Hello, Outside World.

 

We had ice, snow, and, thankfully, power over the past several days. Things are starting to thaw out now and our backyard has that frosted-mini-wheat look to it that I love.

 

The bedtime/nighttime routine is working out as well as can be expected. Merrick is teething, plus I think he's hit that lovely stage where he starts to get a little separation anxiety whenever I'm not around. But I can't complain. Although he still wakes up 50 times a night, he's easy to console and he usually goes right back to sleep after only a few minutes (instead of the usual half-hour breastfeeding session, which, I admit, was made a habit by my laziness more than his desire to eat.)

 

Of course he'll sleep miserably tonight just because I typed something about it.

 

I'm still a little homesick for Florida; my sister Katie is planning a wedding and Reese is getting baptized in March.

 

I'm getting a haircut tomorrow.

 

And then we're going to a wine/goodbye party at a friend's house.

 

That is all.

Today was my mom's birthday. She celebrated by working all night long doing inventory at Dillard's. I celebrated by grocery shopping.

 

Bedtimes are killing me. Merrick is relentless--he wakes up every hour on the hour and that's a conservative estimate. If I don't go to him right away he gets more and more upset until he's wide-a-freakin'-wake--and so is Mia. Most nights I send her off to my bed so that she can get some sleep. I feed him, I rock him, I try anything and everything. It doesn't matter if I lay him right beside me or back in his own crib; as soon as he's out of my arms, he's crying his little head off. Sometimes he cries even when he's still in my arms.

 

I'm not totally sold on the crying-it-out approach, mainly because I. Can't. Stand. To. Hear. Him. Cry. I haven't been able to fully commit to this technique because it's absolutely excruiciating to listen to Merrick scream for 5 minutes, much less an hour. But tonight, I'm tempted, even though it's going to involve closed doors, blaring TVs, earplugs...and maybe even a little bit of Nyquil. I am tempted.

 

This is kid #3 for me--how have I not gotten this sleeping thing right by now? Mia still won't sleep in her own bed all night; I must admit the current situation is not helping her with that.

 

I put Merrick down at 8:20 and he's starting to fuss a little right now at 9:00. I give him 10 minutes before he's throwing a full-fledged tantrum. The nightmare begins. I'm so tired I want to die.

 

And with that, being as how it is now 9:12, I'm off to bed to get what little sleep I can.

 

Right after I overdose on Nyquil.

 

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It is now 1:55. Merrick has gotten up 4 or 5 times since I first put him to bed, but so far I've been able to soothe him back to sleep fairly quickly by rubbing his tummy or picking him up and rocking him for a second--until now. Yes, he is back there screaming, but I think it's starting to taper off after only two 5 to 10 minute intervals. I'm distracting myself with the computer while he wails. Hopefully he can't last much longer. He's eventually got to sleep, right? Right?

Okay, okay. I'm not quitting my blog; must've been the lack of sleep and the dreariness of January talking. Be forewarned, though: until Merrick is 5 years old, I might be too tired to be funny. Seriously? This kid is wearing me out. He's a maniac. He's into everything. He wants to walk so bad he can taste it, and I help him as much as I can by following him around everywhere, holding him up by his hands. When I'm not there to assist, he turbo-crawls around and around the kitchen and living room. Cold tiles do not bother him, but they make me a nervous wreck because I'm afraid he's going to smash his head like a watermelon, which, to me, is not an unfounded fear. I have recurring nightmares where Merrick scratches and scratches his head until he finally pulls stitches wide open, revealing a bloody pulsating little brain.

 

Too far? Yeah.

 

But that's the kind of stuff I dream. I wonder why I'm in such a bad mood all the time.

 

Mia stayed home from school today, yet again. She missed out on class pictures and pet show-and-tell, but that's the least of my worries. She threw up again last night, and she's still having a little bit of diarreah. I'd hate to send her off to class and get a call from the nurse's office later on. She doesn't need to be getting any other kids sick anyway.

 

Cheyenne has signed up to do a duet with her best friend in the upcoming choir solo/ensemble contest, which surprises me, because I naturally assumed she was way too shy to sing in public unless she was with at least 30 other people. I'm oh-so-proud and I'm dying to hear what she sounds like when she really tries. Every now and then I'll hear her singing softly in the shower; Caleb and I will stand outside the door straining to hear every last note. I'm not sure she's real excited about the thought of us coming to this contest. Can she perform in front of her teacher and 3 judges? Oh, sure. But her family? Oh hellllll no. And I actually know how she feels, because I was the same exact way at her age.

 

The girls and I have discovered the sheer awesomeness of PixieHollow.com. We've all become fairy-making freaks around here. I, myself, just like to pick out leaf-clothes and funky fairy names; Cheyenne and Mia take it one step further and actually play the games and make fairy-houses.

 

Read something from KM today that kind of put me back in check as far as being a stay-at-home mom. It helped me to remember that, no matter what anyone thinks, even though I don't earn any actual money, my job is still very, very important.

