Old Junk and Chickens

It was a hot week, but since Maisie can't swim for another week due to her healing wounds, we had to find other ways to fill our afternoon.  I've always loved Little House on the Prairie replicas and Winterset happens to have one.  

Basically 7 or 8 little sheds made to look like a pioneer village.  We packed our bikes, a scooter and a picnic. 

As we made our way through the little buildings, Jayson kept repeating, "There' so much old junk around here, not gonna lie" after each statement, Molly swore she saw a spirit sitting in the train depot AND through the windows of the old mansion, and the free range chickens would not leave us alone.

Especially this one.

For a girl who loves farm animals, poultry kinda freaks her out.

She ate standing on the picnic table.

Jayson just shrugged his shoulders, said, 'oh whatever' and took another bite.

We've decided to stick with goats.

 

The School Year Is Not Normal Time

 Looking back on texts from the school year from Jayson's speech therapist got me feeling like 😳.

Appendixes and Ambulances

We were supposed to be camping this weekend.  Molly and I had made our lists and were finalizing the menu. 

Maisie had been complaining of a tummy ache since Monday, which we attributed to some swallowed river water or stomach bug.  

When her pain didn't go away and became more localized, I decided to take her to the walk-in clinic before the weekend hit.  After all, it could be her appendix.

Even if it was her appendix, Dr's have been taking those things out for ages, so no bigs.  

We went home without knowing the exact problem but would check back with the doctor the next day if things got worse.  

That night was rough, so I took her back to the clinic the minute they re-opened in the morning.  

They sent us to the ER for a CT scan which we didn't realize would take 2 hours to prep for.  It's all about this orange drink that makes your insides light up.  3/4 cup every 30 minutes.  But even after that, we had to wait for a surgeon at Mercy to read the results and call back with a diagnosis and plan.

Appendicitis is was.  

I asked if I could transport her to Mercy Des Moines myself, but due to her IV and other legal mumbo jumbo, they frowned upon my idea.  

And for the record, I beat the ambulance to the hospital.  I didn't even speed.  

Once I parked I could see the EMT unloading her in the hospital garage. Naturally, I made a beeline through the parking lot in cracked sandals trying to meet up to her.  Just as I reached the doors, they began shutting and I didn't want to risk getting trapped in the hospital ambulance garage by ducking in.  

I can't even imagine what the landscaping lady trimming the rose bushes thought as I trudged through the landscaping rocks and bushes to make it to the legit ER entrance. 

If only I had driven her to Mercy in the morning instead of the dang walk-in clinic.  Hindsight.

Maisie was actually excited about the adventure.  The room service, ambulance ride, heated blankets, and wheelchair rides were all quite luxurious.  

Her pain had subsided by this point, which was great for her, but made everyone else a little concerned.  

With appendixes, they call this the 'honeymoon stage,' usually meaning the appendix has ruptured.

She talked to Molly, Jayson, and Grandma on the phone and I could hear Jayson saying, "I hope you don't DIE" through the phone.

In the pre-op room, we learned the surgeon thought it was "busted."

I looked at Mike, 'Wait, did he say 'Busted'? (I couldn't be sure as he had a thick Indian accent). Then he said it again. Regardless of the severity of this potential outcome, I giggled at the word, 'busted.' To hear it in a pre-op room, from an experienced and respected surgeon, and in a strong accent caught me off guard. Perhaps when your listening to a doctor tell you this could be a 4-6 week in-the-hospital situation if it's "busted," your mind looks for humor?

That's about the time they tell you it's time for hugs and kisses before they take her.  Cue enormous ball in throat while holding it together at all costs.  This was nowhere near the severity of Ross' pre-op setting where Mike and I huddled around him praying prior to 'hugs and kisses time' but lack of sleep the night before and that darn "potential risk" speech from the surgeon didn't help.

And when a 30-60 minute surgery takes 80+ minutes, you have plenty of time to wonder why the human brain is capable of playing such nasty tricks on a person.

Surgery was a success and the appendix was not "busted," just enlarged, inflamed and angry.

Currently, her only pain is the incisions.  

Mainly the one in her belly button.  

She asked me if they made a hole through it, to which I said 'probably.' 

So basically it's like I got my belly button pierced?

Yes Maisie, basically.

'

Attention

 Each of my children require a certain amount of attention.  The bio's a little more than the Asians.  Our youngest bio has a BAD case of jealousy when it comes to attention.  

Did you know she wore a $300 medical boot during the last month of school due to an undetermined injury? 

Ironically, she was finally healed the day before field day.  She has since admitted she didn't need it, just wanted extra attention at school.  

And who doesn't?

I remember purposely failing my eye exam in 5th grade in a desperate attempt to have ANY sort of disability.  Pretty sure the school nurse told my parents I was legally blind.  I still didn't get glasses.  If only I had thrown myself off monkey bars at recess.  We all learned falling from the fort didn't even result in stitches...

