Let'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!)
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, really big. I'd love to be able to keep up with this and balance everything perfectly...
BUT the truth of the matter is this: Folks, I'm getting my ass kicked.
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 life. 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.
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:
We just 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 - thank you, economy) 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.
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 takes time.
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. It is, at times, overwhelming.
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 with one another.
But it is because 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.
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.
Thanks for reading and for sticking with us through everything! I promise I'll be my witty, funny self next time!
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...
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Monday, September 12, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
On Spanxing
There are several truths looming over me right now:
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.
2) There is a very important wedding coming up in about 6 weeks.
3) I have to don something other than maternity clothes.
*gulp*
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."
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.)
Cue my mother-in-law: "Have you tried Spanx?"
Whomp.
(That was the sound of my self-esteem hitting rock-bottom.)
"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 there.) "Um, no I haven't. It hasn't been something I've thought about before." (Tactful enough?)
"You should try my Spanx. Seriously. Try them. If they work, you can keep the dress - if not, we'll go shopping."
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 am 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]"
Nearly an hour later (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 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.
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.
Really? Spanx? I'm wearing Spanx?
But... my butt... it did look much better.
And my hips were only the bottom of the hour-glass, not the bottom of one hour glass AND the top of another one.
Sweeeeeeeeeet.
And then, I had to pee. Damnit. 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.
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.
Spanx. I'm there.
Sigh.
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.
2) There is a very important wedding coming up in about 6 weeks.
3) I have to don something other than maternity clothes.
*gulp*
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."
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.)
Cue my mother-in-law: "Have you tried Spanx?"
Whomp.
(That was the sound of my self-esteem hitting rock-bottom.)
"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 there.) "Um, no I haven't. It hasn't been something I've thought about before." (Tactful enough?)
"You should try my Spanx. Seriously. Try them. If they work, you can keep the dress - if not, we'll go shopping."
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 am 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]"
Nearly an hour later (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 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.
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.
Really? Spanx? I'm wearing Spanx?
But... my butt... it did look much better.
And my hips were only the bottom of the hour-glass, not the bottom of one hour glass AND the top of another one.
Sweeeeeeeeeet.
And then, I had to pee. Damnit. 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.
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.
Spanx. I'm there.
Sigh.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Where I've Been (alternate title: Ugh)
Wow, that's quite a gap - like, a month... and a half. Fail.
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:
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 Chronic Laundry Buildup? 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.
Dudes, it sucks. Look:
Nursing chair, Pack 'n Play next to my side of the bed (the night stand is full of baby PJ'S)...
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.
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.
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.
And this is what I found when I pulled the baseboards off the wall in Peyton's room. Grody, no?
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...
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.
Or be glad you're not a baseboard in my basement because that would mean I had abused you with a crow bar.
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:
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 Chronic Laundry Buildup? 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.
Dudes, it sucks. Look:
And this is what I found when I pulled the baseboards off the wall in Peyton's room. Grody, no?
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...
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.
Or be glad you're not a baseboard in my basement because that would mean I had abused you with a crow bar.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
I Did It!
I have always believed in working hard and following my heart.
And I've always believed in giving everything I can for my family.
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.
Wish me luck as I don yet another hat...
(And while you're at it, please visit my website, my blog, and my Facebook page - thanks!)
And I've always believed in giving everything I can for my family.
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.
Wish me luck as I don yet another hat...
(And while you're at it, please visit my website, my blog, and my Facebook page - thanks!)
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Making Mommyhood Sexy...
...is totally not what this post is about. At all.
I am not a sexy beast right now. Unless "sexy" equals weird-smelling, rumpled, spit-up crusted, messy-bunned zombie.
Obviously, then, I'm right up your alley.
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.
(I'm almost afraid to change clothes in case Peyton no longer recognizes me as her mother.)
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.
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.
It's all about convenience.
The best part of all this? Less. Laundry.
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!
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.
