laborofwonder

Where Whine Meets Wine

Always, Always, Always


I read a post on facebook this morning that said: There is always, always, always something to be thankful for.

(Credit: Just Feelin' Good on Facebook. Clicking the photo will bring you to it!)

While I am still struggling with some things, there (as always) are still things to be thankful for. And since it’s been a while since I’ve remembered to do a Thankful Friday post… I’m doin’ it today! Some of these things have happened and some are happening this weekend… I’m thankful just knowing some of the things we’ve got comming up!

  • I am thankful for a day to celebrate my wonderful hubbyman (yesterday was his 30th!)!
  • A brother (and sister-in-law) that want to spend time with the people who’ve made them aunts and uncles. And requesting an overnight with them!
  • And parents willing to take Littlest for an overnight!
  • That Littlest doesn’t mind and actually enjoys being the only one and getting all the attention!
  • A whole afternoon, evening, night, and morning without children!!
  • A night out with friends!
  • That I’m feeling a little more like myself
  • That I’m giving myself permission to feel however I feel, for however long I feel like it
  • That I already miss my children (yes, I really am thankful for that. It’s a wonderful reminder of how much I love them, even when they’re driving me a little batty.)
  • For family and friends ready and willing to give me their support
  • For a very supportive husband (x a million!)
  • For children who are so aware of my feelings, and are always willing to give extra hugs and kisses when they think I need it
  • For my children.
  • For my children.
  • For my children.
  • For Biggest
  • For Miss
  • For Littlest
  • Repeat x a million

Now, this doesn’t really go in line with my  normal Thankful Fridays (but I am thankful to have people in my personal life, and in my blogosphere life that are supportive and caring in my own mental health!), but a couple weeks ago it was Mental Health Awareness week, and it went by without my notice, so I am posting this photo now, because it’s good to be aware of it any time of the year!

(Credit: facebook group I Jump, You Jump. Clicking on the photo will bring you to the original link.)

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Live To Love Another Day


I opened this tab and sat here and stared at the blank screen, willing thoughts and words to come. I stared at the screen some more. I opened another tab. I checked my facebook notifications. Nothing terribly interesting there. Although, it turns out, I am not alone in my enjoyment of the combination of red wine and snickerdoodles. But maybe that’s because they didn’t know that was my dinner. Whoops. (I don’t care.) It turns out, that the emotions I’m feeling, that I’ve been feeling, they’re not fleeting. Apparently I have to deal with them or something lame like that. I spent the majority of the day in tears.

Now I know that I talk of my love of wine and it’s powerful healing and relaxing properties, but the truth is… I’m not a big drinker. I don’t need a glass a day; I don’t even want a glass a day. I certainly enjoy a good glass of wine (my father in law just made a new batch of plum port, and wow, is that good!), but it’s just more of a eh, if it’s here I’d have some, maybe. Unless I have an already cold can of Pepsi, because more likely that yells my name a little louder. And I kind of have a “rule” that I don’t drink before hubbyman gets home. It’s not really a rule, and truthfully, hubbyman wouldn’t care. I just don’t feel like it (I’m still pumping myself full of caffeine to survive until he gets home, I don’t need anything that makes me more tired!), plus I feel like it can be a slippery slope once you go there. However, there have been days when things have happened or bad moods have occured and I’ve texted the hubbyman to say Is it too early to start drinking? To which he always responds, Nope. And then he gets home and finds that I never even poured myself a glass of anything. Or if I did, it just sat there on the counter. Well, yesterday, I poured myself a glass of wine. And while I only had a couple of sips by the time hubby came home, he took one look at the wine on the counter, and immediately looked at me, and asked what was wrong. I shrugged and shook my head. He immediately came over and gave me a hug, and said, last night you cried and today you’re drinking wine… what’s going on? And I couldn’t even respond. The emotions were too fresh, the pain too real. And then he quietly said, You want another baby. And I just cried. I know, we have three children and our oldest is only 5. We are crazy, busy. But I love it. And I love them. And I am not saying that we would actually have another baby, but I would love another one. But that is not an option. And it’s not a choice I get to make.

