In a Blue Moon

I had an existential crisis on Christmas Eve. I lost my purpose and it scared me so much. It was my husband's birthday, the baby turned 3 months old, the older 2 were sick, and we were supposed to leave the next day on an 8 hour car trip.

I cried, I thought thoughts that I really shouldn't think. It was just no good.

The excitement I usually feel on Christmas Eve was not there at all and it was completely depressing. "Santa" was not happy to give her gifts. The cookie baking lead to fits, the bike for Winston was a complete failure, and all the day's events were leading to the worst Christmas of my adult life.

But then the big boys wouldn't sleep and I started to get nervous about the presents I needed to arrange in secret. The nervousness led to much cherished excitement and I got everything done about the time it changed from Eve to Day on Christmas.

The Day was pretty good. I may write about the gifts that were really successful, but mostly I just want to remember the boys playing all day long, the relaxed "it's Christmas" feelings, and being able to pull together a stellar Christmas Dinner when I thought we weren't having anything but leftovers and candy.

We left on the 26th in a surreal mood. The trip was going to be long, and yet we really didn't care. We were in the van, we were traveling, and it was going to be ok.

Being with all of my Father's family usually makes me want to scream and hide, but this time I relished it. I loved every person I saw, savored every bite of my Grandmother's food, and was even better to my boys that I ever am at home.

After some time with my family we went to NM to see The Mr.'s Dad and his wife. We were snowed in and the feeling was indescribable. We were stuck, if only for a few hours, together. My boys, big and little, and me, in a kitchenette hotel room. The window in the little kitchen faced north, and when Winston woke up he ran to the window with his Papa and said, "Mommy, look! It's snowing!!"

The boys played in the snow, sat at the table to do newly gifted art projects, and swam in the hotel's indoor pool.

We went to visit Grandfather and Lamb (husband's father's wife's maiden name, and the name I'll use here when writing about her) the second day of our trip, after naptime. The Mr.'s father was so grateful that we'd come, even if our only visiting was done in the hospital waiting room. He told me my husband's nickname as a baby as I watched Lamb tear up. We didn't know if he was ever going to make it out of the hospital.

The morning before we left, we took the boys to see them one last time. The Mr. and I were both anxious. It could have been the last time he ever saw his father alive. My husband pulled out the fancy new shirt our boys had chosen for him for Christmas to wear that day and I knew he was feeling a loss even if it hadn't happened yet.

The last thing his Dad said to me was that he hoped he'd make it out of the hospital.

Lamb called yesterday evening when we were just a couple of hours from home.

Today, my FIL is going home. Home to his house, with his Lamb. They asked if he wanted to stay through the weekend, and he chose to leave early. I am so happy that he made it out of the hospital, and so proud that my little ones visiting may have helped him to get there.

Tonight, there will be a Blue Moon in the sky. I want to go home too. I want to find my home inside my own insides, and curl up in my bed there.

Today I have listened to music, read a chapter in a real book, and tried to give myself some room to breathe. My purpose, rather it remains the same, is slightly revised, or radically different, is in there somewhere. I don't want to feel any loss that doesn't yet need to happen.

I can let myself go home once in a blue moon.

Status

We are 3 full days and a little extra from Christmas Day. We have Winston and Wednesday on antibiotics for bronchitis, and the Mama is seriously stuffy-nosed with a frog in her throat.

I need oranges for stockings, another gift for my mother (the handmade thing I had planned didn't happen), and I really wanted to get The Mr. a couple of more things too. Oh! The 24th is also his birthday, so I'm cooking an extremely parred down birthday meal for him. I usually do a Feast of the Seven Fishes type thing, but I just don't have it in me this year. The grocery store and Target both need to be visited tomorrow.

The plans, as they stand, are to open non-Santa gifts on the 24th. Our has-accidentally-become-tradition Christmas breakfast will be served that morning. We were also going to take the boys to Grandma's house to see their cousins and get their biggest Santa gift that day. It's a good thing I put them together in my MIL's garage, as it looks like that's as far into Grandma's house as we'll be going.

We had planned to leave as soon as we were done with Santa's offerings on the 25th to drive about 8 hours to my Grandmother's house. The 27th we're supposed to drive another 220 miles to see The Mr.'s father and his wife in New Mexico. The boys need more long pants, the baby needs a warmer hat, and we need snacks for the car (see need for grocery store and Target).

So, ummm, HOLY MOLY YOU GUYS.

We have sickness, we have travel preparation with a new baby, and we have unfinished Christmas/Birthday stuff.

I am slightly overwhelmed and extremely calm all at the same time. I guess that's Christmas.

Alive and Well

Hello, Beauties!!

I'm an awful blogger, I know. But I'm here, right now, so...Ta da!!

We are all doing pretty good these days. Winston is so big. I was four feet and eight inches tall in the fourth grade. My oldest son is two inches away from being four feet tall and he is four years old!

Tomorrow is his big Hanukkah show at school (where he is reading and ready for Kindergarten, according to his teacher). He has an assigned seat where I have to bring him in the morning so he can get his flashy golden gelt costume on. We are both very excited.

Wednesday is still the most silly and hilarious boy I've ever known. He turned three, you know, and he is most assuredly not a baby anymore. Now, if we could just get him to potty in the potty it would be glorious. He is right at the age where he is so very big, but I can still scoop him up for spontaneous snuggles without much of a fight.

Minnow is huge. He is divinely cute. Minnow is my favorite snack and just the most snuggly bug of a baby I've ever known. He is laughing, and squiggling, and charming everyone he meets. He got fussy in Barnes and Noble yesterday and caught the attention of the four or five ladies in line. I turned him toward the Giant! Yellow! Gift Wrapping! Sign! and he started laughing. He won over every single one of those women in a flash.

What else do I need to tell you? Thanksgiving was darn tootin'. Whatever that means. My food turned out better than it ever has in the past. Wednesday had two friends come and play on his birthday. They decorated enormous sugar cookies, are squash-berry muffins, and played outside until Winston came in and said, "I'm having a big problem out there, Mommy! I'm too tired to be nice anymore!".

We're spending Christmas at home; a tradition my Mama started in my own family that I appreciated then and do even more so now. A visit to my Grandmother's house and The Mr.'s Dad's house are in the works for after Christmas.

The Mr.'s Dad fell about two weeks ago and broke his leg. They expect him to be fine, but he is tired of being in the hospital and kind of down-in-the-dumps. His wife sent the most beautiful quilt for Minnow with the entire alphabet embroidered on it. His name is at the bottom, with a well placed "Z" to finish it out.

I think I'm just rambling now, but I've missed you so, little blog o'mine.

Some questions I've been pondering: What is a good way to introduce Karate to Winston before he starts once a week next year? Have any of you ever cooked turnips and LIKED them (I really want to try them this holiday season)? Does anyone have a good, Christmas-y, molded, jello salad recipe? I've always wanted to make one of those too.

Love to all of you.....

First Things First

This post must be written before the one about my gorgeous new baby so these thoughts won't contaminate his loveliness.  Let me preface this by saying that I love my mother and I very much appreciate her coming down here to help before, during, and after the baby was born.

BUT

I'm still bitching about all the things that she screwed up while she was here.  I was going to let this go, but I just opened the package of onsies she bought for Minnow and I can't contain it any longer.  

