Mother of Four

So. Now I'm a mother of four. Two boys and two girls. I love my life and all it's craziness. Yet I feel too young to be the mom of four kids. Just yesterday, I was a kid myself. Wow.

Now that I've had kids, I have to say that the fourth child feels like the ultimate adjustment.

No longer will we fit in a 5-seat pick up truck.

Or a normal sized restaurant booth.

Or be considered a small/normal sized family.

Or fit comfortably in a small house.

Or have ample room in our mini-van.

Or evenly sandwich ourselves, kid, parent, kid, parent, kid in family pictures.

Or all fit on a normal size couch.

But I love it. I love that our days, activities, life and vehicles are overflowing with these little people. From the robust hollers of morning breakfast to the tiny, sleeping cherub faces at night, each moment is an adventure and frequent reminder to the busy-ness and crazy-ness of life with little people.
It's been seven weeks since I took on my new title as Mother of Four. Seven exhausting yet blissful weeks. From 8lbs 5oz all the way up to almost 12lbs, this little person keeps changing our world. Korynne Elizabeth Nelson greeted our lives on a chilly, winter morning (12/28/10) after putting in her leave of absence notification 26 hours earlier. It was a long and exhausting journey but the bright eyes and bushy head of hair, complete with the fattest cheeks ever, soon peered up at our tired faces and made the whole process worth it a hundred times over. Since that moment, she hasn't stopped demanding food, accepting our kisses on her fat little cheeks, screaming night and day for all the things little babies scream for and filling our house with the heavenly scent of Baby.

The sleepless nights with our littlest person, are soon coming to an end. The bright eyes and alert attentiveness that happens on that precious little face in the dead of night, will soon be taken over by "normal" sleep patterns. And these newborn days will be over.

Earlier this week on the morning of our 8th Anniversary, little Korynne was in a deep conversation with her daddy. Of course, all the conversing was taking place on the daddy end of the conversation but suddenly, that little girl wrapped her daddy even tighter around her fat little finger and let out a cute little baby coo. And that daddy, while wrapped snuggly around that tiny finger, gushed and swooned despite his manly, athletic, six-foot, four-inch frame and in the most excitement I've ever seen that man in, said, "Honey! She said her first word!"
Yes, being mommy of four, really can't be better than this.

When a Friend in Labor, Piano Tuning, Kittens and Evening Plans Collide

Do you have any idea how many times I've come to blogspot.com just to blog something and all I do is type in a fury and then delete it? Or I stare at the screen and wonder what kind of life people must have before they're entitled to having something to blog about? And then there's the time I stare at the very blank blog screen and line it up to match perfectly with my very blank brain. I've learned that as honest and open as that may seem, that blank screen doesn't produce a blog post either.

My days are busy and full but not much worth mentioning in a blog post. At times, the day's happenings seem almost too crazy to blog about. Anyone in their right mind would read what I'd say and go, "Wow, she has issues." And believe me, I do have issues.

Like the evening my husband came home from work and said, "Hey, let's go out for supper tonight." And I happily said, "Sure! Great idea!"

But then I had to finish up the closet organization project that was all over our bed while dealing with the allergy attack the cleaning had given me.

And I also had to finalize things with the blind piano tuner guy that was sitting at the piano, making out-of-key "dah-dah-dum" sounds over in his corner with the piano.

Plus, a lady was coming to look at 2 of our kittens and before she could see them, I needed to extract the kittens from their hard-to-reach corner in the garage and make sure they didn't look like orphaned kittens or anything.

Meanwhile, friends had brought the piano-tuner-guy over and we were thinking of working out supper details with them for the evening.

On top of it all, a friend of mine overdue to have her baby was having contractions. I had offered to watch their other child for the delivery so I was pretty much on-call for babysitting.

So, I squared away the kittens. Got in touch with my laboring friend just in time to hear her say, "Yuck. My water is breaking." And then showed the blind piano-tuner-guy to the bathroom.

Realizing the imminent reality of birth just around the corner for our friend, my husband came up with plan B.

I would stay home with Alex.
He would take the older two kids to town to get the errands done.
I would call our friends to cancel supper plans.
He would take the truck so I'd have a vehicle to go get my laboring-friend's child.
I would stay home long enough to pay the piano-tuner-guy and make sure his ride came.
The kitten lady would come to pick out her kittens.
I would go pick up laboring-friends' child.

Now, does any of the above make sense? In the 2 hours the above entire post took place in, it made no more sense than it does to you on paper. (Or computer screen, however you want to look at it.)

That was my evening.

Except the highlight happened when less than 2 hours after I picked up laboring-friend's child, I heard my no-longer-in-labor friend's bright and cheery voice on the other end of the phone say, "We have a little girl." Her voice, her chipperness and her tone made me think her evening had been far more relaxing than mine.

So maybe the next time we decide to have a quiet evening together, I'll just go in labor and have a baby.

(Now you believe me when I say I have issues, don't you?)

Killing Dead Flies

Our house becomes quickly infested with flies this time of year if the kitchen door is left open for any period of time. You can simply turn the door knob, slip outside, close the door and have the whole thing over in 2 seconds. In just that amount of time, an entire population of flies will have infested the kitchen for their annual family reunion.

The above scene happened recently. A divine prompting came to my dear husband's heart and he went on a wild rampage of fly killing. The floor, cupboards and counter were littered with swarms of dead flies.

Landon wandered through the kitchen shortly after and noticed the flies. The DEAD flies. He began to stomp on them with his foot and smash them with his index finger. He seemed quite pleased.

Finally he remarked, "You know, it's really easy to kill dead flies."

Yeah, it is, I thought, trying to stifle a laugh.

In his mind, the flies were still available for the kill. The battle wasn't over until the flies were out-of-site-out-of-mind. Also known as: the garbage can. They still needed a crushing blow, even if they were laying limp and motion-less on the floor.

Maybe because of his humorous outlook at "killing dead flies" or maybe because in some ways, I can relate to that experience on a more adult level, I've been thinking a lot about my cute son's innocent remark on something so obvious. Because really, What is the point of killing something dead?

Not to wax eloquent or make this into a spiritual allegory but really, how often I find myself doing the same things. I strive and work to accomplish something that's already been done. I feel pleased when I achieve at finishing an already accomplished task and I move on to do other counterproductive things similar to "killing dead flies."

I become aware of weaknesses in my life and work hard to root them out of my heart. When in reality, Christ has already conquered those things; His grace is there to replace the things I struggle with and give me victory over them instead.

I become influenced by the fear of man and strive to impress others with my ability to make them happy. When in reality, I'm only called to please God. And that is accomplished when I take my place at the foot of the cross.

I become overwhelmed with the daunting tasks of motherhood and work harder to be more joyful. More gracious. More gentle. When in reality, that is already available to me in the person of Jesus Christ.

Why do I do things like "kill dead flies?" Why do I so easily forget that all I need is Christ? Why do I misplace the reality that nothing can separate me from the love of Christ?

It's probably because I'm too busy looking for dead flies to kill that I forget to look up and realize my Father has already gone ahead and accomplished the battlefield of life before me and made a river through the desert for me.

After I explained to Landon that the flies were already killed, thanks to his own father, he got a knowing smirk on his face and continued his battle with the dead flies. It amused me to see my son take deliberate and careful aim with his finger tip and plunge his finger tip into an already dead fly. He boasted in his victory and seemed impressed he could accomplish such impossible feats, even if it was his dad that made it possible for him to do it.

In the same way, God lays already conquered things in my life and joys in the pleasure I find in claiming them as my own.

To remember that because of Him, I can find victory in the struggles in life, the weaknesses of my flesh and the tendencies to fear that I have. And to remember to see each battle before me as a mere dead fly, that's already been killed.

On Hard Heads, Hard Cement and Hard Days

It's one of those days where it's four in the afternoon and caramel syrup is sloppily trailing down the side of my coffee cup. And I don't care. I lick my fingers and wipe them on my lap before tapping on the keyboard. I rarely have caramel syrup with my coffee and I rarely have coffee at four in the afternoon and caramel syrup rarely trails down the side of my cup after it explodes it's self all over the vicinity of my cup when I attempt to just take a little bit. But, some days just don't go the way of calmness and collectiveness. It's on those kinds of days you need caffeine and caramel. At least I do.

Today started out pretty sweet. I had the house to myself after my most amazing, dashing, handsome good husband (he hates when I gush like that) left for work with our charming little son. I actually drank a civilized cup of coffee for about an hour and read my Bible and was encouraged and enlightened in several Psalms and Proverbs. It's been years since I read the Proverb for the day so found it inspiring to pick it up again.

