Hate Is A Strong Word

I try to avoid using the word "hate" to describe things.  

It is just so harsh.

And it takes a whole lot of energy to hate someone or something.

I can only think of one person but he isn't the mayor anymore so it doesn't matter can't think of anyone that I hate.  There are people I could do without having to deal with, but I don't hate them.

Off of the top of my head, I can only think of two things I can say I hate.

1. Cilantro.

BLEEECH.

This junk tastes the way cleaner smells.  Like, total ick.  I absolutely cannot stand the stuff.  It doesn't matter how little cilantro there is in a dish, I can taste it.  And once I've tasted it, it seems to take forever for me to stop tasting it.  I can definitely say I hate it.

2. Tornadoes.

I hate tornadoes.  I hate the feeling I get when we are expecting bad weather.  I hate having to worry about everyone and everything I care about because I know that all it takes is an instant for a deadly tornado to appear.  I hate having to pull my sleeping babies from their beds to move them down to the basement in the middle of the night.  And, I know my husband hates how I become completely stressed out because of all of the aforementioned.

Sidenote: Want to know something really weird? When we are in a tornado watch, I clean the house.  Like, I speed around the entire upstairs level and pick up everything.  My house is spotless before I retreat to the basement.  Why? I've had many conversations with myself to try and answer that question.  I've come up with this: I have control issues.  I need to have some sort of control over situations I am in.  Tornadoes do not allow me that control.  So, the best I can do it get everything in proper order, the way I like it, before an out-of-my-control tornado blows in.  Pointless? Yes, especially since a tornado having its way with my home would eliminate a need for it to be cleaned, either before or after meeting said tornado.  But, the lunacy of it doesn't stop me.

I'm sure any number of you will think this is a weird post considering it is the middle of January and I live in Illinois.  I should be much more concerned with snow and ice.  But, alas, Southern Illinois, along with a majority of the Heartland, is in a tornado watch.

I know! 

Shut the front door!

This is nonsense!

And, it is the second winter in a row!

We had tornado watches last February.  We had them this past November.  And now we're having them again.  

Winter is supposed to be my reprieve.  

I am supposed to be stressing over situations such as this:

I mean, there is no digging your ride out of that.

And when you end up with the threat of that much snow, you have to deal with the stress of this situation:

Yep, you must try to survive on only Entenmann's crumb cakes or mini-blueberry muffins.

Everyone takes everything else. Like, people hear a storm is coming and the only thought seeming to run through their heads is "Oh my god! I don't have bread or milk at home!"

Whereas, my thoughts are something more along the lines of, "Oh no! Have I put the laundry away? Does the dishwasher need emptied? I wonder when we last put all of the boys' books in alphabetical order?"

I just wish I could keep everyone safe in my basement.  I may just have to start having huge slumber parties during tornado season (which, evidently, is all year round).  

At one point last spring, we had ten people and two dogs in our relatively small three-quarter bath downstairs.  

Ten. People. And. Two. Dogs.

Well, all of that plus a bottle of Jack Daniels.  That's how The Hubs keeps his sanity.

We were in that bathroom for quite some time. And I know there were people in there with me simply because they knew I would lose my mind if they did not comply with the safety rules implemented during threats of a natural disaster.  

In fact, I gave a "Thank You" speech when the tornado sirens had stopped blaring and we were in the clear.  I thanked everyone for working with me and helping me to keep my sanity in a time of immense stress.  I'm sure they thought I was crazy (as, no doubt, some of you will, too), but we were safe.  Or at least safer than we would have been had we not been prepared for the storm...in a small bathroom...with a lot of people...and pets...

Now I'm having to stress it again.  In January.  This is crap.  And I hate it.

Maybe, just in case we end up having to worry about severe weather, I'll let Tink sleep in that football helmet.....

Sometimes You Just Sleep With Spiderman

Tink went to the SIU women's basketball game with MaMaw and PawPaw tonight.

He LOVES SIU basketball games.  

I mean, seriously, there is very little that makes this kid happier.

So, he came home in a great mood, despite it being way past his bedtime.

After we went through the potty routine (what is it that makes him have to poop every night at the same time he is supposed to be going to bed?! I can't get annoyed because he really does poop; it isn't just a ploy to get out of hitting the sack!), we made a beeline for the bed.

I say "beeline" because we truly did move super quick.

So quick, Tink forgot his pants... Really.  

I had to remind him to put them on.  Guess the little man was just that tired.

What he did not forget, however, was his football helmet.  

Nor did he forget Spiderman.

