Magic

Originally published July 24th, 2010. 

I knew a man who was magic personified.
 
Many little kids believe in Santa Claus while growing up, and I was no different. The only difference, is that I had my own personal Santa Claus. I knew he was the real one. His cheeks were always the perfect shade of pink, he wore bells around his wrists, his blue eyes sparkled, and his smile never faded. He was the real deal. I knew all of those Santas at the malls were just helpers, since the real Santa was busy up at the North Pole, getting ready for Christmas. Yet, he was never too busy to visit my brother Tim, and me.

Every year, a couple weeks before Christmas Day, he would show up, always unexpectedly for Tim and myself. Sometimes it was close to bedtime, other times it would be on a weekday afternoon. My brother and I always wanted to follow him out of our house when he left to watch him fly off the roof, being carried away by eight magical reindeer - but my parents always stopped us, the magic wouldn't work if we were watching, they said.

Tim answering the door to one of Santa's surprise visits.

Our Santa was also very crafty, just as Santa should be. He was very good at making things out of wood. One year, my brother had asked for a train set for Christmas, and when he came by for his pre-Christmas visit, he brought Tim a train whistle made out of wood. A few years later, I had asked for a doll house, and when he stopped by a couple weeks prior to the holiday, he brought me a wooden dining room set, perfectly sized to fit in a doll house. It was magical.

There was a brief year when I was a little unsure about this guy, but I came around.

My Santa gave the warmest hugs. He smelled so wonderful too, sweet and pepperminty, just as you would expect Santa to smell. It was better than meeting any movie star or celebrity; I was good friends with the SANTA.

Tim getting a hug from Santa.

Going over my wish list.

So who was my Santa? His real name was Bob Comingore. My mom found him through an ad in the newspaper in 1985, and hired him to play Santa at our house for all of the neighborhood kids. They all got along so well, that he kept up the part, year after year, even coming to visit us each time we moved to a new home, in a new city, no matter how far of a drive it was for him in his red truck (not a sleigh with reindeer).

Bob and his wife, Gloria were probably in their sixties when Bob became our personal Santa Claus. Though they were never able to have children of their own, they loved kids, and after I found out who he really was, they both became like a third set of grandparents to me. I admit, the first time we had them over for dinner as the Comingores, it was a bit strange for me, but Bob had a light and warmth inside of him so enveloping, that I couldn't help but be captivated by his presence. As Santa, Bob brought so much magic and fun to my childhood, and I hope he knew how much he meant to me.

In August 2005, shortly after my brother got married, I wrote Bob and Gloria a letter. I hadn't talked to them in awhile, and I thought they would get a kick out of hearing that the little boy they had known from the time he was three, was now a husband. I never got a response. A few months later, my mom heard from Gloria, and she relayed the sad news that only a couple weeks before I had written that letter, Bob had passed away. I was heartbroken at his passing.

Bob Comingore was a truly special human being; people like him are few and far between. He was just a genuinely kind, warm-hearted person. When I think back on my childhood, having my own Santa Claus, and all of the wonderful memories he gave me is something I will never, ever forget.

Gloria is still alive, and lives in Oregon, near a nephew of theirs. Earlier this year, she mailed my mom a box full of wooden toys that Bob had made before he passed. Most of the toys were little cars, although there was also an adorable wooden airplane that my brother's daughter now has. These wooden toys are so simple, yet they hold so much meaning for me. I can imagine Bob carving them with patience and care, and smiling at the thought of the little children who would enjoy them. I love when my sons play with the cars; I can't wait for the day when I can tell them all about the great man I knew. My only regret now is that Bob never got to play Santa to my own kids, so I am especially grateful for these toy cars, as they are a link from him to my children.

A few years ago, my mom gave me this figurine, to always remind me of the joy my Santa brought to me as a little girl.
I put it out every Christmastime, and whenever I see it, it reminds me of the wonderful man who brought so much magic to my childhood.

A Big Problem

I have a big head. Like, freakishly.

I've always tried to participate in the latest fashions - tall boots, peasant tops (conveniently came into style during my first pregnancy), pea coats, you name it. I even remember a time when I was in high school, and bra strap headbands were in. But I didn't have a job and therefore I had no money to buy one, so I cut the strap off of one of my bras, safety pinned it together and wore it as a headband so I could be in style.

Yes, I actually wore an actual bra strap around my head. Cringe.

But one fashion statement I've never been able to enjoy is the Hat. It doesn't matter what style - wide brimmed, page boy, cowboy - I can't wear them because my head is too big. I don't know why, I'm definitely not intelligent enough to claim a large brain. My cranium is just obnoxiously big. And I know it is larger than average because all the hats in the stores have the same obnoxious tag on them: ONE SIZE. One size?! I am tired of this one size BS because their one size doesn't even come close to fitting my head.

On Sunday, I was enjoying a couple hours alone at Target when I saw their hat section. Beautiful, vintage-inspired hats in different colors with unique detailing. I couldn't help myself, I had to try them on. I chose three to try, and these were the results, (by the way, taking pictures of yourself at Target? Super awkward).

My head is so huge the hats sit on top of it! I look like a hat rack. Even the owl stocking cap, which was made of stretchy cotton, wouldn't stay down for more than two seconds.

It made me think of this lovely orange cashmere hat I have at home. I bought it years ago in New York. It was too pretty and soft to pass up, but it's never fit quite the way it should. And yet I keep it around the way someone might hold onto that pair of skinny jeans that they swear they're gonna fit into again one day when they slim down enough. Only, no amount of slimming down will get my freakishly large skull into that hat.

Discouraged, I turned to the trusty headband section. Sure, they always give me a killer headache, but at least they conform pretty well to the size of my head. In the end I picked out a dainty band with black and green feathers on it. After all, feathers are really in right now.

I'm sure that one day in like five years I will look back and wonder why the hell I went out in public with feathers in my hair, but for now I'm going to embrace it.

