Write 31 Days – How To Be A Crappy Mom

I’ve got four kids, a horse I rarely see, a husband I vaguely remember, a dog I never walk, a house that’s never clean, and laundry that’s never done.

Obviously, this is a really good time for me to take on a new venture, right?  I mean, after all, this used to be called “The Blog of Becky: How Not to Live Your Life”.  I need to live up to it, right?

Anyways, the title is self-explanatory: I’m doing the “Write 31 Days” thingie.  In case you’ve never heard about it, for the month of October I will write 31 posts in a row, about a certain topic.  I’ve been planning on participating in this for several months, and as such, the topic I have chosen in:

 How To Be A Crappy Mom

I’d like to say the reason I chose this topic is because I spent several days coming up with a witty title, cross-referencing it against other people’s ideas, referencing the 31 topics I would address, etc, etc………

But if I did you know I’d be lying.

The truth is that my older boys were wild with energy tonight so we went to McDonald’s and let them blow off steam… where they filled up on sprite and fruit & yogurt parfait instead of eating dinner.

Yay, me.

Now they’re crashed out in bed, whereas my twins are now refusing to sleep.  I have no idea why they’re refusing to sleep, although I suspect it’s because their bellies hurt because I’ve fed them bananas too many days in a row and now they’re constipated.

Double yay me.

I could feed them nice organic baby food I got from the store, prunes or veggies or something…. but I forgot to pick some up from the store, and now it’s late and I don’t wanna go.

Triple yay me.

So, there you have it.  It’s 9pm at night, I have one kid latched on my boob, and I’m awkwardly typing over him while his twin sister whines in my husband’s arms as she waits her turn.

I mean, I could nurse them at the same time but I can’t tandem nurse and fit the laptop on my lap at the same time. Priorities, you know?

Also, I just remembered I really need to research the Gluten-Free festival I promised I’d take my oldest son to tomorrow, but instead I’m on Facebook, and if I don’t finish this up in less than 3 hours I will miss out on the “31 Days” aspect of 31 Days, and and and….

And “How to Be a Crappy Mom”.  It’s not the sexiest topic, but it’s probably the only topic I have plenty of material for without having to think too hard.

So, there you go.  I apologize in advance for the content quality.  Perhaps the quantity will make up for it?  I’m so out of practice in actually writing, instead of just sounding out the words in my tired, tired head.  I really mean what I say: I apologize in advance for the content quality – I’m hoping it will pick up by the end of the month.

And now, in the spirit of “How To Be A Crappy Mom”, I give you:

A love note to my daughter




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Fixing the Debates

“Mom, why are those two people fighting?”

“They’re not fighting – they’re debating.”

“But…. but why are they fighting?”

“They’re not fighting, they’re….. oh, heck.  You’re probably right.  They are fighting.  Anyways, remember?  They’re the candidates who are trying to become the next President.  That’s what debate night is:  two candidates get up and argue with each other a couple of times, and then you vote for the one you think won.”

“That’s dumb. They should really fight each other.”

“Well, I mean, that’d be entertaining, but–“

“Yeah!  Yeah!  They could…. they could throw stuff at each other!”

“Yeah!  Like a bag of chips!”

“Boys, I don’t know if that’s the right answe–”

“Yeah, they could throw stuff at each other, until they knock each other down!”

“And then they could be all PEW! PEW! with the chips, or maybe a sandwich, and it would hit the other one, and they’d fall off their table, and then they’d win!”

“Boys, that’s not very nice—“


“Yeah!  And then they’d be all, ‘Haha, you fell down. I won!’ ”


You know, I feel like I my boys might be on to something. I’d watch it.


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Seasonal Pluviophile Disorder

Pluviophile (noun):  A lover of rain. Someone who goes outside and sees the grey skies swirling low, feels the mist beading up on her skin, and just feels content.


Pluviophile - Lover of Rain Wallpaper by TelephoneWallpaper.com



SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder):  A mood disorder characterized by depression, usually brought on during the darker hours of fall and winter.  An insidious response to lack of sunlight and lowered Vitamin D levels that has nothing at all to do with whether or not you dislike rain.


PluvioSADophile (Becky Bean):  Someone who steps outside on the first grey, drizzly day of an Oregon autumn, tips her head back to the cool grey skies, smiles at the rain sprinkling her face, and thinks, “This is amazing.  I’ve missed this so much.  My soul feels cleaner in this beautiful mist….”  And then immediately realizes, because her body is stupid and can’t seem to get with the program, “Maaaaan, I’ve gotta start doubling up on my Vitamin D,  cuz this is gonna suck soooo much in about a month or two. ”



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Stretching Those Unused Muscles

What do you do when the words come back, and you long to write…. but it’s been so long you’ve almost forgotten how?

I guess the best answer is you just jump in and start writing, and eventually you’ll find your groove again .



I’m enjoying my children.





When did DragonMonkey get so old?


I think Squid wanted to pop this pony in the back of our minivan and take her home

What a bland thing to write.  I know.  A good life doesn’t really make for very interesting writing, or stories, not unless you put some real effort into it.  I do feel a small pang of regret that I won’t be able to look back on the twins’ infancy the way I am able to with DragonMonkey and Squid’s.


