Summa Time....

I don't even know how to cram into the blog all the things that we've been up to lately...
And it's not as if I've fallen woefully behind... and yet it is.
How does that happen in a week?
I told my sis-in-law that I now understand TLC's "Hoarders" because I feel as if I could miss two days of laundry and clean up and unpacking from the days events and there I would be... in a heap of stuff... The birth of a hoarder.

Anyway... we've been busy.
My kids have the tans to prove it.
And occasionally they have a little case of the "up past my bedtime summer orneriness"that they wear like tattoos to show the world...
"We've been rockin' summa time hard and you know it."
Can that possibly be avoided?
TEACH ME!

We got a trampoline.
Also known as a "Jump Jump".
The littles love it.
It will soon be buried in the ground.
Then I will fully love it.
Coop loves it most.
He just pivots around with it's shadow to lie in it's shade.
"Coop and the trampoline sittin' in a tree."

We went to a baseball game.
It started at seven which is bath time.
It ended at ten which is WAY past bed time.
The littles loved it and were adorable for exactly 1/2 of the time.
They were sticky, sweaty and less than adorable the other 1/2.
Which means Ry and I were sweltering and disheveled for the last 1/2.
But they still talk about watching the "baseball boys" so I suppose it was worth it.
AND... drumroll please.... they all slept past 8 the next morning.
Big deal, that is.

We went to the park for a picnic with Daddy.
He seems to be highest on their list of celebrities right now.
The other day he had to go to work for a meeting and instead of waving from the playroom window...
They followed him out to his car.
Followed his car out the driveway.
Ran their little bare feet down the sidewalk chasing after his car.
The whole time waving and blowing kisses and squealing love and good bye to their bestie.
Nothing like witnessing that farewell, followed with crestfallen, left-behind tears to make you feel like a champ.  :)

We went swimming.
Several times at Grandpa's hotel.
We have ZERO fear of the water.
It is terrifying for me and I am going to get gray hair.
I learned to bag the floaties and just strap them into life jackets...
They're happy.
I'm happy.
No one feels as if their mean mama is holding them back from perfecting the butterfly stroke.
Even Acers prefers to be left to his own in his float tube.
The big littles spend their time doing cannon balls again and again and again x infinity.
It's a great arm work out for yours truly... I feel like I catch and lift and repeat constantly.

We are headed to the rodeo.
The little Wranglers are out and await cute tiny heinies...
The boots?
They've been out all summer.
The boots and the crocs are our favorite shoes of summer (alternately).
Boots and shorts are hip now...
Didn't you get the memo?
No?  You're SOOO yesterday. :)

Lagoon awaits us this weekend.
I have mixed feelings about amusement parks...
On one hand, every kid needs to be sticky with snow cone and cotton candy...
And on the verge of ralphing it all up after too many motion packed rides.
It's kind of a right of passage, no?
It will be hot and sticky and grimy.
No doubt we'll have to pry little fingers off of bumper car steering wheels while octave levels rise.
But it IS a place full of smiles and laughter and that feeling when your stomach lurches up to your larynx.
AND, my entire family will be there so we'll just pass the kiddos around.
And sweat together.
"The family that sweats together...."

Holy crap...
Are you still reading?
You are the best.
OR - you're zombified by the long days and nights of summer as we are...
Happily, crazily zombified.

Kisses... Good night.

"Dyke Coke"

"Hold on there Tiger, What'd you just say?"  That was me in the car with Daximus the other day.  And of course when I say something, my little echo says it (only more adorably) so I then heard,
"Howd on der Tiger, What you sayd?"

Perhaps, I've mentioned my great love of Diet Coke with pebble ice from Sonic. Mmmmm I can taste it now. That first gulp, when you feel it's icy goodness headed down your gullet. Oh man. 

Focus... Focus...

So, off we go in the car and the guessing game begins... "Daxi goin' to the fish store?" "Daxi goin' to the park?"  "Daxi goin' to Costco?  And then the latest,  "Daxi goin' to get a Mommy's 'Dyke Coke'?"

Nice.

Listen, I know it's a horrible, awful, no good terribly bad slur... but coming from the sweetest kid in the Universe with THOSE lashes?  You know I busted up.  You KNOW you would too.  You know I won't think of my beverage of choice the same way ever again!  

Thanks, Dax Man...

