The Funk (And Not the Good Kind)



(source)

The older I get, the more I discover my strengths and my weaknesses. I like to think I've always been a rather mellow, patient, easy-flow kind of person. It takes a lot to ruffle my feathers, and I rarely get overwhelmed by anything. I don't really get mad at anyone or anything. I've even learned to let go of old grudges I carried for years. Aside from my daily road rage, my temper just kind of steadies on an even plane.

 

And yet, lately, I've been feeling overwhelmed. It's this week, really. And there's not anything super specific to pin it down on. It's a mountain of little things, insignificant things that I know I shouldn't even let bother me. I know they're fleeting moments of aggravation, and in the scheme of things, they don't deserve the attention I'm giving them.

 

But yet, they keep piling up. And I'd be inhuman to say they aren't bothering me. Because they are. I've been rushed, forgetful, easily agitated, melancholy, and just plain tired all week (and we're only halfway through the week).

 

Even with four kids, our lives run on a pretty smooth schedule. It's not air-tight, and we can usually change things up fairly easy, but still -- we have our own sort of normal, and everyone is predictably their same crazy selves. We make it work for us, and honestly, most days it doesn't even feel like we're working that hard.

 

This week has felt hella hard.

 

I guess this is just one of those funks, I know people go in and out of them all of the time. I'm in the funk right now, deep and thick -- and I wouldn't be so upset or angry about it if I just had a viable or justifiable reason to be in the funk.

 

I keep thinking to myself, "what is wrong with you?! there are so many other things going on right now, snap out of it!"

 

But here I am, keeping it honest and writing it down -- hopefully sooner, rather than later, I can look back on this from the other side. Shake it off. Move forward. Get over yourself, woman.

Throwback to an old photo of me and Sidney - back when I thought one screaming baby was overwhelming. HA!

 

Pushing Through, Looking for the Love

Tender moments between these two remind me what it's all really about -- in the midst of tantrums and bloody noses and deafening screams...there are these little blips of love. 

I am hopeful that underneath all this sibling squabbling there are relationships forming -- loving, holy, unyielding bonds of love forming between sisters and brothers and brothers and sisters.  

This is a very loud moment in our lives -- a five-month-old who has found his raging cry-voice. A one-year-old who has decided tantrums are the "it" thing and who uses his hands to slap, scratch and pull hair. A nearly three-year-old who is so stubborn, she'd cut off her nose to spite her face. And a six-year-old with a diva attitude to rival that of a sixteen-year-old. 

It all makes for lots of tears and struggles, and honestly, it's just not a very fun place. That's not to say all days are hard; honestly, the majority of days are pretty good. Not always great, but moderately good and manageable, and with a family this large, that's all a momma can ask for. 

So I'm treasuring the moments of peace and tenderness. I know this time is short and precious, but it's also loud as hell and makes me want to pull my hair out. 

50/50

A "Bad" Evening at Home

One of the first questions I get from family or friends whenever I roll up with all four kids in tow is, "so how are you handling it?"

And "it" means the chaos of four kids, and yes, I recognize we're a buzzing mass of arms and legs and dirty faces and voices, both quiet and loud, but it's not always chaotic. Sometimes, most times even, it's fairly peaceful. We're in routine mood, surviving on our patterns, and blessedly, there are not too many bumps in the road.

But when there are bumps? They are massive. They are consuming. And they're always parallel to the other bumps in the road. Here's a rundown of a typical-bad evening, which luckily is far and few in between, but does happen:

I'm late leaving work.

Call the babysitter. Call Mom. Gas light comes on.

Stop for gas. Rush to get the kids. Round up blankets and bags and jackets and shoes. Load the girls. Round up more bags and blankets and shoes and jackets. Load the boys. Fight over what we're listening to on the radio or CD. Rhealen and Sidney fight over the volume. Jaxon can't get his tablet to work. Toby wants a paci or a bottle or a diaper or something I can't get to right then because I'm driving.

Realize we need milk at home. Shit.

