Many people ask me how I manage with four kids ages four and under. It's surprisingly not as difficult as one would think. Especially if you don't clean your house regularly.

I was afraid adding a fourth might stretch me to my limits, but it hasn't. I think I understand now how people can have 18 children. Okay, not really.

Yesterday we received a package in the mail...a ridiculously huge box filled with 2 million packing peanuts, 2 tiny books, and a picture frame. Whoever packed this box was either having a really good chuckle at the absurdity of their act (sounds like something I would do to entertain myself), or they hated postal workers.

The point of the story is that packing peanuts fell out everywhere when I was stupid enough to open the box on an angle. I guess I thought the "holding in place" fairies would do a better job of holding everything in place, but clearly they were incompetent and maybe imaginary after all. It's been a while since I've received something in the mail. Packing peanuts weren't the first thing on my mind. "What in the heck did I order that was this big???" was what was going through my mind.

The children hovering over me immediately started throwing peanuts into the air squealing, "It's snowing!!! It's snowing!!!"

Times like this are when the baby starts crying and wants her bottle ASAP. I catered to her partly because I had no choice and partly because she is the most precious baby that has ever touched foot on this planet! But I digress....I was saying something...

Oh, there was a need to feed her and make sure no more snow was thrown. I ordered the big kids to stop shredding the packing peanuts and put them all back in the box--a concept my 3 year old son chose not to grasp because he put them in and then took them right back out. The magnitude of the box was also enticing because they all knew they could fit inside (one at a time, but still...). Boxes are so VERY tempting to small people.

I fed the baby while they cleaned. I eventually told them to stop and that I'd vacuum up the rest later. They insisted on doing the vacuuming which was a surprise considering they run screaming from it every time it's turned on. It doesn't help that I chase them with it.

I wish I had gotten their initial reaction to the vacuum coming to life on video because it was a hilarious combination of fear, jubilation, and chaos as they all tried to run in separate directions---away from the vacuum--and into each other. There was also shrieking and laughing taking place. Not all of it was me.

By the time I got the camera, much had taken place. Here's what's left. It's really long because I have no idea how to edit these things. Also, it's Ironman's fault all the furniture is draped with his gigantic shirts. He doesn't like them to be put in the dryer. Had I known I was about to catch a memorable moment on video that I would post on my blog, I would have cleaned the house first.

This is called, "I Want to Suck Up Everything I Can Find With a Vacuum Wand." So far, the kids and I are the only ones who laugh when we see this. Ironman wasn't so sure it was funny. I think having a weird sense of humor is why I love having children all around me...they are weird and it makes me laugh. This whole thing cracks me up.

Ballet Girls

Progress is being made in Baby Ballet. My twins are the ones in pink skirts....sticking the tongue out while dancing is important for balance.

Be Back Lata

Thanks so much for all your interesting comments being left on various old, old, OLD posts! The post from so long ago with all the pictures of aborted babies is what brings almost all the new traffic to my site, and a lot of women came across them the same way I did. I hope it changes some minds for those who are researching abortion as an option.

I also really appreciated all the comments on the last post. I love it when you guys rant back! :D

And the Jon & Kate Plus 8 post is still getting some intense comments. All very interesting to me.

So sorry to be off the radar, but I don't see how I'll have time to post any more on the book until after the new year.

Much to do! Much to do!

Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, She's Ranting Again

More on the book soon... I've read more than I've posted about, so I hope to make the time to update you soon. I'm glad to hear that a couple of you have bought the book! I hope it helps us see things in a new light.

I was watching the news earlier, and I have to vent despite the fact that many or most of you will disagree.

I realize I'm just about the only person left in my age bracket (or just about any other age bracket) who isn't jumping on board with a variety of changes the world wants me to embrace, but I don't care. I have kids to raise, and I still want the world to be a fairly decent place by the time they're out in it alone. I don't think it will be a decent place if we continue to look the other way and claim morality is simply a way for us to place labels and judgment on one another. I think there are times we all need someone to pull us back in line. I know I've been there.

I also believe one day I'll be held accountable for all of my decisions--good and bad, and that I'll have a lot of explaining to do as to why I kept quiet and went with the masses instead of rocking the boat when I had the chance, so....here's to rocking the boat and using my voice to say I'M NOT BUYING WHAT MAINSTREAM AMERICA IS SELLING!

**Soap box in place, and I'm officially on it.**

I hate that old-fashioned values are referred to as old-fashioned.

I don't believe in a live and let live mentality. There. I said it.

I think the standard for behavior is sinking fast, and it's hard not to get caught up in it. It's harder for some than for others. We need to remember that a "free for all" mentality means utter destruction for a lot of people.

I think immorality is becoming much easier to justify because we have such low standards as a nation. You used to be able to look at the next guy and feel ashamed if you weren't up to par. Now the next guy is probably a bigger mess than you are which means you're let off the hook and can continue living your life as you are. No need to rise to the standards of a gentlemen or a lady, an upstanding Christian, etc. if the standards don't exist anymore.

I don't think I should have to see girls going wild at every single commercial break when I want to watch a late night movie. I don't want my husband seeing drunk bimbo after drunk bimbo showing her barely bleeped out breasts, and I don't want anyone in my family having to watch two skeezes sticking their tongues in each other's mouths (although I'm sure it's just that they love each other a lot, and they're not sexual deviants...psssh!). I realize this makes me a real old-fashioned stick in the mud, but I miss the days that sleazy behavior was a bad thing. I don't think it should be celebrated and piped into every home.

I joke that Ellen and Oprah are collaborating on a new project--their own revised version of The Holy Bible because I think they've already verbally rewritten it by spewing their beliefs over and over and over again until they've brainwashed a lot of their viewers with their idea of how our world should be. I admit, I still watch Oprah now and then, but definitely not to hear what Oprah has to say. I try to fast forward when the guests stop speaking.

I don't believe the gay right movement is the same struggle as the blacks had in their civil rights movement. I don't even think it's fair to compare the two.

I'm glad we have a black man as president, but I wish it were a different black man.

I still oppose abortion. I still don't feel sorry for women who choose it as a form of birth control.

I still think it makes no sense that we will kill children and say the mother had the right because it was in her body, but we don't kill child molesters because child molesters--as well as murderers and rapists for that matter-- have rights that even the innocent unborn aren't given.

Just so you know, pedophiles meet online and elsewhere so that they can "come out of the closet" to people like themselves. They would like you to know that "like homosexuals" (their comparison, not mine) God made them the way they are. They can not help who they are sexually attracted to. Yes, it has come that far. Did we really not see this coming? Equality for the rights of individuals who are sexually attracted to children. Did you know fathers video tape their own infants being molested to trade with others who believe they are all just "misunderstood" and will one day be accepted just as homosexuals are accepted now?

As I said, I don't believe in live and let live because look where it takes us.

While I'm harping, I don't believe in one man having ten wives. I still define marriage as the union between one man and one woman.

It's been a long time coming, but our standards for morality are slipping as our standards for living a life of luxury rise. If there was any doubt left in my mind, it was removed when our new president was elected. The promise of plumper pocket books won out over absolutely everything else that used to matter and still matters to half of America.

We're the blind leading the blind. Our lives are a mess. Our families are a mess. Our families are broken. Our children are lost. Churches have no idea how to reach the masses because church sense doesn't make sense when you really like the freedom of the secular world. Christians are lost because they-- like myself-- look to the world for answers. When I was drowning in despair, I turned my back on God, made my own set of rules, and I failed miserably just as the world around me is failing miserably.

Someone attempted to help me by anonymously posting something in my comment section like, "Don't look to God for strength. Look to yourself for strength." (Oprah, is that you?) Well, that's what I did, and it got me nowhere. My wheels were spinning for years, and I was going nowhere fast. I am not all powerful. I can not do it alone. When I tried being godless, I've never felt more alone or more desperate for peace and understanding. But I had more than enough anger and bitterness because it had nowhere to go. I had no one to relieve me of my burdens. No one to promise me rest.

In Washington D.C., there are ads running on the sides of buses that say,

"Why believe in a god? Just be good for goodness' sake."

Below it there's some picture of an idiot in a Santa outfit and info of how to join the club of agnostics and atheists.

I really don't believe being godless is the answer. I think we're only more confused because right and wrong is not consistent across the board. Maybe it was never black and white, but it definitely wasn't whatever color you wanted it to be.

It's been said that the younger generation is the mess it is because parents were too concerned about harming their psyches and chose not to discipline them. Now those kids are the people deciding what is acceptable in our culture, and guess what? Every thing's okay! Surprised? Me either. Those same kids pushing the limits then--that the rest of us thought were so bratty--are the same bratty people pushing the limits now. For better or worse, they're getting their way because they think they're entitled to it. Ah, the entitlement mentality. That's never ruined anyone's life.

Staying quiet, being agreeable, and keeping the peace so as not to appear politically incorrect is causing our world to go to hell in hand basket. If there's anyone out there actually reading this, and you still see the value in "old-fashioned" morality, I encourage you to find your voice if you haven't already and let people know how you feel. I can't be the only one left who longs for a civilized and morally upright world for their children to grow up in.

**Leaving soap box.**

Perfectionism

Quotes from The Worn Out Woman by Dr. Steve Stephens and Alice Gray regarding perfectionism:

Many women secretly believe they must be perfect, or nearly perfect, in everything they do. They may give lip service to "nobody's perfect," but the despair they feel when they fail reveals their perfectionism.

Perfectionists strive for the unattainable. They need to be first or best and try never to make a mistake, which they see as a sign of failure or unworthiness... Because of this, perfectionists are rarely happy. They frequently slip into depression and are often disappointed. Sometimes they're so worn out by their own expectations that they fail to do anything at all.

At the heart of perfectionism is fear--fear of making a mistake and being judged, fear of failure and rejection. The faulty belief underlying perfectionist behavior is this: If I could get everything right, life would be good. People would love me, and then I could finally love myself. The problem is that as soon as you think you have everything right, something goes wrong.

The chapter goes on to say that perfectionism reveals a lack of faith. In a sense, perfectionism is really a way of playing God with our own lives....we try to preempt His work and get it right without His help.

A few principles to help you fight perfectionism (the short version...each principle is elaborated in the book):

Admit that perfection is impossible.
Give yourself permission to make mistakes.
Accept your weaknesses and failures.
Set realistic and reachable goals.
Aim for excellence, not perfection.

This chapter uses phrases such as "living human" and "accept your own humanity."

Henry Van Dyke said, "Use what talents you possess: The woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best."

People Pleasing

I didn't highlight anything in the section of people pleasing. I'm not exactly sure what that says about me.

Since nothing stood out to me on a personal level, I'll list some of the questions they ask to help you identify if you're a people pleaser. This applies to people who go beyond being nice and accommodating. It's about people whose lives are worse for it because they do it mainly out of fear of rejection.

Quotes from The Worn Out Woman by Dr. Steve Stephens and Alice Gray:

Do I work overtime to impress those around me?
Do I often say yes when I really want to say no?
Do I depend too much on compliments and affirmations to feel good?
Do I let others schedule my priorities or activities?
Do I try too hard to be nice?
Do I take criticism too personally?
Do I find it hard to be firm?
Do I feel very bad when someone is upset at me?
Do I apologize when I don't need to?
Do I bend over backward for other people, even when part of me is protesting and resentful?

I think the point of this section was to say you'll never please everyone, and trying to is an impossible and exhausting task. If you take extraordinary measures to please people and succeed, they'll expect it of you every time if not more. If the desire to please causes you to feel worn out, it's time to stop. "Remember that your physical, emotional, and spiritual health is more important than temporarily pleasing someone else....Scripture reminds us that 'our purpose is to please God, not people.'....Pleasing people can lead you astray, but pleasing God never will."

Comparing Yourself To Others

How ironic that I haven't had time to update you on the book I barely have time to read called The Worn Out Woman by Dr. Steve Stephens and Alice Gray.

Of course, now the baby's starting to fuss. Let's see what I can accomplish between consoling an infant with hiccups and trying to skim previous chapters.

....yeah, she's sleeping! You know how ten people can read the same paragraph and come up with at least 5 different things that seemed most meaningful? I figure each of us could read this book and different parts would speak to each of us, so I'm just going to tell you what stood out to me as interesting. I'll type direct quotes that I underlined. Hopefully it will make some kind of sense and save me from having to paraphrase.

Quotes from Ch. 3

Most worn out women struggle with expectations...the shoulds and oughts don't stop.

Comparison:

Comparing yourself to others is dangerous, especially when you are on the verge of being worn out. As your stress increases, you tend to become more self-critical. Whoever you are, someone will always be better or brighter than you, and comparisons can cause envy, competitiveness, and dissatisfaction.

When you compare yourself to others, you actually stop seeing yourself. All you see is how you measure up to your perception of someone else. Comparisons accomplish nothing except to increase expectations. This saps your energy and kills your morale. It is one more standard to live up to and one more burden to bear.

Then the book went into some depth on the "6 As" of comparison which I'll just list here. We're most likely to compare ourselves with other people's:

appearance
articulation
attitude
accomplishments
acquisition
ability

In these areas of comparison, most of us tend to exaggerate the other person's qualities while minimizing our own...the best antidote is a healthy dose of reality...Each of us has areas where we can grow and improve, but in God's eyes, comparisons between people are like comparisons between roses and lilies--both are beautiful...More important, we are each infinitely precious to our heavenly Father. He sees us as we are and still loves us.

Spend some time thinking about your positive characteristics. Then resolve to start accepting yourself, respecting yourself, loving yourself, and thanking God for how He made you. We all need to spend less time looking around and more time looking up.

This section on comparison ends with a list of 100 positive characteristics that you're supposed to go through and select things you see as positive about yourself. VERY hard!

Okay, quoting is done on this section. This is Me! I am a comparison freak. And I just spent an hour of my life providing an example of how I'm a comparison freak only to delete it all. It's one thing to think the thoughts I think, another to verbalize them to people I hope will somehow remain my friend, and another to write them out word for word so I can see just how ridiculous I am.

Now I have a baby starting to fuss and 3 children interrupting every other word I type, so this is it for the moment. Hopefully it won't be too long before I can cover some things written on perfectionism and people pleasing.

Study of The Worn Out Woman Part I

The Worn Out Woman: When Your Life Is Full and Your Spirit Is Empty
by Dr. Steve Stephens and Alice Gray

Prologue: Winter Night

These are the pages where they share some personal stories of women who have been worn out and spiritually empty. Here are some quotes from the book on how the various women felt:

Most days I feel overwhelmed.
I want to run away and start over again.
I've wished my life away.
I hardly ever experience intimate or tender moments with the Lord.
My days are filled with things I don't want to do.
When I read the Bible, it's out of habit rather than desire.
The joy and excitement are gone.
I wake up feeling discouraged.
I've taken on responsibilities that I never wanted.
I feel like I'm missing me. But maybe it's God I'm missing.

At the end of each chapter there's a page called "Something To Try." That's where you reflect on your personal situation as you review questions or suggestions they have for you.

Chapter 1: What's Going On?

"Don't ask me to relax; It's my tension that's holding me together." Author unknown.

Chapter one has you take your own personal inventory of what has you feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. There's a check list to determine your stress level. My personal level was marked Severe---get help now! Yippy skippy.

Chapter 2: Telling Your Story

What I appreciate about this book is that it hits some valuable points without probing too deep. This is a brief chapter that has you consider your life as well as what and who has shaped you. You're to consider the obvious like family to the more obscure like teachers, coaches, and old boyfriends. You're to consider events--traumatic or positive, decisions you have made--that have made you who you are. It also has you consider your basic personality and temperament and how that makes it possible for some women to respond to stress so much differently than their friend or family member. No particular personality type is labeled as weaker or anything. It reinforces that God made us all different. "Your basic personality or temperament is part of the way God wove you in your mother's womb."

Chapter 3: Shoulds and Oughts

This is the best chapter so far!!!! I could really relate. It's about expectations we place on ourselves by comparing ourselves to others, people pleasing, and perfectionism. I have an appointment I can't miss, so I hope to get back to this later today. I constantly poison my brain with thoughts of how I'm not as good of a housekeeper as so and so, I'm not as fine of a disciplinarian as that mom, I don't have the mild and glowing personality of that friend, or I don't have the attractive physical appearance of just about anyone I admire. This chapter had words that for once could penetrate my brain and make me reconsider how hard I am on myself. I hope they'll work for you, too! More later!

What's Wrong Part II

Continued...



I tested God, and He failed me. I KNEW He would let me down. I knew we couldn't have a "peaceful" life like other families. The shoe fell, and it fell hard in every way imaginable. When He knew I was already weak, He had the nerve to hit me where He KNEW would hurt me the worst because my biggest fear is losing a child.



I used to be stronger. I used to be one of those Christians who clung to God in prayer and read my Bible professing to all that God would see me through it. And He did. That still didn't stop me from being angry that He didn't/wouldn't spare my child from a heart defect.



And it didn't matter that He had seen me through other trials or that at least my child could potentially be helped by having surgery. On prayer lists I was praying for fatally ill children and parents who had lost a child. You would think that would make me more grateful, but that only added fuel to my fire of raging bitterness and anger with God. I still cannot fathom the suffering of those families, and I will probably always struggle with why so many families have to suffer the loss of a child or parent of young children.



Anyway...for Lindley...I tried to remain faithful. I felt like I was in a war with God over her life--that He would only get her through the surgery if I had the faith that He would. I had already failed at having the faith that she would be cured without surgery, so I felt like I definitely couldn't throw what faith I had left out the window before the surgery. There's no logic to my thinking and no decent excuse for my religious views. I could see it even then, but that's another story.



Lindley made it through the surgery and had successful results. Following my line of thinking from before, one would assume I'd give God the credit for protecting her. I did say I was grateful that God used surgeons and medical science to heal her, and I meant it, but WOAH was I pissed!



I've spent the last year fuming. My internal anger has been through the roof as has my outward anger at times. This past year has been a year of existing, questioning, cursing, venting, blaming, excuse making, and just plain awfulness. For the most part I don't take it out on my kids, but there are times I have. I don't know how I make up for that other than pull them close and reassure them from here on out.



I can't even begin to measure what I've put Ironman through. I could have just come out and said, "If you were a better person, and if I were a better person, OUR BABY WOULDN'T BE ON AN OPERATING TABLE GETTING HER CHEST SPLIT OPEN RIGHT NOW!" I don't think it would have helped to confess that thought to Ironman, but my behavior was just as bad or worse. He probably already knew I felt that way anyway. Here's to hoping he was as oblivious about my thoughts then as he seems to be about house projects now. That was my attempt at humor. (I'm sorry for everything, Pickle.)



Question my sanity if you'd like. I have. Many times. I'm starting to realize that what I say to myself in my head is often irrational. What I say out loud to myself is totally rational. Just kidding. If I've been talking out loud to myself, I haven't noticed.



As I was saying, I've spent the last year angry and generally discontent wondering if I was depressed but convincing myself I wasn't because I'd have days or weeks where I felt fine. And then I'd be fed up again---crying in private a lot more than I felt was normal (at least for me). I'm not entirely sure what that was, but I assume it was a combination of life mixed with unresolved issues mixed with hormones (pregnancy and otherwise). I wasn't necessarily unhappy, just discontent with some things and restless. Very restless. Spiritually empty. I almost never prayed, and that's not like me.



Actually, I've been wondering where I went. The summer I originally decided to hold my breath and wait for the other shoe to fall was the summer I lost myself. I've been struggling to feel comfortable in my skin ever since. Not so much comfortable, I guess, as simply feeling like the Jennifer I had always been. Ever heard of "fake it 'til you make it?" That's me. Faking being Jennifer until I come back into her again.



I don't know what brought it about, or if it's been coming about slowly, but the anniversary of Lindley's surgery brought up a flood of emotions that left me feeling....of all things...content. Once again, I'm holding my breath a little. I'm worried this is a temporary hormonal high that I'll crash from soon. But I don't think so this time. I feel joy again, and I didn't realize that was what I'd been missing until it came back. Maybe joy is the wrong word because I've felt happiness all along...especially when Faith came into the world. I see the irony in that sentence.



I feel so grateful to have hope in faith and my spiritual relationship with God that I'm praying again. My most frequent prayer is that I don't lose ground on the progress I'm making personally. If you've ever really been depressed for a long period of time, you might have experienced the desperation you feel to hang onto "feeling normal" again if you've naturally or medicinally become stabilized. I feel that desperation to hold onto my contentment and inner peace. I never wanted to be separated from God. It just happened through my own fault or whoever else I can blame. ;)



I'm learning some interesting things in the book I mentioned. I hope to find the time to share it with you because I think it speaks to most women in today's world. If any of you pick up a copy, let me know. I'd like to know what you think.

What's Wrong With Me? Where to Begin?

FYI: I posted my two cents about the Jon & Kate Plus 8 blog in the comment section on that particular post. In a nutshell, I had mixed feelings. You could state an opinion and chances are I'd agree with you. There are lots of good points.


About a year ago I bought a book called The Worn Out Woman: When Your Life is Full & Your Spirit is Empty by Dr. Steve Stephens and Alice Gray. I haven't read it yet because I've been too worn out and too spiritually empty to care that I was spiritually empty. I don't know how on earth they manage to get their target audience to read this book. I assume they must rely on less worn out women who are spiritually empty or completely worn out women who are spiritually full to spread the message. I have no idea. Currently I'm semi-worn out and running on spiritual fumes, but that's better than being on empty...more on that later. A point I'll get to later is that I'm now reading the book and finding it valuable enough that I hope to find time to share parts with you.



What I'm about to write is spiritual in nature but not the sappy Christian witness story it may appear to be. At least I hope it doesn't come off that way though I wouldn't be writing it if I felt it was going to have a bad ending. I don't know how it's going to end honestly. All I know is that currently I have hope that it will end well, and I haven't had that in a very long time.



The year marking Lindley's open heart surgery date was some kind of a turning point for me. I've been angry. That's no secret to me or anyone around me. It's been building for years. If there wasn't one crisis in our lives, there was another. Some were made by us and some were just bad luck. If there wasn't a crisis, there was a constant nagging of underlying unresolved personal issues or annoying people in our lives. There was always something.



Then there wasn't.



Other than some unresolved personal issues that we could probably spend the rest of our lives dealing with, there was really nothing major to speak of. We were in recovery mode financially and emotionally from a lot of stressful years. And I waited, and I waited for the other shoe to drop. But nothing happened. Still, the pressure built because life experience told me something would happen. Or one could argue that my lack of faith caused me to fear that if something major happened again, I couldn't handle it one more time.



That's when we found out Lindley had a heart defect that would one day need surgery. Then we were told I might have leukemia (which can do quite a psychological number on you). Then we were told our insurance wouldn't cover the expensive tests needed for Lindley and definitely wouldn't cover her pending heart surgery estimated to be almost $100,000.00. There were a lot of other "little" things from infertility issues to a serious car wreck...once again...going into overload.



I wanted to be the ever faithful Christian as we went through it all. The more I blogged, the more I realized how weak I felt. I wasn't a shining example of a Christian at all. I didn't keep my bitterness or anger to myself. The more Bible verses I was quoted, the angrier I became, and this is why...

(continued in next post)

Jon & Kate Plus 8

I know a lot of us are watchers of the reality show Jon & Kate Plus 8.

A friend sent me a link yesterday to an interesting blog. When I brought up the show on this blog before, an anonymous person left some information about how Jon and Kate are deceiving the public.

Here's the link I received yesterday.

http://truthbreedshatred.blogspot.com

Aunt Jodi's (the red head who cares for the children) sister writes it. I thought it was a hoax at first, but there's video of Jodi on the blog stating that the blog is legit. There are some interesting stories and links to articles written about the family. A children's advocacy group of former child stars is apparently pleading with Jon and Kate to stop filming their children stating that children need secrets and privacy regarding issues of making friends, etc.

