I Got the Hospital Bill in the Mail Today.

The little hook that breaks your water: $8.30
Delivery charge: $1615
Staying overnight two nights: $1430
Ibuprofen 800 MG: $3 each
Plus a whole lot of other charges that are way overpriced

Bringing home this?

Priceless.

My "Toby" Wrap

"What Kind Of A Shirt is That?!"

A lady asked me that question this weekend. If there was a store that sold shirts that come with cuddly little babies inside, I would be a regular shopper there for sure. I know I've said it before and if I've said it once, I've said it a million times. I love my Moby Wrap. So does Toby.

Another Reason Why We Call It The Beast

What draws more attention than a big red twelve passenger van? A big red twelve passenger van with really, really, really squeaky brakes. Remember when you were fourteen and you were riding in the car with your mom and dad and you pulled up next to an extremely hot guy at a red light? Remember how you were so embarrassed that the hot guy would realize that you actually HAVE parents and that you actually ride in the car with them? Remember how you wanted to dive under the seat and hide?

That is how I feel about my brakes. Except that there is no hot guy, just a pimply teenager at the drive-thru window. And I can't hide under the seat because I'm the one driving.

Tuck in the Thumb and Hold Those Other Four Fingers Up High

Jack turned four on Sunday. As is tradition in our family, the birthday child gets to pick his or her birthday meal. We have had a lot of things but I don't think I have ever served macaroni and cheese, applesauce, and Cool Ranch Doritos at a birthday party before. Good choice Jack.

Looking at Personal Hygeine Through The Eyes of Preschooler

The toilet paper supply was getting low so I stocked back up with a huge jumbo pack that almost takes two people to carry. It was sitting in the kitchen with the rest of the loot I had purchased at the store and one of the little ones came into the room and wanted to help put things away. I pointed them towards the toilet paper. Then I started putting the rest of the stuff away and I forgot about it.

The next time Toby needed a diaper change, I headed towards the stash I keep in the corner of the living room. There you will find almost every size of diapers or pullups that the store sells. What else did I find? A jumbo pack of toilet paper. But when you think about it, it kind of makes sense...

Because You All Asked

Here are the kids and their friends in the hats. Five of the Laundry Pile kiddos and two Children of Joy. Apparently when you are 12 you don't want to be caught wearing a firecracker crown, and when you are 1 month old, you are are way too cool for that kind of stuff. But everyone else was game.

Spoils

We are all sugared up with no where to go.

The Laundry Pile Family Fourth of July festivities were great. One of the highlights for us every year is the parade. Last year we WERE the parade, this year even more so. The night of the 3rd we made these firecracker crowns with friends. Nothing says "I love America" like staying up until midnight assembling red white and blue head wear with the kiddos. We just used construction paper instead of the craft foam and we left off the pipe cleaners.

So you can imagine the attention we drew when our troop filed down the parade route looking for seats. Hello! Floppy construction paper headed children coming this way! We scored some seriously good loot.

• A huge popcorn bowl full of candy. (I am the mean mom who waits 12 hours and then dumps every one's candy together into a community pot)
• Various temporary tattoos that are now splatted all over my children's bodies
• Coupons for movie rentals and free ice cream cones
• No fewer than 15 pencils bearing the names and numbers of insurance agents in the surrounding small towns
• 11 plastic cups from Domino's Pizza
• A sugar high that will last for a week and a half

All in all it was a good time despite temperatures that rivaled the surface of the sun. Actually, that was the best part. Dang I love summer.

Ewwww

Two of the three tadpoles that we were trying to raise into frogs have been murdered in cold blood. I'm not sure that a tadpole has ever died from being placed inside a Barbie purse and then squished. There is a first time for everything.

Times Like These Call for Humor

We were driving back home from my Grandpa's visitation, the sun was setting as we passed by field after field of dark green corn. I was feeling rather reflective while I leaned my head against the passenger window. One of the kids noticed the flickering of fireflies in the ditch. We looked past the ditches and saw that the fields were full of hundreds of them. I pondered and came to the poetic conclusion that the velvety green fields had been sprinkled with a dusting of glitter also known as the common lightning bug. Deep thoughts. A conversation began in the back seat as to how and why a firefly lights up. The answer to the how was bio luminescence. Thank you Nate. We tired to tactfully explain in an age appropriate manner how the bugs were trying to attract a mate. And then a certain someone declared that when a lightening bug flashes he is basically saying "Hey everybody, look at my butt."

Glitter vs. mooning

I guess it all just depends on how you look at it.

Grandpa

Yesterday my Grandpa went to be with Jesus.

It's funny all of the little memories I had forgotten until I started reflecting. Once I started thinking about spending time with Grandpa when I was a kid, memory after memory came flooding back.

I loved seeing Grandpa and Grandma's car drive up our driveway. It usually meant we would be eating fried chicken, a meal that we didn't ever have unless they brought it. The smell would fill the kitchen as we unpacked the bag from the Colonel. The mashed potatoes with gravy and coleslaw could never beat the lure of the biscuits. Slap on some butter and jelly and oh, it was heavenly. Grandpa would always great us with a robust hug and a big laugh. Sometimes they had just returned from a bus tour of some part of the country and we were always anxious to see what treasures they had brought home for us. A favorite was a little beaded purse from another state, big enough to hold a few coins.

When we visited their house, I loved stepping out the back door to inspect Grandpa's garden. It was always prefect with straight rows of greenery and black dirt. We walked past that garden and down the alley to church when we were visiting for the weekend. I always hoped to sit it the balcony. Sometimes we did. I remember the hymnals and the short stubby pencils for writing on the offering envelope. After church we would walk back to the house for a feast. Grandpa was always right there in the kitchen beside Grandma, helping her cook. I love that about him. He was a man's man, but not so much that he wouldn't help prepare the Sunday meal. The relish tray was never without homemade dill pickles.

I have memory after memory. Each one triggers another. I know Grandpa had a lifetime of memories of his own, some that he thought of often and some tucked far in the back of his mind. He lived a full life. We miss you Grandpa.

Two

She's only been two for a week and so far she's not terrible.

More Baby Stuff

Things I love about my newborn:

• Yawns that involve his whole face
  
• He almost seems to move in slow motion with a quick jerk thrown in for good measure
• The way his toes curl around my thumb when I touch the bottom of his feet
• Snorts and squeaks and sniffles
• The way he startles himself with his flailing arms
• Sock lint in between his toes
• The crook my my neck fits the back of his little head like a puzzle
• Beady little eyes and suspicious scowls
• Soft sweet breath on my cheek

I See Broken Bones in His Future

He literally scoots up the tree.




He obviously doesn't suffer from acrophobia (fear of heights).



The child is a monkey.

