Tiny Blessing

Today was great. I went for a run, worked on back-to-school stuff, made plans for the new youth track team we're starting this fall, played Blokus with the boys, and ate supper with friends. But today was supposed to be so much different. Today, I was supposed to be having a baby.

We really thought we were done after Max. I was even OK with it, despite thinking that I'd always want to have "just one more." After Max, I felt like our life was complete. I even said, "Heck no!" when people asked if we were going to try one more time for a girl. So, when I called my doctor to ask about some weird period issues and she told me to take a pregnancy test, I was sort of filled with dread. I drove to a different town to pick up the pregnancy test, not wanting rumors to get started in our small community. Wouldn't you know a former student was working the counter. And that pregnancy tests are frequently stolen (I sort of see why now) so now you have to ask for them. Awkward! Anyway, after giving her a clumsy, TMI explanation, I drove home, anxious to take the test to confirm that I was NOT pregnant. After all, I had just bled profusely a few weeks ago. But of course my mind wandered to the what ifs. What if I really was pregnant? We did NOT need a baby right now! Plus, that bleeding couldn't have been good.

I took the test with shaky hands and when I read the results, the word I muttered under my breath was not a nice one. I broke the bad news to Ryan with tears and fears. He was amazing. He right away said, "This is a GOOD thing! We'll be fine." That made me a little hopeful, until I remembered that I'd bled twice recently, once a LOT and with clotting. We decided to try not to get ahead of ourselves. We just prayed and waited. Well - that and I talked out every single possibility ad nauseam.

While I tried to process everything, I made five trips to the doctor in a little over a week's time for blood tests, ultra sounds, results, etc. It was an emotional roller coaster to say the least. At first, I really didn't want the life-altering event of another baby. I couldn't coach track for several years! We'd have five more years of driving to--and paying for--day care! We wouldn't be able to pay off the house as quickly as we had planned! I was going to get fat and stretched out again! And then I saw the baby for what it was - a precious life. Another little Reed or Calvin or Max or maybe a little Ella Raney! Then, I desperately wanted the baby to be all right. And I had a lot of guilt about my reaction when I first thought I was pregnant. The unexpected had brought out an ugly side of me. Things like finances, schedules, coaching, and my body were more important to me than a life. I was sort of brought face to face with my selfishness.

For most of the time, we thought we were dealing with a miscarriage and preparing to process everything when it was all over. I prayed for strength to handle either a miscarriage or a baby (both equally scary possibilities) and I also prayed that God would use this uncertain time as a "reset" button for me. For years - probably every since becoming a mother - I have prayed for the ability to "let go" of so many things, most of them completely stupid. Laundry, cleaning, school work, perfectionism, and unrealistic expectations kept me from enjoying a large percentage of my life. I felt really blessed and life was great and all, but I always carried a lot of stress around. I was so high strung that I rarely FULLY enjoyed the moment - or the people sharing it with me. While I was praying for forgiveness for placing stupid priorities over the life of my baby and asking God to give me a chance to right that wrong, I realized that I had three "babies" already who deserved to be more of a priority in my life. Whether I got a chance to cherish this baby or not, I could start treasuring the children I'd already been blessed with.

After a second ultra-sound, we were told that our dates were wrong. The strange bleeding that I thought was a period was probably oddly-timed ovulation bleeding, not related to the pregnancy. It explained low HCG levels and an undersized embryo at our first ultra sound. It explained how I got pregnant in the first place. The baby was probably fine, just a little younger than we thought. The doctor still wanted to watch closely, but she was confident waiting a month before checking in again. I was so relieved and, just like that, my fears vanished, and I became  so excited about a new little one. I started a secret Pinterest board and reconfigured our house and my schedule and our budget to make room for another little Layton. Ryan settled into cautious optimism, not wanting to get too excited in case things were still not right, but we decided to go ahead and tell the boys on Christmas Eve. They were THRILLED!

After Christmas, we headed to visit my family in Kansas. I started bleeding lightly the night before we left. I cried. We prayed. And we left the next morning, not knowing what else we could do. I bled all the way to my parents' house, dreading every pit stop. It stayed light, but it never really stopped. It continued through the next day, my Dad's birthday. The day after that it got worse and we were pretty sure we knew what was happening. I very much wanted to miscarry on my own--not in a hospital, so I just called the doctor to ask what to expect. Ryan took me to Wal-mart to get thicker pads, and when we got back I decided to take a shower. Within seconds of stepping into the shower, I passed the baby. It was the most awful thing I've ever experienced. I stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out and Ryan came to check on me. We cleaned up and I crawled into bed, exhausted.

Awful as it was, it was such a blessing to be where I was. The boys had no idea anything was going on until we told them. They were sad, but they quickly had lots of people to take their mind off of the sadness and keep them occupied. Ryan was able to be there for me without having to worry about distracting the boys. My sister had suffered a miscarriage about a year before and it was so comforting to have her here. We ended up seeing my aunt who also had a miscarriage years prior and she could speak from experience on the grief.

And God's timing was so evident through the whole ordeal. If I'd lost the baby right away, I would have really struggled with guilt over not wanting him or her. We "had" this baby long enough to want and love it. If I'd lost the baby just a few days into knowing about it, we wouldn't have told the boys. Even though it was hard, I think our family is stronger because of going through pain together. And I don't want to keep a secret like that from them. It could have happened before Christmas break while I was at school. It could have happened while I was at home alone with the boys. It could have happened a few days before we left, when our water heater conked out and we were without hot water for a few days. Or on the road between Missouri and Kansas. Or on my Dad's birthday. Even just twenty minutes earlier and I would have been alone in a stall at Wal-mart.

But it didn't. This fallen world throws some ugly stuff at us, but God gives us what we need to withstand it. I am so glad I was already in the privacy of the shower and Ryan didn't see me go through the loss. For some weird reason, I'm really glad it was just me and God in that awful moment. I was in a warm, soothing place, alone, but surrounded nearby with people who loved me, knew me deeply, and could also distract me and my family from our sadness. Even the date has significance. New Year's Eve. The next day I sort of felt like we could box up the ordeal in 2015 and start 2016 with optimism instead of uncertainty.

And then we headed back to Missouri. Now I realize that our visit delayed the grief a little, because it hit pretty hard after we left. Ryan and I processed it more fully as a couple on the drive home. And then we had a day or two at home before we had to go back to work. Those were the hardest days I think I've ever experienced in my life. I felt so alone in my pain. Sure, Ryan and the boys were sad, but the baby was just an idea to them. I felt like I was supposed to protect and nurture a life, and my body failed.

