The Real Life of a Ranch Hand's Wife

Eggnog, Eggnog, Eggnog, RUM!!

   I think this year I have a thing for eggnog. Last year was "cutie" tangerines, the year before was pumpkin butter. So one recipe is my revision, one I stole from the Today Show. Maybe my love for eggnog is because it goes so well with Rum, I mean the Holidays...yeah yeah...that's it, the Holidays!

 

Eggnog Pancakes...

  This is not rocket science. Whatever your pancake recipe is (scratch or bisquick), instead of milk use eggnog. I've learned though that add a spash or two more, or else the batter will be a bit too thick. Throw in a dash of cinnamon, a splash of vanilla and two dashes of nutmeg to round out the mix. I'm not a huge fan of regular syrup (long story) but here it's absolutely fabulous! No need to get fancy, the pancakes do the work. =)

 

 

 

Chocolate Eggnog Cupcakes with Rum Cream Cheese Frosting:

For the cupcakes:

1¼ cups sifted all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt

8 tablespoons unsalted butter

1¼ cups sugar

2 large eggs

1¼ teaspoons pure vanilla extract

1 cup eggnog

½ cup dark rum!!, or rum extract for a non-alcoholic version (why??)

½ cup sifted cocoa powder

　

For the rum cream cheese frosting:

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

4 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar

¼ teaspoon pure vanilla extract

6 ounces cream cheese

¼ cup dark rum!!, or rum extract for a non-alcoholic version (again I ask, WHY??)

　

　

Directions:

　

For the cupcakes:

　

Preheat the oven to 350˚F. Line a cupcake pan with twelve paper baking cups, and a second pan with six baking cups.

　

Sift together the flour, baking soda, and salt in a bowl, and set aside.

　

In the bowl of a stand mixer or in a bowl with a handheld electric mixer, cream　together the butter and sugar on medium speed until light and fluffy, approximately 3 to 5 minutes.

　

Add the eggs one at a time, mixing slowly after each addition.

　

Combine the vanilla and eggnog in a large liquid measuring cup.

　

Add one third of the flour mixture to the butter mixture, then gradually add one third of the eggnog mixture, beating slowly until well incorporated. Add another third of the flour mixture, followed by another third of the eggnog mixture. Stop to scrape down the bowl as needed. 　Add the remaining flour mixture, followed by the remaining eggnog mixture, and beat just until combined.

　

Add the rum!! (or rum extract??), and mix until just combined.

　

Add the cocoa powder, beating on low speed just until incorporated.

　

Using a standard-size ice cream scoop, fill each baking cup so that it is two-thirds full. Bake for 18 to 20 minutes (start checking at 15 minutes) or until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cupcake comes out clean. Transfer the pans to a wire rack to cool completely.

　

For the frosting:

　

In the bowl of a stand mixer or in a bowl with a handheld electric mixer, mix all the ingredients for approximately 3 to 5 minutes, until the frosting is light and airy. Frost each cupcake with a thick layer of the frosting using an offset spatula.

 

If none of these trip your trigger there is the old tried and true...

Eggnog + Rum = More happy memories with crazy aunt Jean...

I Hate Goodbyes

    When I look out my bedroom window from the cradle of my pillow, I see mountains, sideways. Sometimes I see stars above the jagged outline of these mountains when my son awakes in the night. A few days ago I woke up to a silhouette that seemed to mimmick the edges of the mountain tops. The rises and falls, the shadows of my husband’s face were illuminated by the early morning light. He slept unaware of my comparison. His profile has the same quiet strength. The way the light shines on both so as to highlight the harsh outer parts yet shadow the more vulnerable pieces is a thing of beauty.

    I laid quietly closing one eye and opening the other. And then back again. Bringing first mountain, then man into view. I wanted to remember his face against the constancy of those ridges. I knew if I could figure out which eye to close at the right moment, he would still be here. When the light lends itself to deceit, your mind can be fooled into things that may or may not be there. Husbands that don’t go out of town for work. Lovers that stay in bed. Daddys that kiss goodnight. If I could fix my early morning lighted eyes on the jagged horizon, and then focus just right, I could see my lover’s face. I tried to burn the image into my brain for so long I shed a tear.

    The sun continued it’s march into the morning sky while my mind busied itself with all the things that needed to be done before my husband left for work. A mental checklist formed of all the things to keep the tears at bay. I hate goodbyes. Like a breath of wind pushing a fallen leaf, I mentally brushed the list away. Lists, packing, goodbyes and tears would wait.

    My husband was beginning to look like himself again. The pink sunrise echoing off the clouds gave him a boyish tint to his cheeks. The new found light fell on his lips and chin. Razors, on the list, check. How attached I’ve grown to this face and the man behind it. How many times have I envisioned smashing it with a cast iron skillet? How many times have I kissed it? How many times have we touched together our cheeks, soaked with tears? How I love this face and the man inside it.

    My moments are passed. The light is here. Babies are waking. Floor boards are creaking. Dogs are tail-wagging. Horses are neighing. Nights are morning. Eyes are opening. Lists are again making. Goodbyes are down-ticking. Tears are crying.

