I'm confused. I thought there were no calories on Christmas Eve and Christmas.
And the math doesn't even add up.
I only ate TWO POUNDS of candy, but I gained FIVE POUNDS.
Are you as curious as I am? Somethings fishy here.
Because, seriously, I would've said no to that last stick of butter had I known that my thighs were not in on the deal.
On a side note, and less chubb filled, Cohen gave his first talk at Church today. If you were there, you probably saw the pride beaming out of mine and Bretts face. The lights could've gone out at the church, but you woulda never known it. If you weren't, Oh My Holy Heck, that boy is a stuuuuud mufffffin.
The boy read the whole thing by his cute little self. He's only five and can read words like, "Obedient" and "Commandment". I'm sorry, gush gush, but this is my first born.
He also gave Christmas a "two thumbs up. Best Christmas ever!" (Yes, we're going to take a break from movies for awhile. Stop judging me, you knew I was a lazy mother when you met my blog!)
Instead of asking my husband if he farted, I'm just going to say, "Do you smell something stinky? Like something died in the heater vent and is rotting? Maybe it rolled into one of Chloe's diapers and ate it and then died and is now oozing the contents of it's stomach...Do you smell that?"
He might come back with the whole, "He who smelt it, dealt it" bit, because he likes to rhyme, and he's not as grossly talented as I am. Or is that, talented when it comes to being gross?
I'll just come back with, "Girls are made of cinnamon and spice, and that's what our farts smell like."
And he'll come back with, "I thought you said once that girls don't fart?" (I did. It was a lie. Shhh.)
And I'll take the game by saying, "We don't, but if we did, you'd be askin' us to put it in your hot chocolate."
Merry Christmas from the woman who suggested farting in your husbands hot chocolate.
Weighing in at a whopping 15 pounds, my baby has officially overcome the colic.
We beat it.
Purple is no longer a favorite color of mine. I guess it never really was.
My little Chub Chub's is the happiest baby. She screams and squeels with delight when she sees me. She even smiles sweetly at daddy as she drifts off to slumber. She grabs her grab toy and kicks her kick toy and loves to watch TV. Already. Ha.
I just adore her.
And if I could find the thinga ma jig that hooks into the whatsyamacallit for the camera thingy dingy, I'd post some adorable pictures of my darling angel. But I don't know where that thinga ma jig is...so you get to use your imagination =)
P.S. Did I mention I was doing Computer Technical Support? Oh yeah, I'm gonna be reeeeaaaal effective.
P.P.S. Thank you for your sweet comments and prayers for my sister and her family. Love is felt and much appreciated.
Yes, we are going to Disneyland. In March. And I want to do everything. I want to get that caramel dipped apple. I want that cotton candy. I'm gonna buy an overstuffed, over priced, over cute Mini Mouse the size of my daughter. I'm going to get matching Micky Mouse ears for everyone in my family. Then I want the detox and the botox and the lipo.
I want it all, baby.
But El Cheapo, Mr. Lets-Budget-Our-Brains-Out wants to rain on my Disney Princess Parade. And I won't be having that. Ooooh no.
So it's back to the grind for me.
All for the cha-ching. It's gonna rock.
Sad News: My family has received some really sad news today. My brother-in-law has made a horrible mistake, and my nephews have lost their sweet uncle. My heart is breaking for his family, for my nephews, for my sister, and even for my brother-in-law. Please pray for them, if you know them. They need to feel our love and our Heavenly Fathers love now more than ever before.
I left Chloe in the car today. Luckily I was in and out of the store in 2.4 minutes.
Please don't call child services on me. I'm a good mother, I really am. When I get sleep.
I haven't gotten sleep in awhile.
I could really use a good pair of noise cancelling head phones. But I went online and they're more money than I have to spend on groceries for a month, so I guess it's back to drinking myself deaf.
My kids have inherited the "Noise Family" traits. We're the noisy family; at least it feels that way. We don't go to the library for this very reason. My son didn't even know what a library was until he started Kindergarten. He came home and said, "MOM! There's a room at school that has a million books in it! And it's called a library."
There goes my mom of the year award. But I'm pretty sure they'd kick us out anyway. We've adopted the scream-louder-than-the-other-people-screaming tactic. It doesn't really work, but when it's war, it's war.
My feet are freezing, but I got a pedicure today and I just can't stop staring at my toes. It's like they don't belong to me. It's like I murdered a rich, childless widow who had too much time and money on her hands and really cute red toenails, and then cut off her toes and glued them onto my feet. Wow, did I mention I need a vacation?
Maybe I'll go to the tanning salon and pretend I'm in Hawaii for 7 and a half minutes...
I think November and December are the busiest months of the year for me.
It all starts with chocolates, of course, at the beginning of November.
Then we have Thanksgiving (3 for us...and you wonder why I'm so fat!)
Then we have four hundred Christmas Parties (no hyperbole.)
When you're in charge of doin' stuff, stuff sucks.
I miss the good ol' days when I just had to show up, be given a present, and give whatever present my parents bought for me to give.
I'm really missing the Spirit of Christmas. Can you pick that up at the WalMart? Or shoot, I'll even drive out to Target.
I tried last night to live vicariously through the sweetness of a childs innocence...but I picked the wrong child. Kembry was absolutely horrible last night as we tried to talk about what Christmas is realllllly about. She ended up in bed screaming, after attempts at time-outs and other more positive reinforcement ideas that all failed.
My Christmas tree is only half-way up, there are no lights on my house, and I'm JUST NOT FEELIN' IT!
Send help immediately. I'm the one hiding in the Sterilite Christmas decorations storage box sucking my thumb and eating a box of cookies. (Not at the same time. That would be bloody.)
Plans of cleaning in my ironed apron with my new, fresh water pearls.
Chloe, the poor thing, has other plans for me.
They involve getting pooped on and thrown up on (not SPIT UP on, please note).
She's planned several impromptu visits to the bathtub.
She's encouraging me to do the brand spankin new pile of popped stained laundry.
She wants to play with the thermometer and do the "translate that Celsius temp into Fahrenheit and then panic over how the number doesn't seem to want to go down" game. That's a real game in some countries.
She wants me to double check just how well my ear plugs really work.
Two more things to add to the "I never thought I'd say" list.
1. Kids, share with your father!
Seriously. Brett was playing with one of those 'put your face in the nails and it molds your features' toys...I don't know any other way to describe it...and because he was making it look so fun, the kids wanted to play with it (naturally), but Brett wasn't finished playing with it. Did I mention this was the kids toy?
By the way, does the second 't' in Brett's name seem a little superfluous? Maybe it's just because the 't' on my computer is sticking and I'm sick of having to backspace and add a second one...
2. No, Cohen, you can't do all your homework in one night.
My. Son. Is. AWESOME. But he's also a little butthead and, on occasion, a bit annoying in his know-it-allism.
