So THAT'S why he can't sleep...!

As I sit here amid my piles of laundry and throngs of clutter, I have decided to take my last few precious moments of this past week's freedom to... play on the computer?! ;)

Actually, I was doing something worthwhile... I was taking part in a little reading of The Happiest Toddler on the Block as I geared up for Beau's arrival back home after spending the majority of the week away with his [loving, kind, generous, probably now exhausted] grandparents. As I flipped to Beau's upcoming developmental chapter--36 to 48 Months: Your "Versatile Villager"--I began to skim through the pages and was struck by the following description:

"Your little Versatile Villager's...brain now has 50 percent more
nerve connections (synapses) than even adults have in our brains! And
the brain cells are working so hard, they consume twice as much energy as
ours! ... Suddenly, your Versatile Villager's inquiring little mind wants to
know--everything!"

The chapter continued to give spot-on descriptions of my almost three-year-old , so I am embarking on a new journey of giving Beau the benefit of the doubt. It wasn't only the book that brought me to this decision; Beau's absence this week has left me rather lonely! While I have enjoyed my special time with Tommy immensely, I have also felt a little unchallenged...a little too comfortable...maybe even a little too lazy. By combination of his personality and his age, Tommy is just so easy! Trust me, I greatly welcome the ease that is my baby, but I have rediscovered that I also greatly delight in the challenge that is my big boy. I completely appreciate the contrast, and therefore, the balance that my boys bring to my life.

So Beau, if you are having trouble sleeping because your mind just can't turn off, I am sporting a renewed sense of energy to help you in any way. :)

Oh yes, I also missed my husband terribly this week! I am a girl who often craves time alone, but after about two nights, I was ready for my sometimes sloppy, always snoring biggest kid to get back home. ;)

Let's Go to The Shack

My life has been changed.

Okay, so maybe that is a twinge dramatic, but I am feeling better than ever! I could credit my newly-renewed zest for life to my almost-11-month-old almost always sleeping through the night, but my energy goes beyond getting 8 hours of sleep. About five nights ago I started reading The Shack (as recommended to me by my former teaching partner and super-smart almost DR. Anne), and two nights ago, I finished it. I was so intrigued by the content and the message of the book that I plan on re-reading it, starting tonight. (And of course, do my usual highlighting/underlining/writing in the margins and writing or typing out succint notes!) There is so much wisdom and wonder induced by this book that a once-over doesn't do it justice.

I was raised--and continue to practice being--a Catholic. I have always considered myself a religious person, but I would never be accused of being hardcore/traditional/"bible-beating." It took me a while to wade through adolescent struggles and accept Catholicism (in all of its rote glory), but I am now comfortable in my not-so-extreme Catholic skin. I have taken the parts of Catholicism with which I agree and made them my own. The formality and methodic practices, especially Mass, provide me comfort.

To me, God is everywhere. If I cannot make it to church, I don't beat myself up and deem myself a "bad Catholic". I talk to God daily and pray at least nightly. I find God in everything around me--a toothy grin from my baby, a sneaky laugh from my toddler, a quirky prank from my husband, a perfectly-timed call from my mom, an intriguing song on iTunes, a message of good news for a friend, etc, etc. I guess I just feel like I don't have to be in a church to be religious.

I don't necessarily completely understand transubstantiation (and yes, I knew the word before googling it) and I don't feel like I need to receive Communion to receive--or be received by--the holy spirit. I don't think there is anything wrong with Communion and I completely respect the process of it all, but to me it is a prime example of the interpretation that becomes organized religion. Organized religion is wonderful in theory, although sometimes not quite as wonderful in certain instances of practice, but I personally like having a broader sense of religion.

Because of this more wide-angle view of spirituality, I have always felt a little remiss since I didn't completely adhere to being Catholic. I wondered if I should "do it just to do it"--especially now that I have children. Now, after reading The Shack, I don't feel like this is necessary. I have been comforted that my gut feelings and beliefs are strengthened in this novel.

It might be hard to comprehend my reactions without reading the book (which, of course, I highly recommend you do and then request that you subsequently discuss it with me), but I can honestly say I have found relief by reading this book. By reading and interpreting it, I feel I am released from specific types of judgments and expectations.

You know it is a good day at tennis when...

...someone asks you, "When are you due?!"

And you're not pregnant.

And you haven't been pregnant for almost 10 months.

Awesome.

