A day at the farm

When we decided to buy a foreclosure, we knew it would be a lot of work, but we figured that we would be able to get it cleaned, painted, and unpacked in the five days that we both were off work over Memorial Day weekend.

Ha. Ha. Hahahahahaha.

It's cleaned. Well, except for the floors. And some of the windows. The baseboards are still pretty gross too.

It's painted. Well, except for the kitchen. And the laundry room. And the tree I am painting in G's room. And the 200 square foot great room. With vaulted ceilings.

It is unpacked. Well, except for the boxes that are piled up in the basement.

So once B went back to work, I cleaned a little, and unpacked a little, and started on the tree in G's room.

And then I had to get the heck outta Dodge. I had heard about a small working farm about 5 minutes from our house that does field trips and tours and I called to see if we could come check it out.

I should have known when, over the phone, Rita, who owns the farm, called me "Precious" and was exceptionally welcoming that it would be an amazing experience. But nothing could have prepared me for the soul-refreshing getaway that it was.

She suggested that we bring our lunches and have a picnic.





She mentioned, in passing, that we'd have a nice view as we ate. She wasn't kidding.


We were just finishing our lunch when G squealed, "Kitty cat! Kitty cat!" Sure enough, the farm cat had come to join us, in hopes of swiping the last of our lunches, I suppose. The boys were delighted.



Rita told the boys that they could go anywhere and see all the animals. "Explore, enjoy your day, take as much time as you want," she smiled. She didn't have to tell them twice.


The animals there were all as friendly as the cat. When she told us we could pet the turkey, I thought she was kidding. Nope.




Animals came and went as we ambled around the farm.


Some were behind fences, but as soon as we approached, they greeted us at the fence for some love. They were especially attracted to L, the little animal whisperer.





One of the highlights of the afternoon was when she opened the door to the henhouse and all the chickens came scurrying out. I thought for sure that G would wig out, but he just stood and watched in amazement. He didn't even seem to mind too much when one feisty bird pecked his bottom.




My boys get their adoration of animals from me. Getting up close and personal with these awesome creatures was a thrill for me as well. I told Rita that one day I might have to come back, sans kids, and channel Fern from Charlotte's Web.



As if there wasn't enough awesomeness in our day, the boys then discovered a playground. Gleefully, they did what they do best...

Balancing.....



Crawling (with a goat in tow, no less)....


Swinging.....

Playing....


Manny, the black goat, followed us everywhere. He and L chased each other, jumping on tables and dodging each other through the playground. L giggled and squealed, putting my momma heart in serious danger of bursting.

We were getting ready to wrap up our afternoon when Rita brought out baby bottles to feed the goats. Poor L had a bit of a wrestling match with his goat.



But G acted like he was a professional. When I turned around and saw the cuteness that was a baby feeding a baby, completely independently, I melted into my shoes a little.


A few minutes later, I noticed that L had wandered a few feet away. He was watching the chickens intently.

"Where are the eggs?" he kept asking me. Rita heard him, and went in the henhouse to get a bucket of them to give him a mini-lesson.



I think it blew his little mind seeing those eggs that had just come from the chickens.



As we got in the car, tired, hot, and refreshed, L sighed happily, "That was the best day of my whole life."

Namaste'.

Wordless Wednesday - Yo.

When you are a boy mom

When you are a boy mom, you don't get to pick out dresses or debate over leggings vs skinnies, knowing that either one will be ridiculously cute on your little lady's bottom.

When you are a boy mom, you don't get to marvel over teeny tiny painted piggie toes and sigh over their sweetness in flowered sandals.

When you are a boy mom, you don't get to perfect pigtails and adjust sweet headbands, celebrating when the flower matches the ruffled dress just right.

When you are a boy mom, you get to get attacked with giggles and punches, mid-bathroom cleaning. You get to get greeted with "Hold it right there, Sister!"


When you are a boy mom, you get the reward of giddy smiles when you agree to be the bad guy. And even if you don't know how to fight like a bad guy, it's okay, because little boys are more than happy to coach you if you are willing to play. When you are a boy mom, you'll hear things like "Bad guys don't tickle!" and "You're supposed to tackle me now!"




When you are a boy mom, you get workouts at home from fighting with Batman. And if the rest of your body isn't sore from said workout, your abs will get sore from laughing so hard.


When you are a boy mom, you can play rough and tumble and perfect your fake punches without fear of messed up hair or clothes or piggie toes. If you're lucky, you can sneak in a hug or a kiss while you do so.


When you are a boy mom, you are a superhero, just because you are a mommy. Because even though you don't get to wear matching dresses or get mommy and me manicures, nothing rivals the love that a little boy feels for his mommy. As protective as a momma is for her baby bears, a little boy will puff out his chest and stand up tall to protect his momma bear right back.


I am a boy mom and it's everything I've ever imagined it would be. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to locate my cape.

Namaste'.

today

Today, I:

* left dishes in the sink and the bed unmade this morning. Why? Because we signed a contract, selling our house last night... offering us 98% of our asking price. Five showings and fifteen days on the market. No more frantic cleaning. Holla.

* got super excited at the prospect of looking at new houses. TOMORROW. To-freakin'-morrow. Holy fast moving, Batman.

* wished I had a dollar for every time G said, "I stuck." Whether his little foot doesn't quite make it through his pant leg, he is being held, or my personal favorite, he wants to escape his carseat, he yells it, loudly, sounding like, "Ah tuck!" And he says it often. Good thing it's so stinkin' cute.

* got teary every time I thought about the sacrifice of God, the bravery of Jesus, and the heartache of Mary today. It was, by far, the most that a Good Friday has touched me.

* blurted out something to my good friend Elizabeth, that I had planned on telling her in a different way. And no, I'm not pregnant. It's way bigger and better than that. And it deserves its own post. Eventually.

* had to call the Easter Bunny. Twice.

* wondered who I would be calling between now and Christmas when the whining/brother-bugging/fibbing gets out of control. I might need to make up a holiday or two between then. Kidding. Kind of.

* died a little when L got out of bed to tell me that without being prompted, he prayed to God and God is going to help him be nicer from now on. Boyfriend had a rough day, and completely made up for 11 rough hours with one sentence.

* am tired. Overwhelmed. Pensive. Grateful.

Namaste'.

Kicking and Screaming Down the Bunny Trail

I was so excited to take the boys to see the Easter Bunny today. I have the week off; they are the perfect ages for a visit; and let's face it, I am freakishly cheesy about most holiday-related things.

So I was envisioning the three of us, skipping up to the Easter Bunny, hand in hand, in our brightly colored shirts, singing "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" all day yesterday.

And then L woke up so crabby that I made him go back to his room for a Day Do-Over. It helped a little. but he was still so whiny that we later decided to pray together asking God to help us. (I may or may not have thrown in a silent petition for patience.)

G wasn't any better. My mom gut tells me that he's working on at least one of his two-year molars, so he also woke up a bit Easter-Scrooge-esque.

After a struggle to find outfits that looked halfway decent, shoes that fit, and my sanity that I was beginning to lose, we were ready to go.

Then G dumped water in my lap. A quick change remedied my "It's cool to pee your pants" look and we were off. For real.

We made it to the mall, and I looked back. L had forgotten his darling glasses. I sighed, remembering that he had a giant scrape on the bridge of his nose, and he'd therefore probably smile bigger without them.

As I unbuckled G's carseat, I noticed he was damp. Confused, I looked closer. He wasn't damp. He was soaked. He had dumped a good five ounces of water from his sippy cup directly into his crotch.

I figured we were at the mall so this was a fairly easy fix, so I stuck him in the stroller and off we went into Penney's. We rode up the escalator. As the doors started to open, L hit the down button again. I sighed as we rode back down, thinking these Easter Bunny pictures just weren't going to happen. Back up we went, L grinning the whole way, G whining and signing "all done."

15 minutes, $20, a pair of toddler shorts and a big-boy shirt later, changed right in the middle of the aisle (I'm klassy like that) we left Penney's. We rode the elevator back down to the main level and began our mission to find "Bunna," as G had dubbed good ole E.B.

We were in luck..there was not a soul in line. I clapped loudly, pointing to the bunny. "Look G, it's a bunny! Yay! He's like Mickey! A big friendly bunny! Let's go see him!"

L had already run up and flung himself at the bunny, hugging him talking to him about God-knows-what. Probably about my pee-pants look this morning.

Carrying G to the bunny, I glanced down at him. G was looking at the bunny then back at me with a look like "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

L had already planted himself on the bunny's lap and was smiling broadly. I set G down and immediately, he frantically signed, "All done," and the whining was epic. "Nonononononono," I heard him say.

I ran back, jumped around like a rabid bunny myself, clapping and cheering. "Yay, G! Say cheese! Smile! Yay! Good bunny! Yayayayay! Cheese, G! Smile! This is fun! Yay!"

I officially became THAT mom and I am not proud.

Finally, I took pity on G, who still hadn't stopped whining and picked him up. Two steps away, he smiled cheesily, waved to the bunny and called, "Bye-bye Bunna! Bye, Bunna!"

The photographer began, "Should we try ag..." but I already had plopped G back into Bunna's lap.

And the epic whining and emphatic signing began again. Are you kidding me?

"We're done," I told the photographer, picking up G. "That's as good as it's gonna get."

The picture we got? Decent...wouldn't you agree? And let's face it, that Bunna IS a little creepy. I wouldn't sit on his lap. Ah well. There's always next year.






Namaste'.

Wordless Wednesday: They have my heart in their little hands.

President's Day Lessons

I was off work yesterday (thanks, Presidents!) and I decided to keep the boys home for a little quality time. I learned a few lessons:

* when both boys sleep in until 7:30, providing an extra hour of sleep, one feels like a new woman.

* seeing an almost-18-month-old look at his new-to-him Mickey shirt and exclaim gleefully, "Oh, Toodles!" will make you smile all day.

* taking two little wildmen to Kohl's and the grocery store, even when they behave extraordinarily well, requires more than one small cup of coffee in preparation.

* hearing your four-year-old say, while trying to zip his jacket, with the exact intonation of your husband, "I don't know what's wrong with this freaking zipper," will result in simultaneous hilarity and horror.

* finding another momma of a gluten-free family will result in a fifteen minute convo in the frozen food section, sharing life stories, favorite products and silver linings to food allergies.

* taking a little boy who is between sizes of underwear and loves Scooby and Batman equally makes for a hard decision in Kohl's.

* Buy one, get one 1/2 off sales luckily make hard decisions a moot point.

* hearing your baby squeal with delight, "Hot Dog!!" upon spotting a Mickey sippy cup ensures that you will take said cup home to add to your already too-big collection.

* Organic, almond milk chocolate pudding cups are a find more precious than diamonds.

* When both boys take naps long enough for momma to blog, clean, and take a nap too, angels sing.

* Some days, showers are overrated.

* Snuggling with a freshly bathed four-year-old makes one hope that time can slow just a tad.

* Family prayers lead to heart-bursting moments.

* Really good days off make the bad ones disappear and wish long weekends weren't so few and far between.

Namaste'.

The one where I almost broke my baby's leg

It's been gorgeous here. I guess it's super pretty in most places, but for St. Louis to have even one pretty day in the winter is unheard of. So days in the high 50's, early 60's have made me giddy.

A new park was just built directly across the street from the boys' school, so each day when I pick them up, we head over for a while. Both boys absolutely love it and I keep telling myself it's not going to be this pretty for forever, so I'd better enjoy it while I can.

Yesterday, we went back to the park and were joined by my friend (hi, Jen!) and her little man, who is about G's age. Jen is pregnant, so I told her I'd take both boys down the ginormous slide together. Great idea, right? Well, the first few times were full of giggles and squeals, signing "more" and yelling, "go!"

And then there was a third time, during which G's shoe got caught between my hip and the slide. We kept going, but his leg didn't. When we got to the bottom, he let out the saddest, most painful scream I've ever heard. I pulled off his shoe, and didn't notice anything. But when I set him down, he clearly couldn't put any weight on it.

And my heart broke into a million guilt-ridden pieces.

I called B, scooped L up, and we headed home. B, who has had more than his fair share of broken bones, checked it out, deemed it "probably not broken," but thought I should call the doctor's office just to get their opinion. (Like this nurse line frequent-flyer wouldn't call. Ha. Ha. Hahahaha.)

Fortunately, our pediatrician's office has just begun a pilot program which includes hours until 8 pm on weeknights. They told me to bring him in, and they'd x-ray him.

90 minutes later, after G wowed the nurses with his signs and shy smiles, I found myself holding him down on the x-ray table, softly singing "The Hot Dog Song" and "Tiny Tim," while wiping his tears. It was about as much fun as it sounded.

The good news is that I didn't break my kid's leg. The bad news is that I sprained it, and there's nothing I can do about it. The worse news was that he was up, crying, from 2 am to 5 am, and now, about 22 hours later, still isn't walking much. Cue the momma guilt. Needless to say, I stayed home with him today and we spent lots and lots of time cuddling.

I know full well that this won't be the last playground/swingset/skateboard/tree-climbing/etc accident, especially considering what a fearless little monkey this little guy is. And I'm sure even if I'm nowhere in the vicinity, the momma guilt will still kick in. I'm gonna need lots of wine to get through the next 20 years. Sigh...

school days

Many mornings, it hurts my momma heart to drop my boys off at "school.
G cries a few mornings a week and it takes everything I have to smile brightly and wave as I walk away from him, sobbing in his teacher's arms. He is quick to turn them off...when I peek back through the window on my way back from L's room, he's always dancing or smiling at the infants or dressing up in a funny hat. L is so happy to get to school that I have to remind him to give me a hug and a kiss some days. But it still hurts to leave my sweet boys all day long.


I gotta admit, though, that there are some things about their school that fills my same momma heart to bursting status. Seeing them reunite with a hug after spending the day apart.

Taking 20 minutes to get out of the building because they have to get hugs and high-fives from half the staff before they leave.

Reading the board in G's room that says they "explored feathers," "went on a buggy ride together," " splashed in warm soapy water," "painted with Q-tips."

Peeking into L's room seeing him balancing a bean bag on his little tennis shoes, after learning how penguin daddies carry their eggs on their feet. And even though he always insists, "No pictures," so I have to go all paparazzi-sneaky to get a shot of him, those images are burned into my brain forever.


Three weeks ago, I carried G to his room. Last week, he insisted on not only walking, but carrying his lunch to his room. Boyfriend took that blue lunch box, sauntered to his room, walked straight to his teacher, handed her his lunch, and pushed her aside so that he could go bid the infants good morning.

G's teachers chuckle at me because the dirtier G is at the end of the day, the happier I am. I know he was engaged, interacting, learning, if he has green paint in his hair and shaving cream on his sleeve. I get ideas for the glorious summer when I do get to stay home with them...especially art activities, which I've been waiting patiently for him to be old enough to participate. I make mental notes at 4 pm each day...glue/shaving cream; glitter on contact paper; bingo dobbers.

And then I thank my lucky stars that I have a few more months until all those mess-making supplies are in my house.

And watching my boys with their friends? Well, that makes the warm fuzzies multiply. L comes home telling me exciting tidbits of information about his friends who were wearing matching!shirts! or that he finally was faster than his best friend on the playground today. I've seen him "use his words" to work out an issue on more than one occasion. Even G can name his friends, and I'm always floored at how much interaction actually goes on between him and other kids, all of whom are under two.

Learning to get along with different kinds of kids, work out problems, and work side-by-side peacefully? As far as I'm concerned, that's as important as the pre-academics. L's teacher told me this week that he has made huge progress on walking away from kids who aren't doing the right thing. I couldn't help but do a silent fist pump upon receiving that nugget of information.

Would I love to spend more time with my precious boys? Of course. Would I love to have leisurely mornings? Absolutely. Would I miss the frantic make-the-lunches-pack-the-backpacks evening rush? Hell no.

But do I think, all things considered, that they are exactly where they should be during the day?

Without a doubt.

Namaste'.

Celebrating their differences

I always wanted two boys. When I tell people that, they look at me disbelievingly. But it's true. I told myself, though, that if my dream came true, I wouldn't compare them, no matter how similar or different they may be.


Yeah, that went out the window with the promise that they wouldn't watch tv or misbehave in public.


My boys are so, so different.


When L was 16 months, he looked more like a little boy. See?

He loved watching Diego and regularly put two to three words together. He had a huge vocabulary. Both his receptive and expressive language were strong, but his fine motor was and still is his weakness.


He threw major temper tantrums...screaming, hitting, kicking, often caused by his fierce independence and intense emotions. He wanted to do everything himself, but he did it carefully, and often in the most difficult way possible.


He was a big boy...wearing 2T clothes and he never ever walked... he ran, although he had really just started walking 3 and 1/2 months prior.


He didn't know a stranger...he would try to charm any woman he'd see, although he'd save the most flirtatious facial expressions for the prettiest girls. (Really.)


And oh, how he slept. He slept all night, every night. Basically, he was just like he is now.


And then, there's G. My sweet, sweet little baby. It's amazing to me how he seems to be so much younger than L at 16 months. First of all, he just looks younger.

He's tiny...most of the time, he's in 12 month clothes. He's shorter and weighs much less than L did at this age.

He's a man of few words, although his vocabulary has grown significantly lately and he now says mama, dada, Lo-Lo, Nana, PawPaw, eat, please, thank you, hot dog, up, down, all done, uh-oh, bye-bye, night-night, sock, hat, jacket, shoes, diaper, no, ball, apple, Batman, hi, bubble, dog, milk, banana, and signs many of them as well. He can point to his head, eyes, nose, ears, mouth, belly, and feet. He knows what a variety of animals say, including dog, frog, cow, bear, tiger, monkey, and elephant.

But he chooses to be quiet, usually. When we go out in public, he clings to me. He'll make eye contact with people, but he typically gives them a pouty, bashful face and takes a l-o-n-g time to warm up to anyone. When we go to a new place, he tends to get overstimulated easily.

He doesn't particularly like tv. He'll watch Bubble Guppies for a few minutes her and there, but he prefers to climb. That little monkey will climb on anything, even things that we don't think he has a chance of getting onto. His motor skills, both fine and gross, are clearly his strength. The kid is strong.

L was affectionate, but G makes him look downright standoffish. Everyone who knows G says that he is the most snuggly, cuddly baby. And part of me thinks that part of his sleep issues is due to his need for hugs and cuddles 24-7. For when I go in to his room and pick him up, he hugs me, hard, and falls right back asleep when I rock him.

I feel like I have the best of both worlds, and I am doubly blessed. It occurred to me today that not comparing isn't what the best momma would do. By understanding their differences, I understand them as individuals. So I'll compare my heart out, just like I swore I wouldn't. Then, I'll cut myself a little slack when they watch another episode of "Bubble" or throw a traffic-stopping tantrum at the grocery store.

To all of you mommas who compare your kids, or admit to doing all of those things you swore you never would...namaste.

He's lucky he's cute.

He doesn't sleep.

He walks behind me making mess after mess after mess as I try to get ready in the morning. And when I tell him "no," he hauls off and hits me.

He runs away, laughing, when I try to get him dressed. Or get his shoes on. Or put on his jacket.



But all is forgiven when he takes my face in his chubby little hands and plants a big kiss right on my lips. Oh, how I love that little stinker.

an open letter to my sleep-hating son

Dear Gray,

I love you. A lot. You are cute and funny and serious and quiet and you like to sit back and take it all in. It's quite endearing how from time to time throughout the day, you take it upon yourself to spend some time on the infant side of your classroom. Your teachers say it's because you are so laid-back that every so often, you crave the peace and quiet away from the boisterous other toddlers. You, my dear, are your daddy, through and through.

I love your daddy with all my heart. But there's one thing you've gotten from him that has been hard to tolerate.

Your hatred of sleep.

Buddy, you are smart. You are affectionate. You are everything I hoped for in a little man. Except for a good sleeper. That, my love, you are not.

Two nights ago, we ended up on the couch, sleeping, sitting up, you snuggled on my chest. This was after 2.75 hours of your refusal to sleep. At almost 16 months, you really should be sleeping through the night. And you know what? I know you can, for you did just that last night.

However, it was in Mommy and Daddy's bed. And sweetheart, that can't go on.

You know Elizabeth, who you adore? Well, she recommended a sleep clinic for us. She says the woman there is life-changing. And in thirty-three days, Daddy and I are going there to create a plan.

So, my little bear, you better enjoy the next thirty-two days of sleeplessness. Because I am grumpy and weepy and foggy-brained and headachey and not feeling well and all too reliant on coffee these days. And something's gotta give.

Love you (even at 2 am!)
Momma

snippets

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to have two boys. The fact that they find bodily functions hilarious doesn't surprise me. The constant talk about body parts doesn't surprise me. What surprises me is how early the fighting began. At one and four, they already fight over toys. Screeching, hitting, whining entails on a daily basis.

But in the mornings, they act as though they haven't seen each other for eight weeks instead of eight hours. They hug. They kiss. They giggle and wrestle and love.
And every so often, I catch moments like this....

...and my heart just about explodes. Oh, my boys.

**********

Remember the Veteran's Day banner that I posted about in my last post? If you aren't on Twitter, then you didn't get a peek of my ten-foot long creative pride and joy for this week. It will hang over about 100 first graders' heads next week as they belt out some super cute tunes for our visiting Veterans.

Squeee! I love it. I do. I make a lot of things that end up looking ridonculous. And although it doesn't have the right number of stripes and paint smears "give it character," I'm proud of it. About 7 or 8 kids lent their hands to the flag and all of them have some type of special need. That makes me love it even more.

*******

This week I've been thinking about my blog-friends that I love.

Like this girl, whose generosity never ceases to amaze me. Because of her, I'm waiting on an Erin Condren planner that I've wanted since the moment I knew they existed. That little beauty is coming to me soon (dear God, hopefully soon...I don't know how much longer I can wait) and thanks to her, I didn't pay a cent. This isn't the first sweet thing she's done for me and one day I will hug her in person. Mark my words. I. Will.

And this girl, whose generosity literally brought tears to my eyes when she sent me one of the kindest gifts I've ever gotten, right when I needed it the most. She has such a kind heart and a good spirit and I'm lucky to have "met" her. If there were more people like her in the world, it would be a better place. For the record, I would also like to hug her one day. She's amazing.

Oh, and this girl, who I do get to hug all the time. She and I got to go out for sushi and wine last weekend. Clearly, judging from my one-glass-of-wine-induced tipsiness and raucous laughter, it had been far too long since I had a girls' night. Hanging out with her is never, ever boring and I'm excited to see her again this weekend. Love her.



Namaste.