One Last Adventure

My brain refuses to accept the fact that summer is over.  How could summer possibly be over?  There are still so many things that I want to do, so many lazy afternoons I want to waste, so much more sunshine I want to savor.  But it's the last day of August and Labor Day weekend.  The boys have gone back to school.  So I guess it's official.  

Summer is over.

It was an awesome summer.  We managed to pack so much in, even though my work schedule of four consecutive weekends on call and two weeks of night shifts did put a damper on our adventures near the end.

But speaking of adventures, we did manage to get one last one in before school started.

Two years ago, we made our way to Maquoketa Cave State Park.  Although we had an absolutely beautiful day there, we were not able to explore the caves themselves, since they were closed due to an outbreak of a disease that was killing off all the bats.  At the beginning of this summer, I heard that the caves were finally reopened.  This excited the boys, and I promised them that visiting the caves would be part of our best summer ever.

We just managed to squeak it in, on my only full  day off in August, the weekend before school started.

We showed up, ready with our I-didn't-really-care-if-they-get-ruined clothes and our flashlights.  The boys listened attentively to the presentation about the white nose syndrome that was killing off the bats and how to prevent its spread.  (Bug was visibly relieved when he found out the disease affected only bats and not people). We got our wristbands and proceeded to the caves.

Bug and Monkey were so excited, they literally hopped down the stairs in anticipation of exploring the caves.

Nothing lights the fires of adventure and imagination in little boys like a cave.

We felt very Fellowship of the Rings in the Mines of Moria, working our way over damp pathways through the dripping, dark turns of the first cave.

After the boys found that they would most likely not being coming face to face with any bats, there was no stopping them. They ran up and down each twisting staircase.

They climbed every rock and ledge that provided them purchase (to many heart stopping moments for this mommy!)

They wriggled their way into each cave they could find, only to come back out when they had either reached water they didn't dare cross or the back wall of the cave.

They made friends with the local creatures.

Mostly, they developed a new sense of bravery.  I watched my two boys, the same ones who get panicky if I forget to turn on the night light, crawl into the black mouths of caves, armed only with a flashlight.  Their faces were alight with wonder and discovery.

This is one of my favorite things about Iowa.  That there are places like this, adventures to be had, hidden away between corn fields.  Places where little boys become brave explorers.

Places, where even just for an afternoon, we can pretend that summer will never end.

Completely 6

Dear Monkey,

After transferring all the photos of today onto the computer, I relabeled the "New Folder" under your name, changing it to 6th Birthday.  I had to pause before I hit enter.  How can you really be six? 

It's not that you aren't acting six.  You certainly are.  What with your requests for a Mario cake and Lego presents, you are all six year old boy.
 

From your silly faces to your apparent inability to take a "normal" picture, you completely act your age.

From your requests for macaroni and cheese for your birthday dinner to your choice of toy lizards for the gift bags to send to your school friends, there is no one quite as six as you are.

And I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Although it is hard to not be acutely aware of how fast the time is passing.  How you have gone from round cheeked champion drooler to tousled hair champion Angry Bird player in just a a few heart beats.

You, my darling birthday boy, are an adventure.  And so far, six promises to be just as exciting as all the previous years.

Happy Birthday, Monkey.

Love,

Mom

Poolside

If you are going to try to make a summer the best summer ever, one of the absolutely essential things that summer must have is swimming.  A lot of swimming.

My original plan had been to enroll the boys in swimming lessons, but due to a lack of planning on my part and the overwhelming popularity of swimming lessons, the lessons were booked by the time I thought to sign them up.

I knew that this summer, Hubster would be home with the boys quite a bit.  I wanted to do everything I could to encourage them to do activities together, and, yes, to swim.  So, for Father's Day, I bought Hubster/all of us a swimming pass to the local pool.

This may have been the best thing I have ever purchased.  Not having to think about paying every time we went swimming, we found ourselves poolside at least every other day nearly all summer.  There were weeks that Hubster took the boys swimming every day.

I watched my boys turn from scared, pale little things, to tan-lined brave fish.  Granted, Monkey still needs arm floats and Bug still hates getting water in his eyes/ears/nose and insists on wearing ear plugs and a full snorkel mask.  But none of us cared. 

Nearly half the days this summer were spent applying sunscreen and then splashing, diving, racing around the pool.

This is definitely how summer should be.

First and Fifth

Apparently, it's already that time of year, where shopping carts are filled with colored folders and boxes of pencils and the internet is filled with photos of shiny faced children in new clothes and backpacks. School started today.

I'm not the parent who looks forward to the start of school.  I love the slow pace of summer, the inevitable abandonment of a schedule, the seemingly endless amount of time we can spend together as a family. I let the boys ride their bikes up and down the street well into the deepening shades of dusk. Many nights were spent in the backyard with the telescope, examining moon craters and trying to catch just a glimpse of Saturn's iconic shape. Family story time was extended longer and longer, as no one had the heart to stop before the end of the chapter.

