Lather, rinse, repeat.

I am doing something I have never done before today, getting my hair done. Now anyone with eyes can see that I've gotten my hair dyed more times than the average bear, but today I leave Turner with a babysitter and go in search of peroxide. Chelsea has watched Turner for us five or six times. She does great, he likes her. But, we always leave him with her at six thirty or seven and she puts him to bed at seven fifteen. Thirty minutes is a lot different than the whole afternoon.
Chelsea will come over at half past eleven today. She'll have to keep Turner happy for an hour then put him down for nap. No big deal. He'll sleep for a couple hours then she'll have him for the rest of the afternoon, til say four or four thirty. No, my hair will not take that long. But I will run and search out a bigger bra. I am going to a bowling pro-shop and having them sew two bowling ball bags together. Not really, but it will be nice to be able to look at and try on intimate apparel without a color commentary. "Hey Mama! There your boobies! You get new two boob holders?" Yes he has called them "two boob holders" for a while, no I didn't teach him that.
I know I need the time to myself. Turner will have fun with an energetic teenager to torture. I will, despite my best efforts, panic the whole day because I can't see Turner. I will feel lost when getting in and out of the car without having another person to buckle. I will feel very strange not having to hold a hand when crossing the parking lot. It'll be even stranger to be able to pay attention to anything other than Turner for more than three seconds in a row.
The weather is supposed to be nice here today, so I have already decided to tell the babysitter to stay inside. Crazy logic? Good as she may be, she does not love my child with every fiber of her being. That requirement must be met before you can take my child anywhere near a street. Also, I prefer them inside behind locked doors and windows. I'll go rent Happy Feet and be fully supportive of an afternoon of gluttony and sloth. A cupcake and a cartoon never hurt any kid.
So I am a little over protective, so what? It is my right as an American to procreate. That being done, I then have to right to raise my child in any legal way I see fit. Later we'll add the right to embarrass them by any means necessary.
When Brad is working seven days a week I get a little crazy. I need a few hours "What's that ?" free. I need some beautification therapy before I can live through Sunday anyway. Why? Because my husband has ordered Wrestle Mania 23, be still my beating heart. The only conciliation to being subjected to an extra day of wrestling torture is that he invited some friends over. Turner and I will both get to have playmates over, yeah! I will probably still be the only person in the crowd fighting their gag reflex while watching, but that's OK. When ever the fake drama and bad acting get too bad I can sneak in to the bathroom and look at my newly damaged locks and smile. I need a trip to the salon, Brad needs some time on his butt to enjoy his chosen type of mindless entertainment. Everyone wins.

Where does the time go?

What fills up a day? Something I used to wander before having Turner. I have been a busy body, I am sure, since birth. Now I spend day after day with my son and have no idea where the hours go.
I know we get up every morning and share a huge bowl of oatmeal. Turner watches the news with me, because he knows I'll switch it to Curious George after we've eaten. Most days of the week I get both of us dressed and we head to the gym. We check in and I work out and he plays for an hour and a half. OK, so that takes the day to about ten am, what next? I don't recall. We meet up with friends, we play, we paint, we color, we share doing the chores, none of which is all that memorable but is all the while fulfilling.
When I started Turner on a sleep schedule when he was about eight months old I dreaded nap time. I went from having him on me or by me for eight straight months to having him in another room for and hour at a time. I thought it was the longest hour I had ever spent. Now I look forward to nap time. A couple hours to listen to the quiet. Read, do chores, email, what ever the case may be. I think of nap time now as my last calm before the storm. I know once Tate arrives she'll be happy to have a little one on one time while Turner recharges his batteries.
I worry about splitting myself for two children whose needs will be so completely different. Turner was my first, I indulged myself with him. I could spend hours looking at him, trying to make him smile. With Tate it will be different. No lounging while nursing. More than likely all her meals will be on the go. Turner will have to adjust to sharing mom and vise versa. I always wanted to learn how to juggle, guess I am about to get a good lesson.
The term "working mother" is stupid, all mothers work. But I am in awe of the mom's who work outside the home. How do they get all of the stuff done for the kids, hubby, and house work too while working? I feel like I am slipping and need and extra day in the week now. Do their husbands contribute to chores more? I have no idea. On days when I have answered "What's that?" seventeen thousand times I think getting to go to work and talk to grownups sounds really nice. I don't think I could take not seeing Turner all day. Now if Brad takes him to spend some guy time for an hour I have to interrogate him when they return. Did Turner pee, poop, eat, why is he rubbing his eye etc.
Will my brain be able to hold and compute a whole extra human being's bowl habits? Don't laugh. Anyone who has had a newborn knows you have to keep up with the wet and dirties to see if they're eating enough. I still have to have an idea of when it's time for Turner to go too. He's potty trained, but has to be reminded to take a break and go potty.
Mine and Brad's life together seems to follow this pattern: Major life changes will be accompanied by moving to another state. We married, then moved to Phoenix. We lived in and liked Phoenix then moved to Utah, where we found out on our first morning here that we were expecting our first child. Now the second baby is on her way and we are due to move at any minute. Nothing like a birth to add to the excitement of relocation.
Before my quiet time is up I should get away from the PC and get something productive accomplished. Fold clothes, walk into the next room and forget what I came in after, pull meat from the freezer to defrost only to forget about til tomorrow, you know- all the stuff you're really good at when you are suffering from mommy brain.

