tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90267792486872120412024-03-12T19:29:11.952-04:00The Zookeeper's Diary...I was once Melissa, then I became Wife. Soon Wife became Jack's Mommy. Before I knew it, there were 4. I am our Zookeeper; at once Melissa, Wife AND Mom of 4. And these are my thoughts...Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.comBlogger246125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-89856091252050710562011-09-12T10:22:00.000-04:002011-09-12T10:22:27.647-04:00Blogging and My LifeLet's face it: I've been largely absent from the blogging world for quite some time. (I know - you're all in rehab and going through therapy because you miss me so much; I'm sorry!) <br />
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I'd love to be able to tell you that it's because I'm just too cool for school or that I'm working on something really, <i>really</i> big. I'd love to be able to keep up with this and balance everything perfectly...<br />
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BUT the truth of the matter is this: Folks, I'm getting my ass kicked. <br />
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Dudes, it's a struggle. It's a beautiful, exciting, rewarding struggle, but there is no way I'd be doing anyone any good if I pretended it wasn't a battle. When we found out we were expecting a fourth kiddo last year, I shrugged and said, "Meh... what's another babe? I'm already out-numbered!" But now, a year after that announcement, I'm facing the reality that it isn't just the 4 kids... It's <i>life. </i>It is simply life as an adult with mind-boggling mounds of responsibility that sometimes makes me feel like I'm trying to run in quicksand. <br />
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Ya know? It's the living-within-a-Nazi-budget thing because we're carrying two mortgages right now... it's the four-kids-who-deserve-my-best thing... the having-a-small-business-to-run-and-grow thing... the being-a-good-wife-and-household-manager thing... All of those. And more. Let me back up and explain a little bit - not because I want sympathy or am trying to bitch, but because maybe it'll comfort some of you to know that no, not everyone's life is smooth-as-silk all the time:<br />
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We <i>just</i> got full-use of our basement back. After 20 weeks of dealing with the mold/water intrusion, we finally got it back. We lost easily a couple thousand dollars worth of stuff to mold, not to mention the lost time, wasted opportunities, etc. But that's better - finally! However, we found out in August that the gentlemen who were renting our other house (which we were unable to sell in 2008 - <i>thank you, economy</i>) were leaving. So we had to instantly pare down our budget and, while we've always lived well within our means, it has meant attempting to feed our family on $100 a week. That has translated to added hours of pouring through grocery-store circulars, writing menus, compiling lists and coupons and trying to weigh cost-savings against healthy eating choices. It literally sucks up hours of my week... However, that also means that I buy whole chickens instead of boneless-skinless breasts and nearly double my prep work for one dinner. Lunches include apple slices that I have to peel, slice and soak in lime-juice instead of purchasing ready-made bags of them. And that's fine! I'm doing what I have to for us! But that certainly doesn't leave any time for blogging... especially when that budget excludes disposable diapers and you consider the amount of laundry that goes into have 3 kids in cloth diapers full-time... And, let's be serious: we all know how I feel about laundry.<br />
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Jack, Jordan and Addie are in preschool this year so twice a week I am committed to getting them there and home. And I have MOPS, a moms group at my church and also Jack's baseball practices and games to travel to and from, but beyond that, I have to have snacks prepared and packed, cups ready, diaper changes to consider, etc. It's just a lot. I'm keeping my photography business at a comfortable level, but as we head into the fall, it will pick up quite a bit (which is good! I love my craft!) and it will constitute even less free time. Additionally, I have a few things on the horizon that are community-service related that include using my business to generate some income for some charity work. Again, all of this is stuff that I dearly love and am happy and excited to do, but it <i>takes time.</i><br />
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Oh, and we're raising four young kids. Jack and Jordan are super active. Addie has a speech-delay we are getting a treatment plan worked out for, and Peyton is exclusively breastfed with the appetite of a college football running back. <i> </i>It is, at times, overwhelming.<br />
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Clearly this is just our normal. It is not anything lamentable or regrettable, nor would I, for one hot second, assert that I have a difficult or bad life... Quite the opposite, in fact; I am happy and content and proud of where we are and I couldn't be more comfortable doing what we're doing <i>with</i> one another.<br />
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But it is <i>because</i> I love my life and am so happy with the decisions we've made and the paths we've walked that I find it impossible to put off any of my responsibilities in order to spend more time blogging. Don't get me wrong - although I am content and blissful, I do spend some time every day struggling with frustration, stress, fear, uncertainty, doubt and anger. (It would be entirely and freakishly unnatural if I did.) And that fact is what this blog post is really about for me, and hopefully for you as well: it is for me to tell you that it's okay to feel the full spectrum of emotions - good as well as bad. I just set about each day with the hope that if this is my last day on Earth, I may look back on it with no regrets. That I might stand before the Lord proud of myself as a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend and child of the God... that I might only need to pray for thanksgiving and ask only for the strength to live the next day as the one before it, should I be given the gift of tomorrow. More often than not, there is at least one role in which I do not perform the way I'd have wanted to. More often than not, I find myself praying also for forgiveness for my shortcomings in at least one area of my life and begging for just one more chance to do better. <br />
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Either way, the result is always me waking up resolved to glorify God and serve my family, friends and brothers and sisters to the best of my mortal ability. Rarely does that include blogging, but as it does mean I need some time to myself - to vent, to connect, to reach out, I'm not giving up on blogging because I do love it so much. It's just that I'm asking your forgiveness for not having a post up every couple of days so that I can focus on being the person I know I am and making myself better each day. I guess it also means I'm asking for your support and maybe a prayer or two to help me in that journey.<br />
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Thanks for reading and for sticking with us through everything! I promise I'll be my witty, funny self next time!Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-877075555998964852011-08-05T15:38:00.000-04:002011-08-05T15:38:08.542-04:00A Day in the Life...I know everyone in the world has always wanted to know what goes on in my life in any given day... Well, stand by, folks, this shit is r-i-v-e-t-i-n-g. For real. I saw this on a blog I love and knew I had to try. So here it is - a photographic journey through my day. Hold on to your hats...<br />
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7:15 Up, coffee, breakfast. Check e-mail, check banking, Pin some stuff, make sure my social network didn't implode overnight (discover one friend's baby finally sleeps through the night after 8 months, someone else went drinking, yet another loves Jesus so much it hurts - good; life is normal.) and compile my to-do list right beside my to-bitch-out list which includes several subcontractors, contractors and the like.<br />
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8:00 Peyton wakes up. Gah! Squee! I love her! Scoop her up and pat her a bit because I know she needs to burp and because it's the quietest part of the day and I can talk to her about my to-bitch-out list and not worry that she's going to repeat the bad words I'm sweetly whispering in her ear. (Oh her hair smells so good and she's so squishy!)<br />
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8:01 Decide the smell and squishiness are too much to handle and commence my daily 5,004,369 kisses applied to various parts of her body... Nurse her for a bit and go back to cuddling and kissing. <br />
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8:20 Realize that although being lost in baby-cheek-induced bliss is lovely, reality bites hard if you ignore it for too long. Decide to focus attention on dishwasher - I HATE emptying the dishwasher. Sigh. Grumble and groan and smooch Peyton some more. Change diaper. Realize she wants to play so I leave her on the floor with some toys and actually focus on the dishes... Real start-time of dishwasher emptying? Probably around 8:25.<br />
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8:25.30 Pat myself on back for having organized plastic containers! (And see lunchboxes for school - get pumped!) Also silently curse still-sleeping sweet babies for leaving their shorts and ball in the freaking kitchen... then silently chastise myself because I should have cleaned it up the night before. Sigh.<br />
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8:26 Now in a cursing mood, stare at phone and decide to make some phone calls to start crossing people off my to-bitch-out list. It goes poorly.<br />
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8:36 Finished with the first half of my phone calls (I told you it went poorly), it's now time to tackle my arch-nemesis: The Sippy Cup Cabinet. I hate it; it hates me. I save sippy cups for last when I empty the dishwasher because I HATE it so, so much.<br />
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8:38 Realize that I've got a few more minutes of productivity going so I should go find something else to do so I go to the laundry room... EEK!<br />
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8:38.02 Promptly shut the laundry room door and back out slowly.<br />
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8:38.10 Check on Peyton. Yup! Still happy! Aaaaw! Head back to laundry room (this is will power at it's finest, ladies and gentlemen) and at least get a load of laundry started in the washing machine.<br />
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8:40 Back in kitchen, survey mess left on counter and in sink that didn't fit in dishwasher the night before. Ugh. Gotta fix this. I tell Peyton that I have to put the "yucky stuff away" and realize my vocabulary has taken a major hit since becoming a parent.<br />
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8:41 Nearly drop a knife on my toe when I hear "tee hee hee" and realize that Jack has escaped and at some point tip-toed into "his" chair and has been watching me for an unknown amount of time until his little 4-year-old brain couldn't handle it anymore and he let out a "tee hee hee" and alerted me to his presence. Love the little fluffy-headed child. <br />
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8:45 I hear the girls making noise so I wipe the counter off and survey the shiny cleanliness. Ah. A clean kitchen to start the day. Bliss. Time to go get the twins.<br />
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8:46 This is what I find - a jumble of toddler, blankets and stuffies. Addie is always squinty and annoyed and Jordan is usually yammering some jibberish about how hungry she is. I am always angry when I see them at 30 pounds each, over 2 years old, sharing this crib because I know it's got to be unsafe but I can't put them downstairs in their beds. And then I grumble and groan about the nightmare that is going to be getting them to sleep in their beds. Seriously, it's going to suck.<br />
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8:47 To ease my frustration, I scoop em up - Addie first but she wants to get down, then Jordan who wants to snug for a second. I leave the room carrying Jordan to find Addie and get breakfast going, and I find that Addie has ALREADY gotten into the flip flops and is ready to accuse me of holding Jordan and not her. Sigh. It begins.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosZuMGZy0JDJBRR4lGK5UuoOuVN8sX0CgWZYoEuuNPa_HH4QtKanUrjzmHvzeQM0dbcZJUMo06K6x_boaaLPMRsLj9lEMviTeV3tRyuPcUxoLUuzODd_sNYC9GaKBDuE9MiGCXjTzNdLC/s1600/DSC_8709.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosZuMGZy0JDJBRR4lGK5UuoOuVN8sX0CgWZYoEuuNPa_HH4QtKanUrjzmHvzeQM0dbcZJUMo06K6x_boaaLPMRsLj9lEMviTeV3tRyuPcUxoLUuzODd_sNYC9GaKBDuE9MiGCXjTzNdLC/s320/DSC_8709.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