Go back to the store. Run in at the speed of light for milk and end up with twenty seven other things we do or do not need on a whim. Hurry home. Unload boys and girls and bags and jackets. Start supper. Call Justin. I forgot we need diapers. Start a load of laundry. Force Sidney to start on homework. Take the toy away from Rhealen who took the toy away from Jaxon. Console a screaming Jaxon. Get Toby back to sleep.

Sidney tore her homework getting it out of her bookbag. And she has no pencil. And she's out of lunch money.

Supper spills over the stove and the washing machine is off-balance yet again. Rhealen goes screaming through the house because loud noises scare her. Jaxon follows suit because he thinks it's a fun new game. Sidney has abandoned homework and has turned up the TV to volume level eleven billionty.

EVERYONE CALM DOWN.

Justin walks through the door. We got this bill and that bill and why haven't you paid this already? Supper is burning. The baby is awake again. Jaxon has fallen off the couch for the tenth time. Sidney slams the bathroom door. Justin hasn't even gotten his boots off yet.

Supper is done. The laundry gets thrown in the dryer. Kids eat at the table. Jaxon eats off my plate standing in the kitchen. Then Jaxon eats off Justin's plate standing in the kitchen. I hold Toby. Justin holds Toby. Toby has to sit in his seat for a minute. Toby screams.

We can't find Jaxon's bottle. Rhealen can't find a paci, which she's not even supposed to have anymore. We left her blanket at Gran's. The other back-up blanket is at Sandy's. Sidney is still hungry. Jaxon is beyond sleepy and is walking into walls.

Turn on Jaxon's fan and put him down with his paci. Goodnight, love you son, and close the door. The girls need a bath. It'll just have to wait 'til tomorrow. Wash them down the best I can. Put pajamas on. They want to watch ten more minutes of Rio for the hundredth time this week. Rhealen wants to sleep on the top bunk. Sidney wants to sleep on the bottom bunk. No, girls, go to bed. Sidney on top, Rhealen on bottom. Rhealen doesn't have her blanket. She's really mad about the whole thing.

Justin has fallen asleep on the couch for the third night this week. I glare at him but also feel a little relieved. At least now we're not going to have to fight or even speak to each other. Toby cries again. Justin wakes up.

Justin tells me to go take a bath, I need a break, he's got the baby. I don't argue. I run myself a bath, grab the kindle, enjoy the scalding heat of the water. Ten minutes later, I hear the baby. And I keep hearing the baby. I yell for Justin. Again. No answer.

I curse. A lot. I let the water out of the bath because what's the point anymore. Justin is asleep on the couch again. I want to stab him with the bath drain. Not really. Yes, really. I yell at Justin. I get the baby. He just needed his paci. Rhealen calls to me about her blanket once more. I warn her to go to sleep.

I load the dishwasher. Pester Justin to get off the couch and go to bed. Check on the girls. They're asleep, finally. Turn off their TV. Turn off all the lights. Check that the doors are locked. Pester Justin some more to get off the couch and get into bed. Consider leaving him there all night so I can hog the entire bed. Check on the baby. Still asleep. Fix a bottle because I know he'll be up in an hour, maybe two if I'm lucky.

Finally get Justin to move to the bed. Set the alarm clock. Collapse into bed and pray the baby will actually sleep a little tonight. Try to shut off my brain so I can fall asleep instantly to maximize the minutes I do get to sleep.

Justin is already snoring. And eventually, I am, too.

#AmericanBlogger

I am way low on the totem pole of blogging, specifically mommy-blogging, but even I try to keep abreast of the current trends and tricks in our national (and global) blogging community. 

So when I came across this little gem -- American Blogger (click link for trailer) -- I was left scratching my head. 

Really? That's the film to portray blogging in America?! HA!

This film is drivel. It's narcissistic. It's one group of friends huddled together congratulating themselves on being the "popular" kids. Pathetic. 

There are so many amazing blogs out there from so many diverse voices, this film is a total slap in the face to the community of American blogging. I myself am one of thousands; a white heterosexual married mother of four -- I blog about my kids and our personal lives and not much more. Which is fine! But my voice is one of millions, and as much as I love my life, most of the time I'm interested in hearing voices that are different than mine. That's the beauty of our age of connection, the whole point to all of it -- why this filmmaker from Texas decided he'd ride around in his air-stream trailer filming the same type of blogger over and over again is beyond me. 

