Photo Shoot

Adjusting to 5 little monkies is still taking some getting use to, hence the lack of blogging.  But I love it!  Is it possible and even legal for me to have 5 children?  I guess so because all 5 little people are still in my custody.  (knock on wood)  Our little Emmy is the sweetest little girl.  Between the four older kids and Handsome and I we fight over her constantly.  I just can't get enough of her!  So in contrast to my regular blog posts, here are a few pics of my little ones that I think turned out quite fabulous.  Yes, I'm pulling out the good old blog bragging.  Deal with it.  My good friend Clarissa is one of the most talented and creative people I know.  I honestly couldn't be happier with how these turned out.  To see more of her work and learn about what a stud she is, go to

 http://clariphoto.blogspot.com.

 

Introducing.....

Emerson Brianne

"Emmy"

Born June 22

6lbs 3oz - 19 inches

We kinda like her a lot.  I think we'll keep her.

Call Me Empathetic

(Newspaper article found via email)

Oregon Woman Trapped Under Dresser For Nearly 4 Days

PORTLAND, Ore. (AP) — Authorities say an Oregon woman was trapped for nearly four days after a dresser fell on top of her.  Neighbors asked Washington County sheriff's deputies to check on Cedar Mill resident Virginia Cartier on Friday, after they realized they hadn't seen her in a while.  Deputies forced their way into the 67-year-old's home and found her pinned underneath the dresser. Cartier had been trying to move the dresser.  Deputies say the woman was in and out of consciousness after not having any food or water for days. She had injuries to both legs and was treated at a hospital.  Cartier has since been released and is recovering at the home of a friend.

* * * * * * * * *

(My Personal Version - true story from pregnancy #1 - Christmas 1999)

Utah Woman Trapped Under 10 ft. Christmas Tree For What Seemed Like Hours

Amalga, Ut. ---- Just weeks before Christmas, a very pregnant Utah woman was trapped under her Christmas tree for what she says, "seemed like hours".  Apparently she had started trimming the tree early that evening on the upper floor of her home while her husband was casually watching TV in the basement.  In an attempt to reach the upper limbs of the over sized 10-foot tree, the woman soon found herself flat on the ground underneath the toppled tree.  Being 7 months pregnant she was somewhat disabled in trying to escape her prickly location.  In hopes that her husband would come rescue her she began yelling for him to come to her aid.  Enthralled with his new cell phone that was equipped with a 2-way radio and with a recliner glued to his back, the husband chose to stay in his basement location and responded to his wife's cries via walkie-talkie.  The woman claims she could hear her phone beeping in the kitchen followed by her husband's response of, "If you want to talk to me, come downstairs.  Stop yelling at me!"  The husband was, of course, oblivious to his wife's current condition, and continued to ignore her calls for help other than an occasional response on the cell phone radio.  Heroically the woman finagled her way out from under the Christmas tree and quickly found her way downstairs to confront her husband.  Authorities say that both the man and the woman are lucky to be alive.  Their unborn child was unharmed.

Little Squeaker

My grandma has been gone now for over 2 years.  I think about her a lot and often associate the memories I have of her with random things that happen throughout my day or week.  Her birthday was on Sunday so I thought of her then and then again yesterday when I got my days confused and thought that yesterday was June 3rd when it was really the 4th.  I'm sure grandma appreciated my mistake because it meant that she received extra attention from me. 

I remember when I was a teenager and my brothers would go to grandma's house to help out around the house or yard.  Sometimes they would mow the lawn.  She would always have plenty of ice cold soda, chips, and candy so that a long days work was always well worth it.  But one of my favorite memories about those work related visits is that old age had certainly started taking it's toll on grandma, as it does on everyone (including those of us in our 30's), so often times when she would bend over or pick something up her bodily functions would get the best of her and little farts would escape.  She always continued on with whatever she was doing never drawing attention to her gas mishaps.  I assume that was because she was either embarrassed and wanted to pretend that she hadn't just farted in front her grandson or her unexpected flatulence was as much a part of her routine as breathing. 

