Cape Henlopen, Part I

My husband was, you guessed it, out of town again this week.  But my parents were kind enough to offer the kids and I a diversion and I was desperate enough to accept – 5 days of camping at the beach.  In other words, I got to cross two things off my “end of summer bucket list” – a return to the beach and camping, which I’ve been missing dreadfully.

Of course, loving and missing camping is an entirely different matter than actually doing it, particularly when a 3, 2 and nearly-1 year old are involved.  Seeing the happy event written in my calendar for the past few weeks and talking it up with the boys has been exciting in and of itself, but it wasn’t until I started to pack the bags that the real weight of this task hit me.
 

Gone are the "clean little baby" days.

 

Packing.  I always forget about it until I’m well into the thick of things.  I love traveling and doing and making adventures… but I don’t like packing.  And it hasn’t gotten easier with the addition of children, 3 of them, over the past 4 years.  This trip was especially challenging.  I had to pack for the beach … and for camping.  For 80 degree afternoons … and 50 degree evenings.  For sunny days at the beach … and a chance of thunderstorms half of the week.  And for two little boys that are impossible to keep clean even at home … and whose potty exploits keep me in the throes of laundry.  This was one occasion where I freely allowed myself to overpack.  Ironically, in my quest to anticipate all my little ones' needs, I completely neglected many of my own.  Which would explain why I was showering with my daughter’s hooded duck towel, and stealing my son’s pillow after he fell asleep at night.  Doh!
 

Teething and wanting Mama ... all the time.

And not only did I pack bags but I also packed the car.  Jon left early in the morning which meant I was on my own.  Packing a car is one thing, packing a car with 2 little boys and a teething baby is quite another.  Nevermind the whole “trying to clean up the house before we leave” bit either.  We did manage.  I got everything and everyone in the car.  Well everyone except for Julia.  She was taking a nap and well exceeding her average morning nap length.  We sat and sat in the car and waited.  Then waited some more.  Until we couldn’t wait anymore or my schedule was going to be dreadfully affected.  So I got her up and loaded a very groggy little girl into her car seat and set off for the east coast.  We got a whole 2.3 minutes down the road when Jack yelled “Potty!  Gotta go potty mom!” in that voice that can only mean he’s waited too long to tell me and can’t hold it much longer. 

So we settled for an early lunch at an establishment with a potty.  And I made everyone go twice.  Once when we got there and once before we left.  And in the meantime I fielded questions from two business men sitting next to me that went something like this:
 

“Those aren’t all yours right?”

“Yes, they are.”

“No way … I had my first at 19, you must’ve started way before that.”

“Um, nope. “

“I’m shocked … how old are you?”

“29”

“Shocked.  And they’re so good.”

(Now I’m the one shocked.)

And on and on it went.  Me trying to eat and feed my kids, and two men sitting next to me trying to figure out my life story.  We finally wrapped things up, took our second potty break and piled back into the minivan (oh, I'm gonna love saying that from now on).  We got about 20 minutes down the road when Jude started yelling "poop, Mommy, pooooop!!!  I gotta go poops!!"  What?!  Jude is still becoming familiar with his bodily functions.  As in, when you go pee pees, you should check with your body to see if you might have to go poops too, since you're already in there and all.  But no, instead he waits until the last second, giving me no advance notice whatsoever.  I knew I didn't have much time and I had just gone by the last exit for civilization.  We were now in new territory and I had no idea what type of facilities were ahead. 

Right about this time he's squealing and squirming in the front seat.  And then, like an oasis in the desert, a beautiful, sparkly gas station rises on the horizon.  Weird.  I don't remember that being there on the way to the beach.  Well after we pulled in I figured out why.  Because it's brand new.  So new, it's not even open yet.  Apparently we were 4 days early.  Unfortunately, my son can't wait that long.  But one look at me and my squirming brood and the lady stocking shelves was happy to let us use their lovely, new bathrooms.  Potty breaks and diaper changes all around, a huge, gushing thank you to the employees and we're off again.  This should only be a 2.5 hour drive (max!) and we're now in the middle of naptime.  Surely we can make it without any additional stops. 
 

