I am sorry

Take 912

I’ve been thinking a lot about my last status update on facebook

Sometimes the re-entry after vacation is brutal! Monday I ran Friends of Scouting at Boy Scouts, today was a little league board meeting, tomorrow is a day camp board meeting, Thursday is a cub scout event, Friday is small group (at our house), Saturday is Pinewood Derby and Sunday I teach Sunday School at church. Throw in there 5 baseball practices, coop, homeschooling, an orthodontist appointment and a girls night. I’m exhausting just thinking about my calendar

There were a smattering of comments, one of my friends from high school said, “What a great mom!!!” Though it was a nice comment, it made me feel incredibly terrible.  I felt like a liar.  She doesn’t know what my every day looks like.  I didn’t post:

Just spent the last two hours on the phone with the insurance company, followed by the last twenty five minutes on the phone with my husband where I finally blew my top at my 6-year-old and yelled “WHAT IS THIS THING ATTACHED TO MY HEAD?!!!??  OH THAT’S RIGHT, ITS A PHONE!!!  I WILL TALK TO YOU WHEN I’M DONE!” Where my husband gently rebuked me and said, “That’s not very nice.” And I quickly retorted in self defense, “You’ve missed the last billion times when I’ve quietly signed I’m on the phone to him and made crazy eyes at him to underline the point that I’m busy and mouthed the answers to a million stupid questions”

Not only did I feel like a big old faker, but I felt terrible, like a co-conspirator with Satan, helping to make all of my “friends” on facebook feel a little bit inadequate or not up to par.  Not that I’m the bar that everyone should hold themselves to, because I am definelty not.

When we see these little snippets of all of our “friends” lives everyone seems so awesome.  Everyone is always smiling, with perfectly clean houses in the back ground when I don’t even remember the last time I’ve washed my kitchen floor and it’s going to take a week to catch up on my laundry and the only smiling I’ve seen on my rag-a-muffin kids is when they’ve succeeded in teasing their brother into tears. Or people with less money than us are taking awesome vacations in warm tropical climates with their perfectly toned bikini ready bodies in the middle of winter, when I of course am still trying (in the very loosest term) to shed this baby weight from 6 year’s ago and its 32 degrees and raining outside.  Or Moms who are showing these amazing breakfasts that they’ve whipped up for their kids hours before I’ve even considered being up and even though I could make pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head with a side of bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice, I’m just going to set the cereal on the table and feel at least smug that their is no high fructose corn syrup in it.  Or maybe they’ve posted these amazing pictures all dolled up out to dinner with their best friends and I’ve lived here for three years and still haven’t found my Washington BFF yet.

I know how inadequate facebook can make you feel.

I remember distinctly last year when a friend had been rather prolific on facebook for about a week.  She was witty and funny.  She was posting links to tons of blogs, which I never get to read because I’m too freaking busy to catch up on blogs.  I remember thinking, how the heck can she find time to be on facebook when she homeschools her two girls (who seemingly could run academic laps around my kids)?!?  Then later I found out she wasn’t really doing very well physically.  I did feel bad for her because I do love her, but mostly, I felt relieved.  Her struggle made me feel better, because I was feeling a little bit jealous and rather like I sucked tremendously at this whole work/life/homeschool balance thing reading her news feed and thinking how the heck does she do such a great job homeschooling her kids *and* be able to read so many blogs.  I private messaged her and she sent me back the sweetest response ever.

Okay, it’s been 30 minutes, and I’m still laughing at the idea that I live some sort of “balanced” life. Seriously, you’ve got no idea how funny that is (and here I’ve been all…where does Chanel find time to travel to see friends and knit and play board games and have house guests and drink wine)!!!

Then I went through my newsfeed and looked at all of things that I have shared.  According to my timeline, I live an awesome life where I have it all together all the time.  According to my timeline, I’m awesome.  I’m a prolific crocheter, a philanthropist, I have witty kids who are amazing, a loving husband, best friends, and I love God.

And I do.

Think about that for a second.

All of those wonderful great things that you share on facebook are who you are.

I am sorry if I made your week seem inadequate to my busy schedule.

I’m sorry if you went to kids school and proceeded to feel like crap when they asked someone to head the teacher appreciate week and in the back of your head you felt a little bit of pressure from me.

