We Ran Away

Nothing ever turns out the way you plan it to.

We ran South. Should have run North if you ask me.

Bisbee, Arizona. Sounded promising.

The bed & breakfast online looked perfect.

The highlights were this: being with Tom. being without children. the best dinner in the world from here.

The low lights? nothing to do. we had two nights at our B&B. but by Friday evening, we knew we were in trouble. little hippie shops selling used junk and trinkets didn't appeal to us. mining tours were a complete turn off to my no-thank-you-to-paying-$13-for-you-to-drive-me-into-a-claustrophobic-mountain.

And we really knew we were in trouble when we asked one of the locals what there was to do in Bisbee. She rolled her eyes and said not much.

Plus the locals hanging out in front of our B&B smoking all evening, was a little bit of a turn off.

By 5:30 am Saturday morning we were both wide awake. So much for sleeping in. After breakfast we walked around the little town and decided to wait until 10:00 when everything opened, such as the copper queen hotel museum.

By 9:00 am we found ourselves in a coffee shop sipping hot cocoa and playing a game of chess. Yes we were relaxed, yes we were happy. But we realized we couldn't do Bisbee. We could not stay another minute. So after wasting Tom at chess we came to the conclusion together and opted out of our second night. To hell with the copper queen museum! We drove as quickly as possible out of the little mining town to complete freedom, wearing silly grins on our faces the entire way. We felt guilty. We felt free. It was awesome.

So we decided to take the one opportunity we had to go Christmas shopping and eat out and see a movie. And we drove back up to Tucson. We had plans to get a hotel that evening in Tucson since we were committed to being away two nights, but plans changed.

There we were in Wal-Mart picking out movie theatre treats when Tom saw them. Cyndee and our children. The strings that can't be cut just yet yanked on my heart and I knew I couldn't ignore them, that I couldn't stay away another night. It ruined everything, but I was okay with that. We snuck up surprising them, since we were suppose to be in Bisbee. My older children were thoroughly disappointed to see us, Caleb was thrilled. We only said hi for a minute and then escaped again.

Overall it was a great weekend. Not what we planned, but still fabulous. And we were very grateful for Cyndee who watched the boys so that we could get away for our 10 year anniversary. Thanks Again!

Fierce Competition

Talin was undefeated.
They surpassed expectations on how a first national chess tournament goes for a boy.
I couldn't be prouder.

We couldn't watch them when they played in the tournament, but they spent all extra hours practicing with each other. I love this picture. It captures everything that Collin is.

Figuring it out

I want long luscious hair, that swings around and causes envy, but I can't help myself.

Still learning how to fix it as fabulously as Tasha did yesterday when she cut it.

Give me a few more days and I'll feel a little more confident.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the cut, just learning to love me in it.

Twilight Zone

Some weird things happened at my house yesterday.

1. I had a maid come to my house disguised as an eight year old neighborhood boy. He literally cleaned up the entire house, except for my bedroom which was off limits. And Tom put a stop to the garage cleaning when he got home. Nothing could have made me more uneasy than the cleaning oddness. Did he then go home and tell his mother that I occupy a cluttered home with sewing machine in the corner and scrap paper on the floor and an overflowing computer desk?

2. Collin almost beat me in a chess game.

3. Talin & Collin almost beat Tom in a chess game.

It was really like the twilight zone.
I'm scared to play chess against my six and eight year old.

Gratitude

I just had to write this out.
Today is the first time in months that I can say I feel good at five in the afternoon.

No headache or migraine or pain of any sort lurking in my head.
No heart palpitations or inner shakiness.
No cloudy or fuzzy brain interfering.
No sensitivity to light or noise.
No sore muscles dragging me down.
No exhaustion or burning eyes.
No anxiety or frustration or suffocation from being overwhelmed.

Is this what it's like to feel normal?
I've forgotten.
It's heaven.

Escape to the zoo.

When the threat of termites proved too much for my fragile sanity, we escaped to the zoo this morning.

