At Some Point, I Need To Stop Writing About My Teeth

When I was 18, I went on a medical mission trip to Mexico. I was on the dental team and I will never forget how people waited for hours to voluntarily have their teeth pulled. Our clinics were set up in classrooms, churches, and sometimes under tents in people's yards. We brought state of the art equipment and followed strict sanitary guidelines, but the conditions were rudimentary and makeshift and people still lined up every day to have their teeth extracted without protest or hesitation.

What I didn't comprehend back then was that these people understood how serious tooth pain is. When they came to our clinics, they just cared about eliminating the pain even if it meant enduring some to relieve it. They didn't grimace or flinch when the doctor cut their gums open and scraped decayed tooth fragments out. They just wanted to feel better.

Fast forward to last Thursday. I had a routine teeth cleaning at my new dentist. The last one tortured me. I hadn't had a cleaning in 2 years so I was looking forward to having that super clean feeling from all the scraping and polishing. I was also excited about my new toothbrush and sample sized toothpaste dentists always give after appointments.

What I didn't expect was news that I had 6 (SIX!?!?!!!!) teeth in need of crowns, porcelain caps, and fillings. 6. I was dumbfounded. "But I floss every day!!" I protested. It didn't matter. All of my teeth with silver fillings (6) need major work because apparently silver shrinks over time allowing bacteria to get under the filling and inside the teeth. Awesome.

So, I am now in the process of repairing some of my teeth. Insurance only covers 2 of them so I'm also faced with the weird dilemma of determining how much the health of my teeth is really worth to me. Once again, I have found myself in a chair with torture devices in my mouth while someone drills holes in my teeth. All I can think about are those people in the remote Mexican jungle who lined up voluntarily for this stuff, and now I get it. This crap hurts and is a total schedule killer. A mouthful of rotten teeth? Ain't nobody got time for that. Pull those suckers out.

I don't really want to lose all of my teeth though. I think that's why I'm writing about them once again. (I've done this before). But I'm scared that's the road ahead of me and I'm totally bummed out about it. I also got news that my gums have receded 4 mm (5 mm being the beginning of the danger zone) and the inside of my teeth are super soft and more susceptible to cavities and decay. My issues are 95% genetics and 5% my fault. 

Here's what I know about teeth:

1. They are fragile. Watch what your chompers are chomping on. They could break while eating carne asada.
2. Pretty teeth aren't always a sign of healthy teeth. Mine are gorgeous and totally rotten.
3. They are important. When 1 (or 6) of them hurt, your whole mouth suffers. And it's really hard to eat.
4. They're not meant to last forever. Or maybe they are, I don't know. Mine probably aren't going to last forever.
5. They are expensive to repair.
6. It is really hard to reverse the condition of teeth. Take care of them while they are healthy.
7. Genetics play a huge role in the state of teeth. If you have bad teeth like me, it is okay to blame your ancestors. They did this to you.
8. I brush my teeth too hard. If you do too, stop it. They will eventually all fall out.
9. Teeth are a very personal issue. While discovering just how poor health my teeth are in, I've grown really insecure about it. I feel like I need to follow up every conservation about them with, "I brush and floss all day long, it's not my fault!"
10. It's hurts when you drill them. Do everything in your power to avoid this.

The worst part about this ordeal is that I have to be an adult and deal with the drilling and the payments and the torture. I don't want to. I want to ignore my 6 decaying teeth. I want to avoid the dentist for the rest of my life. But I am an adult. I am going to go back to the chair, voluntarily, to take care of it.  Because I finally get it: my mouth hurts and I just want to feel better.

I'm Invisible

On any given day, I am tripped, my feet are stomped on, and my back is tweaked from 30 lbs of 3 year old dangling from my neck while 20 lbs of baby demands to be held while I vacuum/cook/get dressed. Tonight, my open eye was poked by a hair barrette.

I am snotted upon, pooped on, and barfed on somewhat regularly. Did I mention that no one listens to me? Ever. And by no one, I mean Beatrice and Penelope. And JD has never pooped on me, just so we're clear. I know all of this comes with the territory of having little ones, but couple all of the painful and gross assaults on my person with the fact that my kids disregard the majority of what I say, I pretty much feel invisible.

Penelope is going through a weird thing where she flips out when I get her up from her nap. When I open her door and smile at her with a cheery, "wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!", she SCREAMS, "go!" and throws herself on her bed, kicking and flailing. She cries and screams at me, "no mama! Go!" until I either leave her room or bribe her with yogurt covered raisins if she'll please stop freaking out. It really hurts my feelings.

Last night, I asked Beatrice for a hug before bed. At first she refused, then took a flying leap and jumped on me, pulling my neck down and causing me to fall over sideways. I have neck and back pain issues already so this attack of love definitely did not help. I still hurt and can barely move my neck. I yelled and cried.

I am constantly reminding my children that mommy is a person too. When someone tells me dinner is yucky or throws an epic fit over a diaper change that they asked for, I say, "hey, Mommy has feelings too." Because I do. It doesn't help that all day long I hear about how great daddy is. Beatrice likes to tell me, "I never miss you when I'm with Daddy. He takes care of me always."

