Gathering Clancy

Friday's Fabulous Five and Five on Friday

2012-01-27T10:53:00.002-07:00

Oops. Fell off the wagon again. So I'll play two games today. Mine and my friend Travis'.

Five Fabulous things in my life right now...

1- Gotye. My latest musical fixation. I adore this artist. And when I say I adore, I really mean I'm obsessed. I'm listening to him right now. I watched a whole live concert of his last night. Twice.

2- Dustin is off work today. I love that story.

3- My kids are awesome.

Mac is so FUN right now. He's moving into a different phase where he's more like a real person instead of a little kid. I know that the next several years (think teenager) will come with their own set of challenges, but I sure enjoy the person my son is turning into.
Ella is so delightful and creative. This child is ALWAYS creating something. It's so fun to watch her talents unfold and her skills develop. She's becoming quite the little pianist and artist. And she's so passionate about both.
Rohan is still Rohan. Delightfully entertaining and completely easy to love. He has a very stubborn streak that is hard to deal with at times, but we all have something. The other day we had a convo that went like this:
Rohan: Mom, I want to go to Egypt.
Me: You do?
R: Yeah. Are there Egyptians in Egypt?
M: Yep.
R: But do they know any tricks?
M: Ummm... (smothering laughter as I always must around this child...) I'm not sure?...
R: But why are they called Egyptians?
M: Because they're the people of Egypt.
R: Oh. OK.
And then he walked away, our conversation sating his Egyptian curiosity. What a kid.
Brynja should probably have a post all to herself because she's grown and changed so much. She's so fun. She's so darling. She's the most amazing mix of completely amiable and total spitfire. She loves to hug and give kisses. She loves to say NO. She loves the word MINE and she says it both very sweetly and with great force. In March she'll be two. Two? Yes. Two. I can hardly believe it.

4- I love helping friends. I often get the chance to pay forward much of what I've learned from my amazing mother and aunt and for that I'm so grateful.

5- Words. Words are the best. I love the expressive power of words.

And I'm playing a new (for me) game today... Five on Friday. My blog-friend Travis hosts this every week. Link up if you want to play!

These are five of Gotye's songs that I can't get enough of. I said it above, but I'm rather obsessed with this artist and all his music. The videos are often very bizarre, but that's part of his charm for me. He's quirky and different. Different music. Different presentation. I love his style of different. And he's got such great beats. (He's a drummer among other things) So, I hope you enjoy a little sampling of Gotye.

This first video is the song that has brought him the most success.

Such a great, driving rhythm in this song:

Love the words on this song. Don't we all feel this way when we get on the phone?

And live? He's amazing.

This one I couldn't find on YouTube. Hope this code works.

Watch Gotye and other great gigs on Moshcam.

If you liked Gotye's music, I suggest you go poke around on his GotyeMusic YouTube page and look at some of his behind the scenes movies and the process he goes through in creating much of his music. He and his process of music making fascinates me.

I hope you enjoyed. Happy Friday!

Bridge

2012-01-17T22:34:00.002-07:00

Spanning chasms and offering safety, the bridge stands year after year. It's strength seems effortless, taken for granted by those upheld by it's engineering.

Time, neglect and chaos take their toll.

At first it's just softness underfoot, spongy. The small, slow deteriorating of wood and the quiet rust of metal a warning.

They all want to say it fell suddenly, but they never listened to the rust and the softness of the wood until they were tumbling through the dark waters beneath it.

♦

Christmas

2012-01-16T00:47:00.001-07:00

Ok, ok. I'll do a Christmas write-up.

Our Tree: We don't have a "theme tree". I have colorful, warm, cozy lights that remind me of my childhood and the magic that was Christmas. None of my ornaments match and I love it. They all have a memory or were a creation of my children. Sometimes I look at other trees and think maybe mine looks a little messy, but that's how I like it. A messy, colorful, warm tree. It's magic.

And, to make you all faint, I'm throwing in a picture. That there is the tree. And when I was taking pics, Brynja's cute antique-ish Radio Flyer rocking horse happened to be in front of the tree. Kinda fitting. (And this is me messing with my new camera off of auto-mode, but I don't have a tripod so flashless pics are tricky as of yet)

Christmas Eve was a mellow thing this year. I usually find myself shopping for a few last minute things that day, as well as trying to make cookies or treats of some kind for neighbors and friends. I managed to get all my shopping done beforehand and I thought, perhaps, I'd be baking or something that day, but I decided I wouldn't do it until I had cooked the chicken noodle soup (homemade noodle kind... takes forever) that we were planning on having for dinner.

I got the food done and had no time to make anything for neighbors and that was completely ok with me. (sorry friends and neighbors! next year...)

The morning of Christmas Eve, I had the choir practicing the Christmas program that was scheduled for the next morning (Christmas) at 10:30 a.m. The practice when FANTASTIC and I felt, for the most part, completely ready for the program. And it was good. Good, I tell you! Tears were shed during the practice as stories were read and songs were sung. It was fabulous.

So, back to the afternoon... Had dinner ready and went to my mom's house. My mom was feeling not-so-great at the time. She had been in the hospital earlier in the week... Sunday through Wednesday... after dealing with serious pain in her chest. It wasn't a heart attack, but pericarditus that she's been battling ever since her heart attack in September. So, Christmas festivities were kept very low-key, which suited all of us just fine. We ate soup and bread, laughed and talked with my parents and my brother, Taylor, and his girlfriend, Cherryn. We did our version of the Nativity which is pulling out the pretty ceramic pieces that my mom painted years ago and telling about the role each figure played in the story of Christ's birth. It's a nice time to reflect on why we celebrate Christmas. Then I read a few Christmas stories and we called it a night. Low key. Perfect.

We got home, did the Christmas pajama thing and sent those excited kids off to bed.

And then Dustin and I started the Santa process. We had a very frustrating time trying to assemble a toy. It took more than an hour and it DIDN'T WORK when it was all put together. We were freaking out. I was so upset. We ended up writing a note to Ella from Santa telling her that his elves must have broken the toy while assembling it and that her parents would get her something else. (The note was really for the benefit of Rohan. Ella inquired as to the true nature of Santa a month or so before Christmas and learned that it is her mom and dad who act in the name of Santa and the Spirit of Christmas.) It was disappointing, to say the least. It was compounded by the fact that I didn't feel very well. I was agitated and SO INCREDIBLY tired. All I wanted to do was go to sleep, but we had things to wrap and stockings to fill.

Aside: My kids and husband had been shuffling the flu between them for the week previous. Brynja was sick, throwing up and feverish, the previous Saturday night and spent all of Sunday completely miserable. Next came Ella and Rohan on Monday and Tuesday. They shared their sick day. Poor Ella threw up over and over and over. I bet she threw up every ten minutes for four hours straight. It was terrible. And then it slowed down to every 30 or so minutes for the next, oh, six or so hours. Rohan had it coming out both ends. Not as much puking as Ella, but he made up for it in other ways. (Think 1 a.m., 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. baths...) And I forgot that Dustin shared this sick day with Ella and Roh as well. Lucky.

Mac waited until Thursday/Friday and he was miserable too, but his manifested a little less severely than the other kids'.

As for me, I told my body that I was healthy. I didn't have time for anything otherwise. I couldn't spare a moment to succumb to the bug that plagued the rest of my family. And I didn't. And I was proud of myself because I really and truly felt like I kept it at bay by sheer force of will.

Pride comes before a fall.

Usually, as we finish up laying out Christmas for the big morning, I go wash all the dishes, clean up any extra stuff in the living room and make sure everything feels good in the room before I go to bed. Not this time. By the time we were wrapping up, I was really feeling weird and I was scared about it. Over and over again, I did my mental exercises to fend off illness. And it got worse. There were dishes in the sink and some clutter on the table, but I decided I didn't care. Not even a little bit. I went to bed at about 1:45 or 2:00 a.m.

I fell asleep for about 15 minutes and then bolted out of bed. I was well and truly sick. I had it like Rohan, coming from two directions. I was so cold. I would go in and lay on the hardwood floor in front of the heater in between my special times in the bathroom. I had this little tiny fleece blanket that I would try to squeeze my body under as I laid by the heater.

I know I fell asleep several times and was continually awakened by my body trying to expunge the virus I had previously eluded. It was the most intense illness I've ever had.

All my kids were sick for a minimum of 24 hours. I started throwing up at about 2 a.m. on Christmas morning. Here's where I was freaking out. You recall that I direct the choir in my church? And you recall that we do a big Christmas program every year? And this year happened to be on Christmas Day? I was totally clueless what I should do. I was most likely going to be sick until at least the next morning at 2 a.m. Should I call my bishop in the morning and tell him I wouldn't be there? Me, the director of seven of the nine songs and the soloist singing the eighth? What would they do? Could Sandy lead them all? Should they just sing congregational hymns? Would they cancel the whole thing?

Amid puking and other things, I had these thoughts floating around. I couldn't believe that I chose THIS time to get sick. Seriously? But when I say the thoughts were floating around, that's really how I felt. This illness was so intense and I was so tired that I was fairly delirious. I might have even passed out at one point. I don't really know what happened except that I remembered sitting on the porcelain throne and then the next thing I remembered was pushing myself off the floor because I needed to sit there again. And throw up. At the same time. Lucky me, I had a bowl and lucky me, I had the toilet paper holder to hold up the weight of my upper body because I couldn't hold myself up. But I don't know how I got on the floor in the first place. So I either passed out, or fell asleep and laid myself down with my pants still down.

It was violent. It was delirium. It was horrible. And it was short.

I had, without much recollection of getting there, laid back in front of the heater on the hard floor and fallen asleep. I'm guessing I left the bathroom for the last time at about 4:30. I woke up to the sound of my kids coming through the kitchen to wake us up. I exploded off the floor (don't know where the energy for that came from) telling them that it was too early and they needed to go back to sleep. My kids informed me that it was 6:30 and I replied that it was still too early. They had to wait until 7:00. They grumbled until I told them I'd been throwing up all night. Then they felt bad and acquiesced.

I went and laid in my bed next to Dustin. He told me how sorry he was that I was sick. As I lay there in my bed, I did a "body check", so to speak. An evaluation of what was going on. I discovered that I didn't feel like I needed to use the toilet. Good news. And in checking on my stomach, I discovered that I felt.... HUNGRY. Hungry? I was shocked. Who feels hungry when they've been throwing up? Only people who are on the mend. I allowed myself to hope and I ate a saltine cracker.

Dustin had gone downstairs to hang out with the kids for the half hour they were required to wait. I slept a little bit and then we all got ready to go see what "Santa" brought. I just sat on a chair through the festivities and tried not to move my tender stomach.

As time went on, I felt a little better and a little better. At about 9:15 I went and showered and got myself ready for church. I was shaky and weak, hollow feeling and tender-stomached, but I managed to get ready and go.

As I led the music and the program progressed, I seemed to get more strength even though I was exerting more energy and had only had a few crackers and some water. Things went very well. My solo was kinda disappointing, but considering how I felt, I was happy I was able to do it at all. So I took the mediocre assessment and decided instead that it was pretty great.

And then it was over.

And that was my Christmas miracle. The Reader's Digest Version of the flu. Two hours instead of 24-36.

I was so grateful for that gift, and I just took it easy the rest of the day.

Here are more pictures so you can faint again. (don't worry, I didn't take any selfies of me barfing or similarly engaged...)

On my bed, waiting so sweetly.

The magic moment of walking into Christmas.

Mac got a nice digital camera. (The shark was the toy that didn't work. MEGA disappointing)

Dustin and Rohan... opening something. (proof of Dustin's presence.)

And me... trying to enjoy myself on two hours of sleep and shaky, hollow, sick-recovery-ness.

Ella made this pillow for Mac (with help from me). She was so excited!

Rohan opening a gift I made for him... and I'm kinda proud of it, so....

Here it is. It's a suitcase that I got from a thrift store and made a dinosaur habitat inside.

It has a volcano and a cave and "water" (painted). And then, when he's done playing with it, he closes it up and it's just a suitcase! :-) It's cool.

And Ella after opening her art stuff that I spoke of a few days ago. She was SO excited.

Brynja was so cute. She loved this doggie that Rohan gave her. She snuggled it for a long time.

In spite of the wild flu-ride, it was a great, low-key Christmas.

THE END.

Are You Sitting Down?

2012-01-13T01:15:00.001-07:00

THERE ARE PICTURES ON CLANCY'S BLOG!!

Chair project:

Before...

And after....

And, you can also see our freshly painted walls, new bamboo floors, baseboards (that still need to be painted) and IKEA rug.

Pictures. It's a small miracle, to be sure.

Tricky

2012-01-11T00:13:00.001-07:00

Reupholstering is a tricky thing by itself. It's trickier when you run out of staples at late o'clock and the new ones you bought earlier, when the stores were all open, are the wrong size. Tricky compounds when your sewing machine randomly decides to do things that look fine on the top-stictch and after a few inches of stitching you realize that something's wrong so you look at the bobbin thread and it's totally WACKED. And then you mess around with it for twenty or so minutes, throw your hands up in frustration, and move on to stapling with your brad nailer/air compressor setup (this is the next night from the previous staple part so you now have staples). You are moving along nicely and then your nailer runs out of staples which you go refill and discover that the tricky nailer no longer wishes to push out the staples for reasons unknown. Tricky turns trickier still when you wake your husband up (who fell asleep watching a movie on the couch) to see if he can fix the nailer, and he gets as frustrated as you are when he discovers that he has not a clue why the nailer is no longer cooperating.

Then you might just cry.

And then you pull your own trick out of your sleeve by saying out loud to your husband as he journeys back to the couch and the movie, "Maybe the sewing machine just needed a little rest. I'm going to try it again."

Turns out that resting was just the thing for the old Singer.

Off to stitch a little more.

Technically...

2012-01-08T00:45:00.003-07:00

...I could say that I've already done my four posts for this week, if you go from Saturday to Saturday. Or, technically, I could say that I failed because I've only posted three times since Sunday, the start of the week.

But, oh! Look at the time. 11:59 is the time I STARTED this post, so I win either way, technically.

Right now I am reupholstering a chair that must be from 1968. It's a messy business that makes your back sore. Too much floor time. I've never done this before so I'm a little nervous. I've sewn enough that I have confidence that I can do it, but there's the little details that I thought I'd figured out and now I'm wondering if it's going to be all screwed up.

I took a pattern from the upholstery that I pulled off, but now that I've cut some of those pieces out of the new fabric, I am worried about it. I didn't account for how the old fabric was all stretched out. It won't lay flat. So, what if I made it too big? Then the piping won't be right on the edge. I guess I could measure it.

Rachel! Where are you? Oh yeah, you're in Farfarawayville, Egypt. Don't you hate it when some of your best friends move? Far away?

And when your sister moves to Reallyfarawaytown, Egypt? That REALLY sucks too.

Guess what's funny and kinda ironic? Rachel and Lacy, my sister, only live about 45 minutes from each other.

But that doesn't help me with my current reupholstery project.

And neither does this totally random subject change. (There is a correlation that you can see at the end, so it's not as random as you might think at first.)

For Christmas, we bought our Ella a bunch of various art supplies. She gets art supplies every year for her birthday and Christmas, it seems, but these Christmas gifts for Ella were a little less "Crayola-ish" and a little more "pro-ish". (Not that they are professional quality things, for the most part, but they are much nicer than the very elementary things she's used in the past...) She was so darling when she opened them. The bigger present was an travel art kit that came with a big canvas shoulder bag containing several different mediums of paints, canvases, brushes with a nifty brush-keeper and a travel easel. When she opened it she squealed with delight, squinting her eyes, and hugged herself, jumped up and down and exclaimed with great conviction, "OH!!! Now I'm an ARTIST!" It was one of the most genuine reactions I've seen from her and it completely melted my heart. It was a good moment among many others that Christmas morning.

So, a few days after that (a week?), Ella wanted to do a painting. I also had ordered her a painting technique book and so we experimented with some techniques, she and I. Mac and Rohan joined the party later and we had ourselves a family art day, which I enjoyed immensely.

In my enjoyment with my children, I couldn't help but think of my darling little sister, Lacy, who moved (to Reallyfarawaytown, Egypt, if you recall?) not so long ago. Lacy is one of the most creative people I know. She is an artist. In our shared childhood, we had a good relationship. We were friends, for the most part and I sorta looked out for her. (Did her hair, helped her pick her outfits, walked to school with her trying the whole way to get her to move faster so we wouldn't be late...) She was most often completely content to be by herself and draw pictures, paint, make some amazing sculpture out of paper, etc.

One year when cottonwood trees were dropping their cotton, Lacy wandered around and picked up little bits of this fluff from around the yard (or wherever it was... can't recall). She collected enough of these bits that she decided she wanted to make something out of it. So, in true Lacy fashion, she got some brown fabric and drew herself a little pattern for a bear. Then she cut the pieces out, got a NEEDLE AND THREAD, and stitched this little bear up by hand, one limb at a time. She then stuffed the limbs, body and head with her treasured pile of cotton that she worked so tediously for, and she hand-stitched all the limbs on to this little tiny bear that she created. As if that weren't enough, she proceeded to embroider a nose and eyes onto the face. This bear was probably a total of about 6 inches in length. It was the cutest thing, and when I was helping Lace pack up her house to move (Reallyfarawaytown?), we stumbled across this little treasure of bygone days.

That Lacy of my youth woke up as my children and I made watercolor creations and she's been walking with me ever since.

And I miss my Lacy so dearly. And love her so.

Goodnight.

Lots to Say?

2012-01-04T00:08:00.000-07:00

I have a blog-friend, Travis and he is a wise fellow, indeed.

He commented on my post yesterday and said, "I figure one blogs when one has something to say. I hope you have lots to say."

This was a very thought-provoking comment for me. Am I just wanting to blog for the sake of blogging or do I actually have something to say?

I'm not sure.

But I have this to say, now.

There have been many things going on in my mind these last few years where I've blogged so little. As I chew on Travis's comment, I can't say what my true motivation is, but I am ready to be heard again. The trick is, am I ready to look at myself and form those thoughts into words? For some reason, that is the true effort here. That is the push.

Words used to spill from me like a fire-hydrant. I thought in blog-posts. I carried around a little notebook to jot things down that I wanted to post about... both funny and thoughtful things, trivial and important. There were so many things to say that I would forget them if I didn't write them down. And, as of late, I have forgotten I even have a blog. I have forgotten I even liked to write. I have forgotten, in many ways, how to process all these thoughts. I've been dormant again, and I think I'm feeling a thaw.

So, maybe I'm forcing the issue a little bit.

I remember my mom getting out her square-nosed shovel and busting ice out of our gutter, aiding Mother Nature in her annual transition out of winter and into full-on spring. My mom is so great like that. Her own mother called her "Miss Fix-It" because she was always one to take action when she felt like something needed to happen.

And I think this is me right now. I am getting out my shovel and chipping away at the ice that has covered this place inside me. This Me who once had lots to say, and who now only has a desire to have lots to say.

Here's to Travis. Thanks for the food for thought.

Attempt

2012-01-03T14:24:00.000-07:00

Shh. Don't tell anyone. I made RESOLUTIONS for this, the lovely 2012, and one of them is to blog. At least 4. Days. Per. Week. (GASP!) I used to do this regularly. Why does this seem so hard?

You've probably forgotten, in my long absence, that I have never been a goal girl. In fact, I sorta cringe at the word. (goal, not girl) But, in my heart of hearts, I have a bigger goal than blogging and I need to "prime the pump", so to speak.

So, priming commence.

Happy 2012.

Pics, Cameras and Blogging

2012-01-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

Dustin and I got a new camera for Christmas. It's awesome. I haven't had a camera except the one on my Droid phone for about two years now. Guess what that meant? My quantity of picture taking, which left something to be desired when I used to have a camera, went to almost zero. I rarely took pictures. Sad stuff. Thank goodness my mom was better at it than I and so there is some record of my children and, particularly, my baby growing up.

So, now I have a new camera. I've taken almost three hundred pictures in just two weeks. Amazing. I wish that I could say this blog will now be filled with pics, but I'm not making any promises. I'm just going to shoot for some words again. Pics? A possibility I don't dare dream of yet.

The end.

Back Together

2011-12-31T01:45:00.002-07:00

You'd think I'd be writing about my Christmas adventures (they involve puking and leading a choir... not the best combo...) or perhaps some poignant thought about the close of 2011. But no.

All I really feel like saying is this:

Remember this bit from back in '08?

Well, never mind that.

It's over between James and I.

Hugh and I are officially back together. We've settled our differences and he is my Movie-Boyfreind once again.

*Sigh*

-Clancy

(I know, I know. You've missed me, right? Since I always have such important things to say...)

Flow of Thought... RANDOM ALERT!

2011-11-11T00:14:00.000-07:00

Dustin and I went, a couple weeks ago, to a four day karate course. I thought I might die... it was so hard. My legs have never been so sore in my whole life.

I'm doing karate again, did you know? Did you know, in the first place, that I did karate? When Mac was about 9 months old I started. I practiced until he was three years old and then I stopped until about three months ago. Dustin started this style shortly after I did and he didn't stop. He's a black belt. I'm an orange belt. It's really fun and very difficult and technical. And it makes your legs SO SO sore.

Brynja has recently started talking more... or jabbering more. It's the cutest thing ever.

Pretzel season is upon us.

We refinanced our house and I'm fairly excited that, for the same payment we've been paying, I can now pay off my house 8 years earlier. Flippin' sweet.

Mac is taking ballroom dance. His first performance is next week and he's excited. But I might be more excited. I haven't really seen him dance yet. Today he tried on his costume. I asked him what it looked like and he replied, "You'll see next week!" The stinker wouldn't tell me. And he won't show me his "moves" either. He's excited for us to have the whole experience. He's so cute and grown up. ♥

My mom is healing and getting better. She deals with tiring more easily than she used to, but she's doing quite well considering what she went through.

I wish I could hug my grandma and stay at her house when I go to Salt Lake. I wish I could smell the scent of her, the scent of her home and of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.

Today a thunderhead mood rolled into my heart and I was angry for inexplicable reasons. Then it rolled away almost as fast as it came.

I miss writing. Or, rather, I miss feeling that unquenchable desire to write and create beauty with words. I miss the sated feeling I always got from it. I want to be that girl again.

We, after 7 years of living in our house, FINALLY painted the living room. We also installed new bamboo floors. Loveliness.

I had my eye on a new couch since we finished the basement and took the upstairs couch downstairs. I eyed it and eyed it for about eight months. I actually had the money to buy it, but kept holding off. Then in August I found a couch at a yard sale that's SO awesome! It's from 1966 and I love it. Teal colored and in near perfect shape. And guess how much I paid for it? $10. Yep. I saved myself $600 on the couch and paid for new floors with it instead. Life is grand.

Ella and Rohan have been taking piano lessons. Rohan was a little slower to get excited about it than Ella, but his enthusiasm has been increasing as he learns. Ella took off like a shot from the start. They are both doing so great. Ella started on sharps today and she couldn't stop talking about how excited she was about that fact. Adorable.

Dustin is the best husband ever. Still. In fact, I think he's like fine wine... gets better with age. He turned 38 last month. That's two years from 40. I can't tell you how that trips me out. I always thought passing birthdays would be no big deal, but I'm thinking that I had no clue because I was young and getting older was still awesome back then.

Choir Christmas prep is in full swing. Maria helped me look at my music stash today. She's such an awesome resource and an awesome friend.

We need to expand our karate group. We don't know exactly how, but it needs to happen. Anyone who lives near me want to do karate? Let me just interject (on my own monologue? I think interject might be the wrong word choice...) and say that when I started karate I thought doing karate was lame. My mom was taking it and I went because I seriously needed an outlet... I felt like I was lost in a sea of diapers, baby food and baby talk. My mom said come, so I went. I didn't expect to like it, but to my great surprise, I did. This is not your run-of-the-mill karate style. It's not a style full of HI-YA's! and tension. We work on relaxing our bodies. Can't really explain it, but if you're local, COME try it! You might just like it. And it's super cheap.

