Dear David,

This year, despite your many objections, you turn 3. By many objections, I mean that every time we mention your new age, you scream and cry and demand to be 2. We finally gave up and decided that you could be 2 and 365 days. This seems to be a fair compromise to you. I'm not sure what this says for your future because if it's this hard for you to turn 3, I can't imagine what it will be like when you turn 30.

While you have been busy denying your age to everyone who asks, I have been busy trying to accept that the two's are over. I know that it's often referred to as the terrible two's, but that's just to keep parents distracted from what comes next. Let me give you a photo example.
This is the two's:

And this is what we refer to as the effin' three's:

It seems that overnight you have gone from a very sweet little boy to raving lunatic who loves to scream.

Still, I know it could be worse. Your sister used to throw shoes at our heads and as of yet, the only thing you have thrown is a feather.

It's not all screaming and fits though. If I'm to be completely honest, you are more of a ham than a handful. You are constantly on the go. It's just that you have decided that you want to be the one that says when we go, where we go and how we go and being told that you have to do it our way is just not something your little mind can handle. After all, you are 2 and 365 days and you know exactly what you want. How can we argue with that?


Above all, I think you should know that you are adored. Not just loved, but honestly adored. Your family, friends and a few people who have just been lucky enough to catch you when you feel like being charming. You love to make people laugh, you love to dance and you love attention. You still make your monster face.

This year you have become fascinated with everything to do with outer space. You like watching the Discovery channel with Daddy and talking about the planets. You told me that you are going to be an 'astanot'. I find this much more hopeful then when you told me you were going to be a kitty.

As many changes as we've had this year, the biggest has been the addition of your sister. I was fully prepared for you to be jealous.

I was not prepared for how much (and how quickly) you would come to love her. Everyday you ask to read to her, to play with her to hold her. When she's falling asleep during feedings you whisper in her ear. I don't know what you say and I don't need too. She smiles at the sight of you and if she's not in the room, you ask for her.

I know you love your big sister too, but I think it's easier for you to be with Josie because she's not playing with your toys, she's not telling you to get out of her room and she's not fighting with you. Someday, yes. But not now.

For now, you kiss her and hug her and you are gentle in a way I didn't know was possible from a boy who takes flying leaps off the coffee table at anyone walking by.

You are a handful, rambunctious, lively. You have a wild sense of humor and a need for physical play. You can be so very gentle and sweet. You are smart and surprise me all the time with the things you know.

You are 3. But don't worry, we'll keep that just between the two of us.

Happy Birthday crazy man.

Love,

Mom

The Return

Why is it that when you return from vacation, you always feel as though you need to take a break to recover? Or is it just me? Of course, I think our situation was not helped by the absolute madness that has been our life for the last month with house guests. major school events, a birthday and then of course, our trip to Disneyland. And then there's the fact that we all ended up getting some nasty stomach bug that has left me about 6 pounds lighter and my abs aching. Thankfully, the kids didn't get it so bad though I felt awful for them when they were so miserable. Anyway, more on the trip another time. We're still recovering.
This morning we returned to our normal routine. David wakes up far too early and I pretend not to notice. He softly whispers 'tv', hopefully. When this doesn't work, he points to the TV ( in case I didn't know what he meant?) and repeats 'tv'. I pretend to snore. At this point he becomes almost manic in his desperation. He violently jabs his finger as bounces up and down, his eyes wide and pleading, 'teeeee veeeeee'! I smile and for the first time, decide to respond. "Yes, that is a TV." I think I broke him. He stopped bouncing, his jaw just dropped and he stared at me for a moment. Then he rolled onto his belly and went back to sleep.
Now I wonder, and am doubtful but still must wonder, if all this time he's just wanted me to agree that yes, that is a tv he's been pointing at and not actually wanted to watch whatever cartoons are normally on at 5 am?
Unfortunately, I think he's just a morning person as his father is.

Dear Bre,

This year, you are turning 10. The big 1-0. You have been obnoxiously excited about hitting those double digits. I have been at a loss.
It's not that I haven't enjoyed these past 10 years. I have. Immensely. It's that I can't believe 10 years have passed already. When you're a kid everyone tells you to slow down, time passes so quickly. And you laugh because it seems like such a joke. Time is slow when you're young and want to get your driver's license, or be old enough to wear make-up and date. And then one day you are old enough to do all those things. Older, in fact. One day you have kids of your own and you realize that those people weren't kidding. It's too fast.
I've been thinking a lot about this birthday letter, wondering what I would say, if I would be able to put into words just what I want you to know. I don't know if it's possible. I've tried but I always seem to forget something and then I have to start all over because it's just not right.
But I think you said it best when, upon seeing the birthday cake I had made for you, you said you loved the way I made the CD and when I told you it was a record you asked me what a record was. Because that's it isn't it? The basics of it anyway. You are in an era where records don't exist and I am from one where they did.


This year has been a difficult one for us. You have been pushing for more independence while I've been trying to keep you from moving too fast. I think we're starting to find a balance that we're both comfortable with except when it comes to make-up. I say there is no way I'm letting you out of the house wearing it and you try to do it anyway.
This is also the year you finally got a little sister. You've spent much of this year dreaming of pink dresses and braiding hair. I can't tell you what it does to my heart to watch you with her, to watch both of your faces when you smile at each other, all the wonder of it, that bond that you have instantly. It's different then what you have with your brother. While I know you love him just as much, there is something in a sisterly bond that is just special.
You are doing much better in school this year than you have in the past and that gives me hope. I've said before and I've meant it that I want your hands to always be full .

We are coming close to a time when you and I will find it nearly impossible to understand each other. We will be speaking a different language, you of 'teenager' and me? I'll be speaking that dreaded 'mom'- speak. But I promise that despite this, I will never let you get lost in my shuffle as my mother did with me. I will never stop loving you. I will try to remember what it's like to be a tween-age girl.
Your dad has promised to remember what it's like to be a boy at your age and as you get older.
I'm afraid you'll never be allowed out of your room but I promise to push saltines under the crack of the door and maybe a hose for water.
I know you think that we are too often unfair because we don't let you on the phone past 7 pm and we don't let you watch r-rated movies but I'm ok with that because it's our job and as much as I hate saying it because it sounds so much like my father's voice coming out of my mouth (and if you ever tell him I said this I will torch your Hannah Montana CD's) but... when you have kids of your own, you'll understand.
After Josie was born, when I was still in the hospital and enjoying my vicodin, you asked me if I thought you'd make a good mom someday. I tried to picture you in that moment, staring at your nine year old daughter, holding your newborn, and I knew that you would.
But please, don't rush it. Time passes oh, so very quickly. And before you know it? Your ten year old will be asking you that same question and rolling her eyes when you get teary.
Happy 10th Birthday Bre......

Love, mom.

Little Boys

You'd think that someone who does nothing but talk all day long would know the words 'be quiet'. He hears them often enough after all.
But I guess maybe not because as my sister and I were talking through an episode of 'Word World' he turned to me with that little frown on his face and asked me to please 'Stop your mouth mommy!'

Yeah. OK. Look who's talking buddy.
*********

It seems to be a thing about boys- or at least the little boys that I have known. And I should perhaps admit now that the only little boys I have ever really known are my brothers, my nephew and my son. Still, when I tell this thing about David, I notice that other moms nod their heads in agreement.
Gas. That great bodily function that is so fascinating to my little boy.
When the baby does it, David lays claim to it. When he hears someone else do it, he happily announces it to them....
"Ha! Ha! You farted! Good job!"
He thinks it's some great magic trick to make your "butt make music" (as he puts it).
************
Since his cousins have been here, I've actually gotten him to eat. He's been eating 3 meals a day for the first time in a very long time and not even fighting about it. I'm going to be very sad when his cousins leave and he returns to poking his chicken nuggets a few times before saying "This chicken is too brown for me. I can't eat it."
I've noticed that anytime there is something he doesn't want to do, eat or wear it's either too small, too big, too brown, or too whatever for him. He wasn't too thrilled with me when I told him his blocks were too wooden for me to give to him unless he cleaned up his other toys. I guess it only works one way.

How It Is............

Fall has always been a busy season for us, not that I'm making excuses or anything......., I think this one has been the worst. Or the best, I suppose, depending on how you want to look at it. For someone like me who has spent so much effort to not be near people for so long... I'm not sure really how I should view it. I am enjoying being busy. I think I have a pretty good handle on the tasks I am responsible for (though I will admit my anxiety at having to do the taxes when I don't even do my own) and I think I'm even enjoying most of it. It's just meant that this blog, writing about my stresses and the stupid things I do, has had to take a backseat.
Bre is in that dangerous 'tween age range. I go from loving talking to this new version of my child to wanting to boot her mouthy little butt to military school. I know we'll get through this stage eventually but in the meantime I'm finding myself frequently counting to 100.
David will be 3 in just a few more weeks. I've so enjoyed his twos- never understood that 'terrible twos' nonsense. I think it's just to distract people who are thinking of kids from thinking about the f'ing threes. I'm already catching glimpses of it- the random screaming, the "I can't" whining, the motherload of tantrums.... Still, I can't really complain. He's a good kid, mostly minds me and loves Josie. He talks non stop from the moment he wakes to the moment he falls asleep. Lately, he's been talking in his sleep too.
"Mom look! A pinecone! See the pinecone? I like pinecones! Shhh! There's a bird in there, he's sleeping, can you see the bird mommy? I can see the bird he's blue and he goes like this (makes snoring noises) and we should be quiet so he doesn't wake up and fly away don't you think we should be quiet mommy I'm hungry can I have crackers I bet the bird likes crackers I'm going to show daddy the pinecone with the bird and maybe we can keep it and I like goldfish do you like goldfish do you want to eat some goldfish too does Josie want goldfish where's 'Branna' she likes goldfish I like playing with 'Branna' mom can I have choco milk I like choco milk wanna' see my funny dance it goes like this can you do it too can we watch word world I like word world let's build a word woo-hoo can you build a word let's build pinecone can you see the sleeping bird shhh I don't want to wake him let's play cars I like fast cars I like to crash cars can you build me a house here's my blocks build a big house I want to crash my car in it see like this wiirrrrrr boom! look it's the sun look it's a car look it's a dog who's that with the dog can we go to the park..........."
And that's my day. His stamina is amazing. Every time I think he's done, he's not.... he's just taking a breath.
The other day I caught him letting the dog lick his lollipop before sticking it back in his mouth. When I asked him about it he said the dog was "just cleaning it for me, see?" He is fantastic. I love my time with him, but he is also exhausting. There are times where I think my ears are going to start bleeding from the non-stop chatter. But then I worry on those rare moments when he's quiet.
And that's just the way it's supposed to be.

When all else fails........

Be lazy and post baby pictures. Maybe no one will notice how much you suck.


Isn't this sweet? This is what it's like. She's totally a mama's girl.

Because when Daddy gets to hold her this is what happens.
He's trying not to take it personally but I feel for him. She can be happily 'talking' and smiling at me and all he has to do is say 'hi' to her and she starts to pout. If he smiles at her, she cries.
They have their good moments too, but I think it's taking her longer to be OK with her dad than it has for the other two. It's like those sitcoms where the dad picks up the baby and baby screams. Dad holds baby away from him and baby is fine and so on.
This is her 'I just farted' face. I can't always tell the difference between her cries, but the faces? Those I know.


This is her 'I'm going to scream if you don't pick me up you bitch' face.







She was sound asleep and then I set her down. She opened her eyes and they snapped the picture. She promptly snorted and flipped off the photographer. Obviously unintentional but funny anyway.
All that aside, she really is a sweet and happy baby.

Happy 2 months Josie!

The Things Babysitting Never Prepared Me For

Have you ever seen those talk shows where the really stupid girls are talking about how they want a baby even though they aren't old enough to drive because it's just like babysitting???
Have a good laugh with me on that one.
Then I thought about all the things that I learned in my rather brief foray into the wild world of babysitting and all the things that it could never have prepared me for.
Like the time that those two little darlings locked themselves in the bathroom and the 6 year old shaved off her 3 year old sister's beautiful blond curls. I learned that no matter how sweet they look, they are evil and never believe them when they say that their mommy loves a bald headed child.
So, my current top 10 list:

1) What to do when your child uses your very expensive facial cleanser wipes in place of the baby wipes.... Or worse. When they use the lysol wipes instead.

2) What to do when your husband teaches your daughter how to burp and now she can't seem to help showing off this talent to everyone.

3) What to do when your child announces to the airport bathroom that your behind is HUGE.

4) What to do when your child tells your grandparents to pass the fucking potatoes (at the age of 3) please.

5) What to do when you're in labor and the child who begged to be there is telling you it's 'too gross for words!'

6) What to do when one child takes advantage of the fact that you are nursing another and decides that it is the perfect moment to stick your shoes in the toilet to see if they'll float.

7) What to do when said child then flushes the toilet- with your shoes in it- to 'clean it up, see?'

8) What to do when your child asks to borrow your favorite shirt because she wants to be a hobo for Halloween.

9) What to do when your children decide to play hide and seek, but forget to tell you that you're supposed to find them until you and your husband are in a panic and decide that maybe it's time to call the police.

10) What to do when your child cleans the toilet with your perfume.

I don't know what it is about the toilet, but that is my kids' go-to place for all things naughty.

Blather

Hey look! I remember this. This is that spot I used to regularly come to write down my every little obnoxious thought and deed. I think I even maybe enjoyed it from time to time. Of course, that was before I had a demanding chubby-cheeked infant attached to me expecting to be fed all. the. damn. time.
There is a reason that at 6 weeks she weighs 10 lbs and I think that despite what she may be telling the other babies it isn't that I don't feed her.
She's actually a pretty easy going baby. It's just that if she's awake she's hungry.
Lately she's been taking the occasional break to smile at me and coo a little. And spit up. Or fart.
Remember how much of a freak I was about strangers touching my pregnant belly? To my credit, I only tried to bite one person and touched 2 of them back. The rest just got snapped at.
See, I thought that was the worst thing that would happen. I thought that once I gave birth, the inappropriate touching would end. But then I'm an idiot and of course it didn't.
No, I sort of miss the belly touching phase because at least then there was a barrier between some stranger's germ-ridden hand and my baby.
In an effort to not have a coronary in public, I generally let it slide as long as they don't touch her face or hands. But I draw the line at the woman who tried to stick her finger in Josie's mouth. All I could keep picturing was that woman scratching her ass and now here she was trying to shove that ass-digger in my little baby's mouth!
Freak.
So. Lesson learned: As bad as it is to touch a pregnant woman's belly, sticking your ass-digging-finger anywhere near baby's mouth may result in the mom loudly telling you to keep said ass-finger to yourself and then having anyone within earshot give you bug-eyes.
********

Once upon a time I had a rather nice figure. I wasn't scary skinny. I had curves but was well within my healthy weight range. Even after my first baby, returning to said lovely shape was truly effortless. Such is the benefit of being terribly young and stupid.
Now....
It was only a few weeks ago that I was proudly displaying that baby bump. Even sharing that picture here. I loved that round full belly. I couldn't see my shoes, my back ached and I knocked things over. But I loved it. There is something about it that is simply beautiful.
Since she's been born? I won't even look at myself in the mirror unless I am fully clothed. And there is something really wrong with that. It doesn't help that none of my clothes fit anymore. It doesn't help that I know exactly how much I weigh and exactly how much more that is than when I had my first.
I try not to contemplate it too much as that is simply depressing. As is the realization that I can no longer buy a bra in a store because they don't stock them that big. No, I get to order mine on-line and hope that they'll maybe somehow shrink overnight. Like, maybe if I close my eyes, they'll return to a size more suitable for a human being. One who has not had a boob job. Yet.

Adjusting

Josie is a month old today though it seems that she has always been here. But I think that's the way it is with kids. At least for me, once they are here it seems as though they have always been. As though who I was before, that life is so far from where we are as to not matter. And it doesn't. I'm sure I'm not explaining myself well.
This month has been hectic. Josie's birth, my parents visit, my grandfather died (it's ok, really. We'd been expecting it and he was ready. He missed my grandmother so very much), school started, Bre's cheerleading started (and someone please slap me because I somehow agreed to co-coach and I can't even blame it on Newborn Stupor since I agreed before she was even born) and my job as PTA treasurer has started to kick in.
In the midst of all this, our house has never been so peaceful. It seems that we have all found a softer side and even David, with his love of screaming, has taken to speaking in whispery tones around his baby sister.
This is not to say all is rosy in our world. Bre is still 9 going on 30 and is in serious need of an attitude transplant. David tried to give Josie away at the grocery store but the next day he pushed a little girl who got to close to her (in his opinion) and declared Josie to be his baby.
Josie has finally reached a point where I can put her down for an hour here and there to get things done. Her cheeks have filled out in that perfectly plump, begging to be squeezed way of an infant who loves to eat. And she certainly loves to eat. A lot.
She coos. She has for over a week now. Someone told us she wasn't supposed to do that yet but I don't think she really cares about time lines because she has been smiling at us too. She still snorts.
David is utterly fascinated by her one moment and absolutely bored with her the next.
Her toys, however, are a different matter.
We are adjusting. Always adjusting.
I am reveling in this period of quiet contentment.

A Birth Story (without the graphic details- you're welcome)

I know, I suck. But I think I get a break since new baby +toddler+ 9-going-on-30-and-therefore-knows-everything= Whack-a-doodle with little time!

So... birth story. I think mine is more of a mild warning in listening to your instincts and not the nice nurse on the phone telling you that you are probably not in labor. Because when you listen to the nice nurse, it is only the fact that you have some neighbors that don't think you're totally nuts that saves you from having your baby on your bathroom floor or by the side of the road.

I couldn't even tell you when my contractions started because they didn't feel like contractions. Or at least not what I remembered contractions to feel like. It was all below my belly button and in my lower back. I tried to explain to the nurse that they were coming at regular intervals and that my labor with my first was less than 4 hours. She said I could come in but she didn't think it was necessary until they were 5 minutes apart.

That's where I went stupid and said ok.

Then I lost my damn mind and told my husband that he could go in to work. Work which was at least 45 minutes away but would likely take more than an hour by the time I needed him.

In fact, he had just reached his shop when I called and told him to come home. Fast.

At 5:30, I called my neighbors to see if they could watch David since our original people weren't home and our backup wasn't answering her phone.

When she came over to get him, she took one look at him and said she was taking me to the hospital.

I knew I was in labor by then, though the contractions were all still very low. I could feel her kicking my ribs through the contractions. And what was once 7-15 minutes apart, was suddenly 2 minutes apart.

We had to hurry.

Joe, naturally, went to the main hospital instead of the birth center (which is in the next building). The same birth center we had David at. I'll chalk it up to his nervousness. At least this time he didn't run up and down the hallway completely confused and asking me if I was sure that my water ruptured as he did with David (I was standing in a puddle and water was still coming in spurts- did he really need to ask?).

By the time he got there it was 6:15. The nurse checked me, and despite knowing I was in labor I still expected to be sent home.

"OK, you're at 8 cm!"

I think I started to cry. I knew that meant no epidural. No pain relief. I'd waited to long. I'd ignored my instincts and now I was going to pay.

I have to admit that this time was not as bad as it was with Bre. At least this time there was a break between contractions. With Bre it was just one on top of the other and I felt like I couldn't breath.

I used the labor ball and my darling husband decided that this was the perfect time to take a picture and there is not enough money in the world for me to be willing to share that picture with you Internet. I would sooner shave my head with a dull razor.

They tried to give my an IV- 3 times- but it didn't work. Instead I got large black bruises that lasted 2 weeks.

The doctor finally came in and decided to break my water. She warned me that once she did it, my contractions would get stronger. I tried to warn her that the second she did it, this baby would be out.

And I was right. I don't think that the water was done gushing before the baby's head crowned. I remember a lot of people talking and someone telling me to listen to the doctor, but then everything got muffled and all I could do was push. Her shoulders got stuck and I think that was probably the worst of it. Bre (did I forget to tell you she was in the room? Well, she was. By choice) couldn't look anymore. She later told me it was "the grossest thing I've ever seen in my entire life!". I think we've successfully deterred her from having children for a very long time. I've always said that a great way to lower teen pregnancy rates is to let teens witness a meds-free birth.

She came out screaming and I started to shake. Uncontrollably shake. This maybe wouldn't have been too big a deal, but I needed stitches. It's very unpleasant to get stitches. More so, I think, when you're shaking.

This is when the nurse lost her mind and asked if I'd like to hold my baby.

Hold my baby?

Lady, I can't hold myself!

But it passed, and so did worst of the pain (thanks to a little friend I'll call Vicodin) and nothing else mattered.

Josie was here. And I could finally hold her.

She scowls like her dad when he's thinking. She has impossibly long fingers and toes. She snorts.

This time I managed to not mix up my motrin with the bottle of colace they give you. With David I took 6 colace before I realized that it wasn't my motrin. The recovery was different. I had been told that recovery after the 3rd baby is harder, but I didn't really think about it until I realized that I couldn't walk. It was 2 weeks (and several Vicodin later) before I could walk without pain.

But it's all worth it.

At last.....

And everything I ever thought I knew is forever changed..... again.

Miss Josephine Violet

August 10, 2007
7:20 am
7 lbs 12 oz 19 1/4"

Cha-ching!

There have been many times during my tenure as 'mom' that I have wondered if maybe my kids are more than just a little.... insane.

Yes, maybe it's not me. It's them. There is no other explanation for the things that they do and say except that they are crazy and they are taking me with them.

Like when Bre decided that our cat wanted blue oatmeal. Which she made in my kitchen towel drawer with peach oatmeal mix and blues clues applesauce. So much fun to clean that up.

Or when she thought she'd make pancakes. On my floor.

Did you know that bisquick, juice and glue is really nasty?

So far, David's adventures in the manic arena have been pretty much limited to the odd comment or face.

Or... they had been.

The other morning, after being poked in the head for the millionth time, I turned on cartoons and drifted back to sleep. He still has not learned that 6 am is not a good time to poke mommy in the back of the head. He has learned that doing so will buy him an hour of early morning cartoons and the fun of stuffing things up my nose as I snore.

When I gave up for the morning an hour later he was just laying there, smiling and clearly pleased with himself.

Normally, this would have sent the alarm bells a-ringing but my brain is not firing on all cylinders lately.

I suggested a diaper change, normal routine.

And he said 'No'.

