sunny side of life

In 2 and a half-ish days, I will be leaving to go on a missions trip to the Dominican Republic.

I do not like flying (which, they tell me, is the only possible way of getting there).

I do not like bugs (which I hear there is an abundance of).

I do not like being reminded of the fact that we are the most spoiled nation on the face of this planet (which I hear is unavoidable).

I do like challenging myself. And expecting the unexpected. And being totally in the grip of my Lord’s hands (ok, I don’t always enjoy that, it means I’m not in control, but I like it right now). And thinking about someone besides myself, and what struggles I’m going through.

So I guess I’m looking forward to this.

Except for the flying. I hate flying.

This is a picture of me with my date at my Senior Prom, 6 years ago this month:

Obviously, this man is not my wonderful husband. I decided to participate in Throwback Thursday (for the first time ever!) because it amazes me how much my life has changed since High School. Just sixyears ago. Y’see, I thought for sure that I was going to marry the man in this picture, but I didn’t. (Much to the apparent chagrin of one Mr. Bitler) And I thought, for kicks and shiggles, that I would do a “Top Ten” list of my own. So, I give you;

The (top, because there are many more than are listed here) Ten Things I learned from my Highschool Prom date (my then boyfriend):

10. Pretty does not mean perfect. (except of course in my case)

9. Women should not pursue men. It’s their job, and they’ve also been cursed with the desire to let the woman have her “reign” over them, and so if you do the pursuing, you’re also giving them a good reason to let you do all of the courting and wooing too. Which leads me to….

8. If you pay for his meals, not only does he not owe you that money, but why should he pay for yours if you’re so willing to fork over the cash?

7. Your significant other should want to be around you all of the time.

6. 2nd chances should be just that. Second chances, not 3rd or 4th or 5th……

5. No man’s feet deserve to be graveled at. NONE. (I’m speaking figuratively here, please do not think that I actually graveled at his feet)

4. If he says he’s not sure about you/his feelings for you/your relationship…..GET OUT. He knows you’re week and will settle for 2nd best, so he has no reason to give 100% of himself to you. He will be looking out for someone better than you.

3. There is no one better than you. It’s a shame that he doesn’t see it, but that’s his loss; don’t spend your whole life trying to make him realize that you are the best. He should be opening your door and buying you flowers and such. Unfortunately, he’ll only get it after it’s too late.

2. If NONE of your friends/family think he’s right for you, THEY’RE RIGHT!

And the number ONE thing that I learned from my Highschool Prom date is….

1. I cannot change people, only God can. No matter how much sweeter I wanted him to be, or more committed, or more romantic, or more whatever…….he wasn’t. And I spent far too much of my time agonizing over it. Wasted time. Time I could have spent perfecting my relationship with God, preparing myself for the man who he really wanted me to spend my life with.

I’m sure to some of you I sound bitter, or angry, but I can assure you that those feelings are only toward myself, for allowing it to happen. We were young (remember? highschool) but I had an adult mentality with relationships and wanted far more from him (emotionally) than he was ready to give.

I’m not making excuses for him, it’s true. I think of adult men who act that way much differently; they need to grow up. We were just kids and I thank God every day that he was in my life for 2 reasons.

-As a friend, he was awesome and we really did have some good times together.

-I have an appreciation for my Husbandthat I don’t think I would have otherwise. My husbandeven gets the little things right; He opens doors, surprises me with cards and flowers, and treats me like the lady (or princess, as these terms are interchangable) that I am. I love him so much, and in looking back, don’t think that I would have changed the course of things even if I could.

…of a mother of 4.

Or really, 3 days.

We have some friends who have 5 children (one is away in the Navy) who went to Vegas* and needed someone to watch their children/house/dogs for a couple of days. This couple did a lot for Husband and I in our dating days, and so when the wife called me up to ask if I would be up to the task of watching her kiddos, I couldn’t have said yes quick enough. Plus, her kids are pretty awesome, so that helps in the decision-making process. This isn’t, however, something I would do for just anyone. Four kids is a big responsibility.

