Dear Pregnancy {and your evil little friends}

Dear Lack of Sleep,

Look, I get it. You’re preparing me for when Elizabeth arrives. You want my body to be well adjusted to functioning on you before she gets here so that I don’t freak out and try to throw her out the window. I know you want what’s best for both of us and everything but, here’s the deal:

I’ve done this before. I’ll be alright. I promise I’m not going to shake her when she wakes up for a 2 am feeding. I PROMISE. I’ll adjust when the time comes. I didn’t shake either one of the boys (very hard) and I managed to quickly adjust to their schedules as not to put coffee in their bottles or formula in my coffee cup. They survived. They were loved. I did fine.

Please, please let me sleep.

Dear Brain,

Please calm the eff down.

Like I just explained to Lack of Sleep, I’ve done this before. There is no reason to be freaking out right now. Sure, you are allowed to be excited and nervous and everything but, could you please do it at a reasonable hour and not in the middle of the night? I know you are eager to get this Three Kids show on the road and stuff but, you have to calm down a bit and let me relax. You running constantly isn’t doing either of us any good. And stay away from Lack of Sleep. She is not, I repeat, NOT your friend.

Dear Restless Leg Syndrome,

Go away. No one likes you. You have no friends here and you are really, REALLY starting to piss me off.

And stop egging Lack of Sleep and Brain on. They don’t need your flippin’ help.

Dear Bladder,

SERIOUSLY?!

Dear Sciatic Nerve Pain,

You are being completely ridiculous. I have two kids to take care of. I can not be all crippled and in pain with you. I have more important things to do. There is hair to wash, breakfast to make, lunches to pack, monsters to scare away, shoes to tie and boo boos to kiss. I’m really busy right now raising people and you constantly shooting debilitating pains down my leg is really cramping my style.

Dear Nausea,

I thought we talked about this around week 18 and we both agreed that you were going to stay away. I know it’s hard and you think I’m really fun to hang out with but, I assure you, I’m not. It’s not you, it’s me. Please go bother someone in their first trimester. They’re already expecting it. There is some woman out there who has been trying to get pregnant for three years and finally saw two pink lines and will totally welcome your company. She’ll be grateful for it. You two will make a perfect match.

Me? I’m over you. Accept it and move on.

Dear Trial of Labor and VBAC,

You don’t scare me.

Bring. It. On.

Dear Pregnancy,

You really are beautiful.

I want you to know I think you’re amazing and I’m really glad you chose me again, no matter what I say sometimes. Growing a person from scratch is really quite an honor. I feel blessed beyond measure to have you in my life. If it was just me, you and the fluttering fetus, we’d be great. It’s those other bastards that give you such a bad rep. You, my dear friend, are a miracle and nothing compares to you. Thank you for coming back when I least expected it and giving me one more chance to soak you in. It’s been very exciting to be able to share you with the boys. They think you’re pretty neat, too. I love the way you make Jeremy look at me all googly eyed, like I’m some kind of rock star. I love lying on my left side at the end of the day and letting you and the baby move and dance around while I watch Grey’s Anatomy. Fetal hiccups are borderline blissful. Listening to Brodie sing Ba Ba Black Sheep to my belly and watching Logan kiss it goodnight are two things I’ll never forget. I appreciate what you’ve done for my hair and my nails. My skin isn’t looking so bad, either. You have yet to leave any stretch marks this time around and for that, I thank you. I’m so glad you chose to give me a girl to grow this time. Fussing over pink things has actually made those evil friends of yours more bearable. (just don’t tell them I said that)

You have done nothing wrong and I want you to just keep on keepin’ on for about 3-4 more weeks, okay?

You’re doing great. Thank you for being you. I love you.

Love,

Krysten

Happy Birthday, Foxy Roxy

I’m not sure exactly when it happened.

I’m not sure exactly how it happened.

All I know is that it happened and I thank God every day it did.

We became allies.

I dropped the Step in Mom and she dropped the Step in Daughter.  

We became two women, on the same side, who have inside jokes and share real hugs, instead of a strong willed woman and a strong willed kid, fighting on opposite sides of just about everything.

She became my lifeline.

She became my best friend.

I became the endearingly imperfect mother to her perfect grandchildren.

She became the perfect grandmother to my endearingly imperfect kids.

I figured out she only wanted the best for me. That she only wanted the best for everyone.  