Some of my memories of grandma are created simply by drinking an ice cold Diet Coke or eating stale Easter candy at Christmastime.  But in recent months it's my big over sized belly and irregular digestive system that seem to take me down memory lane.  If I move just right or bend to pick something up, this baby bump creates enough force to cause an occasional unwanted slider.  Most of the time I don't mind.  As long as I'm at home doing laundry, who cares?  No one is the wiser because there are no witnesses.  However, last week I was tucking the kids into bed.  Something itched my funny bone and I walked into the family room to tell Mr. Handsome.  The more I talked the harder I laughed.  The harder I laughed the more aware I was that if I moved a muscle I would set off a firework display of pregnancy flatulence.  So I held firm, butt cheeks clinched, and stood still.  When I had regained my composure and felt confident that it was safe to move, I turned to walk down the hallway.  With my first step, out snuck a little squeaker.  I started laughing again, especially when I turned to see the disgusted look on Handsome's face.  I took another step.  Another fart.  I laughed harder.  More farts.  And so the cycle continued until I was laughing so hard that I had tears rolling down my face and was completely void of excess gas.  Handsome said, "Wow!  Pregnancy robs you of all dignity doesn't it?"  Why, yes, Handsome.  It sure does. 

So truth be told, grandma couldn't help it when those little squeakers would escape.  Heck, I sure can't.  And so, yes, I think about grandma randomly throughout the day and it makes me laugh every time and that laughter often inflicts another "memory".  It's kind of sad that it is farting that instantly triggers those childhood memories of grandma.  But either way, she is always on my mind and close to my heart.

I sure love ya, grandma!

What I Wish For Today

When I was a little girl I use to wish for all sorts of things.  Magical powers.  Ice cream.  The ability to fly.  A little sister.  A big brother.  Long hair.  "Guess" jeans.  To be a boy. 

It's true that I thought that being a boy would be so much better than being a girl.  I wasn't much into frills and lace and girly things.  I preferred sports and video games and hated dresses.  As I got older I realized that along with not having to wear dresses, curl their hair, and shave their legs, boys had other things that I envied like the lack of a monthly cycle and the ability to pee wherever they wanted.  When my brothers would take a leak outside or talk about peeing on the campfire at Scout camp, I thought, "That has got to be the raddest thing ever!"  As I have grown into adulthood I have realized that men don't grow out of their infatuation with their man parts or the curiosity of making pee circles in the middle of the street.  It's still just as magical for them at 30 as it was when they were 7. 

I kind of grew out of wanting to be a boy.  There are still days that I resent the fact that I couldn't have been the first girl football player.  Nobody adored Steve Young or Jerry Rice quite like I did.  But for the most part, I'm over it.  And being a woman isn't so bad.  I'm glad I get to experience the pain of child birth.  It's incredible and it sucks.  But it's more incredible.  I'd hand over the monthly cycles and shaving my legs anyday, but the pros of womanhood far outweigh the cons. 

Yesterday, for just a moment, I reverted back to my childhood and found myself wishing to be a boy again. I was at the doctor's office for a regular pregnancy checkup. After the routine of vital signs and standing on the scale, I instinctively headed for the bathroom to pee in a cup. After all, by your fifth pregnancy you've got this down to an art. Or so I thought. I might know what is expected of me without having to be told, but after all this time I have yet to master the peeing in the cup portion of the OBGYN experience. Six months ago I could've easily completed this bizarre task. But the bigger my belly gets, the less pee actually makes it into the cup. I feel like I'm peeing into a bottle cap! My sight is totally obstructed. My bladder and woman parts are most certainly not within normal limits at this point. And my balance is less than stellar. The only shining star in that restroom is the water in the toilet and the fact that my hearing is intact. The sound of water splashing is a sure sign that the cup is not filling up. And warmth and wetness on your hand is a definite red flag with sirens blaring!

I have thought on more than one occasion that we women deserve better than this. If we are expected to regularly pee in a cup, at the very least we deserve a funnel. Right? Is that really asking too much? I asked the doctor if he had ever tried to pee in a cup. Of course he laughed and said it had never been a problem for him. I thought better of telling him to try it with his eyes closed and minus a penis. Then we'd talk!

