Where I Was…

This won’t be long.

I was only 12 years-old. I was still in foster care. I sat on the floor of my bedroom looking up at my T.V., tears streaming down my face. I hated this place, the system, the government. I could understand why someone would go into a social services building and blow it up: they facilitated child abuse. In fact, I prayed for it daily. So when I saw an real act of terrorism, I couldn’t understand. These were children, mothers and fathers, husbands and wives. These were innocent bystanders. These were fire-fighters, soldiers, police officers. These were people who were in love. And I was a little girl at home, hundreds of miles away, feeling like the rubble was crushing my body. Feeling like it was me that I saw jumping out of the windows. I don’t remember the news channel I was watching. I don’t remember the name of the family I was with. But I remember sitting on my heels in front of the dresser that held my T.V. I remember wishing I could hug my mother, because she would have never let me see this, or know about this until I was older. I remember the overwhelming feeling. I didn’t know anyone from that horrible day. But I know that a girl that died could have been my best friend, one of the boys might have been my husband, one of the women could have been my mother in law, one of those fire-fighters might have fathered my future daughters in law. That’s what I thought. I felt like part of my life was being stolen from me and so many others before we ever knew it was ours. My heart goes out to those who lost someone. To those who lost many. I know my husband puts his uniform on everyday so that this never happens to us again. I know I was a little girl that day, with no connection to anything, but know that day, and today, I was with you; I am with you.

All Mine!

Just because he is sexy and I love him.

Do You Have Your Kids On a Tight Leash?

The other day, Jesse and I were driving home and I saw this:

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That’s right- a lady with her kid on a leash.

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Just yesterday in church, a family that I really like walked in the same way. I obviously couldn’t snap an incognito photo of my friends son with a monkey backpack/kid-leash on, but my mind was taking all the judgment-y pics it needed.

I know, I shouldn’t judge. Sometimes I think my children are animals that need to be restrained, too. But a leash. Really?

I have a friend who warned me ahead of time that she would be putting her future kids on leashes, and I haven’t told her, but I will be setting her poor children free often. Sorry, Lauren.

Am I wrong? Is there some untold joy/benefit in parents leashing their kids that I don’t know about. Besides getting random strangers to take pics and write blogs about you?

The Days After

Last Saturday, I announced I started my journey to quitting smoking. It has been interesting to say the least. I also did not stop smoking. I would make it to the end of the day, and then I would have a cigarette because…it was just too much. Jesse would get off work and come home all hot and irritated. I’d be irritated because I just spent the day with a crazy baby who likes to seize on people, so I’m watching him like a hawk. I’m stressed the heck out don’t judge me for smoking at the end of the day!! Sorry. It’s the lack of nicotine. It makes me cranky. Well, yesterday, I just knew that I was not completing my goal and it had almost been a week and I was still smoking. What to do…What to do…I know. I went to the store to pick up some things for Jess, but I lost the car keys, had a panic attack in the PX (I decided to forgo my Klonopin like a genius), and almost wound up walking home in 100 degree weather. Luckily, I found the keys. New plan: Occupy myself with the neighbors. My friend Emily has 3 adorable kids and she rocks so I figure I’d hang out with her all day. Well, her kids came over and played Kinect.

I don’t have permission to post pics of her yet.

 

She is a professional hair dresser, so she gave me a rocking new ‘do.

and my rocking ‘do

Unfortunately, Jesse didn’t like the new ‘do. So, if anyone would like to donate some baseball caps…let me know.

This is my unhappy face.

Anyway, he and I got in a huge argument, and some precious things were destroyed, my simmering self-esteem just one of the casualties. And I skipped the Klonopin that day, so there was no hippie to calm me down. Somehow, though, I managed to not smoke. Unfortunately, that sent me into some serious crying fits. Crying is not something I do. It was Thursday. It was also something I do Fridays, too.

I wasn’t really crying in this pic. I was just being dramatic. circa, like, 2 years ago.

Well, Friday, I took my meds. I managed to go the whole day without smoking, but I got really tired of crying, so I smoked a half a cigarette, stopped crying, and went about my day. Seriously, though, who knew quitting turned you into a cry baby. Today, I have a horrible migraine but Jesse has the day off, so I’ll be occupying myself with family time, if I can get him to wake up.

he’s still hot.

