Walking...

My sweet, sweet hubby has been so wonderful to make sure that I get some time to myself on the weekends -- and I usually go for a walk. It's nice not to have to push the stroller, stop to dish out snacks, put jackets on, take them off, pick up sippy cups that have rolled under the stroller, etc. I also don't have to stop at the park for a wiggle break. I can just strap on my iPod and start walking. I get to keep walking until I want to stop.

I'm always surprised by the flood of thoughts and ideas that I experience -- they don't seem to make their way out of their little brain jail until I'm alone and just walking. Maybe it's because I'm always too preoccupied, or too focused on other things and other people in every other situation. Maybe it's because I don't take the time to just breathe. To just focus on me and the things that have been building up -- thoughts, emotions and ideas come in a steady stream as I walk.

Stress.
Anxiety.
Praise.
Joy.
Worry.
Fear.

It all seems to come out when I'm walking by myself. I was thinking about this yesterday as I was trucking along -- and it's like my walks become one big prayer. Sometimes I pray out loud, sometimes I pray silently, and sometimes I let the music I'm listening to guide my prayers. I pray for myself, I pray for my family, and I pray for countless others that are on my heart and in my mind.

I always thought that I liked to walk by myself because I didn't have to deal with the exercise-hindering issues that come with kids and strollers, but yesterday I realized that I like to walk by myself because it's such a huge release. You'd think it would have been more obvious, but for some reason it wasn't. Yesterday as I left, both of my (sick) kiddos were pretty much melting down at the fact that Mommy was walking without them. They were both throwing pretty sizeable tantrums, which of course, made me feel guilty for leaving my husband alone to deal with it. Instead of being annoyed, he said "Honey, GO. I got it. We'll be fine -- just go do your thing."

So, with a big sigh and a somewhat reluctant stride, I made my way down the sidewalk and away from the house. As I got about a block away, I called home and asked him if he was sure he wanted me to go. He just laughed (above the screaming in the background) and said that it was fine and the only thing that would make him upset is if I came home. With that reassurance, I set out on my way.

Obviously, my thoughts and prayers started there, at home, and as I prayed, I was aware of the fact that I was physically walking away from the stress and into my own little world. I wasn't going to work, not to the grocery store, not running errands, not volunteering at school -- I was going to be alone with myself, my thoughts, and my desire to improve my life.

What a gift.

Home

I did something this weekend that is a very rare occurence around here...I spent the night away from home without my husband and children for my MOPS steering retreat. Going into it on Friday afternoon, I was a bit concerned only because my husband was not having a good day. He was very stressed out by work and a variety of other things...he hit an emotional wall in a way, I think. Anyway -- not exactly the time that I'd love to go jetting off for a day and a half. I would have loved to have been able to sit with him that night, give him a backrub and just be there for him. Instead, there was a semi-frantic exchange of cars and a drive through rush hour traffic for him as he was off to meet my parents for dinner and begin his solo time with the kids. I did get him a card and a little treat on my way to the hotel, but a part of my heart felt sad as he drove away because I felt like I was just adding to his stress. I said some special prayers for him as I walked back into the conference room from the parking lot because I know that when I'm at home with the kids and I'm feeling stressed, it often results in a more anxious, less patient, short-tempered Mommy and I didn't want to be setting him up for the same sort of experience.

Talk about completely underestimating my amazing husband.

I called and talked to him as he was getting the kids into for bed and he already sounded so much better. He told me that everyone had a great time at dinner and that he and Georgia even developed a new trick together, which involved him jiggling her chin around and her making silly noises. Hearing the joy in his voice was a delight for me and I knew then that everything would be fine. Breathing a sigh of relief as I heard him tell me that he loved me and to enjoy my time with "the hens," I hung up the phone with no guilt whatsoever. When I talked to him in the morning, I learned that both kids slept all night (rare these days) and that everyone woke up in a good mood. I even talked to both of them on the phone without it leading to tears about me coming home! Again, I hung up the phone and enjoyed the rest of my day without any guilt about being there.

When I got home last night, I was met by silence, which was a little scary. I will say that there was no blood, broken furniture, and no evidence of fire or flood, so I decided not to panic yet.

