How to Win Friends and Influence People

Sitting in the back of my parent's minivan (or was it the Astro by then?) on the way to my first week at Camp Allen's overnight camp I clearly remember my dad's very solid advice: "Just tell the girls in your cabin this story and everyone will want to be your friend!" The story was a captivating, especially to a third grader, and involved little Jimmy in boy scout camp, a bunch of shaving cream, and a shower stall. I showed up at camp with my ginormous duffel, my bedside fan, and my ace in the hole story. I settled in for the night and began my tale.

I had a great week that first year at camp. How could I not? It was camp! I had candy and did arts and crafts every single day! I swam and swam and swam. Messy games, fun songs, more swimming (there wasn't actually that much to do in those days besides swim), it was a great week. The last night one of my bunk mates sat in my bed chatting. "You know," she remarked in that third grader candid kind of way, "you're pretty cool. It's too bad Regina George told all of us to not be your friend at the beginning of the week."

Luckily for me, I'd been too busy having fun to realize that I hadn't made any friends.

I've been going to boot camp on Friday mornings for about six months now. It's the same faces each week. And those are the faces that I tend to see on Mondays and Wednesdays as well. Most people go with a friend, but I fly solo as my workout buddy hates bootcamp (and is now preggo and traveling across the entire country for the next few months).

Last week we went outside to run and a group of girls commented on the skunk smell. "Oh, man!" I said, "When I was pregnant..." and proceeded to tell a fabulous story about being pregnant with my second child, a skunk smell caught in our car air conditioner, and throwing up on my feet.

Nailed it.

Back to the Briar Patch

The Itchy & Scratchy Show

Dear Future Casey, If you ever for one second doubt the decision to not get pregnant again reread this post:

Man, 99 times out of a 100 I would not recommend people use google for medical knowledge. Feeling better about the decision to not get pregnant again is not one of those times. Geeze, any time I feel down about that decision I just need to get on the old google machine and get a reality check.

If you disagree and think I should get pregnant again it's because you weren't around during either of my pregnancies. The daily (all day and night) vomiting... for nine months. The first trimester ER visits. The 8 month mark bed-rest stints. The great liver/kidney/gallbladder bile backup of 2014. You know, that was the itchy and scratchy show that happens to like one in an bazillion women which resulted in phone calls from the doctor's office at 9pm on the night before induction insisting that I needed to drive to the ER and pretend to be in labor because "beds are filling up, and Casey, you have have the baby tomorrow..." you know - three weeks early.

I'm not exaggerating. The doctor's office called me at 9pm the night before I was supposed to arrive at the hospital and told me that beds were filling up and that I had to be in one. I was told that I needed to go in and pretend to be in labor. Really. I would have been freaking out more had it not been for the distraction of the misery of liver malfunction.

Thank you, God for our healthy Nils!

 

Our Prayers of the People includes prayers for the pregnant. A woman named Casey is on the list right now which is evidently insanely confusing for people. As everyone knows, I am the only woman in the entire world with that name who could get pregnant. Duh. Chris, loveable Chris, took it in stride and during the announcements told the congregation that it is not me that we're praying for and that he and I are going with a "man on man defense for now when it comes to parenting." He handled it so well. I actually got a few "congratulations on not being pregnant" after the service. I know the other Casey and am insanely excited for that family so I had a beer that night in celebration for them. And a second beer in celebration of the fact that I don't have to be the one barfing for 9 months! L'chaim!

Feeling much better. I knew I would have a meltdown as the big day approacheth. It was inevitable. Not getting pregnant again is just the right decision. It doesn't mean it's the easy one. It doesn't mean it's the preferable one. It's just the best choice for me. And for my wonderful family.

You are welcome to ask me about it. I'm pretty much an open book. But be wise enough to know that it's better to not ask me about it unless you are handing me a mint julep and have a few hours to kill listening to every nuance of the female brain. So I'll summarize it for you to save you some time: it's the right decision.

I can also just direct you to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix:"A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said," One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode.”"

In other news: adoption is around 30k. So don't ask me about that either unless you are opening a checkbook.