After that, I actually showered in a very civilized manner and of all things even fixed my hair. Our bed was made, the house was presentable and then the kids started waking up. Even then, things seemed calm and collected. I felt a twinge of illness though - like slight nausea - but chalked it up to my vitamins that I had been godly smart enough to take earlier.

Things went fine until I gave Alex watermelon for breakfast.

Watermelon is a nutritional way to start the day and I made no apologies for it at all. Except for the seeds that were in the "seeded" watermelon. I showed Al Baby where to put his seeds on his tray (in a nifty little cup holder) and then went on to do something else.

I made a few phone calls and while trying to carry on a civilized conversation, I motioned for Janae to turn the music down in the kitchen. A lively choir of children were making a joyful noise over on the CD player and I waved my hand indicating the volume needed to be lowered. She batted at something in the air with a smirk on her face and continued singing right along.

I got off the phone and I asked if she knows what I mean when I wave my hand at her like I did when I was on the phone. She admitted she did; that I meant turn it down but then she said, "But I told you Mom to just go to the other room."

Nausea continued to wave over me and I wondered about that little box you get in the pharmacy section at the store that basically tells you if your life is drastically changing or not. I quickly pushed the thought out when I came back to Alex and found that the only watermelon seeds in the cup holder were the ones I put there and the rest were in an even layer across the floor surrounding the high chair.

Way to go, Alex. He's got the spitting-seeds-talent down, that's for sure.

Next, I washed him up (which was no small feat) and sent him out the back door with Janae. By this time, I had full fledged nausea and began to see visions of another seed spitting adorable little Nelson child. After cleaning up the seeds that had been planted all over the dining room carpet (whoever started the carpet-in-dining-rooms phase should have a class action law suit against them), I looked out the window to check on my healthy and rambunctious kids. They were playing quite nicely until I really looked out the window and got a better look at what they were doing and realized the situation was not good.

See, just the other day, I had neatly re-arranged all the landscaping bricks to perfectly line the edge of the wood chip part of our yard. The bricks had all been trampled and over turned thanks to small people and animals. So, I trimmed the yard up and fixed the bricks and was glad to have the yard back in place again.

The same thing happened again this morning -- the bricks were all over-turned and messed up.

The culprits were pleased though; the effort to over-turn each brick had produced an impressive sized cricket and that very same cricket was cupped carefully in a little hand and brought into my the house and placed in a nice, clean jar.

I sent the little culprits back out to put the bricks back and assured them I would not hurt the cricket.

Knowing nausea can be caused by taking vitamins on an empty stomach (check), being exposed to the flu (check), and is also the sign of early pregnancy (?), I decided to do something about the predicament and test accordingly. I can't take a test to prove that the vitamins in my stomach are indeed the cause nor can I take an at-home test to show if my immune system is fighting off a bug. But, I CAN take a pregnancy test.

So I did.

While waiting for the test results to see if I passed or not, I looked outside to check on the progress of the re-landscaping-brick-project. It was quite impressive.

"Mommy, we're building a sand castle," Janae informed me as I looked on in shock to see all the bricks were in a neat stack about 10 feet from where the majority of them needed to go. A nice, tall wall was just being finished up with Alex being the chief builder and I watched in horror as he hoisted a brick a good foot-and-a-half off the ground and at the top of the teetering "sand castle." I cringed when I noticed his helpless bare feet were within a straight-gravity-influenced-bulls-eye-shot of the brick.

I redirected Janae and went back to the bathroom to check on the test results. Envisioning an overwhelming herd of small brick layers taking over our suburbia back yard, I was quite relieved to see a single, solitary line indicating that our family has only one brick layer/landscape-project-demolish-er. At least at this point.

Another trek out the back door lead me to find the bricks in a pile. An it-looks-like-a-tornado-just-went-through looking pile.

I again redirected Janae and learned it was quite impossible for her to finish the job she started. Even though she could over-turn each brick, she was quite incapable of putting each brick back in it's place. And even though she could carry the bricks several feet in order to build a meticulous sand castle, she was quite incapable of carrying them back again and putting them in a straight line on the ground.

You see, she was hot. And then she needed a drink. And then she needed her coat. And then her feet hurt. And then she couldn't pick the bricks up. And then she needed to go to the bathroom. And then she needed to eat lunch. And then she wanted to pick tomatoes. And then she thought Alex should help her. And then she decided to throw wood chips instead.

I consistently re-directed her motives and got her to realize that she absolutely had to pick each brick up and put it back. She resisted until I told her she'd have no lunch all day if she didn't get her bricks put back.

Within minutes, she had the job completed. I was impressed and coveting 2 lines on that pregnancy test I took earlier. Which would of course indicate the potential of another partner in crime life-long friend for Janae. With behaviour like this, she deserves a sister, I thought to myself.

After that, things didn't seem quite as monumental as the brick episode did. It's funny how big issues like an entire landscaping project uprooted by your four-year-old, helps put all of life into perspective.

Janae's cricket did attempt to bite half her hand off just before it got loose in the house. I had no idea crickets could bite. Until today. That was quite exciting because she wouldn't let go of it and screamed her head off while it was biting her. I had to use half a roll of toilet paper just to grab it because I. can't. stand. the. way. bugs. feel. when. you. touch. them.

Then, an un-named child succeeded in damaging the bathroom sink drain so bad when they washed their hands from the cricket goop, there is absolutely no way water will drain from the sink. Probably ever again. I'm hoping this means we need a whole new vanity, sink, faucet and medicine cabinet now.

While swinging on the porch swing a little while later, I watched Alex out of the corner of my eye while he flipped over the back of the swing. I turned to look just in time to see the top of his cute little head, land soundly on the cement floor just under the porch swing. It was a very slow motion-ish event and turned out to be a pretty emotional moment. No one has ever done this on our swing before so I'm wondering where he got the idea from.

After that, we came inside and while I gave cooking instructions over the phone to one of my stay-at-home-mom colleagues, a shattering crash shook the house. I inspected it immediately and upon investigation found that for reasons beyond what human reasoning can compute, a cord to a little lamp sitting in the corner of the dining room had amazingly wrapped itself around a chair leg. When the chair was moved, as is oft to happen to a chair at the dining room table, the lamp crashed to the floor. And voila! it broke the glass shade. Just like that.

A guilty child, who shall remain nameless for now, expressed audibly that they really did need that chair and they said it in a tone that basically confirmed they really didn't care about the lamp. The now shattered-with-glass-pieces-in-the-carpet lamp.

I happened to talk to my husband right around that time, you know, the father of all these healthy little children, and I informed him that if he came home to a telephone number on the dining room table tonight, it was the number to the daycare I took the kids too. He just said, "Okay, sounds good Honey! Gotta run!"

Shortly after that, Janae helped herself and Alex to the bottle of vitamins in the fridge. She seems to have taken hers and Alex's health in her own hands and I guess they'll be good and healthy for sure now.

As I was changing Alex's diaper before nap time awhile later, his clean diaper completely disappeared.

"I put it in my trash can," Janae said with a smirk on her face as she saw me frantically tear around the house looking for one of the THE very last diapers we have in the house right now.

With that, I plopped the two of them in their beds and went upstairs to take a break vacuum fleas. A lit candle, a cleaned up house and reclining on the couch all make me think that I just may still be part of the civilized breed of occupants in this house. Even if I do have sticky fingers from my out-of-ordinary cup of coffee on what I hope will always be an out-of-ordinary kind of day.

But, what really did me in was the fact that just as I'm completing this blog, Janae woke up from her nap a little too soon. Soon as in, only-an-hour-long-nap type of soon. After eating her snack of buttered raisin bread, she found my Blackberry, attempted to delete my call log and succeeded at putting buttered fingers between my phone glove and my phone.

"Janae, don't touch Mommy's phone!" I wailed as I wiped smeared butter off the little Blackberry keys, "It costs a lot of money!"

To which she replied, "No, phones don't cost lots of money; only houses do."

She went on to say, "Then, don't put your phone where I can touch it," in an attempt to excuse her disobedience. She then wandered off and scraped the paint off the built-in hutch in our dining room with her bare finger.

I sigh and and wonder where the paint can is so I can patch the white scrape on the hutch. Of course I was planning on painting today, right? And I muse to myself, while she stands here giving me all the reasons why she really needs a sucker, that the test I took earlier actually could've had two lines.

Sweet.

All's Well That Ends Well If All Ends Well

Being home all day alone with my kids, really isn't that big of a deal. I mean, c'mon: it's my JOB. But, I usually tend to draw a line when it comes to being alone in the evening with the kids. Which is what happened recently.

Slated on schedule for the local jail ministry, Toby came home from work in time to grab a bite to eat, shower, say about 147 words to the kids and I (that is not very many words... trust me) and then he was off like a dirty sock to the county jail.

What was I supposed to do for 3 hours alone with his our kids? Yeah, I asked myself that a few times too.