I started listening to her with open ears and learned I wanted to be more like her than I had ever realized.

She became my hero.

We’re different in more than a million ways.

She’s organized. She follows a routine. She never leaves the house without make-up. She’s always well put together. She always has a plan. Her sponges never stink and her toilets never have rings.

I’m a hot mess all of the time. And so is my house.

She loves me anyway.

We’re the same in more ways than we ever really knew.

We love people intensely. We forgive quickly. We’d each be the first to kick your ass if you mess with someone we love.

There is a full family of people with different last names and mis-matched DNA that would all be lost with out her.

She’s the rock that holds it all together.

She’s Super Mom.

She’s Super Grandma.

She’s Roxy.

And today is her birthday.

I’m sure glad you were born, Roxy and that you didn’t run for the hills when you figured out my Dad had a two year old. 

I love you.

Happy Birthday. 

It's Okay Thursday {Late Morning}

It’s Ok.

It’s Ok that Logan was an hour late for school this morning.

It’s Ok.

Because he was tired. Because Brodie was tired, too. Because I knew if I let them sleep an extra hour, they’d be in better moods, which meant I would be in a better mood. Because I was dressed AND had make-up on when we finally made it to school, which, I’ll admit, never happens. Because some days, it’s more important to like your kids than be on time.

Much better mood than yesterday. This is what he calls "Cute Face"

Me and The Bump. Feeling totally Spring

It’s Ok.

It’s Ok that I woke up to two sets of pissy clothes this morning, piled in the bathroom floor.

It’s Ok.

Because they changed their own pajamas in the middle of the night and didn’t feel the need to wake me up. Because one peed on a pallet in the floor and the other one peed in the top bunk which left a dry bottom bunk, which they both climbed into and fell back asleep. Because I finally made it to that pile of clean laundry and put it all away, so when I had to wash a load of wet clothes and sheets this morning, the laundry room was already emptied out.

This is a huge Krysten Success.

It’s Ok.

It’s Ok that my schedule has been off this week and I’m a little behind on sleep.

It’s Ok.

Because getting up with Jeremy at 3am means he’s been at the dinner table every night this week, that he’s been at tee ball practice and tee ball games and cub scout meetings, that we’ve been able to have a couple of quiet cups of coffee together, even if it’s in the middle of the night. Because I’ve gotten some major writing done in the wee hours of the morning while everyone else is still asleep. Because Brodie has finally learned to watch TV quietly while I sneak in a nap. Because I’m getting ready to have a third baby and I’m going to have to learn to function that way in a few months anyway. I might as well get used to it before I have a crying newborn to feed.

It’s Ok.

It’s Ok to buy maternity clothes at Wal-mart. And baby clothes, for that matter.

It’s Ok.

Because they’re cute. Because they’re cheap. Because I want to look cute but refuse to spend too much money on clothes I won’t wear after about July. (Ever again, I swear it this time. NO MORE BABIES!) And why not buy a cute onesie for three bucks that Baby Girl is probably going to puke on anyway? It. Has. An. Owl. On. It!!

It’s Ok.

It’s all Ok.

Happy Thursday, Friends.

go. do. be. 

Linking up over here today. 

My First Rejection Letter!!

This, ladies and gentlemen, is my first rejection letter. 

Isn’t it pretty?

I mean, really, in the grand scheme of things, I’m pretty sure a letter that includes the phrases, “We appreciate the chance…” and “Please try again soon...” is pretty good as far as rejection letters go. When I was at the Southern California Writers Conference in September, I heard stories from my fellow writers about getting rejection letters that said a lot worse. A LOT WORSE. Plus, I think it was nice to get a letter back at all. Some publications don’t even bother.

To me, this letter is a really big deal. Not in the throw myself down on the ground and cry sort of way. In fact, I actually didn’t cry at all. It’s a really big deal because it’s proof that I put myself out there. That I took a chance on myself and my little piece of flash-fiction and sent it out into the world.

That I go’d and I do’d and I be’d.

I read the email, chuckled to myself a little, took a screen shot, told Jeremy, sent the screen shot to my friends Megan and Nick, and went to tee ball practice. Jeremy was seriously offended and called them stupid. Nick told me how one of his favorite books was rejected by 18 publishing houses before being accepted by the 19^th , where it went on to sell millions upon millions of copies. Megan told me that Stephanie Meyer had something like 17 rejections and now she’s “swimming in millions like Scrooge McDuck.” And then she added, “and just so you know, you write better than her.”