Cohen: Why can't I do it all tonight?
Mom: Because that's not the point. The point is to work on the stuff you learned in school today.
Cohen: But I already know it!
Mom: You need to do homework every night. Not just one night of the week.
Cohen: But whhhyyyyyyyyy?
Mom: (Now I knew I'd be saying this) Because I said so.
Rosemary Wixom, the Primary General President, gave an amazing talk at October's General Conference about helping our children "stay on the path". It really struck me. I listened to it on the radio while running errands that Saturday morning.
I hushed the kids several times. How ironic.
Anyway, at one point she said, "Our example is magnified in their eyes. They will follow our cadence when they feel secure in our actions."
Kembry playing mommy with her baby doll showed me just what kind of example I was being. I know I wrote it lightly, but it really struck me. I felt horrible. I felt like a failure as a mother. I felt like no amount of erasing and whiteout would be able to take away the memories Kembry had of me being that kind of mother.
But then Sister Wixom's words came back to me. "We do not need to be perfect-just honest and sincere."
I feel the Saviors love and understand a bit more the sacrifice He made for me when I remembered those comforting words. It gives me such great comfort. I repeat it over and over again. "We do not need to be perfect-just honest and sincere."
I sincerely want to be a better mother to my kids. It's not all bad, but I'm sure I can improve. And so I took some more of Sister Wixom's words and applied them to the Kembry-baby doll situation.
Sister Wixom said, "Teach them in every circumstance; let every dilemma, every consequence, every trial that they may face provide and opportunity to teach them how to hold on to gospel truths."
I did what she suggests, to "kneel down, and look into their eyes and feel their innate desire to follow the Savior."
I asked Kembry if she felt that I said those things to her. She shook her head and smiled. I didn't believe her. So I told her how much I loved her, and that she was the most important person in my world, along with her brother and sister and daddy. She hugged me around my neck. But I felt like there was more. I told her I only want her to be happy and safe, and that I was sorry if I ever told her I didn't have time for her.
I also told her that Chloe does cry a lot, and that it's hard for me and daddy to hear our baby being so sad. Sometimes we tell people that Chloe cries all the time, but that doesn't mean we don't love her.
She gave me a kiss.
I looked into her eyes. She seemed completely unabashed. But after that, she was a whole lot nicer to her baby doll.
Thank you Sister Wixom. What amazing words. They truly stuck with me, and I think they always will. I'm grateful for this small but poignant opportunity to teach Kembry, and myself. Mostly myself.
Update: Kembry turned off her baby doll. Oh man, I laughed and laughed, then asked her if I could turn HER off. She laughed and called me silly and reminded me that she's not a toy! Haha!
I'm watching Kembry playing with her talking baby.
It talks, did I mention that?
It doesn't stop talking.
Anyway, when it says, "I want to play, Mommy," Kembry says, "NO! You can't play with your friends!"
When it says, "Read me a story, Mommy," she says, "NO! I don't have time right now!"
When it says, "I'm hungry, Mommy," she says, "I just fed you!"
When it cries (I mean, wouldn't you be crying right now if you were that baby?) she says, "She always cries, that's all she does. Just go to sleep!"
Um....is this a reflection of me?
I'm feelin' pretty bad right about now.
I think I'll give her extra kisses, and cookies, and candies, and a pony. And a puppy. And she can play with her friends. And drive my car. And sit too close to the t.v. And eat cereal without milk.
(Come to think of it....I think she planned this. Yeah, yeah. See, she's a four year old evil genius...I mean, she's never even played with this baby, and she's had it for years. She's just doing it to make me feel bad, to get candy...and ponies...Yeah, that's it....)
(Oh man, now I feel bad for thinking that. I need a tag team session with Dr. Laura and Dr. Phil...throw in Dr. Oz too. Shoot, I need all the help I can get.)
I bought a Chenelle throw on/in/during Black Friday.
I was sure someone would want it.
That someone is me.
Note to self: purchase industrial strength burp clothe.
That had nothing to do with the blanket.
And neither does this.
My kids are currently hiding "treasure" and drawing maps to find it. It's amazing what they can do when I take away t.v. and the computer and the Wii and food. I'm just in one of those moods.
Speaking of moods, you know how when sometimes you just want to cry so you start searching for movies/commercials/songs/coupon ad's to make you cry, and you can't find anything, and that makes you cry? I'm so there today.
My poor husband and children.
And since I was already crying, I did five loads of laundry, cleaned out the kids closet, cleaned the kitchen and living room, and watched the garbage man get stuck in our snow covered circle.
I hate/love/feel ambivalent towards Monday's. I'm feelin' wacky. Time to lay off the back pain meds.
There are so many things to be grateful for. Numerous, innumerable, too many, so many.
-My husband has kept his job and good income through a recession where so many have lost not just their jobs, but their homes, their way of life. I still have my home. My happy husband. Clothes for my kids. Chocolate for me.
-I am a member of Heavenly Father's true Gospel. I have the truth because of a fearless and brave man, who, when he was only a boy, knelt down and prayed to know the truth. Just like I did once. I am grateful for him. For this Gospel.
-I haven't lost anyone this year. No one has fallen ill or had a serious sickness. I'm still as klutzy as ever, but that hardly counts.
-I have my children, and they have me. Chloe is here, safe, sound, fat and sleeping. Who could ask for more?
-I'm stuffed to my gills with delicious food cooked by family that loves me. That moans, "Oh, you have to go?" when we leave. They love us. I love them.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends in the World Wide Web!
It takes another person, or a few dozen, to tell me this before I actually accept it. I tell myself, like with Cohen, that she's just sleepy. Or she's just hungry. Or she's just bored. But when it comes down to it, something is wrong.
Colic is so hard. Ironically, I stay calm when I have a colicy baby. It's ironic because I'm not a calm person. I tend to get all uppity and grumpy and easily frustrated and over stimulated. So far, I've been able to keep my crazy to a minimum
But that doesn't make it any easier. I suffer because I know she's hurting. I struggle because I feel helpless in helping my own baby. Her screams shout to me in the middle of the night, just make it better. And I can't.
I see Brett suffering from the same lack of anything to do. It's probably harder for him because he's a man, and is therefore a fixer of all things broken. And not broken. Until he breaks them trying to fix them.
He even tried to make a home made remedy. "What? It's just a little clove and anise seed in a tea bag."
I draw the line here.
And today, I'm grateful that he listened. And that she's sleeping.
Oh, I'm also grateful for Auntie's who keep her calm during Sunday dinner.
And aunts and uncles who visit with us while she screams.
And cousins who make us laugh.
And little baby cousins who play with our little babies.
This will be a combined post of things I'm super grateful for, like the boy, and about how totally awesome that boy is.
