Hot Husband

You may be wondering how I decide what makes the blog and what does not.  Here is my very specific criteria for what I write about:  I have a thought that is too long to put as my status on Facebook.  And this thought occurs in the middle of the night so that I am able to actually get it down via my blogger phone app without Baby Boy seeing me on my phone and running over flapping his arms like a toddler sized chicken on steroids (related post for another night - baby dance moves are hilarious) and demanding through still unrecognizable baby babble noises that I play the Mandisa "Good Morning" song.  Despite my total abhorrence of giving toddlers phones, to my eternal shame my son believes my phone is a music box toy that magically can call Grandma and crush candy.  We will touch on my mothering skills another night...

So tonight's long thought that cannot be adequately explained on my Facebook status is:  My husband is hot.  Which, when looking at it, seems like it would fit in my status box.  However, it is spring so his hotness cannot be contained by mere social media.  Now, for the record, my husband is hot year round.  There is no "time out" in say January where he is just so weary of this incredible burden of hotness that he gets all fuggly looking.  Spring just puts a little spit shine on all the hotness so he sparkles real pretty...you shouldn't really even look at him in direct sunlight, the sparkle is that powerful.  We should make a public service announcement.  Some nights, I have to take the broom and go shoo all the crying women off our front porch before they wake the babies even...or maybe that is the stray cats...the hotness could be confusing me.

If I were not the lucky recipient of all this hotness, I would resent him for it.  Spring hits, he starts lifting bricks, and suddenly his normal hotness turns into the kind that is normally reserved for sweaty-summer-Diet-Coke-man-commercial hotness.  You know the one, there are many variations but essentially a laboring man stops, shows the camera his profile, and drinks a Diet Coke while his muscles glisten and perspiration runs down his neck?  And that immediately makes you crave a cold glass of pop?  And other things?  That happens in my yard every day now.  And people wonder why we have so many children...and why I drink so much pop...

I notice my husband's hotness more at night when he is sleeping and I lay down and watch him like a crazy stalker.  Ok, that part is not really true...I am forced to be awake to mother our babies and I initially look at him with burning resentment for being able to sleep through anything and not even having the decency to pretend to be disturbed by our noisy, night dwelling children.  I think he senses this and starts moving around, stretching out all those fantastic arm muscles over his head, throwing his legs over the covers, basically shamelessly throwing himself at me in his sleep.  "Look how hot I am, you can't possibly want to hurt me for sleeping, you must realize how much I need my sleep to maintain this insane level of hotness, you know I would be would be up with you otherwise but this hotness...it is so exhausting some days.  Especially now... in the spring... when I sparkle.". At least that is what I hear him say in my head while I watch his muscles move.  Because he is really still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of my current episode of crazy.  It must be some built in survival mechanism that nature gave him so that he wouldnt get injured in his sleep by his sleep deprived wife.  Can't do  it...all that sparkle...might as well go back to bed and get what sleep I can.  I am going to need it, because in four hours there is going to be a toddler dancing in my bed to Mandisa.

Sunday, Sunday

Today is Sunday.  My very favorite day of the week.  I love to pretty all our kids up, pile them all in our super awesome and totally convenient soccer mom minivan (complete with stick people and dogs, we had to buy 3 sets of people to get us all) and file into more or less the same pew, give or take a few feet.  I get to look either way and see our beautiful, fidgety children and catch my husband's eye over their heads and share a smile over our joy in these little people we are blessed to have.  I love to chat with all the familiar faces as they stop to ooh over the new face in church - Baby Girl.  She responds with her usual reaction - sticking out her tongue and yawning.  I love to see my siblings straggle in with my pack of nephews, my brothers always wearing a facial expression of half exhaustion and half dread...like they used up all their energy feeding, dressing, and herding the boys there and they know the toddlers are like ticking time bombs now, any wrong touch or whispered word could set them off.  And at this point, with this many of us, it really isn't a question of 'if' it will happen.  Now it is 'when' and 'who'. When it happens you can see a collective relaxing of all the other siblings as the rest of us all breathe a little easier and say an extra thank you prayer in our heads...."not my child this week, thank you God." 

