Four

Recently someone asked Parker how old he was.  "Three and a half." He replied matter of factly. 

Truly, his half birthday- if there is such a thing- is Christmas Eve.  Then it will just be six months until his fourth birthday.

When he was SBG age, I was one of the few mom's I knew who was looking forward to his first birthday.  I was excited to meet that milestone.  Some mommies seemed to view that first birthday as the sad ending of a stage or bonding time.  I looked at it as a date marking survival. 
I survived my first year of mommyhood.  My marriage survived that first grueling year of sleeplessness, snappy attitudes and general preoccupation with all things baby.

While there were many great parts of the first year that I wouldn't return even if I had the receipt, I was glad to move onto the next stage.

That is pretty much how I approached all of his birthdays. 

I have a very good friend who does not have children (yet).  She pointed out to me recently that every time she asks about Parker my answer is always the same, "This stage is my favorite."  It's true, it just keeps getting better.

However, when I was standing there as Pman told the stranger that he was three and a half, I was struck by the closeness of his fourth birthday.  In that moment my heart suddenly started racing and my eyes felt like they were burning in a pre-teary sort of way. 

Four. 
I want to through a lasso- well first learn how to lasso- around that fourth birthday and dig my heels in the ground kicking up all kinds of imaginary dust in an effort to delay its approach.  I'm not sure why this birthday has hit me this way. 

Maybe it's because that will be the last year I can play fast and loose with his school schedule- in by 9-ish out by 4-ish.  Maybe it's because we are one year closer to Kindergarten and then he is basically off to college and raising a family of his own.  Once he is in school five days a week I will have to squeeze Mommy-time in around weekend sports, birthday parties and homework.

When I get Pman up in the morning he usually says the same thing, "Is it not a school day? I wanna stay in my jammies a little bit longer." 

I completely understand his desire to hold onto that comfy, present moment just a little bit longer.

SBG

The other day I was feeling like I was forgetting something. 
Do I need more formula? No.
Did I leave laundry in the dryer?  No, that's not it. 
Oh crap, I left the iron on! I admit, I laughed after this thought- silly self, you don't iron!

What could it be? The kiddos are fed and happy.
The dog set up camp in a sunny spot on the foyer floor.
Josh was watching football and cheering (or cursing depending on plays) while drinking a beer.

The blog! I'm totally forgetting about the blog!
Before P2 was born I used to aim to blog about once a week.  However, now that my life has taken a different shape, it is not possible for me to stick to that odd self imposed requirement.

SBG is 5 months old.  She coo's and scream/screeches at us-some times its happy other times it is something quite different than happy.  We call her "The Boss."

She has had major blow out diapers and recently started eating- nay thoroughly enjoying baby food- carrots seem to be her favorite. 

SBG can sit on her own in a tripod fashion and she will roll over, but only if she is in the mood.  Her favorite pass times include watching Pman bounce around the room, blowing raspberries and taking baths.

When Pman was her age, I felt like each one of these things were blog-worthy.  Everything single little movement or development or discovery was something everyone in the blogesphere should and wanted to know about.  For that I will apologize.  I now realize I wrote way too much about my infant son's poop.

All babies meet these milestones and in the bigger picture of milestones, these are kind of small potatoes.  Walking, talking, learning letters, singing songs- those are the biggies.  I love and appreciate my time with her in a way I was not able to when Pman was her age because I am so much calmer this time.

I know her baby moments are fleeting and I do not need to document every second via online journaling.  These moments are best enjoyed in real time.

I just hope when she is older and reading these silly blog entries she does not feel slighted.  I hope she understands when Pman was a Weeman, he had no other competition for blog entries, which is why they were all about him. 

And truthfully SBG, you keep me on my toes a bit more than P1 did, so who has time to blog at least once a week.

Rest assured Missy Messy Face, I foresee many (many) blog entries as you grow, develop and continue to generally boss the rest of us around.

