I have a lump that might be a hernia. I won‘t know for sure until I see my doctor this week. Basically I’m FREAKING THE FREAK OUT and keep telling Husband to be nice to me because it feels like my innards are trying to come outwards.
THESE CHILDREN HAVE DONE A NUMBER ON MY BODY AND THIS IS THE LAST ONE. NO MORE.
All of this upsets me a tiny bit.
Yes … it says I love yo. He ran out of room — the u is on the back. My 4-year-old doesn’t know how to read yet. Thankfully. This may sound strange, but I dread the day that kid can read over my shoulder. An awful lot of texts leave this house that are not kid-appropriate, and I don’t want to have to explain myself to my overly-inquisitive child.
Anway, he asked me how to write I love you and rather than repeat “I-L-O-V … no, I said ‘I,’ yes, now write an ‘L’ … ” in a painstaking manner, I just wrote it down for him on a scrap of paper as a reference.
Today was the day that we got to have the conversation about women’s intelligence. He knows girls are pretty and smell nice, but now it’s time for him to learn that they are smart too. Well, most of them. Not that idiot who parks her car like this at the preschool:
I don’t know who this woman is, but COME ON. Her ridiculous driving and parking infuriates me on a weekly basis. Lady, get a chauffeur.
Anyway, I really had no idea that ONE thought girls weren’t as smart as boys until today’s conversation. It went a little something like this:
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ONE: Daddy knows everything.
Me: Daddy does know a lot.
ONE: That’s because boys, I mean men, are smarter than girls.
Me: What on Earth gave you that idea?!
ONE: (thinking) Daddy is bigger than you are, so he’s smarter than you.
Me: Your Daddy is a very smart man, but I’m just as smart as he is. The size of a person doesn’t affect how much they know. There are genius midgets out there roaming around.
ONE: (listening intently)
Me: Daddy is a lot smarter than I am in certain ways. He knows a LOT about a lot of stuff I don’t know about. But I know a LOT about a lot of other stuff. We’re experts in different areas.
ONE: Oh!! So … if you took Daddy’s brain, and your brain, and put them together … YOU COULD RULE THE WORLD!
Me: That’s exactly right.
***
Oh … ONE. I love yo.
One of my very favorite things to do in this world is to have “coffee talk.” You know, where you curl up with a cup of coffee in your living room or in a coffee shop, and talk to someone you enjoy spending time with. Nothing refreshes my soul more than good conversation and a good cup of coffee.
So if we were going to have coffee this morning, here is what I would share with you. First of all, THREE finally has a name! Husband and I argued and discussed and debated, and finally we have settled on a name we both feel good about for our third child: Penelope Rose. I’ve been calling her Pepper, but if we meet her and she doesn’t seem … Pepperish … we can always call her Poppy or just plain Penelope. But never, ever Penny.
I’d also tell you that yesterday I was in Target with TWO picking up his prescription and I pulled a ninja mom move in the bathroom, which involved locking his shoulder in between my knees while I washed my hands so he wouldn‘t run into one of the stalls and play in the toilet water. He’s got a fascination with toilets … which is kind of a pain in my ass.
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| TWO has an ear infection and a sinus infection. Boo. |
This week I came across some parenting advice that I absolutely LOVE and plan to follow with my own children. I’m forever finding things on the internet that I love, but this really resonated with me.
I’d also tell you that I have had a really rough week and it literally feels like everyone in my life is trying their hardest to give me a hard time. YOU WIN, PEOPLE. YOU HAVE ALL SUCCESSFULLY GIVEN ME AN ADEQUATE AMOUNT OF GRIEF.
But … since we had this nice, calm, imaginary coffee talk, I really feel a lot better. The only thing that could have made it better would be a shot of whiskey. Cheers!
My littlest little is sick. It’s very sad. We’re paying a visit to the pediatrician this afternoon.
I feel like I have a lot to say, but I can’t get my thoughts together. I’m feeling very scattered these days. Scattered and clumsy and waddly.
There are so many things I don’t know. Like how to get ONE to stop using ugly words and how to get my Husband to stop doing that thing he does when I get mad, that only makes me more mad.
What I DO know is, the Britney Spears station on Pandora combined with homemade chocolate chip cookies make everything better.
Now instead of thinking to myself, “What is wrong with everyone?!” I’m thinking, “What is wrong with everyone?! AND DAMN, THESE COOKIES ARE TASTY.”
My 4-year-old knows all the words to Some Nights by the band Fun. The other day we were in the car singing
Tonight, while Husband was still at work, I was going about my usual evening routine consisting of:
1. Looking a hot mess while
2. Yelling at and chasing after half-dressed little boys, and
3. Praying out loud things like “Lord, help me get through the next two hours,”
4. And wishing I could hide somewhere with a bottle of whiskey.
ONE had stripped down to his underwear, I looked like a half-price hooker, and TWO was completely naked because I had just plunked him into the tub. Right when I pulled out the shampoo, ONE ran into the bathroom and shouted, “There’s an old lady at the door!” and I said, “Oh?“ and went about my business. He asked if he could let her in and I said NO and then asked him which door she was at. He said the back door. I explained I couldn’t answer it right now, but I was sure she will leave a note or come back later or something.
He then ran back to the kitchen presumably to shout through the door “My mommy says you have to go away” or something equally embarrassing, and …
I heard him yell, “SHE’S IN OUR HOUSE!”