-Mwah-

9...

My baby is nine months old.

NINE!!! 

Nine months almost always freaks me out a little because suddenly that little lump of baby meat has been in my arms as long as he was in utero and it's a bit of a trip. 

There are no words to drive home the fact that Ace a Spades is our most content and happy little man except to adopt "surfer speak" and say things like, "He's so chill", or "Seriously mellow little dude," or "Totally rad." - Deep, I know.  :)

At nine months, Acers... 

-Army crawls like a special ops soldier 

-Is obsessed with door stops 

-Chews on everything 

-Has two bottom teeth and his upper fangs (little vampire) 

-Sleeps twice a day and all night long 

-Shows a definitive preference for Texas orange (or so his Daddy says)

-Likes to self feed instead of be fed 

-Loves to swim and bathe 

-Says Mama and Dada, nods his head "no", and gives fives & kisses 

-Is one massively vain mirror lovin' man 

-Has zero "stranger danger" but definite people preferences 

-Has hitch hiker toe... Serious double jointed-ness going on 

-Smiles when he sees a camera 

-Is one TALL drink of water... we'll see exactly how tall very soon.

-Has the sweatiest little piggies on the planet 

-Does one kick a$$ downward dog pose 

And tough guy posed as evidenced above...

We adore him. All of us. He is so easy to love. The highest card in the deck? Yep, we think so. 

Love you Ace Man!

Tink or Kael...

Now that I typed in the title to this here post I am getting images of the little pixie dust spreading winged gal, a la Peter Pan. But believe me that is the farthest thing from the main point of this tiny page turner. Ah well, let's carry on shall we? 

This is a post about Kaelster. Who is downright obsessed with the intricate workings of motorized vehicles, electronics, and all other things with working parts.  I would totally call him "Tink" as his nickname due to his natural inclination to tinker with all things moving, but A) He already has a plethora of killa nicknames, and B) "Tink" is already taken in my family by the one and only Uncle Sherwood or "Sure-a" as Big K calls him. 

Sherwood is a big booming man with giant hands and a thunderous breathy laugh. I'm not gonna lie... Lots of little chilluns have to warm up to him because of his size and volume. Not Kaelster. I think Kael sees him as his counterpoint a few generations apart. He adores him. He asks to "Go see Sure-a" frequently and when he does see him he gives him bones and hugs and silly little grins filled with equal parts admiration and curiosity.... and just this last time he delivered a big old wet lips kiss. Wow. 

Anyway, as family fables go, Uncle Tink would tear apart, reassemble, build it better and make it work from a young age.  His big old bear paw hands were always working away at his latest project.  Sound familiar?  Yep, that's our Kaelster.  In fact, while at "Uncle Sure-a's" house this past visit, Kaelster unscrewed the handles to his wood burning stove.  They clambered to the metal hearth with a boom and young and old Tinks busted out some big laughs then used their big old sausage fingers to screw the handles back on.  It was a bonding moment.

Lately I've been impressed with little man's skills.  Annoyed as well, but lets focus on the impressed part.  He can work a key into the mailbox and collect the mail.  He can start a four-wheeler and rev the engine.  He can push the gears to the lawn mower and get the thing moving and he is obsessed with power tools... particularly the drill, which he inserts  into EVERY exposed screw he finds to "fig uts" or "fix it".  He keeps us on our toes with his affinity for tinkering and we're fairly certain this is just the beginning.  We'll be trying to find ways to channel his natural skill set in a positive way.  But no doubt, you'll be hearing a story or two about some "tinker sessions" gone awry and moments where we were tempted to send him to his Great Uncle Tink's for a while ....

;)

  

HaPpY & DaDdY...

If you're feeling a twinge of unhappiness right now with life - just know that I am about to puke a rainbow.  You've been warned.  But perhaps my luck will rub off on you - so roll the dice, baby.

Life is generally pretty dang generous with me, but lately... oh lately, my lucky stars have been shining, leprechauns are dancing in my lawn and... well, I could crap and it would be dazzlingly multicolored.  Sorry Mama, for the disgusting analogy, but it seriously fits... Just saying.

Let's begin with this...

Could you die?  This little beauty is the rocking chair of my dreams and I claimed it from DI to the tune of fifteen bucks and painted it the most cheery yellow I could find.  I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!  I'll be rocking babies until they're thirty thanks to this charming lady and her lovely hue of happiness.  

Moving onward.  Ever heard of Justin Hackworth?  Me too.
www.justinhackworth.com
I have seen his pictures of people like Peter Brienholt and Stephanie Nielson from the NieNie Dialogues and other famously fun folks.  Well... look who he photographed this past week?

(Real Photos To Come Soon)

I would love to tell you that he saw my Mama and Swista and I thoughtfully meandering through a lavender field and was just taken by our girlish charms and our sparkling smiles, but really, we were just lucky enough to be chosen to participate in a charity project he does annually called, 30 Strangers.  He basically shoots (with a camera... his weapon of choice) 30 sets of mothers/daughters whom he has never met and creates a stunning exhibit with the masterpieces. And then he generously delivers keepsake photos to his subjects all to benefit the Crisis Center for Women and Children.  SO. NICE.  We were thrilled to be able to participate.  And yes, I felt a little bit like a model (I think... having never been one)... cool music playing in the studio, stellar lighting, an artistic photographer clad in canvas converse shoes and black rimmed glasses... and my best gals giggling with me.  

See what I mean?  Oh, my happiness meter is about to bust past its recommended RPM levels.

And now, this... Father's Day Weekend.  A day to talk a little (or a lot) about my Baby Daddy, RyGar. I feel like the past three years as we've been living on Infant Isle, I've learned so much about my Ryan that leaves me kind of speechless in a good way.  You know, he can be perceived as rough and nonchalant, but that boy... his Daddy skills kind of say it all.  Let me give you an example.  When Kael was a wee tiny thing and I had to finish several months of work, RyGar took twelve weeks of Paternity leave to stay home with our little man.  I would walk in after a day of work and find them sleeping soundly on the love sack together... both of them breathing long, even breaths and sweating at the heat of two bodies intertwined.  Or I would catch the tail end of a very serious one-sided conversation of RyGar talking to the little Mister explaining the miracle that was him.  It pulled at my heart strings.  

  

Then Dax Man came along and Ryan generously offered to give me a "relief day" once a week for half a day.  I didn't think I could do it, yet at some point I would have to get us groceries.  It was nerve wracking to consider leaving two little babies with someone, even for such a small amount of time, but we found Ashlie, who still comes for half a day once a week, and she later told me, "You know, I have been a nanny for lots of families and never once has a Dad sat down to interview me and basically set expectations like Ryan did."  She continued, "Ryan said the cutest thing to me when we met, he said, 'Aside from Amber, my boys are the most important thing in this world to me so I take this seriously and I know you will too.'" Perhaps I nearly bawled like a baby when I heard that.  Or perhaps I walked around the house the rest of the day smiling deliriously.  Or perhaps I did both.  I'm not telling.

And now, little Ace a Spades is spitting out the only logical first words uttered by each of our little babes in quick succession like a pro, "Daaa Daaa Daaa".  And he grins like he has a silly little secret every single time.  And he does.  He has a bonafide built in number one fan in his DaDa.  He always will.  Not a thing will change that.  And I love that.

Lets be real here... our Ryno doesn't do well with exceptionally dirty diapers, puke, massive clean ups or putting tiny shoes on chubby little feet.  He wears cargo shorts every possible moment and he almost always has hat hair and he NEVER makes the bed or scrubs the toilet.  But he does limit his eye rolling when I spend money on old rocking chairs and yellow spray paint and he laughs when I do the happy dance and he sends me out shopping with the girls and makes me laugh when I'm feeling oh so ornery.  And no one can bring on the giggle fits like Ry in this house with tickle tortures and steamrollers and other mindless shenanigans that I will never be able to duplicate.  That is strictly RyGar material here.

I adore my Baby Daddy.  I love him, I love him, I love him, and I don't care who knows it. :)

There.  

Happiness Meter Busted.  

Happy Father's Day.... Out.

Mini Make-Outs...

Hey y'all. 

Remember when you were in junior high and you would tell your parents that were "going out with" so and so. And then they would say something totally annoying like, "If you're going out, where are you headed?". Duh. They just weren't down with adolescent lingo. I had to explain like a zillion times that if I checked "Yes" on Colton Douglas' note asking me to "go out" than we were officially boyfriend/girlfriend and we wouldn't really be going anywhere. And that was all there was to it. Amateurs. 

Anywho... I digress. The other part of this walk down memory lane is riminiscing about "kissing practice". That's what we gals did during our sleepover parties (amongst other things but I shall pace myself on the self deprecating memories of youth).  You know, when you would make out with your individual pillows and give one another pointers (as if you had any expertise) and also congratulate one another on your obvious progress?  Oh Come On... You know you did it.

"ThanktheLawd" for a family full of little boys and no girlie sleepovers at insane octaves. Yay me!

And now, meet Ace, who will be a masterful kisser some day due to his unwavering dedication to his training. It is rigorous, but little man keeps at it with the living room pillows, stuffed animals, balls and anything else that merits a taste of his little lips on a daily basis. Lately he's been pullin two-a-days and we applaud his efforts and mostly just marvel at his diligence.  

He's also starting to pay a lot of attention to his oral hygiene.... he's very aware of the need to keep his breath sweet and delish for all his lady friends and he brushes regularly.  What a champ.

  

Today I asked him his girlfriend's name and he just gave me a vigorous nod, "No, No, No."  I take it this is top secret information for now.  The pool of possible love interests is fairly substantial, but I'll get to the bottom of it... sooner or later!  :)

Sweet Study...

Lest you thought that the world of blogging was solely for journaling/socializing/bragging about ones kids and nothing else - hear this...

Blogging is educational, y'all.

May I bring to your attention a study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology (one of our coffee table mags... ha ha).  Said study showed that people who have a sweet tooth actually  have a "sweeter" - kinder, and more agreeable nature and personality.

Let's just smile at one another via cyber space and exchange knowing winks.  You know, the kind shared between sweet people that know they're members of the same tribe.  

Finally, in black and white, proof that one should bring on the M&Ms on a frequent basis.

Isn't life fan-friggin-tastic?!

Sweet Dreams...

I love me some summer.

I love the long sunny days and the amazing warm weather.

I love mini pools and popsicles and shaved ice stands.

I love corn on the cob and watermelon and lemonade.

I love the smell of sunscreen on warm skin and a freshly mowed lawn.

I love evening walks and the varying temperatures based on running sprinklers.

Oh man .... I love these months.

And if I were to really look for a downside.... it would be the inevitable delay of bedtime for my little bejammied babies.

WHY can't we make it to the sack before 8 pm?  Why does it become mission impossible those peak months of sunshine?  Looking for a thesis for your Philosophy class?  Take on my burning question... it's impossible to understand.

Good thing my little summer bums are so darn adorable.  

 Nighty Night....

Ca-Pow...

I wore a rock star outfit today. Curled my hair. Put on some spicy little earrings and some red lipstick. We had a bajillion errands to run and I dawned my game face and packed all my secret tricks in the big yellow purse.

And we nailed it. Home Depot, Costco, the bank, the car wash, Sonic (to refuel) and finally Target. My little pee pots had hung in like champs but nature called and they had to go and I caught a glimpse of moi in the mirror. And my rock star mama status was immediately stripped away.

Fly down.
H&M price tag dangling from my leopard print shirt.
Awesome.
















Holy fetch I need a Tinker Bell or a Jimminy Cricket to hover near me and alert me when I'm about to burst my own bubble. C'mon y'all, couldn't someone have told me waaaay back at Home Depot or Costco?

Is it truly impossible for me to be cool and classy at this stage of life?  I am having flashbacks of Mrs. Okerlund from my home town who wore red heels, red lipstick and pearls with her jeans and she looked so stellar all the time.  She had kids.  I believe her kids had bodily fluids.  How the heck did she keep it all together all the time?  Teach me, Mrs. O.  Teach Me.

I'm really just trying to put the effort in so I don't find myself in frump attire being ambushed by Stacy and Clinton as the next "What Not to Wear" client.  Is that too much to ask?

Sheesh. Maybe next Friday, if you see me out and about, you could do me a solid and let out a courtesy whistle, eh?! Thanks a billion. And happy weekend!

So Sad Comedy...

Dude... I totally need to up the ante on funny.  I told RyGar the other evening, in the midst of a deep self-evaluation (that took all of ten seconds and was then interrupted by a home-made carmel), "I'm so not funny lately."  

To which he replied, "I know, right?!"

And I immediately began to lash out with a "I'll have you know, I've just been too damned tired lately to be funny and it's just..."

And then I saw him busting a gut on the couch and I was immediately shushed into humility.

I hate it when reality hits you with a big old smack on the face.  Where is that Amber that would have sassed back in a freakin' funny way to the Hub's cajoling?  And why, pray tell, must there be so much cajoling?  :)

I am bringing it back ya'll.  "I'm bringing funny back..." and I would really love it if you sang that last line with me in true JT fashion.  Thanks.  Awesome.

Now, before I get all kicks and giggles on you, I must tell you a little, OK, a GINORMOUS, sad sad terribly sad first.  And fetch balls, it is sad, so brace yourself.

We'll begin with a picture or two. 

Ready?

Are you CRYING YOUR EYES OUT?  Don't, I've already done enough of that for the both of us, but seriously, I am so sad that our little baby love had to get his beginner owie in such a traumatic fashion.  I can't even tell you how guilty I feel. Yes I can, I will tell you the story as if I'm confessing my sins in one of those little "confess your sin boxes", oh yes, that would be a confessional.  And though I've never had the opportunity to experience a confessional, I think I'll do it one day because it might just help, you know?  Plus it seems kind of cool.  Anyway, perhaps pretending to be bearing my should in a confessional will make me feel less guilty and less sad.  Fingers crossed.

Me:  Forgive me, for I have sinned.  (Is this sacrilegious?  I seriously hope not.)

The Dude Behind the Screen:  Go on, my child.

Me:  I totally left the vacuum up in the playroom along with two of my three babies and I didn't even flinch when I heard it get started up.  Let's face it, my chilluns and I have an almost intimate relationship with the vacuum.

The Dude Behind the Screen:  Carry on.

Me:  And when I heard my baby crying I ran up to the toy room only skipping the occasional step to find him bawling as my younger two-year-old looked at me with vacuum in hand.  I did a quick once over and pulled the plug and scooped baby in my arms to console him while tsking at my little man and telling him to be nice to the baby.

The Dude Behind the Screen:  Mmm Hmmm.  (He doesn't have a big speaking part in this little play I've created)

Me:  And then when baby love wouldn't stop crying after several minutes I did a more thorough examination of his little bod and found that his poor little bear paw had been skinned by the brushes of my     vicious Dyson and I went totally ballistic.  The previously mentioned two-year-old got yelled at and sent to his room crying, the big two-year-old wisely volunteered to flee the scene and go play outside, the baby love get some poorly administered first aid and a lot of bouncing and rocking and the mama called the nurse hotline with tears streaming down her cheeks.  It was not my favorite day and I feel SO stinkin' bad.  

The Dude Behind the Screen:  I see.  You were right to come confess your sins, which are plentiful.  It is imperative that you UP YOUR GAME, Sista.  Geez.

Me:  (Meekly) I'm not done.

The Dude Behind the Screen:  Excuse me?

Me:  You heard me.  After I tylenoled and bandaged and rocked and fixed I went to apologize to my littlest two-year-old and then to check on my biggest two-year-old.  Turns out, biggest two-year-old felt left out of all the action and had taken it upon himself to dismantle my most recent DIY project.  I lost my cool for the second time in about ten minutes.  I was living in Sucksville and couldn't get out of that crazy town.

Silence.

Me:  Hello?  What do I do?  Like, fourteen hundred Hail Marys?  Lay it on me.

The Dude Behind the Screen:  You had better pray lady... long and hard.  And do better to not mangle your kids.  And be kind and gentle and sweet at all time.  

And be more funny while you're at it.

Ouch.  

I am so sorry, little Acers.  And I'm sorry to my entire little boy trifecta.  Bad day in the books.  Better days to come.  And WAY more FUNNY comin atcha.

XO.

Showeird...

This kid loves to shower.  

Is that so weird?  Seriously, we have to keep bathroom doors shut with baby proof door knobs because this little water dog will crawl on in the tub or shower and make merry.  

Clothed or Naked.  He doesn't care a bit.

And then there is this little man. He is obsessed with his favorite bath toy. I died laughing when I heard him singing "Red Solo Cup" for the first time. I'll let the video do the talking, but I will say, watch yourself, Mister Toby Keith... This one is gonna steal your spotlight soon enough. 

Here's to clean tootsies everywhere. ;)