Christmas from Asia

The last couple weeks have been a whole bunch of crazy. There have been ups and downs... as is life, isn't it? Since I am a woman, I like to blame the vast majority of my madness on my lady business. I mean, men think we're crazy, why not use it to our advantage? Am I right? Even though I think I am entitled to a little crazy now and then, I think a lot of people are giving me much more credit than I deserve.

A lady in my neighborhood, whom I'm told is dealing with her own demons anyway, has been overheard telling people how horribly I'm doing. I've spent a grand total of maybe ten minutes with this woman, but she knows me well... or at least she thinks she does. A friend of mine, whom this lady told I was doing so badly, assured her that I am fine. I'm more than fine... I'm doing pretty well considering the circumstances. She was insistent that I am not. 

So, yeah, Husband is deployed and this is our first Christmas apart. We've been married almost seven years so it's actually kind of a miracle we've skated it this long. Birthdays and anniversaries have been missed as well as a few less important (to me) holidays over the course of our marriage. This might be my first Husband-less Christmas, but it's not my first rodeo.

Luckily because Husband is in Asia instead of the desert, we can FaceTime everyday. We DO FaceTime everyday. The kids get to see him often enough that we don't really miss too much. Husband also got to watch our entire Christmas present-opening extravaganza this morning as you can see above (while I tried to get as many pictures amidst the chaos as possible). I had to stick The Wee in his high chair to save him from attacking Daddy until the big boys were done and then I opened all his presents for him because he didn't give a crap. Husband wasn't there physically, but he was there. He saw everything. He laughed at Bean's reactions and tried to get Cakes' attention when he started wandering or spacing out. He sent me a few things that I opened with just he and I alone in my bedroom, too. One of which was this...

It's a bracelet with puzzle pieces (signifying Cakes' autism, as does the autism awareness bracelet below it) that says "Warrior Mom". I opened it and I cried. He told me that I deserved it and that I was an amazing mom... which is something that, honestly, I long to hear most days when I'm running on empty. Even though I do run on empty sometimes, it doesn't mean I'm incapable. It doesn't mean I'm simply enduring instead of living. Sometimes I'm just exhausted being both mom and dad, but I really wish people would stop assuming that I'm doing so horribly.

There have been people who've lifted my spirits in small ways and I appreciate them more than they can know. I've had a couple people insist on taking my kids so I could have a night off. I've had the snow shoveled from my driveway. I've had treats delivered to my door on several occasions and every single one of them was both needed and appreciated. These little acts of kindness are what keep my spirits up and, in fact, keep me doing better than just "okay". Did I scream into my couch cushion a couple mornings ago when Bean was stressing me out? Absolutely. Twice. But sometimes, something like that is all I need to feel better.

I'm still human; I still need to complain sometimes or cuss at bad drivers or scream into my couch cushions, but I will persevere every single time. I might be a little bit crazy (I think most military spouses are to some degree), but I'm still kicking ass and taking names. What I'm trying to say is, don't underestimate me. Don't underestimate people like me. I'm doing better than you may think (or even more than my late night facebook statuses portray me to be) and even though I miss Husband more than I can even put into words, I will still run over a stroller any day of the week if I have to, to show you who's boss. Run and tell that.

The Wee turns ONE!

This was me about 11 months ago. There was a whole lot of baby in that belly. I have to thank my dear friend Jessica of Gertie Lu Photography for capturing me this way. I don't know how she did it because I did not look like that all the time. Hardly ever for that matter. I was usually wearing sweat pants, one of Husband's shirts, no bra and had food stains on my belly looking entirely disheveled. It's how I roll.

The Wee was a dude we waited awhile for. Husband traveled 200+ days a year from August 2009 to this July as he was on the maintenance crew of The Thunderbirds. He went to airshows anywhere from 5 days a week to six full weeks from March to November every year. Because of all this traveling, it made it hard to think about having babies, let alone conceive them. Not only that, but Husband was the only dude on the team who did his specific job during the vast majority of his three years with them which meant he had to go to every show whether he wanted to or not. Once he found out he had a counterpart arriving by the end of the 2011 season to assist him, we decided it was time.

Luckily for us, I'm friggin' fertile as they come. I removed my birth control March 7th and found out I was pregnant March 22nd. Yeah. True story. So, thus began my pregnancy journey, more or less alone. I knew I wouldn't have Husband home a lot, but that didn't make it any easier with what were then a four-year-old and and almost three-year-old. My pregnancy was rough. I had contractions starting at about 20 weeks and they went through all the way until the day I had him.

The Wee was a STUBBORN baby. He was breech (aka his bum was stuck in my pelvis) for almost all of the third trimester. I tried some weird stuff to get him to flip around. I laid with my butt on the couch and my head on the ground upside down whilst icing The Wee's head where it was positioned in my ribs because my doctor told me that it'd make him turn head down. Um... yeah... all that did was give me some insane contractions and I'm pretty sure I could hear tiny, maniacal laughing inside my stomach. My doctor also suggested I tried acupuncture on my feet because that apparently helps the baby turn, too. Well, it didn't.

I had all my babies at 38 weeks. My doctor knew this and was worried that since The Wee was not flipping around and since I was also dilated to a four at 37 weeks, Doc decided to do a manual aversion. Basically, from the outside of my stomach, they flipped The Wee head down. They gave me a spinal to do so just in case it put him in distress and they needed to do an emergency C-section. That crap felt WEIRD. Even though I had a spinal, I could still feel the two doctors performing the aversion squeezing the ever-loving shiz out of my stomach as well as The Wee slithering from one position to another. I was a little bit loopy at this point and I remember saying "Have you guys seen Alien? It feels like that's what's going on with my stomach right now, dude! Something wild is going to pop out of there!"  I'm cool. Now you know at least one very good reason why I don't drink.

All went well with the aversion though and I hoped they'd just induce me then so that he wouldn't flip back around, but they made me wait until my 38 week mark to do so. The morning I hit 38 weeks, my doctor called me and told me to come to L&D to have my membranes stripped. If you don't know what it is, you're lucky. That shiz is PAINFUL. Not only did she do it once, she did it twice within ten minutes. Awful. Freaking. City. She checked me again before I left and said I was maybe dilated to 4.5 and said to come back if I had any close contractions later that day and that if I did, she'd just admit me anyway to make sure The Wee didn't try to flip the wrong way again.

We were stationed in Las Vegas at that point and my parents lived about 6-7 hours from us. My mom and one of my sisters drove down after I told them about my morning just in case I went into labor because they were going to sit with my other two boys while I was at the hospital. About an hour before they arrived, I went to the grocery store to get a few things I needed. I figured the walking around couldn't hurt anyway. As I'm pacing the grocery store with my cart, I start contracting. I'm talking awful contractions. I was already there, though, and I wasn't leaving without my needed items because I'm stubborn like that. I'd stop every 6 minutes and bend over while holding the cart and moan louder than some people probably liked. I got some weird looks and I got asked if I needed an ambulance at some point. I just waved and yelled "I'M GOOD!" and would keep going once the contraction wore off. I pushed my cart to my car and then screamed as I loaded my groceries into my trunk. I can only imagine being a witness to this madness... typing it right now sounds pretty freaking hilarious as I recall how it may have been for a bystander.

I finally got home and called my doc to see if I should come in at which point I was told yes. My mom and sister were still not there, so my rad neighbor took my boys until they arrived. Because they don't let you eat at the hospital while you're in labor, I stopped at Jack in the Box on the way to the hospital with Husband. I chowed down in discomfort and moaned/screamed my way all the way up to L&D.

Once we arrived, I was admitted and was definitely dilated quite a bit more than I when I was there earlier. Once my doc arrived, I was told I had to wait until I got to a 7 before I could get my epidural. My anesthesiologist, as it turned out, was married to a lady who went to my high school, but was like 5 years older than me. So, we talked about that and cupcakes. Retro Cupcakes to be exact. If you're ever in Las Vegas... EAT THEM. They will melt your face. Once my epidural was done, however, I dilated to a ten VERY quickly.

Six hours after my arrival to the hospital, I had The Wee at 11:36 PM. 7 lbs 10 oz and 20 inches long. It was funny because my sister text me like 5 minutes after I gave birth to ask how things were going and I replied "I just pushed that dude out a few minutes ago. Updates soon.". She was pretty shocked that I'd responded when I was still being cleaned up from all that mess. Meh, whatever.

So this brings me to today...

The Wee is ONE today! This dude is, by far, my chillest baby. He's happy all the time and he is a major smarty pants. I am constantly impressed by how rad he is. This picture was taken yesterday, so it is the most recent portrayal of the cuteness that is The Wee. I love him bad. I know that's not grammatically correct, but I don't care. It's how much I love him.

