Randomness...

Wayyyy back in 2005 (3 years, really??) when I started this blog, I noticed that I often was blogging in the middle of the night. Guess what? That pattern stuck.

Maybe it's because I'm pregnant half the time. Ya think?

Anyway - here I sit at 3:44 am. Heartburn is winning, though I'm on round two of my Tums. And what is up with nature deciding to "move" in the middle of the night lately? Very inconvenient for me. I can handle the handful of sleepy potty breaks, but the other urge just makes it all but impossible to go back to sleep.

Annnnd, I'm sure you all wanted to know that, right? Riiiiiiggggghhhhht.

Speaking of being up in the middle of the night, I became a victim of an infomercial a few weeks ago. One of those steam cleaners -- not for the carpet, but the hand held kind. Complete with floor attachment. I believe I was still in the aftermath of the whole norovirus drama and they had me at sterilizing. Yep, there I was. Watching all of this steam power away germs and dirt and generally gross grime. And then there I was, on the phone buying that thing. It hasn't arrived yet, so I'll let ya know how big of a turkey I am. Who knows? Maybe it will end up being a beloved cleaning tool. I think I'll probably name it...it seems like the kind of thing that needs a name. (Yes, I'm a dork who often names inanimate objects.)

Moving along in the randomness...this next part could probably appear braggy, but I assure you it is simply an amazed Mommy report. You see, it appears that Mitchell has fully figured out this whole reading thing. In the last few months he has really, REALLY improved in the number of words he's able to figure out but I think it's kind of like when kids grow out of shoes. You know they're getting tighter, but then one day the shoes just don't fit anymore and you're left wondering EXACTLY when that happened? (Maybe it's just me.) I mean, I have seen him getting better, but the other night I was absolutely blown away. Last week, my parents took us, my sister-in-law and my two nephews to see this local production of the very Frog & Toad book that we own. (It was actually mine from when I was little.) Well, as you can imagine, he was very excited to come home and read it at bedtime. As usual, I started reading to him after tucking him in and I only got about 3 words out when he said "Mommy, I want to read it to you tonight."

And he so TOTALLY did!

I think in the entire chapter he missed about 10-15 words, max! It was absolutely amazing!! I was tempted to go to the basement and get my Running Record forms from my school stuff to check his accuracy, because I'm nerdy like that. Instead, I turned off the teacher side of my brain and let the Mommy side of my brain just go to goo. I helped him when he asked me to, but mostly I just sat and listened. And smiled like a complete goofball who had taken about 4 too many valium or something. I just couldn't help it.

I think that what happened is that I saw myself in him. He was just LOST in this book. I, for the first time, really saw him figure out how magical reading can be. I sat there snuggled up with a five year old male version of myself -- that child whose real world melted into the scenes found in the pages of the book. I can tell that he is going to be just like me. Called 14 times for dinner, only to be physically hunted down and found to have his nose in a book, oblivious to the fact that there is still life outside of those pages. That makes me grin ear-to-ear because I know that I witnessed him experiencing one of the great joys in my own life: reading.

He was so proud of himself, almost as proud as I was! We talked for awhile about our favorite parts of the play, how it made the book even funnier now, and again about how wonderful he did when he was reading to me. Of course, he begged me to do another chapter right then. I encouraged him to read another one on his own, but that it was bedtime. (He most often falls asleep with books on his bed.) When I left him, he was snuggled under his covers, holding his book in the air, saying the words "Chapter 2." I came back to check on him about 15 minutes later, and he was sound asleep, Frog & Toad still clutched in his little hands.

I remember the day I figured out how to read. I was sitting on the steps in my house with my mom. She was tying my shoes and I was reading to her from my Winnie The Pooh And The Blustery Day book. She stopped tying my shoes and said "You just READ that to me! You know how to read!" I think I was about 4 or 5 years old and to this day, I can still remember what a special feeling that was. I knew I'd just unlocked a whole new world and I could tell by how excited my mom was that it as a big deal. I hope that Mitchell remembers his Frog & Toad moment the same way...that he knows it is a special thing.

Okay - enough babbling for one middle of the night session. I think the Tums are starting to win. Maybe I'll try going to bed again. I took some time to say hello to all of you bloggy friends tonight. It was so fun to catch up!! Hopefully I won't be such a stranger anymore.

Night, night!

It's that time again...

...as in, the middle of the night. *sigh*

Most of my 2005 posts were probably made between the hours of 10 pm and 8 am. I was pregnant.

Hi. It's 3:25 a.m. at the moment. I'm pregnant. *yawn*

I'm just sayin'...this seems to be my thing. I believe that I brought tonight upon myself as I ate too late (and something a little sweet) and had horrid heartburn and well -- here I am. Law & Order is always on almost all night and usually will put me back to sleep. Not tonight.

As long as I'm up, here are two (as Chris calls them) "bloggable" moments from this week in our house.
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Here's an almost hourly conversation with Georgia this week. NO idea what it means or where it came from but she's pretty satisfied every time I play along.
Georgia: Guess what, Mommy!
Mommy: What?
Georgia: Charlie Brown! (cha-ee bon)
Mommy: Charlie Brown?
Georgia: Yeah.
(Uhhhh, nope. You're not missing anything. That's it. That's where she happily runs off.)

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Mitchell made me get all teary-eyed at dinner on Valentine's Day. I made breakfast for dinner and the highlight for the kids was the pink, heart-shaped pancakes that I made. (In hindsight, very strange. I try pretty hard to not give them red food dye if I can help it and then I gave it to them on purpose. Go figure. I had planned the heart-shape thing earlier, but the pink idea came to me at the last minute. Next year, it's raspberry and/or strawberry puree in the batter, baby.)

Anyway, he was getting himself another pancake from the kitchen and Georgia said "More cakes?" as he was getting up. He brought the whole plate back to the table with him and said "Maybe we can share one, Georgia!"

We then watched with pride as he completely unprompted proceeded to tear a pancake in half. He put one half on his plate, then put the other half down on his placemat. He asked Georgia for her fork and began trying to cut the other half of the pancake into smaller pieces for her. He was pretty unsuccesful at that, so he put the fork down and began tearing off bite-sized pieces for her. Every time he'd hand her one she'd say, "Ank u, Mitcho" and he'd smile so big and tell her "You're welcome, sweetheart."

*sniffle* It was seriously just the sweetest thing. Chris and I just sat there and watched. Well, he sat and watched with a smile. I watched, smiled, and cried...'cause, well - that's what I do.
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I'll leave you on a good note: I have my big ultrasound this morning. In 4 hours. Guess I better try again for some sleep, huh? Oh, and no - not finding out what we're having but praying for a healthy whoever is in there. I'll update you on that front soon.

Night, night. (See -- look at me, being all optomistic and stuff. Pretty cheery for 3:39 a.m., huh?)

Blah Blah Blah...

In other words -- danger -- random thoughts ahead!

Okay, it's 3:09 a.m. This probably will lack direction and focus, so beware.

Thank you, bloggy friends -- your love, support and encouragment is so very appreciated. Jennifer, I especially appreciate your comments and have thought about them several times since I read what you wrote. I think you are a wise woman, and I wish you lived close enough to just sit with a hot cup o' something and listen to you tell me I'm actually *okay* and that this is all just normal and to cut myself a break now and then. You seem to be quite good at that!!
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Blah blah blah reminds me of a funny Mitchellism from this week. He was peeved at Chris for something and decided that whining to me about it was a great idea. Not so much. I was fighting the urge to just sleep on the couch so I said "Mitchell, if you are unhappy with your Dad, then it's your job to tell him how you feel. Tell Daddy 'I don't like it when you blah, blah, blah because blah, blah, blah.' Then he'll know exactly why you're upset and he can explain why he did/said what he did. Whining to me isn't going to help much." I hear him stomp about 20 steps into the kitchen (there's a half-wall thing I can't see over) and say "Daddy, I don't like it when you blah, blah, blah because blah, blah, blah. Got it?!" Oh. My. Word. I am very surprised one of us (Chris and I) didn't pee our pants. Even Mitchell got the giggles over it. And guess what? No more peevy Mitchell. Too busy laughing at the blah, blah, blahs.
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Georgia has been super interested in going on the potty this week. Mitchell was about as difficult a child to train as I imagine there is and I about drove myself insane in the process of the process, so I promised myself that she would drive this bus. And...she is. For a few weeks a couple of months ago, she wanted to sit on the little potty all the time. So we let her. And she'd sit. And get off. And sit. And get off. And it drove me crazy sort of - but it was really no big deal. No piddle. No nothing. Just lots of giggles from her thinking she was THE coolest big girl in all the land.

