My 100th post

What a lame, lame excuse for a 100th post. I was logging on, trying to decide the most appropriate title for this downer post, when I noticed that I'd posted 99 times. This would be number 100. It should be a celebration, I think. But instead, I'm opting for a vent session. I hope you're prepared for this one.

I. Am. Totally. Overwhelmed.
Shock of all shocks, I know.
My house is a train-wreck. A pig-sty. A disaster area. No joke. I'm not one of those people who says, "Whew. My house is a wreck," when it really isn't. This is a lame attempt at making those of us in the true pig-sties feel better. But it doesn't. It only makes us feel worse about ourselves.

I'm just going to be totally, up-front honest about things. My kitchen floor was swept for the first time yesterday since February 7th. Yes. I remember the exact date. I can't even begin to guess when it was mopped last. January, I'm sure. And it's obvious. Chocolate milk spots I didn't get to before they were almost dry. Chocolate icing splattered on the floor. Kool-aid in one place, spaghetti sauce in another. And when I swept yesterday, dust flew everywhere. I'm not joking.

The toilets have rings around them. The bathtub drains are yucky too. The mirrors have toothpaste splattered all over.

The living room was last vaccumed on February 14th, only because we had movie night with 7 boys, and the popcorn could not be overlooked. Trust me. If it could have been, it would have. I killed a spider the other night under the coffee table and just rolled the coffee table back into place on top of it.

And I've only mentioned the most traveled areas of the house.
It's ridiculous.

And I've been feeling okay about it all, trying to remind my
self of all those people who've said that when my boys are big, it won't matter how messy my house was when they were growing up. I've been hoping that's true.
But tonight, as I looked at Cole's too-long, dirty, sticky fingernails I asked myself, "Exactly what am I doing around here? My children aren't even properly groomed for Pete's sake."

They're dressed and fed (although judging from Beau's placement on the percentile chart these days, that is debateable too; and it's only true for Cole with thanks to McDonald's or Culver's or Moe's). That's about all I can say.

What am I doing well these days, you wonder?
1. Washing bottles
2. Pumping breastmilk
3. Smooching on boys

Okay, so now I'm at the point in the post that I realize how pathetic I sound. So I guess I'll put you people out of your misery. [In proofreading, I just realized another thing that I can say about my boys. They're HAPPY. I guess I should get over myself, huh?]

Just needed a vent session. Happy 100th post! Yay! (That's about all the celebration you people are going to get. What do you want from me? I'm exhausted.)

** And don't even think about sending me some feel-better comment if you see your counter top for more than two days consecutively, or if you saw your counter-top for more than two days consecutively when your children were young. (Smile)

Growing Up is Hard to Do

Cole, crying: I don't want to be a big brother anymore. I want to be little!
Me: What do little brothers do that big brothers can't do?
C: Play with little toys.

Poor baby. After I brought him a rattle, swaddled him, carried him to his room like a baby, and fed him chocolate chip cookies (making sure to remind him that big brothers can eat cookies but little brothers can't) he felt better.

Comparisons

I've been meaning to try this for a while, and since I've finally gotten my pictures updated on my computer, I thought I'd try it (even though I should totally be in bed right now). The names are below the pictures.

BEAU

COLE

BEAU

COLE

BEAU

COLE

BEAU

COLE

I've been thinking Beau looks a lot like Cole did, but now I'm sure he doesn't. They might pass as brothers, but they definitely have their own unique features.

And while I'm at it, something I've been doing lately to depress myself...



Pretty amazing, huh? My little guy's growing up. (Boo-hoo)

This Boy is Just Too Funny

I could post a series of funny conversations with Cole at the end of every day. Really. Here are a few I've had lately.

On Thanksgiving, at the dinner table:
Cole: "Mom, what's that?"
Kate: "Peas."
C: "Peas like a river?"

I noticed Cole picking his nose, so I asked if he had a booger on his finger. When he told me he did, and I wasn't successful at finding a tissue, I told him that sometimes it's okay to just drop in on the ground (good parental advice, I know). He looked at me, wrinkled his nose, and said, "Can I just eat it?"

Today Cole asked me to carry him when we were leaving church. I carried him as long as I could until I got ready to get Beau ready to be carried out.
Cole: "When you're ready to carry me again, just let me know."

He went into Gilbert's office today and saw lots of gifts delivered by members for the Christmas for Everyone program.
C: What are those?
Gilbert: Those are gifts for kids.
C: Huh. Funny.

He loves to get wild when we're dressing him, especially if he's on the bed. It is MADDENING. It's one of those times when I really want to spank his bottom. Tonight I overheard, from Beau's room, him giving Gilbert a hard time tonight. Gilbert was begging him to calm down and get dressed.
K: "Cole, please let Daddy get you dressed."
C: "Mom, that's not dressed. That's clothes."
K: "Please let daddy get your clothes on."
C: "That's not clothes. That's p.j.'s."
(Gilbert snickers.)
C (to Daddy, quietly): "I did that all by myself."

My Funny Guy

Thought I'd share a few stories about Cole that have cracked me up lately:

Story #1:
He and I were playing outside. He was riding around in his Power Wheels Jeep, so he invited me to ride with him.
Kate: I'm sorry, but Mom's too big to ride in the Jeep.
Cole: Okay, Giant!
(So maybe this one isn't SO funny, but it cracked me up.)