So Monday, in addition to having the four kids for the day (when they weren’t in school), I also had my regular “nanny” responsibility, which includes the 2 year old and 3 year old I’ve mentioned here before. Six children. Four of which are under the age of five. (Note to self: have someone shoot you if you ever have quadruplets.) And it was raining. (Note to self: check the weather report before you agree to house/baby/dog sit again.) Needless to say, between feeding the “four under five” lunch, running the twins to pre-school, going to Wal-Mart, trying to squeeze a nap in for my “nanny” kids, picking all four back up from school, all the while in a conversion van,(Note to self: as practical as they seem, they are never cool, never, please don’t every buy one. Remember that you’d rather carry six children on your back than drive one of these things.) then on to after-school snack, homework, and dinner, I was pretty excited to drive 45 minutes to school to have some adult time. Even though I was being lectured the whole time. (Haha, I made a funny!)

Today was a little less hectic (surprisingly) since I had work and the twins didn’t have preschool and their Aunt watched them until I got off of work. The twins, I mean, the older 2 have school all day every day. Although I still had to cart them home, help with homework, do my own homework and then turn around a take a final (which I think I did alright on).

Tomorrow is the last day I’ll have them. It will resemble today, except that I don’t have class and so I can spend my last night with them, well, with them.

As much as I’ve enjoyed this experience, I gotta tell ya, it is the most effective form of birth control I’ve met yet (As a side note, I really think that condoms are the least effective. Not necessarily because they don’t work, but because they’re not so much fun to use, if you catch my drift. I mean, I hate using them, and so I prefer not to, and I do believe that that is how babies are born. Anyway.). Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to be a mom; I’d jump at the chance if my husband were here and we had a house to actually put a child in; but I would never want to be thrust into it full force, right off the bat. (Just so you know, I do know that that’s not how it usually happens, I’m just saying)

So that’s my day in the life. I hope you’ve enjoyed it, and I’m sure all you moms out there are like yeah, and? But I’m here to tell you that I started with none and did a pretty darn good job with four, by myself for 4-ish days. Accident free. I think that qualifies me for a medal, no?

*Um, they’re not like party people, the husband actually had a conference there** and the wife was allowed to come along for the ride.

**I’m not sure why anyone would schedule a conference in Vegas if they actually want to get anything accomplished.

Because, why not book-end a post about depression with a little dose of TMI?

Ok, So, I figured that the masses (or really just you DDTM, Lemons, girlymama, Em, Rachel, Ellen, Lynn, and you too Robyn! Hey, that’s eight readers! Go me!) would want to know what the heck I was talking about in this post when I mentioned infertility.

So I’ll tell you. But I’m warning you, there’s talk of menstrual cycles and ovaries and the like. It won’t be pretty.

Ok, so some history.

You know, if you’re going to read this it may be awkward the next time we see one another. I mean really. I’m going to use the word period, and not in reference to that cute little dot-thing that ends a sentence. Here’s your chance to back out. I’m just sayin’.

Back to the history.

The period. That lovely little week-long torture session that reminds us that we are, in fact, females just in case we had forgotten during the other 23 blissfully blood-free days in the month.

The cool thing? I have never gotten one regularly. I mean like, monthly. Sometimes I would skip months. I gotta tell you though friends, I was never worried. Seriously. Some people were all “Oh, you really should mention that to your Doctor.” or “That’s just not normal, maybe you should get that checked out.” But I’m here to tell you that those little “moments of concern” on the part of every other female were really moments of JEALOUSY. Don’t try to deny it. You would have been/are too.

So anyway, I was never concerned.

And so, the week before my husband left in November, I got my period (see why I don’t miss it? That was really not a great going-away present). And I was due to get it again upon his return in December around Christmas time (you know, if I was on a normal 28-day cycle) but I didn’t! Yay unregularness that is my female reproductive system!

But then, I didn’t get it in January either, and I was all “Oh my word am I pregnant?! How terrible would that be with my husband deployed? How will I ever handle this?! Oh the humanity!” And then I took a pregnancy test because what other explanation could there possibly be for all of that emotion? (The correct answer to that question is “Um, that your husband was just deployed to a foreign land for a year.” But you know, whatever.)

So it came back negative, and I’m all “Whew, that was close.” But some genius girl in one of my classes said something like “Oh, that doesn’t mean anything, my pregnancy tests came back negative with both of my sons.” So, I’m like whatever, that’s just you. (What I really thought was “Who sells those things anyway? What’s the purpose if they’re not accurate?!”) And when I didn’t get my period on the day (and subsequent days) in February that I was supposed to, I figured that was maybe the time I should go visit the Doctor that no female enjoys visiting.

So I did, and I ran over my symptoms with her and she was like “Well, it sounds to me like your ovaries are Polycystic.” And I mean to tell you that I had a stroke of some sort right in her office because I know what that means because my best friend has that and I learned a lot about it in her early days of figuring it all out. And she must have seen my face drop to the floor, because all of a sudden she tried changing her story to tell me about some other possibilities that could be causing my period to hide for three months.

But all I heard was Polycystic. It just kept ringing in my head. And aside from the fact that it affects a plethora of different things with the female body, the one fact about it that hit me the hardest was that it causes infertility in women. NOT something you want to hear when you actually want children.

Now, it is not impossible for women with PCOS to get pregnant. After all, Lemons did just have a beautiful baby girl, and my other friend who has it has four, that’s FOUR children. But still. When it seems as though all your mother had to do was just walk by your father to get pregnant, (and really, that’s how it happened anyway) then you never really think that infertility will be a blip on your radar.

I was really upset.

They sent me for blood tests and ultra-sounds and stuff to figure out what the heck is going on with me.

Incidentally, on the day they called me to tell me that I was not pregnant (it was one of the blood tests they took) I ended up getting my period. Doesn’t it figure?

So now, a month later, I went back to find out the results of all of that torture. And you wanna know the report?

Nothin’. Not a single thing is wrong. My hormones are fine, my thyroid is great, and my ovaries are cyst-free. She even said that I’m not required to go on birth-control as long as I have at least 4 periods a year. So you know what? All that worrying got me absolutely nothing.

And this is why I hate going to the Doctor. Any questions?

kisses

hugs

sleeping in on saturday morning…..with him

long talks about absolutely nothing

long talks about everything that’s of value to us

the warm spot in the bed next to me

our own apartment

caramel eyes with flecks of green

auburn hair

that dimple

caused by the smile

that makes me smile……..

Yesterday was my birthday, and I believe that I’ve finally reached the age where it’s inappropriate for someone to ask me how old I am.

Simply put - 23 sounds terribly close to 30 and I don’t like the sound of it.

Long gone are the days of “18″ when people look at you with the longing in their eyes of when they too were 18 and all was right with the world.

Now, I’m old enough to sound too far gone for my teenaged siblings to catch up to me. “You’re old” they say, and mean it, even though they chuckle to ease the sharpness of the pain from the knife they just plunged into my heart.

If I were the type to get drunk, it would no longer seem appropriate (In my mind, because really seeing someone get drunk is pathetic enough, but when you’re beyond 21 there’s a special kind of pitiful associated with it) since I am 2 (two!) years older than the “official drinking age”.

What happened to the years of pin the tail on the donky and spin the bottle? They’re only now retreivable when I have children of my own. Which, as an aside, I am able to (responsibly) do now as well. I remember when having children seemed like such a foreign concept, something I would never get to do (right up there with getting married and having sex), but alas, those things aren’t out of reach anymore.

I’m such an adult, and yet, I remember my childhood with such clarity sometimes that I feel like I’m not so far removed from that awkward girl in high school with the glasses and braces (oh, the torture!) looking out into the world and wondering what it had in store for little ol’ me.

Every year in the (northern) historical part of my state is an event called Art on the Green.

It’s a time when local crafters and artists get together to sell their wares. It’s nice for the consumer also, because you get to look at/purchase a lot of original stuff.

The setting doesn’t hurt either; brick sidewalks, a cobblestone road, old buildings, and a beautiful park which is bordered on one side by a highly slightly polluted Delaware River. (Hey it can’t be perfect, ok?)

