And we're back.

It's a funny thing to watch your kids grow. One day you wake up and realize they don't quite need you the same way any more. A big piece of my heart aches over that. Then again, I write this as my youngest, whom thinks she is an extension of my own personage, yells she needs me to snuggle her. Right now. Think I can squeak in 5 more minutes of writing?? We'll push the envelope tonight, seeming I haven't blogged in WEEKS.

Here were are staring Christmas in the face, and I feel like my list of things to do gets longer, and longer, and longer every day. At least it's the fun stuff, right? Ginger Bread houses, baking cookies, buying perfect gifts for who you love and who loves you, wrapping, watching Christmas movies, visiting Santa.

And, of course, I still work. Which is kind of a joke between my husband and I. I need to do some serious re-arranging of my days - - because let me tell you something - - something ALWAYS gets in the way. Yet, I still have my job, no one has fired me yet (knock on wood), and I'll keep the same contracted until my baby comes. I'll drop to 20 hours a week instead of 30.

The baby. My 4th - - count 'em - - baby. I'm wondering if my sanity left me years ago.... or maybe it finally did when I peered down at this last positive pregnancy test. And what a pregnancy this has been. I'm too old and fat to do this again. That's my thinking. And yet here we are at 17 weeks along. Feeling more hopeful. This baby. Oh this baby. Get a heart beat, get NO heart beat, get a heart beat, can't FIND the heart beat. It's about time this little one started to cooperate. NOW, with my latest OB check up, I can finally start to invest a little joy in thinking of this little bundle to come. Some how, there is still something, wonderful, selfless, and sacred, surrendering my body to what is great tbove, letting Him create this miracle within.

I truly hope you have a wonderful, joyous, magical Christmas, filled with little ones, and so much love. This is the very best time of year to re-write my own childhood, while making my own children's dreams come true. 'Tis a sweet thing, my friends.

Speaking of which. I now an on snuggling duty. You wish you were me, I can feel it.

Here you have her.

Meet Mandy. She is a long time BFF, from grade school, middle school, high school, adult school. Like how I threw that last one in?

She trumps all. She's first, and here is her beautiful post.

And, by the way, she is the BEST photographer I know. Check her blog out: http://labellavitablog.com/ . Do it now.

And now, my dears, here is what she had to say!

{a.not.so.short.essay}

By: Amanda Burse

“There is a garden in every childhood…” {Elizabeth.Lawrence}

Let me preface this essay by saying that I have no sad tales of my childhood. There were sad things that happened, as I am sure they happen to all children, but I have no stories of woe to embrace, overcome, or muddle through. By all accounts my youth was semi-charmed, with divorced yet loving parents, doting grandparents, and many friends. So, I am sure at this point you are asking why I bother write an essay on childhood if nothing dramatic occurred for me to persevere though. Well…for one, I like to hear myself talk, and two, I think that there really is a shortage of happy childhood stories these days, so I am adding my two cents to hopefully leave you with a warmness in your heart.

My name is Amanda. I am 28 years old. Before I was old, I was young. 28 is old. Ask any 5 year old, and they will tell you. I grew up in a little town called Thomaston in a little state called Maine. My neighborhood was a place filled with kids my own age, or around my own age, and all the houses looked the same, and now that I look back on it as a mother of two girls, I am pretty sure it was perfection. My skin drenched with warm sun, my cheeks rosy from the fresh sea-salt air, and the tan line from my sandals…I would spend every day outside until the sun disappeared under the ocean, and the sky went black with night. Daily adventures spent in rustically built forts behind the subdivision were only to be interrupted by snack, lunch, another snack, and dinner. Like I said, it was perfect.