I hate goodbyes.

A truck ride

    After a stern conversation from my husband, I'm back to writing, more specifically working on the book. I've been neglecting writing all together and I didn't realize how much I missed it. I was having a hard time in my mind how to sew together some of my stories, but then I just sat down and started to write. Here's a little gem that was a result of it.

   

 

    I stood next to my new husband and stared at the computer screen.  He had found a help wanted ad for a ranch about 2 hours away and informed me we were headed for an interview. It was October with cool weather in the air and the threat of snow ever present. The next morning was the first time I set foot on a working ranch.

    We stood on the door step of a 96 year old man’s home. My Cowboy did all the talking while my mind was reeling. I couldn’t help but think that I was the polar opposite of the weathered man that stood stooped at his walker in front of me. I would eventually learn, my thoughts were just the tips of these polar icebergs. I had much to learn as a ranch wife.

    Our first week at the ranch was memorable in more ways than one. It started by blowing out 3 tires while transporting our belongings in a ranch stock trailer. I wasn’t familiar with this mode of moving transportation, but trust me; it’s the norm in ranching communities. Then the move peaked while cleaning out our new residence, so as to free it from nasty stained broken furniture, random chicken bones sporadically placed under said furniture and on top of the refrigerator, and a “funk” smell that arose from the shag carpets only to permeate the whole of the house. In case there was any question, yes, I was wondering what I had got myself into by falling in love with a Cowboy. It culminated by a drive with Ray.

    Our first day on the job was slightly less strenuous but no less stressful than the actual move in. The Boss, Ray, was eager to show us around so we could get the lay of his land. We piled in his single cab ford truck and began the journey with a 96 year old at the wheel. He showed us pastures, fence lines, and property borders. It was while we were on the main roads that an interesting point was brought up. Ray had his driver’s license taken away several years before. I can’t think of a worse time to find out such information. We were miles from home and in unfamiliar country. We were at his mercy. Looking back, now I know this was all a part of Ray’s plan from the beginning. He was like that, full of mischief.

    Before heading to Ray’s “Mountain Ground”, which is a general term for summer pastures in mountain ranges often times being comprised of government land leases; we switched everyone over to our pickup truck complete with a legal driver. We bounced an empty stock trailer up the dirt roads so we could eventually put a wayward steer in it. Ray was proud to show us all of his pastures and the neighbor’s who corralled the fence jumping steer we were after. With just a short visit, we were back on the road.

    Ray then pointed us up another dirt road. He wanted to show us the point where the cows would be turned out in the spring and in essence make a big loop around the mountain, to end up only a short distance from the ranch come fall time. Unknown to us, there must have been some good rain in the area recently or perhaps even some mountain snow. At any rate, the road was wet. Muddy to be precise. We made our way pretty far up this road with a mostly wild steer in the back dancing around all the while. At some point my husband’s better judgment kicked in and he suggested to our new boss we should turn around. We finally were able to do so with quite an effort and a bit off of the road and into the sagebrush technique.

    The ride out was the worst part of this whole adventure. Where we had slipped around in the mud on the way in, we now spun our tires in ruts on the way out. As we began to cross what appeared to be an old wash out, my eyes were slightly enlarged. I was on the "hospital" side as they say and looking down a fairly large draw. It was big enough to make a truck and trailer flip over at least once if a mistake was made.

    I watched out this window as we began to slide backwards and vertically. The trailer was starting to slide into the draw, taking the truck and us with it. A few seconds went by of gear switching, gas pedal mashing, steering wheel turning, cowboy cussing, and turbo diesel testing that resulted in us on drier ground plowing through sagebrush breathing a sigh of relief. It took a bit longer for the color to come back to my knuckles though.

    The man who led us on this misadventure then made a profound statement. Since he was only a month away from turning 97 years old it held special meaning. With a sly grin Ray spoke up, "That's probably the stupidest idea I've ever had."

 

It's been a while...

Hello, I am The Ranch Wife, and I'm addicted to my photography. This is why I've been so absent from this page I call a blog. There is good reason however! As some of you know, I was recently accepted into a local gallery. Well since I was accepted so late in the year, I took the offer with the terms of not being able to be a featured artist this year.

As luck would have it, one of the other artists took pity on me. She made it possible so I can share the feature spot light with her and also hang images in the gallery window as well as the front walls. I'm so grateful for this opportunity! So I've been hustling and scrounging for enough prints and frames to get a good showing for my very first artist reception!! Wahoo!!

So I thought I would share some of the more recent images as well as a little of the stories behind them. Today might not be a fantastic ranch wife story, but it's a corner of my world none the less.

The Cowboy and I went away for a night for our anniversary a while back. On our way home we passed an old coal mining site. There was a terrible accident there that killed 75 men in 1943. There is a memorial sign that explains the explosion. It said that 30 of the men died instantly in the explosion and the rest died either from suffocation or the methane gas. Two of the men wrote a note to their families. I cried when I read their words:

"Walter & Johnny. Good-bye Wives and Daughters. We died an easy death. Love from us both.     Be Good."

