...going through the change...

Change.

Change is tough for me. Typically, I don't embrace it. Even if I know the change is needed, good, required, etc., I still struggle.  Sometimes I can stop, take a deep breath, and move on.  But sometimes, I worry, strategize, worry some more, and proceed with caution.  Other times, I move quickly, realizing that the change is so needed that it creates the anxiety that if I don't make the decision to change RIGHT NOW, my perfect little somewhat crazy life will be so anxiety-induced that I may not be able to function.

Recently, I had one of those AHA! moments that we needed to make a decision to change.  Quickly.  For the past 2 and 1/2 years, we have/had been taking our girls to a well-known and highly accredited "school" that really draws you in based on curriculum and technology.  They hire certified teachers and you pay a lot of money for all of that.  Overall, we were happy.  Merrick had attended for only 1 year, but Taya was in her third year.  We have experienced a lot of turnover in staff (because certified teachers are typically looking for jobs in elementary and not pre-school) and for the most part, we dealt pretty well with that.  I managed to lay low for the most part as a parent.  (Ahem, not a small feat for me!)  And also, I got "close" with a couple of Taya's teachers.  (I have wondered if this was a sub-conscious act on my part to get the teacher on the good side and they will prefer your kids???, but in hindsight have determined that I genuinely liked them!)

Although we thought this was a good school, and I liked the teachers, Taya and I continually struggled with going to school.  In 2 and a half years, I honestly can not remember a time when we didn't struggle with drop-off.  Typically, it was Taya crying, me trying to reason with her, and ending up leaving with a sometimes sad, sometimes crying, sometimes tantruming, and sometimes completely melting down daughter.  We have tried MANY strategies to help, even asking one of my favorite SLPS to write a Social Story.  (I also had talked to the Pediatrician about severe attachment issues and was recommended that we go to counseling, but that's another story!) We had temporary success, but never anything long term that "cured" the problem.  And we had been seeing increasingly worse behaviors at home that didn't seem right for our little princess the bear that we typically knew.

The AHA! moment came about a month ago.  I had been noticing little things here and there when I would drop Tay off or pick her up, but the realization came on a Friday afternoon when I picked her up and saw one of Taya's "friends"engaging in an EXACT behavior that we had recently seen at home.  WHAT???  My bear was imitating behaviors.  Yes, I realize that all kids do this.  But, her behaviors had become pretty extreme.  And I was at a loss.  And it was on the way home that day that she finally decided to confide in her mama that she did not like being at school anymore with her "friends" that were bad.  UGH!  She had been in class with some of these friends for 2 1/2 years, and we had a "routine" (albeit not a great one), and although I realized we weren't in a great situation, I wasn't really sure what to do.  Because, if we did anything, it would required CHANGE, and I was still struggling (still am) with the change that I have been going through with my (forced) new job position.

And then, the guilt set in.  What had I missed?  How could I have not seen the cues she was giving?  Why hadn't I paid more attention to the fact that we had never settled in to a good drop off?  Why did I not put two and two together when she repeatedly asked when she could go to school with Merrick?  Why did I lay low as a mom instead of addressing certain issues?  Was this an epic mom fail?  Hello, anxiety!

The next night, Dave and were having dinner with friends, and I decided that I needed to chat with him about considering a move to a new school.  (Great timing, right?) But we talked it out on the way home and agreed that we needed to look in to a new school.  Without much hesitation, and very little discussion, we decided that it would be best if Tay went back to the "kollege" that the girls had both attended when they were little, and like that, we were preparing for change.  A rather large change.  Based on a single instance that had brought about a moment that opened a flood gate of realization.

I chatted with Taya, and expecting her to be sad, quite the opposite occurred.  She was excited.  She wanted to learn at a new school.  She wanted to be away from the boys in her class.  And she wanted to be with her sister again.  (The "kollege" also happens to be M's aftercare!)  And my worry about THIS change went away.  Because T was on board.  And it would be good, right???  (It was sad, however, telling her teacher, then leaving on the last day with both of her teachers sobbing, I was crying, and Taya skipping out the door ready to embark on her new adventure!)

