That time I almost died

I feel compelled to write these things.  Not that I plan to return to them and reread them often or that I think I'll forget, but more as a chronicle of my life and a refusal to glaze over the unpleasant parts while still focusing on the good.  I still have a categorically good life--I live in a first world country where my only real complaint is that I run out of scalding hot water after 15 minutes and hot water after 30; I have Gregory, who you will see is practically perfect in every way; and I have four generally well-behaved but always thoughtful and kind and caring children.  Nevertheless, the last few weeks I could have done without.  Perhaps by the time I'm 90 I'll be able to say what good they were but as for now, I'm unsure of what I'm supposed to be learning.  I suggested to Greg that maybe my absolute hatred of doctors was keeping me out of the celestial kingdom and maybe this was to teach me that they aren't all workers of Satan; he thought this was a ridiculous idea, and frankly so do I but the thought did cross my mind.

This is about the time I nearly died.

It started February 28 when we didn't hear a heart beat at our first prenatal appointment for Baby 5.  Because it's fairly painful to continuously rehash that event and because I've said all I want to say about it in the previous post, we'll move on.

We quickly realized that we only had one decent option.  Because I had what is called a missed abortion (doctors really need to work on their terminology), the best option was a D&E, where the doctor would manually remove the baby from my uterus.  It was supposed to a 30-minute, low-risk procedure, nevertheless Greg and I spent an evening drafting a list of all my concerns and long-standing fears regarding doctors and the medical field in general and we spent 45 minutes discussing them in-depth with our doctor the day before the scheduled procedure.  She was kind and open and reassuring.  Not that it mattered one-lick in the end.  She tried her best to stick to my wishes but when you're dying they kind of just do what needs to be done to keep you from dying.  Most of my wishes were in regards to my privacy and modesty and desire to not be a number but a patient.  She tried her best.

Tuesday morning we arrived at the hospital dark and early and were asked to pay upfront, which was annoying.  Oh, your baby just died and now you have to come in to have this uncomfortable procedure done when you'd really rather having a living fetus and be at home with morning sickness?  Let me pour some salt in that wound and ask for a few thousand dollars.  I'm leaning more and more towards a single-payer healthcare system every minute. 

We were then shuttled from waiting room to waiting room for about an hour before being taken to pre-op where I changed, got an IV and reviewed my name and birthdate a million times.  Greg and I made an abbreviated list of our concerns and handed them out to all the nurses that entered our room.  They responded well and were more than conscious of the painful situation we were in.  One nurse even blessed me with twins next time around, and really I'd take triplets over this any day.  They even provided socks, which was nice because I really hate not having socks on. 

The one thing I didn't like was that I was given a "relaxant" before being moved to the OR.  I would rather not have.  For one, I didn't realize how quickly it would work and didn't get a chance to say good-bye to Greg.  One minute we were in the middle of a conversation and then next, I was waking up to Dr. Jones, an extra IV and stitches across my lower abdomen.  If I had died, that last thing I would have said to him is that I wish we could get some of this to help our kids to go bed. 

Also, I like knowing what's going on and all the things done to me.  I would have liked to have been awake while they put me on oxygen and added all the heart monitoring cords, etc.  It was a little disconcerting to have fallen asleep with a single IV and woken up with cords coming out of every part of my body.  Grant it, that may have been due to my special circumstances, but I would have liked to have been awake for longer.

When I did wake up, I knew immediately that something was wrong.  First, the doctor was there when she told me she'd have to leave just after the surgery and that I wouldn't see her again; I could also feel the stitches in my abdomen and the extra IV in my hand; I also noticed the clock--it was 1 pm.  So much for a 30-minute procedure.  I immediately asked for Greg and he was allowed to the recovery room, which initially we were told was not allowed.  But I think Dr. Jones and the nurses made a lot of exceptions for us because we asked.  Greg arrived and told me what happened.  The initial procedure did not go as planned and the doctor had ruptured my uterus so had to do an additional surgery to sew it back up.  Greg had tried to take notes of everything and ask all the right questions but he had forgotten to ask how long the second procedure would take.  He ended up nervously pacing the waiting room for hours and preparing himself for an army of grief counselors to approach him.  The receptionist was so worried about Greg that she finally went up to the OR to get a report for him, which didn't really solve anything until he saw me again.  Dr. Jones said we could still go home that night.

