Mwa ha ha haaaa!

Yeah I haven't written on here for oh... lets say about two years. I thought that what I was writing wasn't very interesting and I was intending to give it all up as a bad job. The only reason I am back on here writing is that my son, Knight, is up and won't go to sleep without a lot of crying and screaming. I would usually let him do this, but because my husband is trying to sleep so he can work early tomorrow, I decided to let the little squealer play and stay up late with me. So far he has played with his toys, the phone, my flip flops, my hair and shakes his head "no" when I suggest we go to bed. Interestingly, Knight doesn't pull on my hair when he plays with it. He just runs his little fingers through my long strait locks.

I'm not always intentionally up late at night. It's my son's fault. The saying that you never get a full nights rest ever again after you have kids is totally true. I think that sometimes these little angels are up there spying on us before we have them. I can just imagine them all together in a group, making bets on who is going to make their mommy cry first, or who is going to give their mommy a sleepless night, or who is going to spit up the most on their mommy or daddy. I can see them wringing their delicate little hands and giving that evil guy "mwa ha ha haaa" laugh that Disney seems to have every villain do.

Ever notice that in almost every Disney show out there, the bad guy almost always dies? I've come to realize that we and our kids watch that, and some kids come to expect some sort of tragic evil thing to someone that they consider "evil". "The Little Mermaid"- Ursula gets a pointy piece of a boat rammed into her gut. "Beauty and Beast"- Geston falls screaming from the top of the castle. "Tarzan" and "Oliver Twist"- Clayton and Sykes hang themselves. I think the most common way for a Disney villain to die is falling from some place high. It's that way with a lot of Fairy Tales, but Disney has integrated it into most of their stories that aren't even from Fairy Tales. I had a teacher in middle school, that some of us called the "Pregnant Leprechaun" because he was short and looked like he was preggers. Anywho, he wasn't very nice to some of us LDS kids, me included, and I remember looking at him sometimes and willing that fate would work it's justice and the "Pregnant Leprechaun" would meet his doom in some horrible, yet acceptable way. It never happened. It could be that he never had an evil laugh or sang a song about how evil he was, revealing his plans.

Thinking about it now, I've come to realize that my dad sort of has an evil chuckle. It's not mwa ha ha haaaa! It's silent. Over the years of teasing me and my siblings, especially me and my sisters, he refined it to be silent, so he could continue to tease us, getting us more and more angry, without his evil laugh giving himself and his intentions away. My dad would get us so riled up sometimes, that we would burst into tears, or into fits of swearing, or into a flurry of fits. My poor mother had to console us and tell my dad to knock it off because she was the one that had to deal with it. When she got mad, my dad would then work on her because back then, my mother wasn't in control of her temper towards my dad when he teased her. I later found out from some guys who had offended me and I had lost my temper with, that sometimes females become very appealing to their men when they are angry at them. I was floored. Really? You got me so mad that I don't want to touch or look at you, because you think I look hot when I'm pissed? My husband confirmed this later when I asked about it. Brian didn't admit to it in words, but with a sly, side smile.

But on to a more, less serious subject. Well it's late and I can't think of anything else. Besides I just got my son to bed and I'm going to sleep as much as I can. Yay, pacifiers! Mwa ha ha haaaa!

