Pee.

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I find Husband’s lack of a sense of smell fascinating. 

For three days, I have been battling a pee smell in the boy’s bathroom that I just couldn’t get rid of. It smelled like a disgusting public restroom, and seemed to be getting worse by the day. I wiped down the walls, the toilet, and the floor — and still the smell persisted.

Finally, in exasperation I sent Husband on a mission to find the smell.

Me: Where’s it coming from?!

Husband: I don’t smell anything.

Me: What?! It STINKS in there. What do you mean you can’t smell anything? 

Husband: All I smell is cleaning stuff.

So I marched back in, determined to locate the source, and … I found it. 

A trash can full of days-old pee.

I couldn’t decide whether to be totally grossed out or angry at the culprit or AMAZED that Husband couldn’t smell that smell. I finally settled on all three. But I’ve decided to forgive him for his lack of olfaction, and this is why:

  
I know. So cute.

Here’s the culprit who peed in the trash can. But I’ve decided to forgive him as well, simply based on cuteness.

Check Please.

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Today … wow. Where to start. 

First of all, I made chili. I haven’t cooked anything from scratch for months and months, and even though I truly don’t have the time to cook now, I am just sick of eating frozen food. Someone should have been here to videotape the whole charade of me trying to juggle a fussy baby, chop an onion, brown some beef, put Asher down for his nap, and ignore my ringing phone. I assume I looked as ridiculous as I felt. 

I felt strung out, just like this stereotypical frazzled mom, but not nearly as put together. And I wasn’t smiling. This mom is smiling. She actually looks like she just took a Valium.

Thankfully, I suppose, those insanely ridiculous moments will never be captured on on video — because if there was another person in my house capable of operating a video camera then they would be helping me. I need a sister wife. Preferably one who looks like the lady up above: well put together, aproned, and possibly drugged.

It’s worth mentioning here (because I will likely block this out later down the road) that Asher had a very bad fall last night and busted his mouth so hard that we were certain he was going to lose some teeth. Thankfully his teeth seem okay, and a doctor checked him out and said there is no way to stitch the gash which is along his gum line. All we can do is wait for it to heal and give him lots of popsicles and Tylenol.

He bled a lot — like a scary amount. When Husband returned with him after seeing the doctor, his face was caked with dried blood and it totally looked like they had stopped somewhere so he could feast on dead deer. It was all very Twilight. However, by this morning the bleeding had stopped, and he seemed okay enough to go to the grocery store. 

Off we went, and he was totally fine for the entire grocery trip, until we got to the register to check out. He waited until the cashier started talking to him, telling him what a cutie pie he was, to start hemorrhaging from his mouth. He was oblivious to the blood, smiling and talking animatedly per usual as blood ran down his face and onto his shirt.

Check. Please.

There is really no good way to explain, apologize, or gracefully exit when your kid’s face starts bleeding profusely for no apparent reason in a public place. I mumbled something like, “He fell last night and busted his mouth,” and wished the floor would open up and swallow me or at the very least that I had the foresight to put medical gauze in the diaper bag. As we hurried out, he waved to all the people who were staring and yelled “BYE BYE!” as he sprayed my chest with blood. 

Really, at this point, the week can only improve.

Also, I just noticed the mom in the picture above has on wedge heels. I no longer want her to be my sister wife. I kind of hate her, actually, with her Valium and her oven baked turkey.

I found an accurate depiction of what things are like in my house right now and this is it:

 
One day I will find zen and wedge heels again. But right now, I have to go get the blood out of my shirt.

My Maverick.

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Yesterday, this boy walked up to me and said “Mommy, I have a staple stuck in my teeth.” 


And he really did. I had to yank pretty hard to get it out. I had so many questions, but I didn’t have time in the moment to ask them. Now I kind of regret not getting to the bottom of that situation, because I’m pretty sure whatever he had to say about it would have been comical.

My first born has been pushed to the side in recent weeks and I feel bad about that. He’s independent enough to take care of himself so most of my attention tends to fall on the little kids. So, today I want to talk about Maverick. He is the reason I started this blog, and one day I will write a book filled with words inspired by him. He is the child who challenges me the most, who has forced me to grow whether I wanted to or not — my feet dragging in the dirt as he catapulted me from my comfort zone over and over and over again.