Huh? He never says no! Well, he says no but not to the first morning diaper change.

He continued to smile at me.

"Wanna' shake my booty!"

Um... oookkkaaayyy.

Go on and shake it then little dude.

And that's when I heard it.

That strange little noise clinking around as he shook as hard as he could, grinning like a fool and watching me.

The hell? What! Is! That!!???!!!

He shook his butt a little harder and started laughing like a lunatic.

I grabbed him to change his diaper and see just what he'd been up to and he dissolved into hysterical laughter.

I don't know what exactly I was expecting to find. There have been plenty of surprises in the diaper arena during the last 2 and half years- none of them particularly pleasant.

But never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to find the pile of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies that were pooled out of there.

Dude! My son poops money!! I have the human change machine!

Ok, so really he had just dumped the contents of a change jar in there but it was nice to dream for a moment. It's much nicer to think that he could poop money then what actually comes out of there.

And as I looked over at my darling son, still grinning like a fool, he informed me that "I have butt money mama!"

And I'm the crazy one??

Bitchy-pants

Being pregnant for this long has given me a nasty and rather surprising case of Tourettes which, so much fun when you have a 2 year old who repeats everything he hears.
No one wants to be anywhere near me right now and I can't say that I blame them. I'm finding myself mouthing off to anyone who annoys me. Like the couple at the grocery store last week who felt it was their duty to comment on how awful it was that the woman who just left had 5 young children and how they hoped she ran a daycare. I suggested they run after her because I'm sure she would be happy to accept their opinions on her uterus and reproductive abilities. After all, that's every one's business. Right?
Or the clerk who couldn't believe that I didn't want to know if we were having a boy or a girl. And just wouldn't leave it the hell alone. Or the people who keep calling me to ask if I've 'popped' yet.
Popped?
What the hell? When did I become a balloon?
I hate being cranky. I hate that I can't seem to keep my mouth shut. I hate that the slightest thing can set me off lately.
I hate feeling like I'm somebody else.

*******

On a lighter note......

When we were kids, my stepmom would always ask if we heard the ducks go by every time we passed gas. Recently, when David heard his dad rip one, he asked "Who's in your butt daddy?" with just the most shocked look on his face. So I told him it was just ducks and didn't think anything more of it.

Now every time he toots, he announces to every one that he has ducks in his butt.

It's gotten us some strange looks and a few laughs.

Freak.

Today was such a beautiful day I couldn't wait to take the kids to the park. A few hours of reading and peace for me, a few hours of running and screaming for them. I settled into the nook of a big shady tree and cracked open my book, occasionally peeking over its' pages to check on the kids.

For awhile, it was all perfectly normal. They ran and chased each other and dug into the wood chips under the play equipment. They made up games and spun tales with other kids.

And then I heard the dialogue in my head and realized that as far as I've come from my hermit-like tendencies on the outside, I'm still that shy kid who fears rejection. Even if it's not me that faces exclusion.

I watched my 2 year old approach some boys who seemed to about 4 or 5. They were playing in the wood chips and David just sat right beside them and began digging with them and talking to them. At first they just stared at him and I found myself silently pleading with them to like him, to include him, please, please like him. In a few minutes they were smiling at him and going along with whatever game he had invented.

I realize that I do that a lot.
With David and Breanna. Silently pleading with the other kids to please like them, please include them, please want to be their friend! It's always silent (thankfully!), I don't want to be that mom. But I wonder if they know anyway. I wonder if they see my desperation for them to have friends, lots of friends, the thing I never had but always wanted and I wonder what it says to them.

I know that not everyone they meet will include them, will claim them as one of theirs. I hope that my desperation won't hurt them more when they are rejected.

I wonder what it's like to watch your kids play and just be kids and not worry about whether or not they'll turn out like you. And fervently hope that they'll be a far better version.

So what if it doesn't make sense?

I'm at the point now where I just can't wait to have this baby. At the same time, I don't want this pregnancy to end. My husband says I'm completely off my rocker and perhaps medication would work (in his defense I was blubbering something about being out of Reese's peanut butter cups at the time and threatening to shave his eyebrows but still....). Yes, he's still breathing. For now.
And this led me to favorite past time:

The Pro/Con List.

Things I Will Not Miss About Pregnancy

1) Strangers touching my belly (Did you not hear me the first time I said that I bite? Well, you were warned).

2) Leg cramps (and foot cramps and not being able to walk without wincing)

3) The penguin waddle (yes, I do. Shut up)

4) How every time I laugh, sneeze, cough, or breath I end up peeing a little (and seriously? If that freaks you out, boy are you ever in for a surprise about some of the things that happen to you during pregnancy and birth).

