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Babes part III (and final part) – Cal Pie

This post has been put off much like Calvin’s creation. Things were going well, and I just now got around to thinking about the third child – who was not – and then was – planned.

I love this picture our friend, Alex Mikus took right after Calvin was born

Tony, India, Oscar, and I were pretty happy with just the four of us. When coming up with kids’ names when we were dating, India and Oscar appeared and that was it. Tony, being raised most of his life with one sibling, thought two children was plenty. Me, being raised with two siblings and a whole onslaught of cousins near-by thought at LEAST three. But then we had two and everything was going just fine. We had bought a small Subaru Crosstrek the year before, knowing we were done having kids. Oscar was about to turn 2 years old, India was 4 and we were finally, FINALLY a mobile family. Anyone who has had an infant can testify that you just can’t do much when they’re babies. We could now take the kids hiking, camping, biking and they loved it. Then my brain got in the way.

Back when it was just the four of us

As you have read, I may be a tad ridiculous in my listening for God’s word, but after Oscar, I suffered some major post-partum anxiety that I had to seek professional help for. PPA is different than depression in that I was constantly worried and picturing, in detail, my children being maimed, severely injured, or killed in horrifying detail. All I could think about when I was alone was yet another scenario that was heart wrenching and my mind played it out like a movie and I would just start sobbing over something that has never even come close to happening. The worst was one night when I was trying to comfort (typical) screaming Oscar and my mind asked “what if this was the Holocaust and if he doesn’t stop screaming, the Nazis will find you and rip him from you and throw him on the hard ground, immediately killing him?!!?” So, I sought out help via a therapist who helped immensely.

Pictured rocks, MI

So, one of my wild manifestations of my PPA was that even though I knew we were done having children and even though I knew as a well-educated doctor that this wasn’t true, I started to imagine that every time I had my period, that I was just flushing a personality down the toilet. Each and every egg that was not fertilized was another potential being, a contributor to the world, someone’s soul mate just missing their chance at life. I told my therapist about this and she suggested I just go ahead and have another baby. It was almost like I was looking for someone to tell me that. I got very excited, even though the pragmatic part of me started listing off all the reasons this would not be a good idea.

A long hike with a 4 and a 2 year-old, but at least we were mobile – Pictured Rocks, MI

I talked to Tony about all that I told the therapist while we were on a bike ride with the family on the rail trail in Clare. He stated that he was happy with just the two kids, but would do whatever I wanted if I really wanted it. I’m pretty sure Calvin was made that night – we were quite lucky with our fertility.

Our pregnancy announcement after laughing repeatedly at this advertisement (on the right – in case you couldn’t pick out the photo shopped one)

I was excited even though I was experiencing nausea and headaches even before the positive pregnancy test – and craving grilled cheese sandwiches. I nervously told Dr. Pol while I was spaying something and he cried with joy – he’s always been a sensitive soul about that kind of thing. It was all very happy and exciting until I was about 6 weeks pregnant and started bleeding. This was not as acute and heavy as when I bled with India, but no pregnant woman wants to see any red/brown tinge on the toilet paper. The bleeding started off moderate like an early period, then got a little heavier. I cried and cried – all of my thoughts, no matter what I was doing would migrate to “am I losing it? am I losing my baby?” I ultrasounded myself with the machine at our work (probably 20 years old) and saw a fluid filled uterus with a tiny cluster of cells with a possible “flutter” that would be the heart beat and felt a tad better, but still made an appointment with my doctor.

Calvin’s first selfie

My doctor was professional, but certainly not comforting. The ultrasonographer found that I had a subchorionic hematoma. This meant that there was a pocket of blood between the uterine wall and the placenta that was leaking out. They found that the baby was still alive, but my doctor told me straight up that I could still lose the pregnancy. So, I went home and waited, changed pads several times a day for 7 LONG weeks that I was still seeing blood. I ultrasounded myself 2-3 times a day. Sometimes, if I didn’t sit just right it would look like the uterus was empty and I would go home sobbing. Then, Tony would tell me to go back to the clinic and try again – when I would see the black fluid where a tiny blob of tissue floated with a very healthy heartbeat.

Calvin at my dad’s retirement party – Forsyth, GA

Around 13 weeks into the pregnancy, I finally stopped seeing blood every time I peed and could settle into my future with a third child – and eventually allowed myself to come up with a name. Going into my second trimester, I started having horrific pelvic pains that felt like the bones at my pubis were relaxing apart and would rub and click against one another when I walked. I could only walk for brief periods before I had to sit down. It felt like my pelvis was about to split in half with every step.

Annnnnnnnd Hobbes!

By the time my third trimester came along, I was pretty certain my body would not survive a fourth pregnancy as I was barely holding it together at this point. Calvin was being a good baby, though and was facing head down. Around 36.5 weeks (normal pregnancy 40 weeks) I got to where standing and walking was near torture. Between braxton hicks contractions and my pelvis splitting in two, the very idea of getting up and walking was awful.

Support belt that helped some with the pelvic pain – but I felt like that girl from “The Fifth Element”

The day before I went into labor, I was tired, I was the only person at the clinic that afternoon as Dr. Brenda was out on farm calls. Right about closing time, a very good client called and said her goat herd had been attacked by a couple of dogs and they were all mangled and in need of repair. I stuck around, but sat on a rolling chair and gave all the wonderful people who worked at the clinic that day detailed instructions on drugs, dosages, surgical material, etc. One by one, they carried in goats for me to evaluate on my rolling chair, sedate and suture, or euthanize. I think we had 7-8 goats in all that needed attention. My abdomen was so tight by the end of all that, I went home barely able to stand.

All three – now a family of five

The next afternoon I went into labor, I was at work and had seen a sick patient and come up with a treatment plan. I was currently having a doubled over, bear down, teeth grinding contraction that I thought was just bad diarrhea and told Tony I needed to go home, but needed to talk to the client first and didn’t think I could stand up. He asked if he could just go get the client and bring him to my desk so I could go over the plan and not have to stand. I thought that was a genius idea. Tony brought me the client, I went over the x-rays on my computer, went over the treatment plan and all the medications while sitting in my chair, keeping my insides from breaking out of my pelvis, then sent them on their way. Tony later told me that Diane took a call just a few minutes after I left for the hospital with a complaint from that man that I was not being professional when I made him come back to talk to him. I’m not sure what he would have thought had I waddled down the hall to his room, in a cold sweat, bent in half while panting out his instructions.

We were a little late with the newborn pictures – but were able to mimic them pretty darn well =D

I insisted on driving myself home as I thought it was just bad diarrhea and didn’t want Tony home with me to witness that. The office staff, however, insisted that Tony drive me home. About 3/4 of the way home, still clinging, white knuckled to the “oh crap strap” in the car, I decided I had better go on to the hospital. When I got there, the doctor checked me and said I was at 2 cm and was having contractions, so they placed me on IV fluids and the contractions slowed, then stopped. I was still three weeks early and technically considered premature and the nurse told me if I were to have the baby now, he may end up in NICU and I might not even get to hold him. I decided to go home and try to delay the inevitable.

Couple of cuties surviving Michigan

I went home, had a horrible contraction, then had some toast and fell asleep on the couch. Tony woke me up to go to bed and I was feeling much better. Then, when I lay down in bed, the contractions started again. Not as violent this time, but very deliberate and regular. I decided I’d rather spend the night in the hospital being monitored than risk something happening to my baby (one nurse told me my uterus could rupture due to my previous cesarean, so I might have panicked a little). Luckily, Missy from work had already taken India and Oscar to her house in case this happened, so we didn’t have to worry about them at a hospital – my mom was on the way, but didn’t expect me to go this early.

It’s true

I went to the hospital and told the nurse not to call the doctor because I didn’t think I was in labor, but just needed monitoring. She called him anyway and he said I was progressing and technically in labor. Because it was after hours on a Friday night, at this particular hospital I couldn’t try a natural birth, it had to be a c-section. So, a few minutes later, much more calmly than Oscar had entered the world, Calvin was delivered three weeks early, 6lb ?oz – at least 2lb smaller than our first two and he was TINY! Everything about him was perfectly healthy and normal. We had the horrifying scare at the beginning of the pregnancy, but now we have three beautiful, rambunctious, trying, wonderful children!

