Small gestures

I WAS going to sit down and write a post about the difficulties of having 3 children. I don't find it difficult MOST of the time, or even MUCH of the time, but definitely SOME of the time. Yesterday afternoon, all 3 kids got sick at the same time. And I felt pulled in 3 different directions and was basically insufficient for any of them.

BUT, I am not going to write about that after all. Which is probably a good thing, because just writing that first paragraph makes me realize how obvious the concept is. So...there...you're spared. ;)

Instead, I'm going to tell you a little story about how wonderful it is to married to someone that really and truly loves you. ;) Hey...I can here you gagging over there. Shut it!

Tonight is Jeff's fencing night, aka "Giselle Catches up on her DVR-night". I don't mind Friday night fencing, because Jeff doesn't have to leave until 2/3 children are in bed. And some night all 3 are in bed. So...score. Tonight, all 3 children were on their way to dreamland and Jeff gave me a peck on the lips and was off. I started making bottles and cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for CSI/Survivor/Lost marathon. The running water inevitably made me need to go to the bathroom (YES, this is leading somewhere...stay with me). I open the door to our downstairs half bathroom and find resistance. Groaning, I reach down to move the offending toy. But instead I find Jeff's pajamas and bedtime needs in a pile behind the door.

That's RIGHT. Even though tomorrow I get to traipse off and make meals while he schleps to swim class with all 3 kids in tow...he still didn't want to disturb me when he comes home tonight after fencing. Had the situation been reversed, I would have been all self-righteous and bitter and resentful ('Well, HE gets the morning off...so why does HE need good sleep...etc etc.) (Actually this is becoming a post about why it ISN'T good to be married to me...). Anyhoo...

And THAT...right there...that is what it feels like to be really and truly loved. That he thinks of me and my comfort first and foremost. And THAT, my friends, is why I married this man. Pajamas behind the door of the half bath.

Photo break

Lacking any motivation to write stories (too. tired. from. chasing. 10 month. old and too. busy. cleaning. up. all. the. loose. diapers...), here are some of our latest photos...

Lily discovers her dress-up clothes.

She had a blast turning her Daddy into different animals with her magic wand.
Say cheese! Michael getting into the helmets in the background.

Michael discovers an open cabinet. I about freaked when I couldn't find him. Here he was...unloading to his heart's content.

Poof! You're a frog!

Andrew is modeling his ball cap that he got from Jeff's childhood friend of the same name. Andrew R. just sent this out of the blue...and it fits our Andrew just perfectly. And he is so cute when wearing it he can get away with anything...almost...

Hi, Mom! Don't notice me trying to figure out these stairs!

Here's a shot of those new top teeth...

Lily loves to read books by herself...in the most inconvenient places possible. This is in front of the kitchen sink. I guess she's trying to hint that she would PREFER if we read to her rather than do the dishes. Okay!

Interview with Andrew (age 5 yrs 3mos)

I got this off of Facebook from Jayme. Let's see what Andrew comes up with...

1. What is something mom always says to you? "Stay out of it"

2. What makes mom happy?"When people don't scream"

3. What makes mom sad?"That's a tough one. When Daddy is away for a long time"

4. How does your mom make you laugh?"When she tells me jokes"

5. What was your mom like as a child?"She was very small"

6. How old is your mom?"31"

7. How tall is your mom?"2"

8. What is her favorite thing to do?"Play"

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?"Go on errands"

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?"Being a good person"

11. What is your mom really good at?"Playing games"

12. What is your mom not very good at?"Playing neighbor"

13. What does your mom do for a job?"Take care of the kids"

14.What is your mom's favorite food?"Ribs!"

15. What makes you proud of your mom?"Taking care of me"

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?"Marty" (zebra in Madagascar)Why?"Because she's really crazy"

17. What do you and your mom do together?"Play games"

18. How are you and your mom the same?"We're both right-handed"

19. How are you and your mom different?"We have different colored eyes"

20. How do you know your mom loves you?"By being my mommy"

21. What does your mom like most about your dad?"That he makes money"

22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?"BJ's"


Oh dear. It looks like Andrew is completely oblivious to Jeff and my interactions. I can't think of the last time Jeff's been gone for a long time...and MONEY? Really?

