On Beards

I have many thoughts about beards.  It's rare day that my husband isn't sporting some sort of facial hair.  Beards, sideburns, goatees and Van Dykes are "in my face" all the time.

And I love it.

When my husband is clean shaven, he's really cute and I still adore him endlessly because he's my Dustin, but I REALLY like it when he's sporting some facial hair. It's darned sexy.

I have these thoughts about my husband and his beard off and on all the time, but just now, I was watching a music video where two men had scruffy beards. This set a train of thought in motion this morning and I realized one of the reasons I like facial hair so much is it's so definitively MAN.  It's something I'll never have.  Perhaps it sounds silly, but the fact that I'll always have a soft face with a delicate jaw and my husband has to make a daily choice to shave or deal with the resulting scruff (YUM!) on his strong jaw stirs the same feelings I wrote about here.  I love that.  Maybe that makes no sense to anyone but me, but facial hair is just so... quintessentially man.  

Don't confuse my love of beards with a love of all forms of facial hair.  Check out this hilarious website I discovered as I pondered this post.  The La Souvarov... NOT my favorite style.  In fact, a few months ago, about thirty or so minutes before Dustin and I were supposed to go to dinner with a big group of friends, he walked out of the bathroom with this face-do:

My friend, when commenting on this pic, said, "I am glad that we have the "stache" documented for all to remember the legendary way to really get under Clancy's skin!"

I was LIVID that Dustin shaved this into his face mere minutes before we went out with friends.  I wouldn't even look at him.

I did get over it, eventually.  I had to beg divine intervention to do so.  Seriously.  I prayed that I could let it go and just have a great night out.  God is merciful and kind and I actually felt an immediate lightening of my anger after my petition.

I know.  I'm crazy.  Maybe I was PMSy?  That sounds like a good excuse.

The point is that not all facial hair is created equal, in my opinion.  I love me a Van Dyke or a nice scruff-beard with a clean neck.  I don't love the neck hair.  Things need to be tidy.  I even love when Dust goes a little crazy and shave in some mutton chops.  When he is clean-shaven, I like him to leave sideburns.

I try very hard not to dictate what he shaves, but it's really hard for me to keep my mouth shut (or pucker up for a kiss) when I don't like his current choice of face-do.

Aren't you glad you aren't my husband?  Poor guy.

:-)

This ends my thoughts on beards.

Tricky

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.

Brynja's Story, Part 3

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 1

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...

Part 2

Un-Snap?

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!

Due Date

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!  ☺

A Farewell and A Homecoming

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!!!

 

Crush

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

Listy List

Do you ever just have a need to make a list?  Today's the day for me!

1- I'm so grateful for cars and how they, once warmed up, can be a little bubble of warmth against the bitter Idaho weather. (or your state of residence... but only if it's a cold state.  I don't want to hear about anything above 32 degrees.  This morning, where I live it was -12 degrees.  That sucks.) 

2- I'm so grateful that my husband goes out and starts my car every morning as he's leaving for work. 

3- I love the hood of my coat.  It's so lovely and snuggly.  A coat without a hood is not a coat worth having.  That's simply my opinion and if you have a coat with no hood, no disrespect is intended.  But you really should think about getting a coat with a hood.  I'm just sayin'...

4- The "helm" where I sit and do all my computery things gives me a limited view of my driveway.  I can see part of my husband's beat up, old truck and a little bit of the nose of my van from my not-so-lofty perch.  The relevance of that random comment is this:  I was just sitting here thinking how interesting the human mind is.  The front bumper of my van is parked about 8 inches from the front bumper of Dustin's truck.  I don't really even remember parking my van after I dropped Ella off at school, but I, obviously... in my miraculous and amazing brain... calculated the distance from the nose of my van to Dustin's truck very well because I am close to it, but didn't hit it.  That got me thinking how a car can become almost an extension of our bodies.  We are mostly aware of them as we are aware of our own arm or foot and we do things while driving with an awareness of the limits of the car.  But this all happens without alot of concious thought on our part.  