The Woes of Miscarriage

Don't worry, I don't plan to share all the nasty details of my miscarriage. I just was to get some things off my chest. I'm not blaming anyone, anything or pointing fingures.
Mother's Day was awesome this year. I found out I was prego (pregnant) and I was so close to heaven. Nothing could get me down. I wanted everything for my baby and I imagined everything they would do, what their name would be, what they would learn, the silly things kids get into or do that just brings tears to your eyes. My hopes were dashed when I experinced the most pain in my entire life. I stood up and I would go into labor. Brian had to carry me around. The pain pills I was given made me throw up. I couldn't sleep, eat drink, nothing but lay in bed or on the couch doing homework, which isn't very uplifting.
There are so many emotions that go through your head when something like that happens. When Brian and I got home from the doctors I stayed up all night. I didn't want to sleep. I was afraid of my dreams. I knew they would be nightmares. I had read somewhere that sleeping pills prevent REM cycles, the state in which you dream, and I was sourly tempted to take some. But we didn't have any and Brian would go get me any the pain pills made me sick and I didn't want any medicine anyway.
I want to thank everyone who helped me during that first week. Every little thing was a life saver. A week after the miscarriage I went about life as usual. I acted like nothing happened, I didn't talk about it, think about it, I just pretty much wanted to move on. It didn't last for long. That following weekend, Brian and I made arrangements to go hiking and rock climbing. We met up with some friends, went up the canyon and the first trail was wrong, but there was a prego lady there, walking around with her other kid and husband. I wanted to kick her. I had never felt such stupid violent rage before against another person, who was a stranger. Sorry siblings about the past rage, you raged back occasionally and it built character. Well after discovering the trail was wrong we went to another one, and it turned out to be right. Sure enough there was another prego lady there and I wanted to kick her in the stomach as well. "What the crap? What is wrong with me?" I asked myself in my head, becasue I do talk to myself in the head. It's just me that talks back. As other friends arrived, I remember one girl who made me so made, just because she was there. She had the EFY t-shirt on and acted all Molly Mormany on me and I hated her becasue of it. I thought I was righteous enough to have a kid, why couldn't I? Why did I lose my baby? I thought this girl was pretending to be better than me. I ostrasized her and I don't know if she felt the effects of it, but she did a little bit later. Afterwards my husband asked me what was wrong and I stated plainly that that girl hated me. He replied that she didn't even know me, but sure didn't feel love for me now. I started crying at this and the subject was dropped.
Later, my emotions and hormones led me to scream at the husband is such a way that frightened him. I dropped the f-bomb and let him really have it for every little thing that was bugging me recently, including his family, the state of Utah, his little habits, etc. Brian was drving when this outburst happened and he swerved in suprised. It took ten minutes until Brian could get a word in edgewise. I apologized later but I was suprised and I couldn't figre out what was wrong with me until my mom explained it. It was the hormones. It was like being on a period but times one hundred the PMS. Poor Brian.
After figuring this out, I was more cautious about my actions and words. I ignored the little things more, at least the little things Brian did. I found a book that explained exactly how I felt and I gave it to Brian to read. He didn't read it, but it put me in a better perspective. It even gave me some great lines to use on people who started telling me things like, "You'll get pregnant again," or "It was all for the best." These unseemingly hurtful comments would give me nightmares and created a wall between me and that person. After thinking about things I had some pretty awesome comebacks ready for them. The first was to start crying in earnist when they made a comment like that and I would start asking them, "What are you saying? Why would you say that?" That I felt was the best. The other was, "I'm sorry, I know you are concernd and trying to help, but telling me it was for the best is not what I need to hear right now. I'm grieving for the loss of my baby." That I used if crying failed. The other would be to be outright bold and rude. I figured if someone was stupid and insensitive enough to say something horrible like that to me, they didn't deserved to be thanked, or to be my friend during my difficult time. It was more effort than it was worth.
Keeping busy was an awesome way to get over "it" as some would put the miscarriage. It was something I learned from President Hinckley. I found when I was busy I didn't think depressing thoughts and I was usually exhauseted by the end of the day and I didn't have nightmares.
The best was talking. As in I talk you listen sort of thing. It helped the best, especially with my mom and my aunts. They listened and if they had an opinion they waited until I was done or asked and they usually had the right answers. I could figure out the whole husband non-super-crying-sensitive thing. It also helped me figure out what I was feeling and how to describe it. My mom, knowing what it's like and knowing me could tell me exactly what I felt when I described what I was going through. It was easier to tell Brian and explain to him why I would get so upset or sad or pissed at anything.
I'm now feeling a lot better. I am able to talk to my prego friends more and not hate them or my friends and family who had kids. I taught Primary and after the miscarriage I thought of going to my Bishop to get released because I didn't know if I could take another Sunday in a room full of kids, but then I realised I would have to face Relief Society and kids are generally ignorant, where as the Relief Society, they know everything. I didn't think I could stand being asked "How are you" every single moment, every single week. Plus I realized I love my small, quiet class of kids. They make me laugh and remember that life goes on and I will have a baby.
So in closing, the best thing to say to someone grieving a miscarriage, "I'm sorry," "Sorry for your loss," "I'm here if you need to talk," and "is there anything I can help you with?" Be careful with that last one, because you might have to help, but it'll be appreciated.

It's finally done

Karlee finally got married to Alex and all I can say is FINALLY! I remember when they first met and their first kiss and their dramatic arguments (that still go on today) and all that waiting for the other crap when Alex left on his mission. We all worked hard to push them through so they are finally together forever.
Well enough of that, Brian and I had a good time running around playing in Sheridan but we're happy to get home. Cause we can't stand sleeping on another waterbed, air mattress or the ground again. Our backs have slowly become crippled as we've slept on these different assortments or what people call "beds". Who the crap thought of these mattresses? Hey, lets go sleep on a plastic bag filled with water! Hey, lets go sleep on a plastic bag filled with air! They won't be too bad for our backs. We'll make enough money on these stupid mattresses that we can pay other people to fix our backs, screw the middle and lower class people. And the floor, isn't that what abused kids sleep on? I thought my parents actually liked me better than a red-headed step-child. I felt like Harry Potter at his horrible aunt's and uncle's.
Well the floor helps the back, I didn't sleep on the floor, Brian did and he quite enjoyed it. The only mistreatment we had was at the hotel we stayed at in Billings by the receptionist in the evening.
Anywho, moving on... guess what happened to Brian and I? Yeah you won't guess, you'll just keep reading. So at the start of our marriage, before I had Brian on a shorter leash, he went out and bought a projector. Not the little sleek nice ones. He bought Big Bertha. She weighs two-hundred pounds and is bigger than your average four-year-old child. If Big Bertha was a real kid I'd show her on as many tacky talk shows they have, including Operah . The fact is, Big Bertha, isn't alive but we still can't get rid of her. Brian grew sick of her and posted all the details of her largeness on some online classified add. We've had many come by and look at the freaky largeness of Bertha but so far no takers. Our favorite visiters were from Guatemala. They had a little car and were planning on loading it up and driving all the way back home... to Guatemala. We advised them not to because it was just plan strange and stupid. They called back and they got a bigger car so we might sell it to them because thats a step up from strange and stupid. It's now just plan strange. We'll give you details as events warrant.
Love you all... Daladna (russian for whatever).