Trial and Error

So, I sat down to write a blog about something funny, entertaining, or informative that has happened recently in my life.  But then I realized that all of my funny, entertaining, or informative stories are about the baby. And trust me, I love talking and sharing pictures of Lilly, but my biggest fear is becoming one of those moms who ONLY posts funny, entertaining, or informative stories about their children. It’s annoying and frankly no one cares.  But guess what? I’m a stay-at-home mom and that’s all I have to talk about. She’s all I want to talk about anyway.   

So here’s my funny, entertaining, and/or informative story.

 

(Disclaimer: the following is not guaranteed to be any of the above mentioned, but please keep reading)

Becoming a new mom is filled with the unknown and the unpredictable.  The unknown and unpredictable didn’t necessarily evolve around parenting skills, or the lack thereof, because maternal instincts kicked in pretty strong for me, but more so it consisted of the common sense things most moms learn from books….that I didn’t happen to read.

Lesson one: Car Seat Catastrophe

Three months before my due date I had Brent install the car seat…”just in case”, I said.  I wanted to be prepared for anything, and we were.  I retook my infant CPR class, read every instruction manual to every bouncer, swing, and crib.  I practiced changing diapers and using the suction bulb on my poor dogs.  I was going to be the world’s best mom…if only I knew how to get her out of the car.

 Four days old, and my mom and I took Lilly to Wal-Mart with us.  Diaper back was fully stocked and her tummy was full, nothing could go wrong.  We pull into the parking lot, get out of the car, and I proceed to walk to the store…yup, without my child. Luckily, mom was already attempting to unload her car seat and hadn’t noticed my abandonment.   Turns out, neither my mom nor I knew how exactly to remove the car seat from the base. I think I pushed every button and pulled every strap trying to get her out of the car. Doesn’t sound too bad, right? As I call my husband to have him tell me step by step how to do it I notice the lady with a daughter, two year old twins, and an infant who happened to be parked next to us watching the entire ordeal, oh and the person stopped behind us thinking they were waiting for our parking space.  I’m sure child protection services were on speed dial as they watched in disgust.  No worries folks, we go her out. Though she might have been better off staying in the car, since I put her upside down in the shopping cart.  Mom of the year, folks.

Lesson two:  Clean Up on Isle 4

Just ‘cause your boobs stop leaking for a day, doesn't mean you’re safe to leave your house without nursing pads.  The cute ladies at my local grocery story have been pretty involved in my pregnancy since the beginning.  From the moment they knew we were pregnant, they offered every kind of advice from birth plans, parenting advice, and yes, even how different our sex life will be.  So, when I waltzed proudly around Benedicts with my baby in tote, it took a good 20 minutes for one of my trusted ladies to take me hand in hand to the baby isle.  She grabbed a box of nursing pads from the top shelf and started telling me all about “milk let-down” and “leaking”.  I listened intently pretending she was teaching me something I didn't already know.  And when she opened the box and handed me two pads right there in the middle of the store, it was only then I noticed my increasingly milk covered shirt. Nursing pads: don’t leave home without ‘em!

Lesson three:  Belly button rings don’t hide stretch marks. 

I didn’t get stretch marks until my last month of pregnancy, but now I don’t have my ginormous belly to disguise them.  My body did an incredible job at returning to its pre-pregnancy state and I have to say I lucked out; I could wear my regular jeans two days after delivery. I was feeling pretty good about myself, big boobs and a flat(ish) tummy…heck yes! Standing in front of the mirror in the buff was a different story. I was feeling a little down about the zebra on my stomach.  My solution? Since my belly button ring was cute before, it will most definitely make me feel sexy now! Wrong-o.  Stretch marks with a glitzed out navel doesn’t exactly scream “mommy dearest”.  I’ll embrace the cocoa butter and hope for bikini season next year.

 

I’ve been doing the mom thing for a month now, and I’m loving every second of it.  She smiles almost as much as she poops, and she brings as much joy as McDonalds did during pregnancy. 

