Swirl...press...click Swirl...press...click

Well, again…I’ve been mooshed and squished to the point of no return.

I had my follow up mammogram and sonogram/ultrasound yesterday for the ‘numerous abnormalities’ that had appeared in my initial Baseline Mammogram.

Long story short…looks like every thing is fine...we think...

But if you want to read further, I’ll describe my ‘getting friendly’ with the equipment to prepare you for your upcoming session.

Arrived at 830a on the dot. I went to the right sign in window this time, remembered to not wear deodorant and had brought a book.

845a rolls around, the room is packed…and I haven’t been called yet.

850a rolls around…The Stinky Family arrives. The matriarch (known in my head as Wheezy) smells like a pack of Pall Malls, and is wheezing and coughing in a way that can only be best described as ‘Emphysema Oh. My. God. WOMAN…you have EMPHYSEMA!’

Her ride/son/grandson/not really sure, also reeks of Pall Malls, and his wife/girlfriend/neighbor that came along too…she not only reeks of Pall Malls, but today is laundry day. You know how I know that? She told all of us…often…and again. And the more they talked, the more they reeked. I just wished they would go out and grab another smoke, but the hospital has moved their smoking areas to out near the street…I’m sure they were not going to put that much effort into grabbing a smoke. They made sure they preloaded before they came in. Clearly. And Wheezy is gasping for air and hacking up a lung over there.

So I am looking at the windows, HOPING someone would hurry up and get me called back to get my boob in a vice, because I am DYING out here.

FINALLY, at 9a, I get called. To the window. They have no orders. I just smile, arch my eyebrows and look dumb. The girl rolls her eyes, gets up from her chair, and finds the orders in a file behind her. Thanks. I liked the woman who checked me in last time, she had personality.

So I go take my seat...again…with The Stinky Family…because there are no other seats. I think everyone played Musical Chairs while I was gone and proclaimed a game of 'Move your Feet, Lose your Seat'.

Wheezy is still gagging and coughing…she doesn’t have any orders either. And believe me, they checked. We all know. So now they are waiting on the doctors office to call them back. I will happily walk over there and pick them up if this will move things along for them.

915a…finally! My name is called by a woman in scrubs! I am chosen!

Again…strip to the waist, put on the fluffy white robe, and wait some more.

And wait…

And wait…

Geez oh pete! Glad I am not here to have my blood pressure checked.

Finally…here she comes again. I’m hoping she joined in the hunt for Wheezy’s orders and that’s what took so long.

I am getting a follow up mammogram, so that means I get all kinds of more friendly with the mammogram machine. At one point, I am standing on my tip toes, with my arm slung over the thing and my boob in a vice like grip that will render me completely immobile.

The technician acknowledges that I am 'dense'. I take that in a good way when she follows up with 'it keeps us perky!', then I overthink it. I am not sure if she means that I am a dense blonde that is perky...or that I have dense breasts that are perky. Either way...uhm.

And then I get sent for the Sonogram.

So I get to sit in another waiting area.

But Wheezy isn’t here…thank goodness. Just a bunch of other ladies, all in our white robes, sitting there and looking at each other uncomfortably over our books and magazines. They keep offering me coffee too. Really…I’m already wired…I don’t need more.

Back to the Sonogram room we go…where I get all gelled up and sonogrammed.

Right off the bat she comments on my lovely bruise and stitches from having the skin around the atypical mole removed. I explain that ‘I’m a hot mess right now’.

As the tech swirls and presses and clicks, swirls and presses and clicks, I have my neck bent back to watch the screen…cause I wanna see the ‘numerous abnormalities’. Swirl, press and click. Swirl, press and click.

As she gets under my right arm, a familiar sight pops up. Its that damned lactating adenoma that haunted me three years ago! “That thing is still there!” I bust out. Needless to say, it is MUCH smaller, but I recognize that booger right off the bat. She and I discuss it…she takes some pictures…she swirls presses and clicks some more.

