Dream Drama

Like sleeping isn’t difficult enough with two kicking kids, a cover- hog husband, and a dog that likes to sleep on my head- let’s interrupt the FEW moments of sleep I DO get with INSANE dreams.

My dreams are so vivid I wake up with my heart racing, I’m short of breath, and I absolutely can’t go back to sleep. My LAST dream?

There I am. In my yard. It’s a nice sunny day and Brighton is in his normal perch on the four wheeler growling like a possessed  gremlin (because that’s the noise he makes instead of Vroom Vroom like a NORMAL child). Brooklyn is on the pool deck worrying over putting her floaties on so she doesn’t DIE. (Because she’s convinced that if her very FOOT touches the water without her floaties being securely fastened, she will indeed be swallowed up and drowned in a matter of seconds. I have no idea why. Surely I didn’t scare her to death into believing that nonsense).  And I am standing in my normal position (bent over like a tornadoed pine tree eyeing little ant mounds and throwing poison over them, watching gleefully as the little black biting dots twist into tiny black DEAD dots). I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt and no shoes. (My stay at home mom uniform). I feel a slight kick in my stomach and look down. A little bulge pokes out. The little alien form isn’t unusual as all of my children like to try to climb out of my gut before their time. But then, a tiny little hand juts out. Actually OUT- like completely in the air waving around- OUT. That’s not the weird part. My reaction is what’s weird.

“AWW! A little hand!” I stick my finger beside the hand and all the fingers grasp it. How adorable. Except for the fact that the hand is just STICKING out of my stomach. And THEN, once the tiny hand gets a grip on my finger it tugs and out emerges an ARM. And then a FACE. Again. NOT the weird part.

“Oh my goodness! It’s a girl! That’s a little girl face!” And I’m scrutinizing the face trying to see if it resembles Brooklyn and Brighton. And then the rest of the baby comes on out and I’m just holding this LITTLE baby. (That’s the part when I should have known it was a dream. Johnson babies are NOT little). So then I start to worry. But not about what you would think. No. I have the baby in both hands and the umbilical cord is still stuck in my stomach like a straw stuck in an orange and suddenly I don’t know how I am going to buckle Brooklyn and Brighton into their car seats AND hold this baby while I DRIVE myself to the hospital. THAT is what I am worried about. So I just walk over to my neighbor’s house and use my foot to kick the door until she opens it. Her face, filled with all the horror that should be expected from someone who comes face to face with a woman holding a naked, slimy baby still attached to her startles me. And THEN, and only then, do I realize how absolutely creepy and grotesque this little occurrence is. And my heart begins to race and my neighbor starts to scream so naturally I start to scream and…

I bolt upright in my bed with a scream stuck in my throat. And I just go ahead and get up because I’m certain the pounding of my heart is going to wake all the inhabitants in my BED. And as I stand up I feel a little kick in my gut. (Remember I am Fourteen weeks- that means I shouldn’t feel kicking yet). I jump out of the bed and realize I can’t RUN from my stomach. So I just give up and watch my stomach move around wondering when a hand is going to jut out and grab my finger. And I guess I fell asleep waiting.

I’m happy to report it never happened. But I’m not convinced yet that it won’t.

Without getting into any personal drama that has been happening in my life… wait. Who am I kidding? Personal drama is ALL I have to write about. So I watched a few episodes of some show on tv with a blond headed chic that is pregnant. She made comments like, “Wow! The second trimester makes me look THIS good?!”- referring to the extra junk in her trunk and her ginormous boobs. And then every man that she has ever met or NOT met is like, “YOU look BETTER than EVER! WOW!”

My reaction to this, as I watch sprawled out on my couch in sweat pants, no make-up, and leg hair that would make Tarzan run screaming for his neat and orderly jungle, was a gigantic snort. As I finished up my chocolate shake.

Perhaps I have simply forgotten what my first pregnancy was like… Oh- no. I didn’t. It was a replica of the second one. Oh. And the THIRD one I’m now experiencing. My movie- if someone was so desperate as to cast me into stardom, would have scenes like,

     “OMG… do you have a DISEASE?! Is it CONTAGIOUS??- Oh… sorry… you just stopped wearing make-up… and fixing your hair… and tanning… and… shaving….”