But I'm grateful God provided those last few days to grieve and pray--and go on a long sobbing walk and then try to croak out the chorus to "Praise You in This Storm" in the shower. I needed that time. And then the real world returned even though I didn't feel ready for it, and going back to work was exactly what I needed to move on with life.

It's strange now, because in some ways it feels like it never happened. And yet God has used the few weeks of that baby's life to change me. I have tried to let go of stupid stressors for YEARS and just couldn't do it. Now, I can't believe I ever worried about some of the things I did. My house has been messier and I've been more relaxed than ever. Oh sure, I freak out every once in awhile, but then we give it a 5-5-5 and I'm good to go. And, I'll be honest here, around the time this all happened, I was to the point where the very presence of my children (and, quite frequently, husband) annoyed me a good portion of the time. I loved them, sure, but more than anything I just wanted them to go away and leave me alone! I won't lie and say I don't still feel like that from time to time, but it's much less often.

And the parts of my life that I thought were going to be "messed up" by a baby I regard with new gratefulness. We enrolled in a Financial Peace University class through our church and are buckling down with our finances. Coaching track this season was so amazing! And I've been eating a little better and exercising a lot more and feel better physically than I have in awhile. I told Ryan that I feel a little guilty about being so happy about the very things that were going to be "ruined" by a baby. But he pointed out that those are the silver linings to our loss, and I shouldn't take the blessings for granted. The other thing that this miscarriage has changed in me is a yearning for heaven. No, I don't want to die young, but I guess I see more clearly what I always knew--that this life is fleeting. We weren't meant for this world forever. And someday, I'll get to hold that baby. The one that I thought was going to "ruin" my life, but whose tiny existence ended up making mine so much sweeter!

Public Apology

I started to compose a private message on facebook to the four people who would be visiting my house this weekend in my absence. I wanted to apologize for the fact that they will need a machete to get through the lawn. Then, I realized that I owed my neighbors an explanation as well. You see, while we were home during daylight hours on Sunday and again today, it rained both of those days and, so, our grass has not been mowed in two and a half weeks. Yes, like all responsible homeowners, we turned our sheep loose in the yard to help the issue, but judging by the looks of things, they are doing just as much fertilizing as they are eating.

You see, we have been runningnonstopforthelastthreemonthswithbarelyaminutetobreathe. Ryan and I have been coaching track together, which has been AMAZING! But baseball season just started as well, so Ryan is coaching/helping coach four teams. One is made up primarily of four year olds and one is made up of teenage boys and girls. 'Nuff said. We've eaten supper at home about as often as the boys have showered (I'll let you guess the number). I bought yet another set of sheets because it was physically impossible to keep up with the bed wetter. Last night, Max rolled up to the ball fields stylin' in clothes from Mrs. Pam's "orphan box."  I don't remember what the bottom of our trunk, sink, laundry basket, or coffee table looks like. In fact, there could be a small child hiding under any one of those aforementioned piles and I wouldn't even know it.

But, glory hallelujah, school's out for summer! It's been an awesome year, but I must say I've never been more happy to say the "s" word! It is 4:30 and we are home! There is no practice or game tonight (a minor miracle!) I have big plans to hide the junk and chisel the toilets clean straighten up the house, but here I sit typing this post, so we'll see.

I guess what I'm saying is, please don't judge the Layton book by its sticky, water-damaged, torn cover! Our sink may be overflowing, but so is our life right now. Come back and judge us in a week, after we've all had a chance to be home together for awhile... Actually, on second thought, let's not do that. You can come check out our house and yard in roughly 14 years. It'll be lookin' good then.

Not so Greatful

I'd like to publicly apologize to our families for the weak-sauce thank-you cards they will be receiving in the mail soon. They are a far cry from our "aren't I such a great Mom" 2012 productions. Probably because I aren't such a great Mom this year. I've been a pretty big slacker all around, and that includes not keeping track of who got what from whom. And thanking those people. Or even acknowledging that we got their package in the mail (sorry, Mimi and Papa).

So, when we sat down to write Christmas thank yous, we still had two sets of birthday thank yous to write as well. Sadly, one of those birthdays was in October... It was on my to-do list for Christmas break, but it didn't happen until today, when the boys asked for an extra technology turn so they could try out their new DS games. I decided to use that as the bribe for sitting down and writing thank yous. Bad idea. Mr. Technology Lover rushed through his cards in record time. This is the artwork he created last week as a belated "Brother's Day" present for Reed:

This was his last thank you. Nice.

Squiggy started with Ninjas for everyone (I'm not sure he received any Ninjas this year - he just knows how to draw them), then tried to branch out to a tractor and motorcycle. One of those turned into a  horse, which he asked me to adorn with a cowboy head. Then the cowboy head became part of the horse, so I was thinking minotaur. But when I asked, I was corrected. It was a "dramverees." My bad. I already labeled it cowboy, and that's what I'm sticking with. Gramps isn't on the internet, so what he doesn't know won't hurt, right?

He ended with this series:

Fire. Fire and wood (ooh - fancy!). And then, something that he labeled "drinseravus, 'cause I didn't want it to be fire" after I gave him my honest opinion on his efforts.

I had him dictate each message to me. My favorite? "Thank you for the present, and it's maybe the Spiderman thing." I couldn't even argue with him.

The bright spot in this production line is Mr. Perfectionist. He meticulously drew a picture of each item (that we remembered) and wrote a letter including a salutation, body, closing, and signature (complete with an uncapitalized, misspelled last name, but whatevs...) Then, he folded the paper in half and wrote the "to" and "from" on one side, labeled it "thank you" on the other, and designed fake seals, unique to each card, that looked like they closed the fold. I gave him a break after he finished all his birthday and two Christmas cards. He still has seven to go. Maybe I should let his brothers help him...

But seriously, family, please forgive my slacker parenting and 2/3 of our children's impulsivity. We may not remember who gave us what, but we really HAVE enjoyed and appreciated all the awesome goodies you took the time to pick out and purchase. More than that, we enjoyed spending time with you over the holidays (and that birthday party four months ago). We are truly blessed!

Camp Allen

I guess it's official. Reed is no longer a little kid. He's big enough to go to summer camp. Overnight. For a week. With no parental contact. At all.



