I'm looking at you, Blue!

No "washable" marker,
Specifically Blue,
Has made me see red
Quite like you do.

It may be that "washable"
Means something else where you're made?

Something was lost in translation
And on my nerves you have stayed!

No Eraser that's Magic,
Nor cleanser with scrubbies
Has scraped you from walls
Or the skin of my babies.

And NOW...

It's really quite obvious...
Yes, everyone knows...
That poor little Sprinks
Has been picking her nose.
There is a stain down her face,
A Cerulean Letter,
Where you clung to her fingers.
But it gets even better
Because even her boogers
Are a bright shade of blue...
Because you aren't really "washable"
Like you say, now... are you?

Life lessons at the check-out counter....

     During our increasingly familiar mid-week-trip to the grocery store (because Mommy has decided we need to eat something with more meat, more fried whatever, or more chocolate) my children were entertaining themselves in the car-cart by lifting up their shirts and begging the other one to poke them in the belly button... loudly.  Screechy choruses of "Me!" "No!  Now me!" were echoing through the isles causing the childless to throw the shark eye and the child-ed to smirk and walk on.  They were actually being pretty adorable if you ask me.

     But, as with everything else, all good things/behavior must come to an end, and what began as a round of sweet belly poking, became a full on contact sport.  While Hubbs was trying to check out and I had gone to put an extra something back, Sass began to whomp on Sprinkles... she was thrilled!  The girl loves a good wrastle....  She sat there, giggling and grinning as Bubba rattled her back and forth.  I could see her grin from across the grocery store as I waddled back.  Hubbs was just turning to calm things down when an employee in one of those store colored vests walked up to "shield" my "poor defenseless daughter" from the "obviously egregious maltreatment" by her "evil older brother"... like it was some damn Disney fairytale.  With a sweet southern smile (that always means the exact opposite of what it does everywhere else in the world... except to apes... don't smile at an ape) she told Sass to "be nice to his little sister" and clasped Sprinks head protectively to her bosom. (Boy, is that woman luck that SPrinkles doesn't bite... anymore.)

     Now... I am all for a little village discipline.  I have been known to quietly threaten the sand/dirt/mulch throwing heathens of inattentive parents on the playground on numerous occasions.  The idea that Big Parent is always watching is a good one... but would she have done this if Sprinks was the aggressor and Sass the whompee?  Or if my oldest was a girl and my current youngest was a boy?  My money's on no.  Granted, they were being loud and disruptive and we were just trying to get out of the store with all limbs attached, but she was as culpable as he was, not to mention enjoying every moment of it.  There may be 2 years between them, but genetics has decreed that there only be 8 lbs separating them in weight at this point, and what Sass may have in big boy coordination Sprinks can totally handle with her sheer bulk and brute strength.  "Girl" does not equal delicate, crazy lady at the grocery store, or well mannered for that matter. Or clean.  Or defenseless.  Or non-bug eating.  I see we still have a lot of societal re-training to do...  *sigh*

     As I finished waddling up I laughed and said "Oh don't you worry.  She gives as good as she gets." a.k.a. "Hint, hint... hands off." and smiled my ape-smile right back and we went on our way.  When we got home dinner was cooked, cartoons were watched, and cheerful wrastling ensued.... and she gave as good as she got (much to Sass's delight) just like usual and just like it will always be.

Sometimes it's like this...

... and sometimes it ends up like this...

... but being able to (theoretically) pee standing up has NOTHING to do with the outcome of the match!

In the Land of Odd....

In the faraway Land of Odd....

It makes perfect sense to barge into the bathroom to monitor Mommy's toilet paper usage and then offer to help her wipe.

It makes total sense to use brother as a Kleenex.

It makes total sense to use Mommy as a Kleenex.

It makes total sense to barrel into the bedroom while Daddy is getting dressed, yell "nakey buns", smack him in the behind, and then run out again.

It makes total sense to roll play your demons out in the back seat, complete with sound effects and hand flailing.

It makes perfect sense to lay at the bottom of the slide, head facing the top, so that brother can slide down and play "Bocce-Noggins" with you.... repeatedly.

It makes total sense to discuss your underwear choice with the checkout lady at the grocery store... and then let it slip that we "had to throw some Spiderman underwear in da trash because mah weiner was pokin' out!".