I Told You She Would Turn Into a Giant

Since we are surprise kind of people, we didn't find out that Toby was of the male gender until we saw for ourselves in the delivery room. So the week before I gave birth, (I told you I was a procrastinator, I didn't pack my hospital bag until the day he was born) I pulled out the newborn clothes, both pink and blue. I washed them all up and stacked them in a corner in our bedroom. I would dive into which ever color I needed to once the baby was born. It was so fun to see all of Jack and Gemma's tiny little clothes again. Onesies and sleepers. Tiny hats and socks.

Guess who else loved the clothes? I knew she was in denial when she put on the pink capris and onesie that says "I'm the little sister."

Pomp and Circumstance

For five years Nate has been taking a class. Every semester got a little harder. Every semester was a little more homework. Every semester, I saw a little less of him. But (better plug your ears, this is going to be loud) HE IS DONE HALLELUJAH YEEHAW AND YIPPEE! Graduation was on Saturday and it took all I had in me to hold back a loud whistle and holler as he crossed the stage and received his degree. I'm not a whistle and holler kind of a girl, but this occasion would have been worth it. I repressed the urge. I was tactful. But I was whistling and hollering on the inside, believe me.


I am so proud of him. He rocked that course. There were so many nights that he was face planted on his homework, snoring away, but he kept at it. Week after week, year after year. He learned about Eschatology and Ecclesiology and some other long words that don't start with E. Seriously though, the things he learned are invaluable. I have seen so much spiritual growth in my husband these last five years, God has been faithful to teach him as he was faithful to seek.

And as a bonus Nate now has a BA in Bible and Theology to add to his BA in Aeronautical Studies.

And as a bonus, I have by husband back. Score.

Toby

After a whirlwind of a first few days, we are finally settling in. Toby is here. Hooray!


A quick birth story.

Tuesday night I knew something was up. I started paying attention to the sporadic contractions that I was having. We timed them off and on but decided to just go to bed and if it was real, it would wake me up. I hated to get my hopes up, I was only a day over due. If I went to bed, at least I would get some rest right? I tossed and turned for a couple hours and labor woke me up shortly after 1:30* am. I got up and paced around the house for a bit. I tried surfing the web to take my mind off it it but I finally called the hospital at 2am. We called my mom and she came over to stay with the kids and to sleep on our no so comfortable couch. We pulled into the hospital parking lot at 2:30am. We live in a small town and when we arrived in labor and delivery there was only one nurse on duty, no doctors. ACK! I was at five cm already. I told her that once my water breaks, it's all over. Two more nurses were on their way in. I labored for a bit, it was very manageable and pretty soon I could feel that the baby was moving down. I told the nurses and they checked me, I was at eight cm. That's when they said they would call the doctor. I'm thinking "YOU HAVEN'T CALLED THE DOCTOR YET?!" It only took two more contractions and I was complete and then we just had to sit there and wait for the doctor who lives 20 minutes away. It was so, so frustrating. Every contraction I was just praying that my water wouldn't break or I knew we would have a baby right then without a doctor. It would have been no problem, Nate's an old pro. I held off for 30 minutes and she finally came running in the door. She broke my water and I felt immediate relief from the wide pressure I was feeling. Now I was ready to push. I started pushing and we couldn't figure out why the baby wasn't moving down. Nate and I were looking at each other like "what the heck?!" Gemma was born in 3 minutes of pushing. I ended up pushing for 20 minutes and he finally made his appearance face up. That explained it. Toby was born at 4:27 am.

We came home friday afternoon and we are doing great. I feel really, really good so far. I'm happy to announce that we all survived "cry day". The first day home from the hospital is always a bawl-fest for me. I cry and cry for no particular reason. Someone spills milk at a meal? I burst into tears. I can't get Caedmon's too-small-but-still-his-favorite shoes on? Sobbing. Nate looks at me wrong? More crying. It's really quite ridiculous but very therapeutic. So I'm glad that's over. (*crossing my fingers*) I do reserve the right to cry about anything at any given moment, just in case.

Big brothers and sisters are loving their newest little sibling. They have been so helpful. Caedmon woke up the first morning that Toby was home and made a beeline for the bassinet just to check on his little brother. I was worried that Gemma would be too "forceful" with her affections. So far, so good. Of course she wants to touch him and isn't quite as gentle as she needs to be, but the only marks she has left on his little head have been from smeary graham cracker kisses. There is always a line in order to hold him. The big kids are keeping track of who has held him and for how long. It has to be fair you know. I'm glad I'm the sole source of nutrition for the little guy or I'm not sure I would get a turn.

*Times are all approximate. Nate has the actual times down to the minute in the labor spreadsheet in his PDA. It's always fun the have a contraction and then have to report it to the stat master.

News

Toby Escher
Born on 5/30/07 at 4:27 am
6 lbs. 13 oz
20 1/2 inches long

Welcome to the Laundry Pile little buddy. Feel free to add to the pile as soon as you want.

Due Date +1

On Saturday I got to see my dear friend Sara. (her dreads are fabulous by the way, she even let me touch them) It's been a long time. Too long. She had her camera with her, (I'm not sure she goes anywhere without it) and I talked her into taking some pics for me since all my belly pics so far have been taken with a camera phone. Cell phone pics are high quality I tell you. Here are two of my favorites that Sara took for me, with a real camera.

Due Date

This morning I woke up and saw this reminder on my PDA.

Due date #7!

You know, just in case I forgot that I was 40 weeks pregnant.
Baby seems very happy to stay put, so we will just keep on waiting.

One

Paeonia lactiflora of the Paeoniaceae family.

So ruffly, like cotton candy tulle. The weighty blooms sag and bend back towards the earth, too heavy for their stems. And the scent, the heavenly sweet perfume is unmatched.

I have a peony bush. I have nursed it and babied it, stopping just short of praying over it. I know how lovely it could bloom. I know how laden it's stems could be with fluffy, ruffly flowers. That is, if it weren't for my precious offspring. Every single year I warn them and lecture them and bribe them. Every single year they pick off the buds. For the past three years I have enjoyed exactly one bloom each summer. It's like they leave that one little ant covered ball, just to taunt me. I watch that one bud daily as it grows and begins to open. Then it finally does and I shove my nose right into the middle of it and breathe deeply. I am torn. Should I cut that one blossom and bring it inside to enjoy? Should I leave it? These decisions are too much for me.

Maybe I should be asking different questions. Should I put a barbed wire fence around the bush next year? Should I keep my children inside until the peony has finished blooming? Should I sell my children to the gypsies? All for the love of my peony.

She hath a deep-hid virtue
No other flower hath.
When summer comes rejoicing
A-down my garden path,
In opulence of color,
In robe of satin sheen,
She casts o'er all the hours
Her sorcery serene.
(an excerpt from the poem Peony by Bliss Carmen)

It's the Final Countdown

39 weeks and 1 day. Not that I'm counting or anything.

