Bra or Pantry?

Finn keeps shoving his granola bar and snacks down my shirt.  I'm pretty sure he thinks my bra is his own personal pantry.  Looks like it's time to take weaning up a notch...

Landon Quick #1

I often find the things I want to share are just small convos with the kids or little random details, but they don't seem long enough for a blog post.  So I thought I'd just start putting the little things that happen up as well as all the crazy.

Me: You've gotta finish your dinner baby.
L: Why?
Me: Because you just finished gymnastics and you need to eat for energy.  So you can grow big and strong
L: Oh! So I grow big???
Me: Yup.  You want to be tall like Papa right?
L: Yup! I grow big big big! And then you'll be the shortest one?
Me: What?
L: And then you'll be the shortest one.
S: Yea... I mean... I guess when you guys are all grown up you'll be taller than daddy and then... I'll be the shortest one...
Then he proceeded to gently pat me on the back and give me a hug.

It's like he knows I make short jokes... and then he freaking consoled me!

Talk about Karma!

I super love you...

There are a lot of moments in motherhood where you can't help but to think: why did I do this?  I love my kids and I love my family, but anyone who says it can't be overwhelming is lying.  The thing that gets you through those moments (and there's a lot of them) are the small sweet ones that outsiders just don't get to see.  A lot of my life is spent treading emotional water.  Just thought I'd share one of the sweet life rafts that pulls me back to sanity.

Last night my oldest was having trouble sleeping.  And by trouble sleeping, I mean he was upstairs talking to himself for an hour and then came downstairs to ask me to tuck him back in so he could postpone bed time just a little longer.  It's very rare that L and I have a few minutes to ourselves.  So instead of just tucking him in and turning out the light, I decided to crawl in and snuggle for a minute.  Out of no where he starts stroking my eye brows.

L: What those?
Me: These? They're called eyebrows.  You have them too.

I take his finger and trace his eyebrows and then mine again.

L: Eyebrows?
M: Yup.
(Starts stroking my eye brows again)
L: They're beautiful... *long pause*
L: Can you take them off?

After explaining that eyebrows are hair like the kind on his head and they don't come off, he decides to start counting fingers and toes.  Which leads to him listing off body parts.

L: Toes, foot, leg... you have bird on your leg?
M: Yea.  It's called a tattoo.  Can you say that?
L: Taaatt-tttoooo.
M: Yup.  A tattoo is a drawing. Mommy has a drawing of a bird on her leg.
L: oh... That's not so good... That super bad.... drawing on your leg.

I giggle to myself and stroke his hair.  I wonder how many times he drew on himself at school before the teacher convinced him he's not supposed to do that.  But now it's getting late and I'm ready to tuck him in.  As I go to get up I hear.

L: I super proud of you.  I super love you.

That's the moment I know I'm doing something right.  These are the moments I hold onto when his teething baby brother woke me up 2 hours later.  That's what I think about when I see him getting frustrated through out the day.  That's my sweet boy.  And I super love him too.

Sandpapering Shit

I just opened the door to let a friend in when the baby starts screaming upstairs. "He's supposed to be napping.  I'll be right back. Make yourself at home."  And as I walk up the stairs I know that it's going to be bad.  I can smell the poop all the way downstairs as I start my ascent.  I finally make it up the stairs and open his bedroom door and the smell that wafts out is like getting punched in the stomach.  Something I learned early on in these situations; the faster you deal with it the sooner you get to breath.  I get him on the table and stripped down.  I open up his diaper and grab the wipes... Wait!  Where are the wipes?! Why are they empty?

Plan B! Try and wipe as much as you can off with the remaining diaper. Genius!  Oh no! You just smeared more poop down his legs trying to get the poop off his butt. Think, think, think.... Why is the new, unopened box of wipes all the way downstairs in the kitchen. What can I reach? Clothes? receiving blankets? Burp rags?  Toilet paper?  Landon's flush-able wipes!  Now all I have to do is make it to the bathroom and back.  But I can't put the baby on the floor... he's covered in poop.  And I can't leave him on the changing table unattended, because he could will roll off and land on his head.  So I tuck his head and shoulders onto my elbow and brace his body to me while simultaneously holding one thigh up and pointing him butt out.  Avoiding, as best I can, getting any poop on my clothes and hopefully avoid being the target of any stray pee or poopsplosions about to happen.  All the while yelling, "Don't pee! Don't pee!  Don't pee!" as I run to the bathroom.  Feeling pretty good about myself I make my way back to Finn's room.  Oh no! I misgauged the space! Smack! I just bonked Finn's head on the door in my rush to not be pooped on.  Now he's screaming on top of everything else.

I finally get us back to the changing table (mostly in one piece).  Lay the kiddo down and open the wipes.  This is where I realized baby wipes and flush-able toddler wipes are not the same thing.  For anyone not familiar with flush-able wipes, they are not as soft as baby wipes.  In fact, they are more comparable to sand paper than to gentle wipes for your baby's bum.  They are meant for durability not sensitivity.  Sorry F, but this is the part where mommy has to sandpaper shit off your poor baby ass.  Finally clean! Now a fresh diaper and a clean outfit later.  You survived!  Back to bed for you little man and back to check on our friend who has no idea what she just missed.