It makes total sense to poke yourself in the eye with a fork when asked to take another bite of dinner.

It makes total sense to breakdance anywhere at anytime, all the time.

It makes total sense to do a naked Haka after every bath.  Every.  Bath.

It makes total sense (AND ensures your survival) when you can go from screaming heathen beast to snuggle-angel in 2.8 nanoseconds.

All of this, and much much more... in the faraway Land of Odd.

The Good, the Bad, and the Seriously Heinous....

SO, I'm guessing you have noticed the crickets chirping and the dust settling over here on the ol' blog.  I thank you for your patience and understanding and I promise that I will be back in the saddle again soon.  Well... as soon as this small, somersaulting miracle of gravity and life decides to make her appearance... which will probably be awhile seeing as I will only be 32 weeks along this Friday.

*sigh*

I do NOT wait well....

But I digress...

It is all very "hurry up and wait" in our house right now which is why I have decided to share with you my observations on:

The Good, the Bad, and the Seriously Heinous (SH for short)

The Good:
You could eat off the baseboards in my kitchen if you so chose because I was consumed by an all encompassing obsession to make them sparkle last weekend.  Oh nesting.... how you make me crazy....
 The bad:
Other than frantic spurts of cleaning, I have no higher brain function... or energy... or drive... did I mention no higher brain function?
The SH:
I have worn a Jabba-like impression into the cushions of our comfiest couch with my considerable bulk and the chocolate cream bundt cake I bought at Publix a few days ago.  (Don't judge!)

The Good:
Hubbs has completely taken over bath time/bed time because he is AH-mazing and has been the most tolerant and helpful spouse ever....  Nary a complaint out of the man and I even get the "Do NOT pick him/her/that up!  Let me get him/her/it!  I don't want you hurting yourself." speech regularly.  I <3 him sooooo much...
The bad:
There is no way I could kneel down, bend over, or scrub orifi anyway...
The SH:
I'm like a T-Rex at this point, except it's not my arm-to-body ratio that's off, it's my arm-to-belly ratio.  Not to mention that my back would secede from the union and have me speaking in un-kid-appropriate tongues before I could even get to wiggler # 2.

The Good:
I had an fFN test done the other day and it was negative so she's good to bake for at least another 2 weeks... despite the near constant Braxton Hicks and other assorted uterine activities. (I have had pre-term and preemie issues with BOTH previous pregnancies so it was a concern.)
The Bad:
Contractions at 10 p.m.... 1 a.m.... 3:30 a.m.... *yawn*
The SH:
Pelvic effing rest.  Seriously?  Just take ALL my fun stuff away, why don't you?  No alcohol, no drugs, and now no Super-Happy-Private-Time with Hubbs?  Boo.  It's not like we were able to go all crazy and hang from the ceiling but it's all I had, damnit.

The Good:
She is growing and wiggling up a storm!
The Bad:
All that wiggling doesn't help my near constant Braxton Hicks and other assorted aches and pains... Ever heard of "crotch lightning"?  Yeah...
The SH:
She flops... I pee.

The Good:
The hair on my head is long, luxurious, and fabulous!
The Bad:
So is my leg hair and shaving my legs leaves me huffing like moose after running a marathon.
The SH:
I have one random chin hair.  EEEEK!  WTF?!?!?!  Pluck it!  PLUCK IT!  It's worse than finding a big fat tick behind your ear the morning AFTER you went hiking... ick.... *shudder*

As you can see... all the waiting isn't too bad.  It gives me the opportunity to see all the good things.... whine about the bad... and preggo cry about the SERIOUSLY HEINOUS!  ;)

A Little Birthday Brothers Grimm....

So... I got a little older this weekend....
And a little rounder....
And, maybe a little bit wiser....  well, maybe not....

     We spent the beginning of my birthday at the State Fair.  It was great!  We rode rides (well, not me),...

... ate corn dogs, and toured all the farm animal competitions.  The wigglers were amazed at the size of the cows and the Mammoth Jacks, while completely charmed by all the effed up chicken breeds and super-cross-bred bunnies.

Chicken or Swiffer Duster?

Little did we know, though, that the real wildlife was riding home with us in our very own Robert the Blue car.

