Daily Dose of Cute

This morning, after our first snow, I was helping the kids dig out the winter boots, coats and hats to wear to school. I began writing names and initials in the clothing in hopes that they wouldn't be lost by the end of the winter. Charlotte asked me what I was doing. I explained I was writing her initials so she knew which ones were hers. She took back the glove, marked CEH and looked rather confused. When I asked her what was the matter, she said, "these aren't my initials. My initials are SMB"

I was quite baffled by that, but only for a minute. I then realized that SMB are the initials of her older cousin who graciously shares her clothes with us when they no longer fit. Many of them have been branded with her initials to avoid losing them as well. Trying not to laugh out loud at her innocence, I explained all of that to her.

She seemed to understand, at least a little, and gladly put on the mittens with her name, as well as the boots with SMB in them, because "I will just know that all of these initials are mine"

Happy Winter Everyone!

IL Tax Increases

Over the course of the last week I received multiple letters from my local daycare referral program urging me to contact my state representative to ask him to vote "yes" to a budget increase for our state. This increase hinges on a substantial increase in the state income tax rate. From my understanding, only states with no sales tax have higher rates than IL. And in my area, the sales tax is more than 7.5% on purchases.

This is the letter I sent in response to the cries for me to call my representative.

As a daycare provider who cares for children that utilize the system in place by the state government, I understand the need and importance of human services. As a resident of the state of Illinois I am saddened and frustrated by the inability of our elected leaders to come up with a state budget that makes sense, maintains important programs, and helps make our state fiscally healthy.

However, as a taxpayer, I do not support a tax increase in order to provide many of the services that are in danger of being cut. I have watched many of the families in my care work the system in ways that are unspeakable. The state continues to give them monies in multiple arenas, providing near free daycare, food stamps, housing assistance, schooling, utility payments, and medical care. Many of these “poor” families are able to afford luxuries that I cannot even fathom; because the money that they make is not spent on the necessities that I must spend mine on. One family I cared for received $600 per month in food stamps, WIC coupons, and care packages from the Salvation Army, yet still complained about running out of food money at the end of the month. And I fed their children two meals a day five days a week! I spend less money than that, feed a full capacity daycare group, and my family. I don’t spend less than that because it is easy or fun, but because there simply isn’t enough money to spend more, and pay all the rest of my bills. This same family received a more than $9000 income tax return, courtesy of tax breaks and earned income credits, despite the fact that they paid in less than $1500 in taxes.

When my husband’s hours got cut, I went to the DHS office and was told because I had more than $2000 in the bank, I was not eligible for the services they provided. They didn’t care that my mortgage payment is $1700 a month and once I paid that I wouldn’t be able to afford groceries, the electric bill, or pay NICOR. I had to increase the number of children I cared for in order to make ends meet. The services are based on income levels before taxes. A tax hike would mean I still wouldn’t qualify for any of these services, yet would be left with less money in my check each week.

When my budget doesn’t work out at the end of the month, I have to work out my budget better, not demand more money for watching the children I care for, or insist that my husband get a raise. I have to work with what I am given, and sometimes that means making uncomfortable sacrifices. But I live within my means, and I think that the state, and the people using the services should be required to do the same.

Maybe a drastic cut in funding would encourage (or force!) the service providers to better structure the way they provide services. Institute time limits for receiving services; only allow tax contributors to receive the services; set up penalties for abusing the system. There has got to be a better solution than placing an additional tax burden on people who are not able to utilize the systems that are being paid for.

Free falling

Here is some of what happened.

Yesterday, while he was supposed to be resting in my bedroom, Mason fell from our second story bedroom window. We are still uncertain of exactly how it happened, but he is telling us that he was sitting on the nightstand, watching tv, when he leaned back and the screen gave way sending him flying down into the garden.

It seems he hit the satellite dish with his shoulder on the way down, sending him tumbling, and then landed face first on the stepping stones in the garden. The sprinklers were on, so the landing (minus the rock) was slightly softened by the wet mud and plants that he landed on. He was bleeding pretty badly, but was able to get up and run out of the garden to escape the sprinklers!