And for the most part, going through the change has been good.  Dave did drop off and pick up most of the first week, and this week I embarked on my solo journey.  We had 2 really good days, 2 OK days, and 1 REALLY BAD DAY that resulted in me sitting in my car sobbing, and continuing to cry all day long because I had messed up her routine by FORGETTING to drop her off at school.  But, my amazing sister went and checked on her and reported back, and I was a little more at ease.  Taya is learning so much, she is reciting bible verses, she gets to hug and kiss her sister when she sees her, she is making friends, and she is overall doing a great job!  Her behaviors at home have improved some, and her manners are much, much better, and I am a proud mama that is thankful for the change.

However, as is the story of life, I am facing another change.  After several recent chats with one of my closest friends and confidants, I have realized that my well-being is in need of a change.  For the past 7 years, I have forgotten who I am.  And that is a change I am going to be working on.  Changing from "wife, mom and professional" to "Me, including but not limited to wife, mom and professional."  And dare I say I am anxious to see what this change has in store for me.

...the pumpkin tradition...

Traditions...

I wouldn't say that either Dave or I grew up with traditions.  There may have been things that we did every year, but nothing like a "trumps all else" type of tradition that we knew that we can count on every single year.

In the past 8 years, Dave and I have been a part of 2 yearly traditions.  One we started on our own, and one that we stumbled upon in 2006 when we made a trip to the pumpkin patch with some of our best friends and Merrick's best friend.

I think the pictures tell the story better than I could.  So here is our tradition, in pictures...

FALL 2006- Pumpkins and Pines

FALL 2007 - Pumpkins Galore

FALL 2008 - Pumpkins Galore

FALL 2009 - Aholt Farms

FALL 2010 - Valley Farms

FALL 2011- Valley Farms

FALL 2012 - Pumpkins Galore

So, that's the story.  And if I have any say so, we will still be telling the same story, albeit a little longer, for 15 or 20 more years.  Who knows, maybe our kids will eventually tell the same story.  :)

...her first hour...

(Disclaimer: this is a lengthy story. It is a story of/for Miss M in case I never get the chance to tell her myself.)

I've told this story many times. Chances are, if you are reading this, you have already heard the story, which could make for a boring read. But for me, retelling this story, and now putting it in print is therapeutic.

To say that I was a healthy pregnant person would be, well, a big fat lie.  Because, I was not.  But, who knows how their bodies will react to pregnancy before you are actually pregnant, and actually live through the birth of your child, and sometimes even the actual birth of your child doesn't mean that you have actually survived the full experience.

My pregnancy with Merrick started out eventful.  We I had been trying for a while (I am pretty sure Dave was just along for the ride, not really realizing that a baby was the end goal) and I had all but given up.  On Mother's day of 2005 I sat in church and cried because I had truly believed I was pregnant, but found out that morning I was not.  And, I gave up.  I had decided that at almost 30 years old, I had passed my opportunity.  I mean, who gets their dreams crushed on Mother's Day, right?  I figured it was a sign, and went about life.  And 1 month later, I saw that extra little line on that test that had answered my prayers.  I was gonna be a mama, and I could not have been happier.  (Side note:  fast forward about 2 years and 5 months and the reaction to the second pink line was not quite the same, but that's a completely different post, which will be entitled, "thank God for intervention.")

I was super excited and began reading everything I could get my hands on about my baby.  But at 8 weeks I found myself in the emergency room holding the hand of my best friend Katie, hearing the doctor say that it was probable I would lose my baby, then crying when I saw the little flicker on the monitor.  And then at 12 weeks, I was back in the doctor's office, this time holding the hand of my sister, and seeing that sweet little baby of mine bouncing off of my uterine walls and being completely in awe at how she had gone from a flicker to a baby in 4 weeks.   (All because apparently this girl's body doesn't understand that one of the perks to pregnancy is, well, you know!)