I'm not sure how long we were in recovery.  I was extremely tired and was anxious to get out recovery so I could just sleep but I felt the need to stay awake while in recovery.   But I couldn't move--or at least didn't want to.  I felt like my head would explode if I turned it from the side where I was looking at Greg and like I would break in half if I sat up.  I couldn't talk from being intubated during the second surgery but was dying for water.  But I was bleeding, a lot and I could feel it.  I tried to explain to the nurse but between my dry throat and throbbing head, I struggled to get the words out.  Finally, she checked and saw that there was a lot of blood but insisted that this was somewhat normal but that she'd keep an eye on it.

Eventually, we were moved from recovery to the women's floor.  I'm not really sure why.  It was the worst I-don't-know-how-long of my life.  I still couldn't sit up or move my head and was doing the best to keep that last thing I'd eaten--dinner the night before down, as they rolled my bed down several hallways and onto and off an elevator.  They really ought to put bigger wheels on hospital beds as those were the most painful few seconds of my time there, getting in to and out of the elevator.  I couldn't open my eyes as we moved and then they insisted that I get moved from the recovery bed to the women's floor bed--they did the whole sheet lift thing.  Also extremely painful.  Why I couldn't have stayed in the original bed, I don't know.  I was so sick as they moved me from one bed to the next I remember involuntarily reaching out and grabbing one of the nurse's shoulders.  Greg later said that should have been an indication that things weren't right.  I just thought I was having a bad reaction to the anesthesia.  I was half-conscious at this point but I looked over at the other bed and saw that it was covered in blood.  Greg said the nurse in charge of that room was very unhappy.  She did not think we should be in that room with how much blood was on the bed.  The nurses from recovery told her not to worry and that it was just because they hadn't changed the sheets since I initially came out of surgery.  But "blood transfusion" was starting to get thrown around.

Everyone left the room and I realized we would not be going home that night so in my half-conscious, unable to move for fear of breaking in half and unable to speak clearly from the tube, I started dictating emails to Greg about who should take which children where and make sure the kids' teachers knew who was picking them up from school and arranging to have someone else take treats to scouts the next night.  Greg did it to pacify me but he was annoyed that these were the things I was worried about--especially about who would bring snacks to scouts.  We also started discussing the need to have my mom come to watch the kids for a bit as it was becoming more clear that we would not be going home that night and that this was more than a quick out-patient procedure. 

The nurse decided I needed some sort of pill so sat the bed up.  I was pleased that I didn't just break in half but still eager to lie back down.  She kept me sitting as she explained the pros and cons of a blood transfusion to me and Greg during which time I tried to really hard to keep my eyes open but I was just so tired.

When I'd no longer been able to keep my eyes open, Greg had to slap me back to consciousness while the nurse who knew we shouldn't be there to begin with called a cardiac crash code so that half the hospital came running.

Next thing I knew I was lying flat again with a nurse telling me to talk to Greg.  What?  I looked over and he was asking all sorts of weird questions about I don't remember what and I tried to answer as I noticed more and more people pouring into the room, including the famed Dr. Morris, who all my friends love.  I tried to tell him this but my speech was so slurred by this point I doubt he understood me.  Greg, meanwhile, realized that he had to be helpful if he wanted to stay with me, starting helping the nurses by flipping switches and in all other ways remaining calm so he wasn't escorted to a waiting room.