Tiny baby
Happy to be at school!
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Dear God, if there is a God, are you there? Also, I apologize for asking.

You may have read my previous post (and I encourage you to before reading this one): https://dremilythomasvet.com/i-appreciate-it-but-youre-wrong-about-me/ But if not and you don’t feel like it right now 1. you’re my kind of person 2. Here’s some background (you may skip if you’ve read my previous post)

I was raised in the deep south where you were either Southern Baptist or straight up heathen. My parents did not raise me to be religious (me=heathen) and I struggled a lot with whether or not there was even a God. I believed there was deep down inside but couldn’t wrap my head around the “loving God” that the people trying to save me taught versus the highly judgmental, hateful god they all acted like they served by their demeanor. (btw “Saved!” is a fantastic movie if you want to know what it was like to live in my town)

So, before you decide to stop reading – ugh! another religious, witnessing post – just know that I felt and sometimes still feel the way you might about people wanting to talk to you about religion. This post is purely to walk you through a part of my journey. To be quite open and honest, I still struggle with the workings of God, whether we’re all worshipping the same god, but kill each other over the minor differences in translations, whether we just made God up to give us hope in the dark depths of despair of there just being nothing after death, why no one we love has come back and told us there really is a God, and maybe, if we all just lived like we are told, following the golden rule (in almost every religion), maybe that’s just the best way for us all to live and thrive – through love.

So, here’s a few stories about my asking for an answer from God and getting them. I’ll tell you He certainly does not answer all the time or even most of the time. There are definitely periods in my life where I think I just made all these experiences fit with there being a God, but then sometimes, He answers again when I’m not expecting it.

I’ve told you the story about how I came to work for Dr. Pol – I prayed for an answer to our current situation – I needed a new job fast and I was pregnant – and then Dr. Pol called me and off to Michigan we moved – from South Carolina – and that ended up a good thing for me – I have people interested in me and I made good money with the Nat. Geo Wild network. But then, there was leaving Pol Vet. I was miserable – as you can read in my blog “Growing as a Veterinarian” – too much time given to work, too little time with my little ones. I was angry, always miserable, didn’t have many friends due to having kids and always being busy, no family, and was quite honestly, lonely despite being surrounded by people ALL the time. My therapist kept telling me over and over to just leave, get a new job somewhere else where the environment was better for me.

I was scared. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find a job somewhere else and what if I did and it were even worse?! At least at Pol Vet, I knew what the struggles were, a new place could be worse. Unbeknownst to me until more recently, God sent a very indirect message that, sure enough, got me moving. I had been going to see my doctor on a relatively regular basis and had always gotten along with him pretty well. After we became Facebook friends, I realized we had a lot in common from sense of humor to political views. I talked to Tony about it, and though he thought it was a bit weird, agreed to hanging out sometimes. I invited the doctor and his wife to go out for a beer sometime. He agreed, though he and his wife were separated. My other best, good friend, Dr. Sharkey had already been swooped away (mentally and emotionally) by my brother – which was also cool.

We all hung out a few times at a local brewery, having a ball; talking, laughing, swapping horror stories about our professions. He and I chatted on Facebook messenger often (I even showed Tony our conversations as they were always just silly and fun and I’m, like, the most honest person you will ever meet and didn’t want to be thinking Tony might be thinking anything weird was going on) and I got some good laughs while at work which totally brightened my day. We met up with our kids and his for play dates and had him over for dinner and game night. Eventually he would tell me that he had a girlfriend – I was ecstatic for him! I tried to invite her out with us too, but she was frequently breaking up with him and then making up – I couldn’t quite figure it out until a message from him greeted me one morning at work that just said that his girlfriend was jealous of me and that he wasn’t allowed to be friends with me anymore.

And just like that, he was gone. I was blocked from contacting him at all, complete black out. One moment we were joking, then next, he was gone from my life. I was crushed. I hadn’t had a good, consistent friend in so long and now I was back to being lonely. That whole day sucked, then a Tom Petty song came on the radio “Time to Move on” and it hit me full on. I knew that it was time to get out of my situation. I can only now look back at that time and see that as the final push to get me to pick up and move out. God knew I was scared and hunkering down, clinging to anything I could to not have to make a change, then he just shoved me off the cliff. And I’m very thankful that He did, though I still secretly wish my friend would be my friend again.

The next story is a little silly, but I still give it a lot of credit due to the timing and odd occurrence. I was dating Tony and still wondering about God, did He exist, did He not? We were vacationing with my mom’s family at Pawley’s Island, SC, staying in The Penguin as my family had since my grandmother was adopted at 16 years old (orphaned with her brother due to alcoholism and suicide). Fishing and crabbing were activities we sincerely looked forward to every year. We would surf fish – wade into the ocean, holding the fishing pole high over our heads as we battled waves, just to cast as far as we could past the surf and would usually pull in anything from the regular spot or pinfish, mullet, bonnet head shark pups, and the occasional sting ray or particularly stubborn crab who wouldn’t let go of the bait.

One night, I had convinced Tony to go night fishing – same thing, just in the dark of night where it feels like the ocean just might swallow you into the swirling blackness. I had done this activity several times with my brother and cousins, and we would catch about the same things as during the day, but sometimes bigger sharks – 2-3ft sand sharks. I cast my line and, after awhile of not getting a bite, I decided to reel back in. With surf fishing, the rhythmic tugging and releasing of the line can hide bites and strip the bait off the hook. I reeled and reeled, and finally saw my lead on the beach, but it looked like there was something on it. When I got up to it, sure enough, there was a fish on the hook – not a very active one, but a decent sized fish that I did not recognize. I needed to know what kind of fish this was because, one, I am a scientist and need to know, and two, I had made a rather silly request to God about a week earlier. I had been praying about whether or not God exists and had jokingly said “if you exist, maybe I can catch a mackerel so that I can then say “Holy Mackerel!” – not actually knowing what a mackerel even looked like.

Well, I ran up to the house, grabbed an empty trash bucket, ran back down to the beach, grabbed some seawater, put the strange fish in there, then ran it back up to the house to ask around with the other “fish experts”. No one had seen this fish before – in the years and years of fishing there, night and day. Defeated, I returned the fish to the ocean and proceeded to catch nothing else that night. The next morning, eating a bowl of cereal, I had found a book on the ocean somewhere in the house and was flipping through to see if I could find my mystery fish. Then, I saw it, my exact fish – a King Mackerel. I dropped my spoon.

https://studio-abachar.myshopify.com/products/king-mackerel-fish-plate-104

My last story is a little dark, and looking back, I realize it could have easily been a figment of my imagination/eyes playing tricks on me, but it scared me enough to definitely not discount it. I was in high school and going through one of the hardest times in my life so far. My parents were getting a divorce, but staying together until I graduated. My brother and sister had already moved out of the house at least 3 years prior. The news of my parents’ divorce was a shock and devastating. I suddenly felt like all of my childhood memories, no matter how precious they were to me, were lies, and if not lies, were too painful to revisit and therefore, slowly disappeared from who I was as a person. I was not a popular person in high school, I was a weirdo (still am) and most people steered clear of me. I was dating Tony at the time, but he was about an hour and a half away at a Christian college (Brewton Parker) and we were dealing with long distance, which I hate.

I don’t remember if there was any particular incident that triggered that night, but I was deeply depressed, hated myself. I wanted to die. I considered all the ways to die and thought if there was a handy gun in the house, that would have been the easiest. But, all my dad had was a shotgun that wasn’t loaded and I didn’t know if we even had any bullets. I was too scared of doing anything else for fear of the pain I would inflict on myself, so I came up with, what I thought, was a full proof plan. I prayed. Not the kind of prayer most would tell you about though. I prayed for God to kill me. I figured if there was a God and if He is all-powerful, he could certainly (if not easily) smash me like a bug. I was laying in my bed, crying my eyes out, praying over and over for God to kill me, listing all the reasons I deserved it- over and over.

