Take it easy

Sigh. "You do such HARD things, Beck," my mother laments. "Why do you do such difficult things?"

"Oh you know, that is just how I roll," I answer because really, I do not know why I do the things I do. Hard things don't seem so hard at the time. Volunteering in Calcutta and Kenya, adopting a child from Ukraine whilst super sick and pregnant. Caring for my baby in NICU while recovering and caring for my 2 three year olds, marrying a British man . .most of that I have been able to take in stride.

"Um, what are you doing with the boys today during Opie's doctor appointment?" I look at my husband blankly. "Beck, I have that meeting today, remember? I did tell you. I did."

"But I scheduled that appointment during nap time so I could just go. I wrote it on the white board. When was this meeting set up?" Panic starts to set in. I have no back up plan.. I guess the boys will have to come with me to Opie's appointment today, during naptime. DURING NAPTIME. No good ever comes from children missing naptime. None.Can I bully dear hubby into canceling his meeting? Of course not and I should not try, right?

"It was scheduled weeks ago. I DID tell YOU. Sorry but you are making me defensive."

Sigh, he probably did tell me. I have no way of remembering things like that. . . THIS. THIS will send me over the edge.

I charge headlong into difficult situations, willing and able to make it work; and for the most part I succeed. IN day to day life however, I look for the path of least resistant. Drive thrus are a given, walk in to order? Are you crazy? I will circle a parking lot looking for the spot closest to the grocery store, church or doctor's office. If I can avoid three more steps, heck yes, I will! I would gladly spend my time watching movies on my  comfy sofa, until the next super hard situation presents itself.

Wrangle two 3 year olds and my preemie to the doctor?

Side note: In looking for a picture of an exploding head I came across something interesting. A syndrome. Exploding Head Syndrome. I am not a hypochondriac in the slightest, but by the name alone, I think I must have this syndrome. Perhaps it is a left over gift from my pre-eclampsia? 

[From Wikipedia] Exploding head syndrome is a form of hypnagogic auditory hallucination in which the sufferer sometimes experiences a sudden loud noise coming from within their own head. The noise is brief and is usually likened to an explosion, roar, gunshot, door slamming, loud voices or screams, a ringing noise, the sound of electrical arcing (buzzing) or a thud.

This condition is thought to be brought on by stress and fatigue. See? Check! Check! Not a hypochondriac.
Women suffer from this more than men. . .check again! It fits. . . I am not lazy, I am simply trying to keep my head from exploding! I clearly have a syndrome.

Okay, kind of humorous and rad, if you ask me. The brain is so amazing, even if it is exploding inside your head on a regular basis. Sadly, this explosion commonly happens right after falling asleep. Not so rad, do NOT mess with my sleep. My head will have to keep exploding during daylight hours.

****really, if someone here has this syndrome, I am sorry. I mean no disrespect or harm.

Oh Poop

Opie has been home for 2 weeks and he is 6 weeks old. Time is truly flying. Evan has been home for 5.5 months. Life is busy. Days are full, full of conversations about boobs and poop. Yup. High Schools should give up the egg routine to dissuade kids from teen pregnancy. . .simply send them to my house. I will show them JUST how glamorous motherhood is.

It is my quest every day to have a passably clean house, keep the chitlins alive and spend as much time on the couch as humanly possible. In the midst of that, there is poop, or the lack thereof and my pesky boobs. Ugh.

Dear Opie likes to freak his Mama out by not going poop for days on end and as his obvious discomfort grows, as does his mama's. And his Papa's as he tires of hearing about the lack of poop all. day. long. And then he FINALLY poops. . .which spurs additional lovely conversations about said bowel movement.

Gone are the days of interesting conversations with my spouse. . .I am so tired that I cannot even fathom how to connect with dear hubby. . .communication is key, but what if all communication involves talk of fecal matter? Friends without children have remarked to me "you have lost your sparkle, Becki." "You need time for yourself." "Go get a pedicure, take a break." Um. . .what I need is a little more sleep. Everything else can wait until the kids go to college. .. . but sleep? THAT I do need. A reason to get out of perpetual robe mode. I would like a haircut, but sleep. . .yea. That would be lovely.

In an attempt to break myself out of the boob/poo routine I decided to sit down and play with my 3 year olds. Eli plays memory on the iPad and I have convinced myself that Evan is quite brilliant so I sat them down on the rug and set up a game of Memory. After explaining the rules I moderated.

Turn after turn after turn, Eli and Evan turned over the same two cards. Again and again and again. Getting a little frustrated I remarked "See? Wasnt that a fun game? All done!" Eli responded with "I WIN! Evan, I won!"

Clearly I must pin ALL of my hopes on Opie.

Oy Mama! Pressuring me already?

Wordless Friday Night

I know it is supposed to be Wordless Wednesday but screw it. I am tired. I want to blog. . .going to let some pictures tell the story.

Getting ready to go home!

Leaving the "home" he knew for his first 30 days.

If Mama had known today was homecoming day, she would have combed her hair. . .I think.

Enough pictures already Mama!

Settling in.

Bonding brothers

My boys...all in one place. Amazing, and incredibly noisy.

"I speak for my brother. No more photos!"

And for those observant people. . . .pants are difficult in our house. I pick my battles. He wears pants when he leaves the house. That is a victory. 

Quick Takes-Wagon Train

--- 1 ---

Twenty five days ago I gave birth; 60 days early. Why? Pre-eclampsia. Pre-eclampsia? That is something that effects someone living at Downton Abbey. Not me. Surely not. But. .. yea. Pre-eclampsia was diagnosed and I had to prematurely evict Opie from him safe and comfy home into this harsh, harsh world.

When I was pregnant and miserably sick with my first baby, my sister and I came up with the motto of "wagon train." The logic was, this was natural and doable. Woman were pregnant while on a wagon train, coming to Oregon. If they could do it in that rough situation, surely with all of our comfort and convenience, I could do it too. I have always claimed to be strong in fact I say "Strong like bull."  Pre-eclampsia is only one reason why I would not have survived the wagon train. I would have started swelling and BAM. Done and done. Game over. That would have been a curse for me, but a blessing for the Donner Party. Though there are likely 700 more reasons why "wagon train" is quite possibly the POOREST motto I could have picked, I have whittled the list to seven.

--- 2 ---

Vanity of vanities. I am vain. An admission I hate to make. I am nothing special in the looks department, and I have accepted this and to be honest, I do not make much of an effort to make myself look presentable these days., but I do like the option of fixing myself up. A bit of a conundrum, I know, but in my head I am still 29, fit and cute enough to get by (if and when I make an effort.) Women on the wagon train were in a different league. Strong and fit and possibly cute, but focused more on life and survival than maintaining a certain level of cuteness and youth. And they did it all in a dress, and without showers, sitting for weeks in a wagon, behind a stinky horse. No way. No how. If I wasnt promptly chucked out of the moving wagon for my uselessness and irritating vanity, I may willingly choose to plunge off the first cliff. 

--- 3 ---

I cannot cook. I am not completely useless, I can grow veggies, but that would be of no use in transit. The thought of cooking, let alone over an open fire makes me want to weep openly, which I know would not be cute. Youthful perhaps, but definitely not cute. I would likely be much thinner due to a diet reliant on begging and foraging. Perhaps my gardening ability could have been a bartering tool with the natives when those traveling with me were weary of me...a saving grace?

--- 4 ---

We recently bought a minivan. Horror of horrors. I have joined the masses of minivan drivin' mamas. With my youth, cuteness and hipness went some of the bells and whistles I have become accustomed to. My former car, though still purchased used had so many bells and whistles I dare not list them all. I do not want to make anyone envious. On a drive today I was thrown by the fact that my minivan does not tell me the temperature outside. How ever will I be able to manage. . .must I really unroll the window to guess at the temperature? GASP! How primitive. I stepped on the accelerator and was dismayed to find that my new ride did not openly tell me how much gas I was using per mile traveled. How unhelpful. To comfort my growing unease I turned on the stereo. A wonderful song was playing, one I had not heard before. I glanced at the stereo expecting the name of the song and the artist to be neatly displayed for my viewing pleasure....alas. Nada. Sigh. How spoiled I have become. (I am exaggerating my reaction just a bit. But only a little bit. I do like my luxuries.)
A wagon. No music, unless I quickly learn to play the fiddle....Clearly, unless our wagon was fully pimped out, I would be in a world of hurt. Perhaps Xzibit could help me out with this.

--- 5 ---

I am competitive. Just a little. Some would say to a fault, but I like to think my competitive streak keeps things interesting. I will compete in any arena. . .for any reason, even in areas that I cannot possibly win. Like trying to keep up with 3 boozing Brits on holiday. Worst. Hangover. Ever. (but I must have done something right, I scored a husband out of this pathetic attempt.)
Arm wrestling. Wagon racing. Whittling. You name it, I will find a way to make it a competition. Finding shortcuts, ahem. Part of this competitive nature involves directions and the use of GPS or other direction aids. I struggle with reading maps (and using gps for that matter.. ) I prefer to simply find my way....and normally I do just fine. Surely this would not be a problem on the wagon train, right? Were there maps to Oregon?? Trails, yes. I am sure I could follow a trail if needed but I am equally sure that I could find a faster route. Care to make a wager on it?

--- 6 ---

Weapons. I am all for people having the right to bear arms. Arms are useful for the most part, it is just when those arms are holding guns, sticks, nunchucks, spears, grenades or the like that I get nervous. In the right person's hands, weapons are useful tools. I personally believe that no good can come from a weapon being held in my hand. Or my husband's but that is beside the point here. In my possession... No good at all.
Aside from my cooking, my best weapon of defense is my razor sharp wit. Yes, I am a goner.

--- 7 ---

Perhaps the idea that "wagon train" was at all applicable came from my early love of "Little House on the Prairie" coupled with my delusion of strength and adaptability. I often dream of living in Walnut Grove. Oh, the simple life, I have totally romanticized it. Perhaps it was more to do with the massive crush I harbored for Pa Ingalls, and not the reality.

The suspenders, the hat. . .the way he plowed that field. Oh yea.....

But what doesn't come across from viewing Little House is the reality. Baths in a metal tub. Stinky, smelly people. Dresses. Ugh, again with the super functional dress. Washing clothing by hand (I have done this in Kenya and I did not mind actually.) But clothing that has likely been worn by Pa Ingalls for a week straight while he plowed that field, ew. Dirt and bugs everywhere. Beds made of straw. I need a reality check. I would survive the wagon train no better than Paris Hilton. I am SO grateful that I am NOT on a wagon train, unless Pa Ingalls was on that wagon with me, a deluxe wagon with a radio, a comfortable seat...oh, and with a washing machine....on our way to a McDonalds to meet up with Xzibit.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Wickety Whack

Pain. Loss. Anger. Can a life be truly lived without loss? Without pain?

Today I learned that we needed to prepare for another loss. A painful loss. With my newest son in the Nicu still, I was unprepared for this news and yet I was equally unprepared for the relief that this loss did not pertain to my sweet Opie in the Nicu.

All is not lost. I think I am learning. So much for the theory that an old dog cannot learn new tricks. I AM learning. Wonders never  cease.

So, our darling Wicket is going to leave us. We knew something was amiss with him, he was not his normal self, dropping weight and losing interest in eating. Sadly, I thought he just didn't like me and was pouting when hubby would leave on business trips. It was not about me at all. Poor puppy was suffering. UGH.

It sucks. It should. Life is painful. With life comes loss, pain and death. There is no getting around it. I am beginning to believe that a life well lived should be supremely painful. Thank God there is balance and that pain is balanced by love, joy and precious moments. The pain exists and can suck the wind right out of your sails if you let it. You can choose to wrap your arms around yourself so tight that no pain can eek its way in, fearfully avoiding pain and loss at all costs or you can throw your arms wide, embracing all that life has to offer. To embrace all those that come into your life, for however long they are present. To embrace the pain with the joy. To throw your arms wide enough to willingly embrace the cross that is life, with acceptance and joy.

Following the supreme example.

Oh Wicket, we LOVE YOU! You will be supremely missed.

Super Troopers

****Disclaimer. I am sleep deprived and harried. I blogged. YAY. Spell check and proofreading will not be happening for the foreseeable future. Since I am not being graded on this, I am okay with my grammatical errors and misspellings. As with everything, it is temporary. Life will settle down in 18 years or so and at that time, I will once again have the time and energy to proof read. *****


My newest bundle of love and dirty diapers is 20 days old (according to the hospital.) Who knew that numbers do not necessarily follow the rules in NICU-Land. In my sleep deprived mind. . .Opie is 19 days old, but either way, time is flying.

In a mere 20 days Opie has learned to breath on his own, regulate his own temperature AND is now learning to eat on his own. In a word: AMAZING.

WOE IS ME!

As I was snuggling with Super Baby and visiting with my Mother I became introspective. No good ever comes from that. It always leads to a big "WHY?!?" Have I not been tested enough? Have I not been through it? Every time I think I am strong and capable, I am hit with a sucker punch that levels me. I get back up again, convince myself I am strong....and WHAMMY. On the floor again. It is hard to feel strong after being knocked on my butt. Maybe that is the point. Strength is not the goal. Flexible, amenable and grounded are labels that perhaps should trump strong.

Why do I get caught in the "woe is me" rut? What purpose does that serve? I am pretty sure it is no fun to listen to

I look down at Opie, my 20 day dynamo. Forcibly evicted from his home 2 months early. He has not taken a moment to wallow. This is his life and he is showing everyone what he can do with it. I need to learn from his example. He is seriously incredible. Super Baby!

I go home that night and check on my dear boys. Evan has only been here 5 months. He is speaking English amazingly. Full sentences and conversations. He is acclimating to our family and has not looked back.He has developed an affinity for parks and cookies, who can blame him? He was thrown by his Mama's impromptu absence and the unexpected early arrival of his brother. His position as baby in the house has been cut short as well. He has taken it in stride. Well most of it. . . He still lifts up my shirt to say hello to Opie despite my requests to cease and desist. He cannot believe that my tummy is baby free. Looking at it, I do not blame him. He continues to play and snuggle, grow and learn. He is amazing. What a blessing.

Eli is a trooper as well. Nothing seems to phase him or shift his focus from playing or begging to watch the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He is eager to have Opie home and calls Evan his best friend. He is full of joy and lets little ruin his mood or his quest for fun.

Forward. I need to look to my children more and focus forward. THIS is the hand that I have been dealt. My life is filled to overflowing with blessings. Yes, there have been trials but all have been tempered with blessings. I need to get off the Woe Train and get on with it. There is SO much to be thankful for. Just look at my kids.

Swoon.

Faith, Hope and Mickey Mouse

Those that have been following my meandering path through life and adoption have heard me lament many a time: adoption is hard. It taxes your energy, pushes your faith to its limits, drains your bank account and just when you think you have nothing left to give, adoption asks you to give even more.

My dear friend Kara started the process to adopt precious Nico and then a nice warm fuzzy man a million miles away decided he did not want Nico or any other waiting orphan in his country to be adopted. Mourning the loss of her sweet boy, Kara and her family waited and prayed, and then stepped out in faith again. The faith of this family is incredible.

Kara and her dear family are now working to bring home Colton, a darling sweet boy with DS. A boy that turned three just this weekend. The added expenses from changing direction, the stress and grief have not shaken them. Firm is their resolve to bring a needy child into their home, heart and family. Read more about them HERE.

Grace under such pressure is not seen much these days. They are hosting a MARVELOUS giveaway to raise the remaining needed funds to bring Colton home. Let us bless them and reward their faith with our support. It is not selfless, there are tickets to Disneyland at stake. Mickey Mouse will personally thank you for supporting this awesome family on this incredible journey.

Check out this epic giveaway! http://catholic-kara.blogspot.com/2013/03/coltons-happiest-place-giveaway.html