Besides, someone told me that added detail can be slimming, and my head needs all the help it can get.

Multipurpose.

 

Yes. I can actually use my belly as a table of sorts these days. 35 weeks as of today. I have officially passed the point when Bug was born, (cue huge sigh of relief). 

And, just hours after expressing my relief on Facebook, I began having contractions. Last night they were coming every four minutes over a span of about two hours. I finally decided that if I was able to sleep through them, then it probably meant they weren't a big deal, and, I was able to fall asleep. I have felt them on and off all day, but, no longer close enough together to time.

So, what does this mean?

Well, we're headed in the right direction. But whether it will be five more weeks, or just days until we meet our newest son, I can't tell you for sure. 

In the meantime though, I will continue making use of my built-in shelf while I can.

So much to do, so little time.

With all that we have going on in our lives these days, I've been feeling the pressure to get us prepared for what lies ahead - mainly having a baby, and then moving. I have started packing up items we won't need over the next four months, as well as clothing that we won't miss. I am trying to downsize where possible, selling furniture and other large things that just simply can't make the move with us (i.e. our treadmill which has been sitting in our garage, sadly neglected for far too long). On a related note, anyone interested in a treadmill?

In the midst of the downsizing though, I have also been bringing in more furniture to our bedroom: baby furniture. We only have two bedrooms in the house we're renting now. Binker and Bug currently share a room, and while there is actually plenty of space for a crib in it, I just don't feel comfortable having a brand new baby sleep in there with them. I know they wouldn't intentionally hurt him, but I worry about them climbing into the crib to get a closer look, or jumping in the crib while baby is trying to nap. So, even though I've never really been a fan of having my kids sleep in our room, we decided the best decision (and safest one), is to have baby stay with us until we move into our new house, where he will have his own room.

So earlier this week I brought Bug's old crib into our room, and today my mom helped me bring the baby changer in as well. I just spent over an hour putting away size newborn to 6 month clothes in the drawers of the changer, putting blankets and stuffed animals on the crib, and organizing diapers that I have stocked up on under the crib. Man, it feels so good to be so on top of things! (For once in my life, ha). 

The thing is, now that it is all set for baby, I feel like he should be here anytime. In reality though, I've got just under 8 weeks to go in this pregnancy. I think that because Bug was born 5 and a half weeks early, I just feel this fire under me, making me jump to action, afraid that we won't be prepared if this baby comes early too. Having a preemie will do that to you. But, I have no reason to think that I won't go to term this time. Everything is moving along on schedule, I haven't suffered any trauma, or fallen down the stairs (like I did with my last pregnancy), which, we kind of assume led to the early birth. So, for all intents and purposes, I may have just busted my butt this week getting ready for baby, only to have his things sit in our room collecting dust for almost two more months. Sigh.

As they say though, better to be prepared than not, right? And now I don't feel myself freaking out so much, thinking we won't be ready for his arrival. And it also frees me up to focus on doing more packing and move-prep while I can, before I've got three kids to think about. I'd like to hope that after the baby comes, I will still be productive, but I'm a realistic person. After having Bug I lived in my pajamas for literally a month. And it was probably two weeks after he was born, that I got around to taking a shower and washing my hair. Husband was gone, and while my mom helped out, it was just a shock to my system going from one kid to two kids, the older baby being only 10 months old at the time. Yeah, I don't know how I kept my sanity through that either. It's just a blur of staying up all night with Bug, then getting up bright and early with Binker. So, don't judge me for letting showers and appropriate clothing go by the wayside, 'k? Thanks.

One of my cousins told me awhile back that it is easier to go from 2 to 3 kids, than it was from 1 to 2, so I am hoping she is right, and that I will find that I am used to being in a state of constant chaos, so what's one more kid? Also, Husband will be home this time, so hopefully I will be able to get showers in on a daily basis. Or at least weekly.

Future Home

As I mentioned several weeks ago, Husband and I have been hoping to buy a house of our own, now that we know we will be in the same area for another few years. And now it seems as though this may just become a reality for us.

We began the house hunting search, and saw our fair share of repos and foreclosures. While their price tags were attractive, we typically found that once we got into the homes, something was wrong. There were holes in doors and walls, appliances were missing, fixtures had been ripped out; the houses were usually stripped. We wanted to find something in our price range, but not a house that would need major repair or work done, because A) We don't have that kind of money, and B) Even if we did, neither one of us is talented enough to fix up a house.

To be honest, we were getting a little discouraged, afraid we would have to keep renting. And while we'd be thankful to simply have a roof over our heads regardless of whether or not it is "ours", we just hate the idea of throwing our money away each month.

And then we found The House.

It is about 20 minutes from where we live now, which will significantly cut down on Husband's commute to work. It is within walking distance to grocery stores and restaurants - this was important to me, since the nearest grocery store right now is a seven minute drive. The house is in immaculate condition, the current owners have really cared for it, and that was truly the biggest selling point of all - it doesn't appear to need any work. That, and the fact that it is in a quiet, safe cul de sac; the neighborhood of choice for young families. After our first viewing of the house, I couldn't help but get excited picturing our family living there, playing in the large back yard, the boys trick-or-treating in the neighborhood. It just felt right.

Going through the whole offer/counter offer process was not fun - I definitely do not have the personality for bargaining like that, and to make it worse, the sellers are really nice people, so I felt bad every time we would counter. In the end though, we all came to an agreement, and now the big stuff begins. I honestly have no idea how long the whole escrow process will take, or how complicated it will be.

And while we've been pre-approved for a loan, we have yet to decide which loan we actually want to commit to. I have been desperately trying to educate myself on different types of loans, APR's, PMI's, points, funding fees, etc. I have interest rates written all over the house - on scraps of paper, and the sides of Kleenex boxes. You can literally see the chaos that is happening in my brain right now.