And I loved where that chic was so giddily and merrily DATING and WORKING and strutting off her NEW body… The only thing that got close enough to rub up on me during ANY trimester was the TOILET. We were pretty much inseparable. Are. That and my bed. I kind of feel like I’m half awake- half in a coma. Truly empowering. I feel very accomplished if I get a shower and blow-dry my hair in the same day. And if I take time to put in my contacts- we’re bordering awesomeness.

So Starling pretty much comes home to his beautiful queen made up in three day old pj’s, bed head, and barf breath. No wonder he works late almost every night.

Anyway- enough grossing people out. I am happy to report that my doctor actually told me to, QUOTE, “GAIN more WEIGHT.” Omg… I was actually told during my first pregnancy that “some women just let their weight get away from them.” I did gain fifty pounds with Brooklyn. And forty-five with Brighton. What’s funny about this pregnancy is that my doctor thought that I was LOSING weight. Well- the scale did show that but what she didn’t realize is that I quit working out. Completely. So what REALLY happened was that all my muscle fell off. So my arms and legs are back to twigs. And then out pops my cute little GUT. (That is sarcasm). I look like an Ethiopian.

Starling got strep throat. Then Brooklyn got strep throat. I have the crud and BETTER NOT get strep throat. But anyway- my perfect child Brooklyn has turned into this WHINE machine that wants to be HELD all the time. And coupled, or quadrupled, with the fact I’m pregnant, sick, and chasing Brighton from room to room screaming, “NO!!!”,  my patience level has been… hmmm… in the negative digits. I find myself staring at the ceiling secretly hoping it caves in on top of me. And, Starling is working late even though he’s been sick as a dog, and so we are both exhausted. That would warrant a GOOD night’s sleep. Except our CHILDREN wake up EVERY two HOURS and I have horns growing from my skull and fire coming out my ears by morning. And STARLING is the one that gets up with them. I just have to sleep between them (because Starling dumps them on me on goes back to bed usually because they are screaming, “I WANT MOMMAY!!!”). And I endure the kicks and shrill whining until I join Charkley at the foot of the bed and lay fuming at the ridiculousness of my LIFE.

I can’t WAIT to have a new born in the house.     

I do regret to inform you that my former blog was MERELY wishful thinking. When I went to my little GYNO apt I soon discovered that I am only FIVE weeks pregnant- NOT TWO MONTHS. SOOOOO- all my theories about nausea surpassing me because I’m nursing- FLOP. The BABY BUMP- more like bump of bloat. And the due date “sneaking up on me”? Five weeks? So instead of NOVEMBER, we’re looking at January.. January might as well be fifteen years away. All the energy I thought I had is GONE… migrated with the mythical first trimester… and in its place? A drained, STILL bloated bump, mood swingy, hot flashing, dizzy, nauseous crazy person wondering WHY!!! Why couldn’t I have just been almost through with my first trimester? What was wrong with THAT plan? On the good side, Brighton will be two months OLDER when he becomes a big brother. And that is certainly a plus. Perhaps we’ll have him trained to come when we call instead of run as fast as he can in the opposite direction. Or maybe we’ll get a leash. And maybe he’ll have stopped throwing treasures into the toilet and digging garbage out of the trash. As I type, Brighton is beating a sleeping Brooklyn in the head with a bag of bread that he took out of the trash yelling something that sounds German/Arabic. AND I found a spoon in one toilet and a sippy cup in the other. I have a feeling we are going to have serious issues once I’m running to the john to puke every three minutes. Things could get pretty messy. But to leave on a happy note… I finally remembered to shave BOTH legs.

