Genevieve Salome

Or, Jellybean Salami- as we sometimes call her- turns 9 years old today. Her birth seems so long ago. It was a cold night; snowy and dark. The teenager that we hired to come watch Olivia kept sleeping through my phone calls. Labor was getting progressively worse, and I wanted my epidural. When we finally were en route to the hospital, the girls' dad stopped at the gas station to buy cigarettes. I wanted to kill him. The rest of the drive was spent alternatively yelling for him to hurry up and get me to the hospital, and to slow down and not hit any bumps, because it made my pain unbearable. There were some hitches during the labor process, but what always stands out to me the most is that from the very moment Genevieve was born, she has made people laugh. She came via c-section, so I couldn't see what was going on, but as soon as I felt her being lifted from my body, the room burst into laughter. While at the time it seemed rather insensitive to me as I lay splayed open on the table, I was told that as she was brought into the world, she reached out and snatched a scissors out of the nearest hand. They had to pry them from her tiny fingers.

Genevieve has been a clown ever since. She loves making people laugh! There are times when I just plain do not understand her sense of humor, but luckily, Shawn's is identical to hers. While they are delighted to make poop jokes all day long, Olivia and I exchange glances and wonder how on earth that can be so funny. Then, we end up laughing right along with them simply because Genevieve is laughing hysterically, and it's too contagious to withstand.

She is the most sensitive child I have ever met. It hurts her to see others suffer, and she cannot lie or she will be physically ill by bedtime. When I discipline her, I need to explicitly state that I am not angry with her, or she will dissolve into tears at the mere thought that I might be upset. She needs individual attention every night, in a certain routine, even if she has been the center of my day. Then, I need to visit her while she sleeps, and dot her hand with a washable marker to prove I was there. Her most treasured gifts at Christmas and her birthdays are toys that I have made for her, and they are never far away. She endures relentless food allergies and skin problems, knowing that she is not like her friends and never will be. Traditions are very important to her, and she fully expects all of us to follow them. She makes us all better people.

She is our eccentric genius. Gen adores school so much that she is disappointed when it is Friday, because that means spending two days away from learning. Every notebook on her shelf is filled with numbers, because she plays school at home, and does math for fun anytime we drive anywhere. I can never help her with her spelling words because she always forgets the list or loses it the moment she gets home, but she consistently gets 15/15 or 14/15 for scores despite never studying. She cannot follow more than one or two commands at once; "Get your shoes on and find your backpack," is too complex to remember once the shoes have been tied, but each day after school, she gets a snack and does her homework without being asked. Every time I go to the school, I have to rummage through the lost and found to bring home half of her wardrobe, yet she is better at saving money than most adults. She has a Kindle, a Nintendo DSI, and is now shopping for an iPad Touch- all paid for with her own cash. Somehow, I feel like her personality is best summarized by her outfits. Every day, I look forward to what she will wear:

The gloves and hat are not for practical purposes- they're for flair.

This is a Wednesday night before Kid's Club at church.

This is one of her more common outfits that she likes to wear to school when she's not feeling snazzy enough for dressing up: 

Then there is this gem, which literally hurt my eyes one morning:

Yup, those are zebra socks OVER her white leggings.

Or how about this piece of magic:

You are not mistaken; that is a GALAXY on her pants.

I love this girl; so does everyone else who knows her. In fact, she is the first person that Shael said, "I love you," to. She always wakes up with a smile, excited to see what the day holds. She forgives easily. She is amazing. Genevieve, I love you!

Olivia Joelle

Olivia Joelle turns 12 years old today. I still remember the day I gave birth to her. The memory is so clear; awful, but clear. Her birth was long and hard, and if our arrival into the world gives any clues to our future personality, hers certainly did. To this day, Olivia is stubborn and often does things the difficult way. She is absolutely her own person and will do things her way, in her own time. While part of me rolls my eyes and shakes my head, a larger, secretive part of me smiles and admires her; no one will ever tell who to be or what to do, and that makes me outrageously proud. When I ask her to do something that she deems unfair and  she sets her jaw and her eyes start flashing- oh boy- I know I'm in for a battle. But I also know that anyone who ever tries to peer pressure her will get this same response, and that's a comfort. Any poor decisions will be hers and hers alone! On the other side of her stubborn coin, she has a respect that baffles me; in the midst of completely disagreeing with me and arguing like a top notch attorney, she will absolutely abide by the punishments and boundaries I have set. She was grounded soon after school started for not turning in her math homework, so I took away all electronic privileges: no email, no IMing with friends, no online games, etc. She knew she was in the wrong, and accepted her punishment (after many attempts to explain and justify her absent homework- that's the little lawyer in her that she has always been), and never disagreed with the new rules. As of right now, she has nearly 350 emails from friends awaiting responses, but she knows that she needs to pull her math grade up before she can check them. Them's the breaks. Instead of pouting every day or whining or complaining, she comes home with a smile on her face. She still loves me, and accepts me through my faults. She can't wait to embrace her brother and ask him about his day, and this leads me to another facet of Olivia that blows me away daily: she is an excellent mother. She is a better mom than people we see out in public. She is a better mom than I am. She is astonishing. From the moment Shael was born, Olivia became more of a mommy than a sister.

With Shawn gone, and baby Shael unable to latch on, Olivia took over his care when I had to pump around the clock. And she wanted to. She was only 10, but I told her that breast milk was important for her brother, and that was all she needed to know. If it was important, she was going to make sure it happened. I was relieved and grateful for her help, but wrongly assumed that she would grow tired of this new baby and his demands. The last two years have only grown her love and nurturing instincts.  As I said, every day she looks forward to seeing Shael. If he's napping when she gets home, she's crushed. They play, they laugh, she scolds him when he's naughty... if I told her today that I needed to leave for a week and that she would have to take care of Shael for every single hour of it, she would be ecstatic. She smiles every time Shael says her name ("A-lee-ya"), and applauds his every drawing, complies with his every wish and command, and kisses every owie. Shawn and I just need to be around to make sure that Shael isn't too spoiled! Recently, Olivia and I were looking over Shael's newborn pictures, and marveling at how ugly he was- we had thought he was absolutely gorgeous! I told Olivia that this is common- a mother always thinks her baby is just the most beautiful thing ever, but as time passes, we can look back on the old pictures and see just how mashed up and distorted our baby's face was. While it doesn't surprise me that I fell for this yet again, it does surprise me that she did at only 10 years old. She couldn't believe that these pictures were of her Shael; she remembered him being so handsome, not yellow and puffy and wrinkly. 

This Halloween, Shawn was working, and Genevieve went trick-or-treating with her dad. Olivia was excited to be able to take Shael out. I drove the van, but she wanted to help Shael go door to door. It was beautiful to watch her hold his hand, help him over every curb, keep him out of the way of traffic, and prompt him to say "thank you" at each house.

As you can see, Olivia was joined by friends for a little while. She didn't ask to run off with them, and they knew she wouldn't want to; they joined her and her brother. They all roamed the neighborhood together while I trailed in the van, un-needed, and proud of that. Shael had so much fun that night, and Olivia got to feed him his first taste of candy bar. 

This fall, Olivia started middle school. It's a new school in a new town, and although many of her friends shifted to the same place, it was still an adjustment. Olivia started experimenting with running when I did, and she has grown to love it, so asked about joining the Cross Country team. I was thrilled that she wanted to participate in a team sport. We got her registered, but the season was already half over. Olivia didn't care, and jumped right in. At her first meet, I didn't recognize a single person. I asked her which of her friends were on the team- none of them were. She hadn't known a single person on the team when she joined, but now loved all of her teammates. I consider myself very friendly and social, but there is no way I would have joined a strange sport in a strange school full of strange people at age 11. She didn't hesitate. 

What an amazing girl. I learn from her constantly. She's my parenting guinea pig, but doesn't mind. She understands and is patient with me. She is compassionate- for her birthday, she has asked for clothes and toys for the local women's shelter. For Christmas, she wants dog and cat food for the animal shelter. She made me a swear jar for the window sill to help me clean up my mouth. She loves to bake, and has the most hilarious sense of humor in the world, and can make me laugh until I bawl. She and Genevieve drive each other nuts, but as soon as Genevieve is scared, Olivia is the first to put her arm around Gen's shoulders. She loves climbing trees, drawing, reading, writing, and crafting. I couldn't live without her, and I just can't believe that she's in my life every day. Thank you God, for my first baby; I will never take her for granted.