Still, this whole process is exciting, and when I start to feel overwhelmed by it all, I just close my eyes, and envision our family living in our very first home together and that always helps. I can't wait for the day we get our keys and get to move in and make it all our own.

30 weeks, ya'll!

On Wednesday I will be 30 weeks along. That is so crazy to me! For the longest time it seemed like I would never get into the thirties. Because Bug was born premature at 34 weeks, 5 days, I feel like I have had this worry hanging over my head.

First I needed to make it to 30 weeks, and now that I am just about there, my next goal will be 34 weeks. After the 34.5 week mark, I will finally be able to breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in this pregnancy, knowing that we will (by the grace of God), not face any problems. Bug was born early, but he was healthy and strong, so I just want baby #3 to come at least after the point at which Bug was born for me to feel okay.

Some good news is that I have only gained 6 pounds to date. By this point in my last pregnancy I had gained 29 pounds. Ha. So, yay me. I also wanted to get those 6 pounds on the record before my doctor's appointment tomorrow, because Richard and I ate our weight in pizza the other night, and I have a feeling I might be above the 6 pound mark at next weigh-in, (although I hopefully will still be far from 29 pounds up!). I would like to keep my total weight gain low, since I don't want to have some sort of enormous amount of weight to lose afterward. Weight loss has always been a struggle for me, and not something that I particularly enjoy.

Overall I am feeling good though, so I can't complain. Baby is super active, and I love feeling every kick, and somersault, and hiccup. I am really starting to get excited to meet this little boy and see what and who he looks like.

I have taught the boys his name, and every morning they give my tummy a kiss and tell baby "Good morning!", it is seriously, melt-your-heart adorable. I cannot wait for the day that we will all get to kiss his sweet newborn face.

Pay no attention to the emotionally unstable woman over here.

I am officially in the third trimester of this pregnancy.

As if I couldn't already tell from the fact that I waddle everywhere, I pee about 80 gajillion times a day, and it takes me no less than five minutes to get up off the couch.

In a word: HOT.

And to think, I've got 11 more weeks of getting bigger, less mobility and more incontinence. Remind me why I wanted to get pregnant again?

But while all of this I expected and accept, I have been experiencing something else lately that is new. In the last week I feel like I have been hit by this huge wave of hormones again, which have made me out to be some sort of emotionally unstable person. I don't remember having this happen with either of my pregnancies, (after the first trimester hormonal monster, that is).

For instance, I have cried every day for the past four days, each for the most random reasons. Like today, I was driving with the boys and a song on the radio made me cry. I know that's not totally out there, but songs don't usually make me cry, and if one does, it is a slow, sappy song, usually about kids or something sentimental like that. But this song was an upbeat, happy song, there was absolutely nothing sad, or tug-at-the-heartstrings about it, yet my lip started to quiver and my eyes watered up and I had to change the station before I became too much of a wailing mess to drive. I think the most embarrassing example of my instability happened last week though.

A little background first.

Some jerk wad got access to Husband's credit card number and over the course of two days racked up $600+ on our account. I called the bank right away when I saw the charges. They closed our account, and I told them each of the charges that I thought looked suspicious: two to Wet Seal, one to Newport News, one to Uncommon Goods, one to Urbanog.com, and one to iTunes. I use iTunes, but I never get anything more than a movie rental here or there, so my purchases are always about $4.00 or less. The charge that appeared suspicious to me was for $25.00, and I knew I had not purchased anything in that amount, and I didn't think Husband even knew how to use iTunes.

Well, a few hours later I noticed Husband was playing with our iPad, and I casually asked him if he had been buying anything from the app store. He said yeah, about 25 dollars' worth.

AWESOME.

So the next day I called the bank to correct that one transaction on our fraud report. You know, I'm an honest person, and I just wanted to make it right. Apparently though, Bank of America is being run by clowns, because I was transferred TWELVE TIMES, yet they could not get me to the right department. Each time, I had to retype in my 16-digit account number, then answer FOUR security questions. I was beyond frustrated, and at about person #8, for no logical reason, I began to cry.

I WAS SOBBING TO A CUSTOMER SERVICE PHONE OPERATOR.

She was very apologetic, but even my tears couldn't help me, as it took four more transfers before I finally got sent to the fraud department.

And they fixed my fraud report error in all of 10 seconds.

30 emotional minutes, all for a 10 second procedure. Awesome.

In any case, if you should see a woman, waddling around the grocery store, with a bag of Depends in the cart, crying over the latest People magazine for no explicable reason), don't mind me her. She's just in her third trimester.

Flashback Friday - The Girl on the Milk Box

When I was about three years old, several different friends of my parents began asking them if I had modeled for a milk company. My parents had no idea what they were talking about - I had never done any sort of modeling, but their friends were adamant that there was a powdered milk box in grocery stores, with the image of a little girl who looked just like me. My parents were intrigued, and when they went to the store, it didn't take them long to find the milk box they spoke of.

And there was no denying the resemblance of what I looked like at that age to the image on the box.

*Courtesy of Google Images

For years we kept a box of the product in our house, even though we never used it. And every time I saw it in the store, I would joke about how they owed me several year's worth in royalties for reproducing my image.

Ironically, while searching for an image of the milk box, I came across this article, which states that the product was discontinued three years ago. Which, I have to admit, made me a little bit sad.

But just as this company was ending their decades-long use of my likeness on their product, another company began using an image similar to Bug on theirs.

*Courtesy of Costco online

I've always thought the kid on the Kirkland Brand, size 6 diapers looked a lot like Bug, and this was confirmed yesterday when my almost 2 year old niece was at Costco with her dad, and she pointed at the box and shouted my youngest son's name.

So where does this leave us? Still waiting on our royalty checks, and wondering who in our family will be exploited next. Binker on a diaper rash bottle? Husband on a cereal box? Only time will tell.

