Porter's 5th Birthday

My first born turns FIVE today. Oh, goodness.

Yeah, that's right. It was hotter than hell being that pregnant during the hottest summer ever recorded in the history of the world. Seriously, Al Gore said so. Thank you honey for documenting this moment.

I remember the day he was born. I remember waking up on his due date and having contractions at six o'clock in the morning. I wonder if this means he will be a prompt person. 

Born on his due date. I think that it happens to five percent of births. Seriously.

(My parents, aren't they cute!?)

My parents and one of my sisters were here because of the labor day holiday and my birthday and his potential birth.

How fantastic that it could all happen so perfectly. A total first born thing. 

I had an epidural with him and right after I vowed to never have an epidural again. I hated it. The epidural worked, but I didn't like not being able to move around. Or feel my legs. Or get up right after and eat a cheeseburger. Minus the burger. So, I was miserable and it was horrible. And I didn't have another one.

It was a glorious and scary day. I loved him dearly, but to be perfectly honest, I wanted him to be back in my belly. I SO wasn't ready. Can you ever be totally ready? 

 (That's my Grandma, isn't she cute!?)

No one tells you the truth about sleepless nights and the actual feeling of your body physically hurting so badly from the lack of sleep. Dear God. It's a good thing that our memories in the area of labor and newborns are so poor, because I would NEVER have had any other children if I could honestly remember how bad it was.

(Tom's parents and his Grandma, aren't they cute!?)

AND,

No one told me he was going to grow up. And go to school to have "me" time and ride his bike without training wheels and ride the bus with all his friends.

No one tells you that you will be so proud of your child you will cry. No one tells you that your heart will physically hurt for them when they are hurt. Why doesn't anyone tell you that stuff?

(That hubby sure is a hottie. And look at that cute P-town!)

No one told me when he cried, I would cry and when he laughs and giggles, I would laugh and giggle too. 

No one told me that having a baby actually meant having a child, a person that will count on you for absolutely everything...until they turn 5 and refuse to stop growing because they want to be big and become a garbage truck driver. Stupid cool green garbage trucks.

They tell you it is the greatest thing in the entire world, and you know what, they are right. They are so totally right. 


I love you dear Porter. 

Please don't grow up. 

Please tell me everything. 

Please continue to snuggle with me and your white blankie.


Fine, if you must, go ahead and get big. I dare you.

Happy 5th Birthday little dude. We are so proud of you and everything you have done in the last 5 years! I can't wait to see what the next 50 years brings for you! You're the coolest. xoxo, Mommy



PS - Thanks for all the birthday wishes! xoxo

Here mousey, mousey....

First, I see there are a few newbies ready to laugh hysterically, cry emphatically and be inspired randomly....Welcome aboard! Thanks for following!

Second, if mice make you squirm, then don't look at the following photos....but read the story, because it's funny.

The other day we were playing in our usual spot. The garage. We play there a lot. A LOT. Porter saw something "huge and gigantic and a big monster" scurry into the garage. He was looking all over for something and he couldn't find it. I figured he just "thought" he saw something, but didn't really see anything.

Then the next day, we were....well, playing in the garage and we started to clean up. I picked up a blanket out of the wagon, for some reason, I don't know why....and found some teeny, tiny little friends.

To say that I was freaked out, was a slight understatement. Tom was out of town, so there was no one to rescue me. Not that I really need rescuing, but come on. Teeny tiny mice....mice!

Oh, the boys. THE BOYS were so excited. They could hardly stand it. They wanted to touch them and pick them up and hold them and squeeze them like Lenny did...but I wouldn't let them.

I got my rubber gloves and a paper towel and the box that a six pack of spray paint comes in and I was ready to rescue.

And so, here they are. Five little friends.

The boys spent some time staring at them....

Then I took the boys up to bed and told them I would have someone come and take them to some place safe.

While I ran the boys up, someone (someone being the momma, since we saw her run in the garage and hide while we were looking at the littles) rescued three of the little ones. Crap. So, I took the remaining two over to the neighbor who took them some place safe and warm, I'm sure.....