I was somewhat conscious by this point and realized they were taking me to the ICU.  They said Greg couldn't come and this is the part I regret--rather than insisting he stay with me, I told him to call my mom to make sure she was coming to take care of the kids.  He followed my entourage up to the ICU, which by the way, we got a police escort for--they cleared the halls and held all the elevators while we moved.  I was feeling less sick by this point but getting off and on the elevators and the insistence of the staff to move me from one bed to another was just the worst.  For a few hurried minutes, I was hooked up to more cords by a hoard of nurses while I watched a few doctors discuss me by the door.  The nurses were so nice as they could tell I was trying to keep myself covered and they insisted that the male doctors couldn't see anything.  They even put these lovely cuffs on my legs that put pressure on my legs at intervals something like a massage chair--they were wonderful.  They distracted from the pain and kept away the pain of lying in one position for too long.  I started asking for Greg again and he appeared like magic and was again right beside me.  The ICU doesn't mess around so they turned up the IV drip as fast as it would go and gave me lots of fluids and my first bag of blood products.  I could finally sit up and have a somewhat coherent conversation.  I could still hear myself slurring some of my words and was having a hard time thinking of all the words I wanted to use but I could sit up without wanting to die.  It was just after 5 pm.

The room cleared out and a special nurse was called in to put a 3rd IV in--this time it was a mid-line and was in my upper arm.  Next time I go to the hospital I'm going to ask for one of these right away--so much less painful than the one in my hand and the one in my forearm--which still hurt a week after being taken out.

Greg called a friend who was at the hospital with his wife and new baby to come give me a blessing and the doctor came by to check on us.  She even went down to the cafeteria and got Greg some food since hadn't eaten all day.  Meanwhile our nurse was checking and rechecking the drop point as I was supposed to be getting more blood but it wasn't coming. 

And then shift change.  The new nurse and the old nurse were in the corner discussing my case when that now-familiar feeling came over me--I called Greg over to me and told him I couldn't keep my eyes open and that I just hurt.  I saw him flag the nurses and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back again with a handful of nurses putting as many bags of blood into me as quickly as possible.  And then they were gone. 

Greg and I waited for a few more hours.  Just waited for me to crash again.  We weren't getting a lot of information at this point and after Greg had to flag the nurses over, I was afraid to fall asleep because I wasn't sure I would wake up.  Finally around 10, Greg ran and got more food.  Around midnight he took some NyQuil and was able to sleep.  I, on the other hand, could not.  I had refused any pain medication stronger than Tylenol because I wanted to feel everything that was happening so I could keep the nurses informed of any changes.  I could feel my hands and feet and arms swelling with all the liquid they were pumping into my body.  I tried to hold my phone with one chubby hand and managed to use a single finger to type out the last few emails I needed to take care of the kids.  I also continued to bleed.  I wasn't convinced that adding more blood would solve that problem since I was having labor-like contractions but our nurse, Wanda, was convinced and continued on her coarse.  She stayed with us that night.  I'm not sure why she did but I found a lot of comfort in having her nearby.  Maybe it was the Spirit telling her I needed a medical professional in the room or maybe the doctor told her too, whichever it was I'm glad she stayed.  With her in the room closely watching the monitors, I felt like I could relax a bit more.  She also answered questions as they came up and provided lots of information and her own wise perspective as the night wore on.

I continued having labor-like contractions throughout the night.  At some point I passed a clot the size of a baby and the contractions finally stopped.  Wanda went to work cleaning things up and after that I felt much better.  I was finally clotting and the bleeding was stopping.  I slept off and on through out the night but mostly I just watched the soundless TV.  I passed several more clots and by morning the bleeding had mostly stopped. 

Wednesday morning when the doctor stopped by Greg convinced me that I hadn't slept in over a week, which is true, funny out finding out your baby died makes sleeping difficult, and that I really ought to take something stronger than Tylenol.  So I did.  And it worked immediately.  Just minutes after taking whatever narcotic mixed with an anti-nausea I was slurring my words as I gave Greg more instructions.  I was soon asleep and he went home to shower and check on the kids.  I slept most of the day and woke up feeling much better.

Wednesday night, after two days of lying flat on my back, 2 nurses and Greg helped me into a chair before Greg hurried off to get my mom from the airport.  He brought her back to the hospital to say hi, all while insisting that I didn't look sick or scary (I didn't want anyone to be concerned from looking at me).  My mom later admitted that I looked very puffy.  Greg took mom to our house and I took more pain medicine and slept most of the night--of course this is kind of hard with a nurse coming in every so often but it was better than the night before.

Thursday was Greg's birthday.  He bought himself a birthday banner and brought his poncho to the hospital.  He made sure to tell every nurse he'd been born in that hospital 33 years prior and they all wished him a happy birthday. 

