Glutton for punishment

Why do I do it? Why do I stand outside of Tate's door and peek through the crack to watch her cry? I know she's not in pain, scared, or panicked. No, she just cries a bit to wind down to fall asleep. Turner did this too, but not as much.
I pride myself on the fact that my kids are good sleepers. Sleep has always been something I have battled with. I'm not the girl who can just put head to pillow and drift off to la la land. I have never been a good sleeper. I slept in my parents bed til they gave me a sister who would sleep in my bed. I don't sleep when Brad's gone. I lurk downstairs til midnight or one then I go upstairs and stare at the walls. I can go to sleep in cool weather with Brad. Winter is wonderful: Cold sheets and a warm body to snuggle up next to. Summer nights aren't my thing. It's too hot to lay next to my clean smelling man mountain. I roll, toss, and turn without his arm on top of me to hold me still.
I don't want this for my kids. I want each of them to embrace sleep. I want them to be able to fall asleep by themselves and stay asleep. Turner is my golden boy. After a rocky first eight months of life he "cried it out" for a week and has been a gold star sleeper ever since. Turner merely needs a story read to him before nap or bed time, a hug and kiss, then he goes to sleep. If he wakes up to potty, he goes right back to sleep.
Tate is another story. I have been putting her in her own bed for months now. She has always napped in her own bed. She now goes all night with out nursing (not by her choice). But every single time she cries for ten minutes or so. I know this is not a travesty. I know that it's how she settles down. Now, ask me if it bothers me non-the-less? Yes it does. I try to play it off, but I hate the sound of either of my kids crying. I do it for her own good. Wow, did I just channel my mother for a second? I want her to learn how to sleep.
I don't want her to dread going to bed like I do. I wonder if our sleep habits are passed down father to son and mother to daughter? If so, I am so sorry Tate. I hope you learn to drop into bed and be asleep before the sheets settle, just like your Papa. Of course I want only good things for my two babies. So I wish to Turner and Tate sweet dreams, calm, and peaceful rest. I will be awake to watch over you, so rest my lovelies....

Just like riding a bike

Hello, any one out there? I have been sadly missing typing all my thoughts and clearing out my head. Yes, it's been months. No, there's no excuse. Life just seemed to be happening so fast I could barely keep up, much less write about it.
Tate is now almost a year old. I have found that my post-partum mindset is amazingly the same with each of my children. I don't loose it immediately, right when they are born(shout out Becky, holla if you hear me ;-). No, I let the mid part, when my babies are 6-12 months, pull me under the fog. I don't pretend to know what it is that shapes my moods or balances my brain chemicals. I am thankful as hell for sympathetic doctors and for the antidepressants they dole out.
I haven't had an inkling to write, or do much else that's extracurricular, in a few months. Typing this now feels like getting on a pair of roller skates after leaving the rink for a few years. But wobbly, shaky, hear I come.
I have been trying to absorb every last minute of Tate's soon ending "babiness". Brad and I are done, no more babies for us. How sad to never again to hold a small soft newborn that came from me. How painful to know that this is it. I will admit that the first few months are my favorite. They are so small and I feel like I can protect my sweet new babes. It's the falling in love period for me. All filled with wonder and amazement at every corner.
Now life is fast. Tate is climbing out of her crib, into cabinets, and out of my protective abilities. Turner is smart, argumentative, and able to test all of my limits. Yet still, still I long for the these days to last longer. How to stretch the time? I take the kids to the pool where the sun seems to set a little slower. We hug a little longer. And with all the fun I pray a little harder for the days to keep being so simple.
I guess I am back, at least for today. I'll try to keep out of the fog, the sunshine feels so much better anyway. I'll try to write down all the fun stuff I want to remember. In thirty years I want to remember the day I told Turner that "We're going to the pool sucker!" My boy, ever witty, replied "OK lollie pop". Those little perfect moments are what I need, what I live for.

Pee stains on toilets, come on sing it with me

I know Christmas is long gone, but I can't get this tune out of my head "Rain drops on roses and wiskers on kittens..." But here's my version:

Pee stains on toilets
and scum in my tub

Pre-treating poop stains
and tile floors I should scrub

Brad's shirt collars have nasty rings
These area few of my most hated things

Too many shirts to press
and not enough time

Dust on every shelf
and my kitchen's full of grime

Yellow work gloves on my hands and I can't wear my bling
These are a few of my most hated things

When I get hugs

When the babes smile

When I'm feeling glad

I simply remember why I do all the work
and then I don't feel so bad

If my mind didn't work on such trivial, silly things I may be able to accomplish something once in a while. There is a sneaky idea thief reading this somewhere. Just watch, the new Broadway musical "Pee stains on toilets.." will be wining Tony awards in a year or so. Then it'll go on to star Patricia Heaton in a movie adaptation and bring in eighty million it's opening week. Well you heard it here first, it's what on my twisted mind. Now off to scrub some floors.

I want my money!

