Thursday, January 31, 2013

mabel's room

Mabel's room!  It's .... well, not done, per se.  Are rooms ever done?  Not in my house.  Tinker, tinker, rearrange, tinker, HEY HONEY MOVE THIS BIG HEAVY THING.  But Mabel's room is looking like a real life nursery, and she's only five months old now, so yay efficiency!  This room was a serious wreck up until the week after Christmas, when I inexplicably had an energy spurt and did the whole deal in 48 hours while my kids were distracted by new Christmas toys.  I'd intended to repaint before we did anything, honestly.  The purple that looked a muted grayish purple that perfectly complimented her bedding when viewed on a paint sample card in Wisconsin turned out to be a, well, babyish purpley purple when I arrived in Colorado and found it on all four walls of Mabel's nursery.  Bein' all, purpleyandshit.  But, the more I walked into the room and stared at the walls, the more it seemed like a hue we could live with for a year or two.  I figured I'd probably re-paint the room when it came time for a big girl room makeover, anyway, so might as well just go with this.

Anyway.

Mabel Gray's room!  That she doesn't sleep in at night!  But we do sometimes change a diaper or two in there!  And she napped in there for many hours today!  EXCLAMATION POINT!



Her wall letters and mobile are DIY.  Wall letters are just the old cardboard jobbies we've all seen 100 times at Hobby Lobby, that I spray painted silver to look zinc-y.  (Do they?  Look zinc-y?)  The mobile was just me gathering up a bunch of rando craft stuff from around my house, yanking some fall leaves off a fall wreath, and going to town.  And, you know, wine.  Oh!  Also.  Side story about the letters.  We'd originally planned to use J's Mamaw's exact name, Mable.  So, I made the letters.  The next week we decided to go with the Mabel spelling we both preferred by a smidge.  And I went "oh no, new spelling, now I need to make new letters!"  Good thing J stopped me before I went back to the craft store for new letters.  Durrrrr.

The wall on the right's a bit bare yet, no?  The mirror has to be bolted to the wall before she starts crawling, because it weighs about twenty pounds and, you know, SMUSH.  And the lamp!  I rescued it from the PB outlet years ago, in a very not-my-style shade of baby blue, but had to have it because it made pretty light.  Three minutes, a can of silver spray paint, and voila!  MG-worthy!



My two favorite little pieces in the room.  On the left, one of Mabel's newborn photos from our session with the amazingly talented Heidi Chowen.  (Like, for real.  Her pictures.  They stun.)  I stuck her hospital bracelet underneath just like I did with one of Vivian's in her room.  On the right, a frame I found in Walker, MN, home of GTG2012.  Memmmmmories.  Framing, of course, a picture of MG.  Brand new, Day One MG.  Eventually I'd like to put a picture of her namesake, Mamaw Mab-ELL-EEE in there.

Other details.  Her bedding came from Restoration Hardware Baby.  (Sidenote: may I just tell you, I do NOT recommend getting your baby bedding from RHB.  The bedding itself is fab.  Well made and soft and pretty.  The THREE MONTHS it took them to actually get me the stuff and subpar customer service I received each time I called to inquire where my "in-stock" bedding was?  Not fab.  I made it through a trimester, a move across town, a birth, a recovery, and a cross country move in the time it took them to ship off some sheets, a bumper, and a skirt?  I think no.)  The crib and changing table are hand-me-downs from Vivi's nursery, Pottery Barn Kids stuff.  Baskets from Target.  The antique chair I nabbed from the ranch, which my parents bought full of furniture.  The side table I bought at Pier One last month.  The big frame, Pier One again.


Andplusalso, the gold doorknobs will go at some point, too.  When we feel like buying and swapping out 892 gold doorknobs and hinge sets all around the house (nothing sounds less fun).  Andplusalso part 2, we're at odds on the ceiling (not pictured) (because it looks like, you know, a ceiling) (with a boob light).  I want a fancyschmancy chandelier.  J wants a ceiling fan.  Given that MG's room faces south and we have no AC and it probably gets up to about 140 degrees in there at 4pm in July .... J's probably going to win.  Boohiss. 

