The King worked like a mad man the week before my family arrived and was able to get our guest bathroom DONE.  This was a lot of work but he was able to get all the tile laid so that they wouldn’t have to shower in the boy’s bathroom.  (And now I have four showers I have to keep clean.  Kill me now.)  We had a pretty good time with my family.  I love weddings, especially ones where someone I love, love, love is getting married.  And I love, love, love this particular cousin.  (And no, she doesn’t read this blog so I’m not just saying that for her benefit.)

The day after my parents left town The King and I frantically washed the sheets on the guest bed and cleaned the guest bathroom so that May, my best friend that deserted me and moved to Reno, and her family could come and stay with us!!

This is the first time in two years that the entire family has been able to come visit.  And whether or not they’ll admit it, I think our husbands were the happiest to see each other. 

Boys aren’t too good about keeping in touch but The King and Mr. May picked up exactly where they left off when they moved away four years ago.

We took the kids to visit the neighborhood where we all used to live.  The kids played in the park that is right across the street from our old house.   I don’t think Babboo will ever forgive me for moving away. 

The park is pretty awesome. 

Eventually May and family had to head home to Reno.  We drove as far as Portland with them and then we all stayed the night in The City of Roses.

We stayed in Portland a little longer to enjoy the beautiful sun.  (Seriously Portland, thank you for the gorgeous 4th of July weather.)

While we’ve been having a blast I admit I’m a little sad that we won’t be here to enjoy August, which is the best part of summer here in Seattle.  We’re taking both kids and heading to Europe.  It’s been a few years since our last trip and our frequent flier miles and hotel points were starting to burn a whole in our pockets so we decided to pack up the family and go!

We leave in a few weeks. 

Thankfully, as of this morning, our last hotel is booked.  It’s official…we’re actually taking our two kids (one that will turn one while in Paris) to Europe.  I’m pretty sure that classifies us as The Stupidest Parents in the World. 

(Actually, I’m pretty excited about the whole thing.  I’m sure the kids will be great.  Repeat with me…THE KIDS WILL BE GREAT!)

Years later when my older brother was away at college I called him at his dorm late at night.  I could hear my parents fighting and yelling at each other.  I don’t remember what they were fighting about, I only remember it being loud and me being scared enough to call my brother.  I was so scared because I never heard my parents fight like that so I figured it must be so bad that they were going to split up.

I can think of one other time in my childhood that I remember hearing my parents raise their voices at each other.  This isn’t to say that my parents had the perfect marriage.  They had issues just like any other couple.  Some pretty big issues.  They just always kept their cool around us kids.

I am not my mother.

Almost five years of being someone’s mom and I’m now just realizing how impatient I am and how frustrated I get.  These last week’s I’ve been paying attention to the way I handle situations with Babboo and comparing it to the way my own mom would have handled it.  For the life of me I can’t figure out how she could be in a similar situation and not raise her voice.  Not only am I made up of this woman’s DNA but I was also raised by her.  She was a stay-at-home mom during my formative years and so I would think all of my own parenting skills would have been learned from her.

I get frustrated with Babboo a lot.  A lot, a lot.  He also gets frustrated with me.  It’s not unusual to hear him raising his voice with me.

“You’re not understanding what I’m saying!”

He’s right, I’m not.  I’ll ask him questions to help me understand and that frustrates him which then frustrates me more and we get both get upset.  I’m fighting with a four year old.  And not usually winning.

Last night I was playing “pizza”* with him.  He wanted to use some of my craft supplies and got upset when I told him he couldn’t use my fancy paper and instead gave him some other paper to use.  This set off a whole chain of events.  I tried to think about what my mom would do in this situation.

“I’m getting frustrated so I’m going to go and take a break for a minute.”

I left the room which just made Babboo more upset.  Eventually The King had to get involved and calm the situation down.

That didn’t work out like I thought it would.

And it’s not just situations like this.  Babboo has heard The King and I raise our voices at each other.  He’s seen us fight.  It doesn’t seem to faze him. Which I’ve realized means that he’s so used to it that he thinks it’s normal.