We managed to get out the door after one shattered glass, two big water spills (really big), one vomit and a successful yet frustrating search for my ipod. Struggling to smile, but determined.
Armed with snacks, water bottles, and milk we arrived at the zoo at 11:00, determined to have a fantastic time.

That's when Tom called.

"Um, don't try to use your debit card it's been canceled. Someone in Florida stole the number and rang up some charges."

Awesome.

Yet still determined to be fun mom.

And we were fun. We were the definition of fun. Face painting, duck feeding, bird watching, squirrel harassing, almost touching baby bunny kind of fun.

Then we got hot and tired and decided to go home. Emotions were high, silly and giggly, then they were low, grouchy and snippy. Definitely time to go home.
Still determined to be happy.

And then it happened. After congratulating myself on a good zoo choice for activities, I pulled onto my street almost home, when the car felt funny.

The light came on to check the gages, the thermostat thingy waved it's arrow dangerously past the red line, I pulled to a stop in front of my house just as the smoke started to billow out of the engine and my car spurted out fluid all over the street. Ew.

So there I was defeated. Finally.

Between the termites, the water pipe, the stolen debit card and now the brokenness of my car I don't have any happy/fun mom in me.

Maybe tomorrow I can count my blessings. Not today.

Die Termites DIE!

I want to move. Now.
Saturday we awoke at 6 a.m. to a busted water pipe. Went the majority of the day without water. Put me out a bit.
This morning is a new development that I can not deal with.
Two words that will forever bring bile into my mouth when uttered.
Termite. Tunnel.
And the phrase that will forever give me an anxiety attack when spoken:
Termite tunnel coming from my ceiling.
Is there anyone out there who will adopt me until the problem is solved?
My skin is crawling. I'm on the verge of tears and I want to move.
Curse that binding lease!
I just have to keep reminding myself that termites eat wood, not food, not children, not me.
Termites hate light. Could I sleep with a spotlight on my body?
Or could I move in with my mother until the termite man comes and solves the problem? I could drag the kids out of school for a week and home school them at my mom's.
I could just put us all in a plastic bubble to protect us from all creepy crawly things. Or separate bubbles, cause we'd kill each other if we shared one.

Missionary Work-My Nemesis

I constantly joke that the most difficult talk to give in church is one on missionary work. It's something that has never inspired me; it's always intimidated me, and a topic I have hardly any experience in.

So when the email from the ward came asking the sisters in Relief Society if they would volunteer to go on splits with the Sister Missionaries, I was very hesitant. But for some odd reason I failed to analyze the situation as thoroughly as I normally would and volunteered to go, mainly thinking that it would be awesome to get a break from the house, the kids and to talk with adults.

And that's how I found myself sitting in Jenny and Manning's small apartment living room, snug on the couch next to the two Sister Missionaries. They were a street contact from the night before and had agreed to letting the Sisters come again Sunday evening to talk some more. Their walls were filled with pictures of children and family, their cat was a little too friendly with my purse and they both sat across from us on computer chairs in front of two monitors. I felt cozy and comfortable, despite being in a stranger's home.

Manning had questions. Lots and lots of them. He told us that he had decided to find out information about the Mormons by using Google.

The three of us cringed and the Sister's exchanged a glance. Most likely a glance of frustration.

I felt defeated already and we hadn't been there for five minutes. But oh was I schooled by the passion and directness of these Missionaries. Where I would have backed down, they never did. Where I would have worried about hurt feelings or deep held beliefs, they didn't. They testified of the truth. Again and again. I was amazed and humbled. They were even so bold as to ask them both to be baptized.

Manning told us that he had already been baptized by a Christian church two years ago. The Sister's went on to explain that he needed to be baptized by someone who holds the proper authority, someone who holds the priesthood.
His interest was beyond piqued.

Manning: Did John the Baptist have the priesthood?

Sis. Missionary: Yes, he did. It even talks about it in the Bible when someone asks John by what authority can he baptize.

Manning: What would the Christian church that I went to tell me if I asked them if they had the Priesthood Authority to baptize?

Sis. Missionary: They would tell you that they didn't have the priesthood, and probably say that they didn't need it.