At that point I scooped up a soaking wet, 30-pound toddler and ran into the kitchen to find my next-door neighbor standing in the middle of my home. Now, this is kind of sad, but she has dementia. She came over to tell me she got some packages at her house that had baby clothes in them and realized they didn’t belong to her when she opened them, so she came to tell me. And the door was unlocked … so … there she was. Right there. In my house.
I said thank you and I will get them as soon as possible and thank you again and I hoped she would have a good evening, but … she has dementia, you see. So she didn’t leave. She talked to my naked children instead, which is understandable.
As TWO got heavier and heavier, and my pregnant back and arms started to really hurt (I couldn’t put him down since he was wet and would slip on the tile), I very kindly steered her out and assured her I’d come by to get the packages as soon as I had a chance.
Then I locked the door.
I returned to what I was doing and had just put TWO in his crib and was — of course — on the toilet peeing when ONE came rocketing down the hallway yelling “She‘s back!!!” And indeed she was, this time with the packages. My thoughtful Aunt Nancy from Alabama mailed some little girl clothes for THREE.
Someday when she is older I will tell her the story of The Hard-Won Frilly Clothes and how important it is to always, always lock her doors.
So. Weird.
I’ve made a decision, finally, on the palette for THREE’s room. Now, I’m not the kind of mom who scours Pinterest and spends weeks planning a nursery. I’m sorry if this disappoints you. I pick items I like and I put them together, in a short amount of time.
The colors will be primarily yellow, white, and gray. Here are some things I’ve decided I must have for my daughter’s room.
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| (source) |
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| http://www.target.com |
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| http://www.target.com |
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| http://www.urbanoutfitters.com |
The bedding is cheap, which is good, and I like the birds and overall vintage feel of it. The vibe of the room isn’t really vintage, I am just picking things that make me happy and seem soothing. I don’t want to go overkill with matchy-matchyness though — I may throw some sky blue curtains on the windows.
Apparently I’m nesting. Yesterday I was cleaning and threw away Husband’s cologne because I thought it was empty, when in fact it was not. Oops. I considered offering to dig for it in the trash outside, but I figured if he wanted it that badly he could go look for it himself. He waved his arms around and said, “That doesn’t make any sense! Why would you do that?!” I looked at him and said no, it didn’t make any sense. I have no idea what I was thinking, but I think I’m nesting, and it’s probably going to happen again … so …
Yesterday, a terrible thing happened.
Let me preface this by saying that I am struggling to adjust to summer break. Struggling. Like … it’s good? But also horrible? Can something be good and horrible all at once? Because I’m pretty sure that is exactly what parenthood is.
Making the transition from having all three kids in school for 6+ hours per day (and working during those hours), to having them home all the time and trying to get my work done in addition to mothering in a loving fashion, is not going great. As I have already established in multiple blog posts from previous years, summer is effing relentless.
Pepper is obsessed with two things: outlets and babies. Here she is showing her baby doll the outlet in her bedroom. #multitasking
Thankfully, this year is somewhat easier than previous years simply because my children are getting older and more independent. Pepper will be 3 next week, so I think we’re finally on the upswing after a very dark time in the Valley of Motherhood.
Yesterday afternoon, we got home from playing at the park. The boys jumped out of the van, heard some kids next door playing, and asked if they could go over to play. I granted them permission and took Pepper inside. Her clothes were filthy — covered in layers of peanut butter and dirt — so I stripped her down to a diaper.
I ran to the bathroom with her trailing behind me, always my little shadow. And then, my mom called. She’s not feeling well and I can barely hear her on the phone. I was straining to understand what she was saying — did she just say she needed to go to the hospital?! — and naturally, my toddler got really loud at exactly that moment. As her shouting drowned out my mother, my stress level started to rise.
I went to my bedroom and closed the door. My daughter cried from the hall, and when she stopped, I was thankful. When I emerged only a few minutes later, the house was quiet. A panicky feeling started to rise in my chest, and then it felt like my heart stopped.
Just.
Stopped.
Beating.
Our back door was standing wide open.
Screaming her name, I ran outside. She was gone. Or hiding. Or missing.
I heard a woman’s voice — our across the street neighbor — yelling at me that she just saw a little girl cut through the fences in the backyard.
“She went that way, sweetheart! I was standing here watching her!”
I was barefoot and it did not matter. I ran. I ran until I found her. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel my body. All I could hear was my own voice screaming her name, and my heartbeat deafening my ears. That is what blind panic feels like.
My 2-year-old was wandering one street over from ours, wearing nothing but her diaper. She was holding a toy pet carrier with a little stuffed dog inside. I will never forget the way her face looked when she saw the horror on mine.
“NEVER AGAIN,” I said to her.
“Not with my dog?” she said.
“NEVER, EVER. Do not ever leave this house without a grown up,” I said, as I wiped away my tears.
I’m sharing this story to demonstrate how quickly children can disappear. How many times have I heard stories of toddlers wandering the streets and thought to myself, WHERE WAS THE MOTHER?
That mother is me. I was right there. It happened anyway.
I’m a damn good mom. I am capable. I am aware. I am not negligent. But children are fast. And sometimes quiet. And things happen. So today I’m hugging my babies tight, grateful for their safety, knowing that sometimes other mamas aren’t so lucky.
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Modern Mommy Madness 