Popsicles for dinner.

So what have you been up to? It got hot here.  There has been a lot of this:

we put in a pool.  It cost us $2.

And this:

  Popsicles for dinner? Only on days that end in “y!”

and this:

 

he got up there himself.  Apparently the 3 child-sized bikes, scooter, plasma car, cozy coupe, and tricycle don’t provide enough self-propelled fun.

Such fun comes at a cost.  Keeping up with these two has become more than a full time job, and on top of my “real” full time job, “Janelle time” – otherwise known as the time where I sink into the computer for an hour or so every night alternating between trolling facebook and coming up with marginally clever blog posts – has been sacrificed.  Plus, Wes plucked the “L” key off the keyboard, necessitating a vicious slamming of the ring finger into the laptop on a somewhat regular basis.  And said laptop keeps loosing its internet connection. 

I got a lovely new desk for my birthday/mothers day – don’t you think it deserves a nice new computer to spice it up?

The Desperate Sprint

I was getting gas tonight.  Yes, I know how exciting of me.  I’m a wild one.  But the beast of a van demands to be filled on a regular basis, and since I am in need of transportation (and, turn out, in a Honda “Distance to Empty: 0 miles” means exactly that – as I found out in a very fun session on the side of the highway), I fed the beast.

As I was watching the numbers on the gallon meter slowly tick over, far overshadowed by the blinding whir of the numbers climbing speedily upward on the $ meter, and quietly contemplating whether or not I would run in and buy beer, a school bus full of high school kids pulls up.  And out pours and entire baseball and softball team.

My quiet contemplation quickly turned into desperation (“I can’t wait in line behind all of these kids!) and, despite my best judgment, I left the van there, numbers on the $ meter increasing at an exponential rate, and sprinted towards the nearest beer rack.  My years of practice at making quick beer decisions (“summer shandy or bud light?") came in quite handy, as I plucked out a six pack of summer wheat and, still in stealth mode, slid into the cashier before a single uniformed student.

I returned to my gas-still-pumping (Lord have mercy on my credit card) van, quite proud of myself.  And then it hit me:

I just left my gas-pumping vehicle unattended to sprint into a store and buy beer as to not wait in line with 30+ high schoolers.  I am one of those folks I would have made fun of in High School.

Pathetic?  Sure.  I like to think I have my priorities in order.  The Summer Wheat I’m sipping right now is assuring me I made the right decision.

First thing

What is the first thing you think when you wake up in the morning?  Although I have no idea what my kids think, I can only assume their stream of consciousness is telling.  Austin, for instance, stumbles down the stairs and immediately requests warm milk and and Curious George. (Yes – my three, going on four year-old, still drinks warm milk in the mornings and before bed.  Not hot milk, not cold milk, but milk warmed to exactly 88 degrees.  Not at all pampered). 

                 At least he is willing to share plastic eggs with his brother – ones that have no doubt been purged of their goodies, but nonetheless…

Wes – on the other hand, is my kind of guy.  He chills in his crib for a while, babbling to himself, singing his abstract version of the ABC song, and dismantling his sleep sheep.  Then, he begins to to chuck everything inside his crib out, decorating the floor.  At this point I normally head up to fetch him, and he utters his first word of the day.  It used to be “Mamma.”  Wasn’t that sweet.  These days…his greeting word is “Eat.”  “Eat,” “Eat,” “Eat.”  He pats his tummy when he says it, and it is darn adorable.

cute photo, right?  Cropping is a girl’s best friend.  Zoom out and you get this:

    The kid has food on the brain.  Really, both of them do.  Not sure if we’ve cultivated these monsters or if it just in their chemistry, but we totally have the kids who hover over the candy table at birthday parties, shoveling in the M&M’s like the world may end tomorrow.

 

7 of my grandma’s 12 great-grandsons.  Notice Austin is eating, and while Wes is giving eggs the “shake test” to determine if they are worth the effort of opening.  He struggled to open the eggs, but quickly found out he could extract the goodies quickly by chucking them on the ground and stomping on them.  Industrious.

Mid jelly-bean chew.  At least for me, his face captures perfectly the feeling of chewy candy…

What can we say.  Food brings us joy.  As do Easter Sweater Vests.

The Terrible Three’s

Austin is out of control lately.  Screaming, whining, fits, demands, rudeness…you name it, and he is probably doing it, provided it drives us nuts. 

