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Monthly Archives: June 2013

My Birthday, Version 2.0

Tonight is a do-over for my birthday. My real birthday falls in December, and this year it happened to be 3 days after the birth of my youngest, and my wee one and I had just stumbled out of the NICU in a jumbled, sleep-deprived, haze. My sister offered to take the big boys overnight for my birthday months before, and she was still excited to do so. We figured we’d drop them off at her house and have dinner at my favorite steakhouse with the newest addition to our family.

We dropped the boys off over an hour late (because someone forgot how long it takes to get out of the house with a brand new baby), and were on our way. The restaurant was a debacle as they were out of rolls (which was a complete tragedy considering that they have the best rolls EVER, and also that I had just been let off of the severe carb restriction that I had due to gestational diabetes), and they served us some seriously undercooked shrimp, which had some serious ramifications later (I’ll let you fill in the blanks there).

On the way home we had to pull over in a parking lot to feed the baby. Since it was late and nothing was open, I ended up feeding the baby in the front seat of our (parked) car, while trying to keep him warm enough, in the dark. Yeah, that was a party.

We embarked on the drive home (as the steakhouse is 45 minutes from where we live), and my husband made a comment that at least this drive gave us some nice time to chat since we’d been so busy that week and had no time to talk. At least that’s what I assume he said. I can’t be sure, as I dozed off about 25 seconds after we started driving. Conversationalist, fail. Although, I apparently I muttered random intelligible comments throughout the drive home, so I get points for trying.

So, anyway, my sweet husband has decided that we are going to have a do-over tonight on my half birthday. Oh, and for the 1st time ever, we’re leaving all 3 kids with a babysitter! I’m really excited. We’re going to the steakhouse (and a movie!) and I have high hopes. I’m cautiously optimistic that they’ll have rolls and I will stay far away from the shrimp!

Maybe this time I’ll get a less painful present.

Cute, but I was not wildly fond of the packaging it had to come in.

Cute, but I was not wildly fond of the packaging it had to come in.

 
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Posted by on June 21, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

Larry-In-The-Box

We went to a yard sale this morning. An acquaintance of mine was having a big clean out, and I  was excited to go. I told my husband that there were tools and storage solutions that I wanted to look at; however, let’s face it, I went for the toys (sorry, honey).

I can’t resist picking up new toys here and there for the boys (which is probably why we have a playroom brimming with them), especially at yard sale prices. Also this friend promised plenty of vintage and wooden toys, and oh did she deliver.

So my sweet husband woke me up at 6 this morning to get ready to go to this sale, even though (due to my track record) he knew I wouldn’t be doing much looking at tools or storage solutions. I fed the baby, woke up the big boys, got us all dressed and out the door. When we arrived, they were still setting up the sale (I promise I wasn’t an annoying early bird, they just had a lot of stuff to put out, and 4 small children to delay them while doing it). I headed straight for the toys and began to collect more than I could hold. Once I had a decent sized grocery bag full of them, I figured I better stop before I had so much that my husband was bound to notice the extra clutter treasures in the play room.

Liam (the 2 and 1/2 year old) was reluctant to leave, as he thought that the whole excursion was a strange version of a play date. However, the boys were both excited to pick a toy from the bag to hold in the car. Liam chose a big wooden school bus and Logan choose the Jack-In-The-Box. I showed him how the Jack-In-The-Box worked before we started driving, and he was enamored with it.

A couple of miles down the road he asked me a simple question. “Mama, why is this called Jack-In-The-Box?”

I responded, “That little man is named Jack, and he lives in the box; so it’s called a Jack-In-The-Box.”

“Does his name have to be Jack?”

“No, he’s your’s now. His name can be whatever you want it to be.”

The boys began tossing out names. Bob was a strong contender for a while, but Liam suggested Larry. (If you’ve ever seen VeggieTales you probably get the correlation.) They boys settled on the name Larry for the little man living in the box. Logan piped up, “His name is Larry. Now it’s called a Larry-In-The-Box.”

I suppose it is.

I feel like Larry-In-The-Box is our greatest treasure from the yard sale, just because of his awesome name. When Liam had his turn, he was struggling to turn the crank, and he turned to his brother. “Brudder, help wiff Larry-In-Da-Box pwease. Larry’s stuck in da box.”