5) Having to pee every 20 minutes.

6) Having to crawl to the bathroom because it's too painful and a little risky to actually stand up and let the baby put full-on pressure on my bladder.

7) Random contractions

8) The regular daily phone calls asking whether I've had the baby yet and why not

Things I Will Miss

1) Having an excuse for my random acts of insanity

2) having an excuse for this big belly and giant ass

3) having this baby all to myself

4) the movement (provided it's not a foot in my ribs or a fist in my bladder)

5) An excuse for my natural gracelessness

And probably a myriad of other little things for both lists that I'm suddenly blanking on.

But never mind my whining! I've been doing enough of that lately.
I promise that I will have a better post up later.

Role Models

It's pretty much inescapable. At some point throughout the course of any given day, my daughter ends up hearing the names 'Lindsey Lohan', "Britney Spears', 'Paris Hilton' or any one of the other "celebrities" that I am trying really hard to steer her away from.

So can I just say that when she heard the name 'Britney Spears' her first reaction was to ask me, "Is she the crazy one who shaved her head?", I felt some measure of relief?

Because if at 9 years old she can recognize that there is something not quite right there, maybe there is hope that I can keep steering her away from these "role models". Even better, use them as role models of how not to be.

So now instead of cringing every time the news comes on, I've been pointing out the things that they are getting recognized for and talking to her about it.

Now she's asking (not in so many words) for girls it would be ok to look up to.
I've already mentioned Mylie Cyrus (she loves Hannah Montana) and a few others who seem to have their heads on straight with the understanding that while they do have qualities to be admired, she still must follow her own path.

What I'd really like to give her is a role model outside of Hollywood. Someone she can look up to who gives back to their community in some way. We need a website for that.

Stalked By Phone

I hate my phone. In fact, I'm not answering it anymore unless I absolutely must. So go ahead, keep on calling me every day to see if I've had the baby yet. I'm not answering so you can't drive me crazy anymore!

Seriously? If you called yesterday and I didn't have the baby and you called today and I'm answering the phone.... do you really need to ask? Especially since I promised to call when this baby comes out?
Right.
So now you can sit there and keep pushing redial over and over again and keep leaving messages about how you're so sure I'm off having this kid Right! This! Very! Second! and I will sit here eating God's most perfect food (otherwise known as the corn dog) and imagining you losing your dialing finger.

Let's face it. This kid is not going to come out. I am going to have to go in after it. And you calling over and over again isn't going to help anything along. It's only going to make me want to come over and punch in the nose.

Carnage

When I was little, my grandma used to treat us with animal crackers. I loved those little red circus boxes. I'd line them up and make the animals perform. Those were the Best. Cookies. Ever.
So when I handed some to the kids I was fully expecting the same reaction.

Instead I had Bre asking me where the sprinkles were and what about chocolate chips? Didn't I know the true value of a good chocolate chip cookie? With sprinkles? What was I thinking?
But she ate them and agreed that they weren't the worst thing I had ever made her try.

David was quiet. He sat and stared at the animals and just.... stared.
I was sure that he would soon be off and running leaving behind a pile of animal crackers, untouched and unwanted. I went back to cleaning the kitchen and was soon thrilled with the little growls of a toddler and his imagination.
In a few minutes he ran off to play with his big sister and I went to see what became of the animals.
It was then that I came to fully understand that yes, I had a boy. Not a toddler, certainly not a baby. A boy.

Poor headless animal crackers.

General Whining

It started as every morning starts. A slight ache in my legs in feet. Normal. Something I had experienced in each of my previous pregnancies.
Then IT happened.
Spasms in both legs and into my feet that left me in tears and scared David (so he's not used to watching his mom roll on the floor hanging onto her legs, crying 'owowowowow' over and over again. What can I say?).
Several hours later and my legs and feet still hurt. All the nurse can tell me is to drink more water (I'm going to float away), take some Tylenol (riiiiiggghhhttt. Can't I just have my epidural now?) and rest (um. that's what I was doing before my legs exploded.)

I'm afraid to go to sleep now. I know what's going to happen. I know it's going to end up with me on the floor in tears.

Lazy

I'm at the point now where time is dragging and I'm starting to believe that all my worry of ending up in premature labor has turned to absolute conviction that I am going to have to reach up there and yank this kid out myself. I'm still contracting but I've managed to convince myself that it doesn't mean anything. Because I'm still here, still pregnant by some good fortune.

I am running out of things that I can do with the kids and it's wearing on all of us.

Out of desperation, I took them to Build-A-Bear to make a present for their sibling. (see above photos as I am too lazy to move them around right now).