Fast forward to this week. For some reason, she is all about the potty seat that fits on the actual toilet. She'll sit on her little potty now and then but she is most interested in sitting on "Emo Wod." (Georgia speak = Elmo's World, a.k.a. - the Sesame Street potty seat.) So, tonight at the dinner table, my little rose petal was tooting very loudly and announced "I poop!" I just thought I'd throw out the offer to sit on the potty. It was met with a very enthusiastic, "Yeah!!!!" Upstairs we went. Lots of tooting, which in turn meant lots of Georgia giggles. One thing that helped get Mitchell started with the whole idea of pee-pee in the potty was what we call "Pee-pee water." It's basically an ounce or two of warm water poured on the bits to get that feeling started. I asked if she wanted some pee-pee water and she said yes. As I turned off the water I heard some tinkles. She went pee-pee in the potty!!! She's not even two!!! For a mom who didn't get to wrap up the whole potty training thing until her son was pushing four, this was HUGE news!! I started giggling and laughing and telling her how proud I was of her...it was so fun. The boys both came running and it was this big, fun "Yay, Georgia" thing.

And then I about cried. Can she REALLY be this big? Can she REALLY be old enough to do stuff like this? *sigh* I guess so. She'll be two next month, and I think she is doing her best to snap me out of my denial about the whole thing.

On the up side -- the possibility of only having ONE in diapers has me motivated to help her follow her potty interest!
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I went to coffee (well, I had a cider) with a friend today. She is one of my oldest and dearest friends. She is 5 weeks ahead of me in her pregnancy, and though this will be her 3rd child, this is her 1st pregnancy. (She and her husband have adopted two girls. They didn't think they were able to get pregnant, so like me, this is a surprise package.) We met at the bus stop when we were 15 and have been close friends (sister-like) ever since. In fact, the picture at the top of my blog was taken at a girls' weekend with her and another good friend and she has her arm around me in the little picture of me in the brown shirt up there.

Anyway -- did I mention I would probably ramble?? -- we met for coffee today. I left the house at 1:45 pm. I thought it would be an hour or so. Uhhh - YEAH. At 4:30 I said that I should probably go in about 15 minutes. At 4:54 my cell phone rang. Chris was wondering if I had decided to run off with her and wanted to know just how big my cup of coffee was. After I hung up with him, exactly 2 minutes later, her cell phone rang. Her hubby was making sure she was okay since he hadn't heard from her. We decided that the little ones had probably been up for longer than 30 minutes and were interfering with football viewing and had a good chuckle about that.

I think we were both reluctant to leave. It was like we stepped into a little bubble for a few hours. Our friendship has gone through several ups and downs and we actually almost lost it all one time, but in the end, we are always closer than we've ever been. Neither of us could remember the last time we did this -- with anyone. Just went and sat and talked. And talked. And laughed -- oh, man did we laugh. And compared weak bladders and growing tummies.

I get all teary when I think of the gift it is to share this journey with her. We were both so sad that when Georgia was born, she couldn't come to the hospital. I wanted her to be able to witness her birth because she hadn't been able to be in the room when either of her daughters were born, and well -- she is just one of those people that I know the experience would have meant the world to. Of ALL of the days -- she ended up having a severe migraine and couldn't get out of bed. It was so sad for both of us because we wanted it so much, but now - -here she is about to have her OWN birth experience. Amazing.

Oh, and her dad said the coolest thing when they announced their pregnancy. He said that he was so glad they were unsuccessful in getting pregnant for so many years because otherwise they wouldn't have Madeline and Mara. I get teary every time I think about that. God truly does work in ways that we can't possibly understand until it's in our rearview mirror sometimes.
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Okay - I think that's it for now. I'm about to crawl back into bed and attempt to sleep again. Wish me luck. I promise, I'll be back in the bloggy saddle here soon. I miss reading everyone else's blogs and seeing what you're all up to.

I think I'm almost all the way out of my little hole. Thanks for lending me your shovels.

Funnies From The Bugs...

I've been so caught up in my "ME" journey that I haven't taken the time to really have some good bloggy Doodlebug and Lovebug moments. I am going to remedy that one right now!!

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Chris: I can't remember what it was that he said, but it was something really dorky

Me: You are such a ding dong.

Mitchell: Mommy, don't call Daddy a ding dong. He's not a doorbell!

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Last night I picked Georgia up from the nursery at church and asked how she did. (She had on her Sesame Street jean jacket.) They said she did great and that they enjoyed having her. One lady said "She is so funny! I told her that I liked Zoe and Elmo on her coat and she looked at me and said 'My JACKET.' I mean she flat TOLD me, it's a jacket. Can you believe it?"

Me: Oh, yeah. I believe it.

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The other day Chris had just gotten out of the shower and was getting ready for work. Mitchell had just come in our room and I could hear Georgia in there making all kinds of noise in her crib. (Her room is attached to our room by french doors that we leave cracked open.) I went in to get her up and found that she had taken her fleece, footie pajamas off and was sitting in just her diaper. She got all happy when she saw me and said this while she rubbed her naked baby belly:

"Hi. Joja shower Daddy."

Yep, that's right. She was all ready for the shower, just like Daddy.

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Mitchell made a book the other day at school. Mrs. G. had written words for him (dictated, I believe) on the inside two pages, but not on the cover. I wanted to know what the picture of the cover was so I asked him to tell me. I got out the sharpie and wrote it on there. How could I not? I mean, it's not every day that Jesus drives to the park.


I should add that some of the drawing is hills. Some of it is Jesus. Some of it is children. And some of it (when he showed me) is actually Jesus' driving route.
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I think that my favorite thing about those two at the moment is that they really, truly love and I mean L-O-V-E each other. It's so fun to pick Mitchell up from school. Georgia usually doesn't even wait for me to finish signing him out in the attendance book before she's running in to find him. I have yet to see one single day where they didn't do a big, running, "The hills are alive" run toward each other with outstretched arms. Then they do this big, huge hug and giggle at each other. You would think by now, after about 3 months of this, that I'd be over it by now. But I'm not. I look forward to it every time. So do the teachers -- one of them was in the bathroom the other day when we came and she actually said "Oh, darn! I missed the big reunion moment!"

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So, there ya go. Life with The Doodlebug and The Lovebug. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

I Can See The Writing On The Wall...

I've been thinking a lot about how the things I say and do to and with my children today will impact their lives in the future. It's so much to consider and every single day presents many challenges and things that are potentially guilt-inducing.

I know that's probably not the best thing to carry around because I know that sense of failure and guilt is something that I can easily pass on to my children. So, in an effort to turn my worries into prayers and positive thoughts, I've gone back to a book I read a lot while I was nursing my babies...it's called "Praying the Scriptures For Your Children" by Jodie Berndt. I really adore this book and it's been a literal lifesaver to me recently. Two days ago, for whatever reason, Mitchell woke up in a grumpy mood and was unable to shake that mindset for the rest of the day...just one of those tough days.

It made for a very long day in this house...one full of arguing, sassy talk, and tears. Finally, at about 3:00, I turned on a video for the kids, plopped myself onto the couch and got out my book. It was just what I needed, and the rest of the day was much easier for me, even though nothing really changed as far as how Mitchell was acting. For instance, here are the two that I probably spent 20 minutes praying, over and over.

