The VAN

So months ago now, I blogged about the vehicle decision. Crossover, SUV, or minivan: what to do? If I remember correctly, I boldly stated that I feel I am too cool to drive a minivan. Somehow, making the decision to drive the ultimate vehicle of convenience cemented my place as a MOM. You know, as if the birthing of two children, changing of thousands of diapers, and 23 total months of breastfeeding didn't already make me a mom. But you know what I'm saying. You see a Honda Odyssey at the traffic light, and you know immediately that a mom is driving, there is likely a Disney movie playing in the DVD player, and there are at least two kids' meal toys hiding somewhere under all of those seats. All of these are the reasons that I was hesitant. In my heart, I am still young and cool: I listen to popular music, wear fairly low-rise jeans, and am quite up-to-date on my celebrity gossip. (That, by the way, is the formula for cool.) Anyway, all that said, here is my confession: we bought a minivan. A 2007 Nimbus gray Honda Odyssey, to be more specific. And here's the whopper confession: I LOVE it! Not just "I love that it's convenient and all of my kids fit in it." No, I love it and I want to drive it all the time. I look for excuses to drive it, and if we're headed to the same place, watch out because I will very likely insist on driving. But hey, you can also watch a movie while you hang out back there! So my message, in short, is this: when it comes time, don't fight it. Buy the minivan!

Sneezes

Remember how in middle school someone told you that if you sneezed with your eyes open, your eyes would pop out? Well, I can't prove or disprove that myth either way. Truth be told, I'm afraid to try. I'm a little afraid that it's true. I also remember hearing that when you sneeze your heart stops momentarily. I feel pretty confident that that one is not true. However, I have learned something regarding sneezes with 100% certainty in the last few weeks. I have learned that if you are, oh, six or more months pregnant, and you sneeze, you WILL pee in your pants. There's just no way around it. Sure, you can do a Kegel, you can cross your legs, but inevitably a tiny bit of pee will sneak out. And if you are not taking one of these preventative measures, a lot of pee will sneak out. A change-your-undies amount. I don't remember this being true in the past so much. Maybe it's a product of having carried multiple babies; I don't know. But I feel that I've done my part to warn others of this wonderful side effect of sneezing while pregnant. And I think when my kids are in middle school, I'll share THAT little tidbit with them so that they can at least spread truths regarding the facts of sneezes.

It's Been Too Long!

Ok, I apologize. It's been an unreasonably long time since I posted. But I have wonderful excuses that include my two wonderful children, my more-than-full-time job, and a pregnancy. How's that? Anyway, I do have a story that, since its occurrence, I have been meaning to share. As I realize that this blog is read by many (my mom included), I'm going to try to keep it clean. See, I'm just now into the third trimester (30 weeks, thank you very much!), but there are still some residual effects of the second trimester, to include an increased desire for amorous activities. If you've enjoyed this particular effect of the glowing I-have-wonderfully-large-breasts-but-I'm-not-yet-too-fat portion of pregnancy, you understand that this mood can strike at unusual times. One morning at roughly 6 am, my husband and I decided it was a good time to indulge one of these moods. Knowing that Murphy's Law of Sex-After-Children would apply to this situation, we took precautions and locked the door. Needless to say, mere minutes later, we heard the telltale sound of a 4-year-old trying to open a lock door. After a little handle-jiggling and some soft knocking, we heard (and yes, this is a quote), "Guys? Hey guys? I think the door is locked. What are you guys doing in there? Hey guys? I need some Fruit Loops!" And thus, with a significant amount of laughter, the mood was completely ruined, and Owen got his Fruit Loops. Daddy, on the other hand, did not.

Heard in My House

Owen: Daddy, will you come play in my pop-up train with me?

Daddy: Just a minute, buddy. I'm in here talking to Mommy.

Owen: Are you suuuuuure? I've got a nice cold beer in here.


HA! The things they notice.