Time. Now that I have so little of it, I'm remembering how much I really like it. I wish I could breed time like I breed babies. Totally fertile.
Brett has made me hot chocolate two nights in a row now. Yes!
I have felt completely and totally at peace with life. I used to have dreams that a handsome, rich, ripped movie star would kidnap me and move me to a cottage in France with him. Now when he offers, I say, "Nah, I'd rather hang out with my family." True story. And I'm not even on any drugs...besides chocolate.
I love making fondants for chocolates. I love spending one-on-one time with my mother-in-law. I love sugar.
And now for the boy. My boy. I grew him in my womb. I squeezed him out like nobody's business, and even though he wasn't breathing, he had no brain damage. Or maybe he did have brain damage, and he was initially the most intelligent being ever to be born.
A little much? I think not!
I went to my very first parent-teacher conference today. It comprised of continued praise over my sons unlimited genius sprinkled with golden nuggets of his kindness towards his fellow peers.
Erm...well...the kids a know-it-all and likes to play teacher.
And she complimented his grammar, articulation, and excellent sentence structure.
Yeah, I have the most awesomest Kindergartener in the entire world. Ever.
I've been thinking a lot about things I'm grateful for these past few days so that I'd having something to blog about. It's a lot of fun recognizing the small and simple things that make you think, "The Lord truly loves me."
I know He loves me, as if I were His only daughter. I am grateful for this.
I am grateful for the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the comfort I feel when I'm so distressed, it seems nothing in the world can help me calm down. And truly, nothing in the world can help me calm down. The Spirit is, ehem, outta this world.
I am grateful for our Primary leaders who worked so hard on that fabulous primary program. With two investigators in the audience, I know they felt that sweet, innocent spirit. I know I did. I may have gotten teary eyed. Okay, I may have dripped a few. Okay, I bawled like a two year old.
Tomorrow I will be grateful for candy. Tune in for a tummy ache.
Occasionally on my lazy days I drag Kembry and the baby off to Mcy D's for a small fry and a few minutes in the play place.
And every time I've done this, sitting off to the side, amazingly whispering, are 7 WWII Veterans.
They wear their hats proudly. Their shoulders bowed, their eyes milky and tired, they sit and quietly visit with each other. They sip their coffee, a few smile at my kids, and then go back to their conversation.
They are there every day.
And every time I see them, I think, "I wish I had the guts so sit down and talk with them."
I'm so grateful for them. I get teary eyed when I see them sitting there, their hats propped high on their heads. I want to hug them, to kiss them, to cry with them. I will never know what they did for our country. What they did for our grandparents and great grandparents. What they did for the millions and millions of innocent people who suffered oppression and murder.
I don't know what goes on behind the line. I don't know about the terror and fear of death. The loneliness of being away from my family, thousands and thousands of miles away. The responsibility of keeping my country free. The chance to help other's obtain that same freedom.
But I do know that I think of them, out there in the who-knows-where. Risking their very lives to protect me, a nameless face somewhere 'back home'. I think of them and I pray for them.
May God speed their goals, protect their lives, comfort their families and their lonely hearts. And may they know how eternally grateful we all are.
P.S. They better be gettin' their coffee for free today.
My family had somewhat of a tragedy Monday evening, so I'm a post or two behind. And this one, lucky for you, will have to be short, as my daughter just pooped all over the couch and is now being bathed by her father; unattended by me.
I am grateful for one of the things most sought after in this world, and rarely found, even in America, home of the dollar bill.
I have a safe home. A comfortable home. We have t.v.'s, a piano, comfy couches, windows, doors, indoor plumbing, a heater, an air conditioner...I mean, seriously. How did we get so blessed?
We lay on beds with pillows and big, plush, comfy blankets. We can watch the snow fall peacefully from our big front window, with hot coco warming our hands and Christmas music in the background.
I'm so grateful for this.
I'm also grateful for family. I should really dedicate an entire post to my family, because the more we mull over our "big decision" the more I realize how much they mean to me, and how hard it would be to leave them. I think I've taken advantage of their very presence so near to me for so long. I love them. And as we have tragedies, it's amazing how we all come together in my moms tiny house. How we're so happy being so close to each other. How important it is for us to eat food together, to talk face to face, to hug and comfort each other. So many things that can't be done cross country or over the phone.
How can I do a month of Gratitude without talking about these people.
My kids' grandparents spoil them more than any other grandparents in the entire world, ever in the history of mankind.
Today I'd like to focus on these two shmucks, my dad and his awesome wife, the bestest step-mom in the world, and therefore the greatest grandma in the world, Sandi.
These two are cuhraaaazy when it comes to spoiling my rodents. Every holiday (even Halloween) they get a bag with goodies and toys and fun stuff. If grandma sees a dress that would just look adorable on Kembry, she must get it. If the cousin Boston gets a skull ring, so must Cohen.
Shoot, they even have them over for sleep overs on the weekends. Nutters.
Frankly, they have an unhealthy obsession with their grandbabies.
Let me tell you, if I ever spit up on the Utes sweater, I would've been locked away in the dungeons.
They even think Chloe's banshee scream is adorable.
Of course, Chloe's pretty enamored herself.
She's looking forward to a very lucrative 18 years.
We love our Papa and Grandma Sandi, or as they were called in times of old, Sandi, Mandi, Cupcake. Cupcake, of course, being that handsome gray haired man wrapped tightly around Chloe's fat fingers. And Mandi being their Auntee, another pawn in the game of spoiling chess.
At risk of being the dudes in the bible who make their faces all gaunt to show everyone that they're cool and they fast....I'm going to post about what fasting means to me, and why I'm grateful for it.
It's been a looooong time since I've been able to physically fast, what with creating life, then giving birth to it, then bleeding to death for a week or so...
It's been awhile.
So today is the first day in a good 11 months that I'm fasting, and can I tell you, I'm pumped.
Brett and I have a strong testimony in prayer and fasting. We receive answers to our problems and questions as fast as lightning. We're very blessed. And when we fast, we feel the blessings and love of our Heavenly Father pouring out on us. It definitely makes starving worth it =)
This week Brett came home with a really big decision for our family to make. The biggest we've been faced with. I'd even say bigger than having a baby. Ok, maybe not that big. The first thing I thought, with a rush of relief, was that we could fast about it in only a few days, and have the support of the Lord in our decision.
(Not that you can't fast any time, it just means more when you have the support of your Ward and family behind you.)
I'm grateful that the Lord has provided us with this monthly opportunity. Grateful that we have a way to come even closer to Him and our Savior. Grateful that through following this commandment, we are given answers to our questions and results to our prayers.