I don’t know how long I was begging for God to take my life, but against the very dull light coming from through my open door, I saw them coming. Dark shadows, creatures slowing crawling from the far corners and the end of my bed. They did not have a lot of definition, but were simply black with long claws that pulled them closer and closer to me. My tears dried up immediately, I went silent. I thought I was seeing things and tried to open my eyes larger to adjust the light but the dark creatures just kept creeping toward me radiating pure, cold evil while they approached. The fear took over every ounce of sadness I felt and I knew that death was NOT what I wanted. I quickly prayed again, this time apologizing for my earlier request and begging for God to take these dark creatures back to where they came.

Immediately, the darkness receded and I had the most overwhelming sense of relief. I thanked God over and over and apologized again and again. It took me a little while to fall asleep after that, but I was happy and content when I did.

I know these stories sound crazy and even silly, but they stick in my mind as powerful times in my life. I STILL definitely have moments where I question His existence. It doesn’t seem to matter how convincing one or more scenarios are and I still feel guilty every time I know God has taken such effort to convince me and I still doubt, but I think that’s pretty natural and have come to accept that’s just how it’s going to be. Maybe one day, after I die, I will come back and tell someone what happens, unless it means not making it to heaven, in which case; Bye, good luck to you!

*Side note: all the art work on this post (except the mackerel) is my original work and all inspired somehow by spirituality.

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Babes part II – Oscar Poscar Pants

Comment on last post: Some have asked us how we came up with the name “India”. I honestly don’t remember the exacts of how they came about but I know Tony had picked out “India” from an Alanis Morissette song and we had India and Oscar picked out before we ever even decided to have children.

When India was about a year old, we decided that it was time to try for a second child to put them around 2 years apart because we thought that that would make them closer as siblings – we forgot to consider that it would give us two children in diapers for awhile. As quickly as we had conceived India, we were a little troubled to find that it took about 3 months to get Oscar on board (yes, I know, we were really lucky every time – it seems absurd that we were worried about the 3 month stretch now based on all the couples I know with difficulty) – I do remember being mad at Tony the night Oscar was made – I don’t remember why, but I wanted a baby. I used to blame Oscar’s anger as an infant (cried for a solid 9 months) on my attitude when he was made.

The next week, we went to Colorado to have Christmas with my family. I had an awful headache the whole trip and thought it was the altitude, but that headache ended up continuing for the next 4 months. While on the trip, my sister announced her second pregnancy, which surprised us as she was NOT trying, and got me thinking maybe that’s why I was feeling off. On the way home from Colorado, I got the call from Dr. Pol offering me a job in Michigan. I took a pregnancy test the next week and got to share my entire pregnancy with my sister which was a neat experience.

My sister had her baby the next day.

My pregnancy with Oscar was pretty uneventful, except I got terrible morning sickness with him that I didn’t get at all with India. I had migraine type headaches and nausea for a solid 3 months. No scares, no bleeding, although I’ve told people that you’ll never realize how many non-white fibers are in toilet paper until you’ve been pregnant and inspected the toilet paper EVERY time you pee to check for signs of bleeding. I had no trouble that is, until he got super comfortable with his little butt in my pelvis and refused to turn the proper way (make like a baby and head out). My OB didn’t believe me at first, and kept putting my concerns off, but at 38 weeks, you could almost see his little round skull sticking out from under my ribs (and I could ultrasound myself). I actually embarrassed myself pretty good with my doctor – I didn’t want to seem like one of those “I’m a doctor, I know” so I told him I was pretty sure Oscar’s head was still up but wasn’t 100% sure because “we only have a rectal probe at my job and it doesn’t penetrate very deep” – didn’t think anything of it, left the office, then realized what I had said a few days later and was incredibly anxious to get back to the office and inform him that I did not, in fact, probe my rectum, but that the probe was designed for cattle or horse rectal pregnancy exams and the ultrasonic waves only go about 4 cm into tissue. *insert foot in mouth*

Oscar makes the best faces

So, a couple of weeks before my doctor decided to be concerned, I was out doing some TB testing on some dairy cows and the owner was a midwife and was asking me about my pregnancy and I expressed my concern that the baby was not head down. She got very upset about how the doctor will likely just want to do a c-section and that these babies can be turned. So, naturally, I got upset and went and read about “turning babies” and then spent the next 2 weeks or so with my hips above my head. Tony would find me just laying on the couch with my butt in the air just watching TV on numerous occasions, but none of this seemed to do the trick.

Finally, at 38.5 weeks, my doctor scheduled a cervical version – this is a pretty darned uncomfortable procedure where the doctor grabs the baby from outside your belly and with the help of an ultrasound technician, attempts to dislodge the baby from your pelvis and then turn him to where his head is then in the pelvis and hopefully stays there. Well, unfortunately, as late as 38.5 weeks Oscar (a beast) was already 8.5lbs and 19.75 inches and was wedged pretty hard in my pelvis. After lots of very uncomfortable shaking and shoving of my abdomen, the doctor was able to get Oscar about halfway around and then Oscar promptly went right back to where he was.

“Listen, I don’t care if it takes us all night, we’re gonna figure this out” *ash tray full next to him*

What the version did accomplish was to piss off my uterus. I started bleeding almost immediately at the park we took India to play. I called the nurse and she said that it was normal. I went to bed that night on my back with my hips propped up on some pillows because that’s just what I did at that point. I awoke very suddenly about midnight to the most intense contraction. I jumped out of bed and told Tony it was time to go. We ran down the stairs and didn’t even stop to tell my mother who was staying with us to be with India that we were leaving. I just grabbed a couple pairs of clean underwear and then jumped in our Toyota Echo and sped off, texting my mom on the way.

Beach baby – 9 months

We got to the hospital in less than 15 minutes, I told them I had a breach baby and would need a c-section, they got to work very quickly. When I got to the hospital I was already dilated to 9 cm and the nurse could feel feet trying to come through the cervix, but the membranes were still intact. They didn’t believe me when I said I had only had one contraction. They probably thought I had been sitting on this all night, but I swore I came in as soon as I woke up to the first one. They very quickly got my IV and urinary catheter placed, then rushed me to the surgical suite. I was stark naked at this point in a large room full of people with all the spot lights on me. I didn’t care too much, having full blown contractions and worried about my baby, but I was sitting there, straddling a large (very warm and soft) table while 4-6 people looked on and I tried to harness some calmness and stillness as the anesthesiologist was piercing my spinal fluid as I didn’t care to have a lacerated spinal cord.

Michigan man – boy loved shoveling snow

Once the epidural kicked in, it felt like I was just swaddled in a big, soft, warm sleeping bag and couldn’t move anything from my neck, down. It was actually quite comfortable and in stark contrast to the sharp contractions, pains, and body tremors I was having seconds ago, it felt amazing – euphoric. Then, the surgery started. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel my whole body shaking as they tried over and over to wedge Oscar’s head out from under my ribs – he was apparently stuck with his butt in my pelvis and his head under my ribs. Finally, after one of the doctors pressed really hard on my diaphragm, Oscar popped out. The pediatrician took him and held him to my face while he screamed. I wasn’t sure what to do or what the doctor expected me to do, so I just said “hey” a few times (all awkward like when you first meet someone) before he finally took him to clean and “process”.

When they finally brought Oscar to our room after everything they do with them and I was starting to feel things in my toes again, I looked at his tiny, sweet face, gently stroked his face, studied his tiniest of features, then looked at Tony and asked if this was actually our baby. Tony was confused. I asked if he saw them take him out of me. He said “yes”. Then I asked if he saw them put the ankle bracelet on him. He said “yes” Then he asked why I was asking all of this and I told him “He doesn’t look like either of us – are you sure this is ours?” – Ends up there was only two babies born there that night and Oscar was the only one in the nursery while I was recovering – so yes, he IS our child.

