Mommy Love (and Phoenix fun)

I LOVE this photo. I think it's beautiful - the way... it... captures... so much. My mommy heart just explodes into a billion pieces when I look at it. Great - another thing to clean up.

Back-story: A couple of weeks ago, when Baby Dude was already a month old, it dawned on me - I haven't ever had tiny baby pictures taken of any of my kids. Guilt guilt guilt. REGRET. REGRET. REGRET. And as we all know (and occasionally mourn), you can't rewind time. I called my close friend, Emily, - who is not only a close friend but photographer extraordinaire - bemoaning this revelation and she smacked me upside the head & booked me stat. Like a doctor for the lazy, sickhearted mom!

I was also lamenting the fact that much like my mid-section, I've kind of let this blog 'go'. I want to have fun with it! Care again! DO something fun! And since she and I once shared a very small twin bed in Amsterdam amidst a roomful of high British-men to save her from an even bigger roomful of high Arab-men (hello political correctedness), she has graciously allowed me to have some fun with the main ingredient being HER! Yipppeee!

She's a high-end photographer, people (some may or may not be rich and famous) pay her lots of money to capture the very best of who/what they are. If you clickety click over to her site (<--click!) and tell her you came over from my blog, she'll give the first 10 to book an affordable photography package (weekdays only, the girl's busy, people)! Click all around in there - if you click enough, you'll see a picture of my Coco in her 'kids and family' section and I do believe that is my most favorite picture on her site. Prejudice smedjudice. Makes me want to have her take up modeling to pull her weight around here. You want MORE milk? Princess umbrella? Shoes too small? Get a job.

Seriously, Emily is AWE.SOME. She has found her calling. She also has a blog (<--) so you can see more of her recent shoots. Capturing the NOW is so important... I'm all still just gushy over my recent session and want it for you too! AAAAnd, it's just in time to wrap up your lovelies for Christmas!

How's that for fun?!

PS: Do you SEE that face on Baby Dude? That belly? Those fists? The receding 40 year old hairline? Plus he's even softer than he looks. Oh, how I love him.

You're welcome

Moms (especially those with child), if you have yet to discover THIS SITE - you're welcome.

Did she just learn where babies come from?

To which there is no title

So here I am, finally attempting to post something on this here blogola. I have 1,001 things to share so it's hard to know where to begin. Very huge things to share such as how I was all superior-than-thou (thou being my former self, in this case) because my one boob wouldn't leak when I nursed with the other. Amazing! Glory of glories! Well. That was short lived. Just when I was about to audition for America's Got Talent.

You can say it - you've missed me and my particular brand of *exciting*!

In other huge and exciting news, I just went through all of the girls' shoes - shoes currently in their rooms, in every corner and crevice everywhere - I swear they multiply - but only in singles - and boxes and boxes in the garage, forcing them to try on shoe after shoe after shoe determining who fits what. Or, more accurately, who won't go into convulsions from being forced into wearing something flower, pink or sparkle-less. Cough, MARY, cough. Our carpet just got over looking like it was made of shoes. I came upon a box that is a size-ish down from what Mary is now - a box brimming with CUTE, EXPENSIVE, INSERT LOTS OF ADJECTIVES shoes that I FORGOT ABOUT when she was that size. Hello. Third girl. Lots of shoes. Where did the girl to shoe to hand-me-down connection go in my brain? So the kid never had shoes. ALWAYS LOOKING FOR SHOES. KEPT BUYING MORE SHOES. Punch self in face. Seriously, somebody please schedule a brain scan for me (<-- that is a link, WHERE THE HECK DID THE COLOR BUTTON GO SO THAT YOU KNOW IT'S A LINK AND I DON'T HAVE TO SAY <-- THIS IS A LINK!?! I stop blogging for a minute, ok, eternity, and everything changes?!). This is becoming habitual.

Also exciting is the fact that Halloween is on Saturday and all the other moms are lovingly creating costumes and I will require my kids to shuffle through the play clothes we already have and pick something, anything, that doesn't show one's bottom.