By this time, I was getting much better.  I spent most of the day in the recliner reading Harry Potter, watching mindless TV and sleeping.  We had been told we'd be moving out of the ICU that day so Greg hung around so he'd be with me to move.  We waited and waited.  I needed more blood so we got that and then we waited some more.  Greg and I even took a very slow lap around the ICU.  It was nice but painful to be up walking again.

Half of my machines.

I started getting pretty board by Wednesday night.

After much persistence, we finally moved to the women's floor at midnight and I was detached from most of the cords, which was lovely because they are heavy and causing a lot of pain in my shoulder from supporting them for so long.  I spent another mostly sleepless night on the women's floor but was finally allowed to shower the next morning, which was quite the shock as I hadn't seen how bruised and swollen I was.  I was completely black from the belly button down and barely fit into the dress I brought to wear home--luckily I'd thought to not wear jeans when we came to the hospital 4 days before. 

At 1, we finally left.

It was a little bittersweet.  I liked the hospital.  I fit in there. A giant building full of broken people.  I was afraid to see the kids--mostly that they'd touch me, but Greg did a good job of preparing them and they all did a great job of keeping their distance.

Now we've been home for over a week.  Friday was the first day I didn't wake up feeling terrible.  Today was the first day I spent more time not sitting than sitting. 

It's discouraging to be like this.  I know that I will eventually get better and that I will run and go to the park and wrestle with the kids.  But I don't feel like that.  I feel like I will always walk hunched over and slowly, as Henry likes to remind me.  I feel like I will always need a pillow on my lap and one behind my back.  A friend of mine told me the other day that she doesn't mind C-sections, which is the closest thing I can think of to describe what I had, because she was in a coma for 3 months one time so the three C-sections she's had are nothing to her.  That put me in my place.  I know I will get better; I know it will take time; but I have a hard time remembering that.  My legs itch to run and my arms to snuggle the kids.  But for now I'll just have to deal with hobbling along and reading thousands of stories to children sitting a comfortable distance from me. 

UPDATE:  I woke up this morning covered in blood--I'll save you from looking at the pictures--so back to the doctor's office we headed.  The hematoma I had under the stitches burst and seeped out through the stitch line.  I actually feel much better and moving is so much easier without all the extra pressure, but it also burst the stitch line so now we get to make weekly visits back to the doctor to have her re-pack the opening.  On the bright side, I didn't have to have the stitches completely reopened, washed out and re-closed.  So much for a simple out-patient procedure, amIright?

The thing I never wanted to write

I've been putting off writing this for hours.  I've checked all the Facebook and Instagram and all the social media.  But I need to write this down because I'm not the first nor the last person to have a miscarriage.  When we first told people that we had lost the baby, I got several emails and texts from friends and relatives telling me things they did or wished they'd known when they miscarriaged.  So in the same spirit of love and support for those who follow after here are a few things I did to help cope with the loss of the baby.

First, I turned to the gospel.  I looked up everything available in the gospel library on miscarriage.  And there isn't much.  The church is decidedly unclear on what happens to stillborn or miscarried children.  Which was a blessing to both me and Greg as it allowed the Spirit to teach us some very personal, but important things about our family and the eternal nature of the soul.

Then I changed the words I used.  Maybe it's the English teacher in me, but I find the words we use very important.  When talking to myself, I don't use the word miscarriage.  It doesn't carry enough weight and makes me feel like I should be able to easily move on to the next thing.  Sure a miscarriage wasn't part of my plan but no big deal, we'll move on.  But it is a big deal and moving on is hard.  Instead I say the baby died and that I will move forward.  The implication here is that this baby is a child of mine, which he is, and that despite never really getting to meet him, I love him just the same and that I will always miss him and wish he were here with our family.  And that I will not get stuck in the sadness, I will move forward but take this baby with me, along with the other children.

I also refused to call the D&E a D&E in my mind.  Instead I refer to it as a non-traditional birth, because that is what it was.  I was bringing a baby into the world, just not in the way one normally thinks of it.  As I searched miscarriage on Pinterest so that it would stop giving me pictures of babies and telling me what to pack in my hospital bag, I found this quote, "Miscarriages are labor, miscarriages are birth.  To consider them less dishonors the woman whose womb has held life, however briefly."  Kathryn Miller Ridiman.  I couldn't agree more.

