So tomorrow is Thanksgiving. All I keep thinking is "I should run to target and get some groceries" or "I need to ahet that XYZ toy for Brighton" or whatever. Basically my thoughts are roaming towards shopping and my usual day off. But instead I'll be stuffing my face and stretching my pants and most likely cleaning pumpkin pie and whipped topping off my children and their clothes. And I'll be knitting. Yes, I will. First of all, I hate sitting around with nothing to do with my hands. I'll either knit or eat, and quite frankly I'll be pushing my luck with my already stretchy yoga pants. I am fortunate to have such thoughts. On this Thankgiving Eve, I shall reflect on a few things I am thankful for. Of course I'm thankful for family and for having a warm roof over our head and a kitchen fully stocked with food. Something I know many do not have. But I'm also thankful for the lessons I've learned and hardships I've endured to become the imperfect person I am today. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. This year and for many years to come. This blog is a personal blog, copyright protected under a creative commons license. You may not use any photos included in this blog for commercial or non commercial use.

BLOG BLOG BLOOOOOOG

So I decided to create another blog because I post WAY too many things on facebook that my kids are doing and saying and figured at least this way I could keep all those quips in a neat little package. Like I did with Brighton's blog, turned family blog that just didn't feel right so kind of came to a screeching hault. Then I added an eating local blog, a photo blog, an Iowa blog, a blog just about Emmeline, and a homebrew blog. Which brings me to this blog, that I'm typing on the toilet while my daughter is taking a bath.

So that right there, that last sentence? That's how my posts will be. Pretty frank, pretty blunt, hopefully funny or at least mildly entertaining. Because in my house, we bicker, we argue, we seem to have a constant barrage of random crap (mostly toys and paper) floating about our house, but we enjoy one another. And we laugh. A lot. So I hope this blog doesn't go the way of the dodo. like the others did.










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Time Change #BigFatFail

Facebook Post from 11/6/11

"Well this time change was a big fat disappointment. Neither child slept in. And Andrew's plan of "we'll get the kids to bed at 8:00" took a big crap at albuterol alley and poop drive. Thwarted by man and nature."

Andrew and I had great expectations regarding this time change.  We convinced ourselves that the kids' bodies would still tell them it was an hour later, so we could start putting them to bed (technically) an hour earlier.  I jumped on board with this thinking because, well, it's logical right?  

WRONG

Part of it wasn't anyone's fault really.  Brighton has a nasty wheeze, so he's taking breathing treatments with alburerol which increases heart rate, blah blah blah, and can keep them awake or make them shaky.  OK fine.  He had a hard time going to sleep, he doesn't feel good and wanted a little cuddle time more than what he was given.  So his bedtime took about 1.5 hours.  (FYI, we started at 8)...but we can deal with Brighton's bedtime, he's pretty easy to get to go to bed.  

Then there's Emmeline.  Oh sweet Emmeline.  She's been off for about 2 months now, between illnesses and surgery and antibiotics her gut has been a wreck.  So finally we had a more solid poop for the first time in 2 months about 3 days ago.  And she's started to get tired around 8 - 8:30 PM CDT.  So it would make sense that once we were back into standard time, she would get tired around 7 - 7:30 right?  Well, she did.  So I cut my show and my Ravelry search for a manly hat with ear flaps short so I could attempt to put Emmeline to bed at 7:30.  She nursed for a little while as we rocked, acted like she was going to fall asleep...then POP!  Her eyes fly open, her legs start to flail, and I feel her trying to escape off my lap.  CRAP!  So I just give up after about 1/2 hour and come back out into the livingroom.  

Guess what?  No one frigging went to bed until almost 10 PM.  Was that CDT? OR CST?  I don't effing know. But to top it off, everyone was awake promptly at 6:15.  

BIGFATFAIL.

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Reason #347 For Why I Can Not be a SAHM

Really, SAHM's (Stay At Home Mom's) I hand it to ya.  Moreover, WAHM's (Work At Home Mom's) I am floored at how you do it.  Heaven help me.  I'm trying to get the last of my garden preserved, and I can't finish anything without a vacuum or towel or Norwex cloth in my hand.  Now, in all fairness, I have a mountain of Kale to dehydrate, and searching through the curly leaf kale for caterpillars the same exact color, is painstaking and takes an extraordinary amount of time.  But Emme has a deck box full, no, OVERFLOWING, with toys.  What does she find?  The plant I brought in from outside because I didn't want it to freeze.  And the dirt.  Everywhere.  I knew she was too quiet...

On a more positive note, as I was typing, she climbed onto the table, sat herself in her high chair and buckled herself in.  And is now making a mountain out of a mole hill.  Time for a snack I guess.

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Bullying

So who knew bullying started in Preschool, right?  I'm curious, who teaches their boys that it's OK to hit and pinch and kick?  Older siblings?  Parents who rough house?  Parents who don't pay any attention to what their kids are doing?  Because Brighton started being bullied in Pre-K.  He's now in Kindergarten and being bullied again.