What a crappy day

There are some things that really secure your status as a "mommy" and yesterday I experienced one of these. I put Ella down for her afternoon nap awake, as I always do, and went to spend some time with Owen. Maybe fifteen minutes later, she began crying pretty loudly, so I figured I'd console her, get her to go to sleep so I could take a nap myself. When I entered the room, I knew something was amiss. It smelled terribly in her room. As I approached my little angel, I saw something dark on her face. Fear began to set in at this point. When I peered into the crib, my nightmare was confirmed. Lying in the crib was Ella's open diaper, with poo strewn around the bedding. It was on her quilt, the bumper, her sheet, Dolly, her blanket, and of course, Ella herself. I'm talking feet, hands, face, and--brace yourself, ladies-- even in her mouth! The poor little girl was crying and putting her poopy hands in her mouth to console herself but was only agitating herself more because she was eating her own crap! Oh, the horror! Where do you begin to clean up a mess like this? Well, I began with the bathtub. My fully clothed little poopy prankster was tossed into the rather warm running bathwater. I scrubbed her in the hottest water I thought safe, and all the while she was still crying. After her bath, I brushed her teeth (thoroughly) and then commenced cleaning the crappy crib. AN HOUR later, she was finally able to take her nap. What a day. But, alas, I now have my poop mishap to share as I like to embarass my little girl. And that's something to look forward to.

The Second Trimester

I know for most women, the first trimester can be hell. Nausea, vomiting, tender breasts, headaches, etc. For some reason, I've been blessed. I've never been more than really tired in any of my pregnancies. During my current pregnancy, I've even been so bold as to comment that I haven't been all that tired. I chalked it up to not having time to pay attention to any fatigue I might feel as I'm too busy with my other two babies. So bring on the second trimester! I'll take the enlarged breasts, the renewed energy, and the womanly glow without ever having to endure the tribulations of the first trimester.

So, Sunday marked 15 weeks, commonly known to be the beginning of this glorious second trimester. On Saturday, I awoke with the most unusual feeling of vertigo. It took hours of lying very still until I could finally walk without pitching as if I were on a cruise ship. Later, I had a brutal headache that followed. Sunday, I awoke to find that my breasts were incredibly tender, something that I haven't experienced so far in this pregnancy. All week long, I've had headaches and occasional bouts of dizziness. So now I have to face my greatest fear: could the first and second trimesters SWITCH? Has this ever happened in the history of pregnancies? My midwife laughed at me, but amidst her laughing, I noticed that she never did reassure me that this was impossible. Now here I am, five weeks from starting back to work as a first grade teacher, mother of a 4 year old and a 1 year old, and possibly just BEGINNING to experience extreme fatigue, nausea, vomiting, and mood swings to boot? Lord help me! Lord help those AROUND me! Just let it not be so...

Out of the Mouths of Babes

My dear almost-four-year-old was rubbing and loving on my belly the other night (and no, I shouldn't be evidently pregnant at 13 weeks, but hey, it's number 3) and said, "I love you baby." Very sweet. So then he goes on to say that he's glad I am the baby's mommy. Side note here: This is a big deal. When Ella was born, Owen completely denied that we were her parents. Rather, her parents were "at work" and she was just staying with us forever. But I was not Ella's mommy and my husband was not Ella's daddy. Only very recently has he admitted that we are indeed her parents. So this revelation of his prompts me to verify that I am indeed the mommy of Owen, Ella, and baby number 3. I am. And Daddy is Owen's daddy. "Is Daddy Ella's daddy, too?" Owen: No. "Is Daddy this baby's daddy?" Owen: No. "Who is?" Owen: I don't know. So there it is. Out of the mouth of my prophetic son. Sorry, husband!

The Great Vehicle Debate

First, let me apologize for my lack of posts recently. I have a bunch of great excuses, but I'll just leave it at the apology.

So now for the great debate. Since the news of the impending arrival of baby #3, we have been discussing the many changes that we'll be making in our lives. Another mouth to feed, another tush to diaper, and another HUMAN to accommodate. A bigger house? Maybe. A bigger car? A necessity. I've already had to sell my precious little sporty car. Luckily, she's still in the family, so I'll be able to see her frequently. Anyhow, now we have to decide... what's next? Will we go with the full size SUV? Probably not. They're ridiculous gas-guzzlers! (Go green!) Maybe the cross-over. Three rows, better gas mileage, and a sporty appearance. Then there's the minivan. Plenty of space, tons of storage, great safety ratings, and comparable gas mileage to the crossover. Urgh. It's perfect, I know. I'll love the space, I know. I need to get over my vanities, yes, Dad, I know! But I can't help it. I cannot erase the stigma that exists in my mind in regard to minivans. I just can't imagine myself getting out of one at work, at Publix, even in the privacy of my own garage. I will admit it: I think I am too cool for a minivan. There, I said it. And I'm sorry. I know plenty of cool people who have driven minivans. And it didn't make them any less cool. I didn't care. It's just that this is me. So what to do? I know the answer. I know in the end, I'll let go of my vanity, do what makes the most sense for the family, and buy a minivan. I just can't quite bring myself to admit this out loud yet. I'm trying to deal. And let's see, I have what-- 26 1/2 weeks left to make a decision. And then look out world! I'll be another young mother in a minivan out to prove she's still cool! Speeding tickets, here I come!

