Stop it!

I know you are all thinking bad thoughts about me....like how I can't handle life with four kids and I'm so overwhelmed with it all that I haven't had a minute to blog.

Well, you're right.

So there.

But stop with the negative thoughts already! I'm turning over a new leaf. See...here I am. I'm blogging. Not that I have anything profound to say. Who can be profound on 3 hours of sleep? But mostly I just wanted to share these:

See. I'm totally handing 4 kids.

101

Celebrating 101

Spanish 101: The art of "Hola. Me llamo Paco."

Babies 101: Perfecting diapers, sleepless nights, clothing with a lot of snaps, nursing, and one-handed everything else.

Siblings 101: Figuring out how to do more things for yourself, some things for someone else, and many things you shouldn't be doing but are going to do anyway because mom's too busy feeding the baby right now.

Blogging 101: Although thoroughly unplanned, my 100th blog post announced the arrival of my *final* child and it passed completely unnoticed. (blog post, not child's arrival) So here's to blogpost 101!

Side note: Bronwyn wanted me to post 101 reasons why she's sort of, kind of, really, maybe scared of Lincoln but we'll save that for another day.

Things not to cry about

When my mom was a little girl, she always spilled her milk at dinner. I think that's why my family always got water for dinner. And we all know the saying, "There's no used crying over spilled milk."



So when I spilled some water on Thursday night, there was no crying, just immediate action. And a lot of it.



I was packing the kids' lunches for school on Friday. I bent over to pick up a water bottle to put in Hadley's lunch. Note the irony. And pop. I left behind a puddle on the floor and called to Stewart. "What do you have going on at work tomorrow, Honey? Any specific meetings scheduled? Depositions? Clients?"



"Just work," he replied.



"Okay then my water broke," I answered.



So we packed up the kids, took them to my mom's house, and headed down to the hospital. We specialize in early babies and so I always deliver at Utah Valley. That means we get to drive past four hospitals on our way to the hospital we finally stop at.



She was in a hurry to get here. Such a hurry. Luckily the doctor was right outside my room because I dilated from a 4 to a 10 in only a few minutes. I'm like a German race car. You know...0 to 80 in 2 seconds or whatever.



Baby Girl Peay is here. She was born at 1:59 a.m. on 9-10-10 and weighed 5 lbs. 6 oz., 18 1/2 inches long. Only four weeks early and perfectly healthy.



I could make a very long list of things that I didn't need to cry about this weekend. Mostly we are just in awe of the beautiful person who joined our family. Her name is Bronwyn Davies Peay, meaning dark and pure in heart. It's a good Welsh name and her Grandpa Boppers was very proud!

And here she is:

Welcome, Bronwyn.

You just never know...

what's going to happen at WalMart.

My amazing husband now gets to go run errands for me, in addition to all of his other responsibilities. And yes, he does deserve to be canonized after this experience ends. He and Maddox were at WalMart and they ran into a friend from our old neighborhood. They chatted for awhile and then continued with their shopping, at which point Maddox looked up at Stew and came out with this classic:

"Dad, I can't believe such a nice man could be a University of Utah fan."

Go Cougars! I guess we've taught him well.

Somebody told me

Yesterday I was asked if I was writing this all down. "Are you keeping a journal?" So I'm writing it. Here. I hope you know me well enough to know that I am laughing my way through this. Okay, so I do have my moments of tears. But for the most part, I'm finding this sad enough to just...laugh. I am not writing to complain. I don't even feel sorry for myself. Really. I mostly just think it's kind of funny.

Maybe I'll start with a little story to illustrate my point.

When Stewart was in Iraq, Hadley kept getting really sick and ended up needing tubes put in her ears. Looking back, it isn't that big of a deal. But at the time, it seemed like a mammoth trial. Like an elephant I had to eat all by myself.

One night I went to the movies with some friends. We saw Bruce Almighty and I recall one specific moment that made me laugh out loud. Bruce was walking in an alleyway and stepped into what looked like a puddle but ended up being a pothole. He was wet to his knee and looked up at the sky and said something like, "Come on! Are you serious? What next?"

I remember thinking it was so funny because I'd had moments like that. Those moments when it seems like everything that could possibly go wrong is going wrong.

Which brings us to what somebody told me I needed to write down.

Here's the chronology:
1. Stewart has severe back pain. The MRI reveals that he has herniated discs in his back.
2. I fall and break, sprain and tear a ligament in my foot.
3. I spend 3 weeks recovering from break and finally get back on my feet. Yay!
4. I have a little scare and get put on full bed rest.
5. Hadley is stung by a wasp and we find out she has a severe allergy and ends up in InstaCare unable to breathe.
6. Lincoln has a 102.5 fever and lays around like a lethargic bump on a log.
7. Maddox and Lincoln go to grandma's and Maddox starts vomiting and running a high fever.

