What's in a name?

Well I guess I can write about being pregnant now. I didn't want to until I was out of the first trimester. I feel like I have been walking on egg shells, not wanting to jynx anything. But all seems to being going well. I'll find out at the end January if this will be a daughter or son.

All of us, Brad Turner and I have the same intials. TBC. Lovely initials if I do say so myself. I always shared the same initials with my sister, my mother's simple genius at work. Two girls, one set of initials, hand me down work even for monogramed items. I always loved it. So when I was going to marry my sweetie I was nerdily overjoyed that he and I would have the same initials. I would still have someone to share that with, and yes, I know I'm a dork. So now my name list must consist of "T" first names and "B" middle names.

I am weird about naming a human being. It's a huge responibility. I have always loved my name. Tiffany Lynn- It fits me. Brad and I butted heads (imagine that) when coming up with Turner's name. I didn't want my child to have someone else's name. I have always had a weird notion that names go with certain preset personalities or character traits. I wanted my little baby to be able to make his name fit him and be only his. Brad wanted a "different" name for our son too. Brad, being one of only seven or eight Brad's that we know, didn't want his kid to be one of the many Tom, Dick, or Harry's in the world. Brad and I talked about our own names and he said he's never liked his. He never liked going by his middle name.

So what do we have to work with? Tabitha came up with perhaps the most perfect contender in the name race. Thunder Bolt! T-check B- check. Could be hollered out across a busy shopping mall and later across a football feild. My dad is standing by his favorite, one that I can't even spell--Tchopotoulis? I think not.

Being a parent is a huge responsibility, from the very begining on through to eternity. You don't stop being a parent simply because you die. The values you teach your children will live on past you and past them. Kindness instilled in a child will transcend generations, likewise, so will hate and malice. So even the naming of a new being is a huge responsiblity. I want a name worthy of a future president, star linebacker, teacher, father, mother, or anything else they wish to be.

I won't be listing my favorites, I still have five and a half more months to go and don't want anyone getting ideas for their new baby from my gaurded list. I have a girl name that is definite and pretty much decided. Although Brad has assured me that I won't need any names for a girl, because he doesn't make girls. We'll see. Boys names are harder. I am not anywhere close to narrowing down the field. It would probably be easier if I just liked traditional names. There's nothing wrong with all the tried and true stand-by's. I like biblical names, for other people's kids. I don't want a "Tchopotoulis" running around either. A normal sounding , yet original name is all I'm looking for. Not an easy task when you consider the world's growing population.

V

"Turner Drink Milk!" I have heard it about fifty times in the past five minutes. Turner is going through his list of stall tactics, anything to keep himself from falling asleep. We're back in Utah and trying to get back into our routine. Turner did sleep in his bed last night, thank you Jesus. He napped great yesterday but today he is going to shriveling up and blow away if he does not get a glass of milk. I promise he is well fed and fully hydrated.

Today is my five year anniversary. Brad and I's first multiple of five anniversary. Not a big number, like fifty, but I feel a weird sense of accomplishment. We have lived in three states in that time. We had our son. We had a misscarriage. Now we are pregnant and hopeful. Our lives are so different than they were five years ago. I thought we still wouldn't have kids by now. Now I wish we could have a few more than two. We live in the mountains, not the humid, endearing swamp that I just left. Now we rarely see the other side of ten p.m. We used to see the wrong side of sun up on a regular basis. Now sun up is when we get up instead of go to bed. I wouldn't trade any of it for the world, then or now.

So, with my measly little five years I feel pretty darn good. It's half way to ten and a quater of the way to twenty. I wonder what each new year will bring us? More children? New homes to put on the list of places we've lived? Nieces and nephews? Who knows? I do know that I want to find all of it out with Brad. He is an enormous pain in my ass about three quarters of the time, but I have always liked a little agrivation. Besides, I don't want to have to break a new one in and house train them. Brad is so close to being potty trained, I see a pee free floor in my future. I don't know if I could find someone who could live with all of my weirdness either.

My family let me know, on several occasions, this trip home that I am a tad bit bossy and controlling. Well, don't they know that my way is the best? I only want what is best for all of them, so why don't they listen damn it? Brad knows I am peculiar about certain things. He lets me have full control of the house and everything in and around it. I like to organize, so I do. I know that he is a stickler about having the checkbook balanced down to the penny. I try my best to remember to write everything down in it. He knows that I will not fry food except on special occasions. He lives with it and waits for trips home to eat all the fat laiden foods he craves. We compliment each other. We are the picture in the dictionary used as an example of "Opposites attract".

What would I do with another me? The world could not handle such a thing. So I have Brad. He's the big to my little, the stoic to my silly, the messy to my neat. I need that, and wether he'll admit it or not, so does he. So Happy Anniversary to us! The fact that neither of us in locked away for murder speaks volumes. Even though he is a hard man and not too sentimental, he softens up for me. You don't believe me? Come look at the huge boquet of flowers that just got delivered. He remembered. Off I go to smell the roses, and enjoy the times when my life is so sweet.

It's Christmas Time Pretty Baby

I am up listening to my son roll through the halls of my parnets house on his scooter. I am still groggy from the half a Unisom I took last night. My doctor says that one of it's ingredients will help fight nausea. I do not puke while I sleep, but that's all I can vouch for. Chirstmas is in two days, but it's not feeling Christmassy to me.

Sure, there's tons of stuff I still need to get done: Buy groceries, make an attempt at duplicating my Mawmaw's cornbread dressing, cook something to bring to Gran's, cook something to bring to Brad's Pawpaw's, finish wrapping presents, and finsh sewing gifts for my sister to give to her other nephews. But none of it feels like Christmas used to feel. I guess Christmas used to feel so fun and care-free simply because it was care-free.

As a child there was no budget for gifts, only the joy of opening them. There was nothing to cook, only the eating of my favorite meal. Everyone was happy and had nothing to worry about. Now I realize that the kids were the only ones with nothing to worry about.


Now I have a litany of things to play on my mind this Christmas: I am troubled by the cough Turner can't shake. Is it asthma? Am I keeping enough food down to let a normal, healthy baby grow? I am still down five pounds and I am in my second trimester. Do I keep my prenatal vitamin down long enough to absorb anything from it? Will Turner have a meltdown on Christmas and it's Eve, due to running around so much? Will we continue to come home for Christmas?

I know I will have a break next year. My sister is getting married right before Thanksgiving next year. So, we'll fly in for that, stay for Thanksgiving, and head back to our home to spend Christmas there. But while here for my sister's wedding will my in-laws get mad that I don't go to Brad's little cousin's wedding? She is planning on having her's the same day as Tabitha's. I will not leave my sister's reception. I will stay and help my parents pick up and clean up the wedding aftermath. Just like my sister did at my and Brad's wedding.

So, I need a few things from Santa this year. Santa could bring me a calm stomach, a little more time around Christmas to get things done, he could sway the other bride to be to want a lovely summer wedding, give me a good resolution for the "To fly home or not to fly home" delema that we'll face over the next several years. For the most part, these things I can figure out on my own. But wouldn't it be great if Santa could still fix all your woes? Now I turn my wish list over to God. He's better at helping with problems and far better at listening. He hears my list of hopes and dreams through out the day and at night as I lay down and try to clear my head. I not only ask things of Him, but spend countless prayers simply giving thanks. It reminds me of how fortunate I am and that my problems are so small compared to the problems others face.

I hope all of you are having a Merry Christmas this year. One where the presents take a back seat to the gift of having a family to open them with. I will enjoy watching my son open his gifts. What I will enjoy more is watch ing him play with his grandparents and love on his Aunt and Uncles. I will hope we are making memories for him that will be close to my cherished childhood memories. I wish all of you the same, time with your family and peace in you hearts.

Madder than a wet hen

Good morning. Mine's effing great. My baby is at my mother in law's so I should be taking advantage and sleeping in. Am I ? No, up being pissed off. OK, my darling husband flies in tomorrow. Just letting you all know this because he'll be needing a ride home from the airport, cause I won't be there to collect his grumpy ass.

He forgets that I am, shall we say, a little bit on the tempramental side. Do not snap at me, do not tell me to shut up, do not take me for granted, all things he needs to be reminded of from time to time. Why? Well, he married me because(this is my theory anyway) I am not like the other girls he dated. He could not intimidate me. I will not be bullied. And maybe my borderline psycho-ness is a little sexy. I married him because he could not be wrapped around my finger. I had, up to that point, worn all the men in my life on my manicured hands and they all ended up boring me.

We met our match in each other so to speak. He forgets this now and again and I have to let loose my uncaring and cruel self to remind him what lies just beneath the sweet demeaner. He gets used to his bed being made, lunch and supper being homemade everyday, robe being rehung in the bathroom with slippers beneath it, errands being run, house being spotless, travel plans being made, and all the other everyday nicities that he has become acustomed to. I love doing all of these things and so much more. But I will not do them, not a one, if they are unappreciated or if he is being a little too much of an asshole.

I will not be talked to in a way that is remotely disrespectful. I will not be told to shut up. I will not pick up the phone to make up. I will not give him his travel information and flight schedules if he is pissy with me on the phone. I will not pick him up from the airport should he figure out what airline I made his reservations with. I will also make no effort to be the first to cave.

I used to want to call and talk. Now I let him call me. I visited home my first few times and he never called. So I quit. It took him a couple days, but the phone rang. A pissed off, pouty little boy was onthe other end mad that I had not called. I explained that the phone works in both directions. Now we call each other for the most part. I like to remind him that I can live with out him. Cruel? Maybe. Do I care? Not at all.

Brad is a pain in the ass to live with. I have an on going fantasy of getting a can of peas and smashing it into his head when he's not looking. And for future reffrence Mr. Prossecutor, yes this will be the evidence you need to prove that my actions were premeditated.

