1,2,3, Trimesters

Summertime is my time to blog I think.  I wouldn’t say I have seasonal depression (because , let’s face it, I’m not a depression kinda girl). But I definitely feel like the cold, constant, wind blessings of Wyoming affect my ambitions, such as blogging.  And I hate recapping like umpteen months of semi-interesting happenings detail by detail because those who care already know. Am I right, bloggers?  But alas, I’m going to do it anyway, A. because I’m finally in the mood to write (with a purpose) and B. it’s basketball playoffs and I have no husband for the next 3 hours.

So, you know what’s cool about the last 5 months? I’ve been growing  something in my stomach. Okay, it’s more of a someone and it’s not necessarily in my stomach; more of the womb region.  Come mid-September (15^th ish), and this drama queen is going to attempt to pop out a baby all naturel. Actually, my birth plan is nothing more than to have my awesome support team rooting me on and a healthy baby. Come what may.

 We’re having a little girl, named Lilly Anne.  And little actually might not be the best word to use.  Last appointment I measured 7 weeks ahead of schedule.  And if heredity has anything to do with it, our baby is going to come out walking.  I was a pretty plump baby, weighing in at 9lb 8oz, breaking my collar bone on the way out, and Brent wasn’t so tiny himself.  Our doc has already advised us to enroll our child in Preschool now, because she’ll be ready by the time she comes out.  Awesome. 

I’m just about to enter my 3^rd trimester and am loving most every second of it.  The first three months were a little rocky with the nausea and food aversions. (Random fun fact: I’d rather have my legs pulled off by a very hungry large baboon than to be nauseous all day) But we got that taken care of quickly with a little magic cure called Unisom and Vitamin B-12.

 I’ve definitely enjoyed all the little anticipation milestones. Everything from my weekly pees on a stick waiting for that extra line, to the first heartbeats,  to seeing something more than a peanut on the screen, to feeling her move (…and move and move and move) inside me, and to finding out what color paint to buy.  It’s already been the most rewarding experience of our lives and she’s no bigger than a squash (or so my weekly pregnancy app tells me).  And the best part of all; family.  Seeing a small glimpse as to what kind of father Brent is going to be…already Lilly is so loved and spoiled by him, it’s amazing.  If he’s half the dad he is a husband, Lilly will be the luckiest baby ever. We’re both lucky.  But becoming a family of our own has made us appreciate/love/enjoy/respect our big family so much more.  There’s something unexplainable about the coming of a baby that puts things into perspective.  This really is all about family. 

Since I have entered adulthood (HA!) I’m surrounded by people with children, having children, had children or anything in-between, and I’ve come to realize there are some freaking crazy moms out there…and by freaking crazy I mean fanatical, in the most loving way.  I know it’s our role in society that once you’ve passed a certain stage in parenthood you are now legally bound and contracted to give out any advice at all times.  And trust me; I love it, because honestly I have no clue what the heck I’m doing in the first place.  I knew enough to get pregnant, and left the rest up to you guys.  But what I have learned, mostly by stepping foot into Babies R’ Us…that having a baby is not only very overwhelming, but also very frivolous.  My theory; women have been popping out babies since the beginning of time.  Deliver in the corn field, pick it up, and keep shucking. And maybe I’m not that nonchalant about it, but I definitely don’t need half the stuff parents think they can’t raise their child without.  On that note, we’re registered at Babies R’ Us and Wal-Mart…. And yes, you’ll most likely find numerous unnecessary, but yet very handy items on there…so don’t let my rant deter you…I will find a use for it. Ha, I kid.  Actually, I probably don’t know what half of the stuff does, but the “mommy-must-have-list” told me to scan it….so I did.

First time moms are funny. I’m one of them.  I’m concerned every doctor’s appointment my child is going to have spontaneously disappeared.  And every night I dream I’m making out with some old boyfriend….because in dream land my oh-so pregnant figure is just too darn irresistible. Oh ya, and I was pretty sure that on day three of pregnancy I was already popping; which very well could have been the case with Ms. Ginormo growing in there. 

Which brings me to the realization of this is how pregnancy every pretty much goes…erm, mine anyway. 