So...what next? I shouldn't even ask that, should I? But really it's just a series of small things. Nothing too serious. I mean, considering that I haven't had this baby early, everyone has returned to health, and besides Stewart's back problem that has to be taken care of, we're all just fine.

I really feel like there's only one thing to worry about now. Can our health insurance drop us for being too high maintainence?

Stir Crazy

So house arrest...er, I mean, bed rest...is going well. When I've had good behavior, I get visits from my kids. Visits from sticky fingers and dirty feet and big smiles. I miss those sticky faces.

What does stir crazy mean? Stir what? Let me know if you know 'cause I don't.


When I was a little girl, the worst thing you could do to me by way of punishment was send me to my room. I hated the solitary confinement. Now I will be the first to admit that I have often wondered, since my offspring entered my life, if I would EVER be alone again. I craved just a trip to the bathroom alone. And alone is here. It has arrived. And apparently I still have more of that little girl in me then I realized. I'm considering doing what I did then. I think I might lie down on the floor next to the door and kick and scream, "let me out!" Wait, is kicking okay when you're on bed rest?


Yes, gone are the days when there is a little hand banging on my shower door or waking up to a little face saying, "Mommy, I'm hungry." Gone.


Okay, don't be so melodramatic, overly emotional pregnant lady. Those days aren't gone, gone. They are just on hold. I'm sure a week after this ends, I'll be begging for more alone time again. But right now, I miss my little boys.


To everything, there is a season. To know the good, you must taste the bad, right? This, too, shall pass. Endure to the end. This could be worse. Any other cliches you can think of to make me want to....gouge my eyes out?


No? Okay, good. Then you are welcome to call for a chat or come by with a diet coke. No attempt-to-cheer-me-up cliches, though. I'm fine, really. Let's talk about YOU. I'm happy to hear what's going on outside. Is it hot out there? It looks like it.


Does stir crazy mean that I've gone so crazy that my thoughts don't even come out coherently anymore? Just all mixed up. Stir fry. Little here, little there. Throw in some zucchini 'cause I still have lots of that. Okay. Just wonderin'.

Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow

Yesterday, I...

felt wierd
had cramps
lost my mucous plug
(sorry, gross, I know)

Today, I...

went to the doctor
got put on 100% bed rest
was told I can only get up to use the bathroom
cried a lot
cried some more
found people to help with my kids
cried even more

Tomorrow, I...

return to the doctor
will find out if I am going to be admitted into the hospital
plan to cry some more
will be in my bed for the rest of the time
or checking into the hospital

I am 32 weeks pregnant as of today. This is the point in pregnancy when Lincoln was born. He spent 6 excruciating weeks in the NICU. The kind doctor today told me...between my gulps and sobs...that every day I can keep this baby in equals two fewer days of the NICU. I plan to obey the 100% bed rest order because I've done the NICU routine and I hated it. I do not want to wake up to a breast pump every three hours. I do not want to give birth to a "rag doll with a pulse" (as one nurse described Lincoln). I want my birth moment, where they hand you a healthy, pink, breathing baby. I do not want to drive to the hospital four or five times a day and leave my other children behind. I do not want to drive away from the hospital four or five times a day and leave my baby behind. I do not want any of this. I did not want yesterday, today or tomorrow. But here I am and that is that.

So pray for me, would ya?

Zucchini, anyone?

We forgot to harvest what we planted.

And thus, it grew and it grew.

And I lack creativity. What could we possibly do with such large zucchinis?

Lucky for me, I have a very creative husband. Presenting the first (annual?) Peay Family Zucchini Launch.

Man, can those things fly! And they are surprisingly resilient. Some withstood several throws before smashing. Who needs a summer vacation when you can stay home and throw vegetables off your back porch?

Upgrade? Downgrade? Breakfast?

Small walking shoe was apparently not good enough.

Got me a boot.

My foot stinks in there.

To make me feel better, this is what I had for breakfast today:

So there.

Why Walking May be Hazardous to your Health

I will not be walking for the next two weeks.

Because

apparently

I

am

not

good

at
it.

After two weeks pass and I get approval, I will be able to walk again with these:

and this:

So...

if your foot looks like this (small bump is ankle, large bump is....not supposed to be there):

you may have broken some bones, torn a ligament and sprained it.