I understand this is an unfair assessment.  On weekdays, I spend perhaps an hour with him in the morning and 2 1/2 in the evenings.  Not exactly anyone’s best time of day, let alone a three year-old’s.  But the weekend, when *gasp* I have to spend ALL DAY with my kid?  He drives me bonkers.  And it really bums me out.

Why is it that he spends FAR more time complaining about picking up the play-dough than it would ever take to clean it up?  Why is it that he can only drink his milk if it is exactly 84.2 degrees – not, 83, not 85…but exactly 84.2.  How is it that he can come up with 15 different excuses to come downstairs after we’ve put him to bed – and somehow they are all just a little bit valid? 

I’m totally out of my league here.  I try to be strict and set limits, and not flex those limits.  I try to enforce consequences while at the same time being reasonable with my expectations.  I do a fair bit of choosing my battles and remembering that he is only three.  Heck – I’ve resorted to bribery.  But all of this isn’t working. 

So I did what any sane parent does – called up Amazon.com, and put every parenting book that was somewhat recommended into my cart.  Except I don’t have $130 and the corresponding many hours of time to spend reading and learning how to parent my child.  So I need recommendations – have a favorite?  Any sage advice for a mom who hasn’t a clue how to “Parent my spirited child?” 

More than anything, I’m feeling like a failure.  Isn’t this supposed to come naturally?  As freaked out as I was to bring home a new baby, I did feel like a lot of the “new mom” stuff just came – feeding needs, the “parenting sway,” the ability to know how to calm my babies…but this 3 year old stuff?  Totally not my forte.

Equally depressing is my recent realization that as soon as Austin turns 4 – and I’m sure demonstrates an incredible increase in maturity – Wes will turn 3. 

Oh $h!t.

Vanity Sizing

So…are they now vanity sizing bras, or have I become another victim of the side effects of nursing?

Under the Knife

I’m healed! 

I saw the Dr. Wednesday morning, and he confirmed what the urgent care Doc and my GP has suspected – I tore my meniscus, and had a chunk of it stuck in my joint, preventing me from straightening my leg or being comfortable in pretty much any position.

And, miraculously, he said these magic words to the nurse – “See if you can get her on my schedule for an arthroscopy for tomorrow.”  Tomorrow?  That never happens! 

I immediately freaked out – my parents are out of town (on that ski vacation I was supposed to be on…) and my mind went into a whirl of “who will take care of the kids? How will we manage…”  The problem being – I am worthless after surgery.  The anesthetic makes me sick as a dog, I’m not awesome with pain OR pain pills, and I generally turn into a weepy heap.  Sad but true.  I am not tough when it comes to surgery.  C’est La Vie.

But I made an active decision to look at this differently – we have plenty of folks we can call on for help, plenty of folks who would be glad to lend a hand if asked…so I asked.  This was a quick road to recovery, so why not jump on it.  Waiting till my parents were back in town just meant at least another week of crutching around and being in limbo, not being able to play with the boys, and generally feeling sorry for myself. 

Rather than being nervous yesterday, I was relieved.  The facility was an outpatient surgery center, and it was brand new and beautiful.  Everyone was incredibly friendly and obviously loved their jobs.  They were more than helpful, smiley, just generally pleasant.  I couldn’t have asked for more.  The Dr. was on time, everything went smoothly, and the anesthesiologist listened to my nausea issues…and managed it well.

I didn’t get sick once – quite the feat for me, and made it home to happy boys who had been picked up by a friend, who also dropped off dinner.  I gave them a cuddle and went to bed…and woke up feeling amazing!  I can limp – without crutches, and it feels great.  The road to recovery is a happy one.

All that said…I still have grand plans to milk this for all it is worth.  I have two weeks off work, if I want it.  I don’t think I’ll end up needing it, but I am open to exercising the option of getting truly rested.  I think that Lyndon can manage a few more days of doing laundry and being on kitchen duty.  It is good for him.  And I will embrace the chance to comfortably rest and catch up on a few books and cuddle time with the boys.  It is fantastic to be pain free. 

Redefining

I have had to redefine my definition of “lame” to make sure that I exclude myself.  Watching six episodes of “Lost” back to back on a Friday night, hopping myself up on pain pills to numb the ache in my knee , and then passing out at 9:00 p.m.? Totally acceptable. 

And by “hopping myself up” I mean taking 1/2 of my prescribed dose, because that is all that I can handle without yacking. I’m a real wild one.

No prognosis on the knee yet,  but I do have an appt. with a Dr. on Wed.  In the meantime I’m trying to avoid being Pity, Party of One.  Big bowls of ice cream while curled up under a blanket on the couch help.  Which isn’t lame, at all.