8:50 Both girls are in their seats ready for breakfast and Jack has joined them at the table. And we have the first temper tantrum of the day. When I present Addie her food (a cinnamon roll and some Crispix cereal with banana slices) it is apparently WRONG and she screams and swats the plate away with no less fury than if I had slapped down a pile of rat eyeballs covered in diarrhea gravy. Okay. I took the offensive plate away and she pounded the table. I gave it back and she screamed. Nice. Time to walk away.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1crr3TiIHGXCgn-burpVTxXvorfIiRkA31NQQs-aqQkK8GIGIp9rXPAsrnyYXfYw7g-aqJtl1UsnIoCwnwb6F1DP_g3gYY6KlI4kRI3epnVJgciJoAmoXex7V4-J-ReIvvfF16LdctjT/s1600/DSC_8713.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1crr3TiIHGXCgn-burpVTxXvorfIiRkA31NQQs-aqQkK8GIGIp9rXPAsrnyYXfYw7g-aqJtl1UsnIoCwnwb6F1DP_g3gYY6KlI4kRI3epnVJgciJoAmoXex7V4-J-ReIvvfF16LdctjT/s320/DSC_8713.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
8:51 Time to ponder the dinner question. Open the freezer and see absolutely nothing of interest....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZYo6ys3NbV8n2Z4yUVqkjizMskg2UqrvFxYexqU59v-Kac_MYQ2MVQ-OurSb5uU42nvBtV38fiXqOrFlAtTP6Yl_cobz4yV2zh9ZFyuIA8YCT8RYzPv1qL-2TOI2DIXyfu16D7GWjiPA/s1600/DSC_8717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZYo6ys3NbV8n2Z4yUVqkjizMskg2UqrvFxYexqU59v-Kac_MYQ2MVQ-OurSb5uU42nvBtV38fiXqOrFlAtTP6Yl_cobz4yV2zh9ZFyuIA8YCT8RYzPv1qL-2TOI2DIXyfu16D7GWjiPA/s320/DSC_8717.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>... including and especially the useless stockpile of milk that PB won't drink because she hates bottles.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBO0peUQblo3lscXAh1pSLcnSKCa4gYGc7aBafMK1h2k1gIJtt1vA91FC71S1COVQrk9T7J1bRc_ScUr3PW8NCBOP3xaCUzxgfu982jNt6jU_LaA8LDwRB4dTkVEZepoXAKLpj-no_J7v/s1600/DSC_8718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBO0peUQblo3lscXAh1pSLcnSKCa4gYGc7aBafMK1h2k1gIJtt1vA91FC71S1COVQrk9T7J1bRc_ScUr3PW8NCBOP3xaCUzxgfu982jNt6jU_LaA8LDwRB4dTkVEZepoXAKLpj-no_J7v/s320/DSC_8718.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>8:52 Since the inside freezer offered no help, I decide to go check the chest freezer in the garage, but realize the fight to get to it is too much to deal with right now. My garage is 18 kinds of a disaster since all the crap in it belongs in the basement but I'm trying to keep it out of the mold-zone. Anger creeping back... oh, goodie, Addie is still bitching at me. Sigh.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4S6Gw9veSyvDh_sPW5mQyqZyyEcppjuA9ECSPszu0RXvRO4vI32jM589RnNK03_k4pbF0EwEzXVmOEOMHSOs42tU0fuiXhcNSuGdBYbPgZXRUeBway3xd5X_J8GNSwVTgIuRVK__hM-Z/s1600/DSC_8719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4S6Gw9veSyvDh_sPW5mQyqZyyEcppjuA9ECSPszu0RXvRO4vI32jM589RnNK03_k4pbF0EwEzXVmOEOMHSOs42tU0fuiXhcNSuGdBYbPgZXRUeBway3xd5X_J8GNSwVTgIuRVK__hM-Z/s320/DSC_8719.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
8:53 Give Addie her food back and her crying slows to sniffles. Defeated, I sit down and open the laptop to distract myself while the kids eat.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QDd9KThOaCu7jtVtVW0NJGNTs5wI4oq17XN-S-x_g4R9GAcrTU8shMk1E_5MqQjBb0bkS-azDtrztFr6ahOSmJQB6AAnsNIP7CcAFGLoCTYwA9lXX4X-2vO2m6yqtwa1Ly9hvKN2-0UX/s1600/DSC_8720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QDd9KThOaCu7jtVtVW0NJGNTs5wI4oq17XN-S-x_g4R9GAcrTU8shMk1E_5MqQjBb0bkS-azDtrztFr6ahOSmJQB6AAnsNIP7CcAFGLoCTYwA9lXX4X-2vO2m6yqtwa1Ly9hvKN2-0UX/s320/DSC_8720.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
8:54 Addie sullenly decides that the cinnamon roll and other goodies are acceptable after all and, with as much "addietude" as she can muster, begins eating.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOlk2DlHtXwGeqa5LqBYyyx8i72TRAMPZWWaOwQVizEP_Zn2arV96Ym8ULuZ9WLE9DcfSlw3B9KfUXdUTz5Dm2CwX7lAPpVxmBB5wW3NmeYoj5oY5UIwvoe2H3h1TJcNnPF4R5ZeazVP3/s1600/DSC_8723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOlk2DlHtXwGeqa5LqBYyyx8i72TRAMPZWWaOwQVizEP_Zn2arV96Ym8ULuZ9WLE9DcfSlw3B9KfUXdUTz5Dm2CwX7lAPpVxmBB5wW3NmeYoj5oY5UIwvoe2H3h1TJcNnPF4R5ZeazVP3/s320/DSC_8723.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
8:56 Peyton lets out a gigantic fart and starts crying which means she pooped. Diaper change time. By the end of it, Addie and Jordan are yelling at one another about something and smacking their plates on the table. Augh. It's going to be one of those days. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn19oF9DZ-na8DSYKD9ZrHyS0rkHc8-XV-7Gqg0HnOWHdSOl8kQPnN9m5rieqgwjYYKK15kGWIQY4lN59M9HmZsgpDAx07J3tVyuqOmuzpirbbdQBLMB0R50G_7_NBAmOWRNXXI_YsCEkK/s1600/DSC_8701.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn19oF9DZ-na8DSYKD9ZrHyS0rkHc8-XV-7Gqg0HnOWHdSOl8kQPnN9m5rieqgwjYYKK15kGWIQY4lN59M9HmZsgpDAx07J3tVyuqOmuzpirbbdQBLMB0R50G_7_NBAmOWRNXXI_YsCEkK/s320/DSC_8701.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">9 am I finish snugging Peyton and get up to deal with the girls. Roll my eyes and check my coffee cup. Rats. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUzT0N3AFVtmVkDJv8G4soZtkioUPAB8y7WdEKAY33w1C3a2487bqf-FSsj-KBOur32le6zzw9nf3WIykmP581KvIsT3rfeANY_RrsTyQ8sb6103EEt2Gu2sqvZH4wCn_LKNzYCiVSdJm/s1600/DSC_8698.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUzT0N3AFVtmVkDJv8G4soZtkioUPAB8y7WdEKAY33w1C3a2487bqf-FSsj-KBOur32le6zzw9nf3WIykmP581KvIsT3rfeANY_RrsTyQ8sb6103EEt2Gu2sqvZH4wCn_LKNzYCiVSdJm/s320/DSC_8698.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
9:01 Set up a new pot of coffee (which, sadly, I don't even find time to drink. Sigh. Win some and lose some.)<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AYQZ3RUs4TtGdfmb8rCskRdd40CaCXcPUGG3dnDBbB2dvGi0039sDuZcmuHH2Jd4Yn1tpMYW3s9SikscUxS5ynm2ublrU2TmWR09nw_mSE4OGASSsJIT9gFqPbqsYajlP4bOqm7rnrsH/s1600/DSC_8700.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AYQZ3RUs4TtGdfmb8rCskRdd40CaCXcPUGG3dnDBbB2dvGi0039sDuZcmuHH2Jd4Yn1tpMYW3s9SikscUxS5ynm2ublrU2TmWR09nw_mSE4OGASSsJIT9gFqPbqsYajlP4bOqm7rnrsH/s320/DSC_8700.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
9:05 The girls are down and their diapers are changed, I put PB back in the Bumbo so she can "hang" with the big sibs and I start making my laundry-gathering rounds.<br />
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<br />
9:06 I check the office and realize I have lots of filing and paperwork to deal with. I handle that like I handled the laundry earlier... shut. the. door. <br />
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9:06 When I see the pile of laundry in my bathroom, the full realization of how far behind on laundry I am hits me. Sigh. It's laundry day. Scooping that pile up makes me realize how filthy our shower is. Sigh. It's also bathroom cleaning day. So much for my to-do list.<br />
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<br />
At this point, I've totally lost track of time because I'm bouncing back and forth between the bathrooms, the kitchen to get snacks, the living room to play with the kids, etc. I've also lost track of my camera. At one point, I found it and snapped a photo of Jack playing Mario Kart for our Wii.<br />
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I also was demanded to read these books to Jordan. She loves books.<br />
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But I had to wait to read to her because I looked over at Peyton who had determined that she was d-o-n-e sitting in the Bumbo and was now tired and hungry. Nurse her and put her down for a nap.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvr7MZtX8poEwxITs363ke54HIamBEzeu_IBHv0p6tFYR8wI1FKIiAsMuDdqzF3ONMIeq2kRkP9X1TnrAGyri90oCRauyQ-EiIwk9x8rgvfFtLRYMAbVdl2Zw6aC2NktgIaSu9KYFbXhK5/s1600/DSC_8744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvr7MZtX8poEwxITs363ke54HIamBEzeu_IBHv0p6tFYR8wI1FKIiAsMuDdqzF3ONMIeq2kRkP9X1TnrAGyri90oCRauyQ-EiIwk9x8rgvfFtLRYMAbVdl2Zw6aC2NktgIaSu9KYFbXhK5/s320/DSC_8744.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
11 something? Jordan has waited patiently, so it's time to read some books!<br />
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3 books later... She is ready for some tickling and goofing around...<br />
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I LOVE to tickle Jordan!<br />
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Addie, meanwhile, is playing happily (for once!) and quietly with her Toy Story dolls. Score! Time to get a little more cleaning done and make lunch.<br />
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12:30 Lunch time! Peanut butter sandwiches and cheese cubes and peaches (none for Jack - they're "Guh-ROOOOS-uh")<br />
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12:45 Realize my contractors are STILL not here. Annoyed. I probably could have gone to the beach after all. Very, very, angry.<br />
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12:46 Try to turn anger into something productive... check on laundry - dryer still going. Good, I can put that off a bit longer.<br />
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12:47 Clean another toilet.<br />
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12:50 Take a minute for prayer and reflection. In the bathroom. It is what it is.<br />
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1 pm The contractors are here! Follow them around pestering them for a bit while the kids finish lunch and watch some Super Why!... (And think to myself that I wish it was Curious George instead... The Man in the Yellow Hat is kinda hot.)<br />
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1:15 Get on the computer for a few minutes because I can hang out with the kiddos and spy on dudes at the same time. <br />
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1:30 Peyton is up from her nap. Nurse and cuddle time with her so I unleash the big kids and let them play for a bit before the twins need to go down for a nap.<br />
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1:40 The kids are playing nicely. Love them! Then, I realize I haven't eaten lunch OR had my other cup of coffee. Grrr. <br />
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1:41 Iced coffee and the crusts off Jack's sandwich. Sigh. On a diet like this, how is it that I'm still reduced to wearing Spanx? Annoyed.<br />
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2 pm - Put girls down for nap and set Jack up with my lap top since Peyton is playing happily on the floor and I can get some stuff done.<br />
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2-4pm my day consists of cleaning supplies,<br />
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dishes,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfnuatrwU_yT73jsmUFLLVYav4pOObdvYEtGv1H0QjGibTkKDuTaSkoUGpNCYMn3YPD-fw325a_XjVzvanRLKX-ObBT5oLpujen4gPBt-1o2Veq75ugFFrwn1G1rFmPXKAaPXrU_UiRDlY/s1600/DSC_8827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfnuatrwU_yT73jsmUFLLVYav4pOObdvYEtGv1H0QjGibTkKDuTaSkoUGpNCYMn3YPD-fw325a_XjVzvanRLKX-ObBT5oLpujen4gPBt-1o2Veq75ugFFrwn1G1rFmPXKAaPXrU_UiRDlY/s320/DSC_8827.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>and laundry, with lots of picking Peyton up, patting her back and singing, walking around, nursing, etc. along with putting out crayons for Jack, putting on movies for him and in general playing with both of them. I didn't take many photos. I didn't really have time. And no one wants to see before & after shots of my bathroom. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPNv5H-t8Mlg3K2ZTnEmB2Xho4AGNivoV1NSFfEJZ3PvJzFqyW0joB_aHVqs14EWo4DUyk1uzBfxCvmg3-GzxeJD4nDr0rX_Sx9S1Y_iRCUfj5e6bqA0XpAdkstZVAfYQLwdG5TTqb-WJ/s1600/DSC_8832.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPNv5H-t8Mlg3K2ZTnEmB2Xho4AGNivoV1NSFfEJZ3PvJzFqyW0joB_aHVqs14EWo4DUyk1uzBfxCvmg3-GzxeJD4nDr0rX_Sx9S1Y_iRCUfj5e6bqA0XpAdkstZVAfYQLwdG5TTqb-WJ/s320/DSC_8832.JPG" width="212" /> </a></div>4:30 Peyton is finally sleeping in the swing, so I get to deal with cleaning the stuff out of our basement storage area. (We had mold; mold grows in cardboard; most of our stuff was stored in cardboard... ergo, I had to get rid of all the cardboard and put all our worldly belongings into 20+ plastic bins, checking all the items over for mold and cleaning/trashing/donating as necessary. It was a joy - truly.)<br />
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5 pm The girls are awake. Jordan was jumping for joy. I love how happy and bubbly she is when she wakes up!<br />
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5:30 Husband comes home! Yay! (Although I love him to pieces and enjoy having him around immensely, I'm mostly glad he can help midget wrangle during their "witching hourS"!)<br />
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5:31-7pm-ish Cooking dinner, serving dinner, cleaning up from dinner... dishes in sink/dishwasher, etc. Also no time to take photos. Also finding it difficult to take photos with children hanging off legs. Sigh.<br />
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7:10 Hand Peyton to Justin and head back to the basement to keep working. Also take breaks to do the bedtime routines, clean up the mess upstairs and nurse Peyton... continue doing all of this until after 10:30 pm.<br />
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</a></div>10:45 Time for Patron. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOGp9eaVUDrmsDoF4MUwQIJqFoHPpCS_xxHqx_S2PC6Dre3lJ-hnOS8MT21KvhG0BVwbAMqUTOMPHLMOfNn5bbC5FBJnTN4-a6RLoUBPzZvEHuat6n602IS1wXyDIcdN78t_7Vao68VCm/s1600/DSC_8845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOGp9eaVUDrmsDoF4MUwQIJqFoHPpCS_xxHqx_S2PC6Dre3lJ-hnOS8MT21KvhG0BVwbAMqUTOMPHLMOfNn5bbC5FBJnTN4-a6RLoUBPzZvEHuat6n602IS1wXyDIcdN78t_7Vao68VCm/s320/DSC_8845.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