Aside from a few Facebook entries chronicling my sleep deprivation, or sharing a couple of pictures of the Kraken crying, I just haven’t really taken down too many of their stories.

I think I realized in the beginning that I would have to make a choice:  Do I chronicle the twins’ infancy – the small details, like the way Magpie would only “talk” at first if she had her dimpled, tiny fingers wrapped firmly around an index finger, anchoring her so the sound could bubble up out of her?  The way I broke down sobbing at six weeks, crying out that I‘ve done nothing but sit on this couch nursing twins for six weeks straight, I even sleep sitting up, people aren’t made to be in a sitting position for this long, I’ve been sitting on my stupid butt for so long I actually gave myself hemorrhoids, please I just want to go outside, I just want to sleep more than two hours at a stretch, please I want to feel the sun on my face….



Shouldn’t I be writing down the intricacies of the Kraken’s cry, the way it starts out sounding like a stalled engine every single time he wakes up, or the silent way he laughs? What about the way his small, warm body curls against mine at night?


Shouldn’t I be writing about that, so I can have the memories to luxuriate in at a later date?

Or do I breathe them in now, pouring out my love in the small, simple touches of mothering that leave no time for anything but, only to have time and sleeplessness wear away the details until I’m left with nothing more than a vague sense of memory?

In case you can’t tell from the crickets and tumbleweeds on this blog, I went with option two.


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I’d like to say I’m doing all sorts Pinterest-worthy mothering to my four kids…. but mostly, I’m just being lazy and enjoying the heck out of them.  I suppose I ought to be doing more – signing them up for some sort of school sport, or reading more to them, or coming up with brain-growing crafts, or something like that.


I mean, I’m not saying it’s all perfect.  I yell too much some days.  The older boys get loud and obnoxious with each other.  The babies scream.




Marvelous Magpie

It’s not perfect and I’m not perfect…. but overall?  It’s good.  Real good.


I find myself sinking into the feel of the babies in my arms, or eavesdropping on the older boys’ playing with all the lazy indulgence of a binge eater nibbling on the last few chocolates in a box.

They say that childhood is fleeting  –  “they” being the people who no longer have access to it as much as they would desire.  If you ask the mother of a cranky two-year old toddler how fleeting childhood is, the answer will invariably be “not fleeting enough”…. but I feel it. I feel the press of time weighing down on me like the weight of the summer sun, and I feel the way this will be gone all too soon, so I drink it in, trying to drench my skin and my soul in the feel of this brief moment before it’s gone.



I’ve always had these moments of joy in my kids – I just never really write about them. There’s something very easy and simple to invite strangers on the internet to take a peek on the funny, embarrassing, or frustrating areas of my life.  It’s a lot more dangerous to invite them to look in on the private things I love.


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If I share a story about how am stupid, and someone reaches out to tell me, “Hey, Becky, that’s pretty stupid”… well, obviously we agree with each other.

But… but I don’t know how my heart could handle hearing a similar about something that’s actually precious to me.  Oh, sure, I could get over it, but mostly I think….why risk it?

The thing is, I know why I feel this need, this sense of urgency to just take joy in my babies.

I have a friend.  Had a friend.  Have a friend?


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Oh, it wasn’t one of those uber-close friendships.  She was just someone I knew briefly in high school and only reconnected with recently because of the internet.  On the surface we had a lot in common.  Silly stuff.  We’re both tall.  We both grew up in Huntington Beach.  We both went to the same church.  We both had the same group of church friends.  We both loved sports, and the outdoors, and the color burnt orange and Calvin and Hobbes.  We both got married and had some kids.  We both believe in Christ.  We both had twins.  Of course, we have our differences too.

I never had to leave my husband because of…. well, let’s just leave it at irreconcilable differences.  I never had to move cross-country with six-week old twins.  I never got diagnosed with aggressive cancer when my babies were three months old, either.

I’d been following her story for a while – the radiation, the chemo, the sickness, the laughter, the trials… if you ask me, I think it’s easier to be brave in a single moment than it is to be brave through a long, hard slog.  She was brave.  She even had the tattoo to prove it.


Bravery in the small things seems so much harder to me


And eventually it came down to the end.  And that’s where our stories differ, too.  I got to spend my summer snuggling my babies.  She got to spend hers learning how to say goodbye, to watch her babies turn to her parents as their primary caregivers, to be looking to transition to that next stage in life – heaven.

I received the news of her passing via Facebook… which is as it should be.  I wasn’t a close family friend, or someone who was all that close with her in the end…. but her passing still hit me.

I loaded up the babies into a stroller and we all headed out to the park – the boys bouncing and chattering about Pokemon Go, me quiet in contemplation of inevitable mortality, the simple joy of the sun on my shoulders, and the sound of my children.

For the record I’ve decided it’s impossible to be truly sad when you have to focus on herding children down a sidewalk – it takes too much effort and concentration to keep them all heading the same direction.  Besides, there was something healing in just being a mom to my kids in response to her finally resting from her fight, and flying away home.