And he did great. Mama even did fine. Until it was time to pick him up. When we parked, we saw a little blonde head rushing out of the church van. He ran to us, crying. I felt horrible for not calling or sending a package or visiting or picking him up and taking him home so he didn't have to suffer a week of misery at that terrible place!

After hugs all around, though, I asked him if he was ok and he said, "Yeah! It was awesome!" Turns out he wasn't miserable at all.  He just got homesick the day he knew he was coming home. In fact, when he started telling us every.single.detail. about his experience, it sounds like it may have been the best week of his life! It was the quietest week of ours, but it sure was good to have him back!

Wise Stranger

The woman who sat beside us at the restaurant today got quite the show. She saw a lot of wiggles. I'm fairly certain she felt some, too, given the range or our wiggliest child who sat not six inches from her chair. She saw our kids get up to the bathroom two times. EACH! (Well, she was only there for the contagious poop round, but trust me, lady, there was an identical pee round not five minutes prior). She saw Max drop two forks on the ground. Hopefully she didn't see me "wipe the germs" off of fork number two because I was too embarrassed to bug the waitress who had already witnessed the three-ring circus that performed before a new seating arrangement was issued.

This poor lady (and half of the restaurant, I'm sure) heard loud comments on other customers' clothing, tattles about what each boy was doing to another, demands for explanations on why we ordered water instead of soda, and inquiries into the whereabouts of the beloved restaurant owner (a.k.a. "the Oreo man" because of previous generous table visits). She heard me ask Calvin to please stop kicking me, no less than 14 times. If she was listening closely, she also heard hushed, but increasingly aggravated explanations and corrections from Ryan and I.

Then, when bellies were full and cake and cobbler were on the table and Ryan and I could finally get an adult-to-adult word in edgewise, she heard us try to mentally re-create our calendar for the week, unsure of which night was T-ball and which was parent pitch, if there was a conflict with the PTO meeting or if we could attend, how many nights this week we'd have to crock pot it or eat out, and how badly we didn't want to add a whole-crew grocery run to our list for that day, but how it seemed unavoidable.

When Ryan left to pay the cashier, trailing two stained mouths behind, I tried to make our table look not quite so tornadic before I grabbed a sticky little hand and followed. The lady caught my eye, gave me a warm smile and said something that brought me to embarrassing tears right there on the spot. "They'll be all grown up soon."

Thank you, random lady, for not glaring at us when we interrupted your quiet Sunday afternoon dinner for the umpteenth time. For not elbowing our wiggle worm back (actually...) And for giving me a message that was exactly what I needed. Part hope and part warning.

Dessert Obsession (and Invention)

If you know me, you know I lika de sweets. I come from a long line of dessert lovers. My siblings and I were just today reminiscing on facebook about the huge bags of powdered donuts Mom used to buy us and how we'd eat the bottom powder crusties with a spoon. My dad still rubs his hands together in anticipation of all things sugary that my mom "whips up" for him. His dad ate raw cookie dough like it was going out of style (he also ate raw hamburger - That trait, I did not inherit). I know the quantity of sugar I consume is a little ridiculous. I know it's not healthy, but I figure I don't smoke, don't drink soda, don't consume too much red meat or alcohol or salty junk food, so I'm doing better than your average American, right? Still, I've given up sweets for Lent most of my non-pregnant adult life (thou shalt not deny a preggo her sugar!) I plan to do the same this year. I like the idea of giving something up that may have become an idol to take a little more time to focus on my walk with God. And though I'm not literally bowing to a statue made of carmel (If I had one, I'd totally eat it), I do spend a LOT of time thinking about, concocting, and consuming sugary deliciousness. So the Lenten season is 46 days (yeah - no one told me about those extra 6 days they snuck in there!) of painful, unfulfilled desire, which I'm sure is good for me physically and spiritually. Yet if I was asked to give up prayer or Bible study for 46 days, I'd probably be relieved to have a little extra time on my hands. In fact, at several points I've probably "given it up" for 46 consecutive days without even knowing it!

Anyway, knowing lent is approaching, I've been celebrating "Fat February" and, since Easter is later this year, a few days in March I like to call "Fat Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday." I know it makes no sense, but we've had Girl Scout cookies, Valentine's candy, Max's birthday paraphernalia, and Krispy Kreme fundraiser donuts on our hands. What's a girl to do? Maybe I'll make myself so sick of sugar I won't miss it. Fat chance.

So, recently I invented a new concoction with Max's leftover birthday ice cream. Because the only thing that ice cream is missing is a little more sugar. And honey.

Sopapilla Ice Cream

- vanilla ice cream
- honey
- cinnamon sugar
- a really big sweet tooth

1) Drizzle honey on ice cream.
2) Sprinkle cinnamon sugar on top.
3) Go into a diabetic coma with a smile on your face.

The first bowl I ate casually standing up in the kitchen, praying no one would notice. But I was selfless and shared my idea with the fam today (mainly so I could have cute pictures of the boys for this blog instead of a picture of me with ice cream dripping down my double chin).

Clearly, that worked out...

Max was napping, so I'll he'll eat his later, but so far 8 thumbs and several fingers up!

Saved

On Wednesday while we were eating supper before heading to church, Reed sheepishly told us that he had gone up for prayer at the front of the church the week prior. We casually asked him what he went up to pray about and he said, "That Jesus would save me."

As a Christian momma, there's nothing more important in the world to me than the salvation of my kiddos. So, this announcement made me so happy. But, if I'm totally honest, it scared me a little too. As a girl who grew up in a Christian home, I don't remember when I accepted Jesus. He was kind of always a part of my life. I knew I had asked him into my heart, but I don't remember one single moment. It was almost more gradual as I matured and started to understand more. I remember rededicating myself at a church function in middle school, but it didn't feel like a huge life-changing moment. In fact, I've never had a huge life-changing moment of faith. And sometimes that causes me to worry that I'm not a "good-enough" Christian. I know where my salvation comes from. I know Who I serve. But my testimony is really boring, and I never feel like I'm serving Him enough.

Reed's faith reminds me so much of mine. His Wednesday night announcement didn't seem like a huge deal. It's not the first time he's prayed for Jesus to save him. As early as we started talking about God, he's always been on God's "side." He's asked deep questions, but always been satisfied with my clumsy answers. He sees everything in the world as so black and white. Even Santa. Several years ago, when he was asked if Santa had visited our house, he replied, "I believe in Jesus, not Santa." Oops. I thought I did a better job of not explaining our personal choices in a judgmental way, but clearly I was wrong. And I know exactly his little mentality. Because I remember seeing certain things (not even necessarily sin) as indicators that you couldn't possibly be a Christian, even though I know my parents never taught me that. If I saw beer in a person's fridge, I was so disappointed in them. I do not want that mentality for my kids! And yet I do want to teach them right from wrong and best from good.