I jest. Except about the 30k thing. That's lowballing it from what I hear.

Hey, did you hear my clone mother is having a birthday today? She's pretty fabulous. I like her.

Remember the time I found this photo and realized I had accidentally cut my hair like that and gotten the modern (er... older?) version of those glasses? Uh... this is getting freaky people...

OOOOhhh, I love you like a pig loves corn! Happy birthday my viking mother!

The Tracks of My Tears

"People say I'm the life of the party cause I tell a joke or two. Although I might be laughin' loud and hearty, deep inside I'm blue... take a good look at my face, you'll see my smile looks out of place. If you look closer it's easy to trace the tracks of my tears."

This morning began on a very high note. Bodypump has a new release out so it was fun to start the day off with new moves and good (overall) music. And then - the fit muscular guy behind me in class came up to me when I was putting away my weights and exclaimed, "You are really strong! I am new to this class and have been following your lead as to how much weight to put on my bar. You can lift a lot of weight!" I laughed and thanked him for the compliment. Then he said, "women don't tend to get that strong in their upper bodies but I had a hard time keeping up with you! I'm impressed" - and I couldn't have been prouder.

Then I came home and Chris' looming visit with Dr. Snippet (sorry, tmi) suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks and I crumpled into a crying mess on the couch.

{sigh} Sometimes it's just so hard to know what the right thing to do is.

I Kellyed myself up and packed some lunches to bring to the library with us. A good time was had by all at toddler time (with plenty of dancing and clapping by Nils), and Carolena ran into a friend from school who hung with us for the rest of the morning. The girls had fun playing and choosing books and then we all headed out to feed the ducks and enjoy a little lunch. Some of the ducks had "a little 50 shades of gray thing going on" as the other mom put it and the girls had to be redirected to picking flowers lest they be trampled by overzealous fowl.

So, here we are midday on a day with high highs and a low low. Nils is sound asleep and Carolena is plowing through the new books we brought home. I'm trying to think about what I might be willing to force myself to eat for lunch. It's hard to eat when you spent the morning sobbing.

This afternoon: sonic drinks, the park, the ymca, a haircut?? The possibilities are seemingly endless. Whatever we do, we'll do something fun. That's the plan and I'm sticking to it.

Something for me to keep in mind in the future: that other mom has no idea what a blessing she was to me today. We never even remember one another's names. She has no idea that I spent the morning in tears facing the hardest decision of my life. She has no clue that I easily could have spent our entire trip to the library wallowing and fighting back tears and feeling distracted while my children ran amok. Instead, seeing her there helped turned my day around - good conversation with someone who loves to read nonfiction, has heard of Ernest Shackleton, bought her husband Undaunted Courage recently. Yep, I need to remember to be kind to people. You never know what's happening underneath the surface in their lives. And perhaps I need to find a way to force that girl to be my friend.

Full Disclosure

I knew my pregnancy with Nils would be my last pregnancy. Not because I don't want more children, but because, as it turns out for me, pregnancy sucks. With all of the vomiting, and migraines, and bed rest, and blood pressure concerns, and failing organs and all that jazz... I just can't do it again. I would love to have another child, but my health is more important. Taking care of the two beautiful little munchkins I already have is more important.

And when I came to fully realize that, I found that I was crushed.

And no, not crushed in the CRushD kind of way that I love when I combine my initials and my maiden name.

Crushed.

I spent most of last year crying. I'll tell you what, crying every day isn't as glamorous as it sounds. And then sometime in the fall I decided it was time for another Kellying. It was time to rally and pull myself up by the bootstraps. A new haircut, weekly workouts, more makeup, a fresh take. Except, when you're facing something so deeply difficult, sometimes that just isn't enough. Daily prayer led me to daily thanksgiving. I decided to be happy and thankful for what I have, rather than sad and pouting over what I want.

What I want is to be pregnant again and have it be easy. That isn't going to happen. So I might as well change what I want and want what I have: two wonderful children.

