Before you

Before you I was worried that once you were here I would lose me. I would spend so much time with you. Doing things for you. Playing your games. Speaking your language. When would I have time for me? Once I was your mom would I be anything else? Now I know those worries were silly ones. Because of you I am more sure of who I am than I ever was. I am more outspoken since I am now your voice too. I have more fun because I realize while watching you grow that time waits for no one. I care about things I had no idea that existed before you. I take better care of me so I can here for you... for a long time... I pray more than I ever have. I believe in a higher being simply because you are here and miracles like you... well they are more than anything science can explain. I am not afraid to wear what I want. Say what I mean. Be who I am... because I want you to do the same and you will only be fearless if I am too. As it turns out before you I wasn't really living at all.

Before you the world made sense. I was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason and that good things happened to good people and bad to bad people. Then you almost didn't make it safely into this perfectly sensible world and nothing made sense. Why me? Why you? Why us? I learned that I didn't have it all figured out and that the world is anything but logical and karma... well she can a bitch for no good reason.

Before you I felt safe. I would stay out late. Drive through bad neighborhoods without a care. Talk to strangers. Thought ever mother was over protective and over reacting to the supposed dangers out there... especially my own mother. Now you are with me where ever I go and even a mall parking lot seems scary when its just us. The nightly news is something I can't even watch because the endless stories and possibilities of what could happen are too much to think about and make me not want to leave the house with you. Or worse leave you anywhere that I can't be... like school. After the last school shooting I couldn't even bring myself to send you back. For weeks I agonized until I finally let you go. I kissed your cheek. You walked through your classroom door. And I cried. It turns out the world that once felt so safe is really scary and unpredictable. You are so unaware and I am so thankful for that. Even though that in itself scares me.

Before you I knew love. I thought at its fullest capacity. I came from a home full of love. Raised by parents that showed me nothing but love... always. I met and married your dad and we are so in love. Then I had you and all the other love I had ever known I realized was just a taste of what love is. When the man I married became your dad and has done everything he can since then to love. Protect. And provide for you. I found a deeper love for him. I finally understood the love my parents had for me. And you. My baby. I love you more than the word itself is capable of expressing. You are so much more than love. Words are not adequate when trying to define the love I have for you.

Before you I wondered what it was going to be like to be a mother. I would ask new mothers what it felt like to be a mom. And of course no one could answer in a way that I could I grasp. Until there was you. Then I understood being a mom isn't something you do. It is something that you are. Something that you always were because you and me we are inseparable. Without me there would be no you. With out you I couldn't be. From the day you started to grow inside my belly we were one. You will always be an extension of me. Part of me. Part of who I am at my core. Where ever you go no matter where in the world we will forever be strung together even if the thread isn't visible. I don't need to see it. I can feel it.

Before you... I don't remember who I was before you because as much as I have changed I am still me just a better version. Before you... well it doesn't really matter anymore what was before because life is infinitely better now and there is no going back. Now there is only you... and you are my everything. I don't know what comes next but we will find out together.

This was written for all three of my loves...

You won't always win

Here is how it went down. Friday night. Aka "family fun night". We eat something fun. Like a make your own pizza kinda deal. The kids get to pick out their favorite snack. And we "play" a board game of Aidan's choosing. "Play" I use quotes because me and my husband find a strategic way to play so that we don't just slaughter the kids. We don't just let them win. But I wouldn't say we are playing either. Aidan ALWAYS wants to start with Jenga. It NEVER goes well. Ever. Seark likes to hog the pieces and build his own thing and gets very upset if he can't do that. So much that I bought a second Jenga set so that Seark could be included... while doing his own thing? It is what it is. Anyway the object of the game is to stack these wooden blocks. Removing them one by one until someone knocks the stack over. The person to knock the stack over is the sore loser... I mean loser. I mean Aidan but he isn't a loser. Because if he was that would mean that we were winners and well he just can't handle that. So when Aidan becomes bored of knocking the stack over and "completing" the game we get to move on.

Next Aidan picks some comic super hero board game. The object is to safely make your way through the board. Whoever gets to the end first wins. You spin a wheel which tells you a color to advance to. Some spaces have special powers. If you land on a spot that has a special power that coincides with yours you can use it to try to knock other players out of your way. If you are successful that player has to start over. I always choose batman. His special power is that he can launch a batarang. I have excellent aim but usually make an effort to not hit Aidan. However on this night after too many "in your face" uttered by him I decided to actually play. Aidan is a spot away from winning. A spot away from one more "in your face". One spot. I spin. I land on the batarang. I aim.... and blast Aidan's tiny cardboard Joker off the dining room table. I could have jumped up and yelled "in your face" just like he had been doing for the better part of the night. And I might have. If he didn't totally lose his shit. He started crying. Flipped the game over. Called me cheater. Went in the living room tears streaming down his face and refused to talk to me. Apparently if Aidan is not winning it is "family not so fun night".

So why didn't I just let him win? Why didn't I just knock my husbands guy out for the nine hundredth time and just call it a night? No. I had to knock Aidan's guy out. And just to be clear I didn't make him lose. The game wasn't over. He had plenty of time to catch up and still win. But if it wasn't an easy in your face win he wasn't interested. So while I love him to pieces and love to see him feeling like a winner what am I teaching him? I want him to learn to enjoy the game no matter the out come. Clearly that wasn't going to be a lesson he learned tonight. I want him to know what it feels like to earn a win not have it handed to you. Again not a feeling he would experience on this particular night. More importantly I want him to know...

Winning is awesome. But it is not going to happen all the time. That's okay. Losing sometimes makes winning on occasion that much sweeter. Winning, coming in first doesn't necessarily mean you are the best. It means you did your best and you came out on top... this time. Not winning. Not coming in first or even placing at all doesn't mean you lost. It means you tried your best but next time you have to try harder. That's why they say practice makes perfect. And if you love it whatever it is you should practice. You should always want to fine tune your skills whether its sports or music or art. It doesn't matter. If you love it. Do it. And not because you want to be a winner. Don't determine your worth by the number of trophies you can win. You will always be worth it. Determine what you love and go for it... until you come out on top. Don't be discourage by the number of times you have to try. Your ability to pick yourself up. Dust it off and do it all over again... that will say so much more about you. So no I didn't let you win. And at the moment that sucks. You will get over it. You will get it. Then you will figure out how to do better and that's what I can't wait to see.

Oh... so mom is a bum?

Dad what's a bum?
Some one who doesn't have a job.
Oh... So mom is a bum?
No. A bum is someone who doesn't have a job and doesn't want one.
So mom could be a bum she doesn't want a job... right mom?
No. Mom is unemployed. There is a difference.

Unemployed?! what. the. @! $#. is my husband thinking??? Unemployed?! I am not out of work or with out a job. I didn't get laid off or fired. I might not receive a paycheck every week but I sure as hell deserve one. I might not get up every morning and head out to an office. But that is only because my work is at home. My office is whatever room I am working in at the moment. My boss is not a middle aged suit wearing man that I can choose to ignore. I answer to not one but three people that scrutinize everything I do. Three people that have no problem complaining that I am not fast enough. I didn't do it right. Three people that need my constant attention Pfffff.... unemployed!

Seeing the look on my face my husband began to back track saying that "mom isn't unemployed. She is a stay at home mom". To which Aidan replied... "what does that mean? What is her actual job?" Before my husband was in any deeper I thought I would answer this one.