Family Picture

When I was growing up, we never took any family pictures. Well, none that were planned a bit ahead of time and involved coordinating outfits. 

We did not have a framed poster sized print of all of us hanging above the mantel, or anything really, in our living.  There were pictures will all the kids and one parent or the other, but none or very few where we are all present. 

Now that I have my own family, it is important to me to get a semi-professional family picture taken every year.  I think somewhere in my head, I want to be able to stack years of family pictures one on top of another and flip through them like a cartoon motion book.

Like some kind of youtube video where men show you how their beards grow over the course of a year in a flash or pregnant women show viewers the evolution and growth of their bellies all in mere moments.

I will call this yet to be created project- Family in Motion.

This past weekend I decided that I Sunday was the day for a family photo, in part because snapfish was having a sale on photo cards and in part because it was a very beautiful day.  I harangued my neighbors into taking a few shots in the yard.  In most of them either P was looking in the wrong direction. 
In this one, Josh and I seem to be looking a bird, or perhaps our clogged gutters, but the kids are both looking at the camera, so there is it.

My issue now is, do I hang all these family photos? I feel I could create some kind of overwhelming wallpaper situation.  "Look at my family.  LOOK AT THEM. Here were are in 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011 et cetera et cetera et cetera."

Here is the 2011 version, to be displayed on a Christmas card possibly headed your way in a few short weeks.

Eleven and a Half Minutes

A year ago today I ran my first official 10K.  I referenced the run here.

Once I found out I was pregnant I stopped running, per my doc's request.  I told her I did not want to be on bed rest for 4 weeks like I was with Pman.  She said, "Don't run pregnant." I said, "Ok."

After SBG was born, in early July, and I was given the all clear to run by my doc, I did.  I started running in mid-August. 

A friend of mine, who never really ran before, signed up for the 5K version of the 10K I ran the year before.

I promised I would sign up too and we could do it together.  She had a baby 2 months before me. it was going to be a run to kick off Operation: Shed Baby Weight.  However, as I started training, I realized the runner in me was super eager to be released. 

Instead of signing up for the 5K, I signed up for the same 10K I ran just a year before.  Leading up to the race, my right leg started hurting- like can't put weight on it, hobbling around the house hurting, but I was not about to let that stop me from reaching my goal. 

On the morning of the race, my friend and I woke up early and drove to the race location to pick up our numbers and complimentary ugly race t-shirts (gray and brown- ick).  We were cold and tired, but very excited. 

As we waited for the race to start, we ragged on some of the other runners, within the privacy and safety of my MV.  We went to the bathroom-twice. Then asked a fellow runner to take our pre-race photo. Once the proper amount of photos were taken to ensure we both looked our pre-race, early morning best, we each swung our legs in a pendulum motion,in an effort to warm up. 

Then we headed toward our respective starting lines.

The gun fired and we were off.

I began the familiar trail through the woods, I thought a lot about where I was the year before.  I had an inkling of an idea that I was pregnant, but hadn't taken the test yet. 

As I ran this morning I thought of my babies.  Of my family.  Of how my running will (hopefully) keep me healthy enough to be around for a very long time, allowing me to witness the fruits of my labor, blossom.

I thought about how at that very moment a year before we were just a family of three and now we are a family of four.  Just like that.

Then I thought of one of my very best friends.  While I was running a 10K in the freezing cold, she was running her first half marathon in Georgia.  When my running got tough, I would chant to myself, "If she can do that, I can surely suck it up and get through my race."

And I did.

With nearly exactly the same time, literally within seconds, of my time last year.  I think I was probably 5th to last to cross the finish line for the 10K.  The racers who crossed about the same time I did were old enough to be my grandparents.  At first, as the finish line came into my view, and I saw who my comrades were, I was disappointed in myself. 

Then I remembered, the date of the race.  The date marked my baby's fourth month on this earth.  I ran my race with an eleven and a half minute mile. 

