Tuesday, April 18, 2017

A Different Sort of Story

It started out a pretty typical Tuesday. Got up early and went with Jarod to do chores. Did some work with the cows before dinner and then went to drill alfalfa. The contractions that started after dinner weren't so unusual either. Coming only about twenty minutes apart, they were no different than the ones I'd been having the last several weeks, so I didn't pay them any attention.

 By three o'clock though, after about an hour in the tractor they were getting close enough that I thought to start timing them. About seven to ten minutes apart. Jarod had me get out of the tractor and sit in the pickup. He was ready to take off for the hospital right away, but my doctor told us not to come in until they were five minutes apart for at least an hour. So I waited and timed, and by five o'clock they were four to five minutes apart. Buzz the dog was in the pickup with me looking at me with these gigantic sad eyes that he has like "why are you whimpering like that?" So I called my doctor and told her the scenario. She said to go ahead and head home and get our stuff and then head to the hospital. So I called Jarod and we parked the tractor and I convinced him to go home before tearing off to the hospital. Most of our hospital bags were in the car already so we changed clothes and I grabbed a hair brush and we headed out. 
I called my mom on the way there and he called his aunt, so we had plenty of women panicking and wanting to follow us there but we held them off. It's an hour and a half drive to the hospital and it took us that long even though we were not going anywhere close to the speed limit. We got stuck behind some of those annoying people that drive 45mph in a 60 zone so that held us back. Jarod tried to make up for it in the open stretches, and I only tried to slow him up a couple times. Thank God we weren't driving at night because I would have been yelling at him that if he hit a deer with my Impala while speeding he would be the one needing a hospital.

We got to the hospital at seven and got admitted. It was rather strange. In the movies when a woman comes in during labor they all panic and rush her to a room. The lady who checked us in was the slowest, quietest little teenage looking gal I've ever met, and she just casually had me sign some paperwork and confirm my address and all this stuff that I had done ahead of time with the promise that when we came in we wouldn't have to do any of it again. Maybe I wasn't showing enough signs of hysteria. 
Finally all that rigamarole was done and they took us up to the second floor and I put on my little black hospital gown I'd bought and they started monitoring how close the contractions were and seeing if I was dilated. They gave me about 1 cm worth of dilation and five minute spaced contractions and informed me that labor was "favorable". 
They kept us there for two hours and the contractions got to be three minutes apart and harder. At nine o'clock the nurse checked me again and said that I hadn't dilated at all and that I really wasn't in labor so I needed to either get induced or just head home. They couldn't let me stay if I wasn't in labor. And then she stood there for our answer. 
So we finally got her to get out of the room and we called my mom. Me and Jarod didn't really want to get induced because we figured he would come when he was ready. My mom was pretty livid that the nurse said three minute contractions for almost five hours wasn't labor. If we had lived closer we might have went home but all we could picture was driving an hour and a half home and having my water break when I walked in the front door and having to drive all the way back in the middle of the night. We considered a hotel room, but it just seemed like the contractions and stuff were getting harder and closer and it made sense that we should be going into "active labor" any minute now, and paying for a room we weren't gonna use seemed silly. So we decided to go ahead and try to speed labor up a little bit so they would let us stay where nurses could at least help us if something did happen. So the nurse came back and we told her we'd be willing to try something to get me dilating faster. So she gave me a pill that was supposed to increase contractions so that I could dilate.

I really wasn't thrilled with that nurse. Don't get me wrong, she was friendly enough, and did answer our questions for the most part, but when you're in pain and trying to make life decisions that last thing you want to hear from your nurse is how much money she lost in Vegas a few months ago and how she made this and that for supper.

Once I had the pill I had to stay in bed for two hours straight which sucked, because contractions while laying down in bed hurt worse than any other kind. Jarod was a trooper the whole time and perfectly balanced out being sympathetic and matter of fact when he was telling me it was alright. After two hours in bed they let me up and I walked the halls and paced our room and bounced on a birthing ball. Anything to alleviate the pain some. The pill lasts four hours so at two in the morning they checked me again and I had only dilated to 1.5 cm. At which point I just wanted to die. Having massive contractions every two minutes for four hours and a lousy half centimeter is all you have to show for it seems like a colossal failure.
So they told me not to lay down and that they'd be back in the morning to check again. I convinced Jarod to try and get some sleep on the fold out bed, and I spent the rest of the night in and out of the jacuzzi tub, and bouncing on the birthing ball. You know it's the oddest feeling to wake up in a bathtub full of water and imagine how you could have slipped below the surface and drown in your sleep.

