Invasion

It has happened again.  Another battle lost, in spite of all of the reinforcements I sent down the hatch (Vitamin C, Zinc, Vitamin D3, and Ibuprofen).  There was nothing I could do.  They came out of no where: invisible invaders.

My soldiers are cold and shivering and no amount of blankets and hot water bottles can warm them.  They are hurt and suffering, just waiting for the light of day (when the walk-in clinic opens).

Strep throat.  I'll bet you a hundred bucks.

Lest I Forget

The other day I looked across the kitchen at my one-year-old and tried to take a mental picture.  I don't want to forget that moment, the way his cherubic head only stood a few inches above the table top, even though he was strapped into a booster chair.  His eyes were only half open because it was nap time and he had blackberry smoothie all over his face.

Motherhood has been a little overwhelming lately.  Probably because of all of the poop.  I know when I started this blog I said that I was not going to talk about poop, so I apologize if I caught you off guard.  Some days I just have to say to myself, "It will be okay.  This kid will be able to wipe without your help someday, and someday that kid will stop having accidents, and this baby will not be in diapers forever..."

Other days I'd give anything to freeze time, like the first time my first baby called from her crib, "MoOooommeeeee!  I wakin' up."  I heard it loud and clear over the baby monitor, even from my coma (the kind resulting from sleep deprivation).

Or the time my second baby, hardly a hair on her head, purposely made funny faces that had her paternal great-grandmother laughing so hard there were tears rolling down her face.  That baby gave quite a few people the joyful medicine only a good deep-gutted laugh can give.

Then there was the way my third baby used to always smile with his eyes closed and his hands reaching out front in a grabbing motion, like he was trying to tickle me from a distance.  I couldn't plant enough kisses on  his round chipmunk-like cheeks.  The dimple in the left side is like the chocolate syrup, toffee bits, and the cherry on top.

So I savor the sweet moments and endure the poopy ones, reminding myself daily how these bits of Heaven are my greatest treasures.

Some moments are perfect, and even though they are tiny in the eternal timeline, they are still big enough to hold all my love...






It turns out as I was writing this, my baby found a jar of jam on the table and began eating it in true Winnie-the-Pooh-with-a-honey-pot fashion.  I couldn't decide if I should grab a rag or the camera.  Then thinking of how much my mom would love a picture of my son loving on her jam, the camera won the debate.  The only problem is, it wouldn't wake up and take a picture, even with new batteries.  So I tried to use the still shot on my video camera, but they always turn out blurry.

See?

And then I realized this sums up my post perfectly.  Motherhood is sticky, sweet, broken, beautiful, and MESSY.

And I really do love it.

Quoting the Cute: Page Seventeen

My third-grader asked her dad to write her a math problem.  He's good at that:  he does it for a living!  He wrote an addition problem (something like "2754 + 3532 = ") and handed her the pencil to work the problem.  The first thing she did was add commas after the first digit in both numbers.  I had to chuckle because he is always the one to remember the details, especially in math.  The fact that she was correcting him was highly entertaining to me!

Four-year-old:  "Can I have a samwinch?"  (She starts kindergarten this year, so I guess it's time to teach her the proper way to say this word.  Sad face.)

One day as I was getting my three-year-old son out of the tub I said, "We need to hurry. Do you want to go to church naked?" His face lit up as he said in an excited voice, "YEAH!" and took off running.  (Silly mom. I should have known better than to ask him that!)

On my baby's first birthday he said his first words:  "Uh-oh."

Eight-year-old, with her nose in a book:  "I'm doing my chores, Mom!"  (When she was in first grade, we made her a chore chart.  Reading twenty minutes a day was on the list.  It still is, but she will read for hours if she can, so sometimes she has a hard time pulling herself away to get her other chores done.)

*...Just got back from a daydream where I did nothing but read a book all day.  My husband came home from work and the house was in shambles and the oven was cold, but when I told him I read a whole book he praised me for a job well done.*

I wish there was some way I could describe to you the way my four-year-old says "chicken."  I've been wanting to buy a digital recorder for these sorts of things, but have you seen how much those things cost?  For ten years I've been waiting for the price to go down, but it won't!

Sooooo, I tried to use my video camera to catch my daughter's "chicken," and then spent three hours trying to figure out how to get it here:

(Yes, I know the lens cap was closed.  Yes, I know I need to take a technology class or something.)

Three-year-old:  "Your butt is pretty, Mom."

My one-year-old has now added "moo, ow, and quack" to his repertoire.  Are you wondering if we live on a farm?

Have you caught a chicken today?