While I was terribly disappointed that hubbyman had to drop the kids back off after Tae Kwon Do to head back in to work, I was very surprised to see him return with roses, for me. For the second time in a week! (This is unheard of in our household! Truly, unheard of! I asked if this was his way of getting out of paying the higher prices for flowers when it’s Valentine’s Day. He claims he didn’t think about that until after he bought them. I think I believe him.) I’m sure at some point, we’ll probably talk, with words. But for now, the support of him just holding me, of just acknowledging why I’m sad, and showing his love and concern. That’s pretty powerful. The truth is, I don’t know that I’m ready to talk about it. It’s one thing to type it out, but it’s another thing completely to use my own voice, to have to hear those words. I woke up today, and felt…exhausted. Emotionally spent. I’m hoping it’s a step in the right direction, at least.

In the midst of all my grey skies, I am still surrounded by the humor and excitement that is my children. I wish I could have gotten it on video, but I forgot my camera at home… during Madonna’s halftime performance, my MissE (who loves all things dance and singing) was glued to the TV. When the cheerleading part came on, she stood directly in front of the TV, mimicking their moves and even singing along. (And I promise she has never heard that song before.) It was hilarious and amazing all at once. And further proof that we need to get her tiny little behind in a dance class.

And my oldest just informed that I am making him freak out due to how much annoying I’m being… on that note, I think I have some children to annoy, I mean play with.

my dinner... Red Wine and Snickerdoodles

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Good (a)n(d) Sad


I  have a confession to make… everyone I know seems to be pregnant. Or has someone under one in their house. Or talks about wanting to be pregnant. And I’ll admit, with my biggest boy reaching school age years, I’ve had thoughts of how fast they’ve grown and how soon Littlest will leave the Toddler-Baby years, and be a full fledged Toddler-Boy. And gone will be the days of babies in my house and in my arms. No tears had been shed, just a heart, hanging a little heavier. And then yesterday happened. I was way overtired, and the kids were way over-wired. Not a good combination. On the way home, hubbyman and I were talking about people who can’t put aside their own feelings to be happy for other people. Or something along those lines. And I said something about how much time had gone by and moving on in life, and he countered with, I can see you feeling that way. And at first, I was annoyed, because he was wrong. I would never display my emotions so publicly, especially in a way that would take away some of anyone’s happiness. But that’s me, and we all feel differently and express ourselves differently. And I had no right to judge someone for their feelings. (And if I’m really honest, I’ll own that I feel a little guilty about my judgmental thoughts.) After being annoyed for him being wrong, then I just felt sad about him being right. I still hold to the fact that I would not have behaved in the same manner, but he is right in the fact that I would have felt the same way; I just wouldn’t have shown it. But that’s because it’s not my way. My way is passive, my way is to hide and continue on. My way is probably not healthy. Even writing this, I find myself, opening new tabs and looking over things to organize closets on pinterest. And a fabulous sweatshirt that not only would keep me warm, but actually looks cute and not just another jeans and oversized sweatshirt outfit. Because those things are easy and feeling things are hard. And if I’m really honest, I’m afraid once I start feeling things, I won’t know how to stop.

And that’s precisely what happened.  I started thinking about why the evening’s incident had rattled me, and what I found surprised me. I expected sadness, but I had not anticipated all the anger. As I think happy thoughts of my friends and family that are carrying their growing babies in their growing bellies (my sister in law is looking so cute as her baby belly is growing and becoming more pronounced and I cannot wait to see my friend as her belly grows as well!), I cannot help but feel a bit… of everything. I feel nostalgic thinking of when I had my biggest boy in my belly, I feel sadness when I think about the baby I did not get to meet, I feel happy when I think of how much I enjoyed my growing belly (even thought I felt miserable) with my girl, I feel anxious when I think about how scared I was during littlest’s pregnancy. And then it finally hits me. I feel angry that I will never experience any of that again. Maybe a better choice of words is that I feel angry that I cannot experience those things again. Maybe explanations are necessary, but just to clear up any misgivings (and should hubbyman happen to be reading this), I am not angry with him. This is not about him being happy with our three, or the fact that he had a vasectomy. This is about the fact that I had that choice taken from me, by a Dr. who was more worried about being able to make his other patients’ birth than the care I was receiving. Is it possible I could carry to term, well, I am the first to admit that miracles happen. But the more likely outcome is that I would lose another pregnancy; I would lose another baby. And I know that enduring another miscarriage would be more than I could handle as I cannot imagine a day where I wouldn’t give everything just to see and hold the baby I never got to know, just for a day, an hour, even just one minute.