To let you in on a secret: I do love him, dearly. I will remain married to him for a very long time. I will continue taking very good care of him, as long as he remembers what I am worth. If he does not, all agreemnets are null and void. So, he is just in need of his quarterly tune up. He's good for about 15,000 miles and then needs to be reminded how his life would be with out someone doing all the little things that make his days go smoother.

When you pick him up from the airport, perhaps you could stop by a florist and let him pick something pretty out for his lovely wife. Maybe even make him sign his own card. All he has to do is show me that he cares, and I will reign in the fire breathing she devil that has been let out to play. I will comb my hair and put away the fangs and claws and we'll all have a Merry little Christmas.

Not dead, just in Podunk

I'm not dead or on an internet strike, I'm just in Podunk. The actual name is Arcola, but it qualifies as Podunk. This is not a put down, just a fact. What, you ask makes a place "Podunkish"? Well you must be at least twenty minutes from any form of civilization. For example, to go to "the store" one must get in the car and drive for at least twenty minutes. Now don't go to hollering. I don't mean the mom and pop gas station that also sells milk and nightcrawlers, a real store.

Also, to earn the certification of Podunkish, all local merchants must look at you like you're crazy when you try to pay with (gasp) a debit card. Ther must also be the absesnce of any national bank branches. When you really need cash to purchase your night crawlers you have to use the local bank who only charges five dollars for the pleasure of using thier ATM. One of my other favorite things is the magic inability to use your cell phone indoors anywhere in Podunk. They work intermitantly while driving. As long as you do not got over signal scrambling hills or pass parish lines. Once inside, your cell phone may ring, but you can not actually talk on it. Houses in Podunk are apparently constructed much in the same manner as bomb shelters and are made to break up any kind of radio signal.

Podunk has it's upsides. My family is here. I can ride a four wheeler all day and never get tired of it. No noisey neighbors. No traffic sounds all night long, etc.

It just takes me a few days to readjust to the pace. I also have to realize that the posted speed limit is only the speed to stay under, not travel at. People here would cause wrecks in any urban area. They drive ten or more miles an hour below the speed limit. And for those of you who haven't visited Podunk lately, it's all two lane. No four lanes. No passing lanes. All curvey roads with streches of five or miles in which to get caught behind someone going about twenty-five miles an hour. So, I am still here, just not as here as I am at home if you know what I mean.

Say my name

So, Elmo has been on good behavior lately. No odd food stuffs in his mouth that he did not ask permission to eat. He has kept his noise level down while playing inside and has been very hygenic as of late. He is a good little monster. But much like Little Monster, he has charmed me into what I am sure will soon be mayhaem.

Elmo has been so good that he convinced me ask Santa, on Turner's behalf, for the Elmo Knows Your Name version of himself. Now, before soft Elmo was given to Turner, Santa tried to give the Name Elmo to Turner last year. Unfortunaltey, Santa's elves were sneaking whiskey into their hot chocolate while in the workshop . They left out Turner's name from the list of Elmo's known names. But after a series of write-ups and saftey citations, not to mention mandatory AA meetings for the elves involved, the situation was rectified. "Turner" is now availible for download via the internet. And if you hold a degree from MIT you can easily upload it into the new Elmo knows your name doll.

Don't you think "Santa" had an easier time at Christmas when it just involved putting G.I Joe's together or assembeling Barbie motorhomes? So, I called the North Pole help hotline while trying to upload the "Turner" into the Elmo should know Turner's name doll. I was greeted by a a really jolly elf who walked me step by step through teaching Elmo to say Turner. When he assured me all will be up and runing perfect we got off the phone. Only ten seconds later did I find out that Elmo now knows how to say "Good morning User One". Oh how sweet. It would've probably been a little easier to just change Turner's birth certificate to User One, but I am stubborn. I call the North pole back. They help me again, but this time it works! I feel as though a Mommy of the Year medal should be given to me by someone in a tux with really white teeth.

So now, Elmo knows Turner's name! Elmo also know's Turner's friends names, his favorite foods, what time he rises, what time he goes to bed, and his favorite toys even. Wait a minute, is this Secret Esbionage Elmo? Was he crafted to gather information to be sent back to monster headquarters? Will they be using said information to plan a hostile take over? I really wouldn't put it past anyone with the last name Monster.

So we will be intergrating Name Elmo into the family Sunday morning. Santa and I have had a few conference calls and he has bent the magic of Christmas for us. We will have our Utah Christmas a little early. Santa understands the high cost of airline travel, compounded by the expense of shipping back presents. Santa is a buisness man after all. I negotiated for use of his sled and reindeer team for our return home to carry all the Christmas loot, but the reindeer are union workers and our return schedule conflicts with their vacation time. Santa agreed to deliver Turner's presents early, it frees him up a little on Christmas Eve for an extra cookie break. I in turn, will consult him next year and negotiate our schedules. I will also be contacting a union rep for the reindeer to see if we can work something out.

I hope Turner enjoys Name Elmo. I hope Name Elmo will be let on the plane when we fly home and not confiscated as a threat to homeland security. I also hope that Little Monster doesn't corrupt Name Elmo and start using him to steal pay per veiw movies. The three of them will be under strict observation, Elmo, Name Elmo, and Little Monster. The trifecta of monstering is about to become a united front in my home, my Christmas wish is to stay ahead of the debauchery that I 'm sure is on it's way.

Grizzley Bear

My trip home for the holidays is less than a week away. I am so excited to see everyone, especially Tabba. But part of me is not ready to go. I usually don't mind leaving Brad behind and heading home. Not this trip. He has been so gentle and sweet for the past several months, I am going to miss him very badly.

Home will always be home, but I don't live there anymore. My home is now beside Brad. I thought it would never happen, but it has. I always knew I would never feel like anywhere else could ever be home. But time marches on and it has pulled me right along with it. I no longer feel like an outsider here. I know my way around the entire state, I know the local vanacular, I am very acustomed to the weather, I live here now.

I worry that my big strong husband will be really lonely for two weeks with a quiet house and no one to come home to. I will miss his huge arms wrapped around me, so tight that I can't think and have to surrender to sleep. I know how cold it is and worry about not being here to make sure he has a healthy dinner and a nice warm lunch the next day.

I guess what I am getting at is that Turner and I are Brad's family and he is ours. Just doesn't feel right not being together. Moving away changed our dynamic. I had to learn to rely on him and he on me. And it has been this way long enough that I really do like it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those whiney, dependent, unsure of herself women who has to have her husband's permission for everything. I have my own friends, my own life seperate from his.I have driven cross country on more than one occasion by myself. I fly all the time by myself, or in the last two years, wrangling my little boy with me. I lived in the US's fourth largest city for two years. Drove every where by myself and loved it. But I also love coming home and sitting down to dinner with my grizzley bear of a husband. I love how Ward and June Cleaver we can be. Cold nights spent down stairs after dinner just sitting in front of the fire, enjoying each other. I will miss bed time for Turner. We share the bathing and the getting him dressed. Then we all crowd into Turner's bed and read stories, our heads squished together on one pillow. I know Brad will miss Turner more than anyone can imagine. They are glued together from the minute Brad walks through the door at night.

I will miss my gruff other half even more because he's not a phone person. I'll call him every night. He will ask about our day, he will talk to Turner, tell me he loves me, and we'll say goodnight. All together it'll take about three minutes of phone conversation per night. Really, it's about all he talks when we're at home together, but I am sitting in his lap sharing his recliner, so it's better.

So I will really look forward to the day he gets to fly in. Then it will feel like a complete trip home. We'll eat too much, open presents, and I'll get to sit in his lap again. Then it'll be time for the Currier's to pack it up and leave. Head back to our home. Get back to the winter routine as we know it. Watching the weather, Brad salting the driveway for me the night before a storm, sledding, and being a family. All things that used to seem so foriegn, now are my daily life, and it's a life I truely love.

Beware, I'm feeling gross today...

The nature of vomit is fascinating to me these days. There are so many differents types, almost more types than there are foods. There's the all liquid, oh so easy to get up and out. The very dense foody type, it requires a lot of heaving. The empty stomach vomit, the worst of all. Piecey vomit, happens after you eat leafy vegetables. So many more but I won't go into every type or I'd be here all day.

I experience one or more of these a day as of late. Usually my breakfast stays with me. What about one packet of Quaker oatmeal could really be that offensive anyway? Lunch, lunch is a crap shoot. How the dice land will only be known after they have been tossed, pardon the pun. I do OK with very bland, plain, repetitive things-my good ole turkey sandwich. Supper, my suppers are never good. If it weren't for Brad and Turner insisting on eating I would shut down the kitchen at noon. Supper rarely stays down.

I have three options that fall upon me as the dinner hours beckons. None of the options are desirable, but here's what I have to choose from:

Option One - Eat supper, a very small supper. Remember to drink lots of tea or water. The fluid intake is critical. If fluid intake is low, I will have the foody type throwup which causes a near black out from the sheer wretching and convulsions it takes to get it up and out. Lots of fluid = no passing out.

Option two - Bite the bullet ahead of time, throw up before I attempt to eat supper. This is the option I choose out of sheer despiration for want of food in my stomach. This involves the worst of the vommit types, the empty stomach vommit. Typically not much in there but acid and bile. But this one hurts and burns so much it is to be done only in the most dire of circumstances. Recovery from this takes a while. My throat is on fire, as are my sinuses. Just like clock work, some stomach acid will get into my sinuses with this and I will smell and feel it up there for an hour or so. The rewards are small for braving this, a very small supper can be held down about eighty percent of the time. When I say small, I mean small, less than what I would portion off for Turner. But when it does stay down I feel moderately nauseated til I go to bed, but the next morning is with out the sea sick feeling for a few hours.

