3 Day Potty Training

Potty. Training.

Hadn't ever really thought about it before, ya know? Like realllllllllly thought about it. I mean, as adults we are all able to successfully use the toilet by ourselves. Nobody asks me if I need to potty consistently. Nobody checks my bum after a #2 to make sure no traces of a tootsie pop are left behind. I'm in, it's out, I move on.

I shoulda thought about it before I made the decision to bring miraculous life into this world.

It's hell.

Since Grayson turned 2 we've been toying with the process, never really making it a priority. We bought the obligatory potty chair (Cars), big potty seat (also Cars), big boy undies (yep) and the bribes. What we've never really had is a plan. I've always been told it's developmental and it'll happen when it happens. My husband feels bribery and underwear is the answer. Endless websites offer plans and advice...what is a first time mommy to do do? (Hahaha...I'm losing it cause I think that's freaking hilarious)

Enter:  The 3-day Potty Training Method.

Our absolute favorite NICU nurse turned Nurse Practioner used it for her stubborn boy a couple weeks ago and it worked! If it's good enough for the offspring of genius, then shoot! Sign. Me. Up.

Day One:

Big boy underwear goes on without tantrum. Potty explanation accomplished without tantrum. Telling the boy "Let mommy know when you have to go potty!" constantly repeated in a happy, carefree, singsong voice. This is gonna be easy. Best idea I've ever had.

Six hours later. Seven cups of juice/water/milk. Nothing. Dry underwear. Well, shit, if he could hold it this long then why the hell did I have to change his diaper every 30 minutes in real life?

FINALLY I notice a drip from his undies so I snatch him up real quick like and race to the potty. I plop him on the potty chair that is placed on the big stool. The stupid chair collapses and the kid falls straight in the bowl smashing a finger! I quickly right the chair with him still on it and AGAIN it collapses so the kid smashes ANOTHER finger! He's screaming, I'm cussing, the Devil is laughing. WTF happened? Upon further investigative examination it appears my brilliant husband put the padded toddler potty on the rim of the man circle. PARENTING POTTY FAIL! Good thing I have someone to blame. Idiot.

So by now I totally feel like there is no recovering. This is it. It's over. Bust out the Luv's and pray he recovers from this traumatic event before puberty. God help us all if I'm stuck wiping grown-man shit from his white cheeks for years. Not to mention the massive amount of energy I'm going to have to use up being pissed off at my husband.

Fast forward 900 "Let mommy know when you have to go potty!" (the happy singsong voice becoming slightly agitated with each repeat), and there's another dribble. Showtime! Snatch him up, run to the potty, CHECK FOR CORRECT PLACEMENT OF POTTY CHAIR, finish our business. Success! No lingering trauma from the earlier incident. Only negative is now I will have to find some other reason to be mad at the hubby, but there are a whole shit-ton (hahaha) of positives!!

Day Two:

Dry night! What the heck? That's supposed to be the hard part. Oh well...."Let mommy know when you have to go potty!" (Did I mention he always answers this with a screaming NOOOOO!!!)

An hour later he jumps up and says "Oh!" and runs full throttle to the potty. Business finished. Dry underwear. Piece of cake. But where's the poo hiding? This kid is usually regular. Daily easily, sometimes twice. His stomach looks like he's carrying a log-baby. Normal for trainers I know, but solutions? Eh.....we'll deal with it later.

"Look kid, just tell me when you need to pee, will ya." (Over it. Can't stress that enough. I'm sick of my own voice.) A few accidents. A whole lot of wins. A proud daddy teaching his son to pee off the front porch and hit the newly delivered phone book.

Day Three:

Final day of booty boot camp (I'm really funny, I know). Another dry night! Really? Quite frankly I'm sick of my son considering the plan requires me to attach myself to him.

No accidents in the A.M. 

Early afternoon he slides behind the couch very inconspicuously...for a 2 year old. The crashing lamp tipped me off. He can't hold the poopsie in anymore. It's coming and it's gonna suck.

I grab him just as I begin to smell the first wafts of doo. We make it to the potty for the finale and even offer a grand farewell befitting our first training turds.

Since then we've had a couple small mishaps quickly righted by his own mad dash to finish like the big boy he is. Another dry nap and that leads us to present time.

Potty training is exhausting. Obviously for him too since he's now finished a three hour nap. The book says it will all click by tonight. I'm confident. 

He's gonna potty like a rock star! (Okay, okay I'm done.)