It was nice to hear those things but, the truth of the matter is, I’m really not that bummed about it.

The piece that this email is rejecting is called ‘Kitty.’ It was my first attempt at flash-fiction. It isn’t a manuscript that I poured my heart and soul into. I didn’t spend months, or even days for that matter, working and re-working it. I wrote it in about an hour and a half, in a hotel room in Long Beach, for a contest I won.

And the feeling of writing it in that hotel room, all alone on a Saturday night, and then winning the contest, are two things that no one will ever be able to take away from me.

Would it have been cool for me to submit it to a second place and have them like it, too? Publish it, even?

Absofreakinglutely!

Did they?

No.

Does that change the way I feel about this little piece of flash-fiction? Does it take away the high I got by writing it? Does it take away the high I got when it was validated by my peers? Does it make it less mine? Does it mean I won’t submit it somewhere else? Work it some and tweak it some and try again?

Absofreakinglutely Not!

I hate to repeat quotes that I can’t remember the author of but, I read a quote once that I haven’t ever forgotten, even though I can’t remember where. It said,

“Writers want to write, not to have written.”

And that’s what I want to do. I want to write.

Yesterday, I spent 14 hours working on a monologue. I’m on my fourth draft and almost ready to send it off somewhere in the hopes that it’ll make it to a stage in New York in 2014. Will it? I don’t know. Will it change anything about the way I felt yesterday while I was writing it if it doesn’t?

No. It won’t.

I write. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. No amount of rejections is going to change that. And the truth is, no amount of acceptance letters is going to change it either.

It just is.

I'm pretty content with my first rejection letter. 
I think I'll frame it.  

Happy Tuesday, Friends.

go. do. be.

It's Ok. {A Link Up}

It’s ok.

It’s ok that even though we bought him a brand new bed, and brand new blankets, and a brand new pillow, and put a TV in his room…Brodie still wants to sleep next to us in the floor.

It’s ok.

Because one day, he won’t need us so much anymore. Because sleeping on the floor doesn’t actually hurt anything. Because as long as he sleeps, it doesn’t really matter where, anyway.

It’s ok.

It’s ok that I wasn’t excited when the stick had two lines. That I was disappointed. And scared. And pissed off. And angry. That I spent the first three months of my pregnancy in tears.

It’s ok.

Because I’m excited now. Because I can’t wait to be her mother. Because sometimes, the best things in life are the ones that you don’t plan on.

It’s ok.

It’s ok that sex is the last thing in the world I want to do right now. That I feel uncomfortable and unsexy and unable to make myself feel any different.

It’s ok.

Because it doesn’t mean I love my husband any less. Because it won’t last forever. Because it’s nothing personal. Because it’s just pregnancy hormones. Because one day, my body will be mine again and my husband will get to reap the benefits, too. Because he loves me anyway and he’s not going anywhere.

It’s ok.

It’s ok that the laundry never gets put away. Even though it’s clean. Even though I’m home. Even though I swear every day I’m going to do it. Even though I’m out of excuses.

It’s ok.

Because at least it’s clean. Because everyone knows where to find their clean socks and underwear. Because at least it’s all contained to the laundry room. Because in 18 years, it isn’t really going to matter.

It’s ok.

It’s ok that Logan still has training wheels. Even though everyone says he shouldn’t. Even though his friends don’t. Even though he’s six.

It’s ok.

Because he’s only six, not sixteen. Because everyone seems to care but him. Because when he’s ready, he’ll take them off. Because he rides his bike anyway, really fast, and doesn’t seem to notice the difference. Because he could care less about peer pressure and one day, we’re going to be really grateful for that.

It’s ok.

It’s ok that I’m not well put together. That I lose my cool over pee and poop and puke. That I get my feelings hurt. That I don’t have all the answers. That I put myself first sometimes. That some days, I just don’t want to.

It’s ok.

Because being well put together is only a facade. Because pee and poop and puke are disgusting. Because I’m only human, even though I’m a mother and a woman, too. Because if I had all the answers, there would be no wonder left in the world. Because I have to take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else. Because no one says I have to want to all the time. Because my kids and my husband love me anyway. Because I love me anyway.