I ended up finding their nice furry and warm home underneath an IKEA cabinet in a box storing our jumper cables. Huh.

Even though they left a mess in our garage, it was quite a learning experience for the boys. They saw their tiny little whiskers and hair, and they saw them breathing and even saw their tiny hearts beating.

I mean, they really do look kind of cute here, don't they????

That darn cat

I've put off this post for several days for several reasons....Mainly being that I didn't want to offend anyone or have anyone think that I am in anyway insensitive. Is that strange? I put off a post about a cat because I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and I wanted everyone to still like me.....but then, I realized, again, that this is MY blog, this is about MY family and I am documenting OUR life and our feelings and things that revolve around OUR lives. See how I make everything about me?

So like it or not here is an attempt at being sensitive about life and death in regards to a cat:

If you know me at all or have known me for any length of time you know several things: I am addicted to chocolate. I live on Diet Coke. I like to run and bike. I am obsessed with furniture and I read the Twilight books in 8 days. All 5 of them (that's right, I read the on-line Edward version that the author posted.)

You will also know that I am deathly allergic to cats. And, I think they are a little sneaky and well, creepy. There I said it. I'm sorry to all you cat-lovers. I'm a dog person. Don't go away mad. Just go away...NO, only kidding! (I think my Dad used to jokingly say that to us, pretty sure he was quoting a song, what song is that?) Don't go away...keep reading....you'll want to...

So, don't like cats. BUT, Tom's parents were going on a trip for a month. They have a cat that needed to be watched. I figured we could do it. I mean really, they've done so much for us...what can a little kitty-cat do?

About three days into Ripley's stay, we started liking her. I started liking her. She would come and visit. She would want to be pet...she actually enjoyed the boys...and the dogs left her alone. See, I told you all you'd want to keep reading....Now. For those of you that don't do well with cat heaven, stop reading.

Ripley is 18. Ripley has glaucoma. Ripley is deaf in one ear (What?). Ripley has dementia. Seriously. Dementia. I mean really - how many people/animals in my life will have dementia? I'm dementia-ed out. So, Ripley started urinating all over our house. A LOT. Then on Thursday morning I went downstairs and found Ripley on the counter and in our front room/office/craft room a big puddle of cat pee.

So I called the Vet and took her in. They found a heart murmur. She's lost another 1/2 pound. Her glaucoma is worse. . . It could be a thyroid problem, diabetes, urinary tract infection....probably not behavioral because she knows our house and our family...So I called Tom's parents and asked them what they wanted me to do...and they asked me to put her down.

So, here's where a little bit of sense of humor helps. Because seriously if you can't laugh at life, then all I would do is cry....ALL.THE.TIME. There's a fine line between humor and being sensitive to death....I'm sure at some point I will cross that fine line....but, like many, I use humor to deal with tough situations.

NOW. Some of you might not agree with putting an animal down, and I totally understand that. I'm sure most of you would agree that at 18 years old a cat has seen a lot, as much as she could with one working eye, and that it was time....(too soon for humor?)

We went back to the Vet, we being the three boys and I (Tom's out of town!), and they took us to this private room, brought Ripley in and we said our goodbyes. (Some of you may not agree with the boys being there too and that's okay.) Then we put her on this little table and while Gus and Jack played together, Porter and I pet Ripley and they gave her medicine. Porter was so absolutely fantastic. Talking to her, and petting her, and she was so relaxed and so calm. Then I leaned on the table and it made a really loud noise and I totally ruined the moment....so me.

After the Vet said there wasn't a heartbeat anymore, the boys immediately asked if we could go and get water shooty things now. Go figure.

And then we went on with our day. I hate that. I hate that when something happens to someone the world doesn't stop and time doesn't stand still to mourn that person's loss. Everyone else just keeps going. And time keeps going. And people live their lives.

It was actually a very surreal experience. The boys had lots of questions, and I did my best to explain what happened. Because my Mom died, it was a lot easier to explain to them where Ripley was going and what Heaven is to us.