Stocked

Nothing beats the feeling of just coming home from grocery shopping and having full cupboards. Even if it only lasts two or three days.

Outdoor Nesting?

Remember when I trimmed the trees?

Well.

Today I was sitting out on the deck in the sunshine watching the little boys play in the sandbox while Gemma napped. I noticed one of the limbs on the tree beside me was stripped of it's leaves because of small children and their inability to resist the urge to swing from low hanging branches. I should have just turned my head and looked the other way, but it was driving me crazy. So I got the trimmer out.

Now mind you, this year I am informed on how to use a tree trimmer properly. I now realize that it extends. I now realize I can shear off small branches with a quick yank of a rope. I have upgraded my skills. So I trimmed that little branch right off. But then something overtook me. I became a crazy woman who could not stop herself from trimming just a little more here and just a little more there. And look at the branch, it does not need to be there. Either does that one. My perennials underneath could use a little more light.

And then I remembered the tree up front and how it had some pretty low hanging branches too so I started hacking on that one. Pretty soon I was standing shin deep in greenery. Hey, the trees look great now. You can't tell me I don't put on a good show for the neighbors. If it's not small toddlers running around the yard in their duct taped diapers, it's a crazed pregnant woman chopping down trees. "Free entertainment" should be a big selling point for any prospective home buyers on our street.

If you were a bunny hiding in the bushes you would have heard me say "Quick boys, help Mommy get these branches cleaned up before your dad gets home." It's not that he's not going to notice the small forest now piled up on our unplanted garden, it's just that I want him to see the quality of my handiwork before the mess. I'm sure he will be impressed. Maybe he will just roll his eyes at my antics. What can I say, I'm addicted to pruning.

In Search of Worms

You know that saying, "Leave No Stone Unturned"?

My boys take that literally.

All Purse, All the Time

If there was a purse channel, I would watch it. I love purses almost as much as I love shoes but not quite. You can imagine that I was THRILLED!!!! when BooMama tagged me for this purse meme. Yes, BooMama. THE BooMama. She cracks me up every single day.

So lets talk purse shall we? Here is my purse philosophy: Buy them cheap, replace them often. Then I pass all the used ones on to my girls. They love it. Right now I am using a purse that my friend Sara sent me. She is the most givingest giver that you have ever met. But sorry, you can't be her friend because I want her to only send things to me. I'm kind of selfish like that.

So here is the purse in all it's glory.















Just the right size for me. I can fit all kinds of things in there, but it's not too big. I do have problems finding the lipgloss when I am driving and digging around in the bottom of the purse at the same time. Kind of hazardous but not quite as much as talking on the cell phone. At least that is what I tell myself.

Here are the guilty lipglosses that hide from me:















Sometimes I just want the Carmex so I feel around for the rounded lid. It hides behind my wallet. I usually end up dumping the whole mess on the passenger seat. The hand sanitizer is a must have. Especially after shopping at Walmart. I always feel so grubby coming out of there. Bleh. You can see that I am fully prepared for oral hygiene with a travel size toothpaste. Actually, that was just one of the five hundred tubes we scored at all of our dentist visits this spring. Bonus. Sudafed? You never know when congestion is going to hit you. Same with the oral gel. Toothaches can sneak right up on you. I can see that I have a little explaining to do on the Body Glide. If you read closely, it says that it prevents blisters and chafing. I promise you that I use that for when I go running. You can smear it on your feet so they don't bother you. If your shirt is rubbing you wrong, just put some of that stuff on there and you are good to go. Why is it in my purse? Because sometimes in the parking lot of the grocery store I feel like breaking into a full sprint.

Now for the staples of a woman's purse:
















Gotta have the wallet and the pens and the keys. You can see how up to date technologically I am with my standard issue cell phone from two years ago. It doesn't take pictures or play songs or do the dishes or anything useful. It does make calls though. Also, check out my stylish shades. Dollar Store. Seriously.

Now this last one is the reason my purse hangs from a very high hook by the front door:















The gum. My children can smell it from three miles away. Jack recently cleaned me out in literally two hours. I had bought a brand new pack and he discovered it and ate it all. See the little candy bones? Um, yeah. I stuck those in my purse to prevent my children from eating them after they fell on the floor at the store. The ten second rule doesn't apply in public places. Ew. And also a gum wrapper. Just because.

Man that was fun. I'm on a purse high.

I am tagging Sara because she gave me this rad purse.
Gretchen because I'm sure she is carrying something fabulous.
And Karen because I wonder how many cloth diapers she can fit in her handbag.

Taming the Waddle- A How To

The side to side sway of a pregnant woman in motion is endearing. That is as long as you aren't the actual pregnant woman. When you start logging more left-right miles than forward ones, you know you are officially waddling. I have put together this little How-To (or how-not-to) for the benefit of pregnant mothers everywhere.

The Why of the Waddle:

We can blame it on the hormones. Don't we blame everything on the hormones? Global warming? Must be the hormones. Crying over a stack of dirty dishes? Must be the hormones. Food going bad in the fridge? Hormones. But this one is legit. The hips are falling apart. Literally. Hormones cause all the ligaments in your hips to stretch and the cartilage to soften. A big ole baby has to pass through there, remember? And so, the way is prepared. But it leads to soreness in the hips and the classic waddle. Lovely.

Most of the time, around the house I just go with it. I sway and lumber around not caring how long it takes me to get across the room and definitely not caring how clumsy I appear. Oh my goodness, gracefulness went out the window many moons ago. But there are public situations where I would prefer to appear a bit more controlled. The side to side saunter isn't necessarily what I'm going for. So I try with all my might to appear to be a normal walking human being. Here is what I have come up with.

Concentration:
This is huge. Diverting your body from the natural way that it wants to cross the room is no small feat. This is going to take some serious focus. So gather your thoughts, pour every ounce of brain energy that you have into this. You may want to avoid conversing. This is no time to multi-task.

Eyes:
Now, following the theme of concentration, it might help you to focus your eyes on a specific point on the other side of the room near your destination. Lock on. Don't look to the left or the right. Again, we need to concentrate here.

Posture:
This is the time to practice everything your mother taught you. She didn't remind you to "stand up straight" for nothing. She had foresight. This is the moment to call upon that wisdom and put it into practice. So, tuck those hips back under yourself. Pull in whatever abs are holding on for dear life under that belly. Chest up, shoulders back. Whew! This is hard isn't it?!

Motion:
Ok, here we go. Now the most important thing is to keep those legs in line. They are going to want to turn out and go the path of least resistance, but we need to bring them under submission. At least until we get across the room. Take it slow, one foot in front of the other in a straight line. Keep the head up, keep the shoulders back. Avoid scowling. Seriously, you are going to want to scowl.