But oooh, look!:


Swoon. Melt. Explode. Repeat. Repeat some more. Pete and Repeat were in a boat. Pete fell out. Who's left? Repeat.

Also, getting little sleep!* You totally couldn't tell, could you?

So I'm here thinking of all of the *exciting* things to write about and then realized - who's up for wife of the year award?! NOT ME. It just dawned on me today is Justin's birthday!!! and here I am writing about shoes and thinking of writing about unruly tree roots, the gloriousness of peppermint mocha creamer and Dentistland (shall be explained later).

SO. My husband. I dig him. At least the pro/con list is substantially heavier on the side of 'pro' (must.remember.when.trash.overflowing.). But am not in the mood to be mushy gushy at the moment. So suffice it to say, he's 37 - within 37 days I will write 37 things about him. Mostly good, even!

For now, I must close because the living room is being swallowed by mountains of clean laundry. Wonder twin power**, UNITE! Or is it ACTIVATE! ?

*Not Baby Dude's fault. Much. He's perfect. I, on the other hand, have issues.
**Me and coffee with peppermint mocha creamer. Have I mentioned: Yum. !!

Mommy, er, Sister Extraordinaire

Let it be known if I should meet my unfortunate demise, I want little dude to be left in the care of Coco. Is that legal? To leave a newborn to a 5 year old? I also now have a strong desire to homeschool so I can nap while Coco babysits. Nothing wrong with that, right?

My boy

So if you haven't yet heard, this little dude has finally made his appearance (cough, two weeks ago, cough)! Introducing... Price David Cutestuff.



Seriously cute, right? Good, it's not just me! Even if it is, I don't care, he's perfect. He even smiles with a perfect little dimple on his left side. Gas schmass.

The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. Calm. Painful. Filled up with love, snuggles and kisses. It started with two false labors. I wish we could SUE false labors for criminally teasing tired, hormonal, ready-to-be-done-being-pregnant pregnant people into HOPE that TODAY is the DAY and then causing that fantasy to come crashing down around them. Anyhoo, enough with the wah wah - so after the false labors and the real labor and the teensy push and badabing - this is what I get:



Not only that: I get to be DONE being pregnant! DONE I tell you! I've been gloriously SLEEPING ON MY BACK and DRINKING WINE and NOT PEEING 81 TIMES A NIGHT and NOT WANTING TO KILL EVERYONE IN SIGHT.

Not to mention I get to love so much my heart is in serious danger of exploding. How can one person be so blessed?!



Life is good. Really, really good.

My cup runneth over.

My girl

Gracie,

You are seven! Actually seven plus a week. Ish. Forgive the fact this is not on your birthday. But uh, I’ve been, uh, otherwise occupied. As in, uh, just… blue. But loooovin’ you. Gimmie a break, I also haven’t been sleeping. It’s still your birth MONTH, so it COUNTS. It does. It counts because I say it counts and I’m the mom. That’s one very nice thing about being The Mom. Soooo, back to you. Slow. it. down. PLEASE. It's hard to believe you're 7. 100% Kid. Little kid no more. (Sob!)

I both love and dread the fact you're getting older. You're capable of so much. You can be told to get ready and you’re on it. Except when lured away and distracted with pretty pretty markers and an empty whiteboard. You're my 'go to' girl and you generally do things I ask with a good attitude, except perhaps when I bombard you with 9,438 things in a row. Geez. Sooo picky.

You don’t need me nearly as much. You don’t require tucks every night, although you still like them. You brush your own hair (although not terribly well), brush your own teeth, fix your own food, roll your own smokes (just wanted to see if you were paying attention). It’s like the “need” for me is mostly gone. Which is both heart-breaking and glorious. Heart-breaking when we’re referring to your (former) need to come find me in the morning to get hugs; glorious when referring to wiping your own poo. Also glorious knowing you’ll learn to wipe your brother’s poo!

You are both a conflict instigator and the sweetest big sister on the planet. You think Mary's "so cute, very very cute" and say you'll miss her when she gets bigger and isn't a baby (I love how 3 is a baby to you, and me too, for that matter). "When she gets really bigger, like a grown-up, I'll really miss her unless we can live in the same neighborhood." Mary's taken to clinging to me, possibly pushing you and/or Coco out of the way, saying, "MY Mommy!" You patiently say, "Yes, she is your Mommy" and then mutter under your breathe, "and I'm not even going to mention how she was my Mommy FIRST."

