do I get paid for this?

I really try hard to get the kids (and by kids, I mean my two boys and the two other boys that I watch, so that's four kids, ages 6 and under...yes, I'm slightly crazy) out and doing something, especially during the summer.

But believe me, it's not an easy task planning water bottles, snacks, clothing changes, diaper changes, towels, sunscreen... for four kids.

Of course, I don't do it just for them; getting out of the house means keeping my sanity in the world of childcare.

Henry is sitting besides me on the bench taking a break from the overwhelming scene that can be the unsupervised, drop-your kids off for a little me time free outdoor water 'playground' that we also refer to as the Splash Pad.

Henry looks at me and says "I wish you were my daycarer".

(This makes me cringe, the word daycare. It's almost as bad as being called a babysitter, like my aunts, cousins... generally any one of my relatives from Iowa likes to call what I 'do'. "How's the babysitting, Beth?" 'suck it' I whisper in my head. Being called a 'babysitter' is being compared to a teenager who has permission to pop in a DVD, eat all the food in the fridge and 'free to make make yourself at home once the kids are in bed', I'm *not* a babysitter. Of course I reply "Good, Grandma!" and telling my grandma to 'suck it' probably wouldn't have been the nicest thing to do anyway). I digress.

Henry wishes I was his 'daycarer'.

I tell him "I take care of you every day and more special, we are together all the time".

Henry: "I could have different parents and still see you during the day."

Me: "But I wouldn't get to see you all the time. I'd miss you, you're my son!" (all motherly and proud).

Henry: "But I could get different parents."

Me (in a slightly whiny voice): 'But wouldn't you miss ME?"

Henry (all matter-of-factly): "I'd get use to it though".


Awesomeness.

Some days I wish I would get paid for taking care of you too, Sweetie.

I'm NOT a blogger freak

I'm starting to worry that you guys might think I'm some sort of blogger freak out there that is faking a pregnancy to get some attention/sympathy/weirdos visiting that like pictures of round wombs - since I have yet to include any pregnancy pictures. (And now, looking at this picture, I might not be doing my case any justice by trimming my eyes out of the photo, but people, they looked tired and puffy and I'm just to darn vain to let you all see my red-rimmed eyes).

Somehow I've hit 31+ weeks and this is only the second picture taken of my belly. Believe me, being pregnant for the fourth time *has* lost some of it's glamor, but it's still pretty awesome to feel a kick in the rib or an elbow in the crotch once in a while.

6 or so more weeks, bring it on!

WW - wish tree

Walking the streets of downtown Redwing, Minnesota Sunday afternoon, in between two building, there was a seating area with a few trees and predominately in front was this little tree, a wish tree.



Most people wrote down wishes for world peace, health and happiness... typical stuff. One person clearly wrote out: $1,000,000 (at least the only one I could clearly get a picture of).


I thought about this tree yesterday, as I spied from the park, a neighbor of ours who has a daughter born with Edwards Syndrome, the same thing the baby girl inside me had a chance of being diagnosed with. I've never seen him with his daughter. A miracle that she's still alive at only a couple months old.

He walked down the block, her cradled in his arms, barefoot feet on the hot sidewalk. He reached the end of the block, turned around and walked towards the other direction. His two boys ran out of the house, chasing after the two of them. Together all four of them walked back into the house.

I know this isn't really a Wordless Wednesday post, but just in that I wouldn't know what to say to him, if he walked over to the park we were at instead of back into his house, makes me feel wordless.

Just one of the things I would have wished for on that wish tree.

Feel free to add your own wishes.

if you give a boy a bullet

I feel like I should preface this by saying contrary to what you might want to believe, I'm not the type of mother who carries around bullets in her handbag. My sister is training for (ahem... a second! Thank you very much) tour of duty to Afghanistan in January. She doesn't generally carry around bullet casings, but lucky for my boys, she had two in her Army backpack during our last visit to Iowa.

*


If you give a boy a bullet, he will pretend that it's a gun, run around outside, pointing it at his brother and anyone else in his vicinity; he's brother doing the same, both pretending that they are 'bad guys'.

If you give a boy a bullet, he will shout at you from the other room 'Mom, where is my gun?' and surprisingly, you don't flinch at him asking this.

If you give a boy a bullet, he will fall asleep holding onto his bullet in one fist, sniffing his blankie and sucking his two fingers from the other hand.

*

Funny, this seemed so much more sweet when I was writing out this post in my head.

Can I get a HOOT, HOOT?! - a giveaway

Remember the shirt Wu wore and lots of you wanted to know if I made it (ha-ha) or where you could get one?


Of course, I didn't make it - are you kidding me; the only thing I sew is a straight (OK, not really straight) line.

It's from Wise Owl Designs. They have some of the cutest appliqued designs that are made from previously owned, overstocked or organic materials. So you can feel good about your kiddo looking so darn good.

And better yet, they are all about twenty bucks. Did you read that... $20 for a handmade, earth-friendly and obviously adorable shirt.