If it makes you feel better, I can’t quite remember the last time my twins got a bath.  We ordered pizza last night because my refrigerator contains condiments, beer, rotting lettuce and a jar of pickles.  At 11:03 am, I still haven’t showered.  I fed my kids cold pizza for breakfast (and I’ll probably do the same for lunch).  I just put away the Christmas decorations yesterday, almost a full week after the Epiphany.  I finished making my extended family and friends’ Christmas presents well before Christmas but haven’t mailed them out yet.

Please know that I, most assuredly, do not have it all together.

Also know that I really don’t want to see all the nitty gritty of your life.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, I want to know that you’re normal, but I mostly want to see the good stuff.  I want to see your adorable kids, I want to know all the awesome stuff you do, because I want to know that I can be better at some of those things that I struggle with.

I found this gem this week, and I am weaving it into my heart, may this burrow itself into your heart too.

“You deserve better than to define yourself by your own interpretations of secondhand lies, spoken by the Accuser through the mouths of others. Know that I [God] love you. You were wonderfully and fearfully made, planned out from the beginning, assigned a special place in Creation and in the story of salvation. You are not a failure; you are part of My success. You will stand, for I am able to make you stand. You are an instrument in My hands; a vessel formed by the Potter, a branch grafted in by the Master Gardener. You deserve better than the things you tell yourself so often, simply because of the One who created and redeemed and is refining you.”

 

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Just when you think the novelty may have worn off…

I distinctly remember a phone call when my twins where a few weeks old.  This is pretty amazing when you think about the sleep deprivation I was experiencing at this point of my life.  From about 30 weeks on in my pregnancy, I was experiencing such horrible carpel tunnel that I was probably only getting a few hours of sleep at a time.  I remember looking forward to the birth of my babies so I could finally get a decent few hours of sleep.  It’s rather comical what a pregnant mom thinks.  At a few weeks post birth, I was probably averaging somewhere around 45 minutes at a time every few hours.  I was still on singleton baby mentality.  One baby would wake up, I’d change him, feed him, rock him, love on him and then put him to bed and lay down.  As soon as I fell asleep the second little one would wake up.  Repeat and repeat and repeat until you realize that there is a reason they use sleep deprivation to torture people.

Anyways, I distinctly remember my best friend calling to share the good news of a pregnancy.  All of our kids are within a year of each other.  We’ve never actually shared a pregnancy, which is why we  probably kept having kids because we always got to hold an adorable baby and then wanted one of our own.  For every kid I have, she has a little girl.  Some people have all of the luck.  (And from the week I’ve been having with my teenager, I’ll just say it’s me.)

Her:  I’m going to have a baby!

Me:  OH MY GOODNESS ARE YOU SURE?!?!  Because this is miserable.  I am so, so, sorry.  Why did we not remember how miserable this was.  Why did you not remind me?  This is not fun.  You know how you dream of all these bonding moments, breast feeding in the middle of the night, holding hands, looks of adoration?  It’s all BS, these babies have no feelings they just want the boob and want you to change them.  And the laundry they make and I’ve been defecated on no fewer than 8 times today.  And it’s not just the babies who are needy, it’s all the other kids too.  And quite frankly, at this point I have more invested in the other kids, so the guilt is unbearable.  When I just want to take a nap, I find myself laying on the floor pretending to do a puzzle with my eyes closed because I know the four-year-old needs some mommy love.  I am so exhausted.  Infancy is hell.  I sure hope we haven’t misinterpreted the data for toddlers.  Because at this point, you should really reconsider getting pregnant.  Like maybe adopt your baby to your worst enemy.  Or at the very least give her to your sister for a the first few months.  Win.  Win.  I am so sorry.  You’re life is going to suck.

My poor best friend.  She probably was not expecting that.  I rained all over her parade and then invited Godzilla to come run through the soggy wet mess.

I remember this phone call every time someone gets pregnant.  And then each month when I’m not.

Surprisingly, the memories of that torture haven’t diminished but they’ve been overshadowed with thousands of other memories so precious that all the sleep deprivation in the world couldn’t tarnish.  Memories of late night nursings that do involve cuddling, sleeping infants with full bellies and sweet smiles, sloppy wet toddler kisses, the first coos, the first I love yous, spontaneous hugs and kisses, chubby little hands and fingers, the way a toddler walks,  those moments when you are the funniest lady ever, infectious baby laughter.  Those memories win out every time.