Yeah, right.  About 30 minutes later Julia is fussing in her seat.  I can see her in the mirror.  She's tired, wants to go to sleep, but wants some milk to get her there.  I keep pushing forward, hoping she'll eventually drift off.  But no dice.  So we find ourselves in a tiny town in the Middle of Nowhere, Delaware.  I spot a small, white country church and figure it's the safest place to pull off and nurse a baby.  No bathrooms, but we shouldn't need those anyway.  I feed my little girl while the boys watch a movie and we're off.  Again.
 

When the toys and movies get old, Jack looks elsewhere for entertainment...

And again.  About 20 minutes down the road, Jude has to go pee pee again.  Now we're really in the middle of nowhere.  Not a town in sight.  Not even a road sign.  Jude can't hold it anymore so I veer off the road and do the inevitable, pull his pants down right there by the side of the highway.  Of course, more traffic passes in those 20 seconds than I'd seen the entire time we spent on that stretch.  And then Jack doesn't want to miss out on the excitement and wants to pee in the grass too...

At this point, we're probably less than 30 minutes from our destination. Please kids, can you hold it together for 30 more minutes?  If you're not going to take a nap for me, then at least give me one final stretch of peace and quiet.  We almost make it.  At about the 25 minute mark Jack starts doing the potty dance (carseat version).  We're at the campground.  We just need to find Marmie and Poppa.  I'm seconds away from having to teleconference into a meeting for work.  And my three kids are seconds away from having a meltdown.  It almost felt like the night Julia was born ... almost.  We pull into the parking lot just as the phone rings for my meeting.  But it doesn't matter.  Marmie already has Jack in the porta-potty.  Julia is happy again snuggled on Poppa's arm.  And Jude is practically climbing into the back of "Poppa's red tuck!  Poppa's red truuuuuuck!" 

We made it.  Vacation can officially commence.

Grandparents' Day

Grandparents' Day was September 9.  I actually remembered it this year, for the first time ever.  As part of an effort to get my life more "in order", I'm working on being a better friend by being more mindful of holidays, birthdays, anniversaries ... I'll be honest though, in the day to day grind of motherhood, it's hard to extend my "thinking of others" mantra beyond the three small ones under my charge.  But I'll try.

Post-nap pigtails.

I love to hear him comfort her: "It okay Yaya, it okay."

So yes, I did remember Grandparents' Day.  And I actually planned out a craft a few weeks in advance.  I came across this handprint art on Etsy.  It's actually for Father's Day but works just as well for grandparents.  Maybe even better.  I just don't think the Handsome Coastie would have been as thrilled to receive it.

Photo Credit

I even started on the project with plenty of time to finish and put them in the mail.  Jack and I completed his handprints - the "green ones" as he'll say to anyone who will listen - during naptime.  I thought I was being smart, waiting until the other two littles were "otherwise occupied" but looking back it may have been better to let Jude see Jack do it first.  Because when it was Jude's turn my timid, middle-child would have nothing to do with it.  I tried to demonstrate how mommy would paint his hand and then he'd lay it down flat and make a print, but he just squealed "NOOOOO!" and curled back as far as he could.  So I set it all aside until I had some back-up, namely Daddy.  And then I forgot. 

Before.

After.

Guilty.

Fast-forward to last Thursday when I realized Grandparents' Day was Sunday and my attempt at thoughtfulness was already tardy.  Jon was out of town until Saturday morning so that meant I was on my own.  Just me, 3 kids, and some wet paint.  Just typing that out makes me shudder.

This is a Jack creation.  That is all I know.

I gave Jude the pep talk and he seemed alright with it.  He got a little freaked when I slathered orange paint on his hands but he thoroughly enjoyed smashing his palm onto the branches.  Of course, he wanted to put his prints exactly where Jack's were, which meant lots of color in some places and big, bare patches in others.  But by this point I was over the creativity aspect and just trying to reach completion. 

We got Jude's "leaves" done without further mishap and just a tad orange paint in his hair, which is still there today actually.  Moving on to Julia.  And the sudden realization that I hadn't really thought this through.  How was I going to keep an 11-month-old's palm flat, while painting it, but without her getting paint anywhere else, or rolling off the table.  And then get that little paddy to make a print on paper, without smearing it everywhere else, or toppling into the entire painting (because Girlfriend's got some serious balance issues).  And all while two curious older brothers crowded in to watch. 