Option three - It isn't really an option, it's what happens when it goes beyond my control. This is the "option" I had lat night. It is a combo of options one and two. Makes for not a very pleasant night, if you know what I mean.

Now all of this probably sounds like the world's best loose weight quick plan, but alas, I am not trying to loose weight. I am down about five pounds, an trying to go no lower than that. When I feel good, I do eat. I try to eat healthy, you know, get more bang for my buck. But sometimes all I want is soda and junk. I hate soda, coke, pop, what ever you call it. I know it's all bad for you. I usually only drink water, skim milk, a small amount of juice (cause let's face it, it's just sugar), and decaffinated, unsweetened tea. All of these are pretty good for me in one way or another. The Cherry Coke I have been lusting after has no nutritionally redeeming qualities. I have had two Cherry cokes and one Dr Pepper in the past month. Way more than I should, but sometimes everyone buckles I guess.

So I will do battle with the nausea, cronicle it for anyone sick enough to read a reveiw of vommit, and hope it passes in a few weeks. Til then I have advice for you, chew your food very well. You never know when you might get food posioniong or a sudden stomach virus. Well chewed food is the key to getting things up and out. You mom was right again, imagine that, "Chew your food dear, you don't want to choke".

Pickles and cottage cheese

Pickles and cottage cheese, gross I know. It's what I have wanted to eat for the past few days. Lowfat cottage cheese, with salt, and either a sweet or dill pickle. Strange what hormones will make you crave.

Now, I know that I have a few odd eating habits. I like the taste of mayonaise mashed potatoes, mayonaise toast, ketschup on my red or white beans, peanutbutter and honey, french fries dipped in my Frosty and so on. Everyone has things they eat that would seem weird to another person.

What will be my taste tomorrow? Prerhaps chocolate frosting covered potato chips, or an avacodo/vanilla shake? Who knows? When I was pregnant with Turner I had the strongest need to eat olives. This struck me as odd because I don't eat olives. But, never the less, I got up, drove to Albertson's, bought a can of black olives, drove home, and sat down and ate every last olive. To this day Turner still loves olives. When we go out to eat we get the olives on our salads served on the side and he eats every last one. He also orders his own olives for his Subway kid's sandwhich. Strange isn't it?

Thankfully, I can cook just about anything. So if I get a hankering for something odd I just go make it for myself. I know I can cook, if you looked at Brad's waist and you'd know it too. Besides, I have a Mormon friend who likes to steal my recipes and pass them off as her own. Isn't impersonation the sincerist form of flattery?

Thanksgiving for the Currier's is not being spent at our house this year. We'll load up the food and bring it to our friends'. Being a good cook is a burden sometimes. I only agreed to go elsewhere for the holiday if I could still make the cornbread dressing, caseroles, and dessert. Brad and I were meant to be together, he'll only go if he gets to prepare and fry the bird. So, if your ever looking for a work free Thanksgiving, invite us to your house, we'll bring all the food and do clean up after.

It just wouldn't be a "real" Thanksgiving with out my Mawmaw's cornbread dressing and my Gran's sweet potao caserole. If I can't have all my family here, then I'll at least have their food and all the memories that come with it.

My sister is a damn good cook too. I will be missing out on her pumpkin cheese cake this year. It has become it's own tradition and a necessary item on the buffet. Luckily, she'll make it for me at Christmas. I may not live there, but I still have stroke.

So I am off to eat my third helping of salty cottage cheese and pickles for the day. I hope the weird cravings last long enough for me to use up the food bought to satisfy them. At this rate all looks good, but tomorrow is another day.

No more sweet dreams

So we're back, Vegas was fun but I am so glad to be back to normal. Turner is having a hard time adjusting to being back at home. He loved me sleeping in his bed all week. I even slept with him at nap time. Now he thinks that should be our new routine.

Brad and I did the "Cry it Out" method with Turner when he was 8 months old. He slept in our bed and nursed all through the night up to that point. I was desperate for a real night's sleep. The book Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child was purchased and read cover to cover. We dove right in. Put him in his own room, in his own bed and let him scream his little lungs out. It was the hardest three nights I have ever spent. The agonizing cries of my baby going on for two hours, then one hour, then the third night only for a couple minutes. From then on Turner has slept in his own bed and gone to sleep easily.

Until recently his sleep habits were almost too good to be true. A story, a hug, a kiss and off to sleep with out a peep. The honeymoon is over. He knows we're out here, staying awake with out him. He wants to be with me. Is it such a horrible thing?

In through the door parades my mommy guilt. I hate hearing him cry. Is he scared in there in the dark? Will he be scarred for life from the trauma of being left alone in his room? What should I be doing to make this better? When he wakes up in the morning and sounds like a little two year old smoker, horse from yelling, can my heart break more? When the crying stops and he just asks in a quiet voice "Mommy please come Turner's room, Please?" How do I not?

I, of all people, know how important it is for a person to learn to sleep well on their own, but at what price? I need my sleep, so does Brad. We also need time to just the two of us. I need an hour or two a day with out Turner on top of me. All of which makes me feel guilty.

I love every minute with him, but I also value my time from eight to ten at night when I get some down time. On the rough terrible two days I really envy working moms. To get to function all day with other adults, what a luxury. But on the good days, and on almost everyday, I feel so blessed to watch his every little milestone as it races past.

So I hope he goes back to sleeping and napping easily. I hope I can stand it til then. I am not like Brad, I can not just tune it out with a loud TV. Turner doesn't call out for Papa either, only My Mommy. I need him rested and happy. I need to be rested and happy too. I need to not dred bed time and hold my breath when I turn out the light.

Vegas Baby

I have to pack today. I am not too fond of packing. I am never sure of what to bring, so I bring everything. Besides packing, I need to worry about what to bring on our trip to keep Turner occupied in the car for six or seven hours.

Don't get me wrong, I think a week in Vegas with my boys will be fun. Turner and I are planning on swimming until we just can't stand it anymore. Brad will only be in meetings for six or so hours a day. So, we'll actually get to see much more of him than we normally do.

I am just not that big on Vegas. I've been twice, feel like that's all I ever need to go. Really, I was done after my first visit. I don't gamble. I may waste twenty bucks on an entire trip to Vegas but that's just because we're there. I could go the rest of my life without buying a lotto ticket or playing the slots. I know lots of people love it, but not me.

So, Turner and I will go check out the M&M Museum, we'll catch the acts at Circus Circus, we'll walk by and watch the pirate shows. This will probably be my most fun trip to Vegas because I'll ge to watch Turner see all of it for the first time.

I have the best memories of my childhood. We did so many fun things, far too many to count. We did Disney three or four times, Six Flags at least that many, we went camping on just about every school break, we hit every fair and festival and it's parades, we had the best childhood anyone could ever ask for. As great as all of it was, it doesn't compare to being a parent and getting to do all of it over again and watching the person you love most in the world experince joy. Now I know why my parents brought us to so many things. They were sneaky, letting us think it was for Tabba and I. Now I know that they were having the best time watching us be happy kids.

So we'll let Turner stay up late and watch the light shows. We'll stand in front of the dancing water and let him dance too. I will enjoy letting someone else make our beds everyday. I will also enjoy not having to cook or do the dishes for a week. Brad will love getting to see Turner in the daylight hours. That's a luxury he isn't often afforded, he leaves before sun up and returns after dark six nights a week.

So maybe a week in Vegas won't be that bad. We'll eat out, we'll be tourist, we'll swim ourselves silly, and most importantly we'll spend time together. That is what is most important. I hope when Turner is my age and has kids of his own that he looks back and can say that he had the best childhood ever. It's the best thing my mom and dad ever gave me. Fond memories, a strong family, and a blueprint on how to try to be a good Mom to my children. Thanks Mom and Dad.

Redemption

So Mr Gay Gay Husband got himself an idenity makeover. Arguments serve a purpose in a relationship, I suppose. Maybe me telling him what was actually making me mad instead of just arguing about what was at hand helped.

Women hold on to words, fights, and emotions, or at least I do. Mr Formerly Gay Gay Husband does not hold onto or really remember arguments. Men are simply hardwired different from us. This makes living with them challenging. Living with Brad is like having a split personality. I have to do what makes me happy and at the same time think about what makes him happy. These are ususally at two different ends of the spectrum.

I have to realize that on his day off he likes to rest, not hike or bike just because I want to. He has to realize that I am not a lay around the house and stare at the TV type of girl. I have to realize that until Hell freezes over I won't be receiving loves notes. He has to realize sometimes you just have to say something nice, even if it takes effort.

So when does marraige become easy? I don't know if it ever does. I don't mean complacient, just not a struggle. I realize now why the divorce rate is so high. Sharing your life with the same person for years on end is just plain hard. It takes so much work. Thankfully having Turner made some things easier for us. We fell right into being Mommy and Papa like we were meant to do this together.

If money were no object I would love to have at least four kids. Those first few sleep deprived, walking zombie-like months were my favorite time of my enitire life. Watching Brad become a father, lying awake at night, nursing a baby and feeling Brad's hand reach out for both of us was when I knew I was meant to be a mom.

I loved nights with Tuner. Maybe because he really didn't cry much at night. Maybe I loved them because I finally had someone to keep me company when I couldn't sleep. Now I love nightime because both my boys look so sweet and innocent when they sleep. I cannot wait to have a baby to share the wee hours with again. I cannot wait to have a baby to share with Turner and Brad.

Mr Formerly Gay Gay Husband listened to me and made real efforts. Our marriage is like all things living, it cannot survive with out being fed and nurtured. Our marriage is lots of hard work intertwined with waves of heartache, and surges of happiness. The trick is to find someone who can ride the eb and flow with you.

I have thought about the new age of internet dating. If Brad and I both went on Match.com I know, without a doubt, they would never match the two of us up. They may even catorgerize the two of us as combustible if mixed. But I need the flames and the explosions. After all, waht would the Fourth of July be with out the fireworks?