Once you have made it to your destination across the room, find a chair. That was a high impact workout, you deserve to sit down. Make sure you don't do too much too soon. You might want to work your way up from a few steps to a walk across the room. Eventually you may even be able to shop for an hour or so with out waddling. That is for the advanced student though, so don't push yourself.

I hope this was an informative tutorial. I am my own student, trying my best to glide across the room in this distorted body of mine. If you see me and I am walking, please don't try to talk to me. I'm concentrating.

For your Educational Enrichment, Etc. Etc.

I was surprised to see in the comments of my May Day post that many of you didn't know about May Day and that you haven't ever experienced the sheer joy of discovering candy delivered secretly to your doorstep. I'm so sorry for you.

Honestly, I didn't know much about the why behind May Day until a few minutes ago when I surfed around wikipedia and a couple of other sites for the history on this holiday. All I knew was candy. When I was little we would make May baskets out of construction paper or dixie cups and fill them with popcorn and candy and deliver them to our friends. It is a tradition I have carried on with my own children, without really knowing why. Now I do.

Ok. So it's another one of those controversial holidays. Pagans and fertility and druids and flower goddesses and all sorts of things are involved. Yippee! The Puritans put the axe down on this holiday of course. Maybe that is why you all aren't enjoying the sugar coma that we are over here. Darn those candy hating Puritans. Here is a little blurb I read on a holiday history website:

"The Puritans frowned on May Day, so the day has never been celebrated with as much enthusiasm in the United States as in Great Britain. But the tradition of celebrating May Day by dancing and singing around a maypole, tied with colorful streamers or ribbons, survived as a part of the English tradition. The kids celebrating the day by moving back and forth around the pole with the the streamers, choosing of May queen, and hanging of May baskets on the doorknobs of folks -- are all the leftovers of the old European traditions."

While I don't believe in celebrating flower goddesses and druids and fertility....(wait, maybe the fertility, ) I do think it's fun to let the kids celebrate spring by surprising their friends with treats. We don't dance around the May Pole or anything crazy like that. Although it has crossed my mind to duct tape the kids to the basketball hoop, just to keep them in our yard, does that count?

If you want to start this little tradition in your neighborhood next year, with the sole intent of trying to get people to reciprocate of course, here are some ideas for cute May baskets. They are obviously ones you are going to want to plan ahead to make, not just wing at 2:30 in the afternoon.

Here is a bee one.
And a cute duck.
Or maybe a heart.

Please fill them with candy, not flowers. No child prefers flowers over candy. Or maybe that's just my kids. You could go with the cute shoes and purse thing though if you are planning on bringing it to my house. Even better, fill a cute purse with cute shoes.

Or you could do like us and fill plastic cups with popcorn and twizzlers, a standard May Day tradition. Ok, enough history lesson for today. I'm off to eat out of my secret stash of chocolate that I stole from amongst the popcorn, twizzlers, and skittles. *evil laugh*

What's For Supper? How about Candy?

May Day is my new favorite holiday. It's genius really. The doorbell rings and when you open it, surprise! there is candy. What more can a girl ask for in life? It's like trick or treating, only with out the costumes and all of the walking. The only thing that could possibly make May Day any better is if instead of leaving candy, the sneaky doorbell ringers left cute shoes, or purses. Wouldn't that be a day worth celebrating?

But participating in this thrilling holiday is not for procrastinators. It sneaks up on me every year. One day I'm cruising along, it's April 30th, and all is well and then ACK! I flip the calendar and now it's suddenly May 1st. MAY DAY! Quick, make a trip to the store for Dixie cups and candy! And that is what we do every year. Today I realized it was May Day at 2:30 pm. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Again, I was not prepared. And so I made an executive decision. This year I was bailing. We were not going to participate in the ringing and running. No last minute grocery store trips. No driving all over town. And I felt good about that because as of 2:30 pm, we hadn't received any May baskets.

As of 6:27 pm, 18 individual May baskets have appeared on our front step along with two giant family sized ones. THE GUILT! The people of our town, my friends, neighbors and family are spending their hard earned money on candy for my children and I am doing nothing in return. How am I going to live with myself? (Just a second, I need to stuff another Reese's Peanut Butter Cup into my mouth.) Anyway, as I was saying, I feel terrible. The year I decide to boycott is the year May Day visits our house in full force.

I don't feel like cooking supper. No one is hungry. But popcorn and twizzlers are a part of the five food groups right?

(While writing this post, six more May baskets were delivered to our front step. I'm not even kidding.)

Parade

We had an hour or so to kill while Noelle was at softball practice. How about a walk on the bike trail? Great idea Mom! Or so I thought. On the way out the procession was as follows:

• An eight year on her purple bike
• A five year old who doesn't quite understand the concept of staying to the right
• A three year old on his trike, eyes glued to the trail
  
• A twelve year old who is "helping" to guide the...
• ...22 month old who wants to walk all by herself
  
• A big pregnant Mommy, waddling along while pulling...
• ...an empty red wagon with googly wheels

What a show we were. Or so I thought. It got even better on the way back. Now the procession contained:

• An eight year old riding her purple bike way, way, way up ahead
  
• A five year old who still can't contain his desire to ride down the middle of the trail
• A three year old riding in the googly wheeled wagon
• A 22 month old trying to climb out of the moving googly wheeled wagon
• A 12 year old carrying a trike that is now missing it's back wheels
• A big pregnant Mommy, with a pocket full of washers, nuts, and bolts who is pulling...
  
• ...A googly wheeled wagon containing two trike wheels and an axle

Good times.

Actually it really was a good time. The weather was beautiful, there were no bugs, and we only got grease on our hands, not on our clothes. Gemma did manage to get some on her nose. Don't ask me how I don't want to know.

All Your Bass Are Belong To Us*

Tonight Noelle and I attended the informational meeting for prospective orchestra participants. I was kind of dreading this meeting. Not because I don't like stringed instruments, I play the violin myself. (I use the term "play" very loosely.) I was dreading the meeting because of the instrument that Noelle had her heart set on. The string bass.

She told me, "I like big, low instruments Mom." Before the demonstrative concert, I tried to talk her into the violin. We already HAVE a violin. She just couldn't get past the lure of the string bass. Her eyes were glued to them during the whole concert. I persuaded, I begged, I pleaded. I stopped just short of bribery. Then I sat quietly, pondering. I'm sure she could see the creases in my forehead as I weighed my options. I knew, KNEW, that she would be crushed if I forced her to play the violin. But I also knew that "what the heck are we going to do with a string bass?" The brochure from the music rental store listed the prices of rentals, in increasing order. Last was the string bass with the words. "Ask about pricing". That couldn't be good.