Anticipation

Pregnancy is a magical, wonderful, thing. It's so hard to believe that I'm making a human being in my own body. Despite it being my fourth, it's also hard to believe that it's going to come out of my body, but I try not to think about that. Feeling a baby squirm inside of me is truly fascinating, and I don't know if I will ever tire of watching my stomach jump and stretch as I carry children. However...I have always said that pregnancy is about 6 weeks too long. Really, it's quite tolerable until the end. This pregnancy especially gave me hope that I would be comfortable until delivery. The cruel fact is that sometimes, being pregnant just stinks. If you're a man, or a woman who has not experienced pregnancy, just quit reading right now; I wish to neither disgust or scare you. If you're a woman or partner who has been there, done that, you'll probably relate, or at least be able to laugh at me.

The bigger I get, the more questions people have. For the most part, I don't mind (but "How many are in there?!" will never be cute to me, just so we're clear), but if you think you're sick of waiting for me to whelp, just know that in no way, shape or form are you as irritated with how long this takes as I am. And my poor family... I caught myself criticizing the cat yesterday. Her looking at me was too much to take. The dog- who normally follows me everywhere anyways- has stationed herself SO CLOSE TO ME that I trip over her constantly. I stop myself from telling Genevieve not to breath when she eats. Or telling Olivia not to touch me or telling Shael that I'm not a jungle gym (just kidding, I'm regularly snapping at everyone to get their hands OFF OF ME). Or elbowing Shawn in bed because he's crowding me ("No, I'm not, you're just huge."  The truth hurts.) I want everyone to leave me the crap alone, but would be really mad if they actually did.

My chiropractor has always been astonished at how low I'm carrying. Trust me, I'm astonished, too. All my babies have been low, but this one takes the cake. There is nothing quite like feeling someone else break-dance in your underwear. If I can feel it there, shouldn't this baby be crowning? Apparently not. So, I wait while it riverdances across my bladder and punches me in the cervix. Unfortunately with this child, since I am carrying so low, my tendons are strained all the way up the sides. It burns, and wraps around to my back. My chiro is a lovely lady, however, and does what she can to massage and loosen those ligaments. Also, as of yesterday, she wants to try to help me "get things moving". When she walked into the room, she had put her hands on her hips and said, "My God, you're even lower. How can you even walk?" She massaged a couple of key accupressure points to stimulate labor. I contracted all evening, but it stopped before bed. This is the way my last few months always go for me. You would think by #4, I would have this labor and delivery business all figured out, but I never know when I'm in labor. It takes many hours of what seem like Braxton-Hicks contractions. Sometimes they get painful enough to wake me up every ten minutes for hours-which should really mean it's true labor- but they mean nothing. When Olivia asks if I think I might be in labor, I just tell her that I don't know, but I do know that I won't miss it. Sure, some women wait too long or have really fast labors and accidentally birth at home, but that doesn't scare me. In fact, we were planning on a home birth until my OB doctor proved to be so incredibly awesome and laid-back that we realized we were going to be able to do everything the way we wanted to under his care (when we asked him if he would be our back up if we home-birthed, he said he absolutely would, and that he didn't blame us for wanting to birth at home, since medical establishments treat pregnancy like a disease and OB's interfere way too much). So, anyways, if I somehow miss the excruciating pain leading up to delivering my baby and accidentally birth at home, Shawn and the kids and I are all 100% fine with that. They all know more than they probably want to about this whole process. Sometimes, that's awesome- I know I'm teaching my daughters important aspects about pregnancy and childbirth that usually aren't discussed and can take young women by surprise. Olivia gets the giggles when I sneeze, because she' knows I probably just wet my pants. Genevieve is no longer startled if she catches me crying in the bathroom because I can't find my phone. Olivia tries not to be offended when I forget her in the church library and go to my class without her, because my brain no longer works. Shawn drives us everywhere, because even driving is too uncomfortable, and he's probably sick of hearing me grunt with every single move I make. I fall asleep as he drives and wake up choking on my tongue- multiple times. We had to stop at Target for super absorbent pads as I think ahead to postpartum. The other day he asked me if I had lost my mucous plug yet, and I mourned the innocence that our relationship has lost.

 With us having four children, it's easy to forget that this is his first experience with a wife preparing for labor. A ready-made family and his 2nd deployment spared him all of this stuff in the past. He marvels over the tiny baby clothes that I've washed and hung in the closet- he's never really looked at newborn sized clothing. The little diapers don't seem real. Having Shawn around is an aspect will be new for me, too; with Olivia, my ex and I were young, dumb, and did not have a good relationship. By the time I was pregnant with Genevieve, we were separated. Both of those deliveries were terrible for those reasons, and also because I had horrible OB's that were completely insensitive and awful. For Shael, Shawn was deployed (thank heavens for my cousin Megan!). What will it be like to give birth with a supportive husband and doctor that I trust whole-heartedly? Sometimes, I think that he will be super sensitive, caring, and kind. Other times, I see his military side coming out, and I fear the worst.

Hopefully, I have a beautiful birth story and adorable baby pictures to share with you soon :)

Two Years Old!

Our blonde little man is now two. Of course, I meant to write this last month, but time gets away from me. Can you believe how cute he is? I just can't get over it. These pictures are from our camping trip in South Dakota. Yes, this little guy rode in the van for 6 hours with his mom and sisters without a single complaint. He absolutely adores "car rides". 

Every day he asks if we'll go for a car ride. Sometimes, we just go to the gas station a mile away so he can have his car ride. He'll take one alone with me, but of course he very much prefers riding along with his sisters and dad. The more, the merrier. When we drive to meet the girls' dad to drop the girls off, Shael has so much fun chatting and singing with Olivia and Genevieve. It's a bit heartbreaking to hear him ask for them when they leave. Which brings me to school starting...

This post is supposed to be about Shael, but I couldn't resist sneaking those cute pics of Olivia and Genevieve on their first days :)  Shael started a fascination with buses a little bit ago. To prepare him for his sisters leaving every day for school, we showed him buses and told him that soon Olivia and Genevieve would ride the bus for a big car ride to school. That instantly made buses cool, and he's loved them ever since. The first day, we watched Olivia get on her bus. The next day, we watched both Olivia and Genevieve get on their respective buses. With his face lit up like a Christmas tree, Shael craned his neck to look down the road and said, "MY bus?!" He was so excited and so hopeful that next, he would get a bus ride. It was certainly disappointing for him, but each day when his sisters come home, he grins from ear to ear, runs into their arms, and asks, "Ride bus?!" and they laugh and say that yes, they rode their bus. Every day when Shawn calls to let me know he's on his way home from school or work, Shael grabs the phone and asks him if he's riding in his car.

I still can't believe how much Shael and his sisters adore each other. Even when he gets too excited and smacks them in the face, Olivia and Genevieve are patient with him. The only time we have to get after Genevieve about her interactions with Shael, it's because she won't stop hugging him or holding him, and he screams in frustration. Every night, the girls hug and kiss with Shael, and if they mention going to bed, he holds out his arms and begs, "Hug?"  Lately, we've had a bug in our house. Olivia was laying on the couch feeling poorly, so Shael took care of her:

When he gets scared, he will just as easily turn to his sisters as he will Shawn or I. He knows that if the vacuum is about to fire up, his sisters will hold him and protect him, and I can't even express how proud that makes me. Olivia and Genevieve are better sisters than I ever though possible, and Shael is so lucky. And in return, he loves them more than I thought possible of a two year old, and they are so lucky. 

 Olivia says, "Mom, I have the only thing I want to bring to camp."

Helping Olivia bake.

At the petting zoo.

Posing together.

Olivia and Genevieve gave Shael their Mudman Extreme 5k medals that they worked so hard for.

Our cuties.

Five Years

Yes, my husband has survived five whole years of marriage with me. No, I have no idea how. Anniversaries are funny; they cause you to pause and reflect. With each year that passes, time takes a little twist. It feels like Shawn and I have always known each other. Certainly we have been married for longer than five years? It seems like we have the experiences and memories that would make up a marriage of 15 years or so. With a blended family, it's easy to forget that we haven't shared every day of OJ's 11 years, plus our other two children. It feels like...forever.