But he got my favorite food right. So that's good. I must talk a lot about ribs and not much about why I love his dad. Priorities.

P.S.

I haven't felt like I've had a lot of things that should take up a whole blog entry lately. I just have a lot of Post Scripts...you know...the tag on's at the end of a "real" body of a letter. So here are my PS's...

PS. Andrew met his pen pal on Friday. Each pre-schooler was matched up with someone at a local nursing home, and Friday afternoon was the day we got to go meet her. We showed up and found out that Andrew's pal, MaryHope, was not available. (gulp). So he met with Florence instead. Who he keeps calling "Florist". She was very friendly and couldn't stop hugging and kissing Andrew...who tolerated it very well. She looked very healthy but was a bit...um...forgetful. Reminded me of my grandmas. Once I told her that Andrew like sports, she informed us that she had been a professional baseball player when she was young! And she was also a very good at hockey, volleyball, football, track, and Bingo. :) Andrew thought she was soooo cool. After we broke off the conversation, I steered Andrew towards the cookie tray and punch. Without me saying a word, he darted back to Florence and offered her a cookie and punch. I just couldn't have been more proud to be his mother. He was quiet and respectful and even though he was obviously uncomfortable at first (she was very touchy), he was never rude or mean. It really made me wish that we could take Andrew to visit my Memere and Grandma more often.


PS. Because of the movie Enchanted, Lily now knows my name very well. She picks up the disc jacket and says, "Mommy! It's you! It's Zi-zelle!" She thinks it is COOL. I secretly do too ;) Yesterday, I was watching Michael in the computer room while Lily and Andrew played with Jeff in the family room. Lily starts calling, "Mommy! Moooooommy! Moooooooooom! Zi-Zeeeeelllllle!" I just about died laughing...


PS. On Friday, Andrew asked me what Michael's favorite color was. I didn't know, of course. So Andrew made an experiment to figure it out. He took all the pretend ice cream cone tops and laid them across the floor from Michael. The one that Michael crawled to was his favorite color. Big nerd. (Michael's favorite color is orange, by the way).


PS. Michael is insatiable. We literally cannot fill this boy's tummy. Yesterday he ate 32 ounces of formula, 1/8 of a Belgian waffle, 4 strawberries, 1/2 banana, bowl of baby cereal with a jar of sweet potatoes mixed in, several handfuls of Cheerios, an entire string cheese (cut into appropriate sized pieces) and an entire container of whole milk yogurt with cereal added. It's like watching a live show based on the Very Hungry Caterpillar. As of 10 am this morning, he's already had 16 ounces of formula, 1/2 Eggo Waffle, and 2 strawberries. Seriously. He is HUNGRY.

PS. Lily knows what her name is. And I'm not talking spoken word. She recognizes her written name. She saw it written on something, and she said, "Dat's MY name. Dat says Yiddy. L. I. L. Y. Yiddy. Dat's ME!"

I think that's all my PS's for now...

My peanut

So Michael had his 9 month doctor appointment today.

I know...he is 10 months old.

3rd child...so sue me.

So, um...he's gained only 1 pound and 1 inch in the last 4 months. That drops him below the 10th percentile (he was between 50-75th last time).

So I'm feeling really good about weaning him now. Really good. The doctor was quite concerned, but I convinced her to just give the formula some time. And we are adding formula to EVERYTHING now...yogurt, etc...just to give him extra calories. I probably should have guessed, since he hasn't grown out of diapers or clothes in 4 months. But I honestly...didn't really think about how old he is now. Poor 3rd child. The doctor says otherwise he looks awesome...he even waved at her on cue. Smartie. ;)


On a funnier note...

Yesterday Michael crawled over to ambush Andrew's football helmets...again. Andrew is incapable of cleaning up and yet he is frustrated almost to tears about Michael getting into his stuff...especially the sacred helmets. As Andrew started up the whine, "Moooooom! Make him go away!" I said, "Well, YOU wanted a baby brother. If you'd gotten another sister, she'd just want to get into Lily's princess stuff. But Noooo, you wanted a baby brother and asked God for one."