Then on to the left side…swirl, press click…swirl press click…

Then out to get the readiologist to look at the clicks.

I’m just sitting there…sticky from the gel…a big gigantic butterfly in my stomach. What if it isn’t benign anymore? What if this is the Big C and it was just hanging out waiting to be found? What if…what if…and I keep staring at the blue and grey plastic padded floor mat at the ultrasound machine…and really wanting to get the hell out of the room at this point.

Then here comes the radiologist…and she’s so nice.

She gels me up…swirl, press and click. Swirl, press and click. We talk about the lactating adenoma…she refers to the old films, refers to the current one, looks at the old one and proclaims ‘WOW , that one was BIG’ Yup. It’s smaller, yes. She thinks it is nothing to worry about…ohkay. But they need a pathology report from the surgeon and will get back with me. We may just watch it, or they may suggest excising it completely. Ohkey dokey.

And she smiles at me…and leaves me to get dressed.

Now what the hell do I do with that???

I get dressed, I walk out (Wheezy and family are still in the waiting room by the way), I get in the car and I come to work.

And I will wait…no biggie. Waiting on the report from the war wound on my stomach too.

Love the waiting game.

It was a REALLY good weekend...

So we rolled out the pop up for another weekend getaway this past weekend.

The Husband had to work part of the weekend at his Armory, so we decided to make it an adventure and camp.

The Toddler and I rolled up on Friday after work. The Husband had already arrived ahead of time and had done all the grunt work...all we had to do was enjoy the evening.

We were camping in the Shenandoah Valley at a lovely quiet little campground that was out in the middle of nowhere...and I mean nowhere. Not REALLY Nowhere, they had a KFC, a Starbucks (The Toddler was not amused they did not sell chicken nuggets there) and a Sheetz ten miles down the road, but it was REALLY close to Nowhere...with small road signs. Really really small road signs. Really REALLY small road signs that are hard to read in the REALLY REALLY dark of night on a REALLY REALLY narrow dark country road, while some local has their bright lights on behind me and are cussing me because I am going so slow. I know, I have been that local before, and I want to say I AM REALLY SORRY TO EVERYONE I PUSHED WITH MY LIGHTS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT....MY BAD.

Now back to the story.

I managed to miss my turn, not once, but twice. The second time, as I muttered '*expletive* I missed it again' I hear a small voice behind me in the carseat say ' Oh nooooo...we are looooost'.

'Not really...just taking the tour baby!' I sing cheerfully, all the while trying to find a driveway or SOMETHING to turn around in, AGAIN. Cause I am getting REALLY pissed at this point, and wondering why I don't have a GPS like The Husband. Of course I cuss his on a regular basis too.

Made it to the campground...its dark. REALLY dark. The Husband meets me at the gate, thank goodness, and leads me up to our campsite. I mean UP to our campsite. I think my ears popped.

Manage to get moved in, Toddler settled in, and sit back for a while...with no TV, because I forgot to stop and pick up the cable. Oh well. We are camping. Can't see squat...it's DARK. REALLY dark. And the stars are out...and its pretty. REALLY pretty.

Thank goodness we brought the heater...mountain nights get downright COLD.

COLD.

REALLY COLD.

I had sorta kinda remembered, thus the space heater we had packed at the last minute. Thank goodness for that little booger. Or we would have been packing up at 3am and moving to a hotel, somewhere. It was bloody blinking freaking cold in that camper with nothing between you and the night but tent vinyl...or whatever it is. So we turned the heater on, switched on the thermostat, put on our socks and cuddled down. Nice and SNUG. REALLY nice.

