Let's see if I can figure this phone blogging out.

I look at this picture and think, "Holy Crap! My three year old is huge. And has very big feet."

Stream of Conciousness

I am going to blog more. No really, I swear. I really am. Right after I figure out if I want to write about the books I've read, the books I want to read. The projects I've gotten done. The ones I haven't. That I finally cleaned my craft room! Oh my gosh, I have a craft room! My kids. Oh, my kids. My goat kids? My favorite goat is having "at least" twins! I thought I was going to cry during her ultrasound. I was offended on her behalf when the vet commented that she didn't have the "cleanest looking uterus in the world". What does that even mean? We'll start a club Sparkles and I.  I learned to draw labs on a goat. I've been a nurse for ten years this year and I have done more venipuncture on caprines. Weird, huh? I think I'm going to puke. Why do I still want to puke? I am starting to feel better, but not awesome. After waiting, and waiting, and waiting we finally heard a heartbeat. My midwife was prepared to stand there until the baby grew big enough to hear for sure. Everyone was relieved. I didn't realize how stressed and anxious I was. I like visiting my midwives mostly for the book recommendations. Are audio books the same as the "reading"? I actually "read" (not listened) to two Jane Austen books. Audio books let me spin, do the dishes, clean the bathroom, and fold the laundry while being entertained. Listened to Anne of Green Gables with the kids. Oh so good! Stitches is only a couple of weeks away! So is Juju's birthday and Scrunch's birthday is next Sunday. I managed to put off a "friend" birthday party for another year. She just wants to go to the movie theater again. They won't stop singing the soundtrack to Frozen. Thanks a lot Aunt Goose and Aunt Miq! Come back Aunt Goose and Aunt Miq! Come back Grandma and Grandpa! We've had out of town visitors every week since Christmas and it's the only motivation I've had to clean my house. Tomorrow I am going to clean my bathroom. No really, I swear. I really am. I might blog again, too. Maybe.

Simply Christmas

I made it. Not just through a week of solo parenting while Husband went to Israel, but to Christmas Eve. And there's a tree up (which I almost thought wouldn't happen), presents wrapped, and most everyone's pajamas made. And I'm twelve weeks and still puking with regularity. My goals for the rest of the year have been accomplished. I've given up on trying to get the front door painted or the rest of the tile.

Things have been scaled back to survival mode as far as activities and Christmas fun this year because of his trip and my being down, but Husband thinks this might be his favorite so far. I have been reminded that my kids are so young and so naive in some ways that they have no clue what they might be 'missing'. My kids aren't on Pinterest or FB. Is there any hope that we have moved on from social media before they get there? Zombie apocalypse? Global warming? Anything but Scrunch on FB.

For now they don't know about the fortysevenhundred different shaped and sprinkled Holiday cookies and personalized, printable cocoa mug labels you can find tutorials for. They were beyond THRILLED with going to the grocery store with their Papa to get me a drink to come home and have a picnic of donuts and Diet Coke in the front yard. They weren't anything but plain-shaped run of the mill donuts but in their minds it should become a tradition.

We didn't make it to any parades or light show extravaganzas, but Porkchop is learning the difference between 'left' and 'right' by updating us all on where to look and see the lights as we drive. He was in complete overload when we drove to the San Francisco Airport to pick up their Papa. I might be raising a country boy since he thought the usual city lights were all for Christmas. We might need to get out more.

Our Christmas miracle occurred when I puked in his Cars tool bucket while stuck in traffic on the Bay Bridge. And then Juju gagged on a piece of ice she was sucking on and threw up. Porkchop watched and then he started gagging. The miracle being that even though it took us almost four hours to get home, I didn't have to shampoo any carpets when we finally did.

Husband pointed out that for at least Porkchop and Juju their concept of time is such that they won't remember we didn't have our tree up three weeks ago, only that there was a tree. But I'll always remember Porkchop standing in front of it today and telling me, "Mom, our tree is the very most perfect." Big deal too since pronouncing an 'f' sound mid-word is a huge effort for him.