Let’s hope it’s that way with a puppy too.

 

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A Day in the Life of me

8:00 am  I’m awoken to my phone chirping that I have a text message.  I roll over and it’s from McKayla, “Can you pick me up, I’m feeling sick”.

We’ve been battling the weirdest stomach flu ever at our house.  It started with Nathaniel who complained his tummy hurt and the announced he was going to throw up and then promptly threw up all over the bathroom.  Afterwards, he was completely fine.  He ate dinner, he helped clean the kitchen, he read to me, I read to him and he fell asleep.  This was followed by Michael screaming his stomach hurt and then throwing up all over the other bathroom, declaring himself better and going back to bed.  And then Jacob woke up in the middle of the night to cry how much his tummy hurt, “Why does God make my tummy hurt?  Please pray over me!  I think I might die.” We tend toward the dramatic in this house.  Everyone woke up one more time, threw up all over the floor and then went back to bed.  We would have labeled it possible food poisoning, except the following night Marshall was hit and Michael once more.  My poor, poor carpet. On the bright side, my bathrooms are sparkly clean.

So, when McKayla said she wasn’t feeling well, I came to get her right away before she threw up all over the halls.  She’s having a hard enough time without being known as “the girl who lost her breakfast all over the halls”.  I don’t think anyone could ever live that one down.

9:00 the glamorous life of homeschooling 4 boys.

9:23  SQUIRREL!  no, not a distraction, an actual squirrel.  The largest squirrel we’ve ever seen.  It was looked less like a squirrel and more like a cat with a bushy tail.  It sat right by our bird feeder, stared through the window with a look that said, “WTF People, why is this bird feeder empty?  This is unacceptable!”

9:40 back to learning.

11:17  OH CRAP PEOPLE!!!!  GET YOUR BATHING SUITS ON RIGHT NOW!!!!!  GO!!!  GO!!!!  GO!!!!  WE HAVE TO BE AT SWIM LESSONS IN 13 MINUTES!!!!

11:22 

Jake:  Oh no mom!  I forgot to take off my underwear!

Me:  Oh, well.  That’s okay, you can swim with them and we’ll come home without underwear.

Jake:  I don’t want to go home with no underwear!

Me:  Sorry, We don’t have time to change when we get there.

11:26 Jake:  You don’t have to worry about my underwear.

Me:  I wasn’t terribly worried, but why don’t I have to worry?

Nate:  ‘Cuz he was getting naked back here!

Jake:  Yep, I took off my swim suit, took off my underwear and then put my swim suit on.  All while buckled into my car seat!  Now I can have dry underwear!

Me:  For the win!

11:30  We make it to swim lessons right on time.

I have thought about doing something with those 30 minutes of freedom.  I could totally go run for 20 minutes, but then I’d have to give up the entertainment of watching swimming lessons.  For whatever reason, Jacob is absolutely terrified of water.  He doesn’t like getting his head wet.  He doesn’t like letting go of the wall.  He doesn’t like the whole idea of getting in the water.  It’s rather comical.  Though its rather hard to swim holding on to the instructor like they are your personal life raft during a tsunami, it’s hysterical to watch.  When they got to the pool the instructor had them put on floaties that go around their middles.

Jake:  This is ridiculous, there is no way this can ever hold me.

Instructor:  No, really this works great.  Let go from the wall, I promise you won’t sink.

Jake:  No, thank you.

Jake’s swimming looks, less like swimming and more like motion by electrical shock.  Meanwhile, Nathaniel swims circles around him trying to convince him he’s completely safe.

Jake:  NATHANIEL!  You are going to drown.  Touch the wall!

Nate:  I’m fine. Perfectly safe.

Jake:  MOM WE ARE GOING TO DROWN!!!  (we tend to the dramatics here)

12:15  We arrive at home.  I’m not sure if it’s the combination of the chlorine and the screaming at the pool or the lack of caffeine but I have a killer headache.  Lunch is made, school is wrapped up and I decide to lay down before my head splits into two.

 

1:00  “Mom, are you asleep?”

Me:  I was.

Random child:  Can we jump on the jumpoline?

Me:  Okay, open the door so I can hear you.

For the next 45 minutes I hear kids happily bouncing on the trampoline intermingled with whinnying, complaining, crying and laughing.

I’m sure you know where this is going.

1:45  I hear mike scream like he was just pounced on by a tiger.  Followed by Nathaniel screaming and then Jacob screaming.  At first I wonder if maybe zombies attacked them and they are now pinned inside the trampoline net.  This may not seem like a likely scenario, but it’s probably as likely as all three of them being hurt simultaneously with enough damage to elicit the amount of screams I’m hearing.

Mike comes running in the house dripping blood from his head “He broke my head!!  Oh my gosh!  HE BROKE MY HEAD!!!! CAN YOU SEE MY BRAINS???  (the drama)

I assess the head damage and it’s minor.

Me:  You’re fine.  Jump in the bathtub so you stop bleeding all over everything.

I assess Nathaniel.  He’s completely fine.  No blood anywhere.  We can’t find Jacob.  McKayla goes to look for him.  Marshall gets out all of the first aid supplies.

Marshall:  I am completely qualified to wrap his whole head in gauze.  I have almost earned my first aid merit badge.

Me:  Okay, Tell me exactly what happened.  Marshall I think we can hold off on mummyfing your brother for a few minutes.

Mike:  HE BROKE MY HEAD!!!  We were jumping and Nathaniel’s chin hit my head and broke it!!!

McKayla:  I found Jacob, he was crying under the bed scared.

I look more closely at his head, but can tell if it’s ER worthy or not.  I call Dave.  He doesn’t answer.  I call him 4 times in a row.  Still no answer. I call my mother-in-law.  No answer.  I take a photo of his bloody head and text it to dave.  I call my best friend whose been to the ER for two head injuries on two separate kids.  No answer.  I call her cell.

Me:  THANK GOD YOU ANSWERED!

Her:  What’s up!  Did you know they sell vanilla vodka!  I have some in my cart!

Me:  Why do you live so far away!!!  I need Vodka!  (I promise, we always speak in such a way that requires all of these exclamation points).  How did you know that you needed to take the boys to the ER?

Her:  The copious amounts of blood on one kid and being able to see his skull on the other one.

Me:  What does skull look like?  Do you think I could text you a picture?

Her:  Didn’t you just meet your insurance deductible?

Me:  I know, but I hate the ER.

Her:  Just think of it as a little break.  Bring a book.

2:15  So off we went to the Urgent Care. There wasn’t anyone there but the intake lady was on the phone.  A nurse came by to see if we were okay.

Me:  Um, can you look at his head and let me know if you think this might need stitches?

Her:  Oh, yeah, that’s probably going to need some s-t-a-p-l-e-s (in a mock whisper).

Mike turns a little green.  While we wait for the doctor I text Mike’s coach.  “Mike probably won’t make it to practice.  We’re at the ER.  Tragic trampoline accident.  Mike’s head vs his brother’s chin.  Chin wins”

Mike:  Did you call dad?

Me:  I did but he didn’t answer.  I texted him a picture of your head.

Mike:  Is he coming?

Me:  I haven’t heard yet.  Probably not.

Mike:  Oh, I kinda need him.

Me:  What am I?  Chopped liver?

We get back to the doctor and explain the whole story. She washes the wound and offers us staples or super glue.  I was really trying to sell the staples, but Mike wanted the super glue.

Me:  Come on!  Don’t you want to see the medical stapler?  Maybe it’s run by an air compressor.  Kachunk!  Kachunk!  Kachunk!

I don’t know why that didn’t win him over.  I can’t imagine why he wanted Dave and not me…

Mike:  Do you think I can go to baseball practice?Doctor:  I don’t see why not.

3:45 We head home, Mike quickly changes into his baseball clothes and we’re off to practice.

 

6:00 Home from baseball everyone quickly eats frozen pizza, prepared by chef McKayla and changes into Awana uniforms.

6:30 All of the boys are dropped off at church.

6:45  I run home and take a quick shower, down some more Advil, because my head still feels like it might crack open at any minute and my eyeball will fall out.

7:15 I run to a Cubscout leader meeting.

8:15 I leave the riveting leaders meeting, mid discussion on Fish drops and run to pick up all the kids from church.

