It's the third child...

It's the third child. The one that made you say you were "not ever, ever having another one" during what seemed like the 100th fit of the day. Yet when you put them to bed at night you think "how did we ever do life before them?"  

It's the third child. The one that at 1:57pm looked you right in the eye and said "I do not like you, Mama!" after you refused to read him his favorite book for the fourth time. And then, at 2:03pm, takes his chubby little hands, reaches up and squeezes your cheeks together and says "Mama, I love you too, too much!"

It's the third child. The one that you lift into your bed every night like clockwork at 3:30am. You say you're willing to break all of those "no kids in the parents bed" rules you had with the first two kids because  you will do anything to sleep through the night. But really, you sleep a little better when you hear his soft snores beside you and feel his toes digging into your side.

It's the third child. The one that gets everyone's hand-me-downs. But when you pull out a pair of his brothers pj's from last year and he sees them, he starts squealing "I love love love Cannon's jammies!"

It's the third child. The one that is fiercely independent. So independent that when he finally asks you to rock him or lay with him, you will. Every time. 

Yeah... I'm not having a fourth. But I am amazingly thankful I had my third. 

Things That Make Me Go Hmmmm : Laundry Edition

A couple of months ago, I was reading Real Simple magazine, and I stumbled over a statistic that totally floored me. Apparently, when couples stay in "traditional gender roles", the master bedroom sees more action than when couples split domestic duties!! Shocking, I know... 

[As a side note, I have my own theories on why this may be the case... Maybe I'll get into that in another blog post.]

In retrospect, one of my biggest mistakes in 33 years was sharing this tidbit with my hubby. He now very happily points out "traditional gender duties" that I should take on. Like the laundry. 

And I hate the laundry. The only certainty in doing the laundry is that I will want to wallow in the warm clothes as they come out of the dryer. The rest of the process - sorting, washing, drying, sorting, folding - is a crapshoot. 

1) After all these years, the whole "light" versus "dark" concept is really hard to nail each and every time. Take grey for example. Is that light or dark? Because grey is a mixture of black and white. Is the decision based on how grey something is? It's a sliding scale to me, and the decision is just too difficult at times. If the shirt belongs to the hubby, I just febreeze and rehang it. 

2) If lights are supposed to be washed in hot water and darks are supposed to be washed in cold water, why is there a "warm" setting? This only supports my theory that there clearly are not cut and dry categories in the laundry sorting world. Or I haven't read the manual thoroughly. 

3) Where do the socks go??!! Seriously?! I know this is cliche, but I swear I lose some poor child's sock each and every time I wash clothes. It's causing division among our family members and we are starting to suspect each other of thievery. 

4) How does the amount of clothes in the dirty clothes basket go from "I can wait another day before washing clothes" to "Every article of clothing we own is dirty" in 24 hours? When I see the massive piles of clothes, I shrink inwardly. The procrastination begins. And before I know what's happening, I am shaking out a plastic garbage bag so I can just throw them all away. 

5) Why do I run out of laundry detergent when I finally get the time and energy to wash load after load of clothes? In a mind-boggled state, I begin to question whether body wash or dish washing detergent would be a better choice? Or will hot water do the trick if I use three or four dryer sheets?

So many things in life are ambiguous. Laundry should not be one of them...

The B!+€h Blog - Who's In?

"When noone else gives a rip, we do!!"

This is gonna be my slogan for my new business - a blog where people can moan and grown anonymously and (the absolute BEST part!) someone is *guaranteed* to listen, moan and groan right back, and maybe even make you laugh!

See, there are people and things and events in my life that just drive me CRAZY!! And I mean "Mama needs medication" crazy. At this point my dear hubby and my mother and a few close friends have grown tired of my venting. But I've got to get the crazy out! This seems like the perfect solution!!

First, you can be anonymous! Really, people? Is Facebook seriously the best place out there to say what is driving you nuts? I don't know about you, but I grow a bit weary with the "some people just make me mad" posts. Sure, you're being vague. But let's be honest, we either know exactly who and what you are talking about OR we don't care. 

