’s effected every aspect of my life.  I fully believe that what you do AND don’t believe defines everything about the choices you make.  I am so glad that these are the songs he sang over me when I dated the wrong boy.  His song when I was broken hearted.  The tune when I wrecked my car in college and he drove me 3 hours to Lance’s school on a week night and slept in a dorm room so I could go to a dance with my future husband.  It’s the melody to every fight we had, every choice he made, everything he gave up, and every time he didn’t back down.  In the end, I was always left with how he lead me as a father.  I can write this because he was a godly man.  To some people that is ridiculous but to me it was my saving grace.  My father quit a thriving, well paying job where he was only a few people from the top of a large company to move back home after my parents divorce so that he could be with his children.  He chose unemployment at an age when men when would fear such a state because he believed fatherhood was more important and that he was called to be a father before a business man and because he knew the Lord would provide for him.  It was well with his soul and I heard it in his voice then and I heard in his voice sitting one row behind me this Sunday morning. 

I am thankful that in a humble home in Hogenville, Ky. that a small little boy was born on the floor of his house with his aunt as the delivering doctor.  I’m thankful that when they didn’t have the money or the medicine that the Lord allowed him to survive it all anyways.  I’m thankful that as an adult one day he knew that he was in need of the Lord and that he wrapped his life up in it.  Ten years later, I’m glad that birth control failed and that I was born to that sweet man and mother anyways.  I love how all of those things came to play in my life and I’m glad that I see and hear it all around me.

Wether it’s popping charred pine logs, the sounds of little elated children, or the shakey voice of a good man, I’m thankful for a life that plays me a daily song of the love and simple joys the Lord has blessed me with.  More than that, I’m thankful to know that if it all ended tomorrow that I could say “It Is Well With My Soul” all because the Lord gave me a father who taught me the meaning of the songs he sings and helped them to become my songs by living them out. 

Praise the Lord.

It is well with my soul.

Doobie Loungin’ October 1, 2009

I speak these words carefully because I know how vicious cat haters can be.  However, as of late, my good man Bonkers has been expressing his animal instincts by stretching his long arms and talons on our dry wall.  Stretching is okay but he utilizes his talons in a scratching motion and drags his paws down the wall peeling away the paint.  Don’t judge him! Scratching is  an instinct that felines have to sharpen their finger blades and to mark their scent on whatever they scratch.  So when I’m done spanking his little striped behind that is found just below his cute lemur tail, I think to myself, “Those are the marks of a cat that says…see ya later suckers…this house is mine.”  Aww it’s like a violent love letter to say, “I love you mom this many scratches worth.”

But still, there are better ways for him to make me feel his love so I purchased Skittles and Bonkers an acceptable scratching device.  It’s this cardboard thing for cats that is in the shape of a sofa which we all can appreciate.  I brought it home and hoped that we wouldn’t have a repeat of  the crinkly cube tube that I bought for them last year.  I purchased it out of love, not need, and I was so sad because I kept having to throw them inside the crinkle cube and they just kept running out.  I ended up having to take it back to Walmart and I couldn’t fold it back up correctly so I had to awkwardly carry it in and tell them that my kitties had rejected the device.  As you can see, I had great concerns for the cardboard kitten sofa.  It was 16 dollars which was also a feature that made it feel risky. 

So I get home and rip open the feline gift and lay it on the floor.  Immediately the culprit approaches the couch and sinks his claws into this new toy of mystery.  SUCCESS!  Then I realized that their sofa came with catnip which is basically cat weed.  But hey, nothing wrong with your cat doing pot.  Not illegal.  Not in this house.  Not for these cats.  I really wanted them to partake in catnip but you can’t force these things.  They have to happen on their own.

I ripped the bag open and sprinkled it on the couch as directed and waited.  But not too long because apparently Bonkers is a closet stoner.  He sniffed.  He purred.  He rolled around in it over and over and fell asleep.  Bonkers loves his weed couch and I can’t keep him away.  Skittles tried to get on the couch today and Bonkers beat her up for it.  At first I felt really happy for my cats and the doobie sofa.  Now I know that drugs rip families apart.

 

 

 Bonkers on his weed couch with his stash in front of him.  I wish I could say that I put that bag there but he pulls it out from under his sofa when I hide it there.

Brotherly Wishes October 4, 2009

Sweet and sincere words from my 7 year old brother on my birthday.  This was my birthday card that wasn’t actually a card but a sealed envelope with the message on the back.  In his mind, there is nothing sweeter than wishing 3 babies upon me. 

When She Was Ours October 6, 2009

I remember trying to lay her down for a nap with me. Her fidgeting would become more still and she would start whispering to me less and less. I never opened my eyes to look at her because for some reason she would just stare at me until she feel asleep and giving her the eye contact to shoot me that little toothy grin would give her enough fuel to stay awake for at least another fifteen minutes. Eventually though, the room would turn totally silent and still and I’d think to myself, “Ahhh, she’s finally asleep.” Right about then I’d feel tiny fingertips on the ends of my eye lashes, pulling my eye lids open to see that little grin I was trying to avoid about half an hour ago. She was such a precious girl.

I know why people fear trying to adopt because I loved a little girl like this once. Once you’ve seen the face of someone like this, it haunts you in the bittersweetest of ways.

The first night she came to our house, I’m assuming she was brought to my mom by the social worker. She showed up in dainty, pink flannel floral pajamas and she just sort of teetered around with a smile sizing us all up. The social worker said that the ease in which she left her mother and the ease in which she meandered around our home lets them know that removing her was the best thing for her. As she confidently, yet meekly walked about we all sort of just stared at her and waited for her next move. She came up to me and ate bites of my Oreo pie from Burger King. That was the first thing we ever shared. That night was the first time I became a big sister and it filled me with that one time feeling that only first experiences can. This two and 1/2 year old, big brown-eyed, curly-haired little person practically showed up on our doorstep one night. We loved her for almost a year to her face. Forever from a distance.

About 11 months later, after months and months of watching her explore the world and work her way into our family and our hearts, I stood in a kitchen in Illinois calling home to my mom from vacation to speak to Madison. My mom sounded upset and went on to tell me that “they” would be coming to take Madison back to her mother that day. I wouldn’t get to say goodbye. I wouldn’t get to see her again. Vividly I can see myself standing alone in that kitchen trying to hide my shaking voice and sniffles as we had our last little conversation there about animals I had just seen at the zoo. Thankfully, it wasn’t the last time I we talked. We had a few short weeks left after I returned home Chicago and I’m so thankful for those irreplaceable days.

I dreaded that last moment with her. It’s a hard thing to love a child. A harder thing to go to see them, knowing you would lose them. Knowing you had loved them. Knowing where they were going and knowing the kind of misfortune and struggle she would have going back into the home she came from.

I never told her she wouldn’t see me again. She was so young and life was already so hard that I couldn’t imagine making her any more fearful or anxious than her tiny 3 1/2 year old mind already was.

Ironically, the last thing I did was put her down for a nap. I sat on the bed that she was sleeping in. It was the same bed my mother slept in as a little girl and the same one that was in my childhood room. I told her I loved her and made sure I didn’t cry until I knew she was asleep. I wanted those last moments to be sweet and normal like they had been all that time.  I sat on top of that bed and rubbed her little arms and watched her sleep. The tears rolled off my face and on to her hands while I felt the overwhelming love and concern I had for her and I grieved. I don’t know at what point I decided to walk away. It’s hard to let a moment like that go. Hard to let a child like that go. Even more so when I knew where she was going but I did. I walked out of the room and closed the door behind me and that was the last time I spent with her.

As hard as it was for me, I knew it would be harder still for my mom. Afterall she thought we would adopt her and that she would become ours. She spent every moment with her, raising her, trying to make at least the life she had with us worthwhile. I wasn’t there when my mom said goodbye and I’m glad that I wasn’t. When my mom told me how the story went, I felt it hard enough that I couldn’t fathom being present.

Madison’s young biological mom pulled into my mother’s driveway. Madison knew she was going back to live with mommy and even though she was unsure, she was willing because every child desires their mom, no matter how unfit. Madison hugged my mom and told her she loved her and then her biological mom put her into her car seat. Madison’s mom walked over to my mom and hugged her and my mom cried. Losing a child in any capacity is such a deep and permanent loss. We sent Madison with a scrapbook to remember her life with us and so that she could remember our faces but that would be up to the mother to keep us alive and why would she if she could hide the experience of foster care.  One that Madison would soon forget with age. The pain in loving a child is greater when you know that they will only live in your mind, not in theirs.

As my mom cried, Madison’s mom teared up too. Everyone involved knew they were starting on a journey. One mother mourning, one mother nervously trying to be the mom she should’ve been almost 4 years ago.

As they stood there on the driveway together, Madison somehow wiggled out of her car seat and came over to my teary mom. She sweetly hugged her and patted her back and said, “Don’t worry Joan-y. I be back.” They climbed into the car and pulled away.

She couldn’t have known what she was saying because she was only 6 months past 3. But still, in the place where I carry that momentary sweet sister in my heart, I’ve always hoped she was right.

         

I saw Madison at a Red Lobster off the interstate 6 months after we lost her when her mom agreed to meet me there.  She remembered me and that was the last time I ever saw or heard from them again.  I’ve had a picture of her up in my house every single day since the day we lost her.  Madison turned 12 this August.

Because I love you that’s why October 8, 2009

I’m about to alienate a lot of my readers with something irrelevant to half the world and therefore, boring to many. BUT to some, my friend, this could possibly be a dream come true.

This baby hasn’t made me barf in about three weeks. Raise the roof! But, even when I don’t hurl, I’m still having a hard time brushing my tongue. This is unfortunate because tongue brushing is the only way to a clean mouth feel and to that important stink free mouth air. This morning I was a brishy brushing and gagged 2 times. Two times is about my limit before I barf. Well the second, or dreaded third dry heave, I burped. We all know what that means. It means your stomach just tried to barf and air came up first. A few more pumps from the old involuntary muscle spasms and you are looking at the applesauce and fruit punch you just wasted in the sink. I stood there and hoped it would pass but no, no, no. It was too late.

Well, that was about 12 hours ago and it’s time to brush my teeth for the night. I started to head to the sink and I said, “No way. This is too risky.” So I did what I always do. I googled how to keep from gagging when brushing. Believe it or not, there was a step-by-step list of how not to gag during throat cultures, teeth brushing etc. on ehow.com. Below are the steps to take to avoid gagging. If you are a gagger, hopefully, this will change your embarassing uncontrollable vomitous ways.

Step 1: Open your mouth wide when your doctor puts the swab in (or when you brush your tongue), and lightly but rapidly pant, just like an overheated dog. It’s almost impossible to gag while you’re panting. Light panting is the key – it keeps you from panicking and keeps your strep germs out of the doctor’s face. (And if you’re pregnant, barf in your belly. I wrote this parenthesis part.  You can tell because it has personality.)

Step 2- Continue lightly panting until the swab has been completed – and thank your doctor for his/her help! ( I didn’t write the thank your doctor part because that’s stupid.)

Those are the steps. I am now going to brush my teeth and give you an update. Please stand by…..

(Elevator music)

I’m back. You may have noticed that I didn’t play elevator music while you waited.  That was a trick.  It was gansta rap and I was afraid you would leave if I told you the truth ahead of time. 

So I brushed. 

I panted. 

No one can save us now.  Godspeed.

15 October 13, 2009

You take a deep breath and you walk through the doors Its the morning of your very first day

you say hi to your friends you aint seen in a while

Try and stay out of everybodys way

its your freshman year and youre gonna be here for the next four years in this town

hoping one of those senior boys will wink at you and say you know I havent seen you around, before

Cause when youre fifteen and somebody tells you they love you youre gonna believe them and when youre fifteen

feeling like there nothing to figure out

well count to ten, take it in this is life before you know who youre gonna be

fifteen

You sit in class next to a redhead named Abigail and soon enough youre best friends

laughing at the other girls who think theyre so cool well be out of here as soon as we can

and then youre on your very first date and hes got a car and youre feeling like flying

and youre momas waiting up and you think hes the one and youre dancing round your room when the night end

when the night ends 

 Cause when youre fifteen and somebody tell you they love you youre gonna believe them

when youre fifteen and your first kiss makes your head spin round

but in your life youll do greater than dating the boy on the football team

but I didnt know it at

fifteen

When all you wanted was to be wanted wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now

Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday but I realized some bigger dreams of mine

and Abigail gave everything she had to a boy who changed his mind and we both cried

Cause when youre fifteen and somebody tells you they love you youre gonna believe them and when youre fifteen, dont forget to look before you fall

Ive found that time can heal most anything and you just might find who youre supposed to be I didnt know who I was supposed to be at

fifteen

Youre very first day take a deep breath girl

take a deep breath as you walk through those doors.

- Taylor Swift

I love this song and I relate to it so much! It actually gives me chills.  I played it for Lance and he acted like it was so, so.  I said, “Ugh! You were never a teenage girl in highschool!” Then I walked out.  Really put him in his place because he was surprised to learn that he wasn’t ever a teenage female.

one liners plus a few other sentences October 14, 2009

I can’t handle unwrapping a package of cinnamon rolls or biscuits. Waiting for the package to burst unexpectedly is like a horrifying, suspenseful, adult jack in the box.

Why don’t foreigners sing with their accents? What happens to it when they hold out long words melodically?

When I text, my predictive text for the word “care” comes up as barf first.  So, if I ever text you that I don’t barf where we go,  you know what I mean.

If there was a public place where everyone could go and press their naked butt to, would you go and do it too? Exactly. That’s a public restroom. I rest my case.

When you tell someone a baby name and they say, “Oh I know a baby named that.”  It seems like an insult to someone who wants a creative or more orignal name but my friend pointed out it’s just the opposite.  If someone tells you a common name like Sarah, you never say, “I know a Sarah!”  That’s because if you said that it would be like….duh.  But if you say, “I would like you to meet my baby Jebadiah.”  Someone feels compelled to say that they know one of those because not everyone has that name. 

On the subject of baby names, google “social security popular names” and you can see how popular your name or babies names are in the past 5 years.  You can even do it to where you see how many babies were born with that name on a particular year.  It’s true.  There were 18,000-ish Rebeccas in 1982.

One of the funniest things I’ve ever heard is a comedian talking about being at his mother’s funeral.  He was trying to think of something funny to say to break the ice and tension when people gave their condolences.  When people came up to him and said, “I’m so sorry.”  He said, “Not as sorry as I am.”

When I text the word kitten into my phone my cell gives me the word litter first.  Kitten and litter coming from the same buttons?  coincidence?  No way.

One of the most annoying things my husband does is blame me being angry at him on something exterior.  Usually he says, “Someone needs a nap.”  It doesn’t matter if I woke up from winter hibernation.  I would still need a nap.  You’re right Lance, when you ignored what I said three times and just kept staring at the TV when I was trying to get you to help me, it wasn’t you being annoying! I just got really sleepy.

My cat, Bonkers, has a problem with biting my toes.  I read on the internet that if you firmly but gently hold their heads down, hiss in their face, and walk away, then they will learn to quit.  I would never do that though. (nervous smile)

It’s interesting that white people talking like black people is funny but black people talking like white people isn’t as funny.  Wait a second….maybe they think it is.  Nevermind, black people are way cooler than us and would never sit around talking like white people.

Pregnancy is turning my body into one big mustache.

Far From Here October 19, 2009

I will never forget the first time I met them.  The vans pulled up and about 20-40 African refugees piled out of the vans and into our church.  They came in knowing little, if any, English and some of them would just come up to you and smile.  They would just stand there.  They wanted to talk but they didn’t know the language so they just smiled.  One man, father of 8, gave us a sheet of paper to write words on and he would just try to replicate the letters over and over.  Another group of people stood by the big windows and watched the sky spit mysterious cold white stuff they had never seen before.  The translator tried to explain what snow was and he interpreted it as white rain.  They were fascinated.  Watching them was like watching a child at Christmas.  I was as amazed by them as they were our white rain.

I’m telling you that I’ve never seen children who were so content and happy as the kids I met that night.  I’ve never seen a group of people as sincerely happy, period.  Even though I’ve known some of these kids for over a year now, there is still a notable difference in their joy when you compare them to American kids.  In Africa you help your family.  You live as a community.  Your life is simple.  You can’t be spoiled because there is nothing to spoil you with.  You don’t fear work at any age.  Furthermore, you don’t complain about it.  There is a respect for your elders.  There is happiness found in dancing and singing and not toys and video games.  As much as other smaller and underdeveloped countries envy America, I think they have the real things in better perspective than we do.

The night I met all of these wonderful people, they all came in wearing mismatched clothes.  Old shoes that clashed with their unfashionable outifts and purses that were grocery bags.  They had no self-consciousness that they should even be embarrassed by how they looked because in their world, clothes for anything other than practical need didn’t make sense.  You had one or two shirts and a skirt or pair of pants and you had your wardrobe.  Busting closets with coordinating outfits and shoes to match doesn’t even exist in their world.  They don’t see the purpose. 

I gave one of the women a used purse looking diaper bag to replace her grocery bags.  She was so thrilled.   Every time I saw her after that day, she was carrying that bag.  It was a cute bag but it was used and the leather had been scratched.  Josephine acted like it was a priceless designer bag.  I wish I could be that excited to have something used and damaged.  I’m not better for my desire of perfect things.  When I look at all of these people though, it’s not that they just choose not to be materialistic.  It’s almost like the don’t know the mindset exists.  Sure, I’m sure they envy other people’s huts or cattle in their villages…things that are relevant to them.  But caring whether or not your clothes are fashionable or even a good fit, doesn’t even occur to them.

There is a sweet little girl named Vioni that comes to our church every night with her two brothers.  She wears flip flops and a big baggy t-shirt with a fancy over sized Christmas dress over her shirt.  I’m sure someone’s old dress that they donated to Goodwill.  She will walk in totally unaware that her clothes are sub par by our society.  Totally unaware that other children don’t wear pajama shirts with black velvet dresses.  I watch her sometimes and I think, “When you go to school, don’t let these kids convince you that you are lacking. Don’t let them tell you that there is something wrong with being confident in all the things that are culture says should be embarrassing.”  My fear is that she will begin to have her eyes opened to how we do things here.  Cause see Vioni, in America we buy clothes not to cover our bodies but to cover our pride.  We buy clothes so that we have enough pairs to clothe your family several times over but we choose not to wear everything we have because some of our things are out dated or faded.

It’s impossible to watch that content little girl and think we have something that she should desire.  Our tendency is to want to clothe children like that and fit them into our box. We pity her and think that she is so unfortunate but she is totally happy.  We only feel that way because we are American, because we lack what she has.  She isn’t being deprived of anything.  Her needs are met.  Honestly, at the core of our pity is the truth that we prize nice things.  Her only deprivation is fashion and what a shame to pity that.  There, of course, is an element of wanting to protect her from mean children who may laugh at her for her old clothes so we want to give her nice things to blend in.  If giving her new outfits will change her priorities, change the way she validates what’s important in life, then let them laugh and let her have character.  I’m so afraid that she will think that we have it right and that she will start to live a life of finding confidence in possessions and exterior things.  Save your money sweet child.  You have what all the bludging closet Americans are searching for.  

Vioni lives in the projects.  She isn’t surrounded by kids with designer clothes.  Children with a million outfits.  But even on Welfare the American way to chase after ”desirable” things persists.  It persists because you can’t get away from dissatisfaction or envy in any village on any corner of the world. Those things don’t happen because of socioecnomic status but out of our humanity.  But no matter how human, cultures differ and therefore, so do priorioties and mindsets.  That said, there are plenty of things  that we wealthy Americans can learn from people who have nothing by our standards.  You can find these things in thatch and mud built huts that make villages where people really are neighbors.  Where family isn’t just who lives in your house.  A place where people are so genuine and sincerely loving that they will come up and smile in your face comfortably, even if they don’t have the words.  Far from here there is a place where snowflakes are fairytales and Kroger bags are designer luggage.  As she dances round a world that doesn’t know the joy she has ,in a velvet Christmas dress, I pray she never forgets where she came from.

Stanky Leggin’ October 19, 2009

(May I suggest utilizing the videos with their audio on for full enjoyment.)

When I was in 8th grade I use to do Da Dip when my dad drove me around.  Occasionally, I might throw in the butterfly or the Macerena.  In high school, I did dances that I wish not to speak of.  Last night, in 2009, you could’ve found me driving my dad and teenage girl around doing da stanky leg.  Many of you may need to watch a short clip to experience the stanky leg.  I only watched 49 seconds of this video so I’m not responsible for anything that might unpredictably happen after that.  I feel it’s probably only some more dance moves but take your chances as you wish.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJDsQobM0Ao

How I can do that and drive is none of your concern.  There are simplified ways to do this dance that involve less buttocks.  There are many ways to do the stanky leg so that everyone feels at ease.  Even you can do the stanky leg. 

My dad said, “I can’t believe my 27 year-old pregnant daughter is driving me around doing the stanky leg.”  He says it with a smile because he knew I was born to be stanky.  Afterall, my dad and I moved all the furniture out of the living room and took turns doing the M.C. Hammer to Vanilla Ice when I was kid.  What could he expect from me?  Turn from my ways?  Ridiculous.

I told my dad.  Not only would his children do the stanky leg, but his children’s, children.  I would expect nothing less than a child who could shake their legs in such a manner.  I will teach them modest ways to get their shake on.  I will start them young with children’s shows introducing the methods.  Again, only the first 40 seconds or so are necessary.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HI8bTFID-a4

Simple really.  In about 2 years I’ll post a video of my kid doing the dance of the  moment.  Maybe a video of the whole family.  Brings a tear to my eye…..

whew October 22, 2009

Today was awful and great all at once. I went to the doctor and after 10 minutes of not being able to pick up a heartbeat, she sent me down to have an ultrasound. Her sympathy scared me and I was terrified. I had to walk through the office and hospital crying by myself until family came and it was not an enjoyable experience. It was the longest wait. Lance came and my sister and her kids, and my sister in law so I didn’t have to stay alone. They were there for the ultrasound. As soon as they touched my stomach with the ultrasound the baby started moving, punching, kicking, and rolling. Instant tears for us all and sigh of relief. I am so grateful because I know how common miscarriages are. Here are the pictures of our baby. The baby my mother-in-law said she is gonna spank it when it comes out because of our little scare. Everything is totally fine. 14 weeks this Saturday. They told us what they thought the baby was but we are waiting for our 4d ultrasound a week from Monday before we do any announcements. Praise the Lord for this baby and keeping it safe!

  

Afterbirth October 26, 2009

I watched my sister’s labor today. It was waaayyyy less eventful than I pictured it. No screaming…nothing crazy. She pushed for less than a half an hour and then there was this little blue, bloody boy being held up in the air by the doctor.

Here’s what I learned about labor:

I had no idea that they raise your bed up in the air above a sitting person’s head. It was like she was on a fork lift.

I didn’t know that they used cathaters. That looks like “cat haters”. I don’t know how you spell that and it’s funny so I’ll leave it be.

Most importantly, I didn’t know how bloody it was. It was unreal to me. Moreover, I didn’t know it was bloody BEFORE the baby even comes out. I had no clue. I mean it was impressive more than scary but I had no idea.

Lastly, placentas look exactly like blue pot roasts and it really catches you off guard when you walk by the table and it’s just sitting there in the open in a dish. It was a disgusting sort of amazing that never needs to be seen by my eyes again.

That’s my full report.

I’m really glad I did it and I’m not expecting my labor to be as easy as it was for her. Still comforting to see that it can be not as big a deal as people make it out to be, screaming on TV. Bring on April 24th. I’m educated and ready!

I’m attaching a video link of the baby for my family so that they can see the little guy. He’s really sweet. He was also a haus cat, 8 pounds, 11 ounces-21 inches.

This little guy is like Bonkers…a really good man.

http://www.facebook.com/v/158173553334

14 weeks October 27, 2009

14 weeks up in ya face! Big announcement of what we’re having on Monday! You will barely be able to sleep in anticipation!!!

October 28, 2009

When I went to New York City, I realized how many things I love about home. A lot of people, majority waiters that I met, seemed so arrogant to be from “the city” and that being from Kentucky was laughable. I mean, I do realize the KY stereotype but clearly, that wasn’t us and surely, it would make someone think that maybe they are wrong about the state but whatever. We had this one particular dude wait on us at a restaurant in Time Square who was particularly too proud to be from NYC. He told us he went to Kentucky once to help a friend sell their family farm and of course, he was heavily sarcastic. He said there was nothing to do there and that essentially it would be a nightmare to be from a small town like that.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love big cities. I’d rather visit a city than a beach. 3 of my last 4 vacations have been Vegas, Chicago, and NYC. But I’m telling you that I didn’t know how much I appreciated living in a town like mine until I visited the massive beast that is “THE city”! The pace is unreal. Trees and grass are nowhere to be found. The horn honking is incessant. If there is anything I didn’t get about the city is why people honk all the time. Honking without accomplishing a purpose in NYC is about as common as saying “yall” in the south. One won’t keep you up at night. It was an experience like no other. I love the culture. The character. The famous things to see but I wouldn’t trade a life there for a life here. Maybe a vacation, not a life. As sure as I say that, I know there are a million adamant others who say just the opposite.

I remember coming home after the trip and sitting on a deck at a restaurant and watching in awe at the pace of local traffic. I couldn’t believe the silence of the cars. I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was here. Trees lining the streets. People that say “excuse me”. I know my experience is confined to 1 week among the tourist attractions and that NY isn’t all this way or its people for that matter. Heck, there are even farms in New York! But based upon my short visitor’s glimpse, I couldn’t imagine a life of concrete, horns, and crowds of brisk walking people.

A few weeks ago I was on a two lane road a little ways out from my hometown on my way to a quaint little diner. The traffic on the two lane is usually around 60 but we were going SO slow and no one was passing this big lane of cars in front of us. Then I looked across the two lane to the other side of on coming traffic and people were stopping their cars and pulling over. What was happening? Then I realized that I was behind a funeral processional. People weren’t speeding because they wanted to stay behind the grievers. People were stopping in traffic or pulling over, like they always do in the south, to pay their respects to the deceased. I love that more than Broadway shows and 5 dollar Fiji waters with my 60 dollar plate of dinner. A short while later we passed a man standing on the side of the road by his produce stand and he walked to the side of lane and took his hat off and put it over his chest until the line of 20 cars passed. I’ve never been more thankful for a town where grass and trees aren’t found confined in parks and where strangers honor each other, say “yes maam” and “yes sir”, even if it’s with a deep southern drawl. We have a lot to offer too. This isn’t a battle cry against the booming metropolises of the world, but a love song for the south…. my favorite.

What Choo Got In Them Jeans November 2, 2009

The long awaited day has come to reveal my baby’s genitalia.  I went today to my “I have no patience, I just can’t wait” optional, elective early ultrasound.  As soon as the lady touched the device to my stomach she pulled it off and said, “I’m positive I know what it is.”  It’s a girl!  (Please hold your appaulse until the end.)  That’s the same thing the ultrasound tech old us a week earlier at my emergency ultrasound when they looked for the heartbeat.  And with no further adue, I announced to you my baby name that I’ve had since 2006, Eden Elizabeth!  No need to say it with my last name.  The last name goes with nothing so you might as well throw it out and try to save two of three names your kid will have. 

That’s right folks I have been walking around with two vaginas and had no idea! 

I got a DVD of the ultrasound in on the Dvd my baby does the most awesomest of all things…she sucked her thumb for us! Awwwwww!  I could see the little fist and mouth moving while she practiced how to drain my chesticles of it’s dairy products.  Just five minutes before I asked the technician if she ever gets to see the babies suck their thumbs because it’s something I’ve always wanted to see.  Then no more than five minutes later my psyhic genius baby sucked her thumb in the most adorable of ultrasound moments.  She also did other cute things like played with her umblical cord and kept putting  her hands on her head like “oh brother” but who’s counting these things….

We no longer have a baby to refer to as “it”.  Our little Eden is on her way!  I’m going to post her ultrasound video and the four-d pictures of her where she looks like Skeletor…just like her momma.

48 Hours Mystery October 31, 2009

Monday afternoon I will post my next blog identifying the gender and name of  the infamous baby-o-saur.  Prepare yourself for pure joy and uncontrollable anticipation followed by laughter and a nice long nap.

Baby Eden Shows You What She’s Workin’ With November 3, 2009

You have to have the eye of the tiger to catch the finger sucking in this video.  Actually, I should say thumb sucking right?  Thumbs aren’t fingers.  Anyways, I point it out but its super fast and hard to see but give it a whirl.

WARNING:  THE FIRST IMAGE WILL BE A 4-D PICTURE THAT LOOKS LIKE A LIKE DEMON CHILD WITH A NUB IN IT’S MOUTH WITH IT’S BRAINS SHOWING.  4-d images look really weird at this stage.  Don’t worry because if you can make it through the first few seconds, it’ll switch to the safe and more attractive black and white images.  Give it a looksy.  It will be like a Where’s Waldo fetus addition.

http://www.facebook.com/v/163240583334

I want to shout out to Precious Views ultrasound studios.  It was worth the special trip!

4-d, 15 1/2 weeks. Her face is almost facing you and her chin is tucked down. Her little umbilical cord is going across the picture.

3-d black and white 15 1/2 weeks

It's a girl! Leg shooting straight up butt shot!

Oink November 5, 2009

I almost dread writing this blog because I hate controversy and this is about to be just that. At least to a group on one side of the fence.   Specifically, to doctors and mothers. But I guess, in a way, “I’m one of those people” who are skeptical of the getting the swine flu vaccine.   One of “those people” people who is leery of getting the one billion vaccines for my newborn within the normal time frame that shots are typically administered.  EVERY time I turn on the TV, it’s about the pandemic of the swine flu, the shortages of vaccines, the questions about the vaccines, and on and on.  Of course, I’m in the high risk category of a pregnant woman. But I’m telling you that it’s being pregnant that makes me not want to do it.  I just don’t feel comfortable being a test group for a new vaccine.  What if ten years from now it did something to the babies in their mom wombs that effects them long-term and they just couldn’t have known it because it had never been given to pregnant women before with developing babies in their wombs?  The arguments are:

1- It’s made the same way that they make the flu shot.

2-It’s approved by the CDC/FDA.

3. Etc.

Here’s why that doesn’t comfort me.  The doctors that tell you to take it got their info from trusting the CDC that it’s safe.  The CDC/FDA got their info based on not having time to test it or prove that it’s safe over time.  It isn’t exactly the same as a regular flu shot, which has been proven safe over long periods of time.

I just think that we trust so much that things like this are fool-proof.  Same with prescription drugs.  How many times have you seen drugs recalled or taken off the market because they caused death, stroke, heart attack?  Those drugs were all approved by the same people and prescribed by doctors everywhere. 

5 years ago I walked into my gynecologist’s office and told her that I wanted birth control.  I told her that the pill made me sick and she offered me the new solution in this birth control patch that you stick on your body.  It’s convienentt and won’t make you sick like pills because it doesn’t sit on your stomach.  Too good to be true.  Absolutely, I’ll take it!  One year later over a steady decline, I ended up throwing up every time I put the patch on.  I was dizzy.  Plagued by migraines.  Sex became painful.  I started getting terrible cramps.  I felt miserable 1oo percent of the time.  I quit the patch because I realized the intensity of my sickness spiked within in twenty-four hours of putting it on.  Within one month of me getting to the climax of my sickness,  the news hit that the patch I had been taking was giving women 60 percent more estrogen then they manufacturers realized.  Young healthy girls had died, had strokes, heart attacks, etc. from complications and they would start working towards changing the product or removing it from the market.  It changed my life.  I still have migraines to this day.  Not to mention what I developed during that time, the first known case in my family of endometriosis.  Endometriosis is an estrogen disease and cause of my 2 years of infertility.  Since that time I’ve had 2 separate doctors, one fertility and one obgyn tell I never should been on it in the first place by my build alone because the hormones saturated my body with nowhere to go.  But I trusted my doctor and I trusted the people who gave her the information on the drug that they knew the interactions of that product. 

Did that drug effect everyone the same way?  Of course not.  Do I believe you shouldn’t trust your doctor or not take medication?  Absolutely not.  However, I do think we are mindless about things at times and will take any shot or any drug without a thought because we trust a system that, for the most part, is a good system.  What scares me though is, it does happen.  There are certain people who will be effected differently from a one size fits all patch or shot.  The long-standing drugs and shots, I feel fine with.  New vaccines never given to pregnant women until now?  Makes me nervous.  Swine flu makes me nervous too but so does being a geniea pig. 

Also, there’s the issue of the shots containing thimerosal.

“Thimerosal, which is a mercury-based preservative added to multi-dose vials of inactivated annual influenza vaccines and other vaccines, has been associated with brain and immune system dysfunction,  including autism.

Thimerosal, which is a mercury-based preservative added to multi-dose vials of inactivated annual influenza vaccines and other vaccines, has been associated withbrain and immune system dysfunction, including autism. Thimerosal WILL be added as a preservative in multi-dose vials of most inactivated (injected) H1N1 swine flu vaccines, although there reportedly will be a limited supply of single dose vials of inactivated swine flu vaccine that do not contain thimerosal.

The live virus nasal spray H1N1 vaccine being created by MedImmune will not contain the preservative thimerosal (and live virus swine flu vaccine will not contain an unlicensed adjuvant that may be added to inactivated H1N1 vaccines).”

-National Vaccine Information Center

For those of you rolling your eyes right now, even the famous book I’m reading currently, “What to Expect When You Are Expecting”, recommends getting a flu shot but ASLO requesting the thimerosal free or “reduced vaccine” as it is also known.

Do I think vaccines with thimerosal are the sole cause of autism and other associated issues? Nope.  Do I think that some little bodies aren’t as equipped to deal with this ingredient causing complications or igniting underlying predispositions, some of which are autism?  Yes.  People usually say, “Well, I vaccinated all my kids and they are fine.”  Good and I’m sure that’s true.  Vaccines are a great thing in a lot of ways and I do plan to vaccinate my kids with doses that are more spaced out over time.  This is just my point though, not all vaccines will do the same things to different children.  And to those who say, “We got vaccinations and we all turned out okay!”  Many Thimerasol containing multi-dose vaccines were added to the immunization schedule for infants much later than when our parents and even people in my age group were being vaccinated.   If you are mid-twenties or older, you didn’t get the same regiment of shots, many of which did not have the same dosages of Thimerasol, if contained at all.  Don’t buy it?  You are entitled to that but it should still make us pause.  Thimerasol is banned in Europe and restricted in 7 U.S. states.  We aren’t even supposed to shatter energy friendly lightbulbs or dispose of them normally because they contain mercury.  Why would inject it into 160 pound bodies or 25 pound bodies agents containing mercury in any degree?  I’m not comfortable with it.

For every woman or baby that died with the swine flu, there is another woman and baby that’s fine.  In my opinion, it’s a risk if you take the shot, risk if you don’t.  Or at least it seems. 

Disagree with me if you please, that’s fine.  I’m not standing in judgement of mother’s that deem this shot as an act of protection and wisdom as an act of ignorance or neglect in my eyes.  The swine flu or any vaccine for that matter.  I just ask that you do the same for me if this blog really ruffled your feathers.  When its all said and done, we have to trust someone’s facts.  I’m just hesitant to trust the facts of an industry that is human and gets it right a lot of the times and drops the ball at others.  For me, I feel like I can’t trust facts that haven’t been tested.  I waited a long, long time to have this little person growing inside of me.  As it’s brain developes, limbs grow, organs get more sophisticated, ultimately, the reason they want me to take the shot, is the same one that keeps me not wanting to.

Pee Pee Policies November 11, 2009

I hate knocking on bathroom doors in public places to see if it’s occupied.  It’s silly but I get nervous just waiting to see if someone answers back.  I feel like I embarrassed them or something.  What are you supposed to say when someone knocks?  I never know what to say and I get real uncomfortable and just say, “Someone is in here”.  Sometimes I say, “Taken” but that’s abrupt and weird.  There have been times where I’ve said, “Uh huh?” As if I’m leaving the ball in their court to say something back to me.  Then there’s an awkward moment when you exit and it’s just you and the stranger you talked to while you were doing your business.  Yeah, you are just two strangers both looking to handle your business.  I try avoid this shared moment and I usually abandon the scene if I knocked on an occupied bathroom.  I don’t want them to say, “Oh, there’s the person who giggled the handle over and over until they finally heard me say my awkward phrase to tell them there is no room in here for the both of us.”  Another way I try to avoid this situation all together is to simply make noise while I’m in the bathroom.  Maybe a few simple coughs or a loud faucet will detour someone from needing to knock.

Then there’s the problem of the room stinking.  What if it stunk before you went in?  You just want to tell them so bad that you had nothing to do with it.  It’s instant pride with a person you will never see again.  If there’s pee on the seat, in that situation, I want to tell them it wasn’t me too but as a hoverer, I can never be sure.  I check, but again, you can never be too trusted if you refuse to sit.

Sometimes hovering is dangerous and you pee the back of your pants or occasionally, splatter the sides.  Nothing a little splash of water or “casual wiping of your wet hands” on your pants can’t fix.  I think these methods really throw someone off.  Pee on their pants or water droplets?  If it’s around the ankles, you can be silently sure of the answer.

In the realm of bathrooms, I find Target’s bathrooms to have the best aroma while Hobby Lobby’s bathrooms always reek of number 2 and rank somewhere around porter potties and gas stations.  Still, if you knock on either of their stalls, I won’t know how to answer you. 

I think I’ll just do what this 60 year-old woman did at McDonalds in Athens, GA.  I opened the stall door because it wasn’t even shut all the way.  The door swung open and she had no startle response and just stared at me blankly like we were an old comfortable married couple.  There she was just sitting there spread eagle just looking at me. She never said a word.   In hindsight, I think she may have been disabled but either way she avoided having to tell me it was occupied and the joke was on me.  Buuuuutttttt then I wrote about her on the internet so, I’m like rubber she’s like glue…. I’m always sort of a champion.

If nothing else, for those of us afraid to answer the call outside of the bathroom, we’ll always have Athens.  If they barge in, the eagle always speaks for itself.  Remember that kids.

Regression November 10, 2009

The first battle Lance and I ever had over house issues concerned the closing of the shower curtain.  It took six months but eventually, he was trained into curtain submission and etiquette.  Other household battles have been constant song outbursts (see Watch Out for Singing Rabbits) and other classics like this clicking noise he makes with his mouth.  It’s some sort of beat boxing sound but he just walks around and makes this individual sound.  I cannot lie though.  I know why he’s doing this.  He is hearing a song in his head and making this sound out loud on beat to his head song.  At least he’s not singing out loud.  You can’t win them all.

These days I enjoy things like Sock Parade.  He leaves socks, sometimes in pairs, sometimes mysteriously seperated, all over the house.  I call it Sock Parade like it’s a festival of socks lining the house.

Yesterday while enjoying a sock party, I heard a sound.  A familiar sound.  A clicking sound.  A sound that has been banished from this house for a long time.  It’s happening.  It’s returning.  The beat box sound.  It’s back.  It’s returned almost as mysteriously as it left. Just like Santa at Christmas time. It’s worse though this time.  He’s beat boxing songs.  He’s singing them.  Constantly.  And would you believe, the shower curtain was wide open exposing the guts of my tub two days this week.

What is going on?  Lance is slipping back into bachelor mode.  Dang I say, DANG!

Skittles had diarhea on the floor.  Lance is giving me concert after concert.  Bonkers barfed on his weed couch.  My home life is slipping away.

Animals are my homies November 9, 2009

As many of you may know, I’m quite the scholar on animals. Not common animals, more exotic and fantastic earth beasts. I don’t get people not being as equally as fascinated by the animal kingdom. Do you realize that with clown fish,(Nemo fish) , that the female is always the biggest? Why is that amazing? Because if you put two clown fish together, the larger fish will change it’s anatomy to female if it was a male originally. That should blow your mind. What is wrong with you? What does it take to make someone want to take notes on Animal Planet, if not that? Do you even know what an Ocelet is? Do you even know what a Capybara is? It’s like a huge hamster that swims in the rivers with other big water hamsters. I know what you are picturing though. Ya know, it’s literally an oversized hamster, maybe the size of a cat. Get a load of this losers!

IN YOUR FACE! RESPECT!

Listen to these facts:

It’s a strange fact that all polar bears are left-handed and their livers are extremely poisonous as they contain too much of Vitamin C.

Sharks seemingly are the only animals that never fall sick and are immune to every known disease including cancer.

A lion can mate up to 50 times in a day.

Mockingbirds can imitate sounds of other birds.

The rat tops the list of animals that can live without water for a long time; the camel being second to it.

The eyes of the donkey are placed in such a way that it can see all four feet at the same time.

There are around 2,600 known species of frogs, which live on every continent, except Antarctica.

The venom of a poison arrow frog can kill approximately 2,200 people.

Crocodiles can swallow large stones that stay permanently in their bellies and are used as ballast in diving.

A female ferret will literally die, if she can’t find a mate after going into heat.

An electric eel can produce a shock of up to 650 volts.

A porcupine has 30,000 quills on an average. It’s average heartbeat is around 190 beats per minute, which reduces to 20 during hibernation.

A woodpecker can peck up to 20 times in a second.

Bats unmistakably turn left when exiting a cave. A brown bat can catch around 1,200 mosquito-sized insects in just an hour.

The call of a blue whale reaches up to 188 decibels, which can be heard from hundred of miles underwater, thus entitling it to be the loudest animal on earth. In loudness, the whale is followed by the howler monkey.

Those facts are from buzzle.com.  Why?   Why does an animal genius like me copy facts?  Because everyone who knows me has heard my favorite facts.  You know that a mouse can spontaneously abort her babies if she finds a more dominant male that tickles her fancy.  That wolverines are among the srongest and most viscious animals in the world for their size and that they can mate and the female can hold the sperm and impregnant herself at a time of her choosing within apprx. a 5-6 month span.  Simple, common facts like that. 

Is your mind not blown?  Are you not interested?  What’s it’s gonna take for you?  Do you need to know that …

The sperm of a MOUSE is longer than the sperm of an elephant.

Certain Chinese and American ALLIGATORS can survive the winter by freezing their heads in ice, leaving their nose out to breath for months on end.

Most ELEPHANTS weigh less than the tongue of a blue whale.

CAMEL milk does not curdle, because it has adapted to the desert heat. 

Facts collected from www.wildsidepetsinc.com and www.lakeeffectpets.com)

If this doesn’t make you want to run out and buy Planet Earth then I just can’t help you.  I hope you get eaten by a markamel tonight.  You won’t even know what’s happening because you never learned.  That’s what you get. 

That was a fangtooth.

Markamels aren’t even real.  I’m embarrassed by you.

Discrimination of Skinny Human Growers November 18, 2009

When you are really skinny, people discredit a lot of things about you. For example, your ability to pick up large boxes. You can now add to that list, the ability to have a pregnant belly. Today I embarked on a journey I had only heard about. I, Rebecca, have had my fetal rumpus stroked by a stranger. She was scanning my Mr. Potato head with one hand and performing a large circular rubbing motion with the other hand.  All across the conveyor belt.  A lot of people find a stranger touching their body weird. I think it’s weird that they feel comfortable doing it but I don’t mind them doing so on my end.  It’s whatever dude. I worked a long time for this humpety hump. Please admire.

Just hours before that, I had 2 strangers notice my pregnant belly all on their own. An hour after seeing them, a person saw me and said “I wasn’t even showing”. Really? How can I have such opposite things happen to me, in regards to my stomach, in only a few hours? I’ve noticed that because I’m small, people discount the bump that Eden is so graciously providing me with. They think and say…..”I guess that’s a bump for you”….. What does that mean? You can only tell me that I have a belly based on the size comparable to someone bigger than me? My belly is big because it is in fact on a pre-pregnant 103 pound girl. It’s real.  It’s obvious.  Embrace it. 

In the past month or so my father-in-law has said that I’m “sticking it out”. Here’s a better trick…trying to suck it in.  He’s right though. I can push out my stomach and my rib cage and my hips all in one simple motion to impress you. I’m also sticking out my boobs. Pushing those way, way out. In fact, pregnancy gives me no symptoms or physical evidence whatsoever. I’m almost halfway through my pregnancy.  Why should I be entitled to proof?  Don’t tell him I said that because he carries lots of weaponry on him at all times.  This is not a joke.  Homie packs heat.  I can’t wait til Eden sees his guns.  So sweet.  Warms my heart just thinking of it.

You know what I did today?  I pulled into Toys R Us and parked….in the expectant mothers spot.  Almost daring someone to question the substantialness of my hump.  I”m sure the spot is better deserved by the 8 month pregnant lady struggling to get out of her car but I like to live on the edge.   My lump has to count for something.  Not because someone 130 pounds can’t have a lump bigger than mine but because my lump is there too dag nab it!  For those of you not from the south, dag nab it is a phrase much like dang reserved for southerners.  I don’t really know where it came from so if it’s a version of something crass or profane, I apologize.  I learned that jap slap was a racial slur after year of thinking it was a just a funny non-sense phrase.  Just trying to cover my bets here.   Dag nab it could really mean anything.

I’m really getting off the point here.   Basically, before I got pregnant, I knew people would discount my growth because I’m the “silly little tiny girl trying to get beefy”.  It’s much like when people say I can’t have cellulite because I’m so tiny.  As stated in my blog “Common Misconceptions of Skinny People”, when people say that I want to pull my pants down and show them.  It’s not because I want to be right about having cellulite, it’s just that you are so wrong about skinny people and my pride is driving me to show you your error. 

I now wish to prove you wrong in a much more acceptable way than the dropping of britches.  If this below image is good enough for Potato Head lady, it should be good enough for you dear brothers and sisters.

showing tiny bump without pulling shirt

pulling shirt back to show my boo-yeah! 4 1/2 months suckas!

 To all of you that said, “Oh that’s nothing”, please refer to entry title.

Go Diego November 23, 2009

This, plus Lance, is why i was absent from the blog world last week. Here’s the latest….

Handmade from fondant. Leaves behind monkey border the cake and I did those by hand too.

Cake top. Handmade rocks, leaves, hippo,flowers, and boa. Diego and jaguar are store bought. There's not enough sanity to last me through hand making something like Diego.

November 23, 2009

As my life in the blogging world would have it, just as my blog hits have grown to over a 1,000 unique visitors a month, alas I’ve been a blogging failure for the past two weeks.  To all of you new people around, I promise I’m much more fantastic than I’ve been proving myself to be.  The past 7 and the next 7 days aren’t going to improve.  I’m sorry dearest loved ones.  If you can stick with me one more week than I’ll be blowing your minds with blogs about being a skinny pregnant woman and fascinating animals in no time! 

Last week I was fired from the computer while Lance wrote two sermons for a conference.  Not that I could’ve written because I was up to my ears in Diego.  This week I have work, Thanksgiving, a cake, and sadly, an out of town funeral.   Unfortunately, the second funeral in two weeks. 

I don’t consider this week a burden but I am tired just putting those words together.  No wait….that’s because I can’t sleep on my back anymore because of pregnancy.  Last night I wrestled with a pillow between my legs and flopped from side to side all to finally start falling asleep and then realize….DANG, I’m on my back!  Thus the reason I could actually fall asleep. 

Tonight I have a migraine and a cake that’s due a day earlier.  A cake I should probably do some things for tonight but I’m pretty sure I’m going to go to sleep on the couch.  So, while all of you eat turkey with your friends and family on Thanksgiving, looks like me, elmo, cookie monster, and big bird will be chilling together in a Seasame Street cake. 

So loved ones, I’m thankful you came, hope you keep coming, and I’ve got nothing to offer to you til next week.  I wish I could give you something to do during work for the next 48 hours but you will have to find your solace in facebook and you tube.  Just don’t forget your first love.  Until Monday….

Love, Busy Crazy Lady

PS-

Thanks for enduring my whiney, temper tantrum blog.  I’m trying to build empathy for my future baby.  It’s all for good reason.

WAIT November 25, 2009

I’m having an idea.  I’ve blogged for a little over a year now and I got to thinking that there are probably a lot of blogs that you have either forgotten about or maybe, never even read.  I compiled a list of about 9 older blogs that I’m going to post short links to so that you can go right to them. I’m going to post these older blogs in a series of three blogs so you will be on your seat waiting for the next set of lists in the trilogy.  It will be as crazy as the Twilight saga. 

You can copy and paste these short links that I’m about to post and give them to others if you wish.  I’ve had people tell me that they wish “so and so” could read a certain blog.  With short links it’s really easy.  I’m talking like I know a lot of computer or blog jargon but I’m really an idiot.  I’m not sure if you’ll be able to click on the links from my page but if you’re having trouble I know you can copy and paste them into your browser and it will take you there like a magical unicorn.

I figured if I don’t have anything new to say, you can at least read what I use to say.  Drum roll homies:

Ode to Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper http://wp.me/pjhsl-W

Small Wooden Houses http://wp.me/pjhsl-A

Jack Handy Quotes http://wp.me/pjhsl-9H

Sesame Street November 30, 2009

This is what I did all day Thanksgiving.  All edible (though, as always, edible doesn’t mean tasty).  Handmade decorations, including cake topper made of gumpaste and lined in icing.  Cake is buttercream on the outside and between the layers and the cake is white almond. 

Bam.

Sha-pow.

December 1, 2009

Three more in the triology of old blogs for you to feast your eyes upon. I’m working on some newer things so get excited.

Perverted Reindeer and Other Unforgetables  (one of my personal favorites) http://wp.me/pjhsl-1V

Williams Ave.  http://wp.me/pjhsl-n

How I Learned I’m Not Made For The City  (one of the first blogs I ever wrote when I was on myspace)  http://wp.me/pjhsl-1E

Pickles and Paint December 7, 2009

When we were children, we are all sort of creative.  Creative either due to actual talent or boredom but imaginative either way. Personally, I always fancied myself an inventive child.  When I was growing up my dad managed a branch of a large commercial food supplying chain and we somehow ended up with huge pickle buckets at our house.  We never actually had the pickles in them, they were just huge 50 gallon plastic pickle buckets.  They were always in the garage, for storage I suppose.  I’m not sure how this originally happened but at some point, I ended up turning them into a ghetto drum set.  I flipped them all on their tops and turned another one upside down for my seat.  I found some sort of long broken wooden handle and I would just sit out there in the garage alone and play those buckets for hours.  Not like a cute little 3 year-old playing the bucket drums, no-no.  This was serious “I think I’m talented” 7 year-old bucket playing.  I can only really remember playing two beats:

Boom Chink Boom Chink Boom Chink Chink Boom Chink

The chinking was of course me hitting the concrete floor with my broom handle stick.

Then was another tune that was a little cutting edge.

Boom Boom Boom Boom Chink Chink Chink Chink Boom Boom Boom Boom Chink Chink Chink

That one was a little different.  I imagine that’s why that song never really took off.

When I wasn’t laying the smack down on pickle containers, I can remember taking an oversized Toys R Us bag and stuffing it with cotton balls.  I sectioned it off into ears, a head, and body and painted the face, turning it into an Easter Bunny complete with cotton tail.  I probably remember this one because even as a child, you can tell if you parents are really impressed with your art or if it’s just another scribble page for the fridge.  I recall that my mom kept it and showed proudly to a lot of people.  Namely my brothers and sisters.  I actually think we still have it.

Somewhere between plastic bags and buckets I found the muse of my artistic hands.  The medium to which all other mediums are compared:  puff paint.  Being the business lady that I am, I started making and selling puff paint decorated folders with Disney characters on them to my classmates for a dollar a piece.  Being the lazy person I am, I believe I shut down my operation after three sells.  I did make one classic piece though: a shirt for my father.

My dad lived in Louisville after my parent’s divorce and Father’s Day was approaching and I needed the perfect gift.  So, I took a white Fruit of the Loom shirt and thus began the fashion of all fashions.  Being the good dad that my father is, he’s worn it every Father’s Day since then.  Somehow every year I forget that he’s going to wear it so when he walks in the room with it on, I’m always caught off guard and get choked up.

This year was no different.  Only this time, I walk into our church sanctuary and over a blue and white pin striped dress shirt was a ratty white puff paint shirt that time and storage had tinted a yellowish color.  There he was just walking around and talking to people with it on over his dress clothes.  And, of course, it made my heart beat fast because I felt like I wanted to choke up but I was trying not to.

At the beginning of the service my dad got up to pray, shirt and all.  He said, “I’m going to try to get through this.”  I knew I was a goner.  He stood before our little church and said with tears welling in his eyes, “The greatest joy in my life has been being a father…..” And so he continued.  And so I cried.  Unfortunately, ugly face cry.  I watched as my dad spoke passionately about being a father, my father.  Cara, Craig, and Christina’s father.  He raised his hand up and spoke with authority about how there is a Father who loves greater than him.  A Father who allowed him to be born on the country floor of his broken down country childhood home, delivered by an aunt.  A Father who sustained that life and saved his soul 19 years later.  Watching his hands rise with his dress shirt peering behind his “dad” t-shirt I made as a child and seeing him talk about loving his children but loving more the Father who loves all the little children, including him, was the single memory snapshot I’ll keep in my mind of exactly who my father was. 

My best friend was there to see that prayer that day.  I’m so glad that someone got to see what I admire in action.  I’m as proud as I was the day I spent hours in the basement making puff paint hearts.

Eventually the service began and ended and some people came up to me and told me how they had cried watching my dad up there on stage.  One girl I was talking to said, I already cried earlier when he explained the shirt to me and told me that this year he was going to pass it on to Lance.  I covered my heart with my hand and gasped and my eyes began to water.  He had never told me that before.  This Father’s Day will be the first year that I haven’t seen my dad wear that shirt in  18 years.  This year I will see a new father holding our baby girl with a tattered old t-shirt peeking behind pink swaddled blankets.  I don’t expect that shirt to mean to him what it means to me but the fact that he’s willing to wear it, let’s me know that there’s another a little girl that will someday be looking at her father in the very same way.  They say that, “Behind every good man is a good woman.”  I also believe behind every good woman was a father that was good to them first.    I have the puff paints to prove it.

Half Baked December 8, 2009

5 months, tiny shirt, LOVE having this tummy!

Oh how we've changed in 11 weeks. Aud-left 26 weeks, Katie-middle 25 years, Me-right 20 weeks. Ho Ho HOOOO Meeeerrrryyy Babies!

20 wk. ultrasound. That's her little open mouth and nose peeking out of the dark. She showed me her tongue which was cute. I also think it's cute that she's laying her head on me....I'm her mom though. I would think that. Mom? That sounds really, really weird.

tiny little feet and toes. to me it looks likes hands to the left and two little feet to the right but who am i to judge an ultrasound technician.

I know you can't tell much about a face from a 1D ultrasound but it's lookin' like my nose from here and chin. Welcome to the Catlett chin baby.

This ultrasound was 6 weeks ago. Compare it to the pic above and see how much her profile/face has developed. She's a speedy gal. She looks like a Who from Whoville in this pic.

The Man in the Picture December 11, 2009

I didn’t always want to marry Lance. Let’s be more specific….I remember crying in my room after he had been relentlessly pursuing me for years because I felt that there was no way this guy would let me get off with not marrying him. Literally I would cry and say, “Why God?” Why such a dramatic response? I was madly in love with someone else while Lance was madly in love with me. Marrying him meant losing my current love which was of no particular interest to me at that time.  But still, I was torn. 

Because I was a weird adolescent, I would imagine my life in pictures.  When I wasn’t sure if my boyfriend would keep me around, I would daydream about my Prom or Homecoming pictures and imagine who I would find myself with on that day.  I hoped it was my boyfriend and the future held that answer so when I made it to that next mark with that picture with him and I in hand, I felt pleased.  If even for that moment.  I was safe. 

As the years passed, I started to picture my wedding pictures.  Who would that man be?  I was divided because I was in love with man that didn’t keep me safe.  Picturing him in a tux next to me in my white dress made me feel the ease of knowing we’d be together but the fear of knowing that he didn’t love me in a forever sort of way.  There was an uneasiness in that imagery because weddings are permanent and I didn’t know if he’d ever want to be. 

Then there was Lance.  I knew he’d be beside me in those pictures and I knew he’d be beside me in other pictures 50 years from that moment.  But again, as good as a man as I knew he was, as lucky as a wife I’d be, my heart still sat on the other side of the love story flopping back and forth between being in love and being able to love someone back like they deserved. 

When my daydreams went beyond pictures, I remember being haunted by the thought in my  mind where I would be sitting in a restaurant married to another man and I’d see Lance walk in with his wife, leading her into the room with his hand on the small of her back.  We’d politely say hello and ask how the other was doing and he’d leave and I suppose my mind would race of all the what could have beens.  I use to tell my friends that possible scenario and tell them that I was certain that whoever did marry him would be a lucky woman because I was positive he’d be a great husband.  I could be so sure because he seemed to protect me and make me feel safe when I wasn’t even his.  That haunted me in the moments that the choice to be that lucky woman was still mine.

In time, as with all things, life changed.  I saw where I was wanted and where I wasn’t wanted.  I saw where I was enough and where I fell short in the eyes of another man.  I began to want more and to share love with another man rather than give and give in fear of where that giving would leave a vulnerable heart.  Maybe I always sort of knew I would come to this point at the end of the road and who would be standing there.  I’m glad he was.  I’m glad I had the time to change and the time to give and receive love.  I wanted to now.  I wanted to love him.  And I did.