I, for one, won't be watching this film -- and if you yourself are not a blogger or don't know much about the blogging community yet, please don't believe this as an accurate representation. 

There is more, so much more, to blogging than this crap. 

Some < Others

Some nights, I "fail"* at being a good mother.

Some nights my kids eat cereal. Some nights homework doesn't get done. Some nights they go to bed with dirty faces wearing the day's dirty clothes.

Some nights the house is left in a worse mess than the night before. 

Some nights the laundry is piled four feet deep. Some nights the dirty dishes don't even make it to the sink.

Some nights there are fights. There are stories that don't get read to babies. There are kisses that go unkissed. There is anger and hurt and tears.

Some nights there is nothing to do but hide and cry in the bedroom. Don't let them see your tears of frustration and anger.

Some nights there are tired bodies bumping into each other in crowded hallways. There are words spit with venom. There are "I hate yous" and "I really hate yous". 

Some nights are, for lack of a better word, complete and total shit.

But, for every one of those "some nights", there are other nights.

Other nights dinner is done and done right and done on time. There are full bellies and warm bodies.

Other nights homework is finished and books are read. There are clean jammies and freshly washed faces. 

Other nights the laundry gets (mostly) caught up and the dishwasher is loaded. The house gets straightened.

Other nights there is kissing and hugging and loving. There are moments hidden from little eyes and extra "I love yous" and moments for momma and poppa.

Other nights, in fact most nights, are divine in their simplicity and imperfection. Other nights are the norm and the good and the reason we can make it through some nights that are hard.

Tonight, I am my grateful for the nights when I don't "fail"* at motherhood. I live through the some nights so I can love the others.

*None of us really fail at this motherhood thing; we're all bumbling fools just doing our best to keep our little humans alive!*

Zzzz..........NOT!

So.........this is what no sleep looks like, eh? 

I would post you a picture of myself looking all baggy-eyed and sleep-deprived, but I don't think a photo would do justice to the way I feel. I'm operating on the most erratic sleep schedule ever right now, fueled by caffeine and some primal instinct to just keep pushing forward. 

Toby has no sleep "schedule" and most nights, his longest continuous sleep stretches only two hours, max. Most of the time it's an hour, sometimes even less -- we've been trying to implement a nighttime routine to help. We've done bathtime and playtime and bottles with cereal. I let him soothe himself to sleep and put on the sound machine. So far, no dice. I know he'll get there, and honestly, I don't have unrealistic expectations that my >2 month old should be sleeping 8-12 hours. I've done this a time or two, I know how all of this works! 

I would just like consistency is all -- knowing I could get two hours consistently would be a blessing at this point (for my sanity) !!

Added to this no-sleeping-Toby mix is my poor teething boy, Jaxon -- the girls never really seemed to have an issue cutting any of their teeth, but this poor fella has been up the past few nights screaming non-stop in pain. I hate to see him hurting, and I do what I can to soothe him, but in my near-comatose state of mind in the middle of the night, who knows how helpful I really am (??)

This will all pass in time. These are precious days I will want back sooner rather than later. I am going to miss all of this one day. I KNOW, I KNOW. 

But I also miss sleep. Sweet, beautiful, warm, uninterrupted sleep.  

I'm just looking forward to being further down the road, looking back on this post, and thinking "you made it, girl. your kids are sleeping!" -- you want to know what I dream about (when I actually sleep long enough to dream?) it's THAT. 

This is real life...

I don't know who first said "after two or three, you don't notice any difference" but I'm calling bullshit on that! Having four is totally different than three! Let's just acknowledge that little fact first off.

Now, secondly, I'm working on finding a groove that fits for our family, and luckily for me, that includes coordinating with our amazing family and friends who help make life possible.

Yes, I'm sure Justin and I could do this on our own...but I'm so beyond grateful we don't have to. We are blessed beyond the stars to have such people in our lives that lovingly help.