Hello.

Hello? Blog? Is this really you?  My, how it’s been a long time. Actually I’m starting to feel that way with a lot of things. But guess what? I’m ok with that. I’m sure if I looked back at my older posts, at least 40% of them start with something like “I know it’s been awhile since I last wrote but….” followed by some horrible excuse for not blogging as if the world won’t turn without my most recent post.  No excuses this time. Don’t get me wrong, I totally miss the writing and drawing.

Some other things it’s been a while for? Wasting time on numerous, well…time wasters.  Like facebook. Like drama. Like feeling gloomy.

Ready.

Set.

Go.

Last major spurt of blogging evolved around moving. Downsizing our lives and living for just the two of us.  A smart, yet very unfulfilling idea.  Life just hasn’t been quite right for some time. On paper, everything was great. Perhaps life was just derailed momentarily. 

Well folks, the train is back on track…

In the last three months we have sold and bought a new home.  One that is outside of city limits; therefore putting an end to any leash laws, barking complaints, and animal at large tickets.   A pasture for the horses, so no more midnight jaunts for the rebels.  And for us? More legroom.

Brent was promoted (twice) and is now the supervisor for a crew working out at the mines as a subcontracted company. It’s the perfect hours, perfect everything.  He’s worked so hard for everything he’s accomplished, and I couldn’t be more proud.  And on his down time, he’s still fighting fires!

 I’m still am EMT (and loving it), and a teacher (loving that even more)

I teach preschool (4-5 year olds). And I’m pretty sure I have the best job in the entire world. It’s always been my intended career path to be a teacher. My intentions were to raise children until they were school age and start my career. But then I got thinking I might want to test the waters before I dove head first without an alternative route.  And now ladies and gents, I have a class of 22 Marvelous Monsters (our class name). Some days we’re more marvelous than we are monsters. And some days we're more monsters than we are marvelous.  But every day I can count on waking up excited to go to school, teach my kids all day, come home to the most amazing husband and not stop laughing from dusk till dawn.

It’s a lot harder to unpack with a full time job, but in between class and ambulance calls I empty a few boxes. So what if dinner was served on paper plates for a while, and our shoes were never in pairs. This house is already more of a home than anywhere we’ve lived, and to finally say life is perfect feels so good.

September- Rendezvous. Mom and Pop came up. Got a new Indian dress. Spent the last days of summer riding horses.  Started teaching. Brent’s promotion.

October- Bought the home and started the packing process towards the end of the month.  Had fire protection week at school and thus started the “Mr. Brentthefirefighter is the coolest person ever” craze in my class. Now they can’t live without him. Halloween was fantastic because it was spent with the youngsters who all dressed up in the coolest of costumes. I did too….as Pippy Longstockings.  It was phenomenal.

November- Moved in.  Celebrated a month of Thanksgiving.  Found out the wind is a lot stronger way out yonder.  Especially when you have zero landscaping….and now no roof to your porch.  Went to Florida for a national teacher’s conference. That’s right…Florida….in November…while it was 18 degrees in Wyoming. Boo Ya. Now we’re getting ready for the Holidays. 

I said it once, and I’ll say it again….for the things that really matter in life…LIFE IS PERFECT. 

Nightmare on Grant Street

So let’s be honest, the only reason I’m blogging right now is because Brent and Sophie are watching what is possibly the world’s most terrifying movie. Actually, I can only presume this is indeed the world’s most terrifying movie by the horrible loud screams and sudden increase of dramatic music every other second.  I can only assume this because for the first thirty minutes my head was covered under a blanket while I sang Christmas carols to myself, and when that didn’t suffice, I resorted to blogging. Of course, going to bed (alone) was most definitely not an option at this point. So here we are, 10:45 on a Saturday night, and I’m writing to occupy my mind to keep it from focusing on the horror that is occurring only five feet from my face.

My pure deceitful hatred for scary movies started when I was about 5 and my best friend Andrea would insist that we watch ET (I can safely say I’d take ET any day over this crap I’m watching now).  ET was not my cup of tea. We had nothing in common; I never found a little alien in my shed, and I most definitely myself was not an alien myself; thus began my sense of detachment and sheer disgust for any and all movies that have that “pop out and scare you” theme.  Inevitably ending my movie watching career.  