I knew these feelings would come. I knew that one day Littlest would be grown enough that I would start to miss the days of newborn things. I knew that one day I would have to face the fact that I cannot carry anymore children, no matter if I were planning on more or not. I knew one day I feel the feelings I am feeling now. Anger, loss, sadness, and more anger. I’ve only allowed myself to think of it as our choice until this point. But now that I’ve gone there, I’m having a hard time gaining my control back. All I can think of is the emotions of getting to tell the people you love that you’re adding another person to the group, the look on hubbyman’s face the first time he feels the baby kick, the look on his face the first time he holds his babies, the first cries, the first kisses, the first hugs. I look at my three sweet babies and it’s not that they are not enough, it is that they are so overwhelmingly wonderful that I can’t help but imagine it would be that way with any number of children we should have. It’s the knowledge of how it could be. And the knowledge of how it can’t. And I didn’t get to make that decision.

I don’t know how to get past that. I don’t know if it’s something I can get past. But when Littlest woke up in the middle of the night, I brought him into bed with me, cuddled him close and whispered sincere prayers of thankfulness. It’s not fair that I don’t get to choose. It’s not. It’s not fair that I have one baby who’ll remain in my heart, but never in my arms. But was it fair that despite all the medical failings, along with my own body, that my littlest boy is here, alive, and so healthy? I don’t know about its fairness, but miraculous, yes, it is that. My boy who they didn’t pay the proper attention to (multiple medical professionals knew that he was not growing properly and that his cord wasn’t inserted by much and yet no information was shared with me, nor was complete bedrest mandated as it should have been, among many other things that accured before and after his birth), my boy that my body couldn’t provide for (his cord wasn’t inserted at all and my placenta was crumbling), my boy that has his sweet, soft, chubby little cheek nestled in my neck. His birth ended in the ending of birthing for me, and obviously I would never trade that for his sweet self. So maybe that’s how I get past it. Maybe that’s what gets me through the anger. I’m still sad. And I still think it’s unfair. But I am thankful that I have my boy out of that whole awful situation. And maybe that is what will get me through. That and probably a few glasses of good wine.

(To read more on the birth of my miraculous Littlest man, go here.)

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Mom Challenge


Do you ever have one of those dreams where everything feels so real, and something happens that wakes you up either feeling very a) happy, b) sad, or c) mad? Me too. In fact, I had one of those dreams last night. And I woke up furious. And the fury was directed mainly at the hubbyman (who luckily for him, had already left for work). At first I was confused as to why I was so angry with him. I didn’t immediately recall the dream and I was trying to think of anything to happen recently that would cause that kind of affect. And slowly I remembered the dream. Whew. At least I don’t have to spend any more time being mad at hubby for something he didn’t do. (Or do I stay mad because of the potential that it’s something he could/might do at some point, some day? Hmm… no, I won’t. That sounds like a lot of useless effort, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.) No, he didn’t have an affair, or leave me, or anything like that. And I don’t remember all the specifics, other than he volunteered me or something, saying that I would sit down and do it and not be allowed to leave until it was done. And man did that cause a scene. Maybe because I got up, yelling and stomping like a 2 year old and fled the perfectly lovely dinner we’d been having with some family members… in my dream, of course.

Well, I decided not to hold hubbyman accountable for his actions in my dreams. (You’re welcome, my dear. I’m generous, I know.) So I put on my big girl pants, and went about my business. My business being primarily of the homemaker variety. I cleaned forever, I did mountains of laundry, and I even discovered that there is actually carpeting on the floor in my children’s bedrooms! Who knew?! The day was not going so bad, considering my mood at its start. My biggest boy even gave me a moment of reprieve with his wit: Whew, it’s a good thing I turned to five now. Five is a big helper, and it looks like you need a lot of help around here. (he says as he looks around…hey, he’s not wrong.)

*Just as I typed the last sentence, the computer decided to no longer be connected to the internet (something it decides to do more often then it decides to connect)… and my children were left alone with my laptop while skyping with their cousin (*cough* hubbyman *cough*), and knocked it off the desk or did who knows what to it, so that now the screen lights up an array of beautiful colors, but that is it. (Sad face) When hubbyman got me the computer, he had enough presence of mind to buy the extra warranty, so this week we’ll be bringing it back (it’s only 6monthsish old) and hopefully we will come home with a new, working laptop. And then I can get back to blogging. In the meantime, I’ve been deep cleaning all of the bedrooms, and more. Today, well, this week, it will be the office area. Which means the filing. Deciding which papers can be tossed, shred, or kept for forever never to be looked at again. I also have Biggest’s birthday party to plan this weekend. One I thought we weren’t going to have (after setting a date up, hubbyman decided he didn’t want to do it… but grandparents vetoed and we’re back on!). Needless to say, I have lots of planning going on! Hopefully, the internet fairies will be on my side and I’ll still be able to do some posting in the next couple of days (I’m going to want to share all the fun things for his birthday party… I love kid birthday parties!) ! Until then, I’m going to share this with you. I tried to print out just a couple of them, but the printer decided I needed 5, so this will probably be posted all over the house (I’d planned for the fridge, bathroom, and bedroom, but maybe I’ll post it on their doors as well!)… it’s terrific! And I think even the best mothers can use the reminder to parent with purpose every day, and I think this will do that. Check it out!

(clicking on the picture will bring you to the page! be sure to go check it out and print out a copy for yourself!)

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Rocking Chair Bliss


Thankful Friday… today I am both thankful in general, and thankful it’s Friday. We are expecting some snow, starting this morning, this weekend and I’m looking forward to a weekend of snuggling in with my honeys and maybe some fun time outside. we haven’t had enough snow to really enjoy winter activities and my biggest boy has been so sad about that. Today he decided he misses warm weather since there’s nothing fun to do outside right now. Can’t say I blame him. We were looking forward to snowball fights, snowmen, sledding, and snowshoeing…but there just hasn’t been the snow for it. Hopefully this weekend will turn that around. So today, I am thankful for weather that feels like winter, and hoping it brings snow to make it look like winter as well.

I am also thankful for something else. Those that know me in real life, and probably those that have read along with me for a while now, know that I am a breastfeeding advocate (the daughter of a lactation consultant, I can’t help it!). Now if you know my feelings on breastfeeding and it’s importance you probably just think that I’m not one of the masses who has struggled with it. Unfortunately, that is simply not true. Now I am a go to person for questions, and have never minded the late at night phone calls fielding questions that I sometimes get. Sometimes my hubby even gets phone calls about breastfeeding to have him run by me. I don’t mind one bit. The truth is, a lot of the answers I have, is because I’ve been there. I’ve had a baby who only wanted to nurse all the time (and by all the time, I mean all the time. Truly.), I’ve had to figure out how to get newborns to latch correctly, I’ve had to figure out how to deal with nursing strikes and growth spurts, cluster feedings, thrush, and teething. With my oldest I lost my supply when he was only 9 months- when I was pregnant with his sister. With MissE she and I both battled a long, painful battle with thrush when she was 12 months old. And now with my youngest, after we passed the year mark I was thrilled. No major bumps (or bites). I thought that finally I might have one child that I could wean naturally, in our own time. And it seemed as if we were going rather smoothly along that road. Unfortunately, as his eye teeth have come in, he has developed some bad habits in his latch. My oldest was so adamant about nursing that even very, very little I could coach him in how to hold his mouth and he would do whatever it took to continue nursing. My youngest is more stubborn about doing things the way he wants. These teeth have been slowly easing their way in for months. Seriously- they first poked through  about 2 months ago and they’re still maybe half in. Try as I may, and try with all my might I did, but have ended with pain and lots of tears. After the battle we went through with MissE, hubbyman was adamant that I not let it progress to infection and the battle that becomes. While it seems we may be headed down that road anyways, we’ve certainly been trying everything in our power. I pumped and pumped and pumped some more. I was not getting enough milk and my body was not healing fast enough to actually nurse him. Last week he and I were both sick, which made pumping more difficult. I mean, not only did I not feel well, but he didn’t either, therefore was always in arms. Pumping and holding a wiggly baby toddler is not so easy. Today is my 5th day of not pumping. It’s kind of heartbreaking and I feel disappointed and sad.Littlest is now 18 months old, and I know that I have gone above and beyond what a lot of moms do, but it was not how I had envisioned things. You’d think with 3 kids, at least one of them would be easy! (But I guess it just adds to my frame of reference for more breastfeeding questions.) Now I know this doesn’t sound like it fits into a thankfulness post, and if I’m honest, I’ll tell you- I am not thankful for this. At all. But what I am thankful for is the support I have always been given by my husband. He came to my defense when I called the failings of my body into question (between his pregnancy, his birth, and now this…). He has become a staunch advocate himself, and  I find that something to be so thankful for.

We recently acquired a rocking chair that my parents had in the house I grew up in, which was wonderful because we didn’t have any furniture that rocked. And everyone with kids needs something that rocks! Between sick times and cuddle times- it’s just a necessity. At least to me. And over the holiday sales I found some suede microfiber fabric on major clearance that I snatched up to reupholster it with. I just about lived in this chair while we were all sick, rocking Littlest to sleep. And it became a miracle for while we were transitioning to bottles and milk not from the tap. We’d always nursed for nap time and bed time, and it was becoming a challenge to put him down without. In came the rocking chair. I mentioned to hubbyman how thankful I was for the rocking chair to rock and snuggle him in close, and how still having that time was helping to alleviate some of my disappointment. And so this week he took it upon himself and took apart the chair. He took the old upholstery off, he did some upkeep to the chair itself, and he spent a couple evenings in a row doing the actual reupholstering. I really missed being able to use it while it was a work in progress. But when I took Littlest upstairs to rock after an hour of unsuccessful bedtime attempts, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness. He put his chubby little hand around my neck, gave me a kiss (along with the sound- his kisses always include the sound mmmwah!), nestled in, and went right to sleep.  It may not be the way I’d hoped, or the way I’d envisioned, but as I sat and rocked my sleeping baby, the disappointment and frustrations subsided and all I felt was thankful. For this old rocking chair turned into new and my sweet hubbyman who always seems to know my heart.

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The Ways of The (My) Man


My hubbyman is one of those “man’s man” kinda guys. You know, the kind that will invent a huge project filled with lumber and tools just to avoid any kind of mall or store. Now, I’m not really complaining about that, I prefer the mall without my husband, usually. I’m a wanderer, and he’s a complainer. Those things just don’t mix. And I thoroughly appreciate the fact that he can take care of pretty much any need that should arise in the home, be it plumbing, painting, or any form of carpentry. (Remember the Thomas bed? sidenote: I thought I had a post with the kids in it, in all it’s finished glory…but I couldn’t seem to find it. Hmm. Although I do think I have it in an album on facebook- go ahead, “like” me on facebook and see!) Anyhow, he’s more than a jack of all trades, he’s one of those people who is just good at everything. Or at least anything that you can turn into a project.

