The time when my entire peace of mind got destroyed.

Yesterday during the early afternoon sometime the dogs started freaking out in the backyard.  I mean, sure they bark and go crazy a lot, but this was a whole other sort of thing.  Frantic-like.

At the time, I was in my bed, sleeping.  Matt had gotten up and left the house early to run another Half Marathon and Peter had then decided that around 5:30 am he was just going to be done sleeping.  And not only was he done with sleeping for the night, he was going to make darn sure I was done sleeping too.

To skip over the long story about that battle, after church and when Matt got home I put myself back to bed.  I felt like I was starting to come down with a bit of a head cold or sinus thing anyway, and, well, basically I was just tired and needed a nap.

Except it took me a long time to finally doze off as I was still all wound up from the morning's fighting with my son.  And then outside of my room I could hear Matt waging his own little war with the boy in order to get him to take a nap.

So then about an hour and a half or so later, when I heard Brutus going bananas in the backyard I was more than irritated to be woken up.  After thinking for a minute I realized just how frantic he sounded, and that I could hear Molly's low "woofs" as well mixed in there and I knew something had to be up.  I looked out the window and saw them running up and down the hill.  I assumed there was a cat or something nearby.

I stumbled sleepily out to the kitchen to ask Matt what was wrong with them.  No that's a lie.  I was all prepared to start yelling at him for not calming them down.  But when I got out there, Molly was now standing in the kitchen barking madly.  Brutus was still running circles outside and still barking like crazy and Matt was trying to call him down while holding his cell phone and calling somebody.

I asked him what was going on?

"There's a rattlesnake up on the hill..."  he said it calmly.  Like it was no big thing, except not quite.  There was a touch of excitement in his voice, which happens only rarely at best with him so I should have known he was sure.   He pointed toward where it was but I realized then I didn't have my glasses on and I couldn't see any details anyway.

I went and got them and immediately started wondering how Matt knew it was a rattlesnake, as opposed to some other sort of, like, harmless snake.  I mean, I know they are supposed to be common around here, but, still...

I went back out and with my newly rediscovered eyesight I looked to where he was pointing.  Maybe about 10 feet up the hill (on the other side of the retaining wall,) almost dead center, on a sandy patch between some bigger bushes, there it was.  It was much smaller than I expected.  But it did look like a rattler to me, at least, according to my absolute and utter lack of knowledge about the subject.  It wasn't very big, maybe 2-3 feet long and only about an inch wide at best... but still.

I don't even like looking at those things at the zoo when they're safely behind glass and now there was one live and in person in my own backyard.

Yikes.

I know what you're all thinking, and no, I didn't go to get my camera.  I was too busy worrying about my dog who seemed intent on getting at the thing.

I asked Matt if he was sure of what it was.  Then he informed that yes, he was sure.  Molly had discovered it and gotten close enough that it rattled a warning at her.  I guess that is right around the time that all hell broke loose and the barking had started.  Matt had heard the rattle plain as day and wasn't going to take any risks. He actually mentioned that he was surprised how LOUD the rattle had been.  Like, there was no mistaking that sound, even on this fairly small specimen.

He was still trying to find a number of somebody to call to take care of the thing and Brutus was still barking all crazy and tearing around.  Every time he got within 10 feet of it we called him back and he did back away but he wasn't interested in coming inside.  Duh.  He's never interested in coming inside.

I suggested that Matt try to at least chase him into the garage so he wouldn't get bit and I started calling more numbers for animal control places near by.  Obviously it was Sunday so most of the numbers received no answer.

Matt came back in a few minutes later with a very unhappy and very wiggly Brutus in his arms.  He shut him up safely inside the house with the rest of us and started calling more numbers.

Eventually, he got a hold of somebody who promised to be over in 20-30 minutes.  I ran next door to tell the neighbors (who's kids play on the hill behind our houses all the time) of what was going on and by then the snake seemed to have gone someplace to hide.  I sort of wished I hadn't taken my eyes off of it, but it was too late now...

So the man came.  He searched our entire property.  He poked bushes and in holes and under piles of brush.  He looked and looked and looked.

He didn't find the snake.

The dangerous, venomous snake, that Matt and I had both seen with our very own eyes.

He said that most likely it had slithered off, away for its own safety.  Like our dogs had scared it away or something.

Or else it had found a nice hole to hide in.

Yeep.

We decided to let Molly out.  The man felt pretty confident that it wasn't still there.   She comes when called so we figured we'd let her have a go at sniffing around and maybe finding it and setting off it's rattle again.  If she didn't find it, well, that would be a pretty good sign it had gone.

We've had dead bunnies and rats enough around here since she came around to prove that if something was up there, she'd sniff it out.

She literally came bounding out and did a perimeter sweep.  Well, no, first she sniffed the guy and his tools and his bucket.  He had a couple of skunks and a raccoon in cages from whatever job(s) he'd come from so he smelled wonderful to say the least.  Anyway, once she was done with him she checked all the fence lines before scurrying back and forth across the hill looking for the snake again.

She came up with nothing.

Between her assessment and the man's we felt pretty confident it was gone.  It was a warm day, so it would have been likely to act up and rattle it's warning if either of them had got too close.

I'm not going to lie though, I'd feel a whole heck of a lot better if he'd found it though.

It seems pretty likely that the snakes would stay up on our wild-brush covered hill, based on the terrain the like.  And my kids are NOT allowed up on that hill.  But still.  Also, if it had "run" off after being harassed by my dogs, well, hopefully it (and all of its slithering friends) would be more likely to stay away as well.

I showed the kids pictures on the computer of rattlers from this area and made them promise that if they ever saw one to get away quickly.  I also told them that if they ever hear a strange buzzing rattle noise like a maraca out there to get away faster and come inside.  I read up on what you're supposed to do in the event of a bite.  I know where the closest ER is (right across the street from our church and school actually) and located a couple of Pet ERs as well. We kept the snake guy's business card and stuck it to our fridge.

I now feel as prepared as possible to deal with this if it happens again, except not really at all.

What if one comes back while we're not here to call the dogs off?

What if one of the kids... nope, I can't even finish that sentence.

Just one more thing for me to worry about.

Sorry if you like playing in the backyard kids (and dogs) Mommy is going to sell this place and buy a nice condo in a high rise downtown someplace where we'd be surrounded by nothing but nice, safe concrete....

Five Complaints for Friday

1.  My internet sucks today.  It's really, reeeeeally slow for no reason at all and it keeps cutting in and out.
Obviously you can see how this would make accomplishing anything online difficult.

I'm already in a pretty terrible mood today and the sucky internet is just. not. helping.