And then you, too, will understand why walking may be hazardous to your health. And if that does happen, you may join me on my couch with a good book, a mug of water, an ice pack, a pile of pillows, a propped up foot, and an irritated expression on your face. I will spend the next two weeks in the aforementioned pose throwing myself one massive pity party. 'Cause really, if you are 30 weeks pregnant, about to kick off one hot August, you have three active children and a husband about to go out of town, what else is there really to do? Come party with me, y'all.

p.s. fat pregnant lady + crutches + stylish walking boot = hot!

Morning around these parts

Very early.

Bright sun.

Lincoln and Maddox are awake at the crack of dawn.

Maddox instantly finds his Darth Vader t-shirt and a rather girly crushed velvet pirate vest I made for Hadley's Halloween costume a few years ago. A pistol gun adds the perfect accessory to complete the look.

Lincoln wakes up Hadley....just because. She screams.

Lincoln climbs into the kitchen sink and soaks his pajamas. I strip him down and Maddox helps clean the water that is now all over the floor.

In the kitchen breakfast requests are made. Oatmeal for one, french toast for one, and cereal for another. Everyone hears the blender whir and demands a protein shake.

Stewart leaves for work to the familiar sight of three kids and a dog waving to him on the porch. (Okay, the dog doesn't really wave, but whatever.) In the winter they prefer the library window. They flash their "I love you" sign language hands and he gives a little honk and off he goes. What a perfect picture for him to begin his long day.

Another day closer to not being pregnant ever again.

Here we go.

My scale...

MUST BE BROKEN.

How many pounds can you just chalk up to water retention due to the fact that my car told me it was 102 degrees yesterday?

Oh dear.

Well, fans, at least I'm not in this one alone.

left to right:

-sister-in- law Emily - 36 weeks pregnant with twin GIRLS (that were delivered on Saturday)

-me, due Oct 6th with a GIRL

-sister Krystyna due October 26th with her 1st: a GIRL

-not pictured - sister Mara due in December with her third: a GIRL

-sister Karyn due January 30th with her third: gender not yet known

Other sister-in-law April already had her GIRL in May.

And that is a lot of girls.

And a lot of broken scales.

*don't drink the water 'round here, and I'm not just talking about that whole water retention thing earlier mentioned...this just might be contagious*

SAY NO

Stewart had to have a medical test done last week and we haven't gotten test results yet. He called the doctor's office around 12:30 but they were closed for lunch. I called at 4:00 and they were gone for the day. They receptionist said they'd call back tomorrow after they get in. (When's that, I thought? After 10:00 or something?)

Hmm.

I remembered I needed to schedule a follow-up appointment for Maddox to get a filling at the dentist. I called there. Closed for the day. Wait...tomorrow is Friday. Call back on Monday, please. They rattled off some hours to call and it sort of sounded like they would be working for 3 hours and 15 minutes a day....3.5 days a week. I'm no mathmetician, but that doesn't sound like very much working. I'm just sayin'.

Hmm.

Well, if you are looking for any of the lawyers I know, call the office between the hours of 6 am and 8 pm Monday through Saturday. You should have no trouble reaching them.

And if your husband/brother/cousin/son/boyfriend/fiancee/friend is considering a career in the law, refer to post title. Then send them to medical/dental school and start planning out the fun you will have on your long weekends. (I know, all of you dr. wives are thinking that your husbands do work really long hours and I'm sure that's the truth for some doctors but really, tell me the last time you saw a lawyer home by 5:00. Was it Christmas?)

Blah.

huh?

Maddox was sitting behind me on our chair and a half staring at the book shelf and sounding out new words.

I was feeling proud. He is really reading now and I take full credit since I was his preschool teacher. Go me. I may not get much done but every once in a while, something really does work!

I was happily typing along to my out of town husband when I heard him say, "Cushions, you are so vile." He's talking to the chair.

What? Okay, so maybe we need some vocabulary time added into our daily reading, address and phone number practice, shoe-tying lessons and name-writing practice.

I'll just add it to my growing list of things to do today.

Where will this plane land?

When it's Hadley's turn to say our family prayer, she often asks for something that may surprise you. It doesn't surprise me, though. I know Hadley. She used to pray that Heavenly Father would send her a sister. Now that she's wrapped up that request, she's added one more. "Please bless that my baby sister will be deaf like me."

Reminiscing... when I was younger, my siblings told me I was adopted because I was the only one with green eyes. I hated that. I wanted blue eyes like the rest of them. Ironically, as they've aged, some of their eyes have turned green. Ha. So there. But that funny feeling of wondering if, maybe, I really was adopted stuck with me. Nobody likes to be the odd man out. Nobody wants to not fit in. Unique, special, different...all cool ideas until you are the one struggling with the oddity. Hopefully we all grow up and accept who we are, differences and all. But right now, for my nine year old daughter, she would love to have somebody "deaf like me" in our family. And I understand as completely as I can with my limited understanding of what it means to be different.

