"Mommy, go away."

For the most part, when J is home, I'm like chopped liver to H. She only wants me if she's looking for a boob or chocolate (at least she knows who gives her candy).

Today, every time I'd try to get her out of the car, she'd yell, "No! I want Papa to do it!"

So I'd walk away, trying not to feel defeated. Trying not to take it personally, because I know it's not.

When we finally returned home and I opened her car door she said, "Mommy, go away!"

I looked at her, annoyed, a bit hurt, and said, "I don't like it when you speak to me that way. It makes me sad."

Her face softened a bit and she replied, "Mommy, please go away. And please don't be sad. I just need my Papa today."

There is something simply profound when a two year old can put her needs into words. And when she's able to make you understand she really has nothing against you.

Sometimes a girl just needs her Papa.

And that's okay.

Acidophilus: Probiotics or acid?

Yesterday J got up with the kids so I could sleep in (you know you’re a parent when “sleeping in” is until 730am). After I got out of the shower H came running up the stairs crying about her probiotics and how she needed a new one. I told her very calmly that she needed to go downstairs and tell Papa she would like a probiotic. It was okay if she’d all ready had one, Momma said it was fine. But I emphasized that she needed to use nice words and a nice tone of voice, because if she was whining to Papa the way she was to me, he’d never understand her.

So off she went and I didn’t think about the incident again until that night after the kids were in bed and J and I were hanging out in the kitchen while I baked cookies for our Valentine’s play date today.

“Oh, the probiotics are on the counter. You should put them in the fridge,” J told me while I was putting cookies into the oven.

“What are they doing on the counter? They shouldn’t be left out.” I quickly returned them to their cold home.

J shook his head, that sad look of defeat on his face. “You have to give the kids their probiotics from now on. I can’t do it,” he told me.

I looked at him, my eyebrows highs. “What’s so hard about it?”

“Well,” he began. “Your daughter asked me for some probiotics. I told her she’d have to get them since I wasn’t entirely sure where they were located at in the fridge. She gets them out and of course B wants one too. I hand it to him and try to break the capsule open, but he wants the whole thing, so I just let him have it. [Note: I typically pull the capsule apart and pour the probiotic powder into B’s mouth for him] Then H asked me to open hers, so I proceeded to do so, but the second it touched her tongue she started screaming and spitting and trying to wipe it out of her mouth. She’s running around the house in circles freaking out, I’m certain I’ve just put acid in her mouth because I didn’t even check the bottle, I just assumed she knew what it was, and I’m also trying to fish the unopened capsule out of B’s mouth before he bites it open and releases the same acid into his mouth.”

At this point, between the story, understanding what was going on, and his elaborate animation, I was laughing so hard there were tears.

“You can only open the capsule for her. You can’t pour it into her mouth. She likes to do that herself. You clearly don’t understand what it’s like to be almost 3.”

“Yeah,” he told me flatly. “I know that now. But I’m not risking the chance of giving our kids acid ever again. Especially when the bottle just says ‘acidophilus’ so it’s clearly telling me it’s acid.”

Uh huh. That’s what it says…

Valentines balloons

For the past three weeks Miss H has been seeing Valentines Day balloons everywhere.

She loves balloons. Adores them (so does Mr. B).

Naturally, she's asked several times if she could have some. At one point I bought her and Mr. B little tiny ones on sticks. They loved them. I quickly learned they were nothing more than weaponry.

But I told her that I'd get her and B one for Valentines Day.

Well, as today went by, I realized I was not going to make it anywhere without small children since J was deep in the throes of spray spainting vents (which turned out awesome!). So I just decided I'd take them with and let them pick it out while I ventured to pick up a heart shaped pizza. Maybe not as cool, but I promised Valentines balloons and I'm a woman of my word.

So in the car on the way to the store I told H she could pick out her own Valentines balloon.

"Any one I want?" She asked.

"Sure," I answered. "Just remember, you only get one. And B only gets one."

"Okay," she easily agreed.

I should definitely be careful what I agree to.