I've been SO careful in the way I word things in moral and religious discussions. I want him to recognize sin, yes. But I don't want him to see people as "good" and "bad." I want him to know that we're all bad! We all need Jesus, whether our sin is murder or sexual sin or gossiping or yelling at people.  Mostly, I want it clear that he's not saved just by default because he lives among other Christians. I think so many "Christians" in America bear that label because it's the box that most closely applies. They're not Muslim or Jewish, so they must be Christian. I don't want that for my boys. I want them to come to faith, yes! But, I want it to be their faith, real to them and freely their choice. I want them to hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant!" when they meet Jesus, not, "Depart from me. I never knew you." And if they do choose it (Lord, PLEASE let them choose it!) I don't want them to take it for granted like I often did/do. I want them to really serve God with their lives, not just give him props on Sunday.

I guess all I can do is give my kids' hearts over to the One who created them. And pray they'll give their hearts over to Him.

Gourmet

During yet ANOTHER week off (totally not complaining, but between snow and Christmas, I've worked only 4 1/2 days in the last five weeks!), I finally got down to business and made a menu and cooked real food for supper every night. It's rough to spend every day lying around in your pajamas, having Pinterest parties with yourself, playing Kinect with your fam, and then muster up enough energy to cook a healthy dinner. But I rallied, and we had some good grub this week. Until tonight. Ryan was at a hunt for the evening, so it was just the boys and I. Usually on nights like this, we make brinner, since Daddy's not a big fan of breakfast food. But I had also taken to making real breakfast the last three days. This may have been a subconscious penance for what occurred earlier in the week--an occurrence that I am 99.9% sure hasn't happened since Reed was born.

I slept past 10:00 on two occasions! Once it was closer to 11 than 10! I blame it on our boys being so self-sufficient. I recently rearranged the living room a bit and now the DVD player is low enough that Reed can operate it. Since they get a morning movie on the weekends and snow days = weekends in my book, the boys have been occupied for at least two hours after they wake up. They also get one video game turn, and their habit is to hit the Wii right after their morning movie credits roll. They set the timer for their turn and everything. The two talls don't always need help with breakfast, but if they do, it's always at least 2 1/2 hours after they wake up. Max usually wants a "snack" during the movie. We did have bagels and yogurt on hand, but a couple of mornings he brought me crackers and a bowl, and I thought, "What the heck?" and filled 'er up. But it only took a couple of days losing my most productive hours and waking up just about in time to make lunch to make me kick myself in the butt and set an alarm for the next day. The boys had used up all the oatmeal and were getting tired of their other breakfast go-to's, so I made our three fav breakfasts the next three days.

So, tonight, I invented snupper: snack-supper. Tonight's fare included apple and pear slices, cheese, cottage cheese, and the piece de' resistance: season-yo-own popcorn. I made a huge pot of popcorn on the stove and served it in "grown-up bowls" for the boys to flavor themselves with three new seasonings I bought (part of Ryan's and my plan to eat healthier snacks in the evening). You woulda thought I had Chuck E. Cheese come cater a party at our house! The boys wooped and hollered, complimented the food, ate like champs, and thanked me for "cooking so much good food!" Ha!  They literally licked their bowls clean. If I woulda known they were this easy to please, I would've skipped brinner and encouraged Ryan to go to a few more hunts!

I just read over this post and realized how LAZY I am I must sound! If I'm honest, I'm slightly dreading going back to the crazy life on Monday. A lot of friends are saying their kids are driving them nuts, but I just sleep through my kids' day our kids have been pretty great this month. I think a return to work is for the best, though. If we maintain the status quo, my kids will soon be malnourished and I'll be 300 pounds!

I Mean Business

This post may land me a call to DFS, but if they do take my kids - one in particular - I'm sure it won't take long before they come back apologizing that my actions were completely justifiable.

We were driving home and I was talking to my sister on the phone. When I hit the point of the drive where I lose cell service, I pulled over and put it in park. We were on the rarely-traveled gravel less than a mile from our house. A few members of the peanut gallery began whining that they wanted to go home and how much longer would I be on the phone and why did we have to stop. I warned them to shut up or else please be quiet. Twice. Then, Mr. Wild rudely said, "I wish I could just walk home!" So, I told him to do it. He immediately protested. I insisted he get out of the car, then finished the convo with my sister, which at this point was just me describing what he was doing outside (not walking, btw) and her laughing hysterically. When I hung up, I got out of the van and told him that he would have to walk to the intersection of the next gravel road (about 200 meters ahead) and then he could get in and try again. I drove ahead of him, close enough that he could see me, but far enough that he couldn't trip and get run over by me. He ran frantically, crying the whole way. I was feeling pretty bad when we reached the intersection, because I knew the experience had scared him. When he got in the car, I drove on, giving a gentle explanation of how he had to start listening and obeying and how sometimes mom had to do things to show that she is serious. I apologized for scaring him and summarized by asking, "But you have to know who the boss is. I am the boss. Who is not the boss?" In true form, he replied in a snarky tone, "Max." We were just a hill away from home at this point, so I screeched the brakes and ordered him again, "Get out!" He cried and all-but refused to, but eventually he had no choice. And this is what I watched in my rear view mirror as we creeped over the final hill to our home. Should I have been driving and taking pictures of my terrified tyrant? In the name of future blackmail pictures, I say yes!

God's Math Doesn't Add Up

I write my prayers down because I have ADD. Proof: This morning, I stopped writing mid-sentence and didn’t realize it until almost lunch time when I noticed my prayer journal still sitting on the table, unfinished. I have no idea what drug me from my talk with the Lord, but if I had to guess, I’d say whatever it was had two legs and a loud mouth. 

Anyway, I looked back and saw this prayer Monday, “Please bless my efforts and multiply my time.” Here’s a run down of my week:

• 14 hours spent at school - completely ready for Open House next week and cleaned-out files. Not going back to my classroom until I have to on Monday.
• Started, worked on, or finished SEVEN crafty projects. Got farther than I ever dreamed.
• Took boys on the first round of school supply shopping and an enjoyable (!?) errand run with SIX stops! (It should go without saying that one of the munchkins was home with Daddy.) 
• Read at least six children’s book a day to the short ones.
• Hung out with friends a few nights -- in a tornadic house (yay, me!)
• Reorganized all of my Pinterest boards.
• Blogged a few posts and started several drafts for the future.
• Laughed at 80 cheesy jokes (we’re on a comedic roll around here) and oohed and ahhed at 132 Lego creations.
• Cooked supper every night.
• Took the kids to another short VBS and attended family night.
• Washed sheets (and blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals) almost every day for a certain bed-wetter whose capacity is increasing dramatically.
• Enjoyed 90% of my time and stressed 0% of it!