I don’t want my children to think it’s normal to hear their parents fight.  I don’t want them to look back at their childhood and only remember that their mommy was always yelling.  This isn’t your typical Mommy Guilt.  This is me trying to figure out how to be as good of a mom to my little kids as my mom was to me.

My mom and dad are coming out to visit this weekend and I’m going to do something I should have been doing all along.  I’m going to watch them interact with my kids and with each other and try to learn a little something.

So tell me, what positive parenting skills did you learn from your parents?

*Someone pretends to be the “pizza maker” (Babboo) and the other person is the customer (Mom).  The customer comes in and requests a pizza and then the maker quickly makes a pizza, and toppings, out of paper to sell you.  It’s just about as fun as it sounds.

This cousin of my mom’s has some kids my age.  I always hung out with them at subsequent family reunions.  It was always in the back of my head that their dad had been to the top of Everest, but I never thought much about it.  Except for the fact that I knew he was missing a toe.  Gross.  I haven’t seen my mom’s cousin and his family in probably about fifteen years even though I actually live closer to them out here in Seattle then I did when I lived in Utah.

When The King starting training to climb Mt. Rainier this last year I remembered my mom’s cousin.  Since he’s from the Pacific Northwest I figured he had probably climbed Rainer too.  A quick google search found that he’s on the short list of those who have been to the top of Rainier the most; well over 100 times.  This google search led me to read more about Rainier.  I eventually had to stop reading about it when I started realizing how dangerous The King’s hike was going to be.

I was especially nervous about The King’s attempt at Rainier because I was hugely pregnant.  I had nightmares of going into labor while he was on Rainier and not being able to get a hold of him.  (I had more intense fears about his hike, but let’s not talk about them.)

Thankfully The King was successful and made it to the top of Rainier (and back down again).  It was a very spiritual experience for him and it was amazing to listen to him talk about it.  After a few weeks we stopped talking about it so much.  And then Rerun was born and that was pretty much the only topic of conversation for the next while.

During Rerun’s first few months I spent a couple hours every night feeding him in the dark.  I wanted to make a better use of this time so I got out my little book light and starting reading any book I could get my hands on.  I quickly finished all of the books I had around the house so I grabbed The King’s book off of his night stand:

“The Kid Who Climbed Everest” by none other then the ultimate outdoorsman Mr. Bear Grylls.

This is so not a typical book I’d read.  While I do admit to purchasing the book, it wasn’t because I had any interest in reading it myself.

The King was only about 30 pages into the book and wasn’t too thrilled about me bogarting it.  I surpassed his 30 pages the first night I started read the book….and then didn’t put it down for the next week.

Holy cow, the book was INTENSE.

I usually don’t like knowing how a story is going to end right from the start.  I was pretty confident that Bear wasn’t going to die on Everest.  And, thanks to the title of the book, I was pretty sure he was going to make it to the top.  And yet, I hung on every word of the book…not sure what was going to happen next.

I’ll be honest here.  I started this book not being the biggest Bear Grylls fan.  I was also quite bugged by the poor writing in the first chapters of the book.  This all changed.  Bear is a pretty cool guy.  He’s very spiritual and really just seems to be a good person.  And I think he got a ghost writer somewhere around the middle of the book, so the writing got better.

While reading about Bear’s attempt at climbing Mt. Everest at the age of 23 first hand I was amazed at how one goes about preparing, financing (it can cost upwards of $60,000!) and eventually climbing Everest.  This isn’t a 3 hour hike.  Or even a 3 day hike.  Because of the time needed to acclimate ones body to the high altitude, it usually takes quite a few months of living on the mountain before one makes the actual final climb to the summit.

You start at the Base Camp and then head up to the four other camps along the route to the top.  The climbers train by climbing back and forth between the camps multiple times over a few month period.  It’s boring and tedious work to get your body ready for the final 17 hour climb.  Plus, they are carrying heavy tanks of oxygen.

Like I usually do when reading a book that sparks my interest in a new topic, I promptly got on the internet and read every single thing I could find on Everest.

