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Category Archives: me

Halloween Costumes & Presents

We finally tried on the costumes. By “we” — I mean “the kids” tried on their costumes, cuz Mama don’t dress up.

As you can see, the costumes are adorable.

And the costumes seem to fit well.

Now to the “presents” part of my title. My birthday is next month and it’s kind of a big one (25) — so my wonderful, adorable, great husband has decided that buying me presents now is a good idea, as well as buying me presents then.

Do I mind this? Hell to the no. I do not mind.

This is what I got yesterday:

Isn’t it PRETTY? You know what it is? It’s a model of the solar system. In the form of a bracelet.

I’m a geek, and I embrace it.

Apparently, so does my husband.




Last weekend sucked. I got into a fender bender (my car is totally fine, the other car? Not so much.), I ended up sleeping all day on Sunday, but there was this wonderful, fantastic silver lining: I found out I was pregnant. Which means that all the suckiness floated away. It was such a great feeling to find out that I was going to have another baby. 

But something felt wrong.

I was excited. I was happy. But I didn’t feel pregnant. I felt, well, empty inside.

I took pregnancy test after pregnancy test until Wednesday, which were all positive, and then I thought to myself, “Everything is fine. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, apparently.

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon in the hospital. I lost the baby.

Although the Doctor kept saying that my pregnancy had been non-existent.

Over and over and over again: Non-existent pregnancy.

In other words: I was pregnant and now I’m not. Not sure how to classify that, other than a miscarraige.

They did ultrasounds, HCG tests. Everything. Everything pointed to my baby being lost.

Although that’s not what they call it, it still feels like a loss.

I cried all day yesterday. Today, though, I’ve decided that I can’t cry anymore. I can’t continue to cry over it and expect to actually get through it. 

So, today, although I feel a staggering amount of loss, I am vowing to focus on the things outside my body. The beauty of things around me, and, of course, my beautiful babies that I have here with me. 

Today, that’s what I have to do. 


My husband helped me pick out the mop.

Maybe it’s because his Mama raised him right. Or because he spent 100 years as a bachelor. Either way, my husband is REALLY good at picking out certain household items.

He’s also picky, but this post isn’t about that.

Everytime I need something (a new mop, a blender, etc.) I take him with me to pick it out.

Except last week, when I bought our new mop. Our house was disgusting and I didn’t want to wait for McHusband to come home from work, so I just popped into the Wal-Marts for a mop.
If you haven’t picked out a new mop in a while, there is something you must realize: mops nowadays SUCK. They all have those interchangeable heads and cost eleventybillion dollars.

So, I saw one for 8$, with a microfiber head, and thought, Yeah, perfect. Nuh-uh. Not perfect.

The first time I used it, I realized two things very quickly: 8$ mops suck, and, McHusband was going to absolutely loathe this mop (what? he mops).

He did. Today he used it, cursing under his breath the whole time about the outright suckiness of the mop.

Next time, I’m just sending him to the store alone to brave the eleventybillion dollar other crappy mops.

Because I may be a woman, but I’m not made for this crap.


I finished a book this morning that made the case for Anti-Feminism. Basically, almost reverting back to the 50’s. Which makes most women absolutely cringe.

It makes me cringe, but not because I’m all “I am woman – hear me roar!” but because my husband works a job where he is gone for a week or two at a time, only getting six days off when he is home, and then leaving again. It’s the nature of living in Wyoming. That’s how it is.

That sucks. I mean, absolutely, completely, sucks. 

Because I’m always the bad guy. I never get to greet my husband at 6 PM, smiling, ready to get a few minutes to sit in the corner with a cosmo while the children jump all over my darling husband.

No, instead, I’m the one that’s flipping my shiznit when my husband walks into the house after two weeks, with a bag full of laundry and dirty boots. I’m the one that is clawing at the door the next day, ready to get some me time without a kid following me to the bathroom and asking about pooping, for the hundred millionth time that day. I’m the one that is jumping in to the car and jet-setting an hour away to the nearest Starbucks so that I can just sip a coffee drink that I didn’t have to make myself or smell-test the milk of, because I haven’t made it to the grocery store yet. (And this is only with two kids, what the hell-o is wrong with me that I’d want at least two more?!?! Oh right, baby smell. That’s totally not the only reason. Although, it may be. I’m still unsure.)

So, in order for us to be able to afford my husband finding a job where he not only gets to come home to his darling wonderful superwoman wife, I have to get a job. It’s not because I “want” to (although I must admit, seeing other grownups consistently would be nice, but then I remember that I’m majoring in EDUCATION, to like, teach and stuff. What is wrong with me?) it’s because I have to, so The Husband can come home every night. 