Because it is imperative he sleep with both of them. 

Well, imperative since about 15 minutes ago, anyway.  He has never needed them before.

So this is what I get:

Tink? Seriously?

Dude, you are SO not sleeping in a football helmet.  I don't care how many people tell you the Giants are going to be in the Super Bowl.....

And when I told him he needed to take the helmet off:

Uh... Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I can still see you..... and the helmet.

And, no, it doesn't matter how cute you are when you look at me and say "Cheese!", you are still gonna have to lose the helmet.

So we tried a compromise:

Although cute, that didn't last long either.  If the helmet is on Elmo, Tink can't touch it.  It is too far away.

So, we went with Plan C.

This is Tink after I told him we could move the helmet closer.  Who would've thought sleeping with a hard, cold, oversized piece of plastic could be so important to a kid?

 Once we moved it back to the top of the bed, he could put his hand on it.  That made it all better.  Is this normal for kids? I mean, who in their right mind wants to sleep while holding a football helmet?!  (And, this has nothing to do with his bedtime-wants, but LOOK AT THOSE EYELASHES!  Could you die?! I am super jealous....)

But, don't forget, we didn't just take the helmet to bed.  We took Spiderman, too.  Once the helmet was situated, a mini-meltdown ensued because we weren't sure where Spiderman went.  Have no fear... Spiderman is still here.  Or there.  Whatever.

Did I mention he is missing an arm?  Tink loves him all the same.

Doesn't it look like he is getting great sleep?  I'd blame it on the helmet and Spiderman, but I'm sure Mama's camera's flash doesn't have the most calming, sleep-inducing qualities.  

Oh, and just because I love this picture, take note of all of Tink's buddies in bed with him; Elmo (Mo-mo), Spongebob (Bob-bob) and Boots (Boo).  They've been friends for years.  Since way back in the day.... the crib-life day. 

And, just so you know, it took him less time to fall asleep than it took me to type this post.  That kid is zonked!  With Spiderman on his pillow and his arm around his helmet.  :)

And Baby Makes Three...

No, I am not pregnant.

And, should I ever become pregnant, someone will owe The Hubs and I a lot of money.

So, if you came to this post with the idea you would be reading the shocking revelation of us expecting Baby #3, you are going to be disappointed.  

No.  Friggin'.  Way.


Our friends, Two and Dubs, however, are expecting.  Like, yesterday.


Ok, so she isn't actually due until January 24, but she feels like she is WAY done.


Sidenote: I get it.  I gained 65 pounds with Tink.  I felt like his feet were going to burst through the right side of my belly, Alien-from-Spaceballs-style, and his head was so low it was causing my right kneecap to dislocate (I'm only a little bit kidding about that....).  


Regardless of his due date, I can't wait to welcome Baby Will into this world!

We are very blessed to have friends whom we refer to as our family.


Typically, there are six of us hanging out together; Me, The Hubs, Two, Dubs, Auntie B and The Godfather.  As a crew, we can get a bit hectic. And there is a very clear dividing line between the men and women.  We totally gang up on each other... in teams.


This is Team Boys:

That is Dubs, The Hubs, and The Godfather.  I'm pretty sure they were helping The Hubs to try and fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming the next Jimi Hendrix.


Ok, so he doesn't care about Jimi, but that is the best explanation I have for this absurd pose.


And this is Team Ladies:


Ummmm.  
Just kidding.  
Apparently we are always the ones with the camera in our hands.  We don't have any recent pictures of us together.  Not all three of us, anyway.  I'm SO putting that on my to-do list.




Anywho....


When you consider our children, they keep us equal.  The Hubs and I have Tink and Goose.  Auntie B and The Godfather have Tay and JoJo.  Two boys, two girls.  


Speaking of boys and girls, check out this picture of Goose scheming on his future girlfriend.

Uh-huh.  The Yawn-and-Stretch.  Classic move.

See? It works.  She totally digs it.  :)


Again, I digress.


So, although we've been on equal teams to this point, now there is Will.


I think the boys needed an extra player because we girls are so smart, they wouldn't have had a chance otherwise.


Ahem.


I'm just sayin'.....


That, however, is also besides the point.  


The point is that I am just SO excited to meet Will.  I absolutely CANNOT wait for the call from either Two or Dubs letting us know he has decided to make his arrival. 


I can't wait to grow our family of ten to eleven.  