Besides, honestly, it doesn't matter how hawt 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.)
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 that girl that everyone keeps around to make themselves feel better. I'm sweet like that.
I am not a sexy beast right now. Unless "sexy" equals weird-smelling, rumpled, spit-up crusted, messy-bunned zombie.
Obviously, then, I'm right up your alley.
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.
(I'm almost afraid to change clothes in case Peyton no longer recognizes me as her mother.)
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.
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.
It's all about convenience.
The best part of all this? Less. Laundry.
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!
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.
Besides, honestly, it doesn't matter how hawt 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.)
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 that girl that everyone keeps around to make themselves feel better. I'm sweet like that.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Baby Grins and Momma's Tears
Peyton just rewarded me with a giant-cheeked, crescent-eyed toothless grin.
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.
How in the world is it possible to love so much?
And how in the world is is possible that I will wake up tomorrow and find my love for my family even stronger?
I am so blessed.
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.
How in the world is it possible to love so much?
And how in the world is is possible that I will wake up tomorrow and find my love for my family even stronger?
I am so blessed.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
They Grow So Fast
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.
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.
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.
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.
I love.
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.
Because they grow so fast...
Black and White Wednesday hosted by Lisa!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Introducing....
...Peyton Bailey, newest exhibit in our zoo!
She was welcomed into our arms at 6:54 pm on Monday the 13th of March.
It was amazing. She amazes me. God amazes me. It's good.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 myself to exhale until I heard her first feeble cry. She was alive.
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.
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, ever. (But, of course, I do.)
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 all 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.
And be grateful for the next one.
And the one after that.
So, little Peyton Bailey, who was born at 6:54 pm on March 14th, weighed 8lbs 1oz and measured 20 inches in length.
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.
And thank you, Lord, for choosing us as her family.
She was welcomed into our arms at 6:54 pm on Monday the 13th of March.
It was amazing. She amazes me. God amazes me. It's good.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 myself to exhale until I heard her first feeble cry. She was alive.
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.
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, ever. (But, of course, I do.)
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 all 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.
And be grateful for the next one.
And the one after that.
So, little Peyton Bailey, who was born at 6:54 pm on March 14th, weighed 8lbs 1oz and measured 20 inches in length.
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.
Welcome, Squirt, to our family!
And thank you, Lord, for choosing us as her family.
Monday, March 7, 2011
16 Days Away
My due date.
It's 16 days away.
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.
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.
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.
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.
But I'm going to miss it.
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.
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."
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 right 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.
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.
It's 16 days away.
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.
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.
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.
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.
But I'm going to miss it.
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.
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."
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 right 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.
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.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Pregnasty
Alright. 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.
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.
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?)
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.
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.
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.
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?"
Justin and I have conversations like this: "Do you..." "No."
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.
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.)
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...
...which isn't usually a huge problem since I make a pit-stop every 7.25 minutes anyway.
Things aren't where they should be. I'll leave it at that.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Because, uh, at this point, it sounds like a horrible idea.
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.
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?)
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.
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.
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.
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?"
Justin and I have conversations like this: "Do you..." "No."
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.
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.)
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...
...which isn't usually a huge problem since I make a pit-stop every 7.25 minutes anyway.
Things aren't where they should be. I'll leave it at that.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Because, uh, at this point, it sounds like a horrible idea.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Justice 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.
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.
Did I say we were pissed?
Let me back up:
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 anything. 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.
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 our 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
He didn't, so we did.
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.
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.
We rejected it.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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, even if it is paid, 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.
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.
The end.
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.
Did I say we were pissed?
Let me back up:
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 anything. 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.
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 our 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
He didn't, so we did.
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.
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.
We rejected it.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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, even if it is paid, 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.
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.
The end.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Advent
I 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.
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, always, 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.
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?
For the first time in my life, I could identify with the people 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.
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.
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.
Merry Christmas to all and may peace be with each one of you this glorious week and always!
