Reunited Part I

This is going to be long, and very fact filled rather than fun and entertaining. My sister wanted details, so details I shall give! At least I have warned you.

Two Wednesday's ago, all by my lonesome self, I began the adventure of going to see Marty for his boot camp graduation. I was a little nervous about taking on this trip on my own, but more than ready to see Marty again after the long 2 1/2 months apart.

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Once I was safely in Oklahoma City I rented a car and with my sidekick "GPS" took the 1 1/2 hour drive down to Lawton, Oklahoma where the military base is located. GPS and I had a rocky relationship. She kept trying to get me lost and didn't respond to me yelling "that road is under construction, I can't turn there!". She gave me a bit of attitude, but I ultimately had the upper hand with having a volume button and all.

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Once checked in to my hotel I HATED knowing that I was only a couple miles down the road from Marty at that very second and I couldn't see him until the next day.

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Thursday morning I went over to the base for family day. After a brief class about "what your soldier has learned" and stuff, we were ushered to some bleachers and sat there in the heat for 30 minutes before the "presentation" (marching, demonstrations, awards etc.) began. When the soldiers marched on to the field this is all I saw:

It drove me nuts wondering if I had seen Marty or not in that crowd and not being able to run over to him. When we were allowed to finally interact I felt as though I was on a first date...wasn't sure how to act or what to say. I mean, we have been married 5 years so it should have been easy but I was not sure he hadn't been brainwashed and turned in to a psycho while he was gone.

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I was happy to find out that he wasn't however and that being with him was quickly effortless and as wonderful as it had always been. I was AMAZED at how skinny, tan and buff he was also. Makes a big old pregnant lady feel a bit self conscious that's for sure.

(I made him pose for a "skinny shot" to show his mom....he was thrilled about it.)
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We had from about noon to 8 p.m. that day to spend together off base. He seemed unsure about relaxing and finally admitted that it just felt strange and he was worried that someone was going to burst in at any moment and yell at him for not doing anything.

At 7:45 p.m. I had him back to the base, per their orders.

Friday was the actual graduation ceremony. I felt a lot more strange about this day, hearing them do the yelling and sitting stone cold in their chairs not able to smile or look around. I started to get teary during a video showing some of the things they did in boot camp, wondering what I had let my husband go through.

(He's the second row, three people back...just in case he looks so hot and skinny it was hard to recognize him.)

After the ceremony was over we again had from about noon to 8 p.m. together off base. This day Marty finally gave in to my coaxing and his exhaustion and took a much needed 2 hour nap. He wouldn't the day before, he was too worried he'd sleep past when he needed to be back.

Dropping him off that night was very hard. I cried all the way back to the hotel after leaving him. I wasn't sure when I'd see him again, when we'd get to move out to Texas with him or anything at all. There were so many unanswered questions that I just felt overwhelmed.

I flew out Saturday morning to head home and he took off on a bus to Texas for his next training. I only cried on one of the flights as I got further and further from Marty. But I was able to compose myself before people noticed. Seeing him was SO great but coming back to what has now become our reality was very hard.

There are definitely a lot more questions that have been answered since then and a lot more optimism as well.

Part II - Marty's 6 days of unexpected, but GREATLY appreciated, leave.

QUICK update...

I'm home from my wonderful trip to see Marty. It was AMAZING to see him again, he looks really hot! (I'm allowed to say that).

I will have to postpone my post with details and pictures as Claire threw up twice while I was gone and Brielle has thrown up four times this morning so far. I'm pretty sure it's their punishment for me leaving them!

WELCOME HOME MOMMY!

Following in her footsteps

When I was growing up my mother had a good friend that liked to come around once in a while.

My mother loved this friend dearly...I on the other hand hated, no loathed, this friend.

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The mere mention of this friend sent me in to a fit that was far beyond what a small child should be capable of.

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This friend came around far too often in my opinion and I really just wished they would disappear. I referred to this friend as the black plague of death.

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She referred to it as the big black trash bag.

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The big black trash bag was brought out when us children had innocently been playing with toys and been distracted, leaving said toys on the floor in the family room.
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In my childhood memory I am sure she never asked us to pick up the toys before bringing out her friend, I would have remembered that. But without warning the black plague of death would swoop in and take all of our toys for himself.
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We were able to "earn" our toys back by doing very horrible chores. Things like cut the lawn with a pair of nail clippers would earn us the smallest toy. Washing the shingles on the roof with a toothbrush and our spit in 150 degree weather would earn us a medium sized toy....or chores like that, I really can't be sure of those details as I have blocked them from memory.

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I hated that darn bag with all my heart and vowed it would never show it's ugly face in my house when I was a mother.

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I kept part of the promise by introducing the WHITE trash bag to Brielle a couple of days ago.

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I had threatened that if she did not get out from under her covers and help me clean up the toys she had left all over that I was going to have to throw them away.

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And do you know what? She just sat there under her covers sure I would never do such a thing.

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I don't know what came over me but as I stood there staring at the tornado of toys littering my ENTIRE house...something inside snapped. I couldn't believe I was about to do this but I retrieved my weapon of choice, the white trash bag. And oddly enough, I couldn't wait to start gathering the toys.