Brandon and I had been standing in the kitchen, and we watched him fall past the window. It was insanely frightening. Brandon rushed to pick him up past the garden gate, but then quickly settled in the grass due to the high volumes of blood Mason seemed to be losing. I grabbed a towel and the phone to call 911. Brandon did an excellent job keeping Mason alert and reasonably calm while we waited for emergency services to arrive. Although it did seem like awhile before the ambulance arrived, the police and a local man with a police scanner were on the scene almost immediately. When the ambulance arrived, they strapped Mason to a back board, and used a collar to immobilize his neck. Mason was slightly irritated by that, because he had gotten up and walked out of the garden, and his neck was bleeding and sore. But, he did exactly as he was told and never lost his cool.

We rode in the ambulance to the hospital and again Mason did a great job listening and doing what he was told. There were only a few "incidences" with the medical professionals regarding my choices, and all seemed to run pretty smoothly.

Within three hours of arrival, Mason had had several CT Scans, XRays, and lab tests, and he was cleared to go home. That lucky little boy has no broken bones, no internal bleeding, and needed no stitches. He is pretty sore this morning, and his neck and shoulder are swollen. There are large lacerations on his neck and throat, and from his chin to his chest has a "road rash" from how he landed.

He is concussion free, walking and talking fine, and actually slept well all things considered. He will continue to be sore for several days, but looks to make a full recovery relatively quickly.

Hopefully he will stay away from windows in the future, and we won't have any more attempts to defy gravity. I know, as a mother of four little dare devils, this is only the beginning of our trips to the emergency room. Hopefully, the ones in the future won't come with a child abuse and neglect investigation as this one did.

Super Mom

Recently it has been brought to my attention that while out in public, I may appear like I know what I am doing. While I take that as a super huge compliment, I feel obligated to share with some of my struggling new mommy friends that I really don't have super powers, super patience, or some magic secret.

I decided sometime in the last 6 years that this is what I am doing with my life. I am taking these little blessings and turning them into great adults. It will be a long trip. A hard fought war. But in the end, I think the payoff, and I guess the payoffs in the middle too, are totally worth it. That doesn't mean, however, that I act the right way all the time.

When my oldest son was born, I suffered from what I now know was severe post pardom depression. Every time he would cry (which was the entire time he was awake) I would cry. When he wouldn't nurse, I would cry. When he wouldn't sleep, I would cry. When he threw up, I would cry. For more than 8 months, my colicky son and I would sit around the house and cry. I was a Nanny, a licensed day care provider, an educated teacher, and I couldn't make one baby stop crying. Didn't exactly do much for my mental state! But, as a new mom, I thought once I left the house I was supposed to put on a big smile, parade around with my cute (but always crying) baby, and tell everyone how great we were doing. Just about the time I thought I had some sort of control over my life, I got pregnant again. Back to crying for me! What was I going to do with a second kid? Was she going to cry all day? I didn't think I could handle a screaming baby and a very demanding big brother who would only be 18 months old when the baby came.

Very soon I didn't have any time to think about what was going to happen when the baby came, I was too busy trying to figure out how to balance a full time daycare group and constant morning sickness. The days flew by, with some funny stories in between, and the baby came. She was nothing like her big brother. Still pretty demanding, as all babies are, but full of smiles and only a few spit ups a day. She boosted my confidence that I might actually be able to do this mommy thing.

Rolling right along, I got a "surprise" baby three, and he was closely followed by baby four. Discovering that babies come from beer bottles, we decided that we should probably quit while we were ahead. There were days that I questioned my own quitting decisions. No, not that I should have more. That I should have stopped a few kids ago. My fourth child was as demanding, colicky, pukey, and hard to handle as the first. Only this time I had three other kids of my own, all under 5 years old, that wanted my love and attention as well.

Alot of soul searching, decision making, and deep breathing, and I am now able to handle my life. Dare I say, I enjoy my life. Kids are fun! Seeing things through their eyes is amazing! Taking 6 kids under 6 years old to the grocery store is a challenge, but I have decided that kids aren't meant to be cooped up in the house kept away from the real world. Think of how many things there is to learn from the grocery store! It was not a fast trip. It wasn't a stress free trip. And, it was only a "kinda" productive trip. But it was a pretty educational trip for the little monkeys that had the list and had to find the stuff in the store. I did not lose my cool in public. I did not lose it when we got home either. But I most definitely had a drink with dinner. (and must admit that the stress of the day did make me a little irrational when my daughter spilled her brother's milk all over her plate at dinner time, promptly followed by the ENTIRE table and its contents crashing to my mom's kitchen floor).

