Please Tell Me This Is Normal

Beta Testing

Hey there, internets. Remember me? I still exist.

Shocker, I know.

I guess I should begin by announcing the newest member of the family, Codename: Beta.

 So, remember that post I had, venting my frustration at my trigger-happy husband who was quick to point out every moment I had an ounce of nausea or was a wee bit sleepy at two in the afternoon?

Of course, the moment I chose to blog about it, he ends up being right. Word to the wise: Before you go snarking on your husband in any form of online media, especially one that he is capable of finding to have proof that he was somehow miraculously right, cover your bases. Pee on the stick before posting. You don't want to give your husband that upper hand to have physical, tangible evidence that he was right. He won't forget that kind of thing overnight. Or in three months, apparently. Learn from my mistakes. You're welcome.

So, six (yes, SIX) days later, while my husband was having his weekly nerdfest/geek invitational/Dungeons and Dragons game night, I get bored and decide to go to Walmart. Still thinking about the constant barrage of questions I'd been receiving that week, I decide, "What the heck. I'll get a test, prove him wrong, and giggle at him."

I'm going to interupt this minor flashback for a brief aside on buying pregnancy tests at a small town Walmart. It sucks. EVERYONE KNOWS EVERYBODY. On a trip to procure the test, it is guaranteed that one will run into at least three people that one knows, and each of these three people will insist on discussing recent happenings in one’s life, all the while one nervously chatters and hides the telling box in the crook of one’s arm (BTW, whose bright idea was it to clearly mark “Pregnancy Test” on all the sides of the stupid box? No discretion. NONE. You would think they would have the courtesy to at least make one side say something more subtle, like, ‘NOT a pregnancy test’).

Anyway, by the time I got out of Walmart, I had started to wish I had just found some one with a spare rabbit that I could have 'borrowed'. Maybe more messy, but much less painful. For me.

Once I got home, I proceeded to take the test, and, once again, instead of waiting the full three minutes like most are supposed to to see the tiny wee second line, it pops out immediately, mocking me with it's bold proclamation of HEY LADY YOU IZ PREGNANT.

I can't say exactly what I said at the time, but I'm pretty sure it sounded like, "Oh, @#%*"

I didn't really handle it all that well.

And of course, I can't barge in on 'game night' because they were all, "I'm going to stab the lizard guy with my ice sword!" and "You can't do that, you have to prepare your weapon!" and "I DID prepare my weapon and it's only a half-action!"

It's a little overwhelming.

So I waited til the next morning to inform the Jeff of the mini-Jeff that's now growing, and regrettably he remembered the blog post. And immediately pulled it up.

And he giggled, and giggled, and giggled.

It Sounds So Easy

So,  I have a question for you, dear internet.  HOW DO YOU GET YOUR CHILDREN TO GO TO SLEEP AT NIGHT.  And, yes, I realize this is something I should have figured out long ago, seeing as how my oldest is now, um, (gulp) six and all, but seriously?  I suck at this part of parenting.

In the old house, the kids had TVs and VCRs in the room and would just watch a movie and fall asleep.  We realized that this was setting a bad precedent and during the move, moved the TVs out of their rooms.  But now?  They will not go to sleep on their own.

It will be, like midnight, and they will still be awake.  Still coming down the stairs every two to three minutes for “just one more drink” or “I have to go potty” or “I’m scared;  I think I saw Swiper the fox.”  And it never ends.  Finally, when I’m ready to lose it, one or both of us goes up there and lays down with them and within 30 seconds they are out and you can sneak out.  But it is a horrible evening all around.

The alternative is to start off by laying down with them and then leaving, but that also kills your whole evening and before you know it its ten o clock before you get both kids finally to sleep. 

Considering I’m with them from the moment they get up in the morning until the moment they go to sleep at night that makes for a very long day and a very worn out mommy.

So, how do you do it?  How does it work in your house?  Can I copy you?  I promise, I won’t tell! 