2.  Peter has had a TERRIBLE week.  It's been awhile so I guess we're just due.  And, I mean, when he's been good, he's been good.  But when he gets tired or decides he doesn't want to do something I need him to do, all hell breaks loose.  Last night was particularly bad and after a long week full of these meltdown/fights, it basically took me over the edge to a place where I am not capable of dealing with his crap anymore or forgiving him in a timely manner.  Does that make me sound awful?  Probably.  But I read an article yesterday comparing children under five to, well...  terrorists and I LOVED it.  And, so, okay, maybe he's not doing it on purpose to torment me and probably he just hasn't figured out a better way to express himself or deal with his feelings or WHATEVER, but still.  He gets HORRIBLE.  Mean.  Violent.  And he does terrorize us.  The whole entire household becomes subject to his particular brand of awful and I lose my sh*t.

I know that today is a new day.  I should put yesterday behind me, forgive him and move on.  But today, I just can't, even though I desperately want today to be better.  I'm not a big enough of a person I guess to look at him and forget the awful things he did and the awful way things he said YET.  I need more time.

Also, after Matt went to work this morning I fell back into a deep sleep and was having this crazy dream.  Peter (having stayed up late terrorizing everyone) slept in a bit but then popped out of his bed just before 7:40 am which is when his little face appeared next to mine in my bed to wake me up.  And then, he didn't say "good morning mommy" or "please wake up mommy" or anything sweet like that.  He didn't tell me it was morning and that it was time to start our day or even that he was hungry and could I please make him some breakfast.

Nope.  He skipped all the pleasantries or reason and just got right up in my face and straight demanded that I find his school backpack for him so he could get the toy cars out that he believes he had left inside of it.  Never mind the fact that he owns approximately four million other toy cars and trucks and trains that he could have played with.  Never mind the fact that his school backpack has a home and was there, waiting for him by the front door where it (almost) always is and he could have very easily found it himself if he actually tried.  No.  I needed to get up immediately and find those missing toys for him RIGHT NOW.  Or else.

The outright and utter selfishness of this behavior just kills me.

Yes I know he is 3 1/2.  Yes I know little kids are often (usually?) self centered and selfish.  But this morning?  I just can't stand it.

I love that boy like nothing else.  Maybe that's why it hurts so bad.  I want so badly for him to know this and to feel like he can always count on me no matter what.  But when he continually behaves so completely horribly and selfishly?  Ugh.

3.  A.J., on the other hand, is either about to have a massive growth spurt or she's decided to become fat.  She simply will NOT stop eating.  And when she doesn't have anything to eat she is trying to get more (junk) food.  She's constantly in the fridge or cupboard demanding more food and if I dare to tell her NO she screams bloody murder.  Like this ear piercing, glass shattering, screech that might just be designed to shatter the glass of the candy jar to free up some more treats for her.  I've tried making her bigger meals.  I've tried locking the cupboards, etc... but she can't be dissuaded.  The kid wants to eat.  And eat and eat and eat.  I really do hope she's just growing a lot right now, because I don't think I have the energy to deal with childhood obesity.

4.  The pregnancy, right now seems to be going pretty well.  I'm getting big and round but not yet huge.  The vast majority of the weight seems to be in my tummy only which is good because I do not want to be one of the pregnant woman who gets swollen and/or fat all over.  The baby kicks me a lot.  A lot.  Makes me realize that it won't be long before this sweet baby will become it's own version of a little terrorist in my house just like it's older siblings before. I have a lot of pain in and around my tummy.  These are similar to those I had with the other pregnancies, they're just here a lot sooner and are already a lot worse.

Probably, if I wasn't so hormonal and bitter and I could think clearly this morning, I'd realize the dealing with the pregnancy on top of my little deviant son and his perpetually hungry sister is why I am so enable to forgive and forget and move on today.

My big girl panties don't seem to fit right now, so I couldn't put them on, grow up and get over it all today, even if I wanted to anyway.

5.  Also, and basically unrelated, being pregnant seems to be having a pretty healing affect on my psoriasis overall.  Most of the patches are cleared up except for the ones on my scalp and the ones on my fingertips.  However, the fingertips, right now are worse than I can ever remember before.  The outer layers of skin on a couple of my fingers have peeled off so many times now that all that is left is this raw pink, leathery layer that cracks and then bleeds.  It hurts like the dickens to have cracked fingertips and do, well, anything.  I'm typing this with my fingernails right now, to avoid pushing on them, no joke.

Also, because I did a few internet searches about it (looking for home remedies that would be safe for the baby,) I am now getting dozens of adds on every web page I open about psoriasis.  And every single page has something to do with getting over the embarrassment   Can I just say, once again for the record.... Screw being embarrassed over psoriasis!  Who the heck cares?  You know when I found out I was supposed to be embarrassed by this?  When those stupid ads and commercials starting popping up all over the place to spread the word, so to speak, and tell me I was supposed to be embarrassed by it.  I say, that if somebody is actually going to be so shallow as to judge me for an auto-immune disease I have that causes me some gross skin patches, etc, FORGET THEM!  I really need to internet to stop sending me those adds.  The trouble is, the ad robots, or whatever, don't listen to reason.  By clicking on a psoriasis add and telling it to go away forever, all I seem to accomplish is telling the ad robots to find me OTHER psoriasis links to send me.  Grr.  I can't stand it.

Do my fingertips hurt like hell right now?  Yes.  Do they looks pretty nasty?  Yes.  But nobody would even notice them if I didn't point them out so why on God's name should I be embarrassed?

Attack of the Nervous Mom Brain

Am I the only person who schedules a playdate and it goes something like this?

-Invite over the friends of my kids and their mom.
-Surface clean/organize my house so as not to appear completely gross.  Nothing fancy like vacuuming  but you know, make the beds, throw the 45 pairs of shoes that gather around the front door in a closet and put the dirty dishes into the sink instead of letting them sit out on the counter.
-Prepare a mostly well balanced meal for all the kids to enjoy.
-Your guests arrive.  Everybody eats and then the kids play and seem to have fun.  The other mom and you break up a few arguments as expected but overall the kids seem to get along great.
-The other mom and you chat happily and honestly throughout the duration of the play date.  You feel good that you have found a mom friend.
-When it's time for them to go, the kids put up a fight but eventually, without too much blood or tears everybody works together to put ALL the toys away-ish before they leave.
-Everybody promises to do it again soon, either at your house or theirs.

You feel happy.  Your kids seem happy

Maybe you'll never be Martha Stewart, but perhaps you're not a total disaster as a SAHM after all.

