I Did It

My friend and I are amateur photographers. He took pictures when I got married at the courthouse, fourteen years ago. He's come such a long way since then...his landscapes are incredible. So, when he set his wedding date to marry his high school sweetheart, I knew I wanted to take pictures. I told him of my intent, and he agreed. However, he also asked his dad to take pictures. His father had taken a turn as a professional portrait photographer in the past, so I totally understood his decision. My friend told his dad that I would be taking pictures, too (I didn't know that I would be actually photographing the event as a photographer, rather than just a participant in the wedding!), and since his dad likes to call the shots, he quickly told me he was going to "use" me.

I had a problem with that. I didn't want to be used. I didn't want to be told what to shoot, how to shoot it (other than friendly suggestions for f-stop settings and the like), where to stand, or anything along those lines. I wanted to shoot a limited amount of posed shots, and a whole bunch of capturing the feel, the memories...you know, the history of the day! My friend assured me that what he and his bride wanted were candids, and that I would be doing what they and I wished.

To say I was nervous was a huge understatement. Despite my desire to be a "real" photographer, I really am just someone who enjoys capturing life. I have a lot to learn. I worried endlessly that I would miss critical shots, that in the midst of the chaos, I would forget settings, that my battery would die prematurely, you name it. Then the bride asked if I would take pictures of the girls getting ready. Perfect! I had time to loosen up before the big event, and time to get comfortable before I would have to work beside my friend's dad.

I arrived at the house, sweating and shaking, matching the bride's nervousness, I'm sure. I began shooting immediately--the bride greeting me from the front steps--and I felt better. I could do this.

I remained on edge, but more confident, until we finally arrived by limo at the wedding venue. Right away, the groom's dad asked how I was doing and told me what he expected of me. I acknowledged him and went about my business. I tried to steer clear of him as much as possible--that way, he was doing what he wished, and I was doing what I wished. I quickly realized when it was time for the ceremony, that my friend's dad intended to be "the" photographer for the event. He would literally stand right in front of me to get a shot, sometimes even moving in front of me when I was focusing. I let it go, and shot from another perspective. Later, I invited my husband (also a lover of digital photography) to take a few shots. I ended the day enjoying the reception a little, making the rounds, tired, and with an achy wrist (stupid carpal tunnel).

Fast forward two weeks. I quickly posted my favorite pictures on Facebook, and tagged the bride and groom. They started "liking" them right away, and I knew I had done my job. A few days later, I looked at the pictures again--the expressions I captured, the innocence of the flower girl, the emotion of the couple's faces. I caught those things, and recorded them. Sure, a few pictures could probably use a little post-processing (something I am not fond of), but for the most part, they have a pretty good collection of 600 seconds throughout the day. 600 memories that will make them smile for years to come. And as others comment on Facebook, I see that they feel the same way--I did my job.

Supersize

When did everything in my life become supersized? I spend more time at Costco than ever, where I purchase nearly everything necessary to run my home in institutional sized packages. Yet, somehow, I seem to run out of the same stuff in the same amounts of time, which means I'm also spending supersize. My stress is supersize. With two kids recently diagnosed with ADD/ADHD, and one having behavioral issues at school and at home, I could easily resort to a liquid diet. And I'm not talking about Slim-Fast. Add to that a husband who is rarely home, and when he is, he's working on his 1970 Karmann Ghia (that old German girl is more high maintenance than any lady you've ever met), or watching every episode of Top Gear ever recorded. It's spring, and the Christmas lights are still up. The laundry room has remained unfinished since my older daughter was three. There were no other children then...now there are four. That was NINE years ago. The windows are unfinished from two years ago. Several rooms need to be painted (including the two supersized messes-Cameron's and the boys' room), the porch needs to be stained. The siding needs to be replaced, but that is a supersized battle. My husband wants to use some old siding (he swears it will match) that he found in his grandmother's garage to cover the section that's been lacking for nine years. I want new siding. Yes, it's a considerable expense, but one that would make a phenomenal difference for our house. I'd say a supersized difference, but I'm getting tired of that word. You get the picture. I need to somehow simplify, get stuff done, and relax. How does life fly by so fast?

Wow, a Whole Year Gone?

I can't believe an entire year has gone by since I've posted. Amazing. Here we are at spring again, although you wouldn't really know it. Today, the high is only in the 50s, and it's raining.

We just had Mother's Day. Once again, in my own little family, it was nothing special. Last year was the year that it was completely ignored; and then when I bristled at being taken to Home Depot to choose my own gift (really?!), Gordon spent the rest of the day installing my pond. It would have been easier to just teach the children that it's not too much to ask to treat your mother nicely for one day out of the year. Do little things for her...offer to do the dishes, the laundry, etc. And if you're the father of those children, you could probably pitch in, too. After all, she bore them all, didn't she?

Anyway, my children paraded into my bedroom with a card and an orchid, which I have been wanting and is lovely. They climbed around in my bed for a few minutes, and filed back out of the room. Gordon then announced that he was going to play volleyball. Yep, on Mother's Day. That's his way of making sure he's still the most important: force it to be so. So, I was left to prepare the Mother's Day food, do the dishes and laundry, and wait until the baby had taken her nap. Sounds like fun, eh? Worst of all, my children are growing up believing that we don't celebrate one another. Hopefully, HOPEFULLY, they take more notice at how I celebrated my own mother.

It was a bit of work, but I made kabobs for everyone, plus basil & mozzarella tomatoes. Angie and I had made an edible arrangement for my mom-it turned out pretty well, even though it was our first attempt. We had fun doing it, although at first, we were sort of at a loss of where to begin. We did have a great day at my mom's which made up for the morning (even though Gordon did spend that entire time on the couch, as well). I was determined not to have a completely crappy day. We had great food, good wine, and good conversation. It's always great to hang out with my mom and my sister.