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, always, 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.
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?
For the first time in my life, I could identify with the people 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.
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.
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.
Merry Christmas to all and may peace be with each one of you this glorious week and always!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Cookies...My On-Going Learning Process
So I've recently delved into the world of making pretty cookies - branching out from the Toll House recipe for chocolate chip cookies that was my comfort zone before... See, I'm not a whole bunch of a baker. I don't have a whole lotta love for "measuring" or "precision" or "patience"... Give me a giant saute pan and a cabinet full of herbs and spices and I'm a MUCH happier camper. Cooking is more forgiving for a total anti-recipe disaster like myself.
Therefore, deciding to not just try cookies, but to try sugar cookies from scratch and then to deal with the rolling, the cutting, the baking, the cooling, and the mess was a big step for me. And then for me to step away from my comforting cans of icing and Tulip tubes of icing with which I grew up was downright ballsy. What the HECK was I doing with bags and tips and 6 bowls of different colored glaze icing?
And my tendencies towards perfectionism just makes the whole thing that much more absurd. Ask how practical it is for me, in my hectic life, to devote 6+ hours to a batch of COOKIES. It's not. It's totally absurd.
Regardless, I do it. Here are some of the results... some obviously better than others:
I made some cute farm cookies for a friend's son's birthday party. I hadn't yet discovered the concept of white food coloring. Nor had I figured out how to cool my cut-outs before I bake to keep the edges nice and sharp. Oh well - bake and learn.
Some adorable little owls I made for fall - inspired by a design on the girl's shirts that day.
Some Jack o'Lanterns for Jack's school Halloween party...
I made these to send to a dear friend of mine, but they got destroyed in the mail.
More Halloween cookies for Jack's party... notice the bright white? White food coloring. Brilliant! I made my purple a little too dark for my tastes... it dried darker than it was in the bowl and I'm still trying to figure out a way around that.
Blooper on the spider's foot... Impatience is not my best quality and it can lead to some oops-ies.
Snowflake cookies for Jack's Christmas party at school. These are probably my favorites to date. See how nice and clean the cookies are around the edges? I'm learning!
Another lesson I learned: simplicity is often the most beautiful design. These crosses showcase what the season is about without going overboard.
I don't know why these candy canes look so sloppy... I think I could have used a #2 tip to outline and flooded with a thinner icing than I did. Oh well - I love the glossiness and the bright colors. And I love white food coloring. Have I mentioned that?
Gotta have some Christmas trees in the mix! Love getting to make them all slightly different!
Silly me tried to stack on top of the red and blue tree before it was dry... ooops. There's my impatience rearing its ugly head again...
And of course, there are a few just for fun and to look pretty. And because I wanted to practice straight lines. Basics, people, basics. I'm getting there. Wish I didn't have the big globs of color at the ends of the lines, but let's just pretend I do it on purpose, eh?
So, when I'm not posting or not getting my laundry done or not showering or sitting down, it's probably because I've embarked on a marathon cookie-baking session and am covered from head to toe in flour and powdered sugar and smeared with 4 or 5 colors of gel coloring and can be found hunched over my counter top with my icing bags in hand, ignoring my family and life. Just so you know!
Therefore, deciding to not just try cookies, but to try sugar cookies from scratch and then to deal with the rolling, the cutting, the baking, the cooling, and the mess was a big step for me. And then for me to step away from my comforting cans of icing and Tulip tubes of icing with which I grew up was downright ballsy. What the HECK was I doing with bags and tips and 6 bowls of different colored glaze icing?
And my tendencies towards perfectionism just makes the whole thing that much more absurd. Ask how practical it is for me, in my hectic life, to devote 6+ hours to a batch of COOKIES. It's not. It's totally absurd.
Regardless, I do it. Here are some of the results... some obviously better than others:
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Gasp!
