Blogging and My Life

Let's face it: I've been largely absent from the blogging world for quite some time.  (I know - you're all in rehab and going through therapy because you miss me so much; I'm sorry!) 

I'd love to be able to tell you that it's because I'm just too cool for school or that I'm working on something really, really big.  I'd love to be able to keep up with this and balance everything perfectly...

BUT the truth of the matter is this: Folks, I'm getting my ass kicked. 

Dudes, it's a struggle.  It's a beautiful, exciting, rewarding struggle, but there is no way I'd be doing anyone any good if I pretended it wasn't a battle.  When we found out we were expecting a fourth kiddo last year, I shrugged and said, "Meh... what's another babe? I'm already out-numbered!"  But now, a year after that announcement, I'm facing the reality that it isn't just the 4 kids... It's life.  It is simply life as an adult with mind-boggling mounds of responsibility that sometimes makes me feel like I'm trying to run in quicksand. 

Ya know?  It's the living-within-a-Nazi-budget thing because we're carrying two mortgages right now... it's the four-kids-who-deserve-my-best thing... the having-a-small-business-to-run-and-grow thing... the being-a-good-wife-and-household-manager thing... All of those.  And more.  Let me back up and explain a little bit - not because I want sympathy or am trying to bitch, but because maybe it'll comfort some of you to know that no, not everyone's life is smooth-as-silk all the time:

We just got full-use of our basement back.  After 20 weeks of dealing with the mold/water intrusion, we finally got it back.  We lost easily a couple thousand dollars worth of stuff to mold, not to mention the lost time, wasted opportunities, etc.  But that's better - finally!  However, we found out in August that the gentlemen who were renting our other house (which we were unable to sell in 2008 - thank you, economy) were leaving.  So we had to instantly pare down our budget and, while we've always lived well within our means, it has meant attempting to feed our family on $100 a week.  That has translated to added hours of pouring through grocery-store circulars, writing menus, compiling lists and coupons and trying to weigh cost-savings against healthy eating choices.  It literally sucks up hours of my week... However, that also means that I buy whole chickens instead of boneless-skinless breasts and nearly double my prep work for one dinner.  Lunches include apple slices that I have to peel, slice and soak in lime-juice instead of purchasing ready-made bags of them.  And that's fine!  I'm doing what I have to for us!  But that certainly doesn't leave any time for blogging... especially when that budget excludes disposable diapers and you consider the amount of laundry that goes into have 3 kids in cloth diapers full-time... And, let's be serious: we all know how I feel about laundry.

Jack, Jordan and Addie are in preschool this year so twice a week I am committed to getting them there and home.  And I have MOPS, a moms group at my church and also Jack's baseball practices and games to travel to and from, but beyond that, I have to have snacks prepared and packed, cups ready, diaper changes to consider, etc.  It's just a lot.  I'm keeping my photography business at a comfortable level, but as we head into the fall, it will pick up quite a bit (which is good! I love my craft!) and it will constitute even less free time.  Additionally, I have a few things on the horizon that are community-service related that include using my business to generate some income for some charity work.  Again, all of this is stuff that I dearly love and am happy and excited to do, but it takes time.

Oh, and we're raising four young kids.  Jack and Jordan are super active.  Addie has a speech-delay we are getting a treatment plan worked out for, and Peyton is exclusively breastfed with the appetite of a college football running back.   It is, at times, overwhelming.

Clearly this is just our normal.  It is not anything lamentable or regrettable, nor would I, for one hot second, assert that I have a difficult or bad life... Quite the opposite, in fact; I am happy and content and proud of where we are and I couldn't be more comfortable doing what we're doing with one another.

But it is because I love my life and am so happy with the decisions we've made and the paths we've walked that I find it impossible to put off any of my responsibilities in order to spend more time blogging.  Don't get me wrong - although I am content and blissful, I do spend some time every day struggling with frustration, stress, fear, uncertainty, doubt and anger.  (It would be entirely and freakishly unnatural if I did.)  And that fact is what this blog post is really about for me, and hopefully for you as well: it is for me to tell you that it's okay to feel the full spectrum of emotions - good as well as bad.  I just set about each day with the hope that if this is my last day on Earth, I may look back on it with no regrets.  That I might stand before the Lord proud of myself as a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend and child of the God... that I might only need to pray for thanksgiving and ask only for the strength to live the next day as the one before it, should I be given the gift of tomorrow.  More often than not, there is at least one role in which I do not perform the way I'd have wanted to.  More often than not, I find myself praying also for forgiveness for my shortcomings in at least one area of my life and begging for just one more chance to do better. 

Either way, the result is always me waking up resolved to glorify God and serve my family, friends and brothers and sisters to the best of my mortal ability.  Rarely does that include blogging, but as it does mean I need some time to myself - to vent, to connect, to reach out, I'm not giving up on blogging because I do love it so much.  It's just that I'm asking your forgiveness for not having a post up every couple of days so that I can focus on being the person I know I am and making myself better each day.  I guess it also means I'm asking for your support and maybe a prayer or two to help me in that journey.