Heavenly Father doesn't ask us to do this so that we suffer or become uncomfortable. Shoot, if missing a few meals makes you that miserable, you've got issues. But he provides a very simple way to follow a commandment and receive those blessings. Fasting brings us closer, I have no doubt of that, to our Father in Heaven. And I'm grateful for Fasting today. Grateful we don't have to make such big decisions on our own. Grateful that we can find out the will of the Lord in such a simple way.
P.S. Sorry if this post is here and there. I had kids crawling on me, a baby screaming, and a husband talking to me. Struggling to focus, but determined to spit it out while it's on my mind =)
And when I clean I get a little...shall we say...raunchy.
Mostly because while I clean the kitchen, there are two tiny tornadoes in the living room destroying it. And while I clean up that mess, they've moved on to their bedroom, which was already category 5 disgusting.
But, ever since I worked in a retirement home cleaning up after meal time, I have found happiness in whistling and singing the Hymns. I remember Rose sitting resolutely in her chair, smiling at me as I cleaned. "What?" I'd ask her. "It's just nice to hear your whistle while you work."
I miss Rose.
I sing, "When There's Love at Home" because it helps me remember that beating my children for their sloven ways will not make this a happy home. And frankly, they learned their sloven ways from their mother.
I sing, "There Is A Green Hill Far Away" because it's my husbands favorite hymn. It makes me think about him and about his love for our Savior. It helps me not want to hurt him for not cleaning up the burnt milk on the stove.
I sing, "I Am a Child of God" because my children always start to sing it with me, and it makes a smile appear where there once was an angry scowl. It also makes them weaken their resolve to be evil and destructive, and I can convince them to pick up a few things here and there.
I love the Hymns. I love the Spirit they bring over me when I'm in my worst mood. I love singing them in my horrible voice, and I love when my kids join in with me. It's my favorite part of church. They're my favorite songs to play on the piano. And they're just about the only things that keep me sane while cleaning after a week of being sick and lazy.
As a kid, my mom would put ice in you to cool you down for me.
As a girl, you were the first hot food I could make entirely by myself.
As a teenager, you fueled my after school gossip with my BF as we scarfed down three or four packages each.
As a college student, you were the only thing I could afford.
As a newly wed, we would make googley eyes at each other over a steaming bowl.
And you were the only thing we could afford.
As a mother, you're cheap, you're fast, they love you and you fill up their bellies.
When I'm a matured woman, I'll eat you for nostalgia.
As a toothless widow, I'll chomp on you with my gums.
You're delicious in your uncooked crunchiness, and even better with you're salty juice. I love you for breakfast, lunch or dinner, in winter or in summer. I could take you with chicken, veggies or in a stew, but I love you just as plain, perfect, wonderful you.
I'm not an intellectualmajigger thingy, so you'll have to take this gratitude post with a grain of kosher salt.
Today, two days after election day since you were all probably blasted with election this and election that, I am grateful for my founding fathers.
Let me elaborate.
I'm grateful for the miles and miles they would ride on horseback, in the snow and rain, in the blistering, humid heat, away from their wives and mistresses and many, many children, to all gather together and protect the rights of the people.
I'm grateful for their sacrifice. You know, many of them had jobs, like teaching or preaching or lawyering it up, and lawyers in that day weren't the Purana's they are today. They actually did some good. They had to leave those jobs. I'm pretty sure they didn't get paid time off.
I'm grateful for the women they married. The more I learn about the wives of the first five presidents, the more I realize that it was the strength of the women who stood behind them that made this country so great. They had input, you know, into what happened with politics in those days. Now-a-day they're just concerned about what dress suit to wear, whether they need a refreshing of the botox, and if their husbands mistress was gonna show up to the party.
I wish we could go back. When there was no such thing as muckraking. Where it wasn't a matter of which politician was having an affair, because they were real back then. They knew they were all having affairs*. When it was about the issues. When they would make concerted efforts to make change, and not focus 70% of their time thinking about how they were going to get reelected.
When famous debates were held for the modern people. On soap boxes. In town squares. With no shoes up hill both ways. Wait...
Anyway, I would love to go into detail about the women who owned indigo farms, who ran entire towns, who found homes for orphans and who propagated slave rights long before it was fashionable, and who meant it. Or about the women who forged ahead for womens suffrage. You know, we've only been allowed to vote for 90 short years. But, for your sake, I'll stop here.
Just know how grateful I am for those God fearing men. I know the Lord sponsored them in their endeavors. I know they had weaknesses and follies, but that's the cool thing about then. It was okay to not be perfect.
Thank you, Founding Fathers, for at least trying to get this country started out on the right foot. Sorry if we've screwed it up.
Still battling the flu's leftover fever, sore throat, sinus congestion, and ear infection. Praying it doesn't turn into my regular November pneumonia.
You'd think that today I would be grateful for modern medicine, but I'm a mom, so I'm grateful for something much more practical.
PBSKids, how I love thee.
I don't feel too guilty gluing Kembry to the t.v. for 6 or so hours if I know it's educational cartoons.
I'm grateful for the publicly funded station, and plan on donating every cent that's fallen between the couches, since it's the only money not already designated for my shock therapy treatments.
I'm grateful that someone somewhere is keeping this station running. Grateful for the writers of such clever shows as Word World and Super Why and Sid the Science Kid. Not so grateful for the songs that get stuck in my head however...
Speaking of Sid the Science Kid, I learned about inertia yesterday. This old dog can learn new tricks.
Thank you PBS for giving me a much needed time to rest. And thank you Duct Tape for providing me with ample restraining abilities to keep Kembry in her chair. Kidding, kidding!
I debated yesterday about committing myself to doing the Month of Gratitude.
I blame Monday.
And babies that wake up every hour to eat.
But this morning, I realized it's just what I need.
I need to sit down everyday and think about all the wonderful blessings I have in my life. I know there has to be at least 30...
So, starting a day late, I bring you TWO, that's right ladies and gents, TWO things I'm grateful for.
I am grateful that my son puts his dish in the sink. This may seem like a small thing, but it is the small things that life is made up of. I have to pick up unlimited amounts of candy wrappers, dishes, clothes, diapers, etc. that this small and simple act brings tears to my eyes. Whenever I hear that "clink, clink" in the sink, I smile. Oh, he also puts his shoes away.
Future wife of Cohen, you're welcome.
Our cousin Linsy took this picture. I think it's a perfect representation of Cohen, haha.
I am grateful when I wake up early.
Like this morning.
We got a leisurely 15 minutes to read our scriptures together. Brett showered, thank heavens, while I did the dishes I should've done last night, but would rather watch "Women of SNL". Then, by the time Thing One and Thing Two decided to grace us with their presence, I had breakfast already cooking.
I always wanted my kids to wake up to something smelling delicious. I always wanted them to have a hot breakfast first thing in the morning, with a mother in a dress and apron and pearls. I always wanted to live in France and have a hot steamy affair with the gardener who strongly resembled Brad Pitt but had the patented French accent and rolled his Rrrrrrr's...