But then... you inexplicably start to remember every detail of the afternoon and worry about if you offended your guests.  Did you offer them enough options to eat/drink?  Did you have available enough clean towels in the bathroom?  Did you break up a fight too soon or too late?  Did you come off as too "having it all together" by making all that food?  (You don't want to seem pretentious.  She doesn't really think our lunches normally look that good or are that well balanced, does she?)  Did you share too much in the conversation?  Did you say anything that could have offended her?  Did you bring up the forbidden topics? (money, religion politics?  Darn it yes!  Those always seem to come up, but maybe that's because you know these people from your child's private Catholic school.  Sending our kids to that school seems to be ALL about the money it costs, our religion and our political beliefs, so how do we stay away from those topics??)

Did you listen well or did you just talk too much?

Oh my goodness, they'll never come back will they?

Or maybe, perhaps.... hopefully... you just worry too much and it really was fine.




But... Oh... was it really?

One Year later

It occurred to me this morning when I was checking the weather and saw that date what day it was.

It's been a year now since THIS happened.

It's crazy, actually, to realize that we're already so far removed from all of that. The deployment, that seemed to go forever... but in reality went on for just a few weeks longer than a year, is now another whole year behind us.

I'd be lying if I said I still don't feel and find the affects of that terrible year on all of us sometimes. The good and some bad.  Perhaps that's just the way of life though.

Also, everybody looks pretty similar a whole year later... except my hair is much shorter now and A.J.'s hair has gotten a lot... bigger.  (I would say longer, but it seems like the curls make it so it never actually looks any longer.  As the length increases it just gets more and more volume, so it never hangs much past her shoulders and it's beginning to appear as if it never will.)

Weird.

Oh, and Peter is missing a tooth.

Baby #3's First Pictures

To read the title of this post, you might think we finally got an ultrasound for the first time to take a sneak peek in on the new baby.  This, however, couldn't be further from the truth.  It's just that, as I already have two kids, it is proving way harder than ever before to find time to sit down and scan the images so I can post them here.

Anyway, last week we had the "big" important official ultrasound and since that one came with some really good pictures, I finally cleared some time and have gotten myself all caught up on scanning.

This means I have lots grainy and somewhat blurry ultrasound images to share.... even though some of these are long over due.

Better late than never eh?

To begin with, this first one was from our very first appointment.   The one where a nurse basically confirms the pregnancy for me, made me do one heck of a lot of paperwork and then tried to nail down my due date.

Almost 8 weeks.  (or 7 weeks and 4 days, as you can plainly see in the bottom left corner)
Basically, the baby was a blob on the screen with a heartbeat.  Weird.

Next up, about a month later, was my first actually visit with my new doctor.  She did another quick look in order to take some more measurements and further confirm my due date.

About 12 weeks (11 weeks, 6 days)
Baby looked something like a gummy bear with long, skinny legs.
So maybe more like Mr. Peanut actually....

A another month later, when I went in for my check up I was having a really, really bad day.  Peter had been on a bad spell and the nurse told me I hadn't gained any weight (normally that would be good news but I had enough lectures about prenatal weight gain when I was pregnant with A.J. to last me a life time) and by the time the doctor got to me I was on the verge of tears.  I asked her towards the end of the appointment if she was sure she didn't need to do another ultrasound and she obliged, if I promised it would help me calm down and make me feel better.

It did.  Nothing is better than hearing that little heart beat except of course, seeing those little images of your next kid, who by that point was finally starting to resemble an actual human baby.... you know if you can ignore the seemingly missing arms and legs.

Since this was just for my peace of mind she didn't really measure,
but I was right around 16 weeks along.
And she did make sure to identify both of the arms and legs for me.
Not that I could really see what she was pointing at anyway...

She also TRIED to get a peek between the legs, to give me an early guess if it was a boy or a girl but all she could see were two, very firmly crossed ankles.  Phooey.  Another one of my children was proving to be stubborn from the get go.  Like even while still in the womb...


Finally, last Friday, after what seemed like an E-TER-NIT-Y of waiting, it was time for the BIG ultrasound.
Of course, they do these so they can take a close look at the baby's development and organs and all of that, but, for the parents- along with the stress of looking for birth defects- comes the added benefit of finding out the baby's gender.  :)

Of course, when Matt and I got in there the tech informed us she needed to take about 50 pictures for the doctor first and then, once she was done with her checklist, she would turn the screen (so I could see) and show us the really interesting parts.

So I laid there shivering because it was FA-REEZING in that room and there was an air vent blowing directly on me while she did her thing.  Matt stood calmly in the corner at my feet looking over her shoulder, watching and asking the occasional question while she poked and pushed the wand around on my fat tummy looking for what she needed.  The screen was turned away from me enough that I could see the images change but was unable to really see any details.  I alternated between trying to strain my eyes to see what she was looking at and studying her face, looking for signs of concern (like if she found something scary or abnormal.)

Eventually she said she was almost done but that the baby needed to move if she was going to get her last couple of images.  She sent me to use the restroom and told me to curl up in a ball for awhile in order to try to "squish" the baby into changing positions.

After several more minutes she resumed working and quickly got the last of what she needed.

Than she finally turned the screen for me and showed me who she'd been looking at all that time.

The profile... with an arm, or maybe two.... I think

This one is obvious, and even if it wasn't she labelled it for us.
It's a foot.  Looking at it from underneath...

Then came time for the big gender reveal.  My heart pounded.  Matt leaned in, even though he can never tell what he's looking at when he sees those images until somebody tells him what he's looking at.  I, however, am a nerd who has spent entirely too much time on the internet looking at ultrasound pictures of other people's babies and of how to identify the sex.

Also, I already have 2 kids, one of each, as it stands, so I've had the images explained to me before.

Once she had the image up she asked me if I had a guess and I knew right away and told her so.  She said I was correct and then said the official "It's a ____" words.  I cried a few joyful tears and that was that.

Now:  Below, I am going to post the gender picture so you can try to guess for yourself, but I'm not going to come right out and say it.  Please be forewarned... if you already know what it is (because Matt or I told you,) I ask you to PLEASE keep it to yourself.  If you also happen to be good at reading ultrasounds, well, good for you, go ahead and assume you know accordingly.  But again, please keep it to yourself.  Any public comments left for me here or on Facebook will not be published or will be deleted if they give it away and ruin the fun for anyone else.  You can, however, feel free to private message me or email or text or call, or whatever, if you would like to confirm your guess or discuss.  If you're lucky, I might even tell you whether or not you are right.  ;)

I just thinks it's fun to let it be a surprise for MOST people.

Also, it feels really weird to start talking openly about the baby's gender when really, at this point, it is just our best guess and we could all be surprised come September.

Happy guessing.

And also prayers that the doctor doesn't see anything concerning in all those pictures.  (Although to be honest, I'm sort of assuming that if she had, I'd have already heard from her, so hopefully it's a good sign that I haven't.)