Random Ramblings of a Crazy Person

Gideon has found his voice, God help me. Kid won't SHUT IT. He starts jabbering when he wakes up, keeps at it ALL DAY, and moans himself to sleep at night. Yeah, yeah it's frickin cute. NOPE. Not even a little bit. Kid won't just EVER SHUT IT. And he must really be impressed with whatever it is that he is saying cause he really amuses himself. And if his unrelenting yelling/moaning/screaming wasn't enough to send me to Charter (is that place still around?),his favorite talking sessions occur at 7 am and during the devil's nap time. 

It won't let me post a video otherwise I'd share his craziness with you. You should be thankful I'm too dumb to figure it out because you'd go straight to your OB's office and demand an immediate full hysterectomy. I'm kidding!! It's adorable!! (Nope. Still not even a little bit.)

Gideon has also decided he no longer requires real naps. Apparently nine hours of sleep a day is good enough for 7 month-olds nowadays. He did not ask my opinion about his new schedule nor does he give two shits that I completely disagree with it. The only way I can trick a nap out of him is by spending 6 hours a day at the pool. I think I'll just stop complaining there before any of you working mommies come after me with a 2x4.

I've become obsessed with all things bladder and bowel related concerning Grayson. We are working on potty training, if only because he's grown out of the pull-ups we spent a hundred bucks on 6 months ago, so daddy decided it was time to give it another shot. Dude KNOWS how to do it; most times he just simply refuses. He hates getting his diaper changed and cannot stand to have poo on his bum. So go on the freaking potty right? Am I RIGHT? Nuh-uh. Instead let's tell mommy we have to go potty, then throw a (literal) shit fit about sitting on the throne until mommy gives up. THEN pee on the floor. After all that is said and done, take a shit in the too-small pull up and kick mommy while she attempts the change. Sounds super fun! 

My next poo-poo obsession (freaky that I have more than one...or any for that matter) also involves Grayson's inconvenient need to get the poop out. The pool. Ughhhhhhh. I HATE swim diapers. What is the effing point?? They absolutely do not absorb a gosh darn thing. NOTHING! If the kid pees, it just falls right out. God forbid he poops. The swim diaper just literally holds the turd in an enclosed area while pool water accumulates, rapidly diminishing any type of stability said turd once had. You better catch any type of warning signs before or immediately after or risk contaminating the entire kiddie pool. And let's be honest, I can't afford to be THAT mom. I mean, look, my kid almost drowned in front of my sweet, new pool friend. She didn't judge. And it's only a matter of time before Grayson loses his cool over a truck and jacks someone in the head. I'm saving all my good karma for that situation. I surely am not wasting it on pool shit.

Okay, okay enough #2 talk. Lets talk about my second favorite topic. Dieting! Yay! Oh God.

My new pool friends all utilize and distribute Xyngular. It works for them and they love it which leads to a lot of diet convos. So it's not my fault that my old friend, "the diet", has come back rearing its ugly head. Yeah, yeah I cleansed my obsession a few posts ago with the Mrs. Fat thing and busting my weight wide open on a public forum. I mean, obviously I'm a psycho-face cause who freaking DOES that? So you shouldn't be too surprised that I'm back at it....beating a dead horse. I'm thinking of trying their programs, but I'm also considering just giving up eating anything that tastes good. Surely that'll help me lose the Freshman 15. (I can still call it that even though I'm in my 30's so shut the hell up.)

I'm not gonna bust out any numbers this go around, but I guess I'll give you a hint. It's last time minus 1. Whoo-hoo! A whole 1 pound. I decided this time I'll post a picture of flabby arms and tummy to help my motivation. It's a good thought anyway. 

Happy 4th friends!

Second Baby Syndrome

I believe you can tell how much a couple loves their baby by the number of apparatuses designed to hold said infant in the loving parents' living room. For instance, in our living room we currently have a swing, bumbo chair, stand up toy thingy, lay down toy thingy and vibrating chair. This means I love my baby more than you love yours. When he's tired of standing in the stand up toy thingy, I move him to the swing. He naps there for 10 minutes and then I move him to the bumbo chair to play. He gets antsy sitting so I put him under the lay down toy thingy. Then he starts rolling all over and I'm not finished folding the laundry yet, so I contain him in the vibrating chair.

Well, this is awkward.....

Apparently, on paper, it looks as though I don't love the child at all! Huh.........

Are we the only parents that neglect the second baby?

Back up...neglect is a strong word. He's loved. He's fed. His diaper is almost always (leaking) perfectly clean. And, yes, I dress him in clean freaking clothes everyday! Straight up doting mother here.