Dudes, seriously, I can't even keep my head above water right now. My life is being super high-maintenance and that means blogging is the first ball I drop (because a blog doesn't have fees for being overdue on posting or end up in the E.R. if I'm not watching it constantly or burn because I leave it in too long). I'll do what I can, but every waking moment is currently occupied with... junk. Just junk.
Our trip to Virginia was a ton of fun - and successful, since we nominally won our court case. However, it was in District Court so the Defendant has a chance to appeal the ruling in Circuit Court which will mean another trip back to VA for us and also means I can't talk about the case yet. BUT we got to spend time with some of the greatest people in the world while we were there, and it's an enjoyable drive, so we had a good time and are looking forward to going back!
I'm decorating for Christmas early (because I'm so excited for it this year!) and spending lots of time playing with the kids - it feels wonderful to get back to the basics of being a Mommy.
The house is hurrying along - we have walls and will have a roof up and a sealed home by Friday! We're planning to pack up the house we're in around mid-January and close and move by the first week of February! Our builder is a total rockstar and seems super duper proud of this house - he's as excited as we are!
My dad is going to come out for a visit in early December and I'm working on planning fun holiday stuff for that trip, then there's my favorite holiday EVER, then we're headed to Disney World in early January with the other grandparents before we head back to pack up and move.
Somewhere in there I need to shop for the kiddos' gifts and pick up charity stuff and make monumental decisions like paint, hardwood flooring, granite, fixtures, lighting, where outlets go (um, everywhere!) and carpeting. I've got cookies to bake and decorate, big meals to fix, and Christmas cards to think about maybe doing. I'd like to breathe a couple of times, but I'll have to see if that works out.
And it might not sound like much, I realize, but the kids are being really demanding lately and the babe in my belly seems to enjoy causing a fair amount of pain on a pretty regular basis (and at 23 weeks, that's not encouraging, by the way. Sigh.) so everything takes me about 3 times as long as it should.
Oh! And I turned 28. 3 days ago. It was a wonderful birthday because NO ONE had a single tantrum AND I got Dunkin' Donuts because my husband is a total angel. I consider it a success - and a monumental age because it's probably the last birthday I'm going to acknowledge. I will be 28 every year from here on out (even if I can only realistically pull it off for another few) so feel free to file my age away for memory - it's not changing anytime soon.
So, on that note, I'm going to finish feeding my girls lunch, bathe them, dress them, pick Jack up from school, put the girls down for nap, and keep working on my Christmas decorations (currently 4/5 trees complete!)...
I'll do my best to come up with something witty, amusing and fun soon!
Our trip to Virginia was a ton of fun - and successful, since we nominally won our court case. However, it was in District Court so the Defendant has a chance to appeal the ruling in Circuit Court which will mean another trip back to VA for us and also means I can't talk about the case yet. BUT we got to spend time with some of the greatest people in the world while we were there, and it's an enjoyable drive, so we had a good time and are looking forward to going back!
I'm decorating for Christmas early (because I'm so excited for it this year!) and spending lots of time playing with the kids - it feels wonderful to get back to the basics of being a Mommy.
The house is hurrying along - we have walls and will have a roof up and a sealed home by Friday! We're planning to pack up the house we're in around mid-January and close and move by the first week of February! Our builder is a total rockstar and seems super duper proud of this house - he's as excited as we are!
My dad is going to come out for a visit in early December and I'm working on planning fun holiday stuff for that trip, then there's my favorite holiday EVER, then we're headed to Disney World in early January with the other grandparents before we head back to pack up and move.
Somewhere in there I need to shop for the kiddos' gifts and pick up charity stuff and make monumental decisions like paint, hardwood flooring, granite, fixtures, lighting, where outlets go (um, everywhere!) and carpeting. I've got cookies to bake and decorate, big meals to fix, and Christmas cards to think about maybe doing. I'd like to breathe a couple of times, but I'll have to see if that works out.
