No more with the Facebook rants

You guys, I promise I understand that my leaving Facebook has disconnected me from the world.  I really do.  I've missed party invites, pictures, and great stories from my friends and family.  I know it makes it harder to maintain contact with me.  I swear that I get it.  And I'm sorry about that.  Truly I am.  

But, you know, decision made.  Firmly made.  Mind not changing.

You have to know that Facebook was the means to a whole lot of drama, heartache, and destruction in my life.  No, I am not naive enough to think that something similar would not have happened had Facebook never been invented.  I understand that people are going to do what they are going to do regardless of the means they have to do it.  Facebook just makes it a whole lot more convenient.

And, yes, I've heard the "well, only be friends with people you want to be friends with and delete everyone else and you won't have to deal with any drama" argument.  To that I say: 

1) Honestly, how many old flames, exes, etc. have you had send you emails on Facebook?  I've had people I'm not friends with track me down and send me messages many times.  I didn't seek them out or ask them to contact me.  It just happens.  

Now, no matter the level of trust you have in your partner, I know it makes your heart race when you hear or see that his or her ex sent an email out of the blue.  I love the man I'm in a relationship with, and I don't care to give him any reason for his heart to race (negatively, anyway - heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey).   This is no longer a concern in my life!

And 2) I'm just going to go ahead and call you a liar if you say you're not friends with a single person on Facebook out of obligation or not hurting feelings.  Sure, you can block them from your feed, but there is going to come a day when you forget to block them from seeing something you post, and you are going to get a nosey email or text message and roll your eyes and curse under your breath.  This no longer happens to me!

So, frankly, I haven't lost a minute's sleep over leaving Facebook.  I don't miss it even remotely.  No amount of trying to convince me my life is not complete without it is going to change my mind.  

So,  I love you, but shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Big deals

Today is a good day.

Silas made it all the way to the gym before he teared up this morning.  That means he braved pulling into the parking lot, getting out of the car, going through the front door, walking across the lobby, and walking down two hallways without so much as a sniffle.  AND THEN, even after he did start crying, no teacher had to pull him off of my leg and coax him to join the class.  He bravely sat down in front of his cereal bowl and allowed me to leave all on his own.  I'm not sure if the hugeness of this is translating through cyberspace.  So, you're just going to have to take my word for it that it is a very big deal.  The mom guilt is still there, but I am so proud of him for being so brave. 

You know who else is a big deal?  Gavin, that's who.  Lately he's gotten very comfortable with standing unsupported in the middle of the floor.  Sometimes he even takes an accidental step without holding onto anything.  He usually quickly realize he's lost touch with the table or couch or your hand and rectifies it immediately.

However, today I received a text message informing me that Gavin took six whole steps, fell, and then got up and took four more steps.  This is the real deal.  He's going to start walking, which, I mean, YAY! because I need him walking before Vivian arrives.  But, damn.  I'm going to turn around and he is going to be heading to preschool.  He already eats like a grown man, so why not, I guess.

For the youngest child's part in the big dealness, well, she is doing her very best to keep mommy from becoming a "big" deal.  I can still wear a lot of my normal clothes (at almost 4 months, which has never, ever happened to me), and I've gained less weight at this stage with her than with the rest of them (even Gavin who was very kind in the weight gain department.)  So, I feel like Viv's got my back, and that's a big deal.

And, finally, I'm afraid to even blog about it, but I may have spent the last two days setting up utilities and cable service and such for a certain house that a certain family is probably moving into pretty soon.  A house 3 times the size (literally) of where we live now.  A house with bedrooms for everyone and a playroom and a fenced backyard.  We may have even spent an hour this week talking about painting and minor repairs we're going to start spending our weekends doing.

We'll know if the maybes are absolutes one week from today.

BIG DEAL!  So, keep your fingers crossed.

I'd apologize to you directly if I could remember why you're mad

Last year, in May, I was suffering from a serious case of pregnancy brain (see here).  It was pretty severe in the forgetfulness department.

Vivian seems to have turned me into Jessica Simpson on top of making me forgetful.