I've had a similar train of thought about when I'm in a room and I need to turn off the light and then navigate in the dark.  If I take a quick scan of the room, I can turn off the light and negotiate the room blindly and yet fairly quickly with almost no mishaps because I've already "mapped out" in my mind, the distances my feet need to walk or where they need to skirt an obstacle.

Or, when I'm running, I look far ahead of where my feet are actually hitting the ground.  I know where my feet are going to land because I already mapped it out as I took in the terrain as a whole.  (I'm thinking, particularly, of trail-running which has many rocks, roots and various obstacles...)  It's simply amazing to me how our brain will just take care of these little details without a lot of conscious awareness on our analytical brain's part. 

We are some cool creatures, human beings!

5- I think something got stolen out of our garage.  This, alone, sucks alot.  But it extra-sucks because said item was not ours, but my dad's and Dustin had borrowed it.  Our lock on our garage is missing.  I don't know when, why or how that happened, but I went out there on Sunday night and the garage door was wide open (this is an old, detached garage with double swinging doors) and had been for who knows how long.  My dad is awesome though and was so understanding and nice about the whole thing.

6- Did you know Laundry has a butt?  I found that out yesterday when I kicked some Laundry-BUTT!!


7- I've been so busy this week... had so many little things to do.  I've actually been doing them, but I should probably make a list because I keep forgetting all the little things that need doing.  But, mostly I've remembered and I've gotten much accomplished.  Good feelings abound.


That feels better.  List made.

New Life

This morning, as sleep was walking that precarious line of hanging on and sloughing off of my shrouded mind, I realized I had hands on my belly. I was laying on my back and must have been for some time because, as I was slowly waking up, I realized that my back was hurting me and I needed to move. I didn't want to though. While I was sleeping, my husband was laying there, hands on my tummy, feeling our baby move under my skin. I didn't want to disturb the moment.

Realizing after a few minutes that there seemed to be no movement in utero to disturb, I rolled onto my side. Dustin's hands remained on my belly waiting for more fetal acrobatics. I continued drifting in and out of sleep and, after an unknown quantity of time, Dustin got up to get ready for work. After he showered, he came back in our room and found me a little more coherent.

"I was playing with the baby while you were asleep," he informed me.

I responded, "I noticed your hands on my belly as I was waking up, but I didn't feel the baby moving at all. Was it actually moving?"

"Oh yeah! Totally!" he replied enthusiastically. "It would kick and I'd give a little push back. I'd feel a little limb and bounce it off my hand. It moved a lot and for a long time. The baby and I were having fun!"

Weird how I could be so asleep to not even notice any of that going on. But as I lay there thinking after he walked away, I was very grateful that I stayed asleep through it all. He got his own time "with the baby" as I was lost to the waking world.

A few minutes later, Ella walked in the room. She had a bad dream for the second morning in a row. Comforting words were said and she climbed in bed next to me filling Dustin's vacated spot. We lay there a few minutes and suddenly the baby got very tiny hiccups. I took Ella's hands and, placing them over the rhythmic hiccup-zone, told her of the baby's condition.

She got very excited as she felt the little repetitive jolts. "I can FEEL it, Mom!" she whispered enthusiastically. Suddenly, the baby decided it was awake and ready to roll around. The big sister thrilled at the various kicks and motions she felt. Swells of miniature body parts protruded and she informed me of every action. She laughed out loud several times. She asked what she was feeling... "Was that it's head? Is that it's leg? How does it make that bump stick out? What was that little bump?"

"I don't know Ella," I replied. "I wonder the same things all the time and I can never quite imagine the little person that can make all that movement simultaneously!"

As we lay there, I told her that her daddy was "playing" with the baby this morning while I was sleeping. She laughed. I suddenly realized that she, being my only daughter thus far, (March will tell if she is my only daughter ever) would one day, in all probability, get to experience this very thing, but from her own body, not just feeling it through her mother. I told her this, that one day she could feel this too but feel it all the time, every day as a new life develops into a whole, and very tiny human being.

I marveled, as I have time and time before, at the wonder of being a woman. This is a precious time, a wonderful gift that my body can give. I love feeling those jolts of a new life inside of me. Dustin can feel it from the outside as he lays there in dark, but OH!, the joy I experience with each little tap or roll from within! It is a wonder, a marvel and a miracle.

And with that thought, I say again... I love being a woman.

Tuesday Special

Here I sit, fresh out of the shower at 3:06 on a Tuesday afternoon. This particular Tuesday is a special Tuesday, though. Why is it special? No, not because I finally showered at 2:40 pm. No, not because I am dressed in real clothes for the first time since Sunday...

It's my honey-pie's birthday!

Happy Birthday, Dustin, my love!!!

This man 'o' mine rocks my world. His ever-present, but varied in formation, facial hair is scruffy and rough, and I love it. He knows I love his ruggedness. And ruggedness is not just limited to his ruggedly-handsome looks.

He dresses rugged... no matter how I try to sharpen his style, he is who he is. I've stopped trying and just dress him as ruggedly-sharp as I can! (I do all his clothes shopping, so I can do this, you know.)

His walk is rugged. He tromps through this world with his heavy boots. Many who know him can identify him simply by hearing his footsteps.

His attitude is rugged. He bucks authority like a bull in a rodeo. He says what he thinks, often with a consequences-be-damned attitude.

And speaking of being damned... his language is often rugged.

But... like a rugged mountain peak, he too is not immune to the powers of erosion. The passing of time, and being wedded to someone not quite so rugged, has softened some of his rougher points. His language is softer, his impatience less sharp.

And, like any rugged mountain, he has his spots of softness as well... his moss-covered north side, if you will. He has always been, since I met him, tender and gentle with me, his wife. He adores me, and I him. He is as sweet a dad as I've ever seen with his beautiful children. Sometimes that rugged, rough side comes out in his father-role, but when it's tucked away, he's soft and tender with his little ones. He is friendly to others and makes people feel good being around him. He loves to serve and help people. (but not if his wife volunteers him for it without prior consultation!) Soft as a tree's mossy north face.

Happy Birthday to my mate, my partner in life, my love, my husband.

I love you, my rugged and soft man!

Pontifications on Cereal

This is the 401st post on this little blog. Can you believe I had 401 things to say! Wow.

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

I am a cereal junkie. I love cereal. Yesterday I ate it for breakfast AND lunch. Very healthy choice, I must say.

I, unfortunately have also passed this love on to my children. I say unfortunately, but it's not entirely unfortunate. Just think if they didn't like cereal! I'd have to make them a real breakfast every morning. *gasp!* I struggle with making a real dinner at night. That would be problematic.

I will tell you what is unfortunate about this situation. Cereal is not the cheapest thing to eat for breakfast. Eggs would likely be cheaper. Oatmeal, definitely cheaper. I've thought I should define things a little bit regarding the cereal. I've thought I should tell the kids I will buy ___________ number of boxes per week and if they eat it all, then they don't get more until the next week. Good idea, huh? But the flaw in that plan is this: when the cereal runs out, there's one grown-up cereal junkie who has the power to run her little butt to the store and buy some more. And that is exactly what she does.

Post Cranberry Almond Crunch is my favorite, usually. I'm a big fan of Bran Flakes and Frosted Mini Wheats as well. Rice Chex, and Kix hit the spot. And with all of my pregnancies, Cheerios were my lifeline in the first trimester when sickness reigned and nothing sounded good.

Rohan lives for Life. Mac loves Special K. Ella will eat whatever suits her fancy that day, but she seems to ask for Frosted Mini Wheats the most.

I think we're winning Dustin over to the dark side. Together he and I will rule the cereal universe with our children. Although... Dustin loves Grape Nuts and they make his breath smell like dog food. If he eats them too much, I might have to destroy him. But, lucky for me (and him!), bwwaahahahaha, I'm the one who does the shopping!

The Saturday Morning Miracle

Just thought I'd share the coolest sound in the whole world with you. Well, the coolest sound in my whole world, anyway.

It happened last Saturday morning. I had stayed up too late the night before. You see, Dustin usually goes to karate on Saturday mornings from 7:00am to 9:00am. Last Saturday was no exception. He went. I vaguely remember kissing him goodbye, as I was still sleeping at 6:45.

Around our house, the typical Saturday morning goes something like this: D goes to karate and about 20 minutes later my kids wake up. Rohan wakes up first... or Ella, but mostly Rohan... and he wants me to get him a bowl of cereal. The little stinker! Doesn't he know that I want to sleep in on a Saturday!! At least a tiny bit! Please!!!? Anyway, then follows the rest of the kids and I try to pretend I'm still sleeping until I hear them fighting or something and I have to yell at them to be nice or get their little fannies spanked or go to time-out or some other really mean threat. Did you know that pretending to be sleeping and yelling at your kids are not congruent? They don't fit very well. It's usually around that time that I get up out of bed and act like a human being for the day.

So, that's the norm. But last Saturday, as I told you, Dustin left for karate and I went back to sleep. The next thing I heard was Rohan saying he wanted cereal. Groaning, I started to try to put him off, but realized he was not in my room, nor was he talking to his mother. It was then that I heard the most beautiful thing an up-to-late-wanting-to-sleep-in mommy could hear; my ears were caressed by the melodious sound of Dustin's deep voice telling Rohan to go pee while he got him some cereal. Dustin was, in fact, not at karate but was home and getting Rohan his beloved bowl of Life cereal while I lay in my bed.


HEAVEN!


I drifted in and out of sleep for the next hour or so. Those few times I woke, I heard something even more wonderful... Dustin telling the kids to "leave Mom alone... she's sleeping!"


RAPTURE!


I thought that life could not be sweeter, but let me tell you about my husband... He is sweetness with a thick coating of muscle and grit. As I came more fully awake, my senses keyed into the noises around the house... the activity that was occurring. I still heard my dashing husband asking my darling children to leave me alone and let me sleep (I let him continue with that for a while, event though I was fully awake by then), but I heard something even better. As I listened, I realized that Dustin was ordering the kids around telling them, "We are cleaning this house and we are cleaning it well!"...with nary a whine from the children!


ECSTASY!!!


Shortly after, I revealed myself to be amongst the living. I cleaned my room while Dustin continued to boss the kids. They worked from 7:30am until almost noon. No fights were had, minimal whining was heard... it was one of those little miracles on a Saturday morning that ended with a sparkly clean house.


And there was much rejoicing.

Friday's Fabulous Five

It's been a while since I've done a FFF post. Life is so fabulous, I better do ten.

1- My dad is pink-skinned and breathing on a daily basis. I pray I never take that for granted again.

2- My mom is a total rock. I've known it all along, but she kept things so calm the night that my dad was in peril. I've since realized how freaked out she really was that night, but she kept it together so well for her children. She's amazing. She wrote a note to many friends and family explaining what happened to my dad. Here's the tail end of that note and I want to preserve it in my someday-blog-book:

We are both extremely grateful for the gift of his health & "new lease on life". There's nothing quite like an extreme wake up call to sharpen the senses & bring perspective to things.

To those of you who knew about this already; thank you for your love, support, kind words & prayers. To all; including those who are just finding out in this message, it's been a wild ride, one that I don't wish on anyone. My children have noticed that they want to be sure to speak the words of love that they may not utter often enough. I feel the same way. It's so easy in our workaday lives to lose the focus of the importance of speaking words of love, support & caring. To add a touch, a pat on the back, a caress or a hug and to look someone in the eye & commune soul to soul and convey all the feeling in our heart, soul & mind that is the love we feel. It needs to happen every day. Whether big or small, everyday. (If we focus on the love & sharing it it's easier to avoid the other stuff too) That's what's been going on in my mind a lot the last 1 1/2 days.

Love to you all AND go hug your loved ones & tell them how you feel. Right Now!!

Like I said... my mom is a rock.

3- We haven't gotten much school done at home because we still don't have Mac's books, computer, etc, but having my two little sons home with me has been more of a joy than I would've ever imagined. Mac has been nicer, more helpful, more cooperative and just generally more light and easy than he has in... well, years. This alone is making this endeavor worthwhile. I hope it continues until he's in, at least, his twenties. ;-)

4- My brother, who lives in Salt Lake, came up the day following my dad's heart attack. (He and his wife Nicky) Nicky stayed until Wednesday and then went back to Salt Lake. Zandy stayed to be my dad's muscles for a few days. You see... my dad's heart is fantastic. He looks and feels great, but he can't lift anything over five pounds for about a week while his femoral artery incision heals from his surgery. My dad does construction for a living. Bless my brother for lifting 200 lb doors and swinging sledge hammers for a few days so my dad can still earn a living and keep his commitments to the job he's on. I love my family.

5- I love a freshly vaccumed floor.

6- You know the miracle of the loaves and the fishes? I've had a miracle of the caramel.

7- Marci's Napolean Dynamite dance on her blog. Awesome. (sorry, ya'll... she's got herself a private blog so I have to enjoy that one alone... or with a few people whom I know who read her blog.)

8- I don't feel sick from being pregnant anymore. Not that I ever felt super sick, but even feeling a little sick sucks, don't you think? But now it's all gone.

9- For these few days, I get to watch my brother enjoy my children. Rohan especially. Rohan has a way of worming himself into people's hearts. Zandy is loving it and I am loving it too.

10- Dustin.


Happy Friday!

To Be A Woman

I realize it's Friday and, historically speaking, I should be doing a Fabulous Five post, but I've had a thought rolling around in my quiet brain for a few weeks and I didn't even realize it until today. It's remained an unconscious thought until this morning when it suddenly forced it's way through to the forefront of my mind and conjured itself into a blog essay before my eyes. (well, my mind's eye)

(To preface my thoughts I'll say that I've never really considered myself much of a feminist, but I do believe that women are absolutely capable of doing anything they decide to. This post is not intended as an argument for the role of a woman, it is simply my thoughts on my own role as a woman. I'll just leave it at that.)


One morning, a few months ago, I stood next to Dustin in front of the mirror in the bathroom. I think we were both brushing our teeth. My thoughts for the previous several days had dwelt on men and women, their roles, their differences. You see, I had just read a book that was set in a different time when men had to be warriors. A time when they had to protect and defend their wives, families and country. Dustin and I were both bare shouldered because it was morning and we weren't dressed yet. As we were standing next to each other in front of the mirror, I couldn't help but observe the differences between he and I, a man and a woman. His shoulders are broad, well-muscled and strong. While I am a fairly strong woman, I relished the study of his shoulder versus mine. I looked so small next to him. So delicate. So... feminine.

As I marveled at these differences, I made him turn sideways next to me and I said to him, "Look at that! Look how small my shoulder is compared to yours. I bet you could fit three of my little shoulders into one of yours!" He laughed, his mouth full of toothpaste, but didn't say anything.

Did this difference bother me? No! Did I wish for his shoulders, his musculature, in myself? Of course not! To wish such a thing would, in my opinion, be a physical obscurity. I like my small frame and the role that it plays in my life. His broad shoulders could be a warrior's shoulders, if the need arose. They could defend his wife and his children. These thoughts stirred up feelings of security and safety in my heart.

I have mentioned on this blog that a friend of ours recently passed away, leaving behind a wife and two small children. As we went to the viewing and hugged each of his family members who attended his body, his newly-widowed wife hugged me fiercely and, through her sobs, conveyed to me that this just isn't fair! She didn't want this. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to grow old together! She isn't supposed to be a widow at 28 years old! Her feelings of confusion, anger, heartache and sorrow washed over me. All I could do was sob and tell her I'm sorry.

I'm sure anyone in my situation would've done just as I did, hug her back and cry with her, but as I did, I couldn't stop the images of myself, just three years older than she, mourning the loss of my own husband. What would that be like? I pray I will never know.