But the morning sunrise over the Blue Ridge was exactly what I remember from back home. The fog was laying in the valley, the gentle curve of the Blue Ridge is sparkling green in the distance, with just little touches of yellow and orange on her face. There are fields, and I can hear cattle bellowing somewhere close by(they were not gently mooing...honestly never heard a cow MOO...I've only heard them bellow loudly). The morning is just sweet smelling and crisp. I had to stand and sigh...then run to the bathhouse quickly...the Husband has to go to work! Gotta scoot!

This is when I figured out where I was in the grand scheme of things...I discovered that our campsite can pretty much described as a 'cliffsite'. It was camper...step...a little bit of our outdoor rug folded in halfsies.. deck... SLOPE. And at the bottom of the slope, way down there at the bottom ...the Big Playground. I perched on the edge in my flip flops and just looked DOWN. WOW.

The Toddler enjoyed his stay. We ventured to the local Farmer's Market while The Husband was working, tried some nasty cookies from a local bakery (I won't list her here because she was super nice, but ewww OMG). My son stole the 'tip bucket' from the band playing at the Farmer's Market and created quite a giggle amongst the crowd, and the lead singer gave me the chills. He was the identical twin to my Uncle Bill. My Uncle Bill passed away about five years ago, and we all miss him so very much. It was eerie. Really eerie. But they sounded great. "Loose Gravel" was their name...I'm sure they have a website.

We journeyed over to the Husbands Armory, and discovered a Fun Dog Show. Well, to me it was fun. Clearly, these were people that were very serious about animal rescue and adopting an animal. Nothing against it...but they were REALLY serious about it. Our Boxer, Oscar is a rescue himself. So we are watching the dogs, and The Toddler is meeting all kinds of new breeds. It's almost a gauntlet. Yappy dog on too long of a leash...steer Toddler. Large dog on not enough leash or handler...steer Toddler. On and on. Then the Toddler suddenly misses Oscar. And starts shouting he wants to go get Oscar...who is by the way, three hours away and a perfectly wonderful Boarding Kennel. Which I explain. Then he starts telling people 'my dog is lost' in the saddest little voice ever. Even more sad than the 'we are lost' had piped up with the night before. I had to explain to more than one overly concerned REALLY serious dog owner, that our dog was not lost, but at a Boarding Kennel. Then I got some REALLY dirty looks. Glad The Husband called...lunch time! We scooted out of there...REALLY fast.

We rounded out our weekend with a cookout with some of my husbands coworkers, and a good time was had by the Toddler on the Big Playground...at the bottom of the really steep slope. I mean REALLY steep slope, that we had to pull his wagon back up, with his tail in it.

And on Sunday morning, as we are driving away, The Toddler proclaimed, 'That's where Nana Pawpaw West Virginia live!' as he is pointing towards the Blue Ridge in the distance. 'Not quite baby! We're still in Virginia'.

So, as Toddler's do...he argues...and makes a good point 'Nana Pawpaw West Virginia live in the mountains. Those are mountains. Nana Pawpaw live there'

Point taken baby. REALLY.

Then he asked 'Do the mountains have a beach?' while peeking around his sippy cup of juice with his eyebrows raised. All hopeful.

REALLY.

Get your Mammogram..I mean it

Ok…for any guy readers that don’t want to hear about mammograms and fibroids and BREASTS…now is the time to click ‘Next Blog’ and find something more appealing.

Cause this blog is all about getting my first REAL mammogram.

Background story first:

I had a lump show up in my breast when I was about 10 weeks pregnant with my son in 2006. It kept getting bigger and bigger. So my OB sent me to have a sonogram done.

The technician did the sonogram (I have a HUGE history of fibroids in my family), goes back out, and then a few minutes later, as I am finished getting my 20 week pregnant self (the time when you are starting to get pregnant looking and can’t bend right anymore)dressed proclaiming that I needed to get an appointment with a surgeon IMMEDIATELY. That my lump looked suspicious and I needed to contact a surgeon IMMEDIATELY. IMMEDIATELY. Then she left me alone.

OH. MY. GOD.

What???

So I sat there and cried. I walked out the door and cried.