I found out all about the unsung heroes of Everest, the Sherpa’s**.  The Sherpa’s are the indigenous people of the region.  According to Wikipedia:

Sherpas are renowned in the international climbing and mountaineering community for their hardiness, expertise, and experience at high altitudes. It has been speculated that a portion of the Sherpas’ climbing ability is the result of a genetic adaptation to living in high altitudes. Some of these adaptations include unique hemoglobin-binding enzymes, doubled nitric oxide production, hearts that can utilize glucose, and lungs with an increased sensitivity to low oxygen.

And guess what else I found out?  That cousin of my mom’s whose missing toe freaked me out when I was a kid?*** Yeah, turns out he’s a pretty big deal in the mountaineering world.  And the story about him getting down from the top of Everest on the back of a yak?  True story. And not a funny one.  Not funny at all.  He was close to death and that yak was the only way he was going to get back to the bottom alive.

Climbing Everest is a huge deal.  People die doing this.  A lot of people die.  Well over 200 men, women and Sherpa’s have died in an attempt to climb Everest (or on their way back down).  And if you do make it to the top, you experience and see some pretty horrific things along the way.

Bear’s account really opened my eyes to what the human body is capable of.  And not only the body, but the mind too.  I’m convinced that a big part of surviving Everest is purely mental thing.  Sure you have to be in tip top physical shape, but you also have to be the type of person who can mentally conquer the challenged.  The thought of having to cross a crevasse sends chills down my spine. There is no way I’d be able to cross as many as they do to get to the top and then back down again.  That’s another thing that freaks me out, once you get to the top your journey is only half over.  You’ve still got to survive the trek back down.

I finished Bear’s book a month or so ago and since then I’ve watched a few documentaries on Everest and I have a few other Everest books on hold at the library.  I am thirsting for more knowledge.  I am so intrigued by what would make someone want to even attempt this as well as the logistics of the climb.

I know I’ll never get to the top of the world.  Not even close.  I have no desire to even attempt something like that.  And yet, I so want to do it.  But really, I don’t.  But still, it would be awesome.

For now I’ll just read more books and daydream about what it would be like at the top of Mt. Everest.

“I didn’t conquer Everest – Everest allowed me to crawl up one side and stay on the peak for a few minutes” –Bear Grylls

*Google told me what he was the first to do.  And honestly, I’m not sure how a person’s body can even do that.  Apparently only a small percentage of them can.

**Did I tell you that May, my best friend who deserted me and moved to Reno, got to drive the famous Apa Sherpa (Super Sherpa) around town earlier this year?  Apa Sherpa has the record for amount of times reaching the summit of Everest.  Guess how many times he’s been to the top?  Come on, guess.

TWENTY.

(One year he made it to the top two times!)

(TWO TIMES!)

***I never actually saw his foot and the spot of the missing toe.  It was just the idea of a missing toe that freaked me out.

There are some topics that I think are just too personal to talk to anyone about i.e.: the details of my sex life.  There are other topics that I’ll share with almost anyone i.e.: I’ve had multiple colonoscopies.

I’m totally okay with strangers seeing me completely naked, but I’d never go to a nude beach with a good friend or family member.  I’d use the bathroom with The King in the room, but there is no one in this world that I’d even discuss bathroom topics with.  (Except with my colon/rectal doctor, of course!)   I don’t want to discuss my multiple miscarriages with friends IRL, but I’ll discuss the details of my first marriage and subsequent divorce.

After telling our families about this latest pregnancy I found I have a boundary I didn’t know I had.  I’ll confirm that I had a doctor’s appointment, but I won’t discuss details of said appointment.

I discovered this very real boundary the Saturday morning after my Friday afternoon doctor’s appointment.  At right about nine in the morning The King’s mom called, “just to see how you guys are”.  After a few minutes of chit chat I realized the real reason she called was “to find out everything the doctor had to say about your pregnancy.”  I gave her some vague details and got off the phone.  No less then three minutes later the phone rang again. This time it was my mom.  Crazy as it sounds she was calling “just to see how you guys are”.  By this time I was wise to what that meant.  My mom, being the mother and registered nurse she is, also wanted all the gory details of what my doctor had to say.

I paused for a second and then said something that I wish I would have learned to say years ago, “Mom, I’m really not comfortable discussing this with you.”

And then she paused.