Coolest dude at the Asparagus Festival – Empire, MI
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Babes part I – Indie bindi pants

This is part I of the stories of my three babies. I was super lucky enough to have not lost one pregnancy and for that, I cannot be thankful enough. When Tony and I started dating when I was 16 and he was 17, I did not want kids at all. They were loud, annoying, and honestly, I always felt judged by them (they just stare at you like they’re so cool). But as I aged, I started getting a hankering for, maybe, a family. Then, once, when I went off to an externship to Rood and Riddle, Tony gave me a cute little teddy bear as a going away present. One night, while I was laying in one of the bunk beds provided to externs, waiting for an emergency colic or dystocia call, I was cuddling that bear and half asleep, felt the incredible softness of the top of the bear’s head on my lips and imagined it was that heavenly downy hair of an infant and immediately knew that I wanted children in my future. It was good timing too, because I also was sure that I wanted to be one of the amazing vets at Rood and Riddle but then saw how busy they all were that only one of the many female doctors there at the time had a child. When I asked one of them about it they just told me that their lives were way to busy and chaotic to even consider children.

Once I finally graduated vet school and got done with my internship, I was already 27 and knew that the longer I waited, the more risky pregnancies became. I had just started my first real job and the last thing I wanted to do was to get fired for being pregnant (yes, I could have been fired as the company was less than 50 employees – actually less than 5). I also did not want to sacrifice the health and safety of me and my potential babies by continuing to wait until “the right time” as many have told me there is never a right time. So, 2 months into my first job, we finally decided to stop preventing pregnancy as we’d heard that it can take awhile. Well, the next month, I was pregnant. I knew I was before I even took the test – I was at a dairy and had just pulled a calf as a huge thunderstorm was just clearing up and I just felt a little tinge of excitement that radiated from my abdomen and just knew what that meant.

I took a pregnancy test before I even missed my period and it was faint, but it was positive. It was right around Christmas time and so I quite sloppily rolled the stick that I peed on in some wrapping paper and asked Tony to open an early present. He opened it, looked at it for a second, then looked at me funny and said “why did you give me a negative pregnancy test?” – which kind of took the wind out of my sails, but only for a second as I led him over to the closest window to show him that in the right light, you could see the faint blue line. He still was not sure about it, but I was and he was excited for me – I had to take another one later, after I missed my period to really prove it to him.

Things were going well for us for about a week and a half when I was riding one of my horses and he decided that he was done being ridden and started bucking a little. I immediately got off of him to be proactive since I was now pregnant and had to be more careful. Later that day, I was in the shower when it happened – I started bleeding. I had a river of blood running down my legs. It was scary, but it stopped and I thought maybe I had just irritated something with the bucking. I was a little worried, but went to my first doctor’s appointment for the pregnancy and mentioned it to the nurse checking me in. She said that I would have to go and talk to the triage nurse. Tony and I walked into the office, knowing something was not right. She talked to us like something bad had happened and that I would need an immediate ultrasound to see if I was still pregnant. I can’t tell you why, but I had never thought about that bleeding being a finality in my pregnancy. We were not scheduled to have an ultrasound that day, so we had to wait in line behind all the women who had a scheduled appointment.

We sat there, outside the ultrasound room for over an hour and watched couple after couple go in, heard the Doppler find the heartbeat, and then saw them leave, smiling with their adorable black and white print out of their healthy, live, little one. Tony and I just sat in silence. This was the first that we thought that we may have lost our baby. We didn’t know what to say to each other and were both barely holding it together without having to make our voices behave. I sat there, holding some stupid brochure the triage nurse had given me, wringing my sweaty hands, my whole body shaking. Finally, an eternity and a half later, they called us in. She asked me to lay down and explained that since I was so early, she would have to ultrasound me trans-vaginally. Honestly, I didn’t care where she had to put that probe, I just needed to know right now if our little life was still alive.

I lay back and stared at the black ultrasound screen. I’m not sure if I was breathing at all at that point. She inserted the probe and started the scan. We saw black fluid in the uterus, she scanned and scanned and scanned for what seemed like an eternity when out popped this beautiful little round creature with an even more beautiful strong heart just fluttering away. She looked just like a baby sea turtle to me in that moment. We were so happy – everything was okay. We also got an adorable little black and white photo of our little sea turtle and left that room with smiles as big as our faces. That was India – and I later gave her a “spirit animal” assignment of a sea turtle.

India’s painting – I did one for each child

She was born the day after I was out performing a DA surgery on a cow. I was actually scheduled for an induction due to her large size, but she had other plans. I showed up the morning before my scheduled induction at the Columbia, SC hospital and told them I was in labor. I think they thought I was just a day early to check in for my induction. They kind of nonchalantly got my file as I had disappeared behind the check-in counter doubled over in pain and then led me to an exam room. They made my mother and Tony go to the waiting room. I quickly got undressed and into my gown feeling like my undercarriage was about to fall out and tried to lay/sit on the bed but was way too uncomfortable. The bed that was in the room was some weird triage bed or something and different sections of padding was coming undone and falling to the floor. So it was like I was laying in a foam pit you would see at a gym.

She pretty much slept the first 3 weeks of her life – I even had to wake her to feed her

Finally, about 45 minutes to an hour later, a nurse came in (again, nonchalantly) and saw that I was in labor by my face. She put the contraction monitor on my belly and told me that my contractions were not that bad – which immediately made me feel like a wimp because I was currently dying. Then, at some point, someone finally checked my cervix and I was at 7 cm. THEN they rushed me to a delivery room where I asked for an epidural. Now, I’ll tell you – I was GOING to go all natural, I had read all the opinions on this and was certain up until the point that I was sure my nether regions had already split in twain and there was not yet a baby on the floor. When the anesthesiologist showed up maybe 10 minutes later, the nurse was checking me and delightfully informed me that it was too late for an epidural, that I was ready to push.

Halloween at 1 year
My little lab rat

I pushed for 30 minutes, kicking a student nurse holding my leg in the face (on accident) and promptly apologizing, before the doctor came in and informed me that I was not pushing right. She showed me how to push and I got India out in another 30 minutes, feeling every tear and popping of flesh as she made her way out. She was a healthy 8lb 2oz. They put her on my chest as they sewed me up and she just cried and cried. I asked when she would stop crying and the doctor informed me “Not until she’s 18”.

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Sorry, mom, it’s my favorite story: six lives to go!

Childhood is a growing experience for both child and parents. The goal of a parent is to 1. raise a child into adulthood and 2. make that child into a functioning adult (My dad once told me, much to my disgust at the time, that his job as a parent was not to give me everything I want, but to make me able to function properly as an adult). I did not always make the #1 parental goal easy for my parents. I once ran away when I was four years old (in my wonder woman underwear only) and was found in a nearby trailer park where the police came and got me. A few times, I even challenged the whole living thing. I was thinking back in my childhood about the times that I was in danger, whether or not I knew it at the time. I’ve been in some circumstances that could have ended disastrously, but *spoiler alert* I survived them all. I’m still not sure if these experiences made me who I am today (ready to dive into a challenge even [especially] if dangerous) or if who I am got me into these experiences. As I thought of the different scenarios, they all seemed to include one odd, but common denominator – my dad in water.

The first event, I’m not sure how old I was, possible 5-8, but we were at The Wakulla hotel in Coco Beach, FL for our annual family (dad’s side) reunion. I, as the youngest child of three, was anxious to keep up with my older siblings and cousins. We were at the hotel pool with everyone else and I was tired of having to stay in the shallow end. I went up to my dad, sitting on a chair poolside and told him I was ready to jump in the deep end and that I could swim now. He said “are you sure?”. I looked at him confidently, held up my swimmer’s goggles as proof, gave a quick “yep!” and took off. I placed my goggles on my face and eagerly jumped into the deep end. And promptly sank/struggled/sputtered. My dad jumped right in and rescued me -surprised, I’m sure as much as I was that the goggles did not save my life.

