The Answer

I swore I was going to devote any blogging time I had this weekend to my new site and would not be posting anything today BUT I have received emails, facebook messages and several face-to-face "you must tell me" 's over the question I posed yesterday so I decided to give everyone the answer today.

So these two lovely children...

Put all of these items that were unscrewed, unlatched or just generally stolen from various places of our home...

DOWN THE TOILET. 

(Note: many of these objects are replacements for the actual object as they flushed before I could get to it and then proudly told me afterwards, or fessed up when I found an empty candleholder.)

If you got this answer correct you either:

a) have read my blog long enough to know what my children are capable of 

or

b) have children similar to mine

If your answer is "b" I am happy for both of us that it is currently the weekend and drinking at any time of the day is perfectly acceptable.

I love that so many of you commented to let me know you are out there reading. If you left your blog address I am looking forward to stopping by to say hi.  If you didn't, comment again soon and leave it so I can visit.  If you don't have a blog, I'm honored that you take the time to stop here and read my words.

Off to finish my bottle of wine!!

Changes and a Reader Poll

Unfortunately you will have to wait until next Friday to find out who my next featured blogger is.  My site is under major construction and should be up and running on Monday with a whole new look (if you can't find us, know that I did something very wrong and please send a techie to save me and my blog).

Here is a quick poll to take up some Friday space while I try not to demolish the contents of this blog...

What do the following items have in common?
(excluding the children, they are there to un-boring the picture and because, well, they are always "there" so might as well put them in a photo or two)

Edited to add:  Just realized I forgot a sock and a plastic stethoscope in this shot AND the crust to a pb&j has just been added to the group.

Take a second to comment with your answer (if you know me in real life and have already heard the story of one of these items you are not allowed to vote!).

Oh and I REALLY want you to vote if you are a reader but never a commenter, I would love to know who is out there taking the time to read my words.  Even if you just want to say "this is the worst use of space for a Friday post ever" or "I think I read about item #x somewhere else so I want to guess and ruin the suspense for everyone else."

Click that "comment" spot below and type.

So I know you are out there.

Happy Friday!

A Hugging Confession

I am not a hugger.

I believe this is one reason why I am somewhat addicted to blogging and can easily pour my heart out with every tippity-tap of a key.

I can handle a virtual hug.

I can vent about the ugliness of grief or the insanity of day-to-day life and take in each and every comment I receive of support, or of I've been there, or geez am I glad I'm not there, and feel completely comfortable accepting as many comment hugs as are dished out from the caring people who read my words.

But a real hug?  I believe, to quote my mother, I am like "hugging a piece of plywood."  Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy doesn't it??

Let me digress here to stop you from feeling sorry for my touch-deprived children and husband.  I hug them, I hug them all constantly and accept their hugs with open arms.  I can do this with ease.  Go ahead and psychoanalyze.  If you figure out why please let me know (private email is preferred to a public comment explaining my warped psychological state to the blogosphere).

I believe I cannot hug because I have wound myself a bit too tight.  I am clutching pieces finely crafted into staying together.  One of those pieces fears that if I fall into a hug, the rest of them may come tumbling down and we just can't have that happen.  There is too much to do, plus I have a tendency towards the "ugly cry."

So yesterday we went to our first day of three year-old storytime and I believe the mix of a class brimming with little girls, explaining they are not twins too many times and a touch of pms, caused me to be acutely aware of that ever-present hole.  Sitting there, singing the pizza song, I pictured being the triplet mom I should be and my world stopped.   My boys, being the Mommy-loving little people that every mom with a son told me they would be, instinctively came to my rescue.  Sawyer into my lap, chubby baby arms circling my neck, and Parker balancing on my knee, skinny elbows folding over my shoulder, and those little boy hugs?

They sent my pieces crumbling.

Without a single word, swimming in a sea of three year-olds shouting out their favorite pizza topping, my boys told me what all those well-meaning huggers have been trying to say for years.

You are safe.  You are surrounded by love.  Let the pieces fall.

And I did.

Dear Daddy- Why We Didn't Get All the Groceries

I better start this one by saying that, yep, all this stuff happened.  My two and a half feet of wisdom could not make this mountain of disaster up...

Mommy and her long list took us to the grocery store and once we went through those magic doors that open when my little self enters, Mommy's list got short, Daddy, real short.  First that fancy car cart was not so fancy 'cause it only had one seat belt.  One seat belt for no kids who will sit still is bad news.

Our ride, sans us, for some reason Mommy could not get a blog-worthy pic

Mommy put the strap for holding-you-down-so-you-can't-join-the-party on lucky old me. Parker got to drive and Ms. Fancy Pants Kenna sat her happy self on the floor.  Not the floor of our cart, the floor of the dirty-as-a-potty ground.  You know her, wanted her own cart and wasn't budging 'til she got it.  Mommy fed her that "special treat" nonsense she dangles over our heads whenever we go somewhere and lucky for our grocery list she bought it, and started pushing me and Parker's car, all fakey nice, like she was going to be the perfectest sister the rest of our trip.

Since my crib is calling my name, I better skip a couple aisles, tantrums, getting-in-and-out-of-the-carts and put-that-backs and get down to the good stuff.  

Now picture us in the milk section, Daddy...

Pretty much no one was in the cart (except my legs, one, two if Mommy was lucky) and by now one of the Crazy amongst us was carrying an apple with squoosh spots and a bite out of it, a deck of cards and wearing her rainbow jello, I was trying (with decent success I must say) to climb out the dashboard of my car, Mommy was catching me and squishing me back in with her hair all crazy in her face while she was blocking our basket with one leg so Kenna couldn't throw anymore juices in, when she remembered the other piece of our Crazy.  Lucky she looked between her yellow hairs that minute because she almost missed an amazing feat.  Parker, my idol of carnival proportion stunts, was hard at work.  Stacking and stacking breads and standing on them real good so they smushed so nice and then getting more and more and more, 'cause that coffee cream on the top shelf was calling his name, I heard it.  (You drink coffee when you are three? Can't wait.  I think I'll take mine black, or maybe double sugar, double breast milk?  Hmmm, decisions.).  Well, either way, I don't have to tell you that Mommy shut down his side show which set off fireworks of the Parker kind.  (We will never truly know what that boy can accomplish.)

In the middle of our show, a lady was watching us with her lips white-together.  Mommy said, "I'm sure you wish you were me right now" (I think she was being snarkastic, Ms. Jill) and that lady just asked Mommy to hand her a cream.  Mommy wanted to tell her where she could put her cream but she bited her tongue for my baby ears.

So things got even better at check out.  For the Crazies, not for me... totally strapped in at this point, just here for the show I guess.  Those silly store people put those shiny Easter egg candies right where three year-olds could reach and Mommy could barely unload the cart 'cause those eggs were a rollin' and a flyin'.  Oh and the apple from aisle whatever that was?  Kenna dropped it when she was blocking Mommy from pulling chocolate eggs out of her mouth, Parker kicked it to me, my car made the save and Mommy had even more to pay her money for.

And for the grand finale, because there is one, of course...

Mommy put Parker back in the car with me and as one last goodbye, he waved out my window and then, hold on to your seat Daddy...

   threw his perfectly detached steering wheel out the other window (so we could watch it roll away at that man getting the baskets, of course).  That boy, I tell you, he never disappoints.  Never!

Oh and Daddy, we forgot your Coke but don't worry, Mommy says we are going back when hell freezes over so we'll get it then.

Love the only one who can't unbuckle his grocery car seatbelt,

Sawyer


  

On To the Next Phase

After my last pregnancy and subsequent life threatening delivery, I was told by my doctor that I should not have anymore children.

Being one who does not like to be told what to do and who also tends to want another newborn the minute my last child (or children) drop the first sign of babyhood, I did not appreciate this warning.

Since that day I have been secretly dreaming of how to expand our family one person more.  I have thought about surrogacy and adoption and just about every other alternative to having just one more.  (If you know me in real life, I hope you were already fanning yourself during this confession, we don't need anyone passing out while blog reading.)

BUT

I think I'm done.  The dream is over.

I have been around a baby or two lately and the itch is gone.  I love holding them and breathing in that baby-soap scent but lately I am oddly content to give them back and return to running and playing with my active bunch while carrying a glass of wine (ooooh or a margarita) because I can.  My body is no longer inhabited by or providing nourishment for another being, and I can have a drink if I want to and sip extreme amounts of caffeine and take medication that actually works for a headache.

The baby phase of mommyhood is as amazing as it is challenging but I am not there anymore.  I am the mom to a strong-willed toddler and crazy three year olds and a moody teenager.  I have finally freed myself from the waiting-for-one-more baby stage and am content right where we are at.

The cradle is headed for craigslist and my maternity clothes are taking a one way trip to the Salvation Army.

As I said yesterday.

We are good.

Official title holder of the coveted "Youngest" spot

Stay tuned for next week's post:  Oops Honey, did I say that?  Let's go ahead and get that vasectomy reversed.

We Are Good

I have the amazing honor of guest posting for Nichole at In These Small Moments today.  Her writing is unspeakably beautiful and she has featured many a talented writer in her Small Moments Monday series.  I had to collect myself and pretend this type of thing is normal for a little blogger like me before I could respond to her email in which she asked (in her eloquent words, of course) if I would guest post.

So if this is your first time visiting and you would like to know the rest of the story here is the "after" and if you are not interested in knowing what happened next, here is a slew of cute pictures of my kids...

We Are Good

Life showed us its fragility and we wept and yelled and cursed at the unfairness of it all.

But we still had new life here,

to cherish and to nurture and to will to survive.

So we waited

and we dreamt

of the day they would be home

and our family would be together, not whole.  No never whole, but together

and we are good,

good plus one more.

We are brought down by grief but lifted up by laughter
and we are good.

We appreciate the quiet moments with space to breathe in the sorrow

and the loud ones with noise to drown it all out

and we are good.

We will never be full or whole or complete

but we are life and love and everything in between.

And we are good.

Small Things Saturday

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The Small Thing that I am trying to appreciate every second of, is the last of the babyness in this house,

because it is almost gone.

I can feel the moments of baby-life ticking away as my littlest man tries to convince us he's just as big as everyone else around here.

So today, and every day that there is still some "baby" left, I'm going to soak up chubby baby hands and slobbery kisses and long cuddles and that diaper-filled waddle and the messy face of a baby whose spoon doesn't quite go where he wants it to yet.

My baby days are numbered and I'm living them up.

What Small Thing are you taking the time to appreciate today?

I'm Still Standing- Featured Blogger

Have you ever read someone's story that gave you the urge to pack up your things and go do for them... do their laundry, make their meals, do whatever you could to make life easier?

That is how I felt the first time I read a post from today's featured blogger, Amy from TransplantedX3, and how I have felt after every one of her posts since.

Amy is the mom to seven which alone should qualify her for some type of award.  The story of her family is an amazing one.  Amy's third son, Nathaniel passed away five days after his birth and was later found to have had Citrullinemia, a rare genetic disorder.  She continued on to have three more children who were all diagnosed with Citrullinemia and ultimately needed liver transplants in order to survive.

Her youngest son, David, is currently in pediatric intensive care, where Amy kept vigil for the past three months as he struggles to survive.  I could go on and on about Amy's strength but you just need to visit her because it shines through her words.  

Send her prayers or good thoughts or whatever you can muster.

David is not doing well.

She needs it right now.

Here are a few beautiful posts from Amy:

Is This Thing On?- the beginning of David's fight
5.3 Million... and I don't mean the Mega Millions- where things are right now
Wordless Wednesday- the most touching Wordless Wednesday picture ever

So Amy of TransplantedX3, mom of seven, survivor of loss and liver transplants and life in a Ronald McDonald house while her son struggles to defy the odds, is Still Standing and I wish there was something I could do, because she deserves to sit for a while.