I mean, he is missing out on his children. I have to tell him what’s going on when I talk to him at night, after the children are in bed.

Back to the book. I agree with the basic sentiment of the book. Women are happier when they take care of their own children. I don’t agree with everything the public school system teaches children, so it makes me nervous to even think about sending my kiddos there. Etc, etc, etc.

I don’t agree that children are irreparably harmed by going to day care, even from a young age. I don’t believe that children are harmed emotionally or any other way by having their mothers work outside the home.

I’ll be honest, my children have been to daycare twice, for only three-four month spans. So, a total of about 8 months, and they are five and four.

I’m moving on to the big, bad University in August, where I will be finishing out my BA in Secondary Education. (I’m bragging, ahem, sorry). I have mentioned before that I plan on having more children. Mostly because my womb is begging me, pleading with me, crying into my pillow every night, “Have more children, dang it! I’m DYING here!” Uh, ahem, moving on.

I am already feeling guilt.

I can’t stop going to school for four years again. It took me 3 years to get an AA — I can’t do that with my BA. I have to get a job in the next few years, or my children are going to miss out on their dad, and their dad is going to miss out on them, which they already are. That sucks.

But, then, I have friends that tell me that by going to school, I’m being selfish. By planning on working, I’m being selfish.

I think of adorable, tiny babies crying when I leave them at daycare (I know, it hasn’t even happened yet) and I already feel the guilt begin to settle.

And it’s overwhelming. 

The guilt of me not being able to take care of my own children because I married someone almost twice my age that wasn’t prepared for children.

The guilt of having my children when I was 18 & 19 years old because I couldn’t wait any longer, and setting up my future children to have to be away from their mommy.

The guilt of not doing more than I have to prepare. To think ahead.

I thought I was over wanting more children.

I thought I was happy with my small family, the way it is.

Then, last year, it hit me that I wanted more, that I wished for more.

I feel guilt from that too, that I’m not happy with just two. I need more.

Today, I feel guilty.

And I’m not sure what to do about it.

Because I’m not facing any of the problems that I’m feeling guilty over, yet. I’m not even there, yet. And still, there’s the guilt.

Raring it’s ugly head and staring it’s beady little red piercing eyes in to my soul and whispering in to my ear, You aren’t good enough for them. What are you thinking? You are a horrible, horrible mother. You are setting your children up for failure. 

Of course, I went to daycare as a young child (technically, more of a “family member” type daycare, I still call the daycare provider “Mama”) and I turned out swell. What? I totally did.

Ok, maybe not.

No, I’m sure I did.

My husband? Is totally crazy.

I’m baby crazy. Seriously. To begin with, I probably have 1000 diapers right this second, packed away in a box, waiting to be used. I also have over 20 packages of wipes. My husband has gotten pretty used to me asking for a baby something or another if I find something on sale. Today I found these:

For a whole $1.74 (Amazon price: $3.99) at Smiths. There were only four left (bummer) because I *LOVE* these little packages. They have smaller-than-travel sized baby stuff in it, which I throw in the diaper bag so that I have all of it on hand.

In any event, our conversations on baby stuff goes this way:

Me: Oh! Oh! Oh! *insert girly squeal* I really, really want to get this. Can I get this? Please?
Husband: What is it?
Me: *insert some baby something here*
Husband: But, do we need it?
Me: It’s on sale! Look — $500000000* off! What a steal!
Husband: Well. Ok, grab it.
Me: You know, we’re not even pregnant.
Husband: Yeah, I know.
Me: You are so awesome.
Husband: Yeah, I know.

He may be crazy awesome. But me? I’m just crazy.


*I have never found ANYTHING for  $500000000 off retail price. Yet.

Hello, again, doll.

So, I’m consolidating my coupon, political and life blog back here, because I just realized (after biting off more than I could chew) that I can’t do what I wanted to do….yet. Things need to settle, life needs to get a little less crazy, and then (HOPEFULLY!) things will go back to the way it was.

Things I don’t like.

  • Signs that say “Warning: Falling Rocks”.
  • People that drive under the speed limit in the fast lane.
  • People that run into your shopping cart with theirs, like it’s a bumper car arena or something.
  • Not knowing a word that I need to use and then remembering it when I forgot why I needed it.
  • Forgetting something in the car when I go into my house or a store.
  • Having an arm-full of groceries at the front door when my keys are in my front pocket.
  • Not having time to read.
  • People that are loud in a library.
  • When bookstores are crowded.
  • The dark.
  • Having to wait for things.
  • Not owning my own home/farm/ranch/cows.
You’re welcome.