AUTHOR - A Very Blessed Wife & Mother

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Jabba


Dear Jabba,

My girl, the only “daughter” in my life (until the boys get married), the only other women in my house, the greatest furbaby i could ever have, my protector, adorable 55lbs of wrinkles that graciously took a back seat when Gage was born and never rebelled one bit, girl, you are the best. Really!!!

As a puppy you were a “stand out”, over 20 wrinkles on you little tail, everyone loved you, strutting you unbalanced body around, snorting like a little piglet cause your pallet was so long it was suffocating you. After surgery to help you breath girl, I will admit, I did miss the snorting and wished I had taped it, but was happy you could breath and WOW, what energy you had then.

You are a bit neurotic when it comes to cutting your nails so I do have to drug you for your own sanity and heart heath, but look, you still snuggle after a bath, even with your sweater on, hyped up on doggy crack (I was not strangling you but merely helping to hold your head up)

As a teenager and adult you defiantly started to show you protective side and were not shy at voicing your will at strangers, even cars driving by. We tried to keep you socialized but you are you, and that is that.
Girl, we even shared a pillow with that pesky kitty friend of yours and daddy's!

However big girl, I got to tell ya, I am kind of, um well *looking down, jamming heel into the dirt*, JEALOUS!

Shamefully for several reasons I have the green eye of envy…..
(Not for the reason you are thinking....I have No urge to be able to clean my own bottom with my mouth! )

You get to lie around and sleep all day (yes girl I found out)

Your wrinkles look fantastic without moisturizer

Let’s face it; you get to walk around in the “buff”, ALL the time

You don’t have to take off any clothes to go potty

You get to potty where ever, when ever, you want (I am grateful that you hold it while I am working though)

Never once do you have to wonder if your hips or booty is too big
Get to chase the cat

You don’t have to cut your nails, clean your ears, or bath everyday (so yeah, I don’t either but we are talking about YOU here)

And most of all girl….my one and only time left, last chance ever, been working on for 9 months now, son’s first word is not mama, nor dada, he said.......

JABBA!
as he chased you in his walker, pfftt.. traitor!

Friday, September 18, 2009

T-n-TT

TwooFies & Tidbit Tugging

Twoof For those of you that have never had a toothache or one pulled, that is what tooth sounds like when in you are in pain, add talking about more than one twoof and you get twoofies.

Gage is still cutting teeth at an awe inspiring rate; he gets about a week off in between each it seems. His fourth (top left) twoof has come through and its partner to the right is catching up on the action, I figure it will be partying with the rest of them with-in a week, poor baby. So if you take a: black n blue, swollen, bloody, separating to quickly, set of baby gums, Add one not so nice cold virus and what do you get?

Pain + Hurt + Ouch + runny nose + cough + fever = X

What is the value of X?

X= sleep deprived, over-stressed, slime covered mommy *(multiplied) by the power of more house buying/selling issues, structural engineer making a report on our home, and closing get pushed again + the addition of 5-6 new work projects = the biggest reason for the lack of posts over the last two weeks, along with a over-frazzled looking mother/wife/employee.

(you know you look bad when the local “deprived” dirty construction workers quit gawking as you walk by)

Twoof Update (yes I started this post earlier this week):
His cold is trying to get better, the twoof has broken through, the other is moving downward FAST, and the sleep vs. slime amounts have shifted in my favor on the curve. If I could get a picture in his mouth before he succeeded on getting the lense in his mouth, this is what it would look like....


OK now the TT or Tidbit Tugging

Let me set the stage: About 1.5 weeks ago as we left the shower (we plug it and make a 3inch bath/shower) Gage discovered that, “he’s a boy”, he saw a little turtle peaking from under the water and grabbed it as I was lifting him out, I had a giggle and we moved on to getting dried and dressed.

…………….Fast Forward 48 Hours……………

As soon as Dad put him in the shower with me, he remembered his turtle friend and snatched it, before I even sat him all the way down. People, I am not talking about touching it, but full hand grabbing and pulling. I found myself saying:
Honey those are your boy parts, don’t pull them off
Honey, your testicle sac is not suppose to come up that far!