My father, a simple, quiet, just all around good man, was a supervisor in a local fish plant before it was shut down in the early 1990’s. He left every morning at 4:30 am. My grandmother, a rotund and well dressed, probably crazy woman, who lived in the next town over, would get in her car every early morning to come and take care of me. She would sit out in the yard with her ridiculously fancy sun hats and read a book, or knit, or do the crossword in the Bangor Daily, or just contently watch and grin as I played with my friends. Afternoons were always for swimming lessons at Sandy Shores, a nearby lake that is now not swimmable because of profuse pollution. After an hour long of intense swimming with a kickboard, and learning to master the basics of holding my breath underwater, we would get ice cream, or go back to her assisted living community and gossip with the other older ladies in the lobby about the ladies who weren’t there at the time. I knew how to bake biscuits by the time I was 6, and any type of berry pie by the time I was 6 ¾ years old. I was spoiled with attention and fresh air. My dad would pick me up at 4:30pm and we would go home to our little ranch style house, to our menagerie of animals (a dog, 2 cats, and a bunny named Cottontail, who by the way, lived until I graduated from high school), and to our little, happy life.

My mother wasn’t around, but that’s not sad…it just is.

I was in the 3^rd grade when I met Misty. I am pretty sure I was a snob then…actually, I am quite sure of it. Locked in the isolation of a coastal town, blanketed by unending attention will do that to a 9 year old, only child who was bound to be a snob anyway. Pre – adolescence being what it is, I am sure that didn’t help matters either. When I met Misty on the play ground out at recess, I was pretty sure she was trouble from the start. She was practically from a different planet (or just out of state). Only she can recount it better than I can, but like I said, I wasn’t nice, and I went on my merry little way until we met again the following year in Mr. Beckett’s 4^th grade classroom at Thomaston Grammar School (a newer, bigger, more horrifying place that our Laura Libby Elementary had been).

Mr. Beckett was a man…a historian, unmarried, still picked up his lunch from his mother on the way to school every morning, and was dreadfully boring. Although I don’t think I was a big fan of his at the time, I can now see that he was patient, understanding, and outnumbered by several head strong 10 and 11 year old girls and one kid (boy) named Jamie Schurman. He really didn’t have a chance, poor guy. And this is when I really met Misty. Any of you who know her, know her life, and to me it just sounded unreal. To a girl who had never been out of the state of Maine, she was extraordinary really; a world traveler (although not by choice), and by all accounts, a survivor. The most I had ever had to endure was a not-so-amicable divorce with two loving, yet confused parents in their late 20’s, and a really bad case of the measles. Even then, I couldn’t help feeling that she was a bit of a super girl (now woman). Misty wanted to be a mother when she grew up. I don’t remember her ever wanting anything ever as much as that, and to this day, I can remember her saying it to me out at recess later on that year. I wanted to be a writer, a teacher, a doctor, and I still believed in Santa Claus. We truly were from two opposite ends of the spectrum, and even though we would have our times of pre-teen drama, I always felt that there was a tender, genuine connection between the two of us.

That was 18 years ago. Misty would move away, and then flow back into my life; a tide moving up and down the rough sand. She went to Texas, moved back, stayed a while, and then left again. Her absences have never left me empty, because true friends never leave your heart. All I could remember was her talking about her dreams under a desk in Mr. Beckett’s 4^th grade, and I knew where ever she landed, she was moving mountains to achieve them. Misty is the only friend I have kept in touch with since I left my little, sheltered, coastal town existence. 18 years is a life time for two little girls who came together unexpectedly (but not by mistake, I am quite sure of it), who have grown up together, shared heart brakes, tears, dreams (about life, goals, and boys *sigh*) tragedies, secrets, and even some words of anger at times….who have shared countless hours laughing (mostly at ourselves), who became wives, and then mothers. What’s next, I wonder…

18 years is a long time to be friends…just a beginning really.

Guest bloggers - heads UP!

Here's the deal.

Email me at abnmln@gmail.com if you are interested in being my guest blogger. Come one, come all.

Mandy - you're first. Mainly because being childhood friends trumps all. And we were pretty freakin awesome back in the day, if I can say so myself. **snicker, snicker**

Here are the rules:

1. I want a picture of you to display with your post.

2. Stick to the theme. Which is one of these two: A. I want something inspirational. I want to know something you've overcome and how it's changed you. Make me cry. Make us all cry. I want to know more about how you became the amazing person you are today. Or. B. I want you to participate in a random act of kindness for someone anonymously. Bake cookies, make a treat, buy some bath salts - - what ever you think. And I want photo proof. Photo proof, and ding-dong ditch, should you choose to play, is a GREAT game.

Let me know if you're playing along. Shoot me an email, and we'll work out the details.