And then I pictured a middle aged Noelle, laying on a couch in the office of a therapist somewhere explaining, "It all started when my mom wouldn't let me play the string bass in the 5th grade." I gulped and walked over to the orchestra teacher to discuss the situation. It turns out that the school rents the instrument for a very, very reasonable price. Noelle would leave it in the orchestra room most of the time and bring it home on the weekends to practice. The instructor asked if we had a big enough vehicle to transport it to and from school. Why yes we do.

I signed the sheet filling in the blank for the instrument of choice. String bass. The grin on Noelle's face confirmed my decision. Bring on the blues baby.

*The title of this post is dedicated to my techno nerd husband. If you understand it, you are officially a techno nerd too.

Update

How about a good old update post? Fun times.

The fish are still alive. Can you believe it? It's been 23 days. I can't claim that they always enjoy the cleanest of living conditions. For awhile I think I was over feeding them and their water got to be pretty cloudy. It cracked me up one morning when I caught them gasping for air at the surface of the water. That's not a sight you see every day. I cut back on their food, I hope I'm feeding the enough now or I may wake to see little goldfish skeletons at the bottom of the bowl.

We are taking a stab at National TV Turnoff week. I taped a sign to the front of the tv to remind the kids not to turn it on. In an attempt to completely milk the situation as much as I possibly can, I also pulled the plug on the Game Cube, the Nintendo 64, and all computer games. I'm running for the coveted title of Meanest Mom Ever. I have yet to decide how to handle the issue of American Idol and Lost. Not sure if I'm ready to give those up or if I need to go the way of the hypocrite.

A certain little five year old will be attending Kindergarten Round-Up today and tomorrow. Yee HAW!

We are slowly making progress in the dental visit arena. Six Laundry Pile members have been in for their long overdue checkups. (Gemma is exempt and I will go after the baby is born). These six initial visits have resulted in the discovery of nine cavities amongst the patients and these cavities will require five more visits. It's a lesson in multiplication. And subtraction. As in subtracting the money from the bank account.

I'm 35 weeks today. Yay!

In Touch With Thier Inner Child.

I'm not sure that little brothers ever really grow up.

22 months

Dear Gemma,

I have spent the last two months fighting the urge to just sit and do nothing but watch you all day long. I know there is plenty of laundry to do and floors to be vacuumed and dishes to be washed, but you are much more fun. I tend to get so caught up in stupid things, (like those listed above) things that will be there tomorrow, that I don't take enough time to just stop and enjoy each of you kids. It has taken your older five brothers and sisters to teach me that. With you I take more in. I have learned the hard way that although the chores will be there tomorrow, the 22 month old version of you won't be. You will move on and change and have new tricks up your sleeve.

It's like you were just toddling along and one day, you suddenly turned into you. Not that you weren't you before, but now personality started to just pour from your whole being. You had new expressions and new words and it was just too cute for us to handle. As a baby you weren't much of a laugher, you hardly even giggled. Suddenly you have a belly laugh that is ever so contagious. Your siblings bring it out in you in the most unexpected moments. A certain expression or noise that they make will suddenly set you off, often just when I need to hear it most. You and I have this stupid little game we play. You growl at me, I scream, and then you laugh hysterically. Then we repeat it over and over and over. I'm not exactly sure what you find so funny about that.

You still call everyone whose name you can't pronounce "Lala." They few people who receive the privilege of being called something unique are, "Mom"( I would hope so), "Dad", "A-Well" (Noelle), "Jatch" (Jack), "Yiah Ya", (Mariah), "Ah-Pa" (Grandpa) and "Lizzie"( your favorite dog). As much as we coach you to pronounce other names, you just won't have anything to do with it. You have decided who has a real name, and who is a "Lala". You have all kinds of other jabber that we don't understand. Some things we are able to decipher, especially your attempts at good manners. Out of the whole crew, I think you may be the best at saying thank you. For everything. "Kee-Koo Mom." It brings a smile to my face every time.

Although it is highly annoying, your clothing habits crack me up. You are bi-polar when it comes to clothes. You either want to be nudie, or clothed in multiple layers. The duct tape supposedly prevents you from getting past your diaper, and recently putting your dresser in the closet has prevented you from emptying all the drawers in search of the perfect outfit. The perfect outfit may consist of a pair of capris with a skirt over top and your pajama shirt. Or maybe you will change your mind after an hour or so and want jeans, boots, and two turtleneck onesies, one over the top of the other. It is futile to argue with you about your choices, you know what you want to wear. Thus the dresser in the closet. Out of sight, out of mind. This also carries over to your choice of shoes. I make special efforts to keep all but one or two pairs put away in the closet or you want help switching footwear multiple times a day. Who am I kidding, multiple times an hour or even every five minutes. I can't blame you though, shoes are amazing and you have some great ones.

Today you somehow managed to get past the duct tape on your diaper. You wriggled and pulled and took it off. I'm not sure how you did it, but you are a little Houdini. Then you laughed and ran around naked, only stopping long enough to step into my laundry basket of clean folded clothes, and then pee on them. I really appreciated that. Thank you. From here on out, the duct tape is going to be much tighter.

I can foresee that you are going to be my biggest challenge this summer. Just like your siblings before you, you have a great desire to be outside playing with the big kids. I can be heard yelling hundreds of times, all day long, "SHUT THE DOOR". No one listens. Our front storm door doesn't completely latch and it didn't take you long to figure that out. You only need 1.2 seconds and you are out the door and running toward all the action. As long as everyone shuts the big door, you are contained. Again, I can't blame you. Outside is much more fun.

I can't believe that in less than two months you will be two years old. And in less than two months you won't be the baby anymore. You will be big sister. That thrills me and terrifies me at the same time. I'm not sure that I'm ready for you to grow six feet over night. That's what happens you know. I leave for the hospital to have a baby and you look like this tiny little person. When I come home with a wrinkly little newborn, all of a sudden you are a giant. I'm not sure how that works, but I know it has been true every single time. So remind me like you do by grabbing my face in your hands while repeating "mom,mom,mom,mom" until you get my full attention. Because I want to enjoy every minute of you.

Love, Mom

A Lesson in Obscene Gestures

Let's not beat around the bush. The weather has been pretty crappy for April. We all have our weather opinions and I have held my tongue so far, but that's it, I'm drawing the line. We just had a snowstorm a few days ago. It's April. That is just wrong. I have been battling closets full of winter and summer clothes for a few weeks now. You teased us with summer temperatures in March and then threw more winter storms our way. The kids' drawers are stuffed and over flowing with a combination of corduroy pants and capris. Sweaters and tank tops. If the weather would just make up it's mind! The hooks by the front door are laden with winter coats and hoodies. Scarves and jackets. I have had enough already. Winter, I *bite my thumb at you. I'm fed up and I'm taking action. Yesterday I washed all the snow pants and packed them away. So THERE! Take that! I'm giving you another week and then I'm putting away the hats and mittens. Be warned, I'm watching you.