And it might not sound like much, I realize, but the kids are being really demanding lately and the babe in my belly seems to enjoy causing a fair amount of pain on a pretty regular basis (and at 23 weeks, that's not encouraging, by the way. Sigh.) so everything takes me about 3 times as long as it should.
Oh! And I turned 28. 3 days ago. It was a wonderful birthday because NO ONE had a single tantrum AND I got Dunkin' Donuts because my husband is a total angel. I consider it a success - and a monumental age because it's probably the last birthday I'm going to acknowledge. I will be 28 every year from here on out (even if I can only realistically pull it off for another few) so feel free to file my age away for memory - it's not changing anytime soon.
So, on that note, I'm going to finish feeding my girls lunch, bathe them, dress them, pick Jack up from school, put the girls down for nap, and keep working on my Christmas decorations (currently 4/5 trees complete!)...
I'll do my best to come up with something witty, amusing and fun soon!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Unfriending
Oh sure, we can talk about the merits and draw-backs of social networking all day long.
We can talk about how Facebook has changed forever the meaning of the word "friend" and ask the question: "Really? Who has 963 'friends'?" and point out that Facebook "friending" is not the same as making new friends in real life.
We can even debate whether or not "in real life" even exists when people are so plugged into social media by their phones, their wireless internet, their watches (well, maybe not, but soon, I'm sure)... When people hand out cards that list name, phone number, website, Facebook page, Twitter handle, etc., can we even make a distinction between how we make friends face-to-face and online?
People, let me just say, there is one gigantic, glaring difference between our beloved social media and the real world: In real life, we cannot simply click a radio button and disappear from someone's news feed. We can't unfriend a person and hope that they just assume we're not posting updates - that we've gotten lost in the melange of statuses that flood their electronic wall each day...
Oh no. No, there's no simple "unfriend" action in real life... no matter how much we wish there was. There's no way to simply disappear from one's life and hide behind the anonymous mesh of 1's and 0's the internet affords. Privacy settings don't apply to our large-windowed mini-vans and we can't grant exclusive access to our whereabouts to "friends only" in reality.
I realize how horrible this makes me sound. I do. I'm always looking for new friendships and excited about connecting with people - both for myself (and my sanity) and my kiddos... But if I've ever wanted a do-over in my social life, I'd want it now. And please understand that I'm talking about now - I wouldn't take back any of my shitbag ex-boyfriends or ill-advised high-school hookups or my crashing, burning, drama-laden Zeppelin-style friendships from my past. I'd take it now with one person who is a very kind, very sweet individual who doesn't understand boundaries, appropriate discussion topics, human anatomy, acceptable questions or time-limits. This person does not take cues such as "(toddler wailing in car seat) Honey, I know you're starving, we're on our way home and I'll feed you as soon as we get there, I promise." or "(phone rings) I have to take this; it's our attorney... (answer phone and have person continue waiting)".
Again, I'm talking about a fabulous person, I'm sure. I'm just finding myself utterly and completely unable to find a commonality between us, I'm uncomfortable (beyond all comprehension) with the subjects chosen to discuss (despite desperate attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere) and beyond frustrated with the lack of regard for me, my schedule, or my kids.
Sigh. I need an unfriend button in real life. Or maybe just a rewind button. Or at the very least, a mute button.
We can talk about how Facebook has changed forever the meaning of the word "friend" and ask the question: "Really? Who has 963 'friends'?" and point out that Facebook "friending" is not the same as making new friends in real life.
We can even debate whether or not "in real life" even exists when people are so plugged into social media by their phones, their wireless internet, their watches (well, maybe not, but soon, I'm sure)... When people hand out cards that list name, phone number, website, Facebook page, Twitter handle, etc., can we even make a distinction between how we make friends face-to-face and online?
People, let me just say, there is one gigantic, glaring difference between our beloved social media and the real world: In real life, we cannot simply click a radio button and disappear from someone's news feed. We can't unfriend a person and hope that they just assume we're not posting updates - that we've gotten lost in the melange of statuses that flood their electronic wall each day...