And should you choose to tell every one how much you love me in the process, that would be fine, too.

Just a thought.

We're BOTH alive.

Friends. Especially ones I know out of blog land. I've barely been functioning. We're had a scare here in pregnancy valley. I've been experiencing some bleeding... coming and going... off and on....Wasn't quite sure what was up with my growing babe. But. Good news. The babe is alive, healthy, and formed just right.

I'm officially coming back to the land of the living, now that I can cope with my life. Uncertainty? Not my friend.

It's her fault.

I fully plan on using my pregnancy as my "get out of jail totally free" card.

I would also like to put it out there that I am having daily..... some times hourly... meltdowns. And, it's the baby's fault. I'm sticking to that story.

And.

I talked to a friend tonight.

She talked me out of quitting. She's kinda sweet like that. And it is my duty to keep her identity top secret. I'm cool like that. I keep secrets. Mwwwaaaaahhhhhhhhahahahah.

And.

Another thing.

I cleaned up Olivia's barf today. I smelled it, touched it, cleaned it up. I did all of that, even being in this condition.

And if that isn't enough to make you feel bad for me and keep reading my blog, I'm out of ideas.

Because the more I think about it, this may be a bumpy ride.

Feel free to roll yours eyes now...... I can feel it happening......

Tea time?

Remember this?

Awesome Mom won it. Send me your mailing address, and I'll do my best to get it sent to you in a timely fashion. Which might make some people laugh, because, really - I suck at getting to the post office. Ask my brother. He and his lovely other half are still awaiting their birthday box. Which was meant for March and May. Sad. I know. But. I'll do better, promise.

So.

I'm still sick. Still barfy. But liking this skittles I'm eating right now.

And liking that my scale shows a loss, and not a gain. Not intentional. I swear.

I also bought myself the bestest black draw-string pants in the world, and I'm not taking them off, except to wash. They are mine, ALL mine. Doubt you want 'em anyway.

Anyways. Back to my motherly duties. We're right in the middle of home work, and since I totally blew off all my responsibilities today, I'll go now and get to work, while I still have time to redeem myself.

I wanna know how you are..... it's been a while..... Spill it.

Protect Our Children!

It's time to get on the wagon, ladies and gents - - GO HERE!

Can't say I have time to sit and watch Oprah often, but since I'm sick and pregnant, I did today, because this one caught my eye.

As a victim of sexual abuse, I cannot express how important Senate Bill 1738 is. This bill will provide the funding for the correct officials to go after the millions of sexual predators that allude us.

My abuser, I knew. Most likely, your child would, too. Help keep your children safe and help push this through.

Teach your children about "stranger danger" but don't forget almost all of these "strangers" are family members, teachers, coaches, and family friends. Teach your children about "good touch, bad touch". Be involved, be aware, and be on top of what is going on in your child's life. I can't be reminded enough.

Take the time, get involved. I just did.

Oh Baby.

So.

Friends.

Do I have a treat for you.

Make this soup tonight. I made it yesterday. We ate the whole pot. It's a guaranteed kid pleaser, and takes - like - less then one hour to make. And let me tell you...... SO delicious.

I have - to date - taken - I think - 8 pregnancy tests. I swear I will no take any more. I simply cannot believe this good fortune, especially now that I have gotten a dark pink line! I had the good news minus all the waiting and angst. Minus the planning and scheduled baby sex. It was easy. And a gift from God to me. Trying to get pregnant with Olivia created serious problems for me. I'll spare you the details, but my history of abuse brought up feelings I could barely handle, and it took about a year and a 1/2 to recover. This time around, I've stayed in my "happy place", not letting my mind wander to things from the past, feeling determined to get through this bout of fertility drama - - and I got my most prized wish anyhow. Some one UP THERE is looking out for me. Disaster diverted. HUGE time.

In the next breath. I worry so much about getting pregnant, and now I worry so much about BEING pregnant. What happens if some thing goes wrong? What happens if I have a miscarriage? What happens if this wonderful gift gets taken away? What if those tests were wrong? I am a whopping 4 weeks and 1 day pregnant. As the weeks pass, I think I'll settle down. I hope.

Stop it already right? Believe me, I'm TRYING.

Let's you and me just go make more of that great soup. That'll fix it!