Flew the Coop

Normal: nor-mal

Adjective/Noun-

  Conforming to a standard. Usual, typical, or expected. The usual, average, or typical state or condition.

…Since when has anything we’ve done been normal?

I think the most unusual, atypical, and unexpected thing about this whole ordeal is actually how “normal” it really was. 

Lilly “the Bird” Anne Clark landed safely at 1:21pm on September 14, 2012.  Weighing in at 7lb 15oz and 20in long.  A far cry from the 12 pound albatross we were originally expecting.  Delivery went just about as perfect as the pregnancy. Though, next time I think I’ll skip the contractions and just get to the cute baby part.  But I survived a whole 9 centimeters before hunting down the anesthesiologist and getting an epidural.  Within 4 hours of induction, out she pops, does the whole crying thing- so do I (and the rest of the family), Daddy cuts the cord, and within those five minutes my whole world was changed by the most amazing little bird ever.

Usual would be coming home to a calm and quiet house, greeting the unknown with open arms.  Typical would be a crying baby and scared parents with no one but Google to solve their problems.  Expected would be repetitive diaper changes, sleepless nights, and the feeling that failure might be around every corner.

But normal is just not our style.

We came home to our entire family; greeting us with open arms, leaving the unknown to worry about later. And with full construction on our house complete with saw, drills, and hammers, “calm and quiet” was somewhere between Timbuktu and B.F.E.  Google was saved for recipe suggestions and window installation instructions, and all my questions, concerns, and inquiries were directed to my personal live-in nurses; who just happen to be my mom, mother-in-law, and grandmother.  The only thing around every corner was someone ready to help out with the diaper changes and swing shifts to insure the chance failure was as slim as our chance as “calm and quiet”.

So now I’m home alone and I keep waiting for the fear to set in, for the unknown to catch up, and the anxiety to get the best of me.  But it hasn’t and it won’t.  Not because of anything I’ve done, but because of the support system I have at my beckon call. I have a husband who has taken on an extra role of perfect daddy all the while stays in his armor as Prince Charming. The men who became Grandpas who are more than willing to change diapers and wipe away tears. And the two young ladies who completed the circle of life and became Grandmas - they seem to have all the right answers at all the right times. They have all been here to help with whatever we need, right when we need it. I am so blessed. They have given me the strength and encouragement to be the best mom that they have always taught me to be. I love you all!   Thank you. 

It's Still What Fun Is

Pop hates nothing more than large crowds and motion sickness, my mom doesn't do well with heights and roller coasters, I'm extremely pregnant, and Brent wasn't too ecstatic about riding everything solo. So, of course a trip to Lagoon sounded like a totally awesome idea. I share the love of everything that is Lagoon with Brent, but my participation level was at a minimum this year.  (Apparently it's highly frowned upon to even contemplate riding  "Wicked" the roller coaster in my current condition.) So, here we are, a family of 4 defunct amusement park participants wondering around "sight seeing".  All until my mom decided she thought the Tilt-a-Whirl looked fun and Pop found the Slurpee vendor.  After a couple of dare-devil acts from my mom, the Ferris Wheel was the only thing I allowed on my list, so it was our next logical choice in the ride line-up.  

We all know my moms love for heights and it only seemed fitting that the Ferris Wheel break down while we are dead center on the top.  Just under an hour later, a mental break down or two, and my pop announcing to the mechanics down below that I'm in labor, we unloaded and away we went to the rest of our adventures.  Brent's one and only request of the evening was to ride the Catapult. Anyone remember my catapult adventure a few years back? Let me remind you of my death defying experience... read it here.

