So. Proud.

She works hard for the money.

And yes, I did take time to video this even though my baby was crying in the car.  I'm pretty much an awesome mom.

I Guess This is Really Happening

It seems I might really be having a baby sometime soon. I vacillate between eagerness and anticipation to downright terror.  Not terror of giving birth.  It's the terror of being alone with THREE KIDS UNDER THE AGE OF FOUR.  Damned reality rearing it's ugly head.

I know it will work out, just like I know the first 6 months are going to be filled with exhaustion.

I know we will make it work, just like I know it will be immense work.

I know there will be moments filled with laughter of three children, just as I know there will be moments where our home will be filled with the wails of three crying children.

I know our home will be filled with love, just as I know that there will be moments full of stress.  So long as the love wins, I figure we're on the right track.

I know there will be unmet needs:  Brooklyn's, Elliott's, Kellen's, Chris' and mine.  I also know that my amazing friends will force me out of the house for girl-time, helping me to be a better spouse & parent.

I know there will be moments of "heated discussions" between Chris and me, but I also know that we will work to make our marriage a priority because a strong marriage makes for a stronger family.

I see a lot of prayer in my future.  Not so much sleep.  I see my heart expanding as my budget shrinks.  I see that we will find a way because there are so many people who do more with much less.

Okay.  I get it.  This is happening.  I should probably pack a bag or something.  I did manage to pre-register for the hospital, so there's that.

Once Kellen arrives, please feel free to visit.  With a casserole.  Or two.

Mental Health in a Vibrating Chair

Today my Heather came over for a visit.  It had been a ridiculously long time since I had seen her, but no worry, my 2 year old immediately recalled that she's the number one person willing to play hide-and-hide with him (no editing mistake--he only wants to hide and be chased).  Eventually poor Heather got to sit and even got to take off her impervious-to-cold soccer shoes.  That's when Ell busted out with this, upon seeing her feet and pointing,

My Mommy don't have those anymore.  

 Yep.  I still have feet.  Toes even.  What did I not have any longer?  Painted toenails.  This wasn't because I took the polish off--oh no.  This was because it had been so long since my piggies were painted that it had all grown off.  Even off the big toe. Sad.  That's what happens when you have two kids and a full-time job during a recession.

That moment is when Heather and I looked at each other and we knew. . . we KNEW our destiny.  Pedicures.  Sometimes that vibrating, massaging chair and some girlfriend-time is all you need to make you forget about re-arranging the garage.  Trust me.  Totally rationalized worth it.

It's a lot of Dark

My almost-three-year-old makes me laugh.  Some of his phrases that may forever be in our vernacular:

"It's a wot of dark."  Yes, he does specify between 'a wittle dark' and a lot.

and

"It's bewwy gwass." (It's very glass)  Used to indicate that something is breakable.

We also had to ask him today what his sister's name is.  He said, "Brook-Brook."  Hrm.  Suppose we should call her by her full name more?

We are THOSE Parents. Laughing at our Kid.

I've totally neglected my bloggy-blog. This new year has started at a run, to say the least.

My Monkey had surgery on Friday to put a new set of tubes in his ears and to remove his adenoids.  Since his tubes have fallen out, he's had several ear infections and Chris and I are serious about stopping the antibiotic trend now.  Before taking the wee one back for surgery (he really had no idea what was happening--we just told him that the doctor was going to fix his ears), they gave him some twilight medication to ease any anxiety he might have.  The parents around us had concerned looks, but we weren't there yet.  Nope.  No, we were the parents laughing uproariously, and those of you who have heard me laugh know this is LOUD, because our kid was Funny.  Funny with a capital 'F.'  Being the solicitous parents we are, we even caught the goods on video for your viewing pleasure.  Yes, that is my snort.

On Sharing and Empathy

My Monkey is a sweet one, you know, when he's not being almost three and shouting "No!"  He shared a horrific stomach virus with mommy.  Horrific.  Seriously.  He was vommies for almost 24 hours and then was sicky even after that.  I was praying that the rumbling in my tummy was a foray into hypochondria, but alas, he shared.

As I crouched over the toilet, Monkey kept saying, "You shrow up, Mommy?  You shrow up?"  I grunted an affirmation.  Next I know, he has toddled off and brought back Minnie and Lovie.  "Here go, Mommy.  Minnie make you feel better."  This was the Holy Grail of kindness--anyone spending any time at all with my Monkey knows that these are his most prized possessions.  The boundless sweetness was not lost on my limp, listless body in the throes of nausea.

I was still proud of his sharing, even when 4 minutes later he came and reclaimed Minnie and Lovie.  He needed them.  Mommy had better recover fast.

Dinner, Anyone?

Monkey is in full-on pretend mode.  I love it.  I know it's closely linked with language development, so the speech pathologist in me is thrilled with his ability.  Tonight while I was getting Little Bit ready for bed and playing a bit, he set up a dinner with his favorite friends:  Puppy Dog, Minnie, Bunny and Olivia.  And take note, just because he pretends well doesn't mean any of it lasts very long.  Ah, the mind of a two-year old.