How to NOT have fun in McDonald's

1. Enter store with fat baby on your hip and squirrel-y toddler in hand. Stand in line for a ridiculous amount of minutes because employees have decided to only operate one register even though line is growing exponentially.

2. While still standing in line, jut out hip in effort to support some of fat baby's weight and shift it away from your breaking back. Nicely beg squirrel-y toddler (who runs in circles around woman-who-doesn't-acknowledge-your-personal-space behind you and uncomfortable looking man behind her whilst roaring like a dinosaur--complete with gnarled hand-claws and a contorted scary face) to please "Come stand by Mommy!"

3. 7,000 years later, when it is finally your turn to order your food, place fat baby onto the counter while you attempt to locate your debit card. After many panic-ensuing seconds (all the while being invaded by the close-stander behind you), swipe your card as squirrel-y toddler takes off for the Playland and fat baby strives to break into the Ronald McDonald charity box.

4. After reminding McDonald's employee of several missed items, grab the tray in one hand and hoist fat baby onto the opposite hip. Shimmy through the crowd while maintaining a safe distance between full tray and fat, now very hungry, baby. Scan restaurant for squirrel-y toddler, locate him, talk not-so-nicely to him, and then make him prop the door open to Playland.

5. Set tray down on a table in the middle, plead with toddler to stay seated, and go through two more rooms until a high chair can be located. Drag high chair back to middle of Playland while fat, and now extremely hungry baby yells for food.

6. Return to table to find toddler rooting through all of the food and trying to open caramel dipping sauce with his teeth. Place baby in high chair, swiftly rip up bits of hamburger bun to hush him up, and then save toddler's baby teeth from carmel explosion. Begin to spread out toddler's food, and then notice that he is dipping his hamburger into the carmel.

7. Attempt to unwrap your own food to take a much-needed bite only to be interrupted by fat baby who has since devoured hamburger bun. Fish out massive jar of baby food from diaper bag as fat baby whimpers in anticipation, only to escalate into screams when you are unable to locate a spoon.

8. Run back up to front of store, fight throngs of people to reach the counter, and shout over those in line that you need a spoon.

9. Return to Playland and shovel food into fat baby's mouth. Begin thinking you can relax until you hear a loud popping/breaking sound followed by the world's MOST ANNOYING NOISE (a la Dumb & Dumber). Look around frantically, trying to discover the culprit of this hideously incessant, nasal-y, metallic squelching/creaking sound so you can smash it to smithereens.

10. Add to the most annoying noise a fellow Playlander's young baby crying. Nonstop. Glare at the mother as she chats away to another lady, oblivious to her screaming child. Continue to glop food into your fat baby's mouth so he doesn't add to the mix.

11. Cringe as hoards of frolicking Playland children decide that now would be the best time to all yell their highest-pitched yells at the exact same time. Be thankful that your children are eating quietly, and begin to think that maybe your kids aren't that bad afterall.

12. Hold that thought as you freeze in terror when you hear your toddler say, "Uh-oh..." and listen to the spray of liquid crashing down on the floor.

13. Gasp in shock as you look down and see the lake on the floor and the guiltily dripping shorts on your toddler. Whisk toddler off to bathroom and watch him release another gallon. Ask him why he did not have to go when you suggested he do so before getting in line, and remind him of how much he had just peed right before you left the house. Strain your ears through the silence which ensues.

14. Return to the scene of the crime, keeping your head down for fear of disgusted judging eyes. Place a few napkins over the diaster area (ie band-aid for the Titanic) and motion to an employee to come over. Be discreet as you point out the affected area.

15. Watch in confusion as the employee takes her broom and dustpan to the mess.

16. Enourage toddler to scarf remaining food while packing up. Do not look back as you run through the store and out the door.

Never a Dull Moment

As I sit here with a heating pad on my arse, I scrape through the leftover bits of what I call my brain and attempt to recreate some now-funny (ish) moments of my life in recent history...

1). Losing one's keys in Costco is never a good time. Losing one's keys in Costco when your cell phone is in your locked car, your baby boy is tired and grumpy and screams unless you hold him, you are trying to maneuver the Cadillac-of-a-cart through the massive throngs of people with one hand while holding grumpy baby in the other arm all the while scanning the vast floor, and when it is monsooning outside is an even worse time. Trust me. Thirty-six minutes, multiple trips to the Member Services desk (allowing for the making of close friends with at least 7 different employees), and one soaked hand-written note on a forgotten corner of paper stuck to my window did finally result in the reuniting of me with my keys. Thank you to the nice person who found my keys and then took the time to locate my car, leave me a note, and take the keys back inside the store. (And yes, the experience was as dramatic as this explanation is long).