"My job is you. My job is Seark. My job is Rylan. A stay at home mom is a care giver. A referee. A cook. A dry cleaner. An artist. A reading and math tutor. A taxi. A chaperone. A maid. An accountant. A financial planner. A personal shopper. A mentor. An advisor. A therapist. A confidant.  The stay at home part is somewhat deceiving since it is a rare occasion that we actually spend a day in the house. My job is to take care of your every need. To make sure you are a well rounded. Healthy. Educated. Productive member of society someday. My job is to teach you what you will need to know to make your way through the world and make it a better place. I left my career to stay at home and be your mom. Full time. My job is to make it all look effortless and apparently I am doing a good job since it doesn't look to anyone like I am working at all. But that's ok because I know that someday part of this job will be to let go. To let you go out into the world and find out what job there is for you with out me. And that will be the most difficult part of this job. So for now I will enjoy this job even if no one else knows what exactly I do. And some day I know you realize all the work that went on behind the scenes. But that won't be until you have kids of your own..."

So your not a bum?

A mom's job...

I wonder what it is like to get up on a Saturday morning. Not because someone woke me up. Not because I heard someone crying. Not because I need to make breakfast or breast feed a baby. Just get up when I want. Stretch. Decide what I want to wear for the day. Have a cup of coffee. Jump in the shower at my leisure. Stand in hot water. Let it run down my hair. Face. Back. Hot enough to steam up the entire bathroom without playing peek a boo or yelling at any one to shut the bathroom door which I know is open because there is no steam.

I wonder what it is like to eat a meal with two hands. Not that I would need them but the luxury of being able to hold a glass and a fork if I so chose would be wonderful. I can't remember the last time I just sat. And ate. Anything. Without getting up and getting juice. Paper towels.  More juice. No now they want water. With more ice. A different fork because someone really wanted the mickey one not the regular one. Hot food I imagine is nice. Luke warm is okay but.... hot... I miss hot food. And coffee. If I make hot coffee it is cold by the time I get to it. So I started making iced coffee. By the time I get to that the ice has all melted and its just room temperature coffee water.

I wonder what it is like to have the thought that I need something from the store and then just leave. Just get in the car and go. Not wait until someone can watch the kids. Not have to take them with me. Not wait until a show is over or for my husband to get off the phone. Just go. Just go to a store and not unload a stroller and a diaper bag and three kids. Not speed walk and reason with the kids about toys. Candy. Soda. What ever else they walk past that they can't live with out.

Of course I could just ask my husband about any one of those things and he could tell me. I know he has three kids too. WE have three kids together. So why does he get to enjoy hot meals, shower when he wants, leave the house with out permission. Because he is not the mom. In most relationships there is some unspoken understanding that mom will deal with the kids. No matter who is home. What day of the week it is. As long as mom is present it all falls on her.

I am a stay at home mom. Best job I have ever had. Also the most exhausting. There is no other job that requires you to be on 24 hours a day 7 days a week. No other job so demanding it doesn't even allow you to shower alone. When it comes to the house and the kids I am responsible for EVERYTHING. Breakfast. Lunch. And dinner. Grocery shopping for all three of those plus snacks. The dishes that each meal produces. The mess that snacks create. It is also my job to not just make sure everyone is fed... but fed something healthy. That tastes good. That is toddler and husband approved. Something that meets Aidan's gourmet standards. I am responsible for all of the laundry. Washing. Sorting. Folding. Putting away. Getting it neatly on small bodies. Keeping it looking decent through out most of the day. Having a back up in my bag or the car in case someone pees. Pukes. Spills. Falls. Tears. Poops through. Plain old destroys what they have on. I also have to be prepared for changes in weather. Umbrellas. Jackets. Sweatshirts. You name it I have it folded in my trunk... just in case. Which by the way makes it look like homeless people are living out of my car. When we go out for a family outing it would be easy to just get myself dressed and ready to go. But no. Aside from me I have the 3 boys. To bathe. Dress. Pack snacks and entertainment. Make sure Seark has the right cup. Rylan has enough diapers and wipes. Aidan has a bottle of water because god forbid we leave with out any or one of those the whole day could potentially be ruined by a screaming, crying, not cooperating, take me home right now, little boy. My husband. He's lucky he has only himself to worry about and no one will blame him if something is forgotten because even the kids know dad is not responsible for that kind of stuff.

I am the one who makes sure the house is clean. Not always in order but always clean. I clean from the time I wake up until I go to bed. Legos... the endless supply of Legos! I swear they come alive and multiply at night because no matter how many I vacuum up and throw away there is always another one that I am stepping on. And god do those things hurt! I vacuum more than a maid in a motel. Still it is never enough. 3 boys. 2 dogs. 1 husband. Plus construction in the house = a constant never ending mess. I clean the toy room and wipe down all the toys so they don't make me cringe when I see Rylan shove one in his mouth. I clean the bathroom. Pretty much every time I go in there. The kids manage to cover the sink and mirror in soap and water. The floor with pee. And the bath tub with Crayola tub crayons. I wipe down and Lysol. Every chance I get and it is still never enough. I feel like we need one of those bathroom attendants they have at the casinos in Atlantic City. Just some nice soft spoken woman that hands the kids paper towel and supervises them at the sink and toilet. Maybe if they had a silent scornful eye watching they would at the very least be a bit more mindful of where they spray that little hose.

I am also the planner. What time we will go to the park so that we get home in time for Rylan to nap. What time I will start and finish dinner so that we can go to basketball camp on time. What time Mickey Mouse comes and what time Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives ends so that neither miss their favorite show. I plan outings and bed times. Baths and bottles. I always know what is coming next and what we need to prepare for it. My brain is constantly in over drive anticipating.... what. comes. next!

I figure out our finances and know what is due to who and when. I know what the late fees are if anything is overlooked. I budget for grocery shopping and birthday parties. I may not earn any money but I know what to do with my husbands... wink wink.

On the rare occasion that I do go somewhere alone I answer text messages and phone calls from the minute that I leave to let their dad know where the sippy cups are. What box holds the binkies. At what point the baby needs to be changed. And even when I am not being paged I constantly check the phone to make sure I didn't miss a message or the sound of the phone ringing which would be pretty impossible but with me or not those kids are all I think about. If Rylan needs to be fed soon. If he does I will pass on that wine. I watch the clock so I am not late for his next feeding or to kiss the boys good night. And I can't stay out late anyway because Rylan never sleeps past 5 am and whether I want to or not I have to get out of bed. Ready to play. Chase. And entertain with a big smile on my face as if 5 am is my favorite time of the day. Because the kids don't care how much you did or didn't sleep. The kids don't care if you want to pee alone or if you are having a bad day.

I wish my husband understood how completely overwhelming this job feels sometimes. I wish there was a way that we could share these responsibilities instead of the kids are all mine and only mine and bringing home a pay check is his and the only thing that this partnership requires. No matter how many times I try to explain it to him I know that he doesn't get it and that he can't. The only way that he could understand is if he had to do my job. All Alone. Quite honestly that would never happen. Because as much as I day dream about the things he takes for granted and complain about what I wish he would help with... I really wouldn't want it any other way. Don't get me wrong the occasional reminder to him that I am not June Cleaver and this is not 1950 wouldn't hurt. A helping hand offered instead of asked for would be nice too. I am a mom. This is the job that I signed up for. The ever changing description can be daunting but it is always doable. Let's face it my husband is never going to walk through the door after his long demanding day at work and say "oh give me that baby... you sit and rest while I play with the kids and cook dinner" but even if only on a rare occasion sleeping in on a Saturday was a possibility I would be happy with that.