First we went for a walk. But, on the walk, I felt guilty for leaving a foot of grass evenly standing in the front yard. Especially considering we just spent forty-some-bucks getting the lawn mower fixed not to mention that the grass had been mowed pre-wedding trip. (ie., 17 days ago.)

I debated mowing though; we have gone longer than 17 days between mowing's so was it a worthy investment to use a precious fuel propelled blade evenly across the yard? What about the budget? (what budget??? Toby is wondering as he reads this). What should I do with the kids while mowing? These questions and many other life altering questions stared me in the face as I trudged home with a kid loaded stroller and 3 wheeled bike strapped to my arm.

Entering the garage was my first insurmountable feat. Don't ask why but there's a stack of lumber in the garage designated for a certain house in our neighborhood. I guess the people are getting rooms built in their basement AND getting a remodeled kitchen. Lucky people! Why the lumber is in our garage is beyond me because we certainly have no need for new bedrooms and a kitchen.

Did I just say that?

Anyway, sitting in a nice neat stack of wood in our mouse laden garage is the future of my new kitchen and expanding finished basement. My dreamy eyes made it difficult to calculate the fact that I would in no way be able to cram the lawn mower between the wood and other garage paraphernalia so I did what most wise people crazy women do, I attempted to pick up the lawn mower. You know, just bend down, pick it up and carry it. Let's just say it was pretty heavy.

Plan B meant I had to go out the side door. But that didn't just mean open a door and push the mower out, end of story. It was a lot more complicated.

As I contemplated the brevity of mowing twelve inches of grass in our front yard, I was impressed to realize that my mind had the whole situation all calculated in my brain in the "Plan B Mow Yard" file. As complicated as that plan clearly was, it made me desperately want to scratch Plan B. So I tried a little harder with Plan A and literally tried to pick the mower up like I would pick up a laundry basket. That was just not an option.

Before I could open the door and push the mower out, Plan B style, I had to run into the house through the front door, charge through the house and out the back door, lock the dog in her kennel, open the twelve feet of side fence (which meant moving a basket ball hoop first), unlock the garage side door from the back-yard-side of the door, painstakingly shove the lawn mower precariously out the side door, perform a hair pin curve maneuver between the garage side door and through the narrow opening allowed by the 12 foot of now leaning green treated fencing and plow the mower down the driveway through the eight inches of fine gravel that some brainless person dumped in times past while my feet sank up to my knees past my shoe soles in the weighty, quick-sand-like gravel that was never intended for driveway use. Especially when you are alone with kids and attempting to mow with a push mower by yourself alone with the kids. (did I already say that?)

Anyway, primitive.

I mowed like a crazy person. Designing roads and alleys for the kids to run their dump trucks through was a blast. The grass was so high you could barely see their little heads bobbing up and down out in the middle of the yard, it embarrassed me. I knew their freshly mowed "roads" were well defined and they loved the exploration found in our little suburbia yard.

And I knew where they were the whole time; their squeals and screams of delight made it easy to keep an eye ear on them and did nothing to drown out the mower. My mower didn't hit any snakes (for once) and I patted myself on the back congratulating my decision to mow in the evening instead of the day time, thus avoiding the sunning snakes. The only thing to worry about were the huge crickets stampeding the yard. The blade got all wadded up with juicy cricket bodies and cricket guts were flying everywhere. Good fertilizer, I guess. That could explain why half way through, the self propelled mowing feature locked up. And we just payed part of that $40 to fix that. Must've been those crickets jamming things up inside the mower.

While Landon asked me deep, profound questions on who gets shot at jail when they're naughty, I worked hard on trimming the edge of the grass where the sod meets the sidewalk. That was a huge mess. A certain person I know (who's name I will not mention) has a deep infatuation with Roundup. He tends to use it pretty much where most people would use a Weed eater. We have an embarrassing yard uniquely designed edge all along our yard and it has turned a dead ugly brown an interesting color in about a fourteen inch strip all around the circumference of our yard. This was a one-of-a-kind display that I hope was a one-time-only application. You know, I'm all for personal individuality in landscaping and design but this was just a little too original.

Most people try NOT to have dead grass in their yard; this person attempts getting MORE dead grass in his yard. Most people spray FERTILIZER in their yard; this guy refuses to let his wife even WATER the yard let alone make it grow healthier with some hormone induced grass growing formula. Why? Because he hates mowing. He'll be the first to say it too -- just ask his wife or mother. Or you could ask the neighbors too; they know it pretty well... the poor souls they are having to put up with such an eye sore of a yard on their civilized street.

He hates mowing, like I said, and it's evident in the fact that his poor wife has no choice but to drag the kids out to the yard, strap the baby down in a safe place and then proceed to spray twelve inches of grass clippings and cricket guts all over their little plot in the universe while he the grass killing man reads the Bible to a law breaker.

But, after we got it all done, we celebrated with story time and popcorn. An innocent celebration, keen for peoples of all ages, but deceivingly dangerous I found.

While innocently retrieving an innocent mug from the innocent cupboard in which to innocently melt butter for the innocent popcorn (this was nothing illegal, folks), I did the most stupid thing inevitable: I smashed my face with the opening door. Like an innocent bystander with a clean record, I was punished for something I never did. I mean, yeah it was my hand swinging the door but what had my face done wrong to get a smack like that?

I learned the hard way that when you put your head close to the door, swing the door at your face at a very high speed and then lift your chin in order to peer up at the top shelf where the mugs are, you can result in hitting the left side of your right cheek bone. It leaves an immediate mark too, which is worth it so that the witnesses that didn't SEE what happened can know that you honestly did just crack your face open and you have proof of it for them to see now after the accident has taken place. Just try it and then look in the mirror quickly.

Landon saw the whole thing take place and calmly sat in his chair at the table watching me wishing he could have as much fun in the kitchen as I do impressed with my smart kitchen moves. The smart kid he is, he wisely asked me what I was doing. As if he couldn't tell that I was running around the house, banging my head on hard, wooden objects??! Such a fitting question, I mused in my fuming head that was pained by the sharp shooting pain caused by the violent door.

After popcorn evenly coated the dining room floor I had just vacuumed earlier that day, Toby came home. After he got the kids in bed and I was comfortably rubbing his feet, he wondered what I had occupied my time with while he was gone. Not wanting to think he didn't see the battle scarred face of his normally fair complected, loving wife and not wanting to believe that he could not decipher the smell of fresh cut grass I had arranged to greet him when he stepped out of the vehicle he had gone to jail in, I rubbed his feet pleasantly harder by taking all my aggravation out on his feet I navigated my eyeballs back to their sockets from where they had jumped from and vowed right then to invest in a whole barrel of Roundup.

Not wanting to discourage me when he heard me mumble something about mowing grass, he assured me he appreciated my effort but I should understand that in the dark he couldn't tell that I had mowed in the back behind the garage (!!!) because he came in the FRONT door.

"Honey, whoever said anything about behind the garage?" I asked him. Not waiting for his answer, I assured him... "Next time you mow, you won't have to worry about the front yard because I took care of that tonight."

He tried to look satisfied but I don't think he believed me until he went to work in the morning and saw for himself that yes, the crickets were dead the yard was mowed.

And So Ends The Day

Folded laundry stacked in piles all over the house for some reason does not leave me with a feeling of accomplishment. The reason is probably because I know that until they get put away, each folded stack has a 99.99% chance of getting toppled over just like a short lived terrorist's regime.

Dark red luggage left on the deck to air out with Febreze is marked up with sidewalk chalk. One hefty duffel bag holds various pieces of chalk "so that we can take it to Grandpa and Grandma's house." Lovely. At least the suitcases smell pretty, though the white clouded covers and insides look like they were wheeled through a flour factory.

A wake up call bright and early this morning was in the form of excreted substance from my teething 14 month old. Poop on the sheet. Poop on the blankets (all 3 of them). Poop on the pillowcase. Poop on the bumper pad. Poop on the crib. Poop on the floor. Poop... you get the idea.

A fresh sheet, clean blankets and fluffed pillow were more than that 14 month old could ask for when it came time for a nap. A little cow pie pile of baby poop sat in the middle of the bed when I went in to get him up. Oh yeah, and it had streaked on the clean blanket as well. I am debating whether or not to change the bed because by morning he'll be back at it again. (just kidding... the original sheets are clean and ready.)

We are leaving on a 10 day trip. I have tons of stuff to do. Everything I start, gets interrupted, destroyed, turned upside down, and then pooped on. My to-do list ends with "Finish Everything On List" because I was so desperate to find more work to do so I could cross it off my list because getting my list completed is a job in and of itself.