Once I realized that this was a birth of a different kind, I relied on something that always brings me peace--ritual.  If anybody understands the importance of rituals, it should be Mormons--that's all we do.  We get baptized; we take the Sacrament; we go to the temple.  We do the same things in the same order to teach us new things and bring peace.  I do the same things in the same order everyday to bring a sense of calm to my life--I wake up, get the kids ready for school, go for a run, feed the little kids, make beds, and on and on everyday to bring order and peace.  So I did the same things I always do before giving birth, I ordered my favorite fancy food; I went to Target and got all the postpartum supplies; I packed a hospital bag; I got my haircut; I got out the same blankets the other kids had used and washed them to wrap the baby in; we took the kids to pick out a tree, normally we pick out an outfit, but this time we got a tree. At Greg's suggestion, I also wrote a "birth plan," which of more of list of my long-standing fears of doctors and the medical community at large.  We went over it in-depth with our doctor and I felt a little bit better.  I cancelled all my activities for the week and skipped church, because that's what you do when you have a baby.  Mine was just less traditional.  Just because this birth was less traditional, did not mean that I shouldn't honor this birth in the same way that I honored the others.

Probably not the best haircut choice but the change was nice and it made me feel like I had control over at least something--my hair.

A bit more on skipping church.  It was wonderful.  Just as soon as Greg and the older kids left for church, I put Zora in the backpack and headed off for a two-hour hike through the bike trail near our house.  Zora fell asleep about 5 minutes into our walk and I didn't see another person for about 45 minutes.  This was a tender mercy and allowed me plenty of time to discuss my situation with Heavenly Father and lots of time for Him to teach me a few things.  It's no wonder that Joseph Smith went to a grove of trees to pray.  I'm tempted to go to nature church every week, but I'm pretty sure Heavenly Father would start teaching me to go to real church instead.

And just tonight, we buried Baby 5 and planted a tree to honor him.  We put up quite a stink at the hospital to get to take the remains of our baby home and they let us.  Greg made him a simple box and wrapped him in the same blankets we used with our other children.  I thought about buying new blankets but I like the idea of him being wrapped up in the same ones that kept his siblings warm.  Greg and I buried the baby alone so we had time to grieve and cry together, then we brought the other kids out to help plant the tree.  Rex is the only one who really understands what happened, which is just fine with me.  I like that the other kids are blissfully unaware of what's going on.

But I think the thing that helped the most was when Greg reminded me of Isaiah 53:3, which says that Christ was "acquainted with grief." Greg said that if we want to be Christlike we must also be acquainted with grief.  It didn't make the grief go away but reminded me that of all people, Christ knows my grief.  Greg and I have spent hours talking and grieving together, which was also wonderful, in the sense that we worked through it together, not in the sense that I'd like to do this again.

Merry Christmas--to me

For Christmas this year, I asked for some light wieght, easy to use photo editing software and Greg delivered.  I spent a few hours one night kind of figuring it out.  I'm obviously not professional, but these are good enough right?

Too bad, I couldn't figure out how to do before and afters to show that these are really are better than the originals. 

But isn't Zora Jane just the cutest?

A Quick Post About the Oldest

Henry's new favorite thing to ask me is: Why does Rex get to do everything?  He's almost making me feel guilty for not signing him up for any extra curriculars, but he's only 3 so really?

 I really do try to keep our extra things limited so we have plenty of free-time to be children and have fun as a family.

Having said that, Rex has been a bit "busy" lately--of course, busy to Rex is not the same as busy to most people.  He said he doesn't want to play basketball anymore because it takes up too much of his time.  A whole 2 hours a week that he would otherwise spend complaining about being bored.  

