like a Carolina pine forest

said in my best (yes, I was born in Alabama) Southern drawl.

I was looking down at Edy playing a game of peek-a-boo with my boob (a fun new game she just discovered this week, where she will suck for a second then look up at me and smile and then suck again - repeat over and over and over). I was smiling back at her, of course. She arched her back in satisfaction, stretching out her neck, when I spied something...

what the heck?

I leaned in a little closer. Hidden in the folds of her second chin were these spiky little pine needles.

(Those damn things are everywhere.)

Awesome... they've been there... umm, I don't know how long.

Freshly scented, car clean, I should just hang a deodorizer from her neck, pine.



Happy 4 months, my pine scented, does anything for a smile, little girl. You are 1/3 of a year old, 1/3 of the way to no longer being a baby, 1/3 of the way to me crying hysterically at you being my last.

letter to the assistant photographer

Dearest Assistant to the Photographer,

I get it. Your parents told you if you were going to live at home, you needed to get a job. You are decided to get some cake job that had little job requirements. There... parents got off your back.

I'm sorry that you feel like life sucks. I'm sorry that preschoolers weren't impressed with your cleavage crack or your underwear show. I'm sorry that your parents made you go out in get a real job.

But, you know, someday you'll hopefully get married, have a kid or two, get a minivan and tow one of your adorable kids to preschool. One day, you'll have your darling get their pictures taken and you'll have some expectations...


like having the assistant pick up a f'ing comb.

So, keep reaching for the stars, putting your best foot forward and working your hardest - because I promise life will get better.

Good luck in your future endeavors!
Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom

the future Mrs. Wu

Wyatt barged into the bathroom yesterday afternoon, swinging the door wide open, letting it hit the linen closet. (Which I'm surprised that I even had the door closed, note: it's never locked. Murphy's law would mean if I actually locked the bathroom door someone would get sat on, bit on and/or spit on.)

So Wyatt came into the bathroom with a big smirk on his face announcing "I got married today".

I looked at him, cocking my head "what?" I say.

He changes his mind, shaking his head "No, no... I mean I kissed someone today"

"Who did you kiss?"

"Josieeee" he said with an extra emphasis on the e.

I quizzed him, 'where did you kiss her, on the cheek or on the lips?"

He answers with a little giggle "on the lips"

I pretend to be shocked. "Wyatt!"

He giggles a little more "and she has crooked teeth like me, maybe she sucks her fingers too".

*sigh*

Bonded in future orthodontics.

what's in a name

There was a family that lived close to my hometown that had the last name of Balls. The husband's name was Harry and the wife's, Sharron. Now, say that out loud: Harry Balls and Sharron Balls. Yes, seriously... true story.


So anyways, I'm always on the look out for poorly named things. I spied one at Super Target last night, Bimbo Bread. What's worse, they had to pronounce the name for people like me that think spelling bimbo would mean a foolish woman with loose morals (wait a second... umm, who's confused here). The loaf is printed with a "Say Beembo".

I'm not falling for it.

This reminded me though, of the package of donuts my husband bought on our Thanksgiving road trip down to Iowa:

That's right... it's called Creme Dream Donuts


And yes, it's says "making it fresh for you".

*

Let me know some of your favorites, I'm always in need of a good giggle~

Happy Thanksgiving

[image: the picture of my three adorable children that I plan on using for my Christmas card this year, where they are actually looking into the camera, not picking their noses or pulling each other's hair out (for the two that have hair). Where you can see that they have teeth (again, the majority) and that their hair is not rooster-tailing (visibly) out of control.]

Oh yea...

that doesn't exist.

I'm thankful that I have another month,

and, you know... lots of other stuff.

Happiest Thanksgiving and in the words of my guy at the Caribou Coffee drive-up "You have the very best day ever!"

for the love of squishy

We were heading into Barnes and Noble to get a gender neutral book for a birthday party of Henry's this weekend (which, by the way, I love the idea of exchanging books instead of presents and in lieu of plastic crap favors, but lucky him, he still brought home some crap sunglasses and a spinning thing along with his hardback copy of How to Train Your Dragon.)

I digress.

Like I said, we were heading towards the door, gearing up for the crunch of getting three bodies, one of them being in a stroller, into the doorway simultaneously (because that's what always happens, every. single. time.). A woman grabbed the door for us foreseeing the upcoming body bruises. Of course, being like every other mother in the universe, she had to peek into the stroller to see just who was inside.