Peace

Today, in an effort to have two seconds strung together in which to have a coherent thought, I sent my two rugrats outside to play.  You would have thought that I sent them to the brig, nay GUANTANAMO BAY, with the way they bellyached.  I sent them outside.  Where it is neither hot nor cold.  Where it is just perfect.  Where they have this huge, huge yard in which to roam.  Where the only rule is really DON’T KILL THY SIBLING.  Where they only thing they HAD to do is nothing.  To just play. 

20 Seconds after I sent them out, Emmy comes in:

“Mommy, I’m thirsty.”

“I just sent you outside,” I replied.  “You can not possibly be dying of thirst yet.   Go back outside.”

30 seconds later, enter Connor.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

“Seriously?  NO.  Go.  Outside.”

One minute later, Emmy.

“Mommy, can we play with the sprinkler?”

“No.  Go outside.”

One minute later, Connor.

“Mommy….”

Now folks, this is where I lost it.  This is where that line?  Lo, it was crossed.  Steam came out of my ears and I may or may not have yelled the following:

“Listen to me!  Stay.  Outside.  And.  Play.  Do not come in.  Do not, under any circumstances, come in.  I don’t care who is thirsty or who is hungry.  Deal with it.  I do not want to see or hear from you in the next hour, do I make myself clear?”

And internet, I am not lying to you, after that it was blessedly quiet.  For five whole minutes.

I'm Online! I'm Online!! I'm Online!!!

Ha ha.  Oh, sweet Internet, I am back.  Ya’ll, I was without home internet access for over two weeks.  I am such a pampered ungrateful first-world country moron that you would think this was as necessary to life as breathing the way I complained and moaned about it.  Because I did.  A lot. 

But, good gravy, I am finally online.  Woo to the hoo for that, my friends.

While we’ve been disconnected, several things have happened.  To catch you up:

 

1.        We moved.  I now live here:

2.       We are really, really in the middle of nowhere.  Seriously, this is our road:

3.       Our nearest grocery store is in the small town about 15 minutes away.  At this grocery store you can do your banking, get a pizza, go tanning, hire a lawyer, buy a washer or dryer, buy live bait, or buy a gun.  They also have groceries. 

4.       Connor adores the tire swing:

5.       Emmy loves picking the wild flowers:

6.       Connor got to ride in the tractor and bale straw with our neighbor:

7.       He and Emmy made fast friends with them and “helped” them put up the straw in the barn.

8.       VBS.  Oh, VBS.  Man, that wore me out!  I really enjoyed helping out and I just LOVED the curriculum. I just loved how much my kids loved it as well.  Those songs are all still stuck in my head, though. 

9.       Tim, Travis, Jenny and I resumed our Aggravation tournament of the ages.  We finally decided to start keeping a permanent score and it is now tied two-two (we play girls v boys).   Also, Connor is never allowed to roll for the boys again.  That child is the luckiest roller on the planet.  Not that I’m bitter or anything. 

10.   I heart having a dishwasher.

11.   Emmy got a new haircut:

12.   Connor got sick on the way home from said haircuts and oh, it was just awful.  Awful, awful.  Before I could get the car pulled over, put it in park, remove my seat belt, run around the car, open his door and get him out of his seat belt and onto the grass ,he hurled 7 times.  And this wasn’t baby or toddler puke either.  This is six year old, big-boy, I just had lunch at Culvers including drinking Frutopia puke.  Ewwwwwwwwww.  So, so gross. 

So, I think that’s all.  What has been going on in your life whilst I’ve been gone?  I feel so out of the loop. 

Four reasons my husband may not make it through the night:

Me: "Honey, can you please take care of the peanut butter after you make a sandwich when you get home from work at 2 AM? Those old nanners attracted some flies and it really kind of grosses me out to have it open all night.

Jeff: "Sure."

1. Monday morning

 

2. Tuesday morning

3. Wednesday morning:

4. Thursday morning:

Friday morning? Peanut butter in the cupboard. You may be thinking, 'Go Team Jeff!' Well, Team Jeff ran out of bread. Can you say asterisk?