So.  Tah-dah!  There you have it. 

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

five months three days

She's all, "okay mama.  I will do this.  I will sit here.  And I will look pretty.  But I will.  Not.  Smile."

But baby girl's on the mend, I think.  She slept last night for more than 90 minutes at a time.  Granted, this was only on the condition that her daddy or I slept with one eye open, sitting up, shushing, and patting her little back through all the dark, long hours of the night ... but she got some sleep. And this morning, a little MG sparkle back in her eyes when she awoke.  We laid in bed together for a half hour before the others came bounding in, exchanging smiles and sending out a gleeful text or two to the worried grandmas and the friends who were inquiring.  She's still not eating as much as I'd like, but she's keeping down her meds and napped solidly, so I have faith that we're getting there.  Thanks for the thoughts and prayers, my friends.  Appreciated!  (AND SEND MORE.  Anderson just told me his tummy hurts.  OMGZ HOLD ME I'M SCARED.)

So, Mabes, you're 5 months old.  Plus three days.  You've gone from a tiny baby to a big girl baby this past month, it seems.  You have an enthusiastic affinity for certain toys - the dolly with the crunchy shoes, the crab rattle with the nubbies you gnaw on with a smile while drool trails down your chin, and that Godsent glowy seahorse guy that's rescued us on many a (ten minute) car trip into town.  Your sleep went down the shitter this month, my dear, but I'm hopeful that we'll get our golden sleeper back soon.  It was teething, at first, that disrupted your slumbers.  Then the amber teething necklace brought us some marked improvement last week ... until  you started barfing.  We're tired, dear Mabel, so let's hope you remember how to sleep.  Soon.  Or Mister Ferber will come knocking on our door next month, which, let's face it, is going to be easier said than done.  You're our baby.  And though I swore we wouldn't be those parents who babied our last baby in the way last babies are so often babied .... you're babied.  We know you're our last.  We know, as your baby days dwindle and toddlerhood looms larger with each passing monthly sticker, a chapter is drawing to a close for us.  So we still bicker over who gets to hold our sleeping babe on the couch at 9pm when you SHOULD be up in your crib like your siblings would've been at this age, we delay solid foods because solid foods mean you're not a real baby anymore (okay, and they're a time sucking pain in the ay-ess-ess), we obliviously cram you into 0-3 month leggings sometimes because WHAT THE WHAT, there is no way you're five months old when I distinctly remember just buying you these leggings (LAST WEEK) while you were still a bump in my belly.  We plan baby-free trips to Texas and at the last minute place frantic phone calls to United to add a lap baby to our ticket, because we're just not ready to let you go, even for a weekend.  (By we I mean me.  J was like "oh.")

Oh, MG.  Slow it down, sister.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

the flu

I've had better weeks.  And yes, I'm well aware it's only Tuesday, but I'm not placing any bets on this craptastic week-thus-far making a hard turn into Goodville.  This picture really tells you all you need to know.
Is that not, justlike, the saddest?  Ugh.  Poor baby MG.