I'm a pretty smart girl.  Really, I am.  That being said, since I have become pregnant this time I have made Tokyo its own country, said a restaurant was "international" because it is in both Texas and Colorado, and asked my boyfriend if the button on his truck that you push for towing was for "pulling a wagon" (because people pull so many wagons these days?)  I know there are others, but my memory is also totally wiped out.

I can't keep up with the fact that I need gas when there is a bright orange light glaring at me.  I've been all set to show up at multiple doctors appointments on the wrong days and times (despite the fact that I have them entered into two calenders with multiple reminders and that every office calls me two days in advance).

My mom picked the boys up yesterday because I had to go out of town and got back a little late.  I didn't pack her a single diaper or wipes or a bottle or any formula or baby food.  "Here they are.  You figure it out!"

So, why am I telling you about this?  Because maybe you asked me to do something and I said "sure!" and then didn't do it.  Or maybe you sent me a text message and it is marked as "read" but I never responded.  Or maybe I was supposed to give you something and it has never appeared.

I'm truly sorry.  I swear I'm not just being an ass.  I live in a 24/7 permanent fog.  And when I do finally have a moment of clarity and remember, "oh my God, I never did x, paid y, or responded to z", my face flames red, and I feel about an inch tall.  But even then, there is no guarantee that I'm going to get it done because the slightest distraction, and it's gone again.

So, if you are going through this with me, feel free to say, "hey dummy, we had plans. WTF?" or something similar.  I promise I won't be offended.  And I promise it always gets (slightly) better once the kid arrives.  So, hang in there!  I'm going to remember whatever you're hating me for eventually and apologize profusely and maybe even have Silas bake you cookies (because that is his new thing - he's a chef, and I don't really care for sugar cookies).

The weekend

This weekend, we did everything we could to make it about the kids (i.e. Silas because really Gavin is just along for the ride, and I was still reeling with mom guilt over this preschool thing).

On Saturday, we scrolled through list after list of things to do in the Metroplex on our phones.  We finally settled on trekking an hour and a half to the North Texas Fair to spend a bunch of money and sweat and take turns talking each other off the ledge of crankiness.  What's important, though, is that I felt slightly better about the mom guilt of leaving my child crying every, single morning last week because Silas had a good time and smiled a lot.  Gavin mostly tried to climb out of the wagon, laughed hysterically at his brother, and dumped a bottle of water all over himself and his pallet.  Whatever, it was hot, and I'd have done it too if I could have gotten away with it.

We were all in bed by 9.  Silas snuggled up to his iPad, Gavin snuggled up to his bottle, Jimmy and I still bitching about how hot it was and sort-of holding hands over the covers and watching Lockup (yep, we're boring.  No, it wouldn't matter if the kids were there or not.  Yes, we're perfectly fine with that.)

Sunday, Gavin and I got up before everyone else (we usually do).  We had breakfast together and played ball and watched HGTV until the rest of the house came straggling into the living room (after that, I lose all control of the remote).

We had lunch with my friends who were in town from Arkansas.  Lunch was at Shenaniganz, which is a grown-up version of Chuck-E-Cheese.  Silas and Rowden stood in the booth and talked over Christen's head while we ate lunch and Gavin did what he could to consume a napkin.  

Eventually, we made it to the arcade where Silas and Rowden each took approximately half an hour for each game of ski-ball and collected enough tickets to trade in for plastic airplanes and the like.

I love Texas.  Honestly, I do.  It feels like home, and I love raising my kids here.  But, I hate that I am missing raising my kids with my friends from home.  I hate that I see them, maybe, once a year.  I couldn't go back even if I wanted to (divorces and visitation agreements and such), and I'm not sure that I would if I could.  I just wish there was a way to have it all - all being my life in Texas and my friends from home.

We got home and turned the living room into kid-zone until dinner (we block it off, throw down toys, and let the kids take over).  Everyone had the sniffles and Gavin started running fever.  

At bedtime, I gave everyone medicine and went to bed feeling like crap (only Tylenol for me - yipee!)  This morning, we all still felt bad, but I'm mean (j/k, well, I can be, but this time it was just because I've had a lot of time off lately) and made everyone (except Jimmy who is still in bed with a pile of medicine I left next to his head) go to their respective daytime haunts.