Anywhere but there

There are some times in every adult's life when they are forced to take shit from someone. That time is now for Mr Brad. He let me know that we will more than likely be moving to the middle of fucking no-where Colorado. I mean the middle of no where. It is four hours from an airport. The town the project is in isn't even a town, it has no name. The closest "town" is a half hour away. It has no where to live. There are a total of six places for rent in Rifle, CO. All six are two bedroom duplexes that cost $1700 a month. There is no high speed internet available. There is a Walmart, but nothing else. You buy groceries according to what they have, not what you'd like. Gas is outrageous there. So is just about anything else, because who the hell is there to buy it?
I know these things happen. I know money can't buy happiness. I also know there should be a sizable salary adjustment as a meager attempt to make going to CO seem worthwhile. I am spoiled. I have friends in Orem, UT. I have routines and niceties to which I have become accustomed. There is no gym in Rifle, CO. Nor is there a mom's group, an indoor swim facility, or a mall with in a hundred miles. What they do have is subzero temperatures for most of the winter. They also have extreme snow fall and hazardous road conditions. Good news-I'll HAVE to have a nice 4WD just to get out of the drive way. What driveway will that be? Well, what most people moving there are having to do is live in a camper trailer.
Recreational vehicles are called such because they are meant to be used for fun, not as full time residences. It seems that this will be our only option. My future looks like I'll be living(if you can call it that) in a travel trailer. Nice, no bedrooms for the kids. No nursery, no place or room for their toys. No room for anything but the bare essentials. I am not the bare essentials type of girl. I like having more than two pairs of shoes, I like having a king sized bed, I like having an office, I like having room for my kids to play. I will not be the one to tell Turner that we have to get rid of all but a few of his toys because we're moving to a shit hole on wheels.
Don't try the argument that trailers are nice and bigger than I think. We just went to an RV expo. They are very nice--to camp in. Even with pop outs it will be smaller than the four hundred square foot apartment we lived in for two years in Phoenix. Brad and I managed, but were cramped. We didn't have kids, baby swings, bouncy seats, coloring books, playdoh, stuffed animals, story books, swords, army men, or any of the other beloved items that children come with.
I love Brad. It's not his fault the company wants to send him there. It's not his fault, yet he's going to have to take shit from me about it. I want to bitch, moan and groan, and freak out a little. I do things to live with Brad that I would do for no other. Only women will understand the commitment one must have to her husband for her to change OB/GYN's every year. We've been married five years, in that time I've had four different OB's.
The thought of being so isolated from the outside world terrifies me. What will I do with Turner all day? Now we are busy and have an activity every single day. It's the only way to keep him from destroying the twenty five hundred square feet we live in now. Am I to adjust to five hundred square feet with two children and the reality that during the coldest part of winter I likely won't be able to leave the house or go outside for weeks at a time?
Brad's responsibility is to be there for me to let it all out to, a job he doesn't cherish. I don't care. It's not his fault we're moving there, but it is because of him that we'll go. I am sure it was somewhere in our vows that he has to lie to me for the sake of comfort. Tell me it'll be alright, even if you don't know it will be. In the footnote to that same vow I am sure there is a pregnancy clause: should catastrophic changes, which are not desirable, become eminent while the female partner is with child, she has the right to complain and freak out as often as excess estrogen forces her to. The male partner's responsibilities include holding the crazy women you knocked up, taking some shit(even if you don't deserve it), and lying in a manner as to calm the women with the occupied womb.
I don't like arguing with my husband, contrary to what he believes. When I heard this news I listed a litany of things that I hated about our situation. All the while I am telling him this he thinks I am bitching at him. Wrong, I can complain and express a vehement hatred of circumstances that involve you with out being mad at or bitching about you. His ears only hear the unhappy tone in my voice and he shuts down. There will be no comforting coming from him any time soon, he thinks I am fussing about him. I need him to be my strong oak now more than I usually do. I am a crazy lady when I am pregnant, I admit this without shame. I over react to bad news, I can't help it. I also need his arms around me, then no matter what huge changes we'll go through together, I will feel like it's OK.
I am left to simmer and stew about this move, he said we'll know something more on Friday. Purgatory must be nearer to hell than heaven, waiting has to be the devil's most loved form of torture. I am trying my best to tell myself God will put us where we need to be, He'll never give you more than you can handle. I am praying about it through gritted teeth. Maybe there is a mountain women in me to rival Grizzly Adams. Maybe I will become more at peace with myself if that's the only person for a hundred miles with whom I have to spend my time. I know God has a plan and I am too small and near sighted to see it at the moment. I would love a peek at the road map He has for me though.

Caught in the act

I try to get my meat and potatoes man to eat a few healthy things every once in a while, with or with out him knowing it. I tried to sneak in a new experiment this weekend. I got the idea from the Parenting magazine. Surely their recipes have been tested and work as well as they claim right? Well Mr Bradley has an incredible knack for detecting anything that might be healthy that has been snuck into his tried and true favorites.
The article was how to get more fruits and veggies into your kids diet. I know we are in desperate need of fruit and a few more servings of vegetables wouldn't hurt us either. I opted to make "Purple Paste". This marvelous paste is the thing you put into your normal recipes and your kids are a little healthier but non the wiser. The paste is made of twenty oz cooked spinach, one and a half cups blue berries and a teaspoon of lemon juice all pureed together. My paste looked a bit more black/green than purple and smelled a little of ass, but I was ready to try. The chefs at Parenting suggested putting half a cup of the mix into your ground meat and making burgers for grilling. It mixed well but the color of the patties was off. To combat the color I cooked them a little longer than normal. To cover the smell of vegetables in the kitchen I boiled some fresh corn.
I had discussed my little coup with my friend Becky who said to tell him it was a new seasoning with parsley in it if he questioned the color. Now before serving this I did taste it, not bad but a little spinachy. Maybe I give myself away by the weird smile I wear or the way I stare at him when he eats a new concoction. He noticed on the first bite "What is this?". I tried the new seasoning/parsley story, he wasn't buying it. He went on to remind me that he doesn't like change and if it ain't broke don't fix it etc. etc. Turner and I on the other hand actually liked the green burgers. We ate them twice and Turner finished his whole burger on both days. Brad said it was because Turner was too young to have developed good taste.
I won't give up on trying to make Mr Junk Food healthy, I'll just have to get sneakier. Perhaps put some purple paste in his mouth while he sleeps. Yeah, his breath kind of smells like purple paste in the morning so maybe he wouldn't notice. Then he can eat his meat and potatoes and I can smile knowing he's had a small dose of good stuff.
My efforts to make Brad live longer are not fully appreciated. He once told me what was the point of living an extra ten years if you have to eat that crap(we were having grilled salmon, one of his most hated foods) everyday to do it? He said he'd rather die earlier and eat what he wants in the mean time. Well tough buddy, you married me and this was part of the package deal, look up section twenty three paragraph two. I am just now getting him broken in. We're just now really getting the routine down, so I would like forty or fifty years to enjoy the smooth sailing.
Brad has always been fine with the idea of living to his sixties and that's it. It makes me shudder. I want at least to live in to my late eighties still healthy and independent. Ideally I want to see one hundred. I don't want to have to date, marry and break some one in again. Brad's what I want, especially since he seems to get better with age. He better not crap out on me when he's sixty seven, just think how mellow he'll be then.
My sneaky cooking is also for my son. Brad was a tiny kid. He really didn't eat or grow til he was out of high school. He wants Turner to be the biggest and best at sports. That means he needs to eat good stuff. I handled the first year, he nursed. Now it's harder. My thought was that I can make up for not contributing size to Turner's gene pool by providing him with the best growing materials for his body. Thankfully what is good for the body is good for the brain, double bonus.
Tate gets benefited from this too. I eat the spinach blueberry compote and she gets the vitamins. Everyone wins, except poor sensitive taste bud Brad. He'll get used to it. He doesn't even cry anymore when he sees we're having baked or grilled fish. He whines yes, but it's less and less every time. I wonder if he were the one in full time control of what the kids ate if he'd feel the "mommy guilt" and try to eat healthier for their sakes? Would he worry about their nutritional needs or would donuts everyday for breakfast be more important. I can not see him sitting around planning out a weeks menu and trying to only have one red meat based meal per seven day period. That is why he is out there building power plants and I am here dong the thankless job of cooking. He may not love the crap I make him eat, but every year I get to watch him blow out more and more candles on his birthday cake, the sweetest desert is all mine

