Spring

Seasons are good. Each one breathes new life into me. I am grateful for what I get to look forward to with each new switch up. The energy is tangible and I crave it.

Winter is fading away as the white remnant of its stay is no longer visible. I have found that I love the snow, just not always the coldness that comes with it. So I am sad to see it go and grateful at the same time. In a few days the ladies and I will get ready for next year by purchasing season ski passes. Two of us could not be more excited and the other two have no idea of the the joy that awaits them.

Next up, rain.
Rain.
And some more rain.

Spring is on the horizon and with its sunshine comes new life. What do I love about Spring? The magic of buds busting and flowers shooting their stems through cold soil for a taste of the sun and warmth. I feel like a flower stem who  can barely suck up enough sunshine in my walks and quick ventures outside. Over this past weekend I was able to escape to Provo and bask in her 70 degree temps. It was a slice of heaven before returning to Utah's cold north country.

What I can hardly wait for is Summer. Adventures in the sun. The freedom of schedules. Summer at the gardeners market with music in the air and people purchasing my hand crafted creativity. People buying what I make has a satisfaction all its own. For now the making keeps me busy doing something that is mine alone, and the random purchases from strangers and friends spark a level of happiness I never knew existed.

H e Double Hockey Stick and I'm Feeling Better From Yesterday

I think my hormones are playing tricks on me. Or at least that is where I'm placing all the blame. For the past few weeks I have been attempting to ween Sunny and have been having an emotional roller coaster ride. It has not been kicks and giggles. Weening, this time around, has been difficult.

There have been moments where I have been slightly(or, maybe extremely is a more accurate word) over emotional and irritated. In fact just today I might have spoken the word hell out loud as in "you are bugging the hell out of me" to my children... while they had friends over. Oops, not my finest moment. I could have sworn I only thought it, but then it just spewed out my lips like cheeks bursting with milk.

My kids might be accustomed to my second language (Spanish, French, English, Cursing...), albeit in a slightly less personal and derogatory way, and more of a "Good hell! Who just forgot to take a bath inside the tub instead of on the bathroom floor?" sort of way. However, I did not mean to introduce their friends to it. I apologized profusely to these two young ladies and to my children, but forgiveness will be a tell tale sign when and if my children's friend's parents allow them to play again.

(Note to self, write an apology to parents.)

I feel horrible at the same time that I laugh at my stupidity of actions during a moment of frustration. Try and try again. That is my motto.

Oh the joys of womanhood, parenthood, motherhood and Jenhood...

I am wondering if this has happened to anyone else? Not the swearing, because I'm sure you all know how to peaceably contain your frustrated selves, but the hormone-roller-coaster-during-weening-a-breastfeeder, mess. Anyone?

Side note: I cannot wait to have my breasts back, my body back, my brain back and hopefully some normal hormones back- if indeed they ever return.

After weening three previous babies, one would think I knew that this ride was coming, but I don't remember it. Not one bit. Maybe it's akin to forgetting childbirth?

Anyhow, that was today. Now on to tomorrow and hoping no one sets me off so much that I actually voice my swearing to their faces again.

Tonight I feel bad

Although I know I shouldn't let certain things overwhelm/sadden/bring me down, they sure do sometimes and tonight would be that time.

Like for instance:

I wish I was a better listener of my children. I know for the most part I try as well as possible, but I miss that my eyes escape theirs in my haste to get stuff done at the same time as I listen. I listen less effectively when I cannot look at the person speaking. I wonder if my children sense that and feel my lack of attention during my multitasking. I think they do and it breaks my heart. Why do clones of mothers not exist? I could sure use one.

The older I get the more I realize exactly how little or how much I do during my daily grind, truly does not matter, yet I have to do them. In the big scheme of life what will truly matter is how we treated other people. I know this and yet I forget it in my need to get the laundry done, the children ready, keep the husband happy and find some sanity time.

Wonder woman may exist in science fiction, but she does not in real life. I know this fact. Still I feel that I should be doing more or being more and I feel guilty I'm not. Limits are placed upon me due to choices and circumstance but I also place them upon myself because of fear of change or fear of being unable to meet my most important obligations at the levels I have fairly or unfairly placed them at.

I think about people often, I pray for them, but I never contact them. I feel rushed and busy throughout each day that I tell myself I will write grandma, call Jeff, visit Marie and so on and so on when the children go to bed, or when they are quieter, or when Mick gets home. Do these perfect times exist? No. I also know this too. Still, I wait. I put people off and those people never know how important they are to me, and man does this make me sad and angry with myself. I wish I could give people all of what I have given them in the past, but I can't keep up. I also feel like I serve people I love the least in an attempt to love them more and then I end up setting aside the ones I love the most. Something is seriously wrong with that last sentence.

