Basketball and Babies-A Hawks Family Adventure

Yesterday was so beyond normal. Other than the fact that my kid didn't take his nap, it was just a day in the life. In fact, it was the most normal day I've had since the accident. Shem went to work in the morning which meant that Luke and I got back to our 'normal' routine and I got a million chores done and we got to go and visit Grandma and Grandpa Heywood and go to lunch with my mom. So. Normal.

Shem had a church deal that evening and Luke and I went with him. Fun tip: If you're ever going to the stake center to support your husband as he is set apart for a calling, you should know that they probably want you in church dress. My flip-flops and t-shirt were basically the equivalent of screaming profanities. Loudly. During the prayer. Oh, and guess who DID scream loudly during the prayer? Right. Luke. So I took him out of the room to let him wander the halls.

Guess what? There was a basketball game in the cultural hall.

Have you met Luke? The kid is obsessed with that game. He took one peek through the crack in the doors before desperately pleading that I take him inside. When I opened the door, I noticed that the back area of the cultural hall (which in this particular building is a raised stage-type area) was chalk-full of all of the player's wives and kids. And they had extra basketballs up there. And they were just hangin out. And I knew a couple of them. So, we headed over there and I got some mommy time with other mommies and Luke got to clutch an extra basketball with as much love and adoration as a new mother clutches her newborn while he sat at the edge of the stage and watched the guys play basketball with an attention-span the likes of which no one-year-old has ever known.

(P.S. Shout out to Lori Moncur for watching the Duke while I went to be with Shem for his setting apart!)

So as I'm sitting in there, waiting for Shem, I start having Braxton Hicks contractions. Which are totally normal and I get them all the time. But these ones were starting to get more and more frequent. So, I made a mental note and then ignored them. Apparently, that made them mad because instead of giving up and going away, they decided to inflict small amounts of pain along with all the tightness. Still not entirely worried, I chatted happily and watched my kid watch basketball.

For about an hour this went on and the contractions were just not quitting. (As a side note, the game had ended which meant the court was open and my kid had a basketball in his hand. His determination to make it into that hoop knew no bounds. He played with a couple of other kids for that entire hour and STILL screamed bloody murder when it was time to leave. Dear universe, please let him get tall.) As Shem and I drove home, I casually mentioned to him that I'd been having contractions for about an hour and I was pretty sure they were consistent and thought we might want to time them just to be sure.

We timed them when we got home and sure enough, they were coming every 2 and a half to 3 minutes. Which is a great sign if you're full term! And is a really not great sign if you're not full term at all. Guess which one I am?

Let me tell you something about yours truly: I haaaaate being in the hospital. (I mean really, who loves it? In all honesty, I probably hate it a normal amount.) So my desire to go and wait for hours in the ER only to be checked into a room where I would basically be tortured with needles and intravenous drugs all whilst donning one of those super sexy hospital gowns was basically at a negative eleventy. But alas, after another hour or so and a shower for me (I refuse to be stinky and naked simultaneously in front of strangers) I laid down to count the contractions and like clockwork they came. Le Sigh. Also, they were still painful. Double le sigh.

I will now finish this entry in list form. Here is how the rest of the night went:

1. Adam and Shem gave me a blessing. Conveniently, Adam was already at our place because Shem had invited him over to play StarCraft in hopes that it would send his wife into labor during the night since that's what Shem was doing the night before I went into labor with Luke. His wife, Katelyn, whose due date was yesterday, never went into labor. Guess who did? Cruel irony.

2. Adam left.

3. We packed a bag for Luke and ourselves and called my parents to let them know we were on our way. (we'd already called them previously to let them know there was a distinct possibility of hospitalage. --It's a word.)

4. Stopped at a gas station for mixed nuts because hot dang I was hungry. Oh p.s. before we left, I'd downed 40 ounces of water because Mylinda (my sister-in-law who is a Labor and Delivery nurse) told me to. So. I reeeeeally had to pee.

5. ER. Ew. But if you want to be seen really close to immediately in an ER, tell them you're in pre-term labor. We only waited for, like, five minutes. Maybe.

