Growing Up Too Fast

It's true what they say about children growing up entirely too fast. I've especially been feeling this way about my Lydia. At 10 yrs old, the dreaded teenage years are just a skip away. When I went to her award assembly at the end of the school year, I was amazed how big the 5th graders were! Lydia just finished 4th grade. (Her school has only 4th and 5th grades.) The thing is that most of those kids would have gone to the same K-3 school as Lydia, so I should have been able to recognize a lot of those 5th graders, having seen them for years at the other school. However, there were only one or two that I could at all identify as having ever seen before. There were some of the 5th grade girls who could have passed for 15 or 16 years old! Scary!!!

Anyway, Lydia looks older and older to me everyday, especially with her new glasses. Yikes. She came in from playing outside, the other day. She was wearing a playing-dress-up dress, her face was all dirty, and her hair was all disheveled. I felt so glad! She's still a kid for now. Man, I love that girl!

I Guess There Must Be Something in That After All

Well, it's been a little less than a month since I started Chloe on a glucosamine and chondroitin supplement, and I can tell a difference. I remember one day in particular, before the treatment, when I was out walking her at a good clip, and I had to drop her off at home at around mile 3 and finish the walk off without her. She was limping, lagging behind, and I felt like it was doggie abuse to keep her going. I walked her 4 1/2 miles today, just as fast, and she had no limp, didn't drag behind, and even still had a bit of spring in her step when we were done. What do you know?

What Makes Me Love Him?

Well folks, it's been 14 years of weddedness today. Can you believe it? Here's a song in honor of the day:

What makes me love him?
It's not his singing,
I've heard his singing,
It sours the milk
And yet, it's gotten to the point
Where I prefer that kind of milk.

What makes me love him?
It's not his learning.
He's learned so slowly,
His whole life long
And though he really knows
A multitude of things
They're mostly wrong.

He's not romantic,
And yet I love him.
No one occasion
He's used me ill
And though he's handsome
I know inside me
Were he a plain man
I'd love him still.

What makes me love him?
It's quite beyond me,
It must be something
I can't define.
Unless it's merely
That he's masculine
And that he's mine

Naw, all of it doesn't apply, but I think it's a funny song.

Here are the top 11 reasons why I love my Bruce, but in no particular order:

He tells people how great his wife if when I'm not around. (I've had many people that I'd not met before tell me so.)

He's a good father

He knows me better than anyone else, he's seen me at my absolute worst, and somehow he still seems to like me. Go figure!

He is very intelligent (though you wouldn't know it from his spelling)

He is level headed and even tempered.

We get along well together

He is very generous with his time, talents and resources

He doesn't mind it when I get act weird in public

He is very outgoing, and has brought me out of my shell quite a bit

He is just a good person all around

He can honestly answer the age old question: "Does this make me look fat?"

So if you are interested, here's the story of Bruce and Renae:

When I was in Jr High, I had a best friend named Jennifer. She was absolutely, totally, insanely, flipped out, crazy in love with some guy, from her youth group named Bruce. She would come to school all in an excited tither every Wednesday because that evening she would be seeing Bruce. I guess I'll have to blame the whole thing on her. She planted the image in my brain at such an early age that Bruce was a god.

Some weekend I spent the night with her, and I went to a youth group activity at Ziggy's - or was it Mr. Tee's - skating rink. I met the famous Bruce. I was 12, and he was 14. We couple skated, and I gave him my phone number. (Did Jennifer hate me? I don't know, she never said so, but probably a bit.) He was the first boy to ever call me on the phone. My dad freaked out, and yelled at him when he called. That was the end of it until...

We had an English class together in college. Having heard so much about "Bruce" for years, I of course knew who he was, and a goodly amount about him. However, we didn't interact with each other until...

My friend, Tally and I went to a carnival together. She said "Crystal's got a new boyfriend, he's doing a Tae Kwon Do demonstration here tonight. She wants me to go and meet them." So we went and met Crystal's new boyfriend, Bruce. Bruce said to me "Don't I know you from somewhere?" "Yes, I said, we have an English class together." We kind of dominated the conversation, as I recall it. He never called Crystal again. Next English class, he sat next to me, and we talked. My grade went from a solid A (I remember the teacher telling me that my papers were so good that there was no way I wouldn't make an easy A in her class.) to a C. I guess I got distracted.

We dated for at least a month before I told him that we had previously met, and that I'd heard many, many things about him. I didn't want him to think I was some kind of weirdo, still hung up on a guy that I met when I was 12.