A few months after Hadley was born, someone gave me this story and its message has never left me:

WELCOME TO HOLLAND
byEmily Perl Kingsley.

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go.

Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

I remember desperately wanting to be in Italy with everyone else. I remember after MONTHS of work with Hadley, she could finally point to her nose when asked "Where's your nose?" She was almost two years old... and I proudly displayed this talent to a friend who promptly asked her 18 month old, "What's this?" and the child responded, "That's my elbow." Just like that, my heart broke and I wondered if I'd ever know what life was like in Italy.

Well, now I've been to both places and have tremendously enjoyed both. I love the Rembrandts and the tulips. I love the gondola rides and the Michelangelos. And now I have a few months left to wonder...where exactly will this plane land?

Secret confession: I'd sort of like to go to Holland again.

Nesting

Oh....what? Did I trick you? Did you think this was about how my swelling belly has caused me to organize or frantically clean my house? Nope. Not doing either. Just trying to stay low and avoid contractions. Just concentrating on not having this baby early.

We had one heck of a doozy of a wind storm here the other day and my poor, young trees didn't know quite what to do. One of them deposited this robin's nest, complete with scattered eggs, in the yard. Hadley and her pack of neighborhood girls rescued them and they have since been sitting under a lamp on her desk propped up by a waffle box and nestled in a little basket with a stuffed animal for company. She comes inside from playing periodically to rotate them slightly and gently (thanks, google, for the incubation tips). One of the neighbor girls left town for the weekend but she has dilligently called to check on the eggs. "No change, yet, " I tell her.

I'm secretly confused about my desired outcome. Do I want them to hatch? Um, no, not really. Who's going to regurgitate worms into their open beaks? Not me. But do I want my daughter to continue rotating these little eggs indefinitely until I finally have to break her heart and tell her they just aren't going to hatch? Or will the stench give them away before I have to spill the bad news? See what I mean? It's not really a good situation either way you look at it.

My favorite part...she told her friends they need a turn to look after the eggs because "these baby birds have worn me out!" So I guess now my neighbor can nest now.

And as for cleaning my house...that will wait, I'm sure.

crunchy on the outside...

but oh so sweet on the inside!

(The cookie and the man.)

About Stewart's favorite cookie: the official name is Chocolate Florentine. Around here, we just call it "The Cookie". As in...once I made it, it was the only cookie for my guy.




And here's why I think you really can sum up my sweetie by his favorite sweet.

I dated and knew Stewart for a long time before we got married. I never saw him cry. I tried to give him lots of occasions that were tear worthy but to no avail. Nothing. I tried breaking up with him. Nope. Not one salty drop. I thought maybe our wedding day would bring some tears to his eyes. They didn't even water. Hmph. After four years of marriage, lots of screaming fights, and a new baby, it finally happened. I saw him cry.

The moment came when he had to call his best friend to tell him that our baby girl was deaf. Up until that moment, I had seen a lot of the "crunchy on the outside" but not as much of the "sweet on the inside".

Fatherhood.

Once those tears finally made their appearance, I got to see them a little more often. When he left for Iraq, more tears. When he came home, tears again. When our baby boys were in the NICU, lots of tears.

The real truth, though, is that the tears are not a measure of his sweetness. Being a daddy just brought it out in him. I always knew he would be an amazing father but just like everything else Stewart does, he exceeded my expectations in every possible way.

So Happy Father's Day. I'm grateful for all of the crunchy because it makes the sweet that much sweeter. We love you!

hi girl!

We're practing for our baby girl.

What do you think? Doesn't he make a pretty little girl? And I do hope so because I think number 4 looks like him. Am I right or just imagining things?

Summer Blues

Yes, we've got the blues here! But not in a bad way. It seems like only yesterday that her bedroom was decked out in pink, she wore pink cowboy boots, and loved Sleeping Beauty. Not anymore. Blue is the only way to go for this girl! Oh, well. Blue is good, too. (Go cougars!)

As for the blue cast... it seems that field day is a very dangerous thing at the elementary school. And it seems that the potato sack races are quite treacherous. Oh, yes, and doing the potato sack races backwards is a broken arm waiting to happen!

Did you know they make casts waterproof now? It hasn't slowed her down much at all this summer. She still plays softball and has even gotten a few hits with the cast on. She rides her bike and scooter, swims, slips and slides, and the works. She did give me a dirty look a few days ago when I found her putting her wrist guards on top of her cast in order to go rollerblading.

"But, Mom! Why not?" Oh, I don't know. I guess I'm just overprotective. Not overprotective like going to the school board and insisting that field day be done away with forever. I'm sure somebody else's mom will take care of that before too long, though. Can't you just hear the whirrrrrr of the helicopters every time you go to the elementary school?

And here at our house, we only have four more days of "summer blues" and then the cast comes off. At that point I'll gladly let her back on her roller blades and we may even have a few potato sack races in our backyard. Backwards? Maybe!

Oh yes, we do live on the edge here!

This just in...skin care secret!

Spaghetti Facial.

I don't know why.

Does it feel good?

Smell good?

Or is it just fun?

I think I'll try it next time.

And then I'll let you know.

But really...

Look how small his pores are!

It seems to be working.

In Memoriam

On Saturday, Stewart and I were at the grocery store and a beautiful, white-haired woman was sitting with a donation box for VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars). Stewart put in some money and she handed him a poppy and he smiled and then fell silent. I asked him what the poppy reminded him of, expecting a specific reply. Now that we've been married forever... or 12 years... I usually know what he's going to say. I expected him to say that they remind him of our trip to Normandy when we visited the British Cemetery and they were handing out poppies. I was surprised to hear him say that it reminded him of Remembrance Day when he was in Iraq. The British soldiers handed out poppies to all of the U.S. soldiers. I've thought about that ever since. The poppies are a beautiful symbol of remembrance. They spontaneously grew on the battlefields and among the graves of the soldiers and were recorded in McCrae's famous poem, "In Flanders Fields":

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.

Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

And all I could think about...my conclusion I finally drew...was that there was a large part of my husband's life that I would never understand. There was something that we did not truly share. And though I can feel a part of his wartime experience and though I can recognize the changes it brought in my life, I will never fully know all of the changes it brought in his life. Something as small as a red poppy reminded me of that. It reminded me that the honorable man I married has strength beyond my understanding. And I am thankful.

And again today I am thankful. I am thankful for the pioneer heritage that my children have through my husband's bloodline. I am thankful that there are graves we can visit and stories we can hear. I am thankful for the reminders of the greatness that came before us. And I am hopeful that some day, our children will tell stories to their children of their brave father and grandfather. I think that's why I love Memorial Day. It has become something of a religious holiday to me. It warms my heart and fills me with love for the people who gave me life.

Happy Memorial Day.

Dear Al,

I suppose I should be more formal and address you as Mr. Former Vice President or something but if you want to know the truth, I am setting all formalities aside. I'd like to tell you what I really think.

Global warming...

is

a

big

fat

myth.

May 24th, the last week of school, popsicles, snow cones and flip flops, anticipating summer vacation, playing outside...

Not happening.

Mr. Gore, I'd like to invite you over for a bbq. You can sit on my snow-covered patio and fire up my frozen grill and tell me why it is, again, that you think things are getting warmer. 'Cause from what I can tell, they're not. Warmer, that is. See the three inches of snow in my front yard for proof.

Sincerely,
Somebody who never voted for you and certainly never will

P.S. I sort of feel like you guys should pay us back for all of the tax dollars spent on pet projects to fund awareness of, prevention of and general studies on global warming. With said rebate, I'm sure there are a lot of us around here who wouldn't mind a tropical vacation. I'm sure we can find someplace to go that won't be "too hot." Thank you for your time.

Oye Cinco!

My guy.

The one with my green eyes.

That mischievious grin.

The twinkle. Oh, the twinkle.

He's five!

Cinco.

Wow.

He still comes to me for snuggles. Let that never end.

He has to blow me kisses as I'm closing the door at bedtime and I have to catch them and save them for later...because he knows that I'll miss him later. And I do.

He makes up new ways to tell me how much he loves me. (To the moon and back. All the way to the time of the dinosaurs. To Spain. To the bottom of the deepest part of the ocean.)

He waves from the front window of the house whenever anybody leaves. He cries if they don't wave back.

He's my guy and he's five.

Happy birthday, Maddox. We love you! All the way to the moon...and the bottom of the ocean...and Spain.

Adding Insult to Injury

April 29th:

This is the chair on my back porch. Good thing I pulled out the patio furniture and cushions, what with it being spring and all.

Oh, yeah, and I think my pregnant self has kidney stones.

Kill me now, April 29th. I hate you already.

How many licks?

Just how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?

Maybe somebody with a lot more patience could let me know, 'cause I, of the supremely impatient type, have never made it without just biting right into that tootsie roll part.

And while we're on the subject of how many and patience and such...

Does anybody know how many 11:00 pm fruit smoothies, ham and cheese sandwiches with jalapeno peppers and servings of bruschetta it takes to make a small person? (I know...weird cravings, right?)

As for that, I may have already lost count but I'll let you know on October 6th.

Oh, please, please, please... pray for me that this baby has less of me and can be patient enough to wait at least until September to make HER appearance.

And for those of you who don't do so well with subtlety, yes, this is an announcement and yes, it's a girl!

Stating the obvious

Why YES! My husband is out of town. Funny you should ask. How did you know? Is it because it's almost midnight and I am not in bed? Or maybe that the house smells like pizza? Oh, wait, I know... I watched last night's American Idol and tonight's result show in one sitting. Me, alone, here, wondering what my problem is. Why don't I just go to bed? I can sprawl comfortably across the middle of the bed, I don't have to wake up to his early alarm or his snoring, I hardly have to make the bed in the morning because it looks, well, undisturbed.

**Whether or not I snore is a hotly debated issue but I DO have video of him snoring.

(if you can hear his snoring over my giggling, that is!)

So what's the deal?

Maybe...it's because...

I slept alone for fifteen months when he was in Iraq and I just plain don't like it anymore.

So come home soon, Stew. I'm tired.

Dear Hadley,

Nine years ago right now, I performed a miracle. I gave birth to you, a beautiful little girl. You are the one who made me a mom, the one who made Stewart a dad, the one who made us feel like a family. You are the one who taught me that I had more love in my heart than I know what to do with. When the doctor handed you to me, I looked into your eyes and had the sensation of staring into eyes that I knew so well. Eyes that may as well have been my own. Not that our eyes look alike...it wasn't that. Yours were the eyes of a kindred spirit, the eyes of a loved one, eyes that knew my heart. You knew me and I knew you. Even though it had taken ten hours of labor, I could not sleep. I spent the entire night awake, staring at you. My baby!

Hadley Anne Peay. You taught me to be a mother and each day that I know you, I love you more. Because of you, my Hadley girl, I grew to know our Savior and to long for His coming, to long for the day that you will be made whole. But also because of you, I learned that it's really okay to be who we are today, right now, at this moment. Because you, Hadley, are so much more than okay.

Every day you remind me. Every day you are my miracle.

Happy birthday, Hadley Anne. We love you!

What time is it?

I don't know about where you are but here...

It's spring break o'clock.

Oh yes.

No preschool for a week.

No early morning catching the bus for a week.

No hurry up, it's time to go.

No get to bed, it's a school night.

No dance, gymnastics, piano lessons, soccer.

Which means no car pools.

Ahhhhh.....Spring Break.

The beautiful prelude to summer.

Short enough that you can really enjoy having all your kids around.

To kick it off, I'm still in my pajamas.

I'm thinking about getting dressed before noon.

I'm also thinking about cleaning out the garage but that definitely won't happen before noon.

Sunny Side Up

I'm not complaining or anything, but...

It was snowing on Friday. Not a little snow. Big blizzardy flurrying flakes.

But then, on Saturday, it all was worth it. Hadley and I went to Park City and had a glorious time in the sunshine skiing on that fresh snow. My brave girl went down a double blue run without falling once. Silver Queen...that's the name of the run. I opted for the tamer hill and waited at the bottom to watch her triumphant arrival. Proud! And doesn't that just make it worth it? And isn't that the way life is sometimes?

Just when you think you can't take your two year old for one more second, he plants a slobbery, sticky, syrupy kiss on your cheek and it's all worth it.

And just when you are ready to pull your hair out over the mud in your yard, and by default, on your boys, the landscaper shows up with his trucks and his men and his curbing machine and you think to yourself...I think I've made it. I think another winter has ended.

Today I am thankful for the pending sea of green grass, sunny days skiing, slobbery kisses and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (that's why I'm in here typing alone right now). What are you thankful for?

Grounded

Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm? Hmm. And well you should not. For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes. Even between the land and the ship. ~Yoda

Oh yes...the force is very strong with this one! And do not judge him by his size. Today he made a mess that ten people five times his size could not have managed in the mere thirty seconds it took him. Here's all you need to know: at preschool we painted with red. I didn't get those paint pots rinsed out and there were 20 paint soaked brushes in his bathroom along with 9 pots of red paint. He's grounded from Star Wars tomorrow because that's the only punishment that really seems to hurt. That means I'm going to have a very bad day. So think of me. Send happy thoughts my way because I know my little Jedi will be ANGRY!

On the bright side, I was thinking of painting some of the oh-so-tan walls in my house. Upstairs bathroom: check!

The post I should not publish

How many times have you not said it? That one liner, that zinger, that perfect comeback.


When Hadley was a baby and people found out she was deaf, I cannot tell you how many people said to me, "Well, I guess if you had to be without one of your senses, that's not a bad one." REALLY? SERIOUSLY? I would smile and nod when what I really wanted to say was, "YOU MORON. I'd much rather not be able to smell." Especially when I found a Helen Keller quote saying that she would rather hear than see because being blind only keeps you from experiences but being deaf limited your relationships. So there. And I'm sure given all options, she'd totally agree with me. Sure, there are lots of great things to smell in this world but so many that I'd love to not be able to smell.



Truth be told: I finally cracked one day and said it. I left out the "YOU MORON" part but I did say the part about smelling.



And the truth again: I usually don't crack. I may be known as a person who speaks her mind but in reality, I hold way too much in. So here goes. If you are a friend or family member, you may want to read on. I plan on offending you all.

delete

delete

delete

(there used to be a lot of content here. are you wondering what it said? maybe something about you! it's killing you, right?)

Really... I typed a whole lot and then I waited a day and decided that it would be much better NOT to publish my rant. See what I mean?

La-la-la-la....

La-la-la!

We went to Disneyland!

I thought about not coming home. It was 75 degrees all week in California. It's not 75 degrees here. We came home to slush and snow but it was slush and snow that I was glad to see because it was slush and snow surrounding a house in which all occupants have their own bedrooms.

Ah, sleep. One member of our family was so thrilled to have company during the nighttime hours that he forgot to sleep. Oh well. He got some good naps in on the shuttle bus to Disneyland.

And Stew appears to have gotten a good nap on Space Mountain. Twice. Okay.

We had a blast. No stomach flu like last time. Maddox and Hadley got to attend Jedi Training Academy. Maddox rode all of the rides like a champ! And Hadley re-opened Space Mountain. Not kidding. Ride was broken, Hadley walked up, ride opened. Magic. It really is all magic all the time at Disneyland.

And can we forget my favorite moment? Maddox absolutely refused to let Tinker Bell sign his autograph book. Maddox, you make me laugh, Kid!

Thanks to our Tollestrup cousins for coming to play with us. WE LOVE YOU GUYS!

We came home hoping to bring a little warmth with us. Next stop: Spring. Come on, spring. Come on!

new stuff to think about

Background information: (required reading)

Our new house has a trash compactor. I just got a panini maker.

And now...I think most things in my life now boil down to two simple questions:

1. What would happen if I put that in my trash compactor?

2. How would that taste in a panini?Go ahead...try it.

You're driving along and you get a flat tire. Which applies? Number one, of course. What would happen if you put a flat tire in your trash compactor? Hmmm.

You have rotten bananas and you really should make banana bread today. Or, see number two. How would that taste in a panini? (add cinnamon? maybe like cuban platanos?)

Your elementary student brings home a school fundraiser. ONE!

Your kids don't want leftovers for dinner. Two.

It's laundry day. One.

You feel like blowing your diet. Open the fridge. Two.

Your baby throws up all over the back seat of the car. Choose either one or two. I know which one I would pick.

See what I mean? (Or are you just thinking, WOW, get a life and now I understand your last post about being crazy?)

Eventualities.

So here's the big burning question in life:

Do all women grow up and go crazy?

Is it a product of having loved our children too deeply, of having sacrificed, worried, lost sleep, paced, scrubbed, cleaned, and driven (literally), of having been peed on, puked on and pooped on, of being the first one up in the morning and the last one in bed at night, of knowing where everything in the house is located and of being the one to put it all there. With all of that, is it any wonder that eventually, we just crack and that's it. We're done. We're crazy.

Can you honestly tell me that you know a woman over the age of...(I'm going to let you insert your own number because I can't win. I'm likely to offend people with a number. But don't worry. We all know who we are. )who isn't just a little bit crazy? And most of them are a LOT crazy. I'm just saying.

So whaddya think? Anybody out there have the secret to not growing crazier and crazier each year? I don't. I'm pretty sure I'm already more than halfway there and I'm still 29 for the 4th time.

Makes me tired just thinking about it. Phew.

Call for prayers

I was so touched by the story of little Bronson. You can read about it here:

http://www.stakerzxposed.blogspot.com/

I've ridden similar rollercoasters with sick babies, waiting for tubes to come out and medications to stop. There may be a few things in life that are harder than this, but not much. At least, not that I've experienced so far.

But I know there is power in numbers and I know my kids were supported through their trials. And I know that I somehow floated through on the faith of the many who prayed for us. Let's all pray for Bronson.

And let's all pray for Haiti. Let's pray for America, too.

Let's all just pray.

The Blame Game

When I was little, we had an invisible troublemaker at our house. There were eight kids but whenever something went wrong and fingers started to point and denial started to fly, we would inevitably end up with the truth...

the truth...

that nobody did it.

Isn't it just plain hard to take responsibility for our own actions? Not the good ones, mind you. I'm talking about the bad ones. I grew up, you know, and many years later, at a Christmas time family dinner, I finally admitted to being the one who pushed Roderick down the stairs and to coloring on the wall and signing Amy's name next to my drawings. I'm sure my mom knew it was me all along. I remember her shrugs when we all denied responsibility. "George did it. It must have been George."

George? He's the invisible troublemaker that lived with the Davies family. The one who killed the goldfish with shaving cream in the bowl. The one who put the matchbox cars under the wheels of the family station wagon. The one who ran through tar and then through the house. George.

Or, in the case of the current administration, George is George. As in Bush. As in, it's not our fault that the country is at war and the economy is in the tank. George did it.

And before that, it was Bill who did it. And before that, George again. See, it's the endless cycle. We all like to have someone else to blame, someone who is not us.

And that's why it was just plain funny when I got out the the shower and smelled Lincoln's poopy diaper. "Whoo-wee...you stink, Linc," I said.

"No, Maddox poopy diaper," he replied.

"No, buddy, Maddox isn't poopy. It's you. Maddox doesn't wear a diaper."

"No, Mommy poopy," was his answer.

Sure, Buddy. It must've been George.

*And as a side note, I almost called off my engagement to Stew when I found out he wanted to name his firstborn son George. Luckily, a daughter came first and then George sent him to war and his love affair with the name ended. Thank you, George!

The Fire Drill

Ah...the sweetness of January. You put away the Christmas clutter and take inventory. Some of us make resolutions to lose a few pounds, others decide they are going to get more organized. It's nice to have a new year, a fresh start, a clean slate...and a fire drill.

We decided that since we're in a new house, we needed to have a fire drill. You know, make sure everyone knows what to do in case of an emergency. We are working on training the kids to take care of each other. Hadley wouldn't be able to hear an alarm if sleeping so Maddox's job is to wake up Hadley. Hadley's job is to get Lincoln out of his crib and then to decide if it's safe to come down the stairs. If not, they are to go to Maddox's room, open the window and yell. We talked all about it and then came the big moment.

"Go to your bedrooms," I said as Stewart moved a chair over and got ready to sound the alarm. The air filled with an obnoxious piercing and then the patter of little feet, the crash and the screams.

You heard right...crash and screams. And then the practice emergency became something like a real emergency. Stewart couldn't figure out how to turn off the stupid alarm. I couldn't find Maddox in his room. I could hear the crying but all of the lights were out...we're trying to be authentic here. Something about the noise of the alarm made me truly incapable of reasonable thought.

"Make it stop, Stewart. Just figure it out!" I'm bellowing. Hadley, because of the confusion, can't really hear what's going on so she begins to yell, "Maddox, you're supposed to come get me." Lincoln doesn't know WHY we've put him in his bedroom with the door closed so he begins to shout, too.

"BEEEEEEEP, BEEEEEEEEP", shrieks the alarm, answering the children's screams.

I finally found Maddox on his closet floor. He decided that he needed to go into his closet and close the door for the fire drill. When the alarm sounded, it scared him and he tried to open the doors only to hit himself in the face. His head has a huge lump on it now, accompanied by several large cuts. Hadley finally emerged from her room to see what the problem was. She released Lincoln from his captivity, so we got one thing right. A few minutes later, Stewart finally figured out how to make the beeping stop. After spending a little while with an ice pack on his head, Maddox and the rest of us recovered from the fire drill.

I have spent at least an hour since then answering Maddox's questions about how fires start, what things are flammable, and why there's a picture of flame on an aerosol hairspray can. I must admit that now I'm feeling really nervous. I think he may be considering lighting the house on fire.

And the good news is...if he does, we all know what NOT to do!

Fruit Basket Tipped Over

Family Night on Monday...

I taught the kids one of my favorite games when I was a kid. They loved it so we decided to play again last night.

Hadley and Maddox both wanted to be a coconut...then a compromise was reached.

"I'm a banana!" Maddox shouted. "I'm a banana and I shoot lasers out of my bum."

I was a speechless strawberry (that almost fell off the couch laughing).