It makes me sad that being married lumps me into a pair of brains and people think that I have the same opinion as my husband, when actually it is usually always the contrary. I wish I was seen as Jen more and not just Mick's wife or the Perkins Family. I am one separate entity of a whole whose whole does not ever agree on everything, but always has to compromise. Because I am good at compromising, I get lumped and the injustice hurts. It stinks, really.



 

"There Are Dreams That Cannot Be and There Are Storms We Cannot Weather"

Fear does not typically regulate my life. There are very few actual fears which elicit terror in me.

Spiders have been known to on occasion and I despise basements for this sole reason. If need be I can muster the courage to take one out and win every time. Each kill a small victory over fear of such miniscule beasts. My biggest fear, if I'm honestly admitting, is the fear of failure or rejection. They are one and the same for me. This fear likely regulates more in my daily life than I care to think about or divulge. A sad tale to be sure. Steadily, silent victories put me one step closer to kicking failure or rejection to the curb. For now though, the three of us are sitting over in the tall grass and getting mighty sick of it.

A new fear has been creeping its tentacles ever so slowly around me. Threatening to swallow me whole. For years I have been sinking under its pressure, riding its tide in and out of my life. Only recently have I given it a name and understood it more fully. I fear suffocating.

Not in a typical sense of literally not being able to breathe, but as a metaphor for not being able to keep breathing the way I planned, the way I dreamed. I fear I may suffocate if personal plans change, if my dreams go a rye. I fear that I am literally suffocating or being suffocated.
Extinguished out.
Kaput.
Done.

This has me grappling for firm soil and figuring out just what my roots are. It has me reaffirming my faith in my beliefs. It has me fighting hard to maintain personal dreams, beliefs, and ambitions. I feel that while I'm in the box, per say, there is a means out, shortly. But sometimes I wonder if I am just in the thick of change making its way for the better and I am resisting. Oh am I resisting and quite frankly, losing. I don't want to lose.

Which leads me to yesterday.

Yesterday I felt like a piece of paper whose corners and edges were burning, the white spaces disappearing and dwindling in the fight. I gave in allowing the flames to lick me up. I got sad. Then I got mad and cleaned the house in a wild furry and lashed out at everybody. When I finished that, I began to finish quilting Mick's late birthday present. At such a hurried angered pace I cried my eyeballs out and tired not to drip snot on the deep blue fabric.

In short. It was an ugly sight. I felt suffocated by my beautiful, great, miserable life that I feel like is never how I want it to be. How can I feel like this? I get angry at myself for having to ask myself this question.

The older I get, the more I take on, the less I feel my life is mine. In an effort to give my best, and I always try to give it my best, I have to let some things slide. When I rid them, then I feel hopeless and suffocated as if nothing will change. Because those things that slide or have to be removed to let other things in, are my things. My things. Things rooted so deep in me that at times it is terribly painful to see them being forced out.

Do all dreams have to die? Do all our mortal plans have to be snuffed out for the benefit of something better that we cannot understand? Is this what growing up means and I have finally, after 35 years, attained grown up status... well almost? If it is, my whole heart screams in rebellion.

I just want to be me. All of me. I like the parts that seem to be fading. I need them. I crave them like chocolate or oatmeal for breakfast. I need to chase my dreams and have them come true.

So what did Mick do during my tyraid?

Poor guy doesn't always know what to do when I blow my top. He stared at me a while, no doubt in awe of the spectacle performance. He says he's thinking when he does that. I finally calmed down and came into reality when the baby needed to eat- always doing the best I can, the best I should. In the meantime Mick had organized a relief party of one. Katrina the babysitter would come a few short hours later and he would take the three big kids out to lunch and grocery shopping.

What a gem!

I got the baby to bed. Finished the quilt. Packed it all away, cleaned some more and took a nice long hot shower to get ready for our impending date. We were going to see Les Miserables. How fitting.

Fear of suffocation was leaving me. Hope was starting to show up.

We stopped by a quaint little antique shop in town, tried to buy a crepe- too busy- and made our way to see Les Miserables.

Though not forced into prostitution to save my child and myself after many physical and emotional hardships, my heart felt true solidarity and empathy as Fantine (Anne Hathaway) sang "I dreamed a dream". Never before have I sat in a darkened theater and wept along with an actress on the big screen feeling similar feeling in my heart. Just that day, a mere hours earlier I told Mick that I felt like I was living someone's dream, everyone else's dream, but not mine. I wanted to live mine. What about my dreams? I asked him. I have always done what I'm told, done what I should, done what is best or good or right. What about the dreams I have wanted for my life that get swept under the carpet for later or never? When can I have them be mine? I have made all the choices that led me here and here is a fine spot, I just want better.