But, because I woke up early this morning, I was able to fulfill at least some of that fantasy, and my kids seemed pretty happy for it.
Now for my 8:27 A.M. nap...
P.S. I was not in a dress and apron and pearls. I was in old holey sweat pants with paint stains, and an even dirtier maternity shirt that's five sizes too big for me. And snot dripping down my face. And two day old mascara. You're welcome for the image.
I feel like I've titled a post this before...oh well...it still stands.
I get super spoiled once a week when Brett works from home. I wish that day was everyday *stamps feet*.
Because then I don't have to load all the Neffites into the car to pick up boy Neffite at school.
Because then I wouldn't have to listen to Kembry's ramblings. I would just tell her to go and bug her dad (whose working. I'm such a great wife/mother.)
Because our trash-can is always the last to be taken in on Mondays, and I don't want to bring it in, so I have to wait for Brett, but if he worked from home, I could just command him to bring it in....run-on sentence much?
Because we still have Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday until Saturday, in case you didn't know, and I'm already tired, and could use a nap, and would love to pawn the kids off on him.
Because doing chores with my hubby is much more fulfilling than slaving away on my own.
This flu has turned into the nastiest sore throat this side of the larynx. I couldn't swallow pooh, if I wanted to, which I don't, but if I did, I couldn't.
Onto other news...
I had my classroom-party-initiation on Thursday in Cohen's Kindergarten class. It was sticky, to say the least.
And, when we were filling up the kids bags with copious and dangerous amounts of candy, all the other parents favored their child, while I, like the dope I am, spread them out evenly and fairly. Cohen went home with only TWO Kit-Kats. How can I live on only TWO Kit-Kats I ask you? Not well. Not well at all.
Kembry is...evil, let's move on.
Chloe is a patient baby. When she wakes up screaming for the milk-bag in the middle of the night, she stops as soon as I turn on the light, and sits quietly until I get everything prepared, including turning on the t.v. full blast to give my husband a taste of my medicine. If I'm up, so will you be.
But then the little snot latches and just sits there, looking at me, as if to say, "That's right, I'm taking my time, and there ain't nuttin' you can do about it, neither." Her Kembryesque style is coming along nicely.
So there's an update. I would blog more, but they only let me out every two hours for ten minutes to feed the baby, and then I'm back in the slammer, cooking, cleaning, wiping butts and kicking them at the same time.
P.S. Cohen has caught whatever it is that's taken up home in my throat. On Halloween. I'm the worst mom EVER. Time to dope him up and send him out to fetch me some candy.
Yesterday we went to my step-moms office so she could show off her grandbabies. She's the bestestest grandma in the entire world...after mine, of course.
Anyway, (Hey, Kim, I found myself saying "Anyhoodle" yesterday!) ANYWAY...there was a garden in the middle of the building beneath a huge window in the ceiling. It was really beautiful, all tropical, with plants I've never seen, and would love to grow in my yard. Psht, yeah right. Thanks Utah alkaline soil...
Man, I get off the point easily these days...
So I asked Brett, "Are these real? They're so beautiful, so unique!"
"Sure they're real, look," he said, gently pinching a long leaf in his hands and pointing to a brown spot.
That's how I knew they were real.
They were all so beautiful, and they were real, living there inside a building in Utah.
I told Brett, "They should put brown spots like that on fake plants, so they look more real."
That's when it hit me.
To make something look more real, give it imperfections. How wonderful!
They don't get that when my eye starts to twitch because the kids are letting the demons out for the evening, well, it's not funny.
It's not funny when my son pokes my daughter with his fork because she pinched him and then screamed in his face for no apparent reason and shattered every window in the kitchen.
It's not funny.
So when my husband looks at my twitching eye, smiles, and says, "You should blog about that," well, I sorta want to poke him with a fork and then pinch him.
Scientist. Theologists. The guy whose about to miss his deadline. My husband.
But it has to exist, because someone keeps stealing mine.
Here are a few of those thief's today:
Cat throw up. Thank you Harley.
Dishes Dishes Dishes. We're eating off the floor tonight, the food will end up there anyway.
Laundry. It breeds. Cloning is possible, because my clothes do it in the washer, and then multiply exponentially in the dryer. Maytag has come a long way.
Chloe. I love her to death, but she literally sucks the time and life-milk out of me. Every hour. This would explain why she has more chins than the Chinese phone book. BAHAHAHAHA. Oh, my favorite joke.
If you see any of these offenders today, please apprehend. Feel free to keep them. And fold them.
For the past seven weeks I have been behind on my domestic duties.
But I don't get paid, so I really shouldn't care!
Regardless, I've been behind, and it's been gnawing on my sense of well-being. It's hard to get anything done when I have to stop and nurse every hour, and during that brief twenty minutes (please hear the sarcasm) my darling Kembry manages to destroy any progress I've made. She's got a talent, that one.
And so I started getting a little resentful. Lack of sleep and sore nipples can do that to a person. I started resenting my obligations, my daughter, and even Chloe. The ironic thing is that I resented my obligations because I so much just wanted to sit and hold my baby and play with Kembry, and I resented the two of them because they were keeping me from getting my work done.
The mind of a woman is a scaaaary place, my friends.
Needless to say, this issue and guilt have been a major part of my prayers lately. Please let me be able to accomplish something today. Please let me get a chance to hold and coddle my baby. Please help me be a better mother to Cohen and Kembry.
And last night Brett answered my prayers. No, he didn't scrub the house from top to bottom while I cooed and cawed over Chloe (dang!) But he said something that made the dim light bulb hovering over my head glow like the evening star.
Essentially he said there are priorities in life. There are so many important things that you have to prioritize. And he said, "Chloe is our number one priority." (Note that he said OUR number one priority, not your number one priority. I love that man.)
He asked me, "When you're an old woman, are you going to look back and think, 'I wish I would've done more dishes!' or will you say, 'I wish I held my babies more. I wish I had played with my children more.'"
Well that's about the easiest way to prioritize I've ever heard of. This morning, with a pile of dishes waiting for me since Saturday, laundry that needs to be put away, and a piano that needs dusting, I sat and held my baby and read my scriptures. I felt zero guilt, zero anxiety, zero stress. It was the perhaps one of the most peaceful mornings I've had in a long time.
And while I know I'll have to eventually put Chloe down and stop playing with Kembry to do the dishes, my day has already been a successful one.
Now that Cohen's in school and has homework every night, it helps the evenings go by a bit quicker. Well, it would if he didn't know everything already.
"What shape is this, son?"
(Head in hand, in the most bored voice he can conjure up...) "Square."
"And this, my darling little angel?"
(Sigh...) "Circle. Mom, I already know all this!"
Okay, okay. Um..."Quick, what is the quadratic formula?"