I know this is heavy stuff, so I guess I’ll end it here.  I just wanted to take the time to say….Julianne, I can’t wait to hang with you in heaven.  And in the meantime…. thank you for making me a better mom, and for reminding me that it’s okay to just enjoy my kids.


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Shallow Hope

This is so inconsequential compared to the big, important, “real life” stuff happening out there.


Today my mom offered to watch the kids so I got in my car, backed out of my driveway, closed the gate, and drove very slowly to my new barn.

I arrived and took the long way through all the barns so I could walk and see each horse.  To be honest, I’m a little concerned this barn might ruin me for life.  It’s like…. if you had a 5 star chef cooking food for you every single day, would that make you appreciate food more, or would it just make all other food taste kind of gross?

At any rate, since boarding here is still new to me, I am like a 14 year old boy set free at a Playboy bunny convention (do those exist?  Eh.  Roll with me on my simile here).


Anyways, I took the long way to the barn so I could stare at all the Morgans, because some of them are for sale, so I better gawk while the gawking’s good.



This is a yearling (Scandias Signature). None of her yearlings got the memo that they’re supposed to be gawky.


One of these days someone is gonna buy Scandias Anthem…. and I’m gonna be so sad when they do.  In the meantime, I get to scratch on him whenever I want…. SWEEEET.

I arrived at Caspian’s stall (he’d just come in from spending all night out at pasture), took him out, and groomed him.

I saddled him, and led him to the roundpen and asked him to go around a few times to warm up.

I mounted up and rode, with the sun beating down on my shoulders and the wind making the summer flowers bend in the breeze.

I cooled him down and hopped off.

I groomed him again.

I said hello to Kathleen (the breeder/barn owner).

I picked Caspian’s stall and picked up his manure from the round pen.

I got in my car and drove home – slowly again, so I could know how long it might take me if there was ice on the ground.


Wait for it……

And I did it all in 1 hour and 20 minutes.


Guys, I know this is so small compared to some of the bigger issues some people face….. but I am feeling so hopeful for the first time in a long time.  I might actually be able to do this “mom of four” and “horse owner” thing after all.

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New Barn and Morgan Horses

About a month before the twins were due, I received a Facebook message.  I’m too lazy to look up the actual wording, but the basic idea was this:

“Hey Becky, I know you’re going to have your hands full with twins and you probably won’t get as much horse time as you want over the next few months, so if you ever wanted to board out here, we’d be open to the idea.  We have plenty of turnout….”

The message wasn’t all that thrilling in and of itself – it was who it was from that made me all hand flappy with excitement.
You guys remember how excitable I was back in 2012 when I started researching barns around my new home in Oregon?

Remember how I wrote that one post where I went and called dibs on all the pretty Morgans that lived on a Morgan horse farm right by me?

Remember how I was drooling over contestant # 1 in my last post?

If you’re friends with me on Facebook, remember how I’ve been peppering my feed with constant updates about the horses over at Scandia Morgan Horse Farm, sighing and drooling?

Well, it was that farm who reached out to me.

I’d met the owner when I first came into town and had a chance to go out and groom a couple of times, but life got in the way of me doing anything more so I had to kind of drool from a distance.

Fast forward four years (can you believe I’ve already lived in Oregon for four years?!), and she wrote to me.

I sat on my answer for days, because I was completely torn.

On the one hand, Scandia Morgans was not only closer to me, it offered more turnout and was… well, let’s face it.  It’s a stunning barn chock full of stunning Morgans. Boarding at a place like that would be like The Bean getting a call from a parking garage in Portland, offering him a chance to park his car in an Aston-Martin-Only Parking garage.

And yes, the only reason I put that metaphor in there is because I’m still trying to explain to The Bean how excited I am over what just happened.   After close to 9 years together he gets a glazed look every time I start talking horse, but he still reads my blog, so I’ve got to work with what I’ve got.

Aston Martins, Bean.  Scandia Morgan Horse Farm is the horse equivalent of a barn full of Aston Martins.

Anyways, like I said, I sat on my answer for days. On the hand, all of the above…

But on the other hand, I was about to give birth to twins, and should I really rock the boat? I loved my current barn, and Caspian was receiving great care, and we’d already been there for almost two years. What if something happened and the new situation wasn’t a good fit?  What if Caspian decided to tear around his new pasture in the middle of winter and slip and slide through a fence, causing tons of vet bills at a time when we could least afford them?

What if, what if, what if?

I finally decided to regretfully decline the offer, mostly out of fear of the unknown.

Fast forward a couple of month.

I had Caspian in the cross ties, grooming him after one of my too-infrequent trips to the barn when the barn owner came up to break the news.  There was no rush, but she wanted to let me know that they were going to slowly be shutting down the barn to boarders.  Too much work for too little income… they were making decent money by offering up the indoor arena to clinics instead…. there was no rush but maybe I could start looking around for a new barn, etc, etc….