In the Backyard

It's a very gray Monday morning here now.  And this time of year, grayness comes from a "marine layer" of cold, wet air from the ocean to our west.  It means dampness and cool and can make getting oneself motivated in the morning extra difficult.  I'm sure it will burn off in a few hours as the warmer air from the desserts to our east comes fighting back.  Probably, in a couple of hours it will be glorious, warm, a sunny and 70 degrees again.  And I'll feel silly for even noticing the grayness this morning and letting it slow me down.  

Probably.

Last week we had a particularly bad marine layer that stuck around for 3 whole days.  

Either way, in the interest of pepping myself up this morning, here are some random pictures of the wonderful signs of spring around here.  "Spring" of course, which in Southern California can very rapidly wind up being confused with "summer."  

(Except in Summer it would likely get a lot hotter.  A lot.)

I took this picture back around Easter.  The trees, having spent 3 or 5 months
this fall/winter losing all their leaves were just starting to grow them back.
The sun, peeking through the baby leaves seemed really pretty to me...

A close up some of the "baby" leaves.

Of course, with the return of shorts and reliably warm weather, Peter  has renewed his
obsession with baseball.  Nearly every afternoon he drags out a bat and the bucket of whiffle
balls and then begs and begs for somebody to pitch to him.  He has two different tees, but that
just isn't as much fun for him.   Finally, Matt tied one ball to a string and hung it from the tree so he could
practice swinging that way too.  It helps him work on keeping his eyes looking at the ball and
he only seems to  whack it hard enough to get it stuck in the branches above every other minute or so....

A.J. mostly just wants to play with her water table or bubbles.
She also categorically refuses to wear shoes....  

There tends to be a lot of swinging As well, usually after dinner when Daddy can push them.
I mostly worry they're going too high and wonder how all that motion doesn't upset their stomachs.  

 Finally:

This last one kind of cracks me up.  Molly likes to get really hunkered down in the bushes and
tall grass up on the hill.  Maybe she thinks she's being stealthy and it will help her catch more bunnies?
Boy do I up she never catches any more bunnies...

First Spring Soccer Game

After a couple weeks of practices, this morning Peter had his first spring soccer game.  When he played, he did very well.  Unfortunately. the opposing team's coach was being... problematic and Peter spent the middle half of the game in my lap on the sideline crying. Eventually Matt was able to get him back out there towards the end and he at one point took the ball all the way down the field to set it up for a goal. I was very proud of him for this. He managed to keep control of the ball even in the massive huddle of 3 year olds, right up to the goal.  Then somebody from the other team got it and put it in our goal for him.  

We're still working on his understanding of what it means to help his team score and just how big of an accomplishment that is, regardless of who actually kicks it in. He's really good at stealing the ball back from the opposite team, and really that is huge to me and way more of an accomplishment than actually scoring.

He seems to have only limited interest in soccer, even though he's pretty good at it when he tries. Mostly he just asks me when it will be time to play baseball (t-ball) again instead. I've tried to tell him soccer is a nice way to stay in shape for baseball, and that it can be fun too, but after days like this, I'm not sure he'll ever be convinced.  I almost didn't even sign him up to play again this spring, but he did say he wanted to and I still think its a good activity for him to burn off some of that extra energy.  

Also, he still had his cleats from the fall and they still fit...

Anyway, I'm working hard to over look a lot of the ugliness that happened at the game this morning and just be proud of him.  We still have several more games to go, and the league is small this season, so it means we will see that coach several more times....

Here are some pictures from the better parts of this morning:

Lucky number 3!

Our Team Banner
(That's Rebels as in the Rebel Alliance from Star Wars, I guess....)

Most of our team, waiting on the bench to get started.

Gathering around coach

Quick team cheer!

A few warm ups...

Everybody finding their starting spots

And the game was underway!  Notice Peter on the left of the screen... he was placed
by the coach as the lone defender to start things off.  He doesn't realize what a compliment
that is, but it shows the coach realizes he's good at recapturing the ball. :)

My guy, in hot pursuit of somebody on the lose heading down field... he kept that kid from scoring and drove him
out of bounds instead.

Trying to get the ball back for his team again.

MUCH later in the game, here he was after an out of bounds, throwing it back in.

Here he is when he got the ball for real, right at the end, and started heading
back down the field with it to try to score.  I LOVE that he has his arms out wide to defend his space and balance. :)

A moment later, moving the ball, the girl on his left helped, and the pair maintained possession for their team and
got it to the goal.  Who cares if some other (clueless) kid on the other team actually kicked it in (for us.) Anybody can kick it in, getting it down there and lined up properly is the hard part!!!

So yeah.

More to come, I'm sure.

(Hopefully without the hefty side serving of drama next time.)

Later that same day.....

I'm not kidding.... Less than an hour after I hit "post" on my last entry I heard A.J. fussing in the kitchen and, well:

CRAP!

Almost but not quite....

The last 2 days during the kids resting time I've wandered into the kitchen to find myself a snack.  Both days I found A.J.'s stool from the bathroom on the counter, like this:

Now... for months and months and months we've found that stool on the floor in that corner.  Whenever she decides she wants or needs candy or junk food (or maybe even just a banana) she goes to fetch her stool and tries to help herself.  

Not like she's kidding anyone.  Even if she does manage to get what she wants, she can't open the packaging (or the peel) by herself yet so her stolen treats always get taken away.  

Still, that doesn't stop her.  My baby has a sweet tooth something bad....

But since Easter, the last of her basket of Candy has been living on top of the fridge, so apparently she's aiming higher these days.

Hmm.

Just think about it.  Study that picture for another moment.

She's figured out that she'll need the stool up on the counter to reach the basket on top of the fridge.

But she still hasn't pieced together how to get up on the counter there without using that same stool.  And if she leaves the stool on the ground to climb up, than she can't reach it from the counter to then bring it up with her.

It's like... one of those science or math logic problems they make you work out in teams at adventure camps in middle school.  You know, the ones when you need to build a bridge to move your group across a small canyon using just duct tape, a couple of bandannas and a pile of small twigs?

At this point, I'd like to point out that she climbs up on the opposite counter using the bar stools all the time to get stuff.  I find her up there at least once a day trying to play games on the iPad.

So, what I want to know is how much longer until she figures out all she needs to do is drag one of the bar stools over to that corner and then she'd be able to climb up to the top of the fridge any time she wants.....

She's a tricky one that girl....

Watch out!  

An Entirely Different Kind of Horrified

Not to, in any way, make light of yesterday's post or the terrible events that happened in Boston on Monday, but yesterday afternoon I found myself horrified for a whole different set of reasons.

It was mid-afternoon. A.J. was sleeping and Peter was in his room with the iPad. He's supposed to work on his early math and letter apps but most of the time he just gets on Netflix and watches cartoons. It's not my favorite thing for him to do, but it gets him out of my hair for a couple of hours in the afternoon with the added bonus of him actually laying down in his bed and resting. As energetic as he is, an afternoon rest is key to us making it through until bedtime without some sort of colossal fit from him.