I feel a hovering sadness at the outskirts of my awareness. It's not always there, but, like a hummingbird, it zips in and out. I'm not sure what that's about, but I am just noticing it. It's like it just touches on my brain and says, "Hey, I'm here." and then goes away. It's like out of the blue I almost burst into tears for no reason at all and then just as suddenly, I'm totally normal again. I don't get it.

I sit here and wonder at the things going on in the hearts of people... people I love, people I just know a little bit, people I know pretty well, people I don't like. There are things going on in my heart and head all the time that no one but me has any awareness of, like that hummingbird-sadness that flits in and out. Everyone has something like that. Everyone is hurting or fighting some battle in their hearts, and we all just walk around and act fine. I watch my baby Brynja move through the world and she has none of that. If she feels sad, she cries and tells me about it in her jabber-cute way. If she's happy, she shows it with her whole body, galloping circles of joy around the house. If she's mad, she screams and, recently, attempts to throw her fist at something. When does that change? What would the world be like if we just walked around acting out what was going on in our hearts? Expressing it with our whole bodies, like babies do? When do we start holding everything in and stuffing it in our physical shell?

I don't know.

And I still have a problem with dinner. We are still not friends.

I wish I knew my grandpa better. He's still alive and I need to make more of an effort with him. He's an aloof man who is not easy to get to know, but I want to try.

I wish that it could be winter without being so cold. I'm pretty sure I'm not ready for this.

The End.

Recently in Clancy's Life...

2011-10-25T14:50:00.000-06:00

My baby girl, Brynja, is so darling. I marvel at the fact that she is 19 months old. I wish I was better at taking pictures so I could share her charms with the world, but, for now, writing will have to suffice. She has been my latest bloomer in the speech department. Not to say that she's not communicating, because she most certainly is. She has the most precious ways of expressing herself and telling us what she wants. She hums and squeaks and signs, and very recently, has started to open her world even further by trying to use a few more words. I swear that she tried to say "street sweeper" today as she and I giggled at the machine sweeping our leaves from the gutters. She is my pal on these long days with the other kids in school. We have so much fun.

Just today we played with a plastic elephant and a stuffed armadillo. We made them run like horses and I would try to make elephant noises. Brynja thought this was hysterical. She laughed her big, open-mouth laughed, exposing her new molars and her yet-to-be-I-teeth holes. It's the cutest thing. She laughs with gusto and gallops around the house like a joyful little horsey. She brings delight to our home like sunshine warming the sidewalk. I love her so much.

Bedtime or nap time is my favorite. As soon as I turn off her light and settle in the glider next to her bed, she snuggles her little head into my neck or chest and calms herself down. Sometimes I sing her a song, other times I simply rock her and wonder at the love flowing between us. It's like a force of nature that is impossible to resist. Not that I'd want to resist it. I just jump in and bask in the glow of that love. I just want to squeeze her and never let her go. I often feel a sense of loss as I lay her in her bed, the heavy weight of her small body taken from me and put down for her autonomous nap.

I get it now. I really get it.

People used to say to me when my other kids were small, "Oh... treasure this time! It goes so fast. Before you know it, they'll be driving and then off to college!" or something like that. They said it all the time! I'd smile at them through clenched teeth as I heard these words for what felt like the thousandth time. They really meant well, but I just wanted to punch them or tell them to shut up. They didn't know how hard those days were! And they were hard. Mac, in particular, was a challenging child, and I just couldn't wait for each day to end so I could see my little kids asleep, looking angelic and not fighting with each other. (He definitely had his sweet moments too... I don't want to discount those, but I remember the challenging times best, it seems!)

I can't cite the source, or perhaps even the correct quote, but recently I heard something that went like, "Motherhood is full of the longest days and the shortest years."

How true that is! Each day can feel like an eternity, and then you blink and your oldest son, who used to be so full of challenge, is 11 1/2 years old! What? And my Ella is 9 1/2? Huh? My baby Rohan is 6 1/2? How did that happen?

They were right. It really does go fast.

And so, I hold my Brynja a little closer. I ache when I put her down to bed. And most of all I cry for my other babies, Mac, Ella and Rohan. I look at theses big kids and wish so hard that I could hold them as infants just one more time. I cry for that time that is gone from me. If I found a magic lamp today, I'd rub it and wish for one day with each of my kids when they were small.

And so with Brynja, my last baby, I hold her tighter knowing that time will slip through my fingers anyway, but at least I know it this time. I don't think the knowing makes it any easier, just more poignant.

The Burrowing Cry

2011-10-05T11:25:00.001-06:00

I keep sitting here, not sure how to start this, so I guess I'll just start.

In the wee hours of the morning (1:00ish?) on September 23rd, my mom, on a houseboat vacation with my two older siblings in Lake Powell, Utah, woke up to discomfort and a voice telling her, "This is a heart attack, you're having a heart attack." She had already thrown up a couple times before she went to bed (thinking she was just sick but actually was experiencing angina) but, as she woke up more and started to try and rouse my dad and tell him what was going on, she began throwing up again.

I wasn't there so I can only convey bits and pieces without much timeline accuracy, but I know that she continued throwing up many, many times throughout the night... 30 or so was a guess. She had intense chest, arm and back pain and it was hard to breathe.

My dad was terrified and felt rather helpless. You see, they were on this houseboat on a night with just a sliver moon that wouldn't even rise until about 5:30am., no spotlight and a VERY treacherous lake, twenty miles from the closest marina and medical help. Lake Powell is full of unknowns under the water. It can be a dangerous lake to navigate in the daylight, much less the darkest of nights with no light on the boat. My mom relates now that my dad was trembling and he tried to hold her and offer her some sort of comfort. I can only imagine the anguish that they were both experiencing. My mom wrote up a summary of events as she remembered them. I hope she doesn't mind if I put some of that here in my own record of things:

"I was pretty freaked out, panic was rampant for a while. [As time passed,]I got to a point that I saw a really cool mosaic of blues & blue-green looking spots that formed a spiral. It moved ever so gently & beckoned me... I thought with great clarity... "So this is what it's like to die from a heart attack" There was no panic at that point. It was a peaceful, resigned, calm place & feeling."

"I don't know how much time passed but I started feeling & then speaking out loud to Brayt "I CAN'T die on this boat" "I can't do that to these kids, my kids & grandkids." I knew with certainty, at that point, that they would heap some kind of guilt on themselves about not doing something different... [so] I knew that I couldn't die on the houseboat. I asked Brayt to give me a [priesthood] blessing. He obliged & then later he felt like he should go consecrate some oil & do the full ordinance, so he did. Then when he said his blessing he stated: "I bless you that you will survive this night". ...[and] something shifted after that. I was in agony for more than 8 hours and I survived the night. I didn't die on the houseboat."

My dad, in the retelling, says that he had so much fear as he tried to do something but felt so helpless. He gave the first blessing without oil because he forgot to bring it, and later felt commanded by the Spirit do the full ordinance (as mom said). As he gave her the second blessing, he told me that he felt the powers of heaven pour into my mom and felt the fear that gripped him relax. He said it felt that it wasn't up to him now. She was held by the Power of God.

Even still, the night was agony. My mom said she kept looking at the sky, hoping to see some light, some signal of time passing. She felt like it would never end. But, as all hard things do, the night finally did come to an end. Morning came and they got her on the power boat and to the ramp at Bullfrog Marina.

Upon arrival, my dad ran up the ramp and found a Ranger sitting in his Jeep. He asked him if there was a Clinic close by.

"Why?" the Ranger asked.

"Because I think my wife is having a heart attack." replied my Dad.

The Ranger asked where she was and my dad pointed to the power boat bobbing at the dock. The Ranger, who happened to be a Medic, jumped in his Jeep, radioed for an ambulance, drove down the ramp, grabbed his bag and ran to where she was in the boat. He, on the bobbing boat, started an I.V. of something, and then the ambulance was there and they were loading her onto the gurney.

She was taken to the small clinic at Bullfrog and was given some sort of pain meds and who-knows-what. In short order, a life-flight helicopter crew arrived and, in Mom's words, "They were the BEST! Light, good energy, competent to the max & the let me joke with them & they seemed to get it! The pilot came in & asked "How do you feel about a helicopter ride?" Me: "That's probably the best part of this whole thing so far!" Pilot (laughing): "Now that's my kind of patient!" Whoosh..... off to the chopper..."

Mom was in a drug induced haze after that. She remembered snippets of things... being unloaded from the chopper... flashes of the Cardiac Cath-Lab... the Cardiac ICU with no familiar faces around... and then seeing my dad (who had driven the five hours from Lake Powell to Provo, where she was taken).... and then my dad walking in the room again, followed by me. My Dad had called me Friday afternoon at about 1:00 to tell me what was going on and that Mom was in a helicopter on her way to Provo. I called Taylor and Lacy, my siblings, and then Dustin. Dustin could tell I was rather shaken and suggested that I call my friend Rebby. Rebby offered to watch my baby Brynja and pick up my kids from their bus stop. I took her up on the offer and was on the road by about 2:30.

My mom was in the Cardiac ICU from Friday until Sunday afternoon. Sunday they moved her to the regular Cardiac Floor (which was bustling and crowded... and her new room we not-so-lovingly called her "Harry Potter cupboard-under-the-stairs" because it was so small...) I stayed in Provo the whole time and was at the hospital all day, every day until she was released on Tuesday evening.

My dad and I took turns being the information liaison for everyone who was calling to inquire and send their prayers and love. She had many visitors and love and prayers being said for her.

Because she went so long without any medical intervention, she did suffer some damage to her heart, but it is improving and she is working to get her heart function back. We learned after her surgery (where two stents were placed) that the problem was in her lateral anterior descending coronary artery. This is the artery that is also dubbed "the widowmaker" because it has a VERY high mortality rate. They tell us that it was 100% blocked by a blood clot that had developed on the stent they had placed there last year. How my mom survived so long with such a thing and how she is currently doing as remarkably well as she is... TRULY a miracle.

As for my own experience and the title of this post... I had NO idea, in the midst of my own hospital "supportive role" experience, how taxing to my own psyche it was. I thought my mom was doing fairly well on Saturday and Sunday, all things considered. And she was. She was not really eating, though, and battling nausea, chest pain (from Pericarditus, they think, but were never sure...) and drug-effects, among other things. It was rough. More rough than I realized at the time. Monday rolled around and she showed such improvements from the weekend that I had a dawning understanding that she had been worse than I knew. But she improved so much on Monday. She started eating more, had less nausea and started walking more with her cardiac therapist. Then Tuesday she was WAY better, even, than Monday. It was an amazing transformation. Her spirits were higher on Tuesday and we got word that she was most likely going to be released that day.

As I, unconsciously for the most part, started to relax about my mom's condition Monday evening and into Tuesday, I began allowing myself to feel my exhaustion. I felt like I had been a piece of cloth that was spray-starched into rigidity for support and suddenly someone poured water all over me, releasing the starch that was holding me up. I was "puddley". I had permission from the universe to be tired and, boy-oh-boy, was I tired. I also felt like I was made of blown glass. All my emotions were suddenly right at the surface, and I would shatter at a touch. I worked at "keeping it together" to some degree for the rest of the day, but all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out in someone's arms.

My dear husband was at home with the kids these five days and trying to work and juggle schedules, etc. He was anxious for me to come home, so on Tuesday night at about 8:30, I left Provo for my trek home. It was late to be leaving, tired as I was, but I didn't want to stress D out any more than he was. As I was driving, my tears, held together most of the day, were bursting to come out. But to drive safely, I couldn't let them come.

I wanted desperately to stop at a friend's house who was on the way home, but the late hour and other circumstances didn't allow it.

And so, I swallowed it.

I know it was a mixed blessing to be able to do that. I needed to not delay my drive any more since I would be home very late as it was, but I also felt like I really needed to cry.

But I didn't.

And the emotions burrowed. They went subterranean and I can feel them there, like a splinter in my body.

Did you ever watch a movie called The Holiday? Cameron Diaz's character couldn't cry, try as she might. I've felt like that ever since. I do cry, just a little bit. But then those tears just dry up as quickly as they came on.

I did get some release yesterday. My mom came over to my house to help me dip pretzels, of all things to do post-heart attack (bless her, but she saved me!). In my gratitude for her help, I hugged her and said my thanks. And I started to cry. She hugged me for a long time. She said sweet-mommy things to the child in me who needed comfort. And I 'got it' in a way I hadn't yet. A new level of settling in. My mom so nearly lost her life. She was spared by the power and grace of God and her own will that made the choice to stay. She was here with me in my kitchen offering me comfort instead of me desperately seeking the slippery peace I would have been had she merged with the blue/green mosaic that was beckoning her on that turbulent night in Lake Powell.

My tears went underground, but my mother stayed, and I will wait patiently and in gratitude until those tears would like to come forth.

I love you more than words can express, Momma.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

2011-09-06T13:40:00.000-06:00

To my dear Dad! I love you pops. I'm sad that you're away on this day, out in the oil fields where you are working your long long hours, but I'm so proud of you for doing what needs to be done, even if it means being away from family on your birthday.

I love you so much. Thank you for always being a support to me and my family.

Love,
Clancy

From the FB World

2011-08-22T00:10:00.000-06:00

Facebook is a lovely little thing. But it does have it's drawbacks. I post little things that my kids, particularly Rohan, says, but there they sit, being stacked upon by all the busy-ness of Facebook (and occasionally I say something funny I want to remember too). I'll never find them again. So, I'm going to post some of those things on here so they are a little more accessible and easier to remember. This might be a really long post, or maybe it will encompass several posts, but either way, I want them recorded. Enjoy...

Rohan sees Brynja getting sleepy in the car, leans over to her to sing her a song and leans back to me, "Mom, I forgot that song, what's It called... 'Baby in a tree'?
Me: 'Rock a bye baby'?
Rohan: "Yeah, rock a bye baby..." and he leans over and start singing it to Brynja. So cute.
May 17 at 1:00pm

I owe a public apology to my daughter, Brynja Leigh. I wrongfully accused her of throwing my cell phone charger in the garbage, when really I just moved it into her room to listen to Pandora while I was cleaning one time and I... ahem... forgot.

Sorry, baby girl.
August 17 at 9:37am

Dear Tuesday,
You might be my favorite day of the week for the simple fact that you are not Monday.
Affectionately,
Clancy
August 16 at 3:39pm

"Today was more awesome then a shark high-fiving a bear during an explosion in outer space." ....Today hasn't necessarily been that awesome, but this quote had to be stolen from my friend, Dan's status. HA!!
May 17 at 1:00pm

Rohan declared that because it was SUCH a nice day, we HAVE to have a "pigNic"! He got out the blanket, spread it carefully, grabbed the basket I store plastic-wear in, and grabbed a handfull of pretzels. Then he asked me if I'd like him to make me a PBJ.

That's what I call a Motherhood Prize... Happy Mother's Day to me!
May 05, 2011

Rohan: Mom, why is it that farmers get to have all this lucky stuff?
April 25 at 5:53pm

You know your baby has three older siblings when she toots and then laughs while she looks up to see who's laughing with her.
April 19 at 10:05am

Dear Stranger Who Knocked at My Door-
You are weird. When you knock and get no answer, why do you feel like it's ok to open up my door and put a business card *inside* my house in my daughter's shoe asking me if I want to sell my car? I feel a little violated. Maybe I should lock my door at 10:30 am more often? Thanks for the heads up, crazy.

Sincerely,
Clancy
March 3 at 12:04pm

I gotcha this time, Dinner. HAHA!! I planned for the whole week and you're so done. I'll see you tomorrow in some split-pea soup.
February 16 at 12:19am

Rohan @ lunch says to me... Mom, you're just a little bit old.

Me... Oh? Just a little bit?

Rohan, in clarification... Yeah, just *barely* old.

♥
February 10 at 1:09pm

Teaching my baby girl the fine art of sitting by the heater. She's so precious... and heat seeking.
February 9 at 8:39am

Just met a little girl named clancy. It was a little surreal, like I was observing some younger version of myself.
February 4 at 3:14pm

had to share from my brother's status update... Taylor, you're hilarious.

"...and ya know, dentists need to invent a keyboard to type on while your mouth is jacked open so you can still communicate!!! haha
Dentist - "oh, how are you doin, doin ok?"
Me - "hhcccchhhaaaaalllaaaaaawaancchhhhaa"
Dentist - "o good,... let me know if it hurts"
Me - "hhhrrraaaachchhahaaa
February 2 at 11:48am

Rohan: I can't believe its still snowy and it's already a different week.
January 20 at 4:09pm

Curse the traffic engineers who decided to change Holmes' traffic pattern. May your dogs get fleas and your cats throw-up on your pillow. And if you don't have pets, traffic engineers, I curse you to run out of windshield washer fluid while driving in Utah!
January 8 at 2:22pm

Rohan says to me, totally randomly: Mom, some day I want to go to a Massage Factory.

Me, stifling laughter: A massage factory?

Rohan: Yeah, you know... one of those places that you get a massage? And it's made of rock on the outside and the inside?

Still not sure what he meant, but man it was funny.
December 11, 2010 at 7:28am

Weather channel app on my phone told me that in @
Atlanta georgia, it was 57 degrees and that it feels like 57 degrees. I told to the phone to find my location..
1 degree, and it feels like -16 degrees. What an awesome day to live in Idaho.
November 24, 2010 at 11:54pm

Baby B cut two teeth, started crawling and took her first steps all in the same week.
November 22, 2010 at 10:01am

Rohan takes a drink of his water thats been in the cold car all night: "this is Brrrzing water, Mom!"

Me: Brrrzing, huh?

Rohan: Yeah feel. (He puts it on my hand) Brrrrr! It's cold!!!

I ♥ Rohan.
November 17, 2010 at 2:16pm

Dear Autumn, thank you for your boastful and lingering display. Do me one favor and tell Winter we could do without the preview of his cold, blustery gifts.
November 8, 2010 at 12:19pm

Rohan... "mom, are we nephites?"

Me..."uhhh... no, not really."

R... "so we're Samaritans?"

Me... "uhhh... no."

R... "so, what are we then?"

Me... "Gentiles?" (Are we?)

R... "but Samaritans talk like this, right? "

Me..."uhhh....what?"

Cutest kid ever.
October 22, 2010 at 3:13pm

Hello friends.
Look at your status. Now back to mine. Now back to your status, now
back to mine. Sadly, your status isn't mine. But if you stopped posting
other things and made this your status, yours could be like mine. Look
down. Back up. Where are you? You're on Facebook, reading the status
your status could be like! Anything is possible when your Facebook
status looks like this one. I'm in a chair....heyahh!
August 25, 2010 at 9:31am

Clancy...
is a fan of her husband's broad shoulders and extremely tan arms.
August 23, 2010 at 10:39pm

Did you know that there is now a CHOICE of restrooms in my house now!? It's all so awesome.
August 13, 2010 at 12:31am

Brynja rolled over today! Took her time with that one, so Mom was extra excited.
July 30, 2010 at 11:29am

I'm thinking of starting my own business: Professional Time Waster. If you need time wasted, I'm your girl.
July 12, 2010 at 12:31pm

It's going to have to be just these posts for toinght. I'm totally falling asleep at the keyboard. Literally....

Hmmm.....

2011-08-17T19:34:00.002-06:00

You know what phrase is strange? "One tough cookie".

Why a cookie? When cookies get overdone I wouldn't describe them as tough. I can't think of any situation involving cookies in which I would incorporate the word "tough". I would be thinking more along the lines of crispy, or blackened, or crunchy.

"He's one crunchy cookie."

That just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?

It would make more sense to say, "He's one tough steak," or something like that. Don't you think?

"He's one tough piece of leather."

"She's one tough Kevlar suit."

Just a passing thought as I was clearing the dinner dishes tonight...

On My Mind

2011-07-28T01:49:00.000-06:00

For some reason, today, I can't stop thinking about my Grandma Carol. It's been five years, now, since she passed away. I can't believe it's been so long since I've seen her. I just realized, she would be 80 years old now.

She had a magic about her. She moved through the world with such grace and love. Anytime you were with her, she made you feel like the most important person in the world.

I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah. I lived in the same house my whole life, the same house in which my dad spent most of his growing up years. When I was a senior in high school, my parents felt impressed to move away to Idaho. We were then about 200 miles from all our Salt Lake family, my grandma included. Anytime I tell people this they assume that this was a really hard thing for me to do, moving my senior year of high school. And to them I always say that if my parents had forced me to go, it probably would have been, but my dad would always say when the topic of me moving to Idaho arose, "We'll do what's right." I was dead-set that the right thing was for me to stay in Utah and graduate with all my friends. My friend Erin's parents offered me a place to stay, as did my Grandma. I was sure I was staying.

Eventually, I had another experience, which I won't go into right now, that opened my mind to the possibility of moving. I realized that I could make a whole new set of friends if I moved. I could be the mysterious "new girl" for the first time in my life. And I'm sure I was not conscious about it then, but I probably wouldn't have had a very easy time without my family around me. I have an awesome family. And so, I decided to move.

Why am I telling you this story? Because today, in one of the many moments I felt my Grandmother's grace alight on my heart, I realized how blessed I was to make the choice to move to Idaho. I think, had I stayed in Utah, that I would have lived, not with my Grandma Carol, but with my friend, Erin. Her house was closer to everything... school, work, friends... and she was my FRIEND! How cool would that be to live with one of my best friends? (I didn't know at the time that living with friends has good points, but it is also full of challenges.) So, I chose to move and with that choice came the opportunity of coming back to Salt Lake City to visit.

From the time we moved in 1995 until the time my precious Grandma passed away in 2006, whenever we'd come back to Salt Lake (which was frequent) we would stay at her house. For ten years I was graciously welcomed into her home. And when I became a wife, she welcomed my husband as warmly as she did her own granddaughter. When my children came along, she adored them and thrilled to have them in her house. I know it's not easy to have small children in your house, especially when you're used to quiet, but her generous heart never faltered.

When I was staying there for our family Christmas parties, I would help her in her preparations. I would set tables, arrange relish trays, move chairs, decorate her Christmas tree, peel potatoes, cook hams, vacuum, shine sinks and make cookies. She did so much that I was completely unaware of before I got the chance to be there for the prep. It was my joy to help her and she always made me feel like she couldn't have done it without me, even though we both know that for all of my life before 1995, she did just that.

Every year she would make her special clam dip. She had a special fork that she kept at the back of her silverware drawer... it was her clam-dip-cream-cheese stirring fork. She just liked the way it felt in her fingers... those fingers that I can still see holding that fork. We had so much fun, laughing as we made ready for all those she so devoutly loved.

She was, quite simply, the most delightful human being I've ever encountered on this earth.

She had a poem framed in her kitchen window sill that her friend, Kaye, had written for her. I've read it so many times, I don't think I could forget it if I tried. It went like this:

Carol-
Your sunflower self,
of bosom earth,
so caring,
warms the weary world.

How true it was. How true it is. She continues to warm this weary world in the memory of anyone who knew her.

I miss you fiercely, Grandma.

Ella and Grandma Carol, 2002.

Because It Moved Me

2011-07-26T16:00:00.001-06:00

A hundred years ago, I wrote about when I was going to our local sidewalk art show, and how much I loved my own original artwork that I've purchased. Well, the sidewalk art show was this last weekend. I only had about an hour to cruise around and view the lovely artwork, but I was going because I love it SO much. There was one booth that is there every year, a guy who carves walking sticks with old-man faces. This is not usually a booth that interests me, but my kids wanted to check it out, so in we went. As I was glancing around the booth, I turned to the south wall and saw the most amazing things. There were only three of them, barn wood pieces painted with black and white portraits of Native Americans. The one in the middle grabbed me. I couldn't stop looking at it. It was an old Native American man in profile. He was looking far off. He was aloof and ghost-like. It reminded me of my grandfather who is 1/4 Cherokee (I think that's the right tribe...?).

I spoke to the artist for a good 15 minutes. He doesn't do many of these, never enough for a whole series. The barn wood is difficult to obtain. He uses real photographs of Native Americans from a book he has and he only likes to spend about an hour on each piece... just gets a feel for the shapes, shadows and highlights. A.MAZ.ING. I was entranced.