Just another day

Yesterday was a great day. My favorite hard working man took off half a day so he could bring Turner and I to see bear cubs. Turner and I had fun before Papa got home. We got up, got dressed, and headed out the door. We were on a mission. Supposedly there was to be a garage sale in Provo, and not just any garage sale, one that was selling off a baby boutique's stock. Don't trust everything you read. It was pretty much crap.
My little Turner baby is a mean bargainer. We've been giving him a dollar a week to put in his wallet. So he had two dollars and I told him if he saw something he could try to buy it. He's a discerning shopper, he passed right over the Cat in the Hat toys, the cheap pirate set didn't interest him, but the Super Soaker water gun looked pretty tempting. The gun had a three dollar tag on it. Turner pulled out his two dollars and I pointed him in the direction of the man taking money. "You take two dollars!" I was so proud. The man happily accepted the fair offer and now Turner is the owner of an orange Super Soaker. We came home and shot coyotes, just to make sure it worked.
I put Turner to nap early, picked up the house, and did laundry-it's what all the domestic goddesses are doing these days. I had time to lay down for a second, so I did. In through the door walks the man who'll always be the most handsome thing I have ever seen. No, it wasn't Matthew McConaughey, it was my Bradley. OK so have I mentioned that my current hormone levels are really working in Brad's favor? Anyway, he came in and sat and ate lunch. I really enjoyed getting to see him in the day light hours. It's always weird spending time with just him, like when Turner is sleeping. At night not so much because we've just put Turner to bed. It reminded me of how I used to feel when he'd come home for lunch from Hood's right after we first moved in together. I loved how he looked in his car salesman clothes then, but the jeans, boots and shirts he wears now blow the preppy look right out of the water.
Brad showered and got dressed. Turner woke up and changed clothes into a shirt and shorts that matched Papa's. I love when my boys dress alike. We went to Cabella's. I knew that the line for the bear cubs would be atrocious, and I was right. We found the end of the line and Brad had a look on his face that said "How are we gonna stand here with him for an hour?". I told him to take our boy and go look at all the man stuff, I'd wait. Wait I did, for an hour. But the chance to hold a bear cub was worth it. Finally it was our turn and Turner loved the little wiggly creature. It licked him right on the face, that was all it took for him to declare that he wanted one.
We piddled the rest of the day away by going to the mall, then out to eat. Brad treated us to ice cream on the way home and another day went down in my book as damn near perfect. After putting Turner to bed Brad laid in his recliner where he slept from seven to ten. I just read and listened to the great snoring beast I love so much. Life is so different than it was just five short years ago. If you had asked me if I would be a happy stay at home mom at any time before I had Turner I would have answered with and emphatic NO. But, God gives you what you need, not what you want thank goodness.
When we found out we'd be moving to Utah I was so pissed. I had never heard anything good about Utah and surely didn't want to waste time trying to find something good about it. After living here for the past three years I am now praying that where ever we get sent next is half as nice and family friendly as the land of the Mormons. Turner was born here and Tate probably will be too. I am not one to get attached but this place will always hold a place in my heart. I am trying to remember this little lesson while I wait on the location of our future home. Perhaps none of the locales sound all that great but maybe once we're there they won't be that bad. Maybe it doesn't matter where I live as long as my kids are happy and healthy and I have my perfect person to raise them with. I'll feel at home where ever we go because I have Brad, Turner, soon we'll add Tate. For now it is time for me to go give into the nesting craze that has been buzzing at the back of my mind. I think there are some baseboard that need my attention.

