Nice words

This evening, J ran smack into E as she was spinning around with a cup in her hand, so J took that as, "E hit me!" and proceeded to push her down and mumbled, "stupid head!".  As he was being reprimanded, I thought, "Here is my chance!  My teaching opportunity!  They are all *mostly* calm (minus this particular incident), they have had a *mostly* good night.  I will win at parenting tonight!"  Stupid, stupid girl.

I asked all 3 kids to sit down and first talked to J about how hitting and name calling were sad choices.  Since he had made a sad choice, he would have to make a better choice, and he immediately apologized.  I am rocking this parenting thing.  I asked what else he could do to make it better and he got up and hugged E while apologizing again.  I am a parenting guru.  E hugged him back and assured him it was okay, she still loved him.  I will now become a beacon of hope to all parents, everywhere.  This is typical in our house.  Sometimes the hug is brushed off, sometimes the apology is ignored, but more often than not, it goes like above.  Tonight, I decided to add some depth.  They're getting older, let's make things interesting.  I will win this parenting award!

"J, since you said something not nice about E, why don't you try saying something nice about her?"

*silence*

"It could be something like, 'E, you have nice hair' or 'E, I like that you share your toys with me' or 'You're my friend and I like that' or just whatever you want to say that is nice."

*silence*

"J, do you think you could say...ANYTHING nice about E?"

"When I was a baby, I was in the baby classroom at school."

"Buddy, no.  ABOUT E.  Do you think she is nice?  Or you like the way she laughs?  Or that she lets you trade car seats with her?"

"I hid her shoes last night."

At this point I am between giggles and C, the exasperated nearly 5 year old throws out, "J, no.  Do you think she's BEAUTIFUL?  Like, does he have hair like mine?  Is it just amazing like Rapunzel's?  Like mine is?"

"No, C, we're still on your sister.  J, can you please say something nice about E?  Do you think she's nice?"

"Yes."

"Say, 'E, I think you're nice."

"I want to be Thomas for Halloween."  I actually smack myself in the head with my palm at this point.

C pipes in with "What about her eyeballs?  Aren't her eyeballs pretty?"   Eyeballs? The entire thing?  Hmmm.

"Yes."

C says, "Then tell her she has pretty eyeballs!"

J, clearly not getting this exercise, responds with, "I have pretty eyeballs too."

At this point I am done.  I just ask him to repeat exactly what I say, something about being a nice sister and we finally are done with him.   E then repeats the same exact thing back to him, and C then gives the twins phrases to say, whatever compliments she has decided she wants to hear.  Something about Rapunzel-like hair and eyeballs that are BOO-OOO-TIFUL.  By this point, it is bedtime.  About 15 minutes into their bedtime, I hear J and E talking in the room and J says, "E, I think your eyeballs are pretty and your hair is pretty and you're my best friend."  She responds with, "You're my best friend too.  Want to sleep in my bed with me?"  The cuteness is overwhelming and for a nanosecond I think maybe I might win at parenting, even if it is in secret!  Then I have to deliver a band aid and ice to one twin and stop the bloody nose of the other and reality comes rushing back.  

Why showering scares me

A few friends told me this past week that they 1. thought my blog was great (thanks, friends!  encouragement and positive feedback always appreciated!  Negative feedback makes me cry.  I mean, I guess I should hear it, but...um...crying.) and 2. wanted to see more updates.  I gave them this whole, "Oh, I know...I have a ton of posts sort of in my head or in draft form (TRUE!), I just haven't posted yet, I just don't get to it as often as I did the first few week...things are crazy, ya know!" sort of thing and on we went.  But it is bigger than that.  I mean, obviously, any mom knows that if you want to do anything outside of surviving, you have to be purposeful about it.  I am very much in a "surviving not thriving" period of motherhood, and it has taken me awhile to get past the judgey-ness of mommyhood that exists, that I at times create for myself, and to realize that I am not a Pinterest mom even though I so badly want to be.  So, below, some reasons for why, in the past week alone, I have spent the week trying to keep my kids alive and not had a chance to blog:

While showering this morning, C tells me J has eaten something he wasn't supposed to, then walks out.  Dad is at the store getting me coffee (THANKYOU) so is, at this point, no help.  E then runs in to tell me J pinched her, so I ask what he's eaten.  She's still screaming because he pinched her, so I get nothing.  I call C back in, she reports he took her candy from a parade that was VERY SPECIAL TO HER.  Okay, I will give her some other special candy, and he isn't eating prescription painkillers like candy, so I continue with my shower, hurrying even more so b/c if J has gotten into one thing, he will continue until caught by an adult.  Do you KNOW how much 2 in 1 dandruff shampoo hurts when it gets into your eyes when you have contacts in, then you try to rinse it with contact STILL in, and apparently are just rubbing it into your eye behind the contact?  DO YOU?!  I get out of the shower, finally, to discover he has since, in about 4 more minutes, managed to eat 1/2 bag of peanuts (already opened), a bag of gummies (unopened), and has tried to scale the shelves in the fridge to get to the string cheese which is on the top shelf.

