seriously

two v e r y relaxed parents in on a porch in tejas

So, he can see that I’m having a hard time.  He can see that I’m on the edge of the dark place that sucks me in when everything around me starts unwinding.  He can see that it will take more than Chinese food to put this week behind me.  And so he says,

Kate.  You are my favorite person.

[skeptical stare]

Seriously, Kate.  In all 4 billion people on this Earth, you are my favorite person.

Friend, you don’t KNOW all 4 billion people on this Earth.

[brain working]

No.  No, I don’t.  But I have 386 friends, Kate!

[?]

That’s a lot of friends, Kate!  And you’re my favorite one!

•

That Boy.  He likes to fix things, to make them physically better. Sometimes, that’s just impossible.  I will always choose humor over perfection.

Hey, thanks for hearing that story on Thursday.  It’s so nice to know it came out right.

Here’s to another week of ‘getting on the bus.’

I hope this one goes to a beach.

I feel pretty.

In a rare moment of humility, I rested my head on The Boy’s shoulder and said, “I want to thank you for being so kind about my clothing lately.”

Not knowing to just leave well-enough alone he asked, “Whatever do you mean, Fairest?” (or something close)

“You know.  How I wear the same clothes every day… usually after sleeping in them.”

[pause]

“Well,” he said, “I know it’s a crazy phase of life right now.”

[pause]

“And I know that phase will end.”

[pause]

“And I reserve the right to mention when I think you’ve past the end.”

I do, Folks.  I do sometimes sleep in my clothes.  My time is never guaranteed in the mornings… who knows when  a tantrum or diaper or fire will cut into prep time?  I figure clothed-but-possibly-slept-in is always a better option in the carpool lane than naked.

Comfort, warmth, and *ahem* accessibility are the main requirements of my wardrobe.  Since leaving my Jordache Jeans behind in elementary school, I have lived in the sporty/bohemian world of  fashion.  Having babies only sent me further into Casual Land.  Everyone needs a little boost now and then, and I do love me some dresses and skirts in fine weather.  Right now, though, that little June Bug up there is keeping me in the yoga pants and Lycra.  She is so cute.  I forgive her for my thighs.  I do.

[favorites: Patagonia, Title Nine, Athleta, Sundance, Garnett Hill]

Please send me one of everything from Sundance, m’kay?  I could live in that catalog.

Mandi is on a mission to update her closet.  Give her some places you love to shop for good, quality, non-mom type duds.

MC is on bed-rest waiting out Sam’s delivery… and we’re all hoping for later rather than sooner.  If you have a minute, head on over and say hello to the girl.  Her chronicles are smart and hilarious, and I’m sure you have some stories of your own to share that will help her pass the remaining time.

Happy weekend, Folks!  

We love you here at TexasNorth!

Miss Abby comes to town

Abby June arrived, as scheduled, on December 15, 2011.  This was my third c-section and, quite honestly, the roughest.  Gracious.  Nothing like 5 years of scar tissue to make things interesting.  I am assured it was all completely necessary.  My doctor told me (as they were stitching me back together… which, when you think about it, is a terrible time to have a conversation) that I was nowhere near ready ‘naturally.’ No signs of labor, nothin’.  I am nothing if not consistent.

I so very much wish I had taken a picture of Dr. I for you… my anesthesiologist.  She was lucky to be 5 feet tall, short hair you couldn’t see under her cap, and a t h i c k Russian accent.  I question, honestly, whether she is employed by the hospital OR, in fact, the FBI.  She carried only a pen and a paper… no chart, no needles, no doctor things.  And she barked questions to me that made me both giggly and terrified at the same time.

Name? (Mary Kathryn Mulder)

[scribble scribble scribble]

Allergies? (no)

Heart disease? (no)

Cancer? (no)

Thyroid problems? (no)

Family? (yes… lots of family)

[sigh] [reverse scribble]

Thyroid issues IN YOUR FAMILY? (sorry, no)

Open your mouth. (?)

Wider.

WIDER.  (I can’t.)