Story #2:
(Beware, Lee. This may contain too much information for you. And I'm singling you out because I think you may be the only male reader of my blog, other than Gilbert, and he's used to being provided with too much information. Just thought I'd warn you.)

I've been working VERY hard to shelter Cole from my "getting milk for Beau," if you know what I mean. I must say that it's VERY difficult. Every time I've pumped with him in the house, he's been exposed to a little more and a little more. Finally the other day, as I sat huddled in the closet, I felt the door open behind me, and this time he saw much more than I wanted him to.

Later that day we were outside playing with water guns, so, in an effort to save time and energy, I brought out a cup of water and a funnel for re-loading. While we were playing, a ladybug flew over and landed on Cole's chest. He took the funnel and tried to trap it on his chest. After looking down at the funnel for a second, his face lit up, he smiled, and he said, "Look, Mom. A boobie!"

Story #3:
I tried to draw a picture of Curious George for Cole a few weeks ago. Because of my lack of artistic talent, the only thing about the picture that looked like a monkey was the tail. But Cole said that monkeys don't have tails. We argued about this for a while, until we both let it go. Then today when Curious George came on (and I'd long forgotten about the tail argument), Cole said, "See, Mom. Look at him bottom. He doesn't have a tail." (Why is that, anyway? Why would Curious George not have a tail? Don't all monkeys have tails?!?)

Story #4:
We were eating lasagna for supper a few nights ago, and Cole kept dropping pieces onto his lap. So I jokingly said, "Should I get you a bib?" He got a look of panic on his face and said, "No. I don't want a bib." So I explained that I was kidding and that he's too big for a bib. About 10 minutes later I dropped a little lasagna onto my lap and, without a second's hesitation, Cole said, "Do you need a bib?" I think he's destined to have his daddy's wit. Great.

Story #5:
And speaking of Daddy's wit, tonight Gilbert invited Cole to pull his finger. After Gilbert provided him with the appropriate (or inappropriate) result, Cole scrunched his nose up and said, "You need to take a bath."

I'm loving his sense of humor these days. And to be honest, I'd love it if he ended up with his daddy's wit.

Where I Am Right Now

Let me deliver this stream-of-conscious information to you with a caveat: I am not suffering from postpartum depression. I do not feel the desire to hurt myself or my baby. And I promise I'm not making light of situations that involve women who have or do feel this way. I guess this is my way of saying, "I understand how one can get there." But don't be worried about me after you read this post, please.

As I hope you all know (although it would be my fault if you didn't), our sweet Beau Asher has graced our lives with his presence. He has been with us for more than two weeks now. And he is such a joy and a blessing. Sweet, mostly mild-mannered, sleeps well, eats well, fun to be around.

However, I'm sharing with you where I am right now. I just went to the bathroom for the first time since 8 this morning. That's 11 hours ago. I'm starved, even though I just snacked not very long ago. So as I type, I'm taking breaks to scarf down leftovers. Lots of carbs. My right boob is hurting--again. But in a different spot this time. It's 7 p.m. To me this means two things: Cole's going to need a bath soon, and Beau's going to need lots, LOTS of TLC soon, because he's about to get very fussy for about 3 hours. And after Cole's bath, he's going to need to be put to bed. And I'm exhausted.

Did I have a nap today? No. I chose to go shopping for real shirts today instead of maternity clothes during my nap time. Nice to have the clothes; not nice to be sleep deprived. And Beau napped the entire time I shopped. Nice to have the ability to focus; not nice to be sleep deprived.

As I'm typing, Cole's piling a million CD's into my lap for some reason. And honestly, I'm trying to pretend he's not doing that. He's asking to listen to some annoying lady sing songs about him. "This song is for COLE, he's a special boy..." I just don't think I can handle that.

And bed time right now sounds great. But Biggest Loser is coming on in 50 minutes, and I really want to watch it. Looks like I'm making some choices today, huh?

I need to hear this is normal. I don't need to be scolded. I know I should nap when the baby's napping. I know Cole needs me to give him attention. (Now he's wadding up scraps of paper and chunking them at me while I search frantically for my happy place.) But honestly, I know I should have napped today, and to be frank, I think I'm doing pretty well not to yell at Cole for being himself--funny but with annoying tendencies.

So, that's where I am. I'm not really going crazy, but I need a break. I'd take a 24 hour break if it didn't mean I'd have to strap myself to a breast pump 8 times over the course of my break. So what I'm saying is that I'll go back to what I was doing 10 minutes ago. I'll get up from here, give Cole his bath, rush him to the bed in hopes that I haven't missed too much Biggest Loser, latch that baby on "to feed" (as Gilbert says) and hope that pep-talk I gave Beau about not being fussy tonight actually works. Because I guess this brief pause I allowed myself is all the break I'm going to be getting.

A funny (and crude) story...I guess I should get used to crude around here

A conversation with Cole this morning (I love doing these):

(Cole stands in front of me in his underwear, and he pulls them down just enough to show me his bottom.)

C: Mom, smell my bottom. It's stinky.
K: I don't want to smell your stinky bottom.
C: No, smell my bottom.
K: I'm not gonna smell your bottom.
C: (dramatically) You hate me.
K: I don't hate you. You know I love you very much, but I'm not sure I love you enough to smell your stinky bottom.
C: It's not stinky!

Oh my. What does my future hold?