J has a scar above one of his eyes from "The Bathtub Incident of '12" in which he thought it unnecessary to sit for any extended period of time, and in fact quite necessary to try to figure skate in the bathtub, so that he lost his balance, fell and caught himself using his face directly above his eye.  It bled for what seemed like an eternity, and luckily, I'm the person you want on your side in times of crisis.  Do. Not. Pick. The Hubs.  Anywho, this day J was not listening well and wanted to swim and ski and vault while in the bathtub so I tried to remind him of this incident by telling the story of how he fell and his eye was cut open, it was bleeding for a long time, we thought he would have to go to the Emergency Room, it was so scary, blah blah blah.  He seemed pretty focused, I thought I was making progress.  Until he jumped up in the tub, onto the side of the tub, and tried to jump back into the water, fell and hit the back of his head.  No blood, no major damage, no concussion, we get out of the tub, address behavior while putting on clothes and the water is draining.  Suddenly I hear a splash.  "Is that...?"  E has decided to sit on the edge of the tub and have her baby doll (you know, the one baby doll that really should never get wet) get a bath.  But when the baby floated too far away from her, she realized she wasn't going to be able to reach her if she just was standing, so she quietly took off her socks and rolled up (yes. rolled up.) her pant legs so she could sit on the edge of the tub and give her baby a bath.  And closed the drain.  Who says these kids don't watch everything you do?

Earlier this week, I had to look like a grown up for work; like dress pants or a skirt or something...i.e. not jeans.  Shaving was optimal, washing and conditioning of hair was ideal.  I used to be able to take showers at night, but my hair gets all wonky when I sleep and won't cooperate in the morning, so I spend as much time trying to fix it as I do showering and drying it, so that isn't a solution.  SO, on this particular morning, the kids are all still sleeping, so I hurry into the shower.  I have shampoo in my hair, I start shaving and I hear a scream the likes of which no mother can hear without instantly assuming a child is having a near death experience.  I turn off the water to listen and discover that J has taken E's somethingorother, causing her to wake up from her morning slumber, and like her momma, she doesn't deal well when woken prematurely.  She flips out, screams at him (this is what I heard), and he runs.  Directly into the corner of the bed.  I witness the running into the bed while I'm standing in the hallway with a towel wrapped around me, crazy eyed with shampoo in my hair, dripping on the carpet, and he hits the bed and nearly knocks himself out.  E is about to get up and keep yelling at him, so I shush her, calm J down and make sure he doesn't have any lasting injuries, he can tell me the name of a few Presidents (sarcasm happens even this early at my house) and we begin our day.  All before 6:30am.  Also, just to add insult to injury, I ended up going to work that day with one leg 1/2 shaved and one not shaved at all.  Luckily I had opted for pants, but really hadn't given it a second thought until the next morning's shower.

See?  Bathing in general at my house is scary...I love taking a calm, relaxing bath.  I don't know if I've done that since the babies were still inside of me.  Otherwise, it is a race against the clock of destruction (otherwise known as my son most days).  The irony is that, while in the shower, if I'm not contemplating what disaster awaits me, I have some of my best blog thoughts!

but why?

The other day we drove past a spot where a scarecrow was last fall.  Every day when we passed it, C would point it out and ask what it was, why "that boy" was there.  I would try to explain the intricacies of a scarecrow to a 3-almost-4-year-old and her siblings, but it pretty much ended with the daily questions such as, "Why does that boy stand there every day with the same clothes on?"  "Why doesn't he wave back at us?"  "Why does he have straw on him?"  and so forth.

Because C has a mind like a steel trap when it comes to useless trivia and random memories, she clearly remembers his existence and this year, there is no scarecrow on this particular corner.  This morning, as we were driving to daycare, she said, "Mommy, why is there not a boy on the corner?"  I had, of course, no clue what she was talking about until I asked about 20 questions, and the best part is that, because she clearly knew exactly what she was talking about, she was getting REALLY upset with me for not knowing.

C:  MOM!  You know!  THE BOY!  THE BOY ON THE CORNER!  From last year?  LAST YEAR!  We drove past him?  You said he only came out at certain times?  Like not in the Spring or the Easter or the Christmas or the Winter but like when it is almost about to be Halloween and pumpkins and stuff?  LAST. YEAR.

