Sandlot 2011

Something about converse, dirty fences, old alleys, plaid newsboy caps and kids makes my inner 40's/50's self happy.

Thankful day 4

I am thankful for the Naked Palette.

It is the BFF to my eyeballs.
I can go natural, and hang out in a forest.
I can go natural with some shimmer and hang out in a restaurant.
I can go natural and smokey and sultry and hang out on the Vegas strip with Elvis and Chum Lee.

Favorite eye shadow collection..... ever.

Thankful day 3

I am thankful for my bed. Oh my, do I have the softest bed ever. If Goldilocks came to my house, you would most definitely find her sleeping in my bed. I would probably spend all day in it if I could. IF I could. But I can't. There are people sleeping on the streets, or thin mattresses. People on lumpy beds, and people with bedbugs. I love that mine is that perfect combo of soft, broken in comfort. Plus my kids love to cuddle up, like bugs in a rug, and just lay in my bed. I sometimes stand at the door and look at them, my babies. Thank you bed, for being my family's cuddle spot.

A month of thankfulness

I think, on Nov.2, cuz that's how I roll, that I will start my list of things I am thankful for, every day. Sometimes I forget to just stop and be grateful for all the moments and important things in my life.

Day 1: I am thankful for the sun that shines here on the west coast. I live in a place that has sun, shining, almost every day, and I often want to curl like a cat and just bask in the warmth. It's hard to have a bad day when the sun is beaming through the windows.

Day 2: I am thankful for my brown boots. That look cute with jeans, and sweaters. That I don't get to wear often because of the sun I am thankful for from day one. But when I do get to put on my pseudo-fall outfit, it reminds me of apples, leaves, football and warm fires. The few things I miss from living in the midwest.

pants on the grounnnnd

It seems more and more these days that boys are wearing those tight skinny jeans. Boys+tight+skinny+Jeans= big fat fashion fail. Not cute. Not hot. Not anything.
In fact, if I ever crossed the threshold of this house with a pair of skinny jeans for my husband, I might find myself committed. Because he would drive me to the nearest looney bin, drop me off with trash bag of clothes and skinny jeans in hand and a big fat post it note stuck to my forehead that reads "Insane in her skinny jean membrane." And likewise. He can leave the skinny jeans in the store, with the tags on, snuggling next to the obnoxious fluorescent colors.

However, some little 6th grade boy walking to middle school does have an insane mother. Because he was rockin the skinny jeans. Some funky magenta purple gray colored ones. Normally I don't notice the color or the style, I'm busy driving.
Not today.
Not only was he rockin the skinny, he was rocking the sag. Those things were like a barney colored vice grip around his thighs. I have no idea how they were staying up, unless he was in a constant quad contraction.....in which case I'm rockin that style cuz I need me some quad muscles.

So his pants are huggin- er sagging, and it looks like he has his gray colored t shirt tucked in. Which I am thinking to myself, what is the point? Pull your pants up, give your dainty bits some breathing room, and it all looks the same. No one really believes his butt starts at 3 inches past the knees anyways. Is this impressive to middle school girls or something? If so, me and the girl will have a chat about boys who wear tight jeans around their ankles....thighs, I meant thighs.

As the car is creepin along in the drop off line, skinny pants sag master flex is joking and talking and then......I realized that's not his shirt tucked in. That's his gray drawers. His boxer shorts. His underwear. His long johns. Of course they are. Because it's part of the cool. You wanna know how I know for certain it was his drawers? his dirty drawers?

Cuz there was a stain.

brown brown brown brown stain. In the center. Brown eyed winking stain. I started hyperventilating with laughter and horror. It was right where you think a stain would be. Not overly obvious, but still. A giant skidmark in his cool traffic plan.

And all I could think of was.......

serves him right. I hope he is embarrassed by his smudgey stinky shorts. Next time keep that under wraps and no one will know.

Owls and Owl birthday cake

Owls are a super hot trend.

Which is kind of funny, because owls, are not pink, brown, orange, green, blue as we see them on everything these days. Nope. Color of poop or color of snow, most of them anyways. For example:


That is one ugly owl. For clothes, not for nature. Though if it was flying over my head in a dark forest, I would say it was an ugly owl. anyways. There are tons of cute owls too. Everyone has jumped on the hootin bandwagon and making some cute things.

For example:






That is just some of the cuteness that has been around the past few years.


Middle had an owl birthday this year. Cuz she's HOOOT-tastic like that. Which was a challenge for making an owl cake, but here it is. She loved it. It was bright, quirky, just like her.

the other two

I had to mark the occasion giving my kindy girl her own post, but my other two went on their way today too, one to fourth and one to sixth. Middle was ready, knew tons of kids in her class, liked her teacher. Sweetest girl ever, that Middle. Had her outfit picked out and ready, and went to her classroom all by herself. Leaps and bounds my girl has gone, leaps and bounds. It's her first year without her big sister on campus, and I am confident she is ready to grow on her own two feet. SHe still is shy, and ducks her head to the side, though she stands a little taller these days and her eyes sparkle bright. She was ready.

Oldielocks went to middle school. She spent forever this morning playing with her P.E. lock, practicing the combination, staring at her schedule. She's a big kid today, with her purple cardigan and zebra print backpack. This is the part that scares me, where other girls grow catty and mean, and I hope she doesn't get sucked up into that. I hope she has fun with her friends, but more importantly gives 100% in every class.

