Waiting

Four days ago, I thought it was an impossibility that I would still be pregnant today. I was having contractions all day, I could barely walk from the house to the garage, I was achy and uncomfortable, and I couldn't fall asleep for the life of me. I figured there was no way I could go through another day like that... and then I woke up the next morning feeling great! Sunday we went on a 1.5 mile walk around the neighborhood, after spending all afternoon at the Flint Hills Festival in St. Paul. Today we took the boys to Grand Avenue and I kept up with them just fine! What's going on here?

We thought it would be fun to have the baby on Uncle Liam's birthday, and it was suggested that I jump on the bed to help things along a bit... yes, I'm feeling good, but not that good. Many people thought I would have the baby yesterday, but since I didn't, it's all up in the air now. Might I actually make it to my due date?? It had never crossed my mind as a possibility until now. When strangers ask me when I'm due, I've been saying "any day now!" because to me, 38 weeks is as full-term as I ever expect to be. June 19th? Not in a million years.

I should be thankful that I'm feeling so good, but every day that goes by without increased discomfort makes me more and more anxious to meet our little girl! Auntie Megan has had a few heart-to-hearts with our baby girl, reminding her that she's welcome to join us any time. Sometimes I poke her just to see if I can annoy her enough to want to come out.

I'm writing this in the hopes that by the time it gets read it will already be obsolete. Next time I write I'd like to be able to include a new baby picture! Who's with me?

Instead, you just get another preggo picture. Not nearly as exciting.

Morning Coffee

Oh what an improvement this was from Saturday morning! Instead of our eldest barging in at 6:00am, we didn't hear a peep from the kids until 8:30. And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing. But almost as beautiful were the first words out of Max's mouth this morning. After climbing into bed with me and snuggling for a few minutes, he told me, "I'm going to make you your morning cup of coffee, Mom."

"Oh, ok sweetie," I said. "Come on up and get me when it's done!" So he jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Paul and I laughed to ourselves and wondered what we had in store for us. A few minutes passed as we listened to the padding of little feet downstairs. Then we heard Max pound up the stairs, and seconds later he burst in saying, "Your morning cup of coffee is ready, Mommy, just like I promised!" I climbed out of bed and followed him downstairs, not quite sure what to expect. He brought me to the table and I saw a green plastic cup filled with "coffee" (water) waiting for me at the head of the table. "Here's your coffee!" he exclaimed proudly.

I looked around to figure out where the water had come from and discovered that he had pulled one of the dining room chairs into the kitchen and up to the stove. Our teapot had apparently been full of days-old water that he had used to fill my "coffee cup", only spilling a small amount onto the stovetop. There was even a pile of paper towels that had been used to try to clean up the spill. (Who is this kid and what did he do with Max?) I enjoyed my coffee under Max's watchful eye, sneaking away to pour it out a little at a time into the sink, until my cup was empty and he was satisfied.

I don't know what got into him, but I felt like it was Mother's Day all over again! The kid has a heart of gold.

Dear Mom

I spy a wonderful Grandma!

I have finally learned that Mother's Day is not just about breakfast in bed, flowers, and nice cards, although those things are all wonderful. It's not just an excuse for moms to take a day off, although that's nice too. I realized that it is a day to think back on all of the amazing things my mother has done for me over the years and to thank her. This year, I want my mom to know what exactly it is I am thanking her for. So here are just a few of the many, many things that come to mind.

Mom,

Thank you for getting up at night with me when I was a baby. For holding me while I cried. For many nights with too few hours of sleep.

Thank you for giving me a childhood of which I have nearly all good memories. I know there were imperfect moments, but the joy of my childhood outweighs them so heavily that I honestly don't remember them.

Thank you for allowing me, but never pressuring me, to try new things. For supporting me in the activities that I loved. For being there in the audience night after night after night, even when I had only a small chorus role.

