My Boys

Shaun teases me and says I spoil that little one.  But Shaun can't resist him either.  While there's something unique about a Mom's relationship with her boy... there's something spectacular about watching a boy with his Dad. 

And in March, I get to see that start all over again with this next munchkin.  I think he's going to need bigger arms.

(Yes, that's Caly too...  and I know she's not a boy, but that picture was too sweet to resist.  So, my boys and my littlest girlie).

Runs in the Family

Today we went in for the super fun 20 week sonogram.  I say super fun now because I've been given the "Everything looks perfect!" all clear that I stressed over for the last 20 weeks.  (I always get that way before the big sonogram).  Anyway, the sonographer spent a good amount of time measuring this part and that part, commenting periodically about cute movements the baby would do. 

(The other kids thought it was pretty cool.  Lex really could make out what parts of the baby were which...  Caly?  Well, she saw a lot of movement and decided to make friends with our sonographer and sit on her lap and ask questions instead.  Sayer was completely enthralled when we listened to the heartbeat, "WOOOOAH!")

At one point, the baby stuck his finger up their nose.  I knew at that point exactly what gender this kid would be. 

When you ask Sayer where his nose is, he knows right away.  And sticks his index finger so far up his nostril that you worry slightly that he's poking his brain.  Better yet?  He's never satisfied until he finds YOUR nose, too.  Using the same methods.  Ew, right?

Seems the little one is following in Big Brother's footsteps. 

It's a boy! 

Is Dat Funny? Momma? Is Dat Funny?

Caly is refining her sense of humor.  She'll say something and out of the blue, she'll ask, "Momma?  Is dat funny?" and giggle at me.  This evening, she and Lex were hiding from Shaun in their pile of stuffed animals under a big pink blanket.  They were silent for about 30 seconds when Caly chirped, "I TOOTED!" I started snickering under my breath.  Three seconds later, "Momma?  Is dat funny?"  And over Lex's indignant yelps, ("SHE TOOTED ON ME!"), we cracked up. 

But then... other times?  It drives. me. nuts. 

She's taken to waiting until she's completely tucked in before telling me or Shaun that she absolutely has to go erm, take care of some heavy business.  With her recent past of having difficulties in that realm, we're not comfortable refusing, so we march her into the potty and sit her up on the seat.  She takes so long, that we generally leave her in there to do her thing so that she doesn't get the satisfaction of chatting our ears off in the meantime.  (Yes, she's mostly stalling, but she ALWAYS produces, so...)   Anyway, after 15 minutes, I start getting exasperated and ask her, "Caly, are you finished yet?"  She always, always, ALWAYS says no.  And I always get frustrated and say, "You NEED to finish.  YOU NEED to go to sleep.  YOU NEED YOUR REST."  And lately, she'll look at me at that point and said, "Momma?  Is dat funny?" 

AHHH!  No, little punky one!

Tonight, she pulled a new one.  Either Shaun or I sing to the girls before bed and tonight was my night.  Caly kept interrupting, (which is the fastest way for me to quit singing), and when I reminded her to quit, she paused and said, "Momma?  IS DAT FUNNY?  DAT'S FUNNY!" and then she giggled while saying, "dat's funny!" under her breath.  I have to admit... I couldn't help chuckling.  And she heard. 

"Momma?  Are you laughing?  You laughing!  DAT'S FUNNY!"

She's driving me crazy...  but at least we're laughing on the way. 

Ferocious

Certain things that my kids do drive me nuts.  For instance, my oldest freaks out when I have to cut her toenails.  For the record, I've never once, not even when she was a baby, cut her or made her bleed.  (Now, the other kids... )

Anyway, she'll reluctantly give me her foot and then freak out and jerk it away right before I clip the toenail.  It's worse when she's tired.  (Which is when I always get the notion to cut her nails...  Apparently, I like a challenge). 

The other day, I called her into the bathroom, having noticed that her toes were beginning to resemble talons instead of sweet little girl feet.  She slunk into the room and gave me a look as she ever-so-slowly brought her foot up to my lap.  I held onto it, grabbed the clippers, and made a motion to go toward clipping her big toenail.  Just as the clipper touched her toe, she jerked her whole foot back and started whimpering.  "I don't WANNNNA have you cut my toooooenaaaaails!"  I gave her a look and told her to give me her foot.

And repeat. 

After 3 or 4 more times, I was completely exasperated.  I dropped my voice to a fierce whisper, looked at her and said, "LEXI. GIVE. ME. YOUR. FOOT. RIGHT. NOW!  If you keep jerking it away, I'm going to end up cutting your toe off!  NOW GIVE ME YOUR FOOT!"

We stared at each other for a split second before she dropped into a crouch, balled her hands into fists and hissed, "NEVER!" at me while punching a hand into the air.  She totally looked like William Wallace, "You can take my toenails, but you'll never TAKE MY FREEDOM!"

The whole effect was so ridiculous that I burst into peels of laughter. 

So did she. 

The nail cutting went slightly more smoothly after that.  Slightly.  At the very least, she found a way to diffuse my temper and get herself out of trouble.  Because I laugh every single time. 

The One Where I Teach My Son the Art of the Gnaw (aka, don't read this if you're a particularly squeamish variety of vegetarian)

I'm not much of a meat eater anymore.  Never was.  Not a vegetarian though, as sometimes I feel a little... carnivorous. 

When I was a little girl, my dad would take me to the Renaissance Festival.  Food, face painting, knights, princesses, fairies, jousting, crafts, swords, and more.  What more could a kid love? 

But the highlight was always the turkey leg.  It's exactly what it sounds like.  A leg of a turkey, brined and roasted to perfection.  (Is it fried? Not sure, don't care.  It tastes awesome).  I rarely eat chicken on a bone, but I'll tear one of these up.  This year?  I taught the kids.  The only one who really took to it was Sayer.  At almost 15 months, I think he has the art of the gnaw down pat.  See for yourself:

He's giving it a once over.  Think you're going to mess with me, Turkey Leg?  THINK AGAIN!  He said that.  Really.  Ok, he didn't.  Because he doesn't quite speak with complex sentence structure.  But he THOUGHT it.  Totally. 

He looks fierce, (channeling his red-haired Viking roots?  Perhaps).  And rightfully so.  That's the only way to attack a turkey leg.  I think he did quite well for his first year.  Right Dad?

Plate Spinning

I don't know where I first heard the analogy, but it's a good one.  Walking through life is a lot like being a plate spinner. 



Each of those plates represent a different piece of your life that you have to pay a certain amount of attention.  Kids?  Plate.  Husband?  Plate.  Housework?  Plate.  Cooking?  Plate.  Friends?  Plates.  Exercise?  Plate.  Sleep?  Plate. 

If you start frantically spinning at one that might be slipping, it's not long before you find 5 other ones slipping. 

So you have to take a deep breath and give what you can to all the plates.  And if you have more plates than you can handle?  You have to let 'em go.  (Personally, I'm all for dropping the housework plate...)

Anyway, my plates were flying all over the place for awhile there and I was having a crazy time trying to scrape by with the bare minimum to keep them all from crashing down, (which would have resulted in me taking a very long nap... so... win for the sleep plate?)  And blogging?  Blogging became one of those little cup saucers and I shoved it into my back pocket.  Somehow, I thought that some things, like, you know, feeding these little people were more important.  (True.  They get very cranky when hungry).  But I got a day to myself and got some things in order that were otherwise neglected.  And now?  I feel sane(r).  Plates might get shaky, but they're up!

Anyway, I have a litany of blog posts in my head and I'm slowly starting to write them out.  So I'm working on it.  If you've stuck around?  Thanks.  I do appreciate your comments, both in real life and on here.  I don't know that I've mentioned that.  But yes, I'm a sucker for attention a fan of feedback, so thanks again :)

Stealth Stealer

Man, I am a BAD blogger.  (My button loving son won't let me near a computer without obsessively whispering, "buuuuutton... BUTTTTTON" and pushing whatever ones he gets his hands on... so, yes). 

Anyway, I check on when I can.  And this story?  This one is too good not to share. 

The other day we had a friend over for a playdate and lunch.  She sat at the table while I puttered around the kitchen after lunch, putting dishes away and the like.  The kids ran around like monkeys, clamoring for attention and getting into everything.  Caly quietly stood next to Heather's seat at the table and after a few minutes, pointed to my not-so-hidden, reserved and coveted halloween themed reeses peanut butter cup and said, "I have that candy?"

I raised my eyebrows and told her no.  No, especially since she ate no lunch at all.  No. 

She stared me down and said, "Yes."

I said no. 

She said yes. 

I said no.  No, NO.  And she got quiet.  So Heather and I went back to chatting and I turned to finish the dishes.  About 10 minutes later, Caly walked back into the kitchen.  Chewing.  She had a mouthful of something and was making a peculiar face.  Concerned, I hurried towards her, thinking she was going to barf, (we have a history now), and got down to her level.  Then I smelled it.

Peanut butter. 

My eyes flew towards the table where my peanut butter cup used to rest.  Gone.  I jumped up and ran into the living room.  The slobbery, shredded, empty wrapper lay on the chair.  My head swiveled back to my daughter who was unconcernedly attempting the chew the rest of her forbidden treat.

"Caly."

"Wut, mama?"

"Is that my treat?"

"Yeds."

"What did mama say when you asked to have it?"

"Mama say no."  She paused to swallow.  "Mama said no treat."

"Ooook, so...  why did you take it and eat it?"

She gave me a look and said, "Because I wanted it." 

Oh.  Um.  Ok. 

"Caly, go sit in time-out until I figure out what to do with you." 

She stuck her lower lip out and trotted to the living room and planted herself in her rocking chair.  Thirty seconds later, she started calling me, "Mammmmma?  Mammma?  I sorry!  I say I sorry for eating your treat!"  I told her to sit there a bit longer.  When I got a straight face finished the dishes, I went into talk to her and she said, "Mommy, I sorry I ate your treat."  I told her that while I was sad it was gone, she was forgiven and she could get up. 

Then she leaned towards me and whispered, "It was lummy!"

Little stinker.