We walk into the store and there are tons of balloons. Hearts, owls, cupcakes, bumble bees, ice cream cones, you name it. All for Valentines Day.

"I want a heart," she announced immediately.

"What color?" I questioned as there were all the colors under the rainbow.

"Red."

I walked over to a red balloon and proceeded to pick it up.

Miss H shook her head. "Not that one. This one." And she closed in on a red heart balloon that was bigger than herself.

"Don't you want this cute small one?" I tried.

"You said any balloon. I want this one."

I nodded my head. That's what I said. I didn't realize they made life-size balloons though.

"Well, how about we get this one for B then," I said.

"No, Momma. He gets to pick out his own too."

I'm pretty sure I sulked at this point. Mostly because B was at this point enchanted by a frog balloon that said "kiss me" and was bigger than him.

Two balloons and $20 later, I will be sure I know what I'm agreeing to in the future.

At least I have two happy kids and a good excuse not to get them candy.

Chocolate yogurt...

Miss H has always gone back and forth on food spurts. While she likes virtually everything, she's human, and prefers some things over others depending on the day, or hour. Or even second.

Yogurt is one of those things she's had a love/hate relationship pretty much since beginning solids. One day she could eat a whole carton of it in a single sitting. The next day you had better not even think about bringing yogurt within ten feet of her.

Well, we're "on" for yogurt currently. I let her pick out her flavor, my only requisite is it has to be full fat yogurt, low-fat or fat-free is not an option. People need the good fats!

So we're in the store the other day, H and me, choosing yogurts. She's all about the single serve cups these days, so her options in flavors have really been widened. She going through each yogurt asking me the flavors.

"Blueberry," I tell her. "Mango, peach, strawberry, vanilla, coffee, maple, honey, chocolate."

She stopped dead in her tracks. She cocked her little head sideways and looked at me. "Did you say chocolate?" she asks.

"Yes," I immediately regret.

"I need all of them!" Pretty much at that moment she reminds me of a blood-thirsty baby vampire.

"How about we just get two. One for you and one for B."

"I need them all," she tells me calmly, matter-of-factly.

"Momma doesn't have money for them all."

She pinches her lips together and stares at me, trying to figure out if I speak the truth, I'm sure.

"Okay," she finally says. "We can get four. Two for me and two for B."

And so we got four. And they were eaten immediately while the blueberry and vanilla ones were shoved into the back of the fridge. She ate those later because there were not other options, but she made her displeasure that they were not chocolate well-known.

And she jumped for joy when she consumed the last one and informed me that we needed "to go to the market right now for chocolate yogurt."

Yeah. Chocolate yogurt was created for clever kids. Kids who like chocolate. Kids who realize that it's just creamy chocolate goodness, and saying it's "healthy" just makes moms like me feel better about the insane amounts that their small children are consuming.

Welcome to Parenthood

I climbed out of bed this morning and told J I felt like I was going to collapse. "My body is sore," I whined, "And I haven't even been to the gym all week. I feel like I'm just going to fall down."

"That, my dear, is what we call exhaustion. Welcome to parenthood."

Yeah. Fun stuff. Though honestly, I wouldn't trade it in for the world.

For the past week B has been doing this super fun wake up between 330-4am and then screaming and crying until 530-6am.

It's awful. And not because of the lack of sleep. Because my baby is literally sobbing and there is nothing that I do that helps. He flings himself all over the bed, eventually onto the floor and just sobs. When I try to hold him or talk to him he screams at me (which admittedly, in a different situation would be funny, because he is so clearly screaming at me).

These huge, fat, wet tears drip down his face and there is nothing I can do to comfort him. He doesn't want me to hold him or touch him or nurse him or anything. And I don't know why.

I'd imagine this is what it feels like to let your child cry it out. But without that utter feeling of helplessness, since the point is to let your baby cry themselves to sleep. I'm finding it to be completely horrific to be honest. I couldn't imagine doing this to my babe on purpose. I hate not having the ability to help him, I couldn't imagine choosing not to.