Meet Clyde

What do you do with a two-hundred thirty pound gorilla that's in your bed? Well I tell him "Good night Brad, I love you". It's no secret that I am a lousy sleeper, and the bigger I get the worse I am at going to or staying asleep. I laid awake half the night last night listening to Clyde, he's the two hundred and thirty pound gorilla that was in my bed.
Who is this Clyde? Well he is a creature who defies normal primate biology by having a sustained body temperature of one hundred and eighty-nine degrees. No, surely a living thing can not run at such a high temperature you say. Well, Clyde has a very unique heat exhaust system that keeps his temperature from getting high enough to hurt his internal organs. Unfortunately that exhaust system is neither quiet nor fragrant. He blows high pressure gas from his rear about every ten minutes. An efficient system no doubt, but not quite up to EPA toxic fumes release standards.
Clyde is a loving creature, who like most male primates wishes to seek out and claim territory. I see the middle point in our bed's headboard as a line drawn between countries. No there's no fence, but admission to a foreign place must be granted by the governing body. The land of hormonal baby makers is having a problem with rising temperatures, and it's resident is trying all she can to remain cool. Here comes Clyde (did I mention he's a sleep loaper?) over the border to try to let off some of his heat in a country not his own. Now when not in fully fertile mode the western dwellers of the hormonal land would welcome an invasion of a larger, warmer, protective presence. But now while the occupancy is at it's double rate already, adding the big hot and hairy gorilla is a problem. Clyde favors nocturnal roaming, he's an amazing multitasker, he sleeps and overtakes all at the same time.
Being that I am concentrating on keeping my sublet tenant happy, I try to accommodate Clyde and sleep anyway, silly me. Once Clyde has his big arms and legs strewn all over my property he begins his concert of nose whistling, grunts, snores, and the piece d' resistance- the tounge swallowing gag to be ended by choking and spitting. Oh how did I luck up and get a front row seat to such a melodic night serenade?
Clyde is a strange creature by design, when awake he hears like others in the large ape family. But once asleep his ears withdraw into his skull. This is probably a genetic evolutions to ensure that his species is well rested and can continue procreating. I can not talk to Clyde. I can not rouse him to discuss fair land distribution. His own little baby monkey's cries don't wake the giant, slumbering beast. I thought for sure that if I nudged him, Clyde would get up to aid the younger of his troupe, I was wrong. There are benefits to the soundness with which he sleeps. If I wish to hear his throat concerto in a different pitch or key I can simply grab the fur atop his head and ratchet his head in any direction. This is not a maneuver for the novice. You must be experienced in primate relations and ready to abort the mission and play dead/asleep should one of the beast's eyes open. But the adjustment can be made with the right amount of caution. Likewise if the nose whistling is not to my liking I have, out of desperation, clamped the air intake. This forces Clyde's backup system to open an alternate air intake route, his mouth.
Much like Pavlov's dogs Clyde is conditioned to get up for only two things- the alarm, and the question "What was that?". The alarm is quite simple, it sounds, Clyde leaps to full attention, scratches himself, mumbles, and leaves the battle torn bed. The question is from long ago imprinted lessons. For safety reasons Clyde is duty bound to protect his troupe. He is the largest and the the dominate male, so it is part of his job. If I utter the secret phrase Clyde leaps stealthily from the bed. He then surveys all of his domain, stalks his territory to show any intruder who owns this place. When the threat has been ruled out, Clyde then scratches, urinates (to reinforce ownership of his territory), and goes back to his bed(both sides of it).
For all the downfalls of sharing a bed with a giant gorilla there are many benefits. He can be sweet, he will eat from your hand, or at least from your kitchen. The fur on his chest is so soft, nuzzling in it is a real treat. I feel safer next to Clyde than I would under protection by federal agents. Clyde is an excellent father. His first born, a male, is already house broken and quite entertaining to watch frolic. Clyde is almost house broken and I have hopes of completing the training soon. What ever Clyde accumulates during a day hard at work in the jungle he shares lovingly with me. As we all know, giant primates lack the muscles that make it easy for us humans to smile with ease. But Clyde, incredible creature that he is, can muster a smile from time to time. When he does flash his teeth, though brief, the sight is stunning. I suppose this means that the battle of the bed will rage on. Clyde and I will tumble and toss, but what could be more fun than a roll in the sheets with a wild animal?

I know I am one, but do I have to look like one?

Having a child and some time passing change your whole perspective. I am finding that what I thought was an adequate maternity wardrobe is falling very short. I need different things now. When I was pregnant with Turner an outfit lasted the whole day. I had one get really dirty and work outside pair of shorts and a couple plain old t-shirts. Mostly I wore "outfits" that were casual but very cute.
This time I am in dire need of "play clothes". I need several pair of get dirty shorts, I need things that don't need to be ironed, and stuff that is comfortable even when you are bending over to color with sidewalk chalk. This is how it starts, I'll start looking like a mom.
When I was a teenager I would see people in their early thirties, or late twenties even, and think they looked so old. Now I don't think I look or dress that old, but I know the 18 year old Tiffany would beg to differ. I would rather cut off my own big toe than be caught wearing a pair of the dreaded Mom Jeans. Everyone knows what I am talking about: High waisted, tapered legs, enormous strange pockets, and the oh so sexy front butt. I stay away from those, but still want my butt(yes even my pregnant butt) to look cute, perky and in no way droopy.
I have found out that my friend Nikki was right, I am shaped different since having a child. I was the same size that I was before having Turner, but all of my assets were redistributed. I don't want Mom Body. I still want to look how I feel, which is about twenty at the moment. I was blessed and did not get stretch marks with my first pregnancy, hell I even ventured back into a cute bikini when all the weight was gone. But I am fearful that was my last tryst with a two piece. In my crazy mind there are rules, rules for everything. One of those happens to be "Women of a certain age(thirty) should not, no matter how good they look, wear a bikini. Now I have seen tons of ladies who look great in two pieces of next to nothing. I am not saying these rules are for everyone to follow, but they are there in my head for me. I know it doesn't make total sense, but neither does the "you must wait thirty minutes after drinking a soda to brush your teeth" rule. You see in my theory I have to wait because the acid from evil soda pop weakens the enamel on your teeth, then if you brush immediately you will damage or erode your enamel. See, lots of things in my life don't make sense.
Perhaps today I am having an anxiety attack. I am so scared that I'll wake up with the Mom Mullet on my head, driving a mini van, and wearing elastic waisted pants. Not that any of those are bad things(Who are we kidding? The mullet is really, really bad), but I don't feel like that would be a comfortable place to be for me. I had this same loss of identity scare when I was two months away from delivering Turner.
Having a son did change me. I can no longer watch the news with out praying for the families who've met with misfortune. I now pay close attention to Amber Alerts, I hope that if Turner were missing some one would pay attention and recognize him. Buying my clothes used to be top priority, now I worry more about getting my babies cute outfits than getting ones for myself. I think what changed most was I became a little less selfish. My first thoughts are now always with my two little angels, not me, me, me.
I just don't want to get myself so lost in my children that I stop being me. I still want my own interests. I want to look like myself, not a grubby unkempt person who used to be me. I also want to be able to be happy when my kids move out to be on their own. I don't want to be crushed when the chick-a-dees leave the nest because I have no identity apart from them. All these are good reasons to keep up with friends, go out on a kid free date with my husband, and have a girls night out once in a while.
So, as I sit here in my elastic waisted pants and look forward to wearing things that button and can be belted again, I am chipper. I know that I will still be me after having two kids. I was still myself after having one, just a new and improved version. The old Tiffany could not have cleaned up all matter of bodily fluid or tell you if someone were feverish by touching their cheek. I've learned so much from my boy, I hope I learn as much from the girl waiting to make her grand entrance.

Who are you and what do you want?