She also gave the low down on how they're making a lot of money yet still qualifying for public assistance...or health care. Now I can't remember what I've read, but it was interesting. Check it out for yourself and share your thoughts with me if you get the chance.

A Whole Year

This morning I've been reflecting on where we were exactly a year ago today. It's a surprisingly emotional experience remembering Lindley (3 at the time) going in for her open heart surgery.

I remember the month leading up to it was the most anxious I've ever been. A year of pediatric cardiologist appointments that initially took us totally by surprise (always thinking things would get better somehow) and then they turned into one disappointment after another until it appeared surgery couldn't be postponed any longer.

The memories of the doctors and details of what would be happening to her are a factor in the rush of emotions...as well as holding her through the surgical prep...watching Ironman be so strong for her every step of the way, barely ever turning loose of her (he was definitely the strong one in that situation)...the uncertainty of how it would all turn out...and finally watching a nurse carry her away from us with a little blinking "magical" wand. All of those things are definitely a huge factor in how emotional I'm feeling right now.

But more than that, I've been thinking of the waiting room and the people in it that were there to support us. I'll never forget that. I felt like I was drawing from their strength. I'm thinking of the emails. The phone calls. The visits to Lindley while she was recovering. I remember the incredibly kind words and offers of financial support from people I've never even met before in cyber world. People are amazing.

Today Lindley is doing great! She recovered quickly. She continues to have follow-up appointments with the cardiologist, and they are happy with her results. Her August appointment didn't sound as optimistic about surgery being a thing of the past, but I believe that was just the difference in doctors. (We saw a new doctor this last time.)

I'm eternally grateful for the friends and family who saw us through that tough time, and ever so grateful that's all we've had to go through. I don't know why we were the lucky ones, but we were, and it's very humbling.

Off to Walmart now. Haha! Thank you again to all of you out there who went through those tough times with us.

Here's a Lindley video. It's the only one I have that I know how to upload. The content won't make much sense because it's in reference to a conversation that was taking place on Facebook, but anyway...she's silly and well! The best thing for a 4 year old to be!

Background Checks Make for Better Friendships

I might have a new "in person" friend. Emphasis should be placed on "might" and "new" and "in person." Basically the entire sentence.

We're still in the researching phase.

If you have followed this blog for a long time or if you actually know me, you know that I don't do "in person" friends. To my lifelong girlfriends, don't think I don't know how you just twisted that last sentence to be something completely inappropriate.

What I do is clutch and/or cling to the girlfriends of my past and never let them go. I don't want any new friends because it's taken decades for my old friends to get used to me. I have no desire to start from scratch. (Sorry about the "old" friend comment. It's nothing personal.) I think it's only been in very recent years that they've come to terms with my personal failures as a human being and can write it off as, "Oh, that's just Jennifer. Try not to think about it."

I am what society calls "anti-social," or "busy," or "unwilling to give of herself to others on a frequent local basis." I'm not really about the "in person" friendships because they require way too much effort; however, I am considering breaking my own rule and taking a friend locally. My lifelong friends live hours away unfortunately, but that's probably the only reason they can still stand to be my friend. Small doses and all.

Anyway, this friend I'm considering shall remain anonymous considering everyone I personally know manages to find me on this blog. Sure as a monkey flings its own filth, she will wander upon this blog and read about this entire thing regarding herself, and the potential friendship will be over before it even began.

I'll just say we have to see each other weekly...bonus...required built in time to "be" a friend. We have quite a lot in common including knowing the same people. I think she gets my sense of humor which is rare. In person, I basically have no sense of humor. The jury is out on just how much she would appreciate it long term, but anyway...

Ironman accuses me of having a girl crush which is fine because he has a new boyfriend named J.C. Since we are both extremely anti-social, we are forced to mock and laugh at the other person when they consider making a friend. We're mature like that.

So I'm following various leads I'm getting on this person and weighing the pros and cons of local friendship. Now is the time to back out if I'm going to do it because it will make no sense if I cower in the corner of the required weekly meeting place months from now. It is imperative that I find out as much as possible ASAP!

When did I become so skittish around friendships? I'd say it was about the time that a favorite friend of ours introduced us to his arsenal of weapons and showed us videos of Bill Clinton's head on soldiers in Hitler's army surrounded by floating swastikas. Luckily he quit his job and moved out of state because the end of the world was coming, so we avoided some of the awkwardness of ending a substantial friendship. Update on that is that the world didn't come to an end. Also, people are weird. Keep them away.

Assuming I find no scary dirt on her, then there's the issue of the dirt she finds on me, and well...then it's over, so what was the point? I don't know. This is why I don't make new friends.

That is all.

Tipsy Magoo

I think the guy who services our heating and cooling unit might have been hitting the sauce at lunch. Should my nose hairs be burning? I'm not sure I recognize that smell, but if I were to guess, I'd say it was a mixture of cigarettes, booze, and cologne.

Let's start from the beginning with the ever popular knock/pounding he used to announce his presence.

Knock, knock, nah, knock, knock...........knock, KNOCK!

(Professional, isn't it? I think so.)

It's the ac/heating guy! What a different approach than the lawn guy who barely tapped on the door due to the sign that says, "Please do not ring the doorbell or knock loudly. Children could be sleeping."

The ac guy greets me with a way too happy to see me "hello!!!" and immediately says he's getting drunk from watching the guy mow the lawn.

Really? Really, Mr. AC Guy?

Have you ever seen anyone oozing sugar out of the pores in their skin? Me either, but you'd think he was solid sugar because he is always super sweet. I shrink about 3 feet when he speaks to me because his voice gets very high pitched and happy like at any moment he's going to tickle me or play "got yer nose!"

Anyway, the lawn mower moving was a clever excuse for drunken behavior. You'll all have to remember that one. Now if I call the company and complain that they sent me a drunk repairman, he'll be able to say, "I TOLD HER IT WAS THE LAWN MOWER!!!"

What if he had come before the lawn guy? "Oh, watching this tall grass blowing makes me feel drunk!"

Or after? "Watching your door mat sit there, umm, yeah...I'm just drunk."

Anyway, we made glorious small talk about how obsolete check writing has become and how napping should be allowed at work for adults...actually that was his thing, and then he all but skipped out of my house saying in the most syrupy voice imaginable, "Now you know where to find us if you need one little thing, Jennifer!"

"Well, yes I do! Thank you, AC Man! Do you want a wine cooler for the road? Aaaaahhhaaayukyukyukyuk!"

Just one more reason to believe I'm being secretly videotaped for others' amusement. My friend says there really is a syndrome where people actually believe they're being secretly videotaped, but my case is not a syndrome. I really am being secretly videotaped and piped into a bar in Boston. I just know it!

Faith--sideways

Oh my gosh!!! Did I just manage to upload my first video??? After years of having this digital camera, I've finally started using it as a video camera as well. Who knew I could figure it out! Too bad my video is boring! Woo hoo! I've also now learned I can only hold the camera one way while shooting video. Try not to strain your neck.

Crazeeeee

It seems to me that some people spend their whole lives trying to convince themselves that they are crazy and other people spend their whole lives convincing themselves they aren't crazy.

How do you know which one you are? I've heard that crazy people don't know they're crazy.

These are things I wonder while wiping down kitchen counters.

Here's a newer update...

Faith has been sleeping through the night almost every single night since she was a month old. I'm no longer mommy dearest. I truly believe I have the best baby on the face of the planet!!! I've never met a child so low maintenance. She is either sleeping or quietly sitting and smiling like she is at this exact moment. No one is talking to her. She's just smiling. Like I said before, it's like God knew I needed an easy baby.

I took her in for her 2 month check up...a couple of weeks late, but that was mostly the doc's fault...and she weighs 12 pounds! This is considered "above average" which is a really nice way of saying she's a chunk.

The working out turned around quickly. I did 10 training sessions total, and then my trainer went back to teaching. I haven't been in the gym in almost a week, but now I'm loving cardio. I NEVER thought that would happen! I listen to my crazy music and ride my bike like a mad woman. It's pretty good. I went back to eating whatever I wanted and lost more weight than when I was dieting. Go figure. We'll see how long THAT lasts.

Now I'm trying to convince Ironman to work out with me in the evenings when it gets cooler. That will be a hard sell since he does manual labor all day long as it is, but he didn't get the name Ironman for nothing. He set a state record for dead lifting back when he was training. He would make an excellent trainer for me...mainly because he's free. I keep telling him, "It will be Jennifer and Ironman together again!!!" as if our history of working out together is comparable to a Beatles reunion. Yes, I know some of them are dead. Even having the living Beatles together again in the same room is more impressive than Ironman yelling at me to stop lifting like a woman while slapping the heck out of my leg. I vaguely remember cursing at each other. I don't think the YMCA can handle that. Luckily, he's calmed down a little in his old age....his very, very, very old age. (Ironman, that's for all the flack you've given me about turning 34 in a couple of weeks.)

So anyway...here are some new pics...

Waaaay old draft

Update: Oh my gosh! This is such an old draft!!!! But I'll post it because of the state cracker question.

Woo hoo! Little Bit turned one month old yesterday and has slept through the night twice in the past week or so. This is SUCH a good thing because I turn into Mommy Dearest when I don't sleep much. I fear my children are going to be so unstable because it feels like I'm either yelling or apologizing for yelling. There really is some middle ground in there, but I hate days when it feels like all I'm doing is policing them. They survived the pregnancy. Now if they can just survive the sleep deprivation mode, I think we'll be free and clear. I promise to pay for all of their counseling when they're adults.

Another reason I'm a bad mother is because I have no group photos of all my children as one of the cat readers requested. I hope the long, tall, Texan photos in Little Bit's ten gallon hat make up for it. Do people outside of Texas know that song?





Here's another question I have while we're on the topic of Texas...

We have Texas shaped everything in Texas. We are probably the most egotistical state when it comes to our shape which I must admit...TOTALLY ROCKS! So here's my question, do other states take pride in their shape? If you saw an outline of your state on a t-shirt, would you know it's your state? If you saw a pot holder in the shape of your state, would you recognize it or think that you were looking at a really screwed up pot holder? I was eating a box of Texas shaped crackers the other day and wondered, "Are there Iowa shaped crackers?" Someday I would like to get to the bottom of this, so please leave any information you have in the comment section.

I HATE THE GYM!!!

Is anybody still reading this blog? If so, what's wrong with you? I'm the worst blogger EVER! But thank you. :D

I want to yell today...and possibly curse. Want to know where I've been?
I'll tell ya where...
WORKING OUT AND EATING CRAP DIET/HEALTHY FOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Does anyone have any encouragement for a chick ALREADY wanting to quit working out? I pay $20 per session with a personal trainer (pretty cheap admittedly) and have been about 7 times. For that much money as well as tasty food deprivation, I had hoped to look like a movie star by now. I know! I know! It takes time. It took 9 months to put the weight on, I can't take it off in 3 weeks. Whatever.

I come home freaking SORE and exhausted. I did my weekly shopping last week the day after a leg work out. It hurt so badly to squat down and get things off lower shelves that I wanted to just lie there and ask someone to pull me by my arms when I wanted to go further down the aisle.

When does the added energy kick in from exercising and eating healthy? I'm tired!! And I'm so sick of calorie counting already. I figured just cutting out soft drinks and fast food would make a big difference, but I'm eating crap diet food as well. I've hardly lost any weight.

We had WHEAT spaghetti last night. FREAKIN' WHEAT SPAGHETTI!!!!!! Ironman almost barfed. He's ready for me to get back to our lazy and more tasty lifestyle, too. I'm not used to cooking every night or even eating 3 meals a day. And if I DO cook, I want it to have gravy or what's the point??? We're in TEXAS for gosh sakes! It should be fried and smothered with gravy...and possibly butter!

I MISS MR. PIBB AND CHOCOLATE FOR BREAKFAST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I'm not even close to being done complaining. I get my ass to the gym with 4 kids THREE days a week despite their growing desire to NOT go to the nursery. Lin had her heart appt. Monday, so I worked out to a video at home that day and did THREE Pilate's videos yesterday. THREE!!!!

I want to strangle my trainer. I don't think she has kids or a husband, and she's new to town. She can live at the gym if she wants. She wants to know why I'm not out walking at night (hello...105 degrees here) or making it to the gym to do cardio on my days off. She has me write down everything I eat. I've had 1 Mr. Pibb, and this is the middle of my 3rd week. She looks at my meals and keeps pointing out that same Mr. Pibb and says, "I'd like to see this cut out completely." THAT WAS LIKE THREE WEEKS AGO LADY!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW MUCH MORE CAN I CUT OUT MR. PIBB IF I'M HAVING NONE! FREAKING NONE!!!! I HAVE NO CAFFEINE AND I'M ABOUT TO CUT SOMEONE!!!!!

So anyway, I don't completely deprive myself of chocolate. I eat cookies in the 100 calorie pack. I allow myself a cheat meal on weekends. I temporarily fell off the diet wagon a couple of times, but my calories have been drastically cut. My trainer is happy regarding my diet and even my moments of weakness. Then why aren't the pounds melting off?????

I did nothing to lose weight after my other three kids. Somehow it just eventually came off. I ate whatever I wanted. I never even looked at a gym for at least a year after my third child was born. If I got the results I wanted before with no effort, then why am I busting my butt now? The results are definitely not immediate. I guess things feel firmer, but I want the scale to reflect major weight loss which ain't happening. All that work for 1-2 pounds a week? This is going to take forever!!!!!!!!!!

I need to lose 20 more pounds to be back to pre-baby size. I honestly expected the first five or so to come off super fast. I figured the last 10 pounds would be work--which would only be as tough as what I'm doing now. THIS SUCKS! I'm SICK of maternity clothes! I don't fit in any of my regular clothes, and I refuse to buy new clothes for the size I am now. If I did that, I'd feel totally defeated.

So I think that about covers my complaints. I'm going to try to catch a nap before fixing something disgusting for dinner. Bleck. If you can muster any encouragement or advice, it would be greatly appreciated.

Jon & Kate Plus 8 and other ramblings

Haaaaaaaaa ha ha ha! THANK YOU, KATE!!!!

I Tivo Jon & Kate Plus 8.

I used to think it was way too stressful to watch.

Then I developed a morbid fascination with it.

Now I can watch it, cringe, and laugh.

In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, it's the reality show with the parents who had a set of twins and then sextuplets. I only have one 3 year old and twin 4 year olds (newborn is not included in this since she's still in the potted plant stage). Knowing what life is like with that many children at approximately the same stage developmentally, I watch in awe as Jon and Kate handle SIX 3 year olds and twin 6 year olds--actually, they're all a year older now, but still...

I have always said I wouldn't compare my situation to having triplets because there are mothers of triplets out there who know just how untrue that statement would be. I had a whole year before I added a third to the mix, so I'm not going to insult them by suggesting we're the same because I had it MUCH easier.

But when they're all 2 and 3 years old, there doesn't feel like much of an age difference. It feels like juggling cats--very spastic, fast cats who are trying to get away from you. And there's a mob mentality involved. I felt that was true even when just the twins were conspiring to do something "interesting," "creative," or "fun." Christel, can I get an "Amen!" ????

When you have multiples, you don't always have the benefit you would if you had children of staggered ages because (hopefully) if your children are spaced apart, at least one has the ability to use self restraint, better judgement, or at least can tattle before something goes terribly wrong. Unfortunately, that's not always the case, which brings me to my next point before talking about Jon and Kate.

I never watched the nanny shows too regularly when they first came out because Ironman can't stand them. I can see his point because it's stressful to watch a house full of someone else's screaming, bratty children. This summer I have started recording them and watching all of the old episodes when Ironman is not around.

There's a distinct pattern--especially on Nanny 911. There are usually 4 or more children, and it seems that a majority of the time there are twins or triplets involved.

Another requirement seems to be getting the mother on tape screaming, "I'M DONE!" as she is on the verge of collapse.

And finally, there's always a husband who comes home from work, parks his butt in front of the t.v., and does nothing to help.

This brings me back to Jon and Kate. That man is a saint in my opinion. If he's home, he's involved. I realize there are a lot of dads like him, but according to Nanny 911 there are still a lot of dads who have a 1950's mentality. Ironman is kind of a 1950's dad. I feel it's safe to mention that because if he were embarrassed by it, he wouldn't do it. He plays with the kids and most definitely adores them, but any weekend time we get with him or help I get around the house feels like I'm having to ask him for a favor.

He works outside of the home. I work inside the home. That's where our responsibilities lie. End of story. Obviously it's that way because Ironman makes it that way. If I had any say in it, we'd do this parenting thing together on a regular basis. Ironman would defend this saying he's a manual labor worker, not some dad who sits behind a desk all day in an air-conditioned building. He doesn't have the energy to come home and help or do things on weekends because he gives 200% on the job so that (hopefully) some day he'll be promoted to a better position in the company. That last sentence is true, but I still wish he'd only give 150% at work so that he could have something left to give to his family.

I say all that because I can't believe the expectations Kate has of Jon. I think she takes him for granted. I was watching an episode today where Jon was filling sippy cups, styling the girls' hair, and keeping the kids out of his wife's way while she was trying to cook in the kitchen. And the WHOLE time she was complaining that he was having an "off day" because he wasn't helping enough. WHAT???? That man is always scrambling around dealing with kids as well as a full list of her other demands to check up on this, that, and the other. Have you ever seen an episode where he was home and not as involved in chores or taking care of children as Kate is?

Of course, he IS being filmed. And he does have an air-conditioned desk job. Also, I can't imagine many men would be horrible enough to not help their wife who is a stay at home mom of sextuplets and twins. As much as I admire the tight ship Kate runs and how organized she is, I fear that her constant criticism of a man who is definitely pulling his own weight with the kids is going to destroy their marriage. I hope not. Their lives are incredibly stressful....which finally brings me to the part of the show today that made me laugh because I could soooooooooo relate.

It was the episode where they were all in a furniture store picking out bunk beds for the sextuplets. Kate always has the desire to get her kids out of the house and involved in the world just as if there were only one of them. I'm not that way at all. I'm raising hermits because I know good and well we're not normal. I don't take my kids anywhere by myself unless I know it's a very controlled situation where I can escape quickly if things aren't going as planned. I'm not as bad as I used to be since the kids are getting older, but I would still never take them anywhere that I had to concentrate on a major decision involving thousands of dollars.

So Kate is looking for REALLY sturdy bunk beds, and the conversation arises about how destructive the sextuplets can be. Jon said the sextuplets have destroyed libraries worth of books, and Kate said, "it's not that any one of them singly would do it , its just the group of them descending upon things" and she did this gesture with her hands that I can't even described. It was kind of like monster claws grabbing something, and I COULD SOOOOOOOOOOOO RELATE!!!!

It felt SO good to hear someone else put into words what I've always felt and that I describe as mob mentality. People used to be mortified hearing the stories of my 3 toddlers and what all could go wrong in such a short period of time. They sounded like total heathens, and THANK GOD they've matured and outgrown it, but I always knew in my heart that singly, they wouldn't do the things they were doing (at least for the most part). It has to do with the sheer number of children matched with them all being developmentally at the same stage that is a recipe for disaster. I've never been successful getting that across to anyone without sounding like I'm making excuses for children who simply lack discipline. I felt so vindicated when I heard Kate express what I had always felt. It probably won't hit anyone else the way it hit me, but boy did it make my day today!!!

If you've been a reader of this blog for a couple of years, you've probably noticed I don't have a lot of kid stories left other than what can come out of their mouths. I used to have daily/weekly horror stories of how the house was destroyed within a matter of seconds thanks to toddlers who got out of their duct taped diapers, etc. My blog is not nearly as funny now, but I'm really grateful for that.

It can still be overwhelming. They still drop crumbs all over the rug. They can drag toys out of their rooms and into the living room in no time flat making it appear as if I never clean, but at least there's no poop in the toy microwave. There's no meat on the ceiling. When I walk past picture frames, I no longer find dried on apple sauce. The toilet paper no longer has to be locked up. Neither do the toilet lids for that matter. The potty chairs have been put away for a couple of years. I can understand the speech of 3 of the children (most of the time).

I continue to hear that it just gets harder when they get older, but for now it feels like a total relief to only have one child completely dependant upon me. Speaking of...she calls. Later!

Correction to c-section post

Correction: Ironman says I was wrong on what the nurses were calling "it." It was a spinal, not a spinal tap. Who knew I could be wrong? I guess there's a first time for everything. ;D

Mary and Stuff

Ironman and I were on an hour long road trip with the kids on the 4th of July. The two of us were talking and doing our best to tune out the noise from 3 of the 4 children in our PACKED to the gills minivan. Now that our family is a 6-pack, everything feels much more crowded...and only because of an 8 pound person.

Anyway, Ironman and I sometimes have to yell to each other to be heard over the background noise of laughing and singing...not a bad noise to be overwhelmed with, but the conversation went something like this--maybe not exactly like this, but something like this:

J: "Blah, blah. Yackety yack."

I: "Yes, I agree."

J: "Yada, yada."

I: "You're the most brilliant woman on the face of the earth..."

J: "Hold on. What are they singing?"

I: "I don't know."

J: "It's the tune of, 'Mary Had a Little Lamb,' but they're not saying 'little lamb."

Ironman and Jennifer stop to listen....

J: It's 'booty crack.' They're saying, 'Mary had a booty crack' and laughing hysterically.

*blink, blink*

J: Oh my gosh. Those are your children. That's not my fault.

I: KIDS! You can't just sing, 'Mary had a booty crack' over and over again. You have to finish the song. (Insert more crude and disgusting lyrics here that I have seriously mentally blocked out.)

It's really not my fault. I'm going to have cards printed up for all their teachers when they start school explaining how none of the gross words or concepts they come up with are my fault. I'll ask that a copy of the card be placed in their personal records. I already have it all planned out.

The Verbal Vomit of my C-Section

New correction: If the word "tap" follows the word "spinal" in this post, ignore it.

Warning: This is long, and I have no time (or desire) to proof read it...

Another warning: This could also be considered graphic and gross by some readers..

I should be napping right now, but all I'm thinking about is my c-section experience. I think I'll use this opportunity to verbally vomit it all out so that I can hopefully STOP thinking about it. I'm also considering this to be "on the record" which means it can and should be used against me if the day ever comes that I think having another baby is a good idea.

Scratch that. If Ironman and I ever get to the point where we think it's meant for our family to be expanded upon, I'm not going to want to be told it's a bad idea. Just gently refer me to this post as a reminder of what it was like to be pregnant and give birth. I already know I'll argue that those two things are temporary and well worth the pain, but I want to remember just how bad the pain was. I can't believe it's already fading from my memory. Anyway, I'm a major "after thought" for my parents. It took my parents almost a decade to decide they wanted a third child. For that reason, I'm hesitant to say I'll never want another child.


As I've whined about in previous posts, I'm not one of those women who handles pregnancy with ease. It starts with the typical fatigue, all day sickness, and horrible heartburn and quickly progresses to a deep down aching in my bones that gets worse and worse and worse with time. I need to remember how painful it was to be still and how much more it hurt to move.



Regarding the c-section, if you're scheduled for one, don't read this. I don't want to be in your head when you're lying there on the table being sliced open. This story isn't a nightmare because everyone came out of it okay, but it's one of those downward spiral stories that seems like it's never going to end. At least it feels that way if you've lived it.



Background: I've had 2 c-sections before. I've had a LOT of surgeries before. I've had kidney stones three times. Despite how wimpy I sound, I've been told many times (even by doctors) that I have a high threshold for pain. Instead of making me stronger, I think that comment had the opposite effect on me. Now I think, "Holy crap! If I hurt THIS bad, it must be REALLY bad pain!" Anyway, I had zero fear about having a third c-section. I barely even remembered my other two.


