Today, my middle child, my gorgeous blue eyed Boo baby, turns three years old.
Hard to believe that three years ago I was sobbing on the phone to the OB because I was in so much pain and couldn't sleep. (Boo was a nine pounder, 20 inches long, and very happy on my sciatic nerve.)
It's hard to believe that three years ago I was on an operating table getting my rib displaced and my son born.
That baby, who I held and nicknamed Buddha, is now a wild and crazy three year old with his own mind and agenda, that only occasionally corresponds with my own.
That baby, now a big boy, as he'll tell anyone who listens, made my body hurt for months and now makes my heart aches with how sweet he can be and my ribs crack with his humor.
My Boo is like no other child in the world. I gave the world a gift that may grown up to be a doctor, the president, or a garbage man. But there will be no other person like my son.
Every morning when I leave, Boo calls for me to wait and runs up to give me a flying body hug, clinging to my pant legs and holding me fast. In the evenings, when I get home, he's the first to greet me and try to help me take my shoes off.
In the evenings, he curls up in my lap, plops his thumb in his mouth, and vegs, normally digging his mutant monkey toes into my delicate flesh.
When I'm eating, he comes and mooches food.
When I turn my back, he steals my drinks.
And when I go to bed, I'll occasionally find a bed partner curled up alongside me, blue eyes wide, and he'll reach out a hand and touch my face.
My little man turns three today, and I thanks the gods that I have him, in all his wicked, evil, mischievous heathen glory.
Happy birthday, Buddha Baby!
My Boo shares a birthday with a friend's baby, Hayden, born March 31, 2006, who earned his wings May 1, 2006. Boo and I both wish Hayden a happy birthday. He's always with us, Stephanie. *Hugs*
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Too Big for his Britches
My nephew is almost old enough to be utterly stupid.
No, teh boy is smart. Book smart.
He's just dumb enough to mouth off to his aunty, whose a good six inches smaller than him.
And to think its funny.
What he didn't think was so funny was my knee up his backside and my taking his plate of food until I got a suitable apology.
My mother and mine reminded him I play dirty and I will always win.
He may dwarf me. He may think he's big stuff.
I knwo that I can take his ass down hard and dirty, and I will do that in the name of aunty love.
And I'll enjoy every moment of it.
By the way, the heathens loved every minute of it.
No, teh boy is smart. Book smart.
He's just dumb enough to mouth off to his aunty, whose a good six inches smaller than him.
And to think its funny.
What he didn't think was so funny was my knee up his backside and my taking his plate of food until I got a suitable apology.
My mother and mine reminded him I play dirty and I will always win.
He may dwarf me. He may think he's big stuff.
I knwo that I can take his ass down hard and dirty, and I will do that in the name of aunty love.
And I'll enjoy every moment of it.
By the way, the heathens loved every minute of it.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Saturday--D-Day
Saturday is Boo's 3rd birthday bash.
The Man is smoking meat and happy as a clam.
I'm stressing about food and people and decorations and Lord only knows what else.
And every time, I swear I'll never do this agian.
Three birthdays a year, times a lifetime--I'll be in a padded cell before Punk goes to school.
Wish me luck and send me liquor--I'll need it!
The Man is smoking meat and happy as a clam.
I'm stressing about food and people and decorations and Lord only knows what else.
And every time, I swear I'll never do this agian.
Three birthdays a year, times a lifetime--I'll be in a padded cell before Punk goes to school.
Wish me luck and send me liquor--I'll need it!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Sleep--the Final Frontier
These are the ramblings of a sleep deprived mother.
her mission, to tuck her heathens into bed and have them stay there.
Her life mission
To finally get to sleep
Without strange faces pearing at her in the middle of the night
Or babies crying for no apparent reason.
I am so sleep deprived, I am writing odes to it.
Oh sleep, how I miss thee!
The warm embrace of fluffy pillows,
The comfort of a crisp, cool sheet,
And the silence and darkness that accompany
The nighttime hours.
I remember you fondly,
A friend, a partner,
Who has abandoned me out of fear
Of my children.
Who refuse to sleep.
Who wake us for no reason
Except devilish glee
At our suffering.
Who teeth and nurse and
Whine and mona at all hours,
Then fall back into blissful slumber
Once we have been awaken,
Leaving us staring a sleep pursed lips
In jealousy. For we know,
we will have no more rest
Until they bury us.
And even then, I doubt it.
her mission, to tuck her heathens into bed and have them stay there.
Her life mission
To finally get to sleep
Without strange faces pearing at her in the middle of the night
Or babies crying for no apparent reason.
I am so sleep deprived, I am writing odes to it.
Oh sleep, how I miss thee!
The warm embrace of fluffy pillows,
The comfort of a crisp, cool sheet,
And the silence and darkness that accompany
The nighttime hours.
I remember you fondly,
A friend, a partner,
Who has abandoned me out of fear
Of my children.
Who refuse to sleep.
Who wake us for no reason
Except devilish glee
At our suffering.
Who teeth and nurse and
Whine and mona at all hours,
Then fall back into blissful slumber
Once we have been awaken,
Leaving us staring a sleep pursed lips
In jealousy. For we know,
we will have no more rest
Until they bury us.
And even then, I doubt it.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Bruisers
Bug was feeling a bit bossy. Boo was feeling a bit put out. A simple order to go get a book resulted in a right hook that connected with the eye and sent my four year old reeling.