Yesterday Rex got to compete in Mathapolooza.  He was chosen top 10 in the 3rd grade from his school to compete against the other 10 top students from each elementary school in the district.  We guessed there were about 500 kids in all.  Rex was pretty nervous when I dropped him off (parents weren't allowed to stay).  He did melt my little mama heart when he offered to say a prayer in the car when we got there and he prayed to have the Holy Ghost with him to help him remember everything he's learned and to do his best.  This kid is a 20-year-old in an 8-year-old body--actually he said something to that effect to me other day.  For an 8-year-old, he's pretty self-aware.  When I picked him up, he said he had a great time until the end when neither he nor his school got any awards.  He's also bummed because it was his one chance.  Mathapolooza is only for 3rd graders.  He's hoping to make the Math Olympic and Book Challange teams next year--I think he'll make it.

He also made the A-Honor roll and the Rigorous Reader list for 2nd quarter.  He's now reading the Hunger Game series.  His teacher was kind enough to order the entire series for him since the books were banned from his school for content. To be fair it is about children killing children, but Rex doesn't seem to mind.  He also wasn't interested in my waxing philosophical about the dangers of safety and the role of government in society as portrayed in the books--he just likes reading.

 As mentioned he's also playing basketball again this year.  He seems to finally understand the rules and has even managed to make a few baskets but when it comes down to it, he's just not very aggressive and he thinks too much--he likes to super anayze each play, which then gets the ball taken away from him.  I'm not sure if he'll play again next year; he doesn't seem to like it all that much.  I might make him play though because Alice wants to do cheerleading for his team so...we'll see.

Despite his great successes at school and on the court, Rex is really struggling with the loss of Derick.  He broke down in the car the other day and just sobbed that he missed Derick.  I think he was really tired, but I also think he really misses Derick. He said that Derick just understood him, which is true.  I can see Rex putting on a show for his other friends--either being super silly or trying to be too cool, but with Derick he was just Rex.  They were really comfortable with each other so that Derick wasn't a friend anymore, he was more like a brother.  I've tried to step up my game and arrange more play dates with other kids from church and school (though to be honest the kids from school are pretty lame and only ever want to play video games), and while they keep Rex entertained, it's just that--entertained.  Rex said he's always going to miss Derick and that there isn't another kid like Derick.  And I had to agree.  Derick is one of a kind and we can't replace him.  Maybe they'll move back? In the meantime, we're counting down the days until we drive out to Montana--summer 2019.

Snow Day(s)

Originally I planned to go to the mall on Wednesday, which I hate so I'd spent several days hyping myself up for it--I recently discovered that H&M recycles old clothes so I have a pile of stuff to take to them and Alice is refusing to wear most of her pants,  

Tuesday night I got the call--no school on Wednesday due to a winter storm.  The kids were excited.  I was not enjoying the change in plans.

Wednesday morning we woke up to a cold but bone dry yard.  I was annoyed and the kids were sad.  By 8, the snowing was coming down hard and by 10 the kids had done enough chores to merit a romp in the snow.  And I was glad for the change of plans.  I've finally aquired enough snow gear for everyone to have a bib, jacket, hat, boots and the most important addition this year--gloves, funny how warm, dry hands can change a 5-minute snow adventure into a 2-hour one.

We used the sleds that we finally broke down and bought last year and sledded for a while, before being drawn to the Wheatley's where we attempted to jump on the trampoline (not so fun with 5 inches of snow), made some snow angels and built a Wheatley family out of snow.  Usually on snow days we meet the Wheatley's at the sledding hill and sled for a while before wondering over to their house to build snowmen, then Becky makes macaronni and cheese while Parker makes hot chocolate.  We hung out outside the Wheatley's for a while before Alice decided that not wear socks was a bad idea and headed home, followed shortly by the other kids.  Rex and I stayed out a while longer to finish our snow Wheatley's before we got cold and hungry and headed home for lunch.

 While I cleaned up lunch and did a few other chores, the big kids painted snow for about an hour and then we made snow cream, which is tasty when covered with chocolate.  Then we decided to read a bit of a Series of Unfortunate Events, as part of our monthly book/movie series, which we dropped for a while.  Henry fell asleep while we were reading (and so did I).  Rex and Alice suited back up and decided to help Greg shovel the driveway.  I decided I'd lay down for a just a few minutes, thinking that Zora would be up from her nap within the next 20 minutes.  An hour and a half later, Zora woke me up, so I woke Henry up and we suited back up to find Greg and the older two, who'd gone on an adventure to find a bigger hill to sled on.  They couldn't find one so we all sledded on the normal hill until dark.  Henry and Rex got pretty brave and tried all sorts of crazy positions.  We had grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner and then the kids picked to read more of A Series of Unfortunate Events instead of watch a movie.  It was a perfect day.