Big pause.

Andrew says, "Well, I didn't think about this." And then he grinned sheepishly and hugged the baby brother that he wanted so bad.

And since then, my sweet Andrew has been sharing his helmets quite nicely with his baby brother. Slobber and all.

Life as we know it is over...

Oh, how I need to adjust my thinking. Michael is MOBILE. And curious. And trouble with a capital T. This morning he pulled on a stray power cord and pulled a steamer full of water and a few left over asparagus onto his head. Baby was not harmed, as the asparagus was cold and the steamer did not hit his head. Bad mommy. I honestly hadn't even thought that he could reach the cord. Ugh.

This is how life used to be...just a week or so ago. Michael wanted something. If someone was nice enough to get close to him, he could have it. Here is Andrew approaching Michael to share his Cheerios.
Can you believe that this little cutie has turned into such trouble? We didn't see it coming, silly us.

Well, maybe there is a little mischief in his grin...

Now this is the name of the game. Michael gets himself over to what he wants and helps himself. Notice Andrew rushing to get his precious helmets out of Mikey's mouth and hands. Time to start putting stuff away!

Even Shadow is not immune to the interference.

"What? What am I doing? Look away, Mom...I'm busy here"

"I. Must. Get. Choking. Hazard. In. My. Mouth"

Always on the move...

Happily stopped if he can at least be emptying a bin (looking for choking hazards).

And now a few videos...

The first is an illustration as to why I don't have many videos. Thank you, Andrew.

Here's some more baby babbles.

And the discovery of the dog's dish. Please...if you have a weak stomach, maybe you shouldn't watch this. There is a little "baby licks food bowl" involved. The mother does not intervene. You have been warned.

Signs of a bad housewife

Today I got some crafts to do with the kids. I KNOW! Me! Crafts! For Andrew I got these bead thingies that you melt together. Remember these?

So I explain to him that you make the design you want with beads on the peg board thingy. Then Mommy would melt them with an iron and we'd have cool little plastic design thingies. Or whatever. He accepts this without a word and begins his first design...an indistinguishable letter "a" for Andrew.

I go down in the basement and hunt down the iron. Actually, I knew right where it was...on the shelves near the washer and dryer. And I must have wrapped it up well when I quit working 5 years ago, because the cord was still neatly wrapped around it. And that's after 2 moves!

I bring up the iron, and Andrew looks up and says, "Oh! That's an iron!"

Then I plug it in to warm it up. Andrew puts his hands over his ears (like he does for the blender) and says, "Is it really loud?"

Um...

Let's compare...10 months old

Andrew at 10 months old... chunk-a-dunk.

Lily at 10 months old...sadly...this is the ONLY picture from the month of August when she was 10 months old. Gee...I wonder what I was doing that month instead of taking pictures? Oh, yes...I was crying in the fetal position because I just found out about #3. Silly me.


Michael at 10 months old.



Conclusion...still look a lot different...but is Mikey looking more like Lily? Maybe it is just this shot. Too bad I don't have any others of Lily to compare to...

My littlest Valentine

Can you believe that a year ago I was totally freaked out about having a 3rd kid? That I was actually scared down to the core...figuratively shaking in my boots. How little faith I had in myself! And I obviously hadn't a clue what a sweet happy little boy was growing in my belly. My sweet littlest Valentine...

Here's baby Michael just in the tub... I brought the camera in to document his constant splashing. For the last several weeks it has been like once the water hits his body his little hands become windmills. Then when you lie him down, his little legs instantly pick up the motion. But he apparently outgrew that since the last bath. So instead, we just get some cute pictures of Mike.

All dirty and ready for a bath.

Whoa. What just happened to me?

Yummy! Let me suck all the gross bath water out of this washcloth.

Seriously...a week ago I wouldn't drink anything but breast milk. Look at me now!

Dude. They don't make babies cuter than me!

How about a profile shot? There just isn't a bad angle...

Don't you wish you could take me home? And now I'm actually clean and smell nice!

Who knew that Cookie Monster sucks his thumb!?!