But school is back. And along with it, the necessity of a bedtime, the wearing of shoes that require socks, and evenings spent with homework instead of badminton in backyard.

Bug has approached this school year with more anxiety than usual. For weeks, he has commented that he is dreading school. During our conversations about school, he has expressed stress and doubt, emotions that break my heart to see in a 10 year old.

"I'm just so stressed that they'll ask questions I don't know the answer to. And there will be quizzes and tests that I won't do well on.  And there will be so much homework."   I don't know how to calm the anxiety that I see so often in myself.

By now, we have done many, many first days of school.  Sending Monkey to first grade and Bug to fifth grade should be a straight forward routine by now.  Right?

A simple breakfast as a family. Getting dressed. Making sure faces, teeth, and hair are clean and presentable. Checking the bags of school supplies and ensuring that backpacks and pencil boxes are labeled.  The mandatory first day of school pictures.

Then off to school to stand in line and wait for the bell before marching between supply laden parents and occasionally tearful children to the classrooms.

Bug, no surprise, did everything he could to avoid a public display of affection before slipping into his classroom unaccompanied. Hubster and I, however, stayed by Monkey's side until his classroom was found, his backpack was hung on the hook under his name and he was settled at his desk.

At this point, I burst into tears. Let's blame it on pregnancy hormones, working the demanding hours of night shift.  Let's blame that steady stream of tears on anything other than my continued ability to be overwhelmed by how quickly these boys are growing up, at the start of first and fifth.

Still, I can say it was a good first day of school, as the only one who crying was me.

Bump: Week 23

In just 3 weeks since I last posted a picture, I have gone from looking just a little bit pregnant (or just overly indulgent at Daylight Doughnuts), but still fitting in my own clothes to this...

Very obviously pregnant.

The only thing that I previously owned that still fits me is two pairs of sweat pants.  Not even my old T-shirts can make the distance to completely cover my belly.   I finally had to break down and buy some maternity clothes.  I felt a bit silly spending money on clothes that I will only wear until the end of the year, but walking around with my jeans unbuttoned was just not going to cut it. And there are so many cute maternity clothes now, outfits that are much better than anything I had six years ago.

Oh, and I have raging, esophagus eating heart burn.  Just thought you wanted to know.

Land of 10,000 Lakes and Mosquitoes

One of the many things I enjoy about the small Iowa city we live in is that we are relatively easy distance from several major cities. Within 4-5 hours, we can be in Chicago, Omaha, Minneapolis, or St. Louis.  We decided that each summer, we would visit a different one of the four big cities.  Obviously, we love Chicago.  In Omaha, we pretty much just visited the zoo (but it is an amazing zoo, and worth the trip).

This summer, we had talked about going to St. Louis.  But my vacation was in July, and St. Louis in July didn't exactly sound like fun.  It seems like it might be more of a September trip.  So this summer, we turned our sites north to the Twin Cities.

Unlike the other cities, I wasn't exactly sure what we should go see and do while we were in Minneapolis, other than the Mall of America.  A mall, no matter how awesome, can't make up an entire trip.  So I started Googling and asking friends who had lived or visited.  I think we came up with a pretty good list.

 There was the Sculpture Garden, with the iconic Spoonbridge and Cherry sculpture. 

There was the Stone Arch Bridge spanning the Mississippi River, with its gorgeous views of downtown.

There was Minnehaha Falls, which was a welcome break from the record setting temperatures that descended on us that week (Seriously, what's the point of living so far north if you can't even get a mild summer out of it?)

And of course, there was the Mall of America - crowded, touristy, ridiculously huge, and actually quite ridiculously awesome! 

My boys hate shopping.  But what is there to hate about about a mall with an amusement park in the middle? (Even if the boys didn't actually want to ride on any of the rides?)

What is there to hate about an entire store devoted to Legos?  Especially when the store has fabulously cool and enormous Lego sculptures on and around it.

  

What is there to hate about a mall that has an awesome aquarium in it?

After two days in the city, the last day of our Minnesota trip was spent camping.  There was no way I was going to drive all the way to Minnesota and not camp by a lake. 

We found a campground next to a gorgeous, lily lined lake with a beautiful little beach for swimming. 

We ended up being the only people in the campground, since it was midweek.  We raised the tent, made a fire, roasted hotdogs and marshmallows and had a delightful, quiet evening.  A quiet evening disturbed only by the high pitched whine of mosquitoes. We were liberal with the insect repellent, but as we were turning in, I could tell that I was already getting a collection of bites around my feet.

About halfway through the night, my legs became itchier and itchier until I was tossing and turning and not sleeping at all.  I had this sudden thought that despite being safely in our tent, I was still being bitten!  I woke up to find Hubster and the boys both waking up, complaining of the same thing.  We turned on our camping lantern to find the tent full of mosquitoes, happily feasting on our blood. Hubster spent a good hour hunting them all down before we could sleep in peace again.

