Swim lessons

Oldest Boy had his very first swim lesson this week. His "instructor" was pretty cranky, like she really wanted to be anywhere else. What is it with swim instructors, anyhow? When I had swim lessons as a child, I can remember my instructor being a real asshole big meanie as well. Of course, when I was having swim lessons it was a lot more common to learn by having someone throw you into the quarry and hope for the best.. But I digress.

He was a lot braver than I thought he would be. He jumped right in and completely enjoyed himself. Also? He didn't stop talking the.entire.time. Even when he was supposed to be "blowing bubbles". He was all, "blub.blub.blub and then my brother blub.blub.blub. put the blocks blub.blub.blub in his blub.blub.blub pocket". Really, it's a feat that can only be accomplished by someone who shares my genetic make-up because I'm pretty sure I could talk while blowing bubbles as well...

Of course, since this is the size of our pool, and because there's no way in holy hell I'm voluntarily getting into a bathing suit to take them to the local pool right now, I'm thinking he's not really going to be using those swim lessons any time soon:

Overhwelmed

The past few days have not been exactly stellar for me. I just can't seem to make it "click" from simply survival mode to thriving with our new family dynamic. It's extremely frustrating and I feel like I'm losing my mind...so you'll just have to bear with me while I rant and rave and whine about this crazy life right now.

I cannot believe the Herculean effort it takes just to do the simplest damn things! My last post summed up our trip to my aunt's (and it was a fantastically fun trip for everyone). It was a day trip with a two-hour car ride (one way) and it took me approximately 48 hours to prepare. I had to make sure I had enough snacks and water for both the car ride out and the return trip. I packed a lunch (my kids are relatively picky eaters) for all three older kids. I had to have enough diapers and wipes for the entire day (I just made it!). I made sure to take a change of clothes for all 5 of us - 2 for the Little One - because it's a farm, people. Farm animals = poo. I knew they would be entertained while we were actually there, but I had to make sure that each child had their lovey to snuggle in the Space Shuttle and we took several movies - movies that everyone could watch without fighting about it (a feat in itself).

Then yesterday I wanted to do a little back-to-school shopping for the boys (that's right b-o-y-S they're both going this year) at JCPenney's because they were having a fantastic sale and I knew this was where I wanted to buy Oldest Boy's uniform pants (the ones I bought there were the only ones that didn't end up in the rag pile at the end of the year). In order to go shopping I had to feed the Little One just before we left (I'm just not a public breastfeeder folks. Sorry.) and I had to take her and Baby Girl with me (thankfully my mom agreed to tag along since they were already here). I didn't get home in time for dinner for the boys, but had they eaten yet when I got home? Uh, NO! Apparently taking care of your own children does not involve boiling some damn water and cooking pasta. Or something. That would be MY job, I guess. So I walk in the door...and don't sit down for approximately the next 5 hours. Everyone (including me) had to eat and then all of the older kids needed baths (Little One had one the day before when she managed to get poop all over the entire left side of her body. TMI? Too bad) and then snacks and then stories and then mommycanIhaveadrinkmommyIneedmybearmommyrubmyback. Oh, and I had to feed Little One...twice.

I finally sat down and tried to calm my mind and spirit. I went to one of my favorite blogs My Charming Kids and ended up nearly sobbing. My life? It's not so bad.

Go visit. And pray for baby Stellan. He needs all of the prayers he can get. (If someone could just come to my house and put his "button" on my site for me, you would see it here but, alas, there are no computer fairies. I know. I looked).

E-I-E-I-OOOOOO!

Yesterday we made our annual pilgrimage to the farm, otherwise known as my aunt's house. The kids absolutely love it! This year was no exception.

Baby Girl had a great time chewing on the gate watching the cows, but she wanted to be just a bit closer.

Now this was more like it! This calf was approximately 2 days old. Let me hear ya now - Awww!

Youngest Boy just wanted to love them...

Oldest Boy, however, was a bit overwhelmed by the stench farm fresh scent! (notice the fingers up the nose)

After scaring the crap out of checking out the babies, we were ready to move up to the "big" cows.

As Youngest Boy said, "It's a cow party in here!!"

There were probably close to 200 cows this size (100 on each side or so) and they were held back by that oh-so-sturdy metal rod. They were eating when we strolled by with their heads underneath the bar. Apparently, when Baby Girl was told that she would have to leave she pitched an absolute ear-splitting fit - and nearly caused a stampede as the cows jerked their heads away from the offending noise and made off! Fan-freakin'-tastic!

The day was topped of with a ride in the cart, the highlight of every trip...

But this year the best thing for the boys was seeing the "dinosaur" skeleton in the weeds. When Aunt Elaine said, "Can you see the dinosaur bones over there?" Youngest Boy said, "You have got to be kidding me!!!" All in all it was a lot of fun. I managed to come home with all four kids in one piece...and no kittens!! I should mention that the cows were actually on a neighbor's farm. My aunt no longer keeps farm animals - only dogs, cats, and turtles!

Mean Girls

Friendship. You can tell a lot about a person based on the company they keep. In grade school your best friend was someone who wore glasses just like you. Or maybe the girl you sat next to in class. In junior high you start to redefine yourself a bit and maybe change “crowds”, trying to find the clique that’s right for you. In high school you’re pretty much defined by the person you made yourself into – the jock, the nerd, the brain, the cool kid.

They say there are friends for a reason, friends for a season, and friends for life. I used to believe that true friends were friends for life. And I’ve been lucky enough to experience this type of friendship more than once. My nearest and dearest friend has been my friend for close to 30 (!) years. I have a friend from college who has been my friend since the day we met over 15 years ago.