Oh, and that pooping teething 14 month old? He has Mad Baby Disease. Basically, he is depressed and down about everything in life. His weight bothers him -- especially on his thighs. His latest hair cut. That new bruise on his forehead after he ran into the piano bench the other day... He's just sick and tired of running into so many problems during his day (pun intended). He never gets fed. His diapers are left unchanged. He even wakes up in his own excretions. This is America folks, yet this twenty-five-pound-fourteen-month-old-food-scarfing-hefty little kid is suffering from the bad life he has. Yeah... he has it rough. No wonder he's so sad.

So, instead of sitting down and having a good cry myself because life is one never ending uncompleted falling apart pooping project after another, I sat down and blogged. Hey, it's either bawl or blog. At least this way, someday I can blackmail my kids look back at the good ole' days and say "Boy, I'm glad those are over!" "Those were THE days!!" because I have them documented in something other than tears.

On Change, Contemplations And Completions

I am right in the middle of two-full-of-change weeks. So much change and so much to contemplate and so much to complete!

A wonderful friend is heading to China for an indefinite amount of time. She plans to learn Mandarin and teach English. The rest of what she's doing sounds fun and exciting. Taking in the Olympics there will be a huge event in her life. I mean, really, how many of us have ever been to the Olympics?? The sad part about this departure is the fact that we did not bid each other good bye. (Wisconsin is too far away.)

Another close friend just returned from the desert of Africa. After playing phone tag for a couple days, we finally spoke. The visit was good and the pictures were fun but having both over a cup of coffee would be better. (Wisconsin is too far away.)

Yet another dear friend is heading to the sombreros of Mexico this week. Her blond hair and bright blue eyes will shock many as she launches into a fluent Ecuadorian accented Spanish. I was able to at least partially say good bye to her since she did just visit me a couple weeks ago. (Wisconsin is still too far away.)

And last, but definitely not least, my own favorite blond sister fell in love. I'll have the rest of the story probably some day. In a nut shell, she fell hard. But somebody caught her. And I'm thinking she pretty much really likes him. (Wisconsin is definitely too far away. )

As for me, I am just here... in the Midwest... living a full life yet without a plane ticket or sombrero or adventure ahead. Unless you call catching 4 snakes an adventure. (before you congratulate me, I will admit they were only garter snakes and I DID have leather gloves on). I finally completed a large landscaping project and hope to tackle a few other projects this next week. My own dear love has been under the weather with strep throat and feeling rather ill. So, doctoring him up has been a "project" as well but one I am glad to say is completed. Now to get that baby better...

I'm feeling rather "retro" these days and want to blend some 50's style blue into my house. We'll see if that pans out to amount to anything of value. I am brimming with other new ideas but not sure if they'll just be ideas or actual completions. My kitchen needs help badly and the red apples are beginning to glare at me and feel depressing. That house project we were working on earlier this year has kinda been pushed to the back burner until Toby has more time in the evenings and weekends. So, a fresh coat of paint should be in order for our kitchen, even if it will get changed several months from now.

My house is a walking garage sale -- I have so much stuff to get rid of. But, before I can actually have the sale, I have to sort all my stuff but before I can do that, I have to clean out a spot where I can sort stuff but before I can do that, I have to convince my husband that a garage sale would be worth the work and effort and time. If I don't convince him, I'll be the one hauling all that heavy furniture down the end of the driveway sometime this summer. And I can't really see myself being capable of that.

The yard is finally looking better. I'm sure my mom won't be able to believe that I may have some of her green thumb genes in me, even if it's not an experience I call "therapy." So, the pictures will prove that I can PLANT things but we'll see if I keep these things alive.

There will also be a little change around my blog in the next couple weeks so stay tuned for an important announcement about the change I am contemplating completing.

Post Number 5, Day Number 5

What an eye catching title, eh? Certainly not but it honestly says what this post is all about: 5 posts in 5 days.

My life is so uninteresting lately and has had so few blog moments in it. For instance, finding 15 pictures on my camera phone after Landon explored his photography skills with it while I was away from him for a few minutes is interesting but hardly worth blogging about. Neither is there anything worth mentioning about the morning I was nursing Alex and happened to see Janae open the hot oven door, shut it and then turn around and start digging in the knife drawer. Or how she grabbed a butcher knife because she wanted to snag a toy that was under the cupboard with it. And then having Alex perform his amazing Hoover Skills where he scoots and rolls and swims around on the floor and ingests any item that would normally be sucked into an electric vacuum. You can understand that we are saving on vacuum cleaner bags these days.

All of these details are perhaps unusual and maybe a little exciting but so unblogworthy. (is that a word?) So, I did some checking around for you this morning...

If the winter has you down and you are looking for something inspiring to do, MAKE THESE BROWNIES. You will be divinely inspired to quit any diet you are on and contemplate not starting the diet you were considering. These are worth the extra 5 or 10 lbs. you might put on and every time you see that extra roll on your hip you acquired after you consumed these brownies, you will once again savor that delicious brownie. Seriously. And this is coming from me: somebody who does not normally LIKE chocolate nor enjoys putting an extra roll on my hips.

For a lively discussion about the Quiverful Quest, check this link out. To expand your thoughts, browse this commenter's site as well. Never mind where I stand; these blogs are not mine and the writers have a right to say what they believe on their individual blogs. I'm not condoning or condemning either post; sometimes it's good to spur your perspective and provoke deep thoughts on issues that are controversial but NOT political for once, if you know what I mean.

And then there's the single girls that will probably not have a lot in common with the above link about babies and such. So, head on over here for a little insight from someone in your own shoes. You might find a kindredness in your camaraderie with the little gang of single girls there.

If you love tiny babies (and by tiny, I mean 1lb. 13oz.) and are needing to count your blessings today, hop on over here and read the journey of faith, trials and tears of this little family. They are hardly through this long battle but the joy and love that radiates in their lives is a real blessing. And is a great testimony to the miracle of life.

In order to do a little of my own thought provoking here, what version does everyone prefer for their own personal Bible devotions? Is it KJV for you? Or NIV? Or NAS? Or RSV? Or ICBV? Or NKJV? Or ASV? Or UVWXYZ???? Not to offend anyone but I have given up on the KJV for my own personal Bible time. I was tired of pretending that I knew what it was saying and realized that having a short time in my day for Bible reading was not conducive for deep thinking on matters that should be simple to understand. So, I set aside my beloved KJV for my personal Bible reading (I do love that version best for sound and the ancient lingual flare) but I had to make my Bible reading more productive. What about you? Comment anonymously if you feel the need to.

Oh, and about the brownies... they were such a good idea that Landon asked first me and then his dad, "Does God like brownies?" I think that should explain how heavenly that treat was.

The Definition of a Normal Day

I looked downstairs in time to see a child spilling laundry softener all over a table. If I thought that was bad enough, I should've held my breath for what came next.

I told the child to let it go and leave it alone.

The child then stepped back and explained they were catching the spilled softener through a crack in the table. And what should he be collecting it in but an upside-down toilet plunger.

As if to add to the excitement, the baby was screaming, the cat was in heat and letting the whole neighborhood know and my hair still wasn't fixed at 10:30 am. UGH.

Then, Janae came upstairs with dirt caked boots and Landon begged to play with "cabinets." (they're actually "sticky rocks" or magnets but he gets his words mixed up sometimes.) By begged, I mean he insistently pleaded. While the baby cried. While the cat meowed. While Janae vigorously kicked her boots off all over the kitchen floor.

The worst part about it isn't that my child was holding a germ coated toilet plunger. Or that I am about ready to kill the cat. Or that Janae's boots meant dirt all over the floor. Or that Alex's crying is at about 257 decibles. The worst thing about this situation is that I used that laundry softener when I was pregnant with Alex. I vowed to never smell the stuff again. Ever. Again. That smell always puts me right back to those sick, pregnant days. I get sick just thinking about that smell.

And now because my child is running all over this house with it coating his shirt sleeves, I can't get away from the smell. I feel pregnant now. And sick. I almost think I need to take a pregnancy test. Seriously. That smell is that bad.

Some days are just like this: you never know what will happen next. I have learned that if it's not a normal day, everything goes the way you expect it to. Today must be a normal day.

Some Things I am Learning

-- The busiest times of my life seem to make it even easier to blog. Or maybe it's just that life is more interesting and I can say, "hey, that's one thing I've never blogged about before..."

-- Newer kitchens these days seem to be getting away from themes. Like, gone is the 90's trend when every room was defined by a theme. Especially kitchens.

-- The cottage look is in.

-- Updated houses are avoiding wall paper.

-- And doubly avoiding boarder.

-- A second sink in a kitchen is nice.

-- A second sink in a kitchen that's lower than standard is really nice. When you have kids.

-- A really scheduled baby is a really happy baby.

-- Wall cupboards are often hung at different heights. I wonder if this is just a trend or if it will stick like antiques do. They never go out of style.