I rallied last night and we went out for Mongolian Barbecue and to the zoo. We celebrate all birthdays with Mongolian barbecue and apparently that includes Jesus. The zoo trip was killing like four birds with one stone- animals, lights, Santa, and a train ride. Plus, animals that are usually sleeping every. single. time. we've ever been to that zoo were wide awake. Juju's disappointment in the zoo came when she begged "Let him out! Let him out!" to the wolf hybrid and I did not oblige. We stopped for some last minute stocking stuffers on the way home. I'll go to the grocery store later to pick up the salmon and asparagus we'll have for tomorrow's dinner (at the kids' request) and we'll call it a Merry Christmas!

I was reading some old posts from when I was pregnant with Porkchop. I completely forgot how sick I was. It all came back to me in flashbacks of late night 'Say Yes to the Dress' marathons and living on the couch. This is worse. It feels so wrong that feeling this bad could mean that this pregnancy is healthy. The good news is that in three years I won't have any recollection of it.

Last Thursday I posted a picture of some yarn and pizza I made. It wasn't even good yarn (my first with my new spinning wheel) or pretty pizza (although it was pretty dang good) with the caption "Take that Thursday!". It prompted a couple of very flattering comments which, while very nice, made me feel....not guilty...not bad...but maybe... uncomfortable? Perhaps undeserved.

I posted the 'Take that!' because the rest of the week completely kicked my butt.When I post a picture of my newly decorated living room, I'm not posting a picture of the same laundry pile that moves from my bed to the recliner, bed to recliner day after day waiting to be folded. If I say I spent the day cooking freezer meals, it's because if I don't my family will likely eat Subway three times a week. I sit and make yarn right now because it's the only thing I can do to distract myself from the feeling of simultaneously starving and wanting to puke at the same time. There weren't any pictures of cute ballet flats with skinny jeans and cozy winter sweaters because at that point I'd been in leggings and my slippers for three days. Oh, yes I'm amazing, but I also have a Christmas tree under six inches of snow leaning up against the house because I can't find our tree stand. We both have a vague memory of leaving or ditching it at some point during the move, but can't explain how or where. I didn't post a pic of our newly decorated tree because it's almost mid-December and except for the paper chains hanging in the kitchen doorway there is no semblance of the Merry Holiday anywhere to be found in my house. 

Don't get me wrong, I work hard. Really, really hard. I wake up early, go to bed late. I have ADD and need a project (or eight) to keep me moving forward or I just spin in circles. I don't watch t.v. or get my nails done, or have a gym membership. Not anything against those things, they just take time. And I spend my time doing different things. I have talents, sure. So does everyone. They might be nicer and less snarky than I'm prone to be. So, am I amazing? Maybe sometimes. Some people think so. But so is everyone else which means you're probably pretty amazing too.

At 7:27 p.m. all three kiddos willingly went to bed. Willingly! Sweet. By 8:13 p.m. I guesstimate that I will have fallen asleep during the opening scenes of P.S. I Love You. Before that happens though I need.....
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Excuse me. My seemingly perfect evening was interrupted by Husband kicking me out of the recliner to rock a suddenly not so willing Juju and then Porkchop came down the stairs. "You going to come up and cuddle wif me?"

And then Scrunch heard Porkchop ask me a question so she climbed on the other side of the bed, but only after taking Jango (the dog) down to the utility room because he kept sniffing and tickling Porkchop. Then they both needed a refill of waters. After a half hour of baking between the two not sleeping monkeys I kicked myself out of the bed with a, "Mommy's got to go downstairs. I think I'm going to throw up." I left the room with both kids making puking and gagging sounds.

Turkeys. But cute turkeys who are doing their absolute darndest to not be sassy or say "stupid", "crybaby", or "shut-up" (Thank you Finding Nemo) because they really don't want to lose all their paperclips (I couldn't find my button jar) so they can go to the movie on Saturday. A movie with popcorn in the theater- that is the ultimate bribery, I mean positive reinforcement, for eliciting more of the behavior I'd like to see. Smart turkeys.

The wind is keeping me awake. It's really whooping it up out there. As Scrunch so helpfully hissed to her younger brother over the dinner table, "It sounds like ghosts."

Greeaaaat. Thank you Scrunch.

"But only nice ghosts." I offered. Was that answer really going to work? It seemed to and thankfully, for once, Porkchop completely ignored his sister. Juju, however, picked up on it and asked, "Whas dat?" about forty seven times.