The weeks have passed since that day but the memory of it has not left me, nor have the feelings and questions evoked by the event. As time moves on and these thoughts hover just outside my awareness, I have been filled with gratitude for the roles we play, gratitude for my husband and his willingness to provide for his family, his willingness to love and cherish me, his willingness to be a man. Not only willingness, but fervor. Ferocity. Total dedication and devotion. I know that as long as he is here on earth, by my side, I will never have to worry about our bills being paid. He is our provider and my husband and he feels validated by these roles.

If tragedy were to strike my family, I know I could take care of myself and that I could provide for my family if the need arose. I've always known that and I have confidence in myself and my capabilities. That being said, the events of the last few weeks made me realize that I cherish being taken care of. It is a privilege and a blessing. I treasure that my husband's main desire is to provide for his wife and his children. I honor the fact that he is a man who wants to be the breadwinner. I relish my role of being a feminine woman who knows she can take care of herself, but allows her husband the honor of doing it for her.

And, for me in my life, knowing my capabilities and allowing myself to be dependent on my husband despite what I can do is my definition of being a woman.

Friday's Fabulous Five

It's Friday again and my head shakes in slack-jawed wonder. Are the weeks picking up speed as they pass or is it just me? I mean, really... June is halfway over, folks! And June means that the YEAR of 2009 is halfway over. Um, WHAT?! How did that happen? Regardless, there are many fabulous things happening right now.

1- My hubby took the day off of work today. I love it when that happens. He taught me a new skill...

2- We have several pieces of sandstone in our backyard and three of them were VERY thick pieces... three or four inches thick. My husband grew up quarrying sandstone with his dad and his great-uncle and step-grandpa, so he's got skills. He passed one on to his wife today. I am now the proud owner of a new skill-set: Sandstone splitting. It's so satisfying to watch a tiny crack grow bigger and bigger as you hammer it, and then CRACK! Half of it shears away and you suddenly have two lovely stones where before you only had one. Too cool, my friends. Too cool.

3- I worked mega-hard in my front flower beds on Tuesday and Wednesday and now they're so lovely and suddenly much bigger. Dustin was the man-power behind the operation. We nearly doubled the size of one bed and I bought a tiny-soon-to-be big bush along with some annuals to go in our new lovely space. It's all very charming. I must offer gratitude to my mother for instilling in me a love of creating beautiful flower beds. She's good, my mom. I grew up helping her and I like to think that some of that is bearing fruit here and now.

4-Chore charts are still going well. My kids are doing awesome and I'm so proud. They hardly even complain anymore, though I still have to remind them to get to work. I can handle that. Yipeee!!!!!!

5- I made banana bread yesterday. Y-U-M.

The end.

From The Jar... #39

Two weeks in a row!? The Jar is happier. But I don't feel like taking the time snap a picture of his happy face.

And the Jar says...


Tell about a special date you had with a boyfriend.


Nothing's jumping out at me as super "special", but I can think of some that were really fun! The night Dustin proposed to me was special I guess, but it was mostly just fun with a splash of special at the end. It was a Monday and we had "Family Home Evening" with our Singles Ward at the funky, local roller skating rink. I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I LOVE rollerblading, and so does Dustin. We like to go FAST... I love the speed, making my hair blow, cooling me off. Anyway, we zoomed around the rink and had "dances" and played limbo on blades. (Limbo is a very interesting game on rollerblades! I think I got second or third place. Go me!) It was just fun and I remember laughing a lot. I think we went to eat afterward.

(Suddenly I'm having Deja Vu... haven't I blogged about this before? Oh well...)

Here's the splash of specialness... After we (I think!) ate, Dustin took me up on a mountainside in the bitter February wind and proposed to me. That was special, even though I didn't say yes for another 6 days. (evil girl)

Another really fun date was in high school. It was a school dance and the boy I took was not my boyfriend but it was one of the most memorable dates I've had. So, yeah, girls' choice dance. I took Cody Baily. He was darned cute, so we thought. Matching shirts and all that. For dinner, we got Chinese take-out and went to Liberty Park in Salt Lake City. This park has a pond where you can rent canoes or paddle boats. It was early enough in the year that the boat rides were only open on Saturdays and this was a Friday night, but I had an "in" with the owner. I worked for her AND she was my sister's boyfriend's (now husband) mother! So, I got us all hooked up. Josh and Sarah came and unlocked the canoes and we paddled our little way out to the little island on the lake. We spread blankets on a pavilion and ate our Chinese goodness. We all felt so clever!