Thank you for letting me make wrong decisions, and for being a shoulder to cry on when I realized my mistakes. For celebrating with me in the many joys of life: graduations, marriage, children!

Thank you for being there for me as I raise my own kids.  I often wonder how other moms survive without having Grandma just a short drive away... I can't even picture it! The boys are so blessed to have you in their lives, as am I.

Happy Mother's Day!

Thumbs up for Grandma!

Snapshots

My boys are polar opposites when it comes to getting their photos taken. If Lucian even notices the camera is in the room, he starts posing like a GapKids model. If I dare to try putting the camera away, he points and yells, "YEEEZZ! YEEEZ!" (cheese!) until I snap one last picture. He loves it! He'd stand there all day.

"Cheese!"

"Cheese!"

"Cheese!" 

"Cheese!"

But Max? Oh Max... it's as if there is something repelling him from looking at the camera lens and smiling simultaneously! The only time I have ever caught a genuine smile on film was when I took him completely off-guard. But as soon as he notices Mom trying to snap a picture, he puts on a series of ridiculous expressions... really anything but a real smile! Over the course of about a minute, I snapped this series of pictures in an unsuccessful attempt to capture a smile.

"Yesssss, masterrrrr..."

"What did I do?"

"Uhhh..."

"To be or not to be..."

"Seriously, Mom? Still at it?"

"Fine. Just to make you stop, here's a decent one."

I must say, he's got quite the repertoire of expressions already. With Louie, I will never want for happy, smiley photos to chronicle his childhood. But Max definitely adds a new dimension to every picture that he is in! He's a testament to the fact that mothering is imperfect and messy... and we really can't make our children do anything. I am reminded of that each time I reach for my camera.

Walking the Plank

What are you lookin' at?

Hang on to your hats, we now have bunk beds.

With baby #3 on the way, we knew we would need more sleeping space, so we used the Easter full house as an opportunity to set up bunk beds in the boys' room. By the time Baby Girl is old enough to need Louie's crib, Max will be more than ready for a top bunk, but the novelty of the new furniture addition has already caused me some major headaches!

Take last week, for instance. I was folding laundry in the guest room upstairs while the boys were playing loudly in their bedroom. In general, loud equals safe in our household; if I can hear them, I know they're not getting into trouble. Apparently, this is no longer the case when the top bunk is in play! I found out later that the bunk beds had been transformed into a pirate ship- the top bunk was the deck and the bottom bunk was the hold.

On a whim, I peeked into the room to see what they were doing and, to my horror, witnessed Max standing inches from the edge of the top bunk, Lucian directly behind him. Max yelled, "I'm walking the plank!" as Lucian gave him a nice piratey shove on the back. As I promptly died of a heart attack, Max managed to fall backward onto the safety of the mattress.

Several strong words and new rules later, both kids were safely on the floor. We've now gone about a week without incident (I think I may have put some healthy fear into their hearts) but I know it's only a matter of time until the first major injury. I would appreciate any advice from bunk-bed-owning families about how to keep your children alive once this treacherous item of furniture has entered the picture! Is there anything I can do, or am I staring at the inevitability of a broken arm?

I think I'm going to put the ER on speed dial...

**As my husband reminded me in the comments, I did unintentionally leave out the crowning jewel of this story. How could I have forgotten to mention Max's response to being taken down from his ship? Those words... I must have put them out of my head. I didn't think I'd hear them for at least another eight years! When he realized his cavorting on the deck was finished, at least for the day, he turned to me and whined (in his very best teenager voice) "Ahh! You ruined my pirate life!!" **

The Inquisition

Why?

Why? Why? Why? Why?

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy?

Are you tired of this yet?

I try really hard not to get frustrated at Max's overzealous curiosity. I answer his questions to the best of my ability... usually. But sometimes it gets downright ridiculous! I know all kids have a "why?" stage, but is it too much to ask that he only ask questions that have answers?

I'll give you an example. Usually these conversations start out innocent enough. "Why did you give Lucian a smaller plate than me?" "Because he doesn't eat as much as you do."