I raced home, logged onto Facebook, and shot out a message as fast as my fingers could type.  Was the offer still open?  Was there still space available? I knew she wasn’t going to be a boarding barn, but had been hoping to only have one or two friends keep their horses with her, so I was really worried I’d missed my opportunity and she’d already found someone else.

As luck would have it (in case you haven’t already figured it out) guess who just became the newest horse at Scandia Morgan Horse farm this morning? 🙂 🙂 🙂




I’m usually pretty good at picking horses out from each other….. but with these guys I keep guessing wrong.  They are almost all bay, and they all have the same pretty head and clean lines.

It was a little bittersweet saying goodbye to the old barn, since I’d had such a great time there, loved the care he received, and had spent more than two years boarding there…. but this new situation is too, too perfect for words.

The best part about the whole situation is that it’s not really a boarding barn.  The only horses there who aren’t Scandia Morgans are Caspian, and one other lady’s Morgans.  I know it sounds kind of antisocial to be so excited about the lack of sociability at this barn…..

But while I don’t mind chatting with other boarders, when I get the rare chance to spend some time with my horse, that’s usually what I like doing – spending time with my horse. I don’t mind talking with people I know, but at a busy barn you’re not only obligated to remember names (something I’m terrible at), you’re also obligated to make a lot of small talk with semi-strangers (something I’m equally terrible at.)  If I’m paying a babysitter or using up spouse points by getting some kid-free time, I’d rather spend my time riding or just enjoying the peace that horses bring, rather than sitting on a hay bale and talking, you know?

Wait… where was I, before I got all “get off my lawn” about being sociable at the barn?

Ah, yes.  So, today I moved Caspian to his new barn.  Although he had a minute or two of hollering out his welcome to the other horses during the long driveway up, by the time I unloaded him he was acting like he’d been living there for years.

That’s not to say there wasn’t a lot of nervous snorting and blowing – there was plenty of that going on…. but it was being done by the other horses as I led him down the aisles.

Horses may not see the same color as humans, but they certainly notice the lack of it.  Most of the young stock had never seen a grey horse before, and they were really unnerved by the giant, white, lumbering “ghost”.

His stall inside is a private box stall – but after he settles in, if he gets along with the other horses, he can actually spend a lot of his time out in the pasture (as long as the weather holds, but still, hooray!).

And, oh, what a pasture it is.

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I think this is technically the mare/foal field, but they all pretty much look the same brand of amazing.




View from the roundpen- there’s another turnout pasture down below.

In fact, the whole setup is kind of like the barns I used to daydream about when I was a little girl – all red siding and tidy aisleways, neatly hanging turnout blankets, and brass nameplates.


All the horses in the box stalls (they do rotational turnout) have happy expressions and move right up to come say hello/beg for scratches.  I find that so telling – it’s unnerving to walk into a barn full of horses with sour expressions.


Every horse on her place has the same expression as this “Contestant #1 colt”… and it’s a good thing it’s a cute view,  because that’s the view you get of all the horses – good luck trying to peel them off of you. Their expressive, happy, sociability is a lot of fun after working Caspian’s stoic dignity for the past few years.  I feel like I’m surrounded by paparazzi, only they’re begging for attention instead of photos.

I may have even taken Caspian for a little walk around the barn simply so I could hear the delicious clop-clop of his hooves on the concrete driveway leading up.  There’s just something about that sound, you know?

The apple trees on the property are producing – any of the apples that fall to the ground are fair game to feed to the horses.


Caspian thought he was in seventh heaven when I led him over to graze on grass AND apples.

In addition to an indoor arena, there’s a sizeable outdoor round pen right outside of his barn.  The footing was great – there were a few stray clumps of grass that had grown up in it since nobody had used it recently, which is just mind-boggling to me after having grown up using barns where there would be a line three horses deep to use a teensy, tiny turnout.  After letting Caspian mosey around his box stall for a little to see if he seemed upset (he didn’t), I took him to the round pen and asked him for a few laps.

I expected him to blow around, high-headed and snorty with the newness…. but he seemed really at ease.



His barn (there’s more than one barn) to the left, giant indoor covered arena to the right.



I couldn’t believe how calm Caspian was – here he was in a completely new barn, and he was acting like he’d been living there for years.

That’s not to say he didn’t cause a bit of a ruckus.  In addition to the “HOLY CRAP WHAT IS THAT THING?!” snorts from some of the younger horses, one of the younger fillies who was in the middle of a training session was so unimpressed with him that they had to take a break mid-lesson to come introduce her and prove that the Terrifying Grey Thing was actually a horse, so she could focus on her work.

As the two of them sniffed noses I remarked to the owner how at ease he was, and she brought up that she thinks horses can tell when they’ve landed in a nice spot…. and I agree.  It’s like Caspian took one look around and said, “Oh, yeah, this is just great.  This is really great,” and settled right in.

He’s come a long ways from the tooth-grinding, quietly nervous horse he was when I arrived.  Don’t get me wrong – my parents treated him amazing and his nervousness in new places didn’t come from them –  but at new barns he always acted a bit concerned that the rug was going to be pulled out from underneath him at any moment, that he might end up with a not-so-nice home.  The first time I moved him he ground his teeth for weeks, and chewed on the wood in his stall.  When we moved to the last stall he only ground his teeth a couple of times, and nibbled politely.

