A Sunday afternoon earlier this month.  

Finding joy and happiness in the simplest of things.  Like a game of hopscotch. 

And learning to jump. 

When the weather was cool but not cold. When the leaves had fallen off the trees and the calendar said we should be pulling out mittens and heating chocolate, but the day was mild and almost warm. 

So we pulled on hats and sweatshirts and went outside, determined to get a little bit of fresh air and burn some toddler energy; thinking that maybe, just maybe. the baby will take a late afternoon nap that will make the evening hours a tad more pleasant.  And then, we peeked at him, tucked in under his cozy blanket. 

And we lauged and knew that there would be no napping.

… the end of football season is in sight. Let’s not kill each other until your father is around, mmkay? 

Thanks.  Love,
Momma

Wordless Wednesday Link Up with Angry Julie 

I mean, teaching him golf sounds like a really good plan some days.

Oh hey, two cute kids laying on their blankets playing with their toys.  Boy kid eyes up girl kid’s Elmo. 

Girl is doubtful that this is going to end well, but gives boy the benefit of the doubt. Boy is not deterred. 

“NO! My Elmo!”

“Fine. I’ll pull your hair.”

“Screw this, I’m done.” 

The end.

I love weekends so much more when I’m working.  That’s obvious, I guess?  When I was on maternity leave any given Tuesday could have been a Saturday or Sunday.  Other than Craig being home there was nothing to tell them apart. 

But now? Now, I start looking forward to the weekend somewhere around 8:37 on Monday morning.  And, I’m not just looking forward to the possibility of a nap.  I love the lazy, no plans, just enjoy the day and the kids and the husband feeling of Saturdays and Sundays.  I love the ability to stay in my sweats all day if I want.  I love not having to shower until 3:00, if I shower at all. 

I love sneaking in and seeing this face looking at me. 

I love drinking my tea while sitting with Chessa as she eats her cereal.  I didn’t exactly teach her to drink her milk out of the cereal bowl, but she may have seen me do it.  Once.  OK, twice. 

The sun is warming up the air outside, but inside it is still cool, so we put the baby boy on his activity mat in front of the fireplace.   He bats at the toys and talks to the little frog like they are long lost friends.

Chessa decides it is her responsibility to introduce her little brother to football.  “Cole, hands!” she says as she drops the ball on him.  Apparently the wee one needs to learn to use his hands. 

When it’s warm enough for hats and sunscreen it’s time to play outside.  Her spunk and independence shine as she runs from our house where she draws on the driveway with chalk to her grandparent’s house where she plays with the basketball hoop or gets tractor rides to the neighbor’s house where she borrows their swingset.

And as I watch her run around with her daddy on her heels, Cole sits happily in his stroller, searching for that elusive thumb. 

And finally, at the end of the day, after trying to avoid a tantrum to come inside, after trying to sneak a few veggies into the toddler during dinner, after baths that make the baby ANGRY, there is peaceful sleep.

Ah… these first few days at home.  Cole has been sleeping away the days, and most of the nights, since we came home from the hospital on Thursday.   He is so much like his big sister in some ways that the memories of her newborn days come flooding back to me.  The way he sleeps with his hand up in a “touchdown” pose…  the way his body curls up to my chest just perfectly earning him a few extra minutes (or an hour) of snuggle time before I lay him back down in the middle of the night…  the way he grunts and groans in his sleep, unless he’s being held and then he sleeps, well, like a baby. 

So far. So good.  He eats like a champ.  Nearly like clockwork, every three hours he begins to fuss and root for a bottle.  He sucks it down so quickly and often drifts right back to sleep as soon as he’s done burping.  Our nights have been completely manageable, although I forgot how noisy newborns are when the sleep.  I wake up 743 times to the sounds of a baby waking, only to peek over into his bassinet and see him sleeping soundly.  I’m not going to brag yet about what a good sleeper he is.  It’s way too early to assume that this is anything but a fluke.  

I could let you all pat me on the back over how well we’re all doing, but really, it’s only because I have tons of help.  Between my mom, my sister and my husband, I’ve had someone else with me to entertain Chessa – chasing her from room to room, running up and down the steps with her, reading book after book after book – which gives me the ability to sneak away with a sleeping Cole and do things like, shower, pee, nap or eat.   Honestly, I’m not sure how I would function without the help – especially since I still have moments where the pain from the c-section incision kicks me in the gut and the only way to get rid of it is to sit down.  (Is that normal, by the way? My prescription for pain pills is about to run out so I sort of feel like a baby for being in pain.)

So, that’s it.  I’m sure this is a terribly boring update, but look! A picture of a sweet, sleeping baby makes up for it, right?! 

I don’t know what cracks me up about this picture more… the fact that I turned my back for a minute and came back to find her coloring (or kadering, as she calls it) all over my grad school papers:

or the fact that after I snapped the picture and she realized I had the camera out, it turned into a photo session of her hamming it up for the camera then running to my lap so I could show her the picture on the back of the camera. 