But I digress. He ends up cuddling with me when he is so far gone exhausted I can pull him close and he no longer has the energy to fight. We either sing our "I love you" song (which is literally, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much) and he'll sing with me until he falls asleep, or he'll give in and nurse back to sleep.

Ay carumba! I wish I had the slightest idea as to what is causing this. The timing is the same each night. I don't know what to do for him. Maybe he's heard J and I discussing his "big boy room" and he's utterly freaked out. I don't know.

All I know is that this poor baby is exhausted when his sister wakes him up at 7am and I am too. And neither one of us are happy when he's sobbing and Mommy can't figure out what's wrong.

I know, I know.

Welcome to Parenthood.

Captain Destruct-O melts my heart.

This week Mr. B has been Captain Destruct-O. He's removed the letters off the keyboard to my laptop - and not in a just pop them back on type of way. A few glasses and bowls have perished. And then my blender, my most essential kitchen item that I use every single day, that is fairly heavy and I never even dreamed he could lift, he threw off the counter and it shattered into 100s of pieces.

He thought it was absolutely fantastic!

I was super nice and calm about and it just swept it up (I mean, I'm the one who put him on the counter), but admittedly was less than impressed.

After a week of extreme clean-up because he just destroys everything, I was spent.

Then I got onto my computer to continue organizing my photos while B slept on my lap and H helped J prepare seeds for planting, and my heart just melted at what I saw.

A tiny B fresh out of the womb lying across my chest. Only a few hours old and his sister helping him to defiantly give the bird to the world (and I only just noticed this today!). Him sitting in his bumbo, bald, his ears sticking out of his head while we put up his first Christmas tree.

And sweet Jesus, he's perfect. He is my biggest surprise. My best surprise. Such a sweet, loving, curious little boy. He makes my heart stop. He's making me prematurely gray. He makes me laugh until I cry. He makes my heart swell so big with love I think it might explode.

Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by how much I love him (and H, too, of course!). I'm usually awesome with words, and the fact that I can look at him and be at an absolute loss for words, speaks volumes.

I fantasized about having a little girl my entire life. But I never once imagined what it would be like to have a boy. And I never could have imagined it to be so awesome.

So destroy away, my sweet treasure. You are only little once. You only get to learn these things once. And I only get to keep you here as mine for such a short amount of time before you are off on your own in this great big world. So even if I have to buy a new blinder, I will do it with a smile on my face.

Because I was blessed with you, sweet B. And there are no words to explain the awesomeness of that.

Toys, toys, and more toys!

H and B have a ridiculous amount of toys. And it's crazy, because 3 months ago we literally got rid of pretty much everything, with the exception of wooden blocks, puzzles, and few other miscellaneous things. And in the three months since, we've managed to accumulate even more than what they previous had.

Certainly the holidays and amazing well-loving family and friends have helped. And it's, of course, greatly appreciated. But J and I also have a problem buying our kids things.

To the extreme.

We're not big holiday gift-givers. For some reason it just seems to not be our thing. We buy gifts for our friends and families, but not really for each other or the kids.

But we do buy year round. We haven't yet gotten to the ages where our kids really ask for things. But we still buy them things.

All the time.

When we feel like it.

When we see something we like.

When we see something we think they would like.

When it's appropriate and a decent price.

All the time.

A huge part of it is simply from our childhoods. J grew up poor. He basically had no toys.

I certainly had toys, but not to the same extent as a lot of kids, and not when I was really small.

Neither one of us begrudge our childhoods for their lack of toys.

And yet we want to give, give, give to our kids. We give them incredible amounts of time and attention, too, which we weren't terribly privy to as kids. So it's not like we just buy them things and expect them to go away. I spend the majority of my day playing with our kids. Other than when B takes his 45 minute nap which currently = quiet TV time for H (she loves that TV is being allowed inside during this time instead of solely in the car) when I take time to do chores and blog, as well as the hour I spend at the gym each day while the kids play at the play 'n learn center (which they love), I'm playing with them all. day. long. So trust me, they're not deprived of attention.