I have been getting bombarded with messages from random people I don't know. I haven't changed anything on my profile or joined any groups so I am confused. I tried my best to search the help section to see what to do. I am no technological genius but I followed the directions, some of which included deleting comments.
I thought, no big deal I'll delete my comments. Well it took forever, but was surprisingly enjoyable. I got to glimpse over them and remember what was going on when they were posted. I got to see how silly my friends are. I got to remember how wonderful they are too. I blogged about my miscarriage. Not exactly a fun subject but I had to find some way to let some of that hurt out, and writing worked. Melissa put up a comment that said "Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, he became a butterfly". I still think it is one of the most lovely quotes. In my self indulgent anger and sadness I could not see the world going on, but thank goodness it has.
I have been thinking about that baby who wasn't meant to be a lot lately. I would be about to pop and due any minute had I not miscarried. I feel guilty sometimes for being so happy about being pregnant with Tate. I don't know what you are supposed to do? I don't want to forget that little life who was mine for only a couple weeks. I guess most people just go on about there day to day and push it out of their thoughts. I am ever reminded of it while going through this pregnancy.
The first few months this go round felt like skating on thin ice. I never wanted to be too happy, for fear it would be taken away. I still don't want to act to assured that everything will go perfectly. I won't wash any clothes or remove any tags from anything we've bought her. I just put the few things I've gotten in a box in the closet. She won't even have a nursery set up in this house. We'll be moving a couple weeks after I have her so there's no point. I am so excited, but just don't want to take this miracle for granted.
I am "Baby Hungry". I never heard that phrase til living in Utah. But it makes perfect sense. I am nearing thirty and the sight of a tiny baby makes me crazy. I think most women go through this. I never felt this way before having Turner. Before the November night I had my boy I didn't know what I missing. I like holding babies, smelling them, feeling their little soft bodies curl into yours, but there is nothing like holding your own child. That feeling doesn't go away.
When Turner gets up from nap I still can't wait to hug him. His hair all smushed up and sleep still in his voice, warm from the covers. He's my happiness. He was "fixing" my hair yesterday morning (Sesame St had a hair theme). I pulled the ponytail holder out and let him run his fingers through it. I looked a mess, not yet dressed for the day, still in my robe. Turner worked hard and was concentrating. He got every strand just the way he wanted it, then looked at me and said "You're perfect Mommy". He's two and doesn't know what a phrase like that does to a woman's heart. I have the Mother of Boy syndrome and he's only making it worse. Yes, he'll always be perfect in my eyes. No, no one will ever be truly good enough for him. But I know that I am not alone.
Being on Myspace allows me to talk with other people who are all crazy in their own way. I have decided that every single person is crazy, but in a good way. Those who think they aren't are the ones you have to watch out for. I know other Mothers of Boys feel the exact same way about their little princes. I know all the moms on my friends list worry, loose ti from time to time, and are all great roll models. I know the ones who put comments up care enough to say hello. So I guess these were just my random thoughts after reading eight months of comments from my buddies.

My watch dog

So last night at three am I heard something ring. I wasn't fully asleep so I sat still and listened to see if it was my imagination. It rang again. It sounded like a cell phone. Brad, who was asleep, was silent but had woken up too. He asked if I heard it too. I had, so he got up put his robe on and grabbed the gun from the case. First- we both knew it wasn't our cell phones. We have had ours for a couple years and know all the noises they make and this wasn't one of them. Second- we are rednecks and country folk so yes we own guns. Third- it wasn't a toy. Turner only has a few things that make noise(to keep my sanity) and none of them make noises like this either. So Brad got up to look all over the house.
Was I scared? Yes, but not for the reasons you think. Was Brad scared? I am not sure if my husband has ever been afraid of anything. I was scared because my first thought was someone had broken in to kidnap my son. Utah seems to have a high child abduction rate, maybe because there are so many kids the rates just seem high. I don't really know what Brad's first thought was but I am sure it was along those same lines. What scared me was what could have happened if someone was in our house.
I have never been scared that Brad could be hurt by anybody. I have never seen Brad start a fight. I have seen him finish every one he's ever been around. He was a bouncer when we first dated. He's always been cool under pressure. He has never been manhandled. I was scared last night that some idiot had the stupid luck to pick our house to break into. Brad would kill someone who broke into his family's home and posed any sort of threat. I don't mean "Oh he'd kill someone" and think it might happen. I mean he'd shoot them and they would be dead, period. If he didn't have a gun he would beat someone to death and it would only take a second.
I have seen my husband pick up three grown men and pack them thirty yards. The men were in the bar where I worked, they had said something and Brad heard them. They were speaking Spanish so I had no clue what they were talking about. Brad sat and listened, then got up took his shirt off and grabbed three grown men to cary them outside. He put them down and asked them who wanted to die first. Over reaction, maybe but I still don't know what they said. It took seven men to hold Brad's arms. They held him but couldn't have stopped him. He agreed to let the guys go if they apologized to me and never came back. I was apologized to and the three men begged my then boyfriend's forgiveness and ran to their trucks, we never saw them again. This was the first time I saw the beast that lies behind my husband's beautiful blue green eyes. It was so out of character it startled me. But he said he didn't like what they were talking about and they were up to no good, and I believe he was right.
Brad never found any one or anything in the house last night, thank the heavens. We went back to bed, but not back to sleep. I often compare my husband to things- oak trees, giant apes, gentle giants. He is all of those things but under his sweet, loving, quiet outside there is something very dangerous. I have never feared him. I have never felt threatened by him. I am insane when my temper is spurred. It has only happened a few times but I have actually seen red and been unable to recall what happened when I was set off. My rage is quick and not calculated. I am loud and fear nothing and realize nothing as being dangerous to me. Brad is the opposite. I have felt his hand on the back of my neck so many times. It is when we are in a crowd and he senses something and pulls me close. He slides his huge hand down my arm and holds my wrist and I know to stay close to him. Now we are older and never out at night, in bars, or crowds but he is always watching the people around him.
My husband isn't the quick to explode type. He won't act irrationally over anything I have ever seen. When he thinks someone or something is trying to hurt Turner or I, I see the dangerous side of him. There is a part of him that is scary and I would hate to be at the other end of his gaze when he is in that zone. My life is ultimately more enjoyable because I get to float through and enjoy the good because my husband always has what could be the bad in his sights. Today Brad is being compared to a watch dog. I had to think what breed would be most like him. The obvious is the Rottweiler. They are massive, can be mean, but they are too clumsy and a little goofy. Then I thought of the Doberman Pincer. They are trained and calculating, but they are too much of a light weight and have never struck me as the loyal above all else type. Then I thought of the German Shepherd. They are built for stealth, loyal, and deadly, but also able to lay and let children crawl all over them, all the while watching for predators. That is my husband.
Like dogs men can sense who among them is dangerous. Dogs give a wide berth to the dominate males. Likewise, people have always given Brad plenty of space and not challenged him. He's never been a bully, on the contrary he'd rather diffuse a fight than have to start one or break one up. I love him. I love the silly him that only I see. I love the gentle him who handles new babies with such care and concern. I love the Brad who teaches my son new games and how to do things. I love the Brad who snores at night but can still hear the smallest noise that is out of place. I love the Brad who'd put himself between a moving train and our son. I love the Brad who would kill a man for coming in his home and threatening his wife and children. He'll always be my oak, my Clyde, my shepherd. I'll always be able to stop and smell the roses because Brad will be standing and watching making sure Turner, Tate and I are safe.