Mommy attempts to get a picture of my two front teeth. I grab the camera at the last second. Future fencing reflexes (or so my daddy hopes)

In formula news...holy CRAP, Michael's diapers are wet. I mean, I was changing his diapers several times a day before, but they were just damp. Since starting formula...they are like 10 pounds of wetness. He has wet through about 4 times in the last 2 days. (get with the new program, Mom). So I guess it really was time to make the switch. I'm interested to see if he stays my little peanut or he start chunkin' out now that he's actually eating something. In my defense...Michael was always contented and happy after nursing. But apparently he could have used a bit more in the belly. ;)

OH! And my little slowpoke gross motor skill boy has TAKEN OFF. Much to the dislike of his older siblings, Michael is on hands and knees...and getting into EVERYTHING. He also pulls himself up and cruises around tables and chairs. His favorite thing is to get into Andrew and Lily's stuff. They keep begging me to keep Mikey away...and I keep reiterating to them that he is here to stay and they'd better just get used to it. Unfortunately, many of their toys are too small for Mikey..so I have to be ever diligent to pick stuff up. This morning I grabbed a small bouncy ball out of his mouth. Yikes.

Not so hostile takeover...or...How did this happen to my house?

Somewhere...somehow...Sesame Street characters have taken over my house.

It started innocently enough. Andrew loved Elmo. Of course he didn't even watch tv until he was over a year old, and even then Elmo's world was the only thing he ever saw (oh, how the first child's life experience is different than the second and third...) So we collected some Elmo things. He even slept with Elmo in his bed for a while.

Andrew liked Elmo enough for my parents to get his this shirt in Hawaii. Circa 2005.

We owned a little Elmo chair that Andrew liked to sit in and read books. Circa 2005.

There's the ever present Elmo doll...in our house in CA!

But Lily grew up in this house. From the youngest of ages she has watched Sesame Street, she has been exposed to the dolls...and so she has become obsessed. Michael has been dragged along for the ride ALREADY, because Lily gets such a kick out of him liking the Sesame street. I decided to photo document some of the Sesame Street paraphanalia in our house...

Andrew would like me to acknowledge that he no longer likes Elmo. He hangs out with Shadow...who also does not like Elmo.

Instead of watching Elmo, Andrew puts puffy stickers on his face which dye his face pink. I think Elmo might be a better habit...

Lily showing off her Elmo and Ernie bath toys. She also has other characters...but she refused to show them in the photo.

We are not just Elmo people anymore. Cookie and other characters also regularly make an appearance.

Michael seems happy enough with it. At least this bib is from University of Dayton. Slightly redeeming.

Lily and her bedtime friends. She like to play duck duck goose with them when alone in her room. Very cute to witness. Night night had to get in the photo as well. Not on Sesame Street. Still cool to Lily.

Although I am a Luvs fan, in an attempt to not mix up diapers in this house, Lily is now a Pampers Baby Dry girl. Which suits her just fine, because guess what characters are on them. You guessed it...

Okay, every mealtime it is like the Sesame store vomited all over Lily. Bib, fork, plate, place mat. All that's missing are her Elmo/Cookie/Oscar hair ties. I didn't manage to get those in a shot. Or her Elmo disposable sippy cups. I should have gotten that in the shot as well. There just too much to keep track of.

Lily is displaying her breakfast bar for you...but notice the couch. Her sacred couch that Mikey loves to climb all over now. Much to her distress and despite her screaming "Mooooooom! Mikey!!!!" Maybe she shouldn't be making him love Sesame so much...

The sissification of football

Okay, so "sissification" isn't actually a word. My blog...my version of English.

Yesterday Lily asked to play with Andrew's little bin of football players (best toy EVER, by the way...at least if your kid eats, sleeps, and breathes football). I was slightly disappointed, because I feel like I'm losing the battle with my kids. The battle to NOT like sports. Lily is already doing a 3 point stance and yelling hike and the tackling...oh how she loves to tackle. -sigh- So I was sure when she dragged out the football players that I should just resign myself to the fact that she too will be obsessed with football. She made me lay out the felt football field and she eagerly set the players out on the field. I went into the kitchen to make dinner. And I eavesdrop on her playing.