9:00 When we are all finally home, Dave inspects Mike’s head.

Mike:  How big is it? Do you think my brains will leak out?  Do you think we should make a doctor appointment to get my bones checked?  Don’t you think my skull has to be really wimpy because Nate’s baby chin could crack it?  Should I wear a helmet all the time? Should I sleep sitting up?

No wonder he wanted Dave.  All these unspoken fears he’d been carrying around all day.  Poor kid.

 

 

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Oh people, I’m not ready for this

There were rumors that Homecoming was going to be the first Friday back to school.  Oh the mental anguish of a teenager.

Her: How will I ever get asked?  No one knows me?!?

Me:  Well, except for the 4 bajillion friends you have on facebook.

Then Homecoming turned out to not be Friday but later, giving teens time to give not-so-subtle hints and plan extravagant proposals for Homecoming dates.  The extra time did not stop the  worrying and fretting though.

And then it happened, she was asked.

And she rejected the invitation.

“I heard no one’s asked you to Homecoming yet.  I bet you’re getting nervous.  It probably means I don’t have to do any of that stupid silly stuff everyone has already done.  Do you want to go with me?”

“If you can’t even ask me nicely, I don’t think I can go with you.”

There were rumors that boys were testing the waters and asking probing questions.  There was still lots of fretting and worrying though.  What if noone followed through?

Then there were lots of neutral and ambiguous texts and facebook messages like:

What’s your favorite kind of flower?

So, what would be a really cute way to ask a girl to homecoming?

and my favorite:

I think you already know exactly how you want to be asked, and anything less than that would be a let down. 

Today, sometime around lunch, I received an excited text with pictures of the flowers and “Homecoming!!!!! :)”

I can’t even begin to tell you the mixture of emotions.  I am so incredibly happy for her.  I’m relieved that he’s her friend, a boy we’ve only heard good things about for months.  I’m glad that he went out of his way to make her feel special.

This is just the first of a new chapter for her.  First flowers from a boy, the first dance, the first dating scenario (because we are NOT calling this dating people!  We are calling this friends going to a dance!) and the first time a boy is going to come over to our house for dinner.

Him:  You’ll have to give me the heads up.  Are your parents super strict?  What should I wear? 

Her:  Dinner is a formal affair.  Dress shirt, tie, or polo would be fine.  You must gel your hair back.  Absolutely DO NOT make eye contact!  No touching.  EVER. 

Me:  That poor boy.

Her:  I know.  I don’t even know why he asked me. 

But I can’t help but feel a little bit sad. This whole growing up thing is happening so very, very fast.  There is so much talk about college and growing up and leaving:

Her:  I’m pretty sure I’m going to go to college far away and very rarely come home.  I feel like I’m going to want to go to Thanksgiving at my boyfriend’s house and then vacation over winter break. 

Me:  That would make me so very sad.  Who will do all the complaining on the holidays if you’re gone?

Her:  Okay, if I pick a college close by will you do my laundry for me?

Me:  Is this supposed to be a favorable situation for me? 

Her:  Yes.  I will still be close enough to come home for dinner and laundry regularly.  Won’t you be happy to see me often?

Me:  Maybe I can install a coin-op washer/dryer and you can invite all of your friends to do their laundry here. 

Secretly, I pray often that she will stick close by.  Don’t leak that to her though, she will probably take that as a clue to start looking at study abroad programs in Zimbabwe.  I don’t know how I would survive if she went away and married a boy and they settled far away.  Already I have regular crying fits about my sisters possible, potential, not even close to being conceived unborn children.

Me sobbing to Dave: I’m so sad.  I’m never going to feel my sister’s pregnant belly.  The likelihood that I’ll get to hold my minute old niece is so very slim. 

Dave:  Is your sister pregnant?

Me: No.  I’m just talking hypothetically here.  I guess I could visit for her whole third trimester so that I’m there when she goes into labor.  But then, if I’ve been there for three months I’m pretty sure she will be sick of me and ask me to go home.  Really, my only hope is that my sister decides to go back to work after her baby is born.

Dave:  So, you’re hoping she marries someone who can’t provide for her to stay at home?