But, the daycare kids went home with smiles on their faces, and my own kids still loved me enough for kisses and hugs at the end of the day, so I must be doing something right. And, all those mommies I mentioned at the beginning of this, you're doing just fine too. Everyone still breathing at the end of the day? That's a job well done! It doesn't matter that you didn't get all the laundry done (mine never does), the bed made, or even if you got dressed today. It matters that your kids love you. It matters that, despite the toll on your body and your mental state you are being the best mommy you can be, even if it isn't quite what you thought it would be.

Potty Training

I hadn’t really put a lot of thought in how I potty trained kids before.  With Mason, we pretty much just took away his diapers and let him run around in the buff for a weekend.  It seemed to work for him, and the diapers were history.  I never bought a diaper bigger than a size 3 for him.  For Charlotte, the first time I bought those size 4 diapers I got aggravated with myself for letting it go that long, and we embarked on a mission to potty train.  I don’t have any vivid memories of those events, so either it wasn’t all that bad, or I have just repressed the horror.  As a daycare provider I felt it was completely reasonable to expect that prior to their third birthday, most kids are potty trained, or at least well on their way.  I had a hand (gross thoughts just popped in my head) in getting more than 7 kids to use the “Big Kid” potty.

  It tested me as a parent and as a person, and somehow we made it through… I am not including this in the trauma-less recounting of her potty training. That is another chapter for another day! >

As Levi passed his second birthday, and I was buying size 6 diapers, it was quite clear to me that this was not going to be anything like my past potty experiences.  He would poop and give you a definite No if you asked if he “was stinky,” even though you could smell him before he entered the room.  He would pee so much while he slept at night that I regularly had to change pajamas, sheets, and blankets several times a week.  He didn’t wake up complaining of being wet, and repeatedly fought me when I tried to change his soiled pajamas, yelling that they were “just fine!”

An early attempt to train, I tried the same approach that we did with Mason.  I took the diapers away, showed him the potty, and said we don’t use diapers anymore.  I set him on the toilet and he flipped out like I had never seen before. That incident traumatized poor Levi enough that he would rather suffer the consequences of peeing on the floor than go back into that bathroom. For those of you unfamiliar with our house, we have a child sized porcelain toilet in our bathroom.  There is nothing scary about it, that is of course, unless you are more than 10, in which case the fear of not being able to stand up once you have bent down that low is a very real one.

We borrowed a plastic potty chair from a friend and placed it in the living room.  What man wouldn’t love to poop and watch their favorite show at the same time?  The potty chair seemed to be a fun attraction.  However, it mostly was for hiding army guys and storing food for later in hopes that Mommy wouldn’t throw it away. Despite desperate attempts to get him to at least try the cool seat, no potty-ing actually ever happened on it.

I am sad to say that after much seemingly wasted effort, and several loads of yucky laundry, I admitted defeat.  I was not a fan of changing the diapers of a large 2 year old who had the same diet that I did.  It was gross.  But, I would rather clean it up in a diaper than on my kitchen floor, or in the corner of the playroom.

About two weeks ago, still far from turning three, Levi announced he was ready to be a big boy.  He walked into the bathroom and asked for me to take his diaper off.  He sat on the potty and viola! Pee!  “It’s working” He screamed in excitement!

 Now that isn’t the end of the story.  He didn’t just wake up one day potty trained.  I don’t think the poor kid pooped for about 4 days because he knew he wasn’t supposed to do it in his new Transformer underwear, but wasn’t so sure about the toilet just yet.  We had a few, but only a few, “Oops I think I peed” accidents.  I have again got to visit EVERY public restroom in EVERY store we have gone to.  But we are rockin’ and rollin’ with the whole thing.  I have made up a pretty spectacular celebration song and dance, which I have the joy of performing 20 or more times a day.  I thought that after the first week I could retire that dance, but so far that hasn’t been the case. It’s a small price to pay for not having to change any more of those size 6’s though!