     When we got home it was nap time o'clock.  Sass Monkey has been phasing out naps for sometime now (big time sad face) but Sprinkles will still go down for a couple of hours if we run her hard enough... which we did.  Except ... except... it WASN'T quite hard enough to keep her asleep the entire time.  At some point she woke up, stripped completely naked, curled up, and went sweetly back to sleep.  Awwww, right?  Cutey little nakey buns snoring away... and peeing profusely.  Eventually, her own rapidly chilling puddle awakened her from her angelic slumber and that's when the screaming started.  Needless to say, she was quite upset to wake up in a puddle of her own cold pee.  I mean, none of us like to do that, right?  Not that I have... recently.... *AHEM*...  Anyway, I proceeded  to calmly clean her up and tell her yet again that "This is why we DO NOT take our diaper off." while mentally patting myself on the back for remaining so calm and un-hormonal about the whole situation.  Then I roundly huffed and puffed her sheets, comforter, and plushies off the bed and attempted to haul it all downstairs to the laundry, thinking the worst was over....

I.  Was.  Wrong.

     By this time I was supposed to be cooking dinner.  Hamburgers, french fries ... the pregnancy works!  It was my birthday dinner and I had delicious, greasy, deep fried plans!  Hubbs had run to the grocery store to pick up a couple of extras and I was sure I would have enough time to get dinner finished before the extended familia came over for some birthday cake and ice cream.  I glanced at the clock while carrying the sheets out to the laundry.  Yeah.... I should still have time.  No prob....

     All of a sudden, Sass starts shrieking hysterically and then screams "Hey MOOOOooooommmm!  Sister took her diaper off.... AND SHE POOPED IN MY ROOM!"...

     Queue the VERY slow motion waddle/dash for the stairs and my horrified "NOOOOOOOOOO!"... but it was too late.  In the time it had taken me to get downstairs and put the sheets in the washer, my dear, sweet Sprinks had pooped like a man, taken off her diaper, and walked around upstairs dropping nugs like napalm in Nam.  It.  Was.  Everywhere.

And that is how, my sweet little children, we ended up having McDonalds for dinner.

The End

I am not completely myself...

As we round into the 3rd level of hell trimester, I have finally come to the realization that I am really not myself.  Not even close.  There are echos of my former humanity rattling around in here somewhere but that is all they are.... echos.  I have become...  THE INCUBATOR or THE GREAT GASPY or A WHALE CALLED SYNNØVE .. just pick one and run with it.  It's not like I can... run, that is... or even walk quickly, really....  *sigh*

Anyhoo...  While there are many things I am not (like ambulatory, continent, or sentient) there ARE a few things I still am.

I AM

- I am so roundly gargantuan that it's gotten to the point where Hubbs no longer asks if I'm okay when he hears a bunch of panting, grunting, and painful groaning coming from the other room... he just assumes I am trying to stand up.  And he's right...

- I am the hugely pregnant Mom who inspires all the other children in my son's class to beg loudly and publicly for a sibling.  No, no... go ahead and throw me the shark-eye, other Moms.  I get it.  No hard feelings....

- I am the human dirigible who trips over NOTHING in the middle of downtown Nashville and falls on the sidewalk much to the complete horror of everyone around me.  I couldn't stop myself.  Where the belly goes, so go I... damnit.

- I am starting to dream about giving birth...  Yeah, I've hit that point.  The best part of the dream is when I can actually bend over afterwards and breathe properly.  There is always this intense sense of physical relief at the end as I cradle my my new baby (or rag doll as in my last dream where I gave birth to Raggedy Ann in the shower.  Freud THAT!) to my chest and go about my daily life as if nothing has happened.  No pain, no blood, no unnamable goo... just sweet relief.

- I am THAT pregnant lady who has grown too large for actual maternity clothes by month 7 and must move on to big dude tee-shirts from Wal-mart or two table cloths sewn together...

- I AM the heavy breather in the elevator....

- I am so big my stomach is no longer suitable for my children to blow razzberries on as the skin is too tightly stretched.  They have had to substitute with Daddy; a hairier but viable substitute.  He is THRILLED.

- I am that wife who asks my Hubbs to "Be honest... how much bigger HAS my ass gotten?".   He usually just says "I love you!" and moves away quickly or smiles and says "I don't know what you are talking about.".   For a lawyer, he is a terrible liar...