Last night, we were standing at our bathroom sink.  We were laughing and being sort of affectionate with each other which I guess is like flirting for married people.  He said, “You know, I think our marriage is getting better and better and I think our first years are going to be the hardest years we had.”  I said, “Well dang I sure hope so!”  Once you get married you begin to see that princes on white horses are fairytales no matter how princely they pursued you originally.  And, not to be left out, I’m sure I haven’t exactly been the princess he was trying to rescue in the tower.  Unless of course that princess was screaming from the window, “Get your stupid horse out of my flowers he’s crappin’ on the daisies!”  It definitely hasn’t been what we thought.  I’d give the first 4.75 years a big double thumbs up for slugging through this thing for enough months at a time that it equals years.  But again, with time, all things change if you are committed enough to see it through the seasons as they come and go.

Honestly, I believe he’s right though.  Life and our relationship has been sweeter.  Not because we’re having a baby but because it simply is.  He brought me flowers and brownies to celebrate our halfway done mark of pregnancy.  He brought me flowers 5 weeks before that for no reason at all.  He’s helped me clean, brought me dinner, ran errands for me, cuddled with me, etc., etc.  I know he loves me.  And I love him.

About 2 am this morning he rolled over either half awake or totally subconscious but still.  I could tell he was trying to raise the bottom of my t-shirt up so I tugged it out from being pinned between the mattress just enough for him to slip his hand over my belly and rub it side to side.  He left his hand there for a minute and then slipped it down to my fingers to hold my hand.  It’s one of those moments where you’re sure you did the right thing.  The rest of the night I tossed and turned wallowing my curvy belly around trying to get to sleep surrounded in a room with pictures frames and big portraits on the wall.  I thought of everything, smiled to myself and thought, “I’m glad he’s the one in the pictures.”

90′s kid December 15, 2009

Below is a re-post from iceicebabies.com…the coolest site name in the universe.  I copied and pasted and edited slightly a few phrases.   

You know were a 90′s kid if….

You know all the words to The Fresh Prince Of Bel Air theme song.

 Goosebumps and Are You Afraid Of The Dark scared you.

You had a short-lived slap bracelet phase 

 

You know the Macarena 

Your winter coat used to be a Starter jacket 

 

You thought you could climb the Agrocrag faster than any of the kids on GUTS 

 

Your shoes had flashing lights 

 

TGIF was your favorite TV lineup 

 

Oregon Trail Day was your favorite day in class 

 

Bill Nye taught you something 

 

You’d have a cassette tape in the radio so you could record your favorite song when it came on 

 

You wanted to find Carmen Sandiego AND Waldo
 

 

Surge was your idea of an energy drink 

 

Warheads and Tongue Splashers were a key contributor to your cavities 

 

You predicted your future with one of these: 

 

You told someone The Blair Witch Project was real 

 

You knew every detail about each Saved By The Bell character 

 

Your goal was to be on American Gladiators if becoming a professional athlete didn’t work out
 

 

You had a stance on whether you liked Ice Ice Baby or U Can’t Touch This better 

 

You thought gas was expensive when it was over $1 

 

You (or someone you know) wore Jelly Shoes, the Crocs of the 90s 

 

 

You collected (and maybe played) Pogs

You remember people fighting over Beanie Babies

You owned and loved your trapper keeper.

Below is from http://destiny4ever.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!F0C72869FFD7070A!771.entry and edited by me a twinge.

You watched the Pound Puppies.

Girls wore biker shorts under their skirts and felt stylishly sexy.

You yearned to be a member of the B aby-sitters club and tried to start a club of your own.

You owned those lil’ Strawberry Shortcake pals scented dolls.

You know that “WOAH ” comes from Joey on Blossom.

Two words: Hammer Pants

 If you ever watched “Fraggle Rock”

You had plastic streamers on your handle bars

You can sing the entire theme song to “DuckTales ” (Woo ooh!)

It was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.

You wore a ponytail on the side of your head.

You saw the original “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ” on the big screen…and still know the turtles names.

You made your mom buy one of those clip s that would hold your shirt in a knot on the side.

You played the game “MASH ” (Mansion, Apartment,
Shack,House)

You remember reading “Tales of a fourth grade nothing ” and all the Ramona books.

You can remember what Michael Jackson looked like before his nose fell off and his cheeks shifted.

You have ever pondered why Smurfette was the only female smurf.

You took lunch boxes to school… and traded Garbage Pail Kids in the schoolyard.

You remember Hypercolor t-shirts.

You thought your childhood friends would never leave because you exchanged handmade friendship bracelets.

 After you saw Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure you kept saying “I know you are, but what am I?”

You remember “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up”

 You remember going to the skating rink before there were inline skates.

You ever got seriously injured on a Slip and Slide.

You have ever played with a Skip-It.

You had or attended a birthday party at McDonalds.

You’ve gone through this nodding your head in agreement.

You remember “Popples”.  

You wore socks scrunched down

You remember boom boxes.

You remember watching both “Gremlins ” movies.

You know what it meant to say “Care Bear Stare!!”

You remember watching “Rainbow Bright” and “My Little Pony Tales”

You know who Doogie Houser is

You remember Alf, the lil furry brown alien from Melmac.

You remember New Kids on the Block when they were cool… and don’t even flinch when people refer to them as “NKOTB”.

You wore overalls with only one strap on your shoulder or wore overalls in general.

Hammoth (Hamster Mammoth, obviously) December 17, 2009

I went to the doctor today for my 22 week check-up and apparently, I gained 7 pounds this month! Move over Bessie. I had only been gaining 3 pounds a month and then all of the sudden BAM! 7 pounder! I weigh 119 which blows my mind to smitherines. The biggest I’ve ever been in my life is 106 so I’m actually kind of enjoying this personal record shattering I’m doing. It’s similar to the time when I set the standing long jump record in elementary school.  It has touches of that sensation.  Anyways, I don’t know where all this poundage is going but it better not be making a fantastically huge beast of a baby. I would appreciate a small, tender slight of little girl that will be kind to my vaginal canal.  And also I would appreciate a peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks if anyone is out there.

In light of this new weight gain I have two words to share with you: hamster cheeks. I woke up this morning grabbed my cheeks (facial cheeks) and said those words to myself out loud. I’m not sure everyone would notice but now that I’ve publicly announced it, I’m sure you will all be evaluating the girth of my facial cavities. I’m not saying I’m packing a full bag of sunflower seeds in each cheek but I am gathering small kernels in my pockets slowly. It’s only a matter of time until I look like ET….small skinny body, inflamed belly, and…hamster cheeks.

During today’s appointment I asked my doc some delivery questions. Other than barfing during delivery, the imagery and fear I have in my mind is just the picture of my skin ripping open. I asked her if how I am “externally” today is exactly how I’ll be externally that day. I know you dilate on the inside but what about the exit ramp! How could God not remember the exit ramp?! She told me that I may be slightly wider but for the most part, just the same. Whew, for a minute there I thought I was going to be comforted. Glad I can keep with the skin ripping image. However, she did explain lady parts as a miraculous accordion. I will keep that in mind as I birth a bowling ball…beautiful folds…opens like an accordion.  In other news during today’s appointment, I seriously contemplated rubbing ky jelly on my hairy wooly mammoth stomach before the doctor came in because not only was it festive, it was static filled.  I decided I couldn’t take the risk.  You know, of it dread locking together….

I’m so excited, accordion or not, that I could just bust this baby right out and squeeze her to death right now.  Wait a minute, that reminds me of the time I got excited about my brother’s goldfish and did the very same thing.  That’s not the feeling I’m trying to convey.  That experience ended in shame and I’m trying to display feelings of affection and exuberance.  If I keep gaining weight she might accidently just push on through, make a run for it, drop it like it’s hot.

At my next 4 week appointment I will have started my third trimester!  My nursery is getting painted tomorrow minus the mural thing and my baby furniture is arriving this weekend.  Basically, there’s a party over here, party over there, wave your hands in the air shake your diary-air.  (That’s right dairy dash air.  I don’t know how to spell it.)

This week has been satchels full of celebrations and joy…just in time for the holidays.

Thoughts for the Day December 20, 2009

Why do maternity jeans come with a big huge navy panel that shows brilliantly through any light-colored shirt.  Good job pant makers.

You know on those cheesy Kay Jewelers commercials where the guys whip out a ring box?  I bet the girls are really p’oed when he opens it and it’s just an ugly heart shaped necklace.  There’s nothing a girl waiting to be engaged wants more than a tacky heart necklace.

It’s amazing how fast you lose your English skills when you quit having classes and writing papers.  I’m even forgetting which words are compound and which are two seperate words.  I’m sure you haven’t noticed though with the excellency in my proofreading of my blogs.

I bet handicap people forget how wonderful it is to have the first parking space in the lot.  I bet even more they’ve forgotten how annoying it is to zoom up to a spot only to find a short car there.

Why do public restrooms have stainless steel doors and walls that show every hand print, splatter, and bathroom mishap on them?  Seems like they’d want plastic colored doors so at least we could all pretend that there aren’t questionable smears on the walls and doors.

I wonder how many people who read my blogs forever think of me when they see stuff like smeared stainless steel bathroom doors?

You know, I buy these cleaners that say “all natural” but I’m pretty sure there’s some deceitful wording going on there because the ingredients aren’t like lemons and tree bark so…..

If your cat climbs your Christmas tree, it’s better to just let them lay on the branches like a jungle cat.  If you pull them off, they just grip the trunk with their claws and you should just me about the rest.

When my hands swell with pregnancy, I’m going to buy a big fake diamond ring just for fun.  I’ve never looked so forward to sausage fingers in my life.

If your husband snores at night, just pinch their nose real hard.  Let me know how that goes for you because I’ve been thinking about doing that a lot lately.

Does anyone have a big black hair that grows out of your chin?  Me neither.

For some reason, every time someone gets my name wrong it’s always Rachael.  I guess it’s because they sound a lot alike like Sarah and Shasha.

When I see those little beta fish locked in their little tiny bowl chambers, I feel real bad for them.  I know they are fighting fish but mush they be imprisoned for their violence.  Sometimes when I walk by their little jars I pick them up and gently slosh their water from side to side so they feel like they are swimming gallantly through buckets of water.  You should see the smiles on their faces.

When you go to feed the ducks, there is always that one duck you are determined to get a bread ball to and you can’t leave until it’s done. 

Every year I adopt a needy family for home delivery and it’s really hard to find a truly needy family.  There’s nothing like going into their house with the gifts you bought and they’re all watching a flat screen and playing a Wii.  Merry Christmas to all!

When you are pregnant with a girl, everyone likes to tell you, “She’s gonna be a daddy’s girl!”  Can’t we just pretend that they’ll like us best while we are carrying them around?  Okay…Lance and Eden can be friends but don’t push it.

Why is it wrong to go into someone else’s yard at night and puncture their 19 foot Christmas inflatable?  Can’t I stand up against tragedy?

It’s amazing that children can believe so strongly in Santa Claus: a man who flies and downs apprx. 3 million cookies in one night.  I mean kids will even be in the third grade and stand up for Santa Claus’s name in the library in front of the whole class and say, “How do you think you  get all the presents your parent’s can’t afford?”  It seemed like such a good defense at the time and I’m sure that comment made my parents feel proud.  Then one day you’re standing in the basement and you find out the truth and all in one moment Santa, Easter Bunny, and Tooth Fairy die in an imaginary massacre.  I never knew my parents could afford so many presents for some many kids.  On that note, I still want my dang power wheel.

the nest December 27, 2009

Have you ever seen a mother cat preparing to have her kittens? I remember watching the Parrott’s farm cat (aka cat mom to the greatest cats in the world: Skittles & Bonkers) get ready weeks before her kittens arrived. She had already scouted out the place which was the back horse stall of the barn that was empty except for hay and hay bales. Hidden behind tall stacks of hay, she had started making these little hay bowls. I think she would kind of paw the hay around and then lay in it over and over until it made a little bowl shape dent. She made several of them trying to get it right. It’s almost like Goldy Locks syndrome: This one is too big, this one too small, but this one is just right. With any mother animal, cat or not, they are determined to make ready a home for their babies and if you tamper with it or try to rearrange their homes, they will fix them back or move it elsewhere. Whether a foxes den, birds nest, or the perfect hidden nook for delivering kittens, a mother is adamant on where her family will be. She picks a safe place, a comfortable place, and once all arrangements are made, she feels at ease and is ready for her babies to come. In the human kingdom, this phenomenon is known as nesting. Most women nest to a degree. I just read that nesting is most typical around a month or so prior to baby’s arrival.  For some of us though, those of us who will remain nameless, you find yourself organizing closets and deep cleaning your home several months in advance.  Some will express this need to prepare by zapping items for a baby registry while for people like me, I mean nameless people, it becomes an instinctual urge and to make proverbial hay bowls all over the place 16 weeks before the baby comes. 

Other than the major things that a mother would provide for her child, I find myself through this nest making phase being certain that there are things I strongly desire to make ready and set in motion for my baby.  

A comfortable bed, a beautiful room that she can play in, traditions at Christmas time.  Truthfully, I find myself wanting to recreate the things I admired about my childhood which were all a mark of a mother bird who tended to her nest well.  

I asked for a Lowe’s gift card for Christmas this year, not just because of my exemplary carpentry work, but because I really wanted to put a shelf in the laundry room to be more organized for the increased amount of clothes I’ll be doing.  Because of my urge to make ready my home, I was as excited about this shelf as I was the designer diaper bag I opened that made me cry uncontrollably in front of my husband’s family.  It’s almost like I feel that if I can have all shelves stacked and stocked, toys in place, base boards wiped, carpets cleaned, driveway sealed, etc. etc. etc.  THEN I will come to the climatic moment where I sit back in the glider, look at my stomach and say to her, “Okay.  It is time.”  Then she can proceed with the birthing events. 

It’s silly in a way, I know.  I’m nesting hard.  Like a cat making hay beds before she’s even pregnant silly when you look at the degree to which I feel like I’m doing this.  This maternal drive I have coupled with the fact that I’m an obsessive planner keeps me satisfied task at time, piece by piece.  The silliest part of all of this is that I know you can’t really be totally prepared and even if the house wasn’t “ready”, would it even matter?  God is gonna sock it to me and give me this baby 4 weeks early to prove a point.  In my mind I’ll be screaming, “Not before the childbirthing classes, Lord!”  Women have been squatting in fields for a 1000 years dropping babies into the wheat fields and I’m cleaning out kitchen cabinets and signing up for birth classes like these things MUST be done.  I do, however, feel that I could use a childbirth class.  There’s nothing quite as discouraging as going to the potty and not being able to even push out a number 2 successfully.  Has a way of making a girl nervous about producing offspring in an effective manner.

BUT, if this little lady will give me enough time, I’m sure I’ll make effective bathroom technique part of my nesting activities.

Me oh my, Becca’s gone crazy.

Killing Me Softly: 4 things we use regularly that have been attributed to cancer August 23, 2010

BHT

 BHT is a food additive that is synthesized from two organic compounds called p-cresol and isobutylene. It cannot be dissolved in water but is easily dissolved in organic solvents such as alcohol and gasoline. BHT is literally everywhere. In 1976, Americans consumed, by mouth, nearly nine million pounds of the stuff. BHT hides in margarine, instant potatoes, and chewing gum, to mention only a few examples.

(It’s in almost every cereal except for a few organic brands and is in tons and tons of packaged foods/meals.You can look for the abbreviation or full name of this additive on any products and typically, it’s at the bottom of the ingredient list.)

It is fed to chickens and other animals. Americans consume 1 to 2 mg each per day. Each American has on the average 1.3 to 0.82 parts per million in body fat.

Most of the effects of BHT, both good and bad, occur at high doses, much higher than the amounts we ingest incidentally every day. However, the long-term effects of even the small doses that we use are poorly understood, and the wisdom of ingesting even these small amounts might well be questioned. There have been no human studies at these doses with BHT for herpes treatment or for safety.

BHT has been banned in some countries.

(Don’t remember the site name for this info.)

ALUMINUM

ALUMINUM IS USED IN DEODORANTS

 

Another ingredient in antiperspirants is aluminum. It has always been considered a heavy metal similar to mercury (but with a much lower atomic weight.) There has also been evidence aluminum is linked to Alzheimer’s. Large concentrations of the metal have been found in the autopsied brains of deceased Alzheimer’s patients – and in the very same two regions located in the left and right hemispheres which are known to bring on Alzheimer’s symptoms when damaged.

 

In deodorant, aluminum comes in the form of aluminum chlorhydrate. Heavy metals can be absorbed through the skin. Think about how this works – right where you apply an aluminum-based deodorant are TWO MAJOR LYMPH GLANDS about an inch away under the skin. Yes, they are located right in your arm pits. And your lymph system is a critical part of the body’s IMMUNE system.

 

When you read product labels in any drug store or even in chinamart, you will find as I have that EVERY brand name antiperspirant has this compound. A ‘base’ described below refers to a common chemical compound used by many different manufacturers. A chemical company makes it and ships it by truck or railroad car to the antiperspirant factory. This is similar to shampoo, which also uses a base compound. Many companies merely add different perfuming agents to a standard base to create a new “brand.” No different than cooking your eggs “scrambled, over easy or “sunny side up.” An egg is still an egg, and a base is still a base.

 

Aluminum chlorhydrate is one such antiperspirant base chemical. I have found this is used even in ALL the GEL antiperspirants, too. Transparency does NOT mean it will not contain aluminum chlorhydrate. My research has found ALL gel and non-gel antiperspirants have it aluminum chlorhydrate, and most these have triclosan.

The action of applying antiperspirant also brings aluminum chlorhydrate and triclosan into the close proximity of capillary blood vessels. This create conditions for these chemicals to be absorbed into the body. It doesn’t guarantee that one will get a brain disorder, but it could be like smoking: the sooner someone quits now, the better off they will be later.

http://www.rense.com/general64/triclo.htm

 AMMONIA

Ammonia is a compound of nitrogen and hydrogen with the formula NH₃. It is a colourless gas with a characteristic pungent odour. Ammonia contributes significantly to the nutritional needs of terrestrial organisms by serving as a precursor to food and fertilizers. Ammonia, either directly or indirectly, is also a building block for the synthesis of many pharmaceuticals. Although in wide use, ammonia is both caustic and hazardous. In 2006, worldwide production was estimated at 146.5 million tonnes.^[4] It is used in commercial cleaning products.

—Recently I watched a documentary that’s become very popular called Food INC.  The movie showed a large commercial chicken producer showing how it gives the chicken ammonia bathes before being a finished packaged product.  AMMONIA bathes?  Bathing our food in a carcinogen?  Surely there are other ways to kill bacteria.

The most common way you’ll use Ammonia is inhaling it from cleaning products.  Windex the biggest brand you’ll recognize.  Ammonia gives you that streak-free look.

SPLENDA

Splenda is the beast of all things.  At least to me.  My sister who is a licensed dietician/nutritionist told me that while she was in school that she had professors that believe it will one day be off the market.  I get sick when I have any artifical sweetners  and years ago when I went to a gastro doctor for bad reflux, one of the first things he told me to do was stop any products with artificial sweetners including gums.  Our bodies just don’t know what to do with it even though many bodies tolerate it.  Mine did for a year or two before it rejected it.  “Splenda:  The sweetner that tastes like sugar cause it’s made from sugar”.  You have to ask though, what makes it NOT sugar?  Something un-natural has to occur.

 13 + 1 Reasons to Avoid SplendaWith that being said, here are 14 reasons that stood out for me when I read the book, 14 reasons that I present to you for why to abstain from using Splenda, 14 reasons that have me sticking with Stevia:

1. Splenda was “discovered” accidentally in a lab while trying to create a new insecticide.
2. Whole Foods will not sell Splenda or any product that contains it because it does not fit within their code of ethics of selling “real food”.
3. The limited “testing” that was done on Splenda was done by the same company (McNeil) that manufacturers it (can anyone say BIAS)?
4. McNeil, the manufacturer of Splenda, was very smart when they specifically chose the name “sucralose” for their product because smart consumers know that ingredients that end in “-ose” are normally simple sugars. Therefore, it’s very easy for consumers to get confused and think that sucralose is like sucrose or glucose (simple sugars) as its name implies, instead of what it actually is – a complex chlorinated artificial chemical.
5. Sucralose, the made-up name by the manufacturer of Splenda, contains chlorine.
6. Chlorine is toxic and is not found in any food or table salt even though the manufacturer of Splenda will tell you otherwise. There is however, chloride present in food and table salt, and chloride is non-toxic.
7. Chlorine, which is present in Splenda, has caused so much damage to human health that Greenpeace has launched a Chlorine-Free Campaign, calling for a worldwide ban on chlorine. The EPA also maintains a strong anti-chlorine stance.
8. If you really want some motivation for staying away from Splenda and anything that contains it (example: Atkins and South Beach diet foods contain it) and you’re a future mother, read all about baby boys being born with shortened male anatomy due to chlorine passed to them in the womb.
9. Splenda is an organochlorine, a chemical that is a carbon and hydrogen molecule with attached chlorine atoms. Splenda is the only organochlorine ever used for human consumption. Other organochlorines you may be familiar with are: DDT, Mustard Gas, Chloroform, PCBs, as well as other insecticides, pesticides, and solvents.
10. Organochlorines are fat-soluble and their solubility can vary but these substances tend to accumulate in organ tissues that are high in fat (i.e.: your brain), and are believed to be permanently stored there.
11. The inadequate human testing that McNeil (the manufacturer of Splenda) did was only done on a control group of healthy males and for no more than 3 months. No testing was done on women, children, pregnant women, the elderly, no one else except for the healthy males. I learned in my college stats class that in order for a test to be valid it has to be done on a wide sampling and administered by an outside company from the product’s manufacturer.
12. McNeil claims that Splenda is not stored in the body, that all of it passes through your system without any absorbption, however this is unlike any other organochlorine. DDT is an organochlorine and is now outlawed because of its horrific long term toxicity at only minute, trace levels in human, avian, and mammalian tissues.
13. It is not conclusively known just how much of this chlorine sticks around in the body after ingesting it because of the inadequate testing done on humans, however even if it is only 10%, that is highly toxic crap that is hanging around in the body – how much of this stuff builds up in the body over time??
14. There have been numerous documented unhealthy side-effects that people have reported after using Splenda, symptoms such as seizures, rashes, intestinal problems, fatigue, anxiety, depression, panic attacks, numbness, and headaches, to name a few. You can read the full accounts in Sweet Deception BY Dr. Joseph Mercola.  Full Title:  Sweet Deception: Why Splenda, NutraSweet, and the FDA May Be Hazardous to Your Health

www.thefitshack.com/2008/04/29/14-reasons-not-to-use-splenda  Info was taken from Sweet Deception which was re-posted on the above site.

For seriously? December 30, 2009

I met a fellow human grower in Walmart yesterday. She’s due about 7 weeks before me but she and I are different. I found out I was pregnant three days before I missed my period. She found out she was pregnant three weeks ago at 27 weeks.

Now, I know this will probably sound judgemental but I promise I’m not trying to be. I know people are pregnant and don’t know it but IT BLOWS MY MIND to the point of disbielf…even though it apparently happens. I realize there is a whole show called “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” because this happens and because it blows everyone’s minds, they knew they could make a show of it. I don’t get cable and I haven’t in seriously like 8 or 9 years. However, this hasn’t stopped me from watching 5 minute clips of each episode of this show on Hulu. For some reason you can’t see the whole thing. The fascination I have at this phenomenon as a pregnant woman keeps me clicking those tidbits over and over.

STILL, I can’t believe it ever happens. If you are of average size, how can you not tell your stomach is round. Not just round but hard. Many say they thought they were getting fat but did they think they were getting hard fat? Hard fat that moves around?  One of the first things people say when they touch my stomach is something about how hard it is.  Yeah…it is hard…because there’s a baby in there.  There’s no way I could think that a pregnant stomach is just a little weight gain. 

I asked the girl at Walmart, “Didn’t you feel your baby move?” She said yes but that she had never been pregnant before and thought it was just gas. That’s easier to believe if you haven’t been pregnant and don’t know what it’s like to feel a baby kick. I can see mistaking it for gas bubbles in the beginning by but 27 weeks we are talking somersalting, hard kicking, hard punching, jumping gas bubbles. If I thought my gas would make my stomach punch forward on one side of my stomach to the point that my shirt pops up and down, that’s some gas that wouldn’t make me think, “Oh I must’ve had some killer beans.” I would be in ER asking why my shirt crawls, my belly changes shapes, and lunges forward on a daily basis.

And what about your boobs? Okay so you thought you had some killer gas and that you are getting fatter around the middle. What about your boobs changing the way they do? The colors changing the way they do. It’s different than just gaining weight and so your boobs expanded a smidge.

More than anything, I feel bad for these women.  I can’t imagine finding out that SURPRISE, you are going to have a baby in 12 weeks!  Hope you are ready!  Nevermind the women that don’t know until the baby blobs onto the floor. 

Does this blow any other fellow moms or moms to be minds?  It’s one thing to not know when you are 3-4 months but 7?  Going into labor on the toilet thinking you have cramps and you didn’t know until the baby came out?  REALLY?

January 19, 2010

Pic that I couldn’t find when I posted Pickles and Paint a few weeks ago.

 Pickles and Paint  http://wp.me/pjhsl-un

Strawberry Shortcake In Yo Pants January 4, 2010

Cutest strawberries in all the land. Plain buttercream outside. Chocolate buttercream filling I made with Ghiradelli chocolates. Chocolate layers. Fondant decor.

Got this design idea from someone off the web. That person got it from another person so who knows who the mastermind is. I made 3 or 4 changes but the general idea is someone else's. Little smash cake I came up with. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to ice those little minis. My second time doing those mini-tiers.

All handmade, cut, and colored edible decorations on the entire cake with the exception of Strawberry Shortcake.

Me + Baby=Belly Dancing January 3, 2010

Eden makes my stomach move and shake around. It’s only a minute and 7 seconds so give a girl a second of your time to observe the miracle of life, player. She kicks/punches generally in the belly buttom vacinity until she gets super excited and kicks both sides of my stomach at the end. You can hardly wait. It looks much more clear in a smaller window and less distorted so if you have that option when it routes you, choose that.  Also, if you can see the “view in regular quality” option when it takes you to the video, that helps too.  Word.

http://www.facebook.com/v/228467553334

Toots (And I don’t mean the restaurant) January 6, 2010

Someone I know said to me, what do deviled eggs and my gas have in common? Answer: Odor. She’s pregnant. If you’ve ever been pregnant you know that you begin to manufacture some beasts in the fragrance department. Why? I have no idea but it’s a real truth that all women and their partners should prepare for. There’s feeling your baby kick and your heart swooning and then there are the gas chambers. For me, it happens on schedule and I can’t relate it to anything I’m doing or not doing when this joy makes it’s arrivals. For Lance, it’s like a terrible train wreck. He will yell my name and ask how and why but at the same time, he can’t turn away. It’s like a Guinness Book of World Record Breaker and you can’t abandon the phenomenon. It’s shocking. It demands your attention. Even if you ran, you probably couldn’t escape it anyways…it’s that bad.  

In fact, it’s bad enough that I can differentiate between episodes as it leaves my body of which kind it will be.  Will you be naughty or nice?  You can’t fool me kid.  It’d be like if you were standing in the rain and acid rain started to fall.  Trust me, you know the difference between acid rain and regular rain.  Problem is, you can’t tell until the refugee has escaped.  That’s why you never gamble. 

My friend may be sporting deviled eggs but mine are more like death and sulfur.  Sulfur?  Sulfur.  One of the worst things in the world.  Bad enough that the Bible actually says that’s what Hell will smell like.  I get a glimpse of it every night between 8 and 9.  If gas were a game of paper, rock, scissors, sulfur beats the eggs. You can’t beat Hell toots. I don’t care who you are.  Who would ever thought that the girl who has only let them rip in front of 3 people in her life could be this gifted?  I wasn’t even practicing for this honor.  Some people get all the luck.

Bob Needs Love Too January 11, 2010

Everyone knows that I have a raccoon named Garbage and an opposum named Crazy Toes that frequent my cat food in the garage.  What you don’t know is that I’ve picked up an exotic beast cat.  I’m not kidding you.  This is a stray cat that comes out of the woods, to our house randomly every few months.  Definitely a real wild cat. He won’t eat cat food but he’ll eat meats that we throw out.  He has no clue why any cat would eat cat food because he lives off of the fat of the land. I know a lot of people are going to laugh when I say this but you better shut your face because I’m sure of what I’m about to tell you.  My new jungle beast is part kitty cat, part bob cat.  Yes, a real Kentucky Wild Cat half-sie.  I suspected this for a long time for good reason.  He is about 35 pounds and not overweight.  He’s like a smaller dog.  I’ve never seen a domestic cat this size.  He and trust me, I know it’s a he because he’s huge and never been nuetuered….He is a solid huge, tall, beefy linebacker wild cat.  His face has a slight different look, his tail isn’t bobbed but it’s not porportionatly long, his neck girth is ridciulous,  and his meow sounds a little different but here’s the kicker, TUFTED EARS!  When I saw his ears, which is one of the first things I noticed about him, I thought he had to be a mixed bob cat.  I researched if there are any breeds of domestic cats with tufted ears.  There is one and it’s rare and not a registered breed yet. They are hard to find.  These cats though are lacking the size and facial features of this cat.  The odds of this rare breed being mixed up with another stray cat is not likely.  To strengthen my case, we have bob cats in our county are surrounding counties AND I live in the country AND I read that bob cats will mate with domestic cats.  SHA-POW, I have a mixed bob kitty cat. He’s watered down, but he was mixed at some point.

I’ll admit, at first I was afraid of him because he’s big and wild.  I’m sad to say for his poor sake that at first I didn’t give him a nice name like Garbage or Crazy Toes.  I called him Scary Cat.  It’s not his fault he’s big and not socialized.  It’s not his fault that somewhere along the way his granny got jiggy with a bob cat.  She has a right to lay with a bob cat.  I think I’ve been afraid because he is wild and not small.  Also, he’s marked like Bonkers.  That’s one reason I don’t think he’s a direct bob cat descendant because of his marking.  That’s why I made all the granny references.  But anyways, because he looks color wise like Bonkers, I will go outside and think it’s my cat and then I suddenly find myself with a wild forest cat.  He just startles me.  It’s not his fault again though so he shall no longer be called Scary Cat.  His name shall be to him, Majesty Bob.  Because his majestic like a tiger and Bob like his granddaddy.

I decided to write about him now because the other night I opened up our back door, yelled Kitty Kitty Kitty and instead of my cats, Majesty Bob came bolting into the kitchen.  We were probably both a little surprised but he knew what he was doing.  So, there we were Dr. Doolittle (me), Lance (Who still feels like he’s a scary cat), and Majesty Bob ( Only he knows who he really is). 

Now Majesty Bob did something unexpected and very domestic like.  He rubbed up against my legs.  Lance said, “You should pet him.  Look he likes you.  He’s just never been loved.”

“Thanks Lance.  Just what I need.  Someone to evoke even more sympathy from the most animal-ly sympathetic person on the planet.  Now I’ll feel even more worried about him and it’s your fault if now if I adopt him.”

Then, Majesty Bob walks over to Lance.  The cool, calm, and collected Lance has a spazz attack.  I said, “Why are you freaking out?  You told me 5 seconds ago I should’ve pet him!” 

He said, “He likes you! He’s not gonna like me because I’m a man!”

“Great Lance.  You just tried to get your pregnant wife to pet a wild, stray monster cat and you won’t even pet him.”

BUT, being the animal whisperer that I am and after hearing him described as unloved, I used my animal knowledge to attempt to pet him.  I moved real slow, extended my hand and let him smell me, and then my hand touched his back.  I only rubbed his back twice because we’ll have to work up to full feline massage.  We were both pleased.  Me and Majesty Bob that is.

While he was inside I decided to snap some pictures of him.  This is unfair to him because he looks really scary in the pictures because he’s meowing with his mouth open so please be gracious.  I can admit though that he looks scary and for a long time he was unnerving but we are working on our relationship.  I wish the pictures could capture his size!

  HERE’S THE MONEY SHOT PEOPLE…THE UNMISTAKABLY TUFTED EARS!

I think animals come to me because I’m like a safe animal sanctuary.  I think it’s really neat that he’s here and that he’s rare.  He’s like a really, extremely water downed tiger-lion/liger that got hit in the face with several regular kitties and a bob cat that his greasy, greasy granny with a hole in her panties going beep beep down Seamse Street found in the woods that I get to see up close and personal.  I’ll let you know how are relationship blossoms.

Rebecca’s Radically Rhadonkulous Recommendations January 12, 2010

Here are a few things that I think are awesome that you have to agree with me on. There is no choice. I guarantee someone will buy something because of this post because these things are only the coolest things ever.

I like to set the bar real low.

COOSHIE CHANGER

(Not in a cute, flattering color but you get the idea.)

This is the best baby buy item if you ask me.  My sister has one of these and I’m sold.  They come in 4 colors, durable, way more conveient and versatile than a regular changing pad.  Typically, you’d buy a changing contoured pad and some cute little cover that you have to take off and wash everytime it gets dirty which it will, constantly.  This is made of a material that is similar to a Bumbo seat but it’s a little squisher.  You put this as is on your changing table and if your baby pees on it or has a poopy explosion, just get a Lysol wipe, and wipe it clean.  No mess, nothing to wash, just one easy, durable, wipable piece.  Not to mention, you can also use it to bathe your baby in.  Now that is one awesome hunk of cute, cooshie, colorful, versatile stuff that will make your life easier.  They also make Cooshie Booster Seats.  The Cooshie changers are on-line on amazon.com for 50 bucks.  I can’t WAIT to get mine.

BANANAGRAMS

If you like to play games, especially word games, this game is a blast.  It’s somewhat like a faster pace, way more fun way of playing Scrabble.  I got this for Christmas after hearing a friend talk about it and I played this with family over and over. Everyone LOVED it!  You can play it with big groups or just 2.  Lance and I play this game together on a weekly basis.  Best of all, it’s only 14.95.  Here’s the jist of the game.  You have a bunch of letter tiles turned face down on the center of the table.  You each get a certain number of tiles to start with depending on the size of the group playing.  Simultaneously, you all flip your tiles over and begin making your own anagrams on the table…you know, kind of like a free-style crossword puzzle.  You keep going and going until there are less tiles than players in the game and when you are the first person to use all your tiles in your self-built scrabble board, you yell BANANAS and win.  Hopefully.  They have to be real words and can’t be proper nouns.  It’s competitive, cheap, works your brain, it’s fast paced, and I’ve never met anyone who didn’t love this game. This game is bananas B-A-N-A-N-A-S!  Thanks to Gwen Stefani, we can all spell that word.

EAT THIS, NOT THAT

For those of us who aren’t avid readers, you’ll appreciate this small, full color, pictures on every page, guide to eating out and going grocery shopping. It’s from a writer that wrote a section in Men’s Health magazine who turned that popular column into a book. It’s really, really interesting.  Probably a good toilet seat reader.  It tells you the top twenty worst foods you can eat out at restaurants and a million other things and, as always, it’s surprising. For example, eat a personal pan with the works over the plain cheese pizza.   They go by major chains and show you full color spreads with images and nutrition facts that will change the way you think about what you thought was healthy eating when eating out.  For example, it will show you a salad and say DON’T EAT THIS.  Next to it will be the burger and fries at the restaurant they’re discussing and it will say EAT THIS.  They’ll list the nutrition facts for each item and it will shock you.  It tells you things like the number one place to eat if you have to eat out is Chik-Fil-A and that you can safely get all items on the menu with the exception of…..I don’t remember….for reasons I don’t remember.  They break down fast food places, to major chains like PF Changs & O’ Charley’s all the way down until they cover popular grocery shopping items.  If you are health, conscious, liked to be surprised, like facts, or just a lot of pictures, then you’ll think this book is neat. You can buy it for 10 bucks on amazon.

WILLIAMS & SONOMAS POP- UP SPONGES

Now listen, I’m not a fan of sponges because they are disgusting germ hoarders that don’t clean anything BUT, these are neat, more sanitary, all natural sponges,  if you like using sponges.  They come in flat hard wafers and when you pour water on them, they blow up into big papa bear sponges.  Best part?  They can be put in the dishwasher to be cleaned.  I like to recycle and I don’t like using paper towels for ole’ mother earth’s sake so reusable, clean sponges, that give you a little thrill when you “inflate them” are all right by me.  Cheap thrill.  You can buy a pack of 12 for 14 or 15 dollars on williams&sonoma.com.  Someone in Jane’s family got a pack for Christmas and broke them all up and distributed them in our stockings.  Pretty neat! 

46645-CHEAP, FAST, EASY INFO

This isn’t a product but if you don’t know about it, it’s a really great tip.  I know there are a lot of free numbers you can call to get business numbers etc. but who likes talking to an automated voice that keeps hearing walnut everytime you say Walmart?  Text the name of the buisness you want the phone number for to the number 46645 (GOOGL).  So simply put Target for example and send and in record speed, what my sister-in-law refers to as scary fast….you will get your number.  It doesn’t cost anymore than a regular text you would send and if you are like me and have unlimited….you can inquire to your hearts desire.  My sister-in-law just showed this to me and I LOVE IT!

PODEE BOTTLES

I think these bottles are great for mom’s with multiples  for sure but they have their benefit for any mom.  They are hands free for you and the baby, and your baby can sit up and eat which decreases the incidences of earaches.  You just pop the nipple into the babies mouth and they’ll suck it like a pacifier and it pulls the milk from the bottle up a little tube and into their mouths.  As long as your baby can use a pacifier, they can use this bottle.  So, if you are shopping at the mall and you just need to go to one more store before you can leave but your baby is screaming because she’s hungry, just put the bottle in the cup holder of your stroller (or by your baby), pop the nipple/pacifier in her mouth and she can eat and you can finish your last errand and save yourself having to go back out to finish your business.  And, if your friend is having mulitples, there is no better way to have more than one baby feed at the same time than Podee bottles. They advertised these bottles for this purpose a few years ago on Oprah so it must be true! =0) I’ve found one bottle on-line before for 10 bucks.  Not too bad if you ask me.  I will be getting one of these.

How to Survive a Break-up January 17, 2010

I think I’m somewhat a professional at surviving a break-up. I came out of the womb dating boys. I wish that weren’t true but it’s not all that much a stretch. I had boyfriends complete with Valentine’s Day presents and all since pre-school. Almost every relationship I’ve had, including elementary school, lasted a minimum of 9 months. My past two relationships were both 3 or more years, the last one ending in marriage.

Not to mention that at my job, my favorite group of clients are teenage girls which, consequently, involves a lot of heartbreak. In reality though, I feel like teenage girls sound the same as women my age. Some things never change. Because of two conversations in the past week and because relationships/love are two of my favorite topics, it hit me: How to Survive a Break-up.

Fail number 1:

BUT HE WAS SO…..

Although we’ve come, to the end of the road, still I can’t let go. It’s a natural. You belong to me. I belong to yoooouuuuu….

And so we sing. No matter how terrible your ex was, when the phone stops ringing and it’s been a while since you’ve seen them, the ugly becomes beautiful. All of the sudden we have selective memories driven by selective emotions, namely missing someone and of course, love. You start to remember how they did this or that, forgetting about all the times they didn’t do so well in the department of loving you.  Trust me, I get this one so much. To a degree, it’s almost unavoidable. But because it’s so hard to deal with considering the sea of emotions you have for your boo and the fact that you really did love them, it helps to add some objectivity to the love pot.  Here’s how we add truth to the “But he was so…” phenomenon.

I always ask someone, “Tell me all the great things about him/her?”

The listing commences:

They were thoughtful.
They made me laugh.
They were a good kisser.
I loved their family.
They were my best friend.
They understood me.
Etc., etc., etc.

Now look at that list or your mental list or the verbal list you just heard from you friend. What do all these things have in common? They aren’t unique to the person you’re talking about. I’m really glad that Bobby was kind and patient and, heck, funny on top of it all but that’s not a specialty of Bobby. Those are bare minimum qualities that you should expect any decent human to have. They aren’t reasons to hang on to someone and let it hold you back from moving past the heartache.  They can and should be replicated. You have to take those traits and de-personalize them from (insert your heartbreaker’s name) and humanize them and realize that, these not only aren’t impressive, they are the absolute basic you should expect from your next Bobby. Why should or would we be so blown away by the basic?  You should love their family. He should consider your feelings and be a great friend. You can find that with a thousand people that can make you happy. Until you belive that too, you’ll be far too easily impressed with barely impressive people and you’ll sell yourself short every time.

Not to be too cold, you have lost someone you love and you are right, there is only one of those people out there. I’ve felt that way and so have you or at least, you will. It’s normal. But if you want to help yourself cope, you have to look at the reality and the reality is, those aren’t unique traits to a person. They should be expected. Sure your next person may not wear the same perfume or cologne that you miss and find yourself smelling in the department store. They might not like sports like the last one or what not. But, if you can have someone treat you with decency like all those “But he’s so traits…” I listed, the other things will take care of itself. Trust me, when you are in love again, it won’t matter that he wore a v-neck sweater nicely and that his granny loved to hug your neck. You can respect their memory. Love them and your relationship for what it was but, there are a lot of other people that can be loved and love you just as well in their own right.

Basically, don’t be swooning over the fact that they didn’t treat you like a dog and that they had basic human decency and respect for others.  No cookies will be given in reward for things  they should be doing automatically.  Not to mention, they probably weren’t as great as you are remembering right after a break-up anyhow. I mean, lets be honest.

Fail Number 2:

WHAT IF THEY DATE SOMEONE ELSE OR (insert panicked voice)….

What if….I see them with someone else or I hear that they are talking with someone else.  What if?  What if?  Well, that’s a good question.  It’s a fair question.  When you love someone, there’s nothing quite as bad as hearing or seeing that they’ve moved on.  It’s a very reasonable fear because you’ve just been so hurt and now you are fearing being hurt again in the middle of your already terrible heartbreak.  I remember when I lost someone who I spent many years of my young life with that one of my saving graces were the states between our homes when our relationship came to it’s final demise.  I didn’t have to hear about “her” much less see them together or hear it through the grapevine even.  But, who doesn’t feel that way whether you ever hear the truth of their current love life or not? You are going to worry and fear when they move on, even if you don’t have the honor of having your heart shattered by hearing about it.

This is a tricky one to help someone deal with if you try to answer the question of What If, etc. by saying, well..you’ll survive.  That’s sound advice.  You will survive no matter when or if your worst fears come to fruition but I think there’s a big step or perspective that’s missed altogether when someone asks this question.  While moving on is inevitable, you aren’t considering where or how you’ll be when it happens.  The problem with this controlling fear is that you are putting your current self in a future position.  Basically, by the time this happens you may be much stronger.  You may have moved on yourself.  You may just simply feel different about the person or situation.  You are assuming that when it comes time to deal with this situation that you will be dealing with it as well as you would as if it happen admist your heartbreak today.  You are worrying about the heart of a person that you may not even be.  It’s just not reasonable to fear a situation as if you will do no changing between now and then.  If it does happen while you are singing Boys 2 Men on your pillow, see fail number one because you will most definitely need step one.  And, hey, if the worst happens, you’ll survive =0)  Just don’t convince yourself that you know how, when, and how bad that surviving will be when it comes time. 

Fail number 3:

NO I WILL NOT ACCEPT YOUR FRIEND REQUEST…OR LOOK AT YOUR PROFILE PIC

In another literal praise the Lord moment, I am SO thankful that while my heart broke that facebook, myspace, twitter, did not exist.  We live in a world where break-ups, don’t have to be so broken.  When I was in high school you could do crazy stalker drive-bys.  If we are a human race will gamble looking like a psycho doing stuff like drive-bys, you had better believe that we will creep our ex’s facebook page.  If you can’t get to your ex’s page, you can always check to see your mutual friend’s pages to see if you can piece together from their comments what might be going on with their lives.  This is just enough to make you crazier because you can’t possibly know what they meant by “Yeah, that was fun” but boy will you worry about all the possibilities of that context.  Before you know it, you are certain that your mutual friend and your ex met three beautiful women and had the best night of their lives resulting in, “Yeah that was fun.”  If you were friends with your ex on facebook, myspace, etc., it’s time to push delete.  If you can’t control your stalking and searching to see if their profile pic has changed, you need to fast from the book or the space.  Cyber-stalking your loved one, while it’s simultaneously freakishly comforting to see the face of the one you’re missing, is much like trying to quit drinking with a beer in your hand while you affectionately appreciate the beauty of the can and the smell of the booze.  We don’t let go of things like love, little by little.  We do emotionally but to let go little by little emotionally you have to actively take some tough steps because you can’t let go successfully while reading love letters, staring at pictures, and analyzing internet postings.  Do yourself a favor and let the internet relationship die with the rest of it.  This is really hard to do because you miss them terribly, naturally you care about their life, and, don’t forget, you are still dealing with the permanence of losing someone which makes you want to hold on to what you have.  But you have to think about yourself.  When you are ready.  If you can’t take the heartbreak anymore.  If you want to get better and get through, then it’s time to stop staring heartbreak in it’s literal face.  Just in case they aren’t as smart as you, post a really beautiful picture of yourself. 

Fail Number 4:

WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME….

That’s a fair question as well.  If you keep dating losers, you might need to ask yourself that over and over until you figure it out or you may keep dating what I like to call a Pinocchio ”I’m a REAL boy!”, Peter Pan “I want to be a kid forever”, Toy R Us “I don’t want to grow-up, I’m a Toys R Us kid” kind of dude for the rest of your life.  If you keep dating boys like that, this is a question to ask yourself.  When it’s not, is when you are asking yourself that because someone betrayed you.  What do Jennifer Aniston, Halle Berry, and 6 billion other celebrity women have in common?  Yes, they are all beautiful and yes, they were all cheated on.  Whether you feel like you are struggling in the looks department or if you are Halley Berry, named one of the most gorgeous people alive, someone’s choice to cheat on you, isn’t your problem and definitely not a physical problem.  It’s not about you.  It may be hard to see it now but it won’t be when you see them move on from you to the next one, to the next one, to the next one.  The moral choice to cheat isn’t about who you are.  It’s about who they are and the people and situations they choose to put themselves in. 

Maybe they said it was you and that they fell out of love or love someone else more than you.  Maybe they just flat out said what you were already feeling and told you there was something deficient about you.  But someone’s opinion of your worth isn’t a reflection of your true worth and value.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is never based on someone’s opinion.  If I were to base my value on every person’s opinions  then I’d be one confused, insecure, hurting person.  I’m too skinny to one, just right to another, and I’m just hoping and praying that my hypothetical Goldylocks is going to come along to tell me I’m just right.  Once you arrive at this place, you’ve given all your power to Goldylocks and you have no hope of not being shattered.  Since I’m a woman, if 5 men say I’m good enough, how do I make sense of the 3 that said I wasn’t?  What if no one ever said I was?  Are they right?  Whose right?  Are my parents right when they said I was beautiful?  On that note, why do we not take comfort in the non-romantic people in our lives that validate who we are?  That’s because we wrongly base who we are, not by general consensus, not by the fact that we are valuable to our Creator, but purely by the one whose opinion we value.  Dangerously, we value the perspective of the one we love because that’s who we long to be loved by.  When they don’t love us back or when they trade honoring us for betrayal or who we are for someone else, we shatter.  Not only do we fall to pieces but we begin to wonder what’s wrong with me?  If you keep that insecurity with you then you’ll keep trying to find someone who can give you this validation.  This validation becomes lethal because the bigger the hole becomes in you, the bigger you need to really prove it to yourself through someone else that you are okay.  For women especially, the man who can give us this powerful blow is usually the one who can’t, Mr. Hard to Get.  There’s more validation in getting the approval in the ones who are hard to get or from the ones who you don’t think will want you.  Even if it’s not that extreme, you’ll find that women in this cycle gravitate to men, even seemingly good men, who are actually largely dysfunctional.  Why?  Because you are gravitating there out of a dysfunction yourself.  If terrible partners are a trend for you, then you should ask what might be off with yourself.  If  you loved someone who cheated on you or hurt you or left you for another, this is not your question.  We all get hurt.  Don’t give someone the power of ascribing to you who are you.  I heard someone say, maybe Dr. Phil, that if two people eat pineapple, one of them loves it, one hates it;  Is it the pineapple?  The pineapple never changed.  It’s all a matter of the taster.  If you haven’t or never have the taster who prefers you, nothing changed about your quality or value because the sweetness of a pineapple is subjective and what makes it good in the first place wasn’t up to the tester. If you continue to give the taster the power, you’ll end up with the same problem, 10 that loved you, 10 that spit you out.  How do you make sense of whose right?  Maybe it has been you and the partners you are choosing but maybe it’s the taster.    You were created as someone as worth.  People can steal that from you in theory but never in reality.  Maybe he cheated on you because he’s a rotten piece of fruit trash or maybe, he prefers mangos.  It doesn’t mean you are deficient in any area.  Break-ups aren’t life sentences telling you who you are.  It is just two people going their seperate ways and make sure you look at that way and keep going on with your bad pineapple self.

Market Mean Heads January 25, 2010

Dear Two Ladies Who Stared At Me Like a Teen Pregnant Girl at Cambridge Market,

Ahem (clearing throat)

I just want to say that I love the way you looked at me over. And over. And over. It must’ve been really confusing to see such a young lassie with a protruding belly. I appreciate that when I caught you, lady number one, that you at least gave me a painful grin as if maybe I would’ve thought you were really just admiring my belly. No oscars for you my dear. It came across more like a smell bad face. I thought to myself, “I feel angry”, but continued with my date. Maybe it was in my head? Probably not but maybe????? But then I turn around and catch your mother staring at me red-handed. She didn’t try to give me a hardy smile. She just looked back at you, lady number one, and said something to you without much mouth movement as to be discreet. Then I thought to myself, “I want to beat you up.” Maybe that’s a little extreme. I really thought, “I want to beat you both up.”

Now, I wasn’t going to assume your name was Gertrude just because of your large weave pastel turtleneck sweater.  I wasn’t going to assume that your mom jeans coupled with your jacket and hairdo meant that you were chairman of your Sunday School committee.  I wouldn’t do that cause it’s wrong, Gerdy.  I’m not gonna stare at your booty with  a smell bad face and assume that based on your denim that you have to be a mom because you wear mom jeans.  See, that’s why you can’t assume that I’m a 16-year-old just because my body never developed into big bones and a womanly face.  Even if my husband wore tennis shoes with his khakis that night like a high school boy who changed clothes after the homecoming dance…EVEN IF that didn’t help our case, you can’t just assume and judge me now can you Gertrude?  Heaven forbid I would be a pregnant teen.  I would hope that there wouldn’t be people who stared at others that way.

So dear ladies number one and number two.  Thank you for adding to my date night.  I have never wanted to loudly say my birthdate in all my life.  I ended my date by looking at my belly and saying,  Dear Eden, I’m sorry that when you come out that you will not have big bones and people are going to call you anorexic and when you finally get a baby in your belly that people will look at you pitifully because now you won’t “fit into your prom dress”.  If you don’t want to come out.  I’ll understand.  Love, Mom

PS- I won’t really understand that.  See you soon.

27 weeks, 13 to go January 25, 2010

audrey's shower right before she moved. aud 35 weeks, katie still 25 years and 2 weeks married, me 27 weeks

I put on my finest for this one. This is a very realistic snapshot of me.

Blues Clues All In Your Face January 27, 2010

All handmade, all edible, all detailing done by hand from the rope on the party hat to the fringe and stitch of the rug.

You, Me, & Bob Makes Three January 29, 2010

It’s 5 ish in the morning and I’ve been laying in bed awake for hours while my ribs and back ache and my baby parties like it’s 1999. What’s the problem, mom, this is awesome? She’s sweet though. I can’t complain.

So anyways, I decided after Lance started snoring the fourteenth time that I might as well get up do what everyone does on  a sleeples night, write about their bob cat. I figured when I got up that Lance might somewhat stir and ask me what I was doing but when I shined the cell phone light on his face and saw a hideous gaping mouth facial expression that looked like he was in pain, I knew he was in a better place.

So here we are party people. Me, Bonkers, Skittles, and Majesty Bob all settled in for a long winters nap around me in my high school airbrushed pep rally shirt from 1999. 1999 is not another reference to Eden partying like it’s 1999 but because I really did party in 99, I have an actual shirt to prove it.

Anyways, I’ve been meaning to tell you about the blossoming relationship between me and bob kitty halfsie cat. He’s been coming round the mountain when he comes a lot these days. Usually he comes two days on, two days off. I hadn’t seen him in a few days and something really foretelling happened. I missed him. OHHHHH great. Here we go. Lance said three cats means I’m a cat hoarder but what do I do? I’m sure it’s hard for him to find food in the woods in winter time. Plus, his eye was really infected and I felt real bad but I prayed for him and it’s better now. That’s right I did it. I prayed for him. Lance rolled his eyes when I told him that but sue me for compassion. Plus, I’ve prayed for 3 sets of neglected dogs in my neighborhood and 2 got freed, 2 went to a new home, and the other moved so the burden isn’t mine anymore. Check yourself before you wreck yourself. I’m just sayin’.

Tonight I was sitting on the couch I and had told Lance that I was worried about Majesty. It wasn’t 20 minutes later that I looked on our deck and there he was. I let him in and he did his scary fang tooth freaky cat-ish meow frantically until I got him his food. “His” food….OOOHHHHH great.

I’ve learned though that Bob is a really nice man. He just seems scary. I just learned that my neighbors are feeding him too and I appreciate the joint effort in accepting this creature into our cat world and homes. It takes a village to raise a wild cat.  Recently, Bob purred for the first time. He did his weird meow on our hardwood floor, I looked at him, and then he rolled on his back and put his paws in the air like he was on some sort of cat coaster. I thought he wanted me to rub his belly so I did and he found it to be ecstasy. Majesty even let me pet under his chin which is impressive because the chin is connected to the…mouth bone. The mouth bones connected to the fang tooth…The fang tooth’s connected to his cat gums and we all are happy friendssssssssssssss.

I got to feel his little bob cat jowls. When he puts his chin up the underside of his face looks like a diamond head snake which looks like  a triangle with two round bottom corners made by where his jowls are. He actually has little fat pockets there so he’s got real jowly jowls. My neighbor agrees that he’s part bobby cat. Again, everyone loses who disagrees.

When I pet his chin and belly and he purrs, he reminds me more of a full-blown domestic cat. Then again, lions purr. Only in short spurts though because purring for long consistent stretches is unique to domestic cats. I know, I know, more animal facts…. And I know, I know, another time where I use elipses…..I….love….them…..

I can now approach Majesty without hesitation or being afraid. Could be mistake number one but I’m pretty sure we’re best friends. He hasn’t told me yet but some friends don’t know how to come out and say things.  Like my other friend, Auddy cat.

Three nights ago I was sitting on the couch and he triumphantly jumped on the back of the couch onto the pillow beside me. It was alarming and Lance and I looked at each other from across the living room motionless and I said, “That was shocking.” The problem is when he jumps on something or, really, when he goes anywhere, I can’t get him down. This is because no matter how good of friends we are, I don’t think he’s ready to move to fourth base where I pick him up. I seriously doubt he’s ever been picked up before and I don’t want to be the first to break him of his discomfort in this area. This posed an especially difficult problem when he jumped off the couch and I found him minutes later in my bed. He’s like a defiant child. He does what he wants. I wrapped my hands in a t-shirt, Lance’s shirt of course, and kind of experimented with moving him. I tested the sensation of someone having their hands under his armpits from behind him. I kind of massaged his pits and tried to shift him. Bob sort of jerked back into a laying position so I knew it wasn’t time. Plus, he’s like 25 pounds and he could be a really heavy angry cat if the wrong move was made. I used food to lure him out of our room and now keep all doors shut when he comes in. When it gets warm outside I’ll never let him in but sometimes when it’s cold and no one loves him and I picture him laying in the woods on tree branches, I feel so bad for him. OHHHHH great.

Even when he does come in, old lady nature calls to him and he wants to go roam again so, it works out best for us both. Not to mention, my neighbor said he peed in her husband’s boots and I don’t want him to start taking whizzes in my shoes.  We need to have some boundaries between man and beast.

In other news, when he walked in last night, Bonkers rubbed up against him and Bob stuck his tongue out part ways to lick him on the head one single time. Majesty changed his mind but I was pretty impressed that he thought about it. Skittles and Bob are having some difficulty. I think it’s sexual tension but only for Bob. Skittles is fixed and has never desired a man. Bob will follow her around meowing weirdly while she trots quickly away. He’s just using her for her lady parts and she knows it. She’s no fool.

Basically we are forming a strong family unit one weird, random visit from Bob at a time.  I wanted to post pictures of me and Majesty together along with some of his other bob cat striking features but I need new batteries for my camera.  Rechargable please.  You can send them directly to my door as payment for you loving my blog.

Lance’s alarm is going off so I guess I better hide all the cats before he comes out and finds me being nature lady in the wee hours of the morning in my airbrushed shirt I partied in like it was….you know….

Zombie January 31, 2010

I feel as if my tear ducts may start producing large watery balls that run down my face.  I. am. so. sleepy.  I feel really dramatic at the moment like no one could possibly be as tired as me but I simultaneously realize how stupid that is.  As if I’m the first pregnant woman in the land.  I’m sure you are even more tired with a newborn but I can’t focus on that right now to avoid the above mentioned large watery balls. I feel like I’m not going to sleep for 11 weeks all to not sleep again for ten years. 

Last night I probably slept about 3 broken hours.  I’m trying to sleep somewhat upright because of my back pain and acid reflux and it’s helped to a degree.  What I don’t get though is that I will be tired in bed but wide awake!  It’s like I drank caffeine but I haven’t drank caffeine in a literal 8 years or so.  It’s being wired and exhausted.  A complete conflict of interests.  I’ve seen the sun come up two times in the past four nights.  I’m not one of those people that thinks it’s cool to watch that happen.  Especially unplanned.

