love me some summer

I spent the night at the hospital with contractions four minutes apart and was home before eight o'clock am.

Summer time has become a how-to-entertain-my-boys-with-as-little-energy-as-possible circus act.
 We play lots of boggle and skippity and candy land  and wii. With lots of hugs and kisses in between.

Despite the 37-weeks pregnant discomfort, we are still finding time to enjoy Seven Peaks on Saturdays, geocache with dad, visit the park, enjoy the slip-n-slide, and ride our skooters at nine o'clock each night when the sun has calmed.

And sometimes when the energy gets... you know... to high, we pull out the paint and decorate our bodies.

Because even though mom is tired, summer is a time to do crazy things.  Bath tubs filled with shaving cream, popsicles for dinner, and silly faces painted on little boy chests.  Love me some summer.

Reason #999: Why I Am SOOO Done Being Pregnant

"Hey Mom... are moms always... you know... fat... after they have babies?"  Conner asked from the kitchen counter.

"Well, yes and no.  It takes a while for mommy's tummy muscles to tighten up again after having a baby. "  I said while scooping out a large bowl of vanilla ice cream.

"It is just that... well... I don't remember what you look like without a big baby growing on your stomach."

"You mean that you don't remember what I look like when I am not fat?"  My oversized bowl of ice cream shrinks into a small scoop as I dump it all back into the cardboard container.

"Yeah."  His head rest on his elbows with both eyes focused on the ice cream container.


Oh boy.
I am so ready for my boys to remember what I look like in my skinny clothes. 

pregnancy life lessons...

1.  Maternity clothes are NOT as cute the fourth time around.  Simply looking at my previously used maternity clothes makes my ankles swell and my stomach feel a billion times bigger.  Frugality - although a highly desirable trait that I am striving to master - should be tossed out the window with each and every pregnancy.  New clothes make this pregnant mama feel good.  Period.  

2.  Girls.  Kick.  Hard.  Never before has a child within my womb kicked me awake at night or attempted to puncture my liver with baby toes.  While I enjoy each and every movement, my scrambled spleen has had enough.

3.  Pregnancy is rough and hard and straining.  All throughout my previous pregnancies, I believed that I had to wear a pretend-badge-of-pregnancy-honor that made me appear strong, invincible, and capable of doing everything despite the demanding baby growing within my tummy.  Oh. my. was I wrong.  I have found so much strength - this pregnancy - in honestly expressing how I am feeling, slowing down, and releasing unrealistic expectations.  My kids may not have a billion friends over to play this summer or gourmet meals for dinner every night but we are going to make it.  Survival mode is all about survival.

I am grateful for the girlfriends and sister-in-laws and my mama that listen to my hormonal-I-can't-go-another-day-cries and offer to help in any way necessary.  Your support is oh-so-amazing.

4.  Pregnancy grumpiness is important.  With Conner, the grumpiness hit around week 41.  Caleb week 38.  Colton week 35.  Carlee?  Week 28.   I am not exaggerating when I say that I am so done.  Period.

I have learned that one has to get grumpy to willingly embrace the pain of child birth.  On a scale from one to ten, the grumpiness is so much more intense than labor itself.  Grumpiness is good and should be embraced.  And instead of painting on that facade of I-can-do-it-all, I choose to retreat behind my locked bedroom door with finger nail polish, face masks, books, and deep cries into my pillow.

She will be here one day... despite that overwhelming feeling that I will be pregnant forever.  And it is totally okay that I burst into tears anytime someone asks me how I am doing.   Hallelujah for sun glasses and sunshine.

5.  Siblings are exciting.  I find myself constantly worrying about my limited abilities to play with the three children I have right now.  It is summer time after all!  There are mountain trails and mud puddles and swimming pools calling our name.  The constant trips to the bathroom and aching ankles keep us at home... a lot more than I would like.

I can stop worrying about the things I am not doing because the thing I am doing is exciting.  Siblings are gifts from heaven.  Best friends for life.  And I am oh-so-excited that my boys will have this little girl to love and I am excited that she will be around to care for them.

5.  I am grateful for my husband.  The cries he responds to in the middle of the night, the bowls of cereal he pours for the boys early in the morning, and the strong arms that pull me from sitting to standing positions.  His willingness to buy food to conquer my cravings, his hands that adjust and massage my aching back and ankles during all hours of the day, and his ears that so willingly listen to me

God blessed me with an amazing companion to help me and strengthen me.  I am oh-so-grateful for Nathan and the load he carries for me.  I might be the one carrying the baby, but Nate is lifting the weight of both of our worlds upon his back.  And I love him for it.

and someone turned three...

When Colton was a baby, his smile was so big his cheeks would squeak.
Cheek squeaks filled our home with so much joy - morning, day, and night.

Three years later, his cheeks no longer squeak.
But his personality and love bring so much happiness into our daily lives.

Per Colton tradition, his birthday was celebrated with a "sucker cake."

Lots of star wars presents, games, and pretend light saber fights.

And I thought mr. birthday boy would be oh-so-excited to wake from his daily nap in a highly balloon-ed and streamer-ed bed.  He didn't care one bit.  Too excited about his star wars toys.

Next time I will nap during his nap.

June 28th was a happy day for our little three year old.
Love you - Mr. Ceej!

seven truths and no lies

1.  I found the castor oil last night.  You know, that lovely bottle rocketed both Caleb and Colton into the world?  It is taking all of my willpower to not partake of it.  Like tonight.

2.  I find myself in my closet petting my non-pregnant clothes on a regular basis.

3.  Reverse psychology works on my kids... and it works on me.  "Hey Mom!  My bum is hungry for a spanking!"  Spankings have become the newest and best-est bribery at my house.  Beds are being made, piano practiced, and dishes put away.  Love love love reverse psychology.