Obviously, my kids are little and cannot understand that it hurts me when they poke my eyes and that it makes me sad when they dump Cheerios on the floor for fun after they just watched me clean. But when they ignore everything I say (can you please share with your sister?, can you stay out of the road?, can you help me carry your toys upstairs?), I want to scream. And cry. I feel completely invisible to these kids most of the time. This is pretty ironic considering I do almost everything for them all day long.

I love taking care of my kids. I take every granola bar that is crumbled into the freshly vacuumed floor in stride. I refill the tub with new water and bubbles 3 and 4 times while my back breaks, because they love it. I mend princess gowns and crochet purses late at night, knowing full well that the very same gown will be mangled on the playground and the purse will be left at Target tomorrow. I do for my girls because I love them and I'm their mother; it's my job.

But being treated like a human napkin and getting beat up on regularly is sort of getting me down. I absolutely love having little kids, but I'm kinda looking forward to the day when my kids realize that mommy is not their personal punching bag. Mommy might like to enjoy a clean room (whole house? Hahahahahahaha!) for longer than a few hours. But most of all, Mommy just wants to be listened to and obeyed most of the time. Mommy is not invisible.

Nap Time Battles

It is nap time. My firstborn is in her room throwing the mother of all fits. She doesn't want to sleep. "Fine," I tell her. "Be still and rest for awhile." She doesn't want to rest. She wants to kick her wall, take her clothes off, and scream like a wild animal. I don't let her get away with doing this. I go up there 3 and 4 times, disciplining each time.

It's not working. She won't stop. I want to cry. Where is my sweet child and who is this maniac destroying her room?

90% of the time, Beatrice is an angel. She is sensitive to others, she is kind and affectionate. The other 10% of the time she has a bad attitude, she is defiant, and would rather endure unpleasant consequences than obey her mother.

When she is acting like her 10% self, I don't know what to do. I try to stay calm and remind myself that I need to be the constant variable in the situation. While she is acting like a crazed lunatic, I need to remain in control and deal with the attitude adjusting without getting angry and emotional. I am a yeller by nature, but I try with all my might not to resort to raising my voice. I fail almost every single time. What can I do?

I want to go up there and tell her to knock it off. Acting like a brat is ruining both of our day. Why can't she just lie still for 45 minutes and play quietly? She knows she's getting a consequence every time I come upstairs to tell her to be quiet. Why won't she just give in and settle down? But saying all that is not going to work. I've tried before. She's 3 and even though she's really smart, I can't reason with a 3 year old.

Every day is not always a bad day. When we have a bad one though, I want to call a therapist. I want to interrogate every mother of well-mannered daughters and absorb all the wisdom and insight they can give me. Sometimes, I want to throw in the towel. I think she's stronger than me, you guys. I usually end up on my knees though, begging God to help me. Because I won't throw in the towel. I won't give up trying to refine my daughter's rebellion into obedience. I love her too much.

So I'm gonna go back up there and discipline my child again. She's 3 and even though she's acting like a maniac, her mama loves her too much to let her get away with it.

Did I Ever Tell You About the Time We Ate Bugs?

Broccoli is our family's favorite vegetable. Steamed, raw, plain, sauced, roasted, or casseroled, everyone gobbles it up and asks for more. We easily eat it 3 times a week in some form or fashion. I buy it fresh in the produce section and choose the organic variety when it's on sale. It's a staple in our house.

It used to be a staple, that is. All of that changed when we ate a hundred million black bugs embedded in broccoli florets for dinner one night. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew.

It happened back in November. I am just now able to write about it because it has taken me months to get over the disgust and shame of feeding my family insects for dinner.

In my defense, I had no idea my broccoli was infested. I bought the organic variety, washed it, quartered it, and steamed it for 10 minutes. I served plates. I called everyone for dinner. We thanked God for the food set before us. We began eating.

Everything was fine until I forked a too-big piece and bit half off. Then my eyes beheld the horror of the situation. I saw hundreds of black bugs. Everywhere. They were all dead of course, but who cares. Bugs are bugs, dead or alive, I certainly don't want to eat them. And boy, did I ever eat them. As well as JD and Beatrice and Penelope.

The worst part of this story is that we ate a lot of bugs. Our plates were almost completely empty before we discovered the infestation. "How could one not know they were eating bugs?," you may be asking yourself. Well, we never use the overhead light in the dining room. The light from that thing is bright and abrasive so I turn on the wall sconces and a buffet lamp instead. Also, I overcooked the broccoli a bit so the tiny little buds at the end were dark green. The bugs were the same size and tightly tucked into the branches under the florets, totally out of sight. In our dark dining room, those things were impossible to see.

After I bit off half of my too-big bite and saw the bugs, I went into the kitchen to investigate under the light. It was then that I saw dead bugs everywhere. In my broccoli, on my plate, in the pot I steamed it in, on the serving spoon. Everywhere. If I had a mirror, I'm sure I would have found them in my teeth too. How could I not see this earlier??? I told everyone to stop eating immediately.

I was in denial for half a second and asked JD if the sesame seed sized black things in my broccoli were bugs. He cut into his remaining portion and saw thousands of them. I turned the lights on. Bugs were covering our plates. We ate bugs. We fed our kids bugs. We didn't know how to move on from that moment, so we laughed and cried and held each other.

Months later, we are still traumatized. JD said it would have been better if we never discovered them in the first place. At least then we would still have our innocence. And could sleep at night knowing that we fed our kids bugs. 