I motion to reinvent the art of female urination.  It's time to funnelize!  It's bad enough that we put our feet in stirrups once a year and bare ourselves to the world dressed in a hideous floral print gown while laying on butcher paper.  We deserve respect and are entitled to our dignity.  If we can accomplish that respect and dignity by avoiding the occasional tinkle on our hand, is that really too much to ask? 

Another Day in the Life of ME!

I stopped at the Sinclair today to purchase an ice cold beverage and accidentally locked my keys in my car. 

No worries.  I'll call for help.

Nope.  My phone is also in my car.  (peeking through the windows)  Yep.  There it is sitting comfortably on the passenger seat.  Hmmmm....now what?

I'll go inside the gas station and ask to use the phone.  Wait a minute!  I don't know anyone's phone number!  They are all recorded in my phone!  Damn!  Stupid technology has made me soft and dependant!

Hmmmmm.....I know Handsome's number!  He'll come help me! 

I turned and walked into the gas station with $2.50 in change in my hand and asked the cashier if I could make a call.  I quickly explained my predicament.  She smiled and handed me the receiver.  I called Mr. Handsome, trying to predict what his reaction would be.  All I got was his voicemail.  I immediately called again.  Voicemail.  And again.  Voicemail.  The cashier looked at me as I redialed over and over and over.  I laughed and said, "I bet he's not picking up because he doesn't recognize the number."  She smiled and agreed. 

Finally I gave up. 

Slightly discouraged and without a plan, I figured if I was going to be stuck somewhere the least I could do was enjoy the ice cold beverage I had stopped for in the first place.  Mmmmmm....bubbly caffeinated deliciousness.  I helped myself to a 44 oz Dew and set it on the counter to pay for it.  The cashier looked at me and asked if I got ahold of someone.  I replied, no, but I'll just walk to my sister's house. 

And I was off.

Scene:  Morning.  About 9:30 AM.  Pregnant woman 33 weeks along walking down the street wearing a skirt and t-shirt and flip flops.  She walked with a slight right-sided limp due to a sore groin muscle and carried a 44 oz Mt. Dew in her left hand.

I walked just over a half mile.  People in their yards stared on.  I waved and sipped my Dew.  Cars drove by with questioning puzzled expressions.  I waved and walked on, sipping my Dew.  I kept thinking to myself, people sure are weird about me walking down the street.  I couldn't figure if it was my belly, my limp, or the ginormica drink that was causing all the attention.  At that point I was glad that I had decided not to buy donuts.  After all, I was quite hungry and had really wanted a snack.  But to add donuts to the picture would've really caused a stir.  Good thing I had thought twice about that!  Whoosh!  Embarrassing moment averted!

As I walked down the lane to my sister's house I heard a car coming up behind me.  I didn't bother turning to see who it was until it stopped right next to me.  It was Handsome.  I excitedly said, "You came!"  He smiled and shook his head with a "What the hell?!"  I laughed and asked, "How did you know?  Did you call the number on your phone?"  He said that he had and that the cashier at the Sinclair had answered and explained what had happened.  He asked her if I was still there to which she replied, "No.  She said she was walking to her sister's house."  At that point he pooped his pants a little, stopped what he was doing, and drove to my sister's house, only to find me at the end of her driveway.  He asked what my plan was.  I coolly explained that I had it all under control.  I was going to call a locksmith.  He might as well go back to work.  I was fine and would fix my own mess.  Then we both laughed and I kissed him and said, "I'm so sorry you're married to me!"  He laughed harder and drove away still shaking his head. 

My sister answered her front door to find me standing there with my Dew in hand.  She looked around wondering where my car was.  I told her the whole story.  She laughed hysterically.  Her husband joined in and asked, "Could you have gotten a bigger drink?"  We laughed some more until our stomachs hurt and we had tears in our eyes.  The only thing that would've made it more picture perfect would've been alcohol in my cup, a cigarette on my lip, and barefoot feet.  We laughed harder.