Silas still cried this morning (because he's going to do it all year - obviously).  Gavin is still fighting fever (which I'm 99% sure is his teeth).  Vivian has let me feel her kick approximately 3 times this weekend.  And I'm being mom, which means feeling like crap but going about the day anyway because no one has time for me to feel like crap.

Happy Monday.

The mommy instinct

I'm noticing a pattern in my blogging lately.  There is a lot about Vivian because of the pregnancy and finding out she is a Vivian and all.  Then there is a lot about Silas because of the whole preschool thing (man, he is trying hard to be brave in the mornings, but we're still working on the tears).

However, there hasn't been a whole lot about Gavin recently.  So, of course, I'm worried that he's already developing "middle child syndrome," and that is the last thing I need for my 9 month old.

At his recent check-up, I learned that he is tall (96th percentile).  So, good on Michael's genes or recessive genes or wherever that came from (obviously not his mother).  His motor skills are developing nicely.  He is putting on weight at a fabulous rate.  

But, apparently, he isn't talking quite enough (his incessant nonsensical noise-making must not count).  That doesn't really freak me out the way I think it would have with Silas.  If someone had told me Silas was "behind" on a milestone, I would have very likely panicked and cried and internet searched my paranoid little heart out.  However, somewhere in the midst of my child-rearing, I settled into the comfortable knowledge that there really is a mommy instinct, and if you trust it, things tend to work out alright.  

I honestly believe that parents know when it's time to worry about something involving their kids (because sometimes doctors blow things off they shouldn't and sometimes they make big deals out of things that aren't).  

My instincts are telling me that Gavin is developing just fine.  

Silas was a talker.  At the ripe old age of 3, his speech and vocabulary rival that of many adults I know.  I worked with Silas on learning words, but he was basically a sponge.  He soaked up language just by listening to every day speech, so it honestly did not take a whole lot of "effort" on my part (boy did he make up for it with potty training).  Anyway, that is all I know when it comes to helping kids learn how to talk.  You talk, they listen, they talk.

People go on and on about how differently kids learn and develop, and I now see how true that is with my very own eyes.

Gavin is not Silas.  Gavin is Gavin.   Obviously, he's going to learn differently than Silas did.  He certainly has the ability to learn words because he already has.  It's just going to take a more focused effort than it did with Silas. 

So far, Gavin has been far more interested in learning how to walk and in developing his motor skills and (most importantly) in figuring out every way possible to charm someone into giving him food.   Plus, it's hard to get a word in with big brother around.   

So, my gut instinct is telling me that Gavin will learn how to talk in his own time.  But that's not to say I'm ignoring the doctor and burying my head in the sand and not working with him on learning new words.  That would be dumb.  I've chatted with all the members of the village, and we have begun to focus on teaching him new words. 

Now we repeat basic words to him constantly (bye bye, ball, bottle, dog, etc).  I give everything I hand him (ball) or do with him (bath) a name and repeat it for him multiple times (for as long as I can keep his interest).  I make sure he's involved when it's time for a story.  I pick books with a rhyming, sing-songy pace to try to hold his attention for as long as possible.

It is paying off.

He was basically only saying "mama" and "hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii" on a regular basis at the check up (one week ago).  However, he can now point to a ball and call it a ball, and just this morning, I heard him babbling on about "dada" (it was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess) and then, in the car, he started in with "bye, bye" (it was so cute, it almost brought tears to my eyes).  

He requires a more focused approach with words.  He tinkers with speech methodically.  He masters one word at a time (unlike Silas who wanted to know all of the words immediately so he could talk your head off).  

Having kids is beautiful in far more ways than the obvious.  It is incredible to me how much raising them is teaching me about people generally and how different we all are.  How each of us finds our niche and grows into it.  How we require more focus in certain areas and less in others.

I love watching the boys grow into who they are.  My only hope is that I never try to push them or pressure them into being people they are not.  I pray I am able to always find the balance between nurturing and encouraging their strengths and helping them strengthen in areas where they need more help.  

Hopefully that mom-instinct will play a role in that.