Sophie and Brent claim that the only proper way to watch a scary movie is with the speakers so loud they rattle your walls. As good as a singer I might think I am, they didn’t enjoy my August rendition of Jingle Bells and I can’t even begin to compete with our surround sound system. Apparently singing takes away from the “feel” of the movie, or something like that. Whatever.  

My curiosity seems to be getting the best of me. I want to watch it. I want to know what’s going on…but I simply can’t.  Well, I DO, and I always end up regretting it. I always look up and watch the worst, scariest, most horrific parts.  Then I ask tons of questions as to what is going on, inevitably bugging everyone….If I haven’t mentioned it before, I’m quite possibly the worst movie watcher ever. 

It kinda goes something like this:

It's Like Walking Onto A Yacht.

So the other day, I got this little invite to join “Google +”. I think the only thing interesting about this site is that you have to be cordially invited to join like it’s some elite club. No idea how I made the cool list and got an invite. Actually, I have no idea what the site is, but whatever. Best I can tell it's Google's attempt at a Facebook duplicate...with circles. So, upon initial set up, the only thing I could figure out was how to add one measly little photograph for my display picture. 

As I scrolled through the upteen thousands of pictures I have, it went something like this: dog, dog, two dogs, cat, dogs and cat, kittens, horses, dog, horse, dog, oh, there’s one of Brent, dogs……are you seeing the problem? I couldn’t find one picture of just myself that didn’t involve my face being covered in food and/or me looking like Chunk from The Goonies.  So I did what every girl does when they’re a mature respectable adult 16 and bored with their bestie: OHMYGOSHPHOTOSHOOT!!!!!

I’m not vain. But I feel as though I am entitled to a couple good shots that I’m not like “well whatever, my husband thinks I’m hot while covered in marshmallow/dog hair/horse poop, who cares what other people think”.

And  I am DEFINITELY not one of those girls that has a bazillion pictures (usually taken on your phone) of yourself. The typical upward angle with the big eyes trying to pierce the soul of the onlooker OR the downward stare to the floor that throws your attempt at being innocent down the toilet. Don’t forget the arm. In order for this to be considered a true picture of vainness, it must contain your arm, or at least a portion of it. Preferably you’re upper half above the elbow.  So for the love of pete, please don’t forget your arm. '


It looks a little something like this:

or this 

or this

hee...heee...oh wait....woops

Ok, so every girl is entitled to at least one of these. 

Ahem.

My excuses were as follows: The gap between my “done up days” compared to the days I do nothing for myself are getting greater and greater. Speaking of that, I responded to an ambulance call with no makeup and my hair in a ponytail. Which works for any naturally beautiful girl… It wasn’t my hottest moment, I’ll admit, but I was saving lives folks!  There’s no time for makeup and an updo while I’m giving CPR!  Anyway, a fellow  EMT thought it would be flattering for him to tell me I must be having "one of those days”. It’s ok, ‘cause my ugly days are way better than his normal days. Ha…ha.  I can’t help it if I happen to look like a 12 year while taking your blood pressure and sewing your arm back on. My bad.  If you'd rather trade beauty secrets with the medic while they’re helping you, please let me know. I’ll be sure to take my time curling my eye lashes…which I never do normally.

Excuse number dos: My coconspirator was Sophie, and like every young pretty girl, you can never have enough pictures of yourself, so I dragged her along.  Meh anyway, here goes nothing. 

Notice the lack of any food anywhere near or on my face my face. 

to see more of our adventures, check out my facebook! 

Retirement: World's longest coffee break.

I know you might think you have cool parents, but honestly I don't even think you can compare. 

Once upon a time the pretty cheerleader met and fell in love with the cool kid in school. Cool Kid did everything from football to Key Club (good thing it was considered cool then, because he would be SOL these days) . Pretty Girl was a drop dead gorgeous babe and inevitably she just had to marry this Hunk, and then after a good 25 years with each other, I came along...practice makes perfect, they say.