"Oh, you have a little girl there" she cooed, "How old is she?"

"Three months" I reply.

She continues "I have three girls myself; 15, 11 and 9. They are really special girls and so sweet... getting bigger so quickly, but I really miss them being little, being a baby like you have there. Three months... what a wonderful age."

I looked down at Edy and said "Yes, I love her. She's so squishy."

Wait.
What did I just say?
After the sentimental words, near tears in her eyes of this woman talking about her once little babies, did I say some genius thing in reply like "she's so squishy".

Umm... yes I did.

I looked at her sideways hoping that perhaps she didn't hear just what I had said.

She gives me a little smile and a 'yea'.

Pretty certain she heard me...

Dang it.
(Note to self, I must work on more appropriate replies to when people tell me about how they 'miss having babies'.)

the little things - a giveaway

Thursday is Thanksgiving (duh). I'm pretty sure we all have a million and one reasons to be thankful this year, I know I have. If you could do just a little something to show your thanks, I'm betting that you would.

77kids has created an initiative called Wish-4-Snow where you can design your own online snowflake complete with your very own wish, if you desire. If they reach their goal of 100,000 snowflakes created, they will donate $25,000 to children's hospitals (this includes Children's Hospitals and Clinics of Minnesota).


This is a little thing, it will take up (very) little of your time, but $25,000 can make a big difference.

Of course, I got to visit 77kids to see how else they were gearing up for the holidays. With them, it really is the little things:

I love the store front. The front window is really magical. There is a 'Go' button right at little hands level for the birds to race down the mountain. Cute and time consuming when you need them to be a little busy while say... nursing.

The store itself is awesome. There is bean bag toss, these light-up reactor things on the floor, a treat cart (which also includes non-food treats), a peek-a-boo door in the changing rooms and the picture maker spot, where you can make one for the board and one to take home. They really have thought of every little detail.

Now, the clothes... they are adorable, just look at their website, cute kid craziness! Right now, I'm really into the girl baby clothes (what a surprise), the little77 line is perfect. Currently, when you buy 3 pieces, you get 30% off, plus I had a 20% off coupon (yes, it *was* a great deal!). I got Wyatt a long sleeve t-shirt and Henry a jacket too. Of course, both on clearance - because yes, that's the kind of shopper I am... clearance, but you notice I said *long* sleeve and *jacket*... not just summer stuff on clearance. Awesomeness.

When you shop, you have an option of donating 77 cents (or more) to benefit your local children's hospital. You'll get a snowflake to write your name and make a wish. You'll get a bumper sticker that says 'you done good' and who doesn't want a bumper sticker that tells everyone that 'you done good'!

As promised, I would never plug something or review something without giving you a chance for the same, I'm giving away a $50 gift card to 77kids. All you have to do is 'done good': visit 77kids microsite, create a snowflake; think about what you are thankful for, remember that you visiting helps local children's hospitals... plus every snowflake you make enters you into daily drawings for $77 gift cards (or the grand prize of a block party for you and 77 friends).


Come back here, tell me you made a snowflake for an entry. Follow 77kids on Facebook or Twitter for another entry. Follow me for another. Twitter about this giveaway for another... you know the drill.

Feel good that you did a little something today that could make a big difference.

*

I have been engaged by 77kids and TheMotherhood to support this initiative. Thank you for letting me be part of such an awesome event. Thanks to fellow friends: Aubrie at The Buzz 4 Moms (and for letting me steal your snapshots), Marybeth at Baby Good Buys, Sarah at Minnesota Mama's Must Haves and Rachael at Empowering Mommy.

PSF - win some, lose some

There once was a girl who got a new one of these:


She was thrilled at the extravagant features it had like crushed iced, water at the ready, more than one light bulb... even more thrilling, she was getting rid of this (circa 1988):

Only her husband decided to keep it, to store things this like:

You win some, you lose (umm... keep) some.

PS - it's totally normal to be so absolutely giddy about getting a fridge that you blog about it, right?

PPS - It's Friday, no one reads blogs on Fridays anyways. (That makes me feel better.)