I joined my hubbyman for a happy hour with his coworkers last night and they joked about when the last time they saw him smile was. The last time I’d joined them for happy hour, they joked about how one of their goals is to get hubbyman to show more than one emotion in a day. If this isn’t starting to paint a picture, let me tell you about a joke that we have shared for most of our marriage. When apologizing, I tell him that I am sorry I hurt his feeling. Feeling. Singular. As in he only has one. While this is, of course, in jest. And he really is a kind-hearted, loving man, and father… he is just a very focused one. A very focused, man’s man, kind of one. The kind of man who’s always thinking about the big picture, so he’s always working harder, finding another project, and doing something. He is always thinking about and trying to make our lives better.  He is a hard worker and an excellent provider, but (admittedly) not the greatest of communicators. He’s not the kind of guy who does big romantic gestures, or gives romantic speeches in prose. And if I’m needing to hear something, I generally have to tell him. But when he does do (or say) something without my prodding, it is always heartfelt and better than anything I could have come up with on my own. He knows I am a card person (I love giving and receiving them, always have.), and my favorites are when he has made me very elaborate cards, and due to his artistic capabilities (Truly!), they are always works of art. I don’t mean he took a blank piece of paper, folded it in half and wrote I love you on the inside and called it good. I mean he spent more than an hour on it, and it really is a work of art.

I recently was reading a post from the lovely Karyl, at ilovethishusbandandwifestuff. She was talking about how her hubby tells her she’s beautiful and how hard it is to receive that compliment sometimes, and I commented on the post and have been thinking about it ever since. Even though my hubbyman may not be the most sensitive of men, when he does go there, it’s always memorable. Here is part of my comment in response to her post. (And what gets me through in between all the manly man stuff to remind me that even when he’s wrapped up in a project, I am what he loves.)

I’ve known my husband since I was 14 and sometimes I wonder what he thinks as he watches me growing older. But even in our early 20s he told me he had a dream where he saw us sitting on our porch together, little old grandparents watching over the lives we’d built. And he saw me with grey hair. And he always smiles when he talks of this dream and tells me he can’t wait to see me at that age, and that he thinks that’s the most beautiful I’ll ever be. Where the lines on my face and the grey of my hair are symbols of the life and the time we’ve lived together.There’s just something so sweet about a man who sees his spouse through eyes of life. Where even though you’re so tired or you’re in your sweatpants, or you’ll never look like Heidi Klum, it doesn’t matter because when he looks at you he doesn’t just see the beauty in your face, he sees your heart, and your lives, and all that you’ve put into it. And that’s always the best compliment. 

And really, could it get any better than that? When it comes down to all his man’s man projects, and thinking, and feeling… I’d take his random, heart-felt, and heart-melting words, cards, and moments over weekly flowers any day.  (But I’d still accept and love the flowers.)

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Here We Go Again


I didn’t plan on posting today, mainly because my house is a huuuge disaster. Not only was this last month ridiculously busy, but as soon as people walked out our door, the plague walked in. Littlest has had a fever for a few days, and has been unwilling to spend any time out of my arms. And Big E came down with it yesterday and spent most of yesterday vying for a spot in my arms. This morning, for the first time in almost 5 days, I woke up to the sounds of all three of them in the playroom- playing! Unfortunately, it didn’t last for littlest E, he still spent the majority of the morning in my arms, but as the day goes on he’s a little more willing to venture forward. So U got ambitious and decided I’d attempt the dishes. What did I get for that? I got sprayed by the water hose. For those of you who’ve read this for a while, probably can guess my reaction to being sprayed, yet again, by that stinkin’ sticky handle on the sprayer. Turns out once it’s been tied down, it likes to remain stuck down, or randomly stick down on its own accord. If you are new to my life blog, then you may not know the story. And even if you aren’t- maybe a reread is in order. So here you go:

This morning I got up and it was freezing! I’d been cold all night too- even with Big E snuggled into our bed (I don’t even know when that happened?!), and that boy’s a heater. So turns out the heat never got turned up before bed (I turn it way down during the day depending on if we’re spending our day upstairs or downstairs… no point in heating an area we’re not in!). So I was cold and a little cranky. And then I go upstairs. I have Littlest E on my hip, because he’s been up for quite some time playing and is starting to get a little cranky. I get my favorite coffee cup -because of it’s size- and turn on the water (yes, I admit it, I was going to make instant coffee. Please don’t judge. I know it’s bad. I’m just that desperate for coffee immediately.)… and then it happens. I get sprayed with water. And it takes me a moment to realize what’s going on (hello?! no coffee yet!?!), and to realize that the baby on my hip is being sprayed directly in his face. Great. So I turn the water off and look at the hose, figuring something had to have gone wrong. And then it hits me. It’s APRIL FIRST. Crap. And there’s the string tied around the hose. So I do a little growling and muttering as I cut the string off. I wipe Ethan down, change shirts.  ….it might also be helpful to know this about me: I HATE when my clothes get wet. Like hate, hate. So much that a small spill even, will send me back into the house to change, no matter where I was heading, or how late I already am. Hate. It’s weird, don’t question it- it’s just how it is. Then Miss E (the 2 1/2 year old, nicknamed the dEva) starts asking for some water and she’s whining… so I pick her up and we go get her water. Turns out, the hose had been tied down so long, it wanted to stay in that position. You should also know something about Miss E: She’s dramatic, and she hates getting her clothes wet at least as much as I do. And still no coffee yet.

Breathe in….breathe out. Make enough coffee to feed an army. Drink and watch Ellen. Breathe. Try not to mutter about killing my husband in front of the children… aaahhh, coffee kicks in. As I posted in my facebook status: [Husband]- apparently you’ve forgotten who cooks your meals, washes your clothes, and raises your children… because you’d think you would know better than to pull a prank on her. But don’t worry, I’ll make dinner extra special as a reminder!

 

If you want to read more about this ridiculous story, you can read the original post in it’s entirety, my revenge post, and the post where the prank never ends, and obviously it never does because that was almost a year ago!

So may your pranks be epic, your coffee pot full, and your face stay dry.

I can’t wait until April.

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2012


After a much needed hiatus, I am back my dear friends. The holidays are over and life is beginning to go on as usual. They were wonderful, ridiculously busy, and filled. And I hope that yours were too.

Here are some of my favorite things from this last year:

  1. Visits from far-flung family and friends.
  2. Weekend getaway with a girlfriend. (and a stowaway in the form of sweet little(st) E
  3. A summer completely filled to the top with some of my favorite people
  4. Our best anniversary getaway to date. (That started with free champagne and chocolate covered strawberries and ended in a free hotel room.)
  5. An empty hotel and pool fun with my sweet, little family
  6. Cutting down our own little Christmas tree, no matter how Charlie Brown-esque it may have been
  7. game nights with friends
  8. quiet evenings with those I love most
  9. late night Wii fests full of wins and defeats all around
  10. laughter, tears, and everything in between that makes life as challenging and wonderful as it always is that leaves us grateful for everyone and everything in it.

 

I hope to continue my attitude of gratitude for many years to come, not just 2012. May you find lots of reasons to be thankful for the year passed (even if it’s just it’s passing), and in the years to come.

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My 12 Days of Christmas


The other night as I was counting down the hours until our house filled with guests, my hubbyman was out running around doing some Christmas shopping with his brother. (I should note that he did take Littlest with him and was doing so because we were trying to surprise the kids with the arrival of their cousin. Seeing their uncle seemed like  it might give away that surprise, so hubby went out and about while I stayed home and finished preparations.) While I was running around  like a chicken  with my head cut off, I found myself singing my own version of “The 12 Days of Christmas.”  And I’ve continuously had it in my head since, so I thought I would share. I hope you enjoy them, or at least can find the humor in it.