We've decided that we can't shield our boys from the natural things that happen in life. (The natural things. I still don't let them watch the News!) So we do our best to encourage questions and try and explain what happens. We talk a lot about my Mom and we spent the entire day talking on and off about Ripley.

So, I like Ripley. I cried saying goodbye to Ripley. That darn cat.

And life just keeps going on...

When it all comes tumbling down.

You know how sometimes you have days that could just be over at noon. Not the worst day EVER, but one that really just shouldn't continue because if one more thing happened you might just pack up and move to Guam. Or Timbuktu. Or anywhere else....

So, I'm taking Porter and Gus downstairs and we have this table at the top of our stairs with a beautiful glass vase on it with lots of yummy smelling filler inside. Do you see where this is going?

Can you see it at the top of the steps? Huge. Glass. Vase.

It's been this way for awhile now...We have never really had any problems with the older boys playing with decorations....they really don't care about them....but Grabby Gus apparently loves them.

And I hesitated at the top of the stairs for too long.

And Grabby Gus did what he does best.

He grabbed. At the vase. And pulled that vase right off the table.

And Porter and Gus and I watched it as it tumbled down the stairs and made the most incredible breaking sound. All. The. Way. To. The. Bottom. Breaking a little on each step.

Children and Dogs were immediately scooped up and rushed into another room where they remained for thirty minutes while I documented the occasion. And cleaned up, duh.

See those two white things? That's why I hesitated at the top. My sweet oldest child picked up a poopy diaper for me and instead of carrying it downstairs like asked, he threw it down the stairs and THAT is when I hesitated. To remind him that throwing things down the stairs is not the proper way to dispose of said diaper.

Here's what happens to soft pine when glass shards get in it...

Awesome.

Let's see it again:

Does anyone know what it feels like to have glass stuck in your foot?

Yeah, me neither....

I'm sure I didn't get it all. As much as I tried and crawled on my hands and knees to find little itty bitty pieces of glass, I'm sure I missed something.

And this is where the documentation comes in to play. Thank goodness for photos and blogging, so when Gus is older, and some famous doctor that cures all the world's illness and disease, I can show him this. And remind him he owes me 100 bucks. Plus interest, compounded over 30 years... (And I will fail to tell him that we got said vase as a wedding present.)

These little rugrats...

 

I had to buy myself one of these. I kept getting shot at and not able to do anything about it. Tom got one too. 

Sunday afternoon after the boys went sledding we ran around the house using our "shooty guns" to get each other. The boys thought it was hysterical and Tom and I had a blast. 

When I first had kids I tried as hard as I could to keep guns and shooty things out of the house. Finally I gave in to the pressure. I caved. I couldn't take it anymore. The boys with their infinite wisdom turned absolutely everything into a shooty gun. EVERYTHING. Toilet paper roll. Car. Stick. Pen. Their penises (was that too much information?) But it's true. I was losing the battle. So I figured if I can't beat them, join them. And they are having the time of their lives. They are loving that we are playing the game with them. Run around the house and chase after each other with Nerf guns. Fantastic. I even ordered them more suctions. I know. Don't judge me. Just know that I'm playing with my kids...and hopefully not turning them into serial killers....

Mom Ramblings

Random thought: As a mom I'm faced with daily dilemmas. Many of you know them: Is it okay for my kids to wear the same underwear three days in a row? How many times a week can I feed my kids macaroni and cheese with pepperoni? Do I have to get down on the floor and play with them every second of every single day? Will they notice if I just lie down and take a nap right here on the floor while they crawl all over me? Can they go one more day without a bath? If I just lie here for a little while longer will they miraculous be able to reach the breakfast cereal/milk/bottles?

Am I the only one? Seriously? Bueller? Bueller?