Lance was really sympathetic this morning so that helped.  JUST KIDDING.  I wanted to punch his lights out and then on again just so I could punch them out again.  He woke up refreshed to tell me that our pipes are frozen.  While I can appreciate the problem, it would’ve still been a problem when I the alarm went off thirty minutes later.  I told him to shush it.  I guess he thought that meant, come back in five minutes later and ask me if I thought my dad was awake.  Hmmmm….let me check my dad monitor.  Answer in:  Call and see!  The same thing I’d have to do.  I gave him a shushing again.  Then he proceeded to the living room which is right by our room and he went on to have a full voice conversation on his cell phone.  I give up.  I get out of bed.  Minutes later he is yelling “OUCH” and “My head hurts so bad.”  I go to see the problem and he’s just washing his hair in freezing cold water in the sink.  I’m not sure what got on my nerves more, the yelling and over reaction or the fact that he didn’t think to put some water on the stove or microwave to warm it first before dumping ice buckets on his head.

All of these events lead up to the moment where he told me that I sure had a bad attitude.  (dramatic pause within my mind with all of the things floating through my head of things I just went through during my restless night)  It’s one of those mads you get where you are so appalled that you words elude you temporarily because there are so many things you want to say all at once so nothing comes out.  For a minute anyways.

It went something along the lines of growing your baby in my stomach and being uncomfortable and aching all night long and having to pee four times keeping me up even longer resulting in hunger resulting in more waking resulting in seeing the sunrise.  There is nothing more I’d like to do tonight than to duck tape a large watermelon to his stomach and say, ”Sweet Dreams!  Sleep tight!”  I may not sleep either but at least I’d be smiling all night long.

Man, it sure seems like my water balls are turning into anger balls. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love my little melon.  I’m gonna miss her squirming inside of me.  But me and her have some things to work out.  It’s funny because this is the last 11 weeks of my pregnancy and she’s started to have cycles of deep REM sleep and I’m starting to get no sleep.  I love her though.  Let’s just say I’m a little annoyed with the watermelon farmer if you catch my drift.

Dear Lord, Please give me restorative rest tonight.  And for several other nights between now and push time if possible.  What Lord?  What did you say? Take a Unisom Sleep Melt?  Okay.  Thank you.

Simple Schmiple February 2, 2010

The order was for a small cake that just said “Happy Birthday Des” but I had to do more than that because creativity is the fun part for me.  It’s really hard to do masculine cakes so I made the dots around the name able to be picked right off so the wife could do away with them before delivery if she wanted.  I just picked a color scheme, added stripes, hand twisted ropes, and hand cut  letters and then shazow!  Done.  I’m on a stripe kick these days.   Not a crazy cake, not anything that will blow your mind.  Just…nice.  I wanted to do something different so I decided to go with a crooked cake.  Like a topsy turvy single tier cake.  This was my first one and I was pleased with it. 

Chocolate cake, vanilla buttercream filling, and chocolate buttercream on the outside.  As always, handmade fondant decor.  All edible. 

For Old Times Sake February 4, 2010

Here are two blogs of mine you’ve either forgotten about, never read, or might want to read again.  Two of these are two of my faithful readers favorites.  I never forget the sweet comments on stuff, folks, so I remembered what some people said about these.  I have a mind like an elephant and a steel trap.  Better yet, like an elephant in a steel trap.  I don’t know how the elephant got trapped but don’t reveal yourself because I’ll shoot you. 

1969 http://wp.me/sjhsl-1969

26 Birthdays  http://wp.me/pjhsl-1m

Ahh to be young http://wp.me/pjhsl-4A

13 years February 8, 2010

It was really the closing of a chapter when I pulled out of her driveway the last time.  Possibly several chapters.  The first time I pulled in that drive I was a freshmen in high school.  The first time I pulled in driving my own fabulous vehicle came just a year or so later.  See ya later parents.  I don’t need your rides anymore.

Chapter 1:  The High School Years

I would come over in trashy outfits that at the time I didn’t realize were trashy.  We’d share hideous make-up and go out with all of our other friends who looked similar to us and dance to songs that would make your momma blush. Unfortunately.

We’d put our hair in rollers and slap on dance team uniforms and dance at pep rallies and travel to other cities together to compete.  One time we went to compete in St. Louis and of the few things I remember, I recall that we all put on our letter jackets and walked around a mall connected to our hotel and took pictures.  The letter jackets may have been modest but they are equally as embarassing looking as the trashy clothes.  I think the only time letter jackets should’ve been accepted as a fashion trend was in the 50′s at a little diner sharing milkshakes with your steady guy.  Luckily, that’s the only time I remember wearing my letter jacket.  Some mistakes take years to realize.  Then there are other things like catching the reflection of your sailor collar in the window and realizing that something on your body has gone terribly wrong.

Also, in this chapter we have to include boys.  Boys.  And also, boys.  Heartbreak, embarrassing choices, and dramatic responses to the above aforementioned heartbreak and embarrassments. 

End chapter one.

Chapter 2:  College Years

Here we find ourselves in the middle of a time where our friendship was strained and we both separately went in similar directions but at different paces and with other people by our side.  We grew closer to the Lord.  Figured ourselves out in light of these things and we changed as people.  I missed her and her friendship painfully through these years.  There are 5 or 6 things I’ve prayed fervently for in the past 10 years of so of my life.  She was one of them.  Specifically, for the healing of our friendship.  Thankfully there was another chapter to this story.  Also thankfully, she got braces during these years.  Not because her smile was bad but more because the older you get, the more awkward it is to get braces so might as well strap them on as soon as the urge hits you.  Smile on pretty lady, smile on.

Chapter 3:  We Are Getting Old/A friendship healed and then some

Now we find ourselves adults.  This still includes making music videos which is a practice that must never die.  I got a video camera this year and I suppose I will make them alone if nothing else.   

During this chapter, I get married at the very beginning.  I spend years talking to her about marriage and I can’t wait for her to meet someone so I’ll have someone else to talk to about this marital business. 

Also in this chapter, I see her cry a handful of times over a relationship that, eventually, comes to it’s end.  Seeing her cry is not a common practice unless we refer back to chapter one where she sowed her oats and became the worst drunk ever to be drunken.  When I saw her cry during these years it was a real sincere cry which to this day, I’ve still  only seen a handful of times.  During this time, we became closer and closer and she would drive to Louisville to see me and spend weekends with Lance and I.  I got to know her more than ever before which came in handy when I met this guy at seminary with a funny name because I knew her well enough to know that she’d like this boy.  I would introduce them and neither would be interested.  Fast forward a year or so later, I try again.  Boom, married.  Your welcome guys.  This brings us up to current times.

I sat in her in parent’s house a few weeks ago, two best friends, the authors of many chapters, side by side with our round bellies sticking up in the air.  Both pregnant with little girls, our first children, that will be born only 6 weeks apart.  Our kids will almost be as close in age as she and I are but we are even closer in age; only 2 weeks apart.  I’m older so of course I win.  Then again, I tried to have a baby for 2 years and she tilled the fertile garden of her womb in about 12 weeks of marriage.  So in a way, she wins.  Okay, okay, we are all winners. 

Later that night, I had dinner with her family and made them laugh until my friend peed her pants.  Seriously, she peed her pants.  Then again, her baby made her do it so it was sort of a joint effort that was brought forth by my humor. Also, I should clarify that weren’t actually her pants.  Technically, she peed her mom’s pants but anyways….

It’s crazy to me that we went from two teenagers passing notes to two pregnant women sharing dinner with her parents and her husband.  Where does time go?

A few days after that dinner with her family, she and her husband moved away to Virgina.  About 10 ridiculous hours away from me.  But, so goes life.  People get married.  They have children.  They move. 

Our last night with things as we have known it for the past 6 years was that night.  I’m sentimental and feel a great amount of love for my friends so moments like that are hard for me.  Saying goodbye to friends and life phases is really hard for me so this goodbye was no exception.  I had to make it quick when it was time for me to go.  I just said ,

“Well, the next I see you, we’ll be mothers.”

“The next time I see you, all of this (pointing to her tight pregnant belly), is going to be big fat rolls.”  I said with a smile.  Or maybe I didn’t smile.  That’s the neat thing about knowing someone though: they always know when you are joking.

I left something I needed to give her in the car so I ran out and ran back in for about 2.9 seconds.  I said, “I’m gonna make this quick.”  I hugged her and, in all seriousness, comically ran out of the door.  I like a good comedic effect but it was also absolutely necessary to my emotional survival to run out.

I open my car door and I sit.  Sit in the same driveway that I started out in 13 years ago.  Tears came to my eyes and I let it go. 

I backed out slowly and looked the house over and smiled to myself.  Chapters floated through my mind.  The weight of the history hung bittersweetly on my heart.  Would I see this house again?  Sure.  But you know when you come to the end of a chapter. 

Our lives would be different now.  We would have tiny little children who looked like us who demanded our time and attention.  Little blessings that would by their existence restrict our schedules.  We would have little time and little chances to see each other now that life had new demands and new paths that had taken us many, many hours away from each other.  It’s not that any of this was a bad change.  Change comes.  It’s just that it’s not how I’d known us to be. I loved those familiar years and they are hard to see go. 

I continued to inch my way out of the driveway and slowly away from their home.  I felt my baby kick inside of me and smiled.  My little girl is a reminder of how far I’ve come from the first time I’ve pulled into that drive.  How far we’ve become as friends since that day.  A tear of appreciation for what has been rolled down my cheek as a little life nudged me from within of what is to come.  I hope my daughter finds a friend like Audrey.

Her house became smaller in the distance. 

My car sped away and again, another chapter that I’m so glad was written, comes to it’s final line.  

(sigh)

I love a good ending.

February 12, 2010

If it’s 4:30 in the morning and your up cleaning cat barf say Heeeeeeeeyyyyyyy! (echo- Heeeeeeyyyyyy)

If you got real bored and went to sit in your nursery and you find your other missing cat asleep in your baby’s crib say Kiiillllllllllllllllllll  (echo-Killllllllllllllllllllllllllllll)

Say Hey! Kill!

Hey! Kill!

It’s too bad because I really liked my cats.  We had such a good thing going.  Now I think they are worse than 5 newborns mixed with toddlers stirred with sticks of annoyance.  I wish I didn’t wake up in the wee hours of the morning and write about my cats but no else seems to be around at this time of day.  If you want to come over and be on stand by, I’ll write about you.

It seems as if the best cat is now Majesty Bob.  I miss that guy.  We have had one annoying bout of snow after another and you’d think he’d come around for snow safety but he’s a REAL man.  Maybe the biggest man you know.

I’ve officially decided that he’s the mascot of my wordpress.  This would probably really hurt Skittles and Bonkers feelings but it’s kind of like if you worked for a company having a contest and your family members couldn’t win because of your employment there.  My cats are disqualified.  Plus, they just defaced my baby bedding and carpet so they wouldn’t be considered at this point any way.

Anyhow, moving on.  Let’s talk about some things I like and some things I hate.  I hate the winter olympics and how they are going to play on all of my 3 channels.  On the contrary, I’m having a baby shower this weekend, my first one to be exact, and I totally love that.  I love presents more than 5 year olds.

Last week Lance tried to turn the alarm clock off with imaginary buttons on my forehead.  Shockingly, the alarm didn’t go off so he kept pushing harder and tried to “slide” buttons side to side when his tapping was bringing no results.  I’d be surprised but it’s the second time in our marriage he turned the alarm off on my head.  This is something I don’t like.

I also don’t like the snow and I really want the warm weather and the spring.  I want to plant flowers and roll around in the grass and giggle.  I want to throw my cats outside and not let them in for a while.  Why did that dang groundhog give us 6 more weeks of winter weather?  We have to get a better system where we don’t let groundhogs control our weather system.  Maybe that’s why so many people ran over groundhogs in town last season.

In other news, I bought a fake diamond ring and wedding band today which I took great pleasure in.  I know a lot of people take off their wedding rings when their fingers start to swell but when you look like me (aka 10 years old) you can’t take any chances in re-enforcing people’s assumptions that you are a little kid.  I knew with this big fancy ring that people would start taking me seriously. That would start right after I made it out of Claire’s with my fake jewelry.

Well I’m exhausted and my cats are asleep and you know what they say, “Sleep when they sleep.”  Plus, I just saw that the man who invented the frisbee died last night anyways.  I’m not really in the mood for talking.  I bet they sure put a lot of frisbees in his casket though.

February 26, 2010

Sometimes I think it’d be better for our local news to channel to just say, ” We don’t have any stories for you today.  Goodnight.”

If a baby turns head down for the last 2-4 weeks of pregnancy, how does the blood not rush to it’s head and do some sort of damage?

Why do men think that a booger flicked on a carpet is out of sight-out of mind?  It’s there and they get stuck to your feet whether you know it or not.  Seriously, who flicks boogers as a good solution of disposal. ?  Answer: Too many people.

If leprechaun were real, I’d probably be afraid of them.  Rainbow or not.

I think all major stores should have an expectant mother’s parking spot.  How does Target not have a single space?  They have the biggest baby registry system in the US for crying out loud!  You know who does have a spot though?  Best Buy.  You should be ashamed of yourself, Target.

Full body massages are great but what about a full body tickle?  Now THAT’S something I would pay for!  Or you could just do it for free, Lance.  It’s up to you.

Why do people always ask you how many weeks you are along and when you answer them they say, “Do you know what you are having yet?” Uhhh, if you stand close enough to me my baby will kick you in the face so yeahhhhhh….I know what I’m having.  I understood that question in the beginning but at this point, it’s pretty obvious that if you are going to find out, that you would know.  I think I will be walking up to labor and delivery with my baby waving with one hand out and someone will ask me if we found out what we are having yet. 

I think it’s mean to honk as an expression of “I hate what you just did”.  If it was really dangerous or if someone is about to hit you, it’s okay to say, ”Hey, I am displeased this many beeps worth.”  But just general honking over minor inconveniences is rude.

Why do guys not realize that women have some degree of hair in all the same places that men have hair?

A whale just killed a trainer at Sea World.  Not just any whale but  KILLER whale.  Why are we surprised?  It’s 22 feet long and 6 tons and it’s a predator and it has the word killer in it’s name.  It’s really sad and scary but should we really be that surprised when we put an ocean beast in a swimming pool?  And now they may put the whale down.  “We are gonna put you down, whale, and you know why?  Because you acted like a whale!!!”  This just in, wild animals are dangerous.

Every year I get my taxes done and I think,”This man must think I’m the stupidest person in the world.”  He asks me what I’m sure are simple questions but basically all I have to offer him is all I came in with:  4 sheets of papers with numbers I don’t understand. That’s all I know about taxes is to just give you these papers. Sorry Mr. Tax man. 

What makes a grown man wipe a booger on his pants?

After 45 minutes of listening to Lance snore, I finally kicked him in the leg and said, “You can’t lay on your back anymore.  You’re snoring.”  He said, “Get up and go get in the other bed.”  Me: “Okay so you want your 8 month pregnant wife to get up and go to another bedroom so you can snore comfortably?”  This is getting out of hand.

There is a flamboyant man that works at Walmart that always acts like he’s too cool to have to work there.  He scans your groceries like he’s Lady GaGa doing a reality show and that he’s just here for a temporary time.  Pretty sure he has several stars on his name tag representing the years of his life that he’s had to lower his diva status to the best discount chain in the world.  I could have anyone scan my food but he’s like a fun park experience.  I love seeing that guy.

My First Shower! February 14, 2010

My sweet office girls threw me my first shower today!  I took no pictures of my co-workers or me opening gifts so I hate that but it was hard for me to do being that I was the superstar of the hour and all =0)  Thank you so much ladies!  Everything was wonderful!

Cara my sister: mom of 3, Me: one pending, Mom: birthed 4, adopted 4. Go mom!

THIS is a cake! My friend’s sweet mom spent 30 hrs. on this and drove it from TN. Thank you so much! Eden is having a peacock painted on her entire wall behind the crib =0)

All my gifts condensed to about 5 things per bag. My sweet co-workers spoiled me! They have been so wonderful and supportive every step of the way while I tried to get pregnant and now that I am, continued to be so excited for me =0)

Gross pic of me but look at all those prizes!

30 weeks and about 125. I've gained about 23 pounds give or take one or two.

Such is Life & Walmart February 16, 2010

Today I went where all people go if they want a little bit of sunshine: Walmart.  I worked all day and I was exhausted.  Pure, third trimester exhausted.  I was really sad about going to Walmart because you can go in one person and leave another.  Usually you go in happy and leave annoyed and tired.  Even children hate Walmart.  I bet dogs would too if they let them in.  One of the things we hate about Walmart is that it sucks us in with it’s cheap, monopolized prices.  No matter how much you hate the place, it’s unavoidable at some point.

So I venture into Walmart, tired, and ready to leave as soon as I walk in.  I went to the potty to ensure that I could get through the trip without having to stop to pee.  Ya know, just like a 5 year-old would need to do.  Stall number one:  I tried to go through with it but it stunk so bad that I started gagging.  So I went to stall number two which promoted less gagging but still left me breathing through my shirt just so I could endure the experience.

I’m off.  I give myself twenty minutes to get in and out.  It’s 2:15.  I. can. do. this.

Fast forward to end of shopping experience.  I’m rounding the check out when holy bags of crap, I left my wallet in the car.  I park my cart with an employee, walk 17 miles in Antartica to the back of the lot and wallow my whale butt around the car to realize, “You didn’t leave your wallet in the car.  You left it at home!”  Yay!  (insert lots of loud sarcastic laughing)

So I did what all 8 month tired pregnant women would do.  I stood by my cart like a lady stands by her man and called for someone to come rescue me and pay for my groceries so I could just pay them back and avoid coming to the dreaded mart again.  I called my husband who never answers his phone  because who gets a portable phone to actually have it on them and answer it right?  He never answers his phone even though it’d be perfect if he would because he works in a building next door.  Thanks kid.  I feel like crying sitting on a bench in Walmart with a cart full of groceries that I can’t but and desperately want so I do the next best thing, call my mom.  Surely she will be in Walmart.  She’s always in Walmart.  She has 4 kids for crying out loud.  She wasn’t but referred me to my step-dad who drove across town, pushed my cart, paid for, and unloaded my groceries.  I told him I would’ve stayed there three hours on the bench to be saved from abandoning my cart.  He saved the day.  And luckily for us all he did.  I might’ve eaten and drank everything in the cart in the meantime if he hadn’t showed.  It was survival out there in my poverty at Wally World.

I get to my car, ready for this day to be over and I drive off to realize, “Hey, your gas light is on.  AND it’s been on all day so I can’t make it home.”  What’s that word I used earlier?  Oh yeah…YAY!  Still no wallet.  So now I have food and no gas to get it home. At least I can live in my car with all my food if it quits moving.

I drive to Lance’s office and stake out his parking lot, refusing to leave without a form of payment for my gas.  He, of course, is still not answering his phone so I snag a co-worker to go inside and get him for me.  He comes out and is daring enough to smile at me.  He leans in my window with his elbows in the car to talk and I say, no, no, no.  You must be confused.  We aren’t friends right now.  Just give me the credit card.

AGAIN, I’m off but at least this time I have money to live.  I get gas and do, again, what any pregnant woman would do and what I should’ve done.  I went to Dairy Queen.

I joyfully eat my chocolate dipped cone all the way home.  I mean what else could go wrong today?  I’m almost home.

Ohhhhhhhhhhh…..

Of course!  My front porch!  How could I not have known?  Why would I think even my cement portal to my house would be exempt from disaster today?  Silly dang me…

This is because I put out a putrid bag of trash on the front porch for a few hours to get the stench out of the house.  Raccoons, opposums, other varmits, they come out at night.  What kind of ruin your life beast dog did this to me?  It was probably one of these dang wild animals I sing hippie animal love songs over all day and they repay me by trashing my front porch.  I can hear someone saying right now, “Duh, because they are animals.  Of course they would do that!”  This is not the day imaginary judgemental blog reader voice I’m hearing in my head.

Fast forward to present moment.  I’m sitting on my couch.  I refuse to clean up the porch because I’m so mad.  I’m so mad at the groceries that I refuse to put them up.  It’s almost like I’m punishing them because they are a symbol of my traumatic plight.  Sit on the floor little milky milk.  I hope you curdle.  Sour cream, stay in your corner you nasty butthead.  I hope you guys like it there on the floor like you deserve.

Now I’m gonna to go to sleep which is what I wanted to do three hours ago when my ordeal began. 

Such is life.  Curse you Walmart and your big flourescent lights, long lines, square footage, and your ability to suck life out the souls of innocent pregnant women.

Now, back to that nap. I’ll take it right after I help Lance clean up the 6 dollar gallon of organic milk that just now busted on the floor because our fridge shelf spontaneously broke into pieces and fell on the floor.  It wasn’t even the cancer milk.  Had to be organic.

The Walmart gods are listening.  They are angry.

Choo Choo on ya head February 21, 2010

This is my FINAL cake indefinetly and I’m soooooo happy. This is too exhausting, especially in my third trimester, so with only 9 weeks left to go, I picked a good time to quit. This is a Thomas Cake. Like pretty much all my cakes, they have no idea what it will look like so I really hope they like it. Vanilla cake, vanilla buttercream, icing/fondant decor, all edible, all handmade. ALL DONE FOR ME! WOOO HOOOOOOOO!

To Bob or Not to Bob February 23, 2010

To Bob or not to Bob, this has been the question and today, we have answers kids. Today I took Majesty Bob to the vet to take care of his sickness and to have some questions answered. Who is this strange cat man who comes crying out of my woods and into my home?

Well, he’s no bob at all. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. But I love him. The vet said that he does look like a mixed bob breed but he is more likely mixed with a rare breed of large bodied, tufted eared cat. She said she couldn’t say exactly what he was without looking at the books at some of the less common tufted eared breeds. So either way, it’s still a total score because he’s not part vicious but he’s still rare. I knew he was a real fine kitty cat.

He was like a super-hero feline today at the vet. He went into the carrier with no hesitation, courtesy of KFC hidden inside, and I closed the door behind him. He didn’t fuss at all. He just sort of laid down like, “Well dang. Guess I’m in here now.”  When we were at the vet he came right out of the carrier and went right back in with no problems when we left.  AND he rode in the car without a peep.

The vet couldn’t believe how well he handled especially since she agreed he’s likely always been wild. Majesty let them take his temp, draw his blood, and get a fecal sample. He probably handled the fecal sample way better than I would’ve. No biting, scratching, or even hissing. I would have at least hissed at you if you stuck that thing up my behind. He was majestic and honorable one might say. AND they picked him up wrapped in a towel and held him to their chest which is something I’ve never done and he purred! I might have to try this tonight.

The vet said they couldn’t believe how lucky of a cat he is and how well he’s survived. He tested negative for cat aids and another deadly virus that almost all wild cats die of. He’s a survivor, he ain’t gon’ give up, he ain’t gon’ stop, he’s gon’ work harder! Bob didn’t even have any dang ear mites or worms! Even my cats have those! He did have a whopping fever of 105 and his diagnosis was upper respiratory infection which has been the culprit of his feebleness. Nothing 91 dollars can’t fix right guys? I would also like to add that I told Lance before going to the vet that he had an upper respiratory infection to which his friend replied, “What are you, Dr. Doolittle?” Answer: Heck yes I am.

Anyways, they told me he was about 2 years old and that he was one the finest and rarest beasts of all the land. They didn’t say that last part out loud but I’m pretty good at getting a feel for people’s emotions.

So, mystery is solved folks. Majesty isn’t really Majesty Bob but more like Majesty Rare Strange Breed Cat. That doesn’t have quite the same ring to it so Bob he will remain. Unfortunately, he still looks menacing so I thought about changing his name to “I’m nice” or “Nice Man” and giving him a collar with that printed on there. That way when he comes screaming out of the woods to someone else’s house they can say, “MOOOOOMMM look at this scary cat!” Then the mom can read the collar and say, “No, no kids. His name is Nice Man. ” And a nice man he really is. More than one person at the vet said that he is the sweetest cat. Cats get a real bad wrap for being mean and aloof but cats are only as nice to others as you are to them. So if you don’t like cats, maybe you are the meanie. Maybe you’re the problem, Skeeters! That’s a twist you didn’t see coming. I have sweet cat because I am a nurturing sweet cat lady. I am a wonderful person.

Bob is sleeping on the hardwood and he no longer has self-image problems because he knows who he is and I do too: a very nice, wild rare kitty that loves my bones to death! Kumbahyah everyone. Kumbahyah.

When American Idol is Stupid March 4, 2010

You may or may not remember this girl from this season of American Idol because they never really showed her which means you have no idea how good she really is.  She got cut in the top 24.  I saw this girl when she was 11 years old on America’s Most Talented Kids and she blew my mind and I never forgot her.  There’s a clip of that performance below.  When I saw her on this season of Idol I could not believe it!  I was shocked when she was cut!  Watch her at 11.  American Idol is nuts.  Especially for who beat her out. 

Here she is singing “Halo” accapella about three months ago.  She is sooo on point and her licks are sick!  At least give it til the second verse to let her get going.

American Idol is dumb.

Jumping Jack Fail March 1, 2010

This video always makes me laugh and it’s Monday and we need it.  This is a clip of American soliders teaching Iraqi soldiers how to do jumping jacks in a training camp.  The first video is 24 seconds and it gives you a full scope of the whole line of jumpers.  The second is my favorite because there is one really smiley and jumping jack challenged guy that I love to watch.  I love these guys.  Wish we were friends.

Worst Mom to a Fetus Award Goes to…… March 2, 2010

If I had a twitter account, which I hope never happens, it would say that I am the size of a baby whale. I’m not saying, “I’m so fat” or “I look so fat” but my stomach today feels sort of whale-ish. I promise I woke up today and caught a glimpse of my stomach in the mirror and I thought, holy whale fish, I am getting larger with each passing second. I still have 7 weeks left and I’m in a little denial that my stomach will get any bigger. Come on baby I thought we had something worked out where you wouldn’t get past 6 pounds? Remember that?  Don’t emerge into this world all big and sneaky.

The sad part is that as my pregnancy draws to a close, I feel like I’m progressively turning into a bad mother without even having the actually baby out. A few mornings ago I had just rolled out of bed and walked into the bathroom and Lance put his hands on my belly. In all seriousness I said, “Don’t wake her up. She’s sleeping.” How have I already said that and she’s not even born? I want you to sleep and you aren’t even post vagina. The reason is because I’ve started to feel totally out of control of my body lately. At night when I try to sleep and she cutely wiggles, kicks, and jabs me, I can’t control it. Sometimes I wish I could look at my stomach and say, “Silence!” and just like God speaking to the waves, there would be temporary stillness. Don’t get me wrong, I will miss my little girl moving around in me. It is one of the most wonderful and fascinating blessings to experience. But sometimes, I savor the stillness and the lack of feet in my upper right rib. Sometimes I just wish I could control the flipping and flopping of my uterus.  Oh I’m a bad person.

Two nights ago I was even a worse type of mother. I had crazy restless legs and arms. That’s right, restless arms too. I only know one person who has experienced that but it happens to me all the time. At any rate, my limbs were going stir crazy and so I was not being able to sleep so I got up at 2 am and did laundry. I tried to lay on the couch and relax but Eden was stabbing and jabbing AND had hiccups and I thought I was going to lose my mind. You know hiccups in your belly are like a pulse every second.  Sort of like a ticking of a clock and when you are on the brink of crazy, you can’t handle laying awake with tick, tock, kick, tick, tock, punch, going on in your belly.  I wanted to take my belly and just shake it and scream. It was kind of like shaken unborn baby syndrome. Oh brother. I am the Debbie Downer of human makers. I felt so guilty after my brief moment of wee hours of the morning insanity.

AND my temper has been a little on the warm side. I meant to say, scorching hot side. I’ve just been so tired and irritable that even my phone ringing has grated my nerves. FRIENDS! How dare friends call me?! I’m the baddest. And I’ve been yelling a lot these days because of my irritability and exhaustion.  They say that babies recognize their mother’s voice immediately when they are born because they’ve been listening to you up close and personal for the last 3 months of your pregnancy. I can see it now that Eden comes out and I say, “Hi sweet girl!” I keep talking to her and she’s not responding and then I try a different move and I yell, “Take out the trash” in a really angry voice and she immediately looks at me like, “MOMMMYYYYY!” She would recognize that because I am the worst of all the human beings.

If nothing else, I’m getting a lot of cleaning done and she will have a rock star nursery and a clean home to come home to. You know because babies really care about decorative style and sanitary practices.

Guys, I even said I didn’t like an animal today.  A cat nonetheless.  This is how rock bottom I’m getting.  I’m fired.

Nursery Extrodinaire March 7, 2010

Before I knew Eden was even going to be a girl, I dreamed of a modern, urban peacock on the wall.  I described it to my friend, he sketched, we modified, I decorated and it’s all I wanted.  Blake Parsons is a life long friend of mine and he drove 8 hours to do this for me and my little girl.  He is very gifted, will travel for jobs.  If you want his info, just let me know.  Follow this public link to my facebook album by putting it into your browser to see it =0)  It’s all I wanted.  Traditional folks beware!  This ain’t your Winnie the Pooh room!

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=151536&id=610138334&l=a0dcc50ce3

33 weeks March 10, 2010

33 weeks, 132 pounds, and really tan.

I Pledge to You My Coolness March 9, 2010

I only have about 6 1/2 weeks left until I am mom.  SO, before my life changes, I pledge to you my coolness.

I pledge to you to not forget that other people in the world don’t have children.  I vow to never call you before 9 am because I realize that just because I will have been awake for 4 hours, doesn’t mean you have.  That always drove me and still drives me crazy.  Hey, I don’t have to wake-up at 6 (yet).  Let me live!  I will let you live childless people of all ages!

I vow to not put a big yellow yield sign in my car window informing you that there is in fact an infant in the car.  You will know I have a baby in the car when I yell at you through my window or when I write down your license plate number informing the police who then inform you that you drove ridiculously while the above aforementioned infant was in my car.  I will also vow to not deface my car in stickers to detail the academic status of my child.

I pledge to never put my child in a rhinestone shirt that says “Diva” on it.

I promise to disown you if you ever buy my daughter a Bratz doll.  If you buy my daughter a Bratz doll, I’ll buy your daughter a Skankz doll and that’s just not a circle we need to start.

I vow that if I don’t know you very well but ask you out of courtesy if you want to hold my child when you are admiring her,  I will never put you in the awkward situation of having to hand my baby back to me.  I always felt weird doing that.  It’s like, “Okay…I’m done with your child.  I don’t want to hold her anymore.  You didn’t offer to take them back so….here you go.”  I’ll do you one better.  I’ll never assume that everyone wants to hold my baby.  Final Answer.

I pledge to never subject you to looking at baby albums or videos.  Unless of course you choose to view them on my blog or facebook.  Then it’s all you buddy. And also, unless your name is Lance.  If your name is Lance, you have to look with me.

I vow that if you babysit my kid, I will open the garage door loudly when coming back home so that you will have a chance to put back our snacks and turn the TV off like you have been perfectly attentive all night. 

I pledge to always make you sanitize your hands before you hold my infant at the hospital no matter how contrary to the coolness pledge you think that might be.  Germs are for losers, not babies. 

I promise to get to know you really well before I pick my baby’s nose in front of you.

I vow to you, Lance, to wear less pajamas.

I pledge to do my best to prevent my kid from looking at you from underneath the stall while you do your business.

I vow that when my kid throws a fit in a store and you look at me judgementally like your kid has never had a meltdown, I will be mad at you.  Then, I’ll post it on the internet.

I promise I’ll never make my kid walk on a mall leash.

I promise to never show you my dairy factory at feeding time because just because I’ve been stripped of all modesty, doesn’t mean you’ve been stripped of your right to not see my baby groceries.  If in the event you are around and I need to nurse, you will have ample warning to evacuate or turn your head while I drape myself in a hooter hider.  Exception:  I bare no responsibility for my baby who may inadvertently pull down my modesty shield and expose my utters.  Furthermore, if I have no cloak, I cannot be held liable for a baby that turns to look at you causing you to face them square in the eye.

live births March 14, 2010

Everyone has a right to know what they are getting into. I have wanted to see a live birth for about 8 1/2 months now and the day has come that I have found one. Many actually. I use to try to see it on youtube but I only found animal births which is not helpful at all.

There’s something about seeing someone give birth that makes me feel more prepared and in control. These are videos from babycenter.com where you can watch any process of labor from epidurals, to water births, to births of multiples, etc. Because this is a major website, this isn’t your granny’s home video. This is like an HD birth all in your face with commentary. It’s tasteful and they are about 5 minutes each. They somewhat freak me out and somewhat make me feel better. You may never wish to see one of these in your whole life and you don’t have to click on it, although, I’m pretty sure most of you will give it a try. You don’t necessarily want to see a car wreck but you can’t help watching those either. It’s the same thing. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you two videos: a live 5 minute birth and a live 5 minute c-section. Someone out there will thank me. Others, will barf.

http://www.babycenter.com/2_live-birth-epidural_10314055.bc

http://www.babycenter.com/2_live-birth-epidural_10314055.bc

Tick Tock March 16, 2010

It’s really bizarre to know that you’re life is about to change. Is there any change bigger than adding children to your life? It has to be a bigger transition than marriage, although, similar in some ways. You know, your good days, your bad days, your wonderful times, and the times you want to kill each other but at the end of it all, it’s all worth it and you laugh and eat some cookies.

Tonight I found myself talking to Lance and having my first really big moment of “my time running out”. It’s exciting but at the same time, it’s freaking me out a little.
NOTHING about my life will be the same. NOTHING. I was talking to Lance about it and he agreed. But I said to him that some things about his life will remain untouched: his job, his body, just to name a few. His sleep patterns, no matter how tattered at the beginning ,will still be better intact than my new sleeping habits. Unless of course he grows breasts and produces milk which doesn’t totally sound like a bad idea. I might take a husband with milking boobs gratefully when the exhaustion sets in. You have to weigh the costs and benefits.

I want to be prepared for this big change but I know it’s un-preparable. I dare you to correct me, spellcheck. Live a little…..

Next week is my last week of work. I’ve worked my whole adult life. Not only have I worked, I love my job and I’m dang good at it if I do say so myself! In two weeks I will be unemployed and venturing into the world of stay-at-home moms. I can’t wait for that job but I’m feeling a streak of craziness. Rebecca will not have an employer. I will  in a sense, Eden Elizabeth INC., and I think she’ll be a merciless boss in the starting probation period of my employment there. I will no longer have deadlines, paychecks, a set work schedule, etc. That seems wild to me. Extremely foreign to me.  I’m going to get to focus on some other loves of mine once I’m home but no matter how much you love or hate your job, there’s security there.

I will no longer have weekends where you have a day to sleep in, a few days off to do as I please. I’ll have a 24/7, non-stop commitment. If it seems like I’m stating the obvious, I am. I’m just trying to wrap my mind around the impending reality.

My body will change drastically from what I’ve known it to be even if, best case scenario, it’s a temporary drastic change. I’ve always been little ole’ tiny Rebecca. When I stand up in the hospital for the first time after I  deliver and my belly thumps down and giggles Santa style, I might do like my cat when he got an IV and had a fluid pouch on his shoulder. He’d be fine just chilling on the floor and then he’d stand up and his fluid bag would sag off his shoulder and he’d run like a mad man trying to get away from it like this bulge was chasing him.

My free-time won’t be my own.  Errands I previously hated will be triple time harder.  AND, it won’t be Lance and I in the house alone again for easily more than 18 years!  Way more probably because I hope to have three to four kids.  I won’t be able to walk around my house in my skimmies, eventually at least.  I’ll have to be quiet after 8 pm at night.  The biggest thing of all, I won’t be able to blare my music.   It all seems silly when you think of what you are getting in return but riding around with loud blaring music is literally one of my favorite things.  I’m sure my parent’s probably thought it was something I fancied  as a high school kid but this love is here to stay.  It’s official, I, Rebecca, will forever loudly love rap music in my car.  I know at some point cruising to tunes will look pitiful like a forty-year old woman shopping at Forever 21 but what’s a girl supposed to do? I can’t give up on my hobbies and dreams.

A week from Saturday I will have 4 weeks til I deliver.  What do you do with only 4 weeks left with life as you know it?  Do you go on lots of dates?  Sleep constantly?  Blare your TV at 10 pm?  Go on spontaneous walks at 11 at night?  Get your bobcat neutered now because it will a long time before that will be conveinent to do?  The only one I’m totally sure of is the bobcat one.  I’ve always been a person who tries to live in the moment and take it all in but sometimes I think doing that too hard or too intentionally, steals from the moment the merit it has:  a carefree, unexpected, wonderful day that simply happened.  Focusing on “you better cherish this”  isn’t always the best policy.  Maybe the best way to enjoy my last few weeks is just to enjoy it like I have for 27 years.

Ohhh beckycat, how your life is going to change….

I know I won’t have a “job”, wear my old jeans for while, feel rested for the next 100 years, or get to bust my eardrums like I adore doing but I’m really excited for the crazy life I’m about to enter, albeit a world totally unknown to me. 

 I heard a new mother say this a few years ago, “There aren’t sick days, promotions, paychecks, vacation days, or insurance if things don’t go well. But the benefits are pretty nice.” 

I’m anxiously looking forward to fully understanding from the tips of my tired eyelids to the bottoms of my aching feet,  just exactly what that means.

Surprise Delivery 101 March 21, 2010

This Saturday Lance and I embarked on a 4-hour child birthting class at the hospital we’ll be giving birth at. We started off the trip to the hospital right by showing up just minutes before it started.

“Lance, did you bring the pillows and the blanket?”

And alas, a smile I know far too well. How this happens, I will never know. I stacked both the pillows and the blanket by the foyer where he puts his shoes on and reminded him about 5 seconds before he walked out the door. They were the only things we had to bring to class and we came with nothing. I told him when we walked in the room empty-handed I was going to awkwardly and incriminatingly point above his head just slightly behind his line of vision. Instead we laughed at my demo of what I threatened to do and walked into the class like real adults.

I leaned over his ear as we signed in, “Sure are lots of pillows and blankets…” We looked like the poor high school kids who couldn’t even bring the right items to class. I’m always wanting to reinforce everyone’s thoughts about how young and juvenile everyone thinks we are as a pregnant couple.

The class began and so did the treats. Perhaps they offered free snacks and possibly I ate an apple, a granola bar, and a rice krispy treat. Okay, 3 rice krispy treats. And a Sierra Mist.

When it came time for them to show the videos I tried to prepare Lance and coach him how to handle his shock.

“Please don’t laugh. Just don’t react no matter how awkward it looks or how “unkept” the woman from the 80′s in the video looks as she gives birth. We already forgot our pillows and blankets. They won’t let us take our baby home if we can’t pull through this.”

The videos started and we had the joy of experiencing three vaginal births, up close and personal. Nothing like seeing some strange lady birth a child and thinking to yourself on the tight shots, “You did know they were taping you today, right? And that this would be played for 28 years in hospitals. To the public. For all to see.”

Still, Lance did really well and he thought it was really no big deal to see and that he could watch me do that just fine. But then, we watched a big shot of the placenta being birthed. There wasn’t a closed mouth in the house. I think everyone laughed at the goob which is the placenta. Even the teacher who has taught these classes for 20 years just looked at us and smiled anticipating the delivery of the slab of organ that comes out after your cute baby. She herself was a labor and delivery nurse and she knew to watch our faces just as it was “showing itself”. It’s one of those things that no one should see. We should have a special fee for our obgyn’s just to go through that part. Lance said it’s like your baby was living with an alien buddy only you keep one of the two buddies and through the other away. It’s a sad day for your baby’s alien.

After videos, it came time for the relaxation techniques, pushing, and lamaze lessons. Everyone pulled out their thick, cushy blankets from home with their nice pillows and Lance and I laughed as we spread out our paper-thin white hospital sheet on the rock hard floor. I wallowed down to the ground with Lance helping me as graceful as an arthritic sea mammal. We laughed my whole way down. Once remarkably comfortable on a hospital pillow and sheet, your partner was instructed to squeeze uncomfortably on your achilles heel when the instructor said “contraction” and you were supposed to breathe through it. Almost every time it came time to breathe I ended up laughing because I felt so dumb doing the exercises. I couldn’t hear other girls “panting” so I wasn’t about to do loud and melodious dog breaths. The laughing was made worse by how hard Lance was pushing my heel. He was killing me! I told the instructor that he was giving me worse contractions than the others but she just laughed. Which was good because I was really mature and never stopped laughing so at least we were on the same page for a moment. Luckily, we got to switch with our partners and I gave Lance a double-handed achilles squeeze contraction.

The last thing on the agenda was pushing which the girls weren’t allowed to do because it can put you in pre-term labor. This means your man has to push. And boy do they get serious. Happily for Lance and I we chose a spot in the front of the class and he had to push by himself for the whole class first. The instructor makes the guys push for ten seconds and hold their legs up and everything. You can’t get away with fake pushing in this class. She even stood between his legs and held the legs back. Before they started I said to the teacher, “I dare you to stand there.” She just laughed and did the whole ready, set, contraction!!! Lance blew her away with his pushing. Literally. He tooted loud and proud on the teacher in front of the entire class. I knew this day would come because he’s a little light in the cheeks anyways. The entire class laughed. Lance and I laughed until we had tears streaming down our faces. The teacher laughed and while laughing said, “It doesn’t stink. Just keep going.” Lance composed himself briefly all to push again and almost immediately blast the class aloud a second time. Lance felt as if the second was even worse than the first but both were equally heard.  His pushing was done after incident number two. When the teacher made her way back up to the front of the class after all the guys had pushed I asked, “Was he the only one to “deliver”?” Proudly we can say that he was. We folded up our borrowed hospital sheets and walked out as winners.  We rode the elevator up to the nursery floor afterwards just for fun and he proceeded to silently fumegate the full elevator, as well.  He blamed it on the Raisin Bran but at that point, I think we all knew he was just showing off.

Covering My Butts March 25, 2010

When you tell someone that you are going to use “cloth” or reusable diapers, people look at you like you are a dated cavewoman who is going to fashion an underpants contraption of simple cotton and duck tape.  I realize it sounds crazy but most people don’t have a clue about reusable diapers today.  I’m pretty confident that everyone is picturing the old school cloth diapers that you fold and pin with one of those big clips that are used for baby shower decorations.  Of course, you could still go that route but they have some fancy underpants for babies these days.  Not to mention, they go on like regular diapers, velcroing, and they grow with your baby. Easy peesy lemon squeezy.

If diapers had been around for years and years and years and some more years, the diapers that would just finally be decomposing today would be the diapers disposed of in 1510!  That is an actual fact.  It takes a single diaper 500 years to decompose and when they FINALLY do, they put nasty chemicals into the earth.  Lets look at another fact, everyday 50 MILLION diapers enter the landfill!  That’s 350 million a week!  350 million diapers a week that take 500 years to breakdown??? I feel like our kids children will live on diaper piles before it’s all said and done.

I realize that not everyone wants to use reusable diapers and to each their own BUT some people aren’t using them because they don’t realize how convenient they can be.  Okay, okay, I haven’t started using them myself but I have them ready and waiting and I’m using them because I know about 4-5 moms who are using them and love them. I know one mom who has 3 all currently in reusable diapers.  Yes, they are an investment up front but by using reusable diapers, they save you tons of money in the long run.  They say that a mom of 3 will have spent 5 grand by the time all three are out of regular diapers. Holy Pants! 

The brand I’ve decided to use are G Diapers.  They are sold at Target.com, Babies R Us online and soon, in stores.  There are tons of other ways to get them but those are the two major chains everyone uses.  I registered for mine and there is no better way to get them than through a baby shower because you will have them for years to come and you didn’t have to buy them =0)

Now let me blow your reusable grown woman panties right off your body….

You can use cloth inserts on the inside of the g-pant which does involve having to wash loads.  If you go this way, it’s the most cost-effective and g diapers uses all natural materials that are 100 percent safe for the earth, your baby, and even safe to toss and they will break down easily to the earth.  Here’s the wowsers I think….g diapers are a hybrid which means you can use cloth inserts OR DISPOSABLE, FLUSHABLE inserts!!  So easy, so convenient.  You reuse the outside g pant and toss the filler.  HOW IS THIS EARTH FRIENDLY?  You are still tossing something away.  I know, I had the same question.  Now comes the blowing your panties off part.  You can flush the inserts, toss them, and yes, even compost them and plant them into your garden!  Why?  Because they completely biodegrade in 50-100 days and they are made plastic-free, chemical free, and return to the earth without any harmful effects and if you compost them, they even have lots of benefits!  You don’t compost refills with poo on them but you can compost the wets one into your garden and they will break down and nourish the garden.  Geez louise my underpants just flew clear off!

G diapers cause less irritation and diaper rash with their all natural, breathable materials and I’ve read reviews on Target etc. where moms say they are super absorbent and have less blow-outs than regular diapers.

For me, I plan on getting as many as I can and supplement with regular diapers that are chlorine-free, earth friendly brands such as Seventh Generation which I love!  Maybe we all can’t or don’t want to do reusable diapers but we can all use friendlier brands.  I guess, I know they are more expensive.  I just think, hey, I will do as much as I can, save money and be green in the meantime, and when I have to use normal diapers, I will.  I also think that  even if I use more Seventh Generation diapers than g diapers, after a while, if money is short one month, I can use my reusable ones, stress free until we have diaper cash.  I’m really excited about these diapers and the options you have with them.  I’m super encouraged at how many moms are already using some similar brand of diapers and that they love them.  I love being green and it’s something I just feel good about doing.  We can’t use diapers at these rates and with the hundreds of years it takes for them to breakdown.  Seriously, our landscape would have to be diapers one day.  But hey, if I can’t sell you on anything else, look at how cute these baby bottoms are =0)

no elemental chlorine

no perfumes

no plastic layer

no inks or dyes

no latex

no garbage, no guilt

www.gdiapers.com

Priveleged March 24, 2010

Of all the daily routines of marriage, one of them has to be the war against selfishness. After leaving our child-birth classes this past weekend, the battle commenced.

Let me start this story by saying that Lance grew-up eating every meal out as a child, Monday-Friday. This has created a monster. There is nothing more he finds pleasure in than eating out and I’m not joking. So as we are walking out of the hospital, it’s about lunchtime and he says the typical words, “Where do you want to go eat?’” To which I replied, “We just spent 200 at the grocery, lets just eat at home.” Now I’m not sure if it was him being tired, hungry, or just feeling an intense love for restaurants but it rubbed him the wrong way. To make it worse, I asked if he could run one errand with me first before going home to eat. He said, “I don’t want to run your errand if you don’t want to go out to eat. I don’t care if that’s selfish. I don’t see how you can get to do what you want to do and I can’t.”

He was right. It was selfish. I told him that I am so tired during the weeks and I do all the errands solely by myself and if he could go with me, it’d be one less thing for me to do and I wouldn’t have to do it alone. It’s not like I enjoy running errands more than he does and sometimes, it’s nice to have his help. Especially since I’m pregnant.

He drove me to my errand, begrudgingly. It wasn’t even that bad of an errand because we were picking something up for our baby which I think is fun. After that, I took the stance of apathy and went out to eat with him. We were quiet and angry up until we made it to the restaurant and we never talked about it again.

This morning was Sunday morning and it was Lance’s Sunday to preach. The neat thing about being a pastor’s wife is that your husband will tell stories about you and you’re in the front so everyone stares at you when he shares stuff to see your reaction. Luckily, nothing is personal to me. Luckily, he doesn’t have his own blog because I share on a much bigger stage than our church =0)

Usually I know what Lance is preaching about. He’ll come and bounce things off of me and sometimes he has me help him think of stories to share for application during his sermons.  This  Sunday, I didn’t know.

Fast forward to the middle of the sermon and he was talking about how it’s a privilege to serve Jesus.  It’s something we GET to do, not something we have to do.  He talked about a modern-day missionary by the name of Bernard who has spent most of life on the far edges of the earth away from the convenience of the states, from the comfort of home and utilities, from many of his loved ones.  When asked about his life and all he’s given up he says, “I never made one sacrifice.”  That’s because there is a big mindset difference between someone who looks at something as an obligation and someone who looks at something as a privilege. 

Then Lance began, “This leads me to a confession.”  Unbeknownst to me he started sharing the story about how he had acted the day before after leaving our child-birth classes.  Of course people started to look at me to see how I was going to react to whatever it was he was about to say. 

There I sat in the quiet stillness of the church with all eyes on me and there he stood in the vulnerability of exposing himself to the church from the stage.  Then they stopped looking at me.  They looked at him.  

His face turned red as finished telling how he acted the day before and his eyes welled up with tears and he began to cry with tears trickling down his face.  His voice quivered and he said, ” I remember when we first fell in love.  I didn’t HAVE to do anything.  I loved picking her up from work.  I loved running errands with her.  It was a privilege to be with the girl I loved and sometimes, after all these years, I find myself in selfishness and I forget that.  I GET to be with her.  I GET to love her.”

I could hear sniffles from around the church.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of him and I cried.  It was an intimate apology.  It was a reminder. It was my husband revealing the sincerest of love letters and regrets to me humbly in front of a crowd.  It was my husband standing before a whole church confessing that he had failed me and that he had forgotten.  Lance and I began dating almost 9 years ago.  Love changes over time into a deeper form of the date night butterflies.  But sometimes, in moments like that, it’s that glimpse into the face of who we started as that got us here to a man crying on the stage remembering the way it was to fall in love with your wife.  It is a blessing to fight for your marriage.  It’s a blessing to fail at it everyday and have the grace to remember how we should love each other.  Failing at loving each other and getting to love anew all over again is more romantic than a love unhindered.  Helping your spouse with dinner, folding his boxers, running in Walmart for groceries…on a Saturday, being a helper to your mate, supporting your spouse, taking care of them round-the-clock when they are sick, pulling weeds, turning off a basketball game at the good part or listening to your spouse read you parts from his favorite books time and time again. 

Oh the things we get to do.

36 weeks! 2 Final Showers in 2 Days! March 28, 2010

36 weeks, 135 pounds, 26 days to go!

Undercover Cat March 30, 2010

I’m probably the sneakiest gal in all of the world.  Last night I snuck into the laundry room while Lance was in our room to prepare the evidence.  Here it is:

Evidence: One innocent green feline collar

Yes, a collar with a name tag I had made for Majesty Bob with my phone number on it.  I’m not going to point it out to Lance.  I’m going to let Lance figure it out on his own.  He fed him last night and this morning and he hasn’t noticed yet.  I’m not sure how he’s missed it, although to be fair, Majesty’s jowls cover up a lot of it.  I will say though his collar is a radiant green with silver leaf reflectors on it.  I had to get a tag that’s a big dog bone because the only other option was a big purple heart or a tiny pink one.  I couldn’t strip him of his manhood.  I can’t put a big girly heart tag on a poor homeless boy cat.  I think he looks dashing in his collar.  I actually even think the dog bone portrays his tough and wild side.  As much fun as I had giving him a collar, I am a bit afraid that some redneck farmer dude is gonna to see his collar and call me saying, “He’s his best barn cat….”  blah blah blah.  To which I would want to reply, “Oh, I couldn’t tell he was anyone’s best anything because I took him to the vet after 2 weeks of watching him get sick all to find that he had a 104 fever.  Also he smells like a jungle beast and limps a lot.  I’m sure you take good care of him though.”  I’m mad at the imaginary farmer.

Lance will be home soon so we will see if he notices his collar.  When he asks me what it is, I plan on telling him it’s a necklace and just hopes he drops it.

LOVES IT!

Cover Blown April 2, 2010

My dreams of Lance stumbling upon Majesty’s collar all on his own has been comprimised. Lance decided to go through my camera and look at the pictures which he never does. He said,
“Did you buy Majesty a collar?!” I said,

“No, why?”

“Because there’s a whole photo shoot in your camera!”

Now you would think at this point that the cat was out of the bag, pun intended. BUT, not with Lance. I said, “That’s not Majesty, that’s Bonkers.”

“Did you buy him a new collar?”

“Yep.”

I was lying like a dog all to save the surprise of Bob’s new necklace for when he saw him in person. How in the world Lance couldn’t distinguish between the two cats is beyond me.

I thought we were safe and then last night, he decided to read my blog which he also almost never does. There it was in exquisite feline photo spread quality…the evidence spelled out upon the screen. Cover blown.

I was disappointed but then last night we had a friend over and he referred to our cats as “our 3 cats”. Awwww, he’s accepted defeat! I’m sure when he said that-that Bob quit chewing off the head of a wild rabbit in the woods and paused for a moment to purr. It was a really special day.

I have a surprise & no, I’m not in labor… April 5, 2010

Lance has been blessed/cursed with a Type A personality wife who plans and budgets…a lot. Lance works really hard as a pastor AND working a regular 44 hour a week job. I wanted to do something totally out of the box for me. Out of the box means impractical financially.  I thought about it for weeks and talked to my parents, secretly stashed money he assumed I had put in savings and today, did the deed. We’ve been married six years this summer and I’ve never done something over the top for him. My mom says once the baby comes, I’d  never do this so now was the time. When he came home, this is what he found, starting at the front door. Watch the video link to complete it. Make sure your audio is on. Lance has wanted this for years!

FRONT DOOR WHEN HE CAME HOME..

FIRST SIGN IN THE FOYER HALLWAY

SECOND NOTE AT THE END OF THE HALLWAY BEFORE HE CAME IN THE LIVING ROOM

Watch video for the rest       http://www.facebook.com/v/376420063334

Where my words is? April 12, 2010

Last week aka last month, I had 12 hits shy of 2000 readers. Marvelousness. Unmarvelousness = running out of words to say. This happens every time that I start to get a lot of viewer action to the pages of my words. I look at it like I’m preparing you for the two weeks following the delivery of my infant babe. However, during the crazy baby fog interim I will be posting pictures which should be worth their weight in diapers. I’m sure TMZ is going to be standing-by for these images. It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. There will be at least 2 solid and pleasing blogs that flow from the birthing of the fruit of the womb so get excited.

To those of you who don’t know, I only have 1 week and 5 days left of whale belly. I have predicted that I would have her between the 10th and the 14th so we will see if I’m right! I’m feelin’ good about this week guys! (Watch me go full-term) She’s just so dang low I don’t understand how she’s not coming out! She’s 0 station…please observe:

 I don’t know how much you can see on your screen but zero station is where the white line is drawn in between the two openings there of the bones. Right there between the bottom kidney bean shaped opening in the pelvis wall, cutting across the top of the baby’s head. The black line that’s floating below the baby head is +4 station when the baby is out. REALLY low.  She’s only like 4-5 centimeters till she’s out.  You’d think a few good high kicks would squish this baby out but I already know that doesn’t work. 

I’m effaced, dialated, stationated =0)  I’m about to go Adam Lambert on this baby and say “What Do You Want From Me”.

I suppose we should mention Lance at this point too…the Daddy to-be.  He is getting really excited!  It’s weird because as  a woman it’s been real and exciting to me this whole time and he’s just now having a reality check.  He texted me this morning that he is getting really overwhelmed with the reality of this baby.  When he clarified it was a good, excited, OhMyGoodness, overwhelmed.  He also texted me this morning and said that he feels like the first day she’s here all he’s gonna want to do it hold her, sit in a corner, and cry.  Judging by the fact that we know Eden will be crying a lot and based on the fact that his emotional state makes me emotional, I’d say there’s a 99 percent chance that we will spend our first days as a family crying in the corner together.  Ahhh to love a baby.  So sweet.  Also, I may be crying due to the state of my vaginal condition.  Ouch.  The only thing I can think of in that department is extreme Indian burn. 

Hopefully Lance, me, our new baby, and my private particulars can pull through this together.  If not, there’s always a corner of a room somewhere.

I’ll post a quick blog letting you know when I go into labor and pictures that will blow your mind into pieces will be posted within 48 hours of that. 

This is sure gonna cause a lot of hooplah.

Letter to my Daughter April 14, 2010

Dear Eden,

We are about to combust waiting for you to get here. That’s not a threat but I feel we would be better parents to you if you could be in whole pieces. Your dad is so excited day-by-day that I don’t know how much longer he can take it. Your birth and arrival is really becoming real to him now. He’s a man so it took a while. It’s getting pretty bad. We were watching TV a few nights ago and there was a scene of a dad teaching his son to ride a bike and he cried. I imagine he’ll cry for days when you come. Me too. Actually, all of us three because I’m sure you are pretty good at crying.

My stomach is getting so big that I’m wondering how big you’ll be. The dr. guesses you to be 7 pounds. That was last week though so I suppose you’d be more like 7 1/2 pounds.

At night when I’m trying to sleep, you like to float up to my ribs and your little bottom will stick out distinctly in a big lump right under my right rib. My right side seems to be your favorite. When I lie awake at night and when I wake in the morning I rub your back and your little bottom with my hand. If your dad wakes up and reaches over to hold my hand in the early morning, I put his hand on your little hump and let him feel you too. We call you Lumpy Doo around the house because you are always balled up and lumpy somewhere on my belly. If I roll onto my side where your feet are you jab and squirm and move until I flip back over. I think I’m cramping your style. I think we are cramping each other’s style. On that note, do you want to come out? I’m sure it will be scary for us both so we might as well just bite the bullet and do it together.

Now that I’m so close to the end, I find myself going into your room and smelling the newness of the furniture and the paint and it blows my mind that you are going to be in there soon. You are gonna love this place! Everything is perfectly in place for what I’m sure is the first and last time.  You will get slobber on the crib and, possibly, there will  be sceanarios where poop somehow gets on the wall.  Daddy has probably managed the same thing so you’ll come by it honestly.

I can’t wait to take you for walks. Sing to you. Watch your daddy hold you. Cry with you because we are both so tired. Showing you the ropes of our kitty cats and how to properly handle a bob cat.