I am going to allow myself that victory.  I am going to celebrate it.  I am even proud of myself.

After I finished the race a woman I did not know, tapped me on the shoulder.  She said, "I just want you to know, you were my inspiration.  There were times I just didn't think I could keep running, but I could see you, so I just kept going.  Thank you."

All I could do was put my hand over my mouth, make some silly comment about my yellow shirt being very visible from a great distance and then I just simply said, "Thank you." 

We both had tears in our eyes. If you do not run, that will sound incredibly silly. Running is an emotional sport.  It's not about fashion.  It's not about competition, other than with yourself. It's just pure and simple and challenging and exhilarating.

Warning: You May Puke

A couple weeks ago I was talking to one of the sisters about things that gross us out. Why do people do this to themselves? Talk about the very things that make us itchy and cause us to throw up in our mouths a little.

Some questions just do not have answers.

My sister reminded me of something our mother told us a long time ago.  Our mom stepped on a spider in our garage and when she did many spider babies scattered throughout the  the area.  Ick.

A week after we have this conversation about all things creepy, crawly and skeeveworthy my sister spots a large spider outside her office door.  Some of you loyal reader may remember this entry about her store catching on fire a little bit ago.

As she was leaving work she spotted a spider- very large and furry is how she described it to me.  She turned back into the store, grabbed TWO phone books and headed back toward Charlotte's evil twin. She dropped one book on the spider, heard a noise and "hundreds" of spiders babies ran in all directions, including into the store because the door was open.

The phone book blow to the, she now realized, pregnant spider was not fatal, however.  My sister slammed it with the second phone book.

The mama spider was toast, but even more spider babies scampered out and around.

My sister snatched up her two pups and dashed into her car, where she sat behind the wheel and screamed.  I wish I could hear this chain of events from the perspective of any of the other owners and workers in the neighboring stores.

The next day she went to work armed with this bug bombing stuff and unleashed the poison at the end of the day. No dogs or children were harmed in the process.

The next day I called her on my way home from work for a spider update and to tell her my own grosser than gross story.  Moments before I called I was eating an apple.  As I took my final bite, as in no bites left on the apple, as in I had eaten the whole apple.  I looked down and there was something in the apple.  Something that moved. 

I spit out the bite in my mouth and tossed the remaining apple core out the window.  I had to fight the puke that was rising in my chest.  I'm not sure what it was because I could not bring myself to investigate.

As I am about to relay both of these stories to Josh, I start with, "Did you tell you Lyn's spider story?"

Josh says, "OOOooO! Before you tell me, did I tell you I found a pregnant spider outside our basement sliding glass door?!"

He was genuinely excited about this news.  He seemed to think I was going to be excited about this as well.

He was wrong.

I launched into threats of calling an exterminator and immediate spider execution.  I was so distraught I never did get to tell him my sister's story.

This morning he assured me he "moved her" to another part of the yard.  This does not make me feel any better and I am more than ready to wage a war against all things spiders, bugs and rodents, even the pregnant ones.

WAR!

Body of Evidence

This is the longest I have ever gone without blogging.  I have missed it so much.  Between teaching an online class, two face to face classes and attempting to raise two smart, witty, socially acceptable and generally well rounded children, I have just had no time.

In the beginning of October I starting taking a boot camp class at the gym. I am the fattest person in this class.  I am okay with this because I am also the only one who delivered a little baby bundle mere months ago.  I run the slowest, take the most breaks and have the least amount of helpful healthy cooking hints to disperse to my fellow boot campers.

There are 8 women in the class with me and half of them have taken this boot camp twice before, meaning this is their third time doing this bootcamp.  Third time.  Who has that money (it's $250 past the gym membership) and time?

It is suppose to start at 10:30a.m. and run until 11:30.  These times seem to be simple suggestions to the two trainers running the camp.  I have an infant who I am trying desperately to get on a napping and eating schedule.  I need to be on. time.