No, it is NOT a necklace!

Gage, you are going to hurt yourself!

Son, Put the PePe down!

Please, LEAVE THE TURTLE ALONE!

Fine, pull it off, it is yours!

The rest of the bath went like this…..
-Pull turtle as hard as possible until it slips from between his little fingers
-See a toy
-Shake it
-Catch a glimpse of a turtle head peaking above water
-Drop toy
-Grab turtle and turtle nuts,
-Pull, until you lose them in the deep grey water (yes he can be a dirty boy)
-See a toy
-Shake it
-Catch a glimpse of the turtle head peaking above water
-Drop toy
-------------------*wash, rinse, repeat*-----------------------------
His poor turtle was so red.

However, from his angle and without knowledge of body parts or reptiles, he only see’s above the water and what he see’s does look interesting, plus it moves….


So I guess I “Get IT”, the positives is that it does help with Hand-Eye-Coordination. Wait until I tell his pediatrician how hard he has been practicing…

UPDATE: as of last night….
If you were thinking he would get bored with Turtle Hunting, well you are wrong, it is his favorite bath toy. What do I do, you ask? I spend the whole time trying not to laugh.
*wondering how long until he figures out that the turtle also plays in urine soaked cotton diapers at changing time, stay tuned*

Thursday, September 3, 2009

SHARING

I wanted to share just a few silly tid bits of life, a little window into my personality.

The picture and subject of this post is the 2009 "the company I work for" Annual Golf Tournament Trophy. IF you read the plaque on the trophy, you might have seen where I boxed out the companies name (for crazy people purposes) and find the words "Bringing up the Rear", that 's right folks, DAL stands for DEAD A** LAST. This trophy is given to the team in last place out of usually about 22 teams of 4, and a bonus this year is that the trophy had a Jack a** bobble butt feature, truly amazing in my eyes.

The teams are pretty even when it comes to experience, each having a "A" player (really good, golfs more than the wife likes), the classic "D" player (lucky if you can hit the ball, forget directionality), and then two players in the middle of that spectrum. The first place team gets a prize and the last place gets the trophy, my team has always come placed middle of the road at the tournaments. Each year when the roster of the team groups goes out the first thing I look for is how bad our players are so I can gauge our trophy chances. This year I was syked, somehow there was an issue and our team had 3 girls and 1 guy, which means nothing, unless the girls are all "D" players and the rules say you have to use at least one drive from each person on the team. My eyes lit up and I danced around, "I am going to get my trophy".

The day of the tournament the guy on our team, I will call him W, sat with us and I said "SO who did you make angry, seeing how you got 3 "D" players on your team", "You must have drawn the short straw", "hey W, I really think we have a good chance at the DAL trophy this year", he laughed and said stuff about how he was sure we were better at golf then even we thought. hahahahah such a nice man.

All during the game as golf balls flew in all short of directions and never really far when they did actually go the right way, I kept saying "I think that trophy is ours", I was excited we sucked. W actually said "do you want us to throw the game so we can get the trophy", still very nice of him but I responded "NO, I want to EARN the trophy, I want to be the suckiest team because we suck, not cheated, I want to look at the trophy with pride that it was meant to be ours because our rotten golf team, not rotten morals", so try for real we did.

Towards the middle and end of the tournament (I had to leave 3 holes early) we seemed to get better and stayed 1 or 2 below par, I felt the trophy once again slipping away, couldn't help but wonder if we sucked enough. The thoughts of "hey we might win this" even came out of our "A" player W's mouth. As I left I truly felt that we would be far from a trophy last place "victory" and most likely just short of the first place prize, which is not as good as the last place prize in my book, but oh well, we thought we sucked enough in the beginning but beginners luck must have been on our side.

Insert leaving early and two day weekend......