Thanks for reading and for sticking with us through everything!  I promise I'll be my witty, funny self next time!

Deep Conversations in the Grocery Store

I hate - hate - checking out at the grocery store with kids in tow.  The narrowness of the lane, the brightly-colored candy displays, the smutty Cosmopolitan magazine covers raising questions I don't really want to answer ("Mom, what does 's-e-x' spell?"), etc.

This weekend, my un-doing was the Time magazine with Osama Bin Laden's face on the cover with a big, red "X" across it.

Jack asked, "Mom, why does that guy's face have an X on it?" 

"Because he's gone."

"Where did he go?"

"Uuuuuh... well, he's not alive anymore."

"So he went with Jesus Christ?"

"Um, no."

"Where did he go then?  Why did he die?"

At this point, Justin was looking at me with that annoying "better you than me" face he gets when I am forced to navigate the murky waters of moral education of our children as he stacked box after box of Rice-a-Roni on the conveyor belt and played peek-a-boo with the girls.  I mouthed "douche" at him and turned back to my questioning son.

"Jack, honey, that man was very bad.  He was a bad guy.  He hurt lots and lots of people so our good Army guys had to go and kill him.  He's not in Heaven because he sinned too much."

"But we shouldn't kill!  He did sins?  We don't shoot people.  We don't kill people!"

Sigh.  Great.  So now I'm forced to try to explain a dichotomy that I don't quite understand myself to a 4-year-old and hope that he doesn't apply the same logic to issues at home - I can hear it now: "I hit Jordan because she was hitting Addie and Addie needed me to protect her and hitting was the only thing I could do."

So I did what any self-respecting, loving parent would do...

"Look at all the candy, Jack!"

"Wow! Can I have some Skittles?!"

Phew.  Crisis averted.

They Grow So Fast

I can't believe Squirt is 16 days old.  I can't believe that's 2 weeks.  I can't believe I only have 50 more weeks with her as a "baby".  I can't tear myself away from her - I hold her when I don't have to and I stare at her when I should be watching a movie.  I ignore my blog and my laundry so I can try to stuff as much of this into my memory as possible.

It's like I'm re-living each older kiddo's infancy through her... I look down at her nursing and see Jack and Addie.  When she smiles, I see Jordan.  (And yes, I'm considering it a smile - even if it's caused by gas, it's still a smile.)  When Jack was 16 days old, I had no idea what I was doing.  Nursing was challenging and I didn't know how to burp him properly and we were facing a deployment and each day, though wonderful, was also riddled with mini-crises and a sprinkling of panic.  With the twins, at this point, Jordan had only been home from the NICU for a short while and we were just realizing that she had problems with reflux.  I spent far less time than I wanted to snuggling each girl and relishing her presence because I was juggling a much younger, much less independent Jack plus the demands of caring for two newborns and coping with Justin's high-demand job.  I felt guilty when I lingered too long with one twin or the other and I rarely wore them because wearing two was such a task and I felt like I was robbing one of them of time if I wore her sister.  From the outset with them, they were more content to snuggle with one another than with me and in general, I bonded with them in brief spurts over a longer period of time and as a result, much of their early days is a complete blur.

But Peyton?  Peyton is all of them.  She is at once just like Jack and like her sisters.  I am an experienced mom who fluently speaks "crying" and interprets her needs with ease and confidence.  I can sling her in as much time as I can ask, "can you pick her up?" and I can cook a 3-course meal 1-handed while singing "Old MacDonald" to the older kids and playing a game of kick-and-catch with our mini soccer ball.  I can function on 2.5 hours of sleep a night for a week, as long as I get a few 4-hour chunks every now and then.  I am busy but not overwhelmed (thanks, truthfully, in large part to amazing friends who have helped with meals... I can't take ALL the credit!) and I realize more than with the other 3 kids that these days are fleeting.  Laundry will always pile up, but she won't always fit in Justin's hand like a handful of candy.  The counters will always have mysterious sticky stuff on them, but she won't always murmur contentedly at my breast when she's full of milk.  I can always shower and do my hair, but she won't always smell that that ubiquitous combination of powder, rubbing alcohol and love. 

I love that I can lift her to my face and put a kiss on her rosebud lips and watch her purse them and then realize it's me and turn her cheek into my hand with her mouth open ready to nurse.  I love that we can offer her a finger and she grasps it automatically and unquestioningly the way we love her automatically and unquestioningly.  I love that her eyes study us with the innocent fascination of an infant, but there is also a sense of familiarity in her gaze as if she's know us for far longer than 16 days.  I love that she's here and I cannot fathom how I'll get through the bittersweet thrill of each milestone over the next 50 weeks.  (And, to be sure, every year after that as well...)  I love that she makes me love my other 3 even more deeply.  And I love that I feel like God placed her within me because He knew that Peyton would bring me closer to Him and intensify my love for our family as well as for Him and make me a better mother, daughter, sister, wife and friend. 

I love.

And while she will grow quickly, I hope that I do too.  I hope I don't miss anything.  I hope I can remember to remember.

Because they grow so fast...

Black and White Wednesday hosted by Lisa!

My Baby Turns 4

My February was a total and complete fail in terms of keeping up with blogging.  I had to move our family, get ready for Jack's birthday, and get ready for a new baby PLUS take care of all of us and our assorted illnesses - ranging from strep to pink eye to colds and sinus infections.  Anyway, the bright spot to all of that was, in fact, Jack's birthday.

See, I'm not a girly-girl in most regards, but when it comes to my babies' birthdays I'm a total sap.

Like, for weeks ahead of time, the mention of their impending age makes me weepy.  I can't handle looking at baby photos and I put a disgusting amount of time into planning and executing their cakes and gifts and, for Jack, his party.  This year he was super excited to have all his friends come see his "big gray house" so I acquiesced to having his party in our home a scant week and a half after we moved.  It motivated me to get the place in order and put a massive crunch on my sanity, but it turned out really well and we had a great time with his buddies and their families!

Here are some photos (they're not super artistic and I haven't edited them at all, so don't call the photog police on me here, folks!):

I still can't get over that he's 4.  Sometimes I think, "He's ONLY 4???? How is that possible?" and other times I think, "How did he go from being a newborn to a 4 year old in like, a week?"  I mean, how does he say things like, "I'm a firefighter who uses the ladder.  You can tell by my designation." and then the next second curl up in my lap (what's left of it) and fall asleep cradled in my arms because he doesn't feel good?  How does my heart swell with pride at the bright little kid that's developing in front of me and ache with loss of the "baby" that turned my world upside down and changed the entire trajectory of my life? How is each birthday such a dichotomy of triumph and sadness?  Am I the only one who feels such mixed emotions on kiddos' birthdays?  Sigh. 

Anyway, more to come... I'm trying to get caught up before this baby (and no, I'm not withholding anything; she still doesn't have a name) arrives!

Willing to Trade: One Preschooler for... ANYTHING

Seriously, I love my son.  Please don't get me wrong.  He is my whole stinking world and I adore him beyond belief.

BUT I am so willing to board him somewhere until he's 4.  Maybe 5.  I don't know.  Whenever it is that this stops. 

This, meaning: obstinacy, defiance, selective hearing...ance, hyperness, moodiness, pickiness... just... issue-y. He's an issue-y kid.  I'm pretty sure he could be diagnosed with, at any given time, any combination of: sczhizophrenia, bi-polar disorder, OCD, anorexia, and probably senility.

Super.

He's brilliant, he's hilarious, he's sweet, he's kind.  He's helpful and eager and fun.

But.

But.

I just put him to bed wearing a pj top, khakis, socks and loafers with his Woody hat.  To avoid a tantrum.  Because he has been up since 8 am and up my fanny the entire time.  And I don't have it in me to deal with a tantrum.  Because I feel like every single day 98% of my energy goes into Jack-management.  To keep him from melting down, to keep him from busting up his sisters, to keep him from being a douche bag.  Sometimes I succeed.  Sometimes I don't and I end up listening to grunting noises and being glared at from beneath furrowed brows at best, watching him scream and cry and beat his fists on the floor like a monkey at worst. 

Where is the child who would cease misbehavior at the almighty throat-clear, without even needing me to chastise him?  What happened to the docile, eager-to-please kiddo who responded so well to positive reinforcement?

Oh, that's right... he turned 3.

I'd like to find the idiot who coined the deceptive term "terrible two's" and beat him over the head with the parenting book that began the chapter on preschoolers with, "...three year olds are, by-and-large, pleasant, lovely children to be around." and then I'd like to water-board him with the buckets of tears shed between me and Jack.

Not that I'm frustrated or anything.

Where is the chapter in the books that begins with, "When you get to age three, consider a medically-induced coma to best cope with the challenges you'll face"?  I mean, seriously.  If I hear, "I'm hungry! I need some foods!" only to present him with food and be told, "No! It's yucky!" and endure a tantrum over bites of lousy hot dog that amount to about 45 calories one more time, I'm going to put myself in a coma.  I think I present the child with about 7 meals a day.  I think he eats about 1, total.  I am fairly positive that another day of, "Jack, take it easy, keep your hands to yourself, we listen, we share, we keep our hands to ourselves" and I'm going to barf.  On him, ideally.  Just because it'd be poetic. 

I know it gets better.  I know he's testing boundaries and trying to ascertain how he fits into the world and I know that it's part of the learning process of a child figuring out how to deal with emotions and how to make good decisions and so on.  I get it.  I'm not an idiot.  But when I've spent the 4th consecutive day without taking a shower listening to the same whiny tone and being demanded to build my 900th mile of train track or Lego house that is deemed insufficient, I just don't care about the psycho-babble crap behind it; I want it to be over.  I've never wished my kids' lives away and, to be fair, I'm not wishing the time away, just the behavior.  And since I doubt wishing is going to do much good, I spend the other 2% of my emotional energy praying ardently for patience.  And wisdom.  But mostly patience.

Jack, my love, please figure it out soon for my sanity. 

When Being a Mom ROCKS

Afternoons With Jack

After over 3 1/2 years, I've decided the days of Jack taking naps from 2-5pm are over.  (Yes, I'm in mourning.) It's really tragic because I worked SO hard when he was little to get him on a consistent nap schedule and I lived and died by that schedule - my body was programmed based on his sleep schedule.  My whole life was Jack's sleep schedule. 

And now I have to learn to adjust. It's probably as big a shift for me as it is for him.  (And I'm all of a sudden feeling very bad for all those shifts I put him through: weaning, taking away bottles, crib-to-bed transition... it's rough.  Very rough.)  The problem was that we'd start winding him down at 9:30 for bed (which is already too late, in my opinion) and it was getting to be later and later before he'd finally settle in to go to sleep... I drew the line at midnight.  It was taking away all my time with Justin.  It was taking away hours of sleep for me because I still get up early and midnight to 6 am isn't enough.  It was making me frustrated and my temper short and we were all going to bed grouchy and upset with one another.

So the naps had to go.

Sigh.  I miss the naps.

But I am really enjoying it at the same time... When the twins came along, as elated as I was to be adding to our family (and twice!), a small part of me was incredibly sad to be losing my relationship with him as an only child.  With the exception of the hour between when the girls went to bed and when we started putting him to bed, I got no chance to spend time with Jack by himself.  I had missed that more than I realized.  It's so refreshing to watch him and play with him and talk with him without having to scold him for not sharing or beating up a twin or stealing a juice cup or something.  It's amazing to observe his imagination when it's not being hindered by curious toddlers who strive constantly to get in Jack's way.

As I blog now, he's building more miles of train track and chattering away about the city he's constructing in and around his track.  He occasionally stops what he's doing, comes up to me and kisses my cheek and says, "I love you Momma; thanks for coming downstairs with me!" and it melts me.  I wonder if he missed this as much as I did?  And if he did, I wonder if I can ever make it up to him.

It's time like this - time spent with my kids as individuals instead of as a bundle - that reminds me that being the mommy of a several children has a special challenge: I must constantly be aware of the fact that each one has a unique personality and I must always strive to make sure I'm able to devote enough attention to each one of them.  Even though I'm exhausted and all I want to do is veg from 2-5 or not have to answer endless questions about everything in the universe for a few hours, it is so rewarding to take a bit of time to be with Jack as Jack... not Jack as the oldest kiddo or the only boy or whatever.   Just Jack.

Because in a few (very short!) months, that gift is going to be even harder to come by...

A Post I Wish More People Read...

Continuing on with the SITS Girls and Back2Blogging week, I'm re-posting a very old post that I wish more people had read.

I don't wish more people had read it because it was insightful or beautifully-written or touching... It's just funny.  But more than that, it's one of those mom-ments (get it?) when we realize that moms aren't perfect.  We make mistakes.  And our harshest critics are ourselves.  But at the end of the day, we're still doing the best we can and everything we do is out of love and devotion to our families... so long as we don't take ourselves too seriously, even our doofiest mistakes can help us grow - both in what we've learned and in our sense of humor that makes all the stress of motherhood a little easier to handle.

I was utterly furious when I wrote this post - furious and dejected and frustrated... but the entire situation ended up being hilarious and it's my best example of how I keep from being overwhelmed by those annoying "life" bumps that come along... just by laughing at the absurdity of the adventures of being a mommy.  (Be warned: there are a couple of "f-bombs" embedded in this particular post!)

Titled "About A Moron" from May of 2008:

So today I did what I consider to be basically the stupedest (yes, I am going to use it as if it were a legitimate word) thing I have probably ever done in my life.

Let me preface this whole story with one fact that you must always, ALWAYS keep in mind while reading it: I am a BRICK. Educated, yes, intelligent, fairly, but underneath it all, a big, giant, unthinking BRICK.

I had to drop something off on base at the off-crew office today at a certain time. I showed up with Jack two hours before the deadline and was very proud of myself for being on time. As I was depositing my stuff, someone came up to me and told me that I had missed the window of opportunity and that I would have to collect my things and take them with me. I was so upset! I nearly cried right there because I was also dropping things off for Amber and I promised her I'd have it there on time. I asked what he was talking about because no one had told me the time had changed and he replied, "Yeah, well, it was 30 minutes ago... sorry... they tried to get the word out so I guess you missed the message." Well, I know very well that I would have known about any time changes since I'm one of the people that PUTS the word out about such things. So, dejectedly, I left with my stuff, hoping that things might work out next time and feeling like a huge turd because I was letting people down.

So I got back to the car and started strapping Jack into his car seat. I had my bag slung over my shoulder and my car keys in one hand and he was struggling to pull them out of my hand and pushing random buttons and beeps were going crazy and it was annoying so I chucked the keys in the driver's seat and put my bag on the ground to use both hands to wrestle him into his seat. Finally situated, I gave him some smarties and some nuggets and shut the door. I picked up my bag to toss it on the passenger's seat and head to the playgr.... FUCK the door was locked. LOCKED. All of the doors were locked. The keys were on the driver's seat. I was looking at them. Jack was in his car seat. I was looking at him.

I lost it. I wailed, "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" and just put my forehead on the window and started saying, "no no no no no" and sobbing.

This was not my car. This was Matt's car. I was driving Matt's fucking car and my child was sitting inside and my keys were in there with him. And there were lots and lots of dudes looking at me like I belonged in an institution (I do.) or something.

Someone came up to me and asked what was going on and I explained the situation and he said he'd call dispatch and base security would come help me out.

I was very grateful.

But then it turns out that base security entailed several trucks, fire truck, ambulance and patrol cars. With lights and sirens.

As if my humiliation wasn't at it's pinnacle, now I'm a spectacle in addition to a shit-show.

I do, at this point, need to reassure everyone that it was only 68 degrees outside instead of the 95 degrees it has been for the last week. So at least God thought I deserved SOME kind of break. I would have broken a window within 30 seconds if it were any hotter outside.

Jack was just chilling in there the whole time, smiling at the 50 or so people that stopped to say any number of things along the lines of, "wow, that sucks!" or "gosh what a nice car - I hope they don't have to break a door off!" or "wow, this is going to take awhile" or "what will her husband say?" etc.

Meanwhile, someone has just informed me that the deadline I thought I had missed hadn't been missed after all and they were wrong and I can go ahead and drop my stuff off. So apparently Fate had a shitty way of keeping me there so I could get everything turned in before I got home and had to turn around. Oh, because I forgot to add that I have no cell phone because it is on the coffee table so I couldn't call anyone to ask what the hell was going on until I got back here.

Anyway, back to the car that has my keys and my baby inside...

So after a bunch of guys assess the situation as being beyond hope, one of the security guys shows up and has a slim-jim to pop the locks (which are electronic so the old methods don't work) and I had to explain to him how important it was that they try really really hard to get this fixed without hurting the car at all because it's um, well, not my f-ing car. (And boy, oh boy, the looks I got when I explained that I was tooling around in my husband's best friend's car while they're out to sea...) I got chewed out for giving more of a shit about the car than my kid, which stung, but I know where my priorities were and I knew I'd buy Matt a new car before I let Jack sit in there for more than another 20 minutes, but I had to at least try to make sure they were as careful as possible.

They did, after a couple minutes, get it open and I doled out some massive hugs to the guys and scooped Jack out of his carseat and just held him for like 10 minutes while people thinned out and shook their heads at my idiocy. He was totally fine. He actually ate more food than he has in a week while he was sitting there, so I was pretty happy about that. The car is fine. I, however, not so much. I am a brick. No question about it. I'm embarrassed, I'm ashamed, I was scared, and now I'm writing about it because I'm a glutton for punishment.

Thank God it wasn't too hot out. Thank God Jack is too young to remember my negligent parenting. Thank God that He watches out for drunks and fools because I am the latter and would LOVE to be the former to forget about all of this nonsense.

At least I met the deadline. So really, the only person I let down today was me.

ROCK on.

Details, Details

So, I'm sure our announcement left you with some burning questions...  I'll go ahead dish, mmkay?

First of all, as first trimesters go, this one wasn't too bad.  I had some nausea and lots of fatigue (which is generally why you found me absent from commenting on your blogs as often as I'd like, or remiss in posting on my own) but in general, this baby has been pretty good to me, considering the other three have - ahem - not been as forgiving.  I mean, saying, "Jordan, can you please hurry up with those molars because Mommy is trying to gestate a baby and I'm too tired to listen to your whining" doesn't really get you anywhere. 

To that effect, any first trimester with 3 kids 3 and under already making your life chaos is pretty much something I'd advise against... you know, except for the whole part where you don't get a baby after 40 weeks without the first trimester...

Anyway, one of the worst parts of all of this ended up being my decision to use cloth diapers.  My nose has been super sensitive and ANY smell - good or bad - sets me a-gaggin' so scraping fresh "I'm teething and just ate corn and 4 crayons"-style poop out of cloth diapers into the toilet generally left me weak and shaky and my stomach totally empty.  Talk about a bummer.  I'm not totally over the smell thing, so if you can pray to the gods of solid poop for the next week or so, I'd really appreciate it. 

Aside from physically, I'm feeling basically blessed.  Overwhelmed with love for this kiddo already, and sad but  happy because I think he ("he"... in my house, you're innocent until proven guilty) is our last and I've not even held him in my arms and I'm already lamenting the last time he smiles without teeth or the last time I puree baby food or the last time I put him to my breast or the last diaper I'll change or the last time his hair has that downy-soft "baby" feel... It was horrifically hard with the older 3 to let those things go, and I'm pretty certain that the passing of each milestone is going to dissolve me into a sobbing mess in the corner of my closet... *sigh*

I mean, here's the deal: we were actively trying to avoid a pregnancy at this point in our lives.  A fourth was on our radar, but we were planning (hah!) to wait for a bit longer before we started serious discussions.  But our hearts were open, so I guess that trumps what our rational brains were saying.  Anyway, two pretty darned reliable methods of birth control failed (no, not operator error, I promise; I flounced into my doctor's office for my yearly exam a few days before the test came back as positive, utterly confident that there was no way a pregnancy was even remotely possible) putting this baby into an impossibly small percentage of probability... which makes his presence in our lives nearly miraculous.  And for that, I am both grateful and still a little mystified.  (Though, despite all the love and happiness, I'm still considering the company named for a Greek city a bill for college tuition in 19 years.)

The kids are doing great with everything; the girls understand nearly nothing, but Jack is excited and loves to pat my belly and then ask me to pat his (where his baby is also growing) and Addison loves all things baby - she's very sweet and gentle and loving.  I think she'll do wonderfully well... Jordan... well, Jordan will no longer the "the" baby of the family, so I think that'll irk her a bit since she already feels she doesn't get enough (constant) attention, but then again, she is full of surprises so I'm just going to sit back and watch.

I'll leave you with some stats, in case you were wondering... or in case you needed someone to point and laugh at today or in the future when you're starting to think I've got my shit together:

When this baby is born, Jack will be 4 years, 3 weeks old.  The girls will be 22 months old.  There will be 4 kids, 4 and under in my household, and for a year, there will be 3 under 3 again.. actually, 3 kids 2 and under, if that sounds nuttier.  For that matter, for two months, I will have an incredible 3 kids under 2.  In five years, I'll have had 4 children.  Woah. 

Truly, it shouldn't be too bad.  They're close in age which will make things much easier... for now.  At least, that's what I tell myself.  Stay tuned... it's gonna get crazy (er, crazIER)!

I also updated, and will continue to update, The Exhibits page as this whole thing unfolds... Thanks for being a part of our incredible experience!

Potty Language

I love, apparently, to talk about poop.

Not that I get all giddy and gleeful like: "Poop!  Oh, poop! I can talk about it! Yay!" but in that I do it so often.  Not do poop, that is - talk about poop.  (Seriously, this post isn't THAT gross.)  I must find some sort of foul enjoyment in the discussions because they permeate my conversational repertoire.  The situation has gotten so bad that I can't even tell if other moms are like me, or if I just engage them in doo-themed discussions because I am such an avid poopophile.

It's beginning to worry me.

I can recall being younger, sitting at my grandmother's kitchen table listening to her describe a bowel movement to my mother as if she were talking about a recent rainstorm that produced the most brilliant rainbow.  I was appalled.  I swore that I would never ever talk about # 2 (go ahead, say it like Austin Powers... you know you want to) to the extent (ahem, or at all!) the way she did.

(In my defense, I am certainly NOT at the point of discussing any of this as it relates to the things I do in the ladies' room.)

Just last night, not only did I laugh to the point of tears at a "poo-dicament" involving Jordan and a bathtub, but I went a step further and posted about on Facebook.  (Not friends with me on Facebook?  You're missing out... er, maybe not.) See, she has this tendency to drop a deuce in the tub after dinner. Well, she has the last few nights, anyway.  And it's usually as I'm rinsing shampoo out of Addie's hair, so Jordan announces she's done her deed by screaming and crying in a horrified way (the turds scare her... do I even say it?  ..they scare the crap out of her.  There. I did it.  Forgive me.) as the product floats away, disintegrating quickly and making for a nasty clean-up job.  Yesterday, when I realized what was going on, I hollered, "Just, help!  Poop!  Poop in the waaaa-ter!" and he came running, to find me fishing squirmy, slimy toddlers out of the tub and passing them to him to towel off before they realize what's going on or have time to try to dive back into the bath (as they're prone to doing).  As Jordan got passed off, I said, "Please, get a dipe on Miss TubDump! I don't know if she's done!"  Well, the nickname kinda stuck for the rest of the evening, so I couldn't stop laughing, even as I scooped, bare-handed, the poo from the tub, wiped the floor, the tub, the toys, with bleach (for the third time in a row this week).  I couldn't get her terrified facial expression out of my face... like the toddler equivalent of staring at Jaws.  I couldn't stop laughing.  I mean, what's WRONG with me?

And I heard recently that Twitter conversations are getting logged in the Library of Congress and archived now.  What if they do that with Facebook feeds?  Will my kids be able to look up these status updates years from now, and use them to torture one another (that is, if I haven't already tortured them with it personally...)?

Yikes.

But it doesn't stop there.  The other day, one of the girls waited until AFTER the bath to leave a little surprise for me.  I had to chase one girl down (who has a habit of piddling when the cold air hits her wet skin) to diaper her and ran back to find her sister with a diaper in my hand when I noticed a particularly bad smell in their bedroom.  Thinking it was just a fart, I grabbed the naked tot and realized she had "fart" smeared all over her backside, feet and legs.  And then I found the pile.  Or three.  So I wiped the child down, diapered her, put both girls in the crib to keep them away from the mess and took a picture of the biscuit with my cell phone.

Yeah, I'm that gross. Love me anyway.

Then, when Justin was walking into our bedroom about 20 minutes later and roared with shock at the log that one of the girls had "baby-trapped" the doorway with, I lost it.  I was nearly sobbing with laughter.

Now, am I seriously that insane?  Or am I laughing because it's better to sob with laughter than to just plain sob?  Or am I really a 6th grade boy trapped in a 28-year-old woman's body?

I use cloth diapers.  That necessitates scraping the solid waste from the diaper into the toilet, flushing it, and laundering the diaper.  What do I use for that job?  Why, a plastic picnic spoon, kept in a plastic cup in the kids' bathroom (on a high shelf... after I found Jack drinking out of the cup and Jordan chewing on the spoon a few months ago, I learned that higher is always better [this is a statement of distance from the ground, people, not a life-style endorsement]).  What do I call the contraption?  My sPOOn.  Yeah, it's labeled on the cup... I even pronounce it like that.  "sssssPOOnnnn"

We use poop themed nicknames occasionally... "Daisy Duke", "Miss TubDump", "Pooo-rincess", "Deuce Nukem" and so on.  Different kinds of bowel movements get their own category from "stealth poop" if it doesn't smell so you get set to change a urine diaper and are surprised with a more complicated job, "faux poo" if you're prepared for a dirty diaper and there's nothing to be seen, and then into the more descriptive names that I'll spare you.

But ("butt"? ba-dum-chhhh) I have to wonder - is this motherhood?  Is this how I know I'm a mom first and a mom forever?  Have I degenerated from my super-educated, want-to-save-the-world-and-effect-positive-change-through-academic-achievement-self of old into a fugazi, mundane, even disgusting drain on society with nothing meaningful to contribute?  Have I become "Idiocracy"?  Am I "doomed" to a life of bad puns, embarrassing discussions and sounding like I've got an IQ of about 60?

Or does this pass?

I suppose all things doo.

Ask Jordan.

Black and White You Know You're a Mom When-sDaze

Woah - talk about some multi-tasking, eh?  Yeah, I'm just that lazy good.  Today you get a super-duper 2fer deal from me... Black and White Wednesday hosted by Lisa at The Long Road to China (and congratulations, again, Lisa and family!) and Arizona Mamma's You Know You're a Mom When-sDaze!

And, in case you're not satisfied with three days of posting in a row, you can check out a guest post I did for my future SIL, Artistically Amy, wherein I talk about how I ended up as here as this crazy Zookeeper in my nutty life.  Check it out here!

So yesterday was Jack's first day of school this year.  We're at a new school and we already love it - the place is fabulous.  As a social, outgoing, lover of learning, Jack has been pretty pumped about the prospect of school all summer.  Taking him out of school when we moved was one of the hardest parts of our move, and we weren't sure if we were going to be able to send him down here until we found this place.  For days, Jack has been wearing his monkey "pack-pack" around and toting his Thomas lunch box around, talking about going to play with friends and do art and sing songs at school.

The lump I had in my throat yesterday as I dropped him off... or, rather, as I helped him find his way to the classroom so he could dismiss me, was far different from the one I had last year when I left him, teary-eyed and confused, in his first classroom.  This year, as I watched my son skip and bound down the hallway, proudly showing off his lunch box, and greet his teacher with a hug and high-five, I was the teary-eyed one because I knew that I was doing something right.  I had helped him to be secure and sure of himself.  I had helped him find the confidence to venture out away from me, knowing I'd always come back.  And I had helped instill in him a love of learning and friendship that makes school such a wonderful tool for me to use in his education.

But, as a Mom who has watched her son grow and develop from a tiny embryo to this three-and-a-half year old little ball of fire, I also know that I have done only that: helped him find those qualities within himself.

So it was a big day... for him, of course, but as always, for me.  I am so proud of him and so happy for him... And that's when you know you're a mom: when you feel tears of joy and sadness and just a teeny bit of nostalgia slide down your face on the first day of school.  When you're so thrilled that he's starting another chapter in his life and you can't help grinning for him, but you recognize how quickly his childhood is passing so a little bit of desperation creeps into your heart because you want him to stay your cuddly little buddy forever.

You Know You're a Mom When-sDaze

Well, now that I'm back from our road trip (which was bittersweet; I'll post more later about it!) and settling back into a routine, I'm looking forward to blogging and visiting my bloggy buddies' blogs again!  I missed it!  Life got in the way of normalcy though (of course; would I have it any other way?!) as we found a letter from our old Landlord waiting for us when we returned home informing us that he's not going to return our deposit in full based on some idiotic absurdity.  I've spent a few days dealing with attorneys and documenting our problems and we're looking forward to fighting for what's right.  And since that was plenty fun, Jack has decided to heap on more awesomeness with some righteously awful moods lately - probably thanks to the trauma of the trip and routine changes.  Oh, and our house got struck by lightning and needed to have 4 breakers and 4 light bulbs replaced and we've suffered the demise of our XBox.  Though grateful that it was not worse, the ordeal was, nonetheless, ultimately a giant pain in the badonkadonk that kept me from blogging.

So.  With that long-winded explanation as to my absence (which could have been summarized by saying that "I am Melis and my life is absurd." At this point, you all would have known exactly what I meant.) I leave you with You Know You're a Mom When-sDaze from one of my favorite ladies in the world, Arizona Mamma!

Road trips offer unique challenges to parents.  For instance, successful distance driven is no longer measured in terms of distance between gas stops but in distance between potty breaks.  For us, it is often anything over 50 miles at a stretch.

Said potty breaks themselves are also iffy.  We must select appropriate toilets; i.e. those that do not flush themselves.  So while I prefer a fully-automated, brightly-lit modern restroom, Jack prefers those stinky, dingy, one-toilet and sink coffin-like restrooms you need a key from the attendant to open.  They have toilets that look more like those found in a house.  If we have no option but to use a restroom with an auto flush (which is usually the result of a combination of not having many choices and us telling Jack we have no option) I have to straddle the back of the toilet so that my butt blocks the sensor while he goes potty.

Food on a road trip for us is also unique now that I'm a mom.  No longer can I say, "Wow, Subway sounds deliciously healthy; let's stop there."  Can a 13-month-old munch on a sandwich from her car seat as we barrel up the interstate?  No.  I'm relegated to the world of french fries and chicken nuggets or french-toast sticks for breakfast.  Though I bring plenty of fruit and veggies and healthy food for our destination, eating that kind of stuff in the car is too tricky.  So I eat McDonald's 15 times in 2 days.

You know you're a mom (on a road trip) when you elect to clean and pack all day and then drive through the entire night because exhaustion is better than the certain fury of trying to drive with 3 whiny, crying, toy-chucking kiddos who ask to eat or pee every 20 minutes.

And then when you get there and realize you've forgotten to bring a single pair of panties for yourself but each kid has enough clothes to survive a trip twice as long as the one planned.  And rest assured: Woody's hat is safely on his head and each sippy-cup spout is tucked neatly in its lid.

You know you're a mom when you drive in the dead of night not to your mp3 collection or a book on tape.  You don't scan the radio stations as you go for fear of waking up the kids as the music goes in and out of range.  Instead you listen to Cars on repeat because it's better than nothing and they all fell asleep to the soothing sound of Lightning McQueen's voice and you're at loathe to do anything to disrupt their slumber.

Then again, you know there's no sweeter sight in the world than what you see in your rear-view mirror... Three angelic faces all tilted to the same side, barely-there smiles and deep breathing to let you know that they're happy.  They're yours, and they're happy about it and you know it's all worth it.

My Little Girls are One!

Well, on Saturday I got to celebrate the culmination of our first year with our precious twin girls.  I've been a giant ball of emotions as I reflect on the profound achievement their birthday represents... The struggles and challenges of this past year have been, at times, overwhelming, but the triumphs and joys have been breathtaking and far outweigh any of the difficulties.  From their birth onward, Addie and Jordan have been nothing short of astounding to me... And like a baby does not select how he enters the world, neither have my girls been at fault for much of the stress that has permeated the last 12 months.  However, what makes my heart swell with love and pride is the fact that the same stress would have been overpowering without their big velvety eyes staring earnestly into mine and their sweet smiles reassuring me that there is always a plan and their creamy skin for receiving my kisses to ease my nerves.

There is no doubt in my mind that Jordan and Addie are incredible little people... the only doubt I have is my ability to be the Mommy they deserve.  So, I hold on to that doubt and use it to drive me to be better.  From their conception, Addie and Jordan have ensured that I wake up every morning and have to actively work at being a mother - to them and to Jack - and at being a wife and woman as well.

Jack has been phenomenal also.  He has handled the entire transition so well - embracing his role as big brother just as solidly as he embraced his role as my baby boy over 3 years ago.  He takes his job seriously - all aspects - from protecting them and making them laugh when they're upset or ordering me to feed them when they cry to hurling balls directly at their heads or whomping them in the event that they play with his stuff.

Our whole family has grown.  Not just in that we have gone from a family of 3 to a family of 5, but we've become stronger, closer, more resilient and have overcome a hefty amount of adversity through nothing more than our love for one another - narrowing our focus so that we see only what is truly important despite what may be going on around us.

Addie and Jordan.  You are so much to so many.  The world is fortunate for your births and I am fortunate to have been chosen to be a part of that.  I can't believe how much you've grown this past year, and I am beyond excited to watch each new day unfold.  Thank you, for all you've given me, my babies.

(By the way, this post also counts as my entry in Mom 'n Me Monday at The Peanut Gallery!)