Then when I caught my breath from all the laughter, I asked for a snack. 

After all, I was famished.      

Ah-Ha! We All Suck!

After my last post about my parental neglect and failure to compile and produce a baby book for one of my children, I was pleasantly surprised to read the few comments posted that made me realize that I am not the only bad mom.  Many of you didn't do baby books for your children either.  And some of you never even considered it!  We all suck!  I feel so normal!  Thank you!  We can deprive our children of their earliest accomplishments and feats together.  And the best part about that is that if none of our children have Super Mom's who make them baby books, then they won't even know that it was an option!  Win-Win!  Genius!

The funny thing about that whole self driven guilt trip I created for myself about the stupid baby book is that I stopped and thought for a minute about why I even cared.  After all, it's just a book.  Is it life altering if CJ knows how old he was when he first slept through the night or when he learned to play Patty-Cake?  No!  So I came to the conclusion that I felt guilty because I had a Super Mom who made me a baby book so I just thought that it was what I was suppose to do.  In my mind it was the mom's job to keep track of and document their baby's life.  But why?  Why does this responsibility get stuck with the mother?  Well, who else cares about us and loves us enough to write down things like, when we took our first steps or what songs we sang as a 2-year-old or how old we were when we finally went pee-pee in the potty?  Nobody!  And who besides a mother would find it sentimentally necessary to keep a chunk of hair from our first haircut and tape it into our baby book so that someday, 30 years down the road, we could look back and see our baby hair?  As I write that down it sounds not only creepy but a bit unsanitary.  And yet I have chunks of hair floating around in boxes that I saved from my own kids.  Weird!  It's a morbid twisted kind of love I guess.

With Mother's Day coming up shortly I guess I just want to give a shout out to all moms.  Regardless of whether you keep baby books for your kids or save their nasty haircuts, or whether your a working mom or a stay-at-home mom, you're a mom!  And that in itself is amazing!  Every mom shines at something and every mom sucks at something.  So why are we so hard on ourselves?  Being a mom is hard.  I wish I could find a way to disconnect the motherly guilt that comes with parenthood.  Can't they just cut that loose when they cut the umbilical cord?

Either way, whether you're feeling like a good mom today or a mean old witch, have a very Happy Mother's Day this weekend.  I love being a mom and wouldn't trade it for the world.  It is the most torturous, hilarious, frustrating, exhausting, rewarding job I could ever imagine.  I raise my Dew to women and mothers everywhere.  Here's to you and the fact that you suck at your job as much as I do. 

Cheers!

My Dirty Little Secret

After all the "whi-rash" posts I've published on my blog as well as the confessions that prove me to be the stellar parent I am, it will be no surprise to any of you that I have again nominated myself for Mother of the Year.

About a month ago I was packing our home into boxes as we prepared to move.  I sorted through Rubbermaids and totes for weeks trying to "de-junk" and get rid of the non essentials.  But in doing so I came upon a box that still haunts me.  Now remember, I only tell you these stories so that you will feel better about yourselves.  With that being said, please don't judge me too harshly.  My blogging is purely an act of unselfish service to mothers everywhere.

I found a tote in our basement that was full of journals, diaries, and baby books.  I smiled as I fingered through each book, remembering my sweet little babies and the experiences we've had as a family over the years.  But then I noticed that there were only 3 baby books in the box, not four.  How odd, considering that I have four children and have had for nearly 6 years.  Weird!  So I looked harder and dug deeper.  Still......no 4th baby book.  Slowly reality set in. 

Holy crap!  I never made a baby book for my CJ!!!!!!!  Are you freaking kidding me?!!!! 

Son of a.......!

Nope.  Not kidding.  I really didn't do it.  And how it didn't even cross my mind for the past 6 years is mind boggling.  But it's true.  My little soon to be 6-year-old son does not have and has never had a baby book.  So what is my plan you ask?  How can I possibly fix this horrible crime so that my child doesn't grow up to feel completely neglected and forgotten?  No prob.  I'm full of solutions.  I got right online and ordered one on Amazon last week.  It should be here by Friday.  And don't you worry.  I ordered an extra one for the upcoming baby too.  That way I can fill them out together despite the 6 year age gap. 