Happy Saturday, everyone!!!

Dang You, Day 1!!!

So I’ve been telling my friends and family for a while now that I’m going to quit smoking. The main reason I haven’t quit and stuck to it (because I’ve quit), is because of the AWFUL side effects of quitting smoking. Seriously, it feels like a lose-lose situation. On the one hand, I can continue to smoke, have zero stamina, and all will be right with the world. Every one will be alive. I just will never go on a jog without keeling over and I’ll continue to be a bad influence on my kids and other kids–because this smoker does NOT condone smoking (hypocrite much?)

On the other hand, I can quit. Quitting gradually has not helped because even when the dependency is gone, the addiction still exists. So while my body may not care, my mind is like, you would SMOKE in this situation. DO IT. I don’t wanna. :/ Quitting cold turkey turns me into Katie Kaboom.

I know you remember her…

On the other hand, I could—oh wait! I only have 2 hands. That’s half my problem. The problem with announcing you’re going to do something is that everyone expects you to be perfect at it. I can only quit for myself. Not everyone else. I can’t quit and be your poster-girl. I can’t quit and talk to your exasperating kids about why you should never start in the first place. I’m not going to the cancer ward to remind myself of what smoking does to my body and read old folks stories simultaneously. That will make me go through a whole pack in 5 minutes. I only have the minute I’m in to decide whether or not I’m going to smoke. I also have Klonopin.

Klonopin is an anti-anxiety medication which should help when I’m feeling especially murderous and need a cigarette. Unfortunately, it seems like Klonopin intensifies the side effects of quitting, but in a calm way. Confused? Let me help you.

When you quit smoking, you are exhausted.  It’s like your body goes into overdrive trying to find any semblance of nicotine it can, and in order to do that, you should probably be asleep. So I passed out all yesterday. Not to mention, Klonopin makes you sleepy the first couple of weeks you take it. So I was a zombie yesterday. It’s not good to be a zombie with a 5 month old.

You sweat. You sweat profusely. Normally, I’d just be lying in bed, drenched in my stinky sweat, praying it’s not time for him to nurse again. The Klonopin told my body in a proverbial hippie voice, “hey, maaan. You’re way too cool to sweat. Just hang out at the pores, and be like, metaphorical, you know?”  So my stupid sweat listened. Have you ever had that feeling? The feeling of sweat wanting to break through, but not being able to. It’ itchy, painful, annoying. It makes me want to smoke.

Then, there’s the mucus. All day long, you walk around with dry mouth and a throat full of curdled milk. Obviously, not really a throat full of curdled milk, but it feels like it. When it gets hocked up into a loogie, you try to spit it out, but this loogie is so voluminous that it doesn’t fly into the tissue or on the sidewalk. It lands on your chin. Or the part of your hand that isn’t covered by the tissue. And while this instance alone is enough to make me rage out, Klonopin is sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, “Hey maaaan. I know that pisses you off. And it should. But looook at it. It’s gross but kinda coool. Take a picture of it.” 
So those are the side effects so far. Sorry for the rambling. It’s just been that kind of day.

**Does anyone know of any helpful tips to make quitting easier?? Leave a comment!**

I Like My Scotch Stiff, Not My Babies

I don’t actually drink scotch. I still don’t like my babies stiff. Which is why I am writing this blog. The last few days have been completely mortifying. Wednesday, Judas and I were watching YouTube videos together. He was being my usual super-sweet baby.

 

Giving me Kisses

 

Judas stopped breathing. He may or may not have just held his breath on purpose, but he began turning blue. I have been taking care of babies since I was 4 and I have NEVER seen a baby turn blue. Ever. Unless, you know, they were dying. Apparently, though, there is a new brand of baby terrorist, and they go around holding their breath and scaring the crap out of their parents. Okay…That’s fine. After I took Judas to the E.R., and they put him on an oximeter, gave him some oxygen, and did a chest x-ray, I would have been able to accept that as an answer. Reluctantly, but I would have been able to.