11pm Notice this mess is still outside when I'm locking up for the evening. I choose to deal with this the way I deal with laundry: shut the door and figure I can deal with it later. Bed sounds good. <br />
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</a></div>...bed sounds <i>really good.</i><br />
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</a></div>So. That's a day in my life. Super exciting, no?Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-68498808179622009192011-07-23T09:26:00.002-04:002011-07-23T09:26:57.511-04:00Me vs. Spanx: Part Deux<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-V-CIVDvsk8FZQmX-PbM-RoghYFpJmnGLgM_uEqZczcUAInbEUne6sXJv16zH7bi_suXOkUrr3XTByEerFZdQmEqLp06ssIFMRf0Qnc5efBRwSGM1hyphenhyphenSwzQJcGfKl5VaaBavlAPjJdC8/s1600/spanx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-V-CIVDvsk8FZQmX-PbM-RoghYFpJmnGLgM_uEqZczcUAInbEUne6sXJv16zH7bi_suXOkUrr3XTByEerFZdQmEqLp06ssIFMRf0Qnc5efBRwSGM1hyphenhyphenSwzQJcGfKl5VaaBavlAPjJdC8/s640/spanx.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Just sayin'.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-21432022205573563992011-07-13T17:24:00.001-04:002011-07-13T18:15:11.291-04:00On SpanxingThere are several truths looming over me right now:<br />
<br />
1) My baby weight is not BUDGING. At all. Despite PB nursing like a fiend and packing the weight on, the numbers on the scale fluctuate maybe 1/2 a pound at most no matter what I do. Annoying to say the least.<br />
<br />
2) There is a very important wedding coming up in about 6 weeks.<br />
<br />
3) I have to don something other than maternity clothes.<br />
<br />
*gulp*<br />
<br />
I ordered a dress that looked lovely online - the right color, appropriate cut, good price, etc. It showed up, and I tried it on as soon as it arrived.... *double gulp* I looked awful - like some oddly misshapen caricature of my former self. I hollered that I was not going to be stepping out of my closet in the dress and everyone scoffed at me until my husband came in and winced and said, "Yeah... maybe we should find you a different style."<br />
<br />
Ladies, from a man that has to vie for attention with 4 kids, a house full of mold, a sink full of dishes, a laundry room full of pure hell, and a computer full of Facebook? That's bad. (I can't tell you how much I appreciate his honesty here - I think it'd be worse if he told me how sexy I looked. Then I'd have to punch him and I don't know if I'd have been able to handle guilt on top of self-disgust.)<br />
<br />
Cue my mother-in-law: "Have you tried Spanx?"<br />
<br />
<i>Whomp.</i><br />
<br />
(That was the sound of my self-esteem hitting rock-bottom.)<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i><br />
"Um, no... Spanx are for faaaaaaa............" (Pause mid-sentence as I realize that she's holding up a pair of her own... and when it dawns on me that I'm actually <i>there</i>.) "Um, no I haven't. It hasn't been something I've thought about before." (Tactful enough?)<br />
<br />
"You should try my Spanx. Seriously. Try them. If they work, you can keep the dress - if not, we'll go shopping."<br />
<br />
Sigh. I had heretofore done nothing but scoff at the Spanx-wearing population and assumed that all ills can be cured with proper diet and exercise. (Yes, my foot does taste delicious, thanks. So glad I'm eating it now.) Dejectedly, I took from her this thing that looked like I'd have struggle to get onto my twins' baby dolls, let alone on my foot (and for-freaking-get actually smushing my ass into it). Seriously, this thing could have fit into a powder compact. Easily. So I start stretching it out to fit it over my foot and come to my first observation: In addition to working my thighs, butt, and abs, I need to work my arms. Then I get it halfway up my thighs and look down and realize I've effectively rubber banded my legs together and am turning purple from mid-thigh downward. "Ma! Seriously? This thing is gonna make me lose weight by forcing the doctors to amputate my legs to remove it!" "Shut up and put your big girl panties on, Melis!" "I <i>am</i> putting my big-girl panties on, MIL! That's the problem!" (She hurls a dish rag at me...) "Quit bitching and hike 'em up." "[insert explitives here]"<br />
<br />
Nearly an hour later (<i>no more than ten minutes, but it felt like an hour and I was sweating like a sinner in church by the time it was done</i>) I had managed to squeeze a pregnancy's worth of me into an elastic tube (and had a new-found sympathy for the ground pork that gets stuffed into casings to make sausages) that began just beneath my bra and ended just north of my knees. <br />
<br />
Grudgingly, I had to admit... the thing worked. I don't know where it put the lumps and bumps, but somehow the Spanx had smoothed my... er... issues. I mean, we're far from perfect, but I can for sure wear the dress I purchased with some decorum of pride and class - okay, well, at least without feeling like a side-show. <br />
<br />
Really? Spanx? I'm wearing Spanx?<br />
<br />
But... my butt... it did look much better.<br />
<br />
And my hips were only the bottom of the hour-glass, not the bottom of one hour glass AND the top of another one.<br />
<br />
<i>Sweeeeeeeeeet.</i><br />
<br />
And then, I had to pee. <i>Damnit</i>. Well, I figure I'll have to modify my own (soon-to-be-purchased [in two colors]) Spanx to include a pee-hatch. I'm thinking something with snaps. I dunno. But either I am going to have to figure something out or I'm not going to drink anything before this wedding and risk dying of dehydration because the thought of wrestling those things down and then back up in a restroom stall with a baby strapped to my chest and twins clumped around my knees gives me nightmares.<i> </i><br />
<br />
Whatever - the things we do to not look like we've given birth to 4 kids in 4 years, right? I'm totally fine with spending a mortgage payment on medieval torture devices that squish my fat from one part of my anatomy to another. Just so long as I can wear my damned dress.<br />
<br />
Spanx. I'm there.<br />
<br />
Sigh.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-38412692394851207722011-07-12T15:04:00.000-04:002011-07-12T15:04:33.376-04:00The Sounds of SummerMOM! Maaaaaaaaaaaaawmmeeeeeee! Muh-ooooom! Mom? <span style="font-size: large;">MOM! </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Momma? </span><span style="font-size: small;">Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom! Mom-mom-mom-mom-mom-mom! Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? MAMMA! Muh-om-meeeeeee! Mommeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey? Mommmmmmmmmmmma! Mom-UH! Momma-momma-momma-momma-momma-momma-momma? Mom. Momma. MAM<span style="font-size: x-large;">MA</span>! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Mom.</span><br />
Mom.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Mom.</span><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">MOM!</span></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-size: x-large;">MOM!!</span></em></strong><br />
<br />
Ugh. I'm going to go soothe my nerves by listening to nails on a chalkboard. Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-18810989428184119152011-06-28T09:47:00.000-04:002011-06-28T09:47:09.235-04:00Where I've Been (alternate title: Ugh)Wow, that's quite a gap - like, a month... and a half. Fail.<br />
<br />
I'm super duper annoyed with myself for being a slacker. It's totally fair for you all to be annoyed with me too. I can't really explain why I haven't been blogging much without sounding like Whiney Whinerson, so I'll try to keep it brief since I don't love crying into my blog like it's a hankie:<br />
<br />
Some dudes royally screwed the pooch with our house (Remember? The gorgeous, monster house I love so dearly and posted about before? That house. Yup.) and we ended up with a basement (which is where the kids' rooms are) full of mold. And, as it turns out, basement walls full of water. And a bunch of douchey contractors that refused to acknowledge the scope of the problem until I took it upon myself to start ripping baseboards off the walls. It's awesome. No, like truly AWESOME. That nonsense isn't fit for human habitation so I have all 4 kids sleeping in my bedroom. Yup - all 4. (On the plus side, hooray for a master bedroom big enough for 1 queen bed, 1 crib, 1 Pack 'n Play and 1 twin-sized bed!) And remember my struggles with <a href="http://gallagherfam.blogspot.com/2009/08/this-is-what-happens-when-i-blog.html">Chronic Laundry Buildup</a>? Imagine what CLB symptoms look like when I no longer have THREE closets in which to hang 4 children's worth of clothing and when I cannot fold the 894 onesies Peyton has into dressers or the 9,476 socks Jack possesses or the 88 pairs of pants I have for the twins are homeless due to dressers being in mold-infested places. So I've brought the dresser drawers upstairs and they ALSO number among the orphaned furniture items now cluttering up my bedroom. And I have essentially no time to do anything because I spend about 75% of my life on the phone trying to get someone to do something beyond painting Killz on some baseboards and expecting me to be happy with that. <br />
<br />
Dudes, it sucks. Look:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoXZAA-XF8TJkUen1gsfhWqAvc0ZFc3dr1Ja7cMM29oKg4SFic-zCS8iGMiyQes0VDnW-OlPu7FLft4Zf8WPzWR7GbJO4_HfwNyeUOawMUGgI2-V99mB_dYlD4LUTg_BACoaSSvic8j1i/s1600/DSC_8258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoXZAA-XF8TJkUen1gsfhWqAvc0ZFc3dr1Ja7cMM29oKg4SFic-zCS8iGMiyQes0VDnW-OlPu7FLft4Zf8WPzWR7GbJO4_HfwNyeUOawMUGgI2-V99mB_dYlD4LUTg_BACoaSSvic8j1i/s400/DSC_8258.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> Nursing chair, Pack 'n Play next to my side of the bed (the night stand is full of baby PJ'S)...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FLZMSZDBaV22O9YFuq-mBb9LVgGdARKIpwTGa1m_IIlBmp-bnPyV88FOmjhuV_o3zBTqDIBYQqqroL-2Crbx2lf0kk1C4IdtO6sy7lTw6GJCjdQHt2HXEUR2Ka6HMAdErZcYhXy4KH8k/s1600/DSC_8259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FLZMSZDBaV22O9YFuq-mBb9LVgGdARKIpwTGa1m_IIlBmp-bnPyV88FOmjhuV_o3zBTqDIBYQqqroL-2Crbx2lf0kk1C4IdtO6sy7lTw6GJCjdQHt2HXEUR2Ka6HMAdErZcYhXy4KH8k/s400/DSC_8259.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> There's Jack's bed - the mattress covered in junk on the floor in the corner next to Justin's side in front of a door.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOplxGnqUVl7GsxseUySVyc34DilyGQ8z4MwSsaYItiB0ljQgitrhe4dLS4Jp2HhTTwbOOUS5YFUlKNaLi184PkURNX3iovNilpBDFodjpfMOYOqZw954pFGsImJrdSzXjW-z-YQ_Sbpmd/s1600/DSC_8260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOplxGnqUVl7GsxseUySVyc34DilyGQ8z4MwSsaYItiB0ljQgitrhe4dLS4Jp2HhTTwbOOUS5YFUlKNaLi184PkURNX3iovNilpBDFodjpfMOYOqZw954pFGsImJrdSzXjW-z-YQ_Sbpmd/s400/DSC_8260.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> There's the crib... and no, I don't think it's a good idea for 60 lbs of terrible two's to still be occupying a crib, but I have no idea what else to do with them.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGkocS1zeYYEz8gFZSL4TiroI7jHrGOuCbypTM95pGhLftgLg0gTgtLyubouOaGP1OiZm0nqi1Oh65mg5SmcdBh2Zu4OXEHiZTHbdcBu95EgyIOIY5QwD6qmBF6mHbGXds8s2YVflKmgo/s1600/DSC_8261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGkocS1zeYYEz8gFZSL4TiroI7jHrGOuCbypTM95pGhLftgLg0gTgtLyubouOaGP1OiZm0nqi1Oh65mg5SmcdBh2Zu4OXEHiZTHbdcBu95EgyIOIY5QwD6qmBF6mHbGXds8s2YVflKmgo/s400/DSC_8261.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div>There's the stacks of drawers... the brown ones are Jack's, the long white ones are Peyton's and the short stack of many drawers belongs to the twins. It's super annoying. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3_6ubzxNmSFWuep1Zp87ALI2UAChbrBnkes4lIv1trHk1L1xMFE1ZXu490w0ymzFLnw30fIxsT_CxyCJwO-d7qm5JwutZ75P2pe0KDhLZ0SRCxHWZ4q104XxMp3t1JOxjhEEeP3g-baN/s1600/DSC_8106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3_6ubzxNmSFWuep1Zp87ALI2UAChbrBnkes4lIv1trHk1L1xMFE1ZXu490w0ymzFLnw30fIxsT_CxyCJwO-d7qm5JwutZ75P2pe0KDhLZ0SRCxHWZ4q104XxMp3t1JOxjhEEeP3g-baN/s400/DSC_8106.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
And this is what I found when I pulled the baseboards off the wall in Peyton's room. Grody, no? <br />
<br />
So I've been a super delightful person lately and haven't really wanted to burden anyone with my anger and frustration - my poor kiddos get enough of it as it is. (I think we're all just getting tired of me being on the phone and us being reduced to 900 square feet of living space and constantly sushing because someone is always sleeping nearby - usually Peyton or Justin if he's on night shift) and no one having their own space to go to get away from the others... <br />
<br />
Blech. Be glad you're not me. Actually, be glad you're not the contractors working with me because I reduced 3 grown men to near tears yesterday. <br />
<br />
Or be glad you're not a baseboard in my basement because that would mean I had abused you with a crow bar. Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-2450652995481926212011-05-16T07:57:00.000-04:002011-05-16T07:57:46.898-04:00Deep Conversations in the Grocery StoreI hate - <i>hate</i> - checking out at the grocery store with kids in tow. The narrowness of the lane, the brightly-colored candy displays, the smutty Cosmopolitan magazine covers raising questions I don't really want to answer ("Mom, what does 's-e-x' spell?"), etc.<br />