As I chatted with the artist, I kept thinking I would walk away from the booth. I got his email address so I could have him email me more of these pieces as he did them. I was going to leave. Every time I tried, I found myself worried to leave because what if somebody bought this piece? I watched people walk into his booth and if they looked in the direction of my lovely old Indian man, I found myself stepping a little closer to it, to make sure they knew I was already interested in it. I felt like it was mine and I had to defend it and protect it from everyone else.

After the fourth or fifth time I tried to leave, and the fourth or fifth time I "protectively" stepped closer to it, I realized that if I didn't buy this and take it home, I would regret it forever. And it only cost as much as a tank of gas in my van, for heaven's sake!

"I'm going to buy this right now," I told the artist. "I can't leave it here."

"Great!" he responded.

I discovered I was out of checks, but said that he could take cards. (no power or phone lines, so I was surprised...) He pulled out his "Jurassic" credit card machine... you know the ones you swipe on carbon paper? Awesome. He was all old-school. I left with my Native American barn wood painting.

I came home and hung it on a wall... perhaps a temporary spot, but I had to have it up. I stare at it all the time. Ella even said to me today, "Mom, why do you keep staring at that?"

Because I love it and I can't help it... and that's how I know I made the right decision.

(not a very good picture of it, but you get the idea...

and you're just grateful that I posted a picture since it's not a forte of mine, right???)

Random Thoughts on a Monday Night

2011-07-26T00:59:00.001-06:00

-My husband was in Louisiana for a week and I was living the single-mom life. I don't like that. I like being married and having my husband around. He's awesome. High fives for my awesome marriage and my kids' awesome daddy.

-There is something I want to do and I find myself gripped by fear about it. I remember times in my life where I have pushed through fear and doubt. I need to find that place in myself for this thing I want to do.

-Mac is at scout camp this week. My son is at scout camp. I forget he's gone and think I need to call him up for dinner or pick him up from his friend's house. It's very weird. I'm sure it will happen more frequently as the years press on. He turned 11 on the 15th of this month. How did that happen? He wears a men's shoe... size 7 1/2. What??? He's five feet tall. WHAT? He has armpit hair. WHAT!!!!?   He's a real person and he's going to grow up to be this awesome funny human whom I LIKE and have fun with instead of this twerpy kid who I send to time out and who's mouth I wash with soap because he's a little sass-box. Life is so weird. And so awesome.

-Ella got a Toys R Us gift card for her birthday. We redeemed it today and she had a grand time choosing her own gift. She chose a wolf stuffed animal (wolves are her favorite animal), and a Magic 8 Ball. I've chuckled endlessly to myself while I listen to Ella and Rohan ask it questions.

            Rohan: Ask it if I will go to outer space.
            Ella asks.
            Magic 8 Ball: YOU CAN COUNT ON IT
            Rohan: WOW! I'm going to OUTER SPACE!!!

            Rohan: Ask it if I'll see aliens.
            Ella asks.
            Magic 8 Ball: YES
Rohan: I'M GOING TO SEE REAL ALIENS!!

            A minute later I've left the room and I'm washing dishes. Rohan runs in screaming with excitement, "MOM!!!! I'm going to BUILD my OWN rocket ship to get to outer space!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Those are the mommy-moments that make all those harder mommy-moments worth it.

-I made curry tonight for dinner. I love curry.

-I got a new purse. It's red leather. It's HAWT. I love it.

-Got my A/C fixed in my car a month or two ago and now it's not working again. LAMESAUCE. Seriously. Makes me want to cry.... or kick something.

The Android and the Tooth Fairy

2011-06-28T00:30:00.000-06:00

If you are, at times, a person of *ahem* forgetfulness and your child loses a tooth first thing in the morning, might I suggest putting a little reminder in your phone, be it Android or otherwise, to perform your Tooth Fairyish duties that night?

It sure saved my bacon.

Thank you, Android.

Father's Day Recap

2011-06-20T22:59:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was Father's Day, you know. I've got some great fathers in my life and I'll just tell the world that I love them. Dustin. Dad. Roger. Gpa Earl. Gpa C. I love you.

I'm blessed with some flippin' sweet dad's, but Dustin and my own daddio are the stars of my own personal Father's Day. For D, I cooked him an amazing breakfast (can I say that if I cooked it? guess so, cuz I'm sayin' it). I tried to keep the kids from fighting, but that's kinda like telling the wind to stop blowing... I wasn't very successful, but maybe the effort was worth something? Then I cooked his dinner of choice, Yaki Soba. It was messy and turned my kitchen into a vegetable-scraps-explosion. I chopped eight zillion veggines and sweated my little, wife-heart out while I cooked the Father's Day meal. It turned out delish, (do you hear that horn tooting? yeah, that's mine.) and I was happy to make his tastebuds smile. My kids whined and called it "Yucky Soba", but when do they not whine about food? Oh, let me answer that question. When I make Maria's Homemade Mac and Cheese. That's about it.

My sweet father-of-my-children is the best thing in my life. I have many bests, but he is at the center. I often marvel at the relationship we share. It's loss-for-words kind of awesome. Love you, Dusty. Thank you for us. Thank you for the way you make me feel. Thank you for our beautiful family. These kids of ours kick our butts at times, but what a wonderful journey we are having. Thank you for being by my side and growing in our capacities together.

My own dad was working yesterday, so we're doing his very own Father's Day next Sunday. Lucky him. As he said today... "I get my very own holidays all the time now!" One of the (few) perks of working two weeks on, one week off, out of town. My dad is pretty much a rockstar for doing this out-of-town work thing. I'm so proud of him. I miss him tremendously when he's gone and find myself breathing easier when he's home. He's always been such a patient father and so validating of his children. I've always known where I stand with him. Love unconditional. That's my dad.

Tonight

2011-06-16T00:48:00.000-06:00

Tonight I was running with Maria.

Tonight the cloud hazed full moon was GIGANTIC(!) and stunning.

Tonight my dinner-cooking pleased my children immensely and Rohan hugged around both of my legs until it hurt.

Tonight my baby folded herself into my body the moment the lights went out, just as she does every night... and my heart melted, just as it does every night.

Tonight I am up too late doing nothing productive.

Tonight I washed every dish and completely cleared the table... a big deal, as this doesn't always get accomplished.

Tonight I want to create beautiful spaces in my home, but because it's almost 1 a.m it must wait until...

Tomorrow.

Family Portraits, or Lack Thereof

2011-06-14T23:50:00.000-06:00

I suck at getting family portraits taken. I think my #1 reason is the fact that I am scared of picking "cute outfits". Lamesauce.

So, you can imagine that this article caught my eye,and I scoured it and dreamed of a cute, sassy family photo hanging in my living room.
The last family photo (or the ONLY one?? Yes.) was taken when Rohan was 18 months old. Yep. That would be 4.5 years ago. Lamesauce with meatballs.

It was sure cute, but I have another child in my family now who is almost the same age as Roh was in this pic. WHAT??!! Time for an upgrade, dohncha think?

Hi

2011-06-02T00:25:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I forget I have a blog anymore.

LAME.

So, this is me saying HI....

This pic was taken in my long-haired days, back in March for a senior project of a cousin? (I think) of my friend. She did some photo project that showed that moms can still be beautiful. It was a last minute-thrown-together-ish thing, but I thought it was fun to have a pic of myself. I don't get them very often as I am usually the one behind the camera.

THE END.

Flow

2011-05-03T10:18:00.000-06:00

Self-awareness, as everything else in life, has an current, a flow.
At times, all rapids and whirlpools, it carries me faster than I'd choose on my own and often through frightening and dangerous waters. If I let go of my fear, the ride can be exhilerating, though I may come out crying at the end.

As all rapids eventually find a calm, so do my own personal rivers of thought.

Those calm places often look placid and smooth, yet upon submersion I find that the current is stronger than I realized. It is then I am faced with a choice; tread water, swim hard or relax and float and let the current carry me where it may.

There are other times where I stand on the shore and watch the current and wonder at the hinting surface-nuances of the more powerful forces below. I know there are things I'm not seeing or feeling because I choose to stay out of the water.

And there are other times where I walk away from the water all together.

But I know I'll always come back.

Friday's Fabulous Five

2011-04-15T01:53:00.000-06:00

Remember how I made up this game a long time ago when I blabbed about fabulous things in my life? I barely do, but I am committed to posting more for my dear, sweet dad and sister who are far away.

Dad and Lacy, this one's for you.

1- Brynja's sweet face and her spunky personality. Not to mention the precious peace that falls on her round cheeks in her slumber.

2- SHORT HAIR!!!! This is the most fabulous thing EVER. I feel like me again. I love me with short hair. I love the ease of it. I love the look. I love the spunk. I LOVE MY SHORT HAIR!

And I love seeing my short-haired self holding my sleeping Baby Brynja.

Brynja and I, April 14, 2011

3-Having my tax information all in order and in my accountant's hands and OUT of my hands. YAY. This was the latest I've EVER done my taxes and I'm so relieved that it's over.

4- Being o.k. with myself and where I'm at. Sure there are many things that I want to change, but I am mostly in such a great place and feel so good in my own skin. I like me. Isn't that weird and novel? I like this girl named Clancy. She's a cool cat, says I.

5- Awakening minds. Some people get excited about sports. Some love their T.V. shows. Some people are passionate about exercise or nutrition. Some about reading books. Some about art and creating things, decorating and beautifying spaces. Me? I like many of those things, but I thrill at expansion of human conscsiousness, mine or others. I love to make new discoveries about myself. I love to dig into my psyche and see what drives me to behaviors that are both desirable and not. I love to watch the process in others and hear about their unfolding. This is passionate stuff for me. I love it and I'm shoutin' it to the world.

♥Clancy

P.S. I feel inclined to ask if anyone would like to join me in processing? If so, I invite you... get down and dirty with a shovel and dig into yourself. Find out who you are. Love you. Become. I dare you!

And then tell me about it, if you wish. I love to hear about your process, if you feel inclined to share. ♥

Rohan the Alien

2011-04-13T23:19:00.002-06:00

My Rohan currently has an obsession with aliens. He talks about them constantly. He draws them incessantly.

He has told me several times that he wishes he were an alien. Today he asked me, "Mom, if I turned into an alien, would you be scared of me?"

I replied, "If I knew it was you, I wouldn't be."

He considered that for a bit and then said, "I could make a badge that I wear that says that I'm Rohan, and then you would know it was me."

I told him that sounded like a pretty good plan. He asked me again, "But would you be scared of me?"

"Well, do you think you would be a pretty scary alien?" I responded.

"Probably. And I don't know if you would know it was me." he said, with some concern.

I asked him if he thought he would turn into an alien when I was watching or if it would be sometime when I was not looking. If I was watching, then I would know that he had turned and I wouldn't be scared of him because I would know that he was my son. But I might be a little scared if I didn't happen to observe this transformation to alien. But if there was some way he could let me know that it was him, I'd probably be ok knowing my son was an alien.

He looked very thoughtful and not a little worried.

He explained to me then that it probably wouldn't be right to have a mom that was scared of her son and that he wanted me to be sure that he's my son.

"And so, I don't think I'll become an alien, Mom."

I told him that was ok with me too.

Day 8 of 30

2011-04-12T10:48:00.000-06:00

A favorite song....

Can't pick just one. These are three of many songs I've been listening to while I get all my crap together for our meeting with our accountant. These three just happen to be the ones I've been listening to *obsessively*.

Day 7 of 30

2011-04-09T23:30:00.000-06:00

Whoops. So I'm not doing so hot at staying on task.... but at least I have my subject matter already picked, eh?

Day 7 is something I want to buy....

I really want to buy a couch. When we finished our basement, we moved our couch down to the family room and we have yet to replace it upstairs in the living room. We have a plethora of chairs, currently. And I don't think I like any of them. I guess I'm grateful I have somewhere to sit until we buy that couch. I even have the one I want picked out. But we decided to be smart and wait until we had the cash to get them (I'd like the loveseat too...) So, we're still waiting, thanks ever-so-much to our duplex that keeps sucking money. Dustin tore out a tiled shower today and we'll be replacing that next week. Some mega-idiot that did the bathroom before we bought it put the tile directly onto the sheetrock on the walls and directly on the wood framing on the bottom pan area. So, the shower has been leaking and leaking over the years, turning sheetrock to mush and the framing to compost under the tile. Lovely.

I'd also like flooring for my living room... and paint, and new windows and new curtains. And new cabinets for my kitchen, and new flooring... pretty much a whole new upstairs to match our whole new basement. Wouldn't that be nice?

Day 6 of 30

2011-03-28T17:37:00.001-06:00

Something you bought recently...

It seems like all I spend money on lately is my rentals. Last week I bought a gallon of paint, a gallon of polyurethane for refinishing hardwood floors ($50 for ONE gallon!!), a floor-finish applicator, blinds for windows, a shower curtain rod, and I rented a floor sander. I also purchased the service of a roto-rooterish company (FOUR times in as many months), a sewer line camera, an excavating company, and a furnace repairman. Not to mention paying for heat and power in a vacant house for two months...

Just so you know, these are my least favorite things to spend money on.

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

In other news, I just sent all my children to bed for being Bratty McBrattykins. (Brynja was the exception) Right now I'm listening to a chorus of screams. If someone is walking by outside they might be worried about what is going on in this house. Ella is screaming like I severed her arm, and Mac is mock-wailing to make fun of Ella. (Don't worry, no arms have actually been severed.) They are in their rooms. Ella can hear him and so she screams louder and then he screams louder too, to make her mad. She screams back at him to be quiet and he continues screaming. I told her, just now, the magic secret. STOP SCREAMING. If you stop screaming then he'll stop making fun of your screaming. She hasn't seen the sense of my motherly wisdom yet.

Mac just discovered that Rohan is no longer in time-out. He ceased his mock-wailing and started yelling the question, "Why is Rohan out of time out?" Rohan, who sat quietly on the couch (his time-out spot, as he shares a room with Ella and I didn't want to deal with that time-out disaster) during his punishment, was thanked for taking his sentence with good grace, and was promptlly freed from his cushiony prison. Mac didn't think this was fair. I told him he was still trapped because he was making fun of Ella's screaming and he then tried to tell me that he wasn't making fun of her. Sure, kiddo. Nice try.

It's shaping up to be one of those evenings I wish I could hold an auction for a couple of kids.

Any opening bids?

Day 5 of 30

2011-03-21T00:45:00.000-06:00

Did a week really just go by? I'm so busy I could scream. Or cry. But right now I'm waiting for the washer to stop so I can swap the contents to the dryer because I want a particular shirt tomorrow... and so, rather than scream or cry or get anything done of my many things-to-do, I blog.

Day 5 is Top Ten Pet Peeves

I've not been looking forward to this one. I think it's because I dislike lists. Here goes, in no particular order of relevance.

#10: Lists

#9: Whiny tenants.

#8: The new traffic pattern on a street right by my house that I HAVE to drive on ALL the time. It used to be two lanes and now it is one lane and people suddenly feel the need to drive 20 mph instead of the posted 35 mph (or 40 like they used to do before the change). I have never acted on the road rage that I feel, but I vividly imagine ramming the back of the vehicles in front of me when I drop from 35-40 to 20. I get so mad.

#7: My children being tattle-tales just for the sake of telling me or getting their sibling in trouble.

#6: Poor spelling and incorrect grammar.

#5: Being asked my telephone number/account number AFTER I already entered it using the keypad on my phone. Why do they ask for it twice? What was the point of entering it in the first place? (stole this one from Esther but it sure doesn't make it any less true for being stolen)

#4: Trying to talk to those automated phone things and if you don't say things just right or if there's any noise in your house, they say, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. It sounds like you said.. 'Blah Blah Blah', is that correct." NO YOU IDIOTIC PHONE THINGY!! I HATE YOU! JUST GIVE ME A REAL PERSON!!! (I may or may not actually scream at those things in real life...)

#3: Mispronunciations of words like nuclear, escape, especially, salsa, and MY NAME.

#2: When my adorable husband or children don't rinse their milk out of various dishes before letting them sit in the sink for a while. Just put a touch of water in that bowl or cup, please, my loves? It makes the washing so much easier. (I try to maintain sweetness with this one... it does bug me but it's one of those things that I let go of pretty easily because I love them)
#1: People who call about a house or apartment I have for rent, ask me a million questions and take a good five minutes of my time and then, as an afterthought, ask if I allow cats or accept Idaho Housing (subsidised housing program). NO, I DON'T!! I sure wish you would have asked that at the first. Thanks for wasting BOTH of our time.

End of negative ranting.

Day 4 of 30

2011-03-12T00:08:00.000-07:00

Something I crave...

So many things.

To be touched. I crave a massage on my neck. I crave my feet to be rubbed. Or even just held. Dustin laughs at me because I often ask him to just hold my feet, wrapping his hands around them with gentle pressure. I love that. I also love my back, face and/or arms to be tickled.

I crave self-awareness. I love to dig in to my own psyche. I want to heal old hurts that I find there.

I crave escape. A book. A trip. A girls' night out. I am happy and content for the most part, but sometimes I just want escape.

I crave fresh mozzarella, basil and homegrown tomatoes. And I often crave orange juice. And Cadbury Mini Eggs.

I crave a thunderstorm.

I crave that place I sometimes get into when I write where I can pour my whole sould into the words and I feel better for the writing of them. And I feel satisified.

I often crave a good solid cry.

I crave sunshine. I crave that right now.

I crave singing and playing my guitar. I crave singing with my family.

See... so much craving, so little time.

Day 3 of 30

2011-03-11T10:00:00.002-07:00

A favorite picture.

I could stare at this picture all day long. That probably means I should frame it, huh?

Brynja Leigh, March 20, 2010 hours old.

Day 2 of 30

2011-03-10T23:50:00.001-07:00

A picture of me last year and now and how I have changed since then…

Pictures… my favorite! I’m just so good at uploading them!

Here’s me last year… right about this same time. A year ago today I was two days from my due date with Brynja.

As you might have guessed, I’ve changed a little bit since then, physically speaking.

Here’s me recently… this was at a Valentine’s Day Dinner/Fundraiser/Dance thing. It was SUCH a fun night… D and I learning the Cha-Cha and then Jessica (on the left), Rebby and I (and our hubbies too, now and then) dancing til they closed down the house… that was a great night.

So my coat hides my tummy a little bit, but you can see that I’m definitely shaped different now than I was a year ago. Thank goodness. Pregnancy is great in many ways, but I was so very uncomfortable this last time. I’m so glad that’s done.

How else have I changed, besides the very obvious? Last year my life was about growing a baby and preparing my mental faculties for the life-altering event that having a baby is. I was not feeling introspective or even very self-aware, with the exception of my physical self. Now I feel like I’ve cycled back into the digging/introspective/processing/moving-forward Clancy. I felt very stagnant for a long time… a year and a half or two. I am now digging around in my heart and looking for the areas that are ready for growth. I’m finding them. Maybe that’s why I want to blog. Why I’m actually writing blog posts in my head while I’m in the shower.

It’s interesting as I think on where I’m at now, I notice that I am much kinder to myself . I feel like more of an observer this time around than I did in my last cycle of growth. I look at the things that need work with more love and more acceptance. That feels good to notice. I am ok with where I’m at, even though I’m not where I want to be. I feel like an observer of my life in many ways. Like I am watching something unfold.

And I like that.

Day One of 30

2011-03-09T00:14:00.001-07:00

I’m stealing this idea from Esther, who reportedly stole it from some of her friends… whatever… blogging is all a bunch of thievery, I suppose. At least when it comes to this type of thing.

This is a 30 day blogging plan. We’ll see how I do.

Day 1- Five things about you that no one really knows.

Hmm… is there anything that you don’t know about me? I seem to tell all. Let’s see…

1- When I was young, my older sister and I would pretend that we were detectives. We had models from magazines who were the murder victims. We had file folders and everything. I remember one file folder in particular, The North Beach Twins. We had two pictures of the same model in bright green leather, but we called them twins. There were many more cases, but all had a common suspected murderer… a foul character by the name of “Rad”. He had a file all his own. He was a caricature drawing that my brother did, complete with tats and leather. He was definitely a shady character.

Sarah and I would traipse around the neighborhood picking up clues and being very detective-ish. We wore high-heels and tight skirts as proper girl-detectives should, or so we thought.

It was my favorite game. Probably more for the fact that my sister, with whom I didn’t always get along, played with me and we had fun doing so.

It’s a fond memory.

2- I have never been to Disneyland.

3- My little sister is moving away this weekend and I want to cry every time I think about it.

4- I am allergic to cats.

5- I come up with my best blog posts in the shower. But the trouble lately is that I come up with them and then I get out of the shower and I get the pleasure of not writing them because I have the most adorable almost-one-year-old to take care of. And she does NOT share mommy with the computer well. We’re working on it.

Perhaps this 30 day challenge will kick my butt in gear to blog a little more. But I’ve said that before.

No promises.

Oh, and P.S… remember that one blog post where I was going to do one of the projects that has been resting heavy on my mind? Yeah, well, I did the project (or, well, mostly Dustin did) but I never posted about it. L.A.M.E.

The project was our lovely built-in desk in our new basement. You see, we have this tidy little nook we built and we thought how perfect it would be for the desk we had to just slip right in there. But then we didn’t account for the sewer cleanout that stuck out of the wall, preventing the desk from fitting by about 3/4”. It was a sad and frustrating day. (But not quite so sad or frustrating as the day we discovered that our entertainment center would not fit down our stairs to go into our new family room…)

Anyway, our solution was a built-in desk. Dustin (with help from his lovely assistant) built it, and we even did a shelf over the top for our printer AND we did a pull out tray for our mouse and keyboard. It’s all so wonderful I can hardly stand it!

Would you like to see pictures?

TOO bad. I suck at posting pictures. But I think you already know that. :-p

Oh yeah, and here’s the rest of the topics for the 30 day thingy, in case any of you want to thieve.

Day 01 – Five things about me that no one really knows.
Day 02— A picture of me last year and now and how I have changed since then
Day 03 — A favorite photo
Day 04 — Something I crave
Day 05 — Top 10 pet peeves
Day 06 — Something I bought recently
Day 07 — Something I want to buy
Day 08 — A favorite song
Day 09 — A favorite movie
Day 10 — A favorite food & recipe
Day 11 — A favorite book
Day 12 — A favorite quote
Day 13 — What did I do today??
Day 14 — My dream house...
Day 15 — Next 3 on “Bucket List”
Day 16 — A favorite Youtube video
Day 17 — A habit you wish you didn't have
Day 18 — The meaning behind your blog name
Day 19 — A hobby of mine
Day 20 — My favorite Christmas tradition
Day 21 — A travel story
Day 22 — A photo of my family
Day 23 — Share a previous Christmas memory
Day 24 — 5 things you love about Christmas
Day 25 — A place I love
Day 26 — A child I love
Day 27 — A person I love
Day 28 — A secret you want to get out
Day 29 — Testimony
Day 30 — Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days

Best Laid Plans

2011-02-16T00:03:00.000-07:00

Some days don't go how you expect.

Despite actually planning out every meal this week on Sunday night, and despite grocery shopping for all the food for said meals, and despite mapping out the goings-on of the past two days in my head, I still found myself scrambling at the dinner hour, both yesterday and today.

This is nearly unheard of for me, this planning and mapping, and yet I still managed to scramble at dinnertime, just like I do every night.

This week my theme has been inadequacy. I've been chock full, bursting at the seams, with self-deprecating thoughts and feelings. In fact, sometimes my seams did burst. Into tears. Big ones. Dripping-off-your-chin kind of tears. It hasn't been pretty.

I felt those ugly, dark feelings churning as I considered the scramble, despite my planning. I recognized the descent I would shortly make into self-pity and disgust.

And then, magically, I stopped. The black cloud dissipated with a thought. There was something magical in today and that was using some of my gifts to help someone I love. I was simply a listening ear and a few words of advice, but it felt appreciated. And in serving, I felt fulfilled.

Plans were never my strong point anyway.

Valentine

2011-02-07T20:21:00.001-07:00

I love this man of mine. There’s so few pictures of he and I together, I thought I’d share these. Thanks for taking them, Beck! And thanks for the awesome date-night-Valentine’s-Party. ♥

Cluttered

2011-02-04T12:00:00.001-07:00

I wrote the other day about my Google Reader issues. (P.S. Thanks to all y’all who suggested I stop following the blogs I was trying to ditch. It worked! So far anyway…) I still track a lot of blogs, and I love reading them. A couple I still subscribe to are crafty/furniture-revampy/creative blogs. I love to read them. Admittedly, I’m a little addicted to them. I can link-chase through blogs for hours if I’m not careful. You know, look at one blog that someone linked and then get drawn in and scour it for a while, and then link to another blog… scour, repeat. It’s dangerous.

One of the problems I’ve found (aside from draining hours as easily as I drain my tub) is that I create brain-clutter for myself. I look at these blogs and think, I could do that! And then I think about it some more. And I think a little more. And then I see some piece of furniture at a thrift store and I think, HEY! I could fix that up just like ___________ (insert your favorite amazing blogger/furniture restore-er)! And sometimes I actually buy the piece. And then I let it sit for a hundred years, all the while I think about it and know it’s there on the backburner waiting to be done. Think, think, think.

I bet if I just got down and dirty and did the dang project I would use about 80% less energy. Maybe even 90%. That is some serious energy reduction. Do you think I could get some sort of grant for that? Is there a “carbon footprint” from brain energy expended?

Anyway, I think I’m trying to say that I should either stop reading these dang blogs or do something about it. I would love it to be the latter. There’s great satisfaction that comes from actually creating something with my hands. *Sigh*

So, for all of you saying to yourself, “THEN JUST DOOOOO IT, CLANCY!!!” I say, “OK?”

I’m scared. But I’m going to post something next week that I either made or revamped or finally finished. Mmmkay? And since I’m the kind of girl who works best under pressure, I’m going to proclaim a deadline to the world.

SATURDAY next.

I can’t tell you how this terrifies me. But it’s about growth, right? And I’m not waitin’ for spring. I am a greenhouse, growing right on through those subzero temperatures. (Like –19 on Wednesday… yuck.)

Farewell, Phoebe

2011-02-02T11:27:00.001-07:00

As it turns out, that was the dachshund’s name. Phoebe. I found an ad on Craigslist Sunday night about a little female “wiener dog” who was missing from the area we found her. (I might have found the ad sooner had they put the word “dachshund” somewhere in the post… duh.)

So, we were dog owners for less than 48 hours. And that’s ok with me.

After the first day I knew she wasn’t “THE” dog for us. I would’ve kept her and loved her but she didn’t settle well. My kids were broken hearted… particularly Ella who repeatedly declared that little Miss Dachshund was her best friend. Ella sobbed and cried when we told her we found the owners. We told them at about 7 a.m. on Monday morning. I wasn’t sure when the owners were going to come pick the dog up so I let the kids stay home until she left. It didn’t end up being very long, but Ella was so distraught, I couldn’t think of sending her on the bus, which she doesn’t love anyway. So, the kids had a (heart)sick day from school. (Mac actually was sick and I was already planning to keep him home, and Rohan wasn’t nearly as upset as Ella, but how could I send him when the other two got to stay?)

We kept the little collar we bought for Miss D (no, we didn’t name her that, but we did call her Doxie now and then) and Ella put it around her stuffed dog’s neck. She then attached the leash we had borrowed from my mom and pulled that stuffed dog around for at least half of the day. It was a small tragedy in the life of Ella Brae.

But, time passed and she is better now.

And I must say that I’m relieved the dog is back at her home, but probably not quite as relieved as Dustin, who cleaned up not one… not two… not even three… but FOUR little dachshund piles and one little dachshund puddle from our living room rug.

Good thing we invested in a steam cleaner, one of the few things I can thank landlording for.

Farewell, Miss Dachshund. It was a good 41 hours.

Dachshund, huh?

2011-01-29T23:55:00.001-07:00

Today Dustin and I were running errands. We were driving out of the parking lot of a big box store on the busiest street in our town. The parking lot funnels out onto this busy street via a stoplight and it was red as we approached it. Running off of said street and into the parking lot of said store was a little, red haired dachshund.

I saw the dog. I noted in my mind how funny dachshunds look when they’re running.

I said, “Look at that little wiener dog, Dust.”

I may or may not have said something about the high chances of it getting hit by a car. If I didn’t say it aloud, I thought it.

Dustin, approaching the red light, stopped far behind the other cars and opened his door.

He made a little kissy-squeaky noise with his lips and the dog stopped. He called to it. It looked at us for all of two seconds and then came trotting over to us. The light turned green. Dustin scooped up the dog, set it’s muddy feet on his lap, shut the door and drove away.

I looked around as all this was happening to see if we could identify some sort of owner. Maybe we should’ve waited longer or looked more, but there are no houses close by and there were no visible people. And, the light was green.

I was shocked. Who was the man sitting next to me? I was fairly certain it was my husband, but this was not typical Dustin behavior. As I thought all this, I stared at the dog. Me, who hasn’t wanted a dog, even a little bit.

“It’s a girl.” I observed.

“Yeah, it is.” Dustin replied.

This dog communicated with me during that minute I spent looking her over.

“She’s cute.” I commented. “And she seems really mellow.”

“Yeah, she is. And yes, she does.” Dustin replied.

We drove a block or so down the road and stopped where we were going to eat lunch at a little Thai restaurant. We sat in the parking lot, the little dog quietly sitting on Dustin’s lap, and stared at each other.

“Go in and get some food.” Dustin said.

“Are we getting take out? “ I replied. “I thought we were going in.”

We stared at each other more. We looked down at the dog. She licked my hand. She spoke to me in her doggie language.

“She’s cute.” I repeated.

“She is.” Dustin replied.

We sat there silently. We stared at each other again.

“How about we make something at home and come back here for dinner,” I said.

“Good idea,” Dustin confirmed.

We left.

We went home.

With a dachshund.

*I called the Humane Society and let them know that we found this dog. I described her and left my phone number and told where she was found. I also took her into the Animal Shelter and had her scanned for a microchip. They didn’t find one. I filled out a “Found” form and told them we’d like to care for her until someone calls to claim her. If someone calls to claim her. In their prayers tonight, my kids all prayed that no one would call. I kinda feel the same way.

Just Say No

2011-01-27T12:55:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, in my moments of mothering, I wish I could forge a campaign against an issue that would be completely moot. Really there’s nothing to be done but deal with them, but those little things like bedwetting and nighttime vomit cleanup details... can we put a stop to that?

Or could we, perhaps, create a committee that would rally for the cause of ending sibling bickering? Who wants to be the committee chairperson?

Today, I’d like to wage a useless war on Stealth Pooping. You know the kind…

You’ve been mildly puttering around doing all the house things that need doing (laundry, dishes, reading, blogging), and your cute little 10 month old baby is puttering around doing all the little baby things that need doing (carrying her baby doll by the arm, digging in the dirt of Daddy’s bonsai plant [AGAIN!], making the cutest jabber-sounds known to mankind… you know, all those important baby things). Your baby starts to get fussy. You pick her up. You feed her a little food. You give her a little toy. You just changed her diaper 15 minutes ago, so you don’t even think of checking that out.

Time goes by.

Baby is ok, but not content. She wants you to hold her a LOT. You are a loving mother, so you comply. You rock her and sing her a song. You might even get her to go to sleep.

More time goes by.

Baby is acting fairly normal, but suddenly breaks down. She fusses and acts uncomfortable. It’s been a while since you changed her little diaper, so you do the diaper yank. (you know that one too, I am sure.) Then you see it.

THE STEALTH POOP.

You have no idea when it happened. No olfactory indicator was given. You go to change the diaper and realize that this mess has been here a while. Suddenly, all those sounds of discontent from your little darling take on a different meaning.

You croon, “Oh, baby-girl! I’m so sorry! How long has this been here?” You ask the question knowing you’ll get no answer from your yet-wordless little one.

Baby starts howling and screaming as you try to clean up the mess that is, clearly, not fresh and thus not easily removed with your trusty box of wipes. A battle ensues involving short, kicking legs, wet-wipes, soothing words (soothing the mommy much more than the baby), and vain attempts to keep the baby’s shoulders both on the ground at the same time.

Somehow, a champion emerges. You, the mother, are the victor, successfully slathering a little raw bum with ointments, creams or powders.

Everyone is relieved and baby toddles off, continuing her bold quest of melting hearts by shooting rays of delightfulness and adorability from her toes, eyeballs, mouth, ears, knees, nose, fingers and heart.

The end.

Right?

Wrong. What you are forgetting is just how stealthy Stealth Poop can be. It’s a sly one. It could be ten minutes, or it could be an hour. If you’re not careful, Stealth Poop will hold you in a vicious cycle of sneaky messes, wrestling matches and raw bums that could last for days or weeks. And that’s where my campaign comes in.

M.A.S.P.

Mothers Against Stealth Pooping.

The design is rudimentary, but I’m thinking it’s going to make some powerfully impactful bumper stickers:

I’ll be passing out flyers on diaper isles in a grocery store near you.

Reader Tribulation

2011-01-21T01:13:00.002-07:00

So, there's some blogs I read.   I used to think they were awesome. Or something.   For whatever reason, awesome or not, I subscribed to them in Google Reader. I've since decided they are un-awesome. Or, at the very least, irrelevant and gumming up the grease in the quest for simplifying my life. (QUEST, I tell you!) So, like a good Simplification-Questerian, I went to my little "manage subscriptions" button in Reader and I unsubscribed to several previously-important blogs.

I'll have you know, taking that step relaxed my mentally faculties. I refreshed my little Reader page and discovered less to read. Less is more, don't you know?

A week or so went by and I experienced blissful simplicity via Google Reader.

Until.

Google Reader began thinking for itself. We might be dealing with some sort of A.I. here, folks.

Right there, in my Reader feed, were those blogs that had fallen through the cracks of pertinence. Those blogs I had eliminated from my brain-clutter had returned. Why? I don't know.

So, I repeated the process. Unsubscribe. No thanks, lovely blogs.

Again, I went on my merry, on-the-path-to-the-simple-life way.

A week-ish passed again... log in to Reader...

THEY'RE BA-A-A-A-A-CK!!!!

Seriously?

Seriously.

I have now gone through this process three times. And tonight, once again, the blogs are back.

DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND, READER!!!?????

Just let me be, blogs. Get thee hence.   Please!?

I am mystified.

Three Cheers for Randomness and Rambling

2011-01-18T10:53:00.002-07:00

Hurrah.

So, January, huh? That's just weird.

December held me captive via chocolate, caramel and Santa Clause. It was an exhausting month. Not to mention Baby B. I don't recall my other babies being this much work. But neither to I recall being 31 when I had my other babies. Right. I was in my twenties. I remember now. I am now convinced that factor makes an impactful difference.

The return to school, post Christmas break, is a brutal thing. I'll be honest... I'm not a fan. But after a few days, I think we're back in the swing of things.

Did you ever think about that term, "back in the swing of things"? When I think of that term, it brings to mind some feeling of routine and easiness or something. But when I think about it a little more literally, I think of a swing at a park that goes up and down, fast and slow. You have to pump to get going high and fast, and you can cruise a little bit and enjoy the ride, but you slow down and eventually stop. It's fun. Or it was when I was young. Now that I'm 32, I get that barfy feeling, which obliterates some of that fun feeling. I'm not sure what that means, but it's got to be significant somehow...

It's really too bad how YouTube has started showing advertisements. Remember the good ole days when it was just weird videos?

Micheal Buble's mouth moves weird to me. I think I should just listen to his music and not watch him sing on YouTube where I can't help but wonder if he genetically can't relax his upper lip or if he just does that when he sings.

Hurrah.

Speaking of YouTube, I just watched this video of my little LITTLE Rohan and I may or may not have cried a little bit while I saw that sweet little face and heard that precious little voice. What happens to these babies? Where do they go? Why do they have to get swallowed up by these older, yet no less wonderful, big kids? How does this happen? Can't these adorable little tiny faces somehow coexist with the new, more grown-up versions? Growing up is so tragic and so wonderful. Such a dichotomy.

Did you cry? Probably not, but I bet you smiled. "This is me. I am Rohan. Amen." Precious.

You know what I miss about blogging? Expressing myself. I find myself all comtemplative and introspective lately, with no outlet. I'm not really talking to anyone in depth, except my husband, but daily life does not always lend itself to deep introspective talks. I have to make those happen. And Dustin, being a man, places deep talking and diving into emotional wells down about #100 on his to-do list. And that's just fine. He is willing to take a plunge now and then, but he doesn't have a need to do so, like I do, being a woman. I got to do that as often I wanted to when I was blogging a lot and I miss that. Miss it, I tell you.
For Christmas, I got a new computer. And a very expensive piece of software that I can build custom websites with. I'm doing one right now for my brother-in-law. Next I will do my own (which was why I actually bought the program) for my pretzels and such. It's all very exciting.

Speaking of exciting... our other big Christmas present was a finished basement. Carpet came on December 27th. It's been about 4 years in the making, our basement. But it's really, actually finished now. I can't tell you the satisfaction this has brought to Dustin and I. And I can't tell you how grateful I am for my dad and his endless knowledge about all things construction. He's good, I tell you. Very good.

Hurrah!

And, because you have asked (on Facebook) and will ask on here, here are some pictures, before and after.

Just kidding. I wrote this post on January 6th and it's only just being published because I've been trying to get up the gumption to post those blasted pictures. Why are pics so hard for me? I have no idea. Maybe some day I'll show before and afters... but not today.

Hurrah?

A Holiday Gift for You

2010-12-01T09:46:00.000-07:00

Dustin and I have been working really hard... learning a whole new skill... practicing and practicing... and YOU get the payoff. Merry Christmas from Dustin and Clancy.

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Dear Weigh-Me-Down Junk,

2010-11-16T09:25:00.001-07:00

I know that we've had some strange, codependent relationship these many years, (32, has it been? Yes, yes it has) but the time has come to say farewell.

I know there's a part of both of us that doesn't want to let go. There have been reasons for both of us to hang on to this jacked-up relationship, but for me those reasons just aren't valid anymore, and I really don't think they are for you either. I watch you sit idle, here and there. I see that you long for fulfillment and purpose. I have come to terms with the truth. It can't be me anymore, Junk. I can't give you what you need. We both need to move on.

I know you think that it's that book I've been reading by Julie Morgenstern. I know you think that she is the one who came between us. Yes, that does have something to do with it. She did give me a name for our process and I thank her for the gift of SHEDding, but really that was just a catalyst for the tension that has been building between us for a very long time.

I don't love you anymore.

I don't really know if I ever loved you. You were more of a habitual state of being for me. Harsh words, I know, but when you choose to examine the reality of the situation, you will see that I am right.

We aren't meant for each other, Junk. And, furthermore, I think we should explore other relationships. I realize that I probably have no right to tell you this, but you know Thrift Stores? I think you two would make a perfect couple.

I will tell you that I have, for the last few weeks, been flirting with Organization and Empty Space. I know, I know... you've told me a thousand times just what you think of them, but I think you're mistaken. I think they are both diverting and refreshing. I'm ready for the change. We both are, Junk.

I am sorry if this hurts you. You've taught me so many lessons about myself and I'll always love you for that.

Good luck with your life. I really think that you and Thrift Stores would get along well. Look into it. Please? Or perhaps Thrift Store's friend, The Dump? I heard nice things about both of them. There's something out there fore you, Junk. I just know it.

With Gratitude,
Clancy

And So...

2010-10-27T00:12:00.000-06:00

Baby B is suddenly sleeping all night, bless her. And bless me because I finally, in a moment of frustrated (yes, I succumbed to the frustration) exhaustion, let her cry herself to sleep. She cried all of 15 minutes the first night and she almost never cries now. (It's been about two weeks). And she sleeps all night. The trick is, she is currently sleeping in the room that is the temporary home of my computer. And she goes to bed nice and early... 7-8:00... so I have been spending VERY little time on the computer, which is both an amazing blessing and a terrible curse.

One of the most curse-ish parts is that it is not easy to blog from an Android phone. One would think that Google would have thought of that, since they run Blogger and made Android, powered by Google. I guess I can't have my cake and eat it too.

What kind of saying is that, anyway? What good is a cake that you can have but not eat? Silliness.

Dear Brynja,

2010-10-08T02:09:00.000-06:00

You are 6 1/2 months old and I've hardly said two words about you in this, my blogging record. I suppose I really haven't said much at all here, so don't feel bad, baby girl.

I was thinking about you this morning while I was in the shower. I thought of the wonder of your existence. Seven months ago I didn't know who you were. Seven months ago I didn't know your name, or even that you were a girl. Seven months ago I was scared for you to enter this world, both the physiological entrance and the entrance into our family dynamic. Seven months ago was not very long ago, and yet... a lifetime.

I hope that when you read this someday that you don't feel sad for my fears. Perhaps you'll understand when you become a mom someday. I was just scared to change. Scared to shake up the status quo. But you, persistent little thing that you are, demanded entrance into this world and our family. You whispered in my ear when I was in labor with your brother Rohan. I felt you there waiting. You peeked around the corners of your daddy's mind and showed yourself to him too. You, in your patient way, stuck your foot in the door and waited for me to have the strength to open it. And look at you! Look at the miracle of you, my precious little darling.

Brynja Leigh, you amaze me. You delight me. You melt and remold me. There are moments when I am frustrated because you love to be held so very much and that is not always conducive to everyday living, but the magic of being the fourth child over a ten-year span is that I get it. I truly understand that this time does fly by. These moments are gone so fast, and so I've found that I can't be bothered with caving to those feelings of frustration that come when you want only me, or when you wake up for the third, fourth, or fifth time at night. I can be patient. I know you'll sleep eventually. If Mac could do it, I know you will too. I also know that there will come a time that you won't want me to hold you all the time. You'll want to run and play and leave me watching your growing self from a distance. A distance that will only widen with time. And so, I am here for you now, my baby Brynja. My mommy muscles can hold you all day if you need it, which right now you frequently do.

Even looking at your written name, I see the wonder of you. Your name, Miss Brynja, is a story. I was so torn over your name. I didn't know what to call you. As I sat in the hospital and stared at your perfect lips and your sweet round face, I asked you over and over what your name was. I had a name that I wanted and loved, but I was unsettled about it. I tried several options on you and I was almost sick with my indecision so, I enlisted divine help. I prayed. Your daddy and I held hands and asked God to help us know your name.

You see, there is power in a name, my Little Love and we knew that you brought a power of your own into this world. The mere fact that you made it here, past my fear and mental blocks and unscathed from your somewhat traumatic birth, speaks of your power. And God blessed us with an answer in Brynja Leigh. As I wrote it on your birth certificate information page, the rightness of your name settled on me like a blanket. I held onto that feeling over the next few months. I found myself doubting, and, truth be told, mourning the other name that I so loved. I don't remember the date, but I'll never forget the day that doubt left me. I knew that your were growing into your powerful name. You see, my Sweet, your name is from the Old Norse language and it means "Shielding or Armor". I don't know what it is that you will do in this life to need a name such as this, but it is yours. And the spelling... I hope you aren't overly troubled by it in your life, but I love it. Every time I see it written, I find that my eyes caress it. The letters have a flow and a form that satisfies some deeper part of my soul. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Little Miss B, you are a joy. Your brothers and sister cannot get enough of you. Ella wants to hold you so much everyday. Mac likes to call you "Dee-Doh Baby" and I have no idea what that means, but you laugh when he says it in his very silly, squeaky way. When Rohan talks to you, you light up in a manner that only Rohan can achieve. You love your siblings as much as they love you.

You are a momma's girl to the MAX. You love on your daddy too, but mommy is the magic right now. Daddy loves to come home from work and hold you while I make dinner. Sometimes you are thrilled with this arrangement, other times... not so much. I'm sure, as time goes on, that you will become a little daddy's girl, so I'll just enjoy this while it lasts!

Some noteworthy info and accomplishments:

Rolling over, back to front and front to back. You are choosy about this and sometimes you still love to just lie on your back and kick your legs like you did when you were just a few months old.
Sitting up. This has been in the works for a couple months, but you've recently achieved "master" status with this skill. You look extra cute and extra little sitting there on a large floor.
Blowing raspberries. This is a talent you have just developed and it elicits endless peals of laughter from your adoring siblings.
Standing unaided for 3-5 seconds. I have to keep my hands right there but I think you've got some fantabulous balance in the works!
You do this adorable little "gavel" thing. You pat your little hand on everything and your brother Mac says, upon seeing it, "Order in the court!". It's one of my very favorite things you do.
You have gotten much better about being in the car, so long as it's Mom driving. I think it's because you know that I can't do anything to help you except crank my arm backward to hold your binky in and touch your face. If Dad is driving, you know that I'm available. I'm not gonna lie, Brynja... you abuse that knowledge a little bit. :-)
You scoot around in your little walker and explore things. And you "gavel" everything in sight. You're so cute.
You will NOT eat anything but breast milk. You have some hypersensitive gag reflex going on. Anytime I try to introduce any food to you, you severely gag on it and sometimes even throw up. Not so cool, Baby B. Let's work on that, okay?
You LOVE to pull Daddy's chest, arm and leg hair. Dad doesn't love it so much though.
You lay on your tummy and spin in circles and will even scoot backwards, but no signs of crawling yet. But don't worry, none of your siblings really "got" that either and look how amazing they are! :-)
You do this smile sometimes and it turns my heart to jelly. You look like you're clenching your teeth, but you don't have any teeth, so it's just you clenching your little gums. OH. MY. GOSH. It's the cutest, funniest thing EVER. Kid, you crack me up.
You love LOVE your Grandma Nene's glasses chain that hangs around her neck. You're drawn to it like a fly to honey and you're amazingly gentle when you get a hold of her glasses.

There's many more things, I'm sure, to write and I will try a little more valiantly to record these fleeting and priceless moments, my darling.

And look how cute you are!!

Please know, my Baby Brynja, that you are my whole world right now and I love it. Thank you for getting yourself here and bringing your sweet, peaceful soul to our family.

Love,
Mommy

Getting to Know You

2010-10-03T09:00:00.024-06:00

For school, I had to fill out a "Getting to Know You" sheet for Rohan. One of the categories to fill out was titled "Child's Likes/Dislikes". I was having a hard time filling this out because it is so broad, so I asked Rohan to help me. This is what is being sent back to school, as dictated by Rohan:

Child's Likes/Dislikes: Rohan likes Vikings, Lego's, Applebee's, riding his bike and scooter, and he would like being in a submarine. Rohan doesn't like tomatoes and princesses, Yaki Soba (a Japanese dish that I make), or time-out.

It made me laugh and I wanted to record it. It doesn't read quite as funny as it was to hear him saying it. He starts listing normal things like Lego's, and as he gets more creative with his answers, he cocks his head sideways and says funny things like, "I would also like being in a submarine!"

These are the reasons I love being a mom.

Over and Over

2010-09-27T21:49:00.000-06:00

Here's a little secret about me. If I find a song I like, I play it over and over and over and over and over and over and over. And over again. I love to memorize words so I can always sing along. Playing a song over and over is the best way to do that. And I just can't get enough of my current groove-song, so over and over helps with that too.

Here is my most recent over and over and over and over and overs...

Angus and Julia Stone... "And The Boys"

And Angus and Julia Stone again.... "You're the One That I Want"

And my friend Rob has some amazing music that I repeat ridiculous amounts of time. If you would like to hear this, go to this link.

Also, my brother Zandy (aka Alex) is in a band. We listen to this link all the time too, particularly the song "The Matador".

Over It?

2010-09-15T09:28:00.001-06:00

I thought I was over my comment infatuation. I thought I was ok. Only 1 comment on my blog post? I'm fine. Life is ok. My self-worth has ZERO to do with my comment boxes on my blog posts. I keep telling myself these things.

I have no one to blame but myself. The grit in my teeth after my hard face-plant off the blogging wagon would be my first clue. But I find myself looking at the 0 comments and feeling crestfallen.

Maybe there's still a part of me that isn't over it.

And really, that just makes me laugh at myself. Big-belly-laugh kind of laughs. HHHHAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!

Let's not take us too seriously, Clancy. Mmmmkay?

Good idea. Let's just love blogging and blog for our mental health and our posterity. Sound good?