Across the road from the main mine site was what looked like a part of the living quarters of the workers. There were several dugouts that looked like this one...

 

Since then we went on a small road trip with the family to a ghost town up in the mountains. I was tired of the heat and dealing with stupid people. So I packed everyone up and demanded that we head for the mountains and have some mind-clearing views and a little fun. This time we went to an old gold mining town with lots of old buildings and fun stuff to look at and investigate. It was a long drive with many creek crossings, narrow roads and a short hike to the town site, but so worth it. I told the Munchkin that it was an adventure while we were driving. Now she asks, "Mommy can we go on anudder abbenchur?" Here's a few things along the way...

 

 

 

Have a Good Week, and Remember Patriot Day!

Momma Said...

    ...there would be days like these….

    That is what my Momma told me after I told her about my day. Everyone has them now and then. I’m not standing in line for a pity party or anything, I just wanted to remind all the mothers or any woman for that matter (because estrogen is the equivalent of super powers in my humble opinion) that some days are better than others and we all have bad ones, so chin up.

    My “day” started at 8pm the night before when I had my first round of being covered in puke. Yup, one of those kind of days! It continued with either me being covered in puke or the Little Man until midnight, at which point I put him to bed and soon followed suit. An hour later, poor monster was hungry. So I did the usual mom trick of “drink a little and see if you hold it down”. Well he did. Over the course of 2 hours, he would drink a bit and hold it down and fall in and out of sleep. I was mostly out of sleep.

    Then I heard the Middle of the Night Mother’s Call to Arms…. The retching sound of a child in need. Little Man proceeded to projectile vomit all over the bed. Now the lights were on, beds were being stripped, and jammies being changed at the magic hour 3am. We went back to the chair and rocked for another hour and a half (all the while I was on google “how to get an infant to stop puking in the middle of the night” google didn’t have many answers either), till the coast was clear and no puke in sight. We went back to bed and I began the usual self-convincing. “If I just get 2 hours of sleep, I’ll be fine, I can function (mostly) with that.”

    Little Man woke up hungry an hour later. We started all over again, this time he held it down. I kept doing the tried and true Mother’s trick of “small amounts, hold it down” every 45 minutes or so until the alarm went off at 6:30. Little Man was ready for another feeding and was happy and in good spirits. I took him to the kitchen, set him in his swing with bottle in hand, made coffee, sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor and called my Mom.

    I told her all about my vomit filled night and all the things I had to do the rest of the day. I had a gallery meeting in town. Not only did I have to go out in public, I had to see these people again and speak intelligently. After all that, the Ferrier might be coming to do Tango’s corrective work (I hadn’t heard back from him, so the appointment wasn’t 100% set). However, my main concern for the whole day was survival at this point. Just surviving till night-night time is all I was hoping for.

    After whining to my Mom a while longer, I looked at the clock and slowly started to build some steam to get the day started. I had about 40 minutes to get 2 munchkins and myself out the door. This is sometimes a miracle to get accomplished on a good day, so I did what all mothers do…I cut some corners.

Instead of a shower, it’s a splash and dash.

    Get the boy’s clothes out, pack the diaper bag, just leave him in his jammies to save time. Munchkin got herself dressed, so now we head to the bathroom.

    She brushes her teeth while I put up her hair and try to make it look like I’m not a totally negligent mother that  hasn’t brushed her daughter’s hair in two days.

    She’s done, but I’m still securing her hair, when I hear, “It’s so dirty”. I look down to see that my daughter is “helping” me by cleaning the bathroom sink…with her toothbrush. Well, put that on the list of things to do…clean bathroom, oh and her toothbrush, preferably before she uses it again…

    All this time, I kept walking past Little Man playing happily in his swing, I smelled something funky. After I stopped for a few sniffs, I determined it wasn’t my son that had been puking all night (couldn’t be, because I just changed his entire outfit like 2 hours ago…or was it 3, well whatever), since it smelled like a dead mouse. Great add that to the list too...find dead mouse and dispose of it before it’s stench carries through the whole house.

    I look at myself in the mirror…not promising at all. I don’t have time to deal with my own hair, so I break out the bobby pins, and start plastering my hair to my head. “Presentable” is the order for the day, I wasn’t going for “A Night at the Oscars”.

    I have no time for makeup, but I grab it anyway. It makes me feel better to know that if I magically got stuck in a traffic jam between here and town, it’s sitting on the seat next to me.

I gather all of the necessary crap for the day…

Diaper bag…check

Stuff for meeting…check

Makeup bag ready for crisis traffic jam in the boonies…check

    Right, well maybe now would be a good time to get dressed. Finding a suitable pair of jeans (to cover the hairy legs) and shirt (with sleeves, because you guessed it…hairy pits) was the easy part. Finding the all important bra was another thing. Then I remembered I was smart and actually hung them up to dry (which I usually don’t ever do), down in the laundry room. One flying trip down and back up the stairs later (mind you with said bra in my hand…did a lot of good there, didn’t it?), I was able to resume the task of dressing myself. 