And pretty much every awake moment that J is home for is dedicated to the kids. He's playing with them from the second he gets home, before he has a chance to put down his bags or take off his shoes.

And logically, even academically, I know this all that they need. In fact, it's probably a bit too much and we should encourage them to play more on their own. But we like playing with them. It's why we had them, we say.

The toys, they are all just extra.

A lot of times I think they would be better off with fewer toys. That they don't really need our entire dining room turned play room, as well as our living room, full of stuff. But then when I think, "What would I get rid?" I just can't. In my defense, they really do play with it all.

I read the book "Simplicity Parenting" about a year ago and I really love it. Mostly because I would love to be a minimalist, and the book is about minimalist parenting. Love it.

But it will never happen. I'm great at getting rid of my stuff, but not the kids. I've done a lot of purging this past year. I condensed my books to two bookshelves when it was once three overflowing bookshelves. So now one book case holds the kids' games and "educational" materials.

I have less clothes than my husband! How many women can say that? My clothes take up about 1/4 of our closet space. But I really only have about 7 "fall/winter" tops. And 3 pairs of jeans. I have quite a few other shirts floating in there, many that I should pitch still, as I haven't worn them despite thinking I would. Last summer I had two pairs of shorts.

Now you want to talk swim suits it's a different ball game. It's pretty much the only thing I have more than J of. Because I have a weird obsession with them. But even there I've purged a lot.

Although they have way more clothes than me, I easily get rid of the kids' clothes as they outgrow them.

But toys. Oh, no! I just cannot part with those.

So I'm just going to hope that having so many toys isn't somehow damaging. I mean, I've read plenty of things that say with so many toys babes don't play with them all. They don't use their imaginations as much. They don't have the "gift of boredom."

But they do play with them. They do have amazing imaginations. And they even do tell me they're bored on occasion.

Or maybe that's just me justifying my own need to give, give, give to them.

"I'll love you forever"

Miss H is really into the book "Love you forever" right now. Like, we read it 123049729837x a day. And that's not quite enough. She has it memorized word for word and is quick to correct me if I get jumbled up after reading it a bazillion times.

Well, H doesn't nap anymore. On the rare occasion she may, but we've been going napless for almost a solid year now. And most days it's okay. But I always have her lay down in her bed while I get B to sleep. Then I go back to her. If she's asleep, I let her be. If she's almost asleep, I just lay down with her until she's out. And, most days, she's still wide awake so then I tell her she can come back downstairs and play quietly while Mommy does chores (or blogs...).

Today when I took her up to her room she said, "Momma, I need you to rock me just like the baby. And sing me the song." So we sat on her bed while B found destructive things to entertain himself and I rocked her just like I did when she was oh-so tiny, singing "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always. As long as you're living my baby you'll be." When I laid her down with her head upon her pillow she looked at me and said, "As long as your living my Momma you'll be." I kissed her nose and she told me, "I'll love you for always because you're my hero."

She tells me I'm her hero a lot. But today it melted my heart just that much more.

In case I haven't mentioned it lately, I freaking love my job. I love being a mom. And I love those two tiny blessings more than anything else in this galaxy.

"That means he loves me!"

Siblings are funny. That ridiculous love/hate relationship that they have.

One second H and B have me on the verge of a breakdown with their constant bickering and then the next my heart is utterly melting because they are so freaking sweet to each other.

Seriously, H is screaming at B for touching a toy and then two seconds later she riding the rocking turtle, prompting B to "Oh, be so careful! Watch your footsies, love!" so she doesn't accidentally hurt him if he gets too close.

The best melt my heart moment though came this morning when H ran into the kitchen where I was making them breakfast and squealed, "Mommy, mommy! B loves me! I said, 'I so love you' and then he said, 'I wuv oo!'. And that means he loves me!" The look of absolute ecstasy on her face can never be duplicated.

I've seen her excited about a lot of things. Books at Christmas. Fruit leather. But it doesn't compare to this morning.