As I entered the living room I found my son asleep (asleep?!?!) on the couch, but no sign of my husband or Georgia. As I walked into the empty kitchen past a sleeping Mitchell, I could hear the two of them chattering over the monitor, meaning that she likely just woke up from a nap. (At 5 o'clock?!?!) I was greeted by sunscreen on the counter (a trip to the park), a new trash can (yesssss!) and a picture of the three of them posing in front of a NASCAR car (what?!). Apparently the new Best Buy opened this weekend and my NASCAR nuts got to see the sponsored car parked in front of the store. (He claims he didn't know it would be there, but I'm skeptical.) As I studied the picture of my three happy loved ones, I noticed that both kids were wearing the same clothes that I had left them in the day before. That made me laugh, and I knew that my husband would be claiming to save me from more dirty laundry. I heard Chris say "Let's go downstairs" so I went to greet them.

When my husband brought Miss G down the stairs, I could hear him say "Guess who's here" to her. As they rounded the corner on the landing and we saw each other, the sheer delight in her giggle and the smile that stretched across her entire face both wrapped themselves around my heart. She held her arms out to me and joyfully yelled "MOOOOOMMMMMMAAAAAA!!!!!" I took her from Chris and she instantly wrapped her little arms around my neck, laid her head down on my shoulder and squeezed me with the tightest hug an 18 month old is capable of.

That feeling. That one. That's one of my happy places.

After my world class hug, she immediately sat up, looked at me and in a very serious tone said "I wanna muk." My husband and I just laughed because it was Georgia's way of saying, "Okay, welcome home, yadda yadda...give up the milk, sister."

After a wonderfully comforting bear hug from my husband, he returned to making dinner (pork chops, baked potatoes and a big garden salad - huh?!) and I filled a muk order. As I was putting the milk back into the fridge, I heard Chris say "Hey, buddy -- look who's home!" I closed the door and looked into the living room to see a tousled head of hair, two big brown eyes, and a shy but undeniably joyful smile peeking up at me over the island.

Our reunion was more subdued, but his sleepy grin and gentle hugs melted my heart as I rubbed his back while he woke up and showed me his new Tony Stewart racecar that Daddy had bought for him at "Wullmert." That lasted about a minute and a half, at which point Georgia sniffed out our physical contact and came to voice her displeasure at me hugging anyone but her. My snuggle time with Mitchell turned into snuggle time with Mitchell and Georgia, leading to my husband and I exchanging glances across the room. He could see that I knew I was back where I belonged and I could see that he had been longing for that to happen all day.

Home. I love being home.

What a guy.

My hubby. He constantly surprises me. (Oh, and it's 1:36 a.m., by the way - still a terrific sleeper over here!)

Tonight he ended up being a little bit later than he thought he would be in getting home from work. He called to let me know (let's hear it for nagging him enough to win that battle!!) and said it was because he was doing something for the kids. I asked what he was doing and he said he was writing them a letter about the 4th of July.

He calls it his "Christmas".

I guarantee this letter will make me cry when I read it. I married one of the biggest patriots that has ever lived. He is bold and proud of his patriotic streak to the point of being almost nerdy. We attend Memorial Day services at the local veterans' cemetary even though we haven't personally had any tragedy in that department...we're there simply to honor those who have fallen for our country. As I mentioned, he is ALL ABOUT the 4th of July. He's like a child on Christmas morning...he just absolutely adores the whole day. Today he left for work in his red, white and blue tie with a big American flag lapel pin. Tomorrow we will all be decked out in head to toe red, white and blue for Daddy.

I'm really looking forward to reading his letter. That part of him is one of the things I love best about my husband...he will NOT stand by and let his children take for granted the things that he feels are most important. They can obviously choose to feel differently when they grow up, but it won't be for lack of trying on his part. The thing is, he isn't forceful or pushy...but he makes his points and he makes them clear and obvious for the kids...what they should appreciate and why. It really is a neat thing, even if it makes me chuckle from time to time. If you've seen the movie, "The American President" it totally reminds me of when Michael Douglas is lecturing his daughter about The Constitution and he said "This is exciting stuff!" That would SO be my hubby.