It’s ok.

It’s all ok.

Happy Thursday, Friends.

go. do. be.

Linking up over HERE today. Check it out. 

Opening Day and a Mom Lesson Learned

Yesterday was the opening day of little league here in Fresno. Logan is on a tee ball team, The Phillies, and opening day was a HUGE success.

We tried tee ball once before. He was four. His dad and grandma were his coaches.

It wasn’t such a successful season.

Now, don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking success in terms of runs and bats and such. I mean, c’mon, he was four. They don’t even keep score in tee ball.  Most of the kids on his team had to be reminded where first base was every time they were up to bat. It was a team of 4-5 year olds playing against other 4-5 year olds who were just as lost, just as adorable in their too big jerseys and pants.

Success isn’t measured in numbers or stats.

I’m talking success in terms of attitude and enjoyment. He was miserable. He wasn’t into it. He spent more time whining about having to run than he did running, more time grumbling about putting his mitt on than he did catching. Dad and Grandma being the coaches meant that he was always being picked on.

And with good reason.

He didn’t want to try. He wanted to get a snack, drink his Capri Sun, pick some grass and go home. He cried when he had to go to practice. He cried when he had a game. He cried when it was his turn in the outfield. It was more of a chore than it was anything else.

For him. For me. For Dad and Grandma.

So, we took a year off.

I decided that there was no way I was going to pay another 80 bucks to spend four months fighting him to go to practice, fighting him to follow directions, fighting him to have a good attitude. I wasn’t forking over money for Nike cleats and new pants and a new bat and pictures just to listen to him whine and complain. I wasn’t going to spend 3-4 days a week arranging our families schedule around an extra curricular activity that no one was enjoying, least of all the four-year-old who was supposed to be enjoying it the most.

It was the right decision.

Looking back, I know the whole reason he signed up for tee ball was because I wanted him to. He was four. He had no idea what the heck it was all about. I said, “You’re playing tee ball” and he said, “Okay.” Looking back, I know he wasn’t old enough. Looking back, I know I rushed it because I was anxious to start him in a sport, to start feeling like I had him ‘involved’ in something.

Another mom lesson learned. I was never so happy to see a season end.

When fliers for tee ball came out this year, Logan brought one home and asked if he could play. He was really excited about the idea. Jeremy and I sat him down and had a real conversation about it. We explained to him that he could play if he wanted to.

If. He. Wanted. To.

A six year old might not understand exactly how much money 100 plus dollars is but he is old enough to hear money is something Dad and I work hard for. He is old enough to understand that we weren’t willing to spend it to hear whining and complaining for four months.

There was no talk about him being an all-star. There was no talk about him being the best player on the team. There was, however, a lot of talk about attitude, about dedication, about appreciation, about follow through.

About fun.

Playing a sport when you’re six is supposed to be fun.

When we were all three on the same page and Logan assured us that he understood, I filled out the form. I wrote the check. I bought the cleats and the pants. I crossed my fingers and hoped and prayed that this year would be better.

Yesterday morning, my little Phillie was so excited.

The boys got to play at our minor league stadium, out on the field, just like the big boys. He looked proud in his uniform. He was thrilled to see his coach and his teammates. He was walking out on the field chanting, “Let’s go Phillies, let’s go.” and yelling, “Let’s DO THIS THING!” 

Jeremy isn’t coaching this year so he and I got to sit in the stands and cheer him on. We were so thrilled about his excitement. Our hearts were warm and our minds were eased before the first pitch was even thrown.

He’s still on a team with kids too young to remember where first base is all the time. They still don’t keep score. Everyone bats, everyone runs home, everyone is adorable in their too big jerseys and pants. Fielding is still kind of a foreign concept. One little boy kept skipping third base and running from second straight to home. It was a riot.

But my kid…

My kid got up to bat, no tee needed, beautiful stance, and hit the second pitch thrown at him right down center field. He ran straight to first, no direction needed, and turned around and gave Jeremy and I a thumbs up and a huge smile. He played second base on defense and cheered everyone on, even the kids from the other team. There was music playing through the loud speakers and at one point Jeremy and I thought he had to pee. Turns out, he was just dancing to Madonna and Justin Timberlake’s “Five minutes to save the world” in between pitches.