Today is yet another year since my baby Jacob died. Cannot believe it has been twelve years. I went to the cemetery today...some babies had just been buried. I wish I could have his body exhumed and moved to a different location-someplace meaningful to me. I know that's silly and futile. Nothing will change. Even still, I've spent the better part of today thinking and remembering, allowing long repressed notions to surface. Nothing will change, and the pain never goes away...but each day, I learn how to live around it a little better...learn to be a little more grateful for my children who have not grown wings.

The Ageless Church (as in, music)

So, last night, I went to see The Church at Ram's Head On Stage. You know, Under the Milky Way...Reptile? Wow. The legendary Marty Willson-Piper is still, well, legendary. The rest of the boys are just as impressive. They rocked like I did not expect. I thought it would be a calm show of ethereal guitar & haunting lyrics. Man, was I wrong! I imagine that any way they play, they're good. It's also fun to sit beside the stage, even though their stage guy's butt was in my face as he switched out guitars. It's a different experience...now I know what pickups and distortion pedals are, rather than just being giddy to see a band. I notice all the goings on, and see the band members as people.

But, you know what, I was somehow shocked by their appearance. Why are they frozen in my mind as they were twenty years ago? Because that's totally what I expected. How could they have aged? I haven't...at least, in my mind. In my mind, I'm still fourteen, sleeping on the porch with my sister in West Ocean City. We would listen to The Church or Peter Murphy or Echo & the Bunnymen all night long. My dreams were the images that the music conjured up, and time slowed in the summer heat. Who knows, maybe the Australians we met at Assateague were the Church...but I doubt Marty Willson-Piper surfs.

On the subject of age, I was very surprised to find that we were among the youngest people in attendance last night. Hard to believe that in twenty MORE years, I might be going to an Andrew Bird (or some such) show, and marveling at the "young" 35-year-olds...and they might marvel how someone as old as me can love that kind of music.

Lastly, why, oh why, have I become a rule-follower? I checked both my e-tickets and my website, and both clearly stated that cameras and recording equipment were not allowed. So, instead of taking my Nikon and getting some fantastic shots, like 80% of the other people, I was left with my crappy cell phone camera. Hmph. I'm such a sheep.

Work

It's kinda hard to feel sorry for myself with so much promise exploding outside-buds, bees, birds, flowers...pretty hard to keep me down today. And 75 degrees? Perfect.

But, we've been through a lot this week. When the kids are older, maybe even when they have kids of their own, I think we'll look back on this and say, man, remember when Collin was in kindergarten and everyone got Rotavirus? That was terrible. As in, it doesn't ever have to happen again. Ever.

Truth be told, only half of us have had it. That's the scary part. Poor Collin has already lost 10% of his body weight, and refuses to eat and drink much of anything. He does take comfort in white milk, something he has long abhorred. That's odd. But, whatever will stay down and isn't complained about is okay with me at this point. It's been very trying, and HE'S been very trying. He's a terrible sick kid. I remember as an older baby, he had a stomach flu, and completely slept through the throwing up part. Of course, the diarrhea lasted for days, as it is now, but there's not much to be done about that. My mom tells me I always got it badly, too. Yay, genetics. Anyway, Gordon and I each briefly escaped, and later we agreed that it was such a nice break. I'm certain he was happy as a clam to go to work.

The tv's been on every waking moment. That, of course, has resulted in Collin wanting every toy that is currently offered. There is also a constant stream of "Mama! Get Splenda! It's sweet, but not sugar...you won't get fat!" and "Mama! Why don't you ever listen to the tv? Just press OnDemand, so you don't have to go to the movie store or wait for the mail!" So, yeah, Collin must be a little better.

Now, it's Monday morning, and Cameron is "sick", too. At 8am, she looked perfectly fine, but claimed her belly didn't feel right. Gordon wondered if we should let her stay home. I shrugged and went back to bed. Now, she looks like she might not feel great, but admitted that most of the problem is the fear of throwing up in school. I can't say that I blame her. Her teacher is the man who, when a kid asks to go to the nurse for nausea, tells them to get the garbage can and sit back down. Which reminds me that I was supposed to have a meeting about him with the principal today. Which reminds me that while I feel like I really need a vacation from this whole mothering thing, there is much more work to be done this week.