Anyway, I really look forward to it every year, because I’m always able to find some really cute stuff.

In spite of the fact that this little portion of the town is very high end, surrounding it are some of Delaware’s “finest”. It is in New Castle, you know. I’m serious, you’ve got rednecks, white trash, and some of the most ghetto of all ghetto people. I’m allowed to talk this way about them, as I lived in New Castle up until I got married and finally moved on up to the East Side. (really where I live now is west of New Castle, but you get it, right?) It’s really surprising, a culture shock even, when you leave the quaint little historic area and enter “the ghetto”.

At the end of our time there, we were walking back to our car with all of our stuff and were in the process of loading it, when this adorable little old lady pulled next to us and asked if we were leaving. We said yes, and told her we would try to move as quickly as possible, but there were quite a lot of purchases made between myself, my mother and my Aunt who is notorious for her shopping abilities. Some of the items were quite large and took a bit of maneuvering to get into the back of my mother’s minivan. The little old lady (known from this moment on as LOL, i know, ironic) assured us that she could wait and would, that we should take our time.

While we were moving pretty quickly, we also figured that the chances of another car coming down the road were pretty slim as we were parked on the very infrequently traveled cobblestone road.

I wish I had a picture of this road to show you. It’s aesthetically pleasing, but certainly not practical unless you don’t mind changing the shocks in your car every month. It’s there because its an original road and it adds that “old world” feel to the area.

As I said before, it’s very infrequently traveled.

So, of course, up comes a minivan holding 4 or so women behind the little old lady. After about 1 minute of waiting for us to finish loading our stuff we hear:

“Excuse me! Could you please circle the road and come back around? We’re trying to park here!”

“I’ve been looking for a parking spot for a half hour, and they’re almost finished.” Answered LOL.

After another thirty seconds:

“This is ridiculous! Just circle! That’s all you have to do, I don’t feel like waiting for them to finish loading!!! Ramble, ramble, ramble……

At this point I was aggravated by this woman because it was difficult enough to load the car without this woman nagging the poor LOL. I then turned to the LOL and quietly said:

“Don’t you move honey, we should be done in another minute or two, she can wait.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on it.” she snickered.

More yelling ensued. Now this woman was just yelling to yell and she was being quite disruptive and attracting (negative) attention to herself.

We finally finished loading our stuff, with the woman still yelling in the background, when my Aunt just snapped.

“We’re finished, just chill out!” she yelled

“Who you tellin’ to chill out?!” asked the crazy woman

Then she starting yelling more, this time flinging disrespectful speak from her lips. So I chimed in.

“You need to calm down ma’am, we’re leaving right now, calm down.”

“I know you not telling me to calm down, who you telling to calm down?!” she answered

At this point, I realized that this woman was a lost cause (read: my mother demanded that I get into the van before I caused a raucous) and got into the van.

After we moved, the LOL was able to park her car in our spot, but it did take her some time as it required parallel parking which only aggravated the other woman further. Next thing we new, she was riding my mom’s tail and followed us that way until a school bus cut her off. Chuckle, chuckle *cough*

I must admit, my behavior was less than stellar, but I just can’t stand when people are so ridiculous. It was a beautiful day! We were all at a fabulous craft show! What is there to be so snippy about?

Oh well, I guess what they say is true;

You can take the girl out of The Castle, but you can’t take The Castle out of the girl.

Why is it that I am so scared to start work tomorrow? I mean really scared.

What if I forgot everything I know about? What if I do something wrong? What if I wear the wrong outfit? What if my tuna-fish sandwich offends someone?! These are legitimate fears people!

It’s like being out of the working world all this time has completely drained me of my confidence or something. I have first-day-of-school jitters, except worse.

At least I’ll be riding there in style, I know this is a complete shift in topic here, but I’m going crazy, let me be.

Husband’s car is in the shop (finally) to repair the damage caused by the car accident I was in just before vacation. So, for the unforseeable future, I’ve gone from this:

to this*:

I guess it’ll have to be my source of calm for a while. Ha.