But let me back up.  While this week, so far, has been low on the awesome scale, the past weekend?  High on the scale. It was a 10.  J and I (and Miss Mabes) were honored to travel to Houston to celebrate his mom.  She gives, and she gives, and she gives ... and Saturday night, she was honored as a Woman of Achievement for her volunteer work and activism.  We were so proud to be there with her and J's dad.  And to see J's sister and her husband and their RIDIC adorable baby girl.  Oh, and spa treatments.  Oh, and shopping.  And CHICK-FIL-A.  Twice.  (Jillian and I have some catching up to do.)  Anyway, it was an excellent weekend.
But even during our fun-filled trip, there was foreshadowing of what was to come.  Saturday, whilst making our fourth lap around Super Target enjoying vanilla lattes, MG puked.  A lot.  I'd given her tap water in a new city, against the advise of my SIL (oops) so I figured the water had upset her tummy.  We cleaned her up and bought her some new clothes (oh, twist my arm.)  But she kept puking that day.  And late that night, my stomach didn't feel so hot, either.  Figured it might have been the three glasses of wine and gigantic What-a-burger I chowed down at midnight (so klassy).  But by Sunday night, when we'd landed back in Durango and made our way home with the kids and the dog and the very unhappy babe, MG's fever was 102.  And a few hours after I took that temp, I crawled into bed at 8:40 and started throwing up a minute after that.  And blablabla, to make a long story short, we're sick.  I ended up taking Mabel to urgent care yesterday night when her fever spiked at 104.6.  Those are scary numbers, no matter how many times you've had a pedi tell you a fever is doing good work, you know?  One of those white knuckle, driving as fast as I could in the night down the mountain on slippery roads type things.  Wishing to God I was at home doing the bathtime routine with J, getting the snuggly little people into pajamas, grabbing a blanket and cuddling up to my husband to catch up on our DVR list.  Instead, a flu test at urgent care showed positive for Influenza B.  And of course, the first pharmacy we went to for Tamiflu was out, and when that pharmacist located a second pharmacy that DID have it, it closed in 10 minutes.  So there went MG and I racing into the night to beat it across town before that pharmacy closed.  Nothing says fun like throwing it in park, jogging across an icy parking lot and into and through a grocery store lugging an infant seat with a thirteen pound, feverish and whimpering baby inside.  While you also have the flu and feel like death.  But, we got the Tamiflu.  And by "got" I mean "WERE ROBBED."  ($120!  After insurance!  WHAT THE WHAT?!)  And finally, back home.  Not a lot of sleep was had, what with the fussing and the puking on her part and the worrying about every little sound she made on my part.  And then, this morning, we'd just sent A off to preschool with J, girls and I snuggling up in blankies for a restorative day at home, when I noticed Mabel's hands and feet were bluish.  Hi, panic?  A quick call to Mommo confirmed we needed to get in to the ER.  Vivi in unicorn footie jammies and cowgirl boots, as Vivi does, me with no coat, naughty pup left running loose around the house because I was too frantic to worry about kenneling him....we tore off down the road.  Me praying under my breath, willing MG to do the screaming in the car thing for me to reassure me she was okay, MG eerily quiet in the back.  And we made another white knuckle, even-faster drive to the ER.  They don't waste a lot of time getting you in when you've got a five month old with the flu and blue hands, I tell you what.  We stayed a few hours for monitoring, they got her on Zofran, she kept down a few tiny ounces of Pedialite, and finally, we went home.  (Oh so grateful she didn't need an IV, or worse, to stay in the scary hospital that she was none too impressed by.  Baby girl wanted to go home.  To her kitty.  Who loves her.  And by that I mean he loves her 103 degree body.  Cats.  All about themselves.)
And home, we'll stay.  J and I had tickets for the hottest show in town tonight, and a trustworthy sitter at the ready, but this mama is going nowhere until we're germ-free and the little ones are all back in the healthy way.  Poor MG's passed out beside me on the couch, snoring, catching up on all the sleep she's missed out on the past few nights.  (A good sign, I'm hoping?)  A and V are on the other side of the room, where they've been ordered to stay, in order to minimize the chances of them catching this, too.  Though (TMI ALERT) based on the events of a recent bathroom trip by one of the bigger littles, this mama's not feeling hopeful.  We'll take all the get-healthy, stay-healthy prayers you can send, my friends.  Flu's a bitch.