"Let us learn to see discipline as a gift. Let Mitchell recognize that when we discipline him, it means that we love him and that he belongs to our family -- just as you discipline those you love, those you accept as your sons and daughters. Let Mitchell respect us when we discipline him, realizing that we are doing our best and that we ourselves are submitting to your discipline, which is for our good." (Hebrews 12: 5-10)

and

"Teach Mitchell to obey us in everything, for this pleases you, Lord. Do not let us do or say anything that would embitter or discourage him." (Colossians 3: 20-21)

It just met me where I was, and took my mind to where it needed to be. I really can't recommend this book any more highly, especially if you find that praying for your children is an overwhelming task. Sometimes, the scope of what I want for them is so big that I don't know where to start...this book has really given me the gift of having specific prayers to start with and then continue on my own from there. I have had much more clarity and focus in my prayers for my children than I did before.

The other thing this book does is prompt me more and more to pray for things that are in my children's distant future. Things like their purposes in life, their future marriages, etc. As much as I enjoy saying those types of prayers, it also opens my eyes up to the fact that my time with them is just going so quickly. As much as I look forward to the many wonderful memories we'll make in the future, it's difficult for me not to grieve the loss of many of the things that we're leaving behind. It's not that I don't want my children to grow up, not at all.

It's that the "lasts" in my life as a Mommy are somewhat painful. They're memories now, and I fear that they will fade with time.

As I was driving into our neighborhood for my lunch hour (I'm working today), a song that I'd never heard before came on the radio. Before it was over, I was in tears because it really touched my heart. It just seemed to capture so much of what I've been feeling lately, so I thought I'd share the lyrics.

Artist: Mark Harris
Title: Writing On The Wall
Album: Windows & Walls


I came home from work
She was waiting at the door
Had that bad day look in her eye
Then I heard the sound of little feet across the hardwood floor
And I knelt down with my arms open wide
When I asked her what had happened
She pointed to our son
And said why don't you show your daddy
What you've done

Chorus:
And I could see the writing on the wall
The evidence of little hands
Picasso with a purple crayon
I tried to act upset but I was smiling through it all
I could see the writing on the wall



It was the first day of school
Standing by the laundry door
Wondering how third grade came so fast
Took a ruler and a sharpie pen and drew the line once more
So amazed at how time had passed
With a backpack full of promise
And wonder in his eyes
I turned my head just so he wouldn't
See me cry

Chorus 2:
Cause I could see the writing on the wall
It seems no matter how I tried
To stop the roller coaster ride
The pages just kept turning
Even though deep in my heart I knew we had it all
I could see the writing on the wall

Somewhere in the mystery
Of all that lies ahead
I hope and pray that you will see
I tried to do my best

Pictures from our lazy Sunday...

We are a Bronco-lovin' family (well, Eagles, too -- but that's sort of a long story) and it's that time of year. Here are the two littlest fans in the house on the first Bronco Sunday of the year!


Playing Peek-A-Boo on the couch...


I should have taken a video of how hard they were laughing at each other...


Uh, YEAH...that used to be a pair of pigtails before naptime. Does the look on her face tell you anything about this girl? (That would be a definite yes, by the way.) Whoooo, Nelly.


At the batting cages with Daddy...he wanted to get in there SO badly!!


Just a fun video from the park...this is what Georgia did literally the entire time we were there.



Okay, and when I typed "lazy Sunday" into the title of this post, I was reminded of one of my very favorite SNL skits. I have it bookmarked and had to go watch it, so now I'm feeling the need to provide you with a link to the video that makes my husband and I crack up every time we watch it. There is one bleep, but it's very tame and so funny. Double true!!

Ready, Set, Fly.

Wednesday was Mitchell's first day of his last year of preschool. You would think that after two and a half years of this, it would just be another day for me. Not at all. This year, things are so different.

So glaringly different.

We started at ten and counted down the number of sleeps to go until school began. Every morning, his first words usually centered around "Only ___ more sleeps to go until school!" To say he was ready to go would be a dramatic understatement.

Tuesday afternoon we went shopping for some things at Target. It was a big deal for Mitchell and he took his selection of a new backpack very seriously. I was very surprised that he chose Spider Man, but it all made sense once I realized that he just hadn't seen the Thomas backpacks yet. Let's just say that Spider Man's time in the spotlight was extremely short lived.

I have never seen him more interested in my grocery shopping. He was acutely aware of which snacks, fruit and drinks I was selecting and enthusiastically congratulated me each time I made what he considered to be a good choice. I believe that the full-sized yogurt (we usually get the little snack size) was what drew the most excitement.



He even helped me pick a new shirt to wear to school for his first day. When we finally found one that we both agreed was great, he said "Oh, I think my teacher's going to love it!"

Funny, I was just thinking to myself that she's going to love him.

For the first time ever, Mitchell actually helped me pack his lunch. It was a very serious task for him, and he wanted to make sure that everything was placed just so in his little insulated Thomas lunch bag. This made me laugh because after he so carefully zipped it close, he quickly crammed it into the fruit drawer, most likely squishing everything he'd just lovingly set inside. Once it was in the fridge he matter of factly stated "Well, that's done."

That morning, the first words out of his mouth were "Is it school today? Do I get to go?" When I told him that yes, it was finally time for his first day of school, he started jumping around our bedroom with his arms in the air singing "Yay, yay, yay! It's time for school!" He didn't even fight me at all when I wet and combed his hair. He actually insisted that the top snap be fastened on his new shirt. He was as interested in having a neat appearance as I was. Amazing.

As we headed out the door to the garage, Mitchell asked if we had to hurry. I said that we would be okay since we weren't running late, but we weren't exactly early either. His response was just so, well, "Mitchell" of him.

He said, "That means we're right on time, just like Thomas!" Only Mitchell could bring it all back around to good ol' Thomas.

I herded the kids over to the front yard for the obligatory first day of school pictures. When Mitchell was putting his backpack on, Miss G positively lost her mind about not having a backpack of her own. Since he is such a sweet big brother, Mitchell quickly disappeared inside and returned with his old bumblebee backpack. It was sort of a passing of the torch, right there by the milkbox. I helped her put the bee on her back and she giggled with glee. Mitchell said "I think she likes it!" He didn't even complain when she wanted to get in on the photo session.



He really enjoyed hamming it up for the camera, making sure to hold his lunchbox up in prime viewing range. After a few quick snaps of the camera, we piled into the van and headed off to school. I lost count of how many times he yelled "Yay," "Yippee," and "Woohoo" on the way over.

After I took one last picture in front of the school, he took off running for the door and I was struck by what a different boy I was bringing to preschool. Last year, he was a complete mess. We were both in tears and a teacher had to literally peel him off of me when it was time for me to leave. I remember children saying "Hi, Mitchell" to the huddled little lump hiding behind my legs.



This year, he flung the door open and before I even saw him disappear inside, I heard him yell, "Zach! How are ya, baby?" (Yes, that's a direct quote.) I had to track him down for a picture with Zach and a quick goodbye hug as he was excitedly exploring his new classroom. I was glad that I had Miss G to hug on my way out to the van because it was bittersweet to realize that a part of my "little" boy had just become a memory. Who would have ever thought I'd miss the tug on my heart that his clingy cries never failed to produce.

I'm very happy to report that he is still very, very happy to see me when I pick him up. I thought for sure he'd be a little more subdued this year, given how ready he was to stay at school, but my heart did a happy little flip flop when he yelled, "Mommy" at the top of his lungs as I walked in the door. My smile grew bigger as I saw him then run to give me a giant squeeze. His hug was felt as tightly around my heart as it was around my neck.

His first day was a complete success. Apparently, he filled everyone in on the fact that both his new shirt and his entire lunch came from Target. He also graced the lunch table with several of his "knock, knock" jokes, which one teacher was still chuckling about. Her comment to me as we waved goodbye said it all...

"Someone grew up this summer."



Yes, someone sure did.

Stray thoughts...

Mitchell loves to play in our closet. He was in there playing Buzz Lightyear last night as I looked for a paper for his school at the computer desk:

Mitchell: Mommy, I love you so much.

Me: I love you, too.

Mitchell: I'm going to say a prayer for you.

Me: I would love that.

*Lays down his space shuttle and folds his hands.*

Mitchell: Dear God, Thank you for giving me my Mommy. In Jesus' name, Amen.

Me: Wow. That might be the best prayer I've ever heard.

Mitchell: Thanks. So, Mommy, Buzz Lightyear is going to go save Woody...

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Georgia has started to sing. I can hear her in her crib in the mornings and can tell that she is singing to herself. "Winnie The Pooh," "Twinkle, Twinkle," "Old McDonald," and "The ABC's" appear to be her favorites. It is absolutely adorable and so captures who she is at this age. I hope that I can always close my eyes and hear the sweet sounds of her little songs.

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A verse on my heart today as I send Mitchell off to his first day of his last year of preschool.

"Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it." Proverbs 22:6

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I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but Georgia is apparently able to throw half of a toasted bagel the length of at least three tables. Frisbee style. Just, you know, in case it comes up in conversation or something. Might be good information for you to have, especially if you happen to be sitting, say, within three tables of us.

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Before I go - just have to share that I've added yet another great blog to my reading list! I followed a link to Alana's blog and found out how to make my own signature! Very cool...thanks for the inspiration!

Wishes and dreams...

"I wish" might come from a friend wanting to something to change a situation, but feeling nothing short of helpless as she listens to someone she loves struggle to make it through each new day.

"I wish" likely echoes the thoughts of a man who is silently coveting the brand new corvette that zooms around him in his minivan as he drives up a mountain road. (Totally made that one up, by the way. It didn't happen this weekend or anything.)

"I wish" can be heard from mothers everywhere as they long for someone else to clean the house and do the six loads of dirty laundry that are piled on the floor.

"I wish" is likely the way you'll hear about a child wanting to have a pony or the ability to fly.


The phrase has taken on new meaning with me and my "Mommy's heart" today. Until this weekend, it seemed to be so much bigger than my small children. Not that they don't have wishes and dreams, I know that they definitely do. It's just that, to me, being able to clearly state them with "I wish" seems like such a big step.

Friday, we were driving down the road we always take to get into our neighborhood. As we passed the little farmhouse and stables, instead of showing his sister the horses and helping her "neigh" instead of "moo," Mitchell said this:

"Hey, Mommy...I wish I could ride a horse."

There was even a dreamy quality to his voice as he said it. I had to look in the rearview mirror to be sure it was really him, strapped into his carseat. My little boy wishes to ride a horse. Before that moment, he most likely would have said something like, "Hey, Mommy? Can I ride a horse some day?" On Friday, he dreamed a dream and out came a wish.

He grows a little more every day, and I'm not talking about his height.

As we were driving past a lake on our way home from the mountains yesterday, it happened again. We were talking about how beautiful the scene was: the lake set up against the trees, the clouds casting shadows on the water, and the sailboats skimming across the water. Georgia pointed out the window and excitedly yelled, "Wawa!! Wawa!! Boat!" Her brother didn't say a word. He just looked.



I had turned around in my seat while I was talking to them and it was like looking through a little window in Mitchell's mind. He silently stared out the window and was obviously lost in the beauty of what he saw. When we passed the edge of the lake, he continued looking out of his window for a few moments longer, but then turned his head toward me. We locked eyes and a big smile crept across his face, which in turn, made me smile.

Then he said, "I wish I could sail on a boat. Maybe when I'm five, I can go sailing."

I just smiled and said "Maybe," knowing that watching moments like that through your child's eyes is nothing short of a gift. It was hard to resist the urge to bolt to the backseat and just wrap him in my arms and rock him. Instead, I reached over and held my husband's hand. He looked at me and said "Did he just say he wants to go sailing?"

Yes, it's his wish.

See for yourself...

I'm up late checking stuff off of my to-do list. I just uploaded pictures and video from my camera and thought I'd add some in here since they match the things I've written about lately.

Emily, since you put in a special request - here is the "before" picture. Um, YEAH. Self-explanatory (I hope) with regards to the need for a haircut. Getting a little unruly there.







Okay, now for the "after" shot. (FYI - she is actually playing the part of Pilchard in this picture.) I realize her ponytail is halfway out, making it look worse, but look how much the lady took off of the sides and the back! The reason her pony is all crazy is actually because it was cut so short on top that it falls out somewhat easily now. *sigh* It looked a little better today -- I think it was just a shock to my system to see it so dang short yesterday. Anyway, here's George. Uh.



Speaking of Pilchard, here she is "assisting" Bob in the shoveling of rocks, in her beloved pink knock-offs, no less.



Moving right along...here's a video to match the "before" picture. I am the box top and soup label collection lady for my son's preschool and Georgia found my bag of stuff -- including the roll of 150 baggies. She had the biggest grin on her face when I came out of the bathroom (that'll teach me to go pee alone!) and was so proud of herself. I decided that I already had a mess to clean up -- why not just grab the camera first? (Oh, and for the record, the big yucky stain on her pajamas is from her vitamins. Sometimes Mommy isn't awake enough to remember to put a towel under her chin when we do vitamins on the way downstairs to breakfast. Pretty, huh?) Personally, my favorite part is that out of all of that mess and chaos, she takes the time to bring me my little baggie of box tops. I mean, come on -- that's gotta be a life skill right there, huh? Mom, if you're reading this -- I'm guessing this reminds you of me being able to pluck something specific out of a 4 foot deep pile of stuff in my room. Organized chaos...looks like it might be hereditary.



I'll finish with a video of the kids from last night. I was making dinner while they were "watching" Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. (I think that's what it was. Clifford, maybe?) Anyway - I heard lots of giggling coming from the living room and here's what I found. She's so delicate, isn't she? *teeheehee*

Backyard education...

So much of my childhood happened in our backyard. When I was little, it ceased to be a backyard and became a jungle, a castle, an ocean, or a forest, depending on where my imagination took me. I can remember getting yelled at by my mom to get out of the garden and yelling back that I wasn't in the garden, I was trying not to fall into the moat at the castle because a prince had just rescued me. (And actually believing that it was true.)

Yesterday I was reminded of these wondrous adventures as Mitchell's imagination transformed our backyard into Bob the Builder's workyard. I was Wendy, he was Bob, and Georgia was Pilchard. (Pilchard is a cat.) Scoop, Lofty, Muck...they were all there. The sandbox was the construction zone, the climber/slide was Bob's house (and sometimes a store), the sideyard was the rock quarry, the grass was the swimming pool, and the woodchipped area was the road.

I was picking weeds while the kids were playing and it was so fun to watch and listen to this magical land develop around him. (I have to say that Miss G never made it out of the backyard and into the workyard, but I know that all too soon she will create wonderful lands of her own out there.)

I should mention that I was asked to babysit his cat several times. Usually it went something like this:

Bob: "Uhhh, Wendy?"
Wendy: "Yes?"
Bob: "No, you need to say 'Yes, Bob' so that I know you're talking to me."
Wendy: "No prob, Bob."
Bob: "Noooooo, not 'No prob, Bob,' it's 'Yes, Bob.'"

(I really should give him a break, huh? Pulling weeds is just soooo boring sometimes!)

Wendy: "Right. Okay."
Bob: "Uhhhh, Wendy?"
Wendy: "Yes, Boooooooooob!"
Bob and Wendy both giggle.
Bob: "So, can you watch Pilchard for me? She's in my way and I've got important work to do."
Wendy: "Well, she's just a baby cat. She doesn't know what to do. You should show her."
Bob: "How about you show her what to do and I'll just keep on working."

(That wasn't a question.)