I'm sad that Husband couldn't be here to partake in his first birthday, but we had cake last weekend in which Husband was able to witness via FaceTime. God bless Steve Jobs and his Appley friends. So grateful for the technology that makes all this happy junk possible. So, Happy Birthday WEEEEEE!!! We love your whole little face!!

Holy. Crap.

Bean is terrified of the dark. We've only lived at our current residence since August, so I think he's still getting used to the fact that he not only has a new bedroom, but that he no longer shares it with Cakes like he did at our last house. He's actually asked for bunk beds several times because then Cakes can sleep with him again and keep him company. We'll only be here until next August, so I'm just hoping that he'll get to the point where it's not a big deal.

Since Husband left, Bean has found his way upstairs (his room is in the basement) and into my bed on several occasions when he's had a bad dream or heard a weird noise. He sleeps like a freaking crazy person, so I've grown accustomed to starting my nights out with a pillow laying vertically next to me so that if he does get in my bed, he only kicks the pillow instead of me. It's not ideal, but it's better than getting throat chopped by a little foot.

Usually when Bean does come upstairs though, he is loud. He's a stomper and he stomps wherever he goes, but especially when he's tired. Plus his stomping usually includes a loud, whiny "Moooooom! I had bad dreeeeeeams!!!!". Last night, however, was different.

Around 5:30 this morning, The Wee started crying from his crib. He's slowly getting better about sleeping through the night, so this is about the time he wakes for a new diaper and a bottle. I usually lay there for a couple minutes trying to get the motivation to tend to him. This morning as I laid there trying to gain said motivation, I open my eyes only to see Bean wide-eyed and inches from my face, staring me down. I jumped out of my bed quicker than I think I have ever jumped out of it in my life. He scared the CRAP out of me. I stood there next to my bed for a second watching him as he continue to lay there silently staring at me. I was too stressed out to make sure he was breathing in that moment, so I ran to make The Wee's bottle.

As I'm making sure The Wee is taken care of, Bean starts chanting in a weird, monotone voice, "Five. Two. Seven. Five. Two. Seven." at which point I almost lost it. I literally thought, "I should stop watching American Horror Story because I'm fairly certain my son is now possessed.". I walk into my room slowly to see what he's doing. He's facing the clock as the time changes. He now starts chanting "Five. Two. Eight. Five. Two. Eight.". It was just the time! 

Holy. Crap. I don't know how he not only made it upstairs quietly, but climbed into bed without me noticing. Consider this the scariest morning I've had in a LONG time.

Well, here we are...

I have this problem where I'm an over-poster on facebook and I think that at least half my friends list has me hidden from their news feed. I needed a place to say what the heck it is I'm thinking about right now for people who may feel the same way. I'm going to have a plethora of subjects to (more than likely) complain about, but in one of those upbeat ways that will perhaps help people relate. Or you know... not. Either way, here it is in all it's glory. Hot, right? Right.

So, I may as well introduce myself and the folks I'll be speaking about frequently.  Me... I'm the Rachie. In reality, I really freaking hate it with a fiery passion when people I don't know and/or don't like call me Rachie. Consider it a privilege to refer to me in such a manner (because I'll probably tell you to stop otherwise). I'm an unconventional military wife of the LDS persuasion. I like to use substitute cuss words when I'm not actually cussing my face off. I'm a mom of three super cute dudes and I'm a little bit out of my mind. Some people think I'm funny. I find that that's only true when I'm not trying.

Husband. He's in the air force and he's rad as crap. Is crap rad? I don't know. Just know I love him a whole bunch and he melts my face. He's currently deployed until next fall somewhere in Asia. Where in Asia? Wouldn't you like to know.

Bean. He's my eldest child. He's in kindergarten and he is a character. He says some of the most random stuff that is almost always good for a laugh. He's got a temper, but when he's lovey, he loves hard. He makes me want to punch kittens a lot of days, but I wouldn't trade him for anything.

Cakes. He's the second dude of three. He has a super power as far as I'm concerned. Most people may disagree... society calls him autistic. I call him my hero. He has amazed and shocked me more than any one soul has.

The Wee. He's a mega chubby baby guy. He's wants to party like a grown man, I've come to find. He's all up in everyone's business and walking around like being a baby was so five minutes ago. People don't say that anymore; I'm bringing it back. I like to smooch his chunky cheeks and I'm excited to see what kind of crazy junk he'll come up with the bigger he gets.

My family is my life and I will fight to the death for them. Here I will be word vomiting as I see fit and if you feel like indulging in my nonsense... take a seat. Enjoy.