6. Wheelchair rides are super awkward. And also secretly super awesome.

7. Met my labor and delivery nurse who was AWESOME. I wish I could request her for his actual birth. I loved her.

8. Monitors. One for contractions one for the baby's heart beat.

9. Suspicions confirmed: the on-call doctor and my nurse came in to inform me that I was indeed in labor. Treatment: IV fluids (let it be known that I knew that wouldn't work because I'd already downed 40 ounces of water in addition to what I'd already had to drink throughout the day.)

10. IV administration. Low point of the night. I wanted to vomit, pass out and die all at the same time. Which is stupid. Because how many IVs have I had in my life? That's right. A million.

11. 45 minutes of a super freezing arm and the worst television show ever made. TLC really has some winners. Long Island Medium? My only excuse is that I was too tired to search for something decent. Thank goodness they had a TV in there, though, because my sweet husband totally crashed in the highly uncomfortable chair they'd stuck in there.

12. The fluids failed. Shot time. Not nearly as bad as the IV, but still obnoxious. They shot me with Terbutaline which effectively stopped the contractions after another 45 minutes and also made my heart race and my body shake uncontrollably. Have I mentioned how much fun hospitals are?

13. We were discharged.

For some reason I have a sinking feeling that this might not be the end. My goal is to make it to my appointment with my OB tomorrow without having to take another trip to the hospital. (for reasons why I would hate my life if the hospital were the only option, please see numbers 5-12) I'm having contractions and have been all day long, but they are neither consistent nor painful so I've decided to just continue waiting and stay down a lot and drink tons of water and hope that these suckers don't get worse.

For the record, I went into the hospital on Katelyn's due date (April 16th) and was still in the hospital April 17th which is my friend, Nicole's due date. Funny joke, universe. We all really appreciated that.

When It Rains.

It's been raining here.

I think most of the world would scoff at our idea of rain out here in the middle of this California desert. But really, we got a good two or three inches over the last few days. The parking lot in front of our apartment is very worn. My guess is that it's still the original lot that was put in when the complex was built 40 years ago. It's been worn down in the middle and is filled with pot holes, cracks and divots that make driving out of the lot at 5 miles an hour feel like you're off-roading in an action film. These defects become the most noticeable during and after the rare rainstorm we get. The entire northern region of the lot fills with water that - if you dare to wade through it- would reach your ankles at least. My husband and I have had a few fun sloshes through the crater to get to our car. Once, we even created make-shift galoshes out of plastic shopping bags. The idea was solid; the bags were not.

The analogy of rain washing away imperfections and leaving beautiful, clear skies is especially profound to me since I live in this valley who's air quality has several times qualified as the worst in the nation. After rain, everyone in Bakersfield is in awe of how beautiful this valley is. We all 'wake up' for a few days and basque in the splendor of breathing fresh air, seeing blue skies and being surrounded on all sides by beautiful, I-never-knew-they-were-so-close mountains. The remainder of the year, we are completely unaware of how beautiful this place is. And the only cure is two or three days of gloomy, wet, blustery weather in which virtually none of us can drive.

Lately, I've been experiencing a few storms in my personal life: Many whom I love are choosing things that are contrary to the teachings of the church. Many are wandering; lost. Some of these people are not only close to me, but actually helped me form and grow my own testimony. They all present questions and skepticism which have, on occasion, shaken my once very solid foundation. There have been financial struggles and mental health crises and our latest blow: we've been told that my husband is going to have to find another job as his boss is closing up shop.

From the outside, our little rain storms really don't look like much, but I'm afraid that I'm a lot like the defective parking lot in front of our complex, in that you can see where I am the weakest while the rain is falling. I flood very easily. Just a few inches of rain could very easily render me completely useless.

I'm so blessed to have a loving Father in Heaven who knows only too well that all I really need to be able to endure it all, is to see a little slice of blue sky through all of the clouds. Very frequently during my storms, He'll grant me the tender mercy that I need in order to continue pursuing that beautiful, clear day that He has promised will come.

Through our small trials- and through the big ones- the Lord has blessed me endlessly with slices of blue sky: a husband who's faith and logic quell all doubts that have ever been presented to us; a faithful mother who's prayers have kept a family spiritually fed; a hard-working husband and father who's thrift and industry has kept his family physically fed; prayers offered by friends on our behalf which have granted us peace, strength, and countless job opportunities; and a beautiful, sunny day after our three days of gloom in which my 18-month-old son gleefully jumped in left-over puddles while I happily noticed the picturesque mountains and remembered how beautiful this valley really is.