The Kitchen:

She does not rinse the dishes before she puts them in the dishwasher.  My dishes don't get clean.  She puts them away DIRTY.  Then, I have to inspect each thing she put away and put at least half of it back in the sink so SOAK and then be washed again.  I love when people do my dishes for me; except her.  And she will do them even if I tell her not to.  There is no stopping her.  Also, she puts things away in the wrong places.  Bowls with the tupperware, serving spoons with regular ones, cookie sheets with pots and pans.  It's just really frustrating.

The Laundry:

When Wednesday was born my mother did at least 10 loads of laundry in the time she was at my house.  Not one of those loads was actually dried all the way.  But she folded those damp clothes and piled them on our bed.  So when I got home from the hospital I had a bed full of mildew-smelling clothes that I could neither wash or fold by myself.  My husband had steam coming out of his ears.  This time, she did less laundry, but succeeded in DESTROYING the Big Brother shirts I HANDMADE for Winston and Wednesday.  Like hand-sewn patches, hand lettering, iron-ons.  They are ruined, and I'll have to re-do them now.  The other laundry she did was, of course, not dried all the way.  I managed to rescue it from her clutches right after getting home from the hospital.  Lastly, she bought the baby an outfit he already had, in the same exact size, and would not take it back.  And the onsies she bought??  They say "I am the boss", and "It's all about me".  NO, MOTHER.  NO.  Good golly, Miss Molly.

The Children:

After being with her for any amount of time they were like demons on crack.  They were rude, mean, and did not listen to anything that my husband or I said.  This was not a helpful occurrence with a newborn in the house.  We had two of the worst mornings ever in the history of our family as a result of morning visits from my mother (my Dad was here too.  But I don't have anything bad to say about him.  He follows my rules, is calm when the boys need him to be, and cooked dinner for us).  Just GAH.

Me:

She kept trying to be all lovey with me.  I don't do lovey with my mother because she takes it WAY overboard.  I tried not to grimace and flinch, but it was really difficult.

The Hospital:

The morning we were going to the hospital after taking the boys to school, my Dad called her about 6:30 to make sure she was awake.  She told him we were all still sleeping and that she didn't need to get up.  She didn't get up until 7:45 when we needed to leave by 8:15.  AND she went to get ready just as my husband was walking to the bathroom.  We were so close to being late for everything because of her.  Both times my obgyn came into my hospital room during my stay my mother my snoring like a dying elephant on the couch bed.  I was already up and dressed and my mother is laying on the couch snoring so loud that the nurses kept looking at her like, "Shut UP, Woman!".  It was embarrassing.

There are a lot of other things.  But that's enough that I feel cleansed and better now.  Thanks for letting this be a ranting place.  Once again, I'm glad she was here, even if it was hard to put up with.  We couldn't have gotten me in and out of the hospital without her.  

Baby Boy's Bloggy Badge

So, I have narrowed it down to two options for the soon to be born Little Mister's blog name.  I have a favorite, but I wanna know what y'all think first!  Let me know which one fits with the other boy names in the comments if you wanna...

1.  Woods:  Implies nature, has the descending syllable thing with the other boys names (Winston, Wednesday, and Woods).  Plus, it's a slight play on the origin of the baby's real name.

2.  Minnow:  This was kind of hubby's idea.  Instead of having 3 W's, flip the third one upside-down to make an M name.  This one ends in a W though, so the flow is good.  Also, it's funny to think of this guy as Minnow when he appears to be so HUGE.  Adorable word as well!

So, whatcha fink?

School Rules

When the last session of summer camp started after a two week break this year, I was overwhelmed with how sad I felt.  It wasn't the reaction I expected from myself, especially when you consider what a handful Winston (and Winston and I together) had been during camp's intermission.  But there I was, bawling my eyes out, clinging to the boys and wondering why in the hell I paid for more camp when it felt so wrong to send them again.

That singular reaction started a thought process that I'd been trying to avoid for at least 2 years:  Homeschooling.  Suddenly, I felt like maybe there was a reason why I gravitate toward blogs written by homeschoolers, and why I enjoy planning learning activities so much.  Having been bogged down in a constant struggle with him, a method of reconnecting with Winston in a meaningful way that we both thrive on was an imminent option.  Storytime, during projects, and planned activities were our only saving graces during most of the summer.  Would homeschooling allow those peaceful times to expand and improve our relationship?  Also, keeping Wednesday home and teaching him things in a setting where he felt comfortable, instead of him weeping at school drop off, came as a welcome relief, even if it's not quite time yet.

So I got on Amazon until the wee hours of the morning and searched through books.  Then I went to the library, list in hand, and checked out everything I could on homeschooling.  I started reading, and encountered far more positives than negatives in the books I'd found.  There was only one instance when I just couldn't finish a section for the principle of it.

Then one day, I happened to be on Facebook when my former voice teacher mentioned spending the afternoon doing math with her 7 year old.  Remembering that my mother had said she was homeschooling I sent her a message almost immediately.  Was she homeschooling?  Yes.  Could I talk with her about it and ask questions?  Sure!

It was fantastic.  Someone I knew as a teacher and friend had already been teaching her boys at home for three years.  I asked her everything I could think of, kept reading, and then asked more questions.  What did her typical day look like?  How did she teach part-time and homeschool simultaneously?  What method did she use?  Curriculum?  EVERYTHING.

I looked up everything she said online and had another brain flash:  One of my best friends from High School was homeschooled until she was a freshmen!  Again, I very quickly sent her a message and hoped for the best.  I wanted her impression now, of how being taught at home affected her.  She responded right back, and had nothing but excellent things to say about her experience.  As one of the most artistic, creative, and expressive people I know, this was very exciting.

But as this break between the end of camp and the start of school stretched on, I got nervous.  Winston loves school, and is in a very good environment right now.  Could I really take him out of there and provide something even better?  I had just started to think that maybe I was getting in over my head when I woke up in a panic Monday night.

There was a meeting for the parents at the boys school Tuesday evening.  The bubble of our experimental "homeschooling" learning (I want to tell you more about this, I even have pictures!) was coming to a close, and school was about to start.  I went to the meeting and left feeling pretty heart-broken.  Hearing everything through my newly educated ears was so sad and worrisome.  The main focus of the directors entire speech was money and not being late.  As I sat reading, I saw that they even included the states guidelines for "healthy" lunches in the handbook!  As a parent, I am already following Kosher rules (for the school), my own families dietary needs (husband is diabetic), and keeping in mind any food allergies that may be present in the boys' classroom.  Please don't tell me them, to include "healthy soups" in lunches when there is a very clearly stated rule that they won't reheat anything for longer than a minute.

Sigh...

On top of all of that, the new director repeated to all of us that she'd had to reassure some parents that the could pick their children up early or only send them three days a week.  This was really disturbing to me.  We are talking about pre-school.  It's not required, and we're paying for our kids to be there.  Of COURSE we can pick up our kids early and send them when we deem appropriate!  