Me:  Fall?

C:  Yea.  Fall.  THE BOY!  The boy who only is out at fall.

Me:  A real boy?  Like, from school?  I'm so confused honey.  (At this point I suspect she's talking about the scarecrow, but I'm evil, and the babies are flipping out over pop tarts dropped in the backseat of my mini van, that I'm sure will be crushed into the carpet the second I unfasten their seat belts and they jump to the floor to get said pop tarts, only to jump ON to said pop tarts.  I'm so stupid for giving them pop tarts.)

C:  NO!  With the stuff we give Ladybird! (the dog, and she means straw/hay, which we give to the dog in the winter to make an outside sort of bed/nest)

Me:  Ooooooh!  You mean the Scarecrow?

C:  Yes!  The Scarecrow.  Why isn't the boy there anymore?

Me:  I don't know.  I guess maybe the people who put him up last year didn't put him up this year.

C:  But why?

Me:  I really don't know.

C:  You're lying! (at this point my mouth drops)  Why?  Tell me!

Me:  I honestly don't know, they didn't call and tell me, sis.

C:  But why?  Why won't you tell me?

Me:  I REALLY DON'T KNOW!  If I did, I'd tell you.  Maybe he fell apart.  Maybe they didn't put him out yet.   Maybe the people don't live there anymore.  Maybe a kid stole him.  Maybe someone practiced voodoo on the scarecrow so it is no longer neighborhood-appropriate.  Maybe zombies stole him or he was eaten by rabid children hyped up on Halloween candy.  I really have no idea.  If you like it so much, maybe we can find or make one and put it in our yard.  Okay?

C:  *mumbles* Fine, but it isn't the same boy.  That poor boy is lost forever and you don't even care.


It is days like these that I am incredibly thankful our drive to daycare is so short...

I'm not sure who is winning, but I don't think it is me.

When I dropped my kids off at daycare the other day, I asked if I got kisses.  I got one willingly, one covered in poptart crumbs and one begrudgingly on the cheek.  When I told them I would always want kisses, poptart covered or not, they all took big bites of pop tarts, smeared crumbs on their faces and wiped their kisses all over my cheeks, shirt, pants, etc.  On a day I had to wear adult clothes and not just jeans to work.

Two days ago I gave the babies the option of having bubbles in their bathtub.  They both decided to "swim like mermaids" which, of course, included swallowing some water before I could stop them.  Today I'm dealing with diarrhea.

When asking C if she wanted to help pick out her clothes for school, she said yes and chose a tank top and skirt two sizes too small that had been packed away.  When redirected, she chose a sweater dress in the back of the closet that it isn't cold enough for yet.  When given a few more options, she said she'd come out dressed when I was out of the shower.  After my shower, I came out and she was in a new pair of PJs.  Her argument was valid...she DID get dressed in new clothes.

Tonight, E located her roaring lion flashlight that I "accidentally misplaced" and used it to roar at her brother until about 8:30pm; about an hour and a half past her bedtime.

I told one of my children that if he's old enough to tell me he pooped in his pants, he's old enough to go in the potty.  He agreed, then, told me "I working on it.  I pee in the potty. It's a start."

Bouncy cows and other toys of doom

I tend to think that the inventors of many toys are either A. children themselves, B. elves and who can really be mad at them? or C. evil, hateful adults who do not have children, who in fact hate children, and whose main goal in life is to make the parents of children truly insane.  Rattles.  Chinese finger traps.  Kazoos.  Baby dolls that pee.  Dogs that bark.  Games that come with NINE MILLION PIECES for three year olds.  My brother and sister in law, at the time childless, as well as my father in law, thought it was their duty to buy every annoying and loud toy for my kids; enter books with sounds that had no volume control, a whole band (not just the drum.  oh, no.  a maraca, tambourine and drum, whose sticks were taken away approximately 37 seconds after  realizing they could be used as a weapon and a musical instrument.), and my personal favorite, the recorder aka flute-o-phone.  think most annoying elementary school concerts. ever.  These suckers can now be found in the dollar section at Target.  Jerks.

The other night, however, our bouncy cow (I'm sure it has some sort of official name, but we call it "bouncy cow.") was the toy of doom.  It usually stays on the sunporch, which is our toy/play room at the moment, and the kids know that bouncy cow doesn't come in the house (we've had a few too many near bounces of decapitation or near bounces of eye loss, etc).  That particular night, J attempted to sneak bouncy cow into the house and when we told him to put bouncy cow back, he immediately mounted and began bouncing as high as he could go.  Being that J is still little, he can get some good bouncing air, but bouncy cow is in rough form; she's a bit deflated, has scuff marks all over her hooves, and her ears are squished a bit from being gripped so hard from bouncing/flying toddlers.  That night, as in many nights past, he lost control of bouncy cow.  He bounced off the back and instead of just falling and shattering his little tailbone and being done with it, he hit bouncy cow just right so that he got one tiny little bounce in first that sent him flying toward the edge of the couch and bouncy cow toward his sister's head.  He landed sort of sideways on his butt and just on the cushy edge so that he was totally uninjured, and his sister, while angry that she had a cow shot at her head, remained unscathed.  Times like these I almost wish he would have been injured if it would have taught him a lesson, however I know better.  He would have cried, we would have comforted him, all the while saying things like, "that is what happens when you don't listen" and "that is why we have those rules" and he would have sniffled and hiccuped his way to being okay, and 20 minutes later I would see bouncy cow in flight again.  Which is exactly what happened anyway.  And it landed on another toy that broke, causing mass hysteria from the child who (at that moment) loved that toy.  So bouncy cow and J were both put in time out, the broken toy was given a once over and an attempt at mending, talks of Santa bringing replacements were made, apologies and hugs were given, (though the stupid bouncy cow had nothing to say) life went on, as it always does.

And then bouncy cow made a triumphant arial return, into the head of this mom of the year.  To say it didn't end well for any party involved would surely be an understatement.

When there is no joy

A more serious post.  Sometimes they happen.

I remember when C was a brand new baby...she was this little six pound ball of hair and cuteness who I was totally in love with.  And while she was my everything, she didn't eat, or when she did, she wanted to graze for three hours straight.  She didn't sleep for 8 hours straight like I would have liked...the nerve.  She was WORK.  And I was exhausted, hormonal, crazy.  I found myself complaining about motherhood more than cherishing it.  One day I was talking to my mom and she said something that has always stuck with me.  "She isn't a chore.  It is hard, and things about her will always require chores, but try to every day see the joy."  I tried.  I snuggled, I cuddled, I kissed, but postpartum depression robbed me of the ability to see the joy.  I eventually got to the point that I felt like I would never be able to care for her well enough, to enjoy her and love her like she deserved if it didn't get myself fixed, so very long, life long/ongoing story short, I went on anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medications.  Stigmas be damned, mental health, depression, anxiety, etc. are serious and aren't something that makes you weak.  Now, *ahem* off my soap box.

When I found out we were pregnant again, I was at my first routine ultrasound at 8 weeks.  My husband was working about 30 minutes north of our house, and I worked about 30 minutes south, also where my doctor was.  I told the hubs to stay at work, it was no big deal, there would be more important appointments later on.  Then suddenly I was lying on the table with goo on my stomach and heard, "Um, Lindsay?"  I responded with a very seemingly calm and quiet, "twins, right?"  When my doctor confirmed I was right, I thought I might want to start taking some sort of intravenous form of anti anxiety medication, like every 5 minutes for the rest of the pregnancy...maybe life, because OHMYSERIOUSLYTWINS?!?!  At first there was joy.  Then sheer panic.  We didn't plan for this, this isn't something we could even have anticipated, and while it is truly a blessing, it can also be nearly devastating.  We live in a house with 3 bedrooms, none of which are big.  Do you know how hard it is to fit 2 cribs plus dressers and a changing table and baby STUFF in a bedroom meant to accommodate one person's furniture?  We have vehicles that can accommodate 2 car seats.  Hello mini van.   We were looking at moving...except now we had another daycare payment...or could we afford daycare or did I need to quit my job?  There came a point where I think I just sat in the bathtub sobbing for awhile.  There was no joy at that point.  It came, but it took awhile to get over the shock!

Now we have a 4 year old and twins who are 2.  Do you KNOW how hard that is every. single. day?  There are days when it is awesome.  When my in laws come to town and my sister in law comes over and we go somewhere to eat and there are 5 adults and 3 kids...they no longer outnumber us!!!  When they all secretly get together and plan to play nicely together for 5 minutes so I can start dinner (and then nearly dump boiling water on myself or them b/c they are no longer playing nicely)!  And days like tonight when I present them with a new-to-them toy and their entire lives suddenly make sense, as if the heavens have parted and gifted them with the understanding of the ages.  For 3 minutes.  But there are certainly days where it is less than awesome, and when there is no joy.  Days when I drag myself out of bed when the alarm goes off to find a kid has already escaped from his room and smeared poop on his wall.  Days when I have to wear grown up clothes to work and realize I haven't had time to do laundry in 7 years.  Ironing?  hahahahahaha  Days when I've finally made it through a 12 hour work day because it is a super busy time of year, only to get home and find out that at daycare one of the twins has bit another kid repeatedly, and the other twin is having a ton of potty training accidents, not to mention that big sister says Pre-K is no longer fun because she doesn't have any friends.  Days when I finally manage to get the kids loaded in the car from daycare and headed home and realize I haven't had time to grocery shop in a month, so we can have an assortment of spices, flour, ketchup or a frozen package of beef, or I can run through a fast food drive through for the 18th time that month.  Days when we have a "picnic" in front of the TV with the fast food because I don't have the energy to do much more than sit down and zone out myself.  Days when the food is gone and the TV show is over, bath time doesn't happen, but bed time does.  Days when bedtime approaches, fits are thrown and this momma loses it.  Days when I'd rather let them stay up until midnight if they'd just be quiet in their own bedrooms so I could have 10 minutes of "me" time to unwind.  These are the kinds of days where it is SO hard to find joy.

But I try.

Some days it is all I can do to focus on big picture things; my kids are alive, my kids are healthy, my kids aren't terrorists (questionable, some days).  I read other blogs that try to focus on the positive, I try to be a "yes" mom (the kind that isn't always saying "no" just because, that has a good reason to say no, that can encourage her kids by saying yes, or by turning no into "why don't we....instead") and I try to find joy in the every day, which is hard when your personality tends to lean toward pessimistic.  Some days, after trying really hard, I can focus on smaller things.  My kid is creative!  She used my expensive eye liner to draw a beautiful mural on the wall!  My kid is so mature, he's gotten dressed by himself for school!  In his sister's clothes.  At 10pm.  With no underpants.  Then peed in them.  My kid is a little genius.  He's engineered a way to get himself into the cupboard above the counter to get to daddy's hidden treat stash, using only a stool, a chair, some rope and duct tape!  My kid is healthy!  She's eaten 3 bananas in one sitting, without even asking for help to get the peel off...or maybe she ate some of it.  Regardless!  Fruit!

So the days with no joy are part of the reason I write this blog.  To remember that sometimes, motherhood is a thankless job, an exhausting job, and there are so many seasons, each one with new challenges that create more opportunities to suck the joy out of my life...so I write to remember that life is funny, and full of joy, and my kids are awesome, if not little bundles of insanity.

Nobody loves me anymore!

This past weekend, the hubs took C to an SEC football game while the twins and I went on a breakfast and playground date.  Then C got to ride in the car with her Mimi, Pops and AA (aunt) while the babies were carted around in the good ole mini van.  She was treated to food, snacks, special attention galore.  Today, it was a bit rainy and the hubs is working late, again, so I was contemplating how I would survive the night what to do with the kiddos tonight when I settled on a movie night...it is already overcast, so it gets darker earlier.  Perfect.  Feed them, turn out the lights, put on a movie, mom's sanity is saved and I've provided some great entertainment for them!  What could go wrong?

It started with me saying:  J, we'll watch that some other time.  C, you're not the mom.  E, let mommy find the remote first, then you can sit on my lap.  C!  Go to time out, I told you, you aren't his boss.  J, we watched choo choos last time.  E, hun, I would love to cuddle, but let me find the remote so you can watch your movie.  J!  Go to time out, you don't hit your sister.  E, you can sit on my lap in a minute.  C, get back in your room!  J, back in your room!  E, I don't want your doll in my lap.  C, why were you in time out?  Right, you're not his boss or mom.  That is true, you also aren't responsible for changing his diapers.  J, why were you in time out?  No, it has nothing to do with underpants.  E!  IN! A! MINUTE!

*breathe*

Okay, movie is in, 15 minutes in they're watching it, over the fact that it isn't a train movie, seated comfortably (ironically NOT on my lap), zoning out while mom attempts to get her headache under control.   I've made them promise that IF they get a movie night, they'll not throw out a single complaint about bedtime, which happens right when the movie ends.  Fast forward (oh, how I wish I could get away with that DURING the movie) to the end, and all eyes turn in my direction, just waiting, hoping, wishing, silently begging me to allow them just 5 more minutes.  But I'm an evil mom, so I told them it was bedtime.  J sighs, but goes, which is shocking b/c he's my difficult one...luckily for me, he didn't nap at school today.  E starts to fuss, but I give her "the look" and then offer up her cool night light, so she goes.  Then comes C.  I finish tucking in the babies and I notice C isn't in her bedroom, where I've instructed her to go 10 minutes ago.  She's back in the living room, lying on her couch, staring at the blank TV screen, as if by wishing, she can make another movie come on.  Then the questions begin; Can I watch just one more show?  Not even a movie, just a show?  Can I sleep with the babies?  Can I stay up until daddy comes home?  But the one that was my undoing was this:  Can I have something to eat?