During the second inning, the older divisions ended their games for a presentation of some sort and an 11 year old girl started to sing the National Anthem. We were right in the middle of a game and everyone was trying to decide whether to stop or keep playing.

Logan, playing second base at the time, handled the situation like this…

It was the best baseball game I’ve ever seen.

Mom lessons come in all forms and I’m sure this won’t be the last one I learn when it comes to organized sports. I’m happy with the way it turned out, though, and I’m looking so forward to this season. I think sports are important and I love being my kid’s biggest fan.

Jeremy and I noted last night that it feels like Logan has grown up so much in the last few weeks and while we’re both happy and sad about that, I can’t imagine a better way to spend the next four months than arranging our families’ schedule around a kid who’s having fun doing something he has grown to love. 

Let’s go Phillies, Let’s go!

Happy Sunday, Friends.

go. do. be.

Un-Slumping yourself is not easily done

I told Jeremy yesterday I could feel depression setting in.

His response?

“Let’s try to avoid that at all cost.”

Thanks, babe.

The truth is, I can’t blame him for wanting to avoid it. We’ve been down that road before, him and I. More than once. More than twice, if I’m being honest. I’m prone to what I call “The Slump”

It’s not pretty. Not for me. Not for him. Not for him and I. It would be unfair to say that I’m responsible for the emotional well being of my whole family but, the truth is, when I’m in a slump, it’s super contagious.

And like the good Dr. (Seuss) says…

“You’ll come down from the Lurch

with an unpleasant bump.

And the chances are, then,

That you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump,

You’re not in for much fun.

Un-Slumping yourself

 is not easily done.”

Maybe it’s because my whole house has been sick for weeks. Maybe it’s because I haven’t written anything. Maybe it’s because I’m pregnant and my hormones are making me nutso. Maybe it’s because I have a lingering cough and I pee my pants more than my potty training three year old. Maybe it’s because everyone else has been able to sleep off their sickness and I haven’t. Between the cough and the pregnancy and the being the Mom, I haven’t really slept in weeks. Maybe it’s because I secretly want to kick them all in the throat while they’re sleeping because I’m so overcome with jealousy and exhaustion and I feel guilty about that. Maybe it’s because I have cabin fever and I’m ready to play outside in the sunshine. Maybe it’s all of the above.

It doesn’t matter. A slump is a slump no matter the reason.

Today, I decided I’d do a few things to try and un-slump myself. I figured if none of them worked, I’d be no worse off than when I woke up this morning.

Step 1. Take a shower.

I know, this one sounds like a no brainer but, trust me, some days it’s the hardest thing to bring myself to do. Especially when I’m in Slump Mode.

Step 2. Cry.

Yep. Cry. Right there in the bathroom. In my towel. In front of Jeremy. Cry and cry and cry until I was done crying. Why? Because it’s impossible to no longer feel like I need to cry until I just…cry.

Step 3. Music and eye liner.

The eye liner just helps me feel more human. Being off work and sick and pregnant and locked in the house has made eye liner all but unnecessary but, sometimes, you just gotta do some make-up therapy.

The play list while I applied said eye liner sounded like this. If you don’t know these songs, look ‘em up. They’re tried and true, good for the soul.

Macklemore – Ten Thousand Hours

Atmosphere – Sunshine

Atmosphere – Get Fly

Nappy Roots – Good Day

Nicki Minaj – Fly

Florence + TheMachine – Shake It Out

Step 4. Drive and Sing

On the freeway. All alone. No particular destination. (Although I did end up at Babies R Us, ‘Ooh-ing’ and ‘Aah-ing’ over little tiny outfits with pink ruffles on the butt.) I sang Christina Aguilera and Blake Shelton’s duet “Just a fool” over and over again, really, really loud. (and out of key, I’m positive.)

Step 5. Starbucks

Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m pregnant. I know espresso is bad for me. You know what? So is The Slump and sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do!

Step 6. Write this blog.

My BF Megan over at AbsoluteMommy says you should write something every day, even if it’s crap. I’m always jealous of her ability to put words on paper even when it seems like the rest of her world is falling apart. She takes the time for herself and her writing damn near every day. This isn’t a great and wonderful piece of writing but there is something about putting fingers to keyboard and words on paper that makes The Slump not seem so bad.

It may just be the caffeine talking, but I feel a lot less Slumped already.

Happy Friday, Friends.

go. do. be.