This is the fourth barn he’s been to since he’s been with me, and I think he’s beginning to let himself believe that just because he changes barns doesn’t mean he’s going to get a new owner with a completely new set of rules.

IMG_3465Update:  He settled in so nicely he’s already been turned out for the night, and I received what may be my new favoritest pictures of him, because she actually managed to capture the size of him.





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Updates, Horses, and Photo Dump

I gave birth three and a half months ago.

It is SO strange to type that out.  I feel like between exhaustion and the simple act of caring for twins  I completely lost a chunk of time.  One moment it was winter, and then I went to the hospital on February 29th, labored for a little bit, pushed for a couple of minutes and out popped twins.










I loaded them up in the car two days later, marvelling during the ride home at the hints of flowers popping out on trees that marked the arrival of spring.  We drove home, unlatched the car seats and walked the new babies inside…


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And now it’s summer.

I feel like a DVD with a scratch. I never felt the time pass, even though I was awake for most of it, what with nursing ’round the clock.  Where did the spring of 2016 go?  I have no idea, but it was 100 degrees this past weekend, so I’m pretty sure summer is here.

There hasn’t been time for much other than living in the moment, especially not much time for writing.  The words are still there, rattling around in my sleep-deprived brain, but I just don’t have the spare hands for the typing.  I’ve been working on a post here and there, as well as a “birth story” post for the past… well, three months. I  intended on having the story  of their arrival typed out within the week so I could remember all the tiny details.

At this point, I’ll be happy to post it by the time the twins hit kindergarten.

And you know what?

That’s okay.

It’s more than okay.  These are my last babies, and while it doesn’t make for good blog posts or even a great social life, I’m simply allowing myself to enjoy them as much as possible, because having been through this twice before, I know exactly how fast the first year flies by.




I am content and happy with my life, my four kids, my family.


In fact, I’m so content and happy it actually makes me feel a little uncomfortable.    There’s a small part of me that wishes I was unhappy with simply hanging out, that wonders if I’m becoming… well, placid.  Isn’t that why they used to recommend breeding fractious fillies?  To calm them down?  Shouldn’t I be uncomfortable and itchy, struggling against the bonds of a minivan (I had to get a Kia Sedona to fit everyone…. and I actually love it.  Oh, how the mighty have fallen) and angry at the fit of my mom jeans?

….and yet I’m not. Oh, sure, if I had the chance to go on a secret mission where I travelled to Europe and saved the world against Nazi Zombies I would totally go….


I’d look just like this, only with slightly fewer tattoos


….But if I did go I’d have to bring along my breast pump and pump every two hours to avoid clogged ducts.  I’d also have to arrange daycare for four (FOUR!?!) kids, which would be so expensive I’d have to save up for it… and even if I could arrange it, who would cover my shifts at the library?

Daydreaming about big adventures has gotten so complicated as of late, which is why I’m sticking to daydreaming about horses.

Speaking of daydreaming about horses….

Now that I’ve sort of caught everyone up on what I’ve been up to since January, you can help me with a very important question:

Which imaginary horse should I imaginarily buy?  I mean, we’re just going to ignore the fact that I barely have time to see Caspian as it is.  I definitely don’t have the money or time for a second horse right now.  We’re also going to ignore the fact that this imaginary horse is being bought in addition to this guy, who I’ve already imaginarily bought from Scandia Morgan Farm:


This is Scandia Anthem, and I’ve been drooling over him since he was born. He’s not even for sale, yet I’ve been imaginarily buying him for years now.

This new imaginarily bought horse is one that I am going to put in my imaginary pasture on the imaginary land I don’t own.  He/She is going to grow up and (aside from learning basic manners and maybe ponying a couple of trails)  will just grow up and be a horse until around four years old… at which point the twins will be old enough for me to start really working him/her.

Now that you know the rules, which one should I nab?

Currently we have three contenders:

Contender #1:









This little red colt was only born this week, so he’s less and impressive and more  adorable with that ribby, just-born look.  Still, everything seems to be put in the perfect place as far as his conformation, and he comes from a long line of GORGEOUS Morgans.


Here is mom:



And here is dad:



Scandias Trademark

And here is Grandpa:



Marvelous Intrigue


I mean…. ’nuff said, am I right?

Contender #2:




Look at her!  She’s 14.2 at two years old, so she’ll be plenty stout enough to carry me and not make me feel too big.  Plus, she’s stunning.


Here is mom:


lady in red

Scandias Lady in Red

And here is dad:



Marvelous Intrigue

As you can tell, I’ve got a thing for Marvelous Intrigue – I think he’s put together gooorgeously and all his colts and fillies grow up with that same gorgeous look.

Anyways, since the filly’s older I won’t have to wait as long to start her.  I’m not a big fan of the yearling stage, so I’d get to bypass that stage as well.