I still have a memory in my head from when Mitchell was tiny...and I'm talking like 2 weeks old or something. I was making breakfast and I looked over at my boys. There was my husband, sitting at the table holding and reading to Mitchell...this tiny little thing just looking up at him with these big, dark eyes and his mouth drawn into a little "o". Know what he was reading to him? A book that held a collection of his favorite American documents. Peace treaties, The Constitution, speeches made by various political figures, etc. I just had to laugh because that was about the very last thing you'd ever catch me doing, yet there he was, completely joyful in the moment. He is itching for the day he gets to help with Social Studies homework!

Anyway -- I haven't even read it yet and I know that this letter is a family heirloom in the making. It's my husband in a nutshell and I love it.

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.

All the kid wanted was a snowman...

Apparently, his name is "Mel" and he's a cab driver and he now lives in my backyard.

Chris wanted to build a snow fort with Mitchell, so they worked on that for awhile. Well, after an hour out there, my little man (who already has a cold) face plants in the snow while being silly and gets snow in his gloves, all over his face, down his neck, etc. I decide that is the signal for him to come in. He is devastated that he won't get to build a snowman. Chris assures him that he'll take care of it.

Mel comes to life.

I try to stop laughing and tell him that he's gonna be in trouble with "The Boss" because he wanted a snowman, not a snow MAN. He laughs and says "Don't you like him?" I just shake my head, roll my eyes and go inside to show Mitchell his dad's handiwork. "That's a cheese cutter hat, by the way!" I hear yelled at me on my way in.

I take Mitchell upstairs to the bathroom, as you can see the entire backyard from up there and tell him that Daddy's done. He says "Oh boy, did Daddy make me a Frosty?" I said "Uhhh, well, sort of." I lift him up so he can see Chris proudly standing next to his, errr, cab driver. Here's the conversation from that point...

Mitchell: Daddy, WHAT did you build me?
Chris: His name is Mel!
Mitchell: But where's my Frosty?
Chris: This is a snowman, buddy.
Mitchell: But where's my Frosty?
Chris: I didn't make a Frosty, I made Mel.
Mitchell: Well, make me a Frosty.

There's still no Frosty. Lucky for Chris, Mitchell didn't say another word about it. Oh, and he claims that the snow wouldn't stick enough to make a Frosty. Seemed to stick enough to make a Mel, now didn't it?

**Funny P.S. Mitchell just asked me, "Mommy, Did my man melt yet?" Not snowman. Man. Nice.

A dream come true...

Saturday night, one of my husband's life-long dreams became reality.

He took his son to a major league baseball game.

To some people, this might be a small event. To my husband, it was a MAJOR milestone in his life, not just Mitchell's. I know, without a doubt, that he will remember and savor each and every moment from last night forever and it was a magical night for me to watch it through both of their eyes.

It was really chilly and the day before was pretty miserable -- cold, windy, rainy and I was dreading the game the next day. Friday night I started the whole "I don't want him to get sick again" talk and started throwing out the possibility of not going. Hubby was so excited that he'd already bought the tickets, so we were sort of locked in at that point.

Well, Saturday came and though it was cold, it wasn't too windy and wasn't rainy at all. We dropped Miss G off at my in-laws house and headed on downtown. I don't know who was more excited, Chris or Mitchell. They were both looking forward to it, and I'm not sure either of them knew what to expect. We got there and Mitchell spent the whole walk from the car to the stadium in a slow jog because he just couldn't wait. We finally got there and the lights on the side of the building showing the baseball guy (yes--very technical term) sliding into base just fascinated him. He couldn't understand why we had to wait in line so long (security) and just wanted to show the guy his ticket.

We finally got through the gates and that "feeling" set in -- you know the one. The energy from the crowd, the smell of the yummy junk food, the buzz of everyone chatting as they walked and talked and ate. I don't think he walked the rest of the night -- he floated. Chris was also just so excited and couldn't wait to get to our seats.

The first time Mitchell saw the field a big "whoooaaaaa" came out of his mouth and another baseball fan was born. To watch my boys walking hand in hand in the same wondrous daze was so much fun. Mitchell climbed onto Chris' lap and listened as he described the important landmarks on and off the field. Mitchell's eyes were big as saucers and Chris' eyes danced with joy.