I have still not bought fresh broccoli since the incident and I'm not sure that I ever will again. I have purchased frozen broccoli that is diced into small bite sized pieces, but honestly, JD and I are so skeeved out by the fact that we ate bugs, we barely eat it. Thankfully, the girls are oblivious and still eat it with carefree abandon. Mommy's so sorry, girls. 

Upon googling, I learned that tiny black bugs are pretty common with organic broccoli. Washing them out is often futile since they hunker down deep into the florets. I should feel better about feeding my family organic bugs, right? I mean, if one's going to ingest hundreds of thousands of insects they better not have any fillers or preservatives. That's always been my motto!

Anyone wanna come over for dinner?

Sad Face

Earlier this week during my morning devotional time, I read the story of Job. If you're unfamiliar with his story, he loses everything he owns, his entire family and people that he loves, and his health. Through it all though, he never curses God. The man endured the worst imaginable things and never once blamed God or walked away from his faith.

This came on the heels of talking with a friend about the commonly misinterpreted notion that God won't give us more than we can handle. This is untrue. The verse that people often refer to (I Corinthians 10:13) doesn't state that God won't give us more than we can handle, but instead it says He won't allow us to be tempted to sin beyond what we can withstand. He will always give us a way out of the tempting situation without the only option being sin. The idea that He won't give us more than we can handle is a inaccurate and unbiblical. Our lives are routinely filled with more than we can handle. Look at Job! As Christians, we are supposed to rely on His strength in impossible situations, not our own. II Corinthians 12:9

Anyway, after reading about Job's horrible misfortune, I thought, "man, I'm glad I'm not Job. It had to be really tough to go through so much and not shake a fist at God." Then, my week promptly fell apart. I won't go into detail, but we have had major financial distress, health issues, and an overwhelming and seemingly impossible situation that I have no choice but to keep fighting an uphill, losing battle. Not to mention a heartbreaking election result. I haven't lost any family members (thank God), but I am smack dab in the middle of a Job situation. And I'm not handling it very well.

I am living proof that God will allow you to endure more than you can handle. The things on my plate this week are more than I can deal with. Seriously. I haven't cursed God, but I have ugly cried everyday. I have considered making some drastic changes. I have been hopeless. Just for a minute though because my God is way bigger than any of this mess. I try to be joyful and "count every trial as blessing" (James 1:2-4), but I'm not great at it. Maybe that's the point of all this: I need a little refining in the patience and long-suffering departments.

Today though? Today, I have a sad face. Will you pray for me?

3 Weeks

I just got home from a 3 week trip to Tennessee. It was great spending time with my family, but let me tell you, 3 weeks is a long time to be away from home.

We spent the majority of our time at my mom's house. We only had use of her car here and there when she wasn't using it. So we took a lot of walks up and down her driveway checking out the cows and farm dogs. It was no surprise that Penelope's first animal sounds were moo and woof. 3 weeks is a long time to be stuck in the country without a car.

3 weeks is also a long time to sleep in someone else's bed. My mom and her family like hard mattresses. JD and I like soft mattresses. The bed that I slept on while I was there was like sleeping on a concrete slab. Everything on my body hurt. My neck, back, and shoulders were sore everyday. 3 weeks is a long time to long for your bed.

This is the longest voluntary separation JD and I have had. I honestly didn't realize how much I missed him until I saw him waiting for us at the gate at LAX. I ran to him! Our girls screamed when they saw him. It was awesome. 3 weeks is a long time to be away from daddy.

It kind of sounds like I'm complaining - I'm not. The girls and I had a great trip and spent much needed time with our family. It was just a long time to be gone.

Shop My Closet

After selling my beloved Chanel pumps on eBay (yay for an extra $100!), I have finally decided to clean out my closet. I don't know why it is so hard to get rid of my stuff. Actually I do. My stuff cost a small fortune back when I used to visit L.A. and NYC just to shop. Even though I'm not wearing any of it anymore, I can't bear to part with it all unless I know someone else is going to give it a good home! I'm weird like that.

I've seen a few online rummage sales around the blogosphere lately, so I'm totally copying that idea and giving it a shot. For the past week I've been sorting, photographing, pricing, and listing. And praying that someone wants my stuff because now I'm all psyched to get rid of it...

Tons of jewelry and lacy tops are in my sale. I had a thing for dangly earrings and lacy tops back in the day. I still have 596,314 pairs of designer jeans to go through (do people still wear 7 For All Mankind, Citizens of Humanity, and True Religions anymore? I wear $10 F21 jeans these days...) so check back for those.

I'm kind of nervous having all of my earthly possessions out in the open and up for scrutiny. If you think it's all ugly and wonder who in their right mind would buy so many chandelier earrings, kindly just pretend like we never had this conversation. But if you like any of it or know someone that would, spread the word!

If you have any questions about fit or need additional info on anything, please leave me a message in the comments :)

Ombre

It's really hard to get dressed for the day in SoCal. Because we live on the coast, there is almost always a constant breeze causing milder temperatures, but if you find yourself in a really sunny spot, you will soon feel like a baked potato. I have learned that dressing in layers is the answer to all of our wardrobe problems. If we are going outside (which is basically everyday), we layer up and strip down as the temperatures adjust.

Because I dress in layers, I have the strangest of tans. The area from my knees down is extra brown since they see the most sun everyday. About 2 inches above my knees is a little lighter, but still pretty tan. 6 inches above that is slightly lighter, but noticeably so since I don't wear super short shorts these days. And about an inch above that is not as white as the skin that has never seen the light of day (aka, my bum), but pretty close to it. This scandalous tan line manifested after wearing my super short running shorts on a walk and picnic today. I like to call this multi-colored look my ombre tan.


Back home in Tennessee, this would be considered a farmer's tan. But I'm a California girl now and since ombre is all the rage with hair, I figured it would be pretty cool on my legs too. Not that I got this ridiculous tan on purpose or anything, but still, I'm pretending that it's not as stupid as it looks.

It looks pretty stupid.

Something tells me this look is not going to catch on...

Roots

When I was 12, my family moved. I vividly remember the 13 hours it took to drive from my hometown in Florida to our new home in Tennessee. I cried the entire trip. I was sad to be leaving the only home I ever knew, my friends, my church, my roots. I hated Tennessee for ripping me from all of that and vowed to never call it home. A Floridian I would always be.

It took some time, but eventually, Tennessee became home too. I went to middle school, high school, and college in the town that we moved to. I made friends, got my driver's license, and my first job there. My parents split and I buried my dad in the Volunteer State. I met and married JD and had both of my babies in that town. Tennessee was a blend of happy and sad and because of it, I am deeply rooted there.

I returned to Tennessee 10 days ago. And while it was a great trip with much needed time with my family, I wasn't prepared to feel the way that I did about my former home state. It felt familiar, but definitely not like it was my home anymore, just a place I used to live.

 JD said that is what happens when you move away and come back for a visit: it never feels like home again. My home is in California now. Tennessee is where my family lives. And because of that, I am still deeply rooted there.

It's strange to say, but I missed my new home in California while I was away. The trip to Tennessee made me realize that I can be rooted here too, with my little family. And while I will always hold Tennessee near and dear to my heart, it's not home anymore. I have planted my roots here.

Me-Time

I have a dilemma. It's nap time and I want to paint my nails. I need to fold a load of laundry, make a grocery list, and mop the kitchen floor. I only have about 30 minutes before Penelope wakes so it is imperative that I use my time wisely. Completing the household chores would be the responsible thing to do. But painting my nails would make me feel pretty and I desperately need a little me-time. Sigh. I'm gonna go fold the laundry now. 

I constantly feel this pull between doing the things that I need to do versus the things that I want to do. I seem to fail miserably at finding the balance between me-time and being a good time manager with my chores. While it's obvious that the chores are more important and benefit the whole family, the me-time is kind of vital for my mental health. Pretty nails go a long way when you're feeling lonely/tired/down.

I have always liked my me-time. It wasn't until I had kids that I became crazed about finding it, keeping it, and multiplying it. I do better as a mommy when I can indulge in my stuff. But the more kids I have, the less of it I seem to have available to me. I am constantly being encouraged to get a pedicure, go to Starbucks, or do something for myself. But the dirty dishes and hungry children don't wait for me-time. And once I get everything done for my family, the only thing there is time for is sleep.

That's the tricky thing with me-time; it takes away from the other stuff I need to do for my family. I can't be a good housekeeper and have beautiful nails. I can't have a regularly updated blog and clean floors. I can't have it all. I have to choose. And I almost always choose the chores because that's my job. I'm not complaining about it, I just want to get to a place where I can have a good handle on my household so there can be time for an afternoon mani/pedi.

Today was not that day. It is now 10pm and I am still writing this blog. I managed to get the floors mopped, the laundry folded, and dinner cooked, but my nails are still not painted and this blog is still not posted. That's okay though. Tomorrow is Saturday and JD is home. It's a long weekend so there will be plenty of opportunities for me-time. I'm going to treat myself to Starbucks on the way to the grocery store tomorrow. I might even paint my nails.

La La Land

Yesterday as I was adding a few Christmas activities to our December calender, it dawned on me that I live 2500 miles away from everyone I love the most. It finally hit me that I will never again drive across town to sit in my mom's comfy kitchen chair and talk/nap/read while my babies play. I can't just call my sister in law and meet for an afternoon of shopping and lunch at the Cheesecake Factory. I will never have the opportunity to take my mother in law up on last minute dinners at their place. It dawned on me that my life is forever different now that we live so far away.

One would imagine that I came to terms with all of these things oh say, 7 weeks ago when I moved here. And if not before the move, surely the 7 weeks and 2 days (who's counting?) that I have lived here has been plenty of time to deal with the fact that they are there and we are here. That's what a mature, prepared person would have done. But we're not talking about a mature, prepared person here. We're talking about me, a grownup baby person who likes to pretend that hard things aren't really happening in hopes that, well, they don't really happen.

That's how I ended up in la la land; pretending that this has been a big vacation and not making myself deal with the gut-wrenching emotions I have going on in my heart (and gut). The truth is, I am not ready to accept that I can't see my family and friends whenever I want anymore. I am not ready to accept that my kids can't see their grandparents and great grandparents anytime they ask. I am not ready to accept that we have a new life in California and don't live in Tennessee anymore. I'm not ready.

Life's not so bad here in La La Land. I go through the motions of everyday life by taking care of these babies, cooking, cleaning, and making new friends, but I haven't let myself think about or dwell on anything sad. I just don't go there. So I think I'll stay here for a while longer. I will continue to live life counting down the weeks and days until the next visit from our loved ones arrives. I just don't think I can bear coming to terms with the fact that things are forever different and sad in a way that pangs my heart.

Yes, I think I'll stay here a while longer until I'm ready to deal with it all.

Jamie

I have been in 1 fist fight in my life. It was with my best friend and it involved a pair of Abercrombie and Fitch shorts and Doc Marten shoes. We were seniors in high school. I can't remember how it started or why, but there was crying involved. And mean words. And more crying. Her dad had to break it up and we didn't speak for 6 months after the incident. 

Jamie and I met when we were 14. She didn't like me at first, she thought I wore my shorts too short and too much makeup. She didn't realize that my shorts were normal length, it was my long legs

that made them appear shorter. She was right about the makeup though. I was completely oblivious to the fact that she didn't like me and spent half of freshman year hanging around. Pa-thetic. A handful of fake-nice encounters later, we became best friends. We actually bonded over Jesus. She loves Him, I love Him: a friendship made in heaven. We remain BFFs to this very day. 

Our relationship has been tumultuous at times. Reference the first sentence in paragraph 1. It has been said that we fight like sisters. I don't have a sister so I don't know what that's like. All I have is Jamie and we fought a lot over the years. There have been Dr. Peppers dumped in cars, clothes thrown off the 14th floor balcony of our hotel room on senior trip, secrets exposed, hurtful things said, disagreements about nothing that lasted too long. 

Some have wondered why or how we remained friends after all of that. It's pretty simple really. More than all of the fighting there has been encouraging, supporting, fun, hysterical laughter, inside jokes that simultaneously crack us up and bring us to tears, accountability, complete honesty, a connection that seems to be destined, and love. We really, really love each other. Deeply, unconditionally, completely. She is the peas to my carrots. The cream cheese to my bagel. She gets my jokes even when she doesn't find them funny. She has seen me through the worst, most painful, ugly seasons of my life and has celebrated the happiest ones right by my side. She loves my babies like her own and tells me I'm a good mom. She owns a piece of my heart and is so dear to me. We are best friends. Sisters.

I miss her. She will be here in 2 weeks. Oh happy day, my heart will be complete once again!!

Jamie hates to have her photo taken. While this one doesn't capture her true beauty, it is an excellent example of her feelings regarding candid photography. 

 22 seconds. Snowflakes. Mama. Tall, tall trees (even though I never said that). 

Friends

I've never been the girl with a ton of friends. I have always had a handful of really close girlfriends, but never can come up with more than 10 or so folks to invite to my baby showers, birthday parties, or the like. I'm more of a few-close-best-friends kind of person than a whole-lot-of-people-I'm-friendly-with kind of person. Neither of which are bad by the way, I've just always managed fewer friends at once better than having a bunch in my speed dial. And just so you don't think I'm pathetic or anything, I have lots of people that I consider friends - they just aren't people I would call in a crisis. There are only a few of those. I also have 288 Facebook friends. That should prove something. What - I'm not sure, but it's a big deal. Trust me.  


One of my biggest fears about moving away has been that I won't make any friends. The friends that I have I've had for 10+ years and my sisters in law are in my family. I haven't made a new friend in ages because honestly, how does one go about making friends as an adult? Do you introduce yourself and say, "wanna be friends?" Or better yet, how does one go about making friends as an adult when one does not work outside of the home, has 2 small children that require a lot of home time, and has very little time to invest in a new friendship? "Hi! Wanna be friends and never see each other but possibly babysit my kids next week?" 

When you're a kid, friendships just happen. On the first day of school, there was always someone you clicked with. At work, people buddy up almost immediately and effortlessly. When you get married, you inherit your spouse's friends and their wives. It's easy to make friends when you spend a huge chunk of your days with other people. But when you're at home most of your life with little kids, the task becomes much harder. It takes a lot more effort to cultivate a relationship when you don't get to spend the majority of your time with people other than your family members.

I have only been in California for 10 days and am desperate for friends. I think that this big, faraway place will feel smaller and closer with people to laugh with, cry with, and help me go places with my babies. And maybe babysit while I get my hair done every 8 weeks or so... I have met some moms on the playground and have high hopes that we will hang out on purpose soon. I also met up with a friend from back home that misses her friends like crazy too. She lives in Los Angeles too, in case that was confusing. I feel pretty confident in saying that I think we will be fast friends. Partly because we had a great time catching up, but mostly because we texted each other afterward asking if the other wanted to be friends...What? I really want to make a friend, y'all.

Seriously though, how does one go about making friends as an adult when one doesn't work outside the home or know the area?

Working On It

I've been neglecting this blog lately. Partly because I have been busy saying our goodbyes to family, but mostly because life has pretty much fledged a full on attack on us. Our townhouse got flooded by a busted pipe last month and the insurance companies have been horrible to work with. Some of the moving expenses we originally thought would be covered by JD's employer turned out to be our responsibility. Penelope got sick and had to spend 2 days in the hospital. Unexpected bills have piled up. And on and on. Oh yeah, and I have had 2 little kids to take care of all by myself. It has been exhausting, emotionally (and financially) exhausting.