Coffee, I need coffee, before I kill someone due to a lack of caffeine. Coffee, in a to-go cup…check

Speaking of coffee…breath…go brush teeth and try to fight the urge to scrub the sink with your toothbrush when done…check

I pick up Little Man to put him in his car seat……the afore mentioned stench follows us.

    Change Little Man’s diaper, and his clothes, all the while I’m gagging. I can’t even tell you how many dirty diapers I’ve changed in my life, much less, just in the last week. This particular one was nasty enough to make my eyes roll back in my head and green around the gills. Well, if it was bad enough to make me think that an animal had literally died in my house, the saying applies, “What crawled up your butt and died?” Gross out and gag fest for the day….check

Run to the bathroom, and spray yourself with perfume for fear of puke and or dead animal stench lingering on you…check

Everyone in the car along with miscellaneous crap…check

Oh crap!  Drive up to barn, feed horses that are not turned out and open the head gate to start irrigation water…check

Wave at neighbor on the way out of the driveway…check

    Looking in the rear view mirror, you see that once again you get the mother of the year award for a wholesome breakfast as you watch your daughter cover her face in white powdered doughnuts.

    We are only 20 minutes behind schedule, not terrible considering. I run a thousand things through my head during the drive in. Little Man fell back asleep, most likely from the relief of the expulsion of said dead animal from bowels.

    I get a whiff of my perfume, which reminds me…did I put on deodorant this morning? Oh wait, yes, yes I did, the evidence is on the front of my black shirt…whatever

The fuel light comes on…of course it would

    I get to town and realize I forgot my computer, for the presentation at the meeting, the one that I asked to be put on the agenda…great first impression, just wing it

    Get to friends house that is watching the kids for me (thank God and all that is Holy for her) and realize that there is an international Mother’s Code.  I don’t have to explain anything for her to know it’s been a rough morning. I think the conversation was mostly in caveman, but words like, “she’s eating breakfast, he puked all night, he’s holding it down now, just give small amounts, call if you need me” came flying out of my mouth as I handed over all the necessary items and children.

     Formula, oh crap! Where is it? Frantic search through the depths of the car ensues and I emerge victorious with a small blue can of formula held high as if it was a gold medal.

    I drive away, only to realize that I still have the boy’s binky in my purse. Then I wrack my brain trying to remember if he had one in his mouth. Well, send up a prayer that either he doesn’t want it or he has one, because I can’t turn around now.

    I arrive at the gallery right on time, with a death grip on my coffee and an urgent need for the ladies room. People are milling about, so I sneak off to the back. I emerge ready to take on the 2 hour meeting and with coffee in hand; I should be able to stay awake for at least half of it.

    After saying “hello” to a few people, I became painfully aware of one thing. Everyone was moving their displays for the new month, not assembling for a meeting. When I said I was on time for this meeting, I was actually 24 hours early……………………………… Fabulous

     Headed back to friends’ house for some much needed estrogen therapy and another whine session. Then I got a call from the Ferrier, he would be at my house in 15 minutes…………of course he is

    I pack up Little Man since he’s ready for a nap anyway, and I leave the Muchkin to play with friend’s daughter that is the same age. I’m heading out of town when I remember the fuel light. So glad I have that new handy dandy button that projects your fuel mileage……………I can make it

    I fly up the driveway, park the car, check on the boy who is still fast asleep, grab a halter and climb the fence to catch my horse. I am greeting the Ferrier with horse in tow as we head to the barn, it’s going to storm. After running back and forth from barn and horse to car with baby, Tango was walking better in his new shoes, and Little Man was gaining his appetite back……….whew, check

Go back to town for fuel, first born child, pedialite (in case puking comes back) and now some lunch.

    Thank goodness the rest of the day was uneventful. Then I realize, I have to do this all over again tomorrow, so I'm not late for the meeting I was 24 hours early for.

    Momma said there’d be days like these….but I don’t remember her saying it would be quite like that…

 

I cried...

    Surprise, I know. Lately, it has been hitting me like a ton of bricks; we aren't on a ranch anymore. Good thing all these moments were over the course of several days, or else I'd start to think I was a hormonal basket case!

 

     The Cowboy was home and we were headed out for a bite to eat. It was the closest thing we could get to a date with the kids in tow. We just went down the road to a little local cafe. While we were driving, we had to stop for traffic. Someone with a flag up ahead had everyone at a stand-till. Since off to our right was a guy standing next to an open gate that lead to a pasture of belly-deep grass, it wasn't hard to figure out someone was moving livestock on the road.

    A couple minutes passed until we saw what all the fuss was about and why all the tourists were jumping out of their cars and making a mad dash with cameras in hand. One of the local dude outfits were moving horses. In days gone by, the Cowboy and I would have done ourselves what it took 6 paid "wranglers" and 4 flaggers to do. I cried at the sight. Mostly I was crying because I didn't know when we'd ever be able to do that again.

 

    I did something unusual; I watched the news this evening. I saw a woman telling her story of the drought in Arkansas. She has a small operation of only about 200 momma cows. She's had to sell off almost half of her herd due to a lack of grass. If it keeps up this way, she'll have to sell out completely because of feed costs. I saw the pain in her eyes at the thought of giving up on something she very obviously loved. For her and those closer to home facing those tough choices, I cried.

 

    I've been getting serious about writing a book. I was going through old blog posts, rough drafts, and untold stories. I read and remembered day after day, season after season, animal after animal and mile after mile we've travelled. I count myself so very lucky to have all these memories and knowledge. Many many people only dream of the things I've seen and have been able to do. I cried.

 

    The Cowboy surprised me the other day by saddling up my horse for me. My old man Tango. My soul mate in horse flesh. My shoulder to cry on when I felt so far from home. My only "non-negotiable" in my marriage. My teacher of riding babes. My character reflection, no, what my reflection should be some day... not as tough as he thinks he is, readily puts up with ignorance, watcher of the herd, a kind heart that really would do no harm, a wonderful companion, a joy to be around, and completely trustworthy from the word hello.

    I rode him just in the pasture to keep the soft grass under his feet so as not to cause any undue pain. I didn't realize how much I've missed him. Talking to a horse while standing on the ground is a bond. Talking to a horse while on their back is another level of a trust bond that some never feel.

    I had a much missed, overdue conversation with an old friend. And I cried. I only hope that down the road, I have the strength and courage to listen to him talk when he tells me his pain is too much. I just hope that day doesn't come until we have a place of our own. Just at the thought of burying another animal in someone else's dirt, I cried.

 

I took this the other day while out irrigating, listening to the soft munching of horses in the evening.                                                           

"Peaks"

 

4am 12 guage

    As most of you know, the Cowboy took a job in the booming oilfields as a means to and end. The end being owning our own place. So now we are separated for weeks at a time in order to fulfill our dream of ownership. Needless to say my duties of ranch wife have changed a bit.

    We now live on more of a "ranchette" than a ranch (although everyone in this little "neighborhood" has a sign out front of their drive alerting the tourists not to trespass on the "XYZ Ranch" that consists of no more than 40 acres). I still have the title of childcare specialist and chief housekeeper, but I've added a few new ones in this move. I am now chief irrigator, range manager, Jigg boss, noxious weed fighter, pest control specialist, barn manager, working dog trainer, equine waste removal coordinater and CEO of home defense and security.

    That last title is the one that was most recently tested. Last night I didn't sleep very well at all. For about 2 hours straight, Little Man was up every 15-20 minutes. Nothing was working and finally he just wore himself out and went back to sleep. By that time, I was awake. So when 4 am rolled around I was still not a very happy camper. I knew full well that the chances of being woke up again at 6 am were pretty good, bringing the grand total of sleep to about 4 hours.

   I listened to the owl in the trees nearby and looked at the dark mountains against the sky that was becoming lighter and lighter. That's when I heard it. Something much closer, you know, like "the call was coming from inside the house." In one silent motion, I was out of bed holding the 12 guage shot gun with the safety off. I take the home defense title very seriously.

    The noise sounded like something or someone running up the stairs. Pretty quickly I ruled out a person since the dogs didn't bark. Funny how once you've lived in the boonies for a while you worry less about people breaking into your house and more about the local 4 legged carnivores. Here's a few reasons why I quickly came to that conclusion...

  We live less than 30 miles from the gate to Yellowstone National Park.   

 There are bear warning signs on the road everywhere near my house.

 The neighbors tell me bears often walk the irrigation ditch road (which is about 25 yards from my back porch).

 The neighbors have seen and heard both wolves and mountain lions around here.

 I left my huge kitchen window open.

    So there I am, walking around the house with a huge shotgun. You know the phrase, "Hell hath no fury as that of a woman scorned"? Well, I don't think this little neighborhood has seen the likes of a scantly clad (this was no time for pants), pissed off from no sleep, massive heat packing Ranch Wife. Let it be known, I've killed animals for just threatening the livestock...imagine what would happen if they crossed my threshold!

    After sneaking around the house and finding all was well (and closing the kitchen window), I headed back to my room with the safety back in place on the gun. I heard it again, stopped in my tracks and wheeled around in the direction of the noise. I was about 2 seconds away from blowing the culprit's head off.

    It was none other than the mighty mountain lion, Hemi, our second in command of the pest control division. At that point a few things entered my mind, including still shooting my cat if no other reason than just for principle.

  Because he scared me.

  Because he got me out of bed.

  Because now I was very wide awake and wouldn't be able to sleep any time soon.

  And because he almost made me shoot him for being a crack head at 4 in the morning running up and down 2 flights of stairs and making more noise than both the dogs do when they navigate the very same stairs.

    So the moral of this story is, knock before you enter, don't show up at my house in the middle of the night, I do sleep with a shotgun, and neighborhood cats...Beware of the Mighty Ranch Wife!

Little Man

In a more than slightly frantic voice the Cowboy said to me, "You come back to me, ok? Promise?" I replied a groggy, "I promise" and forced a smile as everything went dark.

Writing has always been therapeutic for me. I think that might be part of the reason why it's taken me so long to write this post. I know many of you were waiting to hear about the arrival of our new son and I'm sorry for the delay. I think it was just hard for me to put it all into words...yes, that's a first for me. I think I was also afraid of my own therapy, I had (and if I'm honest, still have) issues that I wasn't able to bring myself to deal with. Well, like it or not, I'm biting the bullet.

After all the stress of the crap that happened in November (if you didn't catch the drama, here's a link), I was ready to just sit on my parent's couch like a beached whale and wait out the last couple of weeks of my pregnancy. So that's what I did. I spent time with my family that was soon to be a family of 4, and enjoyed the time with my parents. I got to know my new OB doctor through a whopping 3 visits (soooo thankful that I was guided to her as this transition could have been much more traumatic than it was, she was great, and gave me the chance to have a natural birth instead of the automatic C-section that was my only option before I found her).I ate ice cream, waddled around being dialted and timed contractions.

With all the aches and pains that come with the end days of a pregnancy, I was ready to be done, but valued those last moments of being the mother of just one munchkin. I fought tears when thinking of the time and attention that would shift from my daughter to a newborn and wondered how she would deal with it. I worried that she would think I'd abandoned her, or my love had been taken away and given to her brother. I think that this type of guilt is natural, as I've heard other mothers talk of this as well, but it doesn't make it feel any better.

I waited and waited for labor to kick in, but it never did. I had plenty of contractions, and was slowly dilating, but in the end I was scheduled for induction. Two days before my due date, we woke up at 3:30 am (we all know how fabulous I am in the mornings...), had a last meal of cereal and headed to the hospital. I wasn't really nervous since I wasn't in labor. Then again, maybe it was the fact that I've always been a zombie before 9am. Either way, it didn't set in till much later that soon we'd be looking into the eyes of our second child.

My labor went well, much better than with the munchkin, and everything was right on schedule. I was ready to push when it became very apparent that the new bundle of joy was going to be stubborn and difficult. He was facing up instead of down. Now as many of you know, it's not impossible to deliver a "sunny side up" baby, just more difficult. Well the Little Man had other plans for his Momma.

Four hours of pushing resulted in no progress. He wasn't descending face up, and every time the doctor would get him turned and I stopped pushing (you know to breath and all, lol) he would flip back around. Stubborn little boy. The doctor tried everything, including forceps, but nothing worked. After all that work, the Little Man was getting tired and was having some pretty big drops in heart rate. So we all agreed that it was time to call it a day. I was whisked away for an emergency C-section.

Once I heard the doctors saying that they were cutting me open, I reminded the nurse standing next to me that I had a husband waiting outside, and he might not want to miss this. About 30 seconds after I saw my blue scrub clad Cowboy, I heard Little Man cry. This is where it gets a little fuzzy for me.

I tried not to yell and scream so I could hear my newborn son, but I couldn't hold it in. It felt like a sumo wrestler was jumping on my chest. The Cowboy later told me that as he walked past me from seeing Little Man, that there was blood EVERYWHERE. In a more than slightly frantic voice the Cowboy said to me, "You come back to me, ok? Promise?" I replied a groggy, "I promise" and forced a smile as everything went dark. He was escorted out to the nursery with our son, telling me he loved me, but I couldn't hear him or respond.

When I woke up I was freezing, my husband was gone, and I didn't hear my baby crying. The anestegiologist was great. He got me a 1,000 warm blankets to help get me to stop shivering so badly (my shoulders were banging off the table) and filled in the blanks of where my loved ones were.

Little Man was just fine at 7 lbs. 15 oz and 20 inches long. Everyone expected him to need oxygen or extra care based on his traumatic entrance into this world, but he was too healthy for his own good and wanted none of that! He was born at 9:52, I didn't get to see him until I was out of recovery at 2am.

When they rolled my bed into my room, I was greeted by the Cowboy, my parents, and a very worried munchkin that refused to leave the hospital until she saw Mommy. I talked and snuggled her for a minute until the Cowboy brought in the Little Man to meet his Mommy. I held him, smelled him and let the tears fall like rain. I wanted to hold him for hours and hours, but I was in so much pain I could barely stand two minutes. A long few hours of no sleep followed with many tears since I was too weak to even hold my son.

The Cowboy told me I needed rest. I told the Cowboy I needed my son. I eventually got my way. I held him close and didn't let go until I was forced to.

Every shift change brought a new nurse that gave me one look, and said, "oh you're the one that lost so much blood" or "oh yes, you're the one that had such a difficult birth, everyone has heard about you". Not exactly the best way to get famous, but it seemed to be quite effective.

When all was said and done, my insides had an explosion of sorts. I lost half my blood (which was a bunch considering a pregnant woman has more blood than the average woman) and was severely anemic. My blood levels were at a 6, normal for a woman is around 13 to 15. Even my lips were white. I didn't look like death warmed over, I just plain looked dead. I know, I know, that's not funny, considering how close I was to the real thing, but I can joke about it now.

I had a blood transfusion and numerous bags of high powered antibiotics. So much so that my IV was blown out of my vein way before I was ready to be discharged. I also had a lung flatten out in the process, so I was put on oxygen for a while and annoyed hourly by the Cowboy telling me to do my breathing treatments. Let's not even talk about the swollen legs from toe to hip.

Recovery has been at a snail's pace. I've never been known for my patience, but this was testing it to the extreme. I went to Little Man's 1 week doctor appointment for a whole hour and a half, just across town and was exhausted for 3 days after. My energy was spent after a trip to the bathroom, changing a diaper, or walking to the dinner table. The only way I was able to half way function was by taking one pain pill after the next. It was a couple weeks before I could even get in and out of a real bed, much less sleep in one. To top off the feeling of being so helpless was the surge of hormones that always comes after having a baby. I was not always a joy to be around when I'd cry at literally dropping a hat.

In addition to the hormones, I had a cloud looming over my head during all this. The conversations that we had with my doctor in the hospital were not leaning towards being favorable for us to have any more children. As many of you know, infertility has plagued me for all my life and has been very difficult for me to deal with on more than one occasion. This was just the straw that broke my back. I however did what I do best, I pushed it aside and tried very hard to not deal with it. Most days it worked, some it didn't. I pushed it all aside because I didn't want to mourn that loss and miss out on my newborn and all those precious tiny moments that you only get once.

So that's part of the reason why I haven't blogged in so long. I wasn't ready to say all this out loud, but as much as I tried, I couldn't write about anything else either. I certainly wasn't ready to let myself mourn. I was afraid to open up the flood gates and not be able to shut them again.

It's now been almost 7 weeks and this post has been 2 weeks in the making. I've had to walk away from the keyboard several times. My computer was the elephant in the room due to the saved document it held safe and sound in it's inner workings of a hard drive. I could barely even get on Facebook without it bringing up all the emotions that I knew the computer was hiding.

I do however finally have a bit of good news (my high school volleyball coach used to always say, "Can't end on that one", when we'd have a bad play at the end of a practice). After visiting with my doctor at length at my postpartum checkup, it seems the cloud has been lifted. Considering everything that I went through, I'm healing up just fine and should we choose to have more children, it won't be an issue. What a relief that was! In the long run, the Cowboy and I might say that our family is complete and be done with it, but at least we will have the choice. When something like that is made for you, it's much harder to deal with.

Little Man also is doing very well. He is a hefty 10 pounds already! My little chunky monkey! I think the Munchkin was almost 4 months old before she weighed that much. He drains this old milk cow about every other hour, so he needs a bit of formula every now and then. I was told that I'm lucky to have milk at all, with all that my body had to deal with.

So in that huge adventure of the past couple of months, we are not too much worse for the wear. I might have learned a little patience and definitely thankfulness for the Cowboy helping me not only with the Little Man and Munchkin but with the little things like walking to the bathroom or showering. And thanks to my Momma...who can live without your Mom's soft voice and helpful hand while you're trying to figure out what a screaming baby needs when you're a giant ball of raw hormones and bawling yourself? Well maybe you can, but I can't!

Life is precious. Whether it's in the form of a new baby's cry, or in the moment when your spouse doesn't respond to your "I love you", it's fragile. I'm just glad that we had a chance to face how fragile it is without it breaking. Being able to walk away with our new son, daughter and a more appreciative look in our eyes is priceless.

 Whew! Finally got that one finished...

Thanks for listening...

 

 

What a great Christmas Present!

 

 

Thankfullness

 

    The act of being thankful is sometimes more of an art form than happening naturally. With the past few weeks going the way that they have and the terrible luck that has seemed to be gracing us with it's presence, it's been hard to be thankful. Now as I sit at this computer, stuffed to the gills with my Momma's good cooking, I'm finding a bit easier to see the silver lining.

    I've been able to rest and relax this week unlike those few that have gone by. It helps tremendously when you have family to step in and help when you need it the most. I wouldn't have been able to have peace of mind with out all my Big (very short) Sister and Brother-in-law's help packing and moving last week. They took their days off work to help us in our various crippled states, and kept me from early labor and/or keeling over from exhaustion. The Cowboy's family also lent some much needed muscle during all this.

    Now my Momma has me on a short protective leash so as to keep this bun in the oven for a few more days till I'm considered "full term". Once Saturday hits, I fear the green light will flip and she might have me out walking the streets to get things moving to get her new grandson to arrive. It's been really nice to have her around to help me "nest". I've got the bassinet up and ready, teeney-tiny diapers ready to be dirtied, and the carseat is ready to be buckled in. All that's left is to pack a bag for myself and diaper bag for the baby, but I didn't want to seem too eager.

    As most people are this time of year, I'm reminded how thankful I am for my family.

    I was sitting on the couch, trying to knit my daughter a hat, when I realized how thankful I am for these precious moments with just her and I. I know her world will soon be turned upside down, so I figured since she was asking when I'd make something for her, the baby blanket could wait a little longer. I love her snuggles and secretly fear that I'll lose some of those to Daddy when the baby comes around. I'm glad she's eager for her brother to arrive, but I know it's the end of one good thing and yet the beginning of another wonderful thing. I'm sure I'm not the first Mom to feel this.