More momness (just made up that word):

On No-Nap Monday Jack that little turd, spilled an entire bottle of hippo watermelon soap all over the floor. The stuff that comes out the mouth of the hippo and it blinks for as long as you have to wash your hands. It's green. It smells like watermelon. Okay, it smells like what people that make fragrances think watermelons smell like. In actuality it smells like a 12 year old girl's lip gloss that is really just glorified chapstick. Now, I'd love to tell you that this happened in the bathroom where the soap is stored. But it didn't. It happened in the bedroom. How did it get there, you ask? He left his room and went and got it while he was supposed to be napping. HIS BEDROOM CARPETED FLOOR. How come you didn't clean it up you lazy mom, you ask? Well. I will tell you what happens when you try and wash soap out of carpet with water. It makes bubbles. Lots of green bubbles.

Now. THIS is the same floor that has the dog puke rug covering the ginormous blue paint spill. Umm...yeah.

Crap.

And here's how the conversation went:

Porter: Moommmm....Jack spilled.

Me: (Stomping up the stairs. Yep. Stomping. And then smelling. And then gagging. And then throwing up a little from the overpowering smell.)

Jack: (Hiding hippo soap.)

Me: Jack, who spilled on the carpet? (In the nicest tone I have, because seriously, the carpet couldn't get any worse.)

Jack: Baby Gus.

Me: Really? Baby Gus? He climbed out of his crib and came over and spilled soap. Nope. Try again.

Jack: Millie. (The dog.)

Me: Nope. Try again.

Jack: Doggie. (A stuffed animal.)

Me: Nice try. Who really spilled the soap? (Hiding a smile.)

Jack: (Starting to get that devilish grin with that little dimple) Me did it.....

Me: Duh.

And then all the bubbles. I felt like I was in an episode of The Brady Bunch. Specifically the one where Bobby tried to do laundry and soap was pouring out of the washing machine. Cause that would really happen.

Makin' a train...

 

This dude made a train. And he was finally smiling. You see, he has a sinus infection. And the other two, well, the little guy has one too. But he's gettin' better. And this dude's big brother, well he woke up with a sore neck. Don't you hate that?! Sleeping wrong and waking up not being able to turn your head...ouch. But, oh, add swollen glands and you have to miss school and cry in pain... all. day. long...(I digress) But, he has strep, so I'll give him a pass. Yep. We've been in our house for a week now. Only going out to go to the doctor....but, we're still happy!

Today, instead of doing this:

 We did this:

And I ate these:

And only shared two.

I also tried to do this:

Okay, I didn't try. I did it. And it was fun and super easy. I've seen them all over the world wide web. But, I haven't really seen anyone share how to do it. So, here it is:

Go to Wally World (Walmart) and buy some clothespins. I think they were $2.50 for 50 of them. Then find your favorite paper.

...And cut it. It was hard to do. I nearly cried when I chopped up the last of my favorite paper. But, it looks so good! I used my sliding cutter. Easy. I eyeball things. A lot. So, just hold up the paper and make a mark, then cut the whole sheet. Next, figure out the other measurement and cut tiny pieces.

Then grab your mod podge and apply to the clothespin and then the paper and attach the paper to the clothespin. Then apply mod podge over the top again. I didn't get bubbles, I'm guessing because the paper and the area covered were so small.

 

You can do fancy things, paint, stain, sand the edges, but I liked how it looked all clean and neat.

 

 

Now you know. Or maybe you knew before, but whatev. I hope I can figure out what to do with them.

Breathe.

Today I am reminding myself to breathe. Relax. Breathe.....In through the nose, out through the nose....

Rough Day

We've had a rough couple of days around here. But things are looking up. Yesterday I wanted to go back to work. Today I just want to go to bed. I'd say that is an improvement.

Gus went back to the ENT for a follow up from his tube installation. They are working and things are going well with his ears, BUT he still has a sinus infection and so he will be on another antibiotic for 10 more days. Uggghhhh....poor little dude. Hard to breathe at nights when you are all plugged up. She said if this doesn't work we may have to look into removing his adenoids. Double uggghhh....

Of course that sent me into a tizzy wondering if it was something I did wrong and if I caused this, and if things would have been different if I hadn't been induced two weeks early....I know, I know....not my fault....but still....I wonder.

