B.S.M.K.H.S. In No Particular Order

      So there I was in the dentist's chair yesterday.  It's not one of my favorite places, dating back since my youth when my dentist tried to smother me as I hyperventilated......and proceeded to pull 8 teeth without any tooth numby. As I lay there with the laughing gas cranked up, I realized that I felt pretty good.  I don't think I have felt that calm in at least a year, at my last illicit drug use.  It came to me quite clearly then why people use drugs.

     My brain works overtime all of the time.  It's kind of like a roller derby in there.  Frustration, anger, noise, movement from one place to another at flashy speeds, and I really take a pounding.  The only thing I have found to make it stop......besides nitrous oxide, is reading.  It gives my brain a place to focus.  So instead of doping up I read.

     I've noticed I am pretty infantile in my life progression thus far.

Except I am clearly not that adorable.  I don't think I have  ever properly learned to self regulate.  I am driven by pleasure and desire.  Sounds kind of naughty.  It has more to do with not being able to push myself out of my comfort zone.  It's a very small zone.  Kind of like a dot on a paper.  Officer Handsome can run a 5K after not having run for months.  I stoke myself up thinking I can become a runner and within the first moments of feeling my own heart beat above resting speed.....I just wanna throw in the towel.  I'm not really in pain, I am bored and a little anxious to get away from myself.  Running leaves you not much to do besides think, unless you happen to see a cow birthing a calf while you huff by.  Unfortunately odds are that won't happen often.  Also, once I saw a fallic symbol spray painted on a road sign and that gave me half a second of laughter.

     I find myself a little depressed that I don't make many strides during the day.  My brain flits from one place to the next and I never spend enough time on one thing.  Also I get really bored with one thing.  And I basically hate to do most things because I don't get payoff fast enough.  I think about crafting something awesome, but then I dwell while  I do it and end up not being able to face the thought of attempting some painting, or glueing or refinishing. I want to deep clean the kitchen cabinets and the kids dressers but the thought of having to focus on such dullness while still dwelling on every other thing that needs my attention, leaves me breathless with the desire to run. Eating and reading you can get a buzz from pretty quickly but besides that ........meh, too much work.

     I have concluded that it's about time to tame Maimy.  My natural man.  I conclude that a lot.  She is like living under a brown blanket.  She adds more weight, makes it hard to navigate, and makes everything dark. 

     While I was showering after my laborous run,  (I came up with a snappy idea that I could train myself to run with this website....http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml ) I had nothing to do but think some more.  That's when I came up with a plan.  I have to have guidelines.  Even though I like to wing everything, mostly because planning takes effort, I function better with strict rules and expectations.  Instead of having a to-do list, because I make terribly long ones once I start one, I am making some broader goals to accomplish during a day.

     B.S.M.K.H.S. in no particular order.  I am going to do something for my Body, Spirit, Marriage, Kids, Home, and Self, everyday.    Example.....I already went running, I will read an article from the Ensign and journal with it, I rented a movie for Officer Handsome and I, I will take the kids to the pool or on a walk and they need individual attention everyday so we will read, snuggle, play games and maybe bake, home......ugh put the laundry away, do dishes, start more laundry, and for myself.......it's hard not to get carried away here...for sure I will read, probably while eating lunch, and then hide from everyone and read some more.  Once I can see, feel really, that I have accomplished something I am hoping it will give me enough 'good' feeling to move on to the next task.

     For real, people out there.......are you cool being in your own head?  Do you have a lot of self control?  Where did it come from?

Cruella de Vil

I was doing dishes this morning when Piglet decided to have one of her bizarre conversations. 
Piglet: Mom we got to choose our moms in Heaven.
Me: Why did you choose me?  You could have gotten a rich mom, or a nice mom, or a cute and funny mom.
Piglet: You are nice......sometimes. And you are cute and funny.  And I don't know any rich moms. 
Me: You could have had another dad too.
Piglet: Other dads creep me out.
Me: So why do you think you chose me?  What were you thinking when you saw me? 
Piglet: You looked like you needed a lesson and I thought, "I can teach her a lesson."
Me: Oh ya, what are you going to teach me?
Piglet: To be nice......or Spanish.  Wait what does cruel mean?
Me: To be mean.
Piglet: Ya, I'm gonna teach you not to be cruel.