Problem solved!  Catastrophe averted!

(standing ovation)

Go ahead.  Pat yourselves on the back.  You are a good mom.  Even if you don't cook or clean or volunteer for the PTA, you are a shining star compared to yours truly. 

And sadly, I'm okay with that.

Touche

News Flash! 

Lil G has declared that she is fat! 

Yes!  It is true! 

She is 9 years old, tall, bone thin, and FAT!  How did I not see the signs?  Why have I allowed sugary cereals and fruit snacks to this overweight child?  And why has Ricki Lake not contacted me to appear on her show to expose and humiliate overweight children and their horrible mothers? 

I tried to explain to Lil G that, "You are not fat!  You are skinny.  Almost too skinny!  And like I've said before, saying that you're fat is not allowed in my house.  In fact, nobody in our family is fat so not one person in our family is allowed to say that they're fat.  Got it?!" 

Ranger was standing there listening to our discussion to which his brow furrowed in thought and he said, while pointing to me, "Well, mom, you're...uh...kind of...umm....well....ya know...." 

I turned to see his expression only to find his index finger pointing straight at my big belly. 

Point taken, buddy.

Discussion adjourned.

You win.

Chicken Pox?

There are several things that factor into my level of self esteem from day to day.  One is how tight my pants fit.  Another is bra size, or rather the emptiness of my A cup after I've folded and poured my boobs into it.  A few more might include visible cellulite, hair color, hair style, facial hair, muffin top, saddle bags, back fat, yellow teeth, bad breath, and acne.  Yes, I know, I've rehashed this over and over before, but let me stop there and take a minute to dive into my love affair with adult acne once again. 

Yesterday my little CJ jumped on my back for a piggy back ride and upon seeing my neck and back he said, "Mom, you have chicken pox!"  I cringed and replied, "No, honey.  Those are zits.  Not chicken pox."  He groaned and said, "Ewwww.  Really?"  Unfortunately there was no kidding with my previous reply.  Yes, the world of adult acne combined with a vicious cycle of pregnancy hormones has created the "chicken pox" effect on my back and neck.  It's all I can do to keep the romance alive with Handsome after 12 years.  What can I say?

Now if that isn't bad enough, let's ask ourselves, why in the world do you, (meaning me), have pimples on the front of your neck?  Why?  Oh heaven help us, why?  Is my neck that greasy?  I can understand the back of the neck, but who in the world has a greasy Adam's apple?  Well, apparently I do.  Every now and then I touch my neck to see if it really is greasy.  It's not.  Yet I've been getting these huge bizarre mosquito bite looking zits on the front of my neck.  It's totally shameful.  Whoever said that pregnancy is beautiful and that people "glow" when they're expecting was full of crap.  I'll take off my shirt and prove it. 

At this point you're either embarrassed for me or feeling sorry for me.  Maybe a little of both.  But it is what it is.  And the reality of it is that if a 5-year-old can confuse chicken pox with my dermatological problem then there's no running away from it so I might as well broadcast it to the world and make a select few of you feel better about yourselves by declaring, I HAVE NECK ZITS!  But that brings me back to my original thought about self esteem.  Why does it seem that everything ugly that can possibly go ugly goes ugly at the same time?  It's rare, but occasionally when my skin is clear and slightly sun kissed and I'm having a good hair day and have a cute outfit on I can walk out the door thinking to myself, "Not bad, E-Dawg!  Not bad at all!"  But here I am today, 30 lbs heavier than my pre-pregancy weight with 10 weeks to go til calving.  Getting heavier even while pregnant is hard even though you know it's going to happen.  I always go into it with the attitude of "Go big or go home!" because during my last 4 pregnancies I've gained 45-50 lbs each time.  Why not just roll with it at this point?  Well, I'm trying.  But it's still hard on the old psyche.  Going hand in hand with weight gain is the inflation of my back fat and ginormica boobs that meet somewhere between my armpits and shoulder blades.  Oh, who am I kidding?  The boobs are fine.  The back fat I could do without.  Moving on....I would like to point out my cankles.  And last but not least let's not forget the extreme neck acne.  Who in their right mind decided that all of those things magnified by scary crazy lady hormones equalled "glowing"?  That person was most certainly deaf, dumb, and blind.  Well, either that or the light reflecting off of my greasy neck makes it appear as though I"m glowing!  That's it!  Mystery solved! 