See! He's held all the time (to take pictures). But I remember holding Grayson nonstop from the day he came home until, well, now. He was always cuddled and held until it was bedtime. And then we would put him in his bed and he would drift off to the sounds......no, wait, that's never happened. He's always slept with us and under my back. But not my Gideon. My poor, neglected second child spends the evening laughing at his parents from across the room in his swing and then is put in his bassinet to face the night alone.

Is this normal? I love him just as much as Grayson. In fact, most days I like him way more than Grayson. That ain't a joke. He's so much nicer and sweeter and his smile lights up a room. But will he look back and think we didn't love him? Will he suffer from anxiety or rage because his mommy didn't coddle him? Will he kill me in my sleep Menendez brothers style because we made him hold his own bottle at 5 months old?

Maybe he'll just be really successful and independent and I can take all the credit for that. 

 Okay, okay I know I'm exaggerating (honey). We do hold and cuddle the little fatty but not near as much as we should. He's going to grow up and skip off to school in a couple years and I'm gonna be left wondering what the hell happened to my little baby boy. He's our last little bundle of joy (as long as the vasectomy holds, fingers crossed) and we should be cherishing every minute instead of letting life, or his demanding big brother, get in the way. God knows he already has enough to handle with Grayson's big ass head coming at him every five minutes. The sweet boy is gonna get some extra cuddles from mommy tonight.

 

Boys Suck

It mostly sucks living with boys. It's not necessarily all the testosterone and frequent F-bombs (Grayson), it's just the all-around disgustingness and incessant, never-ending whining (Grover). Nobody else cares about tanning or HGTV. I'm the only one who loves Channing and hasn't hit my head today.

For those of you with high-maintenance girls hanging around, you must think I'm nuts. I get it. You're probably sick to death of hair bows and tutus, ringlets and barbies. I'm sure all the pink pictures, tea parties, toy kitchens and stuffed animals really sends you to the edge of insanity. Puh-lease. I just got jacked in the head with a toy van. Get over yourself.

There is piss everywhere. No place is off-limits for urine apparently. One baby with a 3 inch wee-wee consistently out-pees the most durable diaper. One two year old drinks 47 glasses of milk/juice/ water a day and is somewhere between embarrassed of his diaper dependency and actually using the facilities properly without jumping off mid-stream. And then there is the 37 year old husband who needs his own set of toilet rings.

In our house, all play is rough and dangerous. The boys just finished up a wholesome game of "throw the ball at each other's face". And now I'm watching the father of my children teach my 7 month old how to bitch slap his brother. And they laugh. Hysterically.

You gotta stay on your toes in this loving home. Around every corner there is an 81% chance someone is hiding to scare you...creating more opportunities for unwanted urine spots.

Oh God, the smell of poo. It never goes away. That's all I'm gonna say about that cause I might cry.

There's lots of yelling, running, crying, whining, hitting and biting. Nobody ever smells good (with the exception of my husband when he's trying to get some). They all sit in the dirt and play with bugs. They track mud on my clean floor and leave a trail of toys and dirty clothes in their path. At least one shoe in every closet has dog shit caked on the bottom and, you guessed it, we own 0 dogs. Furniture is always flipped over. A new bruise is proudly formed every hour. And nobody can EVER find a FLIPPING THING without asking me for help.

Do I love them? Yes. Mostly. They're cute and they make me laugh. Do I think I'm gonna make it another 18 years? Nope. Not a chance. But I'm sure they'll kill each other way before that.

Mother of the Year

Grayson tried to drown himself today.

Uh huh. 

He had no floaties on. No life-jacket. No ring around his stomach. And no, he cannot swim. He's freaking two.

I'll pause while you call child protective services.

Let me tell you the full story. This kid loves to go to the pool. "MA! GO WAWER! MA!" He packs up his bag of "truches" and I pack up SPF 9000 and off we go! Gideon mostly naps in the stroller with the occasional splash in the baby pool while mommy bakes in the sun. And Grayson REFUSES to get in. He'll barely stick his feet in. If you even mention to him it might be fun to actually get IN the pool, he loses his cool. He'll throw every single truck he owns in the damn pool and then find some sweet, unsuspecting, brave 3-year old to fetch them.

And this is what we do.

Until today.

I was having a very nice conversation with another pool mom today when my very un-brave 2 year old ventured over to the 3-4 foot pool. No biggie. He'll never get in. Well the little douche leaned for a ball and.......SPLASH. Gravity and the biggest head in the world combined and toppled him into the WAWER. I watched the whole thing go down. It's not like I wasn't eagle eying him like an effing hawk.  I just underestimated how far he would go to get a ball.