"Oh, no. Do you want bird-day cake? Happy bird-day happy bird-day (singing). Oh, no. You are in time-out. Wanna play castle? You go home, no wanna play wid you." And on and on. Oh, yes. My little girl is playing HOUSE with the football players. Andrew Would. Have. Died. had he been around to witness what his football players do on the off hours. (and I secretly breathed a sigh of relief...a woman can only stand so much football in one household).
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Another Lily story... We were discussing who is a boy and who is a girl. Lily told me that Andrew is a "boy" and Lily is a "girl" and Michael is a "boy" and Mommy is a "girl". But when I asked what Daddy is...Lily looked confused and said, "Daddy is at work!"

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Also funny today...I saw a commercial for Nighttime Triaminic. The mother hops out of bed at the sound of her child. She says to her husband (who is also awake...as if), "I'll get this one, honey." The announcer says, "Mom knows just what to do to help her sick child." And the mom gives her kid the medicine and the child falls peacefully back to sleep. And in small print at the bottom of the screen it says, "do not use for the purpose of making your child sleepy." Ha ha ha...what a great idea...oops...I mean...what terrible parents would ever think to do that?

Name game

Okay, so I got this from Jane's blog. So rather than whining about my breasts hurting...enjoy my list...and I added a few from a Facebook note one of my friends did that was almost the same thing... My personal favorites are my soap opera name and my gangsta name...

Name Game.

Your Real Name: Giselle

Witness Protection Name:(mother and fathers middle names) Eunice Charles.

Secret Spy Name: (your first name spelled backwards) Ellesig.

Nascar Name: (first name of your mother's dad, father's dad) Gerald Edward.

Detective Name:(favorite color, favorite animal) Green Dog.

Soap Opera Name:(middle name, county where you were born) Jeannette Montgomery.

Super Hero Name: (2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning) The Blue Margarita.

Fly Name:(first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name) Gion.

Street Name:(fav ice cream flavor, fav cookie) Peanut Butter Chocolate chip.

Rock Star: (current pet, current street) Shadow Copperleaf

PORN NAME: (1st pet, street you grew up on) Muffin Kentonsrun

YOUR GANGSTA NAME:(first 3 letters of real name plus izzle) Gisizzle

YOUR GOTH NAME:(black, and the name of one of your pets)Black Shadow

STRIPPER NAME: (name of your fav perfume/cologne, fav. candy) Lovely Snickers

Sippy cup success (?)

Well, Michael has changed his attitude about formula. He is increasingly mobile and increasingly hungry. We have found a sippy cup that he likes, and he has started accepting formula. And by accepting, I mean greedily gobbling 8 ounces at a time. And I am shocked, SHOCKED, at how much heavier his diapers have been today. And so we are weaning. I'm just not the type to nurse only at night or whatever. My breasts are an all or nothing kind of production.

And...so...we are weaning. I know I have whined on here before about my sadness. This will be the last time. I know it makes no real sense. For heavens sake, Michael is 10 months old...older than either of the other two were when they weaned. Today I was making him a sippy of formula and I had that nursing mom panic, "Is this enough? Is he ready?" until I mentally shook myself and thought, "For heaven's sake...he ate an Eggo waffle this morning for breakfast. I think he'll be okay."

I have a lot of this dual thinking about this topic. It is the end of an era...this end of breastfeeding. It makes me feel old and used up to know that I won't ever have a need of these breasts again. But, Oh!, the freedom! But, oh, my baby...my last baby.

So I am sad. Silly, but I am. And I know that this is just how every stage in Michael's life will feel...a teeny bit more painful than when the other two move onto a new stage. Life is really really good. And I am really really lucky. Is it wrong to ask life to move just a tad bit slower?

The one where I wish I was a man

Let me preface this post with a few notes. 1) I love being a woman. This post is NOT a big coming out party where I announce that you are to start addressing me as Geraldo...or whatever the masculine form of my name might be. 2) I love Jeff. I acknowledge how much he does around the house and with the kids. He is the best husband that I could possibly imagine.

But...

I don't envy Jeff. Not usually. He has the weight of providing for our family on his shoulders. He works all day and even packs his lunch instead of eating out as an act of solidarity with his family at home. Despite all the hard work he does all day to provide for us, he comes home to a house that is often filthy, rarely has dinner prepared, and children who are hyper and a wife who is frazzled to the point of looking electrocuted. Wouldn't YOU like to have a life like that?