Poopy Birds

Since becoming a mom, I've had to deal with some pretty disgusting situations. These include, but are not limited to: pee, poop, projectile vomit, snotty noses, bloody lips, and really nasty food messes. Usually though, these things are spread out, so that even though it is unpleasant to deal with at the time, it is not too overwhelming.

This week, however, I feel as though I've been caught up in some sort of perfect storm, where nearly every disgusting thing that could happen, has happened. And it's only Tuesday.

Yesterday started out like any typical Monday. After Binker returned home from preschool, and ate lunch, I announced that it was nap time, since I had reached my limit and could barely keep my eyes open.

Even though Binker now sleeps in a big boy bed at night, I usually have him take naps in his tent, since I want to make sure that while I am passed out to the world, he is contained and safe. He tends to fall asleep very quickly in the tent too, versus being in his bed. The other day though, I was gone for a seminar, and Husband was watching the boys. When I got home that evening Husband informed me (all superior-like) that not only did Binker nap in his big boy bed, but that he fell asleep quickly, without much problem at all.

So, obviously, not wanting to look like the weaker parent, I decided that I would let Binker nap on his bed, but I made it so that he could not get out of his room. I figured that even if he didn't fall asleep, so long as he was in his room, there was no way he could accidentally hurt himself. And things were going great until Binker's cries broke the silence of my nap.

I ran to his bedroom and found him crying that his Lion was missing. Everything looked normal at first, until I noticed that the pants Jacob was wearing looked slightly wet. I quickly realized that he must have removed his diaper, and then put his pants back on...and wet them. I sighed in slight frustration. No big deal though, really. I just needed to put a new diaper and pants on him, and discard of the removed diaper.

It didn't take me long to find it.

My gaze moved to the right, and I noticed several odd, brown spots on the floor. I quickly realized that the diaper he had removed had not just been a wet diaper. I was staring at Poop-ageddon. And not only had Binker dumped the diaper contents all over the floor, but it appeared he had stepped in it as well, mashing it all into the carpet.

And you think you're grossed out.

Nap ruined, I got to work on discarding of the mess and sanitizing the affected area. It was exhausting, and, well, just plain gross. By the time I was done, I declared to anyone who would listen that I was totally done with that day, and ready for Tuesday, as I assumed things could only get better.

Tuesday morning started off pretty much the same. Got Binker dressed and ready for school. At 7:40 we headed out front to wait for the school bus. Bug was still sleeping, so I didn't shut the front door all the way, since I didn't want him to hear it click and start crying for me. I closed it just enough that it was shut, but just barely.

On any other day this would have been perfectly fine, except that today there was a crazy amount of wind blowing.

About six minutes later, Binker had been picked up and I ran back toward the house. My heart sunk when I saw that the wind had blown our front door wide open.

A lot of our neighbors have cats, and they like to wander around our yard for some reason. Don't get me wrong, I like cats and all, but I don't want strange cats in my house, near my kids' toys, and as a pregnant woman, I'm not really supposed to be near cats either. So my first thought was, Oh man, I really hope some cat didn't get in our house.

And that's when I saw it. A bird. Hopping around our family room. A dirty, grimy, disease-carrying bird. A FREAKING BIRD!

I wish it had only been a cat in our house.

When the bird saw me, it flew up to the windowsill behind our couch, and kept pecking at the window trying to get out. "No, you stupid bird!!" I kept yelling, "That's a window! Go out the door!"

There I was, broom in hand, shouting like a lunatic, trying to coax the bird off our windowsill to get him out the front door, and hoping he wouldn't touch any other surface in the house on the way out.

No dice.

Finally I got a hold of a juice pitcher, and I managed to get it over the bird, and slid a book underneath it, so that he didn't have an exit. Then, screaming, and jumping back and forth on my feet, I ran it outside and set the little rat-with-wings free.

At that point the real work began though. The bird had pooped all over our windowsill, some of it getting on the back of our couch, and it had also shed a bunch of its disease-infested feathers. Since becoming pregnant I have tried to avoid using a lot of harsh cleaning chemicals, and stuck mainly to soap and water to clean surfaces. But for this? I broke out the good stuff: Clorox Wipes and Lysol spray. I scrubbed and sprayed until there was nothing left. Then Bug and I let all the sanitizing chemicals sit for a good couple of hours while we sought refuge at my mom's house.

I'd be lying though, if I didn't admit that it crossed my mind to simply drag the couch out to the driveway and set it on fire.

So, this has been my week so far, and I hesitate to say that things can only get better from here on out, because I am NOT going to tempt the universe with that loaded statement.

I have to admit that when I used to imagine being a parent, these were not the images that came to mind. I pictured happy, smiling faces, clean children and a clean house, you know, something out of a 1950's sitcom.

I have decided though, that in reality, my life is a lot more like the show Fear Factor.

Only with less monetary prizes and more bird flu.

Wakin' Up is Hard to Do

I have been so tired lately. Actually, tired doesn't even seem to be enough. Exhausted is more like it.

I get that I'm pregnant, and with pregnancy comes a lot of sleepiness, but I am fully into the second trimester here, almost the third, and I thought I was past the overwhelming grogginess that accompanies the early stages of pregnancy. For a few weeks there I did have some energy, I wasn't needing a nap every day, and I was feeling a lot more productive.

But then, like a freight train, this exhaustion hit me again. Every day I feel like I count the minutes until I can get the boys down for their naps so that I can collapse onto my mattress. At the same time though, I always go through this inner battle over the things I should be doing...

Vacuuming
Laundry
Starting dinner
Laundry
Cleaning bathrooms
Laundry

...versus what I am doing:

Passed out, drooling on my pillow.

I just don't remember being this wiped out with either of my other pregnancies, although to be fair, there are a lot of things I don't remember from my pregnancies. Big things, sure, but minute specifics are lost on me. I have even been reading my "What to Expect" books throughout this pregnancy, since I honestly forgot all of the things that are happening each week.