<br />
This weekend, my un-doing was the <i>Time</i> magazine with Osama Bin Laden's face on the cover with a big, red "X" across it.<br />
<br />
Jack asked, "Mom, why does that guy's face have an X on it?" <br />
<br />
"Because he's gone."<br />
<br />
"Where did he go?"<br />
<br />
"Uuuuuh... well, he's not alive anymore."<br />
<br />
"So he went with Jesus Christ?"<br />
<br />
"Um, no."<br />
<br />
"Where did he go then? Why did he die?"<br />
<br />
At this point, Justin was looking at me with that annoying "better you than me" face he gets when I am forced to navigate the murky waters of moral education of our children as he stacked box after box of Rice-a-Roni on the conveyor belt and played peek-a-boo with the girls. I mouthed "douche" at him and turned back to my questioning son.<br />
<br />
"Jack, honey, that man was very bad. He was a bad guy. He hurt lots and lots of people so our good Army guys had to go and kill him. He's not in Heaven because he sinned too much."<br />
<br />
"But we shouldn't kill! He did sins? We don't shoot people. We don't kill people!"<br />
<br />
Sigh. Great. So now I'm forced to try to explain a dichotomy that I don't quite understand myself to a 4-year-old and hope that he doesn't apply the same logic to issues at home - I can hear it now: "I hit Jordan because she was hitting Addie and Addie needed me to protect her and hitting was the only thing I could do." <br />
<br />
So I did what any self-respecting, loving parent would do...<br />
<br />
"Look at all the candy, Jack!"<br />
<br />
"Wow! Can I have some Skittles?!"<br />
<br />
Phew. Crisis averted.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-84876499652068190662011-05-08T22:13:00.000-04:002011-05-08T22:13:25.917-04:00I Did It!I have always believed in working hard and following my heart. <br />
<br />
And I've always believed in giving everything I can for my family.<br />
<br />
So, when I felt the pull to turn my photography passion into a business, I did. With the support of my family, I began putting together a business plan, researching tax laws and local photography rates. I prayed and pondered and stayed up late night after night building a website and planning marketing strategy - hoping against hope that I have the talent and gumption to make it work.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.melissagallagherphoto.com/"><img border="0" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2eI1Q1hx53erkWLcAnQJzOeDgfDJ2gJNKNXSjpJbtPGD1RCgwqPoCj3bi67cnTAFhmW6NFFeubn17nRfLkHr0j4e1MusyjeoLWCvEJmzuijnMtOg9Qmly14BqPArFMSv7-W3fYWTi6kOW/s640/Logo+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Wish me luck as I don yet another hat...<br />
<br />
(And while you're at it, please visit <a href="http://www.melissagallagherphoto.com/">my website</a>, <a href="http://melissagallagherphoto.blogspot.com/">my blog</a>, and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/melissagallagherphoto">my Facebook page</a> - thanks!)Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-9050650720035018382011-04-30T13:57:00.000-04:002011-04-30T13:57:27.309-04:00Making Mommyhood Sexy......is totally not what this post is about. <i>At all.</i><br />
<br />
I am not a sexy beast right now. Unless "sexy" equals weird-smelling, rumpled, spit-up crusted, messy-bunned zombie.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Obviously, then, I'm right up your alley.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I've been wearing the same cami/shirt combo for about 4 days. Maybe 5. I can't tell. I could probably do carbon-dating on the various spit-stains on the shoulders and figure it out if I cared to. Occasionally I swap out the pants - PJ's for most of the time, maternity jeans for those occasions that require a public appearance - but truthfully, even that is only because they get wet from bathwater and I can't stand the feeling of cold, soggy pants any longer. <br />
<br />
(I'm almost afraid to change clothes in case Peyton no longer recognizes me as her mother.)<br />
<br />
It's not that I look hideous... it's just that I've got about 4 shirts that look good and are comfortable and give quick access to boobs. And once I find something that works, why change? Right? Right. That's what I'll tell myself. <br />
<br />
Because yesterday, I rolled out of bed in my jeans. Yep. Jeans. I wore jeans to bed and didn't even realize it. I shrugged and just kept going. <br />
<br />
<i>It's all about convenience.</i><br />
<br />
The best part of all this? Less. Laundry. <br />
<br />
I hate laundry, so this is flipping fantastic. So much so that I don't bat an eyelash when I use my shirt hem for a burp rag. (Don't worry, I draw the line at using it as a baby wipe during a diaper change. Barely.) Even LESS laundry. Bonus!<br />
<br />
This is not sexy or cool or fashionable, and I'm totally aware of this. But by the time I stuff 16 wiggling limbs through 16 cruelly-small holes and cover 8 adorable little butt cheeks with undies or diapers and find 8 socks and 6 shoes and create 4 pig tails, figuring out how to make my squishy butt fit in anything designer or making a cute shirt nursing-friendly isn't high on my priority list. <br />
<br />
Besides, honestly, it doesn't matter how <i>hawt</i> I may or may not look... when I'm out in public with my zoo, people are going to look at me like I'm crazy. (And I've gotten both the "Wow, good thing you neglect your kids to put on makeup" comments and the "wow, good thing you don't care about your appearance" comments so someone will always be unhappy.)<br />
<br />
So you won't find me looking like Grace Kelly any time soon... but you won't find me losing any sleep over it either. Friends, yes, I might lose friends over it. But then again, I'm always nice to have around so I can be <i>that girl</i> that everyone keeps around to make themselves feel better. I'm sweet like that.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-11469584213715344132011-04-25T08:25:00.000-04:002011-04-25T08:25:38.151-04:00My Dog-In-LawIt's no secret that I love dogs. LOVE them. I want one in the worst way...<br />
<br />
But for now, my MIL and FIL and their dog are visiting so I'm getting my 4-legged snuggle fix (from the dog, not the combo of MIL and FIL, mind you) and it makes me very <i>very</i> happy.<br />
<br />
Look at this face! Gah! How can you not love this mug?!?!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4BAvZ_Z6q4n_zbnnx1Jd4EOuz_dYQ4a9Ez0EgJYQTiMr_2vLKeOhGWSIyRlPT50rrPa7zGZrGza1qYGcKg9RdcahCFaSxQCkLZt-g79iDEpJjo2ZoMtUIEIgjX3khX_tp5_zo3fKlvA/s1600/AprilAnimal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4BAvZ_Z6q4n_zbnnx1Jd4EOuz_dYQ4a9Ez0EgJYQTiMr_2vLKeOhGWSIyRlPT50rrPa7zGZrGza1qYGcKg9RdcahCFaSxQCkLZt-g79iDEpJjo2ZoMtUIEIgjX3khX_tp5_zo3fKlvA/s640/AprilAnimal.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
My kids love him and he seems to adore them... when he's not looking at me with soulful eyes that seem to say, "How do you keep up with these guys?: he is following them faithfully around. (He's probably waiting for that gummy Cheez-It to fall off the hem of a t-shirt, but oh well, it's still cute.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm going to go give a belly rub and fix breakfast, so I'll point you towards I Heart Faces to look at the other adorable pet photos for this week's entry in their photo challenge! Have a great day!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.iheartfaces.com/"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSSR6eB-1rLBDSa7ywwI6RNDlPzu0YEGreCAOTpXTf_qy8LsUThLGLu1kI029lkmxlxI_Ryr3qpx24iuFmh3AQEj7KW8dj186XELktpzN-LwySEzpWn_XkR518AYrCnAFNM6CHk-zhOkw/s1600/I-Heart-Faces-button.jpg" /></a></div>Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-21940223099165640602011-04-18T13:57:00.000-04:002011-04-18T13:57:38.260-04:00Baby Grins and Momma's TearsPeyton just rewarded me with a giant-cheeked, crescent-eyed toothless grin. <br />
<br />
I thought my heart would burst. So I bawled my eyes out instead, soaking her chubby cheeks as I kissed her over and over again.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpJZdfAA2HZ_2CYM5ujiYlMZGyreBMOU8MH9b-O77Npw_aGF4A3xT9ySj-69rhJF_vYToRaE0F40KNrf-jSplYKQ1arM-M-3mL0XEhPmRlp42SpnIWeJZVuvr0uGhg8qJW1OfQDW0JN8/s1600/MommyPeytonNoseWeb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpJZdfAA2HZ_2CYM5ujiYlMZGyreBMOU8MH9b-O77Npw_aGF4A3xT9ySj-69rhJF_vYToRaE0F40KNrf-jSplYKQ1arM-M-3mL0XEhPmRlp42SpnIWeJZVuvr0uGhg8qJW1OfQDW0JN8/s640/MommyPeytonNoseWeb.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
How in the world is it possible to love so much?<br />
<br />
And how in the world is is possible that I will wake up tomorrow and find my love for my family even stronger? <br />
<br />
I am so blessed.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-85369171566685836482011-03-30T08:40:00.000-04:002011-03-30T08:40:00.373-04:00They Grow So Fast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwRboyHP_eK2y_QjIKLeumjVTqDnVmvlH2xHL6eEBT8SZIFc-3nxFhC7x-InHGK55EyDz0yy_dtIp5jUDv4JfJILJ8mt_psByHvNzMA-XN6VuMWf4NB9y3F9xPDq01zYtt7nLLtSbr_Y/s1600/Peyton+and+Daddy+bw+01web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwRboyHP_eK2y_QjIKLeumjVTqDnVmvlH2xHL6eEBT8SZIFc-3nxFhC7x-InHGK55EyDz0yy_dtIp5jUDv4JfJILJ8mt_psByHvNzMA-XN6VuMWf4NB9y3F9xPDq01zYtt7nLLtSbr_Y/s640/Peyton+and+Daddy+bw+01web.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I can't believe Squirt is 16 days old. I can't believe that's 2 weeks. I can't believe I only have 50 more weeks with her as a "baby". I can't tear myself away from her - I hold her when I don't have to and I stare at her when I should be watching a movie. I ignore my blog and my laundry so I can try to stuff as much of this into my memory as possible.<br />
<br />
It's like I'm re-living each older kiddo's infancy through her... I look down at her nursing and see Jack and Addie. When she smiles, I see Jordan. (And yes, I'm considering it a smile - even if it's caused by gas, it's still a smile.) When Jack was 16 days old, I had no idea what I was doing. Nursing was challenging and I didn't know how to burp him properly and we were facing a deployment and each day, though wonderful, was also riddled with mini-crises and a sprinkling of panic. With the twins, at this point, Jordan had only been home from the NICU for a short while and we were just realizing that she had problems with reflux. I spent far less time than I wanted to snuggling each girl and relishing her presence because I was juggling a much younger, much less independent Jack plus the demands of caring for two newborns and coping with Justin's high-demand job. I felt guilty when I lingered too long with one twin or the other and I rarely wore them because wearing two was such a task and I felt like I was robbing one of them of time if I wore her sister. From the outset with them, they were more content to snuggle with one another than with me and in general, I bonded with them in brief spurts over a longer period of time and as a result, much of their early days is a complete blur.<br />
<br />
But Peyton? Peyton is all of them. She is at once just like Jack and like her sisters. I am an experienced mom who fluently speaks "crying" and interprets her needs with ease and confidence. I can sling her in as much time as I can ask, "can you pick her up?" and I can cook a 3-course meal 1-handed while singing "Old MacDonald" to the older kids and playing a game of kick-and-catch with our mini soccer ball. I can function on 2.5 hours of sleep a night for a week, as long as I get a few 4-hour chunks every now and then. I am busy but not overwhelmed (thanks, truthfully, in large part to amazing friends who have helped with meals... I can't take ALL the credit!) and I realize more than with the other 3 kids that these days are fleeting. Laundry will always pile up, but she won't always fit in Justin's hand like a handful of candy. The counters will always have mysterious sticky stuff on them, but she won't always murmur contentedly at my breast when she's full of milk. I can always shower and do my hair, but she won't always smell that that ubiquitous combination of powder, rubbing alcohol and love. <br />
<br />
I love that I can lift her to my face and put a kiss on her rosebud lips and watch her purse them and then realize it's me and turn her cheek into my hand with her mouth open ready to nurse. I love that we can offer her a finger and she grasps it automatically and unquestioningly the way we love her automatically and unquestioningly. I love that her eyes study us with the innocent fascination of an infant, but there is also a sense of familiarity in her gaze as if she's know us for far longer than 16 days. I love that she's here and I cannot fathom how I'll get through the bittersweet thrill of each milestone over the next 50 weeks. (And, to be sure, every year after that as well...) I love that she makes me love my other 3 even more deeply. And I love that I feel like God placed her within me because He knew that Peyton would bring me closer to Him and intensify my love for our family as well as for Him and make me a better mother, daughter, sister, wife and friend. <br />
<br />
I love.<br />
<br />
And while she will grow quickly, I hope that I do too. I hope I don't miss anything. I hope I can remember to remember.<br />
<br />