I ended up using my body to keep her balanced, one hand to hold her wrist, and the other to bring the paper (and a big, flat book it was laying on) up to her hand to make a print.  (I figured this was much easier than attempting to dangle a baby and hand over the paper.)  In other words, no free hands to take pictures.  It wasn't until we were 2/3s finished when I realized I was doing all right-hand prints and completely neglected the left.  Then again, it was probably better that way.  And the boys only fell into the wet paint once ... each.  Again, serious balance issues around here.

Of course, then it needed laminated so that the Grands can hold onto their special art for all eternity.  And then we needed large envelopes to mail them (a day late mind you).  So that meant a trip to Target, just me and the kids.  And we just can't go to Target without strolling down the toy aisles so that Jack can point out all the things that he wants for his birthday.  And while were here and stuck babysitting in Aisle 20 might as well enjoy some popcorn...  Because that's how we roll on weeks when Daddy's gone.  Just another way to get out of the house on the cheap.  Well, theoretically.  It's hard to get out of Target cheaply.  But if you really wanted to you could just buy popcorn and point out toys "for your birthday list."  I digress.

We got the paintings enveloped and the envelopes addressed and set them by the door to mail the next morning.  Which meant a trip to the post office, again just me and the Littles.  But despite a detour for some much-needed morning Joe we ended up pulling into the Post Office 20 minutes before they opened.  And then waiting in line with a bunch of people who didn't have any kids with them and, judging from their looks, probably didn't have any kids at home either.  I have no idea why they constructed this particular post office with long, long halls begging to be run and tall, tall ceilings that magnify every little noise and shoe squeak.  Let's just say, nobody attempted to butt in front of the lady with three kids.  And everyone made sure I was able to get in and out as quickly as possible.  There are advantages to these awkward situations ...

Applause!

So, in the end.  Not exactly what I had in mind.  As usual, things always look so much different in my head.  I mean, it sounded so easy. But I find that 3 kids can easily tangle with the translation.  And yet, as they say, it's the thought that counts.  And for once I can proclaim, "Grandparents, we were thinking of you."  It's only taken 4 years, but rest assured we're already thinking of you for next year.  And what fun little project we can do.  Because we're probably going to need to start on it in a few months anyway. 

New Normal (Fall 2012 edition)

Well helllll-oooo September!  What a perfect day.  The breeze is blowing, the crickets are chirping and my thermometer reads 155 degrees. Hmmm, okay something is amiss here.

Perhaps a small child attacked the sensor with a squirt gun?

Because there is most certainly a nip in the air.  I actually had to put a pair of socks on Julia before running out to the grocery store this evening.  Poor thing was so confused, she kept kicking her feet and grabbing at her toes.  And I don't think she liked being zipped up in her full jammy suit for bed either.

Earlier this week, when it was still hot.  Check out that hair!!

She did have it pulled back at one point ... see that little pink rubberband hanging on for dear life?

I celebrated the cooler temperatures with hot beverages.  Not one, not two, but a grand total of three just today, although I had to switch to decaff after 3pm since I'm getting old and can't handle the jolt that late in the day.  Not that I don't have plenty to do if I happen to pull a late shift, but it's the mornings that get me.  Or my daughter in the mornings.  She was up extra early this am with a running nose and a mask of hair plastered across her face that got caught up in dried boogies.  Because sometimes the best part of waking up is having Mama suck out you nose and nuzzle you under her sheets for a final hour of shut-eye.



Lia's not the only one with nose issues.  Jude's been walking around all weekend with his finger up his nostril.  And then he'll yell (anywhere, anytime) "I got a BOOOOO - GER Mommy, a BOOO - GER!" and try to pass it off to me.  Um, no thank you.  Here's a tissue.

We're happy to have our husband/daddy/assistant housecleaner/lead disciplinarian/master gardener with us this week.  He's been traveling 4 out of the last 5 weeks, but hey, who's counting?  We still have a few more trips to go this fall but I've got some plans in the works to help alleviate my parenting responsibilities, so I guess the worst is officially behind us.

Jude. Finger. Nose.