You've heard me say I like it when you call me Mama, so you call me Mama more often. The way you say it just has such a sweet ring to it. I'll have plenty of years of being Mom or MooooOOOOmmmMMM. (Oh, teenage years - please be good to us!)

I send love notes in your lunchbox every day. You wrote back one day last week. It said:

Dear Mommy,
Thank you for sending me notes. You are the best mom in the whole world. You are an awsome mom. I love you up to heaven and back down to the water under the road. And even more than that. So the thing is I love you a lot and a lot and a lot.
Love,
Gracie

These are the things that keep me going every day. Especially the water under the road – c’mon, that there’s some serious lovin’, even though I have no idea what that actually means.

I love you. So much more than any combination of words can convey. You are.... amazingly wonderful. Plus a kadrillion other affectionate descriptive words. With a cherry on top. To the power of infinity. Plus two. So the thing is I love you a lot and a lot and a lot.

Love up to heaven back down to the water under the road (and even more than that),

Mama

Funky town

I've been in a funk. Excluding the time I had a broken heart, this is the biggest, looongest funk ever. I'm not usually prone to The Funk. It's hormonal. I know that. I know it will end. It doesn't help.

I vacillate between feeling highly agitated and on the brink of tears. Lately it's more brink of tears. Justin has been wonderfully understanding and tolerant through all of my moodines. He even buys chocolate on demand. And although he often and annoyingly forgets to replace the blender to where it belongs and longs to be, I'm glad to be married to him.

The primary reason this blog is in a state of neglect is my sheer and utter inability to say (or think) something nice and/or funny. I don't have it in me right now.

And to end this boring, dull & depressing post - what I DO have in me right now:

Son, you're totally worth it. Even the raging heartburn. The sleepless nights. Aching feet. Constant backache. But you'd better be easy to potty train. And not bring home questionable girls. Then we'll call it even.

Unfortunately, two of my kids can't read...

Recipe for happy girls

Because it looked like so much stinkin' fun, we copycatted Mama Rose in her rainbow cupcake making endeavor. Directions: take three giddy girls, throw in lots of sugar and colors, giggle a lot and you have this:

Evidently, I paid little to no attention in art class (or shall I blame my non-functioning pregnancy brain?) - I actually had to LOOK UP the color wheel online to make extraordinarily complex colors such as purple and orange.

Right about here in the cupcake making process, Coco exclaimed, "This is the LIFE!!!"


Admittedly, Mama Rose's cupcakes are much prettier and much more symmetrical, but when you're 3, 5 and (nearly) 7, if there's sugar, color and sprinkles involved - and you're in charge of the glooping said goodness into edible fun - you're pretty much over the moon with glee.

Update Schmupdate

So... I've been around. Doing stuff. Not doing stuff. Trying to elevate my aching feet. Whining. Happy crying. Sad crying. Feeling hopeless. Feeling blessed. Feeling hungry. But mostly becoming extremely sick of myself. So... anybody have a cure for the increasingly common 'sick of myself' virus? If you've noticed, I haven't been posting much, or at all, rather, because I've just been so... ugh. I don't want to spread my doom and gloom but perhaps it'll go away if I pour it out there. I'll give it a shot. My apologies, in advance. Really.


I've noticed my levels of agitation are up. WAY up. I get angry, seeeeeething angry, over things such as:

~I ordered new real estate signs and it has been the Headache of Headaches. Sir Headache. King Headache. Headache, Ruler Of All. The company is called "Fast Signs" and I want to report them to the BBB for false advertising and then demand they legally change their name to "Slow Repeatedly Incorrect Signs With Lots of Awful Customer Service". Surely there's a judge out there who would do that who has himself been Wronged in such a King Ruler of All Headaches kind of way.