Andplusalso, shout out to the OTHER mother, too.  Mommo.  Who's been woken up early by an SOS call when I couldn't get out of bed to take care of the kids, met us at the ER this morning to retrieve Miss Unicorn Pajamas, bought and delivered us groceries, and held feverish, sleepless Mabel while I caught a nap here and there, done the preschool pick up, the Walgreens drive thru.....basically, she's a saint.  Thanks, Mommo!!  We have the best moms, J and I, we really do.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

arrrrrrgh

Jake and the Neverland Pirates are a popular gang around these parts lately.  Sometimes, my requests for assistance/clean up/general cooperation will be responded to with "aye aye, captain mommy!"  When Anderson did something naughty last week (just once, HAHAHA) Vivi goes "you're like Captain Hook!"  And this morning, Anderson wanted a pirate patch.  I was busy, dusting wood blinds that hadn't been dusted since .... um, full disclosure: ever in our ownership.  Ew.  I told him to go ask daddy.  (Which, honestly, is what I say all day Sunday.  Go ask daddy!  Daddy will help!  Where's your daddy?  GO FIND YOUR DADDY!")  I was envisioning the two of them motor skilling away with construction paper, crayons, Elmer's glue holding strings fashioned as a head band ....

Two minutes later, he came back into the room with this going on.
Daddies are so special.
#justtapeittohisface
#donedeal

Saturday, January 19, 2013

dancer

When you reach that age when you reach that point where you start to feel the beginning twinges of baby fever, there are things that you think of in your baby feverish fantasies.  It's not the bed full of barf at 3am, it's not the sweat-inducing grocery store trips where you leave without milk because someone threw a tantrum and crapped through their pants, it's most certainly not the extra ten pregnancy pounds you'll never get rid of.  (Like ever.)  It's days like today that you dream about.  Sunny Saturday mornings when you'll dress your little girl in her very first leotard and tiny pink ballet slippers and scrape her wisps of white blonde hair into a tiny requisite ponytail and take her to her first dance class.  Where you'll follow her through the front door, and in her trademark Vivi exuberance, she'll exclaim to everyone waiting in the lobby, arms thrown out wide: "I'm here for my dance cwass!  I'm a DANCER!"  Where, as you sit against the wall watching with the other mommies, she'll break from the group.  Just for a moment.  Run to you full speed, put a tiny little hand on each side of your face, smooch your lips, and say "I'm having FUN at my dance cwass!  I love you, mommy!"



There were tears, yall.  None from her, as she yanked off her Uggs and pulled on her "dance swippers" and left me in the dust as she skipped into the studio.  The tears were all mine, as I sat there on the sidelines, in awe of the little girl she's becoming.  Her unshakable confidence, her boundless energy, her instinctually social ways of making new friends everywhere she goes.  Her kindness, in grabbing the hand of a little girl crying for her mama during dance class, smiling brightly, and saying "awww, it's okay!  Just dance wiff me!"

There's no way of knowing if dance will stick for Vivian.  I've got no grand plans to raise a ballerina here.  It may be that she will find herself excited by soccer, or gymnastics.  Or that she will be happy to spend sportless afternoons tucked away in her bedroom reading books.  Whatever she embraces, I'll embrace, too.  I love my girl, and I love what she loves.  But for today, I love my little dancer and her little dancy ways.

And afterward, with A and MG enjoying a morning with very good friends, V and I did downtown.  A coffee/donut date, some shopping, lots of oohing and aahing at window displays and "sparkly" snow piles and "twinkling" (read: flashing) crosswalk signs .... whatever struck her little fancy.
The very best kind of Saturday.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

the heating debacle

**I intended to post this yesterday.  Then stuff came up, likesuchas I was busy packing all of our belongings to return home then unpacking them when it was determined we were not returning home.  Did not post yesterday.  Pretend you're reading this yesterday.  Kthxbye.**

Hi from Homelessville!  Well, I take that back, we're not homeless.  We're at my parents' house where we each have our own bathroom and a fridge full of food we didn't have to pay for (holla!).  But we're not in our house, because it's an igloo.  So technically, homeless.  (Sort of.  Not really.)

Let me back up.
Saturday, 9am.  Despite the -15 temperature reading when we woke up (negative!  fifteen!  for!  real!), the kids and I load into the car and go to the gym.