Winston's teachers were awesome.  They're well certified, in love with their jobs, and eager to teach.  The assistant is actually my preferred person for him, but the main teacher worked with him last year quite a bit when one of his teacher's hurt her arm.  But there was one thing that the head teacher said that just ruffled my feathers like nothing else.  She mentioned wanting a better play kitchen for her classroom, and then that she wanted to make the little house next to it into a doll house.  Up to here it was all fine.  Then she said "for the girls".  The kitchen, dress-up clothes, and house were "for the girls", while the carpet with roads on it (!!!  not exactly exciting) and the train table were "for the boys".  I think she must have gotten a look from more than one of us because she corrected herself and called it "dramatic play".  This may not seem like a big deal, but Gosh Darnit if I haven't worked for my boys entire lives to teach them that it is ok to play however you want to.  If you want to dress up?  Then do it!  If you want to imagine you're a chef, or cooking dinner, or changing a diaper, or a dancer then you are more than welcome.  ...It just really ticked me off.  I'm not interested in gender stereotypes AT ALL.  My boys have trucks and wagons and trains and super hero toys, but they also have a play kitchen, a tea set, a baby sling, and dress-up clothes.

I'm going to send them this year, even though Wednesday weeps every time I mention it.  He'll get two weeks to settle in and adjust.  After that, if the crying continues I'm just pulling him out.   I'm going to pick them both up before lunch everyday, and after nap, we are going to learn something fun everyday with Mama.  Because when next year comes around, I think we're staying home.

I have a lot more that I'd like to write about when it comes to this decision, what others might think about our family, etc.  So if y'all don't mind reading it I'd love to keep going in another post!

He Dreamed a Dream

Wednesday, right now this morning, as best I can recall:

"There was a FishLady and a GirlPapa and da GirlPapa bit me right dey onna arm (points to his forearm above his wrist)!!"  He bit you?  "Yes he bit me right dey, and I screamed like this:  ahhh (very quiet scream)".  Like that?  "No, like this!  AHHHHHH!!!!"  Oh My, and what else happened?  "And the GirlPapa was mean!  And dey put da fish back in!" They did?  Where did the fish come from?  "Da FishLady's neck!"  The fish came out of the fish lady's neck and they put it back in?  "Yeah!  Right dey (points to the front of his neck)!"  What else happened?  "And the GirlPapa went back to his blue stuff, and the bite came off!"  

And then right now, he walked up and added:

"On the wall in my dream there was a mean song, it was a biting song!"

I don't ever remember Winston articulating a dream so clearly, and that was completely unprompted.  He just walked up to us, after loving on his cat, and told us all of that very animatedly...  

"I had a dream last night, and it looked just like a dream" -Gibby Haynes 

Right Now

I am officially 4 years younger than the Happy Meal this year, and as always, 2 years younger, to the day, than MTV.

In 55 days I'll be the mother of three boys and last week my husband asked me if there was a Baskin Robbins in town.

Last night, he brought home an ice cream cake with "26" piped in crooked numbers on the front.

It's butter pecan flavor, which just happens to be my MIL's favorite. Maybe the pilfering was for a reason.

This morning, a new pink camera made it's way into my hands. The beach is forthcoming as well, and now I don't have to make my own cake.

14 MP, 5X zoom, hopefully some friends, a cranky 4 year old, a chirpy 2 year old, and a husband I cannot imagine life without.

Thank you...

The days before

Last night, while pilfering the ice cream I'd bought for tomorrow, The Mr. told me, "It's not even close to your birthday yet".  How dumb of me to buy ice cream two days before so we could take it to his mother's house.  I even got HER favorite kind.  I bought cake mix and frosting too, because Winston especially expects for their to be cake when it's someone's birthday.  On the frozen foods aisle Wednesday looked at me and said, "I want to come wif you to your birfday, Mommy."  My birthday is just at home this year.

That's perfectly fine with me.  I have issues with my own birthday anyway.  We lost our first baby a month before the biggest birthday celebration I've ever had (Vegas!), and got pregnant with Winston less than 2 weeks later.  Maybe that's why it seems so insignificant.  I didn't really begin until Winston was conceived and born.  It just feels wrong to celebrate too much the person I was before they all came.

Last year, much to my surprise, my husband went all out again.  I used my spa gift certificate, we took a surprise shopping trip to Houston so I could buy some new clothes for myself.  I was shocked, and it took me a long time to process that it was for me.  I dunno...

It just feels weird, I guess.  My mom always texts me at the time I was born, and that means the world to me.  

When you're small, your birthday is so very important.  I want it to feel that way to my boys, and even though he's grown, to my husband.  Even my Mom, who was born on Halloween, gets everything I can possibly create to make her feel special.

I don't know how to feel special on my birthday without feeling guilty.

Yesterday, I hung wash on the line that the woman who sold our house left behind.  I made my Grandmothers' brisket and purple hull peas form the farmers' market.  We listened to my brother's band all day in the van, and I remembered my cloth bags for the grocery store.  

That was all pretty damn magical in one afternoon.  That was enough....  And I'm ok with that.

Finkin' Bout

I know, two posts all smooshed up together, but if I don't do it now then I won't get it done.  This is just a list anyway!

The Things in My Brain:

1.  Homeschooling:  So many of the parenting blogs I read are actually homeschoolers.  I've checked out books from the library but I'm still conflicted.  Do y'all have any thoughts before I do a whole post on this?

2.  Activities:  When do I start the boys in things outside of school?  Scouts?  Soccer?  Fencing (so cool)  Martial Arts?  Music Lessons (high on the list)?

3.  Composting:  Do any of you compost?  I know it's supposed to be easy.  we could have a separate garbage can in the kitchen, and there is a place for the actual composting can behind the garage.  Is it going to attract bugs?  Because I can't be carrying a baby in a sling to take out the food for composting and be attacked my bugs.  (Yes, I did lay awake one night thinking about that)

4.  A Texas Blogging Meet-up:  Swistle talked about an anti-Blogher meet up, and now that I know I can't go to Blogher in NYC next year, would this be something worth doing?  EDITED TO ADD:  Danielle from Left of Lost was my bravery inducing inspiration.

Grace(less) Under Pressure

It was pretty clear from the moment Winston woke up on Wednesday morning that he did not feel well.  As soon as I walked in the room I was commanded to "Go Back THERE, Mommy!!  I Don't WANT YOU To Be Out Here Yet!!!".  I went and sat an the dining room table, took off my glasses, and put my head down; it was going to be one of those mornings.

It never let up.  The fit that started when he saw me only escalated and by 8:09, The Mr. and I had decided he shouldn't go to camp that day (his lunch was made and he was already in his swim clothes).  He was, of course, furious with me (even though the Papa made the choice as well) and wailed about it for another ten minutes.  Then he suddenly asked if he could please take off his swim clothes and have regular ones since he was staying with me.  

After we dropped off Wednesday, who watched us both go with a quiveringly brave wittle face (sniff sniff), I took Winston with me to Walgreens.  He helped me push the cart, picked out a snack, and remembered every single thing we needed to buy, as usual.  

Once we were home and he had some serious allergy medicine in his system he relaxed completely.  It used to be just be me and him at home, and I miss it so much that I cry almost every time I think about it.  We used to play and read and just hang out ALL DAY, and he is so big now, so smart, so handsome.  He is not my tiny boy anymore.  But on Wednesday, we rescued a small sliver of our pre-brother relationship.

We lay on the bed in his room after I'd done something cleaning, looking at cookbooks and just being silly together.  And after promising him for 3 weeks that we would go out to eat, just the two of us, we finally did.  He was perfect in the restaurant, and we even went to Half-Price Books together.  He sat on the floor and looked at books in his own little world, while I gathered nifty stories for us the bring home.

The rest of the day was fairly successful as well.  There were a few behavior bumps when Wednesday was re-introduced into the picture, but it was an excellent and much needed day overall.  Winston's snot is almost gone, his gremlin-like allergy voice has disappeared, and I know we loved each other a lotta-bit more.