Sounds perfect.

(Mental health might be questionable as Clancy and I carry on a conversation, but we never said what state our mental health had to be in...)

Happy, haPPy, hAppY WedNEsDay!

*Post Edit: This is not a request for sympathy comments, much as it may sound like it is. It was really just a laugh-at-my-own-ridiculousness kind of post. Come on, really. Who wraps their self worth around blog comments... HAHAHA!!! (ha) Anyway, this post now has enough comments the self-worth meter is sated. If you are moved to tears and simply must leave a sympathy comment, please search my blog and find some post that has 0 comments and leave a comment on that post. :o)

(You know what's hard to convey sometimes on a blog? Sarcasm.)

Missing Manic Monday: Preview

2010-09-13T12:02:00.000-06:00

Sorry I've not been giving a preview of these words on Fridays. I keep forgetting. I've been going out of town a lot and when do we leave? On Fridays. I was sorely tempted to pick a different word today when I saw preview... click on the next word until I found one I felt like writing about. But that was the whole point of using the random word generator... randomness. The thing I liked about Mo's Manic Monday was I had to figure out how to incorporate whatever word he came up with into my blog post. Not pick a word I felt like writing about and go from there. So, I kept preview.

Is it just me or does going out of town stress you out? Here is my normal modus operandi when I'm preparing to go out of town:

Think about all the packing I need to do. (even if "all the packing" is not very much packing)
Think about it some more.
Think about how I want my house clean because who wants to come home to a messy house?
Friday morning rolls around and I think some more about how I want things clean and what I need to do.
Do all the laundry I have piled up. For some reason, I feel compelled to have completely empty laundry baskets when I leave town. Although in recent weeks, this has changed because of our new bathroom in the basement. You see, it's half bathroom, half laundry room, complete with a five foot folding countertop. It's amazing! I am suddenly the Laundress Queen Extraordinaire and I do my laundry, folded and put away ALL. THE. TIME. It's simply amazing what a difference a beautiful space does to your desire, not to mention functionality, of keeping it in order.
Think about how I need to clean out the car before we leave, because who wants to travel in a messy car?
Get stressed out by all the things I need to.
"Rest" from all the thinking via brain-check-out, courtesy of the internet.
Waste too much time online and finally pull myself away.
Mentally kick myself because I've wasted so much time and I have so much to do.
Run around like a crazy person trying to get ready. This stage involves a lot of sweaty armpits and may or may not involve *actually* cleaning the car and my house, depending on just how much time got wasted on the internet. (Yes, I just said sweaty armpits on my blog. Uncensored.)
Leave at least one hour later than I wanted to.
More metal butt-kicking.
Fall asleep in car, conditions pending. *This final step has temporarily been bumped from "pending" to "omitted" thanks to the recent addition of one Brynja Leigh to our family. :o)

Do you see why I get stressed out about leaving town?

For those of you who may be shaking your head in disbelief at my self-sabotaging ways (myself included), I would like to report that, while this has been my *normal* M.O. for most of my life (except the internet part... that particular distraction only showed up in the last five years or less), I am slowly changing my ways. The old Clancy was so dependably late. It was just ridiculous. And, thus, the old Clancy would mentally rip herself to ribbons. The inner critic had a heyday between the time-wasting, messy house, messy car, piles of laundry, and extreme lateness to top it all off. It was a Self-Deprecation Party of epics proportions.

But.

The new Clancy (which is actually still the old Clancy, but a Clancy that is trying everyday to improve herself in small ways and learning to love herself unconditionally regardless of her apparent successes or failures) has, for the last few out-of-town excursions, been ready at a decent time with, at minimum, a partially clean house, or a house at a higher level of clean than she started the day with.

This last Friday, I managed to be ready by about 4:00, which was the time we were slotted to leave. We didn't leave until about 6:00, but this was, in fact, due to Big O Tires and not due to Clancy. We took our car in for new tires, an alignment and a replacement of "sway bar bushings" (whatever those are) and ended up having to replace the "inner tie rods" as well. So, an extra $200 and an additional two hours, we left feeling much safer on our journey to the City of Salt.

I'm so proud of me. :-)

Missing Manic Monday: Investment

2010-09-05T23:48:00.000-06:00

Hi there. Sorry I fell off my little bloggy wagon again. We've just busy with the first week of school for Mac and finishing the rest of the basement. Someday I might put pictures up of these remodels, but not tonight. I'm just hoping to make it through the post without falling asleep.

I'm really tired.

So, Random Word Generator has spoken and the word is "Investment".

So many things come to mind with this word... duplex, basement finishing, banking, equity, 401K... blah, blah, blah.

I could write about any of those... but I won't.

I'll write about my most rewarding and challenging investments. Each one took nine months to gestate and will take a lifetime to mature. Each was a physical investment of my own body. Each is an emotional investment as I navigate the rocky waters of motherhood. But the prize... the joy and satisfaction when you watch it all unfold...

Best investments I've ever made.

Drafts

2010-08-24T22:59:00.000-06:00

I was just in my "Manage Posts" area of my blog and saw a few draft posts that never got published. I can't even remember why I wrote this draft or what the rest of the story was in my brain... too bad... but I thought it was fun to read. Mac was sitting here while I read it and he read it too. My ten year old son pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows and said, "Huh. Pretty good, Mom. I think you should write a book."

I'd love to, Mac. But first, I've just got to get myself writing again.

Here is my never-published draft of something unknown.... I wrote it on June 10th, 2009.

Kate saw him on the train that day. Cold air rushed past her as the doors opened, carrying the din of the commuters as well as the scent of his cologne. Sam's cologne was, as usual, too strong and she felt an almost irresistible urge to reach out and touch him. 

He hadn't seen her. Kate's fingers twitched toward him and then fell still as her mind played out the outcome of taking action on her urge to feel that soft spot below his earlobe. Sighing and biting her lip, she attempted distraction by looking out the window at the streak of scenery that flew by the oblivious commuters.

Who's Kate? I have no idea. But I think I'd like to figure it out.

Missing Manic Monday: Bit

2010-08-23T22:52:00.001-06:00

When my Grandma Carol passed away I inherited a double bed that was in her house. It was the very bed Dustin and I always slept in when we went to stay there. This bed is now where Mac sleeps. I was tucking him in tonight and as he was saying his prayer I had my face down on his bed. As I laid there with my nose buried in his blankets, I realized that there is a lingering bit of the scent of my grandma's house embedded in the mattress. It was a very faint trace, but as I caught that smell I started crying.

I would give almost anything in this world to be able to walk into my precious grandmother's house one more time and inhale that distinct Grandma-Carol's-house smell, walk up her brown-carpeted stairs, into her kitchen and see her sitting at her dining room table or on her couch and soak up the warmth of her smile as her face lights up in greeting.

I miss her so acutely in this moment.

Grandma Carol and my baby Ella Brae, 2002

Friday's Fabulous Five and MMM Preview

2010-08-20T00:54:00.000-06:00

1- Dams breaking.

2- 1 hour massage gift certificate.

3- Overtime pay.

4- Horizon full of the promise of autumn.

5- Happy Birthday to me.

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

Missing Manic Monday word preview:

BIT

Happy Friday.

Dots

2010-08-17T00:08:00.022-06:00

She's always called it
a constellation.
A mural of her indifference.

Connect-the-dots,
a picture
of the deeper places.

Her weakness revealed
on this map
of her self-inflicted turmoil.

Missing Manic Monday: Noise

2010-08-16T02:55:00.001-06:00

Every night it's the same.

'Ridiculous,' I tell myself.

'Why do you do this?', I question.

'Sleep should be a priority,' I reprimand.

But it isn't. Night holds freedom from the demands of the sunlit hours. The noise of responsibility is sleeping, blanketed by the darkness.

And I just never quite want it to end.

Friday's Fabulous Five and MMM Preview

2010-08-13T22:39:00.000-06:00

Whoops. The blog revival fell flat on it's face for a few days. (Clancy likes alliteration) But, I can persist.

1- I am now the proud owner of a four bedroom TWO bathroom house! (I've been the owner of a four bedroom, one bathroom house for almost six years but now we have two bathrooms, officially. Actually, if we're getting technical, I was the owner of a two bedroom one bathroom house for the first three or so years and then it became a four bedroom and now it's a two bathroom too. It's just all so wonderful...)

2- Android phones are awesome. AWESOME, I say!

3- I was able to catch up with an old friend today. Always a bonus.

4- My sister, Sarah, brought her kids up last weekend and then left them here with my mom so my kids have had playmates all week. Cousins are the best.

5- Money seems to show up right when we need it, often in unexpected ways. I'm grateful for that.

Oh, and if anyone wants to play Missing Manic Monday on Monday next, the word is:

NOISE

So, come back Monday and leave a comment if you want to play.

Missing Manic Monday

2010-08-09T00:01:00.002-06:00

It's a blog revival, apparently. I find myself missing my old schedule of posts. I always knew what I would be posting on certain days and that's a good thing for a blogger like me. I need that.

Mondays used to be my favorite. There was a guy named Mo who made up a meme called Manic Monday. For this meme, Mo would choose a random word every Monday and then everyone who played would write whatever they wanted that included that random word.

I am missing this every Monday, not only because I haven't been blogging, but because Mo stopped doing his meme. His heart wasn't in it anymore, which I can certainly relate to. I now have no Manic Monday to turn to. :(

So, I've decided that I'll just pick my own random word for the Mondays that I blog. I'll aim for getting something regular going, but this blog revival might be a slowish process, or maybe I'm just going to jump right in and blog a lot like the old days??.... who knows.

Anyway, I am using a random word generator website, so I won't try to cheat.

And today's random word is

LAG

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

I remember walking to school as a kid with my little sister. We were often late in getting out the door so we would be in a hurry as we walked. (ME late? Yes, I know it's shocking to imagine, but I am late sometimes in my life) My dear, sweet Lacy was a dilly-dallying kind of girl sometimes (a lot of times) and she just didn't seem to feel the stress I did about getting to school on time. Lacy would often lag behind a little and drag her feet stating that she was too tired to hurry.

Like any good big sister, if she lagged behind I simply punched her in the face.

Just kidding.

When my cute little Lacy would lag (Clancy likes alliteration), I would make up games to try to get her to hurry, because, let's face it, getting mad at her just made her mad back and that would make her move even slower.

Two games are prominent in my memory. One, I would tell her to RUN! She didn't like that very much so I would tell her I'd pull her for a minute and then she could pull me for a minute. Really what we'd do is hold hands and I would pull her foward in a run and when she reached the length of our holding hands arm span she would pull me forward, running all the while. Then I'd pull her again and she'd pull me and we'd run in that disjointed fashion and make it there faster.

The second game I really remember well was so silly. I'm just embarrassed to even write it. In our tardy moments, I tell Lacy to pretend that Dr. Harding, our principal, was the king of our school and Pat, the secretary, was the queen. If we got there after the bell then we, the lowly servants, would be punished for our crime and get our heads chopped off. She knew it was pretend, but it always made us hurry just a little faster.

And that's it for today's Missing Manic Monday post... for now... I'm literally falling asleep as I type. Maybe I'll add more to the post later, or maybe I'll be correcting the typos I've missed while editing. Just now, as I woke with a jerk sitting up in my computer chair, I was having a dream about laying sandstone rocks on our new patio instead of editing this post. Pretty soon I'll be drooling.

So, forgive the mistakes. I'll make it right later. Or not.

Friday's Fabulous Five

2010-08-06T17:42:00.000-06:00

Remember how I made up this game to play on Fridays? I barely do.

1- I'm blogging more. Probably no one cares, but I think that's pretty fabulous. It's an interesting thing because I can really see a difference in the ease of writing when I'm writing more. This "break" I've taken has left my brain feeling like mud. Blech. But, I'm slowing cleaning it out and my thoughts are starting to flow more like they used to, which is fabulous.

2- Dustin has been out of town this whole week and I miss him. He'll be home in about 2 hours.

3- I will have a toilet/sink/shower in our new bathroom in the basement NEXT WEEK! I can hardly wait.

4- My baby Brynja is growing so fast. This is both fabulous and tragic all rolled into one. I live the dichotomy of wanting her to grow up, see her personality emerge even more and gain some independence vs. holding and snuggling my last baby. But it's mostly fabulous.

5- Late-afternoon thunderstorms.

Rohanism

2010-08-05T11:03:00.000-06:00

Rohan is playing Legos. I'm trying to fix my blasted printer that suddenly decides it's not going to "communicate" with my computer. (Yessss, I love technology. But not as much as you, you see. But sssstill I love technology. Alwaysss and forever. Alwaysss and forever.)

Anyway, Rohan is quietly playing with our cubic yard of Legos and he says to me, "Mom? Does Jesus live on a dead planet?"

I'm thinkin' to myself, 'What the...???'

I reply, "Ummm, no?"

Rohan says, "Well all the people that live there are dead."

"Ohhhh..." I say. I'm sorta following his train of thought now.

Rohan... "Does it take a long time to float up there? To Jesus? When you're a ghost?"

Fortunately for me, he's not looking at my face at this point because how can you not smile when you're having a conversation like this?

My reply: "I don't know, honey. I've never died."

His mind chews on that for a minute. "But when you die, Mom, maybe you'll tell me?"

I love that child. So much.

School Shopping

2010-08-03T22:47:00.000-06:00

Target

3:30pm

Tuesday afternoon

One sassy ten-year old

One dramatic eight-year old

One "floppy" five-year old

One fussy four-month old

Three school supply lists

One sleep-deprived mother

This is a recipe for disaster, people. When did school supply shopping become such a huge undertaking? I think I remember buying pencils, a lunch box and a backpack when I was a kid. And one new outfit.

These lists are going to cost me some serious cash... I'm guessing we'll break a hundred just for the pencils, highlighters, notebooks, crayons, markers, paint, tissues, glue, glue sticks, scissors, hand sanitizer, blah blah blah... the list goes ON and ON!

We got some of it, but I couldn't finish. I needed to regroup and come back later all recharged. I'll see if I can hit it again tomorrow. Phew.

The Ties That Bind Us

2010-08-03T03:25:00.005-06:00

I have an uncle that lives in Texas. His name is Lex. I've only been around him a handful of times, so he's remained a fairly enigmatic part of my life. He's a music man. He's an amazing guitarist and he has fantastic naturally curly hair. He has a sweet wife that I've only met a couple of times and two beautiful daughters, my cousins, the oldest of which I've only met once, and the younger, not at all.

Through the medium of Facebook, Lex and I have been able to connect to a certain degree, be it sparsely and about fairly trivial things like discovering that we both love Imogen Heap, my straight hair vs. his curly hair, and comments on photos now and then. Those times we have interacted on Facebook are rare pearls that I've unconsciously tucked away in a safe place in my heart.

Today my mom sent me a link to a video. This video woke up an awareness of those safe heart-places and I am compelled to write about it.

I tell you that he's a music man, but that's not giving him enough credit. He's been involved in music his entire life. I don't know the whole story, and I realize as I type this that it's a story that I have a deep desire to hear, but I know he started playing the guitar when he was very young, and he never stopped. As far as I know, he's always been in one band or another. Music seems to be embedded in the fiber of his soul, filling all but the capacity of his mysterious heart.

Watching this video, my eyes smart with tears. The time I've spent with him in real life is scant. To see him moving and breathing rather than frozen in a photo gives life to so many amazing connections. In his face, I see my grandmother's eyes and my grandfather's mouth and nose. In his movements, I see my brother and my mother. In his voice, I hear that music that sings through so many generations of my family. In his eyes, I catch a glimpse of his mysterious heart, quiet and unassuming, gentle and soulful. And, as I watch him move on the screen, just singing a country song, I realize that, despite the miles between Idaho and Texas, despite the gap in our age, despite the acute lack of interaction between us, I know him. I feel a connection that goes beyond reason or cognitive understanding. I love him as though we had eaten dinner together every Sunday of my life.

In this somewhat simple, broken-hearted country song, my Uncle Lex sings his soul. And it resonates all the way to Idaho.

(He's the cute one closest to the camera with the guitar and the amazing voice)

Discrimination

2010-08-01T23:48:00.001-06:00

I don't like chicken. I love chickens... but I don't like chicken.

My mom has chickens and I think they are the funniest, cutest little things ever. I love to watch them peck and scratch and cluck. I love to eat their eggs. I love when the hens sit themselves down on their little eggs and grow babies. I love when they hatch and little baby chickens run around my mom's property.

But...

I don't like to eat chicken. I used to, but ever since I was pregnant with Ella... 8+ years ago... I stopped eating it. It's kinda weird, I know. I really do.

But...

IT'S NOT THE END OF THE WORLD!

Some people don't like tomatoes. Some people don't like nuts. Some people don't like olives. Do they get gasps and slack-jawed stares? Maybe. But not likely.

What's the big deal with chicken? Why is it not okay with so many people that I don't like chicken? I don't really get it.

And it's equally hard to understand the incredulous shock people exhibit when I tell them I don't like warm cookies from the oven. I just don't. Sorry. The world will continue rotating on it's axis if I like my cookies cooled completely, not even warm a little bit in the center.. Just so you know.

Next time you're in a restaurant, I want you to think of me. I want you to read over that menu and see just how many dishes include chicken. There's usually only one salad that is lacking this foul fowl. I think us non-chicken lovers need more options. This is discrimination.

I'm totally calling my lawyer. Totally.

Clancy

2010-07-30T00:41:00.002-06:00

thinks it would be funny if she updated her blog like she updates her Facebook status.

Brynja's Story, Part 3

2010-07-29T01:15:00.002-06:00

Same deal applies as previous two posts... skip if you don't like hearing crazy (and somewhat graphic) details about labor and birth, cuz here it comes, baby. (no pun intended)

Previously on Clancy's blog...

From Brynja's Story, Part 2

..."You know, I wonder if that membrane is completely ruptured?"

"Huh?"

"When I was checking you, I thought I felt some membrane still covering the baby's head."

"How can that be?" I asked. "My water is broken, right?" Clearly, from all the "gushing" fluids earlier.

She told me that the amniotic sac actually has two layers. The outer one is thick and strong and the inner one is thin and weak and they usually break together. She even told me the names of them, but I don't recall them now. It might have been that just the outer layer broke.

"Would you like me to see if I can break that?" she asked.

"Sure. Yep. Do it." I replied.

So, the nurse fetched her the magic crochet hook and voila! There was still a little membrane left that she broke.

And that's when all hell broke loose....

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

...So it turns out that hell is a woman in unmedicated labor with a baby that won't descend. But hell broke loose, fo shizzle.

I thought things had been crazy up to that point, but I found out that I didn't even know crazy yet. The second membrane was broken and the time was now somewhere around 6:55pm, give or take five minutes. (I was told this later. Time was completely irrelevant to me at that point.) If you recall, Brynja was born at 7:14pm. This is not an unusual time line for my labors. I have always gone from 7 or 8 cm to a babe-in-arms in a matter of 20 or 30 minutes, if not faster. What was different in this case was what was happening in my body to create this outcome.

In my previous labors, I was present but my body was in control. I just rode the waves and managed the enormity of the pain and the process of birth. It was amazing really. I never realized until just now what went on during those births. It was as if the part of me that makes me ME was separate from my body... I guess that would be my spirit. I wasn't having an "out of body" experience, but I had to get myself out of the way of my body. Does that make any sense? This is hard to explain. To deal with bringing my first three babies into the world, I had to rise above my body and just let it do what it was built to do. It all just happened so beautifully and I got to participate as more of an observer. Not that I wasn't participating.... I was participating as completely as I knew how to, but I didn't have a say in what my body was doing... my body was just birthing that lovely finished product called baby, as it was engineered so divinely to do. I couldn't have made my body do differently if I tried. (Don't know if I was successful at explaining, but I think I've hit the beating-a-dead-horse point in this explanation.)

But for this birth, the baby was not descending right. I didn't and don't know why. There were no answers then and now there's only speculation. Whatever it was, it made things not behave in that perfectly engineered way that allowed me to just ride those contraction waves and watch it all unfold. I had to take control and make things happen.

So, yes. My second little membrane had been broken. I had a contraction or two... maybe. I can't remember exactly, but Helene's report kept echoing in my head.

7 cm.... 7 cm.... 7cm... 7cm... 7cm!!

And then I got mad.

I was taking control and this baby was coming out.

I don't know that I can explain what transpired in those next 10 or 15 minutes, but for my own clarity, I'm going to try. And, to be a little raw here, I'm scared to voice all this. This whole story has been so hard for me to write. Obviously, since it took me three months to finish the first installment and more than a month to finish the second. But writing it all out has also been... what's the word?... healing? Giving closure? I'm not sure, but it's been a good process for me. I've had many strange feelings surrounding this experience and writing is my best therapy.

So, after Helene broke that membrane and I got mad, I remember sitting Indian-style on the bed and going through a few contractions. During those, I remember grabbing the arms of the bed and, with all the energy I could put into my lats, traps and delts, lifting my whole body (except perhaps my legs) off of the bed in some sort of hovering push-up thing. I remember trying to create that feeling in my body of needing to push. I was making some hellish noise and probably striking fear into every laboring woman on the floor. I did several contractions like that and Helene said something to the effect of, "Clancy, I think you should move to hands and knees and try a few contractions that way."

I don't really even remember moving as she suggested, but I labored through a few contractions that way, and she was right. It was the next necessary position to get the baby down and I knew it. I could feel it.

That's when "The Beast" emerged. "The Beast" that had been laying dormant... in the depths of my soul. Dramatic, you say? Yes. Yes, it is. And yes, it was.

Unprompted from Helene, I turned that hands and knees labor position to a crouch position of sorts. I felt like a frog, with my feet flat on the bed, my hamstrings resting on my calves and my hands down pushing on the bed in front of me. I might have been sitting like a frog, but a werewolf might be a better description, noises included. It was guttural, gut-wrenching howls. And roaring. Literally. I was roaring. I'll never forget the first roar that erupted as I forced that baby down. My mom was standing behind me and to my right and as I roared, she laughed. The moment she laughed my head whipped around and I'm sure my eyes were daggers. That's how I felt. She immediately stifled her laugh and stammered, "Oh, it's not funny at all! It just took me by surprise!"   I think I took the whole room by surprise. But the intensity of the experience had everyone present aching for me.

I learned later that all those who came to support me were praying. My dad told me that he was praying and imagining himself as a funnel with the powers of heaven pouring down from above, through him and straight at me. He said he was sending every ounce of strength he had into me and my baby. Rebby was pleading for it to be over. Lacy and my mom too. I also learned that my father-in-law, who was hundreds of miles away and knew only that I was in labor, felt like something was going wrong. He prayed all afternoon and evening too. And even my cousin, also miles and miles away, had an intense feeling that something was wrong... a specific thing... and plead with God to "save her cousin".

I say "The Beast" somewhat in jest, but something truly primal was occurring in that room. I was MAKING that baby come down. There was nothing automatic about it like my previous labors. I, along with all the powers of heaven being sent my way, was bringing that baby into this world and I was telling my body so and IT. WAS. OBEYING.

It was truly amazing. And unfathomably hard. I can hardly even remember the exquisite intensity of those 15 or so minutes, except that it was the hardest thing I've EVER done in my life.

I hadn't felt pushing urges, but I was pushing anyway. And pushing. And roaring. And pushing. And eventually, I started to feel pressure! In previous labors, that pressure was the part I hated the very most. Pushing was so hard for me and I didn't ever want to do it because it is the most bizarre feeling in the world. But this time, it was such a welcome change and it meant that the end was near, so I embraced it.

I started asking Helene if she could see a head yet. What I didn't realize was that my frog/werewolf position kept her from seeing anything because I had my back to the bed in the upright position. She told me I could keep pushing that way, but I needed to turn around so she could see. Strangely, after all this madness, I didn't want to push in this position turned around because I didn't want everyone to see my butt. So weird that I cared about that at that point.

So, I turned around, but I semi-reclined on the bed. Actually, I was positioned so strange... I was all crooked at a weird angle, but once I got turned around, I was stuck because the baby was right there and there was no time for anything else.