My fish face at Coco Beach, FL

The next incident also involved water, but occurred at the other place my family (mom’s side) took annual vacations – Pawley’s Island, SC. I absolutely love this place. We are no longer able to use that house after my grandmother died since we no longer “had a tie to the family” as my grandmother was adopted, but my most beloved memories of this place are my absolute favorite. It’s a small island off the coast of South Carolina with only privately owned beach houses that are rented out to the public. Most of the houses are large enough to accommodate a few families and are directly on the beach and come with your own private area on the beach. The beach was never crowded and there was plenty of room to run, play, fish, and crab. The ocean had fantastic waves for swimming, body surfing (where you dive just as the wave is breaking and have the wave carry you all the way to shore), and riding the waves on a raft. On this particular occasion, I was probably in the 8-9 year-old range, I had gotten onto one of the rafts and was going to ride some waves. I got out to just where the waves were crashing – ideal for catching one – but then just floated.

Brother and cousin fishing at Pawleys
Said raft used – modeled by my dad
Pawleys Island – Modeled by Tony

I don’t remember why, but I just lost track of time or was thinking the deep thoughts that you think as an 8 yo, but, after awhile, I looked up and saw that my family, on the beach was REALLY far away. I could barely make out who anybody was. I had drifted out to sea! Luckily, at that point in my life, I hadn’t developed the fear I now have of sharks and was pretty calm about it, but I did notice my dad and another guy notice how far out I was and jump up and start waving at me. There wasn’t much I could do at that point. I tried to paddle and kick, but the ocean is much stronger than a child. My dad and the guy started running for the ocean, jumped in and started swimming for me. They finally got to where I was and started to pull me back in. The guy who was with my dad tried to dive down to see how deep we were, but could not swim deep enough to find the ocean floor. Needless to say, I was “grounded” for awhile after that.

Some of my favorite times at Pawleys – storms rolling in. Cousin seen in the back ground

The last story is my favorite. It’s not my mom’s favorite and I totally understand why, but it is the best story to bring up suddenly to people who haven’t heard it and watch their reactions. So, it was November 1st of my second grade year in school. I had spent the night over at a friend’s house for a slumber party and per standard procedure, we had stayed up all night in fear of being the first one to fall asleep and all the shame that would surely ensue. Needless to say, I was not well rested for the day ahead of me. My mom was as work and I was home, playing outside with the dogs. Growing up, our dogs (one black lab named Addie and one miniature schnauzer named Bo) were outside only dogs and roamed free. They had an old, large comforter that we had thrown to them to sleep on in the colder months in the garage, but they often dragged it out into the yard and on the driveway. That day, I had decided that I was going to surprise my mother when she got home by jumping out from under the blanket as she drove up the driveway. I imagined just how happy she would be to see me.

I curled up in that old, dirty, likely flea-ridden blanket that had so often embellished the driveway in the warm sun light on a mild fall day in Southern Georgia and waited. And then, I fell asleep. The next thing I remember is it being very dark and feeling a ton of pressure on my body. Then, there was light, but I couldn’t breathe. I threw the blanket off of me and saw that my mom had arrived home and had, in fact run over my body with the car. She got out of the car and didn’t even see me there. I tried to say something, but couldn’t catch my breath. I ran to the side of the house to try and regroup. Still unable to breathe, I heard my mother say “I see you, Emily!” before she went inside. She had no idea what had just transpired. She and my dad had likely driven over that stupid dog blanket numerous times without one of their children being wrapped up in it. Still unable to breathe and in a pure panic mode, I was doubled over on the grass when my good and faithful lab, Addie came over to… assert her dominance. She jumped on my back and started humping me.

I finally drew a breath, crawled out from under my dog and ran inside the house. My breath came more easily now and had turned into violent sobbing. My body hurt. I ran to find my mother in her room, changing. She looked at me and her face went as pale as mine likely was. “What happened!?!” she asked. Between ragged sobs, I managed to tell her “You ran over me!!!” then, I turned around to show her my back – numerous cuts and scrapes ran along the length of my back. My mother was shocked, she was tired, I’m sure she had just gotten home from an overnight shift as a nurse in NICU and now she had just run over her youngest child with a car.

I had to go to the hospital after that. I was so tired from not sleeping, I was falling asleep in the car. My mother thought I was dying. As a mother myself, now, I cannot even fathom how she was able to drive to the hospital in that state. She kept prodding me and yelling “Don’t leave me, Emily!!” When we got to the hospital she had to tell the staff that she had run over me. No one questioned her, likely due to the look of panic on her face. They rushed me back and started diagnostics. In the end, I ended up with just a broken rib and a lung contusion. The tires of the car had straddled me, but the small car was low enough to have caught my body and rolled it before leaving it. I stayed in the hospital one night and was discharged the next day.

Some of you may be wondering where my water logged father was in that last story. I was crying, having just told my mother that she had run over me, my mother was trying to put things together in her head and slow the panic in her soul when my father appeared, soaking wet, as he had jumped from the shower when he heard the news, completely naked. One day, I will recover.

Happy birthday, dad!

My dad and me.
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By request: Our wedding!

I got a request from a reader to write about my marriage to Tony. If anyone else has any suggestions let me know.

Ah, wuv, twoo wuv!

Tony and I dated for 4 years before we got engaged. Our relationship up to that point certainly was not perfect. We had already broken up twice. Each time was a dreadfully, emotionally taxing, tear-filled hour to hour and a half until we got back together. Both times for silly reasons because I have a trait that is purely unique compared to other women where I read too far into things and create problems where there were not any. *wink*

I suspected the “question” would be coming up shortly when I discovered some of my rings missing from my jewelry box and knew Tony had taken them for sizes to get just the right ring. I was excited and didn’t say anything to him because, even though I knew it was coming, I wanted to feel surprised. Tony has never been good at taking initiative on gifts and surprises, so I was very excited to see what he had planned for this memorable moment in our lives.

Finally, the fairy tale moment arrived. I came home one evening after classes and work to a house (trailer) filled with lit candles. It was beautiful and I was touched. Then, I saw Tony, standing over by the dining table waiting for me with dinner all set out and ready. He said he made me dinner and then we sat. Then we started to eat. Then he started some small talk. We continued to eat. It got a little awkward, surrounded by candles, huge sweeping romantic moment it was supposed to be and we just chewed chicken in silence with a few awkward words in between. Then, like infinity and 20 minutes later, he shuffled off his chair and got down on one knee and sputtered out some loving, adorable words, and finally, placed the ring on my finger. The ring he had been so careful preparing for and sizing and researching. He had swiped three of my size 7 rings, taken them with him in shopping, picked out a ring, then carefully placed the beautiful size 4.25 on my finger. It didn’t go past the first knuckle.

Let’s skip ahead 1.5 yrs when we finally got married. It was the summer after my first year in vet school. Tony was working as an OR nurse at UGA vet school in Athens and we were planning to get married at my dad’s house – the one I grew up in. We were trying to keep costs down in any way possible. The most money I spent on individual things was my dress – bought on clearance for <$500 – and the tent. We had the most amazing friends and family who contributed to the affair. My uncle (the absolute best cook of meats on the grill) cooked barbecued chicken and pulled pork. My cousin’s wife is a pastry chef and made my cakes. (Good cakes too – not covered in fondant – red velvet, chocolate with peanut butter icing, strawberry, and something else that was amazing I just can’t remember.) A friend of Tony’s family volunteered to be the photographer to build her portfolio. Tony’s youth minister was the preacher marrying us. Tony’s mom, a hair stylist, did all the wedding party’s hair. My cousin played the guitar for the ceremony on a rocking chair on the front porch of the house – he played “Time in a Bottle” when I walked down the aisle.

Uncle Ward – master griller
Kim – master baker, but helping with veil. Fabric like $13 at a craft store. Ring of flowers picked and braided that day by me.
Tony’s mom (in the middle) – master hair dresser. My mom on the left sewing my veil
Jeff – master musician

We used my MP3 player just plugged into the sound system that came with the tent for music during the reception, we went out and bought all the decorations including mostly fake flowers and peacock feathers, but we also went to the flower shop the morning of the wedding (which was also the day before Mother’s day) and bought up all of their flowers that were white or purple and made due. We borrowed tables and chairs from the church the youth pastor was from.