If

If you go around grumbling in your head about your husband, you'll probably be hanging up his coat (for the thousandth time) and cussing him when one of those big wooden hangers flies off the rod and smacks you in the nose. You might think God is trying to tell you something...or that the karma kicked in. You might then go to get the baby, and decide to change her. Then you put her down for a few minutes, and wrangle the three-year-old into bed. You might immediately have to threaten him to get BACK into the bed. Then you might get the baby again, and realize that she's peed through the new outfit and onesie you've put on her. You might commence to mentally grumbling again. You might change her with your icy cold hands, and the three-year-old will complain that she's keeping him awake (as if he's had any thoughts of sleep at all). He'll ask to poop for the third time in ten minutes. You'll then know that he really HAS mastered bowel and bladder control, because he's only letting out enough to last him a few minutes, thereby increasing his out-of-bed time. Then your older children might come in off the bus, making as much noise as their little bodies can produce. You might threaten them, too, and your mind might wander back to your guilty husband, sitting ALONE in his QUIET office. You'll probably start cussing him again, and the fact that he refuses to use birth control. You might curse the fact that you're nearly 35 and therefore it's probably not a good idea to use hormonal birth control anymore. And the IUD already failed...and condoms are, well, you know...and now the baby's worked herself up to a frenzy, so you'll probably have to go ahead and nurse her. You might park yourself near your laptop, so you can at least surf or update your Facebook status with one hand. The baby might behave herself and burp right away, and not even spit up on you, so you might sit there and snuggle her a while longer, ignoring all the Christmas stuff that still needs to be put away, and the third and fourth loads of laundry. Sooner or later, you might realize that the baby kind of smells like poop. Then you might realize that the smell is a little larger-than-life, if you will. You might look down and see that the baby has indeed pooped out of her onesie, and onto the second outfit you were holding in your hand, ready to put on her. Now you'll realize that there'll probably be a FIFTH load of laundry, and you'll drift back to your husband, who could easily wash clothes while playing his Xbox. While you're walking to your bedroom, you might hear a splat on the floor, and you'll note that she has indeed spit up...half on you, half on the floor. You might put the baby on your bed, on a waterproof pad so that she can do no more harm, and go get the infant bath tub ready. You might look down and notice that the baby has pooped all over your only clean pair of jeans. Your nine-year-old might dramatically burst into the bathroom and announce that the baby has peed...BESIDE the waterproof pad (who said only boys had that capability?), and all over your bed. Yes, it is Sheets Change Day. Yes, there'll be a fifth, and probably a sixth load of laundry. And you'll start mentally grumbling about your BGE and water bills. You'd then put the baby in the bath, noting that she does like being submerged in the water better than being in that bath-chair-thingy. But only for 90 seconds. You'd probably then hurry to dress the baby, who is screaming her fool head off. You see any hopes of a nap for the three-year-old slowly sailing away.

Then you might pick up your clean, sweet baby, nicely wrapped and smelling like Burt's Bees Milk Bath. You might snuggle her and decide all is right with the world. And decide maybe your attitude needs rebooting. But your husband will probably still be wrong.

Babies, Cats, Pigs & Bunk Beds

It's almost time for me to have this baby, as most of you know. I'm excited-REALLY excited to be done and to meet her, but I'm anxious, too. I am trying to just take things as they come, but I can't help worrying and anticipating.

I have been ridiculously busy, trying to get ready. I've tried to do all of my Christmas preparations (I still have stuff to do, but I'm pretty well set, except for wrapping). I've tried to clean up, and of course, wash all the baby clothes. There are still totes full of baby clothes in the back of the basement that I've begged G to retrieve...there are far too many obstacles for me to get them myself (namely, said Christmas preparations). I have been trying to keep up with the rest of the family laundry, keep the house in some kind of order, etc. Today I dropped a chunk of change at the store on staples and frozen foods so that we've got something to eat. I even managed to get a haircut, since that will surely be out of the question for a few weeks.

Anyway, so the two little boys are going to be sharing a room, sooner or later. We've been stalking Craigslist for bunk beds for some time now. Earlier this week, we were interested in a set that included a dresser, shelves, desk, etc. It's like a room-in-one. Well, that was sold (because someone else was interested, and the people tried to get me to "counteroffer", but as it wasn't eBay, I wasn't inclined to up my bid), but we found a similar set that was even cheaper. I finally got G to go take a look at them tonight, and he planned to just bring them home if they were in good enough shape. Even the mattresses were being included. I'm kinda iffy (ok, a lot iffy) about someone else's mattress, but I figured it was her daughter's (as in, one child, not two), and there would be waterproof mattress covers on top anyway. So, unless they were gnarly, it would probably be alright.

G called me from the person's neighborhood, and said he was pretty scared. He said there was a dirt road, and it just looked funky. I'm thinking to myself, whatever, plenty of people have a dirt road. Doesn't mean they're inbred or anything. Five minutes later, he called back. He was back outside, and informed me that there were about 45 cats in the house, and a pig. Yes, really...a pig. I insisted that he was joking, but he said, "An effing pig, Amy, I pet the thing!" Oh my. At first I was under the impression that the house was just funky, but he later assured me that no, it was in fact filthy. And the lady had left her 13 year old daughter home alone, to deal with this potential buyer of bunk beds, who could have been anyone, for all she knew. I'm thinking to myself, you were supposed to give the girl $550?! He said the furniture itself was not bad, but not worth the $550 since the mattresses would not be desired. I'd just as soon not inherit whatever nastiness they might contain.

So, one of G's coworkers was getting rid of a decent set of bunk beds, and we've bought them. We'll buy our own mattresses. At least we know that they're quality, and that his coworker is not a funky person. But oh man, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when G walked in there. I would have paid money to see his face when the pig appeared. And all 45 cats.

Update from my Baby Blog

Today started off extra-early. I had to go to University for my 3 hour glucose tolerance test, since I failed the 1 hour. Despite arriving before 8am, and telling two different front-desk-people that I needed to be at the other building by 11am and could I please have my nasty orange drink right away, they managed to ignore me until 8:22. That means I was going to be until at least 11:22 for my testing, and I needed to call across the street to let them know. I didn't have the number, and the lab people claimed they didn't, either. I suppose they didn't have a directory or even internet access, either. But, I did note that for a black lady, they immediately looked up her doctor's number. And with all the other black clientele, they happily sang, "Good Morning!", and inquired about their health, their day, whatever. Not so much with me. Nice.