2). You know you are old/lazy/tired/worn out when you don't feel like hoisting your fat baby into the high chair, so you sit on the floor with him in the living room and feed him his dinner. Your almost-three-year-old might notice your incapacitation and take the opportunity to reach up onto the counters (which he can now do with ease thanks to recent growth spurts) in the kitchen and scout around for the drink he wants but has been repeatedly told he cannot have. You know your brat kid is going for it and you whip yourself around to stop him, only to be stopped instead by a snap--in your butt. You scream out and writhe in pain, causing the naughty kid to be distracted from his naughtiness and run over to rub your back while the dog runs in from the bedroom and begins licking your face wildly while the fat baby picks up the jar of food and smears it over the carpet. You can't get up because of the pain and because of the swarm of beings surrounding you. So YES, you ARE old, you ARE lazy, and now you are even MORE tired and worn out because you can't move so you inch your way to your cell phone and text your husband (who is, of course, in another city at the time) and tell him you broke your ass. He doesn't seem to care, so you must inch back over to the freezer and dig out a bag of peas. Icing your ass gets you through the initial pain and you are finally able to hobble.

3). Potty-training is moving along, but there are so many glorious gifts that go along with it! All of the extra laundry from the accidents, all of the extra cleaning from the pee that seems to go everywhere except the toilet (especially since a certain potty-trainee decided he can do it by himself and sit on the big potty without the smaller seat--oh, and because Daddy tried to teach him to pee standing up this weekend), and all of the nakedness! Beau's love of de-robing has increased tenfold, and this fuels his interest in not only grabbing, but talking obsessively about his weenie. He constantly asks about girl's weenies, and for a while Mommy was just saying, "Girls don't have weenies. Boys have weenies. Girls and boys have bottoms." Finally Mommy told Beau, matter-of-factly, that girls have vaginas ("jy-nas" as he calls them now). On our way to visit a friend this morning, he was sorting it all out... "I have a weenie. Tommy has a weenie. We are going to see Marielle--she has a jy-na. They are all friends and play together."

Oh of course!

After many, many years of school, lesson planning, and grading, and then baby-sitting, baby-growing, and baby-owning--I finally, FINALLY mustered up the gumption (and the courage) to join some sort of group just for me that had nothing to do with work or kids. And on the first night of the first class of this first group, the skies open up and hail of various sports-ball sizes pummels my neighborhood at the exact time I need to leave the house.

God, Mother Nature, or all of the above must be trying to tell me something! (I definitely heard something like, "Just go eat that tub of ice cream!")

I woke up Tommy from his first decent-length nap in who knows how long and loaded him up in the car. I got Beau a snack and made him pee three times before strapping him in. I had on a skirt, for goodness sake! I was ready to smash the fuzz off of some tennis balls. I needed to hit things. Dammit, I was ready for my tennis group!!

I backed the car out of the garage just as the rain began to fall. It fell harder and harder until I realized rain usually doesn't sound like being caught crossfire and bounce off of the car in fist-sized clumps. Being only at the end of the street, I whipped the car around and headed back into the garage as Beau screamed in protest. He wanted to go see his Daddy (whom we were meeting at the tennis center) and he didn't give a crap about the beating the car was taking.

We sat in the garage in the car for a while (hey, double protection) and waited for the worst to pass. I called Tony and he checked radar; thinking we were in the clear, he said we should try again.

This time, we made it out of the neighborhood and no farther. I couldn't see because the rain was bucketing down. Traffic was thick and slow. The streets became rushing rapids because the hail had caused trees to lose massive amounts of leaves and branches, thus plugging the sewer drains. I hydroplaned a good 4 times and realized no class was worth endangering my babies, even as they yelled and carried on in the back of the car, stressing me out even more.

What a pain in the ass! At least we are safe and our house is relatively undamaged. Many of our neighbors had much more crap to deal with than we did, so I can't complain. I did, though, go eat that tub of ice cream. Mother Nature, I blame you for my fatter arse.

Even long after the storm had gone through (and the sun was out shining--go figure!) we could still find many collections of hailstones.

Bigger than a golf ball!

Lots of trees lost huge limbs! :( At least this one didn't fall the other direction onto our fence!

I. CAN. NOT. WAIT!!!!!!