On: How I almost got arrested on Valentine's Day.

Once upon a time, I was running errands. Luke was bored. So I bought him a valentine's day dollar store balloon (I know, I pull out all the stops for that kid). I loaded him into the car, fixed his broken balloon (it was a dollar) and away we went. Five minutes later, Luke is happily banging his balloon around in the back seat while I speed down Coffee. All is well.

 Shortly after stopping at a red light, I hear a curious scurry of movement, turn around and there is Luke, STANDING next to his car seat, jumping up and down, laughing hysterically.

After a full minute of open-mouthed gaping and listening to my brain go, "whaaaa...?" I realize, I'd gotten so disctracted by fixing his dang balloon, that my baby brain forgot to remind me to buckle that stinker in. Then the light turned green. There was nowhere to pull over.

"SIT YOUR BUM DOWN!" I...very calmly scream at him.

He obeys. Thank all that is good.

I laugh nervously about his prior jubilation at having freed himself from his car seat prison.

We pull into the nearest gas station.
I wrangle him into his seat.
I narrowly avoid prison.

The End.

The Kind of Mama I Want To Be

When I was thirteen years old, my mom made me really mad. I don't remember what our fight was about, but I remember storming into my room, slamming my door as hard as I possibly could and then sitting down to write an angry list entitled: "How I'll Treat My Kids".

The details escape me, but I'm sure the list contained vast stores of knowledge that only a thirteen-year-old who is fairly certain she's got the whole world figured out possesses. It probably had suggestions such as: "I will never tell my kids no," and, "I will always let them have dessert," and, "I will let them have sleepovers every weekend if they did their homework,".

Since that day, I've thought a lot about the kind of Mom I want to be. Especially lately since I've...you know...become a Mom. I thought it was high time that I make a new list. Especially now that more of my chromosomes are here and all.

The Kind of Mama I Want To Be

-I want to be actively involved in my children's lives at every stage.
      ~I want to crawl with them while they're crawling.
      ~I want to chase them while they're learning to run.
      ~I want to be at every game, recital and school awards ceremony and cheer louder than anyone else.
      ~I want to paint with them and wrestle with them and beat them at races into the ocean.
      ~I want to live at their level and see what they see; rediscover this beautiful world through their eyes.

-I want to be Patient
     ~I want to learn not to sweat the small stuff.
     ~I want to enjoy watching them as they learn to behave and take joy in my role as their teacher.
     ~I want to use spills, tears, cut hair, soiled pants and marks on the walls as learning experiences and stay kind as I try to help them learn.

- I want to be easy-going
    ~I want to let them jump in puddles and splash in the tub and sink.
    ~I want them to get muddy and messy.
    ~I want to give them dessert sometimes.
    ~I want them to stay up late sometimes.
    ~I want them to feel safe when they need to tell me something hard.

-I want to live in the moment

    ~I want to gaze into my newborns eyes forever while I sing him to sleep.

    ~I want to memorize what it sounds like when their one-year-old voices are learning new words.

    ~I want to breathe in the smell of them when they're tiny and have that newborn smell and never forget how warm they are and how perfectly they fit in my arms.

    ~I want to be completely present while they bang on the piano and sing at the top of their lungs.

    ~I want to take lots of pictures, write lots of memories and remember lots of moments.

    ~I want to remember that they are only young once. I want to let them be young while they are young.

    ~I want to hold them tight and help them learn that they are never alone; that they never need to be afraid; that there is hope and happiness and beauty all around them. No matter what.

I want to cherish every moment that God gives me with them and never forget that they are His. 

My Second Baby Bird

Well, I finally let the cat out of the bag, as it were. Shem and I are expecting again! Here I will answer some questions that most of you are probably too polite to ask, but you're curious about anyway:

1. Yes, we planned this pregnancy.
     It's been really fun this time around because we did the whole, "Hey. You know what would be fun? Another baby. What do you think?" thing. I mean, don't get me wrong, Luke was the best surprise of my life..but there was something extra exciting about the anticipation of trying for a baby.

