An After Flood, House Renovation Tour

**If the photos appear fuzzy, select the desktop view on your mobile device**

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Now that we are expecting our third child, there is one question that I get asked, surprisingly, more often than "do you know what you are having? Do you have a name picked out?" and "are you going to have anymore?"

And that question is "are you going to move into a bigger house now?"

Our townhouse isn't large, so when we got married, The Guy and I naturally talked about moving into a bigger space. But in the end we decided against it because we didn't want to shake the kids lives up too much at once.

People were surprisingly opinionated about it, but most accepted our reasoning and stopped asking.

But when I got pregnant, it was amazing how many people began to ask not "if" we were now moving, but "when" we were now moving.

A Uniboat, A Big Ass Dog, And A Week With My Kids

It's been a while since I've let you all into the craziness that is my life with my particular two children, and I have to admit, I am still laughing at some of the things they've said this week. And since I've never been one to hold back the parts of me that make me look bad, I figured why the hell not share some of this with you, even though yea, it probably doesn't make me look the best.

Like any of you are perfect either.

Therefore I bring you, the next installment of "Conversations I Didn't Think I'd Be Having This Week: Kid Edition."

I went out with a friend the other night, and this is what The Guy sent me while I was gone. Looks like they had fun!

Monday: 

We are driving down the street, when The Boy Child excitedly yells out to everyone else in the car, "Look! A uniboat!"

Not having any idea what a uniboat is, I turn to my left, and see hanging in the window of a sporting goods store, a kayak; you know, a boat for one person.

In other words, a uniboat.

Right on little man!

Found him watching TV like this. Yep, seems normal.

Tuesday:

A Court Date, A DCFS Case, And A Cry For Help

"Do you know what makes you special, in a different way than the baby in mommy's tummy?" The Guy asked The Boy Child as he pulled him onto his lap.

"I'm better at building with Legos" The Boy Child replied, apparently confident in his six-year-old understanding of how the world works.

"Well, yes" The Guy replied, trying not to laugh, before asking "but do you know what makes me love you so much?"

"Because I'm your best buddy!" The Boy Child exclaimed, throwing his arms around The Guy's neck.

Hugging him back, The Guy explained "yes you are! You are my buddy, and what makes you so special to me, is that your brother is being born into our family, but I picked you to be mine. I met you, and I took a good long look at everything that makes you who you are, and I said to myself  'I want to be his daddy, because that's how much I love him.' Forever, and ever, and ever, you're mine, because out of all the little boys in the whole wide world, I picked you."

With The Boy Child in is arms, The Guy is showing him how to hold his candle during the Christmas church service.

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A couple weeks before Christmas, The Boy Child was injured, intentionally, by a respite care worker we had hired to keep him safe. And due to a pending investigation of her, I can't go into details, but this woman had worked for us for a couple months, had gone through a background check, interview, drug test, and CPR class, all through a respite care agency. Yet still, she harbored an anger streak that none of us knew about.

It Was All Fun And Games, Until His Tooth Was Pulled Out

So we've had a bit of a milestone around here: The Boy Child lost his first tooth!

About a week ago, he suddenly announced that he was no longer going to brush his teeth, because the dentist had told him to "brush the teeth you want to keep," and he wanted them to fall out.

While I couldn't argue with his logic in that, I reminded him of two things. One, being that even though the other kids in his class are losing their teeth, he is nearly a year younger than most of them. And second, the Tooth Fairy doesn't take rotten teeth.

He wasn't satisfied with either answer, which is why I was pretty happy when several days later he came home with his first loose tooth.

And it wasn't just a little loose, it was already dangling.

How did that happen so fast!?

Convinced that he wanted it out THAT NIGHT, he asked The Guy to pull it out for him. And although he was brave and didn't cry, I couldn't help but laugh at the facial expressions I captured as he progressed through the realization of what having a tooth pulled out, actually entails.

Seven Minion Clowns, A Unicorn, And A Very Smashed Windshield

Yikes, it has been a while since my last post, and just like my house, I've missed this place! After spending the last, nearly two weeks, out of town, we finally got home yesterday.

I'm slightly proud of that picture, that I took from the plane, but I'm not nearly as proud of that one as I am of the one I took in the airport, because What. The. Hell ??

Have enough people really tried to bring chainsaws and generators onto an airplane as their carry-on item, that we now need a sign at the luggage check-in, reminding people that they can't bring gas cans and matches to their assigned seats?

I fear for humanity.

But anyway, even before that, The Guy, and I spent Thanksgiving in St. Louis. We didn't really have a reason for going there, other than we really didn't have a reason not to go there either.

And all of that, brings me to this post.

It all started several months ago, when I saw an ad for the St. Louis Union Station Hotel. Have you guys seen that place before?

Wow.

What The Hell Do People Think Of Me?

Have you guys heard of Wish.com? I promise this isn't a sponsored post or anything, it's just that lately their ads seem to be infiltrating my Facebook news feed. And what I really don't understand, is why, in an era where ads are usually targeted to a specific audience, does Wish.com think that I want to buy a bunch of... I really don't even know what to call it.

It also worries me a bit that whatever I'm doing on my phone, has led Wish to think that I am the kind of person who would need any of this stuff...

Like this for example:

What is this? Some kind of leg brace you wear to go clubbing? Complete with ventilation hole for your fat, that makes you look like you have a giant blister in need of medical attention? Do I dress like this and was just unaware?

When My Health Issues Landed Me In Court (Part 2)

And we are back for part two! Recapping Part One (which you should read first if you haven't already done so), I'd been diagnosed with a rare medical disorder, my husband had left me, I lost my social security disability case, I had to go back to work so that I could feed my children, my health prevented me from working full time, and then I found out that my attorney had my denial overturned, and my case was headed back to court.

Yep, that pretty much sums it up. Moving on:

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It had been YEARS since I'd lost my court case! And I had no idea that my attorney had filed an appeal; I didn't even know that was possible. I was so completely caught up in pulling my life back together after my husband's disappearance, that I had somehow missed everything that had been going on with my case behind the scenes.

“I don’t think I am going to win” I told my attorney. “I’ve been working because I had no choice, I’ve been going to the gym because it's the only thing I can think of to keep my health from getting worse, and I dance when I have a good day. I'm not even taking the pain pills that the doctor prescribes me because I need to be clear headed enough to drive my kids around. I'm doing so much, that no one is going to believe how sick I actually am.”

“Just come to court” he told me, “and tell the judge the truth.”

So I did.

I explained why I was working, and how I cared for my children. I talked about the doctor appointments, the prognosis, and I answered more questions than I was expecting to have thrown at me. I sat there and listened to the judge and my attorney argue over my medical files, read reports from state appointed doctors, and I heard testimony from a state hired vocational expert on how my health would affect my job opportunities.

I felt what I always feel in court; removed from the situation, and protected by a layer of PTSD that keeps me from having to emotionally absorb what is going on.

The judge didn't make a decision that day, and it was three months before a letter from the social security office arrived in my mailbox.

I remember pulling it out of the box, and the air being sucked out of my lungs with it. Taking it inside, I sat on the couch and turned it over and over again in my hands; trying to will myself to open it, but not sure what it's contents might mean for my life.