He was not a member of the church. Problem stemming from said fact followed. Much controversy. Being young, stupid, and defiant, we eloped. He continued to live with his folks, and I with mine. We went on like this for 7 months, until I just couldn't take it anymore. We spilled the beans, my parents erupted, we moved in together. A couple of horrible years followed, we worked through it, decided that we liked each other after all, and that we'd try to make a go of it. Things settled down, we had two children, he joined the church, we had three more children (almost), and are as happy as can be.

For the record, I would definitely NOT advise taking this route to a happy marriage. 18 yrs old was just too young for me to get married, and there were lots of problems. I just happened to have actually picked a great guy, and worked hard to become happy -which I am now.

Okay, that was entirely too long. Sorry for the ramble.

Thank You Miss Rabbit Lady!!!

Perhaps I'd better start out with a little background information. For those of you who don't know me well enough, this is how I usually am. (Please understand, I don't tell these things to be bragging (I know plenty of people who would think this was not that much to brag about anyway.) Before I became pregnant, my everyday run was about 6 miles, on the weekends, I would sometimes run 13+ miles. At my best, I was only slightly better than middling, as far as runners go. I am not by nature a very competitive person. (This stems, I think from getting the crap beat out of me at chess, and many other games, over and over again, as a child, by my older brother John, who is, I believe, literally a genius, at least in some respects.) I am perfectly happy to just beat my former selves, and not worry terribly about how I stack up compared to others.

Anyway, my twice consecutive broken ribs, have put a serious damper on my ability to workout during this pregnancy. I've had to give up running, and content myself with other things. I biked indoors, with my bike on a trainer (until my belly got too big, and it was uncomfortable to bend over to reach the handlebars, I walk up and down my stairs, and I just regular walk. Now, when I say walk, I mean that up until about a month ago, I walked as fast as was humanly possible. I've become addicted to walking with my Garmen (a GPS tracker thing), so I can keep track of how far and how fast I walk. Up until a month ago, I would not accept anything from myself slower than a 4 mile an hour average pace. However, I started getting pains on the side of my tummy. I had to slow down. Sometimes they would get so bad that I just had to stop altogether. Very disheartening. My new average pace became about 2.8 miles per hour. Monday, I went out for a walk, at my new slower pace, and only made it about 1.75 miles before I just had to stop. (I usually aim for at least 4 miles, preferably more, if I have the time.) On Tuesday, I asked my OB about my tummy pains. After I described them, he assured me that the pains were from the ligaments that support my uterus, and that they weren't harmful to the baby. Good. So, Tuesday evening, I decided that, for what it was worth, I'd give walking another try. I didn't have much hope that I'd be able to make it very far. I started out. After only about a quarter of a mile, the pain started again. However, now armed with the knowledge that I was only hurting myself, and not my unborn child, I decided to see if I couldn't just push past it. I kept on anyway, and after a bit, the pain went away. So, I kept right on walking. After a good couple of miles, I realized that the pain wasn't coming back, so I began to push myself just a bit. I made 4 miles with an average pace of 3.3 miles per hour. Good, I can still walk after all! Today I got up early to get my walk in before Bruce had to leave for work. I tentatively started out at 3.3 mph average. So far so good, no pain. About a mile into my walk, I noticed a woman walking in the same direction, a few blocks ahead of me. I didn't really consciously think about it, but I just assumed I would pass her up. I always pass up everyone when I walk. I just walk faster than everybody else. It's not like I try to pass them, I just do. I totally wasn't thinking about it at all, until after about half of a mile. I realized that I wasn't gaining on her. For the first time it occurred to me that this was a totally new thing. I've never not passed anyone before (at least not walking). Now I began to think about it, and it bothered me. I had a John, or a Bruce moment. "Well, I'll be hanged if I get out walked by anyone!" So, I picked up the pace. Glory be, I felt good!! No pain! I picked up the pace some more. I was determined to pass this lady up. Silly, I know, but oh well. So it went. I was gaining on her. I got within two blocks of her. I got within one block of her. I got to where she was only a couple of houses ahead of me. I would pass her up in the next block. She turned. My normal path did not turn. Now, I may have turned into a competitive silly head at this time, but a stalker I am not. I had nearly reached the point where I'd have to turn around anyway to make it home before Bruce had to leave for work. I thought it would look really silly for me to walk so fast that I looked like an utter maniac, only to pass her and then abruptly turn around. I went straight, as usual. Darn! I really wanted to pass her. Oh well, I would have, if she wouldn't have turned. I did keep up my maniac pace all the way home though. It felt so good! I actually got sweaty, and red in the face! After about 1.5 miles of 3.3 average mph, I managed to pull off a 3.7 average over the total course of just over 4 miles. Thank you Miss Rabbit Lady!! My workout for the next 3 weeks may be a far cry from my former glory, but at least I know that I can still do something!