I guess anything and everything that made this cool kid cool flew out the window when he became a dad. That's a lie; he's always been awesome. But something in him led him to believe that every shirt had to be tucked in, hair had to be well groomed, and work came well before any sort of play.  Fast forward to post retirement.  The man is as happening as a Hippie in the 60's. His hair is as free flowing as mine, and somehow we are sporting a similar style haircut. For Father's Day, we went Go-Kart-Racing, and today he conquered the Zip Line. Cool Kid is back in style, and all of the sudden he's part of the "it crowd". I absolutely love this guy. Of course, my Mamma never lost her charm and is as beautiful and spunky as ever.  Though she won't be performing any cheer leading stunts, since her fear of heights anything daring  set in. She still drives the occasional go-karts, drives the jeep, and plays photographer for many of these modern day "Pop Shenanigans". I'm kinda loving this retirement stage of theirs.

(anyone who  knows my Pop: Can you EVER remember his hair being anywhere remotely close to this long?)

                                       

Poppa

Brent waving,

Me holding on for dear life.

Cheap Labor

There is nothing better on a perfect no wind, no snow, above 60 degrees Wyoming day, than to be outside...with your H.H.D's (husband, horses, and dogs) Brent mowed the lawn while the heneymoes and I played in the water. They are recently recovering from a serious case of worms and the winter shag, so to relive them of the summers new found heat, I bathed them. The are hanging out at our house today working as free labor. As Brent calls them; "Free Lawn Mowers". And in a bit, we will ride off into the Sunset of Lyman, Wyomin'. How 'bout them Cowgirls. 

Cheyenne 

Kuruk

Oso

Zip Watching over his Herd. 

Beauty Is Pain, But Love Makes It Worth It.

A year holds so much more than 365 days. And roughly 365 memories ago, on June 12^th, I married Prince Charming…shining armor, white horse and all. Each day over the past year has been so different than the one before. We have had adventures of all kinds, crossed so many obstacles, and accomplished so many dreams.  In the spirit of tradition, we went to Flaming Gorge for some fun in the sun.  Though this year’s anniversary present from him to me caused more physical pain and tears than I ever thought I wanted…it’s hard to believe this is how he chose to show me his love. But in the end; it was totally worth it. ;)

Chop Chop

A few months ago, the little town of Lyman started covering its telephone poles, bulletin boards and mailboxes full of “SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR PET” flyers. Yes, the chop off your manhood and take away your femininity mobile was coming to town. Ah-ha! this. will. solve. everything. everything. What kind of male dog runs away if he has nothing to run to! Appointment set. And as of June 10, 2011 our boys became a little less manly, and a little more….neutral.  Now the funny part about this wasn’t the man-to-man chat Brent had with them moments before their big day, or it wasn’t the jokes about enjoying their last moments as real men and their seemingly understanding of the going-ons. Though those were all highlights of the times leading up the event…the best part of the entire experience was indeed the cones. The Cones of Shame, more precisely.

A dog hopped up on drugs is funny…two dogs on drugs with giant cones on their heads is even better.  The concept of walking, mixed with depth perception issues, unsteady legs, and the alleged cones, makes for a night full of pure entertainment. They spent the first few hours with their heads hung in shame. Tank dosed in and out of consciousness and slumped over at a moment’s notice. Zip just whined. And whined and whined. 

The following stories can only be explained by picture:

Nothing will separate Tank from his food. Come heave or hell, this kid will eat. Let a cone intervene, and pure desperation sets in. As he walked over to his food canister and upon realizing he couldn’t get to the food because of his cone, he grudgingly rested the upper rim of the cone against the food dispenser and sighed in defeat. And sat there for a good five minutes without moving, only letting out a little groan every now and then. 

Zips need for constant attention and acceptance led him to a “foot-in-mouth” problem. Literally. He would put my foot in between his head and his cone so he could have one on one physical contact. Well, when someone would call him, or he heard a noise, or simply wanted to walk away…he couldn’t quite figure out how to separate from my foot, and inevitably get stuck.

And to be expected Tank whined his way out of his Cone of Shame for more than a day, and Zip obliterated his to pieces.

Regardless, all wounds are healing nicely….but their egos have taken a hard hit.