Oh, Larry-In-The-Box, you’ve got a certain ring to you.

Doesn't he just look like a Larry to you?

Doesn’t he just look like a Larry to you?

 
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Posted by on June 14, 2013 in kids, Stuff My Kids Say

 

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You’ve Got Your Hands Full

Once a year the neighboring town has a huge community yard sale. I wanted to go, but alas, it was the one Saturday that my lovely husband was scheduled to work. However, today I woke up and the sky was bright, and all 3 kids were in a good mood, so off we went.

The yard sales are wildly popular, so the whole town turns into gridlock. So after weeding through traffic, we turned down a side street, found a parking spot, and unloaded. I strapped the little one to my chest, and plopped the big boys in the double umbrella stroller. Normally I would let the big boys walk, but the traffic was so thick, I felt that they would be a lot safer seated in a stroller. As I walked around the neighborhood perusing different yard sales (that were very picked over due to the fact that we weren’t early birds) people kept staring, and pointing, and gaping their mouths open a little. I wasn’t getting it, but then someone actually spoke to me. “Wow! You sure have your hands full!” I replied back happily, “Yes, full of blessings!” And it continued. Within one block three different people stopped to tell me how full my hands were. And each time, I took it as a compliment, smiled, and offered a kind word back.

I’m now quite used to navigating life with three kids that are 4 years old and under, and today everyone was well-behaved. It was easy, and I was excited to be “that” mom to these strangers. You know, the mom with a pile of small kids, who still manages to be put together and happy. Her kids are well-behaved, no one is crying, whining, fighting, spitting, or yelling “POO POO” the top of their lungs, and then giggling wildly. She remembered the sunscreen, her sweet little baby is giving everyone smiles, and she isn’t wearing clothes drenched in baby vomit. People thought I was that mom, and I was loving it. With three small kids, I rarely get to be that mom. It was awesome. For about 5 blocks. Then we came to the hill.

The path we took led us up a steep hill with no sidewalks. I was doing okay at 1st, but then the baby started to cry. I (of course) hadn’t brought a pacifier and the pre-nap meltdown was in full swing. I did a goofy bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy walk up the hill to try to calm him to sleep. “You’ve got your hands full!” I replied with a smile and a quick nod.

And then the hill got steeper. And I was feeling the full weight of the 80 or so pounds of toddler and preschooler I was pushing up the hill in the full heat 90 degree day. “You’ve got your hands full!” Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy. A forced smile and a bright “Yep!” Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy.

And the top of the hill was no where in sight. The baby spit up all down the front of me. I started to sweat. I forged on. Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy. “Mommy! I gotta go potty! I gotta go NOW!” I double my speed. “Hold on buddy. We’ll be to a bathroom soon! Please try your hardest not to potty in your pants.” Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy. Sprint.Sprint. Sprint. Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy. Sprint. Sprint. Sprint. “You’ve got your hands full!” A half-smile and a half nod.

Yeah, I’m no longer “that” mom. I’m sweaty and hot. I’ve got a crying baby and a preschooler trying not to pee his pants. I’m so different from “that” mom, I can’t believe that I (or any one else) mistook myself for her. I’m a mess, just trying to keep up with caring for my three small boys. Then we arrive at the top of the hill.

The baby is suddenly quiet. He has succumbed to the many rounds of the bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy and is asleep against my chest. The big boys are chatting with each other about all the surroundings. I ask my oldest how he’s doing holding his potty in, and he replies “Oh, I’m fine mama. I’ll go potty when we eat lunch.”

I’m back to me. I’m by no means “that” mom, no matter how much I like wearing her perfectly coordinated shoes. I sometimes get to pretend to be her, but life is usually quick in snapping me back into reality. Sometimes I’m the sweaty exhausted mom, dancing her grumpy kids up a never-ending hill, but usually I’m just me. In clothes that rarely match and flip-flops carting my three awesome boys around, soaked in spit-up, making occasional emergency potty runs, breaking up fights over matchbox cars, watching my big boys delight in the big, exciting world around them, and feeling the rise and fall of my tiniest boy’s chest as he naps against me.

I don’t need to be “that” mom to know that my hands are indeed, full of blessings.

DSCN2453

 
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Posted by on June 8, 2013 in kids, Parenting

 

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