So although I might lose my mind while they're figuring out their friendship and how to get along (and B is admittedly so freaking aggressive, I'm not sure he's my child), it will be worth it for those moments like this morning when their love for one another outshines all the whines and cries.

Gingerbread Man

Seriously, everyone needs an almost 3 year old. You know, just for shits and giggles.

Last night, as bedtime was approaching and I was changing B, J told H it was time to change into her jammies. We were all gathered in the living room (J's sister, husband, and son were visiting) as H slyly maneuvered around J, mumbling, "We'll...I think...now..." And as soon as she was out if arms reach she took off in a full sprint laughing, "You can't catch me I'm the gingerbread man!"

Oh my goodness. We all laughed so hard we cried. J indulged her a few circles around the house. Then he playfully scooped her up while she shrieked, "No, fox, no! Don't get me!"

Needless to say, it was a very good way to conclude our Christmas.

Theatre babies

J and I  are theatre people, as in, we love going (and maybe once upon a time I really loved being a part of it too!). So our kids never stood a chance.

The first production we went to see after having H, we had sitters (yea, multiple, we were paranoid). She slept the whole time we were gone, and I'd go again without my kids for the right show, but since then, we've been dragging them along.

I remember last Christmas people were in awe with our 21-month old girl who sat through the whole production of Annie without disrupting. And they were equally in awe Friday when both kids did the same at the Wizard of Oz.

Admittedly, I haven't seen the movie since I was 6, and if I had, it probably wouldn't have been my show of choice with babes. Though all the "scary" parts were toned down greatly, complete with the flying monkeys being jitter bugs who danced Dorothy and co into exhaustion.

Afterwards, H asked for more, and then loudly proclaimed, "I can do that!"

Yep, she's mine.

I've produced at least one theatre baby. But the way B got his boogie on, I'm thinking probably two.

Cuddle Bear

B is such a cuddle bear. He is this amazing bundle of love that I could have never predicted.

He gives kisses all. the. time.

He’ll be walking around the house and just stop and come kiss my legs, or pull me down so he can kiss my lips. If I’m carrying him while running errands, he seems to douse me with kisses every few minutes.

When he nurses he’ll pop off, often, and kiss my lips and go back to nursing. When he’s falling asleep he’ll nuzzle close to my chest or face, and kiss me until he’s in slumber land.

He kisses J and H too. Just as much.

He gives hugs too. And he cuddles. Oh, the cuddles! He will put his chubby little arms out for me to scoop him up, and then he’ll just lay his head in the curve of my neck and cuddle, cuddle, cuddle.

Even if he is busy doing his own thing, he is totally cool with me just scooping him up and cuddling on him all I need.

He’s so much love that it just permeates him and leaks onto everything he comes near.

H isn’t a cuddle bear, so this is a fantastic change of pace. Yes, she’s affectionate. Very. But on her own terms.

It seems so crazy now, to think that there was a time when I held a newborn B and legitimately questioned if I would know how to love him “right.” How could I not love B? How could anyone not love him? He’s just so loveable!

Pretty much B makes this parenting thing incredibly easy. I’m sure he’ll have his moments some day, but maybe not. Maybe we’ll avoid some of the issues that H and I had because I know how to do things better. I won’t be working against him or doing to him, I’ll being working with him and doing with him.

So maybe he’ll stay a little cuddle bear forever. At least my sweet, precious, perfect cuddle bear.

Is that sappy enough for ya?

It's like an episode of Lassie around here

My kids crack me up. They have conversations that just goes right over my head.

B will be all, "Uh, uh."

And H will say, "The ball? Where?"

And B will be all, "Uuuuhhh." And he won't point or anything to give a good indication.

H will reply with, "It's under the changing table? Do you want me to help you?"

And then there are some more, "Uh, uh, uuuuhhh, uh" from B while H rescues the ball and I'm just sitting there going WTF, how did she get that from "uh?"

You know, it's like when you watch Lassie and Lassie is all, "Woof! Woof!" and the kid is like, "Mr. Brown? He's stuck in the river?" And you're just going, "What?"

Yep, that's become my life. One Lassie show after another. And it's cute and all, but dude! I have no freaking clue what he is saying. So then when he comes to me and is "Uh, uh, uh," I'm just like, "Sonny-boy, I speak English. Un poco espanol. Cavman, however, not so much." And it infuriates him, so after a few more tries he'll finally shout something random like "Lizard!" and I'm like, "yeah, I understand that! But if there is a freaking lizard in our house we might have to burn the place down to get rid of it because Mommy isn't very brave."

So it seems my choices are grunts and uhs or random-ass words that might get us all killed.

And it's strange, because he knows words. He just doesn't choose to use them. Like Reneesme from Twilight. Only B isn't equipped with some super power that can still tell me what he wants.

He just has to hope his interpreter (aka H) is around. Or choose sensible words. Otherwise, he's on his own with that lizard!

I'm a big girl now!

Lately everything out if H's mouth has been about being a "big girl." A lot of "I can walk because I'm a big girl" and "I can do it by myself. I'm a big girl." Etc., etc.

I don't even call her a big girl. Mostly because it makes me terribly sad. Incredibly happy, too. She is growing into this incredible individual who is so empathetic, bright, loving, inquisitive, and independent. And I'm so happy to be a part if it.

But at the same time, she's right. She's not a baby.

She's currently playing the latest diddy on the piano that her teacher taught her yesterday. A baby sure can't do that!

But I won't lie. I deeply mourn her babyhood. It's like she was a baby and then I blinked. I hardly remember her being a tiny, vulnerable, non-walking, non-talking human being.

At least with B he still seems babyish to me, even though at 15 months he's technically a toddler. H just wasn't even a baby at that age. She was all ready speaking 2-3 word sentences. She had a vocabulary that included 100s of words. She was nearly potty learned.

She's a big girl, indeed, my tiny, big girl.

To be honest, it's a little daunting having such a "fast" child. Mentally, academically, even physically she is leaps and bounds ahead of most kids her age. This is neither a good nor bad thing. Simply who she is. But emotionally she is still just a 2.5 year old.

So although she has big words and beautiful thoughts and can connect with other people on an empathetic level even I don't have, she's still just two. Just my baby. No matter how many times a day she reinforces both through words and actions that she's a big girl, I'm still her momma. And I won't be fooled.

I want to give them all an award

Seriously.

I do not say this sarcastically, coyly, or facetiously. I mean it truly and genuinely.

I want to give all the moms dropping their babes off at H's play school an award.

They always look so put together. I know looks can be deceiving. So their nicely done hair, faces full if make up, and nice clean clutches could possibly be an illusion. A damn good illusion.

But I can't even pull off the illusion.

By the time I have to get H to school, we've been awake for a maximum if 3 hours, though often closer to 2 (yay!).

After I've been abruptly woken from a sleep if sorts, I immediately have two toddlers crawling all over me, jumping in my stomach, standing on my face, tugging my shirt up or down, determined to attach themselves to me. I finally drag us out of bed, trudge into their room to bring clean clothes downstairs. I always have the brilliant plan to take everything we need down with me, so I don't have to go up and down all morning. It never works.

I change diapers, throw diaper laundry from the night before into the dryer, and start on breakfast. By the time I've corralled kids into their seats with green smoothies and a hot meal waiting for them, I am left with messes to clean up. B manages to wash the bathroom with toilet paper and toilet water. A few toys gave gone swimming in the potty. He's knocked every single book off the book shelf.

While helping me prepare breakfast H has dumped hemp seeds all over the counter. There is cashew butter smeared on the cabinets. By the time I return to them, they are done eating and my breakfast is left untouched (and J doesn't understand how easy it is to NOT eat all day). So I scrub them down, covered in smoothie, cashew butter in their hair. Once they are clean and dressed I return to clean up their breakfast mess.

Once I'm through with that and so close to taking my first bite of food H us asking me to play tea party with her and B us wanting a boob. So I sit down to oblige them both. When B us finally done, H insists she's hungry again so then they both end up with bananas. And the bananas end up all over them and my house.

Clean up again.

At that point I realize we have 20 minutes before school.

There us still a lot left to do.

I tell them it's time to brush their teeth and they dart to the bathroom. Before u bake it in behind them I hear H's shrill scream and "that's mine!!!" Followed by B's "no, no, no!" After I have swapped toothbrushes and they are with they're rightful owners the brushing if the teeth can begin.

Then we need shoes. And although I always make sure their shoes are in the basket the night before, they never are come the time we need them due to a certain little boys love for shoes. So then I'm on a hunt fir the purple shoes because the pink ones just won't do. And for kids who each have three, yes, three, winter jackets it never fails that we can't even find one.

By the time they've decided what toys must walk to school with us and are finally loaded into the stroller, we are close with time as it is.

I'm still in my leggings and t-shirt I slept in. Unbathed. Hair not brushed. If they are lucky I have managed to pull it into a pony tail, but even that us half assed due to the length. I obviously have no make up.

So seriously, give these seemingly put together women an award. I don't know how they do it and u think they're incredible.

And if we are being honest, oftentimes I haven't gotten a shower or clean clothes before its time to pick her up 2.5 hours later.

I want to give this momma a a genuine award. They are steller!

Passionate about....

I always hated when you had to tell people your interests, or more specifically, your passions while in grade school. Mainly because I never really had any. Other than maybe writing, but that always seemed too dorky to admit. But it seems I was destined for dorkiness (my phone auto corrected dorkiness to surliness...it's probably a sign...).

Because now I would say I am pretty damn passionate about parenting. And most would say that's incredibly dorky. I mean, how can you be passionate about something that seemingly everyone does?

But I am.

And maybe that makes sense. Why there was never a career I could see myself doing for the rest of my life.

I know a lot of people can have a career and be a steller parent at the same time.

I'm just not one if those people. I'm a perfectionist. I have to do everything 200%. There is not enough me, time, or energy, to do both.

But I can at least do one thing and do it awesomely. And for me, that's being a parent. It's my "career" and though I didn't even know it was what I was truly passionate about until it fell into my lap, I am.

I love my job. I'm passionate about my job.

I fucking rock at my job.

And that's enough.

The death of Ankor

We've always been open about death with the kids. Well, as open as you can be with a 1 and 2.5 year old.

We found a bird once that was dead. When H asked why it wasn't flying, I told her outright that it was dead. She just kind of nodded and said, "Oh."

When H gave her baby brother a rolly poly to play with and he promptly ate it, I told her it was dead.

When she dumped a bucket of rolly poly's into her water table, I explained that they had drowned since they could not swim, and they were dead.

When B stepped on some rolly poly's I explained to the kids how they were now dead.

You are seeing a trend here, right? You should probably call rolly poly homocide on us. As much as my kids love them, they sometimes forget to be gentle....

Well, for baby B's birthday my dear, sweet little sister bought them a fish. H named it Ankor. With a K. I don't remember how it became that it must be spelled with a K.

I told my sister a fish was too much responsibility. Too much feeding. Too much cleaning. Too much remembering to care for it.

For me.

Kids, I'm good with. Plants and animals, they don't stand a chance.

So Ankor died.

She looks like she has mold on her.

I swear to God I did everything I was told. I cleaned that stupid tank bi-weekly and fed it the "special" fish food because it was picky. WTF? A fish can be picky!

But it died anyway.

So I figured that since we have always be point-blank about death it wouldn't be a big deal telling H.

I was right.

Until she asked to watch her swim 2 hours later. And I had to explain again that she was dead.

And then H said that no, she would rather Ankor be alive and swimming, and could I please make her move now? (So maybe I left the dead fish in the tank to let J deal with...)

Finally I told her that her auntie would take her to get a new fish Thursday that can remember how to swim.

Apparently she doesn't "get" death as well as I thought.