“I understand.  Please share what you’re comfortable with during the remainder of the pregnancy.”

So I quit telling our moms what day I had doctors appointments on.  I figured they couldn’t ask about something they didn’t know about.  (Duh, why didn’t I think of this in the first place?)

My mom’s been pretty good about sticking to her word and not asking.  The only things she continues to ask is, “are you having a VBAC?” and “what day are you having the baby.”  To which I reply, “We haven’t decided yet.”, and “they baby is due on August 18^th.”

I was pretty sure these questions were a means to figuring out what day to book her flight from Utah to Seattle.

Enter another one of my boundaries.

I would prefer that nobody, outside of The King and I, be anywhere near the hospital when I give birth and that nobody, outside of The King, Babboo, Rerun and I, be at my house when we come home from the hospital.

Okay, I know this isn’t the typical feelings new moms have.  I’d figure that about 90% of women don’t agree with my boundaries.  And that’s just fine.  I don’t have any problem with a lady having her mom in the birthing room or helping her learn how to nurse a new baby.  Seriously, NO PROBLEM.

But, for me, I just don’t want my mom around during this time.

And not just my mom, but The Kings mom too.  Pretty much I don’t want anyone around.  At all.

It must be said that I love my mom.  L-O-V-E her.  I love The King’s mom.  I do.  They mean the world to me and I know they want to be involved because they love me and because they love my family.  I know they would just want to help us out and not burden us during this time.

I KNOW this.  I understand this.  I know this is my own issue.  But that’s just it, it’s MY issue and I’m the one (possibly) pushing a kid out of my girl parts.  Because of that I get to draw the boundary lines.

We visited my family over the 4^th of July. The last conversation I had with my mom before getting in our car to drive back to Seattle went something like this; “when should I come out for the birth?”  To which I replied; “I haven’t decided, so please don’t buy any plane tickets yet.”

(Babboo and Grandpa gathering eggs)

On Tuesday, exactly a week after this conversation with my mom, I received an itinerary in my inbox.  I opened it up and learned that my mom and dad will be flying into Seattle on September 2^nd and leaving on September 7^th.  They saw the boundary line, disregarded it, and stepped right into the “no fly” zone.

I stared at my screen, mouth agape, and thought about what I was going to do about this.  I could call and yell at them, but that would only upset them.  I could call and respectfully tell them I was upset, but that wouldn’t solve anything.  I mean, they’d still have the tickets. They’d still be arriving at my house on September 2^nd.

I tried to calm down and breathe a little.  I didn’t want to say or do anything I’d regret later.  I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about my parents being malicious and pushing my wants and desires away in place of their wants and desires.  I tried to remind myself that my parents love me and just want to be a part of this happy time for my family.

And then I tried to breathe some more.

A little later another e-mail popped up in my inbox. This e-mail came directly from my dad and was addressed to only me and my aunt, who lives about 45 minutes away from me.  It said something like “sorry we didn’t clear the dates with you.  We found a good deal online and didn’t have time to call you and make sure it was okay.  Hopefully you’ll be blessing the baby at church that weekend!”

I’ve bought plenty of plane tickets before.  All of which I’ve bought online. And never, not a single time, was the price going to dramatically change in the amount of time it would take to make one small phone call.

Again, I tried to tell myself they weren’t being malicious.  They LOVE me.

More breathing.

(Grandma loving every minute with her grandkids)

I haven’t talked to either one of my parents since I received their itinerary.  I’m pretty sure my mom knows how upset I was going to be when she did this so she’s avoiding talking to me.  I guess I’ll wait for one of them to call me, at which point I’ll calmly explain to them that they won’t be staying at my house during their stay, and that they won’t be spending their days at my house with the baby.  I’ll also have to tell them that no, we won’t be blessing our (possibly) two week old baby that weekend.  (There is no way I’m taking him to church to get smothered in germs that early in his life.)  I’ll also explain to them that their stay is over Labor Day, which The King gets off work, which means we’ll be utilizing that time, as a family, to be together.

What’s sad is that I know my parents are going to wind up being disappointed.  And that’s their fault.

I have boundaries, especially when it comes to my own little family.