~I have some clients that rub me the wrong way. With steel wool. I cringe when I see their name on the phone or in my in-box. Although it's their native tongue, I do not think they even remotely comprehend the English language. Or at least that's what their response/actions indicate. And I have to be (fake!) nice to them through it all. I so very badly want to not need the money. Money! Still hate you!

~Whining, oh, MyAllThatIsHoly, the Whining. My kids top the charts, but I could just as easily be Highly And Severely Goated at your kids with all the Whining. If your child whines in my presence please immediately remove them from the premises and take mine too while you're at it. Please and thanks.

~Long story with a credit card. Suffice it to say, BLEEEEEEP.

~~~~~~
Also! Bonus!! I've been getting severely agitated by little tiny stupid things that in no way should be irritating or perhaps should fall into the 'Doh!' or 'Blast!' or 'This Is Slightly Irritating, But I Am Being Waaay Over-Sensitive, Please Hurry and Get This Nameless Kicky Baby Out Of Me' categories, such as:

~Uhhhh, actually, cannot report because Irritant reads this blog (hello You!). I BEG OF YOU DO NOT ASK ME IF IT WAS YOU. If you ask, it will BECOME you. Besides, it WAS you. Happy? I've acknowledged I SHOULDN'T have been irritated, but I WAS. Or possibly AM. I'm irritable. You're irritating. We're even. ?? (I do see the flawed logic there. I DO.)

~Cannot report again because of previous reason (repeat 6 more times).

~The fact that my phone stopped updating the ekey (realtor lockbox key) automatically. I think whoever thought of making the key and phone one should get a Nobel Peace Prize or Really Cool Idea Prize, whatever, and then I get all uppity when it doesn't work perfectly every day, requiring me to spend who knows how long on the phone with (admittedly pleasant) customer service.

~Gracie dripped food on her shirt one second after she put it on.

~The heat. Oh, the HEAT. And the way 1/2 of our house gets cool (almost too cool) while the other side is downright hot. Makes me want to lay in bed in my underwear. If only they weren't tent-sized...

~Being cut off in the school parking lot so that mom can move ahead one precious space. Take the space, Lady. She got her kid SO much faster than I did. Glad it worked out for her.

~When someone calls & doesn't leave a message - then expects me to return their call because they know I know they called. To this I say, 1) Uh, NO. and 2) Please see #1. Why am I the unreasonable one in this scenario? Gah!

~The fact that people leave messages with no message. Just 'call me' - no reference to anything. Unless they actually JUST called to talk (highly unlikely, I can count on three fingers who does this). Otherwise, leave the reason you called. Generally, when someone does this, it requires involvement on my part. I need time to formulate a plan, an answer, possibly an alternative obligation that may or may not be make-believe. I do not like things sprung on me.

~People who try to be in charge of everyone and everything. Could. not. be. more. annoying.

~The fact that we keep having the bug guys come back out and we still have the bugs. Scorpions and earwigs, oh my! Seriously, though, SCORPIONS. And EARWIGS. Earwigs, to you, may not be deemed capitalization worthy and I understand that - until you have an earwig IN YOUR EAR! Hence the name 'earwig' - one will WIG OUT when an nasty bug lodges itself in one's EAR. True story. Last year. Way down my ear canal. I'm sick just thinking about it. *Heebie jeebies* to the power of infinity.

~The consistent incorrect use of you're, your... their.... two... blah blah blah, you've heard it before. I just can't understand how people of average to above average intelligence will not take the time to learn these. It makes them sound DUMB. And drives me BONKERS. At a low point recently, I considered severing a friendship over it. I'm only kidding. A little. Ok, 75/25. Wow, I hate me too after admitting that. Still, it sums up the Ridiculously and Intensely Irritated Me.


There are actually many more, but I cannot, I repeat, CANNOT sit here and thing of any more negativity. I'm disgusted enough at myself as it is.

By show of hands, how glad are you you don't live with me?

So... what's irritating you? Nothing like a little bleeeeep session among friends (assuming I still have friends?!).

*Edited to add - my friend, Kathy, posted a beautiful, encouraging, humbling video about His promises. Even to those of us (ME) who are so very flawed. And whiney. And irritable. DEEP BREATH.

Busted