The ceremony started. It was a balmy evening with a romantic haze (okay, it was smoke from the Florida fires.) My cousin beautifully played acoustic guitar. The wedding party came down the aisle. Then the ring bearer (my niece from my sister); then the flower girl (my niece from my brother) who made about 3 circles around a tree before she was finally ushered onto the aisle. Then I came down and the preacher started talking. We had written our own vows and it was all going beautifully when the deep guttural sound of a choking dog pierced the serenity. People tried to ignore it, but there was my beloved childhood dog, Maybelle a lab/pointer thing (nowadays maybe called labrointer or a pointador, but back then, just a mutt) chewing on a deer leg – she was fine, but my mother was mortified.

Tony with ring bearer and me with flower girl

The preacher finally announced that we were married and told us we could kiss when I was attacked. Like it was going to fall off, Tony grabbed my head in both hands and kissed me so suddenly I was more stunned and embarrassed than flattered. (I’ve never been much for PDA anyway). I even tried to push him away a little. After that, we announced the reception would be in the back yard and would everyone please grab the chair they are sitting on and carry it to the reception – again, my mother was mortified.

Notice the fist in his abdomen – preacher thought it was funny

The reception was laid back and fun, we ate rich southern dishes such as barbecue, macaroni and cheese, lemonade, sweet tea, and red velvet cake. Our first dance song was “Dance, Dance, Dance” by the Steve Miller band. We had a dry reception on the surface for the benefit of my grandmother who was stringently against drinking alcohol, but we had a keg stored behind a flap of the tent. Unfortunately, the word didn’t get out that there was alcohol because of the fear that my grandmother would find out, so only a few people partook. By the end of the night, Tony and I left for our hotel where we were staying before we left for Greece the next morning. My dad’s side of the family, though, probably the only ones aware of the remaining keg, stayed. My siblings and cousins all stayed up past midnight drinking and jamming out to the music on one of their car stereos, which then died and had to be jumped off. Somebody passed out in the grass and got eaten up by fire ants. Somewhere around that time my dad awoke to them blasting and yelling out the lines to “Say It Ain’t So” by Weezer which he thought was appropriate for the situation.

Cake is so funny!
So graceful…
K, bye!!

Our trip to Greece was another fun adventure. Maybe another blog.

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I appreciate it, but you’re wrong about me

Warning: stream of conscience type writing to follow so if you’re not a fan of James Joyce – whom I was forced to read in high school as a “classic” and thought he was a little overrated. I mean, I feel like literary critics/buffs sit down to read these things, see that the grammar is not atrocious, but fall asleep in the middle of it, snort awake and shout “Classic!” so as not to lose face in front of their peers. Where was I going with this? oh, yeah – then you probably won’t like this post. Also; religion; racism; and homophobia.

One time, when I was on a farm call for a cow, I don’t even remember what for, but I remember at the end of it, the farmer was so impressed with my demeanor he said “You must have been raised in a church. I can tell” I was certainly flattered, I understood what he was trying to say, but he was wrong.

I was raised in the deep south where EVERYONE had a church, normally southern Baptist, but some heathens (according to the Baptists) that were Methodist. I was raised without God. My parents were considered “hippy parents” where hippy was a derogatory word in the south. I didn’t mind. Although everyone who has ever called me or my upbringing “hippy” have never been able to consistently tell me what that means, I still ask anyone who says it. I took it as a compliment because if being “hippy” means caring for EVERYONE, loving and respecting everyone no matter who they are or what they believe (kind of like Jesus), then I was okay with that. No. I was proud of that.

My only experiences with church when I was growing up was to go when we visited grandma and occasionally if I had a sleep over with a friend who went to church. Both sets of my grandparents lived in Abbeville, GA. Wilcox county. My parents were next door neighbors when they met. Just to give you a feel of this place, they made national news when they had their FIRST racially integrated prom in April of 2013 (NOT 100 years ago, 7, less than S.E.V.E.N. years). My father has an experience when he was a child where he was going to church and a small group of young black men came up to the church steps and were stopped. They asked, very peacefully, if they could come in and worship, but the deacons all lined up to block their way and they were turned away.

When my sister became pregnant with a black man’s child, she received a letter from my very dear grandmother. A woman who had dedicated her life to worshipping Jesus; had never missed a day of church unless tragedy struck; volunteered for any and all events to help others; spent her last years when she could no longer walk knitting hundreds of sweaters for children in need; had even been one of the first teachers to volunteer to teach at the first integrated school when my mother was a child. A woman, who sent my young, scared-senseless sister a letter stating how disappointed she was in her and how much shame and teasing my sister would bring her family, but what was worse than anything to her was how my grandmother’s church would never be able to accept the child.

Then, of course, there were the friends I had who were avid church goers but would state things like “but if I ever brought a black man home, my father would kill me!” or “they need to stop blaming the system and just go out and get a job” then turn around and ask the receptionist if the person calling asking about a job “sounded black” because he “didn’t care, but some of the clientele might” and yet somehow, these people still claim not only to be not racist, but also followers of Jesus (not white). I won’t even get started on the unmentionables such as homosexuality – I mean we all know that’s why God is destroying the earth through global warming – which is also a hoax. *insert sarcasm* – my sister (you know, the one that shamed our family with her mixed race child – the child who, by the way, is now 20 and excelling in a pre-med degree at CSU) is a meteorologist (not on TV) and dedicates her life to studying weather patterns.

So, you can see why, as a young person, church was not attractive to me. I was raised by parents to love everyone and treat everyone with respect and people who I would think should be the epitome of love and acceptance were some of the worst. I started attending a church when I started dating Tony as his family were avid goers. I was attending a Sunday school session with one of the deacons when there was a small argument/discussion about how Jesus would only accept those pure of heart and how homosexuals were evil (or whatever) and I finally spoke up and said “Jesus said to love everyone, Jesus IS love, we should love everyone as we love Jesus” and the older, very bald man wearing thick black rimmed glasses (think Judge Doom from Roger Rabbit ’88) stared down at me – a teenage girl daring to speak to a grown man – with a half smirk and said “I’m not talking about that HIPPY love!” and went on with his speech.

I eventually moved to Michigan and had children that I thought might benefit from some socialization. We picked a church rumored to have a fantastic youth/childcare program and started attending. I went there with a chip on my shoulder and lots of grains of salt, prepared to put up my mental dukes and a wall around me. It wasn’t as I expected. The message was about love and acceptance and I began to soften. We joined a small group trying to get more involved and to further socialize our young children as Tony was a stay-at-home dad back then. It was there that I was introduced to the most lovely group of people I have ever met associated with a church. They taught me so much, including how every sin is equal in God’s eyes, but that He loved us so much that all those are forgiven. So, let’s say for a moment that homosexuality is a sin – so is going out in public while I’m on my period or wearing clothes of two different materials or eating shellfish. We’re all sinners, so we should stop telling each other that; just let it go and love and support each other.

These people because some of our best friends and their kids became by kids’ best friends. It was so refreshing to attend a church and socialize with people where it was all about love and acceptance. I slowly started coming out of my shell. I had always been afraid for people to know I was Christian because I knew how I felt about Christians or ones proclaiming to be in what I had seen. I knew that if someone came up to me and asked me to talk with them about Jesus, I would have immediately written them off and gone about my day. I’ve been in several groups of Christians that admit to not having any non-Christian friends because they feel like it will soil them or their children.

I would say that most of my friends are NOT Christian and I love that. I don’t take every opportunity we have together to bring it up, not even close. Some of my friends may not even know how passionately I seek answers. I tend to be drawn to the emotional train wrecks the most. Some of them seem to turn around and have ended up happy. Most of them stay about where they are, some of them (okay – one of them) completely blocked me out of his life. I guess I’ll just keep trudging along like Forrest Gump running across the country; happy for companions, sad for the ones I’ve lost, but not dragging anyone along.

So, against my better judgement, but keeping in tune with my “what comes up comes out” description someone once gave me, I responded to that farmer who made a statement about my upbringing with “No, actually, I wasn’t. I was just raised by parents to be a decent human being and to love everyone no matter what.” He acted a bit put off, but then brushed it off and thanked me for helping him.