 I have heard lots of cute stuff as he processes the whole “How does this work?” in his head.  And his newfound interest in all things poop is ever so amusing.  The over interest in everyone else’s “peanuts,” not so amusing.

 I realized in all of this though, that I STILL don’t know how to potty train a child.  When I share our success with friends, many of them enviously ask, “How did you do it?”  Sometimes I offer advice, but mostly I just shyly grin and give credit where credit is due.  “Levi is just a big boy.”

You look good...

For having four kids.

How do I gently explain that, even with the best intentions that isn't exactly the best way to word that?  This phrase is generally uttered by someone I haven't seen in a long time, or worse yet, someone who has significantly fewer (read: NONE) children than I do.

Do I only look good if the "for having four kids" is added to the statement.  If I had only one child, would I look like a train wreck?  If I had not yet had children, would I be a disgrace to mankind?  Would people talk about me behind my back about how I have let myself go?  If I wasn't carting a Suburban full of kids with me, would everyone wonder how many children I had given birth to to put my appearance in such a horrendous shape?

I understand the sentiment, I think.  I have gained and lost 60lbs a year for the last four years. The majority of the gain and loss was primarily in my abdomen, which somehow manages to still remain reasonably flat and allows me to button most of my jeans.  Wearing most of my clothing, bathing suits excluded, I am fairly presentable.  But, no, don't invite me to the beach for Spring Break, I simply cannot compete with scantily clad beauties in bathing suits that resemble dental floss.  I can build a mean sand castle though.

My poor boobs have varied from barely there to Bunny quality (sometimes overnight!), leaving me with an extensive bra collection in a wide variety of sizes, as well as a lot of extra skin and stretch marks there!  They have suffered the wrath of nursing four babies for a year or more a piece, through feeding difficulties, teething, infections, and nursing strikes.  Fortunately, nothing a WonderBra hasn't been able to fix.

My face has lines and dents in places that were buttery smooth before, but most of that is because I just hadn't smiled enough before any of my children were born.  My hair is short, frayed, and what hasn't fallen out is mostly gray.  That doesn't really affect my ability to change a poopy diaper in the dark or kiss a boo-boo, so I guess no harm done there just yet.

My hands are a bit chapped from multiple washings a day and my nails haven't seen polish applied by anyone over the age of 6 in a while.  But, I wear my purple sparkles with almost as much pride as the little girl who painted them for me.

My clothes are frequently wrinkled, and I often find a small sock or Dora underwear in my sleeve while standing in line at the grocery store.  I have passed the time where I smelled of designer perfume or fragrant lotions and now I walk around emitting the aura of baby vomit, and am generally sporting a variety of toddler snot, ketchup, and (thanks to Levi) blood.  My kids are well dressed each morning on their way to school.

When I get up each morning and get out of the shower, catching a glimpse in the mirror could be disappointing or frustrating, but then again, I generally don't have time to look in the mirror while getting four kids ready each day.  Nor do I have hours to spend at the gym, unless it is watching my kids wrestling, dance, play basketball....

I guess for having only four kids, I'm doing okay.  

And by the way, "You look pretty good too, for not having any kids."

I should proof read better

I posted the last entry with out doing a final read through.  I wanted everyone to know that yes, I realize now I used the phrase "pretty much" an excessive amount of times.  Apparently, I do not feel as well as I thought I did, and my brain is not yet functioning at full creative speed.  I guess I will just have to go to bed early tonight to ensure I am up to par before I attempt to write another blog entry.  That, and there isn't anything on TV any way.

I tried to edit what I had written, but it wouldn't let me.  Possibly another indicator that I need additional recuperating, the computer being able to outsmart me and all.

Down for the count

Last Thursday for the first time ever I had to call my daycare parents and ask them to come and pick up their kids.  I had a fever, chills, the shakes, a runny nose, a headache, I was a total mess.  Brandon had to come home from work to take care of our kids and I was pretty much MIA for the remainder of the weekend.  We tried to get some stuff done, but halfway through our Saturday morning WalMart trip, I was certain I was going to die, and we had to go home.

The kids and I took turns sounding like we were going to cough up a lung, and we all pretty much slept for most of the weekend.  Surprisingly, Monday morning I felt like a new person!  A little bit of a cough remained, but I really felt much better.  