My kids are growing older and getting bigger and going further into the world. Whether I'm ready or not. I'm proud of them, and happy for them, but man oh man, do I love them.

too school for cool

My middlest woke up this morning, saying she didn't sleep good, she was dreaming of soccer. Little did she know that I was dreaming of her, all little and all mine, knowing today was kindergarten day. I've sent off two kids before her to school, and it's never easier. One cried, one didn't. Baloney, she was born ready for kindergarten. She told me on friday when we met the teacher "I'm going to shake her hand and say nice to meet you, I would like to be in your class." She has had her outfit picked out for days, backpack ready and socks laid out.

We took the pictures to mark the day, and we arrived, all ready as she trotted away in her pink owl backpack. She was dancing on the blacktop, spinning around, just waiting for her teacher to send them in.
"I see Coach Ben, can I go say hi?"
"that girl has the same lunchbox I do!"
"hey baby, I'm going to kindergarten today, you're gonna see me later!"
"are her eyes green or blue?" she asked me.
I told her she would know soon enough. Soon enough she would be walking through that door, to sit at her table, color with crayons and sing songs. Soon enough she would not so much bat an eye at my departure, because she has always been my strong one. She has always been my child who at times wanted her mommy, but never needed her mommy. She put her little chubby arms around my neck and said bye and then gave me two thumbs up. Two thumbs up, only my Baloney. Thats when my heart welled up to my eyes and threatened to spill over. My girl, my firecracker, my spitfire, my buggy, my green eyed baby......

That's my girl, who I don't have to worry about sharing with the world, she will simply take the world by storm.

4th of july cards

When I was little, my aunt would send cards for big holidays and all the little holidays in between. Christmas..... check
Easter.....check
4th of July.....check
National Ice Cream Day....check check...ok uncheck, but she probably would have. I remember thinking how special it was that she took the time to think of our family, on other days other than obligatory christmas. I swore when I grew up, I would do the same.

Now that I'm on my way to being a grown up, or pretending to be one, ok so I'm really just the big kids responsible for the gaggle of kids in this house, I try to do the same. We have always lived far from some part of family. If we lived near his, mine were far, or if we lived near mine, his were far, and my grandparents in between.

I started with Oldielocks, sending a handprint creation card, like angel handprints for christmas, or ghost footprints for halloween. The more kids, the more I used a picture. It's an easy way to giving everyone the opportunity to watch them "grow", and sends our love as well. And it's really all part of the bigger picture that I want to teach my kids in this entitled world, to GIVE. I don't care whatcha give, just give. Your time without expectations, your talent without acknowledgement, your things without new ones, your love because it's needed. We don't always have to join campaigns, nor is it always possible- to give water to thirsty villages, books to underprivileged schools, houses to devastated countries. (and those are all amazing things, btw ) Sometimes we lose sight of the fact that we can give of ourselves here at home, and to the people we love. I think it sets a firm foundation to give to others on a higher level when they can. People, family, friends can always always always use a little love sent their way.

I chose simple this year. Not always do I have lots of money, or tons of time. But I take what I have and use it. Simple colors, a sweet moment in a hotel room, a few stamps and a few minutes of crafting.

For the love of Grandmas

Baloney is obsessed with the word "grandma". Not surprising since I use it a lot... as in "Oh.my.great.grandmas!" or to describe something. I say things in my Ol' Granny Hag voice, mostly to make the husband laugh, but my kids know that voice as well. Any ol grandmas, I have a story here.

Baloney loves the term "Sporty Grandma". I have no clue why she says it, but....... she does. Many times I have caught her in the front yard, using a wiffle bat as a cane, and yelling, (in a spectacular granny voice I might add) "Look out, it's Sporrrrrrrty Grandma!" Of course her sisters fall into a fit of giggles and that in turn, causes more Sporty Grandma antics.

We were at the store the other day, and I had a few things to try on. Of course I had my little ducklings all in a row behind me, so I had the three sit on the floor outside my dressing room and the stroller in with me. This dressing room area had one of those annoying noises..."mmmeeeet-mooooo" when one entered the area. I told them an alarm would sound if they tried to leave, so they were pretty good about just sitting there, and also I had to promise to show them every.single.outfit that I tried on. A few times I heard the sound immediately followed by an annoyed chorus of "BALONEEYYY!" followed by a "what...<insert whatever little 4 year old excuse of getting to close to the sensor is right here>".

I was almost done and I heard the dang thing go MEEEET-MOOOO and in my huffy puffy state of removing too small clothing I said "Baloney- knock it off!" and then Thing one and Thing 2 chimed in and said "it wasn't her". And then as loud as one could yell across the swiss alps and to my mothering horror, I hear....

"IT WASN'T ME. IT WAS JUST AN OLD GRANDMA!"

Great. Just absolutely mother flubbin fabulous. Some poor older lady who may only be 40 or 78 for all I know, as just been announced as an OLD GRANDMA.

oh the observation of children.

Oh the tears

I grew up in a military town and have seen the deployments. Our military sacrifices so much more than most of us know. The little moments and the big moments. Lifetime has this show called "Coming Home" and it makes me bawl. Like a sad sad baby. I watch these and know that no "thank you" will ever be enough. I am so thankful for these men and women and beyond grateful for their service but humbled by their everyday sacrifice that they and their family give me and my family. Try watching this and not bawling.

Happy 4th piggies

As my kids get older, we get out of the realm of cutesy crafts.... like handprints and feetprint art. If Oldielocks made a pirate out of her footprint, people would wonder why I had a giant adult sized foot decorated in my scrapbook. Oldielocks and her size 9 in women's feet. Its okay, I think she would be a lil embarrassed and much relieved, so we will stick to nail painting.