Now, parents across the US of A have experienced this repeatedly, I'm sure.  I know I did it when I was a kid, but it doesn't stop it from being any less irksome now that I am the parent.  Did C eat her dinner?  Nope.  She barely touched it.  Did she eat the SECOND option I gave her (even though blah blah blah I'm not a short order cook blah blah blah)?  Nope.  So, when dinner was over, did I explain that she would get NOTHING else?  Yup.  Not even a treat, not even if the babies got something, and did she understand that?  Yup.  So then, when she asked to eat something, I nearly lost it.  But, proud mom moment, I maintained.  I said, calmly (no, really), "No, you didn't make a happy plate (a phrase that came from daycare, so we went with it), remember?  We talked about this.  No food tonight."  She. lost. it.

So, for the past 20 minutes, I have been sitting here writing this blog, listening to the wailing and gnashing of teeth coming from her bedroom because not only did she lose it when I told her no food tonight, she kicked her door on the way into her room and screamed and yelled, so I told her she had to close her door because if there wasn't a door to at least muffle the noise, I may have tossed her outside to howl with the dog that is what happens when you throw a fit, you have to keep your door closed.  Then started the sobs...you know, the ones where each sob is one singlesyllable caught on a breath, and coming from a 4 year old is just the most pathetic thing in the world?  Mine was even worse because of the content.  *sob* no *sob* body *sob* loves *sob* me *sob* any *sob* more *sobsnifflesnortsob*

So then, I am torn between anger and heartbreak.  Doesn't this little jerk of a person know how much I love her?   Why of all the ungrateful...I have half a mind to...*sigh*  My 4 year old has turned into an angst ridden teenager and I can do nothing to help her until this 20 minute tantrum has passed.  And then I still may want to throttle her.

So, how does it end, you ask?  With her falling asleep, fully clothed, on her floor, clutching a princess doll in one arm, a flashlight in the other and a half smile on her overly tired face.  My bet?  Tomorrow morning she'll feel loved again, but by tomorrow night, right around bedtime, which always comes a bit too soon for her taste, she'll question if anyone in this great big world truly can care for her once again.

Two vs Three

This morning the Hubs took C to an SEC football game (oh, the posts that could come from that...) so I am home with the twins. I decided that I'd try to wear them out by taking them out to eat and then to a playground. As I sit here clearly being mom of the century and not paying attention to them and instead writing a blog post (oops, was that my kid who just did a header off the slide?  Meh, she'll be fine...), I realized just how different life would be with two kids instead of 3 (as if I've never had this thought before...).  When I take three kids alone anywhere I am constantly doing a headcount, a nervous wreck trying to figure out where the missing child has disappeared to (often right in front of me, I just can't count as high as 3). When there are only two, somehow it becomes magically easier.  When C went to her Mimi and Pops' house for VBS for a whole week (!!!!!!) this summer, it was like a whole new world for us.  We got some chores done, the twins were bathed more regularly, fed more consistently, had more individualized attention, etc.  Books were read, clothes were worn, the house smelled less like pee than usual.  (Judge away, you don't know.)  When the babies were little, if I'd take just them out, it was like a treat, and while it was INCREDIBLY stressful, I would jump between pure glee  (I was out with ONLY two babies at a time) and anger and frustration at the people who would look at me in pity, saying, "Oh, my, your hands sure are full."  That was one of moments I felt I really did deserve some sort of award for keeping my mouth shut, because the responses ranged from, "I know, right?  Which babysitting slot would you like to take?"  to "Oh, I have a 2 year old at home.  I expect DHS to visit at any moment."  to just smacking a total stranger in the face.  Let's say that was all because of postpartum hormones and depression.  It makes me seem a little less mean/psychotic.  Now that they are all mobile and more difficult to contain, I kind of long for the days when I could put the babies in their car seats, then fling set the car seats in the bus double stroller and be on our way.  Granted, I still very clearly remember the lack of sleep, the craziness from attempting to breastfeed two babies at once (oh, it is possible, but it WILL make you crazy, especially given our rough start), getting up to feed or soothe one baby while the other slept and then trying to decide if you wake a sleeping baby to maintain your own sanity and stay on a schedule or let the baby sleep because "NEVER WAKE A SLEEPING BABY" (unless you're a mom of multiples.  then wake the kid).   

Again, it isn't as though I haven't had this thought before, and it isn't as though I begrudge a particular child for making us a family of 3...it is simply that having 3 kids, realizing just how STINKING HARD it is having 3 kids, working outside of the home to afford those 3 kids (and the stupid mini van that had to come with them), is exhausting.  I think that if we only had 2 kids, twins or not, I'd be exhausted.  Some days with C, before the babies came, I was truly at my limit.  I read an article the other day that said that parents of 3 were the most stressed.  That parents even with 4 or more kids somehow dealt better with the stresses of parenthood than parents of 3.  I PROMISE, that unless an act of God occurs, we will not be testing that theory.  It is that, on the rare days when I'm shy a kid or two, I appreciate it...I get to do things with them that don't always involve a stressed out mom trying to do a headcount, making sure one of my kids aren't being "that kid" at the playground because I can't keep my eyes on all 3 at the same time. I get to spend more individualized time with one of my little people, I get to giggle with (at) them and focus on their individual personalities a bit more, and hopefully they'll remember the times I took them to eat breakfast at a "restroom" (Restaurant, kids.  Please, please say restaurant)  before going to a playground where they had the run of the thing for a whole 45 minutes before going home to watch their favorite TV show before nap time.  But more likely, they'll wake up from nap and insist we never do anything fun and throw a fit.  

Why you not happy?

E is my sweet, caring, more independent twin.  Many days, she could take or leave J's existence, though J needs her to be around him more.  She can play independently better than J, but seems to intuitively know when J needs her more and often will be with him for his sake.  She is my kid who is pretty chill most of the time, but when she feels...anything...she feels it strong.  Her fits aren't as often, but they may last what seems like hours (days...weeks...).  When she's in a silly mood, the giggles are from the deepest part of her belly and she turns red and runs out of breath from laughing so hard.  Tickle her and you'll get the. best. laugh. ever.  But one of my favorites is when she's feeling lovey; she's the sweetest baby ever.  She'll cuddle, she'll play with your hair, she'll hold your hand...she just loves.  The other day, I took the kids to a playground after work and asked them to hold hands while we were in the parking lot.  E grabbed J's hand and held it all the way to the playground, past the parking lot.  When we went for a walk down a path to a pond, she grabbed J's hand again and the cuteness was almost too much.

Tonight, about 1.5 hours past bedtime E announces she's poopy.  I have, by this point, already turned off their bedroom light no fewer than 10 times, threatened their lives and that of their lovies, had a serious conversation about why mommy may need to over medicate herself, and nearly cried because the baby gate was trampled 3 times.  E being poopy MAY just prove to be my breaking point (note, daddy is working late tonight).  I go back, and she smiles the biggest, sweetest smile and says, "Mommy, why you not happy?"

This is the point where I could have this sentimental, reflective moment...my child notices when I'm not happy, I need to remember that she can sense and feel when I'm angry/frustrated/sad, etc....instead, I tell her, "Because you and J and are driving mommy insane.  Let's go change your diaper."  To which she replies, "Oh. Hmmm."  Similar conversations have happened over the past few days.  In Target, with all 3 strapped into a cart, mommy shopping for C's school supplies while all 3 are kicking each other, one is trying to unhook the seatbelt, one is trying to grab things off the shelf and put in the cart, one is upset because the Dora underpants weren't available in her size so she had to settle for My Little Pony...I was ready to ask a Target employee when they would begin stocking hard liquor and could I sample it in the store?  E noticed.  "Mommy, why you not happy?"  "It isn't that I'm not happy.  I'm frustrated because you guys aren't listening and mommy can't get the shopping done.  I tried to do something different because I thought you'd enjoy shopping."   E thinks for a second before saying, "I like shopping.  I sorry.  Watch.  See?  I turned on my listening ears."  If only she had the ability to turn on her siblings' listening ears too...

So back to tonight.  It is now 2.5 hours past their bedtime and all 3 kids are still up.  C reports that the light in J & E's bedroom is on.  Again.  My energy is gone, the fight in me is gone.  I walk back to the bedroom more ready to cry than to scream.
E:  Why you not happy at us?
Me:  *sigh*  Because you keep turning the light on and won't go to sleep.
E:  We leave it off, so you will be happy again?
Me:  yes.
E:  Okay.  (Calmly, as if this wasn't what I had been saying for hours)
 
Two minutes later, from the bedroom, I hear a sweet little voice, in a dark bedroom say, "You still happy now again mommy?"

In the car today, C starts singing the ever annoying, will never go away song as follows:

Mommy stole the cookies from the cookie jar!
I'm expected to respond with "Who me?"
Yes you!
Again, good parenting requires me to say, "Couldn't be!"
Then who?

And then we name another cookie stealing suspect.  We go through a round or two of C blaming me, me blaming C, then she decides to throw in her sister.  "E stole the cookies from the cookie jar!"  and clear as day from the back seat, we hear an incredibly defensive and shocked, "NOOOOOO!  I DIDN'T EVEN HAVE ANY COOKIES TODAY!"

I'm raising a college student in the body of a 4 year old

In one day alone, I experienced the following quotes from C, my 4 year old who may be taking a college entrance exam soon...


Oh!  Hula Hoops, Mommy!  Those really caught my eye!

Yes, mom.  Going to the playground would be splendid!

Mom, J & E aren't babies.  They may be little, and were once babies, but they are toddlers now.  You should call them young children, not babies.

Mom, remember when I was two and we went to Gramma and Grampa's and I got to go to the fire station and see the fire trucks and I dropped my lollipop and I cried and they gave me another?  That is when I got this stuffed animal firetruck.  (All true, and totally accurate, from her memory)

and to end, my personal favorite...

Mom, I can't be lapsi-daisy-sickle (lackadaisical) about my school work, I have to...um...I guess focus.  I AM almost 5.

Boys...a whole new world.

As many of my faithful readers (ha!) know, I have two girls and one boy.  When C was little, before the twins were born, I loved girly things...little skirts, dresses, hairbows as big as her face, nail polish, braiding her long hair, etc.  She was in a cheerleader outfit every Friday at daycare, and usually on the Saturday of the game all football season long.  Enter the sonogram identifying boy and girl twins.  OOOOOHHHH!!!  Another girl!  More girly dressing up, more hair to do, more dresses and frills,  hand me downs!  And a boy!  My husband won't leave me because he is now forced to live in a house with 4 girls...just 3 girls and hopefully a mini version of himself!  Football!  Soccer!  Sweating and yard work!  We have just gotten the incredibly unexpected, no they do not run in my family and no we weren't on fertility drugs though it is none of your business and why do you care, best of both worlds.

Now they are 2.  Gender roles be damned, my little man, within the past week alone, has insisted he's "a big girl," has come home in princess pull-ups because daycare ran out of his boy version, threw the mother of all fits when his sisters were getting their nails painted and we tried to explain boys don't do that (in the end, they do.  His toes are just as pretty and pink as C & E's), and every day since he was old enough to stand, has stood in front of me in the morning line up to get his hair done.  C & E get pigtails, ponytails, headbands, etc. and for awhile, there were ponytails in his hair too, and there was a blue (boy color, insists C) headband that J insisted was his.  Now that he's gotten a haircut, he gets that his hair is too short to put in a ponytail, but that doesn't stop him from still lining up and occasionally wearing a headband.  I insist he will not wear headbands in college, so let him have fun until he knows better...then I think, "maybe he'll be the kid who DOES wear headbands in college...whatever, at least he'll be an individual."  At which point the doubting spiral begins; am I good enough parent?  Am I protecting my kid from being bullied?  Am I letting him express himself?  Then I remember he's two and take a Klonopin and move on to a more pressing challenge, like pulling an entire roll of toilet paper out of the toilet, or putting clothes on the kid who loves to be naked, or, *gasp* preparing a meal.

The other night, J walked out of his bedroom in plastic high heels, a tiara, one earring, and a tutu.  He had also somehow gotten into my chapstick that has a tint, which was all over his lips, one cheek and ear.  He announced he was a pretty girl and super booootiful.  While attempting to not laugh but get him changed before his dad saw and had a heart attack, I did discuss with him that he was a boy, so he could be a "handsome boy" or something like that...he then told me he'd be a handsome boy.  And so could C & E.  They would all be boys together.  So I went with it.

Um, so, I started a blog.

I did it.  Because I often refuse to think for myself (don't worry mom and dad, only on day to day things...) I listened to some of my 837 Facebook Friends (not a joke.  Hi, friends from Elementary School!  And person I took one class with in college.  And cousins I haven't seen since I was 3...or never met but know you exist because my grandmother goes through a list of 18th cousins thrice removed periodically...Hi Gram!) and started a blog.  With the help of my lovely cousin (Hi Kaitlin!  Look at how good I am with shout outs already), I created a name...and that is about all I have so far.  I like to think I'm a comedic genius, while knowing full well that I am really just snarky and sarcastic which sometimes other find comical (and sometimes do not...).  OOOOOH, I found spell check.  THAT will come in handy.  But I digress...I guess the hope is that the blog will be a way to not have to inundate my billions of friends on social media with posts about my kids, because I hear that is annoying.  My bad.  And also, I will always try to remember that some day, my kids will probably want to read this...which makes me want to throw up a little bit, and delete the whole thing.  But, as I told one of my kids about 27 times tonight, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! PUT ON YOUR BIG GIRL UNDERPANTS!" So I'll take my own advice and give it a shot...here goes yet another adventure.