Even though I have three tattoos on my spine (which I completely regret), that stupid spinal(That's the term they used. I no longer remember the difference between a spinal and epidural. Is there one? Now I'm really confused.) still gives me major anxiety. I don't know how I survived a couple of hours of needles with the tattoos, but the spinal makes me want to faint. It gives me the mental heebies like almost nothing else can. Ugh! I can't even stand to think about it. I'm not too fond of needles, but I had about eleventy million stuck in me during the fertility treatments to conceive the twins. I've had a TON of blood work done due to all my various ailments. Needles are a fairly frequent part of my life. But that spinal ....jeez louise! BLECK! That's the only part of the entire experience I was dreading.


But let me back up a little. We got to the hospital at 9 a.m. as scheduled. I was parched because I could have nothing to eat or drink after midnight and pregnancy puts me in a constant state of thirst. While pregnant, I drank 64 ounces of water in the middle of the night almost every night. I know this because I kept a giant glass beside my bed that was a 64 ouncer. While not pregnant, I might not even drink 24 ounces of liquid in 24 hours. Anyway, I tell you this to express just how thirsty I was to have gone 9 plus hours with no liquid.


The c-section was scheduled for noon. The nurse came in to get an i.v. going. The lab guy came in to draw blood.

Needles!

Needles everywhere!

He was in and out just fine. She was digging in veins and having no success. I was squirming internally because I was getting another overwhelming case of the heebies. Another nurse was called in. She did more digging in veins thus causing my case of the heebies to grow so much I wanted to jump out of my own skin if she referred to my veins as "ropes" one more time. Neither nurse could figure out how they could possibly be having so much trouble considering how great and "rope like" my veins were. HEEEEEEEEEEEEBS! BLECK! BLECK!

Oh, and did I mention I had already gone into active labor at that point??? That makes TWO pregnancies now that I've had the joy of experiencing painful contractions when I wasn't supposed to because of the c-section. Whatever! I was watching the clock closely for the 12 o'clock hour because I knew the spinal would bring me relief.

Twelve o'clock came and went, and I wasn't even in the operating room yet. The nurses finally got an i.v. going at least. About 12:30 I went to the OR, did the icky spinal, and instantly felt like vomiting. With all the surgeries I've had, I've never thought I was going to throw up before the surgery started. Of course, I couldn't move, so they laid a bowl next to my head. Oh joy! Barfing horizontally.

My arms were already tied to the table. Fast forward through the spread eagle, naked, in a room full of (thankfully) women. Catheter, blah, blah. Couldn't move my legs anymore which bothered me more than ever before. Couldn't move my arms. I have panicky issues with being in tight spaces and/or not being able to move.

Mentally I was less than okay at that point. We very easily could have called it quits because I felt sufficiently traumatized. "Thanks, doc! I would like to go find the hell that has been scared out of me...if you could just let me go, please." I don't know how the baby would have exited, but I wanted to pretend like nothing was happening so I could go to my happy place. Note to Randa (in Barbie mode): Pretend like I didn't just get my veins violated, go into labor before my c-section, get a needle and a couple of other things stuck up my spine, get a catheter stuck up you know where, get strapped to a table, get an overwhelming urge to barf, and definitely pretend like I'm not naked in a room full of people who have all their clothes on.

I've never asked him, but Ironman looked nervous to me. I don't know if it felt better or worse to have him seem scared. It's very bad to be scared alone, but it didn't help to think we were in the same boat. Soon a few tears fell, and I had to admit I wasn't feeling comfortable with the whole situation. As soon as the nausea passed, the shaking started. NEVER in all my surgeries have I experienced shaking on the operating table. It always starts in recovery. The anesthesiologist explained it's something about the medication making your body think it's cold, so you start shaking to bring your body temperature back up. Since only the upper part of my body could move, my arms (still tied down) were trembling and pulling against the ties for the hour and a half or more that I was in there.

That's another thing, we were told it would take about 45 minutes total. I was in there at least twice as long FREAKING out because nothing felt like it was going as planned. Have you ever shivered really hard for over an hour? It's exhausting. All at once it would stop, and I would think it was over, but apparently that was just my muscles giving out. It got so bad I had to concentrate on clenching my teeth so I'd stop biting my tongue. I talked to the anesthesiologist through all of it asking if it was normal and if there was anything she could do to stop it. Nothing she did made any difference. She said I would stop shaking once all of the medication was out of my body which ended up being a long time after I was sent to recovery. I remember one of my visitors held my arm down while she talked to me as if my shaking was distracting her. Didn't stop my head or my other arm from shaking. Just made me that more conscious of how bad it was.

So my doctor located a butter knife and began sawing into my abdomen at some point. That was the reason for the twice as long surgery. Not actually the use of a butter knife...though I'm not so sure she wasn't using one...the cutting took FOREVER. The doctor claimed she had to cut through a lot of scar tissue. Then she did the typical, "You're going to feel some tugging and pulling." I expected it to be brief. I had no idea it would go on and on. That's usually said right before the baby is pulled out.

Want to know the added bonus I received? The lights positioned over my body were made out of a type of metal that reflected my torso just like a mirror would. I could see EVERYTHING. The curtain was up between my face and body, but right above my head (where my eyes naturally fell) was the reflection of my abdomen gaping open, blood, muscle, everything internally exposed. It's not cool to be awake and see yourself cut open from hip to hip and pulled open as wide as possible from top to bottom. I can't even stand to watch surgery on television. It was horrifying to see it being performed on myself. I tried to keep my eyes closed so that I could block it out, but when I closed my eyes, it seemed like I noticed the pain from shaking more. Before it was over, Ironman asked, "What's that thing on her chest?" The doctor answered, "That's her uterus." BARF!

Like I said, mentally I was not in a good place. It felt like they'd never get to the baby, and their small talk about the weekend mixed with the music on the radio was driving me crazy. Then finally they pulled Faith out. That's when she inhaled a lot of fluid, so they quickly started working on clearing her lungs. They took Faith and Ironman away to the critical care nursery, and I spent another half hour or more getting sewn back up, shaking, and wondering what was happening with Faith. Luckily they gave me reports as I was finishing up in the OR.

I was taken to recovery after that...still not being able to see Faith. The shaking continued there for quite a while. I had a few visitors briefly and spent most of the rest of the day alone. I was in recovery for over an hour. The shaking stopped when the meds wore off, and I was given one of those buttons to push when I needed pain relief. I kept telling the nurse that the pain was only getting worse with time and that the meds weren't helping. Her advice was to keep pushing the button frequently so that a nurse somewhere would be alerted to the fact that my pain wasn't being managed. At that point my doctor would be told she needed to write another pain prescription.

After spending my time in recovery, they wheeled me to my room, and each bump in the hallway was very memorable and very painful. When the nurse told me to scoot from the gurney to my hospital bed, I thought she was kidding. She wasn't. That should have been the point where I yelled at her that she wasn't grasping my pain level was nowhere near being normal or acceptable. I continued to tell her I needed my doctor to write a better prescription for pain relief. When she left, I told the next nurse who came into my room that I needed better pain management. I also told her my room was hot and that I needed the air conditioner to be turned on. She said it was on and that I was probably hot from the ridiculous "boots" I'd been wearing since before surgery began. Of all the surgeries I've had, I've never been put in the boots to keep circulation moving. They're like white casts that go from your ankle to the top of your thigh. They squeeze you really tight and then release just like a blood pressure cuff, and they do it non-stop all day and night. Very noisy, very annoying, and very hot.

More time passed, I was hurting more, and I was burning up. After about an hour, the nurse called maintenance because she finally agreed the room was hot. I had also spent all that time waiting for a fan which didn't come until I was moved to my new room. The brilliant maintenance man finally came. He tinkered with the AC. He left. He was gone a looong time. When he came back, he confirmed that the air conditioner was broken.

When I was moved to my new room, I was finally given a prescription to ease the pain. It was evening by that point. I still hadn't seen or held my baby. The more my pain was eased, the more incoherent I became. I was nodding off constantly. I tried to email family the news of Faith's birth, and I was able to write maybe one sentence before falling asleep. I'd wake up a minute or two later and finish a sentence or start another and fall asleep again. Even though I could barely stay awake or speak, I remember it all. I was very aware that it was obvious I was having to work really hard to get my thoughts out. I remember because it was SO frustrating.

Finally about 9:00 that night, I was able to move to a wheel chair and take the ride to see Faith! I couldn't hold her because she was in one of those special contraptions for babies with breathing problems, and she was hooked up to various things, but I was allowed to touch her. I couldn't stay long, but it was nice to finally see her. The next day she was doing much better and was moved to the regular nursery.

By the third day, I was doing much better. I left on the fourth day--a day earlier than planned. It's been almost a month, and I still have incision pain, but it's not something I think too much about. I take my prescription pain meds once a day if that much. The shooting pains are gone. The nurse said those were from my body being pulled apart. Thanks, nurse. I happen to have a very accurate mental picture to go with that description. Excellent lighting, by the way.

I'm looking forward to exercising if you can believe it. Obviously I want to spend a lot of time on the abdomenal region, but I can tell it's too soon to put that area through very much strain. The third c-section was definitely a doozie. That experience is the closest I've ever come to saying I can't have another child even if I want one. But at least everyone is safe and sound. It's not like I had a truly horrible experience...just super icky and not cool. Not the vacation from homemaking I had in mind.

Okay....verbal vomit of c-section is complete. Now I can rest except nap time is over.

Liars and Snooping

Hellooooooooooooooooo!

Why did I sign on to post something? I'm so sleepy. Now I can't remember.

OH! Here's something weird I heard yesterday. There's a homeless man I used to have a bleeding heart for. He's in a wheel chair, and I see him around town. For the past couple of years I've given him money or food if I have it. He'll say things like, "Thank you! God bless you. I'm not supposed to take my medication on an empty stomach." He usually sits on the same corner with the same sign begging for food. I used to see him every time I took Ironman lunch at work, so I'd plan to have things to give the man in the wheelchair. I'd actually be bummed if he wasn't there because I really wanted to help him. I figured there were a lot of people in the community helping him because eventually you begin to feel for a person you see struggling every single day. The wheelchair led me to believe his physical challenges prevented him from being hired on somewhere. I assumed he was in his 30's, but his long beard and clothing made him look like an old Vietnam Vet.

Anyway, in the past 6 months or so, his "crew" has grown. Now there are about 5 or 6 "homeless" people working that corner in shifts. When it's not their turn, they sit under an overpass with the others and shoot the bull. It's become quite a production. Then my mom told me she had read that someone had been watching these "homeless" people and had reported to the local newspaper that a van drops them off every morning and picks them up in the evening. I don't know the whole story, but apparently people in town are beginning to feel like the community is getting conned. If any locals know the details of this story, let me know.

This is the part I wanted to tell you...Yesterday Ironman's boss was in his truck at the intersection where the wheelchair guy was begging for food or money. When Ironman's boss told the guy he didn't have any money on him, the wheelchair guy cussed him out. That's when "boss" said something like, "Well, I guess you are what I thought you were then." Surprise, surprise, wheel chair guy JUMPS OUT of his wheelchair to attack the boss! Unfortunately for the "disabled" man, the boss happens to be a huge guy. He opened his truck door to hit the wheelchair guy and prevent being attacked and knocked the guy on the ground. The truck door was dented. Now the guy may have a legitimate reason to be in a wheelchair other than conning people. So weird. And I totally fell for it. I really thought he was legit.

I think you have to be a special kind of evil to pose as a needy person. They put doubt in our minds towards those who truly are needy.

Here's my latest snoop story. A while back I told you about the lady who bought a cart full of douche. That's when I confessed to spying on other shoppers and coming up with stories in my head of what they'll be doing later that night. Today I was behind a man buying 3 things...a new mattress, a large bouquet of flowers, and the largest bag of dog food money can buy. My mind is going wild. OH THE POSSIBILITIES!

Nap time. Sorry for the poorly written post. I'm lucky I can string two words together.

It's a Tough Job

So Ironman can gripe at me later...

2 WEEKS and Happy about it!!!

Two weeks old today! Happy 1/2 a month old, Faithy!

She's celebrating this milestone with sleeping and grinning alternated with moments of grinning and sleeping. There might have been a few squeaks of protest from the flash of the camera bothering her.

Ask And It Shall Be Given...

My camera wasn't cooperating yesterday for most of these pictures, but at least I have some new ones!

This is Paul Bunyan.




















This is Ironman. They aren't the same man.

Ironman grows a beard for good luck when we're going through a life changing event. Being that he's of the Middle Eastern breed, he looks like a terrorist in most of our important photos. Or a trucker. A trucker or a terrorist. No offense to the truckers.

I try to convince him he's more of a hottie when he's clean shaven, but he's of the opinion that the power is in the facial hair. Whatever.

The nurse was supposed to bring him a hat to wear in the operating room. When she didn't follow through, he decided the face mask would make a good hat. And in case you're wondering, our hospital didn't carry shoe covers to adequately cover a size 14 boot. Oh, you weren't wondering?























Here's what Faith looks like when she pulls her entire body inside her gown. I guess there really is no point to having sleeves when your hands can't stick out of the ends.

























Here's what Faith looks like when she's thinking about something funny she heard earlier in the day.
























This is Faith loving the feel of chenille on bare skin.






















Awwww, Bub. That kid LOVES his baby sister. He has kissies for her all the time! I've been shocked how well the 3 older kids have taken to what I feared would be seen as "the invader." So far she's their baby.



















I don't really know why this picture was included. Ched asked for pictures. What Ched wants, Ched gets--except for the pictures of us (parents) as babies. I haven't had a chance to get those pictures down yet.
























Baby ear.

And wispy baby hair for kissies. Karly asked me for a picture of baby toes, so I thought I'd get a baby ear pic while I was at it.























1970's bedspread baby ninja.

This gown came from Ironman's side of the family. Just wanted to clarify...

It originally belonged to the twins. I have no idea why I continue to put it on my children other than it makes me giggle because I'm mean like that. I had professional photos taken of the twins wearing these gowns along with the gigantic hot pink hair bows that came with them. At least Faith was spared the bow...until her head gets big enough to wear it and her neck strong enough to support it...

Still Hanging On...

Still surviving...doing fine by most standards....completely exhausted...haven't even taken any new pics of the baby since we've been home...I suck...need humane advice for getting a newborn to stay awake during the day so she doesn't want to party all night...why did I think I could handle a newborn and 3 children 4 years old and younger without a nanny? Will be back eventually assuming I can scrape together some brain cells. I'd like to share my c-section story with you when I have more time and less fatigue. I'll warn you now not to read it if there's any chance you could be having a c-section any time soon. Despite my age and misery during pregnancy, my c-section experience is by far going to be the biggest deterrant to stopping at 4 children. All the dining room chairs are now filled at my table. I could very well be calling it quits on the baby making thing.

Before I go and stumble into furniture and cry over how many dishes need to be washed, I'd like to thank all of you for your sweet comments about baby Faith. :D It's been fun having an inbox full of nice comments, and my attention span is equal to the length of a blog comment...so thank you from the bottom of my heart. More lata!

Crap! Of all days for spell check to not be working...I just typed in "bierd" and spell check didn't catch it. Good luck understanding this post.

Faith Shows Off Her Double Dimples

Today Faith is 3 days old, and we're going home a day early. I think we'll wait until this evening. Anyway, here are photos from this morning. Faith likes to have her face rubbed. Or she has gas. Either way, we continue to touch her face to get a smile out of her.

She's Here!

Faith Emilee

7lbs. 9 oz.

18 3/4 "

6/16/08

12:50 p.m.

More details later, but she's doing very well.

DAT'S NOT FUH-NEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

This should be a brief post to tell you just a few things.

1. JUST A FEW DAYS LEFT!!!! By this time on Monday, I'll be a mother of four and NO LONGER PREGNANT!!! I can't tell you how happy it makes me to realize I will no longer be 14 months pregnant or whatever I am at the moment.

2. I exceeded the weight limit on a plastic stool, and I almost had a very ugly fall when the leg bent.

3. A complete stranger took one look at me the other day and died laughing. I know he was laughing at me because I was the only person on the aisle, and it was the very end of my Wal-Mart trip. By the time I've walked that many steps for over an hour while pushing a heavy cart, I'm looking pretty bad. He shook his head in dismay while I waddled by completely stunned saying, "Do I look THAT miserable?"

I couldn't believe he was so rude. Instantly the "blooduh" kid popped into my mind. A friend shared this with me about a year ago, and it's only gotten funnier to me with time. If only I could carry that little guy around in my pocket and whip him out to say, "DATS NOT FUHNEE! DAT'S NOT FUH-NEEEEEEE!" because that little kid sums up exactly how I felt. The facial expression. The disdain. All of it. Enjoy.

Random Ramblings from a Fairly Unstable Pregnant Chick

Nothing interesting to say here.

I wrote a crazy woman rant last night, but I didn't post it. Luckily some common sense came out of somewhere. Instead of posting it for all the world to see, I sent it off to a few unsuspecting girlfriends and burdened them instead. You're welcome.

What you're witnessing right now is a person procrastinating. I have a ton of things I could be doing to prepare for Monday, but I don't want to do any of it. I'd rather write about nothing than do something.

I find myself looking forward to my 5 day, 4 night stay in the local funny-smelling hospital. I realize I'll still be almost 50 pounds overweight and uncomfortable. I will be pestered all night by nurses taking vitals, etc. I'll be in charge of a newborn. I'll be bleeding like a stuck pig. The food will taste like crap. The bed won't be soft and fluffy, yet somehow I'm still viewing it as time off to take it easy. A mini-vacation that begins with being split open.

But I won't have to break up fights over toys. I won't have to time children playing with toys to force them to share. I don't have to think about what to feed them 3 times a day that they'll actually eat. And no cleaning!!!! Woo hoo!!!!!!!!!!! (Of course, all 3 of my children have come in during the writing of this paragraph and made my heart melt with the things that make them so endearing...I will miss them even though they'll visit daily.)

I'm hoping it will be lots of me and Faith time. For some stupid reason I picture her being easy to care for. Then I watch the reality t.v. shows about newborn babies and am reminded of the non-stop crying and not sleeping at night thing. That worries me. I'm soooooooooo tired right now because of not sleeping much at night. I keep thinking that in five more days I'll be able to rest, and what in the world makes me think that's going to be the case at all??? And I think my hormones will finally be back to normal when that's definitely not the case for women who have just had a baby. It could be months before I feel "normal" again.

I can do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can I do this again? Do I have the stamina? How much harder will it be to have four instead of three? These are all questions I asked myself before pursuing pregnancy. I never figured out who had the answers, so I kind of shoved those thoughts aside. The thought that has always popped into my head is that the work while they're young is so worth it in the long run. I want to be old with a lot of family all around me some day.

Guess what? Apparently 5 days before giving birth to your 4th child in 4 years is when you really wish you had the answers to how much harder it's going to be, etc. The whole "it will be worth the insanity someday" is not nearly so comforting.

Can you tell I'm wigging out a little? I know I can do it. I'm tougher than nails! I can do anything I put my mind to! Yada, yada, yada.

Oh geeze louise...I'm so tired.

Last OB appt before c-section!

Okay, so apparently Faith took her due date very seriously. I'm still a couple of weeks away from being a full 40 weeks, but for some reason I thought she wanted out as much as I want her out.

Not the case.

I went in for my LAST doctor appointment today. Next Monday is my c-section. I kind of expected to hear there was at least a little change after all the contractions I've been having. No dilation whatsoever and she still hasn't dropped.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT??????

So it looks like it's on for Monday. By this time next Monday, I'll be getting sewn back up and sent to recovery. The doc said the surgery starts at 12:00 and Faith will probably be out by 12:15.

We can actually have a video camera at this hospital which is a first for us. Now I can finally have Ironman on tape saying, "Do you smell that? That's your flesh burning from where they're cutting you open."

I can't decide if I want to ban all video from over the sheet or not. My first instinct was to warn Ironman that he couldn't videotape the gaping hole in my body. That's what the sheet is up for--so that I don't have to see myself being sliced from hip to hip.

For the record, Ironman, I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THEM CUT INTO ME!!!

But I would be slightly interested in seeing them pull that little chickie out. We have still shots of Alex being lifted out, and everything is covered. My stomach doesn't even look like my stomach. It looks like he's being pulled out of the foam from a couch cushion or something.

If Ironman video tapes it, and it turns out horribly graphic, we don't ever have to watch it again. It will be shelved like our wedding video which is too traumatic for either of us to watch. Ironman looks like he's on the verge of running out of the church while he's watching all of the bride's maids file in. I look like I'm about to faint the entire way down the aisle. But once I get up to the front with him, it turns into a giant cheese fest that makes me get stomach cramps from watching it. It's like I need to take some Imodium A-D before I sit down to watch it.

I repeat all of my vows like a really bad soap star--complete with dramatic head movements for emphasis on all the really important parts.

But I digress...so I've gained about 50 pounds with this pregnancy which is my norm. I gained about 10 pounds more with the twins, but I only went to 34 weeks with them. Had I gone full term, I'm sure I would have gained over 70 pounds.

There is no (good) excuse for my weight gain, but my frame is never prepared for me throwing on that much weight. I know that has something to do with why I'm in so much pain all the time. I'm not letting Faith off the hook that easily though. She has certainly done her fair share to add to the tonnage. Six pounds, 11 ounces is nothing to sneeze at. She has to accept responsibility for her part of it. It takes two to eat all of those cookies.

I'm currently contemplating a nap versus cleaning. This is my last week to get my house in perfect order if I'm ever going to do it. But I work better under pressure. I'm thinking Sunday night is the time to spazz out and clean. Looks like it's nap time.

man with no wear underwear give girl to see his sexual organ

I have just a few things to say today.

1. Ironman would prefer it if the word "hemorrhoid" were never used again. Apparently that
word really does him in. If you care at all how he feels, either don't use the word in his presence or replace it with the words "butt flower."

2. Obviously I didn't give birth to anyone yesterday. Assuming that this baby ever comes out and I have the energy to blog, I won't open with hemorrhoids. That sounded really gross.

The contractions started getting further and further (or farther and farther??? I REALLY kick myself for thinking I'd never need to know proper grammar--stupid teenager!) apart and eventually stopped. It's been an uneventful day. I feel like all of the contractions from yesterday completely wore me out. I have no energy to do anything I need to be doing which brings me to #3.

3. When I get bored, I check out my site meter. I found two things that surprised me. The first is that over 40 of the last 100 visits were from people looking at pictures of aborted fetuses. The hits were from all over the world. It made me wonder how all those people were connected. It's not unusual to get visits to see the pictures, but that's a whole lot in a short period of time. I'd be interested to know if there's a reason so many are suddenly popping up.

4. One of the visits today was from a person searching for "man with no wear underwear give girl to see his sexual organ."

Well, by all means...send him to Jennyhaha's site! She talks about that crap constantly! What the heck? Is that English as a second language or just someone so excited to find out info for perverts that he couldn't type a coherent sentence?

I followed that search through the first 100 sites and never saw my blog listed. There were over 100,000 sites to come up when searching for "man with no wear underwear give girl to see his sexual organ." I'm sure he read all of them.

5. If you don't hear from me this week, it's probably just because I got addicted to searching for "man with no wear underwear give girl to see his sexual organ." I doubt I'll be birthing a baby, so no worries.

Rambling and Timing Contractions

Thiiirrrrrrrrrty eight weeks along today.

The hormones have hit the fan again today. Ironman, if for some reason you check this blog on your break, you might want to come up with another excuse to come home late. Or quite the opposite. I just finished cleaning up the kitchen, and it sure felt like I was having a lot of contractions. If they don't slow down now that I have my feet propped up, I think I'll start writing down how close they are together.