PPPS - I took 2 years of Latin in college, I should have remembered circa means around in Latin. BTW, Eureka basically means I've got it in Latin. Impress your friends at parties this weekend when you throw Eureka out there. See, lucky you stopped in on a Friday, consider that your lesson learned for the day. Shut down, close shop, go home.

sock monkey

My sister and I have an idea for an invention for a nose warmer. It looks sort of like one of these Pee Pee Teepee things but with a large rubber band attached to it (yes, our patent is pending... don't think of stealing it).

The only problem is, even if we made it with some sexy lady cheetah print, it would still be, well, ugly.

But don't you love our resourcefulness. You have hats to keep heads warm, boots to keep your feet warm; what about our noses? You can only wear turtlenecks pulled over your nose so many times in a week until people start to think that you have A) a hickey (ah... high school) or B) something growing under there.

Yes, we are a resourceful bunch

and Wyatt is clearly my child.

He's into boxing right now, but no, I'm not going to get my three year old a pair of gloves to beat up his brother while his sitting helpless on the toilet. So, he takes off his socks, puts them on his hands and calls them his boxing hands.

Today, he decided that it would be fun to wear his boxing gloves for eating lunch.

Plus, he said that his hands were cold.

3 months

Last week, I lied about your age just so you could get into the gym with their 3 month minimum requirement. Probably not the first time that your age will be lied about, but I promise you, it will be the last time *I* lie about *your* age.

I want you to be (the real) three months forever.

a kick in the nerds

Kevin walked (and when I say 'walked', I'm talking about a little peanut of a boy, just barely 1 years old, where walking looked somewhat like a circus act because of his little stature) into my house my first morning of starting child care. I watched him for over three years and to no surprise, Henry and he were best friends.

I haven't taken care of Kevin in over three years now. They see each other every month or so for a play date, but that's it, but whose name does Henry write on his Popsicle stick as he decorates it with his Sharpie, Kevin's. KEViN + Henry.

His best friend in Kindergarten is not in his class this year. When Henry sees him at recess, he's thrilled, only his 'best friend' has managed to give him a bloody nose, kicked him in the 'nerds' (as we like to call them here) and refused to play with Henry, 'maybe in a day or so' he tells him. Henry is *still* waiting patiently for him, still calls him his 'school best friend'.

He is amazingly loyal. I love that so much about him.

This week has been tough. For some reason, I've just come to realize that parenting is always going to be hard. I'm not up worrying about my baby's napping schedule or pondering over getting ABC's taught, I'm sitting here with my stomach twisted up, worrying about my first grader. More talk of ADD. More wishing we had a crystal ball wondering if immersion is the right thing. More fretting in getting our other kids in the school if we pull Henry out. More contemplation about moving into the same school district as the school.

Today, I kind of wish that I could go back to that day when Henry and Kevin sat next to each other, high chair to high chair. I wish that I could simply be worried about not getting their lunches too hot.

Being a parent to a first grader can suck as much as being a parent to a newborn, differently suck, be still well... suck, but I can be loyal too; I'm sticking up for Henry, trudging through this unknown academic terrain for him.

I wish I could just make it easy for him, of course, that would only make it easier on me but if he can take a kick in the nerds once in awhile, so can I.

I think a baby seal just died

If you guys all remember, I was part of this prenatal group care. It was 13 couples, nearly all of them pregnant with their first, meeting together monthly to talk about the woes of pregnancy (along with getting measured on a cot in the back of the room with the others pretending not to listen in on how much weight you gained in a month).

Well, I've been invited to a sort of reunion this upcoming weekend. I'm pretty sure nothing could be more fun than a bakers dozen of new mothers comparing babies, boobs and birth stories.

I think the whole scenario might look a little something like this:



(Watch it! I promise I would never post a video that wasn't hilarious and totally worth 3 minutes of your time)

And before you all call me out on the similarities of the Kate Gosselinish mom and myself; the similarities stop at having 3 kids, my son learning Mandarin and my really cool robot voice.


originally posted here

butt blind

Wyatt was thrilled to see those sisters again this past week at McDonald's Playland(yes, I said again this week). He was over the moon excited that (1) he knew they would play with him since they did the previous week and (2) that they were cute little girls that would play with him.

One of the sisters had an arm that was only a mere, maybe, 6 inches long, short enough that she wasn't able to use this arm at all, not that it mattered; she climbed the ladders and crawled through the tunnels faster than her sister (or Wyatt) could.

The first time Wyatt started playing with them, I sat there ears tuned in, waiting to see if he would say anything to her about her arm, not because he's rude, but because he's three; he doesn't have this politeness sensor. He's a curious kid, he likes to talk a lot, and well, like I said, he's three.