And then, after we attempt to participate with what is happening on the alter as best we can and try and keep an army of children relatively quiet for an hour...we continue family ritual and head to McDonald's for lunch.  The one with the good playland.  We take over one section with our collection of high chairs and flying chicken nuggets and cries of despair over the total unfairness of having to eat before play.  All the suppressed energy and angst of the last hour explodes into a babble of conversation that is usually only understood if you share our last name or marry in.  Then all (ok, most) of the nuggets are gone and the kids shoot off into the playground and the men take their drinks and go stand around telling hunting lies and fighting about who's deck is bigger and keep half an eye on the kids. 

We did this every Sunday when we were kids and we do this every Sunday now with our kids.  And I love seeing this living, breathing testament to the family that my parents created.  It is proof that when you invest yourself and your time into family and leave the rest to God...amazing things happen.  Now, it sure doesn't feel amazing when Baby Boy is having a fit in the middle of the night or our big kids are stomping mad because we won't give in on one of a thousand daily requests.  It is hard work molding kids.  But it does on Sunday when I watch out big kids try and follow Mass and when I see out little two making all the little old ladies on church smile and when I see how they all meld seamlessly into the bigger family with all their cousins every week.  And it feels amazing when my Mom leans over in the aftermath of lunch as all the men and kids storm the playground and tells me..."you know, you guys really do have such a nice family."  Learned from the best, Mom.  Amen.

Sleep Deprivation

This is a public service announcement for all those parents considering having two children very close on age...don't.  Or hire a nanny first or a housekeeper or clone yourself - those would all help.  I am joking of course about having that next child but I am definitely serious about hiring a platoon of assistants.  Baby Boy was 16 months when Baby Girl was born and only sleeping through the night 2 out of 3 nights on a good week.  Now? Now he doesn't sleep through the night and he doesn't sleep in his own bed and he doesn't sleep at all unless some part of him is attached to Mama.  And heaven forbid if Mama actually holds Baby Girl during the night - then the insanity really explodes.  On a related note...it is almost physically impossible to nurse a baby without holding her. 

After a particularly rough week with no real sympathy directed my way and a lack of basic hygiene making me feel like a smelly wild animal...I tracked my actual night schedule to wield as proof that yes, I am Superwoman and yes, I have earned a nap in the middle of the day even though I am a grown adult.    This was my night last night:

10:15 - I carry a wide awake Baby Girl up to bed. Jack carries a sleeping Baby Boy up to his own big boy bed.

10:18 - Baby Boy starts crying and comes into our room.  Amid the shrieking, I hand off Baby Girl to her Daddy and find pajamas so inevitably when I get up through the night my naked bits won't be flapping around everywhere. I crawl into bed and Baby Boy velcros his body to me, sobbing like he was almost eaten by a jungle cat instead of just waking up in his own bed fifteen feet away from me. 

11:00 - Baby Boy is asleep...sideways in our bed kicking me...but asleep.  Baby Girl starts to cry so Daddy hands her off to me, rolls over and is asleep in approximately 2.4 seconds.

11:15 - Baby Girl is asleep in her bassinet...I sleep for 20 minutes

11:35 - Wake up to Baby Girl crying and gagging on a fun mixture of breastmilk, snot, and saline.  Get her upright and settled down.

11:50 - Sleep for 35 minutes.

12:25 - The Krackin awakes! Mason has discovered that we are not sharing at least five points of contact.  Ensue wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Continue for 15 minutes.

12:40 - Settle back into my pillow...almost asleep.. five minutes of rest and....

12:45 - The Krackin was giving me false hope.  More wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Add in lots of body twisting and head throwing.  There are bottle demands and blanket throwing and big, fat crocodile tears. 

1:20 - All in quiet on the west side...ten precious minutes of sleep.

1:30- Baby Girl is hungry...and then gassy...and then hungry. 

1:45 - Baby Girl is full and dry and (mostly) gasless....Ahhh....sleep....two minutes later....

1:47 - I inadvertantly disrupt a point of contact with Baby Boy.  There are immediate consequences.  More crying, wailing, and tears...this time mostly mine.

2:25 -  All babies happy for the moment, Mama gets 45 minutes of blissful sleep.

3:10 - Feeding, burping, soothing Baby Girl.

3:12 -  Shit. The Kracken must have smelled the breastmilk.  It's the dreaded twofer time.  I must securely hold and feed Baby Girl with one hand while using the other to fend off attempts to unseat her from Baby Boy, the whole time making a desperate shh-ing noise over and over, praying it will cease, or at least subdue the Krackin long enough to get Baby Girl enough to eat so that she will lay quiet again. This is not easy since all my defensive moves repeatedly unlatch the baby and shower us all with milk.  This is NOT my most shining moment as a mom.