World's best

I got treated to a movie and dinner on Sunday with my two favorite guys. Brad came home from work on Sunday early and wanted to go get his and Turner's hair cut. Turner got excited and said he wanted to go to the movies too. Sounded like a good idea to us, so we headed out for the mall.
The haircuts went well, we purchased our movie tickets, and then we had an hour to kill before the show started. Brad took Turner into Sears on a mission, Turner needed a wallet. They found a perfect little boy's wallet and I picked up a few things for the baby. It wasn't that long ago that I was buying onsies for Turner, not anymore, now he has a wallet. He is Papa's little man. Turner wants to be just like Brad. So Brad put a few bucks in the wallet and let him carry his movie ticket. My baby was so proud of himself for having a wallet just like Papa. Turner is literally growing up before my eyes.
I could barely pay attention to the movie. I was having a hard time not staring at my son sitting with my husband. In the soft glow from the silver screen I saw the two most beautiful people. They have the same haircut, the same deep blue/green eyes, the same profile, and they both have all of my heart. Seeing the man I fell in love with with our son makes me fall deeper for him everyday. I love watching the two of them.
I wonder if this will happen with Tate? Will she look like me in miniature? Will brad see all the good things from me in her? I know I see everything wonderful from my husband manifest in our little boy. Our dynamic is about to change, three will become four. I can not wait.
This pregnancy is different, I guess it's supposed to be. I am less aware of the time passing now, I have Turner to keep me busy. When I was pregnant the first time I got to sit around and stare at my stomach, watch it move. I read every pregnancy book, journaled every little change, not this time. Turner is special, he's my first, we got to do all of it together for the first time. Now Turner is experiencing me being pregnant from the outside. Turner pays so much attention to my stomach. He kisses my belly any time my shirt gets pulled up. He puts lotion on me every morning. He talks to Tate and tells me what she wants to eat. He shares his toys by bringing them over and sitting them on top of my growing midsection. I am so lucky he's such a sweet little boy.
I am curious how he'll react when there is actually another person to have to share with. Right now it's just mom talking about a baby and he's always shared with mom, so it's no big deal. I don't have the fear of not having enough love for two kids. I had such great role models in my parents. They love my sister and I beyond measure and I don't think either of us ever felt slighted. I know we'll be great with one more of us.
I wonder how it'll go in the beginning. I have one particular day that I remember, Turner was a month or so old. It snowed the biggest most beautiful snowflake for a whole day. I sat holding my little boy for hours, just looking at how incredible he was. Just he and I curled up on the couch by the picture window watching the quiet world. On that day I knew it was one of the most perfect days that I would have in my life. I look forward to that feeling with a new person to get to know. I know it won't be as quiet, but loud is beautiful too.
Now I will have someone here after all the family leaves and Brad goes back to work. I had Turner but no one else to see the miracle that was him all day long. Turner will get to see Tate's first smile, hear her laugh and coo, and be there for all the wonderful things that happen in your first year. I am so excited to share that with my boy. Tate won't know what it's like to have mom to herself. She'll come into this world having a big brother. I'm glad and thankful to be having one of each. We'll get to experience the up s and downs of both. This way Turner can stay "The World's Best Boy" and I can add "The World's Best Girl" to the family.

The places you'll go and the things you'll see

I've been places I never thought I'd go-i.e. the men's bathroom at Walmart on a busy Saturday afternoon. Turner and I made our weekly menu yesterday, we wrote out our shopping lists, and headed to the store. I can't even blame this one on Little Monster, Turner was so good the whole trip.
Walmart on a Saturday is a crazy, busy place. The isles are crowded and no one knows proper buggy etiquette. In spite of the shopper influx Turner and I had a great trip. Of course when you have stopped in at you local Baskin Robbin's and gotten a chocolate blast to share, what could possibly go wrong? We got everything on our list, more even. Turner got a cute new pair of Elmo sandals, groceries were overflowing the cart, and no potty accidents. We headed to the check out area. As per typical Saturday style almost all of the registers were manned, but there were still lines.
After half of a chocolate blast my bladder was screaming for relief. My plan was to park the buggy, run to the women's restroom for a pit stop, then return to steak out a place in line. I shared my battle plan with my head sergeant. He listened, got his orders and took off. One of the downfalls of the rapidly developing toddler mind-they skim over details, men's room/women's room it's all the same. Turner took off like a bolt of lightening. He zigged and zagged through the people standing in line at the check outs, I pushed the cumbersome buggy as fast as I could trying to keep up.
Turner knows where the bathrooms are, if your mom was pregnant you would too. I could see he was heading in the right direction as I was parking our rolling wagon of gypsy treasures. I saw it happen from the corner of my eye, he was heading in the wrong door. Oh crap! There are roughly three hundred people in Walmart at this particular time, so maybe the hundred and fifty men all have bladders of steel and it's a vacant men's room, oh to be so lucky. I yelled STOP! but Turner never checked up. So I took off behind him. I ran combat style, crouched down, eyes averted and head first into enemy territory. I see a flash of Turner's stripped shirt as I round the corner and sprint head fist into what I can guess was the urinal area. My first sergeant was shell shocked upon embedding himself in the hostile territory, happens to a lot of soldiers on their first mission to foreign lands. Turner stops, sees four or five men milling around and says loudly "Hey Mama these boys pee pee!" He's so observant, yes there are men in here and there are typically only girls when he and mommy go potty together. His stunned state allows me to catch up, grab him by the shirt and drag him out before we see anything we shouldn't. One grandpa aged man falls out laughing, having seen the whole incident from the beginning. He had followed us in to the bathroom. He saw me running and failing trying to grab at greased lightening.
I have never been in a men's bathroom at Walmart. The floor was nice, not too dirty and the men in there had on clean shoes, that's all I saw, thank goodness. Turner and I went to the much more familiar women's side and did our business, the whole while discussing why mamas and papas don't pee pee in the same bathroom and the importance of holding Mommy's hand.
I won't say that our little excursion to land of the stand up urinators made the shopping trip bad, we still had a great day. I laughed harder than I had all day and got a little cardio workout from the quick sprint. After pottying we checked out and rolled back to the truck. Turner helped unload our goodies and we sang on the way home. Life is good, it's good because it's funny and full of unexpected adventures. How boring would my day have been if I had been by myself? I'd have gotten everything in half the time but I would have had only one onehundreth of the enjoyment. My little man makes the ordinary an adventure. He shows me the new in things that I take for granted. And sometimes he leads me into room full of urinating men, but you take the good with the embarrassing and it makes for a really wonderful life.

WTF?

Why do people insist on sending me the "You won't wake up one day " emails? No shit Sherlock, we're all gonna die one day. I try to not look at most emails that start with cartoon smiley faces or phrases like "If I were to die today..."
Crap people, it's email. I will not forward your chain mail. I will not send this back to you to prove our friendship is true. What is wrong with people?
My mother-in-law is a nice, God fearing person. She is good to me and not too bad as far as mother-in-laws are concerned. But a couple weeks ago she sent me a lovely email. She was so in to the site that she called to make sure I'd read it and to tell me we could discuss it later. She thought it would be relevant to me and went so far as to send it to Brad also. It was a link to a site that has the end of the world predicted to take place this June. I just thought I'd let anyone know in case they want to tidy up the house a bit before the anti-Christ comes a knocking. Why in the hell would my husband's mother send me such lovely stuff? I have no clue. I did particularly enjoy the passages that referenced the Bible and loosely related it to current events. What was even better was the warning to "Those with child and who nurse little babies" about how our children will starve after fire(nuclear warfare) rains down from the heavens. Loved it, loved every last effing word of the virtual crap she emailed me.
Thanks, like I don't have enough on my mind, lets add eminent doom and destruction to the list. This goes in my WTF? category. I'm not a religious zealot, truth be told I'm not really that religious. Spiritual yes, religious no. I loved my church at home. We've been to churches out here in Utah, but belong to none of them. I am comfortable with my relationship with God. I pray with my son everyday. I talk to God everyday myself. Praying works for me. Helps me deal with crazy people(mother-in-laws), crazy events(what ever is on the nightly news), and the general craziness of my life. But in my ongoing dialog with God he has never mentioned that I need to pencil in Armageddon for June 2007. Isn't the end of the world supposed to happen when not a soul on earth can predict it?
So I am just in a pissy mood and wanting to bitch. I have not a thing wrong in the world but the emails and chain letters have gotten under my skin. These are not exclusively email, no they sneak into Myspace's bulletin board. I will not re-post some random line of crap so a homicidal clown will spare slaughtering me and my loved ones. Come on, a man under my bed will eat me if I don't re-post your message in two-hundred seconds with the title "Guess who's pregnant"? I'm an adult. I believe in karma, you keep sending this crap out- a homicidal clown just might track you down. I believe in God, I also believe that Jesus won't turn his back on you for not re-posting bulletins that try to make you question your own faith while at the same time undermining God's importance in life. I do not believe in chain mail, if I read a bulletin/email and do not follow it's cryptic instructions and delete it, nothing will happen to me as a consequence.
So if you agree re-post this with the title "Guess what I got caught in my zipper" and do so with in the next three minutes or your phone will ring and when you answer you'll be told the time and date of your death and the caller will be your future murderer.

Mommy's Boy

Turner and I went to the gym yesterday, like every other Monday. Nothing unusual about it at all. We got up at 5:50, saw Papa for a second before he left for work, had breakfast together, got dressed and headed out the door. I dropped Turner at the gym playroom and did an hour of cardio. The thing that bothered me yesterday happened when I picked Turner up from the playroom.
The daycare ladies were nice, the place was not over crowded, Turner was smiling and ran to give me a hug. When I bent down to kiss him two little boys came running up. One pointed and said "That's the mommy's boy". Now I have no idea what the four year old meant by this, but my heart sank. Lots of slightly older kids think Turner is older because he's their size. My two year old wears a 4T, so he's bigger than the average boys running around here. He's always been big for his age. His height and weight are proportionate so I never worried about it, I like big boys after all. I figure Turner is going to be blessed with his Papa and Uncle's size, which is great. Maybe the little boy just thought Turner was older and not playing like the other big kids.
So why did that little snot make me so sad when he called my baby a mommy's boy? Well, I thought we were a ways off from snide remarks. "Mama's Boy" has always been a put down, one that implies weakness. Daddy's girl just means that a girl is close to her dad, so why is being close to your mom so awful? Boys aren't supposed to be close or loving, they're made of snails and nails and puppy dog tails. Well, Turner is a Mommy's boy. What choice does he have? We're together every minute of everyday, he's my best friend. I want him to be tough, strong, intelligent, but still be kind and and caring. I always thought of mama's boys as sissys, but now it means something completely different.
I am in love with my beautiful little boy. It's what I was made for. I have never felt more at home in any roll I've had in my life than I do just being a mom. I have the theory that boys are a heartbreak waiting to happen. They are close as can be with their mom's until they grow up and find girls. My husband loved his mom when he was little, he still does, but he's not as close to her as he once was. I know Turner will always love me but I also know he's only going to have me as his best friend for just a short while. He'll have a wife, she'll be the one who takes care of him, it's how it's supposed to be. I want to enjoy every minute of being the number one gal in his life, I just don't want him to be called a mama's boy by four year old boys.
I am going to have a really hard time with all the things that my kids will have to go through. I want all the best and happiest for my kids, what parent doesn't? So Turner's is a Mama's boy, but I'm the only one who should be able to call him that. Because when I say it I mean he's mine. I made him, he grew in me, he's one of only two people who'll ever know what my heart sounds like from the inside. So if someone has a problem with it, come talk to me. I won't fight my kid's battles, but I will protect them. When he's old enough he can respond in any fashion he wants to the ignorance of others. But while his only worries in life are what time does Elmo comes on and how can he get Mommy to give me more Coco Crispies I will keep a watchful eye on Mommy's Boy.