Fantine, how I understood your heart.

On the drive home Mick says taking my hand, "You know that one song Anne Hathaway sang by herself after her hair was cut".
"Yes", I replied as tears returned to my eyes remembering my empathy.
"Her singing that song helped me understand where you were coming from today". He reassured me that things will get better. "Just think of all the older ladies you know. They've done it all. They made it through life." He reminded me that my dreams will come. That I can do these hard things right now, today.

Thank you Fantine, for dreaming a dream and not being afraid to admit it was far different from your reality. 
 http://www.metatube.com/en/videos/165246/Anne-Hathaway-Sings-I-Dreamed-A-Dream-FULL-SONG-From-Les-Miserables/
Thank you Anne Hathaway, for one-take acting/singing wonders that stirred mine and my husband's heart.
Thank you Mick, for understanding.

        

I've been thinking...

...and I like to think.

Thinking is good.

On average I think up at least one blog post per day. They are usually well written, not to mention well thought out and organized. Typing it out of my fingers never happens(enter all excuses here). Then the post is gone, lost forever with the mass of brain activity passing through my busy mom brain.

A problem, only because I need to write to get thoughts out of my brain because only then are they finalized and make sense.

My most recent brain posts, in a nutshell which will likely not make sense:

1) I love being a mom. I love Sunny. Sometimes I tell her I love her little turkey drumstick thighs as I nibble on them a little. She giggles then I giggle. All I could think when she crawled today was NO! Her movement means I'm doing my job and she is doing her job. She is growing. Growing is good. I am taking care of her. I am doing it well.
I am so happy I finally dared to have #4. What was I so afraid of? Oh right, all the stuff about parenting that I don't like. Stress, anxieties, sleep loss, spoon feeding, another schedule to lump on top of the already full five, loss of me time, loss of me, stagnancy of the mundane and remembering I will be in this routine for a few more years. The funny thing about it, is I know I chose it. 
Then as I even consider or give voice to the bad, the negative, I feel guilty. I feel guilty because the good is so sweet, because I am so blessed to have cute turkey legs to nibble on. I feel guilty because society, church, people who love me prefer I only give attention to the good and ignore the bad. I feel guilty because I find it incredibly inauthentic to do that, try as I may.
Next I get angry because I feel like I can't be 100% of myself 100% of the time to 100% of the people in my life.
In short, life is hard and I feel like I spin in the above circle constantly and that I am the only human being there.

2. I really need to start exercising... bad! I am just too lazy to put in the effort of visiting with a cardiologist, speaking with a dietitian, then putting an exercise plan in place. I also wish I was still getting paid to exercise.

3. Liberty is doing so much better in school this year. Sure makes my mommy heart happy to see her hard work paying off. Sure makes my mommy heart sad when kids make fun of her for wearing glasses and having braces. I pray that I will always have the ability to understand her struggles and know how I can help her.

4. Thinking I want to start a new blog and phase this one out. There is more than just mommy hood to celebrate, discuss and write about. Still thinking on a catchy name. Thinking I might chicken out even though I feel like I shouldn't.

5. My goals this year. Study for the G.R.E. Decide what field to study. Make progress in that direction.  Prepare to help earn money for the family and plan the right time to do it.

Oatmeal Lace

The other day I was experiencing a HOLY-CRAP-I-AM-WORN-OUT moment. I found myself wishing for the days that were simpler. When all I had to do was decide what I should wear that day or if I would run into my favorite people at school, or if my mom knew she was going to need to drive me to dance practice later that night. But of course she knew. She was the mom. Moms know and keep track of everything. Moms are accountable, by love, to the little people in their lives.

So I set it all aside. I put down my never ending list, intent to slow down, and baked some cookies. Out of eggs, Oatmeal Lace became the recipe of circumstance. Abbie and I methodically measured and poured, mixed, staggered, and baked. Unaware at the time that this very act would tie me to the core of my longing.

Simpler times.

The fresh baked cookies slithered down my throat like the goodness of old memories. Buttery goodness that is soft on the inside, crunchy on the edge. Much like life. Hard at first, but perfectly great at the heart of it.  Upon my first bite as their holes hit my tongue and the buttered oatmeal wafted up my nostrils, my eyes welled, remembering the hall kitchen at 1020 East 300 North. Strange how a scent sent me so far back...

I would sit on mom's kitchen floor, my back against the wall, while mom in between busing herself, would pull these beauties out of the oven. Likely unsure of simple worries in those teenage moments, mom made all of mine evaporate with the steam of a plate full of Oatmeal Lace.