Perks up. "X equals negative B plus minus the square root of B squared minus 4 AB all over 2A."
"Oh, sorry son, that's 'minus 4 ACover 2A. Back to the dungeons with you."
Anyway, bed time is always interesting. Comparing notes, my BF and I have learned that all little girls are the same: evil to the core. Being LDS, we say prayers at night as a family, and then individually. Even if Brett and I try to get out of it, Cohen won't let us. His OCD is progressing nicely. But Kembry, oh Kembry, little bane light of my life. She sings during prayers, she laughs, she hits, she bites, she screams...needless to say, the Spirit doesn't always abound in our home during prayers. This is a sore spot for me, so I'll move on..
Bed time is the sweetest time. I miss the kids, of course, but oh, the silence. The sweet, sweet, silence.
"Honey, I love yo-"
"Oh Brett, shut up and enjoy the silence."
Throw in 400 diaper changes, 70 feedings, a few dozen tantrums followed by time-outs, sprinkle that with spilled juice and sticky floors, and a soupcon of death threats and you've got it. A Day in the Life of Me.
An absolute must that requires planets to align and stars to fall and kitchens to be clean.
It doesn't happen a lot.
I'd like to say that I walk to pick Cohen up from school every day. I'd like to say I weigh 120 pounds. I'd like to say a lot of things. But usually I drive the one minute to pick him up. If I'm feeling particularly feisty, I walk with my BF Tanya and her cute kids with my cute kids (a lot of screaming). Today, since Brett confiscated the mini-van to go to work because I was just too exhausted to drive him, I have to get to walk.
Following the "pick up", we head up hill home. Please note, this is all up hill. In snow. With no shoes. Pulling a wagon. Okay, I have shoes.
Lunch for Cohen is almost always PBJ. Am I bad mom? I don't think so. He eats wheat bread, and peanut butter is jam packed (hyuck hyuck) with protein. And the jam...well, I think there's some fruit in there. Kembry I mostly battle to eat anything. Today will be interesting, seeing as how she's been throwing up and other unseemly things these past two days. Did I mention I was exhausted?
All I know is that during this time I'm shoving food into their mouths as fast as I can because I can feel my soft bed calling to me. "Remember me Kelly? From last night? Wasn't it delicious how I cradled you? How soft and welcoming I am? Come to me, Kelly. Coooome to me and I will take you into dream land..."
Eat kids! EAT! EAT! EAT!
Hopefully the next 1 to 3 hours I'm completely blacked out with the occasional nursing session, for which I barely wake up enough to drag her over to me.
I do love co sleeping.
By the time I wake up, if I'm lucky, my darling children are just rolling out of bed with tired smiles on their faces, ready for a cartoon or two to wake them up while I pull myself together enough to trick Brett into thinking I was awake the whole time, preforming my stay-at-home-mom duties with pearls and high-heels.
And then the craziest time of day begins. The time of day that has me counting down to 7:45 pm when I can chuck the kids in the tub, hose 'em off, and throw them back into their abyss bedroom. Tune in for the insanity, if you dare...MWAHAHAHAHA.
(There's that monkey again. Why is he screaming? Quick, someone give him a stick of butter!)
Following up from yesterdays post, and because Bloggy Moms posted this challenge (and nothing like me to wait until the very last day to do it...) you all have won a look into the day in the life of me.
Put down the gun, it's not so bad.
Usually my morning begins with a very loud scream around 4:45 a.m. How such a little thing can scream, and then subsequently eat, so much, I know not. Never the less, she's awake now, and I am grumpy. Brett and I then spend the next 3 hours bouncing, rocking, and sticking our fingers into her mouth and praying for a strange sleep-inducing mist to seep through the cracks in our cheap windows.
It's yet to happen.
Around 7 a.m. when Chloe has finally started to doze off, we hear the sweetest sound. "Good morning Cohen." "Morning Kembry." And they make their way into the living room to sniff out any candy and goodies Brett and I may have left out the night before, and color the carpet with permanent marker.
In a coma-like state, one of us adults makes something edible for breakfast (use the word edible lightly here folks). I try to infuse the kids with as many vitamins as God's green earth can offer up, while Brett injects sugar directly into their veins via Cookie Crisps (and they don't even finish the milk.) Although the 12 o'clock sugar crash is kinda convenient.
And then, perhaps the hardest part of my day, I send away Kembry's entertainment to soak up all that Kindergarten knowledge. And hopefully all of this by the witching hour of 8:20 a.m., because other parents walk my kid to school for me. I'm THAT lazy.
Tune in this afternoon for the second of THREE, that's right folks, THREE installments of "A Day in the Life". Because, frankly, I'm too tired to remember what we do in the afternoons...I think it has something to do with dancing monkeys and a stick of butter, but I'm not 100% on that...
My BFF made a point the other day while we were waiting to pick up our kindergartners. She said, "These days, if you're a stay-at-home-mom, you have to be an expert at cooking or taking pictures."
I laughed, because things that are true but that are ridiculous always make me laugh. Which is why I look in the mirror every morning: best way to start out the day with a smile.
So I started thinking. "A dangerous past time, I know..." I thought to myself, "Self, what do you blog about?" Then I took my skizo pills and stopped talking to myself.
I read a lot of blogs that "specialize". Kimberly over at "All Work and No Play..." writes for a great cause. PPD. Then of course you have sewing blogs, photography blogs, blogs on dogs, blogs on knitting, crocheting, the art of adultery (I kid you not) and of course, COOKING. I frequent those blogs, it's how I build up an appetite since I don't ever leave the couch.
There are bloggers like Pioneer Woman, who, well, if you don't know about her you live in a cave on the moon. Please invite me over. But she's one of those people that is good at everything: cooking, photography, writing, parenting...you name it. She makes the rest of us regular bloggers take a hit every time her site gets one. But it's all good, cause she's amazing.
So what do I write about? What do I offer the blogging community? How on EARTH do I ever find anything to write about?
Well, I'm a mom.
I'm your average, tired, run-of-the-mill, cleaning, washing, cooking (poorly) mom.
And I write about that.
It might not always be interesting. It might make you want to tear out your hair from the roots and send it to me via snail mail to tell me how sick you are of hearing about nursing and sore nipples and exhaustion. No? Just me? Yeah, I could totally see me sending myself my own hair.
So, my theme? How to survive being a mom. There are so few manuals on the subject.
What's "Barnes and Nobles"? You people say funny things...oops, time to take that pill again.
Anyway, thanks for stopping by. I'm not sure how it happens, seeing as I only get a comment here and there, but I've been averaging 70 hits a day. 35 from my mom, 20 from me, and the rest from you, my loyal fans...erm, readers.
I've had a headache for a couple of weeks now, which is one of the MAIN reasons I haven't posted in a little while. I'm using all my brain power to fight off thinking of ways to unscrew my head from my neck. You get pretty creative after awhile...