I still don't feel any better.

The Death of Pretty

Eleven years ago today I became a mom.  And as prepared as I thought I was for that adventure to begin, nothing fully prepared me for how that little girl would change my life.  Nothing.  Not nine months of pregnancy.  Not 50 pounds of weight gain.  Not months of heartburn and sleepless nights.  Not 13 hours of labor.  Not an hour and a half of pushing.  Not 7 pounds and 13 ounces of baby girl traumatizing my woman parts forever.  Not sore engorged porn star boobs the size of melons.  Nothing.

As my girls have grown and now my oldest is a tween and dealing with the influences of others and the outside world, I worry more and more about them.  Especially her.  My little Hall Monitor is constantly bombarded, like most girls, with comments about being ugly, fat, or stupid.  And like most girls, she starts to believe them.  It has always bothered me the effect society and the media has on women, their body image, their measure of self worth, and their self esteem.  It still amazes and aggravates me how even I, a 30-something-year-old mother of 5, still allows outside influences like commercials and magazines to make me question if I'm comfortable in my own skin and if I'm okay with the number on the scale and the size of my jeans.  If only I could wrap my little girls in their silky baby blankets and protect them from the harshness of life and being a girl.  And how it breaks my heart to hear them ask at such a young age, "Am I fat?"  Oh, how I wish for my daughters and women of all ages everywhere that they didn't have to deal with the distorted view that the world has on beauty.  And that's exactly what it is....distorted. 

My sister-in-law sent me this article that I LOVE.  I love it on so many levels but especially love that it was written by a man.  If only all men viewed being pretty as this writer does.  And in time and with some female influence, I think they can.  So in honor of my sweet daughter's  birthday today, I wanted to share this article because it is something that is so important to me and something that I want for my girls and for women everywhere to recognize and believe.  I'm hoping that with some help, the upcoming generation can revive the "pretty" in the world.



Happy Birthday, Ms. Hall Monitor.  You are truly beautiful.
Never forget it.

Signs of the Times

I'm getting old.  I know, I'm only in my early 30's, blah, blah, blah.  Well, truth is, 2 years ago a doctor told me I was showing signs of early menopause.  Menopause in my head equals old.  Well, maybe that's a bad choice of words.  How about mature?  Funny thing about my early menopause is it took a 9-month hiatus so I could get knocked up one more time.  Silly menopause!  Always playing tricks on me!  But seriously, I feel very "mature" for my age.  Not wise.  Not smart.  Not above laughing at and cracking inappropriate bathroom jokes.  Just "mature".  Let me explain.