Passive agressive anger management

Passive agressive anger management. That's what Myspace is all about. I am pissed at Brad right now so I take him off my "Top Friends" list. Will he notice? No, he doesn't log in. Will he read this? No, he has never read a one of my blogs. Does he notice a damn thing about me? No, and never will.

He is gay, that's why he doesn't notice. He salivates to watch men in tight spandex costumes dance around and hump each other. You've probably seen it too, Monday night wrestling. Ask him any of their names, weights, records and he can spout it out. Ask him my middle name and he'll have to think a minute and then guess. So this is my passive aggressive way of venting my frustrations about Mr. Gay Gay Husband.

It's not like I can actually argue with him. He just yells and screams then falls asleep. Did I mention he's a gay narcaleptic? He's in love witht the TV. He loves to gaze longingly into it's eye for hours at a time. He gets very upset if anyone comes between him and his precious TV. If I made him choose between me or TV in our house, I'm sorry to say that I would loose.

The long hours of brain melting TV watching have leeched away so many braincells I am sure he will be a farting, burping vegtable any day now. Now don't take this loving review of my husband's bad habbits to heart. Don't call me and ask if we're alright, or are you wanting a divorce? Think about it for a second, what right minded wife doesn't want a divorce from time to time? Doesn't mean I really want to be rid of him, I just want to be mad at him for a while. And if you've never had these same type of frustrated feelings about your husband or wife, well then you haven't really been married, have you?

Isn't it supposed to be healthier to "let it out" when dealing with feelings of frustration and anger instead of letting it drive you nuts? That is all I am trying to do, it's cheaper than therapy you know? So, I will get on here and rant and rave about my stupid gay husband all I want, afterall it is "My"space.

Be forewarned, I am moody, very bitchy and not likely to take crap from anyone these days. Nausea and vomiting kind of make me that way. While doing my daily worship to the porcelin god out pours my filter, the thing that keeps me from saying what I really think. Also, out goes lots of my patience. All of the ice around me is thin, so move cautiously.

Mr. Gay Gay Husband has not read the warning signs. He has not paid attention to the flashing caution lights. He just skates right on over and does a big gay tripple sow cow and lands right on my thin ice. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I don't think I am particularly scorned, just fed up and pissed off at his inability to show love, care, or concern. I know I have waxed poetic about his strong silent nature but that was a different day. When I feel bad, I am a miserable person to deal with. It's very easy to get around this bitchiness though. Much the same way natives would offer up sacrifes to angry gods, throw in a "how're you feeling" or an "I love you" once in a while. This might keep the bubbling fires of the volcano settled.

Morning musings

Tomorrow is my baby's birthday. So much has happened in two years. Two be came three. Lets hope three can become four. Turner changed Brad and I, all in good ways. Brad, my tough man, now has a softer side. He gets to be a kid again. Sometimes it feels like I have two boys instead of one. I have to break up fights, nag at both of them to pick up behind themselves, you know the stuff moms do.

Turner has turned into his own little person. He has clear likes and dislkes, even if I don't always know what they are. He acts more like his father everyday. This is usually a good thing. They love each other. Turner now screams "My Papa" if I try to sit in Brad's lap. I am still "My Mommy" but he's prefering Papa more everyday. I am lucky that "My Husband" is such a great father. The two don't always go hand in hand. Brad is patient and doesn't see Turner as a chore or burden, but as his buddy and his blessing.

Brad has been great the past couple weeks. I have been a little under the weather. He has pitched in around the house and helped so much. When I am cruddy feeling I wish that our families were a little closer, but they are not so we make do.

I am watching Turner move my file box up to the bookshelf and climb up to get his markers. When did the feat become possible? Probably around the same time speaking in sentences and picking out his own clothes happened. Scary how fast time flies once you have a child. One minute you are holding a sweet smelling newborn, the next minute they are walking, then telling you "No I don't want oatmeal".

I wonder if people with out kids realize how slowly time marches on? I didn't realize it before I had Turner. Now I am keenly aware of how it races by. He is bigger everyday. He knows new words or senteces and asks new questions everyday. My heart grows bigger with love for him everyday.

Brad and I are still growing too. I'm lucky that being parents together suits us. I try to be more patient with him and I think that goes both ways. My mom and dad stayed with us and thought that we bickered, a lot like my aunt and uncle do. I told this to Brad and he had the same reaction I did " What are they talking about? We never argue." I thought it was funny. We don't argue often but we do disagree. We are such different personalities it would be hard for us to live in the same house much less the same state if we tried to agree on every little thing. I guess we do bicker, but that's the way I like it.

Dog gone crazy

So the house is cleared out. My mom and dad are some where in New Mexico, on the first leg of their journey home. My house is quiet, very quiet. Brad's watching his army show in the living room and I am in the office listening to silence.

We found out yesterday that my boy is allergic to dogs. This comes as an absolute shock to me. How can my child be allergic to dogs? He's been around them since he was born. He loves them just like I do. We both can see the good in all of the breeds. We both love to pet friendly dogs on the street. But he is allergic.

In light of this discovery DeVille is also somewhere in New Mexico. We sent her with my mom and dad to see if her not being in the house will make a big difference to Turner. So far the only difference I notice is that we both miss her something fierce. We will see her when we get home in December. We will more than likely take her back to Utah with us after Christmas. Now before anyone thinks I am putting my love of all things furry and four footed before the health of my child, just wait a second. Turner will have to be on Zyrtec long term because of his allergy. Most of my friends have dogs. All of my family has dogs. He will come in contact with other children on a daily basis who have dogs. There are dogs in my neighborhood, next door even. So Brad and I think that he'll be OK with a few added measures of protetion.

I am totally ready to vaccuum more often, bathe DeVille every two to three days, and keep her out of his room and off his bed. He needs his "D". I do too. She is one of us. She goes everywhere we do. She vacations with us, she flys more than most people that I know, and she is deeply enbeded in all of our hearts. Brad even said the house just feels weird without her.

How will Turner get the life lessons that loving a dogs brings with it? You love them and you enevitably loose them, it's part of growing up. When he has a bad day in school, who will he nuzzle up to and feel better when a mom or pop won't do.

To many people, this would not be an issue. They would just give away the dog and be done with it. I can't do that. I also can't give away my family, who owns and loves dogs. I can't give away my frinds because they have shared their lives with K-9's. I can't give away my neighbors and all the people in the world whose paths we cross while they are out walking their dogs. It's an allergy, not a life sentence.

I will give him his medicine. I will make sure he washes his hands after playing wiht Villey. I will teach him not to smush their faces together, no matter how fun that can be. He will learn to love her in a new way and we will adjust our home and routines to keep both of them happy and healthy.

Turner has asked for "D" so many times today it really made me realize how much she is a part of our little family. Though she is only seven pounds the hole that's left in her absence is huge.

We're Back

So we survived the vacation. Yellowstone is magnificent. I loved the wildlife, but haven't I always loved all types of wild life? Turner was great in the truck. Never fussing about the drive. He was thrilled at every new sight.

All of it was great, but I am apparently jaded. I have beautiful mountains right out my front window. I have no wild animals wandering around here, unless you count Brad before he's good and awake. I loved the sunsets at Yellowstone. They were beautiful beyond words. The geysers were neat, but steam blows out of my ears on weekly basis too.

The hot steaming pools of pure blue water that looked good enough to soak in were nice. But paled in comparrison to gazing into the blue depths of Turner's eyes.

I guess what I am getting at is the majesty God created is breathtaking, but not breathing. The most wonderous of His creations is rolling around on the floor in my living room playing with his grandfather right now.

I have studied every inch of Turner since before he was born. Eevery ultrasound, every kick, every inch of him is amazing. How fast he learns, the depths of his feelings, how the sun looks bouncing off of his hair. He is truely breathtaking.

The vacation was great because it was spent with my family. Hell, it was even great spending time with Brad. But all I kept thinking was that God had it easy making the mountains and geysers. People, now that's a challenge. Everyone of us is different. Our minds and souls so complex no two will ever be exactly the same, that is nature's beauty.

10 feet tall and bullet proof

So I have always known that I am a little crazy. It's also always been fine with me. I know I am controling, bossy, possesive, and some might call me a bit dominate. I am OK with all of it. What I am not OK with is being helpless.

My first memory of being truely helpless was when my sister was in kindergarten. One of the little boys in her class, one of her friends, was killed in a four wheeler accident. I think his name was Barron. She cried herself to sleep after my mom and dad told her what had happened. This being a traumatic day for everyone bedtimes were off and I was up late. I couldn't quit moving, now I know this is what a caged animal feel like. I was sick on my insides.

I remeber telling my mom how I was feeling and she explained that they all were felling that way b/c we couldn't help Barron, and we couldn't help Tabba feel better. This is a feeling I will hate for the rest of my life.

Being helpless is my #1 fear in life. It is a constant worry that someone at home will need me and I will be way the hell out here in UT. Now what you might ask do I think I can do to rewind time and stop a car accident or heart attack? Not a damn thing but be there.

Now this need to be there stems from my belief that I am truely invincible. I am always a little shcoked when I see pictures of Brad and I. I am almost a full foot shorter than him but I have never noticed. In my mind I am big and strong enough to protect him from any danger. I didn't know til last Christmas that I am a lot shorter than my mom and sister. I always just assumed that I was taller b/c I have always thought of myself as the big one who'll protect them. When people called me petite I just thought they were joking.

After I had Turner my proctective nature multiplied by a hundred fold. I threatened a women's life in walmart b/c she insisted on trying to touch my 6 day old miracle. I don't know what came over me but the thought of her RSV flu germ carring hands even near my baby drove me over the edge. She had the nerve to mutter "How rude" under her breath as she walked away. Don't mumble, it only pisses me off more-rabbid animals can smell fear remember?