Morning time my doctor showed up in sneakers and hoodie, basically said hi and left. When my nurse came in to check for any progress I had a major contraction just as she was doing a cervix check (if you've never had one, they're one of the top five worst things on the planet). The pain was horrible and I started crying, at which point she got in my face, literally, and told me if I didn't pull it together I was never going to make it and it was uncalled for that I should be losing it like this and blah blah blah. Which I thought was uncalled for in and of itself, as I was not crying hysterically and raising a fit, just generic, that hurt me crying. (And still no progress baby wise, might I add)

Luckily though with daytime came the next shift of nurses and we got Karen. Karen was absolutely fantastic. First thing she did was give me some pain medicine that helped things enough that I was able to get a half hour nap which was much needed because I'd been awake for 24 hours at that point. After the nap my mom arrived at the hospital, which was the second best thing that happened that day, after getting Karen as a nurse. Karen had us walk laps around the halls, then showed me how to get on my hands and knees and Jarod and mom took turns pushing on my back when I had contractions. Got in the tub some more, did some stretches and such, walked all over.  She answered all of our questions and helped pass the time by talking about our and her farms.
All of that craziness finally got me to four centimeters dilated and we thought maybe we were getting somewhere finally. She gave me another round of pain medicine and had me take another nap. After dinner we decided to try some pitocin to get my contractions going again, because they'd slowed down after my nap. I'd only been on it for about five minutes when the baby's heart rate spiked from 132 to 180 beats per minute. It stayed up like that for a long time, which had them worried and they called a surgeon to come check things out, thinking they might have to do an emergency c section if his heart didn't level out again. The surgeon noticed that the babies head really wasn't pressing down on my cervix at all like he was supposed to be and said that might have something to do with why I was barely dilating. They decided to give me an IV and see if maybe me and baby weren't dehydrated and that's why he was showing signs of stress. It didn't take long after that for his heart rate to level out, so we held off on the c section and started pitocin again.
At this point I decided to get an epidural. I was exhausted and completely wrung out on pain. They gave it to me and immediately I couldn't feel anything. Like, nothing. Karen told me that my contractions were only one minute apart but I couldn't even feel when I was having one or not. I slept a long time like that and around nine in the evening they checked me again. I was still at the same four rotten centimeters so they asked what we wanted to do. Which was kind of silly, considering there really weren't any other options. We'd been in labor for thirty hours and next to no progress and had tried everything the doctors and nurses knew to try. So we started prepping for a c section. Which was scary, but I wasn't nearly as worried as I thought I'd be. Probably because I couldn't feel anything so what was the big deal?

Jarod's aunt had been with us that whole afternoon and she opted to stay in the waiting room, but Jarod told mom she had to come with us. They wheeled my bed down the hall and moved me to another bed. They hung a curtain between my head and my stomach and the nurse told me the surgeon was going to pinch my stomach and if I could feel anything to tell her and she'd up the pain medicine until we got to complete numbness before they started. So he was pinching me and I was telling him yes or no on pain and all the sudden he started really jerking around on my belly. I told him that I could feel something poking me but no one answered and all the sudden I though "if they do the same thing they did at the dentist I'm gonna..." cuz when I got my wisdom teeth pulled out, they gave me the numbing medicine and immediately started cutting them out before it kicked in and I felt the whole thing.
Well it was about that time that I felt my belly just drop and I heard a baby start crying. "That's it?" I demanded. The nurse told me she was gonna give me medicine that would make me feel weird and after that I remember next to nothing. There were flashes where I saw the lights or a nurse and for a split second Jarod was holding the baby next to me, and then I think we were going back down the hall and I was trying to ask if the baby was ok, and whether or not I was ok, because honestly my vision was so whacked I thought I might be dying. It was frustrating because I felt so tired I could literally barely talk and did a lot of moaning trying to make words. I wanted to see the baby so bad but I couldn't keep my eyes open at all, so I missed the "golden hour" where the baby is supposedly at his most alert stage.
Once I did finally wake up I was able to hold him and feed him and he lifted his head up by himself and I kid you not he smiled. Jarod absolutely adored him (still does) and couldn't stop saying how cute he was. And he is cute, let me tell ya. And he's still a very alert baby so I don't feel quite so miserable about missing him right at first.