1. I'm up all night with reflux if I eat too late at night.
2. I attended my first caucus last night.  (Lol...that's a funny word!)  And PS, it was an experience all in itself.  Mr. Handsome said I owe him big time for dragging him along.  I bought him some Double Stuff Oreos to smooth things over.  (wink, wink)
3. Last week I went to my oldest daughter's Maturation Program.  Wowza!  Not only did I win Mother of the Year for forgetting about it and walking in 30 minutes late, but I walked into a room of frightened tween girls who were staring at the illustrated picture of a va-j-j on the projector screen.  Yikes!  Just glad it was illustrated!
4. I have "mom" hair with some really wicked grown out roots.  And sadly, I don't care.
5. I drive a mini van.  And it's cool.
6. Hemorrhoids are a constant companion of mine.  So is my fiber supplement and my search for a good tasting high fiber cereal. 
7. I hide Tums around the house for convenience when I get heartburn.
8. I carry a tissue up my sleeve.
9. I tell my kids they can't use words like "sexy" and "shut-up".  I know!  They aren't bad words.  I just think there are better more respectful words in the English language.  And I vividly remember being told as a kid that I wasn't allowed to use the word "butthole" or "piss" or "suck".  The tables have turned, my friends.
10. When Mr. Handsome and I go out on a date we usually veto a movie or activity after dinner because we're both too bloated and tired to move.  And yet we're still crazy about each other!  Go figure!
11. I realize and am grateful more and more everyday for how amazing my own parents were and are.  Crow never tasted so good!
12. I would rather watch Little House on the Prairie or Brady Bunch than almost anything else on TV.  Am I the only one who thinks TV is super trashy?  (When I start watching Matlock or Lawrence Welk, please commit me.)
13. I prefer slip on shoes and am seriously considering ones that Velcro.
14. I think cooking and sewing are cool.  In fact, I started crocheting a dish scrubber that needs to be finished.  And yes, I'm very aware that they can be bought at the Dollar Store rather than made by hand.
15. I pluck my facial hair more often than I shave my legs.
16. I have to pee frequently but am mostly just pleased when I make it to the toilet in time.  (At what age do they recommend a bladder sling?)
17. I wear the same 3 outfits weekly.  One of which I wear solely due to comfort not fashion.  The zipper is broken and I still insist that I will wear it forever.  This outfit is so routine in my life it is referred to by Mr. Handsome as "the blue man suit".  You know it's bad when you name your outfits.  (Is this how "mom jeans" got started?  Women cared more about comfort than fashion?  Help me!)

The list could seriously go on and on.  I'm full of maturity and the signs and symptoms to prove it.  I think the biggest sign that I'm "mature" is that I really like who I am and where I am in my life.  My life might be nerdy and far from glamorous, but I'm more content and happy with myself than I ever was when I was 20 and perky in all the right places.  Getting older isn't so bad.  Although I will say that the maturity that comes with parenthood is very bitter sweet.  I'm still scarred from my own Maturation Program when I was 10 and the red head from "Annie" told me about my own "red headed friend".  Now I'm experiencing it with my own daughter.  Ahhhhh....this is the good life!  

So here's to maturity and aging.  Embrace it.  Hemorrhoids or not, it's all worth it!  So enjoy the ride! 

The Tie Breaker

Two girls.  Two boys.  New baby on the way.  If it's a boy, the girls will be mad.  If it's a girl, the boys will be mad.  Hmmmmm....and yet they all want to know. 

So what is the tie breaking vote?

And, yes, there were tears because according to one little boy, "All sisters do is boss me around!".  But bossing or no bossing, we are excited just the same.  Bring on the pink!  It's been a long time!

Does it Bubble?

Our house is full of questions and curiosity on a normal day.  But since the announcement of a new baby coming to join the crew, you can imagine the wheels have been turning in the heads of my four little monkeys.  My girls have already had the pleasure of learning about the birds and the bees, which makes their questions a little harder to answer because they are more in depth.  Let's just say that since the day that our "girl's day" turned into that marvelous embarrassing discussion about the wonders of procreation, I have officially become "that mom".  You know.  The yucky old mom that does "that" with dad.  I know this from first hand experience because that's exactly how I thought of my parents growing up.  But since having a child is so miraculous and special, and knowing that this will be the last time I experience this journey, I try to be honest with the kiddos and let them be a part of it as much as I feel is appropriate.  But after months of inquisitions and questions and rumors, let me share the oddest question I have ever been asked about pregnancy.  The conversation went something like this.

Lil G: Mom, do you make bubbles when you pee?

Me: (laughing)  What? 

Lil G: Does it bubble when you pee?

Me: Why?

Lil G: Cuz if it bubbles when you pee, the baby will be a boy.

Me: (laughing harder) Where did you hear that?

Lil G: Well that's what Hall Monitor said.  And that's what my friend told me.

Hall Monitor: Nuh uh!!!! (liar liar pants on fire)

Lil G: (turning to her sister) Yes you did say that!  (then to me)  So, is it true? 