Despite feeling like I was going to throw up non-stop for a super long time, everything was going great.  We found out that we were having a baby girl around 20 weeks, and then, about a week later, I began retaining water.  Normal, right?  Apparently not so much, but nothing to worry about quite yet.  Bring on the kick counts, and flip flops cause my feet were not so much fitting in to any other shoes that I owned.  I passed my 3 hour glucose test and continued to gain large amounts of unexplainable weight, and every time my doctor reassured me that I was doing nothing wrong.

Merrick's due date was February 15, 2006.  I had a routine doctor's appointment on January 16th.  That day, I was put on bed rest, because I was really swollen.  So, I explained that I HAD to tie up some loose ends at work the next day, but I promised I would only stay a couple of hours and go home. That night I went home, made sure my bags were packed, (just in case), and proceeded to head in to work the next morning.

I was sitting at my desk working when the phone rang.  The called ID somehow identified that it was my doctor, and I remember thinking, that's weird, I am supposed to be at home, why are they calling me at work?  That phone call literally changed my life.  My doctor had called to tell me that I had to get to the hospital immediately.  HUH???  I was not due for 4 weeks, and I didn't have my stuff, and I didn't know where my husband was, and WHY DO I NEED TO BE AT THE HOSPITAL IN AN HOUR????  Apparently I was spilling protein in my urine.  UMMM, WHAT?  So, I did what any other girl would do.  I cried.  And one of my very good friends drove me to the hospital while I repeatedly called my husband, who was not answering, and I got checked in to the hospital.

Apparently, I had preeclampsia.  I didn't have high blood pressure, but I had all of the other symptoms. We had a biophysical of the baby, who was perfectly healthy with tons of hair, and continual monitoring of my blood and urine, and a plan was put in to place.  At approximately 6:00pm on January 17th, I began a 48 hour slow induction.

48 hours of labor.  Awesome.  No food, hairy legs, and well, labor.  (The very nice nurse brought me a razor so I didn't need to bring this baby in to the world with hairy legs!!!)  And, they even let me eat jello and chicken broth, and Dave gave me a bath and my mom blow dried my hair.  It was kind of like the spa, but it wasn't.  And the only thing keeping me going through the hourly blood draws was the monitor that showed my baby girls beating heart.

At some point, I got an epidural.  At some other point, they shot medicine in to my arm that I swear caught my vein on fire, I got 2 healthy doses of sleeping medication to make it through the nights, lots of  love, support and visitors, and then it was the morning of January 20th.  Game day!!!  Although, after all that time, I really hadn't made any progress.  So, we kept trudging on and at about 4 o'clock, my doctor began preparing us for the reality that a c-section was likely our best option.  Except that I had an awesome nurse who was not giving up on me, (like I had the ability to dilate my cervix) and made everyone else leave the room except my mom, turned the lights out, spread my legs WIDE open with some contraption, laid me on my side, and we waited.  But not long, because HOLY PRESSURE!!!

And in no time, I was dilated to a 9 and it was go time.  (Big surprise to Dave who walked in to go to the bathroom and walked out to hear, "We're at a 9!!!")  I am pretty sure he almost passed out.  I mean like, grab the side of the bed and hold on kind of almost pass out!

So, they prepped the room, got my doctor, I pushed a couple of times, and at 5:51 pm (almost exactly 48 hours after we began) a beautiful 6 pound 11 ounce baby girl with a head full of hair was placed on my chest.  I actually muttered something like "Wow, that's it?  I'm done?"

Except, I wasn't.  I was vaguely aware that my doctor had been hanging out down there between my legs for a while, but I had just had a baby!  And she was awesome!  And I was a MOM!  So what if my doctor was still hanging out down there, right?  So, remembering that you had to push your placenta out, I asked her if I needed to push some more.  She said no, asked how long it had been, and this is what I heard...

