The Water Park: Lost My Sanity But Managed To Keep All The Children

If there is any wisdom I can impart regarding family trips with multiple children, it's this: the shorter the better.

I always imagine long, fun-filled family vacations during which all of our time is spent laughing and bonding at beaches or pools or open markets or museums. And then we arrive. Any by the next day, I'm practically counting down the hours until I can go home and enforce the rules of our normal routine.

I don't know if it's because I have all boys, or if it's their ages, or if it's their age differences....but my boys BICKER CONSTANTLY. Someone has an extra napkin. Someone wants a dark blue hat instead of a light blue hat. Someone found a discarded rubberband on the ground and won't share it. Someone wants to listen to the radio. Someone wants to listen to a CD. Both someones want to hold the remote. Someone walks to walk in front (and will have an immediate and intense meltdown when the other steps a whisker's width in front of him).

My most commonly uttered phrases during family vacations/outings:

1) Knock it off!
2) Stop fighting!
3) NOW what are you crying about?
4) Why don't you listen to me?!
5) If you don't stop right now, I'm taking us all home (total lie. The hotel room was totes expensive)

Why do I bring this up, you ask? Well, I just returned from a one-night, overnight trip to a waterpark with my three boys plus one of Jacob's friends. And it was no exception to the above.

My husband was against this trip from the very beginning and (being the smart man that he is) refused to go. I thought he was being a spoilsport and I decided to go anyway. With all the kids. Yes. I have no one to blame. This is entirely all my own doing.

But it wasn't all bad. And underneath it all, we did have fun.

The park is decorated like a lodge. There is a dead bear skin on the wall, right in the middle of the entrance. And it's eyes light up as you walk by. Ryan was totally freaked out by the dead bear (understandably). Unfortunately, every time we needed to go somewhere, we had to pass by the "pretend bear." Ryan erupted into tears and torturous screams every time we walked within 20 feet of the bear. I had to hold his hands, coax him into looking at his shoes, and repeatedly tell him "it's not real, it won't hurt you" every time we went: to the bathroom, to the waterpark, to the hotel room, or to get food. And I had to do this while carrying Jon and multiple bags full of baby crap and swimsuits.

Luckily ALL the kids enjoyed the waterpark. The big boys ran off and played in the wave pools and went down the water slides. Ryan pranced from water toy to water toy, sliding happily down the baby water slides on repeat. I put Jon down and he made a bee line for the water. He bear crawled all over the baby/toddler spray park, made multiple attempts to sneak down the kiddie slide after climbing all the way up the steps, and slapped the water over and over. Jon's favorite thing in the entire world is bathtime. Our trip was basically an entire gym-sized bath to him.

This picture says it all (so sad that it's blurry)

As demonstrated in the above photo, Jon had a great time practicing his standing in the water.

My friend and her husband joined us (with their two young kids). Somehow, even the adults managed to take turns going down the big water slides. Jacob and I went down a slide called the Howling Tornado. Holy Shit. I screamed like a baby. I screamed louder than Jacob. I was 92% certain that I would not survive. Thankfully, I was wrong. But my legs were wobbly and shaky for a full five minutes after that ride. Jacob just wanted to do it again.

My wolf pup!

Last night, Jon woke up seven times in a two hour period. He has four teeth coming in on the top at the same time. I remember being so tired and crabby that, by the seventh waking, I had a very strong desire to throw something against a wall (I resisted). I finally pulled Jon into the double bed with Ryan and me. And I proceeded to get absolutely no sleep the rest of the night as Ryan and Jon took turns kicking me and sticking their feet in my face. 

After we finished up swimming again this morning, I took the kids to the arcade. Thirty minutes, three tantrums, and too much money later, I heaved a loud, exhausted, but happy sigh of relief as I escorted four over-tired and over-sugared children to the van. There was no better feeling in the world than knowing all the children were secured (read: stuck) in their seats and I no longer had to chase them or worry about losing them. We stopped at Dairy Queen for lunch and I had a well deserved ice cream cone (and 3/4 of the cone Ryan thought was too "melty"). 

So, the kids are a lot of work and I am totally insane for saying this....but.... as Jon is turning ten months old and standing and doing big baby things, I'm so insanely sad. He is my last baby. I don't want him to stop being a baby. I don't want there to be a time when I don't have someone in my house who is a baby. I feel totally overwhelmed with sadness and....I never thought I'd say this, but I want another one. I don't know where to put my unrequited love for all the children I will never have. I guess, I should put it towards the children I DO have. But I still feel the weight of longing and the unsatisfied curiosity about What Could Be. 