But...

In the middle of the night, when children are waking, I envy him.

It's not really his fault. He is a much sounder sleeper than I am. So he honestly doesn't hear the children. Really. I know this because on the occasion that I make the baby "Cry-it-out", after a full half hour of screaming baby-banshee, he will suddenly bolt awake and shake my shoulder and say, "Did you hear the baby? Is he okay?" Um, yes, Jack-ass. I've been sitting awake sweating my pj's off (remember? I get hot flashes when my babies cry?) for the last half hour. Thanks for joining the party. Only, once he realizes I am aware of the baby crisis, he is snoring just a moment later. -sigh- And I am left bathing in my rivers of sweat waiting until I can't stand it anymore and I go in and feed the baby to sleep.

And it's not really his fault that he can't help me more. The children PREFER me in the middle of the night. Perhaps it is because Andrew can either stand on my side of the bed and whisper, "Mommy? I'm coughing." and immediately get an alert adult to help him or he can go to Jeff's side of the bed and jump on his head and pull his legs out from under the covers and STILL not have a coherent parent to help him. And Michael certainly prefers me, because I am the bearer of MILK...the sweet, warm substance that will instantly render him sleepy and relaxed.

Last night, our visitors had left (thanks for coming for the weekend, Grandma and Grandpa) and Michael's cough had reduced to something not worrisome. So it was time to get tough. None of this "Mommy will feed you to sleep because you are so sick, poor baby." Nuh-uh. I went to bed at 8:30 because...well, I've been getting up all night for a while. Jeff kind of snickered at the fact that I was going to bed. Well...SCREW YOU. Perhaps if you had to get up every couple of hours you wouldn't feel so well rested. And, honestly, when your wife has had so little sleep...hinting about sex all day just isn't nice. It is literally not considerate of my feelings and situation. It is a blatant disregard for my fatigue. So...No, I will NOT SCREW YOU.

So Michael starts up crying at 10:45. I wait. Maybe Jeff will rescue him, since he was not in bed yet. Instead Jeff comes into the bedroom 10 minutes later and starts to get ready to climb into bed. I sit up and indignantly ask if he could be bothered to try and comfort the baby since he is still awake. Poor Jeff thought we were doing Cry-It-Out...not understanding that all I want is SLEEP...for more than 2 hours in a row. Jeff rocks Michael and gets him to relax, and then lays him down and comes to bed. Of course, Michael is OUTRAGED and SCREAMING and NOT IN AGREEMENT ABOUT THE NO MILK TO PUT HIM TO SLEEP. Jeff crawls under the covers and starts to do his sleep breathing. Apparently his shift is over. Which outrages me. Again...not his fault...he has tried. But sometimes I really wish that MY shift with the crying baby could be over after one 10 minute try. When I get up 15 minutes later to try and get Michael to sleep again, I sarcastically say, "Enjoy your sleep. I'll try to keep the baby quiet so he doesn't disturb you." Which was really uncalled for. Because a) it isn't Jeff's fault that the baby won't sleep and b) the baby wouldn't disturb him anyway.

I rock Michael for 10 minutes and lay him back down...screaming again. I came downstairs to play on the computer so that I wouldn't soak my sheets with my hot flashes. And after 10 minutes of baby-crying, I hear my husband go into the baby's room and try to calm him down. Aw...he really DOES love me. Of course, Michael continues crying, because he's really worked up now. After all this up and down, I finally give in at midnight and feed him to sleep. Then he's up again at 3am. I let him cry for 30 minutes and then feed him to sleep. At this point, I know my other children will be up and demanding oatmeal in a few hours, so my sleep is more important than Michael learning how to put himself to sleep. At 5:15 he is up again. This time I nudge Jeff awake and ask him to try again. He rocks Michael for 5 minutes, then comes back to bed as the baby screams. He resets his alarm because, "He's so tired." I try not to strangle him, because I know he is actually trying to be considerate by not hitting the snooze button a zillion times so I can sleep better. Except that the baby is still SCREAMING and now Lily is waking up and crying out. So Jeff is back to sleepy-land in 30 seconds while I drag myself out of bed to go get Lily some warm milk to help her stop coughing and to try and calm the baby down again. As I leave the room, I whisper in Jeff's ear, "If you harass me for sex today, I swear by all that is holy I will hurt you." Nice, eh? By the time the baby is down and Lily is calmed, it is almost 6 am. Andrew will be up in 30 minutes...so I am up for the day.