Now, sometimes when people say that they feel as though they have been married "forever", it's a very negative thing. That's not the kind of "forever" that I am implying; I am very lucky to have him in my life. Don't get me wrong, there are some days when my husband can drive me completely bonkers, and I kind of want to strangle him. However, this never lasts long, (which is good, because he's a lot stronger than I am and could totally win if we brawled, and that would destroy the idea in my head that I'm super strong). When I have these moments of frustration, all I have to do is empathize a bit, and perspective gives me a big 'ol smack in the face, because here's the thing that I always realize: If I was ever married to myself, I would murder me. I consider myself a nice person. I'm not violent. I'm law-abiding. I like rules and a society that functions with rules. But if the government ever kidnapped me and put me in a clone project and I had to live with me, I would absolutely go Dexter on myself. 

Shawn and I have a very traditional marriage. Shawn goes to work and school, I stay at home and take care of the kids and the home. I even wear an apron when I bake (not because I'm proper; because I'm messy and I burn myself). From the outside, it likely looks a bit chauvinistic and oppressive, but I can promise that our home is quite egalitarian. By "egalitarian", I mean that Shawn works hard, is very respectful of me, and expresses appreciation for what I do almost daily, and works with me on every decision made in the house. How many spouses get that? And- here is what really amazes me- he tolerates my maddening habits and wild personality flaws. I have some obnoxious quirks. It took me a while to accept that I had quirks. When a friend called me "quirky" years ago, I thought, "only crazy/eccentric people are quirky." Oh. I see. 

I like to do laundry. However, don't you dare drop a dirty sock in the laundry basket that is inside out. That is UNACCEPTABLE. As the kids get older, they find that they really can't leave any article of clothing inside out. I will happily wash the clothes. I will gladly dry the clothes. I will gaily fold the clothes. And I will put them in your closet with a smile. But turn them right-side-out? What am I, your maid?! In my world, there is some sort of indignity involved in righting clothing. So, although it is really part of my job, Shawn will have to right his clothing before getting dressed for work at 4:30AM because I simply refuse to do it for him. And it's my job. I take pride in being a stay-at-home mom and housewife, so I know it's completely petty and selfish that I do this, but I just can't un-do my mindset. And Shawn understands. Or at least he doesn't complain, God bless him. If our roles were reversed, I would probably purposely turn ALL clothing inside-out, just to prove a point. And then I would wear my reversed clothing to work to prove another point. Then I would get fired for being dressed like an idiot, but would be happy that I stood firm. (Stood firm in what? Who knows. I'm ridiculous.)

Another area that could use some drastic improvement would be my attention/affection/sweetness zone. Because... I don't have one. Every day, Shawn calls me on the way home from work, and every day, I grit my teeth and sigh, because I despise talking on the phone that much. Here he is, calling me to let me know that he's thinking about me and missed me, and there I am, wondering if he's going to get to the point and hang up. To cut myself a little slack, usually I have a toddler dipping his bagel in the cat's water or trying to flush his sister's barbie down the toilet, but to be honest, it probably wouldn't matter if I was childless. I simply hate the phone. After Shawn has let me know that he loves me and misses me, he'll say, "I'll let you go, I know you don't like the phone." And we hang up. Now, how sweet is that? Every day he does this, despite the fact that I'm curt and frustrated. 

I can't sweep the house, I must vacuum. 

I need a minimum of four pillows to sleep, one of which is over my head. I basically breath through a blowhole. How romantic is that? 

I'm moody. 

I require plenty of free time for running events and taekwondo. 

I'm bossy. 

I have a lot of baggage. 

I start cleaning one area of the house (enough to make it a disaster), and then get distracted and clean a totally different one.

I don't remember to take care of our vehicles well. 

I can't fetch anything out of the garbage disposal because I'm afraid of drains.

Foods have to be stacked in the grocery cart just so. They also must be in the cupboards just so, and the refrigerator, and the freezer... you know what, just let me do it. 

My crafts and art projects are random, spread out, off-limits, and half- completed.

I am the biggest klutz in the entire world. No, really. I drop and break EVERYTHING, and during pregnancy, it's 50x worse. I can't even count how many phones I've lost/broken. In the last two days, I have broken canning jars, dropped a carton of eggs, dropped and spilled a container of protein powder, started shaking protein and milk in a shaker with the lid on crooked (yep, shake everywhere), broken our childrens' toys, hurt myself countless times, and uttered way too many cuss words. Shawn just smiles patiently. 


There are so many irritating habits that I have. This barely scratches the surface. How does Shawn endure this? I don't know. He even loves me and thinks that I'm the one that has a lot to put up with. I got a pretty good deal, and I am grateful to have found a man who can be so patient, caring, and understanding. Marriage is hard work, but so rewarding. I'm looking forward to many more anniversaries!

Mission...Impossible?

Something about this pregnancy has been downright magical; I firmly believe it is from being active. I've had to slow down because of the heat (we don't have AC), the mosquitoes (record breaking, I'm finding out), and Shawn's new job (he goes to bed before I would be home from class): these factors eliminated running at home as well as going to the gym. I believe I mentioned before that I haven't had much for pregnancy symptoms. I was a little worried about physically typing that out and hitting the "publish" button back in May, because doesn't that just sound like the biggest jinx set-up of all time? However, here I am, feeling better than ever. This is what made it extra frustrating to be missing classes in taekwondo simply over scheduling conflicts. The last big race I was in was the Med-City (relay) in May, and I did 7 miles for my team, and felt fantastic afterwards. It was the furthest I had ever run, and the only pain was my feet. I felt like I could run all day!

Here I am running my leg of the Med-City relay back in May. Just a little pouch for a belly :)

To feel so energized yet sit at home and know that my friends in tkd were working out and going to Nationals to compete without me was killing me. In June, I did a 5k, and didn't feel as fantastic, but definitely as satisfied. Recently, Shawn and I came up with a pretty good solution in our schedule problems, and I've been able to hit the gym again. I'm so glad, because I was really feeling the effects of missing my workouts, and it was depressing. Now, after reading what I just wrote, it sounds like I am in peak physical condition with just a little frustration over time off. The truth is, I've been indulging my sweet tooth too often during this time of less exercise. Working out less plus indulging more? You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out where that leads. I've already gained 20 of the 30 lbs. I'm allowed to gain for a healthy and normal pregnancy, and I'm only a touch over halfway there. Only ten pounds left for the next four and a half months? Yikes. I'm sure I'll go over my "goal weight", but hopefully I can go over because of fantastic food choices that allow my baby to thrive. In the meantime, for my mental and physical health, it's back into the gym, with a bit of humbleness. The humbling comes when our instructor has us do things like squats and push-ups. Wow, did I let that get out of control fast. They are incredibly difficult now. Of course, my belly hinders me a bit, but the extra weight is what's killing me. Working out with the equivalent of a weighted vest is very different from lifting weights. It makes sense now that I think about it, but I didn't really think about it before. I thought, "Well, I lift weights, so gaining weight won't be that big of a deal in my workouts." Lol. The other night, jumping and spinning to kick the bags went really well. Tonight, it didn't. Part of me lamented inside, wailing, "This is it! I've hit my pregnancy wall! I will suck at anything physical from now on!!" Then I took a deep breath and remembered: this happens all the time when I'm not pregnant. There will be a night where I feel like I'm on top of my game, then the next night, I feel like a beginner and can't do anything right. This is where commitment comes into play, and I have to suck it up and do it again, even though I risk embarrassing myself. The only difference now is that when my grandmaster pushes me to go faster and higher, I have to really think about it. I was really "off" tonight, and had to be careful with my balance, so when he encouraged, "BOOM BOOM!" I didn't push myself harder to kick faster. It was more like "boom...boom." This challenges not only my ego, but my sense of respect. For the first time, I am purposefully disobeying my instructor.  When he yells at us for having our knees on the ground during push-ups, I grit my teeth and still keep them down. I know what anyone reading is thinking, that I shouldn't feel bad about doing this, and think of the baby, etc. I don't feel bad, per say, but it is quite an adjustment. And don't go thinking that my grandmaster is harassing the pregnant lady. He's not. He's treating me the same as he always has, and I know that he trusts me to scale back if I need to. The fact that he's still pushing me to do a little bit more and try a little bit harder is actually delightful. Nearly every day I have people telling me what I shouldn't do, what I can't do, or ask me if I should really be working out. When I say that yes, I should be, they nod slowly and say, "But should you really be doing that?"  I know they have good intentions, but their information is outdated, and it gets old to be questioned like that all the time. For Pete's sake, I even get harassed at the grocery store for grabbing a mere two bags of groceries instead of requesting carry-out. So yeah, it feels good to have someone snap at me if I'm getting lazy. There is a fine line between scaling back because I need to, and taking it easy simply because I can.  This leads me to my future challenge: a marathon in a month. Tonight when I was scrolling facebook, one of my virtual marathon sites had a feed. A virtual race is a race that you register for online, run it at home, and send your time in. They are basically placed with the honor system, the entry fees are much (much!) lower, you run it on your schedule in your neighborhood, and the proceeds always go to some charity. Obviously, hard-core runners that care about winning actual races don't do these. The one I saw tonight was only $5 if I signed up in time (of course I didn't see it until I had fourteen minutes left), and from October 1st- October 31st, you have to run 26.2 miles.  I will be very pregnant by that time, yet it breaks down to less than a mile a day. Hmmm... could I? Could I commit to that and run every day? Shawn was watching Netflix, and I asked, "Do you think I could run a marathon in a month?" He was distracted, and said, "No." I was about to get angry at such a quick shoot-down when he said, "Wait, did you say in a month?" Redeemed, I smiled and said, "Yeah, a month." He turned back to his computer screen and shrugged. "Maybe."  I felt my eyebrows raise involuntarily. Maybe? Maybe?! How long have we been married? Because CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. With less than a few minutes to spare, I jumped out of bed, sprinted outside to my van half naked (sorry neighbors), grabbed my wallet, and registered. It's ON. My biggest obstacle will be my pregnancy brain forgetting that I registered by the time October rolls around. I know I can do it. And I will do it. I will get my cheap medal, and prove to myself and others that pregnant women are warriors, not delicate flowers. We need to prepare our bodies for the incredible and amazing feat of birthing a human, and we can enjoy the journey along the way. If you would like to accept this challenge with me, register here: http://www.eventbrite.com/event/6925697949/?invite&err=29&referrer&discount&affiliate&eventpassword#loginbox  Let's run together!