Alright, I know the majority of people aren’t going to see my side on this, or they won’t be able to understand why I feel so strongly about it.  And that’s okay.

But this is how I feel.

And that’s okay too.

And it doesn’t mean I love my parents any less.

My parents were surprised to see the coach and his lovely wife. They weren’t the type to just drop in. I remember they sat my parents down in our front room and the four of them talked in hushed tones while my siblings and I went about getting ready for bed.

The next day I asked my parents what they were all talking about the night before. My dad told me that they had asked my parents to raise their youngest daughter, if something were to happen to the rest of the family while they were on vacation. My told me that while this was very unlikely to happen, it was a great honor to even be asked.

My parents had already raised most of my dad’s siblings. So what’s one more kid, right?

They whole next week while the family was on vacation I worried about them getting in an accident. I needed to know whether or not I was getting a new sister. My parents had never asked anyone to do this for us, so I thought maybe the coach and wife knew something that we didn’t know. Like they *knew* their plane was going to go down.

Of course nothing happened to the family and I never got a new baby sister. I never forgot about it though. Any time I saw the little girl over the next few years I felt a bond to her because she could have been my sister.

When my oldest brother turned eighteen my parents had to update their will and put him as the guardian of the rest of us, if something were to ever happen to my parents. Before then I think we all just assumed we’d have gone to live with my Aunt D and her family. If a verbal or contractual agreement existed between them, I wasn’t aware of it. We just all knew that’s what would happen.

For the next three years I worried that something would happen to my parents and Biff would raise us. Dear Lord. Not good.

When I turned eighteen I assumed that my parents changed their will again. This time to put me down as the guardian. OF COURSE.

When Babboo was born The King and I tried to decide who we’d want as Babboo’s guardian, if something ever happened to both of us. The King made it clear that if something happened to just him, HE DID NOT WANT ME TO REMARRY. (I gave permission for him to remarry, but he refuses. That’s a story for another day.) So, besides the “do not remarry” statement, we’ve never been able to come up with who we’d want Babboo to be raised by.

(I know I’ve blogged about this before. Bear with me, it’s on my mind again.)

There are so many things to take into consideration:

• Will this family have enough money?
• Will this family had other kids that will mesh well with ours?
• Will this family take Babboo on trips around the world like we plan to?
• Will this family teach him the same morals we would?
• Will this family be LDS and stay active in the church?
• Will this family be around long enough to see Babboo raised to an adult?
• Do we want family to raise Babboo?
• Do we want him to be raised by friends, who are a lot like us?
• Does this family live in Washington or Utah?

The answers to these questions actually rule out quite a few members of both of our families. The last one especially for both of our parents. Neither one of us are too thrilled about either of our siblings taking this role, also for answers to the questions above.

So it seems that a member of one of our families is out.

That leaves friends.

I think that it’s very important that we find friends that will raise Babboo the closest to how The King and I would raise him and still include our families in his life. Again, some of the answers to our questions rule out some of our friends. Plus, The King is pretty sure our parents will not be happy with it not being a member of the family and might even fight it, if needs be.

This topic has started some very serious discussions (and by “discussions” I mean “fights”) between us. So much so that instead of discussing it we just stopped talking about it.

Since Rerun has come into the picture I’m feeing a little more pressure to finally find someone who we both agree on. At this point I’ve told The King, “I don’t care who we pick, let’s just pick someone RIGHT NOW.”

Seriously, I don’t care. I want it taken care of. I just want to make sure that our precious boys don’t end up living in my sister’s basement with her dogs and cat and no other kids around. Or living with The King’s parents, who may only be alive for the next few years. (Hey, you never know with old people!)

We have two little boys to think of now. This is getting serious.

Even with delegating The King to PICK WHOEVER THE HELL HE WANTS, he still hasn’t given me a definite name. I’d love to be able to give this family a little heads up. Or at least ask their permission. (I hadn’t thought before that maybe someone wouldn’t want to take our precious boys. Would someone turn down this offer?)

Logically I know that there isn’t a very high chance that this need will ever arise. I know that. So I’m not sure why this has caused so much grief for the last 4 years.

But dude, let’s choose already.