Pajama Day

Yesterday was pajama day. All day long. A combination of factors led to such laziness, not the least of which was the bad weather, or the constant attention I had to give the little one which left me no time to get anyone out of their pajamas.

William hits the floor every morning asking "What are I doing today?" By naptime yesterday he said grumpily "Hmmph. We hasn't gone ANYWHERE today."

Duh.

Just saw the forecast for today. Rain Rain Rain. I am proclaiming another pajama day. I'll at least change everyone out of yesterday's pajamas and put on new ones.

And, Sorry William, we isn't going anywhere today either.

Bring on the Heat

Memorial Day and the official start to summer. It's felt like summer here for about 2 months already. I just thought it was tough toting around that 9 pound baby before he arrived. You oughta see me trying to "wear" him in the sling or the Baby Bjorn. A necessity if I want free hands, but LORD IT'S HOT. I have to crank the air down to about 60 just to keep from passing out.

Speaking of passing out. This is true what I'm about to share. I had a dream last night that I was told I was being admitted to the hospital for two nights to feed Stuart. That insurance would pay for me to stay in the hospital just to feed him without being interrupted by toddlers crawling all over me. I was so excited. Then I woke up. I am considering going up to the ER though and passing out in the hopes that it might buy me at least a few hours in triage. Alone.

Anyway...here are a few pictures of William and Catherine at a little friend's birthday party a couple of weeks ago, having fun in the sun. I haven't taken pictures of Stuart since those two week pictures. Sad. Just sad. I'll try to get some pictures of him and post them before he grows a beard.

The Witching Hour

One month into this insane journey I can tell you that the most dreaded and most feared time of day for me is late afternoon / dinner / praying for Andy to get home time. The older kids have awakened from naps and are ready to rumble. The little one won't let me put him down, and I am usually on the verge of pulling what my friend Kim calls a Brooke Shields. Sitting in the corner rocking back and forth and staring into space.

I have been just inches away from a meltdown several times over the past week. Two nights ago I was home alone with all the kids at dinner time. I was trying to help Catherine eat her dinner, while bouncing a screaming baby waiting for Dairy Queen to open for business. Forget me being able to get even a morsel into my own mouth. And as William sat there eating, he said loudly over all the commotion:

Hey Mama, you know what?

What?

Wellllllllllll......when I was a little boy, a long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long time ago......I wasn't able to eat by myself. But I can feed myself now. 'Cause I'm a BIG boy!

At least he made me smile. And made me proud. And gave me something to be thankful for that night when I said my prayers. Someone who can feed himself! Sometimes it's the little things that become all of a sudden huge.

Being Sybil

Oh the drama of it all. And to have an audience makes it even more intoxicating to throw yourself down in the middle of the kitchen floor and pound your fists and stomp your feet.

Painting with Toes

I've always been in awe of people who, after an accident or for whatever reason, lose the use of a limb or two and learn to make use of other limbs in amazing ways. You know, people who learn to eat with their feet and paint with their toes. How do they do that? They just do. Because they have to.

Likewise, I just do, because I have to. I am amazing even myself with what I'm able to do with one hand because I'm holding a baby with the other. Cook dinner. Clean the kitchen. Make a bed. Wipe a bottom (won't say whose to protect their privacy....just trust me on this one). So now I get it. You do what you have to do when you have to do it. Even if it means painting with your toes.

I have a confession to make though before I sign off to go finally take a shower. I locked myself in the bathroom today with the baby in order to escape Sybil, I mean Catherine. She is SUCH the drama queen these days and incredibly demanding. And she was demanding a piece of me that I just didn't have to give away.

I was trying to rock the baby during the witching hour and she was climbing up my legs and barreling on top of the baby to hang on me. Before I knew what I was doing, I gently pushed her off of me as she collapsed into an uncontrollable fit on the floor, and I ran off with the baby to the nearest sanctuary I could find - the hall bathroom. I locked the door and put the lid down so I'd have a place to perch and I just rocked the baby back and forth as Sybil banged on the door. Humming my favorite disco lullaby....I will survive....I will survive.

I will, won't I?

Splish Splash

I had a great idea last week when I realized that William's school was ending on Friday and it would be me and all 3 kids all day every day for the next month before the summer session starts. I thought it would be a great idea if the kids had a little kiddy pool to go on the patio outside of our bedroom, where I could sit peacefully, hold the baby, and watch the older kids romp and play and splash around.

So I asked Andy to go by the store on his way home from work and get one of those little hard plastic $10 pools. Didn't want anything high maintenance. Nothing that would get holes in it and need to be fixed. Something that could be filled up and emptied quickly and with one hand if need be.

He called me from the store and said they didn't have the little plastic pools, but they had a couple of blow up pools and he started spouting out dimensions, etc. At the time I was juggling a newborn and two hungry toddlers and so I said "Whatever you think." Hmmmmm. Maybe I should have paid closer attention to those dimensions.

My first clue that this wasn't what I had in mind was when he had to bring out the industrial electric pump to blow it up. The same pump that inflates tires on cars. My second clue was when he started running the water to fill it up and didn't turn it off for 5 1/2 hours. Turns out this little pool holds 600 gallons of water. That was not a typo and I didn't add an extra zero. It honestly holds SIX HUNDRED GALLONS of water.

Turns out the kids are scared of it. They are unable to get in on their own, they must be lifted over the side and they must have life preservers on to keep from drowning. Turns out I'm scared of it too. I am advertising now for a lifeguard to hire for the summer so I can relax and sit quietly and peacefully and rock the baby while they have fun in the sun. Which was what I originally had in mind.

Two weeks old

I Will Survive, I Will Survive, I Will Survive

My new mantra: I Will Survive. I take comfort in the knowledge that, as far as I know, no one has ever met their demise from being left alone caring for three very young, very needy children. But it was a sad sight yesterday morning when Andy returned to work. He was having to try to make his way out of the door with a screaming, crying, hysterical blue eyed girl clinging to his legs begging "Daddy, please don't go!!" It didn't work. He couldn't shake me off his leg and run to the car fast enough. As the car peeled out of the driveway, William and Catherine were just standing there staring at me as I pulled myself up off the floor, brushed myself off and started repeating over and over, I will survive.

Crazy as it sounds, I'm actually enjoying the 3 am feedings. Because it's just me and Stuart. No one crawling all over us, poking him in the face, trying to fit into my already crowded lap, screaming and fighting, and begging for attention. It's quiet. And peaceful. And sweet. Moments like that are rare these days.

I do realize though that one day my house will be straight again, there won't be toys scattered everywhere and the echoes of shrieking and laughing filling the air, and there won't be anyone trying to climb in my lap. And the only one crying will be me. Because all of this will be long gone.

Somehow reminding myself of that makes it easier to survive this madness.

Will post pictures soon.

Hugging Trees

I am choosing to blog rather than shower at the moment. It's a difficult choice, as some days my greatest fear is that I haven't even brushed my teeth. Can only hope that the 3 large pieces of pound cake I've just consumed this morning will freshen by breath somewhat.

I have officially turned into a hippie. I am wearing my child in a sling. He's happy, which makes the rest of us happy. But I look like a hippie. No makeup, the sling, and I've dug my Birkenstocks out of the back of my closet. Now if I could just get my hair into braided pigtails I'd be set.

Oh Lord gotta run. Someone's crying. Of course these days there's usually at least one person crying. Sometimes it's me. I managed to pull what my friend Christy calls a "three-fer" yesterday. They were all three crying at once. It was a symphony of madness.

I'm off to go hug a child and stop the crying. Then I'll be outside hugging a tree. At least the tree won't care if I stink.