Visiting.

My family has one talent that stands above the rest. We can talk.

Except,

we call it "visiting."

Visiting is the reason we start our gatherings as early as possible, and why we eat at two o'clock in the afternoon. Visiting is what we do before, during and after meals, and as late into the evening as possible.

Visiting is the only way we can catch up on someone's life in a small period of time.

And that's cool. Because we visit. It's why I love holidays. You might not see someone for two months, but now you have a chance to sit down and visit with them while you eat a delicious lemon cake! So we visit with Dave's family and then rush, rush, rush out to go to Missouri. And then visit with my family and then rush, rush, rush to head back to Illinois.

I despise the rush, but I love the visit.

So does Dave. He loves visiting. LOVES IT.

Feeling Coy.

I forgot my camera today. Again. I promised Aunt Liz that I would bring it so that she can finally get her hands on the super cute picture I took of her and her new boy, Coy. Yes, that is his name.

Anyway, the fam damnly finally had the opportunity to meet Coy on Easter. Yes, Aunt Liz chose to introduce him to us all at the same time on a big holiday. Wise move? Probably not.

You see, here's the thing about my family (dad's side). We are loud. Overwhelming, to say the least. We have loads of insides jokes and then we beat those jokes to death until we are so sick of hearing about Megan's six toes or where Nam Ma is buried that we just exhaust ourselves and take naps in front of everyone.

It's how we roll.

So, Coy had the pleasure of meeting the family and experiencing the jokes, the force-feeding ritual (grandma) and watch Lauren and Uncle Phil take naps in front of us all. I think Megan even started to fall asleep sitting straight up against the fire place.

He was asked for techology guidance when my dad couldn't figure out his new Mac (seriously). He was included in the jokes about six toes. He brought up Hooters in front of grandma. He does not have ear bumps.

I think he will do just fine.

Dave is Home.

See?

The Thrill of the Hunt.

Never before has the meaning of Easter meant so much to me. Never ever.

But while we try to drive the point home, at this point in time, EGGS and CANDY are the big sources of excitement for Hallie. Oh, and the Easter Bunny! She really wanted to talk on the phone to him to make sure he brought her something she really wanted. Weird.

He brought her the Barbie Potty Training Pups, by the way. Because he is a sucker.

Anyway, the weekend prior to Easter, we attended an annual easter egg hunt at a friend's house. It was a great time!

Dress for Success

What is so right about this outfit:

Slip
Holiday Socks - awesome!
Princess Bell Stripper Shoes

Awesome.

Mr. Wonderful

Max is short, fat and blonde. He has long eyelashes, hates to have his nails clipped and gets car sick. He also hates baths and hates it even more when people fight. He is fiercely loyal and not a great snuggler in bed.

Max is a dog.

And yet, he has more personality than most humans I know. He passed away this morning at 7:05am. He will certainly be missed.

I remember the day my roommate Sarah and I picked Max up. On a whim we decided that what our two-room, 3rd floor apartment needed was a dog. We thought it through long enough to throw on our hippie clothes and speed out to the pound. We originally picked out a black, curly-haired poodle puppy that was too cute for words. She was also too tiny to go home. We came back the next day (week?) and someone else had already adopted her.

We then set our sights on a teeny, tiny, kitten-sized yellow pup we named Golden. He howled the entire way home as we listened to the Grateful Dead with the windows down. I like to think he was singing along.

We got Golden home and let him enjoy our apartment by peeing in the corners while we pretended not to see. Because if you don't see it, then you don't have to clean it up. Ah, college. We took him with us wherever we went, minus class time. Although I think I remember tying him up outside so during class. Or maybe that was while we got coffee. Fuzzy details....

We renamed him Max after enduring some teasing from our friends, and after we realized what a stupid name that truly was. (It was after Golden Colorado, by the way - right Sarah?). Sarah came up with Max and it fit him very well. (After Where the Wild Things Are - right Sarah?).

Maxie enjoyed a pretty sweet life, although he definitely had to endure a lot of things that goes along with living with college students. Near the end of our junior year, we overheard the apartment maintenance guy talking about checking for pet hair with a black light. Yikes! So we shipped Max off to live with Brent a.k.a Haus a.k.a my Boyfriend who had graduated and was living in Kansas City.