Which brings me to my second point, most people - even your closest friends and family members - just don't care anymore. Not because they are rude or self-centered, but because they probably have heard the same old complaints and have offered the same old advice countless times. You haven't listened yet, so why keep going? Or maybe they are dealing with their own issues and just don't have the capacity to take on any more. 

So from where I'm sitting, you've got a few options:

1) Keep on keeping on, but don't get upset if people just tune you out.

2) Become an emotionally mature adult and just tell whomever how you feel (NOT gonna happen for me). 

3) Dress up a dining room chair and just kick and scream and throw things at it - all while visualizing the person that is making you so flipping mad. (I have done this a few times - take it from me, your kids will think you crazy if they wander downstairs and see this madness). 

4) Join the B!+€h Blog!!! Type and rant and rave your frustrations away - someone will always be there to listen and laugh and listen some more! 

So whaddya think? Are you in?

Big Will turns 2!

I'm more than a couple weeks late, but I think it's because I'm still in shock that my youngest, and almost-biggest, baby has turned 2!!  Where did the past few years go? Right now, he is upstairs, sans paci (a maddening, but mercifully short ordeal), and snoozing in his big-boy-bed. 

I can still see him as a one-year-old, with his hands all in his birthday cake.  There was definitely more on his face than in his mouth.  And two weeks ago, I watched him sitting there with his fork in hand and very carefully eating bite by every, single bite of his cake and ice cream. Man, they grow up so much in a year!!

There is so much love in his strong little hugs! And his smile - those eyes, those cheeks, and that grin will make you do anything you can to see it over and over.   His big brother and big sister love and dote on him. He loves taking a ride in daddy's truck - and he loves to snuggle in the big bed in his mama's arms if he wakes up in the middle of the night. 
 
While I'm still working on understanding the pediatrician-recommended 50% of everything he says, I do know that he is a very bright little boy with a mischievous twinkle in his eye- who really likes cake and jelly beans and applesauce (but only in the pouches, please). We love our Big Will - and I know that there is a big plan in store for him! I can't wait to see it unfold...

Happy Fourth Birthday to my little man!!

Every morning as the sun begins to come up, I hear his bedroom door open. With his blankets in hand, he pads into my room, throws his blankets into my bed, and crawls in right beside me where we snuggle until we are both ready to go downstairs and get our morning juice and coffee.

While we are snuggling, he usually plays with my hair, rubs my face, tells me he loves me and asks me how I slept. When I miss this time in the morning, something just doesn't feel right about my day.

He is the most thoughtful, sweetest, and considerate little four-year-old you will ever meet. He will gladly play princess with his big sister all day long as long as she lets him slip some knight sword skills in the game at some point. He will give you the last piece of cheese off his plate if you are hungry - and he really loves cheese. When his baby brother cries, he is quick to pet his head and try to make him all better. And he gives his daddy a run for his money when it comes to Mario Kart.

Cannon Davis Waters, you are my heart! You have taught me to give in a little, eat cake when I'm hungry, and that a coke can can be used in a pinch if you can no longer "hold it" when you have to go potty really really badly.

Happy Birthday, my love!!

Not Giving an Inch!!

I've been wandering around the house in a daze, humming to the tune of "Battle Scars". That's how I feel - scarred.

It was the worst fight of my life, but I won...I guess. I mean, who really wins these battles? There are always casualties of war.

But I'm still here. And they aren't. "They" are the inchworms. And this is the long story of our brief life together.

Day 1:
It was a beautiful Spring day - the kind of day where you want to be outside enjoying the sun with your children. And that's where we were when we first saw them - wispy strands of web carrying tiny inchworms. The kids and I loved to watch them swing down and crawl across the deck. We counted them and picked them up and let them crawl across our hand. It was a beautiful afternoon!

Day 2:
The inchworms and their webs were everywhere! The kids and I were quickly losing our fascination with them. We played outside on the front lawn, and I waited for the invasion to dissipate.