Summer

It really is summer now, isn't it? Summer always comes with it's quirks, and I have extra work dealing with them. First of all, it seemed like the season would never come this year. My garden is definitely stunted because of it, but looking pretty good otherwise. Each year, I find myself growing ridiculously fond of my little garden. I get a little too proud, and a little too protective. The dog will carefully skirt the edges, showing she knows exactly where the borders lie, yet I will randomly find her standing in the middle. I shriek and charge, and she suddenly turns into a squirrel, dodging this way and that, while I wave my arms and frantically try to herd her out.  I am obsessively peeking out the windows to make sure that the cats aren't traipsing through my beautiful bounty, and when I catch a feline such malicious intent, I run screaming through the back door to scare them away. I even have a BB gun that I shake at them. Yet for all this, it has become a game- I can see it in their faces. They mock me. Just the other night, I was startled by a deer standing in the driveway about 10 feet from our door. I brought the family over to see, and we all admired her before she trotted away. Then I realized how dumb I had been! I should have sent the dog out to chase her, or done something scary. Now she thinks our place is nice and peaceful, and full of tasty vegetable sprouts. The mosquitoes are doing what they can to try to prevent me from weeding. Sometimes it works. Those things are aggressive  up here. I certainly remember getting plenty of bites down in Rochester, but up here they full on attack. I really would prefer to use all natural bug spray, but it doesn't phase them a bit. If I'm not drenched in DEET, I'm advertising free blood. Evening would be ideal for weeding, if not for those pests. Another reason I can't weed after high noon: Junebugs. Do those terrify you the way they terrify me? June is really the month from hell. Lucifer himself must slither up some craggy crack of the earth and set loose Junebugs and woodticks, just to torment human beings.

Despite my very own animals toying with my mental health, and having a fear of stepping outside after dusk, I am enjoying summer. I know, it doesn't sound like it, but I am. The kids are so fun to be around that every day is interesting. There is so much to do! We love swimming, taking Shael for walks, going to the park, having picnics. Olivia and Genevieve have enjoyed sleeping in their tent a few different nights. They know that even though I say they have to go to sleep by X time, that I'm too afraid of Junebugs to step outside and make sure they've put away the books and flashlights. I've heard what sounded suspiciously like giggles well into the night... The girls and I are still making it through the "mom-summer-schooling," although little brother makes it quite difficult for us. We do what we can while he sleeps, but there isn't much we can manage while he's awake. That boy is go-go-go as soon as his feet hit the floor in the morning! I love Shawn's work schedule, because he leaves while we're sleeping, and is home before 3pm every day. I'm sure he would like to sleep a little longer in the mornings, but he very much enjoys his job at the nursing home.

 I had grand plans of stuffing this blog entry full of cute pictures of the kids, but my laptop died and we haven't been able to transfer the pictures on to the new one yet. Stay tuned for some sweet pics of the family!

As Of Lately

I know that I don't blog nearly as often as I should. In a perfect world, I would have time to blog daily, so that I could record every precious moment of my life that I treasure. The things that my kids say and do are all worthy of permanent documentation! We have been having fun, and I can't wait until school is out so I can have the girls at home all day. This is a quick breakdown of life lately:

Shawn just finished up another semester of school. He is a bit disappointed, because he got a 4.0 last semester, and this semester he has a couple of B's mixed in with his A's. Since he had an 18 credit load and was taking classes like Microbiology, Anatomy & Physiology, Infection Control, Medical Terminology, Composition, Human Development, and other tough classes that I can't remember, I think he should be proud. He isn't super upset, he just wants to do his best. I understand where he is coming from, but am very happy for him. Next fall he will begin the LPN program that he was accepted into as he progresses through his schedule towards nursing. We have really come to value our Netflix time at night; they kids are asleep and it's our time to just hang out with each other. It will be nice to have him around more, although that might not last long as he has been applying for CNA jobs. We'll see what happens!

Olivia can't wait for school to be out for the summer. She is not a fan. She loves hanging out with her friends, but classes and homework really interfere with her socialization. She adores her art classes and reading, but seems to feel that everything else is only tolerable. She despises math, yet does well in it and all her other classes, so I'm not too worried. I see so much of my younger self in her! That was truly how I felt about school as a child. With our tax rebate, Shawn and I are ordering a Classical Education home-schooling curriculum, and Olivia is not looking forward to that. I had to explain to her that she was not being punished for anything, but that there were areas of studies that we feel that are important but are not being taught in her school. She is very suspicious. She is still playing the trumpet, but boredom setting in. After sparring team finishes up for the season, she is not going to try out for it again. Again, this is much like I was as a child. I'm curious to see what she will be fascinated with next, and where she will find to be her passions in life! Recently we attended a family event, and I signed up for the 5k. The girls have been very interested in my training, and Olivia asked to do it with me. There was a 1k fun run for the kids, so I asked her if she would like to start there. She was excited about that, so I signed her up. She came in first place for girls! Both girls have been training with me as the weather allows, and I think winning this event has infected Olivia even more with the running bug. She and Genevieve have also signed up for a Mud Run this summer, so their training involves jumping, monkey bars, and climbing as well as running. I can't wait to see how they do! The adult course has a snake pit that you have to run through, and they are positively giddy about that.

Genevieve adores school. She always has. She loves her teacher, her friends, the janitor, the playground, and her homework. She digs in the teacher's recycling bin daily for extra worksheets that have been thrown away, and brings them home to do for fun. She likes calendars, and has two, plus an appointment book. We have calculators all over the house and van, because she plays with numbers when she is bored. When she was told about our home-schooling we would be doing this summer, she thought she was being rewarded, and thanked us profusely. When she found out she would be learning Latin, she couldn't sleep for three nights because she was so excited. She definitely has trademarks of being a crazy genius; her socks never match (nor do her outfits, for that matter), she forgets to go to the bathroom until it's panic time, she makes strange jokes, and tends to wander. She is so scattered, yet wakes up  at precisely 6:30am every morning and gets dressed before her alarm clock (which she wanted desperately) goes off.  Where will her passions take her? She is so different than I was as a child. It's so interesting to watch my girls grow. Gen has signed up for soccer this summer, and is excited to be on a team. She is very athletic, and was disappointed in her fun run; she had gotten a side ache, so didn't do her best. However, she knows she will have plenty of other opportunities this summer, and like Olivia, can't wait for the Mud Run. Where Olivia is a loner and likes to go read by herself, Genevieve is more dependent and needy. She always wants my attention, and needs everything with me to be very interactive. She loves the notes that I stick in her lunchbox every day, and would like me to write her notes for her pillow, and backpack, and jacket pockets.