I heard a bunch of barking from the back yard. Both the dogs were out there so I figured somebody was walking by or something. The neighbor dog was going nuts too, but, he does this a lot, particularly when my furry little friends are running wild up and down our hill or something, so I didn't really think anything of it.

Then I decided I wanted some jelly toast (I have no idea why,) and went into the kitchen and popped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. While I waited for it to pop I looked out the kitchen window to see what the dogs were up to.

Oh crap.

Molly had something small and furry in her mouth.

Ew.

Not again!

(A couple of weeks ago we found a small dead rabbit over by the side of the house.  Last week Molly was digging furiously under the fence and later we found them with a dead rat.)

I went out to chase her off of it and see what it was.

A teeny baby bunny bunny was sitting there, somewhat battered and soggy (from dog drool) and looking at me.

Ohhhh.

Except obviously it wasn't moving and it was presumably already dead so it wasn't really looking at me. That was just my over active imagination.

Brutus kept trying to get back at the poor thing, but, well, that's gross so I chased him off. I also knew there was no way I was going to take care of the little body so I started for the garage... then I went back inside to get my shoes. Handling this at all while in bare foot was just out of the question for some reason.  (I know, I am SUCH a girl.)

Once I had my shoes I fetched a big bucket from the garage to cover it up with.  I also grabbed a brick so Molly couldn't upend the bucket and get back at it. I figured it could sit like that, safe from the dogs until Matt got home in another couple hours.

I shuddered as I got close enough, set the bucket down carefully, added the brick on top and jumped back relieved.  It didn't stop looking at me right up until I covered it up!!!

Obviously Jen, I thought to myself, the creature is dead, it isn't like it's going to go suddenly looking anywhere else.  

I grabbed my phone and took a quick picture to send to Matt.

Brutus was frantically trying to get back at his prize.  Stupid dog.

I went inside and sent the picture. Then I posted it on Facebook too because, well, I figured some of my friends would find it funny what a wimp I am.  Then I went back to the sink to wash my hands and get my toast.

I looked back out the window to make sure the bucket and brick were holding.

WHAT THE HECK?

The dogs had it out again and seemed to be fighting over it.  AAAAH!

I rushed back outside. The bucket was still in place but I supposed Molly had used her weight to tip it while Brutus drug it out.

I shooed them both away again and lifted the original bucket back up again.

Then I screamed.  (And probably cursed.)

The original bunny was still there, all sad and bloody and looking at me again.  I put the bucket back.  They must have gotten another one.

Dear Lord Sweet Baby Jesus!  Why on Earth would a family of bunnies make their nest on MY hill where my dogs are so clearly a threat?!?!?

I went to fetch another bucket and brick.  The second creature was much worse off then it's little friend.  Oh well... at least I couldn't see it's eyes.

I covered it up too, then snapped another picture.

By the time I'd sent it off to my husband and gotten it up on Facebook as well, Brutus was already back up on the hill, scavenging through a big giant bush, which I'm going to go ahead and assume had been the location of the little bunnies' nest.  I said a little prayer that there weren't any more in there for him to bring down.

Molly was sniffing and licking the grass around the buckets.  *Gag!*

A little while later Matt came home.  He'd gotten stuck in a late meeting and hadn't even looked at his phone to get my picture messages.  I filled him in anyway and, without even so much as changing out of his uniform he went to take care of it.  

Molly, by this time, had forgot all the fun and come back inside to resume her usual routine of impersonating a throw pillow on the love seat.  

Brutus however, was still madly hunting around the backyard and, I'm not even kidding, seemed to be making periodic circles around his treasures. At the sight of Matt he started bounding around happily, eager to show off his catches.

"Whatchya get?"  Matt asked him while he reached to over turn the first bucket.  Boys are gross I guess, because Matt actually seemed proud of the dog for this.  

Except when the bucket came up, the creature underneath sort of rolled around a little.

Matt jumped back a bit. The thing kept twitching. "This one is still alive..." Matt said gravely. I was standing safely on the porch watching this whole thing and I started to half giggle/half sob hysterically. It's this thing I do when I get excited or nervous and scared all at the same time.  

He shooed Brutus away again and went to check the under the other bucket. (No movement there.)

I just went right ahead and continued cackling from my spot on the porch.

The first little bunny kept twitching pathetically and looking at me.  Except this time I knew it wasn't my imagination, it really was looking at me.

"GO INSIDE."  Matt ordered me.  

Should we take it to a vet or something?  I wondered.  Could we save it and keep it as a pet?  

"GO INSIDE!!"  He told me again. By now he had a large shovel in his hand. I knew what needed to be done, and was thankful that he was going to do it.  He didn't want me to see, so for once I followed orders and went inside.

Then (and you can go ahead an make fun of me for this if you want) I sat down on the couch and sobbed and sobbed for awhile.

Is that silly?

I don't know. I was sad for those innocent creatures. I was sad that my own sweet dogs had been responsible. Or okay, it was probably just Brutus. Molly, if anything, had just helped to dig and possibly corner the things. She's a little too dumb and slow moving to be much of a good hunter. (Labrador RETRIEVER mix and all...) I cried because I'd unknowingly left that first one to suffer until Matt got home. I cried because it was all kind of gross and I am a big wimp.

I cried because both my kids LOVE bunnies.

I cried because I thought the steady stream of dead animals ended when my cats went missing....

I cried because, well, I tend to cry a lot.

There was also a whole big fuzzy confusing thought swirling around in my overly hormonal, pregnant brain about the reality of this word and the vulnerability of life.  Most animals kill.  My dogs, even though domesticated, are just animals, following some deep seeded instinct.  And as sweet as those small bunnies were, it's just the nature of the world that the small, vulnerable animals are more likely too get it.  God has made arrangements to protect those species too of course, bunnies make more babies, like well, bunnies.  

But also, in the light of Monday's bombings, I kept thinking that every life is so precious.  

So precious.

And just like that, any life can end.  

Horrified

I'm having a really hard time moving on today.  Trying to be normal.  To do anything other than search through news articles and photos looking for some good news or a reprieve about yesterday's horrifying bombings in Boston.

I held back tears this morning as I got my son dressed for Preschool.  It's barely been three and half months since the shootings in Connecticut and I've only just begun to relax about leaving him there again. But yesterday I felt all sorts of guilt that I've relaxed about it at all.  Why did I "forget" already?  How did I put it out of my mind?  How dare I relax about giving him a proper goodbye hug and kiss every single morning before I leave him there... just. in. case.