    After a yummy meal that my Momma slaved over a hot stove to make (had to throw that in for her ego, lol, what woman doesn't deserve it on a Holiday, right?), I went and laid down for a while. The Cowboy came and snuggled me while the baby was kicking at the giant cast on his arm. I was very thankful in that moment for my Cowboy and his snuggles, even if he'd be too tough to admit such things. I looked over at the bassinet sitting next to the bed and realized it would soon be full and moments like these would be fewer and farther between. Soon we'll be tired, cranky, and too exhausted for such moments of levity. I'm not taking them for granted at all. =)

    I'm also very thankful for being able to find a doctor and great hospital on such short notice. Most of the doctors around here (and many other places for that matter) wouldn't take me because I'm so far along. I'm also thankful that my doctor will let me try a natural birth after having a C-section with the munchkin. This was a huge burden lifted off my shoulders and placed on the Cowboy's. He's started the worry game that most all soon-to-be Daddy's go through, no matter how many kids you already have. I think he might need more thoughts, good vibes, and prayers than I will. =)

    So on this day of thankfullness, I'm very thankful. I'm also glad that tomorrow I'll be just as thankful as today, and soooooo much more thankful than a few weeks ago! I was told recently to never say, "what else can go wrong", because undoubtely something will. Well after the month that we've had, I say, WHATEVER! At this point, bring it on, I don't even care anymore. There will always be something to be thankful for if you just take the time to look hard enough.

 So I'm caring a magnifying glass around in my pocket to make sure I don't miss something, because I can use all the thankfullness I can get.    

 

 

 

The Opposite of Nesting

I'm pretty sure that at this point in my pregnancy, 8 months and counting, the only thing that I should really be worrying about is what's the best way to decorate a nursery. Nesting is a wonderful thing that has been programmed into most people and animals to welcome that bouncing bundle of joy.

 I think my nesting instinct was broken with the munchkin. I never really got into preparing a nursery. I made her bedding for her crib a few months after she was born. I knitted a blanket for her when she was 2. This time however, I've been much more into the whole idea of nesting. All I want to do is prepare a room for the next monster, get a crib put together and organize tiny clothes and diapers.

The problem is I look at the room that was being prepared for this new arrival and it's a little out of sorts. There are 2 walls that were recently painted, a spare bed propped up against the wall, the crib is in pieces in the hallway, and there are boxes packed and stacked where baby things should be. So what is the opposite of nesting, you might ask?? Moving...

In the last 2 weeks the Cowboy lost his job, and thus our place of residence, the munchkin has been sick for 3 weeks now topping it off with a double ear infection, our 5 month old puppy was hit in the road and killed, we are headed for winter quick and in a hurry, yesterday I passed out, banged my head, freaked everyone out, and I'm a giant hormonal mess. Oh yeah, did I mention that I'm a month away from giving birth?

To say that this came as a shock would be the understatement of the year. I guess maybe that's what happens when you befriend a young hand and he gets money hungry for your paycheck. I suppose some people are willing to stoop to some pretty low levels. All integrity goes flying out the window to make room for the sacks of money they stand to gain.

Evidently the man we thought we worked for and the one that we actually worked for were not two in the same, since he saw a cheaper way out and listened to everything he was told by everyone except the person that it involved. Heart-breaking is a good way to describe the whole thing.

We've made a life here, set down roots, opened our hearts, and started to raise a family. Every where I look there are memories, good ones at that. The munchkin can't understand why the ranch horses can't go with us or why we can't set up the baby's bed. She's a good help packing boxes, but keeps asking where we are going and where's her new room. How do you explain betrayal and heart-break to a 3 year old?

So while I was doing laundry yesterday I guess it all caught up to me at once. I’ve had my angry moments of betrayal and my tears of hurt. I guess it was time to just be exhausted. The last thing I knew I was standing in front of the washer with a basket full of clothes in my hand and felt a little dizzy. Then the Cowboy was standing over me trying to wake me up (what seemed like yelling at me), and I kept thinking, “why in the heck is he yelling at me?”

I don’t remember much till we got to the hospital and even that is pretty fuzzy. After the Cowboy yelled at several people for not helping us (no one came to help me out of the truck, they just said go down the hall to the OB ward…geeee thanks), he was wheeling me to the OB desk with one hand and the munchkin in the other. I was then hooked up to all kinds of monitors and all was ok. Baby was just fine and for all practical purposes so was I. After a while of being monitored, I was sent home and told to rest for the next few days. The only good thing was that for a while I forgot all the rest of the crap going on in our lives.

So I woke up this morning feeling sore, tired and appreciative that I had the Cowboy there to take care of me. Hard times always bring you closer together if you let it. Maybe that’s why we’ve proved everyone wrong and lasted this long together, because we choose to take the good out of a terrible situation. Last night we fell asleep holding hands, something we haven’t done in a while.

While I’m not happy about packing instead of nesting, this too shall pass. It’s not the first time something bad has happened to us, and even if I don’t want to say it out loud, it won’t be the last. The health of our family is more important than stewing over things you can’t change or people you’d like to punch in the face. As long as you end up holding hands at the end of the day with the people that mean the most, that’s all that really matters.