Circumstances are different now. I have two very active toddlers that keep me busy from the moment they wake up until the moment they fall asleep at night, which I'm sure is contributing to my sleep-deprived state. I don't remember being anywhere close to this tired when I was pregnant with Binker and worked a nine-to-five job. My mom once told me that when my brother and I were little, she went to see the doctor because she was sooo tired all the time, and she just knew that she had to have some sort of vitamin deficiency. He told her that she was tired because she had two little kids at home. So maybe that's what I'm experiencing here.

No matter what the reason is though, I am getting frustrated at my daily need for a nap; I just feel so unproductive. And the fact that I can't enjoy caffeine doesn't help much either. Do any moms out there have any natural remedies for this constant exhaustion?

Or should I simply tell my inner voice to shut itself up and enjoy these naps while I am still able to sneak them in, and don't have a needy newborn in the house?

One Year

Yesterday marked one year since I started my blog.

I was looking for a fun way to keep myself busy while Richard was on deployment, and I have so enjoyed keeping this blog as a record of the boys and how they are changing, and just sharing our lives with those who enjoy reading it. I can't believe it's been an entire year, and so to celebrate, I am listing a few of my favorite blogs from the past year. Thanks to those who read Mama in the Moon, and here's to another year of stories!

Bieber Fever - My very first blog

Kellyn, Get Your Gun

A Stock Recommendation

Plagues Upon Us


My Husband Says the Funniest Things at the Most Inappropriate Times

Eat. Pray. Murder.

Tough Times

Electricity Nazi

I am Never Washing My Sheets Again

Looking Back

He's Home

Everybody Was Kung Fu Kissing

Being Present While Pregnant

I realize I haven't been blogging quite as consistently as I had been. So much for my goals this year, eh? But, in my defense, I have been pretty busy. See, somewhere around February I found out that I am pregnant! That's right. For those keeping track, this will be number three for us.

So, for about the last two months I have spent most days either with my head in a toilet, or napping every second of the day that I possibly could. I am finally into the second trimester though, and, bit by bit, I am beginning to feel more and more like a human being again - with energy to keep my eyes open, and a stomach that knows how to keep food down, and all that crazy stuff!

Still, this pregnancy has not been as pleasant or easy on me as my first two were. I'd never experienced  morning all day sickness until this one. The aches and cramps as my body accommodates a growing baby have been pretty uncomfortable, and at times, just downright painful. I think I was only about six weeks along when I declared that this will be my last pregnancy.

I always knew I wanted at least three children. Even when I was in the hospital, mere minutes after giving birth to my second son, Bug, I knew that - while I wanted a break from baby-making - I was already thinking about having a third child. The strange thing is though, I am just not loving this pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, I am so excited to have another baby, and to meet this baby, I just kind of want to be done being pregnant.

I have an app on my phone that updates me on where I am in my pregnancy and what is happening each week. And every time I look at it, I can't help but gaze longingly at the "time remaining" section.

34 weeks, 5 days.

30 weeks, 3 days.

28 weeks, 6 days.

25 weeks, 2 days, (as of this morning).

Every time I see these numbers, I find myself trying to convert them into something that doesn't sound like another military deployment, because, that's basically where I'm at right now: just under six months to go.

This morning I was telling myself that the summer will go by quickly, and that I will be keeping busy with the boys, and before I know it, it will be September and I will be heading into my final few weeks of being pregnant.

But then I had to stop myself.

I wished last summer away. All of it.

With Husband gone on deployment, I didn't want the days and weeks and months to take long,  so I filled them up with as much as I could to pass the time, and it worked pretty well. But I can't do that again. I cannot wish away two summers of my life. Even though I may not always be comfortable, or loving being pregnant, I need to be present for my boys.

This is my last summer with just two children. This is our last summer in this house, by the beach. Possibly our last summer in Washington. Most of all, this is our first summer in two years to have Husband home, so I want to take advantage of it as much as I can, and relax and enjoy every day to its fullest, rather than wishing time would speed up.

I don't mean to complain, really. I know there are so many women in the world who would gladly suffer through sickness and fatigue and any other horrible pain, just to have a baby, and I don't mean to diminish this blessing whatsoever. I know we are lucky that we are so incredibly fertile. Like my mom says, all Husband and I have to do is put our slippers together and POOF! Baby.

So in the coming days and weeks, I will be working on my attitude and trying to enjoy this as much as I can, especially since it is my last pregnancy, and I know that once this baby is born I will probably start crying to Husband about how I miss being pregnant.

And when that day comes, I want everyone to remind me of this post. Please.

This Was All My Fault

So it's been over a month since I last posted on my blog.  

(I am doing AWESOME at keeping my New Year Goals).

We've been pretty busy though, and it's all my fault. 

It started on a Monday. My mom was accompanying the boys and me on a shopping trip, and I mentioned to her that I couldn't believe we had made it so far through the winter season without anyone needing to go to the doctor. Immediately after that I said, "Knock on wood!" 

In our Toyota, however, there is a shortage of wood. So I just knocked on the plastic dashboard and called it good.

Well, the next day, I noticed Binker wasn't acting like himself. On Tuesday night he woke up screaming three different times, and for the next few days he was just fussy and unhappy. I realized something was definitely wrong when I bought him McDonald's for lunch and he wouldn't even touch it.

Things really came to a head that Friday night at 5pm - of course. Right when the doctor's office closed.

I was hoping we would make it through the weekend, but by Saturday evening we found ourselves with a screaming, fussing toddler, who was impossible to console. It was decided that Sunday morning I would take him to the doctor's office to be checked out.

We showed up only an hour after the walk-in clinic opened, and they were already packed. We got in line, with three people ahead of us. Even though Binker hadn't been to the doctor since September, I think he remembered the place, because as soon as we walked in there, he was screaming, and trying to crawl out of the stroller. He didn't want to read any of the books I brought for him, and he didn't want to sing any songs or play any games. He just wanted OUTTA THERE.