Shael is growing more independent by they day. He still adores his sisters, and they still constantly dote on him. I'm so pleased! I had assumed that the girls would lose interest in him shortly after he came home, but he is still their favorite person. He demands kisses and hugs from them (and everyone, even strangers) frequently. He loves to snuggle with Olivia on the couch, and whenever he breaks free from our watch at night, he sprints into Genevieve's room and crawls into bed with her. It's adorable. He loves going for walks. For some reason, he believes that in order to go outside, he needs a hat and shoes. It doesn't matter if he's naked or fully clothed, as soon as he manages to pull shoes on and puts on a hat, he's waiting for me by the door. He doesn't care about what kind of hat it is; sun hat, winter hat, his sister's old Halloween witch hat. Those hats have all gone on walks with us. When I hang the laundry, he takes off running several times. With the girls, all I would have to do is tell them to stay put and show them to play with the grass and leaves, but Shael is off like a rocket. The other day, the goat was tangled, so I parked Shael outside of the fence. It only took me a matter of two minutes to get the goat free, but when I turned around, Shael was gone. He had found Olivia's snow saucer, which had a couple of inches of (freezing cold!!) water in it, and had promptly sat down in it and splashed around. He was not bothered at all by the temperature despite being soaked. He is very much a handful, but is well behaved.

I am pleased to announce that Shawn and I are pregnant with #4! The girls are ecstatic about it, they have been begging for another baby since Shael was born. We doubt that Shael will be very happy about a baby intruding. Sometimes when Shawn or the girls hug me, he whines and says, "My mommy!" We'll have to see how that goes. I know that the girls will be thrilled to give him extra attention. I have been feeling great with hardly any symptoms at all. I'm still running, doing taekwondo competitively,  and lifting weights, and my doctor is thrilled about it. Fatigue and the occasional headaches are my only complaint, and knowing that it could be so much worse makes me very grateful. The baby is due some time in November. We aren't sharing the exact due date, so be patient :) **I would like to take this opportunity to remind folks to not tell a pregnant woman how ginormous she is (or to make her feel as though she is unhealthy by being "too small", though I've never had that problem!), or to ask the couple if this pregnancy was planned, or anything else insensitive or intrusive. I always get comments on my size while pregnant, and it stings. With this pregnancy, we are getting asked a lot if it was planned, and that's rude. Rant finished!**  We have been asked if we're no longer planning on fostering or adopting. The answer is YES! We are still very much planning on fostering and/or adopting! We can't give anyone an exact timeline, but we're ok with that :)

Life is busy, crazy, and fun! We have a lot going on, and we love it. I love my husband and children so much, and am so thrilled that my family is still growing. Thanks to everyone who is a positive part of our lives, and I can't wait to update you as time goes on!

My first 10k

Some of you may remember when I ran my first 5k. It was all Kim's fault. By now, I've realized that I don't even have to tell you who Kim is, because I have become conscious of the fact that the vast majority of my blogs contain the words, "My friend Kim..." Anyways, back then I felt there was no way I could say no to Kim's suggestion of us running a 5k while she was busy running marathons and triathlons. The last year or two, I've watched from afar as Kim has kept up with these ridiculous/awe-inspiring races. To my dismay, I found she has been luring our childhood friend, Danie, into the craziness. Danie seemed to be running 5k, 10k, and even a full marathon. Kim and Danie always did track and cross country together, so I guess I wasn't too surprised, but it still seems foreign to me. I kept up on my running after my black belt testing, but only because I don't want Grandmaster Jon to be able to sneak up on me somehow and kill me with a running day. I want to be somewhat prepared for what he dishes. As much as I hate to admit it, running has become less abhorrent to me. It has taken some miles, but I think finding my pace has been the biggest help. I was running around 2 miles straight when Kim and Danie suggested we run the Polar Dash race on January 1st. I jumped at the chance. With Kim living in AZ, and me living 4 hours away from Rochester, we seldom see each other anymore. Plus, Kim just finished a flipping Ironman triathlon, so again, how could I say no to a simple 3.1 miles when she just biked, swam, and ran 140.6 miles (who does that?!). Besides, I was tickled to be running in an official race again, and with Kim and Danie! We got a little Facebook message going, inviting others to join us.  That's when I saw Kim and Danie saying we might as well do the 10k. Pssshhht. Again... how do I say no to 6.2 miles after Kim's herculean feat of Ironman? I rationalized in my head that if I was strict with my training, I could work my way up to that distance in the two months I had until the new year. However, I didn't. I worked myself up to running a 5k without stopping to walk, which was a new record for me. I think the one and only time I ever ran three miles straight was in third grade. I wanted that damn 3-miler button. I can recognize now that sometimes I will nearly kill myself for the most arbitrary rewards. The stupid button with a cartoon panther and a "3". A piece of black cloth instead of red to tie around my waist. A t-shirt that says that I ran (mostly walked) a 5k. A medal with a snowflake that says, "Finisher". While I don't understand this mentality, I have come to appreciate it. Suddenly, I wanted that 10k finisher medal so badly that I would do anything to get it, including running on ice while school buses and snowmobiles belched their exhaust into my mouth. I learned how to dress to run in the cold, and to pack lots of tissues for the snot factory that my face became when I ran in freezing weather. I realized that although I am stingy, I really did need Under Armour to wick my sweat off my back and arms, because it was a wee bit chilly to be wet while running in the winter.  I was too stubborn to buy the fancy schmancy face masks or running pants sold to runners for $50. I figured those were just pompous extras.

On New Year's Eve, Genevieve and I stayed with my cousin Megan so that I wouldn't have to wake up and drive so early in the morning. I had to get up before 6 a.m. as it was. Megan, bless her heart, made me my race day breakfast. She is the hostess with the mostess. Megan had contemplated bringing Genevieve to watch me cross the finish line. Now, I am so glad that they didn't. Not only would they have been absolutely miserable, but I wouldn't have run the race, because as soon as I got off the shuttle bus with Kim and Jen (who was planning on running/walking the 5k), I regretted my decision immediately. It was just too flipping cold. I had on about fifty layers of clothes, but felt naked against the chill. Shawn had warned me the night before that it was supposed to get -25 to -30, but I didn't believe him. I don't know if it ever got that cold, but I do know that it was frigid. There were two warming tents where we waited after we picked up our bibs and microchips (which give you an electronic time). I have to admit that I was pretty proud to be wearing the 10k bib. When we first walked into the warming tent, it felt soooo warm. Such a relief! However, after a few minutes in the tent while we met up with Danie and her crowd (daughter Jade, boyfriend Will, and friend Amber), it was uncomfortably cold. My toes went numb, but I wasn't too worried about that since my toes go numb pretty easily in the cold. When my legs started to go numb, I worried. I was even clumsier than usual, and I found myself trying to snuggle strangers. How would I run? I kind of needed to go to the bathroom, but couldn't bear the thought of peeling off any layers of clothing. I would regret that, I knew, but still couldn't bring myself to do it. After far too long, we were called out to the starting line. I groaned and whined as we stood in the breeze, freezing our butts off, waiting and waiting. I pretty much hated Kim and Danie right about then. They were the worst friends, and had the worst ideas. Jen had decided to jump into the 10k and to walk that instead of walking the 5k so that she could finish sooner and we could all get on the road afterwards. I had hoped once I started running, I would get my blood moving enough to warm up my legs and perhaps even thaw my toes. Nope. I simply got used to bumbling along like an elephant. I ended up keeping pace with Jade, Danie's daughter, and we became partners. If I hadn't been so painfully frozen, I believe I may have enjoyed my time with her. Those weird neckwarmer/facemask things that I had thought were a frivolous "extra" were looking quite necessary about then. And those tight running pants? A lot better than my yoga pants, which were loose at the ankles and letting Arctic gusts of wind up my legs. I would have given my left arm for either of those "frivolous" pieces. I had tied a bandana around my face, but it froze solid from my breath. After mile two, I started keeping an eye out for the bathrooms. Somewhere before we hit the 5k turnaround, there were two porta-potties. I got in line, but watching people run by that I had worked so hard to pass drove me crazy. There is always someone that I randomly pick that I need to "beat". I don't know why I work that way, but I do. Competitive nature and all that, I suppose. This time, I had been irritated by someone wearing legwarmers. I say irritated as though she had personally offended me, but she hadn't. She was simply wearing legwarmers of a color that I did not like, and that was reason enough to be my target (mulberry legwarmers with black pants?!). When I saw Miss Legwarmers trot by, I couldn't wait any longer. I forwent the bathroom and jumped back into the race, irritated that I had lost probably five minutes of my time for nothing. Eventually Jade and I edged her out again. Some of the faster runners were coming back and passing us in the opposite direction. I was amazed to see them sporting thick, white eyelashes, mustaches, and beards of frost and ice.

