Hormones?

Sometimes, in the middle of a really bad day, I feel like I am outside of myself watching someone else mother my children.

It was not me going nuts because, once again, every single horizontal surface in the house is covered in everyone’s crap. An empty table is not an invitation to your crap to throw a party for itself and everyone else’s crap.

It was not me demanding asking my oldest son to make lunch because I was feeding the baby. Again.

It was not me being irritated with my seven year old because all he wanted was to sit Right. Next. To. Me. while I nursed the baby. Again.

Then, when the three year old started crawling on me from the other side, it wasn’t me who elbowed her off and said through gritted teeth “STOP MESSING WITH THE BABY WHILE HE’S EATING!”

It wasn’t me, locking myself in the bathroom to cry, after stepping in dog puke. Twice. On my carpet. In bare feet.

I wasn’t that grown woman throwing a tantrum because the brand new pacifier was lost and the baby was crying and dinner wasn’t made and I smell like rotten milk and the floor needs to be vacuumed and the baby was crying and I can’t find the pacifier and the dog is sleeping in the clean laundry and the dog found and ate another used nursing pad and I wouldn’t mind if he would just consume the whole thing, but he leaves little bits and pieces around for me to find and there’s clutter everywhere and the awning over the front porch is leaking and my tomato plants are infected with some sort of fungus and where is that stupid pacifier? and did I brush my teeth today? and what IS that smell?

sigh

nope. that wasn’t me.

I don’t know who that was, but I think she’s gone.

It amazes me that at the end of a day like today, they still climb all over each other to sit next to me during scripture study, they want to kiss and snuggle me and whisper in my ear “you’re the best mom” and the only thing that Creed has to say to his dad about his day is that he is the one who found the pacifier and it “made mom really really REALLY happy.”

Thank goodness he found that {insert explicative) pacifier.

Time Flies

Happy Birthday to the Guinea Pig of our little rose garden. A few of Jack’s favorites for your reading pleasure:

• all things science
• all things Star Wars
• anything Ed likes (ie: Weezer, Halo, duties of a bus boy)
• the printed word, or more accurately, any printed word (he gobbles up books like his mother eats cookie dough)
• National Geographic (His grandpa got him a subscription. They come every month in his name, and he devours each issue as though it were coated in sugar.)
• maps
• prayer
• gum & tic tacs (Is he concerned about halitosis?)
• Stella
• music
• swimming
• the approval of his Uncle Scott
• Cross Fit
• The Aquabats
• movies
• snacks

Thanks for turning me into a mom, and please stop growing up so fast . . .

Let it be a lesson

He’ll be telling this story ten years from now, and I’ll be feeling guilty and sick.

And I’ll deserve it.

That face, that hair, those eyes.

I swear, I thought he was downstairs playing with the other kids.

I thought he had run ahead of us after we enjoyed our fireworks display in an unfamiliar neighborhood.

I was surprised a half hour later that my friends had someone knocking on their door at 10:30 pm.

I was totally shocked when I saw a man on their porch whom I had never seen before handing over my child: scared, sniffling, and relieved.

That’s when my panic set in.

“Well, I was running back to the house, and I tripped, and when I looked up I didn’t see you guys. My knee really hurt. I just waited on the corner for you to come back and get me. But you never came.”

“What did that guy say to you when he walked up to you?”

“He asked me where my parents were. I told him we were visiting our friends and I told him their names, but he didn’t know them. He got me a band-aid and asked me if I wanted a drink. Then he sat with me and waited.”

and waited and waited. But we never came.

They finally figured out where we were, and my child was deposited into my arms.

I thought he was downstairs playing.

Somehow, that statement is not very comforting.

I almost lost him.

Apparently I need leashes. Four of ‘em.

I should have just gone to Auntie Kim’s barbeque, but with the price of gas I couldn’t justify the 1066 mile drive.

Now, go hug your kids, I can’t seem to stop hugging mine.

I wonder what Homer would have to say . . .

The first two weeks of June were fan-dootelley-tastic. That’s how long I was visiting the homeland because that’s how long it took me to recover from the drive. I think it took so long because I was feeding a newborn around the clock and that was messing with my sleeping schedule. I just never felt like I had any energy at all. Anyone who has ever had a baby knows how it is. To those of you who I love dearly but didn’t go visit, I hope you will forgive me. (sara, dana, tricia, princess p and the Royal Court.) There is not much to report about my time in Utah because all I did was sit around.

Here is a picture of the storm we hit on our drive back to the middle of the USA. It was taken at 7pm. Shortly before this shot, the clouds directly ahead of us were swirling around in an ominous way. We saw a funnel cloud that didn’t touch terra firma.

I came home to this beautiful site:

These are the flowers I planted in the front yard before I left, and that bare spot in the back is what is left after Bob pulled out the ugly bush I didn’t want. He also trimmed up our juniper bushes. Have I mentioned I love him?

This was also exciting to see:

This is a portion of my vegetable garden. We have already harvested and eaten all the lettuce, the kids snack on the peas all day, the cabbage is almost ready, the beans have teeny tiny little fruits on them, the peppers are starting to flower, we have a few small tomatoes, more squash than we will be able to eat, swiss chard, corn, cucumbers, pumpkins and melons.

This, however, was the sight I most looked forward to upon my arrival:

Though not necessarily the fussy baby part. He just happened to be making a funny face that day. Or maybe he wanted to live up to the nickname his Grandpa Creed gave him: Toad.

In the past two days, Ed and I have dug up and planted this little patch in the back:

We have also dug up a flower bed all along the south side of the property. Sod is a pain in the butt. That’s right, I said butt. It will fill in, I’m sure. The flower bed, not my butt.

Is anyone still reading? If you are, I’m sorry.

After ten plus years of apartments and rentals, I guess I’m excited to have a piece of land to tend. Bob says I am becoming more and more like his mother every day. It’s probably true. I am obsessed with my yard. Oh well.

I’m also on a quest to find the perfect shade of grey to paint my front room. Anyone out there have any good ones? More blue than green is all I ask.