When you are a few months old, we already have plans this summer to go to the zoo with my family. I’m not sure if this is more for you or me but one day I hope you’ll love animals as much as me. I also hope you know a wide array of animal facts like your mother. If you don’t, it won’t be because I didn’t try to educate on important things like the sex of sea turtle being determined by the temperature they were hatched in.

I want my mom to teach you how to plant flowers. If you are like me, you’ll love it but find that they die frequently and even when they kick the bucket you won’t know if it was because you watered them too much or too little. You’ll know it was related to water somehow, though.

I wonder what kind of person you will be. I pray for you to grow up to love the Lord and that you’ll be a godly spouse to a godly man. I pray now for godly friends and support outside of me and your dad that you will have around you your whole life.

I wonder what kinds of talents you will have. Will you be crafty? Will you be a gymnast or will you take lessons and stand on the mat doing back handspring fake-outs until you quit, just like your mom? Will you sing? Be an artist? Be an rapper? A missionary? A business woman like your Memomma?

Ahhhhhhhh I can’t take it! I just can’t wait to meet you and to see who you will be.

I am due in 10 days with you and I hope you don’t make me wait much longer. I made my mom wait 14 days PAST my due date. Remember, no matter what my mom says, revenge is the Lord’s and there’s no reason to get me back and even the playing field. I go to the doctor tomorrow for my 38 week and 5 day check-up and I have my fingers and ovaries crossed that they will say, “Here she comes any day now!”

Would it help you if I told you how much we love you already and how much we will take wonderful care of you? Would it help to know that have equisite hats to put on your little bald head at the hospital that guarantees you to the be the trendiest baby to emerge from a vaginal canal that day?

I love you baby girl and I’ll miss you tumbling inside of me but I can’t wait to hold you and for daddy to have the chance to finally feel you squirm.

You are gonna be the best girl.

The world is waiting =0)

Love you,

Mom

You Love This Shirt April 16, 2010

A few weeks ago at my last shower will all my pregnant church friends. We are in due date order.

April 18, 2010

Going to the hospital and going to be a mommy. It’s Sunday the 18th at 7 am when I’m writing this. I’ve been having contractions regular for a few hours plus a few other fun signs. This is the real deal lucille.
I leave you with this:

Eden Elizabeth April 19, 2010

Born 6:37 pm with only about 2o minutes of pushing!  7 lbs 8 1/2 oz. 20 inches long of everything I’ve ever wanted.  Long eyelashes and head full of dark hair much to my extreme surprise!  More stories and pics to follow.  Praise the Lord for little babies.  Praise the Lord for epidurals while we’re at it!

My little Lumpy Doo…as she was known in the womb

Hot off the press April 19, 2010

Album of your wildest dreams come true in an infant child.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=162343&id=610138334&l=5d805f4184

video and pics, 2 blogs in the work April 22, 2010

Sister-in-law Shelly, This is who I think Eden looks most like.

how we felt in the hospital

monster suit i bought before i knew what i was having. it's the first thing i bought for our child-to-be.

loaded to leave!

time to meet the world

here's your home little person!

i have this stuff on my face called "mask of pregnancy" so i look more tan than i am. if not, she would look 10 times darker than me because she is! that's not jaundiced. she's olive skinned like the parrott side.

video of us when she was 15 min. old:  http://www.facebook.com/v/381316728334http://www.facebook.com/v/381316728334“

Freshly Squeezed April 25, 2010

Whenever I talk to someone who is about to get married, I often tell them that one of the coolest things about the whole experience is having everyone who you love and all the people who love you, in the same place at the same time. No other time in your life really do all those people come together. You stand there behind the double doors with your arm in your father’s and the doors swing open and there they are…all the people who you have loved and who have loved you, standing to their feet to meet you. People think about their wedding day and naturally think of it more in terms of the person you are marrying but there are other elements of that day that are priceless. For me, delivering my first child was much of the same way.

It was 4 am and I woke-up with a contraction. I knew it was a contraction and a really uncomfortable one at that but was this really it? I was, in fact ,constipated and going to the bathroom period gave me contractions so was I just really constipated or constipated with a baby who was coming out? So, I did what any one girl would do. I said a prayer that the Lord would let me know if it was real labor and I went into the bathroom and gave myself an enema. Standard night-time procedures. I highly recommend having enemas on hand. Whether you are squeezing out a baby or not being able to squeeze out what you wish, they are life savers. This one for me didn’t produce many results so I retreated back to bed and waited to see. Thirty minutes later: another contraction accompanied by another experience that let me know that THIS was it. 4:45 am on Sunday the 18th, just a matter of hours before Lance was to get up and preach a sermon he had worked on all night AND just before he was going to have to lead worship for the same service, I leaned over him in bed and said those words that we had been talking about for weeks and weeks.

“Lance, I’m in labor.”

“Are you joking?”

“While I think waking you up at 4 am and telling you I’m in labor is funny….no, no I’m not.”

For the next thirty minutes we were elated and in shock and Lance rambled on and on about how she is already a little rascal for coming before he was supposed to preach. I told him the cold, hard truth.

“Maybe the Lord didn’t think you’re sermon was gonna be good.”

That’s an example of a joke you tell at 4 am.

After cleaning my house between contractions for a few hours, we made our last trip out of the home with lugging a car seat behind us. I did what every girl would do. I took a picture.

With that, my journey to motherhood that began over 2 years and 9 months ago, started to become a reality.  A reality in the form of hospital walks, contractions, excited phone calls, and the total loss of modesty in stages throughout the day.

As the time drew near, I found myself in a hospital bed with a machine tracking my contractions like an earthquake graph ticking up and up making mountains in the painful times of what were small little waves in between.  Lance looked at the screen one time in disbelief and laughed and said, “Oh my gosh!  This one is off the charts!”  I let him know that comments like that would be said one time, forgiven, and never to happen again.  This was not an example of a joke. 

When it came right down to it, I was emotional as everything inched closer.  I could barely look at the little warming table in the corner of the room without crying because I knew my little child was going to be there crying for me in a matter of hours.  Every time I looked at it, I got choked up. 

Time flew by and before I knew it, I was in a room with nurses in scrubs, a precious doctor I love on the way just to deliver my baby because she wasn’t working that day, and a husband perfecting the video camera for the perfect shot of the second that our lives got way better.

The doctor came and I pushed like I needed an enema.  Lance talked me through it and watched as it unfolded in amazement.  The doctor said, “A head full of dark hair…” while I was pushing and Lance went down to see and got teary-eyed.  After yelling, “What?!!!” due to shock that I would have a child born with three strands of hair much less a head full, I had to stop pushing mid-contraction because I started to cry.  There is nothing more surreal than aching, grieving, waiting, praying, and yearning for a child for years and to then be in the moment where they are seeing all my heartache emerge into a beautiful baby. 

The nurse grabbed a swaddling blanket and laid it on my chest to receive our new baby.  Again, I cried.  I was moments away from seeing her and I couldn’t stand-up emotionally in the face of that.

I pushed.  Pushed. Pushed.

The doctor says, “She’s almost here Go Go Go!!!”

I could hear it in her voice and see in Lance’s little boy awe-struck face that she was right.

With one push I hear the doctor say, “A head full of dark hair, eye lashes, and look at her blinking!”

The head was out.

I am such a woman.

One big final nervous, anxious push and a huge burst sensation and emptiness filled my stomach.  I knew she out before I heard her cry because my body felt this intense sudden vacancy.

And then I heard her cry.  I cried.  I saw my husband cry and say “wow” over and over.  They held her little bluish squirming body in the air and my heart and mind changed to a mother.  I yearned for her all over again like I did almost three years ago praying and peeing on blank pregnancy sticks. 

They lifted her to my chest and all I could do was weep and say, “Hi sweet girl.”

She looked at me with those coal, newborn eyes and then I knew.  I knew how it must’ve hurt my parents the first time I told them I hated them in anger as a child.  How they must’ve felt when I sang my first solo to a crowd in first grade and how proud they must’ve been.  How it felt to hold their breath when I got my license and to watch me cry over boys.  I knew a parent’s love.  It’s an overwhelming moment where you both, experience a love like you’ve never had, while simultaneously realizing that all these years you had been loved like you had never known.

My sweet doctor came over to me teary-eyed, hugged me and told me how proud she was of me and how much she would miss seeing me around the office.  I told her how much it meant for her to come in special to deliver my baby and how I couldn’t believe that she was finally here.

Eden cried on my chest and we had our first hour together as mother and daughter with a sweet new father looking in at us over my shoulder.  My parents came back to visit me and as I soon as I saw their faces with this precious life breathing and beating on my chest, tears flooded our faces.

The hour flew by and they came to move me to my postpartum room.  There I was again behind two big double doors waiting.  With my daughter’s arms in mine, the hospital doors opened and standing to their feet to meet me was a line of people I loved and people who love Lance and I, lining the halls to greet us.

It was made up of the sister who orchestrated a “Go Rebecca” cheerleading squad every time the labor and delivery doors opened so that I could hear their cheers in the room while I pushed.  The nurses talked about that the rest of my stay at the hospital.  The sister who heartbreaking cried when she told me she was pregnant when I was still trying to conceive.  The two parents who had been in that very same hospital 27 years ago bringing me proudly down a hall to their family.  The brand new first time grandparents who had been perfecting their grandparent names for the past 9 months and the sister-in-law who proudly exclaimed, “We’re having a baby!” when she talked to us earlier that day.  The cousins and aunts that drove hours just to be there for those few priceless minutes. They were all there.

I finished the rest of the night with a precious baby in my arms and a husband who continues to show me his greatness, by my side.  There wasn’t much to do the rest of the night but be in awe.  My little girl hiccupped beside me in my arms and I laughed quietly to myself because I had felt her in my belly doing that for many long months.  My heart swelled with love and emotion like only that of a parent can do. Just like when I married my husband almost six years ago, everyone who loved us was there .  And in a tiny hospital room, the last room left on the floor,  rocked a new mother, a sweet father laying with her in bed, and an infinitely loved little girl and having everyone we loved in a room took on one 7 and a half pound new meaning.  3 years of hopes wrapped in a blue and pink lined hospital blanket.  She looked more lovely than my heart ever ached she’d be.  The sound of the air unit whirred on around us in the silence of the evening.  Two changed people looked into the face of a new precious life and as with any birth to parent, for a moment, everything in the world was right.

Letter From Lance April 27, 2010

Sunday morning, Lance left for the first time leaving me here with Eden.  Mornings are the hardest for me and even though my dad was gonna come be with me, I was sad and anxious for him to go.  When I got up after he left, I couldn’t find my contact case where I had left it.  Lance and moved it and sat it on top of this letter he left me:

Becca,

You are an amazing mother and wife.  I have overwhelmed over the last few days by watching you love and care for our daughter.  You were the woman that I wanted to love forever and now you are the woman that I GET to raise children with.  I am so blessed and I will miss you this morning. 

Love, Lance (or Dad)

That is why my dad in cried in the front yard later that morning when Lance got home, thanking him for being such a good husband to me.  I could have never survived our first week home without Lance.  God bless the women who do it on their own.  Who do it with no support of miserable partner.  Who do it as teenagers.  What a difference a wonderful spouse makes.

Before I had a baby I didn’t know……. May 2, 2010

Before I had a baby I didn’t know…….

The intense sympathy I could feel for dairy cows.

How much I would enjoy large mesh hospital panties with maxi pads the size of Texas.

That mom’s band together whether you are close to them or not and offer to do crazy generous things like drive across states to keep your baby overnight because they’ve been there and done that and would love to help. I had two different offers from two different states.

That little simple babies suck with the power of a jet engine. The first time she latched on I thought, “What in the max force vacuum cleaner is going on here?!” I mean, toe curling.

Before I had a baby I didn’t know…….

That breastfeeding would seem as natural to me as it did.  I didn’t feel like Tarzan at all.

That breastfeeding is the most demanding, exhausting, frustrating, and painful thing when you start out.

That my baby would do incredibly fast bicycle legs when I try to change her.  Ask the nurses, WIGGLIEST.  BABY.  EVER.  I know, I packed her 9 months.  When she was coming out she kept wiggly her head around like a wild banchi.

That you use your crotch region muscles when you cough.  I learned that courtesy having stitches in my netherlands.

Before I had a baby I didn’t know…….

The love affair I’d have with nipple shields.

How amazing my husband really is.

What a beast sleep deprivation is.  No sleeping is for real guys. 

How in an instant no aspect of your life, body, time, etc. etc etc. is never the same again.

Just how amazingly hard and overwhelming this would be and how sad I could feel and how much I could cry.

The many shades of neon yellow a baby’s poo diapers could be.

That boppy pillows actually make a great pillow for sleeping on with adult heads.

Before I had a baby I didn’t know…….

How little I could care about make-up and how I look.  People will come over and I’ll have on no make-up, Lance’s clothes, dirty hair, my body will stink and….it doesn’t bother me.

That my boobs would ever call all the shots.

That I have even more wonderful friends and family than I ever knew.

That my baby could get doo doo on my belly during the middle of the night feeding and it wouldn’t bother me a bit. I just smelt it and said, “Yep, that’s doo doo.”  My sister said that it means I’m really a mom.

That nipples are the testicles of the chest.

How many crazy things I can do or say in the middle of a delirious night.

Before I had a baby I didn’t know…….

That days could fly by so fast.

How many free meals a family can get for pushing out a kid.

The guilt I would feel for not being able to hold my cats.  Mom, I told you I’d still love them after having a baby…boo yeah!

That wearing a bra 24/7 for two weeks is actually preferred to free flying.

How hard it is to take a newborn out in public without being stopped by every other person to see what you have in that tiny car seat.

The fresh vulnerability I could feel all over again with Lance.

How much sense it makes that African women just walk around topless and nurse.  That’s super easy.  Jokes on us, pancake boobs.

How weak I am.  How strong I am.

That I could call for Lance to help me in the middle of the night and that he would say in his sleep, “I’ll send someone from the hospital.”  Then I’d say, “Lance, wake-up I need your help.”  Then he’d bounce an imaginary baby by patting his leg.  “Lance, I need your help!”  He continued to bounce the fake invisible baby and said, “I am helping.”  Yeah.  Before I had a baby, I didn’t know that would happen.

May 7, 2010

Blog pending. Should be coming sometime today (Friday), hopefully. If not, for sure by Monday. YOu know I usually post every other day but there’s this new human in my house and I’ve been a bit on the unstable side so….writing hasn’t been at the top of my list after cry hysterically. Words are coming I promise.

Hi, My Name is Rebecca. I Like Long Walks on the Beach and I Have Postpartum Depression. May 9, 2010

 

It’s nothing like I expected it to be.  How could this:

  not be a dream come true.  Maybe she is.  But, not everyone can see that through the whirlwind shocking transition of becoming a mother for the first time.  For me, it started with frustration and crying.  A lot.  A whole lot.  Then feelings of “I can’t do this!” All of that is pretty standard.  I don’t care who you are or what kind of super mom you are.  You will have crying spells.  Then somewhere in a fog of time that I still can’t distinguish or separate, it started to become worse.  I started to cry over things that were very irrational like not being able to hold my cats as much. I know if you are a regular reader that you might not find that surprising  but the thing is, I felt really sad about it.  I started crying over things that did matter:  my marriage never being the same again, my time not being my own, days flying by and one melting into the next until I didn’t know the month, the day, the time… Sometimes sadness would well up inside of me and I would audibly sob for no real reason at all.  I wanted help but felt like I couldn’t reach out.  I wanted to return all of your sweet calls but I felt anxious to do that.  I’ve cried till my eyes are swollen almost shut.  I’ve been so sleep deprived that I’ve staggered.  I’ve had thoughts that would alarm you.  I’ve worried my family sick and broke my husband’s heart as he’s been watching me struggle through this distress.

Sadness and being overwhelmed turned into a consuming anxiety.  Not anxiety like I’m worried about something.  It’s more like a feeling of a panic attack.  I would be so sick I’d dry heave when I put food in my mouth.  I have actually vomited.  Constant diarrhea.  Is that too much for you to hear?  You know me and my no boundaries. 

I wake-up and having shaky and hard breathing trying to get ahold of myself.  I’d have crazy, compulsive thoughts.  Moments of emotional deadness and just being a shell of a person.  Two weeks in, I finally called my doc.  I’m a person who doesn’t turn to drugs as a first option so the fact that I did so this quickly lets you know that I was a desperate woman.  And you know what, I needed the drugs. The drugs are fine and I shouldn’t and you shouldn’t feel ashamed to take them if you end up in my shoes.

Taking the drugs now a week leads us up to real-time.  I still continued to not eat, sleep, and have emotional breakdowns.  My nurse called to check on me and wanted me to come see the doctor face to face.

I did.  And she told me I had postpartum. Even after all I just told you, I was surprised to hear her say those words.  I had always pictured postpartum as a woman who drowns all her children in the tub telling everyone that God said to do it.  That is postpartum but I guess it’s a spectrum like most things.  Not at all that I’m taking what I’m going through lightly.  I have literally thought in my “rational” mind that I was going to die from this.  I have hoped to be hospitalized so that I could rest and recover and someone could take care of my baby for me.  If it continued at it’s peak, I would’ve ended up hospitalized for exhaustion.  These past 3 weeks have been some of the hardest of my life. I never felt so defeated by something.

I’ve sat on a couch crying out loud with my dad holding me crying and whispering encouragement in my ear.  I’ve had my sister pray over me on the couch, crying and putting her hand on my cheek saying she wishes she could take this from me.  She had postpartum 3 times.  My mom has rescued me more than one night and kept her all night for Lance and I so that I could recover from some sleep deprivation to give me some light for the next day.  Lance has held our baby in one arm and me in the other in the kitchen while I sobbed on his shoulder.  This has been and continues to be a whole body, whole emotion, whole mental, and whole family and friend experience. 

My doctor told me to quit breastfeeding which was devastating to me, albeit, necessary.  She said that breastfeeding is too physically demanding on me right now since I’m not eating or sleeping and that I can’t get help from others or my mind together without stopping the 2-3 hour demand on myself.  Also, she says that your hormones have to stay at crazy levels to sustain breastfeeding which sustains the imbalances I’m having.  AND she put me on something for anxiety that I can’t take while nursing.  Whoever you are reading this who understands all the feelings I’ve been explaining, I have heard from doctors and tons of women who’ve been through this that stopping will make a major difference.  I stopped not quite 48 hours ago so I’m not quite to relief yet.  I will say letting your milk dry out cold turkey is crazy painful but nothing pain killers and big ole’ cabbage leaves in your bra can’t ease. I don’t know why the cabbage works but I know a rabbit would love to get ahold of these knockers. Even through my craziness, I haven’t totally lost my humor and I told my doctor, “I never thought I could finally have boobs so big and be so sad.”  Bye, bye big boobies.  Hopefully I’ll get a little sanity in place of a stellar rack.

Going through this I’ve learned one thing for sure, PEOPLE HAVE TO START TALKING ABOUT THIS.  I posted something about this on facebook and I got over 20 messages from all sorts of people I’ve always known but never known they went through this.  Why don’t people talk about this?!  Even if it’s not postpartum, this transition kicks everyone’s butts all over the place.  Bringing home your first baby is the hardest thing you will ever do and I’ve heard that POST baby from a million women.  You will survive.  I’m still trying to survive but, oddly, I find comfort in going out in public and looking at a crowd of people and thinking, “For every person I see here in this store, someone brought them home as a newborn.”  We are in a world where people have done it literally billions of times.  Some of them did it with flying colors and some of them did it with flying snot, Xanax, Zoloft, and an amazing family.  I find myself in the second category.  I look forward to the day where my heart doesn’t race and I feel like I can do this.  I can’t wait to look at my baby with all the encouragement and excitement that I hoped I would when she was in my belly.  Until then I’ll savor the moments I can and be honest and reach out to people all the times I can’t. Little by little I’m having hopeful moments, hours, and occasionally a day or two.  My highs and lows are beginning to level out. 

So to whoever reads this out there in cyberland, if this is you,  it’s okay.  Someone encouraged me through a breakdown last night that this isn’t the new Rebecca.  This is Rebecca with a messy mind and hormones.  She told me that, “God will redeem this into something beautiful.”  I believe that’s true even when I don’t feel it.  Until then I have a perfect, beautiful child who I still love through this magical disaster.  Just waiting on the beautiful redemption.

Mother’s Day: Round 1 (ding) May 11, 2010

I really didn’t think Lance had the time to do anything for me for Mother’s Day because he’s been being a new daddy and nursing my crazy.  BUT, in true Lance form, he surprised me with sweetness.  He gave me a box that was full of diapers with gifts inside each diaper.

Diaper number 1:  Starbucks gift card.  He said that when he comes home from work that if I need a break I can run off to Starbucks by myself and relax. 

Diaper number 2:  50 dollar gift card to Old Navy.  For some reason I’m having a harder time now finding clothes to wear than when I was pregnant.  Even though I’m within 6 pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight and my stomach is flat, there is something different.  Maybe it’s my hip bones or something but my clothes be lookin’ all dumb and such on me.  I can’t even pull my pants up.  All that to say, good job Lance.

Diaper number 3:  It’s not secret that I hate to read.  It’s also no secret that I’ve been having some really rough weeks.  Lance got me two little devotional books that I can read really fast and start my day out right when I tackle a day with our baby. 

Diaper number 4:  This is really, really neat.  He bought me my own domain name for my blog.  I really want to do something with my writings/blog so he bought me www.the1sthundred.com.  If you type that in, it takes you directly to my wordpress.  I know my blog name is actually thefirsthundred but that domain was taken by a big dummy that probably doesn’t want it as much as me.  Once it’s owned, it’s 800 a year to buy it so I’ll take the alternative and be on my way.  I thought that was a really neat idea.  I have my own little . com now!  If you ever tell someone about my blog, you can tell them that site and it will do the trick with less words to remember in the domain name.

Diaper 5:  A letter from Eden with her picture in it.  How he taught her to write in this short of time is probably the most impressive part of the gift.

The last and final gift wasn’t in a diaper.  It was a box of stationary with encouraging phrases or scriptures on it.  I thought it was just that…a box of stationary.  I opened it and inside was a sweet note from Lance.  During these crazy weeks of  bringing home Eden, I have dreaded the day that he returned to work and I’ve cried several times over his departure back to the real world.  I haven’t felt like I can do this on my own and he’s been so amazing to me.  So, inside the box was a letter for each day that he’s at work for the next two weeks.  I’m only on day two but it’s been an encouraging way to start out my day with a note from him, some scripture, and things to think about during the day to make me feel encouraged while we wait for him to get home.  I know this surprises you but I cried.  He hugged me and so did he.

Happy 1st Mother’s Day =0)

Motherhood is… May 13, 2010

Motherhood is…

Getting out of the shower and drying off and realizing you have a head full of shampoo.  Two nights in a row…

Treating any task in the home like you are competing on Super Market Sweep because you have .5 minutes and counting until the baby wakes up.  Do I brush my teeth or do the laundry or wipe the wet cat food off the base board or write a blog?  Obviously writing a blog is most important.  (She says with mascara running down her face, wearing a nursing bra she doesn’t need anymore because she’s in denial….)

Putting a big fuzzy lamb swing by your modern Pier One chair and not caring.  Alright.  I do care.  I don’t like baby toys in my house.  Sorry to be a buzz kill, Eden.

Having enough formula spilled in the carpet by the rocking chair because of lazy late night feedings that if you accidentally spilt water, you’d make at least 2 bottles.

Singing songs you write to your baby while she fusses like:

“Why are you crying?  You aren’t hungry. I don’t believe you.  You a-make-a-momma-crazy.  I love you.  Please stop crying.” …It’s really a catchy tune.  One you’d get in your head all day long like a Hanson song.

Motherhood is….

Reeking havoc on my posture.

Running through the house saying to your sweet baby waiting patiently in the carseat, “Eden, where’s mommy’s Xanax?!” and then laughing and feeling like a crackhead mom.  Oh, that’s just me?  Dang.

Laudry like an explosive volcano that keeps upchucking more and more things.  Ironically, the things that keep filling up the hamper actually have upchuck on them.

Doing the laundry and having it sour over and over because you can’t find the time to get it in the dryer.

Wondering what the heck you did with all that time you didn’t know you had before.

When your baby is crying while your husband holds her and you walk into the room and she quiets and he says, “It’s The Boob”.  Yes.  He refers to me as The Boob.  Only now it would have to be The Bottle which doesn’t quite have the same ring.

Putting the baby down for the night and running so fast to your bed and hitting it so hard that it’s like you are doing a cannonball.

Hearing imaginary babies cry all the time.  Especially at night.  My friend hears carnival music so it could be worse.

Motherhood is….

Making it to 5 pm and brushing your teeth for the first time.

Waking up and looking at the clock and not being able to fall back to sleep because your baby will be back up again in 20 minutes.

Having a 3 1/2 week old baby and being only 4 pounds from your pre-pregnancy weight and having someone say to you without being asked, “You look good.  You still have a little pouch but you look good.”  Who volunteers that?  And I don’t think I do, pouch professor! Maybe a little flabby skin but let a sister live!  That really has nothing to do with motherhood but it does have to do with crazy people and for me it’s been the same thing so it counts.

Having hearing like an eagle and hearing every gurgle, sigh, and cry of your baby from 5 kilometers away.  I don’t know that eagle’s have good hearing but I hear as good as they see and contrary to most people’s belief about my extrodinary animal knowledge…I don’t know anything about animals hearing. 

Having your husband become more and more deaf as your baby ages.  Lance woke up a few nights ago and said, “She slept through the night!”  Are you kidding me?  YOU slept through the night.

Motherhood is….

Finally getting curious enough to look at your southern hemisphere with a make-up mirror, being amazed and grossed but still you look on. “Why is that there? Will you always be there? THAT’S where my stitches are?”   It was like playing with a jack-in-box, you are just looking around while peaceful music plays and then something jumps out at you AHHH and you think DANG I hope you back to where ever you came from.

Might As Well Get Learned: Difference Between Baby Blues & PPD May 25, 2010

I figured since I wrote about my postpartum depression and had one bah-jillion readers on it that I might as well post what it clinically is and what the difference is between the baby blues and PPD.  Here is a very brief, professional, NON-exhaustive overview about the two with the site links attached.  At the end, I’ll write a little blurb about my symptoms and experience and when I knew it was beyond normal.  Remember that PPD is a spectrum and you could be anywhere from like me to sucidal or somewhere in between.  You will know when something isn’t right.

What’s the difference between “baby blues,” postpartum depression, and postpartum psychosis?

 

The baby blues can happen in the days right after childbirth and normally go away within a few days to a week. A new mother can have sudden mood swings, sadness, crying spells, loss of appetite, sleeping problems, and feel irritable, restless, anxious, and lonely. Symptoms are not severe and treatment isn’t needed. But there are things you can do to feel better. Nap when the baby does. Ask for help from your spouse, family members, and friends. Join a support group of new moms or talk with other moms.

Postpartum depression can happen anytime within the first year after childbirth. A woman may have a number of symptoms such as sadness, lack of energy, trouble concentrating, anxiety, and feelings of guilt and worthlessness. The difference between postpartum depression and the baby blues is that postpartum depression often affects a woman’s well-being and keeps her from functioning well for a longer period of time. Postpartum depression needs to be treated by a doctor. Counseling, support groups, and medicines are things that can help.

Postpartum psychosis is rare. It occurs in 1 or 2 out of every 1000 births and usually begins in the first 6 weeks postpartum. Women who have bipolar disorder or another psychiatric problem called schizoaffective disorder have a higher risk for developing postpartum psychosis. Symptoms may include delusions, hallucinations, sleep disturbances, and obsessive thoughts about the baby. A woman may have rapid mood swings, from depression to irritability to euphoria.

http://www.medicinenet.com/postpartum_depression/page2.htm

Depression after pregnancy is called postpartum depression or peripartum depression. After pregnancy, hormonal changes in a woman’s body may trigger symptoms of depression. During pregnancy, the amount of two female hormones, estrogen and progesterone, in a woman’s body increases greatly. In the first 24 hours after childbirth, the amount of these hormones rapidly drops back down to their normal non-pregnant levels. Researchers think the fast change in hormone levels may lead to depression, just as smaller changes in hormones can affect a woman’s moods before she gets her menstrual period.

Occasionally, levels of thyroid hormones may also drop after giving birth. The thyroid is a small gland in the neck that helps to regulate your metabolism (how your body uses and stores energy from food). Low thyroid levels can cause symptoms of depression including depressed mood, decreased interest in things, irritability, fatigue, difficulty concentrating, sleep problems, and weight gain. A simple blood test can tell if this condition is causing a woman’s depression. If so, thyroid medicine can be prescribed by a doctor.

http://www.medicinenet.com/postpartum_depression/article.htm

STATISTICS:

According to a report published in The New England Journal of Medicine, up to 13 percent of new mothers suffer from postpartum depression (PPD).

Since there are nearly four million births in the U.S. annually, a half million women cope with this disorder every year. For those who have suffered previous bouts of depression, more than one in four are at risk for another episode.

….70-85 % of women experience baby blues…

http://www.ynhh.org/healthlink/womens/womens_8_03.html

MY TURN:

First of all, everyone’s experiences and symptoms are different and only you know when you can’t handle it or need help.  Now that we have that out of the way…here’s my experience in bullet points.  These intense symptoms let me know that this wasn’t just the blues.

-not eating for several days

-vomitting because of anxiety

-gagging or dry heaving when I put food in my mouth because my anxiety had upset my stomach so badly

-waking up breathing hard and shallow like a panic attack with my mind racing which usually kept me up and then I’d cry and not be able to fall back to sleep again, thus, insomina

-insomnia inspite of being extremely sleep deprived i.e.- go to bed at 4 am and sleep one hour

-bouts of crying spells, many audible sobbing spells due to feeling hopeless, anxiety, defeated, OVERWHELMED and then some

-compulsive thoughts of things happening to my baby.  I, personally, didn’t have thoughts of hurting my baby although that is very common.  The thoughts I had very compulsive, anxious thoughts of things happening to her like being dropped or us getting in car wrecks etc.  In general, things that upset me greatly but the thoughts haunted me even though I didn’t want to have them and they were pretty graphic to me.

-feelings of deadness and not wanting to do it anymore, feeling incapable

-emotional emptiness and withdraw from others.  Visitors made me very anxious and I didn’t want to talk to anyone or even listen to voicemails. My phone was on silent for 4 weeks.

-irrational anxious concerns i.e.- worrying about the cats and feeling really deeply sad about not being able to take care of them

-trouble thinking/concentrating/remembering

-feeling hopeless like it would never end and so overtaken by it that I thought it was physically going to kill me if I didn’t have a remedy for my distress

For me, these things developed very quickly and were handled very quickly by seeking my dr.’s help right away.  The difference for me between these symptoms and the baby blues was the inability to function and the intensity of the symptoms.  I physically couldn’t bring myself to lift my baby to feed her when she was next to me because I was so physically shot by the anxiety and toll it was taking on me.  Lance would have to hand her to me when she wasn’t even a foot away.

I always felt love for my baby and wanted to care for her but not all women do in these cases.  However, I had feelings of “I don’t want to do this anymore” very frequently.  It was as if I wanted my baby and to be her mother but that I wanted someone else to take care of her because I thought I couldn’t do it.

To encourage anyone who reads this, if you feel this way, it is much more common than you think and most women have at least the baby blues which are intense enough.  You aren’t crazy!  You can get help and get better!  You can be and are a good mom.  Just get help when you need it.  I saved myself by doing so.  Like I said, I went down really fast and got really bad but I recovered really fast due to many factors, the Lord above, and medication.  My baby is 5 weeks old this Sunday and not only can I do it, I am doing it and I never thought I could.  Not only that, I enjoy doing it and I miss my baby when she’s gone for even an hour.  I truly love and enjoy being a mom and you can and will too when the fog lifts by whatever means it takes for it to lift.  Accept help when it’s offered from ANYONE unless they are unstable or drive a big scary van full of candy for children.  =0)  Hope this helped someone out there =0)

Starcation May 18, 2010

Today I What About Bob-ed myself and wrote myself a prescription for a vacation…a Vacation From My Problems! Genius!

I have this little creature that lives in my house and sometimes she gets real fussy and I feel like a private investigator figuring it out. Last night she was screaming like she was getting a root canal but then enters “The Boob” and EVENTUALLY…..she calmed down and went to bed at about 11:30 which is her new self-imposed bedtime. Who does she think she is? A teenager? No, that can’t be right because then she’d sleep till 2 pm and that’s not happening.

So today I was in the house and she was still a wee bit fussy so I wrote myself said prescription to go on a vacation from my problems. Locale: car seat. Destination: Starbucks.

Exotic.

A picture paints a thousand words but I’m too tired or prideful or something to take a photo of myself so let me give you the visual low down. Just on myself, of course, because my baby is always cute.

I am wearing on my head, an array of unbrushed hair pulled half up into a lumpy pony tail with a bobby pin holding on to dear life to the bangs I cut myself with kitchen shears a few nights ago. No time for haircuts.

My face features only remnants of make-up left from last nights shower that didn’t get the washing it deserves. Further down you will find a few chin pimples dying a slow and miserable death thanks to Proactiv. They should die sometime this week and come back promptly in the following days.

My finernails have white french tips made up of Desitin stuck gently yet firmly under the edges.

Back-up, we forgot my mouth. My lips are chapped and around the mouth area there is some sort of dried white substance and these are my three good guesses:

1-toothpaste
2-the potato soup I slurped down while holding a baby

or, 3, the most shameful….drool from some bout of sleeping I’ve had over the past 10 hours.

My pride wants to believe it’s option one but my heart can’t tell a lie. I did wipe this off before pulling into the Starbucks. I do have some standards.

And, lastly, to top it off. I wore Havianna flip flops that were chocolate-brown with baby blue and white high water Victoria Secret pj pants with a kids t-shirt with a food pyramid on it that has junk food in the pyramid and the bottom of the shirt says “NOT”!

Some people wear nice dresses for vacation but I wear spit-up and a smile.  At least this trip was all-inclusive.  Gift card playaaaaaaaassssss!

I have so many gift cards that if a burglar took my wallet he would throw out the credit/debit cards and keep the gift cards.  I have like 200 dollars worth of goodie cards in my wallet.  One of them is to JC Pennys so that would probably be the one the burglar took if forced to choose his favorite.  He could get some really nice pillow shams there.  And, yes, I said HE assuming all robbers are men.  I profiled this robber as a man even the face of going to JC Pennys for shams. 

Yesterday I used a plethora of gift cards and purchased a cornucopia of goods.  In my 35 days being a mom, only a week or less of that interacting with the outside world with a sane mind, I have found myself liking things that I never did before.  I find myself wanting to be pampered by simple things more.  Now don’t get carried away and buy me a diamond heart shape pendant from Kays.  Every kiss doesn’t begin with Kays no matter what they tell you.  If you buy me one of those things, every swift punch to the throat will begin with Kays.  What I’m talking about is  buying a shirt that makes me feel cute.  A nice, piping hot shower.  Even true blue pampering things like maybe a massage or a facial.  I never cared about that stuff before but now I just want a BREAK!  I want to go to Pier One and buy an overpriced bowl of some fake crap that looks cute on a table because I love to decorate and it makes me feel like ME.  Right now you’d think I’d like to decorate with diapers and baby turds but come on people! 

I called Lance aka Daddy and told him about our vacation and how I’m enjoying doing little things for myself like buying 350 dollar drinks at Starbucks.  I told him our baby was fussy.  Fuzzy?  No, fussy but she is fuzzy too which is irresistable.  He thought he would be cute when he called to check in on us while we were out and ask when I answered if he could talk to Eden.  I told him she was grounded.  When she gets older I will tell her that she was grounded today.

I think I will go write myself another prescription now.  A prescription for snoozing.  Eden is still asleep from our trip so I might as well be.  Baby steps to the hallway.  Baby steps to the bed.  Baby steps under the covers….this is working….

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

(That was another What About Bob reference.  If you didn’t know that, I’m afraid we can’t talk anymore.)

“That’s Just The Way It Is”, Tupac Says May 23, 2010

Some things in life will never be the same:  the volume of music in my car, the cleanliness of my house, my vaginal walls, but of all the changes, the milk jugs are the worst.  The aftermath after a baby is devastating like a typhoon.  One of my buds asked me how the girls looked after my milk dried up.  “Not too bad”, I said.  “Pretty much the same just slight differences.”  Then four days passed and I had to tell her, “Bad news, the milk must not have all been gone when we talked last. ” It’s devastation on the home front.  I’m trying to not be crass here because, afterall, I am in fact blogging about my personal particulars but the point is not so much the body part but the differences that occur.  Kind of gives me a gagging feeling in my throat just to think of it.  How can 2 1/2 weeks of breastfeeding turn a lady to silly puddy?  How sweet infant child, oh tell me how? 

I’m being dramatic and it’s not probably as bad as it seems or definitely as bad as it could be or will be a few kids later.  It’s just a fact of life kids…as simple as the birds and the bees. I think we should all get a bit giggly about it because there’s nothing you can do about it.  And, hey, you grew and got a human out of the deal.  I had 27 wonderful  years of the old bags anyhow. 

Honestly, the whole body shift thing doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.  I’ve always been a bone my whole life and I thought any difference would be drastic for me.  I’ve lost all but 3 or 4 pounds of my pregnancy weight and she’s only 5 weeks old so it’s no big deal Lucille.  My stomach is back to flat but I still have the really dark line down it and I can’t wait for it to disapper already!  It’s not firm but it’s flat.  And I get a little rolly in the tummy if the pants are too tight thought that’s for sure.  BUT I think your body still isn’t totally the same, even if your weight is.  The old chest will one day be able to tied over my solider like a continental solider but that’s where we are all headed apart from surgery.  Again, a fact of life people just like dying and paying taxes…we all have to do it.

In a way it’s really liberating.  I feel more like a woman now than I ever have.  I’m about roar because I feel so mighty and empowered.  That’s silly though because I picture a male lion roaring and not a female so that’s not really feminine empowerment like I was describing.  I feel like I’m about to trumpet like an elephant I feel so  mighty and empowered!  If you close your eyes and picture an elephant, did you a picture a boy or a girl?  That’s what I thought.  With elephants it makes no difference.

I love how maternal I feel and how I want to care for my babies, your babies, all the babies in all the lands of the earth.  I feel maternal towards everyone now, even more than I did pre-baby.  I want to take care of everyone even more.  So much that I could neigh like a…. just kidding…that moment has passed.

I’m really feeling like the ole’ beckycat these days and it’s amazing how much you enjoy being a mom when you aren’t crying all day and sleep deprived and having panic attacks and barfing and gagging.  Who would’ve thought eliminating those simple details could make such a difference?

So the moral of the story is this:  I’m at home alone without a child and needed to write a blog. 

Enjoy yourselves today mother’s of sagginess and sweet babies and lowered fannies.  We are women! Hear us trumpet!

Beautiful Redemption May 30, 2010

This blog is for Marissa, Jayna, Charlotte, & Suzanne for reminding me that this would be a beautifully redeemed experience in my life.  And to my family, friends, and husband that God had grace on me to have. 

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REDEEM (rĭ-dēḿ)

To fulfill

To set free; rescue or ransom.

To restore the honor, worth, or reputation of

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I laid there in the wee early morning hours after her 5 am-ish feeding with her fist by her face and her teensy body laying sideways beside me on the bed.  She loves to lay on her side and always has that little fist by her face.  That’s something she must’ve done constantly in the womb which I couldn’t have known just 6 weeks ago.

The birds start chirping in the background.  Blasted birds.  They are a reminder that the day is starting whether you’ve been awake at 5 with a bottle in your hand or not.  The sun was just starting to rise and it casted a colorful light on my baby’s profile as the light peered through our orange-colored curtains.  I just stared at her and listened her to breathe and squeak on that pacifier she adores while she sucked it intermittently.  I thought about who I was that particular morning in contrast to who I had been just a week or so earlier.  The difference in how I see her and the world is a stark contrast, comparatively.  I looked at her perfection of a flawless shaped nose, pure head of dark hair, intricate little fingers by her face and my heart softened.  I could look at her for hours.  I thought intensely about the past month and a half of my life and thought about what was said to me in my struggle:

“God will redeem this into something beautiful.”

I wondered if I should write this now.  This was such an intense experience that maybe it needed more time to marinate.  Barely anytime has passed and I’ve started to write this blog and stopped again just thinking I should really give this experience time to show itself redeemed in my life.  Then I realized that this will be continually redeemed and perpetually useful in my life.  I can already see the ways that God has used this to work out a purpose.

Me, being the perfectionist that I am, had less important things in life literally beat out of me. I couldn’t hold on to them anymore as the sudden mother of a newborn. If I tried to hold on to the perfectly put together house, I would’ve been consumed by postpartum all for the sake of freshly vacuumed carpet with the vacuum lines perfectly pressed in. The priority of a straightened even, dare I say, sanitized home…gone.   If I would’ve cared about the flab on my belly, I would’ve been overtaken for the sake of vanity. The need to look together….gone.   It’s funny how, even in moments of hysteria, God immediately changes your worldview and gives you some perspective in your life.  It doesn’t come in a subtle way.  More of a screaming baby and instant life change but clarity of what matters comes even in the fog of it all.  I feel more of a depth of myself now.  A wisdom.  A glimpse inside of a journey where the only things in life that matter weren’t what seemed to matter 14 hours of labor earlier.  Someone told me when I was struggling and feeling like a hamster on a wheel where time passed into time and my routine felt like that of an empty robot that…. “I was doing exactly what God intended for me to do each day: feed and love that baby of mine.”  All of the sudden what seemed like a hopeless tunnel of monotony and sorrow felt purposeful.  And even though in that moment I couldn’t fully see it,  I knew it was better than the restful days, cute homes, and toned body I had before.  It seems so obvious when you type it out but when you go through a total loss of who you were before in a hospital overnight, you don’t see how infantile and meaningless some of your everyday ways were before.  I still like a newly cleaned look on my floors.  I just like being in ragged pj’s all day and looking at a child who just smiled at me for the first time a lot better than the things that felt good to me before.  I can rest easy at night knowing that I took care of a beautiful little girl just the way I was supposed to.  Not only that but she knows me.  She senses me in the room.  She turns her head to hear my voice and she’s comforted when she cries when I whisper into her ear.  She’s mine and I get to take care of her with my unbrushed teeth and bags under my eyes.  I’m her only mother.  There will be other cute houses in my life someday.

Redemtion continues….

In a 6 year marriage and an 8 year relationship, a lot of damage can be done.  Somewhere in between “I do” and laying next to a tiny person that’s half of us both, somethings get lost along the way.  Namely, my vulnerability to Lance has been pretty well shot.  After time.  After hurts.  After daily life.  After failures.  After seasons of anger or pain.  2,012 days at a time parked me at a place with a man I loved, with a wall I despised but felt safe behind.  As I started to crumble in front of my family and Lance, I saw a man who I knew was there at an altar in Kentucky 6 years ago this August.  If I ever had doubts of the extraordinary man I married, they ended one anxious, sleepless, postpartum day at a time.  He took care of my every need.  When I would sit in an emotional void state with only hours of sleep in days and raging hunger and anxiety in my belly, he would sit up with me.  He would take our baby girl when I was crying and frustrated at 2 am and bounce her and sing her songs he had written about her being the best girl.  One night I got up to feed her and as I was pulling Eden out of her pack and play he woke up and said, “Do you want me to get behind you?”  He crawled over to my side of the bed and I sat in between his legs and laid on his chest while he held me and I nursed our baby in my arms.  In that moment, it was everything I needed. He was everything I needed. I needed him to hold me up both in his arms and emotionally and he was.  Without being asked.

Every night I would collaspse onto the bed desperate for sleep and he would come curl up behind me and spoon me for a minute.  I was like a child that needed their mother in the middle of the night to comfort them when they were sick and I craved that few minutes every night.  When you get married, you are passing the responsibility of care that your parents once assumed for you on to your spouse and he was fulfilling that role.  He would pray out loud while he held my hand each night and then we would tackle and battle through it all…together.  I haven’t been that totally dependent on another person since I was a newborn myself.  As I fell down hard and he rose to the occasion, I felt years of hurt and un-vunerability be chipped away until I found myself the blushing bride he married, ready to give her heart fully and trusting again.  I felt renewed.  I was his.  Again.

If I had to give a praise to this experience or a word to it that sums it all up, it would be rescued.  It was such a deep dark experience for me that really no one saw it but my family and husband.  I kept myself hidden.  To most people they talked to me before it hit and then when I was normal again a month later.  To most of the world, it was like it never happened.  But it was real and because of the reality of it I HAD to be rescued because I was in total dependence.  I couldn’t do anything for myself or pull from anything inside of me because I was 100 percent shot by it all.  There was no other choice but for me to be recused because I couldn’t save myself.  With every meal, prayer, my sweet doctor, and the Lord who gave me his mercy and grace to have all of those things, little by little I was being pulled from the waters I was being swallowed by. What was once drowning became floating to the surface being pulled from my circumstance.

Thank you, Jesus.

All of this to me is redemption.  Saved from my mess to wake up to a pint-sized, fuzzy-headed baby girl and find a clearer headed version of myself with a better perspective on life.  Redeemed to find a more well-rounded woman who is learning daily to be less selfish.  Redeemed to find a new pair of eyes for the man who I knew wouldn’t be a mistake to choose for forever.  Redeemed to praise God for his daily mercies and his sovereignty in my life with each family member, friend, and spouse He gave to me for such a time as this. Redeemed to praise Him for being Him.

The most wonderful thing about it all is that it will continue to show itself purposeful in my life.  Every time I can take a crying new mother’s baby so she can rest and talk to her and encourage her about the light and redemption that is hard to see.  Every time I get an email from a mom who has read my journey and says thank you and asks me how she can cope with this time in her life.  And redeeming still when I go to the hospital to see Eden’s first child and answer the phone a few days later to an exhausted and depleted new mommy on the other end.  I can tell her, “I remember when I was so weak and defeated that I couldn’t even pick you up.  I couldn’t stop crying and crying.  I felt like I could never be a mother on my own and then almost as quickly as I went under, I found myself cuddled next to you in bed as the sunlight traced your face and I loved every inch of you and being your mom.  Then I realized I was doing it.  And being your mom was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

I hear my sweet baby crying softly for me in the next room fighting the nap we both probably need.  I feel overwhelmed while I write this but for once, in a good way.  I’m so happy that after all the pills, prayers, shame, joy, rising, and stumbling that on the other side of it all was motherhood.  I suppose it was motherhood all along. 

I find myself where I prayed I’d be: a young stay at home mother to a child that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to have.  I feel rescued. I feel hopeful.  I feel an abundance of love and the richness of the blessing of a child.  And as my eyes well up with tears, more than anything I feel myself and this miraculous disaster being redeemed. 

 And just as it was promised….

it’s beautiful.

Bonkers May 27, 2010

As we all know, Bonkers the cat was a really good man. I loved him so much and in the worst timing possible, he died while I was going through my post partum…right in front of me. I loved that little guy. I was so, so sad. Rest in Peace Bonkers Parrott. My dad gave you a proper burial by the woods you loved. You were the best mister cat in the world.

No Boy Allowed June 3, 2010

Raise your hand if you are sad to not get to go to your gyno/ob on a regular basis. Me! That’s me. I had my 6 week postpartum check-up today and I’m gonna miss all my homies at the office. I love those kiddos all helping me make humans and what not.

Today I apparently learned that there is no room in the inn. Actually, there is probably plenty of room in the inn but the Dr. gave the ole’ wha-toosie a no go for activity for another 2 weeks. Someone please send Lance flowers or something.

I tried to prepare him for his devastation for the night before by telling him that even if I was cleared, I would probably un-clear myself. Due to some unidentified abrasion that resembles an episiotomy, I didn’t think I could do it even if the doc said I was good to go. She actually thought I had an episiotomy that didn’t heal. Problem was, I didn’t have an episiotomy. Then she asked if we had gone back to “marital activites” before coming in for my 6 week check-up. I thought she was a crazy person to ask me that. Who these women are that conquer birth and then conquer the marriage bed before clearance are like some sort of procreational superheros. I mean, if you feel healed that’s one thing but for me, heck-to-the-no. I love my husband, but I also love healing and the physical well-being of my reproductive system.

To help this alien tear in my southern hemisphere, she put something on it called silver…something or another. She told me it would burn. If your doctor says the word silver to you  then tell them, “You better say that to my face!!”  And when she looks at you and says, “Silver”, it’s best to just go ahead and punch her in the neck.  This way you’ll be even.

“Burn or hurt?”

“Well…it’s…gonna burn.”

My dr. warned me before she put it on and it felt something of a hacksaw going into my open wound. It actually felt like she was physically tearing my baby entrance with her fingers until I realized it was the dear burning she had mentioned. Hey, I had an easy labor though so I had to pay my dues somehow. Wait a second, I had postpartum depression….she tricked me!

Today we talked about me having future children which is something that scares me and makes me anxious given the experience I had. She shocked me and said that I had the worst case of postpartum anxiety she had ever seen in her years of practice and that she thought she was going to have to put me in the hospital overnight. I was FLOORED by that. I knew I thought I was going to die from that experience and it was extremely terrible but still, to hear her say that was like, “Whoa, wait a second sister!”  You always think that ”that” person is gonna be someone else.  I don’t know what I thought a serious case entailed but again, how could that be me?  That’s the story you tell other people.  It isn’t YOU.  Anyways, because of that she said she never wanted me to ever breastfeed again if I had another child. She said my body couldn’t handle what breastfeeding hormones do to a body and that basically, it wouldn’t be wise for me. In a way, I feel a sense of anxiety lifted off of my future child-bearing chest because of those doctors orders. I think knowing that I will be able to have help immediately from others with my future babies by bottle feeding them gives me a peace that maybe I wouldn’t go back to that dark hole via the sleep deprivation that kicked it off for me.  She told me again, “Don’t feel guilty about bottle feeding your babies! Look at Eden!  She is just fine!”

Just in case you are like me and wanted to breastfeed and felt bad about your switch to formula….even the formula companies aren’t on your side.  On the front of the formula cans they say BREASTMILK IS BEST FOR YOUR BABY.  Great because I was really wanting to do the second best thing for my baby, Mr. Sassy Can.  They want you to feel guilty one scoop at a time. 

I wish I knew I shouldn’t breastfeed before I tried.  Maybe I would’ve saved the damage to the old gals, if ya know what I mean.  Although, I would’ve never known what it was like to really have boobs if it weren’t for that.  AND I did love breastfeeding my child.  Dang these double-edged swords.  I have to start carrying only one-edged swords.

In other obgyn news, I’m going to start the pill again for the first time in 4 years.  Yay!  I really missed puking those up.  Here’s to hoping they all stay down and babies stay put in egg form for at least a little while.  After formally swearing off any form of hormonal birth control, I decided to take the pill to keep myself from having estrogen spikes which keeps endometriosis from growing ,which keeps me from going through infertility again, which equals = worth it.  I’ll start those puppies tonight.  I’m sure with all the talk I do about animals that some of you think I’m talking about real puppies but I’m not.  But if I were they’d be beagles.

So, my visit today ended with a thank you letter to my doctor that made us both cry, silver whatever it is below my belt, and a sack of puppies. (Remember I’m talking about my pills, not a real bag of puppies.  I can never explain too much when I reference the animal kingdom.)

It’s been 10 and a half months of visits for babies, then postpartum, and one final check-up and whoever thought I’d miss the lady that puts a spotlight on my ashamed parts on a regular basis.  Oh but I do!  I might just have to have children just to go through all the excitement and anticipation again.  Just kidding.  I should probably get a puppy to take care of those feelings.  A REAL puppy.  Just kidding about that, too.  I love cats.

This is a steal June 1, 2010

With a few minor changes this place could really have some pizazz.  I have a feeling this won’t be on the market long so it’s best to just make your offer immediately.  If nothing else, you could buy it and call Extreme Home Makeover and pretend it’s yours and see if you can’t get something special out of the deal.

June 6, 2010

Old man hair.  What am I gonna do with this? My hairdresser said that because we both have the same cowlicks that if my hair was this short, I’d look the same.  Remind me never to cut my hair one inch long.

Eden’s Smile June 7, 2010

This is a video of my baby who just mastered her smiler in the past 48 hours. If you don’t watch this and think it’s cute than you are a serial killer.

http://www.facebook.com/v/395612283334

Similac vs. Saggies June 14, 2010

In attempt to comfort myself from no longer being able to breastfeed, I have compiled a list of personally scientific data to make me feel better. If you are a breastfeeder, don’t be swayed by this fiercsome list I’ve complied. Your milk fountains are supreme-0. And to all of you bottle bangers, don’t get your Enfamil in a wad. You don’t have to feel bad for not breastfeeding. It’s fine and I do it. I’m just trying to grieve the loss of milkier days.

I present to you….the top 10 advantages of Similac over Saggies (both of which I have).  Similac in cans, saggies in my shirt.

1. No more nursing covers which are tangly, saunas for both you and your baby. Would it be too much to ask for a little vents somewhere? Those things are large cloaks of pains in the behind. I’ll save mine for when she’s bigger and we’ll use it like those big parachutes you play with in gym class in elementary school. You know what I’m talking about. You loved those things. Especially when you all got to sit inside of it.

2. No knotty, large, engorged, drippy, milking tools hanging off your chest. No pain, just bottles. Bottles and bottles, all the day.

2.  I’m gonna do another number 2 because I only want this list to be of ten.  Don’t argue with me.  I run this place.

Breastfeeding takes 30 minutes.  I can feed this darling in 7-10 minutes flat like she’s some sort of competive baby eater. 

3. You don’t have to have an arsenal of nursing goods: no nursing pads, shields, creams, bras, tanks, or pumps.

4. No more hooking up to a pump like an ole’ farm raised dairy cow all to look down and say, “ONLY ONE OUNCE!  Well, hee-haw that was worth my 14 thousands hours attached to these things.)

5. Hey, even if you don’t have milk in them, doesn’t mean you can’t have your cake and eat it too. Every now and then just let your baby latch on for old times sake. You still have your contraptions. It may be weird for you both but there’s a price to reminiscing.

Anyone who would do that briefly on two occasions would be a total weirdo….

6. When you bottle feed, no one can get out of helping you. No more “I don’t have any boobs” excuses! Guess what, suckers! I don’t either. Not useful ones, anyways, so here’s your bottle. Ha ha! Victorious! And also, more rested because your hubby can do it to it!

7. On the for serious, without formula, people couldn’t adopt babies because they’d have no way to feed them. Two cheers for formula making adoption of babies from here and all over the world possible!

8. Breastfeeding is free and formula costs…wait a second this is going in the wrong direction.

9. How else are you gonna give your baby a real thick milk mustache?

10. I can feed my baby anywhere, anytime, and leave my baby with anyone at anytime without hours pumping. I can feed my baby in a box, I can feed my baby on a rock, I can squirt her bottle in her hair, this momma can feed her baby at the county fair.  You thought I would say ‘anywhere’ but that would be redundant given I can feed her on rocks and in boxes.

(So can breastfed babies but then sometimes you are just innocently walking around an aisle in Babies R’ Us and bump into a lady free flying while her baby dines. It feels a little different from running into someone with a bottle. I’m just assuming because I’ve never seen two women feeding their babies without cloaks like they were tribal and in their native grasslands.)

Oscar Mayer June 8, 2010

When I was a little girl, my bedroom was in our basement.  My dad likes to tell me about how I use to say, “When I get married when I’m big, can I still live in the basement?”  I never wanted to leave that place.  He would sweetly say, “Yes you can, baby.  I don’t think you’ll want to but if you get married and want to live in the basement then you can.” 

Lance and Eden were laying on our bed while I was in our bathroom and I heard him talking to her.  Again, another innocent “conversation” between a father and his daughter but this one is maybe not as sweet.

He said, “You are just a little weenie.”  After a very brief pause, almost as if the thoughts were related, he said, “I hope you don’t like weenies someday.” Maybe that’s a little forward for you all but it comes from a pure, fatherly, protective place.  I think everyone feels that way about their daughters. 

When you are a kid it’s hard to imagine being big and when you are big, it’s hard to imagine your little ones ever doing big kids things.  Oscar Mayers/Marriage/Procreation?  You mean this little thing in a huggie? Not MY baby! 

Sometimes I look at her and her little Michelen Man arms and think….

“Are you gonna drive your car too fast?”

“Are you going to date a dumb, teenage boy and get your heartbroken?”

“Is this sweet child I’m looking at going to tell me she hates me or be embarrassed of me one day?”

“Will you, in fact, see a naked man one day?”  You aren’t allowed to do that on your honeymoon!  If Trix are for kids, then naked men are for someone elses daughter.  All the sudden I find myself dreaming up standards I never wanted for myself as a kid….all weiners aside, of course.  I wasn’t alluding to that.  I’m fine with all genitalia standards being pressed upon every child.

Lance and I were talking about rules we will have for our daughter dating wise:  No boys in your room or vice versa,etc.  The funny thing is, Lance and I hated that rule when we dated in highschool.  I remember being up in his room one day when his dad came home.  We didn’t know what to do so we decided I’d run down the stairs and go straight to the car without stopping and then Lance would act casual and just hope his dad didn’t notice a teenage girl running through the house. Even though I hated that rule and broke it often, I hate to tell Eden that it will be her rule too…and then some…

I can hear the 16 year-old me yelling at me from 1998….

“Won’t you trust your daughter?  She just wants to talk to her boyfriend with some decent privacy?  Don’t you remember being her age?”

“You better shut it up right now teenage me or I will take your car keys so fast that you will think I’m David Blane, young lady.  Eden, I ever catch you talking to 1998 Rebecca then you are deep trouble lady!”

My mom says or playfully hopes perhaps, that I’ll get everything coming to me that I gave her.  I was a handful and I may have a couple of fist fulls sleeping on my chest right now.  I, too, started out like this:

And in what I’m sure was a very short time turned into this:

What’s that you say? Just an innocent girl sleeping under her bed?  No. No.  I came out of the womb independent and prideful.  In a blink of an eye, what happened between those two pictures is becoming my own person and doing my own thing in spite of my parents.  Mom said, “Go get in your bed and take a nap!” 

“Oh I’ll take a nap alright.  UNDER the bed.”

Fooled her.  She said get in the bed and I stubbornly got under it.  VICTORY.  A pure, 3year-old victory!  I wish I could tell you that it was the only time I defied her and slept under the bed but I’d be lying.  I also slept out in the hall and abandoned the bed completely.  I was a crafty and creatively obstinate little girl. 

Though, I have to say as a parent that I’d have to let that one slide from time to time.  At times I’d let Eden sleep on the ceiling fan if that’s what it took to get her to take a nap.  Hmmmmm maybe my mom was the true winner afterall.  And so the crafty learns where she originally learned her crafty game….

Still, I can’t imagine Eden defying me, although, I know it is unbelievably closer than I can imagine and more inevitable than her next poopy diaper.  I wish I could just hold her and keep her un-disrespectable, un-heartbroken, un-ticketed from speedy unsafe driving, and above all, un-weinered.  I hope for at least a good six years she’ll want to live in her peacock room with her husband.  When I think of her growing-up, I promise you that sometimes I miss her already.

Dear Eden,

Please stop growing-up for just one second.  Please don’t ever make me drop you off somewhere away from your school entrance because our car is lame or because you don’t want to seem un-cool.  Promise to hold my hand as long as you can? Promise to love me still when you are so big that you forgot was it like to be little? 

Love, Mom

Okay, okay so my daughter is only 7 weeks old.  She hasn’t laughed yet, much less, told me to get out of her room.  She hasn’t driven a car or liked a boy.  Other than Daddy, of course.  It just seems like time is already zooming by and she is already different from the week before that and the week before that and the week before that….

As the adult daughter of two wonderful parents, I know from them that it’s extremely satisfying to watch your children grow into independent, healthy, lovely adults.  I can’t wait for that either.  There is so much to cherish in the moment and so much to look forward to at the same time so parenting becomes a tug of war between enjoying the present and holding back your eagerness to see who your baby will become.  All of it is great but still, if you catch my dad on the right day, he still may wish I lived in the basement. Once you become a parent, I think the basement door is always open.  I know mine will be.

Re-Post: Pickles and Paint June 22, 2010

Thought I’d repost this in honor of Father’s Day…

Pickles and Paint

Here is the link:    http://wp.me/pjhsl-un

Here are updated, follow-up pictures from this Sunday…

Adopted June 16, 2010

I picture her there in that house.  In that crib.  The house is old, unkept, broken-down, and carries the stench of dirty dishes, unclean clothes and bodies, and cigarettes.   She’s alone.  She’s on her back in her crib just staring at the ceiling which is what she has done for the first four months of her life.  She’s silent among the chaos.  Occasionally, she cries out in anxiety.  She can’t understand it because she’s an infant but the screaming around her, the hunger in her belly, and her need to be touched, changed, and fed gets the best of her.  She calls out to a house full of people but really cries out for no one. 

By the grace of God, a social worker comes.  They find a baby barely fed, un-nutured, wearing a soaking wet diaper, alone in a crib with curdled milk bottles tossed around her body.  4 months old.  Rescued from that place.

That’s when she became my sister. 

When I first had Eden, she would cry out in that sweet little desperate cry for the food that she needed every two hours.  There were several times that I would feel my maternal need to help Eden and I’d hold her in my arms and think of what she must’ve looked like alone in that crib.  I’d cry over my child and think of my sister.  I would think, “You were just like this.  Just like this and no one had compassion on you.  No one came to care for you.  You were just a few miles from my house crying in your prison that was your home and no one knew this little needy girl existed.”   I can see her vividly crying out alone and I could do so because I had a depiction in my own child now.  All these years later, holding my baby, I cry for what she bore at the expense of unloving, unfit parents.  It all just gives me an overwhelming sense of the mercy and grace God has already had on Eden’s life. 

There are 143 million orphans in the world today. 

One Hundred and Forty Three Million.

143 million babies like my sister who sit and stare up from ragged beds who are unloved, come offering nothing but their dependence, and need a person to have compassion.  It’s not just in third world countries. It’s here.  My future little sister was only neighborhoods away from where I worked as an adult. 

Often people make references and say, “…but you want one of your own….”  I know what they mean and I also know what they don’t understand.  Until you have loved a child that came to you through adoption or you’ve seen it first hand, it’s hard to see that you can feel the same, love the same, throw a football the same with them, braid their hair the same, and, yes, even see yourself in them.  I have a little brother who was adopted from the same family I talked about earlier.  He is like a 50 year-old man trapped in a sweet, funny little elementary school kid’s body.  He says, “Pardon me” just like his dad.  If you raise someone or spend enough time with them, you’ll see yourself in them and you won’t have to look hard.  I’ll even do you one better!  People will still come up to you and say they look like you too.  That’s when my mom chuckles to herself and plays along.

My mom will tell you that she birthed four and adopted four and there isn’t the slightest of difference.  I have four blood siblings and four adopted and I can say the same thing.

Lance and I were talking about this the other night and he said something profound.  People always say, “Why adopt when you can have your own?”  A question that would be harder to say if you watched my sister in that crib. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think because you pose that question that you have no compassion.  It just comes from a place where you haven’t seen the tragedy of being parentless firsthand.  It’s harder to throw that out there once you’ve stared at it in the 4 little faces that are part of your family now.

And so Lance said this, “With 143 million orphans, why have your own when you can adopt?”

I can see all the offended mothers reading this right now.  A hypothetical Red Sea just parted between those who feel attacked for not wanting to adopt and just have their own, between those who have considered adoption for whatever reason. 

Lance followed up by saying this:

“I guess the answer to that is that God told us to, ‘Be fruitful and multiply’.”  So to all you ruffled mommies, bearing children is wonderful and it’s a blessing.  You should be fruitful.  If God has given you fertility, than that’s an excellent thing.

But the scriptures also say, ….”take care of the orphans and widows”…

Does ‘take care’ mean we all have to go adopt right now?  Can’t caring be other ways too?  Yes, it can.  But, caring is also adopting for many, many of us.  Probably more of than we are willing to think about because it’s not easy.  It’s not glamorous.  It’s trying at times.  Depending on how you do it, it can be expensive. It can be heartbreaking.

But it’s wonderful.  It’s intended to happen.  Orphans aren’t just for the childless.  Orphans should be welcomed into homes whether you were blessed with fertility or not.  Lance and I struggled to have a child but always knew whether we had a child or not that we would be adopting regardless.  What a picture of God’s love for us that we take in the un-loved and redeem it to something lovely.  What Satan meant for evil,  God means for good.

When my grandfather died, he left a tape for his children and his grandchildren to listen to.  He had it in a box with a letter that said not to listen to it until an appointed time which was several months after he passed.  I’m sure it was so we would all have time to grieve and so it wouldn’t be so hard when we finally heard it.  On this tape, he left us all personal messages.  At the end, the message to us all included in it to care for the orphans and the widows.  I suppose that was dear to his heart, not just because he did those things, but because he had been widowed.  He knew what it was to be one of them.  I don’t know what it’s like to be parentless, but I know what it is to love them.  I don’t know what it’s like to be orphaned, but I know the need to remedy it and I know the solution. 

My 57 year-old mom is most likely in her house right now with 4 loud children who are all about 11 months apart running through her house while she packs them all up for a well-needed vacation.  The Smokey Mountains are about to be invaded by an unconventional family of 6 from Kentucky. 

She has no scars from delivery or war stories of how she labored them into this world.  Somewhere in a filing cabinet where important documents lie are the “deliveries” of my brothers and sisters.  Scribbled out in writing by a judge and court mumbo jumbo are the words officiating adoption.  Out of the old life and into the new.  Just like God did for us.

In a few days, after a long night of water slides at the hotel, my beloved and dear brothers and sisters will lie down in freshly pressed beds between two parents with full bellies.  Labor rooms or court rooms will make no difference as they drift off to sleep.  But oh how their lives have been ransomed.  What a picture they are of freedom, second chances, and God’s love and mercy.  Some babies are born of blood and sweat, others shifting papers in the justice system and while the means made no difference…

what a difference compassion will make.

Adventures at Walmart June 17, 2010

This is the second blog I am going to write about Walmart.  If I keep this up for too long, Walmart will keep this blog in business.

Today I went out in gray sweatpants and t-shirt and, of course, my baby.  While innocently looking at spices two adult men walked by and one looked at me and said to my face, “Now that’s what I’m talking about….”

Really?  THIS is what you are talking about?  Was it the PJ’s?  Totally understand.  I have been wearing them all week.  No, wait.  I know…diggin’ the car seat?  What about the 8 week old baby in tow?  You must’ve have been thinking of sharing a romantic meal with me with my screaming baby.   I see where you are going with this.

Seriously yall.  Seriously.

As if I wasn’t annoyed enough, I had the privilege of seeing him again.  A whole super Walmart and he keeps finding me like where’s Waldo.  This time he didn’t tell me that ‘I was what he was talking about’ which was really disappointing because it made so much sense to me.  This time he just looked at me in a way that promoted vomiting on my part and then walked ahead.  Then he turns around and looks at me again.  The best part, his wife comes up immediately after.  I’m assuming it’s his wife because she has a heck of a lot of names tattooed on her leg so surely one of them belonged to him.  Gross.  Not the woman, but that he was married.  Grosser.  They both had wedding bands on so I’m not just assuming a marriage based on tatoo signatures.  There was proof, folks. 

And I KNOW he had to have noticed my wedding band because he apparently had an affinity for rings.  He had on 5 golden rings. 

one.

two

three.

four.

five.

Just like from the song Partridge in a Pear Tree…five golden rings.  Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, brother.

I realize this is free country but you don’t have the right to take the right I have to not be oogled while shopping carelessly for oregano with my new baby. 

So cheers to another productive day in the land where babies and sweats can be what a man is talkin’ about.  There’s no place like Walmart.

Tidbits June 20, 2010

I think a really funny thing to say when you place your order at a drive-thru is, “I guess I’ll see you later.”  Then you pull around and it’s funny.  Thank you, David Spade.

I have the world’s best insurance.  It covered infertility, 100 percent of pregnancy, and all of my perscriptions are 4 dollars or less almost every single time.  Fast forward to me in my kitchen 9 months ago.  A can of green beans falls from the top shelf onto my big toenail.  BAM!  Toenail fungus that is disgusting.  Go to the doc FINALLY because I couldn’t treat it while pregnant anyways.  Gives me perscription, go to pharmacy….over 100 bucks!  Not covered.  Apparently, toenail funguses are elective.  For who?  A caveman?  When this sucker falls off, I’m gonna mail to the company with a post-it that says….Friends don’t let friends choose toenail fungus.

I took Eedn for a walk last night and helped a hispanic woman catch a ball that had rolled away from her grandchild.  She didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Spanish which she knew but she still talked to me the whole way back the house.  I’m pretty sure it was all about the baby.  At least that’s what I kept talking about.

Lance was snoring the other night so I told him to roll over.  Really panicky he said, “WHAT?”  I said, “Roll over, you’re snoring.”  He flipped to his side and still panicked said, “I’m scared!  What am I supposed to do now?”  Me: “Ummm, go to sleep.”   He talks to me more when he falls asleep then when we first lay down at night.  Sleep talkers are weirdos.

Eden loves to be naked-y.  I love a naked baby like the rest of us but there’s always that risk of pee or poop.  I think there should be an unconstricting invention that allows a baby to be naked and disaster free.  It shall be called  pee-pon!  There will be no poop-pon.

No everyone will understand this reference but I believe that Opry Mills flooding is wrath for tearing down Opryland.  I’ll show you Grizzly River Rampage!

As a new mom I NEVER have time to eat.  I have made it a whole day and not noticed till dinner that I didn’t eat a full meal that day.  Sometimes new moms are just like a spider that puts his web up in your bathroom: starved.  (Poor little guys.  I want to tell them that the only bugs by the shower are them.  They never listen.)

Lance asked me if I wanted to go fishing.  I said, “If by fishing you mean drown worms and stab holes in fish then, no.  No, I don’t want to go fishing.”  I do, however, want to be there when they stock the pond and help throw the fish in.  Go free willy, go!!!!  Now, if he wants to do that then I’m definetly open.

I asked a really good question the other day, “What would you have if you could have one thing from Charlie’s Chocolate Factory?”  Lance said he would want the part where they walk through and there’s the chocolate river etc.  Please don’t tell me that.  That’s the whole factory and you can’t take it.  I’m thinking more like a goose that lays golden eggs.  I like the gum that tastes like meals.  Minus bloating into a ball and turning violet.

Which weighs more: a pound of rocks or a pound of feathers? The answer: They way the same.  Who has more vertabraes in their neck: a giraffe or a human?  The answer:  They have the same.  Why that one never took off, I’ll never know.

I keep living in the south, I’m going to have to ‘SEE ROCK CITY’.  The peer pressure along the interstate is unbelievable.

Lance and I were riding in the car and I wanted to ask him about adopting a cat friend for Skittles so she won’t be lonely.  I said, “Now I want to ask you something but don’t shoot it down right away….I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What? Adopting?”

A look of delight went across my face and I went with it.  I knew he meant adopting a kid but it was too perfect.

“Yes.  When do you want to pick one out?”

I don’t remember what he said next but I answered the questions carefully.  At one point he said, “Wait a second, what are you talking about?”

I said, and this is true, “Someone to be a friend to our daughter.”  I didn’t specify a furry one or a person one. 

He was on to me and figured out I meant a cat.  Then he said, “No.”  Good story though.

What About Bob?! June 29, 2010

How many dollars do you spend on a bob cat before it becomes yours? It’s a very complicated question. If I came up with a random figure it would be about 198. Yes, that’s right folks. I took the ole’ Majesty Bob for a second spin at the vet. I love taking him there because every time I go, I find out new and splendid things about him. The last time I went the vet I had was a bit of a doo-doo bird. (That’s pronounced dough-dough and not doo doo. Get your head out the gutter. ) Anyhow, she didn’t seem to know too much about the felines. She maybe should’ve paid me for my animal expertise and for taming such a wild animal like Bob. Today, all of my assumptions about him were confirmed from a scholarly chap.

First off, she told me he was about 5 years old but no older. Excellent. Basically I told the last vet I had been seeing him in our woods for about 2-3 years now so she said, “I’d say he’s about 2 or 3 then.”

As if his age was determined by how long I noticed him in the bushes.

In human years that’s 35. We have a middle-ager on our hands here.

Second, I said to the vet, “He has a big body and tufted ears. What do you think he’s mixed with?”

She says, “It’s hard to say but he may have some Maine Coon in him or a wildcat/bobcat or lynx down the line.”

Sing it with me now:

C-A-T-S

Cats!
Cats!
Cats!

What kind of cat?

Bob Cat!

One more time!

Rebecca was (probably) right all along!…I mean…

Bob Cat!!!

What a prize to be won! A real king of the jungle and he only costs me 200 dollars, lots of worry, and lots of wet cat food.

Naw, I’m playing. I love that kid. He is afterall the mascot of my blog. I don’t know if yall realized that but he’s pretty much a part of us. If you are confused about my bob cat then alls I can say is that you should’ve been on the first hundred train a while back. This is some sort of adventure.

In other news, I also learned that he is not unhealthy even though he looks like a bony rail with a wild cat face. She said that his body is actually very musclar…the better to fight you with! I added that last part in. If she said that to me at the vet then I’d have no choice but to make her my best friend.

She told me he has lots of muscle but very little fat but if I cut his man jewels off that he would fatten up. Funny, you lose some to gain some.

Of course, everyone at the vet thought he was wonderful and one of the sweetest and best handled cats. Your welcome ladies…I train my babies well.

Most cats hate the vet but when you live in the woods your whole life your like, “Who are these people that stroke me longingly while I sit on this silver table.” I know that’s what he’s like because that what I learned as a small cat in the woods years ago.

Going to the vet for Majesty is like a spa treatment. They cleaned off his eyes and scratched his back.

“A facial and a massage?!”

He looks so handsome that if I had a picture and the skills to add sound bites, I’d post a glorious picture of him with “I’m Too Sexy” playing.   And I’m too sexy for your oak tree, too sexy for your oak tree.  No way I’ll just go poooouncing!!

He looks so handsome-like with his new face that the forest cats better watch it because at first they thought he might have herpes or chlamydia. That was a funny thought. But hey, it’s hard out there for a pimp.

He actually loved the vet so much that he purred so loudly that when they were listening to his lungs, they had to make him smell alcohol to get him to stop purring so they could hear. What a good person he is.  Unfortunately, he liked the smell of alcohol like some sort of freakshow circus animal.

Lastly, I learned not to let a bob cat around you when he’s eaten a whole rabbit. The vet didn’t teach me that but my carpet did.

Long live the Majesty!  Now if I could only get some lemurs to come out of those woods.  I’d comprimise for a simple fruit monkey…

Mind Spazz June 27, 2010

I tried to cut him an honest deal.  I told him I would make out with him everyday for a month, if he would just try Ritalin for 31 days.  Lance fancies the smooches so I knew this would be enticing.  He told me we would have to have an attorney write it up in order for me to keep the pact.  No way we wouldn’t!  I can kiss my head off for a life change.  He told me he likes the way his life is.  I peered my eyes over the laptop and said, “That’s only because you don’t how good it is on the other side.”  See, when a person is “different” they don’t know they’re different because it’s all they’ve ever known.  It’s their normal.  Kind of like a cat that’s only had dry food.  They don’t know the delicious delicacy of wet food until their human moms run out and buy it for them as a treat.  Then they look back at the dry food and say, “What a bunch of crusty mess!” 

Lance is stuck in a pile of stale cat goodies and he doesn’t even know it. 

Would you try some Ritalin?

Ritalin with a side of Aderal?

Aderal with a dash of cinnamon?

Come on, man! 

I told him he wouldn’t believe how much it would change his life. 

“You could be a better pastor. A better worker.  A better hubby!”  The possibilities are endless.

I mean, it’s not normal to be changing your baby’s diaper and get so distracted that you try to put her passy in her bum bum instead of her yum yum.  Eden was crying on the couch while he changed the goods and he was watching TV.  The tube was enough to get him off track enough that he tried to calm her with the passy but ended up starting to head the passy down south.  I’m sure the thought process was:  Changing diaper.  Butt region.  Look at that on TV!  Insert passy.  But where?  I’m changing her diaper.  Mind equates all action with diaper.  Passy gravitates to her behind.

Geez.

Eating with Lance at a restaurant is like watching a cat laying in the grass.  I already used a cat reference. Dang IT.  Eating with Lance at a restaurant is like watching a hunting dog.  Any  movement and he immediately turns to see what all the commotion is about.  Heaven forbid we sit by an entrance because he must look at each person as they walk out.  Oh help us if there is a TV.  It could be the cross stitching channel and he will look at it about  10 times a minute.  I’m thinking of buying him those horse blinders for Father’s Day.  They could be monogrammed with his favorite sports team.  I’m not totally heartless. 

Sometimes we play games like, “I dare you not to fiddle with your keys, phone, gum wrappers, etc. for the rest of the car ride.”  He smiles and takes on the challenge and he sits really still with his hands in his lap because the task requires his full concentration.  All the sudden a tree passes the window and BAM concentration is shot and he fiddles immediately.  He laughs.  I’m always hoping that he will see how bad his ADHD is when we do these experiments but he always gets a jolly kick out of it.  Again, the impaired aren’t bothered by their impairments…only the innocent bystanders.  Ahem. Me.

Exhibit A-Z:  We are sitting at Barnes and Noble right now and we’ve been here about ten minutes and he says, “I gotta go walk around.”  Then he comes back and says that he ‘feels like a crack addict in here’ because all these books catch his eyes and he wants this one and that one….SOUND SIREN…SYSTEM OVERLOAD. 

Now that he’s back at the table he has been monitoring all movements of passer-bys.  And hey, if no one is moving , he’ll turn clear around  in his chair and look at the window.  You can’t just let people wander in and out TJ Maxx unsupervised!  Listen, they might get some killer sells and someone has to be on top of the excitement.

I’m losing my brain here trying to tame the beast of ADHD that is Lance.  A bounty of kisses for long periods of time in exchange for Ritalin?  Think about it mister…..

If I could just get him to try it either by will or, possibly by force and physical restraints, I know he would like it.  It’s like he would step out of the Friskies Kibbles and Bits and into a sea of tuna and gravy.  Ummmmm, sounds peaceful there.

5 hundred smackers to the person who can get him to take some meds.  If not, I may need to take meds due to his not taking meds.  Wait a second….I already am.  And when I say smackers, I don’t mean that you will get all the kisses I promised Lance.  I mean the real deal dollars.  Or pennies.  Just figure it out and we’ll work out the details later.

Kewpie July 8, 2010

Do you know what the Kewpie effect is?  Not everyone can have a psychology degree from their hometown university so please let me explain. 

The Kewpie Doll came out sometime a billion years ago.  Unless you’re my grandparents age and then you might recall a billion years ago as your childhood.  The Kewpie Doll was, in fact, a real doll.  Get your jaw off the floor I know it was shocking for you. 

It looked a little something like this: 

Now for the complex theory of the Kewpie Doll Effect.  It’s the obvious theory that we are drawn to things that are more attractive and we attribute good qualities to more attractive people and more negative qualities to less attractive things/people.  In a specific study, the Kewpie effect came from babies who are more attractive being favored rather than ratty old babies.  Feel free to save your money on a four year psy. education now that you have been informed.  Better yet, I want my money back because I couldn’t google this effect but they taught me that in school.  If it can’t be googled, it’s imaginary. 

It’s true though.  You have to believe me. 

If you think about our culture,  beauty is valued and re-enforced to us as something that’s important from the time we are babies.  If you are a magnificent baby, say looking something like this:

 (totally a random example)

Then you will be told as a child:

What pretty eyes you have…

Look at all that cute hair….

Aww, she looks like a fuzzy little bird!  Still trying to figure out if that one was a compliment….

Anyways, if you are an attractive baby, kid, or adult, you will always be told stuff like that which makes you feel good which causes you to take pride and put value in beauty which causes you to feel worthless or have low self-esteem if that beauty changes.  Because, hey, who are you if you aren’t the only things you were told over and over your whole life?

Say you look like this:

You’ll be told how funny or smart you are instead of how goregous you are.  I actually don’t think this baby is unattractive but I would’ve felt bad posting a pic of a baby and calling it the “uncute example”. 

Back on track now.  That kid will value those characteristics (funny/smart/etc.)  and later in life, that kid will notice that everyone melts over the cute kids and only admires your ACT scores.  Then what happens?  You feel unattractive because no one ever notices you for that.  

Butts.

Barfy barferton that we care so much about beauty and that we make it an issue from the beginning of life.  Sure, it’s not bad to praise your kid or compliment them but a life of admiring beauty or having your beauty admired sets your kid up for basing their idea of themselves based on that characteristic. 

Rockefeller, one of the richest men/families in the world, was asked, “How much money is enough?” 

He said, “Just one more dollar….”

That makes me want to stab myself in the thigh with a butterknife.  The ungratefulness and discontentment makes me want to throw cabbage at his mansion.  Duh, because cabbage smells real bad when it wilts.

We focus on attractiveness so much that we all end up dieting or working out and we, like Rockefeller, are always one sit-up, spray tan, or one passing up of a Dairy Queen blizzard away from ‘pretty enough’.

Dang these bodies, dang them! 

I have the sweetest little niece who happens to be cute.  Because everyone always makes a big deal of how cute her clothes are etc., when you first see her she will undoubtedly show you something on her body.  It could be her shirt.  If she’s not so much into the outfit then she might pull up  some strands of hair.  I love it and it’s so cute and I totally re-enforce her by gasping at her Dora shirt or new glitter flip-flops.  I truly belive that if I came in one day and all she was wearing was a ragged shirt with poop stains on it, that she would  hold it out from her body with a grin and a look on her face like, “You like?”  

I totally love it but my point is that she already notices her appearence and that people are impressed by it and it’s our fault!  She doesn’t notice her looks so much that it keeps her from going outside with a shirt, sandals, and no panties but she still notices when she’s rockin’ the cute. 

Dang our values.

Dang our world.

Dang these ever lovin’ cute babies and all the smart ones who should be considered cute too. 

Dang you imaginary Kewpie Effect that they taught me in a real classroom and took my money and then I tell people about it and it doesn’t even exist on the internet.  I bet you were one of the ugly babies weren’t you, professor?  Teaching make believe for pay.  Dang you.

Tittle Tattle July 4, 2010

It’s crazy to me that we have to literally strap our kids to our bodies in carriers to get things done around the house. Kangaroos are on to something.

Walmart needs parking like at amusement parks where you can park, look up, and see that you parked at C2 etc. Every time I leave that place I walk out with my remote to my car clicking and just praying I see or hear a car light up. Then you see it and it’s 2 aisles over from where you are and you have to try to squeeze your car between two innocent cars and pray you don’t hit them. Parking lots marked like bingo games would revolutionize Walmart. I’m just sayin’.

I’m proud of my backyard. That’ s why God saw it fit to break my pride and have my neighbors put a two-toned blue above ground pool about 2 feet from our property line. I’m sorry you don’t have the funds to get the dig a hole in the ground kind but you can’t go putting up blue plastic walls along yards like mine. It’s violent and offensive. Nicest house in the whole neighborhood and a big ole’ above grounder. They are basically those little plastic ones they sell for kids for 15 dollars but these are adult sized.

When I say my house is dirty, what I mean is not straightened. Funny, I almost never mean clean. Just straight. Dirty it could secretly be but unstraightened really disturbs the eye. That’s why I’d like something called a carpet rake. I don’t always feel like vacuuming but if I could get beautifully vacuumed lines via the carpet rake then all would be well. Pee pons and carpet rakes. I’m going on the next season of Shark Tank.

When Oprah is gone, who will ask the hard-hitting questions and give away cars to screaming people? I was supposed to go on Rosie and then she cancelled. Then I was supposed to go on Oprah for something I would do someday in the future for some reason. Now I’ll never win a car or be on Oprah. Imaginary me is really disappointed.

When I have grandkids, I want them to call me something cool with a splice of ghetto. Just a splice though. It will only be ghetto to those that have knowledge of the ghetto. I’m thinking G-momma. Others will say, “Oh, that’s a cute a name!” And in my mind I’ll be thinkin’, “That’s how we do it, playa.”

Ever since I’ve had a kid, I get really internally perturbed when I’m obviously struggling to carry my car seat in the heat and no one helps me with the door. It’s even worse when someone beats me to a parking spot. I feel entitled to a better spot and when someone….and it could be anyone who gets to a spot first, I want to jiggle my baby really subtly in their direction so they know that they parked in a place of shame. I know they don’t know I have a baby in my car but this doesn’t help my feelings. If they tried to apologize I would just put my index finger over their mouth cutting them off and say, “parking place of shame” and walk away. I think it would stick with them all day that way.

It’s weird to me that guys always have their hands down their britches. Then they touch stuff and it gets all over your house and car and everywhere. Sometimes when I shake someone’s hand it’s all I can see.

It’s a good thing that people have jobs to ignore or who would read me blog?  Ohhhh mom’s with children to ignore.  Okay, I get it.   Where is that baby of mine, anyways?  Just kidding.  Asleep in the swing.  I’m only ignoring my husband.

There is a stand at one of farmer’s markets that is called Ferry Farts. My sister said, “They have cute stuff but I don’t want to buy from them just because of the name.” Funny. I want to buy there just because of the name.

It’s true.  Chipmunks are some of the fastest guys around.

Many weeks ago, Lance was standing with another guy at church going through the diaper bag looking for a diaper. I wasn’t a part of conversation but I was watching them and I could hear what they were saying. Lance pulled out a maxi pad and asked the guy, “What is this?” Neither one of them knew which made the confidence in which he held it above the bag even better for me.

Spell check is about the only thing I do to edit my blog.  I know everyone is shocked.  What???? Un-weinered isn’t a word?  Spell check is always trying to correct words that I make-up use in a humourous attempt.  Get a life.

One of my buddies told me to call it “making biscuits” when your cat kneads things with it’s paws. Even if you don’t like cats which is pretty insulting….if you sing ‘making biscuits’ in a tune of your choice while they knead your husband on his boxers. It’s pretty hard not to enjoy them.

My husband thinks I make too many cat references on my blog.  These next two are for you, honey.

Majesty Bob is part wild cat and a wild cat  is the animal mascot for Lance’s favorite team.  I think he should fully embrace him based on that information alone.

A few weeks ago, I brought Eden in the our bed because Lance’s alarm was about to go off.   Skittles was in our bed and all I could see in the early morning light was her body spreading out like a flying squirrel and her landing and pouncing on Lance.  I should’ve stopped her because he was still trying to sleep and I should’ve laughed quietly too but I did neither.

You know how distance runners will get the actual runs while they are excersizing?  My body must be so out of shape and lazy because this has happened to me twice on walks this month with the same friend.  I make a lap around the block and my body is like, “You better cut this intense marathon out!”  Then I say, “Shut-up!” and poop my pants.  This is not a joke.  It was a total accident.  It happened right as I was saying goodbye to my walking friend.  There were other walkers around and I was yelling up to her at her front door so I had to be discreet.  I just pointed down and said, “In my pants.” 

She knew.

10 weeks June 29, 2010

River Rat Death Trap Adventure July 13, 2010

About 7 or 8 years ago when Lance and I were dating, he decided to do it up creative style and surprise me with an adventure. He had me meet him at a gas station for the big reveal and he needed both of us to drive to the locale because we needed to cars. Hmmmm…..

And so Lance on this bright summer day, met me at the gas station and revealed two inflatable black intertubes with neon colored rats on them with the words “River Rat” printed on the side. It was Walmart’s finest inflatable rafting supplies. Lance had decided that we would go tubing by ourselves for the day. Not so much tubing but more like lazy river-ing. And not so much lazy rivering but more skanky Kentucky creek-ing. And not so much lazy but more of a trip that would end up as a disaster.

So we venture off parking one car where we would put the tubes in and left the other car where we would eventually float to and get out. He warned me before we got into the water that he didn’t know exactly how long this could take.

“This could take 2o minutes or 2 hours. I don’t really know.”

I won’t make you use your brain to figure it out. That previous statement is something I like to call foreshadowing.

Hour 1:

After blowing up the said tubes, we get into the creek. Bathing suits, shorts, no shoes, and HOORAY, no sunscreen. We are laughing, floating, and feeling a little silly because it’s really random (and red-neck) to be floating down this creek.

I’m being a good sport because I’m actually not too keen on getting into water where you can’t see the bottom. Picture in your mind someone making a snow angel. Then picture that person in that position and their body is totally stiff. That is how I was laying on my tube to ensure that no part of my body was in the water. Exhausting but necessary.

Hours number 2-3:

The giggles have become fewer and what was fun for the first hour was now becoming like, “Okay, it’s been 2-3 hours now. The gig is up. Let’s just be done already.” To make matters worse, the current which was already barely moving, has totally stopped and we are sitting completely still in the middle of the creek, in the middle of the country, with tires and shoes floating aimlessly down this classy body of water beside us. It was comical really. Totally motionless on our river rats with total stillness and silence with the exception of a random cow mooing intermittently and bugs buzzing in the background. Can you picture this because you really need too.

Approximately around hour 3, a current starts to pick up. Yay! Except, wait a minute….the river rats are approaching a rapid that is rapidly rushing around a sunken tree and my rat is heading right for it! I freak out and Lance is more or less like, “Keep it together, Rebecca. You have to listen to me so you will know how to get out from this tree!” The water is rushing and sucking me into the tree and I’m in a mild panic. Surely this river rat is made for white water rapids, right? The water sucks me into the tree and pins me and I navigate my way out. I’m officially done with this trip.

Hours 4-5:

Yes, I said hours FOUR through FIVE. Return to panic mode. We are floating farther and farther away from all civilization. I now have buns, arms, ribs, thighs, and a back of steel from the snow angel position so I settle into the waters just waiting for a beaver to swim under me and come bite my butt cheeks off. I couldn’t hold the position anymore no matter how much beavers like butt cheeks. Speaking of animals, I’m now dangerously burnt to a crisp and I’m a radiating lobster red.

The fun ended about 4 hours ago and I’m starting to get worried. The sun is setting. I’m wet, burnt, shivering, and I feel like we are lost. I sincerely felt like we were going to curve around the bend and end up in a lake somewhere 4 hours from home. We decide to float over to the side to climb up a bank and see if there are any roads or houses around. At this point, I’m not above hitchhiking or going to a strangers house to use their phone to call someone to pick us up. Calling someone would be nice because we had no phones and as the sun set us, no one knew we had decide to float to our deaths that day. I was hungry, shaking from cold, scared of the light disappearing leaving us on a dark creek but this would all get better when we climb to the bank and look over both sides of the creek and there isn’t so much as even a lonely donkey walking in the expansive fields around us. It was just fields and fields with no people, animals, or houses because no idiot would live or be out there except for the two idiots who decided to float out of civilization.

After seeing that we were alone on this fun ride, we look down to see that our rafts were deflating. GREAT. We had been floating for hours and hours and for all we knew, we had hours and hours more and it would surely be dark by then. As life would have it, it got worse. We floated further down what feels like the Nile at this point and the banks disappear and there are only rocky, vine-covered bluffs straight-up on both sides. There wasn’t even a place to camp out for the night if needed, just a big bunch of unforgiving rock walls.

Hour “I’m gonna kill myself if this creek doesn’t hurry up and do it for me” 6:

We have now passed panic and entered full-blown crazy tears.  And by we I mean me.  Lance is frustrated because he knows you can’t get lost on a creek because they only flow one way but I don’t belive him.  We have returned to the no current state again and we aren’t moving as the sunshine diminishes.  Lance in a frustrated helpless state, gets off of his raft and walks the creek bed pulling both of our rafts with him.  I’m so upset that I don’t know if he is helping or making me more terrified because it freaks me out with him walking in the dirtiest, scariest, animal, and trash filled creek ever.  I wished we could both be floating safely in a quick current directly to our cars but obviously, we had missed that good fortune. 

I told him that the next time I heard a car, I was abandoning this river fantasy trip and running towards any humanity I could find.

The trip continues.  I fall into the water and totally spazz out because the last thing a person who hates floating in dark waters wants is to be totally emersed in it.  Lance laughs at me hysterically as I frantically try to pull myself onto his raft.  I’m so ticked off at him when I finally make it onto his back.  I needed to pee but I was too afraid to try to get back on my half-inflated raft to pee into the creek so I just let free willy go.  All over his back.

Randomly animals plop in and out of the water, lifting their heads above the creek and disappearing back in the water.  This freaked us both out because, don’t forget, beavers love butts.  You never knew if something was swimming underneath you or up to you.  At this point, at least something was making progress up and down the river even  if  it wasn’t us.

One thing I was aware of the whole time was a big heron that would land and then fly up ahead of us over and over again.  We were all in this together.

Fly highhhhh, sweeeet blue heron….coming forth to carry us hommmmeeeeeeee….coming forth to carry us home!

Lead the way sweet birdy.  I need you.

Suddenly, a familiar sound appears.  A car!  This was a good thing too because I was in complete crying miserable breakdown.  I was saying things in all sincerity that sounded like a 5 year-old like, “If my daddy knew where I was, he would come and find me!” (boo hoo boo hoo)

Like a wild woman I drag my deflated rat to a creek bed full of hallowed out logs that were probably filled with snakes.  I didn’t care.  I had to see where the sound of a beautiful automobile was coming from.  I run up the logs with my bare feet busting through the wood trying to desperately get to the top and it was worth it!   About 10 acres of wheat fields away I see our rescue car that we had parked there 600 thousand years earlier.  SURVIVAL!  We had made it…almost.  Like some sort of dufus, Lance says, “Lets just float the rest of the way.”  In so many words I tell him that the President of the United States of America couldn’t even force me back into those waters.  I would take no chances. 

We left our river rats on the disgusting banks to die a long slow death like we had done for the past 360 minutes of our lives.  We ran barefoot through waist-high weeds and wheat with the tall grasses whipping our sunburnt legs like whips.  And when I say run, I mean we RAN.  Ran like tribal natives in homeland just a truckin’ it to freedom. 

We made it back to the car in pure victory but I was too slammed to be celebratory.  We went back to Lance’s house and climbed into their jacuzzi tub in our swimsuits and tried to warm our burnt and depleted bodies.  Lance finally cried a teeny bit then.  FINALLY you join me in this trauma, dang!  He said he felt so helpless as I slipped into a panicked wonder land that he felt bad and didn’t know what to do.  I think we both cried because it was the worst SIX HOUR hell ride of our lives.  We deserved a little let down from the trauma. Relief tears were mandatory. I think I have post-traumatic stress because of that excursion.  I can’t even look at rats these days. 

He told me we would laugh about it one day.  It may have taken me a few years to give half a smile but 7 years later I have a nasty case of the giggles.  Any man who would take me and put me in a toxic creek with questionable animals in an unreasonably stable rubber inflatable tubes would have to be the man I married.  I was no idiot.  I knew he must have the big bucks to buy neon rat rafts from Walmart.  And so I married him.  And all these years later, we laugh.  But I will never go tubing down hell creek again.  I escaped with my butt once and this time, the beavers would take no prisoners.

But can they eat it? July 6, 2010

Many moons ago, a sweet little daughter-in-law asked her very generous mother-in-law for a favor.  We, I mean the mother and daughter-in-law, were looking through the leftover furniture that remained after the in-laws had moved houses.  There sat in the room an entertainment center with two bookshelves that lined both sides.  The giving mother-in-law said, “I was thinking about giving you or Shelly this entertainment center if you think you’ll use it.” 

“Sure”, I said.  And then I said the fateful words that would change the course of the TV stand’s future.

“If I use it, I’d like to paint it black.”

“Black!”, said the disgusted mother-in-law making a smell bad face of disapproval.

“Let me think about that.”

(Insert music of doom)

Somehow, wanting to paint the entertainment center took away the spirit of Santa Claus giving that she was feeling and it would never become Lance and I’s furniture.

You know who won that fight?  I know you are thinking the mother-in-law but you are wrong.

It’s this guy:

Now I don’t know if this particular pooch is Sammy or Libby but either way, it’s a victorious dog.

The Parrott’s have two buildings on their property besides their house.  One is a barn and the other building is a large office where my father-in-law keeps a cat who is starting her very own cat farm and 3 other “farm” dogs who actually live in luxury. 

The Parrott’s put their über expensive leather furniture set, coffee table, and end tables in that building.  This furniture use to be around the coveted entertainment center in their past house so I’d say it’s of equal importance or value, however, the leather set is way more expensive than the media center.

Let’s pull some stats here. 

Above is a simple leather couch running 1,012 bucks.  And let me add, that’s a genuine leather couch from SAM’S CLUB and it’s still over a grand.  The Parrott’s set was from a boutique his aunt owns so we can double or triple that price for the couch and then add two chairs, a coffee table, and an end table.   My point is, it’s a very nice set, capeesh?

Let’s now review some evidence in the case by zooming back from the dear doggies face.

Just finishing an afternoon leathery snack.

That’s right.  The dogs are eating this luxury item as if it is a bowl of doggie biscuits.  Eating the leather, the cushion, etc., all the way down to the frame of the couch.  I give Sammy, or whoever he is, 10 points for the depth and symmetry of his artwork.

Moving on. 

I would show you the coffee table but it has been gnawed on so much that it has been disposed of.  You can get an idea of the damage by examining the edge of the remaining end table.  You can imagine how much worse the table was if this was the table they kept. 

What about the leather chair?

A scratching post….

What about what’s left of the couch that hasn’t been eaten?

A scratching pad….

The dogs can eat the furniture and I can’t even paint it.

 

Eats the furniture.

 

Gave you a grandchild.

 

Hairy beast.

 

Glorious daughter-in-law.

Winner.

Loser.

Winner.

I guess the moral of the story is, “You can’t have it if the dog’s can eat it.”   That is such a moving truth in my life that I give goosepimples all over my body just reading it.  I’m going to teach this to my children. 

We still like to laugh about how I can’t paint some wood but the dogs can devour high-end furniture sets.  But, it’s okay because the 6 years later the entertainment  center is being put to good use.

It’s a sad story because that piece is made for big ole’ box TVs and everyone now uses flat screens so it may never see the light of day again.  My mom ended up giving us hers anyways so we weren’t left empty-handed or any lighter in the pocket-book.  So I guess we know what this means.

WINNER!

Babyologist July 18, 2010

When Eden was about a week old, my mom came to save the day/my life and keep her overnight while Lance and I slept. Getting in bed to sleep never looked so delicious as that first break from the shock known as newborns.

Before I went to bed for the night, I gave my mom the rundown on how to care for this little creature I had known for practically five seconds.

“She doesn’t like to have her arms trapped so wrap her up this way.”

“This is her favorite passy.”

“Don’t lay her down fully awake. Just hold her for a second and she’ll be good to go.”

My mom laughed and said, “Isn’t it crazy that just a matter of days ago you didn’t know any of this stuff and then it all just naturally comes.”

It really is amazing. SO much has changed.

My days.

My nights.

My shopping trips.

My thighs.

Definitely my boobs. By the second or third child I think they will just go inverted.

Other things have changed like how fast I can get ready and how fast I can eat. Those are two things you don’t get to do leisurely anymore. I can eat a buffet and put on mascara in 20 seconds flat. That’s how we do, player.

Things have changed about how I feel about her. I feel more and more bonded with her day by day. She likes to just stare at me now and trace my face with her eyes. Sometimes it freaks me out because she’ll be really silent and I’ll think she’s asleep and then I look over and she’s staring at my all creepy like a possessed baby in a horror film. It’s like she’s thinking, “I’m gonna memorize you so I’ll know if the right person is holding me when I’m crying.”

My favorite time with her is right after her bath where she’s soaking wet from the top of her tiny head down to her cute lumpy bottom and she just makes these tiny sweet sounds and peeks out up at me from the towel she’s wrapped in.  I also the daily routine of picking her nose.  I don’t like it when other people, say Daddy for example, pick their nose but I find I fancy picking hers.  It gives you a real satisfied clean feeling like you just cleaned your whole house down to the cracks in the countertops. Her nose would be the cracks in the counters in this example.  Sure you wash her booty but when you get her clean down to the nostrils then you’ve really done it.   MMMMMMMM….I love.   I guess while on this topic I should tell you that I’ve mastered booger retrieval.  Some may think this sounds dangerous but hey, I’m no pediatrician.  I’m just a simple booger catcher. 

Let’s be honest.  If you use the suction thing, your baby probably hates it and it doesn’t get the job done unless your baby has mucous up in those regions.  SO one day I looked at my bobby pin and I thought:

fits up the nose…

a little loop is on the end that I can fashion into a booger hook….

Yes, yes by George I’ve got it.

Do it only if your baby is really still.  I take no responsibility if you stab your baby in the sinuses.  This technique is only for close range/visible boogers.  I’m telling you though it’s like a booger fishing pole.  Works every time.  Your welcome.  If you mess this up and hurt your baby, you should probably go ahead and punch yourself in the face.

See, since I’ve had a baby I’ve become a professional at all mommy things.  I’m a whole new woman! 

I’m a new and improved me.  If you need any pointers, let me know.  And if you need any Xanax, let me know that too.  I’m a jack of all trades these days.  Drug dealer, snot grabber, speed getting ready-er, competitive race eater. I’m basically a scholar.  The end.

Warning: If you find yourself a druggie and want to come to my house to steal my Xanax, you will be painfully disappointed.  I take such a little dose that you’d probably get higher from Smarties and I only have a few pills left anyways so get over yourself.  Thank you for your respect and cooperation in not breaking in my home and aiding in keeping momma sane.  And if you still aren’t detoured…I have a bob cat.  Cats are silly you say?  He needs to wear a dog collar because his neck and jaws are so big.  He also has fangs.  You already know you don’t want a wild cat in your pants. ESPECIALLY your pants.

ROARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Eden for President! July 14, 2010

Vote for Eden:

http://allhitwuhu107.com/pages/7670759.php?imageGalleryXRefId=1944107#imgXR

Vote for her to be the cutest babe in all the land so momma can win gift cards!  She’s the first baby in row four so look for her and vote, vote, vote!  Vote 6 thousand times, please.  Thanks.

July 21, 2010

I know you blog readers like to stay all secret and all but I have a question and I’d like to hear what yall think about it. I triple dog dare you. Hey, I brought out the triple dogs for this one so get serious.

Ignore the fact that I had post-partum depression and just say what you think inspite of knowing I’ve been down that road and tell me, if a woman kills her baby while sick with PPD, should she be on trial as a murderer?

This question came to me after hearing someone tell me that they know 2 women personally who have killed their babies and one is on trial.

Your immediate thought might be yes but actually think about it. What if I didn’t seek treatment and ended up down that road? Even though wanting to harm her wasn’t my particular issue, what if? What if I was on trial for murder now as a healthy, normal me and I was just sick for a while?

Like I said, I may disagree with you but just tell me what you think. If you think about all the in’s and out’s of it….it can be tricky.  I’m torn-ish.  To a degree I feel absolutely against the idea of being tried as a murderer because I think it’s sickness and not insanity but then if it wasn’t punishable, wouldn’t people start killing their babies and blaming it on that to get off?

Remember we have triple dogs on the line here.

Be Blessed July 19, 2010

Over 1 billion people in the world live on less than one dollar a day.

2 billion live on less than 2 dollars a day.

700 million people in the world live in slums.

93 million people are beggars.

26,000 children die a day due to starvation or preventable diseases.

Be thankful today for a job you may hate, a closet full of clothes, a blasted dinner tonight you probably don’t feel like cooking, and living in a country where children don’t have to starve.  We are more blessed than we know or deserve.

Sticks and Stones July 22, 2010

I often wonder what my life would’ve been like if I hadn’t met her.  I think about that more than I should considering how much time has passed.  I can still put myself back on that playground in 6th grade.  I remember the last day of that school year, dropping to my knees on the dirt by the monkey bars and thanking the Lord that the year was finished.  It was early morning before school started with the dew still on the ground.  I walked to school everyday so no one was there yet.  It was just me, the empty playground, and the early morning sun.  I felt a burden lifting off of me as the last day started but the damage had already been done.  All these years later, the only redemption I see in meeting that person was that it gave me a compassion and love for children who are bullied and I love to counsel those hurting children.

6th grade was one of the hardest years of my life.  I don’t know that this person even knows that it was because of her or if she evens knows how hard it was for me.  And for what?  Why was this year so hard?  Jealousy.  

27 years ago I was born with a gift.  The gift of singing.  I learned very early on that people don’t want good things for others that they want for themselves and people will hate you for it.  Literally hate you.  And she did.  I really think the only thing I did to her was sing.  I went to her birthday party either the year of or the year before and she had a talent show.  I sang Janet Jackson “Again” for my talent alongside of one of my lifelong best friends who did backbends for her performance =0)  We still laugh about that.   The bad news was, I won that talent show at her birthday.  I’m not sure when she would say it started for her but the best I can tell, it happened then.  I’m not sure if she really remembers the details of things she said or how much she hated me.  For her it was expressing her anger.  For me it was picking up a tab of anxiety and creating insecurities in me that would last a lifetime.  My part of it stays with you much longer.  27 years longer.

Specifically, I remember her saying, “I’ll be on my world tour and I’ll see Rebecca flipping hamburgers at McDonald’s and I’ll say…’heres to your singing!’

I had people come up to me on the playground and say, “Sing Rebecca.” 

If I did I was conceited.  If I didn’t I was “too good” for them.  I couldn’t win.   This became an everyday battle for me and the weapons were the words that look silly in hindsight but words that were meant to wound me.  And they did.

One time a really sweet girl came up to me after being put up to it by that girl and she said, ”The only reason you can sing so good is because you try so hard.”

That would make me laugh now except for how bad it hurt me at the time.  I mean, what she said was ridiculous!  Basically, it was a backhanded compliment.  If you can even put those two words together.

McDonald’s, singing well because I tried ‘so hard’ (whatever that means), I’m sure seems like stupid elementary school banter but when you’re young and I guess when you are older too…no matter how ludicrous a comment, you are always hurt by the intent.  You spend your whole life being encouraged by your family and then all the sudden you enter the cruel world of cafeterias and yellow school buses filled with children unattended by their parents and it gets ugly.   All of the sudden, someone tells you you’re defective and it seems so blunt and shocking that it seems like the truth.  Somewhere along the way, you believe it.  You start to think, “My parents just say this and that because they love me but this person has no motivation to protect me so they must be being brutally honest.”  My mom told me then she was jealous but stuck somewhere in a life stage where you don’t have logical reasoning, I couldn’t believe it was that.  It was me.  It had to be.  A gift started to feel like a curse.  A curse that I believed wasn’t even a talent anymore because she told me so.

I picture her in my mind reading this and I think, “If she read this she would probably say this is dumb.  That was a million years ago and we were kids so get over it.”  Partly, that bothers me the most.  Everyone wants validation. Yes, it was a long time ago but time has nothing to do with how it effected you in that moment and those terrible moments build who you are an incident at a time.  Traumatic things take years to get over.  It would be like saying that my parents got divorced when I was ten and because I’m 27 now, it shouldn’t affect me.  Heartbreak from anything is life shaping.  Especially when it lasts a year.  Especially when you are a vulnerable, sensitive child.

I still sing today and it’s still my passion.  I deal with terrible nerves.  I deal with crippling nerves that can butcher any song =0)  It’s much better than it use to be but sometimes I’m about to sing and I feel like those little girls on the playground.  I feel like both of them.  The one that hurt and that one that taunted me.  I don’t hear her voice in my head but rather the echoes of what she made me believe about myself.  She’s kept me off the stage most of my life. 

There are times I’ve just gone for it in an attempt to get over it and it’s helped me heal.  I tried out for a musical in high school.  It was my first audition and first musical.  I got the lead.  My freshmen year in college I sang for a vocal coach in Nashville and within 8 weeks found myself in Atlanta singing for a producer and being offered a deal.  I backed out a week before I signed which is a long story but not one I regret.  I came back home to sing for Campus Crusades for Christ every week at our hometown university.  I sing almost every week at church now.  It’s not that I don’t forgive that girl.  It’s not that she’s kept me from nervously sticking my head out there to sing and be vulnerable to be judged all over again.  It’s just that the ease and pleasure has been sucked out of it and that’s what she meant to happen to me at the time.  I’ve been afraid to succeed.  Afraid to be admired because someone might be jealous.  More afraid to not be admired for it because I will feel like the little girl praying in the dirt who believed that she wasn’t good enough.  I feel afraid that if no one thought I was good, then she was right.  She took my confidence one hateful agonizing day at a time and I’ve been fighting to get it back ever since.

All of that was hard for me to say.  It’s hard for me to accept accomplishments and even harder to say them outloud.  I still feel like she’ll catch me by the swingsets and tell me I’m cocky.  It’s ridiculous.  There is no reason that we should be ashamed of our gifts.  It’s a slap in the face to the Creator who gave that gift to us for His glory and a million ways it could be used while we are here on earth.  I’m fighting with more and more ease at being confident in what I’ve been given and to  just continually go out and use my gift for its purpose.

It hasn’t been easy.  There have been two more girls in my life just like the first one I’ve talked about since then so it’s harder to heal when those forces stay present in your life.  Again, those girls probably don’t know I’m writing about them but their feelings for me have been so strong that they are probably suspicious.  I don’t hate these girls.  Any of them.  I forgive these girls.  It was just very damaging.

Thankfully, the little girl who wounded me so bad in 6th grade apologized to me many years later when we were in late highschool.  She told me she was jealous and that she was always so ashamed and that’s why it took her so long to apologize.  Apologies and forgiveness are very soothing and healing to the soul.  I was thankful for that.

I hadn’t seen or heard from that person in 13 years until recently.  Out of no where I got a message from her on facebook.  It was a nice short message.  The subject: If I was still singing.  I’m sure she has no idea how ironic that was for me and how much she and that same subject matter has effected me since.  But we don’t always know how deep the injuries are we inflict and they are easier to forget when you aren’t the inflicted.  I understand.

So.  Today I find myself with a little girl I fear to send into the treacherous world of 1st through 12th grade.  She will come from two musical parents and I hope she sings so she can give us that spectacular third part harmony when Lance and I sing on our family vacations =0)  There’s still a little part of me that would be afraid for her to have anything about her that stands out.  It’s almost like putting a target on your back in a world where no one wants anyone to have blessings more than they’ve been given. 

I’ll tell her these stories one day.  I’ll tell her that I use to put vegetable soup in the toilet and tell my mom I threw up because I didn’t want to have go to school that day to see what words would be used to gut and ostracize me that particular week.  I’ll tell her those “mean kids” called me one day and tried to ‘befriend’ me and asked me to go to the movies.  I was scared but so desperately wanted to be accepted that I said I would go.  I did all that to hear I was on speakerphone and I heard another kid laughing saying they were going with the “I hate Rebecca” club.  I’ll tell Eden that after that call, I walked into the living room and crumpled in heartbroken tears into my mother’s arms at an age when I was too old and cool to do such a thing.

I’ll tell her she can cry to me when the world and those who inhabit it play rough.  I’ll tell her I’ll protect her.  I’ll remind her of the truth and who God says she is.  Tell her it’s okay to sing.  It’s okay to crumple. And I’ll tell her when it’s all said and done, you’ll be just fine and doing the same thing for your daughter one day in a kitchen somewhere.   

What a life we have to live and hurt through to end up as women to help our children live through all the same things we are still trying to get over. 

I look at her teensy eyes and wonder what her life will bring.  The people she will meet.  The people that will hurt her.  The moments that will define her by monkey bars and in high school hallways and offices as she ages.I wonder who she’ll be and what gifts the Lord has given her to make her special.  I pray she never finds herself hurting alone on a playground at dawn but I know pain will inevitably come somewhere, sometime, somehow, by some person.  And when it does, I’ll be right there with her with dirty knees by the hopscotch squares thanking the Lord that it’s all over when it passes.  What a grace that all things pass and what a God who makes all ugly and damaging things beautiful in its own time.  One day.  One year.  One song at a time.

August 2, 2010

Wild cats go outside.  Domestic cats whiz in a litter box.  But a bob cat poops in your bed.

How much can one baby toot?  A thousand times some may say.

They are going to kill a grizzly and her three cubs because the momma killed a man while the babies watched.  I think I’ll kill my cat tonight for running up a tree since we kill animals for being themselves.  I’m not happy he killed a man but I don’t think you can kill the bear.  You camp in bear country…there will be bears.  And they’ll be all beary.  ABC posed the question, “What makes wild animals attack?”  Uh, I’m gonna go with wild on that one.  You may remember similar comments I made about the killer whale who killed a trainer.  There will be more comments to follow about peacocks and wildebeests as atrocities occur.

If you have to soak your baby maker in an epsom salt bath after delivery but you don’t have time to soak in a bath like all moms, get a mixing bowl and hover-squat into.  Works every time.  Anyone want to come to my house for dinner?

I always have dreams about trying to smoke a cigarette, my teeth falling out, and demon possession of people/my house being haunted.  Now you don’t have to ask me anymore.

Bats circle my house at night.  Guess we know what that means…bat cave.

Eden is drooling so much that she is soaking through her shirts like she’s in a wet t-shirt contest.  She did it today at church which was totally inappropriate.  Happy for the placement of certain flowers on her shirt.  Just kidding.  Baby breasts are funny.  And bigger than mine.

I see some stop signs in my neighborhood more as suggestions.

At an after wedding breakfast, Lance was holding Eden and she started to cry.  A dead serious three year-old looked at Lance and said, “I think she’s embarrassed of you.”

Why do they make all the good things for babies?  They have something called sleep sacks which are basically sleeping bags you zip onto your body.  They even have some with leg holes so you can walk in them.  Snuggies almost have it but not quite.  Sleep sacks are something I could really get into.

I think a good response to most questions is, “That’s a personal question.” 

“Do you like doughnuts?”

“Uh, that’s a personal question.”

This is especially good if you don’t want to answer the question.

“Rebecca, where are all the brownies?”

“That’s a personal question.”

Have you ever thought how crazy it is that slang words were started by one person and they probably don’t even know it?  Someone was the first person to say, “Let’s go over to your crib.” And then all of the sudden people are saying it in the fields of Kentucky.  I often wonder, was I the first person to say cat-a-potamous?  Have you heard the thing were people add ‘icia’ to the end of everyone’s names? Dang, it must not be catching on like I hoped.  It’s pronounced ee-see-uh.  For example:

Lance:  Lanicia= Lah-nee-see-uh

Kristie:  Katricia=Kah-tree-see-uh

Audrey: Aud-dree-see-uh

One day when you hear the president say, “This is my wife, Michele Obeecia.”  Then you can say you knew me before I was Rebecia.  And you can be proud.

(This may only be fun for white people to say to each other because we are limited in ‘icia’ names.  But to be fair, it may give others some really good name ideas.)

Rock a bye baby and other tragedies we tell our children July 27, 2010

I just heard that “Rock-a-bye Baby” was written by a woman with post partum depression.  I don’t know if it’s true but for humor’s sake, I choose to believe it.  It really would make sense. 

Rock a bye  baby in the treetops

When the wind blows the cradle will rock

When the bough breaks the cradle will fall

And down will come baby,

Cradle and all…..

I feel you sister.  In weird sort of way I laugh because I get this crazy person.  I bet she was up at 4 in the morning with a screaming baby and hadn’t slept in 4 days and she thought in a sleep deprived stooper, “I bet I could put this baby in a tree….yeah that’s it…a tree!”