Maybe at those moments, mom's worries evaporated too. Maybe she needed to get back to simplicity by cookie making. Could she have seen more acutely, like I was, the unimportant holes or expectations she could drop out of her life? Could she finally get a picture of the map of trails that set her priorities in order?

I served up cookies across the bar while Liberty, Aspen and Abbie devoured them, carefully inspecting their tiny holes and crunchy chewiness. I watched them. I looked into their eyes. We talked, we laughed, we enjoyed one another without the push of life. Time with who matters most made me feel invigorated. Made me remember that mom lived through the harried times. She made it, I can too. Life slowed down for an instant before the race began again.

Cravings

2 months. 

Sunny Buckets rolled from her back to stomach this afternoon. With a swift turn of her hips she plopped on her belly like a beached whale, back arched, enjoying her new view. She was stunned, I was excited and then immediately sad. My baby is growing up. As a way of monitoring progress in my children, I crave these events- first smile, first laugh, first roll- until they happen. Then I want time to still and seal up the newborn cry, fisted fingers and wobbly head so I can witness it forever.

No such luck.

Now I'm on to craving toy interaction, sitting up and rolling for travel. Such a bipolar cycle to place myself in.

--------------------------

Lib the snorkler

Tomorrow marks the last week of summer. I am singing hallelujahs to school beginning. To a schedule of which to gauge my days. Having four children has made me crave a schedule. Wake, breakfast, three out to school, feeding, naptime- FREE TIME FOR MOM!, pick up Abbie, errands/work/playtime, more naptime and feedings, kids come home, homework, piano, soccer, dance, run here and run there, throw in dinner then bedtime to get ready for the next day. I assume this schedule will make more time for other things like better focused family time and exercise, but I know the days will continue only with 24 hours.

Knowing myself, a week into my new great schedule and I will be dying for summer to begin again. Never thought I'd say it, but I miss the summers with toddlers. Those lazy days without schedule and with whim on our side. To bad those are a thing of the past.

School clothes are bought, last minute fun is planned and throbbing trepidation is settling in. Aspen is at her last year in Elementary School, Lib finds herself behind before she even begins 3rd grade and Abbie has her final year of preschool. Growth times three.

My hopes are:
     *That Aspen settles in with some good friends before middle school and enjoys her last year of        innocent childhood consisting of Barbies, running around in swimsuits, and not noticing the opposite sex.
     *That Lib continues to enjoy learning... label free, and absorbs enough to process then spill back out... enough.
      *That Abbie will let loose, play, learn by doing and enjoy her last year of freedom until the ABC's and 123's are crammed into her charming little head, forever.
      *That Sunny and I will take more walks together. More naps. Maybe even take her first bike ride just as soon as she sits up!

2+ month Sabbatical

Mother, O' Mother, come shake out your cloth,

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth.

Hang out the washing, make up the bed,

Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,

Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due,

Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek - peekaboo.

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew,

And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo.

But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?

Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,

But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

~ Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Besides enjoying my final baby, I have been trying to avoid much of Anything these last few months. Unfortunately Anything has not been avoiding me. Life is busy.

There is soccer, soccer fundraising and shuttling for soccer. Summer school, homework and arguing about homework. Chores and keeping up with the weeds and watering- unsuccessfully. There have been skinners to bandage, fights to resolve, popsicles to divvy out, park visits, playing and more playing. All good things, give or take.

In the meantime, I love on Sunny before one of her fascinated sisters steals her or asks to "have her next".  Each time the nursery is quiet (a rarity with Sunny's in-house fame) and feeding time is absent any on lookers (a rarity my breasts and I love), I remind myself  "I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep".

Today Sunny is a whopping 12 pounds even and 23 inches long. She has leg rolls that make most grown women jealous and a cute hole in her face when she smiles. Thanks to a perfectly positioned left thumb she is sleeping through the night and this makes me love her even more!

In her short life thus far, Sunny was blessed and officially given her hippy name, has sat in the sand at Bear Lake's north beach, surfed the waves of Seven Peaks Water Park, gone fishing and gotten a tattoo. She's been to free summer lunch a million times, taken a trip to Provo to see grandmas and grandpa, slept, eaten, taken Gold in Olympic infant pooping (a new event), and has puked on just about every person who has held her. I believe her puking to be her secret initiation ritual for those she lets into the Lucky People Who Love Sunny Club. Besides all that, she has ridden in her car seat- A LOT, hung out in mom's Sunny Wrap, the bouncer or stroller. She seems to be enjoying it all, minus the puking. When that makes her mad, we just take her outside. She's my kind of girl.

Fresh and new at two weeks old.

Blessing day, June 2, 2012, just shy of 1 month old

All smiles at 2 months.