Well, party pooper Pop hadn't shown any interest in anything except the food vendors. But I kept noticing his special interest in the Catapult.  He spent half the day while Mom and Brent were on rides analyzing how it worked and what it did.  So, as Brent is getting ready to buy his ticket, Pop pipes up and announces he's going to participate in the 3.5 G-force, 200 foot ball of death.  Oy-vey.  The only rational thing I could tell Brent was to please make sure Pop keeps conscience throughout the entire ride.  They both had a blast, as expected, and Pop even let out a hoot and a holler at the top of the ride. Proof is on the video posted on Facebook.  Those men.  

I am so proud of Mom and Pop for a. letting us drag them to Lagoon in the first place and B. participating in the things I thought the left in the their younger years.  I seriously have the coolest 'rents. 

Augtember.

For a more detailed assessment of the current happenings, check out my Facebook...which I also fail to update regularly because sitting home catching up on Law and Order reruns keeps me too busy to do much else. Heh...heh... 

Since my last sporadic appearance, Rendezvous has come and gone and Lilly is still nesting, quite comfortably apparently.  So, I'm sitting here curled up to the best of my ability on my comfy chair hoping for my water to break at any moment.  Hoping is how I spend most of my days...hoping and bouncing away on my exercise ball. It can only help, right? Right. Bring on the Castor oil. Not.

Bird is still measuring 2 weeks ahead of schedule. Trust me, I'm in no hurry for her to get here if she's not done cooking, so we'll continue to wait.  But on the flip side, if she thinks it's funny to weigh eight and a half pounds at 37 weeks, she's got another thing coming. 

We had a rather eventful August.

 A baby shower, a fire, a birthday, and a trip to Lagoon. 

My best friend Sadie and my Momma certainly know how to throw a shin-dig.  They threw me a rocking baby shower complete with family, friends, and food...and perhaps the most promiscuous pregnant belly cake ever.  It was all perfect. All until the Jordanelle State Park decided to catch on fire. It made for an eventful closure to the evening watching the bomber planes drop in to fight the fire. All's well that ends well. 

 

My beautiful Momma celebrated her second anniversary of her 32nd birthday in August, and we did a lot of relaxing, a lot of eating, and a lot of laughing. Much like our usual visits, but it was a special day anyway.  I hope she had a good day.  

If anyone ever tells you that a trip to Lagoon, on an August day, 8 months pregnant is a good idea....they're totally right.  Although, I might be the only person encouraging such activities because everyone thought I was crazy.  I'm not sure when the day went from casual to pure insanity, but it was absolutely hysterical.  


September has brought a lot of walking, bike rides, and bumpy car rides.  All in hopes to convince Lilly to vacate her current residence and make her appearance.  I'm having fun nesting in the real world; making hair bows, sewing, and baking yummy goodness like a good house wife does. Reality is, a lot of my days barley consist of makeup and/or a bra.  

24 years and 34 weeks.

There’s this philosophy that the older you get, the more lame your birthdays become.  I’m starting to see the decline in celebratory options already by the ripe old age of 24.  Meaning; party invitations with pony’s don’t get sent out and there are no goodie bags to be collected.  But nonetheless, I look forward to my birthday every year as if I were turning 7 all over again.  (Sidenote: my mom threw me some killer birthday parties back in the day, complete with neighborhood talent shows and themed parades.)  Without a doubt my mom and Brent make sure that my birthday remains special and exciting. Brent and I went down to PC to spend the weekend with Mom and Pop for my infamous birthday weekend. 

Some years we boat, others we camp, but this year being 34 weeks pregnant, things remained a little more local and subdued. After a belly full of mom’s biscuits and gravy, we perused Park Silly Market, enjoyed a chocolate covered banana and some cold beverages, headed home for relaxation, and then closed out the evening with true Chinese dining.  There may or may not have been some shopping somewhere in between. Perfection.  I think the boys celebrated most of all with their rendition of Olympic wrestling with Toby and Allie. 