The Double Pink LINE.

This may totally bite me in the ass.

But.

I'm pregnant.

**gasp**

With out Clomid. You got that right. I was on Metformin for 2 weeks, got a period, went off the drug because it worked "too quickly", and made plans to re-start all three of my treatments in September.

I've taken 5 of these. The light pink line, you can't see, BUT, I can. A little better each test. And I am about to burst. Because, let me tell you.... every.single.time. IT's a miracle. And this time - it's a shocker.

And I'm in heaven.

I thought about not telling a soul, but that's never been my style. So, we'll start here. And if word leaks further then I hoped, I'll handle that, too. But for now, it's our **little secret**.

Walk with me and be a part of this journey, what ever this journey might be.

I should have known. Giving it UP!

The visit.

Oh, the visit.

The visit sucked. Although sucked with short bursts of tolerable moments.

This is what I learned:

1. I'm fat.

2. My home isn't good enough, it's too small, I need to add on, or buy a new one.

3. My kid's "get up" isn't what rich people approve of.

4. Oh. And the best part, was realizing, what I always feared. My grandparents are emotionally unavailable to me. Duh.. right? They know fully what I have suffered, but stated there must be some way for me, ONE TIME, "get it all out", and be "done with it".

I've spent the last few days not functioning to full capacity, but I'm feeling like my old self again, and have bounced right back into my old "screw 'em" attitude. Some days, though, I wish things were just a little bit easier for me.

But, then again, wouldn't we all??

In the spirit of trying to get my rear back into gear in the blogging world, I am hosting a GIVE A WAY. Yes, me! A give a way. My first, but there is a second one coming soon, just to keep you on your toes.

Here it is:



For your "play tea time" pleasure. It's dainty and sweet. You have one week to enter, I'll announce the winner NEXT Monday. Leave a comment if you want it, and we'll see if it wants you back.

Walk with me.

It's a funny thing when all of a sudden there's much more to think about then you had intended... wanted... cared for..... you get the drift. Some days I'd like to be left alone. With out my thoughts. For just one day.

My grandparents are coming to visit on Tuesday. I have to cram in cleaning before they come. Cram in meal planning, grocery shopping, laundry, and yard work. Not to mention the fine dance of getting in work hours ahead of time, so I can enjoy their few days with me.

They are my "real" grandparents. Ya know... my blood. When my mother was the last to abandon us, they raised us for a few years, actually for 70% of the first 6 years of my little life. They're part mom and dad to me. Which is complicated in itself, because I crave that love from them, but I'm not necessarily sure they want to give it. Maybe they do, but it's certainly on their own terms.

I remember when we were adopted out, pulling out of the drive way, feeling as though my heart had been torn from my chest. Felt as though they ran over that, too, driving down the road... a little piece of my heart here, a pebble in the road there. I remember the heart ache I felt. It physically hurt me. I missed them so. I cried night after night. I shoved any thing that reminded me of them under my bed, in the closet. I felt as though I could barely stand it. I didn't think I could bare it. And. Of Course. Neither could my "new" parents. They called my grandparents. They said they didn't want me, it was too hard, they needed to take me back. That didn't go over well. And yet, there we stayed. If only I knew the abuse to come, maybe I would have cried harder. Pleaded to be rescued.

As long as I can remember, my grandmother still clutches me to her when ever it's time to say goodbye. Same drill. Every. Single. Time. She cries. I cry. I feel like that little girl again. It hurts. It takes my breath away. I spend part of my visit with them dreading the farewells. I can barely stand it. That little girl will always be a part of me. Always. Why?

Perhaps I should try to be-friend her again. That little girl in me. Maybe this time it won't be so hard. Maybe this time we can do it together.

When all else fails.

Yes she did. When all else fails, wear undies on your head and bras around your neck. And now the secret of my laundry success is out. I dress my kids in layers - many, many layers. Who said folding and putting away was a good thing, anyway? Make 'em wear every thing. Make 'em wear it all. Peal and wash. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I'm feeling a *little weird* today. I have a lot on my mind. Things to do, things to mull over, things to figure out.

And now, some additional things to point out:

1. When one of your cat dies, don't go buy your kids a new kitten a day or so later. Which I did. And we're picking it up this evening.