Then we went to the dance for a minute, got our silly pictures taken, and went on a scare-fest. We visited every freaky place we could think of in Salt Lake. The Salt Lake City Cemetery, the lime kilns, the Hippity Hoppity Lady, and we even sneaked into our church building which was very old and scary, especially at night, in the dark. After being thouroughly freaked out, we took our dates home. I seem to recall the boys saying that was the funnest date they had ever been on. I felt the same way.

Weekend

I thought of two things that I wanted to blog about for today, but now that I'm sitting here ready to blog, I can't think of them. I used to write them down because I always had something to say and I'd forget with so many ideas rolling around in my head. I'm not sure what's happened to me. It's like they pulled the plug on my blogging brain. So, when I thought of these two things earlier, I repeated them several times to myself so I'd remember and then I forgot anyway.

One of them I actually sort of remember but it just doesn't make sense to me now. I can't remember why I thought it would be interesting to blog about it. It just seems, well, kinda dumb.

So, I'll just tell you instead about my weekend, mmmkay?

My weekend rocked. I don't remember Friday very well. Oh wait... it's coming back to me now. Dustin was in a black mood and the weather matched him perfectly. (That part of the weekend didn't rock so much.) We had a severe thunderstorm. Seriously, I heard thunder non-stop for about 15 minutes. Branches were down in the street, leaves littered the ground... craziness. That kind of weather just doesn't happen much where I live.

So, after Dustin went out and watched the lightening show, he came in and went to bed. You say.. "Big deal? So what if your husband went to bed." It was freakin' 7:30pm! My husband went to bed at 7:30 on a Friday night! Can you believe that!? I couldn't.

While he slumbered, I put the kids to bed and then read on blogs and in my book (1400+ pages!). It was a fairly weird Friday night.

BUT! Then came Saturday. We got ourselves packed and took our kids to my mom and dad's. Then we ventured up to a mountain getaway and hiked around... I did a little trail-running, which ROCKS, by the way! (no pun intended) And then we went and checked in to our little room we were staying at. It was a riverfront room of a slightly dumpy, yet still charming in a funkified sort of way, motel. Our room had no insulation and it was a far cry from a warm evening, but we cranked our little space heaters and worked the adventure factor. We walked out onto the little dock that was in front our room and watched fish roll in the river. It was very picturesque.

6:00 rolled around and we headed to the little Playhouse where a "Dinner Theater" awaited our enjoyment. It was fairly good, mass-quantity-type food, and interesting company. I learned that at a dumpy-ish motel, you should keep quiet about the amenities of your room. Our dinner companions were talking about how hard their beds were and, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, I piped up with, "OH NO! Your beds are hard? That's crummy! I didn't ever sit on our bed, but when we sat on our couch we both sunk to the middle!" I demonstrated by leaning my body at an angle, crashing into Dustin.

Two of them narrowed their eyes at me and said, incredulously, "You have a couch!??"

"Oh... well, um, yeah... we have a couch. But it's not very comfortable!!!" I was backpedaling at this point.

Then the conversation went on for a few more minutes and, for reasons I can't recall, I said something about how the fireplace in our room is built so strange.

More eyes narrow, and more incredulity ... "YOU HAVE A FIREPLACE!!!!???"

"Ummm, yep. We have a fireplace." I was feeling like our room was very luxurious indeed and backpedaling seemed futile. "Maybe I should just not say anything else about our room tonight."

One lady, who was particularly huffy about her crappy room, said in all seriousness, "Yeah, maybe you shouldn't."

Ummm..... awkward.

