2013 Year in review

Pretty much the past year went like this:

Everything started out normal enough, then I found out I was pregnant, then I was sick, then I felt a little better, then my ankles swelled, then I had a baby, and now I am disorganized and overwhelmed.

Chickie likes to draw people. I am the figure on the left with the scribbled hair. "Yours wrinkle" (the vertical line to the left of the mouth) is the only other defining feature that she included in my portrait.

Nice.

More from Chickie

"Chickie, Mommy's tired of doing this..."

"Ok. Go to sleep."

Life with this two year old

Chickie HATES:

breakfast
boots
mine cup
that mean lady/step-mother
the step-sisters
that mean cat
watch Snow White
take naps
yours bed
mine bed
mine room
my binky
this one blanket
getting kids from school
mine carseat
mine buckles
mommy's radio

daddy's show

john saying 'stop chickie'

Chickie WANTS:

chocolate cake

chocolate milk

pudding

boots

mine cup

watch Cinderella

watch Snow White

mommy's bed

the crib

my binky

mine blanket

get kids

mine radio louder/up in the air

mine show

sit daddy's chair

john go away

hold you me

My semi-annual blog pledge drive

Twice a year PBS and NPR embark on a week long guilt trip begging for support in the form of monetary donations. Before the dawn of the podcast I would sulk at the prospects of having to endure an entire week of interruptions to all my favorite programs with the promise of a coffee mug in return for a sizable monthly donation. But here I go, asking for pledges. I have no mugs, t-shirts, greatest hits CDs or anything tangible to promise, but this little blog needs your help.

I used to enjoy writing my posts. It was fun and I would spend my week thinking "should I post that?" or "is this blog-worthy?" Then through a series of events and technological advancements my blog began to suffer. Now it has almost whimpered to a stop. I know blogs aren't the "it" thing anymore and it seems most everyone has found better uses for their time but I'm not ready to give up.

I've tried to decipher why I've lost my blog mojo and here's the rub-- I like writing for people other than myself. It's not cool to admit, and perhaps a little self-centered, but I like it when people like what I write. There. I said it. When I get feedback (comments) I get excited and feel validated. As much as we hate to admit it- we like it when we're liked, right?

I need my blog. I need to feel inspired to write again. It's all very selfish. I like going back and reading past entries. The blog provides a glimpse into the everyday constructs of my family that I wouldn't otherwise have recorded. Plus writing, for me, is cathartic. I may not be the best at it, but I enjoy it.

So on behalf of all bloggers out there here's my plea:

If you enjoy reading this or any blog, will you find it in your heart to pledge a little time to show your support? It takes just a few minutes each day, week, or month, whatever you're comfortable with, to click and read. And if you're feeling especially generous you can always leave a comment. The benefits include lifetime friendships and memories, as well as the possibility of the obligatory reciprocal comment/page view for your own noteworthy blog. You really can't go wrong.

Sweet? Caroline!

So, yeah, it's been almost 7 weeks since Caroline was born... It's been difficult to find a minute to pull out the laptop and compose a proper blog post. Life is busy and I suddenly feel like I have too many kids. It's weird to have four little people to wrangle. Let's just say it's been an adjustment for everyone.

Here's the thing, I thought she was going to be an easy baby since she was a scientific fluke. I know that doesn't make sense, but I figured if I had to have one more then the universe would go easy on me. She isn't horrible- she's just really wiggly and grumbley. I think it should start getting better soon- at least that's what my go-to sleep habits book says. The other thing that's hard is that she doesn't particularly like to be in her car seat. I've told her that if she wants to be part of this family she had better figure out how to be content in her seat. She said she would work on it.

Here are some pictures so no one (including my future self) feels ripped off...

Can you spot the professional photos?

She's about 2 weeks



Don't forget about Chickie. Clothing has become optional at our house for grouchy 2 year olds.



It's either princess or nothing at all.  She put the bandaid on her nose because she bumped it.



Six weeks

Four weeks

Five weeks

My best intentions always fail me

I've recently discovered something about myself. I have great intentions. I'm creative, thoughtful, fit, and organized. At least that's how I envision myself, but when push comes to shove another of my great qualities rears its more powerful and pervasive head-- laziness.