2. Luke will be 22 months old when the baby comes.
    So, really close to two years old. Originally, I really wanted our first two to be at least two years apart, but the timing just seemed perfect and everything started to come together so we decided to start trying a bit earlier than we'd originally planned. I think 22 months is going to be perfect.

3. I'm super nervous about having another one.
    There are several reasons as to why this is.
    -Babies are hard. I don't know if anyone has ever told you this, but it's more true than you'd think. I'm nervous about adjusting to a newborn while also taking care of a toddler. That is a horrendously terrifying prospect.
    -People might think this is silly, but I do not know how I can possibly love another baby as much as I love Luke. I keep having these thoughts where they'll hand me the baby and I'm like, "Meh. The other one was cuter." AH! I'm sure that experienced parents (including my mother) who have told me that this will not happen are absolutely correct, but still, it makes me nervous.
    -They won't nap at the same time. So. I feel like this means any shred of 'me time' I have been enjoying will be gone. Being as I'm inherently a selfish being, this depresses me. =)

4. I'm also super excited about having another once.
    Obviously. But really. Teeny, tiny toes and fingers, soft hair, the baby smell, how perfectly they fit in your arms at first, the first smile, the first giggle, how they know your smell and voice immediately, watching them learn and figure out the world...just all of it. I'm so excited to have all of those moments again. All of those firsts. Also, I think Luke is going to be the best big brother IN ALL THE LAND.

5. I've been really sick this pregnancy, but not as sick as I was with Luke.
    Thankfully, I've been able to function better this time around. My "morning sickness" has been more on the normal side and even though I do tend to throw up at least once or twice a day and have lost about 5 pounds (you wouldn't know it by looking at me, though...my waist is like a tree trunk right now) I can at least get out of bed and take care of my baby. Of course, I wouldn't be able to do half of what I do if it wasn't for my amazing husband and my family. They have helped and blessed me more than they even know. My sweet husband always crawls out of bed early to bring me food, he's been doing the dishes for weeks now, he helps around the house and takes Luke for me as soon as he gets home since the majority of my nausea/vomiting happens in the evenings. He is my rock. Next time you see him, give him a pat on the back for me and tell him he's awesome.

6. Yes, we are kind of hoping for a girl.
     We haven't done the girl thing yet, so that would be fun. That being said, I have a very strong feeling this baby is a boy. The pregnancies are VERY similar. I'm craving all the same things and all that. And I've had two very vivid dreams that it is a boy. So, I'm gearing myself for a boy. There are a lot of benefits to having a boy. We won't have to buy anything at all. He'd be totally set in terms of clothes and towels and everything else we have that isn't gender-nuetral. So that'd be nice. Also, I think it would be so fun for Luke to have a brother so close in age. They'd wrestle around and do all the fun brother stuff together.

Random facts:
Due: June 22nd (hooray for not being pregnant in July or August!)
Weeks: 10 and 3 days.
Weight gain: None. I'd gained a bit originally, but all that came off plus two more thanks to all the barf.
Gender Reveal: Either the beginning of January or the beginning of February, depending on how patient I can be/how much money I'm willing to spend to be impatient.

Alrighty! That's it. We're excited and we can wait! I'm so excited to feel the first flutters and kicks and all that good stuff and I just can't wait until this baby is in my arms. YAY reproduction!

My Soul-Mate

If you'd asked me three years ago if I believed in soul mates, I would have given you an unequivocal 'no'; explaining my belief that there are many good matches for many good people and that if you're both working hard at your marriage, you can have a successful relationship. I'm sure I would have said it as though I'd really figured all this stuff out. I'm sure I was sure at the time that my theory was fool-proof.

Then I met Shem.

And I really liked him. I liked him a whole lot. And I thought, "I'd bet that we could really work together and make a successful relationship out of this whole mutual attraction thing we've got goin' on here".

So we did.

When we got married, we were madly in love with each other. We knew we were supposed to be together. We knew we were a good match. But I don't think we knew the extent to which our match really was made in heaven.

I firmly and absolutely believe we were meant for each other. I am so completely convinced that Shem is my soul-mate that I can't imagine ever believing there was no such thing.