The game was chilly but we kept warm by snuggling together under a blanket eating pa-corn, hot chocolate milk, and chips. (That would be popcorn, hot cocoa and nachos.) The boys sang "Take me out to the ballgame" together and I took a video of it.

Chris made comments throughout the game like "Well, that will be a trivia question someday -- who hit the first homerun at M's first baseball game". Mitchell kept asking "Daddy what is" and "Daddy why" and "Daddy who" questions the whole night, bless his heart -- exactly what he was supposed to do.

It was a chilly, wonderful night of magic for two boys -- one big and one little. And for one dreamy-eyed mommy who felt lucky just to be there to take it all in.

Taking time to smell the flowers...

Is that a dumb saying or what?

Dumb, but I'm here to tell ya people, it's true.

Yesterday, that's exactly what we did and we had an amazingly peaceful, fun, happy day. Usually we're on the go, running errands, cleaning, doing yardwork, etc. on the weekends. Not yesterday.

I got up with the kids around 7:30 and we came downstairs and Georgia did her morning Jumperoo routine (which she's currently doing now) and Mitchell played trains and watched cartoons. We all had some cereal (yep -- all of us) and then Daddy came downstairs and had his cereal. We all got dressed and went for a walk.

Chris helped Mitchell with his tricycle and I pushed Georgia in M's old single stroller. We weren't on a schedule, so if there was a group of ants working on the side of the path, we stopped to watch them. There were lots of wildflowers growing and we LITERALLY stopped to smell them.

As Mitchell was pedaling himself down the path ahead of us, I told Chris that the picture of him doing that will be in my head forever. Burned in there. I think it's because he was the perfect example of a little boy's innocence. He had on his Dale Jarrett hat, just like Daddy and he told me on the walk "Hey, Mommy - I'm Dale Jarrett!" He was making vroooooommmm sounds as he pedaled as fast as his little legs would go and it was clear -- in his mind, he wasn't on a wildflower lined path through our neighborhood, he was IN the Daytona 500! Watching him from behind, I knew that someday that imagination and that innocence will begin to be taken from him -- the world doesn't allow us to carry those with us for too long. So, I decided to do that right then -- burn into MY brain so I'd never forget it. I told Chris I'm sure it will be in my head when it's time to get his learner's permit. I'll be in tears remembering my little DJ pedal down the path.

Anyway -- we went to the park and had a great time. We had the whole place to ourselves, which was fantastic. Sometimes it's nice if there are other kids for Mitchell to play with, but yesterday it was nice to just be the four of us. Georgia took her first ride on the big swing and loved it. She would giggle every time she came forward towards us and couldn't quite figure out what in the world Mitchell was doing next to her (he was going sky high in his). Georgia and I raced Mitchell down the side by side slides. Georgia and Mitchell played a very lovely duet on the piano. Chris showed Mitchell how to REALLY splash in a rain puddle with your hands. I laughed with Chris and said "Ahhhh, suburbia." One day I was REALLY glad to live in a happy little neighborhood.

We walked home and Mitchell pedaled away again. He did try to crash a bbq at the little picnic table shelter near the park, which amused us all -- and thankfully the bbq'ers, too. We got home and Chris made us all a yummy brunch. (He makes a very good breakfast burrito.) Ate that and then we just all chilled out in the living room. Georgia went to bed somewhere in there. The race was on, so the boys had fun watching that while I did some reading and dinking around on the web. Mitchell snuggled up with me on the sofa and fell asleep. Precious. That doesn't happen very often anymore.

After our long rest time, Chris and I were both itching to just get out of the house and "go do something" but we didn't want to spend any money. So, we decided to stop at the store, get some snacks and head to the airport. Mitchell is fascinated with airplanes right now, so we parked at the waiting area and watched the planes land. None of them took off right in front of us until about 2 minutes before we left the parking area. Kind of a bummer.

Not to be denied, Chris decided to drive back by the car rental places alongside the runways. With all the new security things, you can't just stop on the side of the road to watch anymore, which is a necessary shame. We did find a pretty good spot just next to the gas station and when we rolled down the windows, Mitchell got to HEAR those engines roar as they took off just a few hundred yards from the car. He would absolutely light up like a candle and yell "Wow, Daddy, what do you call it???" and Chris would tell him what kind of plane it is. (I guessed 737 at every one and was never right, in case you are wondering.)