Contestant #3:





BLUE EYES.  I don’t care if you don’t like blue eyes… I’ve got a thing for them.  It’s silly, I know.  But LOOOK.  IT’S A BLUE EYED BUCKSKIN MORGAN COLT.

Here is mom:



And here is dad:


UDM White Water… photo credit to the very talented Heather Moreton: https://www.flickr.com/people/desertnightcreations/

I guess, in the interest of being a nice person I should mention these horses are actually for sale, and that I suppose you could for-real buy them.  You can find them here:

Scandia Morgan Horse Farm

and here:

Beaches Triple T Ranch

I suppose I would even forgive you if you did buy them out from underneath me, but only if you promised to update me with regular photos.

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Nesting is Stupid

Things newborn twins care about:

  • Milk on demand
  • Dry diapers
  • Feeling secure, either through swaddling or being held
  • Lack of scratchy tags/edges on clothing
  • White noise

Things my hormonal body is telling me newborn twins care about:

  • The way the boxes stack up on the top shelf of our closet.  I can’t get a top on the box of The Bean’s rockets, and they’re just sticking out.  EVERYWHERE.
  • Dirty baseboards.  ERMAGEHRD.  They’re past the point of being able to wash them.  They all need to be painted.  Immediately.
  • The back of my bedroom door.  It’s filthy. I should probably paint that, too.
  • While I’m painting, I should finish painting my bedroom… oooh, I should probably get some chalk paint and repaint the secondhand furniture in my room.


  • The organization of The Bean’s clothes in his closet drawers.  It’s completely illogical.
  • The organization of everyone’s clothing in everyone’s drawers.  Also, the corners of the inside edges of some of the dresser drawers need vacuuming. Obviously, the only recourse is to completely empty everything, clean the drawers, refold everything in a logical order, and then tape labels on the outsides of the drawers.
    • Note: The tiny, logical portion of my brain that’s still functioning realizes how ridiculously pointless and exhausting this would be, so I haven’t actually done it…. well, except for the labeling.  I’m probably gonna give in to the urge to label.
  • The basement – it needs to be completely emptied, completely reorganized, swept and vacuumed.
    • Note:  MY FAMILY IS AMAZING.  They actually did this for me.  I love them so much.
  • The pantry is not organized.  At all.  Neither are my bookshelves.  THE TWINS NEED ORGANIZED BOOKSHELVES.  Maybe I could label them somehow?

It goes on.  And on.  And on.  I know the twins don’t care about this stuff – in fact, it’ll probably do them more harm than good for me to exhaust myself and then sit around sniffing paint fumes, but the urge is still there.  I also from previous experience that a week after the birth I’m not gonna notice the baseboards, ever again…. but man, it’s hard to ignore the urge.

In case you are ever curious what it feels like to be a nesting pregnant woman, it’s JUST like this commercial.



Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get out of the house so the baseboards will quit mumbling at me.

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Patricia Briggs is Ruining My Birth Plan

Look, I try not to point fingers on this blog, but it’s the truth.  Patricia Briggs is totally ruining my birth plan.

Here’s the deal:

My technical due date isn’t until March 26th…..but, as you all know, I’m pregnant with twins.  Doctors around these parts get real hand-flappy if you go past 38 weeks pregnant with twins. (FYI:  Forty weeks is the standard gestation for a baby, and I went to 42 weeks with both boys.  What can I say?  I like to bake ’em a little longer.)

At first I was pretty disgruntled by this fact. Look, I know they’re just doing their best to avoid terrible situations and outcome.  The placenta is an organ, and by the time you hit the end of your pregnancy, it’s at the end of its lifespan.  It’s like a little 80-year-old woman toddling around, with the difference being that instead of getting to take it easy and do crossword puzzles and watch daytime television, it is being forced to work double overtime with no days off, since the fetus is bigger than ever and requiring more nutrients than ever.  Placentas get old – they give out.  They fail.  They quit nourishing.

I get all that.

But I still get annoyed at what I consider unnecessary medical intervention.  The average fraternal twin birth over in the UK is a little over 39 weeks, and their maternal stats are a lot better than ours over here in the US.

Sigh.  I’m getting preachy again, aren’t I?  Let me get back to the point:  I’ve agreed to the no-later-than-38-week induction for one reason and one reason only:  if I go into labor on my own, there’s a chance that I might go into labor late on a Saturday night, or on a super busy Friday morning, or some other really inconvenient time.  The reason it might be inconvenient has to do with the availability of the high-risk perinatologists over at OHSU.

It boils down to this:  pretty much all the high-risk perinatologists are trained and comfortable with breech births, whereas very few of the regular Ob/GYN docs are comfortable with breech births. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s really common for the second baby to come out breech, even if it’s pointing head down at first.  Once the first baby is out, the second baby tends to sprawl out with all the extra space, and you can get some weird birth presentations.


Don’t get me wrong – the regular Ob/GYNs at OHSU  know how to do a breech birth, but they are just much less comfortable with it and much more prone to C-sections if things get “weird” in the delivery room.  Of course, “delivery room” is a subjective term.  When you give birth to twins you actually get to give birth on a surgical table inside an actual surgical room.