Me:  No, maybe she will love her job.  Maybe she’ll find it incredibly rewarding and want to go back.  If she goes back, that’s my only hope. Then I could convince her to send my niece to me every summer.  Free babysitting!  How else will I get to know my niece.  Otherwise I’ll just be auntie chanel who sends really cool presents and crochets her crazy dolls and sends frilly dresses because lets face it, I suck at calling people, I can never mail a birthday present on time, and I hate to skype.

Dave:  I’m sure this pretend niece will love you wherever we live.

Me:  I’m pretty sure I’m screwed.  I should start selling how much I love it here in the land of Big Foot.  Maybe I can encourage her to move here.  She can move into McKayla’s room when she goes to college.

I can’t imagine a grandchild thousands of miles away.  Honestly, I really can’t imagine a college age kid.  It’s hard enough reconciling this teenage kid with my baby girl.

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My babies aren’t babies anymore

Today my heart grieves.  It sits in my chest like huge blubbering lump of an organ, kinda like my ovaries.  In two days, my twins will turn 5.  They will no longer be babies.  They won’t be anywhere near babyhood.  Every day they say, “Please, don’t call us babies.  We’re big boys”.

Logically, I know it’s ridiculous, to be so upset about a fifth birthday.  I’m expecting these kids to live to be 100.  They’ll see things I can’t even dream of.  They’ll crest a new century.  They will probably get to go to the moon on vacation.  It’ll be amazing lives these kids lead. If we round this birthday up or down compared to 100 years, they are closer to babies than wrinkly old men.

But lately, every time I see an older person I think about how they were once small helpless babies.  Once, they were precocious toddlers who delighted their parents with their views of the world. Once they were little.  They were new.

And when I see a baby, a little piece of my heart shatters knowing that I will never again have a baby.  Never again grow little hands and feet in my womb and feeling little legs and arms stretch within the safe confines on my body.  Never again, will I rock a sleeping infant in the dark of night.  Never again, will I nurse my baby, wear them on my hip, stand over their sleeping shapes in the dark and listen for the sweet sound of their breath.

I think of all of the lasts that happen every day.  The things that I didn’t even know where the lasts.  The things that I didn’t even know I would one day miss.  Things like onesies under feety pajamas, rocking little ones to sleep, and playing this little piggy on small toddler toes.

There should be mother books for things like this.  This way we could keep an exact record of it.  We could cherish all those things we rush through every day to get to the next thing.  The last time I nursed you.  The last time I needed to hold your hand while you walked.  The last time you feel asleep on my chest.  The last time I played the Tooth Fairy.  The last time you called for me in the middle of the night to kiss your head and tuck you in.  Sometimes they are small things we can’t wait to get past.  The last diaper change.  The last time I had to tie your shoes.  The last time I brushed your teeth.  The last time you cried for your pacifier.  The last time they wore those small tiny training pants on their little tiny hineys.

This is just the beginning of the lasts.  There isn’t anyone behind these little two to rock and hold and baby.  This is the beginning of the end of this phase of my life.

It just breaks my heart.  It breaks it into a million pieces.

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T-ball. Aka: This one’s for the grandmas!

I can not even begin to tell you how adorable T-ball is.  It’s even more adorable than it was ten years ago when McKayla was in T-ball.  I didn’t think that it could be possible to get any cuter than a little girl with pig tails.  Somehow, following a week of major games, minor games and multiple practices, perspective starts to sink in.  It’s adorable, and all that matters at the end of the game is what kind of snacks you got, not who won or loss or if the umpire was fair and there isn’t even a small amount of self flagellation.

Nate was first to bat.  He swung and missed.  Loud clapping and cheering was still heard from the stands though.

Then he swung again.  He didn’t miss this time, his aim was just a little bit too low though.  “No highs! No lows! Wait for the perfect pitch!”

The third time, he didn’t exactly miss the ball.  He swung the bat so hard that he swung around and hit the ball on the second time around.   He’s an amazing bunter.  We might as well let him play up next year, just skip a second year of t-ball altogether and play farm.

There are no outs in t-ball.  I’m not sure if it’s because 4-6 year olds will cry uncontrollably if they get out or because it’s near impossible to get a group of 4-6 year olds to play as a team.  Either way, he made it to first base.  Do you know what else I love about t-ball players?  I love how willing the players are to pose for the camera.  I can’t get the older boys to even glance at me in the stands let alone pose and wave.