And does Max then respond with, "Oh!" and go back to whatever he was doing? Ha, ha, hahahaha. Let's continue. "Why doesn't he eat as much as I do?" "Because he is smaller than you." "Why is he smaller than me?" "Because he was born two years after you." "Why was he born two years after me?" "Because... uh... that's when he came out of Mommy's tummy?" "Why is that when he came out of Mommy's tummy?" (Oh dear... uhh...) "Because that's when God wanted him to be born." "Why is that when God wanted him to be born?"

And this is about where I give up. Either I throw up my hands in frustration and snap, "Because He did." or I throw the question back at him: "Why do you think that's when God wanted him to be born?"   If I ask him a question back, he usually comes up with an answer. In this case, maybe it's "Because it was a good time to be born." or something of the sort. I'll usually smile and say, "Yeah!" or "That could be!" or "Oh!"

And then, THEN my friends, is the question that drives me up a wall.

"Why did you say 'Oh!'?"

This happens at least a few times every day. What kind of answer can I give to this question? Why did I say 'Oh'? Why does anyone say 'Oh'? To end the conversation, that's why! But if I give any kind of response to this question, it results in a completely new line of questioning, ala "Why did you want to end the conversation?" And we're back to Square One.

I feel like I'm walking a fine line here. I don't ever want him to stop asking questions. I love his inquisitive nature, and I love that he wants to know the answers to everything. I only wish that two or three rounds of questions would satisfy his curiosity... rather than six or eight or ten.

Lately he's been really curious about the human body: skeletal system, organs, the like. I love answering these questions, if I can. But even these quickly devolve into meaningless back-and-forth before he's satisfied:

"Why do we have a skull?"
     "To protect our brain."
"Why does it protect our brain?"
     "The skull is made of hard bone and it goes all around our soft brain to keep it from getting hurt."
"Why is it made of hard bone?"
     "Because if it was soft it wouldn't keep our brains safe"
"Why wouldn't it keep our brains safe?"
     "Why do you think it wouldn't keep our brains safe?"
"Because it would be soft!"
     "Oh!"
"Why did you say 'Oh!'?"
     ".........."

The one thing I really enjoy is watching Max go after other people with his endless line of questioning. As they fumble for answers to some of his most ridiculous questions, I just get to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. Watch out, you might be next!

At Home

It's official. I have become a homebody. Within the last six months I have finally made the transition from needing desperately to leave the house at least once a day to being content to stick around the home front for several days in a row. Don't get me wrong, I love getting out! (Especially without my two adorable cling-ons.) I still really enjoy our trips to the library and play dates with friends, but I no longer feel like I need these outings in order to function properly. Our home life has fallen into such a rhythm that I actually look forward to days that we have nowhere to go.

I'll take you through a quick tour of my change of heart. When Max was born, I don't think I left the house without Paul for a full two weeks. I think I was afraid that if I took him anywhere, I would suddenly drive off a cliff or spontaneously combust or something. But I ached to get out and get around! As soon as I got over my initial fear, I took him everywhere. Then when Lucian came and I began to stay home full-time, I tried to find excuses to leave the house every day: grocery shopping, visits to the library, even just driving around the neighborhood... I had to get out or I would go crazy! It stayed like this for quite some time, and although I managed to suffer through the days that we were home-bound, I didn't enjoy them. I counted down the minutes until Paul came home, thinking that if I didn't talk to an adult soon, I might lose all cognitive function! Ok, so I still follow him around like a puppy when he gets home- things are just better when he's around- but I no longer mentally wait at the door for him.

If I had to put it into words, I think the change began with Max's increased interest in learning and doing organized activities. When he just wanted to play pirates or Duplos with me all day, I wanted to pull my hair out. I used to feel really guilty about this. I mean, am I not supposed to love playing with my children? In moderation, I don't mind building Duplo robots or sailing the seven seas looking for treasure, but it was wearing on me. Then I suddenly realized that Max was old enough to do crafts and activities, bake with me, learn some early literacy skills... and the days began to fly by!