I cried in my car in the parking lot while I was trying to tell The Husband what had happened.

I cried all the way back to work.

By the time I had gotten to my job, my OB’s office had called and talked me down out of the tree I had put myself in.

She had made me an appointment with the surgeon she recommended the next week.

Then my grandmother died. YUP. That night.

So I had all weekend to worry about the lump in my breast, deal with the hot mess family that I share some genetics with (my cousins).

I get to the surgeon on Monday morning…and I am trembling on that table. I’m convinced that I have the BIG C and I am going to die. Here I am twenty weeks pregnant and having to have a needle biopsy of a lump in my breast. WTF?

The nurse was soooo nice. I was bawling when she came in the room. She hugged me. The surgeon was sooo nice. I was bawling while he did the exam.

They did a needle biopsy right there in his office. I cried through that too and they were sooo nice…even when I blurted out ‘I’m sure getting a lot of action here’ because I was so nervous and just couldn’t stop myself.

The nurse knew how terrified I was and I had the results the next day. Benign Lactating Adenoma. And was told to not even try to breast feed. My breasts were FULL of fibroids and pretty much had blown all my milk ducts. Okey dokey…no worries mate. And we moved on. The lump was gone within two weeks of my son’s birth (after my milk dried up). At its biggest, it was probably the size of a golf ball in there….niiiice.

Fast forward three years. I am 35. Time for my first Baseline mammogram. My first REAL Mammogram. I felt like I needed a sticker or something to wear.

I’m hanging out in the waiting room at 830a, with a bunch of ladies reading, knitting, talking…and wondering what in the world I am getting myself into.

I go in…and the nurse leads me to my stall…where she tells me to take everything off, waist up, put on the robe and wait. I have to make the smart comment about the fluffy warm white robes they give you. Apparently everyone makes the ‘spa day’ comment and I am not creative at all.

She comes back to get me, after an eternity of reading some old version of PEOPLE magazine, and down the hall we go.

So my boobs and I get REALLY familiar with the mammogram machine. I am squished, handled, pushed, tucked, hoisted, resquished, get all friendly with the mammogram machine. Thought I was going to have to wrap my leg around it at some point. I am not a small chick…can’t imagine heavier women and how close they would be able to get to this stick of a robot.

The nurse tells me not to move…I laugh. I can’t..really. My left breast is currently being squished between two hydraulic radiation plates…LOL! Move? Ha! I’m in a VICE for crying out loud.

I explain my history and my family history. Fibroids are sooo common and every female in my family has suffered from them. She tells me they will probably call me back to get more views.

Two days later, I get the call back. I had that one second of stomach drop, then I am Ok.

The poor nurse on the other end of the line is probably expecting me to freak out on her. I just laughed and said ‘I’ve been waiting for your call’. She was confused, so once again I explain my personal history and family history.

Since I have lovely DENSE breasts and a LOT of ‘peculiar abnormalities’ I get to go back for another round of mammogram images, along with sonograms! Could a girl get any luckier.

I have to laugh though…otherwise I might cry again.

But this is something every woman needs to do…no matter what or how scared. Because it saves lives. It really does.

And you get to get the fluffy white robe for a little while, hoist those girls up...and get all friendly with the mammogram machine…who could ask for anything more!

I feel like I should be doing something

I woke up to the feet of my Toddler in my face again. My fault. When The Husband is on drill, I just let him go to bed with me. We read stories, and talk...then he passes out cold, flips upside down, and snoozes the night away.

Except at 430a when he woke up to find himself in 'mommydaddybed' and didn't know how he had gotten there.

But anyway.

Unless you have been under a rock for the past 9 years, today is September 11th. The day that our world completely changed forever. We watched planes fly into our World Trade Center. We watched people die. We watched those Towers fall. We watched...

The day we were attacked on our soil.

The day our own people were used as weapons against us.

The day we became enraged and patriotic.