The one thing about having girls, is getting all dolled up. For any event. We busted out the red, white and blue nail polish and painted away. I get that girly time with my girlies and they get to sport patriotism on their feet. Growing up in a miliatry town, being a daughter and granddaughter of veterans, and simply being an American, I try to find new ways to make sure we celebrate and honor the holiday. They know the importance of our freedom, and even getting to have our piggies painted whatever we want.

God Bless America.... and all her toes.

Make up and life

I am all about natural consequences. Life lessons.
If you put your hand in fire, you get burned.
If you leave meat in the car, it's going to stink.
If you piss in the wind....well you will get wet.
That kind of thing. So naturally, I let my children learn about life in the same manner.
Baloney just got the ol' "don't trust your sibling....ever" lesson.

They were playing make over, which is just a pretty pink train case filled with old make up of mine. The drugstore kind. Not my expensive stuff, cuz I don't care if I ever use it, that pile of colorfullness cost this momma money. Baloney's turn to get made over. She did get to choose the colors and products, but the rest was left in the hands of the make up artist, in this case, was of course, Oldielocks.

She was real convincing, that big sister of hers.
"Ooooh, these colors make your eyes look amazing"
"I would love for this look to be done on me"
"Blue, like a pretty peacock."

All while Middle, who should never play poker since she would lose piles of money, is giggling her little face off. I hear them tell her to get down and go look in the mirror. Bare feet race across the floor, light switch turns on, and

"oh. my. goodness.......WHAT IS THAT!?!?!?!"

and then I hear explosive laughter and falling to the ground from the other room.
Ten seconds later, I hear those same little barefeet banging up the stairs and slamming into my room.

"LOOK AT ME! I've been turned into a hideous monster!" said a serious Baloney in a serious voice.






And then I exploded in laughter. Much to her dismay of course. I think she was most offended when I asked her to grab my camera. I told her I wanted to capture this moment. I told her it was important to remember this moment when Oldielocks wants to help her with prom make up. She stormed away with a "thanks a lot."

awww, life lessons. I still hear sisters giggling.

Ripped in 30

I have not been shy about being a Jillian Michaels fan. She has whooped my butt into shape many times, and I'm back to asking her to do it again. This time it's the "I-just-gave-birth-to-a-oblong-bowling-ball-that-turned-my-belly-into-a-deflated-balloon" look that I am trying to get rid of. And let's be real, it looks like a cheap 10 cents balloon. The kind that turns white when you blow it up so when it deflates it is wrinkly, saggy, striped and looks like a dog chewed it and spit it out. That's the state of my ab region at the moment.

I went and saw my ol' pal Jill sittin on the shelf in Target and looky there, she is sportin a new video. Don't mind if I try it out, I tell her. I trust you... I said and brought her home.

Where she turned on me. Perhaps there is not a funnier sight than a 2 month postpartum mom, attempting to do butt kicks in her living room. With huge milk laden jugs that every sports bra within a 50 mile radius ran from. I swear I did just one butt kick and my left one bounced up to the sky and back low to the ground like a 400lb gorilla on a trampoline. Not pretty. My son had a milk shake for his next feeding, that I know.

Jillian asked me to get on the ground and do one minute of abs. Seriously, it's one minute. I can soo do one minute of abs.

I didn't even last ten seconds.

That's what I'm working with. 8 second rebound rate in the abdominal department. Riding bulls I'd be a hero...but instead that chick told me to push it through. Lady- I got a deflated balloon and two huge 845 lbs knockers. Don't worry about me pushing things through. I'm about to steam roll stuff if I don't get some strength back and soon. I spent the rest of that minute on the floor, watching her and her perfect abs get it done. Show 0ff.

I'll admit, day one was a failure. big fat F in the work out department. I don't do failure well.... so I did what any spiteful gym rat would do....

I made a lemon mernigue pie. And named it Jillian.

(and then the joke was on me, because I messed it up. And it turned out weird. Tasted well..but shrunk. I guess I'm back to meeting with Jillian in the morning.)

In the end I still swear by Jillian...swear by and swear at. It works for me.

Reflection of the way I see things

Not much has been posted on this blog... and I miss it. I tried doing a different blog, but it wasn't me. This is MY blog, for years it was where I spoke and laughed and cried. It captured my thoughts, feeling and bad grammar. And laughs. I cracked myself up on this blog. Then I let someone dictate the direction in which I took my blog and that was a bad choice.

So it's back. It's here to stay. I'm always going to have people who don't agree. I'm always going to have stalkers that have no business knowing about the going ons in my life, but they will look anyways. My goal is to make them come back for more. Seriously, stalk away. I have a tracker on this thing. Make me the topic of your discussions. I need the laughs too.

Happy to be home. Let's get this party re-started.

and he arrived

It had been planned for me to walk in those hospital doors on a Monday morning and pop out a baby. Being the fourth child I was having, it was weird that it didn't feel like it was real. The first two, I was in labor, no going back, baby was coming whether I liked it or not. The third, was a c-section, planned. But this.... this was my first induction, while attempting a VBAC- since I clearly love a challenge, why not do it this way.

I am all set, walking into the hospy in my shorts and tank top, get to my fabulous pop-a-baby-out suite, when the nurse informs me they have no wifi. HUH! Who doesn't have wifi! I of course have to tell her that my viewers will be disappointed in the fact that I will no longer be streaming the live feed of my son's birth, complete with chewing through the cord and placenta shooters at the end. I believe she gave me the mother of all WTF looks. Success!