Having to clean up the mess that was made while I was hiding in my room knocking in death's door has made me quite grateful for my health in more ways than one.  I was amazed at the sheer amount of dishes and laundry that can accumulate in only a few days.  Brandon did a good job making sure that all the kids were still breathing at the end of the weekend, but his contribution pretty much stopped there.  Daddys just aren't equipped with the ability to multi task!

Now that we are recovered, we are looking forward to spring break (sort of) and have a couple fun things planned.  Hopefully our trip to Sapora next week will leave me with some amusing stories to share.  I suppose anything must be better than reading about my excuses for not writing anything important for a month!

Fever Phobia

On Monday we were at my pediatrician, whom I love.  In her office was  a posting about fevers.  As a firm believer in letting  a fever "do its job" it was refreshing to read what she had posted.  I am uncertain of the origins of this article, but believe it may have been written by the Dr because it wasn't notated anywhere, just posted on her wall.

Fever Phobia

 

Misconceptions about the dangers of fever are very common.  Many parents lose sleep and experience unnecessary stress due to unwarranted concerns about the harmful side effects from fever.

 

Fevers are part of the body’s effort to activate the immune system, so they are one of our innate protective mechanisms.  Most fevers are good for children because fevers help them to fight infection.

 

The body’s temperature fluctuates throughout the day and peaks in the later afternoon and evening.  For instance, an oral or axially (under the arm) temperature can be 97.6° F in the morning and go to a high of 99.5° in the evening.  Similarly, a rectal temperature can be as low as 98.4° F in the morning and become as high as 100.3° F in the late afternoon.

 

If your child has a fever, remember to stay calm and use the following definitions to put your child’s fever into perspective.

 

100-102°F            Low-grade fevers are beneficial.  Try to keep the fever in this range.

102-104°F            Moderate grade fevers are beneficial.

>104°F            High fevers cause discomfort, but are harmless.

>105°F            Higher risk of bacterial (not viral) infections with very high fever.  This is

when you should call your pediatrician.           

 

Many people mistakenly believe that fevers cause brain damage and that temperatures about 104°F are dangerous.  However, fevers with infections don’t cause brain damage.  Only body temperatures over 108° can cause brain damage, and body temperature only climbs to this level with every high environmental temperatures (like in a closed car).

 

Fevers only need to be treated if they cause discomfort, and these are usually fevers over 102 or 103°F.  The exact number of the temperature or fever is not as important as how your child looks.  Is he/she alert, interactive, curious despite the fever?  Is he/she drinking and urinating?  Most children with temperatures below 105°F are alert and interactive despite their fever.  These are the questions that should be asked to determine if you should seek out a doctor’s care (unless your child is less than four months of age). 

 

If you treat a fever, temperatures don’t always normalize.  With treatment, temperatures often drop 2 or 3 degrees Fahrenheit, usually enough to allow your child to feel a little better.  And if the fever doesn’t “break” this isn’t cause for alarm.  There is no greater risk that a fever doesn’t come down is caused by a serious infection.  Fevers that don’t respond to fever medicine (usually ibuprofen or acetaminophen) can be caused by viruses or bacteria. 

 

Fevers will not continue to climb higher and higher if not treated.  Fevers from infection usually stop rising at about 105-106°F or lower, because the brain’s thermostat keeps the body temperatures lower than this.

 

Not every child with a fever is at risk for a febrile seizure.  Only about 4% of all children will ever have a febrile seizure.  If your child has a febrile seizure, though it is scary to watch, they cause no permanent harm and usually last less than 5 minutes.  Children who experience febrile seizures have no increased risk of developmental delay, learning disability, or epilepsy.

Some great info for everyone to consider!

this isn't what I supposed to be doing

The boys are at wrestling practice, I have a huge pile of sewing that needs to be finished, dinner needs to be made, and my house is a disaster, but I have had a request (I swear, for real) to write about a birth story or two, and I just got a text that said a friend of mine was in labor, so I am in a baby kind of mood.