Giving thanks changed everything. It got easier. I cleared out all of our baby clothes and got rid of all of the things Nils has outgrown. That was surprisingly freeing. They were like shackles around my ankles. Getting rid of all of that stuff has allowed me to move forward. I think it was around that time that I stopped crying. My last infant has been weaned. Our bottles are gone. We are moving forward to the next phase of life, and I am excited to see what this new phase holds.

Overall, I'm doing okay. In fact, I'm better than okay. I'm doing pretty great. As it turns out giving thanks changes everything. And if I find myself in a moment that is rough I go visit this picture of Leona and her two... and I smile.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me... Xanax?

Nothing says "Fourth Day of Christmas" like a clergy spouse standing in the rain mere steps from the narthex while the service has already started, yelling "I don't care that your raincoat isn't buttoned!" at her child while trying to balance two bags of canned goods, an umbrella, a diaper bag, and a baby in her arms. People around here are tired and we've been to church a lot this week. Thank God for the two men who came out to grab the bags and the umbrella.

But really, in a strange way, isn't that what community is all about?

Some people claim that they don't need to go to church on Sunday mornings because they worship God on their own. I think that's a cop-out. Get your lazy butt out of bed, put on real clothes, and find a community to worship with. Because community is not about the "show" of being in church. And, guess what, community doesn't have to be perfect. In fact, none are.

Having a community means having a group of people there to catch you when you are flailing and rejoice with you when you are soaring. It means having a group of people to surround you as you go through the ups and downs of life. It means having familiar faces to greet you when you are having a morning in which people are tired and yelling at one another. It means that I will see those same beautiful faces next Sunday, when we are (hopefully) more with it and not yelling at one another outside of the church doors.

One day over the summer Chris and I attended a party at which we were the youngest people by about thirty years. And you know what? That was one of the most fun parties I've been to in a long time. Or ever. If we didn't have a church community would we even know people of all ages? Or would we just hang out with other parents in our general age group? I can just picture that now: all parties with children screaming and smearing pizza sauce onto things while the adults zone out in tiredness drinking beer and talking about potty training. Actually, scratch that, when was the last time people in our age group even had a party? We'd all rather put kids into bed and crash on our own couches watching reruns of Friends. Am I right or am I right? Right? Right? Right?

I am thankful that I have a group of people who know me and I know them. They've seen my daughter learn to walk. They've seen her throw tantrums in church, eat more than her fair share of donuts, and sing like an adorable little angel on Christmas Eve. They've seen me wallow in the misery of pregnancy and celebrated with us when our son was born. They've seen Nils as a small nugget riding in my papoose grow into a wild man crawling as fast as possible down the aisle to get to the front and see Daddy.

Yes, I am thankful for community. Nothing could replace the beauty of having a church community to live life with.

...and to help grab the bags when people are getting rained on and just need to get into the building.

Expectant Waiting

For a pregnant woman, the last weeks of waiting are some of the most intense. The fear of childbirth and the unknown of when it will begin. The excitement of the baby finally arriving after so much waiting and waiting and waiting. The feeling of knowing it could be "any day now" or weeks of still more waiting.

In the gospel of Luke when we find Jesus anticipating his arrest and coming passion (ch 22), the Greek word translated "anguish" or "agony" leads us to view Jesus with every muscle tensed. That's the "agony" described. Agony is not a very good translation into English - but alas, I cannot think of a better single word either. It's not agony like the agony of stubbing your barefoot toe on concrete. Agony in this sense is more like a runner. He is like the last person in a relay waiting for the baton. Every muscle is tensed. The anticipation is palpable.

I like to see this particular agony like that of the last weeks of pregnancy. Every emotional muscle is tensed waiting. Could today be the day? Am I going to make it all the way to lunch? Will I go to bed in my own bed tonight or be in the hospital? Will we have a newborn here in a few days? Or next week? Bags are ready and by the door. A crib is set up and the nursery is clean. A carseat rides around empty in the car.

This is Advent.