The upside to that is if something goes wrong, it’s easy to fix things.  Scary bleeding? Stuck child?  Weirdness you’re not comfortable with?  Bam – you can do an instant C-section, with no extra prep time necessary.

The downside to that is that I have to, you know, give birth on a teeny-weenie, narrow and sterile surgical table with about 400 doctors and nurses staring at my crotch.  I wonder if I should charge admission to any extra bystanders?  “See Becky Bean’s magically fertile crotch spew forth two humans at once! Only $5 a ticket!   Popcorn available around the corner.”

It’s not exactly the feel-good, hippy waterbirth I was imagining when I first got pregnant, but at least I’d make some extra money on the side?

Wait, where was I?  Oh, yeah.  So anyways, if I give birth at an “inconvenient” time, my chances of having a C-section go way, way up, and that’s something I want to avoid as much as possible.

Look, this isn’t a “NATURAL BIRTH IS THE ONLY BIRTH” blog – I’m grateful for the C-section I had with DragonMonkey, because without it we would have had some serious issues.  However, there’s no denying that it’s a major surgery.  I was up and running (or, at the very least, walking comfortably and running errands) 48 hours after giving birth to the Squidgelet.  It took me weeks to get to that point after my C-section.  I would much rather deal round-the-clock nursing of twins and caring for a newborn without having to heal from major surgery, thank you very much.

Besides, I like my perinatologist.  She’s smart, capable, and has slender, tiny arms with slender, tiny hands.  I learned from past experience that when it comes to hands on a doctor, errr, size matters.  It really does. I’d really love to have it be her tiny, delicate little arms rooting around inside me in the event of a breech birth.

So, I’ve agreed to being induced (unless I go into labor on my own, earlier) on March 9th.

There’s just one problem with that:

Patricia Briggs’ new Mercy Thompson book comes out on March 8th.  Have you guys read the Mercy Thompson series?  If you’re at all into urban fantasy, I highly recommend it.  The heroine is kick-butt and intelligent, but not annoyingly so.  It’s one of my favorite series of all times, right alongside Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files.

Anyways, you can see where my problem is.  I’ve been waiting for the book for a year, and it comes out on the 8th.  My perinatologist wants to induce me on the 9th.

This doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room for me to stay up until 4am binge-reading, you know?



First World Problems are the hardest kinds of problems.

At my next appointment I am going to have to tell my doctor that we need to reschedule the date to the 10th.  I have about three weeks to come up with a decent reason why I’m requesting this change.  I’m sure she’s going to ask me, even if only to make conversation, and “Hey, I know I said the 9th works and you’ve already penciled me in, but I’m planning on staying up all night binge reading a new book on the 8th, so let’s just reschedule everything”  is the truth, but it’s kind of embarrassing to say out loud.

I’ve been trying to come up with reasonable lies.  So far I’ve come up with:


  • The Feng Shui of the date is off.
  • I’m allergic to single-digit birthdates.
  • My other two kids were born on Thursdays, so I wanna keep the pattern going.
  • March 9th is also written as 3-9, and 9 is the square of three, and I don’t want my kids to be squares.
  • I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.

I mean, theoretically I guess I could be an adult and read the book at a nice, sedate pace and put it down at a decent hour to get a good night’s sleep…. but we all know that’s not gonna happen.




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28 Weeks Pregnant – What I’ve Been Up To

What a quiet, abandoned little blog.

Except it’s not abandoned – I swear!  And believe it or not, I’ve been writing in it semi-regularly… it’s just that I haven’t been publishing any of the words I’ve been writing. There’s a reason for that:

Dude, lately all I have left in me is whining.

On the one hand, I’m missing out on documenting what it’s like being pregnant with twins. On the other hand, maybe that’s not necessarily such a bad thing.




See, it takes a certain amount of energy to be able to present bad things in a funny light, and I gotta say:  energy is not something I have in abundance these days.   Aarene from over at Haiku Farm wrote a piece about her many-spooned days (if you have no idea what I’m talking about when I reference spoons, there’s a place to click inside her post).  I was reading it the other day and I realized how very, very few spoons I have nowadays.  If I’m going by Aarene’s description, I’m getting by on about 15 spoons a day.

Basically, I’ve become a giant lump on my couch… and that’s okay.  That’s what my body is telling me it needs, in order to grow two people at once to (hopefully) full term.  Over the years of living with Rheumatoid Arthritis I’ve learned to respect my body when it tells me to SLOW DOWN, so I’m doing it…

But it’s kind of depressing to do nothing but go to work, cook dinner for the boys, and sit on my couch.  Writing is one thing I can do while I permanently indent the couch cushion with the imprint of my behind, so I do write occasionally… but when I go back and read what I write, it seems like all I do is complain.

And when the twins stumble upon this blog many, many years from now, I kind of don’t want them to read post after post of me complaining about them.




I mean, when they go see their therapists over how I’ve ruined their lives, I’d like it to be for something good, you know?