God, I love this kid.

First off, we only ate Christmas dinner 30 minutes late.  That is exactly one hour less late than we ate last year, so I think I’m getting better at this cooking for a houseful of people thing.  Not that I intend to try it again any time soon.  Next Christmas will be soon enough, thank you very much. 

And, next Christmas, there will be wine.  (For me, that is.  There was wine for everyone else this year, but I avoided the urge to tackle my father-in-law for the last swig of wine and passed up the alcohol.  Damn pregnancy.)

Because I don’t want to bore you with the play-by-play of our Christmas celebrations – all three days of them, I’ll post some photos and let you go about your day. 

First things first.  We baked.  By “we”, I mean I baked and C “helped”.  She also learned about the love of licking the cream cheese frosting.  In fact, I must have given her so many “tastes” of sweet things that yesterday, when I tried to dab some lotion on her chapped chin, she kept sticking out her tongue like I was offering her sweet goodness again.  Sorry kiddo! 

Where I come from, Christmas isn’t Christmas without a pretty dress and the canned family photos by the tree. 

Friday night/Saturday morning we went to bed at 1:00AM after Craig spent a good three hours (or maybe it was four, truth be told, I fell alseep on the couch while he did the work.  What?!  I’m not handy, I would have been of no help to him) putting together the play kitchen.  I walked up the stairs grinning to myself that is likely what our Christmas Eve’s would look like for a while and anxiously waited for morning to see the look on her face when she saw the gifts under the tree.  

Then, Sunday morning, I woke up wondering what in the world I was going to do with all of the child’s new toys.  To say she is loved, and possibly spoiled, by a number of grandparents, aunts and uncles would be an understatement.  I hope someday this little one understands how lucky she is to have so many people in her life that love her.  As a side note, many of her old toys were packed up Christmas morning before she got up and will be saved for the baby and some of the new toys will likely be hidden for a few months and then reintroduced.  Otherwise, I will never walk through my house without tripping over or stepping on something. 

Next up, some pictures that have me wondering if bringing a new baby home in a few months is going to be more of a challenge than I anticipated.  If I could peek inside her head, I’m sure I saw thoughts of “sure, baby, you can have the bottle,”  quickly followed by “nope, just kidding.  it’s mine, all mine.”  And “oh, wow, a stroller.  I can push the baby.”  Or “Actually, no… I want to be pushed, Daddy.”

And, speaking of the babe that’s going to grace us with his or her presence in about 10 weeks, and given that a holiday isn’t a holiday without someone going to the hospital, this is where I tell you about the two hours Craig and I spent in labor and delivery traige the day after Christmas.  I woke up the day after Christmas feeling just fine, calm, at peace and well rested (since the kiddo had a late bedtime and a late wake up). But after being up for a little while, I noticed I was having trouble seeing. Sort of like I couldn’t quite focus.  I’d cover one eye and be able to see, cover the other and see, but with both of them open, things looked… funny.  I didn’t think much of it until my left hand started to go numb.  And, in my medical expertise decided I must be about to get a migraine.  I asked Craig if he could remember whether my OB had said I could take Motrin or something more potent than Tylenol and he suggested I call the nurse line and double check.  When I did, the midwife said she’d feel better if we could just check things out, rule out high blood pressure and could I just come to the hospital? So, we did.  What I thought would be a quick blood pressure and pee in a cup check, turned into a two-hour stay with a non-stress test, multiple blood pressure checks and blood work.  The verdict:  Everything is fine. I’m crazy.  Better to be safe than sorry.

And, that, my friends, was our Christmas.  I’m working a little bit this week, but mostly planning to stay home with my kiddo and husband and do everything humanly possible to avoid cooking or cleaning.

I’ve mentioned my feelings on winter before, correct?  We’ve discussed my disdain for the cold temperatures, my rage when snow, ice or freezing rain keep me house (or town) bound for days on end.  And I’ve mentioned that in this town winters are down right brutal and seem never ending. 

So, really. We don’t need to talk about that again.  Although, I should throw out there that buttoning one’s coat is one of those small things I used to take for granted.  At this point none of my coats will button over my growing-by-the-day belly and only one will close over my boobs.  So, yeah.

However, C doesn’t care that the temperature is borderline frigid and the ground is covered in snow.  She wants to go. And if telling us “Go. Go.” doesn’t do the trick, then she goes to get her shoes.  And her hat.  And her coat. Then she gets her Daddy’s coat. 

Usually we head her off, distract her with something inside the house so we can stay warm.. But on Sunday, we caved and took her outside.  Craig wanted to shovel and I wanted to.. well, I wanted to stay inside, but instead I threw on one of Craig’s fleece jackets that would fit over the belly and grabbed the camera.