Day of Rest

A note from Zannah after we got to Church 20 minutes late because Max and Zannah fought over one specific notebook for that long.  We only have 89 other notebooks.  I lost my temper and screamed at them.  I would love for someone to tell me how to resolve these squabbles before I get to the point of blowing a gasket.
The note reads: You are mean.  But I still love you like Jezus loved all mean people, nice people, bad people and wicked people.  I love you.  Rite back.
Oy.  I feel most Sundays that when it was coined a day of rest, the fine print excluded anyone with small children.

For Crying Out Loud

Stop calling the cops on me.  We live on a relatively quiet street, one block from the elementary school.  The only time our street is busy is at school drop off and pick up times.  Maybe I'm living two decades behind, but I still believe in my kids playing out in the yard, riding their bikes up and down the sidewalk and you bet your buns, Zannah and Max are old enough to cross the street and play with the 4 kids who live directly across from us.

The picture above is what was going down in our yard yesterday when 2 cops showed up.  They verified a parent was indeed around and left. I was just relieved this year there were only 2.  Last year 3 cops knocked on my door because it was reported that kids were riding their bikes across the street.  The outrage!  The disgust!  Of all ridiculous things kids could be doing! Instead of playing mindless video games, or staring at the tube (which mine do plenty of), instead of texting or sexting, or face booking, these kids are outside making potions with dirt and water, swinging, riding bikes, playing soccer and football.  I wanted to handcuff myself once I really thought about the good for nothing job I'm doing round here.

I've narrowed it down to 2 possibilities.  Either it was just a concerned citizen who drove by or Mrs. Wilson, our next door neighbor.   The drive-by I guess could be an innocent, concerned person, albeit a lazy one.  Next time you want to do a good deed, start by knocking on the door yourself, or maybe just look around and see the grandparent standing on the lawn right across the street or assume the best as it is kids who are old enough to play in the yard unaccompanied by an adult.  Now, if my 5 year old is snorting crack, please call the cops.  

Mrs. Wilson is just crabby enough to do it.  In times past, such as when my kids were climbing her evergreen tree, or peering over her fence, she has come over and yelled at them herself. She didn't leave me out of the bum-licking either.  It doesn't make sense she would call the cops.  She has the guts to deal with it herself.  Although, I think she has a secret tiny bit of "like"in her for me, but I gather she doesn't give a flying rip about the neighbors across the street.  In that case, maybe she would make the call if it was mixed company.  

That's as far as my detective skills have taken me.  I have a blog in the works entitled "Bat Crazy".  It is a real life look into my bat crazy mom side. This takes hold after bedtime when kids are not in bed and I can't handle one more second of loudness and demands and basically seeing any person under 48 inches tall.  If someone were to witness that, then a call to the cops may be justified.  Otherwise, put the phone down.         

Unexpected

I have often wondered in my infertility journey how crazy awesome it would be to unexpectedly be pregnant.  Marcus and I comment how unreal it is that most people have you-know-what and boom they are preggo.  Even though our chances are slimmer than slim of a natural occurring pregnancy this girl has always secretly dreamed.  Many a month I have peed on a stick because I was one day late or just sure I felt nauseous. I stopped doing that years ago, because it was just too depressing.  Well, this past spring something happened that I thought would never happen. I took a pregnancy test and it was positive.  So I took about three more and that cute little plus sign kept popping up.  I was over the moon!  Marcus was having a hard time believing it.  I couldn't keep my mouth shut and called Charlotte and my mom bursting with joy!

What an unexpected blessing.  I had just set up an appointment to start the frozen embryo transfer process, we were shooting for a March or April transfer.  I felt like this was obvious divine intervention.  This was Heavenly Father having mercy on a stretched-thin, hard-working husband that had already paid a large sum financially and emotionally for 3 children and was willing to do it again on account of his pleading wife. The physical tiredness set in.  I loved it, it meant I was really truly pregnant.  The good sign of sickness came next.  