*I actually wish they had had this for me to rent as American cars are not something I prefer even to drive.

I am in fact alive after the concert-going. I suppose I should have mentioned that I went on vacation with my family last week after I returned from the concert.

Oh, what a stressful life I lead.

So anyway, you want to hear about the concert, right?

Here goes.

Eight hours is a long time to travel, even when there aren’t whining screaming children in-tow to make the trip seem even longer. Seriously, when I have kids, we’ll either fly or we won’t vacation at all. I can’t imagine driving what seems like an eternity all the while hearing “Mommy, are we there yet?” or worse “She’s touching me!”.

Not that Lemons is bad company or anything, quite the contrary. The first 85,ooo,000,000 miles of our trip were filled with interesting conversation about the anticipation of child-birth for her, and how I plan on resisting “the urge” once her bun pops out of the oven. But only so many topics of conversation can be broached before there’s just nothing to talk about. And trust me, there’s no one I’d rather talk about nothing with than her, so you know we covered it all.

After the other 85,000,000,000 miles, we reached our destination, and the only slightly-irritable-because-she’s-pregnant Lemons exclaimed “We’re staying in the ghetto!!” (As an aside, it really wasn’t the ghetto, it just wasn’t as nice as the place that we stayed last year, which may as well have been the Hilton Suite at the Hilton with a prime location just minutes from the concert site. However, as previously mentioned, Lemons is slightly-irritable-because-she’s-pregnant. I love you Lemons, but you know it’s true) We proceeded to go into the not-as-nice-as-last-year lobby and check in with the not-as-nice-as-last-year receptionist, who sent us up the not-as-nice-as-last-year elevator to our rooms that were, well, not as nice as last year. I’m not so sure what we did after that but something about The Real World re-runs enters my mind.

The next day we woke relatively early (”I didn’t sleep so well, last year was better.”) and went off to get our nails did by the local Vietnamese ladies who didn’t do as well as last year’s Vietnamese ladies. Afterwards we went back to our hotel to pretty ourselves up for a man who will never give either of us the time of day.

The concert started at 7:30 and so, we figured (for some strange reason, which in retrospect, doesn’t make much sense) that we would get to the concert at 7:00. We seemed to have forgotten that we had to pick up our tickets from the “will call” window, which of course had a line the length of which rivaled the Mississippi. We didn’t get our tickets until 8:00 and therefore missed the opening act Taylor Swift. (Isn’t she sickeningly adorable? I just love her hair and am positive that mine would never look that good, even with a team of professionals. I think that she’s possibly the only girl I would allow my brother to date simply because she’s not a waste of his pretty.) Anyway we were pretty bummed that we missed her, and by pretty you should read very and by bummed you should read irrate, but you know, take it as you want it.

We were, from that moment on, in lovely moods until security allowed us to go up to the stage to watch Brad perform. I don’t need to be pregnant to be slightly irritable.

When Brad came on, all of my troubles melted away as he pretty much can’t put on a bad show. It’s just not in him.

The highlight of the evening was when some random chick hopped up on the stage and made a bee-line for Brad. Fortunately, his security team appears to be able to hold their own, because one of his guys came out of the middle of nowhere to tackle this woman NFL-style. As soon as he picked her up she started kicking and flailing about like a child. It was quite a site to see, although if she had taken the advice of her shirt- “Party Naked”- I’m not so sure security would have been so quick to take her out. The world may never know.

Not to be over-run by happiness for too long, Brad ended up giving his hat to some rotten little 4 year old whose parents clearly only brought him to use for that purpose. Four-year-olds don’t understand celebrity and music and the like, and if they do, they’re watching too much TV, and you should question the parenting of that child. So, next year Lemons and I have decided to bring one of our nieces to the concert for the exact same purpose.

We want that hat, darnit!

Today, Jimmy Fallon was on the view. He wrote a comedy/musical album and played his song “Carwash for Peace” on the show. It’s hillarious! I say Jimmy should replace Rosie, he’s a little more feminine anyway…..