2. If you check your husband's emails, upon his request, and have to send a response back to his boss, do NOT write your own name, instead of his. Which I did. Um...yeah.....

3. If you plan on keeping a head start on your Saturday chores, do not stay in your nightie until 2 in the afternoon. Which I did. Hell - I'm still wearing it.

Some lessons I just never, never learn...... what ever are we going to do with me?

Behind isn't so bad after all.

I'm behind. Very. So my next several posts are outdated, but you love me, so you don't care.... right? At least that's what I'm telling myself.

I took these last week. LAST week was back to school night for the kids. This week is their first week back. Can any one else say "kick in the pants"? We're making it, but I miss my babes. Totally.

This is my first completed 30 hour work week, or, should I say it will be after my 4 hours tomorrow? It's not as bad as I thought. Olivia and I hunkered down in my home office... er... home office corner, and barring several messes, we made it. Barely.

Now that I have some free time on my hands, I am going to blog your pants off this weekend... or at least my pants off.... can any one say "scheduled posts"?? I sure can. I love 'em.

And.

I love you, I'll be in touch..... you won't know what hit you when my comments start flooding in.

Disaster.

We're past this now, so I can't post about it, right? Now that I am not so irritated. So THIS happened right in the middle of my work week (last week), I'm still behind in hours, but there just isn't too much I can freaking do about it.

Olivia sprained her ankle, or should I say one of my other kids sprained it for her. Long story, too little time. I probably shouldn't out one of my other kids either. Too embarrassing. Yet - - Miserable experience, I tell ya. Very painful, very draining. Maybe I'm still not over it. *weeping*

But, alas, she's still in one piece, and her little self has healed just fine.

Moving on.......

All boy.

Who wouldn't feel more safe at home with this man around?

Now to change gears. I got my period today. Which was a surprise, because the 2nd drug I need to take was to actually induce a period. The Metformin, which I am on now, is working, better than expected. Don't get excited. There'll be no extra effort this month. If I were to get pregnant this month, the baby would be born end of May next year. I can't miss out on the kid's end of-the-school-year-celebrations, so the first month I want to give birth next year is June. That's why September will be the big push with Clomid. Funny to be talking about next year's summer vacation when we're just ending this one.

I can't say I've been spot on this week. I have things planned for the kids and I to do, but now that I'm working from home 25 hours a week, even fun activities can be an extra stress. Yesterday we bowled and I took the kids out to eat. Today was red box night and treats. Tomorrow we have lunch out, plus feeding the ducks, and playing at the park. I'm looking forward to it, but in the back of my mind I'm always planning on how I can get my hours in, school prep in, cleaning in, with out totally wiping myself out. Which is a joke because I am so freaking tired.

And. To top it off, I bitched the kids out tonight. I swear the neighbors think I am satan, that is, if they can hear me. I worry too much. Screw 'em, right? The kids were fighting. I was trying to put away (new) clean clothes for the kids to have for next week, and to top it off, Hannah and Ian decided to let Olivia play in a sugar bowl - - you know the drill, I had sugar all over my kitchen. I yelled at the kids, sent them to bed, got my oldest two up again because I felt guilty, they started fighting again, I sent them back to bed, let them get back out, and here we are. Some days I tell ya.... some freaking days.......

I'm just trying to do it right, get it right, be right, feel right, love right, scold right, teach right. I'm tired. So, so tired.

Shout.

Doesn't this just shout summer to you?

Some days I freaking love playing with my kids.

Farm It Up.

With out fail, I am proved over and over again, that my children are capable of making me eat my words. For instance. This little Miss. Rides a pony, and loves it? WHAT? She is still asking for more!

With out fail, I've realized that I am capable of taking care of my children when they are sick, but it really pisses me off to be my husband's nurse. For today, for example. I haven't been so nice. Am I evil? Get your own damn barf bucket.

With out fail, when ever I really need to be careful when I pour something, I spill it. Like today. I spilled powerade on my computer. I sure did.

This starts the last week of summer vacation. I'm a little sad, well, a lot sad. Where did the freaking time go? It slipped right through my fingers. The kids and I are on our own this week, partying it up. Due to my husbands large pay cut, decreased vacation time, and increased over time hours - - the kids and I will have to manage having fun every day with out him. Sad, I know. Not joking.