I don't know the city of Boston well, but I've been there... mainly sitting in traffic back at the turn of the century (ha!) when Matt was in Newport, RI and I would go to visit him.  Boston was in the process of moving lots of the above ground freeways into underground tunnels and the traffic was insane because of all the construction on top of the normal city congestion. I know the airport well also.  Matt and I shared some of our biggest early tearful "goodbyes" back then, when we were still young and in love, but not enough to 100% trust each other not to move on in the difficult long distance circumstances of our relationship then.

That doesn't matter so much though.

What does matter to me is that Matt and I are both runners.  He, much more so than I.  But still.

I began running during one of the hardest times in my life.  I wanted to feel strong.  I wanted to challenge myself.  I needed to do something just for me.  I wanted to be a part of the fitness movement and participate in events that, while including huge personal triumphs for myself, really were about so much more than just me.  Next month it will be a year since my first 5K event.  In the 9 months that I was really seriously running (before I took this maternity leave from the sport, as it were) I participated in 4 5Ks, 2 10Ks , 1 5K obstacle/mud run,1 5 mile race and 2 half marathons.  As "impressive" as all of might seem, what really is much more interesting is all the long hours I spent training.  That's where those races are really run and won.  Training runs, being so so much harder always.  Without the thrill of the crowds or the promise of a shiny medal at the end of the day.  It's just you and your running shoes, and maybe your ipod, a bottle of water... and in my case a jogging stroller holding my 2 year old.

It's just you and your gut, trying to outlast your brain and will yourself to keep moving forward, through the hot sun or the wind or (although never in my case) the freezing cold and the intense pain, across the ever increasing miles.

What right did some coward have to attack a running event... no, THE running event and try to take that achievement away from people?

All those long hours training...  My heart breaks not only for the victims injured but for all those who'd put in the hours of preparation only to have their finishes taken away from them by an act of terrorism.  And even those who did finish and will go home safely?  Their triumph is surely now tarnished and sour.



A long time ago, after a shift at Sea World, while I was driving home, I passed by part of the course for one of the marathon races here in town.  What I saw were runners, sure... but more importantly I saw the fans.  The family members and loved ones and just plain strangers that gathered along the side of the road to cheer those runners on.  It was amazing.  Beautiful.  It nearly made me cry just to see it.  And I knew, maybe, someday, I wanted to try to do that do.  It didn't matter to me then if I was a spectator cheering for Matt or if I was one of the runners, but I wanted to be a part of something like that.

It seems like the spectators took the worst of it yesterday.  Innocent people who got up that morning with no other purpose in mind than to cheer on their friends and a lot of strangers trying to achieve something great.

The atmosphere at a big racing event is quite honestly one of the most amazing things I've ever experienced.  It's joyful.  It's exciting.  The air quite literally vibrates.  I love being a part of it.  I mean sure, the physical fitness is great... The shiny medals are great... but really, the just being there is the greatest.

How could somebody destroy that?

I take my kids to those events.  I WANT them to experience that atmosphere.  To share, not only in the achievements of their parents when we complete an event, but to realize that they to can do amazing things if they work hard for them.

Boston is supposed to be the elite event.  You have to qualify to run it.  You have to be... basically... insanely FAST to go.  I can only imagine how amazing the atmosphere is there.  People must be achieving their lifelong dreams and goals all over the place.

Who attacks that?

and also WHY?

I can't help but think back to November, when I ran my first truly long distance event, the half marathon up in Santa Barbara.  A lot of my memories of the event have already faded.  But I remember those last couple 100 yards the best.  My body hurt, I was tired.  But I was excited and full of adrenaline.  The crowd was cheering.  The energy was amazing.  I just kept moving forward because I was so close to finishing and I stuck my hand out to anybody in the crowd whom I could reach to give and take high fives.  Afterward I cried and cried and I still don't even know why.

And now I can't help but imagine how that experience could have been different for me, and all those people around us... including my husband (who was running the full marathon,) and my mother in law and my children who were there cheering, had something like what happened in Boston yesterday happened then.

It was a different location and a different, much smaller, way less meaningful race, but it's easy and terrifying to see how it could have been just the same.

The bombs yesterday went off right around the 4 hour and 5 minute mark on the official race clock.  (Give or take a couple of minutes either way... forgive me I just can't make myself watch those videos again to verify the exact time.)  All I can think of is Matt.  He ran his first marathon in Santa Barbara in 4 hours and just over 4 minutes....

If it had been that race that somebody decided to attack... if it had happened at the same time... where would Matt have been in relation to those explosions?

All that is hypothetical of course.  It was a different race.  But still.  Santa Barbara's race in November 2012 was a qualifier for Boston.  If Matt had been fast enough, he could have qualified to be there yesterday.

And so alright, to qualify, Matt would have to shave a good 55 minutes off of his November time (or even a good 40 minutes off of his PR from the end of January.)  BUT STILL.  He could qualify for that race some day if he worked for it.  We've talked about his doing it.  He still might try to do it in the future...

In a very real way, Matt could have been running yesterday.  And I might have been there with the kids, to cheer him and all the other runners on.

Where would we have been?  Would he have been done yet?  How would we have responded?

Would we have even had the chance to respond?

It's horrifying.

I have a lot of runner friends.  Many of whom had friends who were there yesterday.  Thankfully, it seems that all of my friend's friends are okay.  However, there are so many who just aren't.  I don't actually know them, but then again, I do.  Those injured runners and spectators could have been the runners and spectators from any of the events I've been to or participated in.  Running is a community.  The people are all, in a very real way, the same.  It's a family.

I just don't get it.

I don't.

And I'm terrified.

Last night, as I wasn't sleeping all I kept thinking about it how I hate lying to my children.  I want so so badly to be able to be honest with them.  But a couple of nights ago, Peter had a bad dream and wanted me to stay with him even though he insisted he was too scared to sleep.  I laid in his bed with him for awhile and hugged him tightly and promised him that he was safe.  I promised him that there was nothing to be scared of and that I'd protect him from anything either way.

Even while I laid there and said that (a couple of days before this latest tragedy) I knew I was lying to him and I hated it.   I hate that the world is so full of ugliness and things to fear.  I hate that it is so random and there's really no way of knowing what might happen or any real way to be prepared.

I know that even in the face of all this badness there are heroes and helpers and amazing goodness.  I know that the ugliness and the badness doesn't ever really win out.

Except that a little bit... they do.  People are dead.  Totally random, innocent people.  And no matter how many amazingly good stories of heroism emerge from tragic days like yesterday... those innocent people are never going to get their lives back.  Or their lost limbs back.  Or even the triumph of completing that race back.



And meanwhile, all we really can do is pray.... in fact PLEAD with God to keep us, and our precious loved ones safe.  Please dear Lord, please not them. I beg you Lord, just spare MY sweet babies.  Lord... my husband, please....  