Maverick: Mommy, you said when I grow up I can be anything I want to be, right?

Me: That’s right.

Maverick: What if I want to be three things?

Me: Then you totally can.

Maverick: I want to be a fireman, a policeman, and a KING. 

Me: Excellent.

Maverick: But what if I am supposed to be at the fire station on the same day that I’m supposed to be at the police station?? Oh, wait, never mind. That’s why I’m KING. 

If anyone could pull off being those three things, it’s my son. Husband and I later helped him figure out that he could be a policeman on Fridays, a fireman on Saturdays, and a king Monday thru Thursday. Scheduling crisis averted.

As infuriating and challenging as he can be, Maverick charms me every day. I see myself in him — the stubborn tenacity, the pluckiness, the love of life. And I see Husband’s cleverness, charisma, and humor, which always wins people over because it’s coupled with that dang persistence.

One day Maverick will be old enough to understand what I mean when I tell him that he truly can do anything he wants to do. Anything. I just have to brace myself for whatever that might be. 

Bananas.

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I kind of feel like I’m lying to you every time I say that this three-kid thing is going well, because that might lead you to believe that it’s easy.

It’s not.

“It’s going well” is my way of saying “No one, including myself, has been hospitalized yet.” Because seriously — there’s something to be said for that. My days are filled with tomfoolery that would make for some highly entertaining stories … if I had the time to tell them.

The truth is, I can’t even brush my teeth or go to the bathroom without someone doing one (or all) of the following:

1. Crying
2. Beating on the door
3. Screaming “MOMMY!!!” as if there was a knife-wielding burglar in the house
4. Using my absence as an opportunity to drink half and half directly from the carton.

Husband leaves in the morning and it’s just 12 straight hours of relentless chaos until I tuck their little bodies into bed. It’s hard; I’m pushed to my limit every single day. By 4 p.m. I normally start questioning why I had all of these children. By 5 p.m. I’ve HAD IT. I start fantasizing about getting in the van and driving somewhere far away. I start feeling like I can’t possibly deal with another weird issue, seriously, STOP BLOWING YOUR NOSE ON THE FLOOR.

But we muddle through, because I am a God-fearing woman and my God-fearing mother prays for me daily and I really think I must be on several prayer lists somewhere. At 6 p.m. I start the arduous process of bathing them and putting each one to bed in the order of youngest to oldest. After the house is quiet at 8 p.m. and I have a little while to pull myself together, I feel like I can face another day. Maybe. And then, after all of that, Husband comes home. 

Lately I’ve found myself in moments of complete exasperation asking myself or my friends, “Why am I doing this to myself?! How did I get here?! Because this SHIT is BANANAS.”

Thankfully, my exasperation passes and when I can think clearly I know exactly why and how I got to this place. As maddening and chaotic and overwhelming as this situation is, it is equally as magical and hilarious and soul-filling. They are terrible and wonderful creatures, children. They are sucking the life out of us and filling our house with joy all at the same time.

It’s hard to know if what I’m doing every day makes a difference, and I cling to the moments where I see all of the love and work I’m pouring into these kids come back out of them and into their world. Yesterday, Asher peeked under Pepper’s blanket in the car and said, “I wuv you Pepper!” It was so surprising — I had never heard him say that many words strung together — and, of course, cute that I had to pull over and take a picture of it.

I find things like this …

Playing dress up … ?

Trying to make himself as small as his sister.

My kids love each other, and we’re all learning to be patient with everyone including ourselves, and no one ever died of eating too many Eggo waffles. 

I think.

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. 

And it really is bananas.


Hello.

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Hi there.

I’m not together enough mentally to write real posts, but here is a picture I snapped earlier this week. That girl sure is smiley for such a tiny baby! Probably because since the day she was born she’s had an audience of people in her face smiling at her.


I can’t believe she’ll be 4 weeks old tomorrow. HOLY HELL, I MADE IT THROUGH THE FIRST MONTH!!! I have had some rough days, yes, but overall I dare say this hasn’t been that bad. I was prepared for everything to fall apart or explode or something horrific. But no … there’s been none of that.