Last night Jack slept with me in our bed. WE NEVER DO THAT. Our children have never shared our bed, even when they are sick they sleep on the floor next to us, but, it was 10:15 and he still wasn't sleeping. 10:15! It's crazy. So, he came in my bed and the second his head hit the pillow he was asleep. Too many distractions in his room, I think.

Here's a conversation I had with Jack yesterday:

Me: I love you buddy.
Jack: I wuv you too. I wuv you too. I wuv you too.
Me: You're a good little boy, bud.
Jack: I know I am.

Love it!

Because we are on a roll around here, the day wouldn't be complete without lunch in our separate bedrooms and macaroni and cheese with itty-bitty pepperoni for supper. I ate the last two bites they had left-over and a spoonful of Nutella. Yeah. It's been one of those weeks.

And because no day is complete without a few dance moves:

 

And a psycho face.

And to those in Haiti or those who know people in Haiti our thoughts and prayers go out to you. You can find out how to help by going to visit Chris Sacca.

 

Over and out.

Oh what a day.

I'm physically exhausted. Exhausted. Last night started out fine. News of a snow storm, predicted 10-12 inches. Great. Tom had to go to Chicago for work for the day. Great. He started snow blowing at 10 pm and ended up shoveling because the snow blower broke. After he came in from outside he got ready for his day trip to Chicago. As we were saying goodnight to each other, kiss, kiss, hug, hug, nighty-night, we hear Jack. He has to go potty. Get up and help him go. He coughs a little. He gets in bed, I get in bed. I hear him cough again. Then wail. I knew in that instant that he had thrown up. Race down the hall. Catch a puke in my hands. (I don't know why I do that. It's already all over the bed and him, I shouldn't be sacrificing my hands for that!) Tom takes Jack to clean him up, I run his bedding to the washing machine. He then tries to sleep with us, but is all over the place. It's 12:30 now. Porter is awake because of the commotion and won't go back to sleep. Jack is lying on the floor next to me, after a fight about where to sleep, and I hear him cough. I throw the bowl under him and he pukes a couple more times. Fantastic. He finally falls asleep. Tom woke up a mere four hours later and left for Chicago. Gus' meds kicked in and he slept until 5:30, when he woke up talking and giggling. Porter awoke at 6:30. Jack is fine, ate breakfast.

Then. We had to go outside and shovel. And shovel we did. The boys played and I shoveled. Then the neighbor came over and finished with the snow blower (Thank God!). Then I had to shovel all over again when the snow plow dumped our entire block's street snow in our driveway. I am not joking when I tell you this. I nearly had to bring out the wheelbarrow to transport the snow because I had no where to put it. I hate snow plows.

I finally got to shower today, after a brief hiatus. The boys screamed the entire time. But, I'm clean. It's 6 pm. They are fighting and now they are going to bed. Their bedtime isn't until 7, you say. Don't care, I say. They have no concept of time.

Thank heavens today is over.

Before I went out to shovel for the second time I fixed a few pillows. The backs were open and I could see the ugly pillow underneath and it bugged. Then I did this:

It's just left over scraps and I made a sleeve for this pillow. Love it. I can write more about it another time. Now. Bed.

Potty Training Jack

Disclaimer: I'm not writing this post to make fun of my son. Really, I'm not. I just want to have it documented so that when he is 16, and being a pain in the butt, I can threaten to tell his girlfriend about this and he won't think I'm lying.

Porter was potty trained in a week. He was also three years old. Jack, who is 2 1/2, is just getting the hang of being potty trained after five months of trying. When Gus was born, I was ready to have Jack out of diapers. Changing two kids in diapers was a killer! And expensive, so we decided to give it a try. He ran around the entire summer without any pants/underwear on. He peed in the grass, in bushes, parking lots, nearly everywhere. He had trouble with pooping. Did not want to get rid of it in the toilet. It finally caught on after we bought him a truck, but there were many days that he would save it all up and go in his pull-up either at nap or at night. What a mess. He finally caught on and had not gone in his pull-up for quite some time. Yippee for Jack!