Confessions from the mommyhood

I am a good mom. To be honest I don't really question that ever. I am a good mom. My kids are well taken care of. Their needs all met. Physically. Emotionally. And other wise. My kids are loved beyond a love the most beings ever get to experience. They are wonderful and whiny. Sweet and Sarcastic. Adorable and annoying. One minute they will melt your hear and then next walk all over it. Seark can drive you crazy with repetitive questions and refusing to talk at an audible level. Yet the kid can throw a tantrum so clamorous and deafening that it makes the exorcist look pleasant. I admit there are some days I don't want to answer anymore questions. I feel guilty about it too. After waiting forever for Seark to say a word. Any word. I suddenly have the urge to go SHHHHHHHHHH..... it's quiet time now. There is no more talking. Which I actually do at bedtime but that urge starts around 10 am on some days. Not that I don't love everything about him because I do especially the way he says mommia when he talks to me... but after being asked the same thing for the hundredth time and answering for the hundredth time with yet just another unsuitable answer I just want the rapid fire question portion of the day to S.T.O.P. Oh and the whining. I hate the whining. Like HATE the whining. As soon as I see that sad lip coming out I hear myself saying "take that face in the other room cause because I don't want to look at it" to which Seark replies "otay mommia". Of course then I feel awful. And apparently I am not alone.

Mommyhood confession #1. I am at the breaking point with my 2 year old. She threw a temper tantrum. Screaming and kicking me when I tried to pick her up. I tried to console her but I really just wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up.

Mommyhood confession #2. "Just stop talking" I say it with out even thinking and feel like absolute shit afterwards and even worse when I tell my kids " I am busy, wait." When in fact I am not.

Mommyhood confession #3. I asked my 3 year old to "shut up for 5 seconds" after being asked how to spell very word that he could think of over the last few hours. But as soon as I saw that broken little face I told him 5 seconds was over and apologized for yelling.

Mommyhood confession #4. I snapped at my four year old yesterday and told him if he couldn't swallow quietly than he wasn't allowed to drink anymore. He started crying so I had to take a deep breath and apologize for yelling and explain that it was rude to swallow so loudly.

Mommyhood confession #5. I do the WHAT!!!! yelling at my five year old asks me a question over and over and over and I just don't want to answer anymore. My 10 year old thinks I need to get a cussing jar and pay her $1.00 every time my patience runs low. Yup, she would be rich by Christmas. (insert sad face)

#4 might possibly be my favorite because it's so true. The littlest thing. The most unexpected thing can literally make you snap, even when it s coming from that cute little person that you made and adore. There have been mommy moments that I am not proud of. Ones that I look back on and I want to cringe ... did I really say that to my kid?! And of course I did. Does it make me a bad mom? No it makes me and all the moms that were kind enough to confess... completely human. I have patience. But not of a saint. The mommy guilt over the moments of lost patience can be paralyzing but they shouldn't be. Recognizing the things you don't like about you are an opportunity to change them and hopefully not repeat the behavior. Some one said "sometimes my patience is just gone. I lose that sweet baby voice. I wish I knew a kinder way to calm him down" talking about trying to soothe her tantrum throwing baby who does not want to sleep. Ever. But I think she said it best. I wish I new a kinder way... Isn't that true of all of us.  So if you find yourself agitated by that tiny prodding person, frustrated by your inability to calm the storm that is your screaming screeching scene making toddler... and you think to yourself please just shut the F*ck up!! or worse god forbid say something along those lines... it's okay to cringe and wish you could take it back immediately but don't beat yourself up we've all been there. When you know better ... do better. Work to find a kinder way. In the mean time give yourself a little grace... kids can be exhausting. I am a good mother but my name isn't Theresa.

A little dirt never hurt

Who's taking a bath first tonight?
WHAT?! WHY? WE JUST TOOK THEM LAST NIGHT!!!! I'M NOT TAKING ANOTHER ONE!!!
Aidan. Relax. It's not that serious. It will only take you a few minutes to get washed. 
(wailing) WHYYYYYYYYYYY?! WHYYYYYYYYYY?! DON'T MAKE ME DO IT!!!
Oh for god sake knock it off. Try outs for the drama club were cancelled today. Get in the bathroom and get washed! 
MOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!! FINE!!! BUT I AM NOT WASHING MY HAIR! 
Don't forget to brush your teeth while you are in there.
OH. MY. GOD. ARE YOU SERIOUS?! I HAVE TO BRUSH MY TEETH AGAIN TOO!!! YOUR SOOOOOO MEEEEEEAAAAAN! I BRUSHED THEM THIS MORNING!!!!

You would think I handed this child a tooth brush and told him to scrub the bathroom like Cinderella with the way he is carrying on. Not even Cinderella carried on like this. I don't get it. What is the aversion to getting washed? It takes 10 minutes. I would love for some one to tell me it's time to shower. I actually day dream about it all day long. I can not wait until the kids are in bed and I can just stand under the hot water. Not my kids.  And you can forget asking him to brush his hair. Half the time he looks like as my dad would say he brushed his hair with a pork chop.

Seark it's your turn. 
Oooooooooooooh..... myyyyyyyy turn! Nooooooooo Mommia! I cwean!!!

Luckily that is about all the fight that Seark will put up. He actually loves the tub but protest is contagious. If Aidan is so opposed to the tub there must be a reason so Seark just mindlessly follows suit. He loves playing in the water so much that he doesn't want to get washed. Definitely no hair washing either. As much as Seark hates a hair cut he would rather get his head shaved than wash it. He cries like someone is killing him if you get water on his face. Yet will submerge his whole head to blow bubbles. My children defy logical thinking. 

If I ever needed peace and quiet all I have to do is take out the nail clipper and let one of them see it. They flee and hide as if they just committed a punishable crime. Sometimes I think it is only a matter of time until Aidan will not be able to wear shoes because his toe nails are so long. Like the talons on an eagle I am pretty sure that he could swoop up our little dog and keep hold of him with the shear strength of his toe nails. He swears it hurts to get them cut which I know is a lie because I have sneaked in his room in the middle of the night and cut them while he is sound asleep with out waking him up. While Seark runs from the clippers too it is for an entirely different reason. He is not afraid of getting hurt. He just doesn't like parting with anything from his body. And apparently short nails are no good for nose picking. 

So any way my long winded point is that my kids for the most part couldn't careless about being dirty. Looking dirty.  Smelling dirty. As long as their hands are clean.  Go figure the kid that will throw down over a shower is an obsessive hand wahser. Like we have talked to the doctor about it and have resorted to locking up the hand soap. Needless to say I don't fight them every night. I let them sometimes get away with a bath free night as long as they brush their teeth, wash their face, and put on clean pajamas. Of course last night was one of those nights. To make matters worse I had let Seark put Avengers tattoos up and down his as arms during thr day and drew a mustache with my eye liner on him right before he got in bed ... he is eccentric... what can I say? And when he woke up this morning he absolutely refused to wash the mustache off even though half of it was mostly smudged off. It looked nothing like a mustache anymore. More like dirt than anything else. I promised the kids I take them for Italian ice after we ate. By then end of any meal it is apparent that both my kids lack hand to mouth coordination. Both of them were practically wearing their meal.  And this is the moment you know you have lowered your standards.  I looked over Aidan and Seark. Two hot messes. I debated getting them changed before we went out but then thought ... eh for what?  They are just gonna look as bad if not worse after they eat ice on this hot humid melt ice at the speed of light day. Why do twice the laundry? I'll just change them when we get home.  