After the c section Wednesday night they made us stay till Saturday. Our little guy was actually a whopping nine pounds and twenty one inches long. As it turns out I never would have had him because my pelvis and tailbone are put together in a way that a baby can't drop down to push on my cervix. So I'll have to always have c sections, but I guess if we know that ahead of time it won't be such a big deal. We named him Henry Boyd Wilson the third. After his great and great great grandpas on Jarod's side. They checked his blood and hearing and all those kinds of things and finally Saturday afternoon we got to go home. We had quite a few visitors show up to the hospital. My parents and sisters came right away the morning after he was born. Jarod's dad and step mom were back from Arizona so they came too. Jarod's friend who is dating my friend came with her, and another of my friends came by before her ultrasound to find out what she is having (psst! It's a boy too).

It's good to be home. We're both being lazy and trying to get some sleep and food when the urge suits us. He's a pretty content baby when he doesn't have a tummy ache. I could be biased but I'm pretty sure he's the cutest baby in the entire world. Can't decide for sure who he looks like yet. Both of us really. He's got incredibly hairy ears and a birthmark on his tummy, and he hates when his feet are uncovered so he constantly wears socks and has his legs wrapped up.  trade him for all the rice in China.
At night when he wakes up to eat I just look at him and marvel that God decided that this tiny human being needed me to be his mom and Jarod to be his dad. Out of all the people on the planet he needed us for parents and we needed him for a child. The way he curls up against me, and looks right up at me, completely trusting and content almost makes me want to cry (#raginghormones). That a human being could be so tiny, and yet so perfectly complete in that smallness and vulnerability is astounding, and to think that God put him together exactly the way he is, and that he has individual interest in this new life takes my breath away.

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

A Rant of Sorts

I'm sorry. 
I'm officially the worst blogger in the history of blogging. 
New Years resolution to write and blog, right out the window. 
I do have an excuse of course. I've got basically no internet. What I used to do was to type up the post to a document then when I got to work I could slap it onto blogger, post a picture and call it good. Well the last two months were spent training my replacement at work so I really didn't have time then, and now that I'm done working (I'm done working by the way, yay!) the only internet I have is my phone. Do you have any idea the nightmare that formatting and pictures are on an iPhone? 
Not to mention, pregnancy is exhausting. For real. Like you always hear that and you're like yeah sure, you're growing a human,  but it's the worst kind of exhaustion I've ever felt. And I was basically an insomniac all through high school. 
Here's the deal. 
I go to bed at night at a reasonable hour. Sometimes too reasonable honestly, as the rest of the world is still very much awake. And I lay on my left side for awhile until munchkin decides to change positions. Then I lay on my right side awhile. And my shoulders burn so I have to fluff up my pillow. Then my stomach starts feeling like it's pulling me down. It's the weirdest thing and I can't explain it but it's only solved by putting another pillow under my tummy to hold it up. Then my hips start to hurt so of course a pillow goes between my knees so that it straightens out my pelvis. And while all that is going on I'm trying to explain to Jarod without hurting his feelings that I don't want his arm around me because the pressure on my stomach makes me feel like throwing up. Then my hands fall asleep. Constantly. Then maybe I'll actually fall asleep. Or maybe I'll just toss and turn for hours. Sometime around five thirty I've got to go to the bathroom, and after that nothing is comfortable and there is no more actual sleep. Come morning I walk around like a zombie for about half hour, trying to remember how to clothes and breakfast. Then I might go do chores with Jarod. And try like heck not to fall asleep during the drive because that's about the only time we'll be alone the rest of the day without people and high stress work to occupy the time. After chores I'll probably help him with whatever he has to do. Or more likely just sit nearby and be an immobile cheerleader. Or sometimes I don't go with him, and I stay home. Always with the intentions of being productive. And I usually force myself to be. At least for several hours. Because it's not healthy to just lay on the couch day in and day out no matter how bad I want to. And feeling miserable. Because honestly Maddie, it's not like washing dishes is a strenuous activity. Same goes for folding laundry. Or vacuuming the tiny living room. None of those activities are hard or stressful. But when you're thirty pounds heavier than you've ever been in your life, standing feels strenuous. Your feet hurt, your legs hurt, and your hands are still asleep. It hurts to sit down, but it also hurts to stand up. And it's not just the extra weight, it's the fact that all that extra weight is strapped to your front in a big clumsy ball that randomly moves around and throws you off balance. 
And heartburn. Oh the heartburn. How dare you eat food. Heartburn for you. Oh you think you can avoid heartburn by not eating? Guess again chica.
Stretch marks!!!!!
Top that off with constantly having cotton mouth, living in the bathroom, headaches, hot and cold flashes, and just generally wanting to curl up and die, and you're off to a great start for the day. 
Then while you're dealing with all the physically draining aspects of pregnancy, let's introduce the mentally taxing parts. Because guys, come on, you're having a baby. That means you have to feed it, and take care of it, and did you know there is a correct and incorrect way to lay a baby down to sleep? What if you don't want to take the prenatal classes because the nearest one is an hour away and we discussed, you're tired, and driving- icky. But what if you need to know something from them? Does not taking the class make you a horrible mother? What if the end of the world happens if you don't take that class? And all the doctor appointments. Driving an hour to have a doctor tell you that you're gaining weight good and see you next week. Thanks doc, sure glad you think this weight is great. Can I go back to bed now? And no of course there's not anything that can be done about all the stuff you're feeling. Nothing at all. Just something you have to deal with. But do not under any circumstances get depressed. Let's throw in the people who grumble and complain about "why are they having a baby so early?" And "shouldn't they have waited?" "Oh that's why they got married" (because no one can do math apparently and figure out that nine months back from April, they were already married). Or, "why would you quit your job? You should have saved money." Because $60 a day for daycare, coming out to $1200 a month, out of my $1300 paycheck saves tons of money. And all the helpful people telling us that we're gonna have to get on birth control right away, because this can't happen again. I guess because us having a baby that we take care of and pay for by ourselves without asking anyone to fund us is somehow a burden on people? And the lovely people who think it's perfectly fine to call you Chubby. Like it's your name. No, thank you, my birth certificate says Madeline. You don't look so skinny yourself. You mean you're not pregnant and that's all just pure fat? Wow. And, oh do I really look like I'm having triplets? Wonderful to hear. Because everyone wants to hear that the extra pounds they have (that perfectly match the healthy pregnancy weight gain numbers) look like there's three people inside you. Or the people who, when someone else says you look great and you just seem bigger because you're five foot tall and don't have as much room as taller girls, those people that are so quick to argue that that's not true at all, because your grandma was short and she was walking around waiting tables when she was eight months pregnant! ....Because saying your short and don't have as much room somehow translates to not being able to walk around and do things. Thank you, sir. Besides those kind of stresses there is the generic stress of I'm having a baby. Never done that before. Not really sure what to expect. I'm not seasoned in the way of the baby. Taking care of little sisters isn't exactly the same thing. The hospital is over and hour away. What if we don't leave on time. Did we cover everything in our birth plan? Did we pack the right stuff in the hospital bag? Actually, more like, I need to get a hospital bag packed and the car seat should probably be installed before we absolutely need it. And freezer meals. Better make some of those, because it gets old living on ravioli when you don't feel like actually cooking. And just wanting a stinking pop out of life, and a coffee with ALL the caffeine in it. Is that too much to ask? And the random uncontrollable mood swings and crying your eyes out, and of course it's not Jarod's fault, but it's absolutely Jarod's fault, and I really have no idea who's fault it is, but it has to be someone's cuz no one just cries for no reason whatsoever. Please.