The following Monday morning I went to W's office knowing he would know what place we ended up in, I nearly fell on the floor when I saw the DAL trophy, my trophy, the donkey, sitting perched so perfectly on his file cabinet. W was a newer employee of the company so I knew it was from this golf tournament and not any others, however it could belong to someone else. W turned around in his chair, I said "well", he pointed to the trophy and cracked a grin, I jumped up and down (mature I am not), finally after 5 years of wanting the DAL trophy it was mine, we earned it, fair in square, we did suck THAT BAD, and I love it.

Without further ado......I present for your viewing pleasure my teams 2009, well earned, happily received, DAL trophy.........


(sorry the picture was taken with my phone camera, and yes the butt does bobble)

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Never an Equal

Or otherwise titled, doesn’t matter how many babies you pop out, once an infertile, always infertile (but I thought that may be to long).

Disclaimer: Let me start by saying (those who know me know this and either love or hate it), I am not a quiet person, I always speak my mind, some would say very blunt and with a need for more couth. I say that life is too short to sweeten everything up beyond the truth just to please everyone. I am not one to make things seem sweeter than they are. One of my quotes is “I don’t like my cake with icing because if the cake is good then you don’t need icing”. I never kept my loses/our babies a secret, I will openly talk about infertility and our battle, and when in the hall if people say “Hi, how are you/the kids” I don’t just say great and walk off, I answer them honestly. I have learned that most people don’t want to hear the truth unless it is good but that is not me, if you are brave enough to ask, then I should be brave enough to tell, and I am, so I do.


I am not referring to the overwhelming fear of losing babies that infertility brings upon those involved, but more like the battle to be seen as any other mother. Going through the pain of wanting what seems to come so easy to everyone else, the single teenager down the road, drug addict, or jobless women who always goes back to her always abusive and incarcerated baby daddy to become pregnant every 9 months, the local supermarket where no matter what direction you look in there are baby bellies everywhere, the “common women” who get pregnant when she wants to. The urge to get up to the same level as everyone else is a constant battle, you just want, strive, and fight to play on the same field, to be what is suppose to come so easy, a mom. A mom I am, but apparently never on the same playing field.


It seems as though I am forever labeled in many people’s eyes, I am not a mom without a label.

When people ask me how Gage/I am doing, I do not put icing on my answer, I give it like it is. Answers could be “great, such a joy, lovely, fantastic, moving all around, or the answers could be, “he is having a tough week, he is teething, he is not sleeping well right now, he is sick, I am tired, I am having a hard week because Gage is, etc….. When I give the truth and it is anything but positive, 80% of the time I get these responses….”well you WANTED a baby, isn’t this what YOU wanted, kids are tough you should have thought about that before you tried so hard, etc….
I do believe that people would never say that to a women who had 5 kids as easy as making pancakes, I do believe people would say “that sucks, sorry, hope you get some more sleep tonight, hope the kids/you feel better, etc…”. I know this people don’t mean ill harm by what they say; well at least I hope they don’t, but it still stings a bit.

So in conclusion apparently if you have to struggle in life you are not allowed to be tired, sick, frustrated, as other moms do. I am suppose to be rosy sunshine on 2 hours of interrupted sleep when my baby is teething, fussy, inconsolable, look great as I struggle through the work day, skip around with a grin ear to ear because I was finally able to have a baby, then drive home and be Susie homemaker spewing rainbows from my mouth as I spend time with my super fussy, overtired teething child, then dream of puppy dogs and lollipops why I get another two hours of interrupted sleep before starting the same process over again, because after all “I wanted a baby” and obviously because I had to struggle to have one I am not allowed to be anything but overjoyed 24 hours a day. After so long wanting to get on the same playing field as what seems like every other women in the world is on, I have come to realize I will never be on that field in everyone’s eyes but in my kids eyes I am not only on the field, I OWN it, and that is what is most important, the rest is just blahh.

Sorry about the rant, I just had to get that out, and just maybe one of those people who say stupid things to people who have struggled will read this and “get it”.