He enjoyed a great life in Kansas City until the day that Brent and I broke up. I felt like a divorced parent, but did not permit Brent any visitation rights. Sorry about that. Sarah and I moved into a huge house on Hamilton Street and took on roommates to fill it up. Poor Max. He barked everytime someone went in and out of the house, which was almost constantly. Thank goodness for Patty.

But, it just wasn't working.

My parents ended up taking Max to live with them at the farm. What was to be a temporary solution ended up permanent. My parents, especially my dad, found Max to be the son or daughter they never had. He was their little buddy. And then when they split up, he was my dad's best friend and faithful companion.

My dad remarried in March of 2008 and Max's loyalties shifted. He fell in love with the girls of the house and would wait by the door or on top of the couch by the window until they came home. He still loved my dad, but apparently starting his life with two girls had ingrained him with a love of the ladies.

It's going to be strange to go to my dad's and not hear the annoying bark of Max. It's going to be sad for everyone who loved him. But he was a very sick little pup, and I know that God has a place for him on top of a couch, looking out of a window somewhere.

Max a.k.a Mr. Wonderful a.k.a Max The Wonder Mutt a.k.a Max the Magnificient
July 2001 - April 2, 2010

The New Addition.

A hampster. Sophie.

It was a moment of weakness. I had just found out I was probably going to have a miscarriage, and I was very vulnerable.

What was I thinking?

Luckily, Hallie loves Sophie (Anna too!) and wants to play with her all the time. Unluckily, Sophie is faster than lightening and has caused me to say quite a few curse words.

(doesn't she look like she's eating Sophie in that second picture?? Creepy!)

Wanna Buy a Ford Ranger?

Too bad. It's already sold.

I took all of these (really bad) pictures the evening we put Dave's truck up for sale. For those of you who don't know, Dave got a company truck (FREE!) from FLW, a company they do sound for year-round. It's got butt warmers, so I'm happy.

Anyway, we decided to put a sign in his truck and park it at some friend's house that gets great traffic. If that didn't work, we were also going to take pictures and list it on Craiglist.

Less than 24 hours later...sold. Go us!

Here are the terrible pictures. It was night time and the flash highlighted everything ugly on that truck. Not great sales pictures to be sure.

A Few Wednesdays Ago.

It was pretty chilly. Okay, too cold for me. But a little girl wanted to pretend it was warm, so I said yes. We had fun on the swings and even enjoyed a frosty popsicle on the front porch.

I was freezing.

A Post of Yesterday.

I am loving the longer days and the sun, sun, sun! We spent a lazy evening bumming around the pond and the front yard. We found almost 30 golf balls! Oh the fun we have at the Mason House.

Everything is so nice and green, and still only a sneak peek of the spring to come. This week the temperatures will be in the mid-upper-70's. gasp!

This means OFF with the trampoline cover and ON with a little blondie who loves to jump.

Part III

Yes, this is long. But this is the last part. I promise. I want to get this out and then move on.

I spent Friday night thinking I was over dosing from the two Vicodin. Not a great feeling when I was alone in the house with Hallie. No Dave. I couldn't sleep because my heart was pounding in my ears the entire night and my back suddenly felt like it was breaking in half. I couldn't get comfortable and the cramps were increasing.

I was burning hot and finally at 5:30am called Dave. Because, you know, he had to work. In Missouri. Great timing. He called his mom, who showed up with my four-year-old niece (sorry!) and they went to the couch to wait for Hallie to wake up. I was really, really feeling bad. I mean, BAD, and called my dad at 6am and told him to get in the truck and get here now. And he did. No questions. Just drove.

He rolled in around 9-ish, took one look at me and asked where he could find a themometer. I was at 102.7 and realized that I had started bleeding. A lot. We called the doctor, who told me to head to the ER to do blood work and other tests to see if there was infection and to make sure they had gotten everything on Wednesday.

The entire time, I honestly thought I had just overdone it with the cleaning and company Friday night. I was sure I would get there and they would tell me it was normal and fine and to go home and rest. I was wrong.

As it turned out, they did NOT get everything on Wednesday. And on top of that, I had a lovely infection too. I was overjoyed. They wanted to get me into another D&C right away. I couldn't believe this was happening. Dave was gone and not due home until 8pm that night. I still can't believe it. Thank goodness my dad was there, and I had friends texting me and praying for me the entire time.