In summation...? I don't blame Jeff. I know he tries his hardest. Really? I'm just incredibly jealous of him for the entire night. Once the sun comes up, I wouldn't trade places with him for a second. Well...maybe when he gets to eat lunch in a quiet lunchroom with friends. I might trade places with him then too. Or when he gets to listen to his music during the commute to work. Maybe then too. But the rest of the time. No thanks. I appreciate all he does for our family, and I know he loves me and tries to help as much as he can. But I can still wish we could trade places during the night once in a while, right? I'm sure he has occasionally wished we could trade during the day on those instances when I am playing in the snow with the kids and he is stuck in a safety meeting all day. I guess the grass is always greener... but HIS grass is much better rested...no question.

Pin-cess

Lily got a Fisher-Price castle for Christmas, which came with 2 princesses and 2 princes. Lily LOVES it...except they are "pin-cess" and "king"...no princes for her. Since she has been showing more of an interest in this, I dragged out our copy of The Little Mermaid, that Andrew rejected years ago. She has never watched a "girl" movie before...everything she knows and loves are Cars and Wall-E and Toy Story. Fine with me, but why should I deprive her of the girlie stuff just because she came after Mr. All-boy-football-star?

Well, she LOVES Ariel and The Little Mermaid. I rented Cinderella from the library. She was MESMERISED. (I know, what am I DOING?). At Target this week, they had these little headband/crowns for $1...so I got one for Lily. I gave it to her last night and she was so excited to wear it. And, bonus, when Andrew grabs it from her, I simply say, "Now, Lily, Andrew gets a turn at being a princess to." and it immediately gets handed back as if it were a hot coal in his hands.

Anyhoo...this morning Lily asked me to put on her crown. I said, "Oh! Are you Princess Lily?"

And my Tiger-Lily says defiantly, "NO! Yiddy no pin-cess! Yiddy is KING!"

Atta-girl...

One hour, forty minutes

That's how long I had to be in the waiting room of the ENT's office this morning with my 3 young children. Then we got taken back to an examination room for another 25 minute wait.

My kids were FABULOUS considering. Considering it was past lunchtime by the time we got out. Considering I hadn't brought very much entertainment (since last time it was a 15 minute wait). Considering Lily is still a bit punchy from her bout with the stomach flu. Considering Lily and Michael had already had to endure in and out of carseats several times with the dropping of Andrew off at school, going home, going back to pick him up early from school, going to the doctor.

Very good.

I am done for the day. Can I just punch my time card? Even though the kids were good...it is stressful trying to keep them from killing each other in such a small place. Perhaps comparing it to flying solo with 3 kids is a good analogy. Except I couldn't strap them into the seats.

Andrew's ears are fabuloso! He passed his hearing test with a 100%. Too bad we haven't noticed any difference at all. It seems now it is just a problem with listening...no longer hearing.

Belly dancing

If you are not on Facebook, you may not realize that I signed up for a FOURTEEN WEEK belly dancing class that started last night. Life is all about collecting stories, people. Anyway, I realized during class last night that I entered it with many misconceptions:

Misconception #1: I thought this class would be filled with Hi-larious people in full make-up and jingly skirts and fake boobs.

Reality: It is a beginner class, so everyone was wearing sweatpants like me...was overweight like me...was hopeless...like me.

Misconception #2: I assumed this was an exercise class using belly dancing as it's core.

Reality: Oh, no, people...this is a DANCE class. With a recital. Over. my. dead. body.

Misconception #3: My abs would be very sore at the end of class the first day.