We sprinted. We screamed. The sweet boy in the pool pulled him out before I reached him. He was literally under for 3 seconds. The longest 3 seconds of my life.

No crying. No fear of the water. But I'm sure there was plenty of judging.

I'd judge me. Hell, I'm already judging me. But then I remember those 3 seconds of utter, uncontrollable, hysterical fear and I think I've claimed my punishment. Anyone aware of a facility that gives swimming lessons without the actual act of getting in the water?

Do you always have to love it?

This subject is taboo, I know. But I've been struggling today and I'm putting it out there.

Do you always have to love being a mom? Can someone ever have a day where "THIS LIFE SUCKS" plays on repeat over and over and over in her little blonde head? (I'm asking for a friend; it's not me.)

This has nothing (maybe a little bit) to do with the fact that I'm wearing a bikini for the first time tomorrow since becoming a mother of two and my hips are 5 inches wider than before these munchkins. But mostly my patience ran out today. Dangerously low levels of patience around here today. "Step outside and clear my head" low levels of patience today. Am I being clear? Do I need to repeat that one more time? It got a little hairy. Grayson has spent the majority of the day getting things from the fridge and bringing them to me. There is not enough "NO's!" in the world for this kid. Before you recommend anything, he has mastered all child locks. He's an evil genius. He also has a doctorate in fit-throwing. Usually you hear about my sweet, adorable blondie. Not today, friends. I'm pretty sure God gave him to me as punishment for some questionable decisions I made in my early 20's. (I KID, I KID!) And if you think for one flipping minute that Gideon is an innocent party in this trauma, you couldn't be more wrong. He's been crazier than Amanda Bynes and Lindsey Lohan rolled into a chubby, drooling psychopath. If he isn't drinking a bottle, he's been crying or head-butting me. Freaking high-freaking-maintenance.

I picture Memorial Day weekend before I was blessed with my boys (I almost up chucked just typing that BS). It involved sun, booze and fun!! It's their fault I can't drink right anymore. And I am so very excited about the pool opening tomorrow! But even that is going to be a hellish adventure that no amount of dollar store floaties can salvage.

You are by now probably feeling exceptionally sorry for me. I mean, come on. I have two healthy, beautiful, funny and smart little boys whom I get to spend all my time with. I know it's ridiculous. I know I shouldn't feel this way. I know, I know, I know. That's why my "friend" is facing such a dilemma. At what point can she just dislike her kids for just a little-bitty-bit without facing major guilt? When is it okay to be human and just Need. A. Break?

Don't worry folks. I love my kids. I enjoy all my days with them. I know how lucky I am. I know I have no right to bitch about my life. But, honestly, sometimes I really want to. So I'm gonna. Oh my poor husband. The end. :)

Summer of FUN!

Calling all perfect mommies out there!!!!!!!! Hellooooooooo.......can you hear me through your urine soaked couch cushions?? (I recommend sitting on the floor if you visit my house.) I'm giving you a much-needed, much-deserved BREAK this summer!! No I'm not offering to watch your little brats cause God knows I mostly can't even stand mine. I'm talking about a summer hiatus from GUILT! Doesn't that sound nice? Yes, you're right, I'm brilliant! Here it goes.....

Everyday I worry. I worry that we get up too late. I wonder if Grayson should drink less milk and eat more vegetables. I worry he'll never speak in complete sentences or actually shit IN the toilet. I worry he watches too much tv and you tube. I wonder if he gets enough social time. I worry....you name it, I've worried about it. How many hours should a 6 month old sleep per day? Why does he chew on his hands? Is he drooling too much? Should I take him outside with us more? Should he stay inside out of the sun? Should I not let him nap in his swing? I've googled it all. Then Mr. Google tells me several conflicting stories and I worry about that. I'm tired just from all the effing worrying!

I'm taking a break from worry and guilt this summer. No googling deadly health conditions. No comparing my child's social skills to yours. No pushing Gideon to keep up with the Jones'. (We don't really know anybody named Jones so that should be easy.) Less stress time and more play time. We're gonna go with the flow this summer. Lots of pool time mixed in with some park time. I'm just gonna slap some sunscreen on these white-assed boys and we're going to party like it's spring break. You need a nap? Grab a towel and lay in the shade. Momma's working on some hard earned tan lines. No worries boys, I'll take lots of pictures so you'll remember our summer of fun. It will probably be the only time in your sweet lives that your momma doesn't drive you bat shit crazy.
I recommend you all do the same. Don't worry, be happy now :)

Happy Me Day!

In honor of Mother's Day (my new fav holiday), I'm going to be a little sappy. I'm not usually much good at the emotional stuff, but when it comes to the 55 pounds of pure sweetness that my husband and I pro created, I'm a big fat ball of sugary mush.

For example, my Gideon. He is the newest and last of my baby making. And he is perfect. Not in the "perfect" that most moms brag about, but the real life perfect. Busy cleaning up the water big brother just dumped on the floor? He'll wait patiently for his diaper change. On your 6th hour of playing trucks with big brother and forgot to make a bottle? It's cool, he'll hang out in the swing. Need him to sleep ten uninterrupted hours every night? No problem. Want him to smile and show off his ability to be absolutely adorable to strangers so they ooh and ahh over your perfect baby? That's what he lives for! His number one goal each morning is to spend as much of the day smiling as he possibly can. And he succeeds every day. In turn, he is also the reason for so many of the smiles around him. When his entire face lights up, I want to cry in complete happiness. He meets his daddy's eyes from across the room and jumps with excitement. This 19 pound ball of fatty melts his big strong grandpa into a pile of sappy mush too. His uncle adores his every expression and his big brother loves to give him kisses. He only has one weakness. His grandma. For her he lets down his guard. He has stuck out his arms for her since he came home from the hospital. If she walks in the room, his head whips around to find her. He can sense her presence and is fascinated by her being. In her arms is the only time he actually acts like a baby. She is his safety and unconditional love. It is the sweetest bond to watch. My boy brings joy and delight to all those around him and I think that's why he survived his horrific birth. Cause the world needs him.

That brings me to my Grayson. Oh, my Grayson. I could write about this child for days and days and never, ever run out of things to say. I'm in love with this boy. And all of his terrible two antics. Gosh he invented the term terrible two. He is a monster. Have you ever dined by the kid throwing a fit cause he wants something he can't have? Have you ever walked by a child throwing groceries out of the cart and laughing? Have you ever whispered about the kid walking up the slide at the park or the kid throwing a fit on the dirty floor at McDonalds? Yep, that's my boy. Judge away, childless folks. Or those with older children whose kids "NEVER acted like that!" Yeah right! Unless you raised Jesus I'm sure your kid was just as evil as mine at one point or another. ANYWHOOOO.......my boy is hilarious. He calls chocolate milk "cock". "Ma!! I want cock!!" Oh my gosh. He kills me. He cannot stand a dirty spot on his cup and organizes his trucks from biggest to smallest. He sorts his M&M's by color and only eats the orange and brown ones. He pushes his dump truck through any mud puddle he can find. He runs with sticks. No his his favorite word. He is a terror. He also cuddles me when I'm sad. He holds my cheeks and plants a big fat one on my lips. How sweet is that? He is a momma's boy to the core and prefers me over any one else on the planet. He loves to play with his daddy and go to the garage with his grandpa. Anytime he sees a red car he yells "Dude!" ( his Uncle Gordon) and his Uncle Eric rules his world. He is gentle and kind and then throws a truck at your face. He is unlike anyone I have ever met. He was put on this earth to make me laugh.

So far, each Mother's Day my husband celebrates me. He does everything right. And that's rare cause I can usually come up with at least one hundred things he's doing wrong at any given minute. Just kidding (not really)! We spend this day as a family cause that's what I want most. It has become one of the best days of the year. I get to take a breather and just look at the wonderful things we have accomplished in the past year. Not to mention I don't have to cook, clean or change a single shit-filled diaper! Amen!

Are you a mom? Or do you have a mom that is the center of your world? I never much had a mom. I certainly never had a mom who thought I was the center of her world. But I think that is why my boys are the center of mine. I am a self-centered, lazy, arrogant person. But one "help!" from Grayson and I'm on my feet. Anyone is hungry, tired, dirty or bored and I'm there to fix it. I think that's why I'm a better person now. I no longer care about what other people think of me. I only care about the health and happiness of these two creatures. And I will do anything to make sure their needs are met. I am a sponge for them. I absorb their hurt, anger and sadness. I feel their fear and pain. I can also laugh at them and make fun of their grossness. But at the end of the day it is the weirdest and coolest feeling to be that sponge for another living thing. It's a feeling of sweet pressure to pick up a child and feel his immediate relief. It is the reason I was put on this earth. They are the reason I was put on this earth. Happy Mother's Day!

Seasonal Depression

I'm having an off day in the mother land today. Instead of feeling guilty, I figured I'd write about it. So if you feel like being being a judging Judy, go away. Please.

This morning I accidentally dressed Gideon in newborn pants and a 12-month onesie. I've yet to change either due to lack of desire. I have been operating his swing with my left foot this afternoon because the batteries are dead. As I'm sure you've guessed, I am also lacking the needed energy to locate the screwdriver and batteries needed to complete the task of changing said batteries.

Grayson had granola dumped on the end table for breakfast. Later this morning, we colored a picture for Daddy, and when he wouldn't give me the purple crayon, I put them all up out of his reach. That'll learn 'em. He then dumped the rest of my water on the floor. That'll learn me.

There has been a faint aura of poo in the air today, but it cannot be specifically linked with either child. Normally each offspring would immediately be bathed because exceptional hygiene is high on the to-do list around here. Today, though, I've just decided to chalk it up to gas. All-day, all-encompassing, constant gas. Harmless.

I would give my right arm for them to take a nap. Hell I'd probably even sacrifice THEIR right arms if they'd pass out for just one blissful hour. I've let Grayson watch Cars three times in a row and I let Gideon skip tummy time. I've spent more hours on Pinterest today than all the other days of my life combined. Grayson had four Go-gurts for lunch and a can of Sprite Zero. I couldn't muster up the will to battle him. BIG SURPRISE...he spilled the pop down himself so he currently has NO shirt on. I'm sorta okay with that decision. No cute pictures have been taken today anyway. Probably cause that would involve too much work. We've had plenty of smiles and laughs here today (mostly at Mater), but momma's just not feelin it. I'm blaming it on the dreary ass weather.

Grayson threw a block at Gideon and, later, Gideon retaliated by kicking Grayson square in the nose. I laughed at both. Today I have not cleaned or disciplined. I have only changed diapers when I could no longer bear the guilt (I can hear you judging). The only thing I have accomplished today is planning a date with my husband for Saturday. I may not be nominated for Mother of the Year, but I'm a shoe in for Wife of the Year. So enjoy your accomplished Tuesday (or is it Wednesday?). And know that whatever the hell you did today, it's surely better than the shit show around here.

Please, call me Mrs. FattyMcFat

Before you read...this topic tends to make me certifiably nuts.  If you can't handle a little language, a little grossness and/or a little crazy, this blog is definitely not for you. Go read the last one about my sweet baby boy :)


I struggle with my weight. Not necessarily losing or maintaining. As I've gotten older I know how my body works. I can't eat whatever I want and skip the gym. In fact, just the opposite is true for me. I avoid pastas, pizza, chocolate and basically all carbs like they are chasing me with a chainsaw. I rigidly stick to my daily workouts and vary my routine regularly. It's just what I have to do to be able to look at myself in the mirror (in my skinny jeans).

Let me paint you a picture of obsession. I have 300 outfits, all in my size, that will fit better when I lose ten more pounds. Really? My husband tells me I'm beautiful. My response? "Yeah, if you're the kind of guy who LIKES fat asses." That usually earns me a crazy look cause most guys do, in fact, prefer a little fat ass. Trust me. But does that really change the way I feel? No. A big, fat NO!

The other day I asked my husband how much he weighs. And do you want to know what that idiot did? He went straight to the bathroom and STEPPED ON THE SCALE! Mid-day, fully clothed, pre-poop, post-lunch. Oh my gosh. Insanity. And do I buy into this whole mom-body business? Nope. Neither does Giselle. Yeah I compared myself to Giselle. You got a problem with that?

Fact is, I'm in the best shape of my life. This apparent obsession has me twenty five pounds lighter than when I got knocked up with my first kid. No fad diets here. Just hard work and good decisions. Occasional Nutter Butters and Alfredo. But I still stress about that number on the scale. Does everyone? Does it really freaking matter that much? If you are one of those non-nutso persons who threw out their scale, good for you! I commend you. But I will never be you. I can't live in "only thing that matters is how your pants feel" la-la land. That's crazy talk. How are you supposed to know if you lost a half a pound if you don't get on the scale? I've come to terms with this lifestyle and I think God did too. That's why he gave me boys. To break the psycho cycle. Butttttt....I've decided I'm going to post it anyway. This morning the scale said 147.6. Whew....I feel better. The scale doesn't own me.

All My Love

In a million, ba-jillion years I never woulda ever thought I would be on such a short leash. I'm not allowed to leave the house alone. I can't have a conversation on the phone in private. My shower is performed with the curtain open. You don't even want to know how public any other business in that particular room is accomplished. It's degrading. I never sit in a chair alone. Hell, I can't even have my own damn sandwich. I share my iPad, my bed, my tv, my keys, my blanket, my cell phone and my underwear. YES. My underwear. Hitler likes to run around the house with my (freshly laundered) underwear ON HIS HEAD. I can't deal.

He has no boundaries. In his mind, we are one. As long as I am within his view, all is right with the world. If I go into the bedroom to put up the laundry/hide my skivvies he runs through the house yelling Ma! Ma! Ma! On a side note, what kind of child in the 21st century calls his mommy Ma?

That's psychoface waiting patiently for me on the bathroom floor.

That's my stalker wearing my sunglasses.

Crazytown sleeping sideways in my bed.

I love and adore both of my children. Gideon and I went to hell and back together so we will always have that (sick, twisted) beautiful bond. There are aspects of each of their personalities that are my favorite. Likewise, some things they do make me seriously consider dropping one or both off at the nearest fire station. But my oldest owns me. He gave me the beautiful gift of motherhood. He will always be all the "firsts" in this journey. He is my teacher, my heart, my conscious, my drive and my love. And I am his Ma.

'Til Death Do Us Part

Someday, these kids are going to leave me. These little brats are just going to walk right out that door and move into their own dorm or apartment. Maybe marry some little chic with an attitude problem. And they're probably going to think this is completely acceptable! Like all the hours I've spent cleaning them and feeding them and playing with them and worrying about them doesn't even matter at all! Like it's a normal thing to do...just grow up and move on. They're gonna leave me with nothing! NOTHING AT ALL!!!! Oh shit.......I'm married.  I always forget that.

It's not that I don't talk to my husband daily. He doesn't work out of town or spend 90 hours a week at the office. He just gets put on the back burner. A lot. I'm cheating on him emotionally with these two little babies that seem to run my life.  He is an excellent father and I watch him with our boys and my heart swells with pride at how much they love each other. Grayson cries when daddy leaves in the morning and watches at the window for his return. My sweet husband checks on them throughout the day and includes them in everything he does when he's home. He adores them! And the feeling is mutual.

 I complain when he wants to go on a date with me. I whine when he wants the kids out of our bed. I get angry when he talks of going out of town for a weekend, just us. Lord knows I need a break from these adorable little monsters. And these kids love going to their grandparents house. So what's the hold up?  I want to be married forever. I don't ever want to live a day without being married to this man. So why do I refuse to work for it? My marriage is a full time job. We are two very difficult, opinionated, high-maintenance people. This ship isn't going to stay afloat without us paddling. And I've just been coasting. I choose to try harder. I choose to do my part. Because I want to. Because I deserve to be this happy. And my husband does too. We started this family. We are the foundation for it.  And when these little ones run screaming toward their independence, I want it to be okay cause we still have each other day in and day out. Maybe I'll let him plan that weekend away after all :)

Raising Kids

I am constantly wondering if I'm raising good kids. Will they be polite? Considerate? Loving? Funny? Kind? Athletic? Smart? I don't discipline all that much. If Grayson throws a fit, I send him to his room and let him out 45 seconds later. If he slams his head on the floor in anger, I hug him and make sure he's okay. I guess he really hasn't done anything all that bad yet so I'm not sure how I will handle that. I want my boys to own their mistakes. I want them to feel remorse and understand what they did wrong so they don't do it again. I just want them to be the kind of people you WANT to be around. I want them to be teenagers that other parents wish they had. Now, this might be tricky with my attitude and my husband's inability to stop running his mouth. But I've been fortunate enough to have seen it done right.

I know two kids who ARE the kind of teenagers you want to be around. You know the type. Well, you probably don't cause they are very, very rare creatures. I won't name them cause I'm not related so it's not my right. But for many years I had the privilege of being a big part of their lives. I still get to see them occasionally and they've been on my mind a lot lately. They are polite, considerate, loving, funny, kind, athletic AND smart. And ya know what? They weren't raised anything special. They have a dad who, even through his many faults, loves them unconditionally and would give his life for them. They have caring grandparents who are loving and supportive. They have aunts who have always treated them as their own. And they have a mom who unselfishly guides them, disciplines them for 45 seconds and then hugs them to make sure they're okay. Maybe it's not all that hard after all.

See ya later. I've got some kids to hug.

It's Just A Dream

Why do I constantly feel like something terrible is going to happen? A rated R movie full of kidnappings and bloody endings is on a constant playback in my mind. Just in writing those first two sentences I've checked to make sure that Gideon wasn't smothered and Grayson hadn't rolled off the bed at a weird angle and cracked his neck. I know, I'm really fun at parties.

Is this normal anxiety or locked up mental institution crazy? Do you ponder destruction every time you enter a room? Do you hear a noise in your child's bedroom and automatically assume a psycho killer has chain-sawed through the wall and taken your child? Oh, it's just me?

Just to be clear, I don't push this level of crazy on the kids. I don't run screaming into the bedroom when I hear those sounds of death (or the tow truck slamming into the wall). I nonchalantly mosey on down the hall with my heart in my throat wondering if the last thing I had told my child was how much I loved him or how much he makes me want to jump off the roof.
And usually this doesn't effect our daily lives. I still punish. I still tell Grayson he's killing me one fit at a time. I still push the boundaries and -GASP- allow the children to be in a different room than me! (Well, not together cause Grayson WOULD accidentally kill his brother.) Hell, these kids even go to their grandparents' house. That means I'm stable, right?!

Buttttttt............what am I gonna do when they start school? Or drive? Or move out? Oh geez...all that stuff's really gonna happen. Am I going to outgrow these delusions?

Well crazy mommy is checking out. I have to take their temperatures in case they caught H5n1 during nap time.

My 15 pound preemie

My boy turned 4 months old yesterday. It seems like he was born forever ago. And not in the cliched "I feel like he's always been with me" or the "I loved him before he existed" way. In the " I can't believe we both made it outta that alive" and "I wanna put it far, far behind us" kind of way. This kid knows how to make an entrance. And not in a good way.

I'm sure y'all know about the 10-week early deal and the horrific NICU experience. That's old news. And news that I've finished whining about :)

Disclaimer: If you are currently pregnant, or ever plan on being pregnant, ever, then don't read this next bit of crap. It never happens to anyone (except me) and you'll spend the rest of the night googling "how do I prevent my uterus from blowing up and spitting out my 4 pound baby into my ribs". Seriously, this kind of stuff only happens to this chic. I'm sure your sweet little bundle of unborn joy will stay sweetly tucked in your closed uterus for the duration of childbirth. That is the way it is intended to be, right? Well apparently nobody told THIS GUY.......

I'll give you the short version and highlight the scary parts. November 7th I was home with Grayson, 30 weeks and 5 days pregnant. My hubby was in Texas for work and my boy and I were gonna eat and play and eat and nap. Butttttt.....instead I started bleeding and freaking. And freaking and bleeding. In that order. Fast forward to a scared baby daddy speeding home from Texas. My scared daddy rushing me to the hospital. My step mom and brother holding my hand all day and the sweetest little blonde haired boy winning over everyone in Labor and Delivery. The day was pretty much uneventful. They tried to stop the contractions, unsuccessfully, and we talked about VBAC and NICU. The baby was gonna come, but on our terms. So they thought.

About 3 I asked for something, anything, to help with the pain. Ya see, I'm no hero. I know the contractions are getting worse. It hurts, but it doesn't have to. VBAC, C-section, whatever, as long as I can't feel it. They gave me a little morphine which helped 2%. And then my kid decided he was busting out of that hellhole he'd been living in. Uh huh. Ouch. You ever had anything rip through an organ and hang out in your abdominal cavity? (My pain is worse than yours. For real.) :)

My step mom then attached herself to me, calmly, and ordered them to fix whatever was causing this pain. My dad, God bless him, did NOT have a heart attack as he watched the monitors. I think that was his biggest accomplishment in this life! Gideon's heart rate was in the 40's and I was screaming. And screaming. Emergency c-section time. Get the kid out. I was strapped down and the doc stood over me with a scalpel. Told Steve, the anesthesiologist, to put me out quick or she was cutting anyway.

But that's what I got for being a brave big girl! We were both battered and bruised, but hanging on. And four months later, I'm still amazed at our good fortune. We are blessed. We are lucky. And we are happy.

A test of blog, if you will

Oh lawdy. I'm doing what I said I'd never. I'm gonna write this blog even if no one ever reads it! Truthfully, I think blogs should be mandatory. Yes folks, I'm that nosy. If you've ever posted a public thought, it's a sure bet that I've read it. A couple times. And ya know what else, anytime I get the chance to use "if you will", I'm all over it.

Fact is, I've got a pretty great life. Most of the time it's disgusting, but I love it and all the disgusting people in it. Three people were put on this earth solely for my happiness and I intend to tell you all about them.....not today (baby steps). But I'll show you a couple of freaking cute pictures.

Gosh they're cute. Anyway, I think this is gonna work out. I've got a lot to say and Grayson is sick of listening. Too bad for you.