- I am that un-handicapped woman who seriously considers the little motorized scooters in Wal-mart when we go grocery shopping....

- I am afraid to sneeze...

- I am, as my son likes to say, "preeeeegnant". (Draw that out with a Tennessee drawl and then giggle maniacally and you've got it.  Oh, and you need to be shirtless, wearing a camo trucker hat with 4 year olds farmer tan.)  Yup, mah little man, I am... with all those extra vowels and everything.

So these things I am and maybe a bit more (depending of whether my little tumbler in training takes the night off or not).  And it's only going to get worse before it gets better...  And then.... then.... into the Newborn Fog we go.  Good times, good times....  But at least I will be able to bend over.  :)

Tah-tah!

I call a Do-Over!

     "Yeah... *sigh with forehead rubbing*  those are mine."  Those two filthy, nose picking, possibly spider-eating, bruise-covered, pooting, burping, wiggling heathens are mine.

This week has been interesting... comedy-of-errors interesting.  Aaaand it's not even Friday...

Let's start with Monday, shall we?

Sass:  Two boo-boo reports resulting in a decently bloodied knee and banged up nose.
Sprinkles:  A diaper blowout that had the teacher using phrases like "crawled up her back" and "Chernobyl-esque"...

Tuesday:

Sass insists that Sprinks be "Spider Girl" to his Spiderman but she may have taken this to heart and too far...

     I walk into Sprinks school room to pick her up and, instead of smiles and hellos from her teachers, I get "We need to show you something." and dead-eyed stares.  "Okay", I say wondering what devilish debauchery my sweet little daughter has been party to... this time.  The lead teacher walks over, like a pall bearer at a funeral, a crumpled up paper towel clutched out in front of her.  It must be contagious by the way she is holding it.  "We found her playing with this." she says very seriously.  A turd?  I think to myself.  I can handle that AND it wouldn't be the first time anyway...  
     The teacher slowly and carefully peels back a corner of the towel to reveal... a giant crumpled up spider.  Both teachers go silent, waiting for my reaction.  In lieu of screeching like a banshee while leaping backwards fast enough to shed my own skin in a desperate attempt to put some distance between myself and my most hated of enemies I say "Oh.  Well.  Hmmmm....  It's missing its abdomen.  I wonder if somebody has spider breath?"  Shocked silence coats the room while I sweetly smile down at my tiny, organic vacuum cleaner.  "Oh and don't worry... it's not a Brown Recluse (which is why I knew they were afraid to show it to me as they are relatively common here).  It's too big and its legs are banded.  It's a Wolf Spider of some sort."  More shocked silence.
     As I forced myself to pick up my innocent little muffin while trying desperately to suppress my gag reflex and convince my subconscious that she WASN'T covered in nasty, filthy spider hairs, I realized I probably hadn't handled that well.  "Spider, Mommy?" she cooed sweetly.  "Yes, sweetie... that's a spider.  But we really shouldn't play with those..."  *hack, wretch, gag*

No sense in the next generation inheriting my all-encompassing and paralyzing fear of the eight-legged, right?

*shudder*  I need a shower....

Wednesday:

This.

Yeah... we got a call from school that someone had unsuccessfully played "Superman" off some playground equipment and is now 2/3rds angry, swollen noggin.  Did I mention that we are on a first name basis with our pediatrician?  He's fine, btw... he got his Daddy's skull....

*sigh*

I fear for today, Friday, and Saturday... oh, and Sunday.  Betcher britches it starts all over again on Monday, too....

Mommy Molding

     As I slowly waddle around, scaring the crap out of people in elevators (I can almost hear them thinking "Just please don't let her pop in here!"), I have had a lot more time to think.  I mentally map all of the closest bathrooms, just in case the grublet decides it's time to polka on my bladder.   I wonder about how life is going to change with our third edition.  I compare "then and now"... you know.. the whole pre-kids vs. post kids thing... and I have come to a couple of conclusions about who I was "then" as opposed to who I am "now".  Becoming a parent has definitely made me...


Resourceful
     Not in the "Naked and Afraid" kind of way (Btw, if you haven't seen that show, you should.  It will make you appreciate that we made it as a species AT ALL.  That, and the girls usually kick the guys butts.) but in the "Oh no.  I for got the wipes and her diaper is hanging so low we will have to avoid speed bumps on the way to the car.  Time to MacGyver some Wet Ones out of 2 panty liners and a week old bottle of water." kind of way.