Because of the fact that I have a previous scar from my c-section, they decided to start pitocin, a low dose. I guess you can go up to 26 on the pitocin elevator, but in my case, we were going to.....4. I like them playing it safe. Previously at my doc appt I had been 2 cm dilated, she checked me and I was a 1....almost 1 and a 1/2. Seriously, what the backpeddling up my cervix? How, why... what! SO now I had 9 cms to go. It's like starting a 26 mile race, 27 miles away.

Around 11, they started the IV for fluid and pitocin. But she blew the vein on the first try. ANd then the second try, there was too much scar tissue. Thats right, I have scar tissue on the sides of my wrists. I think she might have thought I was a crack addict. Who has scar tissue like that... but me. She was kind enough to be a quitter and call a different nurse in. Of course they all told me I had beautiful veins. Well unless this was a damn blood taking contest, beautiful veins were getting me nowhere and I would have appreciated a trohpy and a crown. Or a big fat margarita because this was hurting. Nurse #2 blew the next vein. I tried to walk out the door on that note but the assless gown stopped me from traveling far. Nurse #3 got one in on the first try. I think I proposed to her after that. Being a voo doo doll was not a good way or sign to start my final birthing experience.

Within an hour or so, my water broke. I was laying in bed, actually sleeping, when the slimy sensation hit. Never having my water break on its own before, I was a little surprised, and disgusted. Because now, in order to use the bathroom, I had to unplug the monitors, drape them over my neck, unplug the pressure cuff, let it fall down to my wrist like a stylin bracelet, grab my iv pole and tubes, hold up my chucky pad like a diaper and waddle my big ol belly to the bathroom. I was constantly sporting a sweat 'stache every time I got out. Jillian Michaels be jealous.

My contractions were all in my back, and never in the front. I was way more comfortable standing up until.... lightning bolts started shooting down my legs. Really? My whole body needed to get some points on the pain scale? My thighs would burn as the contraction released, and all I could think of was that my wiring was wrong, and I would find out at 33 that my hip bone was connected to my uterus bone. (and I would also be the first person to have a uterus bone)

I then commited the crunchy mother cardinal sin- I asked... more liked pleaded... for an epidural. I was dead set against it. Not because a bunch of moms on some internet board said not to, but because I had one before and HATED it. I told them when I walked in the doors that the whole needle in the back was not my style, I was more like shoot-em-up-between-the-toes-so-no-one-knows kind of gal. (disregard that last comment, it's not true, just funny..don't go callin CPS on me)

Dr. Epidural came in and we became friends once he started cracking one liners. Until he had my curl over like a cat, and kept telling me to curl more. I think he forgot that I had a basketball in the way and that was about curled as this pissed off cat was going to get. Meanwhile these radioactive contractions were rollin down the pike about every minute and a half and I swear when he inserted the needle, that's when the mother of all contractions would hit. Didn't happen that way, just my over active imagination at it's finest. I realize no one would give me a cookie or star or tiara for going without meds, or for having a c-section. I did what worked for me, with this kid. I learned long ago that medical intervention can be necessary, and can be voluntary. I chose this and hands down would do it again. Read on for why my va jay jay- er I mean-I am so glad I had an epidural.

That glorious stuff started working right away. They showed me a little pain pump I was going to get to push and everything. I was excited until the nurse checked me and I was at four. 4! That.is.all? It is now past 6 o clock, but really only 4? I could cry.

The burning started. Intense, strange burning in my kookaracha. Like someone cut me with a million knives and then threw a habanero pepper doused in salsa up there. I looked at the nurse and asked her exactly what was burning... and why I could feel it? Seeing how I had that special wonder drug dripping in my back, uh...wtf monday? She said it was normal, but then I said it was worse.... then she said she'd check me again and she did.

And within 15 minutes my bidness had burned rubber from 4cm to 8cm....and so she double checked and I was at 9. She flew out the door ( just like the freight train that was barreling down out of my junk) to go find the doctor. Meanwhile that burning? It was only a slight hint of what was to come.

She came back in and I was complete, pretty much 4 to 10 in about 20-25 minutes with a small anterior lip. That they wanted to see if I could push out of the way. SO I muscled up the ol body and started pushing.... and pushing... and pushing. It felt like nothing was happening except for that I might be trying to give birth out of my sASS -minus the s of course.

At this point the pain is intense and the pressure is beyond unreal. All this, with that epidural? I tried resting, I tried pushing, nothing was helping and I was losing it. I am not proud of the words the may or may not have come out of my mouth. The nurse then tells me that she can see about a 50cent piece of his head. THAT'S ALL? Talk about my hopes being dashed. Thats defeat. I threw in the towel, surrendered and pretty much tried to sell my first born and then all 3 of my kids for a c-section.

Unrelenting pain. No more contractions, it was constant pain. I saw the doctor walk in and said something along the lines of "get this baby out of me now i am dying please just get him out". I was so over this and yet I had to just get mad and find a way to push past this volcano I was giving birth to.

I pushed 3 times through the depths of hell, and out he came, not bloody, not covered in white, just perfectly watery. They placed him on my chest... and I saw this big cone on the front of his head. He had been sunny side up,or posterior, but was in the process of turning so he pretty much came out half sideways and all. Annnnnnd that's why it hurt so bad. I was tempted to name him Mack, after the MACK truck that came from within my body. This is the part where I should feel relief and enjoy my baby. Yet I tried and it was still unbelievably painful pressure. My nerves were still reacting to being stretched at the speed of light. I cannot even imagine how bad it would have felt without drugs. I had my second kiddo au naturel and it was heaven compared to this. I have such a high pain tolerance but I swear I was being PUNKD by the epidural company or something. My most favorite part was when the doctor told me that I didnt even tear. Something good to focus on as my bottom half slowly started to calm down and stop being so angry at the world.