Then Thursday came.  Oh my, was it a day.  My nickname as a child was "Grace" in the most sarcastic fashion imaginable and I lived up to it yesterday.  I was horrible Thursday morning.  I needed a serious timeout.  A headache woke up with me, I hollered at the boys, I cried, I whined, I spilled, I choked on nothing to the point I almost got sick.  It was rough.  Wednesday was staying home with me, and after we dropped Winston off at camp, he proceeded to get into The Mr.'s desk 5749583405834 times, pester the cats until they scratched and bit him, and was otherwise clinging to me like a velcroed monkey.  

We picked Winston up, naptime was crap until we all conked out, and when we got up I remembered I'd promised a meal made in the pressure cooker.  Sigh...  If that wasn't the perfect metaphor for our day I don't know what could have been.    

Now, I'd never used that thing when my Mama wasn't here with us.  I think she's used it 3 times for different holiday meals at my house.  I found a recipe for chicken tacos, and after reading the directions 4 times and practicing opening and closing the lid, I started cooking.  5 minutes.  Cooked chicken in 5 minutes, and it wasn't even scary!  Did it taste like cardboard?  Yup.  Did everyone eat it?  Yup.  Will my MIL with a heart condition who doesn't like spicy food get all of our leftovers?  Yes Ma'am.  So it, like the rest of the day, was enough to get by, but not my best work by any means.

I was on my best behavior by bedtime, and stories were super fun and we all went to sleep feeling loved and peaceful after our long, long, LONG day.

This morning went extremely smoothly, and now I'm here by myself, regrouping and thinking and writing.  There's a song I sing to the boys almost every night that asks God for love, and power, and grace, and that is what I ask for today.  Love oozing from every pore, power over my own emotions, and grace enough to forgive myself and be the Mama I long to be.

 

For Them...

I finally let my tears go this morning.  I always hold them back when I hear these words, but I was alone in the van and it was ok.  

There's always one song with each pregnancy that holds my heart, and this says the things my mind cannot find.

Sweet Dreams by Jewel Kilcher

The shadows are waltzing
The moon beams are calling
Like a dream I am falling into
Silver threads lined with dew
Twinkling stars seem to shine just for you

Behind your eyes
Are endless blue skies
You travel places i want to come, too
Each breath that you breathe
Is a brush stroke that leads me to you

So sleep
Fall into night’s indigo hue
Believe me, its true
Theres nothing that I would not do
For my dream is sweet dreams for you

It seems far away
But there once was a day
It was grey in a world without you
To this heart like a dove from above
The miracle of your love found me

So sleep
Fall into night’s indigo hue
Believe me, its true
Theres nothing that I would not do
For my dream is sweet dreams for you

So hush you bye
And don’t you cry
Sweetly dream, little baby

Yes, sleep
Lose yourself in night’s indigo hue
Believe me, its true
There is nothing that I would not do
For my dream is sweet dreams 
Yes, my dream is sweet dreams for you

www.jeweljk.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttwkbAz021U

Scenes from Almost and Saturday

Late last night I finished my book.  I was, and still am sad that it's over, as the author hasn't written as more non-fiction that I can tell.  Still too awake to fall asleep with Wednesday, I went to Amazon.com and began my insomnia ritual of going through all my lists.  Did you know you can leave comments for yourself on your wishlist?  Adding a few words for the things I'd saved for Christmas or Halloween was very satisfying.  I am also feeling very "called" to homeschool the boys, in some context, these days.  I found a bunch of good looking books for beginners, and then stumbled upon a couple of Listmanias that really shortened my search.  But I still wasn't sleepy, in my brain or otherwise, so I went to look at the cookbooks.  Oh the lovely cookbooks!  I think I saved about 30 to my wishlist.  (Like this one, and this one, and this one, Oh My!)  I had just started a search for baby and Mama yoga DVD's when the battery on my laptop died.  I gave the sleeping 2 year old a large pouty lip and reluctantly got under the covers to go to sleep.

Now, as I write this silliness, I'm sitting on the bed in the boys room in the middle of a de-funked naptime.  The big boys went to the beach with friends this morning while Wednesday and I tackled the farmers' market (where I could feel the sweat dripping down my legs) and Target (where a grown man couldn't say "excuse me", but instead just pulled out in front of my very full cart on the way to check out).  When we all got home, the plan was for the boys to come nap with me in our bed and for The Mr. to finish cleaning up beach stuff and read.  I sang the songs and held the hands and patted the parts, but neither of my creatures would sleep.  Winston started fiddling with the tag on a stuffed animal in the co-sleeper and Wednesday just wouldn't keep his arms still.  So I told Winston to go "out there" with Papa if he didn't want to nap so we wouldn't have to fight about his behavior.  Then, I realized that Wednesday wasn't going to go back down either.  Sigh...  "Do you want to go back nigh-night or do you want to get up?"  Get up, of course.  So I took a much needed shower and brought Wednesday to the front of the house, thinking we could just move along with our big meal of the day and I would just push past my tireds again.  

Now, or course, Winston has decided to take a nap on the couch, and I got shooed out of my own living room.  Rocking and holding didn't produce more nappage for the little one, so now I'm here and he's there <<<<<  playing with Handy Manny and pulling books out of the shelf.

Happy Saturday, my dears.  I hope your nap times are long and your patience isn't short.

Good News, Bad News

The good news is:  I found the ant trap that went missing after The Mr. did the dishes for me last night.

The bad news is:  He washed it in the dishwasher (LMAO).  I re-ran the dishwasher on hot, high, and sanitize.

The good news is:  My headache and general heat sickness from yesterday was cured with Benadryl and Tylenol over night.

The bad news is:  It led to a very med-induced dream right before I woke up.  I couldn't find my husband, after my parents house had been broken into, and "Tears in Heaven" was playing in the background.  I'm blaming it for any and all tears shed this morning.  Stupid dream.

The good news is:  My dr. appointment today was good.  We set an official c-section date of September 24, and they'll call me with the time soon!  It's so very good to have a date, and the one we wanted.

The bad news is:  I had to drink that horridly sweet drink required for the gestational diabetes test.  It always makes me feel like crap and I'm still feeling it.  BLECH.

The good news is:  I feel like blogging ALL THE TIME now.  

The bad news is:  I feel like blogging ALL THE TIME now.

:)

And The Little One Said:

I was in the bathroom trying to finish getting ready for bed two nights ago.  Actually, I was just peeing for the fourth time in 20 minutes, so I wouldn't have to get up again as soon as I fell asleep.  A piercing scream in a Winston-like key came from the bedroom where the boys were waiting to be read to and I lumbered as quickly as I could to see what had happened.

"He bit me, Mommy!"  What?!?!  "I was just trying to hug him and he bit me!"  Climbing into the bed I jumped all over Wednesday for biting and snuggled his brother close to love and inspect the bite.  It was a bad one; almost through the skin.  I calmed him down, told Wednesday again that biting was a No No, and began reading.

But a few pages into our first story, Wednesday was still really upset.  "Bitty, you know better than to bite, why are you so sad?" I asked.  With droopy eyes and a pouty lip he said, "I tried to eat Bubba!"  He cried and cried, disappointed in himself that he'd thought to do such a thing.  I burst out laughing, looking at Winston and imagining his little brother taking a bite of him.  "It's not funny, Mama", Winston said and started to cry again.  This set Wednesday off again and I held them close to me while I laughed and cackled and their funny brains.  I looked down at Wednesday and he said again, in shock this time, "I tried to eat him, Mommy!!".