I don't know who this is, but I think she's a pretty good example of what we all looked like with our frosty faces.

 I recalled watching an episode of Alias where Sydney Bristow goes to Antarctica or something. She had ice patches on her face, and I laughed at how unrealistic that was. Silly Hollywood, didn't they know that you're skin would melt the snow/ice before it could form on your face?? Ha ha. I ate those words. You certainly can have a frosty face. We eventually reached the 5k turnaround point, which was a relief. It's always nice to know that you're halfway done. When Kim ran by she laughed at me because I apparently had a big ol' icy mustache going on. By this time I had abandoned my bandana, but I guess I was still wearing the 'stache that had formed above it. I saw some people that had frost formed in the buttcracks of their pants, and I was grateful for the two pairs of pants I was wearing. On the way back, I knew I absolutely needed to be patient enough (and brave enough) to use the porta-potty. When we finally reached them again, I hopped in line. Jade waited for me again; what a sweetheart. When it was my turn, my legs were so numb that I had to double check that my pants were where they should be. It reminded me of having an epidural. My legs were there and I knew how to move them, but I couldn't feel them. I poked and slapped them, but felt nothing. Then of course my mind wandered, and I thought about proposing to doctors a safer epidural involving pregnant women standing outside in subzero temperatures until they went numb, but I scrapped that idea as soon as I remembered how hormonal and angry us ladies are when we're that big. It would be safer for the doctors to just put needles in our spines. Back to the race I went, and Jade and I took off again. I felt fantastic after the bathroom break, as though I had rested for a long time and was fresh to running. There was a hill, and we attacked it, because what was I going to do, let Annoying Legwarmers beat me? No! Well, that was kind of dumb. My asthma is super under control, and I know now that the only time it flares up is if I go too fast. I don't know why going to the bathroom suddenly made me think I was invincible, but it did, and soon I was gasping for breath. Then we had to go really slow for a bit and tell I got all back to where I needed to be. But bless her heart, Jade stuck by my side, and encouraged me, and I passed Legwarmers. At mile five, I blurted, "I think I need to walk." Jade would have none of that, and it didn't take much to convince me that after running all this way, I should not give up during the last mile. And then, there it was- the finish line. Kim, Danie, Amber, and Will were all waiting for us with big smiles on their faces. I knew I would be proud to finish the race, but I hadn't known for sure if I could actually do it. It felt AMAZING to cross that line and be able to say to myself, "I did it!" I got all emotional, but didn't want to look like a wuss, so choked back my tears. That, in turn, led me to having trouble breathing again (running too fast and getting emotional when I'm physically taxed are my two triggers, I suddenly remembered), so I had to calm myself. There was hot chocolate being handed out, as well as bananas, chips, and granola. I felt like a star (especially when I saw Leggies cross the line much later). Then, I saw people handing out finisher medals! They may as well have handed me an Olympic gold medal, I was that proud.

Why do we look so happy?

The feeling did not last long, however. Now that we weren't running, the cold temperature quickly became unbearable. The 5k race was just getting started, and that's when I realized just how important it was that Jen had decided to do the 10k for us. The thought of having to wait until the 5k was done made me want to cry again. We all huddled in the warming tents, but it was miserable. Some comic relief was when our eyelashes melted. Will looked like he had started crying mid-sentence, and us girls looked ridiculous with our mascara melting down our faces. Note to self: when running in Siberian temperatures, don't bother with even a little makeup. At long last, we went to go meet Jen at the finish line. I could have kissed her for doing that for us, because now we would get to LEAVE! I just wanted to go home. 

 A highlight of the day was picking up Genevieve and getting the #1 "ribbon" and poster that she and Megan had made for me. How nice to have others be as proud of me as I was of myself! It was a wonderful, terrible experience that I hope I never do again, but probably will if someone dangles a worthless prize in front of my face.

Life As A Meathead

I was recently asked to write another blog as an update. I got to thinking about what I would write, and I realized that our lives are completely in our gym right now. Shawn and the girls and I are all in taekwondo, and Shawn and I also take kettlebells at our tkd gym. Our schedule looks like this:

Monday- Olivia and Genevieve have tkd class at 5pm. I try to contain Shael while he copies the children from the sidelines (he punches and kicks his diaper bag or targets while yelling. He'll sideslide whenever the kids do.) I have Russian kettlebells at 6. Shawn watches Shael while the girls do homework or read or play games, or maybe he takes them to Subway as a treat. Then I take the kids home while Shawn does the adult tkd class, and then his kettlebell class.

Tuesday- Olivia and Shawn have Sparring team practice at 6pm. Then Shawn takes the kids home to a crockpot dinner while I do the adult black belt class.

Wednesday- Repeat Monday.

Thursday- I go for a run, since I'm preparing for my first 10k on New Year's Day. I attend adult tkd class in the evening, and get spoiled since it is a small class. Sometimes, it's just me! Master Theresa can give me lots of good coaching when I'm all alone.

Friday- I lift heavy weights at home, and maybe run, depending on how difficult my workouts earlier in the week were.

Saturday & Sunday- I try to run and lift weights on one of these days, and rest on the other. Sometimes I rest both days.


Every once in a while, Olivia will come running with me. Yesterday she ran two miles with me before I dropped her off at home! I was impressed. She wants to start running 5k's with me, and eventually wants to do a 10k, too. As long as she wants to do it, I'm fine with it. Shawn and Brad and I all feel the same way about tkd, too. Every once in a while, Genevieve doesn't want to do so much tkd. Since she is doing two days a week, we'll have her do one night a week for a while. If she seems tired to us, she doesn't get a choice, and she gets cut back so that she doesn't get sick. We have even told her that if she wants to quit, she can, but that means no competing. At the last tournament, Gen didn't want to spar, but when she watched Olivia in the ring, she said, "I should have signed up for sparring. I bet I could win." You can't win if you don't enter, and you can't enter if you don't train! I personally hate sparring, and refuse to compete in it, but sparring has the hearts of everyone else in my family. I must say that I have been very impressed with Olivia's dedication to tkd. She is the one that I would have guessed would quit when it became an inconvenience. However, when she was invited to join the sparring team, she jumped at the chance. The sparring team is an honor, and she recognized that. We told her that it was a big financial commitment  and if she joined, she could not quit until tournament season is over. Not only does she look forward to practice three times a week, but she squeezes in her homework, started the trumpet in September (required practice is 100 minutes a week!), and is constantly volunteering to watch Shael. And of course, the running that I previously mentioned! When the opportunity to play community ed. basketball came up, she said, "I would like to, but I think that would be pushing myself too hard. That would be a very busy schedule." I agreed, and couldn't help but smile at how grown-up she has become. Both my girls have such a capacity for memorization, and I marvel at the feats they have accomplished with their tiny bodies. They both brought home report cards yesterday, and they were fantastic. I am in awe of them. Shael has begun to potty train. I know, he just turned 16 months old, but with teaching him sign language, elimination communication came naturally. Now he uses the toilet 75% of the time, and is so insanely proud of himself. It's adorable to watch him smile and clap his little hands on the toilet. However, he asks to go at least every twenty minutes, so it gets exhausting, too! He is so energetic and has such a big personality for his size. He is very popular at our gym, and is always ready to bow to the flags and to give everyone high fives after they get done with practice. He has a large fan club, and always has a line of kids in front of him. When they put on their chest protectors, he loves to punch them in the chest. The kids will dissolve into giggles and someone else will jump in line. It's quite the entertainment! At first, when he started to mimic punching and kicking, he didn't understand that he had to have an appropriate target. Anything was game, and my face was usually the closest thing to take aim at. Now that we've reinforced (a million times) that he needs to hit a "target", he (usually) only punches and kicks the things he's allowed to. One of the teens in our gym just recently took first place in the NATION in sparring, and it is heartwarming to watch him "fight" with Shael. Of course, he always lets Shael win. We'll have to get that on tape. I got to thinking, and realized that Shael has been in that gym since before he was born. He was there when he was four days old, and has been a regular ever since.