I guess she feels like not getting her way 100% of the time is cruel on my part.  Even I haven't learned that lesson yet.  Lesson # 12: You Don't Always Get What You Want......And How To Move On Gracefully.

I Bit The Bullet

Er, that is a picture that I took while I was waiting to board my ship to paradise....the boarding happened to be much later than expected.


Something else I didn't really expect. I pulled the eldest son, Farm Boy out of school. There wasn't one big reason. I have wanted to homeschool all of the kids for a long time. He was being overlooked and not challenged. And he HATED school. HATED it. I felt like I owed him to try something else since four continual years of hating 75% of his day didn't ever make him wake up with a different attitude. I knew it would be a challenge. Still...I didn't really expect what I got.

We quickly formed a sweet little co-op of our own with two other families and two fun mamas. The kids are pretty awesome and it is nice to have a group for the male child to hang with, especially around holidays. We meet on a weekly basis and have a fun project which the kids get through with gritted teeth so that they can move on to challenging each other on the Wii (yuck).

For the first few days while Farm Boy and I were on our own, it was like all of the dreams I had about homeschooling.....except for the missing ten other children and the long farm table. I tested him out of 3rd grade and moved him on to some other things that didn't glass over his eyes. He read, he wrote, he did algebra. And then the honeymoon adjourned rather quickly. Despite how terrifying and wicked mean I find myself, Farm Boy is not ruffled or intimidated. I hate it. If I don't have intimidation I have nothing. Even love doesn't pack the punch pure meanness does. Farm Boy and I are a poor personality match. I pray that someday he finds a girl just like his dad that can put up with the shear amounts of stubborn that spit out of him like lava. He has yet to actually win one of our scuffles.....but he is getting close. Ssh don't tell him. I'll flat out let it be known I dream about starting to drink.

All of the field trips, organic learning in situation, brain bending science experiments, leading Farm Boy to find internal motivation, and break out literary adventures......they are in the crapper and I am about ready to flush. I think my expectations were too high. I think learning is so fun. I want it to be amazing and exciting. I think he should pick up on whatever I present him before I am even finished. I think that I don't want to have to stand behind him with a bull whip and physically press him into doing a teeny weeny bit of work.

At this present moment it is 4:38 p.m. mountain standard time. He has done nothing more than eek out a few words of writing. He has yet to attempt his math. He did not read anything. There was no science experiment. He did however move all of the chairs from one room to another, make cup upon cup of chocky moomie for Nugget, play football with Nugget, make two meals for himself, poke me everytime he walked by, help unload groceries, and explain a movie that I haven't seen. And still......still! Even though I want to drown myself or put my passport to good use by disappearing.......I STILL think that for right now, this is a better choice for Farm Boy than going to an organized school institution.

Crazy Eye

Where does the market for this come from.  Really........I want an answer.

Nugget #3 just became the second piglet to need glasses.  I didn't figure it out until 'Kindergarten Kickout', as she put it.  She totally failed her eye test.  I take that personally on more than one level.  A) It's not acceptable to fail a test.  It actually makes me feel dumb by association.  I feel like she didn't study hard enough and it's my fault for not quizzing her properly because I am a bad parent.  B) I feel pretty bad that my weak genetic makeup spread to my little beauty. 

What makes me feel a wee bit better is the fact that she was totally into eye wear as a fashion statement.  She had a wild time trying on pair after pair of pink and purple glasses. 
The doctor explained that because we had no idea she was half blind in one eye, the other eye had to do all of the work in order for her to see anything.  One eye was like a fat couch potato with a hairy back and long thick toe nails.  He didn't do anything but sit in a dirty recliner with crusty dishes and beer bottles surrounding him, watching soft core porn.  That eye disgusts me.  The other eye has sweet little biceps and triceps.  Her hammies and quads are cut.  Her abs have nary an ounce of fat.  She is so perky and toned that she can get away with boy shorts and a hot pink sports bra.  I'm pretty sure she has lush shiny dark brown hair.  I love this eye.  If Hairy Back doesn't get off the recliner and start pulling his weight, we might have to knock Perky Pink out with a roofie.  In other words, Piglet's eye is lazy.  If her glasses don't start to correct the problem, she may have to wear a patch.  I will most  likely buy her the heart one pictured above...*snicker*. 
Piglet didn't care.  She knew she looked just as good in glasses as without.  She immediately came home to spread the good news to Superman.   "Dad, guess what!!!!!!! I have a crazy eye!!!"

The Second Time Around

So that's about all I remember from the second baby.  Superman hid behind a hunting magazine for a few hours and pretended I wasn't white knuckling it 4 feet away.

I've never claimed to have a handle on my emotions.  When I came to the realization that I may have to deliver the second child....I bluntly told Dr. D that I would not return after the 36th week of gestation unless I was knocked out cold and unawares.  Living up to my end of the bargain, I refused to make further appointments or discuss the possibility of giving birth. 
Duty had called loud and long.  Superman was at the 2002 Olympics keeping us safe from terrorists.  This aloneness really helped me compartmentalize...I found it quite easy to pretend that I was not 9 months pregnant. 
Dr. D, realizing that I truthfully intended to never return, called in a little treat to the pharmacy.  He felt that if he could, in fact, render me unconscious, someone could perhaps drag me to the hospital.  Superman returned from his post in time to pick up the drugs just as the contractions began.  Knowing that I would put up a struggle if he suggested that medical attention may be imminent....he brought home a little bottle of sleepy dust.
Anxiety has long been a companion of mine.  I am curious ....... does anyone else have that thing where the fear of what is to come in the morning stops you from going to sleep because the dreaded event will come faster?  Well that is about where we were sitting.  I knew the contractions were leading somewhere.  I tried to play it down, but I am sure that trying to lock myself in the bathroom piqued Superman's keen senses. Night was coming on and he knew that he was going to have to get me to the hospital by morning.  If he could just get me to eat the little doggy treat stuffed with Ambien.......home free.  I wasn't giving up without a fight.  On one hand being drugged and comatose would really aleviate the intense sense of doom...but the sooner you go nighty night, the sooner you are propped up on a table naked.  Not in the good sense....where you are dancing to boom chicka bow wow and making cash hand over fist, but the bad sense where there are blood and guts falling out of your bottom.  Superman calmly and lovingly tried to get me to partake of fruit.  Nu uh.  He became testy.  At one point he held me down.  Feeling backed into a corner I took the little pill and put it in my ear.  It pains me to admit that childish act, but you really have to understand how much I hate every part of labor and delivery........I hate it right up to the point where you are one year post partum.  You would think a man trained to detect deceit would have picked up on this......it took some time.  Finally when I didn't pass out cold, he became suspicious.  After grilling me under a 100 watt light bulb in a dark room and smashing my fingers in the desk drawer, I copped to the fact that the drugs were in my ear.  The only thing I remember after that was everything taking on a blue cast and not being able to use my legs.  I became cognizant at the hospital when the nurse in her best cheerleader voice chirped, 'Oh my heck.....are you so excited to have a baby today?"  I immediatley burst into tears and said, "NO!"  She hooked me up to an IV anyway. 
Superman, not learning his lesson the previous time, lent me his fingers to grasp while the anesthetist used a screwdriver to give me an epidural.  Once he regained the use of his bloody hand, he picked up a hunting magazine and didn't speak to me again until it was baby birthin' time. He requested more ringers be hung on the IV pole in order to block his view.  He didn't understand yet that only one of us could be scared witless...and it was my turn.  Luckily, my babies have been coached from the pre-existance and they are able to birth themselves, as I am useless with fright.  The Farm Boy appeared quick as a blink:)

Mommy, Tell Me A Story........

I hope I don't get sued for that picture.......I'm not claiming I took it.  That is not me, however I have felt like that before.

The nuggets ALWAYS ask for a story.  Usually while I am driving and listening to Nickleback as loud as I can so that I don't have to hear their shrill little voices.  So here's a story they like to hear.  It truly illustrates that I am unfit to bear children.......

Once upon a time I was pregnant with my first baby.  In order to kill the rumors that I was pregnant when I got married......I waited four years to pop out my first piglet.  I had been through college.  I had a great job doing fantastically important things.  Meh, what the heck, the car seats and strollers were so enticing....and the itty bitty clothes.....ugh, it was all so overwhelming...I was sucker into having my own nugget.

I didn't handle being pregnant very well.  Satan's grasp on Reagan from the exorcist looked a lot like...erm well nothing....when it comes to comparing my behavior with hers.  At long last the day of doom was impending.  Dr. D said it would be beneficial if I would consider induction since my little bundle of joy was due two days before Christmas and I had an hour and a half drive to the hospital.  By the end of all of my pregnancies I was like a coyote trapped in a leg vice.  I would have ripped off the arm of anyone that came within range of my teeth.  So, I declined the offer to willingly subject myself to intense pain.  Superman tried his darnedest to change my mind.  He is so sweet......and so niave, at least he was this once.  He sort of cornered me in the Dr. office and made me schedule an induction.  Basically I agreed so as not to cry in front of the office staff.....plus I was really hungry and wanted to go eat.  I knew....oh I knew, that I would never acutally go through with it.

The day I knew I would die (which is how I looked at it) arrived.  Everyone knew I was going to the hospital.  I couldn't take the pressure.  I couldn't handle that everyone knew I was about to deliver a baby.  How could I possibly preform under such duress?  I couldn't.  I cried uncontrollably until I was supposed to leave for the chop shop.  Then I made Superman call and unschedule my induction.  (This is the great thing about being an adult......no one can make you do anything you don't want to!! It's very empowering!)  Then, because everyone called to find out about the baby and instead found out that I had a nervous breakdown...continued to call to give me their opinion/support.  I admit to hiding in the bathroom......in the bathtub.  I threw the phone out and closed the shower curtain.  Yes...I am an adult.  I made Superman play secretary.  I begged him to tell everyone to leave me alone and never, ever speak to me again.  They tried to tell me I couldn't stop labor, but haha they don't know me very well.  My poor mother, in a state of frenzy, tried to lure me out of the bathroom with a cheese burger.  This actually worked.  But I made her leave the house before I unlocked the door, stuck out my hand, and pulled the cheese burger into the bathroom. 

What I was not counting on was that intense anxiety can put you into labor.  Within a very short time I began to feel what may have been contractions.  I pretended they weren't happening because.....well, I wasn't going to give birth after all. Superman in all of his duty bound glory, had gone to work when I pretended that I was not in labor. I made the mistake of picking up the phone during what may have been a contraction.    By some sick twist of fate, Superman's dad called.  I think he could tell I was gritting my teeth.  Sensing that things may not have been as kosher as I said they were, he said he felt like I shouldn't be alone.  Ah, sh*t.  I mean seriously.  This was the worst moment of my life to not be alone.  I so wanted to be alone.  You can really compartmentalize when you are alone, duping yourself into believing nearly anything.  So the dad comes and makes me leave my little haven.  I have one exceedingly painful contraction infront of a person I don't want to be sick infront of.  I could hardly sit on the truck seat.