And, just like everything else about this labor, this part went differently too, but for once, it was in my favor. My other babies I've had ZERO control when it came to the pushing. I wanted that discomfort and strangeness to get over with so badly, I just pushed like crazy and rocketed those babies right out! This time, I was in complete control. Helene would tell me to back off and I would. She tell me to do a little bit of a push and I would. She said to take it easy and I did. It was amazing. All of a sudden, I felt perfectly in control and clear in my head. I had been a crazy-insane basket case for the last seven hours and suddenly I was clear-headed. Amazing.

I eased the baby's head out and as she emerged, I remember Helene saying, "Oh my gosh! Look at that cord around her neck! We've got to keep this baby close.... things are really tight." I didn't have a clue what she was talking about, nor did I care. It was almost over. The rest of her little body was eased out and I had a baby. A big baby. I was overjoyed! I've never been so relieved in all my life. NEVER! It was absolutely amazing. AMAZING!

All that followed happened very quickly...the baby was out and lying on the bed below me and I heard Helene say, again, something about the cord around her neck. I looked and saw it. It was still around her neck and tightly. Helene quickly unwound the cord and said as she did, "Count them: one, Two, THREE, FOUR TIMES!" Brynja's cord was around her neck FOUR times! As soon as she was unwound, they put her right on me and I saw her precious face. And she looked at me.

There is something so magical about that moment. The blood. The joy. The relief. The cessation of pain. The look in that newborn face. Sometimes the bond is immediate, sometimes it takes a little more time, but the wonder! The wonder of that moment is something I'll never get used to. I've been privileged to experience it four times, and it's just as amazing this last time as it was the first time.

She didn't want to cry for us and she stayed purple for a minute or so. I don't remember being scared, but I remember Helene rubbing Brynja and saying over and over, "Come on, baby. Cry for your mamma." And then she did. And so did most everyone in the room.

My first thoughts were that she was going to be heavier than my other babies. She just looked fuller in her skin. At 8# 3oz, I was right. My second thought was the profound relief that it was over. And that feeling didn't go away for weeks. In fact, if I think long on the experience, the feeling awakens anew. That relief will likely be a lifelong thing. Relief that it had an ending at 7:14pm, and relief that she made it here safe and sound.*

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

*There was a video recorder running there at the end and Helene said, "This girl must have something special to do here. We don't see many make it out with the cord around their necks four times."

In retrospect, I honestly feel as though Brynja's stubbornness to descend into the birth canal in a normal way saved her life. Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about and she would have been fine... that's what my pediatrician seemed to think, but I have very strong feelings that had she stayed long in the birth canal, she would not be here. And also, if I had allowed myself to get an epidural, which I considered when I was in that Jacuzzi, I would not have been able to feel what needed to happen to get her down and quickly, and that would have kept her in the birth canal for too long. I think this would have ended in a Cesarean Section or worse had I gotten an epidural.

I've looked at it long and hard for four months now. I've analyzed and questioned, and that is my conclusion. Maybe someone with more medical background than I would say that I'm wrong and tell me the reasons why, but I would still stand by what I said. I think it all went as it had to. It was for her safe arrival that things went the way they went.

And I'm so grateful.

Brynja's Story Part 2

2010-07-27T22:51:00.016-06:00

Remember how I was telling Brynja's story a hundred years ago? Yeah. So if you don't want to hear about birth in all it's messy glory, skip this!

So, the kids were dropped off, the photos were taken, a blessing was given and we were on our way. I choose to see a Certified Nurse Midwife for my pregnancies and the one I like happens to be in a town that is 30 miles away from where I live. So, I deliver at a hospital that is a good half hour trek from my house. For Ella and Rohan's birth, this half hour drive worried me a bit because I always have my babies fast once I'm in labor. With Brynja? Not so much. The worry factor was missing as I was not having any contractions to speak of. The whole ride up to the hospital, Dustin and I commented several times at how weird this was. "We're going to have a baby and I'm not even having contractions? Have we ever even done this before?" It was bizarre.

So, we arrive and get ourselves all checked in. My midwife, Helene, had called ahead and told them I was coming and needed to be started on my lovely little antibiotic. She had also told me, in our previous appointments, that I should probably plan on spending two days in the hospital because it was likely that I would miss my second does of the antibiotic for the beta-strep since my labors are so fast. (My previous labors were FAST!) So, I was going in with that mindset, that I would just be so fast...but, I'm wasn't even having contractions. I was all screwed up in my head because how can I go fast when I'm not even having contractions!? It had never happened this way before and it was trippin' me out.

So, me and my screwed-up mind got plugged into a tasty little drip of penicillin and proceeded to sit on the bed and get watched by Dustin. Now you have to understand that Dustin's usual role by the time we've reached the hospital is "labor coach extraordinaire". In my previous labors, he's all in my face with breathing patterns and firm-voiced commands for me to focus and look in his eyes. Nope. Not. this. time. As he's sitting in a chair ten feet away from me he marvels again, "I don't even know what I'm doing!" ...and, "It's like we've never done this before." ...or maybe a, "You'd think on our fourth kid we'd know what to expect, but this is all brand new and so bizarre."

Yep. It was weird.

We just stared at each other. I was tethered to a monitor that revealed that I actually was having some contractions. Nothing regular and nothing strong enough to write home about, but contractions there were. Despite the contractions, I found myself getting dozey. I wanted to just fall asleep. And Dustin decided he was hungry. But before I fell asleep and Dustin got some take-out, we decided to get up and walk the halls to see if we could get things going.

After our fifth or sixth lap around the Labor and Delivery floor, a nurse sitting at her front-desk-post said, "You must not be having very strong contractions because you're making WAY too good a time around this desk." And she was right. We had nothin'. In fact, I was walking faster than Dustin and he was asking me to slow down. Well, the term walking is a stretch. It was severe waddling, really.

We went back to our room and picked up where we left off, with Dustin sitting in his chair watching me not have any contractions. His stomach spoke up again and demanded attention and I told him to obey his body and feed it. Nothing was happening with my body anyway. So, he left.

And, of course, that was right about the time that Helene showed up. Perfect. Helene came and looked at my monitor readouts and marveled at the lack of action (considering I was eight days overdue) and, with raised eyebrows, said, "Let's talk options."

Options... that sounded ominous. I've never before had "options" during labor. It's always just been a "GO" thing. Well, a "GO" and a "OH MY GOSH! SHE'S COMPLETE!" and then a "CATCH" thing.

Helene started laying it out for me. She didn't want to check my dilation, due to my broken water. Didn't want to increase the risk of any germies. So, who knows how much I'm dilated, right? Right. Because my water was broken, she wanted me in active labor 24 hours from the initial break. We could do this one of several ways. I could continue walking, walking, walking the very boring Labor and Delivery floor, all the while hauling my "puppy" (as Dustin not-so-affectionately dubbed my I.V. cart) by it's leash. Or we could bring in a breast pump and get that oxytocin flowing that way.

"Does that work?" I asked.

Helene replied that she had just had a woman about a week before who used a pump and got her labor started.   Cool. I was leaning toward that option.

"Or," she said, "we could start you on Pitocin and get you going and take you off when you're at about 5cm and let you labor on your own the rest of the way."

That option didn't sound so good. Anyone who's talked birth with me knows that I'm sorta anti-induction. I like to go "natural" or unmedicated and I had heard that Pit makes your contractions much more harsh and hard to deal with. They are hard enough to deal with on my own, so 'no thank you', I thought to myself.

"Well, Dustin is gone to grab some food and he'll be back in a minute, so how about I talk to him when he gets back and we'll figure out what we want to do." I told Helene.

She agreed and was going to leave to take her daughter, who was out in the hall, home and we'd call her when we decided what to do. Good plan.

Then, just as she was leaving, I asked her if she might want to check the baby's head to see if it had engaged in my pelvis because things had felt different the night before, like maybe the baby had dropped. "Good idea" she said.

And she grabbed that little baby head through my stomach and wiggled back and forth, the standard check. And she gasped.

"OH. MY. GOSH. That baby is still floating, Clancy!" Helene exclaimed. "I can't believe it!"

I couldn't believe it either. Just like everything else about this experience, this had never happened before. My babies have always dropped and been engaged at a normal time and stayed put. Not Brynja. She was floating all around in her little warm world with no interest in "dropping" into that exit position.

"This changes things, Clancy." Helene told me.

She explained to me that, since my water was broken and the baby was not engaged, it significantly increased the risk of cord abruption and we needed to get things happening sooner rather than later.

Crap.

I think this was about the time that Dustin showed up, appetite sated, and he was brought up to speed on recent discoveries. Helene decided to go ahead and check how far I was dilated so we knew where we were starting from. At my last appointment I was dilated to a measly 2 cm. She checked and, disappointed, told me I was not quite 3 cm.

Double crap.

Everyone was a little dismayed that I wasn't any further along than that. Helene, knowing how I felt about induction, told me what she thought the best course of action was: Pitocin. She wanted to put me on Pit and the monitors so they could watch the baby and make sure there was no problems with the cord and then take me off Pit when I was dilated to 5 or 6 cm and let me finish on my own. Dustin and I, not wanting to risk something as dangerous as cord abruption, concurred that Pitocin was the best course of action.

Triple crap.

Lucky for me, I was already hooked up to an I.V. so they just plugged in the Pit too. I noticed the contractions picking up soon after they plugged me in but they were fairly easy. Helene had left to take her daughter home and told me to have the nurses call her when I thought I needed her.

I know that the time was 12:30 pm when it all started, but there were no other markers of the time in my memory of that afternoon, except when it all ended at 7:14 pm.

I don't remember time, but I do remember the various stages of those seven hours. Those easy first contractions didn't last very long and quickly morphed into something I was having to breathe through. In my past labors I managed on my own with deep slow breaths and focused relaxation until I hit about 5 or 6 cm. So I did that for a little while. And I mean little. In no time at all I had Dustin in my face, back to the role he knew so well, Labor Coach. I had to change breathing patterns from those slow deep breaths to our "Ratio Breathing" that had gotten me through those tough contractions of the past. We did that for a while and then a nurse came in to check on us. She watched me go through a contraction and told me what great control I had. I managed a weak smile. I wasn't feeling so great.

Another contraction started up and I told her that she better call Helene because I was panting. It felt like I might be pushing soon.

The nurses called Helene at my request and then decided to check my cervix. At this point I was working HARD to keep myself focused and in control during the contractions, and I felt like I might need to push soon. I was sure I was going to be at least 7 cm dilated. I was working as hard as I ever had at 7, so it had to be so. The nurse checked me and gave me a 4 on my report card. What? Did she just say 4 cm? WHAT?! You've got to be kidding me. I couldn't believe it. COULD. NOT. BELIEVE. IT.

So, I continued on, breathing, moving as much as I could, tethered to the monitor and the I.V. cart as I was. (FYI, if you've never experienced unmedicated labor, moving helps A LOT in your ability to deal with the pain. At least it does for me and most women I've talked to.)

I had invited a few people to come to the delivery room., and one by one they showed up at various points throughout the day. My mom was first and then my dad. My good friend Rebby came at some point. And lastly, my sister Lacy. Some people freak out when I say that my dad was in the room. Labor is a personal experience and I'm ok with him there, so get over it! ;-) My dad coached my mom on all five of their kids (all unmedicated except my own birth) and he loves and honors the process of birth. He was there for several of his grandchildrens' births and since all his daughters are now done having babies, I wanted to make sure he was here as it was likely the last birth he'd be able to witness. And he was so grateful.

So I was working through contractions and they were getting harder and harder. Helene showed up again after they called her and I only remember begging her repeatedly to turn off the Pitocin. She wanted me to be at 5 or 6 cm before they turned it off though, so I continued. And before I was actually there, I begged some more and asked if I was a 5 cm yet.

Things get hazy here. Early on in this story, when I wasn't even having contractions, I mentioned that I was "dozey". I was falling asleep before I even started but, as things slowly progressed I got more and more tired. I remember hanging on the birth bar during a contraction. I was so exhausted that I couldn't even stand back up after the contraction ended. Dustin had to pull me up by my armpits. And I wasn't even at 5 cm yet! On that same birth bar I remember crying in between contractions. Sobbing... dripping tears and snot off my face. My brain was wacked out and I was completely exhausted and things were moving slow and contractions were coming HARD and FAST. It was misery at it's finest.

It was then that Helene suggested that I have a change of scenery. She had checked me at some point and I passed whatever milestone she was looking for before she turned off the Pit. I think she said I was at 7 cm then. In all honesty, I don't even remember the Pit getting turned off. I only know it was because she let me go try the shower or the jacuzzi. I chose the shower first. Bad move. It was FREEZING. For some reason, I didn't want to get my hair wet, so I was contracting, freezing and trying to keep water off my hair. Did I mention that I was crazy in my brain at that point? I really was.

The shower wasn't cutting it so I asked for the jacuzzi. It was down the hall and I remember trying to dry off and get to the jacuzzi before another contraction came. Dustin could tell I had one coming while I was in the hall and tried to stop me to get prepped for it. I pushed him aside and just told him to HURRY! I practically ran into the jacuzzi room, threw my hospital gown off and jumped into the water. I was insane.

I stayed in the jacuzzi for something like an hour to an hour and a half, I'd guess. Off Pitocin, my contractions started slowing down. It actually allowed me to rest between contractions which was just what I needed, I think. I remember falling asleep as I lay in the water. I only knew I was asleep because I had dreams. And I woke up to yet another contraction.

I remember making some crazy noises trying to deal with the pain. My voice got all hoarse from whatever I did. I remember feeling sorry for how pathetic my voice sounded. It sounded like a baby that has cried too long in it's bed. You know that scream? So sad. So pathetic. That was my worn out voice.

Dustin told me later that I had completely checked out at that point. I think he said it was about 5:00 when I got in the jacuzzi. He told me he gave up about that time. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to help me anymore. I was off in my brain and body somewhere and I wouldn't come back and focus on him no matter what he tried. That had never happened before either. He's always been my rock. I would always turn to him and he would keep me grounded. In retrospect, I am 100% positive that it was the Pitocin coursing through my body that made me so nutty. Hormones make women crazy and Pit is just a synthetic hormone. I was out of my mind and didn't cope well at all. At least not compared to how I usually am in labor. I would lay there sleeping or zoning, sit up and howl through a contraction and then slide back into my stupor.

I remember laying in one of those stupors between contractions, sort of sleeping. It had been just Dustin and I in the jacuzzi room for a while. I heard the door open and I saw, through the thin crack I had let my eyes open, legs walking in the room. Legs wearing scrubs followed by legs wearing black velour pants, my mom's legs. I heard Helene whisper the question to Dustin, "How is she?"

"I think she's going backward," he whispered back.

That wasn't good, was it? There was longer and longer in between contractions giving me respites that I desperately needed. Can't be all bad. I remembered at a few moments in that jacuzzi thinking that maybe I should get an epidural. I really thought it would never end. Never.

Helene spoke to me then. "Clancy?"

I opened my eyes.

I think we need to do something different. Your contractions are slowing down and I think we need to get them going again. I'm thinking you need to get up and walk some, or maybe we could put you back on Pitocin for a little while.

*Whimper from Clancy.*

My mom heard the desperation in that sound. And, being my mom, offered another option. "Clancy," she said and looked right into my eyes, as only my mom can. "Maybe you can get out of this tub, go back to your room and get checked. Maybe you're really close and you just need to move a little bit to get things going again. At least then you can make more of an informed decision."

"Ok." I croaked with my howling-scream tired voice.

We managed to get back to the bed in my room. As Helene checked me I saw her eyebrows draw down and in a crestfallen voice, she told me, "Clancy... you're still a seven."

And, in Rebby's words, this is when Clancy swore. No one said anything then, but all those present in the room were ACHING for me. I hadn't progressed at all in the last almost two hours. I can't remember whether or not I cried.

Helene just looked at me with a furrowed brow for a minute or two. "What do you want to do?"

*Whimper*

*Contraction*

*More whimpering*

I had no idea. I wanted to die. I remember asking Helene to just make it come out. Just get it out, please.

Her face shifted a little bit. Light came into her eyes and she said, "You know, I wonder if that membrane is completely ruptured?"

"Huh?"

"When I was checking you, I thought I felt some membrane still covering the baby's head."

"How can that be?" I asked. "My water is broken, right?" Clearly, from all the "gushing" fluids earlier.

She told me that the amniotic sac actually has two layers. The outer one is thick and strong and the inner one is thin and weak and they usually break together. She even told me the names of them, but I don't recall them now. It might have been that just the outer layer broke.

"Would you like me to see if I can break that?" she asked.

"Sure. Yep. Do it." I replied.

So, the nurse fetched her the magic crochet hook and voila! There was still a little membrane left that she broke.

And that's when all hell broke loose.

...To be continued....

Brynja's Story Part 1

2010-06-28T23:59:00.031-06:00

It's been three months and eight days since my baby girl took her first breath and it's high time I tell her story as it is one that needs recording. Childbirth is one of my very favorite topics. I love to hear birth stories, and I love to talk about my own children's births. Not everyone feels the same as I, so if birth is something you'd rather not talk about, or in this case, read about, please feel free to skip this post.

For whatever reason, I did not want to write much during my pregnancy. Perhaps it's because this pregnancy was harder for me than any of my others. I was more sick than I was with Ella and Rohan, but not as sick as I was with Mac. Early in the pregnancy, I was so incredibly tired. I've never been so tired in my whole life. I was ready to go to bed at 6pm every day.

But it wasn't just how I felt physically that made this pregnancy harder. I feel like emotionally, or psychologically it was more difficult than ever. For the last few years I've known there was one more person that was supposed to be in our family, but I was very comfortable in my then-current circumstances in life and I had gotten far enough past the "baby" stage of child-rearing that it was hard to want to start anew with diapers, nursing, binkies, and sleepless nights. I honestly just wanted to be done, but my little Brynja was waiting and I knew it. Dustin knew it too (although he always denied it). Despite this mutual (but mostly unspoken) knowledge, years passed and the time was never right.

But then, suddenly, it was.

And I got pregnant.

Those nine months flew by and suddenly my due date, March 12th, was here!!! ...and then it was gone. I already wrote out some of those feelings previously. It was such a weird time. I had so much anxiety and yet so much detachment about having a baby. I was scared of labor this time. (I always am, but more so each pregnancy.) I was anxious about how my life would change once the baby was born. And yet, it felt like it was never really going to happen. It felt like, despite my ever-growing belly, it was not really going to happen. I wasn't really going to have a baby! As it turns out, I was and I did.

My due date came and went and I, relatively patiently, waited for something to happen. But nothing was despite all the walking and various other things we tried to start labor. I would show up to my midwife's office hoping for some progress with dilation or effacement and I was let down repeatedly. I was dilated to 1cm and "thick". The next week, no change. And the next week, barely dilated to a 2 and still no effacement. Then at almost a week over my due date I was still the same. It was very frustrating. Not to mention the fact that I kept thinking the baby had "dropped" because of the discomfort I was feeling and the fact that people continually told me I looked "lower" than I had been before. But each time she'd check the head position, the baby was still floating around, easy to move, not engaged at all. I only cried a handful of times.

And so, on Friday, the 19th of March, I thought perhaps my water had broken. But then I didn't know and I was left confused. I called Helene, who is my midwife, and she said unless it's "gushing" or consistently leaking not to worry about it. So, I didn't. Dustin and I went and got some food that night and I was sure that the baby dropped as we were out on the town. I was excited to go for a non-stress test the next morning at 10:00 to see if my suspicions were true.

We went to bed that night with no sign of anything happening. I woke up at about 4am and found that my water was definitely broken and was at the "gushing" stage. Awesome. If you haven't had your water break, you haven't LIVED! or something. I've never had that happen before. My water broke with Mac when I was in labor and dilated to 5cm, and Ella and Rohan's labors, my midwife broke my water just before they were born. So, this was new to me. Water breaking with no contractions? Weird.

I figured I'd be having a baby within the next 24 or so hours, so I took a shower! Yes, I took a shower, fixed my hair and put on some makeup at 4:30 a.m. I was going to look "cute" in labor, I decided. Vain? Maybe, but I do get tired of looking like total crap in all the pictures of post-delivery so call me vain if you must. Dustin was up with me and he showered too. As I was fixing my face/hair, Dustin decided he was going to go back to bed for a while and try and get some sleep. I finished my beautification and then puttered around and gathered the rest of my stuff for our hospital bag. It was very weird to be doing that with nary a contraction. Not even a ripple.

I got my bag all packed and it was almost 6am by that point. I didn't want to wake my midwife up unnecessarily early so I decided to follow Dustin's example and try to get some sleep, make-up, fancy hair and all. Into bed I climbed and I was asleep almost instantly.

Rohan woke me at 8:00 with his daily request for a bowl of cereal and the day was officially underway. And oh, what a day it was!

I called Helene, my midwife, and told her I was "gushing" fluid and she told me to eat some breakfast and head on up to the hospital to get started on my antibiotic. I was lucky enough to be Beta-Strep positive for the first time ever, and so I had the pleasure of an I.V. in my arm. I had one previously with Mac, but neither Rohan nor Ella's labor did they require it of me.

I had always assumed I'd go into labor in the middle of the night, because that's what I've done every other time. So, I had arranged for help with my other kids for the middle of the night. I never dreamed I'd have to arrange for my children on a Saturday morning. I made a few calls and got things arranged. We all ate some breakfast and packed up!

It's a very surreal feeling to leave your house with zero labor action and know the next time you come into it, you are going to have a baby in your arms.

So, we dropped our kids off at our friend's house. Rebby wanted to take a picture of Dustin and I, on our way to have a baby.

And there we are! Dustin and his big rarely-seen-in-pictures smile, and me, in all my round, feminine glory. Uh huh.

And off we went.

To be continued...

Crafty

2010-06-26T22:43:00.002-06:00

Don't laugh, please. Anyone who knows me knows I am not crafty by nature.

Despite that fact, I've been surfing some little crafty waves in my life. I would just love to add pictures to this post, but alas, my camera just stopped working the other day. No reason. I didn't drop it or anything. It just randomly freaked out. Stupid thing.

It's strange but I've been "seeing" the possibilities in things. I was at a craft store getting some supplies for this project I did with my kids and I saw this shelf on sale....

nevermind.

That was extremely boring and I don't want to write about it anymore.

I just want to write something and I want it to be good. That was not it. Neither is this though. None of this is good writing, but I'm writing something and I'll take it.

I was at Lowe's this evening and I asked one of the workers where something was. She told me and then walked with me for part of the way. She smelled so darned good. I just kept sniffing the air around her. She stopped and helped somebody else and I looked for my items. When I finished getting what I needed, I walked past her again and stopped.

"Can I ask you a strange question?" I inquired of the woman.

She looked dubious. "Sure..." she said. Her tone was anything but sure.

I tried to look reassuring. "Do you wear perfume?"

That was not the question she was expecting to hear. A myriad of emotions flew across her features in the blink of an eye. She laughed nervously. "Yes, I do!"

"What kind is it?" I responded before she asked me if I was a psycho. "What's the name?"

"Skin Musk" she replied and laughed.

I figured I owed her some sort of explanation at this point. I told her how she smelled so darned good and I just kept wondering what it was I was smelling. She was shocked and told me that she was worried because she'd been sweating a lot and she was sure she was just plain stinky. I reassured her that she didn't stink at all, and, in fact, smelled heavenly and asked her where I could purchase this lovely scent.

"Walgreens," she informed me. "Just down the street."

Guess where I stopped on the way home? And guess what only cost me $6.99? I hope it smells as good on me as it does on her. I'll keep you posted. Or not. We'll see.

All in all it was an interesting trip to Lowe's. And, all in all, this turned into a strange post that has nothing to do with the title.

Un-Snap?

2010-06-26T00:08:00.000-06:00

I guess that would be sound I heard today as Dustin and I fixed the broken belt on the car. Really, there was no sound to the fixing, I just wanted to synchronize my post from earlier. There were a few sounds, I guess. But I won't mention Dustin's cursing. It just wasn't that nice.

So, Dustin and I didn't take the van to the shop... we fixed it ourselves. That's right, I said we. I totally helped! (It's Shake and Bake... and I hailped!... random commercial line that just popped in my head. Does anyone else remember that stupid commercial?)