I'm not going to ramble about where I was that day (at work) or how I felt (pretty numb...I was on a lot of anti anxiety meds at the time) or memories (I called my mom screaming into the answering machine for her to WAKE UP...she worked nightshift...when she did answer the phone she asked 'are we under attack or something?' and I had to reply 'yes')

What I am going to ramble on is where we are now.

The rage and patriotism has went 'phhhhht'.

No one seems to remember that sudden rush of fear and anger that swept over us all. We don't remember 9/11. Its faded away from the American commentary.

Where are the American flags on cars now?

Where is that ball busting attitude that we were going to fight back?

Where is that ANGER people? Where is that RAGE that you dared to attack us?

We clearly don't remember why we were in Iraq and Afghanistan. Blah blah blah weapons of mass destruction...blah blah blah. That wasn't the only reason.

We don't remember standing in front of the televisions and watching our bombers do their job, and feeling a weird sense of 'take that'.

We don't say 'that just lets them win' when someone talks about not flying or travelling for fear. We just don't say that anymore.

We don't want that to happen again. The only way to not get stung, is to find the bees nest and get rid of it.

Or maybe that is just the Hillbilly sense in me talking.

Yeah, it was no fun to put my Husband on that plane and see him go off to war. It wasn't the best day of my life...not in a million years. Not even the top ten. But he had a job to do, and I wanted him to do that job so that my kid didn't have to do it again in twenty years.

I want the world to be a peaceful place for my son to grow up in, and prosper. Every generation has it's war...but now we're playing dirty. We can't walk past a person of Middle Eastern descent in the street without looking sideways at them. It's just our world now, and it's sad...and scary.

I just feel like I should be doing something today.

I did put our big American Flag out on the front porch.

But I feel like something more...I don't know what. Just something.

It's just one of those days that you can't forget in your heart, but the world has kept moving right along. Which is a good thing.

I found some pictures

Clearing off the kitchen counter last night, I found a Walgreens pack of pictures tucked behind the cannisters. Shows you how often I move those...

So I crack them open, seeing what photos my mom has left during her last trip. Bless her, she loves to take pictures. Bless her, she takes horrible pictures. But I love her.

No, these are pictures from right after The Husband came home from Iraq...and I just sat down and looked at them. Don't know how long they have been behind the cannisters...I do clean back there more than once every three years or so.

They were the pics of their Deployment Homecoming...him walking down the street at the head of the company...or troop...or whatever...can't remember. I think Troop. But anyway...and I remembered just how proud, and relieved I was the day he came home.

There was the picture someone snapped of us meeting on the parade field. I remember grabbing his jacket (I know it is a blouse...but that is something a woman wears, not a soldier, so I won't call it a blouse) and yanking him towards me...yelling 'Here we are!' while at the same time practically shoving a pouting nearly 10 month old at him...that he hadn't seen since he was a week old.

I have that photo of my husband standing there, all choked up, holding Our Son that he barely had met to begin with, and me smiling up at them.

Then the pic of The Chubby Infant reaching up to grab the acorns on his Cav Stetson...just very matter of factly...and my husband laughing.

Oh God.

How I cherish that picture, and how I hate that picture.

It just reminds me of that long separation and me wanting him here sooo badly while Our Son did all of his firsts. I tried to catch them all with my camera. Kiddo has his picture taken with every single outfit he put on. During bath, during sleep, during crying jags, constantly snapping pictures and uploading and emailing. This was before Facebook was hot...that would have been a heck of a lot easier.

It reminds me of sitting in the living room floor and crying hysterically because The Chubby Screaming Infant wouldn't stop crying and I was alone. Utterly and overwhelmingly ALONE. And depressed. And alone.

It reminds me of crying on the phone with The Husband on Thanksgiving because we had just done our first Skype and I couldn't take it. I just bawled for hours...it was a terrible Thanksgiving. We didn't Skype any more after that. I couldn't handle it.