If I would’ve written this exact song during my PPD, I guarantee you that no one would be singing it to their babies.  Unless it was other PPD women singing to their kids.  I could totally see that.

I would’ve love to see what my doctor would’ve done if I told her I was having rock-a-bye baby thoughts.  When you go in they ask you if you’ve had thoughts of hurting yourself or your baby.

“Well…I’ve been thinking about putting her in a tree.  Not just any tree though but like a wobbly unstable tree.  I was thinking…what if I just put her cradle right up all in it.  Hmmmmm, then that’s not really dangerous enough so I have to send a great wind….”

In the meantime they start rolling me to the 6th floor of the hospital….

“Yeah and this wind rocks the baby all around and then the cradle falls.  And then OOPS, down comes baby cradle and all!!!!!! hahahahahahahahahahahaha…..”

What a whack job song to sing to your baby.

My song would’ve gone like this.

Rock a bye baby I feel like I could die

Please hush now cause it’s my turn to cry

Eat your food while I barf mine up

Go to sleep while I have a panic attack and dream of being put in the hospital and being knocked out by drugs…..

That last part didn’t rhyme but she said the word “bough” in her song so I can do whatever I want. 

I wonder what happened to that woman?  I guess she got over it and her kids grew up and she named them Jack and Jill had Jack bust his head while fetching a pail of water.  Then Jill couldn’t get off easy so she had her come tumbling after. 

They probably all  lived on a farm and she got so mad and frustrated with her kids that she threw their dairy cow over the moon.   When the kids were sad that the family cow was gone she probably got comatose Jack and klutzy Jill three blind mice to make-up for it.  We know what happened next though…a dang butcher cuts their tails off and no one wants visually impaired, disabled mice.  So the children beg nut bag mom for another pet.

“Take one of the stupid eggs from the chicken and name Humpty Dumpty for all I care!”

Then the kids thought, “Hey, let’s put this egg on a wall.”  Then the egg falls and they are crying and the mom runs over and says,
“Shut it!  All the kings horses and all the kings men can’t put this egg back together!”

Poor Jack and Jill.  That was a long time ago, though.  Now moms  just an old woman living in the shoe with 8 other kids that didn’t get knocked off when she tried all those times to put their cribs in the oak tree.

What the heck are we reading and singing to our kids at night?  Sweet dreams dear babies.  Dream about falling out of tree during a wind storm.  Maybe we are the weirdos afterall, folks.

14 weeks July 29, 2010

Sitting up in her bumbo for the second time!

Professional Baby/Family Pictures August 6, 2010

Ann Wade Parrish is the best photographer ever!  She took pics of Eden and our fam while we were waiting for the groomsmen to be ready.  These were just taken in a bedroom and they look great!  Thanks Ann for taking pics of us ;0)

www.shutterfly.com/pro/AnnWadeParrish/Eden

Funnies and Freedom August 15, 2010

I, Rebecca Secret Last Name, had a day to myself for the first time since I squeezed life into the world. It felt ridiculously amazing! I felt like I had taken hard-core drugs and was on the highest of high. At least I’m assuming doing drugs feels like going to Walmart all by yourself without having to squeeze a shopping cart down narrow aisles.

The first time in 4 months I was all alone. It was wicked awesome. You don’t realize how much you need that time until you are in the moment and you’re like, “Oh yeah, hello me…”

I went to farmer’s market and bought fresh flowers. I went, as I said, to Walmart and was able to whisk in and out. I even got myself a Panera smoothie, for the love of Besty! And let me not forget to say, I listened to music insanely loud and bumped like a teenager on the way to Prom. It was delicious. I really missed myself. Rebecca is a pretty cool person. I guess she’s been hiding in diapers and behind Boppy’s and Bumbo seats.

I finished off the day with throwing my buddy a stellar wedding shower and then later that night, crawled into bed with my exhausted husband.

You don’t realize it but “exhausted” for him means there will be a one man show that night in bed via sleep jabbering and unconscious grabbing of my innocent bottom in the middle of the night. Lucky for me, I was awake for three hours before I feel asleep (probably because of the drugs) so this means that I got to listen to Lance and correspond with him.

11:15 pm I get up and go to the bathroom. From the bed Lancey comes a callin’ in a voice of annoyance and disgust,

“She’s got green stuff all over her face!”

What?

“She’s got GREEN stuff all over her face!”

Who?

“The baby!”

The baby has green stuff all over her face. Really. How do you know that? Do you think you’re looking at her?

“The tape!”

Okay so she’s got green stuff all over her face and you are looking at her on a tape. A tape, right?

“The pill! Nevermind this is silly.”

Go to sleep, Lance.

After intermittent inappropriate slips of the hand, we reach midnight. Lance is asleep and he’s breathing erratically. He sounded panicked and scared. At first, it scared me but then he started whimpering and it was more pitiful slash wussy slash annoying so I decided to put the poor boy out of his misery and wake him up.

Lance, wake-up you’re freaking out.

“What?”

You are crying and breathing all crazy. What were you dreaming about?

“(mumbly mumbles jibber jabber) Nothing”, he says.

I kept pushing on out of pretend compassion for his distressed state but I more wanted a show because I was bored and lonely.

Lance, tell me what you were dreaming about because you were really upset.

“I was being chased by Jordin Sparks with a gun.”

Jordin Sparks the singer?

“Yeah.”

Why were you crying?

Then he whispered, “Because she was gonna get me.”

I started laughing uncontrollably. Then Lance entered a state of euphoric bliss and he also laughed uncontrollably. I’m not sure if he was awake at this point but it was funny so who needs consciousness?

At some point during the jollies, he woke up and we laughed for about 20 more minutes on and off. Then he said in all seriousness, “Stop laughing I need to sleep.  You’ve been touching me all night and waking me up!” 

Are you kidding me?  You are the one touching me all night like you’re playing slumber tag!

Gotta love sleeping with a crazy man. It was the perfect ending to the ultimate day of a momma single and on the run. I love my crazy husband.

90′s music fantasy August 17, 2010

I made this game for my friend’s shower.  If you were an 8th grader- your senior year from 96-2001 then you should be good at this game.  There are 18 hit songs from that time period with a lyric missing that you have to fill in.  It’s caboodles of fun.  The answers are at the end so you should write down your answer on paper for two reasons…one: so you’ll know what you said and two: so it looks like you’re working.  The winner at the shower only got 8 right so see what you can do my people’s.

1.  Ghetto supastar that is what you are
Comin from afar reachin for the stars
Run away with me to another place
We can rely on each other uh huh 
______  ____  _______  __  _______ uh huh

2.  Then I walked over to him slowly

Said  ____  _____  ____ _____ _____ ______

But this could my only shot at a tenderoni

3.  You trifilin’ (good for nothin’ type of brother)

Silly me (why haven’t I found another)

(A baller)  _____ _____ ____ ______ ______ __________ ____ ______ ____ _____

Instead of a scrub like you who don’t know what a man’s about

4.  She keeps runnin’ back to see me doin’ it

my way, my way

What _____ _______ ________ _______ _____ ____ ________

5.  He drinks a _______ drink

He drinks a _______ drink

He drinks a lager drink

He drinks a ______ drink

He sings a song that reminds him of the good times.

He sings a song that reminds him the better times.

6.  If you want my future, forget my past
If you wanna get with me, better make it fast

Now don’t go wasting my precious time
______ ______ _____ _________ ___ ______ ____ ______ ______.

7.  I don’t want your number (no)
I don’t want to give you mine and (no)
___ _____ ______ ____ _____ _____ _________ (no)

I don’t want none of your time and (no)

8.  In the future can’t wait to see
If you’ll open up the gates for me
Reminisce sometime
The night they took my friend
Try to black it out but it plays again
______ ____ _____ ______ _____ __ _______
Can’t imagine all the pain I feel

9.  Tell me that we belong together

And dress it up with the trappings of love

I’ll be captivated, I’ll hang from your lips

_______ ___ ____ _______ ___ ___________ ____ ______ ______ _______

10.  Who in the bushes? You better
speak out or I’m a let my shotgun song sing out.”

Who is this? I hope this ain’t the law. Jump out the bushes with my
sawed-off shotgun.
“C’mon out, right now. I’m gettin’ angry.” Took a step back, ’cause it
could get dangerous.

“Please don’t shoot. It’s just me, Thug Queen, the horse-stealer.”

“Then, why the *^%$  is you hidin’ in them bushes?”

____ _______ ____ _______ _________ _____ ________ _________, killed to two sheriffs,
six of his best men with my hand, stole two horses. Thought you was the
law, that’s why I jumped in the bushes.”

11.  What would you do if your son was at home

______ _______ ______ ____ ____ __________ _______

cause he’s hungry

12.  

When I was young I knew everything
_____ ___ ______ _____ ______ _______ ______ ______

Now I’m guilt stricken, sobbing with my head on the floor
Stop a baby’s breath and a shoe full of rice

I can’t be held responsible
‘Cause she was touching her face
I won’t be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place

13.  

Do I ever cross you mind, anytime?

____ ___ _____ ______ ____ _________ _____ _____ _____
Do I ever cross your mind, anytime?
I miss you

14.  I put my hand up on your hip

______ _____ _____ _____ _____ _____ _______

15.  

If you wanna be with me, baby, there’s a price you pay.
I’m a genie in a bottle, you gotta rub me the right way.
If you wanna be with me, I can make your wish come true.
______ ______ _______ _____ _____ _________, I gotta like what you do

16.  Lil E-Z long gone,
really wish he could come home
But when it’s time to die gotta go bye bye
all ‘lil thug could do was cry, cry
Why’d they kill my dog?
And _____ ____ _____ _____ _____ ______ _______
he shouldn’t be gone
in front of his home
what they did to Boo was wrong ohhhhhh (wrong, wrong)
was so wrong gotta hold on, gotta stay strong,
when the day come better believe Bone got a shoulder you can lean on,
lean on, heeeeeyyyy and we pray and we pray and we pray

17.  I really hate to trip but I gotta know.
As they croak I see myself in the pistol smoke, FOOL.
____ _____ ______ _____ _____ ____ ______ ______ ______ _____ _____
On my knees in the night sayin prayers in the street light.

18.  _____ ______ ______ _______ ______ ______ ______ ______ ______ ______ ______

We could cut ties from all the lies that you’ve been livin’ in

If you do not want to see me again, I would understand

Answers:

1.  From one corner to another

2. I know you don’t know me

3.  When times get hard need someone to help me out

4.  I say goes and I’m in control

5.  whiskey, vodka, cider

6.  get your act together we could be just fine

7.  I don’t want to meet you nowhere

8.  When it’s reveal feelings hard to conceal

9.  Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above

10. i’m wanted in 4 counties for armed robbery

11. crying all alone on the bedroom floor

12.  she a punk who rarely ever took advice

13.  do you ever wake up reaching out for me

14.  when i dip you dip we dip

15.  gotta make a big impression

16.  man i miss my uncle charles yall

17.  i’m the kinda g the little homies wanna be like

18.  i wish you would step back from that ledge my friend

Six Years August 8, 2010

I was the punk dressing girl in the youth group infatuated with the older youth group guy.  I was not who he was looking for or at for at least the next 3 years.  I was singing myself love songs and dreaming about him in true 6th grade fashion.

I became the girl he wanted.  The girl he dated.  The girl he loved.  I became the girl who broke his heart and left him for years and years.  He was the one that always loved me.  I became the girl that loved him again.

We were burning up the interstates from here to Jackson, TN.  for my early college years.  We were late night phone calls and surprise visits to see each other.  We were love-sick and simultaneously date-sick and ready to be together as husband and wife for good.  We were the very young twenty somethings engaged for the longest one year and one month of our lives. I was the proud young twenty year-old with the shiny finger.

We became two honeymooners in a tiny house that we pinched pennies in.  The wife who hated that her husband clogged the toilet EVERY time he went to the bathroom.  The newlyweds who had to spend their second week married living with the in-laws because our floors had to be fixed.  The newlyweds who battled over opening and shutting shower curtains and whether or not we could afford Oreos at the grocery.  We fought there.  Cried there.  Learned how to love there.  It was hard.  It was good.  It was new.  It was vulnerable.

We were the mid-twenties couple who lived in Louisville in a room one bedroom apartment with grouchy people below us and future friends who moved in beside us.  I was the wife that threw his Sudoku book over the balcony at 1 am because I was sick of him playing it.  He was the husband who chased the book downstairs in the wee hours to save his precious book.  We were the couple that went on dates in the city and church waayyyy across town on Sunday.  It was the worst time in our marriage.  It was some of the funnest moments in our marriage.  It was long nights of homework and jobs we did just to get by.  It was the first few years of us.

We became the late twenties couple in the new house that I scamper around always looking for something to decorate.  The heartbroken couple who couldn’t have a baby.  The fulfilled church planters in the projects.  The current parents to sweet baby smiles and challenging baby cries.  We became long walks in the neighborhood at night.  The couple laughing over a newborn and the book we read to help us cope that told us we just needed sleep first and foremost.  It was the first good laugh we had together as parents.

We are six years married.  Better for the worse and blessed for the better.  We are persevering.  We are loving.  We are husband and wife.  Momma and Daddy.  We are babies crying at night but its worth it.  Grills cooking in the summer so momma can rest.  We are the best of friends, perfect match, pushing thirty kind of people.  And I’ve never been more glad that we did this.  Never been more glad or content in life.  Never been more happy it’s with you.

One Heck of a Show-and-Tell August 9, 2010

Not a pony folks...a miniature horse...4 months like Eden. Pretty much full grown.

When the grandparents said they were going to spoil Eden, I was thinking more in terms of gifts at Christmas when she’s older and not so much livestock in infancy.  You know me though, I LOOOVVVEEE animals.  Especially different animals like this miniature horse we have on our hands here.  I will love this horse until Eden learns what animals are and then I’ll pass my animal loving torch to her. 

We haven’t named this little guy yet but not because I haven’t tried.  I take animal naming very seriously.  I think it’s an atrocious crime to name an animal something normal.  All animal names must have personality and it’s usually best if they are funny.  Here’s where I come in….

I thought, everyone knows about Seabuscuit but this horse is the total opposite of Seabiscuit so I thought of….are you ready?  LakeRoll.  It’s hilarious.  What’s your horse’s name?

LakeRoll.  

Awesome.

Lance says it’s hard to say and it doesn’t roll off your tongue.  The awkwardness makes it better in my book.  Unfortunately, he will not be known as LakeRoll.  To everyone else, at least.  Not everyone is ready for such cutting edge ideas.

4 months and 1 week of fabulous August 18, 2010

What We Did While You Worked August 19, 2010

I opened a youtube account.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.   This video makes all of Lance’s hard earned dollars worth it, I”m sure.  Please turn your audio up and enjoy. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3EdacNpDSjI

I’m Hilariousness August 26, 2010

I know this person who lives in this place and works over there who  might work around mentally ill people.  A few weeks ago a man came up to her and rambled on and said, “I would like a bat to eat.  A medium bat.”  She said, “I don’t think I’d eat a bat.”  He said again, “I would like a bat to eat.”  She said she really felt bad telling him he couldn’t eat a bat.  I told her the first time is always the hardest.

Lance says that rap songs aren’t good music because they are disposable and that the test of a good song is if it stands the test of time.  What in the world do I care about a song I’ll still want to listen to when I’m 80?  The point is, “Does it make me shake my fanny?”  If the answer is yes then that’s all the classic I need.  In fact, I’ll do you one better.  If I’m still listening to these songs when I’m 80 I’ll be the coolest old geezer around.

Have you ever waved at the wrong person out in public and then said  ‘nevermind’ when you realized it was a stranger.  It’s kind of like saying, “I take back my wave because I’d hate to waste it on someone I don’t know.  I’m afraid I’m going to need that back, sir.”

Another good story about the aforementioned nameless girl who works with people somewhere…..  She was in her office with the door closed and he came by and yelled by her door, “It’s a protect your favorite Jesus contest!”  I sure hope Jesus-Jesus won.  I bet that winner got to eat a medium bat.

Breastfed and bottle fed babies are sort-of like dogs when it comes to eating.  You don’t want them to get a taste of table food because once they do, they’ll be begging for yours.

I often wonder how many times God hears a night, “Please let this baby go to sleep.”  Two or three, at least.

People like to sweetly say, “Lets get our babies together so they can play.”  I hope by ‘play’ they mean lay next to each other on the floor and kick their legs totally unconcerned that there is another baby over there.   If that’s play then by golly let them play!  It’s kind of like saying, “Lets get our hermit crabs together for a good time.”

Lots of people pick their nose at intersections like they have the super-power of invisibility.  When someone sticks their hands out their window and rolls their fingers, we all know, don’t we? 

There are lots of things I appreciate about Kroger.  To name one, me likes their excellent produce section.  But what about those rumble strips between the doors and the parking lot?  You know those concrete strips with all those raised bumps.  Taking your baby over those things in a shopping cart is as smooth as rolling your baby down the side of a rocky mountain.  Just in case your baby didn’t hate the grocery enough…how about a seizure?

Lard Butts August 29, 2010

 

http://www.mymodernmet.com/profiles/blogs/everything-you-need-to-know

Modern Day Humpty Dumpty August 26, 2010

If any of you are looking for someone to birth your baby for you…look elsewhere.  I loved giving birth but the ole’ baby factory is out of business.  Literally.  Even though it’s been 4 1/2 months, me lady acts like it was just yesterday that I squeezed out my delicious baby.  I have gone to the doctor so many times that they should name an exam room in my honor.  I go so often and love everyone there so much that I actually look forward to going.  That is a far cry from the girl who went at 16 and felt like she just had to walk around the mall naked.  Traumatized.

So buddies, after 4 1/2 months of giving my body time to heal, 3 medicines, and 3 exams, I, Rebecca Broken Bottom, am going to have to have surgery in the southern lands next week.  Woo HOOOOOOOOO! 

When I gave birth I was so excited because I didn’t have an episiotomy.  I really didn’t want one.  Apparently, (men cover your ears)  I tore around there anyways so I did have stitches unbeknownst to me.  Somewhere in the process of tearing, sewing, and healing, something went a rye.  I believe there are messed up nerves but I was confused about it all by the time I left.  SO how is it going to be fixed?  I have to go in and have an episiotomy without even giving birth!  They are going to cut me open, do me some fixin’, and sew me back up again.  Anyone who has had a baby knows what that means….no toielt paper for 6 weeks,  continued abstinence but hey, we are used to that now, a water bottle sprayer every time I go the bathroom, pain sitting and standing, and how could I forgot the feeling of sitting on a knife?  Actually, I did forget.  When she first told me I was going to have surgery I was like, “YES!  A mommy break!”  It’s sad when you look forward to surgery so you can get some sleep and TLC.  I get to lay in a hospital bed for 8 hours while sipping hospital juice.  Livin’ the good life baby.  I told the doctor, “If surgery is how I can have a break then cut me up sister!”  She smiled and said, “I’ve never seen someone so excited for surgery!”  I was temporarily happy for the break and, of course, for a solution for my baby garden but then I remembered the toilet paper and the Tucks pads and worst of all….having to go to the bathroom.  

After it’s all said and done, I’ll have to take 6 weeks to heal and then go for another check-up. The tally for this whole having children event goes like this:  2 years of infertility, one laprascopic surgery, one test at the hospital, one pregnancy, 6 ultrasounds, one miscarriage scare, one labor, one baby, post partum depression, 6 1/2 months of exams and healing, and at the end of the day we all eat cake and laugh.  hahahahahahahaha. Lance shall fear the bearing children from my loins from this day forward.

Goodbye toilet paper.  I’ll miss you.

Pre-Painin’ August 31, 2010

Once upon a time we were friends and you sat innocently in my jeans. Then I tore a baby head through you and now you won’t even talk to me. This is getting ugly. Watch it. They’ll turn on you.

It reminds me of an old, weird Blind Melons song…

Once there was this girl who
had a little baby and then she couldn’t procreate them
And when she finally saw why
she…
had…
red marks all over her “body”
Never could explain it
They always seemed to beeeeeeeee thereeeee….

Ummm mmmm mmm mmm umm mmm mmm mmm…..

If you don’t know that song then it’s just best you never know what you missed out on.

I’m thinking I’ll sing that song tomorrow before my surgery as a way to express my feelings and relieve some stress like Mary Katherine Gallagher doing a monologue. I can’t believe this time tomorrow night I will be hyped on pain killers and not even able to sit-up straight while Lance holds our baby and she cries for me because she wonders why in the broken crotches I just won’t get up and get her. It’s gonna be hard on all of us, kid. Speaking of that kid, I think she should have to pay for my surgery since it’s on account of her head circumference.

Now that I’ve wasted your time with this blog, spend the rest of your day redeeming your wasted time and pray for my surgery to work tomorrow. This is the final frontier, the fat lady singing, the beginning of the vaginal end. If this doesn’t work then I will need to order a new one. How else can I replenish the earth with cute babies if not with an adequate baby portal? And what about Lance? His might turn on him too if mine keeps turning on me and then things would really be out of hand. Poooooooor body parts.  This is sad story.

But seriously, get ahold of yourself and keep me as the focus here.

If any of you want to talk to me while I’m on sedatives then call me around mid-day tomorrow at 567-0345. That’s not really my number but you could talk to someone else who you can’t catch broken crotch from.

So here I go a splicing and dicing, a clippin and a cloppin’, a cuttin’ and a buttin’. Chitty chitty bang bang.

Hopefully in six weeks from now I’ll be singing oh blah dee, oh blah dah. If not, send me flowers. Or breathable large panties.

The Slippery Truth September 5, 2010

Four-score and 7 years ago, I got married and made a registry.  On this said registry, I made the executive decision to zap some health concisous items onto my gift list.  For starters, I picked glass tupperware to eliminate the problem of chemicals secreating into my food when heated.  Also, it would last me all the moons of my life.  Secondly, I chose stainless steel cookware and forfeited the conveinence of non-stick for scrubbing pans and sticky bacon.  WHY you ask me WHY?  Because Teflon, which is the non-stick coating, started having major problemas years ago.  ABC covered how all the workers in and around the plant were having children with major, major deformities and it was attributed to the Teflon in the plant.  They’ve been sued a bajillion times but still kick it because we love food to fall off our pans.  Did you know all Americans have detectable levels of Teflon in their blood streams?  Oddly enough, I was watching Good Morning America last week and a vet was on talking about health risks posed to your pets by household items.  The vet said if you have a pet bird that you should not even own anything non-stick in your house.  The birds can smell the chemical secreated by the Teflon when it’s heated and it kills them cold.  We breath it in and it soaks in our food but we don’t smell or taste it.  There is actually something called Teflon flu which is getting sick from the Teflon “fumes” when cooking giving you, well….flu symptoms.  Below are two short articles from different links.  The second is from the EPA www. epa.gov on Teflon.  The real deal Lucille.  As you’ll see, Dupont, the manufactuerer of Teflon, is required to have it removed from all products by 2015.  That’s wonderful and it says a lot about how safe it’s been for us.  Good thing we’ve been using it solid for 20 years prior!  Gross baskets.

The Health Risks of Teflon

An article from the Chicago Tribune posted on Yahoo News points out some of the recent fears that teflon may cause birth defects, cancer, and just about everything else. Yeah – teflon. The one that allows you slackers to cook eggs without having to clean up the mess.

Specifically, the risk is about PFOA, the primary component of Teflon that gives it’s non-stick properties. This chemical accumulates in the bodies of people and isn’t quickly eliminated. In animal tests, high levels of PFOA caused all sorts of problems. According to the article, DuPont scientists warned company officials about exposure to PFOA as early as 1961:
One document detailed how DuPont scientists started warning company executives to avoid human contact with PFOA as early as 1961. Industry tests later determined the chemical accumulates in the body, doesn’t break down in the environment and causes ailments in animals, including cancer, liver damage and birth defects.
The EPA is on the case, but says consumers can continue to use their non-stick cookware and other items. They’re investigating whether or not DuPont had withheld evidence about the negative effects of PFOA during the past 50 years. For it’s part, DuPont of course denies that they did anything wrong, as Teflon and PFOA aren’t classified as toxic.

However, the article points out that as part of a recent settlement, DuPont is settings up water treatment plants to handle the highly PFOA-contaminated water supplies around it’s manufacturing plant in an Ohio valley, so it’s obvious that some sort of “safe” level had been passed. Indeed, the article states that in several studies, PFOA levels in some children were about the same as that which induced the reported problems in animal tests.

Great – makes me want to toss the teflon-coasted pan with the scratches in it. Expect the huge class-action lawsuits to start any day now. Everyone who has bought a teflon pan or Gore-Tex jacket in the past 50 years will end up getting like $8.

Posted: Tue – January 18, 2005 at 04:03 PM Toast442.org Random News Previous Next Feedback

The following info is from the EPA website:

Perfluorooctanoic acid (PFOA), also known as “C8,” is a synthetic chemical that does not occur naturally in the environment. It has special properties that have many important manufacturing and industrial applications. EPA has been investigating PFOA because it:

• Is very persistent in the environment
• Is found at very low levels both in the environment and in the blood of the general U.S. population
• Remains in people for a very long time
• Causes developmental and other adverse effects in laboratory animals.

 

Major pathways that enable PFOA, in very small quantities, to get into human blood are not yet fully understood. PFOA is used to make fluoropolymers and can also be released by the tranformation of some fluorinated telomers. However, consumer products made with fluoropolymers and fluorinated telomers, including Teflon® and other trademark products, are not PFOA. Rather, some of them may contain trace amounts of PFOA and other related perfluorinated chemicals as impurities. The information that EPA has available does not indicate that the routine use of consumer products poses a concern. At present, there are no steps that EPA recommends that consumers take to reduce exposures to PFOA.

In 2006, EPA and the eight major companies in the industry launched the 2010/15 PFOA Stewardship Program, in which companies committed to reduce global facility emissions and product content of PFOA and related chemicals by 95 percent by 2010, and to work toward eliminating emissions and product content by 2015

In 2006, EPA and the eight major companies in the industry launched the 2010/15 PFOA Stewardship Program, in which companies committed to reduce global facility emissions and product content of PFOA and related chemicals by 95 percent by 2010, and to work toward eliminating emissions and product content by 2015.

(Hey, it’s me again.  I find it interesting that the EPA at this point recommends no guideline for restricting the use of the product yet will have it eliminated in all products by 2015.  I’d say that’s a pretty big insiuation on restricting this chemical.  I’m just sayin’ you can’t get more restricted than eliminating.

Post Painin’ September 2, 2010

Once there was this girl who

went to the hospital and had her gina cut, yeah

and when she finally saw it

she…

had…

bruises all over her body

She really could explain it

They knifed up my vagiiiiiiiiinaaaaaaaa

Ummmmmm mmmmm mmm mmmm mmm mmm mmm mmmmmm

So it is finished.  Cuts have been made.  Flesh has been removed.  Stitches applied.  Let the healing begin. 

All in all it was not a bad experience.  I was really giddy before hand because you have to have a good time with it.  I took glorious pictures of my self in my cap, gown, and booties.  Too bad you don’t have pic texts or I would’ve sent you a hospital montage.  I used the word vagina an un-necessary amount of times with as many of the staff as I could.    It was an experience.  I’m sure I was an experience for them.  Your welcome.

I asked about every nurse that I saw if I would have to get naked for the surgery and I kept getting told ‘yes’.  One nurse told me ‘no’ so I went with that one.  I’m sure I was naked as a jay bird when it went down but once I was out…and boy did I get put out….what man can really care about their attire?

I learned that they tape your eyes shut during surgery.  Creepy.  They said your eyes don’t close naturally so they tape them.  If you have a really long surgery they actually put Vaseline on your eyeballs!  That’s so they don’t dry out while they are taped shut.  Furthermore, that’s why you can’t wear contacts during surgery because your eyes will be taped and they said you can get an abrasion.  Interestinggggggg…….

Before they rolled me out to surgery I heard Lance ask the very young looking anesthesiologist  how long he had been doing this?  He said, “Do you really want to know the answer?”

Ohhhhh brother.

He did good though because I was three sheets to the wind.  Whatever that expression means. 

I remember going into the operating room and trying to look around at everything while intoxicated on a drug cocktail and I remember getting on the operating table.  Then it all fades to black.  The only things I remember in hindsight is being in recovery in a room with a bunch of people and a man next to me was moaning in pain.  I told the nurse, “He’s really getting on my nerves.”  I didn’t think of saying it at the time because I was just like, hey, he’s getting on my nerves. You know what they say though, “Many a truth is spoken in drugs…”  Wait, what?

Also, I have a memory of holding Eden and thinking, “I’m holding the biggest Michael Jackson fan in the world.  Can you believe I got to have the biggest Michael Jackson fan?”   I was feeling pretty lucky.  I’m assuming I was thinking that because they talked about that drug that killed Michael prior to me getting my drugs but let me just feel lucky in the one precious moment where I was selected to bear the biggest fan of Mr. Jackson.

Rumor has it that I also talked to my doctor.  The operative word there would be ‘talked’ because I have no recollection of ever seeing her after surgery much less talking to her.  I shouldn’t have been allowed to do that.  One may only guess what I might’ve said.  I probably cried and told her I loved her. 

Anyways, here I sit on the day after becoming a new vaginally expressive woman.  Lance says my blog has resorted to vagina humor but I don’t think there’s enough of that out there these days.  Plus, my life has only seemed to be, in fact, about vaginas so it’s proper that I speak of it.

Although my gina is literally black and blue and cut and stitched….I actually feel waaaaayyyyy better than I did after giving birth with those post- baby stitches.  I’m assuming the 7 1/2 pound, 20 inch baby added to that but also, the problem seemed to be that my nerves got stitched into my suchers which has been my issue ever since.  That’s why she reopened me, cut some bad flesh off, and lightly sewed my back up again.  Can you imagine having needles in your crotch nerves?  Me too.

There’s not much more I can ask for though.  I’m pretty comfortable and it’s better than it was AND I’m enjoying a sedated mommy break.  If only I could be on drugs all the time then I would be the illest, chillest around.  I have a check-up in 2 weeks and then 4 more weeks of healing and then we will see if it did the trick.  Vaginas crossed!

Sleepy Town: No Vacancy September 7, 2010

It’s 11:15 pm and I sigh and pick-up a half-eaten bag of popcorn that I really didn’t need. I step over the pile of “should’ve put up three days ago things” and survey the massacre that is my living room. Many a piece of clothing and food paraphernalia have been dying slow deaths there ever since I had a baby.

Sigh.

I stayed up too late, again. And I napped too long during the day. I spend my day so tired that I have to nap. I have to nap instead of clean because if I don’t, I’ll be useless to all humanity. Then I get a much-needed surge of energy around the time I put my baby down and then I’m faced with a choice: clean or actually get some veg time or go to sleep early to help with the next day or have some time to myself. The choice is obvious….go to bed and clean first. You must be cracked out of your mind!!! Relaxing wins. Wins every time. Just like a moose in a staring contest.

I hate the cycle though. The dirty house leads to stress which leads to avoidance which leads to overwhelmed which leads to more exhausted which leads to celebrations of chocolate cookies in the pantry. We were designed to get fat after babies and only about 45 percent is attributed to the actual baby.  The rest is attributed to “I deserve it celebrations”.  Starbucks has never seen so much of my money.

Sigh.

What is happening to my life? I use to be productive and active. I use to be….awake. If you are tired it’s like your day didn’t really happen. It’s living in a fog where you just live for the break. Of course, not all days are like that but at minimum, a day where I don’t need and thus, take a nap is a miracle. The days are so long and tiring.  I watch baby movies, listen to baby music in the car, talk in broken baby English, I take naps, I’m lazy. Wait a second, am I becoming a baby?

There are still some days where I feel post-partumish. I actually stopped my pills and started again after I went all Exorcist on Lance and then walked around the mall by myself starting to cry and then stopping again. I’m really glad no one talked to me because I just would’ve cried. Why did no one talk to me? Did they not think I could talk back? Really, am I a baby? No seriously because I wouldn’t mind a diaper. Just gives me one less thing to do in a day.

I should also counter all this and say that I fully enjoy Eden now. There are days where I feel like I’m living exactly what I dreamed motherhood would be like. I love that she can laugh, roll, screech with excitement at my coolness, and I love watching her do new tricks. Having a 5 month-old really shows me that newborns are WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY over-rated.  Newborns are for other people’s enjoyment.   My brother-in-law says we shouldn’t call them babies because they are just blobs that can’t do anything. They can’t even look at you! He’s coined the phrase for babies as post-fetus. =0) For realsies, they are cute and tiny and they sleep during the day as much as you wish your baby would now on a really tiring day BUT they are the most demanding wrinkly fleshballs and they drain you and drain you and then slurp up your last drop and then they cry again. I know I had postpartum and I still managed to love my baby during that time but seriously, how does anyone do it? Praise the Lord they really do change so quickly and they get more fun and fun and then funnest and the most funnestest.

But boy does that fun come with bags under your eyes, crotch stitches, and a 20 ton car seat.

I wonder if I will ever reach a point where I feel re-charged most of the time.  Sometimes I seriously doubt my ability to handle 2 kids but for better or worse, here they come vagina!  Not now of course but one day.  Motherhood is too precious to only do once.  But someone lie to me and tell me you do feel rested again. 

I guess I should do something for myself and go clean and sleep.  Just kidding.  I meant watch Dating in the Dark. What kind of person watches that anyways…..

(awkward silence)

(I exit the room.)

How to Survive a Newborn like I Kind-Of Did September 12, 2010

When you are a new mom everyone has advice. Sometimes you say, “Why that’s fantastic advice!” Other times you just nod and hope they don’t ask you if you did it later.

Since I am the recent somewhat survivor of a newborn, I figured I should post what I shall call

Rebecca’s Most Fabulous Survivor Guide Advice Encyclopedia Extravaganza of Living with a Newborn Jubilee:

First Step:

You betta get out of my room, son

This is an easy one to remember because it means get your baby out of your room.  Eden lived by our bed for approximately 2 weeks 10 minutes and 5.8 seconds.  Some people love having their babies in their room and, in some ways, it’s convenient.  In some ways you want to roll off your bed and hit your head on something hard so you can black out and be alone for a second.  Mmmmm, peaceful serenity. 

Eden’s pack and play was right up against our bed which means, hey, I can get you fast.  It also means, hey, I hear every grunt and snort and I’m awake all night long like a solider on high alert. 

I’d go into my room BAM….baby crap everywhere and in a way, that’s literal.  Diaper volcanos, passies, boob feeding paraphenelia….there was no escaping.  Every room in the house was drowning in babies I tell you!

One of the best things we did for ourselves was get our one little space back to ourselves.  It gave us some normalcy and big fat fantastic deep breath.  You need something of your own since not even your boobs are at the moment.  It made me less anxious too not having to hear or rather “listen” for her every breath.  So when you feel ready, kick your baby to her crib and say, “This room is mine!  Bwah hahahahahahaha!”  That’s what monitors are for.

Step 2:

I always feel like someone is watching me….mom

That’s clever of me  because this step involves monitoring your baby but, may I suggest the beauty which is a video monitor?  I think everyone needs a video monitor.  If you are a high-strung Type-A-er then it’s not an option for you.  If you are being anxious with your baby…again…not an option.  Plus, eyes in the back of your head are ugly.  Cameras look better.

At night when you feel like you need to check on your baby constantly, why get up when you can just roll over and see your baby?  I don’t disturb my baby. I don’t disturb me.  I could stay up all night worrying about if a blanket is on her face, was that a baby cry or am I hearing things, or is my bob cat breaking into her room? All common fears.   All I have to do is look and see if she’s sound asleep or rolling around.  I can take it outside with me and still see and hear her.  I can buy more than one camera for multiple rooms for when I have other babies.  I can use them when they are toddlers and I can put one in their dorm rooms one day and watch them from home.  Hopefully.

These little hand held TV guys have saved my legs from needless trips, my mind from worrying thoughts, and kept me sane in the membrane.  Video monitors…..they aren’t just for babies.  They’re for you.   Now that’s goooooooodddd.

Step 3:

I Run This Place, Fool

You are momma.  Hear yourself cry at night because you are so tired roar!!!!!    You and only you know what you are comfortable with doing and trying with your new baby.  If you don’t want to let your baby cry, then don’t.  If you want to name your baby Sir Charles Soggybottoms, then I would be honored to meet his majesty.  If you want to rock your baby to sleep every night, then get to swayin’. If you like to breastfeed, do it.  If you can’t and use formula, tell me so I’ll feel better about myself. 

You will hear tons of advice and it will all be different and people will feel really strong about what worked for them but YOU know your baby and what you feel like you can do.  Every baby is different and every mom and family is too so like the great rappers say, “do you, player…do you”.

When I was pregnant, I heard BabyWise enough times to make me want to make everyone unwise with a concussion.  For me, my baby is unwise.  For you, you may like a wiser baby but I chose a different method for getting my baby to sleep.  I’d rather hold my baby before she goes to bed at night because I cherish those fleeting moments.  Those times are special to me.  So I did me.  I can’t let my baby cry for too terribly long which is funny because I could let other people’s baby cry…..mmmmmm….interesting.  Anyhow, we do what works for us.  Don’t feel guilty.  There isn’t a wrong way.  No way is better than your own.  Unless someone else’s way is not letting their baby play with plastic bags or knives or something.  In that case, their way is best.

Step 4:

I can give you more.  (Just kidding that’s Step 4 in New Kids on the Block Step-by-Step song)

Mister Sandman, Will you accept my rose? 

I say sleep like you may never sleep again.  I say that because, it’s true.  And I’m not talking about the advice people give you pre-baby when they say, “Sleep now because you won’t later!”  As if you can stock pile sleep by doing that but ANYWAYS, I mean sleep as much as you can when you have your baby.  I had a hard time with this namely because I went to PostPartum paradise and I was so anxious that I couldn’t sleep and would have panic attacks if I did fall asleep like 30 minutes into my nap BUT if I could’ve slept I bet that would’ve been smart.

Of all the advice out there about brining home your first baby, ‘sleep when they sleep’ is the best advice to me.  My sister told me, “Take a nap whenever you can because you never know what the night will bring.”  Truer words have never been said.  Eden is five months old and just a few days ago she laid down for a nap and, even though I didn’t feel like I had to have one, I laid down anyways and we slept for 3 hours.  Fast forward to that night, she was an out of the blue teething terror and I only got 3-4 hours of sleep that night.  That nap I could’ve skipped saved me at least 1 Xanax. =0)

Although it’s hard for me, let the cleaning go when you can, turn the phone off, close the curtains, and snooze it out, G.  You can’t clean, be a good mom, a good wife, worker, or whatever you are if you don’t sleep.  You can’t even be good for yourself.  If you choose to wear PJs well into the day,  this is good for comfort and you are also ready for a shut-eye at a moment’s notice.  Let not a second be wasted! 

Step 5:

Don’t you know that your time has arrived (It’s those ole’ rascally New Kids again.)

Yes, Please, Thank you, My Dear aka Here’s My Baby See Ya Later

People, if you are lucky enough, are going to help in some sort of way.  Examples:  Let me bring you dinner.  Let me clean your house.  Let me give you company.  Let me buy you a gift.  Let me babysit while you nap.  Let me take your baby. Or my favorite, “Don’t write me a thank you letter.”  When people tell me that I’m like well okay then, sister.  There is a sweet old lady who made a blanket who told me that and she is still not waiting for a thank you and I’m still glad it was one less thing to do.  We are both winners.

The answer is YES to any help offered!  This is actually hard to do for a lot of people including myself but TAKE IT.  When your baby is 6 months old you will have no free dinners, no gifts, and possibly, fewer people to watch your baby.  Do it now!  It’s like baby Christmas and everyone is your Santa Claus.  Don’t get on the naughty list.  As long as it’s reasonable and you feel comfy with it, be a YES man.  I couldn’t believe how helpful help was.  It was helpable. 

Step 6:

And now for my disappearing act….

Can you see me cause I’m disappearing right now like abracadabra.  In this step you will be instructed to disappear and have time to yourself on a daily basis.  Maybe you feel like getting out of the house for a date or just a quick errand. Maybe you feel like knitting an eye-catching parka.  If you are like me, walks and showers were all about me.  I have never enjoyed my 15 minute shower to myself more in my entire life. I mean splish-splash I was taking a bath. Getting some time alone or with your spouse away from baby is a non-negotiable.  It is top two along with sleep in baby survival jubilee. 

Step 7:

Daddies Don’t Have Boobies, They Have Legs and Hands

Daddies are made for helping and that’s just what they’ll do.  One of these days these daddies are gonna help all over you.  Enlist the services of your husband or baby daddy in any way you can.  They are equal parents, even if you carry the milky goods.  Work the pants off of them.  Hopefully, you don’t have to ask.  If you don’t have a husband, or I suppose even if you do, build up a support system of friends, moms, buddies, whoever.  You will need whoever you can get.  Start with your spouse if you have one though because are right there with you and they are good for bottle making, feet rubbing, diaper changing, tear wiping, errand running, baby bouncing, baby walking, movie getting, taking the baby so you can nap kind of guys.  If they aren’t, kick them swiftly in the groin and call a woman whose pushed out a baby before. 

Step 8:

All Good Hamsters Come to an End

You will feel like a hamster on a wheel for a little bit.  Yes, it’s the same routine every two to three hours day and night and time slips into time and you are just sleep dazed going through the motions.  Encouraged yet?  The good news is…hamsters die really fast.  That’s good news unless you were my hamster that met his demish in the toilet…RIP, Sugar.  Sugar like his name not sugar like a term of endearment.

I remember when I was losing my mind with Eden…you know way back a few months ago….and people kept telling me it would get better.  It’s SO hard to believe.  Why would it get better?  You do the same thing and the baby needs the same thing so what’s gonna be different?  Then they tell you the first 4-8 weeks are the hardest and then you want to run  into your yard and build a large help sign out of rocks so maybe a helicopter will see you and swoop down  and take you away.  During the rough time, 4-8 weeks sounds like you just said 15-20 years.  You think,”I can’t do this one more night muchless weeks!”  But it does change.  It changes without warning and that’s what you have to remember when it logically seems like it won’t.  They change quickly.  One night for no reason at all they will sleep for 5-6 hours instead of 3…even though you couldn’t see it coming.  Your day or week can change with one helpful friend or a really restoring nap that helps you get through the next day and so on… 

For example, I’ve been super tired with Eden because she quit sleeping through the night a few months ago but for no rhyme or reason this week, she dropped all her night feedings.  SO sleepless friends, even when there’s no reason to think it will change, it will.  Just remember, you are a hamster and hamsters kill over in no time.

Step 9:

Ignore steps 1-9 if you don’t like them.  Ain’t nobody that can throw it down like you.

Bottle Rocket Dimple Dogs September 28, 2010

When I was a kid….

1.  I watched my brother shoot a bootle rocket up his forearm on purpose.  No, wait, it wasn’t on purpose. 

2.  My mom exploded the lawn mower on fire and our yard caught on fire and the ole’ firetrucks came.  Also, she fryed her brows. 

3.  My brother had me stick my finger in an electric pencil sharpener.  Good news is I’ve never had such a pointy pinky.  At least it wasn’t my pointer or that’d be really out of control.  I’d be pointin’ at everything with my razor-sharp sting-ray finger.

4.  I strangled my brother’s goldfish.  It was an accident.

5.  Our curtains caught on fire one Christmas.  We were determined to burn our house down one way or another.

6.  We had a praying mantis give birth to hundreds of mantis children in our living room.  They were dust busted to death.  It was violent.

7. My dog got “bumped” by the school bus while it was moving and lived to die getting hit by a regular car.

8.  My sister gave me two movie theatre stubs and told me and my friend to go get ready because they were two front row seats for us to see New Kids on the Block that night!  We screamed.  We bolted to my room to get ready.  I dreamed that Joey would pull me on stage to sing to me during a love song.  Then, my mom told me that my sister had played a mean joke on me.  She told my sister that she had to do something nice for me to make-up for it.  She went into the kitchen and wadded-up a ball of marshmallows and threw it at my head.  

Same thing. 

9.  My sister and I ran into wake-up my mom because we thought our pet fish were dying.  They were pooping.  How was I supposed to know what that looked like.  I was innocent.

10.  I stole someone elses dog and renamed it and everything and took care of it.  I played with it religiously for one week.  I named him Benji in a moment of raging creativity.  Then one day I was in my yard playing with Benji and two people walked by and said, “Come here, Sam!”  Then he ran off with his real owners and didn’t even say thank you.  And he humped my boy dog.  I should’ve sued.

11.  I grabbed a visitor’s butt once while they hung in one of our trees.  As I ran off laughing, I slipped and skid across the deck and my cheek ran into the corner of the steps.  I got a dimple in that cheek only.  I mean it.

12.  You know what happened tonight and not when I was a kid?  Well, all these cats have been disappearing in our neighborhood because of coyotes that live in the woods nearby.  Tonight, Majesty Bob came back after being gone a few weeks and now and I’m extra relieved to see him because I’m afraid he’s gonna get eaten.  I looked at Bob while Lance was in the room with me and spoke for the cat and said, “Coyotes, WHAT?!!!!”  And Lance got real quite and said, “Maybe he’s the coyote….” 

OOOOOOOOooooooo, now that’s a twist. 

It’s like a murder mystery film except for the lead role isn’t played by a mysterious man but by a half bob cat with big man jewels.  Yeah.  Big coyote cat jewels.

Marvel September 15, 2010

I love meeting people from other parts of the world because they do things that we think are weird. For example, Lance and I made a good friend when we lived in Louisville from Ethopia. He had only been in the states about 5 years or less so he was very Ethiopian. One night we had him over for dinner and every time he ate his corn on the cob he would put it on the table. He didn’t do this with any other food items, just the corn. It was enjoyably and fantastically weird. He probably went home that night and called his parents and said, “Jidlsl kddhile djoidnjl” (translation)

I went to eat at these weird American’s house and they put their corn on their plates! Hahahahahahahahaha.

All jokes aside, I loved the guy and he was/is one of the most sincere and genuinely happy people that I’ve ever met.
It was crazy to talk to him about America and Ethiopians perception of America and easily one of my favorite things to hear him talk about because it’s so interesting. With his thick African accent he said that in his country they picture America as a dream land. He told me when he first arrived at Seminary and saw the green grass, pretty buildings, people throwing a frisbee in the grass, and reading books under trees that he thought, “This is just how I dreamed it would be.”

And then he went to downtown Louisville….just kidding. He probably did go downtown at some point, though.

He told us that he worked at Walmart to provide for his mother and siblings because when the head of the household dies, the eldest boy cares for the rest of the family and that was him.  He worked at Walmart and supported himself  AND a family in Africa.  Wow.  Now that’s the way a family should be: sacrificially helping everyone to the best of your ability.

He also said that where he’s from, they pay dowries for their wives to their future father-in-laws for their daughter’s hand in marriage.  He was actually getting ready to pay one himself but I forget what it was going to be.  He said it could be different things like digging a well or some sort of livestock.  Now that I think about it, Lance owes my dad a goat or two.  However, I think I’m worth at least 2 high-end donkies.

Anyways, moving on….

Another interesting story is one about a missionary who had the chance to bring a tribal man with him back to America. I forget the country he came from but the people group he was from had never seen books, buildings, or any form of ANYTHING modern-day. He is from a people group that is very, very elusive and “wild” in a sense. It’s too long of story to tell as to how he was able to penetrate that group and get a man to the states for a visit so I’ll just jump to the point…..

I watched a video of the man talking about going to a fast-food joint through the drive-thru. He was explaining to the people back in his tribe that you can drive up to these houses and they will open their window and hand you warm food. The missionary tried to explain that he gave them a card that is used like money to buy the food and the native said, “Aw but then they just give it right back to you.”

He went on to tell his family that he went into these huge storehouses where they have piles and piles and rows of rows of food just sitting there.  One man said upon visiting a supermarket that he thought animals ran this place because of the rows and rows of animal food. 

He wife went on to say in their language in response to these stories that now her husband is lazy and fat and just wants to sit under the trees instead of going to kill dinner for them. She laughed but I’m pretty sure he had to sleep by the pineapple bush that night.

It’s crazy to think that Walmart is a fantasy for some people when most of us avoid it like the plague.  Wild to think of houses that hand you hot food as prime cuisine.  It’s bizarre to think of America as a wonderland. Not that I don’t think we are blessed beyond reason, but I don’t think many of us comprehend the blessing that is our country. I’m positive we can’t see it with as much wonder.

It’s a shame really.

We have so much that it’s almost to our disadvantage which I’m sure is a concept even harder to grasp but people from smaller third world countries. I’m aware we have great need here and poverty here. I see it every time I go to our church in the projects so I know there are people here among us who have great loss, desire, and wonder for the things we have. I remember when some of the kids around our church came to Lance and I’s house. It’s 1400 square feet which is modest by most US standards. When they came in, they thought it was a mansion. It was decorated. It was really different from their government housing with concrete tile floors. I heard one of them point out to another kid that our microwave hung above the stove and how he thought that was  pretty impressive. See what I mean? We are so advantaged even within our own bubbles in the states that if you made me make a list of what makes my house an exceptional blessing, I would never have put: microwave hangs above stove. Most everything we take for granted is something that would be a gift to someone else. Clothes that are 6 years old with pilling and faded spots: a blessing. The can food or box dinner that you’ve had in your cabinets forever that you always pick up, gag, and put back up: a blessing. Our gifts have impaired us as much as they’ve “freed” us. They’ve freed us from struggle but enslaved us to the desire for more and made us blind to what we even do have.

One time I heard a man say that he went to Africa on a mission trip and he saw men and women praying for rain fervently. They pray with passion. Their love was oozing and apparent. Their trust for God was blatant.

The man asked one of the church members what the difference was between American christians and the people in that church that day. I’ll never forget what he said,

“In America you love God. In Africa we depend on Him.”

To a christian, I’m not sure there is much more a common word spoken that is that humbling. I’m also not sure that love and dependence on God are separable but maybe that was his point too. He is so right. 

You can’t be more blinded by blessings than when you have so much that you feel like you don’t need to depend and trust the Lord because your things have already given you enough security.  What is there to trust for?  Certainly not rain.  I have a sprinkler.

So today, may you see all that you have. 

Look at Walmart like an incredible storehouse of food that holds in a day more food than 50 villages will see and taste in a lifetime.  Bite your tongue when you want to complain when all you have to do to get that food is stand in a line….not walk miles…not hope that you find an animal to kill.  I know a girl who went to a third-world country and cried every time she went in Walmart for months.    I’m not recommending daily crying sessions at Walmart.  Just a grateful heart will do.

May you wonder at highly placed microwaves and garbage disposals and a blasted car that is failing you daily. Let us all think of what we have, know that it’s fleeting, know that security can’t be found there, and trust the God who gave it to us in the first place. 

Marvel that all these things are common to you. 

Marvel that you’ve been given the opportunity to have because we don’t deserve it anymore than Ethiopians.

How blessed we all are.

Wedding Extraodinaire September 19, 2010

You can learn a lot of things on the wedding dance floor. You can learn how bad old people dance. You can learn about the weird person dancing by themselves who doesn’t realize that they are lacking in the killer moves department. But praise the Lord for these people because they just keep on being happy and watching them keeps on making everyone else happy and who doesn’t love when everyone wins? It’s a double blessing. Even more of a blessing is that I got to dance with one of those people this very night at my buddy, Cristen’s, throw down.  However, they started doing all my moves and I was afraid people would be confused of who was copying who.  It was a risk but I kept on dancing.

I learned something about myself on the dance floor tonight.

1-My dance moves are still party stopping.
2-I still know every rap song which is an honor not to take lightly.
3-How out of shape I am was reinforced by the said rap songs and I attempted to move melodiously and bust out lyrical rhymes. I’d be like….Shoop that (gasp for breath) Shoop (wheezing) Shoop (shake hips lightly to the side)
4-I learned a new way to tell if you are fat or out of shape. All you need to do is a simple jump. I was out doing some trendy new fist pumps while jumping and I thought, “What in the kangaroo is going on in my belly?”
I jumped and a lower pouch emerged in a forceful giggle pattern. It had been there all along waiting for the perfect Black Eyed Peas song to reveal itself.

I guess this means I should hit the dance floor at a more frequent rate to eliminate some excess skin and Eden carrying weight. I could dance and then every few weeks build up to a nice jump to re-evaluate. But hey…if my tah-tahs don’t move and my fanny already drags the ground, at least something is moving. Although, I would be fine if only my legs moved. I guess this whole body wants to dance.  It’s understandable.

Seriously, everyone should do a powerful jump tonight in loose-fitting clothes to see what it reveals.  You might have more rolly poly than you ever imagined.

Once I discovered the new demise of my body, I laughed about it.  Then I went to the candy buffet twice, the cake table once, and I believe that I was the first person to eat the caramel apples off the tables.  Maybe there were a few kids eating them under the tables in secret but I was probably the first adult.  I was probably the only one who encouraged my husband’s suggestion to take a few for the road.  What would my dear friend’s family do with 100 extra apples?  If they were smart, sneak some out in their kangaroo pouches.  That’s the answer to that question.

At the end of the night, the wedding was a sensational hit and the coolest wedding I have ever seen.  Good job, Cristen.  You are a wedding extraordinaire.

Also, I got to wear some killer boots.  I would’ve never bought these on my own but Cristen put these on us and I said, “Genius!”

Here are two examples of genius:

Here is an example of friendship:

That was also the extraordinaire herself.

This is an example of a kangaroo:

A very sexy kangaroo.

Gremlins September 21, 2010

When I was a kid there were two things specifically that I wasn’t supposed to watch: Rock the Cradle of Love music video by dearest, Billy Idol and Gremlins. I watched them both.

I can still remember being behind the couch in the dark when brother Billy Idol’s video was on. I knew I wasn’t supposed to watch it but I was all alone and I had to. All I really remember is a girl doing some sort leg kick with black lace stockings. It was scandalous.

Unfortunately, I watched Gremlins twice. I don’t know why because it scared the absolute crap out of me. I’m still sort of like that today with scary stuff. When I nannied in Louisville, this show called Haunted would come on during the baby’s nap. It terrified me to the point that I could barely walk up to get the baby during the day time. But for weeks I watched it. It was like a masochistic form of entertainment. I’m such a blazing weirdo.

When it comes to watching Gremlins, I remember being really scared to go to bed and particularly, letting my feet hang over the edge of the bed. Three things I remember about that movie: There was a nice innocent fuzzy guy named Gizmo with big ears with really mean friends that multiplied if they got wet and popped up all over the place like popcorn when the water hit them.

Number 2: Gremlins under the bed.

Number 3: Gremlins saying milk duds in a scary gremlin-ish voice.

And number three again since I said I only remembered three things but really remembered four:

Something about a blender in a kitchen scene with Gremlins.

Now this movie made for some scary nights as a kid. My room was downstairs in the basement with no windows. I actually loved it because it was so dark and cool but if you were scared, it was a booty to be in.

This one particular night I was totally wigged out of my mind. I did what we’ve all done at some point…called for your parents to come to your rescue. Then, like always, you say…I think there is something in the closet etc. And also, like always, your dad goes to the closet and you are holding your breath thinking to yourself, “It was nice knowing you dad. Meet mister Gremlin masterrrrrrr!!!!”

Your parents always seem to survive but you fear for their safety every time.

After the closet had been given clearance from the dad, he thought he would have a teachable moment with me. He probably thought my legs were tired from running and jumping in the bed every night for fear of my feet being down by the dust ruffle so he thought he would help me overcome it.

He said, “Look, I’ll put my feet down and show you it’s okay and then you do it.”

Hesitantly, I lowered my innocent, bony ankles down to the brave carpet that lived around the bottom of my bed.

“See, Rebecca! It’s okay.”

Then I felt two hands slip around my ankles and they started pulling me under the bed saying, “Milk Duds, Milk Dudddssssss!!!!!!”

“So long, dad! Thanks for the lesson! Tell the pets I love them and whatever you do, don’t get this guy wet!”

Terror.

My dad had no clue that my brother had been lovingly hiding under the bed and my brother had no clue that my dad would seek a teachable moment and lead me right into the bait.

This is why it’s dangerous having brother’s. If Eden has sister’s I think their equivalent of getting back at each other would be like cutting a braid off of their Barbie Doll’s head. Brothers play for keeps.

It’s funny now but I’m promise you I saw kindergarten flash before my eyes.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve carried my freakish, skiddish, scary bone into adulthood. Literally, the night before I had Eden, I would have been afraid to walk to her nursery at night by myself. I told Lance pre-baby not to be mad at me when I woke him up to walk me to go get her. Somehow, now that she’s here, I’m some sort of superhero Gremlin slayer. It’s weird. I’m sure Lance is thankful for this new-found courage. I guess monsters are for children and I’m a mommy now.

I’m sure in the years to come she will call me in there to look under her bed. Unfortunately, after she tells me someone is under there I’ll probably get scared and have to call in Lance. Hearing her detail the man under her bed will be like watching the haunted. I hope she doesn’t scream because I might too.

I actually just jumped when my cell phone rang, picturing having to look under the dark world of the lower bed spaces.

What if there really was something under there? Even if it was the cat I think I would scream. Playing hide-and-go-seek is stressful for me because I’m freaked to pull something back and have a silent, crafty buddy just staring at me. That happens to people in horror films you know it’s just that the buddies have knives. Only slightly different.

If you are ever in the situation and a Gremlin is under your kid’s bed. I pray for your wisdom and safety. And no matter how many times they ask, don’t give them milk duds. Like they deserve it… If you keep giving them candy every time they pull your kid under the bed, you’ll be doing it for years. You don’t want to encourage bad behavior.  The first rule of Gremlin slaying:  Don’t feed the monsters.  Or the brothers.