Okay. Normally I wouldn’t have just POSTED a pregnancy on Facebook so nonchalantly. (Of course, normally I’m not having an unexpected THIRD baby while trying to foster care. While my second baby isn’t even a YEAR old!) BUT the REASON I just chunked it on up there into everyone’s radar is because I started showing before I knew I was even prego and a girdle and sit ups didn’t put a dent on the bump. So, when I found out I can quit exercising and resume my two chocolate shakes, tube of cookie dough, and bag of chips diet, oh- and lose the useless girdle- I wanted the owners of the STARES to know they were seeing a baby bump. Not a tumor. Or tire. Or any other cute pet name people have for their flab. So vanity robs a perfectly good shock-blog. Sorry. That being said- it still doesn’t seem real. The big BUMP does… the “baby inside the bump” does not. And I’m not puking up my guts- knock on wood- like the last two go rounds- so maybe THAT’s part of the reason I don’t feel much different. Which- I’d rather the baby’s due date sneak up on me than watch the hours drag on daily while I cling to the toilet thinking I’m going to die. The only negative to finding out later than normal is I missed out on two perfectly good months of using the pregnancy card on Starling. But that’s alright. I’m making up for it now. I already know the doctor will tell me to stop breast feeding, which I plan to do just as soon as Brighton turns one… and quits throwing a tantrum to nurse…. UNLESS this theory I have might have some substance. The only thing I am doing different in this pregnancy than the other two pregnancies is NURSING. So what if THAT is the x-factor making me NOT puke up my guts?? AND quite FRANKLY, if it IS the reason the toilet and I are still on speaking terms and I haven’t thrown out all Scentsy and Glades and I can still do my dishes without hurling… I will delightfully let Brighton continue to rip me apart until after my second trimester. I don’t even care that I’m light headed and blacking out randomly. I will gleefully hug a wall over a toilet. All we lack to getting our foster child is turning in our tb scans which we get read this week and getting my CPR certification which I am doing on the 8th of this month. THEN we are going to be DONE with the paper work and can get a kid! Yes. I am terrified. Yes, I was mind blown to discover I was pregnant again. Yes. I did a LOT of praying and I still feel like we should foster care. So onward march! I’m freaking out. Just a little bit. Starling was actually relieved. But maybe that’s because of the way I put it to him. I told him that we had to talk. Of course that immediately filled him with dread. No good thing ever follows that phrase. I couldn’t come up with an alternative intro. I lack creativity. I couldn’t just come out and say it, one because I wasn’t sure how to say it and two because I wasn’t convinced that the extra line on the prego test was even dark enough to count. I wanted Starling to look at it and call it one way or the other. But he was in front of people all day. I kept trying to get him AWAY from people and instead of taking the HINT, he invited one of his workers to DINNER with us. And just as I was beginning to think he’d ask the guy to stay the night, the dude finally left our house. But then there were the kids bouncing around like a couple of pin balls and Starling rallying them up to pull an all-nighter. Finally, Starling told me to talk. This never happens. Normally he would welcome the lack of me talking. But I guess the wringing hands and the pacing and the eyes round as UFO’s gave him a bit of panic. So I told him, “Well… I need your advice.. well… we are already doing it because it’s not like I can back out… the deposits been made, in other words…” I realized I was butchering my unplanned speech and simultaneously realized Starling’s eyebrows were touching his hair line. “How much of a deposit?” I looked at him, “What? Just let me finish….” “How much money did you deposit on this “thing” you’ve committed to?” Ugh. He wasn’t supposed to interrupt. And Brooklyn and Brighton were splashing me and squealing at the top of their lungs in the tub. So I had to regroup. “I can’t talk about it right now. We’ll talk when the kids are done bathing.” Oh. But suddenly he really wanted to talk. I left the preg test on top of the toilet paper and decided it would be easier for Starling to just find the test. But of course he never did. So I laid on the bed, exhausted, and said, “Hand me the toilet paper.” He dumped off the test and through the paper at me. SLOW!! “What did your friends talk you into NOW, Wendi?” Ha. My friends. Talk me into… like buying smell goods or oils or digital scrapbooking or craft material… “This is a little bigger than those other things… and my friends had nothing to do with it, by the way…” He FINALLY saw what he had tossed aside. “Your pregnant!” he piped merrily. “Now how much did you deposit?” “I- never mind. The news is I’m pregnant. YOU made the deposit, DEAR.” He sighed, “Whew… that’s a relief. You had me worried for a minute.” I could have smacked him in the head with a frozen chicken. A baby was less of a worry than some random deposit I hypothetically made on some whimsical new hobby I took up? I just blinked at him dumbly not even capable of forming a coherent thought. “Well, this is great right! A little earlier than planned. Man, three kids!” I stared at the moving ceiling fan for some sort of validation. “He’s crazy, right? Shouldn’t he be spazzing or something?” The fan didn’t answer but I know it agreed with me. And the reaction from other people? Geez. I told Brooklyn before anyone. Right after I shook the pee off the stick and saw the faint second line… “Brooklyn… I think… I have a baby in my tummy…” She cocked her two year old head and said, “Um… no you don’t. Brighton came out, remember? He’s just on your night-night sleeping.” I looked at her glumly. “No. I mean I think there is ANOTHER baby in my tummy.” She grabbed my arm and to reassure me DRUG me to my bed room. “Look. There he is. He’s just sleeping.” So I gave up. I had to wait the WHOLE day to tell Starling, which really almost did me in. I can NOT keep a secret about myself. That is why I have NO secrets about myself. And then I told Brooklyn to tell my parents her surprise in the presence of my aunt and uncle and cousins. She said enthusiastically and obviously oblivious to the meaning, “My mommy has a baby in my tummy!” They all laughed. Then realized she had been set up to say that. With the first kid- total excitement. With the second- at least put on joy. This time? My cousin in law said, “You still haven’t figured out what’s causing that?” Yeah. Number three. Welcome to the world where more than two kids is child gluttony. I can’t wait to see the glares when I’m walking around pregnant with my two kids and foster kid/s. Oh well. We want to birth FIVE and adopt so I guess I should get used to the judgementalists. All before the age of 30. On my part, obviously since Starling just REACHED the big 3-0 in March. I have the feeling my doctor is going to say, “I TOLD you SO,” on me not getting that 5 year ring that they put in your hu-ha. But I’m not getting it AGAIN. So. Yeah. Judge away. But we WILL practice OTHER methods of birth control. Like… abstinence! Of course, Starling would rather just have a fourth child.