Anyway, I felt pretty nasty by the time I left the lab...I was shaky, heart pounding, etc. Despite not being hungry, I wolfed down a small granola bar, and felt worse. I waited almost an hour and a half at the Fetal Assessment Center, since I had thrown their schedule out of whack. My ultrasound went well...we could see her hair! I have been saying that the only thing I haven't had so far is a bald baby, but I guess that's out now, too. She's estimated to weigh 3lbs 10oz, which is still larger than average. That puts her at roughly 6lbs 10oz at birth, which is more than Cam & Noah, but less than Collin. We'll see how that plays out.

Then I went for my non-stress test & biophysical profile. Things were going fabulously, and I thought I might get out in record time, when all of a sudden, her heartrate dropped. Where it had been in the 130s, it dropped to 85 or 90. I literally heard Kristen, the nurse I've been seeing, drop what she had and run over. She had me lay completely on my left side (I was only slightly propped before that). The heart rate rose to 106. Not good enough. She had me get onto my hands and knees, and the baby's heartrate went up into the 120s. I could feel her moving around, so I knew she was doing ok, but my heart was pounding. I tried to lay down again, but the same thing happened, and then they couldn't get a reading at all. Kristen called for the other nurse, and the doctor. I was given oxygen, and soon there was a crowd around me. The doctor came in and did an ultrasound...we could see her moving around, and he explained that my placenta is on the back wall of my uterus, so any time I'm on my back, I'm compressing the cord and the placenta. They told me I would need to go up to Labor & Delivery for monitoring, and then they would take it from there...meaning, if she didn't straighten up, I was going to have a Cesarean right away. I thought, this is it, I'm having a c-section this time. Well, I guess she just didn't like that floor of the hospital, because as soon as we went upstairs, she was fine. Her movement and heart rhythms were fabulous for the next three hours.

I saw three doctors and two nurses, plus two anesthesiologists. Each one wanted my history, and despite having given all of it several times before, I had to give it seven more times. Angie came up to stay with me, which was great. She lends a comforting feeling, and gives me a different perspective than when I'm just there, wrapped up in my own head. The doctor that I really liked came back in to tell me that my results were back from my 3-hr test, and they were great. She said my sugar was too low by the end (gee, you think so?!). I said, well, can I PLEASE have something to eat then? She said I could probably have something in a while, but I never did get to eat. I did get a cranberry juice, which my stomach didn't agree with. I was finally released, and on the way home, I stopped at Panera. I got a salad, half a sandwich (which of course has the calories of any full-sized sandwich one might make at home), and a frozen mocha, plus a hunk of bread...and I ate it ALL. I'm feeling much more human now. And as I sit here, the baby wiggling and having hiccups inside me, I'm thankful that she hasn't made her entrance into this world just yet. The last thing Kristen said to me was, "See you next week." I hope she's right.

Further Proof...

Further proof that when a parent realizes it is quiet, it is already too late...

Exhale

Following is from my baby blog:

23wks 6days

I went for my ultrasound to diagnose any problems, regarding my abnormal AFP test results. Ready for this one? My results were never abnormal! They were only borderline/slightly elevated. After the wave of relief, I really became pretty angry. Some of you might recall that this is not the first time this OB has regarded test results in the same way. I really think I'm going to switch doctors, and I hope the doctor I want is taking new patients. He's another perinatologist whom I have seen before (with Collin). He's at St. Agnes, where I will be delivering. I feel confident with him, and he's personable. I'm just fed up with my regular OB.

Anyway, they looked at the baby's spine again, and the brain, the cord, the placenta-everything. Everything looks perfect. I then talked at length with the genetic counselor, who said there is no issue. The perinatologist that I love, Dr. Arrabal, said he wouldn't even have tested any further, because the result was so slightly elevated, and because we'd already had a perfect ultrasound. I expressed my concern that the elevated level might be due to my own cancer (because maternal cancer could be a cause of elevated AFP levels in my blood), and the genetic counselor quickly dismissed that fear. She said it simply isn't possible.

So, there you have it-all that worrying and thinking about how my life might change, for nothing at all. I will say again that I wish I had never had the test in the first place, but at least I got to see the baby again. I'm most thankful nothing was wrong. I'll see her again in another four weeks, and then probably weekly after that. She's growing perfectly, and there is not a thing to be worried about right now.

Except telling my doctor that I no longer require her services. Anyone have any advice on that? Lord knows I hate confrontation, and I detest offending anyone, so that's going to be hard for me.

Thank you so much, to everyone who prayed for us. God is good. And a big thank you to Jenn for watching Noah today!

So Much

I haven't written anything in quite a while. That would be because I've been pretty darn busy. Not as busy as Kim (I don't know how she stays afloat), but pretty busy none the less.

My two older children are in school now. The daughter's having a hard time adjusting to the rigors of fourth grade (and not being on a summer schedule again). She's also just plain having a hard time. I'm certain she has ADD. Therefore, I've been having a hard time with her. Most of the time, I could choke her. She's completely defiant, and forgets E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Even those people in whose eyes she's always been perfect are now singing a different tune. I feel sorry for her, but she's maddening. She's extremely difficult to live with, and frankly, extremely difficult to love right now. Which makes me sad and depressed. I quite honestly feel like the daughter I used to know has died.

The middle boy is doing well in kindergarten, but it occurs to me that he needs a LOT of help in the handwriting department. Must be a boy thing. He also did something that surprised me today-he switched to his left hand. He hasn't done that since he was about two. I hope he's not a lefty in hiding.

My little boy is still the affectionate, lovable bully. He's even started pooping on the potty once in a while. Usually, that's followed by a poop in his pants, but hey...it's progress.

And, why does everything in the house have to break at once?

The A/C died some days ago. Thank God, we have some window units which are carrying us through the end of summer. Today we have the windows open, of course, which is also fine. For some time now, the toilets have been clogging, off and on. That's problematic, when you have five people who need to use the bathroom, and one who goes about every nine minutes (that would be my pregnant self). It's especially problematic when four are trying to get ready in one bathroom. At any rate, I've plunged, dumped hot water, tried Dawn, cussed, prayed...you name it. My dear husband has plunged. He also ruined the bowl of our new toilet with a crappy, worthless snake. He flooded the basement when he tried to flush the air vents. Then, on Sunday, neither toilet would work. I had had it, and I decided it was time to call the plumber. We know a plumber, and while it might not be cheap, we know he won't screw us. Well, G refused. He insisted he could fix the problem. Yes, dear, but when?! Needless to say, Monday, I went to stay with G's grandmother. Me, and all three kids. G was surprised, but I'm not exactly sure what he thought I would do if I stayed home...camp out at McDonald's most of the day? Dig a hole in the back yard? Honestly, I really wonder what he thought I would do. He did not seem to see the urgency in the matter, and didn't seem to be in any hurry to fix it. That's fine-I wouldn't be in a hurry to mess with shit, either. Which is why I would CALL THE PLUMBER. Expensive, yes. Maybe needs to go on a credit card-ouch, perhaps. But NECESSARY. TODAY. He couldn't understand why I was short with him. Eventually, I guess he wanted me to be nicer, or he wanted his family to come home, or something. Eventually, he began working on the problem. Really working. He removed the downstairs toilet, and there lay a bath toy, all covered in poo. SIGH. Love that little boy. You know that commercial where the man flushes all manner of things, trying to summon the hot plumber lady he saw next door? Yeah, that is my son, I guess. Rest assured, the toilet will flush. But the object might not ever enter the pipe. It WILL cause a problem, eventually. G has already deduced that the same problem exists upstairs. He rented a professional snake, but has already taken it back, because he's sure it's another toy. You can imagine that I'm not too pleased about that, either. One working toilet is good. One broken toilet is bad. But hey, I'm back home.

Staying with G's grandmother wasn't so bad. I only had to clean up after the kids, and I actually had help without asking once in a while. On the other hand, when I came back to my house, disaster awaited. A man, alone in the house for three days, is not a good thing.

So, anyway, since we're talking about spending money, we're talking about REALLY spending. Maybe 50% of our windows work (meaning, the others are painted shut, just plain don't open, or just plain won't stay open). You can imagine the loss of heat and cool they account for. The siding is ugly-it either needs to be painted (not my preference) or replaced. At least one portion of our roof needs to be replaced-might as well do it all. Our concrete looks terrible. And, we have a tree in the back yard that's going to cost a few thousand to have removed. It's pretty dead now, so it's time...before it falls on the house itself. It looks like we're going to suck it up and refinance. It makes me nervous, and I hate the thought of all that needs to be done. I don't even know if we can afford to do it all. But man, it will be so nice not to worry for a while when it's done. And it will be nice to enjoy our home, rather than want to stay away from it. Ah, if only the same would apply to the INside! Does refinancing come with a maid???

It's A...

So, in case you don't get my baby site updates and you're interested:

I'm just back from my "big" ultrasound. All the parts are present and appear to be just fine, so that's good. Gordon was suprirsed and disappointed to find that it's a GIRL! For some reason, he really had it in his head that he wanted another boy, and that's what she was going to be. He kept complaining to the ultrasound tech and to me, but we reminded him that it's no one's fault but his own. His "boy" boys just didn't swim that well on that particular day, I guess.

I guess that's why we gave away a ton of our baby boy stuff a month before we got pregnant. I have to figure out what I have left and what I need. I'm happy to know what she is...I've been waiting not-so-patiently! Most of all, I'm glad there are no anomalies.

Hope you are all well!

Priceless

Coldplay tickets....$178.50

Better Coldplay tickets....$230.00

Asking friends who already have four kids to watch your three kids last minute....potentially very costly

Parking at the Verizon Center....$20.00

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Middle son gets the stomach flu and needs to be picked up mid-show....PRICELESS.



Sigh.



I'm sad. Very sad, on many levels.

Benefits of Staying Married

Saturday was fun. I worked all day, and then came home to a mess, again. See, despite promises to the contrary, G still wants to pretend that he's single and has nothing else better to do. Sometimes he doesn't want to have kids, doesn't want to have responsibilities, and sure doesn't want to be married to me. I get that. It's leftover quarter life crisis, I guess. But you know what? You still need to clean up your dishes. Eventually, he did, but a fight ensued, as usual.

Sunday, we went to church (guess we both really needed it, at that point). Then we went to the O's game. G had five tickets in the box. Meaning, the box of his place of employment. That equals air conditioning, food, and just a more pleasant time than upper reserve seats. The kids didn't pay much attention to the game, but they seemed to enjoy themselves. They each got their My First O's Game certificates, although it wasn't necessarily their first. I remember one first with Cameron, when she was still in the infant carrier seat. We were sitting in the lower seats, so still a good spot. Someone in front of me ordered peanuts from one of the vendors. In the spirit of stadium life, the vendor threw them to the man...only my head got in the way. Being whacked, unsuspectingly, in the back of the head with a stadium sized bag of peanuts was not so pleasant. Needless to say, I had a headache for the rest of the afternoon, and seriously considered complaining to Fan Assistance. If you're not that good a shot, maybe you should just pass the peanuts, know what I mean?? Anyway, the game was mostly fun. I knew a couple of G's coworkers who were there, and we chatted. I tried to talk to G a couple of times, but he kept blowing me off, or talking right over top of me. Maybe he was so starved for non-Amy conversation that he just couldn't help it. He recently revealed (not that I didn't suspect) that I really get on his nerves. Maybe it's similar to me talking to small people all day long...and by the end of the day, I REALLY want to talk to some adults. Even the clerk at the grocery store-anyone. At one point, I squished up next to him on the small couch, so as to make room for another couple, should they want to sit down. "Get off me! Go sit on Kevin's lap!" was what he told me.

Needless to say, I went out onto the balcony with my kids, and Pink Shirt Man for the rest of the game. Pink Shirt Man was another employee of G's company, who lives in Michigan. He had come down from Grand Rapids with his three daughters to watch the Orioles get whooped by his beloved Detroit Tigers. I talked more with Pink Shirt Man in five minutes than I did with G all day. And then, of course, G wondered what was wrong with me. I always think that's absolutely astounding! How can you be surprised at someone's reaction, after you treat them like shit?

After the game, we went to G Sr's house for dinner. That went pretty well. I got to have conversation with my MIL (ok, not really my MIL, but they're common-law-married by now). I was happy that I didn't have to cook all day. I was also happy that G Jr changed Noah's nasty pull-up. Nasty, as in, pull-up was thrown away, and shorts were put into a grocery bag. Pregnant bellies and noses don't do so well with such pull-ups. See, my son refuses to poo on the potty, still. He either goes in his sleep, because he can't hold it anymore, or he sneaks off and poops in the pull-up. I can't wait till he's out of this stage.

So, today I was reading about the benefits of staying married. Sometimes I truly wonder. Mostly, I wonder why I want to stay married to someone who, at times, so obviously doesn't want to be married to me. I know that sometimes he does. Lately, it just seems like more of three years ago--he just wants to do his thing. Don't we all.

God Help Me

G announced on his way out the door to volleyball that he would be calling his mother, so to expect a call afterward.  Fabulous.  Can I really say I was asleep at 9:30pm??? 

He's finally going to tell her that I'm pregnant.  Again.  I feel like I'm in high school and we've gotten into trouble or something.  I can't even imagine what she'll say.  Well, yes, I can...I just don't want to.

My kids have been driving me absolutely crazy this week.  They've been disobedient little hellions.  I don't know what their problem is...maybe we're all just tired of eachother.  My anxiety is back, which doesn't help the situation at all.  Instead of being tolerant and creative, I'm short and I yell a lot.  I hate it.  Something has to give.

I have been feeling really crappy this week, too.  I'm not really feeling nauseous anymore, thank God, but my heart is working harder, so the more forceful, sometimes much faster beating makes me worried...which probably makes it work even harder...it's a vicious cycle.  Add shortness of breath and lightheadedness, and I'm really miserable.  I just don't know if it's "normal" or just a side effect of anxiety, or what. 

On a very happy note, my dear mother helped my pigpen son clean his room today.  I'm quite sure she did most/all of the work, but man!  What a relief and a joy for me!  My daughter even cleaned her room all by herself (with initial prodding from me, of course).  She actually did a really good job.  The House Fairy will probably pay our house a visit tonight.  Good thing she recently replenished the surprise supply.

I hope everyone has a good weekend!

Six Flags...sigh

Yesterday, we went to Six Flags America for my company's Family Fun Day. First of all, I thought it was crappy of them to schedule such an event on a day when some of us would be working, rather than on a Sunday, when we all would not. So, instead of going to the park when it opened at 10am, I got to go around 4pm, after I got off work, changed, and collected my kids. G and Cam went ahead of us. The good part was that those of us who would be working during the day got meal vouchers, rather than the lunch buffet, which consisted of hamburgers, hot dogs, cole slaw, baked beans, drinks & dessert. My kids would not have been pleased with those selections. We ended up with Papa John's pizza, which is something they (and I) adore.

Anyway, I don't love that place. Not that I ever liked it, but last time we went, it was at least somewhat fun. And yes, we did have some fun. We had to park in Egypt. Literally, we were just about as far as one could possibly go in the parking lot. If we'd actually had to fork over the $15 parking fee (my company graciously paid for parking), I'd have been really pissed. We saw a couple of trams, but it was just as well to walk into the park. My mom, the two little boys, and I all hung out in the kiddie pool area until about 7:00pm, when we finally caught up with G and Cam. Then G took Collin to ride some water slides, and Mom, Noah, and I went to eat.

What I hate about Six Flags is the clientele. Let me step lightly, here...it's a whole different culture which I cannot stand and I don't understand. I don't understand why one would make him/herself appear unintelligent. I don't get the aggression, the lack of concern for others and surroundings, and the general disregard of that culture. Appearance and demand for respect for self dominate everything. The place is dirty, the people are rude, and it's just generally unpleasant. The last time we went, it was simply annoying. This time, I couldn't wait to leave. And I mean, by dinner time, I was ready to leave.

Hershey Park is so much nicer. The park is clean. There are security people, there are managers. The clientele is different. It is a family atmosphere, and there is respect for others-not just self. Sure, there will be rude people anywhere, but it shouldn't be 98% of the people!

Anyway, if they send out an employee survey about the Family Fun Day, I will be more than pleased to respond. Even if they don't, I'm likely to voice my opinion. And, even if the tickets are free, I won't be returning to Six Flags. There are so many places I'd rather be.

No Thanks, I'll Take My Own Bed

So, G had a good idea the other day. He heard about the great American campout, or some such thing...where families were supposed to camp out in their back yards. He's having his own version, a little after the fact. For the past couple of years, camping has left a bitter taste in my mouth (some of you know why). It was something I once enjoyed, and absolutely loved as a child. Ok, so I've never liked being dirty, and I never liked using a latrine instead of a bathroom...and I'm sure not dropping my drawers to pee behind a tree. And I really, really love my own bed. And air conditioning. And my ceiling fan. And my television, which often lulls me to sleep. And no bugs.