This is totally all Jon's fault. He is the most perfect, easy-going, adorable baby. This is probably bad to say, but I'm pretty sure as far as my babies go that he's my favorite. He is just such a joy. He's almost always happy. He loves everything. He follows me around the house, banging on the floor and talking baby gibberish. He is so sweet and curious and funny. If someone takes something out of his hands, he throws a fit. But if he drops the exact same object and can't find it  again (usually because I snuck it away), he's like "eh, I didn't really want that anyway." 

Despite being a third child, he's managing just fine. Jon was hungry when we arrived home today. I was almost out of groceries and couldn't figure out what to feed him. So I made him a PB&J sandwich. I gave it to him and laughed. Such a typical third-child thing to do. I joked to my husband that with a first child, you make all your baby food. With a second child, you use convenient jarred baby food. By the time your third child comes along, you just slap a PB&J sandwich together. (Yes, I know you're supposed to avoid giving babies nuts, if he gets a peanut allergy from eating one PB&J sandwich, I'll hate the universe). But he loved it and ate every last smooshy bit of it.

After I fed the kids tonight, we headed to our real estate agent's office to sign some paperwork. (We had our home inspection this week and an appraiser is coming out tomorrow- ah! This is actually happening!). While we were in one room signing papers, the kids were trying to play walk-tag (because I told them if they ran in the office they would get timeout). Their efforts were pretty poor but forgivable.

At one point, a flock of geese walked by the office window and enchanted all three of my kids. Jon pulled himself up to the window, stood in place, and gawked at them with his mouth open as if they where the strangest things he's ever seen. Then he started to grunt excitedly as they were walking away. It's as if he was trying to tell them to come back.

As I was reveling in the cuteness of that moment, Ryan suddenly leaned over and puked all over his hands, his pants, and the couch he was sitting on. And yes, I got to wipe it all up by hand with nothing more than thin pieces of baby wipes separating the foulness from my skin. I think the real estate agent is ready for us to close on our house so that we don''t have to bring the kids into their office anymore.

On the way home we passed a large farm consisting of several acres of cows. The two older kids rolled down their windows and spent a very long five minutes mooing loudly to the cows over roaring traffic. So, you know... between the geese and the cows, at least they're connecting with nature.

How I Single-handedly Raised The TMI Bar

There are plenty of moms who nourish their children on a strict paleo diet. There are also plenty of moms who only feed their babies freshly pureed organic produce and grass-fed, cage-free protein. And somehow, I always end up having to sit by these moms when I'm handing my nine month old a trio-of-meat hot dog to gnaw on.

Jon loves hot dogs. And they heat up in 15 seconds in the microwave (oh did I just add deadly radiation to mix?). And babies can eat them without silverware. And they have lots of protein. And they are inexpensive. And the package proclaims to be "100% real meat." So that's something. The MEATZ are REALZ!

There is only one downside to hot dogs: my fingers smell like hotdogs for HOURS after I touch them. I can't really describe the smell except to say that it's salty. And processed. With a hint of old tennis shoe. I don't know why I had to ruin a good blog post talking about hotdogs. I guess I just had to get that off my chest.

Since this blog post is already ruined, let's talk about vomit.

Last night, I was sitting on the couch minding my own business when a hint of tummy cramp came over me. Like any sane person who believes unwaveringly in her immortality and wildly over-estimates her immune system, I completely ignored it. I then proceeded to eat four mini-Hershey bars (I'm sorry, I refuse to call them "fun" size - the only thing "fun" about that size is that you can justify eating four) and a bag of popcorn. Partial disclosure: I had just run four mines. Full disclosure: the fact that I exercised beforehand was a total coincidence, I would have eaten it anyway.

Surprisingly, popcorn and chocolate did NOT make my tummy feel better. The ache grew into full-on nausea in less than an hour. By this time everyone was sleeping and I was lying like death on the couch, suffering in misery all alone and unbeknownst to anyone else in the house. I changed positions and burped and thought I felt better. Then, just one second later, the intense need to vomit hit me like Donald Trump fighting for the last slot at the tanning booth. Oh god. I was gonna blow. It was uncontrollable. The only thing running through my mind was "find something to puke in." So I ran straight for the bathroom. And immediately puked in the......nope. Not the toilet. The sink.

What an idiot. I realized my stupidity even as I was erupting chocolate and popcorn. But, you know, I was mid-eruption. There was really nothing I could do. When I was finished, I hunched back off the counter and surveyed the situation. I felt slightly better. But I had a clogged sink. I will spare you most of the details and just say that clean up involved a plastic drinking cup and baby nose syringe. WHILE I was still nauseous. I've seen and done things that you would only expect to find in an episode of Dirty Jobs.

48 hours later, I'm finally feeling better. I've only eaten like seven pieces of toast in two days. Is it horrible that I keep having to bury the thought that I should try to get sick again right before my swimsuit-involved vacation next month? Because I can finally wear my skinny pants. And it only cost me a couple hours of naseau, one unpleasant eruption, and a sink full of vomit.

