I present to you, my 2010 Christmas letter in all it's infamous glory and lack of jolly.
Bah Humbug everyone,
Since I feel this deep indwelling need to write a Christmas letter, I decided that this is gonna hafta do. I don’t FEEL like writing Your Normal We-Are-All-The-Smartest-Healthiest-Happiest-People-On-The-Face-Of-The-Earth letter. I don’t FEEL happy. Not enough to write a big spiel about it that is. I personally think that I’m entitled
to gripe a bit. Yes, a bunch of good stuff happened this year but I
ain’t gonna talk about that right now. MAYBE after I get my gripe out of
the way a Happiest-People-On-The-Face-Of-The-Earth will spring forth from the ashes but first I gotta make a fire and get some ashes going.
Since I feel this deep indwelling need to write a Christmas letter, I decided that this is gonna hafta do. I don’t FEEL like writing Your Normal We-Are-All-The-Smartest-Health
For
one thing we went on vacation to Glacier National Park this year. And
it still annoys the crap out of me that my whole entire memory of said
vacation is over-ridden by the last 2 days of it. By then I was running
on no sleep, the kids were the biggest crabs & whine bags on earth
and I was being too cheap to get a motel the last night we were out so
we slept on the side of the road at a scenic overlook out in the
Badlands of North Dakota. Slept being a figure of speech when you think
about the fact that we were driving a Monte Carlo. Yep. I loved my car
but I’m griping here remember? Dumb thing… I couldn’t lay my seat back
‘cause the cooler was behind my seat, Reece couldn’t lay his seat back
‘cause Rachel’s car seat was behind him and besides. Every time the car
stopped she started screaming to high heaven and waking the rest of the
living dead in the car. I asked Rosie once if she thought she was gonna
be in her car seat for the rest of her life and she mournfully replied,
“Yeah.” I was so tired I was nauseated. So I thought.
Then the day after we got home I found out I was pregnant, due in March. Well, that was not to be either. Raina Angel Grace was born at 22 weeks on November 8th. She weighed 10 oz. and was 10 in. long. We had her funeral on the 13th with just a few friends and relatives. Therein lies the true cause of my HUMBUG. It makes me mad that I’m not 28 weeks along like I’m supposed to be. It doesn’t help matters when you hear newborns crying or see the people that are due at the same time you were supposed to be. It doesn’t make me FEEL better to hear that she is in Heaven- well, not all the way better. How ‘bout you just don’t tell me that right now even though I know it’s true. Now there’s a novel idea!! I just think that if I’m gonna go through the whole morning sickness thing and the being sick for 7 weeks and only make it halfway through that I have a right to be humbuggish. If you don’t think so then quit reading this letter. I’m keepin’ it real and if you got a problem with real then you better go read someone else’s letter. It makes me mad that I made it 22 weeks and there was still nothing I could do to keep my baby alive. I want to FIX my kid’s problems. NOT have a baby that possibly got a virus while she was INSIDE me of all stupid things or died from her cord around her neck. I HATE not being able to fix their problems. That’s one of the reasons I disagree so wholeheartedly with the people that say, “Oh! First you can’t wait for your kid to start talking then when they do you wish they’d shut up.” No, I don’t. I love being able to UNDERSTAND what they need instead of having to listen to a bunch of whining and bawling and gibberish that nobody understands. It also makes me mad that I went through all the pain business of being induced and still had no baby to show for it. That makes me mad. Okay. Fine. I’ll give in and say, “Life is stupid, it ain’t fair, and it pisses me off sometimes.” So THERE.
In the end of August Reece’s load slid ahead on his truck and smashed into his headache rack which smashed into the back of the sleeper and totaled the truck. Which is really stupid ‘cause the only thing wrong with it is that the sleeper is messed up on the top. He was hauling a load of 45 ft. steel I-beams, so we are thankful that he’s still alive and that his headache rack did it’s job. He quit at Golden Ring and is now driving locally for a cousin of some sort. Only problem is he’s kinda keeping farmer hours now so we saw him more when he wasn’t home every night. That’s kind of annoying too. I could say some good stuff about this job like that fact that he was able to be there with me at all the bad times with Raina & stuff, but in case you forgot I’m griping here so quit looking for the sunny side of the rain cloud. Sun doesn’t always mean anything. It shone here while a tornado destroyed half of Wadena this summer.
Since I’m doing the Humbug letter I refuse to tell you how smart my kids are and I shall focus on the bad side of life. Rosie dumped salt all over the world yesterday morning, BEFORE I woke up. All over in Rachel’s crib, in Rachel’s hair, on the floor in their room, on her butt etc. I was awakened, rudely I might add, by Rosie pounding me on the shoulder and saying, “Kiss my butt.” which I refused to do. I just stuck her in the tub and rinsed it. What on earth!?!
Rachel’s favorite thing to do is come bug me while I’m on the computer. Actually, it’s any time I sit down. She stands there and blows her nose on my leg, and screeches and roars and wails and pulls stuff down and whines and then collapses in a heap on the floor and sits up under my chair and bashes her head and then weeps and wails about that.
The dog is getting fatter and fatter by the year I think, so pooh to all of you who would be bragging about your great & wondrous dog in your letter. All mine does is eat, sleep & bark at the wrong times. Excuse me. I didn’t mean to call that noise a bark. How about-- more like -- a ridiculous howling sound.
Well, I’m running out of things to complain about so hopefully none of you end up in the hospital for overeating and blowing up your livers or anything else like that this Holiday season.
With Great Disdain,
Ronda & Nobody Else ‘cause they are probably Happy Right Now.