Anywho, tomorrow is the General Relief Society Conference and I'm STOKED! Can't wait, especially because I'm goin' out with my BFF before. It'll be nice to get away. I think I'll pretend it's Hawaii.
I took this picture a year ago tomorrow. It was a beautiful night. Hoping for another beautiful night.
P.S. Pray for Brett. I'm leaving him alone with all three children, and then I'm turning off my cell phone.
And by entirely, I mean at all. I had chocolate last night and it was...ohmygosh, heavenly.
But, all of Sunday, and most of yesterday, I didn't have chocolate in an attempt at being a good mother. Chloe projectile vomits and I think I've narrowed it down to chocolate and/or she's potentially possessed.
"I need an old priest and a young priest."
Anywho, I had no idea how well trained my hand was at reaching for that choclatey goodness. I'd say I'm a black belt at chocolate eating. And to think, only a few years ago, I didn't even like chocolate. What. Went. Wrong?
So, I begin anew today. NO CHOCOLATE. I mean it. Even though it's not like the child isn't gaining any weight or growing at an inappropriately fast rate. Little butt.
Now, let's see...I bought the box of cookies...what...yesterday? Yes, yesterday morning around 9:45ish.
I had a few...okay, five or so, when I got home. But that was it, right?
Oh no, wait, I had a few more after lunch
A few at this point is probably six...
So then, I swear I didn't have anymore after that. Until...oh yes, I remember. After the kids were in bed and we were watching "Psyche" and my own psyche told me I needed a few more cookies...but I'm sure Brett had some then too.
Then this morning, well, it was a rough night, after all. I deserved those cookies. And the milk was so cold and delicious. And I ate a healthy breakfast, so, really, the cookies were nothing.
Well, the first five.
I don't know what happened after that, the sugar high just sort of took over...the next thing I knew...
Did someone punch me in the head? I'd like to blame Chloe, but she hits like a 3 week old girl.
Kimberly over at "All Work and No Play..." BLOG TAGGED me, which I really appreciate cause...I can't come up with a coherent sentence let alone ideas for blog posts these days (I mean, you read about the asteroids, didn't you?) Unless ya'll wanna hear about spit up, laundry, and more spit up. No? Okay, Blog Tag it is!
Here are the instructions/rules:
Answer Kimberly's college level questions. Sheesh, you really wanna make me think, don't you?
Create 4 of my VERY OWN questions (will you watch my kids for me? will you do my laundry? will you mop my kitchen? will you scrub my toilet?) Wait...there will be better ones. Maybe.
Tag 3 other bloggers. Assuming even 3 people who blog read my blog. We'll see how that goes.
Question the First:
1. What is something you want to do before you die?
Answer the First:
Get some clean underwear. Nah, not really. I don't care about that kinda stuff. *Sniff Sniff* see? I would really love to go on an LDS Mission. Not super inventive, I know, but I really do. My husband ruined my chances for a single sister mission by asking me to make him the happiest man on earth and marry him, but I've since forgiven him. I mean, he's so darn good lookin'....
2. What is your biggest pet peeve?
Dare I say: rude people. Sounds...plain? Rehearsed? I enjoy long walks on the beach and don't like rude people. But seriously. Have a little consideration, folks. Even if it's like pulling a tooth sans the Novocaine. Try it, you might even like it. The nice thing, not the tooth pulling thing...
3. How did you come up with the name for your blog?
You know, for some reason my husband would say "Neffajawea". I honestly don't remember where or why or when or how...allsIknow (that's one word up here in Utah) is that it A: includes my last name and B: makes everyone think I'm some how obsessed with Sacajawea. Sacagawea? Well, feel free to look up the correct spelling...(BTW, not obsessed with ol' Sackyjaweaja.)
4. Do you like Cheese Whiz?
No. Yuck. Gross. Euw. Wait, I don't think I've ever tried it. I like other things out of a can: whip cream, chocolate in a can, snakes in a can, going to the bathroom in the can, a can of coke. Mmmm, coke. What were we talking about?....
My four questions:
Do you like musicals?
Have you ever been thrown a surprise party?
What is the WORST thing you've ever done?
Where is your dream vacation? (Doing my laundry, right? I knew it!)
And I tag...
Melissa at 3 Girls and a Daddy, cause she totally had my back when I was on bed rest and absolutely terrified.
Jessie at Farr Fairytail, cause she ditched us all, including her husband, to go hang out in Georgia with her "other" family for an ENTIRE month. And I miss her =)
And Haiku of the Id (not sure you want me to share your real name =)) because, like Melissa, she totally had my back.
My daughters' sheets need to be changed, again. One guess why.
After just finishing 3 loads of kids laundry, I have 4 new loads of kids laundry to do.
I just got spit up on, again.
I'm running out of underwear, and that is not my top priority. Pretty sad, huh?
I keep forgetting I have a baby. I woke up this morning (after two good 4 hour blocks of sleep, thank you wonderful husband) thinking, "I think I'll mow the lawn today." Dur, minus the fact that I now own a baby who won't let me put her down. Maybe she can ride along in the snuggly...is that safe? Comments...
Brett and I went to the Temple last night. I know it goes without saying, but it was Heaven on earth. Afterwards, Brett encouraged me to go and get a massage. So I did, by a dwarf with the strongest hands I've ever had the pleasure of rubbing me down. It. Was. Awesome.
My kids work out daily. I'm not even kidding. With weights, or doing sit ups. I sit and watch. It's very depressing.
That is all.
You can all write me off as a boring, sleep-deprived blogging mother of 3. I wouldn't blame you. If I could escape my own inner monologue, I totally would, but the voices just won't stop.
Lola B. Walters, “The Grapefruit Syndrome,” Liahona, Sep 1999, 24
"As a young wife, I learned that marriage could be sweeter if I didn’t focus on my husband’s faults.
My husband and I had been married about two years when I read an article recommending that married couples discuss truthfully and candidly the habits or mannerisms they find annoying in each other. The theory was that if partners knew of such annoyances, they could correct them before resentful feelings developed.
It made sense to me. I talked with my husband about the idea. After some hesitation, he agreed to give it a try.
As I recall, we were to name five things we found annoying. I started off. After more than 50 years, I remember only my first complaint: grapefruit. I told him I didn’t like the way he ate grapefruit. Instead of cutting it open and eating it with a spoon, he peeled it and ate it a section at a time. Nobody else I knew ate grapefruit like that. Could I be expected to spend a lifetime, and even eternity, watching my husband eat grapefruit like that? Although I have forgotten them, I’m sure my other complaints were of similar importance.
Then it was his turn. It has been more than half a century, but I still carry a mental image of my husband’s thoughtful, puzzled expression. He looked at me and said, “I can’t think of anything I don’t like about you.”