People, if you know my day-to-day life, you will immediately recognize that this is a miracle. Most summers, I return to school an entire week before I have to and am NEVER ready for Open House until right when they unlock the doors. Usually, I’m hiding half-finished stuff in the closet when the first parent walks in my classroom. I haven’t been this crafty since my nerdy middle school days when I strung packing peanuts and foil star stickers on dental floss and called it a necklace (I think my tastes have improved since then -- wait for future posts to judge for yourself). And normally when I’m this productive, I’m also stressed out, tired, and totally unable to enjoy my family. I’ve felt relaxed, energized, and like we’re all just doing our thing side by side with occasional intersections. It’s only halfway through Friday as I type this. We still have last-day-of-summer-celebration events planned for the afternoon. 

I can’t explain how it works, but when I let go of pressure and ask God to help me, I am able to do immeasurably more than when I try to do everything on my own strength, running around like this dude...

...only minus the head. My next challenge -- REMEMBER THIS LESSON! 


Linking up to Women Living Well. 

Heathens

Every summer, a coworker and friend of mine invites our boys to her church's vacation Bible school. VBS is their church's biggest outreach event, and my friend is the director. She's an all-star teacher, so she puts on a great VBS. We've been several years, but this summer, I was especially excited because Max is old enough to leave. This year's experience would be two free hours of babysitting a great opportunity for him to learn about Jesus, too.  Like always, my friend and her church put on a great program and the boys really enjoyed themselves. Tonight, when I picked them up, she came over to me to share something that happened. "I asked the kids if they knew what diligent meant and Calvin..." she began. I immediately begin mentally patting myself on the back. Just a week ago, we had discussed diligence in great detail because it was the hero trait of the day in a comic book devotional my Dad had given us. Go on, go on and tell me how brilliant my five-year-old is, I thought to myself, and how spiritually well-trained my kids must be. And she went on. "Calvin raised his hand and said that when you're diligent you do your best job and work hard and don't do a crappy job." Crap. Guess my penchant for potty humor is coming back to bite me in the butt bottom.

To fully appreciate my humiliation, let me share with your a little about the parishioners at this church. It's a small, country church with a small congregation. I'm fairly certain several of the families homeschool. I'm also fairly certain most of the women wear dresses to church every Sunday. At least one woman (my friend's mother-in-law and the late preacher's wife) wears skirts every day. There is some debate about the King James version being the only acceptable version of the Bible for believers to study. I think the thys had it. And I'm not sure, because I read the NIV version, but I'm guessing "crappy" isn't in the King James vernacular.

And now, let me tell you about another experience this congregation had with my lovely middle munchkin a few years ago. On the final VBS family celebration Calvin managed to defile both the painstakingly-crafted watermelon cake (with his fingers) and the side of the church (with his urine).

Now I'm starting to think that there's another reason my friend invites my boys to VBS every summer. It is their church's biggest outreach event.

Playing Chicken

I'm just putting this out there because Ryan never reads my blog I'm feeling really honest right now: If anything ever happens to my husband, there will be a huge animal sale at the Layton Barnyard. Like before rigor mortis sets in. I just came in from wrangling chickens. 68 chickens. And 15 ducks. OK, I can't remember the exact number, but there was a six, a 15, and a couple of other two digit numbers when we were doing the math yesterday. Before yesterday, we had a few chicks and ducks and they were great. They ate bugs and blessed us with about five eggs a day. Perfect! Then Ryan's aunt "cut him a deal" on her entire stock of chickens and some cages and ducks and an elephant (just kidding - barely) and here we are. Ryan swears he's going to sell a bunch, but I'm not holding my breath.

Last night, the wrangling experience was fun. Max and I helped chase chickens toward Ryan, who shepherded (or chickherded?) them into the barn where they roost. It took forever, but it was cute and hilarious. Max got so into it, giggling hysterically as he ran after the "woosters," then turning dead serious, even screamingly frustrated when they wouldn't cooperate.

That was me tonight. Minus the hysterical giggling. Ryan took the bigguns to watch an all-star baseball game with a friend. He just asked me to throw some feed in the shed and hoped the flock would follow. He said I didn't have to put them up. I shoulda listened. But I really thought I could impress him with my sweet animal tending skills and once I got started, my stubborn side kicked in. I would not be outsmarted by a bunch of stupid chickens! I found a mighty weapon in our rake and felt powerful when the rooster that usually terrorizes me (for real!) squawked  and flew away from me. I herded several in the barn, then discovered more trying to roost in our nice shed. Un huh! Got those. Found a few more by the house. Done. I was just heading to put away the rake when I spied one lone escapee coming from under the van. I almost wrote him off. Really? If a coyote gets one, we still have approximately 67 more. As long as he drug off the evidence, Ryan wouldn't even have to know... But the "lost sheep" parable and my conscience made me go back and successfully herd him, too. I came in the door, not at all surprised to see that I had been out 45 minutes for the whole ordeal. I was ticked, but couldn't help but feel proud of myself as I washed my hands. And then I saw, out the kitchen window, first one, then two chicks strutting out from under the van. I sure hope the coyote drags their carcasses off.

Housekeeper of the Year Award

A while back, Reed asked me "Why is that room so clean?" I wasn't sure what he was talking about, so I asked him which room. "That closet thing where you and Dad get dressed."  I had gotten a wild hair and deep-cleaned our walk-in closet. I told him as much. His reply is a sad commentary on my housekeeping habits. "Why? Is someone coming over?"

Another afternoon I found out at work that a lady would be stopping by shortly after school to pick something up. She's super-organized, always put together, and known for being opinionated. Needless to stay, I rushed home from school and frantically started cleaning. I pressed the boys into service too. When Calvin asked why he had to pick up, I told him that someone was coming over and we didn't want her to think we (read: me) were sloppy. "Well, sooo! It's OUR house!"