There's nothing more to do or say.  Just, please Lord.  Please.  I beg you...  Amen.

Random Five for Friday

1.)  Every time I see the new space in Peter's bottom row of teeth I get a terrible guilty feeling in my gut.  Strangely, it  makes him look older than he is too.  Like a kindergartner or something.  Except, with the newly added space he's lisping a bit again when he talks.  As in, "Mommy, can I pleasthe have sthome more milk in my sthippy cuppy?"  It kills me.

A.J. still lisps almost all the time.  Like for real, she was just talking to Team Umizoomi on TV about some "rocketh sthipth and sthail boaths"  in her case it's still pretty cute... but I suppose that's because her lisp doesn't remind me of anything traumatic.

My mother in law, for whatever reason, can never understand anything Peter says, but yet even when A.J. was still pretty teeny, she had very little trouble figuring out her.  I sort of wonder if, at the rate we're going, she's ever going to be able to communicate well with her Grandson.

Side Note- Speaking of Gramma:  Yesterday at school they did a lesson about growing up and growing older.  We were talking about it at dinner and I asked Peter if he knew of anyone really old in our family.  He said of course, and named his Gramma and Grandpa.  Hahahaha! I only laugh really, because his Gramma isn't even 60 yet.  In my mind, she's not old at all.  But I still sometimes give her a hard time about being old and apparently, so does my son.  


2.)  This morning I heard AJ making noises in her room pretty early... like before her brother was even up.  I can't ever think of a time when she's been awake before him, so I should have known something was up.  But I had a bad night, full or pregnancy pains and odd dreams so it didn't click.  When I did go to free her awhile later... she really still can't work her bedroom door to let herself out of her room... I found her laying on her tummy in the middle of the floor, smelling like pure evil.  I was actually a bit relieved because she's been a bit constipated the last couple of days and it seemed like maybe she'd cleared things up.  She had.  All over everywhere.  The mess came out the front of her diaper and onto her jammies all the way up to her boobies.  And because she had on a separate jammy shirt and bottoms a lot of the mess ended up all over the carpet.  I was grateful for a moment not to have to strip her bed and wash sheets but it soon occurred to me how much more difficult it is to shampoo the carpets.  Gross.  Having kids is really gross.


3.  Last night we had soccer practice for Peter.  It's a new season and a new team and he's suddenly one of the bigger, older, more experienced ones.  His enthusiasm is a good thing and a bad thing all at once.  He absolutely can not sit or stand still when the coazch asks him too ever.  Ever.  He also, holding true to his character, has declared his love and affection for one of the cute little girls on his team.  He was paired up with her for passing drills and it was interesting to watch how careful he was to get the ball right to her nearly every time.  Then, towards the end of practice they were scrimmaging and I almost died of shock when I saw him willingly give up the ball and pass it to a team mate.  Later, Matt told me he knew why he'd done that.... the girl he passed it to his the newest little love.  That boy of mine.  I tell you.


4.  Peter's new favorite thing to do for me... whenever I complain that the baby is making  me feel yucky or when I tell him to give me a minute before I can get up because the pregnancy is giving me pain is offer to call the doctor for me.  He get's his Dad's old cell phone out, pretends to dial and tells the imaginary person on the other end that he needs to make a "nappointment" for his Mommy.  I can't decide if he just has a big caring heart and he wants to make me feel better, or if has just learned from watching me, that this is what one does.  I sure do feel like I call a lot of doctors (dentists) for him after all.


5.  I have determined, through careful trial and error, that the Life Expectancy of a Platex Diaper Genie Elite is right around 18-20 months.  The original one I purchased shortly after P was born broke not long after we moved to Washington.  The connector thing between the pedal and the lid broke.  Now just last week Matt broke the connector thing on the one I purchased to replace it and doing the math I realize it has been something like 18-20 months for that one too.  I have yet to decide if that amount of time warrants the $30-35 price tag, but as I am now on my third one, I suppose I have decided that the Genie does such a good job containing the yucky diaper smells that I just keep shelling out the cash.  Also, this model is hands free (with a pedal to open it up) and I really really prefer that.  I've used the other version at friends' houses and it grosses me out to have to touch the lid,etc.  So, for whatever that's worth.... now you know.

Also, I can't help but wonder why for that much money, they can't solve the pedal-to-lid-connector-thing breaking problem.

But anyway...

How He Made Me

Do you ever think about the different ways people are "wired?"

Like the way we are made?

On the inside....

Like how some people can function on no sleep and others need it for days?

And some people can remain calm almost no matter what but other people are always freaking out?

And how some people are open and social and friendly all the time and others find this to be really really hard?


Is there a right way to be?


I hope probably not, being as, you know, God makes us all how He wants us to be.  But like, it seems to me that maybe there are certain types of people who are just "wired" better to be successful.

For simplicity's sake, let's consider two people I happen to know well:  my husband and myself.

Looking at just the factors I mentioned above... Matt can function on almost  no sleep, and regardless of how late he stays up, or how many times he has to get up in the middle of the night, whether he is sick or not, he can always willingly bound out of bed to start his day well before sunrise even.  (How nice for him.)  Matt also tends to be the most even and calm human being I've ever met.  Yes, he can get upset over things (usually the things I do or the money I spend) but it's really, really rare and he recovers really really quickly.  And, of course, Matt isn't overly, ridiculously outgoing and social right away, but once he warms up to people, he can be the life of any party, so to speak.

Me on the other hand?  I'm pretty much just the opposite.  My brain doesn't like to shut itself off at night and falling asleep is always really difficult for me.  It doesn't really matter how tired or sick I am.  If I get woken up in the middle of the night it will take me a good while to settle back down again.  And come morning?  Good luck.  It is always really, really exceedingly difficult to get myself out of bed.  It's painful actually and pretty much always has been, both because it's so tough to get out of bed every morning and because people give me such a hard time about it.

I'm not lazy, I'm tired.  The kind of tired that comes from night after night of laying awake all night, I guess.

My brain and my body hurt from lack of sleep.  Sometimes I wonder if I didn't get enough sleep when I was younger... like a growing teenager and I am permanently backlogged because of it.  Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me.  Last summer when I got the "maybe Lupus" diagnosis there was actually a part of me that felt hopeful, even in the face of that scary disease because I thought maybe I finally had an answer to what was wrong with me.  A friend of mine commented that my "fatigue" didn't even compare to what I would feel if I really had Lupus because it would be like, impossible for me to get out of bed every morning.

When she told me that, I wanted to scream and cry at the same time.  IT IS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE for me to get out of bed most mornings!!