Now we do a "project" of some sort almost every morning. We love baking cookies and muffins, Max is memorizing the names of all of the bones in his body, we do simple "science experiments" around the house, and we are taking time to enter into the liturgical seasons. Instead of waiting for the day to end, there are many days that I feel like we can't fit everything in! Yes, we still have those days that can't end fast enough, but I can honestly say that I love being at home with my boys.

Part of me worries that when our baby girl comes, everything will be turned on its head and I'll be clawing at the doors again. But I think that maybe... maybe it's not just Max that has changed. Maybe my heart is really, truly, finally in my home. And when our baby is born, maybe this time the transition will be easier because I've discovered that everything I need to be happy (and sane) is right here. At home.

Buddies

I've been waiting for this since Lucian was born- they boys are becoming real, true friends. I know Louie's only two and he can't do half of the things Max wants to do, but he imitates him and follows him around like he is the coolest thing ever to live on the face of the earth. If Max starts singing a song, Lucian is there dancing along and throwing out a word here or there. If Max is sitting at the table coloring, Lucian needs a crayon in hand and a piece of paper. Just a few days ago, I was upstairs getting the boys their clothes for the day. When I turned around the corner to walk down the stairs, my heart melted! There they were, flipping through books together at the foot of the steps. 

Yes, they still have their fair share of spats, and I know they always will. Lucian will knock down Max's towers, Max will take toys from his little brother, and as they grow older the arguments will probably get more intense. But I am starting to get glimpses of the lasting friendship that is forming before my eyes! There really is no other relationship like that of a sibling, and I am so glad that they have each other!

Out of the Woods

Deeeeep breath...

The sneezing has finally settled to a dull roar, and I'm no longer frantically diving for a tissue every five minutes. Beginning on Lucian's birthday, the boys have been dealing with the worst cold I have ever seen! We've barely left the house in days, as the cold transitioned from low fever to sneezing to hacking. The cough is still working its way out, but the fevers are gone, the noses are (mostly) clear, and my boys have bright eyes again!

Being basically homebound and dealing with the uber-crabbiness that comes along with illness has made this the longest week that I can remember. Praise God it's Friday! We actually did get out of the house to the library today, but of course Max had a coughing fit right in some kid's face after we'd been there for 15 minutes. I, of course, was mortified, but thankfully the mom just said, "Oh, that's no fun. We just got over that cold in our house... at least I hope it's the same one!" It could have been worse.

So here's to a healthy weekend, one in which I can regenerate my stores of patience that were utterly depleted this week.

Hair Follies

Guess who's approaching Year Two, and all that comes with it?

A few mornings ago, I was in the computer room when I heard a whirring sound come from the bathroom down the hall... a sound I instantly recognized as Paul's electric razor. I jumped up and ran into the room to see a grinning Lucian attempting to shave his head! He only managed to chop a few strands, and as he had basically nothing to start with, I don't think the patch is noticeable. That child! I don't know where he comes up with this stuff.

Only an hour later, I set the boys up at the table with a snack: apples and peanut butter. I then went upstairs to put away a load of laundry. Five minutes later, I returned downstairs to see my little boy slathered in peanut butter, attempting to wipe off his hands using his hair. Really? What's wrong with your shirt, my son? Don't normal kids wipe their hands on their shirts?

So, like the good mom that I am, I whisked him upstairs and steered him into the guest room for a photo op before plopping him into the bathtub. Hey, I know my priorities. When I told him to look at the camera, he slowly turned his head and smirked up at me with an impish grin. (Doesn't it look like he knows too much?)

Oh child, it's a wonder my hair isn't gray... yet.

Waterworks

Oh pregnancy hormones, how I love (loathe?) thee...