My husband came back from reading his book to see what all the noise was about, and he was tickled too.  All through that night, after we finished singing lullabies, Wednesday would repeat his horror, and I would snicker.  

Then this morning, on our way to the beach, Wednesday started to cry again.  His nose was stopped up, and he was distraught.  The poor kid hasn't had a booger-free day since he was born.  "It's ok, Baby.  Do you want to hold hands?"  I held his tiny fingers and the Mr. asked what was wrong.  "I just want a new nose, Mommy!!", he wailed.  "I don't want this one, anymoe!".  We reassured him that his nose was beautiful and would feel better once we got to the beach.  It did, and he says he has a new nose now, but it was damn funny at the time.

Books to Munch On.

I had to take Winston to his dentist appointment on Tuesday.  Ever since his very first visit, when we found out he needed fillings done, my husband has always taken him.  But, it was time for his cleaning and The Mr. is teaching summer school so Wednesday and I went with him.

The last time he was there he was great about them using the scraping tools on his teeth, but the round, electric toothbrush freaked him right the hell out.  So I was going to try my hardest to prepare him for the sensations better this time.  I didn't want him to be scared of something that isn't painful, and I didn't want Wednesday to be frightened on his first visit to a dentists' office.

So without further ado, I'd like to dedicate our completely successful and smile-filled visit to Just Going to the Dentist, by Mercer Mayer.  Little Critter seriously saved the day, my friends, and I would recommend this little book to anyone preparing a young child for the dentist.  All of the different feelings were discussed and illustrated:  apprehension, awe at the equipment, the tickling and sound of the toothbrush, ever what getting a filling feels like.  Thank goodness for Little Critter!

The Sunday before, we took the boys to Barnes and Noble after dinner.  Our last library visit as a family was quite a fiasco, and we had a gift card so it seemed like a good idea.  The Mr. reads so very quickly, he goes through 2 books a day sometimes!  He was in serious need of a new story, so after he found something readable, he took the boys to the children's section.  I wasn't planning on getting anything for myself, but after the boys finished with the choo-choos, I thought I'd just browse the cookbooks.  I've read the reviews of so many really great books on bread and canning and general homey-cooking and I wanted to see what B&N had to offer.  On a table in the cookbooks I saw something that caught my eye.  If I'm being really honest I haven't read an actual books since long before I got pregnant again.  I've read lots of cooking, crafting, and children's books, but nothing with a plot of any sort.  

Too Many Cooks, by Emily Franklin caught me completely by surprise.  Suddenly, I'd found the book that would get me reading again and I was giddy with knowing all the yummy words that were coming to me.  What really won me over was this:  "...this is a narrative family eating."  "Mainly, I don't have a platform.  I'm not here to lecture about local or organic or beef or sweets."  "Too Many Cooks is an 'eating book'".  Isn't that brilliant?  And the relaxing tone of the stories has made this book such a joy and an ever present inspiration in the kitchen.

So far we've conquered rhubarb, real popcorn from the stove, and eggplant.  Next up are tofu, fresh artichokes, and plantains, among other things.  I also picked up A Homemade Life, which along with Dooce's newest book, Split by Suzanne Finnamore, and Cynthia Kaplan's most recent memoir have me longing for the days and nights when I can just devour words for hours on end.

Happy munching...

Pink Celery, Bitter Apples.

I made my very first rhubarb-inspired dessert tonight, and I could not be more happy with it.  After seeing so many gorgeous recipes on various crafty-mama blogs, I finally decided to try it, if only for the adventure of cooking something I'd never done before.  

Winston stood in the kitchen while I minced fresh ginger (he smelled it and got it on his nose!), pears, and finally the rhubarb.  Thinking ahead, only slightly, as I was already elbow deep in the recipe, I tasted it raw.  I remember eating a strawberry-rhubarb pie at my maternal grandmother's house as a child and HATING it.  Could it have been because my Mama warned me it would be awful?  I think probably so.  I took a tiny bite and was shocked at how yummy it was.  Imagine a very unripe green apple and that is both the taste and texture of uncooked rhubarb.  Winston ate three bites of it raw and wanted more, but I stopped him.  Silly boy.  He is the picky eater of the family and was standing there eating something completely out of his comfort zone with glee!

I added orange zest and half of the juice from one orange, then topped it with oats, almond cookies, turbinado sugar, and butter.  It was so, very, extremely delicious.

Even with my impending, 3-days-in-the-making-headache, I am overjoyed at this simple little dessert.  Even more so, I am utterly amazed that Winston devoured his portion, when normally he is so hesitant.  This, combined with his newly acquired, and still developing emotional regulation is leading our relationship back to the very lovey, silly place it was when we was a baby.

I have so much more to say, about the book I'm reading, what I fed my parents when they were here, my crazy body...  But the head-bone hurt looms and I'll be back tomorrow...

PS:  The main recipe came from The Fussy Eater's Recipe Book, with a few alterations from Jamie Oliver's newest cookbook.

Book Mark

This is just an accountability post for me so I will actually come back and write what's in my head.  I have funny pregnancy things and book stuff and food stuff.  So there, brain, you must write now!

About Last Night

Last year we ended up parked on the Harbor Bridge.  We left too early this year and went down to North Beach instead.  Right as we got out of the van

the 

fireworks

started!

Winston was AMAZED.  He stood, holding my parents hands.  Wednesday was on my hip while I held onto my beloved with my other hand.  

I always HATED fireworks before I had the boys.  They were loud and wasteful, and I just didn't care for them.  This year I cried.  I cried for the change that I still hope will come for our country, for the imminent end to the war that I long for, for the baby boy growing in my belly and my family all together.  

Winston walked back and grabbed his Papa's hand, "give me a kissy" I said, and he pooched out his gorgeous lips and kissed my teary face.

My precious boys.  My parents that I love more now than I ever have because we've accepted each other.  

Thanks, God.  I'm grateful to be an American.  I'm hopeful that it will only get better.

Reusable Question, and Funny Conclusions.

Hi guys!  My pregnant brain/nesting is in high gear and I have a few questions. 

1.  Which kind of cloth diapers are the best option for newborns?  We'd really like to use them this time around and nothing I'm reading online is giving me a clear answer.

2.  Also, what are your thoughts on washable nursing pads?  I don't usually need them for very long, and I don't see any reason to use the ones you throw away.  

3.  My last reusable issue right now is baggies.  Have any of you used or had any experience with reusable baggies  (cloth, I guess, so they can be washed as well)?  I know Alton Brown uses them and I have a tutorial I found for sandwich bags, but I'm still wonderin'.

I've also decided, since we actually have a dining room table now, that we need the cloth napkins like the lovely Swistle has been using.  After reading this blog post on hanging your clothes on the line to dry, we're starting that too.  We might as well use this super hot weather for something, right?

Now:  funny things I have learned this week.

1.  When your diabetic husband comes into the bedroom and asks where the colander is at 11:30 at night, he probably needs some help with his blood sugar.  It was funny, and he's fine, so no worries.  He spilled blueberries all over the floor and wanted to wash them for the boys in the morning.  Sweet Puppy...

2.  When the little brother has a cough, the big one will not sleep well, especially when they are in the same bed.  When I asked Winston to roll over so I could prop Wednesday up more so he would cough be flapped his arms like a cockroach!!  It was so hilarious, I was cackling in the middle of the night.

3.  It's very pitiful when your 2 year old loses his voice.  I tried so hard not to laugh, but I couldn't stop it.  After stories last night he couldn't say a single word in a regular voice.  He had to whisper goodnight to everyone and it was extremely precious.  He can talk in a very raspy voice today.

That's all, I think!  Any thoughts would be so so appreciated...

UPDATES (for my own memory's sake):

1.  I'm pretty sure I can get prefolds and doublers/inserts for cloth diapering at Babies R Us here in town.  

2.  They don't sell reusable nursing pads at JCP anymore, but they do have lots of options at Motherhood Maternity.  It just happens to be right next to JCP in our mall, lol.

3.  I think we're gonna go with the thirsties diaper covers.  I found a place in Seguin that sells them, and I can get 12 xsmall for $138 and 6 small for $69.  That seems to be a pretty low/normal price compared to everywhere else I looked.  If that brand doesn't work out there's also a store in San Antonio with a huge inventory and slightly higher prices.

4.  I'm still working on the baggies.  I looked them up on Amazon and there was nothing in stock for sale.

Deserving

I watched Jon and Kate last night and I am MAD.  I am furious, and I don't even know these people.  There are so many things I could say, but it boils to this:  No one deserves to have their spouse flake out on them, go out drinking and cavorting with college students, and abandon their obligations to go stay at their Mama's house.

Is Kate over-bearing and over-controlling?  YES.  But how would YOU be if you had 8 children?  She is a nurse by profession, which I don't think is ever taken into consideration.  She is the main caregiver, regardless of how it is construed, for eight small beings.  I'm sick and tired of people saying she brought this upon her self!  She has remained constant in her personality throughout the show.  I don't think there is anything wrong with having high expectations and hopes for your husband.  And when they disappoint you?  You have the right to be disappointed!!

John married and had children very young.  Well isn't he special?  So did I, and so do hundreds of thousands of other people.  No, those people don't all have 8 kids, but they don't have all the perks of being on television either.  It bothers me that just when Kate has found something that makes her really happy, John decides he can't do it anymore.  I'm almost positive he resents her for her new-found success as a speaker/writer.  He is having to stay home with the kids more, and not getting to leave by himself every day for work anymore.  I'm sorry, but I have no sympathy.

And the backstabbing by Kate's family members?  I do not understand, obviously something horrible has happened in their relationships and it could very well be all her fault.  Still, she is, in my opinion, doing her damnedest to keep things stable for all those pretty babies.

I don't want to hear that she's only cooking on the show to promote a new cookbook.  There have been dozens and dozens of shows during which she cooked.  Newflash to the media?  Stay -at-home-moms cook for their children.

It's just wrong all the way around with everyone involved, but she is not a demon.  She is their MOTHER.  I would work my ass off just as hard to make things appear right when they weren't, to keep my kids safe, and make sure that the people who were in their lives were there for the right reasons.

Ok, end of my rant.

Why?

Why have I not posted here is so very, very long?  I have been really busy, but mostly, I've just turned into a large chicken with no writing mojo what-so-ever.  I have feathers and everything!  So what if they're Mardi Gras colors and I keep them in the garage; it's legitimate!

Anyway, there is something important that must attended to on this here blog, besides, you know, POSTING something.

My Bebe, in my belly, is a BOY!!!  I twittered it on Monday when we found out, but my feathers are in the garage right now, so I thought I should take the time to tell you!  Also Winston is at the grocery store with The Mr., but whatever...

We are super stoked, and the thought of THREE brothers all together just melts my heart.  

But I have a mission, for those of you who choose to accept it.  The new baby needs a blog-name!  I'd like it to start with a "w" since the others boys do, but I'd definitely make an exception for a fabulous name suggestion!

I do love you guys so dearly, and hopefully I can keep my noo-noo together enough to at least write short posts here for a while.

Breakfast With Tiffany

I only ate one piece of cinnamon toast, with Splenda, if that helps your mental image.  The scales at the doctor's office are not forgiving, and I didn't want my recently consumed breakfast to mess anything up.  

With one pound gained, we, Mama, Papa, and current baby, waited for almost an hour to hear the newest one's heartbeat.  Talking with your spouse while only the quiet child is in the room is never a bad thing, but he had to leave for office hours before the doctor came in.

Of course, as that is the way these things work, not two minutes later my OB walked in.  She was confident of the child growing in my womb, but the anticipation as she pushed against my gooped up tummy trying to find said being is always hard.  I watched her face as she concentrated, and my boy while he listened for a sound he once made.

Finally, it was there, that fast "bum bum bum bum" that I longed for.  Is it magic that I can love someone that is only 3 inches long?

It was after that appointment that I realized I was ready to end a sacred relationship I have with my 2 year old.  Although he has only been nursing to go to sleep for sometime, it is time for us to move forward.  My heart is breaking, yes, but I feel strong enough to do this now.  How do I finish something that has been my peace and my comfort, along with his, for two and a half years?

The books don't help, this is between me and my marvelous boy.  This precious love who, through this partnership, has come to know me better than anyone else.  He knows when I'm sad before the others notice, he whispers "I love you" in my ear when I need it most, and he holds my neck tight when he hugs me because we have to be that close, always.

He is so excited to be a big brother, he says the words reverently and holds himself while he dreams of it.  Both of our hearts are big enough, but his place will never be filled.

(Can anyone guess the song that coaxed my muse out of bed this morning?)

Funny Weird, Funny Ha-Ha

Funny Weird:

I took the boys to Half-Price Books.  After wandering around the store and gathering quite a load of words, we went to get a snack.  The person in line behind me commented on the amount of books we had in the stroller basket and I just smiled.  

The person, upon closer inspection, was a very kind older man dressed as a woman, who promptly called Wednesday a girl.  I corrected the error by just reaching down and calling Wednesday my "sweet boy".  Then, I found out that the coffee shop there doesn't take debit cards.  "I don't have any money!", I said in a panicked voice.  The woman behind the counter, who I suspect is also part owner said, "Oh, I'm here until 3:00, just come back and pay me when you can."  Whaaa???  In 2009 there is still a coffee shop where you can come back and pay where you don't have any cash?

So I went to the table where Winston was waiting and wouldn't let them touch their snack until I dug through my purse to see in there was some money in there.  I found a stray $10, and went back up to the counter to pay.  The older man (the cashier called him a he, so I'm sticking to that) looked as me and said, "They're very trusting.". 

It just felt like such a strange cross-section of life.  And I was so honored to be right there, with my children, seeing all of the beauty humans still hold.

Funny Ha-Ha:

This morning, with both boys in the bed to wake me up, I had a severe round ligament pain after coughing lightly.  I rolled on my side quickly, clutching my side and mumbling profanities under my breath.  I scared Wednesday and he started crying.  Poor baby thought I was mad at him.  I did my best to comfort him and explain to them what happened and we all made our way to the bathroom for Mama's Morning Pee.  I promptly sneeze and blew snot out my nose, I am classy like that.  "Excuse me, PLEASE!".  Wednesday looked on in horror as I grab a wad of toilet paper to clean up my nose and blow it very loudly.  He had a very serious look on his face  and asked, "Do you has a bug in your nose?".  I lost it with the giggles, toilet paper still pressed to my face.  I couldn't even finish blowing my nose!!  

Holy Moly it was so funny.  I needed to sneeze again just a moment later and couldn't do that either for the giggles that erupted again....

I had to assure Wednesday at least three times that I did not, in fact, have a bug in my nose.

The End.  

Just Like Old Times, When Nothing is the Same.

I knew.  We knew, my husband and I both, but we almost pretended we couldn't hear that small little voice making it's presence known.

Creation came just days before the first should have made us three.  Unknown hormones plus painful memories made me crazy.

3 days late I bought a test.  With "the baby" in the playpen I went with my trusty cup and wondered if I would pass.

The directions open in front of me, I watched my "self" move across the window.  "Wait a minute, I thought the test line was on the right?".

I called my husband, who was advising a student in his office and said, "Well, I can tell you now or wait until you get home."

"I'm pregnant!"

So now we're going at it all again...

Some things are so much the same, it seems eery.  Is their large furniture waiting to be put together?  Yes.  Did I spend the first two months feeling dizzy, sick, and tired all morning?  Yes.  Am I already having the kind of pains that aren't supposed to happen for months?  Yes.

But there is significantly less anxiety this time.  Before this zygote wiggled it's way into my heart, the only way I felt at peace with my future was with three kids in it.  There was always one missing; one that got away.

The boys call this one "Tummy Baby", and Winston insists it's either a girl, or there are two babies in my belly.  Whoever this may be has an official arrival date of October 3, 2009.

Happy Freakin' Valentine's Day

Somehow in the midst of all of the floor drama I remembered to buy Valentines for Winston's class and teachers.  I even got teacher Valentines for Wednesday to give, since they interact with them so much.

I spent all day yesterday explaining to Winston how we were going to fill out Valentines.  This morning we painstakingly wrote all the names on all the little cards, and licked the envelopes for his teacher's.

When we got to school I turned in the form to register both boys for school next year.  It only cost be 80 bajillion dollars, and 3 toes.  

Then we stopped at the picnic tables to I could give the boys the cards for the head teacher and assistant to hand out as soon as they walked in.  The boys are excited.  Mommy is just Mommy, and when we walk in the classroom it all goes to HELL.

We are not supposed to give Valentine cards to anyone at school.  The assistant won't even touch the cards the boys chose and wrote in by themselves.  She doesn't know if she can accept it.  I just brush it off, but poor Winston.  He is heart-broken.  He worked hard on those cards and he loves his teachers so much...

She hugs me and says she sorry.  She gives me a long story about why the note to tell us not to bring cards never went home with the students (!!!!!!).  But there was an email sent out, apparently.  The first email EVER sent by the school to make an announcement.  EVER, people.  Tuition reminders come in the email by request.  Obviously I have not checked that address for anything important, because it never holds anything important.

I am so mad.  I am furious.  They broke my kid's heart because they couldn't get their act together enough to send out a freaking note.  I wasted my children's time, and now this Friday before Valentine's Day that was supposed to be happy, and started out so very well is shattered.

I really hope Winston has an ok day at school.  And I'm praying that my husband can watch Wednesday when it's time for pick up to I can just grab Winston and get the Hell out of there.

Also, Halloween in not supposed to be recognized, even though I was given permission from the teachers to put together goody bags last October.

I had plans to put together something in honor of Mardi Gras, but I'm SOOOO not doing it now.  I bought kingcake scented candles to give the teachers.  NOT HAPPENING.  I will find someone else for Winston to gift them with.  

It's all so surly and snobby and heartless.  It is everything this school is not.  Sigh....

I'm glad it's Friday.  And we are going to be almost late on Monday so I don't have to talk to anyone.

  

UPDATE:

Oh my I am so awful for taking this long to answer comments.  Thank you all for reading and supporting Winston and me.  There were actually two other mothers who KNEW the rule and brought stuff anyway, one of which went to speak to the director.  The next week was full of hitting and pushing, and I don't know that it's connected, but it had never happened before.

So everything seems to be back to normal now, and today I going to help his class make cookies.  I love you guys, I'll do better with the next post:  Promise!!  

 

So What Had Happened Was...

We're having the floor fixed.  Two summers ago is got so hot, and was so wet for so long, that it bucked the floors in the kitchen and the den.  Eventually the floor cracked and, in the kitchen at least, started to come up all on it's own.  So we put rugs over it, and called it a day.

But for some reason, we decided when we were coming back form LA the last time that we were going to have it fixed.

So now the cats are in the back of the house covering every surface with cat hair and gunk, we are staying at my MIL's, and my floor is white with primer.  The actual color is supposed to be darker, and that's why I'm sitting in my deconstructed house waiting for the painters.  I need to know that my floor will in fact be the color of "fond memories" (HA!), and not off white.  

After they show up we are sooo going to the bookstore, and I am sooo buying a stupid werewolf/vampire book.  

They are supposed to come back tomorrow and move the fridge in form the garage, along with all of the other den/kitchen furniture.  Then I have to clean the back of the house like no body's business...blech...  THEN, we're supposed to have the carpet replace in the living room/entryway, and have the light/fan fixed in the boys room, and get a new TV, and a new bed for the boys...and and and...this all sounds good in theory, but I'm not good at being kicked out of my own house.

I want to go through the toys as well and get rid of what we can.

I have lots of other things I'd like to write about.  I have a brother centered post: tattoos, concerts, and Bambi music; I want to write about Olivia, and something else..we'll see.

My punctuation is horrid, but this is my home place and it can be disheveled... 

Right now, it's more like Niagra Falls

We can't find the outside kitten. I'm not sure he's actually a kitten anymore, but he's one of the babies we took in last year. I chose him, from the litter, to be ours. The fat one chose us, and the orange one became ours by default. But I need for Goldie to be ok. It was my desicion to keep him here...


This morning I finally realized what yesterday was. I was going to post about it, and turn off the comments. But I don't even know if I can do that now. I cried so much into yesterday morning that I could hardly stand when I woke up. It makes more sense now, remembering. Ramen and olives for dinner; my sodium levels must have been almost nonexistent.


"I don't know what parts of myself to keep and what parts to put away". "I don't know how to make you happy anymore." Words that finally made sense to him, even if they didn't fix very much. "You can't make me happy", he said. "And keep this part, that talks to me like this, please". I'll try. "And Mama, I'm plenty happy enough. Everything on the outside is ok". That's always been important to me.


Then he came home with a ring. A ring that matched my necklace from Christmas. Tears are always plentiful, I guess. Jewelry doesn't heal, but it is a symbol. Unconsciously I knew what yesterday was, but in my sore, painful brain I didn't actually recall the events that made yesterday significant. The pink and black of the ring will always mean something different now.


This morning I jolted myself out of a dream. I overslept, dreaming about being in a craggy little boat with my two children while my husband traipsed through the water trying to fish. We were in the middle of a storm. He caught a big ugly fish, and pulled it's bottom lip up over it's whole mouth and threw it in the boat, telling us to keep it still. The fish flopped so much I had to get out of the boat and just hold onto the side. I was so angry at him. Screaming profanities at the top of my lungs while he laughed and enjoyed the adventure. I finally convinced him to at least let the boys and I go to shore. Then I woke myself up. My mouth was all swollen.


I'm more than ready for my unconscious to give me a break. Really Mind, I've had enough.