Dustin fixing cars himself is nothing new. He's a fairly good mechanic-man. A very good trait, that. But me fixing it with him? New. I was so brave. I put my hand way down inside the enginey area and put the belt in the right place in several spots. I hate engines. I have fears about sticking my hand down there. I remember my ball or toy going under the car when I was a kid... I'd try to coax someone else into going under to get it for me, or I'd get a broom or something to shove it out with. I did whatever heroics I could to get that toy out without having to go under the car myself. I was S-C-A-R-E-D. So, yeah, I overcame some fears today and put my hand right down in those enginey parts. TOUGH Clancy. Dustin was way tougher than me though. He laid down on the yucky road in front of the auto-parts store, got all grimy and gross and stuck his hand in enginey places whilst feeling claustrophobic. (maybe he didn't feel clausto, but I did for him.) So, he wins. But he's not scared of that, so maybe I win, right?

Whatever. And, as it turns out, it wasn't the alternator belt. Well, it was a belt that goes on the alternator, but Dustin said it's called the "serpentine belt". Did you know cars have serpentine belts? I didn't, but it sounds so cool, right?

"I'm going to wear my 'serpentine belt' today."

HA!

Snap!

2010-06-25T10:59:00.000-06:00

That was what I heard turning my car in a fast food drive-through chute yesterday. I thought I hit a little metal pole with my car, but I checked my mirrors and, no, I didn't. Hmm... I shrugged it off, ordered my not-so-delicious-but-I-don't-care-because-cooking-dinner-is-apparently-beyond-the-scope-of-my-abilities-today food, and then heard a "ding"! I looked down and saw a dash-light I didn't even know existed... the battery light. Does your car have a battery light? Mine does, but I didn't know that prior to yesterday. 'Why is the battery light dinging at me?" I thought. "I don't know" replied my thoughts.

I started to pull forward to pay at the "second window" and realized that I had no power steering. No power steering in drive-through tight corners is a bad thing. I guess it could be a good thing if you're looking for a new arm and shoulder workout, but that's beside the point.

The point is, I snapped my alternator belt. It makes very little sense to me why my alternator belt would affect my power steering. Dustin explained it to me, but I forget the mechanics of it.

And, of course, that would have to be the day that I forget my cell phone. Darn that dependency on technology! Thank goodness for a nice gentleman who let me borrow his. And thank goodness for my mom who came and rescued me because Dustin won't answer the phone if he doesn't know the phone number calling. Even if it calls five times in a row, back to back, apparently. (could have to do with the fact that he had a screaming baby in his arms... the cell phone was not the only thing I left at home.)

So, today I get to play the "car in the shop" game.

Good times.

Distracted

2010-06-15T12:52:00.000-06:00

I was right in the middle of a veritable cleaning frenzy. And now I'm distracted by my blog. I need to write things. I love to read them later. I just reread "Bounce" and it satisfied me to read it, silly as it was. And so...

My older three children are on a little trip right now. Dustin's parents met us halfway(ish) between our house and theirs and picked up Mac, Ella and Rohan. This morning the kiddos got to ride on a passenger train of Union Pacific's. I don't know details except that they were excited. I can't wait to hear about it.

This was important to Marsha, my mother-in-law, because her father was a train engineer for Union Pacific for a long long time. He retired with UP. She wanted her grandchildren to have an experience with trains and I wanted to be supportive of that desire. Not to mention my kids were STOKED to ride a train. I thought it sounded fun myself! But the thought of driving anywhere of any distance with my newish baby and without my husband makes me sweat. Brynja does not, particularly, enjoy riding in the car. So, we met them halfway and they took our kids and are keeping them for a couple days, which is a nice little break for me, coupled with the duality of missing them. *sigh*

Speaking of Brynja, she and I went on a long walk this morning. One hour, to be exact. I haven't moved my body very much since she was born. (or before, for that matter) It was excellent. I am anxious to get myself moving and get my body back into shape. Miss B seemed to like the stroller. She hasn't liked it much so far, but she's almost three months old now and she's becoming more aware of the world beyond the 3 feet surrounding her person. I think that made the difference in her stroller-enjoyment factor this morning, plus the fact that it was finally a pleasant temperature outside (hello, it's June 15th! 'Bout time, I say!).

Garage sale is still pending. I'm shooting for this weekend now. It's rather an involved process, preparing for it. And so, I best get back at it, the cleaning and yard-sale prep.

Wrought

2010-06-07T11:42:00.000-06:00

There are various havocs being wrought in my life right now.

Nursing wreaks havoc on my back and neck. So does holding a baby for much of the day. But this little bug is so sweet and precious and this time is so short that I'll savor the havoc wrought. I don't mind one bit.

Remodeling wreaks havoc on my house and my sanity, but there is such a big, bright, shining, radiant beam of light at the end of this tunnel, I don't mind this one bit either. I really can hardly believe I'll have a new basement soon. SOON!

Rain everyday wreaks some havoc on my mental state. But I don't have to water my grass and garden much.

Greek food (or Lebanese) wreaks havoc on my taste buds and I want to eat it every day.

Not having a dresser for Brynja wreaks havoc on my room. Sad thing is, I have one, but I want to paint it and so I keep not using it thinking I'll paint it. And here I sit typing about it while it sits downstairs remaining unpainted.

:-)

All good things. Equal measures of havoc and peace.

Remodeling

2010-06-02T23:13:00.001-06:00

I have a hole in my bathroom wall. Dustin threw his dirty clothes down the hole tonight because he wanted to be funny. Don't worry. They landed right in front of my washer and dryer in the basement. If you're thinking, "Hey a laundry chute!", just think again. This hole is behind the tub and you can see all the "tub guts"... pipes and such... that are normally hidden by the wall. This hole is right next to the toilet. If you feel so inclined, you can look up from the basement and say hello to someone as they are doing their business. It's a little weird when guests drop by. But we already know I get a little nutty when guests drop by. I am getting better about my nuttiness.

But the hole in the wall doesn't help.

Bounce

2010-06-02T00:51:00.001-06:00

My thoughts are bouncy right now. I'm sitting at the computer at 12:27am and I'm reading various items while I listen to the washer and the dryer do their thing. I can't type fast enough. I'm having thoughts again. Thoughts that I want to share. Thoughts that I want to scribble out with my swirly handwriting. But I'll type instead.

Does anyone even read this anymore? I feel like I've forgotten how to blog.

When I die I want to be buried in a pine box. Like, a homemade one. I don't want thousands of dollars spent on my coffin. Just a simple pine box. Or cremation. That's ok with me.

I dislike cooking bacon. Do you know why? Because I can't stand my house to smell like bacon. And I can't stand my hair to smell like bacon. And let's not forget my clothes. I don't like my clothes to smell like bacon. Bacon tastes good. But the smell clings like the dickens.

I have a smell thing. I can't stand my hands to smell like food, unless it's cilantro. I love cilantro.

Today I put on my blue shirt. I love the color of this shirt.

When I put it on, I smelled the most wonderful smell! I was in heaven. I kept sniffing myself (well, my shirt, really) all day and wondered why I smelled so darned good.

Later I figured out that I wore this shirt last Friday. I had gone to the mall and tried a tester of perfume at The Gap. Guess what? I want that perfume. Bad.

I am not good at mailing things. Just so you know.

Sometimes I want to die when people come to my house. I get so self conscious about every imperfection. If ever anyone goes into my basement, I always ask them before they go down if they will still be my friend if they see how messy and crazy my basement is. Silly? Yes. And there's some sarcasm in the question... but mostly it's a valid fear.

My aim is to have a yard sale on Saturday. I'm excited and anxious about it.

I don't like planning birthday parties for my kids. The hardest part for me is getting out the invitations. I'm really not very good at this facet of parenthood. But that's ok with me. I'm good at the ones that are more important, I think.

I love doing laundry. Don't let me fool you if ever I'm complaining about it. It's very possible that it's my favorite household chore.

I'm trying some generic diapers tonight. Keep your fingers crossed for me and Miss B.

Speaking of Miss B, baby Brynja is precious. She laughed last Thursday and Friday nights. I told Mac about it when she did it the first time and he went on and on about how he just couldn't believe it. How she's growing up so fast. His face showed every emotion and he said, "That just makes me want to cry!" and I could see the tears just under the surface. What a sweet, tender boy. How many almost-ten-year-olds would be so thrilled and emotional about their baby sister laughing for the first time?

I love my life and my bouncy late-night thoughts.

I Am Going

2010-05-22T12:58:00.002-06:00

to win this giveaway.

Apparently

2010-05-05T13:05:00.000-06:00

Apparently I'm not writing the important things, so I'll blather.

Apparently I'm not doing the daily tasks, so I Facebook.

Apparently I'm not keeping straight, so I visit my chiropractor.

Apparently I'm not keeping my dishes washed, so I shrug.

Apparently I was trying to be poetic but I keep falling on my face again and again and the backspace button is my new best friend and apparently I decided to forget about being poetic and, rather, write one big run-on sentence about nothing in particular while I notice the clock and think to myself that it's time to go pick up Ella and why am I still sitting here and then I answer myself and say that it's because I actually FEEL like writing something and that hasn't happened in so long I almost forgot how to do it and so I reply again that it's ok and Ella is fine to wait for two minutes with her friends outside the school under the supervision of teachers while I spew a bit of useless information in a run-on sentence but realize that it may be useless to the casual reader, but vital to my own mental health because apparently useless information is dripping from my brain like a leaky faucet and it must come out.

Apparently I'm not finished with my blog, so I smile.

Check Out

2010-05-03T10:42:00.002-06:00

this giveaway! How cool is Micci? Too cool for school.

Brynja Leigh and the Contest Winner

2010-03-28T11:20:00.001-06:00

Hidee ho. I had a baby!

Most of you already know that thanks to the wonders of Facebook, but I did post a little contest on my blog a while ago and some of you might be wondering who the winner of that contest is!

This was a tough decision for me. I sat in my bed in the hospital making a chart of all the guesses, and figuring out who got what right. I was hoping that some soul would have guessed two of the three right, but sadly, no. Anyone who got any correct only got one. There were many guesses for girl, and INDEED, we got ourselves a girl! The most angelic little girl I've met. She's so sweet and mellow and I can't kiss her enough.

So, good job to all those who guessed girl, namely Polly, Maria, Jenn, Holly, Emily, Ginny, Jen, Kristin, and Marci!

Then we have the date... March 20th was it. She was born on the first day of Spring, which really fits somehow. Why didn't I think of that before?

We had one correct guess for the date and that was by my friend Beth. Good job, Beth! :)

And then the weight... my biggest baby yet! She weighed in at 8lbs 3oz. I could tell the moment they set her on me that she was bigger than my other kids. She just looked fuller in her skin. Ella came later... 11 days overdue, but she only weighed 7.13, Mac was 7.6 and Rohan was 7.3.

We also had just one correct guess on the weight and that was Miss Stevie Kay! Good job, Stevie!

But, alas, there was no one, not ONE person who guessed more than one correct "stat". I was in a quandry! I didn't know what to do. Dustin and I hashed over a few ideas and then I kind of forgot about the whole thing for a while.

And then the winner came to me. My exact words in the contest rules were: "The person whose answers come closest to the actual stats will win some homemade treats from me. " And guess what? Marci came the closest! She had one correct guess, GIRL. And then, her other picks were March 19, just one day off, and 8 lbs., 4 oz., just one ounce off! So, she was the closest to the actual stats!

Congratulations Marci! You are the winner of some homemade treats! I will get them to you some time in the next couple weeks. :)

Thanks to everyone for playing! It made that last little bit of overdue-ness more bearable to have more than just me guessing at when the baby would ever come.

And for your viewing enjoyment...

Miss Brynja Leigh
born March 20, 2010 at 7:14pm, weighing 8 lbs., 3 oz., 20 1/2" long.
(and her head and chest were both 14 1/4")

Mom and Brynja

(by the way, her name is pronounce BRIN-ya... Scandinavian J...)

Dad and Brynja

I want to write more about the labor, etc., but I will have to do that another day. My kids have been so sweet with their new little sister. They can't get enough of her! These pics are of her first day home from the hospital. She was not quite 48 hours old.

We are so blessed.

Contest

2010-03-13T13:07:00.001-07:00

My due date has come and gone. It was a happy day for me, if you recall from yesterday's post. Today I'm feeling a little grumpy. Ok, VERY grumpy. I can't pin why... I think it had something to do with my dream this morning before I woke up, because I woke up grumpy. I am short tempered with my kids and my husband and I've worked the morning away dipping pretzels while my ears were stuffed with my newly purchased earbuds (that don't hurt my ears! I ♥ you, SkullCandy!) blaring Imogen Heap. Every question presented to me by my children gets the same answer today... "Go ask your Dad" or "Talk to your Dad about that." Nice. I'm just escaping into my iPod.

As I was dipping and thinking of how I'm still pregnant and everything, I decided that I'd have a little contest. I really don't like to enter this type of contest, but some people do. So, if you're like me, just ignore and continue with your day. If you're not... have fun with the following contest.

Contest has three factors. Answer all three in a comment for your chance to win!

1- What day will this baby be born?
2- How much will it weigh?
3- Will it be a boy or a girl?

The person whose answers come closest to the actual stats will win some homemade treats from me. Treats like chocolate/caramel covered pretzels, or maybe a caramel/chocolate apple, or perhaps a Caramel Pecan Bar, or some combination of all three. It'll depend on how I feel.

Gourmet Apples

Caramel Pecan Bars

Sorry... no picture [handy] of the pretzels...

Sound fun?

Well, it makes me feel better, anyway. In fact, it put a smile on my grumpy face. Amazing!

So, I guess I'll close the contest Wednesday the 17th at midnight, MST. You can only enter once. If I have the baby before the contest closes, then the contest will close when I have the baby. Make sense?

Start guessing!

Due Date

2010-03-12T10:26:00.000-07:00

So today is my "due date"... whatever that means. Just thought I should jot down a few thoughts about this pregnancy, pending labor and our up-and-coming baby.

I woke up this morning at 6:50. Dustin has been working out of town since Tuesday of this week and he often calls me right at 7:00 to wake me (just in case I don't wake to my alarm) so I can wake up Ella for school. (that's normally his role when he's home.) But today, Ella didn't have school, so I didn't want him to call because the phone would ring which would potentially wake up the kids and I had dreams of them sleeping in. So, I beat him to the punch and called him first. (which, by the way, kept the kids asleep for an extra twelve minutes... hooray.)

I could tell as soon as he said hello that he had been asleep, and, today being my "due date", he said hello in a bit of a panic. I couldn't believe I woke my husband up from a dead sleep at 6:50 a.m! He's ALWAYS awake by then. He's what you might call a morning person. (huge understatement) I assured him that I was not in labor and offered my apologies and expressions of shock that I woke him up. And then I got off the phone and promptly fell asleep again.

During that extra bit of sleep, I had a dream that I had my baby. It was a boy and I had it at home (but really in some sort of swimming pool... you know how dreams are). After the birth I got up, leaving the baby in the water where it was gently floating (I wasn't worried... you know how dreams are!), and went somewhere. I remember feeling disappointed. Not that it was a boy, but disappointed that it was so big! The baby looked like it was about 8 months old rather than newborn. It could sit up and it was wearing overalls and a striped T-shirt and looked like someone else's baby that I know. It didn't feel like my baby.

Then, in my dream, it was the next day and I was laying in my bed with my very large baby. I realized that I had no idea how much it weighed because we didn't have a scale to weigh it on. I was guessing this baby weighed about 18 pounds. I was trying to get used to this baby who felt like a stranger to me and I realized that it had my coloring. It even had freckles. (none of my kids have my coloring which is very fair and freckled, not to mention bright pink when exposed to the sun. My kids all brown up nicely in the sun, but none are quite as dark as Dustin who gets so sun-darkened he looks like he could be some another nationality) Seeing that it had my coloring was a small step toward feeling like it actually was my child, but I was still sad that I didn't get to have a newborn baby. I also realized that we had the baby 24 hours ago and we hadn't called anyone! So, I got out of bed to find the phone to call my mom and just then, in real life, Rohan called out to me and I got out of bed to help him with something. I was still looking for the phone to call my mom after I was really out of bed and it took me a good thirty seconds to realize that it was all a dream. I was actually still pregnant. I was going to get a newborn out of this deal after all, and I would get the chance to love it from that newborn-mother connection point rather than that strange baby that looked like it was 8 months old. My baby would weigh somewhere in a normal, I'm guessing, 7 pound range rather than an 18 pounder who already had freckles, teeth and the ability to sit up on it's own! I was so relieved!

I tell that story because, in all honesty, I've been very nervous about this baby... in all aspects. I've been nervous about the birth. I've been anxious about the change my lifestyle is about to take. I've been in a state of constant disassociation with the whole thing like it's not really real. Like it's someone else's life that's about to change, not mine. Even with my very large belly and very awkward body, I have continued to feel a sense of denial that this is actually happening to me... and soon. VERY soon at this point!

However, this dream was reassuring to me somehow. When I realized it was just a dream and that I would get my sweet, tiny little newborn rather than that big baby that didn't feel like my own, I was SO relieved! And I was excited! Excited to see what it would really look like. Would it really be a boy or would it be what Dustin has been so sure of all along, a girl? I was happy that I would be able to experience the birth and wonder of this brand new resident of Planet Earth! I couldn't stop thinking of that baby in my dream, but I didn't want to think of it anymore. I just wanted to see my own baby! I wanted to see that newborn one whom I will fall in love with... when we are both covered in all the stuff of birth that goes completely unnoticed in that magical moment of connection of mother and child. With those thoughts, I felt a thrill that I have not felt, except perhaps vaguely, in the last 9 months.

I think today I finally feel ready. Maybe that's what my "due date" was for this time around. It was the scheduled date for this reality to find it's way into my heart and become something tangible and exciting for me, rather than a nebulous, anxiety riddled unknown in my life. And it's really interesting to me that I can write this and express it now. I haven't wanted to write anything! And here it is... cohesive thoughts forming and flowing and wanting to find their release.

Dustin is on his way home right now from working out of town, and I feel like I can do this now. Dustin will be home. (having him gone so close to this date has made for several anxious days) I can cope with natural childbirth one last time, with my sweetheart's incredible help and his strength and power to lean on. I can have this baby come into my life with complete joy, excitement and acceptance rather than the reserve, fear and denial I've been experiencing off and on up to this point. Of course there will still be an adjustment period. Of course! There always is. A whole new element is being added to the dynamic of our family and that takes adjustments on all levels and for all of us involved, but I feel a thrill at the thought of it, rather than the skewed sense of fear I've been experiencing.

And I might, just might, even miss this body when it's all over. Dustin keeps reminding me that... to enjoy this for this last time. Enjoy those internal kicks and thumps... the continual reminders of the miracle occurring within me. He also watches me and tells me all the time how beautiful I am, how he loves my round belly, and how I am the embodiment of feminine power. (Golly, I love that man of mine.) I will try to enjoy this complete expression of feminism for however long I have left, despite any pain and awkwardness I feel.

Thank you, Due Date for this gift, and thank you to the unknown baby of my dream who allowed for this expression and excitement to find it's way into the dark fear-places of my heart and bring light.

And for posterity... some photos of the belly. These were taken two weeks ago.

This is my "I feel like a retard standing here smiling for the camera" face!

For this picture Dustin climbed onto the arm of our couch for an 'arial' view...

hence my look of "what the heck are you doing?"

Happy Friday everyone, and Happy Happy Due Date, me! ☺

Totally

2010-03-10T09:07:00.002-07:00

Guess what?

Yesterday's contest at my friend Mag's blog? Remember that? I TOTALLY WON!! I'm so excited! So, in the next few days I'll be receiving a spectacular lemon friendship cake in the mail. :)

Maybe it will arrive just after I have the baby and it will be like Mags dropping off a little gift for me to say Happy New Baby! I'd like to think of it like that anyway, because Mags is my friend of several years that I've never met. :)

Thanks, Mags, for the contest! My day has been made. Not to mention the tulips that I saw peeking their little red/brown heads out of the cold ground this morning!! Along with the lovely sunshine and the almost complete lack of snow in my front yard! Bless you, Spring! And Bless you, Mags!

Oh, Happy Happy Day of March the 10th!

2010-03-09T09:05:00.001-07:00

Go visit my friend Mags today! She's having a giveaway just for today... ends tonight. All you have to do is answer her fun questions and, if you're chosen, she'll send you one of her fabulous baked goods! (she's a trained chef and you don't want to miss out!)

Click here to enter...

And click here for the why and how of the giveaway!

Happy 100K, Mags!!!

Oh, yeah... please be sure to tell her I sent you!!!

Concrete...

2010-03-02T16:06:00.004-07:00

Our basement is largely unfinished. Remember back about a year ago when we finished the two bedrooms in my basement? That was a great day. Now, the time is upon us where we should be able to finish the family room and the bathroom and the hallway too (or, in other words... all the other rooms in our basement)!!! Isn't that exciting? I think so.

As I'm writing this post, my Ella is wearing my Rollerblades (she wears mine because she doesn't have any of her own because her feet grow like mad. MAD, I tell you! The child is seven years old and she wears a size 4 or 5. I wore a size 5 when I was in 5th grade... she's in 2nd!). She is wearing my blades and zooming from her [finished] room, through the [unfinished] family room, down the [unfinished] hall and into Mac's [finished] bedroom. My children have done this every day for the past month or two... strapped on their blades and zoomed around on our concrete, unfinished floors. What a blessing this has been through the dreary months of winter when outside play on concrete sidewalks is just a memory, and the dream of Spring dances in front of our closed eyes as we cuddle in front of gas-forced-air heat.

If that wasn't enough, Rohan spent a good hour yesterday doing drawings with sidewalk chalk on our concrete basement floors while Mac and I were doing school. We've had a few ants in our basement as the weather is starting to change and Roh drew "traps" for them in addition to a large, Rohan-sized arrow that pointed toward the invaders with the word "DEAD" written after the arrow. He had to let the pesky ants know that their fate was sealed...

And so, when the time comes (soon!) to enjoy carpeted floors and real walls rather than our own in-home skating rink/chalk-drawing board, it will be a bittersweet thing.

But mostly sweet.

A Free Tip

2010-02-23T09:58:00.002-07:00

When you see a woman who is mere weeks away from her "due date", please refrain from asking "How are you feeling?" unless you really want to know...

She's feeling as big as a house. She can't breathe. She can't bend over and pick things up. She can't run to save her life. She hates all her clothes and wants to burn them. She's exhausted, but sleeping is misery. She misses her skinny ankles. She waddles and doesn't like it. She has ligament pain almost constantly. She hates washing dishes because she can't reach the water stream without twisiting or bending. She gets tired of the "bladder dance" going on inside her and the contractions that regularly accompany the dance. She can't get off the couch without either a helping hand or ridiculous body contortions and grunting. She can't sleep on her back and, when she has to switch from one side to the other, she can't help but think of beached whales. She wakes up completely when she does have to roll over for all the effort involved. She has heartburn as she lays in bed and sometimes wakes up from a dead sleep to find herself choking on bile. She has olfactory senses that are so acute that they pick up every strange scent in the vicinity, which is not necessarily to her benefit. She has no lap for her four year old to sit on. She has labor to look forward to...

I could go on and on.

Get it? Just ask a normal question like, "How are you?" Then she can smile and say, "Fine" or "As good as can be expected", and she won't feel like punching you in the face...

-This free tip was brought to you by The Very Pregnant Women for a Less Aggravating World Coalition

Rohan Repair

2010-02-15T11:24:00.001-07:00

Before my memory gets too hazy, I wanted to get this 'on the books' for the record.

Last Tuesday, Rohan went in for surgery. He had a hydrocele/hernia repair. He's had the hydrocele for a long time, since he was in diapers, and we had taken him in to have it looked at when he was little. Apparently these things are often self-correcting and so we were told to just watch it. Well, I watched for several years and it didn't appear to improve, but seemed to be worse, in my estimation. So, a few weeks ago, I took him back in to the Dr. This Dr. told me that if it hasn't corrected itself by now (he's almost 5 years old), then it will not correct itself and leaving it uncorrected is as good as asking for a hernia in the future, if he didn't already have one.