"15"
"We gotta go, how much of her epidural does she still have left?"
"It just ran out"
"We need to go.  We have to get her epidural going, now"

At this point, I think Dave and I were the only ones who had no idea what was going on or where I was going, but my baby was taken and handed over to her daddy, and off I went with my doctor and nurses down the hall, in to a room full of other doctors and nurses.  My nurse told me that everything was going to be OK, sweetly kissed me on my head, and stayed by my side.  I don't remember much about that hour, but there are things that I will never forget.  I clearly remember watching my body move in front of me with no feeling.  I remember them trying to find veins to type my blood but were struggling to find veins due to the swelling and blood loss.  I remember having an additional IV added while my arms were laid out straight to my side.  I remember the talking, but having no idea what was being said.  But most of all, I remember asking if they had given me medication to make me go to sleep, because I was struggling to stay awake and I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, I would never wake up to see that beautiful baby girl that I wanted to hold and love forever.  So, I prayed to God that if he would let me live through this, I would be the best mama that I could possibly be.

During that hour, I would later find out that they had given baby girl her bath, that she cried until they put her head under the faucet.  They had checked her out and she was perfectly healthy.  And I missed it.  I missed being able to see what everyone else got to see.  And you know what, I can't watch it.  I try, and I cry, I try again, I cry again.  It's been almost 7 years, and I can't watch it.  So, I don't try anymore.  Because there is something in this mom brain that brings me back to that time, and I can't handle it.  Because, what would that baby girl have done without her mama?

When I was rolled out of the operating room, I remember really questioning if I was alive or not.  My family and Dave's family and family friends were lining the halls, and there were criers, and at least one sobber.  It was kind of crazy, like I was passing by in a coffin and not a gurney.

We would later find out that I had a retained placenta that could not be manually delivered.  What should have been a 20 minute surgical removal turned in to an hour because it was just that stuck.  I lost a ton of blood and was nearing the point of needing a full hysterectomy, only an hour after I had just given birth.

I would also later learn that the event had so traumatized my husband, that future children were really not an option.

It also traumatized my doctor who cried as she talked to my family, because she hadn't had that experience in her 20 year career.

But, my baby girl and I were OK.  We had made it, and almost 7 years later, we are still going strong.

I wonder why it happened and worry that it may happen to my girls, and what if I am not around to warn their doctors?  But, I realize that there is nothing I can do about that now, so that's a worry I have to let go....until then.

Back together, where we needed to be

...what difference does a £ really make...

The scale and I are not friends. We have a hate/hate relationship. Pretty much always, but especially since I have gained, and subsequently lost some weight. Problem is, it's not enough, so I just stopped looking. Dave is very nice about saying I look skinny, but he always thinks I should see how much I weigh because he thinks I'd be happy to see a smaller number. Problem is, it's usually NEVER smaller. So, I just don't weigh.

This weekend, however, I decided I was going to see if I could fit my fat ass into a pair of jeans that I hadn't tried to put on in over a year. My favorite jeans with the entire right knee perfectly blown out. So, I laid them on the bed, looked at them, walked away, came back, and walked away again completely afraid of failure to fit. So, I waited until Dave was in the shower to try them on. After all, I did not want to have any spectators at my failure party! So, I shimmied them up past the thighs, over the hips, and over the ass. And, they buttoned! And I wasn't dying to breathe!!! Success, right!! Dave got out of the shower, saw my accomplishment and said, did you weigh?? Ummm, nope! Not that brave.

But today I did, and I'm up 2 pounds. But do the pounds really matter? I am at a healthy weight for my medium framed, 5'9 body. And my favorite jeans fit again. :)

I did get to thinking though... If my lbs were like money, I would only weigh like 90 £s, and what a difference that WOULD make!!!

...THAT Mom...

I was having a conversation with one of my best girlfriends the other week about what it means to be "that" mom.  She was getting ready to voice her first day care "concern" to the director and said that she didn't want to come across as "that" mom.  As a self identified "that" mom, I quickly assured her that being "that" mom was awesome.  It means that you are a caring and advocating parent who will always look out for your child and if it means that you ruffle others feathers, so be it.

But since that conversation, I have really thought about all of the other possible definitions that can define "that" mom.  I have determined that the definition of "that" is infinitely layered and is only dependent upon the situation it is referenced in.  Which brings me to this post.  Who is "that" mom?

According to Mirriam-Webster, 
that (pronoun) is defined as the person, thing, or idea indicated, mentioned or understood from the situation.  
(I swear I did NOT look this up until AFTER I made my own definition!!)

In my world, I have numerous personal definitions...

"that" mom:  The mom who turns into a Mama BEAR at the very thought that someone or something has done something to make one or both of her children unhappy or hurt.

"that" mom:  The mom who intentionally embarrasses her children at the stoplight by singing and dancing wildly while the children in the back seat are pleading "Moooooommmmmm."

"that" mom:  The mom who is coined by the principal, directors, teachers, counselors as the mom who is high-maintenance and will ask too many question, voice too many concerns, and the very sight of her can make them growl under their breath.

"that" mom:  The mom who makes decisions that not all other moms would make and may go against societal norms.  (e.g. the mom who decides that co-sleeping is the best option for MANY reasons and who breast fed her daughter until she was almost 21 months old)

"that" mom:  The mom who gives in at the store so as not to cause a tantrum because you just can't deal with one more crisis that day.

"that" mom:  The mom who carries her children kicking, screaming and biting out of the store because she has not yet met her quota of tantrums for the day, leaving an entire cart of things for an employee to put back.

"that" mom:  The mom who sits in her car and cries after dropping her child off in a crying panic because they don't want to go to school that day.  

"that" mom:  The mom who loses her temper and says things she doesn't mean out of rage, and then cries because she can't believe she would ever say something like she did.

"that" mom:  The mom who will go without something that she wants so that her kids can have something that they want.

"that" mom:  The mom who sits in the bathtub with her vomiting children in the middle of the night because they don't understand what is happening to their little bodies and that is the only thing that will calm them down.

"that" mom:  The mom who has her children's names tattooed on her wrist for the world to see,  their hospital footprints tattooed on her hip,  and a butterfly for each tattooed on her back.

I know that there are so many more definitions that I will think of after this post, but for right now, this is "that" mom that I am.

I embrace being "that" mom because I know that at any given moment, I am doing the best I can do by my children.  I am not always proud of the choices that I make as a mom, but even in those moments, I remember that I am just doing the best that I can, (and at that moment, the best isn't very good!!!)

Just curious (because I know way more people are reading this blog than I EVER thought would), what are some of your definitions to "that" mom?

...Mother of the Year? Yes, please...

One of the good things about my new job is that my start and end time can be somewhat flexible, if there is a need. And yesterday, there was a need.

The day started out OK. Not great, but fairly typical. Taya had been semi whiny since she got up, and had refused to put on a stitch of clothing before she got to PreSchool. (This is a reoccurring phase, and an oh, so pleasant one at that!)  So, wrapped in her favorite blanket, Taya walked in to school and immediately we went in to crisis mode.  Apparently, it was Cardinal gear day...and we had not been aware.  No big deal, right?  Taya is a four year old GIRL who shouldn't really care anyway.  But Taya is not your typical four year old girl.  She is obsessed with the Cardinals.  Not crazy, crazy obsessed, but obsessed to the point where it was NOT acceptable to be at school and NOT have on Cardinals gear.  She knows how to read the scores, knows about as much about the game as I do, and can spot Cardinal paraphernalia anywhere.  (As a comparison, we wouldn't have thought twice about Mizzou day...) And many of her friends had on their Cardinals gear...thus, we had a meltdown.

Through tear-filled eyes, Taya asked me if I could go home and get one of her Cardinal's shirts. So, I did what any Mom would do, right??? Got her quickly dressed in the cute outfit i had brought and explained that Mommy did not have enough time to run home and get her shirt, (the trip is 20 minutes each way, add a couple of minutes to go in and find the shirt, and you have a round trip of 45 minutes) but I would run to Target and grab her a new shirt.

Except, no, it's NOT what any other mom would do because at the same time I was telling my girl that it would be OK and Mommy would take care of it, another Mommy was pointing out all of the kids in the class that were not wearing Cardinals shirts and her child would just have to get over it.

