It’s a gorgeous outside right now. I went outside to talk to my man and sip on my venti, iced, soy, white mocha. I closed my eyes and felt the warm sun shine on my pale skin. I miss that so much, sitting outside, soaking up the sun, it felt so good.
I listened to my husband talk, his voice soothed me. He reassured me everything is going to be ok. He’s so happy I’m working on getting better. He worries about me, but he doesn’t run away and hide. He’s right there, next to me, telling me it will be ok. He is a good man.
I could hear my children playing in the front yard. Their laughter made me smile. I remember those days when I was a kid and everything was so simple and fun. Not a care in the world, except who’s team I would be on when we played games or if Jimmy, the neighborhood hunk, would notice me that day, maybe even smile at me. I miss that childlike innocence.
It’s amazing how sometimes happiness is literally as close as your own backyard, but you just can’t see it because you’re too afraid to open the door and experience it. Once you do, you can’t understand why you have been denying yourself that kind of joy.
The simple things in life, I forgot how important they really are.
I’m so glad I was reminded of them today.
Why can’t I write like that anymore? Not that I think that was great writing, but at least I was able to capture what I was feeling at the moment… Why can’t I seem to express what’s happening in my mind, in my heart, in my life without resorting to writing about the ripping of a fart? Oh yeah…THAT’S WHY. My life has changed completely and I suppose it’s only natural that my writing would reflect that change.
Right?
RIGHT?!
(I wasn’t even able to finish THIS post because “someone” was sitting next to me PUSHING POOP OUT. I only tell you this because I’d hate for you to blame the fact I can’t write anymore on ME.)
Please?
::UPDATE:: I’m going to leave this entry up top all weekend long because I want SO BADLY to help Chasmyn be able to have the ultrasound done. She did not ask me to do this. I WANT to do this. Thank you in advance.
A few days ago I read this entry on Chasmyns blog. Because I love her so much, I immediately wrote to Elaine asking what the surprise was and how I could be apart of it. I recieved this response… (and she spilled the beans to Chasmyn, so I’m not giving away any secrets here)
Hi! As you may know, she and her husband do not yet
have insurance. So we are trying to surpise them and
help raise money toward the Level 2 ultrasound. This
test is preformed at 21 weeks and can detect if this
baby has the same heart defect as Quinn. WE are
accepting donantions in any amount. Everything helps
as the test is $800. All of those who are interested
will get an email in the next week to week 1/2 giving
them the paypal account info to send donations to. We
are trying to reach her doctor to help us arrange
this. Thanks for being interested and concerned!
I knew immediately I wanted to help. And I wanted to get as many people as possible to help as well. I have been forever touched by Quinn’s story. No mother should ever have to suffer through that kinds of heartache.
I would do anything to help give Chasmyn peace of mind during this pregnancy. I hope that this test will do that and I want to do my part to raise money to make sure that she can have it done. I’m hoping I can count on YOUR help as well. People were so kind and generous to me during my pregnancy with Gabby, I can only hope we can do the same for Chasmyn and her husband.
If you’d like to help, email me or leave a comment here and I’ll give you the paypal info. You can also email Elaine (her email address is in the post I linked).
(Chasmyn doesn’t know I’m posting this. I hope not to embarrass her in anyway by doing so. I just want to help her in anyway I can, because she deserves it. I love you, Chasmyn)
Mine is cuter than yours AND she rips bigger farts
Honestly? I have no idea why I have to mention the fact that my daughter “knows how to rip’em” everytime I post one of her pictures.
The fact that all I ever brag about is her farting ability is sad because the girl is SMART. Like today? I asked her “Where’s mommy’s nose?” and she GRABBED MY NOSE. [doug heffernon voice]GENIUS[/doug heffernon voice] But instead of writing about those kinds of things, I’m all “Dayum that girl can fart!”
I CAN’T HELP IT! HER FARTS IMPRESS ME! AND I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW ABOUT THEM!
Speaking of farts…
Not So Lucky Charms
So, how in the hell is YOUR morning going?
THIS is what tired sounds like
Today has been one of “those days.”
Gabby is sick. Double ear infections. And? She’s working on EIGHT teeth. My heart aches for her. I finally was able to suck enough snot out to allow her to breathe a little, and she is now taking a nap. (Let’s see how how long she actually STAYS asleep.)
I’ve been holding the girl for 2 days straight now. My back is aching, I smell like puke, pit and chex mix AND I have gas.
I’m not complaining though, I’m just “tellin’ it like it is”.
8 minutes. She slept for 8 minutes.
Before I go, I would like to leave you with todays Self Portrait.
Consider yourself “told”
If I could have one wish at this very moment, I would not wish for a million dollars. I would not wish that my stomach suddenly stop looking like this. I would not wish that I had the ability to turn myself into a fly (on the wall).
I would wish that my daughter could BLOW HER OWN NOSE.
I can think of 4089984 things I’d rather do than have to stick that evil, yet necessary, contraption up her nose one more time.
Things like “get stung by a hundred bees in the eye” or “give birth to 4 babies at once” or “watch The View” or “do my laundry” or “listen to ANOTHER SONG by 50 cent”
It sucks THAT much. It is THAT horrible.
They don’t tell you about these things when you are pregnant.
Well, THEY SHOULD. (Whoever “they” are)
But since “they” don’t? I’ll tell you.
“Having to use the nasal bulb sucks and it makes your baby cry and it makes YOU cry because your baby is crying and kicking and screaming and you feel like the worst mother in the world for subjecting your totally helpless child to such torture, but you have NO CHOICE because if you don’t do it, your child can NOT BREATHE.”
[/nose bulb hatin’ tantrum]
To answer the question…
So, how’s that “I’m going to quit my job and be the BEST stay at home mom I can be!” working out for ya?
THAT’S HOW, beyotches.
What about all that sewing you were talking about? You know, how you were going to sew curtains for the living room and hem up your kids pants and make covers for your kitchen chairs… How’s THAT coming along?
How does it LOOK like it’s coming along? But watch out, once I figure out how to thread that bitch up, it’s ON.
You do the math.
Celebrating by jumping up and down in the middle of the basketball court after your son wins his second playoff game in one day + 42 E cup boobs + a nursing bra that snaps open in the front =
a) Whomp! There it is!
b) Humiliation.
c) Like, WOAH.
d) The most embarassing moment of my life.
e) Tittysmack to the face.
f) For the love of God, cover the children’s eyes!
g) ALL OF THE ABOVE.
There’s no crying in photography!!!
The sky was so beautiful last night, I actually shed a tear. It was THAT awesome.
And after I shed that tear, I ran inside, grabbed my camera and snapped a picture… Just for you.
Respect…the ‘tracked!
Yesterday Ethan overheard a PRIVATE conversation I was having with Gabby in which I lovingly told her she was being a stinky turd…
…Face. OK! I called her a stinky turd FACE!
Ethan didn’t like that. At all.
“How DARE you call my sister a stinky turd face! THAT’S THE WORST THING YOU COULD EVER SAY TO HER!!”
(I’ll admit I probably went to far by adding “face” at the end, but I’ve never claimed to be a “perfect” mother.)
“If you weren’t my mom, I’d punch you SO HARD RIGHT NOW!”
He walked out of the room and came back with 2 pieces of paper. He informed me he’d written out a contract and I had to sign it if I wanted him to stop being pissed.
Behold “The Contracked”.
After much laughter and many important questions, such as “well, what am I supposed to call her when she’s acting like a turdface?” I signed the “contracked”. I am no longer ALOUD to call Gabby a “tirdface”. Apparently, I’m also not ALOUD to call her “poopface” “crapface” or “freek” (None of which I’ve ever called her, but all of which Ethan felt necessary to include… JUST INCASE.)
Lucky for me, I’m totally ALOUD to call her “brat” “tinkybutt” “tinkerbutt” and “spoiled”. (Although, I’m NOT ALOUD to call her spoiled and brat at the same time.)
Dude. I got served contracked.