 Thursday school was cancelled again because there aren't enough snow plows in Charlotte so we just have to wait for the snow to melt for the buses to be safe to drive again.  Our friends the Turners came over and sledded a bit with us and we built a bigger snow man before introducing them to snow cream.

 Alice and Henry spent the afternoon painting snow again, while I decided to get some chores done and Rex and Greg played video games.  After Zora's nap, I really wanted to go on a hike so we all suited back up but I decided to switch up everyone's snow suits so that Henry and Zora were not wearing bibs that hit them mid-calf.  Henry just about lost it when I put "his" suit on Zora and a bigger one on him, so I had Alice switch him because we have 3 size 4/5 snow bibs, but then Alice lost it because the second one wasn't comfortable and then Rex was getting bored and starting throwing snow balls and then, after 20 minutes of tantrums, I lost it and went inside.  After 2 days of doing nothing but play with children and dry their clothes and make them snow cream all I wanted was a hike in the woods with the family and they couldn't pull themselves together long enough to handle it.  I almost feel bad from ruining the end of our snow day.  I made an early dinner and vowed to put the kids to bed early.  The kids knew what was best for them and stayed outside as long as they could.  Rex actually had to be called in at near dark for dinner.  Then the kids helped clean up and we spent an hour or so recovering from our tantrums and reading more of A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Friday school was still cancelled because the snow in the northern part of the county still hadn't melted, but ours was all but gone so we finally left the house and played at rec center not so close to our house for a few hours.

Snow days are fun, for about 2 days.  It's like a forced 2-day stay-cation, which is my favorite kind of vacation, no driving, no packing but lots of family time and built in activities.  But after day 2, it's time to get out.

Monday starts the first full week of school since before Christmas.  It's going to be a rough week.  I love/hate school so much.

And then the Wheatley's Moved

Our neighbors/landlords/best friends/object of much stalking moved.  To Montana.  To say it's been sad is an understatement.  

Friday night, Derick had a final sleepover at our house.

 Monday Rex came home from school, crawled under a desk and just cried.  And I couldn't blame him.  I suggested that he use a homework pass and spend the rest of the day playing with Derick.  I dragged him home that night at 7:30.  The Wheatley's pulled out and started the long drive to Montana at 1:30 Tuesday afternoon.

 We still spent a lot of time at the Wheatley's.  We just kind of gravitate to their house whenever we go outside.  We just end up there.  We don't mean to but all of a sudden here we are at the Wheatley's.  The day after they moved Zora, Henry and I found ourselves riding bikes in their driveway and Henry went to the door and knocked, declaring that he was hungry and was going to get a snack.  Zora checked all of their one million outside doors trying to get in.

It's just a lot of emptiness here without them.  I ran out of brown sugar today and had no one to ask to borrow some.  I got sick last week so Greg had to take a day off to watch the kids, when I normally would have sent them to Becky's.  It snowed this week and we had to sled by ourselves. 

Life goes on, obviously, but the Wheatley's were my family here.  Becky was a mom and a sister and a best friend all rolled up into one.  Her children were like my children, however much they resent that.  I just love them.

Rex and I talked about how we can choose not to be sad but rather be excited and happy for the Wheatley's in their new adventure.  They've had a rough few years trying to get their kids into decent schools and a job with semi-normal hours for Erik and and and...I'm only just now learning of half the stuff Becky was dealing with.  She is always too concerned about others to worry about talking about herself.  So I'm glad they're getting away.  I'm happy that the school is less than a mile from their house so Becky isn't driving 4 hours a day taking kids to and from school.  I'm happy that Derick gets 3 recesses and that all the girls at school think Sam is so cute. 