Being a fierce mama, I am inclined to rock the world of this kid's parents.  I don't want my son to continue to be party to this brat's pinching and kicking and pushing and punching.  He's the kind of kid that looks all cute but the second you turn your head away, he's punching someone, breaking something, doing something he's not supposed to be doing.

On the other hand, my son has a tendency to exaggerate, and as of late, lie.  He's not perfect, not by a long shot, and I'm sure he's party to some kind of Neanderthal behavior himself on the playground.  He has a propensity for quick tears.  He's not assertive, he's not mean, he's not ... well, he's not a neanderthal. 

So what's a mom to do?  I've emailed his teacher, principal, counselor, and superintendent.  Though it seems for all pretenses, that they're listening to what I'm saying, it also seems that they would rather I handle it by helping to "empower" Brighton to tell his teacher and for me to talk to this other kid's parents.  Oh I'll talk to them alright.  But if I don't see some kind of improvement, I'm taking him out of this school.

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Getting the worst mother ever award again, at Emme's Dr. Visit the other day, she asked how many words Emme has, and I said .... "Uh...I dunno?? She mostly grunts." Now, in my defense, I only had 2.5 hours of sleep the night before...or the morning before...so she cut me some slack. So here's a list thus far that I can think of, just to prove to no one in particular (because no one reads this blog) that I'm not a completely inept mother...

Wow

Poop

Duck

Cat

Uh-Oh

Night-Night

Mom

Dad

Brighton (i-ton)

Woof

Dog

No!

All Done

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Monsters

What a whirlwind of a weekend. This month has gone by so fast it's almost like August never happened. Today we're recovering from a great weekend of meeting family members I've only known through facebook. My husband's family had a family reunion and some of his family that I've never met (in person) came from all parts of the states. My little E was a monster and a half, and is still being a monster and a half. Though maybe more of 1 1/4 monster at this point...she's teething, growing, and having 2 days of little or no nap and 2 nights of short 10 hour sleeps. My son B is still regurgitating scenes from the Call of Duty debacle from his summer sitters (LSS, all summer long he'd been talking about this zombie video game he's been playing and I thought it was some silly E for Everyone game where they chase zombies blah blah but turns out, his sitter was letting him play or watch - doesn't really matter - Call of Duty...ever seen it? Check out the link...nice...fucking brilliant-until one day he says to me "I shot this guy in the back of the head and shot this guys face off! to which I had a MAJOR freak out melt down mama bear style) so we're still dealing with blowing peoples (well, zombies - but still) heads off and shooting them in the face. Which is a whole different story. AT ANY RATE. This was a great weekend that thank god is ending today. Preferably after monster #2 has her morning nap.

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A BLEEPING COUGAR!

So...my life pretty much consists of my family, my house, my pets, my plants, and Facebook. Sad and pathetic, yes I know. But late lastnight RIGHT BEFORE BED, I read one of my posts about a cougar in Lisbon. Laying in a field. ...... I could go in all sorts of directions with this, but unfortunately, it was a real cougar - or puma - or mountain lion - or catamount - or big fast sneaky scary cat - however you wish to refer to it - in a town just about 7 miles west and north of where I live. It was spotted. And it's been stealing sheep. FUCKING SHEEP. Have you ever seen a sheep? They're not mean, in fact, they're kinda stupid. But they will headbutt a metal fence at a full on run if they're threatened.

So what do I do? I do what every rational, sane, person does for to-the-minute accurate information, I google it. "cougar sightings in Iowa." I find sightings from as recent as February 2011. In Iowa City.

Well here's my thought process:
"Is this a joke? He's joking. A cougar, that's silly. Are they bringing wine? haha" O_O "wait. This is a real cougar? A REAL mountain lion? OMG my children play outside. They can NEVER PLAY OUTSIDE AGAIN! But wait, they are nocturnal right? Of course they are. They're cats. (FYI not true) Oh crap. I have to go outside with the dogs now when they go potty. And carry pepper spray - no wait, I don't want it to get that close. An air horn. Yeah that's better. I'm sure the few neighbors that we have would really enjoy a 3 AM air horn blast. Well maybe they'd be OK with it if they knew there was a FUCKING PUMA in the area. I need a gun."
I kind of ran with this idea of a mountain lion and I assume it will come prey on my little family because we're the only ones in the town with small children and dogs. But still. It freaks me out. And we're surrounded by corn. But we are also right next to the highway with an active train track just on the other side of the highway. So...

But still. A FUCKING COUGAR! Maybe I'll bait it with some Chardonnay then spray it with my pepper spray right before I confuse it with my air horn.


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A Broken Heart

Ok so I know that I complain about being "stuck" with my children, sometimes. But when I'm stuck with no hope of anyone coming to my rescue, I feel trapped, claustrophobic, like I can't breathe. But when my husband comes to me today after he's been mowing for 5 hours and says to me "My mom said she would take the kids so we could go run errands without them" I honestly felt my stomach drop. Not that Grandma isn't capable. But I will miss them. I love my children. How dare he make such a suggestion and plan without consulting me first?! Emme's been happy today. Brighton's been good. They've been silly and funny and I don't want to leave them.