Wendy: "No prob, Bob."

Bob did end up teaching Pilchard a thing or two, and even got her a shovel of her very own when he was shoveling rocks and she wanted to help. Of course, Pilchard didn't read the unwritten rules that Bob got the yellow shovel and she got the red one, but it all worked out. I think she may have actually answered to "Pilchard" a time or two there towards the end. The last 20 minutes or so of our time outside involved Bob shoveling rocks and Pilchard watching him, often yelling, "Ohhhhh! Wak! Momma!! Wak!!"

I love knowing that regardless of where we live or what our yard looks like, my children can open the back door and step into whatever land they choose.

I am hoping that my invitation to join them never expires. It's another one of my happy places.

Monday - Marriage and More...

So, I was inspired to jot down the story of how Chris and I met, and then I remembered -- I already did! A whole year ago! It was 15 years to the day that we met and I blogged about it.
He was actually supposed to mow tonight but it's raining -- what are the odds? *teeheehee*

So, today was one of those days where I feel like my son grew up in front of my eyes. Actually, more like when I was in the bathroom. Or doing laundry. Just...today. He seems noticeably older and bigger than he did yesterday.

If you're a mom, I'm convinced that you know what I'm talking about and if you're not, it's quite possible that I sound like I need to have a chat with the doctor or something.

I think it's some new independence that has me thrown for a loop. Things I used to have to ask him several times to do have just sort of happened today. When I woke up this morning, I noticed he was in different pajamas than he went to bed in. I asked what happened and he said he got hot, so he changed. He got himself dressed (I didn't ask him to, he just did it on his own) while I was changing Georgia's diaper this morning. I came back from changing out the loads of laundry and saw that he'd put his bowl in the sink. I said "Hey, thanks for putting your bowl in the sink!" He responded with "You're welcome. My spoon's in there, too."

Okay, am I nuts for letting that get me all choked up?

It's been like that all day long! Every time I turn around today, it seems that I'm met with another "when did that happen" moment.

6 lbs, 4 oz. He started out at 6 lbs, 4 oz. and he had elephant skin. It just sort of hung there on him. His poor little jaundiced body was stuck in the "bug zapper" (a.k.a. the billirubin light-filled suitcase) for 3 days and I remember thinking that for as huge as I felt at the end of my pregnancy, he just couldn't have seemed tinier. His cries were tiny. His diapers were tiny. His little tushy was tiny and fit in the palm of my hand.

One thing I'll never forget about Mitchell is that no matter how far out on my shoulder I held him, he would find a way to get himself positioned under my chin and near my heart. I'd just laugh every time I realized where he'd gotten because it seemed like he moved himself there without me even knowing it.

Well, his sweet cheeks are a little bigger now, but the Doodlebug just did it again.

BFF?

My son's favorite thing to do in the morning is to go see his sister in the morning before anyone else does. He is usually up before she is and when he hears her making noise, he always excitedly asks "Can I go see my sister??" When we tell him that he can he yells "Yay!!!!!" and throws the door open to her room and says "Good morning, Sweetheart." He has done this for as long as I can remember. (This picture is a few months old -- I can tell by her hair. And obviously, it's after a nap, not first thing in the morning.) Their game that they have developed is pretty funny to watch. Georgia tosses every stuffed animal and blanket out of her crib and tries to land them on Mitchell's head, and he just as quickly picks them up and hurls them right back into the crib. They laugh and laugh and will do it for about 10-15 minutes, most of the time. In fact, that's what I'm listening to right now, as her room is next door to ours.

It is so sweet, and as I listen to their shrieks of joy, I wonder if they will always be best friends at heart? They are joined at the hip and 9 times out of 10, where you find one, you will find the other. It helps that Georgia thinks Mitchell hung the moon and wants to be right near him doing whatever it is that he's doing. Don't get me wrong, there are many scuffles each day over not taking turns with toys, Georgia "ruining" train tracks, and things like that. In spite of these daily bumps in the road, I hear much more laughing than I do tears, and when one is upset or hurt, the other is right there with a hug and a concerned look.

I hope that they remain close as they grow older and it's my prayer that they continue to protect and love each other the way that they do now because they are a great team.

Off to start the day!

We're back...

This is the new "cheese" in our house.


We have reached a new Santa milestone. He willingly sat on his lap and talked loudly enough that Santa could hear him. There were no tears, well, unless you count mine.


(There's the cheese again.) I happen to think that one of the most best places to find the essence of childhood is in a swimming pool.

So, we are back from our weekend away and we are all tired. A good tired, but still -- tired. We packed a LOT into one weekend, and really the only thing that wasn't packed in there was a good amount of sleep. I guess that's what happens when you cram in time with good friends, fun places to go, and beautiful surroundings to enjoy. We can always catch up on sleep. (Oh, and Earen - I guess that means I won't be jogging this week. *wink*)

Just in case you're wondering, Friday night was a repeat of Thursday night with the addition of a 1:30 a.m. trip to Walmart for Georgia and I. We were both in our pajamas for soy milk and swimsuits. We ended up getting: new sunglasses for Miss G that she insisted on wearing through the store (complete with the plastic rectangular holder), soy milk, a size 3T bikini for Miss G (she wears 18 months), and a cute, pink terrycloth robe/dress thing for me. The smallest bathing suit they had for me was literally 4 sizes too big. Bummer. And shocker. Doesn't it seem like Mom is the one who gets the shaft in things like that? Oh well -- I got to watch them swim anyway.

I came home from this weekend with renewed gratefulness for the love and friendship I am blessed to have in my life. The laughs, food, scenery and love that I shared during this one weekend are more than many people experience in a lifetime.

Blessed. I am blessed.

My boy is the sweetest.

No, seriously. He is.

Yesterday I had a RAGING headache. I don't get headaches. I had also been up pretty late the night before not feeling well. You know when you feel like you could be sick but you're not sure? That was me. Since I work with kids, the last thing I wanted to do was get them sick, so I cancelled my day. My in-laws graciously offered to keep the kids for a little while so that I could rest, but I chose to run an errand I'd been putting off instead while I could do it alone. One of those things that just felt better to cross off my list, I suppose.

Anyway, I came back to pick them up and then knew I *had* to lay down when G took her nap or I'd be in big trouble later. So, for the first time in probably a year, I attempted to take a nap when my daughter slept.

You know, you always hear that as great advice when you are a new mom. "Sleep when the baby sleeps," people will tell you. Maybe (okay, most likely) I'm an odd duck but I just could never do that. I'd either get caught up in housework, or reading, or something -- I just couldn't relax enough to sleep, I guess. Plus, when you have another child, it's that much harder.

In any case, I decided that I must nap yesterday so after I put Georgia down, I told Mitchell that I needed to lay down, too. He knew I didn't feel well and I guess he was more concerned about me than I realized. Instead of taking that chance to run around like a crazy man, he chose to instead, follow me into my room and climb in bed with me. I almost immediately fell asleep because I was just so in need of rest, but I do remember him saying "I'll be right back, Mommy."

Do you know what that absolutely precious boy did for his Mommy?

He got two stuffed animals and his two favorite bedtime books and brought them to me. He gave me the animals one at a time and sort of tucked me around them, and them around me and instructed me to snuggle with them so that I could feel better. He then announced that he would be reading to me. I wish I could say that I clearly remember him reading those books because I'm sure it was the sweetest thing ever, but I was snoozing away.

I just remember randomly waking up throughout that two hours and he would be sitting by me or in my room playing trains on the floor and when I'd look at him, he'd come over and give me a kiss and ask if I was okay. Then he'd tuck the animals back in around me.

*sigh*

My prayer is that he never loses that desire to care for the people he loves and that he does it without hesitation and with all of his heart. I don't know at what age children usually start to lose that quality -- the innocent ways in which they go about their lives, but I hope that at least some of it stays forever.

Yesterday was one of those days where I wasn't just proud to be a Mommy. I was exceptionally grateful to be his Mommy.