This is how we are to await the second coming of Christ. Like a woman awaiting the birth of a child. Like a runner poised to grab the baton for the final lap. We are supposed to live in such a way that our spiritual muscles are tense with anticipation. Like the parents who paint the nursery and wipe off every surface in anticipation of their newborn child. Like the father who glances at his wife's enormous belly and decides to go to bed a little earlier just in case he's awakened during the night to rush her to the hospital. Advent is the first season of our church calendar year and it should not surprise us that this first season reminds us of how we are to live out our lives. We are to live in anticipation. We are to live in this type of agony. Waiting. Watching. Preparing. Living our lives in advent as we make our song, "Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel."

Excuse Me, Are You Using that Twig? No? Mind if I Take it?

Just when the world thought I couldn't get any more like my mother... this morning I walked around our house vacuuming up small toys and hairbands while indiscriminately throwing things into a box to bring to KCM. Some mothers nest by bringing things into the house. I nest by getting things out.

Chris has been nesting too. His nesting has consisted of taking down our Christmas tree and decorations and carefully packing all of the boxes back into the attic. This is the first year of my entire life we've taken down Christmas stuff before the 12th day... we are in full force nesting around here. He pulled all of the baby stuff out of the attic (why do babies have so much stuff??), washed everything, and brought it into the house. He even cleaned out my car which, judging from the size of the box of crap he brought inside for me to go through, must have been no easy feat. Chris' final act of nesting appears to be building a new fence in our backyard. Although, I'm not sure it technically counts as "nesting" if we got a letter from our HOA telling us to hurry up and build our new fence...

Carolena is nesting by rediscovering all of her old baby things. Every time she finds something new we hear a scream of high pitched delight (and I mean really high pitched) as she shouts, "this was baby Carolena's!" Her baby dolls, as well as Teddy Ruxpin and Minnie Mouse, have all enjoyed getting tucked into the bouncy chair and car seat. I've enjoyed watching her tuck in her babies as they each receive a gentle kiss, have their hair brushed back from their faces (or rather, in their cases, their heads lightly patted as none of them has any hair), and a blankie pulled up to their chins.

Well, seeing as how there are crock pot meals to assemble and put into our freezer for the end of this month I guess I'd better go snuggle up in my bed with some old Twilight Zone episodes and hope those ingredients chop and organize themselves!

We'll Drink a Cup of Kindness Yet

Tonight as I lie on the couch in my pajamas watching Twilight Zone episodes until my 9 pm bedtime, I shall lift a glass of sparkling lemonade and drink a cup of kindness yet to auld lang syne. 2013: a year during which I am pretty sure I threw up more days than not.

And this time next year I shall lie on the couch in my pajamas watching Twilight Zone episodes until my 9 pm bedtime, and I will lift a glass of scotch and drink a cup of kindness yet to auld lang syne. 2014: a year that shines with the glimmering hope of less vomit.

Touche

I've become convinced that our baby has some sort of weapon that it's using to zap all of my energy, make me feel queasy, make me incredibly tired, and start each of my days lightheaded. It also uses said weapon to give me heartburn and insomnia... and did I mention that it makes me tired? I believe this weapon is called a placenta. Touche Mother Nature. Touche.

Hunger is the Best Pickle

When I was pregnant with Carolena I didn't have many pregnancy cravings per se. I had a heck of a lot of aversions to different foods (namely anything green) and certainly ate more than my fair share of queso (one day I realized I'd had queso seven times in five days... those were five fantastic days) but didn't experience any stereotypical pregnant woman moments when it came to food.

Last week I ate an entire jar of dill pickles.
In one sitting.
And drank the juice.

I regretted it for about 24 hours afterward and put out a household decree that no one ever mention pickles again in my presence.

Last night Chris kindly reminded me of this when I opened a new jar. Realizing the wisdom behind his words and recalling how miserable the entire jar episode had made me feel, I reluctantly relinquished the jar. I then sat on the couch and spent about thirty minutes or so debating the merits of a cream cheese and pickle sandwich.

I wonder how pickles might taste with queso...

catnapping

It's nap time. All I want to do is lie in my bed, eat a little lunch, maybe read or watch tv, certainly try to take a catnap...