But you know what? Aside from being the absolute worst thing ever, pregnancy is also pretty darn fantastic. Because, duh, babies. Who doesn't love a baby? And when you can feel the baby, and see the baby, and start to recognize his patterns that hey, this isn't an alien life form, it's a little person and he has a personality. A personality that wiggles like crazy when Needtobreathe is on the radio and does absolutely nothing when you play the country station. A little person that gets hiccups, and apparently likes The Legend of Korra because he sure does move around a lot while it's on. But goes completely still if you pause it and doesn't start again until you push play. That stuff is great. And it's the funniest thing when daddy puts his hand on your tummy and the baby kicks it. Because that's his tummy. Getting to see all the little toys, and shoes, and outfits. Feeling all the snuggly soft blankets. Buying a tiny little frog outfit and putting baby photography ideas on Pinterest. Thinking about what the little guy will be like when he's not so little. When he can walk and talk and learn things. All the stuff you want to show him and teach him.
It's the best. 
Wouldn't trade it for all the sleep in the world. 

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Hello 2017

Well hello there 2017. I hardly noticed you arrived over the weekend. Good to see you finally. What have you got in store for me this year, eh? What maddeningly amazing and diabolical schemes are you going to throw at my plans in the next twelve months? One can never be sure.

There are a few things I'm banking on you delivering this year. This month I'll be in charge of training a new employee. When February rolls around I'll see the end of my job at the eye doctor. Come April I'll see my little boy in person. July will be my one year wedding anniversary. 

But there are many things that I don't know. Will this new batch of months bring with it a house all our own? Less stress than years past, and more time to accomplish the things that are important to me?
Will I finally paint those dressers that I've been saying I was going to paint for the last six months? Will my house actually be clean when I'm not going to work every day, or is that just a silly fantasy I've painted myself? Will I have more energy to write, play guitar, decorate, invite people over, and cook?

There are things I'd like to do this year. I'd like to get back to reading my Bible again. I fell off the band wagon the last few months of the old year. I'd like to keep my house in better shape more often. I'd like to be kinder, and less prone to random bouts of grief and anger. I'm hoping April takes care of that issue for me. I'd like to be healthy. Healthier than I've been in all the other years. I'd like to learn. Learn about children more than what my sisters have shown me. Learn how to nurture and cultivate their growth into something beautiful and healthy. I'd like to find a better solution for some of the health problems that have reared their ugly head last year. I'd like to devote more time to my creative side; to writing, and reading, and playing songs, and rearranging everything in the house until it looks like a picture from a magazine. 
And eyeliner. I will conquer the winged eyeliner this year, if it is the last thing I do. 

So here's hoping and praying that I actually accomplish half of this. That you're a good year. That you bring growth and happiness along with you. That you're more than just a new set of numbers, but a new life. That maybe this year some of the resolutions made might actually be kept. 
And may we never lose the ability to write somber pieces and mix random gifs in at the most inappropriate moments.

Friday, December 30, 2016

2016 Through the Lens

First plane ride, and first time to Arizona. 

Jarod's baptism. 

March must have been boring. I find no pictures from March. 
Jarod turned 21. He refused to take a good picture. 


Engagement pictures on a 10 degree day, and VOTA concert. 


Wedding prep....

Twas the month of random selfies and dad loving what he heard on the radio. 

Weddings and honeymoons. 

Eem the turtle, yummy food, and the Maddie cave. 


Scout and the spider who is friends with Hagrid. 


Harvest time and an announcement. 

Mighty deer slayer, and getting to see his face. 


Cheater alert! This was taken the last day of November. But I haven't taken a single picture so far this December aside from screenshots of recipes. 

Ta da!

Friday, December 16, 2016

A Review of 2016

I'm looking at my calendar and realizing that the year is almost over. Say what?? That can't possibly be right. But it is. It's December 16th already, and time just keeps marching forward till it can roll over into a whole new year. Craziness.
Lots of people are saying that 2016 has been the worst year ever. And I would agree with them. 
Lots of people are saying that 2016 has been the best year ever. And I would also agree with them.
My estimation of the year is that it has been an uncontrollable roller coaster of the highest highs and the lowest lows. Which, to be fair, most years are, but this one just seemed a bit more...more intense, more monumental, more effective. I feel like this year has kind of been all up in everyone's face, and you better have your hat on tight or you'll get lost in the whirlwind. 
The whole year has been kind of like this. 