Okay, Now I May Cry

As I was writing my last post, I can hear Justice in the kitchen messing around and singing "Bad Babies" to himself. Says I, "That can't be a good sign." Sure enough!

To Cry or To Laugh? That is the Bare Bodkin

My huge task that I must complete (aside from a complete kitchen remodel, but that's another subject) within the next few week, before baby gets here, is to go through all of the boy clothes that we have in the entire house. I have a LOT of boy cloths! Being as this is my fourth boy, and I have some crazy disorder, which renders me nearly unable to get rid of any clothing, I have an entire attic closet full, and I do mean FULL of boy clothes. I have all sizes, and all stages of being, from good to ratty. The thing I have to do is to go through all of it, sort it, purge where needed, and find out what I have for who. I've been putting this undertaking off for a long time, but I can't any longer. Anyway, I bravely started yesterday. I pulled out ALL of Mark's clothes an began. I got a good way in, and then had to quit to do other things. Stupidly, I left my neat piles out. Justice struck. Here is a part of the carnage (you'd need a panoramic camera to see all of it):

Laughing is just easier.

Too Tired

Here's a little thing I put together, just for the heck of it. I actually have a bunch more of these type of pictures. But, I figured, "How much time can you stand to watch people sleep?" So, I went for a short video. Hope you like!

On a side note, it amazes me how many ugly couches I have been through! -Ha ha!

Prepare to be Horrified!

Is it a bad thing when your crocs are feeling tight on your feet? I think I'm retaining just a bit of water. What do you think? These ankles look like they belong on a 500 pound woman. Now, admittedly, I've put on about as much as I usually do during pregnancy. Which is more than I'd like to, but nothing horrifying. This is just crazy! I can feel the funky feeling of swollenness -I can't quite explain it, but it feels like pressure, tingly, and just funky- all the way up to my knees. I can't wait to be done with this pregnancy. I'm perfectly happy that I'll never have to do this again, in this lifetime. I think if I swell anymore, my legs will pop. Here is my leg next to Bruce's (his is the thinner one- duh). And BTW, vein surgery is definitely in my not-so distant future. YAY!

And just for those of you who don't see me everyday, and can't vouch for the fact that I have not turned into a complete and utter cow, here is a picture of me taken today -the same evening as the nasty, yucky, disgusting, horrid ankle pictures.
Pregnancy stinks!! Yes, I know comparatively, I still have it easier than most, for which I am extremely grateful. (I'm too much of a wuss to be able to deal with some of you other women's pregnancies!) But, I will be very glad to be done with it none the less.

School's Out For Summer

I love no school! I love no homework! I love being able to go out and walk at the crack of dawn instead of having to get everybody ready for school. I love the chance to get my act together, and organize things around here, ie- new plans for monitoring TV / video game time, and kids helping out with chores. We have a new plan for the summer which involves a quarter a day, when everybody does their chores, keeps the TV stuff in check, and cleans up after themselves. The idea is a family outing at the end of the summer as a reward. As it's only the first week of this system, it's so far so good.

I decided to get all of the check ups done during the first couple of weeks of summer, so as to not have to worry about any of that rot during the school year, and after the baby is born. (4 weeks till my due date people! Joy of joys, I can't wait to be unpregnant!) So I took all of the kids to the dentist on Thursday, and all of them to the eye doctor on Friday. Lydia will be getting glasses (as we had suspected that she might). She is slightly near sighted. Ross and Mark are fine. Mark really wanted to get glasses. He even tried to fool the eye doctor. He wouldn't read a single letter or number for him. The stinker! The doctor wasn't fooled, however. Apparently lots of kids his age think it would be cool to get glasses. He got his situation figured out by asking the usual "Is this one better, or that one?" Also, they have those things where they look at the back of your eyes or something. Anyway, Mark was so upset when the doctor pronounced him as fine, that he pouted and cried for about a half an hour. I did not give in and let him get window pane glasses, just for his orneriness. The doctor suggested that I could, and let the insurance pay for it, but I didn't think that would be a great plan.

Anywho, the kids are all outside playing in their wading pools, at the moment. Ahh blessed silence. Have a lovely!

The Secret Game

My last entry reminded me of this. At my parents' house, the TV and hence the X-box and PlayStation type things are all in the basement family room. Trent was into playing Final Fantasy for a while. For some reason, he started calling Final Fantasy "The Secret Game" to my children. Ross and Mark liked to go and watch him play "The Secret Game." You can imagine the look on the doctor's face when Ross was telling her about how his uncle takes him into the basement and plays "The Secret Game" with him.