It reminds me of that month leading up to him coming home. How I just WANTED him there. Come home. Just Come Home. You've finished the job, count the damned Humvees, sign the papers and GET HOME.

It reminds of the most terrifying, most roller coaster, most unbelievable 10 months of my life. We were supposed to do this together. We had done everything else together...but this was taken away from us...for whatever reason. We are not alone in this, military families do it everyday, but I like to wallow in it every now and again. My husband missed so much, and had so much to catch up on...and I had to learn to let things slide.

But then, I see how happy my Husband looks...like the weight of the world is off of his shoulders as Our Son reaches up and grabs those damned Cav Stetson acorns. He looks so....soooo...so unbelievably freaking happy. So relieved. My Husband had come home.

And I remember thinking 'Oh wow...it's over' and crying...and smiling...and crying some more. All the time Our Son is looking at The Husband with just pure 'Ok...so you're that guy in the pictures...I need my diaper changed dude'. It was like someone shut a book...THE END.

I love that picture, and I hate that picture..all at the same time. It's weird. I look back on that entire year as one big hot mess that I couldn't control. I am a control freak, and that entire year was a disaster in my book. Honestly, I don't know I did it...but I am really glad I did.

Otherwise you would just get a blog about about my son being on antibiotics and how that is really messing with our Pooping on the Potty routine.

Plague

Apparently, the Plague has descended upon our house.

It started out quietly enough. The Toddler wasn't sleeping too well, so ended up sleeping with me on Thursday night (thus the 'sleeping with someone's feet in my face' blog).

Friday, we rolled out the Pop Up (I need a name for this creature) and headed to Urbanna VA to stay at BethPage Campground.

We were in the overflow area since it was Labor Day weekend. Nice enough. Spacious over there and quiet. When we rolled in, I was concerned because we were in the overflow. But it turned out to be an awesome option after the second day of witnessing the rest of the campground.

A few problems with this resort:

A LOT of campsites...not much room. I mean PACKED in there folks. The overflow looked like we had upgraded.

The bathhouses are in the residential sections. Now someone explain that one for me...its a residential section. These people have permanant sites. Clearly, they have porches and patios, satellite dishes, outbuilding, signs saying 'Welcome to the Jones' party shack!' and all that...I'm pretty sure THEY have a bathroom. The rest of us folks who rolled in towing our shell of a house behind us, we don't have bathrooms, or we only have a closet for a bathroom that only one person in the family can use at a time. We spent more time hiking to the bathhouses than anything else. Fun with a potty training three year old. And even if we hadn't been in the overflow, we would have been walking forever. Clearly, they don't want you to pee here.

The showers have pull cords. Uhm. Yeah. That didn't work out so well the first morning when I was attempting to take a shower, one handed. So I devised a plan for the second day and found a use for the sixty gazillion white shopping bags I have accumulated. Fill it half full of water, tie it on the pull cord...voila! Shower free handed.

Out of control kids...everywhere. On golf carts, terrorizing other kids at the playground. Seriously...I broke up two fights at the playground because a bunch of tweens couldn't keep their hormone/caffeine/sugar rages under control. The Husband and I just rolled out of there.

Don't try to rent a golf cart on a busy weekend. The clerk said 'twenty minutes before one would be available'. An hour later, she announced to the waiting crowd, that there wasn't going to be any that day. Uh. You didn't know that an HOUR ago? Ah well, we just schlepped The Toddler in his wagon all over creation.

The pool was very nice, the splash area was pretty cool. The lake was nice and The Toddler loved playing on the sand. The campstore was well stocked, and they wide variety of BethPage resort wear will tempt even the most eye-rolling campers into buying something. I did not however.

We even took the 25 cent trolley into the Town of Urbanna to browse around. Riddle me this...Labor Day weekend...high tourist season...and half the shops are closed or not going to open until later in the evening. Really? So we ate ice cream at Cross Street Coffee House and wandered back down the street to catch the trolley.