THEN. Jack sometimes naps in the guest bed because he and Porter talk and talk and talk....And he was napping in the pack-n-play so that he would not get out of bed and play. Well. He figured out how to get out of the pack-n-play, so we were struggling with that on top of the pooping thing. So, several weeks ago Jack was failing to nap and I could hear him moving around, but I left him because he was quiet. When nap time was over I went into the room. I could not push the door open because there was a bench in the way. I went in there and found a couple things moved around. I could smell something stinky, so I thought he went in his pull-up, when I got him out of the pack-n-play his pull-up was on backwards and it was dry....Then I noticed a basket full of books, and one of the books was sticking out. I reached down and tried to put the book away, but it would not fit. There was something inside, so I put it on the floor and opened it up. GUESS WHAT I FOUND!?!? Just guess! Jack, my good little boy left me a surprise. Not in his pull-up, but in a book instead! I couldn't do much but laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And then I took a picture of it and sent it to Tom.

I couldn't get mad at the little dude, because he had the wits to one, not poop in his pull-up, two, close the book and try and put it back, three, put his pull-up back on, and four, get back in the pack-n-play and wait for me to come and get him. Seriously. This is not a made up story. This is my life.

Mommy, me hate you.

Today at the Y we were struggling to get out the door to get home for lunch. Porter decided he did not want to work as a team and get his coat on, and Jack kept screaming about wanting to stay and play. So, I finally just sat down on a bench and Porter actually came to me, but he wanted me to give him food, not put his coat on. I said I would give him something after he put his coat on. Well he did not like that idea very much and said, "Mommy, me don't like you. Mommy me hate you!" Generally I just ignore him when he says that or I say, "I'm sorry to hear that." BUT TODAY, I said, "Well Porter, sometimes I don't like you either." Which actually broke the tension between the two of us and things were fine after that. Unfortunately a woman heard me say it while she was walking out the door and started to giggle and said, "probably a little too honest, just too honest." Now, I'm assuming she was talking about me saying that to my child, but she could have been giggling about the whole conversation. I guess I will never know. I do know that I love my kids, but sometimes I feel like being honest with them about my feelings helps them understand that it is okay for them to have the feelings that they have....

"Shooting thing"

Over the past few months I have been seriously struggling with the whole gun issue. Porter is constantly using random things as guns - vacuum cleaner extensions, wrapping paper/paper towel/toilet paper rolls, kitchen utensils, Buzz LightYear....he even found a plastic hook that a pair of socks came on and he turned it into a gun. He doesn't call his weapon a gun he calls it a "shooting thing". Although he watches movies - Cars, Surf Up, Madagascar, etc. it isn't on a regular basis and he only watches less than an hour of tv a day. How in the world does a three year old turn every single inanimate object into a weapon?

Part of me worries that he is going to start catching cats and torturing them and eventually turn into a serial killer....yikes...the mother in me cannot understand why my cuddly little boy who loves to read books, listen to stories that we make up on the fly, and dance to music on the kitchen counter, would want to play with guns...the counselor in me knows that this is an innate thing, he will grow out of it, and he will actually not turn into a serial killer or shoot fifty people in Target.

For a long time I have been fighting this issue and have talked with several friends and done some searching on the internet - one person said to tell him when he shoots someone that he is using a "love gun" and that shooting them makes them love him more...no thanks. But the most prevalent suggestion was to just let him be and then in time teach him about gun safety and the proper use/non use of weapons. We have agreed that he only gets to shoot bad guys - not me, daddy, Jack, the dogs, nor his friends and our neighbors. So, as of today I am quitting my obsession with guns and am going to ignore him when he shoots me with a spatula...

Marshmallows

Today (in addition to all the laundry, cleaning, and regular daily routines):

I found an old, but sticky marshmallow in a lime green car transporter.

I cleaned Porter's mouth full of blood because he fell on his face on the kitchen floor.

I burned a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

I actually got to run for 45 minutes on the treadmill.

I took a shower, which, is a huge feat in our house!