As my due date approaches, I feel as if the boys are starting to sense the big change coming (Patrick more than "senses" it...he knows).  While he is becoming more and more loving and figuratively glued to my side, to the point that I actually trip over him several times a day, Leo is mad.  Furious.  And, affectionately, I remember falling so deeply in love with him immediately after he was born and thinking, "You are so perfect that I will never be able to get mad at you."  I was wrong.  We are now mad at each other.

Leo will be 17 months old tomorrow.  He is, in my humble opinion, remarkably handsome.  He also has a fury of fire, with which we have recently become more accustomed.  Thankfully, he is not the first born, or I swear Adam and I would think he is possessed.  I know he's entering a full-fledged toddler stage and it will eventually pass...but I really think he may be cursed with that temper for life.  However, as quickly as he gets mad (more often than not, soliciting more laughter from us than anything.  Once you learn to ignore them, tantrums are pretty funny), he turns right back into that sweet, pretty baby with the dimples...and a combination of relief and adoration washes over me again. We have a long road ahead of us, Leo and me. (Oh, and Leo? The faster you learn to just let me win our battles, the easier your life will be. I don't think your father would disagree.)

On the baby front, nothing is happening. No real contractions as of late, no other labor signs of notable significance, and no hope for me that the baby will arrive anytime soon.  Being 37+4 today...that is neither too discouraging or disappointing. Though I am brimming with excitement about meeting the newest member of our family, I am also trying to find peace in knowing that the baby will come when it is ready (this is much easier said than done, trust me.)

I'm not even considered "full-term" yet, but I am so ready to meet this little baby.  More than anything, I cannot wait to see its face for the first time...I'm dying to know what this baby looks like! Patrick and Leo looked so similar in ultrasounds and at birth; I'm anxious to see what similarities this baby has. (Of course, I'm looking forward to delivering a super-cute baby, but even if it ends up looking kind of troll-ish, I won't realize it until (s)he is grown and I look back at pictures. Everyone wins!)

Here are my predictions:

Boy

Born: 10/5/11

Weight: 8lbs, 1 oz
Length: 21"
Blue eyes (genetically, they have to be)
Dark hair, more than the others

Here are Adam's predictions:

Girl
Born: 9/30/11
Weight: 7lbs, 5 oz
Length: 20.5"
Blue eyes
Dark hair, more than the others

In my mind, I picture this one as our peace-maker; our old soul. I anticipate a free-spirited, artistic, opinionated, kind, and quiet person. I could be wrong, but I would imagine that this one will be different from the others, just as they are different in their own rite. (And, though Leo was a nearly-silent baby, we later learned that he was just faking us out for about a year. Well played, Leo.) I have had one good night of contractions thus far, one that made me think it could be our time, but as early contractions go, they fizzled out and went away. I hope that this delivery goes quickly and that everyone comes out healthy. I can't wait to see our Leo baby as a big brother, and Patrick as the bonafide "oldest," further contributing to his already healthy ego, I'm sure. The anticipation is building, my clothes are getting too small, the bed impossibly uncomfortable, and the kitchen more and more organized. Come when you're ready, tiny baby. Your family, and the rest of the world, is ready for you.

32 Truths for Mature Humans

32 Truths For Mature Humans

1. I think part of a best friend’s job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you’re wrong.
3. I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.
4. There is great need for a sarcasm font.
5. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?
6. Was learning cursive really necessary?
7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on # 5. I’m pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.
8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
9. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at least kind of tired.
10. Bad decisions make good stories.
11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren’t going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I don’t want to have to restart my collection…again.
13. I’m always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page technical report that I swear I did not make any changes to.
14. “Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means I will never wash this – ever.
15. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? **** it!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voice mail. What did you do after I didn’t answer? Drop the phone and run away?
16. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.
17. I keep some people’s phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
18. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.
19. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.
20. I wish Google Maps had an “Avoid Ghetto” routing option.
21. Sometimes, I’ll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the heck was going on when I first saw it.
22. I would rather try to carry 10 over-loaded plastic bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.
23. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I’m trying to finish a text.
24. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
25. How many times is it appropriate to say “What?” before you just nod and smile because you still didn’t hear or understand a word they said?
26. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!
27. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.
28. Is it just me or do high school kids get dumber & dumber every year?
29. There’s no worse feeling than that millisecond you’re sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.
30. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate bicyclists.
31. Sometimes I’ll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.
32. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey – but I’d bet my *** everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time.

via Ruminations

Preschool

One month until baby, which sometimes feels like "...sigh... One whole month until baby," and other times, "OMG!  Only one month until baby!"

As one's first milestone is looming on the horizon, another's is already behind him.  Patrick John Edward is a pre-schooler.   A REAL one, he would tell you.  Yesterday, I saw this posted to Pinterest, and it made me cry:

This is a very literal and accurate description of how Patrick's first day of school went for me.  For him, it went like this:

Me: "How was your first day??"

Patrick: "Good."

Me:  "Just good?  Did you like it?"

Patrick: "Yeah."

Me: "You did?  Do you want to go back?"

Patrick: "Yes."

Me:  "What did you do all day?"

