I've been voted 'Most Unproductive Wife'

Today has turned out to be another one of "those days." Again. The kind of day that has drowned away any feelings of motivation, and my last reserves of patience have been cleaned out. The house is a disgrace, laundry is piled up to my neck, and so far I have wasted the day staring at the wall. So here I sit, posting a fruitless blog. I have nothing to say; my wit has forsaken me. I think I'll stop here and rent a movie, but first I will leave you with this:

Finding drunks in a bar -- what are the chances?

Spiderman-iac

I took Abby to Kyle's birthday party tonight. When the movie ended, the last of the pizza and cake had been eaten, and the games had all been played, Abby and I made our way back to the car, party bags in hand, where I noticed that I had three missed calls from home on my cell. (I had kept the phone in the car to charge, since the battery was beyond dead.) A small wave of panic washed over me since George doesn't usually ring my cell when I'm out unless it's pretty important. I returned George's call on the way home and learned that Georgie had come down with a fever and had not eaten anything all night. In fact, he had stayed curled up in my bed most of the time Abby and I had been gone, which is rare for him especially since his Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop were over for a visit. When Abby and I walked in the door, I pulled Georgie onto my lap, and sure enough, he was hot as hell from head to toe. As Abby told him all about the party, his head hung towards the floor. I figured he must have felt pretty bad, so I coaxed him into chewing a Motrin to bring the fever down quickly. After he reluctantly swallowed his medicine, I asked him about his night, but he would not speak a word to me, or anyone else, and continued to stare down at his feet. I asked George if he had been this quiet all night, but he said, "No, actually. He was crying about a Spiderman car for the first hour or so after you left. He cried so much, I wonder if that's what made him sick."

"Spiderman car?" I asked. "What Spiderman car, Georgie?"

"Tile." Georgie responded miserably, but finally with a little interest in conversing.

"Tile? What are you talking about - tile?"

"Tiii-ile! Ti-ile!" he whined, and so I continued asking him insane questions about floor tiles and game tiles until I figured out that he was not, in fact, referring to tiles after all. He was talking about Kyle (clearly pronounced "tile" in two-year old dialect) and the Spiderman car that Abby had bought for the party.

"You want the Spiderman car that Abby bought for Kyle?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said. "Tile's bider-man tar. Not Tile's. Mine. My bider-man."

I should have foreseen this "spidey-envy" when we were at the toy store buying Spiderman toys. I should have realized that I could never get away with bringing a Spiderman product into our house and then back out again for any reason. Who was I kidding? I have the boy who does not waste time pretending to be Spiderman, but instead has convinced himself, and truly does believe, that he is in fact the superhero himself. I reassured Georgie that first thing in the morning, I would take him to the store to buy him his very own Spiderman car. The instant this promise was made to him, his temperature instantly plummeted back to 98.6°, his mood elevated significantly, and he has been happily coloring at the table (in his Spiderman coloring book, wearing his Spiderman pajamas) with his sister for over an hour, chattering away the entire time (about, who else, Spiderman).

I've been sitting and thinking about what new illness Georgie may be coming down with, but then I started to wonder: is Georgie really falling ill with the flu, or could it be that he is literally sick without Spiderman? And was it really the Motrin that brought down his fever so rapidly, or was it the promise of a new "bider-man tar" that healed him?

I think that we are, without a doubt, dealing with a Spidermaniac.

I'm glad I can finally look back on this day and laugh.

Feelin' irie

We are leaving in the morning for the cruise! Good luck weathering the cold... and just remember that while you all are bundling up in your winter best, I will be cruising the Caribbean, lounging by the pool in the hot sun, drinking rum runners while exotic and topless Caribbean gentlemen are fanning me, rubbing my feet and feeding me strawberries!! Ha!

Send me any bon voyage messages by tonight, otherwise, I will "see" you all in a week!

~M

Beauty at a price

I was beginning to feel like a bedraggled and beaten down mother this week, so I purblindly headed over to the mall with the three kids, Natalie and Carolynn for an eyebrow wax and a haircut. The sadist inside of me thanked me for the waxing, the narcissist inside of me thanked me for the much-needed primping, and the voice of sanity inside of me pleaded for me to never again get so desperate for beauty that I ever again take my children along for my monthly regimen.