(But if they were crabby Reece, Rosie & Rachel could have their names on here too.)
P.S. I’m gonna add a wee bit of Happy-Happy in right here and tell you that for real, my kids ARE really smart even tho’ they hide their candles under large bushels sometimes. Rachel isn’t walking full time but she can shout the essentials around this house in very strident tones... Things like “Shut up!” and “Couch!” to the dog, and “Eat!” to the humans. And if you say hi to her she waves at you with a dead serious poker face. Rosie is even more hilarious than she was last year, complaining about Rachel; “Noisy kid!! MAN! All her LIFE!”, calling motorcycles “noise busses” and dashing about the house saying “Nay! Nay! My sheep ran away! Away!” She’s very sweet and the night of Raina’s funeral she had to hold my hand when I went to bed because “You was CRYing at that church today.” I can’t remember half the rest of the things these kids do so I shall go humbug to myself some more. Or maybe I’ll just go cook a pot roast.
Then the day after we got home I found out I was pregnant, due in March. Well, that was not to be either. Raina Angel Grace was born at 22 weeks on November 8th. She weighed 10 oz. and was 10 in. long. We had her funeral on the 13th with just a few friends and relatives. Therein lies the true cause of my HUMBUG. It makes me mad that I’m not 28 weeks along like I’m supposed to be. It doesn’t help matters when you hear newborns crying or see the people that are due at the same time you were supposed to be. It doesn’t make me FEEL better to hear that she is in Heaven- well, not all the way better. How ‘bout you just don’t tell me that right now even though I know it’s true. Now there’s a novel idea!! I just think that if I’m gonna go through the whole morning sickness thing and the being sick for 7 weeks and only make it halfway through that I have a right to be humbuggish. If you don’t think so then quit reading this letter. I’m keepin’ it real and if you got a problem with real then you better go read someone else’s letter. It makes me mad that I made it 22 weeks and there was still nothing I could do to keep my baby alive. I want to FIX my kid’s problems. NOT have a baby that possibly got a virus while she was INSIDE me of all stupid things or died from her cord around her neck. I HATE not being able to fix their problems. That’s one of the reasons I disagree so wholeheartedly with the people that say, “Oh! First you can’t wait for your kid to start talking then when they do you wish they’d shut up.” No, I don’t. I love being able to UNDERSTAND what they need instead of having to listen to a bunch of whining and bawling and gibberish that nobody understands. It also makes me mad that I went through all the pain business of being induced and still had no baby to show for it. That makes me mad. Okay. Fine. I’ll give in and say, “Life is stupid, it ain’t fair, and it pisses me off sometimes.” So THERE.
In the end of August Reece’s load slid ahead on his truck and smashed into his headache rack which smashed into the back of the sleeper and totaled the truck. Which is really stupid ‘cause the only thing wrong with it is that the sleeper is messed up on the top. He was hauling a load of 45 ft. steel I-beams, so we are thankful that he’s still alive and that his headache rack did it’s job. He quit at Golden Ring and is now driving locally for a cousin of some sort. Only problem is he’s kinda keeping farmer hours now so we saw him more when he wasn’t home every night. That’s kind of annoying too. I could say some good stuff about this job like that fact that he was able to be there with me at all the bad times with Raina & stuff, but in case you forgot I’m griping here so quit looking for the sunny side of the rain cloud. Sun doesn’t always mean anything. It shone here while a tornado destroyed half of Wadena this summer.
Since I’m doing the Humbug letter I refuse to tell you how smart my kids are and I shall focus on the bad side of life. Rosie dumped salt all over the world yesterday morning, BEFORE I woke up. All over in Rachel’s crib, in Rachel’s hair, on the floor in their room, on her butt etc. I was awakened, rudely I might add, by Rosie pounding me on the shoulder and saying, “Kiss my butt.” which I refused to do. I just stuck her in the tub and rinsed it. What on earth!?!
Rachel’s favorite thing to do is come bug me while I’m on the computer. Actually, it’s any time I sit down. She stands there and blows her nose on my leg, and screeches and roars and wails and pulls stuff down and whines and then collapses in a heap on the floor and sits up under my chair and bashes her head and then weeps and wails about that.
The dog is getting fatter and fatter by the year I think, so pooh to all of you who would be bragging about your great & wondrous dog in your letter. All mine does is eat, sleep & bark at the wrong times. Excuse me. I didn’t mean to call that noise a bark. How about-- more like -- a ridiculous howling sound.
Well, I’m running out of things to complain about so hopefully none of you end up in the hospital for overeating and blowing up your livers or anything else like that this Holiday season.
With Great Disdain,
Ronda & Nobody Else ‘cause they are probably Happy Right Now.
(But if they were crabby Reece, Rosie & Rachel could have their names on here too.)
P.S. I’m gonna add a wee bit of Happy-Happy in right here and tell you that for real, my kids ARE really smart even tho’ they hide their candles under large bushels sometimes. Rachel isn’t walking full time but she can shout the essentials around this house in very strident tones... Things like “Shut up!” and “Couch!” to the dog, and “Eat!” to the humans. And if you say hi to her she waves at you with a dead serious poker face. Rosie is even more hilarious than she was last year, complaining about Rachel; “Noisy kid!! MAN! All her LIFE!”, calling motorcycles “noise busses” and dashing about the house saying “Nay! Nay! My sheep ran away! Away!” She’s very sweet and the night of Raina’s funeral she had to hold my hand when I went to bed because “You was CRYing at that church today.” I can’t remember half the rest of the things these kids do so I shall go humbug to myself some more. Or maybe I’ll just go cook a pot roast.
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