Some days start better than others...

Some days, my husband has his first flight at 9 a.m. instead of 7, and he has time enough to sit in bed and read to me as we have our first cup of coffee.

Some days, my son asks to read a book first thing in the morning, rather than watch a movie or cartoon.

Some days, that same little boy takes that same book and impresses the heck out of me. He looks at the cover of his favorite book, Green Eggs and Ham, points to the word "Eggs" and says, "E right dere!" Smiling, I point out the G, and he says "gapes," remembering the picture of grapes behind the letter G in his alphabet puzzle. Same with the H: "heeppo!" I fall further in love with the way his little brain works.

Then, to top it off, he opens the book to a random page and says, shaking his head, "Not a box. Not a house. Not a fox. Not a mouse. Nope! Sam. No. No geen eggs and ham."

Some days, my heart gets filled up right from the start. Filled with gratitude and pride.

I think it's going to be a good day.

A Sunday Well Spent

Coffee and a book.
Small home improvement projects complete with instant gratification.
Sunshine and a run with my husband.
Playing in the grass with our son.
Beers and burgers on the deck with Nana and Baba.
A good shift at work.
Today I am remembering to be grateful for the little things.

Dad, Booze, and Other Things Drake Says

My son's first word was "Mama". Naturally. Thankfully. He said it before he was even a year old.
That was followed shortly by "ball," pronounced more like "baw." Then came "Nana" and "Baba" and "hi" and "bye."
And then that was kind of it for quite awhile. He used those words consistently and frequently, but didn't latch on to any others until about two months ago. That's about the time he started using "hep me" any time he wanted something, and was successfully taught how to say "tant tu" when it was given to him. He also melted hearts when he waved and said "nigh nigh" on his way to bed.
So that's 11 words. Some of which he was saying in two word phrases. And he still hadn't learned to say "Dad." It's probably not hard to imagine that my husband's feelings were a bit hurt. I worked on it all the time. I pointed at Justin's pictures when he was away at work or school and said repeatedly, "Dad! Daaaadd. Daddy!" to which Drake would respond, "Mom!" Flattery aside, I felt kinda guilty about it.
So I think I was every bit as excited as Justin when Drake just decided to start using "Dad" all on his own over Labor Day Weekend. We were on our trip out to my brother's farm for his wedding, and I guess Drake just decided to show off for all our friends and family. He also started saying "apple," which now stands in for all varieties of fruit and vegetable.
Since then, it seriously has felt like he has added a new word almost every day. I honestly can't keep track of them all. I wish I had written this post two weeks ago. I'm going to do my best to think of them all and start keeping a record.
Drake's 21 Month Vocabulary:
Mom or Mama
Ball (still pronounced "baw")
Nana
Baba
Hi
Bye
Help me ("hep me")
Thank you ("tant tu")
Goodnight ("nigh nigh")
Dad
Boots (which he loves to wear - he brings them to me and says "booze! booze!")
Juice ("deuce," which stands in for all beverages)
Apple
Cheese ("teece")
No (this one is not Mom's favorite)
Ew (when he has a dirty diaper)
Yuck
Eye (he points to them in books and on the faces of his toys. He can also point to a nose, mouth, cheek, chin, forehead, ear, and eyebrow when prompted, but he has yet to say any of those himself.)
Teeth
Up
More (sounds more like "moi")
Boom (do sound effects count? He says this one when he throws things.)
Me and Mine
Home
Dog
Yummy ("Nuuuuumy!")
Baby

He understands:
Kiss (and if you're lucky, he'll give you one, "mmmaaaww!" sound effect and all)
Drake ("Isn't he clever, Mr. O'haire? He responds to his own name!" Quick! What movie? ;))
Book (he'll run and go get you one to read)
Hungry (he'll laugh and run to his high chair if he is)
Lovey (his snuggle buddy since the day he was born)
Outside
Come here
...and a lot of other phrases. I feel like his understanding is really quite amazing. I say full sentences to him and feel as though he gets the point. These are just the ones that I know for sure get the appropriate response.

I feel certain I'm forgetting some, but that is a pretty good start.

What's in a Cry? {All Parents are Bi-Lingual}

It's 5:34 a.m. and the cry peels through the monitor. After nearly two years of the midnight call, I don't exactly startle out of bed. I slowly blink away sleep, but my body weighs heavy on my mattress. I lay there for a moment listening to the sound of my crying son and then whisper, "Baby? What do I do?"
It's decision making time.
You see, my son has essentially two different midnight cries. One sounds like, "WAAAAaaa..AAAaaaahh.... WAaaahh...... waaah.... wa......," which translates roughly to, "HEY! I woke up alone! I guess that's normal, but I don't really like it.... Mom?... Hello?... ZZzzzzzzzzzzzz." The second type of cry sounds more like, "WaaaaEEEHHHH! WaEH! WA! WA! WaaaaaEEEHHHH!" and means essentially, "Something is wrong! (Examples: "My teeth hurt!" or "I'm cold!") And I'm not going back to sleep until it's fixed!"
It is up to us, The Toddler Translation Division - otherwise known as "parents" - to decipher the sounds and proceed accordingly. Is he in pain or just protesting? Should we give it a moment or go check on him? He may fall back asleep... Should we try a bottle? Does he need medicine?
And then there are nights like last night, which present their own unique challenge. Our toddler may choose to practice his range of expressive abilities, resulting in something like this: "WAAAAaaaa....... WaEH!... WAAaaaaa... WAAaaaa... WaEH! WaEH!" Our best intelligence at this point understands this to mean, "I woke up alone! Oh, and my teeth hurt, now that I think about it. OWIE! But I am really tired... maybe I'll go back to sleep... NO! This hurts!! I don't like it! FIX. IT. NOW!! But I am really tired...."
In such a case, choosing the proper course of action becomes a matter of blind chance. Was that "tired"...? or "wired"...? If you take the time to fumble around for your pajamas, stumble upstairs and prepare a bottle, he very well may have chosen sleep by the time you reach his door. If, on the other hand, you choose to let him sort it out on his own, this could last all night. In which case, no one is getting any sleep. It's roulette. 50/50. Red or black. Dumb luck.
Last night, I chose to fumble and stumble. I bet a trip upstairs and ten minutes in the rocking chair that my son really did want to sleep. I won. The payout: me and my bed for three more hours.
Being bi-lingual is good, but being lucky is awesome.
That was two nights ago. In the small hours of this morning, my husband was not so lucky. Sorry, honey.

Ashamed

I'm sitting here misty eyed right now because my husband loves me even when I screw up so badly.
We got our tax return early last week. It was long awaited and desperately needed. We had talked about the things we intended to do with it, and it wasn't going to go nearly as far as we wanted it to. But things have been so tight for so long, and retail therapy is such a very real thing for me...
I spent $600 in three days.
You guys, that's so much. And it was on well-deserved things! Much of which you could even put in the "need" category for the family. A few things for the kitchen, an Easter outfit for Drake and myself (on clearance, at an outlet store), Easter basket goodies (and I don't believe in buying 99 cent toys - if you are going to get them something, better to get one or two things that will last than 10 things they will never play with), some groceries... I don't know. I can't even tell you where it all went. Oh, I went to lunch with a friend, too.
And that's the problem. I can so easily justify any of it. And in a different situation, no one would judge me for purchasing the things I did. They weren't extravagant.
But our budget is extremely tight. Justin is the only earner in our family right now, and we just bought a house last summer. Between that, the astronomical price of gas for Justin's huge commutes, and our other monthly bills... well, that's all there is. And then there's the house that is still very much a construction zone. And several buttons on my computer have stopped working and it threatens to crash daily. And Drake still doesn't have a crib. And, and, and.
And so the tax return had very specific tasks to accomplish. And I messed it up.
And I knew it. And my heart sank and my face reddened once my husband knew it. I could see he was upset - angry, even. This isn't the first time I've messed up like this. I don't know how he puts up with me.
Most of it was un-returnable. There was nothing I could do to fix it. So I took my application to our favorite local bar/restaurant - desperate to be able to tell my husband I was going to help. (So far, I haven't heard from them.) And I made sure not to spend another cent.
That's why, when I ran out of my prescription, I didn't say anything. Not because he would have said no. He would never say no. But because he's already stressed and it isn't fair.
He just found out that I've been out for three days. And he's sad at me for not saying anything. And I'm sad at myself for creating this whole mess.
Why can't I break this cycle? Please tell me someone else out there has struggled with compulsive spending and found a way to break the habit (not just started making more money so you could afford your spending... that may not be an option for me).
Lord, help. I want to be a better wife than this. My husband so deserves it.

The great, and the not-so-great

I struggle.

I struggle with my promise to be real with you guys, and my fear of being a whiner. I know my life is good. It's blessed - so blessed. And I'm so, so grateful. But it's also hard. Being a stay-at-home Mom is hard. And I get tired of it sometimes. We didn't go to church today because I am tired of the solo Mom gig. I am tired of driving the 40 minutes each way to show up alone with a baby who has missed his morning nap because it falls at exactly the same time as church. And I want to complain. My husband is never here. He works all the time and when he's not at work, he's at school. And when he's not at school, he's flying. And I miss him. And I want to beg him to find a different job so that we can have Sundays as a family and go to church together. But then I remember that he is tired, too. And it's hard on him, too. And that these sacrifices are just for a season and it's a way of investing in our family's future and creating the kind of life we want in the long run.
*sigh*
And then I remember my sister, whose husband works in the oil fields eight hours away from her for 6 weeks at a time. She stays home alone with three girls. She packs them all up every Sunday and always makes it to church. And, oh yeah, she's pregnant with number four.
And I remember my best friend who really is doing the single mom gig. She has three girls and she runs her own business.
I really can't complain. My life is beautiful. But sometimes.....
Sometimes I want to cry. I want to cry when I feel so, so tired and the baby wakes up in the middle of the night and I have to drag my butt out of bed and sometimes I get angry that my husband doesn't even hear the baby and never, ever gets up with him.
But then I remember. He did get up with him the entire bad week. And he drags his own butt out of bed four days a week at 4:30 in the morning to go to work and provide for us.
Ugh. And then I feel like a selfish brat.
So you can see my struggle. I don't want to be a liar, but I don't want to be a whiner.
I don't want to get on this blog every week (how I wish I could say every day, but let's face it - I'm not even close to that regular) and tell you other mothers out there that my life is soooo perfect. That I skip around all day and pick daisies and sing songs. I mean, we do some of that, but it's not all that. Not even close. But I don't want you to think that I don't see it either. That I don't see that, truly, I have it good. That I have been blessed and should be grateful for what I have. Because so many people have it so much harder. I know these things, and I'm going to try my darndest to remember them when writing here.

I love you all for listening to my rambling.

Like a bad country song...

Last week was one of the worst weeks of my life so far. I'm not saying that to be dramatic. It just happens to be the truth. If there was a record of my worst weeks - with weeks that family members died and boys broke my heart - this one would land somewhere in the top three.
I have been debating with myself a lot about how much of this story I'm going to tell you. It's an extremely personal one, and one that I think most people would not tell. But, with the space of a few days to clear my head, I think I'm going to share it. Number one: because that's what writers do. And once, I promised to be real when writing here on this blog. And number two: in case any one who happens to read this goes through the same thing some time in the future, I want you to know I understand and I'm here if you need someone to talk to.


*deep breath*

I guess I should start at the beginning...
I thought I was having my first cycle since my son was born (he's 14 months old now but we had been nursing the whole time). I bled lightly for three days and then it quit. It seemed normal and I thought nothing of it. But then four days later it started again, and this time it came with horrible abdominal pains. At first I thought, "Man, the first period after a baby really sucks." And I've heard that, for some, that really is true. But after two days of increasing pain - a pain that stabbed me like a knife if I bent over or tried to get up off of the couch - I had a sick feeling that something wasn't right. I asked my husband to bring home a pregnancy test when he got out of classes. It was positive.
This is where it gets really hard for me to tell...
I sank down onto the side of the bathtub and rested my head against the sink, crying. It escalated and escalated until soon I was rocking back and forth, thumping my head into the sink, sobbing and saying, "What did I do? What did I do?" That's how my husband found me.
A million fears and pangs of guilt had overwhelmed me in an instant. I had missed a few doses of my birth control pill around Christmas. I forgot to get it refilled before the holiday weekend and when my husband and I were impatient, I said a quick prayer, "Lord, only if it's Madeleine."  You see, that's my daughter. I've seen her. I know what she's going to look like and I know she's mine. So I said the prayer that I would only get pregnant if it was time for Madeleine. I didn't feel ready to be pregnant again already, but if it was her time, I was willing. And that's where I should have stopped. In that place of faith and trust - that's where I should have rested. But instead, as soon as I could get my birth control refilled, I started taking it again. And all of that is running through my head as I'm reeling from the collision of facts: a positive pregnancy test, bleeding, and severe abdominal pain. "I feel like I've lost my baby girl," I choked out.
Here is where I have to tell you that my husband is a super hero. He stepped up in that moment to be everything I needed him to be and said everything I needed him to say. Not that it stopped the crying, but I don't know how I ever would have faced last week without him there.
The next morning my  husband woke me up at 8 am with a cup of tea and some good news. He had woken up early, cancelled his entire day (a practice flight, a stage check with the head instructor, and three classes) and made me an appointment with my doctor in Helena. "We leave in an hour," he said. When I asked how he could afford to miss all that, he simply said, "You need me today."
We loaded up the car with some "just in case" over night things and started out for Helena, just in time to get a message from my doctor's office that she would have to cancel the appointment. She had gone into a delivery. So instead, we pointed the car towards the small clinic here in Three Forks. The Nurse Practitioner - I remember her name was Kristin - did a brief exam and asked me several questions and then gave me the list of things we could be facing. And that was the first time I heard it: ectopic pregnancy. It hadn't even occurred to me. Kristin said, "Every time I hear 'stabbing pains' I worry about it a little bit."
I was so naive, I asked, "What happens if it is an ectopic?"
"Surgery." The word punched me in the gut. Of course. I knew that, didn't I?

She sent us to the hospital in Bozeman for an ultrasound. On the drive in, I tried desperately to stay calm. It might not be an ectopic. But it could be a miscarriage. Or it could have been a false-positive test and all of this could be an overreaction. When I started hoping for the last option, that's when I lost it again. What if I really was pregnant? How could I sit there and wish it away? But I wasn't ready. I didn't want to be pregnant yet. I was just feeling like myself again. Drake is sleeping through the night most nights. I have energy and wanted to work out and be strong before my next pregnancy. And I wanted to enjoy my marriage again. To share a bed with my husband and actually be able to snuggle up next to him without a belly in the way. I wanted to get out with my family this summer and maybe actually do some of the things we love and miss so much. But if there was a baby inside of me, I couldn't imagine anything worse than losing it. I was so conflicted I felt like I might fly apart. My husband just held my hand and kept trying to remind me, "We don't know yet."
The ultrasound was a two-part test, on the belly and internal. Which is humiliating, by the way. To lay there on that bed with all the worry and fear and then have someone...... it's horrible.
She was too quiet. And she kept looking at the same area over and over. And it hurt. It really hurt. And then she brought in the radiologist and my suspicions were reinforced as she pointed to the screen and said, "See? This area here."
He asked her to show him more angles and take a few measurements and then he said it, too. "Ectopic pregnancy." But he wouldn't commit to it. It could be an ovarian cyst, he said. He sent me to the emergency room for a blood test.
I am supremely grateful for the phlebotomist who was on shift that day. I have a severe needle phobia. Really. I pass out half the time. But the man who drew my blood was such a bright spot in the middle of one of my darkest days. He made me feel so comfortable and he made me laugh and he was so, so kind. I saw him several times that day but, sadly, never got his name. If anyone knows the tall phlebotomist at Bozeman Deaconess with reddish brown hair and a kind smile, please tell him thank you for me.
I layed in the hospital bed for almost five hours before we had any real answers. In the end, my worst fear was confirmed. Ectopic. A pregnancy in my right fallopian tube. And there is no saving it. The baby can't survive it and, if left untreated, often, neither does the mother. Those were the cold hard facts. Thank God for an OB/GYN who managed to share all of this with me with some warmth in her voice and manner. But "manage." That was the word they used. We had two options on how to "manage" the pregnancy. The first was medicinal - a dose of a chemotherapy drug that would dissolve the tissue. The second was surgery, in which case I could lose my fallopian tube and have decreased fertility in the future.
I was incapable of deciding. I was physically exhausted, mentally hazy, and emotionally raw. I couldn't form words to tell someone how to... how to... I still can't. A large part of me wanted to just go to sleep and have it be over. I told Justin I needed him to make the decision. He said that, for the sake of my health and our future children, we needed to do the medicine.
About thirty minutes later, a nurse came in with an extra-large syringe full of a yellow fluid. She said it had to be inter-muscular and had me roll on my side. As she slowly pushed the medicine into my body, I cried and squirmed. The moment she was out of the room, I lost it again. The medicine burned like evil. I felt like I had an enemy inside of me. I tried to escape it, clutching onto Justin, crying, "I don't want it! I don't want it! I don't want it. I don't want it. I don't want it....
When I finally stopped, I told him I wanted to go home, and he did everything he could to push the nurses to get me discharged quickly.
Over the next several days, I was weak and nauseous and in pain. I cried at the slightest reminder of what was happening, which was often since my body told me every minute. My mom and sister came to stay with me that first night, but after that it was just the three of us, trying to recover. And again, I have to tell you that my husband is a gift from God. He never went back to work or class that week, and he took care of everything. Which was a lot. When I list it all for you, you'll understand why I said it was like a bad country song: I was just trying to recover both emotionally and physically while also sick with a cough and head cold. Drake had a really bad relapse with his anal stenosis and was crying and screaming again as he tried to go the bathroom. (In fact, the first bad episode happened while I was having my ultrasound at the hospital, and Justin had to try to comfort both of us.) Then Drake got my cold. His first cold, poor baby. A fever and a cough and everything. On top of that, the chemotherapy medicine that was coursing through me made it necessary for me to wean Drake once and for all. It was harsh on both of us - like an insult to injury. Justin started getting up with him at night, both so that I could rest and so that Drake might not be so mad that I wasn't nursing him. Then, as a final straw, our boxer, Sadie, ripped open her foot and it got infected. It was so swollen, it was nearly twice the size of her other paws. Justin had to take her to the vet and brought her back with a cone on her head and two types of medicine she would need to take for seven days. Yes, even the dog.
The bright spots in the week were the time we got to spend together and the friends who reminded us how much they loved us. I had friends stepping up to watch Drake and offering to do anything else we needed. I got some beautiful flowers from my B's and a card signed by my dance family back home. I got a lot of sweet messages from friends and family offering their support and love. And we got through it. Thank you all.

Today, I'm feeling like a survivor. I still feel sad sometimes, but I feel stronger. I started working out the day after the doctor gave me the go-ahead this past Monday. I am determined to let this serve as a reminder of what is important. I will be strong for my next baby. I will be grateful for each day I get to spend with my husband and my son. And hopefully next time I see a positive pregnancy test, I'll be ready.
I still don't know how to resolve the fear that I lost Madeleine. Justin says my faith has to be bigger: that if I believe that God has shown me my daughter, I have to believe he will give her to me. I'm working on it. I'm praying a lot.
In the hospital that day, I said another little prayer just before the nurse gave me the shot: "Back to your care." And of at least that much, I'm sure.

Celebrating Parenthood: Mother's Day/Father's Day Numero Uno

What's not to celebrate when this is your kid? I mean, really?

I could not have asked for a more perfect day for my first Mother's Day. Firstly, every day is a gift with this handsome little man. Secondly, I was lucky enough to celebrate with the whole fam damily, which is a freaking miracle these days. My brother and soon to be sister-in-law just happened to be in town (they live outside of Portland these days) for their good friends' wedding. My brother-in-law was also home - another rare bird - from the oil fields so we were all together for the first time since Christmas.
We all gathered at the Main Momma's house, had delicious food (smoked salmon with capers and cream cheese on a cheddar bagel anyone? mmmmm), drank some mimosas, soaked up the spring rays, and generally just enjoyed the hell out of each other's company. The kiddos played on the grass, Drake had his first taste of pineapple: all good.