This lovely old man that was standing directly in front of us in line kept turning around to give us dirty looks, as if I could somehow shut Binker up. There were so many things I wanted to say to that guy, like:

"We're not at a library. This is a doctor's office, where people come when they are sick. He is a toddler and he is sick. Take a chill pill!"

"If his screaming is bothering you, then turn off your hearing aid!"

"Stop being a jerk face!"

Once it was finally our turn, we found out what the long wait was for. Apparently our clinic just installed a brand new computer system, which meant that instead of simply being able to check-in, like normal, every single person coming into the clinic had to provide their name, address, insurance information, photo ID, social security number, mom's maiden name, the year they graduated from high school, first pet's name, and favorite color. Then you had to sign three different documents that I really don't remember what they were each for, because the entire time the receptionist was explaining them to me Binker was screaming at the top of his lungs since we had already waited in line for 25 minutes and this woman had been talking to me for another five.

When we were finally checked in, and had been told that it would be AN HOUR WAIT, I looked around the waiting room for a good spot to sit. I was so tempted to go seat ourselves right next to the old man who had been in front of us in line, since he seemed to enjoy Binker's screaming so much. But I resisted.

Instead, we found a quiet corner by ourselves next to the big fish tank. That kept Binker occupied for a total of three minutes. Then we read book after book after book until they thankfully called his name.

Even though the whole waiting process had been a nightmare, the doctor got to our room quickly and it only took him about two seconds to realize that Binker had an ear infection, (almost a double ear infection). I was so relieved to have a diagnosis, I just knew something was wrong with the poor kid.

Binker was NOT happy to have the doctor poking around in his ears, so to make amends he gave Binker two Thomas the Train stickers, which seemed to be an acceptable peace offering. We raced over to the pharmacy afterward, where Binker got two more stickers! You could just see it in his eyes: BEST DAY EVER!

Thankfully, after 10 days of that good old bubblegum-flavored Amoxicillin, (holy cow did the smell bring back memories), Binker's ear infection was all cleared up and he was feeling much better.

I learned an important lesson in all of this: to keep my mouth shut from now on, and hopefully everyone will stay healthy.

Candy and Beer

Husband had a long day at work yesterday.

He got home late, feeling exhausted. He asked if I would go to the store and get him some beer and his favorite candy - blow pops.

I didn't really feel like it, but after a nail-biting competition of Rock, Paper, Scissors, it was decided that I would be the one to go.

So I changed out of my pajamas into real pants and a coat, since it was like 20 degrees outside, and headed to the store.

Now, we live kind of out in the boondocks. The closest actual grocery store is close to ten minutes away, with absolutely nothing in between, aside from empty summer homes and the county dump, so it can feel a lot longer than 10 minutes to get out there. After 5pm we usually aren't in the mood to make that long of a trip, so we typically opt to go to the rural gas station, which is only about two minutes in the opposite direction. 

They have a primitive grocery mart, with the kind of essentials people usually decide they need at about 8pm, like alcohol. And, since they pretty much have a monopoly on the food market for the whole southern half of the island, everything is priced way higher than normal.

The only reason we go there is to buy alcohol and candy; essentials at our house.

It seems like the last few times I have gone, the same guy is always working. And he is always the one who cashiers my purchase of a six pack and 30 blow pops. 

I'm so paranoid that, even though he always smiles and is polite, he must be thinking I am a crazy recluse alcoholic who eats her feelings.

Well, surprise surprise, guess who was working as I walked into the store last night? Mr. Totally Judges Me With His Eyes. 

I smiled and said hello, then quickly made my way to the back of the store. I found the refrigerator with the beer, and grabbed the Mike's Hard Lemonade Husband wanted, (okay, so it's not exactly "beer", but it's like when we're at a restaurant and Husband makes ME order the strawberry daiquiri that HE wants to drink, because he is too embarrassed to order it for himself. If it comes in a bottle and is sold in a six pack, we just call it "beer").

Next, I slowly headed over to the candy aisle, while scanning the check-out counter. To my luck, the guy was nowhere to be seen, and instead a middle-aged woman was checking a customer out. Sweet! This is my chance!

I grabbed as many blow pops as I could, and then a huge handful of watermelon Airheads, because Husband loves those too. I took a look at my pathetic basket. Beer, and a mountain of candy. Oh well, as long as that woman is still cashiering I should be good.

I walked over quickly but the guy was back! Mr. Judgy just popped up out of nowhere. Crap.

I sheepishly handed over my basket, while looking up at the ceiling, and down at the counter - pretty much everywhere except the guy's face.

At that point I couldn't decide which was more awkward: letting him go on assuming I am a lonely alcoholic with a massive sweet tooth, or blurting out, "I'm totally married! This is all for my husband!"

But all the sudden I was distracted by the fact that he had just scanned the beer and DIDN'T ASK FOR MY ID, OMG! I mean, so what if he's sold me alcohol like a dozen other times, he can't at least humor me by asking to see some ID?

So now he is a judgy jerk who thinks I'm old.

I paid for the items, told him I didn't need a receipt - I wasn't looking for any excuse to hang around longer than I had to.

As I was heading out the door, he called to me with a smile on his face, "We'll be seeing you soon, I'm sure."

I wanted to be offended. But it's probably true.

Off and Running

Both of the boys decided to start 2011 off running - literally. But they knew that to do so, they would need proper foot attire.

Binker has learned how to put his own socks on, which he LOVES to do. It doesn't matter if they match, or if they were dirty socks he found in the hamper, he really enjoys putting them on.

Bug has learned how to put shoes on. Usually it's Binker's shoes, since they are bigger, and therefore easier to slip on, but he does it really well! Once he puts the shoes one he runs around the house yelling "Walk! Walk!"