Norah rippled the waters when she became bored with her view from the stroller and decided my lap was a much better spot to lounge. I became convinced that my hair was going to look like it was trimmed with pinking shears due to the spasmodic jolting and bouncing from the restless infant on my lap. Norah wound up covered in clippings, the bristles sticking out from her onsie looked like cactus needles, and I'm not so sure that the one's clenched in her tiny fists made for as tasty a snack as she first thought. Nonetheless, her mouth was full of tiny snippings of hairs by the time the stylist was finished cutting.

Meanwhile, Georgie, unhappy with the wait and with the fact that he could not share my lap with Norah, proceeded to wedge himself under a stylist's chair (unoccupied, thankfully) and scream indefeasibly for 35 minutes. Lucky for everyone in a 50-foot radius, his tantrum began just as my stylist started to blowdry my hair which mostly drowned out his wailing.

Abby did her best to pacify everyone in anyway she knew how, but unfortunately for her and for my conscience, due to the constant humiliation from the other two, I started to lose my patience with all of the cute things she was doing to try to cheer up her petulant siblings. She spent the remainder of our visit to the salon sitting in the waiting area looking thoroughly disheartened.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of torture in the stylist's chair, I shelled out $50 for perfectly arched brows, a fresh coiffure, and my release from the barber-chair prison so that I could once again intimidate the ungrateful little nippers back into reality. I quickly apologized to everyone in the salon and to Abby for losing my cool with her, and promised her a harmonious attempt at dinner at her favorite restaurant. 

I reluctantly shuffled everyone over to McDonald's where the three little darlings did, in fact, straighten their acts and represent themselves as perfectly polished and well-bred scions through the entire meal.

Whoever said that beauty does not come at a price was obviously never a mother.

M.

The Croup, Part II

I had just fallen asleep about 11:00 tonight, when I was awoken by a seal-like barking sound coming from the kids room. I then heard Georgie start to cry. I knew right away, from my experience last year with Abby and the very distinctive cough, that it was croup. When I opened the door to his room, I saw that Georgie was sitting up in bed, but not fully awake. I tried to keep the room dark, and stay quiet myself, in hopes that he would easily fall back to sleep. I sat on the side of his bed and he crawled across to me, resting his head in my lap. We sat like this for a few minutes and I sang to him. And as I stroked his face and ran my fingers through his hair, I savored this quiet moment, when he wanted nothing but to be in my arms. I cherish the dewy-eyed moments with my children when they regress just for a moment, long enough for me to cradle them and reconnect to the days when they were dawning infants. Eventually, he looked up at me and let out a contented sigh, crawled back to his pillow and closed his eyes. I waited until I was sure he was asleep, walked very quietly back to my own room, to my own bed, where I now sit knowing I will hardly sleep tonight, worrying and listening for my little boy.

The "Party"

Today was Georgie's birthday "party." Funds are limited this year, not to mention my built-in disorganizational skills, so instead of having a big hullabaloo with all our family and friends, I called Lisa and asked if she would bring the boys over for a more inelaborate celebration. Today was more about satisfying Abby's appetite to celebrate Georgie's birthday, not because I thought a two year old would even notice that we didn't have a big-to-do. Abby has been questioning me for weeks, "When is Georgie's party? He has to have a party!"

It turned out to be a great day for swimming in the pool, eating hot dogs and cupcakes, and just going nuts. The grown-ups had their own agenda as well. We tried to kick back unwind as much as the two argumentative 4-year-olds, two sprightly 2-year-olds, and the cute little 7-week old freeloader would allow.