...first day of school blues (continued)

For our utter and complete inability to function in a marriage together, Michael and I parent together (but separately) easy-peezy. 

Involving Michael in this preschool thing definitely feels like the right thing.  

Silas was not crying when Michael got there to pick him up yesterday, and he told Michael he had had a good day.  Michael took him and got pizza and just spent a little one-on-one time with Silas until I got off work.  

You know when you have a seriously crappy day, and your buddy says, let's go grab a drink or dinner or whatever?  Just spending a couple of hours with someone whose company you sincerely enjoy makes all the difference in that day.

That is what I envision yesterday afternoon was for Silas.  He was in a great mood when I picked him up.

There were still tears this morning, but they were much fewer.  He perked up when I told him daddy was going to try to pick him up again.

I have always known this split household thing was going to be really tough on Silas.  So, I'm grateful that Michael and I are almost always on the same page about the kids and can work together in situations like this.  I'm so glad for Silas that he still has two parents who do everything they can to be involved in his life and help him through rough transitions.

You make these decisions and then have to pray everything works out well for your kids.  And I count my blessings daily that things seem to be working out pretty great for everyone involved.

So, onward we march in this preschool transition.  The village raising Silas.  Scattered though the village may be, we have our love of that little boy in common.  

There are probably still a few more rough days ahead, but in a couple of weeks, Silas will be running the joint if I know him.

Rockin the Backpack on the Playground

First day of school blues

Remember how I was all "let me have my moment over this perfect preschool situation because I know meltdowns are coming"?  Uh huh, yeah.

Firstly, no one was mentally prepared for Silas to start preschool yesterday.  I had to get him a physical in the morning and then drop the enrollment paperwork off right after, which was at around 11 am.  So, I assumed he'd just start today.

Very sweetly, the lady from the front office offered to show Silas his classroom and introduce him to his teacher.  Silas' teacher happened to be outside with his new class on a seriously amazing playground when we got there.

*Cue Silas begging to stay at school*

The teacher and staff agreed that it was perfectly fine for Silas to stay.  

After warning Silas over and over again that I was going to work and would not be back until the end of the day and asking 100 times if he was sure he wanted to stay, I went ahead and let him stay.

All day, my brain drifted to Silas and hoped he was having a great first day.  By the time I made it to the parking lot to pick him up, I had myself convinced he had breezed through it.

And then I walked into the gym and saw him sitting on the floor....crying.

SO MUCH MOM GUILT!

On the way home, I asked question after question after question trying to get to the bottom of what was wrong and why he "didn't want to go back to school!" (because he kept repeating between sobs, "I don't want to go back to school, mom!")

Eventually, he gave me enough puzzle pieces to realize that my working in Dallas and his going to school in the far away suburbs = him having to stay at school waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too late for his liking.  More mom guilt.

This morning, I tried to pump him up about the day and remind him about everything he told me he liked about school.  Mostly, that elicited sobbing and begging not to go back to school.  The more I tried to fix it, the worse it got.

In desperation, I called Michael.  "Please talk to him and reassure him it will be okay!"  So, Michael talked to Silas and then grilled me about what was wrong.  After explaining it all to him, he said simply, "tell him I'll be there to pick him up after school today." (He works closer and can get to Silas about an hour and fifteen minutes before I can.)

Silas' teacher hugged him as soon as he walked in the door and promised they were heading outside to the playground in "2 minutes".  She sent him off to join his group, and I started to leave.  He had a change of heart midway over to his classmates and ran to me clinging to my leg.  More tears. (More mom guilt).  

I gave him another kiss goodbye, and reassured him his dad would be there to get him.  His teacher materialized to guide him over to the rest of the class, and I went outside and cried.

A 2:30 call to the school gave me a report of him doing really well.

Michael has received no less than 400 "reminders" to go get him.

All that is left for me to do is wait and stare at the clock and will it to move.  And pray.  Again.  "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, God, let Silas have had a much better second day."

Stay tuned...

What's in a name?

I have had both a boy and girl name picked out for every one of my children prior to finding out the gender.

Originally, Silas was supposed to be named Gavin.  That was the boy name Michael and I had picked out when I was pregnant with Anabel.  My mom was thrilled because my sister (who passed away in 2007) had planned to name a boy Gavin if she ever had one.  When I decided to change the name to Silas (which is Silas' great-grandfather's name and the person Michael most looked up to as a child), she was seriously bummed.  (I originally said I'd name a second boy Silas, but I never in a million years thought I'd have 2 boys and thought I had better use this incredible name while I had the chance - ha!)

I promised my mom that if I had another boy (which I knew I never would), his name would be Gavin.

So, when the doctor announced to me that Gavin was a boy, I knew I had to keep my word.  He'd be named Gavin just like I had  promised (his name would totally be Jasper if I had my way, and I am apparently the only person on the planet who likes the name, so maybe good on Nana).

So, two boys.  Both named what they are for reasons of significance.  

Jimmy and I have names picked out for Baby C as well.  Our boy name is Judson.  There is no real meaning behind it.  We just like the name.  

Our girl name is Vivian.  

Vivian is Jimmy's grandmother and one of the only people he talks about from his childhood who causes him to light up.  His memories of her are adorable, and it makes me so happy to hear the stories he tells about spending time with her.  It reminds me of all of the time I spent with my own grandmother.  I love the name Vivian.  I think it is beautiful and fitting for both a baby and a grown woman.  The first time he told me his grandmother's name, I thought, that is my girl name if he and I ever have a girl.

Friday afternoon, I plugged my phone into my charger in the back of my house.  I had had it next to me all day waiting for the email from my doctor telling me the remaining test results and the gender, but it was 5 o'clock, and I figured the office had shut down for the day.

In the time it took me to walk from my bedroom to the living room and back, I missed a call.

When I listened to the voicemail and heard that it was my OB, my heart skipped a beat.  But mostly because I forgot all about the gender and remembered that she had said she'd only call me if something was wrong with the genetic tests.  Otherwise I was supposed to expect an email.  

I stood breathless in my kitchen listening intently for her to tell me about the test results.  The chaos of my perfectly healthy children swirling around me suddenly faded into the background.  And this is what I heard:

"Hi, Michelle.  This is your doctor.  We received the test results back.  Um.......let's see.  Looks like all the tests were negative (they tested for down syndrome, edwards syndrome, etc).  Everything is normal.  (TEARS to my eyes because I was so relieved).  I also have the gender here.  I see in your chart that you said you want to know, but I don't want to leave it on your voicemail.  I'll be in the office Monday morning if you still want to know.  Have a nice weekend."

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait a minute, doc.  Firstly, don't tell me you'll only call if there is a problem and then call when there isn't.  You nearly scared me to death.  Secondly, really?! On a Friday afternoon you tell me that the gender of my baby has been determined, but I still have to wait all weekend?!

Jimmy and I didn't really discuss anything except our relief over our normal test results.  We spent our kid-free weekend watching movies and hanging out with each other having fun.  

Last night, all I dreamed about was calling my doctor.  Every time I got up with Gavin or to use the bathroom, I was waking up from a dream about trying to get in touch with my doctor.

This morning, I called the doctor's office the second they were open.  When I asked for my doctor, I was told she was not there but that the receptionist would see if she could track down the M.A.

I waited.  Impatiently.  The chaos of my other two children swirling around me and Doc Mcstuffins blaring in the background.

"Hello?  How can I help you?"  and I explained my situation and politely ask if I could conference in my boyfriend.  I conferenced him in.  (Very thankful that he was able to answer because he was at work, and we so badly wanted to hear this together.)  I buckled the boys into their carseats to head off and start our day and listened to her tap away on the computer.

The nurse went over the test results we have already been told are normal (they were still normal).  "Let's see, the gender.  Oh, here it is:

It's a girl."

All you could hear was Jimmy and me freaking out with happiness (because we have 3 boys between us already, and we were both really hoping for a girl).  The nurse giggled and told us congratulations and to have a nice day.

Every fiber of my being was screaming to me that this baby was a girl, but I was so afraid to get my hopes up and then have them dashed.  Believe me when I say that I would have been more than happy to have had 3 healthy, happy little boys.  I love having boys.  They are the sweetest, most adorable creatures in the world.