I've gotten a full 5 hour's sleep every night for the past three nights--interrupted sleep, to be sure, but at least 5 hours worth all together. All is right with the world again. And I'm not so crabby.

 

On the going back to school issue, someone had the great idea of just taking a few refresher courses--genius. I don't know why I didn't think of that to begin with. It makes a lot more sense than starting over from scratch, and I do so love art.

 

Mia's been sick since Thursday. I don't know what she has but I do know that her symptoms are eerily similar to salmonella poisoning. I put in a call to the doctor and was told not to worry--yet. There's no fever and she's keeping her food down, when I can convince her to eat. She has class pictures tomorrow so she needs to make a full recovery today.

 

I've come to realize that Noah totally hustled us when he came to stay. As long as we're present, in the room, he stays out of trouble, but the second we walk out the door, he'll get into anything and everything that's left out. It takes 20 minutes to dog-proof the house everytime we leave.

 

I've had this page for 3 years this coming week. Hard to believe? For me it is. I'm not really inspired to write lately (when I do have the time) and I'm sort of thinking about not blogging anymore, at least not for a while. Of course, I say that, and then next week I'll have some great story to tell and back on the computer I'll be. Think I'll post some of our recent pictures for now.

I know you all *loved* the whining session from the other day so I'm back now with more: I'm tired, but that's nothing new. What is also not new is my husband's utter...assholeness, for lack of a better word, about what little sleep I'm getting. (Him: "You didn't get up that much with Merrick--and if you did, it's your fault for letting him train you into that nighttime routine." Me: "Fuck you. Fuck you. I hate you, and, oh--fuck you.")

 

I don't know what to do about Merrick. My master plan? Letting Mia sleep in our bed. Shutting Cheyenne's door. Shutting our door. Turning off the baby monitor, and letting him scream bloody murder for hours before passing out in his crib on his own. I just can't take this getting up every 1-2 hours all night long. I worry that he'll wake the girls, I worry that he'll somehow manage to throw himself over the crib rail and onto the floor, I worry that he'll vomit exorcist-style from screaming so hard for so long. At the moment he's back there enjoying a nap; I'm too wound up to do the same.

 

To clarify, it was my car that has the big University of Florida sticker slapped across the back of it. I was rooting for Florida. I know I know I know! Normally that's not something an FSU girl would say, but when you live right outside Norman, Oklahoma, the constant Sooner schmack-talk gets old fast. Caleb would've been devasted had his precious gators not won, which would've come back on me somehow someway. There was a definite sense of sadness and disappointment on the air in Norman yesterday; it made me feel good, especially since I was almost run off the road the day before. I thought Bob Stoops was going to cry.

 

Haven't been sleeping so good lately due to my wild imagination and that stupid zombie movie. I wouldn't have watched it at all, had it not starred Will Smith--damn you, Fresh Prince! Merrick hasn't been making it any easier on me by interrupting the sleep that I do get--he's in this lovely habit of standing up in his crib and screaming when he can't find a way to sit back down. By the time I reach him (5 seconds or less) he's worked himself up into a frenzy; breastfeeding calms him down but he's discovered the joys of biting, which is hard enough to take during the day, let alone at 3:30 a.m. when I'm bone-tired and scared of zombies. It takes everything I have to fight the instinct to haul off and slap the crap out of him when he bites my boob in the middle of the night.

 

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Again, to clarify, of course I would never slap him. But I know I'm not the only mom who's ever had to fight the urge. What bothers me the most is that he gets such glee from either the biting or the reaction it brings; I'm not sure what's more hilarious to him. I thought surely my shrieks of pain and then my disapproving and stern "No!" would convey the idea that biting is uncool.

 

I was wrong.

 

I'm getting no sleep these days. I'm overwhelmed with, well, everything. I'm tired--the achy, utterly exhausted and emotionally drained kind of tired. Caleb, I'm sure, feels the same way, yet I can't even find the energy to support him or sympathize with him and vice versa. I miss my family and I'm just gonna go out on a limb and say it: I wish we lived much, much closer to Florida and all the people we love. I know we're better off financially in Oklahoma but it's not without sacrifice. I feel so alone up here. Somedays I hate the weather, I hate the landscape, I hate our town. I hate that I wasn't home to see Katie get engaged. I hate that I wasn't there for Reese's 1st birthday and that I probably won't be there for my great grandma's 100th birthday. I hate we can't hang out with Caleb's brother and we can't visit his girlfriend in the hospital when she walks into a wall and breaks her nose. I hate that it takes $1000 and 6 months worth of planning just for one week's visit. I want humidity, and pine trees. I want a Norma's chicken-salad sandwich on poppy-seed bread and I want my mom and dad.

 

I'll probably feel better about everything once I get some sleep. 3 years from now.

 

Stupid is driving a car emblazoned with a big fat University of Florida bumper sticker right through the middle of Sooner Country on game day.

 

I had to go into Norman to do my grocery shopping, okay? I had to. I didn't even think--it didn't even occur to me...thankfully, I got my kids and the groceries safely home without being run completely off the road, or shot, or bombed.