Oh no. No, there's no simple "unfriend" action in real life... no matter how much we wish there was. There's no way to simply disappear from one's life and hide behind the anonymous mesh of 1's and 0's the internet affords. Privacy settings don't apply to our large-windowed mini-vans and we can't grant exclusive access to our whereabouts to "friends only" in reality.
I realize how horrible this makes me sound. I do. I'm always looking for new friendships and excited about connecting with people - both for myself (and my sanity) and my kiddos... But if I've ever wanted a do-over in my social life, I'd want it now. And please understand that I'm talking about now - I wouldn't take back any of my shitbag ex-boyfriends or ill-advised high-school hookups or my crashing, burning, drama-laden Zeppelin-style friendships from my past. I'd take it now with one person who is a very kind, very sweet individual who doesn't understand boundaries, appropriate discussion topics, human anatomy, acceptable questions or time-limits. This person does not take cues such as "(toddler wailing in car seat) Honey, I know you're starving, we're on our way home and I'll feed you as soon as we get there, I promise." or "(phone rings) I have to take this; it's our attorney... (answer phone and have person continue waiting)".
Again, I'm talking about a fabulous person, I'm sure. I'm just finding myself utterly and completely unable to find a commonality between us, I'm uncomfortable (beyond all comprehension) with the subjects chosen to discuss (despite desperate attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere) and beyond frustrated with the lack of regard for me, my schedule, or my kids.
Sigh. I need an unfriend button in real life. Or maybe just a rewind button. Or at the very least, a mute button.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Relief, Finally
I've been a total and complete slacker. The second trimester has brought with it some amazingly nasty headaches. And by headacheS, I mean A headache that has lasted nearly a month. The only thing that's changed for me for the last month is where in my head the pain was.
It's like gremlins lived in my skull and were dismantling my brain neuron by neuron. It destroyed my will to exist. I was functional - barely. Surviving was about as far as I'd go to describe my lifestyle. Tylenol, as a relief, was about as useful when chucked at passing cars as it was when ingested, and even sleep didn't do much to help. See, I'm a total badass about pain - I've got a crazy tolerance... unless you talk about headaches, in which case, I'd rather amputate each toe one at a time with a rusty nail file than deal with an hour of headache pain. Stories of epidural-induced spinal headaches have been enough to encourage me to do 22 hours of labor without drugs for Jack and deliver the twins naturally. I'd go grocery shopping naked every single day for the rest of my life if it meant I never had another migraine.
HOWEVER, I had an appointment with my (rock star) OB yesterday and he prescribed some kind of magical medicine that helped last night. I felt what it was like to be pain-free for a couple of hours for the first time in a month.
I could have cried. I would have, if I weren't afraid it'd bring the headache back.
If this amazing medicine continues to maintain my humanity, I promise I've got some good stuff to share. Oh, and I get to enjoy my kiddos again and I get to enjoy fall and baking and.. and life! It's incredible. So thanks for sticking with me!
It's like gremlins lived in my skull and were dismantling my brain neuron by neuron. It destroyed my will to exist. I was functional - barely. Surviving was about as far as I'd go to describe my lifestyle. Tylenol, as a relief, was about as useful when chucked at passing cars as it was when ingested, and even sleep didn't do much to help. See, I'm a total badass about pain - I've got a crazy tolerance... unless you talk about headaches, in which case, I'd rather amputate each toe one at a time with a rusty nail file than deal with an hour of headache pain. Stories of epidural-induced spinal headaches have been enough to encourage me to do 22 hours of labor without drugs for Jack and deliver the twins naturally. I'd go grocery shopping naked every single day for the rest of my life if it meant I never had another migraine.
HOWEVER, I had an appointment with my (rock star) OB yesterday and he prescribed some kind of magical medicine that helped last night. I felt what it was like to be pain-free for a couple of hours for the first time in a month.