Manning, a huge Bible reader, was incredulous as the truth dawned on him that the Lord required a certain authority from his people to perform baptisms. Sitting in deep thought he finally looked up to us with concern and asked.

Manning: Would you know of someone here in Tucson that has the priesthood?

I couldn't help my bursting smile.

After an hour and a half in their home it was incredible to watch Manning slowly come around, to becoming incredulous at the things the Sisters told him. It was awesome to witness. The Spirit in the home was strong, I knew they felt it. And by the time we were leaving Manning told us that he would stop looking on the Internet for his answers, but instead rely on prayer and listening to the Lord.

I came home Sunday night with fire in my belly for the work. It was exciting. It made me so much more grateful for the Gospel, the Priesthood, and The Book of Mormon. The things that I've always had and taken for granted at times, are too precious not to share more often.

I'm eagerly going out with the Sister's again next Friday. And if it weren't for my motherly and wifely responsibilities I would probably be tagging along more often.

The true extent of my selfishness

Friday night I was on my way to pick up our babysitter so that Tom and I might go out on a long awaited date, after two months without.
There I am turning into her neighborhood when my phone rings.

Me: Hello?
Tom: Hey, have you gotten the babysitter yet?
Me: Almost there, why?
Tom: Well, you might want to turn around and come home instead.
My stomach drops with dread.
Tom: Caleb hit Collin on the head with my plastic souvenir cup. I think he's going to need stitches.
Me: Fine. I'll be right there (complete irritation).

So I speed home, not worried about Collin's head, not worried about going to the ER, or anything that a normal mother should be worried about.
Instead I accelerated home fuming my wrath towards Caleb. "Of course he has ruined our date night, my evil baby!" The words screaming in my head.

After coming to terms with the evening I was able to push my selfish thoughts aside, hug on Collin, discipline Caleb and hug on him, and figure out with Tom how to fix the situation.
Tom wanted to bypass the ER and stitch Collin up himself, but after calling around to fellow residents he still didn't have enough sterile equipment to do the job.
So the next bright idea was to glue the gash closed and tape it up.
So far it's working great.
And if it's a horrible scar on his head, at least he's not a girl.

Caleb's Hidden Talent

Pepsi withdrawals have had my head fiercely aching the past four days. I'm trying to be strong. Here's my attempt at distraction.

I wanted to show off my babies incredible ability with taking down cup stacking.
And I even have an embarrassing/humiliating story to go along with it.

Mandi is constantly telling me that my life experiences are awkward, and I'd have to agree with her.

So the week we got back from Utah I had a meeting with a speech teacher from the Arizona School of Deaf and Blind. She came to the house and we spent the next hour and half discussing Caleb's strengths and weakness his produced vowels and consonants. Stimulating.

One of the million questions she asked me was if Caleb could stack blocks, at least six on top of one another.

I all of a sudden chirped up and said, "Even better, you have to watch this, it's amazing!".

So I run get my camera and find the video of Caleb's awesome talent.

I play it for her.

She watches.

It's over.

And she says.....nothing.

So awkward.

I felt ashamed at my ridiculously founded pride, so I quickly say, "AND he can stack six blocks on top of each other."

We went on to the next question with never a comment about my child's super talent from the speech teacher.

She must not have kids.

Disability

No one wants to be told that their child is disabled.
Except for when the social security check comes in the mail to help with his co-pays.
Then we party.
Because before then this was constantly on my mind.

I love it & I HATE it - first days of school

My house is quiet.
No one is yelling, squealing, arguing or bored.
No one will come in this morning and ask me for second breakfast, a snack, a treat or elevensies.

It's almost too quiet.

I walked them to school this morning and not one of my boys kissed me or hugged me or said goodbye or waved or even turned around for a hesitant glance back at their mother standing behind the gate, heart breaking.

Are they already grown up?

I hate it.

I had to stifle the motherly urge to yell "I love you!" Or insist that they come back for a hug and maybe a kiss on the cheek.
They'll be okay.
So will I.