Because they grow so fast...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Black and White Wednesday hosted by<a href="http://thelongroadtochina.blogspot.com/"> Lisa</a>!</span></div>Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-20170079741661169422011-03-23T13:11:00.000-04:002011-03-23T13:11:47.932-04:00Sweet Peyton<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFxyoW2x4BlIPoqgMl97cfVUlOgk22bqhVKRrYNfJf4yxpv-iq8LvtdmZXccrfouCJ0MXH44ovDepom876C89UoR-sl4LebefLvxFkMoAokKE9413aaeOWF0hDKOHQMhlb05FxkPO4UM/s1600/Peyton+week1+04bw1web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFxyoW2x4BlIPoqgMl97cfVUlOgk22bqhVKRrYNfJf4yxpv-iq8LvtdmZXccrfouCJ0MXH44ovDepom876C89UoR-sl4LebefLvxFkMoAokKE9413aaeOWF0hDKOHQMhlb05FxkPO4UM/s640/Peyton+week1+04bw1web.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Want more of Peyton? So do I. I have more photos, but apparently I'm out of space on Blogger... so... suggestions...? <br />
<br />
Want more black and whites? Check out Lisa's <a href="http://thelongroadtochina.blogspot.com/">blog</a>.<br />
<br />
Seriously, I cannot get enough of this sweet face. The cheeks, the sweet fuzzy head, the angelic smell, the perfection of her...<br />
<br />
I'm on cloud nine...<br />
<br />
Sigh.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-56120147455427154962011-03-21T08:22:00.001-04:002011-03-21T08:23:17.853-04:00More Photos!These are all straight from the camera... I haven't (okay, let's be serious... I probably won't have oodles of free time right now) had a chance to edit anything, so let's not critique any photographic skill (or lack there-of) hm? Thanks! Enjoy!<br />
<br />
Big Sister Addie loves her... <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-EUf41LxeIKU7QzTK1xEj1Pd-EH8cojDhfVFX72wSUzNpg6O-ck5Gz_lNIl4zTlXKorTlm0UZzPg0_l9HUhyphenhyphenwb3Nr8ocp88NUAX1MNMHX8NBiWrye-x_WcRQTk75dQYS5w-H5i5X8kQ/s1600/DSC_0354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-EUf41LxeIKU7QzTK1xEj1Pd-EH8cojDhfVFX72wSUzNpg6O-ck5Gz_lNIl4zTlXKorTlm0UZzPg0_l9HUhyphenhyphenwb3Nr8ocp88NUAX1MNMHX8NBiWrye-x_WcRQTk75dQYS5w-H5i5X8kQ/s640/DSC_0354.JPG" width="424" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2wqFjQRizPYfsvSkBO8tVVboKovQMJZr5KKhrKjV6H2uQyhnBUrbSR9UYJ5Kw1dGqBjffTWDBtCB1lEP2GJWvTPCv4vOtFMMz4ptxb1WAR1pUkBYMFyg0zwAJ4F22Pn6htsYXG6DwZU/s1600/DSC_0356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2wqFjQRizPYfsvSkBO8tVVboKovQMJZr5KKhrKjV6H2uQyhnBUrbSR9UYJ5Kw1dGqBjffTWDBtCB1lEP2GJWvTPCv4vOtFMMz4ptxb1WAR1pUkBYMFyg0zwAJ4F22Pn6htsYXG6DwZU/s640/DSC_0356.JPG" width="424" /></a></div><br />
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St. Patty's Day duck feeding... also, the day I realized my "baby" girls are so big... Sigh. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedknBOOWbP_PhahEr2Y2I1MYBR2sVwaqOLb1xRmQi7RHeo1X5SUPcm2IeYXC4bnPQcRDTxeYcX4Uui4Og9ZE9xMmxGhHv4CjaJehyphenhyphenHgOMK_gLBjotvzelf7zKQlqZaLz5NKvjV9RaGFo/s1600/DSC_0379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedknBOOWbP_PhahEr2Y2I1MYBR2sVwaqOLb1xRmQi7RHeo1X5SUPcm2IeYXC4bnPQcRDTxeYcX4Uui4Og9ZE9xMmxGhHv4CjaJehyphenhyphenHgOMK_gLBjotvzelf7zKQlqZaLz5NKvjV9RaGFo/s640/DSC_0379.JPG" width="424" /></a></div><br />
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In which I marvel at the perfection of a 3 day old baby... <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipbqScStyz-PeNrAeSRK10Cr9ILJhzpE-96bVIkNfbWtqYUK2-OZXfbz5L9FjTUqb5pBe9nId8uCEbxNN2KOvxhTIhMsHVN-MYTn33WWqRs6NgwyX8_qSMCaxPoc7vRsJICGF1e2skLF8/s1600/DSC_0479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipbqScStyz-PeNrAeSRK10Cr9ILJhzpE-96bVIkNfbWtqYUK2-OZXfbz5L9FjTUqb5pBe9nId8uCEbxNN2KOvxhTIhMsHVN-MYTn33WWqRs6NgwyX8_qSMCaxPoc7vRsJICGF1e2skLF8/s640/DSC_0479.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-20931001408438560912011-03-20T15:31:00.001-04:002011-03-20T15:32:34.391-04:00Introducing.......Peyton Bailey, newest exhibit in our zoo!<br />
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She was welcomed into our arms at 6:54 pm on Monday the 13th of March.<br />
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It was amazing. She amazes me. God amazes me. It's good.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidnT7GK9iwN_6Avx3a0RULjg-r2_UhNsctqJQJOblf_pSt2CktROi9865ij4rQ32c5lIpp6YNJ8GozKcmdwjEWTwjmzTBBojPtHjg4ecg46AfZnE2uDfzUALVMvD1_-8G7vfaov1p3JPc/s1600/DSC_0268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidnT7GK9iwN_6Avx3a0RULjg-r2_UhNsctqJQJOblf_pSt2CktROi9865ij4rQ32c5lIpp6YNJ8GozKcmdwjEWTwjmzTBBojPtHjg4ecg46AfZnE2uDfzUALVMvD1_-8G7vfaov1p3JPc/s640/DSC_0268.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>My doctor decided that, since I was dilated to 4 cm and not contracting that we should have me go in and break my water so we wouldn't have the gamble of it happening spontaneously and me not being able to get my husband home and me to the hospital in time. So on Monday morning we went in and got the ball rolling.<br />
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I would rather have just let my body do its own thing, but to eliminate the frantic rush of trying to find someone to watch the kids on a whim and dealing with a minimum of an hour and 45 minutes of commuting if anything happened during the work day meant it was safer for the baby and for me and was a better option for the big 3. So, Pitocin it was for me.<br />
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In the hospital, I settled in and got started on my IV and donned my monitors and sent the anesthesiologist packing, despite his dubious looks of "are you sure?" and "do you know what you're getting yourself into?". At noon, they ruptured my membranes and the contractions started to feel a little stronger, though they weren't registering on the TOCO at all, so they kept cranking the Pitocin and I kept pulling into myself to find strength and peace through the waves. Eventually, they switched to an internal monitor and realized that I was, in fact, contracting quite well and things progressed steadily and normally. I was in pain, but it's a good, productive pain, so I was happy enough and content to keep breathing and centering myself. Around 5:30, I started feeling more pressure and my doctor told me he had to run out, but that he would be back around 6:45. I promised him I'd wait and he dashed out.<br />
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Shortly thereafter, I was finally having to moan through the contractions to bleed off some of the pressure and relieve my body's stress. Justin took up his post next to my head and offered his hand to bolster my strength. Soon, I felt the urge to push clearly and nearly begged to do so. With just enough time to spare, my doctor sprinted in the door and, after a good push or two, I felt the unmistakable relief of her head emerging, and then the satisfying, fulfilling release of her little body joining the world.<br />
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But when they placed her on my belly, her beautiful face was purple and she was silent. Dimly, I remember Justin cutting the cord and some white towels rubbing her skin... but what I recall most was that she was silent. And so, so purple. Nearly gray.<br />
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My doctor and a couple of nurses begged my pardon and lifted her away to get a better look at the situation and I was flooded by words at random: "fluid", "breath", "lungs", "bag", "NICU". I tried to see through the commotion and think through the rush of fear and adrenaline, and I don't think I allowed <i>myself</i> to exhale until I heard her first feeble cry. She was alive.<br />
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Clutching Justin's hand in mine, I waited. We waited. Amidst the bustle, we were able to see her limbs taking on a healthier pink hue and between the wooshing sounds of the bag they had to use to help her breathe and the suctioning, she would occasionally cry out, each time bringing tears to my eyes and grounding me - reminding me that God is good and she would be alright.<br />
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They took her to the special care nursery (NICU) and reported back that her chest x-ray showed that her lungs were completely full of fluid and that she was stable but still needed care. They assured me that as soon as they could get her breathing on her own, she'd join us. Then, and only then, did Justin and I let go of one another. Later, they reported back to me that they were anxious to get her out of the nursery because she was crying and flailing her fists at the nurses and agitating the more sensitive babies in the nursery. She was hungry, they said with a smile, and she wanted her Mommy. My heart grew heavy with love and I felt like I couldn't love any more than that, <i>ever</i>. (But, of course, I do.)<br />
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At about 9 that night, I held my newest daughter in my arms and stared into her face and thanked God for all His gifts... Peyton looks like a perfect blend of all of the older kids and it was as if I was being given another chance at experiencing their births and I knew that watching Peyton grow is going to be like an opportunity to relish <i>all</i> of their childhoods again. She is a gift. She is a beautiful gift. A reminder to live every moment for that moment and take each breath as if it were the most important of my life.<br />
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And be grateful for the next one.<br />
<br />
And the one after that.<br />
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So, little Peyton Bailey, who was born at 6:54 pm on March 14th, weighed 8lbs 1oz and measured 20 inches in length.<br />
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It was an easy labor and delivery; I was up after 30 minutes using the restroom. I needed no repairs and I felt refreshed and happy afterward. I enjoyed my time with my husband (even if I didn't spend much time in conversation with him) and I enjoyed feeling my body work. I savored each minute - even the painful ones - and I will forever hold in highest respect the ability of the human body to ferry life into this world.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Welcome, Squirt, to our family! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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And thank you, Lord, for choosing us as her family.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-52087564929731511392011-03-08T12:46:00.000-05:002011-03-08T12:46:00.509-05:00Getting Settled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've got all the boxes in the house unpacked (the garage has some work we need to do, but we'll get there) and things have a home. I'm reluctant to start hanging pictures because I want everything to be perfect of course, but we're getting closer. Blinds are all up and I've got the curtains in Jack's and in the Girls' room hung. But we're settled in as much as I wanted to be before the baby gets here. She's going to sleep in our room in the Pack 'n Play for a little while - we're going to buy the girls big girl beds soon and transition them in the next few months so littlest one can have the crib when her big sisters are done with it. But I'm happy with the progress! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZL2wliesT9cQ8ZEj4uwJ0vYlLxA0aZ-E-I8J3fG7MmocNDNeM8ELf2JM4zIaXp9VL9RbnhxHCxIVIO9c-5dqH4a6TxxxLzv5azTwlccZ64ricjdpwMWMXG-SLUr30G_vmSr-BKQDPmI/s1600/DSC_0081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZL2wliesT9cQ8ZEj4uwJ0vYlLxA0aZ-E-I8J3fG7MmocNDNeM8ELf2JM4zIaXp9VL9RbnhxHCxIVIO9c-5dqH4a6TxxxLzv5azTwlccZ64ricjdpwMWMXG-SLUr30G_vmSr-BKQDPmI/s400/DSC_0081.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">See? No denying this is my house. A giant pile of laundry - it's as essential as a toilet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQVNIYvTYnEuUmU24jSXPGZL9_pt_h_LpB0dhPTUPAKkXnzK9s7L1fPLd46G1Gmp6qHRup5yg1MuDg4fsEoxcbDV2Ih_g3QR7P7MrPvUz1MRgWR8NEHmnFBhSwFzdOL5TfIp_V8lh7No/s1600/DSC_0085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQVNIYvTYnEuUmU24jSXPGZL9_pt_h_LpB0dhPTUPAKkXnzK9s7L1fPLd46G1Gmp6qHRup5yg1MuDg4fsEoxcbDV2Ih_g3QR7P7MrPvUz1MRgWR8NEHmnFBhSwFzdOL5TfIp_V8lh7No/s400/DSC_0085.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUloRMxv_fRya25YqcAZj4DWWtGbAu7-IUALSstvEDZXBRDayN2GzVaH8JFinrphYkDW16GSatReugeKzX8VGsujLBoEcKVppSvAqAvEDpzbKzGGjOUE2ouHGv3emaDjt7IGy-W7Xa2oQ/s1600/DSC_0086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUloRMxv_fRya25YqcAZj4DWWtGbAu7-IUALSstvEDZXBRDayN2GzVaH8JFinrphYkDW16GSatReugeKzX8VGsujLBoEcKVppSvAqAvEDpzbKzGGjOUE2ouHGv3emaDjt7IGy-W7Xa2oQ/s400/DSC_0086.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The cube-system's purpose is supposed to be to stem the flow of toys from the playroom into the living room... So far, I don't know how well it works. I think it does okay but the toys still invade. Always with the toys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_SW515iObQaXv_x0bvnPZYbTFhyphenhyphen3tFjo0wCU2ztHaxKAxfENz2VueDlH05Rb1YLhxMHAijmwYhu5KuU7s7140hF40XQPrOjDO5FyUWhdsdHXVsFXZ60KhzlhNA_5LBKgM2CjdULsy6w/s1600/DSC_0087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_SW515iObQaXv_x0bvnPZYbTFhyphenhyphen3tFjo0wCU2ztHaxKAxfENz2VueDlH05Rb1YLhxMHAijmwYhu5KuU7s7140hF40XQPrOjDO5FyUWhdsdHXVsFXZ60KhzlhNA_5LBKgM2CjdULsy6w/s400/DSC_0087.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifei0BHLEM04EzrkXnmxl_LXoooMBUHZ5wI_o9Kqf6m4cjWke0Y1OMpnUTmrt_snG6B5BNPL8jxe6Fg3MLavqjVgcNGKq5Fg4SErpGdHaVW2Ud5CpDAvpHAkG15yq8-obHq4eX6pjhOyI/s1600/DSC_0090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifei0BHLEM04EzrkXnmxl_LXoooMBUHZ5wI_o9Kqf6m4cjWke0Y1OMpnUTmrt_snG6B5BNPL8jxe6Fg3MLavqjVgcNGKq5Fg4SErpGdHaVW2Ud5CpDAvpHAkG15yq8-obHq4eX6pjhOyI/s400/DSC_0090.JPG" width="265" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I LOVE the guest bathroom!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJubMu3-EbcGUQMd41jlht-B06A1QY_mBirZJs3TRKo6DLIkL9GgS3iKCYZO2Ytai-XtEvk-zQbhgSjEumuNrUWLE1Hnxku9EyD0D___ZASFIHUFMVJn8l2_IMbhYQs0pqffzgrDfVd4/s1600/DSC_0146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJubMu3-EbcGUQMd41jlht-B06A1QY_mBirZJs3TRKo6DLIkL9GgS3iKCYZO2Ytai-XtEvk-zQbhgSjEumuNrUWLE1Hnxku9EyD0D___ZASFIHUFMVJn8l2_IMbhYQs0pqffzgrDfVd4/s400/DSC_0146.JPG" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxmbAFjNfeZ7MTF7vRkSiCo7g8VROz7HMFLEdxw-Std5Lcfs3afASBIDOkq05HB_B07OXNYDLHlx6JwMiCP2VD2tMooV4CYv90kXKLDYvndUaRPQxfRS_-cdyPSc5NApzCNInnFU1d6Ss/s1600/DSC_0151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxmbAFjNfeZ7MTF7vRkSiCo7g8VROz7HMFLEdxw-Std5Lcfs3afASBIDOkq05HB_B07OXNYDLHlx6JwMiCP2VD2tMooV4CYv90kXKLDYvndUaRPQxfRS_-cdyPSc5NApzCNInnFU1d6Ss/s400/DSC_0151.JPG" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4ZYWZoyFvZ6YNTLjK0qznKyx9XojFFaKDu_nDW9X-czXkuaF5I2voKvh5aRIehqTEpM6OwdI9QXhLNpN2VIefUm-aXobBEQBaKH0-pdKT5rW1dJTWfe4XKl0EFz0ECDh9I9DepX0JoI/s1600/DSC_0153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4ZYWZoyFvZ6YNTLjK0qznKyx9XojFFaKDu_nDW9X-czXkuaF5I2voKvh5aRIehqTEpM6OwdI9QXhLNpN2VIefUm-aXobBEQBaKH0-pdKT5rW1dJTWfe4XKl0EFz0ECDh9I9DepX0JoI/s400/DSC_0153.JPG" width="265" /></a></div>We're loving it so far!Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-46033589418053203412011-03-07T11:52:00.001-05:002011-03-07T11:53:59.431-05:0016 Days AwayMy due date.<br />
<br />
It's 16 days away.<br />
<br />
Doubt I'll go that far, but still... 16 days. Wow. Sounds like an eternity to me when you figure that also equals 16 sleepless nights of contractions.<br />
<br />
But when I look at my older three and realize I've only got 16 days of "exclusive" snuggling with them, it seems like an absurdly scant amount of time.<br />
<br />
And when I think that I have only 16 days of pregnancy left in my whole life... when my whole life HAS been reproduction for the last 5 years, it seems like a blink. More bittersweet...ness.<br />
<br />
I want to see my baby girl. I want to feel her weight on my chest (instead of my crotch, thanks) and inhale her sweet smell and learn about who she is (you know, besides someone who gets massively irritated by hiccups and curls up against her daddy's hand when she feels him) and introduce her to three very excited siblings. I want to go into labor and enjoy the feeling of my body doing it's amazing job of bringing a life into this world. I want to sigh that satisfied, contented sigh of peace and thanksgiving when I hear her cry and know that I have done what nature set me out to do 40 weeks ago.<br />
<br />
But I'm going to miss it. <br />
<br />
I'm going to miss feeling the beautiful roundness of my belly. I'm going to miss her kicks and wiggles and knowing that she's mine to enjoy and that I'm keeping her safe and secure and she wants for nothing right now. I can't let her down or not fulfill her needs right now.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjoR8kmyFrCKgJY99HYELrTZx8Ut8EKUWCu8du8fFwFTBAXkNFz6jlhryRoGCEzFiwnGD5MTb7ypEeD1FQQt1xiUNe-5sQ2GJKuosjSTArkQ3CjktgRcibVkSAx4ae6BJfRyPCfkYwFzM/s1600/DSC_0214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjoR8kmyFrCKgJY99HYELrTZx8Ut8EKUWCu8du8fFwFTBAXkNFz6jlhryRoGCEzFiwnGD5MTb7ypEeD1FQQt1xiUNe-5sQ2GJKuosjSTArkQ3CjktgRcibVkSAx4ae6BJfRyPCfkYwFzM/s640/DSC_0214.JPG" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSqAQcL4kKJxEQaJFnsilPjAvB3a9T_QSgjDSN_L1S5wQ2tY-omjd4gkupnlK5Iq6J_ZymH3t29ors0bxTMYJ2Ma7OHzOg4grKSJA2q-wZunaHxZ4KC8pl-UFZ7pyAms-5Y-tInqNVSg/s1600/DSC_0224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSqAQcL4kKJxEQaJFnsilPjAvB3a9T_QSgjDSN_L1S5wQ2tY-omjd4gkupnlK5Iq6J_ZymH3t29ors0bxTMYJ2Ma7OHzOg4grKSJA2q-wZunaHxZ4KC8pl-UFZ7pyAms-5Y-tInqNVSg/s640/DSC_0224.JPG" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnM6ignESV8VWX5m2W-21UpDaP5gjbFw3yoOp2HEr8k-djrBoZFr6w_RQo13TG-DRkaWtvwQUIVbUEpDioB691VrlVBbzbgK6G_mnEuhHpvx4vJ1eao7KLR_X519YBZol_m24EViUaOc/s1600/DSC_0231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnM6ignESV8VWX5m2W-21UpDaP5gjbFw3yoOp2HEr8k-djrBoZFr6w_RQo13TG-DRkaWtvwQUIVbUEpDioB691VrlVBbzbgK6G_mnEuhHpvx4vJ1eao7KLR_X519YBZol_m24EViUaOc/s640/DSC_0231.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBpgqMYoq-aqoMJ_4NSBtjLxg7cqSzY7seN0AG8572DWaAPsB2-RILnoJLS4usNlxYk7K49EO6gZ4V8ErpxCgTuteAdYoMTRKcmQN7_D3pbIr2WsSEu2WGB6N7qlhqMvI64ZHCeEwBPU/s1600/DSC_0234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBpgqMYoq-aqoMJ_4NSBtjLxg7cqSzY7seN0AG8572DWaAPsB2-RILnoJLS4usNlxYk7K49EO6gZ4V8ErpxCgTuteAdYoMTRKcmQN7_D3pbIr2WsSEu2WGB6N7qlhqMvI64ZHCeEwBPU/s640/DSC_0234.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
At 36 weeks, my sonogram showed that she was 6lbs 7oz. Last week, at 37 weeks, I was 70%, 3 and -2. I have another appointment on Thursday... We'll see how that one goes... I've had so many contractions that I can't imagine I'll have to wait 16 days to say, "Honey, it's time."<br />
<br />
This pregnancy has been rough in terms of it running concurrent with the raising of 3 kids 3 and under, building a house, and being my 4th baby in as many years. But it's also been a beautiful experience - one for which many women pray and for which I am extraordinarily grateful... It has felt <i>right</i> from the beginning and it has given me a glorious, comfortable "full" feeling in my heart... one that assures me that we are complete with this baby and that I can tell my body "thank you" and release it from its duty of bearing children - proud and satisfied that each one of my "bumps" has yielded a perfect pregnancy.<br />
<br />
So, for now, I wait. I lay at night with my hands resting atop my belly or against Justin's back with our baby nestled between us, snug and secure, anxious, but at peace. I hold my big kiddos on my lap and listen to them giggle when New Baby greets them with kicks and punches. And I trust that things will happen on their own time since, from the outset of this, none of it has been in my control anyway.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-29318793004875999752011-03-07T11:16:00.000-05:002011-03-07T11:16:48.454-05:00My Baby Turns 4My February was a total and complete fail in terms of keeping up with blogging. I had to move our family, get ready for Jack's birthday, and get ready for a new baby PLUS take care of all of us and our assorted illnesses - ranging from strep to pink eye to colds and sinus infections. Anyway, the bright spot to all of that was, in fact, Jack's birthday.<br />
<br />
See, I'm not a girly-girl in most regards, but when it comes to my babies' birthdays I'm a total sap.<br />
<br />
Like, for weeks ahead of time, the mention of their impending age makes me weepy. I can't handle looking at baby photos and I put a disgusting amount of time into planning and executing their cakes and gifts and, for Jack, his party. This year he was super excited to have all his friends come see his "big gray house" so I acquiesced to having his party in our home a scant week and a half after we moved. It motivated me to get the place in order and put a massive crunch on my sanity, but it turned out really well and we had a great time with his buddies and their families!<br />
<br />
Here are some photos (they're not super artistic and I haven't edited them at all, so don't call the photog police on me here, folks!):<br />
<br />
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I still can't get over that he's 4. Sometimes I think, "He's ONLY 4???? How is that possible?" and other times I think, "How did he go from being a newborn to a 4 year old in like, a week?" I mean, how does he say things like, "I'm a firefighter who uses the ladder. You can tell by my designation." and then the next second curl up in my lap (what's left of it) and fall asleep cradled in my arms because he doesn't feel good? How does my heart swell with pride at the bright little kid that's developing in front of me and ache with loss of the "baby" that turned my world upside down and changed the entire trajectory of my life? How is each birthday such a dichotomy of triumph and sadness? Am I the only one who feels such mixed emotions on kiddos' birthdays? Sigh. <br />
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Anyway, more to come... I'm trying to get caught up before this baby (and no, I'm not withholding anything; she still doesn't have a name) arrives!Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-82068203398595546082011-02-25T09:18:00.001-05:002011-02-25T09:19:29.488-05:00Done! It's Done!Finishing up the house and moving in has occupied all of our time over the last two weeks... which explains my huge lapse in posts. On top of that, my household got hammered with illness atop illness, with disease hitting us one after the other. I'm just now getting back on my (pregnant, tired) feet and getting some semblance of order back in my life as we settle in and get ready for Jack's birthday party and the arrival of Baby (3 weeks out!). I'll have some more decent posts in the next few days, but for now, here's how the house project turned out, in pictures! Enjoy - we are! It's absolutely perfect for us and we couldn't be happier with it - the kids are beyond content and extraordinarily giddy. We all have smiled more in the last week than I remember smiling in a while! Once I get it all put together (it's a work in progress!) I'll post final pictures! Thanks for sticking with us!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQlMtVhgr1OSCjxyUeR8ZssyHe0nuki5HVmUX5nx0MoMQIenZSlR1gPC7hoNe1I6G88l1DgSD-ZsbpnzlHjGUuMoVVvKhZ3u3DMLGyvjXyoDPlWy-hicrFWtEp-qZPMEMz0OyswbMuPo/s1600/DSC_7221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQlMtVhgr1OSCjxyUeR8ZssyHe0nuki5HVmUX5nx0MoMQIenZSlR1gPC7hoNe1I6G88l1DgSD-ZsbpnzlHjGUuMoVVvKhZ3u3DMLGyvjXyoDPlWy-hicrFWtEp-qZPMEMz0OyswbMuPo/s320/DSC_7221.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> I think this is the last time any of you saw the house... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJ9zCkELsW9_j-22TovLVNDJ39OTcYC8jF5qswvPmRpCJ1qdyWg1Y0dtyBlzyAxHgizuzYdJzO1IgvDU2Le_p3P9KSRtqgLsI2BUG9-UPNPRXDJcNuiC2q3tr4-WjD3ZRcqIk9VqBgis/s1600/DSC_9466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJ9zCkELsW9_j-22TovLVNDJ39OTcYC8jF5qswvPmRpCJ1qdyWg1Y0dtyBlzyAxHgizuzYdJzO1IgvDU2Le_p3P9KSRtqgLsI2BUG9-UPNPRXDJcNuiC2q3tr4-WjD3ZRcqIk9VqBgis/s320/DSC_9466.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVTtsdIeaDj6K_RsSwNvky7YHssUgEjXQdzdBCul5MLaqoySBOQJ5ZGWyzSx1-W_vYX7mObpdZKp_ADrLyJt3o8kq-WxRVPQexJDNotvD2J3gwo_j3gBojsgrpjx9HSpwwLz3V5-5P-o/s1600/DSC_9852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVTtsdIeaDj6K_RsSwNvky7YHssUgEjXQdzdBCul5MLaqoySBOQJ5ZGWyzSx1-W_vYX7mObpdZKp_ADrLyJt3o8kq-WxRVPQexJDNotvD2J3gwo_j3gBojsgrpjx9HSpwwLz3V5-5P-o/s320/DSC_9852.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Here it is, all ready to move into!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyfPD88juQyUjSY_23fWkKYusvQ4OzZF946SN-r9pxFOZuq5F1XVbNEqzz0pcoJFG5Z0BNBXzNbLt2ASFklXR9tSLUgixMkjH-qLI6ll0Vn7iqz2NirB-hTkNOMgl7tfSFRvp24O_R5Js/s1600/DSC_9860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyfPD88juQyUjSY_23fWkKYusvQ4OzZF946SN-r9pxFOZuq5F1XVbNEqzz0pcoJFG5Z0BNBXzNbLt2ASFklXR9tSLUgixMkjH-qLI6ll0Vn7iqz2NirB-hTkNOMgl7tfSFRvp24O_R5Js/s320/DSC_9860.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzK7qSz5u-rgmacD2a-rtemXG7EXvJTg4khjGkCK7eV9MRuXq13FdbMJyAA-1-hIK2GWTASMbOGEBPyzwjxFsgKq6MlGWaPHVXU97LUqn612xDe252yM7eZQGVJPglb-_2ULkJ_RDCjpw/s1600/DSC_9883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzK7qSz5u-rgmacD2a-rtemXG7EXvJTg4khjGkCK7eV9MRuXq13FdbMJyAA-1-hIK2GWTASMbOGEBPyzwjxFsgKq6MlGWaPHVXU97LUqn612xDe252yM7eZQGVJPglb-_2ULkJ_RDCjpw/s320/DSC_9883.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Hi, 35 weeks!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisd7Wv7ru25UBa8idJDrtbEabVebgwH4mzjZ79JBZjnyoQi2CuOE-hpoka7FxEwL1f1SEqtj7LJ37AKzymq765ChH_0x5juXATkWfFsUUdQzg5UiKObI9DiNtCMkzkKKRFqwgFUtTOCQg/s1600/DSC_9887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisd7Wv7ru25UBa8idJDrtbEabVebgwH4mzjZ79JBZjnyoQi2CuOE-hpoka7FxEwL1f1SEqtj7LJ37AKzymq765ChH_0x5juXATkWfFsUUdQzg5UiKObI9DiNtCMkzkKKRFqwgFUtTOCQg/s320/DSC_9887.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkWRPyAWBS8iqOPpH98ZQ0hgYhuGCasDpAU2ER8RzGXWZcc5ib_1GrjO3OtIL0PCImyavNCVhU-L_U-3Pu_0IOQIsrOJo_F-84kptbyDh7Ia9ulAszCtfzgwrFoDy1kM9YIPMyJFO1w4/s1600/DSC_9943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkWRPyAWBS8iqOPpH98ZQ0hgYhuGCasDpAU2ER8RzGXWZcc5ib_1GrjO3OtIL0PCImyavNCVhU-L_U-3Pu_0IOQIsrOJo_F-84kptbyDh7Ia9ulAszCtfzgwrFoDy1kM9YIPMyJFO1w4/s320/DSC_9943.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Home, sweet home!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vcnREFYnIRZLvm_4dRlKwwFV5z_BAo59-1FWv3tUdlMPHO0Ge_c8-eeMayGrOvZVN4QGkAzHYCJpTikuIWoZTJ-AfG241pr7fgB3QkhWrlow_ftPcYxFuyA11kRyOSQ1KbL19iy7mTc/s1600/DSC_9945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vcnREFYnIRZLvm_4dRlKwwFV5z_BAo59-1FWv3tUdlMPHO0Ge_c8-eeMayGrOvZVN4QGkAzHYCJpTikuIWoZTJ-AfG241pr7fgB3QkhWrlow_ftPcYxFuyA11kRyOSQ1KbL19iy7mTc/s320/DSC_9945.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDkiRKfQUYLCpsABjiFT75u7LL6MtwLkeq0W_17VozXoY4mJ2yQbO9UneOA7KHjm6CQ8m-BD3IZcSz5vC_fRyq7qB00XW3bt6p_b2c2q7fKmKiJC2OqHWzKyH_5DyyQgw8J47h_6d5qgU/s1600/DSC_9956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDkiRKfQUYLCpsABjiFT75u7LL6MtwLkeq0W_17VozXoY4mJ2yQbO9UneOA7KHjm6CQ8m-BD3IZcSz5vC_fRyq7qB00XW3bt6p_b2c2q7fKmKiJC2OqHWzKyH_5DyyQgw8J47h_6d5qgU/s320/DSC_9956.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBT9xSefgB9HOjVTIGb4iDHxDFwTBdXBGqxErnzsSdL2Msj_CeiEI4IWCPIPEnoAwwMFA3_5C3FzjVBIbTwtnOBwwtLYwlbIVhM_OPAkz4bzzvKMNpX9nE_xYex2-l3RQtHxEoxGrxVWg/s1600/DSC_9996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBT9xSefgB9HOjVTIGb4iDHxDFwTBdXBGqxErnzsSdL2Msj_CeiEI4IWCPIPEnoAwwMFA3_5C3FzjVBIbTwtnOBwwtLYwlbIVhM_OPAkz4bzzvKMNpX9nE_xYex2-l3RQtHxEoxGrxVWg/s320/DSC_9996.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-40791175904968246822011-02-08T08:23:00.000-05:002011-02-08T08:23:35.691-05:00I Heart...Jack! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrkX-OsY2_bMheWRsbmCv8rXs9PPlQoykggdPB3VQ5ZK8DelkIz5G3gq0k-SjSuHgXwWR4s4xRpEVEziBsesjHNXsn7aouyEsdO4_bZ-RXQK-g6qMDUHgd5huv5aFLK6UKtG2fgHfofA/s1600/Valentine+Jack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrkX-OsY2_bMheWRsbmCv8rXs9PPlQoykggdPB3VQ5ZK8DelkIz5G3gq0k-SjSuHgXwWR4s4xRpEVEziBsesjHNXsn7aouyEsdO4_bZ-RXQK-g6qMDUHgd5huv5aFLK6UKtG2fgHfofA/s400/Valentine+Jack.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br />
How adorable is he? This was last year... I can't believe he was just getting ready to turn 3 (and I had NO idea what I was in for with that age!) and now he's a few weeks short of 4! Gah!<br />
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Either way, he's my baby.<br />
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Head to iheartfaces to check out the other participants for this week's challenge: Hearts... you'll be glad you did - there are some amazing photos over there! (And they ALL make me look like a rookie. Cause I am, but still...)<br />
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<center><a href="http://www.iheartfaces.com/" mce_href="http://www.iheartfaces.com"><img mce_src="http://www.iheartfaces.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/I_Heart_Faces_Photography_125.jpg" src="http://www.iheartfaces.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/I_Heart_Faces_Photography_125.jpg" /></a></center>Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-67579070437501627312011-01-23T20:43:00.000-05:002011-01-23T20:43:43.190-05:00PregnastyAlright. I know that when this pregnancy is over, I'm going to be a weepy, nostalgic mess. I'll only remember the amazingly wonderful sensations of being closer to my baby than I ever will be again and enjoying a relationship with her that is STRICTLY between the two of us. I will miss the fluttery kicks and lament the passing of my reproductive career.<br />
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I'll probably, at some point when I realize that my baby is no longer a baby, start begging for a 5th. (My husband is under strict orders to anticipate this and to firmly, strongly deny me.) Just in case that happens, however, I want to remind myself about the less that fuzzy, warm, happy, glow-y aspects of pregnancy... specifically pregnancy in tandem with being the mother of several children already. It seems that women have a penchant for scrubbing their memories clean of all reminders of these things after the fact, and I want to make sure that I've written down my woes not out of a desire for sympathy, but as a good dose of reality and common sense later on.<br />
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You know... as ammo to fight my hormonal wig-out when I wean this little girl or when she sleeps in a big-girl bed for the first time or... *gulp* goes to school for the first time. (Taking a break here - teary eyed already. See?)<br />
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So, let me state for the record that, at a day shy of 32 weeks, I have lost sight of my feet. Which is good because they're so dry they'd embarrass any mummy. They are, in fact, so dry and cracked and gross that I can literally pick laundry up by merely stepping on it. Like Velcro. And I'm pretty much powerless against it because they are just. so. far. away. <br />
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I have heartburn. It drives me nuts and leaves me in utter fear of anything acidic... but I'm so exhausted that I can't function without coffee. So I eat Zantac like Skittles and hope for the best. But if I let the heartburn get away from me, I throw up. But since I'm such a freaking manatee at this point, and since I've birthed so many children in such a short time, I pee when I boot. So each vomit episode lands me squatting in front of the toilet with a puddle of urine beneath me and I miss the toilet half the time in an effort to avoid stepping in my pee. And then I'm left sanitizing the bathroom at whatever heinously awful hour of the night this happens. <br />
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I alternate between two outfits. Two. And I'm usually so tired by the end of the day that I sleep in my clothing. It makes a very awkward laundry rotation.<br />
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Jack and I have conversations that go like this: "Mom, your belly button is a huge hole." "I know, Jack, that's because your baby sister has stretched it out." "My belly button is small. If I get fat like you, will mine grow too?" <br />
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Justin and I have conversations like this: "Do you..." "No."<br />
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Jordan and Addie are sick of sitting on my lap because they're sick of my lap kicking them off. Or punching them off... I'm not sure which.<br />
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My husband uses verbs like, "thundering" to describe how I move across a room. (That may or may not have a direct impact on the outcome of the conversation I described above.)<br />
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I am constantly starving but I can eat about a teaspoon of food before I feel either full or the heartburn comes back and I have to try to empty my bladder as quickly as possible...<br />
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...which isn't usually a huge problem since I make a pit-stop every 7.25 minutes anyway.<br />
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Things aren't where they should be. I'll leave it at that.<br />
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And I am not one of those lucky pregnant women who get gorgeous hair and nails and skin... I turn into some kind of alligator-woman with frizzy fluff on my head. <br />
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Every time I bend down and realize I've had to spread my feet apart to reach the floor, the grunt required to pull myself back to standing is half effort and half disgust. <br />
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I miss being able to roll around on the floor with my littles and I miss having a lap big enough to accommodate two toddlers for a story. I miss being able to hug Jack without having him ask me to please smush my boobs down because they get in the way. I miss being nimble and spry (ish) and 100% on my game for them. <br />
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Of course, I will miss all of this... this miracle of life. I will. I am blessed to be able to whine about it and blessed that God has chosen me to bear His children. I am. I know that... I just don't want to get too caught up in all the good and forget the bad and wind up doing it all over again - good and bad - because I've convinced myself and my husband that it's a terrific idea.<br />
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Because, uh, at this point, it sounds like a horrible idea.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-36614984148755080282011-01-20T14:57:00.000-05:002011-01-20T14:57:35.123-05:00Justice is Ours!My husband and I are principled people. We really try to do the right thing and treat others the way we'd want to be treated and so on and so forth. The truth is important to us. As are rules. And laws? They're not suggestions to us - they're absolutes. And we hold others to that standard too. Because that's what keeps society functioning.<br />
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That's why we got so absolutely beyond pissed off when our landlord from Virginia decided he was going to charge us extra money out of our deposit following our move-out. So pissed off, in fact, that we took him to court. For more money than we were owed. Including a road trip with 5 people 14 hours away.<br />
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Did I say we were pissed?<br />
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Let me back up:<br />
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I won't get too far into our relationship with this particular individual. Let's just say he wasn't one of our favorite people of all time and as landlords go, well... we, as landlords ourselves, made sure to learn how NOT to treat our tenants from him. He had a history of hearing about a problem and, instead of saying, "Well, let me see what I can do for you," would say, "What did YOU do to my _____?". Things were always someone else's fault or issue or problem and it was pretty obvious that he was not one to accept much responsibility for <i>anything.</i> Like the roach and rodent problem we had. Once, we had a problem with the plumbing beneath the sink for the second time and instead of saying, "Wow, this has been a recurring problem for you guys, let's see if we can find a permanent solution to it," Mr. Landlord accused us of not knowing how to use a kitchen sink and told us that we'd better figure out how to fix it ourselves. We were pretty sure the problem was wear and tear on an old plumbing system, but he berated us and called us irresponsible and stupid. So, a few trips to Lowe's, a few hours spent on Google, and we had the whole plumbing apart... the result? A broken washer between two pipes. The cause? Wear and tear. Mr. Landlord's response? Silence. No thanks, no apology, nothing.<br />
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Leading up to our move-out, we anticipated some issues with him so we really busted our hineys to get the house and yard into top shape. We'd like our tenants to leave <i>our</i> house in pristine condition, so we put an extraordinary amount of effort into re-landscaping the yard, spending two weekends and over $300 on the project. I cleaned the house and polished every inch of wood in the 3-story structure. We repaired simple things and purchased replacement bulbs for EVERY single bulb - burned out or not - in the home and left behind two replacement filters for each air intake in the house.<br />
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When we asked him when he wanted to do the move-out inspection, for which we wanted to be present, he told us he'd have to schedule it for two weeks after we were scheduled to move due to him being out of town. Since that was unacceptable, we asked that it be moved up and we got into a series of back-and-forth calls and emails until he finally consented to walk through the house with us the morning of our departure. He at one point asked in an email what I was so concerned about. I replied that I was worried that he would charge us for the screens on the porch being ripped out during a big storm and for some loose electrical outlets, and for the kitchen faucet which was loose as a result of it being the wrong size for the hole in the sink. He responded that he thought I should fix the screens myself and that he was aware of the kitchen sink issue. So we proceeded as normal.<br />
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On the morning of the move-out inspection, we walked through the whole house with Mr. Landlord who had a piece of paper with his name and address on it, in addition to a statement that said, "I am charging the tenant the following amounts of money for the following items which will be deducted from their deposit" followed by 10 spaces for things to be written. He charged us $50 for a spot on the hardwood floor that needed repair and drew a line through the remaining 9 spaces. He signed the sheet and handed it to us after complimenting me and thanking me for fixing the screens as he had asked.<br />
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So we expected roughly $1200 to be returned to us. Two months later, we got a check for $750 and a letter that was written in 3rd grade English about how he thought it was unfair that he walked through the house a month after we moved out and found that the screens had torn loose again and that the sink faucet was also loose. He said he charged us for those repairs in addition to some repair of some door or another.<br />
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When we attempted to contact him to discuss this egregious claim, he refused to answer his phone. We asked him to please return our phone call or we would have to involve an attorney.<br />
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He didn't, so we did.<br />
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And after paying a $500 retainer (keep in mind we were only owed $450) we had legal counsel filing a warrant in debt on our behalf.<br />