Here is a "Before" of our crew:

Ok, so it is an old picture of our crew.  Like, Goose was roughly six weeks old and now he is almost 16 months.  And Baby JoJo (she is that tiny bit of forehead you can see Dubs holding) was pretty much new and now she is 14 months.  But, unless it is a major event, like JoJo's baptism, we don't have anyone to take a picture of ALL of us.


When Baby Will arrives, I'll be sure to post a picture of all ELEVEN of us.  Man, that just seems like a lot!


And, don't worry.  
I love babies.  
Will will be sure to get a post all his own. :)

For Doria....

I love my life.  

I have more blessings than I can count.

I have been given more in life than I ever would have thought I deserved.  

I am happy.

But, despite all of that, there are days that are hard.

It doesn't matter how many blessings you have, how thankful you are for what has humbly been bestowed upon you, there are still days you wonder how this life can possibly be considered fair. 

I have recently had some of those days.

It is not because of anything I have done, nor what anyone else has done.

It is because my heart is heavy with the loss of a person who had an impact on my life at a very young age, someone who touched an immeasurable number of lives, someone who blessed this world simply by being.


That someone is Doria.


I say "is" because I am still unable to wrap my brain around her physical being becoming a "was".  I know that she is no longer walking among us, but....


I still hear her laugh.  When she throws her head back and quickly jerks it forward again, sounding a bit raspy.


I still see her push her glasses up and say, "You know what?" And, I am sure that following the question is her opinion on whatever we are talking about, most likely an opinion I am not going to like, but she is going to put it out there anyway.  Because, "You know what?" is a pre-curser to her saying she disagrees with you.  


I still remember her telling the Black girls in our Girl Scout troop to grab a white girl and show them how to Roger Rabbit.  Or do the Running Man.


I still picture the many performances the same troop gave to our "audience" (mostly parents and siblings), and how proud she was when we were finished; how each and every one of us was like another daughter to her.


And we still are.


It was not so long ago that I sat beside a hospital bed and listened to her talk about us, the "us" being our Girl Scout troop of decades ago.  She talked about how proud she was of all of us, of what we became, of what we accomplished, about how we'd gone so far.


What I didn't say that day, what I am not even sure I recognized at the time, is how much we owe to her for our accomplishments.


She always believed in us.  All of us, no matter what struggles we had.


She believed we were equals.  Black, White, Asian, Hispanic, Christian or Otherwise.... She treated us all the same.  


One of the moments I remember well was our troop dancing to "Man In The Mirror", by Michael Jackson.  It was not just a song, it was a mindset.  Doria taught us to help others, to make conscious choices in our day-to-day that would contribute to the betterment of the world.  It was taking the time to do something as simple as singing Christmas carols to the elderly in the local nursing homes or help pick up the garbage in our town.


Doria is no longer here to help guide us or shape us to be the best people we can be.


But she will always live on in our hearts.  And in the ways we treat the other people we come in contact with.  And in the ways we approach the world.


Doria's legacy will continue with us, her Girl Scouts, with the children she has taught in her Early Childhood Education classroom, and with the countless number of people who's live she has touched.  


And she will live on through her children.  


Her son, Damien, who is more like her than they may be willing to admit.  Strong-willed.  Slightly pig-headed.  Set in their ways.  Loyal (almost to a fault).  Honest.  Loving.  Determined.


Tiffany, who is much less like her, but definitely her compliment.  It is obvious in the way that they are each other's best friends.  Two peas in a pod.  So close and looking so much alike, they could be mistaken for sisters.


There is so much more I want to say, so much more I can lament the loss of, but I know Doria would not want anyone, especially someone she loved, to wallow in their grief.  


She'd rather us celebrate her.


Carry on with a smile.


And live life to the fullest.


Even if it means carrying a sock full of quarters in our pockets.  ;)




In our hearts forever.  You live on through us, always.

The Hubs: Baby Whisperer

So, Goose seems to have decided he is never going to sleep through the night 

without waking up... at least once.

And, when he wakes up, he is going to scream until you come and pick him up.

When I say "scream", I don't mean he is yelling loudly.  

I mean he is emitting this high-pitched, horrifying noise at a decibel level similar to that of a jet engine.  If the pitch got much higher, I'm not sure I'd be able to hear it...But the dog next door might.

This is sweet Goose, waking up from a nap in his crib:

See how smiley he is?  He is like that most of the time.

This is my adorable, happy man in the shower:

And his loving face, yet again, in one of our family pictures:

I wanted to make a point of showing how cute and easygoing he normally is because....


...in the middle of the night, when Goose has decided he doesn't want to be in his crib by himself anymore, he begins to look more like this:

And, in short order, it becomes this:

 Not. Happy.