This year has presented some of the most terrifying, challenging aspects I've ever had to face in my life. Dealing with people who don't want you to get married is difficult at best. Dealing with people who want to try and tell you how you should get married, and how you should be when you are married is no fun either. Dealing with people who you've known for years and counted as friends who suddenly decide to run around town telling stories that you're some kind of boyfriend snatching, abusive, promiscuous, piece of white trash was something I never thought I'd be put up to, but that's exactly what 2016 offered. And it wasn't just horrible things like that. It was stress in general. Stress about planning a wedding. Stress about planning a honeymoon. Stress about moving. About living an entirely new sort of life. Managing a home by myself. Bills and finances. And then stress about telling my husband of one month that he's going to be a daddy much, much sooner than we had ever planned on. Stress about telling those people who didn't want us to get married, and most certainly didn't want us to have children right away, that the newly established Wilson clan was growing. Stress about the people who look at your swelling tummy like it's something dirty, when it was obtained in the most innocent and pure way possible, within a marriage that started off pure from the start, but there's no way to prove that and no way to defend it. People will be people. Stress of feeling sick for months on end, only to be replaced by complete exhaustion no matter how much rest you get, and always feeling behind on work because you just cant some days. Stress of feeling like you've somehow failed if supper wasn't perfect and the laundry isn't finished, even though there is no one there to say those things. The food is eaten heartily, and there are clean clothes to wear, but there's still stress. Stress of feeling like you want to cry all the time, or feeling like screaming at someone when they've done absolutely nothing wrong, and you know it, but the feeling is still there like a knot in your stomach. Stress because your body is changing so rapidly, and it doesn't fit into the clothes it used to, and its swelling and bulging in places it normally wouldn't, and feeling completely unattractive and having a hard time believing anything else. Stressing about a living soul growing inside, and how to keep it safe until it gets here, and how to keep it safe after it gets here. It's enough to give a person a headache just typing it all down. 

But apart from all the doom and gloom of the terrible year of 2016, the year has held so much joy, and promise, and beauty. So much to be thankful for. I got to start the year off engaged to the person I love most in the entire world. I got to stand in front of four hundred of our family and friends and pledge my love to him for the rest of our lives. I got to put together a house for us, that's not perfect, but its ours. I got to cook him things I know he likes, and have him come home to a clean house and a good movie after a long day of working. I got to ride with him to do chores every Saturday, and sit next to him in church every Sunday. I got to tell him he's going to be a daddy, and see him smile at my tummy before he goes to work. I got to rebuild some of the damage that the stress of having a dating sister/daughter did to my relationship with my family. I got to tell him that he's going to be a daddy, and see him smile at my tummy before he leaves in the morning, and tell my mom that she's going to have a grandson. I got to see my baby stretch and yawn on a screen in front of me. I got to see his tiny fingers and toes. I got to work at a job that I can do, and save up money for our future, and turn in a resignation from that job so that I can be home with our little bundle in the new year that's coming. I got to grow closer to the friends that I do have. I got to share their joy as they are starting new lives of their own. The nation got another chance at taking our freedoms here seriously. I got to have a new second cousin come into the world. And find out about another one on the way, when before there was heartache over one lost. I've got to spend time with my friends and family, and meet the new family I've acquired. I've got to see God working in my and the people around me's lives in an amazing way. 

So, yes. It's been a hard year. But good has come from it. I've learned. I've grown. I've matured. And it's opened up a whole new box of opportunities for next year. 

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

A Discovery

I have made a discovery. A Discovery of epic proportions. A discovery so monumental it may alter the course of history for all mankind....Ok, so maybe it's not quite that huge, but I was still pretty excited. 
You guys remember way back when I did some character interviews with a boy named Jake? A character in one of my stories that I have literally hundreds of scenes written for, but none are in order and not really following any plot line, and I was just trying to figure out how they all fit together. Well, several years ago, probably two or three at least, me and Minion #1 took and numbered each scene, laid them all out on my bedroom floor and arranged them in some kind of chronological order. We then wrote the numbers down in order on several pieces of paper so I could get into my computer and arrange them accordingly. It was exhausting. 