We have something planned every day this week - - that is - - if the kids get over their stomach bug in time. I've been in an interesting place the past week - - trying to swallow my husband's thousand-dollar-a-month pay cut, increasing my own work hours, while increasing my feeling that I just don't know how to get it all done. All the while starting to take the first of three fertility drugs I'm on. I fear I'm slowing losing it.

Which may be the perfect time to switch gears and show you these! We went to Farm Country yesterday, and had a blast. I love seeing my kids happy. **sigh**

Some things never change.

Guess what I spent my Monday evening doing? I'm behind as I can get. Some things never change.

It's official.

It's official. I took the first pill. The first pill that begins the start of my fertility treatments. And. I dragged my feet. Dragged them because I know I'm in for a not-so-happy tummy, but, it's just part of the party. I'm excited. Nervous. Scared. Trying to block out the "what if it doesn't work?", and replace those words with "I'll be pregnant in no time *shrieks of glee*". You ready for the ride? It might get ugly. I'm warning you boys out there. My one boy reader that I know of. This blog may turn into several posts full of TMI (too much information). So. The warning is as follows: buyers beware. You might get a brain full. Run. Fast. Run far, far away.

I talked to this way cool guy tonight. I love him. He's one of my bestest friends. He's my brudder.... yes, I just wrote that. He's my Keefers. And. He doesn't read this blog, so that's his name, and I'm sticking to it. The "mom and dad" came for a visit. To see him. Not me. Yikes, I know. Scarey, I know that too. He explained that the visit was alright, that they still don't do any thing normal people do (some things never change), and he also said some thing else that made my ears tingle. He said he hated that when people meet them, they seem so nice, so put together, like no one would ever know. He said to his girlfriend, and I loved this, he said "You are meeting some one I don't know, I know a person different then you're meeting". He's right. It's true. It's not like they walk around with a sign tattooed on their heads (or asses) that say "child abusers, kid beaters". No one knows what they really were were "love with-holders, dreams killers, prison enforcers". Part of me wants every one to know. They suck. And just a little part of me wants to give them a quick, hard kick in the ass. Right out the door. They better not mess with my brudder. This girl learned how to kick some ass - from the best ass kickers around - them.

Ironic, isn't it?

Yeah, I'm cool like dat.

Do NOT introduce your 2 year old child to play-doh. Not unless, of course, you are into making lots of these (see above) and cleaning up lots of this (see below).





I'm pooped. A big old stinky pile of pooped. I took the kids to see the 2nd Narnia last night. We went at 10pm, got home at ONE in the MORNING. Loved it. Still tired from it. Don't forget to remind me how my lovely son made the entire theater of move-goers laugh - all at once - in one roar of giggles. The kids had a blast. I had a blast. I'm behind in housework, laundry, and my "real job" - - but what the hell! We only have 2.5 weeks of summer vacation left. It's time to par-tay baby!

Picture perfect.

No I have not lost my mind. We were visiting our (family) Sunday cabin today, and I decided while we were there to try to get the kid's Christmas picture out of the way.

We (my husband) decided that maybe I should not go into the photography business after the lack of patience I demonstrated today. I swear I tried my best. I swear I did.

Let me have it and let me know what you think. We're not paying for a "professional" family portrait until next year, when hopefully I have a new bundle in my arms.

This'll have to do. I think it'll work, don't you?

Bitten.

I've been bitten by the photography bug. It's getting to be that time of year - well sorta - that I start having Christmas pictures on on my mind. I'm going to take them again this year my self, and hopefully get my neighbor in on the action to help with a family picture. I figure if I make sure the lighting and pose is correct, she can push the button.... right?......

Trouble is, this little Miss does NOT like her picture taken. But. I suppose there is hope in sight because she IS responding to bribes now. At least she's looking at the camera.... think positive thoughts.... that's my story and I'm sticking to it.



I feel like I should also mention I have made a few new bloggity friends lately. You know who you are (or do you). I've added you into my google reader to keep in touch proper now, so when I find a minute, I'll be stoppin' by, so get ready for a whole-lotta Misty.