I got even with her after dinner when I cut a hole in the middle of what I did not know was a fleece blanket she even knew existed. "Mo-om!"

"Why'd you do that?! That was one of my favorites!"

Oh, really? Since when? Well, I'm the mom and it's cold, and I have to go outside in the dark with the ghosts. I only thought that though.

"Well, sorry kiddo. I'm the Mom and had to make an executive decision."

"What's executive?"

Hand smack to the forehead.

"Nevermind."

Gosh. Maybe my husband is right. Maybe I AM cranky. (For the record, "Gosh, honey you're probably right" is NOT how the conversation went down when it was first suggested.) I offered a list of pathetic (but still true!) reasons as to my recent irritability. Usually reasonable and understanding, he mostly didn't get my number one offered (and kind of lame) excuse. Maybe you will? Or the Internet? The internets have a way of understanding all sorts of crazy. Or least I will get it off my chest and be able to lay down and go back to sleep.

Yeah. So. I'm pregnant. Having been a staunch believer in 'Do not announce anything until in your second trimester', I feel like a traitor to my camp. Buy you guys, I need to sleep.Plus, I say something when I'm not anymore so what the hell?

This not so recent knowledge weighs on me daily and grates on my last nerve. This was not planned or intentional. Almost ironic (is this the correct use of that word?) that I taught and even helped write published material on Natural Family Planning for a state Health Department. Off the record I was known to say that, "If you're doing it, you're planning it." Thank you, thank you. Add that to the list of things I've said that have come back to bite me in the...So yeah. This was less than planned. And it is good. And I will be happy.... If I get a baby out of it. Ok, there. I know that is wicked and selfish, but jeez! I think I handled the last two miscarriages really well. And I promptly filled up my life with all sorts of distractions (and baby animals). No joke. I have a bottle calf right now. But we're reaching capacity here, folks. I am reaching my limits. God would not let me have three miscarriages in six months, would he? Not after everything? I mean, "Come on!" as Scrunch has been known to say.

But, oh yes. Yes He would. And He might. Because I know God has very little to do with it. Lest you think me sacrilegious, let me explain. There are natural consequences and events we are subject to due to our mortality and then there are Godly interventions. And how the two intersect in my life, and others, remains still a mystery to me. A giant, fat fatty of a mystery of epic proportions, but a mystery none the less.

So there it is. I think about it when I wake up, when I go (or don't go) to sleep, and every time I pee I think, "Please don't let there be blood. Please don't let there be blood." When Juju gives me a famous squeeze hug I sometimes think, "Oh, good. My boobs are still sore." When I slowly haul my exhausted and should be in better shape and used to it by now butt up the hill from watering my boy goats I think, "What's wrong with me? Why am I so tired?...Oh. yeah." My skin is crazy itchy from the additional hormones I'm taking, I sometimes feel like I want to jump out of my skin, and I AM CRANKY. OK!? I am looking forward to Christmas not because of the merriness of the holiday but because by then I will be well into my second trimester and the chances of miscarriages are drastically statistically reduced. P.S. Statistics don't mean crap when it comes to babies coming to and from this planet, but there you go.

On Sunday I was set apart for our callings as Stake Spanish Group Specialists. Whatever that means. (It means we get to work with the Spanish group, I teach Sunday School in Spanish, we attend a different ward, but my kids get Primary in English still. Score!.) Between Juju and Porkchop having complete meltdowns and being the complete opposite of reverent and making it impossible to hear, I managed to catch one line of the last part. of the High Councilman's blessing..."As you fulfill your calling, your concerns at home and the those things that weigh on your mind will be resolved." I might not have noticed, except the counselor in the Bishopric commented afterwards that he strongly felt the Spirit and I had been blessed with a great gift.

Huh, what? I have not, until now, let my mind go there. Crappity, crap. They went and brought God into this. And now I have to figure out if I truly believe, have faith even, that if I fully commit myself to preparing and searching the Scriptures "my concerns at home and those things that weigh on my mind will be resolved". Do I believe this? I think I do. I mean, it sounds reasonable and true. Nothing tangible like our well functioning properly or a baby was promised so it's not like I can get bitter. But I don't know yet. I hope so. I will have to test it. For now, I will let you and the Internets worry for me. And who knows? Maybe I will be less cranky. It is quiet now. I think I'm going back to bed.