Pushing the pause button...

That seems to be the perpetual state I'm in lately. Someone has pushed the pause button on my life and the fast forward button on the baby. He is growing by leaps and bounds and I am terminally behind on filling in the milestones in his baby book. He is still not sleeping well at night and as an added bonus has decided that naps are for wimps, too! So, I'm still in that slow-motion, sluggish, zombie-fied state while he is crawling like the wind. I remember being productive around the house as a fond memory. I know, I know...they aren't babies very long and the housework can wait. Tell that to the 5 loads of laundry that are lounging in the wash room right now. Or, better yet...tell it to the big boy this morning that came to me with a pained look on his face and said, "Mom...I don't have any blue jeans to wear to school today! Am I going to have to wear my church clothes?". I had forgotten how one tiny little person can bring every day, normal activities to a grinding halt and one woman to her knees. Well...break time is over. Back to playing Peek-a-Boo. The prince has decided he can no longer entertain himself. :-)

Diary of a Weary Nursing Momma

I'm convinced we have mutant children. All 3 of them. The baby is the last one in a line of children who just don't sleep well. He's like a little hungry caterpillar. He "munches" all night long. I would love to attribute it to a growth spurt but in an effort to be honest with myself I have to admit he is just as bad a sleeper as his older brother and his brother before him. I thought we were getting somewhere with the whole sleeping through the night thing. Turns out he's not in such a hurry to give up those quiet, middle of the night feedings. It's funny how that's the first thing you ask someone when they have a baby. "So, how's he sleeping for you?" or "Is he sleeping through the night, yet?" or my personal favorite, "Are you getting any sleep?". If it weren't for my dear, sweet husband getting up before the sun with the other boys when they wake up, I'd be up the proverbial creek without a paddle. I've never been much of a "night" person. I've always gone to bed fairly early and woken up with the chickens but being up all night AND waking up with the chickens is for the birds. Har har.

But, although being awake off and on all night makes me grumpy and weary, I might just be as reluctant to give up those times as he is. This is my last baby. That thought whispers at the back of my mind each night as I stumble into his room for a feeding. As I sit in the rocker and breathe in his sweet scent I can't help but be thankful for that time with him. It's just us. No brothers distracting him by kissing his head. No noise or lights. It's just us in the cool, dark quiet of his room. When he snuggles into me and sighs I know that no matter how tired I am I should enjoy these moments. Soon he won't need me in that way. He will be sleeping peacefully all night long and when daylight comes he'll be a whirling tornado of energy, much like his brothers before him. So, I vow I will enjoy those quiet times with my little mutant. There will be plenty of time to sleep when my children are grown and being awakened by children of their own!

Mom Jeans

I used to dress with pizazz. With verve and imagination. I was trendy and had style. Even my undies made a statement. They shouted that I was young, fit, sexy, and in debt up to my eyeballs to Miss Victoria and her compelling little secret. That was my former life. Now, I peer into my closet each day looking for a pair of streeeeetchy shorts and a top that will not show the spit up stains that are sure to be a part of my day. My feet get shoved into the most comfy pair of flip flops I have and my hair thrown into a pony tail. I have become what I always swore I wouldn't...boring! Now my undergarments groan that my way is Hanes Her Way. The words marching across the stretchy waistband attached to yards of functional cotton. Ok, maybe not "yards" but it feels like it. The bras that hold up my not so perky anymore "girls" are functional and boring, too. Black, white, tan...Bueller, Bueller, Bueller.

I used to browse sale catalogs and websites looking for the latest fashion trend. Now I cringe when I see what all the young and hip are wearing. Little did I know then that the stuff I was wearing wasn't made for a mom of 3 boys. Or should I say, the BODY of a mom of 3 boys. Actually, I should say the BODY of a mom of 3 boys who DOESN'T work out. I know women who have 2 or 3 children that could model for Miss Victoria. They could declare her secret to the world with their children clinging to their legs and make it look GOOD! But, I digress. Some days I long to get up, put on something pretty, grab a pair of heels, and trip trap around all day pretending I'm dolled up for something interesting. Here's where my day dream turns to nightmarish reality. I realize carrying around a 16 pound bucket of drool in heels is just designed for torture, not glamour. He'd pull out my perfectly coiffed hair, spit up on my shoes, and break my beaded necklace. My 4 year old would run up to give me a sticky hug with peanut butter on his fingers and ruin my beautiful, perfectly fitted pants. *Sigh* For now, I'll take the stretchy pants and milk stained tee shirts. Give me the sticky hugs and pony tails. There will be plenty of time for secrets when my children are grown. Plenty of time for perfectly fitted pants on a backside that has seen the gym for more than sitting to watch my 8 year old practice karate. For now, I'll enjoy my mom jeans.

MER

I have several friends who have marriages that are shaky. Like, house of cards ready to collapse shaky. It saddens me so deeply to watch their struggles. It also makes me pause to think about my own marriage. I think I've totally underestimated how lucky I am to have an uncomplicated husband. In the ways of love that is. Believe me...he has other issues but THAT will be saved for another blog. My husband (he will be referred to henceforth as MER) is such a simple man. Basically if you feed him, he will love you forever. In the early days of our marriage I used to try to get him to be deeper than he was and is. Why didn't he write poetry and declare his undying love for me in iambic pentameter every day? Or least once a week? Heck, I would have even taken once a month! No flowers, sonnets, romantic evenings with wine and candles for me. Nothing. Nada. But, it has taken me 9 years and 3 kids to appreciate the simplicity that is MER. I've realized the majority of what makes it work is that we've stopped trying to make each other something we're not. I know his issues and although they still bug me from time to time, I've learned to deal with them (for the most part). The same goes with him. He lets me be me. The neatest thing is...we have each grown towards the others way of thinking. He is still not incredibly romantic but does tell me every day he loves me and that I am beautiful. I am not such a sappy romantic anymore and don't require all of the extra gestures that I once did. Heck, he makes me swoon when he unloads the dishwasher now! Forget the flowers, they die. Pour out the wine, it makes me sleepy. I would still love to hear him recite sonnets but that dream is slowly dying, too. I used to get so angry with him when he made me laugh when I was sad or upset about something. Now, I look forward to it.