We get to the little ice shop and there is a little boy who looks Seark's age sitting on the bench eating an ice with his mom. We order. Get our ices. And sit near them as there is only one long bench and they are certainly not getting in the car with those ices. Which wouldn't really matter now as our car looks like it is sheltering a toy loving hobo that likes to touch the windows with his sticky fingers. The little boy looking completely pristine walks over and introduces himslef. " Hi I am Leeeeeoooooo L-E-O". His mom looking on with pride. I was even in awe of this little persons ability to not look like he came in a tye dye shirt midway throw a rainbow ice. My kids were merely holding theirs for seconds and already spilled a good portion of it on themselves. Aidan even noticed this phenomenon and incredulously asked Leo how he hadn't gotten even a single drip on him. Leo simply replied "I am not allowed to get dirty". Aidan laughed. And then Seark joined in. I'm pretty sure Seark had no idea what was so funny. Aidan said to Leo that can't be a rule... you can't get in trouble for dirt?! Just as Leo went to respond the bottom of his ice cup tore open and blue ice slid right down his perfect white shirt. 

Leo's mother who had been silent until this point sprang off the bench and pulled Leo over to where she was sitting. She began furiously rubbing his shirt with a baby wipe as if it would take the stain out instantly. "LEO THE DEAL WAS YOU COULD GET ICE IF YOU DIDN'T MAKE A MESS. NOW LOOK AT YOU... JUST DISGUSTING! NOW WE CAN'T EVEN GO FOOD SHOPPING! I WON'T TAKE YOU IN A STORE LOOKING LIKE THAT. NOW WE HAVE TO GO HOME. YOU JUST RUINED THE AFTERNOON?!?! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!?! 

Oh god what a nut?! I thought to myself.  I tried to make light of it by saying if it makes you feel any better we are going food shopping after here too... and they look much worse. She didn't even respond with words just gave me that good for you and your filthy kids look as she got up to leave. 

I probably should have been second guessing my choice to leave the house with the kids looking the way they did but instead I was thinking I am glad I am not her. For my sake and my kids. Leo might have looked like a mess.... or simply like a three year old that had an accident... but the mom... well she looked like a very put together bitch. All I could think was what a shame... all the things she will miss out on worried about appearances. I'll take the dirty happy kids and the occasional disapproving glare any day over looking impeccable and feeling miserable. My kids are well behaved. They practice good manners at the table and everywhere else. They are also clumsy and messy.... and occasionally look like they wandered away from the pack of wolves it would appear they they are being raised by... but who cares? ! Thank god... NOT ME :) 

picture this

Have you ever seen those cartoon flip books. You know the ones if you flip the pages at the right speed the book seems to come to life. The still characters if drawn just right get set in motion. They remind me of my brothers baby books. I swear if you flip fast enough it is as if you can watch him grow. The first year of his life so well documented. Like a court stenographer was running around after him recording every coo, ooh, ah, and giggle. First steps. First words. Locks of hair. All recorded. Saved in a book. Every facial expression. Silly or sly smile. Mad, sad, and teary eyed mood. All captured. Kept in plastic pockets.

Then along came me. If you flipped through my album you would find that I was born. Baptized. And then I turned one. My mother stands by her story that the camera was broken.... which I would be inclined to believe except for the fact that it seemed to magically work on holidays. That and now I have more than one child.

From the day Aidan was born until he turned 5 I took note of everything. Took thousands of pictures. Literally thousands. Saved everything from scribbles on scraps of paper to ticket stubs of shows we took him to. I wrote down every major milestone. His first smile. First wave hello. First steps. First word (s). First hair cut. Which I saved the hair from and then sometime later got repulsed by the old hair sitting in the book and threw it out (but that is a whole other story). I wrote little notes behind photographs about what his favorite thing was about that day. 5 time consuming. Meticulously crafted. Made with love. Scrap books. I spent hundreds of dollars on paper. Stickers and stamps. Glue and tape.

I took Aidan for those monthly professional portraits and for special occasions in between. I sent out post cards for every holiday with matching stamps that also had his face. The walls in our house were all plastered with.... AIDAN. AIDAN. AND MORE AIDAN.

And then I had Seark. His first professional pictures were taken when he was one week old and then not again until he turned one. I took fewer pictures and rarely got any printed. If I did it was because someone asked for updated shots of the boys and then I would get so many printed at one time that it was overwhelming and I would wind up throwing them all in a shoe box until I could really sort through everything. One by one the shoe boxes filled up while the scrap books remained empty.

And then came Ry. He is almost one and I have yet to even print and hang a picture of him on the wall. I can already hear myself telling them how the camera was broken when they came along. I don't love them any less. They are certainly just as cute.  I just can not seem to find the time. If it weren't for groovebook (if you don't know about them check them out) and the camera on my cell phone there may not even be any record that I had anymore children. Well that's an exaggeration but you get the idea. With each baby I took fewer pictures. Forgot to document even some of the things that I wish I had. Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. Months into a year. Then two, three and four. So today I decided to stop procrastinating and start putting together books for Seark and Rylan. With in 5 minutes Rylan woke up from his nap and I decided to start tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow... after we go grocery shopping. Straighten up the house. Make lunch. Put Ry down for a nap. Throw on a load of laundry. Get a start on dinner so I can go to the gym by 7:00.... and oh who am I kidding it's probably not gonna happen tomorrow either. So for now I took a short cut and uploaded everything I haven't printed to shutterfly and ordered picture books. They don't compare to the books I made for Aidan... but hey its a start. I even ordered a few canvas prints of Rylan to hang on these walls. I have decided to stop giving my mother the guilt trip too... mostly because I have a feeling I am the next one in line for that ride.

Freezing Time

303. That is number of days Rylan has been on this earth. 303 blissful days. 303 nights of rocking and nursing this babe to sleep. Over these last 303 days with my 3 boys I have felt continually on the edge of over joyed and overwhelmed. Our days can go from calm to chaotic in a blink. It seems like time is never on my side. Whether it be because there are not enough hours in a day to accomplish all that I want to or because there are too many and I am counting the endless minutes until bed time because I really just need a break. No matter what kind of day it has been I always look forward the little bit of rare quiet time I get to have with Rylan alone. With three kids long as the days can feel time some how flies by. 303 days... gone. And so I cherish these moments in the rocking chair with Rylan. Rocking. Nursing him to sleep. Every night I look down at that ever changing angelic little face and try to make note of every detail. Every hair on his head. The way that little tuft in the middle stands straight up. His long lashes. I softly trace the features of his face. Knowing no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I sit and study this little person. The things I think I will always remember... start to fade. If I could freeze time long enough to capture just one of these nights... well I would give just about anything.