So when dinnertime arrived and Molly decided nobody cared about her feelings, I ignored her. I had a long day and decided to take my dinner to the porch to eat in peace.  However, Molly's mood convinced her my lack of concern meant I didn't care about her, or even love her.  In fact, it meant I wished she were dead.  

Okay, Nellie Olson.  

She made sure I couldn't escape her guilt trap too. 

I spy with my little eye...

Daddy to the rescue.

I spent the afternoon at the Winterset walk-in clinic with Maisie regarding a possible appendix

situation.   No answers yet, but will go back tomorrow to recheck some bloodwork that didn't come back awesome.

 Late this afternoon Molly admitted she wished she were the one sick.

Not that she wants to feel bad... just has a huge craving for attention.

We know darling, we know.

Unconditionals

I remember the days we imagined we'd have our own families.  And here we are.  

25 years ago today, my sister turned 16. 

We shared a bedroom our entire lives.  

There was a blue carpet, a pink heart stencil border, and 2 waterbeds in our bedroom which made it perfect for "lost at sea shipwreck - save the cabbage patch babies at all costs scenarios...

The morning of her 16th birthday I had a recording of "16 Candles" saved to a cassette tape, so when she began to wake up, I just had to push 'play.'

25 years later we're not exactly where we thought we'd be at this stage of the game. 

As a matter of fact, I like to think we're a little bit better.

Makes me take a step back and look at some of the beautiful things we've accumulated.

Life doesn't offer a whole lot of unconditionals.  

Beyond grateful for the ones I got.

Cali Boy

                                        In case you didn't know, my heart is in California this month.  

As hard as it is for Mama, seeing and hearing how happy he is comforts my soul in ways I can't explain.

I think he looks a little like a Cali-Boy too.

He called from the grocery store to ask if he had enough money in his account for a Banquet Meal.

Gabe sat and straddled the back wheel, while Ross stood and pedaled. 

2 more weeks.  

I can do this.

Running with Dogs

Post Disclaimer: I cannot stand when people post about their work-outs.  So please realize this post is not an attempt to brag about how physically fit, or unfit I am.  

I'll leave it at that.

 You've seen them before.  

They appear unnaturally healthy, happy, successful, and in complete control of everything around them, especially their dogs.

Yes, I'm referring to women who run with dogs. 

This is me.

Kidding.  Just kidding.

Can't really photograph myself while running with a dog.  

And even if I could, I'd look way more annoyed and frightened than this woman looks.  

For starters, I run on loose gravel.  And to be completely honest I've slipped and fallen walking on this gravel more than once without being attached to a leash.

When our little tyrannosaurus rex came along (aka Jasper), it just so happened his breed requires lots of exercise.

Oh perfect, I thought.

I'll run with him!

I've dabbled in running/jogging/trotting throughout my entire life.  Yet just recently reached a point where I feel 'clunky' when my body moves in a jogging motion.  I imagine the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz without his oil can.  Add to that a jank hip that doesn't do well with long car rides or sitting for that matter, a calf muscle I somehow strained running up the driveway this week, and a bladder that requires a constant kegal focus when running to prevent leaks.  

Jasper LOVES going for runs.  The only problem is he yanks to the point I can hear him gasping and gagging through my noise-canceling air pods as I feel him propel my clanky body forward.  I've never actually heard a death rattle but the depths of these gasps can't be far off. And what is his goal?  To show me how slow I am?  To test my endurance?  To get some negative energy out? 

Nope.

It's strictly an attempt to catch up with Goose (non-leashed dog) so he can jump on his back and chew the top of his neck... while moving forward.

I don't really get it either. 

So not only do I have my own instability factoring into the running equation, but now I have a dominance-confused K9 forcing me into strides my body is not capable of handling.

All those focussed kegals: gone.  There's definite moisture.

That tampon using gravity's advantage to work its way out hands-free: done.

The ability to 'tuck that turtle back in its shell'  when the urge to poop comes on: nope.

Sometimes when I run, my mind runs too.  And I wonder what would happen if I disappeared with no trace of my body to be found.

Did I mention I love true-crime podcasts?

My mind doesn't wander too far, because, like Jasper, I leave DNA all over my route.  I don't even plan it.

That turtle head can only stay tucked so long before freedom rings.  

This, along with other reasons is why I LOVE low-traffic gravel roads.  

Lots of ditches.  

Lots of areas 'tucked away.'

Lots of weeds and shrubbery.

I'll stop there.

This little fellow likes to leave his mark as well. 

So I guess we've got that in common.

A super- HOT day I couldn't get the boys' out of the ditch 1-1/2 miles into our jog.

Have I mentioned he's a frisbee dog?

He may be a pain in butt most days, but perhaps that's what makes him fit in so well. 

Public Pool Moms

I'm sure I've posted about being a mom at the public pool before, right?  

If not it's because I was either too exhausted, too annoyed, or just starving.  