My little Doodlebug -- there's only one.

Vacation Bible School...

It's this week. I was initially worried about how things would go since we have taken the summer off of school. My little buddy used to have a serious separation issue so I wondered if I would have to deal with that again, but he did great.

The theme is some sort of "ranch" thing, and he has decided that it is "Cowboy School." Okay. Cowboy School it is!

We got there right when it started on the first night so most of the kids were already in the sanctuary. I hadn't previously signed him up so I had to take Miss G to the table and get him all checked in. I took him into the sanctuary to help him find a seat and expected that to be problematic since none of his friends from school were in there. He just found a spot by himself -- in a pew with other kids but not necessarily near them -- and hung out. They started to sing some songs and I watched as he just sat back and chilled out, taking it all in.

After I got him signed up, I went to tell him goodbye. All he said was "Mommy, I don't know this song." I said "Well, I bet if you listen you'll know it tomorrow when they sing it again." He said "Okay. Are you leaving now?" I said "Yes, we'll be back to pick you up later." He said "Okay. See you soon!"

Astounding. And pride swelling. And semi-heartbreaking. All at the same time.

Why is that I simultaneously want him to be so grown up and such a little guy at once? Bittersweet would be a good word here.

Anyway - it is so fun when he surprises me. I go to pick him up and not only is he now with the crowd, he has a huge orange bandana with his name on it around his neck and he is dancing around and singing at the top of his lungs. Usually in situations like these, he'll sit quietly and clap his hands but be too shy to sing, even though he's wild man at home when music is on. I loved seeing him confident enough to get in there and express himself in front of others like he does at home.

Then I got even another surprise. The pastor asked the group if anyone remembered any of the special stories they heard at VBS that night. Big pause. No hands. Until...my "shy" little guy jumps (literally) to his feet, waves both hands around and shouts "Oh, I know! I know!" I couldn't believe it, but what he said next was a really cool thing for me to hear him say.

"We heard stories JUST like the ones that Mommy reads me out of my special Bible story book before bed every night!"

I just about fell over. See - yeah, who wouldn't like their kid to make them sound like Supermom? Nice, right? Well, for me -- THAT day was anything but a Supermom day. More like Grumpymom. In general, it was a day where I didn't feel like a good mom at all. Yet, at the end of the day, there's my little guy jumping to his feet and waving his hands around to remind me (forget everyone else in the room) that I it all balances out and that I do manage to make him feel special in important ways. I'm sure I don't have to say that I got all teary - I'm sure that's a given.

The funny part about VBS though is that when it was over and he came to find Miss G and I towards the back, he greeted us with a "Howdy" and a "Yippee-ka-yay Partners!" It was so funny. When he found out that my hubby was working late, he started to cry and said "But I wanted to tell him Yippee-ka-yay, Partners!" So, after I strapped him into his carseat, I dialed the office and gave him my cell phone. When he greeted my hubby with it, there was a long pause, so it went something like this...

"Yippe-ka-yay..................................................Partners!"

Sounded so funny on the phone. When I got the phone back after they were done chatting, my husband revealed that he had a mini-heart-attack when Mitchell said that. When I asked why he said "All I could think of was that line from Die Hard." I didn't know what he was talking about at first until he reminded me that Bruce Willis says "Yippee-ka-yay, mother...!"

I reminded him that it wouldn't come out that spicy. I believe he has learned "freakin" from good ol' Mom as he was struggling with his carseat buckle the other day and used it appropriately and in context. It is among my non-cussing, yet still apparently cussing words. (I see that as I don't at all like it coming out of my 4 year old's mouth.)

Uh, YEAH. Don't quite have that "perfect mom" thing down yet, do I?

Things I don't want to forget...

I'm taking a break from my seemingly never-ending chore of "staging" the house to go on the market in order to make sure that I document some things I've been thinking about lately. These are little things that I so completely adore right now but are definitely not things I'd likely remember once the kids stop saying and doing them. I try to print my blog out every month or two and put it in my scrapbook stash, so I figure this is as good a place as any to preserve a little history.

*Disclaimer: If you're sick of gushy proud Mommy posts, you might just want to come back another day.*

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Georgia, at nearly 17 months, has this awesome habit of standing on her head at completely random times. It can be in her crib, in the middle of the living room, at the park, in the kitchen, on the sidewalk, or even in the (ewww) bathroom. When she does it, she just comes to a screeching halt, bends herself in half, plants both hands on the ground, and then puts the top of her head on the ground. She usually stays that way for about 15-30 seconds, then gets up and resumes life. It reminds me of Tivo, actually. Like when you pause real-time TV and then just unpause it. I used to think she was gearing up to try doing somersaults like her big brother does all of the time, but lately when I've watched her, it's more like she just decides that the world might look sort of cool upside down at that very moment.

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After he's done reading books and right before he falls asleep, Mitchell - at age 4 and a half , will lay on his back in his bed, put both feet on the wall, place his hands behind his head and stare at the poster next to the top of his bed that has 100 years worth of aircraft while he listens to music. I often just stand in the doorway and peek in - he doesn't know I'm there. I can't explain it adequately, but it is obvious to me that he is IN that poster. He is flying one of those planes. There is a wonderful, imaginative story being created in that little head of his. It is one of those precious moments in time (besides being peacefully asleep) where he has a look of complete innocence.

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Georgia says "Mama" about 458,234 times each day. I'm estimating here. About 400,000 of them are actually questions, demands or statements. Some of the following are examples:

Says: "Mama!"
Means: "Can I have some freakin' milk over here please??"

Says: "Mama?"
Means: "What the heck is this thing?"

Says: "Mama?!"
Means: "How dare you leave my sight! Where in God's green earth are you, woman?!"

Says: "Mama."
Means: "I need a hug."

I love that she does this -- it makes me smile about 89% of the time, which is yet another estimate. The remaining 11% of the time I forget how much I'll miss it when she doesn't do it anymore and I take it for granted.

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My husband is a Looney Tunes freak. He loves Looney Tunes, namely Daffy Duck. When we were dating I used to give him random Daffy stuff for gifts - a DD mug, some socks, ya know - nerdy stuff like that. Well, he has apparently created a mini-him in the form of Mitchell with regards to being an avid fan of the slapstick cartoon. One of Mitchell's favorite things in the whole world to do is to watch "Movie Tunes" with his Daddy.

Things have recently been taken to a new level.

When cleaning out the closet in Mitchell's room, Chris found the Looney Tunes talking clock that I bought for him. In hindsight, it was a solid purchase. Good "wow" factor, and here's the important part -- he lived in a town an hour and a half away from me -- the clock wouldn't be a problem. Fast forward 7 years and two kids later and the clock has come back to life. Chris promptly hung it in Mitchell's room and his biggest thrills of the day are on the hour when the clock brings the characters to life to say a particular phrase. He then sprints into wherever I am and imitates what he just heard announced on his clock. My favorite is his Yosemite Sam impression: "It's 1:00, ya mangy polecat!"

Incidentally, the carpet layers accidentally knocked the clock off of the wall and broke it, causing much heartache. I should have known Super Dad would find a way to fix it. He did, and all is well in the land of Movie Tunes.

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When I'm driving, sometimes I will look at the kids in the rearview mirror and see that they are holding hands across the aisle, looking at each other and laughing. I cannot begin to describe what that does to me.

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Mitchell's "5 Things" he was grateful for last night at bedtime:
1. Kix
2. His Thomas swimsuit
3. Chocolate milk
4. His toes
5. Doors

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When I say goodnight prayers with Georgia before bedtime, she snuggles her DuckDuck by her head and lays down in my arms. I say the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer and at the end she pinches her fingers together, and touches her chest twice by her shoulder and says "Mee-men". That's her saying "Amen" and I about cry each and every night because it is so cute.

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Georgia is in love with Mickey Mouse. If she hears the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme music, she will immediately start shouting "Maaaaaa" (mouse) at the top of her lungs and throw her arms in the air with every exclamation.