And then there are those who you think will be there forever…and they just aren’t. Some people never grow up. Some people can’t accept that you’ve changed. Some people just grow into someone you don’t particularly like any more. I’ve had some of these friends as well. I suppose they would fall into the category of “seasonal” friends. They were there during some of the times when I truly needed them – but looking back it was a little bit one-sided. And the friendship never matured. These are the women who STILL think that in order to be a friend you MUST talk on the phone every day and if they say, “Jump!” you’re supposed to reply, “How high?” I quit asking, “How high?” a looooong time ago. I jump to my own tune these days (to mix clichés) and I couldn’t be happier.

I hope that my children learn from this. That they learn to both recognize a true friend when they see one by looking at how my (true) friends treat me and also to be a true friend by seeing the way I treat them.

When Did The Definition of "Oldies" Change?

Yesterday was our Little One's Two Month Check-up. Yep, I said two month! I know. I can't believe it either! She weighs 10# 12oz and is in the 50th percentile for both height and weight. In other words, she's perfect! (I don't know why, but blogger keeps changing the orientation of this photo...)Because my aunt is either a saint or a glutton for punishment, she stayed with the other kids so we could go to the doctor's office alone. This is a great benefit for two reasons: First, the pediatrician's office is where germs go to find a new home and Second, it means I get to listen to whatever I want to on the radio. Woohoo! I'm usually a country music fan (I told you I was a redneck) but I occasionally flip around. One of my presets in the space shuttle is set to the Oldies station. I've always liked listen to boppin' tunes from the '50's and '60's. Also this station usually plays Christmas music from Thanksgiving through New Year's and they carry some of the local sports. Yesterday as I'm flipping around I hear a tune from my youth: Bon Jovi's Living On A Prayer. Ah, Memories! And then I realized I had the Oldies Station on. My day was shot through the heart and you're to blame...

Baptized

Our Little One was baptized on Sunday. If you're not related nor particularly religious, the following pictures might bore you. However, our daughter is just beautiful and I had to share.

This is us and my aunt and uncle (her godparents) with the priest (obviously). Aren't my aunt and uncle just adorable? They have so much going on in their lives and yet they did this for her. They're the best!

I have to be honest, thess pictures were taken the following day. There was just too much going on afterwards to get any decent photos:

And for comparison, here's one of Baby Girl on the day after her baptism as well:

I Hate It When He's Right

I've mentioned before that Mr. MOTH is a city boy. He doesn't hunt, fish, or do any of that redneck stuff that goes on out here in the country. And he most certainly does not want members of the woodland creature family coming into our home. For as long as we have lived in this house he has been adamant about keeping the doors closed. You MUST close them AS SOON AS your foot is inside lest a little varmit decides to scurry in. I think he's nuts, but I do my best. I hate it when he's right.

Friday morning while Mr. MOTH was watching the kids, I was walking down the hallway towards a much-anticipated shower when an aforementioned woodland creature scurried ACROSS MY EVER-LOVING FOOT!! I screamed like a school girl and tried to speak a coherent sentence to let my DH know what the hell was going on. Once I started breathing again, I explained that it had run into the living room. Mind you, I am still in my pajamas at this point as is Mr. MOTH. Our living room was not exactly neat - and even when it is there is all manner of trappings associated with having a house full of small children - blankets, car seats, diapers (2 different sizes), toys, etc. There is a plethora of places for a teeny, tiny mouse (and I'm the first to admit it was teeny, tiny) to hide. {SIGH} We (OK, mostly he) began systematically moving stuff out - using a yardstick. What the heck we thought we were going to do once we spotted it I have no idea, but that's how it started.

I went upstairs to deal with the screaming baby (who had been sleeping soundly until her mother freaked out), to close the doors to all of the rooms upstairs and also to put on some shoes. By the time I came back, my husband was starting to doubt my sanity. "Are you sure you saw it go into the living room?" Uh, yes! Yes! I am! We both knew where we would go if we were a mouse. We have a sectional and behind the corner piece we store blankets and old comforters that we use for the kids to play on and to snuggle with when we watch a movie. {SIGH}. But just to be sure, he was flipping over individual sections as he went. On the far side he flipped up the section and he freaked out (in his defense, there was no school girl screaming). Now the critter is on the run - "He's over there! He's on the end table! DO SOMETHING! He's under the TV stand! GET SOMETHING! (at one point Mr. MOTH said we looked like something out of Christmas Vacation:-)" Meanwhile, the kids are all sitting at the kitchen table - clearly entertained. This was better than Playhouse Disney! (Youngest Boy now tells everyone he Finally! Saw! A real! Live! Mouse!).

I had closed the upstairs doors and all of the downstairs doors...except the one to the pantry. So of course it runs into the pantry - and I shut it in. Now the genius that is my husband (and I mean that literally not sarcastically) decides to block the exit with an empty box and we start systematically removing everything from the floor of the pantry - the breadmaker, the wine chiller, the stand mixer, the juice boxes, and then nothing is left...and no mouse. I am starting to freak out. IT'S A PANTRY!! All of our food is in there!

Mr. MOTH: "Well, maybe it ran into the box."

The Mommy: "Yeah, right. Don't you think we would have seen it? Surely we would be able to hear it trying to get out!"

Mr. MOTH: "What, you think it's having a party in there? Will you just look when I flip the damn box over?"

The Mommy: "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! IT'S IN THERE!!!"

Mr. MOTH: *smirk*

I hate it when he's right.

Now we have to dispose of it. He asks me what to do with it. My version involved a shovel and the critter's head. His version...not so much. He said it just looked so scared in there! So he poisoned it. Nice.

Although when Mr. MOTH asked what to do with it, Youngest Boy said, "Feed it some cheese?"

And to top off this little adventure, we decide to set traps around the perimeter of the house. Baby Girl promptly snapped her fingers in one this afternoon. This time, I was right.