I went to bed so sad last night after talking to a dear friend who had just told me she and her husband are separating. Sick at heart for her I crawled beneath the covers and snuggled up to my MER and as we chatted quietly about this and that, I realized...most of all, I know he is steady. He is my rock. God knew exactly what I needed in a husband even though I had something totally different in mind. As I drifted off to sleep I thanked God for his wisdom. I thanked him for my wise cracking, rear slapping, fun loving goof ball of a husband. Without him I would be lost and not nearly as complete.

little boy humor

I'm finding a theme in the humor in my house. Booty's and toots. Yep, I said it. The potty humor is raging around here, lately. This morning Abram says to me, "Mom...want me to tell you a joke?". "Sure", I say. "What did the airplane say to the astronaut?". "Hmm, I don't know sweetie", I reply. I could see the sly little smile on his face. He took a deep breath and I thought, " here it comes". "Oh my booty coo coo!", he chortles. Does it makes sense? Not even a little bit. But, it is supremely hilarious to him because he found yet another way to include the word "booty" into something he was saying. We've discovered that when he is has run out of things to talk about (which is rare) his old standby line is to sigh and say "I hate my booty". Huh? The punch line to every joke is booty. I don't get it. I have to admit I'm stumped. Why in the world is that so funny? Perhaps boys were manufactured with a little extra compartment in their brains where booty humor specifically sits just waiting to spill forth. Even my 8 year old will go into fits of giggles at the mention of booty's and toots. The baby is a veritable treasure trove of humor in that area, in fact. He is in fact, a gassy little thing. He could power a speed boat all on his own. The funniest thing in the world to his older brothers is when he dirties a diaper with the loudest of grunts and even louder fire power from within. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever understand these strange little creatures that are my boys. Even at this age it's amazing how different boys and girls are. Don't get me wrong, I know little girls find bodily functions hilarious, too. Usually they outgrow it though, right? Looking at my husband I've come to realize, boys never do!

zombies

Zombies have taken over my household. As summer continues my children get less and less creative with their abilities to entertain themselves and more and more reliant on video games to keep from being "bored". Let me be clear, I don't let them constantly play the video games but everytime I turn around they are wanting to play one or I am having to take up a Nintendo DSi and tell the user to "go use your imagination!". Yesterday Abram (my 4 year old) tried to coax me into just a few more minutes of Wii time because he "forgot how to use his 'magination", he even claimed, "I yost it". Hmmm. When my children play video games it looks like zombies have taken over their bodies. They sit and stare straight ahead and nothing moves but their fingers. *Shiver* I see their "brains" being eaten up by electronics. The problem is that we have too many forms of electronic entertainment. We have a Wii, a Playstation, an iPad, two DSi's, and of course the computer. In a pinch they will go hunt my iphone to get a fix. All of this comes with another set of problems. Abram has become terrified of zombies. Thank you daddy and your iPad game of Plants Vs. Zombies. Which, by the way, Noah (my 8 year old) is OBSESSED with. My poor little guy now will no longer go to the restroom by himself because he is afraid a "jombie" will get him. No longer does he go into his own room and play with his Batcave and Army guys by himself. If I leave a room with him in it, he practically crawls up my pant leg in order to make it out of there with me.
And...alright, I have a confession to make. I'm a zombie, too. No, no...not because of video games. It's because I have an almost 4 month old that doesn't sleep through the night consistently, yet and a husband that snores like a chainsaw. I get up in the mornings and stumble through my day red eyed and sluggish. In fact, I probably looking like something out of "Night of the Living Dead". So, you see, zombies have taken over my home--enter at your own risk!

dreaming

I had a really strange dream last night. In my dream, my mother pulled my legs off (they were detachable) and was using them and wouldn't give them back to me. No matter how much I pleaded. She said she needed them more than I did. Okay, aside from the fact that it was a FREAKY dream it got me thinking. Doesn't it seem like as moms we get blamed for just about everything? When my oldest was a little bitty guy he would randomly trip and fall (he's as graceful as his mother) and then turn and blame me for it. Even if I was on the other side of the house! "Mommy, you pushed me!" , he would accuse angrily. No way I could convince him that I was in fact folding laundry on the couch at the time of the alleged shoving. My 4 year old accused me just this morning of my brain making him act naughty. I didn't actually realize I had that kind of power but I'm thinking it may come in handy someday. Can you imagine what we, as mothers, could do with that ability? My house would always be clean. Not by ME of course, by my mind controlled children. Stressful shopping trips would be a thing of the past! No more whining for toys and crying for candy in the checkout line. Nope. My mind controlled children would be the most well behaved kiddos in the store. No more wrestling, hitting, biting, or pinching each other. My little angels would sit lovingly together reading books and conversing of their love for me and each other. Yeah right, and then I woke up!