I waited in anticipation, ready to smooth out any awkward situation and then...

I waited more.

He never mentioned anything. Not even, as I expected, a little question or two on the way home, pondering his fun playtime from the back seat.

I was so proud of him: he has this natural blindness to something that was so obvious to me. What mother wouldn't be proud of her son in a moment like this?

So of course, yesterday morning, as I finally was able to squeeze into a pair of my own, pre-pregnancy/now I'm just fat jeans, what does my three year old, blind to differences, child say to me as I turn to switch on Team Umizoomi.

"Mommy, I can see your biggggg butt."

WW - baby's first vibrator

I'd never even heard of the term BPA free when Wyatt was a baby, so I shouldn't find it surprising that with Edith, there are some new products out on the market...

For the girl that has everything (or for the girl that has everything *else* handed down to her).

And I know it's just so wrong, but come on, it's pretty funny too.

gut rot

It started mid-afternoon, getting worse as evening approached. My stomach would twist, I felt like I could throw up, my heart felt flat and sometimes, especially in the beginning, I cried, like clock-work, every Sunday.

Halloween night, six years ago, was the first night that I *didn't* experience the pang of having to leave my son in the care of someone else as I settled into my cubicle. On a Monday, six years ago today, I started staying home with Henry.

I remember telling my husband that I felt like the luckiest person in the world.

I don't always feel like that anymore, especially when the weather has changed, the nip in the air changes our moods. When we all get forced inside, we all get on each others' nerves a bit more.

But Halloween seems to be this yearly reminder for me, I am lucky. I get to hear the funny things they say about their lunch. I get to see them 'reading' magazines while on the toilet. I get to look into those eyes as they sparkle with a smile, all day long.

There might be some gut rot come Halloween, but it's from eating too many Kit-Kat bars I've snuck out of my boys' bags when they were knocking at the door at a neighbor's house.

Lucky me.

cause we're fancy like that

I can hear my sister from here, over 100 miles away, shouting into her Mac screen 'I told you so!'

When she was engaged and registering for plush new towels and cool little kitchen gadgets she excluded china. I scrunched up my nose and told her she 'would be sorry' because 'at some point in her life she would be adult enough to pull out the china, polish the silverware and place her table for Thanksgiving dinner with a beautiful 12 piece set'

but she scoffed at me, told me she was only going to get something she would use everyday, scanned a couple boxes of dish sets from Target, and went on her merrily way.

I was convinced she would regret it.

Only after celebrating our 8th anniversary a couple weeks ago, and having this epiphany that having a four bedroom house, three kids and two really disgustingly dirty bathrooms, did I figure out that I must finally be an adult

and we've pulled out that china maybe 5 times.

So, my husband went to Home Depot, bought 10 feet of bubble wrap and a few cardboard boxes, and put everything away in storage (much to my defeat).

I negotiated keeping out the silverware.

Our kitchen drawer is now filled with the nicest spoons, knifes and forks around. Ones that I stir my coffee with and ones that I put on the plates for lunchtime with my child care kids.


We even use the salad forks. (FYI, they are suppose to have that little notch in one of the tines, it's suppose to help grab the lettuce salad or something like that. It looks like this:


and by telling you this, I'm totally not saying that I didn't know this and that my mother never called Macy's when the first set arrived complaining there was a defect in the salad fork only to be told ever-so-nicely that they were suppose to look like that. Umm, no way, we are way too classy to not know that.)

So apparently we are now classy people, with fancy everyday forks and spoons,

and apparently I'm now an adult.

How the heck did that happen?

Happy Birthday to me... a giveaway for you!

I can't think of a clever way to insert ottoman coffee table into this post (unless I say something like 'it's my birthday today and all I want to do is put my feet up on my ottoman coffee table and relax' but that just seems so forced, right?!)

But Remember my birthday when I checked into a hotel, less than 10 miles away from my house, just to get rid off away from my kids for the evening (closing my eyes... thinking of the silent bliss), well with one attached to my boob, that just isn't in the cards for this year. Instead I'm getting a cheap pedicure and doing a little shopping with my Kohl's gift card (that really was a gift for Edy, but don't tell her).

And just so you can join in on the fun, you can go shopping too. One (1) winner will get $50 to spend however you like at CSN. Just leave me a note, maybe a 'Happy 34th Birthday, you ol' hag! or something just as sweet. That's it.