I could go on, but you get the picture. There are many reasons why I really don't like camping now, but they are very different than missing my modern amenities. The biggest reason is that it's such a huge stress!

As I said, G had a great idea, but it was a very poorly planned one. In fact, the only thing he planned to do was pitch a tent or two, and build a fire. I came home late from my mom's today, after dinner time, and I suppose I had not communicated well enough with G about the children. Long story short, they never ate dinner. Until 10:30. I even went to Target after coming home, and still they went hungry. I'm sure one of them had to have mentioned it. He never asked them if they were hungry, despite our discussions about cooking out. He had no food ready for them. No breakfast for the next morning. No toothbrushes & bottles of water, no diapers and wipes, no s'mores, for God's sake. SIGH. Guess who had to do all that?

I really had no desire to stand at the grill at 10:00pm and make some dinner. Thank God there were ridiculous leftovers from Mom's party yesterday. The middle boy took a hundred years to eat his dinner, as usual. He hates cheeseburgers & hot dogs. He hates everything except PB&J and pizza. Noah ate part of his (although he had already gotten into tomorrow's cereal), and then protested the rest. There's another issue-Noah has been very sick. I didn't even want him to stay up that late, much less eat his dinner that late.

I have a feeling some children won't be sleeping. That'll be fabulous, considering they have a birthday party to attend tomorrow. Cameron will probably be mostly fine. If Collin doesn't scare himself, he might be fine, too, because he's that exhausted. I'm just willing to bet SOMEone's going to come back into this house tonight. That's another thing-I'm such a light sleeper that whether I stay in or out, either way I probably won't get much sleep. So much for having the house to myself! I can already hear the whining in the morning. I hope it doesn't rain on them, too. That's sure to cause an uproar. On the other hand, we camped with Cameron when she was maybe 1 or 2, and she slept right through a terrible storm. I thought for sure our tent would slide down the mountain on a small river of rainwater.

In another life, maybe camping was fun. Maybe when we were a young couple, and we packed all of our stuff TOGETHER (that means, I exclusively didn't pack for the entire trip), sat around a campfire until we were tired, and then retreated to our tent with no concern about how much sleep we'd get. Maybe when we could lazily cook eggs & bacon over a fire...when our backs were younger and the ground was more forgiving. For now, I think I'll just take my own bed.

Wrench

So, we are in the middle of a huge war. I received a call from the principal today that Collin was accepted for kindergarten this year. I told G, and he immediately started on his tirade about his horrible childhood. He claims he was an outcast and had no friends, and was beaten up daily. Perhaps he had a hard time for a while, but I just don't believe that was the case for his entire childhood. Additionally, who knows how much of that was personality based picking versus stature picking. Nevertheless, I stand by my opinion that he is projecting his past experiences on his child. I stand by all the things I've already said, as well as those of the psychologists and the doctor...not to mention my friends and family. His reasoning is invalid, to me, because it's just not reasonable. He has one con, and no pros. He has no other sides to the situation-just his one feeling...that my son is short for his age, so we should hold him back a year. I have already asked him if he will insist on holding the younger boy back-he will not. He claims it's simply because his birthday is three months earlier in the year. I said, well, that negates your whole theory then, because three months won't make a bit of difference in either of their heights. Both of them are always going to be short, until the day they die.

G is also is like a used car salesman. He has a retort and an excuse for everything. It makes me want to put a fork in my eye. He talks and twist things well out of proportion. Additionally, he's not as straightforward as I once believed him to be. To put it lightly, I take everything he says with a grain of salt. And he always has his own agenda.

So, he gave his ultimatum. I keep Collin home a year, or he will go to the school and tell them that he doesn't want him to attend. He said we could put him into a Montessori school (someone obviously put the bug in his ear about that), but that's just another excuse, because there is no way we can afford it...not to mention that pre-k is not the stimulation that he needs. The thing I hate the most about this is that he's telling my son that he's got something wrong with him. Collin has no problem with himself--if he were so concerned, why would he jeapardize that?!

I'm going to the school tomorrow to turn in the rest of my paperwork and be briefed on the test results. It makes me crazy that he's not on the same page as me. He will not listen to reason, and he doesn't respect what I have to say. He doesn't accept that raising these kids has been my job for the past 9 years, and I've been mostly responsible for everything in their lives. Why should he throw a wrench into what I feel is best now? I have lost even more respect for him. I honestly don't know where we're going to go from here.

Kissin' Wears Out...

"Kissin' wears out. Cookin' don't." So goes the Pennsylvania Dutch saying. It's true, sadly. Today is the eleventh anniversary of our first kiss (mine and G's, of course). I don't know why I remember stupid stuff like that, but I do. Before he left to go to his meeting tonight, I told him that I wished kissing didn't wear out. He said, "You don't like to kiss me anymore, anyway," and left. Hmph. I'd like to be kissing somebody. It's just a shame, when two people can't figure out how to make that last. I feel like I've done a relatively good job of it, on my part. I mean, I know that things will cool off, and there's a lot more to marriage than how it all began...but if we can't find little bits of that magic from time to time, what are we doing?! It's pretty sad, and I'm not happy about it. But, you can't make someone else feel a certain way about you.