Headed home and played some trains and racecars. Rattled some rattled, stacked some blocks. Chris made dinner (yes, I'm aware that he spoils me on the weekends) which was totally yummy. The kids were both wiped out from our really long but fun day, so we skipped baths and just got them into bed.

Seriously, people...that kind of day could very well be the stuff heaven throws my way.

Feeling really blessed...

Ever feel like you're starting to get yourself into a little funk? Here I was feeling all sorry for myself because I've been tired, Mitchell was a pill yesterday, Georgia couldn't make up her mind about eating/sleeping/etc. yesterday, Chris has been working long hours again making me a pretty much single mom M-F, and I am now having trouble pumping milk again. Plus, I started seeing clients again and am trading daycare with my neighbor, so basically two and more likely three mornings will be taken up and now I have that stress to deal with.

I tell ya though, all it takes is watching the news to remind me of how EXTREMELY fortunate and blessed I am. That did it for me last night.

I mean, first of all -- I'm an American. The freedom and priveleges that come with being a citizen here are pretty much taken for granted on a daily basis. I'm also married to the most wonderful man - - he really is my soul mate and about as close to perfect a match as I could ever hope for. I may not be sure of much, but I am certain that he loves me at least as much as I love him. My children are two of the most beautiful, sweet, cuddly kids on the planet, and for whatever reason, I was chosen to raise them. Just being their mom is enough for me on most days -- except days like yesterday when I'm arrogant enough to be "blue" about piddly little things. My family is amazing, so is my husband's -- you know, I'd say 75% of the stress and drama we have with them is because people want to spend more time with us and our kids, or be involved in our lives in some way. (Why is that something that becomes stressful?) We own a nice home (nicer than I give it credit for), we have two nice cars, clothes for ourselves and our kids, more than enough food to eat, health insurance, and not much -- but a little money in the bank for a rainy day.

What in the world was I so upset about yesterday? Really -- it's embarrasing when I let myself get like that.

I was just watching the news.

What a great day!!

And I didn't even have my baby!! :) I know, I know...if you've read any of this then you're wondering how it's possible that my miserable self managed to enjoy an actual day of pregnancy at this point. Well, it's simple...my hubby and my little boy did it for me.

We got up yesterday morning, lounged around, ate some breakfast and got Mitchell ready for school. Chris and I dropped him off together -- he did pretty good again, yay! -- and came back home. Neither of us had showered yet, so we did that and decided to try and eject Georgia with another DTD session -- obviously unsuccessful, but we did laugh through most of it. Finished getting ready and had a nice lunch at Quiznos. I swear, they have the BEST sandwiches, but my good gracious they're expensive. It was $17 for a kid's pack and our 2 sandwiches. At a sub place, but oh well...we chowed down. :)

We picked Mitchell up, who promptly informed us that he had a great day!! Hooray!! Oh, and EVERYONE was like "You're still pregnant?" Um, yeah...thanks there Captain Obvious and crew. (See me rolling my eyes.) Seriously, what do people expect your response to be? I'm SO over telling people about my last appt, how far I'm dilated, when our induction appt is, blah blah blah. Just wish us well and move on with your lives, people. Oh well, that was the last time I have to endure that torture, because he doesn't have school again until Tuesday and that will be baby-having day if she doesn't come before then!!

So, after we got Mitchell settled in the car with his lunch, we drove to the fire station to get the car seats checked. I've had M's seat checked there several times and got the information off of our hospital's website. Well, we pull up and I go to ring the doorbell for some assistance and there's this sign on the door. "Due to city budget cuts, the educational programs and car seat checks have been discontinued." :( Isn't that sad? We called my mom to have her look on the internet and the only other place doing any checks yesterday was like a 45 minute drive. No thank you. (Besides, Chris wouldn't waste the gas -- hee hee.) So, that's still on the ol' "to do" list. I think there's a place doing them today so we might swing up that way and get it done.