I kind of like the quiet.

PS. Anyone have any suggestions on what to do with a baby who can crawl out of his crib, won't sleep in a bed and climbs to the top bunk and wakes up his brother? Evenings are becoming increasingly exhausting at our home.

Health

I've been a little stressed lately.

Here's why:



At a recent cardiology appointment for Caleb he was discovered to be experiencing significant heart failure. I was completely put out. We have been told and have been hoping that the earliest time for second heart surgery would be three years. But if things don't improve a little by September, when our next appointment is, then we could be looking at going under sooner rather than later. Bummer.

Here are the details: As of February Caleb's mitral valve had a mild leak, which he's had since a couple months after heart surgery. Which was expected since the cardiologist always leaves a tiny leak (not even mild) rather than fixing the valve too tight (which can only be fixed by doing another surgery). If they leave a tiny leak they can fix that with medication.



So still expecting those results we had an echo cardiogram done and waited for the doctor to come in and tell me everything looked great and he'd see us in six months.



It's never good when the doctor comes in and says, "wow, I was a little surprised by the results, not expecting this". Because seriously, the little man child is a ball of unstoppable, curious, trouble making energy in the room.



But the results sucked. This mild leak had escalated to a scary leak, with moderate regurgitation of the blood going from the left ventricle into the right atrium, where it's not suppose to go. Plus his left atrium was twice the size of his right atrium because of the amount of back flow he's getting in there.



So Dr. Samson put Caleb on the lasiks (which is a diuretic) and asked to see us back in six weeks. Then he told me if the medicine has not changed anything then we should worry. Did he say that? Or did I add that in my head? I can't remember. But in my head he said that.

So now we wait.



On another note I haven't been feeling super great myself. I've been hypothyroid for six years now, which is always a not so fun battle. But this past year has been especially trying. Up and down with weight, emotions, energy and sanity. Plus I've had extreme high antibodies in the 500's for the past six months, when your antibodies should not be above 10.

So what do I do? I do a little google research.

And my self-diagnosis is Hashimotos.

Which is essentially your body attacking your thyroid and killing it, so your body is exhausted, the same way it would be if you were constantly fighting off a cold or flu.

Not so good.

So I went in to the doctor this week and told them my self diagnosis.

They agreed.

So now I'm moving onto an endocrinologist, where hopefully we can fix me.

My doctor did tell me that I would be a good candidate to have my thyroid radioactively killed, that way my body would stop fighting and my antibodies would go down.

Sounds scary.



So hopefully some answers come in September.

Caleb's cardiology appointment is on the 24th next month, and my endocrinology appointment is on the 28th next month.

Dinner

I want to escape with my honey and eat here tonight.

I even have a coupon for $10 off.

It expires on the 18th.

But tonight is meet the teacher.

My coupon doesn't work on the weekends.

I guess that's good, cause now I have more time to figure out a babysitter, because I will NOT take this boy out to eat. Who's hatred and aversion to food has escalated to making all mealtimes, but especially dinner, hell.

He throws his food.
He throws his fork, or stabs me or someone else.

He pushes his plate across the table in an attempt to knock over someones drink or plate to the floor.

When he is dismissed from the table the harassment only escalates.

Until dinner is over.

And Tom and I are beyond annoyed and pulling out our hair (well not Tom for obvious lack).

Then I yell a lot.

And I hate the sound of my voice.

So I vow to be better.

But the cycle starts again.

But then there is hope.

Marsh Dunn Klein hope.

Our awesome new pediatrician (Thank You Summer) has introduced us to Mealtime Notions.

And the nationally known Marsha Dunn Klein happens to be the founder, is a pediatric occupational therapist, is an author and educator specializing in eating and mealtime issues, and happens to have a private practice in Tucson, AZ.

Miracle.

She has four pediatric therapists that work with her.

We got Janet.

She's good.

She's going to make life easier.

She won't work miracles.

But she'll help me to not go bald before I'm forty.

My Heart Baby

Sometimes I forget.

Then I'm reminded.

By a doctor.

By a test.