*Biting one's thumb:

Biting one's thumb was an old rude British gesture. It is comparable to the Finger in modern terms. In William Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet, Sampson bites his thumb at the Montagues (Act 1, Scene 1).

An equivalent gesture still persists in Italy.

I learned that useful info from this website. You can't say that I don't do my best to be educational.

Success, If Only For a Moment

Yesterday something glorious happened. At approximately 5:00 pm, I closed the door on an empty dryer and surveyed the situation; every single piece of laundry that we own was clean and folded and every bed was now draped in freshly washed sheets. I don't think that has ever happened before in the history of our family. I fully expected the sky to open and a ray of golden sunlight to shine down upon me while a choir of angels sang the Hallelujah Chorus. If not that, at least a marching band and streamers. But nothing happened except that I was really, really happy.

And then the family disrobed and put on their pajamas, filling my dirty clothes baskets with yet another load. And of course last night a little person wet their bed. So my moment is over, but for that short window of time, I felt deep peace. The planets had aligned and all was right with the world.

Excuse me, I need to go throw a load in the washer.......

Yawn

Another sign of the third trimester: When you wake up in the morning hitting the snooze button, your mind is already strategizing about how you can get a nap that afternoon.

Disposable

This is our second attempt at being goldfish people. We were given two little fishies and surprisingly, after a week of living with us, the two little orange guys don't have names yet. We are very casual fish owners. They sat on the kitchen counter in a ziplock bag for a good day or so before I put them in a temporary holding area. That would be a tupperware bowl. Finally I remembered to pick up a real true fish bowl. I think they were happy to have a permanent home complete with a purple and black pebble "sea bed". They were probably also wondering what kind of fate they were in for, being neglected so early in our relationship. You know, watching the nameless fish swim endless circles around their bowl takes me back. Back to our first attempt at fish ownership........

We inherited a goldfish from my little sister a few years ago. I was new to the whole fish thing and I didn't know the first thing about changing the water in the bowl. You can see where this is going. About a week after we took the adoptive fish under our care, I dumped out the water, rinsed out the bowl, and filled it back up with new water......tap water. Sure enough, within a few minutes our little buddy was belly up and floating around the surface of his underwater home. The kids were mad at me. I appeased them with a fish funeral that we happened to capture on home video. I watched that video recently and made a note to myself. "Next time it might be a good idea to thoroughly scrub the toilet before documenting it for all of eternity." Each of the kids took a few moments to say their farewells to the deceased fish in the plastic dixie cup. Noelle's speech was especially dramatic and full of sorrow. She handed the cup to the previous fish owner and Mariah then said her goodbyes. Again with the drama, and then a small silly smirk revealing her true feelings toward her pet . At the very moment, she squeezed the cup a little too hard and dead fish water splashed up onto her face. The fish had the last say. All solemness was thrown out the window in exchange for "eeeews" and lots of laughter. The fish was quickly flushed down the dirty toilet and that was the end of that.

This time I am hoping we can improve our record by at least a few weeks. Dare I hope for months? I am armed with a bottle of chlorine neutralizing drops for our tap water and a jar of fish food that should last us a year or two. Now if we could only think of some names or they will be remembered as John and Jane Doe in their inevitable eulogy. It's really only a matter of time.

There Are Some Questions I Wish I Had Never Asked.

"Has anyone seen the sponge?"
I spent a good twenty minutes searching for the sponge I use in the kitchen.


Then I found it.

My Return to the Land of the Living

So there I was, skipping through this pregnancy like it was a field of daisies. Feeling amazing, the sun was shining down on me and I breathed deeply the aroma of the fresh, third trimester air. Suddenly from out of nowhere, I was tackled by a sweaty, grungy, 300 pound linebacker. Aka: the sinus infection. It pinned me to the ground, beat me to a pulp, and left me whimpering and moaning.

I should have expected it. I catch two killer colds every pregnancy, one is the tell tale sign that I am pregnant, sometimes even striking before I see the two pink lines. The other comes at the end and brings me to my knees. I have felt absolutely amazing this whole pregnancy. I say things to Nate like "I don't even really feel pregnant except for when I try to tie my shoes". But then this cold hit and I felt like I was 42 weeks along, not the 32 weeks that I am. It brought fatigue, congestion, and the overwhelming sense that my face would explode every time I bent over. Good times. Isn't it so much fun to hear someone whine about being sick?

Today I was saved. I have been suffering from the wrath of this beast for a week and I kept telling myself, "I have a doctor's appointment scheduled for next Tuesday, just hold out until then Heth." And today was that appointment. After the regular routine of peeing, being weighed, having my blood pressure taken, and having my belly measured (only fun when pregnant), I finally got to see the doctor. I begged for drugs and he prescribed me two. I have been on the glorious antibiotics that were sent straight from heaven for a mere 8 hours and I feel like a whole new woman. I can breathe. I finally have more energy than a napping sloth. My eyeball isn't threatening to burst at the first sign of a change in elevation. I may even be able to distance myself from the box of kleenex. Bring on the last eight weeks baby!

Do Dreams Really Come True?

There is a giveaway over at Five Minutes for Mom. A free Dyson. It's sad the things we lust after when we become moms.

To The Baby That Won't Leave Her Diaper On:

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Camryn

Sometimes you change clothes three or four times a day, leggings and jean skirts, shoes to match your mood. Most mornings when I come into the soft pink room that you three girls share, I can find you up on the top bunk snuggled up with your big sister. I hope you two always share the closeness that you do now, best friends and sisters, what a perfect match. You still have a deep love for penguins, and for drawing them. Your stuffed "Pengwee" joined the family this Christmas. If the job of town crier ever became available, you would be the perfect person to take the position. When ever there is news to be shared, good or bad, you love to make sure that everyone in the family knows. I love that about you. As the weather has become a teensy bit warmer, you have taken every opportunity to fly up and down the street on your bike, laughing all the way. I'm really looking forward to summertime when your freckles make their appearance across the bridge of your tan little nose. You wear your swimsuit all summer long, whether we are going swimming or not. Bring on year eight!

Happy Birthday Camryn.

Mariah

Somehow this year you have changed from a sporty thirteen year old who didn't care much for dressing up or wearing pink, to a fabulous (but still athletic) fourteen year old who wears adorable jeans and glamorous sunglasses. I'm still waiting for your feet to catch up with mine so that I can borrow all of your cute shoes.

You are beautiful Mariah, inside and out. Happy Birthday little sister.

Behold, the Power of Sugar

This morning a verse jumped off of the pages of my bible.