You can’t? (I can’t.)

Mmmmm.

[more angry scribble]

•

Stick with me, Folks.  I meet the craziest people.  I don’t know how they find me but they do.

Curt and I right before we donned our awesome blue scrubs and hair nets.

It took Abby forever to cry.  I even had to ask, “She’s not crying.  Is everything ok?”  The doctor laughed and said, “Yep- she’s fine!  Completely fine and content.”  And she’s been that way ever since.

Rylie and Gideon came up the first night to see their new sister.

Gus was super pumped about her hat.  It was a winner.

Seriously… she favors Linguini from Ratatouille, no?  It’s ok for you to agree.

She is, as she was inside, completely calm.  Chill.  She looks like Rylie a little… and Gus a little… but she truly has her own thing goin’ on.  She started nursing in the recovery room and never looked back.  There’s still the mystery of breast-feeding, though.  How much are they getting? Is it enough?  According to her diapers, absolutely.  According to her weight gain, no.  So, we press on and add a bottle of formula here and there to make up some slack.  But mostly, we just press on because there is no time for dawdling anymore.

All in all, I’d say we’re running at 90% capacity.  Happy.  Healthy.  Three kids who haven’t seriously injured each other- yet.  Makin’ it work.

I am blessed.

Tricia, Darling, you won the baby pool!  You knew that.  Nice job.  Email or Facebook me your mailing address and I’ll send off your prize

seven years

This commercial came on yesterday as we sleepily watched Sunday afternoon football… on our anniversary which we had both forgotten about.   I love this commercial.

There’s the one photo of the couple in the back of the car?  The wedding, probably?  Kissing?

I asked if Curt had ever kissed anyone in the back of a car.  Ok, ‘made-out’ in the backseat of a car- that’s what I was asking.

He said, “No.”

[pause... then,]

“In the back of a truck… yes.”

[pause]

Squinting to see the past I asked, ”Was that me?”

[pause]

“Not the time I’m remembering,” he said dreamily.

NOT THE TIME I’M REMEMBERING.

 Happy Anniversary, Love.

My life is funny because of you.

ready to run

At 3:12pm Saturday, I went into Gus Man’s room to rescue him from his crib after a nice 2-hour nap. He was fully clothed (a bonus, since I have indeed found him naked recently… the little bugger) – fully clothed including shoes.

Curtis James, did you put Gideon down for a nap with shoes on?

Yes. Yes, I did.

-pause-

Do YOU sleep with shoes on?

Yes. Yes, I do.

-pause-

I must confess, though, I don’t sleep with shoes on all that often.

•

I do love that man. I don’t get how his brain works, but I love him.

We’re having some significant broadband-internet-connection-blah-blah-blah troubles here at TexasNorth. I’m blaming it on the raccoons, since they are responsible for 99% of the mischief on this farm. Just be aware that I may not be able to respond to your comments or emails as quickly (ok, instantly) as usual. I’m still here!

Talk to me, Goose.

the rest of the story

It is so. stinkin’. FUN. to celebrate with you people.  Truly.  Thank you for all the cheers Thursday. I’m due December 20.  I’ll go a week early for a c-section.  We will not be finding out if Little is a he or a she beforehand… so we’re all in the same boat here except I get the night sweats and you get the laughs, ok?

Speaking of…

It was March 15.  I thought, to be quite frank, that this would finally be the day I ended up on national news for locking my children out of the house, booking a one-way ticket to Jamaica, or accidentally (?) poisoning dinner.  I was dangerously close to needing an emotional intervention and possibly some physical restraints.  I emailed friends. I cried. I gnashed my teeth.

The emails poured in… “hang in there”, “parenting/wife-ing is a marathon not a sprint”, “do you need me to bring you a Dr. Pepper?” God bless you all. Everyone.

Exactly 1.5 hours later, for the first time in 2 years due to pregnancy and nursing, I started my period.

To you of the ‘stronger’ gender who do not know this disphoria… this absolute mania that comes along with the abillity to grow A LIFE IN YOUR WOMB… yes, it is a blessing.  An honor.  And, every month, you think you are absolutely losing your mind for no apparent reason other than the entire world hates you. Every. Single. Time.

Content that I was not destined for an early check-in at the loony bin (this time), life carried on and even, I dare say, got better.

Until sometime later when The Husband returned home from work extremely cheerful.  He was whistling (which I loathe) and hug-gy (which I discourage) and generally jovial (which is… annoying).  As he chewed his rice (loudly) at dinner, I silently considered kicking him in the knee and running out the front door. He smiled sincerely, “Rough day?”  *sigh*

I realize, I am a JOY.

This odd and specific rage was remotely familiar to me and I pushed back my chair to take a deep breath, refill my drink, and check the calendar.  I was shocked to realize I was more than a week ‘late’… though I hardly thought things would be back on track so soon after a 2-year biological hiatus.

As he cleared the table, I excused myself to the restroom where I located a lone pregnancy test in a blank wrapper at the very back of the cabinet.  Three minutes later, I had one blue line in each window.  But- no box. No instructions.  No key to the puzzle.

*#%**^.

I stomped into the kitchen.  “I think I’m pregnant.  I’m not sure because this test is old and I can’t remember the rules, but I think I’m pregnant.”

Curt, still holding a plate, was stunned.  “Excuse me? What does this mean?  This line… this negative line is a POSITIVE test?  What does this mean?”

*#*@$))_.

Days later, I called my conscience in Texas. “So, I might be pregnant but the test I took didn’t have any instructions.  What’s your gut?”  Ever the sanity in my life, she instructed me to go to the store and buy another test. “And then call me immediately.”

So, I did… because by this time I was nothing if not curious.

Twenty plus three minutes later (with a 4 year-old audience), I was staring at a faint positive.

Twenty plus FOUR minutes later, the 4 year-old emerged from the bathroom with bare buns and the extra pregnancy test.

“Did you use this?” I asked.

“Mom.  On.  Me. Pee Pee. Me.” she replied.

*(@$&(@#!.

Ry’s test was negative, just to be clear.

Nearly one month after the first questionably positive test, I called my OB to set up an appointment.  The nurse asked, of course, when my last period was… which I absolutely knew to be March 15.  “Well!” she replied, “Usually we hear from folks sooner!  We’d like to see you sometime this week since you’re already 10 weeks pregnant.”

Yes, well… there’s a story there.  Some denial and some procrastination and also some other minor complications.  But that is neither here nor there. Sometimes, this is just how it happens.

I confess I took one more test the day before my appointment out of complete and total fear that I would show up and be 100% NOT pregnant and then have to explain why I thought I WAS.  I took the third and final test alone and without anyone knowing.

It was positive immediately, and -alone- I smiled whole-heartedly.

Little, you punched the air and did a flip when the ultrasound shed its light on you at our first appointment.  You’re going to fit in here just fine.  Take your time and grow strong.  We cannot wait to meet you! 

in the swing of things

My grandmother (Sebeck), 1947, nursing graduation.  We just don’t take portraits like we used to.  This one has always taken my breath away.  I hope you all had a lovely day Sunday.  Ours was filled with sun and chocolate… and that’s about as perfect as it gets in my book.

Saturday was pretty stellar, too, if you wanna talk about it.  I need you all to sit down for a moment because what I’m about to say is unbelievable:

I solved a math problem for Curt. 

I did.  He was counting out loud and said, “Ok, so there are 45.  And, 45 divided by 3 is…” Without pause I answered, “15.”  And I heard him say in disbelief, “15?  Yeah.  You’re right.  15.” 

We were both stunned. 

1- It had been so effortless for me, and 2- I had beat him to the answer.  It took us both a little while to get over it.  I tell you this because it may prove to be one of the greatest moments in my life and I want you to celebrate with me.  I, Katie Mulder, farm maiden and rec major, beat Curtis James, of spacial-awareness fame and engineering brain, to a correct and definitive answer. 

Ry loves to swing and I asked Curt if he would rig up a chain in the walnut tree.  I believe his words were, “Sure.  That’ll be easy.”  A trip to the hardware store and 2 hours later, I walked outside to find my husband 30 feet up in the air with a chainsaw.  After coming down, he explained that it was ‘perfect.’  And, it is.  It is the most gi-normous, stable, scary, fantastic swing you will ever see in your life.

This is where the math came in.  The tire is suspended by 3 bolts and 3 lengths of chain.  The tire had 45 groves going around the outside… thus, a bolt was needed at every 15 grooves.  Used tires are free at any tire shop- they are happy to get rid of them instead of paying to fill the dump. This project also took 3 eye bolts, 3 nuts, 6 washers, 4 rapid links and some chain link… all easily found in any hardware store. Total cost = under $10.  Rad.  The tire is suspended by 3 lengths of chain all connecting at the top at one point.   This allows the swing to spin in all directions.

It makes me sick just thinking about it, honestly… too. much. spinning.  For Rylie: it’s awesome.  Her vestibular system craves this kind of movement and play.  It will help her body make better decisions about balance and control itself.  When the swinging/spinning gets to be too much, we can reverse the input effect by having Ry PUSH the tire or someone in the tire.  This heavy work puts a cap on the processing and allows her body and brain to slow down and reorganize. 

Purty awesome, I say.

Pretty awesome, I say, as long as I am not the one in the tire.  Plus, baby dolls have a very special place inside the tire wall.  Ry is, in a word, thrilled.

Happy Monday, Folks!

What was your worst subject in school?

autographs

UNO:

Hey.  Wanna play?  Great.  I made a Flickr Group… because, apparently anyone can.  It’s HERE.  What I’d like to do is create a gallery of TexasNorth history.  Pictures from visits, pictures of folks in their TXN hoodies and ringer tees, and pictures of things I’ve made/created/challenged you to do.  There are photos on Facebook (HERE), but you can’t ‘tag’ TexasNorth.  I have files of celebration banners and pillows and aprons I’ve made, but I want to see them out in the real world an in action! 

So if you have a great photo of TexasNorth, please post it there.  Flickr is free to join and a great way to catalog your photos online.  If you DON’T want join but have a photo to share, just email it to me: katiemulder(at)gmail(dot)com.

This leads me to a question. 

DOS:

Because my life is boring and devoid of creativity, I have decided to take on the creation of the TexasNorth website myself.  Ok, erase that first part.  I just really think I can do it. In my spare time.  Ok, erase that last part. I’m making the website.  Period.  I need a new name for the etsy/crafting side of things so it can have its own life. 

The farm… this place… is TexasNorth.  The blog is Apple Pie, Anyone?  I usually go by KatieKate in cyberworld.  What should the name of the shoppe be?  Most of my best ideas have come from or been inspired by YOU, not the least of which was the name of the farm [CHRIS DORNAN]… I believe in you.  Kind opinions welcome.

THREE:

This conversation did not get the play it deserved last week on tumblr, so I am reposting it to get your weekend started off with a giggle:

I am putting the chickens back in the car after a short visit at Rylie’s preschool for “Farm Day.”  A little blonde boy is watching me from the chain link fence.

“Those are YOUR chickens!?”

“Yep,” I say… feeling pretty cool.

[big pause as he takes it all in]

“Rylie’s Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“You can have my autograph if you want.”

The conversation that made me a farmer.

Heads up, Folks: Pat’s (double m) surgery scheduled for January 21.  Mark it down and maybe send another card for post-surgery and long, long road of recovery?  You all have been remarkable.  Tea pots and tea?  Scheduled mailings?  Personal stories?  Remarkable.  I am so proud to know you.

•

Saturday, we brought home 1/2 a steer all trimmed and packaged, ready for the freezer.  This is our second year to have beef from our own stock but the first year to have beef from a steer we raised since its hoofs hit the pasture.  It’s an amazing feeling… to know that we cared for that mom, we cared for that calf, I chased that yearling, I chased that steer, I chased that steer again… and now that steer will feed us for a year.  

It was never our intention to have beef cattle.  We wanted a piece of the Old West and found it in the legacy of the Longhorn.  But, you simply cannot keep every calf that is born.  Thus, the beef portion began out of responsible necessity.  This year, we had 3 steers that we sold to friends and family.

Our steers are processed by the same butcher that handle our deer… or, MY deer- depending on who you ask.  Jones’ Meat Market in Saranac, Michigan is a family operation in the truest sense of the word.  Grandma takes the phone orders.  A son picks up the cattle.  Grandpa works and trains the youngsters in the back.  The girls all work the counter.  They’re maybe the nicest people on the planet.  So on Saturday when I stopped by to pick up our share of beef, we chatted a bit as the boys loaded it into the Subaru.  Friendly people, they are.

But I saw an extra box. Can nothing in my life be normal?

“Hey- whassat on top there?  Doesn’t look like steak.”

Old Man Jones answers, “Nope. That’s the extras.”

“The extras?  I, uh, I didn’t order any extras.”

Old Man Jones doesn’t flinch, “Nope.  But we can’t keep everything your splits don’t want.  So, if the other folks don’t want the extras, then they go home with the farmer.”

He obviously is not talking about me.  Or is he?

“But, Mister Jones. I don’t WANT the extras.  You talkin’ ’bout the liver and stuff?  I don’t want that!”

“Aw, come’ on now… that’s good stuff there!  And like I said, it’s yours.”

“So, I have to take home all that liver?!” [insert childish gagging sound here for effect]

“Yep.  The heart and tongue are in there, too.  Guess I know what you’ll be making for Sunday dinner, eh?”

And really, all I could do was stare at him with my jaw on the floor.  Which was fine, since he wasn’t finished.

“An’ the tail’s on the bottom.  Don’t forget that.”

*#$&@

“And, Miss Mulder?”

“Yessir?”

My hand to heaven, that man made his eyes shine with laughter.

“I’m all set for Sunday dinner.  Don’t invite me, ok?”

Did you hear that?!

He called me a farmer.

*drum roll*

And, the winner of the

Winter Knit Hat Keep You Warm in ALL Kinds of Weather Give-Away is… MANDI!  Who will need a winter hat to keep warm when her in-laws kick her out of the house for breaking their appliances   You can come live with me. (The accounting firm of Curtis J. Mulder affirms that this was a legal and legitimate random drawing.)  Wooo hooo!  Mandi, let me know what general size you are looking for and I’ll get that out to you as quick as… well, who am I kidding. 

I’ll send it out sometime this week.

People.  There’s a stomach bug going around.  My little Rylie caught it.  You know what it’s like for an almost-4 year-old with low muscle control and who’s barely potty trained to have a stomach bug?  It’s not pretty, I can tell you that much.

I’ll keep the details to a minimum, but let’s just say there was a Pull-Up Explosion early one morning last week.  And let’s say it happened after The Father headed to work.  And let’s say The Rylie Girl was mortified and crawled up on my bed and cried… because she felt gross and she was gross and she didn’t know what to do.  How do you get messy footie pjs off a four year-old?  

Let me be honest: I was not 100% awesome.

I should have taken her to the bath tub and done everything there.  Instead, I started on our bed… and everything went really really well until there was one little spot that got away from me.  And so I wiped it up/cleaned/rinsed the spot and then I took Ry to the bath and poured bubbles in and tried to make life better.  Life ensued.  I forgot all about the poo.

Two days later, Curt notices The Spot on (his side of) the sheets. 

boy: What is this?  Is this POO?!

Oh my word.  Yes.  It’s poo. Ry had an accident.  

boy: It’s POO?!

That happened on Thursday!  You’re obviously fine.  Chill.

boy: I’ve been sleeping on POO!

No.  Come on.  You’ve been sleeping on CLEAN poo.

I’ve got more laundry to do. 

See you Thursday.