I am dragged into the in-laws.  I am put on display in front of their children, like a sick animal in the zoo.  For hours we watch horrible medical mishaps and painful medical procedures on the big screen.  The children feed me Pepsi and chocolates as I lie swollen and anxious on the floor.  The contractions have stopped, just like I knew they would.  No labor and delivery for me!  Superman visits.  I try to express through gritted teeth and raised eyebrows that I am dying to go home and be alone.  He leaves me there.  Blah......the hours pass.  I eat more chocolate.  Finally, out of desperation to hide from the beadly little eyes, I hit the ladies room.  When I know that the peeps in the other room are getting nervous about my condition I have to stop inspecting my pores and go back out.  Somewhere between the bathroom and the living room, approximately 5 steps, my mental barrier was over ridden by nature, and I went into full blown labor.  My little sister to this day will say that I made some awful noises and I may have cried.  All I can remember is that those poor children stared at me with gaping eyes as I bit the back of the recliner I had fallen against.  Honestly so did the parents.  They didn't know me very well and I don't think they had any idea what to do.  Finally I had the dad page Superman (The ungodly days of no cell phones.  It was like the dark ages.  How did we even function?).  Didn't work.  Superman was working a canyon road.  When I resorted to biting myself, the dad finally wised up and called dispatch.  That got the cops to roll.  Superman busts in, mouth agape, eyes huge.  We leave the prison from which I felt I would never escape.  We go home.  I had secretly packed a bag for the hospital just in case.....I actually had to have the baby.  He grabs the secret bag once I tell him there is a secret bag.  I lay on the floor by the baby swing, I am sure seemingly like a cow that has been hit by a car and not killed.  I assume that looked bad because I ended up in the partol car speeding out of town.  Big Guy tries to convince me to stop at the local hospital.  No no no! 

I am trying to hold my clothing off of my body so that the pressure of the light cotton on my very tight abdomen, doesn't kill me.  Superman, although great in any bloody situation, cannot handle his own bloody situation.  He will not look at me.  He will not speak to me.  I am pretty sure he didn't touch me.  I beg him not to slow down.  I would rather die in a car wreck than have another second of pain.  Fifty minutes later I am lying across the nurses station screaming.  The heathenous wretch that attends to us thinks I am being a bit extreme when she finds out we are on baby numero uno.  I will not allow her to help me change my clothes.  After my legs fail me, I am dragged to a bed and thrown up with the finesse of a cowboy tossing hay bales.  The nurses evil gargoyle hands prod until they find out ......hmm I think that's a baby head, and ew, golly that was a huge burst of water!  She tells Superman he almost had to deliver his own child.  He smells blood.  He turns white.  He runs from the room. In the confusion I still get the drugs.  Previously I am convinced that the epidural will climb my spine instead of descend, paralyze my diaphragm, and kill me.  I am  now willing to risk it.  At some point in my screaming and thrashing about, someone has put a blood pressure cuff on my arm.  As the numbing drugs begin to take effect, the cuff closes on my arm, cutting off circulation.  I screamed even louder to alert the witchy woman to the fact that the epidural was going up, not down as intended, and I was about to crash.  With a superior smirk on her face, she  pointes out that the cuff was just really tight.  Just for kicks my blood pressure crashed anyway because she didn't give me enough fluid.  All the hubbub didn't take more than a few minutes.  Then nursey recalls that there was a baby trying to dislodge itself from my body.  She, ever so kindly, turns on 18 mega watt lamps, rips off the bedding and tells me not to push. 

Dr. D makes a quick appearance.  He asks if I am ready to have a baby.  I am not.  Nine months was no preparation.  I need to rethink what I am about to do.  Dr. D. doesn't really care, considering it is 3 am.  He wants to go back to bed.  So I try to make a controlled pleasant face, which I have been practicing in the mirror at home.  I didn't stop to consider the huge streaks of mascara running down my face may make me look ridiculous.  And then before I have time to work up anymore tears on behalf of my own mind numbing fear.....tada......a soggy, loud piglet.  A total stranger, in a wee little body, smelling like blood, or Heaven, if you roll like that, is having an angry fit over the bright lights and the big city.  My little Christmas present.  I swear, as much as I hate being pregnant, I would do it over and over and over again for the kids that I have.