They did another D&C, but because I had eaten a damn granola bar at 10am, they had to do general anesthesia and shove a tube down my throat. I woke up and this time could feel the pain. No spinal block to help me forget there were lots of things hurting in there. I got to feel it all. And I was exhausted. My wonderful friends and mother-in-law came by to see me, and by 6pm I was begging to go home. And I do mean begging. If I was going to be in pain, I wanted to be in pain at home.

So we picked up different pain medication and headed on home. And when Dave walked in the door at 7pm (a whole hour early!), I felt myself finally relax. We again snuggled up on the couch until I just had to sleep. And so sleep, I did.

I woke up and just felt pain. Cramps, oh the cramps. I tried to not take the maximum amount of pain medication and quickly realized there was no sense in that. So I maxed it out that entire day, and I am serious when I say that it only slightly touched the pain. I was in bed by 7pm that night and slept until 11am the next day. I felt like I had a cloud over my head that entire day.

And then by that night I started feeling better.

And then better.

And better.

And today I am even better. Emotionally, still a bit raw. But we are moving on and looking forward to trying for a baby again. The three-month wait seems like forever, but it's just a drop in the bucket compared to everything we have been through up to this point.

This whole experience feels like it did not actually happen. Every time I look at the huge bruise on my hand from my first IV, I'm surprised. Like, wow. It all really did happen. I lost a baby, endured two surgeries and I am okay. I made it through and now it's time to move on.

I'm glad to write this out. It's not something I will ever forget and never want to forget. I have read stories on other blogs about women who I admire's miscarriages and trials similar to what I have gone through. Reading their stories made me realize that I wanted to write out my story too. So I did, and here it is.

Part II

Whew.

So we went back in on March 16th. I had cramped during the week, but nothing out of the ordinary. I thought a few times that the miscarriage was beginning, but it didn't. We showed up at the doctor's office a bundle of nerves, but we were in good spirits, even joking around.

They got us right in and you could see there was no growth. And this time, there was no heartbeat. I was strangely calm and we just talked about options. He scheduled our D&C for the next day (so quick!) and we headed over to the hospital to do bloodwork and meet with the anesthesiologist. The rest of the day went by really quickly and it seemed like it was time for the surgery before I was actually ready for it.

We arrived at the hospital, and I got changed. They gave me warm blankets...I was shivering underneath that stupid tiny gown. I was a mess of hormones. I felt like I could cry at anything. I felt like the nurses were all giving me pitying looks and it just all seemed too much. They finally wheeled me back to pre-op, to give me my IV and ask me for the hundredth time what my birthday was. It's March 11th by the way. It was a really fun birthday. Not.

I was going pretty good, but it was taking a long time for the doctor to show up. I must have been pretty chatty, because they asked me a few times if I wanted sedation. I did not, thank you very much. The nurse knew my husband and said how sorry she was that we were going through this. And then I cried. Just a little. And then I got control.

The doctor arrived and they took me back. I could taste something sort of metallic when they gave me the la-la-land drugs, and I remember leaning forward to do the spinal block. And that's IT. So long, farewell. Keri had left the building.

I woke up and asked immediately for Dave. The brought him in right away (thank goodness) and we sat together while I waited for my butt to stop being numb. I couldn't leave until I peed and I couldn't pee until I could feel my butt. All I wanted to do was be at my home. Just get me home.

It took FOREVER, and I finally just said I could feel enough and to please help me stand up. I almost bit the dust a few times, but I finally settled onto the potty and....about 10 minutes later I think my body just felt sorry for me and did it. Thanks, body.

They ripped out my IV (ouch) and taped it so tight I looked at Dave like - UGH. But then we were out the door (in a wheelchair) and headed home. Or, CVS for medicine, Subway for supper and THEN home. I was starving, by the way. They didn't let me have clear liquids after 6:30am and my surgery was at 2pm. God bless Dave, he set his alarm at 6:15am and brought me a bowl of jello. And then I snuck two spoonfuls at 8:30. I'm such a rebel.