I get a lot of comments in real life and online where people say "you have your hands full!" Or "bless your heart!" Or "I don't think I could handle four!" And at first, I nod my head in agreement - the initial shock of four kids is surprise! Shocking! And yes, my hands are full - but so is my heart...

And this is hard sometimes, yes, but it's what I was born to do - I was meant to have these four kids. I love them and like them and find myself in complete awe that I made these little people. Some days are longer than others, and sometimes there are tears from everyone (me included!) - but there is so much love.

So if and when you see me out with my little humans, please know I'm happy and I don't feel overwhelmed. I'm doing my best to be grateful, above everything else. I'm still settling into being a mother of four, but only on the outside. 

On the inside, I have been a mother of four my whole life. Now my home matches my heart, and everything feels complete. 

(And yes, in regards to the photo a above, I might be a little happier on the daily if showering found its way into my routine) 

Cooking Semi-Disasters Inspired by You

There's a reason you won't find a recipe post on this site (or a "What I Wore" post either, for that matter!) - I am by no means a good cook (or dresser? clothes-wearer? what's the word I'm looking for?) AND I KNOW IT. I'm okay with being mediocre at a lot of things, actually. 

And a lot of you out there are good cooks (and fancy clothes-wearers) apparently, because my IG and FB and Twitter feeds are flooded with lovely photos of delicious-looking meals and treats. One such lady (Rachel/A Southern Fairytale) has had the power to make me drool at my computer (or phone) screen for a few years now. She posts recipes that seem to be family-pleasing and hearty, two things I look for in a good recipe, and while some of her dishes are above my level of experience, I feel like I could recreate nearly all of her recipes with ease. 

So...the other night...I'm innocently trolling along IG...and I see a photo that looks self-explanatory enough. Chips covered in chocolate. Not that hard, right? Even I can do that! I thought quite confidently to myself.  

I have chips. I have chocolate. I'VE GOT THIS ONE IN THE BAG. 

Over-confidence in the kitchen should be the first warning sign of any disaster - you see, I don't own a double-broiler. That's the first thing I realize when I go to melt the chocolate. And I've watched enough Food Network in my day to know that, in order to melt chocolate and not have it taste like burnt tar, you really need a double-broiler. 

PLAN B

I take two of my Paula Deen cookware pots -that are already warped and crooked thanks to my husband, who lovingly tossed them a little too hard several years ago after I let them sit in the sink for a few days...or weeks- and I decided I could just do a make-shift double-broiler. And it kind of worked. Sort of. 

My chocolate started sort of melting. But not really, so I added a dash of milk (making this shit up as I go, believe me) and some chocolate syrup and voila! we have melted-ish chocolate. 

I then grab my bag o' chips to discover A) they're pretty dried out and not so pleasantly crunch anymore and B) they're mostly disintegrated into a thousand morsels at this point.

PLAN C

I take the best of the worst of the chips and just do the damn thing, because I've made it thus far melting my chocolate - I am past the point of no return. The chips aren't big enough to hold by one half and dip by the other, so I keep burning my fingers in the sort-of not-really melted chocolate. And on the bottom of my crooked make-shift double-broiler. 

But I am determined! 

I stand by my stovetop and dip chip after chip, until I've filled the (very last piece left in my container) tin-foil completely with chocolate covered chips. CHOCOLATE CHIPS! Get it?! Hardy HAR Har! 

And then it hits me....

I remember, I don't even like chocolate. How will I even know if this is edible? Or good? Cue: Rhealen Jo - my little up for anything, try everything once taste taster.

She eats one, gives me a "hmmph" kind of shrug and goes back to her cartoons. Well, hell. 

When Justin gets home later that night, I show him my hard-work. See?! See?! SEE:

He, too, was ambivalent at best. And thus, there sat on my counter a pile of "chocolate chips" that no one really cared about eating. I took them to our baby-sitter, and she enjoyed them (thank you Sandy!) - so THERE. 