So, you see, the gym is our whole lives right now. I never thought it would be. A year ago, I signed the girls up for tkd so they wouldn't get beat up anymore, and I secretly hoped I could get back into it, too. I never knew how far we would come, but it has transformed my life by transforming my body. After losing 87 lbs., I can look back and see how drastically different everything is. I love that we're doing all of this as a family, and it has brought us all closer together. Here's to more adventures!

Kids

Man, having kids can be so hard. I'm not talking about the sleep deprivation, or the constant bickering between siblings, or the selective hearing that most children have mastered. I'm not even referring to snotty attitudes or tantrums or willful disobedience. I'm talking about the devastating, heart-wrenching pain that accompanies watching your child suffer. Is there anything worse? I firmly believe that the answer is a resounding "NO". I consider myself pretty reasonable, but when I hear about another kid at school picking on one of my children, I have to suppress the urge to march down to the school and hunt that kid down and scream in their face. When I was pregnant last summer, Olivia and Genevieve got beat up at the school by 3 siblings while their grandmother watched. You better believe that I waddled my backside down to the playground as fast as my birthing hips would carry me. I'm certain they heard me coming, because no one was there, but I was ready to rumble with grandma. When my daughters have had troubles with certain teachers at school, I put aside my doubts (am I overreacting?) and went and stood my ground despite total intimidation. I even pulled Genevieve from public school and homeschooled her one year (that teacher was not re-hired the next year, and no, I was not overreacting at all. If anything, I underreacted). When Shawn was deployed, a known drug addict came to our home and stood outside, twitching and pacing, and demanding to know if I had Mexicans living in our basement. I physically placed my body in front of my children and ordered them into the house. Mama Bear- any Mama Bear- will battle and die for her offspring. If you are a mother, then you know this. If you are not, I am willing to bet you have witnessed a Mama Bear in action, and it probably scared the hell out of you. But... what is a mama supposed to do when she can't fight what is hurting her baby? My poor Genevieve has spent her entire childhood being ill. I know I shouldn't complain when there are children with horrific diseases that ravage their little bodies, but I simply cannot see the bright side after witnessing Genevieve struggle for so long. She has had eczema since she was just a baby, which interferes with her sleep and concentration. Have you ever itched, like really itched? Head to toe, 24 consecutive hours? Try seven years. Her entire existence. She doesn't know what it's like to not itch. There are times when my soaps and lotions can get it under control and it's better, but it's never fully gone. Food allergies started when she was one. She has never eaten a real cookie, had a birthday cake, or been able to simply snack at school/church/camp/a party/a sleepover/an event. I say "real" because yes, there are cookies and cakes that have alternative ingredients, but they taste like cardboard. Of course, in our house, we always play it up that "this tastes just like a regular cookie!" Or, "Yes, this is what cake tastes like!" We're lying. It tastes like crap. She's old enough now where she knows she's missing out, and it makes her sad. Worse yet, she knows she's different. Not to mention that several times a year, someone she trusts "accidentally" (which means, "did-not-read-the-label-despite-being-emphatically-warned-by-aforementioned-scary-Mama Bear") gives her something she is allergic to, and she ends up puking her brains out-if she's lucky.  If she's not lucky, she needs an injection and has to be rushed to the hospital. It sucks. Having to stab your child in the leg with a giant needle because she's not breathing extra sucks. Just when I think I have her food allergies figured out, another pops up. It's frustrating to hear everyone tell her that she'll grow out of them. Maybe she will, but don't give her false hope. And seriously, platitudes like that are infuriating. So far, Gen keeps growing into more allergies, and they're getting worse. Sometimes, because her fragile body cannot fight a normal virus, she gets weird stuff, like she had mollescum for over a year on her skin. Since she was embarrassed, a doctor offered a "quick fix" of apply some beetle juice (no, seriously) that would PAINLESSLY remove the bumps. Except it severely burned her skin, and I had to endure her screams while I pulled the band-aids off to get the acidic juice off her skin. By the time we had gotten home, the skin had fused to the band-aids, and I literally pulled off her skin along with the band-aids. I cannot even describe how awful it was to do this to her. It was over a year ago that this happened, and I am still so upset about that. Oh yes, Mama Bear called that doctor a few times and gave some angry words about her "painless" method of removing the bumps. Gen still has scars. I think we both do. Now, her (different) doctors are baffled because she's constantly sick. Sometimes with a fever, sometimes not. Usually throwing up several times a day, but not all the time. Sometimes no appetite, other times she has a ravenous appetite but can't gain weight or absorb her food. There seems to be no rhyme or reason. For the longest time, her doctors would tell me that her immune system is suppressed from her allergies and eczema, so she was getting sick from that.  Another little something about Mama Bears is that not only can we be terrifying, but we can be downright clairvoyant. It took a lot of insisting, but I was finally taken seriously, and the docs understood that something is wrong. They have had us eliminate certain foods from her diet, and then try again with others when that yields no results. Gen's tonsils were ginormous, so they removed those in hopes that she would get better sleep and give her body a fighting chance. It hasn't helped in the least. She loses weight during her bouts of illness, then gains it back when she's feeling better. She just hit 50 lbs. last week, and I nearly threw cartwheels. Since her blood levels are all low (phosphates, CBC, iron, glucose, Vitamin D, etc. etc.) despite the many supplements we give her because of her food allergies, we were sent to a pediatric gastroenterology specialist. Blood tests were negative, and her Upper GI was normal. At this point, normal test results upset me. I want the doctor to say, "Aha! Here's the source of all our trouble! Just a pesky twisted thingamajig. Let's straighten it and be done." Normal test results simply tell me, "We still don't know. She will continue to suffer until we do."  As can be expected, her physical ailments have led to emotional ones. I want SO BADLY to fix them both, and I can't. I am utterly helpless when she is laying in bed crying. When she asks why she has to have this, I don't have an answer for her. I want more than anything to punch her illness hard, wrestle it, hurt it... but there is nothing to grapple with. My hands are tied. My hands are only able to squeeze hers when she is poked with needles, or forced to drink Barium. My hands force her down when she needs an IV or EpiPen injection. My hands hold her hair for her when she vomits, and brush the hair gently from her forehead when she cries. My hands constantly check for a fever and feel her pulse. My hands make her bread, goldfish, and other treats that we cannot buy from the store because it would kill her. Most of all, my hands love her with hugs, nightly massages, backscratches, and gentle touches, but never doubt for a moment: my hands are searching to break what I cannot see.