So, he recommended a specialist for us. We went and this specialist told us that it was indeed a hydrocele and already had an accompanying hernia and should be repaired. He took one look at my very round, pregnant torso and asked, "When is this baby coming?". I told him that it was due in about 5 1/2 weeks and he recommended that we fix Rohan ASAP so we won't be worrying about having a baby and having a little boy in surgery at the same time. A wise plan, I thought.

He scheduled the surgery for less than a week later and off we went for a few days of anticipation.

Monday night arrived. Surgery was scheduled for the next morning. My parents had graciously volunteered to take Mac and Ella and let them sleepover at their house, as we had to be at the hospital with a sleepy little boy at 5:30 a.m. Dustin took the day off work and both Rohan and I were very glad he was there. (Rohan has become quite the little daddy's boy in the last few months.)

We woke early, got ourselves ready and woke Rohan. He couldn't have anything to eat or drink and so we rushed him out the door before he could remember that he should be eating breakfast. He was sleepy and wary at the hospital. He didn't want to watch T.V. or do anything except sit on his dad's lap, or sit on mine and play with my hair. We got him dressed in his little hospital jammies and when the anesthesiologist came, he told us that Rohan would need to drink some medicine that would help him relax. In fact, he said it would make him "punch drunk". I said something to the effect of, 'Good luck with that one... Rohan won't even drink liquid Tylenol. He hates liquid medicine and he does much better swallowing a pill.'

The doctor was quick on his feet and told Rohan that if he could drink this very yucky tasting medicine, then he WOULDN'T have to have a shot, but if he couldn't drink it, then he had to get a shot. Rohan thought he could probably drink it.

They brought in the medicine and the mean nurse gave me the syringe to squirt in the back of his mouth. :( I gave it to him and I thought for sure he was going to throw it back up. He was gagging and crying and I felt like the bad guy. He kept saying over and over, "I wish there was no such thing as this stuff!" Poor little dude.

A few minutes later, they had us put him in the bed-on-wheels and accompany Rohan down to Pre-Op. As we laid him in that bed and started walking alongside it, I got very worried. Rohan just laid there with his eyes shut and I thought he had fallen asleep or something, but he wouldn't respond to me. My mommy-instincts kicked in and I was feeling like yelling something at those people demanding to know what they did to my son. I don't know why he wouldn't respond, but once we got into Pre-Op and the bed stopped moving, Rohan opened his eyes and acted more normal. After wiping more of his medicine-laced spit out of his mouth, he started being chatty... something he hadn't been all morning. And by the time they were getting him ready to wheel away to surgery, he was relaxed and being downright funny. Punch-drunk, indeed...

As they wheeled him away, awake, alert and alone, my heart wanted to bust out of my chest. I had no idea what a hard thing that would be to send him off with strangers to go to sleep and be operated upon. Ugh. I was so glad, again, that Dustin was there with me. My baby was alone and, although the rational part of me knew that this was a fairly minor surgery and he would be just fine, the mother-part of me was in anguish and I wanted to cry for my little Rohan.

Off to the waiting room we went. As we walked in and found some seats, we noticed a horrible noise that permeated the room. It must have been something to do with the HVAC system, a high, ear-piercing whine. I had brought a book that I had just checked out at the library, but I wasn't going to read with Dustin sitting there by me with nothing to do. But, he was going crazy at the sound and I had brought my iPod with me, so I let him put in the earphones and drown out the awful squealing noise. I was able to ignore it a little easier than he, so I tried to read a book. It was hard to care about this fictional story when my baby was asleep in surgery somewhere not far from me.

The hour crawled by and finally, the doctor came to the door and brought us into a little room where he told us that Rohan did great and that he would probably wake in ten or fifteen minutes. He told us that someone would direct us to day surgery in a few minutes.

And we waited a little more.

Finally we were called down and when we got there, there was no one at the desk to tell us where Rohan was. We waited for a few minutes before we heard Rohan screaming not far from us. We followed the cry and went into where he was, rather hysterically, waking from his general anesthesia. He calmed a little at the site of us, but he was very upset and kept saying his hand (where he had an IV wrapped in gauze... too tightly, I might add) and his incision site were hurting. He kept trying to pull off the gauze on his wrapped hand and kept complaining of it all hurting. It was very sad, but I felt better. It was over and he was there and crying to his parents and we could hold him and try to comfort him.

After a few minutes, the nurse brought some pain medicine. He didn't want to drink it, remembering the last thing he had to drink, but this one didn't taste near as bad and he got to chase it with apple juice. It took a little time for the pain meds to kick in, and Dustin held him while I hummed lullabies in his ear, just like when he was a baby. Soon he was asleep and Dustin and I breathed a sigh of relief.

He slept for about 45 minutes and the nurse made us wake him up. I was worried, but he woke, had some apple juice and started being cute and chatty. He was such a champ! He was more or less back to his normal self and he was very happy when he got to have his I.V. taken out.

We were discharged not long after that and went straight to Target to buy him a prize for being so brave. When we told him this, he said he shouldn't get a prize because he wasn't brave. He thought that crying about the nasty medicine he had to drink and crying when he woke from the general disqualified him from the "brave" category. My heart melted. This boy is so easy to love. We assured him that he was, indeed, brave and we went and picked out two "Bakugan" toys... something he's had his eye on for a while.

A few more stops at stores and two vomit-sessions for Rohan and we were home. He didn't want any more pain medication because he didn't want to throw up and I was worried that he would be hurting too much. Amazingly, he didn't complain ONCE and he never took anymore meds. Not even Tylenol. He lounged around with his dad and watch movies all day and he's been completely and totally normal ever since! He often needs reminding to take it easy and not run and jump around.

I love my little Rohan and I'm so relieved that this ordeal was over so quickly and relatively painlessly!

Friday's Fabulous Five

2010-02-05T00:08:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, but I'm trying to make a comeback!

Here's a bit of fabulousness for my Friday...

1- We got the report from our tax man today. It was good. Very good. I ♥ refunds...

2- Something that's tickled my mind with worry for the last several years will not be a worry anymore after next Tuesday. Although I'll still worry until probably Wednesday, I'm happy to have an end in sight.

3- My parents adopted a dog. She's awesome... a year old Irish Wolfhound/Greyhound mix. She's beautiful and sweet and big and wonderful and she lives at my parents' house, not mine. Dustin and my kids all have been wanting a dog, but I flatly refused telling them we're having our own little "puppy" soon. Now, they all have their dog-wish satiated without actually having a dog. Thank you mom and dad...my family thanks you too.

4- Books. I've been reading lots and lots of books. Love them. The Hunger Games and it's sequel, Catching Fire were fast, fun reads. I read both of those twice and anxiously await the third book in August. The Traveler, which I've read before but it's been a while, and it's sequel, The Dark River, which I'm reading right now (also read before). These two are a set of a trilogy, you see, and the third one came out last fall and I wanted to refresh my memory before I read this last one. So, I have the third one, The Golden City, waiting for me to read (that series is written by John Twelve Hawks, if anyone is interested). I also read The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale. Loved it! Love her style. I ♥ books.

5- Baby. Baby is coming. Baby is coming SOON!! Part of me hesitates to put this on here because, while it is a completely fabulous thing, I'm a little bit anxious about it. My due date looms just 5 1/2 weeks away. That's freakin' crazy! But, I'm excited to meet this little person who will rock our family's world for a few months while we settle in to getting to know each other. And the birth of this baby will also mean the end of my being pregnant. And let's just say that I'm getting to that point where labor is starting to sound better than pregnancy. So, bring on the contractions, baby! (in a few weeks.... not just yet as you need to bake a little longer!)

Happy Friday!

A Farewell and A Homecoming

2010-02-04T12:49:00.001-07:00

Dustin's has an aunt named Gloria. On the 16th of January her kids threw her and her husband a party for their birthdays. Gloria turned 70 and Gale, her husband, turned 85. I debated on whether or not to go to the party... it was in Salt Lake... and finally decided not to go. I told Dustin he should drive our van (which is "my" car since I usually have the kids with me) because his car had been acting terrible.

Terrible is an understatement. This little Nissan that he drove has always had "issues". We bought if from my sister and her husband a few years ago... maybe 3 years... and it came with issues. Hence, the $500 price tag that they sold it to us for. It was a cute little Nissan Sentra with some electrical problems. When we bought the car, Josh warned us of a few known "issues":

The wiper switch doesn't work. It's been bypassed and there's a toggle switch that is down below the steering wheel for the wipers.
The wipers only have one speed. Slow. Not intermittent, but slow.
The wipers will turn off the moment you turn off the toggle switch, meaning, if the wipers are mid-windshield, they will stop there. You have to time the "turning off" while the wipers are at the bottom of the windshield.
The blower for the heating/AC system only works on one setting: High. If you have the AC on, put it on defrost and you won't freeze. (unless you have backseat passengers... they WILL freeze, but the driver and passenger will be in good shape!)
Oh yeah, and the dome light doesn't work.
And, sometimes the dash lights don't work but if you ball up your fist and hit the dash in a certain sweet spot, they will usually come back on.
And lastly we were warned very seriously, "DO NOT ADJUST THE TILT ON THE STEERING WHEEL. IT WILL ARC."
Arc?
ARC. AS IN MINI LIGHTENING BOLTS.
Awesome.

So, a $500 check was written, warnings were heeded and we were happy customers. The issues we were warned about became routine. We got used to the quirks of the car. When we bought the car it had about 116,000 miles on it. I think Dustin drove it for about three years. His trip to Salt Lake would have rolled it over the 180,000 mile mark. $500 for three years and about 64,000 miles? Not bad, I say.

But, as the years passed, the list of "issues" grew longer.

The first time I drove the little car anywhere (which was when we had it about 2 weeks) the alternator died. I love being a girl, who knows nothing about cars and getting stranded two hours away from home on a country road. Thank goodness for cell phones. This was an easy fix for my husband who DOES know about cars. And it was nice because it broke down not too far from where my childhood friend, Beth, lived and she came and picked me up and we had a nice visit until Dustin arrived. Bonus!
After a while, the car started to burn more oil. And we had to check it often.
Last summer the AC stopped working all together. We never figured out why and my poor hubby just had a nice hot ride to and from work. (which is a 30 mile commute... poor, sweaty Dustin.)
Also last summer the fan blower, which only worked on high, stopped working at all. So, no air would move through the car. It does have windows that (thankfully) are not electronic... the windows would roll down. So, that wasn't such a problem until winter came. As you might guess, heaters are important in a car in Idaho... not just heaters, but blowers for the heaters. So, Dustin hard-wired the blower so it was on ALL THE TIME. You couldn't turn it off if you wanted to.
The dash lights that used to work with that magic fist pounding stopped turning on, even when you hit the dash til your fist hurt.
The oil, which we thought was burning, was actually coming out of the exhaust somewhere. The back of his car would get BLACK with oil. It was gross and made for some very interesting misadventures while trying to get into the trunk.
Just recently, the ever-temperamental dash lights started working again... without any fist-intervention. We don't know why. But that was a nice feature for a little while.
Oil consumption (or leakage, as the case may be) went through the roof during the last year we owned this little car. I'm embarrassed to say how much oil had to be added on a regular basis. Like every time you filled up the gas tank! (it rhymes with "due ports")

We knew that the end was near for Dustin's trusty little car. That was why I asked him to drive our van, which is much more reliable. He wouldn't do it and he set out on his adventure to Salt Lake which I had a certain feeling would end with him on the side of the road and me loading up our three kids and driving down to rescue him.

My intuition proved correct. He had been gone about an hour and a half when I got a call.

"Hi honey. I don't know if I'm going to make it to Salt Lake... I'm hearing knocking noises from my engine."

Even I, a girl who knows nothing about cars, knows that knocking in your engine is not a good noise.

"Uh oh," I reply.

"Yeah," he continues. "I think I'm going to turn around and see if I can limp along the old highway going slow and make it back home."

"Ok," I say. "Do you think you can make it?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure though. I pulled over and added another quart of oil when I first heard the knocking. We'll see if it does any.... OH CRAP! NOPE! THERE IT GOES!" he nearly shouted.

"What!?"

"There was a very bad noise. I just threw a rod or sucked a valve or something bad. I've got white smoke. I hope I can make it to the gas station I just passed," he stated. "I'll call you in a bit and let you know."

"Okay, love." I reply dubiously. "Shall I load up the kids in the van?"

"Yep... you better get ready to come and get me."

Sometimes I hate it when I'm right. I jumped in the shower and got the kids ready. Meanwhile, Dustin called back and forth to me with various plans. Our mechanic/lawyer friend (funny combo, I know!) had offered to bring a tow dolly and tow Dustin back home. That would be nice for me... not having to go down and pick him up or hire a tow truck to tow the car. Complications arose with that plan and it didn't work out. Other plans were discussed and discarded. Finally it was decided.

The car was not worth putting another engine in or even rebuilding it. All the other "issues" made the car a headache that we were happy to unload. Dustin called a wrecker and told him that he'd trade him the title of the car for the cost of towing it. I drove down to Dustin, title in hand, suitcase packed and picked Dust up. He signed the title, left it on the seat of the car where it awaited the wrecker. We all proceeded to go to Salt Lake City and shop for a new-used car in the "big city".

And we found one.

And so I now say farewell to the little Nissan that served us so well for the meager $500 price tag.

And I say hello to an old-but-new-to-us 1996 Volvo 850. My brother-in-law, Josh, works at a car dealership. They had just gotten this one in on trade and it was one of those cars you hope you can buy if you're buying used and trying to keep it fairly cheap. This car was very clean and meticulously maintained by a single owner throughout it's life. The old man who owned it was obsessive in the care of this car. Records were kept and kept well. We had a 10 page printout of service records... oil changes every 2500 miles, new timing belt at 70,000 miles... if this car hiccuped, this old man brought it to the dealership for inspection. There was only 90,000 miles on this car. And, because my bro-in-law is the BEST, we got a screamin' deal on it, way under book value.

Thanks also to my in-laws who loaned a portion of the cost of the car so we could avoid financing. We will pay them back this month when we get our tax refund and we will own this car without having to pay any interest! :-) Hooray!

And my favorite part about this car? Dustin loves it. He feels good in it. It's an energy shift for him to drive something he feels good driving. It's got a stock sound system, but apparently what comes stock in Volvo is pretty good because Dustin has been blown away that a radio can actually sound good! He's made me laugh countless times with his marveling over the sound of his new car's radio.

Our trip to Salt Lake ended happily (as happy as you can be spending a few thousand dollars on a car!). I didn't want to drive home in separate cars, but we didn't have much choice. But, my ever-loving and ever-adored husband gave his very pregnant wife a special treat... he let me drive the new(ish) Volvo and he took all the kids in the van. Three hours of quiet, no arguing kids, no requests for water or food, no "Mom I need to pee!"... Just me and the Volvo's booming stereo.... Heaven!!!

Grumble

2010-01-25T10:16:00.000-07:00

We've done one lesson. ONE! And already he's in his room because I'm angry at him for his stinky attitude. Mondays suck in many worlds, but none more than homeschooling. For me, anyway.

My method of coping with the bad attitude is to send him away from me or go away from him myself. I tell him that I'm not going to sit here and fight his bad attitude when I have plenty of things that need doing in my world. (laundry, dishes, showering, nesting, etc...) So, here we are... he, in his room, and I, blogging about it all.

It's amazing the difference attitude can make. I watch him when his attitude is good and he's amazing! He picks up concepts quickly. He laughs and has fun. He answers his school-questions with quick repsonses, making it clear that the concept is absorbing right into his brain.

But.

When his attitude is poor, like it has been this morning, his brain is like oil and school is like water. They just repel eachother. Concepts do not penetrate. Even concepts that he already knows that we're reviewing... they must not be able to get out through the barrier he's put up. His only focus is on being grumpy, not on learning anything or even just speaking something he already knows.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

As his "teacher" it's infuriating. As his mother, it's even worse. You know that your kids don't do this to their teachers at public school. (Maybe some kids do, but I know from reports that Mac was nice, respectful and hard working at school, if a little rambunctious.) Because I'm his mother, he "acts up" if he doesn't feel like doing what I tell him. And I, being his mother, deal with these flare-ups with varying degrees of self-control. Like I said, mostly I just send him away. Other times I yell at him a little. Other times, A LOT. I have refrained from yelling for the most part today.

Even when we have days like this, I'm so glad that he's home with me. Is it a sacrifice? Yes. I am rather tied down during the day and my schedule is rather dictated by his school. I don't get so much "me" time as I used to, perhaps. But, whenever I think of the alternative, of sending him back to school, I am so grateful that he is here with me where it is safe to have some volatile feelings now and then. I still love him at the end of the day, no matter what. I can't explain it well, but I know that this is an important thing in his life right now. To have him home with me, his mother, who loves him more than anyone, who will support him through these sassy, stinky-attitude times. Even if it means taking a few deep breaths and steeling myself for another Monday homeschooling morning.

Rohan

2010-01-20T09:38:00.001-07:00

I was reading a blog of my friend Corrinne today about what she does all day as a mother. I was engrossed and not paying attention to what Rohan, who was sitting on my lap, was saying to me. (He talks a LOT and sometimes I tune him out) Involved in my reading as I was, I finally tuned back in when he touched my cheek to turn my face toward his, raised the decibel of his voice and said, very sternly, "IS. THAT. CLEAR. ??"

(I, apparently, say that enough to my kids that he's parroting it back to me. Awesome.)

This got my attention CLEARLY, and I asked him to repeat what he said.

"Mommy. Will. You. Get. New. Batt. Er. Ies. In. My. Mote. Con. Trol. Car."

(Translation: Mommy, will you get new batteries in my remote control car?)

And then, once again, "IS. THAT. CLEAR?"

I laughed. "Yes, that's clear, son. Now ask me nicely."

He did and followed his now-nice request by yelling suddenly, "I need to get dressed!"

"Yes, you do," I replied.

He went to his clothes basket and found his clothes. As he was putting on his shirt he said, "This shirt smells like stinky food." I stifled a laugh (as I do so often around this child) and told him to put on another shirt.

"But I like this one, Mom!" he responded.

"Well, then," I said, "Wear the shirt that smells like stinky food!"

He just giggled.

And so did I.

And... he's still wearing the shirt.

Crush

2010-01-14T12:43:00.001-07:00

Weekday mornings around my house typically go like this:

Dustin is up really really early (like 4, 5 or 6 a.m., depending on the day) and I am dead-to-the-world asleep. He wakes Ella up at 7 a.m. He helps her get ready in whatever form she needs help (which isn't much). He comes in our room at about 7:30 and says to me, "Tag, you're it," and kisses me goodbye. I tell him to drive safe and he leaves for work (and starts my car for me on his way out, bless him). Then I get up and take Ella to school at 7:45. It's a pretty good arrangement for me as waking kids up in the morning low on my list of favorite activities. (so is getting into a cold car on an Idaho winter morning...)

Lately, rather than what he normally does at work, Dustin has been doing surveying. He's been working with a guy named Jeff and they've been working close to where we live. So, instead of the 30 mile commute in the mornings, Jeff has been picking Dustin up at our house. This translates into him not having to leave at 7:30, but leaving when Jeff comes to get him, anywhere between 8:10 and 8:40 a.m. Which also translates into Dustin leaving me asleep (or me laying in bed listening to the household while I'm sort-of awake) and taking Ella to school. It's been wonderful. I feel like I'm on vacation if I don't have to leave my house in this snowy, cold weather to take my little Ella to school. And, Dustin likes to take Ella to school as he rarely gets to. And Ella loves it too because it's novel and special for her daddy to drive her to school. So, I'm pretty much saying we're all in love with this little temporary arrangement.

On Monday, after taking Ella to school, Dustin asked me if I would get up and come and snuggle with him on the couch while he waited for Jeff to get here. I agreed. I came out and just laid my head on his shoulder for over a half an hour while he rubbed my feet. It was so great.

Jeff arrived. Dustin got up, kissed Rohan, Mac and I goodbye, and headed out the door with all his cold-weather paraphernalia in his arms, boots, bibs, coat, and hat, not to mention his lunch and a big jug of water (for hydration in the sub-zero weather we've been blessed with!).

As I watched him walk out of our house, watched him move with his arms full, preparing to go to yet another day of work in the bitter cold , watched him put all his gear into the truck, followed by his lunch and then sit himself down and shut the door, I felt like a high-school girl. As I sat there watching him trudge off to his frigid work-day, I said out loud to myself, "I have a crush on Dustin!", which made me giggle a little bit, but mostly I just sighed with contentment. How cool is that that my husband of eleven and a half years can still make my heart skip beats and feel all fluttery? I love that man of mine. Even when he, upon my mentioning that he could use a haircut, informs me that he's going to let his hair grow until spring... ALL his hair (meaning his already long beard too)... I still love him even if I roll my eyes a little bit.

As I was writing this post in my head I kept thinking of that David Archuleta song, "Crush". I had to look up the lyrics...

Why do I keep running from the truth
All I ever think about is you
You got me hypnotized
So mesmerized
And I've just got to know

Do you ever think
When you're all alone
All that we could be?
Where this thing could go?
Am I crazy or falling in love?
Is it really just another crush?
Do you catch a breath
When I look at you?
Are you holding back
Like the way I do?
'Cause I'm trying, trying to walk away
But I know this crush ain't going away.

While those lyrics, in their entirety, don't necessarily apply to my current circumstances, they were entirely applicable back in 1997. And I never dreamed just how far "this thing could go" between he and I. It gets better every day, every year and I'm sure, every decade.

Clancy + Dustin = TRUE L♥VE

And How About....

2010-01-11T18:37:00.001-07:00

.... some more happenings? Because I'm sure you've just been DYING to know what it is that I've been doing with myself. Well, you see, a few days after Christmas I had a Dr. appointment for the little child growing in my body. (midwife appt, but you get the idea) At this lovely appointment, I had the joyous pleasure of taking my "glucose tolerance test" which (for anyone who has not had the JOY and pleasure of this) is a test where you drink this stuff that's basically like the syrup that they hook to a pop machine BEFORE it mixes with the bubbly carbonated water. Can you say NASTY? Ick.

Guess what? I failed it. Turns out the highest your blood should go from drinking the nastiness is about 40. Well, my little blood sugars were up at 55. I was not happy. Especially because I got to go back and do the in depth test.

"In depth" means that you have to come to your appointment fasting (which means as early as possible in the a.m., of which I am not so much a fan), get your finger lanced to check your blood, AND then you get to drink the sugary nastiness AGAIN but this time on your fastingly-empty stomach. BARF. Literally. I almost did. In fact, just writing this is making the muscles at the back of my jaw clench up and my saliva run. I decided to chug the last little bit of it because I thought it would be better faster. It did get it over with, but it did almost come back up. But, I managed to keep it down. (GO ME!)

SO then, after you almost barf, you get to sit there and wait for an hour for your blood to do whatever it is your blood does with sugary nastiness. Then a different finger gets bloodied and they test that. Then you get to sit there for ANOTHER hour and they bloody yet another finger.

So, yeah. It's pretty much a party. There was three good things that came of it.

1) Turns out, I do not have gestational diabetes. Hip-hip HOORAY!
2) An "in depth" glucose tolerance test makes for good reading time for any new, large books you might have gotten for Christmas! (which I just finished last night and I think I'm grumpy today because it's over and the author opened a big old can of worms in this book and left it completely open with all those little worms writhing in the can and then had the nerve to END the book! AND it's probably going to be something like three years before she'll come out with the next book!! Grrowl.)
3) Since my Midwife's office is in the same city as my husband works, I got to go break my barfy fast by having lunch with my sweet Dustin! That never happens because he works about 30 miles from home. By the way, Great Harvest's Turkey Pesto sandwich is really good. You should try it.

So, there's another snippet of happenings in Clancy's life.

I'm down to 8 1/2 weeks left of pregnancy. THAT is trippy. I'm on the Dr. appointment fast track... we're now going every two weeks to see the Dr. (midwife) and that only lasts for a month and then it's every week until the baby is born! Where does the time go? I'm not really ready for a baby, I'm pretty sure. But that's another post for another day.

Over and out.