The Toddler was THRILLED to ride a bus, and the drivers were super nice. We got a tour, a brief history, and it was just fun.

The Toddler did not nap...which was clue number one.

I had popped a chicken in the crock pot to cook for dinner, and will say, that turned out very nicely. The Toddler didn't eat. Which was clue number two.

Our neighbors were super cool. The built a bonfire on Saturday night and had a bunch of friends and neighbors (who were camping too) over for a big bash. It was a lot of fun and everyone was really concerned about how our Toddler was going to sleep with all that noise. He didn't care. Once I took him inside and popped open the DVD player, he didn't notice the party at all. They shut it down at quiet hours and we were golden.

Until the next morning...when The Toddler and I woke up with snot. Lots of snot. He wheezed out 'I wanna go howwwwmmmme'....so we packed up and rolled out. We were all tired, I wasn't feeling good and we were planning to leave Sunday afternoon anyway.

I needed coffee..since we had left filters and creamer at home...so The Husband pulled over so I could run back into Cross Street Coffee . Let me say...those baristas can make a mean double shot latte and cinnamon rolls. Give them a try if you are ever in town.

Realy...I mean...my coffee this morning tastes like sludge compared to theirs.

The Toddler snotted and sneezed all the way down the road, and refused his cinnamon roll (last and final clue something was up). So we decided we better have him checked out. Wheel into the Kids Med clinic in Richmond, to discover more kids with snot and sneezing. Greeeat.

He has strep. Yay. So we are all chilling and resting today. And I am taking the antibiotics I had stashed last time I was sick. I know I know...you aren't supposed to do that...oh well. I feel like I have been hit by a truck...sue me.

The pop up is popped up out in the driveway to air out and dry out, there are piles of laundry to be done, and I don't care. Making an effort to do anything is just too much.

And by the way...my coffee tastes like sludge.

Really...I just want to sleep without someone's feet in my face

Ok...I've talked before about how we practice attachment parenting. We are a snuggle cuddle family...and have always been.

My son has moved to the big boy bed...so now our bedtime routine is to read a few stories in the rocker. Go pee. Brush teeth. And go to bed.

Which means I get into his twin sized race car bed too. We talk, we whisper...he squirms and wiggles and tosses and turns.

Then he goes to sleep.

Most of the time.

The majority of the time I doze off too for a little while. I've been sleeping in either a recliner, a rocking chair since he was born. I'm grateful to have moved to a bed...even if it is a twin sized race car bed.

But my son was born with my husbands sleeping routine. Flop, flitter, toss and turn all night. A grown man flopping around in the bed in a pain in the tail. A toddler that has plenty of turning radius is most obnoxious.

And then he decides to sleep upside down. Doesn't matter what bed we are in, he's upside down within a short time...feet in my face.

If nothing wakes you up from the first luxurious round of sleep, a pair of flailing toddler feet whacking you in the nose will. Like at 3am this morning. He went to bed just freaking fine...but at 2a was yelling for me at the top of the stairs. I just brought him to 'mommydaddybed' because I wasn't too sure what planet I was on to begin with. At 3a, I got the obligatory kick in the face. Nice.

It makes you rethink your parenting choice for about two seconds while you try to come around to your senses and not start just whacking at the offending feet.

Then you see that little sleeping face, all curled up, on top of the covers, and you just give up. You've gotta sleep somehow...and this works for us.

This is yet another reason we are not having two. We can't fit a king sized bed in our bedroom.

Rolling in the Pop Up

We journeyed south this past week…to a destination that is loved and praised by all Hillbillies…

Myrtle Beach, SC.

I think it is born into us to desire to journey to this crescent of sand and set up our own Redneck Riviera. It is ingrained in us, that this beach MUST be visited multiple times during our lifetime.