But, frankly, I have 2 of them, and I need a little bit of pink in my life!

So, I cannot wait to meet little Vivian.  And deck her out in pink and ribbons and bows until she gets old enough to reveal to me that she is totally a tomboy (because obviously that will happen with 2 older brothers), "ew, mom, no pink!"  But for now, sugar and spice and everything PINK!

Ready, set, second trimester

I have officially entered the second trimester with Baby C.  It dawned on me that this is my very last time entering a second trimester.  Like, ever.  (Or someone is getting so sued).

There is something about knowing in your bones that you will never be doing this again that makes the task of renting out your uterus slightly less daunting than it normally feels.

When I have reached the second trimester with every other pregnancy, it has been like a fog lifting.  I've been all "oh good, I can cook actual meals and do laundry and stay awake past 8:30 again.  Oh, wait, is that perpetual heartburn barreling toward me at an alarming rate?!"

Baby C has been kind enough to allow me to keep my energy intact throughout the first trimester (I'm also going to give some credit to the Baby Daddy because he doesn't leave the weight of the entire everything on my shoulders, so I imagine that is a factor as well).  When this whole journey started, I warned Jimmy that any time now, he should expect to start seeing me fall asleep mid-conversation at, like, 7 in the evening.  But it never happened.  (Thanks for making a liar of me, Baby C).  

So, there is no fog lifting, but the heartburn has made its debut right on schedule (making me out a liar and giving me heartburn - welcome the family, Baby C.  You'll fit in nicely).

My holy crap I'm really having another baby!!! moment came earlier than normal with this one.  Today.  During the sonogram.  Baby C filled the screen and I saw this squirming little angel looking (to my amateur eye) perfect.  I saw the little hands and feet and the little mouth open and close and wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor.  This is my baby baby.  My youngest.  (Insert little girly squealing noises).

My big boy oldest child is one step closer to being enrolled in preschool.  I picked up his shot record today. I took Friday off, and I'll be spending it taking little Gav to a checkup and getting Silas enrolled in school.

Nana (aka my mom) has been buying out the store getting Silas a new back pack and outfits for both of them and apparently she's started a whole new list because I got many, many text messages earlier today about all other things she could fathom he might need.

Things are going well with the house.  They're going well enough for me to start the dreaded chore of packing (although can I say I have managed to beautifully plan the coinciding of being pregnant and moving once again?  Nothing like having packing and unpacking be your only jobs and leaving the lifting of couches and washers to the boys).

According to my doctor, we only have one more team green week left.  Next week is (supposedly) the big reveal of team pink or blue.  I don't have a Facebook to spill the beans on, so I promise to be more creative than a status update for this last one.

Until then, I leave you with sono pics:

Sweet baby face; Sweet baby hand; Sweet Baby C

Tales from the babysitter

There is one thing I am definitely going to miss when Silas goes to preschool.

That is the photo text messages.  His babysitter is an iPhone photographer genius.  She always gets the best shots of my kids and texts them to me.  

There is nothing like having an adorable picture of your child light up your phone when your day is in work chaos mode.  Below are a few she has sent me of each of the boys.

GAVIN: Rain watching; Spoon clamping; Door opening; Toy hunting

SILAS: Power drilling; Trampoline jumping (this was taken by the temporary babysitter); Window peeking; Car fixing

And my new favorite picture ever!  Brothers laughing

Living the dream instead of living in dreamland

Firstly, I was completely right about that preschool being "the one."  I went to tour it yesterday.  As the associate director led me around and talked to me about schedules and classrooms and curriculums (yes, red squiggly line, I know it isn't really a word), I found myself feeling vindicated with each passing moment.  Vindicated because I hadn't just daydreamed up an impossibility.  That perfect, affordable place actually exists, and all I have to do is fill out paperwork and get a shot record and write a check, and my son is a part of that perfect place.  I am elated!  (Just let me have my moment.  I know meltdowns and adjustments and frustrations are coming, but right now, we are standing at the edge of perfection, and it feels amazing.)