Everyone knows when you have dogs; you have dog hair.  It’s a never ending battle of picking individual hairs off your everything…clothes, floors, couches, toothbrush, whatever.  So in all honesty, when asked what I wanted for my birthday, I replied with something, anything to help get rid of the dog hair.  I’m the proud owner of a pretty awesome wood floor cleaning system that sweeps and mops all in one, and a Schticky. Yes, a Schticky.  Google it please and then Youtube the commercial.  The world’s best cleaning product comes from a fairly obvious perverted infomercial. Ha-larious! But it honestly is the best thing since sliced bread.  I “schticky” everything the commercial implies, and then some.  Thanks family!

Bird Update: At my 34 week appointment, I measured 40 weeks.  Yup.  My hopes for Rendezvous attendance are sliming.  

Walk, Ride, Rub, Repeat.

 If for whatever reason we didn’t have the 4^th of July, the 24^th would suffice, for celebratory reasons of course.  Out yonder, we have what’s called Pioneer Day.  I’m quite sure I blog about it every year, but just for redundancy’s sake here’s the recap: July 24^th is the day dedicated to commemorate the trek of the Mormon Pioneers who came to Utah in 1847.  So basically, it’s the 4^th of July disguised in wagons and costumed pioneers.  And I love it all the same.  I’ve come to the realization that I don’t really care what the holiday is, but give me a parade and some fireworks and I’m pretty content.  I’m glad I live in a town with a Christmas light parade to tide me over. (Disclaimer: I love the 4^th for all the right reasons; patriotism, freedom, and gratitude of sacrifice.)

I took a chance, and participated in the 4^th parade without incident and decided to go at it again and walk in the 24^th one as well (I do it for the candy, folks).  I got more cheers of support for being for pathetic pregnant lady hustling to keep up with her float than anything else.  Truth be told, I feel great and I’m a little insulted when people are so shocked that I am as active as I am.   Do I come across as the fat lazy prego chick of the community? ‘Cause someone please tell me if I am!  I’ve been told I do a little more than the average 8 month-er.  Brent and I still do our nightly bike rides, I’m still teaching chasing crazed children, I can still ride my horses with minor assistance dismounting and I’ve even been known to walk in a parade or two. We’ve also been playing on our community softball league, but Lilly and I have been demoted to score keeper. Apparently big pregnant ladies and fly balls don’t go well together.  So now we just cheer for the cutest pitcher on the team.  And as long as my hubby keeps up with the foot rubs, I’ll try to keep up with him.

 Need I say it, but I LOVE BEING PREGNANT.  I can honestly say that I have yet to experience most of the horrors I’ve been warned about.  My feet don’t swell (can’t say the same for the boobs), I don’t get cravings, the bird is healthy and active, and I have the most amazing support system.  I realize I have another 8 weeks to go, (is that it…8 weeks?? Ek…) but I’m gearing down for the possibility that my next pregnancy will most likely be a nightmare due to the perfection of this one.  Y’all can rub it in then; I’ll eat crow respectfully. 

Speaking of the bird, at my doctor’s appointment today she measured in at 37 weeks.  That’s medically a full term baby ladies and gents.  So while my body says I’m only 32 weeks along, little miss tweet tweet thinks it’s ok to be the size of an albatross when she comes out.  Not cool Lilly Bird, not cool. I’m keeping the legs crossed for another 8 weeks until I’m good and ready for her arrival whether she likes it or not. 

Until then, I have a birthday to celebrate, a camping trip to plan, and couple of boys to attend to.

 Life is good.

Does she look like me yet?

I still see more Tank than I do Clark, but either way she's a cutie. 

 

The Good, the Bad, the 4th.