Unsympathetic
   Not to boo-boos and nightmares, mind you, but to childless folks who tell me they are tired or talk about how their most recent vacay didn't turn out as planned.

Proud
     I made this.  That's right, folks!  This nose diving, super-blurr of knock-knock jokes and unrestrained public farts grew inside me.  I MADE PEOPLE (with Hubbs, of course)... what have YOU done for the human race lately?

Hearing Impaired
     I don't know about you guys, but I seem to have lost the ability to hear screaming and rattling around upstairs or outside until it is band-aid worthy.  It's really weird.

Appreciative
     ... of people who will watch my children for a night out with the Hubbs.
     ... of frozen meatballs and Prego with canned green beans.
     ... of Diaper Genies and spray on sunscreen and all those other little conveniences that make life easier               than it was 10 years ago.
     ... of lots of things I never would have even noticed B.K. (Before Kids... as opposed to A.K. - After                 Kids)

Aware
     Where does the time go?  It is speeding by, faster than time should, and now they are no longer babies.  They are little people who can dress themselves (sort of) and tell me what they want for dinner (mostly fruit snacks) and wipe their own butts (weeeeellll... kinda).  Wait!  Stop!  It's all happening too quickly!

Yup... I am a totally different person now... a better one....  :)

The Invasion of my Body Snatchers Mines-of-Moria-style

Sweethairycats, DO NOT DRINK THE WATER!  

There are thingssssss in it...

...and they are MULTIPLYING!

Soon they will be in our backyards,...

...taking over our homes,

...using our cell phones,

...and ultimately possessing our very bodies...

"We have barred the gates.... 

(but THAT obviously failed)

...we cannot get out... 

(or even shower alone)

...drums, drums in the deep.... 

(deep in my gut, usually on my bladder)

They are coming."

(That's why it sounds like a herd of wildebeests are living on our second level!)

(LOTR, Fellowship of the Ring)

Invasion of the Fruit Snack Snatchers

     We have an infestation problem.  They are everywhere!  Crawling in and over our fence, wriggling into the house, setting up nests in our playground equipment...  I'm talking about the neighborhood kids, ya'll.

     We moved into our sleepy little neighborhood about a year ago.  It is green, quiet, and zoned for all the schools we want.  Plus, there are tons of kids.  Score, right!  Well, sometimes...  I used to daydream about slow summer days where all the neighborhood kids ran around together like a primeval herd of wild elk, descending upon various houses for juice boxes and Totinos pizza roll snacks.  They would play from sunup to sundown, only returning for sustinance and to fall exhausted into their beds.  Everyone would smell of sunscreen and bug spray, their sun-browned limbs flashing through the trees as they raced across yards...

*POP*

That was my bubble popping.  Loudly and painfully.

THIS is our reality:

We have dogs.
     They are good dogs, mind you.  One is a 14 year old tri-colored throw rug that at one point was a beagle but now is a sleeping, eating, and pooping machine.  But mostly sleeping.  The other is a 7 year old black lab/pony mix whose one goal in life is to play and play hard.  Fetch, tag, WWE wrestling... she is down for it all...  but they are still dogs.  You have a much likelier chance of being bitten by my toddler than by one of my dogs but still...  when Mommy and Daddy haven't taught you any animal sense, I worry.  So... the dogs get locked up.

Your children are annoying.
     Christonasaltine, fortheloveofallthatisholyandgood will you just shuttheeffup!  My neighborhood is crawling with little dictators who come into my back yard to yell that "Your baby won't get off the slide!" (well, it's her yard and her slide), or that "You should do it this way because...", or even better... the non-stop diatribe about their recent family trip to (insert boring locale here) to visit (insert someone I don't care about here) with little tidbits dropped that leave me wondering if good old (whoever) is a pedophile/shut-in/serial killer.

Where are your parents?
     Are you some street kid just wandering the neighborhood, only here to poach snacks and pee in my bathroom?  Oh no?  You have a family?  Right over there?  Funny... I've never seen them.  I see they subscribe to the Darwinian "Run Free Like The Buffalo" parenting style for all children under the age of 6.  Or did they just lock you out?