With Grandma Great

Laying out at 7 Peaks

All wrapped up

Tummy Love

Sisters!

Worn Out

Lately I've been so swollen that my toes look and feel like sausages. Even my favorite church shoes wouldn't fit today. Not a good sign.

Tomorrow is blood pressure and weight day. Slightly nervous for both. My blood pressure feels high and I'm hoping it's not too terribly high. 

I've had contractions off and on today. I think they are doing things. They feel more powerful than any previous Braxton-Hicks. My heart races, my breathing changes, and the baby moves with each tightening. Other parts seem to hurt too. Luckily the contractions have had irregular timing, but they do come frequently while laying down and have worn me out today.

This all makes me excited for the big day, and nervous at the same time. I don't want birth day to come too soon.

Talking and thinking about pregnancy and health this much really makes me feel and sound old. My hats off to women who birth in their 40's and 50's. I know I wouldn't live.

Wide Load and Proud of It!

Siblings love to tease each other. I know this because my brother has never not teased me. When I was a little girl Jeff's teasing used to fire me up and make me cry. Now, I've gotten smart and learned how to dish it back.

Last Monday I went to my 32 week prenatal visit. First my blood pressure was checked. Perfect, not to high, not to low. I'm hoping to avoid bed rest these last few weeks and the need for Magnesium Sulfate at delivery- two extremely annoying things. I was feeling confident about my good numbers. Next came the scale. Normally scales don't elicit much response from me. I've gotten over defining myself by a number I weigh. There is more to life than being obsessed with such frivolity. But as I looked at the scale and read a number I've never before seen in my life, my eyes widened and my spirit sank. It took me all day to stop thinking about that stupid number and to reassure myself that I was indeed pregnant and this is what happens. Come the next day I was fine.

Yesterday as I descended from upstairs at Paul's house, with a throng of people surrounding the landing, Jeff yells "Watch out, wide load coming through!" For a second the dreaded number on the scale flashed back into my head. For a second I really wanted to tell him to be nice and go cry in the corner, but I took it like a winner and said "you're just jealous I can do something you can't". Not my best defense, but it shut him up and pushed my terrible weight number back to the recesses of my mind.  

I would also be willing to wager he can't lose 25lbs in a day either. Ha, take that sucker!       

Thoughts on the day

-Felt good today, for a 33 week pregnant lady. I'll take it.

-Aspen tried out for the school talent show, and made it. She performed today playing "Fur Elise" on the piano. It was a perfect rendition (with a few nerves which made it a quick rendition) just like she promised it would be since we straightened her hair last night, in preparation. In fact, her exact quote was "I feel more educated when my hair is straight". She also said it helps her get A's and do better at anything she is does. She even went as far as to promise her straightened hair would help deliver a solid performance today. She may be on to something.
I was proud of her. She did great.
I think straight hair gives her attitude and boy did we see a lot of that today. Attitude is good when harnessed, really difficult to deal with when not. I'm thinking that today she could of also auditioned for the Disney Channel and made it. Drama, drama and attitude mixed with more drama. Love her still.

-When giving her a bath today, Abbie asked me not to clean her wiener. "No worries, I won't because you don't have one. You're a girl silly". Where does she get this from? I'm totally blaming it on Liberty since minutes before Lib told me her's was clean. Here I thought I've been giving the girls proper terminology and trying to teach them differences in boys and girls. Hasn't worked so well, apparently. Sure made for a good laugh though!

Top Ten Reasons I Loved My Visit to Mom and Dad's (3-1)

3) Dad taking Mom and I on a date. He took us to the Amateur Ballroom Dancing Championships at BYU. His comments were spot on that night and if you didn't know Dad was funny, you would have wished you were sitting within earshot of us that night. It was a lovely night where we saw the most amazing performance of Michael Jackson's Thriller, which is saying a lot considering every dancer choreographs a dance to Thriller at least once in their lifetime. This piece needed a larger audience, like television. It was that amazing.

2) Mom helping me finish my sewing projects. We made receiving blankets, burp cloths, and bibs. Necessary items for the coming months.

1) Mom and Dad took good care of me. There's nothing like going home as a parent and being well looked after by parents. The months in this pregnancy have taken so much out of me and this five day rest was just the refresher I needed. I'm so thankful for loving, caring parents who let me come home.

Top Ten Reasons I Loved My Visit to Mom and Dad's (7-4)

7) Shopping with Grandma. Normally I detest shopping, but going with Grandma makes it so much more fun. We were able to use a gift card for free purchases and found some lovely newborn necessities- all in hues of yellow, orange and green of course.

6) Sleeping in. With no children to wake up with/for, I entertained a bed until mid mornings on a few occasions. While the world went on without me I peacefully slumbered. It was wonderful up until the morning I really needed to sleep in (late night chatting with mom) and then someone decided to run a dump truck in reverse the entire morning. BEEP BEEP!