For quite a while now I've been getting those looks people give pregnant women. Men with children who are older tend to smile and tilt their heads to the side as if to say, "I remember that." So good to know God can make men forget how craptastic their wives were while pregnant. It's similar to women and labor. You remember you had it, but the intensity of the pain doesn't blast you away when you think back. Men with older children are the best because they're quickest to open doors for you or ask if they can help you with something you're carrying.

2:23--remember that--contraction

Women of child bearing years can go either way. You can get a look of compassion and sympathy or they completely ignore you since they know there's absolutely nothing unique about what you're experiencing. Or it could just be that I'm not the center of the universe and they didn't notice I was painfully pushing my overloaded cart around their cart parked in the big fat middle of the aisle.

2:28--another contraction but not very strong

Anyway, I was standing in the refrigerated section of the deli checking out pre-packaged (2:32--another weak contraction) salads and sandwiches when this older woman came by, rubbed my shoulder in circles, and asked me how I was doing. It was like a scene out of a movie. Except not a movie about a chick shopping for sandwiches. It was like someone had just died and she was asking me how I was holding up. Do I look that miserable? (2:37--another contraction, but that could just be the pain in my ass named Ironman who came home early and is griping at me for wearing his Speed Racer t-shirt. It happens to be one of the only things left in the house that fits me.) I was startled that she asked me how I was doing...and that she was touching me. I felt like saying, "I'm doing fine thanks to the labels companies are putting on their packaging these days. It makes shopping for food so much easier when you know what's inside!" (2:40--contraction. Wait. What happened to that five minute trend we had going?)

All that talk about sandwiches made me hungry, so I left for a while. Now I'm back and full of turkey sandwich. I've been attempting to pay attention to contractions. I think they were inconsistent, but now they're back to 5 minutes apart. Since Ironman is home, I'm going to wind this thing up.

Wish me luck. I don't know what that means.

The Latest in Baby World

You guys are the coolest in the world for checking in on me!

I had my check-up this morning. ZERO signs that Faith is coming early. She's barely even dropped at all.

We had some excitement because my blood pressure was being wacky. I was sent to labor and delivery to be monitored for a couple of hours. The blood work and other monitoring came back great. I got to have an ultrasound, and I was AMAZED how well I could see her!!! I'm not used to getting to see a 37 week old baby on ultrasound. She was looking around, sticking her tongue out, and drinking a little amniotic fluid. YUM!

I found out she has little to no hair, big chipmunk cheeks, and weighs 6 pounds 11ounces.

I also found myself freaking out a little when I thought it was a real possibility we might have to do a c-section today because of my blood pressure. I realized I'm not as ready as I thought. The past couple of days have been MUCH more pleasant hormonally. Maybe that's just because one of my closest girlfriends who has put up with me for nearly 3 decades was in town. Raging hormones or not, you can't help but de-stress when you're laughing non-stop. It took my mind off my discomfort. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but as of today I'm okay with Faith waiting until her c-section date. It's less than 2 weeks away at this point. Woo hoo!

I had more I was going to write, but I'm super sleepy. Sleep is not something I'm getting much of these days. More later!

Get Her Ooooooouuuuuuut!

Helloooo....

This is Jennifer. The one who can't breathe, can barely move, hurts all over, and can't stop running to the bathroom.

I am increasingly hostile. My hormones are playing a leading role in my life. I know this because I almost cried when I put the bassinet in my FINALLY finished nursery last week. It's not like I hadn't seen it before. I don't know why moving it from the living room to the nursery was so emotional, but it was. After that, I yelled for the rest of the week and continue to do so.

Ironman can do nothing right. He's practically making me taste his food before he'll eat it because poisoning him sounds like one of the most rational things I could do right now.

I am constantly reminding my children that it's not their fault that mommy is cranky. Then I snap at them for the very next thing they do.

It's surface of the sun hot here. All week it's supposed to be over 100 degrees. Factor in the heat index, and I'm sure we'll be hovering around 110.

I would like to yell at strangers.

Curse words are my friends.

I'm afraid I'll kill someone when I have to go to WalMart tonight.

If I have to bend over to pick up one more sock, toy, crumb, shoe, or scooter, I'll scream--- as soon as I can stand back up and catch my breath.

I feel like I could go into labor at any time now which makes me feel like I should be more worried about how clean I'll be leaving my house while I'm in the hospital for five days recovering from a c-section. I know that makes no sense. I should be resting while I have the chance. But out of town guests may or may not be coming. THANKS FOR THE HEADS UP, POSSIBLE OUT OF TOWN GUESTS!!! My house may or may not have dirty underwear in between the sheets where you may or may not be sleeping.

The other night we were even timing contractions. At the time, I was so grateful they eventually slowed down. Now I'm praying that I'll go into my OB's office on Tuesday and that she'll tell me she'd rather do the c-section early than risk me going into labor. PALEEEEEZ! PALEEEEEEEEEZ!!!!! Take her now!

After all, I've done the really crucial stuff. Baby clothes are all washed AND pressed (never going to happen again) AND put away. Bedding and blankies are clean. BPA-free bottles and pacis have been bought, sterilized, and are ready to use. Formula is lying in wait. Newborn diapers, creams, meds, wipes, lotions, and soaps have all been purchased. My bag is basically packed minus the toiletries and items I can't live without like my sleep mask. My kitchen and bathrooms are clean--at least for the moment. I'm caring less and less that my children's rooms are covered in toys or that my bedroom is filled with boxes of baby items that are for older babies--I have no idea what to do with that crap.

See, I'm having a very uncomfortable contraction as I type this.

CUT ME OPEN AND GET 'ER OUT!

I would like for you all to know that I'm sparing you some really gruesome details of this pregnancy because we're in mixed company. Merle would have a heart attack if I gave details, and his grandchildren are too precious to be without their fantastic grandfather.

And while we're mentioning fellow bloggers, I'd like to say that I have a draft in my email box from March 5th addressed to Ched. That poor little guy. He writes me the best emails, and I am terrible about replying. He hates WalMart and has a CRAZY person stalking his blog. I started to reply and was interrupted. It's been months, and I'm beginning to think I'm never going to finish that email. Ched, if you read this, thanks for the great emails that I'll never get around to responding to.

To all of you great people who emailed me responding to the breastfeeding Nazis, THANK YOU! I just attempted to send out a group thank you letter. I hope I didn't skip anyone. If I did, thank you so much for taking the time to share your story, humor, and/or advice. It made me feel a ton better about my decision.

If you don't hear from me for a while, it could be that I went into labor early. More than likely it means I'm laying around like a beached whale cursing at the door jams for being so insensitive and annoying.

If you read all the way to here, you rock. Thanks for letting me vent. That is all.

If You Only Knew What Was In My Nightstand

Most of you know that I almost never read blogs anymore.

I'm not proud of it.

But today I did go over to Momumo's blog to thank her for her comment on my last post.

Man! I don't even remember anymore how to link to someone else. I know she's at http://www.momumo.blogspot.com. Anyway, it just so happens that she tagged me. I haven't participated in a tag in forever, but I was kind of curious what this tag could bring up, so I'm participating. I'm supposed to tag five of you guys, but I always feel like a teacher handing out homework assignments when I do that. Consider yourself tagged if this seems like a way you'd like to spend your time.

Here are the rules:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people and post a comment to the person who tagged you once you’ve posted your three sentences.

Here's what happened when I attempted to do this...

The nearest book only had 10 pages and was called I'm a Big Sister. I almost gave up because I didn't want to move to find the next nearest book.

I decided to look in my nightstand. There I found The One Year Chronological Bible. Yeah, I've never gotten through it though it is an easy translation. I found myself laughing at one point in it. I think subconsciously I must have thought something was off if I was finding the Bible to be a funny read, and I don't think I've ever picked it up again. Anyway, today I thought, "Oh, wow! This could be one of those times that I'm led to read a certain passage in the Bible and it will really speak to where I am in life right now.

Not so much. It talked about the rules of when to set my Hebrew slaves free. My Hebrew slaves ain't never gettin' set free!

Scratch that attempt. I continued to dig in my drawer. I had NO idea how many nasty things were hiding in there. All I know is there are a ton of smooshed raisins dumped in there, and I don't eat raisins. I could write an entire post on the bizarre things in my nightstand, but I digress.

Next book: The Viewer's Guide to Tivo. Page 123 was an appendix of additional set up examples. There were no sentences.

The next book was a gift. I never finished it either. It is by a Christian author that I don't see eye to eye with, and on page 123 he's writing about casting out demons. My demons ain't never gettin' cast out!!!

I bet by now you're wishing I just would have quoted the Bible and been done with it.

The next closest stack of books are under my bed. The Thirteenth Tale was on top of the stack. I've never read it either. Surprised? It came in a box of books I received FOR FREE thanks to this blog. It looks like a book I might dig, so I'm keeping it. I'm finally proceeding with the tag, so here goes:

A liar. And the plea that had so moved me--Tell me the truth--had been uttered by a man that was not even real. I was at a loss to explain to myself the bitterness of my disappointment.

It's too bad I chose that book instead of the one underneath it called The Bracelet. It just so happens page 123 is a steamy love scene between a flower-power antiwar protestor and a soldier heading off to Vietnam that involved mahogany furniture and sunlight. Ah, well. I think I might have to finish that book.

Breastfeeding Nazis Take a Chill Pill

Here's a question for you.

Why do people feel it's appropriate and/or necessary to ask you if you're going to breastfeed?

What business is it of theirs?

I would like to say, "It's none of your business, and while we're discussing things that are none of your business, I'm not telling you what form of birth control I'll be resorting to either."

Any suggestions as to how to handle those types of people? As much as I amuse myself with scenarios involving smart aleck comebacks, I know I won't really use them in real life. I need something non-rude. I welcome your ideas.

I happen to have a decent list of legitimate reasons not to try breastfeeding this time around. They are deeply personal and involve more than just the fact that I've not had success in the past. Breastfeeding Nazis don't understand that unfortunately. They assume you're selfish or not educated as to how important breastfeeding is to your child.

Tonight I've been visiting various websites where women are discussing the issue of not breastfeeding their children. One of the most popular questions is, "How do I deal with the guilt of choosing not to breastfeed my child?" It didn't matter if the woman had given background on her problems with it or not, there would still be BF Nazis popping up everywhere saying, "Why WOULDN'T you want to breastfeed your baby when it's the most natural thing in the world?"

Okay, Nazi...NOT the issue at hand! She's asking how to deal with the guilt...not asking you to lay more guilt on her.

Even the breastfeeding moms who were saying, "Don't feel guilty" had to add, "Not that I use formula because I had no problems breastfeeding." It's like a freakin' brag badge! "MY MILK GLANDS WORK EFFORTLESSLY! IN YOUR FACE!"

It's so insensitive. The women who are the type to feel guilty are usually feeling that because they're good moms who wish their circumstances were different. Don't all good moms wish they had milk fountains that gushed forth an abundance of immune system building, life sustaining, creamy goodness??? I have seriously heard of women who brag about the quality of their milk. What the heck? Pat yourself on the back, lady!

Luckily I am surrounded by supportive family and friends who don't act that way at all. The moms I know who have had success are very humble about it and view it as a blessing because they realize that's not the case for every mom no matter how badly she would like for it to work.

The main people I'm dreading dealing with are the nurses at the hospital and some of my in-laws. I'm already considering asking the nurse to note in my chart BEFORE I have my c-section that I am not breastfeeding, don't want to speak to a lactation consultant, and not to question me about it. As far as in-laws go...I have a step MIL that is all up in my biz anyway about how I raise my children. She felt comfortable in stating her opinion with my third child that I really should try to stick with it because formula is so expensive.

That's ANOTHER thing the BF Nazis kept bringing up on the discussion pages...why formula feed when breastfeeding is free? Can you say...STILL NOT GETTING IT!!!!!??? Like some poor woman is going to suddenly see the light and say, "WHAT? Formula costs money!?! Well, forget that! I'm not spending another DIME on this kid! I'm breastfeeding! Thanks for clearing that up for me!"

But back to my step MIL, I'd like to have some kind way to shut her up. I know (unless she's now reading this blog for some reason) she'll question me in this area. Currently all I've got in the way of dealing with her is a Three Stooges-type double eye poke. My FIL will sit by and quietly judge me and then bring up later that my children's teeth would be better if they had been breastfed instead of bottle fed.

So that's my beef tonight. I need advice about how to deal with these people, and I also don't have the first idea of what a woman goes through who chooses not to breastfeed from day one. I'll be talking with my doc about it, but as of today I'm reading the drugs aren't good that stop milk supply because they can cause such a hormonal shift that you end up dealing with depression. From what I've read, you just have to deal with the pain until it passes. Sound true? Anyone been through it? If you want to share your wisdom with me in a private forum, contact me at blessedmomx3@hotmail.com.

Thanks!

Moaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaning

Oh my gah!

If there were a hot line to call for complainers, I'd be on it all the time.

Here are my complaints in no particular order:

I have raging heartburn if I don't keep on top of the Zantac 150. I'm talking, "I'm going to throw up fire and bile any second now" kind of heartburn.

MY BODY HURTS WICKED BAD! It hurts to take a step. It hurts to shift my body while sitting down. Everything hurts. It's beyond an aching back and feet. Why does it hurt so much more on some days than others? My doc told me the more children you have, the more pain you're in during the pregnancy. I've also read that some women are more sensitive to the hormone needed to spread your body cavity so you can house and then push out an enormous object from your crotch. I would like to take this opportunity once again to say how grateful I am that I'm being sliced open instead of taking the crotch option. It took me about two seconds to make peace with the fact that I'll never be able to have a vaginal birth, and a second a half of those two seconds I was thinking about something else.

Secondly, I can't get my kids well all at the same time!!!! Gracie's on her second round of meds for her ears and woke up last night with a fever. She's coughing constantly despite cough suppressants and honey. I have to say that the honey works better than the cough syrup though. Also, I came down with a stomach bug yesterday and am loving the aches and chills. I love it so much that I've now passed on at least the stomach woes to Grace and Alex. Woo! I'm a great mom like that. Of course, no one will let me take a sick day.

Thirdly, we've got four weeks and some days now until the c-section date assuming Faith doesn't come early. The company where Ironman works is just now getting swamped. In my last agonizing pregnancy weeks, I'll have almost no help from him since he'll be working 7 days a week and those days will be extra long days. When he mentioned to his boss that he doesn't mind all the (non-paid) overtime now because he'll be taking some time off next month, his boss had no idea what he was talking about. Ironman reminded him we're having our fourth child. The boss asked why he'd need more than a day off. Ironman told him that he'd like to have some days off when I come home from the hospital to help with the kids since I will still be recovering from major surgery. The answer was, "Well see."

"THANK YOU!" SAYS MY BUTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, there are more complaints where those came from, but I'm in need of a nap and luckily my kids are miserable, tired, and will hopefully fall asleep by the time the Zantac puts out the fire in my chest and throat. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm not at all happy that my kids are miserable. Quite the opposite. The lucky part is that hopefully we're all about to get some sleep to make up for the hours of sleep we lost in the middle of the night.

About Farting

Okay, one more post. This one deserves its own place in my opinion.

I have a four year old named Lindley. We've been working really hard on manners, helping mommy clean the house, and picking up things on the floor that mommy is too uncomfortable at 8 1/2 months to pick up. She's been doing GREAT just as her twin sister and 3 year old little brother have as well. I don't even think that sentence made sense.

As a side note, I've found that a lot of people in public want to ask me when my baby is due and if it's my first. I like to tell them it's my fourth baby in four years. That's when they look at me like I must get drunk a lot and forget my birth control pill. Then I add, "But it's been 3 years since I had my last baby." And then I walk away while their eyes are still cut to the side and their lips are moving while they're trying to do the math. It's not as fun as when I was able to say I had 3 babies 14 months and under, but it still puzzles people. You'd be surprised how many people forget that twins make it possible. Those are the same people who ask if my twins are identical--one being brunette with brown eyes, the other being blond with blue eyes.

Anyhoo, back to manners that we're working so diligently on...

Apparently Lindley "broke wind" the other day. I never even heard it, but she said, "Excuse me!" I was beaming with pride and had just started to applaud her manners when she added, "....says my butt!"

Ahhhhhhh, outta the mouths of babes. But thank you, Lindley, because "says my butt" is now my new favorite phrase to use in random conversation.

Since I wrote you last, I've dealt with all three children getting the moaning virus. Before the virus hit the third child full on, the other two came down with ear infections. We did ten days of antibiotics, but Gracie still says her ear hurts. Back to the doctor tomorrow for 4 year old check up for the twins and another ear check. Good times!

This post will be a random combo of updates, so try to follow...

This is a giant egg in a pair of pants.

Just kidding. It's a Weeble Wobble.

Just kidding. It's Faith. In black and white to disguise her mother's road map of veins going every which way. She will be here in 5 weeks! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

Here's a "CRAP IN A BAG!!!" shout out to my sister who sold her house before a sign was even in her yard. For what I'm sure were reasons that made sense to someone at the time, they agreed to be out of their house in less than a month. I believe it's less than 14 days at this point, and they have found no home to move into.

CRAP IN A BAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My youngest turned 3 years old a couple of weeks ago, but we had too many sick little ones in the house to have his birthday party, so I bought them all huge balloons to cheer them up. It's not unusual for me to buy so many groceries that I need a second cart to haul them all out to the car. Someone was called to help me push the load out. I tied all the balloons to the handle of one of the carts because we have crazy wild wind here in the spring. Anyway, I waited and waited and no one came to help me. After another request was made, a guy started walking towards me that freaked me out a little. I copped a squat partly because my body was aching by that point and partly because I was hoping against hope that my help wasn't the guy approaching me. I know. I'm a horrible person.

He was tall and skinny with long, red, WILD hair going in all directions. If he were a Muppet, he'd be Animal with much more hair.

He was wearing dark sunglasses indoors as well as gloves with no fingers in them which I today became convinced must be standard issue for cart wranglers at Walmart...but I didn't know that at the time.

Thanks to ducking, he walked right past me. But then I had no one to take out my cart. DANGIT! THINK AHEAD, JENNIFER! THINK AHEAD!

He appeared to be quite the wild child, punk rocker, crazy kid of these days wearing painted on black jeans and who probably had things pierced that I didn't want to see pierced like his eyelids and Adam's apple or something.

The older I get, the less open minded I become about people who want to make statements that scream, "I'm different! Screw society and the norm! But don't judge me for intentionally looking like a freak!" That may cost me friends and readers, but it's one of the many ugly truths about me.

So anyway, still needing a cart pusher, they sent the guy back my way. I was taken aback by his ability to instantly engage me in conversation and get a smile on my face which is no easy task after two hours in Walmart.

He stuck his head between the balloons and said, "Gee, I hope these don't make my hair look frizzy."

Could have knocked me over with a feather. It's like he was able to read a big thought bubble hanging over my head that said, "That guy has a ton of frizzy, red, hair." He made me laugh really hard. So hard that I was embarrassed to make eye contact with him today when he was yet again my cart guy. We barely spoke, but it turns out he's a surprisingly handsome guy once you get past his appearance. Weird, but true.

And while I'm on the subject of Walmart, I have to tell you I LOVE the extra big black bags you can purchase for a buck to cart home your groceries. I bought ten since I always have so many groceries, and I've hardly ever used them all. They hold so much more stuff than the plastic bags, they're boxy on the bottom, so they don't turn over in your car, and they make getting groceries into the house SO much faster! The handles are long enough to throw over your shoulder, so you can load up like a pack mule. I take them with me every week, and they work like a charm! I never thought I'd be one of those people, but they're great. And I can look down my nose at the people who don't use them. PLANET DESTROYERS!!! Just kidding. I filled up a landfill single-handedly with disposable diapers the years I had 3 children wearing them day and night. I don't do much to help the planet, so this is my tiny contribution that happens to have turned out to be a benefit to me more than the planet probably. I find that I use the bags for all kinds of things.

I also took my first load of #1 and #2 recyclables to the recycling place today. Woo hoo! Our town is too lame to provide us with containers for recycling or the service where they pick it up for you, so I haven't bothered with it since we moved here several years ago. I did it all wrong. I put them all in the same place instead of separating them. Oooooo well. Next time I'll separate.

It seems like I had something else to add to this update, but my brain is dimming so quickly these days. Shut up. I know what some of you were thinking.

That is all.

What the Heck, Ironman?!?

I stumbled into the bathroom this morning--half awake--no light on--no glasses on--and saw a blurry vision of this...



Actually, I didn't even notice as I passed it. It was when I was sitting there doing what people do that I saw something out of the corner of my eye.




Bath tub toys were everywhere.



They seemed to have climbed out of their basket.

They appeared to be in the middle of some disgusting and pornographic dress rehearsal. One large maternity undergarment was even part of the props, but I removed it because nobody needs to see that.






Some people CLEARLY have too much energy first thing in the morning.

Elephant Paints Self Portrait

I kept expecting this to be a joke. And then I decided it was a hoax because you hardly ever see the entire elephant while the painting is taking place, but apparently it's true. The elephant follows the commands of the man who tells it when to start and stop a stroke. Amazing to me because this elephant follows directions better than my own children.

Weird

Hola!

My computer died. Then I left town. Then I got sick. Then the computer was fixed. Then I had a burst of energy and got some things accomplished around the house finally. Now my youngest darling is sick. So that's what's been going on here.

I still have nothing interesting to say although I've seen many things a person could go a lifetime without seeing and be totally okay with.

A woman swooped in line ahead of me at a local store which never seems to have more than 5 customers in it at a time. I have no idea how they stay in business. It has to be the Martha Stewart line of kitchen items. Anyway, she was in a rush to buy her four ginormous boxes of douche and 2 huge bottles of shower soap. Not Martha. The other lady. And that was all she had in her entire cart. What do you do with four ginormous multi-packs of douche? Well, I guess I know what you do. I don't need that part explained. You have all your friends over for a douche party.

Clearly she felt her need to buy douche outweighed my need to buy baby blankets and cheap toddler shoes, so I allowed her to cut without screaming anything like, "Hey, douche bag!" There was some kind of hold up that I wasn't paying attention to because I felt like the woman still deserved some privacy--whatever could be left after I took inventory of all the contents in her basket. After price checks were made with Harvey or whatever was taking place, the woman went to pay with a $100 bill. Who made her errand girl for the ALL NUDE ALL THE TIME strip club? Well, someone has to get those gals ready for Twister night. They don't naturally smell like daisies and fresh mountain air. The problem was, only two cash registers were open, and neither had change for $100 bill. That's what I call good prices on douche. No telling what all she could do with the leftover cash. I left the line, checked out, and left the store before the douche lady, so it all worked out fine.

Then I went to another local chain store with the lowest of low prices. I did just what I hate...I went down a personal item aisle that already had a member of the opposite sex standing there. I had no business on the aisle. I was only looking for a short cut and a clear aisle. So WHY did I not back up and take another aisle? Like the next aisle full of people looking at Gax-X, laxatives, and antidiarrheal meds? That would have been the more decent thing to do, but instead I had to humiliate the elderly gentleman standing there looking at personal lubricants and condoms. Yes, I did. I bet these people are grateful I didn't take names.

So those are a couple of things I've seen recently that I could have gone my whole life without seeing. If I were a normal person, I'd not think about it. But I'm not a normal person, so I automatically picture what the person is going to do with the strange things they're looking at. It's not cool. Often makes me want to stab my mind's eye with a fork.

The other thing I saw today was a group of nurses squatting behind their medical building smoking. That always bugs me. It messes with the common sense factor in my brain.

That catches me up for now. I'm 9 weeks from delivery, so I'm sure I'll be on here more frequently spazzing about what in the world I was thinking when I agreed to have a fourth child. Or you'll not hear from me at all because I'll be too busy nesting or in complete denial that anything is about to happen.

That is all.