I could have cried. I would have, if I weren't afraid it'd bring the headache back.
If this amazing medicine continues to maintain my humanity, I promise I've got some good stuff to share. Oh, and I get to enjoy my kiddos again and I get to enjoy fall and baking and.. and life! It's incredible. So thanks for sticking with me!
Friday, September 24, 2010
Friday's Here!
I tried to stay away. I told myself I'd come up with something original and inspiring for you, but the questions were just irresistible... you'll see! Enjoy!
1. If you could speak with a different accent, what would it be?
I'm not sure I care... I just wish I had SOMETHING. I'm from Colorado and that means I'm essentially a blank slate. I pick up accents everywhere I live and end up sounding like... well, mud. I've got a New York/Charleston/Virginia/Tennessee thing going on and it's not pretty. I'd like just SOMETHING. I'd settle for Tennessee, because, ya know, I live here and it'd make me fit in a little better. I force some "yall"s out when I'm talking to people but it sounds pretty fake when it's on the heels of me talking about some "schmuck", ya know?
2. Can you fall asleep anywhere?
This wasn't a skill I possessed all my life. Sleep deprivation in college helped a LOT - I found I could fall asleep sitting in a chair next to the professor in a 4-person seminar. THAT is skill. Following that, being pregnant with Jack and working at a high-pressure law-firm, I found that the only way to get through a day was to spend my lunch break sleeping in the trunk of my Prius in the parking garage. I don't get enough sleep - ever - so I have adapted to get it when and where I can. It's useful.
3. Do you use public restrooms?
Psh, of course. I aint skrrrrrd. I even sit. I mean, I'll wipe off some pee if it's splattered on the seat, but I figure if my butt cheeks get germy, that's too bad. They go right back in my pants and I put the pants in my washer. Or they put new germs on my toilet seat, but I clean those constantly. I even pee in porta-potties. I hate being full of pee and any grodiness is totally worth it to me to get rid of it. Seriously. I'm also not afraid or ashamed of squatting behind some bushes. I was born, apparently, with some very easy-going buttcheeks.
4. Stuck in an elevator with a celebrity for 24 hours?
I'm wickedly claustrophobic so I'm going to go with that guy that can escape from anything... You know. Him. I'd do just about anything to him to ensure that he'd let me out once he escaped. I'm guessing, though, that's against the spirit of the question, so I'll go with Tina Fey because she is my freaking idol. So funny. So cute. So awesome. But to make me feel better, can we make it a very large elevator?
5. Where did you and your significant other go on your first date?
Aw, ready for some cuteness? I have a story for ya. Once upon a time, there was a Melis and there was a Justin. They were freshman at the same school, in the same Engineering class. Justin was in Navy ROTC and Melis was in Air Force ROTC. She had noticed how handsome Justin was, and, even though she had multiple boyfriends at the time, she couldn't help the fact that Justin took her breath away. Truly. She had been hoping for weeks just to talk to him. They had a ball coming up - the annual Tri-Military ROTC Ball - and Melis had turned down three date offers for the night (knowing that it was mandatory to have a date) hoping and praying that Justin, the guy she'd not spoken to in her life, would ask her. In desperation, Melis called Justin one day, stammering on the phone like an idiot because in her (uncharacteristically un-suave) panic she forgot his name momentarily. She asked him something lame about homework. He replied something smart-assed. It was mortifying but it ended with Justin asking Melis to the ball and Melis doing a crazed happy dance.
On the evening of the Ball, Melis dressed to the nines with a stomach full of butterflies on speed. Justin was in his uniform and beyond handsome. The evening was perfect... And the best part? No kissing. No hand-holding. Just good, old-fashioned chivalry. Total romance. Melis and Justin were growing something incredible and weren't sure what or how but they did not want to rush into anything and instead spent months enjoying those drugged butterflies flitting around in their bellies, delighting in each new step and each new sensation and gave their roots plenty of time to grow deep and entwined.
