Six days past due

Wesley,

You're ONE!

How ever did that happen? It seems like just yesterday I was holding your tiny, hairy little body in my arms as Evelyn and Oliver surrounded me with curious stares and heavy breaths. You were born with a head of hair that rivaled that of Uncle Jesse from Full House and still to this day elicits stares of envy from Elliott more follically challenged counterparts. I am still a little upset that your father gave you a haircut when you were 7 months old. A haircut that had not passed my seal of approval, I might add. And then there was that incident when I tried to trim, just trim! your bangs. And then when Jen's mom tried to fix them and you kept moving and we had to give up and then we came home and you looked like a tiny black pumpkin....

But anyways.

You're one. I can stop counting your age in months. I can start giving you regular soy milk. I can soon turn your carseat facing forward. You will soon start walking. You will soon start talking. You will soon start feeding yourself. You will soon start running around with your sister and brother. You will soon need me a little less.

You soon won't be a baby anymore. and I will miss that.

But you'll always be my baby, my last baby.

I admit, I will be sad to let go of this part of your life but I know I have so much more to look forward to.

I hope I've done well as your mom in your first precious year of life. You didn't get quite the attention your sister, the firstborn, got when she was your age but I find myself being able to just enjoy all of you more now that I'm a seasoned mom of three.

By the way, I hope you are not mad that I let you bonk your face more than once on the hardwood floor. I just couldn't get to you fast enough because I was chasing your pant-less brother around the house trying to get him to put his Thomas underwear back on.

I love being a mom to all three of you - Evelyn, Oliver and you, little Wesley. Sometimes when I'm feeling down and life seems to be full of nothing but obstacles and darkness, I thank God that He has blessed me with all of you. Even though staying home can reduce me to tears some days, other days are filled with gut busting laughter. Sometimes the days are filled with both! But I'm thankful for all of it.

I know I owe you a better post than this but lately I've been preoccupied with so many things. Soon your sister will start school and it'll just be me and you boys at home. I'm simultaneously looking forward to and dreading it all. I can't believe your sister won't be home with us all day but at the same time it'll give me a chance to spend more quality time with both you and Oliver.

I will tell you something, this parenting gig is tough. No one ever told me just how difficult it all would be. But at the same time, I never realized just how wonderful it was going to be. How enriched my life would feel. How... content I would become.

Because of all of you.

My goal in your life as well as your siblings lives is to make sure you grow up to be faithful and happy and healthy and to know you are all so loved. If that is all I can do for all of you, then it will have been enough.

Little Wesley, you're now 12 months one year and 6 days.
Happy birthday, kid.
I love you.

Love,
Mommy

One way ticket to Denial River

After years of denial and dogged determination to avoid the inevitable, we've finally come to terms with it.

We need a minivan.

Part of my soul just died writing that out.

I swore I'd never get a minivan unless we had four children. and no, I'm not pregnant. I told myself we were fine with our good old Pathfinder. Currently we shove have three carseats straight across, with Wesley backwards facing in the middle. We can fit two strollers plus a large load of groceries in the back. I figured we'd be fine driving the Pathfinder until it finally sputtered to its brave, trusty end.

But alas, we were wrong.

We just need more room. More ease in getting our kids buckled in quickly and efficiently. But more importantly, we just need a car with better gas mileage than what the Pathfinder gives us. I mean, I might as well be pouring gasoline out the window as I drive down the freeway.

And don't worry, it's not like I'm worried about tainting my image of a "cool mom". It's not like I've ever had that "cool" mom vibe to begin with so it's not like a minivan can do any further damage, right?

Talk about eating my words. For all the talk about never, ever being one of those moms who drive a minivan, look at me! Just give me a fork, knife and some alka seltzer because I'm about to eat some bitter, acid inducing words.

I don't even know who I am anymore...

Oliver

Oliver,

It's been a long year, hasn't it? You've gone from baby to boy in about five seconds flat. I have so much I want to say, so much I could write about.

I could write how you've changed, evolved, grown.

I could write about how you've become obsessed, completely obsessed with all things trains.

I could write about how your appetite is astonishing! and how you rival that of a professional competitive eater.

I could write about how you drive me crazy sometimes with your random tantrums and agressive hitting and pushing.

I could write about how you like to wake up at ungodly times during the morning and greet us with your shrieks.

I could write about how you are such a good big brother to Wesley and how you love to give him hugs all day long.

I could write about how you think you shouldn't nap even though you totally should.

I could write about how you are potty training very well but have issues wearing pants. Or even underwear, for that matter.

I could write about all these things that would let people know what kind of kid you are. What kind of personality is blossoming in your curious huge headed little body of yours

But all I simply want to write about, want people to know, is that

I love you.

I love all of you.

The tantrums and the shrieks. The tears and the pain. The laughs and the hugs. The sweet and the crazy.

You are all of these and more. and I love you.

Happy 3rd birthday, baby boy.

Love,
Mommy

Randoms. Quotes. Pics

Well.

It's been quite the Oliver show around here on this blog lately, hasn't it? I do have two other children, I swear I do! And they give me just as much joy and grief as the next so I figure it only fair to share the blog time, don't you?

Hmmm, not much has been going on these days. A couple weeks ago it was so hot I could barely stand to do anything. Even preparing meals for the kids had me sweating like Richard Simmons. Thankfully it's cooled down considerably so I'm back to my usual half grumpy self (instead of full on grump, if you didn't know).

The next few weeks are going to be quite busy for me, as I have two birthdays plus preparation for Evelyn's first day of school. *SOBS* Let's not talk about that right now, ok?

***

Funny quotes from the kids:

(Driving in car on way home from playdate)
Evelyn: "Mommy, Oh my goodness, Wesley just totally passed out. "

Oliver: "This is my golden eagle" (points to his boy stuff. Yeah, I don't know either.)

Evelyn: "Mommy, for Oliver's birthday let's take him to Chunkin cheeses."

And lastly...

Evelyn: "Mommy, Oliver and my crotch look different. I have a bajyna!"

EH.....

***

Pictures! Crappy ones but hey, just take what you can get mmkay?

Waiting for me to rescue him from the crib. He looks all shifty eyed, doesn't he? And also, pointy chin!

Um... I think Evelyn took this picture? Pretty good job, if you ask me. Baby's not too shabby either.

Now this is what he looks like when we first enter his crib to rescue him. Looks like his smile is going to rip his face in half.

Poor Peanut, subjected to Evelyn's diva-like ways.

Evelyn: "No Peanut. You stay there!"

Peanut: "eh..............."

Oliver's been doing pretty well with the potty training and napping, thank goodness! He went through a phase of skipping naps which just about did me in. DID. ME. IN. I say.

During that time, I'd find him in sprawled on the ground, passed out from delirium.




Look, I don't teach him to sing with his mouth full of food but this was too funny. He likes to make up words, just like daddy!

Protecting my cubs

This is where I feel it is needed to defend my crazy little son. I'm sure if you were to go back and read my older posts about Oliver, you'd think he was some out of control brat. And while he sometimes may be a little out of control, he is most certainly not a brat and he is not a horrible kid. He's a little crazy, a little unpredictable but incredibly sweet and funny. He loves to giggle and learn new things everyday. He's also not even 3 yet.

So when I hear people who don't really even know him. or um, me for that matter, say things like

"That Oliver. Man.........He's something else" *Shakes head in disbelief and disgust*

The mama bear in me wants to growl back, "That Oliver WHAT?!?!?" and then claw their eyes out. Uh, kidding, kidding.

Kind of.

Ok, not really.

No kid is perfect. Not yours and not mine and not that other kid at the table next to you. Oliver is definitely more sensitive to things than his big sister. If he misses a nap he's extremely grumpy. His appetite knows no bounds and he has a hard time computing the word "no more"into his demanding little brain and stomach. He has an infectious laugh and the cutest squinty eyes when he's happy. He loves to be free (like a dog off a leash, I like to say) and run around outside with his sister and friends. He likes when I sing him a song and hold him tight before bedtime. He drags his trusty green blanket all over the house, taking the time to stop and take a deep whiff of the fabric before continuing on his way.

Is he a little harder to reason with? Sure. But remember, he's not even 3 yet. Does he drive me crazy when he wanders off while we're at the store? Of course. Does he have some aggression issues against little Andrew and Chloe that he may need to work out? Um, YES. Do I have moments at home when I wish I could lock him in the closet? Yes No Maybe. Does he need a haircut? Depends you who ask.

For all of his crazy antics when we're out and about, no one who doesn't know us should really be judging us by what they see. Being a parent is a tough job but I think being a mother is even more difficult. People are so quick to judge the mom for anything the child may or may not be doing correctly but if the father does something, anything at ALL then it is somehow praise worthy. It is almost as if the baggage of judging and being judged comes with being a mom.

It's like the minute you push the baby out of your body, the world says "Congratulations! Let the judging begin!" Instead of lifting each other up, we've resorted to tearing apart the parenting choices of others. When Oliver's having a day when he's particularly out of sorts, I feel this silent judgement being cast upon me. People wondering why I can't control my son, why my son isn't as behaved as the other kids, etc...I feel this especially from people who don't have kids. People who don't yet know.

I admit it, when I was childless I often used the phrase

"When I have a kid, he/she isn't going to (Insert offense*)".

*cry on the plane
*freak out at a restaurant
*flail on the ground in protest
*sleep in my bed
*fall asleep in my arms
*Seriously, this list could go on...

And then I actually had a kid(s) and God was like "HA HA HA, remember when you said this?" and then SHAZZAM! Lightning struck or whatever and the said offense actually happened. to ME.

I think people spend way too much time tearing each other down when we should be giving more of an effort to build one another up. As fellow Christians, parents, friends, we owe it to each other to lend a hand of support, a word of comfort or just a nod of understanding. Now is that too much to ask?

So before you all go judging me or my kids or the person next to you who is not wearing shoes in a public restroom, take a step back and maybe give them a chance. and an old pair of flip flops?