Most days start out pretty normal, but by 10 am I am faced with another bad news phone call/tantrum throwing toddler/simultaneous crying baby and toddler and I start to lose it. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to throw in the towel on the day and go back to bed. But I don't. I can't, can I? Pretty sure having kids makes that a non-option, darn it. I usually just scream a little, cry a little, and feel sorry for myself a little. It helps. A little.

Life is hard right now, but I have realized that it's probably always going to be hard in some way. The girls' simultaneous crying may end one day, but it will be replaced with fights over clothes and other things I imagine sisters to fight over. Busted pipes and ruined hardwood floors will get replaced, but insurance adjusters aren't going to make it an easy process. There's little I can do to avoid life's punches, they're going to come.

What I do have control over is my reaction to it all. I can react negatively (note the little bit of screaming, crying, and feeling sorry for myself above), or I can react in a way that honors God and shows my family that I can handle the pressure. I want to get good at the latter. I want to handle life's trials with grace and barely any tears. Some tears are okay. Crying is a really good stress reliever. I'm working on it. One screaming, crying, bad day at a time.

How I Feel Now

On Monday, JD leaves for California. He is driving across the country and plans to be there by the end of the week. The girls and I will follow in 2 short weeks.

Remember when I wrote about how excited I was to move? Well that changed as soon as I had Penelope. Having 2 babies is harder than I imagined. I am blessed to have my mom live 15 minutes away to come play with my babies while I nap, shower, or nap. I love meeting up with my brothers and sisters in law for dinner and s'mores around a bonfire on Friday nights. Impromptu coffee dates with friends at Starbucks are little luxuries I am lucky to have. All of that is about to change though. We are moving to a place where we know no one and won't have any help with the girls. We are moving to a place that I'm not so sure I want to go to anymore.

I have been pretty good about hiding these feelings for the past 4 weeks. Can you believe Penelope is 4 weeks old already? Eek! Time flies when you're having fun! But as the countdown nears closer and closer to moving day, I can't seem to hide my tears feelings anymore. I am sad. I have never lived away from my immediate family before and as much as I like to think of myself as an independent person, I am realizing that I have taken for granted how wonderful it is to live in the same town as everyone I love. Can someone please tell me how I will live without my mom??? 

Spending every holiday with my brothers has been a gift that I never thought I would miss and honestly, never thought I would have it any other way. Watching my babies play with their grandparents is such a sweet thing and something that I now feel really guilty about taking away from them. I guess I am realizing how much I am going to miss everyone and how afraid I am that life is going to go on without us. Eventually, my brothers will have some babies of their own and my mom will have new grandbabies to love on. Christmases for them will be full of inside jokes and old traditions while we make new memories, just the 4 of us. They will continue to meet for Friday night dinners while we do our thing 2500 miles away. To say that I am sad is an understatement. I might be a little devastated.

But, (thank God there is always a "but") I know that this is an adventure for our family that is completely orchestrated by God. We have prayed for this opportunity for 3 years and watching doors open up for us that were prayed about years ago is pretty cool. Despite my sadness, I know that God will get me through the loneliness and sorrow about leaving my family for the first time in my life. I just keep looking on the bright side like how awesome the weather is going to be and how much stuff there is to do in Los Angeles. But really, I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll never stop. I'd like to blame the postpartum hormones on some of this, but I'm pretty sure I just don't want to move. 


In 2 more weeks I get to see what I'm made of. I can either put my big girl panties on and tackle this move with strength and poise or turn into a puddle of weakness and tears. I'm betting on a little bit of both. We shall see.

Operation Old Wives Tales

I am officially the most pregnant I have ever been. I had Beatrice 5 days early and by the way this pregnancy has gone with regular contractions since about 24 weeks, I am shocked that Penelope is still in my belly. Shocked and sad and nervous and scared and anxious and a whole bunch of other adjectives. I want to be unpregnant, but more than that, I just want to meet my baby. So I have enacted Operation Old Wives Tales. All week I have been doing the rarely effective but oldest recommended ways to naturally induce labor. I discussed these methods beforehand with my OB. She was skeptical, but okay with me going ahead with my mission. Here’s what I’ve been up to:

Sexytime

-Semen produces prostaglandins which can help soften the cervix, possibly leading to contractions. Sexytime at this stage in the game is awkward and uncomfortable (and for me, ineffective at starting labor), but we are troopers and will do whatever it takes to get this baby on her way out. Hi mom!

Spicy eh Meatballs (say it with a cheesy Italian accent, it’s fun)

-Spicy foods are supposed to wake up the digestive track, causing the uterus to contract as well. I love spicy foods with a passion and they usually love me. So far, they are only making me poop though, something that makes the above a little less appealing for everyone involved...

Walking

-Walking makes your hips sway and helps position the baby in the birth canal while gravity causes everything to drop. So far, I have been walking up a storm. All it’s done is make me need an extra shower everyday.

Eggplant 

-Not sure why this is supposed to induce labor, but people swear by it so I have been eating it. 

Pineapple 

-There is an enzyme that is supposed to soften the connective tissue of the cervix found in fresh pineapple. I am buying a pineapple tonight. 

Pedicure

-This is not proven to induce labor, but pretty toes make me feel better.     

Snuggling Hairless Cats

-Seth and Jenny have 2 hairless cats. They are excellent snugglers and if you've had a recent pedicure, I hear snuggling them is twice as effective.   

So far, I can get contractions going but they stop as soon as I rest. Ultimately, I have failed at inducing my own labor. But I’m not giving up. Penelope must come out and if means doing the maritals with JD while full of spicy eggplant and pineapple after a long walk with hairless cats and pretty toes, so be it. 

Not Quite As Ready As I Thought

The last couple of weeks have been very hectic for us. We packed up our old place and made approximately 823 visits to the 2 storage units containing everything we own to rearrange, load up, and rearrange our belongings again. We moved in with my brother and sister in law. We had a yard sale and sold a bunch of our unneeded stuff. We made more visits to the 2 storage units containing our stuff to add more stuff. We set up toddler beds, Pack N Plays, swings, and baby gates. Phew. After all that, it feels good to say that we are finally settled in and are ready to have another baby. 

It's a good feeling to have nothing left to do but have a baby. But that's not the feeling I have right now. The feeling I have is more reminiscent of barfing. That's because I spend a good deal of time trying to figure out how we're going to do the thing we haven't done yet: learn how to care for and raise 2 kids at once. Simultaneously. At the same time. Without hurting anyone. Or worse, neglecting them. 

To be honest, before we got pregnant it seemed like something that worked itself out. We knew plenty of folks with 2 or more kids and they managed to keep them fed, clothed, and alive. Surely we could do it too. But now, with only 5 days left before my due date, I am totally convinced that we may not be as capable as our friends. At least I don't think I am. All I can think about is how I'm going to be everything to 2 different people at the same time. Will I be able to care for my newborn and play with my toddler? Will I be able to maintain the laundry for 2 in cloth diapers? Will I be able to go anywhere without help again? Will I ever shower before breakfast again? Will I be able to spend one on one time with my firstborn once my second born is here? Will I be able to keep both safe? Will I be able to make each one feel special and loved and important? Is 1 of me enough to care for, love, and protect 2 little people? 

The bottom line is, I don't have a clue how I'm going to manage 2 little ones at once. I have high hopes that this is one of those things that happens naturally once baby #2 is born. Like maybe while my heart is being multiplied with love for 2 babies, I'll grow more eyes, arms, and hands too. But invisible ones, so I won't look weird and creep people out. That is what happens, right? I might be totally screwed if not because of all the things I feel confident in, raising 2 kids at once is not high on the list. Lord help us all. 

My Loins Trembleth

Friends are having babies around me left and right. For the most part, it makes me really excited to have my own squishy newborn to hold in a month. But with each birth story I hear, I become more and more terrified. You see, the thing with babies is they have to come out. Down there. And as much as I know that childbirth is necessary to bring forth the baby, it really hurts. Bad. Really, really bad. And I am starting to remember just how much pain is involved in birthing a human. My loins are trembling at the thought of life ripping through them yet again in less than 30 days. Mommy, hold me.


I had Beatrice med-free. It was the most prolific experience of my life to feel as though my body was crushing itself from within, drawing strength from God Almighty alone, and convincing myself that I would not die from the pain for the greater part of 2 days. It hurt. It felt impossible to accomplish without my faith in God. It left me trembling, but I did it. And looking back, I love my birth story. I love how I experienced raw pain and felt my body adjust and contort to allow for childbirth. Despite the intense pain, I plan to have all of my babies the same way. It is an experience I don't want to miss out on for any of my children. I want to experience every moment of my babies' precious births. Pain and all.

But.

It still scares the crap out of me. Hearing all of my friends recall their recent contractions and excruciating rings of fire as their babies crowned has me reliving Beatrice's birth all over again. I am dreading laboring. I am dreading feeling like I'm dying for days. Days, people! I definitely feel more prepared this time since I have been through it before, but it doesn't take the dread away from actually having to go through it again.

When I was a kid, I asked my mom why women had more than 1 baby if childbirth was so awful. She said that by the time you were ready for another child, you forgot how terrible the pain was when you had your first. I guess she was right because when JD and I were talking about having another baby last year, the first thing he asked me was if I was ready to go through all of that pain again. "What pain?" I said. "It wasn't that bad, honey." Apparently I forgot. Funny how he remembered and he didn't experience a single contraction... I guess that's how God intended it though. If women never forgot how badly their loins hurt with each baby's birth, no one would be up for round 2. Or 3, or 4. We'd all be a bunch of only children.

I keep drilling JD on our birth plan. "Do you remember how to be supportive, dear?" "Do you remember how to massage my back and dim the lights and reassure me that I'm not gonna die?" "Did you remember to line up Michael Bolton and all of the horses and the fire and chest hair?" Wouldn't having Michael Bolton serenade epic love ballads in the delivery room create the perfect ambiance? I think so. He assures me that he has remembered it all and that he is ready for Penelope's delivery, even if I'm not. I'm working on it though. I pray every night in great detail for the kind of birth experience that I want. I have dusted off some of the reading materials and Bible verses that gave me strength the first time around. I'm getting to a place of almost being prepared for the pain that is med-free childbirth. My loins however? Not so much.