It started with a simple suggestion from my mom that my brother Bear, my best friend Sadie, and I should ride our horses in the 4^th of July parade in the Summer of 2005. And not just any parade, but the biggest parade in our surrounding area. Why? Because everyone wants to see three random kids carrying some flags on horseback.   So with three ridiculously oversized red t-shits, three American flags, and three mediocre behaved horses, we were lined up as entry number 12 amongst all the bells and whistles of what is the Oakley Parade.  After a few waves and plastered smiles, we wondered why the crowd seemed to be in a constant state of confusion. Turns out our entry form never made it to the announcer, and the real slot number 12 belonged to that of the Summit County Rodeo Royalty.  Yes ladies and gents, we rode in style the entire route as we so wrongly and unknowingly represented the Queen, as my brother, and Sadie and I accompanied him as the 1^st and 2^nd attendants. 

And for some reason, the 4^th of July still seems to be my favorite holiday.  I’ve decided in the more recent years to steer clear of any parade participation….until this year.  Surprisingly, it didn’t involve a horse, bad fashion, or false identification.  Instead Ashley and I threw candy at the entire Bridger Valley in support of a local political candidate. The day went off in perfection as it was followed by the homecoming of our Idaho family, bratwursts on the BBQ, and a big firework show. 

The end.

Oh wait, you thought this could actually end without mention of the boys and their firework encounter?

Wishful thinking.

Every year Tank ignores the burst of brilliant color happening above him and Zip hides in complete terror.  This year, we happened to take them to the park with us to sit on the blanket and enjoy show.  We thought much of the same would happen; oblivion/denial and mental breakdowns.  At the first bang Tank body rolled into us in surprise of the noise, and then immediately took guard and proceeded to attack the fireworks, barking and all.  Zip, amidst the confusion of Tanks attack mode and his own fear, began to bark fervently at the explosions happening yards in from of him.  Mind you, we did choose rather close seating.  Moments later, we noticed they turned the fear into interest and utter amazement (like mommy like puppy). They literally sat and watched as the fireworks left the ground and flew into the air with a bang setting off an explosion of color. 

I wonder, what do fireworks look like to colorblind dogs? 

Camping.

I have a love for many things. Many, many things….but there are few things that I am as passionate about as a couple of dogs, some crazy family, and camping.  I. love. Camping. And this year we began our tradition of camping in style.  My parents so graciously donated to the we.can’t.afford.fun.things.cause.we’re.young.and.poor fund, and gave us their pop-up camper.  No worries folks, we didn’t trade them our tent. Instead they’re sporting a brand new Airstream…with wood floors no less. 

So here we are, mid week and Brent asks what our plans are for the weekend are.  Nothing.  ‘Cause we’re lame.  So we decide to go camping. The general direction is Mirror Lake Highway and the time frame is till Sundayish.  After a shredded tire, grocery shopping, and a case of the missing dog leashes, we’re driving towards the mountains at 7:45 at night, racing the sun to find a camp site.   The plan: drive until we see something that fits our fancy and if we don’t beat sundown, keep driving until we hit Park City and try again in the morning.  No worries, we found the most luxurious camp site in the tri-state area.  Lake view, beautiful surroundings, good neighbors, and gourmet cooking- all located in Mom and Pop’s home.

After roughing breakfast with Starbucks and Danishes, Mom headed up with us mid morning to find a good spot, and low and behold we found one, big enough for a pop-up and an air stream.  It was just too perfect, mom and pop came camping too.  Loved every second of it, and couldn’t be more grateful to have such giving and unselfish parents.  Thanks momma and poppa! We love you!

Drum Roll Please

This picture may not look like anything more than a living room. That's because it's not, I suppose. It is indeed simply my living room. But what this picture actually depicts is 7 months of hounding, pleading, and begging for new carpet, as opposed to the "creatively" placed vinyl tile lied there once before. In December we picked out, finalized, and purchased new carpet and Voilà; mid June it's finally installed.  No more sweeping and vacuuming every single day. Yes, I'm aware that I should clean it daily, because I know that the same amount of ever-loving dog hair still graces my floor...it just means that I'm really good at picking out the most camouflaged carpet there was. 

As for these pictures.... 

just shows you why I live where I live. Look at that sunset. 

Crayola headquarters lives in my front yard.