Oh and Dear Lord Baby Jesus take my soul if my husband ever finds out I puked in the sink. He once didn't talk to me for two days after I left his bath towel on the floor.

The Real Reason We All Have Kids

If you're making a pro and con list for having children, I'll be honest. There's a whole lot of stuff to put in the "con" column. For example....

Thirty dirty little fingers in your bag of Doritos
Doing enough laundry to stock a Goodwill
Being happy about sleeping in...all the way until 7am!
Calls from the school nurse informing you that your child ran into a pole
The phrase: "Because I said so."
Baby puke down your shirt
Every car ride you take will sound like a football stadium on Superbowl Sunday
The "is this chocolate...or poop?" game
Realizing you sound like your mom
Attempting to brush tiny teeth that are trying to chomp you
Poop in the tub
Poop on the floor
Poop in your bed
Poop on poop

I could go on....but we might be here a while.

The sources of my frustrations:

All these "cons," however, are balanced nicely by one gigantic pro. For 18 years, you have unlimited excuses to do all the kid stuff you want! Basically, you have an excuse to act like a child all over again. So, when I volunteer to take my kids on an outing so my husband can get work done around the house, I'm basically volunteering to play like a child while my husband does chores. I think I have the better end of this deal. He hasn't quite caught on yet.

What does this mean exactly?

It means going to the playground...and actually PLAYING (hey, you can do this without kids if you aren't squeamish about giving off the impression that you're a pedophile). Sidenote: they should really make adult-sized playgrounds...for adults!

It means throwing back your head and screeching excitedly while flying up and down on the teeter-totter.

It means the uninhibited love of siblings (often displayed through pig piles and punching fits).

It means walking UP all the slides.

(you guys, that is REALLY, really fun)

It means "testing" a package (or two) of Ninja Turtle fruit snacks before giving them to the kids.

It means hundreds and hundreds of underdogs.

It means that your primary method of transportation is giggling foot races with humans half your size.

It means the wonderful smells of newly sharpened-pencils, freshly opened backpacks, and never-before-worn clothes from an afternoon of back to school shopping.

It means jumping in ball pits. And running down hills. And rainbow sherbet ice cream cones with gummy bear toppings.

It means spontaneous bike rides to 7-11 for Redbox movies and Sour Patch Sour Slurpees at 8:00pm. (Which is exactly what we did tonight after our trip to the park!)

But riding in the stroller when you get tired...three blocks in.

And riding through sprinklers on the way home!

But, then you get to tuck all your kids into bed and stay up for an adult bedtime while you enjoy adult beverages and close your eyes to 33% of the scenes in Game of Thrones.

Hmmm, I guess they're kinda worth it.

I'm Best Supporting Actress

Sometimes I feel like a supporting character in my own life which, for the last several years, has been in the complete control of mini tyrants. But it's ok I guess, because I kinda love them. If I had to guess as to who the star is right now, it would be Jon. It's probably bad to say that, but he has us all in a trance. It's really hard to ignore this little guy:

Especially when he's full of smiles, which is basically all the time. In the middle of the night he'll stir and wake up, which causes me to wake up (he sleeps between my husband and me). My first instinct is to be PISSED that 17.5 pounds of baby is all that is coming between me and a much needed full night of sleep. But then I look over at Jon and he catches my gaze and (just when I'm about to be full of exhausted rage), he gives me this giant, mischievous beam of a smile. Basically he's communicating the fact that he knows he's a pill but that he knows he can get away with it because he's so darn, freaking cute. At my own frustration, my anger dissipates into thin air and I immediately start grinning back at him.

I just can't say no to this ball of adorable human flesh! And he's growing up way too fast for my heart to accept. He has two bottom teeth (has had them for quite a while actually), and he's rolling all over the house. And he's SO close to crawling. For fun, he gets up onto his knees or all fours or his hands and toes and rocks violently back and forth. He can also scoot himself backward at warp speed. He just hasn't figured out how to propel himself forward yet. And for that I am very thankful (I say this as I eye the large tub of small Lego pieces at the other end of the room).

My Jon Bear doing his pushups

He's a mover and a shaker, literally.

More pushups. Hey Jon, you're making it harder than it has to be!

Because so much of my focus is on Jon (being an infant he still needs me for pretty much all things), less focus is being sent Ryan's way. And I feel absolutely terrible about that. Despite the fact that he is three and very stubborn and particular and capable on many levels, he is still really little. When you stop and think about it, being three years old is pretty much like being a newborn relative to the average adult male life span of 70+ years, right? Unfortunately, I'm only reminded of his babyness when he gets hurt or upset and crumbles into a mess of tears. As his face erupts into a storm of emotion, I can see the little baby in him once again. I feel bad for always trying to hurry him or rush him or getting angry when he's unwilling to do something on his own (it's hit or miss as to whether he will use the potty without one of us assisting him even though we KNOW he can do it by himself).