So when I talked to Tabba today she said someone close to her had really hurt her feelings. I listened and tried my best to do what ever I could to make her feel better. I feel helpless way the hell out here. I need to be able to drive to her house and hug her. I need to be where I can get to her when ever she or any of my family need me. I also need to learn to calm down and be rational when I feel my blood literaly rising at the thought of someone hurting soemone I love. Not ignore my feelings, just not get arrested either.

It's not just Turner and Tabba, they just happen to be at the top of my list. My parents, my husband, all of my little cousins, my family- they're all up there-so don't mess with them. I used to beat up my little cousins, but don't you touch a hair on their heads or you have to deal with me.

So I am still not sure what it is I am supposed to do when I grow up. But I have known from a very early age that I am some sort of protector for those I love. If you don't have this gene, this deep inside of you need to watch over people then this is really hard to grasp. I get it from my dad, he's a protector too.

There are draw backs to being this way. I am controlling to the point of agrivation. I want to dictate what you eat to make you healthier and live longer. You have to call and tell me when you're running late. You have to buckle up damn it. And I'll all but pee on you to let the world know you're mine and to leave you the hell alone. This makes me a pretty good friend and very bad enemy. I have a horrible temper and a long memory. I am not quick to forgive and I never forget. This will make me old fast and burn holes in my stomach but it's who I am.

Get to packing

Get ready, get set, OK vacation! So I should be washing all the clothes and packing the suitcases, but I'm not. I am soaking up the silence. Nikki used to say "SHHHHHHH, hear that?" I would tell her I don't hear anything, she'd say "Exactly". Quiet is a comodity that is scarce when you get married and it's a far away dream once you become a mom. I love all the noise-Sesame St on the TV, washing machine downstairs, dishwasher upstairs, toys flying across the room and banging into the walls, and "Mama" screamed about a thousand times a day. I love all of it. I also really like it when it's quiet. Just the noise from the cars passing outside.

The minute Brad walks in the house the TV must be turned on and up loud. He likes it, I like him so I live with it. After I've spent a weekend with him I am so ready for him to go back to work so I can clearly hear all the voices in my head. I like it when Turner and I first get up and it is silent. No cars outside because the rest of the world is still sleep at 5 am. No TV, just me and my boy and two bowls of oatmeal. This is better than meditaion.

But the clothes need to be washed and packed, we're going on vacation tomorrow. We'll be gone 5 days. This is the longest Brad and I have ever been on "vacation". We come home a couple times a year for a week or two but it's not really vacation, it's home. I am really looking forward to this trip. Yellowstone is suppsoed to be gorgeous. Plenty of photo opportunities for me. So I'll pack in a minute. Gonna listen to the breeze for a little while longer.

When I do pack, I will pack more crap than we will ever need. This is the thing to do when you have a 2 yr old. An extra outfit for everyday-check, toys-check, snaks of every description-check, absolute necesities(Bear and Elmo)-check, diapers, pull-ups and extra underwear-check, everything Brad will surely forget-check, all my stuff except a few really needed items-check. It's mom and husband duty to pack for all of their needs and in the process forget about most of mine.

I think this is why women become so much nicer to each other once they become moms. I did. Now when I see a mom with a screaming baby on a plane I don't roll my eyes or wish the kid would shut up. Now I offer some of Turner's toys and say to her-Hey it happens to all of us, no big deal. Being a mom means taking care of everyone's everything first, and then if there is a spare minute squeezing in some time for your stuff too. So now I realize this is probably how all the other women, moms and wives feel. This is how it's supposed to be. It's our job.

Robitussin High

Robitussin High
Mr Robitussin, What in the hell are you selling? I got up at 10 and took 2 tsp of your cough concoction. I don't remeber walking back to the bedroom. Right after the awful taste there was a fabulous black out period. I don't even remeber falling asleep. I woke up at 3 wandering where the hell I was? I stumbled to the bathroom and thought I 'd be able to go back to sleep when I got back in bed, WRONG.

The good news- I am not couhging. The bad news-I am not sleeping. I have cotton mouth something awful and my heart is a little fast. I hate medicine. It always has this lovely effect on me. I am tired I know I should be passed out for 2 more hours.

I figured I'd get up before my tossing and turning woke Brad up, yeah right. I have laid in the bed for an hour and a half with my eyes closed but it ain't working. I am trying to shut down my brain and quit thinking. I am really trying to quit singing the stupid song that is embeded in my head right now. When I wake up at night it's like a record is skipping, playing the same section of song over and over in my mind. Tomorrow it'll be a different one at least.

What is so important that I must be up and thinking? Power Yoga. We have a daycare appointment and will be at the gym at 7:50. I love yoga. Makes me feel good, good and sore, but good. Maybe I will be able to lay down when Turner naps. That would be nice to catch a couple of hours of sleep, but I don't think it'll happen. I can't sleep in the day time. My eye lids are too thin. Even a little bit of light wakes me up, much less the noon day sun.

Turner is the same way. He is a very light sleeper. Brad has to park his truck on the street instead of in the driveway so it doesn't wake Turner up when he leaves to go to work. I can't just open the door and check on him either. Any noise out of the ordinary and his head pops up. I hate this for him. I know what lies ahead and it's not a lot of peaceful nights.

I got this from my dad. He can't sleep for crap either. He got it from his mom who would sit up at night worrying about ziplock bags. Why couldn't I have gotten the amazingly thick healthy hair gene?

I woryy that I am passing some of my bad habbits to Turner too. To me they're not bad, rather annoying. I am a little OCD. I have rules for life, dressing, eating, just about anything, you name it and I have some preconcieved notion of how it "should be". I am not a clean freak. But when I clean I am freaky about it. I stripped the floors yesterday. Yes the same floors that I scrubbed while on my hands and knees last weekend. But it wasn't good enough they needed to be cleaner. Turner cried b/c I wouldn't let him wear latex gloves, he cried b/c he couldn't come in the kitchen, and he cried b/c he couldn't help clean.

Now I know that most of this is just him wanting to do what Mommy's doing. But I worry, it's what I'm good at. Turner picks up his clothes and puts them in the dirty clothes basket. We wash our hands after going potty and before eating or touching food. He knows the system of the pantry and what food goes in what space on which shelf. None of these are bad things. I think being organized makes life easier. I also know that I organize my closet to go from sleevless to long sleeve, with a whole system of color arrangement and placement according to the style of the garment. Yes, I can tell when I am a complete nut job. I spent an hour not too long ago doing this whole "closet craziness" in Brad's closet. Everything re-hung to face the same direction, sorted into a work side and a not work side, colors grouped together, all pants and jeans refolded, belts rolled up and put in their basket, and shoes clean and in each of their spots. Oh, what a good mood I was in for a week. I know technically I could just hang things where ever and it would be OK, but the thought of it makes me want to hurl.

Now I watch my craziness in a different way. I don't want to make Turnr OCD. Nobody likes a cleaning Nazi. But I am also aiming to make him the world's best grown man, and if he chooses best husband. Hey, if he can put his dirty clothes in the hamper before his second birthday he is light years ahead of his father.

ER . 2

So this is ER visit # 2 for Turner B. His first was right after we moved into this house. He pushed through the gate at the top of our deck and fell down a flight of redwood stairs. When I picked him up he was bleeding from the mouth. Long story short- he was fine just tore the connector thing that attaches your upper lip to you gums.

Tonight was much less dramatic. Brad got home early from work, we ate super and I was cleaning up the kitchen. Turner was literally under my feet. Brad came to pick him up and go play. When he stood up I noticed Turner's eye was red. Figured he poked himself, then I washed it out with salien solution.

I give him his bath and his eye is getting worse, the lids are starting to swell. I peel them apart and his eyeball is very swollen. We hurriedly get dressed and head to the instcare.

We register, tell the receptionist that he has an irratated eye etc. We sit, and it is apparent there will be a wait. Brad and I look him over and decide his eye is getting worse very fast. This is when Brad's scary gruff side comes in handy. He goes up speaks to the receptionist again. Not 20 seconds later one of the doctors is out look at T's eye and we are brought back.

Well, we hold Turner down and the doc looks as best he can. Doesn't see anything in it. Comes back and wants to give Turner a sedative so he can get a better look. So we hold him down again and he gets a shot.

This is Brad's first time watching someone give Turner a shot. Turner and I are old hats at this. But it sucks every time. Turner is a sweet charming boy and talking to everyone the whole time. Well we look again and decide that nothing is stuck in my baby's eye -good news. Bad- we don't know what is giving him this reaction. It is scarry, but mommy and papa can't act scared and make Turner nervous.

When I say swollen eye, let me explain. The whites of his eye were swelling to the point of over lapping the blue iris. Bad red swelling, scary as hell. The doctor gave Turner an injection of a powerful antihistamine. Within 5 minutes his eye started going down again, thank God. The doctor thinks he had localized anafalaxis, a bad allergic reaction to who knows what? We stayed a few minutes and it kept going down. We were sent home with a scrip for the antihistamine and a red eyed boy.

Now I know why my parents looked so sick anytime they had to bring Tabba or I to the emergency room. When they shut my hand in the door of our van they looked worried, but nothing like an ER visit with Tabba. I was little, don't remember exactly what happened. She had a high fever, was really out of it and we rushed her in. My mom and dad looked so bad that I was really scared. They couldn't fake acting OK, not even to a six year old big sister. I know now that they thought she may have had meningitis. Thankfully she did not.

Being helpless to protect the one person you would give your life for is a miserable feeling. Being a parent means literally being powerless. We can cook the foods that are healthy, we can buy the best carseats and put them in the safest vehicles, we can make them wear gloves in the winter and sunscreen in the summer, but we cannot protect them from freak accidents or horrible illnesses.