Me:  No, it's not true.  You can't tell if the baby is a boy or girl by whether your pee bubbles.

Lil G: So does your pee bubble?

Ya know, I've never paid much attention to my urine.  In fact, I've never been curious enough or even thought to watch and see if it bubbles as it splashes in the toilet water.  I'll admit I tried it after this conversation.  But that's neither here nor there.  And whether it bubbled or not is irrelevant.  However, I'm confident that I've got a lifetime of uncomfortable questions to answer ahead of me, especially with Lil G in my life.  As for the sex of our unborn baby....well....that is still to be determined by a trusty reliable ultrasound, not my bodily functions.

Nice Rack

Pregnancy #5.  Wowza!  Who ever thought?!  Not me.  In fact, it's safe to say that most people who know me were shocked and concerned when I was entrusted with 1 child to raise let alone 5.  Am I right?  (don't answer that)  Putting those thoughts aside,  I want to touch on this crazy emotional roller coaster called Pregnancy.  I thought the first 4 pregnancies were rough on my body.  Nope.  It continues to get worse.  And, yes, age magnifies everything bad about pregnancy.  God bless those women who have 8 and 10 kids and do it well into their 40's.  There is no amount of medication, alcohol, or even Mt. Dew on this earth that could balance my emotions and increase my mental stamina to accomplish such a task. 

(Side note: Mt. Dew is out.  Cherry Coke is in.  I agree it is a slightly odd choice to replace the master.  But the baby and nausea have spoken.)

I should clear up a few things.  First of all, I really don't mind being pregnant for the most part.  The bottom line for me is I really love my kids and love being a mom.  And I love babies!  Always have.  Pregnancy is worth all the poop and spit up and sleepless nights and even potty training.  And although I have joked and teased about being unsure about maturing from "Mother of 4" to "Mother of 5", I wouldn't change it.  Yes, I feel inadequate.  No, I was not planning on having a fifth child.  Yes, my life is chaotic and undetermined on a daily basis.  No, I do not wish that this didn't happen.  Yes, I am still in denial about why I'm getting chubbier by the minute.  No, I am not in a hurry to get this baby out of me.  Do all of these things make me a bad woman or mother?  I sure hope not.  Because like I said, as much as this chapter of my life terrifies me, it also brings me great joy. 

Funny story.  I was at church on Sunday playing the organ.  Yes.  I play the organ.  No.  I'm not good at it.  And yes, it makes me feel drop dead sexy to play three different keyboards at one time, especially since when I think of the organ at church, I think of Sister Dupree, who played the organ beautifully when I was a child, but didn't exactly make the organ an attractive instrument.  Hmmmmm....Maybe that's how I ended up pregnant!  Handsome does enjoy my organ playing!  (Food for thought.) 

Anyhow, after I wrapped up my organ postlude and began my short walk down the hallway to Sunday School, I was stopped by a middle aged lady, who I find quite fantastic and hilarious.  However, I was totally caught off guard by what she said to me at that moment. 

Lady:  Ya know, you've got some pretty great maternity boobs right now!

Me: (laughing)  I know, right?!

Lady: I couldn't help but notice while you were playing the organ.  They're not bad.  I remember those days. 

Me:  What?!  That's what you were looking at while I was playing the organ?  Sad that they won't last long isn't it?  Too bad I can't have them when I can actually flaunt them.

Lady:  Yup.  Enjoy them while you can. (while lifting her arm and shaking her underarm)  These are mine now.  They fell into my armpits.

Ladies, pregnancy is mean and horrible to our bodies.  It's just the way it is.  And, yes, at moments, like I had on Sunday, the only attractive thing about it is my swollen porn star boobs.  But it's totally worth it.  And although my boobs will shrink by unmeasurable amounts somewhere between Baby #5's birth and his/her 6 month birthday, I shall no longer complain until they slide permanently into my armpits and connect to my underarm fat. 

And until then, I will look drop dead sexy playing the organ.

How Many Monkeys?

That's right! 

The story never was "Four Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed".  Figured we'd better follow tradition. 

 Monkey #5 due July 2012!