Gasp. I quickly turned my back, not knowing how to explain my tears. I had found fault with him over such trivial things, while he hadn’t even noticed any of my peculiar and no doubt annoying habits.
I wish I could say this experience completely cured me of faultfinding. It didn’t. But it did teach me early in my marriage that we need to keep in perspective, and usually ignore, the small differences in our spouse’s habits and personalities. Whenever I hear of married couples being incompatible, I always wonder if they are suffering from what I now call the grapefruit syndrome."
Remember how I casually mentioned my husbands new obsession with our teeny-tiny squirt, Chloe?
Well, we desperately want to go to a Temple Sealing group we haven't been to since I went on bed rest. We've sorely missed it, and it was on our TOP FIVE of things we wanted to do once I ejected said squirt.
The only problem: I nurse. And I LOVE to nurse. And not just because of the weight loss. Though, can I just say, I LUHUVE the weight loss from nursing? Because, I do.
Anyway, I had to struggle and battle over "Do we give her a bottle? Will it ruin breastfeeding? Will she ever forgive me? Does she really need more dirt to share with her therapist?" You know, the usual worries.
Brett, on the other hand, is all for bottle feeding (with my breast milk. Warning: TMI about to happen. He LOVES watching me pump. It is actually pretty interesting, seeing where the milk shoots out, how much is actually in there, what it looks like, etc.) I thought he was all for bottle feeding in addition to nursing so that he could take me on romantic dates and get up with her at night on the weekends.
Man, I'm seriously delusional.
Yesterday, we gave it a test run. Brett wanted to feed her, which was fine with me, since I needed to pump the milk anxiously awaiting squirts strong suckle.
Turns out, he just wanted to be able to feed her, to be close to her, to provide her with about the only thing she really wants/needs from us. He. Was. Jealous.
I'm just blown away by this man and his new obsession. Though, if he wants the sore, cracked nipples and the hour by hour feeding frenzies in the middle of the night, I'm all for it. As long as I still get the weight loss.
Oh my freaking heck! That's right, I'm Mormon and I say "Oh my freaking heck!".
Anyway, I finally coordinated a nap time, an actual nap time, where all my little monkey's are sleeping. I'm so exhausted, I ran into a wall. I'm officially a level 9 tired (10 being the walking dead).
So, I'm drifting off to sweet, sweet sleep when I hear, "Bang! Bang! Bang!" on the front door. I know what it is. It's the neighbor girl. So...I ignore it. Wipe the drool off my face and yawn, turn over and try to go back to sleep. "Bang! Bang! Bang!"
What tha...go away!
"BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!"
Just ignore it...just ignore it...
And then, "Can them come play!" being yelled in through my window. Oh my freaking heck! Just ignore it!!
"Can them come and play!!"
Are you FREAKING kidding me?
So I open the door, stomp my way to the front door, and surprisingly in a calm voice a little bit shaky with the insanity that's now leaking through, explain, "We are napping. If we don't answer the door, you need to stop knocking. Do NOT yell in our window."
She just stands there. "Go home."
SERIOUSLY? Now I'm too awake to go back to sleep. My heart is pounding, I'm livid. And can I just say, if Brett complains even once today that he's tired, he's gonna lose a limb. He got a three hour nap yesterday.
I forget about some things that come along with beautiful newborns.
Okay, I didn't forget forget,I was simply in placenta denial. Anything would be better than having contractions every few minutes.
I am tuhiiiiiiiired. My sweet angel with the sharp elbows wakes up every hour to eat. And somehow I manage to be happy and smile every time. She's got me wrapped around her long, skinny fingers. I'm in love. (Brett's OBSESSED, but that's an entirely separate post, I'm not even kidding.)
Cohen started Kindergarten today, pictures and complete emotional breakdown to follow.
Kembry is reacting...I don't want to say negatively, just...differently...since little tyke came home. I'm going to try and be more positive and kind and loving with her. Pray for me. Pray hard.
I haven't died. I'm just simply in a I-haven't-slept-in-two-weeks-and-my-oldest-is-leaving-me coma. I walk around with wet spots over my milk bags. I just took my first shower in a week. I don't remember what it's like to wear makeup. But I'm perfectly happy.
Ask me in another month and we'll see how perfectly "happy" I'll be then...
Brett decided he wasn't tired and played his guitar until 1:30 A.M. when I booted him out of the bedroom.
Then Chloe woke up every hour to eat. Which is FABULOUS, considering the more she eats, the more she poops, the more bilirubin she gets out of her little system, the sooner I can smother her with my kisses and never put her down.
*Yawn* But I am tuhiiiiiired this morning. Morning? Well, practically morning...at least for another half hour. I wish I could abuse caffeine right now...smack it around a little bit...show it whose boss...
Anyone wanna go get me a fountain coke and three hundred donuts?
The kids, thank heavens, are blissfully playing out in the new sandbox my dear plays-his-guitar-at-all-hours-of-the-morning husband built for them. Though, I'm not enjoying the bucket loads of sand I'm finding all over the house. Anyone have any ideas how to avoid that little side effect? Hose 'em down before they come in? Sick the blower on 'em? Vacuum them? Everything is all grainy...
Well, Chloe doesn't do much. Mostly just lays in her tanning bed looking cute, squawking, smelling like a cute little baby and squirming.
But Cohen and Kembry absolutely melt my heart with all the kisses they give their new little sister. How excited they are to show their friends. How they always ask where she is, when is she going to wake up, can we hold her, pllllleeeeeasssse.
Yes, I love having three children.
And thanks to placenta brain, I may soon forget the pregnancy, and want a fourth...but let's make sure Chloe survives first. And then we'll have to figure out a way to convince my uterus and Brett...probably a long way off.
Having had a pregnancy with "complications" (stupid uterus), there were a lot of warnings thrown at us about "what could happen" if the ol' uterus kicked her out early.
And they had us properly scared. For the most part, Chloe was one pampered fetus.
Even as I was pushing, my masked doctor was spouting out possible problems.
"She may only weigh in the 5 pound range."
"She may need oxygen."
"She may have problems regulating her temperature."
"She may be a democrat*."
I mean, I wanted to suck her back in...I was horrified.
But then I hear the gasp from three different people, and the "Whoa, she's huge!"
Weighing in at a whopping 6 pounds 13 ounces, and 20 inches, Chloe is our biggest baby yet.
But our biggest baby has jaundice.
So, she's in Mexico gettin' a sweet tan while I sit and pine because I can't hold her every second of the day.
Poor baby. (I mean me.)
*Actually, even though Brett and I are not registered democrats, we have no problems with the ol' demo's. We agree with a lot of their points of view, and think that a bi-partisan government is a big waste of time, energy, and resources. Then again, Brett's a Libra and I literally can't make up my mind about anything...so...