I am usually a pretty even-keel person. Well, within reason... I have my moments. But during my previous two pregnancies I went off the deep end emotionally. If you knew me at the time, you may not have noticed, unless you were my husband. He got the brunt of everything. For example, I remember a string of nights when I was pregnant with Lucian that I would decide right about bedtime that my life was falling apart. Just as Paul was drifting off to sleep, I would begin to cry inconsolably. When I realized I had no good reason for crying, I would cry even harder because I didn't know why I was crying. And then when Paul didn't wake up (or pretended to stay asleep), I would cry because my husband didn't care that I was falling apart!!

Paul, I'm so sorry. You know that, right?

The best one, though, was about halfway through my pregnancy with Max. Have I told this story already? If so, oh well, it's worth a repeat.

During pregnancy, I became very, very, very clumsy. It's as if my body forgot where its limbs were, and I hit my elbows and stubbed my toes on just about anything that didn't jump out of my way. One particularly clumsy day, I was walking into the bedroom and I tripped over a cardboard box on the floor. I threw myself onto the bed in tears, unable to believe what a klutz I was! As I sobbed and sobbed, Paul sat on the bed behind me, silently rubbing my back. Thankfully I didn't find out until much later that he was trying with every once of his being to stifle hysterical laughter. Because he knew that if that laughter had slipped out, I would have clobbered him.

But back to the present. This time around, I've managed to contain my emotions pretty darn well! I've had no insane outbursts, no late nights up crying. Paul got it rough for the first two, I guess God decided to give him a break this time ... so far.

There is just one area in which I have become an emotional wreck, and that is music. If I hear any song that I like, or that has any emotional connection in my brain, I have to fight back the tears! On the radio, it works out fine. I can change the station. But in church? Ugh... not so much. The worst is when they play a song that we used during my years as a youth minister. Last week, it was "Salvation Belongs to our God". Oh man... I spent the entire song staring at the ceiling and blinking rapidly to keep from breaking down. Everyone around me probably thought I was nuts.

And now we're closing in on Christmas. Oy. Just about every song I hear gives me the sniffles! I'll just have to start pretending I have allergies, or else take a break from music altogether.

Or I could just bring this image to mind... kind of hard not to smile when I think of this little goofball:

No Rest for the Weary

Sunday evening was a rough one, so after dinner I tried to rest on the couch while the boys played with their toys on the floor. Silly me, I thought I could be in the same room with them and not have them climbing on me! Within seconds of curling up under a blanket, I was joined by two little wiggly bodies. When I'm feeling well, I love cuddling with my boys! But when I'm sick, I just need my own space.

So I retreated to the bedroom and barricaded the door with a clothes hamper. I heard Paul outside trying to explain to Max that Mommy wasn't feeling well and needed to rest in quiet. This was not acceptable to Max, who immediately started banging on the door and yelling, "But I want to pre-tect her! I want to pre-tect her!" I started giggling and tearing up simultaneously. I love my little protector.

Paul managed to distract them with some videos for a short while, but he was in the middle of a home improvement project, so he brought them downstairs and (I found out later) put up a baby gate to block the way to the upstairs.

I was finally able to drift off for what seemed like a few seconds, but I was awoken by more banging on the door. "Mommy! I want to be with you! I want to be with you!" over and over and over again... and as the fog cleared I also began to register hysterical wailing coming from downstairs. I got up, moved the hamper and let Max in to cuddle with me. I was just beginning to think I should go check on Louie when I heard Paul come to the rescue. He brought the poor guy upstairs, and when he saw that Max had already made it through the barricade, snuggled Louie in on the other side of me.

It turns out that when Paul had run outside to the garage for something, Max had managed to move the baby gate, get around it, then put it back in place to keep Lucian trapped downstairs! I guess Max needed me all to himself... so Lucian was left stuck behind the gate while his older brother got to go up and find mommy. Traumatic! 