4.  Colton is the master of memorized prayers.  When asked to pray he replies with a "okay, I will say my memorized prayer."

5.  After waiting two hours for the firework display - with multiple trips to the restroom - duty number two began to call for a six-year-old boy after the first big bang.  Look at the bright side - at least we didn't have to fight traffic to get home.  There were like no cars on the road and boys were tucked in bed before 11:00 pm.  Maybe I will slip some prunes to the boys next year....

6.  You know you are married to a neuroscientist when discipline lectures (to the boys) include discussions about parameciums and their disrespectful behaviors towards their host.  

7.  A four letter F word has been reintroduced into our vocabulary.  Yeah!  Caleb has successfully mastered the word fork.

the braxton hicks hangover

The drop of a pin is too loud, the sun is too bright, and my WHOLE body hurts. Waking up less than four hours after an eventful night of braxton hicks with the screams of three highly energetic boys isn't the easiest thing to do. Their feet pound against the kitchen floor, and I don't know what happened but I swear their feet are louder. Like much much louder. The intensity of their voices has quadrupled by a million and their laughter has reached epic decibel proportions.

 Holy Moly.
 My boys are loud. Like really loud.

 To be completely truthful, the braxton hicks hangover has completely destroyed my ability to be a patient parent. I bite my tongue at regular frequencies to prevent the escape of yells from my mouth while the boys whisper in their bedroom.

 Do we really have to whisper soooooo loud??
 Yes.
Yes we do.

 And because I don't want to completely kill the joy of summer vacation with a roll of duct tape adhered to every one's face, I decided it was time to create a more quiet environment for moi. Sound proofed rooms sound amazing, but way-out-of-our-budget. Showers fail to kill the noise. And pillows wrapped around my head make life super inconvenient.

Lucky for me, my husband is a drummer with a secret stash of ear plugs.

 
Twisting these rubbery bad boys into my ears has been the best decision I have ever made.  You know, besides the decision I made to fill the entire grocery cart with organic ice pops instead of the regular grocery store staples during my last shopping trip.  But that is another story.

But hold on.
To prove that I am not completely irresponsible, I created these emergency communication charts.

and

Yep.
I am pretty sure that these two signs cover all the necessary bases.

The boys are pretty much in little-boys-can-be-loud-without-the-wrath-of-mom heaven.  Watching them stomp their feet, laugh, and wrestle across the family room floor is so much more enjoyable when muted.

One day - when the braxton hick hangover has disappeared - we will open our curtains and blinds and resume living a somewhat normal life once again.  But for now... life is so incredibly quiet and dark.  Hallelujah!

And in reference to my grocery cart full of organic ice pops?
I have decided that cooking is officially overrated and much too hot.
Who needs anything more than the goodness of water, fruit, and ice?

Every once in a while I toss the boys a piece of bread and they jump for it like fish.
Why-oh-why do we have to complicate life when we can get by with a organic-sugar-free ice pop and a piece of bread?  Why?

why i refuse to pack that hospital bag....

The suitcase sits on the floor next to my bed.
Empty.

That whole hospital registration thing?
Not doing it.

Chinese food and cleaning out the kitchen freezer?
Didn't work the last three times.


Packing the hospital bag - in the past - has only invited the child(ren) within my womb to curl up their toes and plan an extended stay.  Planning ahead (for me) always invites those due dates to come and go without a baby to show for it.  I won't have it.  Not this time. Sure, I may show up at the hospital unregistered without a toothbrush... but I think we will all survive.

Another five to six weeks?
Excuse me while I wipe the tears cascading down my face.

My body isn't what it once was.  The braxton hicks hurt a bazillion times more and I can not sleep at night.  The glamour of pregnancy has swapped places with the desire to push really really hard.  I think my grandma has telepathy or whatever you call it because she seems to know and understand just how grumpy my over-sized pregnant body is making me with her regular reminders to not lose hope.  I get it.  And I am ultra-mega-super grateful for this new little life that will be joining our family story in the next month.

I dream about her toes as she plies against my ribs. I dream about her hands as she gracefully punches against my bladder.  Her cute little head bangs against my pelvis and I can't wait to see it for the first time.  The boys understand that she can hear their voices and they take turns fighting over who gets to tell her the darth-vadar-star-wars-joke and the knock knock kick-you-in-the-rear-end joke.  And let's just forget the fact that all three boys think it is pretty darn awesome to share the vibrations of their burps with little Carlee.  Congratulations, little one, you are fluent in the language of the all-boy-belch prior to your first breath.  The boys are already filling walls with pictures of her and saving little pieces of their favorite treats to share with her when she joins the family.  Their excitement makes me happy.  Siblings are best friends for life and I am so happy that my little boys will have a little girl to keep them company.

Our family is ready for her arrival - or so it seems.
I always feel ready before I actually am.

But despite the difficulty in sleeping and breathing and eating, I know that deep down it isn't time yet.  And once again, I need to learn patience.  I need to learn to put it all in God's hands and allow the birth to come when it is time.  I need to trust in His timetable and purpose knowing and understanding that His ways are always superior to mine.

And so - I am relearning to put my trust in Him, while keeping my suitcase empty and hospital registration incomplete... just in case.  The nasty castor oil used for the last two pregnancies has disappeared and I have yet to touch the mini tramp.  I can slow down, consecrate more energy to obtaining my flip flop tan line, and learn to be content with where I am at.  These next five weeks can be a gift - a time to prepare for the piece of Heaven she will bring with her.  A time to connect and love my three little boys more.  And a time to do a lot of midnight-I-can't-sleep-through-the-contractions writing.

But when the boys ask me a million times each day how much longer they have to wait to meet their sister, I will tell them to pray that she comes early.  Each and every time.