I have seen on so many social media sights all of these beautiful some even breath taking photos of mothers nursing their babies and thought to myself I need to do something like that. So I asked on one of these forums for a recommendation for a photographer that does breastfeeding portraits. The responses poured in. Women posted site after site all with photographers that specialized in this area... who knew it was so popular? Not me. But I was quickly learning that not only was it popular but absurdly expensive. "Nursing Sessions" as they are referred to commonly cost $200 for a 15 minute photo shoot. $200 for 15 minutes?! I do not know what kind of shot you could actually get in 15 minutes but people must be willing to pay and take what they can get if that is the going rate. Another common theme... moms dressed in long white gowns. A crown of roses upon there head. Nursing their baby in a river. While their other children or possibly their significant other lovingly gaze at what I imagine Mother Nature herself might look like. That is so not me. While I absolutely appreciate the artistic eye that composed that scene and can see the beauty.... I can not remember the last last time I dressed as if I stepped out of the bible and nursed Rylan while partially submerged in water as Seark and Aidan frolicked in the distance underneath a rainbow that perfectly arched over my head as my husband caressed my back and gawked at the beautiful creature we made together. Oh. Right. I have never done that and quite honestly would feel completely ridiculous even posing like that for a minute. I would feel like a fraud. And most likely look like one with my tattooed arm and children that would interpret frolic as wrestle. Although I admit I might pay to see my husband engaged in this type of scene.

So I looked through every photography site. Sifting through the overly posed and overly priced. Second guessing whether or not this was even for me... when I came across Astin Benedetto Photography (check her out on facebook). Beautiful. Candid. Natural. Real pictures of moms with their babies and knew instantly that she was the photographer I wanted use. I emailed her and she replied immediately. She had an opening the weekend coming up and so that was that. We booked our appointment. I looked through hundreds of breastfeeding portraits. Poses. Different looks. Went through my closet agonizing over what would be the perfect out fit. Spent too much time in front of the mirror dressed in everything from prints to solids... t shirts and dresses. Ugh what to wear or not to wear. After putting an exhausting amount of thought into it I heard Rylan crying. I ran upstairs to get him and sat in the rocking chair to nurse him. Then it was like a light bulb went off. I wanted these pictures to capture our experience. Our everyday. The time I wished so desperately to freeze. And this was it sitting here with Rylan. In this chair. In my pajamas. Just me and him. So at 1 am I sent Astin an email telling her that.

In no time the day for our photo shoot had arrived. I suddenly felt anxious... even nervous. Would it be weird sitting in front of a stranger with a camera breastfeeding my baby? Was I crazy to think that given that scenario she would really capture anything that truly represented this precious time? Probably not. Maybe I should just cancel. Or just get pictures of Rylan done instead. I mean it is ridiculous to think that such intimate moments can be recreated for the camera... right?! But there was no time to cancel and truthfully I had nothing to lose. If the pictures didn't live up to my vision I wouldn't be disappointed because I never believed they could anyway. If they did... well that's a big if.... but if they did I too would probably pay the $200 for 15 minutes. Luckily that's not what she was charging... not even close.

Astin came over and got set up. She is warm, sweet, and so friendly yet professional at the same time. One of those people you meet and they immediately make you feel at ease... almost like you have known them for much longer than the short emails you exchanged and the brief introduction at the door. I got situated with Rylan who was ready to eat and chatted with her about everything and nothing while Rylan nursed with frequent stops to check her and her equipment out. And when Rylan finally drifted off to sleep she tip toed around. So quiet and careful to not disrupt or disturb his dreamy state. She was an absolute pleasure. I was happy the shoot itself went well. No meltdowns. Not even a hint a awkwardness. But did she get the shot? The end result was exactly the vision the I had. So much so it brought tears to my eyes. I got more than beautiful pictures. I got my wish. A perfect moment.... frozen in time. Photography is an art.... freezing time is a gift. Thanks to Astin Benedetto Photography I will always have this image to go back to when I find it hard it remember every detail of these 303+ nights...

waiting to be butterflies

We took yet another trip to the zoo today. Since I have had kids it has really become one of my favorite places to visit. Especially in the warm weather. Come summer time all of the animals are more active. The kids get to see them in action which they absolutely love. And with the hot weather comes.... the butterfly atrium. The butterfly atrium is my favorite. So beautiful. Unique. And yet so fragile.

Before you enter the atrium a zoo attendant gives you the run down of do's and don'ts. Walk slowly. Be gentle. Use quiet voices. Don't try to pick up or touch the butterflies. If you want to hold one stand very still with your finger out and let them come to you. If one does land on you DO NOT SWAT IT OFF OR MAKE ANY SUDDEN MOVEMENTS, an attendant will come over to get off any unwanted butterflies.

I'm thinking. Yeah. Okay. Sure. All completely common sense. Who is going in a butterfly atrium and swatting butterflies away anyway?! Aidan. That's who. I have no idea what came over this child. We walked in the door ever so slowly and quietly. Seark ooohing and aaahing at every thing he saw... even the dead ones on the floor. Rylan wide eyes as I pushed his stroller through the door. Looking on in awe at their magnificent wings that he was really seeing for the very first time. And then it happened. A brilliantly painted blue butterfly landed so softly on Aidan's chest. His reaction is pretty much what I imagine would happen if... say.... a tarantula even landed on me. Forget swatting. Aidan was flailing, screaming, smacking, freaking out! The butterfly managed to escape unharmed. We were also escorted out of the butterfly atrium shortly after. On the way out there were dozens of branches with what looked like dried leaves on them. Seark stopped and asked what that mommia? I looked knowing I had seen something like it before. As I went tell him it was just a bunch of dead flowers I realized it was chrysalis. All lined up. Hundreds of chrysalis'. All just waiting to be butterflies.

All day I couldn't stop thinking about them. These little cocoons wrapped so tight. Each one holding something so precious. Fragile. Beautiful. So of course my peeked curiosity lead me to good old google. Where I learned that butterflies hatch with small, wet, wrinkled wings that are immediately unable to spread and fly. But with in hours they are ready to take flight. I also learned that no butterfly is known to live past one year. Very few make it beyond six months. Some only have the life expectancy of 10 days. Many not making it past the first 24 - 48 hours. Fragile. Short. Beautiful existence. Drinking sweet nectar. Sun bathing on petals delicate as their wings. And just like that they are gone. In the short time they are here they can lay over 500 hundred eggs. Of which only about 20 will survive the full life cycle and become a butterfly.

It seems like butterflies understand something we don't. Life is short. Be bold. Be beautiful. Bask in the warmth of the sun. Don't let wings too small keep you from flying. Find a means to make them work and take off. The sooner the better. As much as I hate getting older. And dreaded my 30's. For the first time in my life I feel like I get it. I feel more comfortable in my imperfect skin. Which makes me want to be bolder. Brighter.  Just live... more.... the way I see fit. I feel like being a mom gave me wings. They weren't the easiest to learn to use. But I am ready to take flight... with these boys... until they get a set of their own. Because I know just like the butterflies they are just waiting for their turn to be brilliant.

what you should know about boys

Tonight I went to Trader Joe's... with out any of my kids. Kind of like a mini vacation. I took my time. Literally. I took as much time as one possibly could to buy groceries. Unless one is my father in law. He could have totally taken longer. I read labels. I even got on a longer line. While I waited I checked Facebook. It was really quite pleasant. As pleasant as grocery shopping can be. When I finally got to the register the cashier commented on how full my cart was. Jokingly said you must be feeding an army. Sort of... I told her. I have three boys at home. To which she replied... "Ugh just couldn't get that girl huh?" Grrrr comments like that drive me NUTS!!!! But I just smile and say ya get what ya get. Then she asked if I was done having children... I almost felt inclined to explain the definition of small talk to her. Small talk (noun) polite conversation about unimportant matters. Whether or not I want expand my family... for me... would not fall under the category of small talk. Conversations held in grocery stores should revolve around things like "oh those mango's you picked look delicious" or "I think we are getting rain tonight". That is it. Light. Small. Talk.

