I'll be seeing ya in 2011....

Every closing of a year is the end of a chapter in ones life.  

Deep breath....now open your eyes

It's the eve of 6 months of the wildest ride of my life.  Cancer.

Here I thought I'd gotten past the madness which was life as a teenage mother, then mother of two girls and the business that is marriage.  No one...not even me the eternal worrier made plans for fighting for my life.

I went from thinking I was sick with mono and having my biggest worry be making sure I was able to get back to work on May 3rd to wondering how I'd make it through my first round of chemotherapy and the life that I intensely prayed would follow.  I really contemplated whether I had the drive to get from behind it and be able to have a life.  Any kind of life.  I was willing to rewrite "normal" as long as it meant me still in the equation.

My AH-Mazing Trip to FL - Part 2 (I cried, I laughed and at one point I wondered what the hell is that taste in my mouth)

"19 years can pass quickly when your living life, but you never really forget about the ones that aren't there living it with you." 

Tis the season for giving...

I have learned to keep expectations low.  Maybe, for some of you that seems like a cop out.  For me it is a survival mechanism.  Much like my comfy bed and security bound comforter...low expectations make it possible for me to survive.  Everyday brings with it really only 3 expectations.

#1 Shower.

#2 Don't kill self.

#3 Don't harm children.

Usually I only make #'s 2 and 3.  But with medication and severe ridicule from family members and friends I am bound to make all 3 at least 5 out of 7 days of the week.  Jon refers to these achievements as baby steps.  Much like his asking me to "please clear the laundry from off of the kitchen table" earlier this week was met not with it being folded but instead shuttled into our eldest daughter (who happens to be visiting her father for the Christmas holiday) bedroom.

Ummm...I put this in the win column because he left in the morning and there was clothing in the kitchen and he came home in the evening and there was....ta da....no clothing in the kitchen.  Apparently I lapsed on the part where he actually expected the clothing to get folded and ready to be put away by it's rightful owners.  Whoopsie!

As much as I give Jon a hard time for his past indiscretions I cannot seem to properly put into words how it is that he manages to stay so calm with such a deeply depressed spouse.  He leaves and I'm asleep.  He comes home and I'm asleep.

He'll poke a head in the bedroom from time to time and asks if I've eaten.  Asks if I need anything.  Asks if I want to talk.  He says that since I've tried to stand by him in his short coming's and the fact that one day he is COMPLETELY certain that I am going to have to care for him and wipe his ass (what an impressive and heartwarming picture to create in one's mind)...he says that because of this and his love for me he just keeps pushing along.

The kids try to wrap their minds around it all and even though I know they would give just about anything (well except their cell phones, computer, Nintendo DS, time with friends and possibly cable) to have their mom up and participating in the daily goings on of their life.  I live for the little moments that the clouds of depression clears and I get a glimpse of what our life used to be like all of the time.


Today and tonight was one of those glimpses into how our life used to be everyday.  Of course it wasn't a continual stream of feeling okay.  It never really is anymore.  I'll get moments when I am okay and then moments when I have to tuck away into the bedroom because the anxiety becomes so high that it literally feels as though it will grate apart my head.  Jon has learned the signs and takes over parenting if I am in the middle of doing something with the kids.

But for the most part....today was a good day.  One that defied low expectations but was made even sweeter because I really had no expectation of it at all.

I wrapped gifts and Jon cleaned.  Yes...ladies...my husband cleans.  Why I bitch?  Who the hell knows.

Later we cooked dinner together.  Some gorgeous pork tenderloin that I had been marinating with BBQ sauce, orange juice, honey and seasonings.  It's super good and makes the juiciest meat!  While Jon grilled I made both mashed potatos for dinner and potato soup for whenever.  It was the normal rhythm of a house and it felt both foreign and comfortable in the same moment.

Feeling the opportunity to keep things light and make me laugh Jon took a hair piece that we had purchased to pretty much torture Penny with and while I diced onions and got ingredients for dinner he waited for the absolute opportune second to catch me off guard and scare the piss out of me.

I was in the fridge getting butter and just as I was about the close the door I heard him scream out, "oh my god...noooo"...I peeked up just in time to see something dark and furry flying at my head.  I screamed like a little school girl.  Threw down the butter that was in my hand and flew across the kitchen while batting my aledged assailant to the ground.

Turns out the "attacker" was none other than the fake hair piece and the next sound I heard was the cackling of Jon and Hannah as they celebrated the fact that their little prank had gotten me so good.  All I could do was accept defeat and make my way to the bathroom because as with any good joke at my expense...I now had to pee.  Thankfully I didn't pee in my pants...but it was a close one...a very, very...VERY close one.

After dinner was done and cleaned up we preheated the oven for the ceremonial making of the Christmas cookies.  That was going to be all Jon and Hannah because once again the anxiousness was taking hold and it was time to excuse myself for a cooling off period.  This consist of going to the bedroom and usually sitting in the quiet.  Sometimes I have to actually go and take a shower to take my mind off the anxious thoughts.  I used to go and run or walk when I became anxious but found that it actually prolonged the anxiety.  Sucky find because for a while there it was a GREAT way to get in shape.  Figure 6 or 7 anxiety attacks a day...a month or so later I'm down close to 10lbs.

Thankfully this one was quick lived and I was back in the mix within a thirty minutes.  Just in time to torture the dogs and catch a few pics of Jon and Hannah's Christmas crowns.