Secondly, I got a text message yesterday evening about a house that I think is going to be our house soon.  I've checked it out, and I can absolutely picture my little family growing up there.  It's in an incredible school district and is still only about 5 minutes from my parents.  There's tons of room and a huge closet for all of my shoes and a fenced backyard for the kids to play.  (And a room that's pink - ya know, just in case Baby C decides to be a girl or whatever).

Maybe you have all of this already and think it's just not that big a deal.  I had it for about 6 months when Silas was born, and then it was ripped out from beneath me.  So, believe me, it's a huge deal, and I am extremely grateful to my parents for helping me make it a reality for my kids.

Now that we've chatted about all of the awesome, let's chat about the not awesome because maybe you miss the bitchy side of me (I'm sure).

There are a lot of days when my kids fall asleep on the way home at the end of the day.  It's usually 6ish when we start that way, and it is not a short ride.  

Sometimes on those days, I cannot get Silas to get back up no matter what I try.  Yesterday was one of those days.  So, I put him in bed way earlier than normal knowing full well I was in for hell in the middle of the night.  To try to head some of that off, I put his iPad next to him hoping that if he woke up, he'd spy it and quietly watch Netflix until the sun came up.

At 5 a.m., I heard "MOMMA!!"

Much to the rest of the house's dismay, I yelled back "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?"

"MOMMA, CAN I BLOW MY NOSE?"

"OF COURSE YOU CAN BLOW YOUR NOSE."

Back to sleep.

10 minutes later.

"MOMMA!"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?"

"MOMMA, CAN I GO POTTY?"

Really?

"YES, SON, YOU CAN GO PEE."

At this point, there was a lot of huffing and rolling around in the bed next to me.  Gavin could be heard stirring and whimpering down the hall.  This exchange was beginning to annoy the rest of the house.

Ugh.  Fine.  I got up and made a bottle and made sure Silas was tucked back into bed.  (He was totally watching a movie on his iPad, BTW.  I just forgot to plan for the fact that he - very sweetly, ahem - asks permission before doing anything.)

Kids' needs met.  Back to bed.

"MOMMA!!!"

My patience?  Nearly gone.  More flopping and huffing next to me.

In an effort to stop involving the rest of the house, I tiptoe out of bed and down the hall.

In a whisper (a little more harsh a whisper than was absolutely necessary).

"What?!"

"Momma, can I have some tissue?"

Sigh

I gathered all of the tissue and took it to his room and placed it in his lap.

"Here.  Please stop yelling at me.  It is very early.  I'm going to lay back down.  If you need to pee or blow your nose, that is fine.  You don't need to ask."

And I got about 15 minutes peace out of him.

"MOMMA!!"

My patience?  Completely and totally gone.  Flopping and huffing.

I jump out of bed and stomp down the hall.

"WHAT?!"

"Is it time to get up?"

Oh good lord, child.  "NO.  Please watch your movie quietly.  You're going to wake your brother up, and then we're all going to have a bad day."

And all too soon, it was time to wake up, but I didn't care.  I kept hitting snooze.  Right on through Jimmy getting ready for work.  Right on through him trying to figure out who should take which car and me continually responding "I don't care.  I don't care.  I don't care.  Just take the truck. I. DON'T. CARE."

When Gavin started howling for food, I dejectedly dragged down the hall to make a bottle.  On the way, I rescued Silas from his bedroom to watch cartoons and eat cereal with me on the couch.  

Against my better judgment, I grabbed my phone, and I accidentally picked a text message fight with my boyfriend.  I was just so damn tired and he made the mistake of responding to me.  (No, I'm not sure why he hasn't learned yet, the poor thing).

Then I went outside to put our bags in the car and saw that the carseats had been moved over from the truck to the rental car (someone tried to destroy my Jeep again, and it is in the shop) and he hooked them up and my swipe card for the garage at work was sitting in the console - instead of completely forgotten where I left it in the truck and causing me to have to scrounge for change to get out of the garage.  Ugh.  He's so thoughtful, and I'm such an asshole.  

So, I had to bow my head in shame and tuck my tail between my legs and apologize to everyone for the crazy and give the boys extra hugs and I love yous.  