I had another ultrasound today, and the baby wiggled the whole time. I always wonder if their movement and activity habits in utero are any indication of what the future holds. If so, let's just say I've got my work cut out for me. Everything looks good, and although the bloodwork part of my nuchal translucency test was botched due to a computer error, it looks like I'm at a pretty low risk for the major chromosomal defects (like Down's Syndrome & Trisomy 18/13. The baby's limbs are a little longer now, so he/she doesn't look like a gummy bear anymore. I can't wait until the 18-20 week ultrasound, when we can see the anatomy more clearly, and hopefully determine the gender.

I made a chicken pot pie for dinner. I can't wait to eat it. It has taken significantly longer than it was supposed to have taken. That's the case a lot of the time that I cook. On the other hand, I'm not into crunchy veggies in my pot pie, so longer is better.

We went to see Thomas the Tank Engine in Strasburg, Pa this weekend. We had a good time. We stayed at a Travelodge, which I'll be writing a review about on the travel websites. I forked over the extra $40 (and then an extra $10 on top of that) for the king suite and the rollaway bed, so that G and I could have "our" room, and the kids could have thair own room (and therefore we wouldn't have to go to bed at 9:00). Well, that was a nice idea, but didn't happen. The pull-out sofa was supposed to sleep two. Two infants, maybe. Then there was the rollaway, but we had no pillows for it or the pull-out. I called the front desk twice, letting it ring for ages, and no one answered. Finally, I got my shoes back on and trekked down there, only to find the clerk on the phone with his friend. Nice. This was the same clerk who had kicked us out of the pool after we had been swimming for only 2 minutes. I know it was time for them to close and all, but man, have a little mercy. On the other hand, the pool was probably 60 degrees, so it wasn't exactly fun. Anyway, I asked for ANOTHER rollaway (at which point he demanded to know how many people I had in my room), and some pillows. He seemed irritatd, but I was much more irritated, so he obliged. Did I mention that the suite didn't have a door between rooms? So, I sat there in the dark, occasionally threatening the children, until they finally went to sleep. It was more than an hour later. Just when I thought they would never go to sleep, fireworks started across the street. They must have gone on for 45 minutes! And that's when they fell asleep-right in the middle of the show. I have no idea how they slept through that. Note to self-make sure there's a door. And sufficient bedding. SIGH. Anyway, the train rides were cool. The PA Dutch cooking was good. I like to experience that pastoral culture sometimes. It's such a more relaxed, simple way of living. We need to immerse ourselves in that from time to time. It's good for the soul. I would really love to live in an area less congested and less hectic than this. Maybe someday.

A Day in the Life Kinda Thing

I just read my horoscope for today, and it said that in everything I do today, my enthusiasm will bubble up and influence everyone around me. HAH! First of all, let me say that I don't live my life by my horoscope, but I do look at it for entertainment purposes. I like to see if, after the fact, it's had any correlation to reality, mostly. Anyway, I've been sitting on the couch. All day. I watched Noah push around his overflowing toy shopping cart full of other toys, looking for all the world like a bag lady. I commenced daytime potty training-which means we abandon diapers during the day, and park the potty in the middle of the living room. I hate a kids' potty. It's the most revolting thing ever. That may be the hormonally nauseated me speaking. I watched the older two tie eachother, and various other neighbor kids, up to the tree with jumpropes. Other than screaming at the dog for barking nonstop, I'd say I was pretty much a bystander in life today, rather than bubbling over with enthusiasm.

I did take my son to the doctor this morning, and he was strangely excited about his check-up. He obviously doesn't remember all the shots he got last time. He didn't need any this time, either, so he was just as happy when he left. He's right there with my other two, in only the 10th percentile for height. Ah, well, there is nothing to be done about genetics. I also talked with the ped about my older son going to kindergarten "early" this year. He misses the cut-off by only eight days, so I requested that he be tested for "early" admission. It turns out that he scored really high on the cognitive part of the tests, although admittedly 5 points away from the county's guideline score. He scored in the 97th percentile for the academic portion. The school psychologist, gifted & talented coordinator, principal, and area director all recommended him for early admission. Now we await the final answer from the Board [of Education]. What's the problem, you ask? G. G is the problem. He thinks we should hold him back, because he is shorter than average. Even though my husband is a know-it-all devil's advocate, this even stunned me. My immediate thought was, what if he was taller than average? Would you insist he be placed in the second grade?! It just makes no sense. For someone who has so often said otherwise, it's amazing to me that G is focusing solely on the child's genetics, about which we can do nothing. The psychologist's report clearly says that he will need advanced math and reading in his curriculum in order to be stimulated. Hello?! What does that tell you? Now, G's concern is not unfounded. He remembers being teased for being short. Know what? I remember being teased because I wore a dress. Because my last name was Badger. Because I liked to read. Because I wore a brace on my back. Because I rode the bus. My point, obviously is that children of all ages will tease other children for ANY reason, difference, or ability that they observe. Besides, what are we teaching our son if we tell him that we didn't give him ability-appropriate training because of the way he looks?! Additionally, I'm sick to death of people generalizing and saying that boys are behind girls...that is not always the case, nor is it always that cut and dried. They may be somewhat emotionally behind girls, but generally, their academic abilities are equal if not greater. Why do we continue to sell our sons short? I spoke to the pediatrician today, knowing that he is a developmentally concerned, but also a somewhat neutral party. He feels the same way that I do. He said that he totally understands why G feels the way he does, but we have to instill confidence in our son that we can do nothing about genetics, but we can make the most of our abilities...and we deal with our inabilities. He says that especially considering he missed the cutoff by a mere eight days, and clearly qualifies, he needs the stimulation and we should enroll him. We'll see what G has to say about it.