(oh, and be from the US or Canada).

Thanks to CSN for asking me to host once again, you guys are cool like that, though *I* didn't get a present from you guys (i.e. I wasn't compensated or did I receive any product...) like how I inserted that jargon in here. If you aren't a blogger, you can still say 'hi' just leave an email address in your comment. Cool?

confession from the car seat

My babies like to sleep, like a lot. My husband jokes that they waste the first months of life sleeping it away.

People like to ask me what's my 'secret', what kind of advice do I have for them. I'm not one to give out tons of advice. No, I'm not the Baby Whisperer... It's just that I let them sleep in their (insert gasp) car seat. (Please, tell me I'm not the only one.)

(and go ahead, google 'kids sleeping in car seats' - you'll find the phrase bad mommy on the first page.)

but you know what, I've decided with the third child,

I just don't care. I'm not going to worry so much, it always works itself out.

That's my secret.

Even better, that's my *newest* best advice.

*

I was engaged by TheMotherhood.com and AVENT to participate in a talk regarding Motherly Advice, you can find more (inspiring and informative) here. It was fun... thanks for allowing me to be an 'expert' (snicker, snicker...)

just like Windex, only better

Remember the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, where her dad was always running around spraying Windex on 'things' that needed fixing like that huge a$$ pimple or that cut on a hand.

Well, Edith had an eye infection (okay... you twisted my arm, here's a picture of her, nearly 2 months old)


and like any good (and logical) mother I googled what an infection could mean, like possible childhood blindness (see, logical) and found out that a lot of people were suggesting squirting your breast milk into her infected eye.

And you know what, it was gone in two days.

Then I was at a festival this weekend showcasing Edy to a friend. (Alright, alright, one more picture.)


(I can hear your ovaries from here, people!)

My friend noticed that Edy scratched herself between the eyes and she leaned over saying 'you know what good for those scratches... breast milk, it will be gone by morning'.

I had no idea that this stuff was so powerful. Way more than liquid gold, I feel like I've got the cure for male patterned baldness, for aching joints, for impotence

(okay, so maybe not impotence).

Got something that ails you, come on over, I'll give you a little squirt of the good stuff ;)

good times

I spent Friday night shopping at Goodwill.

It's depressing. Not that I'm too good for Goodwill, but that I can't fit into any of my pre-pregnancy clothes and I don't want to spend money on a few pair of pants that actually fit. I'm tired of wearing maternity clothes and honestly, I need to give them back to my friend... it's not like I'm the only pregnant person she knows.

I'm sick of cinching up my maternity pants with the two belts that I have that are large enough to make it around my waist so that my butt isn't cracking a smile to those that sit behind me at story time (and the two belts that fit are a leopard printed belt and one that I took from my husband).

It's sad that I eyed the girl in Target with a baby in a car seat perched in her cart. I measured her up and decided that she *must* have had a baby at *least* six months ago to be that stinkin' skinny, then I saw she was buying size one diapers, then she turned around and I knew her. She was from my hippie, multiple-couple birthing classes. We were all due around the same time. Awesome.

There are blogging friends of mine that have had their babies within days of me having Edy. I'm so thankful and happy to have them... that we are going through similar things together, but knowing that they are within a few pounds of being their pre-pregnancy weight sucks.

I remember this black skirt that I wore after having my surrogate son, I zipped it up with ease a week after having him. I remember the only thing exciting about going back to work after having Henry was being able to wear my work clothes again. I tried them all on in this big pile on my bed. I smiled at being able to wear suede and pumps again, even if I was leaving my baby.

I don't want to hear the same thing I heard from my midwife... 'sometimes your body just hangs onto those pounds'... that doesn't help. I don't want to hear about diet and exercise, blah, blah, blah... because if you knew me, you would know that I'm a self-proclaimed gym rat.

Maybe I'm just writing this out to tell you all that I was at Goodwill on Friday night and I got a rockin' Spiderman costume for Wu for $2.99.

WW - caught webs

Straight from the mouth of my preschool - regarding cobwebs:

"Mommy, it's called a caught web. A bug is going to crawl in there and say 'ahh, I'm caught!'."