So here is my gift to you my readers...a few pics to show you how our Christmas Eve was spent.

Yep ladies...he's mine...ALL mine!

Jon and our baby girl.  You'd think the crowns were her idea...NOPE...it was all him!

The great thing about being a man in a house full of girls...LOTS of kisses!

Usually she just leaves a note...this year, she means business! In case you can't read it, the cookie says "Dear Santa, I want it all.  If that isn't possible then leave the cookie and no on gets hurt.  Love, Hannah."

And because no holiday season would be complete without my dogs....

....remember...if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all because Karma is a real bitch....

Merry Christmas everyone!!

Love, Hugs and Kisses,

~JP

 

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it could be what saves a marriage....

Jon and I went on a date on Saturday.  Shouldn't be like a huge announcement I know...but for me it is. 

Marriage, relationship....hell, life hasn't been going all that happily for me or for Jon, so a date was a miraculous occasion. 

It wasn't extravagant, it wasn't even overly romantic...but it was enough to give thought as to whether there is still something to work with. 

In the win column went the fact that we were at a steak restaurant and I didn't once think about stabbing him in the jugular, hand or even male appendage with the knife that sat in front of me for the entire meal.  Also in the win column was the fact that although the conversation did slip towards the angry unsaid stuff that had been building up from our last argument it went back to the easy casual conversing of people who still very much love one another.

Jon took it upon himself to utilize some of the techniques that he had picked up from a program that he purchased in order to assist him in our marital discord.  He was asking questions to try anything to start communication between the two of us.  He would ask, I would talk and he would listen.  Then it just felt natural for me to ask him something and let him talk while I listened.  The listening part is a little hard for me since I seem to feel the need to interrupt.  That's just a little something...okay a big something that I need to work on.

Instead of going to a movie after dinner we opted to go to a local bar and have a drink while sitting outside on the back patio away from everyone and just talking.  I wasn't willing to let go of the conversation that had started at dinner and while I would have loved to see a movie, my priority right now is to keep the line of dialogue open.  We sat for almost an hour just laughing and talking.  It seemed natural and easy like it's supposed to be.

In the loss column, which wasn't anyone's fault except for possibly cold and flu season was the fact that we needed to cut the night short because A) he was having pain just talking from a sore throat and then B) he started hacking.  Yep, that's a mood killer. 

We called it a night and haven't had an argument.  I guess there are still some things left to be curious about in our relationship and that may just be what we need to work our way back to a new start.

~JP

Finding common ground....

I stayed up all night last night.  Big shocker.  I had spent the last several weeks pouring through web sites about marriage and repairing the damaged marriage, fixing the broken person...blah, blah, blah and I remembered last night that a friend of mine had given me a book a few years back called "The Five Love Languages: How to Express Hearfelt Commitment to Your Mate".  I became obsessed with finding that damn book.

First I thought I might use it to bludgeon Jon to death with but then I figured it might be more useful if I actually read it and then tried to utilize the tools that it may teach me.  Thank God it wasn't in the garage or attic or in a box that was still packed from when we moved into this house just a mere...ummm...cough...ergh, 5 years ago.   But this post isn't about my inability to unpack boxes, fear of garages or attics in the middle of the night or even my fantasies of beating Jon to a pulp with great works of self help books...it's about this book and how I HAD TO FIND IT.

Priorities people...priorities!

Once I found it....conveniently located on a bookshelf, who'd of thunk...I then became obsessed with reading it.

ALL OF IT.

In one night.

I have an addictive personality...once I set my mind on something...it becomes a friggin obsession!

It was as if the expanse of the past three years of fighting and silent treatments, ultimatums, asking him to leave, letting him come back and then me leaving and the final action of taking off my wedding band and telling him "I'm done" was boiled down into to what the hell I was gonna do in the span of time that it would take me to read all 175 pages.

I'm a fast reader and I literally read this book until I could no longer hold up my head or hold open my eyes.  I fell asleep reading it then woke up and finished it.  While I slept though was when I received a message from Jon who had taken it upon himself ,without talking to me, to find his own guidance in the midst of our seperation.

We have spent a great deal of time standing on separate sides of what should be one unified relationship.  Being pig headed and stubborn has not served us well and we've both held on to the "I'm right and you're wrong", mentality so long that I don't event think we care to explain what it is that we think we may be right about.  After three years of battling you gain a great sense of entitlement to your feelings. 

After three years of battling you also get a lot of looks from the other people that have lived in the house with you through that period of time.  I'm pretty sure if we allowed the girls to use curse words, they would have some colorful choice ones for us.  I'm also pretty sure that is why the dogs piss and shit near our belongings.  It's their way of saying..."dude, either work it out or split up...this shit is annoying".

Tonight was different though.

While we have gotten good at silence and catty glances, making mountains out of the proverbial mole hills and hitting below the belt with words, tonight we simply chose to compliment one another.  It was a suggestion in the book that I had ravenously consumed and thought about bringing up to Jon but then felt like I shouldn't have to because...again...I feel that I am right in my feelings of how the past few years have gone and that would make him wrong.  I'm pretty sure it is becoming abundantly clear as to why there is no resolution to our problems.  I seriously think I may make a shirt that says "I'm right.  You're Wrong.  What's the problem again?"