Saturday, 11am.  Workout complete, coffee in hand, we return to the house in anticipation of some play time, some nap time, some pizza ordering time, and some football time.

Saturday, 11:01am.  I'm like "WHY IS MY HOUSE FROZEN SOLID?"

Saturday, 11:30am.  It's determined there heater is not working.  At all.

Saturday, 12:30pm.  J pulls some strings and gets a heating company to our house.

Saturday, 1:30pm.  Heating guy leaves.  I say, "all fixed?"  He says, "all fixed."

Saturday, 3:00pm.  We wake from our nap.  (Yes, I napped, NO SLEEP AT NIGHT EVER.)  I wonder why there's an icicle dangling off the end of my nose.

Saturday, 3:10pm.  Oh goody, no heat.  Again.

Saturday, 4:00pm.  Kids and I huddle in my bedroom, wearing hats and pretending we're camping.  I try to pretend this is fun, not really fooling anyone.  Vivi tells me every ten seconds that her face/fingers/elbow is cold.
Saturday, 5:00pm.  J comes home, heating guy comes back over looking disgruntled about missing the end of the Bronco's game, they do heating related man things in the garage.

Saturday, 5:30pm.  Heating guy leaves.  I say, "all fixed?"  He says, "all fixed."

Saturday, 6:00pm.  We finish our pizza dinner, get ready to pile onto the couch for the Packer game, and I think "huh....I'm chilly."

Saturday, 6:01pm.  It's determined the heat IS NOT WORKING AGAIN.  Foul language, foot stomping, etc.

Saturday, 6:15pm.  J spends 45 minutes in the (frigid) garage on the phone with heating guy #1 attempting to solve the problem.

Saturday, 8:00pm.  Heating Guy #2 comes over, one who specializes in our (stupid idiot) furnace brand.  Collects my left kidney as payment for a late night, freezing cold, mid-football playoff game visit.

Saturday, 8:15pm.  We start up space heaters in our bedrooms.

Saturday, 8:17pm.  Space heaters blow fuses.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.

Saturday, 8:40pm.  Operation Space Heaters deemed an utter failure.

Saturday, 8:45pm.  Anderson's stealing glances my way, wondering if I realize bedtime has come and gone and he's still sitting in my bedroom under a blanket playing iPad.  Vivi's wandering around the house in an exhausted stupor saying things like "my princess won't eat her soup!" and "Chester has one eye!"  I'm losing hope, starting to pack suitcases.

Saturday, 9:00pm.  It's determined the heat will not be fixed.  Like, ever.

Saturday, 9:30pm.  We're in the loaded down Suburban, inching out of the driveway, bone tired.  J, me, three up-too-late children, one very excited dog (CAR!  OMG!  GOING!  SOMEWHERRRRE!), a rock and play, two suitcases, and five other random bags of miscellaneous crap.  And two Dream Lights!  OMG DON'T FORGET THE DREAM LIGHTS!  We arrive at the ranch.  Mommo's away, but Grandpa waits up and welcomes us and even though I'm 31.75 years old, it's comforting to pull into a driveway in the dark of night and see, inside the dimly lit house, my papa by the window waiting up for me.  And my tribe.  And our dog he doesn't exactly love. And all our crap.  Poor, poor papa.
Sunday, morning.  At the ranch.  I say "don't jump on Mommo's couch!" about 248 times.  We don't jump on couches at home, WHYYYY would we think it okay that we jump on Mommo's (way nicer than ours) couch?

Sunday, late day.  We go check on the house.  The space heaters are running (not blowing fuses since they're the only electrical item in use) to ensure the pipes don't freeze (the water's shut off, too) and I'm paranoid all the livelong day about these space heaters running in our house.  So, we go to check things out.  And feed the kitties, who are playing a fun little game of "who can sit the closest to the space heater without lighting oneself on fire."  The kids feel the house is a bit chilly, whine for the entire thirty minute stay.  Okay, me too.
Monday, 9:00am.  Heating Guy 2 returns to our house with a part.  Part does not fix the heater.  J calls me to break this news, counting his lucky chickens he's miles away and safe on the other end of the phone.  Foul language under my breath (kids are listening), foot stomping.

Monday, mid day.  It comes to light that there's an issue with our propane gas tank (read: it's magically empty of the $800 of fuel we put into it last month).  People, we did NOT use $800 of fuel in one month.  Sorry, we just didn't.  Our house is cold.  We wear Uggs inside.  We only run the heat in the kids' rooms at night, and even those rooms are only heated to about 68.  ANDPLUSALSO, I signed up with the fuel company to do some auto-fill thing where they check our tank whenever they're in the neighborhood (which is ALWAYS, I SEEEEEEE YOU!)  But they did not.  And magically (read: SOMETHING IS VERY FISHY HERE), our $800 of fuel is gone.  So is our furnace really broke?  I mean, NOW it's freaking broke, there are pieces missing and such, but was it broke in the first place?  Or was it out of gas because the heating company is a joke and also didn't do their JOBS and make sure we had, oh, IDK, GAS?  Andplusalso, is this not Heating Guy 101: First Check That There's Gas?  I hit the roof.  HIT.  THE.  ROOF.  There was crying, and lamenting of the bills incurred, and cussing out of the gas company fools, and other such very-helpful things.  I might've cried.  LIKE A LOT.  And maybe drank a beer before 5:00pm.

Tuesday, 8:00am.  Preschool time!  Thank you, thank you, for preschool.  Except turns out when you park your car outside in the mountains in January and don't move it or start it for a day and a half?  Your windshield looks like this:
And like I have an ice scraper.  THAT WOULD BE WAY TOO SMART.  I try the credit card thing, my fingers almost break off like tiny crispy-frozen icicles, I try a (plastic) shovel sitting outside, it doesn't work, so the kids and I sit in the car for 20 minutes with the heat blasting, waiting for it to thaw.  That went over really well.  Anderson, ever the firstborn, yells "WE'RE GONNA BE LATE, MOM!" about twice a minute.

Supposedly, everything will be fixed today and we're going home, but my husband is ignoring my increasingly anxious texts requesting a status update, so I'm not exactly packing up the suitcases and vacuuming up my dog's hair just yet.  Update, the gas company hasn't even been over yet, and nothing can be done with the heater until the gas thing is done, so OMG WE'RE GOING TO GO HOME NEVER.

**Wednesday update: we did not go home yesterday.  By late evening, everything was working again, but the 40-50 degree house was going to take some time to warm to acceptable sleeping temperatures.  Instead, I spent the evening watching 20/20 and eating ice cream with my dad.  Win.**

Nobody needed to know all that.  It's that whole "blog as free therapy" thing, you know?  I feel better, so much better, nowwwwwwwww.  (Oh yeah, we've also watched Doc McStuffins about 19 times since Saturday.)

iPhone week in review, Week Two.  My sincerest apologies for the delay, Ambo.  SERIOUSLY!  (Thanks for caring.  AOE.)  Some of these are repeats, but I mean, whatever.  Tired, you know?  Still not sleeping.  DEAR GOD MG JUST SLEEEEEEEEP!  It hurts.



Wednesday, January 9, 2013

nice words

See that?  That's misleading.  She looks so sweet, no?  So bright eyed and contented?  So quiet?  So ... MG?  Folks, this week, my MG is no MG at all.  She's teething.  One low, one high, neither quite cut through, the bottom one in that awful pre-eruption stage where the gum's all puffy and raw and waking her up at 3:00am going "WAH WAH OMG HELP ME WAH!"  And it's not one of those wakings where you're all, "here's a bottle, back to sleep, little dear."  Oh, no no.  It's a long stretch of screaming, which finally quiets to whimpering and fussing, which ramps back up to screaming if you dare think she's dozed back off and can be set back in her bed, so all this amounts to you ending up passing the baby back and forth with your husband, each of you grabbing little snippets of unsatisfying sleep in between shifts, until he gets up at 5:00am and you're on your own.  And maybe finally getting her back into a heavy sleep sometime around 6:00am, but only if she's RIGHT on top of you, so you both wake an hour or so later in the 7:00 hour when the FakeTwins come storming in demanding Octonauts or someshit, and you're forced back into consciousness with your shirt soaked with drool and your head feeling all fuzzy and like you maybe haven't slept since 3:00am going "OctoWHATTHEHELLNOW?"  Or, you know, something.