Being Vocal

I started voice lessons in the 10th grade. The choir director at the church where my Dad was pastor also conducted at a university in the next town over. When he arrived, he decided, rather quickly, that was the adult choral program needed was fresh blood; or voices, in this case. He brought in singers for each voice part that would practice and perform with the choir for a small payment, and some kind of credit in his class.

And they were incredible. I was in awe of every single one of them. The way they held themselves when they sang, the way their voices stood out and blended in at the same time, the way they pushed the rest of the choir members (my Mom included) to really pull out every stop and be GREAT.

Joanna was an Alto when she first arrived. She was tall, with plump lips, and impossibly long legs, and short sandy blond hair. I was mesmerized by her for at least a year before I realized that she was just a regular person. So when I started lessons it was with Joanna. Nervous is not deep enough of a word to describe how I felt, but she made it feel easy. So I dang, and she gasped, and said, "You are a soprano, my dear". "No, I've always been an alto, I like being an alto." But she would have none of it. So a soprano I became. Little did I know she was becoming one herself, a colouratura at that!

Anyway, we had lessons for a few months, and became close friends in the process. her fiance, Sam, was the funniest guy I'd ever met, and they joined the bell choir that I was in, much to my amusement. Between our director and Johanna and Sam, the bells never sounded better.

I don't remember the timeline of everything after that because it was all so smushed together. The end results were that I was a bridesmaid in Johanna and Sam's wedding, Johanna became the children's choir director, and even accompanied us on a mission trip to New Mexico.

Then they moved. And I missed them. And she had a baby, and then another. And I needed a new voice teacher. Enter Autumn. Equally beautiful to Johanna. She had long kinky curly blond hair, and large blue eyes, a very flirty overall demeanor. Her friend, Kimberly, also began choir at our church them too. She was a statuesque Alto, with fiery red hair. I could just see her on stage in full costume.

My own life decisions during this time were tumbling in the direction of opera, and music education, and vocal performance, and everything MUSIC. It was easy to fall in love with it all when a never ending tide of incredible vocalists kept entering our sanctuary and egging me on.

Autumn pushed me. She was not so easy as Sandy. But I was still so afraid to screw up, to sound bad, that I held back. She taught be solfege. I already knew the signs and meanings, but not how to read music that way. We used hymns out of the United Methodist hymnal, and I write the letters in pencils and then stammer them out in a nervous voice.

When Autumn and Kimberly graduated, they both held performances at the church. What I heard was so astounding, so gorgeous, that I knew I wanted to do it too. I still have the programs from their musical offering, so I can find the songs they sang when I need to hear them.

Then I left for college. I was on a partial music scholarship that I'd had to audition for. That experience has almost been completely blocked from my memory. Ugh, a story for another time when I nerve endings can handle it.

So I was sent to find the soprano voice teacher on the first day of registration. Like a fool, I assumed the woman in front of the sign telling she was the soprano teacher was actually her. Instead, she was the gruff alto teacher, who scared me a little. I'd never been so glad to be a soprano. My actual teacher was lovely, again with the gorgeous women who tried to shape my voice. If you can think of the most flamboyant Italian last name imaginable, that was something close to her last name. She pushed me even harder, and God I loved it, but I still couldn't just let go and sing the way God Almighty intended me to. It was a constant struggle within me, to just sing already and deal with the pressure of screwing up at the same time. It didn't help that one of my professors went to college with my Dad and expected me to be PHENOMENAL at the time.

Needless to say I never met my potential there. I changed my major the elementary education, and never wanted to sing like that again. The itch came when I'd been married for about 3 years with no choir to sing with. I auditioned for and made it into the local community chorale that met at the college where my husband taught. My shining moment was singing The Messiah when I was 5 months pregnant with Winston.

Now...now...I need to sing. It's required. I can't help it or push it away anymore. I'm starting back to school with a couple of classes this summer, and then womb-willing, full time in the Fall when both boys are in school. I am ecstatic. Holding back is no longer an option. Just sing, Mama. Just sing.



My treat for you: This song it what I sing to my children when they are being pitiful...*Snort* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GFOEuGJd-qA&feature=related

And Now, Deep Thoughts

I'm just not really feeling the whole "complete composition" form of writing this morning. Random, but mildly coherent seems more appropriate, so I'm sticking with that. Good Morning, by the way! Today is The Mr. first day back at work, and Winston should have started school again, but he's going to the doctor instead.

He roars like a tiny constipated dinosaur, and I laugh, because it is adorable. My little dinosaur... He has a sore throat that just won't let up. I spoke with his dr. on Friday and we agreed he didn't need to some in yet, but there wasn't any major progress in the de-roarifying this weekend. Last night, hubby put Winston in one of his tshirts and called him a Wizard. Wednesday wanted to be a wizard too, of course, so I found one of my shirts for him to wear over his pajamas. Winston waved his arm around like a magic wand, and Wednesday found a piece of a Diego telescope to carry around the house. They rode to Whataburger in their wizards, and Winston slept in his. "Sword Bear", instead of "Lord" was my big boy's name, and the little one was "Sir Helper a wizawd". Silly boys (for my own bloggy clarification, Bear and Helper will now be my boys middle names...).

Wednesday was much more ill in the beginning. But true to his history with this crap, he is well before Winston (I'm still nursing him, no matter how awkward, and I know that has made a big difference. Thank God.). The phrase that he uses that is breaking my heart right now is when he refers to himself as "my little self". I just about die of cute. "Mommy, I huht my little self!". He also has "little feet" and "little hands", etc. He is my little love monkey and if no one else in house sees fit to hug me, he will, without being asked, squeeze his little self around my neck and tell me he loves me.

Speaking of squeezing... (hahaha) I've done some form/forms of stomach strengthening exercises for four days in a row now. I forget how much better my middle feels when I do them, and am so glad I've started again. The February after Wednesday was born, The Mr. got me a membership at the local "Curves". I'd asked for his help, so I was overjoyed. A former student was the manager, so I was well taken care of. I ended up only going regularly for about 4 months, but it made such a difference. I was given a special exercise to work my sides, and I still do it whenever I remember. I've decided to get on the exercise video band wagon, but not with The Shred. I found, months ago, on Amazon, a system for Yoga Booty Ballet, and I'm going with that. Dance, Yoga, and ballet all together. Dancing comes pretty easy for me, I think I got from my Mom, even if I'm a chunky monkey while doing it. High School was spent in show choir, and my PE electives while in college were dance classes. Yoga is love, of course, and I have a secret desire to be a ballerina left over from childhood.

Anyway. Did I tell you my husband won like THOUSANDS of dollars at the casino where my parents live? YEAH. The man is like a slot machine prodigy. And I actually enjoyed shopping with some of the winnings, because they were free. Woohoo! I bought my Mom an outfit too, and my Dad got some extra cash to blow at the casino. We had such a great time in Louisiana. The boys were puny, but the just hanging out that occurred as a result was awesome. My parents didn't go overboard with Christmas presents, and I got to make cheeseballs for my brother. Getting to see the honorary uncles (my brother's two best friends), and meet "The Jewel" (only girl member of my brother's band), was icing on a very yummy cake.

I'm helping to write a piece of fiction somewhere on this intery-net for the first time ever. I'm ridiculously excited, and will keep y'all informed as much as I can without having to...do something spy-ish.

That's all, my pretties. I love you guys.