So while sitting in that self entitled mindset I was shocked when he sent me a text asking if I had read the email he had forwarded me earlier about the things he was reading in order to help him better understand where he and we had gone so wrong in our marriage.  I responded that I had and I tried very hard to keep the sarcasm out of it.  Again that little voice of entitlemnt was rising up and trying to bang on the keys of my Crackberry.  I fought if off though and remained both civil and intrigued that he was making a first move.

It was a cautious feeling of intrigue though.  I mean come one, I may be on a euphoric high from the book but I'm not stupid, we've been down the heartfelt rosey posey road of make believe before.  It got us a $10,000 bill for therapy and here we were no better for the experience.  But I was good and told him that I had.  He asked if I had read the part about making the list of 3 good things about your spouse/partner.  He told me that I would need to write them down and we would share them when we saw each other later.  I said that I had written them down, I didn't bother to divuldge that this was along the same lines as what I had read in my book and had actually mentally completed the night before.  Fixing this marriage is not about what came first the book or the text.  It was about both of us trying.

I feel like I've been the only one plowing through the trenches for the past few years so for the first time in a REALLY long time I was struck by his initiative.  You gotta know this, therapy...was my idea.  Seperation...my idea.  Reconciliation...my idea.  Seperation again...my idea.  I'm thinking you are getting the picture.

With the therapy it was an ultimatum put to him when he had made what I deemed to be the biggest mistake to have happened in our marriage at that particular point in time.  My husband, in all his infinite wisdom, had chosen another woman's feelings over my own.  I'm not talking his mother or his sister.  Nope I am just talking about an old friend.

Yep, that man I love so dearly and had created a life with and was busy raising two children with had stood in our driveway and with my pleading eyes upon him had chosen her over me.  When all was said and done, I knew something in him had changed that day and with all that I could muster I told him it was counseling or he could pack his stuff....he chose therapy.

Now looking back and knowing some of the other things that transpired to keep him coming back to sessions week after week, sometimes twice a week, it is no surprise to me why the years worth of marital counseling did nothing more than to fatten our therapist bank account and keep us emotionally bankrupt.  Another factor for me at least has been watching the systematic demise of some of my friends marriages.  It's hard to remain upbeat about your own future when those around you that you care about are hurting.  Watching their struggles amplified my own and thus created this feeling of just wanting to break free of all of it.  It was getting to the point of suffocation because all around us there was seperation, infidelity, mistrust and discord.  

I don't in any way blame our failures on those around us, but when you are struggling to bail yourselves out of a precarious situation it helps to have some solid ground around you...for us there wasn't anything like that close by.  We were forced to rely on each other and THAT was a huge problem because I no longer trusted him and I was pretty sure he felt the same way about me.

Now that we've come to the point of sink or swim, we've decided that it's every marriage for themselves and we cannot rely on what is around us in order to decide if we will fail or succeed.  I think, for myself at least, that realization made his gesture so powerful. 

Could the feelings of goodwill die tomorrow?  Absolutely.

Will the road to our security and a strong marriage be rough?  Absofuckinlutely.

But do I think it's possible to come back from the abyss of "I'm done" and possibly find more than just this tiny sliver of common ground?  I have hope that it is and that is far more than I had within me when I went searching for that book.

I'll take my common ground.  I am thankful for it and I look forward to what may come as I take ever so tiny and well thought out baby steps towards something better than where I am right now.

~JP

The problem with truth telling....

Before I ever thought of having kids or becoming a mother I had what I thought was a VERY wonderful idea about raising my imaginary offspring.  I told myself that I would never lie about the important stuff.  I'd never tell them that loved ones or pets don't die.  I wouldn't lead them to believe that shots won't hurt and I'd never tell them that they'd always be happy and never have their heart broken.

Simple right?  Wrong. 


The easiest of my "promise" seemed to be the shots.  From the time they were babies I'd tell them these words before shots, "big stick, bee sting, cuddles and then a prize".  It served me well for the most part.  The only time it truly backfired on me was when the girls needed to get their shots up to date for school here in Louisiana.  I inadvertently mixed up who needed what shots when I was preparing them with the whole "big stick, bee sting...." yada yada yada.  I had told Olivia she would be getting one shot and that Hannah needed three.

Olivia, while she was not overly joyed about needing any was completely over the moon with the idea of torturing her baby sister who'd have to be stuck not once, not twice but three whole times.  "That's two more than meeee"...she sing songed all through our wait time.  She'd reach over and pinch her baby sister which would send Hannah to wailing and then Olivia would say..."oh come on...that's just one stick...imagine three of those back to back", and so on and so forth.

There was two things that Olivia didn't count on and they were karma and my ability to keep the kids shot records straight.  When Olivia galantly led her little sister to the slaughter...ergh, I mean chair, she all but passed out when the nurse stuck Hannah once then released her from the seat and handed her a lolly proclaiming that she had been a "very big girl" and that she was "all done".  Those two phrases and the fact that Hannah knew the difference between her getting three and her only getting one.  She'd done the quick math and trained her eyes on her sister.  Olivia chose that exact moment to turn into a psychotic animal who first tried to run out of the building but was strong armed by Jon and then as she wailed like a banshee she attempted to hold onto the door while bracing her feet against the frame.

Yeah, my honesty about shots wasn't going too well on this occasion.  All Jon and I could do after they were finally able to immunize her,  was to walk out shaking our heads and apologizing to every one we came in contact with in the building.  I do believe we apologized to a janitor that day and to be honest with the way our kid was screaming I think he appreciated it.

My first go around with using honesty in regards to death of a loved one was when my grandmother died and my oldest was on a Girl Scout camping trip.  It's not that Olivia hadn't dealt with death before, on the contrary actually...the poor kid had her 7th birthday postponed because my grandfather, her great grandfather, bit the proverbial dust.  Nothing like blowing out the candle on your one piece of restaurant cake while the entire family is gathered sniveling and trading stories of the dearly departed at an elongated table of a bar & grill that just happened to be conveniently located next to the funeral home.    Well that and the fact that she was actually at the nursing home visiting him with my parents when he died.  Yep, that's definitely one for the scrapbook!

While I rushed to Florida to console my mother and help with the funeral arrangements, poor Jon had to make up some kind of song and dance about where I was when she returned from camp so as to allow us both to be there to break the news to her.  From that experience I learned never to wait 5 days until I am in the same state to break news of that magnitude.  While she was upset about her great grandmothers passing she was more upset that she was not notified immediately.  Jon and I learned that Olivia was not one of those kids that dealt well with being the last to know anything.  Hell, if we run out of toilet paper you better go notify her first or else there will be an issue.  That's just her thing.  She likes to be in the loop.

On the other end of the spectrum is Hannah.  When my first min pin Aden passed away suddenly over the summer while the girls were away we made a point to tell them both.  Fearing a repeat of great grandma and the wrath of Olivia not being notified we figured that honesty when the event took place was the best policy.  With Olivia that was fine.  She took the news, was saddened and moved on.  Hannah on the other hand who had been too young to really comprehend the news of her great grandmother's death, when it occured, was a bit trickier.  She had a meltdown of unworldly proportions and we were almost deemed horrible parents for breaking the news while she was close to 600 miles away.

When we were plagued by a second pet's death less than a month later Olivia was back at home and unfortunately along with us had to bear witness to the little guy drawing his last breath.  She was heartbroken as were Jon and I but seemed to process it and deal with it fairly well considering it was her dog.  We didn't tell Hannah this time and instead saved the news for when Jon could be there with her.  She was upset, but took the news far better because she had Jon there to hold on to.

So with death and shots my plan of honesty has been doing pretty good with preparing the girls with the realities of life.  When it comes to heartbreak though, I've had a bit harder time sticking to my rule.

As the minutes and hours have turned  into days, weeks and now months of Jon and I grappling with the state of our marriage, one of the things that has weighed heavily upon my mind and heart has been my kids.  What to tell them and when.  Olivia being older and of the mentality of tell it to me now and let me process it myself I chose to be a bit more forthcoming with her.  Hannah being the baby and the one that would rather not know something until it's actual, factual and has already taken place has been pretty much left in the dark although I know she's not blind or deaf to the amount of tension and arguing that goes on between her father and I. 

Tonight though I was backed into a corner while we sat at Sonic to pick up something to eat.  Hannha had just returned from a weekend soccer tournament with Jon and I was taking her for ice cream.  While we waited for our food she began to ask questions.  I figured they would come seeing as Jon and I had a rather loud verbal exhange within minutes of him coming in the door.  It's sad that after 30+ hours apart we couldn't make it a full 30 seconds without launching into a disagreement.

The questions came quietly and timidly from the backseat.

Hannah:  Mom, are you and Dad angry at each other?

Me: (don't lie, don't lie, don't lie) Yes.

Hannah:  How is that even possible...you like, just saw each other?

Me:  (don't lie, don't get defensive, don't lie) Well Hannah ya know how sometimes you and your friends don't get along...even when you haven't seen each other in a day or two?

Hannah:  Um, yea....

Me:  (don't get defensive, be honest, don't snap at her) Well, me and your dad are like that right now...we aren't getting along....

Silence falls uncomfortably in the car and then the food comes.  I contemplate just letting the discussion go but as I look into the rearview mirror I can see tears in the corners of her eyes and I know there is more she wants to say.  Part of me wants to scream at her to just stop it and let it go, but then I have to remember that she is only 10yrs old and this very much affects her life.  Be honest, I keep reminding myself.  Be honest in 10yr old terms...don't lie.

I remember back to when I was younger, after my sister had been killed and my parents would argue so much that I thought they would never get along again, I take a deep breath focus on that feeling as probably the one that she is having at this very moment and hope for the best.

Me:  Hannah, if you have something on your mind that you want to ask me or talk about you should just put it out there.  No matter what it is, I will answer you honestly and I won't be angry...I promise.

Hannah:  (hesitant but looking very determined) Are you and Dad gonna split up?

Me:  I don't know Hannah and that's the truth.

Hannah:  Ok.  But....ummmm.....but.....

Me:  Hannah whatever it is just ask me.

Hannah:  Do you still love him?

Me:  Very much.

Hannah:  Does he love you?

Me:  Yes.

Hannah:  I don't get it.  If he loves you and you love him then why do you fight ALL of the time.

Me:  Because sometimes people that love one another have things that take place that make them so angry that it becomes difficult to just be happy loving the other person.  You want to know that the person you love is being honest with you and if you think that they aren't or know that they aren't it tends to make it very difficult to just be happy being in love.

Hannah:  Oh.  Well, hmmmm.....do you think you guys could, ya know...just work it out or something cause I'm tired of listening to you not get along and I'm sure Olivia is tired of it and well....yeah....you guys should just work it out.

I sat quiet for a really long time.  Hannah didn't even seem to notice because she was over the moon for her Oreo ice cream blast.  Then she spoke again.

Hannah:  Mom?

Me:  Yeah Han.

Hannah:  I'm sorry I asked about you and dad.

Me:  Hannah, don't apologize.  You have a right to know what is going on to a point.  I know that these things affect your life.

Hannah:  I know.  But the reason I said that I was sorry was because you looked really happy before I asked you.  Like...just sitting here you and me...you looked happy. 

Me:  Well I am happy just sitting here you and me (I let my face break into a goofy smile to get her to laugh).

Hannah:  (she chuckels at my face and then turns serious again) I know....but I think you were happy because dad wasn't here.

Me: (unable to speak)

Hannah:  It was nice to see you happy for once.

Silence became all consuming and the only thing I could hear was her scraping ice cream out of her cup and the wheels of the skating car hops.

See, that's the trouble with truth telling...it brings with it a whole new line of questions.

~JP

In search of new....

Just recently my husband and I "celebrated" 12 years of being together as a couple.  And by "celebrate" I mean that we had it pointed out to us by a friend of ours that it just so happened to be that day and so we kissed and toasted with the drinks we had been sipping on for the past two hours.  This is what our relationship has come to.  We are reduced to having our milestones pointed out to us by others.  It's really pathetic if you ask me.

Another occurance was when I was driving my oldest daughter home from theater practice and she was dancing in the car to the mixed cd that she had made me in an attempt to prove that I "truly have lame taste in music".  I stated how I really, really, REALLY am in need of a night out dancing.  She looked sideways at me and said..."yeah, me too".  I laughed and said non chalantly how in just over 3 years I can take her to 18 & up clubs and we can go dancing.  She gave me that look of sheer terror and death of embarassment that would ensue if I was to truly attempt this most heinous of ideas.

Before I could even elaborate on this topic she said the most hurtful thing outside of telling me that I shouldn't be wearing these pants because YES they do truly make your ass look HUGE!  She said..."in 3 years...you'll be like....ya know....O-L-D!"  I tried hard not to slam on the brakes or slam her head into the dashboard.  I proceeded to ask her how old she actually thought I was.  She did that long hard pause that kids that fear they may never see a penny of allowance or be told yes they can do or have something that they want ever, ever....EVER again if they answer this question wrong.

People....in 3 years I will only be 35!  What the shit?!?  I am NOT old.  I am NOT OLD!  Jesus...most people are just now getting started on their childbearing years and me.  I mean, us.  Jon and I...we are at the half way point.  This time in 10 years we will be the proud parents of two full fledge adults.  This time in 10 years I will only be 42...so take that and suck on it!

But these two events coupled with some other things that have occured over the past few days, weeks, months....year...have made me realize that it's time to go in search of the newness again.  I've begun to make a list.  Jon teases me about these list.  Mainly because I write them and then when I mess up I rewrite them.  But I tend to keep the messy one just in case I forget to carry over some items and then I end up with two list.  Two lists that usually never end up finished.  I get accused of that a lot and rightfully so because I am SO not a start to finish kind of girl.  I'm more of a get really excited about the start and lose all interest in the finish part.  About the only things that I stay COMPLETELY interested in from start to finish are FarmVille, this season of Fringe and having sex with my husband.  Not necessarily in that particular order.  Although I have said the words "just let me check my crops" when Jon has given me that look of "let's get it on"!

Again...perfect example why it is time to find the new again.  It's time to get back in tune with my body and to actually locate that body underneath all the layers of baby fat from the last baby (10 years ago) and those pints of Hagaan Daaz that have found their way maliciously into my mouth at 2am when I am depressed as all hell about the state of my life and the unhappiness that I have found myself in.  It's just time. 

For the past few days I've felt this overwhelming antsy feeling.  This urge to just throw on my shoes and run.  Run hard.  Run fast.  Run far.  Probably wouldn't be a great idea if I actually allowed it to come to fruition.  I'm pretty sure that I would make it to the end of my street and my family would find me dead or at least unconscious on the ground beneath the stop sign.  Since running...and I must admit that every time I say, think or type that word...running...all I can think of is Forrest Gump saying it.  "And I started running." 

Anyways...since running is out of the question at this particular juncture I decided to have a little conversation with my inner self.  At a little after midnight when all the house was quiet I pulled myself into first position (rockin the ballet), closed my eyes and just calmly explained that it's time to take back my life and ALL the things that I used to be so passionate about. 

It's gonna be a tall order...a slow process...but a challenge that I must take on.  For my sanity.  For my self.  I will not let another milestone go by uncelebrated or at least unremembered and I certainly will not allow my teenager or tweenager make me feel old.  It's up to me to preserve the new.  Game on bitches...game on!

And the countdown to 10....concludes....with Part 7

Part 7: It's not the destination....it's the journey!

The beauty of motherhood is lost on those who can't seem to smell anything past the vomit that seems to get into places you never thought imaginable.  It's also lost on those who are pretty sure they would sell a kidney or lung JUST to gain a full night of uninterrupted sleep.  I was TOTALLY that person.

What am I saying....I still AM that person!  I may no longer have to sustain my children's life by feeding them from my own body, but believe me you, they are busy sucking other things out of me like sanity, my ability to retain information, my will to live at times and the capacity of my ass to reside in the lower two digit numbers.  Oh hips...where have you gone??  Oh wait...that's right, you now reside on my curvacious daughters.  Ugh!

Even with all that I've had some of my best moments being their mom.  I've also had some of my most embarrassing ones as well.

Those are the stories that Jon loves me to focus on.  He's sadistic that way.

When Hannah was approximately 3 to maybe 3 1/2 months old I had breastfed her on the couch while watching television.  It's was a leisurely Sunday afternoon and we were busy just passing the day by being completely in love with every sound and face that she was making.  It's these moments...these memories that make you want to have more children.  What happened next is what makes you think twice about motherhood and possibly how easy it may actually be to mame your spouse.

Jon:  Wow she's a little piggy.

Me:  I know.  I think this is the most she has eaten in a while.  She usually just snacks.

Jon:  I think I'd snack if I was down there too.  It'd give me more reasons to snuggle up to your boobs.

Me:  You'd have to get in line behind your infant daughter.

Jon:  Why ya gotta be so mean?

Me:  Why do YOU have to be such a pig?  I'm busy feeding your daughter and your making sexual inuendo's.

Jon:  I'm just saying...I support breastfeeding.

Me:  You're just saying that because you want me to breastfeed you.

Hannah begins to make gurgly faces as I am burping her.  It kind of looks like she's rolling her eyes at Jon's lame attempts to dig himself out of this hole but that's just my interpretation of the memory.

Finally she lets out a huge burp and follows it with a toot and then seems completely content to just sit there and check out the world.

Me:  (singing to Hannah while blowing bubbles on her tummy) I love you...mommy loves you.  Who loves you...mommy loves you.

Clearly she is digging this.

Me:  (beginning to wiggle her arms and legs in a vague dancing motion)

Jon:  You probably shouldn't do that she just ate.

Me:  I am not doing anything.  I am just moving her about.  My god she is barely moving.

Jon:  I don't think you should do that.  You always yell at me NOT to do that.  You say she'll puke.

Me:  (clearly he doesn't understand that him doing what I say and me doing what I say are two totally different things) *rolling my eyes*  Okay.

Jon walks out of the room and the coast is clear to go back to the dancing.  I proceed to move Hannah about.  She's going from slightly subdued moves to busting out her show stoppers.  I decide to end with a little airplane and a kiss....

BIG FUCKING MISTAKE

Bleeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......

Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay...

Jon: (no response...)

I can somewhat hear Jon moving around in the kitchen

Me: (gurgling sound) bay bay BAY.....

Jon:  Are you calling me?  You know that I can't hear you...speak up.

Me:  (trying desperately NOT to swallow what has been launched into my mouth by my once beloved infant daughter) bay bay...BAYYYYYY...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo....

Jon:  (sounding more than a little aggrivated)  WHAT??

Me:  (really trying not to puke while trying NOT to swallow what is being swished around in my mouth with every attempt to speak) I sa...ga ma a tow a bay b pu n ma mo......

Jon  (choirs of angels come down from heaven and sing as my husband in all his fucking brilliant retardedness who can't hear me scream from another room has now deciphered the god damn Da Vinci Code of "baby vomit speak")  I'm sorry...did you just say that you need a towel because the baby puked in your mouth?  (laughter)

Me:  BAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY......a men a...hu up n ga m a tow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jon:  (attempting NOT to piss himself, because clearly that could be used against him in this completely embarrassing moment of me choking back a mouthful of my own regurgiatated breastmilk) Hahahahahahahahahaha.....ok, ok....oh my god....oh my god...my sides hurt....ok, ok...here...give me the baby...here....oh my god...oh this is too funny...oh my god...here's the towel...

Stuff like that...10 years later...still funny.

I remember a time years later when Hannah was 3 years old and she learned how to use air quotes.

Correctly.

Neither of us know how she learned this.  It definitely wasn't something that we had done.  We aren't big air quote people...I mean really, who is??

I was coming up on a jaw surgery to treat chronic migraines, worsened by TMJ, which had completely debilitated me.  Poor Hannah had gotten very used to sitting in semi quiet, semi dim rooms with mommy by this time.  We had her in Mother's Day out programs so she wasn't a complete shut in, but there were still those few hours between when the program ended and Jon came home.

She was perched on the end of our bed watching Disney Channel.  I, as usual, had my head wrapped in a towel to shield my eyes from light and an ice pack on top for good measure.  I heard her crawling to the top of the bed towards my head so I peeled back my shroud.

Hannah:  Momma?

Me:  Yeah babe.

Hannah:  Momma...when dinner is?

Me:  (slighty out of it...trying to angle head to see the clock)  Ummm.  Soon babe...daddy will be home with it in just a little bit.  Okay?

Hannah:  Tay.  Cause we need dinner is.  It's "night time".

Me:  (slightly baffled by the air quotes, I decide to press the matter)  Hannah what do you mean by "night time" (repeating the same air quotes)

Hannah:  (cocking her head to the side and squinching her eyese at me as if I am possibly the silliest person she has met in ALL her 3 years of life) Momma..."night time" is when it "dark outside"!  (she then puts her hands in fist down on her sides as if this gesture combined with the double air quotes will of course drive her point right on home)

Very true Hannah dear.  Very true indeed.  Thankfully she did a repeat performance for Jon when he got home and we both had a good laugh at how sassy she was.

Life with girls is NOT all frills, bows and pink sparkliness.  Nope...life raising Hannah so far has been a manic mixture of Sporty Spice, Power Puff Girls and Disney Channel girls that are clearly 20 playing 10 year olds who my daughter wants more than anything to mimic.

Welcome to my hell.  The water is warm...jump on in.

Hannah can be rough and tumble like the time we had gone shopping for new jeans.  She had picked out 4 that she absolutely loved and "mom I will never ask for another thing if you only buy me THESE pants".  Oh lord...go sell your lies somewhere else sweetheart...my grandmother didn't buy those lies with my mother, my mother didn't buy those lies with me and HELLO I'm not buying them from you or your sister.

Not more than 48 hours later Hannah is on our front lawn with one of her friends playing.  Another few minutes after that she is at the door crying and the friend is trying not to laugh.  Clearly something embarrassing has befallen our daughter.  Days like this make parenting so magical.  Days like this make all the moments they make you feel like a jackleg by standing in the middle of Wal-mart screaming "you're not my mommy...I wan't my mommy" because you have denied them the Pokemon card, Power Puff Girl, Barbie, Coloring book, speck of dust...whatever...and now they are going to make you pay with public humiliation and maybe, just maybe a few dicey moments in the back of a police car explaining exactly why it is the little girl is so insistent her "real" mother lives in Pennsylvania and raises horses.  Yes...your childs embarrassment at the fact that they and not you has done something to bring said embarassment...those moments are the lottery of parenthood.

Jon:  Hannah what's the matter?

Me:  Why are you crying?  Are you hurt?

Hannah:  *sniff*

Me:  Hannah...speak up...what happened?

Hannah:  (quivering lip) *sniff...sniff*

Jon:  Hannah Michel...you have until the count of 5 to tell me what is going on.  1....2....3....

Hannah:  (bawling)....*sniff*....I....was....playing....and, umm...and I thought I'd be....ummm...I...*sniff*....I thought it would....*crying*....*sniff*...umm...I thought it would be fun....to umm...(becoming quieter)...fun to be a....(barely audible)...fun to be a dog....

Me:  Huh...you thought it would be fun to be a what?  Babe...we can't hear you?  (I clearly had heard her, but I wanted to make completely sure I heard her)

Hannah:  *sniff*...I thought it would be fun to be a dog....

Jon:  Uh...huh.  And how does that factor into the crying??

Me:  Did you get hurt?

Hannah:  *sniff*...ummm...*sniff*....not exactly

Me:  Okay then what "exactly" is the problem?

Hannah: *sniff*....I RIPPED MY PANTS....(complete hysterical bawling)

Jon:  You ripped your new pants?

Hannah:  Yyyyyeeeessssssssssss....*sniff*

Me:  (completely incredulous that this is in fact the truth)  How?  How did you rip your pants?  Show me.

Hannah:  Well...I had her (pointing the unsupecting and very uncomfortable looking friend) hook the lead for the dogs to my belt loop.....and then I ran around in a circle...playing like a dog....*sniff*.....and my pants....well...they ripped.

Jon & Me:  (stiffling laughter) (unable to stiffle laughter) (about to choke as we realize we can NO longer stiffle laughter do the only thing we can possibly do which is turn our backs on our crying child in the door)

Me:  (from over my shoulder)  Have a seat on the porch Hannah and your dad and I will be out in a moment to deal with this.

We shut the front door.  High tail it back to our bedroom.  Lock ourselves in the bathroom and bust out laughing for a good 10 minutes.

We made her wear those pants until they were highwaters.  Every....single....time she came out in them we had to fight not to pee ourselves laughing at the day she decided to play dog.

These are just a few of the moments in my 10 years raising my sweet baby girl.  I'm sure there will be many more.  I record them to use as blackmail later.

As Jon and I watched her blow out the candles on her cookie cake covered in too much make-up from the make overs they were performing on one another for the sleepover we realized that all those moments have led us to this one.  All the tears, fears, laughter, joy, pride, guilt, sleeplessness and so many more have culminated in this one little girl.

Motherhood...hell parenthood is one hell of a ride.  The admission isn't free.  The side effects are permanent and the pay is...well, it sucks.  But the moments of shear madness that lead to some of the bar none, hands down most amazing memories you will ever create while sober are worth the journey.  If you haven't jumped on this train I highly recommend it.  Plus, it's kind of like a pyramid scheme...the more of you that I get to do it, the better the prizes for me.  Get to it people...make babies.  Make memories.  Make me not be the only crazy lady.

~JP

And the countdown to 10...continues...Part 6

Part 6: I'm all for jokes...but really, is this the time??

Once I was firmly situated on the operating table I began to feel really, really...REALLY nervous.  I know it sounds like a moment of brilliant retardedness but at that exact moment it all seemed real.  It was like the past 40 weeks didn't even happen.  Like I had just showed up at the hospital and they announced, "hey you look like a nice woman who'd enjoy a new baby...come on back and we'll cut one out of your belly".

When they talk about pregnancy induced amnesia...I'm pretty sure they are referring to moments like this.

The anesthesiologist began to push the meds and they made sure I was good and numb.  I was elated because when I'd had Olivia I had an epic failure of an epidural.  They didn't insert the catheter properly and when they went to push the meds I could feel them leaking down my back.  Unfortunately, the monitors began to signal that Olivia was in fetal heart distress and she needed to be out.  NOW.  So they couldn't take the time to try and reinsert the epidural and I had to be put completely under.  I was the absolute last person to greet the arrival of my daughter.  I didn't want the same thing to happen with my the delivery of my son.

Once the drugs began to take affect I began professing my love to the anesthesiologist...the nurses...some dude that was bringing in gloves.  They figured that was a perfect time to bring in my husband.

They laid out the rules of how he was NOT to touch the sterile curtain that shielded him from a full view of the surgery that was about to reveal the baby.  I secretly wished them luck with that endeavor because I'd been telling him not to touch stuff in doctor and hospital settings through this whole pregnancy and HE WOULD NEVER LISTEN TO ME.  You have no idea how scary it is to watch your husband screw with a piece of equipment that probably cost as much if not more than a years salary.

They provided a stool and he took it...just in case.  I was worried that he would pass out.  He didn't do very well with blood.  Or surgery.  Or gore in general.  But I was high as a kite on pain meds...if he hit the ground...I was pretty sure one of the scrub clad individuals and that random dude with the gloves would handle it.

Then the doctor came in.  He explained that I'd feel some tugging and pressure but if I began to feel pain that I should just let the anesthesiologist know and she'd fix me right up.  I felt like saying, "dude...you do your job and don't you worry bout me and Sarah (that was the first name of the anesthesiologist) will be JUST FINE over here".

He asked if we were ready to go and we chimed in with a yes.  For a split second I wondered what would have occured if we would have said no.  Would he have been all like, okay..."I'll step out for a latte and come back in a few and see if you are ready to do this thing??"

Jon asked how long it would take before the baby was out.  The doctor explained that since their was no distress he could have the baby out in about 3-4 minutes.  I was amazed.  Made me ask how fast they could have a baby out in times of distress and was floored when he said less than a minute if need be.  Holy crap.  He said that getting the baby out was the easy part.  Putting everything back in was the long part.  Hmmmm...could have gone without the last part of info.

And so it began...

Jon says that he remembers seeing smoke from the laser.  I don't have any memory of it.  All I remember is feeling tugs and the anesthesiologist asking "are you okay"..."are you hurting"...the haze of her pushing more meds because apparently I said yes and then the sound of crying started.

Next came the voice of the doctor..."congratulations....IT'S....A.....GIRL!"

WHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTT?????

I turned to Jon willing him to verify that the doctor was in fact the King of Bad Jokes!

Jon looked down at me with misty eyes...."babe....it's a girl"!

I think I actually uttered the words, "stop joking...that's not funny" before finally looking up and seeing that in fact I was the proud momma of a beautiful baby girl.

Garren Jesse....was in fact a beautiful...perfect...10 fingers, 10 toed...little Hannah Michel!

I kissed Jon and told him to please follow the baby to the nursery.  I didn't want her out of our sight and since I obviously wasn't going anywhere...that left him on baby watch.

I got some more magical pain meds and the doctor continued with bad jokes saying first, "let me just make sure there aren't any more babies in there" and then asking "sure you don't want me to tie up any loose ends while I am down here".  To the last one I actually said yes...but he said, "no".

Next moment I can remember is waking up in the recovery room with my nurse checking my vitals.  I asked if I could see my daughter.  I then asked if it was in fact a daughter that I'd had and not just a dream.  She confirmed that it was in fact a girl and that I could see her once I was back in my room.

A few minutes later Jon strolled in all proud papa like.  Feeling drunk with the love of his first born or maybe just drunk he decided to be a jokester.

Me:  Hey...hey...is she okay.

Jon:  She's beautiful. And don't worry about the whole boy thing...doc says we can try again in like 8 weeks!

Thankfully...for him I was numb from the chest down so I couldn't physically get out of the bed and kick his ass.  However, my recovery nurse who was 3 months pregnant herself actually told Jon to, "go ahead and start running now...I'll give you a head start".

He left to go back to Hannah's side and I waited, albeit impatiently, for the moment when I could finally be properly introduced to my baby girl.

A few hours later I was rolled back to my room and in came the little lady of the day.

She was beautiful.  Absolutely captivating.  I was in love.  Everything that had taken place to get to this day just faded away.  I had my husband and two beautiful daughters...life, in this moment was perfection.

When we began making phone calls to announce our new baby we had a lot of "are you shitting me" and "no...come on...stop joking" to deal with.  Even my mom was blown away by the fact that we had absolutely NOTHING for a baby girl and rushed to buy something pink and frilly to bring home our newest family member home in.

Three days later we were heading home with our newly nicknamed Hannah "Banana" Michel Pettus.  I know...super original, right?  Well shortly after birth we noticed that she had jaundice so until we could do the sunlight treatments like the doctor prescribed we'd have a little Banana to love on.

I made Jon stop at the store because apparently my craziness hadn't stopped with delivery and I was intent on buying as much pink stuff for my new daughter as a woman who has just given birth can manage to get her hands on.  Once we got home this pretty little girl would be inundated in mass amounts of blue and Paddington Bear.  I needed something to break up the masculine undertones until I could feminine it up!!

Olivia got the first look at her baby sister when we arrived home.  She had gotten sick while I was "laboring" so we chose not to have her come to the hospital.  First thing she said when she saw her was, "hey wasn't she supposed to be a boy?"

Too tired to deal with another smart ass comment, even if it was from my 5 year old daughter I decided to just pop a pain killer and settle in to enjoy all the magic and mania that is being the mother of two girls....

~JP