We took a huge step in the parenting world this weekend: we bought a minivan.  Not only that, but we traded in our cool, special-feature-laden SUV for a mom-mobile.  It was a lot harder than I imagined.  I always figured if you had three kids there was no reason to deny your need for spacious transportation.  But now that we actually have one it's a little different.  I'm convinced I feel 10 years older when I drive it.  But in the end the downgrade was a good move.  In addition to the fact that we don't need 4-wheel drive here in Maryland, and that sliding doors are so much easier for carseat-swinging/toddler loading mamas, the minivan is a bit easier on the budget as well.  Which is good because in a few weeks ... wait for it ... we're dropping down to one income.

Yup, that's right, this girl is going to be a stay-at-home(only)-mom.  It's something that we've known was going to happen since I first got hired 4 years ago (although we never thought I'd still be working after we left Virginia anyway) since it was a temporary position to start with.  We were (sorta) hoping something else would open up but ... it hasn't.  So starting in October I can stop taking phone calls in my guest room closet.  Or writing emails while nursing the baby.  Or feeding my kids lunch in front of the TV while I teleconference into a meeting. 

And I'm looking forward to it.  I'll admit, it was a little hard to adjust to at first.  I'm going to really miss my job.  And my co-workers.  And the opportunity to talk with other adults throughout the day.  Oh yeah, and getting a paycheck.  And what am I supposed to do with all this random knowledge about alternative routes to teacher licensure?!  But at the end of the day it's going to be soooo good for me to just focus on these three:

You poor child, doesn't your Mama put shoes on your feet?

And just plain get my life in order.  I've got big plans for organizing a cleaning schedule, meal planning, grocery budgeting and lots more baking and cooking!  I want to spend more time doing educational things with Jack, reading books to Jude, and doing my daughter's hair.  I can't wait to read more books and do more crafts.  I'm joining a MOPs group at our church and we're gearing up to take a parenting class through our small group this fall.

 

 

So yeah, I've got big plans.  And I think my husband has some big expectations as well (no more "busy day at work" excuses for me!).  Yes, there are going to be some adjustments.  I have to get used to driving around a bus, er, minivan.  We decided not to send Jack to preschool this fall and instead have to hear him talk about "When I go back to school ..." or "I'm gonna tell Miss Bonnie about my new bunkbed tomorrow..."  And we're probably not going to take that dream trip to the Cayman's this winter. 

But it's all good.  Fall is totally the new spring.  And I'm never one to turn down a new beginning.  I am a military wife after all!

Jack vs. the jalapeno

I'm starting to realize I'm raising the male version of Anne Shirley here.  Oh Marilla Cuthbert, I totally get you now. I used to think you were just strict and stuffy and had no imagination... all still true, but I can now sympathize with you.  Raising a child who is a magnet for scrapes and predicaments is no small task.  I'm learning this every day.  Remember the Dieffenbachia Incident of 2010?  We kinda relived that this week.  But I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself.  Let us go back to earlier this summer...

I have a garden.  A little one, nothing much.  Hardly anything at all really.  And it kinda got off to a late start.  My husband bought me a raised bed for my birthday, which was at the end of June.  He never had time to set it up so I got impatient and did it myself (which would explain why it's not level).  By then it was July and we were about to leave on vacation.   The produce stand near us had discounted all their vegetable plants and herbs to $.50 each for one final sale.  I snatched up the best looking ones I could find (there weren't many) and the boys and I planted them the day before we left for the beach.  I figured if it all went badly, at least I'd only be out $6.50.  After I finished the garden I realized it was a long way to the hose.  Doh!  I ended up trekking out there the night before our vacation, in the dark, with a flashlight, dragging a hose.  About 5 minutes after I finished watering my garden the heavens opened and we had that massive thunderstorm that took out power in the area for several days.  Fan-diddly-astic.

Miraculously, my garden survived.  And it survived the whole week we were gone.  In fact, I haven't watered it since and it's still green and growing.  Overgrowing maybe.

 
It desperately needs staked but I haven't got to that either.  I'm just impressed it's doing so well.  Of course, since we got off to a late start I don't have much to show for it. A few green tomatoes here,



some lovely cucumbers there,



and a handful of small jalapenos.

 
Which is what the boys first noticed earlier this week.  I've drilled it into their little minds over and over again "don't touch the garden."  And they've done really well (another surprise!).

 

But Jude must've been suffering from short term memory loss because he plucked a beautiful, thriving jalapeno right from its branch.  After yet another lecture on why we don't touch Mommy's garden, I carried the no-longer-thriving pepper inside and set it on the table for later.

This one was an "asadent."

Enter Jack.  Later in the afternoon he was quietly reading Berenstein Bear books in the guest room.  I could hear him whimpering and when I went to check on him he kept saying he had something in his eye.  I checked, nothing.  So I went back into the kitchen.  Soon the whimpering turned to wailing.  And then screaming.  He came running into the kitchen with his hands rubbing his eyes, all the while running into walls and furniture.  He kept crying saying his eyes hurt, but whenever I asked him what happened he said he didn't know.  Meanwhile he's still rubbing his eyes with his hands and his nose on my shirt...

I was starting to get a little panicked.  Do I take him to the doctor?  I don't even know what to tell them.  How do I even start to describe this?  He was reading a book and now he can't open his eyes?  There didn't appear to be anything wrong with him.  His eyes looked normal, except for being a little red from all that rubbing.  His nose was running but he was also crying uncontrollably.  Then I remembered the dieffenbachia.  (Yes, I still have it.  A little worse for wear after two moves but I couldn't bear to end it's life prematurely.)  It was still intact, no broken leaves.  And then I saw it.  The jalapeno.  Split in half and lying next to his books.

OH!

So I filled up a basin of water, grabbed a cup, ran Jack outside and just started throwing cups of water into his face.  Since then I've heard you should use whole milk instead of water, but I was in no mood for Googling at the time.

The whole ordeal reminded me a little of Jon's Junior year at the Academy, when they hosed down the cadets with pepper spray.  (And then sent their girlfriends pictures of tough Coastguardsmen crying like babies.)  Hee hee. 



See Jack, you're not even 4 years old and you're already prepping for the Coast Guard!

They actuallyh make them hold their eyes open for the spraying. *shudder*

So I may have smiled a little while tossing cups of water into my son's face and reminiscing about days gone by.  Jack was already pretty upset, it wasn't like I was going to make things any worse.  In fact, it immediately got better.  By the time he started asking me to take a picture so he could "show Daddy my eyes" I knew we were going to be okay. 







And he was. Drenched in water with red eyes, but totally fine.  And back to playing and picking on his brother within a few minutes. 

And THAT, boys, is why we don't touch Mommy's garden.

Explaining what happens when you play with a jalapeno.

Lesson learned.  For both of us.

Home and the spaces in between

Ahhh Hawaii.  Calm shores, balmy breezes, perfect humidity, peaceful mountains.  Not that I would know, I've never been there.  But Jon has.  In fact, that's where he was this week.  Must be nice. But meanwhile, back in the real world...

Major fat lip, more on that later.

In case you haven't noticed, he's most definitely in the "I can pick out my own clothes" stage.

Before Jon left, I decided to whip up a batch of these bad boys.  Brownies might very well be one of the Top 10 Things In Life I Love.  I never really sat and thought about it before, but it just might be.  I must confess, I've always been a boxed brownie kinda girl.  It's just too easy.  A bag of mix, an egg, some oil and water and wa-la: delicious chocolate.  I've tried a few homemade recipes and always ended up disappointed.  Well, not any longer!  I love this recipe.  So much so that I've made it twice in less than a week.  I like to let it cool, cut it into tiny decadent squares for guilt-free mouth popping, and hide them in an inconspicuous container in the back of the fridge.  The kids don't have a clue.  The only reason I'm telling you all this is because THESE brownies, well they're what got me through the week.  (And also so you know where to find your chocolate fix should you ever be at my house.)  I pulled the whole tray out of the oven moments before kissing my man goodbye.  And I have the last two bits scheduled to be consumed between now and his return this evening.  And I've been enjoying their delicious cocoaness all the in-between.  I'm not kidding, I'm convinced my blood pressure drops when I bite into one of these squares.  I'm sure that's not medically sound, but in my heart it's true and that's all that matters.

Okay, enough about the brownies.

Her self-defense skills have really improved!

We have guests coming here any minute and while your first reaction may be "Oh you poor thing, having to deal with guests right after being on your own all week," really I'm quite relieved.  I've got six extra people to amuse my kiddos, pay attention to all their stories, push them on the swings and shower them with love.  After doing all that on my own this past week, I'm ready for recharge.  And I'm looking forward to feeding and entertaining adults for a change.

Of course, there is that whole preparation element to having guests, and we've been busy doing that as well. I started cleaning on Monday.  I'm getting smarter though.  I began with the dusting since that's something that my kids can't undo.  Moved on to outside stuff.  And then finally got down to cleaning the bathrooms and mopping the floors. Hmmm, tough choice since the best case scenario would be doing them all in the last 5 minutes before anyone arrived. 

Instead, I cleaned all the bathrooms last night while the babies slept ... and then carefully monitored each and every visit the boys' took to the restroom, making sure it looked just as good after they left.  And then Jack and I took care of the floors this afternoon.  Yes, I let him help.  Because the alternative would have been fielding questions, doling out snacks and keeping him from walking off the rug all while trying to do it myself.  Just give the kid a sponge and a bucket of water and he's good to go!

 

 

And then there are the groceries.  A necessity for any good holiday weekend.  I've been taking all three kids out shopping with me more and more often lately, simply because Jon's not home enough to allow me to plan otherwise.  It's not easy because a.) handling three kids anywhere, even home, isn't easy and b.) I require a lot of concentration whilst grocery shopping.  I try to be organized.  Sometimes I even re-write my list in aisle-order just to avoid having to push that massive cart any more than necessary.  But in the end, when you throw a preschooler, a toddler and a baby in the mix, it doesn't usually make much difference.

She spends a lot of time on her belly these days, but cannot roll to her back.  And she likes to let me know every morning around 5am.

First of all, we have a rental car this week.  And we're very thankful for that.  Ours is getting repaired and after 10 days of no vehicle at all, anything is a step-up.  They gave us a Terrain, which will fit all three car seats in the back.  It's tight, but do-able.  The problem is the kids are all practically on top of eachother.  So you have Julia blowing raspberries on Jack, and Jack touching Jude's seat, and Jude kicking Jack's legs.  And suddenly a two mile drive to the grocery store seems neverending. 

But we did arrive and were able to track down a cart big enough for my small brood.  Can someone please tell me why those toy car carts never have functioning seatbelts?  Forget the fact that the wheels are never in line or that the horns don't beep.  I just want working straps.  So I don't have to remind my boys 33 times in a row to stay in their seats.  It would definitely make my life a little easier.

But before the seatbelt battle there was the bouquet battle.  You know, the floral area, that is right inside the front door.  I never buy flowers, but today I decided I needed to.  And Jack wanted in on the decision.  Except we both had very different ideas of the perfect bouquet.  I wanted something reminiscent of end-of-summer: wild and assymetrical.   Jack was stuck on the flourescent daisies - neon blue, green and pink.  He put it in my cart, I took it out.  He put it back in, I took it back out.  We'd hardly been in the store two minutes and I was ready to head right back out.

But we hadn't reached the oranges yet.  And when we did, Jack was certain he needed some oranges.  But they weren't on the list and they weren't on sale.  I won that battle but somewhere around the potatoes Jack decided to venture out on his own and before I knew it I couldn't find him anywhere.  And neither could the friendly associate working in produce.  He was just about to get on the loudspeaker when Jack rounded the corner carrying a box of pasta. 

And so I gave the boys another "stay in your car ... or else" speech, and the results of that lasted until we passed the bathroom.  I purposely made everyone go to the bathroom before we left home just to avoid such a fiasco.  But you don't argue with a toddler boy about whether or not he has to go potty.  It's an interesting process.  Holding a baby while also assisting a two-year old with his pants, and then holding them both up and keeping Jude's aim true.  But we're used to it by now.  I may only have two hands, but I've learned to use other means to balance children.  And Julia has learned not to move a muscle when Mom has her dangling over a public toilet. 

We finished with the potty and made it all the way to the final aisle without further mishap.  And that just happens to be the bakery... where they put donuts in shiny display cases with bright lights.  So while I was trying to figure out the best deal on pita bread Jack asked if he could go "look at the donuts."  Meanwhile Jude is right behind him echoing: "Looka donuts. Looka donuts..."  I crossed the final item off my list and Jack wants to lead the way to the counter but Jude still wants to "Looka donuts."  So I'm running between two aisles, telling Jack to stop, freeze, don't move until we catch up.  And then back to the bakery to tell Jude hurry up, lets go, get in the car.  Back to Jack, who forgot he wasn't supposed to move.  Back to Jude, who isn't moving.  Meanwhile Julia is getting dizzy in the Ergo.  In the end I ended up carrying Jude to the cart myself, while also carrying his sister.  And we get everyone back in the cart to wait in line.  And wait.  For the sake of fellow shoppers they should let moms with kids check out faster.  But instead, they let the guy just buying lunch and the lady just buying a gift card, but who also wanted to pay with a check and then get cash back, yada, yada, yada ... in front of the lady with three small children.  No problem, I'm all about being adaptable.

I asked the boys to help put the items on the conveyor belt just to keep them away from the candy rack.  But they can't reach the bottom of the cart.  So it ends up that I hand them the stuff, they put it on the belt, and then I move it so that everything actually fits.  So we're checking out, Julia is one lullaby away from falling asleep in the Ergo, Jack is eyeing up the candy and Jude is crawling up the side of the plastic car.  And then he slips and bangs his already fat lip (from tripping on the bunk bed steps while trying to run away from mommy) on the way down.  Screaming child. Blood everywhere. And a line of customers wondering what that crazy mom did to her son to make him cry like that. 



Jude just wants held.  I just want to contain the blood in my cupped hands.  And the cashier just wants me outta there.  She picks up the phone and makes some special code announcement over the loudspeaker that apparently translated to "this lady needs assistance to her car" because soon another associate was there, offering to push my cart while I cleaned the blood off my coupons and grocery list.  And then she escorted me out and loaded all the bags into my trunk while I loaded my other "items" into their carseats. 

And then I said "thank you."  What I wanted to say was "I'm so sorry.  I try not to take all the kids out on my own. My husband is out of town this week.  He's in Hawaii of all places, hahahahahahaha!  And I'm just a crazy mom surviving off a few fitful nights of sleep and whatever scraps of food my kids leave behind when I'm finally able to sit down to eat."  But I didn't say that.  Probably a good thing.  In the end, I'm just relieved it wasn't our car.  Because now they won't recognize me the next time I visit.  I'm sure that my three littles won't give it away or anything.

We did eventually make it back to the house and to naptime in one piece.  And then the garage called to say our car was finally fixed.  And the best part of all is that they didn't charge us for a completely new transmission or the rental car even though the warranty had run out, just because the car had such low mileage.  (Thank you Lord!!)  And while thinking about getting the children out the door and into the car, driving to the gas station and garage and then going through the paperwork, car switch and car seat transfer ... I suddenly realized I was making spaghetti for dinner.  And that I had just mopped my floor.  And that I needed to feed 3 kids 3 and under.  Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Crawl tactics: "Julia, touch Mommy's toes!"

Her frustrated response: "Mommy, YOU bring your dumb toes to ME!"

Two seconds later: Oh look, a small seed.  Or is it a rock?  Maybe a giant booger.  You never know around here.

I threw the half-started spaghetti sauce into the freezer for another day (when my floor isn't so clean), dumped a few random items from the fridge into a cooler, grabbed a blanket and promised my kids a picnic (for good listeners of course!) after picking up the car.

That's flatbread, in case you're wondering what I'm feeding my kids.  It's my second attempt and still not a sucess. Which is also why I'm feeding it to my kids...

 

She looks so big when her mama actually remembers to put her in footwear.

The playground, so much easier to navigate with 3 kids than a grocery store.

And that was how we rewarded ourselves for spending the week without Daddy. Yes, he may get balmy breezes, a king sized bed all to himself, a full night of sleep (well, except for the jetlag stuff) and the luxury of going to the bathroom unattended.  But I get hugs and kisses and "I love you Mommy's" (or as Jack said earlier this week "I love your pajamas, and your hair, and your ears...").  And I get to be serenaded by Jude's giggles and adorable 2 year old voice.  And I get to watch Julia the last few days before she starts to crawl (because it's going to happen any day now, it just has to!).  And I get to enjoy the respite of a quiet evening after the kids have gone to bed and after the insanity of constantly being needed.  It would be nice to go to Hawaii, or any of those other places that Hubby is setting off to, but in the end, it's nice to know I'm right where I belong.   Home is where it's at.