Starling reeks Revenge

I woke up at 6 a.m. Ok. Let me rephrase that. I was jolted out of my bed at 6 a.m. Brooklyn was sprawled out in her floor yelling, "MoMMaY! I got myself!!" Which means Brighton didn't attack her.. she was injured by something else. I picked her up off the floor and told her she'd just fallen out of bed. I tried to put her back IN her bed but Brighton was sprawled out like a rug in her spot. (So... I don't think Brooklyn "fell" out of the bed. I think somebody named Daddy put Brighton in Brooklyn's bed because he was crying in his crib and Brighton kicked Brooklyn out.I only think this because Brighton kicks me out of my bed ALL the TIME). I "ugh"ed for a bit, picked up my log of a baby and plopped him in his crib and plopped Brooklyn in her bed. And like a musical symphony being cued... "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHhh" from BOTH children. I contemplated beating my head against the post of the bunk bed, then beating Starling's head against the bunk bed, but finally gritted my VERY exhausted teeth and picked Brighton up, threw him back in Brooklyn's bed, and joined them. When they both fell asleep, I put Brighton in MY bed so he could kick Starling instead of Brooklyn and I took a LONG, LuXUrious shower taking time to shave my entire body before I got out.

Then, awake and not able to go to sleep, I curled up next to Starling and did what I do best. Talk. He tried to ignore me, but lets face it... I'm hard to ignore. So he finally gave up and joined me in conversation. Then he did something uncouth and I had to resort to punishment. I told him to stay put while I thought of something awful to do to him, but of course he didn't. He took off running even though he knows running results in greater torture. I chased him in circles through the house until I was giggling too hard to breathe. (You should see Starling run for his life high stepping in his underwear trying to block my path with high chairs and couches). He's terrified of me. With good reason. He finally got around me and locked himself in the bathroom.

No sweat. Though patient in nearly ZERO aspects of my life, one tiny little spot of my life is OVERFLOWING with patience. My little REVENGE spot. I piddled in the kitchen until Starling got brave enough to come out of the bathroom. I acted nonchalant as he eyed me wearily. He sat down on the couch in front of the laptop. He was still watching me pretty intensely. So I wandered into the laundry room. Starling was looking behind him to make sure I wasn't going to sneak up on him. I opened the dryer and banged some things around until Starling got comfy. He could hear me in the laundry room so he never anticipated the arm around his neck a second later. "AHH!!" He's pretty strong for a dude, and lets face it... I only have the element of surprise working for me. He grabbed both my arms to keep me from doing SOMETHING... he was still clueless as to my wicked intentions. Then he saw the syringe. (Well... medicine dropper... but syringe sounds much more menacing). With both my arms fully stretched out and no way to bend them to bring the foul liquid to his mouth... (apple vinegar)... I had only one choice. I brought my hands together quickly squirting a little on my finger. Using Starling's thoughts against him, knowing he was only focused on keeping the dropper away from his mouth, I yanked my hand (the one NOT holding the medicine dropper) free and SHOVED my vinegar finger STRAIGHT into Starling's giggling mouth. "UGH!!" He shouted yanking the dropper from my hand and turning on me.

"I'm going to spray this mess all in your hair!" he told me when he had me firmly tackled. (He had to threaten that because he can NEVER get to my mouth. EVER. I have lips of steal and unlike him I don't HAVE to giggle!) When my mouth was safe from his reach I said, "Better not. I just washed my hair. You know what will happen if you do." He thought better of it. He wiped some on my face and ran. We agreed we were even.

But he better watch his back. We're never TRULY even until I've one up-ed him.

Super Sundays and Janitors

I just love Sundays. I hate the waking up, the getting dressed, and the riga-mu-row of keeping kids clean for the duration of prep time before church, but once I’m AT church I love that I went through the impossible and survived. I’ve learned a few tricks to ease my stress on Sunday mornings. #1 I do NOT wake up my kids until we are about to walk out the door. The whole, “Let me get my kids up and ready and lazily eat breakfast early…” does NOT work for our family. Every now and again I’ll get the urge to be an over achiever and I’ll attempt getting the kids dressed say… thirty minutes before we leave. Well, without FAIL, disaster strikes. I have NEVER experienced a Sunday that didn’t cause my heart to stop and a few gray hairs to sprout. Some examples- Two Sundays ago: Everyone is ready for church and I just have to put on my hills and we are going to be out the door. I say, “Honey can you take Brighton to the..” but I don’t finish because I am staring at Brighton. “WHAT THE HECK!!! WHY is BRIGHTON SOAKING WET??” And little Brooklyn pipes up, also DRENCHED, “We are drinking water out of my tea set!” Or rather BATHING in it! Another Sunday: Brighton exploded his diaper and khaki pants became khaki MUD puddle. Another Sunday: Brooklyn decided to eat spaghetti o’s in her Sunday dress.


But today was great. I totally had NO idea that Daylights Savings time reverted to Steal an Hour today so Starling nearly pushed me out of the bed yelling, “We gotta be at church in thirty minutes.” Well. I bought a new dress but couldn’t wear it because I didn’t have time to shave my legs and- trust me-cactus legs wouldn’t compliment the dress at all. And it is a dress that has to be ironed. (I usually don’t even BUY dresses that require work but… it was the only thing that even FIT me at the Great American Thrift Store that has NO dressing rooms. After stripping down to my underwear in front of a mirror in the back of the store covered only by a divider that was for sale, I was determined I’d have something to show for all my work. And the little red number was five bucks. I also stripped a manikin of her outfit and bought it because I was too lazy to redress her. Plus I was certain I’d knock her over because she almost passed out on me like four times while I was taking off her skirt). So I had to wear old faithful. A long skirt. I wear old faithful a little too often. But anyway… I got dressed, deodorized, and war painted in like fifteen minutes and laid out the kids clothes, yelled to Starling, “GOOD LUCK! Gotta GO!” and left him to dress both children and him. He even fixed Brooklyn’s hair. (If fix is what you would call it…). I got to church and RAN to the front to lead the music except I didn’t know what page I was leading so I started waving my hand and singing Water-mel-on while trying to look up the song. Finally, my dear friend playing the piano whisper-shouted, “52! Page 52!” Thank goodness for her. Starling and the kids showed up, late but halfway presentable. I redid Brooklyn’s hair after I praised Starling for doing such a great job fixing it. Then, when I led the intermediate song I forgot to tell people to stand up so in the middle of us starting the song I yell, “Oh! Stand up! Stand up!” and we had to start the song over and it was horrible and Starling told me I’ll be out of that calling by next week. But… he’s been telling me that for a year so we’ll see. Sister Pack is back from serving a mission in Chili and she’s actually MUSICAL so he could be right. THEN the closing song actually went normal until Brighton saw me. He got SO excited that he started laughing HYSTERICALLY and trying to copy me by waving his hands frantically. He got louder. And LOUDER. And was bouncing HIGHER and HIGHER. And waving his hands FASTER and FASTER. And it was all I could do keep singing through my grin.

Anyway- we had a great day at church. I taught the Gospel Principles class on Prayer, which I have LOTS of experience with and we all know WHY, and the class had a super discussion. Relief society was terrific PLUS we had cake and ice cream. Best day EVER.

We came home and it was SO beautiful that I insisted we have a picnic. So we took a bunch of food that I didn’t have to cook outside and we ate in the back yard. My neighbor came outside and said, “Hey Brooklyn!” Brooklyn said, “Oh look! Mrs. Nancy has a picnic just like US!” A bowl of cereal in Nancy’s hands. You can tell I suck at feeding my kid.

But the entire reason I even BLOGGED was to make the announcement that Brighton took his first steps. Well his first bunch of steps in a row. It happened Thursday at the Discovery Center on the coast. I handed him a cup and, thinking he was holding onto something stable, he walked across the room. Starling and I both got to witness his first steps which is miraculous in and of its self. But he wasn’t fooled when I tried to get him to do it again. Everything I put in his chubby little fingers would get slung across the room. So his crawling has become really intense and he’s a quick little booger. I don’t know if he’ll start walking soon or not. He’s so fat and clumsy I just don’t see how he can balance. But he’s stubborn if he’s anything so his determination may win over his wobbly little coordination problem.

Brooklyn is really proud of Brighton. She shows it by head locks of love and kisses that send him tumbling onto the ground. But, he doesn’t seem to mind her intense love. He usually responds with a kiss full of TEETH and a hug full of punch. And if one of them comes away crying, it’s usually Brooklyn.

They are both rotten to the core. Brooklyn is so grown up with her OCD bossiness. Today when Starling was “fixing” her hair, he sprayed it with his water bottle. Brooklyn said with as much drama as a two year old can muster, “DAD-DEE! WHY did you make a MESS on ME!?” And she flipped out on me because I didn’t put her shoe basket back on the shelf perfectly straight. I don’t know where our child is, the baby that got switched in the hospital, but the poor OCD parents having to deal with our messy, crazy child that snacks on dirt and boogers is probably looking for Brooklyn. I, of course, have no idea how to relate to her. And don’t you LAUGH at her life crises or that REALLY releases the drama queen inside her.

She came inside and told me that she didn’t feel good. “I’m NOT tired and I DON’T need to lay down. I just need to SIT on THIS couch.” Trying not to smile, I said, “Ok.” She then went on, “And I am NOT a baby!” Okay… “Brighton told me I’m not a baby.” This got my attention. “He did?” She nodded. “With his Super Powers he told me that. Because he can’t talk.” Alright. The neighbor girls, who had been playing with her earlier before she came inside and revealed all of this to me knocked on the door to see if she would come back out. “Um. Well… I don’t need to because I am just needing to be inside right now. Inside of this house that is my mommy’s.” Then she sat back on the couch and said, “They told me I had to lay down in my tree house and I do NOT need to lay down.” Ah. The root of her revelation.

Yesterday we went four wheeler riding and Brooklyn and Layla were singing. It made me feel like a great parent to hear my two year old blaring in the most country voice imaginable, “red solo cup, You feel me UP, PRO-CEED to par-teee! Lets go to the partay!” I don’t even listen to country so I blame Starling. (Even though I know every word to that song somehow and can’t get it out of my big head). I told him, “I can’t wait for her to be offered alcohol for the first time and THAT song come readily to her mind.” So much for all the primary songs I’m trying to teach her. Of course she and Layla were also running around the parking lot shouting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” If that wasn’t couth, when they started LICKING the ice cream freezer… the PICTURES of ice cream on the ice cream freezer at Fox’s Pizza… that was the pudding on the vanilla wafer. And Brooklyn is my EASY one.

Brighton… His obsession with janitorial supplies is beginning to worry me. His favorite toys include my BROOM, MOP, VACCUME, PLUNGER, TOILET BRUSH, and just plain toilet! Every time I go to pee I have to fish out tennis balls or rubber ducks. You would THINK we could keep the TOILET seat down! (Yeah. I seem to be the only one who can manage that PLUS remember to close the bathroom door). BUT I still love my husband! Toilet seat up, clothes BY the dirty laundry basket, tools on the kitchen table husband. Yesterday Brighton found some more cleaning supplies. I guess he was bored of his favorites. Brooklyn said, “MOM-MAY… LOOK at what our BRY BRY is do-ING!” I didn’t look. I said, “Brooklyn, he’s fine.” She put her hand on her hip and said, “MOM-MAY… Bry Bry is making a REALLY big mess in here.” As opposed to when? The only time that child isn’t DESTrOYING my house is when he’s asleep or GONE. But after she all but yanked me off the couch where I was folding laundry, I went to the kitchen to find Brighton in a HUGE puddle of something… some carpet cleaner stuff and spread all around him was Ajax powder and every cleaner that was under my sink was on the kitchen floor. I’m seriously going to be completely gray before I turn thirty. I threw him into the bathtub and looked to the sky and screamed, “WHYYYY???” for a minute, then TRUDGED into the kitchen I’d JUST cleaned and CLEANED it again. And when I got Brighton OUT of the tub and he dumped CEREAL all over the kitchen rug I sounded like a rabid animal… maybe a tiger-bear combo. I seriously growled. My house is a lost cause until Brighton turns 19 and we ship him off on his mission. Yet, I can’t even be annoyed with the little human tornado because he is so PROUD of his destructive accomplishments and I don’t have the heart to crush his little spirit. I’ll have a crush heart in a year tops. Unless he keeps up that giggle when I throw my hands up and scream. His utter disregard for any emotion other than sheer glee is contagious. That’s why a masquito on the wall will see me yelling and hopping around the kitchen EVERYDAY covered in green globs of baby food that Brighton THROWS and SPITS all over my face, hair, and shirt instead of watching me stare down a skinny baby. He just thinks ripping the spoon from my hand and slinging it splattering against the cabinet is hysterical. And he thinks I’m having SO MUCH FUN playing FETCH. He really does. He CLAPS for me when I RETRIEVE his spoon. It’s INSANE. Mothering is INSANE. How do people DO IT? Like- there are moms that have time to wear make-up and look cute and have a life OUTSIDE of their home. HOW?? TAKE A SHOWER is on my To Do List.

February 17, 2012

Oh my goodness it feel good to BLOG AGAIN! Ya know the saying, "If you don't have anything good to say, keep your trap shut!"? I'm sure that's not EXACTLY the quote but basically... I've been keeping my mouth closed. I was about 10 feet under in laundry, cleaning, working, etc. I won't pretend that I'm ALL caught up, but I'm back to MY normal. Just 4 feet under.

My Grandma moved into the Windham House. THAT was an adventure. She wasn't ready to go, but the bags under my eyes could have carried Paris Hilton's luggage. I was like functioning, if one could call the zombie I'd become functioning, on sparatic two hour intervals of sleep. And my Grandma would crack me up! She'd say, "Wendi! Wendi are you up?" WHICH I was NOT. I was callapsed in my bed comotose. I'd get up and walk into her room and ask what she needed. "You are STILL AWAKE? You never go to bed. You need to sleep more!" I'd just laugh. Well. I laugh about it now. At the time I was too tired to even comprehend the irony of her statement. I got good at sleep walking. I wouldn't even open my eyes or turn on any lights. I'd go into her room, pull her up, put her on the toilet, put her back to bed, arrange her pillows just so, add blankets, and flop back into my bed without ever really waking up. So, even though my Grandma was happy as a tic on a elephant, I was relieved when the day came for her to move on to her next adventure.

My grandma had several stipulations upon entering the Windham House. ONE- she was ONLY going because she gets therapy EVERY day. Two- she is ONLY going for 100 days. THREE- no tv going in her room (tv is of the devil). Four- she does NOT want to be cold. Five- She doesn't want to be ignored and pushed aside by the nurses. (She's volunteered at nursing homes for years and that's every patients complaint... noone listens to them). SO! My cousin, Shannon, and I took my Grandma to check in on February 2nd. We walk in and a nurse is going off to another nurse about a patient and about how the patient is driving her bonkers. Then the same nurse turns out to be the nurse that is over my Grandma. Strike ONE. She starts to explain why her patient is so contakerous to US when I send her a DEATH stare and shake my head until my brain is pin balling against my skull while mouthing "NOT in front of HER" pointing at my grandma. We arrive at her room. The blaring of a television greets us. Strike TWO. A patient, the new Roomy, is sitting in her chair yelling, "Will someone get me up? SOMEBODY! I'm going to get up by myself and fall! Somebody!!" When she takes note of us she says, "They NEVER listen to me!" Strike Three. I can see the expression on my Grandma's face. Shannon and I are darting glances at each other yelling mentally, "REALLY??? CAN this GET any WORSE??" Yeah. Its five degrees in the room. The roomy is HOT natured. Strike 4.