We go to the library every week. We skipped the playground this week because I was afraid I would melt into the wood chips and instead spent as much time as possible in front of the air conditioning. They've played in the sandbox and on our swing set and we've done crafts and baked endless cookies and gone here, there and everywhere that is free.

And I am humbled by the fact that there is still about 8 weeks left before school starts.

********

I've been neglectful (surprise!) of my e-mail lately so this is late but I wanted to thank Dee for the giraffe shirt ideas! I love a lot of them and am trying to convince David that he only needs one, not 6.

Since you are all so good at finding things.....

David is fascinated by outer space. Planets, stars, moons, the sun. He knows what meteorites are and knows which planet is Earth. I blame Joe and the habit of watching that one Universe program on the History channel.

The problem is, he wants a book. And I haven't been able to find one with ample pictures and simple explanations. Something suitable for a not-quite-pre-schooler.

Any takers?

*********

Taking a Risk

The 10th (today for most of you) marks my 2 year blogging anniversary and I can honestly say that I don't know what the hell I've had to talk about for two years. I can't even believe that I'm still posting because I have a habit of saying 'Oh yeah, that sounds like fun!' and then promptly forgetting about it. Kind of like that time I thought I'd change this blog up and then I just.... forgot.
In that two years I've posted lots of pictures. Mostly of the kids, a few of Joe and the dogs, but never of myself. I haven't had a picture of myself that I liked in some time now.
But these.... well.... they're not so bad if you don't mind the double chin or the freaky little mole in my belly button.

My Least Favorite Holiday

So we had this great idea that we'd watch the fireworks with the kids because, yes! Our kids, they love things that go Kaboom! and are not at all scared in anyway by loud noises and fire! Yee-haw!
We're out of our fucking minds.

Let's just start with the fact that where we live, it's just expected that all you have to do to see fireworks for the 4th (2nd, 3rd, 5th and 6th too) is step out your front door because everyone and their brother went to Boom City and spent a paycheck to have the best display and see who could blow up their arm first. What? Your neighbors don't spend every fourth of July trying to blow up more body parts then the guy next to him?
Well.
Aren't you special.

Ours do.
Often at 2 am.
Right outside my fucking window (I'm sorry I'm so cranky. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the little bit of sleep I'm able to get each night is now being interrupted by the assholes behind us and their need to set our house on fire. Or you know, maybe a little about that).

So, fourth of July. Joe had bought a little box of not so noisy but oooh pretty colors! fireworks and we sat outside to watch him light them up and catch a glimpse at the neighbors spoils.
At first it was fine.
Bre hid behind the van and yelled out that she could see them much better from inside the house thank you very much until we finally convinced her that should any spark even glance in her general direction, Joe would throw himself on it to save her. She then sat in a chair in the driveway and cowered a bit. Yes. Just like last year only with fewer tears.
David was.... unsure at first. He sat in my lap and seemed ok. Even vaguely interested in the pretty pretty colors.
Then our neighbors set off one that was Really. Really. Loud.

"AHHHHHHH!!!!!"

After I pried his fingers from my eyes and calmed him down, he settled back into my lap and pressed his head as far into my chest as he could.

"Cober my ears! Cober my ears!"

And this is why I have no pictures of our fourth of July celebration as I spent the rest of the brief time he was willing to tolerate this with my hands over his ears and trying to interest him in the pretty pretty colors.

He simply looked at me and I'm fairly certain that if his vocabulary allowed he would've informed me that this whole fireworks business fucking sucked and I was nucking futs if I thought for one instant that he was going to actually enjoy this shit. And shove it for good measure.

After 3 roman candles, David was crawling up my head and ripping out my hair begging to be taken back in the house.

So I did.

Joe convinced Bre to stay outside with him if only because it meant that she got to stay up later. Later he told me that she actually held a sparkler for a whole 5 seconds and didn't scream.
And that is progress people.
David came in and went to sleep. I think it may have just been to much. Our dogs were happily sedated (Auggie couldn't even get off the floor) and I was..... jealous. I would love to be sedated right now. Perhaps then I wouldn't mind that our neighbors behind us and the ones across the street are attempting to blow each other up and my house stands in the middle of this fun little battle.

Happy Fucking 4th.

When In Doubt, Ask The Internets!

I've been working on some new wall art for baby Gollum's room. I decided to go with my favorite classic children's books. The problem is, some of them aren't really what I want and I'm running out of ideas. I think I need one or two more pictures and then I'm set.

So far I have:

Yeah. I don't know how to move those pictures down to here. It's one of the things that pisses me off about blogger. But, you get the idea.