When I didn't really answer her question she said "If you were promised a girl would you go ahead and have another baby?"

The woman behind me over heard this conversation and added that she had four boys all just a little over a year apart. Determined to have a girl she waited 5 years and tried again. She waited until the baby was born to find out the gender. And in her words... bawled my eyes to find out I had yet another boy! So she said to me I know how you feel and I don't recommend having another baby in hopes that it is a girl. It was quite devastating for me to have another boy. But you make the best of it and move on right? That is actually what she said.

I was dumbfounded. I honestly don't even remember if I added anything else at all. All I could think was how sad... and not for her but for her baby. I wondered how many times she had told that story. Hoping never in front of her children. This is what I wish I would have said to her and the cashier.

I have no idea what the future holds for me. The promise of a girl wouldn't sway me. The promise of an easy pregnancy. Wonderful delivery. And healthy baby certainly would. A baby is big decision and a life long commitment regardless the gender. So no I would never just go ahead and have another baby. And you don't know how I feel at all. Devastating is an awful way to describe the news that you have just given birth to a perfectly healthy baby.... boy. Do you know how many people would die for that opportunity.  I feel blessed. Blessed beyond what I ever imagined. Blessed with three amazing. Happy. Healthy. Boys.

And for anyone that doesn't already know this. Little boys are awesome. Amazing in fact. They are fun. And incredibly funny. They will do things for a good laugh that little girls would never dream of because they aren't born knowing the secret hilarity of a fart at the perfect inappropriate moment like little boys. They are dirty and messy. Which from the outside looks like a problem. From the inside you know it's not. Little boys teach you to let go and find the joy in things like mud pies and crayon masterpieces on your living room walls. And sweet. Little boys are so sweet. Like sweeter than sugar and spice and everything nice. More like melt your heart sweet. Did I mention they are super snuggly and they adore their mama. They are sensitive and beautiful and brilliant and they will make you love being a mother... their mother.... more than you can find the words to explain.

I know... I know your thinking but you can't buy them cute little dresses and put matching bows in their hair. And you most likely will never have a princess tea party or day at the spa with them. But I promise you little boys are more than noise and dirt. More than bugs and trucks. So don't be disappointed when you find out that your first, second, or even third little bundle happens to be a boy. Because you will always be their super hero and the only things that would be devastating is if you miss out on your opportunity to be cooler than spider man because you were wishing for a little girl.

Utter - ly delicious

I can say with  a fair amount of certainty that this is not the blog post that will appeal to everyone. But it is my blog. About my life. So this is part of my story. Recently I had to leave a party early because... yes... I am STILL breastfeeding this baby. Which gets a range of reactions from the rare "good for you" to the more common "jeez give that baby a bottle already" or "really?! you are still breastfeeding?!". So yes. I am still breastfeeding. I don't know when I am going to stop. As tempting as a vodka on the rocks. A good buzz. And a night out sound. They are just not a possibility right now. Because that is what I choose. Rylan has never had bottle. That's right. NEVER. Breast feeding has its constraints which are far outweighed by its rewards. And I so I choose it over almost every other temptation. 

Anyway everyone that breast feeds has their own story. Their own journey. And usually when they find that it is something they have in common with you they like to share. Their experience. Their trials and triumphs. They sympathize. Relate. And most of the time empower. One of the girls that was part of this particular conversation had also breastfed her children. Recounting her days of being married to the pump. To which I added that with both Aidan and Seark I had such an abundance of milk I could have fed a small country. With each of them I pumped a stock pile of milk. Anyone that pumps breast milk knows what a tedious labor of love it is. Filling bottle after bottle with liquid gold I felt like I had hit the boob milk lottery. Only to discover that Seark didn't like thawed milk. Which left me with a freezer full of breast milk that under no circumstances was going to waste even if that meant I had to drink it myself. Not really. But you get the picture. 

My best friend had a baby the same age as Seark who wasn't tolerating formula very well and unfortunately the whole breastfeeding thing wasn't working out so well for them. When she learned of the mass amounts of milk that I had been hoarding it was like the solution to her feeding problems. Upon seeing my stash her eyes lit up like a leprechaun finding his pot of pumped gold.  She asked if she could have my milk for her baby. Of course I said yes and was more than happy to be able to help her out. 

Honestly it never struck me as odd. Weird. Gross. Or anything really. I had extra milk. She needed milk. It seemed logical. To me. And obviously her that this was a good solution for everyone. And so her baby drank and tolerated my milk well. I mentioned this in that conversation among the friends that I could not stay to hang out with past the two hour mark because I had to get home to feed Ry. As soon as the words left my mouth I could see the blatant look of shock and possibly disgust on a few faces. "OH. MY. GOD. THAT. IS. DISGUSTING!" Okay the look was definitely one of shock paired with disgust. Another girl seconded her shock and disgust. 

Those reactions never made me second guess my decision to share my milk. They didn't even offend me. I felt more curious than anything. I mean people sell their milk on line. There are milk banks. Before formula there were and still are wet nurses that fed baby's that didn't belong to them... straight from the tap so to speak. I am not the first person to give my milk to someone else's baby. What was it exactly that they found so disgusting? I couldn't stop wondering what it was so I asked my group of mom friends what their thoughts were. Some said if they couldn't breastfeed themselves than the only other option they would explore was formula. Many said they would not even use breast milk from a close friend even if it was offered as an alternative. No body could really explain why other than to say "I don't know that is just weird and gross to use the milk from someone else". Yet they feed their baby milk that came from cow. I mean I love me some cow's as much as the next girl but in my head I see woman and a cow standing side by side and given the choice of either to nourish my kids the cow seems like the more bizarre choice. I have nothing. Absolutely nothing against formula feeding. At all. I just don't see where human milk from another woman crosses the line of weirdness but milk from a cow is not just acceptable but normal. 

I think my favorite responses were "I don't what anyone else puts in their body... I just wouldn't trust it" opposed to what the close personal relationship you are carrying on with Betsy the cow? 

So in my head I see this... and to me that cow looks way more questionable. Maybe cows milk is just too utterly delicious to pass up. 

It's a vicious cycle

From the second week of September until the end of June I anxiously wait and pray for school to end. I have this fantasy in my head that once school is over our life will resume. Things will go back to the way they should. The way they were before Aidan was in school. Bed time can be a little later. Mornings will not be so hectic. Maybe we will even sleep in. We will spend our days down the shore and playing in the pool. No homework. No schedule. Just me and the kids. Just the way I like it.

Reality. Bed time will be later. But the kid that I was dragging out of bed by the heels of his feet at 7 am just three weeks ago now wakes up with the sun. On his on. Whether I want him to or not. Which doesn't even really matter because his littlest brother has an internal alarm clock that goes off promptly at 5 am. Every. Single. Day. So I am already up. However instead of spending a quiet morning with Rylan drinking coffee and watching him roll around I am bombarded with a series of questions. What are we doing today? Can I have a friend over? Can we go to the pool? Can we see a movie? Can you take us down the shore? Can a friend come with us? Can I watch my show? When will your show be over? Why do you watch this? It is so boring! Can we go down stairs? Can I wake Seark up? Can you call my friend and see if they can come over yet?

By this time Seark is up. I love watching all of my boys interact. For the next five minutes or so. Until the love runs out. The morning shifts from sleepy smiles and clumsy hugs to... He's looking at me. He's touching my stuff. He's touching me. Get him away from me. Rylan is bothering us. Seark wants to watch Mickey Mouse again! Call my friend! Seark stop it! Aidan is mean! Rylan is annoying!

Oh Lord is it nap time yet?! And the answer is yes. But only for Rylan. During the school year Rylan would go down for a nap. I would put on a show for Seark he might even take a nap or set him up with some play dough or crayons and I was free. Free to take a speed shower and get my make up and hair done in 10 minutes or less. Straighten up the house real quick. And finally a little time to sit down and write. Now I spend that once hour of "free" time... refereeing. I barely get the water running for my shower before some one is crying or calling for me to yell at the other one. Why? Why can't they just get along for 5 minutes?!

Those hours I had been day dreaming about by the pool are more like minutes. 45 stressful minutes. What was I thinking... lounging?! No such thing with three kids. It takes me more time to pack our stuff up for the pool than actual time spent at the pool. Once we get there... if we actually make it there is no lounging or relaxing or anything remotely enjoyable about being one person with three small children at a pool with no extra hands to help. I spend 45 minutes yelling at Aidan to stop jumping. Seark to stop drinking the water. And bouncing Rylan around before he has a meltdown and wants to be done with the water for the day. But just because Rylan has a had enough does not mean that the other two have too. No in fact they are not ready to leave at all. So while Rylan is crying because he wants to go home it really doesn't compare to the crying fit that Seark is about to throw because we are going home.

Truthfully by this point I am exhausted. I have been up since the crack of dawn. Refereeing. Playing. Yelling. Wrangling. Cleaning. Entertaining. Wouldn't ya know it is only 2 o' freakin clock!!!! This is around the time I start counting down the hours until my husband gets home from work. Only 4 more hours... I got this. I think. Only 4 more v e r y L O N G H O U R S!!! 

It is always around this time. Right when I am feeling borderline desperate for any idea to keep everyone occupied and at peace for the next 4 hours that things start to fall into place. We always manage to find something to do. Play. Some where to go. That friend that he has been asking about since 6 am is finally available and ready to come over.

The summer time fantasy has all too quickly come to an end as the reality of just me and these boys in this hot humid practically house bound weather sets in. I love them. Every hair on their head. Every smile. Hug. Snuggle on the couch. I love their gorgeous faces. Even every fresh word that spills out of their cute little mouths. I just wish they weren't so fresh with each other quite so often. And possibly that sharing and coexisting were concepts they would more readily grasp making everyone's life including their own that much happier. I am sure by the end of the summer we will have figured it out. Just in time for school to start.

Who is this guy?

Dinner is done. I set the table. Ask the kids what they would like to eat. Put food on their plates.
Is that hot? 
Yeah a little I just cooked it.
I mean too hot for Seark to eat? 
Ummmmm why yes. Scorching hot in fact. I have the car ready in case we need to run to the hospital in the event he gets third degree burns on the roof of his mouth.
You don't have to be so sarcastic. You could have just said no. 

Yes I could have. I could have just said no. He could have also not asked and just trusted that I would not give our 3 year old food hot enough to burn his mouth.

Ry tried french toast today.
He did? Is he allowed to have that yet? 
Nope. He's not. But he is our third. I am not going by the rules anymore.
Ha Ha.
No really I am much more experimental with him. The doctor specifically said no french toast and I just thought what the hell and gave it him anyway.

I mean really who is this guy? Is he my husband or my supervisor? Does he really need to ask these questions daily? Double checking everything that I do? Clearly the kids are well taken care of and have never any major incidents. Why the constant need to question  E V E R Y T H I N G I do with them? From what they are eating to the temperature of the water in the tub. I am waiting for him to hand me the "how to book for dummies" most days. I try not to take it personally knowing that he really can not help himself. But really how can you not? And so questions like that have been the grounds for many an argument.

When it comes down to it I know that he is just in general a worrier and even more so when it comes to our kids. But most of the time he leaves me wondering who is this guy? Which then makes me wonder who am I? I mean he is not the laid back. Don't give a shit. Scotch guzzling. Humorous guys I fell in love with over a decade ago.  If he was we would most likely be divorced. How much have I changed? Am I still the girl he fell in love with?

The truth is kids can bring out the best and worst in you. Having a baby brings things to the surface from your own childhood that you had not thought about... since you were a child. They make you reevaluate your opinion on your parents and upbringing. Realize how much work it took and wonder how much they had to change to adapt to you. Who were they before you?

Having a baby can and will change everything. In a former life I was a night owl with an extreme distaste for anything that resembled the morning. Until I had a baby that wakes up at 5 am. Religiously. I used to go with the flow. I don't even know what the means anymore because if we aren't on some type of schedule the chaos that ensues is enough to get me committed. Which might seemed like a welcomed vacation.  I didn't know a thing about super heroes 5 years ago. Now I live and breathe them. I sling fake webs and could practically play the part of Mary Jane if they ever need a replacement for Kirsten Dunst because I have watched the movie that many times. I remember holding real adult conversations about pretty much anything and being able to actively participate and add my own two cents. At present I have no knowledge of current events unless they interrupted Mickey Mouse Club House which never happens because even Disney knows not to interrupt that shit. I purposely don't watch the news because... well... it is true... ignorance is bliss.

Having kids has changed my husband into a hardworking worry wart and me into a sleep deprived morning person that won't stay out passed 5:30 because I won't deviate from our evening dinner/ bedtime schedule. Who the hell are we? And how is it possible that with all of these changes we have stayed together? I admit there are times when I feel like we are reading different books and being on the same page is not an option. I often wonder who is this guy? Then I remember he is still the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with... just for different reasons now. Yes he has changed but so have I. Sometimes I miss who we were but I love who we are... together. So who is this guy... he is the father of these beautiful boys we made and I wouldn't have him any other way. Okay minus the daily inquisition I wouldn't have him any other way.

The night lights up when I am with you

Most years you can see the Macy's Fourth of July fireworks from right out side our door. Which is really nice because we are far enough away from the city that you can't hear them but close enough to have the perfect view. Not this year. They decided to move them to a different location.

There is a fair a few miles away from us every year that does fireworks for 3 or 4 nights in a row leading up to and following the holiday. Those fire works are loud enough to wake from you from sleep but not visible from where we are. This past week end I was up late... I am always up late. Anyway I was up when the fireworks from the fair went off. Seark was in bed but not in a deep sleep when he heard them and came running downstairs. He sat beside me on the couch listening to the loud booms. After each one he became more wide eyed. He hadn't said a word until he asked ... " You can take me to see dem?"  

I looked at the clock. It was almost midnight. Looked at Seark. So sweet and sincere staring at me with his perfect little face. Okay. Hurry up and grab your shoes. I threw on my flip flops and ran out of the house with Seark in my arms. Both in our pajamas. Which is totally acceptable for a 3 year old... not so much a 33 year old. There was no time to get dressed the firework display only lasts about 10 minutes and they had to be 5 minutes in already.  We got in the car and drove down to the park by the river where I knew we would have the perfect view. Normally there are lots of people there to do the same but not tonight. It was just me and Seark. 

We sat together on a dark bench near the water. Just me and this little love. He rested his head on my chest with his tiny hand clasped in mine. We watched the bright burst of color exploding before us. Each one bigger and louder than the last. It was only seconds before the finale. The sky taken over by neon streaks and a roar that was almost deafening. We sat there watching the smoke dissipate. Seark leaned over and said... Mommia, the night lights up when I am witchoo. 

I wanted to tell him. My life. My world. My everyday. Every breath. Everything. Lights up when I am with you. I wanted to tell him how the sound of his little voice melts my heart. That he was the best and biggest surprise of my life and I just love everything.... absolutely everything about him. Of course he is 3 and that would have been a little much. I just smiled and tried not to get choked up. Kissed him on the forehead and carried him back to the car. 

He fell asleep on the couch with in minutes of us coming home. I watched him sleeping. All the while wishing I could freeze this night. Hoping that he remembers the night the sky lit up when he was with his mommia. 

Boys, bumps, and bruises

The time has come. Rylan is mobile. Which on one hand is like yay look at him. However on the other it's oh shit time to baby proof. Personally I hate the term baby proof. Mostly because baby proofing products are made by adults. We think with logic and reason. We see sockets and reachable cabinets. We see the obvious dangers and try to find the best way to make them not so dangerous. Can we really make anything baby proof? They have tiny fingers and curious minds. Ambition paired with unsteady legs. Disastrous combinations. They see things we can't when they are eye level with floor. The only thing logic and reason tells them is touch and or eat it. They don't think like us and we don't think like them. I swear those plastic socket caps drew more attention to the outlets.


We stand behind them. In front of them. Hover over them. Get down to their (eye) level. Cover corners. Secure furniture. Rearrange the house. Put up small gates. Block off stair ways. Door ways. Lock cabinets. Move cleaning products up higher despite the lock cause we know it is only a matter of time until they have cracked the code. We anticipate their next move and try to stay one step ahead of them. Ever ready to catch. Lunge. Grab. And yet despite our very best effort they get hurt. They stumble and fall on thankfully their diaper padded butts. They bump their heads on that one corner you forgot to cover. For god sake Rylan has even smacked himself in the face with a toy large enough to leave a mark.

This morning I was momentarily distracted by his brothers when he decided to pull himself up so that he was standing. Holding onto the toy box which we had pretty much mastered by now. And then something he has not ever done before... he let go. With in seconds his forehead was making contact with an open toy cabinet door. CLUNK!!!! I scooped him off the floor. Turned him around and there it was. Rylan's first official lump. His first real boo boo. And panic! I know really?! Panic?! This ain't my first rodeo. Not my first child to bump their head. Not the first cartoon-ish egg I have ever watched grow on a little boys head. Still a first for Ry. And anytime any one of them hits their head with an audible clunk and visible bump I get that instant tightness in my chest.

There is only one thing worse than the kids getting hurt. The kids getting hurt in the presence of their dad. He instantly turns into an overbearing triage Dr. Google. He gets more hysterical than them. Making them more hysterical. Walking them through a serious coordination tests. Shining a flash light in their eyes to make sure their pupils dilate. Interrogating them CSI style... How did it happen? How did you not see the wall? Why aren't you more careful? Are you nauseous? Tired? Dizzy? Can hear okay? Until the questioning turns to me... Why were you letting him run? Why didn't you grab him before it happen? Where were you? Did you actually see it with your own EYES?! You need to be more careful with them!!! And Finally... THERE IS NO MORE. RUNNING. EVER! YOU NEED TO CALL A CONTRACTOR AND TELL THEM WE NEED TO GET RID OF AS MANY WALLS AS POSSIBLE BEFORE SOMEONE GETS SERIOUSLY HURT!!!! I'M SERIOUS... DON'T LAUGH AT ME JENA! And he is serious. If it were up to him we would be living in an empty house with padded floors and walls with kids walking turtle outfitted in knee pads and helmets.

The fact is you can not possibly prevent everything. Kids get hurt. They get bumps. Bruises. And it is not your fault or your contractors. Little people are curious and clumsy and these things are bound to happen.  That's why moms have magic kisses.

Letting go...

Lately I have felt overwhelmed by the amount of baby stuff we have in this house. When I bought it all I was thrilled. Couldn't wait for the next thing that I ordered to arrive. I didn't care that all of these contraptions were taking over. They represented something special. That a baby was on the way. When you are waiting for a baby to arrive it feels like time is standing still. Barely crawling by. I wanted this little life in my belly to be here in my arms. To see his precious face sleeping soundly in the bassinet. His little body in the tiny tub spa just for him. And then he was here. All of these adorable little seats, rockers soothers, basically things he would never use were cluttering up this house. Still I held on to them holding out the hope they would get some use before he out grew them. No such luck.

I bought the bumbo seat after seeing all of my friends happy little ones sitting them. Loving their little seats that gave them just enough independence to put a giant smile on their face. I was so excited to put Ry in his. Hmmmm the seat seems a bit awkward. He isn't quite sitting right in it. Okay what am I doing wrong? Ah these chubby little thighs just aren't all the way in these peculiarly small cut outs for his legs.  Okay.... we will.... just.... get. them. in. there. Or not... no, no, no, no, no don't cry. You don't have to sit there. I am sorry I didn't realize your little rolls just don't fit in there. Aaaaaand there is $45.00 down the drain.

There has got to be something that I can sit this baby up in that he is comfortable in. I found the Fisher Price "sit me up". Perfect. He slides right in. Leg holes are plenty big to accommodate my little thunder thigh man. Of course that same week Rylan would start sitting unassisted on his own and a seat such as this is no longer needed. At all. And another $40.00 wasted.

The soothing vibrations infant/ toddler rocking chair... not so soothing at all in Rylan's opinion. Nope he cried every time I put him in it. Still I kept it in the living room in case he ever decided that it was the most relaxing chair he ever sat, rocked, or vibrated in. 9 months later the verdict is in. He doesn't like the chair.

While I was pregnant with Rylan, Seark was still sleeping in a toddler bed which uses the same size mattress as a crib. So naturally I went out and bought a new mattress for the new crib that Rylan would be using. Of course by the time I had Rylan was born Seark was not using his little bed anymore and we did not need a second mattress. But we have it in case Rylan decides to have a party and one of his milk drunk friends needs a place to crash.

I could really go on and on about the things that we bought and didnt use. At all. Don't even get me started on strollers. Finding the perfect stroller made me feel like that picky little Goldilocks bitch. Nothing was quite right. And we were close to living in a card board box with my collection of strollers by the time I found the right.

So every day I walk by all these things. I clean up around them. Put them back in their place. Put them in the closet and take them back out. Debate whether or not I need another tiny person to fill them up.... wait.... what?! I know random and bazaar... and yet true. OH MY GOD WE NEED TO GET RID OF THIS SHIT LIKE YESTERDAY!!! Mainly because I am impulsive and wouldn't put it past myself to actually make another baby for all of the unused completely adorable infant "must haves" the are playing mind games with me.

And so I get on Facebook. Upload pictures of it all with the caption "make an offer". With in minutes. Literally minutes. I got offers. Which made me unsure of my decision to get rid of it all. But I did I got rid of almost all of it with in 24 hours. Someone came the next day and bought all of the big things that were in the way. I let it all go.

In a way it was freeing. I don't have to move all this stuff from spot to spot. Try to figure out how to fit it in the closet. Look at it and long to have a another baby to put in it. I let it go. The stuff. And the thoughts of another little one. My family is complete. I know that. But it is so hard to let go. I feel like it was just yesterday that we were getting married. Planning for a family. Day dreaming about babies. And they are all here. Growing faster than I anticipated. Not needing all this stuff. The best time of my life is now and its moving along at a pace that I never imagined. I know there is so much to look forward to. So much more ahead. I just never thought that we would be looking back so soon.