-- I am really digging the 50's look. Polka dots and pastels all the way.

-- You can actually change/adjust/rearrange your kitchen lay out because of a 5" high window that you can't even see out of.

-- You can also consider buying a new stove for $1,000 just to fit it below the 5" high window that you can't even see out of.

-- You can have a 5" high window (that's about 4 feet long) in your kitchen that you can't see out of and that you are constructing your plan around, spending extra money on in order to incorporate it in your new kitchen plan and not even know exactly what to call that window. I call it a "barn window" because all the Wisconsin dairy barns have these 5" square glass block windows in the cement part of the walls. Where I come from, these glass blocks are widely known as Barn Windows. Toby asked me one day what in the world I had just called that window.

-- You can have an argument with your spouse and not even disagree on the topic.

-- You can debate with your spouse and not even disagree on the topic.

-- You can give the silent treatment over a topic you argued and debated but didn't disagree on.

-- The silent treatment doesn't always mean that you are quiet and avoiding your spouse. It could also mean that you just let them talk and explain them self better.

-- Just because it sounds like an argument doesn't mean it is one.

-- A scheduled baby is a happy baby. (did I already say that?)

-- A happy scheduled baby means a happy house.

-- A happy house means a happy spouse. (that goes for both the husband and wife.)

-- I just found out our house does have a mouse. Or two. It eats all the dog food.

-- A young cat can create a million tiny holes in a corner of your new leather recliner in just one millisecond. And ten minutes later it can match the contrasting corner with the same design of claw prints. Bad kitty.

-- A centipede that you can hear is a big centipede.

-- 4" of snow in Wisconsin is not a bad thing; 4" of snow in Nebraska is not a good thing.

-- Having the baby move out of our room never sounded so good. Or, so possible.

-- A 3-year-old with a screw driver can take his toy box apart. He really can.

-- And he can do it while you're blogging. Seriously.

-- Quiet children are a bad sign.

-- It means they are probably losing the screws they took out of the toy box.

-- I'd advise that you should probably more than likely end your blog so you can inspect the unfortunate toy box. And the busy children. And find the screws.

Sanitary Sunday for the Sane

No baby crying, no kids starving and no phone ringing. Ahh! The bliss of a blog moment.

Okay, you noticed my title and probably wonder what in the world would inspire such a subject. I never seem to participate in Wordless Wednesday, or Works-For-Me-Wednesday, or Kitchen-Tip-Tuesday, or Friday Funnies, or any of those catchy phrases that define the topic for the day on several of the blogs I visit. Instead, I've decided to make up my own just now. Actually, I was going to write this post last Thursday but then didn't get a chance. I never could come up with a good one for Thursday anyway. As is the custom of things put aside, I didn't get to it until today... Sunday.

I've had a heavy topic on my mind lately. A real heavy one. We could call this post, "The Topic" since it falls in such a stark category. Hopefully we won't broach this subject again, at least for a real long time, but for now I think we need to discuss the following.

The topic at hand involves a toilet. I know, I know. It doesn't get much heavier than toilet talk. Especially when I'm referring to a toilet commonly used by a little boy who utilizes his full height for something that needs all of his stature and then some. I think you agree that this is a pretty weighty topic now.

So, the fact that we have only toilet in our home and no urinal, I was desperate. I mean, I hate to be so brash in my honesty right now but I was finding it frustrating to find small puddles of, well, of THAT and realized early on that simply wiping the puddles up with mere toilet paper was probably not very sanitary.

For the record, I LOVE cleaning toilets. Toilets and sinks are my favorite to clean. You probably think that's gross and perhaps your least favorite chore. Let me assure that yes, dirty toilets and dirty sinks are gross. But, in hardly anytime, a little elbow grease can have a bad toilet looking really good. And I love it when my work has a fast turn-around rate -- you start the project and the thing looks bad; in a matter of seconds, you are finished and the thing is a shiny piece of porcelain. Unlike laundry where you sort it, wash it, switch it, dump it, fold it, put-it-away and then start on the next load. Takes forever to see progress... unlike toilet cleaning.

But, I don't like cleaning toilets constantly. I like to enjoy my progress; not keep repeating the chore over and over every time my child has to use the bathroom. I was honestly getting a little weary with the fact that my little boy seemed to arrive in the bathroom just on time every time so was only given enough time to aim in the general direction of the toilet instead of aiming precisely IN the toilet. Aiming AT the toilet and aiming IN the toilet are two entirely different things. Plus his stature is a little wanting so that makes a difference too. Teetering on your tip toes into something that is a tad too tall anyway is enough of a road block from keeping you from getting the job done efficiently. And not being efficient in the bathroom when you're a little boy is just not a good thing for whoever regularly cleans the bathroom.

As if the puddles weren't bad enough, I investigated further one day when the bathroom smelled especially ripe. I found by looking in just the right light, that there was a spray of dried, well, STUFF on the wall and I realized that a little velocity practice had been going on in our civilized house. Folks, I live in the United States of America and reside in a modern Midwestern town; this isn't a third world country. I believe in freedom but not the kind of freedom that allows, well, THAT to be relieved anywhere it strikes your fancy. It's one thing to use a tree for such talents but we do not use anything inside our home for, well, THAT STUFF.

Upon examination, the top trickles were almost 4 feet high. And my son is only about 3' tall. While observing his achievement on the bathroom wall, I had to wonder if he thought he had succeeded in his pursuits. I'm sure he was impressed but I sure wasn't.

I washed all the walls in the vicinity of the toilet a good way up and sanitized the entire toilet. I had a good talk with my boy's father, who by the way, was more than slightly amused by what our son did. Though he was almost impressed, he still promised to talk to Landon.

In the meantime, I needed to find a solution for all the little "accidents" that happened several times a day in our bathroom and have been ever since our son became "potty trained." For those of you with baby boys still using diapers, I have one words of advice for you: don't potty train your son until he is tall enough to stand in front of the toilet. In case you don't know this, potty chairs are for girls. Boys stand. Even when they can't reach, they still stand. Trust me on this. Potty chairs with pee guards big enough to contain an elephant should he try out the plastic little throne, is only deceiving: potty chairs are a girl thing. A pee guard does no good when the boy stands at the toilet instead.

Normally what I did to these obnoxious puddles of what-the-pee-guard-on-the-potty-chair-that-my-son-doesn't-use-since-he's-a-boy didn't get, was attack them with generous sprays of Fantastic cleaner and evacuate the areas with sterile paper towels. But, keeping both in our tiny bathroom and trying to stay on top of the messes with constant bathroom upkeep similar to what most people do once a week, was getting weary.

I decided to splurge: I bought antibacterial cleaning wipes instead. In no time, I can have the entire toilet area spic and span WITHOUT using clumsy paper towels, rags and a spray bottle of disinfectant that I don't have room for.

This keeps me sane, the bathroom sanitary and is even simple enough to do on a busy Sunday. Now Landon can continue to grow big and healthy and hopefully smart and tall and someday, just someday, I might actually have a clean bathroom in between the times that I clean it.

A weighty topic indeed but reality all the same. Especially when you live with a little boy like I do.

On Motherhood and Zapping Wires

Fully realizing the desolate plight I depicted about myself in the last post, let me just say that sometimes 5 hours of sleep gives good reason to grab a cup of coffee and sit on blog spot to do something there other than one of the trillion things on my To-Do list.

That's why I'm here today.

About that list though, I did actually give myself the opportunity to cross something off! (I hear cheers from everywhere! Thank you, thank you, thank you folks! Oh, not a standing ovation....! [dabs eyes in appreciation]... ) Yes, you did hear right; something is finished on my list: The Bathroom.

Right now I really should be installing curtain rods in the livingroom but something about that drill in the drill box is telling me that it won't be an easy job. Especially since my husband won't be home for another 7 hours and it's already 3 in the afternoon. Can you say long day?

Long day indeed but I'm making the best of it. The guinea pig's cage is clean, sparkling clean I might add. The laundry is almost half-way done and boy, does that feel good. (The done part of the half way laundry is really making the difference in my outlook on laundry today.) The house is actually clean and picked up and looks like children don't live here. The kitchen is semi-in order which is actually a good thing for me since this kitchen seems to have a magnetic force that attracts magnets of clutter. The kitchen floor is (you better sit down before I say this) swept AND mopped. Wow. I won't have to mop for another 2 months now. The baby is sleeping. The oldest is sleeping. The girl is wide awake.

Yes, the girl. She is my trouble today. Although her brother helped her out a few times in enabling more trouble to produce from her sweet and angelic nature. After turning on the hose outside (an off limits action), he created enough reaction between water and dirt to cause a generous amount of mud to which his clean and well mannered sister became tempted by. Lets just say it was time for a bath. The kind of bath where you run bath water twice.