What is wrong with me?


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Fleeting Moments

As a parent, we all have those moments of clarity when we step away from the day to day diaper changes and t-ball games and general rushing here to there only to realize how quickly time really does go. I woke with a back ache, and moved Emme to her co-sleeper, and the memory of her so tiny and chubby flashed through my mind. Then Brighton's sweet little baby face, and I panicked. And cried. I will never have little babies of my own again. No more midnight feedings. No more tiny baby cuddling in my arms. I'm still nursing, but no more all around the clock. I do want my babies to grow up. The alternative is incomprehensible. But if time could just slow a little, that would be great.

A Morning Full of Expletives

The night started out relatively rough, but we got through it with some ibuprofen and some rocking and some giving in. We set up the cosleeper for Emmeline in hopes that she would sleep in there like she does at her daycare. Not that I don't want her near me, but my back can't take sleeping with a toddler any longer. Then a typical Iowa thunderstorm hit sometime in the middle of the night complete with booming thunder. Which brought my son into the bedroom to nest on the floor.

I should have known this would be the beginning of my peaceful morning's demise.

I woke up at 5:30 more or less, to my husband's expletive after stepping in dog vomit. Which was directly in his walking path. On the carpet (of course.) So I sneaked out of bed and into the bathroom and thought to myself "I might as well just get up because I won't be able to sleep."

Shortly thereafter, she woke.

And that's when the expletives started for me.

Since 5:30 this morning.

Emme is sleeping, I sneak out for some coffee...realize my husband only ground enough for him.
-Expletive-

I unplug the grinder and take it to the front porch, close the door, I grind enough for two cups. Come inside, free pour my coffee. I hear her crying.
-Expletive-

My son wakes up, wants up on the bed. Sure. Fine. Great. Another breathing body, maybe she'll stay asleep. I lay down, stick my boob in her mouth, she falls back to sleep. I slowly removing myself (hoping. praying.) that having Brighton next to her will keep her content and she'll stay sleeping. Again, I sneak back out of the bedroom in search of my newly poured cup of hot coffee and I turn the computer on.

She's awake. And crying. Again.
-EXPLETIVE-

Is she feverish? No not really. Is she teething? Yes probably. I give her hylands teething gel and tyelnol. I decide I should rock her. She falls asleep. I can tell she's tired. She of course, wants to nurse. So I let her nurse. She falls asleep (sort of). I lay her back into bed. Walk out into the hallway, she's awake again. Crying.
-Expletive-

Ok now it's time for the baby wearing apparatus. I go out to the car and retrieve the mei tai. Emme sees it and calms down (good sign). I put her in. Happy. OK cool. I can deal with this. -DEEP BREATH- I walk from the bedroom to the kitchen. Thinking (like a fool) "OK. Now maybe if I rock and type and drink my coffee while I'm wearing her she'll be OK."

Nope. I sit, she freaks out. I stand up and walk she's fine.
-EXPLETIVE! EXPLETIVE! EXPLETIVE!! -

I'll try the ring sling. She can nurse in the ring sling. Probably. Maybe. Spend about 10 minutes trying to figure the expletive thing out again, finally get it (sort of) figured out, put her in, reach down to the depths of my t-shirt to find my boob and stick it in her mouth. She's kind of content. OK good. . Then apparently she gets uncomfortable, starts to fidget. I know where this is headed. Down the expletive road. Yep there it is. Crying, screaming, freaking out.
-WHAT THE EXPLETIVE!!! EXPLETIVE OF ALL THINGS EXPLETIVE!!!!!-

I'm giving up. I can feel the strength and compassion draining slowly from my body. I am either going to scream (which will be heard all over my small town) or go drown myself in the toilet (probably not the way I want to go) or just go lay her back down and see what happens. The latter is the most terrifying...I can feel the fear bubbling inside my stomach like I just jumped off a 30 story building....

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

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

crying.............



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

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

Omg could it really be?

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

Nope.

EXPLETIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And my once hot steaming coffee, is sitting next to me, untouched, cold, abandoned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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In The Beginning - A Fairy Tale

In The Beginning:

There was two.


A man and a woman who loved one another very much. Who had gotten to know one another in marriage for four blissful years. Who were best of friends. But those two wanted more. They wanted a family. Their home was too quiet, too calm, too boooooooorrrrring.







Then came a boy. A little boy with chubby, rosey, pinchable cheeks and a squirley and infectious giggle. A little boy who consumed our lives and our love and our home. A Prince. A noble and sweet and kind and considerate and brave prince.

And then there were three.








Then came a girl. A Princess. A girl who stole hearts and gave butterflies. With a droopy eyelid and 4 toes on one foot, her uniqueness drew everyone in like the smell of roses to the gardener. She was perfect. Her eyes bright and her hair curly. And her teeny tiny button nose and wide smile melts and mends.

And then there were four.

This is our Fairy Tale.