He's still recovering from his recent ousting from former position as baby of the family. I get it. I totally do. But still....I only have so many hands. Usually, with Ryan, it comes down me having a choice as to whether I will act in a manner that is efficient/convenient or ultra-nurturing. And this choice usually occurs at the end of the day when I'm already exhausted. Efficiency wins almost every time. I just hope he and I are both not being robbed of HIS remaining babyhood as I also try to revel in Jon's.

Ryan often crawls into our room early in the morning. My wake up call very commonly looks something like this:

So, wise internet, I have a question. How am I supposed to absorb and appreciate every second of the precious, passing years for each of my children? How?! I can't even remember what I wore yesterday! How can I thoroughly enjoy them when most days they are physical and emotional energy leeches that I can't wait to send off to bed? Also, why isn't sleep at the top of Maslow's hierarchy of needs? If someone could please invent a brain computer where I can download and relive all these precious memories at my leisure, I would totally appreciate that.

I was mulling over these concerns yesterday after dinner when Jacob ran up to me and asked, out of the blue, if we could go to the pool. Tonight? Psssh, it was already 7:30pm. My practical mommy control board was already preparing its practical mommy response of, "OF COURSE NOT!" when I stopped to think about it a little bit more. Seriously? Why not? It wouldn't be the end of the world for the kids to go to bed half an hour late. Someday I may look back and give anything to have enjoyed more impromptu adventures with my children. Moms don't ALWAYS have to be practical. Moms don't always have to say "no."

And that's how I ended up waist deep in pool water at 8:30pm with a splash-happy infant, a screaming three year old who refused to use the scary locker room potty, and a six year old who refused to get out of the pool. But you know what? Despite the insanity....I really didn't regret it one bit. The look of pure, uncontained joy on their faces when I whisked the kids off to the car for a very special and unexpected pool trip was priceless and worth all the sanity and the years of my life that I may have lost.

While there were no special pool trips this evening, we did celebrate Jacob's last T-ball practice today. To cap off the practices we played T-ball, parents (and Ryans) versus children. It was so fun to watch the dads get into the game and to hear the kids whoop and holler whenever they struck an adult out (yes, it happened!). I even hit the ball a couple times. And after my own experience, I'm less inclined to judge when one of the kids misses an easy pitch during game time (yipes! It's harder than it looks!).

Kids v. Parents (and Ryans)!

We got home, rounded up the dirty and cranky kids for dinner, yelled at them for not sitting and eating, put them straight in the tub for a wash, washed the clothes that Ryan peed in when he refused to go to the bathroom for no reason whatsoever, went through the numerous rigorous steps necessary to put three children to bed. Only then did we stop and breath and take a moment to realize that OMG, it's our anniversary! "Happy Anniversary! Now excuse me while I pack the diaper bag for tomorrow, make several sets of lunches, and finish drafting a motion that's due tomorrow!"

And this is just further proof that I am simply a supporting character in my own life.

Our nightly routine frequently involves trying to feed a bouncing baby who is constantly trying to undress himsel

And a chapter or two of Harry Potter before bedtime.

"T" Stands For T-Ball. And Total Failure. But Also Terrific.

It finally happened! One of my children participated in an organized sporting event!

THE thing I've anticipated most as a parent is watching one of my kids play tee ball. In my mind, it has always been this magical, wondrous moment. The epitome of all things good about parenting. And I've been slowly counting down the days ever since Jacob was born. I tried not to explode with happiness when Jacob told me he wanted to play this year. And while getting to practice (which requires leaving work a little early and sometimes towing two other grumpy children around) has often been a headache, tee ball has not disappointed.

The kids are clueless and unfiltered and hilarious. They spin circles at second base. They do cartwheels in the outfield. They do potty dances as short stop. They underthrow and overcatch and there is a LOT of ball chasing. When they try to tag a runner out, they end up playing tag. Sometimes they run clockwise around the bases. It's the funniest thing I've ever seen in my entire life. 

Saturday was Jacob's first game and we had been talking about it excitedly all week. I planned out a nice big breakfast the night before. I packed the car full of folding chairs and coolers and snacks and picnic blankets. I got the kids up and ready and everyone out the door much earlier than necessary. Sadly, Jacob's team hat was no where to be found. As we dashed out of the house I reluctantly grabbed a Seahawks hat and we were on our way. We even showed up at the ballfield twenty minutes early!

And no one was there.

I tried to talk myself out of a mini-panic. I took out my phone and googled the name of the field on the game schedule. This was Gordon field....so, what the heck? I took off towards a nearby field to see if there had been a mistake. No one was there either. I went back to Gordon, still no one. With spotty reception, I looked up and called the coach. Voicemail. I then tried every single parent on the roster until finally someone answered. Turns out, there are two Gordon fields. The correct one isn't anywhere to be found on the internet. The "experienced" tee-ball parents all know this. I felt like a total newb.

We finally got to the correct field, five minutes past game time. I parked precariously close to a ditch (only spot left) and balanced the diaper bag, picnic blanket, snack bag, and Jon's carrier to the dugout while prodding the other two kids along. Apologizing profusely to the coach I asked to retrieve Jacob's uniform. The coach hands me a jersey shirt. Hmmmmm, "And pants?" I asked skeptically. 

Turns out, kids are supposed to buy their own pants. Another tee-ball secret that only the experienced parents know. Ugh. Why didn't anyone tell me this?! Am I missing all the memos? ... So Jacob runs out to join his team. In a Seahawks hat and non-matching Adidas track pants. I am officially the best tee-ball mom on the planet. 

We don't need no stinking pants!

First game hit!

Running home

We find a seat on the bleachers and Ryan immediately has to pee. There are no bathrooms. We make an inconspicuous run to the bushes, where we end up watering the plants several times over the long one hour game (no more water bottles ever again!).  

While Jacob was busy playing, Ryan was busy photographing his crocs.

But other than the location and uniform debacles, things were just as amazing as I'd imagined they would be so many times over the past six years. Cheering. Kids laughing. Watching the grass pickers. Concession stands. The sound of a bat thwacking a ball. The way you can hang your hands perfectly into the diamonds of the dugout fencing. The smell of ball field dirt. The colorful jerseys. 

Catchers have the important job of placing the ball back on the tee.

It IS just a game.

But it's an awesome game. 

And the kids. Oh the kids. I don't know all their names. But I already love every single one.

After practice, I took my three out to celebrate. Just me and the boys (husband was out of town). There was no fighting. No screaming. No whining. No crying. It was wonderful. 

The kids have been playing with an old calculator for the past week. They take turns punching buttons (for Ryan it is totally random, but Jake actually knows what he's doing) and marveling at the answers that appear on the solar-powered screen. They spend so much time playing with the calculator, or as Ryan calls it his "escalator," that I'm pretty sure they won't ever need real phones. 

Hello, Desk

As mentioned previously, I had to return to work one month earlier than planned in order to keep my health benefits. Today was my first day back. I kept telling everyone, "I'm here so I don't get fined" referencing the now-famous utterance of Seahawk Marshawn Lynch on media day. Yeah, I thought I was clever.

I decided to ease myself back into this whole working thing and just showed up for a half day today. For some reason, my two youngest children decided that the two nights before mommy goes back to work would be a great time to start waking up every hour. Without exaggeration, I can confidently say that I have only slept in 30 minutes intervals the past two nights, and only for a grand total of three hours a night. So today was a little bit brutal.

I was going to bring Jon in and show him off (my boss keeps saying that I can bring him to work with me!), but he caught some terrible bug (Super Bowl hangover perhaps?). So at my mom's suggestion, I took Jake instead.

He had a great time drawing and playing Angry Birds and answering all the calls from opposing counsel:

One of my FB friends pointed out the baby wipes on my desk as a dead give-away that I am a mom. so true! I always keep baby wipes with me. They are amazing.

At one point I left Jacob in my office with instructions to stay there and play Legos while I sat down for a meeting with a Division Chief. Halfway through our meeting, he comes waltzing in with a handful of various snacks and goodies from my coworkers. "Mom, look at this can of ravioli that Mr. Matt gave me! He told me to call him the 'snack man.' And I found this piece of chocolate under a desk." I'm pretty sure he scrounged up all the free snacks in the entire office.

I'm being assigned a bunch of new cases regarding civil litigation defense and I am so so excited to get my hands on them. I LOVE analyzing case law, investigating the gambit of relevant facts, preparing liability assessments, strategizing plans for litigation, and drafting motions to carry out those plans. I feel like this is where I really shine. And it's my favorite thing in the world. Sometimes I feel so lucky that I have a job where I get paid to do stuff that I legitimately love. Not all tasks and projects are fun. But overall, I really love this little area of the law.

I only worked for half of a day but it was just the right amount for my first day back. I need to get used to sitting in front of a computer all day and focusing on just mental tasks. And dang, I'm really going to miss my indulgent daytime television (The Chew, The Talk, Let's Make A Deal, and the Ellen Show). But it's nice to join the land of the working. I get to sit down and actually enjoy a cup of tea. I get to eat lunch with BOTH hands. I get to have a conversion that is not broken off by a screaming baby. I don't have to share my snacks with little urchins. And I get to use my lawyer brain (you know, the one that cost me about half a mortgage).

Also, with my new permanent position, came this bright, shiny badge.

Seriously, this badge takes the cake! I didn't know lawyers got badges! If I had known this, I would have grumbled a lot less during law school (maybe?).

Returning home from work was amazing. I snuggled my poor, sick baby all evening and we somehow managed a 1.5 hour nap together without the big kids destroying too much of anything.

During my maternity leave, I couldn't wait to sneak out of the house. I was totally drained. So many diapers. So many tantrums. So many fussy, non-sleeping people. I was deep in the trenches and it felt like they would never end but just grow deeper and deeper. Being away for part of the day makes a huge difference. It really lets me see everything in the appropriate perspective. It lets me appreciate how short and fleeting the time with my babies is. I come home refreshed and ready to tackle the mommy parts of my day. I have so much more patience. I appreciate the shorter time I have with them. There is so much less yelling. As much as I love my children, nothing makes me a better mommy than going back to work. And I'll stand by this statement to my grave!

After the kids got ready for bed, we all sat at the table and played a game of chess. I can't even remember the last time I had the energy or the will to sit down and play a game with my kids:

Ryan and Mommy versus Jacob

So goodbye sweet-last-but-also-kinda-disappointing maternity leave and hello the rest of my career.

Ryan Makes Super Bowl Snacks!

The only way to survive the infamous "terrific twos" is to learn the art of distraction. Toddlers have this crazy ability to focus on something, instantly decide that they hate it with every ounce of their being, and persist in their expression of this hatred for hours on end. For example, the time Ryan didn't want to wear a shirt at the grocery store and repeatedly cried, "I don't WANT a shirt. I HATE this shirt!" for our entire 45 minute shopping experience. For the record, the shirt he suddenly "hated" was the same shirt that he insisted on wearing after I had already dressed him in something else.

This morning after we returned home from dropping Jacob off at school, Ryan began to cry, "I don't WANT to go home! I HATE home!" We got in the house and he changed his cry to, "I don't WANT to take off my jacket."

"It's ok." I said, "then leave your jacket on."

"I don't WANT to leave my jacket on. This jacket is DUMB! I don't like it!"

Ugh. Not THIS again. I needed to distract him. But I knew if I suggested something, he would instantly protest. So.... I had an idea. I went to the bathroom and ran the bathwater. Ryan followed me and asked what I was doing. "I'm going to take a bath." I answered. "I want to take a bath with you!" he responded. BINGO. I filled up the tub and helped him in. Ryan didn't even notice that I wasn't joining him. Distraction: success!

All this is prelude to telling you about our adventure from yesterday. Yesterday in the late morning, Ryan was being difficult again and I was running out of patience. I desperately needed a way to distract him from his toddlerness. Inspired by that morning's episode of Sesame Street, I found a recipe for cheese-stuffed pretzel bites and had Ryan help me make them.

Ryan is my little chef. He loves playing with any kind of "dough"-- from pizza to tortillas to breadsticks. I always save a small piece for him to play with when I'm making dinner. I knew this cooking adventure was going to be a sure-fire hit. And it was! Not just as a distraction but also because of the end product: cheese-stuffed pretzel bites...mmmm carbs! (Did I ever tell you about the one time my sister talked me into going Paleo? I lasted 3.5 hours. Sorry, I just love wheat).

Not only were these pretzel bites amazing and will be an awesome Super Bowl Sunday snack, they turned out to be the perfect recipe for one young, hands-on chef!

The recipe calls for cheese cubes. But grating cheese is Ryan's favorite so I let him grate some just for fun.

After he helped me mix up the dough, Ryan added cheese cubes and rolled the dough into balls.

Here is an extra step Ryan added himself. Because all true chefs improve and improvise.

After you make dough balls, you have to boil them in water and baking soda. Adding baking soda to the boiling water was the best part - it made the water bubble up! I had no idea baking soda did this in anything except vinegar. Too fun! Ryan was happy watching from afar.

Then we "painted" the dough balls with an egg wash.

They baked for about 8 minutes in a 450 degree oven.

Tada! 

And it's a hit! We know what we are bringing to the Super Bowl party!

Flawing In Love.

Monday was a nearly perfect day. Well, as perfect as days can get when you have three children. Jacob got ready for school without any problems. Jonathan was happy. Ryan napped. Then we all went to the park and played in the glorious sunny, 60+ degree weather. The fighting was minimal and the kids all went to bed smoothly. I sat on Ryan's bottom bunk, stared at his quiet slumbering body and soaked it in. "I can't live without this," I thought. "I need to always have a kid in my house."

Then Tuesday happened. Tuesday quickly became everything that Monday was not. I was awakened by the older kids yelling at each other. And the fighting didn't let up once. After I dropped Jacob off at school Ryan whined and cried and complained about everything. He refused lunch. He refused his nap, all the while becoming more and more exhausting/exhausted. Jon also wouldn't nap and was equally fussy. When Jacob came home from school, the fighting ignited once again. At bedtime, I sat on Ryan's bed, craddling a not-sleeping and very fussy Jonathan, while Ryan screamed at the top of his lungs and refused to lay down. Jacob? He was with his dad at Urgent Care getting diagnosed with yet another ear infection. I wanted to cry. I wanted to melt into the ground and disappear forever.

How? How can one day be so magnificent and the next be so lousy? Sometimes I'm so in love that it hurts. Other times I'm just trying desperately not to roundhouse kick someone in the face.

Today Jacob stayed home from school because of his ear infection. The kids again had fought nearly all morning. Ryan kept hitting and kicking Jacob. Jacob kept yelling at Ryan for copying him. They both fought over all the same toys.The fighting and the whining and the tattling had just become a never-ending white noise machine at this point. I heard Jacob yell at Ryan to stop kicking him for the one hundredth time and I snapped. I waltzed up to Ryan, smacked him in the back of the head and yelled, "RYAN STOP HITTING! JACOB STOP YELLING! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!"

Ryan's face drained of all color before he turned bright red and started spewing tears. Jacob looked at me in terror.

Holy Shit.

I wasn't in shock from the fact that I had just smacked my own son. I've lashed out and spanked my kids before and immediately regretting reacting so viscerally. This wasn't an "omg, I feel so horrible for hurting my own kid" kind of shock. This was something else. Replaying in my mind what had just happened, I was struck with a realization: I had become one of them. I was a yelling, smacking, angry machine. In that moment, the three of us were one and the same.

I had smacked Ryan for kicking Jacob. I had yelled at Jacob for yelling at Ryan. My emotional response to my kids was exactly the same emotional response that I was trying to temper and discourage. They had hit a nerve of mine and I reacted physically. How is this any better than when Jacob yells at Ryan for grabbing a toy out of Jacob's hand?

I've been repeatedly (100 times a day, 7 days a week) trying to teach my kids to express their feelings with their words. Not physically. Not by yelling. Or name calling. Or storming off. But to explain their feelings to each other. To express their feelings to me so that we can work through things. Ryan grabbed your toy? Ok, let's explain to him why grabbing isn't nice and tell him that he can have a turn in five minutes.

But thinking back on all the yelling I have been doing lately, it suddenly struck me how much I behave just like them on a regular basis. Ouch. Hypocrite.

Again, I wanted to melt into the floor. I wanted to try to run away from my colossal failure. I almost felt sick to my stomach. How are my children going to survive their formative years? How am I going to survive their formative years? How can I teach something that I myself do not live?

The answer came shooting back at me, "You just have to change. You just have to keep trying." I'm only human. I can't be perfect. I'm not a perfect parent. All I can do is get up and keep trying. Hopefully I can show them love every day. And hopefully, they will realize that no matter how much I mess up, I'm really, really trying. And hopefully that will be enough.

But then I realized that the comparisons go both ways. If I can forgive myself for reacting inappropriately because I'm only human, then I can forgive the same behavior in them for the same reason. I get so frustrated when I have to remind them over and over again about the same things. Everyday I have to remind Jacob to put his shoes in the shoe cabinet, to put his dirty clothes in the hamper, to not yell at Ryan. Everyday I have to remind Ryan not to hit Jacob. Why can't they remember these simple things? It drives me batty! But isn't remembering not to yell at my kids just as simple? And yet, here I am failing (again).

We are only human. The lot of us. We are just a bunch of flawed characters. Why can't we remember the simple things? Why do we hurt the people who love us? Why do we always fall into the same bad habits despite our frequent promises to do better? Is trying enough? Is it ever too late to pick ourselves up and give it one more go? No. It's not. As long as someone is still there to forgive us and love us in spite of our flaws.

Gah. Why is parenting so hard?!

From The Desk Of Mom

Turns out the exhaustion you feel after chasing three boys around all day is pretty much the same as that life-zapping exhaustion that you feel during pregnancy. By the end of each day, I'm so drained that once I sit or lay down, I'm down for the count. I can't even muster up the energy to walk five feet to my chocolate stash. (You know it's real if it comes between me and chocolate!)

But, man am I happy.

Things are very chaotic right now but I'm far enough into this whole "three kids" thing that chaos feels strangely normal. I'm used to schlepping three kids around town. Packing, herding, buckling, unbuckling, and unpacking three kids no longer phases me. Bathing three kids at the same time? Down to a science. Even bedtimes are manageable. And it's not that there is less to do. It's just that my husband and I are able to go into auto pilot. We're used to the increased work load of kid stuff. We're conditioned.