We're definitely not the same person, though in the ways that matter, he is kind of the male equivalent of me. We both communicate through humor and silliness. We're both people-pleasers and we hate confrontation. We both value family and friends and are loyal to those we love. We communicate in eerily similar ways. Which makes arguments a lot easier to have.

In other ways, though, he really does complete me. I know that sounds unbelievably cheesy, but what else do you call it when your spouse's good qualities are frequently the very qualities that you lack? He is teaching me every day how to be a better person. How to serve selflessly, how to be truly honest, how to relax and let small things go, and how to be calm in the middle of a storm.

I never expected to be converted to the belief in soul mates. And I'm sure that my original theory holds true for some. But let me tell you something: from this side of the fence, a real life soul mate looks like a pretty darn good way to spend eternity.

I can't wait to continue falling more and more in love with my husband every year. It's the best feeling in the world to know that I already love him more than I did the day we got married.

I love you so much!
Happy Anniversary.

The Great Fly War--AKA: The Zombie Fly

Shem and I found a colony of flies living in our house yesterday.

It all started last night. I'd just walked in the kitchen after putting Luke to bed to see Shem holding a full cup of water, waiting for a fly he had found to land. He had a disconcerting look on his face that told me there was every possibility that very soon, that full cup of water was going to be an empty cup of water and a huge mess to sop up.

"Whatcha doin'?" I asked hastily.

"Killing that fly." He answered without breaking eye contact from the winged beasty.

"With what?" There was a slight tremor of fear in my voice now.

"With this water. I'm going to drown it." The fly landed lazily on a rung of the blinds, none the wiser that it's ultimate demise was being plotted by my fully grown husband who was brandishing water as his weapon.

Quickly, I grabbed the fly swatter (yes, we have a fly swatter. I know, right?) from behind the fridge, "Honey. How about instead of flooding the kitchen, we use this aptly named device to swat the fly?"

He paused, "I have a better idea."

Uh-oh.

He grabbed the nipple to a bottle which was in the sink, waiting to be cleaned, and filled it with water, "We can't swat it while it's on the blinds; it'll escape. So, I'll startle it with a squirt of water and then you smack it."

I thought this over for a moment and then, deciding that the stream of water was so tiny it couldn't possibly result in flooding, I agreed.

He squirted it, but instead of flying out towards the woman with a fly swatter (go figure) it flew behind the blinds to seek refuge next to the window.

Shem pull the blinds open so I could get it, and that's when it happened: A torrent, a hurricane, an army of flies was released into my kitchen. I'm not kidding you, there were at least 12 flies and they all flew out at the same time. It was like sick, nasty, hairy, buzzy rain fall. I might have screamed a little bit.

It was then that my inner killer was released. I went crazy. I didn't hold back. No one was safe. Letting out a strangled war-cry, I flung that fly swatter as hard and as fast as I possibly could. Shem swiftly left my presence in an attempt to protect himself. (A wise move, I assure you) The flies broke ranks and scattered in every direction. I killed one. I killed another one. They were dropping like...well...you know...flies. Smashing, crashing, screaming...I really didn't care what I hit or where they were killed. I'd killed four before I paused, searching for more.

I found a few, unwisely chilling on my kitchen wall. After a couple more fly casualties, I had killed as many as I could find. I'd definitely won the battle.

It was now time to sweep up their tiny, squished remains. As I was sweeping, one of the dead ones miraculously resurrected, JUMPED at me and flew into my blouse. (People, I couldn't make this up if I tried.) I screamed, spun around in circles (in case you don't know, that's the proper technique for removing flies from your blouse. You can thank me later) and wiped my outfit vigorously in attempts to remove the nasty un-dead zombie fly from my person. I don't know if it worked. But since then, I've changed my clothes and taken a shower so I think it's safe to say it's no longer on me. Crisis (eventually) averted.

I'd won the battle, but not the war. I think I killed a total of six last night. There are at least six more hanging about my abode. I got two this morning. There is one buzzing stupidly against the inside of the blinds in my bedroom as I write this. There was one that flew out at me from behind the shower curtain as I was getting ready for the day (he will pay for his startling trick) And I know there are others. Ohhhh, are there others. Believe me, I WILL find them. And I WILL kill them. And the zombies? I will DOUBLE kill them. That's how serious I am.

They picked the wrong house, guys. The wrong. House.