5) Afternoon walks in the sunshine. Flowers and trees were budding in masse everywhere the eye could see. Even the stale cold winter air had departed and left behind smells of growth and warmth. With temperatures above 55, I definitely enjoyed a taste of spring with my break. No coat needed.

4) Home renovation went on with out me. I didn't even have to help this time. While away, Mick, Jeff and several other men were busy bees getting two rooms started (and almost finished!) in our remodel room swap. New electrical, heat ducts, closets, cable wiring, ceiling lights- you name it. Up next, I get the fun part of picking out paint colors and decorating. In the mean time, the house looks like a tornado touched down, but at least I know my babies will be warm in the attic loft next winter with the aid of a powerful new heat vent cousin Scott put in (Thanks Kayce, for lending Scott to the cause for so many hours!).

Top Ten Reasons I Loved My Visit to Mom and Dad's (10-8)

Being out of town and computerless did not help my Lent cause. Oh well. Try and try again. Here's a new start:

10)  I didn't have to think about food, mom just fed me what she thought up and made. It was all so tasty and really hit the spot. My new favorite dessert- cut up fruit and berries drenched in vanilla coffee creamer. Ummm, I'm salivating just typing it.

Most thoughts of food this pregnancy make me want to hurl. For the two days I've been back, I've missed not having to think about food, preparing it and then trying to consume it. I am grateful for those who fed me while I was away, thanks Mom, Dad, Jeff, Shauna and Brick Oven one trip pasta and salad bar.

9) Going to Mom and Dad's house without the children. It does a mom good to run away once in a while. There was less to pack, less to tackle, less food prep, less mess, less opinions on my music choices, less schedules which equaled out to more RELAXATION (aka, Heaven). I missed them though and think they all grew a foot in five days, especially Abbie.

Returning home I've been exhausted doing a million loads of laundry, some shopping trips and otherwise making up for my absence.

8) No contractions.

Benefits of Male Cleavage

Last night I was reminded why I should quit my job.

At only 2 hours a week (a measly subsistence until a later date), one would consider this a non issue and tell me to buck up. But each evening when the pregnancy fog settles in, it lingers with impermeable exhaustion, nausea, a broken coccyx, swollen feet, a back that might snap in half with further movement, and an unmentionable and undesirable condition.

First came the heavy thought of "great, now I have to bend over and tie my running shoes!", followed closely with a pathetic "What's the point? I can't stand for very long or run anyway".

Forging ahead, I did lace up my shoes, heaving slightly as my rotund belly hung like a rock between my knees. Finally vertical and with one monumental task down, I grabbed my music and wobbled my way to the car at a pace even a turtle could beat.

Life size posters of fit, attractive people and their body parts line the testing center walls. Makes sense considering that I work for a health and fitness industry.

As I found a treadmill and began walking at a way-too-fast-for-me-lately pace of 3mph, I glanced over and saw the same set of brown skinned male abs and pectoral muscles I have seen a million times. Except this time the naked chest was inches from my face and I could not help but noticed this man had cleavage! An actual deep cleavage crevice where one might lose some small change or a cell phone.

That's when it hit me:

Just like this man had to flex to achieve such a crevice (or let's hope he did!), I had to be flexible enough to realize I would make it out of my current foggy crevice. That in just a few months time I would easily be able to bend over, lace my anxious feet back into my shoes, walk like a typical human- maybe even run. That the unmentionable pregnancy condition would be gone, this babe will be here, and instead of having to leave work after one hour, I could manage a few extra.

Thank You for the hope, male cleavage.

Gastroenteritis

Sounds awful and it is. I awoke last night with the worst abdominal (both high and low) pains ever. I squirmed for a while in bed before I felt like I should reach the bathroom quickly. My stomach seemed to be distending before my eyes as I sat clutching the garbage can and shaking from head to toe. My mind raced over what I had eaten the previous day. Chicken. Salmonella? Could be a myriad of diagnosis. Chilled to the bone and hunched over in pain, I hit up a hot bath for some reprieve. Little was given. After about two hours I woke up Mick. He saved the day, found me some Pepto and tucked me into bed- this time with the HOT, hot pad. Relief found me and melatonin took care of the rest.

This morning I slept in. Mick saved the day again, taking Lib to early morning piano and getting Aspen off to school. Chiga slept until 10, and so did I. I woke with a terrible taste in my mouth. Brushing my teeth, still with sleepy eyes closed, I parted my lids slightly to insure target at the sink. When I spit, all was black- BLACK! Then I looked at my tongue, it was black. Weird. Something was not normal. With mild cramping and a black tongue I called Mick at work. Mick Googled black tongue and stomach ache. Seems I have a case of Gastroenteritis. Here's praying the next 12 hours are better.