Garrett's birthday last weekend made me a little melancholy, so I will start with him. Because I have, well, zero personal boundaries, this might be kind of graphic for some of my readers, so at the advice of my friend Tina:

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK :)

On February 10th I went to see the midwife, and I swore I had been having contractions the night before. She checked me and said there was definitely going ons, the baby was facing the right way, which was great because until the week prior he had been breech, but no real concern that the baby would come in the next few hours, so go home, relax, and jokingly she told me to clean the living room because she thought she would be by to deliver a baby within the next day. I made an appointment to come back to see her on Valentine's day if there wasn't a baby yet, but I was certain that wouldn't be necessary. I was so disappointed when Valentine's day rolled around and I was still pregnant.

My mom came with me to the appointment so I didn't have to take all the kids in with me. I have had my share of vaginal exams with little people standing at my feet, and I was most certainly not in the mood today. The midwife checked me again. She was really quiet. I was a little concerned, because she is a pretty chatty lady, so of course I asked what was going on. She said that the baby had moved up, further away from my cervix, and where I had been dilated a few days earlier, I was now not. No baby for me today. Maybe not til next week.

Are you kidding me? How to you un-dilate? You can't be less ready to have baby than you were five days before. What kind of evil joke is it for the baby to 'back up"?

I was upset, crying actually, because Levi was almost 2 weeks late and I was miserable everyday after my due date. I made another appointment for the following Monday, convinced I was doomed to be pregnant forever, and went out to my mom. I had hoped to go to the mall to walk or something, but the appointment had taken so long she had to go to work, and I had to go home with the kids. I was in a pretty pathetic mood for the remainder of the day.

Then, as many of you know, that was the day the shootings happened at NIU. I live just up the road from the University, so there was a barrage of ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars zooming past my house for several hours. As the news coverage continued, it took my mind off of my own situation, and I figured I should probably make dinner.

I headed to the kitchen and put Italian sausage in the pan. I remember distinctly what I was making because while I was upstairs having a baby, my dad, brother, and husband ATE MY DINNER!! While making dinner I had an uncontrollable urge to take a shower. I told Brandon her had to finish making dinner so I could take a shower. Although I am certain he thought I was nuts, he did what I said, after all I was 9 months pregnant... was he really going to argue with me?

As soon as I got in the shower, the contractions started coming so hard and fast I couldn't breathe. I got on my hands and knees and tried to yell for someone, anyone, but no noise would come out. I have no idea how long I was actually in the shower. It felt like forever, but was really in the time frame of 5-7 minutes. I heard Charlotte coming up the stairs and Brandon telling her to stay downstairs, Mommy needed to be alone. Luckily, Charlotte doesn't listen when we tell her to not do stuff, so she came in the bathroom by me anyway. I sent her downstairs to get Brandon. When he came upstairs and I told him to call the midwife, he started to ask me questions like "are you sure you are really in labor this time?" "are you timing contractions?"

Logically, and a year after the event, those were probably valid questions, at the time I don't think I reacted quite like he expected. I am pretty sure I informed him in my most calm manner (ha!) I had not taken a watch in to the shower and I have had three other children of course I am in labor. He ran to get the phone, called the midwife, then called my mom.

My mom came over to check on me, and Brandon was running around downstairs trying to feed the three other kids, fill the birthing pool, and talk to the midwife on the phone because she was trying to get to me in a snow storm and during rush hour. My mom was trying to coax me out of the shower so we could go downstairs near the birthing pool. I was adamantly refusing. Finally she just turned the water off in the shower. I told her what I thought about that just about as calmly as I had told Brandon to call the midwife. I angrily got out of the tub, took two steps to the bed, and then headed toward the toilet. I thought I just had to go to the bathroom, but really there was a baby crowning instead.

All I remember of the next few minutes was my mom telling me not to push (I swear I wasn't) and this deer in the headlights expression on her face. Never did she voice her concern, but I think she was afraid I might drop the baby in the toilet. Before I knew it, the baby had come completely out. I unwrapped the cord from his neck, instinctively got all the goop out of his mouth with my fingers, and my mom was calling for Brandon. The midwife who was on the phone with Brandon thought we were kidding.

From the time I got into the shower to the time I had a baby in my hands was less than 30 minutes. It was crazy. We had to wait for the midwife to show up! She checked the baby over, helped me with the after birth, and before she could even fill out the birth record, got a call to go to another birth!! A short while later I realized I was starving. I really wanted and Italian Sausage sandwich... but they had all been eaten!!