This is what it is to be a parent so much of the time.  Just exhaustion and frustration and losing patience and taking it out on the other grown ups in your life and then, of course, the guilt.  But you do it because you love them so much you'd stop breathing if you didn't have them.  You do it because the good far exceeds the exhaustion and frustration.  You do it because it is the only thing in the world that really matters.

I cannot even imagine the circus that is to ensue in February.  A four year old and 2 under 2.  Hahahahahahahahahaha!  All I can do is laugh at the lunacy of it.

But, I feel incredibly blessed to have been entrusted with the care of three children.  I have never loved anything as much as I love being a mom.  As much as I love my kids.

And I feel like the luckiest woman in the world to have stumbled upon a partner who is so so good at this.  So incredibly compatible with this crazy life.  And so happy to just jump in and be there in the thick of it.  In the middle of the night.  Or at dawn.  With the yelling and the stomping and the crazy girl cranky texting.  Always quick with a hug and an I love you and it's going to be alright...how can I help?

This truly is living the dream.  Sleep deprivation, silly text fights and all.

Happy hump day!

Where did I come from?

Frankly, I was not prepared for Silas to start probing into where he came from just yet.  He started last week with "how did I get here?"  
So, I reminded him of when Gavin was in my tummy and then told him that at one time he had been in my tummy too, and I had gone to the doctor to get him out.

He pressed on about how he had gotten into my tummy, so I just told him God had put him there and changed the subject.

Yesterday while I was driving home, I heard him pipe up from the back seat again about how he got here.

Silas: Mom, who dropped me on this planet?
Me: God
Silas: What kinda truck does God drive? (we live in Texas, so, naturally, every being in existence drives a truck)
Me: I don't know, baby.  That's a good question.
Silas: I think He drives an Army truck.

Works for me.  God drives an Army truck.

Impending changes

Last week started the official hunt for a preschool for Silas.  We (the village raising Silas) have been talking about putting him in preschool since I was pregnant with Gavin.  And, in true Michelle fashion, I procrastinated right up until the 11th hour.

And now I'm being severely picky and wrestling a very stringent budget.  Some time this week I'll be visiting the school that I think is "the one."  

Once that decision is made, I'll just sit back and wait for the impending "OMG, my oldest baby is practically grown" meltdown.

In addition to starting preschool this fall, Silas will also begin playing t-ball.  I'm not even sure how to describe the excitement I feel over this. But I'm sure I'll end up crying at the first game.  

His dad took him to the circus and a movie this past weekend.  Things are tight around my house right now, so I'm incredibly grateful that he is still able to have these experiences.  (But I have to say, I very much look forward to the day when I can go back to spoiling my kids myself.)  

On Thursday I went for a very long appointment with the baby doctor.  Blood was drawn, forms were signed, and genetic testing was ordered.  With the genetic testing comes the gender of the baby.

We are supposed to get the results back on or before August 21 (that is only 16 days away).

Obviously, I waiver back and forth between excitement and crippling anxiety.  Every minute of every pregnancy up to the 20 week anatomy scan is a slight nightmare for me.  Hopefully the genetic testing will come back completely normal and allay some of my fears until that sono.  Plus, how awesome is it going to be to know the baby's gender this early?  (Place your bets now - I'm not speaking about my mommy gut-instinct).  If you get a minute, please stop and say a prayer for Baby C to be perfectly healthy - regardless of gender.

The poor little soon-to-be middle child is officially 9 months old.  He's entering the separation anxiety phase.  Candice and I are not allowed to leave the room under any circumstances without a complete Gavin meltdown (he is his mother's child through and through). He is flirting with standing on his own unsupported and (pooooooooooooooooossibly) taking a first step soon???  He never stops eating, and he has the most charming smile anyone has ever seen.

Jimmy and I spent our kid-free weekend tucked inside away from the triple-digit heat.  It won't be long until our kid-free weekends are few and very far between, so having that time together to relax and regroup is incredible.  

Whether kid-free or not, we do an awful lot of laughing together.  I know I'm beating a dead horse here, but this really is the most relaxed, comfortable, and happy relationship I have ever had.

All these boys keep me laughing and keep me on my toes, but it sure would be nice to have a little more sugar and spice in our lives ;)