Poor MG.  And yeah yeah, poor poor us, with a baby who slept through the night at about two weeks old and basically has ever since, I know, CRY FOR ME ARGENTINA.  Sleep deprivation is part of the baby thing, you don't need to tell me this.  But back when this exact same scenario happened with baby #1, at least I could lay around in my pajamas and fall back asleep whenever he shut his eyes for more than a few minutes.  Now?  If I fell asleep when the baby did?  Fake Twins would probably chew a hole through the wall and hitchhike into town to knock over a toy store.

So this has all been going on for what feels like ten nights but is really maybe like three or four nights (???), and the result is that I'm a little crabby.  But yesterday, it was preschool day again!  Thank you JESUS for preschool!  And despite the maybe four hours of uninterrupted sleep I'd had the night before, I made up my mind while I was washing my face that I was going to make a 9:00am dance class.  Endorphins.  I needed some.  So I busted around the house in super speed mode over the next hour.  Waking kids (they ALWAYS sleep in on preschool days, OF COURSE THEY DO), dressing kids, brushing teeth and hair, packing a backpack with spare undies and remembering the little monkey ice pack for the lunch box and BLABLABLA.  End result?  I got us out the door fifteen minutes early, sparkly clean and with shoes on the right feet.  And took Bug to preschool early.  And rushed the girls back into the car and sped over to the gym and got inside.  Took Vivi to the bathroom (potty training - another post, another day).  Did that whole thing.  Scrubbed her hands.  Scrubbed my hands.  She tells me she has to pee again.  REPEAT.  Change into my workout clothes while rocking MG's car seat with one foot to keep her calm because she's now been in the car seat WAY longer than is MG-approved.  And also maybe because she's got her sister in her face going shouting out the Little Einsteins theme song.  "I HEWPING YOU, MAMA!"  Get the girls into childcare, get my shoes on, set my bags down, get to the front desk ....... and find out there is no dance class.  NONE.  Instructor's sick.  No other classes at this hour.  And it's a small, class-only place, not not the kind of gym where you just go grab a treadmill and watch the Today show instead, so back to get the girls I went.  Vivi was royally peeved that she didn't get to stay and play.  (Ah, my social butterfly.)  So I drag a tearful V and a super pissed MG (CAR SEAT!) back out to the car.  And call my mom and cry because I'm TIRED.  And I really wanted that workout. And WAH WAH WAH FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS.

But then.  This is the point of my whole story, and I have no idea why it took me so long to get to it, except maybe sleep deprivation is making me nonsensical.  Anyway.  The girls and I headed over to Starbucks.  Vivi's a sucker for their blueberry muffins and after the "let's go play at the gym!" bait and switch, I felt I owed the girl a solid.  So we go, she eats, I sip my coffee and smile at MG while she takes her bottle and Vivi and I chat about life for awhile.  (Where life = we discuss for the 85th time what she wants to be for Halloween ((10 MONTHS FROM NOW)) and she tells me I'm pretty, and I tell her she's pretty AND smart and nice, and she tells me "no, mama, just pretty and pretty and PRETTY."  Le sigh.)  Anyway.  It was nice, but even with the sweet little pick-me-up, I was still feeling a little deflated.  And tired.  (Did I mention tired?)  As we walked out the door, I notice a younger guy sitting at a table watching us.  21, 22, somewhere in there.  Way too young to be checking me out, because I'm elderly, so I figured he staring at us because he was annoyed by my kids in the coffee shop and glad we were vacating.  But just as we reached the door, he called across his table, "HEY!  Have a good day.  Jesus loves you!  And you've got cool kids!"