1Corinthians 6:12 All things are lawful for me, but all things are not helpful. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any.

This afternoon I was driving home from a shopping trip with a half empty bag of Frosted Circus Animal Crackers nestled in my lap. Slowly that verse eased it's way from the back to the front of my mind. I closed the bag and moved it to the passenger seat with a deep sigh. Sometimes conviction stinks.


Also, just for the record. All three of my littlest ankle biters were perfect angels in Target today. I just felt like I needed to write that down. And maybe date it. March 21st, 2007.

Fire Up Your Printer

I think I have made it abundantly clear that I love Twinkies. Let's all take a look at the math going on behind this lovely treat.
Sponge cake + creme filling = perfection.

When I turned 30 this year, (I still don't want to talk about it) two of my dear friends hooked me up with a dream come true. (my running partners of all people!) The flower delivery guy came to my door with 30 balloons. You can see them here where Jack was releasing them from their ribbon leashes to dance upon the ceiling. Tied to the bottom of these beautiful balloons was the perfect gift. A bag of pecan pie flavored coffee and a cook book. Not just any cook book, a Twinkie cookbook full of 40 recipes to be made using a secret ingredient: Twinkies. Some of the concoctions include Twinkie Sushi, Twinkie Pancakes, Ribbons and Bows Twinkie Wedding Cake, Twinkie Milkshake, Twinkie-Misu, and Deep Fried Twinkies with Raspberry Syrup. Because if a Twinkie is only 150 calories, you DEFINITELY need to deep fry it to add some more Yippee! to the party.

We tried the Twinkie pancakes as soon as we possibly could. Basically, you make your regular pancake batter and when you pour the batter onto the griddle, you place 3 thin slices of Twinkie onto the top of each pancake before you flip it. Then you flip it. Then you put in on your plate, drown it in butter and syrup and gobble it right down. I can't begin to express to you how fabulous those pancakes were. The marriage of my two food loves. *sigh*

Last night we tried another recipe from this now-a-family-heirloom cookbook. Twinkie Ice Cream Cake. Because I am a kind and giving and loving person, I am going to share this recipe with you. A couple of notes: Make sure you use an extra deep pan or you will be swimming in melted ice cream. I didn't plan ahead so I had to cut back on the amount of ice cream I used so that it all fit into the pan, but it was still delicious. Also, make sure you set aside some Twinkies for eating while you make this. Don't muzzle the ox.

Twinkie Ice Cream Cake

Crust:
1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs
2 tablespoons confectioners' sugar
6 tablespoons butter, melted

1/2 gallon chocolate ice cream (in a box), slightly thawed
18 Twinkies (plus the ones you are going to eat)
1/2 gallon vanilla ice cream, at room temperature
1/2 cup chocolate sauce
1 cup frozen nondairy whipped topping, thawed
candy sprinkles or toasted chopped nuts for decorating (optional)

To prepare crust, combine the cracker crumbs, confectioners' sugar, and melted butter in a bowl and mix well. Transfer to a 9 by 13 inch baking dish and press evenly into the bottom of the dish.
Cut the chocolate ice cream crosswise into 1 inch thick slices and arrange on top of the crust. Cut 12 of the Twinkies in half lengthwise and arrange cut side down in a single layer over the chocolate ice cream.
Cut the remaining 6 Twinkes into 1 inch pieces and stir into the softened vanilla ice cream. Spread the vanilla ice cream mixture over the Twinkies. Drizzle on the chocolate sauce, then spread with the whipped topping. Decorate with candy sprinkles or nuts.
Freeze for at least 2 hours, until firm. Set out 10-15 minutes before serving. Cut into squares to serve.

Now print this out and make it. I mean it.

A Dozen Years

When you were a toddler you would stumble into the kitchen in the mornings all grouchy and shaky, your little mind focused on one thing: cereal. It was your infantile version of a coffee addiction. Every morning I groggily poured you a bowlful while half asleep myself and you hovered over that bowl with your quivering hands, dripping milk all over everything. Once your belly was full, you were magically transformed into a happy child and you were ready to start the day. I looked across the kitchen table at at you with your chubby hands and a head full of blonde hair and I smiled. And then I blinked and now you are twelve.

Happy Birthday Tyler.

Who Wrote this Story Anyway?

This afternoon as I was trying to coerce my three and a half year old into taking a nap so that I could take one too, I told him the story of Goldilocks and the three Bears. It seems he had never heard it before, oops. I'm sure I have told it to the older kids a million times but somehow I hadn't shared this classic little story with him yet. As the story unfolded I got to thinking about it a little bit. Now I know it's make-believe and everything but some things about it just don't make sense at all.

• The three bowls of porridge have been sitting on the table the same amount of time. Why is the Papa Bear's porridge still hot when Mama's is cold and Baby's is just right? Did he have a bigger portion, Mama had an "on a diet" sized portion and baby just had a regular amount? Was there a draft?
  
• I'm assuming Goldilocks weighs about the same amount or less than the Baby bear. So what's up with the chair breaking? Was she jumping on it? Was she a very large little girl?
  
• Three beds? Were Papa and Mama bear having some marriage issues? Or maybe they just needed a sleep number bed but couldn't afford one. Papa bear would have probably had a sleep number of 90 and Mama might have been more around a 35 or so.
  
• Obviously they didn't believe in co-sleeping or having a family bed.
• They must make their beds every day because it was very clear to them that someone had been messing up the covers. At our house, you would have never known until you heard Goldi snoring.
  

Anyway, the story poses more questions than answers. I shouldn't be thinking about these things so hard, but this is what happens when you are drowning in children. You start to pick apart fairy tales.

At Least We Aren't a Family of Crocodiles

I have avoided it long enough. When I got the reminder in the mail from the dentist's office that was addressed to the whole Laundry family, I knew it was time to just bite the bullet and start scheduling appointments. I reluctantly called and inquired as to who needed to be seen. There was a long pause on the other end of the line and she started reciting to me the dates of the last visits for each family member. I'm not going to disclose those dates here, just writing this is humiliating enough, but I will say that the most recent visit was in 2005. My almost 8 year old has never been. I think maybe Nate was last seen in the late 90's. It's almost embarrassing how long we have let our dental exams slide. I promise, we DO brush our teeth around here, but actually taking time to go in to have them looked at....not so much.

Today was the first round. I'm only taking them in two at a time because honestly, I don't think the dentist has a whole day to devote to just our family. I also don't think the dentist wants my little ones sitting in the waiting room for 8 hours. You can only read Dr. Seuss books so many times before your brain turns to mush, mushy, slushy, slush. Before I left, I scheduled the rest of the crew and I now possess enough appointment reminder cards to make a flip book. The cavity total from today's visit? One kid came away with none but the other with three and a recommendation for sealants. And also there was mention of a future of braces for both of them due to their short lifetimes of thumb sucking. That was just the first two kids. I think we will take out a second mortgage on our house now. Or maybe just getting some dental insurance would be in order.