I Told You Guys I Have Nothing Interesting To Say

Yesterday we were traveling behind a woman in a truck who wanted to get into the farthest left turning lane. At least that's what she appeared to be wanting. The little car in her way had nowhere to go unless they wanted to play chicken with oncoming traffic, so they stayed where they were.

The lady--and I use that term loosely--in the truck started screaming like a maniac!!! She kept flipping the other people the bird and honking her horn. And not just once. She wouldn't let it go. She continued to scream and flip. Scream and flip while we all sat at the stop light.

The people in the little car had a smiley face drawn in the dust on the back of their car. The lady in the truck had huge lettering across her back truck window that said, "REDNECK B*TCH." Of course, there was no asterisk where the "i" was. I figure parents all over town appreciate her introducing that word to their children who are new readers. And how thoughtful of her to model the word so accurately that when kids say, "Mama, what is a b*tch," all the parents have to do is point to the woman.

And now a tribute to my computer with the sticking letter "a" key. This is relly nnoying. Wht hppened to my ? Did someone pour nother Dr. Pepper on my keys? Is this result of sneeze?
Gott mke sure I cover my mouth EVERY time.

Tht is ll.

Deep Thoughts

Sometimes I spend all day pondering serious issues. Today I spent wondering how so many birds get into the mall.

That is all.

Lar lar lar lar

Ha ha!

Gah! Some of you people are getting a little intense judging by the last couple of comments on the last post I wrote. Clearly you need a Flawed & Disorderly "fix," and who am I to keep that from you???

I promise you I haven't been dodging blogging because of that guy I wrote about. After a couple of days of messing with him, I decided he was absolutely right. I picked my self-esteem up out of the recycling bin long enough to convince myself I SHOULD BE MADE A SEX OBJECT! WE ALL SHOULD BE!!! WHY THE HECK NOT!?! Could there have been a man more right in the world? Here I am waddling around my house, bloated, engorged with excess bodily fluids brought on with pregnancy. I'm fat and nasty, and I still have THREE MONTHS LEFT!!! Let him tell people I'm hot! I AM HOT! I've got the freakin' air conditioner blowing full blast because I'm so hot. I'm freezing my entire family out. There's a bun in the oven, and I AM the oven. I am the oven!!!!

I haven't been writing because I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. I'm overwhelmed with the condition of my house. It's a remodeling nightmare. I guess I could have told you all the details of the ongoing remodel, but for some reason I chose to torture my closest friends with every detail of that ordeal.

In a nutshell, we hired a man who slopped paint on every surface that wasn't supposed to be painted. He did a craptastic job. Ironman doesn't want to finish anything. Every weekend lately is being taken up with more pressing matters like family gatherings. I'm running out of steam quickly. My new counter tops haven't been installed, but they're sitting where they will be installed eventually. My new dishwasher hasn't been bolted in place since the counter tops aren't installed, so the whole dishwasher tips out if I don't remember to prop it up while loading dishes. At least I finally have a sink again. And a stove. That helps.

This child I'm carrying is named Faith. Faith likes to boogie the days and night away to the point that my body feels tortured from the inside out. We started painting Faith's room over a month ago. It's still not finished.

These are all the things I would be telling you if I had the desire to log on and take the time to write it out. I have been keeping up with exactly zero blogs, so never think I'm just dissing you. I don't know what's been going on with anybody for the better part of a year. I've fallen off the face of the blog earth.

If you are at all able, please check out this Leslie Hall video. She cracks me up! I first saw her sing on Yo Gabba Gabba--a children's t.v. show. I was so disturbed by the gold spandex outfit that I closed my mind to how humorous it was. Now that I've seen more of her work and read about her, I like her! If only I felt so secure in spandex. If I spent the day with her, I think I would never stop laughing. Her facial expressions are only rivaled by her dancing abilities. I'm impressed with her on many levels. She has a cult following of gem sweater wearers. It's a long story. Enjoy and try not to lose all respect for me. Anyway, I asked her to be my friend on Facebook, and she accepted. I'm still giggling. This was my first ever attempt at contacting a celebrity.



In other news, I woke up one morning to a squirrel that appeared to be playing with the toys in our sand box. I thought it was amusing and took a picture. This has to have been the same squirrel I saw a while back that appeared to be driving a toy car parked outside.
























Later on I saw this. This is not funny or cute. Ignore the sandbox that was rained in because I was too lazy to run out and cover it. I'm trying to show you what's left of our patio furniture. D*mn squirrels!!!

I even caught him taking my chair stuffing up into his squirrel nest. I hate squirrels.

Selfish b*st#%ds!



















So that's really all that's going on with me. Now you can see why I haven't written. I'm full of boring and random information...which totally reminds me of Big Boy and Cat Woman, but I suppose I should share that story on another day. Basically it was just a 15 minute conversation with a woman who answered the phone for a handyman service. She had a lot to tell me about her cat named Big Boy. I won't bother you with the life story I was given, but she was just more evidence that I'm a magnet for weirdness.

Lata!

Warning to the Lady Bloggers

I'm so irritated...frustrated...disgusted...freaked out...the list goes on.

Maybe I'm overreacting. I've debated about whether or not I wanted to continue blogging. I'm very grateful that most of my blog from the past couple of years has been deleted.

I don't do much with this blog anymore for a lot of reasons. There are freaky people out there. I've come across so many weirdos here that I'm much more cynical now than when I started. Of course, I've also met a lot of really incredible people as well. I use the term "met" loosely as I haven't actually "met" anyone and it drives Ironman crazy that people online think they're making connections with complete strangers that they'll probably never meet...and that could be full of lies and deceit. In reality, you don't know that I'm who I say I am and vice versa.

It's weird enough to write about your life and realize you're attracting complete strangers that for whatever reason return day after day to see what you'll say next. I've always liked to imagine those regulars on my site meter that never speak up are really just moms that are bored and need to see there's a woman out there struggling as much or more than they are.

I don't check my site meter often, but every now and then I'll get bored and want to know if anyone still comes around. I've followed hits to other blogs that were kind enough to mention me. Great for the ol' ego! And I've noticed some blog is tracking my pregnancy. Freaky weird and a little disturbing, but I try to imagine it's innocent enough. I've gotten some creepy readers along the way that have bugged me a little. But today I think I hit one of the more disturbing blogs.

I think I'm supposed to be flattered. Or degraded. I'm not sure which. I'm not going to give the guy any credit and mention his blog site. All I'll say is it's pictures of female bloggers, their names, and includes an excerpt that is really lewd.

And it's a fairly old blog picture of me, too. It references a post I wrote quite a while ago and has been deleted for about 7 months. Makes me wonder how long this guy has held onto my info. And considering the content of the entire blog is geared for perverts, I've got my face and name up on some site with a link to my blog that USED to have pictures of my children on it. So naturally I took all family pictures off my blog ASAP.

It's not like I thought no pervert could ever find my site. I realize this is totally public. It just gives me the heebies to see my face and name up in correlation with something nasty. I feel like I'm jeopardizing my safety and subjecting my children's pictures to people who could be really sick.

Maybe it's not a big deal. I always thought what a pervert did in the privacy of his own home was his business as long as it wasn't hurting anyone. But this guy is sending all of his creepy readers to me intentionally, and I don't find that to be amusing or flattering. It feels like a violation, but I know he has the freedom to do whatever he wants with what I've put up for all to see and read. It just bugs me. A lot.

Am I making something out of nothing? Put yourself in my shoes. You accidentally stumble across a stranger's blog that has a picture of you on it. Weird! Then you read a nasty thought he has had about you and posted for anyone to see. It's very unexpected and alarming. Trust me, it's creepy. Or not...another lady thanked him for it and said she was flattered. What? He was talking about her like she's a piece of meat he wants to ****. I don't believe for a minute that his profile is remotely true. He's got to be some nasty old unemployed guy who has nothing better to do than surf the net looking for blogger "babes" as he would say.

He wins. I'm bugged. I'd like for him to take down my picture and info, but reflex reaction was to be rude to him when I saw what he had written. I think it may be too late to play nice and ask for a favor. Unless he doesn't want his readers coming over to see this post I've written about him. I don't know. Ugh! YUCK!

Chilax!

I don't know why I go through a writing drought and then have a sudden burst of blog blurts. It's like I have to vomit out my thoughts every once in a while, and you guys are unfortunate enough to get hit.

I have a million things I should be doing right now including getting caught up on emails, painting, cleaning, sleeping, etc.

Instead I have to get off my chest that today was the final day of Torture Me Toddler Tuesdays. Thank you, God! I never knew that my two year old son had a completely different personality he reserved just for public settings that required him to follow instructions and participate. I will never do that again. We can be prisoners in our own home just like always and live a perfectly content life. I have no desire to be subjected to any type of mommy and child class ever again.

We went to six classes total. Alex NEVER warmed up to the concept. He NEVER wanted to join in. He only wanted to play with all of the balls and fun equipment in the gym. The structured games of "duck, duck, goose" and dodge ball were not at all appealing to him. And honestly, I can't blame him. He completely takes after his mother in that respect. I dreaded those games as a child. To this day, I still don't want to touch strangers until they chase me. And I have zero desire to be hit with balls. Go figure.

The twisted thing about toddler dodge ball is that you don't have a wide open area to run. They put the toddlers in an enclosed area--a rectangle surrounded by cones--with parents guarding the outside perimeters so toddlers can't escape. Then you give one kid a ball and tell them to hit other children with it. My tiniest daughter was the first one ordered to sit down. She had never played the game before and had no idea what was about to happen. All of a sudden the teacher said to begin and a little boy pegged her with a ball first. It's a "nail the weakest first" approach. She sat down as instructed and fought back the tears wondering why someone had just hit her and why I'd subject her to such asinine "fun." We pay for this?

Anyway, Alex was a holy terror disappearing into the coach's office, closing doors to remain open, and playing with balls that weren't supposed to be played with. Toddler Tuesday is nothing but an hour of me telling him no and threatening him within an inch of his life. Having been a teacher myself for seven years, I CANNOT STAND disruptive behavior in the classroom. The basketball court was Teacher Steve's classroom, and my son was a monkey running from one corner to another. DROVE ME CRAZY! And I'm the one all cocky after taking my children to a restaurant so proud of their superior behavior. Whatever! That flew out the window when we joined Toddler Tuesday. It apparently doesn't apply there. The girls are still good, but that boy child! Oh, GAH!

So anyway, I'm wound tighter than...something that's wound super tight. And I'm sleepy. And I'm wondering how it is that I can walk into a public restroom with as many as 8 empty stalls, and I always gravitate to the stall with the toilet that hasn't been flushed. I feel I am literally a sh*t magnet.

I also feel really stupid when it comes to public faucets, soap dispensers, and towel dispensers. I'm the idiot going from sink to sink waving my hands in various patterns in front of the sensors in attempt to get them to squirt out a little water. Once I finally get my hands wet, I go for the soap which is usually still manual operation in our small city. I soap up and begin the hand dance again around water sensors only to finally get one to squirt out just enough water to wash half the soap off. And then the motioning and waving of hands begins all over again. I look like a street cop on acid trying to direct traffic. Or some psychotic catcher in a baseball game sending signals only my friends, the aliens, can understand. I hate it, and it's completely exhausting looking that stupid for that long. I feel lucky when the towel dispenser is manual. I like something I can grab onto and rip off. I hate the ones you have to pump because the towels always bunch up inside instead of coming out. By the time I leave public restrooms, I feel covered in germs and have the need to talk to someone about my inadequacies as a human being.

I don't trigger automatic doors either. It has nothing to do with weight. I'll walk up to stores like the automatic door is eventually going to open for me. I've come close to hitting glass on more than one occasion because I was wrong to assume the mechanism would surely be triggered by the time I made another step or two. What is it about me? Do I not really exist?

I have two stupidity stories to share with you...one is on the subject of public restrooms. I was at Home Depot last night. I walked into the empty restroom facility, walked into the stall with the nasty toilet, walked back out, chose a clean one I had passed up, put the seat protector on the potty lid, did my business, MADE SURE THE AUTOMATIC TOILET FLUSHED, and went to wash my hands. I was checking out my scary hair in the mirror as I started the darting hand movements all around under the faucet. Continued to move this way and that way and side to side as I contemplated how horrible I looked. Still no water. Thank goodness for small favors and that I was all alone because it was a normal faucet that had a handle. That's stupid story number one.

Stupid story number two is a painting story from Saturday. I had just had our carpets professionally cleaned the day before. I put down plastic under one wall because I didn't want to get paint on the carpet. When it was time to move to the next wall, I was too lazy to move the plastic. I decided if I rolled the paint on slowly, the splatter wouldn't be so much of an issue. I wasn't confident that paint wouldn't drip from the roller as I walked to the second wall, so I picked up the paint tray and held it under the roller just to be safe. It's important to be cautious. I stood close to the wall trying to be very careful not to get drips or splatter on the carpet. I don't know what made me look down, but as I was reaching really high with the roller, I realized my left hand was tipping and paint was pouring out all over the floor. That's stupid story number two. I think I got most of the paint out of the carpet. It's not that noticeable.

Okay, I'm feeling a little more chilaxed now that I've blogged. I suppose I should start painting now...because I'm so good at it. And clearly a brilliant person in general.

That is all.

Pastel Drawings of the Kids

Okay! FINALLY! Here's the post about Ironman's Christmas present. It's also almost 1 a.m., so I'll make it brief. Long story short, I wanted an artist to do portraits of our children. In a round about way, I found out a fellow blogger is engaged to an artist! They live in the United Kingdom...hmmm...a challenge to get there and sit for the portrait. Luckily he works from photos.

Below you'll see the photo I emailed him, the emailed pastel drawing he sent back for approval, and the final framed drawing. It had its challenges, but luckily he was patient and persistent. He started over more than once. I think we worked with at least 3 photos of Gracie before we settled on one. There was a lot of back and forth.

I told him the budget I had to work with that had to include the shipping fees from the UK. I got quite a deal because he was interested in having his work in the U.S. I can't promise he'll be able to give the same deal again, but he did it all for an even $300. I tell you that out right because people always want to know but feel awkward about asking. It cost more to frame them, and I bought the pre-made frames at Hobby Lobby at 50% off meaning they were each only $40...but then you have to pay for glass, matting, etc. It was worth it (to us at least) to have what we consider to be family heirlooms. And it brought tears to Ironman's eyes which is hard to do. He loves them.

The artist is Darren Gouldsbrough. You can find him on Facebook and talk to him there. His email address is djgouldsbrough@gmail.com. His fiance is Greer Taylor, and her blog can be found in my blogroll....Little Nut Tree. Spread the word if you know of someone who would enjoy something like this. He does oils, abstracts, all kinds of stuff.

Okay, I'm super sleepy and unwilling to proof this. Hope it makes sense.

Update: I had to take down the pictures of my kids for safety reasons.

I Suck

Update: Photos removed for safety reasons.

This post is for Ironman.



Hi Ironman! I'm writing! Are you happy now??? He's been complaining for a couple of weeks now that I'm not consistently providing material, and he's tired of checking. (The picture of Big Ironman and Little Ironman is completely irrelevant. I just came across it and wanted to post it.)



I know. I'm not fulfilling my blog obligation...my blogligation. I thought I was back on a writing roll again, but then I got sick. And then I started painting a couple of rooms in the house....and ordering everything for a kitchen remodel. And it's all got to be done fast! I don't want this dragging out through the end of my third trimester which starts any time now. I have no idea when, but it's coming. I need closure on the nesting. I NEED CLOSURE ON THE NESTING!



But at least now I know that Ironman won't be pressured by my time lines. I had expected him to do a certain number of tasks before the twins' party this weekend. I had four unpainted and unhung doors in our dining room that I felt really needed to be taken care of at some point in a two week period. The party was the deadline. As of two hours before the party, all of the doors were still blocking access to our dining table. I think I'm supposed to consider myself lucky that he moved them at all to the wreck of a nursery which I had also wanted finished by the party. Silly me! So will I get closure on the nesting? Will my house be unlivable as I come home from a c-section with a newborn in my arms? Probably so...unless he cherishes certain privileges. If that's the case, he needs to find some motivation before the anxiety of it all makes me unbearable to live with, and I'm sure he would argue now that I'm already to that point. It's like he's never been pregnant before! Gah! Does he not get it??? DOES HE NOT GET IT???



And I am carrying his fourth child. Don't you think he could suck it up and do a little painting and hang a few doors...change out a few counter tops...install a couple of new appliances? He's a manly man. He can do it. You can DEWIT, Ironman! I believe in you!



Anyway, my twins turned four yesterday and I didn't get any good pics of them. Happy birthday, Twinkies! Here's the only cute one I got because my camera was dying. Luckily family members were snapping lots of pics! I edited it for red-eye and cropping, yet it won't upload the edited version. This reminds me of the old Blogger days! Thanks, Old Blogger, for rearing your incompetent head and eating some rancid butta!

And then there's this shot for those of you wanting to see the blobbity blob. I can't for the life of me get it to load right side up. Let's hope I look better on my side. In my defense, I was VERY sick when this picture was taken. I didn't even say a proper good-bye to my guests, and I proceeded to be miserable for the next three hours because, well, I'll spare you details.

I hope Ironman is satisfied with this post even though it was less than glowing about his participation efforts on the home front. :D I have to pack up the kids now and take them to their grandparents! Woo hoo! A night off!

Nothing to Read Here. Move along.

Ignore this. Still trying to reclaim my stolen blog...

Here's me jumping through hoops to do it.


Undergoing MyBlogLog Verification

Torture Me Tuesday

Toddler Tuesday is a weekly form of punishment for adults that lasts for seven weeks.


Due to the fact that everyone else only has one toddler, they take their punishment in stride by sitting on the bleachers and talking on cell phones. Some even have the nerve to bring books. Occasionally a parent will realize the teacher can't possibly keep all the toddlers running in the same direction, so they'll get up long enough to corral their toddler who has gone astray.


The class is open to children ages 2 to 5, so there are a couple of older male bullies in the class. I swear one is at least 7. I don't know why he's not in school. He's a discipline problem, so his mom may have taken him out of public school before the teachers accidentally lost him on a field trip. And I don't know where she was today because he was freely picking on the younger children with no reprimand. I felt sorry for the mom having to protect her child. She kept saying, "If he hits you, you just have to walk away."











I was glad Ironman wasn't there. If that were happening to our child he'd be saying, "Kick his @ss!" Last night Ironman was teaching our son to say, "I love my cods." I was mortified as always, but no matter how much I shriek in protest, he still thinks it's funny. Nobody else does, but he does. Suddenly when our daughter started saying it today, it wasn't so funny to Ironman and the rules changed so that no one was allowed to say that word anymore.


That's the thing about Ironman. He teaches them to do really stupid things--like stick things in the ceiling fan--but he eventually sees the error of his ways and tries to unring the bell. It doesn't always work, but I'm just grateful he's not so stubborn that he sticks to his guns and lets them get their arms ripped off or something--which he swears can't happen just from sticking the empty plastic wrapping of an over sized Pixie stick into the blades.


Anyway, I speak bitterly about the parents relaxing on the bleachers because I'm el preggo mom on the court trying to encourage my shy daughter to participate and my son from picking up the obstacle course. I'm the one hopping on dots and crawling through cones as I pant like the out of shape blob that I am. I'm the one running and freezing like a statue in the Red Light/Green Light game. I resent the heck out of it. I can't believe I paid in advance for this.


I thought my children would benefit from being around other children and getting out of the house since we have almost zero experiences like that. The first week Teacher Steve threw a bunch of balls on the court along with random items like rubber chickens and told the kids to play to their heart's content. My 2 year old son loved it. The girls were great.


The second week started getting more structured. My son didn't want to do anything that Teacher Steve wanted him to do. He just wanted to play with the balls like the week before. The girls were ideal. They followed directions. Alex just wanted to play on his own.


The third week was really bad weather, so we skipped. Also, Ironman accidentally took my keys, so we couldn't have gone anyway.


Today was the fourth week. Skipping one week was a big mistake on so many levels. For one thing, Lindley regressed. She was suddenly scared to go out on the court. Could be due to the fact that Teacher Steve accidentally whacked her upside the head, and two weeks later her cut is still noticeable. I'd be scared, too. Alex saw his favorite ball on the court--the ball of many colors. But he wasn't allowed to play with it. Actually, it wasn't used for anything today, so I'm not sure why it was on the court. Just a temptation that became torture for both of us as we battled it out. I eventually won which I hear you're supposed to do if you engage in a battle of the wills with children. It took a lot of punishing before Alex finally realized I'm more stubborn than he is. Meanwhile, Lindley is following me around and refuses to participate.


We were the three idiots performing for all the parents. Thankfully Gracie was being angelic and following Teacher Steve. I can raise one child right!


I finally convinced Alex and Lindley to join me on the court with Gracie. That was only after Lindley agreed to do it if I would hold her hand, and Alex refused to go with us and screamed on the bleachers. I kept motioning for him to come over and join us, but he didn't want to. Finally a mom was nice enough to walk him over. We went from one week of playing simple stop and go games to a very complicated obstacle course.


This is what my two and three year olds were expected to remember and then follow through with. Keep in mind, I feel grateful if I can give them two things to accomplish and they manage to accomplish one.


Sit by the wall until it's your turn. Walk over to the blue square. Stand on it. Walk ten feet over to the orange hurdles and step over them. (They were crotch level for almost all the kids, so they were being knocked over almost every single time.) After getting over about ten hurdles, hop down the row of dots. Follow the arrows around the court until you see more dots. Hop on the dots again. Duck down to go through five hoola hoops that are propped up on flimsy Styrofoam. (Once again, kids can barely get through them without knocking the entire set up down.) Crawl like a baby through the red cones. Walk backwards on the stars. Roll on your side from one end of the gym mat to the other. Walk to the purple square and stomp on it. Return to the wall where you started.


This got almost every parent off their butts. Finally I wasn't the only one out there.












There were toddlers totally confused going every direction, tripping over obstacles, and of course--my son--picking up the stars, dots, and arrows saying things like, "Look mom! Itsa lellow star!"


I thought that was quite optimistic for Teacher Steve to think he could handle a class that large alone on an obstacle course that complicated. Even the adults were scratching their heads and thinking, "Do they hop on dots or walk backwards on dots???"


But I have to admit I was VERY proud of my children by the end of class. Two of them had a slow start, but with practice they were able to successfully conquer the obstacle course. Even Alex was able to swing his short little legs over those big hurdles without knocking them down.


So that was Toddler Tuesday today. I need my blankie and a nap.

Oh...my...gah! Ohmygah!

That last post about the Taco Bell guy needs to be shoved up my butt. It's not nearly as annoying now that I know the whole story.

I've had several people say they couldn't believe I didn't know his story! He's been on Ellen because of his singing! Ohmygah!

And people were caught on tape just like I KNEW was happening!!!!

Here are the videos of him at the Bell and him singing his latest single on Ellen--and dancing with her! Too cute! Apparently his talent is getting recognized by famous artists. Way to go Taco Bell Man! I don't think his real name is Taco Bell Man. It could be Donnie Harden or something similar.

On Ellen:



This would be an idea of my experience today:


By the way, I'm totally doing this the next time I go through Taco Bell. Cracks me up!


And news flash, I read a comment by someone on You Tube that he called her a sexy lady, so I'm not so special after all. :(

Taco Bell-elle-elle-ellle, yeah, yeah...

When I started this blog, I was under the impression that my life is secretly video taped for the amusement of others (hence the description at the top of the blog). Most of my posts revolved around unusual people that came to my door or that I met in public. Now I only have to go so far as my inbox to realize my theory is still a sound one. I am most definitely screwed with for others' amusement, and on a television somewhere is me with my hands in the air screaming, "What the heck??? How do these people find me?!?"

But today I was most definitely taped at the Taco Bell drive-thru. Usually I would look like hell, but I was coming from church, so I had put forth an effort on my appearance which is rare.