Anyways, now you know why I’ve been quiet.  There are quite a few blog posts in my drafts folder that I might clean up and post at some point, and quite a few more that I’ll probably just toss, but that all seems like a lot of work right now, especially since up until recently I’ve been sick.  Right after Christmas we all seemed to catch that lovely cold/flu combo that’s been going around.  Mine ran its normal course and seemed to be getting better…. but right when I was about to deem myself healthy, the virus (or whatever) returned with a vengeance and decided to take up residence in my lungs.

Let me tell you, you don’t know fun until you’ve been hacking your lungs out while pregnant with twins.  The other day (yesterday?  The day before?  I dunno, it’s all started running together) I started a coughing fit. Again.  And even though I had JUST finished going to the bathroom, and even though I was crossing my legs while coughing (trust me, it helps), I coughed so hard I peed my pants.  Again.  Even though I was wearing super-duper triple duty giant kotex to try to prevent that.


Luckily I was at home so I just sighed, stripped down, and hopped in the shower. Besides, the steam would probably help the cough, so I could kill two birds with one stone.

Unfortunately, even though I was maxed out on Robitussins and Vicks Vapor Rub (yes, I put it on the soles of my feet, too), I just couldn’t seem to quit coughing.  The good news is that the shower steam helped my cough be productive.

The bad news is that my super annoying body felt the phlegm coming up and thought, “Oh!  Oh!  I know what to do when stuff comes up your throat!” and I started puking.

Puking in the shower seems like it would be a good thing, but it’s not. Without the toilet water to prevent splash back your tub ends up looking like a deranged Jackson Pollock painting, and it takes forever to go down the drain, and it’s just gross, okay?

The icing on the cake was that between coughing fits and vomiting my nose was like, “Yeah, you’ve abused me too much for one day” and started to bleed. In case you’er curious, trying to stop a nosebleed in the shower is an exercise in futility – the warmth keeps it from clotting.

So there I was, standing in my own vomit and phlegm and pee and blood, and I thought.. “Man, not again.  What is this… the second time this week? Third?”

And at that point I did start to laugh a little bit, which I’m sure would have looked psychotic to anyone who might have wandered in at that exact point, but it just kind of struck me as funny that I wasn’t phased by it, and that my first thought was “not again”.  I mean, what if this was my super power? Some people get super strength or super invulnerability.  I just got super….fluids?

I don’t think they’ll be making a Saturday morning cartoon of me any time soon.

“No…. no… don’t put up the signal!!!…. Crap. Too late. Heeeeeeey, there, Super BioFluid Girl. We’re, uh… We’re good. We’ve got everything under control. You can go home, it’s okay.”


I think the cough has mostly run its course and now my body is just coughing for the sake of coughing.  It’s pretty normal during the day, but then nighttime hits and I cough.  And cough.  And cough.  AND COUGH AND COUGH AND COUGH AND COUGH.  After several days of only getting 2-3 hours of sleep, and not in a row, I broke down and begged my doctor for some meds.  For the record, I gotta tell you: Tessalon Perles are the BOMB. They’re these little tiny pills which make all the coughing go away.  I’m telling you, they’re amazing.  They make me believe in magic again.

I took some last night and crashed about 8pm.  I woke up to go pee and/or change positions in bed every two hours on the dot until just shy of 4 am… which would normally sound like a bad night’s sleep, but when 4 am rolled around I realized I felt so rested I might as well just get up for the day.  It felt amazing to get that much sleep. I know it’ll be different with twins, but I just can’t wait to actually give birth.  I’ve always found that I sleep better with a newborn than I do during those last few weeks of pregnancy.  At least if I’m awake I’m awake with a purpose, you know?

So now you know what I’ve been up to: gestating and sitting on my couch.  I haven’t seen Caspian for…. for weeks, honestly.  I’ve learned I have to go early in the day, instead of late at night. I prefer to go to the barn around 7 or 8, because then all the other boarders are gone and it can just be me and my horse… but lately, by the time 7 or 8 rolls around I’m too tired to do anything except be overwhelmed with how much I want to go to bed. I made plans to go spend an entire evening with him awhile back, but we had freak flooding that day.

The next time I decided I was going to go, regardless of how tired I felt, we had a freak wind storm.

I told The Bean I was going to go on Christmas Eve, come hell or high water….. and it snowed.  Hell or high water I could handle – icy roads and snow seemed like too much to take on without snow tires or chains.

Then I got sick, and I can’t in good conscious go and infect everyone at the barn. The barn owner’s husband is over 70 years old and susceptible to lung sicknesses, so I need to stay home until I can keep the hacking and coughing to a minimum.

The good news is that I know he’s okay – there’s a reason I’m paying more for a barn that’s further away, and that’s because I trust them to take better care of him than I can.

The bad news is… Caspian?  He’s a horse, right? I think he’s…. he’s grey-colored, right? Cross your fingers I get to see him on Saturday – that’s my goal.  I think we’re (knock on wood) running out of natural disasters to prevent me from seeing him.


28 weeks pregnant with boy/girl twins: I’ve been taking weekly pictures so I couldn’t NOT take a pic this week, but man, I just had no smile left in me that day.

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