Reality: Dear. God. My quads are on fire today. And my rib cage. And my arms. And my calves. My calves were literally shaking with fatigue by the end of class. Apparently, your hips just "ride"...all their motion is from other body movements. And you are in a partial squat the whole time...hence the leg fatigue. I was pathetic.

Misconception #4: I was doing this for the opportunity to hang out with my friend (who needed someone to go with her so she wouldn't be alone) and to get some stories (as I mentioned above).

Reality: It felt AMAZING to do something totally for myself. I didn't think about my kids EVEN ONCE. I think I now understand Jeff's obsession with fencing. Doing something totally new and challenging takes you away from your regular life for a brief moment in time. I was so busy concentrating on moving my hips in a figure eight, and how do I shift my ribcage side-to-side without moving my shoulders? and crap! I missed the four-point-turn again and laughing and getting frustrated...that I didn't have any time left to worry about the dishes piling up or Lily throwing up yesterday or whatever. I have always taken my time off to go out to dinner with friends or get my haircut or whatever. But I am always talking and thinking about my regular life. THIS...THIS was a totally refreshing evening out. I was frustrated as HELL...but it was a true mental release from my everyday life.

So...in summary. I SUCK at belly dancing. But I think I'm going to really really enjoy this class as my weekly escape from reality. I think I have accidentally found a way to NOT be a mommy for a short period of time. Lovely.

The grossest post ever

So, yesterday was an interesting day. And by interesting, I mean DISGUSTING.


Andrew had ANOTHER birthday party to go to...this is the 3rd in as many weeks...(next weekend is #4). This one was at Chuck E Cheese. Andrew, Michael, and I headed over at 10 am while Jeff and Lily went to the mall for a daddy-daughter day. There were tons of kids from Andrew's class present and they all had a blast running around playing shot-em-up games and scaring people with their Skeeball throwing rather than rolling. There were 2 other parties going on at the same time, so it was CRAZY. Then it was pizza time and singing time and cupcake time. Andrew had two pieces of pizza and a cupcake. The parents had bought way too much pizza and were begging the parents there to take some. So I had a piece.


On the way home, I thought my stomach felt a little queasy. But I'm due for my...ahem...monthly visit, and nausea has come as a PMS symptom these last few times, so I didn't think anything of it. After lunch at home and the babies in bed, I went to take a nap because my stomach just wasn't feeling right. Apparently, Andrew felt the same, and requested to go lie down just after I did. Lily woke up, and while Jeff was getting her, Andrew came out looking for him. He was about to head downstairs in his search, when...

Jeff starts yelling for me. I wander bleary eyed out of the bedroom to find Lily just woken, Michael screaming to be fed, and Andrew standing at the top of the steps heaving.

Oh. Dear. God. There must be a God because this happened on a Saturday afternoon and not during the week when I would have had to deal with it alone.

The pizza-cake-?? vomit hit the top two steps the hardest, but managed to cascade down the stairwell and hit every. single. step. Carpeted steps. 15 carpeted steps to be exact. It bounced up onto the vertical surfaces of the (carpeted) steps as well...on about 6 of the steps. It flew high in the air and covered both walls from step level to about a foot over the rail. The rail was covered.

Now. Michael needed to be fed. Lily was begging for post-nap milk. Poor Andrew was still in shock from throwing up his entire stomach contents. Andrew went in a hot shower...just in case he would get sick again and we figured it would be soothing. Lily got locked in Michael's room with me while Michael got fed. Jeff...poor, poor Jeff, got 2 rolls of paper towels and started trying to get the solids off the steps and walls.

I won't give you more details. It was horrible...trying to figure out what to do with the 3 kids...the stink made my already queasy tummy feel like doing an encore to Andrew's presentation...it was dusk when it happened, so even though we THOUGHT we did a good job cleaning up, this morning I keep finding new red spots on the walls and the carpet. It stinks, too. Ugh. And there just couldn't be a less convenient place to clean. I suppose we'll have to get a special carpet cleaner to do the job?

I'm really thinking that it may just be easier to burn the house down and start all over again.



(Although Andrew threw up a few more times last night, he made it to the bathroom every time. He has been fine so far today. Lily shows no signs of being sick. Michael is eating like a champ. I feel fine except when I pass through the stairwell...then I feel sick...)