Privacy?

Our house has no privacy.  None.  It's a good thing that my husband still loves me after witnessing me birthing two darling children, because there are horrific moments when he's seen me pee.  On the toilet.  Which makes me think our marriage is doomed just like Janene Garafolo's character proclaims her parents' to be in the ultimate 90s movie, Reality Bites.

All of this is to say that my. . . ahem. . .you know. . .my period is back.  Shh.  This makes me blush like an 8th grader.  I promise that I only share this news for the purpose of humor.  My child is the epitome of curiosity.  For the first time in what I am sure will be a long, long tradition--I stumbled over the answers to his questions.  Stuttered.  Sputtered.

"What dat, Mommy?  What dat?  Dat for me?"

"Uh. . . it's for mommies.  It's just. . .a. . .thing."

"What for, Mommy?"

Silence.

"What for, Mommy?"

Now I know why my mom used to say things like, "I just want to poop in peace."  No 2 1/2 year old BOY is ready for the truth about tampons.

Sometimes My Husband Surprises Me

Last night we decided to order in so that we could watch the World Series game. . . that was postponed.   Being that we didn't have anything thawed and we received a coupon for Mooyah Burgers, off we went for a little family dinner.  Driving down our street, this happened:

Chris:  Look, it's the Steak People behind us.
Me:  The Steak People?
Chris:  You know, the people who knock on the door saying they have just a few steaks left and would we like to buy some?
Me:  (quizzical look)
Chris:  Oh that's right, you always make me answer the door.
Me:  (distracted) Mmmhmm.
Chris:  I always just tell them we're vegan.  They don't have anything to say to that.

Good thing the Steak People didn't see the meat lovers pizza box in the trash bin.

Oh. THAT Phase.

I knew it was coming, I just thought maybe we had until closer to three. The phase? The one where my child speaks the plain ol' unvarnished truth. (The scene: Breakfast room table. Breakfast with Ell-man and Mommy. Brooklyn in small rocker next to the table.) Elliott: Mommy have bih-oof. Mommy: Heh? Elliott: Mommy's big-oof. Mommy: ???? Elliott: Mommy have big teef (while pointing to his own teeth) Mommy: (smothering dejected laughter) You're right, Ell. Mommy does have big teeth. It's true. Bugs Bunny and I evidently have the same ancestors. I'm not sure where this particular trait originated, as my parents have normal-sized teeth. You, dear reader, are probably thinking that I'm speaking in hyperbole, but alas, I speak only the truth.

See? I've read some studies that show people with big teeth are perceived to be in good health, or something along those lines, and if that's the case people should perceive me to the epitome of health and to live forever.

Touching AND Funny?

I have aspirations of my blog being hilarious and touching at the same time. Turns out I'm lucky if I hit 1 out of 2. Tonight is my stab at touching. Or funny? I dunno. You decide.

Obviously I love my child. I wanted a child more than anything, he's been lovely, yada yada. I must say that now, at 16 months, Elliott's personality is so blindingly funny that it steals my breath. For the longest time, he was just a happy baby, just like most babies out there. Happy. Sweet. But maybe not funny. My kid, MY KID, is so funny that Chris and I find ourselves giggling mercilessly at his antics. Putting Ell to bed each night could be an exercise in patience (sometimes it is, I can't lie), but most of the time I have to peel myself out of the glider and use a lot of self-talk about how he really needs sleep and that my playing into his sleep-avoiding antics is being selfish.

Putting Elliott to bed goes something like this:
Sit in glider.
Wrestle him into pajamas while he is clamoring for "bubbie, bubbie" (aka, books).
Still wrestling while he moves into the "abwa, abwa, abwa" phase (aka, "agua" or water).
Elliott picks a book for reading.
I start reading in my most calming and interesting voice--after all, I want him to be interested in literacy, right?
Calming voice becomes drowned out by E's squealing at wanting to turn the pages himself. (Fighting with a 16 month old ensues. I win.)
Books are over and it's time for quiet songs.
"Abwa, abwa, abwa, abwa"
Elliott pointing to the animals on the wall above the glider, followed quickly by trying to scale mama to touch them.
"Muh-meee" (aka, monkey), "boooooo" (aka, elephant trumpeting), "yah-yuh" (aka, lion).
"It's time for night night, Elliott"
"abwa, abwa, abwa"
"Night, night, Elliott" I then start singing a series of quiet songs.
My nose is pinched. "Nuh, nuh, nuh." (aka, nose, nose, nose)
"It's time for night night, Elliott"
"Muh-muh" (Who can resist a 16 month old kisses?)
"Night-night, Elliott"
...
...
...
Needless to say that this continues until the frantic energy slowly ekes out and he grabs "wubbie" (aka, lovie), holds the corner tight in his fist, while the left thumb is pulled calmingly into his mouth.

That is perfection. That is the highlight of my day. That is the joy of motherhood.