Well, long story short, the notes with the order of things on it disappeared. Couldn't find it. And since I couldn't find them, I couldn't arrange them, which meant I couldn't write the blasted story which meant it got shelved. 


The other night while watching a movie a ship flashed across the screen, old Spanish Galleon type, and Jarod commented that he really liked old style ships. Which spurred me into a flurry of activity to dig out all my old sketchbooks and start looking through all the old drawings (the horror. It was bad friends. It was bad) to find one I'd done of a pirate ship. I did find the picture.

 Also, tucked inside the pages, I found my notes for Jake's story. It was like a Christmas miracle!

I couldn't believe my luck, so I grabbed my laptop, only to find that the story was not actually saved on that computer. 


I found the thumb drive where it was saved. In the very first place I looked. 

And then. 

I found the tablet that had some of the actual chronological story that I had written down. That took about two days, but I was successful. 

And now, I have all the pieces. I can start. Which means I might temporarily postpone my Hang the Stars story. Jake has been near and dear to my heart for years and years. He's possibly my most tragic creation yet, and I don't know if I can equally split my attention from him to any other story. 

I feel like the fat little hamster on Bolt.....
Let it begin, LET IT BEGIN!!

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

Little Mister

Hi guys! I hope you are all enjoying your fall. Here it's been acting more like summer for the last few weeks. We had thunderstorms, hail, tornadoes...not winter weather at all. Until this morning. This morning it turned cold. BAM. And it even flurried a few snow flakes.
I've decided that I need to acquire a Christmas tree, as we don't own one, and I should probably get all of my ornament collection from my mumsie whenever she gets their tree out and ready to go.
I've acquired seven chickens. They were all layers, but I haven't gotten any eggs yet. But, like I said, crazy weather has been happening, and that will mess them up, plus traveling to my house in the back of a pickup probably rattled them a bit, so it might take them a couple days to get back in the swing of things. They are named Agnes, Florence, Edith, Margo, Dorothy, Alta, and Irma, and no, I don't have the slightest clue which one is which. 
We moved Scout's doghouse up to the porch, because he only wants to sit on the porch when we are home, and he looks so pitiful when its cold and wet. He's thoroughly enjoying it. Mostly he sits on top of it a lot. When he's not dragging things into the yard from who knows where. He found a big like gym bag the other day....No clue where it came from. It's not like we just throw gym bags out in the weeds around here. And he has decided that the wood shouldn't be in a pile, it should be in a maze on the front walk. But oh well. He's a puppy. A massive, nearly knock you over puppy.
'Im the turtle is doing really well. We got him his very own aquarium, and he still looks cranky, but I know deep down inside he's happy and actually likes me. Even if he does tear holes in my sponge if Jarod tries to give him a bath.
Thanksgiving went well. We went to see Jarod's mom's half of the family, so there were lots of people I've never met. The food was good, but I'm really missing getting to eat Thanksgiving leftovers for a few days since Jarod's aunt handled all the food prep.
Minion #1 and Daddy-kin had birthdays back to back last week so we had to go celebrate with them. We played Pinochle and watched miserable football game losses.
With Thanksgiving gone I'm getting super stoked for Christmas. I've heard a few Christmas songs on the radio, and I completely approve.

So, the original point of this post and the whole reason for the title has nothing to do with any of the stuff I just rambled about, and much more to do with the fact that we found out that our little bambino is a boy.

We are absolutely thrilled. Not that a girl wouldn't be thrilling, because it would. But you have to understand. I come from a family of three girls. My mom is one of three girls. And both of her sisters so far have had girls. So...a boy is kind of like a rare discovery around here. 

Now the really difficult part is the naming of the little fella. We had a girl name picked out for like, ever, but that doesn't do me a whole lot of good now. You would think a name wouldn't be so hard. I mean, I'm a writer. I name people for fun. But the difference between naming a character and naming a baby is that the baby isn't solely yours, whereas the character is. So the other participant in the venture may not approve of Cannon, or Talon, Tell, or Riley. 
But not to fear. We've got a book of 60,000 baby names. 
That's a lot of different options. Odds are, one of them will appeal to the both of us.
Hopefully two, because it would be odd if our baby was the only person around to not have a middle name. 

So there you have it! That's a rundown of what I've been up to lately.
What about you?