What is holding me back.

This post, by Cjane's guest author Angela Hallstrom, really summed up myself lately. Loved the poem, A Litany for Survival, by Audre Lorde too. So powerful! Both the article and poem were poignant and solidified exactly which answers I've been seeking and receiving.  

For me life is about taking turns. Turn right and go to this university as opposed to another. Turn left, pick up a spouse. Make a quick left again and become a mother. Now right once more, and in comes a new direction that will keep me aligned with my entire map of life's choices. 

Taking turns in life is likely the case for most women. Focusing on a turn we chose, before making a new one becomes paramount. We cannot be all we want all the time. Taking the left verses the desired right comes with a trade off we learn to appreciate along the way. Waiting to take specific turns may or may not be easier with age. Deciding when to make a new turn is even more difficult. 

Lately I feel another turn coming up. Do I take it? Do I wait?

Just the other day I wrote to a friend whom I've been doing writing work for. He's a creative genius and I wanted his professional input. He, as well as a few others have challenged and encouraged my writing aspirations. I explained that writing has only been a personal thing for me for so long, that it is hard to put personal out there to be seen, dare even criticized. Basically, I lack the confidence which rises from my fears and asked him if he ever felt the same.

"This is a discussion best had over a few cocktails and hard to put in a letter", he replied. 

Cocktails or no cocktails, he gave me words of wisdom I needed to hear. I'm grateful for his logistical, action oriented tips toward a direction I am just beginning to dip my feet into. 

He went on:

"It is actually pretty hard to find people that will give you constructive criticism. More often then not they will tell you the good things, not the bad. 

Insecurities try to poke their head out every single day. What we do with them is up to us. When those insecurities pop up ask yourself if there is something you can do to make them go away. Are you not prepared enough? Is there something you need to learn? Is there anything to be done about them at all? If there is nothing you can control, you simply have to dismiss them.

Even being a very confident person they sneak up on me every day, usually days I am not making much money. I start to question my decisions about following my dream. After coming up with a game plan of what else I can do to grow I dismiss them and remind myself that I have a solid game plan, provide a needed service and can do it better than most.

How do you put a number on your worth? Look for the market value of what you do and price yourself at the top of it. You can always come down, you can't go up. Besides, if you don't feel that you are worth top market value, you can and should change whatever you need to make yourself worth top market value.

I will just add one more tip that always helps me. Make your goals first. Imagine what you want. You don't have to know how to get there yet. Once you give your mind the goal it will come up with the how on its' own."

exerts from  A LITANY FOR SURVIVAL

 - Audre Lorde, The Black Unicorn

...for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed futures
like bread in our children's mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours:

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads...

...And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
 

...and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed 

but when we are silent
we are still afraid

So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.

Simple and True.

Reflections 2010-11 entry from Rebecca, an elementary student.

Mom was right, life gets busier the older you get. Circles of people and events get bigger and bigger with each blown out candle. Hence why I have not been on top of journaling my thoughts/happenings lately.

I've thought plenty. Equally loving and hating that I do that so well. Menial house duties are a catalyst for inducing such time. In fact, just the other night while at work, doing another menial task (and being relatively quite since I was the only female in a room of males), a creative idea jumped in my head. Now the next objective I have is to find time to pursue it. I will hint that it has something to do with shoes. This hint being solely (no pun intended) for remembrance purposes.

I've also tried to avoid some thinking: some whys I want answered, some woe is me garbage, some when questions. All of which I find if I keep busy enough, their answers will come in time. In experience. Possibly through other people. So, I've stayed busy. Going here, there. Doing this, that. Volunteering. Serving. Saying "yes".

Getting out of myself has been a welcome relief. In spite of the busy, life has been sweeter and offered answers in ways I never thought I'd discover them. I've felt more tired and stressed, but the old adage is true:

"When you cast your bread upon the waters- it comes back a sandwich".

R.E.M- Where art thou?

Last night I had a sleepover at the hospital.

I even got to bring my own pillows.

26 wires with electrodes were attached to my head, chest, back, both eye sockets, behind both ears, both sides of my jaw and on my legs. At first glace I looked like human spaghetti, but with a double take, maybe more like I may have just learned not to stick my finger in an electrical outlet.

I was hot.

So hot that Lee the tech took my picture... from every angle. I teased him that he and his cohorts in the lab secretly post scary picture updates on Facebook of each nights new sleep study patient. Really, what could be more exciting when stuck beside a computer watching someone sleep during all hours of the evening? Lee claimed pictures were taken "in case an electrode fell off, so he'd know exactly where to place it back on" and for the Dr. reading my assessment.