I don't understand how, one minute, my boys are best friends, and the next, they are fighting tooth and nail.
Although the books tell me its normal, I, being a girl, am appalled to realize my boys are bullies and brawlers.
All I can hear in my mind is some poor kids hiding, whispering, "Watch out for those two. They are trouble!"
You know the kids I'm talking about. The school bullies. And since my boys are only 18 months apart, they will be one grade apart in school. They are close in size and different in temper. bug is lightening fast in everything, including temper. Boo is slow and deliberate, and a dirty street fighter.
I'm afraid of the calls from school and my meetings with the principal in the future.
Somebody tell me its all boys and not just mine!
Please don't let me be raising juvenile delinquents when they are barely out of diapers.
I don't understand how, one minute, my boys are best friends, and the next, they are fighting tooth and nail.
Although the books tell me its normal, I, being a girl, am appalled to realize my boys are bullies and brawlers.
All I can hear in my mind is some poor kids hiding, whispering, "Watch out for those two. They are trouble!"
You know the kids I'm talking about. The school bullies. And since my boys are only 18 months apart, they will be one grade apart in school. They are close in size and different in temper. bug is lightening fast in everything, including temper. Boo is slow and deliberate, and a dirty street fighter.
I'm afraid of the calls from school and my meetings with the principal in the future.
Somebody tell me its all boys and not just mine!
Please don't let me be raising juvenile delinquents when they are barely out of diapers.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Mini Van Moments
One of my Fave bloggers, http://motherhooduncensored.typepad.com/ declared that she would not surrender to the lure of mini vans.
I, however, am not that strong.
I have an SUV and a minivan. And three kids, in case you were in a coma and missed my miraculous births.
I can't imagine putting all three kids, long term, in the back of my SUV, so I am a minivan whore. I find myself salivating over roomy seats and DVD players and captains chairs and ROOM!
I weep in delight at sliding doors and the fact that, unless my kids are screaming, I can't hear them all the way in the back seat.
And I have space for a friend, if any of my friends were silly enough to get into a car with me and three kids.
I love my mini van. I've even tried to convince The Man to trade in the SUV and get a second minivan.
I'll get my way. I have my ways of bringing him around, which resulted in child one, two, and three.
Just slap a bumper sticker on my ass that says mini van whore and move on.
I, however, am not that strong.
I have an SUV and a minivan. And three kids, in case you were in a coma and missed my miraculous births.
I can't imagine putting all three kids, long term, in the back of my SUV, so I am a minivan whore. I find myself salivating over roomy seats and DVD players and captains chairs and ROOM!
I weep in delight at sliding doors and the fact that, unless my kids are screaming, I can't hear them all the way in the back seat.
And I have space for a friend, if any of my friends were silly enough to get into a car with me and three kids.
I love my mini van. I've even tried to convince The Man to trade in the SUV and get a second minivan.
I'll get my way. I have my ways of bringing him around, which resulted in child one, two, and three.
Just slap a bumper sticker on my ass that says mini van whore and move on.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Peeing in a windstorm
Some days, raising my kids, I feel like I'm staring straight on into a windstorm and trying to pee without getting splattered.
No, it's not some weird hermaphrodite reference, but a metaphor for futility.
Most days, I'm bopping along with funny kids and an all right life.
Then a kid drops a steaming pile on my foot.
Literally. Punk did it last week. Right out of her diaper and onto my foot, then the floor. Splat!
Bug did it, again metaphorically, yesterday at my mom's, where he threw a screaming, hitting hissy fit because I wouldn't let him take two blocks home.
I didn't back down. I did get mad, which made me gla there were witnesses. And after I was done, The Man got mad.
The Man took our wayward oldest to the van while we all scurried to put up the toys and gather our belongings. In the car, Bug wanted to talk, and I hissed a response that involved zipping his lip, bath, bed, and I'd deal with him the next day.
He got it. Mom's mad. Duck and cover.
And then woke up this morning upset because I left before apologizing to him!
My son has some impressive gonads.
On break, I called home, and Bug apologized for hurting me. I'm still mad, but realize he has the attention span of a gnat and so I have to be the bigger person--not fatter!--and move on.
But my heart hurts. And I just want to know where my sweet boy went and why I am peeing against a tornado these days.
No, it's not some weird hermaphrodite reference, but a metaphor for futility.
Most days, I'm bopping along with funny kids and an all right life.
Then a kid drops a steaming pile on my foot.
Literally. Punk did it last week. Right out of her diaper and onto my foot, then the floor. Splat!
Bug did it, again metaphorically, yesterday at my mom's, where he threw a screaming, hitting hissy fit because I wouldn't let him take two blocks home.
I didn't back down. I did get mad, which made me gla there were witnesses. And after I was done, The Man got mad.
The Man took our wayward oldest to the van while we all scurried to put up the toys and gather our belongings. In the car, Bug wanted to talk, and I hissed a response that involved zipping his lip, bath, bed, and I'd deal with him the next day.
He got it. Mom's mad. Duck and cover.
And then woke up this morning upset because I left before apologizing to him!
My son has some impressive gonads.
On break, I called home, and Bug apologized for hurting me. I'm still mad, but realize he has the attention span of a gnat and so I have to be the bigger person--not fatter!--and move on.
But my heart hurts. And I just want to know where my sweet boy went and why I am peeing against a tornado these days.
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