But that's probably a good thing anyway. She's only 2.

My little monster(s)

Miss H is at this amazing age. Sure, there are moments (if we are being honest, typically several in one day) when she drives me crazy, but really, she is just awesome. She is so funny and quirky and comes up with the best things. Constantly she has me laughing until I'm in tears, and she gets baby B going too. It's great.

Today she wanted to wear her ladybug Halloween costume. But shortly after putting it on, she decided she'd rather wear her brother's. She she wore a fuzzy blue, three-eyed monster costume that was a few sizes too small. But she didn't care.

Then she toted around two Build-a-Bears that she calls the names of her "god sisters" and repeatedly kept laughing to me, "I'm soooo crazy! I'm just so crazy, Momma!"

She cracks me up. She makes me smile. She makes me so happy to be a mom. And sometimes, because she is just so awesome, it feels a little surreal. Like, really, how'd I get something, someone (okay, two someones!) so amazing and awesome and simply perfect?

Yep, this is all mush. All rose-goggle mommy-love. All that inexplicable bliss that you have right after having a baby has suddenly re-surfaced the past few days - and I didn't even have to have a baby! I guess mega jet lag does it, too.

So yes, although she may drive me insane - Miss H is the best little monster a momma could ask for (and so is B!).

Why do my kids loathe sleep?

I freaking love sleep. Like to a T. I adore it.

I was that dork in college who was in bed by 10pm. For real.

My children, however, do not share this passion of mine. They loathe sleep. Hate it. Despise it.

It makes me want to cry. Or club baby seals. Or laugh at the melting glaciers, because then I feel a little better. I know. I'm sick. Twisted. But I'm okay with that. Whatever keeps me trekking, I say.

Three and half hours. That's how long J and I have been tag-teaming it. And yet both of my kids are still awake. Still on and off screaming. Still crying for whatever parent is not currently with them. Still hating the world of dreamland.

Whatever.

That's what kid's say, "Whatever." Because if they said "Fuck you" or "Fuck this" they'd probably get their mouths washed out with soap.

So I'm saying whatever. Whatever to sleep.

Because it hates me.

So I hate it.

Because that's the awesome 12-year-old mentality I have towards it right now.

Oh, and this is not due to children being jet-lagged. I wish I could blame it on that. That'd be awesome. Great. Fan-freaking-tastic. But I can't.

This is the norm.

I'm not advocating anyone sleep-train their bundle of sunshines. In fact, I'm pretty morally opposed to it. But I get it. I really do. I understand why people do that. They like their sleep. Like me.

Ah...sleep...

Whatever.

People are miracles, too

I remember when Miss H was still a brand new person to this huge, mysterious world, wondering to myself if, or better yet, when - as it seemed inevitable - I would someday look at her and not immediately view her as the miracle she truly is. At what point in a person's life, do we start to forget that they are this wonderful miracle?

To some deree, it's happened. I can't tell you the first time I looked at my amazing firstborn child and didn't immediately think "Wow, she's a miracle." I do remember the first time I realized I wasn't always viewing her as so.

I was a bit crushed. How could I not look at this beautiful, perfect, blatant symbol of mine and J's love and see her as anything other than the miracle she is?

Because she's a person. Because she cries when I'm all ready about to go nuts. Because she does things like sharpie my windowsills and kicks me when she's mad and tired, and then of course, I'm not thinking that she's wonderful at those moments.

So when I've had a particularly long day, and know that I haven't appreciated Miss H the way I should, I make myself remember the amazing day she came into this world. Those precious seconds when she left my body and became an entire person that was separate from me. A perfect, screaming, feisty person. A miracle.

It's so easy to look at a fresh babe and realize what a miracle they are. It's not so easy sometimes to do so with a  toddler. Or an older child, or even an adult. But all people are miracles. We just have to stop and remember that, and see the beauty in the every day moments of their lives. Because it's such a sad thing when we stop viewing our children as the miracles that God gave us (or Mother Nature...or whatever you believe in).

People are miracles, too. Not just newborns.