My boy.

He had very little hair, and little floppy ears and a button nose. He looked at me and my heart just grew. It grew until it almost burst, as he laid there just looking at my face. For so many months it was him and I, and I wondered what he looked like. Wondered how this would change me, the mommy of 3 beautiful girls, now a mommy to a little boy. All my heart knew at that very moment was that I was complete. I had my little family of amazing kids and this one, this one that always hid his face on ultrasounds, who was breech, who came via VBAC, and this one who when I thought I just couldn't do it, made me want to give a little more just so I could have this little boy in my arms. He is my littlest blessing.

Groundhog day

Every day for the past few weeks have been groundhog day. Where I wake up and pee, take care of kids, wonder if this baby will be here today, pretend, plead, bribe, whine, beg, and ask if this baby would please, please, please come out and play. Convince myself that today is not the day, but throw on my walking shoes just to make sure that the only reason he is not here is simply not because I chose not to walk him out. All I've got to show for weeks of walking is gnarly shoe stank, sore feet and an aching nether region. The same nether region that he is thumbing his nose at and laughing at. I swear he is in there, feet and arms braced on the sides of my uterus, hanging along the wall like spiderman, laughing hysterically.

Then at night, I get in bed and lather that belly with lotion because if I have to suffer through acid reflux, aches and pains and graying hair, I will do everything in my power to have my stomach not turn into a hard boiled egg that has been dropped a million of times. Cuz we all know what happened to Humpty Dumpty. Someone had to put his roly poly butt back together again. I'm not feelin that.

I then wake up and lather, rinse, repeat.

Groundhog day, you suck.

Part 5- the story continues....

Besides the stupied mesh underwear they give you catching on my vertical incision (think belly button to pubic bone), my recovery was fine. Baloney was fine. She was and still is the biggest goof off ever. She has to be. Her story makes it so. She tried to get us to laugh long before she could talk, long before she was born.

They say you can have more children. That once you have CPP, you only have around a 4% chance more of having it than someone who has never had it. Not bad odds. At first, it seems like you will never want to, having just been traumatized by the amusement park that is complete placenta previa. Along the way I've joined message boards, and just relayed my story to other moms going through it. I think it's important to share what you know. Whether it's the facts or the feelings.

And now, 4 years later......
Baloney gets to be a big sister. She still gets to have her very own crazy story, because......

this placenta, this time..... is high on the left back wall.

Part 4- It's go time.

Of course, since none of this journey was uneventful, the 4th day we were there, my Middle fell off the seat and hit her head on the dresser. In the hospital room. Since it was a head wound, of course blood rushed everywhere, and I completely forgot I was to be in that hellacious bed and jumped up, getting ready to scoop up my bleeding baby. My husband ran, yelling at me, and grabbed her as we tried to stop the bleeding. No rules apply to the inner call of mommy. I told him to tell the nurses to get me a wheelchair because I was going down the E.R. with her and they could either let me wheel or down or I was walking but I was going, no matter what. When all was said and done, she got a staple in her head and was fine.

After 2 amnios, 3 scheduled c-section dates and 3 bleeds, complete with blood draws, IV ports, 4 NST's a day, we made it to the big day. Her lungs were grossly immature the first time around, so they pushed it. I'm glad they did, and at the same time hated it.

Here's where I give you the nitty gritty. To get ready for the big C... they have to shave your business. And apparently they have to use the crappiest razor ever made. And it's kind of like water torture. Worst part, is that it's someones job. Ew. I also had my arm numbed where they had to put in a large line for blood. (this is for placenta previa since blood loss is a huge part of what could happen during delivery)

When we got downstairs, they gave me a shot glass of port a potty sludge. Seriously disgusting. And looks like it. Seeing how they withold drinks and food since the night before, and this is what they offer? Disappointing service from the bar indeed. They also had a little red igloo cooler filled with bags of blood. Just in case they needed it. Remember blood loss for placenta previa, it's not typical that they carry around coolers of blood, just for you.

I got in that OR, got a spinal in my back, and flipped back onto the tiniest board in the planet. Definatley not an "one-butt-cheek-fits-all" kind of table.

The rest of the surgery is kind of surreal. I felt the cutting... not the pain, but could feel the pressure and movement. Like being drawn on. It was creepy and about sent me into a thousand panic attacks. My head was in the anesthesiologists crotch, my arms were strapped down, open like on a cross, oxygen in my nose, an IV in both arms, blood pressure cuff. I was feeling like a hot mess and really bad science experiment. I contemplated calling Frankenstein and saying "dude, I know how you feel...".

They told me I would feel pressure, and then I heard her. She cried and I stared at the ceiling. Then she stopped and I asked if they had taken her out of the room. Nope she was there, just relaxing while they checked her out. They had told me if they asked my husband to leave, that meant things were going badly. As in bleeding. As in hysterectomy or worse. I kept glancing at my husband and asked him to go take a picture of her, so I could see her. They had not lifted her up, but I understood they needed to be quick in doing their job. It was a long few minutes while they worked, while he was taking pictures, and then showed them to me on the LCD screen of the camera. And then, I realize they were joking. With my husband about golf and chinese food as they stapled my stomach back up 25 times. It was all so fitting. We laughed our way in, and laughed our way out.