Kids Say the Darndest Things

Bill Cosby had it quite right. The things that come out of my son's mouth are sometimes so funny I have to immediately call someone and share. He's a smart little guy and has his own definitions for things. Someday we'll publish the Owen English Dictionary. But here's the latest. Lying in bed cuddling him during bedtime one night, Owen coughed and passed gas at the same time. I stifled my laugh and asked if he'd passed gas. "No, that wasn't a pass gas. A pass gas goes pfffffff. That was a poot! And if you poot very hard and very loud, then it's a fart." There was no more containing my laughter at that point. I was so happy to have been schooled in the language of Owen.

More Confessions

As I've said before, we currently have two kids: our surprise three-year-old son and our "planned" one-year-old daughter. Two weeks ago, we had the surprise of our lives all over again: we are pregnant with baby #3! Yep, that's right. We were done. One boy, one girl, two parents to two kids. Things were good. And then, while still breastfeeding and using birth control, BAM! pregnant again. So, it would seem that the nickname Fertile Myrtle was and is quite appropriate. My husband, of course, likes to strut around like a rooster in a henhouse. This is all a big ego boost for him. Why not let him enjoy it, right? So there you are, our newest confession. I feel like I need to add that although we were caught completely off-guard by all this, we couldn't be more excited. We're already discussing baby names and trying to figure out how the sleeping arrangements will be in a few months.

Oh, and a side note. Our son is apparently psychic. Or a prophet, or whatever you want to call it. A month ago (well before we had any clue about the pregnancy) he sat down in the "celebration chair" during circle time at school and said, "God hasn't given me a baby brother yet, but God is going to give me a baby brother soon." And then, voila, we're pregnant. Interesting, no? He also knew all along that our daughter was a girl and, in fact, told us when I was about 5 months pregnant that her name was Ella and stuck with this the whole time. How could we argue? So for the gamblers out there, the safe money is on the baby being a boy. Stay tuned. We'll know in another couple of trimesters!

Kids Make It Interesting

Kids make what interesting? you may ask. Anything. Seriously. Take a quick bite to eat at Chili's (this is hypothetical, of course. We no longer eat meals in restaurants. Sigh.). Without kids, you sit in the booth, order drinks and food, have a quiet conversation while you wait for your meal, and then commence eating. When you finish, you pay the bill and leave. With kids, it might go more like this:

You sit in the booth but soon realize that the high-traffic location is no good as your toddler in the high chair keeps reaching for the servers as they pass with trays of food and has nearly knocked one over. So you move. Now you're in a comfortable booth in the very back of the restaurant that is likely very near the restroom. When the server comes to take your order, he must wait through four possible choices for each child and hear about your 3-year-old's best friend at school. The wait for your food is spent kid-juggling. The high chair is no longer a happy place for baby to sit, the older child wants to sit with daddy, no mommy, wait daddy... you get the idea. Once food finally arrives, you must take turns because someone must always be shoveling food into the baby's mouth and where, oh where, did those crayons go? After food has been devoured and the bill paid, it's not quite time to leave. If you're a conscientious diner (and I'm sure you are) you know that the servers at your favorite local eatery do not get paid enough to vacuum crushed cheerios off the floor and wipe ketchup off the ceiling. And with cleanup done, it's time to leave.

Now that was hypothetical, though based on actual experience. This is actual experience. Today my husband and I had the great pleasure of car shopping. We are in the very early stages and simply wanted to see in person how various vehicles would house our assortment of car seats and the sundry items such as strollers, diaper bags, etc. But Tom was persistent. He wanted to show us around, drive us in his fanciest auto, and woo our children. Outside, it wasn't so bad. Tom's mistake was taking us into his cubicle to take our information. First, my daughter found his beanie baby collection very exciting. Then she wanted a business card to eat. Upon seeing this, her brother wanted one as well. So we're discussing our preferences with Tom, both kids are happily playing with business cards, when the elder child announces his need to potty. No problem. Mommy's on it. I take him to the bathroom assuming he needs to "number 1." Before we can even get his pants down, he has dropped Tom's business card into the toilet. I'm already laughing at the symbolism. After assuring him that he does NOT need to retrieve it, I am informed that he needs to "poop. Bad!" Wonderful. I then had to position a seat cover on the toilet and place the 3-year-old atop it. After he'd kicked off his shoes, shorts, and underwear (this is what he does), there was little left of the cover. I found myself in a tiny bathroom stall (remember, I had anticipated a quick number 1), holding sandals, Lightning McQueen underwear, and gym shorts, listening to my son sing while he went to the bathroom. At that point, I had to laugh because this trip would not have been nearly as interesting if we hadn't had kids with us! Aren't kids great?

Muffins with Mommy

So it's almost the most special day of the year for us mommies. Yes, for any last-minute dads out there, you have 2 days to do your Mother's Day shopping. Hurry up. Items left at Walmart at 11 p.m. Saturday will probably not cut it. Just guessing.

Anyhow, my son's school hosted "Muffins with Mommy" this morning. So sweet. I got to sit in a spare classroom at a brightly covered and decorated table with my favorite little man sitting on my lap, cuddling and sprinkling muffin crumbs all over my lap. It doesn't get a whole lot better than that. There's something to be said for some one-on-one time with your child, am I right? So I ask other mommies of multiple children, how do you do it? When do you find time to devote to one child at a time and make sure they know just how special they are to you? With two children, it doesn't seem to be too difficult for my husband and I... man to man defense, you know. My dad once told me that it was smooth sailing until my youngest brother was born (making three for my parents) when they had to go to the zone defense. Apparently this is a lot tougher. But wow, do I digress. So I'm chowing on muffins and OJ with my main man when he turns around and looks up at me and says through blueberry muffin-filled teeth, "You're my favorite mommy, and I love you the best." He then turned back around and went on with devouring that muffin. I had to choke back tears. Don't you love those unexpectedly sweet moments with your children?

So here's to all the mommies. I hope you get one of those beautiful statements of love in whatever form your child is capable. Sometimes spitting up on the burp rag instead of your shirt is enough, don't you think? And here's to the husbands that remember Mother's Day and don't make us cook Sunday! (I hope mine is reading this!) And here's to my mom, the most wonderful example of a mother I could have hoped to learn from, and also my best friend. I love you, Mom!

Lice?!

I awoke from a dream this morning in which my entire family had become infested with lice. As I'd been volunteering in my son's classroom the day before, this was not an impossibility. Naturally, I spent the morning imagining an itchy scalp. A few hours later, my husband dropped my son off at school and learned that there was indeed a lice "outbreak" at his school. I know what you're thinking-- I'm psychic. And I just may be. And yes, I will someday play the lottery and win millions. But today, I'm more concerned about the lice issue. Now, they checked my son at school, and he's clean. Thank goodness for boys and their short hair! And I've since washed all of our sheets and compulsively checked my daughter. Considering I can count all of the hairs on her 11-month-old head, I don't think it's going to be a problem, but you can never be too sure. I've also had everyone that I've seen today check my head. My husband was none too thrilled about this; apparently, it's no aphrodisiac, the checking of heads for lice. I guess it's a good thing I didn't need to run any errands today. Not sure how the checkout girl at Walmart would've reacted to my request for her to check my scalp. So anyway, today's message is short but simple: check your kid's scalp. Don't get liced!

3 1/2-year-olds!

I got a GREAT night's sleep last night. Seriously, more than eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Yes, I do realize how lucky I am. And so, I woke up in a great mood, plenty of energy, ready to start my day. But isn't it crazy how quickly a 3 1/2-year-old can suck all that great energy right out of you?

I love my son. He's smart. He's funny. And he's so sweet. Most of the time. But he's also sooooooo slooooooooow. Why does everything take an hour? Ok, maybe not literally, but still. First, we spend roughly ten minutes deciding what we want for breakfast (a pickle and oatmeal. Ew. I know.). Then we have to wait for the oatmeal to cool. Then it takes another ten minutes to eat said oatmeal. Now it's time to pick out what we're going to wear to school. Oh boy. Why does he even care? He's so particular about what he's wearing but he still never matches. Side note: There is even one shirt that he says makes him look fat. Where on earth did he get that? I don't make comments like that when he's around! Oh well... So once he's dressed in gym shorts and a muscle tee and his "skater shoes" we're almost ready to go. But first we have to tackle every parent's favorite battle: teeth brushing! I'm sure I don't need to elaborate here, but suffice it to say that two people were crying, one had fresh breath, and five more minutes had been wasted. So now, finally, it's out the door! No, wait, now he announces that he has to poop. Ughhh. I don't know the average length of a bathroom visit for other little boys, but my son takes no less than fifteen minutes in there. In fact, I have actually had him ask me if I have a book he can read while he's on the potty. Once I came into our bathroom to find him on the toilet leafing through Reader's Digest! Anyhow, short story long, we were finally able to leave the house one hour and 25 minutes after he'd woken up. Ughhh again!

Now he is safely at school, Mommy is enjoying the baby's nap time, and we will all happily reunite in four short hours. We'll forget all about this morning, hug and kiss hello, enjoy a wonderful afternoon and evening together, and start all over again tomorrow. Yay!

So I have to know. Do everyone's children take forever to get out of the house? Or is it just my little foot-dragger?

Welcome

I decided to start a blog to keep track of the day-to-day craziness that is life as a mommy. My hope is that I'll be able to connect with other moms out there that have similar experiences. After all, who can understand us better than women who have been through the same thing, am I right? Certainly not a husband, no matter how incredible he may be.

Anyhow, confession number one will be the explanation of how this blog got it's name. "Confessions of a Fertile Myrtle?" I think I have to give my good friend Brittany credit for coining that phrase as it applies to me (I'm well aware that she did not actually coin the phrase itself). Four and a half years ago, my now-husband (then-boyfriend) and I had the surprise of our lives when I missed my period, took a pregnancy test (more to put my mind at ease; never expecting the outcome we got), and found out we were going to be the first of our friends to become parents. I have to confess something here, too. I was not all glowing and joyful immediately. I remember sitting on the toilet, crying, first because I hadn't planned to be pregnant and second because I was so sad that this future child of mine would somehow know that my first reaction to his/her pregnancy had been devastation. Yikes. I could see the counseling bills piling up. Sorry for the side note. Now, back to Brittany. So as I began to settle down, I did what all women in their twenties (and I'm assuming in their 30s, 40s, 50s, etc) do with big news-- I called my girlfriends on conference call. Announced my big news. Waited through the shocked silence. Began to cry (again). And then talked it out. Got to the point where we were joking about it all. And then the questions... "Weren't you using protection?" "What about your birth control?" My answers... "Yes." and "Yes." About that time was when my dear friend decided that I'd had no say in it at all. "Looks like you were going to get pregnant no matter what. You must be a damn fertile Myrtle." And hence my least favorite nickname and the title of this blog.

Now, I realize there are women out there (possibly even some reading this) who measure far more fertile than myself. Isn't there a popular show about a family with 18 children? I'm certainly not claiming to be the most fertile woman on the planet. It's just a catchy name, so calm down. I need to address something else here as well. Possibly a more sensitive issue. I personally know many incredible women who have struggled with or are struggling with infertility issues. I have heard their stories and cried with them. I realize that to a couple who has trouble conceiving, "fertile Myrtle" seems pretty insensitive. But what they may not realize is that, although I consider all of my children God's greatest blessings, this was not my plan. Much as some people struggle with the fact that they want to be pregnant and can't be, my husband and I have struggled with the fact that our plans were derailed drastically when that little stick revealed two lines. We certainly aren't complaining about the outcome now. We have one of the smartest, funniest, and sweetest little boys that I can imagine. And I would not trade that under any circumstances. I'm just saying, there are people out there that may be facing an unplanned pregnancy. And maybe my story could help them. Or maybe my daily confessions will help other moms realize how normal they are. Or maybe you can just stop by for a good laugh once in a while. Whatever your reason for visiting, I'm glad you did, and I hope you'll come back. I'll be posting another confession soon.