The class will be over at the day after Halloween.  We will have to weigh in and get measured.  We also have to run a mile, do as many push ups as we can in a minute, then sit ups.  Hold the plank position for as long as we can and do this chairless sit thing for an unspecified amount of time. 

On the first day of camp we had to do all these things too and on November 1 we will compare our before and after results.  Thankfully, I set the bar pretty low for myself.  I couldn't help but improve on my times and crunches by the end of an 8 week hellish bootcamp. 

You're welcome self.

The other ladies keep saying to me, "Ohhh, You will probably see the most changes!"  Yea, um, I know what you are saying there missy and I don't appreciate it.

I am able to put on clothes that did not fit 3 months ago.  I am getting closer and closer to my pre-pregnancy weight.

I am learning to love my body though.

This body carried both of my children and endured two c-sections.

My body ran a 10K and the first leg of a marathon during the beginning weeks of pregnancy.

This body runs despite the aches, pains and shortness of breath.  I have a sore right calf, but my body keeps pushing.

Despite slightly saggy triceps, these arms hug the ones I love.

I am able to play chase with Parker and roll on the floor with Peyton.

My finger holds the rings Josh gave me sealing our future together.

I may not always like the way my body looks, but I love what it is capable of.   This is what I chant in my head when my jeans don't. quite. fit.

Dumbest People in America

Confession: Josh and I are in the running for the Dumbest People in America award and we are front running contenders.


A few weeks ago the interior light in my car would not go off. As we drove home from a family trip to the Farmer's Market with the light blazing over head, I could see Josh fuming as he drove home.

When we pulled into the driveway, I swept the kiddos into the house as Josh tackled the owners’ manual of my MV, which we bought brand new less than a year ago. It should also be noted, I have NEVER read the owner manual of the MV or any car I have ever owned for that matter. I like to live dangerously.

Josh stomps in the house mumbling words under his breath. I could not pick out specific words, but if I were a beating lady, I would guess they were not happy words.

Pman saw Josh grab some tools, so armed with his blue and yellow plastic screwdriver and hammer, he followed Josh to the dark driveway in an attempt to fix the light. They both returned to grab a flashlight.

The only one we have is a dinosaur one that roars when it is turned on and projects a beam of light about 3 inches long.

After about 40 minutes, the boys come back inside holding a tiny fuse. Josh turned on the computer. After a few moments of research, Josh tells me that he thinks it is a recall issue with the car and places the fuse in a safe location inside the car (the driver side arm rest). He instructs me to call the dealership on Monday.

Several Mondays later, I do call the dealership. I set up an appointment to bring the car in and also scheduled an oil change and tire pressure check as both of those lights came on in the interm. Josh set up a rental car for me because, "[I] have two kids to deal with all day and I need a car."

His words, not mine. Sweet.  I tried to tell him it was not necessary.

On Tuesday night the kidlettes and I met Josh at the car rental place on his way home from work. The rental process took an hour. Then we headed over to the dealership to drop off my car. At this point we had to switch the car seats from my car to the rental.

Hell is the only word that describes the events that unfolded in the process of transferring those seats. Words were yelled.

People were sweating.

Stomachs were growling.

Babies were crying.

The seats were installed. We moved on with our evening, which included taking the crew out for dinner to share our frustration, tears and general misery with other diners.

The next day at 9:30a.m. the dealership called and this is how the conversation went down:

Dealership: Hi, um Mrs. Phillips? Your car is ready.
Me: Ready? That can't be. Did you fix the light?
D: Yes. We saw the fuse and we plugged it back in and of course the interior light came on...
Interrupting M: Yes. (in this one word I managed to be bitchy, arrogant and entitled- it's a talent)
D: ummhummmum- yes, well. Then we just turned down the interior switch and the light dimmed until it was off.
M: oh. I will be there in an hour to pick up the car. Did you change the oil?

In the end, the evidence shows we rented a car to get the oil changed and we paid $130 for that oil change.