(Tell me that isn't the cutest crying baby you've ever seen, though?!)

So, we've ended up being relegated to a routine of 

back and forth, 

picking up, 

rocking, 

putting down, 

screaming, 

crying, 

"I-Am-Awake-And-Don't-Care-That-It-Is-4AM-I-Want-You-To-Play-With-Me"-ing.

And lots of frustration for all us.

Well, not so much for Tink.  

As the nighttime shenanigans are going on, he typically looks like this:

See? It doesn't faze him.

It does faze this girl, however.

Letting Goose "cry it out" doesn't work.  

And I mean it doesn't work for him or for me.

He never stops screaming and I end up with frayed nerves.

Like, my whole body is tense and I want to join in with a crying fit of my own.

We can't just go get him and bring him to our bed for two reasons:

1. I don't want him thinking Mama has a "Mi bed es Su bed" mentality.  My bed is actually my bed, just as his bed is his bed.  And that is where he will sleep.  I need that for my own sanity (and the safety of my ribs since he thrashes around in his sleep).

2.  He (in the same fashion as Tink did when he was little) seems to believe that being put in Mama's bed means it is playtime.  Like, jump around, giggle, perform WWE moves on a sleeping Daddy... Anything besides lay down and go back to sleep. 

Goose is now just over 15 months old.  

15 months old. 

So, this mean 15 months of no full nights of sleep.  

15 months of nightly frustration, being a walking Zombie, near insanity, trying every trick in the book, attempting to figure out what he needs in order to peacefully sleep through a night in his crib.... And failing.


Until this week.


Apparently, all we needed to do is have The Hubs walk in, tell Aiden in a stern but loving voice that there is no reason to be crying... 
That he needs to lay down and close his eyes.... 
That it is time to go night-night.


And that is it.  


I kid you not.  


I know.  Try to pick your jaw up from the floor.  


15 MONTHS of the midnight-fits game and all he needed was to be told to stop and go back to sleep?!

The first time, I thought it was a fluke.  
I had to go check on him after a few minutes.  
I was afraid he'd either:
 A.) Strangled himself with his blanket and that was why he was no longer crying
 or 
B.) The Hubs may have thrown a right hook and Goose had stopped crying because he wasn't conscious.


Ok, I'm kidding about that part.  Don't call DCFS.  We don't hit our kids.


I was afraid he may have strangled himself, though.  
Crazy mama worries.  Whatever.


When he came back to bed, I asked The Hubs what he had done to get him quiet and in his crib.  I thought there was surely something I'd missed.
His answer? 
"I told him to go to sleep."


Un-friggin'-believable.


I would give him credit for that, but my bitterness just won't let me do it.


UPDATE:


I started this particular blog post about a week ago.  
Let me just say that The Hubs' magic has seemed to be short-lived.


Unfortunately.


But, the boys started back to school today.  Winter break is over and they are no longer staying at home with me all day, with the three of us staring at each other.  I'm really hoping they will come home worn out from running crazy at school.  And, as a result, sleep long and hard.  


Say a prayer.  We need it.  


Both for them sleeping better and The Hubs & I keeping our sanity.

Tornados and Oatmeal

I'm a lucky girl... For a number of reasons.

Here is one of them.

It is not uncommon for The Hubs to let me sleep in on the weekends while he gets up with our two monsters beautiful boys.

How great is that?!

However, there are two drawbacks to taking advantage of the willingness of The Hubs to take the first AM shift.

One is the house appearing as though a tornado has blown through the inside, exploding every bit of toy storage in its path.

It ends up looking something like this:

Uhhh... And I guess it blows pants off, too.

But, that is nothing compared to the second drawback.

Oatmeal.

I know if I stay in bed when he gets up with Tink and Goose, they will eat oatmeal... Mostly unattended.

And I will pay the consequences of such.

This means Goose will need an immediate bath.  

And even after the bath he will smell like maple syrup.

This is why:

Man, is he happy.

And then it's like, "What? Have I got something on my face?"

He just has to get every..last...bit... out of the bowl.

And then he throws the bowl. 

On my carpet.  

Nice touch, Goose.

Yep, he loves the mess. 

When he feels his mess is big enough, he signs "All finished!"

Yeah, bud.  I'm sure you are...

So, we take off for the bathtub.  

Here is what can be taken from this:

If you show up at our house on a Saturday morning, 

expect to smell oatmeal and not be able to see an inch of carpet.  :)