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Brielle cried about the cruelty she had just witnessed as I hauled the bag over to my closet. She begged and pleaded for me to give her toys back and promised that NEXT time she will help me clean up the toys. (Infamous words from a 4 year old)

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I held strong though and told her she would have to earn them back.

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It's like my own personal little maid has moved in now! In fact just the other day she asked me, "Mom, when we get home can I make a mess so I can clean it up and earn some toys back?" I told her I was sure we could come up with something she could do to earn them....for instance the lawn needs mowing.

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I'm not sure if the trash bag will scar her like it did me, but I'm guessing it will. At least she might learn that she has some responsibility to take care of her things.

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That or she'll just learn that if she sees a trash bag coming she better grab all the toys she possibly can and shove them under her bed for safe keeping...just hypothetically speaking of course.

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*Please note that my heavy sarcasm is not a true representation of my mother...we were allowed to use scissors to cut the lawn.*

Blue or pink...what will it be?

It's a.................................

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.....nother GIRL!!

I'm very excited about it. I do realize the majority of the world was thinking that I must have really been hoping for a boy this time around. But nope...I love my little girls and was actually hoping for another one. As silly as my reasoning may seem, I kind of felt like with all the change that we are facing in the next little while, having another girl would seem a little simpler.

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Marty didn't seem surprised. I think he's resigned to the fact that boys may not be in the future for his posterity.

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Brielle was SO glad when I told her. She jumped up and down clapping and yelling, "Another girl, another girl, yeah! This will be so much fun!"

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She had told me all along, "We are a girl family, so this is a baby girl. We won't ever have boys, just like Erik (Marty's brother who has 4 boys) will never have any girls." The truth can be painful.

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The only downside to having another girl is it will be much harder to convince Marty that I need new baby stuff....I will work on my convincing skills in the next few weeks.

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Three girls....I may be kicking myself in the teenage years. But for now I'll just pretend that they'll always be little and sweet.

Deposit sample here

I am not known for having a lack of embarrassing things happen to me...especially when it comes to doctor's visits and urine samples at OB appointments.

When I was about 19 weeks pregnant with Claire I went in to do my urine sample as I did at every appointment. I sat down on the throne, got my little cup that I had written my name on and collected my sample. I was proud that I had gotten it in the cup with minimal spillage/getting any on my hand....oh come on, all you women know that it's almost inevitable that some pee gets on your hand, we don't have the luck of aiming!

Anyway, I went to set my cup on on the counter (on a paper towel I had waiting, wouldn't want the pee to get on the counter) and fumbled it a little. Still sitting on the toilet with my pants down I then dropped the entire urine sample in to my open pants, spilling it all over the floor and my pants, leaving not even the smallest of drops in the cup for the nurses to do their magic with. Having to tell the nurses that and explain my wet pants to my doctor were not on my list of favorite things I have done in my life. But luckily I have learned that it is better to laugh at myself rather than cry out of humiliation.

The first appointment I had for this newest little bundle I went to a new doctor (insurance reasons) where they had cups with lids you screwed on! I knew they had me in mind with this! I quickly got the sample and before you can say "don't drop your pee!" had that lid screwed on nice and tight as to avoid any spillage.

My insurance changed again when Marty left for boot camp, which put me back to the clinic I had gone to with the previous two children. I LOVED the doctor's there...but knew that with the clinic came the dreaded little plastic Dixie cup that was not known for getting along with me.

So today at the doctor's office I got myself all prepared in the bathroom to deposit my sample. I wrote my name on the cup, put a little paper towel on the shelf ready to set the cup on when finished (immediately upon finishing, no trying to switch hands EVER again). I sat down, started thinking about if the doctor would be willing to do an ultrasound, when I would get to tell Marty the gender if he did do an ultrasound, if it was going to be as hot today as it was yesterday.

Then I was done.

I had peed while my mind was wandering without even thinking about it.

I had left my cup sitting there without getting a sample.

Who does that?! Did I not go in the for the simple purpose of peeing in a cup?

I looked over at my cup and nearly panicked. I stayed in the bathroom for another couple minutes hoping there was some way I could possibly squeeze out a tiny little drop. I also considered "fishing" out a sample from the toilet, but decided the toilet water may mess up the results of whatever they are testing for.

I thought about how I was going to explain what I had done to the nurse...I had terrible flash backs of the pee spilling incident.

Then it hit me.

The nurse doesn't need to know that I already peed. I will tell her I wasn't able to get a sample and I would try again. Because I could probably pee every 10 minutes if I needed to.

I walked out and said, "I wasn't able to get a sample." She told me that was fine and that I could try again before I left. Then my nervousness over what really happened and my fibbing about it must have gotten to me because I suddenly started talking a million miles an hour "yeah, I was sitting there and sitting there going come on, come on, you can do this!" She just kept looking at me like I was a crazy person...which may not be that wrong...finally I shut up and she nicely told me again to just try before I left.

What next? Will I accidentally mistake my pee sample for a glass of water and drink it? Okay, maybe that was a little too far. But really, how can one person have such terrible luck with something as simple as peeing in a cup?

(P.S. The doctor did do an ultrasound, I do know the gender...but I think it would be a little harsh to go and publicly announce it on my blog when I haven't even let the father of the baby know...know what I mean?)