For example, I always have great ideas of how to celebrate my kids birthdays

but the reality is that it's a miracle if their gifts even get purchased on time, let alone wrapped.

Or how about all these creative elf on the shelf ideas all over Pinterest? My kids would love it if Winkie played checkers with army men, but really? Once you start that kind of time commitment you can't go back. So what if Winkie is boring and moves from the top of the fridge to the top of the t.v. and back again?

The most recent intention fail on my part took place a mere four weeks ago when I went in to have Caroline(Did you hear? We had a baby. More on that later). I've spent much of my adult life looking at glamorous photos of pregnant friends and even more glamorous photos of them holding their two minute old baby. As I showered prior to our check-in I thought about the effort it must take for these glamorous friends. They must pack make-up, the perfect post-delivery outfit for both mom and baby, a blow drier and curling iron. Do they make sure their hair is curled before they rush to the hospital, or do they do a quick primp before their perfect husbands snap the photo? I vowed to do my best to take a cute selfie prior to delivery and an even cuter post-partum mom and baby photo. It didn't happen. Again with the laziness-- it wasn't worth the effort.

But wait! Enter the wildlife camera Jared set up to catch our neighborhood bear getting into the trash. It's motion activated and captured several of me pregnant and one of us bringing Caroline home, all for posterity. Eat your hearts out glamorous friends!

You never know the crazy faces you make when you don't know there is a camera taking your picture.

Cool shoes to hide the beige old lady compression socks and super fat ankles

See the baby? I promise she's in there.

The bear is so photogenic.

Because this is it-- for real this time

I am at the point in this pregnancy where I just about can't stand it anymore. As a friend of mine said, "It's time for someone else to hold the baby for a while." I know I wrote a similar post around this time when I was pregnant with Chickie, but I am too lazy/tired to go back through the archives and read it.

Because I will NEVER be pregnant again (that's a promise!) I figure I should list everything here so I can share it with my girls when they think they want children.

My belly button hurts and I keep hitting it on things.
My pelvis is probably broken into several pieces.
I have a sore spot on my abdomen that I think is a torn muscle.
My elephant ankles are almost as big as my calves.
I am puffy and swollen everywhere- including my nose and lips, and believe me, the lips are not swollen in a "bee stung" Angelina Jolie way.
My hands go completely numb when I sleep on one side for too long. Completely, not just a little.
I have a horrible taste in my mouth that I can't seem to get rid of.
I waddle. A lot.
I am exhausted but can't ever get to sleep at night.

Those are just the aches, pains, and irritants I am feeling at this moment.

Nesting?

Today I scrubbed the top of the fridge.

A week or so ago I deep cleaned the laundry room, complete with mopping the concrete floor-- it now looks like a clean version of the dungeon it's always been.

The laundry room quickly led to cleaning out and organizing the downstairs bathroom that is in a permanent state of remodel.

The bathroom then led to rearranging the winter gear in the downstairs hall which naturally meant I had to reorganize some shelves in the garage.

It had to be done. Because you know, babies are really sensitive to the dust on the top of the fridge. Just like they are feng shui experts, which of course dictates the mandatory rearrangement of the downstairs playroom.

If only the baby would make me feel like cleaning the parts of the house we actually use...

Tales of a high school nothing

So the Heritage High School Class of '93 celebrated 20 years a few weeks ago.  For me, high school reunions are weird.  I mean, you know me and my Facebooking skills.  If I'm curious about anyone, I can usually draw my own conclusions based on what I can glean from Facebook.  And let's face it, my conclusions are probably way more interesting than reality, and I like it that way.  So I never really planned on attending the exorbitantly priced shindig at a downtown bar, but I did find myself thinking about what it would be like if I actually went.  My conclusion: it would have been an awkward evening of small talk.

The pictures of the evening were posted to Facebook a few days ago, and of course, I clicked through to see who actually paid the price and showed up.  The surprising thing? I barely recognized anyone.  I thought I knew everyone from high school, but guess what? I didn't know anyone.  I would see photos of people I could kind of recognize, but I couldn't remember their names or who they really were. Then the thought occurred to me-- How many of them would know who I was?

In high school everyone is pretty self-centered and I was no different.  I thought people cared about what I was wearing, how I looked, and who I hung out with more than they actually did. The reality is that I would probably be one of the people at the reunion that looked kind of familiar but no one would be able to put their finger on who I was. To my high school self it would have been devastating to realize I was a nobody.  To my adult self being a high school nobody is just fine-- it kept me out of trouble and actually means I had more of a life after high school than during.  I like it better that way.

Oh what do you do in the summertime?

It's kind of sad that I have neglected the blog for so long.  There are many reasons for this that I may or may not get into right now.  The biggest is that it is easiest to update from our PC, which no one uses anymore. 

Anyway, in order to get back into the swing of things I thought I would do a major catch-up with photos and a few captions from our summer. 

Chickie's smile

We love having Great Grammie and Bompa so close now.

Swimming with Meri

Mother's Day

Father's Day

Mini cow at the Renaissance Fair

Kitty was afraid of the cow touching her, but that didn't stop her from trying to pose

The Renaissance Fair was a waste of time and money!

Kitty came in 2nd and Sophie got 3rd

Chickie turned two but the photo refused to load, so the cake will have to suffice

John turned 10

Having fun in the morning

Chickie didn't want to miss out on the rock climbing action at Cheyenne Mtn Zoo

At the Will Rogers Memorial Sun tower



Our Garden of the Gods album cover

I really hate the pop-in

My house was clean two days ago. No one decided to stop by two days ago. My house has returned to its natural state of chaos and disarray. I entertained five drop-in visitors this afternoon.

Why does it always happen this way? There were at least 12 pairs of shoes at the bottom of the stairs, a huge pile of laundry within eyesight, clean laundry draped over the railing, and a pile of odds and ends I was trying to go through but from which I apparently got distracted. And that was just what you could see from the door, heaven forbid I invite anyone in to see the real mess.

The best was when Kitty's friend's dad came to pick up his daughter.  Here comes Chickie with her dirty chocolate face, her pool cover-up unzipped all the way revealing a soggy diaper, and her hair greased and tangled from sunscreen. On her way down the stairs she stepped on the pile of mail I left there a few minutes prior and proceeded to make a slow slip to the bottom. In my jaded mother-of-soon-to-be-four way I just kind of watched it happen, while I saw panic flash across the dad's face. She was fine and I laughed it off like "dumb baby, she's gotta learn to watch out for the mail, duh".

Or how about when the super clean, organized, whatever neighbor decided to stop by looking for Jared? He has an uncanny knack of popping in at the least opportune time. There was one time I pulled into the driveway while sternly telling the kids something important and when I turned to get out of the car, there he was, just standing there.  Weird.  Anyway, tonight he stopped in after John and Kitty had each enjoyed a can of cream soda on the porch.  Naturally, I've trained my kids to leave empty soda cans anywhere but the trash, so when this neighbor came by he had to step over the empty cans, awesome.

If you're going to drop by, please do so every third day, thanks.

I opened a can of peaches that said "No sugar added", took a bite and gagged.  A closer inspection revealed "sweetened with Splenda" on the bottom of the label.  What a waste.  Not only did I inadvertently buy the no sugar added peaches, but I hate the taste of artificial sweeteners (with the big exception being diet Dr. Pepper, whatever).  Are peaches in their natural state of sweetness that bitter? Why can't there be unsweetened peaches? Would I buy them?

And while I'm thinking about sugar, here's the thing- when I'm pregnant it makes me feel yucky. It leaves a taste in my mouth that I can't get rid of unless I counteract it with a savory option.  Sugar makes me feel more nauseated within about ten minutes.  For some reason though, I still find myself trying to enjoy all the prevalent sugary snacks that surround me. You would think if it made me feel bad I wouldn't want it, but I still eat it.


Chickie finishing off the jar of peanut butter, no allergy here!



Squelch their confidence-- my parenting style

A few weeks ago Kitty brought home a permission slip to audition for the school variety show.  I tried to put off filling it out for days, but she persisted. 
"What are you going to do anyway?" I asked with a real lack of enthusiasm. 
"Hula hoop!" 
"By yourself?"
She was so excited.  I was so apprehensive.
"I wish you would discourage her from doing this," Jared said on more than one occasion and I wholeheartedly agreed. 
"You're right," I should have said, "We really need to squelch this unfounded confidence before it gets out of hand."
That's the kind of parents we are-- realists who don't believe our children amount to much.

Kitty loves to play goalie on her soccer team.  I end up sitting on the sidelines cringing every time the ball comes her way.  I am not kidding, I'm wincing and flinching the whole time.  The thing is, Kitty is a pretty good little goalie.

We just got back from the hula hoop audition.  She did better than I expected and we find out on Monday if she made the cut.

As a side note, however, the music she hooped it up to was her favorite song: "Gone Daddy Gone" by the Violent Femmes.  Call me crazy but I don't think it's a very obscure song, but when the CD didn't play one of the teachers found a version on You Tube and when the song was finished everyone in the room was like, "I liked that song, who sings it?" and the guy says, "Gnarls Barkley" and I say "The Violent Femmes" at the same time. And everyone else was like, "Oh, the Violent Femmes did a version?" What?  Am I really the only one who knew that song even existed?

New post about nothing

Chickie LOVES Kitty's soccer shoes. She wears them every chance she can get

The other day I saw two attractive ladies, both with buzzed heads.  I wondered if they were recovering from cancer, but I really didn't care because I wanted to get the same haircut. 

No congratulations necessary, really.

When people say "congratulations" I usually read it as "good job, you really tried and succeeded!"  This is neither a time when I've done a good job, nor really tried to succeed.  In fact, this is the opposite, a fluke.  A blessing? Yes.  But I'm still struggling to see it as such.

Baby number 4 is on the agenda for middle October.  That's right, another one.  Just when I was certain (and I mean certain) our family was complete, we were dealt a real game changer.  If I was old before, I'm even older now.  It takes longer for this body to bounce back-- I was still working on it from nearly two years ago, so it's awesome to go through the whole thing again. It took until my first appointment to really believe it was true.  "There really is a baby in there," I said aloud, as if the vomiting and exhaustion weren't proof enough.

So when you see me around and I look just a tad more disheveled than usual, remember that I survive on a very delicate equilibrium in my life and right now it is way out of whack.  It has taken four pregnancies for me to learn this about myself.  I don't feel good so I don't shower.  I don't feel good so I don't do dishes.  I don't feel good so I wear my yoga pants for weeks on end. I don't feel good so I don't fix my hair (oh wait, that happens even when I feel ok). I don't feel good so I don't write clever blog posts.

I love my babies (and usually my children) but I don't love being pregnant, remember? I just figure this is one determined little spirit that we need in our family of determined little spirits.

So there it is, my big announcement. 

Maybe I should take a cooking class

Hello Kitty

"Maybe you should take a cooking class."

That's how Jared woke me up the other morning. I didn't know if I should be offended or offended.  He wasn't trying to hurt my feelings, in fact, I think I know his motivation.  You see, Jared has a philosophy about cooking, if you enjoy it, you will be good at it.  He knows I don't love making dinner every night and so in his caveman brain that means I must not be good at it. The problem lies in the fact that he is a picky eater and I can't always read his mind. 

This is only after I cleaned up the explosion

Regardless of Jared's intention, I stewed over the cooking class comment for days.  I decided to make his favorite cookies just to prove him wrong (technically baking not cooking, whatever). But when John and Kitty heard, they insisted I make their favorite cookies instead, and because I like their favorites better, I went with the kids. 

It was going well until we were out of brown sugar.  No problem, I thought, I'll just use regular with some molasses and call it good (I know how to cook).  And it was good until I went to the cupboard and realized we were out of molasses and that I had substituted brown sugar in my molasses holiday cookies. So... I went with Plan B: regular sugar.  Done.

I mindlessly added ingredients with expert precision telling myself I knew how to make darn good cookies, even without the right ingredients. I was lost in thought about my mad baking skills when I added the flour and instead of moving the "lock" lever on the mixer, I moved the speed lever to full blast. Flour blasted the kitchen, me, Kitty, Chickie, the dogs, everyone. It was awesome.

The cookies turned out fine, by the way.  My confidence? Better than ever.

One of my helpers

Turned my back for a second and she decided to make a baking soda mess to rival the flour.  She didn't like the taste of it.