In the end, everyone got what they wanted, at least in part. I got a little bit of a rest, and the boys eventually got their mom back. Poor kids, it's hard for them to have a sick mommy, especially when they don't understand why a kiss can't fix it! Oh, how I wish it could...

What's for dinner?

At our house, food has been a little hard to come by for the last month. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but I have not been to the grocery store in over a month. The moment that morning sickness kicked in, the last thing I felt up to doing was wandering aisles filled with rows of foods that may or may not make me lose my lunch.  I even planned a day to go grocery shopping- I brought the kids to Sara's house in the morning, but I never even made it to the store. I ended up at home in bed. And to top it off, my worst "morning" sickness tends to hit shortly after Paul gets home from work, so he goes on kid duty while I crash and burn. Dinners around here have not been pretty.

So hungry, mom...

Thank God for my mom, who came over last week after Max's tumbling class. It happened to be one of my very bad days, and we literally had no food in the house. After running across the street to pick us up some lunch, she told me to write a grocery list so we'd at least have something to eat! We didn't even have bread or milk to speak of. She then took Max with her to Cub foods and I was left with only a napping Lucian to care for. Ahhhh...

Those lifesaving groceries lasted us a week, but the list I gave her did not include much in the way of dinner items. Needless to say, I've gotten pretty creative! Did you know you can make a casserole with only canned chicken, salsa, rice and shredded cheese? It's not a showstopper, but hey, it fills tummies.

But on Tuesday, it finally hit the breaking point. I was out of bread and milk again, we had no pasta, no meat, no vegetables, we were even out of condiments like soy sauce, barbecue sauce and ranch dressing... you know, those things that it seems you can always dig out of the fridge if you really need them. So I wrote up a massive grocery list and I psyched myself up to go shopping when Paul got home from work.

But then, of course, the "yucks" started to kick in. Before I knew it, it was 5:00 and I hadn't left yet. "After dinner," I tried to convince myself. Thankfully there was a frozen pizza left from my mom's grocery run, plus a can of corn in the back of the pantry. That'll do. After we ate, I realized that I really couldn't make it through a shopping trip, but I was not about to let my family go hungry again! So... I sent Paul instead. He's so wonderful. He even used the coupons I'd clipped!

When he came home with bag after bag of groceries, it finally hit me how deprived my children had been! They stood in the kitchen in awe and examined every bag as it arrived, holding each item up to me and asking if they could eat it. Grapes, apples, carrots, cereal, bread, cheese, crackers, they were in heaven! I let them snack on virtually whatever they wanted as I put away the piles of beautiful groceries. Now our home is fully stocked, we've had great meals the last few days, and I have vowed never to let my cupboards get that bare again...

Well, at least I'll try.

Keeping House

My book club just finished reading "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. I highly recommend the book for many reasons- it's one of those books that made me fall in love with the characters, and it opened my eyes to a period in time that I knew nothing about. It was sweet without being sappy, and realistic without making me too depressed.

It did, however, make me feel like a lazy bum.

In "The Help", you will read very descriptive accounts of the household chores that southern black maids in the fifties completed each week. These included polishing the silver, waxing the floors, washing, mending, sewing, and making elaborate meals from scratch each day. I aim to cook most of my dinners in under thirty minutes; these maids started making the evening meal first thing in the morning.

So one day after reading a few chapters, I felt inspired to go a little wild. I made egg salad sandwiches for lunch! I boiled, peeled and chopped the eggs, mixed in the mayo and mustard, toasted the bread, washed some lettuce and sliced up fruit to complete the meal. I felt accomplished. This wasn't just peanut butter and jelly or reheated leftovers, it was a labor of love. (Grandma Moorse, feel free to laugh at me as you whip up your five course lunches from scratch.)

And all the while, the kids were playing nicely in the living room. (this is called foreshadowing)

I assembled the sandwiches, carried them to the table, and my jaw dropped to the floor. What had my children been doing while I slaved away in the kitchen? Systematically deconstructing the living room. All of the books within reach were strewn on the floor and piled on the newly-cushionless couch. I nearly slipped on a pile of Kix by the dining room table (What is it with my kids and Kix?), toys were everywhere. This room had been in some semblance of order before I started cooking... and now look.


My pride balloon quickly deflated as I picked my way through the minefield and ushered my children to the table. All I could think was, "How did Aibileen do it?" She did the cleaning and the cooking and the caring for children, and everything was always in order. I attempt to tackle one area and another one pops up to taunt me. It's like playing Domestic Whack-a-Mole.

I don't have a moral to this story, but please do read the book. Just beware: it may inspire you to become Superwoman Housewife and then quietly mock you when you are reminded that you are human.

I'm human. But I may try to be Superwoman again someday. Off I fly to tackle the dirty dishes!

Twins?

I will admit, my sons are unmistakably brothers... and unmistakably ours. White-blond hair, big blue eyes, super fair skin, they really do look remarkably similar for being two years apart. But my friends, they are still two years apart. This summer, I have been asked at least six different times by six different people if my sons are twins. Twins?! I'm sorry, come again?

The first one or two times, I laughed it off and put it in the "Odd People" file. But as it has started happening more and more, I feel like there's something I should be able to do to clue people in and stop this insanity! I guess I do enjoy putting them in matching colors sometimes... if the clean laundry permits. But if my brother and I both wore a red t-shirt, would you think we were twins? And, ok, no one has ever asked if they were twins when they were standing perfectly still right next to each other. (When does that ever happen?) But all other things equal, wouldn't you think that the head-and-a-half height difference would be a clue?

At the grocery store recently, two elderly women asked me The Twins Question within ten minutes of each other. Oh sigh. The first of the two was genuinely surprised to find out they were two years apart. "Well that older one must be waiting for his brother before he starts growing!" ... I didn't know what to say to that, so after a short awkward pause I responded, "Heh, heh... yeah, my little guy's... pretty big, isn't he?..." and returned to my groceries.

I'm not offended by the question, I'm just baffled. I honestly do not understand how anyone closer than a half-mile away could look at my sons and think they were twins. I expected it to start happening when they got closer in height, but this has thrown me for a loop!

Next time I get asked, maybe I'll just say, "Yeah, they are, but that second one came out as such a runt, I tell people he's two years younger."

Inventory

If we ever buy a new couch, this is my only criteria: it must reach all the way to the ground so that toys cannot roll or be pushed underneath.

Today I decided to clean out under one of the three toy-hideouts in our living room, and here is what I found:

5 Duplos
4 Matchbox cars
3 Bristle Blocks
2 Lincoln Logs
2 books
1 piece of plastic corn
1 plastic ant
1 wooden xylophone mallet
1 foam building block
1 piece of dollhouse furniture
1/2 wooden cucumber

Next up, the loveseat!

If Wishes were Horses

Maybe it's something he picked up from someone while I was gone, maybe he feels that never gets his way regardless, but for some reason Max has started wishing for everything he wants. No more does he demand, or even ask for, a bag of M&M's in the store. Now he says in a sugary sweet voice, "I wish I had some M&M's to eat..." and when this brings no response, he repeats it louder (but just as sweetly) "I WISH I had SOME M&M'S to eat...!" I usually respond by saying, "It would be pretty cool to have that, huh?" and then leave it there.

I guess I can see where it came from. If he asks me point-blank for something, odds are the answer will be "no". Not that I don't want my son to have everything he wants... but, well... I don't. I would like him to understand that even though he really really waaaants an item, having it will not make him a better person, or even necessarily a happier one. I haven't ever explained it to him in those words, but it seems to have sunk in somehow. I find it kind of sweet when he wistfully wishes for dessert after breakfast, gum at the grocery store checkout, you name it.

Well, I wish a brand new Toyota Sienna would magically appear in our garage, but as they say, "If wishes were Siennas, then beggars would ride..."

Peas Please

My eldest son and I are currently engaged in a battle of wills. As I sit here, he is downstairs at the table refusing to finish his peas. I know, I know, it doesn't get any more cliche than that. The only thing that's missing is a family dog to clandestinely eat the offending foods.

I never thought I'd be at the point of vegetable wars, but apparently the time is here! He wants chips, and in order to get chips he must finish every pea on his plate. Not a huge deal, I thought. But Max has decided that this is where he will make his stand. It's 12:30 pm, and he has been at the table since 11:30. Louie and I long ago finished our meals, chips and all, and still he won't budge. The thing I can't figure out is that he loves peas! He'll pop a handful in his mouth any day! He actually ate more than half of today's serving before deciding that he was "full" of peas (but still hungry for chips, surprise, surprise). Can anyone explain this to me?? It's not like I was trying to feed him mashed turnips with brussel sprouts or something (he'd probably even like that...)

I think he has decided that it's fun to test my limits. Let's just hope that I have the patience to persevere. I'll let you know if it lasts until dinner... or breakfast tomorrow!

Best Laid Plans

Well, bummer.

We had an exciting weekend in Wisconsin planned with my brother and his girlfriend, touring some great microbreweries. This trip has been in the works for over a year! We were waiting until Louie was old enough to stay overnight at the Grandparents house, and this was finally the big moment. But alas, parenting is full of surprises. Instead of enjoying a beer at Sand Creek Brewery right now, I am sitting at the computer and listening to a poor, sick Lucian sing himself to sleep.

Around 4:30 in the morning, I went in to check on a crying baby and found a mess. I will spare you the details, but it sure wasn't fun from then til about 11:00. Thankfully, he seems to be on the mend now; it was just a quick bug, and I think all that's left is lots of rest and rehydration.

I'll be honest, I cried a little when I had to make the decision to cancel the trip. Just the four of us, an open road, no concrete plans (yikes that sounded a little like a country song) ... I have been looking forward to this for a LONG time. But there is no predicting when illness will strike, and my baby needed me this weekend. Our plan is to reschedule for some time in June, and who knows? Maybe it will be 70 and sunny instead of crummy and stormy.

I knew when I signed up for this whole parenting gig that the needs of my children would always come before my own wants. It is still a disappointment when things don't go according to plan, but I am glad to be able to care for my little boy, and I'm savoring the snuggle time this sickness affords us. The cleanup? Yeah... no redeeming factor there. But this is motherhood at its finest. Love is mopping up puke and doing laundry at 5am.

And I sure love this little boy.

Being Suzie Homemaker

I just accomplished a momentous task. Are you ready for this? (drumroll, please...)

I organized the toy corner!

It all started when Max was looking for his plastic pirate ship this morning. Apparently his pirates wanted to go on a voyage, but their vessel was nowhere to be found! He and I searched high and low, pulling toys out of bins, looking under couches, making an absolute mess. And still, no ship.

At this point, the living room was in utter chaos. Then suddenly it struck me: why don't I just go whole hog? I decided to organize the mess, and not "organize" it in the way I usually mean the term (throw everything haphazardly into a bin or box, out of sight and out of mind). No, this was Organize with a capital O!

I emptied every bin, sorting toys as I went. I saw the bottom of the toy chest for the first time since we bought it (Oh, there's the plastic monkey head Max was looking for yesterday!"). I moved all the furniture and found toy cars, plastic bugs, tennis balls, you name it. I designated a place for everything, and if there was no place, it got retired to the basement. This way, I can bring those toys out in six months or a year and they will seem brand new!

It. felt. GREAT. I have no Before picture, that would have just been too darn embarrassing. But here is the During




and After



(This is your cue to ooooohh and aaahhh)

I know it won't last long (actually, it has already started to come undone) but it is wonderful for the moment, and I am inspired to try to keep it this organized... at least for this week.

The one problem is ... I still can't find the pirate ship.