I suck at life, and I'm never going to even attempt to get creative in my kitchen ever again. That is until the next time I see one of you out there post something delicious-looking, and I mangage to trick my brain into thinking I can do something totally off the wall, like say, recreate a five-course meal with nothing but light bread and Funyuns. 

I am (not the) master of my own kitchen. And I (don't) like it that way.

I'm leading this post with a picture of this toilet -- a picture I've used a few times on the blog before, but my hope is that if you see the toilet, you'll be able to put two and two together that maybe this post will have a little TMI for you. Squeamish? Not into getting down and dirty regarding bodily functions? Afraid of pregnancy talk? Turn away now -- fair warning. I won't judge you, promise!

I Wanted to Call This Post "A Tale of Two Titties" But It's Really a Tale of Three Nipples, Which Doesn't Quite Have the Same Ring to It

This post embarassing. And definitely TMI, so feel free to skip this one. Or not, 'cause it is kind of funny. And I don't mind sacrificing myself in the name of comedy. Let's continue...

A few Fridays ago, I noticed something strange. A growth, if you will. On the underside of my boob, not too far from the current residing nipple. This growth even looked like a nipple in shape, size and color. I thought maybe my husband had been practicing his voodoo on me again, and this was the result of his desires to have a genetically enhanced woman sleeping in bed next to him. 

Nice try honey, but I think even you could do better than wishing for one measly extra nipple. 

Me being me, I texted my (registered nurse) dad, called my mom and then turned to WebMD (always the wrong choice). The collective conclusion? A boil. All warnings shouted, "pain! swelling! puss! nothing you can do about it except wait to die a horrible death!" Slight overreaction, yes, but the point is: I prepared myself to wait it out and expected to be in pain all while this mass grew and grew and then finally burst open into a million directions flowing puss from the sky and death from above. True story. 

But time marched on and the thing didn't grow and it didn't hurt and I was a little let down that this whole boil thing didn't boil over (tsk-ska, rim-shot!). I figured I could wait it out to see my regular baby doctor, and so I did yesterday. His wise, profound and all-knowing medical conclusion? Who the hell knows. 

He looked at it, flopped my boob around in his hands like play-doh (because let's be real, after three kids and my no-bra-wearing stance, these things are way past deflated at this point) said some possible diagnosis that sounded like "battlestar galactica" to me, and then decided I needed to see a general surgeon. 

Now, when someone uses the term "general surgeon" my mind tends to explode and go straight to doom, despair and agony - even though I've come to learn it's a pretty broad and sweeping title. Nevertheless, hours later and two floors above my regular doctor, I found myself waiting to see someone with the title "general surgeon". 

This is also the point in the story when I'll admit I've never had much of a breast exam before, other than the usual feel-up by my doctor during well-baby visits, and even then it's only been a handful (of boob) of times. Yesterday, for the first time ever, I got to wear one of the paper vests. 

The powder-pink, six sizes too small for this bust size, paper-thin vests. Glory glory, hallelujah - I've found my calling in life! I'm going to design some kind of vest for larger women with larger boobs that covers all the areas a woman wants covered THAT ISN'T MADE OUT OF PAPER. I've never felt so awkward in my life, I kid you not. 

This "general surgeon" looked at the third nipple and concluded something about a blocked duct and breastfeeding and yadadada, I wasn't listening because my brain kept screaming, "YOU'RE WEARING A PINK PAPER VEST!" He told me the third nipple would have to be lanced and drained, and I was all, "I can do that at home, no problem," but apparently that's the whole purpose of his "general surgeon" title. 

The nurse brought in the tray of doom, as I like to call it, covered in Bactine and needles of various sizes, a sterilized bed-pan looking tray, and of course, plenty of latex gloves. She then left me with said tray of doom for a good eternity to sweat out any worries I may have about someone slicing and dicing my nipple, much like in the popular game Fruit Ninja. I proceeded to text my poor mother and apologize for dying without being able to purchase her Asian Zing sauce from BWW; she proceeded to call me a wimp, but I digress. 