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Following a little bit of back-and-forth and Mr. Landlord asking for a continuance, we had a court date set for mid-November. At one point he contacted our attorney with a settlement offer - saying he'd be willing to pay us half of the $450. <br />
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We rejected it.<br />
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As we explained to our lawyer from the outset of all of this, the issue wasn't about money. It wasn't a dollar amount that we desperately needed for day-to-day function. It was about the fact that an individual in a position of power abused the knowledge that we were leaving town. He took advantage of our situation, knowing that we were moving and recognizing how difficult that it would be for us to return. He gambled on $450 being pretty close to as much as he could get without much fuss... unfortunately for him, $20 would have been too much. We are fortunate enough to have resources and the ability to fight him; what upset us was thinking of the countless other military families to whom Mr. Landlord caters that may also have been exploited - past and present. We saw it as our duty to pursue this as a way of enforcing consequences. <br />
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During the actual trial, Mr. Landlord tried to insist that Justin and I deliberately tried to hide the condition of the sink and screens, and we countered with the emails exchanged between us that stated that Mr. Landlord was aware of the sink issue. As to the screens, I explained that the primary issue was that there are no gutters on the house so water pours down the outside and has warped the wood lathing that pinches the screen against the support structure of the porch. If that wood is warped, it can't hold the screens tightly. I told him as much during our walk-through and he scoffed at me when I said I believed the screens would probably tear again without major work... which is outside the scope of my responsibility as a tenant. <br />
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Since Mr. Landlord was acting as his own attorney, he got to cross examine me which amounted to little more than attempted browbeating and was met with my sweetest smiles, plenty of "Sir"'s and as much politeness as I could muster. I kindly pointed out that, as landlords ourselves, if I were going to do a move-out inspection with a tenant who had raised two problems prior to the walk-through, I'd probably inspect those areas first and most thoroughly. Mr. Landlord, however, claimed that he did not notice the sink issue until his NEW tenants called him and stated the sink did not work. To that, I responded that I did not think he could hold us responsible since, according to the signed document from our walk-though, we were clear of the house and that there was no way to claim that WE had damaged anything... and that it was more probable that Mr. Landlord himself had inflicted the damage (if any existed) or that the new tenants had broken something.<br />
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After some fairly absurd back-and-forth between us and Mr. Landlord, the judge finally felt we had each stated our positions in enough depth and awarded us our $450 plus $250 in attorney's fees and ordered Mr. Landlord to pay the filing fee for the suit and the whole thing was entered as a judgment on Mr. Landlord's credit.<br />
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At that point, we felt a hollow victory, as the judgment still required that we follow up to collect our money... either by garnishing his wages or placing liens against his property, etc. and that would only be possible AFTER Mr. Landlord had filed his appeal, if he chose to do so. Immediately following the trial he said he intended to file an appeal, which would have required another trip to Virginia. So we sat in limbo for awhile. Although our attorney assured us that the cost of filing the appeal, combined with the fact that our case was so solid would be prohibitive to Mr. Landlord's efforts to fight the judgment, we had seen how stubborn, arrogant and ignorant the guy could be.<br />
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As it is, the judgment itself serves as a bigger punishment than the cash awarded us. It stays on a person's credit for 7-10 years, <i>even if it is paid</i>, and can drop a credit score 150 points in one fell swoop. For an individual involved in purchasing property for a living, that's a pretty hefty consequence for dishonesty, and we feel pretty good about that. It'll be hard to justify taking the chance in the future with his tenants, considering he's got 7-10 years to wait before his credit score will recover. Thankfully, we received a check in the mail recently for the full amount of the suit which means it's over for us. It means we don't have to deal with an appeal and we can finally close that chapter of our lives. And it means that he's finally seen reason. <br />
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So, we got our justice. We fought for what we thought was right, even though it was a pain in the ass. Even though we felt a little absurd for going to the lengths we did over a sum of money as paltry as $450. <br />
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The end.Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-31195120160534012912011-01-12T08:57:00.001-05:002011-01-12T09:11:06.074-05:00Black and White WednesdayAlright y'all I'm back. It's a new year. I'm going to be better about blogging. Really. I slacked big time at the end of last year. And the first part of this year. I'm sorry! I owe you a ton of posts. One of the big ones is about our lawsuit. It'll be fun - like reading a Law & Order script... or... realistically, a Judge Judy script. (Is Judge Judy scripted? I feel like it has to be.) We're also poised to close on the house at the end of the month, so that's super exciting and I need to put pictures of the progress up. Um, for that matter, I need to go SEE the house - it's been since Christmas!<br />
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I have some amusing stories for you and some other junk that will make you smile, but for now, I'll leave you with a photo from our recent trip to Orlando... the iconic Disney castle in the Magic Kingdom. I'll tell you all about the trip soon - promise!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vX0XkygPE94XYu26OQOKR2k0j-aXzEBrjKXfGSACaGk_7nTpuBrhVDaCLF3ZKJv7nbd3CQ5INoLgwqhe30-jeSKODGmt_3AkYYD67jE21Ww5gdf1cgYVGM2KPmVoJaaecg97Hv2XHI4/s1600/CastleBW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vX0XkygPE94XYu26OQOKR2k0j-aXzEBrjKXfGSACaGk_7nTpuBrhVDaCLF3ZKJv7nbd3CQ5INoLgwqhe30-jeSKODGmt_3AkYYD67jE21Ww5gdf1cgYVGM2KPmVoJaaecg97Hv2XHI4/s640/CastleBW.jpg" width="418" /></a></div>(Sorta makes me feel all Princess-y... and I am NOT a Princess-y person. At all.)<br />
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<a href="http://thelongroadtochina.blogspot.com/">Link up</a> and have a great day!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxe1dDbK54PJWqw7Lz3ykqxZHAWrUrCWKl20hyphenhyphen9XExNTj_EXDDiM5zI-yTsF2DfhmNjE0CArwoWsBR3b_lKTcqoKP8yoLHdLiM9kNBo1oMO33Ynf1QMuZJTyNE8pjZYEqZZsGDii-XYY/s1600/4370157827_1ee82e3900_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxe1dDbK54PJWqw7Lz3ykqxZHAWrUrCWKl20hyphenhyphen9XExNTj_EXDDiM5zI-yTsF2DfhmNjE0CArwoWsBR3b_lKTcqoKP8yoLHdLiM9kNBo1oMO33Ynf1QMuZJTyNE8pjZYEqZZsGDii-XYY/s320/4370157827_1ee82e3900_o.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-40785641073908156502011-01-03T07:11:00.000-05:002011-01-03T07:11:24.548-05:00Out of the Office... for a week while I enjoy spending time with family and Mickey in Florida! Back soon to tell you all about our magical Christmas, my hopes and dreams for 2011, and of course, all about our Disney adventure.<br />
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I hope everyone is enjoying the year thus far and had a safe and happy New Year!Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026779248687212041.post-67078755958301138522010-12-20T10:15:00.000-05:002010-12-20T10:15:40.173-05:00AdventI thought I'd take a moment out of this absurdly busy time of year to reflect on it a little bit. Or, rather, I figured I'd share with you some of the reflections I've had over the years about the season. It'll be a little bit of a departure from the "throw up 100 photos and half-assedly caption them and call it a post"-esque updates I've passed off as "blogging" lately, and it'll also represent a slight bend in my rule of "don't talk about religion on the blog EVER" so feel free to skip this one if your brain is off or if you have your secular britches on. Not that I'm going to be deeply dogmatic or anything, but if you're looking for pictures of unruly toddlers screaming in Santa's lap at the mall, this isn't it.<br />
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I've always loved Advent. The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas has, for me, always been the most beautiful time of year - from both a secular and a theological standpoint. See, I love sparkly things so I totally get into the commercial side of Christmas (note our 5 Christmas trees) but I've always, <i>always</i>, adored the four weeks leading up to the birth of Christ. As a child, my family never failed to spend Sunday evenings gathered around our Advent wreath, lighting the candles one by one and praying together, following our ritual with eggnog and cookies and Christmas music in front of the fire and lit tree. I loved it. It brought us together and it offered a respite from the hectic hustle-and-bustle of the season. The physical manifestation of the passing weeks represented by the candles made real for me the beautiful sense of expectation leading up to Christmas. It was our way of trying to preserve the real meaning of the holiday.<br />
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In 2006, though, Advent took on new meaning for me. A deeper, more intense and glorious meaning. I was pregnant for the first time. I was expecting Jack - my first child - and I felt an incredible sense of joy that I could never have imagined during those weeks. But I also felt trepidation and uncertainty at the road that was before us. I listened to the readings at Mass and reveled in Mary's story and connected with her in a way that made Advent real for me. For the first time, as I felt Jack wiggle and squirm inside my body, I imagined how terrified Mary must have been to feel those same things and not understand why or how it had happened. I attended my appointments and wondered how much faith she must have had to possess to carry a child for God and rely on her body and her Lord to keep them safe without medicine. I wondered if her birth had hurt or if she was sheltered from the pain. I wondered if the infant Jesus was good at feeding or if he slept all night or if he threw tantrums as a toddler. What was it like to watch the Son of God take his first steps? What was it like to wean him from breastmilk to solid food? <br />
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For the first time in my life, I could identify with the <i>people</i> who make the Christmas story what it is. I saw them as individuals instead of just characters or figures. That year, Advent and the birth of Jesus were more tangibly real to me than ever before and my faith grew as I never thought possible. All of a sudden I became aware that real people had been there... that God had chosen people like me and Justin and countless others to do His work before and that everything we have now is because of His son's birth to Mary. It was profound and striking and it made me more aware of His presence in my life. It made me try harder to listen to His direction and guidance. It made me more calm and confident through stress and turmoil in my own life to close my eyes and imagine how stressful and tumultuous it was for Mary and Joseph to follow His path for them and then to reflect on how miraculous the ending was for them... I used - and continue to use - that to bolster my own faith that sometimes our plans are immaterial and that God has different things in store for us.<br />
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I am pregnant for my 3rd and likely last Advent season. And last night, when we lit the fourth candle on our wreath, I felt a sense of loss and sadness that I expect to feel again and again as this pregnancy draws to a close and I watch my last baby grow up and away from me. For three seasons, I've enjoyed feeling my babies - God's blessings - thriving within me during the Advent weeks. I won't again, and I can only hope that I never forget how wondrous and joyous this time of year is and continue to deepen my faith year after year - even without expecting my own babe during the season.<br />
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So, as I count down the 5 days leading up to Christmas with joy and excitement, I'm also planning on savoring each one knowing they are - like all days, important or not - never going to come back and all I'll have are the memories. <br />
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Merry Christmas to all and may peace be with each one of you this glorious week and always!Melishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06790673507263670984noreply@blogger.com1