Don't get me wrong, it's fun playing with the kids at the pool.  Seriously, fun... like playing Barbies or "Hide-And-Go-Seek" fun.  And it's not bad, just kinda hard.  Like the kind of hard mom's don't admit to other moms because it would make you should like a crappy parent.  

This year I feel as though I've flipped my graduation tassel to the left.  I'm knocking on wood, but I think I actually passed the playing with my kids at the pool years.  

Which means I get to be one of those pool goddesses I've only dreamt of.  

You all know them.  They're the moms laying on the plastic pool chaise lounges, sparkling in suntan oil, hair Bobbi-pinned up, sunglasses on, and probably asleep while their kids laugh, splash and spend the afternoon independently with friends. 

So as I sit on the chaise lounger in the mom goddess section, I observe.  And I see SO MANY phases of motherhood at the pool. 

I see the pregnant mom in the water carrying a toddler on her hip while keeping an eye on her older one who desperately wants to be in the deep end.  

I see the mom trying so hard to "play" with her kids in the water that you know deep down she counting down the minutes until the next pool check, so she can tell the kids it's time to leave.  And those minutes tick SLOW.

The mom who snuck fruit snacks and pretzels in her beach bag so she won't need a part-time job to cover concession stand costs and gets busted by a pimply 15 year old for having pretzels in the 'non-food area of the pool. 

The mom trying to act carefree in her swimsuit, but can't stop checking and re-checking that her right boob isn't trying to set itself free each time her kid tugs on her shoulder.

The 'fun' mom who finally gives into going down the slide with her kids (might make the time go a little faster) but actually loses her top, or her bottoms go a little too low upon the impact of the water.  

The mom who can't find one of her kids, but attempts to act natural as she keeps her eyes on her littles while internally praying to God they haven't been sucked into the vacuum at the bottom of the pool or kidnapped by a sex trafficker. 

I get these ladies.  I've been them.  

And I see them look at the goddess mom section of the pool- just waiting for the day it's finally their turn.   

I'd love to let them in on a little secret.

Those chaise loungers?  They're hot and sticky... and full of spiders.  The sun beats on you until you apply enough sunscreen to fry an egg on your chest.  You begin to notice you're in desperate need of a shave and pedicure.  The sun is too bright to see the screen of your phone, so you end up watching all the moms in the pool playing with their kids.  You remember when... and start to realize the grass isn't necessarily greener on this side of the pool. In fact, after an hour it's downright sweaty and boring.

So I walked over to my kids, intentionally NOT checking the status of my boobs, dove into the deep end with them, and touched the bottom of the pool.  I swam like a frog (according to them), went off the drop-off slide, lost my top for a moment, swam like a mermaid along the bottom of the pool, and for a moment,  felt like a 10-year-old again. Somehow the time flew.

Maybe the pool goddess status I've been longing for has nothing to do with chaise lounges, sunbathing and naps... perhaps it means finally being able to play in the water not with my kids, but LIKE my kids.

Goat Shows and Roses

As we arrived at the Winterset pool for our first visit in almost 2 years, we were greeted by EMS and watched as a frantic mom carried her little boy into the life guard station as we filled out membership forms.  The little boy was having a seizure and all the new summer hires were scratching their heads wondering what they were supposed to do.  The poor kid taking our information just commented, "They didn't really teach us what to do for seizures."

Well that got Molly reminiscing.  No, she has never had a seizure, however on the way home she reminded me her Seizure Faking stage.  

I have zero memory of this stage, which makes me sad for more than one reason.  Like, at what point does one "stop" a fake seizure?  Did I even respond?  What sort of past trauma would cause this form of desperate attention seeking?  How does she even know what a seizure looks like?  Do other kids do this? Clearly, I have lots of questions.  

She explained it was all in an attempt to get a seizure dog.  

Again, more questions than answers.

Molly has always loved animals- especially the farm ones.  She told me this morning she either want's to be a farmer or a mechanic when she grows up.  

Clearly Mike and I were ahead of our time in terms of not stereotyping gender roles in her early years. 

She's been registered for the Iowa Myotonic Goat Show for months.  We registered our goats with the official myotonic goat registry and Molly's Fainting Farms was even a sponsor of the show.  

The night before the show brought on tears, anger and anxiety.  For those of you who remember Mollys first years of school and having people "look at her" you will appreciate how far she has come.

I told her it would be like a track meet.  As soon as she stepped into the ring, the nerves and anxiety would disappear.  

Her first steps into the ring...

And apparently adults spend their weekends traveling around to these kinds of things.  

Mind blown.

My little Goat Whisperer came home with ribbons and banners. 

Her heart was fuller than full and she couldn't stop talking about how proud of herself she was the ENTIRE way home.  

And that my friends, is the reason we raise goats.

I'll end this post with a fun photoshoot I did with the goats last night during golden hour.  

There's something about goats and roses I just can't get enough of.