Also baby cuddles and smiles make it a little easier

Mom, enough pictures already!

Right now, the biggest challenge to raising the three boys is the fact that there is no designated play space in our tiny house. We all share one room which serves as a dining room/family room/TV room/computer room/office/entryway. This is also why we don't have any baby stuff. We don't have any baby bouncy seats. No baby activity mats. No changing table. No pile of baby toys. No Bumbo. No play pen. If you walked into our house, you might completely miss the fact that we have a baby at all. Surprisingly, I don't feel like we're missing out. I can see the shocking headlines now: "Child Actually Survives Babyhood Without Baby Stuff!"

Ryan, serving as a baby activity mat

The small bedroom that the two big boys share is also full with a bunkbed, a dresser, toy storage, and my clothing closet (any ideas on where to put a third kid would be very welcome). As a result, the kids only play in our main room. But we are constantly making the boys pick stuff up and put it away. They don't have the space they need to create and run and be active. I HATE that. I feel like I'm cramping their creativity and their free play. But there is just no other option right now, so we're making do the best we can. (We just sold our old couch and I love the extra space that comes with not having a couch. So much so that we're actually considering not replacing it. But that will mean we only have two seats in our entire house that aren't dining chairs and that may put a cramp into tv-cuddling, by far my favorite activity.)

One part of making do, is taking the kids places to let them run out their endless energy. We go to McDonald's. A lot. Because they have an indoor play place (*cough* french fries *cough*). They should probably start charging me rent.

I also try to take them outdoors as much as possible. Monday, Jacob didn't have any school because of MLK day. Since it was a gorgeous PNW day, I coaxed the kids out of their PJs to go hiking. This was harder than I expected (aren't kids supposed to love being outside?). In the end, I bribed them with a promise of McDonald's (just embrace the fast food). I packed the kids into the car and we set off on an adventure to scout out a new (to us) nature preserve.

The nature preserve is now one of my favorite places! Because I had the two younger kids in the Mountain Buggy, we were kind of limited to the main trails. But it was still awesome. Next time I'll bring the Babybjorn so that we can hike all the way to the water. And despite the fact that I had to resort to bribery to get the kids outside, once I set them loose, they were in heaven. Jacob had a friend over and they hiked ahead while Ryan and Jon and I made our leisurely stroll through nature and mud. And I got to put my Hunter boots to good use!

And we're off!

No one was happy about my impromptu photo session. Seriously, kids just don't appreciate important things like perfect lighting or amazing photo backdrops.

Ryan is erupting into full-blown tantrum

Make it st-AH-p!

MOM, WHY DID YOU MAKE ME DO THAT?!

So I took a photo with just the baby. He's the cute one anyway.

Gor-geous

I told Ryan not to look at me. That's how I finally got a smile.

Brown eyes? Maybe?

Such a beautiful day!

As I mentioned in my last post, my husband had his vasectomy last week. I'm oddly at peace with that. In my dream world, I'd have five kids. But I would also never have to be pregnant or have another c-section. So, I think I'm ok with where things are right now. Also, I don't really have any time or energy to sit and reflect and feel weepy over the fact that there will be no more babies (waah!). I'm just going to work really hard on enjoying the babies that I do have. That right there is a full time job anyway.

Speaking of enjoying the babies I DO have....every once in a while we have a magical, golden day. That's a day where the fighting is minimal, the boys are playing nicely, and they are mostly obedient. These days are jackpots. Today was one such day. After I picked Jacob up from his early release school day, the boys played with blocks, Jacob practiced his reading (he is an awesome reader!), and the older boys huddled around Jon as we all laughed and talked to him.

A baby tower

After dinner Jacob did his homework then I got all three kids into the bath without any resistance! They played nicely in the bath and only spilled a little bit of water on the floor. When I took Jon out to get dressed, I heard Jacob and Ryan giggling from the next room as they continued to play with their bath toys. I cuddled Jon to sleep, slipped him into his bassinet, and then laid down with the big boys for a little bit. Ryan asked to hold my hand, as he usually does. He grabbed my hand and cuddled it close to his body as Jacob told me a story about a kid in his class. In that moment, I felt so happy. Deeply, insanely, heart-throbbingly happy.

Through all the tears and the frustrations and the timeouts and the tantrums and the defiance and the backtalk that I face each day, things are perfect. Having three kids is exponentially harder than having just two. But the rewards are also exponential. And why am I so bleeping positive and sappy right now? Maybe I'm too exhausted to be in my right mind. Maybe I'm still basking in the Seahawks NFC Championship win. Maybe I sniffed too much finger paint today. Or maybe it's just impossible to be negative when all your kids are in bed at the same time.