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'.

To my preschool graduate

Dear L,

On Tuesday morning, you walked into your preschool room to the Graduation March, and I got a glimpse into the future.

For if the last five years have gone by this quickly, surely you'll be walking across the high school stage before I know it. You'll be bringing home the girl that isn't good enough for you, for no one surely will be, and I'll be worrying when you're out past curfew.

The teacher read your dream of the future and everyone chuckled at, "I want to be a daddy, because daddies are boys. When you grow up, you have to marry someone, and I want to be a daddy and not a mommy."

Before I know it, you will be a daddy. I'll be cradling your own baby in my arms, remembering when I nursed you and wondering where the years went.

As for my dreams for you? That you'll always have the gift of what your teachers said that they'd remember about you...your pride when you helped a friend in need.

My L, take it from me...having a big heart is a blessing and a curse, but may it never be hardened. Loving others with all you have is a gift. Don't lose it, little man.

A great big world awaits you, alive with possibilities. I'm already proud of what you have done and have no doubt you'll continue to wow me with your empathy, intelligence, and old-soul ways.

Congratulations, L...I know God has huge plans in store for you.

Love Always,

Mommy

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'.

Four for Friday: Why I love L

He's honest:
I arrived home from my class on Tuesday night as L was in bed, chatting with B. I asked how their night went and L told me that G had gotten bedroom time "for frowin' remotes." I asked if G cried and L nodded seriously. I asked if that made L laugh, and he immediately said, "No," (insert pregnant pause)...." a widdle widdle bit."

He's proud:
This week, we were driving home and L piped up, "Mommy, I did something spectacuwar at school today!" Evidently, sharing his toy in preschool (when he was finished with it, no less), is spectacuwar.

He's empathetic:
L was holding his toy out the window in the car and I warned him not to do it. I told him the story of when I was about his age and had a well-loved singing birthday card that I held out the car window. I told L that it slipped out of my hand, and I cried and cried. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see sweet L with tears shining in his eyes. That kid is so sensitive and it makes me proud.



He's compassionate:
But even prouder was what he did at church last weekend. I was working with a child with special needs who was in a bit of an emotional crisis. He was crying, loudly, and most other kids in the room were side-eyeing him or even physically moving away. L sidled up slowly to the little boy and handed him his prized possession, his Lightning McQueen matchbox car. And my heart almost burst.









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'.

Hoping for a Realty Miracle

My little first-born baby is going to be in kindergarten next year.

Kindergarten.

Before I know it, he's going to be asking for the keys to my car.

Between the fact that I work at the best school in the history of the universe and I'm petrified to send him to big-boy school because of his food allergies, I have come to the conclusion that he needs to come to my school.

End. Of. Story.

(Plus, if he doesn't, we'll have to figure out before and after care, and I may have to at least consider a different job, which is another post for another day. Nothing like two different jobs being dangled in front of my face this week with that big decision looming. But I digress.)

Our district does not allow teachers to bring their own children to school with them unless they live in the boundaries. Trust me, I think that is ridiculous. Don't get me started.

So last night, we filled out the paperwork to get our house on the market. And I consequently had a panic attack. Don't get me wrong. It needs to happen. We've outgrown our teeny tiny space and I'm ready for a fresh start. We've replaced our roof, our windows, our stove, dishwasher, and hot water heater. We've painted. We've updated. It's time.

And although, sight-unseen, our friend and realtor swears he can get our house sold by August, I am so scared. I am completely aware that getting our house sold and finding a house we can afford in the mostly-ritzy area where we need to will be nothing short of a miracle. We have a worst-case scenario, which would be renting our house out and getting an apartment for a year. B is okay with that scenario, because we'd save so much money and there'd be no grass to cut. But renting an apartment with two little monkeys and all our crap is the stuff of nightmares, if you ask me.

Add all this craziness to the fact that I have a few other big personal and professional stressors right now, and you'll understand why I'm reaching for the anti-anxiety meds and finding myself taking deep breaths 392058023 times a day.

Oh, and please excuse any typos or grammatical errors in this post. It's hard to type while your head is spinning.

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'.

Sensitive, sweet, and still all-boy.

L is the most sensitive, old-soul, almost five-year-old I've ever met. I don't deserve him, and as crazy as he drives me when he throws his tantrums, I couldn't adore him more. I get hugs, kisses, and compliments daily from him, and everyone who meets him, whether 4 or 44, is pleased by his friendly, precocious nature.

I volunteered in his class at church today, and when his teacher asked, "Who do you love with all your heart?" he answered, without the slightest hesitation, "God." I pretty much melted directly into my shoes.

He just started playing indoor soccer, and has had two games. While his constant jumping-dancing-skipping is pretty darn cute, the part that warms my heart is the fact that in both games, he completely stopped chasing the ball to pick up a teammate who has gotten knocked down.

Apparently, I'm not the only one swooning over his big-heartedness. He told me last week that his girlfriend took his hand and patted her hair with it. "And Mommy," he continued, wide-eyed, "I was so surprised!"

And so it begins.

Namaste', L. Your light is so bright...let it shine, little dude.

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'.