Binker with the socks, and Bug with the shoes, these guys make a great team! I can already imagine what kinds of schemes they will be coming up with, working together behind this Mom's back. 

Binker picks up on every. single. word. Which is awesome - most of the time. 

Not so awesome when he hears not-safe-for-toddler words...which has NEVER happened. 

::Cough cough::

Seriously though, it is so fun being able to talk with him more and more, and watch him form sentences. He is still my big singer, he loved all of the Christmas songs, and he keeps us in the Christmas spirit by continuing to sing "Jingle Bells" and "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" every day, even though Christmas is over. He also really enjoys "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes". I have been considering bringing my old guitar out of storage to see if he takes to it like he has taken to the piano. I have a feeling he will really like playing on it, he is just a musical kid. 

Bug has taken to singing too, although since he is still working on the whole language thing he can be hard to understand, but I have heard him sing "Twinkle Twinkle", "Skimmery Rinky Dinky Dink" and the "ABC's". He is pretty good at picking up on words too, just yesterday he said "Daddy" for the first time, as opposed to "Dada", and two days ago I took the boys to lunch at McDonald's, and he kept saying "M-no-no"...which I interpreted to be "McDonald's". Trust me, it's totally what he was saying. While he does like to sing now and then, as I mentioned, he is my busy boy, who loves to play chase or toss bouncy balls back and forth. This week he also began dribbling. I can't wait to put him in  basketball, or soccer, or pretty much any sport; I have a feeling he is going to take to it like a fish to water.

Every day I marvel at how big they both seem; they're truly turning into little boys - right before my eyes. It is bittersweet. I look through old photos and I miss their chubby little baby bodies, I miss being able to carry them around in a front pack, and I miss snuggling them when they were much less mobile and all they wanted was to be held. I don't know why time has to go by so fast. 

But, each day brings something new and fun to experience with them, so my focus for 2011 is to try to be as present as I possibly can, each day with them, and soak up every moment and every smile and giggle, since I know it  all goes by too quickly.

I am feeling anxious about their birthdays, I cannot believe Bug will be two and Binker will be three. It really does blow my mind. I am so thankful for my two precious boys, they are more than I ever deserved or dreamed I would have in my children. I am the luckiest mother on earth.

Written while not under the influence of sugar, carbs, alcohol or anything else delicious that is now restricted since it is the new year and I am on a diet.

I have ten blog drafts waiting to be edited. Or discarded.

I have been writing and trying to create something of value, but I don't feel like any of it is worthy of being read.

However, I wanted my readers, (all of six of you), to know that I am alive.

It's been almost two weeks since my last blog post and it has taken me this long to recover from our holiday season of overindulgence. And it was ohhhh so worth it.

Creamy coffees, Swedish pancakes with maple syrup, brown sugar glazed salmon, lemon drops, roasted turkey, mashed potatoes made with cream cheese, peppermint bark, buttered peas, buttered everything! OMG it was spectacular.

But then.

Reality hit. Our pants were feeling tight, and so was our budget. Richard and I decided it was time to get back to eating healthier and watching our spending. Diets aren't fun, and they are doubly un-fun when your debit card goes on a diet too.

This is where we are now though, January 2011. Looking to make positive changes in our lives.

Isn't that how we always start the new year? In the spirit of bettering ourselves, I thought I would share with all of you some of my goals for 2011:

*     *     *

Read the Bible in one year - When I was about nine years old I read my children's Bible, which is like 500 pages, so I mean, that's quite an accomplishment for a child. But, I have never read the entire Bible, all the way through. I decided that it is something I need to do in my life, thus I have set out on my journey to read the Bible, beginning to end within this year. The funny thing is, I thought it would feel like a chore, but I am genuinely enjoying it and I look forward to my nightly readings. Husband has joined me in this too, and the nights he is home we read out loud with each other. It's become a really fun activity for us to share, and best of all, I'm only 28 chapters in and have already learned so many things that I never knew before. Now I am just wondering why it took me 26 years to get my act together, and start reading the most important book on earth on a regular basis!

Memorize one Bible verse every week - This one goes hand in hand with my first goal. I figured since I am reading the Bible, I might as well start committing some passages to memory.

Get paid for at least one writing job - So in the last seven months I started my blog, and became a contributing writer for The Smartly. This is all great experience for me and I love it...but would really love to branch out a bit and find some writing jobs that pay in actual money, in addition to the satisfaction I get from writing.

Write at least two blogs a week - Ok. FAIL. I know, I already messed up on this, the first week of the new year, but I am totally focused now and will work hard to keep to this goal.

Have Binker potty-trained by June 30th - This is a fluid goal for me. I would love to have him potty-trained by this date, but I know that potty training is something that cannot be rushed or forced, so if this date comes and goes, and he is still in diapers, then I am cool with that.

Date nights four times a month - Our lives are craaaaazy, yo! Between Husband's ever-changing work schedule, the kids, the housework, my writing, Husband's college classes and all the other millions of things that fill up our days, it's hard to get that essential "couple time". We're committed to setting aside time though, to focus on each other and our relationship. Whether that means dressing up and going out to dinner or putting the kids to bed early and just renting a movie doesn't matter, we just like to hang out together and talk about the two of us and how we're doing. In reality we do this a lot more often than once a week, but writing it down as a goal just reminds me to always keep our marriage the priority. 

Mommy and me dates with Binker and Bug four times a year - I get to hang out with the two coolest little dudes every day, but they are each so different and unique, so I like to do "mommy and me days" with each one individually, where we go do a fun activity and maybe go out to lunch. Basically, that kid gets to pretend to be an only child for a few hours and have mommy's full attention. What child doesn't love that? Plus, it is really fun for me to be able to have one-on-one time with each of my sons, and really see what's new with them and what they're doing now.

Read with the boys for a total of 30 minutes every day - Both Binker and Bug love books, and I want to foster that love for reading more and more as they grow. I don't time us or anything, but I just aim to sit and read with them as much as I can throughout the day - whenever they bring a book to me, or they seem bored, or I have a few extra minutes.