So...Chris asks if I want to go see my Grandpa at the cemetary. I was talking about him earlier in the day and how much I miss him, and we didn't end up making it out around Christmas so I said sure. Mitchell fell asleep in the car, so we just left him in there while we visited the gravesite. (It was like 100 yards away -- don't worry.) Usually I just like to go see, remember some special memories and say "Hi". Well, I got really emotional yesterday -- just kept thinking about how much he would LOVE spending time with Mitchell and how he's probably hog the cuddling of one Miss Georgia Reagan upon her arrival. I just started crying -- poor Chris. He said he didn't mean to make me sad --well, duh. Not you making me sad, buddy. I just miss him a lot, but I'm glad we went to see him. I know he's watching over us.

So, Mitchell was awake when we got to the car so we changed his pull up and drove to the BEST park a few miles away. The boys had an absolutely FANTASTIC time together. They were climbing and sliding and running and jumping. Just having so much fun. The weather was absolutely gorgeous, so that was a bonus, too. We let Mitchell play for about half an hour and then decided to get some walking in. There is a little pond you can walk around at this park, so we headed that way. It was like paydirt for Mitchell -- TONS of ducks and geese flying in and swimming in the melted section of the frozen pond, and on the other side, a HUGE excavator and dump truck working hard. He saw the truck after hearing the "Boom" from the rocks being dumped in and said "Whooooaaaaa...look at that, you guys!! That's AWESOME." :) So, we watched the trucks for awhile, then we watched the ducks/geese for awhile. He would just giggle like crazy when they'd fly in. It was such a fun time! We took my 40 week belly shots in front of the pond, actually.

Then we coaxed (okay, bribed) Mitchell back to the car with the chocolate chip cookie from his kid's pack lunch. Drove home and we all just bummed around until we were hungry for dinner. I watched Oprah and took a nap, not sure what the boys did -- they watched the repeat of the Daytona 500 and played ball, I know that. Then we got up, went to dinner and came home. We watched the Olympics and read with Mitchell. (By the way, Mitchell loves to watch "The Impics." :) Put him to bed and called it a night.

It was such a fun day. Chris and I were talking while we were driving and I told him I was so sorry that he was missing work. He said that he wasn't sorry at all. He said the reason he works so hard is so that he can enjoy some family time without having to worry about having enough vacation or sick days -- he can take them when he needs them. Says he doesn't have one ounce of guilt about not being at work -- said this IS paternity leave. I'm where I'm supposed to be. He also told me that there's a big wide world out there that he misses every day by sitting in his office and to be able to see it through Mitchell's eyes and share it with us as a family is his favorite thing to do and he wouldn't trade it for anything. It was really nice to hear him say those things because I really felt like my little false alarm meant he was wasting his time -- he thinks he'd really be wasting all of our time if he was at work. Sigh. Love him.

Not sure what's up for today...and I kind of like it that way. Don't get me wrong...I'm still READY for her to make her entrance and join our family, but another day like yesterday wouldn't be so bad.

Love the 4th...

I really do love the 4th of July...it's a pretty cool holiday. Sometimes, well--a lot of times, I end up completely taking my freedom and what it truly means to be an American for granted and it's nice to have this holiday to remember what it's all about. We really do live in an amazing country...yes, we have many problems and issues, but to be provided with the opportunity to say and do what we want to every day without question is pretty remarkable when you see what's going on in many other parts of the world. I also am so grateful for the fact that we are allowed to worship as we choose and cannot imagine having someone else decide my faith choice...or having to live in fear and be silent about making my own choice. I am married to one of the biggest patriots in our country and he has taught me so much about history and pride, and this is by far his favorite holiday of the year. He LOVES the 4th of July and I used to not really get into it, but now I love it, too. I used to just like the fireworks while eating a good ol' hot dog, but wasn't really thinking about what we were actually supposed to be celebrating. I'm not sure if it's because things mean so much more to me now as a parent, if it's just appreciating different elements of life as I get older, or if it's the influence of my patriotic hubby, but celebrating on the 4th is different for me now. We constantly pray for our troops and it's pretty humbling to think about the sacrifices so many of them are making and have made for us and this country. It's heartbreaking to think about the lives that have been changed and broken forever in the name of people that they don't even know. I'm looking forward to spending time with my own family this weekend and appreciating everything about my life that I seem to be so good at complaining about...even the 6 hours of NASCAR that I'll be watching with my ecstatic husband tonight! Happy 4th of July...God Bless America!!!