Now, for some pictures of God’s creations

Little Stony Man, Shenandoah National Park, VA
Georgia Aquarium
Virginia Snow
Virginia sunrise
Pictured Rocks, Michigan – upper peninsula
Glen Arbor, MI
North Manitou Island, MI
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How to: Bathe three children under 7

Now, for something more on the light hearted side.

So, you’ve decided to bathe your young children?

1. Contemplate whether they really, truly need a bath. I mean, they just had one, like, ….. well, let’s see: India started with her braided hair, then down the next day, then ponytail, then beavertail because she slept on it and apparently spends the entire night following the fan blades with her face. So.. like 2,3, was it really 5 days ago?? They probably need a bath.

2. Prepare yourself, mentally. This is possibly the most important step to the entire process. You may think I’m about to suggest having a drink before you start, but, oddly enough, children tend to elicit the opposite response of alcohol on a sane adult and will only shorten your patience. No, you need to pre-plan a bath at least 15 minutes to a couple of hours, and maybe, even a few days (when you get to ponytail, you’ve still got a couple of days) ahead of time to make it through this trying time. Envision the bath going well (yes, you may giggle), see the children cooperating with getting into the bath, getting properly wet, and keeping all the water in the tub.

3. Make sure you allow yourself and the children adequate time for the bath before bedtime. You haven’t seen a mutiny until you tell children they have to take a quick bath (with NO bubbles!?!) as it’s five minutes to bedtime. Make sure to calculate for the time you will spend loudly vocalizing for the 14th time to take their clothes off, that they can’t ALL pee in the toilet at once, wipe your pee off the floor and your brother, and then the “chase time” immediately following the bath.

4. Gently and lightly mention to your husband that you think it might be bath time, making sure you mean it if you say it audibly enough for him to hear.

5. Watch children lose their ever loving minds, ripping around the house like a Labrador or Boxer when you mention going for a walk.

6. Help children tripping over their own clothes as they attempt to shed them before even getting to the bathroom. You will also have the straggler who will attempt to get into the bath having only removed his pants – gently coax him out of the bath while reminding him he needs to be naked and go potty first and then watch him melt down as his brother is already peeing in the toilet and knows he will then get to the bath first (every time).

7. Help your daughter get into a separate bath/shower if she needs it, but lets be honest, she’s independent and will take care of herself for the most part – discussion on hair to follow. (Note: all three children bathed together at one time until opposite gender curiosity and shear mass of 130lb of wriggling bouncing flesh in one small bath like a small pot of boiling potatoes).

8. Allow the kids to pick colors for their bath – most important part. Argue with them incessantly over why they shouldn’t pull ALL the colors in the bath at one time, then realize the point is moot. If they want to bathe in a black lagoon, what do I care?

9. Make sure you aren’t wearing any clothes that you would like to wear the rest of the evening or make a purchase of a oceanic fisherman’s outfit. At this point, I find it most efficient to jump in (not the bath, though I’m not sure I have a good argument as to why not as you are going to be as wet as them anyway), douse the boys in water, attack them with shampoo. Catch the toddler as he runs and screams EVERY time you touch his delicate little head with water. Sometimes, holding him by his face as you rinse his hair may be necessary – don’t worry, it’s tear-free shampoo.

10. All you need to wash is heads, pits, and bottoms – boys apparently get lent rings around their penises if they’re wearing diaper/pull-ups and God knows you can’t trust them to clean these areas thoroughly. Sometimes, if I’m tired or made the mistake of having a drink with dinner, I will just squirt some extra soap in the water, agitate it really good, then close the shower curtain and let them run the spin cycle.

11. Now, they will request play time – which you will concede to because you prepared for this time (couldn’t take their antics any longer and said “BATH TIME”) This is when you will attempt to get some other small house chores done such as cleaning litter boxes or doing some laundry and will feel better about yourself and your superior efficiency when you will hear from the boy’s bathroom “hahahhah! That tickles!” which any parent of young children in the bath will immediately recognize and rush to the bathroom, pull back the curtain and discover what on earth they are doing.

12. Bath time is over. Get out. NOW.

13. Pull the drain as both boys start yelling and crying that they want to stay in the bath longer then, once all the water is gone ask them why they are just standing naked in the empty tub getting cold.

14. Catch each of them as they decide it’s a good idea to jump from the slick side of the tub to the very wet, slick floor. Wrap them in character themed towels and watch as spiderman and an adorable little ducky waddle into the bedroom and then promptly shrivel into a ball on the floor.

15. Remember you have a daughter – your sweet baby girl – STILL HASN’T WASHED HER *bleepidy bleep* HAIR!!

16. Chase children around the house as they squeal and laugh and use their wetness to slip out of your grip as you attempt to prepare them for bed.

17. Get them to bed.

18. Put toddler back in bed

19. Honor toddler’s request for a 5th kiss/hug because he says “pwease maw maw”

20. NOW have a drink – and change clothes.

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The Stolen Fella

This is a story about how Tony and I came to dating – it’s not all pretty.

It was my junior year of high school and I was dating the first love of my life or my first long term boyfriend at the time. I was 16 years-old and sure he was the one even though we had only dated for about a year (like, forever in the life of a teenager) and he had already started at a college about 2 hours away. We were going to be long distance and it was going to work. 

On the first day of school, in my second to last period in the day – drama – I walked in and sat down at the first desk I saw. Then, this beautiful boy walked in the door. He was a senior. He was very tall, slender build, with dark brown, almost black hair with the perfect amount of curl that hung just below his ears.  He had the darkest, thick eyebrows that perfectly accentuated his deep set, brilliant green eyes. My very first and immediate thought was “He’s one of those guys who is so attractive, he won’t even look twice at me”. So, my first action was to protect myself against sure rejection and play it cool. He was automatically placed on my “he’s too good for me” list and was stricken from my mind as a date-worthy possibility. Oh yeah, and also there was my boyfriend, and we were going to be together forever.

I noticed his necklace right away.  It looked like a handmade craft beaded necklace and I opened with “I like your necklace.” He said “thanks” and that started our friendship. The third in our group was a fun girl in the ROTC and we had a ball together. Tony and I would always partner up for projects and skits and I quickly discovered his terrible stammering issue. We were one time reading children’s books as an exercise and it took him so long to get through it, it was almost painful, but the longer we knew each other and the more exercises we did, the smoother his speech became. I wouldn’t find out until later that it was because he was nervous around me and that made it so much worse. 

At the same time that our friendship was budding and growing without me feeling the slightest clue that ever dating him might be an option, I had my own drama going on in the field of romance. My long distance boyfriend was feeling more and more long distant even though we talked all the time on AIM and he came to visit when he could. I had also joined the cross country team and had started hanging out with the team. I met a guy on the team, broke up with my boyfriend and dated the runner for a very brief period.

I really don’t remember much about my relationship with the new guy. It was very short, and he was very pushy about being physical when I wasn’t really there, myself. I remember one time in particular, he was saying goodbye to me in my garage and we went to kiss goodbye and he basically slowly tackled me to the garage floor so he was laying on top of me while he sloppily kissed me. I was caught off guard to say the least and now I was covered in dirt and being slobbered on. I eventually got up, literally dusted myself off and said goodbye.

The homecoming dance was coming up and my friendship with Tony was growing, but I was still blind to the gift dropped in my lap. I was going to the dance with Mr. Pushy, but still wanted my good friend, Tony to come as well. He was very shy and getting him to go to a social function like this was going to take some effort. One of my other best good friends at the time, did not have a date to go to the dance so I matched her and Tony up to go to the dance with the rest of our group of friends. We had a big group of drama/artsy friends who were all going together to homecoming. We were anything but popular, but ignored that and had a fantastic time anyway. We danced, we laughed, we paid no attention to the homecoming crowning or dancing. I don’t even remember seeing that happen. 