Don’t believe me…check out the license plates, shirts, hats, and stickers on vehicles next time you go. If it doesn’t have a WV license plate, the chances are, somewhere on the vehicle or the driver, or a passenger, is some sort of WV wear. It’s required. Its somewhere in the laws of West Virginia that you must wear some sort of WV wear while visiting other states…or Wal Mart. Either one.

And if you live out of state, you must put a sticker, a placard, something, identifying yourself as bleeding blue and gold.
Again, it’s required. Take a look around.

We loaded up our pop up and headed south on Friday. The seven hour drive was made much easier by the constant stopping to let the potty training toddler go potty. The checking of lug nuts on said camper EVERY TIME WE STOPPED…still not sure WHY that had to be done, but ok. The popping open of said camper nearly every time we stopped because The Husband packed everything I needed to get to (juice, wipes, snacks) IN the camper…I got good at crawling in.

We ate our required dinner at the Waffle House. Exit 195 in North Carolina. Not sure of the name of the town. But the employees were super friendly, the food was good, and business was so slow, that the cooks and waitresses hung out outside and smoked while we ate. Only our waitress stayed inside…I guess to make sure we didn’t take off with some breakfast goods. She was nice enough…and The Toddler ate like we hadn’t fed him animal crackers, goldfish and his fill of Ritz crackers on the way there.

The Toddler dozed off a few hours later, sometime during Barney on the DVD player, and we rode on in to Myrtle…arriving at our campground destination at midnight. (Ocean Lakes Campground if anyone wants to look them up. We did look around at others while we were there. Lakewood wouldn’t let us on to look, so mark them off. And Pirateland looked quite scary, run down, and backwoods. I’m from the backwoods, and I assessed this place as ‘um no’ and we left.)

Popped up the camper, got it sorta level…as level as you can after midnight, in the dark, in a dirt site. Plugged it in, fired up the A/C. Carried in and put The Toddler to bed, unpacked essentials, visited the bathhouse…crawled into bed…shut our eyes…

And…

Wait for it…

Wait for it….

The air conditioner died.

Yup…DIED.

Threw its legs straight up in the air…and died.

After midnight.

In a campground.

At the beach…

I could have cried.

The Husband sat up, I sat up…The Toddler, thankfully, snoozed on.

“This thing doesn’t have a thermostat does it?” I said…HOPEFULLY. Really HOPING that it did. That it was a fancy pop up camper.

The Husband stood up…took a step, and checked…Nope.

DEAD.

I just sat there…and then started unzipping canvas. And thought about crying. What else were we going to do?

The night breeze was ok…it was muggy, and the security golf cart driving around kept waking me up…but all in all … it wasn’t bad.

Dawn broke…early…too early. Especially when you have the windows down in the thing you are sleeping in, beside a road, outside, in a campground.

The Husband roused up, and went to the office to see if we could get service. While he was gone, The Toddler woke up…too early…and wanted Barney. Ok…I’ll plug in the DVD player and plop you in front of it while we try to figure out what to do. I had no idea how much a new A/C unit cost. I had no idea if they could repair ours. I just had no idea. I didn’t’ want to unpack and set up camp. I did look up the resort that we normally stay at and was prepared to call them right up.

DVD player won’t work. Huh?

So I plug it into another outlet and it fires up.

Hmmmmm…..

So I try it again….in the outlet that the A/C plugs into…NOPE.

Ah ha…I’m a dork.

The Husband pulls in as I am crawling around in the floor of the camper trying to find the fuse box. He asks what I am doing…really…what does it look like I am doing?

“Hand me a screwdriver” I say…pop open the fuse box, flip the breaker for the A/C. She fires up…we’re golden!

And that folks, is why you take your Hillbilly wife to Myrtle Beach in a pop up camper, in August. She’ll figure out a way to fix that A/C…or call the nearest fancy resort and move over there. I’m not picky…but I have to have my A/C.

More to come later….