As a side note, don’t you just love how tiny those little cleats are?

Jacob waited patiently for the whole team to bat.  He was the last batter, this means that he gets to hit a grand slam (by default, but still a grand slam)  Someone has to bring all those runners home.  This may look like some serious strategy talk.  It’s not though, it’s really a consoling.   Jake was upset because the helmet was too big.  Near tragedy when you’re four.

After the pep talk, he approached the plate with determination.  He hit the ball on the first try.

The importance of a grand slam was a little lost on him though.  Or maybe, he realized that speed isn’t really necessary when you’re the last batter in t-ball.  They’ll wait for you.  This is him leaving third and moseying his way to home.  I particularly love his hands in his back pockets.

Sometime during Mike’s first t-ball game, he whispered to me (in a very audible volume), “Baseball is stupid.  All you do is sit on the bench and wait for your turn to bat.  Then you sit on the base waiting for everyone else to bat you home.  Then you sit in the outfield waiting for the ball to come to you.  Which it never does.”  Out of the mouth of babes.

It also seems to be a sentiment held onto by his younger brothers.

What should you do while you’re doing all that waiting on the field?  Pick up all those rubber pieces from the turf field, of course.

Or, maybe you should stoicly stand in the outfield day dreaming.

That is, of course, until the ball comes your way and all the parent’s hear the Peter, Paul, and Mary song in their heads.

The second inning was even more adorableness.  I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be there to be part of it.  It was much of the same, batting, hitting, running, walking, complaining.  Then there was Nate pitching (which really only means he stands in the general area of the pitchers mound, with a helmet on because I’m guessing one daisy picking kid too many took a ball to the head.)

And when you’re the pitcher, what position is the perfect compliment for your twin brother? Of course, it’s the catcher.

When Mike was old enough for t-ball, he did his classic fist pump and said, “YES!  NOW EVERYONE WILL HAVE TO COME AND WATCH MY GAMES! IT’S MY TURN NOW!”

Nate and Jake don’t seem to have that kind of drive (or egoism), they really only care about the snack. It was the thought of the snack that got them through the game.  At the between inning slump, it was the enticement of rice krispie treats and cheese sticks that made them don their batting helmets with as much determination as a tired four-year-old can.

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Randomness that I don’t want to forget.

I’m not sure if it’s just the fertility of spring or its the inundation of all of the adorable baby crafts on Pinterest or an unexpected baby announcement in the mail, but whatever it is, I feel the brevity of time and the growing up of my children.  I no longer have any babies.  I’m quickly approaching not having any preschoolers.  I know that soon, very soon, these little humans entrusted in my care will cease to entertain me in the ways that they do now.  I only hope that I can at least remember a fraction them when they are still small.

Jake crawled in our bed (like he seems to do every night).  He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable and then said, “Daddy, could you snore at little bit more quietly.  I’m trying to sleep here.”

Every morning Nathaniel is the first up.  He wakes up happy.  From the moment his eyes open he never stops talking.  He talks and talks and talks.  The first words out of his mouth are.  “Good morning”  the second ones are “I’m hungry”.

Marshall has a supplemental grammar book.  He had to write sentences about nouns.  One word was Libertarian Party.  His sentence:  I will bring cupcakes to the Libertarian Party.  I thought about going over things like Proper Nouns and Common Nouns and visual clues like capital letters, but I was so entertained by the sentence, I just left it.  For the last few weeks I’ve been referring back to the Libertarian Party and it’s cupcakes and chuckling.

My Dad is here making me a chicken coop.  Marshall is a little disappointed he can’t use the power saw.  I wish I was a crustacean.  Then I could use power tools and it wouldn’t matter if I ran over my arm.”  I think he either doesn’t give the saw enough credit, or he gives the crustacean too much credit. Either way, it’s a good thing he can’t use the saw.

Nathaniel still says hangerbur instead of hamburger.  I can’t bring myself to correct him and loose the cuteness.

I realized this week that Mike still believes in the Easter bunny. Mom, how will the Easter bunny makes us a yarn maze here at our new house?  Do you think he’ll hide the eggs in the forest?  I hope not.  I don’t want to be looking for candy in the rain.

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