Of course I consoled myself the most appropriate way I could think of, by stuffing my face with Hershey's kisses. Have you seen the ones with vanilla creme inside? Yum. Hey, it's nothing that a couple of toothbrushes can't handle. There are always more than enough around here and after this dental escapade is all over, we will be able to brush the teeth of a small army. Bring on the free toothbrushes, baby!

A Tale of A Kitchen

When we bought this house, our kitchen was a lovely shade of country blue and tan wallpaper. Ohmygoodness I wish I had a photo to show you but let me assure you, it was not pretty. Needless to say that was one of the first rooms that we repainted. We spent hours tearing that stuff off of the walls and then brightened the room up with some yellow paint. I loved my yellow kitchen and the red back door. My mom sewed some cheery tulip curtains for me and they were perfect. The room was yellow for seven years.

Last month I decided it was time to change again. I had new dishes and I wanted to use them as a catalyst to get myself a whole new room. I chose some paint and got to work. Now let me just note that we were having a dinner party at our house on a Saturday night. What would a crazy pregnant lady like me decide to do? How about paint the kitchen on Thursday! So I did. I also had a whole list of projects for Nate to take care of like hanging curtains and installing a new light fixture and hanging up my pottery-barn-knock-off-message-center thingy. We worked our ever-loving butts off and got it all done just in the nick of time. Without killing each other. Here are some photos of the finished room. My flash really distorted the colors. The walls truely are blue, not the washed out white that shows up here. The bulletin board really does go with the dishes, I promise. Just trust me. So here is a quick tour.

This is the pottery-barn-knock-off-message-center thingy. I saw it in their catalog but didn't want to pay a couple hundred dollars for it, so I hit the lumber yard. I picked up some cork board, some peg board, and some masonite . I painted the pegboard red and the masonite with black chalkboard paint and then made Nate hang it all up. Like I said, the flash killed my wall color in this photo. Picture "Heavenly Breeze" blue.

This is me winging a window treatment. I picked up the curtain at Target with my fingers crossed that it would match. It did. Hooray! Then I needed something to hang on the three hooks that have been above the window since forever ago when I had actual plants hanging there. I decided to make a little craft and hung these letters. It' helps to remind the kids why we are all sitting around the table every night. And again, the color is all wrong. The blue in the frames is not near that dark and the wall is not so bleh.

Now when you see this picture you might think "what the heck?" But this is just me being a dork with my camera. For the first week or so after I finished the kitchen, I would come up the stairs from doing laundry or surfing the internet and I would get a glimpse of the room and remember "Oh yeah! That's right, I re-did the kitchen!" And I just loved it with the light fixture and the flowers and the paint color. So I took a picture. This photo is a whole lot more true to the colors in the room. That would be because I ditched the flash.
So there you have it. My kitchen is new. Well, except for the gold linoleum floor that we have been intending to replace for, let's see, seven years now. In fact when we painted the kitchen yellow, we pulled off all of the baseboards and didn't put them back up because why put them back up when you are going to get a new floor?.......seven years later. And there's also the non-wood super dark nasty cupboards but I don't want to talk about that.

Just Helping Webster Out a Little Bit

des·per·ate (děs'pər-ĭt)
adj.

1. Having lost all hope; despairing.
2. Marked by, arising from, or showing despair
3. Reckless or violent because of despair: a desperate criminal.
4. Undertaken out of extreme urgency or as a last resort: a desperate attempt to save the family business. Or in my case: a desperate search for a rubberband for my hair that included digging through the pile of Barbies because maybe one of them is wearing a ponytail just like I wanted to.

Time

Last night we sat around watching home videos from four year ago. Four years isn't a very long time. Or is it? I was shocked at how much my kids had changed in that short time, some of them weren't even born yet. They all giggled at their own antics and I giggled too, at least a little bit. Part of me was really sad. I mourned the passing of that stage in each of their lives. Looking back you can see a bit of who they are now in the who they were then. But time doesn't let you look ahead to see a glimpse of who they will be. As I watched those moments on the tv, I tucked some of them away in my heart for a rainy day.

Jenni over at One Thing has written a beautiful reflection on the passing of time. Make sure you read her post Not I, if you explore her site at all, prepare yourself for some breath taking writing. And if you have a few minutes of extra time today (who really does?) why don't you pull out a home movie from four years ago and soak in how much of a difference a few years can make.

He Really Is a Good Little Monkey

George becomes curious about potty training.

Four Questions.

Question number one:

Am I a bad person because I went through the 20 items or less lane with *gasp* twenty two items? Ok, this is huge because I am normally not a rule breaker. I just can't break the rules. And also, one of my biggest pet peeves is people with a cart full, trying to sneak through on the speedy checkout lane. But yesterday when I saw that all the lanes were backed up at least three carts and every person looked like they were stocking up for the next two weeks, I glanced over at the 20 items or less lane. Not so bad. One family checking out, one guy with an arm full of stuff and room for me. YAY! I did a quick mental tally of the items in my cart and figured I was right at 20 items. Oops, I guess two bunches of bananas count as two seperate items, as do two cans of liquid squirty cheese. We are a picture of healthy eating. So long story short, my conscience ate away at me as I piled my loot on the 12" by 12" square of counter top. The glares coming from the couple behind me didn't really help. Sure enough, when I was handed my receipt the number of items sold read a shocking 22. I didn't sleep well last night.


Question number two:

Am I the only one who dances in my car? I really need to know because I don't want to be the only dancing-while-driving idiot. I never notice anyone else getting their grove on while stopped at a down town traffic light. Sometimes a really great song will come on and I just rock it out. I don't dance well, but something about sitting down with a seat belt across my shoulder makes me feel a whole lot better about my abilities. My passengers think I'm weird. What do they know anyway? None of them have even hit puberty yet.


Question number three:

Not really a question but just an apology for my commas, again. I warned you in my profile, I suck at commas. I read through an old post and was shocked at my lack of comma skills. Believe it or not, I did really well in grammar and all other forms of English in school. Once I graduated, I made up my own rules and decided to just throw a comma in anywhere I wanted a pause. So sorry. Also, just to get it off of my chest, I don't remember how to write in real cursive. I made up my own form of half printing, half cursive and I've just gone with it. There, I feel much better.


Question number four:

Again, not a question but just a loud exclamation of YIPPEE! It looks like no crazy ice/snow storms will be coming our way this week, which means that the kids will be back in school, Nate will be back at work, and we can all stumble back into some sort of a routine. A routine that includes chores, meals at predictable times, naps for small children and pregnant mothers, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Hooray!