Beetle Juice September 23, 2010

I woke up this morning to a text from my friend saying that Similac formula had been recalled. Rats. That’s the only brand Eden can use. This reminded me that this can’t happen with breast milk which made me start my day with a discontented grunting sound.

She explained to me how it was contaminated and I said, “Now, how do you get needles in baby formula, anyways?”

She said, “Not needles….BEETLES.”

Oh now that’s very different. I can handle beetle milk. But then I suppose it depends on the beetle. If it’s a roach, then that’s disgusting, but a few beautiful June Bugs never hurt anyone. Just imagine the gorgeous iridescent shades of her excrement. Radiant turquoise and emerald-green. Now that’s a recall!

Then I later heard that they found larvae in it too. That’s more like it. That’s more the disgusting, shocking news I was expecting to hear originally. Actually, I thought it was going to be much worse like a chemical or something that had gotten into the cans. Again, I can handle a beetle or two, although, it’s not desired.

We actually eat bugs in everything we eat anyways. The FDA has a limit to how many bug particles can be in our cereals, etc. How do I know this? I took a nutrition class in college and the professor had us do lame presentations with posters and everything and we were supposed to talk about some sort of nutritional study or research. I wasn’t about to pull out my 4th grade food pyramid project so I asked if I could do my own special idea which was a report about eating bugs and the benefit of doing that.

All the students would get up and be like, “The effects of eating less sugar is blah, blah, blah…..

“The olean in chips that prevent fat absorption does a yah-dah, yah-dah bing bang…..”

Then I got up and pulled out my grasshopper poster like Napoleon Dynamite and was like,

“Did you know that there are 5 grams of protein in the common grasshopper? Did you know a liger is my favorite animal bred for it’s skills and magic?” You know, something like that……

So the point of the tale is, a few ladybugs in my stew never hurt me so what will it do to my baby? It might actually be a nutritious line of baby powder. All of you snobby breastfeeders out there, probably just barfed and shook your instruments of jealousy in my face. You all high and mighty with milky, milks with a bouncy-bounce here and a drippy, drip there….

Well this just in…there’s been a recall on your breasts, losers!

Your milk has caterpillars in it.

You disgust me.

Dancing in the Mine Fields September 26, 2010

Well I was 19 you were 21
The year we got engaged
Everyone said we were much to young
But we did it anyway
We got the rings for 40 each from a pawnshop down the road
We said our vows and took the leap now 15 years ago

We went dancing in the minefields
We went sailing in the storm
And it was harder than we dreamed
But I believe that’s what the promise was for

Well ‘I do’ are the two most famous last words
The beginning of the end
But to lose your life for another I’ve heard is a good place to begin
Cause the only way to find your life is to lay your own life down
And I believe it’s an easy price for the life that we have found

And we’re dancing in the minefields
We’re went sailing in the storm
And it was harder than we dreamed
But I believe that’s what the promise was for
That’s what the promise is for

So when I lose my way, find me
When I lose loves chains, bind me
At the end of all my faith
to the end of all my days
when I forget my name, remind me

Cause we bear the light of the son of man
So there’s nothing left to fear
So I’ll walk with you in the shadow lands
Till the shadows disappear
Cause he promised not to leave us
And his promises are true
So in the face of this chaos baby
I can dance with you

So lets go dancing in the minefields
Lets go sailing in the storms
Oh lets go dancing in the minefields
And kicking down the doors
Oh lets go dancing in the minefields
And sailing in the storms
Oh this is harder than we dreamed
But I believe that’s what the promise if for
That’s what the promise is for

Singer/Songwriter: Andrew Peterson

video…it has a sweet end with real couples:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Gs3fg_WsEg

Murphy September 30, 2010

Murphy’s Law: Anything that can go wrong, will.

I’m certain of two things about this Murphy.

1- Murphy was a woman.
2- Murphy was a woman with kids.

What happened to simplicity? NOTHING is simple anymore. Shall we entertain an example? Of course we should.

I’ve been dog sitting and house cleaning for a friend while she’s gone on her honeymoon. The first day I went over there, I opened the door and in charge three sweet dogs that weigh about as much as me. Should’ve asked for a weight check on those guys before I so boldly opened the door and stood in front of it. I have two gnarly bruises that stretch down my legs that I would show you if I could. But, these guys are just gentle giants who want to be pet so when they let you know that, it’s all 75 pounds into your body at once. Their size and rambuncious style has caused no problems up until this week.

The day was supposed to be my simplest of the dog watching/house cleaning days.  All I needed to do was throw things in the dryer and give the dogs their food and I would be outta there in 10 minutes max.  But today I would make one fatal error. 

I had just gotten Eden in and sitting on the counter in her car seat.  I was trying to throw the laundry in before I let the dogs in but they were about to tear the door down so I ran over and let them in.  Within in about .5 seconds, they were out the side door into the great wide open.  After lugging the car seat in, I had not shut the outside door behind me and I would soon live to regret this.

I kid you not, these dogs that my friend had entrusted me with were gone in about thirty seconds and not visible as far as the eye could see.  They were extinct like dinosaurs.  Goner as gone can be gonest. 

Mental cuss words.

Repent.

What was I going to do now?  I had a baby who was approaching her nap time and letting me know vocally.  I had no clue where to find these big dudes.  I knocked on the neighbors doors.  I paced the yard and neighbor’s yard with my baby in tow. I climed up on her fence and surveyed the land from the heights.  I called for them over and over until I was sure a neighbor was going to come outside and tell me to shut-up.  Finally, I call my buddy on her honeymoon in Hawaii.  Gasp said the blog readers…

Don’t worry.  We had been talking. 

I tell her that her doggies are out living the good life and after thirty minutes, I don’t know what to do. 

I put Eden in her car seat and give the lungs one good expansion and let out my best dog calling voice one last time.  I turn to walk back to the car and weeeeee here come the doggies. They are running up to me like they’ve been wanting to come home for years.  Yay!  Hi dogs!  Hi buddies!  Come here!

They run up to me at about 100 miles per hour and then run straight passed me at full speed into thin air again.

Holy sack of animals. 

Now Eden is asleep so I lock her in the car in her seat. I don’t know what to do.  So in a moment of ultimate mothering,  I walk up and down the street while she snoozes in the car.  Shut your mouth!  She was locked in and we were in the country, okay!  Unless there were rampant cows inspecting cars then she was fine.  It was cool and she was asleep.  Sigh.  I feel better.

So….I’m walking up and down the street because I had driven so many times that I had stop and get gas so I thought, why not go for a good walking?  Try to get these suckers  by foot.

As I’m walking, I pass some people in their yard who I had asked earlier if they had seen the dogs.  They gave me a hopeful point to a field over by their house.  I went up to the field and yelled for my life.  Nothing. 

I go back to the house and get a can of dog food to lure the dogs who I haven’t actually seen since they did their drive-by of me. 

I walked back to the field and, again, just as I’m about to give up….here comes the lassies!  They aren’t really Lassie’s. They look pit bull-ish and something else-ish.  Anyways, one of the white dogs is now black and only the good Lord knows where they have been.  They are swirling around me and I whip out my can of dog food and let them lick it.  They try to bite the can away from me and run away all while the neighbors watch as a toothpick girl in her pj’s by a field tries to tame these dogs half her size. 

The neighbor people yelled, “It will be a miracle if you get them back to the house.”

They were right. 

Finally, I get them to the street and I decide, “I must run.  Maybe they will think it’s a game.”

So I take off running and these dogs are zooming-up ahead of me and running Chinese fire drills around me.  Again, all while the neighbors watch in pure ecstasy.  I wish I had a video of it.  Me, dog food, and three dogs making a joke of my jogging efforts. 

At last, we are approaching the house but it can be that easy, Murphy.  One of the dogs swoops-up a dead opossum so now we are all 5 running: me, food, 3 dogs, and a less fortunate opossum. 

After giving the roadkill a few bites, I successfully lure the dogs to the house and what was supposed to be 10 minutes turned into a one hour dog hunting festival. 

I was so proud of myself that I made sure to drive-by my scoffers and roll down my window and give them a big thumbs up.  Oh ye of little faith….

Just as I pull off, Eden wakes up and looks at her windblown, sweaty mother from her baby mirror like,  ”Well that was a tasty nap.  Let’s party.”

Ahhhhhhhhh.  Never a dull moment.

20 minutes later we pull into my sister’s house and Eden had peed her diaper, soaked her pants.  Yay!  Anything that can go wrong will. 

You owe me one, Murphy.

And while we are at it, I want the keys back that you made me lose three months ago too.

And my mommy hook.

And lastly, Jersey, Brown, and Molly.  I break-up with you.

I married a white boy (accidently) October 3, 2010

I realize I’m a white girl and I realized that I was marrying a white boy. It’s cool. You have to remember though that Lance won me singing R and B a long, long time ago. Then he went flip mode squad on me and started singing what I refer to as ‘guitar music’. Tricky tricky, Lance, tricky tricky. I guess you don’t have many instruments to choose from that are soulful if you want to play and sing other than the piano. And who can forget the Bassoon but it’s hard to play and sing that instrument in an impossible sort of way. Lanceshould have learned to play the beat machine. Instead, he fell to full-fledged cracker white boy guitars.

On the other hand, there’s me.

I love to sing R and B music. I love to Dougie.  I love all forms of vivacious rap. I love the slang. I love skills of our fellow brothers and sisters: great athletes and first and foremost, the best singers. Some of the most amazing singers you may say are white: Christina Aguliera, Marey Carey, Celien White Girl Dion….

Jokes on you…none of them are fully white except for ole’ Dion and she’s Canadian, not American. Some of us white
American girls just lose. If you are a good singer and you’re black, then you are the best singer in all the lands.

At any rate, I’m not really all that un-white. Afterall, I did just use the phrase at any rate, as well as, afterall. And I love to shop at Old Navy. Plus, I was in a big city where I was the minority and I realized that I’m totally white. Both outside and inside. It was a disappointing day for me.

However, black people do seem to like me. Some of them at least. Our church is in the projects and, as lame as it sounds, I’m most intimidated by some of the teenagers because they don’t try to let you feel cool or accepted. I tried talking to some girls one time at an event  we had and they called me white girl so I called them black girl and they weren’t happy. Just kidding. But they for real called me white girl in a not friendly sort of way. When I walked over, one of them said to the other,

“Every time white girl comes around it starts raining…”

Segregation is painful.

All this to say that it’s not so much that my husband and I are both cheesy white people but more to say, this partial soul-loving white child thinks you, Lance, are super white so I think all of this validates my opinions even more that if I think it and I’m at least a little black….you are REALLY white.

1. You harmonize with rap songs. Nothing like a nice octave blending with melodic talking.

2. You think you can make beats “for real”. Every time you beat box you make a sound effect that was used in hip-hop songs in the 70′s that sort of sounds like a busted speaker. You know, you just trill your lips and let air come out like you’re making a horse sound. Hopefully you know what I’m talking about because if you do, there’s no reason to continue to reinforce this point.

3. When you free-style rap, which is unusually painful for me, you start every song with, “Every time I come around…” EVERY song. Thug life forever, Lance.

4.  You wore Birkenstock sandals with every summer outfit for the first 3 years of our marriage.  And so does Dwight Schrute.  Show me the brothers wearing Birkenstocks.  Show me.

5.  When I play for you an old or new rap song that is obviously was or is the best, you analyze the lyrics. 

“Many a day has passed, the night has gone by
But still I find the time to put that bump off in your eye…”
Just let it be.

6.  You own short-sleeved, plaid polos that button from top to bottom.  One time we were in a store together and overheard a girl tell her boyfriend that the makers of those shirts should be shot.  You were brave and wore them for many years anyways.

7.  And now for the hardest one to say…

You wore pleated dress pants for 4 years of our marriage.  Even worse, you defended it because you went shopping with your dad and a man at the store told you they were nice.   I’m so proud to say that we’ve moved passed this. We did it honey. 

We made it.

Me, Myself, and Hallelujah October 6, 2010

Lance left me all alone with Eden for approximately three days. I hated to see him go because I like the guy but also, he’s helpful to have around. When it nears 5 pm everyday, I wait for him (sometimes in the driveway) like a little kid waiting for the ice cream truck. I pass Eden off like the baton in one of those relay races that active people run in.

Sometimes the days are so long. Even if she’s dang cute. Even if she’s gallons fun. We all need a break. Just like Oprah says, “Being a good stay-at-home mom is the hardest job in the world.”  Oprah, guys.  This is serious. 

She’s right. 

Of course.  (That just made my husband gag. He’s not exactly a “big fan”.  Not exactly going to be screaming in the crowd during Oprah’s Favorite Things. That one was for you, Lancer. )

Anyways, back to how amazing us moms are….

I’m in a perpetual state of awe of four types of women:

1-Women with lots of kids such as 2.
2- Single moms. Can I get a holler for these ladies?!
3- Teen moms. Can I get a fist pump and a prom dress, stat?!!!
4- Women with crappy husbands or dead-beat boyfriends. Can I get a whoot whoot and a babysitter, please?!!!!

Motherhood is some hard biz-nassssss.

You know what’s so weird though? Even though I ice cream truck my husband and even though the days are non-stop work….there is something about being at home without a husband that is nice, too. Sorry Lance. It’s not personal.

I almost feel like it’s a little vacation. Like the kind where you don’t really have breaks but still, it’s like a tiny holiday as the Brits would say.

I think the reason I feel that way is because for however long I want, I can be all alone after she’s in bed. I’m never really alone anymore. Even on lonely stay-at-home mom days, there’s a difference to this kind of alone. I guess even when you want to be with your husband, after a long day there’s this pressure to still make sure you hurry up with your shower so you can spend time together etc.. It’s a great deadline but whatever happened to no deadlines? You know, when time is yours to squander? Sometimes that’s just nice. You really don’t know how much time you had until you have a baby. And I only have one human! I’m sure I don’t know how much time I have now…she says while writing a blog. I suppose two kids will teach me that lesson.

Even if I don’t have time, I will say though that I feel so accomplished  and fulfilled at the end of the day. Let me rephrase that, sometimes it’s at the end of the week. Occasionally, at the end of the day I’m too tired for productive gold medals to be awarded.

I just feel like a total woman now. Sometimes I will look at pictures of myself since I’ve had Eden and I think, “You don’t even look like your vagina is hurting in that picture!” Just kidding I don’t do that.

I think,”You had a baby! You gave birth! You are a mom and you are such a woman!!!!!!!!!!”

I’ve never had more respect for myself or my body.

My life has changed so much now that I wake-up all day (and all night) and I’m just a mom. 24/7, 365…a mom. I don’t even think about it most of the time. It’s amazing the things we women do and can handle from day-to-day. I’m such in a new life and a new mode that I often think that if I remembered what it was like to not be a mom, I’d be so impressed with how much I do now. How I work on little sleep and keep going, and going, and going…. The old me is proud of the new me, I’m sure. Again though, I don’t think you realize how much you do as a mom because it just becomes your new normal and you love it.

It’s a whole lot of what I thought it would be but, at times, way more than I bargained for but I think it’s always that for every mom. Motherhood is a gorgeous shock to your system.

When I was in high school, I got ready every day like I was going to the club. When I was in college, I started dressing more comfortably and cute on the weekends. Today, I wore the same pajamas I woke up in and didn’t touch my face, hair, or dare I say, teeth til after Oprah. That’s 5 pm my time folks.

It’s very different.

It’s also very awesomer-ish.

I ended tonight with a huge baby barf all over me, the couch, the carpet, her jammies, her face, eyes, and hair. First, I took some pictures and mass texted them out. Then, I cleaned it up. Put her to bed. And now I sit under the glow of my neighbors purple, orange, and black inflatable spider that’s on their roof and type a blog. I’m not really under it but it’s shining through the windows. And plus, I can’t be under it because there’s a one story spider web that reaches from the roof to their yard. Obviously.

I just ate stupid double-stuffed Oreos that I loathe. I’m wearing a new pair of pajama pants. I know…fancy. They are maternity though so not fancy. Medium fancy.

The house is quiet. And I’m alone on my little vacation. No one needs me.  No one to help.  No one to cater to.  No one making noise.  No diapers.  No barf.  No bibs.  No arguments over who needs to go let Skittles out.  No one to snore during the times of night that Eden isn’t crying.  Just me and silence.  Just me and more me again. There is so much me that I keep bumping into myself.   Hello, old friend.

Inhale.

Carefree, slow exhale. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

My house sure is nice this time of year.

To the Front of the Class October 5, 2010

Have you ever spied the live feed feature on the side of my page?  You know, the one that tells you when  someone has arrived and what city they came from?  Well, guess what.  I see it too and I notice I have a lot of regulars that comes that I don’t think I’ve ever heard from.  I call them my little secret reader friends.  I’m sure not everyone wants to comment but comments help my morale a ton and plus, I just love a good comment every now and then. 

I’ve taken note that many times when people leave a comment for the first time that they say, “I don’t want to seem like a stalker but…..”  I hear this in person and through messages on my page.  Let me just say, I want you to read more than lollipops at a Wonka factory.  It’s the whole point.  If I got on here everyday and had one hit, I’d be the saddest.  Sadder than an Oompa Loompa with a white face.   They’re supposed to have green faces, you know. 

I write so you will read and also, so that maybe I can make a living somehow doing something I love.  The moral of the story is, please be a blog stalker.  Better yet be a comment stalker.  I lovey dovey hearing from new people because it’s so neat to see who is reading and how they ended up here. 

Thus, I’ve instituted something I will do on a regular basis called “To the Front of the Class”.  You always hated being called to the front of the class and now you will read my blog anxiously to see if today was your day to come forward. 

I will call someone out by their city and request a response to fun questions. Please be aware that the feed may list you as a surrounding city so pay attention to what you pop-up as.

 Today, my first victim will be a one I see a lot on here.  Drum roll, please.  No wait, beat box please…..

Come on down FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA!  I see you on here you dirty rascal.  Feel free to tell us whatever you want. You may tell us your first name with an adjective that describes yourself that starts with the same letter.  Such as, Rambunctious Rebecca.  That’s what I’ve always been, critter.  Or, you can come to the board for a math drill….ooooh brother.

If you do not wish to tell us your name then you can answer any or all of these questions.

1- Are you offended by how loud Sun Chips bags are?

2-If you were a hot dog, would you eat yourself?

3- Can you throw anything over your shoulder like a contienental solider?  That’s a hard question so that’s not fair.  Do your ears hang low?

Class, let’s all welcome Fargo, North Dakota!  You are encouraged to watch for a reply and to talk and play with each other on the playground.

Eden and I Dance: Part 2 October 7, 2010

I am offering a new service called: How to teach your baby to dance and be cultural and supreme above all babies. I wanted this video to show my extreme versatility. I added captions so that you won’t overlook some of my different styles. You may need to watch it several times to see it all. I know you’ll want me to teach your baby the first watch though. In just one lesson, I can have your baby doing the moonwalk for one simple payment of 50.00. Eight times.

Try not to get lost in the intricate detailing. You can get overwhelmed if you take my talent as a whole.

This would be a great Christmas present.

Think it over.

PS- Make sure the captions are on.

PPS- You’ll want to watch this big screen time so click on the icon on the bottom right of the video that has 4 little arrows going in different directions.  This way you can see the said detailing and captions.  However, if it’s jerky than you should watch the regular size one. Enjoy and your welcome.

October 8, 2010

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WE HAVE HEARD FROM FARGO. I REPEAT….HEARD FROM FARGO. Turns out I know who Fargo is but I didn’t know Fargo lived in Fargo because I haven’t seen Fargo in many Fargs. Fargo did an excellent job at answering questions and I encourage similar detailed and exuberant messages. Be looking for the next city! Maybe it will be yours……

To the Front of the Class: 2 October 13, 2010

I had no patience and had to do it once more this week. Not only am I doing it…I’m going big. I’m going INTERNATIONAL.  Cha Cha Cha.

Class, may I have your attention and applause in welcoming Tegucigalpa, Francisco Morazan! Hola! I think….

You may tell us whatever you wish about yourself. As always, you can answer these questions I have provided for you just incase you are timid in introducing yourself to your fellow classmates like our buddy Fargs was.  Here you go:

1. If there were two guys, Hambone and Flippy, which would you say liked dolphins most?

2. What is the state bird or frog or animal of your country?

3. Also, I’m sure you’re roadkill is much more interesting than ours so please tell me what interesting things you see about the roads.

We like you already. Tell us anything else you want to say. I’d like to know how you came to read the blog much like my Fargo friend but peer pressure in the classroom is no joke so be free to verbalize your words of choice.

Everyone, please wait for this person by the swings because they will be here shortly. I just know it.

Welcome crazy name place! (applause and cheers.  also some laughs of delight.)

Halloween Etiquette October 11, 2010

1.  If your kids are little, this is your time to shine in the costume department.  They’re only a few short years away from being a princess like every other girl running down the alley way.  For this reason, I recommend going out of the box.  Going random.  Going funny.  You will lose your power to do so one year at a time.  Have fun before they care that you did.  You will see Eden’s example of having no power over her outfit in just a few weeks.

2.  If an older child comes to your door in their half-butted outfits, don’t say to them, “Aren’t you guys a little old for trick-or-treating?”  You are a big jerk.  I went trick-or-treating til I was 18 and I worked Halloween like a job.  Unfortunately, I heard this a handful of times from a fistful of idiots.  Here are some ways to handle this situation:

Question posed:  “Aren’t you a little old for trick-or-treating?”

-  Oh, I’m sorry I guess you would rather me go light up some doobies at a field party like everyone else my age instead of playing dress-up for candy.  Give me that Snickers.

  -  I don’t know but your mom is.

-  That’s a personal question.

Or just simply yell, “I’m not even full-grown” and run away crying loudly.  She will either feel really bad or really awkward and embarrassed as the 4 year-old butterfly watches you run away.  Either way, you win.

One time someone said to me really angrily, “I’ve been giving out candy all night like I’m a grocery store. (huff puff)!!!”

This just in…it’s Halloween.  Also, just in ….. don’t answer your door with candy in your hand and blame me.  Breaking news, you’re a moron Halloween dream smasher. 

Don’t be mean to kids.  Afterall, they know where you live now.

3.  Whatever you do, don’t pass out those orange and black wrapped disgusting candies that seem to come into children’s bags every year. Giving out that candy is like telling a little kid you hate them with sugar.  If they would only post a sign in the store by those candies that say, “You can not buy unless you’re under 70.”  Then no one would buy them and we’d be okay.

4.  The best kind of house decorations are the ones that make you think, “Is that a real person in that rocking chair or a dummy?”  This is a way to scare children in the spirit of a holiday.  It’s the only time of year you can do that legally.  Other times of the year you would get arrested.  Go big.

5.  The silliest of all the Halloween adults are the ones who leave a bowl of candy on their porch.  My favorites are the ones that leave a whole hamper full of candy with a sign that says ‘take one piece’.  Trusting kids with candy is like trusting a crack addict with 100 bucks.  You would do much better to just take your big bag of candy and pour it directly into a kid’s bag.  Why waste your time with signs and hampers?  These people are crazy.  I bet they dress real boring for Halloween, too.  Like a pumpkin.   I can see pumpkin people from a mile away.  And they can see toilet costumes from a mile away.  That’s me…the toilet coming down the road.

6.  Don’t let your kid dress-up trashy like Britney Spears, Bratz doll, etc.   Fish nets on an 11 year-old is not cute. 

Hey, I’ve got a good idea!  I’m gonna let my kid dress-up real exposing and let her run around busy streets with adults and boys I’ve never met before.  You are worse than pumpkins.

7.  Lastly, if you are passing out candy and you managed to not leave hampers, dress like a pumpkin, or give out orange and black candies please, please don’t guess children’s outfits if you don’t know what they’re.  There’s nothing sadder for a kid that’s looked forward to their costume all year and then for you to say, “Aren’t you a scary spider?!”  Then the little ladybug hangs her head and walks away.

American Express(ions) November 7, 2010

I found a lot of these a lot of places but mainly from phrases.org and then from a book cited below.  There could possibly be some expressions you haven’t heard before that were possibly slipped in by possible people who are possibly-er-ree.

“Close but no cigar.”

It’s believed that this phrase originated from the mid-20th century where fairs gave out cigars as prizes for winning a game. 

“Make no bones about it…”

In 15th century England, if someone wanted to express their dissatisfaction with something, they didn’t ‘make bones about it’, they used the original form of the phrase and ‘found bones in it’. This is a reference to the unwelcome discovery of bones in soup….bones = bad, no bones = good. If you found ‘no bones’ in your meal you were able to swallow it without any difficulty or objection.                                                                                                     www.phrases.org

(So if something is good or certain, you ‘make no bones about it’.)

“Stick your head between your legs”

This comes from when I’m sure Lance has broken wind and he refuses to believe he did.  I get so mad because I’m so sure that I’m right that ragefully and seriously challenge him to stick his head between his legs if he’s so sure he’s right.  This settles the dispute.

“Tie the knot.”

There is a suggestion that this expression derives from the nets of knotted string which supported beds prior to the introduction of metal-sprung bedframes. The theory goes that, in order to make a marriage bed, you needed to ‘tie the knot’. 

(And we all thought this came from a sweet place…..)

“Rattlesnake Boots”

In apprx. 2005, I asked Lance what he wanted for his birthday and he arbitrarily replied, “rattlesnake boots”.  So from that moment on, every time he’s asked what he wants for any occasion, it’s usually rattlesnake boots.

“Honky Dori”/”Hunky Dori”

Everything is a-ok. It’s all good. Originated by post WW II US Sailors on liberty in Yokosuka, Japan. The strip right outside the main gate to the US Naval Base was called (and still is) Honcho Dori (means book district street in Japanese). Times were wild and there was no better sailor port in the world at the time. This was changed to Honky Dory by the sailors and it came to mean if you came from Honky Dory then everything had to be good or ‘honky dory’.

 

“Baker’s Dozen”

 

Dating back to the 13th century, bakers who were found to have shortchanged customers could be subject to severe punishment. To guard against the punishment of losing a hand to an axe, a baker would give 13 for the price of 12, to be certain of not being known as a cheat. Specifically, the practice of baking 13 items for an intended dozen was insurance against “short measure”, on the basis that one of the 13 could be lost, eaten, burnt, or ruined in some way, leaving the baker with the original legal dozen.

 

“Barking up the wrong tree”

 

This originates in the US from raccoon hunting where dogs will stand at the base of a tree and bark notifying the hunters of a raccoon.  Raccoons are partly nocturnal so sometimes the dogs will be barking at the wrong tree when hunting at night. 

 

“Pipe dream.”

Meaning unrealistic hope or fantasy, refers to the dreams of opiate smokers in the 18th and 19th century.  Basically, dreams pot heads have.

“Knock on Wood”

This comes from an ancient religion where trees were considered to be sacred spirits where the spirits either lived in or guarded trees.  So knock on wood is actually kind of like calling on a spirit to give you luck.  Trees are after all extremely lucky. Obviously.

“7″

If you ask Lance how much he liked something, even though you asked for details and not a 1-10 rating, he always say “7″.

“Fly off the handle” (The following ones are from the book The Best of Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader”)

Refers to axe heads, which, in the days before mass merchandising, were sometimes fastened poorly to their handles. If one flew off while being used, it was a dangerous situation … with unpredictable results.

“Charley Horse”

In 1640, Charles I of England expanded the London police force. The new recruits were nicknamed “Charleys.” There wasn’t enough money to provide the new police with horses so they patrolled on foot. They joked that their sore feet and legs came from riding “Charley’s horse.”

“BORN WITH A SILVER SPOON IN YOUR MOUTH”

At one time, it was customary for godparents to give their godchild a silver spoon at the christening. These people were usually well-off so the spoon came to represent the child’s good fortune.

“Rattlesnakes”

Not to be confused with “rattlesnake boots” , this refers to a hand gesture that a wife uses towards her husband in bed when he is reading an unwanted book.  The wife may say, “You know what comes out this time of night….”  And the husband gets nervous because he knows it’s rattlesnakes.  The best thing about rattlesnakes is that they never know when they are coming so they get real distracted and laugh nervously and can’t read their book for fear of rattlesnakes.  Rattlesnakes are so distracting that they have to quit reading.  Then the snakes have been successful.  To fashion a rattlesnake, make a fist and stick out your pointer finger.  Then you say,  “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr RATTLESNAKES!”  and release the snakes by guiding your finger into their sides with your arm as the snake body and your finger as the rattler himself.  Those guys are unpredictable and feisty. They also cause arguments.

“Go Berserk”

Viking warriors were incredibly wild and ferocious in battle, probably because they ate hallucinogenic mushrooms in pre-battle ceremonies. They charged their enemies recklessly, wearing nothing more than bearskin, which in Old Norse was pronounced “berserkr” or “bear-sark.”

“BEAT AROUND THE BUSH”

In the Middle Ages, people caught birds by dropping a net over a bush and clubbing the ground around it to scare the birds into flying into the net. Once a bird was caught, you could stop beating around the bush and start eating.

“You betta give me my breadwood!”

This originates from a lady on an Atlanta subway that was drug induced by some substance who felt the need to get up and challenge an elderly lady to a rap-off.  She rapped about George Bush, salad, and somewhere along the way told the sweet granny to give her-her breadwood.  I say this any time I feel.  The best part is that it has no context so it always works.  I don’t know what breadwood is, but always feel free to demand yours.  At any time.

Double Rainbow October 15, 2010

If you have not seen this video, please trust me that it’s worth it and that every minute gets better and better reaching the full explosion of joy at the end. Make sure to watch all three and half minutes as not to miss out on happiness. This is someone’s home video of seeing a double rainbow.  There is only one person that likes rainbows more than this guy and she’s a unicorn.

Join the 17 million people that learned what it is to truly love a rainbow.  Like a unicorn. 

http://www.youtube.com/v/OQSNhk5ICTI?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US

Mountains of Mystery Cats October 17, 2010

Breaking news, a mountain lion was spotted in our hometown during the day at a local campground that’s kind of in the city.  This is a fantastic mystery!!!!  Where for art did thou lioness come?  We have no mountains for your lion-y ways.  BUT don’t leave!!!!  I find you tantalizing.

Just when you think you have nothing left to write about a lion comes to town.  I am so lucky.

So this is how it went down.  A man who works for the campground saw this large cat come out of the woods and walk into the field during the day.  Like any intelligent person would do, he jumped onto his golf cart and drove up to the beast.  He got about 25 feet away from it which allowed him to confirm that it was in fact a mountain lion.  ROOARRRRRRRRR 

ROAAARRRRRRRR

ROAAARRRRRRRRR.

I promise you that so much of that impact and humor was lost because you couldn’t hear me actually doing that.

Anyways, my favorite part about this guy is that he was quoted in the news as saying that he brought his coffee mug for defense just in case he needed to use it. 

More breaking news, he’s a mountain lion.  Starbucks ceramics can not help you. 

Breaking news, he’s not a house cat.  He is in exhibits at zoos.

Breaking news, they eat humans.  They eat entire cows for lunch.

This just in, they can run faster than golf carts.

This also in, the cup would only tick him off more causing him to be more likely to make you a half rack of ribs. 

The news that night would’ve read,

“Mountain lion eats almost a whole man and puts the leftovers in a mug for later.”

Whew…I just gave a lot of headlines off of one ridiculous quote.

This is a mountain lion/cougar/puma (All the same animal.  Fact of the day:  This mammal goes by more official names than any other in the animal kingdom). 

Here he is:

And you chose…..

I chose this image of a mug because I’m sure the images on the mug where seriously heavily considered as his second best choice for line of defense.  I would hope he would use scissors but deep inside….I know it’s paper.

Attacking a mountain lion with a mug is like spanking a dinosaur with a spatula.  Try again, buddy.  I’m just really glad you didn’t get a chance to use your cup skills.

Even better than this guy was a quick review of the message board of comments on the news article from the surrounding locals who say they have seen a cougar around their house.  Deep breath.  This is starting to sound like big foot sightings.  You did not, I repeat DID NOT see a cougar hanging out around your house.  I’ll buy one lone large kitty but not several because they aren’t really supposed to be around here.  What you are describing is a bob cat.  That, you have seen.  Those are around here and are larger cats that hunt but they ain’t no lion of the mountains.  The park dude that identified the cat said he looked to be about 100 pounds which is kind of like me with huge muscles and massive fangs and a big delicious roar….. just in case you can’t conceive a 100 pound predator cat.  Bob cats, on the average size are 15 pounds.  On the big side, 30 pounds…at least the type around here.  So these locals were almost right.  Just about 85 pounds and the face of a lion off.  You were almost right except for not at all.

A clever funny dude at the end of the message board responded to these people by saying that we ‘really need to get a hold of this meth problem in our area’.  Now this is the kind of guy I can really get behind.  If he saw a mountain lion, he would use something more effective for defense like a bazooka.

ROARRRRRRRRRR.  ROOOOOAAAARRRRR.  RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Hide your cows, hide ya kids, cause this lion be eating everyone out here!

Sweet Nothings October 24, 2010

There comes a time when you become ready for things that you weren’t ready for before. For me, that time finally came when Eden was about six months and few days old. That time being, Thursday, aka tonight.

I finally decided it was time to let Eden learn how to go to sleep by doing some “sleep training”. We chose the Ferber method which is let them cry for 5 minutes, give comfort but don’t pick them up, then 10 min, comfort, then 15, comfort, and then twenty. After twenty you start back over at 5. Tonight it took exactly 22 minutes to get that cute chunky, big-eyed baby of mine asleep. Lucky, Lance was here for support because I think there is something about a mother hearing her baby cry and not responding to her that goes against nature. Every fiber of my being wants to go in there and be with her. I love comforting her. It’s what we mothers do. I love to be needed by her. Not only needed, but wanted.

Previously, I was holding her until she fell asleep because I savor those quiet moments of the end of the day where it’s all said and done and I can relax and hold my sweet girl. No more laps around the house to make.  Bottles to be mixed. Diapers to be changed.  It’s just me and her in the stillness and calm of the end of the day.  I can hold her and look at her little fuzzy head and still be excited that God gave me a baby with a hairy head. I always thought babies with hair were so cute and I thought I had no hope because no baby on either side of our family has ever had hair. After all those years of infertility, having this sweet little baby and then having even a fuzzy head is like the hairy icing on the cake. As stupid as this will sound to everyone else involved, I think God gave me those hairs.  It’s almost like that when I look at her that God just smiled at me and said, “I remembered.” I suppose hair can only be so exciting to someone who waited for years to see that one positive test stick.

If there’s anything I’ve learned about myself so far as a parent/parenting, it’s two things:

1. I’m not as strong as I thought I would be. I thought I would be able to hear her cries and have some perspective and self-control but I constantly yearn to go care for her immediately.

2. They change so fast. Not just them, but parenting them.

One week they are laying flat, the next they are sitting. One week they smack their bottle while you feed them and the  very next week it turns into a small grip and all of a sudden they are holding the bottle themselves and they don’t ‘need’ you to feed them. It really is rapid.

But parenting changes fast too. One week you are dying because they are fighting naps and you feel like you are gonna die and then for no reason, the next week that’s over and it’s on to the next one.

If you are like me, one minute you are struggling to breastfeed and dreaming of bottles even though you love to nurse your baby. You are wishing it all away: the pain, the long feedings, wrestling your baby awake, and then for me, without warning, I go to the doctor’s office for postpartum and they tell me to quit that day. I didn’t see it coming. All of the sudden, a phase I was struggling to survive but secretly loved under the turmoil, was all over. Just like that. Holding her to me and being her sole source of provision was done. And simply, another phase gone. 

This week was no exception. After many long sleepless nights due to Eden being under the weather, I finally reached the point where I thought, “It’s time to help her to sleep through the night.”

I need it.

She needs it.

We all need it.

Even the cat might appreciate it on nights she’s inside.

So even though I knew it was coming, I didn’t know I would start today. What that means was that last night was the last night that I got to hold her as she fell asleep on me. Sure, it will happen occasionally but life with my baby as I’ve known it for the past six months of this rollercoaster is changing one little bit at a time.

It all happened after being at the doctor today and he told me how to do it and that she was ready. My sister is coming in next week so I’m sure she’d appreciate the quiet and the process takes five days which was enough time to do before she comes in so we started.   Just like that, all of a sudden, that little sweet phase I enjoyed is over for the most part.

I think it’s so hard as moms to not be looking forward to the next milestone that eases our load or one that gives us more freedom but we are quick to forget that these little times with our babies are so fleeting and you realize that each time you lose a little thing you savored about that stage. Maybe it was a sound they made that makes you laugh that they just quit doing or a way you made them laugh that you enjoyed together that they seem to not care about anymore. It’s the little sweet nothings that season your days with your child.

I’ve been so tired lately that it’s been easy to forget that she won’t always call out for me or need or want to be cuddled. Even the sleepless hard times are irretrievable and even in the difficulties of watching the hours tick away every night, there’s something precious there. There are the moments where it’s late at night and your eyes are heavy and you run to their cry and hold them to your chest. You yawn and look down and those huge sweet eyes are staring at you, hinting at the smile behind that passy. This parenting thing is hard and exhausting but I don’t know if you can find a sweeter earthly joy.

Tonight before we put Eden down to start letting her cry some, Lance and I held her and said a prayer for my strength to get through it and for Eden’s to survive and learn quickly to sleep. I took a big breath to prepare myself and I held her to me for one quick second by her crib. I wanted so badly to just hold her and watch her drift off peacefully but I knew it was time for it to be different for us both.

I felt a wave of sympathy for what she was about to experience rise up inside of me and then the rush of maternal love and compassion that followed.

I layed her down and put my hand on her chest and felt a motherly weakness and some tears begin to well up inside of me. I kissed her face. Gave her the passy and her favorite ruffled blanket that she likes to rub on her face and squeeze with her hands.  Patted her tender fuzzy head and left the room.

It was bittersweet for me albeit a good reminder that all things are fleeting and that all things must be cherished even through the exhaustion.  It’s almost like I dream of the day’s end when I’m really tired but that I’m simultaneously not wanting the time to pass because it’s one more day gone with my baby and one more day she ages.  It’s almost like I know she is growing so quickly that I miss her while I have her.  I want to see her grow, but I want to hold on to today’s baby as I know her because that’s who I’m head over heels in love with.  Parenthood is a fulfilling tug of war between trying to stand in the sweetness of the moment and trying herd your surge of excitement as it’s on to the next big event: first christmas, walking, crawling, first word….

I bet when her gummy smile goes toothy and her hair grows long that she’ll turn into the most beautiful young lady.  I know she’ll be funny and make people laugh.  She’ll be kind.  Talented.  Compassionate.  Genuine.  Sincere. 

Eden will be so many great things.  Soon enough.

I look forward to many things but for now, the thrill will be finally holding her to me in the morning and savoring that she’s still my tiny, precious baby.  At least for today.

To the Front of the Class October 21, 2010

Where are your blogs?!  Where are they you say?  Ask Eden.  She has been sick and finding sleeping to be something she’s not interested in.  I have 3 or 4 pending but seeing as how I showed up for her six month check-up appointment on the wrong day twice this week, I probably should wait for mental sanity to finish those. 

But you know what we can always do, brothers and sisters.  Class time, players.  Class time.  I have some fun ideas churning in my mind bucket to take calling people to the front of the class to the next level so stay tuned til the next episode. 

Today we will call….

(sound the trumpets….)

Chillicothe, Ohio.

Get your fanny down here right away.  You have visited my blog a dangerous amount of times lately so it’s time you reveal yourself into the light.  I might know who you are.  I think.  We will see.  Don’t be ashamed that you visited so often.  Be proud.  Very proud.  Please tell us how you found these here’s words of mine and answer any of the following questions.

1.  If ladies with large chesticles work at Hooters, where do one legged girls work?

2.  Why does the Easter Bunny carry eggs when an Easter bunny lays real bunnies? 

3.  When’s the last time you peed your pants?  Don’t lie to me.

Everyone lets welcome CHILLICOTHE, OHIO! 

Peer pressure is so effective.  I love it.

Lead Me To Lay Down October 25, 2010

I want one of those big, old maple trees in the yard. One that burns with those fiery orange leaves in the fall. No wait, a red maple. Wait, both.

I want a large deck with two levels that goes down to a large patio area. Out in the yard past the patio there’s a garden. One that I’m sure is only a good idea in theory.

The house is hardy siding without question. Maybe an interesting blue shade with chocolate, modern shudders. Or maybe a cool green with black shudders. The architecture is a mix of square and oriental funky lines with a mix of traditional. An amazing front door with character and barely any window in it, if at all.

The inside is 5 bedrooms, mostly hardwood floors. That’s a room for me and Lance, 4 kids, plus a guest room for company or maybe foster kids one day?

There is a live-in basement and also an apartment over the garage so that we can have family stay with us for long periods of time, if ever needed. Our church college kids could live there for free during the semesters or  families who are poor and displaced.  

Stainless steel appliances. Not a huge, huge house…maybe 3500 square feet or so.  That’s a good size for all those bedrooms.

I have this house in my mind. I think about it probably too much. I guess an artist dreams of the perfect image to paint and I love to decorate so I think of the perfect home to accent. I’m a homebody, sentimental type too so I want a place to make cozy and welcoming for everybody. I dream of this house and settling down there for the rest of my life. Lance pastors the church. I stay-at-home and there’s nothing left to worry about.

Oh. I forgot one other major detail. There are two cars in the garage that are nice and well-kept so there’s no stress of worrying about having to come by another one in the near future.

That’s what security seems like to me: a nice home to settle in and enough money for cars to last me a lifetime. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about provision. I wouldn’t have to trust. Or have faith. Or learn to be content. Or depend on God to take care of me.

I guess a lot of people read that and think that having those things sounds nice. It’s the American dream. I guess that’s me too, but I’m not comfortable with that being what I need and long for. Material things? Really? That’s what is going to make me feel secure and complete? I’m not saying that it’s wrong to have cars to your name or a nice home but I am saying your heart behind it can be wrong. I think all my life I’ve been trying to fix things so I don’t have the discomfort of needing to have faith and depend on the Lord, both things of which I believe are not only essential but intended for us.

There are two kinds of church go-ers. The regulars and the major holiday-ers. Holiday-ers many times have some things in common with the regulars. They know the major stories. The Noah’s Ark scene in the nursery is a familiar scene. John 3:16 written on the church wall was a verse they learned in vacation bible school years ago. Some things from the faith become something that a lot of the population is generally aware of. Those just to name a few.

What about Psalm 23? I feel like some people who aren’t practicing a faith may know this one as well. It goes like this:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.

When you read the bible without knowing context, there is a lot to be missed. These verses never quite hit me as much until I heard someone describing a shepherd. A shepherd, leads his sheep where they should go, including to the pastures where they would eat. He directs them and cares for them.  So Jesus, the sheperd, leads us where we should go. Takes care of us.  Watches over us. 

Another element I missed is about the sheep themselves. When a sheep is full, it lies down. The verse says, “He leads me to lie down in green pastures.” Admist the perfect green around them, which would be optimal grazing, they instead lay down. Content. Full.

Now it all seems different doesn’t it? It’s very different for me. All of a sudden, the house I detailed doesn’t seem so much like a reward but a symptom of the fact that I’m always looking for somewhere else to graze. No pasture is too green.   I know my heart can change about seeking security in things that, in fact, aren’t secure. I really do desire a space that can accommodate having others and even families coming to live with us. I would love for that provision but right now, for how I long for those things right at this moment, I’m not sure having it would be a blessing or a sentence. If I were to be given all of that today, I wouldn’t know if it were a blessing from the Lord or trial He gave me to face in dealing with where my trust is. It’s true that parent’s sometimes let their kids gorge themselves on candy to show them that their desires to over indulge are actually detrimental. How much more so would God as a loving father at times, give us what we wrongly desire to show us that it was, in fact, wrong for us? I think He blesses many with gifts like what I talked about in the beginning with the big, deck and the hypothetical garden, but some of us want it because we don’t want to have to trust Him in lieu of those things.

Today…that’s me.

I want to say that he leadeth me to lie down in hardy siding homes and multi-tiered decks. I can’t tell you that I want to lay down in the face of those things as I type this tonight. Even more ashamedly, I have a nice, modest, cutely decorated home we picked out every detail for while it was being built.  And oh yeah,  two cars parked outside and some savings to buy the next one when one car dies. Embarrassingly, I even have stainless steel, hardwood, and tile baths. I’m just like the kid gorging on candy. One Snickers is nice, but then again, I could have a Butterfinger, a Reese’s cup, Peppermint Patti, and on and on and at the end of it….I’d just be sick.

My yard is a great size and my backyard is full of trees. Great big trees.  It’s my green, wonderfully provided pasture. I just want to remember how to lay in it.  Without the shade of maples.

Yes, I Do Think Like This All Day. November 15, 2010

Do you ever look at yourself when your hair is plain and you have no make-up on and think, I’d be really ugly as a Pilgrim.  Especially when you put on that big white sailor collar. I’d at least hope my dress was purple. Or stripey.  If it wasn’t, I’d probably just put a cornucopia on my head and stand in the corner.

There are exceptions to every rule and there are lots of rules.  For example, grown women can’t love 16 year-old boys.  I call this the Bieber exception.

If I told you I was going to stand in a basket and ride it into the skies, you would think I was insane.  Just something to think about, hot air balloons.

If you are what you eat, then say hello to your new best friend: Mrs. Asian Pear.

If you are sitting on your couch with a shirt on but no pants and someone comes to your door and sees you sitting there through the window, I think it’s okay to sit there and smile back at them politely.  You don’t have to do a pointing motion down towards your pantless legs.  Just smile at them.  Eventually, they will walk away because they feel uncomfortable but at least it’s not because they saw your bottom.

I think from now on when someone asks me whether my child wearing pink with a bow in her hair is a girl that I’ll just look back at them and say, “What are you?”  That way they feel weird and they don’t get to be the only one asking all the questions.

I still have and wear underwear from high school.  Lucky my thighs got bigger after baby or I might still be wearing them at our 20 year reunion.  I’m going to save one pair of undies and wear it to our ten year reunion next year.  That way when people come up and say, “Oh yeah, I remember you.”  I can get real serious, pull my underwear band up and say, “But do you remember these….?”  

On the note of panties, why was I wearing panties of any level of attractiveness as a teenager?  Eden will only be allowed to wear nuetral colored, high waisted briefs to protect her from any unmodest temptation.  I will start building her collection via the free panty give-a-way from Vicki’s Secret.  Eden’s only secret is gonna be that she has big ugly underwear. 

I hate waiting in the sick room at the pediatrician’s office.  Would it be weird if I wore some sort of facial mask?  When I got in to see the doc today, she asked if Eden has been around anyone sick in the home.  I thought, “No, but vomit kid and pertusis boy out there wasn’t helping anyone.”  I think we should all sit in seperate stalls like cattle.  When you walk out, the stalls sanitize themselves.  Write that down.

I don’t like it when people say, “Why do you already have your tree up?  It’s not even Thanksgiving!!”  Yesterday I had an ephiphany.  Answer:  Because Thanksgiving is a holdiay.  Christmas is a season.   Boo-yah!   The day turkies taste as good as hot chocolate and cookies, I’ll re-evaluate.  The day the a big fat gobbler looks good hanging from a pine, then I’ll have a real good talking with myself.  The day Thanksgiving comes with a big parcel of presents, SOLD.  Pilgrims would have to say something cool though in place of Santa’s ho ho ho.  Something like corn, corn, corn!  And then laugh at the end.

October 27, 2010

Chilllliiiiiiiicothe…..Chillllliiiiiicotheeeeeee……Where are you?

I know you have been to these parts so I’m starting to wonder if you are living in a nearby city and you show up as Chillicothe but you really are from a different place. Please investigate. Like one time I saw a Beaverton, Ohio. Hellloooo Beaverton. That’s my favorite. Maybe you’re Beaverton Mr.Mrs. Chillicothe? Come play with us!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Eden: Halloween Professional October 31, 2010

StoryCorps: Every Life Matters November 2, 2010

 I know a lot of my blog readers like to read me for 2 reasons: humor and honesty.  I found something that is so unique that it should appeal to all my readers because it’s just that…honest, sometimes makes you cry, sometimes makes you laugh.   It’s called storycorps.org.  My sister showed this to me and I ADORE it.  There is this trailer that goes around the country and real people like you and me, tell our stories and they are recorded, posted, and stored in the Library of Congress from here till kingdom come so that America’s stories can be perserved.  I chose two that are sure to knock your knickers off and then back on again because that’d be inappropriate.  All these stories are recorded interviews between two people who know each other in some special way and they are super short so if you love me, you’ll watch one.  They are all 5 minutes or less.  If you watch one, then you’ll watch more.

This trailer goes all over so if you know someone with a cool story about anything, you can make a reservation and interview them yourself or have a friend of theirs do it or whatever.  You’ll get the idea.  You can check the website for all the cities they are currently in or will be visiting next. 

The two stories I chose have the copied snippet from the site above them and a few comments I added in parenthesis.  Cartoonists put their voices over animated charaters to tell the story and it’s major coolness.  I know a lot of you read my blog at work but if you won’t be able to read what pops-up on the screen or turn the volume up loud enough to hear then PLEASE wait.  It’s worth it.  Here you go.  Welcome to something else to do while on the web.

Brooklynites Danny, an OTB clerk, and Annie, a nurse, remember their life together—from their first date to Danny’s final days with terminal cancer. This remarkable couple personifies the eloquence, grace, and poetry that can be found in the voices of every day people if we take the time to listen. Originally an animation in two parts, here you’ll see a special version that combines both parts of their story.

StoryCorps » Danny & Annie.

(This is love.  Incredibly touching.)

In early 2006, 12-year-old Joshua Littman, who has Asperger’s syndrome, interviewed his mother, Sarah, at StoryCorps. Their one-of-a-kind conversation covered everything from cockroaches to Sarah’s feelings about Joshua as a son.

(This story made me smile and choke-up.  The best kind of story. I love the sweetness and innocence of this child and the honesty in which his mom interacts with him.  Precious.)

StoryCorps » Q & A.

Ding Dong the Gina’s Dead November 4, 2010

Just in case you read the title incorrectly, it’s not Gina (Jeen-uh) like a girl’s name. It’s a half nick name version of vagina….Gina. (nod my head in reassurance) You understand.

So let’s revisit…

Ding dong the gina’s dead, the broken crotch of the south is dead. It’s true. It use to be funny and now it’s just a big messy body part.

I went to the doctor today for the sixteenth thousandth time since giving birth. I go about every 6 weeks. I’m for reals. This is my first time back since my surgery which we’ll say…didn’t work out for me. But I did get to spend about 1,000 dollars on the surgery so at least some good came from it.

I kid….I guess. I mean, I guess I had to have it to see if it would work. Now that it didn’t, I’m like Jay-Z and on to the next one.

My doctor  is going to call another doc at a prominent surrounding area hospital to see if they can help me. She asked me just in case if I’d be willing to go out-of-state for care and I was like, “Oh brother, what kind of crotch do we have on our hands here????” Who knew that giving birth to a fleshy bowling ball could be so destructive?  You know who did?  The bowling ball and Gina herself.

She also said that she feels like this could be a long-term issue for me which concerns her because I’m such a young lassie. DANG. That made me use words in her office like I and feel and like and crying.

Now I’m wondering if we’ll be able to try to have a baby in the time frame we originally wanted to but let’s not think that far ahead. Although, we haven’t been able to stick a feather in a cap and call it macaroni for almost 7 months now. Maybe it’s not thinking too far ahead after all.

I know I’m joking around a lot.  This is for two reasons:

I’m hilarious.

and

You can only take vaginas so seriously…..

But I am a little disheartened about it to say the least. Initially, it was impressive to say to my friends because I felt like the crazy Guinness World Record holder for saddest vagina but now…now I’m really like, “Okay guys jokes over. You can fix the kid now.”

In my wildest fantasy dreams I get to a specialist and they say, “Why this is the silliest thing I’ve ever seen and we can fix it with something really basic” like with a pack of Skittles or something. And no I don’t mean a pack of my torti cat Skittles. I mean the taste the rainbow kind. A double rainbow even.

I’m hoping that when someone extra-learned in the arts of crotches sees it that it won’t be as complex as what it seems to be now. Furthermore, I hope we can keep the care close to home. Forthlymore, I hope this is over in approximately one more month. Lastly, I know that won’t happen. At least the fourthlymore part.

Truth be told, I’d do it all over to have my cute little baby. If I got better and had another child and knew this would happen again, I’d still bring forth more glorious children from my loins. Right now I just want to know that I have the option to do anything with my gina that I want as I should be able to do at 28. If I want to dress it up like a police man, BOOM…I can. If I want to go on walks with it, Boom, Done! The funny part is that we always go on walks. I just want it to be like the old days where we could walk innocently down the lane without a care for each other. Those were the days. The gina free days.

So, the saga continues as I get to spread joy to the world in a new city with my record holding baby maker. Becca’s Gina, coming to a city near you.  May not be suitable for kids under 13.

To The Front of the Class November 8, 2010

1,2,3,4 get Kentucky on the floor. Gotta, gotta get up to get down. Gotta, gotta get up to get down.

After a heartbreaking no show in the last classroom, I can’t take any risks of more disappointment. Therefore, I am calling a whole sack of students to the front. I’m calling people from my beloved state of Kentucky who have never commented on my page to grab a brother or sister by the hand and come on down to blog town.

For example, I sure have seen a Nebo, Ky. on here and I sure have no idea where that is or who you are, my beloved.

So…calling all non-commenting Kentuckians to the forefront.  As always, please tell us how you came to these know this part of town.  How did you find this holler?  I bet some northerners may not know of hollers.

Other things you may want to say….

You may tell me what you want for Christmas.
You may tell me how you learned Santa was not real.
You may tell me if you’ve ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon.

Just please don’t leave us all standing like puppy dogs at the window waiting for our friend to show-up. That’s not the Christmas spirit and oh yes, it’s Christmas spirit time.

(intimidating, scary voice) We’ll be watching for you….

The Other Side of Motherhood: An Ex-PostPartum Mom’s Journey from Xanax to Overjoyed November 10, 2010

I was digging through the big tub of clothes that Eden wore her first few months, trying to see if there were any pieces I could give to someone from our church. Somewhere at the bottom, I thumbed through the onesies that Eden wore over and over her first few weeks here. When I first stumbled on them, my face got hot and I felt a sensation similar to suddenly running into someone who you haven’t seen in a while…someone that it’s really awkward to see. Does that make sense? That feeling of being flushed, nervous, and uncomfortable, feeling the emotions that lead the situation to be uncomfortable in the first place….

I remember when I first bought some of those clothes. I was ecstatic for the little white one with red and hot pink strawberries. I had her wear that a lot when people came to see her. I thought when I bought that outfit that my memories of those days with her in it would be incredibly different. Seeing those clothes now triggered almost a flashback response of panic. An overwhelming sense of, in fact, how overwhelmed I was. When I told my sister about the incident, she asked me if I gave those outfits away, almost certain that I would have. I didn’t though. They are literally hard for me to look at but they were some of her first outfits and she was precious in them. Even if I was falling apart and they remind me of that, they remind me of her too and she was and still is a blessing.

I think what is so disorienting about that time is that I don’t know what feelings came from what. I can’t separate what was just normal new mom feelings and what was the postpartum. I guess in talking with other moms who didn’t go down the road I did, I know many things that are standard: anxiety, crying, sleep deprivation, and the sense of living in a fog. I just wonder sometimes when I look back, if I didn’t have PPD would I have felt many of the same things?

I’ll be totally honest with you. With a lot of guilt for a lot of months, I didn’t feel like ‘it was all worth it’. You hear moms all of the time say, “It was hard but I’d do it all over again.” Or some other passionate expression of their over powering love for their children. I loved Eden. I did. But with a lot of shame inside, I felt the truth of it all, at least initially, was that I didn’t feel like those moms. I didn’t feel like ‘I’d do it all over again’ or that ‘it was all worth it’. In those months, it probably made me feel even more depressed to know that I felt that way “but shouldn’t have”. At least according to the book of what a mom is supposed to be like from the get-go.

It was bizarre. I wanted Eden. I wanted to be her mom. I just wanted someone else to care for her and let me have her back when it was time to cuddle. I guess what I was saying is that I wanted to be Eden’s grandmother. I chuckle saying that because I think this is the first time I’m realizing what I was really desiring. I felt that way because I didn’t have the strength to cope with the shock of becoming an instant 24/7 caregiver overnight. I wanted her. I loved her because she was mine but I didn’t feel like I was tough enough to take care of her. Thankfully, that changed. And actually changed fairly quickly but when you feel like I did, time crawled. Sometimes it all but stood still.

In the beginning, it’s weird because you’ve always dreamed of the moment when the doctor hands you you’re baby and says, “Here she is, mom!”. And trust me, that moment was every ounce of what I had imagined and then some. BUT, I always watched A Baby Story on TLC and I remembered how every mom was like, “It’s instant love. Love like I’ve never felt.” Etc.

I had instant love for her, no doubt, but it was a different instant love. The kind of love that you have for someone because you have responsibility for them. Love because you labored for them and sacrificed for them. Love because they are beautiful. Love because it’s your family and you made them with your husband. There was a lot of that kind of love. What I didn’t feel though is love like I had known love. I know people always say that ‘it’s a love like they’ve never experienced’ but put that fluff to the side because that’s not what I’m talking about. Love before my child was always because of a relationship. Because I knew someone and built a relationship with them full of knowing them intimately and full of memories that made me love them. I was expecting that kind of love with Eden right away. But wait….I didn’t know her! She is a little face that’s reminiscent of family but she was a stranger. I didn’t know why she cried. She didn’t smile at me. She screamed and cried at me mostly. I couldn’t really interact with her at least in a reciprocated sense because, hey, she was only 5 minutes old.