I am over protective, I know this and I am totally OK with it. I get it honest. My parents are two of the most over protective people I know. I thank God that they are. It's why I made it through 3 bad car wrecks, and Tabba a couple too. We wear our seat belts, just like mom and dad. We lock our doors, b/c we have been told to do so almost everyday of our lives. I will make Turner do all of these things and a million more. If I could have a lojack installed on him I would.

My life will be spent trying to keep him as safe as I know how. I will irratate the ever living shit out of him, just like my mom and dad did for me. I now realize that they weren't trying to bug me. They just loved me so much that they saw the danger that could've been around every corner, and tried to protect me from it.

So Turner will put up with a hovering mom, no privacy, being reminded to buckle up-even when he already has, and take his vitamins. The thought of anything happening to him makes me quiet and still like peering into a darkness that I fear I would never return from. I know God only gives you what you can handle. I hope he knows that I can't handle much.

When I see people I used to know, and they have kids now, I know why they look older. Those who remain childless age too but it's different. Once I became a mom my mind never stopped. Everything in the world has to be looked at from a different angle. You see the potential for evil and are surprised by the good in people. The "Weight of the world on you shoulders" is just that. It the world that you try to hold back from your kids. Only filter through the good and safe and keep the rest at bay. I know that there are so many things that I will not be able to protect him from. Hate, rejection, bias, God forbid-car wrecks and illness. So I will work as hard as I can to keep him safe from the things I can prevent and hope the rest will side step him

One of my happiest days...

So today started just like so many other truely happy days. Woke up to Turner calling for Mama. We ate breakfast together while watching the best of Sesame St. We got dressed and headed to Becky's house. The kids played, the mommies painted and talked, a good start to any day.

We all had lunch together, how great to look around the table at faces I adore? Then Turner and I went home. He fell asleep on the way, which gave me a quiet moment to talk to my favorite Aunt. I carried my sleeping angel up the stairs and tucked him in. He slept and I cooked homade spaghetti for my honey's supper.

I got a call from Nikki. It makes my day when she calls from work. She misses me just like I miss her. Turner woke up and we played in the back yard for hours. We even called Mimi K and he talked up a storm. After he almost fell asleep in the swing we came in just in time to catch a call from Tunia and Booyah. Have I mentioned before how much I love my mom and dad?

Capped the phone calls off with a conversation about absolutely nothing with my sister. This is my favorite way of talking with Tabba. Not rushed, not about anything important, but just talking, being sisters. Could my day get any better?

Well, low and behold, in through the front door walks the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on. No not Mathew Mc.Conhehay or Johnny Depp. Brad- big, strong, and a little dirty- I personally go nuts for how he looks after a long day of work. Me and the men in my life sit down to dinner together as a family .

So today I have spent time with friends, played with my baby boy, talked to all of the ppl I love but can't visit everyday, and been thrilled to see my husband come home safe from work. My cup runneth over,but it gets so much better. Right after supper and watering the roses Turner is climbing in my lap and I ask him to say Mommy. I ask this everyday and everyday he smiles and says Mama. He can say or repeat anything but has never had the inclination to call me Mommy. But today he named me his Mommy! It is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. I wanted him to call me mommy from the get go but it didn't happen. Brad calls me Mama and Turner followed suit.

Brad is not wild about "mommy". He says it makes him sound like a baby. Hello, is he not still a baby? But he already wants him to be a tough boy, not a mama's boy. I understand, but I have a right to be Mommy if only for a short time. I know he'll out grow "mommy" then I'll be Mama again then down to Mom. Does the shortening of our name correlate to their lessening need of us? It doesn't matter because I am Mommy right now and so blessed to be such.

I have been doing some thinking, I know, watch out that could be dangerous. But my thinking goes like this: Women are born with X amount of eggs. Period the end, you don't get more. So these eggs are with us from birth. To which I take to mean that Turner has been with me all my life. Or at least what was to become Turner. I love this idea. He has been mine since I became my mother's. Is this why it took so long for me to realize that he was actually a seperate person from me? I didn't leave him ever, not for a single minute til he was 3 months old and my mom, dad and sister kept him for an hour. I was terrified. But he survived and didn't even miss me.

So he has always been a part of me. I hope I will always be a part of him. I hope he doesn't out grow me. I don't care what he calls me, so long as he keeps calling me.

Winds of change

Oh the wind is blowing tonight. Blowing in some changes. Changes to a diaper free winter. We have been back into the potty training circus. All week Turner has worn underwear, not the same pair all day, usually two or so but we're on the way.

While on this journey I have discovered a few things. It is harder to train two than one. One is almost two, one is almost 33. I marvel at what testosterone does to a body. It makes men men. It transforms sweet loving little boys into hairy sweaty men. It can take a skinny boney kid and make a brick wall of a man out of him.

With all it's amazing properties, testosterone does have a few draw backs. The most prominate is the inability to hit the toilet when urinating. This wonderous hormone clouds the mind with thoughts of "What's on Tv?" and the irresistable urge to turn to the right or left when the toilet is clearly dead center in front of you.

We women don't have these obstacles to over come. We sit and contemplate the meanings of life. Enjoy what is often our only time alone for the whole day, or what is never our time alone if we have a toddler. Regaurdless of audience, I have yet to hear of a husband complaining of his wife's habit of pissing on the floor.

I have this on my mind for good reason. I have been having back trouble for a couple weeks now. Gone to 3 different doctors. I am now going to physical therapy, or medieval torture, depends on which end of it your at. Anyway, it seems to be helping. So with a little relief from my back ache I hit the house work hard this week.

The floors, my arch enemy. Always there, always clinging to anything to strengthen their dirt aresenal. I came out swinging. First sweeping, attaking all hairs and papaer bits. Then mopping, die you bastard scuff marks. Did the battle fields of old smell like pinesol after a hard won victory?

Then the heavy artilary was brought out, the Dirtdevil. I spent Sunday afternoon prepairing her for war. Cleaned all of her filters, toothbrushed the inside of the canister, she was ready. I hit every carpeted inch of the 4 bedroom 3 bath 21 stair building that is our home. I was gaining ground.

I always save the bathrooms for last. Get good and dirty cleaning them, then get good and clean in a fresh bathroom. Turner and I share a bathroom. It went really quickly, about 7 minutes and it was fit for a queen and a prince. The guest bath downstairs was a piece of cake. It's never used, so it is more keeping legions of dust bunnies from taking up residience.

Now on to the dragon's liar, Brad's bathroom. My strategy is to take everything out. Take it off the couter tops, off the floor and out of the shower. That way there will be no casualties of a dropped toothbrush or a cologne bottled with splatter marks. The emptieness only makes it more apparent that I need a hasmat suit. I love him, I do, but if I clean up any more black beard clippings that are stuck in the clumps of tooth paste in the sink I may have reason for justifiable hommicide. How do you put tooth paste on your tooth brush, brush your teeth, and still have a completly intact glob of toothpaste to spit in the sink? It's the eighth wonder of the world.

I need to remind him that just by being married to me that his life has been extended for at least 10 years. I would, but he would tell me he'd rather die 10 years earlier than heave to listen to me bitch about how filthy he can be. Such is marriage. I have saved him from living in a biohazardous dump and he has filled my days with the never ending tasks of picking up behind him and being his domstic goddess.

Pink Imaptients

So, I should be in bed. But I can't sleep, big surprise. If my back doesn't quit hurting I am going to serve it with divorce papers. Who needs an aching back anyway? Not me. According to my doctor I pulled a rib out of socket. Can you actually do that? News to me. Well whatever he did to "pop it back in" hurt like hell and is not giving me any relief at the moment.

Even if I could lay down and get comfortable the amazing human accordian is doing his solo performance right now. I love him and it is music to my ears right now. We spent the entire 3 day weekend together. He didn't get on my nerves and I think I managed to tap dance around his and not on them.

The more wonderful women who come into my life, the more I realize how much I love my husband. We bitch, that's what women do. We complain about the weather, about the news, about the neighbor's kids, and yes, about our husbands. I am sure they talk about us, just not as in depth as talk about them. I have learned that although my over all grade for my husband would be a "B" in the husband department, he is an outstanding A in the dad department.

He is not affectionate to me. We don't have those talk all night crying heart to heart talks. But we do have our own way of getting along. On the other hand, he is the most loving indivdual I have ever seen when he is with our son. He races into his room on the weekends just to be the first to see him. He lets me sleep in, which I now know is a luxury not afforded to many moms. He has never shyed away from diaper duty, not even the stinky overflowing ones. He is patient and kind and more generous than even I would have expected.

Brad's whole face lights up when he is with Turner. It is the only time that wrinkle on his forhead that makes him look mad or deep in thought goes away. He takes Turner willingly by himself so I can have a much appreciated few minutes of quiet.

This weekend when my back started hurting Brad walked in the house and told Turner to get his shoes on, that they were going to town. This is not an out of the ordinary occurance. I asked where they were headed, to Home Depot to get a few things. Well it sounded great to me. I neede a few minutes of not picking up my 30 lb son and to get a few things done around the house without him on my shoulders.

They came back an hour later, but didn't come inside. I was curoious but let my boys be. Far be it from me to cut short my down time. Another hour passed and Turner came and knocked on the front door and said "Mama meer". So I came "here". I walked outside and my husband, yes the human accordian mentioned earlier, gave me the tour of the new flowers they had planted.

On our side flower bed there is now a lovely bed of petunias, alternating purple and gold. Even in Utah we like our LSU pride to show. He weeded my flower beds too. But, the thing that touched me most was the one pink plant. I have an urn right by the front door. It was filled with beautiful summer blooming flowers, but they had done their duty and were dieing off. In my urn was a new beautiful pink impatient.