Day 3:
I kept staring out the kitchen window, and wondering when they would go away so we could enjoy our backyard. The big kids refused to go outside at all. The little guy, however, enjoyed going on the deck and squishing as many bugs as he could find. Each time I heard him say "Uh-oh", I knew another one bit the dust. (While I understand I am supposed to teach him that killing is wrong, I am secretly thankful for his courage to take on these tiny enemies one by one.)

Day 4:
My husband was sick of me talking about "the Invasion of the Inch Worm". He politely asked me to talk about something else. Instead of refocusing, I began to pace frantically in front of the kitchen window. I swear I could see each and every leaf on the tree slowly disappear.

Day 5:
Something had to be done!!! I called the landscape folks and explained my dilemma. Dilemma is fancy for problem my daughter tells me. They promised to look into a resolution and call me back by the end of the day. While waiting for the callback, I took Madison's little broom outside (no, I would not dream of using my own!) and beat the webs hanging from the trees. They just kept coming back and I just kept right on swinging.

Day 6:
The landscape folks never called back. I may have had nightmares about inchworms on me. I really can't remember - I have blocked out most of these awful memories. I called the pest people. They promised to come out within two days. I drank a beer during naptime just to ease my mind. This time I beat the webs with a large outdoor push broom.

Day 7:
I definitely had nightmares. The pest people could not come until the next day - probably because I sounded like a lunatic explaining my frustrations with these inchworms. With a face of stone, I purchased a big bottle of spectrazide, a new garden hose and some white face masks from Lowes. I fully committed to taking matters into my own hands. And I did.

Day 8:
With maybe 4 leaves left on the trees and a yard full of dead inchworms, I declared victory. I stood under the tree, with my cup of coffee in one hand and my push broom in the other - daring one single inchworm to fall. An empty bottle of pesticide was still attached to the garden hose lying at my feet. It did its job with valor.

Today:
I learned a lot from this fight. The landscape folks and the pest people may never return my calls again as I could be considered "crazed and dangerous". My kids will never want to hear another "Egbert the Inchworm" bedtime story. And there are just some things that my husband and I can't talk about. (In addition to inchworms, he has also banned conversations on recovering furniture.)

So the next time you are in a budding forest during the Spring and you hear what sounds like rain, there is a high chance you are being showered by inchworm poop (according to the Internet). Just go! And live to fight another day!

"Mom, where do babies come out?"

Notice the phrase: not "where do babies come from?" but "where do babies come out?". I was driving back from a friend's house in Columbia, hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, when I heard the question from the back.

The boys were tuned in to Toy Story 3 on the DVD. But not Madi. She was focusing on the "how" of life.

I wasn't prepared for the question. And that's an understatement. I know a few moms who answer "from your belly button". Now, I get it. I do. But frankly, that would freak me out more than the truth. So I embraced a tactic that has worked for me for years.

I pretended to not hear her. It didn't work. She asked louder. I may have said "huh?". She asked again.

Here is how that conversation went:

ME: "Well, when babies are ready they just come out!"

Madi: "I know that!!! But where do they come out?"

Her tone was the mix of innocently relying on you for information with a little warning that you better not screw with her. I know that tone.

ME: "You have special parts where the baby comes from when it's time."

Madi: "Okay. But where are those parts?"

ME: "Ummm...."

Madi: "Mom, I asked you where they were!"

ME: "I heard you! They are between your legs!"

Now, I think we are all adults here, right? I mean, I hope I have not ruined this for the rest of you. I swear I did my best.

Madi: "Oh!! So that's why you were laying in the bed after you had Will! Well, will it tear my pants?"

ME: "You got it! And no, your pants will be fine!"

Madi: "Well good! I hope I get to see it when I get older!"

ME: "You will!"

Madi: "Yeah... And then they will put the baby in one of those special beds. It will be great! Hey Mom, did I tell you I had cheese pizza for dinner?"