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.

reason #984

Despite her inability to breath on her own, the baby girl growing in my tummy is a par-tay animal.
Enforcing a midnight curfew has proved failure.
This girl likes to dance around my spleen and bladder - kicking everything in between - well into the early morning hours.

While I sleep off the effects of her late night festivities, Nate wakes with the early risers.
He pours them cereal, does the dishes, and invents wild things for them to do together.
Mario cart races, dodge ball in the basement, card houses, lessons on how to take a blood pressure....

And when I stumble from my bedroom each and every morning, the smiles are wider than the Mississippi river.
Time with Dad is always awesome.
Reason #984 why I love my man.

big boy hide-n-go-seek

I am convinced that hide-n-go seek is a man's game.  Hunting for hidden items must be composed on a male's DNA because my FOUR boys sure love it.

Six years ago, Nate was introduced to the game of the geo-cach.  Best.  Day.  Ever.  Before Conner could walk, the three of us began searching the Colorado maps for hidden caches.  Caleb joined our family and Colton soon followed.  Geocaching - for me - became a frustrating babysitting trip.  Keeping kids away from the water, off dangerous platforms, out of the road, and away from strange dogs (thanks to Steamboat Springs) made the hunt for the geo-cach exhausting.

But you know what?  Something AMAZING happened this summer.  The boys  finally get the game.  And they LOVE it.  Conner and Caleb explore with dad, taking turns with the compass, and locating the various hidden caches while Colton sings to me and picks flowers for me.

I can... you know... spread out a blanket, enjoy a book, and take pictures while my little men hunt.
Hardest activity ever transformed into best activity ever.

faces

Colton's obsession with playing the part of an evil Sith Lord has been replaced with faces.

I can't take this kid anywhere without his thumbs pulling against his nostrils and his mouth puckering up into a pig like position.  Herding three boys quietly through the library was a challenge prior the face-making-obsession began.  Now it is near impossible.

And let's be honest.
The face is funny.
It makes a lot of people laugh.
And I mean a lot of people.

The laughter (or positive attention) then reinforces the face.
Which isn't necessarily a bad thing.
It just makes the task of running errands with three little boys a billion times more difficult.

And the best part?
I don't have to look too far to discover the "teacher of the face."

when daddy comes home...

We {the boys} clap their hands and shout for joy and climb upon his back.

They put their arms around his neck.
Hug him tight like this.

Kick his cheeks and give him what?
A great big kiss.

Independence Day

"Look mom!  I did it myself!"  Colton said marching around the kitchen floor with his pants on inside out and shirt twisted backwards. Teaching this child to dress has been quite the challenge.  And I can't blame him.  Selecting the right clothing, preparing it for dress, and then twisting various appendages around into petite holes proves fatal to the confidence of any human being.  I don't know how I ever survived.     

Despite the backwards shirt and the inside out pants, we had a little independence day celebration.  A bag of no-longer-needed-diapers made the perfect pedestal for our champion.   Cheers of big boy pride bounced from his heart and lungs while brothers circled around him.

This kid?  He can finally pull his own pants up!
Happy Independence Day!