The third nipple extraction process was quick, and mostly pain-free, thanks to the wicked feeling of my entire boob being asleep! You haven't lived until you've had the sensation of your boob falling asleep, trust me. The numbing medicine wore off and then MOTHER OF GOD, the pain. If you keep hearing a nagging, incessant whine from this part of the world, don't worry, it's just me lamenting over my poor boob and the loss of my third nipple. 

Of course, it could also be my husband lamenting over the loss of the third nipple. But I digress. 

The thing is now gone and my boob is slightly swollen and leaking, which really isn't any different than it was before. At this point in my pregnancy, my entire body is slightly swollen and leaking....from every available orifice. I'm hoping this was a one-time freak incident, and my boobs haven't decided to totally abandon ship and go all mental on me this late in the pregnancy game. I've still got expectations for them to perform to some degree in the coming weeks, and although three nipples would've lightened the load, the other two are just going to have to suck it up and deliver the goods as god and nature intended. 

And thus concludes the tale of the third nipple, may it ever rest (in Bactine covered pieces) in peace. 

poor little RJ

Poor baby RJ has been cutting her back molars (on both sides!) and it's not been much of a fun fest at our house lately. Couple that with a newly discovered acid-reflux problem, and our sweet miss has been hurting something fierce this past week.

This weekend was incredibly rough, Friday night in particular. For the first time ever, I was one of those parents driving my screaming kid around at 2:30 in the morning, and let me tell you, I do not envy those of you who do that on a regular basis. Poor girl and I actually slept out in the car for a few hours because I was too terrified to wake her back up by carrying her inside.

Hopefully those teeth will pop through soon enough and her anti-acid medicine will kick in so we can get back to our regular, cheerful little lady. I hate seeing my baby all pitiful and unhappy!

(PS it only took about seven minutes total to go from the top picture to the bottom - also? It's really awkward to take a picture of a cute kid sleeping on your chest without being ZOMG! BOOBIES!) 

finding time to blog: the midnight diaries

I'm so busy. Busy isn't even the right word. Between my school and Sidney's school, my work and taking care of Rhealen, trying to have a social life and being a good wife, Sidney's cheerleading and spending time with my extended family, and all the other little million things that comprise "having a life", I am so busy.

Me being busy puts a strain on those around me, too. I am so blessed and lucky to have family and friends that step up to help Justin & me out with the girls. He's always working, I'm always running around like a chicken with my head cut off. It's just insane. Starting soon, the only evenings I'll have off will be Sundays and Mondays. That's it. Two evenings at home. It's ridiculous.

How am I supposed to keep up with the housework? When do I do homework? When can I just play with my kids? When can Justin and I spend any time together? How am I supposed to do all of this?

{This is just a rant - I'll get over it and get back to my regular programming tomorrow..}

I'm glad to be here and glad to be alive and glad to be surrounded by family and friends. I'm glad to have multiple shoulders to lean on and people there to catch me when I fail/fall.

I just can't wait for November to get here. To be graduated and done with school and for life to be considerably less busy. I can't freaking wait (the understatement of the century, believe me).

I didn't have solid plans for today, anyway

I spent most of the morning in the ER today. How was your Tuesday?

I felt half-adult, half-child this morning -- shortly after I got to work, I started having these ridiculous side pains that were stabbing and constant. Seeing as how I'd never had a pain like that in my life, it freaked me out. I felt a bit like an infant running off to the ER after only enduring said pain for an hour, but I couldn't help myself. Unknown pain = wildfire panic (in my little brain, that is). I felt quite like a grown-up, however, driving my big girl self to the hosptial without calling anyone in tears first.

{Last time I drove myself to Norton Community, I was in hysterical in tears calling my Mom because my OB doctor told me I needed to get checked out -- I was 39 weeks pregnant and alone and ended up having Sidney the next day. So...yeah}

Justin can't be reached at work, so I texted my Mom (I would've called her first anyway, I'm 99.9% sure) and told her my situation - but told her not to panic or come a'running just yet. The Dr took one good look at me and figured it was a kidney stone (which it was), so I figured there wasn't much she, or anyone else, could do. But my sweet little momma, she is a momma - my momma and the best of mommas. She came straight away, doing exactly what I told her not to do (but exactly what I wanted her to do deep down). I've got a good momma, how 'bout you?