*     *     *

So there you have it, some of my goals for 2011. I would love to hear some of yours - please feel free to share in the comments section for all to see. Until next time, Happy New Year! 

And to my fellow New Year dieters - Ughhh, here's to another day of being "healthy" or whatever.

Know

I was sitting in my kindergarten class. 

Most of the moms were visiting that day. Our teacher was reading the book, Love You Forever.

The lines repeated throughout the book are, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."

I looked around, and all of the moms had tears running down their faces, kleenexes bunched in their fingers. My mom was no different. I looked at her blankly.  

Why was she crying? Why were any of them crying? 

Moms could be funny, and I didn't get it.

I've always been close with my parents, we have a great relationship. They told me often that they loved me, no matter what. But I didn't really get it until 4:07am on the morning of April 24th, 2008 when my first son, Jacob, came into the world.

In that moment, I understood the love my parents had always professed for my brother and me. In that moment, I came to know absolute, pure, unconditional love.

Sometimes at night I pick my children up out of their cribs and rock them in my arms. I hold them close and I feel almost suffocated by all the things I want to tell them.

That I love them in a way that no language can express. 

That I would die for them without a moment's hesitation. 

That I pray they never have to suffer any pain in their lives.

Growing up, when I did something wrong, I would be afraid to tell my parents. I'd imagine the worst possible reaction they could have, and it usually included them writing me off or disowning me.

Because I didn't get it.

If I could have known the depth of their love for me then, I don't think I would have been fearful in sharing my misdeeds with them. (Well, not as fearful anyway, because I still got punished).

As a parent, I want my children to know that I love them no matter what. It doesn't matter what they do, or what they say, or what they think. I will continue to love them. It is beyond my control, and I couldn't stop loving them if I wanted to.

And yet, I doubt they will get it either. 

Until the day comes when they hold their own firstborn child in their arms and they fall desperately in love with that perfect, precious baby.

Then they will finally know.

I Think Parents Traveling with Children Should Get Complimentary Alcohol on Airplanes

Sigh.

I'm tired. I'm stressed. I'm on edge.

Can you guess what I'm doing today?

Flying. With toddlers.

My mind is flooded with images of luggage falling all over the place, the kids screaming and wiggling to get out of their strollers, angry looks from annoyed strangers, and TSA who want to basically molest me in their effort to keep our skies safer.

Will I make it through today?

To top it off, I have been dealing with some weird body temperature issues this past week. I have been so freaking hot for no reason. It doesn't matter where we are, or what I'm doing. It just comes and goes without warning, and it immediately causes me to break out into a sweat. 

I hate being hot. HATE IT. 

I don't look good when I'm hot. I get shiny and puffy, and it makes me really cranky. So now I keep wondering if I am going to have a hot flash at the airport, while carting around luggage and children, and I will be dripping with sweat and snapping at the slightest things, all because my internal barometer is reading 9500 freaking degrees.

Because of all these issues, I have been going into our bedroom every five minutes to announce to Richard that I have a new "battle plan" for tomorrow. God love him, he is one patient man. He listens quietly and nods his head yes, even though he has heard my detailed strategy a million times already, and every time I go over it again I can see his stress level rising. He's scared too. But he's being the strong one. 

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I just can't shut up. I hear myself talking, and in my head I'm like, KELLYN STOP TALKING YOU SOUND LIKE A CRAZY PERSON. But I can't. I just can't stop. 

*       *       *       *       *

Oh, and baby? I was thinking maybe I could drive to the airport tomorrow. I know I am going to be on edge and stressed to begin with, and sometimes when I am stressed I have a tendency to get stressed out even more by your driving, so I think this would be a way for us to avoid an unnecessary conflict.

What? You think I'm a bad driver?

No, no no. You're missing the point. Just say you'll let me drive.

*       *       *       *       *

He even watched the boys today so I could run to Old Navy. I was on a mission to find a "flying outfit". I would prefer to wear my new favorite Seven jeans, (that I bought at 40% off OMG!), but the thing that makes them so cute - the fact that they are adorned with gemstones - is exactly why I cannot wear them. They would set off every alarm, bell and whistle that airport security has in place. 

Next thing you know I would be taken to some back room, stripped from the waist down as the TSA ran my jeans through an X-Ray machine, and interrogated me about that trip I took to Mexico five years ago, and Richard would be on the other side of the door, with two hungry, screaming, poopy toddlers, yelling at me about why in God's name did I wear bedazzled pants to the airport?!

So as you can imagine, I was hoping to avoid all that. 

I went in search of some stretchy, comfy pants with no buttons, metal, zippers, nothing. I eventually found some yoga-type pants, and while not particularly cute, they will do the job. 

So this is where we're at. T-minus 20 hours until our plane leaves the ground that I so enjoy having my feet firmly planted on. But I am already too stressed about traveling with kids as it is, that I'm not even going to allow myself to start worrying about the plane crashing. I just can't. This week has already caused  me more than enough gray hairs, I'm sure.

Bottom line? Traveling with little kids SUCKS. There's no way around it. Richard was all, "Let's just drive to Illinois".

HA.

I told him he better hop off the crazy train because that would never be happening. 

A twenty-plus hour car ride, through the snow, and over several mountain passes with a one and two year old? No thanks. 

I guess I will settle for outrageous baggage fees, let a TSA employee get to second-base with me, and then spend three hours in a compact fuselage, squeezed so close to the stranger next to me that our elbows and knees keep awkwardly rubbing together.

I don't mean to sound like a Scrooge. I was stressed last year too, and once we got to Illinois we all had the best trip with Richard's extended family in a beautiful white Christmas. I am looking forward to another fun and memorable year. 

But this whole traveling process? Has turned me into a raving lunatic.

Merry Christmas, everyone!