He planted a pink flower that should've been named after me in my urn. I love that man. All of the other flowers and shurbs we have ever bought have been blue, purple, yellow, white, etc, never pink. He gave me the grand tour of the delicate petunias and the more hearty mums, then gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek. I don't think there could be anything more romantic.

He spent the day with our son, planting flowers for Mommy. Brad was being patient and letting Turner help, something not many dad's know how to do. I wondered how Brad would be as a father, but it has come more natural to him than breathing, and takes much less effort. He is such a better husband because he is such a great dad. Yes, we have our moments when I want to hit him in the head with a can of peas. But more often I am so content getting to watch him with our boy. Even better, when it's the three of us laying in a pile in the front yard after super. We wrestle, we ride our bikes, we read bedtime stories together. He is an A over all without a doubt. He is the man I always thougt I would want to have the privledge of raising a child with.

I am glad we waited for 3 years to have a child. I got to have Brad all to myself, we traveled, we parttied. But who knew the greatest party I would ever go to would be the one that started that November morning two years ago?

It aint home

Utah rain. It is not like the rain at home. Only a few drops at a time and never for longer than 10 minutes. If you stand in it you don't even get wet. Just takes all the fun out of rain.

It's like Utah food. Technically, it's food. But it's fundamentally so different from what food is at home. Here it's what you eat to keep you alive, to fill a nutritional need. Food at home is a way of life, something that fills your belly and nourishes your soul. Our meals are meant to be shared. Every recipe that is handed down carries with it a history.

My treasury of reciepes is an ever growing collection. I felt like an adult when my Gran started giving me some of hers. My Mawmaw's were harder to come by. You had to stand next to her and just watch. She cooked by feel and smell. Flour was not measured in cups or teaspoons, but by handfulls and pinches.

I can still smell her kitchen and see her warm smile. Cooking for a southern woman is an intimate experience to share with those you love. Eating together and sharing stories is what binds families. I love sitting around so full that I have to unbutton my pants and listening to my family's unwritten history.

Now I have put my in-laws recipes into my cherrished book. This makes them my family too. My mother in law has stood in my kitchen and taught me how to make spagehti sauce that could never come from a jar. I sit with my new family and learn their history, because it's now mine and my son's.

I wish we were closer to home. I would love to have all of my family, both old and new, sit together. But since we are too far for a weekly meal we enjoy every meals together when we are at home. Is it any surprise that I gain 10 lbs every time we visit? It would be impossible not to. I have to have dinner at everyone's house. I have to sit and play cards, while eating endless amounts of dip and laughing at stories I have heard over and over at almost every card game my family has ever had.

My grandmother hated going out to eat. We thought we would let her take it easy by taking her out to eat. We could never find a place that she liked. She always said why go out to eat when the foods better here at home? I thought she was crazy. Now I realize how perfectly sane she was. Why go out and eat something that's so-so when wonderful is right in front of you? It could be a bowl of hot vegetable soup on a chilly afternoon. But it wasn't just the soup, it was the company that gave it that extra something that will never be found in even the finest restaraunt.

When Mawmaw died we had to go through her things. What was the most treasured item? Not jewelry, not antiques. It was her worn out big pot. It was so saught after, that my Aunt and I had to agree to split custody. She has it now and if we ever move back I get it then. What is so great about this pot? It made hundreds of meals that we all enjoyed together as a family. Every Christmas it held her perfect cornbread dressing. At church when we had dinner on the grounds everyone knew that pot and made a bee line for it. It didn't matter what was in it, it was always the best. Mawmaw was simple in her genius. She knew that her cooking would draw us all in and weave us together in one of the toughest family tapestries. We are woven together. Now my thread is headed in a different direction but I can always follow it back to it's begining.

Confessions after 2 White Russians

My dirty little secret, I love the bulletins on myspace. I am a true voyuer and love a little peek into your life. I am also an exhibitionist, so I fill them out for you to read too.

Who was your first love, when was your first kiss, what's your favorite color? All crap that I really don't give a shit about but I am interested none the less. Myspace is made for nosey people. Snapshots of our lives posted in pictures and lists of our intrests. It is nice though, many of the occupants of my friends list I wouldn't have gotten back in touch with, much less know that they favor the color lime green and love the smell of Ivory soap, without myspace.

I know the internet is great. My family, all but my mom, missed the birth of my son. Thankfully, via the magic of digital cameras and a contact list, they all got to see a picture of my miracle just one short hour after his arrival. If it had been 10 or more years ago they would have had to wait for film to be developed and snail mail to get to them. Now if we have something to share, we snap a pic and it is 2000 miles away in the blink of an eye. Thank God. How would I live without sharing my boys?

Another great invention: the free incoming call plan on my cell phone. I really think that I might have shrivled up and ceased to be if I had to limit my time on the phone with my mom and dad. That would've been hard. I don't exist without talking to my sister.

Tabba is the more quiet of the two of us, maybe b/c there is so much going on in her head. I have never met an older or more wise soul born to such a beautiful girl. My days are better when I talk to her. I have so many fellings for her. I am proud of her always, I am way too protective, I admire her, and sometimes I want to kick her butt. When I grow up she is who I want to be.

Another praise for technology goes to my Sony Cybershot. Oh how I love you. You rechargeable magician. You capture what I want and I delete the less than desireable. My first time was with a HP but he didn't have the megapixels I needed. Brad, ever appreciative of my ability to document his once monthly grin, upgraded me to the 7.2 mp monster I have now.

On Turner's next visit with the pediatrician I need to ask if a flash can do damage to the cornia. I don't take picutres of him everyday, maybe 3 or 4 days a week. But, when I start I have 1GB to fill and know that the more I take, the better the chance for that perfect shot to pan out.

I cannot help myself, Turner is the most perfect thing I have ever seen. I used to take the super up close pics of flowers, snowflakes on the windshield, fall leaves or any other of God's creations. Now I am always after the perfect shot of his smile. When he was about 4 months old I took about 300 pics of his feet. I have never seen cuter feet. They are the only physical part of him that resembles me. He has Flois Bankston's toes. So do I, so does Tabba, so does my dad. His are just so tiny and cute. So I want it documented that he has some of me in him. Harder to capture is his sense of humor, but I will try get that on a memroy card too.

Other things that I have grown fond of are Mapquest, Google and Ebay. None of these are life changing for me, but boy are they convienent. The only thing I could ask for is if the myspace blog site was equiped with a damn spell check. I know I can't spell. I go back and read these before I post them and sometimes can't figure out what the hell I tried to say. But, it doesn't matter. It's out of my head, misspelled or not, so I can sleep, at least for a little while. And bed is where I'm off to. I have a snoring mamoth whose warmed up my side of the bed and waits to throw his massive arm around me and breathe into my ear. Yes it's my paradise on earth. Goodnight.

An Ode to Hormones

Where were you when I needed you, you angry pissy lot

For when I needed you most, about me you forgot

You showed up when life was simple, and complicated it became

For after you butted in nothing would ever be the same

I went from just a kid, to a girl that the boys noticed

Oh the trouble you could get in, as if the devil had wrote it

My teens passed by with out a mark, but the fun was just begining

For in my twenties a battle with my will and mostly you were winning

At first sight of Brad oh how you did surge, to signal that you did approve

I had no clue that my heart would agree and cross country we would move

One thing you got right was when with Brad we all mixed

Now Turner we have and a better son I couldn't have picked

Gone are my teens when you made me feel like I should be flirtin

Now I know you've shown up when my boobs go to hurtin

By the way, have I thanked you for every zit and pimple

I guess you thought decorations should be added to my body, my temple

So hear my plea and please balance out, I'm tired of being pissy and sweating

For when you are out of whack I'm a little nuts and I do way too much fretting

I have enough on my mind with out your chemicals a brewin

So get back to "good", before my mental state is forever ruined

Elmo Lives

So we were busy today. Is it true that idle hands are the devil's workshop? I think so. The more I make myself do, the better I feel. Or to be politically correct the more Becky makes me do the better I feel. We attepmted to ride our bikes with kids in tow up a moutain. BTW kids are heavy. Coasting back down was fun, guess I wouldn't have appreciated it if the way up hadn't been so tough. Do I smell a life lesson? Damn they creep in from every direction don't they?

Among other things I have been amused with in the past couple days is Turner's obsession with Elmo and Brisco Bear. He may not look like me but he does have some of me in him. I loved 2 bears for my entire childhood, and truth be told to this very day. Elmo and Bear have come to life. They eat when and what Turner eats. They must get dressed along with us in the mornings. They go where we go and might I say, they are both very well behaved. Elmo scares me a little. He is a sweet baby monster but something sinester lurks behind those bug eyes. He was a great gift from Turner's Aunt Tara. But something has happened to him. Did the combination of sneeze mist, sour juice and all dirt from every floor he's ever been drug across combine to the perfect potion to bring this inanimate doll to life? I am curious b/c after super Elmo stayed at the table, in his seat. Perhaps to let his food settle? Well, the rest of the family went about our nightly routine. Water the garden, swing a while, baths and getting ready for bed. As we hunted down and collected Bear and Elmo I noticed Elmo had pie crust in his mouth. Strange. Brad had a slice of coconut cream after supper, but ate it while sitting in his recliner. Elmo was at the table. I asked Brad if Elmo had had any of his pie. He looked at me like I was crazy and said no that neither Turner nor Elmo had pie. I think Elmo got up while we were outside and ate the left over piecrust! Sneaky little bastard. I draw the line at stealing food. And if he is alive then he needs to start helping out and doing some chores. There are no free rides in this house.

Another arguement for Elmo's "realness" is that he is ten times dirtier than Bear. Yet they go every where together. Bear is lighter in color and his fur shows dirt easier than Elmo's deep red covering. He is busier than Bear, he must be to get dirtier. I bet he is digging in my garbage can and going outside, wallowing in dirt, when we're not looking

He is the noise I hear at night. He's tip toeing around eating sugary snacks, pulling out toys and watching HBO. It is the only thing I can think of. How else would the house be such a wreck? Surely one toddler can not make this much mess by himself, he must have help.