Living near family has made a h-u-g-e difference. I’ve called my mom or my mother-in-law countless times in recent weeks to ask for help, and it’s been wonderful to have that luxury. The boys are super sweet … they love the baby. They are mean to each other, but they love the baby. I just have to watch closely to make sure they don’t love her too roughly.

I can join the gym in two weeks and I can’t wait, because clearly I need to get out of the house and have some regular time to myself before I become one of those women who lose themselves in motherhood and all they can talk about is their children. I can feel myself teetering on the edge of round-the-clock mothering and it’s really getting to me. Like I am literally boring mysel…………..zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

This Is My Life Right Now.

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Once I start getting out more I’ll have other things to talk about, but right now, this is my life:

I have moments where I think, “I JUST WANT TO SHOWER IN PEACE!!” Because I do. But this is a season of my life, and I am embracing it as much as I can. Soon it will be over and we will move on to a different season; hopefully I’ll be able to wash my hair more often in the next one.

Being Shaped.

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Mothers need encouragement.

Actually, all women need encouragement. Not just mothers. I’m saying mothers need it because I am one and currently I’m up to my NECK IN CHILDREN. 

It’s funny how you continue to grow as a person even in adulthood. I’ve had some remarkably tough days lately, involving things like all three of my kids crying at the same time for different reasons as I threw microwaved pizza on paper plates and dumped applesauce into bowls and stubbed all of my toes on various pieces of furniture because I was rushing to put something in their mouths to stop the whining and crying. 

A few years ago, an evening that stressful would have wrecked me. Like I would have probably yelled at them to stop whining/crying/asking incessant questions/screeching, which would have made them do it even more, and then I would have written an angry blog post about my children who are clearly trying to ruin me — RUIN me, I tell you.

Yes, that is Scotch tape.

Now I have reached a place where I realize that I’m not being ruined, I’m being worn in. My entire body has expanded and contracted three times to accommodate new life. My lap has been climbed into hundreds of times, my arms have carried 7 pounds and 47 pounds, my shoulders have been gummed by teething babies, and I have dealt with SO MANY ODD SITUATIONS, OMG, THEY CAN STOP NOW, thanks to my oldest son.

No … my children aren’t trying to ruin me. They are, without even being aware of it, shaping me.

Story Time.

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Today is the first day that I felt like my old self: The Girl Who Can’t Sit Down. I’m trying to soak it in while I can, before someone flushes another toy down the toilet or eats a bug off the floor or runs naked through the front yard at dinnertime.

Today, I dusted my house. I ran errands, I took a shower, I ate real meals at the table and I even took a kid to story time at the library. That was … SOMETHING. I’m no rookie mom, but sitting in a crowd of harried women wrangling screaming toddlers shook me up a little. I kept looking around thinking, “This is who I am now. I’m one of them.” It felt weird to me, because even though I was surrounded by young moms with young children I still didn’t feel like I was at home in that situation. They all looked so exhausted. DO I LOOK THAT EXHAUSTED? 

Honestly, I don’t know why I don’t ever feel like I fit in a particular category. I’m fairly certain it’s not them, it’s me. In the middle of story time a toddler girl threw a fit, like a hysterical, shrieking, red-faced FIT, and I started silent-laughing uncontrollably. I tried to stop, but the more she screamed, the more I silent-laughed. My whole body was shaking as her mother carted her off. We could hear her shrieking from way across the library. And then I thought, yes — that’s what the problem is. I have weird humor and laugh at inappropriate times and all of these other moms seemed like they were too damn tired to laugh AT ANYTHING.

Husband keeps telling me I need to make more stay-at-home mom friends, but after today I think most stay-at-home moms are borderline batty and we — I include myself in this statement — are all so focused on making sure we remember to clothe everyone before they go outside that it can be hard to form new friendships. My method of coping is just to laugh at everything … it really doesn’t matter if it’s an appropriate time or not. Because if I wasn’t laughing, I would be emoting something else and it wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant.


So I guess my new goal is to find mommy friends who don’t find my humor off-putting, because if your kid or mine throws a red-faced, hysterical FIT I’m definitely going to silent-laugh. What else are you going to do?!