For the next few weeks, I was super happy for my friend and Tony. They went out on dates to the movies, went out for hot chocolate, seemed to be a budding relationship and I couldn’t be happier that two of my best friends were hitting it off so well. She was a great friend for me. I never really had very close friends in highschool, but as far as friends went, she was pretty special. She was just as silly and random as I was and made me laugh so hard all the time. We got into trouble writing notes back and forth in English class and one time, the teacher was discussing Moby Dick while she was completely preoccupied with one of the notes I had written her. The teacher noticed her being distracted and called her out and asked “do you have any thoughts on Moby Dick?”. She thought for only a half second and then blurted out “Moby Dick is Jesus!!” to which we all giggled, but the teacher was notably impressed and prodded her to continue. She went on and rattled off some parallels between the two figures and everyone in the class was impressed with her on-the-spot thinking. 

Then, along came my high school field trip. I was still dating Mr Pushy and took a class trip to Italy. There we all went dancing at a local discotech in Florence. I was able to find a very tight, very small gold sparkly top (that was also very itchy and uncomfortable) to go with a tight black mini skirt that I borrowed from my friend. Our group of highschoolers went and danced and there were a few local guys at the discotech very excited about all the enthusiastic young girls dancing in their bar. These guys were very forward with us and were dancing all over us. It was then that a guy in our group came over and danced with me to separate the older men from dancing with us. We danced for awhile and then we all walked back to the hotel in the dark with the streets barely lit and it was then he grabbed my hand. I was still only 16 and it meant the world to me. 

The rest of the Italy trip, we rode next to each other on the bus and talked a little. I was introduced to heavy metal music and tried very hard to like it, but I think I was growing too boring for him. We kept our closeness secret and didn’t show anyone that we were talking or holding hands and I was hopeful, even though I still had an eager kisser boyfriend waiting for me at home. 

The trip ended and I went back to school the next day. I was very excitedly telling all my friends about the trip and all the awesome things we did. Mr Pushy had been on a big, exciting camping trip with his family and, truth be told, I didn’t give him the attention a boyfriend deserves at the time. I also wasn’t sure how to deal with the exciting, new possible relationship I thought had budded in Italy, so I just ignored him, which wasn’t really fair to him. Later that day, I received a very angry note from him (no texting back then, folded paper note) telling me how horrible of a girlfriend I am and cussing me out. So, that ended that relationship. 

I thought that I would have a relationship with Mr. Italy next, but I would find out much later from Tony that I was involved in a love triangle. Apparently, I was interested in Mr Italy, Mr. Italy was interested in another girl, other girl was interested in Tony, and Tony was interested in me.

I had started to feel like Tony might have some interest in me as we went along. We would be sitting in the audience, watching other performers in drama class and I would notice that he would mimic the postures I was doing while sitting. At first I thought “uh oh, I’m going to have to start being careful because I’ve got this guy’s attention and my intentions are not the same”. We grew closer and closer, he was slowly becoming my most anticipated friend to see in the day. Then the camping trip came up where a group of my friends all went to the mountains with my mom as a chaperone. 

We had a blast, we hiked, the boys threw a LOT of sticks in the river, we played games, watched TV and hiked some more. Then, one night, we were all in the living room, watching TV and Tony and I were passing paper back and forth, drawing funny little cartoons trying to make each other laugh, when I decided to take advantage of the silly mood and wrote him “I like you, do you like me, circle yes or no”. He took awhile and then handed it back and had written “maybe” then crossed it out and checked “yes”. It was such a juvenile moment, yet was so exciting for me as well. 

We talked about it more the next day and decided we both liked each other and would see where it would go.  We had a blast listening to music on the way home, then reality hit. I had asked about his dating my friend on our trip and he told me they were not dating, that they had just gone out as friends. The next week, MF came up to me and gave me a letter and asked me to proofread it. It was a letter she had written to Tony about how much she cared for him. I was completely thrown off. I didn’t know how to handle this. She had no idea that Tony and I had talked about dating and I didn’t know how to direct her on this one. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her Tony did not think they had been dating, that was for Tony, but I didn’t want to get her hopes up either. So, I read her letter, directed her to make a few changes, then I went and told Tony that he was going to have to deal with this. 

He did. She found out we were planning on dating and we were no longer friends.  I had mixed emotions at this point. On one hand, I was ignoring the basic laws of friendship and dating her “ex” even though, according to him, they were never dating, but even then, she was still very interested in him. On the other hand, I really liked him and I was being selfish. So, I lost my silly, fun friend.

We’re friends again, facebook friends anyway. I still feel guilty when I think about it.

I found out later that, while I had been juggling guys back and forth since meeting him, Tony had had a crush on me since meeting me.

Me at 16 with my first (and favorite) horse – Jinjer
Cross country race
My senior prom – no, it wasn’t themed – I’m just a dork
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Friendly, a little too friendly

First, and foremost, I want you guys to know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t have a set theme, I more than likely won’t be blogging EVERY day, but I hope it entertains you anyway.

When Tony and I were first married and living in Arnoldsville, GA, just outside of Athens, we were figuring out life. Tony and I both had jobs at the vet school and I was in the process of applying to be a vet student myself. I was out in the ridiculously hot Georgia summer, cutting my grass with a push mower (all we could afford), which in the late summer time was more like pulverizing ash (also just trimming the onion grass and dirt). I was wearing jeans just to protect my legs from the jet propelled pebbles of red clay from being imbedded in my legs forever.

Tony was at work at the time. I was out by the mailbox (about 1/10th mile from the house) when a truck pulled up beside me. I tried to ignore it at first in the noise of the mower as I am a naturally reserved person in person in the hopes it would just keep on driving. It didn’t. I looked up and saw a man in a cowboy hat with another guy in the passenger seat staring at me. I let go of the lever and let the mower engine die. “Can I help you?” I said.

In pretty good English, but thick Hispanic accent, he said “I was wondering if you wanted more work.” Me: “I’m quite busy with my own yard, ha ha!” Then he said what every man says to a woman when he wants to instantly grab her attention: “I work at a horse farm down the road”. At the mention of horse farm, I lost all sense of direction. “Horse farm!?! How wonderful! What kind of horses, how many” (etc). He said “well, why don’t you come over and I’ll show you around”.

“No, I can’t, I have a lot of work to do here” He said “Maybe later then, dinner?” Me “no, I have to cook dinner for my husband” Him “husband!?! you’re married, huh?” “yeah.. ” Him “well, maybe if you don’t have plans tomorrow, you can come over for lunch and I’ll show you around then.” I don’t want my readers to instantly judge me as an easy steal, but you have to understand that there were horses to be seen. At a breeding farm. And he said there were babies – HORSE babies! There is also something you need to know about me and that’s that, at this point in my life, I hadn’t learned to say “no” and didn’t want to disappoint this guy who was trying so hard despite my multiple rejections. So, reluctantly, there on the side of an old country road, sweating like a pig with a healthy coating of dirt and smelling of gasoline and onion grass, I agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger.

Something else you’ll come to find about me. I’m honest. I hate to lie, I’d almost go as far as saying I can’t lie, but that would be a lie. I think lies just complicate life and being honest is so much easier. Of course, as soon as Tony got home that night, I spilled my guts. I told him everything that had transpired and how I was obligated to go on a lunch date with this man. Tony just laughed.

The next day, at lunch time, I drove to the farm. He was just finishing up trimming some bushes when I pulled in. He greeted me, then proceeded to show me around the farm. It was a very lovely farm where the owner hosted numerous weddings, and there were, in fact, a couple of horses (three). We went and got lunch at one of the finest establishments in Winterville at the time (gas station Subway) and then came back to the farm to eat and chat. He was a very nice guy and we talked a lot, but my guilt was catching up to me, knowing that he was really looking for a date. So, I did the only thing an honest girl who was already married could do – I told him my sister, who was living with us at the time was single.

She never let me live that one down. After a couple of hangouts and awkward encounters, including a cowboy in a sushi restaurant, we eventually stopped communicating. I think he was just lonely and wanted some friends to hangout with, he eventually went back to Mexico to be with his family, but the language barrier – strike that – the sarcasm barrier between two languages made it very difficult to communicate. I hope he’s doing well and taking care of his family, he was a really nice guy.

Seattle 2008
Sippin’ Guiness like a rebel 2010