Then my Grandma says to the nurse, "Is there a CURFEW on that THING or does it go all night?" She was referring to the tv and the nurse merrily replies, "Oh no ma'am! You can run your tv ALL NIGHT!" Strike! STRIKE!

We took the social worker aside and said, "This won't work! She's going to bult! Can't you DOO somethin!!?" So after a while they switched rooms for her. It was warm, there was no tv, and the roomy was a good sleeper. We left feeling much better about where we were leaving my Grandma. Two days later the roomy pooped all over her bed and stunk up the whole wing of the place. Then we felt bad again. NOW my grandma has her own room. THANK goodness! We're trying to find her a man while she's there. I visit her twice a week, the rest of the fam visits often, also, so she isn't abandoned in there or anything.

OKAY, switching gears: lots of mile stones I've been skipping... BRIGHTON is crawling around like he's on speed zipping around the house and only bringing attention to himself when I hear the water running in my bathroom. Turning the water on and off in my tub is his favorite pass-time. He also enjoys climbing in the dishwasher which makes doing the dishes impossible. He has a walking toy that he pushes up and down the hall slamming into the walls and giggling. He will be walking in no time. He stands up and holds on to things with one hand. Part of me is like "NOOOO!!! I already can't keep up!!" But MOSTLY, I can't WAIT. These moments manifest themselves when I'm trying to pee in a public restroom while HOLDING the twenty pound blob of energy that is SO desperately trying to get down onto the floor scattered with puddles and CRAWL. Yeah. When he can stand up and walk. THAT might be GREAT. I'll just get a leash or something.

And the giggle box is getting VOCAL! Two months ago Brighton was only saying "Ma Ma Ma" when he was furious and not being fed. And he'd say "Bwoo Bwoo Bwoo" when he'd see Brooklyn. Last month he perfected yelling at his big sister. He LOVES shouting, "Bwoo-CK-lin! Bwoo-CKA!" He has the "CA" sound down pat. He sounds like a little German man. He just sits around saying, babble babble "KKKKA" babble squeal "KKA!" And the "Ba" is his favorate sound. He usually calls me "Ba Ma" instead of Ma Ma. He says "Ball" and "Bite" and "Bye." And he loves scaring us just like Brooklyn does. And he's a little TOO good at it. He is obsessed with covers and clean laundry. Folding clothes in my house is sort of like holding up a red cloth in front of a rabid bull. I grab a shirt and get the breath knocked out of me before I even lay it down to fold. And when I DO FINALLY get one folded, Brighton's mission: "stop drop and ROLL the folded shirt." Our fam wears wrinkly clothes.

Brooklyn has started "school." Which is what I told her to get her to sit down and FOCUS while I read with her. I bought "Your Baby Can Read" after Brooklyn was born when I was still working and apparently had money to blow on tv gimics. I really have no idea if it works because I really don't know what to DO with it. The commercial makes it look like you sit them in front of the tv, they watch the show, and WAM-O, you show them flash cards and they can read them. Umm. NOT SO! So I've created some games to play with the flash cards I paid $100 bucks for. Things I've learned since starting "school."#1. Brighton HAS to be asleep! #2. Brooklyn has to be awake. #3. Mommy has to be well fed, well rested, and REALLY REALLY patient.

BUT- Brooklyn loves school. I read a flash card BOOK with her twice. Then we play matching games with the words. AND how is that working for us? Brooklyn can read two words. Tiger and Hi. And sometimes she'll surprise me and know another word, but only two are consistant. So who knows if its working. She likes have my undivided attention for 45 minutes! That's for sure. This morning I thought I'd jump ahead and do school with her BEFORE Brighton woke up. Well... we got about ten minutes in and Brighton woke up. THEN he SAT on the flash cards and PEED all over them. AWESOME. And Brooklyn can't even think about focusing when Brighton is in the room. She has to watch his every move to guarantee he doesn't TOUCH something. And of course Charkley wants to sit in between me and whatever I'm doing. Its fabulous. And hopefully it'll get easier as I get the hang of it. I'm just guessing I'd SUCK at home-schooling.