 

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Unfortunately, the very next day. Judas had a seizure. He started coughing, foaming at the mouth, and his eyes were very unfocused. Then he stopped breathing and got extremely stiff. I could feel my own body get weak, because I was terrified. I thought, oh, God. My baby is dying in my arms. DO SOMETHING, MIRANDA! So, I called 911. I started patting him on the back. I was afraid to do chest compressions because CPR on a baby lives on the very thin line of helpful and harmful. The dispatcher wasn’t even a dispatcher for my post, so she had to transfer me and I had to repeat my address to the new dispatcher three times. It took 6 minutes from the time I called to the time the rescuers got to my home. by then I had done 4 rescue breaths and got Jude breathing within 1 or 2 minutes.

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He was very upset his arm was stinted for the IV

My poor baby was so tired and lethargic. But he was breathing. I had to tell countless people over and over what happened. We went to the Weeds Army Clinic. They drew blood, ran an I.V., did a CT scan, even gave him a sterile urinalysis. I felt like a horrible person when they did that. Watching your baby boy get a catheter is not a pleasant experience for you or him. His dad and I just kept looking at each other the whole day, procedure after procedure, like…what next? Eventually, the doctor said they didn’t have the equipment to run further tests, so we were transferred to Loma Linda Children’s Hospital (120 miles away from home).

Another EKG and 4 hours later, we were ‘admitted’ to the Pediatric ward. They put us in a room with 2 other families. I guess they were saving money that way…There were more tests. They took his temperature so many times, I lost count. They took even more blood. They flushed his IV every 8 hours until finally they gave him fluids. They did another EKG and an EEG. He was miserable and probably feeling violated and scared. Their stupid cribs looked like baby jails.

 

 

Finally around 5pm on Friday, they told us they his baseline was so normal and healthy, they couldn’t find anything wrong with him and didn’t want to be more invasive unless absolutely necessary and discharged us. As we took him out of his crib and put him in his car-seat. He was SO happy all of a sudden. It’s like he knew we were leaving that place. 3 hours later, we were happy to be home, albeit a little miffed that they didn’t find the cause of the seizure. We follow up with the doctor next week. I just hope he stays healthy.

Before Bed

 

 

Screw Father’s Day

So this past Mother’s Day, I woke up to kisses from my sweet husband, breakfast in bed, lilies on the nightstand and a spa day awaiting me, child-free. I was so happy that I—Oh, wait. No.

No, that’s what I wished had happened. Instead, I had a grumpy husband, who ignored me for his video game most of the day and…was less than verbally polite when he actually did acknowledge my presence. He went and spent around $300 dollars on himself and his brother, and I got a card…the next day. Mandi and our friend Jessica begged him to just tell me ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ and I wouldn’t be so mad, but he refused to do that. As a matter of fact, he didn’t say it until the next afternoon in Burger King. He told me that since the day before went so poorly, we were going to have Mother’s Day that day. I honestly can’t remember what we did. I think we went and saw a movie…but I was so extremely heated that it didn’t really matter to me. Of course, to keep the peace, I acted like he was being so sweet and I was so grateful for his generosity. In reality, I spent Sunday to Thursday crying whenever I found time alone. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal. It’s just a Hallmark holiday, right? Wrong. I have postpartum depression, and everyday I plaster a smile on  because I want to seem like a cheerful wife and mother for the sake of my family. So, I deserved a day to be treated like I was worth something like every other mother the one day of the year our kids/husbands make an effort to show they care. I didn’t get that.

So for Father’s Day tomorrow, I’m going to get a hammer, smash his laptop, sell his tools while he’s asleep, and get some scissors and cut the crotch out of all his…Oh, wait. No. No…That’s just what I want to do.

I’m actually going to wake him up with kisses, make him breakfast in bed, get him something special, and try not to knock his face off because I love him…

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Thinking about it?

It is about the Day to Day thoughts we receive that can be accompanied with actions. I believe that the Holy Ghost doesn't only prompt us in big decision making but also in the very small ones. As we begin to note down the small daily prompting we receive, we begin to notice clearly what spiritual promptings are like and how they can be recognized in the huge decision processes. It is a learning process. One must understand the techniques of little addition and subtractions before understanding that of algebraic equations. My goal is to expressly apply the small daily inspirations I receive from the scriptures and or spontaneous inspirations into actions that can benefit me and others to becoming better children of a Heavenly Father. First think about it and act upon the will of God.

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