Yes, that's all we've got.
"Doncha have anything ELSE to play with?".  Anything other than my fist, you mean?  Ummm... no, I don't.  I am sorry the entire deck box of toys you have strewn about my yard like casualties at the Battle of the Bulge didn't do it for you.  Go find a stick.  Or better yet, go home.

I am not here to amuse you.
You wanted to come play with my children, so do it.  Hubbs and I have just gotten off work and are trying to get dinner ready.  Does my face say I care?  No?  Well... it really is past "take the hint" now, isn't it?

     I just thought their would be more parental responsibility.  I thought parents would drop by and say hello... you know... just to make sure we weren't in the process of chaining anyone to the walls or burying bodies or something before they let their kids run rampant in our back yard.  Hubbs and I have made an effort to figure out what spawn goes where and introduce ourselves accordingly but it has been a long process.

     Is this normal neighborhood behavior or did we buy into some weird, free range hippie commune?  Maybe Hubbs and I are just worry worts.... or maybe manners are optional here?

Got any suggestions?

Are you a PWM?

     I am a PWM (that's a Proud Working Mother for all of you out there).  Period.  End of sentence.  It may come as shock for some but there is no "..but if I could afford it, I'd stay home.".  That's it.  A PWM.  Let that sink in.... And you know what else?  Even if I could afford it I wouldn't stay home with my kids.  There!  I said it!  No guilt, no shame, just the truth.

     "Day care employees don't care!" a few Moms will cry.  "They will abuse your children!  They will  neglect your children!  They will be irreparably damaged!"...  Bullsh*t, I cry back.  Sure... there will always be bad people in this world.  Some of them will be day care employees, some will be pediatricians, and some will even be SAHMs.

     "If we birth them, we should raise them."  Ummm... and I'm not?  I may not be at home, teaching my kids to make caterpillars out of old tube socks and some pipe cleaners. but I am still helping them learn!  (Cool craft, btw.)  I am just doing it differently than someone who is a SAHM.

     But.... that's the REAL problem isn't it?  That we all have different ideas of what is beneficial for our children?  And as women, and our own BEST worst enemies, we judge, we form biased opinions, and we criticize....  Do you really think that other fathers leave nasty comments on posts, or whisper behind another Dad's back at a playdate about whether or not so-and-so uses Dr. Brown's or Wal-mart bottles or whether they get their fruit from the farmers market or Kroger?  For the most part, they don't.  WE do that to OUR OWN.  We have no one to blame but ourselves.

We really need to quit that sh*t, ya'll.

     This is why I believe I see so much passive aggressive nonsense and self-guilt about SAHM vs. Working Moms out there in the blogoshere.  You can quote whatever obscure study you want to (there are sh*t tons for both sides) about what is better for who, but what it all really boils down to, ladies.... is our penchant for trying to emotionally destroy one another.  Our incessant need to build ourselves up by breaking others down because we are unsure and afraid of our own choices.

WE are our biggest OBSTACLE.

     I don't SAH, cloth diaper, worry about organic, or EBF but I also don't think those who do are bad Mothers.  I think we are all trying to figure out a puzzle with no defined boundaries or space... our kids and their futures. We are all trying to do our best and our best definitely shouldn't include negativity.  To so fervently believe that yours is the only way that you are blinded to all other ideas is dangerous, scary, and wrong.  Nobody ever knows it all and has it all right.  Nobody.  Ever. Take some pressure off yourselves and realize we will never be perfect.  And besides... perfection is boring!

     SO again I say... I am a PWM.  The Hubbs and I are doing what WE FEEL is right for OUR CHILDREN by providing them with lots of social interaction, a structured curriculum, and space away from Mommy and Daddy to figure out who they are.  WE are also showing them that both Mommy and Daddy are thinking, contributing members of society who are passionate about learning and doing as well as Mommy and Daddy, their doting parents.  One of the great things about raising children is that there are TONS of ways to teach them all the things you as a parent feel are important.  Each child will be raised differently to become an individual we can all learn from and this will make the world an even more interesting place for all of us.

     So, next time, instead of snickering behind your hand at another Moms way of doing things, think about what they are teaching their child and how that could enrich your life and the life of your child.

And PWMs... no more apologies.  Just own it and rock it...