Um, how neat is that?  That just in the moment where I was losing focus a bit of what mattered, and feeling pouty about my non-workout and my non-sleep, that God puts someone right in my path to snap me out of it?  Put a smile back on my face, and make me kiss each of the girls as I tightened up their car seat straps because gosh darnit, I DO have cool kids.  And Jesus DOES love me, even tired, frustrated, non-worked-out me.

That just had to be shared.  Use your nice words, people.  It doesn't have to be religious, it doesn't have to be shouted out in a coffee shop, but just make a point to say nice things to people.  You may just turn someone's morning around.  I smiled most of the way home, had a little extra boost of patience and playfulness with my girls all day, and paid it forward in my own little way later in the day.

And now, I try to sneak a nap before any of my three wake up.  Which pretty much guarantees one's going to wake up the second I shut my eyes .... but it's worth a shot, no?

Sunday, January 6, 2013

2013, week one

2013 is off to a solid start around here.  I'm going to attempt to get back to the weekly Instagram recaps on the blog.  When I was putting together my 2011 blog book last week (yeah, shut up, I DID say 2011) I was really loving those weekly shots, evidence of the day-in, day-out that tells a whole lot more about our lives righthisminute than any posed DSLR thing does.  Anywho.  2013, week one:

On New Years Day, we played outside.  MG was pretty "meh" about the snow thing.  Anderson got a big idea (as four year old boys tend to do), we went with it because she's number three so whatever, MG stared up at us from the sled like "no for real, SERIOUSLY, this is my life?"

Mommo took Bug to Denver.  24 hours later, they were packing up to come home, a few days earlier than planned, and before they even made it to Chuck E. Cheese (because every time he sees that commercial he's all "OMG I NEEEEEEED TO GO THEREEEEE!" despite really having no idea what it even is.)  Alas, Bug was homesick.  But Mommo had accomplished her mission of seeing Binky (and, I suspect, getting Bug out of my hair for a bit) (God love her), so no big deal.  During their brief time away, I focused on my middle girl.  She got a huge muffin at Starbucks, we went to the museum with friends, we hit up a sandwich shop for lunch and I let her get ... wait for it .... CHIPS.  That's huge when you're almost-3, yall.  Chips.  Her own damn bag!  OF CHIPS.

I got some new baby bottles.  The plastic liner system we'd been using was fine, but the more I thought on those plastics (environmentally, chemically, economically....), the less I loved it all.  LifeFactory, yall.  You want these.  I'd been using the glass drinking bottles for myself for some time, and was a smidge too excited to find the baby version at a local grocery store on the very day that I'd made up my mind to make the switch to glass bottles for MG.  Best part?  They sell a sippy top that screws onto the bottle tops when baby's done with bottles!  I'm practically MAKING money, here, so much am I saving.  That's what I told J anyway.  He didn't buy it, either.  Ohwell.

Packers.  Win.  We were smiley 'round these parts yesterday, what with my Packers and his Texans coming out on top.  Let's just hope they don't meet in the Super Bowl.  That could get scary.

Unrelated to my iPhone pictures, there's some construction going on at our house.  I pinned this Pinterest project last year and low and behold, our new house had exactly the right boring old entry closet to make it happen.  The contractor started last week and I have barely been able to restrain my excitement enough not to peek down the hallway at his progress every hour.  Expect an update when it's all finished up and I've found just the right baskets and just the right bench cushion and just the right little decor touches.  So, you know, 2014ish.  Around the time I'm finishing up my 2012 blog book.

And also, I need to give my blog a makeover.

And also, I'm back to working out, and cleaned all the biggie sizes out of my closet, so there's no turning back now.  Zumba, dance, long walks with the dog .... I'm getting my body back.  FOREVER AND EVER!