Catnap.

Something about my being pregnant makes our cats obsessed with me. I cannot over emphasize how needy they become. They want to sit with me, by me, and mostly ON me at all times. They won't take no for an answer. They sleep on my side of the bed. They're always there... watching... waiting... trying to force me to snuggle.

It's too much. I wish they would learn to play hard to get.

Sheesh... get off me cat!

This happened last time I was pregnant too. Max is the worst. When I was pregnant with Carolena I was still working and so I would arrive home each day to see him slink around the corner. If he'd been able to speak he would have said in a silky voice, "I've been waiting for you alllll day!"

Now I'm a stay home mom. There is no respite from the cats.

As I type this Olive is lying along my side and Max is trying (successfully) to lie in my arms like a baby. These are strange times indeed.

Can't a mom just have one second to herself around here?

W.O.W.

Words of Wisdom: Mommy is Pregnant Edition
By Carolena

If Daddy seems to be the only parent who responds to your calls and makes you breakfast in the mornings...

If you're getting to watch tv...

If you find Mommy laying on the bathroom floor...

If Mommy has been stopping by McDonalds...

Then chances are Mommy is pregnant. And you'll need to be prepared to help.

If Daddy seems to be the only parent who responds to your calls and makes you breakfast in the mornings... Then chances are Mommy is pregnant. And you'll need to be prepared to help.
First, call out for Daddy in the mornings. A nice long and loud "Daaaaaaaa -da" over and over should be sufficient. Call him until he appears, then instantly smile and begin asking about Mommy. As soon as you've gotten a clean diaper (it's a hassle but Daddy will insist) head to curl up with Mommy in her bed. She'll probably be moving slowly and feeling woozy so you should be sure to keep the jumping to a minimum and instead just crawl all over her asking her to go get you some milk.

If you're getting to watch tv... Then chances are Mommy is pregnant. And you'll need to be prepared to help.
Since Mommy is busy doing first trimestery type things she'll be way more likely to turn on the tv when you ask. Sesame Street, Elmo, "My Show!" (the Muppet Movie) and "Hi Ho" are good go-to requests. As soon as she turns something on yell "no!" and pick something else... like Baby Einstein. It's good to always keep her on her toes.

If you find Mommy laying on the bathroom floor... Then chances are Mommy is pregnant. And you'll need to be prepared to help.
Now that Mommy is pregnant she is going to be spending some time on the bathroom floor. If you hear her getting sick in the bathroom go to her with some words of encouragement. In between her heaving you should cheer and yell, "again! again!" Hand her pieces of toilet paper and offer to "fwush?" She'll appreciate your good nursing skills.

If Mommy has been stopping by McDonalds... Then chances are Mommy is pregnant. And you'll need to be prepared to help.
Now that Mommy is pregnant she has discovered a wonderful place called McDonalds. Every once in a while after doing whatever it is that she does while you play at the Y Kid's Club, she'll go through their drive-through. As soon as that white bag hits her hands, start screaming. She'll need you to take a couple of fries off her hands.

Yes, things are looking pretty different around here these days. Mommy is pregnant and it's a whole new ballgame. Do your best to be on good behavior. Give her lots of kisses - preferably one on each cheek. Laugh and yell "again!" if she gags when changing your diaper. Before you know it the first trimester will be over and things will be back to usual around here... right?

Full

So these days the only thing empty around here is my blog... and occasionally my stomach.

Our house is full. It looks like a pack of wolves took up residence here. In fact, wolves might be living in our second bedroom and come out to ransack our house at night and we haven't even noticed.

Carolena is full. Full of energy, full of happiness, full of dances to dance, full of things to say.

My car is full. Unfortunately, the Prius is not currently full on gas or oil... but there are plenty of toddler shoes, random toys, and crumbs. I wouldn't be surprised if the wolf pack occasionally hangs out in there as well.

My heart is full. Chris and I celebrate our seventh anniversary tomorrow... love for my little Carolena... and a second baby due at the end of January.

Yes, my blog is somewhat empty... but the Duncans are full.