So while I loved Eden, I didn’t know her. While I loved her, there wasn’t a bond…yet. There was a maternal bond but not bonding like I previously knew it. I think I felt troubled by that but the more I talk to other moms both PPD and non-PPD moms, I hear many singing the same tune. I don’t feel like anyone ever talks about it though. I know it really is that great for some women but it can’t be for all. We moms are supposed to be these all loving and perfectly maternal beings that pop a baby out with tears in their eyes with their baby in one hand and a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in the other hand. We are the superheros of life. Literal life. Not much room left for looking at your baby with an ownership love and connection one minute and then looking across the living room the next minute thinking, “Who is that strange baby laying on the couch? Call the police! Someone left their baby at my house!!!” No one ever says that on a Baby Story. TLC should’ve had me on there. It would’ve been their most memorable episode. You could’ve been a star, TLC.

I’m telling you, both a Baby Story and Bringing Home Baby are as toxic to your expectations as Cinderella and Prince Charming to little girls learning about what to expect with a man.  No one even cries on that show except for the babies.  Give me a break.

In a non-TLC reality, I remember getting a letter from a mom who said, “It’s okay if you aren’t crazy about Mrs. E right now.” Funny, I hadn’t said I wasn’t. Again, I was but in that grandmother sort of way. I was crazy but a little crazy in the wrong the direction. I felt a bond and constant maternal desire to care for her and hold her to me but that drive mixed with anxiety and sleep deprivation was a lethal cocktail exploding in a mess of tears, panic attacks, and not knowing if it all felt worth it. It was nice to hear a normal mother of two on the other side of motherhood telling me that I was allowed to not be dancing around the crib singing praises of infants and my new parenting lifestyle.

Fast forward to a few months after that letter.

I remember when she laughed at me for the first time when she was 15 weeks old. I was holding her over my head while Lance took a picture and she giggled and my heart swelled ten times. There was healing to me in that laughter. I had been out of the fog for a while and enjoying motherhood but even after the weeks of her smiling at me, there was something extra about that laugh that really humanized her to me. I didn’t realize how much I craved that from her until she looked at me and laughed. I was desperate to hear it again because it was thrilling and THAT is what made the bond start to take off. Yes, smiling was such a reward but to have this little girl with a sense of humor that responded to things that really are only funny to a baby….it was amazing.

I can now say it was really all worth it.  The crying.  The laughing.  The screaming baths.  The pills.  The breastpumping sessions for 1/2 an ounce.  The doctors visits.  The pajamas I wore for 2 days with baby poop on them.   

I feel fearful to say I’d do it all over because just the thought of living through that experience again makes my heart beat rapidly as I type it. Still, I guess I would because I really look forward to another baby down the road and this time, I’ll have a toddler, too. Now I’m really getting cocky!

Ultimately,  what I would relive doesn’t matter because God doesn’t measure our love for our children or our devotion to them by what awful things we are willing to endure for them at our expense. Although I would endure a great many and awful things, I  no longer feel guilty that I’m not the first one to raise my hand and say, “I’ll do PPD again because I love my kid thhhhhhaaaaatttt much!”  Beat that mother’s of the world!!!!  (insert eye roll)

I love Eden. I truly, truly love her. I love her now in both ways: Because she’s mine and made of me and Lance AND because I know her. I know what makes her laugh and I’m one of the few people who can. I know which blanket she wants and what to do with her Zebra to make her smile. I know when I hear a certain sigh that she’s asleep in her car seat. I don’t even have to look.

When I see her trying to sleep in the car and the sun is shining on her squinted shut-eyes, I know I love her when I switch lanes to move the shade across her face.

I know I love her when I look for a tooth every day for weeks and then I find one and my cheeks hurt with a big smile and then my heart sort of breaks because she’s getting bigger. I know I love her because every day that passes, is one I wish I could have back. And those aren’t things that happen right when they hand you your precious wrinkly newborn and lay her on your chest. Some love is instant and some, takes time.

I may never know what it’s like to bring home a baby and experience as the “normal” version of me. I might always ask which of the things I experienced would I still have felt if I hadn’t had postpartum. But I suppose I’m no less the mother and a mother I wanted to be no matter how I got there. Maybe next time I’ll call TLC and see if they want to an 8-episode series on me called “Crazy In Love”. Pun Intended. Now THAT’S a reality show!

One of my favorite quotes is, “There are two roads in life. One is hard, and one is easy and the only reward of the easy road was that it was simple.”

I may have unwillingly taken the country back roads on a rickety old moped wearing ripped sweats pants and a cracked helmet following an incorrect map from goggle maps but, hey, I got there!  And the reward at the end was multiplied. I worked for the love that now is the clichéd love of my life………..all daddies aside.

Traumatic strawberry onesies and all, I’m so glad I made it. There is nothing…nothing as sweet as motherhood.  And in true TLC fashion, I’ve never lived or loved like this.

The laugh.

November 11, 2010

A huge round of applause for Kentucky pulling through on the front of the class with 3 new spy-readers outted! I was getting nervous that my ole’ Kentucky home was going to let me down but alas…..it’s homey.

And a homie.

If you think ‘front of the class’ is fun…boy do I have some goodies in store. Just call me Santa. Or Buddy the Elf. I’d like that better.

Stand-by my buddies and again, thank you Bluegrassiens.

Brains: Missing in Action November 28, 2010

Once upon a time, I had a memory greater than a clan of African elephants. Once upon a time, I brushed my teeth multiple times per day. Now if we stay home all day, I can make it to dinner and think, “Gross and dang. I didn’t brush my teeth.” How can I forget that?

Most any day, I don’t know which day of the week it is. When I use to work, I had a calendar that I looked at–at all the times and I had to write the date over and over. Now I’m like, “Ahhhh I love Fridays. Wait, I mean Wednesdays. Wait, what?” I feel pretty stupid most of the time.

Three weeks ago I went to Eden’s Friday doctor appointment on Tuesday AND Thursday. When I showed up on Thursday, I felt real embarrassed when they called me up to the counter for the second time that week and told me I was there on the wrong day. Lucky for me, they had pity on me and took me that day anyhow.

Everytime I’m at the doctors office with her I do something stupid. They probably think I’m the most incompetent mother to ever walk their floors. 

I’m usually so tired that by the end of the Dr.’s speech I try to review it all in simple 2 year-old terms.

“So you’re telling me I have a daughter. And that daughter is sick. Okay, next part….”

I mean this is bad.

A few days ago I tried throwing her dirty diapers in the laundry basket and today I was almost out of the neighborhood when I realized that I forgot something at home all to get home and find it already in the car.

I lost my car keys about three months ago and still have no clue where they are. I lost my camera a month ago which we just found out was left at CVS.  Luckily, one of the employees claimed it as his own and took it home and was using it.  Just kidding.  That’s only half lucky.  I get it back tomorrow, buster.  I hope all the pictures of my sweet baby and me made you feel reeeeal guilty.

Unfortnately, for my comfort level I can’t find my gray yoga pants which is part of my outfit 2-40 times per week.  The most maddening part is both the keys and pants are somewhere in this house AND I STILL CAN’T FIND THEM.

Hmmmmmmm, what else?

In the past two weeks, Eden was really fussy and I tried bouncing her, giving her Tylenol, etc. when I realized that I had forgotten her 3 o’clock bottle and it was now 4 pm.  Don’t worry, I would never forget to feed her for real.  At least for more than 60 minutes.  That day we had company and my schedule was off and just like that, that’s all it took.  No more bottles for you, missy!  Blah.  I felt awful.  I actually didn’t want to tell anyone but found myself doing it anyways because I felt so guilty that I wanted people to tell me it was okay. I discovered I’m not the only mom to experience this short coming.  See???  Honesty, pays-off!  You can feel better knowing other children you know are hungry for an extended period thanks to mommy brains.

The moral of the story is this, if you need my help, you better decide how important the task is before you assign it to me.  If you ask for a 2-liter drink for your party, I may show-up with 2 gallons of milk.  If you ask me to meet you at the mall, I might be standing guard outside of Barnes and Noble for hours wondering where the heck you are.  Be afraid to entrust me with anything.  You’ve been warned!   My memory is on sabtical.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that I planned weddings and headed-up a certain division of the last company I worked for.  This is NOT the BeccaBoo I use to be.  I have my days and glimmers of intelligence but for the most part, it’s just stupid for days and days.

Please make me feel better by giving me your stories of your mommy flubs or absentmindedness.  Don’t worry.  I won’t remember it by tomorrow, anyhow.  Let us all embrace each other with verbal comforting hugs and be stupid together.  Amen.

November 16, 2010

An article on parenting and kids that offends me. Some of the comments made, especially about the what the passengers on the plane must be thinking, make me want to vomit or punch something.  I can’t decide.  I’ll do both.

Parents Are Junkies:
If parenthood sucks, why do we love it? Because we’re addicted.
By Shankar Vedantam

http://www.slate.com/id/2274721/?gt1=38001

Case for Catharting November 17, 2010

I get fan mail all the time that’s like…

Dear Beckycat,

I love how open you are.

Love, Your Biggest Fan

Since I’ve heard that from so many piles of persons, I thought I would write a piece on why we should all give our lives in gab to others. I realize not everyone is like this which is why it stands out to people when I write certain words on certain subjects involving certain anatomy. I can respect that not every one wants to air their goods BUT this is my case for why I think it’s a grand thing to do in our lives. I will utilize bullets for you starting now.

* It seems my bullets have chosen to be stars. Moving on. I think that one of the reasons we experience the things we do is to help others endure similar things. For example, if Lance’s friend years ago would’ve said, “My wife’s ppd is too personal to talk about with others…” Then when my experience happened, Lance wouldn’t have had anyone to call. When they had that conversation, Lance wasn’t anticipating that 5 years later he would remember that talk and that he would need to call them. That man’s wife ended up being a great help to me during some of the worst days. If she wasn’t open, she would’ve felt weird with a girl she didn’t know calling her from another state to talk to her about what she went through and about what I was going through. When that guy shared his story with Lance, he had no reason to because it wasn’t relevant to Lance’s life. BUT he realized there is nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s life. His openness became a life saver years and years later. I can’t wait to help someone like she did me. I don’t wish it on anyone but since it’s gonna happen anyways….might as well utilize.

*As I stated in a post many blog moons ago, all of the things I say aren’t really that bold and crazy. You are saying the same things to your friends when it’s just the two of you. Only difference is, I’m saying them to people I don’t know. It’s no more appropriate to say them in private than it is in public. The issues are the issues. The subject matter doesn’t change–just people’s comfort level. I say comfort levels are for the birds! People are people no matter how many people you share your humanity with. 

When you are open, people feel like they can relate to you. They feel like you know them and that they know you. They feel like that can trust you. Do you know why that is? Because you are showing your human-ness and EVERYONE can relate to that. We all have crappy days in our marriage. Bad days raising kids. Mishaps with our private particulars.

I think being able to make people feel so trusting and comfortable with me is what made my counseling days so successful. Give me the hardest teenager you have…If I can make them laugh and show them that we really aren’t that different, then I can help them because they will be real enough with me to start making authentic changes. Not only that but they will listen and respect what I have to say because they feel that we are coming from the same place. The human place. Honesty and openness equals the power to make yourself on level playing ground with anyone. It can be an awesome tool. Also, it’s good for buddy making.

* Being open is as free as wearing no undies. There’s a lot of freedom to having nothing to hide. It’s a wonderful thing to not be embarrassed. Lots of people don’t like airing their business because it makes them feel vulnerable. I say it makes me feel like I have no panties!!  Woo hoo!!!!!!!!!  Sweet freedom!

*  Sure it’s interesting when I run into people I don’t know and they know things about my life, as in, every thing.  I got a huge kick of out seeing random people in public after writing about my PPD.  People who maybe I haven’t even seen in years would see me and say hello in a really sympathetic voice like they were saying ‘hi’ but were really saying ‘I’m sorry you went crazy’.  For serious though, it was really sweet and just like us women creatures to be so compassionate. Still, it was so funny because it was blatant that they knew everything that was going on.  Sometimes people would just say, ‘I read your blog’.  I LOVE it though.  I don’t mind sharing my life (and to finally make a point in this star section)  if you are sharing your funny times and bad times, you pick up the blessing of having people all over laughing along with you, praying for you, or encouraging you when it stinks.

* I don’t have anymore to say.  In closing, everyone post a comment of the most detailed, private experiences that you’ve ever had that you’ve never told anyone or any pet you’ve had or even, any diary.  Just kidding. 

Or am I??????????

No one will read it.  Your life’s secrets are safe with me here on the open internet. Just don’t use the word ‘cat’ in your secret.  People love to goggle phrases with the word ‘cat’ in it.  Trust me, I know.

Front of the Class November 21, 2010

Red Rover, Red Rover we dare the state of White House, Tennessee over!!!!!!!!!!! I know this was a scary kids game but I promise if you dare to come on over, I’ll gently break my hands around your waist so you won’t get an unintended hymleic.

We have a few monkey bar rungs open if you would like to hang beside me.  Also, we have the open bars that you can do penny drops off of.  Anyone?  Was that just our highly gymnastic elementary school doing fantastic swinging by our legs and jumping off?

You may tell us answers to these 3 questions from our dear friend, Buddy the Elf.

1.  What’s your favorite color?

2.  Is there sugar in syrup?

3.  Finish the line.  The way to spread Christmas cheer is by……

You don’t really have to answer those questions but if you did, oh boy, we’d love Elf together.

For real though, you can tell us how you learned about the birds and the bees.  That sounds exciting!

Also, do you live in a white house?

And furthermore, I wish you would.

Women and Whoopie November 22, 2010

If I had a dollar for every mom that told me that they were now asexual, then I’d have about 15 dollars. That’s a lot of cold hard sexually dysfunctioning cash. Asexuality mainly being the lack of sexual interest or desire in a total sort of way, seems to be the common theme for many moms and married ladies. For the guys, it’s opposite day. As always.

I think women tend to start feeling this way after years of marriage, not only after becoming moms, but since I’m a new mom. Let’s talk about mommy.

Getting back to the marital basics after a baby is a weird thing. For Lance, pregnant marital basics was more difficult. There was something beautiful but not so tantalizing about his daughter being in my stomach. For me, I felt really weird when we tried to be intimate after having her. Seriously, all I could think about was, “I have a daughter in the next room. She would be grossed out. Hey, maybe I’m feeling grossed out! I can’t touch her with the hands of friskies!”  It’s a weird transition.  Actually, it’s a transition I haven’t fully had to make because of being out of commission and all.  If you are a new reader and don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s only about 3 blogs or so away from being brought back up again, I’m sure.  

Anyways.

Ultimately, I think it comes down to several things:

1.  You’re tired.  Unfortunately, when the time comes for marriage practices, you are way too exhausted.

2.  Your hormones may be plunging down low the depths of the estrogen lake of fire.

3.  Watching toys dangle from strings on a Baby Einstein video while your baby cries with teething doesn’t start your engine.

4.  You don’t like your new permanent fanny pack of loose skin and lard around your middle.

5.  You don’t like your new body in general.

I’m dangerously on a roll here…..

6.  As I always I saved the best for last and this is a big one.  We feel so tired and a lot of times feel like we are doing it on our own.  Maybe you have a helpful husband.  Maybe you don’t.  Maybe your husband will do anything you ask him to do, you just wish you weren’t always asking.  Maybe your husband tries sincerely to help but there is still leftovers on the changing table and I don’t mean macaroni.  Then you feel mad and frustrated and say, “I’ll just do it myself!”  and you cry into a spare diaper you find on the floor.  Ahhhhh, hormones and sweet exhaustion….how you know me so well.

That was a make-believe scenario.  Sort of.  I do find poop a lot of places I normally don’t when Lance watches Eden but that’s okay.  I’ve never actually cried in diapers.  Those are much too expensive to simply absorb tears.  BUT still, we all have that feeling from time to time where we just want a break resulting in our husbands not catching any.

What dear sisters and sisters does this have to do with sex?  When you feature ovaries and uterus….EVERYTHING.  When you feature parts that make testosterone?  Probably means nothing.

I think most women lose their sexual drive because the demands of motherhood hit right on our love language which is to be loved.  We don’t feel loved when we feel short-changed because of a late meeting that left us in momma overdrive for 13 hours straight.  When our hardworking hubbies get home, even if their hard work allows mothers like me to stay home which is priceless for me/us, it’s hard to not feel a sense of isolation in your parenting role.  No matter how much you love being a mom, no matter how much you love your child, no matter how much you appreciate their work cause BELIEVE ME, I don’t want the job as bread winner….you can still feel all those things and still feel a little overworked in your own mommy right.  Can I have a lunch break, hallelujah one time!!!!!

When issues like this seep into a marriage, and they do no matter the working arrangements, it’s easy to take on the attitude of  ‘if momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody getting any sort of thing in our room that makes you happy’.  But then the problem is for real, ain’t nobody happy.  Except baby.  And maybe the occasional cat.

I have a perfect illustration of how this has proven itself true in my own marriage.  I can see Lance reading this at work, gripping his office chair for impact.    It’s okay brother Lance, ease down, ease down.

It’s actually a reverse example of how this works and it started after the delivery. 

As soon as I popped my baby out, I felt so loved and soooooooo close and emotionally intimate with Lance.  This lead me to wish that we could be close in ways that got me to the delivery room in the first place.  Not in a raunchy sort of way but more like an expression of love and togetherness over what we just shared.   Trust me, that was the last thing I expected to feel. 

Then once we got home, as I started kind of losing my way physically, emotionally, and mentally, he took such perfect care of me that, again, I wished I could’ve shown him love that way.  You wouldn’t think a lady hyped-up on PPD would even have that within a million miles of herself but, I really did.  Almost to the extent that it was like when we first married over 6 years ago.  Little did we know that just 7 months later we would get to finally share in that again.  Nope, just kidding.  Still can’t.

All giggling about my privates aside, my point here is that I wanted to be with Lance in the worst of physical and emotional situations because what was drawing me to him was his love for me.  I think it’s so different for men that it’s really hard for them to understand or rather even believe that- that is how we function.  I really and sincerely become more attracted to Lance when he washes the dishes un-asked or offers to take Eden so I can go in town or when he secretly buys me the picture frame I want at Target for 16.99 for limited time only in aisle B16. 

That kind of stuff gets me going.  Men are so visual that they really have a hard grasping that cooking dinner for the family is like the male equivalent of Victoria Secret.   SO, as life gets more demanding for the both of you, neither of you wanna cook or clean but one of you still wants to contribute to the physical area of the relationship while your wife has decided to become asexual.  And here we find the problem for many women.

The solution is a two-fold fix:  your husband meets your needs, whatever that may be, and you meet his.

This, however, is only a solution to inspire you to desire each other.  You have to still do your part to meet your spouses needs even they aren’t taking as good of care as yours as you’d like.  The only way to get back on track is not to both throw in the towel.  Someone has to be trying.  Better if you both are but when in doubt, try, try again.  When you take on the ‘ain’t nobody happy approach’, then you aren’t working as a unit which is what you are and moreover, that approach is totally selfish and apathetic to actually making changes.

Sisters of the asexual world, I hear you.  The cave women felt this way.  There is nothing new under the sun.  I guarantee that the cave lady would be like, “Where’s my Brontosaurus leg?” And when he said, “I don’t know I was rolling rocks down the hill with the guys”, then she would take two big sticks and make an ‘x’ over her body. 

It’s not always fun and it’s definitely not always desirable or an easy thing to do BUT it’s necessary for a healthy marriage and asexuality doesn’t seem to fit into the picture somehow.

I hope you and your cave man can make cave babies together through the good times, the wanted times, and the unwanted times.  It’s not easy and not something that most of us can snap our fingers back into but somehow there has to be a way even without Brontosaurus bones.  We just have to do our part to be selfless, just like we want our cave kings to be.  

PS- But for real, lasagna will go a long way for you.  Top it off with a freshly, cleaned tub and you are going to straight to Disney World!

Dear God, Love Sam November 24, 2010

My youngest of my 16,000 siblings is a cute little 6 year-old man who has autism. He is a super buddy. He’s totally into dinosaurs and by totally I mean, talks about them at all times with the occasional Star Wars character thrown in.

Every night at dinner, my family says the blessing and the kids typically will volunteer to pray. Samuel had never asked to say the blessing until a few nights ago.

He said, “I wanna say the blessing.” So my mom said, “Okay”, and they all bowed their heads.

Dear God,

The dinosaur chased the alosaurus into the woods and ate him.

Amen.

=0) I think God thought it was heart felt and I totally mean that. Maybe next time he will thank God for the dinosaurs. Hey, gotta start somewhere! He’s so funny =0)

Why, Thank you! November 30, 2010

In what sick and twisted school of backwards etiquette did we learn to receive compliments?  Dudes don’t compliment each other on the regular but we women, when we are secure enough in ourselves to do so, like to hand out the kind words of verbal affirmation for a good hair day or stylin’ outfit.   This is how it goes:

Secure Woman 1:  That is a really awesome haircut!

Me and You: (look of surprise)   Oh, thanks. It’s really dirty right now. (or)  I didn’t really fix it today. (or) I liked it better the last time they cut it but thanks.

Another Secure Woman on  a day of compliments:  You did really good performing up there today!

Me and You:  Really?  Oh my gosh, I thought I did bad.  Did you hear some of those notes I hit? (or) How I stumbled over my words? (or) Butchered those killer moves?

Okay you get the picture…..

What’s happening is that when we get complimented we A: explain it away or give some sort of disclaimer or B:  Make a face of humble disagreeance and say, “Well, thanks…” like we are some fake poser of Bashful from the 7 dwarfs.  

Why do we do this?  I think there are several reasons.  Maybe because we are afraid of seeming overconfident or conceited by just saying a confident and grateful, “Thank you!”  We women like to compliment each other as long as our pride doesn’t lead us to believe you feel too good about yourself.  If you don’t respond the way we want, with too much confidence and not enough gratitude for our compliment, then we might get offended. You cocky fart face.

Another reason we may do this is because we get embarrassed accepting compliments.  I don’t know who these people are but some people feel really uncomfortable being complimented like it’s awkward or something.  I love you but you’re weird.  Compliments are happy times for everyone involved.  Every one needs a little encouragement.  I don’t know what to tell you if you are this person.  Maybe you could lock yourself in a room with someone friendly and have them compliment you for hours.  Sort of the flooding technique where you have so much exposure to the source of your fear that you get over it because you get use to it and work through it.  This is an awesome idea.  You’re welcome uncomfortable compliment receiver person.

On a more serious note, what I don’t like about people, majorly including myself, not accepting compliments is because while I think we are wanting to appear humble to others, we actually appear ungrateful to the gift giver. 

Ahem, G-O-D.

When someone tells you that you are super talented, smart, beautiful, or just simply tells you “Good Job” and we explain it away with “could’ve been betters” or with our socially accepted “humble” polite disagreeance, I just can’t help but think that it’s ultimately an ungrateful slap in the face to the Creator for that gift He gave us.

The fact of the matter is you look the way you look and have the gifts you have because that is what you were meant to have.  It’s what you’ve been given.  What a shame to tell someone in so many ways that it’s not a gift or not as much of a gift today as it is other days or could be etc. 

When I sing and get complimented or when I delivered cakes I had made someone, even if maybe it wasn’t my best song or best cake, if I’m grateful to have the ability in the first place, why can’t I just simply, thankfully, and self-assuredly say, “Thank you”.  No, disclaimers.  Just, thank you.

I would never want to look at God in the face and say, “Thank you for my voice but did you just hear me?”  It’s like someone giving me a Christmas gift (which you all should) and me saying, “Oh, this silly old thing?  It’s good.  I’ve seen better.  It could be better but maybe it was the wrapping.  I’m just not feeling the giftedness in this gift today. But, hey, seriously, thank you.  I mean it.”  Everyone understands that I’m a barf head in that instance.  Same thing in reality is happening with not accepting a compliment but in a much, much worse way.

Your assignment for this week and year and okay, for forever, is to not give explanations, belittle, or explain away the blessings you’ve been given.  Just say thank you.  Then they will say, “You’re welcome” and then all the damage of that stupid backwards way of seeing this modeled as women (and men) will be reversed.  We’ll all get out alive.

And if you liked this blog and wish to tell me so,  may I be obliged to say “I saw that coming“.

Thank you.

Vagina Chronicles December 6, 2010

Chapter 5:

It’s time for the latest installment of the Vaginal Times. This news is so hot off the press almost no one knows about it. The suspense is killing you.

I finally heard back from the doc about what to do with this predicament of anatomy I obtain. She said she called Vanderbuilt and no one could help me there and that she had ‘no luck’. No luck at Vandy? I must be severely handicapped.

BUT she didn’t leave my empty pant-ed. She recommended a doctor here who has seen 4 girls like me in his 30 year career and treated them all successfully…with surgery!!!!!!!!

Rah rah shish boom bah. Razzamatazz. Throw the candy! Catch a peppermint and stick it in your pants for later. Yaaayyyyyyy!

I said, “Whoa sister friend. I’m afraid to have another surgery since the last one didn’t work. Not really interested in being a big ball of scar tissue.”

SO we decided to get two opinions. Me and the doctor that is, not me and, well, you know…..

Like a jiffy snazzmatazz, I got an appointment this week out-of-town at a specialist. Unfortunately, the doctor is a dude. I’ve never really been into dude obgyns. I don’t get it but, hey, hey, maybe they like to see the miracle of life. Mind your own business, Rebecca.

I’m really lucky I got in this quick because if both opinions lead to surgery, I want this done as soon as possible because the recovery time is 6 week minimum. I’ve got this girl together so I can hurry up and have another baby and do this allllllll over again!

I just wish someone could wave their magical reproductive magic 8 ball above my head and give me the answer.

I would say, “Will this surgery work?”

It would say, “Answer unknown. Ask again later.”

Then I’d take the ball and smash it on the ground and say, “What are good for you lousy ball?” Then I’d scream and cry and run circles around the Christmas tree over and over until the presents catch my eye and then I feel happy again and sit down beside them. Christmas fixes everything.

I guess we all know what this means. Chapter 6 is coming soon.

How many cuts can a gina cut, cut if gina could cut ginas? Oh, I’m gonna find out.

Put on Your Thinking Caps December 8, 2010

Next week will be a landmark week for thefirsthundred. I am going to post a quiz of stuff you’ve read around my place and the winner will be crowned with a gift card. Starbucks is this week’s gift of choice because I’m there at least weekly to devour it’s liquidy goodness. Of course you’ll have to provide me your address via a private message so don’t play if you don’t want to be a winner. Unless you are just being a bragger and then I will take take the next highest scoring person who is willing to give me their address.

I’m going to occasionally start some give-a-way type things. If I start churning out bucks for my blog, then I’ll do it more often. This prize is a 10 dollar gift card. That’s right, 3 ish drinks. It would be more if being a stay-at-home paid more. Right now I’m making mmmm about 0 dollars an hour so a ten dollar gift card is like a million percent inflation. Give thanks. I will post a leader board so you will know if you are in the running for the most valuable gift card of all times. In my dreams, the leader board will show on the quiz page in the post but let’s not get too fancy and ahead of ourselves. Put on your thinking caps and your winniest pair of undies. Be prepared to dominate each other in a total blog battle!!!!!!!!! The blog battle star gallatica will go up on Monday and it will be able to be taken (one time each) for the whole week and I’ll announce the winner the following Monday. If you thought it was getting a little jazzy around here, you’d be right.

December 7, 2010

Blog Battlestar Gallactica Challenger Quiz For A Starbucks Gift Card December 13, 2010

RULES AND DIRECTIONS:

Below is the link to the quiz to unlock the chambers of your thefirsthundred.wordpress.com knowledge.  LISTEN CAREFULLY.

This will be the honor system.

1-NO READING THE POSTS WHILE TAKING THE QUIZ.

2-When you are done with all 31 questions, there will be a stupid one following the last question at the bottom of the quiz that the site puts on there about Glee or something dumb.  Don’t answer that question below number 31 because it will lead you an ad and I don’t want you to miss getting your scores which are only temporarily available.

Just click ‘SUBMIT MY ANSWER’. For some reason it says answer in the singular even though you provided 31 answers.  It’s the right button.  Don’t be confused.  You will not get your scores unless you click ‘submit my answer’.

3.  Once you have submitted your answer, it will give your score.  Please come back to this post and post the percentage score it gave you as a comment so everyone can see how you did.  This will be our makeshift leader board.  I would love it if you came up with some sort of team name.  A proper response would look like this…..

Team Unicorn Fantasy aka Kathy Scored a 65% . Include part of your real name or city so we can know who unicorn fantasy is deep down.

If for some reason you don’t want to post your score, you can email it to me at:  thefirsthundred@hotmail.com

…but terrible scores are both funny and thus, encouraged.

4- After you’ve submitted your answers and received your score, you can click a button at the top that says ‘review questions’ or something like that.  You can then go through question by question and it will show you which you questions you or others are getting right or wrong by displaying percentages by the answers, red for wrong, green for right.

5-  Don’t share answers just like good ole’ fashioned school.

6.-  Even though the quiz will be up for a week, only take the quiz ONCE.  It may let you more than once but only your first score will count.

7.- Think carefully about the questions.  Some may be subtly trickstering.

8.- If there is a tie for top score, I will do some sort of tie breaker.  Something where you battle to the death like buffalo fighting and one of you will be the buffalo.  Seriously, I’ll declare a winner somehow.

If you have trouble viewing the quiz, let me know and me and my no computer skills will try to help.

GOOD LUCK.  PLAY SAFE.  DON’T DO DRUGS.  ENJOY YOURSELF.

May someone be sipping delightfully soon.  Bought the card today so it’s ready and waiting.  Go get em’, tiger.

http://apps.quibblo.com/static/flash/qwidget/qwidget.swf?s=wp&theme=quibblo&quiz=e31q4VN

Quizzes by Quibblo.com

December 19, 2010

I could never be God. Which is, I’m guessing, pretty obvious for an infinite amount of reasons. For example, if I were God, animals couldn’t die so we’d all starve. I couldn’t look at the face of a cow and say, “Okay, this one, die right now.” Maybe if I was hungry enough but one thing is for sure, your pets could never die. We would be over run with 300 year old cats and 50-year-old guinea pigs which is like 1,000 years in g-pigs. G pig is a great name for a guinea pig.  Write that down.

I couldn’t decide on a time, age, or way I would want to die.

Hmmmm, so far my theories on this matter revolve around death, I see. Very interesting (taps her mouth thoughtfully but really, just sarcastically).

More seriously, I couldn’t decide what’s best for myself because it is impossible for some of the ‘best things’ not to include some of the hardest things. Because I’m so human, even if I KNEW the awesome end results that the trials would give me as a person, I’d chicken out every time. Being bullied? Pass. Parent’s divorcing? Pass. Getting my heartbroken? Triple-teen pass. I’m so glad we don’t have a say in what happens to us because I’d be one shallow, underdeveloped person.

Having chronic migraines has made me so thankful for the all the migraine free days, which are almost always nowadays.  Postpartum restored my marriage and I would never ever ever in my long-legged life choose that for the first time and even a second time even though it did a lot of good. 

Getting your heart shattered makes you look at your husband and think, “I did good.  I’m safe and loved and I wasn’t before.”  It’s just one of the thousands of things you can see in contrast to your love struggling days that makes you so thankful.

Infertility is one thing that I will never fully understand God’s purpose for in my life, this side of heaven.  I say that but then again, I still probably have a few more years to lasso under my belt so who knows?  I feel like saying that dismisses God’s ultimate purpose in things which is not to learn some dramatic life lesson.  I know I was constantly challenged to depend and wait on the Lord and to be patient.  That is a massive beast of a purpose.  I think the reason I feel like I don’t understand the purpose is because I don’t feel like I mastered the art of being patient, not that we ever do.  I don’t feel like I became polished by the experience.  It seems unfinished.  Unconquered.  Ultimately, it was like I struggled and struggled for 2 years and then all of a sudden, it was over.  I felt like, “Wait, I’m not better.  I didn’t beat the hurt, the disbelief, the waves of bitterness….”  I suppose that’s why I don’t feel like anything was “accomplished”.  I can say with quite confidence that–that’s not true.  I’m just too short-sighted to see it. 

Obviously, those years gave me an immense gratitude and respect for the gift of being a mother.  It’s not something God is obligated to give us.  It’s a privilege and I know that because I went without it and fought for it.  Just because millions of women do it effortlessly does not mean that we are entitled to that same blessing.  That’s a hard pill to swallow when you are desperately trying to get pregnant but it’s the truth and a reality that makes me humbled and grateful to have a baby sleeping down the hall.   Now I know by seeing the face of my child why I wanted one so badly.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried that it will be hard to conceive again.  It’s such an incredible blessing that it’s hard for me to imagine doing it only once.  Either way, if she was the only child I could give birth to, my cup runneth over.

In a nutshell, basically everything I’ve just written is everything I wouldn’t have the guts to pick out for my life plan and that’s why I’m thankful for a wise and loving God who can do the best thing for me because I’m not wise enough to even know what that is half the time. I’m only good at loving myself to my determinate. 

Interestingly, I see my weakness to want to shield myself dumping over into a weakness in my parenting.  I haven’t had to shield Eden from anything yet, except for maybe the occasional chunk of food that’s too big for her to swallow, but I feel like I want to protect her from anything negative in her future.  That would be the worst thing for her and while I think I love her enough to stand beside her while she struggles instead of trying to be her perpetual superhero, it’s not an easy thought.  There have been so many things that have surprised me about myself as a parent.  There were things, like this, that I always thought parent’s were foolish for doing, saying, thinking, etc.  That was judgemental of me because now that I love her, areas I thought I would be strong in, actually show me my weakness.  Parenting is going to be way harder than I imagined and again, I come back to my original point that challenge is what shows  us our weak spots which is why they are so good.  I think we all know that which is why I wonder why so many people question God during tragedy or hard times.  What if it’s best?  

I’m so glad that I can’t control my life and that I can’t choose what seemingly bad things will happen for me.  Although, if I could, Bonkers the ‘good man’ cat would still be sitting here.  It might be a little awkward for him though when I die and he’s like 6 thousand and still sitting here.  Dang, then he’d be sad,  lonely, and mostly hungry and then we are back to me being a bad God again.  =0)

I hope one day that I can welcome the bad and count it as good in the moment.  Until then, I’ll keep buying pets cause, hey guys, they don’t live forever and I think we know why.

December 14, 2010

SO FAR the standings are as follows….

1st Place- Team Booyah in Yo Face Sore Losers aka Katie 87%

Tie for 2nd-  Robina  & Aud bo Bod aka Audrey 74%

Tie for 3rd- Carmen & Kristie with 68%

I really wish someone would tie “Team Booyah in yo face sore losers’, so we can at least see some buffalo fighting.

Postpartum: Letters for You December 17, 2010

When I am logged into my account, I can see what people googled to end up on thefirsthundred.  As far as subject matters go, I ALWAYS have two googled phrases as the 2 main ones that landed people on my page: ‘how to survive a break-up’ & ‘postpartum’.  That is why I titled this blog with the word postpartum in it so that way it will directly send people my way who are suffering through ppd.

I recently had the honor of talking personally with a woman who ended up randomly on my page when she googled ppd and found my posts on the subject.  We’ve had the chance to exchange e-mails and talk back and forth and with her permission, she said I could post one of my response letters to her.  I’m sure you all get a little sick of hearing about the issue but when it’s you or if it’s been you, all you want to do is help someone who is still in the dark part of the process.  I thought this letter of encouragement and advice could be helpful to someone else.

The letter jumps in somewhere in the beginning because I deleted certain parts of the letter that wouldn’t make sense to everyone.  When she wrote me, she was saying how she felt flat, depressed, and like a robot.  She talked to me about being depressed, her decision to try to keep breastfeeding for a while longer, the lack of support she has felt around her from people that love her but don’t understand, and about how having this baby has made her realize that she had previously based her self-worth on looks and accomplishments, both of which she feels she has lost.

This was my letter to her.  Thanks for allowing me to post it =0)

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Well….I’m sorry to hear that for different reasons, people aren’t as supportive as maybe they could be.  Some of that is because some people just don’t know what to say.  As crazy and ridicously hard for me as it to believe, some people actually bring home babies and don’t cry and mold much better than others so some people really just don’t get it.  Although, you will never convince me that bringing home a baby isn’t a real challenge for all women.  
 
It really is the most shocking thing to your life and to your point about not feeling ‘ready’, as cliched as it sounds, I don’t think anyone can be.  Sure, some can be more than others but who in the heck is ready??????  It really does completely transform every aspect of your life and nothing is your own and nothing looks recognizable about yourself or your life for a while.   I remember that panicked feeling well.  I was crazy overwhelmed with breastfeeding.  No one could help me…I had the boobs.  My baby didn’t sleep either and actually just started sleeping through the night about 3 weeks ago and she is now 7 MONTHS OLD!  The sleep deprivation will make the sanest crazy and the constant, unending demand with no energy feels unsurvivable at times.  To me, that was some of the worst parts of it….feeling so overwhelmed but literally no one can save you and it feels like the only saving thing would be not being a mom for a while which, of course, isn’t an option. I have never felt more helpless than that period of my life which was just a sort while ago.
 
As a person who got through it, I can tell you that the best thing I did for myself was to stop breastfeeding.  Don’t ever feel pressured or judged by me if you choose different but it saved my tail.  I was so sad and still am from time to time that I can’t nurse but, the benefit of me being a happy healthy mother highly outweighs the benefit of breastmilk.  Furthermore, a pediatrician just told me that mothers who don’t take care of themselves and eat poorly, many times do not actually have enough dha and ara in their milk and formula can actually be better.  For ME,  that was no doubt the case.  I didn’t eat for days and was barfing.  Sounds at least like you can force feed which is at least one up on me =0)  I can tell you that I needed to get my hormones back to normal and I needed to be able to be medicated to be where I am now.  Let me also add that my sister who had ppd three times, nursed while on zoloft and my step-mom who is a nurse practicioner read the research and the amounts that are secreted are miniscule, although, I know that still can be too much in many moms minds and I get that too.  Her kids are beautiful, healhty, and smart. I was put on anti-dep. AND xanax.  xanax is a def no, no for nursing so I didn’t have a choice but I was glad I didn’t because I needed someone else to be strong and make that choice for me.
 
 My only word of caution is, that while you are being very cautious and waiting the 6 weeks, in ppd time that sounds like 15 years!  But if it’s working for you then that’s wonderful =0).  I just wanted to tell you that stopping is what aiding in changing me much quicker and I would offer that advice to anyone in my shoes.  A prominent doctor in a neighborhing big city to my hometown said that he has moms who breastfeed while medicated and those who stop breastfeeding and are medicated.  He said there is a huge difference between those who take the meds but quit nursing.  He said the moms that continue to nurse seem to have much less improvement and platuea.  Two things about what he’s said, first, obviously he is allowing the medication and nursing to occur at the same time and, two, it really speaks to how much nursing effects the hormone levels.  My obgyn said ‘they are at crazy levels when you breastfeed’.  All hormones aside, it  gives you your life back in a lot of ways which is something I know you are looking for.  And for as how expensive it is, it does stink when breastfeeding is free but like everything, you have to weigh the benefits against the risk.  And, you can get formula in bulk at big suppliers like cosco and sam’s club and it’s not so bad.  Okay…that’s my speech.
 
Moving on…..
 
As for how you’ve been defining yourself (accomplishments, looks, etc.), I have some things to say on a spiritual level.  I don’t know if you are a christian or not but I am so this is how I believe and look at life.  This is either gonna be something you agree with, don’t want to hear because you ‘hate religion’, or something you’ve never thought of before BUT either way….here it is
 
I strongly believe that we all struggle to not define ourselves in those ways (looks, accomplishments, etc.).  Soceity embraces that fondation but it’s a rocky one.  We get old and saggy even if we don’t have babies.  We retire or stay working but have our ups and downs because that’s just life.   Anytime we base of idenity in things that are shifing, we are destined to end up in this position because it’s going to fail us….eventually,  if not over and over repeatedly.  
 
I believe God brings about times such as these in our lives for 2 reasons:  to remind us where our fondation should be and to bring us back to Him by showing us our need for him OR drawing us to Him in the first place by realizing that we need Him and aren’t fulfilled by the empty things in life.
 
Personally, I would never choose ppd for myself to bring about change.  Who would?  But I can tell you that it ironcially did wonders for my marriage.   It reaffirms to me that I’m never forsaken and that He makes good on His promises to be faithful to us when we are faithless.   It was the worst, best thing.
 
So, I don’t know what category you fall in–in regards to the possible purposes in your life but from an objective viewpoint of someone who isn’t in your shoes but use to be, it sounds like that on the other side of this, there can be a lot of things weeded out of your life that need to be: vanity, focus of self-worth based on accomplishments.  Trust me, we all have felt that way so I do understand but what a life of freedom to not have to be concerned for how your body is changing or what you’ve gotten done in a day.   There is so much more richness to be felt in the liberation from those things. 
 
Right now, I know none of what I said really matters because you are feeling like a hamster.  Speaking of hamsters, did you read my blog “How to Survive I Newborn Like I Sort-of Did” ?  Hamsters were one of my themes! 
 
Anyways, I think you need to remember that you are depressed.  Funny, you can’t seem to forget you are, right?   What we forget though in those moments is that how everything seems and feels to us, is not an objective reality.  What seems so logical to you now, what seems so hopeless, what seems un-repairable, in reality….isn’t.  Depression keeps you from seeing that right now.   You aren’t thinking like normal you.  You are thinking and convinced this ‘other’ you is right and I hate to tell you ’other you’ but you’re lying to the original woman.  There is so much joy to be found.  You will find this joy.  Dare I say you will probably have another child!  I think what you will find is everything about the old normal pales in comparison to your new normal you’ll have.  I wouldn’t go back to the life that was controlled and predictable for all the money in the world.  I think a key in moving forward is figuring out what works for you now and letting go of what use to be.  As long as you are in love with the past, you’ll never love your future.   What is fun to you now?  For example, I found a new love for Starbucks.  A treat to me is throwing her in the car and driving aimlessly around with a starbucks drink.  Getting stuff done now is cooking dinner AND folding one batch of laundry.  You can redefine what makes a good day to you now but just be careful to not set up more idols in your life to worship things that will fail you again because our lives can’t revolve around how much we get done around the house.  What an accomplishment though to have a child well cared for?  Maybe you flubbed at work today.  Maybe your belly is plunging forward over your jeans a little extra this morning BUT do you know what you did today?  You helped a little baby be happy and content.  You fed him in the face of depression and being exhausted.  Does it seems meaningless?  Far from.  It’s exactly what you are supposed to do and you did it well.  Babies all over the world are neglected and un-nutured and the eye contact, kisses, and full bellies you give him  now, are truly making him into a healthy young child and one day, an adult.  We know that’s true because babies who don’t get those things, are emotionally handicapped for life.  SO, what you are doing has infinite worth.  Maybe you aren’t thrilled about it now but you are doing the same things un-depressed moms are doing but in the face of depression.  That’s a big deal!  
 
In a day not too long, your bad days are going to get fewer and your better days will build and build.  So my advice is both practical and spiritual.  My encouragement is relational. I remember desperately getting on facebook to read encouraging letters from people at the end of the day.  I needed the support so desperately.  I’m sure you read these letters the same way.  I hope you’ve been encouraged today and that today is a good day or, at least, a better one.  Thinking of you (and that beautiful baby), Rebecca

*To anyone who is searching for something to read on this issue, please read my other posts that chronicle my time through and out of pdd.  You can find these posts by clicking on the tag words related to ppd in the bottom right column of my blog page.  And as always, feel free to e-mail me at thefirsthundred@hotmail.com

Blog Challenge Winner Team Booyah in Yo Face Sore Losers aka Katie December 21, 2010

Next time, this could be you! Dream big cronies.

Big ones, Tiny Ones, Even Brown Ones December 27, 2010

I hate sports. I hate big orange bouncy balls. I hate oblong leather brown balls. I hate little yellow ‘I hated tennis lesson’ balls. I hate, and I mean especially hate, little tiny white balls. I usually end up flinging the putter over and over Happy Gilmore style until I get 15 strokes a hole. That way I feel like I really got back at it and put it in it’s place. I truly hate hard to control ping pong balls. I hate volley balls that never go in the direction of my percise punches and jabs. I hate large heavy black solid balls that are, in fact, so heavy that I use kid sizes ON THE BUMPER LANE. Don’t judge me. I even hate cotton balls. Maybe even popcorn balls on a bad day.

Lance has been in fiercesome denial of this fact since our wedded bliss in August of 2004. He is always like, “Hey, hey, hey, watch this play!” Not intending to rhyme, of course, because that would be really un-mascqueline and thus, un-athletic. EVERY blasted time I say different versions of the same harsh reality which all revolve around the theme of “I don’t care!”

But still, for reasons still not known, he consistently calls me to the TV to watch some sort of play. The most maddening part about it all is that I tell him every time, “I don’t even know what’s going on?” He will say, “Look at Billy Stevens” or some players name and I”ll say, “Who is Billy Stevens? I don’t know who that is AND I don’t know what he is doing anyways!” Why does he still want to show me if it means nothing to me? The equivalent would be me calling to Lance when he is doing much more important things than what I am wanting to show him and he rushes to the living room to see a cross-stitching tournament in Japanese. Why are they quilting geese jumping over lambs? Who knows? What are they saying? It’s in Japanese. Who cares, I want you to watch this stupid thing whether it’s entertaining or not and I will repeatedly call you in here to witness the boring confusion. That is my example because I truly care about sports as much as grannies cracking their arthritic knuckles over pastel threads.

Poor brother, Lance. He loves these silly games so intensely. Sometimes I humor him and sit by him on the couch while he tantilizes his peepers with UK basketball. He will get the ocassional razzled feather and yell something mean to/about a player like,” What are you doing? Can you even catch a ball?!!!” I bring a rational and emotional touch to the game when I say, “That’s someone’s child. Even if you don’t know them, it’s no more right to make fun of them. What if you were their parent?” Somewhere in his soul I think he really appreciates the sensitive side I bring to televised sporting events.

Every now and then I go beyond suffering through sitting alongside him on the couch and do things like fill out March Madness brackets. I actually really enjoy this aspect of the torture-ish season where my TV is perpetually battered by constant images of men and their games. I enjoy even more that my bracket does better than many lads who treasure said basketball games. How do you do so well, some ask? See, you sports fanatics over-think it. I just look at the stats. Simple game of probability. I add in the occasional upset based on how the name hits me. Sometimes I’m drawn to names like, Elizabethtown Community College and put it in the Sweet 16. It’s like a psychic instinct of just feeling in my guts as to who is going to win. I know, know, ECC doesn’t play during March Madness but Larry Bird and Spud Webb haven’t played basketballs for years and years but it doesn’t stop me from answering every basketall trivia question with these guys. Kind of like when I played Shout About Movies with a girl who wasn’t from America. Every time she saw a boat in the scene she would guess Titanic. You just have to go with what you know and be confident that eventually, in sweet time, it will be the answer they game is looking for.

Tonight, as you might’ve guessed, Lance has interuptted me about a watching a basketball game and hence, this blog that has made your day. Commonly, he wants to show me something that a player does that’s impressive and I just think (and say) I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT BASKETBALL BECAUSE I DON’T PLAY OR WATCH IT SO IT WON’T SEEM IMPRESSIVE TO ME. Show me a guy who can do a granny shot from half-court, an attempt I can relate to. Now that’s something I could really get behind.

I don’t think he even hears me anymore when I plead my case as to why it’s unnecessary for me to participate in viewing certain plays. It’s not even about me really. He may not even know I’m in the room. That leads me to some ideas on handling the matter….

I’ve told him that I don’t like little league, high school, college, or professional sports….no level…no matter the ball….no matter the age. I hate sports. One time I even got so flustered that I raised my voice and said with intricatley enuciated words, “I hate basketball. I wouldn’t even care if they never. made. another. basketball!” Can’t really be more direct than that. You can’t care less than not being concerned with the manufacturing of particular sports balls.

In a twist of perfect blogging irony, upon typing the prior sentence, I asked Lance if we could play a game and he walked in not with Bananagrams or Yahtzee, but with a DVD NCAA Basketball trivia game.

I smile to myself in brilliant “I’m so right about this guy” fashion and say, “You know what I’m going to answer every question with right?”

“Uh, Michael Jordan?”

“Fancier.”

A grin came across his face and he said, “Larry Bird?”

How can this game be fair and balanced when he sees all my cards? Fingers crossed.

If I only I was Spud Webb.  Then I’d always be a winner. 

And black. 

Double win.

Baby Products I’ll Buy Next Time December 30, 2010

If rock stars were registries, they would’ve looked like my baby registry. 

Whatever that means. 

I did really good considering I had never been a mom before but if given the chance to register again, I’d do it a little different.  For example, I’d register for batteries (rechargeable ones) and baby food.  When you first have a kid, you think that things like baby food are light years away and then you give birth and realize how fast it goes and how fast you go through food.  I had said at first I would make my own baby food and then I realized, I’m too lazy.  I buy organic and feel guilt free so now my only regret is that I didn’t make my friends buy it for me at my showers. 

Next go round, I want these thingies at the bottom.  Take a looksie.

NAP NANNY

Nap Nannies are the easy answer for colic, gassy, and acid reflux babies. It’s a soft, inclined sleeper with a safety harness to keep your critter in place.  My baby was the refluxy and this would have been easier for me many time but especially as she got older.  Sure, you can put your baby in a car seat if your baby likes to sleep in those which my child didn’t so I needed options.  This is portable, stinkin’ cute, and can be used for years and years and becomes a toddler chair at it’s latest use. 

One thing I wish I had this for now is COLDS!  She’s too big for her swing and can get out of it so that doesn’t work.  She doesn’t like her car seat so that doesn’t work.  She rolls around too much for inclining her crib or mattress because she just rolls down hill to sleep so if I could just have a nap nanny then her night with colds would be so much better.  I want this little booger.  It’s expensive, gals.  130 bucks BUT I’ll be going the amazon.com route to see what I can find there. 

MILK MAID BOTTLE HOLDER

Call me lazy but whether you bottle feed or do it dairy cow style, we all need a break from feeding our babies every 2 seconds.  This, like the above product, requires parental supervision but I can sit that child o’ mine beside me and take a break while she safely feeds herself.  I downloaded this high-tech picture for you to see a killer demo.  There are other versions of this kind of product  that can attach to car seats, etc.  This little foam thing will give me a five-minute break next time. And if you have multiples, which this product markets to, then you will get several breaks all at once. Priceless. 

BATH SEATS FOR SITTING BABIES

I was lucky enough to have a sister with babies who is done having kids who passed me a version of this seat down but if she didn’t, I would have totally registered for it.  I haven’t seen these in stores but there are different versions of these on-line by Aqualand (think that’s right) and Safety 1st to name a few. 

Once a baby can sit, they don’t want to recline in those infant tubs.  Not to mention my kitchen was looking awfully skanky with baby bath clutter everywhere and a big infant tub in the sink.  Plus, it grossed me out when food debris got onto the tub from the sink.  Disgusting.

I was so happy to be able to move her to the big tub and know that she wouldn’t fall over because of the seat.  Now, you can’t of course leave your baby in the tub like, “Oh, she got this….”  and leave the room because obviously that’s not true.  BUT if you are in the room, it’s good for you both.  Why don’t stores have these? 

ITZBEEN TIMER

When I started riding the chuga-chuga crazy choo-choo train after having Eden, a friend rushed me a few products and this product was one of them.  It’s the Itzbeen timer so “you always know how long itzbeen”.  This is a MUST-HAVE.  I didn’t register for it but if I did it all over, it would’ve been top of my list.  Here’s the description from the site www.itzbeen.com

“

IT’S ABOUT TIME It’s about time someone created a tool to help new parents remember the basic details of baby care. Now someone has. ITZBEEN™ Baby Care Timer was developed by a new mom and dad who found themselves sleep-deprived and needing help to remember baby care details, such as when their baby last ate or napped. They tried charts and journals, but thought there had to be a better way. So, they created the ITZBEEN™: a multi-purpose nursery tool that helps new parents remember the basic details of baby care. The ITZBEEN™ has four timers that count up with the touch of a button, and a host of other helpful features, all designed with the needs of a new parent in mind.” Okay for some reason, I can’t change the font or spacing back but oh well….. If you are nursing, this is a life saver.  You can push a button to tell you when you nursed last and even ON WHICH SIDE.  Try remembering that with 2o minutes sleep.  It also has a nap timer, diaper change reminders, alarms for medicines, and alarms for any feature on the timer such a timer for when it’s time to feed your parasite again.  It has a clock and a light to guide your way as you stumble and fumble through your nursery at night so you don’t need to turn on the main lights.  I still use mine as my bed side clock and light to guide my way.  It will rock your baby world.  Only 19.99!

 

I hope you feel like a genius now cause I sure do.

The Best Part of This Christmas December 30, 2010

Hanging 3 stockings.  I’ve always wanted to do that =0)

It’s Gettin’ A Little Shaky Round Here January 2, 2011

Last night in bed, I gave Lance a disheartening prophecy for this new year: our hometown will experience a devastating earthquake.  I’m sorry to just put it out there like that.   It was tough to deliver the news to him and now to you all is just hard to cope with.

I know it’s hard to tell but I’m being halfway serious.  A few days ago, southern Indiana had a 4.5 earthquake.  About a year ago here in my hometown, some of us woke up to our house rumbling.  Others rumbled but slept through it.  See exhibit Lance.

If you grew up around here, your whole life you learned in school that if we ever have an earthquake that it will be massively destructive.  I remember learning that in elementary school.  Probably because it freaked me out so bad that I dropped my trapper keeper every time.  At least it wasn’t the pencil box that had all the gadgets that popped out like a swiss army knife.

Fortunately for us, we all live over one of, if not the worst, fault lines in the ole’ U.S. of A.  To add insult to injury, our city pretty much sits on top of one of the world’s largest cave systems. Nothing like your home sitting on nice, sturdy hollow ground. mmmmmmmm.

About 5 years ago, a street just completely fell into the ground while cars were driving on it.  It was a hole the size of either a baseball field or football field.  I know that’s a big difference but when your car drops into the earth, who can get lost in such details?  You can’t.  You just get lost in the hole and basically that’s all.

Looks like we are headed for doom just like all of our teachers told us.  We are a ticking, shaking, cave time bomb. 

I was talking to a buddy about how I feel impending wobbling doom coming upon town and she said, “You know what to do in an earthquake, right?”

“Of course.  Get under my school desk.”

Our teachers terrified us all to just equip us with the survival skill of getting under a desk.  Guess I should purchase of few of those.  I’ll need a few in the style of school desks from 1993 because that is what they taught me is best and I follow my leaders.

Then I said, “Really, I know.  Stand in a door way in a jumping jack position.  But how can I do that with a baby?”

She replied, “I guess you’ll have to do it with one hand.”

“Okay buuuuut  I really hope I can hold my house up with just one hand.  Two I’m sure about but one…..”

Look at me, laughing at this peril knocking at our door. 

If this really does happen and I fall into the depths of my crawl space and die and then you read this blog and feel real sad because I was joking about it and then it got me in the end, don’t feel too bad.  I had a real good time writing this one.  Plus, I really believe in the strength of my strong hand and elbow.

January 4, 2011

YOU CAN FILL IN THE BLANK ON THE LAST OPTION TO PUT IN ANYTHING YOU WANT.

Here. I Give To You My Dreams In This Fashionable Medela Shoulder Bag. January 4, 2011

Say it.

Say you are formula feeding your baby.

FOREVER.

For the past 9 months, that has been the hardest thing for me to say.  I’ve actually even cried over my food at the kitchen table about it.  I’m trying to be expressive for a change.

I breastfed so I know it’s inconvient, painful at times, demanding, all consuming, let’s see what else?  So because I know that, it may seem  crazy to be so sad about it to others who are not enjoying their milkier times or didn’t enjoy them when they were the real Dairy Queen.  BUT something about knowing I can’t makes me remember all the sweet and precious moments of being your baby’s only source of nutrition and survival.  It’s like the external version of the umbilical cord and you just love caring for them that way.

However, I am severing my dream of breastfeeding my baby officialy with the  ceremonial selling of my breastpump.  I have picked it up and thought, “Well, you never know….someday….maybe….right?”  For real, I am just now exiting my denial phase. Throughout these past 9 months I have come up with a million different twists of how I can tweak breastfeeding so it works for me but  I know that the only way for me to try breastfeeding again is by taking the chance of not being medicated and going down that dark postpartum road again and if I was in that position again, speaking for that person, I’d tell you it’s not worth it.  Seems like everyone in my life, including my doctor, has told me its not worth it and I guess I’m getting to that point of seeing that clearly myself.

Coming to this realization, I actually feel a little bit of the excitement I felt when the doctor told me to stop when Eden was a few weeks old.  The feeling was something like screaming FREEDOM  butt-naked from the top of cliff in the rainforest while nature beasts gather around me like Snow White beckoning the birds with her vocals.

Breastfeeding is a huge responsibility and now I can have anyone help me at anytime, anywhere, when my baby is any age. I can appreciate that convience.  That’s huge.  Sure, I wish I could give my baby the best nutrition but I can’t give her excellent nutrition and a garabage can mom. 

I will be sad when, Lord willing, we have another baby and I don’t get those first sweet nursing moments and days in the hospital BUT I think I’m becoming okay with being a bottle slinger. 

Mommy is growing up sniff, sniff.  I get big so fast.

January 5, 2011

Thanks to adventuresofhannahandcharlie.blogspot.com for being my number one personal referrer according to my 2010 wordpress report.  I appreciate you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  =0)