In Retrospect

I have been asked more than once if I would choose being married to a military man if I had it to do over again. Young women in the dating world wonder if they should enter into relationships with soldiers, because they know that military life is different, and difficult. I am flattered to be asked my opinion on such a monumental question. Should they pursue a life that will lead to deployments? Like any other life question, the answer really depends on you; your personality, your support system, and your man. Divorce rates are much higher in the military as compared to civilian rates, so I think it's a good thing for a young woman to want straight answers. All I can do is give an honest perspective of what it has been like for me, and you can ask yourself how you would handle the same situations. Here are some different aspects to consider:

1. Can you get along with the unknown?

The military will throw your world into an upheaval. Your husband (boyfriend, fiance, wife, whatever) will be taken from you, sooner or later. We had a lot of notice with Shawn's second deployment, which is nice, but that also left a looooong time for the dates to change. One day he's deploying in January, the next day he's deploying in August, the next day he is deploying in May. This slowly builds pressure and stress. You must shrug that off and ignore dates until it's crunch time. Likewise, the same applies to return dates. Shawn has been gone almost a full year now, and return dates have been floating around for months, only to be discarded and replaced with new one. I have no idea when we'll be a family again, and all I can do about it is wait. Shawn's first deployment was supposed to be 12 months, and it ended up getting extended to 22 months. It happens. Oddly enough, this doesn't bother me. It's just the way it is. Knowing your personality is important; if you're the kind of person who gets aggravated when someone is late for a meeting, or if things don't go according to plan, military life will make you nuts. You will be told one thing, but something different will happen. I remember Shawn getting a phone call one night while we were laying in bed, telling him he had to get ready to be flown out to President Obama's inauguration. I don't remember how much time he was given to get ready, but it wasn't much. When stuff like that happens, it's my job as a wife to let him pack, give him a kiss goodbye, and say "See you whenever." Want to know my secret? I love that stuff. It seems all cloak and dagger, just like in a movie. When I want to know Shawn's return date, but it's not being announced yet, I just imagine the plot... the bad guys are listening in on tapped phone lines (usually in a submarine- why? I have no idea, it makes no sense), on the edge of their seats as they try to glean information, and they're disappointed when the intel is not given out. Ha! Take that, bad guys. One of my friends' husbands was deployed for a few months somewhere, and she wasn't even allowed to know what country he was in. HOW COOL IS THAT?

2. Can you handle isolation?

You will feel very alone. In this aspect, I think that it sucks to have my husband be in the National Guard versus the Army or other branch of the military. I would give anything to live on post right now, surrounded by other women with deployed husbands. National Guard wives do what we can to support each other and stick together, but we are scattered all over the state. Living on post provides community and culture, and we do not have that. Perhaps you have a well established community in your home town; family, church, or other organizations. Keep those. There is nothing more lonely than the evening, when the kids are in bed and the house feels empty. When it's dark, and there is no one to talk to, you will need to draw from a strength inside that keeps you from falling apart. If you don't have that, it's not a bad thing. Just be honest with yourself. Most days I have that. Other days I don't.

3. Can you shake off other people's ignorance?

How do other people affect you? Can you let hurtful comments roll off your back? Most people want to be supportive, yet will corner you to tell you all about how they think that this war is pointless, and that having our troops "over there" (no matter where he is) is a waste of money, it's "such a shame", and that they pity you and your husband. That hurts. Sometimes, the only thing that gets me through the day is the extreme pride I have in what Shawn is doing, and the pride that I am serving as a wife. I don't tell anyone that their job is pointless. I think that sometimes people forget: our soldiers are not drafted. They have chosen this life, this occupation. They serve because they feel honor bound, and us spouses have chosen this life for the same reason. Also, no matter how long the deployment is, or how much time is left in the deployment, people will say, "Oh, that's not so bad." Or they'll imply that you can't really live without sex that long, can you? Prepare to have your feelings negated across the board. Just remember that you are part of a very small percentage of population- less than 1%- so there is no way for others to know what you're going through. It's not their fault, they just don't know what to say. Understandable, but lonely. It always helps me to picture kicking people in the junk. Perhaps this isn't the most Christianly way to handle things, but it works for me. I don't actually do it, so...

4. Can you check your pride at the door?

I can't, but maybe you can. Like I said before, people will genuinely want to help you. This can be great, or a pain in your rear. When people ask, "What can I do to help?" it's awesome if you can honestly tell them what you need. I don't like help, personally. I don't like other people in my house, or even around my house. To me, it's a violation of privacy, and it drives me insane when people won't take "no" for an answer. There is nothing more annoying to me than being hooked up to the breast pump and having someone pound on my door. Again, I know the intent is to help, but other people manage to add to my stress level quite a bit. I have to simply take a breather, and ignore that my requests are being ignored. When I actually do want help, my pride interferes. Either I feel like I'll be groveling, or I worry that asking once will mean that the person will insist on helping again, which I don't want. Sometimes, it means a lot to me that I can bring that stubborn jar of salsa to tae-kwon-do in the diaper bag, pull it out after class, and have one of the men open it for me. I can always use some humbling, so this is another annoying positive. Plus, the damsel in distress thing always makes the men feel super masculine. It's just a jar, but you can practically hear the chest hairs growing after one of the guys have saved me from certain salsa-less doom.

5. Can you set aside your fears?

A big question you will need answered is what your to-be husband's MOS is. MOS is basically his job description. Your spouse may have a desk job while deployed, and be in a relatively safe environment (key word, "relatively"). My husband is in infantry, and that's a different ball game. I am fortunate enough to have the ability to remove myself from this. If I couldn't, I believe I would be paralyzed by fear every day. Sometimes there is an unexpected knock on the door, and my ability fails me; I'm convinced for a moment that my husband is dead, and the chaplain has come to tell me about it. Speaking of strange knocks on the door, prepare to be afraid of every vehicle that drives by. You'll realize how very vulnerable and defenseless you are, especially if you have children. The mailman is suddenly a scary rapist, and the man out walking his dog past the driveway is a pedophile. Some wives say that knowing your neighbors can be extremely helpful for this onset of paranoia. Others keep guns. A positive to this is that you will learn to raise your chin in ANY situation. You're stronger than you know, and you will be proud of yourself when the deployment is over. Eventually, you'll start to see the humor in the morbid conclusions that your mind jumps to. Or, you'll just find humor in stupid things. One day while I was precariously balancing on a ladder to hang a bouquet of dried flowers above our patio door, a volunteer from Beyond The Yellow Ribbon stopped by unexpectedly and knocked on the very door I was teetering in front of. It scared the me to death, and I fell off the ladder. It was a pretty loud crash, and I scared the living daylights out of the man who was knocking. As soon as I landed, the bouquet came tumbling down after me and landed on my head. It was a ridiculous mess, and really funny. To me. Not to him, so much.

6. Can you manage $$?

Obviously, everyone needs to know how to do this. It's called being an adult (can I just say that being an adult sucks?) If your husband is full time in the military, I'm not sure how his every day job compares with deployment pay, but I'll take an educated guess and say that deployment pay is better. As for the National Guard, it can go either way. He will either take a pay cut during deployment, or a pay increase, depending on what his civilian job is. Doesn't seem fair for him to take a pay cut to go do something noble, does it? You'll have to get over that real quick-like. Even if there is a pay increase while hubby is deployed, you have to be careful to not adjust to that income. When he comes home, regular paychecks resume with his regular job, and overspending is easy to do. When I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of dishes, diapers, and dog-doo, my temptation is to take the kids out to eat a lot. I just don't want to deal with dinner. That adds up.

7. Can you be a single parent?

Kids are a big job. That's why God created us for companionship; we are designed to parent together. God planned it for us this way so that we wouldn't throw ourselves in front of a bus. Deployments place a fork in that plan. Kids are needy, and so constant... it's overwhelming. My short term memory is completely shot, my house is a mess two seconds after I clean it, the dog snacks out of the litter box, and my body is a jungle gym for three miniature people. It is hard work. However, I am very grateful to be so busy. Keeping busy is key. You might find yourself saying, "I haven't showered in this week" more often than perhaps the mother with a man around, but you'll make it. Your kids will suffer, and it will break your heart. However, they will show you how amazingly strong and resilient they are, and you will be awed at how they cope. You'll have moments of pride, and horrible moments of mom guilt. Really, deployment has nothing to do with that, that's just what it's like to be a parent, amiright ladies?

There you have it, a few little random thoughts to consider. Military marriage is not normal, but it can be wonderful. I consider myself very lucky. Time apart like this makes both Shawn and I realize how important we are to each other, and how much we appreciate what we each bring to the table. You know the cheesy saying, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder"? It's true. After a while, relationships lose that "new" feeling. There is nothing wrong with that, but deployments or separations due to the military allow us to experience that time and time again. Shawn's unit is going to be home soon, and all of us wives/fiances/girlfriends are in a tizzy looking for that perfect homecoming outfit. We're as giddy as schoolgirls getting ready for a first date. That kind of build up is amazing! Granted, you have to live a year without your husband to get it, but at least there is some reward for that. Living this way can be isolating, overwhelming, and exhausting, but I wouldn't have it any other way. If you haven't fallen in love with a soldier yet, this might not sound too appealing. I would walk to the ends of the earth for my husband, so if that means going at life alone sometimes and patiently waiting for him to return, then I will gladly do so, over and over again.