Brandon made me something else to eat, and the kids came up to meet the new baby. They wanted to know if NOW we were going to get in the pool in the living room? They had seen Levi being born, so they knew what the tub was for, but this time, they missed the whole thing and they were utterly confused!!

The next week wasn't quite as eventful, although Garrett didn't have a name until he was more than three days old. We simply were convinced that he was going to be a "she" and never came up with a boys name! The kids thought Peter Pan would be appropriate (Mommy did not) The jokes about naming him John weren't very funny immediately post-pardum, but I do have to chuckle about them now. He turned a year old last Saturday and is doing fine. Nearly being born in the toilet seems to have had no negative effects, yet.

I hope that this satisfies some of the enquiring minds :) I am sure I left out all sorts of information that I will think of at two o'clock tomorrow morning. But, you will just have to wait until chapter two, I suppose. I will most likely work my way backwards to Mason, although I may have blocked out most of that one!! Off to make dinner!

I always wanted to be a writer

In a moment of weakness this morning, I sat down to write about how I had taken some time to evaluate my life and where it is now. The original post included my frustrations of unfulfilled dreams, missed chances and opportunities, misguided choices, and a little bit of self loathing. As I was writing that blog, I was interrupted numerous times by the baby crying, toddlers demanding juice, the awful smell of a diaper in desperate need of changing, my four year old daughter pummeling her two year old brother, and the dog puking on the floor after I ignored his whines to be let out. After tending to all those situations, I returned to my half finished writing, and re-read it to get back on my train of thought.

As I read, I began to cry. I always wanted to be a writer. (If you ask my mom, I always wanted to be a bus driver, but that dream has actually been fulfilled). Creative writing, journalistic reports, picture captions, technical manuals, it didn't matter, I wanted to write it. Somewhere along the way, I strayed slightly and became a teacher. My first post seemed to dwell on that point in my life as if it was a disappointing detour. Although I teaching was not as fun as I thought it would be, it did teach me a lot about myself. (most importantly, that I didn't want to be a teacher).

The post went on to comment on how my daily routine is depressing, stressful, and at times beneath me. When I reread that, I was utterly disappointed in myself. Although I have been known to mutter out loud "I graduated from college to do this?" I love my children, nasty diapers and all, more than I could ever show them. All of the negative aspects of my current profession are just in my head. Never should I feel like any of it is beneath me. If anything, for the most part I am probably not worthy. I have the challenge of making sure my children turn into productive, sane, contributing members of society. I have been doubly charged with aiding other parents in completing the same mission. What a dauntingly awesome task. What "profession" could offer me that kind of responsibility and ownership?

I also spent a fair amount of the original post whining about the tight financial situation that is my life at the moment. Many of my friends have high paying professions, jet setter lifestyles, and a freedom that I haven't known in more than 7 years. But, they don't have what I have. The honor of being able to stay at home with my children is the most fantastic gift my husband could offer me. It means a lot of coupon cutting and making due, but the payment is truly priceless. Instead of focusing on how "unfun" it is to make hard choices in the budget, I need to look around and my nice house, my clothed children, the food on the table, and the smiles on their faces when Mommy can come to the classroom Valentine's day party.

And those dashed dreams to be a writer? The most writing I do is letting the teacher know Mason won't be riding the bus today, or spelling Charlotte's name for the millionth time so she can copy it on her paper. Although it isn't earth shattering reporting, or novel worthy content, it is incredibly important. I am not saying I would turn down a freelance/work from home writing opportunity if it were offered to me (wink, wink), but I won't be racing out to corporate America any time soon.

My life may seem boring, or unimportant to many. I know it did to me before I wrote it down like that, but I wouldn't trade it for all the tea in China. I will have plenty of time to work on those other dreams. I know that time will come sooner than I can imagine.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must let the dog back in, refill sippy cups, start making lunch, answer the phone, change the baby, plan dinner, make a grocery list, vacuum the cookies off the living room floor, pay the bills, balance the check book, put the laundry away, change the sheets on the bed, read a story, prepare a game for Friday's class party, return an email to Mason's teacher, feed the dog, take the garbage out, check the mail.......

One night

A few nights back, I had the grand idea that I would go to bed early. I got all the kids bathed and in bed by 8:30. I made the morning coffee, tidied up the downstairs, set my alarm for 5:30am, and brushed my teeth. In bed, ready to sleep by 9:15.

9:30-Mason wants water
10:25-Charlotte gets up to go to the bathroom (in my room)
11:15-baby wakes up screaming. I start to walk to his room, killing about 12 army guys with my bare feet.
12 midnight--I stumble back to my own bed, taking out the remainder of the maimed army platoon, again with my bare feet.
1:30-I wake to the smell of coffee. Apparently I hit the wrong button on the coffee machine, causing it to make coffee in the middle of the night instead of 5am. I go downstairs and remake the coffee.
2:50-Mason says he had a bad dream, can he sleep with me.
2:55, 3:00, 3:02, 3:05, 3:08, 3:11--I get kicked in the back, head, and stomach multiple times by a sound asleep 6 year old in my bed.
3:15- I tell Mason he has to sleep in his own bed. He begs me to walk with him because it is dark. I remember the hallway full of army guys, and put my slippers on. Slippers are full of Lincoln Logs. I swear out loud, waking up the Levi.
3:16-Get Mason in bed only to have to lay down with Levi in a toddler bed.
3:45-Think Levi is asleep and start to head back to my room. Levi screams and wants me to refill his humidifier. I walk back to the bathroom, refill tank, get it situated, and crawl into bed.
4:00- Brandon's alarm goes off. He hits snooze.
4:09, 4:18, 4:27-Brandon hits snooze.
4:36-Alarm goes off again, I kick Brandon in the back and tell him he better get up before I kill him.
5:30-my alarm goes off, I can't reach the snooze button, so I reluctantly get up and start the shower.
5:45-I go downstairs, pour a cup of coffee and realize I forgot to add new grounds when I remade the pot last night, so I pretty much have a cup of dirty water.
6:00 I sit down at computer, exhausted, hoping to steal a minute to check my email. Mason comes downstairs, carrying Garrett, saying he was up and crying. I get everyone ready for the day, continually telling myself I will miss this when I am older.

January

If I'm gonna stick to blogging 2x a month, I better get cracking. So much has been happening here I feel like I hardly have a chance to breathe, let alone hang out at the computer. For the time being the kids are occupied with Thomas trains scattered all over the living room, so I will take this small reprieve and catch up on our life!

We had a great Christmas and loved the opportunity to see everyone. Oh, "Great" is a loose term, only being able to be applied after the trauma has passed. Christmas Eve we spent with my dad's extended family. Luckily for us, this year it was at my parents house, which is next door. It snowed like no other that morning, so I was very glad to not have to travel with all my monkeys. We had a nice time that evening, even though we didn't make it home until after midnight. Then we had to wait while the kids went to sleep in order for Santa to come. By 2 am, we were finally ready for bed. At about 2:15, Mason woke up puking everywhere. Several hours of dealing with him throwing up, then the other kids were ready to open presents. Gramma, Papa, Uncle Matt and Aunt Heather all came over for presents, and more puking from now the other kids. This included Charlotte exploding all over Gramma's lap. FANTASTIC.

After presents, we got the kids to rest for awhile before having to load up and go to Brandon's mom's. This year, Gramma Dorothy was not feeling well enough to leave the nursing home, so Christmas was shortened as all the adults left to go see Gramma. I didn't think it wise to bring four tired, crabby (and puking!) kids to the nursing home, so we went home. The kids were fast asleep by 8 pm, but took several days to fully recover from the Christmas excitement.

New Year's Eve was a blast. We had my cousin, her husband, and their kids spend the night. The kids played nonstop til way past midnight and it was great to hang out and have adult conversation for awhile! I still don't think I have made up for the sleep I lost that night, but it was worth it!

On January 5th I started Daycare again. It actually has been a blessing in many ways. It keeps our days on track, gives the kids a great distraction, and has relieved some of our growing financial pressures. I am not a fan of having to get up so early in the morning, but there are worse things in life!

I have some cute stories to share, which hopefully Thomas the Tank will allow me to post today. Some of our schools are closed, so I have extra kids today, but Mason had to go to school. He was none too pleased! The added kids will either prevent any and all writing, or add to the distractions and keep the littler kids busy!