Here's just a few that I love:


Now go show Wise Owl Designs some love and take a look at all of the designs they have to offer.

Why?

Because they are giving one (1) shirt of your choice away here. Just leave a comment telling me which one is your favorite. For an additional entry, comment that you publicly follow me.

Easy, right? The hardest part will be picking your favorite.

*

FTC - 'Hi' - I was given a shirt for my son for his birthday from my sister (not that it's your business). Because people wanted one too, I asked if Wise Owl Designs would give one away (because I like my readers!). End of story, I'm getting nothing for it, but one cool reader will get a shirt. Lucky them.

times are tough

The kid down the street from us, who is almost the same age as Henry, told him that he has an iPhone. Another friend of Henry's plays with is Nintendo DS like it's crack. What is the choice of entertainment for my six year old? Clear plastic spoons.


He's worn them like this for the past two days. Two spoons as eye protection (sometimes two additional spoons over the ears) and his hands-free flashlight facing the back of his head.

He told me he wants people to think he's a soldier. Or a robot.

I'm pretty certain that he hasn't figured out how to look up the balance of my checking account online, but now I'm starting to suspect him.

tree mail

Instead of calling authorities for illegally opening our mailbox and placing yet again more 'mail' in there without a stamp, (since I'm pretty sure the US postal service is not hiring six year olds) I opted to keep this little piece of tree mail written to Henry from the blond girl two houses down.


To:

Hnrey

From: Sop

hia

If 'Hnrey' is any indication, she should probably be warned about how many people butcher the spelling of our last name before agreeing to marriage.

I tease, I love love.

another one where I look like an idiot

It started out innocently enough. We (me and the three toddlers) were sitting outside of the library after a fun story time featuring the letter 'F' or something just as clever. They were sitting on the metal benches; L shaped with a metal table between them, munching happily on those damn teddy bear graham snacks and sippy cups with water.

They finished up their snacks and I bent over to clean up the mess that only three toddlers could make (because I try to be a responsible child care provider when visible to the public, teasing). I reached in between the bench and the table to pick up two of the straggling bear grahams. I couldn't quite reach them, so I squeezed my arm down a little farther. I finally grabbed them in my fist and pulled up.

Only my arm wouldn't budge. I twisted it, I tried some sliding up and down action, I took off my watch to see if that would somehow make me thinner, I went down to the floor on my knees to see if the different angle would release my arm.

Yep. Nothing worked.

I closed my eyes and twisted my neck as much as I could, sort of giggling, like silly me: "Miss, could you help me? My arm is stuck."

Of course, the kids were all looking at me thinking I'm acting like the normal weirdo I am. 'Mommy, get your arm out'. The lady helping looked pretty much the same way 'you got your arm in there, can't you get it out the same way?'

Logical as that sounds, it wasn't happening.

I asked if she could get some lotion. My first thought was actually butter since that's what I tried using to get Henry's head stuck out of a banister once, but then realized butter probably wouldn't be the first thing they *might* have at a library. Lotion it is.

She told me she didn't have anything, but she would go get help.

In the meantime, she packed up her lunch. Looking at what she might have to help me, she offered her banana peel. I looked at it, said the heck with it and started smearing the banana peel all over my still stuck arm.

I then grabbed a sippy cup, twisted it open with my mouth and my one free hand and poured the water over my arm. The only effect that had was to soaked my arm and to start a puddle under the table that slowly crept onto the knees of my pants.

Cool, now I looked like I've peed my pants.

Then the security guard from the library showed up, asking the same question; 'can't you just pull it out?'

I wanted to say 'No, see I'm an idiot and those three kids are all mine, all less than 1 year apart and I'm pregnant right now, see super smart and responsible!" (dang it, why was I wearing a shirt that didn't make me look 'obviously pregnant' not just a shirt that says 'maybe she's just fat?')

I couldn't figure out a way to casually work into the conversation that I was pregnant and that he should totally give me a 'pregnancy points' break.

He decided to call maintenance to see if they could unbolt the table from the ground.

Great, *see* if they can unbolt it. I have visions of 911 being called for the poor woman that has her arm stuck between a table, a bench and some soggy teddy bear graham snacks. Awesome.

The maintenance crew rolled in with a tray of tools and determined that it was OK to unbolt the table.

The security guard asked me for my name and so forth. 'Perfect!' I'm thinking. He's writing out an incident report so they can all laugh about it later on, maybe post it on the cork board for the other security guards to chuckle at.

And I still need to work in somewhere that I'm pregnant, not just a fat mom with three toddlers poking their fingers at my face.

Finally, they unbolted the table, the kids all cheered (probably more so from getting a huge stack of stickers for being so patient) and the security guard asked one last time, 'am I sure I don't want to have an ambulance called to check out my arm?'

'Umm, no thanks.'

I left with my bruised arm, bruised ego and those damn soggy teddy bears thrown back into my tupperware,

because I'm a good child care provider like that,

albeit an idiot.

WW- almost as bad

My kid likes to drink slip-n-slide water, a close second to water from his bath.





Can you say refreshing?