On the first day of Christmas my true love left with me…

a great big pile of laundry

On the second day of Christmas my true love left with me…

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile of  laundry

On the third day of Christmas  my true love  left with me…

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile  of laundry

On the  fourth day of Christmas my true love left with me…

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile of  laundry

On the fifth day of Christmas  my true love left with me…

five huge meltdowns

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and  a great big pile of laundry

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love left with me…

six hands a’clinging

five huge meltdowns

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile of laundry

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love left with me…

seven movies skipping

six hands a’clinging

five huge meltdowns

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two  dirty toilets

and a great big pile of laundry

On the eight day of Christmas my true love left with me…

eight dishes breaking

seven movies skipping

six hands a’clinging

five huge meltdowns

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile of laundry

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love  left with me…

Nine dozen cookies baking

eight dishes breaking

seven movies skipping

six hands a’clinging

five huge meltdowns

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile of laundry

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love left with me…

ten guests a’eating

nine dozen cookies baking

eight dishes breaking

seven movies skipping

six hands a’clinging

five huge meltdowns

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile of laundry

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love left with me…

eleven words a’cussing

ten guest a’eating

nine dozen cookies baking

eight dishes breaking

seven movies skipping

six hands a’clinging

five huge meltdowns

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile of laundry

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love left with me…

twelve bouts of screaming

eleven words a’cussing

ten guest a’eating

nine dozen cookies baking

eight dishes breaking

seven movies skipping

six hands a’clinging

five huge meltowns

four poopy diapers

three cranky kids

two dirty toilets

and a great big pile of laundry

Go ahead and have this playing while you read through it again so you can really get the feel! And enjoy!

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Christmas Sadness


So…I didn’t post anything yesterday (you obviously noticed instead of sitting there obliviously, right?? I’m going with, obviously!) and I thought about skipping it today…. but thoughts of you won out. That’s right, you.

The holidays are always a hard time for me, emotionally, physically, mentally… it’s the time of year I’ve always struggled most. It’s seasonal depression-esque but probably a little heavier. I have trouble sleeping- I toss and turn, even though I’ve made a point to go to bed earlier than I normally do and have outlawed the computer in the bedroom so that I have nothing distracting me from sleep- other than myself. And then I wake up and I’m so tired you’d think I barely slept the night before and it’s truly all I can do to drag myself out of bed. This morning I realized that as I get older, it may be worsening instead of being alleviated.  My tip off? The fact that I sat and looked longingly at the coffee maker, wanting coffee, but thinking I just didn’t have it in me to actually make the coffee. It just seemed like so much effort. Uh, what? Houston, we definitely have a problem.

Hubbyman will admit it, begrudgingly, but he too as seasonal depression. I’m sure a good part of his is that he never sees the sun. It’s dark when he leaves for work and it’s dark when he comes home- and that is hard on a person! I’ve been trying to coax him into talking to a Dr. about it, but it seems a little silly when I have not done that myself. Maybe we can go together and it’ll be like a date. (Yeah, that’s not happening.) But I am hoping that if I decide to take the leap of faith and trust that I don’t have to feel this way, maybe he will too. Instead of laying back to back, tossing and turning, both battling the same restless feelings, without the words to fully explain them. (Plus, as a spouse it’s hard to not internalize your partners feelings.)  The point of why I’m sharing this? (Because I’m not exactly enjoying telling people that I think making coffee is a lot of work… c’mon, coffee?! It does explain the mountain of laundry though, if I think coffee is a big deal.) Maybe you’re feeling that way, or maybe someone you love is feeling that way. Know that you’re not alone, know that they aren’t trying to be a grump during the time of year lots of people become bubbley annoying versions for their former put together selves. So talk. Talk about your feelings, talk about their feelings. And remember it’s ok. See a Dr., see a therapist, see your best friend. There is no shame in doing what is necessary for you, or your spouse, partner, friend, family member…. No shame. Only encouragement, support, and hopefully a better nights’ sleep.

The truth is, I’m antsy even sitting here, with visions of laundry fairies and diaper genies dancing in my head. I’m pretty sure they’re laughing at me and how they won’t be visiting my house, instead leaving me to wash all the diapers, and the rest of the laundry on my own. Me, who thinks coffee making takes a lot of effort. Yikes. If I can figure out a way to bribe -or blackmail- them, I’ll be sure to let you know.

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