Pass the Klenex

I should be let into prisons to cough all over the inmates, to worsen the punishment of law breakers. I have the same cold that Brad and Turner had a week or so ago. I usually am spared but not this time. I am so tired. I couldn't sleep because I was coughing so much and can't breathe through my nose. I got out of bed last night and laid on the couch in attempts to let Brad have a little sleep. I don't know how mouth breathers do it. If I am forced to breathe through my mouth I'll do it to survive but if this was everyday I'd have to get something done.
Other than being yucky I have been productive as of late. I'm making baby gifts, because everyone in Utah is pregnant. No really, even the men here are knocked up. I have taken out my sewing machine and taught myself how to make baby slings, high chair covers, aprons, and even clothes for Tate.
I feel bad, I didn't make clothes for Turner. Boy clothes are hard. A sundress is basically a sack made out of pretty material and requires little or no brain power to complete. I did make Turner his own apron to wear for crafting or cooking. I'll finish the matching one for Brad today if Turner takes a good nap. Perhaps I am nesting. Perhaps it's a last ditch effort to take up a hobby before the baby gets here and I barely have time for teeth brushing.
I work well on little sleep. I have energy to do things, just no energy to think clearly. I told Turner to get in his sink and get buckled up yesterday. You know the new sink car seats that came out last month? They're great, just strap your child in right above the drain and potty train as you drive. Yes delirium is setting in. Speaking of potty training, Turner seems to be all finished up. He uses the potty reliably and only wears a pull-up to sleep in because mom's not ready to have to change sheets should an accident occur.
I think the recent wave of craftiness is helping by keeping my busy when it's quiet around here. If I am busy I can't get pissy about not knowing where we'll be moving. Which is helpful when I am trying to not kill my husband. Mr Bradley is working today. I wish he were off, he's been rather enjoyable lately. I have decided that I wasn't meant to meet Brad when he was a teenager, I would've hated him. I met him when he was twenty six. Still wild, still temperamental, and sexy as all get out. I liked him in his twenties, we found someone to run wild with in each other. But my favorite is definitely his thirties. I love him so much more as a thirty something. He's settled, sure of himself, less temperamental, and still sexy as hell. He's still the most handsome man in any room. I can't wait for Brad to be in his forties. A little more grey, a little more laid back, and all mine.
I'm turning twenty-nine this year. I have a love/hate relationship with my birthday. Love the presents, hate getting older. I know there's nothing wrong with getting older. Every year my life gets better. I don't feel any older than I did at eighteen, except I can't party all night(nor do I want to). Who knows, maybe my thirties will be just as great as I think Brad's are. For now I have a wall scaling, mess making super hero to keep my mind off of it.

Where oh where has my Hibister gone?

Life is funny, but life's hilarious with kids to share it with. I am tempted to fill my truck up with gas, load up my little back seat driver, and follow the directions he yells out. Turner has a good sense of direction. He knows what turns lead us to the gym, which store is Walmart, and where the library is. Every car ride is spent with him pointing out land marks or yelling "No not that way Mama!" I should give in and see where we'd end up.
Today we had a few errands to run so me and my little helper struck out to town. I had told him we'd go to Albertson's and pick up mom's medicine. He started talking about "Hibisters". I could not figure out what he was saying, but what ever it was was serious. We are at the pharmacy counter and he points in the direction of the lobster tank and asks if the "Hibisters" are back. On our last trek into Albertson's Turner's beloved lobster tank was empty. I told him they would probably be there next time and thought nothing more of it.
Well, low and behold there is not a hibister one in the tank. We ask the butcher when there will be more but he lets us know not til tomorrow. This is no conciliation for a two year old intent on seeing the hibisters. Turner wailed all the way to the car, he continued to sob the whole way home. Once the truck was pulled into the garage his cries got louder. He now was not only sad about the lobster shortage, but was determined to stay in the truck forever in protest. It's all of twenty-five degrees today, so he had to get out of the truck even if not under his own power. I peel him out of his seat and deposit him on the floor in the door way. I take a split second to take off my coat and hang it up. That slick little sucker had sprung up, and with cat like reflexes was clawing his way back into the damn truck!
I grab him and get him out once more but this time I keep my hands on him. I strip his coat off-not what he wanted me to do apparently. He cried and screamed while I got our bags out. I walked right past him and up the stairs to the kitchen. Turner knows that Mommy is mean and will not come get him when he's pitching a fit. So he came almost all the way up the stairs, after all what good is a temper tantrum with out an audience to watch it? My poor little guy pitched and wailed, screamed and kicked, yelling the whole time about "Hibisters" and "my coat" for about twenty minutes. This whole time I busy myself in the kitchen. I unload groceries, I clean up the breakfast dishes, I get a head start on chopping my vegetables for tonight's supper. I never look at Turner, I will not give him attention while he throws a fit. He starts winding down. Good, I figure he'll get up and go play. It gets really quiet so I chance a look. My baby's passed out on the stairs, snoring away. His head is on the top stair, his body the next, and his feet dangle off the third. It is the sweetest display. So of course I take pictures, then a short video, and end it by snapping a pic with my cell to send to anyone who has a camera phone.
Turner's really a toddler. He wore himself out and fell asleep in the middle of it. I scooped him up and brought him to bed. He never made a peep. I pulled off his shoes and pants, put a pull up on him and shut the door. It must be hard to be so little and so unable to control the world around you. Part of the tantrum comes from the fact that I heard him talking this morning at quarter to five. He never went back to sleep either. I was up, but just sat and listened to him. I walked by his door to smell for poop, but there wasn't any so I lay back down and waited on Brad's alarm. We all got up together. I think Turner was excited to see Papa.
Last night we taught Turner how to play Hide-n-Seek. He counted to ten and we all took turns hiding, even Turner. He was so full of joy, but bed time came. So the first words out of his mouth this morning? "You go hide!". I feel for him, when I'm excited I can't sleep either.
I know we'll have a lot more days like today. When excitement over a new thing learned leads to lack of sleep, then the inevitable tantrum. But none of it was bad. I actually wasn't bothered by it today. He was as sweet as an angle sleeping on the stairs. I knew he was tired, but I also knew that this was a part of him growing up. The terrible two's aren't all that terrible all the time. With the emotional crying fits and battles of will come all the new accomplishments. When he counts to ten or sings his alphabet I am over joyed. When he makes the connection between concept and concrete I am amazed. He's my Little Monster and I wouldn't trade him for anything in all the world.