Turner noticed that I mopped the kitchen this afternoon. He ever so kindly crawled through the dog door and got my potted petunia and pushed it back through the dog door. Then proceded to dump it on my still wet formerly clean floor. I know My Child would never do something like this unprevoked. Elmo was wispering in his ear, I just know it. Perhaps Elmo and Lil Monster know each other. Maybe Elmo invited him over. Who knows?

Under Water

I am under water. Everything is taking so much more effort than it should. It makes me tired. Why can't I just be normal again? I need to quit moping and get back to my life. This is a much higher hurtle than I could ever imagine. I just need to hold my baby. Tell him I'm sorry and that not a single day of my life will pass when I don't think of him. I made that same vow when my grandfather died. I have kept it. I think of him everyday. Starnge how someone whose memory has faded is still in my thoughts and a part of my life.

I need to let off steam. I wish I ran. I wish I could run for 10 miles until my lungs filled wtih fire and I could let go of all this anger and guilt. Unfortunately I turn it inward. I think and think til it tears me up. I wish there were an off switch to my mind. I have tried to meditate before but I can not shut me off long enough to hear the silence.

I am so thankful to be able to write some of it down and rip it out of my head. I need to talk or get it out some how. This is easier than picking up the phone. No one has to read this but it is out of me. I don't want to burden anyone and I don't want sympathy. I just want to be back to myself, I just don't know if that's going to happen for a while.

I need a memory, I need to hold my baby and rock him. This is never going to happen, I know that, but I still feel the most real need to do these things. I need to quit feeling so guilty. I need to get my heart to understand that I did not cause this. I need to quit replaying the last two weeks over and over in my head.

I am trying to concentrate on how wonderful my life is. How blessed I am in every way. But all I can think is I want to be home. I want to lay in my mom and dad's bed and watch the tonight show and not think about anything. I want to lay on Tabba's couch and just be in the same room with her. I want to sit in Leann's back yard and talk about nothing for hours. I want out of my head.

I know I will be fine. I just deal with things this way. I feel like life is moving so fast right now. I just want everything to slow down. I don't ever want to forget the person who made us four, even if only for a couple weeks.

I am clear to start trying for another baby in a month. It scares me. I know they found out some of what went wrong and will try to prevent it from happening again. How do I open my heart again? How do I not feel as if I am betraying the baby we lost by replacing him, even when I'm not? All of these stupid thoughts that I can't shake. Pretending to be me is wearing me out. But after faking it for a while it's gets easier and easier til one day I am not faking it and I am back to me.

I have to get my butt in gear. I have eaten more white bread in the past week than I have eaten over the past 5 years. I know I have a right to be depressed and self induldgent, but I want it over with.

I love Brad but he is not one to talk to about this. To him there is nothing to talk about and no reason for me to be greiving. It doesn't make it any easier. I feel like I am sad enough for the both of us.

I will be fine. Life will go on at it's ever quickening pace and I will fall into it's rythm. But right now I feel like I am marching off beat with my shoes untied and I am stumbling trying to catch up.



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Lil Monster

Little monster. I have one. He lives in the room across the hall. He is fire breathing unless fed a diet of pure chocolate. Then the fire is put out only to be replaced by mud butt. Ah, the mud butt, a weapon in it's own right. Mud butt can make deposits on your kitchen floor, without making a sound. Then step in his poop and track it all over your carpet. Mud butt strikes when you least expect it. Like when you think your sweetheart is sleeping like an angel, mud butt is in his room digging in his pants and smearing poop all over his bed and your angel's face.

In my little monster's arsenal is the every-ready hissy fit. This weapon works best in public places like the grocery store. Lil monster can whip up a hissy fit in two seconds flat. Upon raging a hissy fit, my lil monster has been known to jump out of our shopping cart and hit the floor forming a puddle of screaming toddler. His ever growing vocabulary plays a big role in said hissy fit. "No Mama" and "Owwweeee" get the most attention so they are standard issue with all hissy fits.

Signs that lil monster is only seconds from appearing are subtle, but you can sense him. Turner first has to be told "No" not for any certain thing but just no. It could be a refusal of buying a desired toy. It could be no don't run in front of that speeding drunk driver. Or even no mommy cannot fly. But no is like a homing beacon that calls in lil monster.

Other signs that he is near are the faint smell of poo and the denial of said poo in Turner's under-roo's. Turner hides the poo so lil monster will have something to play with when he gets here. Lil monster has been visiting at bath time lately. He despises clean of any kind, clean body, clean house, or clean nose-all sworn enemies of lil monster. Lil monster is apparently a nudist, as he hates all forms of clothing. Lil monster has been known to rip all of Turner's clothing off, in front of God, mommy, and terrified on-lookers.

In a pinch, lil monster will use food instead of poop as his weapon. This is when chicken noodle soup transforms from sustinence into an air to ground missle. Other favorites are any fruit vegtable or meat that are not in the lil monster's approved diet. This diet, as mentioned before, consists of chocolate and nothing else.

Lil monster is a master of desgise. He looks so much like my son that I often don't know it's him until the attack has begun. Lil monster gets his power from missed naps, sore gums, and the incredible hard-headedness that I myself passed down.

Lil monster is also capable of such charm, it can sometimes overpower even the the most steadfast. This charm is in the devilish smile that dances across the monster's face when caught in the act of monstering. It is used as a stall tactic or in the right moment and the right light it can completely incapacitate even the strongest mommy.

Mom's often tell you that thier child has cow licks in his or her hair. This isn't true, it's a cover story. It is where the hair is flipped up for lil monster's horns to come out. The worse the cow lick the more the horns are out, so be warned. I am not sure how long lil monster is able to posess a child or to what age this can occur. But, if it's any indication, I still have the worst cowlicks in my own hair.



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This Stranger by my side

I looked at Brad as we laid down in bed last night and wondered who this person was. How could someone I love so much be such a stranger to me? I know who I thought he was when we were dating, but he isn't that anymore. He has changed and so have I. Brad is a lesson in patience and silence. I miss him even when we are in the same room. Sometimes it is painful to be with someone who is so shut off from you.

He and I don't talk like I wish we could. It just isn't going to happen. I love how strong he is in every way. But, it's his emense strength that makes it so hard for him to feel. I don't think he'll ever know what my favorite color is. Don't think that he'll know what's on my mind, or in my heart. We won't be one of those sweet little old couples who are still sweethearts and holding hands at 80.

We have learned each other. Ours is not as passionate as it once was, but whose is? We are more comfortable. I know his habbits. I know our routine. I know every wrinkle on his brow but not always what causes them. I will always be in love with Brad because he will always be unatianable. I want what I can't have.

I have seen more emotion from him since we had Turner than I ever have. It has brought me great joy. He is as loving and wonderful of a father that there has ever been. He is just unable to outwardly and openly show love toward others who are not of him.

It has taken a few years to realize that he will not change. He has so many good points. He does love me, but it may never be outwardly apparent. He has never been one for flattery. I think the last heart-felt compliment he gave me was when Turner was 4 days old. It meant the world to me.

I wish I knew my husband better. Our only conversations consist of "Hi, how was your day?" I am not a quiet person, but I have spent many hours in complete silence since marrying my husband. Lots of time to think. Maybe I know myself better because of this. Maybe we balance each other out. I feel everything and can usually exspress it. He feels some but can't ever let any out.

I hope that over the next 20 or 30 years we'll have chances to get to know each other better. If not, I will still love this stranger by my side. Life with him is simple. I love him and he loves me. We don't have to say it, but it is something that i feel everyday.

I love waking up with him. In the early hours before dawn when he isn't fully aware of himself, he is vuernerable. He hasn't yet strapped the weight of the world onto his broad shoulders. It's then for just a moment that he sees me and I see who it was that I first fell in love with. This is when he doesn't hesitate to reach out and tell me he loves me. And it is not a perfunctory task. He says it and it comes from his soul.

He eyes are the only thing that betray him. They aren't part of his gruff exterior. Everything that his lips will never utter his eyes have told me a thousand times, and for me that is enough.



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Puzzles

Turner is into puzzles lately. We have taken apart and put his favorite back together at least 100 times today. I love how it is his nature to master something new. Everything is new and repetition is king. This is good for me because saying "Wuv Mama" is getting lots of practice. Can my heart melt anymore?

He shares with me. Not many others, but who cares right? As long as mom is his #1 who cares? While playing sword fight with Brad he stopped mid battle and realized that I wasn't playing because I didn't have a sword. He stopped and walked into his room and pulled out a tennis racket and brought it to me so I could play too. That was the sweetest thing to me.

Tonight after we read his story Brad kissed him goodnight and walked out of his room. I stole a few minutes and laid down beside him. I told him I would lay there by him if he was still and quiet. These are two of the hardest things for Turner to be. But he laid still and quiet. After afew minutes I picked my head up. He reached out from under the covers and gently pushed my head back to the pillow and wispered "No Mama, down". I laid my head back beside his and he wrapped his arm around my neck. And still and quiet we both were.

My son is magic. His smile is the key to happiness, mine at least. The many gifts that he gives renew my soul. The chance to lay with my arm wrapped around an angel is a blessing. I miss being able to hold him like I did for so many hours when he was a baby. I relish the chance to snuggle with him.

I love to watch every new accomplishment. His latest is climbing up and down the ladder to his top bunk. My breath is in my throat the whole journey, but up and down he goes by himself. Parenthood is a double edged sword. On one side is my pride and amazement at what he can do. The other is the fear of what he can do, and will he get hurt doing it? I love everyday with my little daredevil.



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