It wasn't much of a day - just CT scans and good drugs. I'm feeling much better and much more prepared for the next time this happens (which I hope and pray is years and years from today). I had the luxury of being "babied", which I always love and appreciate. And I can head on back to work tomorrow.

It wasn't exactly how I pictured my Tuesday going -- but what can you do? At least I got a lot of love from today, which is always a bonus any day of the week!

I, for one, am glad that Shark Week is over

I know I've mentioned my irrational fear of sharks before, but yesterday I came across a picture that made my heart stop and speed up at the same time. I nearly crapped my pants.

The buzz is that this photo is actually an old, photoshopped creation that is making a comeback recirculating on Tumblr. True? Not true? Doesn't really matter to me. Even the notion that this photo might be fake doesn't rationalize to my heart that it's okay. My heart just can't wrap it's notions around it. I'm fairly certain I'll never go back in the ocean again. The beach is nice and all, but I'll sit in the sand and swim in the pool, thank you very much. It's only fitting that one of Sidney's favorite movies these days is Jaws -- she just loves to play with my poor head, even at her young age!

I know I'm being irrational and the likelyhood of me ever being attacked by a shark is considerably less than, say, getting hit by a truck or some other oddity. It doesn't matter, though -- in my mind, the worst death I could possibly suffer would be a shark attack. Here I am, in southwest Virginia, and I'm terrifed of the masters of the ocean. I rarely go to the beach! And when I go to the beach, I rarely ever swim in the ocean!

But my fear is there, and so I can't take my eyes off that photo. Someone bring me a clean pair of undies, stat.

The little caption to the photo went something like this:

A family were on holiday in Australia for a week and a half when husband, wife and their 15 year old son decided to go scuba diving. The husband is in the navy and has had some scuba experience. His son wanted a picture of his mum and dad in all their gear so he got the under water camera ready to go. When it came to taking the picture the dad realized that the son looked like he was panicking as he took it and gave the ‘OK’ hand sign to see if he was all right. The son took the picture and swam to the surface and back to the boat as quick as he could so the mum and dad followed to see if he was OK. When they got back to him he was scrambling onto the boat and absolutely panicking. When the parents asked why, he said ‘there was a shark behind you.’ The dad thought he was joking but the skipper of the boat said it was true but they wouldn’t believe him. As soon as they got back to the hotel they loaded the picture onto there laptop and that was what they saw.

source

{ED: I'm regretting blowing this picture up here on my blog -- now it's going to haunt me forever!}

I said I wasn't going to cry

So far, Pinterest has been a lot of fun! I've pinned a bajillion recipes and craft ideas (although, I can't really cook and I really can't craft) - it's definitely a huge time killer, but sometimes it's nice to zone out for awhile and just be a Pinterest-zombie.

It's been all fun and games 'til I saw this:

Source: thewillcuttgirls.blogspot.com via Olivia on Pinterest

Now Pinterest is making me cry. I can't believe my big girl starts school Monday. I was totally prepared not to face this fact until Monday. Damn you, Pinterest!

a year ago

It's been an entire year since my husband lost his best friend - Justin doesn't talk about him much anymore, but Sidney has the perfect answer as to Dozer's whereabouts now: she says he's at the ocean playing with the dolphins. I know we all wish that's where he was...at least then we could visit him from time to time.

best friends

hi ho, hi ho

Well, it's back to work for me...

today the word was "hard"

Today was one of those hard days where I stop and think, "dear god, why did we want to do this all over again?! WHAT WERE WE THINKING?!" But then Rhealen will snuggle my chest or just look totally adorable sleeping, and I remember. It's all about love, pure and simple.

But the screaming and crying today was a little out of control. Oy vey.

It's hard going from one awesome little girl who's totally mostly independent and sleeps through the night and can wipe her own ass and such to one awesome little girl who's totally mostly independent and sleeps through the night and can wipe her own ass and such PLUS one little girl who screams a lot and can't do anything for herself and can't tell you what's wrong and just kind of looks at you all pitiful waiting for you to fix it. HARD, I tell you.