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When Mitchell talks on the phone to Chris during workdays, his last question is always this: "Daddy, what time are you coming home to tackle with me?"

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These are just everyday, random happenings in our house but I love and treasure each and every silly one. I just can't let myself forget them.

Consipracy Theory...

Yes, a blog with no direction. Make that blogger with no direction.



I'm tired. Last night wore me out. I've decided I need to watch my kids more closely -- apparently they have some sort of secret code that I am bound and determined to crack. That's all I can figure out -- it was too well orchestrated to be a random accident.



My husband (poor guy) had to work late last night. Make that laaaaaaaaaaaaaaate. Which is fine, that happens. Usually, it's not a big deal. We do dinner. We do bathtime. We do bedtime, one at a time. Then Mommy (that's me) comes downstairs to do whatever she wants. Usually it's cleaning, laundry, dinking on the internet, watching shows, etc.



Last night we did dinner. (No problem.)



Last night we did bathtime. (No problem.)



Georgia went to bed, but unlike her normal waving night night and blowing kisses, she fussed. Her fussing turned into crying about 5 minutes later. About 5 minutes after that, it turned into screaming. SO, Mitchell and I took a break from his Ratatouille book that we were reading to go get her resettled. Mission accomplished. We finished his book and did his whole bedtime routine thing. (No problem.)



I came back downstairs. About half an hour later...I would begin what I now think of as the calm down, night night circuit.



8:45 - Georgia wakes up BAWLING her little eyes out. I come to the rescue, get her resettled, check on a slumbering Mitchell and head back downstairs to keep on cleaning up the kitchen.



9:00 - Mitchell wakes up SCREAMING for me (not good on the ol' throat, by the way). Again, Mommy to the rescue -- back rub, tear dabbing, music starting, forehead kissing -- and downstairs I go.



9:15 - Georgia's turn.



9:30 - Mitchell's turn.



9:45 - Georgia's turn.



10:00 - Mitchell's turn.



And so on ...



I'm sure you think I'm exaggerating that it was that closely timed, but give or take about 3 minutes on either side, it was LITERALLY every 15 minutes. I don't know what the heck was going on up there but strange things were afoot. (Kudos to my fellow horrible 90's movie watchers who know what I'm talking about.)



My husband gets home shortly before 11 p.m. and the first thing he asks me is what's wrong. I don't know what gave it away -- my half torn out bun, my t-shirt stained red with the nasty store-brand fake children's tylenol, the makeup that was halfway down my face and leftover from the day before (true fact), or if it was finding me in the kitchen sink bathing in my newfound love, Stoli Blueberi. (Not really, I didn't even make myself a drink last night but in hindsight, that would have been a stellar plan.) He told me tonight that I looked like I'd been run over by a truck. Always nice to hear.



I told him about our two deviants upstairs and their seriously twisted 15 minute plan and predicted that since it was her turn, Shortstack would be wailing in about 5-8 minutes. He laughed and said "Oh, honey -- I'm so sorry" in that way that you know he truly WAS sorry but I'm not sure if he was more sorry that I'd been dealing with his two screaming offspring or that I was clearly losing my mind. We chatted about his day and like clockwork, my little girl did not let me down. He looked at the monitor, looked at the clock, looked at me and said "Wow. I guess you weren't kidding." Ummmm, yeah. Not kidding.



Since he was home, I decided to bring her downstairs and let him deal with her for awhile. (I don't mean that like "Here, butthead -- deal with her!" I mean that as in "Please, dear man, take pity on me and help." I feel sort of bad -- he just switched from the adult pool to the kiddie pool -- both were filled with cry babies yesterday. Anyway -- she was okay for all of oh -- about 10 seconds and then she just let loose again. The only thing she wanted was to cuddle up on Mommy's shoulders and rock in the recliner.



We finally trudged back upstairs and he thought I was nuts, but I decided to try and put her down one more time. His vote was for letting her sleep with us, but knowing my little hurricane the way that I do, I could almost guarantee you that there would be NO sleep. For anyone.



I did the whole hold my breath and tiptoe out of her room thing at about 12:15, I think. For whatever reason...she decided that yes, she was finally ready to give Mommy a break. Yeah, riiiiiiiiggggghhhhht. She just passed the baton, people. The up all night relay was now in the hands of the anchor -- our friend, Mitchell. Chris and I were laying in bed talking about how SUPER fun pretty much 80% of our life is right now (and I'm not talking kids -- just random crap) when our little man brought in the big guns.



I mentioned (like, in passing) in the last post that he just had his tonsils and adenoids out last week. Well, when he gets to the end of his pain meds, he doesn't like to swallow. At all. So, saliva tends to pool in his mouth and then it becomes a sort of steady stream when he cries. Or screams like a wild banshee. Both of which he decided to do at this point. He was trying to explain to us what was upsetting him, but it was quite difficult to determine what he was saying. Picture a drunk, not so adept ventriloquist with a large drooling problem who is in some serious pain and you will essentially have been a fly on Mitchell's transportation themed bedspread.



My husband and I looked at each other and without even saying a word, decided that he could just sleep with us. Neither one of us had the energy to keep this whole thing up all night, and it was clear that it was going to be an all-night affair. He headed downstairs for a medication refill and a popsicle and I took my slobbery mess of a boy to the bathroom for a little cleanup work. We all reconvened in our bed, got the medicine down, chased it with some water and snuggled in for the night. They boys slept great...I just sort of laid there, dozing in and out of consciousness.

Anyway -- it's now 9:15 and no one is making a peep. So far so good, but I'm sure I've just completely jinxed myself. My saint of a hubby is currently picking up the living room, as I've been instructed not to do anything but relax. I'm off to the couch and am still fighting the urge to make out with the Stoli.

I'll let you know.

Helpless...

I hate feeling helpless, especially when it comes to my kids. Really, I do. Hate. It.

My little man had surgery last week to remove his tonsils and adenoids...and that is a story for another day. They told us that his recovery would be about 10-14 days in total, with somewhere around days 6-7 probably being the worst, as that's when scabbing takes place.

Doesn't that just hurt to think about?

Everyone tells you that the only thing they remember is getting to eat as much ice cream and have as many popsicles as they want when they had the same surgery as a kid. Well, I've learned that if you've talked to one former tonsilectomy patient, you've talked to them all. It doesn't hurt as bad when you're little, you love the cold stuff, etc.

Well, I'd like to talk to someone's MOM. I'm telling you -- this has been a LOOOONNNNNGGG week for ol' Mom. When he's hurting, that medicine can't kick in fast enough. Yes, it's short lived, but he is in some wicked pain between dosings sometimes. It's different than your typical "Owie, I fell and scraped my knee" cry you get most of the time -- it is a "I HURT. Truly hurt to where it scares me, Mommy" type of cry and it breaks my heart in two and makes me feel helpless.

Sunday morning he was just a mess. I needed to go to the grocery store to grab some things and everyone else was still in their pajamas. Now, not only is going to the GS by myself a treat these days (yes, I know it's beyond sad) but I was just generally not in the mood to pacify ANYONE while there. I wanted to listen to my iPod, cross stuff off of my list and get out of there. When Mitchell learned I was going, it was an instant meltdown. I'm not talking tantrum, I'm talking meltdown approaching insane levels.

Now, if you just had surgery on your throat, you can probably guess that screaming at the top of your lungs is not going to be something that will help your cause. 45 minutes of that...well, you can probably just figure that one out. He was a mess. A. CERTIFIED. MESS.