 

OU people get crazy about football.

 

Caleb and I Net-Flixed "I Am Legend" this week. Normally I hate zombie movies, but this particular one gave some very practical advice on how to survive in a zombie-infested world, and I'm always open to ideas since zombies scare the shit out of me. I realize now that we're going to have to invest in some heavy artillery. I wonder if Caleb would see the appeal of living in an underground bunker.

 

Now, though, if aliens attack, we're pretty much screwed. Screwed, I tell you.

January 6th, 2009. Nip/Tuck comes on tonight, and here we are, still paying for Direct TV. I will be forced to watch the show, thus making it harder to cut off the cable when the time comes. Crap.

 

Caleb and I have developed a nightly ritual of playing 2 games of checkers and 2 games of chess (instead of UNO--that was sooo last year.) I used to be a worthy opponent when it came to these games; lately he's been spanking my ass every night and it's really taking a toll on my self esteem. Last night, when he check-mated me in no more than 3 moves, I accused him of playing online in his spare time, of taking secret chess classes, or reading an article "How to Beat Someone at Chess in 3 Moves or Less". How else is it that he's getting better and better at the game and I seem to get stupider and stupider?

 

We've pretty much gotten over our quest for the perfect piece of land. We looked at a half-built house on 5 acres of woods in what appeared to be Skanktown the other day. We drove around in the country for a while looking at nothing but horses and cows and a few alpacas. We revisited the land that I peed on. It's not so much that we wouldn't want to live on a big honkin' piece of property in the middle of nowhere; it's just the thought of putting our house--our dear house, that we've loved since it was a just a heap of dirt--up for sale makes me want to puke. Can you imagine me--with 3 messy kids and 3 messy dogs, having the house ready to show at a moment's notice? Yeah, right.

 

Plus, if we did settle somewhere farther out in the country, it'd be like surrendering to the idea that we're here in Oklahoma to stay--forever. And while it wouldn't be bad if that's truly what we end up doing, part of me is holding out hope for a move a little more south and east. If we bought a ton of land here, we'd be way less likely to want to move anywhere else. One day. Maybe. Maybe Caleb gets transferred, maybe Caleb finds another job entirely, maybe we win the lottery or strike it big at an Indian Casino and we build our dream home on the beach in Pensacola. Or not. The possibilities are endless. And anyway, I'm happy where we're at.

 

Or I will be once I figure out how to beat Caleb at chess in 3 moves.

January 2009! Wowee. Can't believe it. I'm hoping this year will be a lot better than last year, or at least a little easier.

 

The kids are all freakin' great. Cheyenne is still very much in love with her new video games. I haven't gotten her phone to work yet, no matter how many hours I've spent on the phone with Virgin Mobile representatives, all of whom have very "American" names but can't hardly speak a word of English apart from their obvious scripts. Aw well. I've decided to give myself a break this morning and wait til after lunch to let them know that Cheyenne's phone is still not working.

 

Mia's been playing with this old bouncy horse Caleb brought down from the attic the other day, while her big dollhouse and all the other Christmas toys gather dust. She convinced him to get down the wagon today--Caleb spent all morning toting Mia and Merrick around in it.

 

Merrick is getting in his two top teeth. He sleeps terribly. He hates sitting still. He hates crawling. He even hates his exer-saucer. All he wants to do is walk. He pulls himself up to a stand every chance he gets. I'll go to check on him at night when he cries and he's just standing there in his crib, everytime. I'm not ready for this stage; it's come way to fast, and I'm worried he's going to fall and poke himself in the brain somehow.

 

Caleb and I have been out driving around and looking at property the last couple days. It all started with this one house; a fixer-upper on 12 acres for $89,000. We were disappointed that the fixer-upper was more like a tear-downer, but it turned us on to checking out some more land--our idea is that if we found the right property for the right price at the right time, that maybe, just maybe, we would consider putting the house up for sale and moving. The criteria? Not too far away, 10 or more acres, preferably no more than $3000 per acre. The land plus the cost of putting some sort of house on it would have to equal out to significantly less than what we're in now. We've seen a 40 acre plot way out in the bumfuk middle of nowhere for $70,000; it was huge, and beautiful, but the town had this Texas-Chainsaw-Massacre vibe and the people seemed really white-trashy...or white-radio-active-waste-y, I should say. It was bad. And it would've tacked on 45 minutes more to Caleb's drive to work. No go.

 

My favorite piece of property so far was a place about 15 minutes down the highway; 20 acres off a gravel road way out in the country, on this beautiful hill, overlooking lots more beautiful hills, and woods--we saw it right at sunset and it literally took my breath away. And I had to pee real bad, so I crouched down behind our car and went, marking my territory like a dog. Now when I refer to the land I always say, "You know, babe, it's the piece of property I peed on." And Caleb knows exactly what I'm talking about.

 

And that, in a nutshell, is what's been going on around here in the new year. I'd say it's a nice start to 2009.