I am going on strike. Yes you heard me, strike. I refuse to come up with another fantastic idea until I am being paid royalties. The people at Apple owe me(this is a loose estimate) seventeen million dollars. I have had music playing in my head since birth. I am the original IPOD. My brain has been set to shuffle for years. I am only seeking seventeen million dollars because I never sent in any formal proposals. I assume that one of their sneaky idea stealing techs was behind me in line at Albertson's and heard me sing eleven different songs in three minutes. I want my money Apple, don't make me get the lawyers after you.
As sure as I am that I am the original IPOD, I am equally sure that the resurgence of American Gladiators is due to me and my kids. No one person was sitting around and came up with water obstacles, giant Q-tips, and Battle Royals. No, the slimy TV idea men sat outside my window and watched my obstacle course. First round, baby jumping. This consists of me trying to sweep one-handed. Then I set Tate on one side of the room and grab my mop. My goal is to mop around her while luring her to the already dried areas. Sounds easy? Bring your A game. I'll put money on Tate any day against any mopper. The Gladiators run up a cushy padded slope while squishy foam balls are gingerly rolled at them, please. Let them try to climb the stairs at my house(which are not padded) while Turner and his friends throw cars, trucks and buckets at you. Come on Saber, only real men compete here.
I am also delusional enough to think that the whole Survivor craze was inspired by babies. Now mine weren't born yet so I know there's some poor mom out there who's been cheated out of her money. So if it was your baby scooting around on the floor surviving off eating three year old Cheetos, army crawling through mud, and testing your will at stare downs go get your money.
Today Tate got into a sticky mouse trap. I bet that in it's opening season there will be a sticky type challenge on Gladiators. I am not kidding NBC, I'm pissed. I really do think I'm on to something here. Or maybe I'm on something and delusional. Which ever the case may be I'm all fired up with no one to bitch to. I am off to retrieve the Siren of the Second Floor. I'm starting to take notes today, so I'll have proof that it's my ideas that make the world go round. No more freebies go get your own genius ideas.

Happy Christmas to all and to all a goodnight.

Every day my children are on this earth I learn something new about my own parents. Odd paradox, but true. This was Turner's first Christmas really "getting" the whole Santa thing. In turn, this was my and Brad's first Christmas being the real Santa.
As I argued with my son last night that bedtime was indeed a good idea and necessary, I smiled. I remember very clearly being on the other end of this argument. I still can recall the extreme excitement, lying awake trying to hold myself back from waking my mom and dad too early. I wasn't concerned that they would miss too much sleep, I was worried they'd say go back to bed.
This is my most favorite Christmas of all time. I suspect that next year will hold the same title. We put out milk and donuts for Santa(it's Turner's favorite snack and he wanted to share with St Nick). Then we set out magic reindeer food in the yard. We all laid in bed and read "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house..." Even with having to threaten calling Santa to get Turner to lay down it was incredible fun. Setting out gifts and putting together toys put a big stupid grin on both Papa and my faces last night. Brad said he would be too excited to sleep. Part of the good time was knowing what excitement was in store for Turner. Another unexpected perk was being in on a secret with my husband. Knowing glances and suppressed giggles are pretty fun when shared with the man of your life.
After last night I realize that my parents weren't lacking excitement on the Christmas mornings of my childhood, they were pooped. I always wondered how they could just sleep on the most important night of the year. Well, they had put together toys, elfed and Santa'd, and made my perfect Christmas morning- it just took them all the night before to get it ready.
Now that I get to elf around on Christmas Eve night it has become even more magical than it was when I was Turner's age. Now I get to remember all the perfect touches my parents put on Christmas: The eaten cookies, the sleigh bells off in the distance, the beautiful display of my most wanted toys. Now I hold all those memories close as I make new ones for my kids. Being able to give my kids memories like my parents gave me is Christmas magic. Sharing a night of sneaking around, being quiet, full of excitement with my husband is about the most romantic thing I can imagine. I can't wait til next Christmas, only three hundred sixty four days to go...

I know how wonderful you are, now leave me alone!