So, I proceeded to tell T I would be back in no more than 30 minutes.  And off I went to Target.  I knew exactly where to get the Cardinals gear and this was going to be a quick in and out.  Except, when I started perusing the shirts, there were NONE to be found in kids size.  Ugh.  (I did, however, score some pretty fantastic Mizzou shirts for the girls to wear to a Mizzou party on Saturday!!!)  And I headed to Wal-Mart.  Same story.  Then I headed to Kohls.  They were closed.  Then I headed to Mobile on the Run, because they are big Cardinal's supporters.  Nothin'.  By this point I am sweating profusely even though it is like 35 degrees out and I am wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and I am COMPLETELY stressed because I have now passed the 30 minute mark.  Dierbergs just happened to be in the same lot as the gas station, and remembering that they also have Cardinal's stuff, I decided to run in, just in case.  But, nope.  Only adult sized shirts that were less than cute.  It was now 5 til 9 and I had already called Goddard to let them know I was still coming back, and texted my 9:20 conference call to tell them I needed 10 more minutes.  I put on my thinking cap and headed back to Target.  I grabbed the supplies I would need, headed to the check-out where the lady felt sorry for me that I was back (after I had given her my sob story once already that they didn't have kids shirts) and sent me to a speedy customer service check-out where the girl said, "ummm, weren't you already here once today?"  (Why yes, I was, glad I am so memorable!!!)  And back I went to my girl.

After a few minutes of giggling in the bathroom, she came out looking like this:

A shirt + wrapping ribbon = emergency shirt dress and a happy, happy girl!

This smile made that crazy hour of my life completely worth it.  And I already have plans to make this shirt in to a real dress that will surely be super cute as well!!!

So, my could have been 45 minute round trip that cost me only gas money, turned in to a greater than one hour crazy search for a Cardinals shirt that resulted in a $35 purchase for 2 new Mizzou shirts and a $25 purchase for necessary supplies to make an emergency shirt dress.  (not to mention being an hour late to work).

But then I wouldn't have had the giggling experience in the bathroom that resulted in that beautiful smile, and I wouldn't have had these awesome Mizzou shirts:

Does that make me Mother of the Year?  nah.  But it's fun to dream, right???

...about last night...

Or about tonight, it's been a shitty day, and I drank Rum when I got home...not proud, but it's the truth.

Also about tonight...you know that saying, "when mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."  Ummm...at my house it's this:  "When Taya ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

Also about tonight, thank you "Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood" for like 20 minutes of quiet.

Oh yeah, about last night...

It started out like this:

I was just hanging out with the girls.  It was a wee bit  really chilly out (hence blanket and Uggs), and we were out by the ever so popular dirt pile and trailer that the girls like to play on.  I was chatting on the phone with my sissy, Julie, when my friend Amy came in the yard with her two labs for a friendly chat.  It was dusk and not so easy to see out in the field, but we quickly saw my little white buddy (aka 8 pound maltese/schnoodle, who really knows what the heck he is???) run up to the labs, like he was really something next to those labs.  So, I quickly scooped him up and resumed my chat.  When, out of nowhere (or, the dusk, or somewhere) came LC, our 9 year old shepard-beagle mix.  And, Dori (the black lab) was not appreciative, and the girls (or bitches, because technically, that's what they are, and let's be honest, um, territorial girl dogs are bitches) began to fight.  Not just a little fight, but a full-fledged all-on girl dog-fight.

On the outside, I'm sure it was humorous.  Girl one, in her dress clothes ('cause she was too lazy to change) and Uggs (that matched not at all) holding a little white dog in one arm while rapidly flailing the Lion King blanket, that had previously been used for keeping warm, at the dog fight while hitting Girl two in the face more than she was actually hitting the fighting dogs.  Girl two, in appropriate after work clothes, trying to hold back two labs (who collectively weigh more than she does).  Add in a lot of curse words and two screaming girls on a trailer, a lot of screaming from Girl one and Girl two, a lot of running around the field and heavy breathing, and you have a pretty humorous scene.

However, at the end, it wasn't so humorous.  Dori (the black lab), was bleeding a lot from her ear and laying in the field, not getting up.  LC (the GS mix) was running back home to find her Daddy, and Daisy (the yellow lab) really wasn't sure what the hell had just happened, but was perky as ever!  As for Girl one and Girl two, we were wore the hell out!!!

And our girls looked like this:

LC, after Daddy took her to the Vet to inspect her wounds...

And...

Dori, after her mama gave her a bath...

And that was our night.  It was a wee bit stressful, a wee bit emotional, but all turned out OK.  :)

And then, I had a really shitty day, but that's another story!!!

...because, what if...

I am a hypocrite, and I use bad grammar.

I am a hypocrite.  Yep, I said it.  I have said, on more than one occasion, I would never, ever blog.  Why?  Because bloggers are people who think so highly of themselves that they put their thoughts out there with the intention of other people reading their drama.  Oh, but I was wrong, and I admit it.  Because, the more I read people's blogs, I realized that there is a reason that each and every blogger decides to blog, and who am I to judge?  Because, really, everyone has their own hand of life going on.

When Gina encouraged and inspired me to blog, I thought I was doing it for one reason, and then this morning, while I was driving to work, I realized that I was totally wrong.  True, I don't care or expect anyone to read this.  I was/am doing it for therapeutic reasons.  But then, something hit me and I couldn't wait to get home and write about it...because, what if???

What if something happens to me and I have left my children with no scrapbooks of their lives, very few videos to see who their mom really was, no journal to tell them stories of their lives, sadly filled out baby books or calendars, etc.  Because the truth is, I suck at all of those things.  It's not that I don't care, it's just that I don't think about it, and I don't enjoy scrapbooking like my friends.  But, I do enjoy writing, I do find it therapeutic, I do like telling others about my kids, and I do like the fact that in the case of "what if," my kids just may have a better idea of who their mama was, while getting to read about their lives, where they came from, what they did, how they acted, and all of the things that they would miss out on if I hadn't decided to start a blog.  So, there you go.  I am a hypocrite, and I am sorry that I ever thought being a blogger meant that you were self-centered or in need of attention.  Who knows, maybe I was jealous that I didn't have the self-confidence to do it myself.

And about that grammar.  I am totally aware that I overuse punctuation, my favorite being the ellipsis.  Truth is, I have no idea why I do punctuation in threes, it's just who I am...???!!!  :)

So, I think I shall change the title of my blog, to the title of this post.  It seems more fitting than "..."  perhaps which was used because I really couldn't think of anything else.

And a big thanks to Gina and Brooke for changing my viewpoint of bloggers.   :)

Dinner for two...(and a whole lot more!!)

Yesterday, when I picked up M from school, she was very sad.  A very sad day usually means a stop at the local Dollar Tree, because lets face it, kids are much more happy with "you can pick any two things you want" as opposed to "nope, we are NOT buying a $50 robot just to make you feel better."  (and our town just happens to have THE BEST Dollar Tree I have ever been to)  However, yesterday, we made a stop at a different "dollar" store, because M was in need of "new" and "exactly the same" markers that she had been using at after care when I picked her up and she just NEEDED to finish her picture that she was coloring because otherwise it might be the "worst day ever" in her 6 year old mind.  So, off we went.  And when one child has a very bad day, it results in buying something for the other child to avoid a whole other issue.  That other thing was a porcelain tea set that cost a whomping $5.00.

So, when the girls got home, they quickly got to work.  I helped Taya wash the tea set, and she and Merrick set up a table.  I wasn't really paying attention at that point because I was going through other things, and chatting with one of my besties about her day care issues, and then Dave got home, turned on the Cardinals game, and we just went about life.

Before too long, I was being told that it was time for our date.  Huh?  I was escorted to a small rocking chair, and asked to sit down.  I forced my bottom in to the chair (yes, I fit, barely) and was then told, "maybe you should sit on the other chair, Dad's bottom is smaller than yours."  REALLY?  I just squeezed my mom hips in to this chair!!!  So, I moved, to the stool and Dave was told that he should sit in the rocking chair.  So, he started to squat, realized that his Dad butt wasn't gonna fit either, made a comment that "your mom already blew out the sides on this chair" and claimed he needed a different chair.  (Well, at least my ass FIT in the chair!!)  And this is where we were:

We were told that there would be entertainment.  Apparently Katy Perry was in the house, although to me, she much more resembled Baby's sister from Dirty Dancing, especially when she started dancing...

It's a little blurry, but you get the picture...

Katy got through her song, while Merrick (the entertainment director) stood in the background and got on to Dave for watching the Cardinals game instead of the performer... which looked like this...

And then it was time for Taylor Swift.  However, approximately 30 seconds after the start of her song, THIS happened...

And the show pretty much was stopped, not due to choice.  Poor Merrick did NOT understand why the Wild Card game and the controversial call was more important to her dad at that moment, and had a little bit of a melt down.  Only, this wasn't a tantruming melt down, it was a "silent cry, start putting everything away because I am pretty sure that this means that no one in this family loves me" type of meltdown.  But, I appeared to be the only one that noticed as Dave's face was glued to the TV screen.

So, that was that.  A very bad, horrible, no good day....turned a little better...then crushed again.  Ugh.

But, that's pretty much the story of my life.  I have given birth to TWO drama queens.  I wonder where they get that from???

The thought of a dinner for two with live entertainment was pretty exciting...maybe another day!

This ones for G... (oh, and maybe my sanity)

So, this is my first blog.  Well, kind of.  But, for all intents and purposes, it is my first real, live, shareable blog.  And it is for Gina.  But, for myself too.  Because, right now, it may be the only thing to keep me sane...

I am fully aware that G is the ONLY person likely to read this.  And that too is OK, cause she knows my ins, outs and crazies, and she STILL loves me.  And lets be honest, she already knows most of it anyway, so, she may be too bored to read it.  :)

As we speak, my blood pressure is going down and I am successfully blocking out the "goings on" with my children.  It is one of my "single parent" nights and the girls are doing every. single. thing. they can do to drive me nuts.  This is a normal when Dave is gone.  I really think they plot to drive me crazy.  So, tonight I decided that this may have to be my night to start "blog therapy".  And the truth is, I already feel better.

But the problem with this type of therapy is that it could have a stressful effect (affect?).  I am not so creative.  I don't have a cool enough vocabulary to sound all awesome like other people.  My life is pathetically boring, and all I really have to talk about is my kids, my kids some more, how I am a high maintenance parent, my kids some more, how I get stressed out a lot, my kids some more, how I don't always agree with Merrick's teacher, and oh yeah, did I mention that I talk about my kids a lot?  I have no (time for) hobbies, and I support all of the activities that Dave participates in.  I am a little jealous that he gets 3 mini-vacations nights out a month with no kid responsibilities, and secretly dream that someone will offer to watch our kids for a weekend so that we can get away like everyone else we know.  Come to think of it, I secretly wish that HE would offer to watch the kids for a weekend and arrange for me and some of my friends to have a little getaway.  (That does happen in books in real life, right??)

While I am on the subject of vacations and getaways, yeah...  haven't seen one of those since 2005.  Literally.  We (as in all 4 of us) did take a mini-vacay this summer, but aside from that, I can count on one hand the number of nights that I have spent the night away from both of my children since Merrick has been born, and 2 of those nights I spent with 100 4th graders, bugs, mice and raccoons, so not sure those really count.  I do fantasize about a girl trip to anywhere.  But, not sure that the guilt of putting all of the responsibility on Dave would even be worth it...

Another reason I wanted to try this blog thing is as a trial for another blog I am considering starting with my sister, but want to know what the heck I am doing before actually doing it.

So, that's it.  I have successfully blocked out my children's fighting behaviors, and they now appear to be playing nicely together.   I feel like I took a 15 minute mental getaway, which is nice, AND, I HAVE found it therapeutic to type a bunch of words on my computer that no one else really cares about, yet, I feel like I got something out of it... so, all in all, my first "public" blog was a success.

Maybe I will try this again.

Until then...