related topic: georgie's birthday

the return of the migraine

Well, I was too cocky, too confident that my migraines were a thing of the painful past, but they made an unwelcomed return last night. Possibly, there is an explanation: It started when dainty little Norah pooped so much that it escaped from her diaper. It made it's way up her back, and somehow all the way into her hair?! While cleaning disaster number one, little did I know, my remaining two children were downstairs creating a second disaster. Seventeen juice boxes were opened and squeezeed all over our very expensive area rug downstairs. Calculated correctly, that comes to over 120 ounces of various juice flavors clinging tightly to those little strands of wool. I spent over two hours trying to soak up the mess myself, but to no avail... the cleaners are on their way, and will be charging me quite a fee to "attempt" to remove the stains. One-hundred-and-eleven dollars. Should I repeat that? One-hundred-and-eleven dollars!! That's more than one-dollar per ounce to have the juice cleaned out of the carpet. If the cleaners' attempt fails to get out the stain, I can only hope their attempt to charge my credit card fails as well.

Anyway, last night, after the adrenaline from the joy of having children wore off, I wound up with the worst migraine I have had since before two-year-old Georgie was born. Thank God Norah is sleeping through the night, or she would have been introduced to her very first bottle of Similac. I can't imagine why last night was chosen for the grand reminder of what it's like to have an Acme anvil come down and crack apart my tired skull, but I can only hope, and I do pray, that any future visits (if there must be any) from the Mighty Migraine are few and very far between!

Norah!!

Having a third baby has not changed life as drastically as I thought! I'm sure it has a lot to do with just how good Norah is, as far as babies go. She is still sleeping thru the night. (Which I am terrified will become jinxed, and she will once again behave like any other seven week old, and wake every two hours all night long!!) She is fairly quiet during the day unless she is hungry or her diaper needs to be changed. Her one downfall, like all babies, she likes alot of attention. It can be a little stressful at times, but never fear- I have two very anxious children who are just waiting to play with her and hold her all day! Abby and Georgie both love her to bits, and I don't blame them. She is a cutie!!

It's time, once again, to feed three hungry bellies!

M.

Happy Fourth of July! Hooray!! I love fireworks!!

baby face...

Baby face...
You've got the cutest little baby face
There ain't nobody can evah take your place
Ah, you baby face
My poor heart's jumpin'
Ahh... you started somethin'.

Baby face...
Well, I'm in heaven when I'm in your...
Your fond embrace
Yeah... I didn't need no shove
Cuz I just fell... I fell in love

With your pretty, pretty baby face.







The (third) love of my life...








Rasberries...








She's so smiley!!

my baby boy is two

Happy birthday my baby boy. You're two years old today. I kissed your sweet face tonight while you slept and thought back on these past two years. Seeing everything through your eyes has changed my world forever. How could I have ever known that one day "messy" and "loud" would be the two best words to describe my most treasured moments? How could I have imagined that the birth of my son would open my heart and mind, and fill me with such simple joys? I thank God every day for the silly hopeful grin that never seems to leave your face, and for the endless supply of hugs that bring me so much comfort when I am down-hearted and weary. And for your eyes. How could I forget those beautiful eyes that will eternally tug at my heartstrings. No matter how bad the tantrum, or however big the mess, a simple bat of those long black lashes, and the slate is wiped clean. Tonight you are nestled beside me, and as I listen to your every breath, I think about how you're changing, how you're growing up so fast, and for that, I never want to leave this moment.

3 Pounds?? What?!?!

It was Norah's one month check-up today. I asked her doc if it was ok that she's been sleeping through the night (and I mean a solid eight hours). He asked how much she weighed the day she went home from the hospital. I told him just over six pounds. He said, "Let's weigh her and see how well she's gained."

The scale put her at nine pounds!! She gained three pounds in a month??? I have come to the very obvious conclusion that my breasts are definitely not producing skim, or any other low-fat variety of milk for this baby. He told me, not only could she sleep through the night if she wanted to, but she could sleep straight through the next two days, and she would be fine. She's halfway to doubling her birth-weight already! "Weigh" to go Norah!!

All night already?

She slept through the night. Is that ok?? She seems so tiny and so young to be sleeping 8 hours already... not that I'm complaining a bit!

Baby #3 is a girl!

It's a girl!! (Abby is relieved!) And Norah is her name-o. She was born on Tuesday morning after only 5 minutes of pushing... 6 pounds 5.8 ounces of dimples and soft, warm skin.

This is Norah on day one: