Isn't it About Time?

Well, now that I've typed the title I can only conjur up images of "Mormon Ads" on PBS.  So... let me take a moment to regroup.

Oh look, I'm back!

The reason the title is as it is - is because I feel it's high time for another "little letters" post.  I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but the little letters blogging format has an incredible ability to cover a huge quantity of random in a somewhat organized fashion... right?  Such an impressive tool.

So here goes...

Dear Kimberly at Wells Fargo....  Holy crap, girl, where to start with you?  Never ever in my life have I been greeted by someone at a drive up window who is so incredibly happy and chipper to be working on a random Wednesday morning.  You were one impressive bank teller.  The way you introduced yourself and asked what you could do for me?  You have a bright future Miss K.  You made my brief interaction delightful and borderline hysterical.  And my little rug rats thank you for digging through the Dum Dum bucket to produce two "bwu ones" and a "red one".  Wow.

Dear Pioneer Ancestors....  Hats off y'all.  This weekend our AC went out for unknown reasons and let me tell you something...  Me LOVES me some AC.  I was hot, ornery, lazy, hot and ornery.  And that is about all I could muster up.  It became incredibly obvious to me in that very long day and a half that I am not cut out for a life without modern amenities.  So when Armageddon comes - just know that I'll be hanging up my hat and surrendering because I simply am not cut out for a life without a working thermostat.

Dear Kael....  What, pray tell, is with you and your little "murse"?  I am equal parts entertained and grossed out by what you collect in your little man bag all day.  Tonight I found, blocks, a toy car, nasty old fruit snacks, a half-eaten box of raisins, and fist fulls of grass.  (Not weed everyone - calm down - actual grass.  As in lawn).  I know it is just a silly little phase, but I don't know how much longer you and your little Delta airlines toiletries bag can be besties.  Although - it is wickedly hilarious.

Dear Dad... You are cracking me up with your fervor and complete immersion into the Republican party convention.  I adore getting your texts before, during and after each speaker.  Your increased use of exclamation points and adjectives like, "Powerful" and "Impressive" just make me grin.  No one - and I mean NO ONE has ever accused you of not being a passionate person Papa Bear.  You and Chris Christy sittin' in a tree.... :)

Dear Ryan... Soak this next line or two in, brotha, because I am about to say something to you that you will revel in hearing... ready?  You were right about whole milk.  (Crap)  After ten years of telling you that skim and one percent taste just as delish as two percent or whole, I would officially like to strike those comments from the record.  Whole milk is kind of freaking delicious and when you drink it like the littles do, with loads of Hershey's chocolate syrup?  Fetch.  I'll say it again, but then this better sustain you for another ten years, "You were right.  I was wrong."

Dear Dax... As you like to say, "Hey Homey".  So, I get that you are a tough little gangsta with a mowhawk, but lets just juxtapose that with your affinity for sweet pastries.  My little Pillsbury Dough Boy, you make me laugh when you hear your baby brother squack and you respond to him by saying, "Baby, I don't have any donuts wight now."  Or when he cries and you lean forward and grab his face and say, "Baby, you wanna cookie?"  As if every pained expression from everyone in the world could be sated with a sweet treat.  Actually - you may be on to something little smartie pants.

Dear Shades of Grey...  Yep, I just came clean about this dirty little bit.  I love you.  Nothin' like a little imaginative mood setter on the pages of a book.  I highly recommend your stories to all the women in the world.  As RyGar said, "That's my favorite book and I haven't read a single page."  Yep, it's that good y'all.  And if my Relief Society President would like to question me about it, I'll gladly loan her my copy!  :)

Dear Ace... I love the way you love you.  Let's face it, you are one vain little son-of-a-gun... and I adore it.  The way you lecture, kiss, admire (from all angles), wave, spit at, dance with and talk to your own little reflection is one of my very favorite things in the history of all time.  We can't decide what to get you for your upcoming birthday... but we're leaning toward a full-length mirror.  :)

Dear Fall... I am officially ready.  My favorite outside chore of mowing the lawn, is getting a little tiresome.  I'm ready for a change... like chopping down perennials and raking leaves.  I may or may not be ready for peaches and pears as opposed to melons and berries too.  And if you told me to trade in my sandals for my boots?  I might just grin like a school girl.  Tweed, here I come.

Dear Labor Day Weekend... I love that you are our last summer hurrah.  I love that my Dad insists that Labor Day is the official day for a steak fry and a family four-wheeler ride.  I love that my little crew will wear overalls and jeans instead of shorts.  I love that the cousins will all get grubby and sticky and silly together.  I love that RyGar will get accosted to go fishing and riding eighty times a day from his little mini mes.  I love that maybe, just maybe, we'll talk to my siblings late at night after we tuck in kiddies and actually have some adult conversation.  I could go on... but in summary, what's not to love about a long weekend where Sunday evening blues or "a little case of the Mondays" just doesn't even happen?  Nada.  That's what.

Happy Hurrah-ing to everyone. :)

Purple Ain't My Favorite Color...

Oh, Barney...

You big ole' dumb dino.

You've cast your spell yet again.

What is it about you?

I mean look at my adorable little Acers.

INFATUATED.

He doesn't even notice his precious bink is upside-down.

I shall never, ever, EVER understand.

BLAH.

Sometimes I Run Away...

Sometimes you need to shake things up. You need to shock the system. You need to defibrillate your life to see those jagged little lines on the monitor that indicate a strong and steady heart beat.

Our collective rhythm had a significant jump this week and is now holding firm 

at about 60 bpms.

This week with barely any forethought or planning at all, the littles and I flew south for a bit to splash and swim and play in the sun before the calendar officially reads fall and our big boy starts preschool.  AGH - I know, PRESCHOOL!

Rygar, ever the trusty partner, told us to "have fun and be good" and kissed us after tightening car seat restraints and checking tire pressure. He's a safety kid from way back but he is also our biggest advocate of fun. And, truth be told, I was needing a shove in that direction.

We swam.  We shopped.  We ate out.  We took evening wiggle bike rides.  We tried out new splash parks.  We experienced new play grounds.  We chased lizards.  We generally lived out loud with one another... and I mean it.  LOUD.

Every single day I had moments when I wondered "what was I thinking" doing this alone. The glances I caught at the mall when I had all three of my little toe heads all jimmy rigged into a white trash bus of sorts?  Ah well, I'm getting used to the stares that our little circus invites... they usually bring on smiles.  And besides, every day I had those delicious "melt your heart mama moments" when I was so glad that I did it. Like these...

Dax man saw Jesus at the gas station. Yes, clear as day he plopped his Butterfinger on the counter, pointed at the long haired bearded attendant and said, "Hi Jesus".  Snot came out of my nostrils involuntarily.  I mean... what do you say? It was hilarious.

Kaelster touched a cactus. This is not the first time. I can't imagine what he will do when he finally gets a slightly loose tooth. Yes, Kaelster kind of likes that "hurt so good" feeling.  He likes telling everyone about it even more in his very animated way.

Ace waded the river. Seriously one minute he was in the stroller and the next he was in the water just stink buggin' around with the big kids. I realize that makes me sound like a vigilant champ of a mom.  But seriously, little man decided he could hang with the big boys fo sho this week and he is keeping me on my toes.  My baby who is almost a year old?  Sheesh.  

My babies are growing up. It is obnoxious how fast it is happening and this sappy mama needed some time with her "few good men" all to herself before little friends and teachers start to have more and more impact and horizons expand beyond the walls of our home. 

I needed to give a good old fashioned "neener neener" to real life while I still can and so I swooped my little gaggle of guys under my wing and swam away to hide in the saw grass while the man of the house held down the fort and worked his tail off to make our life happy and comfy and fun.

I get that new beginnings are exciting and needed for growth and I will welcome them and embrace them. I will!  But I will maintain 'til the day I die that lazy Sunday drives with the fam and impromptu road trips with mom and soccer games with dad are what make change manageable for everyone involved.  These little moments comprised of nothing; they are like mortar holding brick walls together.  And me?  I don't go shy on mortar.  

I don't know how to sum up.  I guess my heart just sometimes hurts loving these little amazing men of mine.  And the big amazing man of mine.  I know that looming change will always be a part of our life.  I know that character is built in those uncomfortable moments when we have to do something unknown all alone and recognize our strength...

Like taking a road trip with babies.  Or going to preschool for the very first time ever.  Or meeting JC.  Or wading a river.  :)

Ah Touché.

Why I Think Exaggeration is the Bomb...

I like to think that my prodigious exaggeration is another mechanism to squeeze happiness out of life.  You know?  Like, saying, "I laughed so hard I thought I was going to pop a vein" is way more funny than, "I laughed so dang hard."  Right?

Kind of like saying Ace's cheeks go on for miles.  

Only, whoops, that one is true.  :)

On my rare shopping outing, one of my favorite things to say is, "Oh my fetch, could you just die?"  Listen, I'm not ever gonna kill over from cuteness of a shirt or a pair of shoes, but it makes my appreciation clear, correct?  Or as they say, "Crystal Clear."  Yes indeed.

Likewise, yesterday I told RyGar that I would rather cut my own arm off than fold one more batch of laundry.  See?  Suddenly my endless exaggerating effectively communicated to RyGar that I was, in fact, going to get my butt folding yet another load of laundry and that possibly chocolate and a compromise on the current tv show blaring on the tube would be required.

Exaggeration... You are officially one of the English language's better tricks, in my opinion.  

And now I must warn you that the following sentence is NOT an exaggeration:

*This post shows booty in bulk*

Lately the littles have all been enraptured with the bravado effect of the sprinkler under the trampoline.

I get it... The sound, the spray, the sensation.  It's high on summer's rad list.

Apparently the best way to experience the sprinkler/tramp combo is in the nude.

Well, Who am I to argue?

  

Besides, I feel strongly that little nudie patooties are the best possible kind of kiesters.

Kapeesh?!

I doubt it is in an exaggeration to say that my little troop likes showing heiny more than any other kids on the planet.  I also doubt I exaggerate when I tell you that I smile like a lunatic when I see them strip in a torrent as they make a mad dash across the yard to the beckoning of the water.  

And lastly, I am not exaggerating when I say I had to delete hundreds of photos from this little sprinkler sesh because they were, um, "showing the full monty".  Oh the strategically placed "blurs" I would have to place to show those photos would be endless.  

And there you have it... 

Exaggeration and Reality at its finest.

Blackmail...

Yep.

That is what I have here in my possession.

Blackmail.

Little dudes of mine - I promise I will dig out these pictures of you completely and utterly enraptured with "mommy's pretties" and I will share with your cute girlie friends of the moment if you ever act up and pull those teenaged titanic-sized tantrums I've heard about.

That is all.  :)

-XOXO-

Mom

I'm Kind of a Big Deal...

I totally snuck away the other night for a few moments to myself.  RyGar says I’m “getting weak” now that he doesn’t travel as often.  He’s probably right.  Or the littles are just getting stronger.  Yep – that’s a more likely case.

Anywho… you wanna know how completely and utterly lame I am?  Here goes.  I drove down the hill to Pollo Loco, ordered chips and guac and a Diet Coke and flipped through an Avon catalogue and a Pottery Barn Kids magazine.  D-U-H.

I have arrived people.  I am a mom of three little tiny kids.  They are hilarious and devilishly full of energy and they make me work harder than I have ever worked in my life… and I’ve never been a lazy shlup y’all.  But what I do now for “fun” is NOTHING like it once was. 

Before you laugh your guts out at me or shake your head and cluck your tongue feeling sorry for my lame ass… just know that I was completely satisfied with that forty minutes of nothingness.  I had the loveliest of times.  I felt refreshed and relaxed and dare I say, a little “glamorous” again…  (I mean I did sport my new Buxom lip gloss in White Russian whilst I was out on the town).

So there you have it.  Confessions of a deliriously tired, deliciously satisfied and happy suburban house wife.  Which wraps up this random and picture less post.

Wow… I really am getting weak.  

The Olympic Torch...

So, yo...  My kids rock at swimming lessons.  I had no doubt.  OK, I had a little doubt, but only because like little Pavlov’s dogs, they see a pool of water and have been conditioned to ask for their life jackets.  Listen, y’all there are three of them and one of me when RyGar is working… it’s a simple equation that sums up to floatation devices.  Period.

Not unlike my expectations, on Monday morning they asked for their jackets and then when I didn’t produce, they jumped on in the water anyway.  Luckily, their darling swim teachers, “Bekah and Maddy” were there to catch them.  And cheer for them.  See, this obviously isn’t Bekah and Maddy’s first rodeo.  Little sailors feed off of positive praise like cheering.

And so it has gone every day since.  They get drug around the pool on their backs and on their fronts.  They blow bubbles and submerge their little faces in the water and they jump off the wall like little monkeys while the rest of their nervous little Pre-K class turns their faces from monumental splashes.

I love it.

I could watch all day.

Ace, however, could not.  I try to keep him strapped in the stroller like this.

But he wants to swim too... soooo badly.  And sometimes I cave and let the little man have a tiny dip.  But as the sign says, no diving, little Acers.  Not yet.

These swim lessons are kind of our first “organized sport” so to speak, and the littles excel and kind of feed off of one another’s energy and smile and bob and splash.  It is so dang crazy to me to watch them out of my care.  They are little buddies.  Little warriors.  Little athletes.  Little independently determined and fearless souls.

The timing is awesome seeing as how I’m on a Michael Phelps / Ryan Lochte high, you know.  Ry and I stay up late to watch the prime time events after the kiddos are asleep and in true RyGar fashion, we’ve raised our hand to the square and pledged dedication to our role as parents of athletes.  We’ve discussed things like driving to every game and attending every meet and traveling for camps and moving to superior coaches if necessary (OK, that might be a titch bit extreme, but again, may I mention Miss Gabby Douglas?).  And our dedication is more than likely going to be tested because, duh… with Kael’s size, strength and aforementioned “hard head” and Dax Man’s speed, stealth and incredible cat-like landings, and Acer’s sheer will and determination to not just keep up with his big brothers but to tackle and wrestle them…. We’re bound to have at least one Olympian, right?

We’ll see. 

In the meantime, we'll sport our stars and stripes, baby.

And if we don’t… I will do my best to show the same fervor to any son of mine who chooses to join the chess club or lead the National Honors Society, because Lawd knows that my Olympic sport is talking.  My strongest muscle is my tongue/mouth/vocal cords and I continue to practice all day every day.   Oh if only a Gold could be won for blabbing stories, my friends.  You’d be looking at a World Record holder.  Perfect score.  Decorated champ. 

It’s been real, London.  Olympic Games 2020 – I hope you’re held in a rock star location.  We’ll be seein’ you!

Oh Snap...

There are certain things you learn about your kids as life throws you it's curve balls.  We've learned that Kaelster, our bruiser, our little horsepower extraordinaire - is, well, built like a tank.  But turns out, big man is human.  Super human.  But human nonetheless.

Remember I showed you a picture of Big K's latest black eye?  Well, we went to Kael's three-year-old well appointment and almost in passing I remembered about the lingering bump between his nose and his brow and asked our Pediatrician to take a little looksie.

The doc was impressed.  In fact, I think his actual words were, "Wow, that is impressive."

Fast forward to Friday when Ry and I sat in the hospital with Kael waiting for sedation to kick in (which took THREE doses) for our little man to be drowsy enough for a CT scan so we could see exactly what our little linebacker had done during his most recent playground bonk.  And what did we learn after the longest weekend of our lives?  That Big K, despite all the specialists' early prognoses, had a hematoma beneath the meeting point of his supra orbital bone and his para nasal bone but not a single break in sight. In a month or so, our little Superman will be good as new.

Do you know there is nothing that makes this mama as nervous or nail-bitingingly maniacal as the threat of injury or pain to one of my babies?  I was a wreck.  I did not want Kaelster to have to go through any procedure any time soon and to sum up my life's wish... I want he and his brothers to buy an island and live happily there (injury free) until they are dirty old men.  Is that too much to ask? 

But on the realistic side of town... you will not find a more grateful mama.  Grateful for talented health professionals that watch over our little football team and identify possible risks and realistic solutions.  Grateful for a loving family that sent prayers up to the Heavens in bulk on Kael's behalf.  Grateful for a hubster that could call upon the Power of God to bless our little man through a Father's Blessing.  And mostly... grateful that our little fearless leader of the "brovers" or brothers continues to be tough as nails.  Atta boy! 

And atta boy, Acers... way to ride before you walk.  

Fetch, this is not the last time we'll visit the hospital with one of our little men.... 

It's sobering to be reminded that life can change just like that.  But it is a necessary cycle I suppose.  It ensures that on occasion we buy an ice cream cone and walk to the park in our boots and notice how purty the sky is, just because we can. 

 Bwu.  The sky was bwu. 

And happy.  My face was oh so happy!