Saturday, February 16, 2013

Big Changes

Since I last wrote, Willie has retired from the Army and we're having another baby. So yeah, we've been busy. We're having another girl. Be warned: the next person who laments what an awful thing that is to my face may get punched in his/her face. If children are a gift from God, should we really mock what God gives to ourselves or others? Besides people, what do you want us to do - send it back? I asked someone that and Morgan perked up her ears. She was hoping it was a viable option.

The morning we found out about #3, we asked Halle what she thought about another baby. "Sure," she said. We posed the question to Morgan. "I say, NO! Just like that: I SAY NO!"

Willie and I were shocked. We had no idea how much Morgan treasured the position of youngest. We took the girls to the first ultrasound, hoping it would help with the adjustment process. Morgan was in denial: she commented a couple times on what a cute baby elephant it was. When the ultrasound was over, she dissolved into a puddle on the floor and told the tech, "I do NOT want this baby!"

She'll get over it, at least we hope so. In the meantime, we're enjoying having two girls in booster seats who eat solid foods. We left them at an hourly day care center last night for a Valentine's Dinner. Willie asked me what I was most looking forward to about dinner. I told him I was excited about not dealing with poop for a couple hours.

I was right to put this at the top of the enjoyment list. Morgan told the women at the center she needed to use the bathroom and then proceeded to paint herself in the bathroom with... well, you get the idea. Fortunately, the women at the center found the situation humorous rather than a deal breaker. Still, I don't know that they'd be excited to see us coming again.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Olympic Inspirations

Early this morning, we heard the sound of terror squeak through our house. Fortunately, this was the kind of terror of which we are in favor. Rex had caught a mouse. Rex, being a well-fed cat, sees mice as solely a source of entertainment. Through (I'm sure) extensive thought and research, Rex has decided the best place to play a mouse to death is in the girls' room. It makes sense: there are three beds, one closet, one dresser, and a huge mess to hide in, under, and around.

This venue has its drawbacks. Some friends came to our house only to discover a dead mouse near the Little People's barn. Barns are better places for mice. This morning's mouse ended up having two assailants since Willie went to see where the squeaking was coming from. Willie squashed the mouse, severely upsetting the cat who felt that playtime wasn't over yet.

The girls slept through the entire incident, probably because we've all been exhausted staying up every night watching the Olympics. Halle, who has no chance of ever becoming an Olympic gymnast, has declared her love for the sport. She shows us her "moves" every time we watch those inspirational athletes flip all over the floor. I tried that once and I really hurt my wrist. "And Mom," she said to me last night, "if I do Olympic gymnastics, I don't have to wear pants or undies!" It's incredible where inspiration can come from.

Monday, July 2, 2012

No plain piece of paper is safe in our house. Several times in the past couple of days, Willie or I have printed off a document only to find it decorated later with stick people and animals in various colors. We have even given up cleaning for guests. We figure no one really notices the dirt when there are so many bright colors to look at. Decorating is way more fun than scrubbing.

This new relaxed take to cleaning has been especially nice lately since we've had visitors quite often. Our kids noticed about a month ago that we have neighbors their same ages. In the beginning, children would just disappear. That is the worst feeling a parent can have: "wait. It's quiet. Did I lose the children?!" Our neighbors and I worked out a system where we threatened our children with many types of miseries if they made an unauthorized visit and then ask the neighbor children whether they had their parents' permission when they show up. I think the system is working. If it isn't, the kids aren't telling.

Sometimes the kids clean the tub instead of just color it. Last week, we were watching a couple other kids when I heard one crying. I found three of them in the tub covered from the waist down in body wash. They had turned the tub into a skating rink. It was fun until their hands also got covered and then couldn't move without falling. We're all about good, clean fun.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Rabbits and Boxing (but not a rabbit punch)

If you just watched the video (if you didn't, you're going to have to stop now or nothing else will make sense) you'll understand why that bunny died a couple seconds later. It wasn't all our fault we literally scared it to death; it was kind of wet from our dog and cat's mauling when we found it. We just finished it off. I fed it sugar water (which Morgan thought was lemonade) and I think it may have sent its little heart into cardiac arrest. We gave the bunny a proper funeral, then ate ice cream. Ice cream helps everything.

This is a boxing match Halle set up between the T-rex and Parasarolophus. Man, that second dinosaur is way harder to pronounce. That's probably why it isn't as popular. Come on, paleontologists - give us something the kids can say (or at least the moms)! I don't know who's going to win, but I'm betting the fish don't leave the match happy. If you're thinking to yourself, "What's up with Halle's hair?" you wouldn't be alone. Halle is into styling it herself these days, including giving herself and her sister a trim. It's kind of nice because then if someone asks me who cuts their hair because they don't ever want to go there, I can have complete deniability. At least Halle isn't boxing her sister. You can always find something to be grateful for. Right now, I think I'll place my bet on the Parasarolophus. His arms are longer.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Surgery #7

The best thing about hospitals is that they are temporary. (This is the same as to say that nothing is the best thing about hospitals.) You can get through just about anything with pain pills and the knowledge that it won't last for long. Willie had surgery almost a week ago and I discovered that I have basically conquered the hospital. I felt sorry for the rookies in the waiting room as they tried to entertain themselves. Here are my rules for waiting:
1. Leave the waiting room immediately after your loved one is taken back. You are going to be hungry, and there is no way you'll find out anything for hours. This is the best time to find the only vending machine that carries Cheetos. You're not supposed to eat in the waiting rooms, so you should also practice eating really sneakily. 
2. Sit next to someone entertaining. If you lose interest in your book, you can eavesdrop. I sat next to a lady with dementia who was convinced that she had caused something awful to happen. My great grandmother used to eat toilet paper so I'm pretty sure I'll end up as one of those old ladies. 
3. Bring a cell phone charger. If you're anything like me, the only person who calls you on a regular basis is your mom. But at a hospital, your phone blows up with text messages and phone calls from all sorts of people. I realized during this hospital stint that I have exactly six people programmed into my phone that I don't know who they are. 

This hospital stay was the best one so far. The surgery went better than expected. God took care of everything just like always, and my Mom was able to fly out to help. Grandmas are very important, special people even if they don't know how to work remote controls very well. 

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

The Truck Haircut

Willie is rebuilding his truck right now, occasionally making me a grease man. (If you're reading this and know WAY more about mechanics than I do and are thinking, "There's no way she's occasionally a grease man", you caught me. I have no idea what that means. I just help him every now and then.)

The truck project reminds me of a bad hair cut I once gave Halle. I just kept cutting and cutting and cutting. My friend saw it and said, "It's cute. Wait. What happened in the back?" I assume he knows what he's doing, but I am a little apprehensive. One day while acting as a grease man, I asked what he was doing. He was just standing and staring at the truck bed. "I'm trying to figure out how to do this without crushing my legs." I encouraged him to really think that out.

I really do have faith in my husband, I'm just so intimidated by mechanical objects that I find it all overwhelming. Hair cuts don't even always go well for me.

We went to a salvage yard yesterday (we had a baby sitter - this is what we do on our dates now). Apparently they charge an admission fee to look at junk. It was going to be 4 DOLLARS to gaze upon immobile vehicles. White trash neighborhoods need to pay attention here. We didn't have cash, and since their high class establishment didn't accept credit cards, we were denied the pleasures therein.

Dates don't always turn out the way you plan, but I can say that this one wasn't necessarily worse for the change in plans. I'm sure Willie will figure the truck out. If not, we'll charge you to come see it in person.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

I bought a "This Day in History" calendar, which is almost always bad news. Yesterday, instead of recalling a romantic anecdote, the History folks brought up the dual deaths of Theodore Roosevelt's wife and mother. At first, I thought I would switch over to some kind of inspiration calendar, but then I realized that no bad day I had would probably match up to whatever the calendar highlighted. That kind of puts things in perspective: I completely dropped the Valentine's Day ball, but no one died. 

Willie had run to the store on his way home from work and delivered chocolate to all three girls. This is almost impossible to top since there is nothing else we like better. I would have to buy some kind of saw or fishing contraption in order to even break even on the satisfaction level. But I went to the grocery store to at least try to compete. 

The Valentine's display had been replaced by toilet paper. I darted around in aisles and compiled the best that was left: a skunk card, "Toadally kissable" frog balloon, marshmallow heart, and Captain America tattoos. Willie challenged the frog balloon to a fight and, not surprisingly, Willie won before round one was over. The frog ripped and didn't look very kissable anymore. I probably should have just bought the toilet paper. 

Romance is difficult to coax out of hiding at the last minute, especially when the stores only stock enough good stuff for the organized people.