So it's been so quiet 'round PTMTIN these past few days...

It's been busy. Not a whole lot I can talk about at the moment, but trust me. More on that later.

Jen's moving/moved this weekend, and due to her organizational goddess status, the unloading of the truck went in record time with just about every box got into the right room with only a glance to the neon sticker that adorned each and every side of said box. For example? Pink? Kitchen. Boom. That easy.

Organizational goddess, FTW.

I'm sure Jen will do a more detailed post later when she has phone/internet and such (because Verizon is the King of suckity suck), so I'll leave that for her.

I wish I could say I helped more than I did, but alas. I also suckity suck. What did I do this week? A whole lotta nothin'.

Well, scratch that. I did take care of the peanut butter every morning.

This Just In: Moving Still Not Fun

In case you haven’t heard, we are moving.  Which, honestly, I’d be surprised as that is all I talk about to the point that everyone who reads my facebook and/or twitter updates is probably sick to death with it.  The thing about moving, though, is that it totally consumes you.  It takes all over your whole life.

People have asked me how the kids are dealing with all of this.  To which I can only think, hmm, gee?  Well, the 32 year old in the family is this close to a nervous breakdown, thank you very much. How do you think the 3 year old and the 6 year old are faring? 

I should probably preface all of this by saying that, yes, we are fine.  We will totally be fine.  That I know that this too shall pass.  I know.  I get it.  Totally do.  Doesn’t make it suck any less at the moment, though.

Connor, who has been always Mr. Sensitive and Mr. Scheduled, started showing the first cracks.  A few weeks ago, he started having emotional breakdowns throughout the day.  He started not sleeping at night.  He stopped eating for awhile. 

This got me so, so worried.  I fretted about it.  I prayed about it.  I was starting to become quite the mess myself.  We found some things that have worked, though, in our situation.  Things that are definitely not long-term solutions, but are short-term stop gaps.  That will help get us through until, you know, this too shall pass.

Flashbacks and TMI: Peyton turns 2

I'm officially way too weepy on July 13th, 2009.

I woke up, not to the sippy cup slam that I've grown accustomed to, but to a flashback of the morning of July 13th, 2007.

*snore*

I wake up to Jeff's not-so-silent slumber with a bit of a downer attitude. Baby's due tomorrow, but the doc had said it would probably be a while at the appointment yesterday. "I'll see you next week," she had said with a smile, and I responded with a snuff that was me trying (and failing) to keep from falling apart. This pregnancy thing had really started to suck. I was all fat and not at all glowy, and my feet were SO SWOLLEN. Seriously. It's like I was wearing shoes underneath my skin. Big, fat, ugly shoes. 

I sigh and begin the marathon that is me rolling over to get out of bed. Thinking that by tomorrow I'm going to need some sort of pully system to get me up, I heave and ho my way to the standing position. I have to take a quick breather followed by a lengthy pep talk, because hauling a body with 40 weeks of baby growing under one's belt is a rather exhausting experience.

Okay. So. Commence trip to potty.

*waddle* *waddle* *prayer* *waddle* *leak* *sigh* *waddle*

At full term I had to pee everytime I left the bathroom. The little soccer player had literally kicked my kidney/bladder so hard that I went to the ER the week before (on my birthday) because of the blood in my urine ("Hunh," they had said. "That usually doesn't happen until after you give birth, when all of your organs are bruised in the birthing process." Okay, 1.) SO NOT HELPFUL, 2.) Way to scare the living crap out of me for this 'birthing process'. Gold star for you, nursing team).

So on the potty I go. And go. And go. And go. After a minute goes by, I grow concerned. From the potty, I yell, "Jeeeeeefff?" (Mind you, this is 6:15 AM, and my husband? Not a morning person. Vampires survive the morning better than Jeff)

I'm feeling a little desperate out of sheer panic, and I heave a huge sigh of relief when I hear him answer back groggily, "Baby?" Not sure if this is a term of endearment or the big question, but either way, it's a beacon of hope to cling to that he's responsive.

"Ummm, call Jen and tell her that I can't stop peeing," I call out hopefully, wondering just how functional this particular morning-Jeff will be.

[Unintelligble gargling] followed by, "Ok."

So after I talk to Jen and my mom, I'm assured that a trip to the hospital is warranted. Awesome. Problem: I need some new underroos.

Answer: Super Hubby, of course.

I call out to Jeff, who is now completely aware of all facets of the issues that we are facing this morning, saying I need a change of *ahem* clothes.

My loving and adoring husband, charming man and intelligent and wise in most situations, has brought me thong underwear.

No joke.

The only pair of thong underwear that I own, because I detest thong underwear and refuse to wear them even when not 9 months pregnant, but have not gotten around to tossing.

Oh, the look I gave him would have put a weaker man in his grave in less than 20 seconds. I figure he wasn't looking directly at me, due to the squint defense of morning Jeff.

Of course, I have other memories from the day that I'll always remember, like when we made it to the hospital and the nurse told us officially that my water had broke, or when they admitted me to the labor and delivery unit and Jeff and I were like, "Holy crap, this is kind of happening," or when I had to go to the bathroom every other minute and how yucky and fat I felt, or when Jen came and walked with me through the hospital walls, trying to get the baby to JUST. COME. OUT. ALREADY. or when my niece told me that the baby could come any day but today, because it was her birthday and she didn't want to share, or when Jeff and I watched through all the Vacation movies because they were on TV,  or when the nurses came and were concerned and made me put on the oxygen mask and how I cried because I was scared, or when the epidural was administered and it made me all giggly and not care that I was showing the world my hoo-hah, or when Jeff held my right hand while my mom held my left and the nurses told me to push, or when our beautiful baby girl entered this world and was handed to me to hold for the first time.

I'll remember all of those things.

But first, I'll probably remember the thong underwear.

I'm sentimental like that.

In thirty some odd minutes, my little scooter will be officially two. I just snuck in to see her, and she is beyond conked out, complete with her night-time entourage: Elmo, stuffed pony B, Teddy bear, and the newest addition, baby pony (stuffed pony A got the boot to make room for baby pony. My girl's a tough cookie). And she's sleeping so peacefully. Like a sweet little angel who would never do any one any harm.

*snort*

Yeah, my forehead that has been greeted with a sippy cup travelling at a high velocity WAY TOO EARLY o'clock would beg to differ.

But I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Love you, scooter. I hope the minor brain damage you have inflicted upon me only serves to make me a better mommy.

Pin-cesses and Potties: Not for the faint of heart.

For the last few months, we've been encouraging Peyton to use the toddler potty. Diapers are expensive. Poo is flushable. This made sense.

Until Peyton officially christened said potty this evening.

I've never been so simultaneously excited and disgusted.

I'm sure that most competent parents realize that when a toddler uses the toddler potty, you can't simply flush the... contents. I guess I had never connected those particular dots before. And I've been to college.

I'm still kind of traumatized. BUT (giggle) the awesome part is that Peyton is learning how to use this thing, and hopefully this will lead to less diapers soon, cuz they iz 'spensive.

I'm not banking on it, though, because Peyton was also rather traumatized. She gives this whole business a thumbs-down. Not because of the act itself, but she was so offended by the 'contents' that she yelled at me with an angry glare afterward: "BA DAH BA POOOOP!" I'm pretty sure she was not pleased.

After bath time, we settled in to watch some Disney Princess YouTube videos as a reward (no chocolate in our house at present moment that isn't in frosting form- budget is tight due to a certain someone's birthday and her upcoming present). It kind of hit me that she's growing up so fast. She will be 2 in three days, she used the potty, and she points to just about everything in the videos to tell me what they are: "Pin-cess!" "Pony!" "Tiger!" (Aladdin, yo). I had to choke back tears.

Then I realized I'd be crying about poo. That helped.