One of these days, if you ask me nicely, I'll continue the story. It's ADORABLE.
Sigh. Loved that question! Thanks, Mama M.! Head over her way to participate your own self! (See? Working on the "Southern" thing here.)
1. If you could speak with a different accent, what would it be?
I'm not sure I care... I just wish I had SOMETHING. I'm from Colorado and that means I'm essentially a blank slate. I pick up accents everywhere I live and end up sounding like... well, mud. I've got a New York/Charleston/Virginia/Tennessee thing going on and it's not pretty. I'd like just SOMETHING. I'd settle for Tennessee, because, ya know, I live here and it'd make me fit in a little better. I force some "yall"s out when I'm talking to people but it sounds pretty fake when it's on the heels of me talking about some "schmuck", ya know?
2. Can you fall asleep anywhere?
This wasn't a skill I possessed all my life. Sleep deprivation in college helped a LOT - I found I could fall asleep sitting in a chair next to the professor in a 4-person seminar. THAT is skill. Following that, being pregnant with Jack and working at a high-pressure law-firm, I found that the only way to get through a day was to spend my lunch break sleeping in the trunk of my Prius in the parking garage. I don't get enough sleep - ever - so I have adapted to get it when and where I can. It's useful.
3. Do you use public restrooms?
Psh, of course. I aint skrrrrrd. I even sit. I mean, I'll wipe off some pee if it's splattered on the seat, but I figure if my butt cheeks get germy, that's too bad. They go right back in my pants and I put the pants in my washer. Or they put new germs on my toilet seat, but I clean those constantly. I even pee in porta-potties. I hate being full of pee and any grodiness is totally worth it to me to get rid of it. Seriously. I'm also not afraid or ashamed of squatting behind some bushes. I was born, apparently, with some very easy-going buttcheeks.
4. Stuck in an elevator with a celebrity for 24 hours?
I'm wickedly claustrophobic so I'm going to go with that guy that can escape from anything... You know. Him. I'd do just about anything to him to ensure that he'd let me out once he escaped. I'm guessing, though, that's against the spirit of the question, so I'll go with Tina Fey because she is my freaking idol. So funny. So cute. So awesome. But to make me feel better, can we make it a very large elevator?
5. Where did you and your significant other go on your first date?
Aw, ready for some cuteness? I have a story for ya. Once upon a time, there was a Melis and there was a Justin. They were freshman at the same school, in the same Engineering class. Justin was in Navy ROTC and Melis was in Air Force ROTC. She had noticed how handsome Justin was, and, even though she had multiple boyfriends at the time, she couldn't help the fact that Justin took her breath away. Truly. She had been hoping for weeks just to talk to him. They had a ball coming up - the annual Tri-Military ROTC Ball - and Melis had turned down three date offers for the night (knowing that it was mandatory to have a date) hoping and praying that Justin, the guy she'd not spoken to in her life, would ask her. In desperation, Melis called Justin one day, stammering on the phone like an idiot because in her (uncharacteristically un-suave) panic she forgot his name momentarily. She asked him something lame about homework. He replied something smart-assed. It was mortifying but it ended with Justin asking Melis to the ball and Melis doing a crazed happy dance.
On the evening of the Ball, Melis dressed to the nines with a stomach full of butterflies on speed. Justin was in his uniform and beyond handsome. The evening was perfect... And the best part? No kissing. No hand-holding. Just good, old-fashioned chivalry. Total romance. Melis and Justin were growing something incredible and weren't sure what or how but they did not want to rush into anything and instead spent months enjoying those drugged butterflies flitting around in their bellies, delighting in each new step and each new sensation and gave their roots plenty of time to grow deep and entwined.
One of these days, if you ask me nicely, I'll continue the story. It's ADORABLE.
Sigh. Loved that question! Thanks, Mama M.! Head over her way to participate your own self! (See? Working on the "Southern" thing here.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
LinkWithin