When I am with my kids in the pre-dawn hours I feel a wonderous-ness coming from the both of them. I don't know if either of them will one day be president, but they they will be great human beings.
I am just getting to know Tate. She has a very defined sense of humor. Her personality is really starting to blossom. She loves being outside. The two things she clearly adores are the men in our lives, Papa and Turner B.
Turner has so much personality and a caring nature that makes me tear up more often than I like to admit. He genuinely cares for his friends and mine. He is inquisitive, insightful, and and he's my best friend. I love that little boy with all that I am, but he is driving me insane!
How can I, his maker, love him so totally and still have him make me loose my mind? The "Terrible Two's" have nothing on the stubborn, argumentative three's. He has contested every single thing I have said or done for the past week. I know that he is just a preschooler making sense of his world and testing his boundaries, but I am a middle aged mom hanging on to sanity by a thread.
I often wonder what exactly happens to my time. I look up at the end of the day and it's six o'clock and the house is destroyed. By the time Brad gets home I have picked up the living room three times, folded laundry, put laundry away, Turner pulls it all out of his closet and I put it away a second time, feed the kids breakfast, lunch and snack, clean up behind breakfast, lunch and snack, get groceries, iron work clothes, change seven diapers, wipe one big boy poop booty, sanitize the bathroom when someone (who will remain nameless) pees on the wall while not paying attention, wipe snotty noses eight times, make about twenty-seven trips up and down the stairs, change sheets, cook supper, struggle to get some food in Tate's mouth, rock a baby, make up some type of activity for after nap, and all the other things that wear away a day. While all this is going on I answer an on-slot of questions: What do bears eat? Why are you doing that? When will Tate get teeth? Is Pop coming home soon? Can I play with Play-Doh? Why can't we go swimming? Where's Becky? Can we go to Tyna's house? What's Ridge doing? Where is North Carolina, is it far away? Can I call Booyah? Where's my transformer? Are there monsters in my room? And on, and on, and on...
I think that the daily chores and barrage of questions mixed with bouts of crying baby and sleep deprivation are making me insane. Yesterday Turner got up from nap and went to the bathroom. He wanted to put lotion on his face, so he got two huge fist-fulls of Vaseline and proceeded to smear himself with petroleum. Those are the days that the Valium ferry should stop by.
I am torn between holding my children in a loving embrace and running away to join the circus. Why am I guilty about it? I have no clue, but I bet it was in the small print when I decided to be a mom. Maybe I have split personalities. 99.9% of me loves and adores both my children. It's that damn pesky .1% that makes me want to go lock myself in the bathroom and have a moment of peace. But it's just .1%, besides Turner would be screaming questions under the door anyway.
I have so many things to be thankful for this Christmas: Brad, without him I would have no Turner or Tate, he's my love and the only man I could stand to live with(I mean that in the sweetest way possible). I am Thankful for both of my kids. They are why I smile, laugh and breathe. And I am thankful for the Vietnamese lady who put on a strong set of nails for me. With out tough nails I might loose my tenuous grip on sanity and not be able to appreciate all I have.

Red ribbon day

I have often written about my husband. I've let the vast masses of the Internet know when he's on my bad side, likewise, I've waxed poetic about the parts of him that make me swoon. Tonight I sing his praises.
Bradley has gone and surprised me. This is not an easy task, I am the nosiest person I know. It's not my fault, I was born that way. The fact that I live with Brad makes it all the harder to surprise me, but he did it.
I've been wanting a new car for a while. When we had Tate the back seat of my Montero officially disappeared amidst the car seats. I've had my little truck for five years now and it has never let me down. But I have an eye for sparkly new cars and the smell of new leather intoxicates me.
Brad and I talked over the idea of getting a new car. We looked at all the seven passenger cars on the market. We talked to a couple salesmen. We looked at our finances and decided to wait til next winter to get something new and bigger.
I was a little sad when I thought about not getting a new car, but it was OK. We talked about it and it just made more sense to wait til I could get the car I wanted with all the bells and whistles.
I got both of my babies down to nap at the same time today, this is a rare occurrence. What is even more rare is the sound of a key in the lock at two p.m. I was a little startled but I saw it was Brad. I know how hard the man works, I know he never leaves unless there is a good reason or something is wrong. I knew he didn't have a reason to be home early so I thought maybe he got hurt at work or was sick. My husband never takes off. He worked through having bronchitis and pneumonia once, so something had to be wrong.
Brad walked in and said he came home early so we could go look at a couple cars. What a treat, Brad home early, and I get to get to go smell new cars! I told him it was nap time, he said fine we'd go when the kids got up. He asked me to come help him get some stuff out of his truck. I walked outside, but Brad's work truck was not in the driveway. In my driveway sat a brand new Acadia with a beautiful red bow on it.
I am not one to cry. I graduated high school, got married, and had two perfect babies without shedding a tear. Brad made me cry today. It wasn't the car, it was the bow. It was the fact that he listened and he was so generous. He knew what my dream car was. He knew the color, the features, and all the bells and whistles. He bought the car yesterday and had a DVD installed. He left work and surprised me. He gave me a safe, fun car. He gave me a car that I no longer have to worry if my kids are hot in, they have their own vents and climate control. He gave me a car that Turner and Tate can watch TV in while on long trips. He gave me the freedom to load up my friend Maranda and my kids' best friends and go anywhere we want together. Brad gave me what I wanted and I didn't have to ask for it.
Husbands, take note. You need not buy your wife a new car, but you need to listen. Brad gave me two very important gifts today. I got an afternoon with my husband, which never happens. And I got a great car, that is exactly what I wanted. He could have gone and gotten the truck he wanted but he got something that worked for us all. Now this doesn't come with out a price for me. He let me know that he figures he gets at least nine months of me picking up behind him with out me fussing about it. I got the good end of this deal. I'd be picking up behind with or with out a car.
Brad isn't known for his affectionate nature, but he wows me all the time. The car is fantastic, but it was the bow that made me cry. It wasn't just that he picked up a car, he meant for it to be a surprise and a gift. The bow made it so special. Today was a red ribbon type of day. Thanks babe, you rock, you always have and always will.