I pulled up to order and was greeted with a VERY lengthy rap about taking my time to order.

I was reassured again and again that I had all day. He said this was no Jackie Chan or Chris Tucker movie and that it wasn't rush hour. I was thanked for thinking outside of the bun, and then more rapping took place attempting to ease my anxiety about making a rash decision and ordering hastily. The rap was ended with, "Order whenever you is ready."

Meanwhile, a line was forming behind me, and I couldn't concentrate on the menu or gather my thoughts in any form or fashion.

I always try to make a mental list of my order before approaching the drive-thru because I have enough anxiety about forgetting someone's meal. I should write it all down, but that would take even more energy I'm not willing to part with.

Finally I started my order, "I want a taco with no lettuce..."

Sung back to me was, "You want a taco-00000--ooooo----ooo wi--i-i-ith- no oh oh oh ohohhhhhhhhhh lettuuuuuuuuuce."

I was totally screwed at that point. The twist in my typical ordering experience threw me for a loop. It's like my brain was wiped clean, and I couldn't remember anything else I was supposed to order. After what felt like a really long silence, I ordered 3 burritos and had it repeated back to me in the same soulful and very drawn out song. It was like one of the singers from Boys 2 Men had to get a side job and chose my Taco Bell.

Keep in mind, I had 12 things to order. This was going to take a very long time. And what also sucked is that I had a question. "Is it possible to get sour cream on my bean burrito?"

I know! I was setting myself up! I didn't want to ask, but I didn't know the answer, and as I expected, it takes a really long time to sing an answer to a question. And three syllable words such as "possible" take forever to break down in R&B music. Every note has to be hit on just a one syllable word, so I was asking to be punished. "Yeeeeee--eh-eh-ehhhhhh-eeeeh-ssssss, it is poh-ha-ha-ha-haaaa-sible to get sou-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-er creaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam....." You get the gist.

I had no sense of humor at that point. I had a car full of children, we were all hungry and tired, and I just wanted to place my order because the line had doubled behind me!

We finally, finally, finally got through it. I pulled forward because of course everyone was gone from the line in front of me after that ridiculously long musical, and I hate musicals.

I had already been asked twice if I wanted hot sauce, mild sauce, or fire sauce. Once by the singer, and once by the girl at the window. Each time I answered that I wanted mild sauce.

Then one of the workers leaned out of the window and asked me again if I'd like one of those sauces, and I said mild sauce for the third time. That's when he said, "Ma'am, I don't mean to be offensive, but you're a very beautiful woman."

Well, thank you Taco Bell Man who is young enough to be my much younger brother and can rap so brilliantly! I am not going to count my burritos now in the parking lot to see how badly you guys screwed up my order thanks to that!

That just goes to show me that a good black dress can either disguise a really large belly, or one of the following:

a.) I appeared to have stolen my groceries and had them stashed under my dress.
b.) A raccoon had curled up and gone to sleep in my lap under my dress.
c.) Taco Bell Man has a thing for pregnant women.
d.) Taco Bell Man felt bad that his friend had just used one of my burritos as a prop in a vulgar joke.
e.) Taco Bell Man could tell I needed a compliment.

If it's d or e, I love him for his compassion. I appreciate it no matter what the reason because a tubby pregnant woman needs to think she's attractive every now and then despite what the mirror insists on showing her.

Still, there's no way all that happened without someone video taping it and showing it to the bar crowd in Boston where they keep a tape running of my life. No wa--a-a-aaaaaaa-ay-yay-yay....

Oh, and I wasn't given any mild sauce.

My Blog Was Stolen on MyBlogLog

This post is here to prove I am the author of this domain, not the man who has stolen it and posted it as his own on MyBlogLog.

He added my blog address to the list of sites he authors to profit from the traffic I receive...which at one point was fairly decent but has dwindled since I stopped writing. So hopefully he hasn't benefited from my thoughts and opinions.

I now have to do some other things to prove I am the author. What a loser! I shouldn't have to do this. Beware. Your site could be stolen, and you wouldn't even know it. He went to mybloglog.com, created a profile, and entered my blog address as well as almost 40 others. He's been tagged as a thief among other things because this is apparently all he does.

All the members who were in my community on MyBlogLog before I deleted it months ago were then transferred to him somehow. I don't know how he even steals community members. Several of you are on his list as members, but I didn't recognize any of the blogs he's stolen. That's not to say there aren't a million more where he came from. So heads up.

You Can Never Have Too Much Toilet Paper

Since I was on the subject earlier of irrational fears, I thought I'd share another one with you. I think I have a fear of being completely out of toilet paper. It's not a conscious fear. I don't find myself rocking in a corner worrying about my supply getting low. It's other behavior which makes me wonder if this fear truly exists.

As I was hoisting this week's purchase of toilet paper onto the top shelf of my utility room tonight, I stopped to ponder why I buy so much. I go to the store weekly like clock work. It's my one outing a week. It's the only time I'm ever alone. I have a standing appointment with my mother to take care of the kids. Every Thursday morning you can find me at Wal-Mart. Contain yourself. I know I'm the envy of everyone.

The thing is, despite the fact that I know I will be at the store in another week, I still buy a huge pack of toilet paper. I buy a 12 pack. And not only is it a 12 pack, but it's a 12 pack of double rolls, so basically I'm buying 24 rolls of toilet paper to last me a week. That's like a lot of rolls to go through per day.

Let's just assume I'm using a majority of this product since my children use wet wipes and my husband is at work all day. If I'm ill enough to be going through at least 3 rolls of toilet paper a day, don't you think someone will feel sorry enough for me to keep my kids so that I can run to the store for more toilet paper? I bet family members would even bring me some if I'm not already in the hospital suffering from dehydration!

Yet I still buy it. I'm such a creature of habit that I have a very specific trail I make through Wal-Mart, and it just so happens the toilet paper aisle marks the half way mark of my purchases. Twelve double rolls of quality toilet paper take up a lot of room in my cart. If I run out of room, I just have to skimp on the fresh fruit and vegetables for the kids because I'm not going to walk all the way to the back of the store to exchange my toilet paper for a smaller pack. That would take energy that I do not have. The fruit always goes bad anyways, so you could say it saves me money when I buy toilet paper.

I don't buy toilet paper weekly. I buy a lot at once and then gamble that the second week isn't the week my two year old will unroll an entire roll into the toilet and that Ironman won't steal three rolls to take to work. Yes, he has to provide his own toilet paper. It's a porta-potty thing.

It's weird. Did anyone see that episode of Dr. Phil where he interviewed a woman deathly afraid of feathers? I used to watch Dr. Phil because I thought he gave sound advice. Now his show is a freak fest, he's lost all my respect, but it's a train wreck I can't look away from. Keep following me. I promise this has something to do with toilet paper. Just let it come full circle.

So Dr. Phil was interviewing a lady so scared of feathers that she humiliated her family during the Christmas season by trampling people in a store in attempt to get away from a Christmas tree that was decorated with feathers. She could never have a pillow or comforter stuffed with feathers. Boas are scary! She thinks birds can sense her fear, so they intentionally fly near her. Yes, she thinks the birds are antagonistic.

Dr. Phil sends her backstage to have someone deprogram her and help her get rid of her irrational fear of feathers. When they bring her back out, he wants to test her even though she's on the verge of a panic attack just at the thought of having to see a bird.

On a ginormous screen behind her head, they have a live feed rolling of a trainer with one of those birds that can talk--like they couldn't avoid the creepiest bird on the entire planet to test this woman with. A parakeet would have her retching, but they chose some big @ss bird that could say her name and totally make an obscene phone call given the right instruction.

Anyway, back to the ginormous screen behind her head. There's the shot of the trainer with the bird, and Dr. Phil makes her look over her shoulder to see the bird. She shudders, but she keeps her lunch down. The camera gets closer to the bird, and he makes her turn around as he says something like, "What about now? Are you okay now?" The woman is visibly shaken, but she's trying to be a good sport on national television. As Dr. Phil talks to the poor woman, the camera man keeps getting closer and closer to the bird so that eventually there's nothing but a close-up of a 20 foot bird behind her head. And then the guy closes in on just the face so that there's a bird head over her shoulder that would scare the crap out of anyone if they unexpectedly glanced over their shoulder and saw it glaring at them. Meanwhile, I'm all clinched and practically yelling at the t.v., "Lady! Don't turn around!"

The other part of the bird exercise was that they brought the bird into the studio and had it far away from her. He'd have the trainer bring it a little closer and a little closer, all the while asking, "How do you feel with it this close? What about now?" The bird never got very close to her because the lady was about to bolt, but you could tell she was proud of herself for not hurling or shrieking during the entire experience.

I told you there would be a point to this story, so stay with me as I bring it full circle.

I don't want to be the next guest on The Dr. Phil Show. I can see him telling me that Cottonelle has just donated a lifetime supply of toilet paper to me, but first I have to be broken of my irrational fear of running out it. I assume I'd only be allowed to have one roll of toilet paper in my house for an entire week. And I can see him dangling that one roll in front of me as he says, "How do you feel when I take your only roll of toilet paper and move it waaaay over here? What about now? What if I move it another five feet? What about now?"

That would suck. I need to get a grip on this toilet paper thing before I'm holding hands back stage with some chick who fears measuring cups or something. My life just can't turn out like that. I have to do something before it gets out of control. This is serious stuff.

What Not to Wear

Do you ever step outside and just pray really hard that What Not to Wear isn't getting secret footage of you? Thank you, reality television, for giving me good reason to be paranoid. If I haven't been tracked by the fashion police yet, it's only because they don't want to come all the way to my boring little town or they think I'm hopeless. Or if the fashion police are locals, they probably tuck their pants into their cowboy boots anyway, so I might actually look metropolitan to them.

Tonight was the only time I've been out of the house all day. My mission was to return movies and go through a drive-thru to get nourishment for the family...though I don't know how nourishing our Mexican fast food was...but that's not the point. The point is that I had two places to go where I wasn't required to get out of the car. I considered wearing my pajamas. The only thing that ever prevents me from leaving the house in my pajamas is the fear of a wreck on a major street where I'll be one of those idiots in pajamas standing on the side of the road while people drive by saying, "Look at that idiot in her pajamas on the side of the road."

So I threw on two unrelated, unmatching articles of clothing that met my only criteria:

1. The shirt covers my entire stomach.
2. It won't look like I'm in pajamas if I have a wreck.

I seriously felt like I had to run out to my car (which would normally be parked right outside the door but wasn't due to circumstances too boring to mention--I can't believe I've even talked about it this much) ducking behind bushes and grabbing a few branches as camouflage for when I darted across our driveway to get into my car.

I can't tell you how grateful I was that the neighbor with crap dog wasn't out letting his dog crap in our yard at that moment. Anyway, the whole time I was thinking, "Someone is filming me in my hideous outfit right now, and this footage will eventually be aired on national television." My only defense is never to trust anyone who approaches me and asks me to describe my "style." That's a dead giveaway. At that point I would be forced to do something drastic involving spastic punching so the producers would be too terrified to use me on the show.

Plus, as much as I'd like to have a brand new wardrobe, I'm not willing to let anyone throw away all my ugly clothes because those are the ones I like. And I've never understood how it was helpful to throw away someone's entire closet and only replace it with two dresses for an evening on the town and three outfits that can go from work to evening with only the change of a bag and scarf. What are you supposed to wear around the house??? And what if you have no job other than wiping butts and vacuuming? And what if the only time you get out for an evening is when you're crying so hard from your butt getting kicked by three toddlers all day that your husband takes pity on you and tells you to walk the hokey city mall for some peace and quiet? What am I supposed to wear for that occasion??? Do I really need to wear shoes for wiping butts and noses? I only wear shoes about twice a week.

So anyway, I have three kids to put in the bath tub now. They are covered in tonight's burritos and this afternoon's Chef Boyardee. The only outfit that would be suitable for this is one of those plastic drapes with the hood and arm cut-outs. They have a name, but it completely escapes me right now. Not my kids, the plastic thingy. My kids have names, too, but whatever.

Don't report me to What Not to Wear is all I'm saying.

Pictures of my kiddos

Update: Photos removed for safety reasons.

Some of you have said you wanted to see pictures of the little ones, so here are some pictures from Christmas. These pictures were taken 6-8 weeks after Lindley's open heart surgery, so you can see she was/is doing great! She's the one with the brunette curls.


















I've also been asked to post a picture of myself pregnant, but I've been very good at avoiding the camera. Imagine me 20 pounds heavier and bloated. I hold water like a camel, and I'm drinking anywhere from 130 to 200 or more ounces of water per day. I'm my own floatation device.

Here's a picture from months back before the hunger got out of control. My niece made it look all artsy with the coloring. I think if you scroll down, you can still see the original in a November post. I can't imagine what would possess me to post a picture of how I currently look.

If you start hearing more from me again, it's because this fourth child made everything happen early. It's starting to hurt too much to stand and obsessively work on the house for long periods of time, so I can see me propping my feet up and boring you guys again on a regular basis. I still really want to post pictures of Ironman's Christmas present, so maybe that post will be next. Ciao, peeps in blog land.

Warning: The end of this post has graphic and disturbing images

Most recent update: I get a ton of traffic on my site due to these pictures. If you stumbled across them the way I did...looking for pictures of what your precious baby looks like at a certain week while still inside of you, I'm SO sorry you have to see these. They broke my heart.

Update: I started this several weeks ago and never finished it. I'm posting it unfinished because so many of you are nice enough to check in to see if I'm still alive. Still alive and busy. Lindley is good as new! Thank you all so much for checking in on us to see how things are going! Hugs!

The unfinished post was:

What keeps happening to me? I have 50 things I wanted to update you on, and I'm not writing about any of them. I'm just now five months into my pregnancy, and I'm nesting like crazy. Nesting isn't supposed to hit until the end! Of course, I've never gotten to nest at the end of my pregnancy, so maybe that's why I'm frantically doing it now. I was on bed rest at the beginning of my third trimester with the twins, and then I delivered them 6 weeks early. I carried my son to the c-section due date, but we were moving across Texas a week after we got home from the hospital, so I was packing instead of getting settled in and ready for the newborn.

Now that I'm finally to a computer, I don't remember what I was going to say. I'm sleep deprived thanks to my children seeing monsters throughout the night last night, and I've spent the day dashing around town doing errands and realizing just how irritable and hormonal I am.

I started off the day with a trip to the chiropractor. I would reference his frog wisdom here except months back I deleted my entire freaking blog. Oh, that's another thing. This post may be peppered with language. The kind that is unbecoming to a lady, but I don't care because this is how I get when I'm hormonal and agitated, so I say "f*ck it." Okay, so I couldn't bring myself to actually type out the entire f-bomb, but you get my drift...whatever that means. Do people ever really refer to their "drift" in any other conversation?

But back to Dr. Chiropractor. God love him, he has no facial expressions except that of extreme boredom, and he speaks in monotone with a heavy West Texas drawl--the only accent I can even come close to understanding. I haven't seen him since way before my pregnancy, so I warned him I would need the table adjusted to accommodate my now bulbous belly. He said, "Well. You're not real pregnant are ya?" If only I would have answered, "You are correct, sir. I'm not real pregnant; however, I am no longer fake pregnant either. The fifth month is commonly known as the "could still be pulling your leg" phase."
..............................................

What the heck? I thought I had a ton more written. I know I had a lot going on in my head. It was going to be a long post about all the stupid things people said to me that day. Oh well. I'm still so far behind in life that I'm just now packing away Christmas decorations. I had moved them all to the dining room to be dealt with when life was less chaotic. I don't know why I thought today was that day.

I am now 18 1/2 weeks along. The little one should look something like this:


















And can I just tell you how much I HATE, HATE, HATE googling images of babies in various weeks just to have to weed through pictures of the dead ones that were aborted???? I'm not blaming the websites or the people taking the photos. I think it's pretty clear who I blame. And I think it's pretty rare that circumstances occur that would make abortion seem like the only safe or rational option. I think these babies are usually the result of a stupid woman. If you disagree with me, get lost. Seriously.

This is what I had to see when I googled images of babies at 19 weeks:

This is bullshit. You won't be missed if you can justify this. This is at ten weeks.



















This is 24 weeks.





Here's 7 months.










The only difference between a first trimester abortion vs. a second or third trimester is a matter of weeks. It's the same baby. I won't entertain debates here from people justifying abortion, so don't waste your breath. Just leave. The rest of you have a great day!

After thought: Because I can already hear it coming....to those of you who say, "I wouldn't ever do it myself, but who am I to tell another woman what she can and can't do with her body?" My answer is, "You're a child advocate. Grow some balls and some character while you're at it. Be a voice for a child who doesn't have one yet and quit worrying about some woman's rights that would kill a baby."

P.S.

I would like to add these boring thoughts to my Christmas day posting.

A. I'm so glad Christmas is finally over. I don't remember the Christmas season starting in August when I was growing up. I've really seen department stores with Christmas items out in summer. My radio station was playing Christmas carols nightly BEFORE Thanksgiving. Christmas lights were up before Thanksgiving. I'm so burned out on Christmas by mid-December. Each year I think I won't get sick of seeing my own Christmas tree, and each year I'm ready to strangle it by Christmas day.

B. I don't think people should be allowed to exercise on public streets on Christmas day. I don't exercise on normal days, but seeing people committed enough to jog by my window on Christmas day while I'm stuffing myself with pie is really annoying. Be with your family!!! Relax! Stop worrying about your heart for one day! Gah!

C. I think the sexual innuendo ("in YOUR endo!"--The Todd from Scrubs) in the song "Santa Baby" is weird considering the season. "Hurry down my chimney tonight...come trim my tree..." Seems a leap from songs of the Christ Child. Weirdness.

"I'll Be Home for Christmas" is a huge Christmas favorite that drives me crazy. If someone tells me, "I'll be there. You can count on me," then I think it's a sure thing. The part where the singer says all that and then adds "if only in my dreams" is what annoys me. I'm too anal for that. Every freakin' time I hear that song I think, "That's no kind of RSVP! How do I know how many places to set at the TABLE!"

D. I can't think of anything else I wanted to add because Ironman is belching into my 2 year old son's face and my son is laughing hysterically.

That is all.

She Lives!

Hey Folks! And Merry Christmas!

It's been so long that I had to pause and remember what my information was to sign on!

Thanks to all of you encouraging me to get off my butt and write something again. I have had several things to say, but life has been more hectic than usual.

Here's why I haven't written. It's boring, but it's true. That would be the title if ever a movie were made about my life, "Boring, but True!"

As you know, I got knocked up. I felt great for a while, and then the extreme exhaustion hit. Any down time I could find, I slept. That really interferes with writing for you guys. As a matter of fact, it was an extremely pleasant way to detox from the computer. I slept through any longing I might have had to get on the computer. Now that the cord has been cut, I have almost no desire to be on this thing for any reason. Sucks to be a reader of Flawed & Disorderly.

Then Thanksgiving came. I had a lot to prepare for, and now I can't even remember what it was. My Christmas cards were already complete before Thanksgiving. I did those little family photo kind and decided to personalize it by including a humorous letter. Hold that thought.

Then I went through a very long process of de-cluttering the house. Actually, that started right after I found out I was knocked up. I knew if I didn't get rid of some of the current crap, there would never be enough room for new Christmas crap as well as a place for baby numero 4. I started an enormous transition of making the playroom empty which meant all of those toys had to find a home in the closets belonging to the children which were filled with about 30 boxes of outgrown clothes. We lived with all those boxes lining our tiny hallway for months before I finally dealt with them.

In the midst of de-cluttering, I decided I MUST have a garage sale on December 1st because there were too many big ticket items to just give away like I normally would. Not only did I have to go through every item in the house, I also had to clean up all the stored baby items that were in various outdoor buildings.

I had the sale on December 1st (which really deserves a separate post), and by the time it was over my house was a complete disaster. I had gone through all 30 boxes of outgrown children's clothing and pulled out pieces to sell...like doubles I had of girl clothing because we had twin daughters, and the boxes were still looming all over the place.

As I reorganized closets I realized our tiny version of a garage HAD to be cleaned out because life was out of control and ridiculous. I also couldn't decorate for Christmas until my house was back in order, clean, and ready to be invaded by 30 more boxes of Christmas decorations.

I began decorating, it was immediately trashed by my children (another post as well), I felt completely defeated, and I never finished decorating. I had trouble getting motivated to move all of those boxes outside. I can barely keep up with the regular cleaning when I'm NOT pregnant. Add the insanity of of basically moving yourself back into your own house and then the insanity of Christmas, and it's not pretty.

Plus I had Christmas projects to complete or in-laws wouldn't be getting gifts this year. AND I had all of the normal Christmas shopping and wrapping/re-wrapping of presents that my children tore into the very first day I bought them and wrapped them.

Time was ticking away, and late in my first trimester I started having morning sickness--the kind that is at night, so I'd wake up a jillion times a night to go to the bathroom as most pregnant women do, and then I'd have trouble going back to sleep because all I could think about was puking. Eating would wake me up so much that I'd be up for hours. Did I mention I had a cold before Thanksgiving and the cough has lingered for two months? So I'm up hacking at night as well and drinking as much cough syrup as is safe. Oh yeah, and I've had sick children pretty much non-stop as well. Then Ironman got sick two weeks ago and has barely been to work at all. He's been to the doctor and still is on the verge of passing out when he coughs hard which is kind of what you do when you have bronchitis. He's probably getting his lungs x-rayed this week.

What else has been going on? Oh yeah! We went to Oklahoma last Friday and came home late last night. It was a 6 hour trip there and about 4 1/2 hours back. Luckily the kids were great, and we never even went to the effort of putting on a movie for them. Anyway, I hate leaving town when my house isn't clean, so I kicked it into overdrive and made sure the house was as clean as humanly possible before leaving. I did a ton of laundry, and the house was satisfactory when we left.

I will try to do a separate post later for Lindley, but during this time I also took her for her latest check up with the cardiologist in Fort Worth, and she's doing great! Yay!

So I've been obsessing and busy. I've made all my deadlines, and I'm ready to collapse, but not until I rearrange my living room. I don't know if it's possible to fit my furniture in here in a different way, but I need a change.

OH! And I'll definitely be posting what I got Ironman for Christmas. It almost made him cry. His eyes were watery. That means it's gooooood.

Alrighty then. My house is trashed again because I never got to clean up after the orgy of greed this morning--the unwrapping of presents. We had Christmas morning here, made a made dash to get ready, and then headed over to celebrate with my family. We all came home and crashed. It's after 6 p.m., and everyone is still sleeping which is why I can concentrate well enough to write such a long and boring post.

I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas! And thank you so much for those of you who didn't forget me while I was away! Please forgive me for not proofing this piece. Hope it makes sense! I've gotta wake up da babies!

Update: I forgot to come back to the Christmas card story. They were ready before Thanksgiving. All I needed was the funny Christmas insert. I never could come up with anything amusing to say, so it basically turned into a thank you letter to all our family and friends who supported us through Lin's ordeal. I didn't get them mailed until a week before Christmas day. I just found out today that it took the U.S. postal service 6 days to get the card six blocks to my sister's house. Who knows how long it will take for people 3 whole hours away to receive it! Sucky.

Wuts Up & Lindley's Angel

Yo peeps!

I'm not officially here. I'm supposed to be doing a million other things right now, but today I'm making time to tell you I don't really have a sweating problem. Yes. I stopped everything to tell you that. I was joking in a previous post, but I kept getting serious replies about what I could do to help the situation. It was Merle's idea that I had a sweating issue, and I jumped on board with it as a "ha ha" kind of thing. Now my pride is getting in the way, and I can no longer stand the thought that people here and abroad think I have sweat squirting out of my pits like water sprinklers.

What else has been going on? Ummm...my house is turned upside down while I clean out every nook and cranny to de-clutter and have a garage sale this Saturday. I'm in the tenth week of my pregnancy, and fatigue is getting in the big, fat way of making progress.

It snowed on Thanksgiving and again on Saturday! Woo hoo! That practically never happens here.

What else? There have been a meelion things I wanted to tell you guys, but I haven't had time to stop and write.

Here's an interesting story (in my opinion). As you've probably read, my 3 year old had open heart surgery on October 2. About 5 or 6 weeks after the surgery, she pointed to an angel we saw somewhere. Making small talk, I asked her if she had ever seen an angel in real life-- expecting her to say no or that she had seen one at church or on t.v.

She said she had seen one at the Mickey Mouse House. I thought she was talking about the television show, but she corrected me and said she saw one where she played with Mamaw and Pappaw before the doctors fixed her boo boo. She was describing the Ronald McDonald House. She probably called it the Mickey Mouse House because in the center of the play room are two enormous stuffed Mickey and Minnie Mouse toys. My parents have a picture framed of the kids with those stuffed animals. I just thought it was interesting of all the places she's ever been, and considering how briefly she played there before being admitted to the hospital, that she would single out a place where probably many angels were gathered over sick children. It's Biblical that children have angels watching over them, and I was emailed a prayer for Lindley that she would be aware of all the angels in her presence while the doctors were operating on her. Maybe she was. A week or two later, my mom asked Lindley to tell her the story of where she had seen an angel, and she repeated the same thing even though we had never spoken of it again.

I think I may decorate with angels this Christmas. :D I hope your holidays were great! Now let's get ready for Christmas...

Blood, Sweat, and Seedless Raisins

Boring update: I was asked if the blood tests changed after becoming pregnant.

They've been coming back with good results since either the end of last winter or the beginning of spring. My OB/GYN wasn't willing to help us try to conceive until my blood tests were normal again for a decent length of time.

Last summer I went to my PCP because I wasn't feeling well. He started running blood tests and focused on the high bilirubin levels. He wasn't getting anywhere fast, and then I found out about Lindley's heart defect. I put my own issues on the back burner until fall. That's when my OB/GYN took over trying to figure out why I wasn't feeling well. She requested the results of my previous blood test results, and that's when she wigged out about my red blood cell count being so high. I have no idea why my PCP wasn't concerned or didn't notice. So my bad test results were first "noticed" last summer and lasted through the winter.

The short answer to "Did the pregnancy cause the positive change?" is "No."

About the profuse sweating that Merle mentioned in his comment, I don't know how on earth he found out that's one of my symptoms. He's a super sleuth. I look like I have water sprinklers shooting sweat out of my arm pits. No one can stand close to me without getting sprayed. I have to tape mounds of cotton balls under my pits daily, but they are quickly saturated. Oh great....I feel another wolf crotch scenario coming on.

Speaking of cotton balls, I saw a man walking around Walgreens last night with a package of cotton balls. I thought that was strange. What do men use cotton balls for?

And while I'm on the subject of things I don't understand, I saw an ad yesterday for seedless raisins. TRY OUR SEEDLESS RAISINS!

What?

Merry Christmas to Me!

Dang it!

I was hoping today was my last appointment with the hematologist. I hate going to The Cancer Center. Was there no other name available? Was A-Town Oncology Associates already taken? The Cancer Center seems like you're doomed. Last Stop would have been almost as welcoming.

I was originally sent there last January because my blood tests alarmed my OB/GYN, and she thought I might have leukemia. I got to spend the Christmas season wondering if it were true until I could get into the specialist. Further tests showed that I had erythrocytosis which means I have too many red blood cells. My hemoglobin levels were elevated. Erythrocytosis isn't a disease itself. It's usually brought on by tumors or another disease. Bone marrow is involved. I don't really "do" medical stuff, and it's boring anyway, but that gives you an idea of why I've been going there.

I've had SO much blood drawn this year, you'd think I would have lost some weight, but NO! Anyway, the story is we did months of blood work showing that my levels were elevated. There was no treatment to undergo. I was being observed for a while to determine what to do next. I changed absolutely nothing about my diet or lifestyle during this time. Candy bars and Dr. Pepper continued to be the mainstay of my diet. During this period of testing, my blood tests started coming back completely normal. So then I was observed for an even longer period of time to see if I would remain "normal." My hematologist said, "It's like your body healed itself!" Well, sure it did! Because I'm cool like that!

I went back today hoping to be dismissed from his care. We did even more lab work, and it all came back perfectly normal. You'd think he'd be convinced I don't need to return. Instead he said, "I want you to come back in six months and then a year or so after that. At this point I'm no longer trying to determine that you have erythrocytosis. I'm determining that you don't. "

My insurance company will be happy to know their dollars are going towards making sure a well woman is well.

I'm skeptical that my body healed itself. I'd be more inclined to believe prayers were answered since I can't even subtract without moving my fingers. I'm just glad that this Christmas is going to be a very Merry Christmas. No fears this year. No images of leukemia taking me away from my family before I'm ready. No anxiety over my child's open heart surgery. Just peace.

7 weeks

Aw, cute and scary! This isn't my baby at 7 weeks, but it is a picture of some one's baby at 7 weeks. It could be you for all I know. The size of a bean. Wow. No matter how many times I've been through this, it still fascinates me.

Fun Without Kids

We had another weekend without kids! Woo hoo! They went camping with the grandparents! As you will see, we did what weird people do when they don't have children draining their energy and spontaneity.

First we went to a nice restaurant where we had our rehearsal dinner 12 years ago.












These flowers were supposed to be delivered to the restaurant and waiting as a surprise for me when we arrived. Wouldn't that have been awesome!?!


















Unfortunately, the florist didn't get the flowers to the restaurant before they closed at 2. The florist closed at 3, so they ruined the entire thing and delivered them to our house right after I got home from errands. Idiots. They even got the card wrong, but Ironman still got all the brownie points. You wouldn't know by looking at it, but that arrangement was almost too heavy for me to lift, and I'm used to picking up one or two kids at a time.

These next pictures are in random order because I'm not talented enough to upload them correctly.

In this picture you will see that Ironman Jr. is already showing up even though it's only 7 weeks old and is the size of a grape. Somehow that translates to 3 pounds and a protruding abdomen on me. I blame the fact that it's the 3rd pregnancy and 4th child. My abs gave up a long time ago.
























Posing with the art rock.


















Lovers on a bench I. Too bad all these pics were made after dinner when I had no lipstick left.



















Lovers on a bench II.


















Little girl in a big hat I.

Little girl in a big hat II. I was hoisted up there.

Simon says hug a tree I.























Simon says hug a tree II.


















Impaled pig sculpture. My hands were on his hooves, but it just looks like I'm in the midst of pig worship.



















Come on, get happeeee!

























There was a full Charlie's Angels pose going on there. Don't ask me why the man didn't get the entire shot.

Arrrrgh! None of the text will stay with the pictures when it's published from here down no matter what I try. How weird! Hope you can make sense of it.

Wondering why he married me...

We have bright lights, too.

And then the fun ended when Ironman got busted for playing on fine art sculptures. I walked away like I didn't know him.

Lindley's scar

Update: Photo removed for safety reasons.

Has it only been a month??? October 2 was Lindley's open heart surgery. Here's a picture to show you how well she's healing! Obviously the scar down the middle is where her ribs were separated and then wired back together. The round scar to the left of the picture was where one of her tubes entered. That's the one the ER echo tech put a sticky thing over and then ripped off the scab when she removed it.

She's doing great now!

Halloween

Update: Photos removed for safety reasons.

A little late, but here are the Halloween pics. We had a lady bug, a kangaroo, and an elephant. These pictures were taken at my parents' house. Shortly after, trick-or-treaters came to the door dressed at various things dripping with blood or generally looking dead. This caused my three children to let out blood curdling screams and run into each other as they all bolted for safety. Then they calmed down. Then another dead looking child would come to the door which would start the screaming and crying all over again. After three times of this happening, we made a break for the car, shielding their eyes from oncoming ghouls.

They talked fretfully about the "monsters" non-stop all the way home. I assured them all that the monsters were just little boys in costumes. I even lied to them and said all the costumes were in the trash and the little boys were getting spanked that very second. For good measure, I also told them that if I ever saw those little boys again, they'd get a spanking from me, too. This seemed to make them feel better.

The kangaroo woke up startled throughout the night screaming. I know this because I finally let him sleep with us. When I say "us" I mean "me." Ironman slept on the couch, and I had a few hours sleep total. Woo. Halloween was fun.

I was fairly surprised to go shopping the next day and already see all the stores decorated for Christmas. Does it get earlier every year? And Delilah is already playing non-stop Christmas music. I just want to relax in the tub and hear Journey! I don't want to hear boy bands sing their version of "Let it Snow!" Waaa!

Every year I'm so excited about Christmas. By the time it's over, and I've been celebrating it for two months, I'm totally burned out and hope it's a very long year before I have to do it all again. I need blinders and ear plugs for shopping so that I don't have Christmas overload by Thanksgiving. Gah!

Newbie and Lindley Updates

Hello bloggy friends! This will be long, so you can read it in sections and pretend I'm actually still providing you with daily reading! :D

I haven't been sick the entire time since I last posted. Just busy. Here's the latest...skip to below the dotted line if you just want a Lindley update.

Most exciting news is that we're having another baby! Woo hoo! Don't ask me how on earth that's possible. We had put fertility drugs and baby production on the back burner when we found out about Lindley's surgery. But Ironman had a birthday, so things happen. Gifts have to be given despite stressful circumstances, etc., etc., etc. Apparently God and/or my ovaries don't need Clomid to make me ovulate. Sayings are cliche for a reason, and things apparently DO happen when you least expect it. It really does happen when you stop trying, and that's why there are so many families out there with an adopted child and biological child practically the same age.

Men and those not wanting to read girl stuff, skip the next paragraph. Because of my infertility problems, I have to take meds to make me have a monthly "visit." If by day 40, the "visitor" hasn't come on its own, I have to take medication to make it start. After that, all of the blood tests, ultra sounds, and infertility meds can begin.

Due to the conditions of the past month or so, I wasn't tracking cycle days very closely. Usually I'm watching very closely and taking home pregnancy tests like they're free and come with a complimentary candy bar and wine cooler. This month I was simply waiting for day 40. I had the flu for a few days with legitimate aches, chills, and a fever, so when people jokingly implied that I was pregnant, I didn't even get the joke.

I had been VERY anxious before Lindley's surgery, so I was put on some anti-anxiety meds which happily got me through what otherwise would have been an emotionally draining two weeks full of sobbing in hospital bathroom stalls, the car, or wherever. After being home for a few days, I quit my anxiety meds cold turkey. I figured I'd be fine.

I was fine for a few days, and then the crying started. Crying out of the blue. I couldn't stop thinking about a little boy I met who was a cancer patient. He was bloated, had barely any hair left, and had to wear a little mask to protect against germs I guess. He asked me if I had seen his Cheese Nips. We walked through a hallway of the Ronald McDonald House trying to solve the case of the missing Cheese Nips when his father found us and took over. The hallways are filled with huge pictures of children that are fighting cancer or other life-threatening illnesses. I never wondered why I was so emotional because I knew what all I had just seen with my daughter and other children. It made sense to be a wreck, but I also thought, "I have to go back on the anti-anxiety/anti-depressant meds again until I get some distance from all this." Unfortunately, the meds I was prescribed had some side effects I didn't like. I couldn't get in to see that doctor because I had never even met him before. The end of January was when I'd meet him.

I felt there was no way I could wait until the end of January to deal with my emotions being all over the place, so I made an appointment with my primary care physician. Besides worrying that I was sliding into depression, I've been dizzy for weeks now. Before the surgery, I distinctly remember feeling like I was going to pass out while visiting my sister. In the waiting room the day of surgery, I had a couple of times I felt lightheaded. From then on, I've had a non-stop feeling of lightheadedness, so I also made the appointment to see if I had an inner ear problem going on.

Last weekend I realized I was approaching day 40 mark. I was still dealing with flu issues, so I didn't buy the pregnancy test. Stress and illness are two major factors in having a late start date of a cycle for a healthy woman. That combined with my infertility issues...I didn't even consider getting my hopes up. I finally made myself buy a 3 pack of cheapy Walmart home pregnancy tests on Monday night...end of day 39. I threw them on the counter and Ironman saw them. He kept asking me if I needed to pee--which I didn't see as any of his business. I also thought he was just being weird. Totally forgot about even having the pregnancy test.

I normally would wait until the next morning, but I was so sure it would be negative that I took it that night. I barely even glanced at it afterwards and was about to throw it in the trash when I saw the positive. I never get anything even remotely close to a positive on pregnancy tests. Mine are always blatantly negative no matter how I hold them up to the light in search of a faint second line. My heart stopped when I saw the positive sign, so I immediately tore into the next test and it came up positive as well. I didn't even have the presence of mind to think of a clever way to tell Ironman. I just plopped next to him on the couch and handed him the two tests.

He kept saying, "What? What? I don't know what I'm looking at!" We were both stunned. We loaded up the kids and drove over to tell my parents who were very excited. The next morning I used the third test on a NEW cup of urine...still somewhat convinced that there was an error making the pee the previous night bring up a false positive. So by the third positive home pregnancy test...I was convinced the cheapy Walmart 3 pack was faulty and that I needed to buy a different brand in case there was some sort of freak accident on the Walmart assembly line.

The fourth home pregnancy test was showing a positive almost as soon as it hit the pee cup. No need to take it out, put the cap back on, and stare at it for 2 minutes to see the result. At that point, I was feeling more confident that we did indeed have another Flawed/Ironman on the way...until that night when I searched for the instructions that come with the pregnancy test. I was looking for reasons a test could give a false positive. The answer: a cyst on the ovary can give a false answer.

ACK! My heart sunk. I have polycystic ovaries. That's why I have to have ultrasounds done every month before starting Clomid. I called the nurse this morning, and she ordered a blood test. After a couple of hours, she called me with the results that I am definitely having a baby. She estimates I'm probably six weeks today and that the baby will be due June 23rd. My progesterone levels are 25 which means all is well in baby world. Woo hoo! My appointment on November 7th will give us more details. I'll have a sonogram that day.

So I cancelled the appointment with my primary care physician to ask about an inner ear problem. The dizziness is caused by my blood volume changing due to having another person bunking in with me. The weepy days were apparently just hormones. I've felt great again for the rest of the week. Especially now that I can stop telling myself, "If we can't have another baby, it's my fault." It's always a bummer to know you and your spouse really want another baby, but your own medical issues stand in the way of it happening.

Wow. I hadn't expected to go into such detail, but at least baby #4 will have a record of the angst I went through just thinking that he/she may or may not be a reality. We want you so much baby #4 aka: PR--Positive Result!

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Lindley is doing SO well! I keep meaning to take a picture of her incision so that you'll see how amazing she looks. I can't believe it's only been a few weeks since her surgery took place. You can't tell by her activity level. She's dancing and playing just like before. She doesn't seem to have any issues about her incision anymore-in regards to having people see it. She doesn't want it touched. She doesn't even want water sprayed on it in the tub, but she's getting more relaxed with time. It still seems to cause some discomfort when she lays back.

I wasn't able to go with them to her follow up appointment at the hospital because I had the flu, but she went through it like a pro! Ironman said she didn't cry even once. A lot of tests were skipped because we had just done them in the ER the Sunday before. The nurse did a lot of scrubbing on her torso to remove the adhesive she wouldn't let me go near, and Lindley allowed her to do her job with no fussing at all.

She came home on lasix, but now she takes zero medication!!!! For the past year she's been on Enalapril. Now she needs nothing. Thank you, God! Her surgeon as well as the ER doc said her leakage is basically non-existent. No further surgeries are ever expected in her future. She goes back to see the doctor in December. I can't remember the schedule after that, but the appointments are few before they completely stop.

One thing we weren't aware of until we were about to leave the hospital is how bad things looked when they went in to do the surgery. They were worse than expected. The leak had caused more enlargement than they realized. I'll have a hard time explaining the next part, so heart parents, don't laugh at me. I have the operative report right here, but it's in doctor English. To the rest of the world who knows as little as I do about the heart, there's a part around the outside of it that eventually you grow into and don't have anymore if I understand correctly. Children still have it. Is it called pericardium? Anyway, they used part of that to fix a problem that still existed after they repaired the cleft.

To those who will understand: There was still a portion of the posterior leaflet which tended to prolapse. In order to fix the posterior annulus, they used a small strip of autologous pericardium and placed them from about 7 o'clock to 3 o'clock in order to limit any dilation of the posterior annulus. They used a thin strip of autologous pericardium.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

So all is well in the Flawed & Disorderly household! I couldn't feel more blessed and less worthy. Props to the big man upstairs who has brought Lindley through this ordeal so beautifully and shown me He works in mysterious ways...off the fertility drugs. And for the record, I was never exposed to any of the countless x-rays Lindley went through. Ironman went with her each time. When they brought the machine into the ER, I was asked to leave the room. They didn't even ask me if I could be pregnant. I was ordered out, so kudos to the ER for SOMETHING.

This song has really stood out to me for the past year and a half. It's one of my favorites. I really relate to the parts about the darkness closing in, etc. I can't sing it at church without getting teary. I was not the model of strength in faith. I was full of fear and doubt. I wish I could say I went through this whole experience blessing His name, but with anxiety and fear grew cynicism and a little bitterness. Not just aimed towards God but life in general. It's easy to bless His name when the world is all as it should be. I relied on prayers and felt that would make a difference, but I held back on giving all my fears over to God. For that, I am sorry. If I went through another crisis tomorrow, I'm still not sure I could go through it without fear. It's a journey for sure. Faith and trust building is a long process. Anyway, here's the song:


Blessed Be Your Name
by Matt Redman
album: Where Angels Fear To Tread (2002)

Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name

Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name

Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say...

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say...

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name

Lin's follow up

Good news: Lin's appointment went really well. More later.



Bad news: I've been puking my guts up since the night before last. I think today is going to be a better day. I'll update you on Lin's appointment when I'm feeling better.

Our ER Trip

Update: Photo removed for safety reasons.

An update on Miss Lindley.

(Here's a picture of Lindley that my sister took last month, I think.)

About 5:30 a.m. Sunday morning she started throwing up. A much longer story a little shorter...I called her cardiologist in Fort Worth. Found out it could just be a virus or a sign that fluid was building up around her heart. Watched her grow more weak and pale by the hour. The cardiologist told us we could stay in our town to have IV's hooked up for fluids, a chest x-ray, blood work, and an echocardiogram. She warned us we'd have to go through our town's ER and that it would be a 6 hour process since it was a Sunday. Very close. It was 5 hours in the ER. Good times.

The cardiologist was pretty sure it was probably just a virus, but we were scared to take the gamble and keep her home. Once family came over to keep the other kids, Lindley suddenly perked up and made us feel like maybe we were jumping the gun on the ER decision, but before long she grabbed her blanket and laid down on the floor by her grandmother's feet.

We decided to take her to the ER---8 1/2 hours after the vomiting first occurred, so we were tired of waiting to see what would happen.

There was no kind of sedation, and obviously children were not their speciality like Cook Children's. I don't know how many IV's were stuck into her veins before they finally called a pediatric nurse and were successful. Words can't describe the combination of Lindley seeing another hospital bed and nurses combined with being stung with needles and blood running out of her arms onto the sheets on both sides of her. Blood curdling screams for 3 hours straight is the best I can do to describe it as people held down her arms and legs and proceeded to do blood tests, IV's, chest x-rays, and an echocardiogram.

We promised her the echo wouldn't hurt. We didn't think about how hard the tech would be pressing down all around her incision over her broken bone down the center of her chest. We also didn't know that the tech wouldn't notice she had stuck a lead (or whatever they're called) on top of the hole where her chest tube entered. When that was removed, it ripped off the scab. SCREAAAAAAAAAAAAMS all around. We wanted to hit her. We've been specially doctoring that spot for an entire week trying to get it to heal properly.

Then it was just a matter of waiting around for our local ER doctor to get all the results to the on-call physician in Fort Worth. We turned off the lights, and Lindley fell asleep for almost two hours. She cried and whimpered in her sleep every few seconds almost the entire time. I've never heard her do that before.

Yesterday was horrifying compared to our experience at Cook's. I think the difference was that I knew they were hurting her because they were incompetent. The screams at Cook's were usually out of fear and not pain. I know their incompetence was partially related to the fact that they weren't trained to deal with a child like her, so I didn't get furious enough to file a complaint or anything. I'm just really glad it's over. The thought of having to take her back to Fort Worth on Thursday to do it ALL over again is something I DREAD!

Hopefully by then her virus will be gone and none of our other children will be sick.

We're Home!

Hello!

Sorry I'm just now updating! We got home Monday evening. We've been exhausted!

Lindley is a little sore, but that's to be expected. We're still having to keep her from running through the house and playing too roughly with her siblings. She has that broken bone down the center of her chest that will need 6 weeks to heal. She has one other wound besides the incision that we're having to take care of once a day. It's a hole in her side where the chest tube entered.

Understandably, the hospital experience was pretty traumatic for her. She is so shy and flips out just going for check-ups to the pediatrician. There were always people coming in the room touching her, sticking her, flushing IV's, etc. For whatever reason, they would pull her out of bed at 4 a.m. to weigh her. She lost 5 pounds which is a lot when you're only 32 pounds to begin with.

She used to take her medicine daily so happily and never complained. Now it's a scream fest that involves trying to get the meds down her throat before she spits them back out. Before she loved getting nakey. Now she doesn't want anyone to even lift her shirt because they did that to her constantly in the hospital. She seems self-conscious when she has to take off her shirt in front of her siblings. She puts her arms up over her incision. We have to rub medication into her incision and the wound from the chest tube, and that (along with anything else involving going near her shirt or giving her medicine) is another scream fest that requires her arms and legs to be pinned down so we can apply it.

Hopefully things will calm down as soon as the hospital becomes a distant memory. I wish we weren't already going back next Thursday for follow-up appointments. We felt like SUCH idiots on Monday. We talked to various people in the check-out process. Signed some papers. Told all the nurses good-bye. Walked clear across the other side of the hospital to get to our car. We even had Lindley buckled into her car seat when I received the phone call, "Uh, where are you? We haven't released Lindley yet. The cardiologist still has to see her, and we have to go over more information with you." AAACK! Once she said that, I remembered she said she had a folder for me. Lindley wigged out when we had to take her back to the hospital room and sit there for another hour as the world's slowest whoever she was went over every piece of information in the folder multiple times. Then the cardiologist came in, touched her, pissed her off, and started another crying binge that I almost joined in on.

Currently, I'm most concerned that Lindley isn't telling me when she's hurting because she knows she'll have to take medicine. She cringes when I have to lay her down to change her. She can't sit up from a lying down position very easily--especially if it's on a really soft surface.

The kids go from room to room to play. Though we check in on them constantly, it scares us to death if we hear Lindley start screaming. She shouldn't fall down or have a toy shoved into her chest. Her bones are wired together, so it's a strong hold, but we still have to be cautious. We also have to be very careful that she doesn't get sick. The incision and wound from the chest tube are direct lines to her heart, so it's also crucial that no bacteria finds its way through there.

I think that pretty much updates the situation and Miss Lin. I've appreciated you guys as always! I'll update as I get new information. Later!

Just Kidding!

Lindley wasn't able to go home today after all. The cardiologist yesterday must have been smoking crack. I wasn't comfortable with the thought of her going home so early because she still looked really weak. She hadn't even stood up yet. Her echocardiogram showed great results this morning! Woo hoo!

The reason she's not being released is that she's anemic. This morning she was back to not eating, and what little she drank was immediately thrown up. She was very weak. The doctor said she probably wouldn't get to go home until Monday. I wanted her to be well enough to go home today, but I could tell she wasn't. I'm relieved they knew as well as her mother to keep her under medical supervision. :) I couldn't imagine her traveling 3 hours in a car seat in the sickly state she was in.

After her nap today, good things happened! She finally agreed to walk! She was very careful and played with her brother and sister in the toy room. She had her heart monitor tucked into the back of her pants. Then she became very fatigued and her Pappaw carried her back to bed. She didn't eat her dinner. :(

That is all for my updates. I'm doing a ton of laundry tonight at the Ronald McDonald House before heading back to the hospital. We've only slept here two nights, but the kids have taken naps here during the day. Anyway, I know we'll be wanting to jump in the car and leave when Lindley's released and the rules of the RMDH are that you wash every linen from the mattress cover to the blankets to the bedspread. Plus I've still got all the normal stuff like towels and sheets to wash as well as vacuuming to do. I cleaned the bathroom this morning thinking I wouldn't be here tonight, so I'm going to keep it nice and clean by not staying here anymore! I slept on a twin bed, and Michael slept with Lindley on the full sized bed the one night he was here.

I hear that people still share full sized beds even though they were born in the 20th century and have full sized bodies like those of us born further into the decade (as if I'm tall). My grandfather was a tiny man and would have fit perfectly in a full sized bed with his wife. My husband is 6 feet tall and his shoulder span hogs the bed. I'm not into touching while sleeping, so we're used to a king sized bed. We whine even when we have to share a queen because our butts touch when we lay on our sides.

Why am I telling you all this? I'm whining. I'll shut up now.

That is all.

Lindley May Leave Today!

She may be going home today!!!! ACK! They're doing an echo this morning to determine how she's doing. She has a halter monitor on that is mobile, and she still has an IV in each foot, but all the rest of the tubes came out yesterday. It didn't feel too good while it was happening, but she's doing pretty well. Evenings seems to be the time she feels best. The scar isn't as scary as I expected. A lot of fluid is still draining from a couple of the places where tubes were, but we were told not to worry. What else? Ummmm....she finally ate a little food yesterday!

I've been asked about how we're doing as parents. Ironman is feeling much better now. The cardiologist seems to think she's a 1+ now as far as leakage goes. You may remember on a scale from 1 to 4 that she was a 3+ before. A 1+ is considered good and hardly any leakage. If the soochers (sp) hold, it's possible she may never need surgery again. Then again, I heard one story of the leakage coming back after only 7 months. The point is, this news gave Ironman much needed relief. He refuses to leave her side.

I slept in the Ronald McDonald House last night for the second time, but he stayed with her. I was allowed to sleep in her bed on the PICU floor, but it's not allowed on the regular floor after they had a horrible situation with a parent who rolled over on his child and smothered it. The children aren't hooked up to monitors on that floor, so when the nurse came in to do vitals, she couldn't find the baby in the bed. She rolled the dad over who was sleeping on the bed/couch for parents, and found the baby under him. Horrible story!!!

Anyway, Ironman's doing much better. You might recall I've been pretty much a basket case leading up to this whole ordeal. I didn't completely divulge how miserable I was, but the anxiety of it was really putting me on edge. The good thing is that I was completely calm and at ease through pre-op day, the waiting through surgery, and ever since. I didn't get the happy pill I set out for, but on Thursday night before surgery week, I was given Cymbalta that takes 1-2 weeks to work. I'm not sure if I have Cymbalta to thank for the peace or God or God for giving me Cymbalta. Ha. Anyway, I was not at all my normal spazzy and worrying self for whatever reason. The stress has not gotten to me like it usually would, at least I think Ironman is still in one piece. I was also given an Rx for a sedative but found I can't take it for a couple of reasons. One is that it makes me too sleepy. Two, if I take it at night with my new sleep meds, I do bizarre things which I can't talk about here. But I'll save them for rainy day when it's okay for me to be sleepy and weird.

Better get ready for the day. I woke up extra early this morning, but now it's time to get up and around! Thank you for all your sweet comments you've been leaving!

Lindley Day 2

Just a quick note to thank you guys as always for all your kind words.

Lindley is doing well! Her leakage before was a 3+ on a level of 1 to 4. Now she barely has any leakage at all! The breathing tube was removed before she was sent to the ICU. Yay! They are currently taking out several other tubes. Ironman told me not to watch, so I'm taking this opportunity to update you. She's been sedated most of the time. She cried for hours last night asking me to give her something to drink since they had to dehydrate her during the surgery. She was only allowed one ice chip every 30 minutes and her lips and tongue were parched. I felt horrible for her. She didn't understand why I wouldn't give her something to drink.

Today she's been more agitated as predicted. She's waking up more and wanting to pull out the central line that goes from her neck down into her heart. She's angry that I won't take the tube out of her neck. She's been asking for her grandparents to hold her, and she wanted to see her twin sister and little brother. Unfortunately her twin was scared to see her as she is and didn't want to be around her, but Lindley cried when we took Gracie away.

So I'm happy to report the surgery went well, and now we're praying for a speedy recovery. I'm ready to see her back to being herself.

Gotta run! More later as I have time.

Pre-Op Day

Hey Friends,

We're here in Fort Worth at the Ronald McDonald House! I really appreciate you, Anonymous (meow) for offering to cover our stay! Thanks to insurance covering so much of Lin's surgery, we're no longer spazzing out about all the expenses, but THANK YOU! Hugs! We've got it covered.

I have to make this super fast.

Just wanted to let you guys know the surgery won't start until after 1 p.m. Tuesday. We're second in line for surgery. And it's estimated to last 6 hours. We've completed all of the pre-op stuff for Miss Lin. She was a trooper.

My parents are all set up at the nearby RV park. The RMDH is incredible just as everyone said it would be. I can't believe just the amount of food they provide for free. Currently the toilet in our room is malfunctioning and the floor was all wet, but someone should be here within the hour to fix it or we'll change rooms. They've got everything from exercise rooms, to games rooms, to media rooms, to play rooms. There's kitchen after kitchen. I've never seen so many dishwashers in one place! Or refrigerators! This place is awesome. And they only charge $15 a night. Chili's is catering tonight's dinner. If you want a worthy charity to contribute to, this is the place.

I have to cut this short because my battery is about to die. Just wanted to give you guys an idea of what's going on.

Thanks as always for your thoughts and prayers! I'll update you as soon as I can.

Attitude is EVERYTHING, so where are my happy pills?

I received an email today that I'll post below. I've been feeling pretty motivated and energized since Saturday. Yesterday I hit a brick wall, but today I'm better. Still feeling pretty weepy, but that will probably last until November or until I can score a wicked good prescription to give me that excellent feeling called "numbness." Can I do it gracefully without pills? Of course I can! Do I want to try? No, I don't!

People who think you should feel what you're feeling while you're feeling it are usually miserable people and are missing out on the joy of going through hell while being able to remain calm and functional for their loved ones. I've been feeling the worry and anxiety for quite a while now and I've got it down. It's been memorized. I'm ready for the pills that can make me chillax and take it all in stride. The day of surgery I expect I'll be bombarded with well-meaning people full of stupid advice about how I should relax and not worry. I plan on beating them to the punch if at all possible and swallowing a tiny portion of a pill that will prevent me from slashing their chests open while cheerfully telling them not to worry. I used to have access (cough* cough*) to a little pill that would mellow me out without making me a zombie. I'm going for it. Don't judge me. It's not in the bag yet, but my people are working on it. Thanks to the mental health system in my town, it's a five month wait to get into a psychiatrist. I'm having to find alternative methods.

Until then, here's a great little story of a woman who never existed . But it's nice to receive these things at a time like this so I can beat my head on the wall and wonder why I can't have a cheerful and overwhelmingly positive attitude about it all.

Attitude

There once was a woman who woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and noticed she had only three hairs on her head. Well," she said, "I think I'll braid my hair today?" So she did and she had a wonderful day. Xanex

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and saw that she had only two hairs on her head. "H-M-M," she said, "I think I'll part my hair down the middle today?" So she did and she had a grand day. marijuana

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that she had only one hair on her head. "Well," she said, "today I'm going to wear my hair in a pony tail." So she did and she had a fun, fun day. crack

The next day she woke up, looked in the mirror and noticed that there wasn't a single hair on her head. "YEA!" she exclaimed, "I don't have to fix my hair today!"

Attitude is everything. Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle. Live simply, Love generously, Care deeply, Speak kindly....... Leave the rest to God. Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass... It's about learning to dance in the rain .

....................................................................................

The story doesn't mention that she thought those things either before or after crying buckets. I guess no one will ever write little emails about me to forward since I don't have a happy-go-lucky attitude, so maybe I'll make one up myself:

One day a woman took her daughter to the doctor and found out she had a congenital heart defect. She said, "That's okay! We always knew she danced to a different beat!" HA HA!

Time passed and the woman found out her 3 year old daughter would need open heart surgery. She sighed but knew it would be a great time traveling to the metroplex area. Her children would get to see a hospital!

Finally, the surgery was over on October 2. She giggled as she looked at the long incision down her daughter's chest. "Guess who's gonna be Frankenstein for Halloween this year!"

Everybody loved her because she had such a merry attitude. Emails were forwarded from office to office. Attitude is everything! Be happy!

The end.

Have Faith and Quit Your Whining!

I almost took down that last post because it was so negative in parts. Plus I feared that readers were thinking I was referring to their previous comments as being flippant or unhelpful. Not at all! You guys have kept me sane! Not one single person has said anything I would consider insensitive.

The more I've thought about it and the more I've read, I'm finally realizing I'm being too hard on people who love us and have no idea how to comfort us or help us at this time. Most people don't have a manual handy that explains how to comfort loved ones in the midst of various types of turmoil.

On the other hand, I'm still struggling with a certain family member--the one who told us not to give the surgery a second thought.

We were barely awake on Saturday morning--sitting in a dark living room in our pajamas--when I noticed someone was staring in the small window in our front door. I was startled that anyone would be watching us, and even more shocked that it was family who live in a neighboring state. We all know how much I despise surprise visits, but this one ended up being a good one despite the surprise aspect. Ironman has asked this relative not to be at the hospital on the day of surgery because the relative tends to open his mouth and asinine things fly out.

Who am I trying to protect? Okay, my father-in-law visited. His heart is almost always in the right place. I have no doubt he adores his children and wants desperately to protect them from their own stupidity. Never in my life have I seen a person fail so miserably while trying so hard to convince others he's superior in every way. He does have many talents, but imparting wisdom is just not one of them. He has a habit of stating the obvious and then looking at me as if he just revealed a secret of the universe.

Today's lesson was empathy and sympathy. Ironically he did the poorest job of demonstrating either with the conversation that followed, so I don't know why he chose to begin with a lecture of the semantics of each word. Because I knew what was coming, I interjected that it has been VERY frustrating (hint, hint) to have people tell us how we should feel about what's taking place in our lives when they've never been in our shoes.

I was ignored, and the rest of the lecture continued including examples of a friend's daughter who always has a smile on her face and a song in her heart even though her child has leukemia and has spent the past year and a half in the hospital.

Translation: Quit moping around because your child is having open heart surgery. If a mother of a dying child can be so optimistic and upbeat, so can you.

My thought: Good for her. Seriously. If she hasn't had a dark period in a year and a half, more power to her. Personally I think:

A. She has a really good doctor who has given her excellent medication.
B. She is seriously good at putting on a facade of peace and tranquility when others are watching.
C. She has lost touch with reality in order to cope with what's happening.
D. She's come to terms with it and has given it over completely to God who has given her peace that passes understanding.

I hope for her sake that it's D.

D has not happened for us yet. I'm still praying that it will. To some extent, it has. Before I go on with my rant, I'll tell you what the rest of the lecture consisted of...

My father-in-law and mother-in-law tag teamed us on how we simply can not allow ourselves to feel fear or worry because there's no point in it. They went on about how we have to rely on our faith to see us through.

How many times have I thought that or said that in my life? I totally believe it. But I feel like writing a book for Christians who lay an unintentional guilt trip on their brother and sisters in Christ in an innocent attempt to keep them focused on the almighty God. If you would just keep the faith...

Ooooh, so it's my lack of faith that's causing all of this? So it's my fault? Great.

I honestly don't think I would be having the trouble with depression that I'm experiencing now if I hadn't gone along with what my fellow Christians who were promoting the faith in God and expect a miracle mentality. I was even given a book for Christmas (that I only read half of to tell you the truth) that tells Christians they already have the healing from God. You just have to know how to pray about it. To be fair, I should have finished the book before ragging on it, but I was so frustrated by the thought that God would only answer my prayers if I knew the tricks of how to go about it that I tossed it aside. I don't believe God plays games.

Don't hear me wrong. I believe God can and still does perform miracles for some people some of the time. But the power of positive thinking and faith that the next echocardiogram would show she was healed did not work in our case. So each time we got more bad news, I sunk a little lower. Not only was I crushed because I wasn't prepared to hear bad news since I was only focused on what God could do for her, but I also blamed myself for not having enough faith, not being a good enough person, and not praying the right prayers.

I think God would like to tell us sometimes, "YOU'RE TOTALLY MISSING THE POINT!" There have been many times in my life that I felt like God didn't answer prayers, but time showed me he did answer them in his time in his way. I don't doubt this will be the same way. I feel like God has given us insurance and competent doctors among many other things like supportive friends, strangers who are offering to help us in any way, and the list goes on.

It's not God I'm angry with. It's the well-meaning Christians that are driving me crazy. God never said we can't be afraid. We're humans. "I am weak, but he is strong..." And telling me I've got to have faith just implies that I'm not showing enough faith. The last thing I need right now is people making me feel guilty for not being stronger or happier or more positive. I'm scared! I AM praying about it! I AM trying!

Despite all the faith in the world, bad things happen to good people. That's why there's a saying about it. Humans make errors. I can have all the faith in the world that God will protect Lindley, but nothing can change the free will a surgeon has to foul up. It happens. It just does. Saying it won't happen and being a positive thinker isn't going to change how capable the doctors are or how Lindley reacts to the anesthesia or how her body responds to the heart and lung machine. There's a million tiny things that could go wrong. And while I'm HOPING AND PRAYING everything will go smoothly, and I don't want anybody else dwelling on the fact that the surgery may not go as planned, I still have to think about those things. If something goes wrong, I'll blame myself. Not Ironman. Even though we both feel the surgery is our only option at this point, I'm turning over our baby and praying that nothing goes wrong.

"Fingers crossed! Hope you weren't out drinking last night! You look distracted and maybe even a little sleepy, but here's my baby! See ya in 6 hours! "

"Oh, Jennifer! You just have to have faith! It's just Satan putting those fears in your head. Don't give the surgery a second thought. You can't worry about it."

I wish I had the power to say to them, "You're fired." "Your show has been cancelled." "You're cooked."

I don't know. How do you balance the faith it takes to believe in miracles with the reality that God may have another route for you to take? I just don't have it in me to go into yet another situation believing whole heartedly that things will be wonderful and come crashing down if they don't. I'd rather go into it realistically and be emotionally prepared (as much as one can be) for set backs. I wasn't always cynical.

I think my rant is over because Bub is awake. I feel a little better venting once again.

Venting

I warned you in the last paragraph of my previous post that I might have some things to say before Lin's surgery, and I do. I figure nobody will ever be back to read this and that I've probably already been deleted from most blog rolls and RSS feeds or whatever those things are, so here goes.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!

That's me screaming at the top of my lungs.

I'm screaming at all the people who are minimizing what's happening to Lindley and our family.

I try to remind myself they're doing it to make us feel better, but it doesn't make us feel better. It makes us feel like hardly anyone is grasping what's going to take place.

Last night I was told, "Don't even give it a second thought. She'll go in. She'll come out and be a healthy little girl, and you'll never have to think of it again."

On the surface, I see that's just positive thinking. Nothing wrong with that. I don't want to think that there could be complications. I don't want to consider all of the horrible risks. And I don't want to prepare myself for reality which is this will follow us for a very long time. She'll be going to doctors to be monitored for at least her childhood and teen years. This is not necessarily the "fix" we once expected it to be. There are so many variables of how this could turn out that it's mind boggling. Everything from "She'll be worse" to "She'll be the same" to She'll be only slightly improved" to "She's as good as new." I also realize it's the surgeon's job to prepare us for anything.

So right now, it IS my job to give all of this a second thought. And a thousandth thought. It IS my job to be prepared for all possibilities.

I keep getting all these comments about people saying they didn't realize the seriousness of the situation. What the hell!?! Have we NOT been saying since the first visit to the cardiologist that she'd be needing open heart surgery??? But at least those people are a relief because they finally get that it's a major, major, major deal. It's the people who act like she's getting a wisdom tooth pulled that are frustrating me.

This is without a doubt the worst thing I've ever been through. I'd rather be having open heart surgery myself every year for the rest of my life than have my baby go through it once. I can't STAND this! October 2nd is going to be the worst day of my life until I hear that surgery went better than ever expected and she's doing beautifully. If I hear that, October 2nd will be the worst and one of the best days of my entire life.

I'm underwhelmed by the support of some people, but the support we've been offered from complete strangers humbles me. And most of those "strangers" have been cyber friends. I can't thank you enough!

What gets me most is what my life long friend Randa is doing. She is more than a best friend and more than a sister. She lives 3 1/2 hours away in another state. She has two little boys in school, a 3 year old at home, and she cares for her sister's baby. She's asked for her husband to take the day off of work to fill in for her as mommy that has kids to get to and from school, etc. She's had to ask her sister to find someone else to care for her baby that day, and she's driving to Fort Worth to be by my side. She's there as a shoulder to cry on, comic relief, and someone who will take care of my other two children so my parents can be with us while we wait all day for Lin to come out of surgery.

There are no words to describe that kind of a friend. And I don't have enough words to express my gratitude. I never had to ask her to be there for me. I wanted to soooooo badly, but I didn't see it as feasible. Randa, thank you from the bottom of my heart for knowing me well enough that I didn't have to tell you I needed and wanted you there.

Then another friend popped up and offered her support--Headless Chicken aka Adrienne--who has offered to be there in any way she's needed. She's at least an hour away and also has 3 children she'll be juggling to make it work. Never in a million years would I have expected her to find a way to be there that day. I'm completely stunned by her generosity. The younger your babies are, the harder it is to be there for anyone else, and her youngest is only one. I don't even know how she's going to manage it all, but I'm eternally grateful.

And my other friend Christel that I've known over half my life just came to town to visit and scheduled a much needed girls only lunch. Thank you, Christel! She has TWIN one year old daughters, a husband who is frequently traveling for work, and she lives many hours away, but she was eager to help us in any way she could. She even offered to cook some meals for us to put in the freezer and use when we got Lindley home. Her biggest gift to me was her time and willingness to listen to me talk about my fears that day. She simply listened.

Besides being incredibly wonderful human beings, all of these friends have something in common. They get it. They don't tell me they know how I feel since they've never been in my shoes, but I still get the sense that they feel my pain. That's all I need right now. I need the loved ones in our lives to recognize this is terrifying. I don't need people to make light of the situation and tell me to look at the bright side right now. I need to be in the reality of the moment. And that may really rub some people the wrong way since it seems negative and lacking of faith in God. I've been that person who wants people to be optimistic and think positively, but now I will think twice before I try to ease some one's anxiety by pointing out the best case scenario as if it's an outcome I can promise. It's my opinion that I'm being strong, and I'm being real. And this IS a big deal.

Other than cancer treatments and organ transplants, I don't think there's not a lot of medical procedures out there that compare to the seriousness of open heart surgery. It's not ear tubes, or an appendix removal, or having tonsils taken out. It's heart and lungs stopped for hours on a table while people you don't know open your child's chest and stick their hands inside.

If you ever have a friend or a loved one who has some major medical ordeal they're about to go through, this would be my advice:

If it's at all possible, be there with them. Don't make them ask you, just do it. They won't want to burden you. They won't want you to lose a day's wages. They won't want to inconvenience you, so they won't ask you. What made me tear up about Randa was that she told me she was coming and told me there would be no discussion or argument. I still tried to argue with her, but she would have none of it. That released me from so much guilt of inconveniencing her to the huge degree that I am.

I think it's been assumed that because my parents would be taking care of my children in Fort Worth that child care was covered. I will never be able to thank my friends enough who had the
foresight to consider I might need my parents by my side that day. Because of their willingness to step into a role that most would consider taken care of and not give a second thought to, they've freed up my parents. You can imagine how grateful my parents are to be able to have that need taken care of. It's a scary day for them, too.

I know we'll get through this. I'm grateful that surgery is an option for us. I'm more than grateful that Lindley's condition is not more serious because I've met so many heart parents who would give their right arm or more to be in our shoes. When I think of them, I feel guilty for ranting that we've got a serious situation on our hands. But mostly I'm overwhelmed. I think I'd like to sleep for a month after Lindley is home and running around again.

This has been a trying year for all of us. A year of wait and see on everything from insurance to her condition to the actual surgery date. The disappointment today is that we can't donate blood for her. The blood center here doesn't transport blood all the way to Fort Worth, and they don't do credits either. We'd have to donate at Carter Blood Bank in Fort Worth for it to be credited to her. Ironman had planned on donating his own blood directly to her if he was a match, but he was crushed today when he found out he can't donate due to medications he's on. We had a lot of people at Ironman's work that were wanting to donate, but no luck since the blood can't be transported or credited. Last I heard, my blood disease means I can't donate either, but I'm double checking that with my hematologist. If nothing else, my parents will donate the day before surgery in Fort Worth, and we'll be given credit. They don't expect to need more than 2-3 units of blood anyway, so it won't be a big expense to use the blood bank.

That's all for now. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. And thanks so much for all of your sweet good-bye comments. I promise to keep you guys posted on Lin's surgery, and who knows...I may just be in the mood to blog again once all this is over. Stay tuned...

And Now The Blogging End Is Near...

Wow!

I can't believe it took almost 48 hours to dismantle this blog! I thought it would only take a few hours. At the same time, I can't believe it only took a couple of days to wipe out 21 months of writing, 900 posts, and a lot of memories. BUT I did save it to my computer....the hard way and the easy way. I also printed it on paper and can't believe I needed over a thousand sheets to complete the task.

I don't know how I feel right now. A little sad and a little relieved. If you're wondering if you missed something, you didn't. I did it without warning because I didn't want to be talked out of it. This blog has brought me mostly joy, but it's also put me under a lot of scrutiny. I've grown more and more envious of my fellow bloggers who have recently started over from scratch and become anonymous.

At this time, I'm not throwing in the towel on this blog so that I can start up another. For those of you who have been around since the beginning, you've probably noticed this blog has been on life support for about the past 8 months. I've used every stalling tactic from blog rehab to gross pictures in attempt to keep my blog going until I felt like writing again. And then most of my writing became updates about surgery and insurance. I've been feeling like I was letting you guys down for a long time now.

Although it would have been easier to just wipe out this blog with the push of one button, I wanted to keep it up so that I can update all of you precious people following Lindley's story. And part of me hopes I can find my love for writing again so that I can use this cool template! I still love this thing!

Also, I had written a post earlier about saving around 400 of your emails and comments so that I could respond to you and let you know how much they meant to me or made me chuckle. I accidentally deleted it with all the other posts. It was basically saying that life feels so overwhelming right now, I'm going to have to take that off my list of things to do and just focus on getting through the next couple of months with Miss Lin. But please know that I have always really loved your comments on my blog or replies from your blog.

I've pretty much shut down shop here, but it's not completely over yet. I might have some things to share before Lin's surgery, and I'll definitely tell you how she's doing after the surgery on October 2. My email is blessedmomx3@hotmail.com. Like I said, I may or may not have the time to reply. We'll see how things go. Much love my bloggy friends!

(Insert Frank Sinatra singing, "I Did It My Way" here. The actual video was too cheesy to post even for me. ) :D