Because of the difficulty it's been to teach my son not to play with water when he's outside, I was running out of creative punishments that really hit home to his energized 3 year old heart. But, today he is learning on his own. The reason we don't jump off the arm of the couch onto the cushions of the couch is because our sister might be sitting there and her teeth just don't feel too good when you hit them at such a high speed.

So, I'll admit that I was glad to hear that some where in the process of playing in the mud he created, he had inflicted upon himself the sting from low voltage phone wires. This punishment was doubly applied since 1) he wasn't supposed to play with the hose and 2) he wasn't supposed to touch the wires. We all know that if we touch electric looking wires, we will most likely get zapped to some extent. We all also know that if we don't touch those wires, we amazingly won't get zapped. Before you think we have live wires within reach of our children, let me assure you its worse than that. We also teach our children to play on hot stoves and chase mean dogs. Okay, I'm kidding.

These wires I'm talking about are those tiny wires installed by the phone company that most normal people have behind a small, discreet box connected to outside of their house. You probably don't even know where it is unless you have phone trouble or if your kids take the box off and play in the mud with it. And then the dog chews on it or the screw gets lost or something happens to cause the box to somehow just not fit right anymore. So it falls off everytime the sun sets or the earth makes a turn on it's axle.

Without the box on anymore, it looks like we have a live bomb attached to the outside of our house. Not sure when the bomb will go off but with the way Janae is acting in her room today, I have to wonder if it went off and is projecting itself on my sweet, quiet, calm little girl. This tangle of wires is right outside her window.

Ironically enough, it's amazing our phone even works anymore -- or our internet for that matter. The entire contraption gets as much rain as our rain gauge and the only drawback we've had from it (besides the boy getting a little tingle on his finger today) is sometimes phone conversations will be a bit garbled up if we make or receive a call during a rain shower. If you ever wonder if it's raining at my house, just call and see if the connection is clear. That's more predictable than the weather alerts online.

Back to what I was saying about who was my trouble today, since putting the kids down for naps almost two hours ago, I have spent untold trips to Janae's room and back again. That 2 hours is longer than her normal naptime is. And she doesn't seem to get it that she must go to sleep before she can get out of her bed. "I'm happy now" she keeps saying when I tuck her back in. Ugh. Everytime I go back, there's something else on the floor, something else missing from the wall and another piece of creative evidence that she was out of her bed. I've changed her diaper twice and covered her up a million times. Besides sitting on her until she falls asleep, I'm not sure what to do since she just won't go to sleep. One thing I have never done is let my children get up by themselves if they haven't slept during naptime. I'm really not sure what she thinks she'll get out of this. Maybe she's hoping for the impossible... "Oh here Janae, you got out of your bed and are such a darling girl! Would you like to walk to the park and eat some candy?" I don't think so.

I am amazed at the amount of wisdom that is required when you live with little people like I do and call yourself Mom. Wow. I never thought it would be this hard. I've learned that it's hard to be a mom but it's even harder to be a good mom. I think Janae is just making me be a good mom today.

I had someone say to me once that I should reconsider my priorities. I agree 100%. My ultimate goal is to have my priorities straight. But for some odd reason, there is a great confusion on what priorities should be first. Are there other needy people that I should make an effort to help out? YES! But, my priorities are mixed up if I make it a point to be available to other needs at the same times that my children need my attention in a special way. Not that I don't desire to help other people but if I run off and pick up another burden not meant for me to carry, who is going to carry my load? Will someone be as willing to care for my children as I was to care for another need? The thing with raising a family is that when you are the mom, YOU are the care provider. YOU know what is needed there. You won't walk into church and find a sign-up sheet with your family's needs on it:

Train Landon
Discipline Janae
Care for Alex
Love Landon, Janae and Alex

Nope. These are the silent callings of motherhood on me. These are heavy burdens that everyone else sees as pleasant little people, not desperate impressionable souls. These are my little people. My mission fields and my treasure chests. What I put in them will be saved for all eternity. I fulfil each of those callings and I carry out the task in style, not in duty.

As I step back into my day today and resume The List and not the irrational temptation to take up solo jogging this afternoon, I am endeavoring to remember that at the top of my list is a 4 letter word that can never be crossed off: KIDS. But, not only are they kids; they are also MY kids. (so that's why they live here... I get it now!)

So, I am mothering with style today! (But, please come home soon hubby...)

On Running Backwards and Slimy Noodles

I finally figured out my problem. Yes, problem. You see, the Good Lord has blessed me with 24 hours in my day just like He's blessed the rest of you in the same way. But, with me, He also blessed me with 3 time stealer's... i.e. children. As if that wasn't enough to be blessed with, He gave me 8 loads of laundry to do. And then He required of me to do justly and be merciful to my family and feed this flock 3 times a day. With the food comes the fun of dirty dishes. Usually about that time, the precious baby is screaming because his swing is causing him to feel lonely. And as I walk to the swing to get the precious screaming lonely baby, I step on a slimy noodle and track the noodle all the way to the baby swing.

So, not only do I have 3 darling children, 8 loads of laundry, 3 meals to attend to, 3 kitchen cleaning sessions a day and 1 precious baby to comfort, I now have 1 sticky smeared noodle to pick out of the carpet.

You do the math:
24
3
8
3
3
1
-1
---
19

That leaves me with 5 hours left over. I usually use those 5 to sleep. If I'm lucky.

The other day Toby found a hastily scrawled 8 1/2" x 11" piece of paper that I had sitting on the buffet. "What's this?" He asked, reading down the sloppy list. I pleaded with him to treat the parchment like a sacred scroll because That Paper was My List. I took precious time out of my 24 hours to design that list. And I look at that list every few days just to see what else I could add to it. It's usually, "Clean noodles out of carpet" or some other monotonous thing. I'm thinking about putting "Change baby's diaper" on there just so I could actually cross something off.

I always thought 24 hours was a lot of hours. Until I had 3 kids. It seems like once my feet hit the floor in the morning, everything starts going backwards. My daily motto is "running 90 mph backwards." I call this frustrating; my husband calls it talent. He claims he doesn't know anyone that can run 90 mph backwards. "Well, hi my name is Courtney, I'm your wife and I can run 90 mph backwards."

Just recently, I spent all of one entire Saturday cleaning, sweeping, mopping and organizing the basement. You read that right, all day. In the huge process there were a few highlights. Such as me finding a snake skin behind the dryer, me killing giant crickets and fast spiders that hid under heavy bins and boxes and me saving an entire freezer from defrosting when I found it had come unplugged. On the way to church the next morning, Toby was complementing my successes. You know, doing what the Proverbs 31 woman gets when she finishes a job... "her works shall praise her." In our case, my works give their voice to Toby and I might add he does a fine job of encouraging me in this way.

I hate to admit this but lately, my unfortunate habit has been to occasionally moan to my dear husband about not being able to get anything done. When I worked so productively in the basement I think he was either praising me or else saying "I told you so" since he always counteracts each, "I can't get anything done" with "You'll get it all done." I seem to have a practice of complaining every night about my inability to actually accomplish something so maybe it's not as occasionally, as I like to think it is.

I mean, seriously, I can't even just sit and eat a meal without getting distracted in some way or another. I asked someone once what it was like to actually sit down at the table and stay there until the meal was done. I think if I did that, I'd feel like a child feels when their mom says, "you sit in that chair and stay there." I'd feel grounded.

Back to the Praising Works conversation we were having the morning after my big day... "I know Honey, it's great isn't it?" I said to him, both of us enjoying our clean basement. Then I went on, "But, I still could only cross maybe one thing off The List though." As if that wasn't discouraging enough, I then remembered that only half of the basement was actually considered done so therefore, I couldn't even cross "basement" off. I should've written "Half of basement" when I made The List. Or even, "Plan to clean all of basement."

So, back to my problem. I have 24 hours to get done what is seeming to take me several weeks to get done. Sometimes I look at The List and wonder if maybe I should just not sleep at night so that I could actually accomplish something without a baby screaming, kids falling off the steps, a child spraying water all over the bathroom floor, answering a toddler's deep theological questions ("Does God make you die?") or stepping on a wet noodle.

But, when you're running 90 mph backwards, it's nice to get a little bit of a break once in awhile. One of the things I've learned about my full 24 hours is that slimy noodles can always wait until morning.

Proof that Naps ARE Necessary

The frantic mad dash that happens around here at nap time is enough to make anyone tired. Except my kiddos. They seem to get hyped and energized by the ordeal and add to the mad brigade as much as they can. At this point, it suddenly dawns on me why naps are so important for kids. Especially my kids.

It usually starts with the baby. I hold his noon feeding off as long as possible so I can put him to sleep after the older kids. I like him to lay down LAST. About the time lunch time is over, he starts fussing for his meal. After a couple squeaks, he's in a full-fledged holler and the whole house takes shape for a catastrophe. Until this point, all was peaceful. But, Alex has officially sounded the alarm that nap time has come.

Then the next step towards total chaos is Janae either insists on going to bed now or else her attitude shows that she actually needs to go to bed five minutes ago. The only problem is that lately, she just starts crying for no reason when we prepare for bed. And she'll keep up the wailing for quite some time. So, now we have the baby squalling and Janae joining in. Who's next?

Well, Landon. Although he's not a crying kid, he does have antics of his own that can be just as debilitating for his character. He's also the first kid I like to lay down because he sleeps the longest. Does he like to lay down first? No. It starts with me telling him to go potty. He insists he just went potty yesterday. I tell him to go and make sure there's no pee left. He reminds me again he got rid of all his pee yesterday. By now, I'm laying down the law and enforcing a trip to the bathroom. He complies, pees like a race horse and then heads outside. I stop him on the thresh hold and tell him to go wash his hands in the bathroom. Thrilled with the chance to play with water, he gladly "washes" his hands.

Meanwhile, The Baby is crying loudly, Janae is crying louder and I'm trying to get both to quiet down. And the bathroom sink is running water. Lots of water.

I get Baby Alex calmed down, send Janae to her room until she stops crying and tell Landon to shut the water off, dry his hands and go to his bed and wait for me. Then, he says he has to go potty. Then he asks for a drink after he gets up from his nap. Then he decides he doesn't want to go to bed and runs through the house wailing at the top of his lungs and landing on the livingroom floor in a tearful heap. Now he's crying. I think his younger siblings are a bad influence on him.

Now all three kids are crying, thanks to nap time. I thought nap time was supposed to be peaceful?

Long story short, Landon gets tucked in bed, Janae gets rational and dries her tears and gets in bed happily (the attitude change is sudden) and I snatch up my sweet little baby and cuddle in my own bed with him. He's squealing with delight and gasping happily in anticipation of getting fed.

The Baby just gets latched on after his heightened expectancy and I hear a door open.

Ugh. No wonder why her attitude change had been sudden: Janae just got the bright idea that's she'd extend the Laying Down For Naps time a little longer and stop with the tears then start later with the Getting Out Of Bed.

So, I get up, ignore the weeping baby and attend to a Janae that decided she would be happy now and not cry. Okay, that's great but you still need a nap, I tell her. She's put back in bed, totally heartbroken that she has to stay there.

Alex who's now dozing gets a good portion of his feeding when I suddenly hear Janae wandering around her room singing, "Trust and Obey." What a fitting song, I muse as I detach myself from The Baby, fully waking him up and attend to Janae's disobedience.

I resume the feeding with the baby and soon hear more sounds coming from Janae. I regrettably leave Alex again go to Janae's room in time to find her streaking around the room naked because she says she peed.

Finally, several trips later, I looked into Janae's room after all was quiet and found her eerily sleeping in her bed with her eyes half open. Obviously, she was so tired she didn't even give herself time to shut her eyes before she went to sleep.

And this ends Day Number 1,976 of nap time at our house. Though the most exhausting part of our day, it definitely is worth it when the house is actually quiet for a good length of time. And stays quiet until Janae gets up. She's always the last one down and the first one up.

How I love naptime! It's my own little oasis in the desert of a long day. It's my own little island in the middle of the ocean of a busy day. Now for a little of my own nap time before little feet plop out of beds and head back out to the great and wonderful sleepless world of wake time!

Accomplishments And Arachnids

I feel successful: 3 pairs of Janae's bloomers that have been sitting in my sewing heap for the past few months have finally been finished. What good timing for bad weather that sent me to the basement with nothing to do but finished procrastinated projects.

In other news, the mentally challenged crickets in our basement left me alone as well while I sewed barefooted, and that is a good thing. Had the electricity gone off I don't know what I would have done.

Crickets function in the dark; I don't. Crickets find me in the dark and that's freaky. Crickets love the darkness rather than the light because their deeds are evil. I don't like their evilness. And these crickets are big and that makes their evil deeds even bigger. In mass quantities, you get even greater deeds of evilness. Yuck.

At least I don't have it as bad as this mom here is having with arachnids.

Did I mention yuck yet?

All I Wanted Was Breakfast

All I wanted was breakfast but a child was haphazardly stacking books open and with covers bent. Next time we'll play library after every one's breakfast.

All I wanted was breakfast but a child was smearing oatmeal all over herself and the fated vicinity around her. Next time we'll save the smearing for, well, we just won't do that anymore.

All I wanted was breakfast but two children wanted the same truck. Next time we'll save toys for after every one's breakfast.

All I wanted was breakfast but a child "couldn't figure out" how to clean his room. (his own words.) Next time we'll save chores for after every one's breakfast.

All I wanted was breakfast but a child needed tea - not water, juice or milk, he was very clear on the tea part. Next time we'll save drinks for after every one's breakfast.

All I wanted was breakfast but a child needed to go to Walmart for markers right now. Next time we'll save shopping trip discussions 'till after every one's breakfast.

I've always wondered why I end up skipping breakfast anymore. Now I know.

On Rotten Bananas and Chipped Teeth

It was after 11 pm and I was starving. The quickest thing I could come up with was a bowl of cold cereal. I'm eating for two anyways (breastfeeding) so I figured since I hadn't had a second breakfast yet, cereal was a good idea. Then I caught myself putting the container of dry cereal in the fridge next to the milk and I wondered if I had had a long day or if it was just one of those "new normal" days that I've been having lately.

I've learned to constantly survey the kitchen before I leave it to make sure I haven't left the stove on or left food out or forgotten to shut the water off in the sink. It's one thing to leave a cupboard door left open but its quite another to leave the fridge open, believe me. Pulling soft butter out of your fridge is a scary thought.

I stuck the cereal back in the cupboard and made sure the milk was still in the fridge. I grimaced at the black bananas sitting next to the milk in my once sterile fridge. Those black, oozy mush tubes looked like a giant slug got stuck in my fridge and had three kids before he (I guess that would be 'she') succumbed to an anti oxygen environment. "Where is the poor mama slug?" I wondered in my sleep deprived brain. Wait! those are the bananas you were going to make banana bread out of 3 days ago! Oh yeah. Duh.

The baby was screaming and had been for most of the evening it seemed. He was starving but wouldn't take his milk. He needed to be burp but wouldn't burp. He wanted to lay on his stomach but only screamed louder when we put him there. He didn't like the lights glaring but he really didn't prefer the dim rooms either. And he needed his pacifier only to spit it out again. I felt like such a successful parent this evening. Especially as I ate my soggy cereal while the baby screamed ten inches behind me in his swing.

But at least the house was quiet. The other two kids were in bed, safe and sound and everyone was healthy, happy and safe. I just love that word, safe. Its funny how you like simple things like "safe" when you've experienced unsafe things which make for eventful experiences.

"Eventful" is another thing that happens a lot around here and I've learned that "eventful" and "unsafe" are not a good combo. Like the day Janae pulled the baby off the bed. Talk about eventful. And definitely unsafe, if you ask me. (In case you're wondering, the baby was fine and didn't even cry).

Or the time Landon locked the bathroom door shut and I had to take the doorknob off to get to the lock so I bit on the blunt end of a hairpin to jam in the lock and ended up with a chipped tooth that sent me to the dentist where I found out that they charge nothing to sand a chipped tooth down that wasn't chipped that bad but there's nothing like finding tooth dust floating in your mouth and rubbing your tongue against a rough corner that used to be smooth before you bit the hairpin that you were using to get the door opened that your son locked. The end.

Now you understand just how exciting eventful can be at our house and why it usually results in something unsafe. Which brings me to this evening.

Landon and Janae have this "game" they play where they run from one end of the house to the other and back again. And they do it over and over and over and over and... you get the idea. Usually they do it until somebody crashes or slams their body into a doorway or gouges into a protruding corner. The "winner" normally gets a band aide or ice pack and the "loser" is usually reprimanded for not being more careful with his sister. Its a very exciting game and takes lots of energy. That's why I never play it with them. Plus, if I had that kind of energy, I would use it on something useful like making banana bread before the bananas evolve into decomposing giant slugs.

So, as this game was in session, I told the kids they needed to stop running. And before I could say "before somebody gets hurt," Landon suggested setting the timer until the end of the game. I figured a 5 second timer wouldn't hurt so I said sure. He set out on a run again but then I got the bright idea that HE set the timer, to which he was thrilled with. Timers are the latest fad around here.

And with that, he whirled around in a flash and crashed headlong into his sister, resulting in a 90 mph front end collision.

"That's why you don't play this game anymore," I said to no one in particular, considering my voice was drowned out by the crying children burying their faces into my lap and shoulder.

As I counted teeth, checked for crooked noses and made sure the sobbing eyes hadn't been punctured, I could only find blood on Landon where he split his lip on Janae's hard head. At the sound of blood, Landon buried his head again in my lap and wept for all he was worth over the fact he was spilling precious drops of his own blood.

When Janae heard blood, her eyes perked up and her sobs subsided, until I told her she had no blood and was indeed fine. Believe me, its hard to explain to a bloody child that he was fine with blood and to turn around and say to one without blood that they were fine too.

By this point, there was no need to set the timer so we all split ways and the incident was forgotten until bedtime when Landon requested a band aide for his split and puffy lip. He knows that only bloody owies (versus bumps and bruises) get the bandages so I'm sure he thought I was using an excuse when I told him a band aide would not be in order for an owie on the lip.

As I headed out of his room and back to my fussy baby, I wondered how on earth my life ever exploded into so much excitement. With a shower that skimps on hot water, snakes living in our basement, a tired husband sleeping in our quiet room and a wailing baby on my hip, I feel like there's no reprieve. Not even a hot shower! Every busy mom needs a hot 10 minute shower once every few days. Not only does it regain your sanity but it also gives you a good opportunity to wash your hair and maybe get clean once in awhile.

So, to make the most of the eventful, new normal and unsafe day, I lit a blue berry muffin candle and made a mental note to remember to blow the flame out before I went to bed. I would hate to burn the house down tonight. Especially over a nostalgic candle. Then I sat up with a fussy baby who soon cuddled in and went to sleep in my arms while I enjoyed the flicker of the burning candle and basked in the aroma of fresh baked goodies while eating soggy shredded wheat.

And that was my reprieve.

Adjustments...

That's the news around here. Adjustments. It seems to be effecting everyone of us too.

Toby is adjusting to having a baby sleep in his room again. Every time the baby makes a sound (like as in a tiny grunt, squeak, wiggle or burp), I lunge gracefully to the baby before Toby makes a drastic dash across the bed in an attempt to make sure the baby is still breathing. And if the baby cries, well, I just better be glad I sleep closer to the baby than Toby does. Who knows what he'd do to the baby if he got to Alex before me.

The poor daddy is so tired. The wild, panic look in his eyes when the baby startles him from his sleep, is one of definite sleep deprivation. Finally last night, I took Alex out to the living room to finish the night off so Toby could have some uninterrupted sleep. But, when Toby got up in the morning, he looked no better off. I told him I had been on the recliner for the last half of the night so he could get some quality sleep. Hoping for a "thanks Honey, you're so thoughtful", I was surprised at his response. His only remark was, "That's why I woke up feeling bleak this morning." I guess he missed me.

Landon is adjusting too. But his adjustments are really strange. Like, he bit his sister because she was playing with his tape measure... he picked the dog up by the tail and attempted to carry her... he used another dog as a target for the large rock he was throwing... his hearing has become disabled... and he's really enjoying his baby brother. (I had to put something positive in there so you wouldn't think our old Landon got traded in for a new one.) It always amazes how kids adjust to things in ways that seem to make the adjustment harder.

Janae is adjusting well. She has become a lot more talkative, likes to feed her babies bottles, takes great care over her dolls and is just in general, a lot more predictable than should be expected of her. She does seem rather perturbed when the baby is crying and will scold at Alex with stern authority in her voice... "nnnnnnnnnnnnNNNNNOOOOO!" We're working on her patience level in this department but I think that since we don't allow her to cry uncontrollably for no reason, she assumes the rule applies to all individuals dwelling in our house.

The nanny has adjustments as well. Taking on the roll of mommy, laundry lady, home maker and everything else all at once, Britt has her hands full of adjustments these days. The poor dear has had her share of episodes with the kids. I wake up from naps and hear of wild tales of ink stained computers, thrown dog poop, moldy crickets (don't ask), crazy jaunts to the park and play time with toilet plungers. Just hearing these stories, makes me tired enough to just turn around and go back to sleep. Britt is brave.

And I'm adjusting too. I can't remember what it's like to get more than 4 hours of sleep at a time. My days seem to conform around a breast pump machine, diapers, bottles and a snugly little baby. I've learned a few things about myself though... for one, baby #3 has made me become more relaxed and laid back about things. So much so that I wake up in the morning with an empty bottle laying on the side of the bed and a baby propped up against my chest sleeping contentedly. I think I put him there and gave him the bottle myself but I have hardly any recollection of doing so. "I wonder if he burped yet?" I muse to myself as I wrap him up and tuck him in his own bed. I think I need some of Toby's worry syndrome to sober me up some.

Then there's other adjustments. Having to limit yourself on physical projects even if you think you feel good. Learning to make the most of each moment so you can be prepared for the next minute. Restricting your schedule to necessities, not ideals. Embracing survival mode.

And then there's those times of feeling overwhelmed. I always think I'm prepared for that part but with each baby, it hits me different. The guilt. The frustration. The fatigue.

First you get fatigued. Then you get frustrated because you're so fatigued. Then you feel guilty because you're frustrated about the fatigue. And because you feel guilty, you can't think straight about anything... Why didn't I buy organic wipes? I need to sterilize these bottles more... He's getting creases in 3 places on his arms but really, is he getting enough food? He cries every time I hold him so he must not like me... Do they even make organic wipes?

It's really too bad those things come with a precious new baby but, unfortunately, they do. Even when you do the best you can for your new baby, the dumbest things make you feel guilty. Like, the fact he's still exclusively getting a bottle and nursing continues to NOT go well at all. Or, the fits of crying without reason. Or, the fact your other kids hardly see you because you're either taking care of the baby or trying to sleep. These are all adjustments too.

I'm looking forward to the day when a steady routine can be the adjustment we make. But, for now, I guess we'll just have to get used to adjusting to adjustments.

And as long as I keep him in a clean diaper, I won't worry about organic wipes.

Gray Hairs

With the birth of my third child, I have with great trepidation, stepped into a new phase of life. That phase of life where you start looking for gray hairs. And I'm told that "looking for" soon turns into "counting."

I know there's lots of people who have gray hair and no kids so I know it's not just the kids that brings that saintly dusting to one's head. But, I believe we all age in different ways and for me there's something about that third kid that just makes me feel old and well settled on the road to aging. Kinda like a downhill-from-here-on-out feeling.

Periodically through out my day, I check the mirror to look for those proverbial gray hairs. Like the other night when one of my dear children tried to "help" by cleaning up a mess and used a generous portion of the roll of toilet paper. The toilet was freshly heaped with a plush pile of white Charmin when I walked in on the scene. What bothered me the most wasn't the wasted toilet paper; rather, it was that the said child was attempting to push the heap down into the seeping water. Oh, the germs.

Then, that same dear child happened on another gray-hair-experience for his mother. While fixing supper one evening, I looked outside to see the child dangling a live puppy from a leash while he (the child) glibly sat up at the top of a slide. The squeals and yelps from the dog matched the squeals of delight coming from the giggling boy. I think he thought the dog was having as much fun as he was.

(Before you think my child is a mass murderer of innocent animals, I happened to see him affectionately petting and bonding with the puppy both before and after the leash dangling incident. So, at this point I'm not sending him for counseling.)

And then there was the time my two able bodied children found some cleaner in our garage and used it to "dust" the side walk. I'm sure cleaners aren't toxic for cement walkways but they sure aren't the most environmentally friendly components for two "hands-on-in-the-mouth" toddlers.

(We checked their breaths and could detect no foul play there. Whew.)

You will be alarmed to know that the charming little girl that lives with us, also holds gray hair potential for this mother. About a week or two before I had my third child, I was spending some quality time with this dear child and only little girl -- kind of a mother/daughter bonding time. We were outside working on flowers and just enjoying the day. Suddenly without warning, my thoughtful and considerate daughter, took off down the side walk like a race horse. Hoping to catch up to her before she reached the street, I took off behind her like a big fat cow.

With the birth of the third child, I no longer am a big fat cow. Instead, my sweet little bundle is evolving me into a creature of nocturnal existence. If I sleep in the day, he is sure to not interrupt me. But, move the clock twelve hours and he makes every attempt to keep my sleep short, not sweet and definitely hardly worth the point I make to try to sleep. Just last night, he was awake more than he was asleep. And just so you know, he only got up once.

So, by observing disturbing incidences (like the almost-strangled dog), pushing myself to extremes (running full speed at 9 months pregnant), stomaching disgusting images (little boy hands immersed in toilet water) and living life "normally" on short hours of sleep, I am expecting those gray hairs any day now.

It scares me though: since I have not found gray hairs yet, I wonder what incident it will take to actually get them.