In recovery, I held her, and they plopped a huge orange trashbag on my feet. "It's your placenta. We're sending it out, but we always do." If I could have moved my feet, I would have kicked it. And punched it. And thanked it for holding on the way it did, even though it was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We did it, her and I. From the moment they mentioned stupid Complete Placenta Previa, to every shot, test, every worry, every sacrifice, had all come down to this. She was there. Perfect. With dark hair and long nails. In that moment I realized I was so much stronger than I knew, that my husband was and always will be there for me, my kids are resilient, and there are a lot of kind and caring people in this world.

Part 3- Placenta Previa is now a bad word

In Dec. of 2005, I went in for my first prenatal appointment, and of course they do an internal ultrasound. Because those are an absolute highlight. Of course seeing the little bean distracts you from the absolute ridiculousness that is taking place below the belt, but still, it sucks. The Dr. at that point mentioned the placenta looked a little low, but it was no big thing, they move.

Pregnancy was textbook, NO SYMPTOMS at all, mainly with Placenta previa, bleeding is a big sign. I had none and then went for my 20 week ultrasound. I remember the sonographer measuring my cervix and mentioning something about the placenta. Honestly, I have no idea what she said, I was oohing and ahhing over my little alien baby on the screen. Once I went back to the room with the doctor, he then said that I had a complete placenta previa and I had a 50% chance of a c-section. No doom and gloom talk, just basic and a list of restrictions.

By week 28, he was a little frantic. Then came the serious sit down talk. Where he scared the bejeebus out of me and pretty much led me to believe I was going to be massacred by this damn placenta. I still had no complications or symptoms, but he had a plan in effect.

Csection at 36 weeks
Steroids for lung maturity
911 call if any blood.
complete bedrest at 32 weeks.
and under no circumstance to let anything/person/doctor enter my nether regions. Pretty much an invisible chastity belt.

And that's just to get to delivery. The delivery is what's scary

So I followed the plan like a fat girl on the biggest loser. I was going to follow every.single.rule to the letter.

Got the steroids, went on bedrest, and at 33 weeks, wiped and there was pink twinge on the t.p. Having spent MONTHS looking every time I wiped, it had arrived. I called the doctors and they said go to the hospital. Of course, in all my wiseness, I questioned it and said, but it was just a twinge, it's more pink..." and was sharply barked at with a "go now!"

And so I went. I did not know as I drove down the street at 10:30 at night that I would not leave that hospital for the next 5+ weeks. They concluded that it was necessary I stay there, because of the probability of bleeding to death in the time it would take me to get to the hospital if I had a bleed at home. And the funny thing, nothing really amounted to that smalls spots of blood. It stopped and I was fine.

Except for i wasn't fine. My babies were at home. 6 and 3. In the middle of the night, I gave up my mom role and had to full entrust their care to grandmas and husband. Which I did, completely. But it stole a little bit of me that I couldn't just be their mom. I missed my girl's kindergarten graduation. Oh how I cried that day. I was soo proud of my smart girl and I desperately wanted to be there clapping as she smiled her toothless grin on stage. My husband took pictures, but to this day, it still makes me sad. The girls came every day, an played in my room, at the foot of my bed. We would go on wheelchair rides. I was not allowed to walk out of the doors of my room. They brought board games and movies. And yummy food so I didn't have to eat hospital food all the time.

Now in the hospital, the nurses try. They have a little white board that celebrates each and every day you get closer to your goal. Sweetest hearts I ever met.They were my new BFF's. I would press the nurse button and they would call over the intercom, and pretend to give them my drive thru order. Cuz I am fun like that. They would come in and chat and hold your hand when you just wanted to cry.



My white board





my girls





how I spent my time at Chateau de Hospital......

(Part 2) My placenta is hanging out with who and where?

SO let's get the basics down.



What is placenta previa and why is it going to suck the fun out of my pregnancy?

Placenta previa is where the placenta is in the wrong spot. Instead of being anywhere else, it is dangerously near or over the exit route. Like the elevator isn't working, gonna have to take the stairs and bust out the side door. Which of course we all learned in 5th grade, there is only ONE very disgusting way for a baby to drop out of your body. We all swore up and down that we would never have kids, and yet here we are. All because of boys. Boys are gross. Because of some boy, somewhere, you now have a placenta in your body, along with a baby. That is normal and fine and joyous. Until your placenta decides it's lazy and wants to be a doormat for baby to wipe it's head or feet on. Then it's a problem, and goes back to being all because of a boy. It's simple science really.



Most people have a placenta that is on the back, front, top, side, and then there are those of us that find they have the rebel placenta. Complete in black leather and metal studs. The only problem is if it doesn't move out of tha way. it's going to cause problems. Good news, most of them scurry up as your belly grows and nothing to worry about. Those of you who get stuck with the little rebel cow of placenta like mine was, it plants its feet firmly, throws a fit and doesn't budge. Those are the COMPLETE placenta previa achievers.

With Complete Placenta Previa, you get slapped with a host of rules and a prison sentence. Pelvic rest, no lifting more than 10 pounds, take it easy, no strenuous activity. Sounds like the life of a princess..... until they say scary shit like...."call if you have bleeding, call an ambulance because you will bleed to death, and you are bedrest in a hospital so we can have you in surgery in less than 5 minutes." In those scenarios, you will gladly hand back the damn tiara and scream to get off this ride. One of those open mouth dream screams that no one can hear. Scary scary scary shit. Poltergeist and Lady Gaga now seem harmless in this scary movie.

They don't know what causes it. Some say multiple pregnancies. I was on baby number three. I never heard of the old mother who lived in the shoe, who had so many children she didn't know what to do- having placenta previa. Some say maternal age. I was 27/28. Some say crackhead...and well, that wasn't me either. I'm sure there is many a documented crack head that the least of their worries is placenta previa. So, I wish they would just say they don't know and it's the luck of the draw. Because it would help a million during the lonely times that you want to curl in a ball as you watch all the other pregnant ladies doing stuff like.... walking. Remember, IT"S NOT YOU! It's definitely that punk ass placenta that hates it's name so it's rebelling.

The plan of action to correct it is....... a c section. Since parking downtown is blocked, you have to get a garage put in. And we will discuss the complications during that later. This really is a serious subject, but I'm trying to get one point across that I've learned. If I don't laugh, I'll cry.

That's Complete Placenta Previa. And here's what happened to me.......

(part 1) Complete Placenta Previa

Google is our friend. This is for the people who google placenta previa. or Complete placenta previa.

You get me.

And you'll get my story.

Because nothing is scarier after you get past the first few textbook websites of what it actually is, then you drastically search for an experience.....

and a voice to tell you it's okay.
And here, I won't make you read to the end of the posts to find out that all ended well.

Because it did.
And it's okay.

And for those who have heard my story and don't care to hear it again, peace out. This isn't for you. This is for the moms that are searching for some peace and knowledge that....

they'll be scared.
they'll be upset.
they'll be sad.
they'll be worried.
they'll be nervous.
they'll be okay.

My strange Addiction= nightmares

TLC has this new show called "My Strange Addiction."

And it has given my innards a complex.

There will be no photos in this posts and you will thank me.

They have people who are addicted to carrying a puppet.
Big whoop.
That's not an addiction, that's just weird. And attention getting. And quite possibly a sign that their mother slept with a Muppet, probably not Kermit, more like Fozzy- he seems to be a little bit of a quiet scandalous guy.

Then there is a lady with a bajillion cats. Once again, not an addiction, just someone who clearly aspired to be the old cat lady that no one wants to be. And if she wants to clean up cat feces all day, more power to her. If she's addicted, then Michelle Duggar is addicted to having kids... which hey... now that I think of it, I might just have given TLC their next guest. Send the royalties to me please TLC and you're welcome.

The lady who is addicted to her blow dryer....huh? Buy a white noise machine and space heater. Weirdoness solved.

Eating household cleanser- I don't get it. Of the gazillion options in the grocery store and dinner comes down to the household aisle and a toss up between the Comet or the Ajax? Do you serve it with a side of Cottonelle and invite the toilet paper eater over to dinner?

Did I say toilet paper eater? You heard me. Chick munches on some 2 ply extra plush super duper for your pooper paper. As in bypasses the popcorn counter at the movie theater with a dirty little grin because she has snuck in her own little pack of Angel Soft to snack on. I bet the bulk t.p. section at Costco is her dream.

And then we have the Couch Muncher. Who eats couch cushions. Opens that zipper and takes a bite of foam that people have been doing who knows what on for years. P-uke. At what point did she look at that huge piece of fluffy furniture and decide that it would be tasty to munch on? Is she buying them up on craigslist or do several of her friends have hidden teeth marks covered in their cushions?

Now for super gross. Pulling out hair and... gag... eating.the.follicle.
WTF! Who thinks any of this is edible? And why? Some people have no idea what a follicle is, much less if they should ever eat it. And why admit to it on tv.- or on a bathroom stall wall.

My stomach will never be the same. I'm addicted to changing the channel the minute this show comes on for fear my eyes will shrivel up and fall out.

Oh and they have a scab picker episode. I hope my cable goes out that day.

Middle of January

My girls.

This weekend we went and bought Oldielocks new cleats. And she now has bigger feet than me. And she's only 10. I wonder how big her feet will be, and then I start wondering how tall she will be and before you know it, I have a head full of wonderings of just who she will become. But I never wonder if she'll be serious, or capable or be kind and loving. Because she already is all those things.

Middle was in the paper today. And she was wearing a blue embroidered sundress, with black ballet flats. While playing softball. I wonder if she will always have this classic sense of style. Where she could put on pearls and starched dresses while the rest of the world shows up in shorts and tank tops. I wonder if she will ever base what she likes on other people. But I never wonder if she will smile and skip every day. Or be sweet and so very forgiving. Because she is already all those things.

Baloney was in the paper too. And she took the tee over to the pitcher mound and declared that she "didn't need it. Just throw me the balls." And so the husband did. And every one she kept her foot in perfect form and swung that pink bat, making contact with at least 5 of them. I wonder if she will actually be good at playing ball. Or what sport will she pick, or no sports at all. I wonder if she will be sassy at the times she should be quiet. But I never wonder she will be funny, or determined. Or animated and laughing. Because she is already all those things.

They are all so different, from their hair to eye color to style. In fact the only thing that they seem to have in common is that they are mine. And I love each one the most.

And that is something I never want them to wonder.

Good parent resolutions to have

If only the ramppant entitled children of the world had parents who listened to this......


Living with Children

John Rosemond

Copyright 2011, John K. Rosemond



Given that this is the first column of a new year, I’m proposing a number of parenting New Year’s Resolutions for my readers to consider. The list is by no means comprehensive. It’s just a good beginning on what is probably a much-needed family revolution:

1. We will not throw expensive “event parties” for our children on their birthdays. Instead, we will confine all birthday celebrations to our family, including extended family. We will keep it uncomplicated: a special dinner of the birthday boy or girl’s favorite food, a cake, the obligatory song, and a few simple gifts, mostly clothing or other useful things.