I choose to believe Lee.
Come to think of it, Lee never took one single picture of the four electrodes attached to my legs though. Umm.

I was at least pleased Lee took my pretty picture a million times BEFORE he placed the snore mic on my chin, oxygen prongs up my noise and some brush like bristles even further up my nose which tickled my cilia and produced a mighty sneeze.

Like I said, I was looking hot.

By the time my index finger was taped to an oximeter which was then taped to my arm and I was ready to "start the sleep session", I of course had to use the ladies room. My 26 new friends, chest strap and stomach strap joined me. Who knows if the mic was turned off...

Did I mention there are several video cameras located in the sleep room? With all this junk attached to people, loud snoring choruses, sleep talking, sleep laughing and sleep walking; techs have got to have awesome sleep study stories to tell. The best Lee had to share was: "I had two separate old men wake in the middle of the night, make their way to the garbage can located on the other side of the room and urinate it it, rather then use the toilet that was four feet away. I didn't have the heart to say wait! stop! All I knew is the room was going to smell really nice in the morning."

This made me laugh some tired giggles and then immediately pray my semi subconscious self would do nothing out of the ordinary in my sleep. For a split second in the middle of my prayer I had to remind myself that the sleep techs could not hear my thoughts.

Strictly out of fear that Lee would have a new and better story to share with tonight's sleep study victim I could not for the life of me, fall asleep. Well, that along with taking a mess of 26 tangled friends to bed and crap stuffed up my nose.

Luckily the bed was comfortable and I had my squishy pink ear plugs. I could have sworn I was back in the ever noisy labor and delivering wing with guests coming in and out of doors all night. Must have been my sleep study neighbors electrodes that kept popping off...

Eventually, after what seemed like 6 awakenings trying to untangle myself from wires in order to reposition- I got some sleep.
"Two good R.E.M cycles" said Lee when he woke me with a tainted good morning at 6:30 am.
"Aren't we supposed to have four cycles of R.E.M each night, I spoke with morning breath and a mess of hair as Lee tugged tape off my face. 
"Yeah, most people do".

No wonder why I'm so tired all day, apparently my eyeballs need to be moving more rapidly to insure I'm fully functioning through out the day.

I don't get it.

All I hope is that a little R.E.M. finds me this evening, even if I do have dreams of some bald guy serenading me with his music of the 80's.

Nighty night.
Sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
If they do, bite them back.

I Wish the Sun Would Stay Around for Winter

These past three days are the best I've felt since the end of September. I'm grateful to be on the mend. Even more grateful that I don't have a dreaded blood disease, as I thought was the case.

My frazzled answer seeking self thought I'd search Google with my symptoms, prior to a week out doctors appointment. Google can be so helpful, but when it comes to researching medical issues, it is down right frightening! Any number of maladies could be wrong with an individual researching on WebMD or other sites. Hypochondriacs must be having a field day with Internet medical help!

On the flip side, Doctors tell us very little. One of the three I saw told me I was "overweight with a short neck". I wanted to say to him "Thank you for letting me pay you to tell me what I already know- I feel so confident you went to school for all that knowledge and that I'm sitting on your table!" He does get credit for searching his knowledge bank since he was puzzled by my conditions. But still, if you don't know, say you don't know.

Luckily my Gynecologist's Nurse Practitioner was on the ball. In my opinion, female medical professionals tend to know and understand female anatomy at such a better level of understanding than male medical professionals. I would almost wager my right arm that Nurse Practitioners are so much more thorough then Doctors, but that's a whole other argument. Any how, my GNP (not to be confused with Gross National Product) looked me over, in entirety- outside and in (lucky me!) taking one blood test after another.

Turns out I was a very healthy sick person. After what seemed like every test known to medicine, only a huge Vitamin D deficiency and an enlarged spleen were noticed. I was shocked to learn that extremely low levels of Vitamin D cause: hair loss, skin problems, nail breakage (wait it gets better), extreme exhaustion and fatigue, head aches, dizziness, lack of focus and concentration, joint and bone pain, and in my case, spleen enlargement.

I count my blessings for an emergency 8 week plan of 10,000 units of Vitamin D each day, and for a great NP who sat for a while listening to me complain about every ailment under the sun. I'm feeling much better. Slightly over dosed and tired still, and not one hundred percent, but better. Thanks for all your well wishes and concern.

Are you getting your recommended dose of Vitamin D each day? Especially all you Utahans who live under winter inversion. Only 10 minutes each day under the suns UV rays on your hands, arms and face-- without sunscreen-- will do you good; or 2000 units a day. It makes a world of difference!