So, after shrugging off the awkward jacket that had wrapped our conversation, we had a lovely little dinner and then watched a very silly show entitled, "Les-s Miserables". It was gut-busting funny. I laughed my head off and enjoyed myself very much. During the intermission, the cast brought us and several other couples onto the stage because it was our anniversary. Eleven years for us. That doesn't seem like that long, but there was only one other couple, at 15 years, who had been married longer than us! I was shocked! There were about eight couples on the stage and we were married almost the longest! Several of them were older couples too! The oldest couple of all had been married one year! That was the shortest time! It was weird. Made me feel old.

So, back to our room we went. When we got there I thought I'd test the bed and see if ours was as terribly hard as the others described. I laid down and Dustin asked from the other room, "So, how is it?"

I giggled and, thinking of our irritated dinner companions, said, "It's acutally really comfy... not hard at all!" We clearly came out on top in the room competition.

Dustin proceed to build a fire in our weird fireplace. It all looks normal, but the "fire area" of the fireplace was several inches lower than the hearth, preventing the wood from getting enough oxygen, making the fire go out repeatedly. The mountain-man side of my husband was very affronted at this and so he threw all the logs we bought on the dang fire, building it higher up where the airflow was better. It worked. It was also smokey.

Here's some Clancy-Trivia for you. Clancy LOATHES smelling like smoke... abhors it!... cannot abide it!!! (unless, of course, Clancy's CAMPING where there is supposed to be smoke.) So, Clancy got a little grumpy about the smokey situation in the room. Her head ached from it and her eyes burned. She was feeling very disgruntled, indeed.

Enough third person. I was a grumpy-butt for a bit and then I decided that this was a lovely adventure and I must chill out! Literally! We opened the front door and the back window and let in a little arctic air! (Seriously by about 10pm, Dustin, after getting something out of the car, reported that the weather was trying to snow. Awesome. Snow is June is my favorite!) So, we went to bed with the window open, blowing cold, smoke-free air on my face. Not to worry though. I sleep next to a man that is a walking furnace. So I was snug and cozy and much less grumpy because the chilly air cleared my sinuses of the abhorance of smokiness.

Then, we woke in the morning to whiteness out of the window. It didn't snow a lot, but snow, it did. That cut out any plans we had of more hiking, which was fine.

We did end up with a couch and a fireplace and a comfy bed in our room, but I didn't discover what was truly negative about our room until it came time for a shower. When I went into the bathroom thinking luxuriant showery thoughts, I turned on the hot water and was surprised to discover it would only turn about a quarter of an inch. That massive quarter-inch turn brought forth a fountain of hot water! No, actually it didn't at all. In reality, the flow of hot water was a mere trickle. I busted up laughing! Dustin came in and said, "Well, I guess you're taking a tub!" I then tried the cold, which was, of course, a gush, a wellspring, a super-flow of freezingness. Perfect!!! I reduced the cold so the ratio was the right temperature for a shower and the trickle trickled slightly more so than the hot did all alone.

Hmmmm..... I wondered what the shower would be like because at that rate, the tub would take 30-45 minutes to achieve a depth tolerable for a bath. I went for it! I turned on the shower and the water was so slow in coming that I could literally see the shower head fill up with water before it finally came out of the holes. BUT, it did the job. It created a slow flow of water that, with the help of my fingers, actually could get the shampoo out of my hair. And it was warm. And I didn't have to wait for 45 minutes.

Good times... good times.

I don't think I've taken a picture on my camera since February. That's the last pics I uploaded onto my computer. Isn't that weird? I'm feast or famine in the picture department. Oh well. I did bring my camera and we even snapped a few shots. So, enjoy, because I, apparently am in famine mode and this might be all you get for a while!

Our cute little room. Apparently the other people's rooms were just one room. Lucky us, we had a separate "living room" complete with a table and chairs.

The veiw from our room... it was most tranquil.

Dust snapped a little photo of me. I think I look rather freaky-skullish, but whatev... I don't post many pics of myself on here, so I decided to go with the Skeletor look...

And a little self-timer smoochy-smoochy for the Captain's Log, Stardate 2009.06.06....