But I'm lonely.  I miss Becky.  I miss Derick.  I miss Caleb, and Eric and Parker and even Sam, who,  even as they were leaving, couldn't lie enough to say he liked me.  Every night since we've moved here, I've looked out my bedroom window as I get into bed and just checked on the Wheatley's house.  They used to have a yellow door bell that I'd just stare at it like the green light in The Great Gatsby, only in a less jealous way and a more, that yellow door bell is assuring--Becky is right there if I need anything.  I still check on their house every night as I get in bed, but now it's just black.  All the lights are off.  There's nothing to see.  The door bell's been replaced.  Their house is gone--invisible in the night. 

I'm about to check airline tickets for Billings, Montana.  It's just so lonely without the Wheatley's.

The Great Wolf Lodge

A few years ago for Christmas I saw a Living Social deal for Great Wolf Lodge so I bought it and gave that to the kids for Christmas.  And they've been begging to return ever since.  So this year, when I couldn't think of anything to get them, I reserved two nights, and then thought of stuff to buy them so they ended up really cashing out this year.

We checked in January 2, put Zora down for a nap and headed to the water park, which was freezing.  Ok, not really but it wasn't warm either.  They heat the air in the room to 84 but not the water, so sitting in the room in a dry swim suit is comfortably warm, almost making me think about getting wet.  But the water is not heated, so once you get it, it's just cold cold cold.  But the kids had a good time.

When we were done at the water park, Greg got some take out and we had dinner in our room followed by using the Christmas money from Grandma Pattie and Grandpa Brian to enjoy some of the other attractions.  Zora and Henry picked to go to the arcade.

 Alice and Rex picked to play the MagiQuest game, which is pricey but is hours long.  They played for two or three hours the first day, more than three the second and Rex didn't even come to the water park on the last day so he could finish.

While the big kids played the MagiQuest game, I took the little two to the clock tower show, where it snowed, which Zora thought was the greatest thing ever and then we all went to bed.  The kids didn't do too bad.  The big three got their own little room within our room and were pretty tired and Zora was beat and it was late so the all fell asleep pretty fast.  And Henry woke up around 3 and tried to wake the other kids up again.  What is his deal?  

 Day 2 started with donuts, more water park, Henry buying a wand to join the kids on the MagiQuest game and me falling asleep in the lobby, college-student style, while Greg got take-out for dinner again, Zora slept in the room and I was supposed to be watching the big kids play the magic game.  Oops.

That night Greg went home to sleep because he said the bed and pillows there were just too bad so Henry slept with me.

 Day 3: started with donuts again, followed by the water park for everyone except Rex who just wanted to do the MagiQuest game, and leaving around 2 to make it home for Zora's nap.

Highlights:
*going on a "vacation" 20 minutes from home, which meant that Greg could sneak home the second night and sleep in our more comfortable bed.
*having all the kids entertained the entire time with no complaints about being bored

Tips for our next trip (Henry asks just about every day when we're going again):
*Give the kids their own money.  This worked great.  My parents gave the kids some money to use while we were there so they knew exactly how much they could spend and they didn't hound me and Greg for stuff or complain that we were cheap.  In fact, when Rex went to pick out his wand, he purposefully picked the least expensive one so that he'd have more money for other stuff later.  And then when Rex wanted $8 worth of ice cream, he just bought it.  It was fabulous.
*Get take out.  Last time we packed everyone up and left the resort to get dinner because the places in the resort were over-priced and gross.  This time, Greg just got take out and we ate in our room, so much easier.  I also packed snacks from home so the kids had stuff to munch on during the day and brought stuff for lunch.  I even saw one lady bring in a crock pot, not sure how she was planning to clean the crock pot in her bathroom sink but hey, if it worked for her.

Cons:
*It's freezing.  Even the shower was cold.  I was so looking forward to a nice long hot shower after freezing in the water park for hours but no.
*the fire alarm went off 4 times while we were there.  Once at 10 pm.  I just about killed someone when they told us to evacuate at 10 pm because I had just gotten everyone to sleep, except Henry of course, and if I had to wake everyone up we were about to go home and I was going to get my money back.  They ended up giving us a $100 voucher for our next trip...yes our next trip.

Nevertheless, we had fun and we'll go again...in a few years.  It ain't cheap.