Now, how come this actually sounds logical?

so much wrongness

I can't believe that this jacket is still in donation circulation. There is so much wrong with it; from the baby dolman sleeves, to the partial heart on the chest, to the rainbow elastic cuffs. I think I've entered my own Hot Tub Time Machine and Edy's jumped in too, poor thing. (Yes, I admit to watching this movie, don't judge me!)


And please don't think I'm a clothing snob, you should have seen what my oldest wore to school today, this jacket's just bad... really, really bad. So the question is: do I keep this in circulation?

At least for a good laugh?



PS - thank you, friend for all the clothing. Since you are a friend, I know that you would have never put your own daughter in this and probably just bagged it up and gave it to me, hoping it would make it in my blog.

a face only a mother could love

I've realized (or better said, a friend politely pointed out) that I haven't shared any pictures of Edy since my birth story. That's because I don't want to put you guys through commenting about 'how adorable she is'... blah, blah, blah because (hold onto your seats) I know that newborn aren't really cute. (Oh, the horror of my honesty).

But I think newborns are like little aliens. Take this picture as an example:

Then they sort of grow into this frog-like stage:

And finally, they start to look a little cute, right?


So... permission to comment about her chubby cheeks and pink little lips.

AARP's gotten the memo

We were sitting outside on the patio of a restaurant (stop laughing... yes, you can sit outside in Minnesota in the middle of September; they might have had heat lamps going but... whatever). Wyatt stopped mid-chip to ask me: "why do your hands look like Grandma hands?". I looked at him, hoping that I just misunderstood him, "what are you saying?".

I remember looking at co-workers' hands in the past and thinking 'wow, hands really do age you', then I tossed that thought away remembering too 'she and cigarettes are BFFs, gotta be the smoking.' I've got nothing to worry about.

So surely, sitting at the table, Wyatt investigating my hands, I knew there must be some explanation; perhaps that the freckles are too close to age spots, the chipped and bitten nails are just not pretty enough for Wu.

Then Henry decides to jump into the conversation, "They just look old, Mom".

I look at my husband, he just shrugs.

Just lovely.

The next day, still feeling slighted by my children (and husband), I reach into the mailbox and what do I see...


Apparently, AARP's gotten the memo.

deprivation

Henry requested that my husband make him his own television out of boxes (complete with a surround sound system below). Poor deprived kid, I should just *let* him watch Sponge Bob.

(And in case you are wondering, in the screen is Wyatt as Batman, of course, Henry dressed as Wolverine and Edith has laser eyes shooting at them... because that's her secret baby powers. Yes, we've been playing a lot of dress up here.)

A 5k for my 5 week old

I know that the statement I'm about to make will cause many people to think of me in the same way I think of people when they say something like... "no thanks, I don't drink soda" (WTF, I can. not. relate.) So my bold statement to throw out there to the virtual universe is I like to run.

And I missed running when I was pregnant. I tried, I just couldn't feel good about running and jiggling up and down that little baby inside of me.

So, finally, I'm back at running.

I think I should mention though that I'm not a runner.

I don't even like to run outside, I prefer the climate controlled environment of the treadmill, where I can set my speed, my zero incline and adjust the breeze hitting me with it's built-in fan.

Unfortunately, you can't race on the treadmill (I should google that though), so I hit my first 5K this weekend.

But I raced not only because I wanted to run, but because I wanted to run for her, for Liz. For someone that never got a chance to hold her 5 week old, like I do, every day.

A 5k for my 5 week old

and for moms that hold, have held, and have never gotten to hold, their 5 week old.

*

I'm co-hosting a talk on TheMotherhood.com tomorrow at 12EST. I, along with a few others, will be giving advice to new and expecting mothers. (Don't laugh; yes, it says 'expert' under my name... OK, now really stop laughing). Avent will be giving away a gift basket of Avent bottles to randomly selected participants and the end of the half hour. Hope to see you there.

WW- Of Boogers and Batman

"Mommy, thank you for the Batman costume."
"Mommy, now I can't pick my nose."



"Batman doesn't eat boogers."

friends don't let friends

Friends don't let friends order baby announcements when sleep was in 3 hour intervals.


You would think I would have caught that lenght should be length being that my own name is Beth not Beht.

Let me know if you have ideas on what to do with a box full of baby announcements that I will not be sending out.

(Banging head against the wall.)

notes from preschool: that's my boy

Wyatt started preschool on Tuesday and (oh, alright, twist my arm, here's a picture of him on his first day to add to the bazillion other blogs that posted pictures about their child(ren)'s first day of school)

well, each day or so they send home a little spiral notebook in his Spider man backpack about what he's doing at school, little anecdotes about stuff his says and/or does in school.

It started off with this:

No surprise Wu had no problem transitioning. The mention of a babysitter and he and Henry are jumping around on the bed; time for Sunday school, he'll be the first one to the minivan. The kid clearly has no issues with attachment.

Even though the teacher signed it, I guess she found something worthy of mentioning later on in the day:


which continues on:

"Look, a catapult" and sent the figure flying...

That's my boy, the three-year-old that knows what a catapult is, better yet, uses a teeter-totter as a catapult.

Clearly, he takes after his brother.

Batman, you naughty boy

Perhaps it's my school girl humor, perhaps it's the fact that I haven't slept for more than 4 hours in a row in over a month (which 4 hours is still pretty rock star for a three week old and I'm in no way complaining) but does any one else think this is a little, well... naughty.

Or maybe it's just me?

Once again, thank you, McDonald's for providing some much-needed entertainment (and I'm not referring to the seventeen minutes my three-year-old played with this toy).

if you care, 2 weeks late, Edy's birth story

Prodromal labor - ever heard of it? Me either, until I started to experience *it*. False labor, early labor, prodromal labor started for me at 34 weeks. We were in the boonies, up in northern Minnesota, 3 hours away from my hospital or heck, a hospital that I would consider giving birth at.

I was in bed, counting the contractions as they got closer and closer together. I finally fell asleep, exhausted and woke up to contractions that we much less frequent. All was good.

'Contractions at 34 weeks, oh no!'

The second episode was at 36 weeks, the contractions were 3 minutes apart. That morning, I found out I was 1 cm dilated, so my mindset was 'this could be it'. I called my midwife who told me to take a bath, try to sleep, see what happens. That's exactly what I did, but I was completely prepared to go into the hospital. We even had my husband's brother come and get the kids to sleep over there.

But eventually, the contractions slowed down.

By 37 weeks I was 2 cm dilated. The contractions were strong, 3-7 minutes apart. We went into the hospital on Friday night. 4 hours later, we were sent home. We went to the hospital again on Sunday night, 3 hours later, once again we were sent home.

Contractions continued on, but I decided to wait for either my water to break or to give birth in my kitchen, because I was *not* getting to the hospital to yet again, get turned away. This week was one of the most frustrating things I've ever experienced.

'These contractions are really starting to piss Mommy off'

By Friday, I had enough. I called my midwife and told her I will not go into the hospital, just please, let me get into the clinic and check me. Which she did and by then I was 3 cm dilated.

She must have been a saint. She told me she'd strip my membranes, see what happened and lastly, if I was still having contractions through the night and made any progress over the night I would be admitted to the hospital.

Saturday morning, we walked into the hospital. I was 4 cm... I made progress... I was ready to be admitted but... my contractions were far apart, my midwife from yesterday (the saint) had just gone home. Everyone was ready to send me home too.

The midwife on call told me to walk around (the darn hospital hallways, I'm was so sick of them by this point). Before reaching the first turn, the midwife chased me and my husband down and whispered 'we'll get you in, don't worry about it'. She knew what I had been through.

And then the skies opened up - sing it: hallelujah!

It's easier if I just give you a time line from this point:

12 pm - finally got admitted into the birthing suite (I was in Heaven).
1pm - the midwife broke my water.
3 or 4 pm - she checked me again, I was still at 4cm.
4:30 pm - pitocin and my BFF epidural arrived
5:00 pm - husband and I settled in for a show, we were watching 'I Shouldn't Be Alive'. The show was about a couple hiking in the Amazon rain forest(we both agreed that they had to have been high to get off the path because of they were 'watching the birds' and wouldn't you know it, they left the map in their room... anyhow).
5:30ish pm - the nurse and the midwife come running into the room, throwing stuff around, getting changed - 'Did I feel something?' 'Do I feel any different?'. I was like 'no... we were just watching some idiots on t.v.'. My midwife said 'let's check you', pulls back the sheet and says 'yep - you're 10cm'. I had no idea.
5:47 pm - 5 contractions, 11 minutes later Edy was born.

That was the fastest I've ever delivered (minus of course, the 2 weeks or so of false labor!).

'Glad that's over!'

She's already such a drama queen.