Of course I was scanning myself regularly.  First the gestational sac, then a visible yolk sac, but that tiny fetal pole didn't have a heartbeat.  I was right in the gray area, when it is normal to see a heartbeat and normal to not see a heartbeat.  I knew what it meant to not see that flicker within the next few days.  The next time I scanned it was obvious there was no heartbeat and the yolk sac was now an abnormal size.  I still had my hcg levels tested as it is hard to convince the heart what the mind already knows.  

The next month was the hardest.  I cried, I grieved, I didn't understand why it even happened? I became annoyed that I was still sick day and night.  I was frustrated that being pregnant was keeping me from doing the transfer and being pregnant. I was paranoid about when the miscarriage would start.  Would I have warning?  Should I get out of commitments and obligations? How painful was it going to be?   I went back and forth on waiting it out or taking the medicine to induce.  Four weeks later, I finally made an appointment to take the medicine.  Literally hours before my appointment I finally miscarried on my own and it wasn't as hard as I imagined it would be.  

I am stubbornly learning and re-learning to accept Heavenly Fathers plan for me.  I still don't have a clue why it happened.  But it sure was fun to experience a spontaneous pregnancy while it lasted.  The same peace and comfort came that I felt with our failed in-Vitros.  A very strong reminder that I need to keep submitting my will to His.  I'm thinking it may be a life long challenge for me.  

The Fourth of July 2015

 Marcus lifted us up onto the roof of the warehouse with the forklift to watch the fireworks.  I did not condone this stunt, it was scary, but all ended safely and it was fun up there.

 Chips and Dew.

Sparklers.  It was as fancy as we got.

Little Happenings

The kids watching TV, their brain cells dying before my very eyes, but peace comes with a price.   

 This peace came at the price of toilet paper rolls and tampons.  Totally worth it.  Metta loves filling those tubes up.

 There was no peace with this incident.  Max was blessed with a hairy little body and pulling gum off of it was agony for the little guy.  We tried all the methods we could think of.  With many tears, the string of gum came off, but that big wad at the nape of his neck wasn't budging. That monster stayed there for a week!  Finally we just shaved it off with his hair.  Easy as that.  

 I honestly can't remember a lick about this picture.

 Melty chocolate in a carseat.

 New front door.

My handyman, I call him Marcos, holding my mirror frame in an almost finished bathroom. He worked hard at the beginning of summer to get this project done.  

Staining pillars at my current "flipper" house.  The darn thing hasn't sold yet.

Kansas City Visit 2015

We had such a delightful time visiting the Hendersons this summer.  Our 9 days flew by.  Anne was baptized.  We went to a fun farm park. We took many walks.  Charlotte lives in a beautiful neighborhood.  House gawking was a daily must. And she lives less than a mile from Trader Joes, so we walked there several times. My mom, Damon and I always ended up sleeping in the living room.  We had such a fun time playing cards and talking.  Damon is quite the talker late at night.  We shopped at estate sales.  Julia and Metta tortured each other. Anne indulged Zannah.  It was a good time indeed.    

 This is my favorite picture of the whole trip!  My mom singing songs with Metta on the flight home.  Speaking of the flights, the first leg of the trip I was solo with the kids and it was rough.  Metta's ears must have bothered her because she screamed the entire flight and the gentleman in front of us was very annoyed.  The flights home were total opposite.  Grandmas are lifesavers, that's for certain.

Hair

After too many nights of tears when trying to comb through Zannah's long mane, we convinced her to chop it off.  This was in large part to seeing her cousin Eleanor with a fresh new bob at the family reunion.  I was in need of a change myself so we chopped together.  It was a fun day and no tears (eat that Marcus and Lex).  I have been known to cry occasionally over hair cuts and can't seem to hear the end of it.  

Zannah made me go first and then almost chickened out when it was her turn.  After she finally consented and the deed was done, she loved it.  That little beauty can pull off any haircut she wants to.