Sadly, I couldn't make as big a to do for Father's Day seeing as my hard working hubby has all of about three waking hours with us on Sunday's (and Saturday's for that matter). However, I did wake him up with coffee ready and surprised him with some fun loot. I got him an antique coffee grinder that we can refinish/remount - an intended "first home project" for our new house (yes, we're buying a house! more on this later), a vintage poster of his home town, Franklin, TN as an attempt at a "thank you" for all the things I know he misses and has given up to make a home with us here. Then, of course, I got him some beer and a new pint glass. This is essential.
My Dad joined us for our short, but sweet, Father's Day. (I had actually been lucky enough to spend the earlier part of the day with him - No Sweat breakfast and a down town stroll - but asked him to come over rather than cut the day short). I made banana pancakes like the ones I had seen on skinnytaste.com (I'm obsessed! She's amazing!) but threw in some little airplanes to celebrate Justin's new undertaking to become a pilot. Hearts and airplanes: those go together, right? We had bacon, white trash mimosas - and even some home made coconut syrup that Dad whipped up! - and brunch was to die for.
Then  Justin was back to business - getting himself ready for work. But for a brief couple of hours, it was so nice to dote on him. I try to make sure he knows every day just how much I appreciate him - how much I see that he does for us all the time - but it was nice to have a day to say, "Hey, you rock at this fatherhood thing and I love the hell out of you for it."

Birthday Day

{Alternately titled: Marriage Update: My Husband is Amazing}

My birthday isn't actually  until this Saturday - I'll be 26 - but we celebrated yesterday because the Hubs works weekends. Justin made an all day event out of it. He brought me some pre-breakfast yogurt in bed (cuz I was starving) and then brought me my first present: a gorgeous pair of brown leather boots. (The hunt for the right pair of boots has been a long-standing one - my poor Hubby has tried several times to get me the right ones, only to be foiled by my wide feet or my big calves or my distaste for synthetic materials. Sadly, yesterday's gift was another strike - big calves - but they really were gorgeous. He did a great job picking them out.)  For a full breakfast, he took me to the No Sweat. Mmmmm, the No Sweat. If you live in Helena (or within a reasonable drive, even) and you haven't had breakfast at the No Sweat, I'm slightly concerned about your mental health. Because you're crazy. It's delicious. It was the perfect start to my birthday celebration. We sat in one of the worn, wooden booths next to the glorious heater, ate big piles of freshly shredded hash browns and thick cut ham and melty, gooey cheese and sipped coffee and talked and laughed and sang along with the Motown tracks that were playing in the background.Yes.

From there, we loaded Drake into the backpack carrier and walked down the street to Sole Sisters to return my gorgeous boots. I tried on another size, but nothing worked. They were either too tight in the calves or too big in the feet. Poor Justin: he was seriously bummed. But it wasn't all bad! I strolled around the store, stroking and admiring the gorgeous selections of girly dresses and flowy tops and shoes that could be on display in an art museum more readily than worn on your feet. I found a soft blush dress with tiny grey polka dots that made me feel pretty.

From there, we took Justin to the chiropractor, then on to lunch at The Red Atlas, complete with an It's-My-Birthday-Beer.

And then! The highlight of my month: a 75 minute massage from Amy at Lazy Owl Massage. Glory. Completely relaxed on a massage table with a heating pad, sublime smells of massage oils and lotions, the [recorded] sounds of the ocean. In a word: heaven.

After that luxurious experience, Justin took me home for a lazy afternoon of lounging in bed with my two favorite men in the world, watching Midnight in Paris, and flipping through pictures of beautiful homes online - day dreaming about the kind of house we'll have one day.

My beautiful mother picked up Drake around 6 p.m. and I was free to get ready without distraction or time constraint. A hot shower (shaved legs!), blow dried and styled hair, full makeup - all in preparation for the culmination of my wonderful day: date night with my handsome husband.

He took me to the Mediterranean Grill and we stuffed ourselves with fresh and yummy food like lamb brochettes, caprese salad, swordfish with basmati rice and seasoned veggies, kunefe for dessert - all accompanied by a fabulous bottle of Earthquake Zin from my old hometown (Lodi, CA). We enjoyed the hell out of the food and the wine and each other's company. We talked about all the adventures we still want to have someday. We got sentimental and made toasts to each other. We promised to never let it get old.

Towards the end of the evening, we saw our good friends Jesse and Porter walk by and invited them in to finish our bottle of wine with us, then joined them a few doors down for a proper cocktail at Miller's Crossing. I blew $15 in the slot machines hoping I could get lucky on my birthday, we laughed at me and how easily I get tipsy these days, and then I started missing little mister. We picked him up and were home in bed before midnight.

The day was better than perfect. I am so grateful to be married to a man who will go to such lengths to make me feel so incredibly special. As much as life may change, as many children as we may have, as busy as it all may get, I hope we never stop doing this -taking a day to celebrate each other - because that's where it all began.