Babies are hard work, and honestly, I'd kind of forgotten about how much work there is. I've gotten so spoiled having Sidney and her awesomeness that it's kind of difficult to appreciate Rhealen and her non-awesomeness at this point. She'll get there, this I know.

It's just babies kind of suck sometimes. And today was a total suck day. Good thing she's so freaking cute it makes my ovaries hurt.

my life is shit (but in the best possible way!)

{I have to put that disclaimer up there - Mom forewarned about jinxing myself with bad karma, seeing as how I've had an awesome June in one huge way (y'know the birth of my healthy babe) but a totally sucky June in a lot of other ways, which we won't get in to right now...so there, I've unjinxed myself! I hope...}

My life is all about poop these days. The crap. The shit. The turds. The color of it. The size of it. The amount of it. Too much poop? Not enough poop? It's all poop all the time.

I'm constantly keeping up with Rhealen's poop, seeing as how hers is still adjusting and I'm not sure it's where it needs to be yet (hello, diarrhea - and yes, I had to google that to make sure I was spelling it correctly, which I totally was not)! I count how many times Rhealen takes a poop, catalogue the texture and color, and then find myself telling Justin about Rhealen's shit the minute he walks through the door.

"Hello, dear! How was your day? Your youngest daughter crapped twice today! And it was semi-solid! FTW!"

Sidney has finally mastered the art of pooping in the potty - HALLELUJAH! At first, she was all timid and ashamed about the whole thing...but now she can't wait to show you her poop. In fact, just yesterday she wouldn't let me wipe her ass until I looked at her poop. She loves to talk about it, loves to brag about it - she's so proud of herself. And I am too, really - it's just that I've got enough poop on my brain with her sister, I don't need mental images of her poop confusing my sleep deprived brain. And of course, Sidney likes to talk poop with Justin, too!

"Daddy, do you know what apple juice is for? It makes you poop! Hahahaha..."

The man loves his family, I remind him every day.

And lastly, there's my poop - or constant lack thereof. Right after Rhealen, there was more pooping than ever before in my life. I couldn't eat without pooping immediately, and nothing set well on my poor stomach. Now, I'm just back to my regular clogged up self. The lack of poop is shitty, believe me. I can't remember the last time I had a nice BM, and I'd kill someone to have a nice BM right about now. Dulcolax, anyone? I try not to talk about my poop with Justin, somehow he just doesn't find it nearly as endearing as newborn poop.

So, yeah, it's all poop all the time right now. It's been said viewing a live birth is the best birth control - but honestly, I think a few weeks in this house would work just as good right now. 'Cause the poop, it ain't sexy.

weekend heat

What a weekend, am I right?

Let me start off with the heat, ohmigod the heat. I am so very grateful that this baby will be here in June (and not September, like my last go-round) because THE HEAT would surely be the death of me this summer if I had to endure it pregnant.

We weren't outside for more than an hour total yesterday, and I felt like my body was melting. Drained is not the word. Weak is not the word. Exhausted is not the word. I don't think they've yet created a word to explain just how tired I was yesterday. Justin kept reminding me, "you did all this with Sidney" - and I kept giving him the middle finger when he walked away.

I don't like the heat.

Other than that, really, the weekend was great - I love three day weekends, and I was especially grateful Justin got to have the entire weekend off, too! That hasn't happened in months, I don't think. He's been pulling lots of overtime (which is great for the bank account but bad on the whole spending-time-together thing) so I was really glad to have him home. He did manage to sneak in plenty of fishing - can't say I blame him, after all the work he's been doing. There's just no way I'm going with him, you know because of the heat and all.

And before you start saying "pfft, it's not even summer yet" and "you just wait" and "I was eleven months pregnant during the hottest summer on record ever, don't whine 'til you've lived through that" LET ME JUST SAY: shutup. I'm the one who's pregnant here. And I'm the one whose buttcrack is filled with sweat. I'll complain as much as I want, as loud as I want, no matter how hot you may or may not think it really is.

And if you don't like it, you can fully expect me to flip you off behind your back.