Do you want to know why/how I do?  Because of my mother.  Because she used to miss work ALL the time and could never keep a good job for very long because she said she just couldn't get out of bed.  When I'm exhausted and morning comes and I sort of feel like just staying there and dying or something, I eventually drag myself up (most of the time) because I so so badly do not want to be like my mother.  I believe in the power of prayer and positive thinking and I force myself out of bed just so that I won't be like her.  I don't want to be like my mother.  I love my children and I want to do the best I can for them.  And each and every morning of my life now, that means the first thing I have to do is pry myself out of bed in the morning, even though its really really hard.

A doctor once told me there was no way I'd be able to run half marathons if the pain I sometimes feel in my knees and hips and shoulders and wrists and back was actually as severe as I say it is and could be maybe related to the maybe Lupus or the maybe psoriatic-arthritis or whatever.

Um... really?

People do amazing things all the time in the face of pain.

Who was that doctor to dismiss my pain?

Because I normally don't complain about it?  Because I normally go on functioning in spite of it?

My pain that, when I run, on bad days could easily knock me over.  But I just refused to let it.  Mind over matter! My body might be weak and sore but my mind can still be strong RIGHT?

Like the deployment.  I just kept going, day after day.  Don't stop.  Keep moving.  Ignore the hard and just do it.

RIGHT?!?!?!

Sorry, I'm off on a tangent.

But I don't necessarily have Lupus or the psoriatic arthritis, (although to look at my skin right now I'm OBVIOUSLY having a psoriasis flare and so wouldn't that maybe be why I am feeling so awful and thinking about this right now,) that they can tell, or... maybe I might, and they just can't tell for sure YET... or something.  It's all very confusing.  So I still don't have any answers and I am still just tired all the time.  And grouchy, and struggling basically every single morning of my life because of it.

If this doesn't make sense to you.... if you don't understand how getting out of bed most morning could really be that excruciatingly painful and hard for me.... if you think I'm just being overly dramatic or whatever... well... that's for you then.  If you don't feel this way, or you never have, you'll never understand anyway.

Also, auto-immune diseases are really, really confusing.

Anyway...

Emotionally?  Ugh.  This is a whole other problem for me.  I feel like I am just not made to NOT care.  Forgive me for the double negative, but that's how it is.  If I see something upsetting, I feel it.  If I see something exciting, I get happy.  Most of the time, my emotions swing, widely, every day, back and forth, all day long.  Sometimes, I have "low" days and I feel numbish and unaffected about everything. It's strange and confusing and I wonder if this is how everybody else feels most of the time.  But normally, I see I homeless person or a sick person I get sad and wonder about their story.  My heart breaks for them and I want to cry for hours.  If it seems like somebody doesn't like me I care.  I agonize about what I'm doing wrong.  I try to please them, even though I don't really know how.

Over on Dooce she has described it sort of like this: When something is happy the world is great and full of unicorns and puppies and rainbows everywhere.  But when something is bad, well, the world is over and there's no hope and we're all going to die.

Sounds about right to me.

I feel like I have a bigger range of emotions than most "normal" people maybe.  (I say this about Peter often as well.)  Like if a "normal" person feels their emotions on a scale of 0-10, (with 5 being indifference, 0 being complete and utter despair and 10 being absolute elation,) I maybe have an emotional range of at least -10 to 20.  My low number is still my saddest, and my high number is still  my happiest, but my happy and my sad are maybe just SO SO much more intense than a "normal" person.  Maybe.  Does that make any sense?  The swing is bigger.  More extreme.  And, even though I got a C in physics, I did learn that when things have a wider range of motion, they're harder to control.

Socially?  This is my "strength" and also my downfall... probably because of my emotional swinging.   I like people.  I want to know people.  I like to talk to people. I talk way too much to people.  I am working at being better at listening to people and trying to talk less.  Because really, most people don't want to hear it.

But also, if I find someone who actually seems interested, I tend to over share with people.  I guess I don't really understand (or perhaps I just tend to forget) that maybe not everyone wants to know and talk about the truth. Some people like to (need to) glaze over the facts and ignore some of the hard stuff.  I mostly just find it impossible to talk about anything other than the truth and the hard stuff.  I need to be real.  People tend to pick on me about this as well.  Want to know why I don't have a relationship with my brother anymore?  It's because he couldn't stand my need to be honest.  Absolutely, he didn't want to hear it.  And I don't really know how else to be... so we just don't anymore.

So yeah.

When I was in high school and college I remember feeling desperate just to be heard.  Why wouldn't anybody ever actually listen to me?

Someone once told me, not to be mean, (but that's exactly how it came out,) that I just talk so much... it is exhausting just trying to keep up with everything I'm saying.

Hm.

Well, sorry, but I don't know how to slow down my thoughts any more than I know how to taper down my emotional swings.  But I always thought maybe that if I could just find some one who really was interested in listening, maybe they'd get me.  Maybe somebody would finally understand.

Maybe that's why I have a blog.  It doesn't matter if anybody out there is reading it, because just by writing it all down it feels like maybe, just maybe, somebody is.  Maybe I really am being actually heard.  Somewhere. For once.

Except probably not.  I've had this blog for almost 5 years and I have 4 official followers.

(Whatever.)

Also, enter Matt into my life, I guess.

Why he puts up with me, I'll never know.  Whether or not he really does listen to me?  Well, perhaps it's better I don't think about that.  He sure does pretend to listen well and be interested anyway.  And if its just an act, and he's just pretending, I suppose I'd better not think about that.

My point though, getting back to it... is that if Matt is made one way, and I am made the other, which one of us is better?

I'd hope God would say neither... that He made us each in our own way for a purpose.

But...

(Oh that dreaded but.)

It really, really, really seems like this world is made for Matt's type of people.  Matt's type of people succeed.

Matt is awake, energetic, calm, and just the right mix of reserved and social.

My type of people?

The constantly sleep deprived, overly emotional, over-sharers?

We don't.

We spend our lives feeling... wrong.

And in my case, because the social stuff matters way to much to me, and because I care way too much about everything... well, it just sucks.

It's defeating, just living... trying to accomplish anything, even a so-called normal life for my family, in a world where you don't fit in.

Not sure where I'm going with this.  Do I have a point?

I don't know.

I guess I've felt this way for a long time.  Like I never belong.

I worry that because my son is wired so much like me that he's going to have the same struggles.
Maybe he already does.

As much as I HATE to admit it, all of this makes me staggeringly like my mom after all, and no matter how you shake it, that woman is basically unable to function in society.  How much can I stubbornly refuse to be like her and force myself to fit in where I actually don't?

I don't know.

I guess that's the point, isn't it?

Or maybe God makes us all different for a purpose.  And even though it feels hard most of the time, there is a good reason for me to be a misfit.

Maybe.

I wish I knew what it was though.