Of course I didn't tell him so, but he was right. Why do I insist on putting up a front? If you come to my house and I know about it at least 24 hours in advance, I will hide our clutter, scrub the toilets, and probably freak out on my family seven or eight times before your arrival for taking off their shoes by the door or, God forbid, playing with ugly toys. My house will probably look pretty clean - or at least neat. But that is not how we live. And thank goodness - because getting it clean --and keeping it there is really stressful.

We had a party at our house just a week ago. I spent literally an entire week deep-cleaning my house. I cleaned one room per day and washed windows, dusted the red lantern balls in Max's bedroom, vacuumed book covers, crazy stuff like that. And why? Because our friends and family are judgemental of dusty balls? Nope. Because I already wanted to do that stuff and the party was a good excuse to get my rear in gear? Sorta. But mostly, there's really no good reason. I just got it in my mind that this party was an occasion for perfection.

I've been meaning to invite a friend over this summer. I really wanted to do it the week before our party, but I just "couldn't spare the time" cleaning. How ridiculous is that?! And then, the next week  we had surprise guests one evening. I was totally frazzled for the first few minutes (I had been sacked out on the couch and the house was a PIT!) But you know what? Once I got over it, we had a great time. And it was a whole lot more relaxing than if they had called ahead and I felt the need to frantically run around the house and hide/scrub/spot vacuum. It taught me a lesson God and my husband and have been trying to teach me for years: people are more important than (false) perfection.

So in the interest of full disclosure, I'm doing something I never thought I would do... Posting unstaged pictures of my house right now- and sharing this post on facebook to my 308 nearest and dearest. Keep in mind it was SPOTLESS only eight days ago.

One long, long week ago

Don't judge. Things can go downhill pretty fast around here...

 

There you have it. The real us. Kinda embarrassing for a frustrated perfectionist, but it is what it is. And even though most of the mess is grown up's stuff, I can still pin it on these guys one way or another. I mean, who can clean when this ruckus is going on?

And they're so totally worth it! So, if you come over and it looks like this, maybe you can imagine I was a really great mommy recently. And if it's really clean, please don't ask my kids how their day has been. Or open any closets...

Birds and Bees Already?

Spending a few weeks with girl cousins brought up some questions for which I was not prepared. I think I'm gonna buy a book for the next encounter, because me answering sex questions on the fly? Not so good.

The first incident wasn't terrible, but I wish there was a female equivalent for the nickname pee pee. Because when Reed asked me what girls' "not pee pee's" are called all I had was the real name. Yep. Busted the V word out on a seven-year-old, who of course giggled and repeated it to the five-year-old. Can't wait to hear where that one resurfaces...

The next question, I tried to dodge, unsuccessfully, I might add. A discussion about marriage and divorce and custody went south, when the boys deduced that people can have children outside of wedlock. That baffled them, because the party line has always been, "When you're in college, meet a good girl who loves Jesus, marry her, and give me lots of grandbabies." College. Marriage. Babies. In that order. "So, how can you have a baby without marrying?" was the inevitable question. I actually pulled the, "It's getting pretty late, so why don't you ask me again in the morning and we can talk about it then, ok?" dodge. Did they forget like I hoped? Nope. And I had not prepared a response, so this is the nonsense that tumbled out. "Well, you know how animals mate? Well, humans sorta do that too, only it's more special for people. God wants to you be married, but some people don't wait. I'll tell you more about it when you get older." The end. And please don't ever ask me questions like this ever again, because I am clearly unqualified to answer them.

But I know this one's coming: Do you and Daddy mate?

Sucking Up My Jog

When I announced I was going on my morning jog Friday, Reed asked if he could go along. I reluctantly agreed. I've been meaning to take them on a walk ever since I smelled the honeysuckle blooming, but I didn't really want to give up the peace and quiet that starts my day. Oh well. When Calvin heard about the honeysuckle, he opted to join us, so of course Max came along too.

We started off great. The big boys ran ahead so quickly that I decided to go ahead and jog, too. I learned then that jogging with a stroller uphill really adds intensity to the workout. And then we hit the first patch of honeysuckle and it was all downhill from there. Only in a bad way.

We had to stop at each and every separate plant (the stuff rivals Kudzu in taking over a roadside) to compare flavors.

We had to fill Max's snack cup with morsels to take home for later. We traveled like 15 feet per hour! All this over a tiny drip of watered down nectar?! At first I thought it was cute. They were so excited, acting like they were visiting the dessert bar at Ryan's Steakhouse.  We went as far as "our" bridge, where we played Pooh sticks and threw rocks.

But I was soon annoyed that I was getting no exercise and we were moving nowhere. Also, the more excited my kids get, the louder and more they talk. This was far from sweet silence to clear my head in the morning. But set aside the morning grogginess and I had to admit, it was pretty sweet in its own way. Next time, I'll just make sure to take them AFTER the butt crack of dawn.

Screen Time

When I was a waitress back in the day, I used to get on a rant about families who let their kids play on their DS or iPhone at the table. When I became a teacher, I totally saw the effects of kids who were used to being constantly entertained by media. I was convinced that TV and video games were the devil as far as kids were concerned. And then I became a mom. Fast forward seven years, and we have three boys, a Netflix subscription, two iPhones, high speed Internet (recent upgrade - woot woot!), 2 laptops, a DS, Wii, Xbox, Rock Band, Kinect, and portable DVD player for the car. Speak of the devil...

We really did try to shield little baby Reed from television. I remember when he was barely old enough to sit up, we were watching a movie one afternoon with him in the room. Feeling guilty, I strategically placed a large toy to block his view of the television. He grabbed the link-a-doo rings that were attached to the toy and leaned back so he could catch a glimpse of the action. Ever since then, if the TV is on, Reed is a total zoner. When we go to people's houses where the TV is on for background noise, he will only make halfhearted attempts to play with friends, even if it's an infomercial. And when my high tech older brother passed down his Nintendo DS, there became another object of my boys' affection.

So I'll admit, there are times when the boys look like this:

or this:

But we do try to limit their screen time as much as possible. Here's what has worked for us so far:

- Each boy gets one 20 minute turn on the gaming system of their choice. They know not to ask for more. They are responsible for setting their own timer (actually, they usually have their sibling set it for them so they don't lose any seconds of play time). When the timer dings, they can "finish their level"if it doesn't take too long. Max has started taking an iPhone turn while his brothers watch each other play on the DS. He basically opens up all the apps, shoots angry birds backwards, and tries to delete or buy things, but he thinks he's big stuff and he leaves me alone for 10-20 minutes so it's all good. He's also the master timer watcher for his brothers. "Timer ding!"
- They get to watch one movie (or a few short episodes of a show) on Sat. and Sun. mornings. This is totally so Mommy and Daddy can sleep in. Max hasn't gotten that memo yet, though...
- The boys know not to ask for more TV or game time. They are pretty diligent about getting their 20 minute turn in each day and we wake up EVERY Saturday and Sunday to a whispered, "Can we watch our movie?" but they don't usually push for more. I guess they got tired of hearing "No."
- The Wii, Rock Band, and Kinect are basically for family fun. With all three, we played almost every night for the first week, and now we might play one of them once a month when the mood strikes. This summer, I figure they'll be our rainy day saviors. That and Pinterest. The bigguns love that site almost as much as their mama! Too bad they want search Ninjago instead of cute mudrooms.
- In the middle of winter, we probably have movie or video game nights about once a week to battle cabin fever.
- On long car rides (we live 9 hours from mi familia) it's pretty much nonstop techno land on wheels. Sometimes you just gotta survive!

Our biggest issue is when we're around other people. In the winter, we favor uninterrupted adult conversation over towing a hard line about technology. But we're currently fighting a battle because of it. There are certain people they see only for their iPad or the Cartoon Network on their TV (we have no channels at home). We've taken to giving a lecture in the car before we arrive at our destination, forbidding them ask about TV or phones or Kindles. I swear my mantras every weekend for a month have been, "We don't go to Grandma's house to watch Transformers or play Bejeweled. We go to see Grandma and Grandpa" and "It's too pretty outside to watch TV. Don't even ask!"

I'm sure this will be an evolving battle, but for right now I feel like we're winning the war on technology overload. Now if I could just get myself under control. Right now, it's nearing 3 a.m. and I'm still on my laptop!

Why I'm Not Up for Mother of the Day Today

1) I made a walk sound boring so that Reed and Calvin would decide to stay home with Daddy and I could just take Max, who doesn't talk nonstop and want to brake for every puddle.
2) I was obviously happy to learn that Calvin had kicked out Reed's stubborn front tooth (it was so hanging by a thread that it had turned black) on the trampoline while I was gone.
3) When Max asked me to jump with him on the trampoline, I told him no because I was enjoying high speed Internet.
4) We ate cereal for supper tonight (sugary stuff -- like Colonel Crunchberries)
5) It was 7:30 p.m. when we started supper. Bedtime is 8:00.
6) I called daddy a "buttface" repeatedly in a sing-song voice because he was bragging about getting out of school a week earlier than the rest of the family.
7) I reminded the bigguns of a funny, yet inappropriate thing that Calvin did last summer.
8) Laughed at the "butt toot" contest that naturally followed. Potty humor runs deep here.
9) I thought the day was perfect.

Frightening Family Fun

The other night, Ryan and I pretended to be strangers, offered the kids candy, then abducted them. They screamed bloody murder and kicked the crap out of us. Another family fun night at the Layton house.

This game (which has become a highly-requested favorite) came on the heels of our decision to let Reed play on the playground with his other teacher’s kid friends after school. Unsupervised. Our school is out in the boonies (in a “town” with a population of 93) and the playground is fenced on three sides. My classroom window overlooks it. And two of the teacher’s kids are 10-year-olds who I have in class this year and totally trust. But still.

We had said no earlier in the year. I was actually leaning toward yes, but Ryan didn’t feel comfortable with it. Then Friday, Reed was talking with the other kids in a supervised area and they all decided to go to the playground. He came up the stairs to my classroom in tears. I guess the puppy dog face did me in. That night I talked it over with Daddy, and we relented. Then we gave a list of safety and behavior rules. We even practiced what to do if the other kids started saying bad words. Or being a bully. Or vandalizing. I probably gave him more ideas for mischief than any of them would ever come up with. Then we talked about what to do if a stranger came to the playground. This is what started the aforementioned game.

I gotta say, woe to the person who tries to kidnap one of my kids. First of all, they’re pretty stinkin’ fast! And “candy,” “lost puppy,” and “Hey, little boy” might as well be a starting gun, so you better come up with a new way to entice them close if you don’t want to chase them down. And if you do get ahold of them, look out, Buddy! They kick indiscriminately – and hard! You might be ok with Max. He’ll run toward you giggling (but you better be able to back up a candy claim) and willingly let you ‘nap him. But even he will break your eardrum and give you a few hard smacks. The hardest part of this training was teaching the non-kidnapped child to resist the urge to defend their brother and instead run for help. They are very confident in their ability to “beat up” the bad guy. Reed cited his fights with Daddy as evidence, “But Daddy is strong and we can beat him up!”

The game led to a conversation about why people kidnap kids. I vaguely explained possible reasons, which led to a vocabulary lesson on ransom. When I said, “If you don’t give me $7 million, your kid is gonna get it!” Reed was very concerned, “But you don’t have $7 million!” “Well, then…” I struggled, trying to come up with some kind of reassuring answer. Calvin cut in with, “Then we’ll have a problem.” I guess they’ll have to kick their way outta that predicament…

It’s sad that we have to worry about our kids playing on a playground and teach them how to get out of unthinkable situations, but we’re praying it’s worth it to raise independent, healthy boys who can kick the snot outta bad guys!

Why Goats are Mowing my Front Lawn

You know how people sometimes exaggerate about how tall their grass is? Stuff like, “You could lose a small child in our lawn!” or “We could make hay!” Well, that crap is  for real, here, people!  I could blame it on my hubby being too busy, which is true. I could blame it on the weather, which would also be sorta true. But the real truth is we are straight up ghetto here at Layton Farms. If you have four lawn mowers and none of them work…you might be a redneck. If one of your lawnmowers is up on blocks in the yard… you might be a redneck. If you put temporary fence around your front yard and move the sheep and goat flocks in the paddock for the weekend so they can eat it down to a level that won’t choke out the one lawn mower that works when you air up the tire every thirty minutes or so…I’m not sure what you are, but I’m right there with you.

I’m writing this post partly to vent, partly to apologize to my neighbors, and partly to explain that we’re not total lazy trashy bums.

It started months ago. Our lawn was freshly mowed and beautiful for the Raney/Smith wedding extravaganza in May. We beamed with pride. Then it didn’t rain all the rest of May and June, so Ryan only had to do a little trimming to make our dead grass look tidy for our 4^th of July party. July and August brought more drought – level 4 “exceptional,” record-breaking drought. So, we went into the school year having only mowed 1 ½ times all summer and yet not looking trashy. Win, right? Wrong. Because a few rains in August brought on some late-season growth. When Ryan went out to mow, he discovered his stand-by mower was broken. So, he went to use his back-up. Flat tire. Mowers 3 and 4 had been out of commission for over a year. I won’t go off on a tangent about why we find it necessary to keep worthless, yet large, pieces of equipment around. I won’t. (But I will think it in my mind every time I spy one of said worthless, bulky items taking up space in our shed – or yard) No biggie, he decided. Just let the lawn go a little until he could get some help from his dad fixing one of the two mowers.

Now I realize that normal people would probably pay to have their mower fixed, buy a new mower, or break down and hire a lawn service to do the job until they could get their own machinery up and running. If you haven’t met us, you should know that we’re not normal. In fact, maybe I should back up and explain a few things about us: 1) We’re incredibly cheap, 2) We’re incredibly busy this time of year, and 3) We’re not incredibly handy. So, this is a break down of the last month and a half

-          Visit to Dr. Dad. Mower fixed for about 1/3 of one section of the lawn. Conks out again.

-          Aired up flat tire. Mower makes it through ½ of a section. Weekend over.

-          Dr. Dad house call. Services include mini-lecture on upkeep and maintenance, section of lawn test mowed, and mower with clean bill of health.

-          Mower gets new injury. Won’t self propel. Ryan tries to force an extra-large deck (it’s one of those walk-behind jumbo mowers – not made to actually push!) through our extra-tall grass. Makes it a couple of laps around.

-          Air up flat tire. Twice. One section mowed! Weekend over.

-          Five Cross Country meets in four weeks.  Visits to family. Three failed trips to stores to find parts. Three family members, including Mower Man, sick. Grass keeps growing. Mowers keep being broken.

-          Attempt to hire high school students to  mow grass for a less-than-pro fee. One taker has to back out because their parents are worried our tall grass will ruin their mower’s blades. (That’s not embarrassing at all.)

-          “Green Slime” to fix flat tire. Fail.

-          Brilliant temporary fence with self-fertilizing mowers plan. Fail. Our regular fence won’t hold our livestock. Why did we think three strands of temporary wire would?

So, the hay (it’s not even grass any more) is still growing and there’s no real plan in sight. My folks are coming to visit next weekend and I’ve been assured the lawn would not be bowing in the breeze by then. But Mom and Dad, if you have to drag your suitcases through the amber waves of grain, please don’t judge. It’s not from lack of trying. And be careful - there might be a lamb or a small child hiding down in there.

An Open Apology to SAHMs

An Apology to SAHMs

I always dreamed I’d be a stay at home mommy. I pictured myself doing cute activities with my cute kids in our cute house while wearing cute, yet casual clothes. Then my cute husband would come home and I’d tell him all the cute stories about our day. Well, I got the cute husband, but with our career choices, we decided it would be best for us both to work (it’s hard enough to make it on two teachers’ salaries, let alone one!) I didn’t really sweat it. I can pick the kids up at 3:30 most days and we have AMAZING day care (I think she’s a better mom to my boys than I am. Seriously.) Still, there will probably always be a little part of me that’s jealous of women who don’t have to juggle career and family. I will admit that I have, on occasion, said or thought the following things:

-          Oh! I’ll have plenty of time in the summer. I don’t work for three months!

-          Finally, I’ll be able to get on top of the house cleaning and get a couple of projects done!

-          You’re so lucky to be able to stay home with your kids!

-          If I stayed home all year, I’d have so much more time for (insert thing I wish I had more time for here)

-          Well, she’s a stay at home mom! Of course she has time to (insert thing I wish I did here)

-          It sure would be nice never to have to worry about work

For three months out of every year, I get to forget about the career (mostly) and live out my childhood dream of being nothing more than a Mommy and wife.  You’d think after five brief SAH stints, I’d have it figured out. It ain’t easy! But my first summer home with Reed he was a new baby. The next I was pregnant and lazy. Then I had two munchkins under age three to chase. Then I was pregnant again. Slept that ENTIRE summer. The next I had a newborn. Every summer there was an excuse for why my hair was in a permanent pony tail, my boys wore pajamas more often than clothes, and my house was a wreck. But this summer was to be different. The littlest is starting to cut the cord a little and the bigs are pretty self sufficient. So THIS was gonna be the summer that I FINALLY got to:

-          Keep my house spotless   (Raging tornado. All the time.)

-          Get my pre-babies body back    (Ha!)

-          Keep a current, riveting blog, maybe even pick up a ton of readers and get sponsors to buy me junk to make crafts for free    (Hi, Mom!)

-          Do daily devotions    

-          Make my boys geniuses by doing “school at home” every day    (We’ve learned more potty humor than phonics)

-          Go on nature walks, cook with the boys, and do other super-mommy stuff   

-          Keep a semi-structured schedule  

-          Complete all three boys’ baby books   

-          Finally paint over the butt-ugly mint green hallway

-          Make all the things I’ve pinned, plus create masterpieces of my own (1 down, 734 to go)

-          Plan and prep for an entire school year so I don’t have to bring ANY work home

OK, a little ambitious, I realize, but I thought I’d least get one or two items checked off the list. Nope. Not a one. And we’re down to T minus 2 weeks here, so it’s not looking promising, people. Worse, I’ve got no excuses this year.

I figured out the problem, though. I was banking on 6-8 hours a day to accomplish the list. I mean, that’s how much time I spend at work during the school year, right? I just forgot about one small factor – well, three factors, actually. Make that four. The hubs has summers off too. And while he’s helpful, he also eats and makes messes uses the house all day. I have such a total respect for Mrs. Pam, the boys’ mom away from mom. How she manages to keep 8-10 turds ranging in age from 0 to 5 entertained, fed, happy, and learning without turning on the TV and/or pulling out all of her hair, I do not know. I love my three little biscuits, but WOW their care and keeping can suck up a day’s time pretty fast! And it’s not like we’re sleeping the day away or anything. Those suckers have me rolling outta bed around 7 every morning. Then it’s pretty much feed, clean up after, break up fights, and entertain or supervise until bed time. Sure, I sneak in a few minutes here and there, but I usually end up staying up until midnight or one just to get a little “me” time. And by then, I just wanna veg out on educational sites, like craft blogs or Pinterest or facebook.

So, to all the SAHMs out there: You are amazing. I am not worthy. And I get to drop my kids off at daycare in two weeks. Nanny nanny boo boo!