The next day, I counted 52 mosquito bites on my stomach, legs, and arms.  The boys and Hubster got about a dozen each.  Apparently, I taste delicious.  It was a long, itchy drive back home.

Other than the overabundance of bug bites, we had a delightful time in the land of 10,000 lakes.  Even if we only saw one of them.

Oh Boy

It's official.

Duck is a boy.  And I couldn't be happier about it.  We are all very excited about it.  Even Monkey, who initially said that if that baby wasn't a girl, then he didn't want it.  After all, he already had a brother, and didn't need another one.

I'm relieved in many ways.  I already (kind of) know what to do with boys.  I don't have to wade into the world of Barbies and pink and ballet classes.

I've already painted the nursery, bought fabric for a quilt, and Hubster and I are pretty certain we have settled on a name.

Now, I just need to get through the next 18 weeks.  I'm not wishing away those 18 weeks though (well, except for the persistent nausea, the sleep interrupting leg cramps, and the insidious onset of heart burn).  I'm trying to savor the moments, the planning, the expectation.

I've been wanting this baby for a long time, a very long time (the posts date back to 2009 and 2010). I talked about having a baby all the time for over two years. Hubster and I kept talking that we would do a year of dental school first, see how things worked out, and then try for baby number 3.  But that put me at the end of residency and losing my amazing resident insurance. So early last summer, I stopped my birth control and we official started trying.

The first three months of not getting pregnant didn't really bother me.  Okay, that's not true.  I wanted to get pregnant immediately. But the first three months of not getting pregnant were at least expected.  Even though, after that, I did start to go even more crazy and bought ovulation sticks and meticulous charted everything.  Only to realize two months later that I wasn't ovulating.

My periods were irregular.  I never had a positive ovulation test.  I never had a typical change in basal body temperature. And even though by that point, we had only technically been trying to conceive for 5 months, I started completely freaking out.

Take a person who is slightly neurotic as baseline, give them several years of distracting baby hunger, and then introduce even the slight possibility that there might not be another baby, and you can start to create in your mind the totally irrational, panic ridden person I became.  It took a good friend to grab me by the shoulders, give me a little shake, and tell me that I was being crazy, for me to even start to calm down.  Poor Hubster, during all this time, kept saying that he thought baby-making was supposed to be at least a little bit fun.

In December, armed with several months of menstrual dates and (lack of) ovulation charts, I called my OB/GYN to make an appointment. The first available appointment wasn't until April. I took a deep breath and made the appointment, figuring that by that time, it would have been almost of year of trying, and if I wasn't pregnant by my appointment in April, then they would have to take me seriously.

However, my friend, who also saw the same OB/GYN had an appointment in January that she gave me (the scheduling person must have thought we were both bizarre, trying to get her to change our appointments). So, four negative pregnancy tests and seven months later, I went to my first appointment.  My OB/GYN was wonderful, sympathetic, and didn't think I was completely crazy (which I still can't figure out why that was such a concern of mine).

I went through series of blood draws to check hormone levels. I went through timed ultrasounds to look at my ovaries and the lining of my uterus. 

All of which came of the same conclusion - I was not ovulating.  It could have been a million things: the stress related to residency, the extra weight I had gained since I became pregnant with Monkey.  As my doctor said, "Residency is trying to kill your ovaries." 

We decided to start on progesterone and Clomid.  I started the first round of drugs in February.

I didn't particularly have any hope. I had seen the ultrasounds, with my sleeping ovaries on them.  My doctor and I had gone through everything, about the all the different drugs and technologies that were still available.

During most of this time, when I wasn't being neurotic, I felt incredibly silly. After all, we already had two gorgeous boys.  Expensive fertility treatments seemed like they should be saved for those who had no children.  It hadn't even been a year since we started trying.  I knew couples who had tried for years and years to get pregnant. What was 9 months? Why should I been worked up.  Why should I even care?  But care I did.

On my 30th birthday, in March, I decided I would check.  Just for fun.  As a birthday present to myself.

I nearly fell over when I saw two pink lines.

I took a picture, and sent it to Hubster, who was downstairs cooking breakfast.  About 6 seconds later, I could hear him running up the stairs.  We did a little celebration happy dance together. I walked around with a stupid grin for days afterwards.

Turns out those sleeping ovaries, the ones that residency was trying to off, they just needed a swift kick in the butt.

This whole process was strange to me.  I've always been such a planner.  Both Bug and Monkey were conceived within two months, the timing of moving and major tests and such planned around those dates.  To have the process of when I would have a baby taken away from me (my initial plans of a mid spring baby changed to a Thanksgiving baby) was humbling.

But I am grateful. Even on my sickest, most fatigued days, I remember that I wanted this.  I planned for this.

This little boy is wanted.