The thing is, my husband and I were caught between a rock and a hard place. We realized that part of what was driving this behavior episode was not feeling good, even though he hadn't complained AT ALL yet that morning and slept all night, but no way in the world do we want to reward that sort of tantrum behavior with "Okay, okay -- stop screaming, you can go!" I mean, he hadn't complained about pain at all after initially waking up and we'd given him all the medicine we could give him at that point. I'm sure he was really tired and probably in more discomfort than he told us he was...and that's the thing. He can talk. He's 4, but I don't think he has the words and the ability to truly tell us what's wrong in situations like this. I also think part of it was, he and I had been glued at the hip since his surgery and this was literally the first time I'd be leaving his side in over 5 days and he didn't expect it. I think that definitely factored in. Regardless, it just didn't feel right to say "Okay, since you did such a fine job of displaying such awful behavior, of course you can come! We'd love to teach you that acting that way is exactly how to get what you want." Again -- we were torn, but him staying home was the best thing anyway. And even though I was doing all of the things that I knew were best for him, I still felt absolutely helpless.

So, we just went into our normal routine of dealing with tantrums -- which really don't happen much anymore. He'll get lippy with us, but the big, dramatic, heartwrenching meltdown thing is very rare these days. So, upstairs we went so that he could sit in a safe place (on his bed in his room) and calm down. When it was clear that the only thing he would be doing is continuing to scream at me, cry hysterically and try to grab me, we went to the next routine step -- removing toys, books and music from his room. It's really the only thing that will calm him down when he gets like that. Trying to hold him and cuddle him doesn't work -- he gets all combative. So, with a guilty heart, I would give a warning that he needed to sit on his bed -- that's all, just sit on his bed -- and believe me, he KNOWS the drill. I'd give him some time, count to 10 out loud, and then remove a beloved toy from his room while he grabbed my shirt, screamed at me, kicked the door, etc. This went on for about 45 minutes. Oh, and the windows were all open so I'm sure the neighbors really enjoyed the whole thing as well.

It's quite the pretty picture, yes?

Then, with a mostly empty room, my little buddy finally agreed to just lay on his bed and calm down. I also had to chuckle at the way he went about it -- he said "OhhhhhKAY!" as he climbed ontu his bed, as though I was the one who'd been keeping him from getting up there for so long. I sat with him, rubbed his back, helped him stop crying and encouraged him to just lay there and think for awhile. I went across the hall to clean the kids' bathroom and somewhere between the sink and the tub being clean, he fell asleep. The time that I checked on him and saw him asleep was 10:30 a.m. Now, keep in mind that this is a little boy who doesn't take naps anymore, and if he does, it's falling asleep on the couch at about 5:30 pm...just before bedtime on days when he's played like crazy in the morning.

Oh, and his little sister was downstairs with my husband during all of this, in case you're wondering. That's the other reason for moving upstairs -- she doesn't need to witness all of that.

ANYWAY -- so, he kept sleeping and kept sleeping. I kept checking and kept checking. Finally, it was time for me to leave with Georgia for a birthday party, and I'd been dreading that all day since he wouldn't be coming. We thought for sure that it would be battle number two...but it wasn't, because he was still asleep at 2:45 p.m. Yes - -over 4 hours later, and still asleep.

I went to the party, had a great time, but all the while kept thinking about my baby boy at home and wondering how he was doing. I knew my husband would be great when he woke up and was prepared for more tears and drama -- he was armed with medicine and many hugs -- and he has his own set of tricks to get Mitchell out of a funk...I wasn't worried about that. I just felt guilty for not being there...and...helpless.

I called as we left the party, at about 4:45 p.m. and he had been awake for about 10 minutes. Yes, he slept for 6 hours!! Chris said that he cried for about 5 minutes after he woke up, but after some Daddy cuddles, a Capri Sun, a popsicle and a dose of pain meds, he perked up. I'm sure that his tantrum induced the sleep in the first place, but obviously, he just needed some rest. Lots of rest. It made me feel a little bit better that he slept that long -- the tantrum most likely would have happened over something else that morning anyway because that's how he gets when he's that tired. (It didn't entirely remove my guilt -- part of me still thinks I should have just taken him to the store, and the other part of me is patting myself on the back for not taking him -- story of my life.)

When we got home, about 10 seconds after I put the garage door up as I was pulling into the garage, I saw my little man fling the door to the house open and wave at us with a huge grin on his face. THAT was what I needed to see -- my happy little guy was back. He and his Daddy were playing "Red Sox" in the living room while they watched the game and they were both sporting their jerseys and backwards baseball hats. He was happy to see us and loved the balloon that we brought home for him. I got a huge hug, a kiss on the cheek, and he told me "I love you, Mommy. I'm sorry I was so mean this morning. I was really tired." I kissed and hugged him back and thanked him for apologizing. And then I got him some ice cream.

All was once again right in the world.

Over the top

So, my husband is a self-described NASCAR addict, and apparently it's genetic. Either that or he's into brainwashing. My four year old son is now an official NASCAR fan. Enthusiast. Addict.

Whatever.

It's actually pretty cute how into the whole thing they get together. That's actually what's going on right now. My husband is camped out in the recliner with a beer and my son is on the floor with his speedway and race cars re-enacting the big crash that just happened. They're both all decked out in their race gear and neither one seems to think that five hours is too long for a race. *yawn*

As you may or (hopefully for you) may not know, NASCAR is heavy on the advertising. I am surprised these guys don't have individual caps put on their teeth for their sponsors. Well, my little sponge, errr - boy, has now added many of the sponsors to his ever growing vocabulary of words he recognizes when he sees them in print.

For instance, we'll be driving down the street and he'll yell (not say, YELL) "Hey, Mom! Look! There's the UPS truck - just like Dale Jarrett!" I have yet to drive to the pediatrician without hearing, "Look, Mom! There's the Bass Work Shop" as we pass by Bass Pro Shop. He is an encyclopedia of commercial knowledge in the realm of NASCAR sponsorship.

My husband's favorite driver is Dale Jarrett, so he is also Mitchell's favorite driver. They also like to watch Dale Earnhart Jr. Dale is a big word in our house. It comes up often. Yesterday I found out...maybe a little bit TOO often.

We were driving home after a long day of packing, cleaning and moving things to a storage unit in preparation for putting our house on the market. We decided to just stop somewhere quick and cheap for lunch since we were all hungry and ended up at Del Taco. Mitchell asked what it was called and yes, you guessed it...it is now known as

Dale Taco.

I'll admit, that's pretty funny. I think we both got a good chuckle out of it but I told my husband that this whole NASCAR thing has obviously gone a little bit too far. I mean, Mitchell is half hispanic and it's a bit worrisome to me that he hears "del" as "Dale". Good thing his grandma is teaching him spanish!

The kids' meal came with a boy and a skateboard that magnetically stuck together. Mitchell started playing with it and said "Look, Mom! I got Dale Taco and his skateboard." I just looked at my husband and he started cracking up, shrugging his shoulders and saying "What's the problem?"

News flash -- Dale Jarrett is in the top 10 for the first time all season. There is major, big-time high-fiving happening in the living room. Such timing.

Ohhh, and a sad update there. His engine blew up. Hats were thrown. Lemon words were used. Read below for an explanation of that one.

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Oh, and just as an aside...a friendly warning from me to all of you who have not yet entered the arena of living with a four year old who is thoroughly convinced that he is smarter than you are. (He's actually somewhat convinced me on several occasions, but that's a whole different story.) Be prepared to defend, explain and hear a repetition of every single word that ever comes out of your mouth.

On the way home from Dale Taco, we were pulling up the driveway and my husband made some smart aleck comment about something and I in turn whipped out my most favorite non-cussing cuss word. "Friggin" is somewhat of a staple for me, but I think it's on its way out. Mitchell has latched onto his teacher's idea of "apple words" (words that make you smile and feel good when people say them...words like love, happy, friend, thank you, please, etc.) and "lemon words" (words that make you pucker and wrinkle your nose...words like stupid, go away, etc.) to govern what should and should not be said in our house.

As soon as the friggin' sentence left my lips in the van, Mitchell scolded me by saying, "Mommy, we don't say 'friggin'. It's a lemon word."

Thank you, Mrs. P.! School may be out for the summer, but it's obviously still very much in session at home!