And when Peyton went on a tirade about how the Princess pooped in the video, when good ole Cinderella was just sitting down on her bed?

That helped tremendously.

My Brain Feels Like Its Going to Explode

So, the good news:  we have a place to live!  Yay!!! We will not be homeless!  Yay!!!  Or, as my brother-in-law so lovingly put it yesterday, as he raised his fists to the sky upon hearing the good news:  “You’re not moving in here!”

I love, love, love the house that we are moving into.  Love it in so many ways.  It is in the country.  It’s on a dirt road.  There is a tire swing in the front yard and an apple tree and a big red barn with scripture on it.  The rooms all have closets and doors.  And?  There is a dishwasher.  Praise the Lord, a dishwasher.  I just might die of happiness. 

We move very shortly so now the non-stop packing and organizing and cleaning is in full-frenzied mode and I’m wearing myself completely out.  I hate moving.  And yet?  The organizing part is making my brain very, very happy including this whole color-coded system that I have invented for the boxes which no one thinks is as cool as it is.  It is very, very cool.  Trust me.

But also?  Now that we have a location, now we need to make a decision on where my darling child will go to school next year.  This is keeping me awake at night.  I just can’t make a decision and go back and forth and back and forth and it is weighing so very heavy on my mind.  And I think that I have a decision made and then I think of another factor and here we are back to square one.   I was up until 3 AM last night researching home schooling. 

And if my twenty year old self was reading this right now she would die of laughter and shock because did you just read all that?  I am moving to the middle of nowhere and am happy about it.  I’m seriously researching home schooling.  I am planning herb, vegetable and flower gardens for next year.  I am all into canning and preserving and am going to buy a sewing machine.  My twenty year old self would find this very, very ridiculous.  She would roll her eyes and laugh and swear, SWEAR that she would never, ever do any of those things.  I have become everything that I swore that I would never be.  And yet?  I’m deliciously happy and this is totally what I want to be. 

I wonder what my forty year old self would think about that.

Oh, no you di'int.

I would just like to point out, on the behalf of women experiencing this everywhere, this handy nugget of information for husbands. It's cool. You can thank me later. Just hand the computer over.

It is not flattering to assume your wife/girlfriend/significant other is pregnant every time she shows one iota of a hint that she may be expecting. If I were pregnant everytime Jeff assumed that I was, we would have our own show on TLC by now and I wouldn't have to time to blog because I would be too busy trying to figure out how to spend all of the exploited-children cash that was coming in. But, I digress. Luckily, my husband does not accurately predict pregnancies, but it does not stop him from asking whenever I experience any of the big signs, including:

A. Nausea - It is possible to suffer from food poisoning, sickness, etc. without having one's uterus occupied. Common misconception. Apparently.

B. Fatigue - Here is a shocker, so prepare yourself. You tire us out. You lose things constantly, and 98% of the time, you are unable to find them, and you come running to us, yelling, "Hoooooooney, I can't find this. Help me look for it," and we respond with, "Well, did you look in the kitchen/living room/most obvious place for it?" and you're all huffy and say, "Yeeeeaah, of course I did, will you help me find it?" and we go look in the very place we referred to and it is sitting right there with a neon sign pointing to it, flashing 'RIGHT HERE!' and you're all "Oh. I could have sworn I looked there. Hunh. Now have you seen...' and the cycle REPEATS ITSELF. ...Oh. Yeah. Also? The kid(s) don't help much either in this department.

C. Weight Gain - Dude, you better not even go there.

D. Moodiness - See B and C. Connect dots.

E. 'Cravings' - Sometimes food just sounds good, mmk? So what if I think the canned cat food smells a little tasty. It's practically tuna fish. Lay off, yo.

As you can see, perfectly logical explanations for the 'proof' that you seem to find so convincing. And as a bonus nugget, when your aforementioned non-pregnant woman answers no when you pop the pregnancy question, it is not a good plan to look at her knowingly and say, "Ohhh. P.M.S."

Unless you have a really comfy couch.  And high pain tolerance.