2. We will spend at least as much time helping our children develop good manners as do helping them get good grades in school, which means we will cut back significantly on the time helping with the latter (in consideration of the fact that good manners, which are expressions of respect for others, will take one further in life than will good grades). Each week, we will work on one specific social courtesy, such as saying “excuse me” when you walk in front of someone. Taking two weeks off, that’s fifty courtesies a year!

3. We will show our love for our neighbors by properly disciplining our children, insisting on proper behavior, and reprimanding immediately (even if that means in front of other people) when they behave otherwise, and on those occasions we will also insist they apologize appropriately.

4. If we have not already done so, we will assign a routine of daily chores to each of our children (at least those who have reached their third birthdays) and we will insist that said chores be done, and done properly, before they engage in recreation or relaxation.

5. When our children ask us for cell phones, we will tell them that they may have cell phones when they are able to pay for them as well as the monthly bills.

6. When our children complain that they are the only kids who don’t have cell phones (and do chores), we will tell them that learning how to be different is character-building.

7. Our children will not be able to order customized meals unless we take them to a restaurant. At home, they will eat what we are eating, and they will sit at the table until they are finished. We will do this so that when they are invited to eat at someone else’s home, they will be the best of guests.

8. We will surely bond with our children, but we will not bond with them in the marital bed, nor will we bond with them in their beds.

9. In keeping with number 8, we will put our marriage first and our children second…for their sake as well as ours. They will revolve around us; thus, they will not grow up thinking the world revolves around them.

10. If I am a single parent, I will take good care of myself for my sake as well as my children’s. I will have an active, adult’s only, social life. I will take plenty of personal time to simply relax and do those things I like to do. I will do all of that so that my children will not ever think the world revolves around them.

11. We/I will put our/my children to bed early so that we/I can end each day reconnecting as a couple or relaxing as a single.

12. We will eat as a family around our own table at least six nights a week.

13. We will keep after-school activities to a minimum, and only let them enroll in activities that do not prevent us from delivering on number 11.

14. Instead of buying our children expensive things, we will help them develop hobbies and take them to museums and on trips.

15. We will do all of the above so that when they grow up, they will have wonderful memories of their childhoods and raise our grandchildren in a manner that honors us.

3 days in a row

That's right, getting my blog on.

I even exercised 3 days this week. I'm on a roll- I should take this productiveness to the bank and cash it! I hit up the Target 75% off toys sales today. And got a few good deals, probably could have gotten more, but some lady was snatching it up like all the toyless children in the world depended on her. Which was fine, saved me some dollars for a rainy day. Got some super cute bibs on clearance and a super cute pacifier set.

And since you must know, I also got some multiplication fact cards from the dollar spot. Figured Middle will not become a brain surgeon if I don't help her along the way.

The husband got home and changed to jump on the elliptical. He's been doing great to, toning up the hotness that he has going on. Of course this is after I walked in the room and asked when he changed his initials to B.O. And then it was even better when Baloney walked in and said " WHAT is that smell!" His compromise was spraying his dirty gym shirt with lysol, twice in the pits for good measure. Dude's got to sweat to cut and chisel the body, and he always showers afterwards but..... ew.

So there's blog post three of the week. Off to get my cookie and star.

Confessions

Sometimes, I think people like to put on this face of someone who they are not. I mean- hell yeah I want everyone to think I'm the perfect wife, who raises her beautiful children in their perfect outfits, maintaining the perfect home filled with homemade goodness and fresh baked cookies when they get home. Which there is absolutely nothing wrong with being and doing those things. But give me the mom who points out where she has gone wrong and embraces it, and she and I will be besties.

I am the mom, who while on my road trip last summer, trying to stay awake in the middle of the night as I maneuvered my SUV around the mountains of Utah, (perhaps at higher than posted speeds), sang at the top of my lungs "gonna catch me ridin dirty" by chamillionaire.

I am the lady, who went shopping at our local health food store today, bought tons of healthy fruits and veggies (for 20 bucks! love you cali!) and came home and devoured a plate of leftover chinese. A plate of mammoth proportions.

I am the wife, who when it comes to her husbands taste in shoes, I have no problem letting him know that they are fugtastic. But I will say that I buy him the ugly ones anyways since after all, shoes that you love make all difference.

And right now, while the hubby is downstairs on the elliptical, I am on the internet, but I have every intention of jumping up when I hear the door shut and picking up some weights, you know, acting like I was working out the whole time too. Wink wink.

True dat.

1-11-11

So it's 1-11-2011.

Today is as good as any to write a blog entry.

Except for I think I'm hungry and really, how am I supposed to form a sentence if my stomach is growling. I'll trudge through though, priorities. I go walking with the baloney every day and she rides her bike. She races way ahead and then I have to huff and puff to keep up, all the while "pour some sugar on me" is blasting in my ears, true stripper style. We pass these little patch of bunnies everyday, so last night when we get home, she tells the hubby that "We saw bunnies today and almost bought one." Of course his eyes search mine with a "wtf is she talking about willis" look.

What? First of all, they are wild bunnies- that by the weeks end might possibly be road kill. Sad but true. Just keeping the circle of life real here. And next, buy them from who? The invisible bunny seller in the middle of the park? And last, bunny poop is gross. Little itty balls of turds that may or may not roll away at any given clean up moment? Yeah, I'm good with not stressing out over bunny poop. We are not buying any bunnies. the end.

But I do love this age, where fact is fiction and fiction is fact. They truly believe that a dragon stole their blanket and they fed the dragon 8 bowls of cheerios and then the dragon flew away... in a pink school bus.

So while it's not true, it's cute. And it just might be a good lesson. I wonder if I could use that line the next time I see some cute boots... "well I saw boots today and almost bought them..."