So I got home and snuggled up to Dave on the couch. I was still pretty numb, so I was feeling pretty good. I went to bed early and only had minimal cramping the next day. As the week went on, I was feeling really good. I took it easy until Friday, when I decided to clean my house for some friends who were coming over to keep me company. I wore my stupid self out. I was wiped out when they were here and just started feeling pretty crampy.

So I took two vicodin that night. Hey - that's allowed!

But then things got really bad. Awesome.

A Post I'm Not Sure I Want To Post.

(I decided all caps was better than no caps for the title. Do you agree?)

This is a pretty hard post to write. I'm going to go ahead and compose it and then see if I actually push to publish at the end.

Part I:
Dave and I decided last March that we were ready to expand our family. Give Hallie someone to beat up on and adore. We had it timed perfectly so that the baby would be born late fall/early spring. Much better than smack-dab in the middle of summer, which is Mason Sound crazy time. Which is when we had Hallie, ha ha.

So we tried. And tried. And TRIED. I mean, I recorded my temperature daily, knew when I was ovulating, timed things perfectly and...nothing. At this point I knew WAY too much about cervial mucus and cycle days and...yeah. Now, Dave's schedule didn't help the process much. We might have one or two good days a month. One month we had zero chance. And I get that.

But damnit, I was impatient. I wanted a sweet baby to hold and adore and watch Hallie be the big sister she has always wanted to be. It just was not meant to be, I suppose.

Until...

February 8th. At last. At LONG last. Pregnancy. I found out I was pregnant 10 days after my LMP, so pretty darned early. So it was going to be a long pregnancy, and that's okay. We were thrilled. I mean, I was over the moon, thrilled. We started telling a few people. I just couldn't resist telling the people that had been along for this ride with me. And ultimately, I'm glad we did.

March 8th. We showed up for the first ultrasound. So excited and nervous! I had been feeling cramping and just like something might just be not right. I think it's normal to be nervous, but....

Anyway, I had the wrong date. Appointment wasn't until tomorrow. Awesome.

March 9th. Appointment. Dave and I chatted while we waited for the doctor. Laughed during the obligatory pap and then got quiet when the sonogram started. And right away I could see. I should have been 7 weeks 2 days. I knew when I ovulated. I knew when I conceived. And the baby was not as big as it should have been I could tell right away. In fact, it was measuring at 6 weeks 2 days.

And that's not all. I had a large hemmorhage in my uterus, which caused an awful lot of blood to form on the left side.

And that's not all. The placenta wasn't attached but for forty percent. And that's when I knew it wasn't going to be a viable pregnancy.

But there was a heartbeat. Very faint. Slow. So faint they couldn't pick it up on the microphone. But because there was a heartbeat, we scheduled an appointment for a week later to check to see if there was any growth.

The rest of the day was a complete blur. I was a wreck. I had to call my mom and tell her. She didn't even know I was pregnant at that point. I was going to surprise her on my birthday when she came in. That was a tough phone call. We had to tell friends and family and ask for prayers. Not all hope was gone, but the doctor had basically laid it out there and told us to prepare ourselves.

In my heart I knew it was over.

Coming Soon.

New posts. I promise.

This Week.

This is my birthday week, so I have decided to take a break from the blog for this week.

Happy birthday to me!

Reckless Driving.

I hope this is not a sign of what's to come.

I mean...the outfit, yes.

But driving while on the cell phone? Just plain dangerous.

Hallie, it's time to hang up.

Both hands on the wheel, please!!!

Chef Snow White

Can you believe I finally found my camera cord??

I was dreading blogging, because I'm a girl of few words. Less words, more pictures - that's my motto!

So this morning I thought - okay. that is it. I have to find this darned camera cord. I was literally on my hands and knees in my office. Searching.

I found it. Finally. In the same place I had searched a million times before.

Of course.

Monday Meal Plan (March 1 - whatever).

I feel like I have nothing to blog about. We have been busy hanging out with friends, cleaning up the house and soaking up the time with Dave until he starts getting busy again...like, Tuesday.

Blah.

But for now, here's what we have cookin' this week (not much!):

Today: Crockpot Brown Sugar Chicken (new recipe!)

Tuesday: Stromboli

Wednesday: leftovers

Thursday: Casey's Pizza

Friday: nothing. I have an artshow, so it's fend for yourself.