3:40 - The most magical moment.  I have survived the twofer.  Both babies are sleeping and stay that way for 90 whole minutes!  If you don't count all the kicks to my head from Baby Boy or all the desperate gagging sounds that make me sit up and check for breaths from Baby Girl...then I get a whole hour and a half of uninterrupted sleep.  This will be my longest stretch of sleep tonight.

5:10 - Baby Girl requires sustenance.

5:20 -  Baby Boy requires my undivided attention.  The dreaded twofer has returned a second time in one night.  Aaarrrggggh.

5:40 - Twofer the Second is ended.  Sleeping babies.  Sleeping mama...

6:40 -  Baby Boy sits up every time he hears noise from the big kids getting ready for school, which is often.  So every fifteen minutes for the next two hours I soothe him back down. 

8:10 - Baby Girl wakes up with her unique morning routine of crazy noises and contortionist movements.  I immediately walk her down to her father, take a couple Tylenol, and go lay back down next to the Krackin.

8:30 - Jack sets Baby Girl back in her bed and whispers she should stay sleeping.  Apparently he has never met Murphy or heard of his big law.  So he leaves to take kids to school and she instantly is wet, hungry, and wide awake.

8:35 - I officially throw in the towel.  I give up, get up, and head to the nursery for the change-nurse-rock trifecta.  I text Jack to bring home caffeine and pancakes because clearly I am going to need some additional substance to get through this day.  Baby Girl pukes on me, right next to the spots of renegade breastmilk and dried tears.

9:30 -  Baby Girl is asleep. Jack came with sustenance, saw my crazy eyes, and escaped to play in the rain rather that be in a house with me.  And Baby Boy, sensing his sister was asleep, immediately woke up.  And peed on me.  Next to the puke and the breastmilk and the dried tears.  Four bodily fluids before ten a.m....that might be a record.  Except that one hour later he crawled up in my lap with an exploding poppy diaper....FIVE!  I win some kind of award, right? One that involves a shower, maybe?

God must have made them this cute for their own protection... 

Parent Like God

I just read an article on christiantoday.com about how if we really want to live like God, we would be having more....fun.  It referred to all kinds of things that only a God with a sense of fun would make...bags of milk under cows being my favorite example.  I never considered that before.  Here is God, hanging out on Day 5, making mammals- and he thinks, "I know!  I am going to hide a nutrient rich and life sustaining beverage in this sack on the bottom of this cow!!  Heehee...let's see if Adam can find it there!!" My vision of God never included Him playing funny jokes on Adam....until now!

My vision of God has changed over the years.  As a kid, religion and God meant having to wear ugly dress pants on Sundays and seeing how much I could harass my sister before Dad caught on and pinched me.  As a teenager it meant forced attendance in a wood pew every week unless you were actively puking.  And even then, you might still find yourself clutching the church toilet instead of the one at home.  At times in my life, I was a disillusioned Catholic.  Unhappy with what I saw, disconnected from my faith, not buying into the whole trust-in-God idea.  But the biggest shift in my faith and what really opened my eyes and led me down a path of acceptance of myself and my faith was a conversation I had with someone close to me that believed in God's sense of fun.  She introduced me to the God that actively wants me to be happy, wants me to see the wonder in His world, wants me to try things and then learn from my mistakes.  She gave me this new version of God... God, not as a Father...but as a Dad.  Less Father Abraham, more Bill Cosby.  More involved and more personal, more concerned with my experience than the result, more patient with my mistakes and faults.  For the first time I saw God sitting there cheering me on, laughing with me, celebrating my life.  God wants me to be happy.  Life changing shift in thought.

And I want to give that vision of God - and of fun- to my kids.  I want to parent like God.  Give my kids more patience, more wonder, more messes and experiences.  I want to see them like God would when they delight in the discovery that dog food makes a fun noise when thrown at the metal bowls.  I want to tamp down my fear and bite my tongue when they belly laugh at the thrill of standing tall on whatever structure they have climbed now.  I want to let them lead and get lost on bike rides, play in the rain and feel mud squish in their toes,  have ice cream before dinner.  And every time I have a mini heart attack from these adventures or worry that they will never eat a vegetable again...I will just offer up a prayer to watch over them...to the God of Fun.