My sweet babybug was caught in a lie - and we take lying very seriously around these here parts. I disciplined her appropriately/harshly. Evidently, the three consequences dished out by yours truly were not enough penance for her - she also put herself into a humbling and pitiful time out. Does that mean she'd make a good Catholic?

I love her so.

Mary's three!

My Littlest Girl,

Today you are three! You learned how to say your birthday a few months ago - "My birfday is July sisteen." You proceed to tell everybody. In the line at the grocery store, to all kinds of random people - real and imaginary - on your personal cell phone and my personal favorite, to the Spanish speaking yard guy who may have thought you were requesting princess shaped bushes.

You still have MANY 'terrible two' moments. Which will all change today, right? RIGHT? You FLIP OUT out for reasons such as these. Makes me want to drink, just thinking about it, which is a bad idea on several counts (namely it's 4am and we'd all prefer your brother to have a decent IQ and not twitch) - so let's instead focus on your immense cuteness, of which there is plenty of.

You're free with compliments. You love my "lipstick, earrings, toes, teeth, clothes, smile, belly, purse, dish..." You name it, you love it. You'd think that would get old, you complimenting everything all. the. time. But it doesn't, I take you at your word and it never fails to make me smile. Except that one time when you loved my pimple. Geez.

You adore the pool and are always wanting to "catch Daddy". We never correct you saying it's the other way around, because we all know who wears the cute little skirts in the relationship. When you're in the mood to swim, you get nekkid, grab your suit, get your earplugs and plop them in my lap for a subtle hint. You jump in the pool, arms and legs flying, huge smile on your face - and swim your little heart out. You're brave enough now to jump in by yourself, over and over again with no one to catch. You love to push your sisters in the pool at which time you all have a good laugh and then nicely demand popsicles.

You love having control over something - being in charge of turning the tv off (less the part about the tv actually being off), getting something I asked for, carrying towels to the pool, whatever. Because I mentioned I couldn't find it within earshot of you, last night you spent 15 minutes looking for a grater (as in cheese). You had no idea what a grater was, but you were on a quest. After an exhaustive search, you solicited help from Coco. "Coco, can you please help me find Mama's thing stuff?" Never did find my thing stuff.

You: love eggs, can't get enough D-d-d-d-d-Dora, prefer shoes that are too big for you, hop when excited, like to change clothes multiple times daily, need but don't like naps, give the best hugs, eat enough for a teenager, have the best sideways smile, talk constantly, like to chase your sisters, have a love/hate relationship with ponytails, love to be read to, call me Mama, say "boogeries!" when you need to blow your nose, rise with the roosters, love to get mail, are fickle, say hi to every stranger you see, constantly ask for milk and don't drink it, demand company in the bathroom for just the first two seconds, have never had your hair cut, pronounce yellow 'yey-yow', love babies, are adored.

The depth of love I have for you still amazes me. Until you experience a mother's love, you can never know... I can get all gushy just thinking about you, I literally feel an ache in my heart (is it possible to love too much?) and I often tip-toe in to watch you sleep, you're such a lovely sleeper. You've been around three years now; I had lived 32 years without you and yet it's unimaginable how that was possible. All those years, and I never knew I wasn't whole.

As you like to say, I love you all the way over there,

Mama

My new favorite child

Coco: Is there anything I can do that would help you?

Me: (Swoon!) Yes, please clean this, pick up that, clean clean clean....

Coco: Sure, Mommy! (And goes and DOES IT with a great attitude!!!)

And the new favorite kid award goes to:

Am I the luckiest mom ever or WHAT?!!? (She can call me old all she wants if she CLEANS!!)

My favorite child

Gracie: Do you remember when you were a kid and your teeth were loose?

Me: Yep, sure do.

Gracie: Wow. That's great. How old are you again?

Me: 35

Coco: That's SO OLD, MOM. You're REALLY old. OLD!

Me: (cringe/grimace)

Gracie: She is NOT, Coco. She's a young, lovely mom.

Coco: Um, I guess maybe you're not soooo old.

And the favorite kid award goes to: