Stepping Out

Um, yeah. You must be mistaken. Move to Boston to help start a church?

Nope.

Not me.

Why?

Well…uh…for starters…I just moved. Like, last year. As in 10 months ago.

Oh, and bee-TEE-dubs…I HAVE FOUR KIDS {ignore above photo}.

All of these excuses {and a thousand more} have plagued us throughout our decision process but God has been so gracious, reminding me of two things:

1) it’s not all about me {ouch!} and

2) He will give us exactly what we need when we need it. I just have to let go and do what I can do so that He can do what ONLY He can do.

This is not the full story of our journey. At the stage that our family is in right now, I just don’t have time to sit and give it the attention it deserves but I am journaling along the way so that one day we can share with everyone because there is SO much. However, a couple days ago I was hit with such conviction in a moment where I was second guessing our choice that I just had to share. {PS – I have those doubts often. Every day, really. And I think it’s okay because it forces me to rely on God’s promises and trust in His faithfulness.}

So, back to this moment I had. I was driving down the road, listening to the radio when an old song came on and it was like my mind was in a time machine. As Toby Keith sang, I was filled with memories from a period in my life where I had no hope. Zero. Zilch. None.

I won’t go into details but if you want to know more, here’s my story. It all boils down to this – the Lord fought for me. Though I endured much, He spared me from so much more. I am what some might consider a statistical anomaly. Not because of anything I did but maybe because He knew that one day my family would do the work that would bring glory to His name.

Once again, I am reminded that He uses the broken to reach the broken, which is perfect because I was definitely broken…and, in many ways, still am…but I know the One who redeems and restores.

So how, then, can I even consider anything other than a life that declares His work in my life? How can I overlook what has been given to me? How can I sit idle?

It’s easy. I can’t.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am terrified. And there is so much to plan. And some people think we've gone straight cray. {And we're basically moving to the middle of the Arctic Circle...!} There are certainly days when I have those blowing-into-a-paper-bag panic attacks as I consider the to-do list of finding houses, jobs and schools. All minor details, of course. Fortunately, even in my worst hour of worry, God fills me with an overwhelming sense of peace and I know it's His way of saying, 'I've got this.'

Besides, if we were able to see the path clearly set before us, would it really be stepping out in faith?

Confession: Somedays I Want My Old Life Back...

...especially on days like today.

Here we are, mid-November, and the truth has finally hit me - this stay-at-home deal is tough. And I only do it 3 out of 5 days a week...and 2 of my 4 children are in school...and my husband is a teacher which means earlier tap outs for me. For those that run this freak show every day with more than two ankle biters and either are single parents or your husbands work past 3pm, you deserve a medal. A big medal. Or, at the very least, an hour to yourself at Target with a venti caramel macchiato, add extra whip.

First, I've got a four-year-old whose brain, I swear, reloads every night in his slumber to fire off a thousand new rounds of questions that I simply cannot answer, such as:

*How much does God weigh?

*Why did Satan decide to become the King of Lies?

*How did Daly know how to eat from your arm when he was first cut from your belly?

{...so perhaps we stretch the truth to avoid difficult conversations...don't judge}

Right now, we're working on wiping ourselves {him wiping himself, obviously}. And that's a lot of fun. And since he doesn't have his older brothers to follow around, I'm IT. Oh sure, he'd watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates all day long and conquer every world on Lego Star Wars if I would let him. Which, ahem, I never do...

And then I've got this amazing little newborn, who has miraculously survived five months in our house, that obviously needs a lot of attention. He's in the stage where he wants to be held but also wants to wiggle which just ends up frustrating us both. {And even better right now with double ear infection.} He tolerates his Bumbo/bouncer/jumper a whopping three minutes {total!} until he realizes that I'm in the kitchen trying to prepare/cook/clean up breakfast/lunch/dinner. Or maybe trying to switch the 17th load of laundry. Or, {gasp!}, trying to use the potty!

Honestly, when I worked full-time, I often thought that being home had to be easier. Now I'm eating my thoughts {because I'm certain I was never dumb enough to actually articulate such words} and realizing that both are hard. They're just different 'hards.'

Seriously, though. There are some days that I run to my teeny-tiny master bath {it's really hard to even label it master, it is THAT tiny...and that has a door that doesn't properly lock so I have to hold shut while Dayne sticks his hands under to try and reach me...sigh} and wonder what on earth I was thinking when I willingly traded in my cute black heels for these flannel penguin pajama pants. I feel totally inadequate of pulling this gig off. But, by the grace of God {and Dove chocolate}, I'll figure it out. Because it's worth it. These little guys are totally worth it. Even when I invoke nap time and immediately become 'Worstest Mommy Ever!'

Aw, really? You've got a grown man's IQ and 'Worstest Mommy Ever' is the best that you can do? Mommy's a little disappointed....

b2s

oh.EM.gee. School is back in session. PRAISE JESUS! This summer was brutally long and I mean that in the kindest way possible. I love my children, they love me. I love my husband, he loves me. But by the seventh week together and the umpteenth thunderstorm, we were literally at each other’s throats and over the excessive amount of family time. Over it, done, NEXT! So now that looney toons #1 and #2 are back in school, my new schedule has finally hit me. I work a whopping two days a week and it is absolutely, positively fabulous! I’m baking strawberry rhubarb cakes, people. I’m finishing laundry all in one day instead of it taking all blasted week. I make cookies-n-cream popcorn for afterschool snacks {DELISH!}. I get the grocery shopping done with only two cronies instead of four. I even take naps {well, not everyday…and don’t tell Dallas}. Now, some days I feel uber productive and other days, not so much. I mean, I am caring for a 3-month-old who seriously ravages a bottle every four hours {but sleeps 10-12 a night – be jealous!} and who cranks up approximately one hour before feeding time so some days are certainly harder than others. And then there is Dayne. Oh, sweet Dayne. This boy is so bright. I can already see a little intellect with the complex questions he asks. However, you should know that Dayne is also a screen junkie. He loves all things electronic and it’s nobody else’s fault but our own. In between the studious questions, I hear {all day long}, ‘When can I play the Wii again? Can I watch Ninjago after lunch? What games are on your phone?’ He’s like a little crack addict who can’t seem to get a fix. I am trying to stimulate his little mind in ways other than the screens but by 2:00, I usually give in. At that point, we have played Uno, baseball, basketball, school, Legos, had three snacks…and I just can’t do anymore. So then we start watching the clock for Daddy and ‘the boys’ to get home from school and I send him outside to the stump to be on lookout. That buys me exactly four minutes to use the potty in peace. In case I wasn’t clear above, I LOVE my new schedule. I am so, so incredibly blessed. Truth be told, I’d stay home every day if I could. Who knows? Maybe one day I will. And it’s crazy because had you asked me three years ago if this was a path I wanted to pursue, my answer would have been, ‘Heck no!’ But I’m finding that the Lord changes our hearts when we seek His face. And I’m going to continue seeking His face because He is so good and faithful…

Summer 2013

So this isn’t my first go-round at being on maternity leave in the summer months. I mean, this is my THIRD kid born in June so I’ve done the six-to-eight weeks off over summer break. However, I haven’t done it with three older loud, whiny children who hate each other and umpteen home renovation projects lingering.


There, I said it. My kids are unruly. And you know something else? I’m counting the days until school starts again. Yes I am and I am unashamed. {21 days or three weeks from this very moment – HALLELUJAH!} What? I’m only saying what you are thinking if you are home all day with lunatics like mine. Seriously. The only reason I’m able to etch this little note out is because they are camping and I got a night time pass to be home with Daly boy. Clearly I’m making the most of this solitude because it doesn’t come often.  I feel like I'm going at mach speed to mark things off my list not usually even attainable with a full house. 

And I’m not kidding when I say that we have done it all, or so it seems. We’ve been to the water park, Greenville Drive baseball games, library {nightmare!}, play dates, Runway Café. Next week we add the beach to our list of summer memories.  And because their energy tank never seems to empty, my boys have played a ridiculous amount of Tiger Woods on the PlayStation and Lego Star Wars on the Wii. And I don’t care. I-just-don’t-care. So what if their little minds are a little more corrupted? At least they were fed and {for the most part} had clean clothes on their backs. Those are my two key goals each day and, with a new baby, I would say we’ve done fairly well. Showers…uh. No comment.

I do love my children. In case you were wondering. And if we’re friends on Instagram, you would know that by the seven thousand pictures I post…daily.

I totally think I can rock this stay-at-home-mom gig when school is in session. And when all boys are in school. I whip up a mean coffee cake and take pride in my bed-making skills. So I guess that would make me a housewife more than a SAHM, huh? Whatever. Minor details.

Welcome d4!

Gestational diabetes, useless epidural and sleep deprivation - the top three reasons why I am done having children. Yes, I’ve said it before but I don’t think I ever wrote it down so maybe this will help.

Having GD from week 28 on in this pregnancy was awful. I know it could have been worse but, just, whatever. It was awful. Checking my blood sugar 4x a day, watching every.single.thing to go in my mouth for fear of hurting my unborn or sending myself into some sort of diabetic coma was just too much stress for me.

My epidural wore off after about two hours of a sixteen hour labor which means that, when it was really needed, it did NOTHING. I felt every last ounce of the delivery and that was never my intention nor {in my honest opinion} should it ever be anyone’s intention. Sorry, friends, but the prize is the same in the end. To those that do go au natural, hats off to you. To the anesthesiologist who supplied my ‘goods,’ I’d like a refund, sir.

And now here we are in the third week of life with this baby and I’m exhausted. Not just from nursing 8-12 times a day but also from serving breakfast and lunch to three other hungry, demanding children because, of course, it’s summer break and everyone is home. {Yes, I feed them dinner, too, but I haven’t actually prepared one in, well, three weeks, thanks to the many friends who have brought dinner to us!}

Alright, well, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, let me just tell you that this baby is amazing.

Despite what everyone thought, we really did not have his name picked out until after he was brought into this world. We had a few on our list but until we saw him, he really did not become Daly Judah and, as cliché as it sounds, he really could not be anything else.

He was born at 3:50pm on Monday, June 3, 2013 and he weighed 6lbs 13oz, 20 inches long.

He was our smallest baby by nearly a pound, which is crazy given my enormous size and the doctors/ultrasound techs estimates. However, once Dr. Delahunty broke my water, it was clear that much of the weight was fluid. Super.

I won’t go into details of the birth since no one really cares about them except the parents who endured. I’ll just say that it was less than ideal but, in the end, we have a healthy, beautiful baby with gorgeous eyes to match those of his three big brothers. God has been so good to us. Nine months ago we prayed for a baby girl but the Lord had other plans and we couldn’t be happier to have this sweet little guy. He sleeps best with noise {good thing!}, his coos are like that of an angel and he has started sleeping ridiculous hours at night which has both shocked and awed me!

And since it’s been over two months since I’ve blogged, I’m betting it will be that long before I do it again. Even though I’m on eight weeks of maternity leave and will only be working two days a week when I do return, I am certain my time will be taken up by other more important things. Like playdates.

A Day in the Life of a Gestational Diabetic...

So remember how I said this kid was going to be different? Well, truer words have not been spoken and he hasn’t even made his arrival.


You see, I had my glucose test at 28 weeks and failed miserably. I thought, ‘No sweat, I’ve been here before.’ So I went back a week later for the extended glucose test and apparently failed that sucker with flying colors, too, which led to a diagnosis of gestational diabetes.

Now is just about where my world starts spinning – physically from the sugar highs/lows that I could never figure out before but emotionally as I soon realize what exactly this means.

Initially I thought it would just mean that my oatmeal breakfast could no longer be supplemented by a Krispy Kreme Hot-n-Now, my lunch probably shouldn’t include three double chocolate chip cookies with my Subway sandwich and my after-dinner-dessert would have to be toned down a bit. After all, when I think of diabetes, I think of too much sugar and then I think of muffins, cakes, and pies and then I get really hungry. I assumed I would just have to incorporate more fruit in place of the fudge brownies.

Boy, was I wrong.

And so off I went to a diabetes education class. This is where I learned that not only could I not have my donuts, cookies and an occasional Pibb with my dinner but that I also had to strictly monitor my intake of carbs, especially those with a high glycemic index like corn, apples, potatoes and spaghetti. And by monitor, I mean cut out completely.

Sure, I can have one-half cup of spaghetti noodles but what’s the point? Who wants half a cup? That’s more torture than having none. And don’t you even think of adding sauce to that half-cup of noodles. No siree. Too much sugar in that jar. Throw a little butter on them there noodles and call it dinner.

Oh and the fun doesn’t even stop there. At this class, they handed me a cute little gadget and proceeded to show me how to poke myself FOUR TIMES A DAY to check my levels and log every last bite that goes into my mouth. I’m sorry, you want me to intentionally draw blood multiple times each day from my poor, malnourished fingers and then write down each time I pop a peanut in my mouth?

Obviously I’m being a bit overdramatic but you just don’t go messing with a pregnant woman’s food. I mean, dang. I’ll straight up fight my own spawn for the last piece of cake if the mood strikes…don’t think I won’t do the same to a dietician taking away all things tasty.

Clearly this ‘trial’ is teaching me some serious discipline. I love food and especially so when I’m pregnant. I proudly gained 60lbs with d’s 1-3 and had intended this one to be no different. However, here I sit at week 32 and have gained 34lbs. After first going on this diet, I even lost a few which is totally foreign to me but made sense. I mean, a girl can only eat so much salad and turkey sandwiches {on whole wheat bread} before the fetus starts whittling away at my fat storage. Or so that’s what I’m hypothesizing.

Now that it’s been a couple of weeks, I’ve toned down my drama queen act a bit by finding some bright spots along the way and am trying to focus on them when I get annoyed/bitter/cranky. Like the fact that I can still eat my Chipotle Steak Fajita Burrito Bowl. I just have to limit the amazing cilantro-lime rice to, oh, I don’t know, 6 grains and stay away from that chili-corn salsa because, remember, corn is EVIL. Who knew?

And I can almost have all the peanut butter I want. Oh sure, peanut butter is great. I love it but mostly with CHOCOLATE. For now, I’m learning to love it on whole wheat toast, celery sticks and, if I really want to be a rebel and have an extra special treat, I can put it on one {singular} graham cracker. I’ll admit that I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find that Peanut Butter Toast Crunch cereal with almond milk has been a great breakfast alternative to the suggested eggs and toast. And since then, I’ve often contemplated living on just PB Toast Crunch for every meal until D-Day. The thought crosses my mind more often when I eat 2+ salads in any given day…a girl can only take so much lettuce.

Some have made comments like, ‘Look at it this way – it’s just a jump start to your post baby bod.’ And I’ll confess that I might have wanted to stab them with my diabetic lancet. Same violent thoughts to those who ask if my doctors are positive it's not twins.  Seriously? Aside from asking someone if they're pregnant {when there's always that chance that they're not}, this is the other question you don't ask someone who is already feeling gargantuan. 

Are any of you pitying Dallas right now? Sometimes I think, ‘Poor Dallas. Not only does he have to battle my pregnancy hormones but now he’s got a pregnant and famished crazy on his hands.’ And then he goes and eats an entire bag of Lay’s before bed while I ration my string cheese and, just like that, my sympathy is gone.

In conclusion, I’d like to put everyone on notice now. If you desire to visit me in the hospital {or in the two weeks following d4’s birth at our home}, you must know that there will be an edible entry fee. Forget the diapers or meals for the rest of my family, just bring one of the following and you’ll be allowed in:

1) A case of Mr. Pibb

2) One pan of Godiva dark chocolate brownies covered in Trader Joe’s cookie butter icing {one fork}

3) Oreo Sonic Blizzard topped with crushed Reeses PB cups {one spoon}

4) Red Robin Guacamole Bacon Burger WITH bun

5) FRENCH FRIES – McDonald’s, Fuddruckers, Dodge’s Gas Station – I will not discriminate

Sweet little d4 {who is probably starving in utero} – we will one day talk about this. I realize it’s your placenta’s fault but you’re just sort of guilty by association. Sorry, Charlie. {And no, that’s not his name!}

Eight weeks and counting…

All Things Coming Together

So, our house sold about 10 days ago! Woo hoo! And then this past week we bought a house.  Again.  I know I’ve said this before but I never want to do this again. And this time I mean it! My nerves are tore up over all the contracts, inspections, repairs, closing dates, etc. 

Okay, so this new house.  Allow me to tell all of you five readers about it.  First let me just say that we really didn’t think we were going to find something so quickly.  Don’t get me wrong – we had looked at many, MANY houses, online and in person.  My poor, sweet realtor {and FRIEND!} probably wanted to shake us but we were adamant that this time we would be certain this was a good fit. 

It’s not like our current house wasn’t great but we did really have to settle for it and we knew we didn’t want to do that again.  We’ve also just been really convicted in our hearts about what is important to us regarding our lifestyle. 

Now don’t hear what I’m not saying – we don’t live in extravagance.  Those who know me know that my favorite places to shop are Goodwill and  Aldi.  Nothing thrills me more than a score on a Banana Republic tank or a pint of blueberries for under a buck.  We just know that any income we get is a blessing from the Lord.  I used to feel like I had to live in a big house and drive a new car to ‘be somebody.’  Clearly I’ve learned that it’s all a lie.  Maybe it was because I grew up with very little – I don’t know – but I want to teach my boys that those things are all temporary.  We can learn together because I’m still a work in progress in that area. 

Enough of my tender thoughts.  I’ll save those for my journal.  The new house.  So it’s forty-something years old and the seller is the original owner.  Her husband built it all those years ago and they raised children {and grandchildren} in the house.  It is a good bit smaller than our current home but the outside is amazing.  It’s a total 1.2 acre lot with an awesome fenced in backyard.  And by fenced, I mean chain link.  That might be on my update list on down the road as I really enjoy a nice privacy fence but it’s really not a priority. 

This yard – GAH! I’m already envisioning my garden {that Dallas will farm, I’m sure!}, a trampoline, a fire pit, a basketball goal {on the crazy huge paved driveway section} and maybe even a hammock.  The potential is unbelievable. 

Now then, let’s discuss the inside.  All original hardwood floors, real plantation blinds and a pink sink.  Fine, so two out of three ain’t bad, right? Yes, the inside is smaller and, yes, the updates are sure to be lengthy but it’s nothing we can’t fix with a little help from Pinterest and IKEA.  We’ll have this place pulled into the 21^st century in no time.

And it may be that the best part is the price.  Not only did we score a great deal for the property that we bought but the lower mortgage is going to afford me more time at home with the boys.  With the pending arrival of #4, I’m finally getting to the point where I have to throw in the towel and admit that I just can’t do it anymore.  Here’s a little secret of mine - not easy for me to say.  I am a self-proclaimed control freak who wants to have the best of both worlds, whatever that even means.  However, when my 6-year-old son asks me why I never go on field trips with his class and my answer is, ‘Because I have to work,’ it’s a lot easier to concede. 

Now, let me just say this while we’re on the subject.  I fully support working moms.  FULLY.  I have been one since Dagen was 6 months old.  It is challenging but very rewarding.  When my work day is finished, I give everything to them until they go down for the night.  And then I fall on the couch in utter exhaustion. 

Yes, we did daycare centers and, yes, they got sick but that is life.  PS - they can get sick going to the grocery store with me.  Heck, they probably contracted more sickness from the pediatricians office when I took them for well-child-checks.  That.Is.Life.  Do I wish I could have spent more time with Dagen and Davis before they went to K-5? Of course.  I didn’t work because I didn’t want to stay home with them.  We couldn’t afford for me to stay home financially at the time and I love my career choice.  I mean, I work with numbers - who wouldn't love that?!?! 

However, with some lifestyle changes that we’ve made/are making, this is something we’re working towards.  I won’t be a full time SAHM but I hope to be a part-time SAHM and have a better balance in life.  I hope to never have to tell Davis that I didn’t put my name in the chaperone pool because it was my scheduled long day at work.  That just hurts my heart. 

There.  I’m done.  Just please don’t rip on working moms because I can get all sorts of fired up.  Oh wait, you didn’t. 

So here’s one pic of the house….you’ll have to stay tuned for before and after shots in the months to come.  Closing is set for April 15^th.  Please, Jesus, let there be NO delays.

 

Divine Intervention and a Distressed Cashier

I’m sure you’ve heard stories from others about how God has used trials to get our attention, right? I know I have and I know I’ve been a part of some, just like last week. But first let me set the stage…


It was Valentine’s Day morning. I got up a little earlier to fix my three little love bugs and hunny-bunny-of-a-husband a fun, festive breakfast. I had put together a stuffed French toast bake the night before as well as a little table decorating.  All I had to do when I woke up was 1) tip-toe past Dagen the Resident Noise Nazi {which, PS, is not easy being a little heavier and a lot clumsier in my 5th month}, 2) fix the bacon and 3) mix the strawberry milk.

Side Note: I had some inner struggles serving strawberry milk {which included strawberry-infused-sugar rimmed cups - I know, WHAT?!?} to these crazies. If you know me at all, you know my thoughts on artificial coloring. We’ve seen living proof of what it can do to our 'angels' behaviors – NO BUENO. However, I decided that I could overlook it for this special occasion…besides, they were off to school after breakfast. I decided I would simply pray for their teachers/classmates/random strangers that  may encounter them and their looney toon outburts.  Totally NOT joking on this one. 

So breakfast was a hit. Dayne is still telling me how it was the best breakfast ever {score!}. I even had little place cards with their names and left them sweet little Valentine’s derived from Scripture on L-O-V-E. {Thank you, Pinterest, for making me Awesome Mommy for the morning.}

Because it was Thursday, Dallas had to leave a little early for carline duty at his school. These usually make for ‘fun’ mornings as I try to clean up breakfast, make sure everyone has backpacks, lunch boxes, shoes, jackets and clean teeth. This day was no different but, surprisingly, we were out the door a few minutes early and everyone was happy but not yet strung out on the strawberry ‘crack.’

And then it happened. We got in the van and started backing out of the garage. I realized a light was still on inside so I threw the van in park, opened the side door and Dagen ran in to turn it off. When he came back, I attempted to put the van back in reverse. But it wouldn’t go. The gear shifter ma-jiggy wouldn’t go one way or the other.

I was a little panicked but remained calm and did what I always do – called my neighbors. God bless these people – I’m glad we’re not just neighbors but friends. They have helped us out in a pinch more than a few times. Billy came down, tried to get it in gear to no avail. He offered one of their vehicles and went back home to get it so that I could get the boys to school. While he was gone, I sat there and started praying. Outloud. Fine, it was a little more like a scream but a prayer nonetheless - something like, ‘PLEASE LORD, LET THIS WORK!’ And then I told the boys I was going to turn the van off, turn it back on and try one more time before Mr. Billy came back.

Would you believe this? In that moment, the gear shifter ma-jiggy popped into reverse! We were all screaming with excitement but the best part was the conversation that immediately followed:

Davis: ‘Mommy, do you realize that God just worked a miracle through you?’

Me: ‘He certainly did. Woohoo!’

Dagen: ‘No, no, no. Mommy moved that stick – not God.’

Davis: ‘Yes but not until Mommy prayed for God to fix it.’

#BOOM

Some might say that a safety switch reset, others might say I did something different on that attempt to fix but me and my boys know the truth. Jesus was just reminding me that prayer shouldn’t be a last resort but a first resolve {thanks Pastor Paul!}

To some, this may not sound like much in the way of stress and, in that moment, it really wasn’t. However, you should know that we had endured a trial or two in the days leading up. Nothing of Job magnitude, thankfully, but still very frustrating. Extra doctor bills, leaky ceilings, family sickness, home selling struggles…it was all adding up and this just seemed to be another item to the list. Fortunately, we were not only spared the expense but also reminded of God’s goodness.

In other news, my belly has taken on a life of its own and the comments increase daily. It really is a good thing that I’m thick-skinned and don’t take these things to heart. I mean, not only is pregnancy a challenge physically but you have to be on your game mentally and emotionally, too.

Case in point - this past weekend, I had Davis & Dayne with me at Aldi…on a Saturday. Bad combination. I was clearly not 'on my game' for what was to come.  You see, I have a love/hate relationship with Aldi. You can get some great deals and really stock up but you also better be ready to drop a shoulder if needed to get through an aisle. People will straight run you over in the produce section, pregnant or not. There are no exceptions. Good thing I’m a defensive driver with the cart like I am with my mini-van.

Anyway, we made it through the store {with Dayne only screaming, ‘I NEED TO POOP!’ twice} and to the checkout lane where the cashier seemed just devastated that not only did I have 3.5 months to go but that I was {gasp!} having another boy.

Aldi Cashier: ‘Oh honey, bless your little heart. You’re just so doggone big and already have your hands full with these two boys…’

Me: {insert forced smile, clear throat} ‘No ma’am, I actually have three boys, one is at home with his daddy.’

Aldi Cashier: ‘THREE boys? So you’re going to have FOUR boys? Oh my heavens, honey! What on earth are you going to do? Lawd almighty!’

Okay, so if I wasn’t already filled with anxiety of the shopping trip itself, I basically received an anything-but-encouraging word from the cashier who, because of her carrying voice, let the Granny behind us know my situation. Now they’re both going on and on about how I’ve got my hands full for sure and was I aware of how much boys eat {um, yeah, I’m familiar}. I almost felt like I needed to give both Granny and the cashier a hug and reassure them that everything was going to be okay…with me.

On a positive note, she did offer to help me bag my groceries but, at this point, Dayne was repeatedly ramming a broken cart into a pallet jack and Davis was standing on top of the bagging shelf, dancing a jig, so I politely declined. Honestly, I was a little afraid of the additional ‘advice’ I might be subjected to…

Now, let me just say that had I not been in the stressful situation of Aldi on a Saturday morning with two of my three, I might have had a little fun with this. I do happen to have a sense of humor {What? Sarcasm absolutely counts!} and enjoy watching the faces of strangers when I tell them my due date and that it’s my fourth BOY. It’s quite entertaining to see their expressions. It’s almost like I just told them that their dog died, they look that torn up.

I’m thinking that, in the right moment, I might deny being pregnant altogether or use ‘last week’ as my due date answer. Or what about this? When someone asks, ‘What in the world are you going to do with four boys?, I reply with, ‘I have NO idea! Do you want one?’ Or, ‘I don’t know, what do you think I should do?’ I kid, I kid.

In any case, I think we’ve established that baby boy #4 is growing just fine. We are midway through week #24 and he is already performing some nice bend-you-over bladder kicks. We had our official anatomy scan last month and all measurements were right on track. He was kind enough to show the ‘goods’ again, just in case we weren’t convinced from the earlier ultrasound. He appears to be mighty proud of himself. It’s clear that he will fit in just fine with this crew.

And it appears that ‘he’ shall remain nameless until Social Security Administration demands we give him a name. Seriously, I feel like Dallas and I have tossed around every possible combination, some extremely ‘out there’ but nothing has grabbed a hold of us both at the same time. Clearly we have a theme with ‘Da’ in all our boys’ names so we have to stick with that but I’m starting to wonder if we really have to follow that pattern? Let’s be honest – therapy is a given once he enters into this family as the youngest of four. Imagine all the wedgies, swirlies and wet willies he has coming in the next 18 years – naming him something like Joe Bob isn’t going to change that so why lose sleep over it, right? Right?

Happy Birthday Adam James

Oh Adam. It’s hard to believe you are 27 years old. I can’t say that I fully remember the day you were born. I mean, come on, punk. I was only 5. However, I do remember your adorable brown curls and chubby cheeks as a little guy. You had such a sweet, gentle spirit, especially towards Grandma and animals of all kind.

As a young boy, you spent hours upon hours UPON HOURS reading books and watching movies – you even had ‘Liar, Liar’ memorized line by line {which both annoyed and amused me!}. I so enjoyed watching you play basketball, baseball and football in good ole’ LJ as you grew into a man where your favorite dinner was ramen noodles and your favorite dessert was a Little Deb Apple Flip. Boy, didn't we eat healthy?!?

One of my favorite memories is when you were 12 years old and we were on our own in this big, bad world.  You slept on the loveseat every night, despite the fact that you had your own bed. Why? Because I didn't have a bed yet and only a couch to sleep on.  You didn't want to sleep in a bed if I couldn't.  Wow. That still gets me.  I remember falling asleep every night in that living room, watching re-runs of ‘Friends’ with my best friend. 

You made dinner for us every night so that I didn’t have to after work. So what if some of those dinners {i.e. scrambled eggs}ended up on the ceiling because you forgot that you were cooking?  Perhaps you shouldn't have been cooking after all.  Ha!

Together, we’ve endured a trial or two but, by God's grace, we are stronger for it. You are an incredibly intelligent, handsome man with a heart of gold.  You have overcome obstacles that would keep most people down.  Because you were my first 'kid' experiment, your nephews have a better mother for it so thank you!  Dallas and I love you and are so very proud of you!
I pray this year will be amazing for you, one filled with health, happiness, and hope. 

Happy Birthday Boo!

Yes, We're Crazy

Obviously.

We have a houseful of messy boys, a busy schedule of school-church-basketball-birthday parties-repeat and yet we're trying to sell our house.  Again. 

Some of you are probably thinking that you've confused us with another family because, surely, we aren't trying to move again.  Rest assured, your memory has not failed you {at least not in this case}.  It was us that moved just 2 1/2 years ago and we're at it again. 

When we tell people that we have our house for sale, their first response is usually, 'Oh, you need more room with the new baby, huh?'  Actually, no.  Inside space is not an issue in our current house.  It's the outside space that's not working for us. 

You see, I'm confident that our boys would sleep outside if we allowed them to do so.  They have bikes, electric scooters and, as of late, an air-soft gun {thanks, dear} that requires more outdoor space than we currently have.  Our backyard is almost non-existent and, although we live on a cul-de-sac, cars still come zooming down our hill.*  The boys also love taking batting practice and shooting baskets, neither of which are possible in our current abode.  With all boys, we need to get them a place where they can run their crazy energy out.

*Side note: When I was little, my grandma used to say something like, 'Go play in the traffic.'  I always thought it was an odd statement, seeing how she really did seem to love us grandkids but now I understand.  She was pretty much telling us to get lost and some days most days, I can totally relate...

So here we are.  The house has been on the market since September, we've had a really good bit of showings, a few second showings but no offers yet.  We're hopeful that we listed at a slow time of year and that spring will bring some real interest.  We're also hopeful that we'll find something that meets our needs without taking us back to the sticks.  In the last few months, we've found several here and there but all have gone under contract, including a 1922 fully-renovated farm house.  I think my poor husband shed a few tears when he learned of that loss - he had already made plans in his head of where the camper would be parked and the garden would grow. 

Fortunately, we know that as those homes are removed from our vision, something else more fitting will be waiting for us when the time is right.  I just hope it's soon - keeping this house clean {at 20wks} is SUPER FUN! 

I've got one thing going for me - the no-standing rule** {for ALL males - father, grandfather, visitors - I don't care who you are}...it shaves a lot of time off bathroom cleaning.  I don't say nearly as many curse words when I'm not having to scrub the wall and ceiling because of careless shooters. And no, I'm not kidding. 

**Side Note #2: I overheard Davis telling a friend that he only stands up to pee in restaurants and at school since 'my mom doesn't clean those places.'  Although I felt victorious in my nagging efforts, I also had some pity on the poor souls that do clean up after my boys when they get a chance to be free and stand...

Things A Doctor Should Never Say To a Mother of Three Boys...

'It looks like you're going to get your first baby g...'

'Uh oh, wait, well, never mind.'

Yes, that's how our day-after-Christmas sneak peek went.  We were fully expecting a boy because, well, let's face it, we just know better.  However, as I laid there on the exam table, making small talk with my old doctor {and employer} while he gave us a free gender scan, I watched that screen carefully.  C'mon now.  I've seen enough ultrasounds of my own, not to mention the thousands I've been studying on BabyCenter since we first received a positive pregnancy test.  I knew what I should be looking for, I asked some {fine, a hundred} questions while he moved the wand over my enormous bulge and, if for only two minutes, it seemed that we were going to have a girl.  Doc couldn't find boy parts and even thought he saw a hamburger {if you don't know what that is, Google it}.  I believe his exact words were, 'Well, either this little one is a boy who will never shower with the other boys or you've got your little girl.'  I had tears welling up but, honestly, it still didn't seem possible. Call it mother's intuition. 

And then it happened.  Just as he was about to shut that machine off and announce Team PINK, d4 flopped his leg over and revealed some serious goods.  Get a load of this kid...

I mean, seriously? I'm almost a little embarrassed to be posting this picture, it's so ridiculously clear.  Who the heck does he think he is anyway? Oh wait, I know.  He's a Darnell boy, LOUD AND PROUD.

It's been a week now and we're coming to terms with the idea.  Don't misunderstand me - we are beyond grateful to become parents again.  It is not something we take for granted.  I have many, many friends who have struggled and would give their right arm to be one shy of a starting line-up.  That being said, we had hoped and prayed for a baby girl so, if I'm being honest, we were a little disappointed.  Not because we're having a baby boy but because we may never know what it's like to have a baby girl. 

Several people have made the comment that we'll just have to 'try again.'  Um, hello? I think we can all agree that Dallas just does not produce XX swimmers.  And let's not forget that we're on numero cuatro here.  We already get the looks when in public, especially now that the belly has rounded out a bit and strangers are certain at what they're staring at {yes, STARING, especially if I'm alone with all of them and happen to be without my wedding ring}.  In this society {or at least where we live}, four kids is insane, five turns you into a freak show.

And let's also keep in mind that, although I'll be physically birthing my fourth child, I truly have five when you include my dear, sweet husband.  You don't believe me? Let's see.  About six months ago, I hid a stupid Nerf gun in the cabinets.  Dallas discovered it the other day and it took him all of three minutes to dig up some foam darts and blast ME while I was in the kitchen, slaving over a hot meal for these heathens.  Rather than helping me establish some rules with these Nerf guns, he would prefer to demonstrate for his boys how to effectively pull off a sneak attack on their mother.  Yeah, good times.   

Nonetheless, this new little guy will be loved abundantly and has quite the exciting childhood laid out for him, albeit at the expense of his mommy's quickly depleting sanity. 

The Lord certainly has a sense of humor, doesn't He? But He is good and we are blessed.  Just keep reminding me of that when I've hidden myself under the bed to get away from my attackers. 

Confession

…I have missed more Sundays with my church family in these last three months than probably the last three years.  No, that is not to brag on my regular attendance – it is merely pointing out that we’ve been struck with yuck here and there and usually comes down on the Sabbath. 

Thus, here I lay this morning, curled up on the couch with my eldest, watching ‘Mirror, Mirror’ repeatedly.  And no, not by my choice, though I do love a good Julia Roberts flick. I’m not complaining at all.  You see, when one has multiple children and gets to spend time alone with a single, one jumps on it, even if he does complain of a sore throat {though something tells me that should I mention the word roller skating, he might be miraculously healed…}

So not only am I taking this opportunity to cuddle with Dagen, I’m also cashing in on the chance to catch up on laundry and the ole’ blog {per a certain person’s demand request}

Let’s start with a pregnancy update.  I am now in my second trimester and starting to feel a lot better,
specifically where the all-day sickness is concerned.  My appetite has come back but I haven’t noticed it to be insatiable…yet. 

That reminds me of my last OB appointment.  I’m seeing a new doctor from the one that delivered Dayne, merely because of distance, and she was going through the list of do’s and don’ts in pregnancy, all the while knowing that I’m no newbie at this deal.  When she got to the part about suggested weight gain of 25-35lbs, I just giggled.  She asked me why and I told her that she could probably just tell her nurse to save her breath every month, that I’ve yet to gain less than 60lbs with any of my children and I wasn’t looking to make this one any different.  After all, I’d hate for d4 to feel I deprived it of anything.  There will be plenty of time for that in the 18 years to follow. 

How do I know?  Well, let’s see.  Dagen has two completed baby books, Davis has one and Dayne’s hasn’t been updated since he cut his first tooth at 6 months old.  Now do you believe me?

Ahem, I digress.

We have our full anatomy scan scheduled for Jan 3^rd which would also be when we’d learn the gender of this little person.  However, my anxious, impatient self couldn’t wait that long.  I emailed my old OB {referenced above – the one that delivered my nine-pound baby Dayne almost four years ago!} and asked if he’d be willing to take a {free} sneak peek over Christmas break and he said YES! {It probably didn’t hurt my request now that I’m doing some independent consulting work from home for the hospital again!} So, unless baby doesn’t cooperate, we should see what’s between the little one’s legs on Dec 26^th. 

I’m not going to lie.  I would be over the moon to hear hamburger instead of hotdog at that appointment.  However, I know and believe that God’s will is perfect and only He knows what is best for our family.  If a girl is not for us, it’s not for us and I’m going to {eventually} be okay with it.  And since we’re considering taking permanent steps to stop the baby-making process for our family, we really will have to be okay with it. 

In other news:

*Dayne had his first trip to the ER last week after bumping his head in the garage.  The gash required two stitches and he did an amazing job throughout the whole process, though I was worried more about the possibility of contracting the flu from the nasty waiting room.  Fortunately, four days later, he has shown no signs of flu and, for that I’m SO thankful!

*Davis has been working hard on his handwriting skills.  I say that because, honestly, he doesn’t struggle in any other area of school right now.  Sure, it’s the first grade but he’s excelling in all subjects.  Fortunately, handwriting is the only area that he shows a need for improvement and, for that, we are SO thankful!

*Dagen is still pushing through third grade and giving it his best {as are we}.  Last week we studied hard for another Science and Social Studies test and I’m pretty sure I’m looking forward to Christmas break more than he is.  When we are spending two hours a night x 3 nights for a test that covers a five-page study guide, it’s time for a change-up.  And no, I’m not kidding.  Fortunately, that ten-day respite is a-comin’ and, for that, we are SO thankful!

Merry Christmas! 

{This is where our 2012 Christmas card would go if I could figure out Blogger's new features but, right now, I'm conceding and will just tell you it was another 'classy' one...}

 

 

Parenthood

You know, my perception of parenting before I had children is rather comical. I mean, I always knew that carrying a child for 9 months wouldn’t be all fun and games and that labor was likely going to hurt like hades but no one told me that being a mother to a 3rd grader was going to be dreadful. I hate to use such a strong, ugly adjective but it is rough.

Let’s take tonight for example. In an effort to help Dagen prepare for one of his FOUR tests this week, the hubs and I tag-teamed the study effort, the first being in Science over mass and motion. And then we moved on to Social Studies where he has been studying South Carolina history. Exciting stuff, right? I learned more tonight on settlers, crops and tribes than I honestly cared to know. We are discovering that if we want to see Dagen succeed in school, we are probably going to have to refresh {or learn for the first time, in some instances} what he is learning. PS – this was not in my list of expectations.

Listen, don’t get me wrong. I don’t send my boys to public school and expect that they fully handle his education with no help at home. I just never thought I’d be carrying third grade coursework for the second time at age 32. That’s all.

And then let’s discuss reading. He hates it. No, seriously hates it. He has no desire to read at all and I cannot relate. I love to read. {NERD ALERT!} I remember sneaking a flashlight as a kid, hiding it under my mattress, and pulling it out to read under the covers. When I give Dagen a book to read in his room, I usually go back 10 minutes later to find his light off while he is out cold. I know that I can’t expect him to love it like I did/do but, darn, he has to at least give it a whirl.

Now, he can speed read like a champ but his comprehension is, well, sad. Last week, he had an assigned story in his school reading book. We made sure he read it every day {as did we} and then asked him questions to test his comprehension. It appeared that he had it, except his test score indicated otherwise….and it was even an open book test. Seriously, son….IT WAS OPEN BOOK! Bless his little heart, these next nine years are going to be L.O.N.G. and probably painful {for all of us!}

For a brief moment, let me just rant about one more thing in this pregnancy. I can’t eat onions. Not only can I smell them a mile away with this ridiculous basset-hound nose but if I taste one in my mouth, I have to spit it out or risk the upchuck. WHAT?!?! I absolutely adore onions – red, yellow, white, green – and typically ask for extra on my burger, pizza or salad but, for whatever reason, this fetus has decided that ‘it’ is repulsed by them. I just don’t get it. I mean, I know that these crazy things happen but, golly Pete, what if these aversions never go away? What if I never want another cup of coffee or I never get to enjoy a slice of mushroom and onion pizza again? I just can’t even deal with the thought right now. {BTW, there are other distastes right now, those are just my two tragic ones…}

And since I titled this blog Parenthood, you should know that we have started watching that TV show on Netflix and you should, too. It’s the one show that totally makes you feel like a normal parent, even if you’re really screwed up like me.

That is all.

8w1d

So this week has been interesting. We started off at the OB’s office for our first appointment which included an early ultrasound of the bean. The scan went great, all looks on track and we even saw {but didn’t hear} the beating of little d4’s heart. Presh! Naturally, the older brothers were excited to see the pictures of the baby. That is, until they actually saw them and thought we had lost our minds because, surely, we didn’t think that blob resembled a baby?!?

Move ahead two days later to where I experienced probably one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. As I was walking down the preschool hallway at church before our Wednesday night Missions class, my heel got caught in the bottom of my pant leg and I went down. I can’t even imagine how ungraceful it looked to the many innocent bystanders but in my mind, I saw it like this….



Honest to goodness, folks, I don’t get embarrassed by much. When you have loud boys like mine who speak everything that their little minds think {and usually in public}, you just seem to form a bit of a ‘Whatever!’ opinion and learn to laugh stuff off.  However, this was awful. I remember seeing it happen in slow motion but seriously thinking it was a dream. 

I’m fine, the bean is fine {or so I assume} but it will take some time before I’m giggling when the memory comes to mind. For those who saw it, that is who I really am. PS - I'll be burning the perps that caused my fall.  {i.e. cute black heels}

But guess what? The next day, I popped up* out of bed and participated in the best team-building activity EVER with our staff. It was called the Greater Greenville Race and was a bit of a scavenger hunt in downtown G’ville that ended with lunch and prizes for the winners {that would be our splendid team that took 2ND PLACE!}. I swear we walked 5 miles in that 90-minute span of time but it was so much fun! See, TobyMac, I did get back up again!

So I should probably clarify the above *verb*. I may have been a little optimistic on my choice of words. Popping up out of bed actually means rolling out with lots of yawns, groans and sighs…and that’s when I actually sleep in my bed. As of late, I am experiencing some awesome morning sickness that actually means early morning sickness {i.e. 1am}. I have the overwhelming feeling of barfing but nothing comes out. It just sits in my throat. What kind of twisted torture is this kid playing on me?

Because of this mess, I’m not able to lay flat so I have to take it to the couch, where the tushy gives a bit more than my rock-hard mattress. I’m really over this. No, really. Who has time for nausea, not to mention the headaches, dizziness, bloating, fatigue and other stuff that goes with these wonderful issues? I’ve got meals to make, carpets to clean, boys to bathe. I just want to eat and eat A LOT, without everything making me sick. I want my pregnancies back from d's 1-3.

Can we now discuss my limited wardrobe from being in this awkward, in-between stage? I’ve pretty much got five outfits that I can comfortably {and appropriately} wear to work before I go full maternity, three of which are accessorized with a jean jacket. And this mess of a hair? Yep, it will probably be up in this low, wet pony-tail every morning until my personal stylist, the fabulous Delecta Rollins, forbids it and gives me a ‘do that requires zero effort. Except that doesn’t exist for my frizzy fro.

I really don’t want to sound like a Debby Downer but this part of pregnancy is ROUGH. My poor boys have been great. After I pick them up from school and we do homework together, I curl up in my normal spot on the couch while they battle each other in Mario Kart around Mommy’s limp body until Dallas gets home, whispering, ‘Do you think she’ll ever not be tired?’ to each other. Sad face but I can’t help it. I promise, boys. It won’t be like this for long, says Darius Rucker.

7w4d

Yesterday, Dagen came up to me and, as he does so often, tenderly gave me a hug.  It warms my heart that this rough-and-tumbling yet super sensitive and gentle little boy willingly hugs his mommy.  And then he spoke. 

Dagen: Mommy, how big is the baby now? Is it still the size of a bean?
Me: Um, yeah, something like that. 
Dagen: {with a puzzled look}…so if it’s that small, why is your belly so big right now? What else is growing in there?

One day when I expose my stash of secret pictures of him playing ping*pong stark naked to his high school friends and he asks me why I would do such a cruel thing, I’m going to point him right here. 

And because I need a laugh, I figured you do, too.  If you are or have been pregnant, I’m sure you can relate.  Last week, I cried during a fight scene in Karate Kid.  What the wha...?

6w3d

Funny how men & women are different. If a man reads that title, he thinks it’s the name of a new Star Wars character. If a woman reads it, she knows it’s pregnancy-related. Unless that man is my husband who has already updated ‘his’ due date on BabyCenter so that he receives weekly emails on the growth of our unborn bebe and subsequently sends me links to this, that and the other as if I’ve never done this before. Thanks but no thanks. I will sleep on my back until I no longer can and if I choose a bag of donuts over an apple for my snack, I strongly suggest you hold your remarks.

 Ahem, I digress. So 6w3d, for those in the dark, is code for six weeks and three days into this human-growing process. With Dagen, I had a cute little journal I logged everything in. And I do mean everything. With Davis, I had a free Enfamil calendar that I might have marked the big dates with fun little stickers. With Dayne, yeah, I did nothing. Sorry, buddy. It was the life in which we lived. With this one, I’m going to try my hand at blogging some things. Or this might be the only one, given the fact that I’m home from church today because I’m fighting serious nausea & dizziness. Whatever. You’ve gotta start somewhere.

So these symptoms I’m griping about this morning have been bothering me kicking my butt these last couple of weeks. No, it's not like I’ve never experienced any of it before but I’ll be darned if they don’t seem elevated. Take nausea for instance. It seems to show up around the same time every morning and last for several hours. It closely resembles the way I feel when riding through the hills of Tennessee with Dallas behind the wheel except it’s not over in 10 minutes…it lasts 2-4 hours and it’s brutal.

And then add some random smells that I’ve somehow developed aversions to and it’s even worse. I can understand being nauseated by the smell of hard-boiled eggs or fish or something stinky but my biggest aversion right now? COFFEE. My beloved java. Listen, friends, I haven’t gone a day without coffee in I-don’t-know how many years but right now, I’m on an eight-day hiatus and it bites. Not only can I not drink it but I can’t even smell it! {Sad, sad face} I guess this is a blessing in disguise for my growing fetus but my selfish me is missing my pumpkin spice latte. It’s October, for crying out loud, which is when all the seasonal flavors are out and I can’t even enjoy it. This is a travesty.

The other major symptom I’m battling is exhaustion and Dallas would gladly attest to this. My poor husband just wants to hang out with my cool self in the evenings after the crazies are down for the count and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open until 9:00. Yesterday, I laid down for a late nap with Dayne and didn’t wake up until 4:30pm. Had he not kidney-punched me with his heel when turning over, I might have slept until this morning and still looked forward to an afternoon siesta. It’s really ridiculous but I can’t help it.  Maybe if I could stomach some coffee, I might have some energy. Hmmph.

And then let’s not even discuss my growth. Seriously, it’s absurd. For the record, the scale hasn’t changed but, by golly, this belly has. You always hear that, with every child, the ‘pop’ comes faster but I’m already embracing the belly band. At 6w3d {it was actually at about 5w2d, if I'm being honest}. So yes, it’s possible that, by this time next week, I’ll be in total maternity wear. I can’t even believe I just typed that.

There are others in my list of First Trimester Fun but I’ll spare you the details only to say that they seem worse this go-round. Why is that? Is it because I’m 32? Could it be a different gender? Or…{gasp}…could there be more than one in there?

First ultrasound a week from tomorrow. Stay tuned.  

Let's Even Up The Teams

So we’re having another baby….and, boy, the comments have sure been interesting. ‘Are you NUTS?’ ‘Don’t you know what causes this?’ {Yes, Dallas sure does!} ‘Will you be the next Duggars?’ ‘You’re only four weeks and telling people?’ And my personal favorite – ‘How on earth will you raise FOUR children in this economy?’ So in case I haven’t responded to everyone via text or social media, YES this was planned, NO we are not in a competition with the Duggars and YES we have gone crazy but, hello, that was long ago. We have and are praying for this baby until the day he/she arrives and do not take this gift for granted one bit. And I sure do share early…you will understand if you see me in two weeks and wonder how I managed to digest a cantaloupe and it make its way to my quads because I get B-I-G and fast. Shallow, maybe, but I need a justification for this. Now, I realize that the baby is the size of a poppy seed {which is really tripping the boys out} and that it can’t possibly cause such blimping yet but those doggone hormones that 'force' me to eat whole containers of Cookies-N-Cream Extreme ice cream sure can. Trust me. Telling the brothers last night was interesting. I would post the video but I asked Dallas to destroy it immediately. In hindsight, I should have let him keep it so that we could show the boys later in life but, in the moment, I felt the baby would never want to hear some of the reactions. You know, the part where one of the boys just keeps repeating, ‘You’re just kidding, right? You guys are funny. No, really. You’re just kidding, right? RIGHT! R…I…G…H…T?’ That being said, some of their other reactions were as such: ‘Is it a boy or a derl?’ ‘Show me.’ ‘Is there one baby or two?’ {oh lawd!} ‘If it’s a girl, I’ll brush her hair.’ Now, I won’t lie. At first and in random periods of the day, I’ll stop and think, ‘Wow! What have we gotten ourselves into?’ But here’s the deal – this life is already crazy but so crazy awesome. With each bit of chaos, I find myself letting things go one little bit at a time. Take this morning for instance - Dayne came in the kitchen while I was cooking breakfast and told me there was poop on the bathroom floor. Did I drop the spatula and rush in to clean it? Nope. I yelled at asked Dallas to come downstairs and do it. Oh and that poop? It was from sometime yesterday. Obviously I know it’s gross but I’m over it. {Note to self: Review our family sanitary policy on fallen feces with husband.} See, I’m totally mellowing out. Bring on baby #4. {ETA: Why is Blogger freaking out right now and running all of my sentences and paragraphs together? THIS will make me panic more than the stinkin' poop!}

Back2School Time

I am now the mommie of a 3rd grader, a 1st grader and a K-3’r. What the wha...?

It seems just like yesterday I was threatening my husband’s life on Dagen’s first day of kindergarten. Now I'm walking three into school {okay, I can stop pretending now that Dayne isn't with me - he's not really in big school yet but if you tell him I said that, I'll deny it up and down...} who are turning red at the sight of certain little girls {no, Lord, please...NOT YET} and asking me to walk away without so much as an awkward acquantaince, one-armed hug. Sigh.

It’s cliché but they sure do grow up quickly. Although the days may seem long, the years are short...far too short.

The Quarter Catastrophe

I thought my next post would be about my recent girls weekend to the beach. However, I feel Davis swallowing a quarter topped the ‘What’s New with the Darnells’ list so I’ll go with that.

I’ve had several people ask me how it happened and, for a moment, I wonder if I’m missing something. I mean, is there any other way this could possibly happen other than him opening his mouth, placing the quarter in and swallowing? I just don’t want to be out of the loop…

Okay, I’m done with sarcasm. {And if you believe that, you clearly do not know me AT ALL!}

Once we established that Davis was not choking on said coin and that he was breathing fine, I took him {along with his 3-year-old brother – yeah, GOOD TIMES!] to the local urgent care center. Within a few minutes, we were taken back to the room where the Yankee technician took some x-rays. {And FTR, I don’t say Yankee to be ugly – he was way cool and I happened to love his accent, being that I used to have one of my own from living 4 years in Worcester, MA. And if you’re wondering, it’s pronounced Woosta, not WORE-CESS-TUR where cars are ‘cahs.’}

Now, if I’m being honest, I was a little nervous when the x-rays were developing on the computer behind me. No, I wasn’t concerned that they wouldn’t find the quarter or that it was lodged somewhere else. I was just expecting to see a pile of chewed up toenails and half of Woody’s plastic hat residing in his left intestine.

You see, my sweet little Davis has a bit of a chewing issue. This is nothing new and no surprise to us. I’ve just slacked off on my job of lathering up his toes with Mavala {the greatest cure for thumb sucking & nail biting} and apparently he’s moved on from toenails to twenty-five-cent pieces…

And so now we wait and, with each passing bowel movement, we pray. According to the pediatric gastroenterologist {i.e. baby belly doctor}, if he doesn’t rid himself of the coin within 36 hours, they have to ‘go in and get it.’ I have no idea what that entails or which end they will ‘go in and get it’ from nor do I want to think about it just yet. I believe Davis feels the same.

Lucky for me and not so much for Dallas, every BM has to be thoroughly examined. Since he’s still on summer break and I have to work, he’s the lucky guy for the job. He did send me this pic after the most recent inspection.



He then informed me that he would be swallowing a quarter in about 35 years so that Davis had to do the same for him. I laughed so hard, I thought I might need to visit the potty myself.

Whenever this little George Washington does appear, whether naturally or surgically, I’ll share a picture. And right below that picture will be the one of me on the beach with a cheeseburger in one hand and a Twix bar in the other, where I knew nothing but eating, sleeping and eating for 4 days. The one that I had intended to share instead of a stained coin.

A bright side perspective - he's got a great story for his first grade journal. There's always a bright side, people. You just might have to 'dig' for it. {Hardee-har-har}

Beach Week 2012

Last year, we did Disney as a family. This year, we did Myrtle Beach and I definitely enjoyed it more. Crazy to say, er type, when we’re likening to the ‘Happiest Place on Earth’ but, as it turns out ole’ Walt, I prefer the campground swimming pool, golf cart parades and redneck BINGO as opposed to the overpriced tickets, overcrowded parking lots and ridonkulous wait times. There, I said it.

Before you go thinking we did the beach high-class style, please revert back to the first paragraph in which I mentioned a campground pool. Yes, we took the infamous camper and headed to Ocean Lakes where we spent many hours at the beach & swimming pool, ate lots and lots of junk and just enjoyed life without a schedule. And, to be honest, it was my favorite family vacation yet.

This picture cracks me up! Check out Davis {aka Baywatch Babe} in the background...all he lacks is the red shorts and life preserver - he certainly has the run down!

Seriously, though. It was that good, I really have little to write about. When looking back over previous posts where I reminisce on our get-aways, this one pales in comparison to all the drama that has happened. Well, now, that’s not entirely true. Where my family is concerned, there is never a dull moment. Over the course of six days, we did have a short-term ant problem in our camper, lost 2 out of 3 boys {one at the beach, one at Wal-Mart…both equally as terrifying}, and broke a few things in one particular souvenir store. Thanks to the boys goofing around near the figurines, we are now the proud owner of a shattered turtle snow globe…oh wait, no we’re not. The clerk threw it away after he charged me $6.99. Thanks, pal!

Reading back over that recap, I am actually quite pleased. Given our track record, I really kept expecting something major to happen. I mean, it just wouldn’t have been a true vacation without some sort of catastrophe. Don’t get me wrong, losing our kids was no walk in the park and frightening as always {and yes, I have excuses as to why they happened – would I really come right out and admit that I wasn’t watching them?!?} but our camper didn’t break in half from a tree falling on it after being struck by lightning. That is the kind of stuff I’m accustomed to – these other ‘occurrences’ are almost making my life boring.

Just for the record….I like boring.