I Was Born This Way

I have really long extremities. And digits. My arms, legs, toes, and fingers are really long. Abnormally long. I also have a long torso so I don't look ridiculous with hands dragging the floor or anything. My height sort of evens things out. The biggest problem I have with long body parts, besides finding clothes to fit, is banging them into things. Mostly walls, door frames, furniture, and other objects in my path. I am constantly hooking my toes on door frames, whacking my funny bone on the pantry door, and banging my elbows into walls. This has been a problem my whole life. And I'm sick of it.

It's not that I'm clumsy, although JD would have to disagree after watching me fall walking up the stairs a few times too many. My long arms and legs just have a mind of their own and when I think I've cleared a doorway, I forget to overcompensate for my monkey toes that unfailingly snag the woodwork leaving me doubled over with nothing but self-pity and pain. JD always asks me if I say bad words when this happens and I don't. I usually say a really exaggerated ouch or something. Although the s-word has escaped a few times when I really can't help it. The word just flies out. Something about my funny bone and that word are connected. I repent every single time. Promise. 


This elbow-whacking has been happening for years, so while I'm not happy about it, I am used to it. But it's worse now. Have I mentioned that I'm 8 months pregnant? Well, I am. And pregnancy tends to make one's center of gravity not so centered resulting in more clumsiness than usual. So not only do I have long arms to watch out for, I am wobbly to boot. These are hard times, hard indeed. But I am making it.

At least once a week, I ask God why he made my extremities so long. Did He have a bigger plan for my long-leggedness than me tripping over my own feet? Surely He did. There must me a purpose for this nonsense and pain. Sadly, my babies have the same ailment. Long arms, legs, toes, and fingers run in my family and we are all prone to hooking our extremities on everything. I guess it is something they are going to have to get used to. That and refraining from saying bad words. Because while a lifetime of funny bone injuries may be normal for them, the s-word will not be. Promise.

Some Updates

JD is not 100% okay with this blog. He is fine with the silly ramblings I write and the self-deprecating humor, but when it comes to sharing information about our family, it makes him uncomfortable. We watch a lot of Dateline and 48 Hours Mystery so we automatically think of worst case scenarios for almost every scenario we find ourselves in. He imagines perverts checking out our pictures and stalkers hijacking our personal info with each new entry. I really have to censor what I post on here to keep him comfy and maintain a little bit of our privacy. 

I get this face when he feels that I have over-shared.

But not divulging everything is really hard. I'm a sharer. I like sharing our life, I like sharing my feelings. Of course there are certain boundaries I will never cross as a blogger (like writing about marital relations or posting the cutest naked hiney pics of my toddler), but there is a certain level of intimacy we share as a blogging community that makes it difficult to not talk/write to you all like we're old friends. People "know" us and want to know about our lives. I get emails and Facebook messages from readers wanting more info (hopefully) because they care and not because they are psychos. Psychos, kindly click the red X in the corner of your computer screen and never come back, thank you. Some degree of opening up is expected when you put yourself out there in blog land. I am trying to find the balance in that. Bear with me. And I'm totally in trouble for posting that picture of angry JD up there. Big trouble. 

The Move

We are on track to move in 5 more weeks, however there is a small possibility that we may be delayed a few weeks. This has made planning our move impossible. We don't know when we will be moving so we can't schedule the movers, plan the nursery, or buy my plane ticket. Not knowing when to move is only the beginning of the fun. We cannot select our new insurance until JD starts his job and without a concrete start date, we can't select doctors. I have no idea where I am having this baby or who will be assisting me. We are at a complete stand still. Sounds wonderful, huh?

The House

After nearly 6 months on the market with tons of activity and no offers, we decided to rent. 3 days after I placed the ad, we had 2 qualified applicants fighting over our place. We selected tenants and they are moving in August. I met them yesterday and they are awesome. We hugged. I feel a huge sense of peace about renting and having these tenants take care of our place for the next few years. I am stoked. 

The Baby

I have no idea where to have Penelope. With the insurance fiasco, we will be starting over with new coverage once JD begins his new job. That means we have to meet all of our deductibles anew. If we go in 5 weeks, I will be 35 weeks pregnant. If we are delayed, I will be further than that. We are debating whether or not it will be best for me to stay behind and have her here with plenty of help from family or me go on to California with JD and have her out there. Either way, it is going to be expensive and cost us a bazillion dollars. I have absolutely no peace with either scenario, not because of the finances, but because I want to be with JD. But I also want to be with our family. I want it all, okay. Beatrice will go wherever I go, of course.

The Bright Side

This move has been the biggest lesson in patience and waiting on God. We have absolutely no control at this point. We cannot make even the smallest of decisions because we don't have all of the information. All we know is that this season of our lives is moving forward as if it were being powered by something bigger than us. Some might say that would be the government, but I like to believe it is God. We have been praying that God open the right doors for us and make the crooked paths straight. While it is kind of scary, it is pretty liberating to just sit back and let God make the next move for us. I am nervous and excited, but ultimately have a hope that cannot be shaken that my God has plans to prosper us and make a way where there seems to be no way. 

That about sums most of it up. We have been busy doing the things that we can, like changing banks and insurance companies to national branches. We have been spending lots of time with family and we have been doing our best to imagine ourselves completely settled and ready for Penelope, wherever we are. 

Beatrice has been up to a lot too these days, but she deserves her own post. It has to do with tractors and skinny dipping and peepeeing on the potty. Can you hardly wait?