Patrick: "Played with my friends.  Shared my toys.  Sang songs.  And I didn't suck my thumb.  Mrs. Connor loves me, she said."

(To be fair, I do think Mrs. Connor loves him.  More about that later.)

Here is Pjew on his very first day of school:

Despite not having planned on sending Patrick to pre-school this year, I am very thankful we did.  I think he learns more by getting out and socializing than we can give him at home.  Since he's never been to a daycare, or even a babysitter, for that matter, this was a big step for him...and for us.  His teacher (the famous Mrs. Connor) is actually the mother of one of Adam's good friends from high school, which means she and Patrick share a little bond.  I pulled up to pick him up today and witnessed him on the playground.  With a thumb in his mouth, he rubbed up against her leg, leaning on it while staring at the ground, just like he does to me when he gets tired.  She was talking to another parent and without hesitation, reached down and rubbed his buzzed little head, resting her hand on his shoulder.  Patrick closed his eyes.  It made me feel good to know how well taken care of he is and that people other than us can feel how special he is.  Joy.  Pure Joy.

What a big kid.  My big kid.  Oh, what the future holds for you, Mr. Walden...

Pet Peeves (Not Everything is Epic)

It's really good to be perfect.  As you know, I am, which is the only way that I can post my pet peeves as facts.  (Wait.  I admitted I wasn't perfect in an earlier post?  Shoot.  Well, then, you caught me.  I'm definitely far from it.  In fact, I'd probably get busted performing any number of someone else's pet peeves. But these things still bug me, and whether or not they are legit, they are mine.  My pet peeves. And this is my blog, so enjoy!)

1.) Not everything is epic.  In fact, very few things are epic.  As borrowed from the bestsiteintheuniverse.com, here is a good rationalization/explanation:

Here is a comprehensive list of all things epic:
 
          - Oceans. Oceans are "massive and imposing in scale or size;" literally epic.
 
          - Literary tales of heroism, many of which include voyages across oceans are epics.
 
          - The cosmos are epic.
That's it.  Lengthy narratives.

  The

Also...

2.) Just like "epic," not everything is amazing.  Pencil skirts?  Not amazing.  Do they actually AMAZE you?  Cause you wonderment?  Then not amazing.  Basketball games?  Not amazing.  New bangs?  Defininitely not amazing.  This word has been demoted, and now means little more than "cool" or "awesome,"  but is now way overused, and out of context, to boot.  (I read somewhere recently that the overuse of the word "amazing" may soon lead to the renaming of "Amazing Grace" to "Pretty Good Grace" or something just as lame.)  I could say the same thing about the word "awesome," but it's too late for that one now.  It's already been demoted.  Don't let "amazing" meet the same fate.

3.) "Long story short."  I'm actually including this one for my sister, even though I have definitely done this a time or two or seven.  Have you ever noticed that this sentence comes toward the end of what has likely already been one of the longest stories ever? 

4.) "You know?"  Along the same lines, the interjection of this short phrase several times in a conversation will drive me bonkers.  Yes, I know.  I know because you're telling me right now, remember?

5.) Ellipsis (n.): Three points or "dots" used in writing to indicate hesitation or faultering speech and to shorten quotations when necessary without changing the meaning.  Three dots.  Just three.  Not two.  Not seven.  Certainly not twelve.  Three.

6.) Finally, a simple and harmless phrase, used in writing or in speech, and especially used in Facebook status updates, which has no bearing on anyone else's life, but is completely annoying in its own right:  "I have the (best or other adjective) (insert noun) ever!" For example, "My husband is the smartest, funniest, most handsome man EVER!", "My kid is the most well-behaved child in the universe EVER!"  Really, ever?  In the whole universe?  We all think this from time to time.  I know that.  And to be fair, I'm sure both said husband and child are great, but let's be a little realistic. Just sometimes.  And please, please, please, for my sake and all of grammar's long-standing guidelines, please stop saying "bestest."  I'm so sorry to be so demanding, but please. 







Change

Not meaning to find any inspiration in a meaningless internet search last night (insomnia is the worst), I came across this.  And it's perfect (despite a small typo, but I've been prone to those lately, as well.)  Suddenly, I do feel better.  While I like to think of myself as very accepting of change, in that I actually love it, I don't think I can help feeling sometimes as if I have lost control.  And I hate that.  I do.  However, maybe it's normal.  Maybe, as the dust settles around me, so too do my feelings of inadequacy, of listlessness, and of uselessness.  I'll pull it together yet.  

Patrick, my little shadow these days, insisted on helping me with the blog this morning (really, he's sitting right next to me with his thumb in his mouth, watching me type).  Since we had to run an image search to find that featured above, it also produced one that he insists be included in this post.  He found his own inspiration this morning...in the form of Optimus Prime.  I love this kid.

 

With the arrival of our newest little one in the next few weeks, I have begun to get a little sentimental about the births of the other two.  While some of the memories have faded, fogged over, and probably disappeared completely, I do remember most of those last few weeks with them.  I remember the surprise of their deliveries, both in timing and in finding out who they were.  I remember the wonderment and the magic, and I am excited to do it again.  (I'm also excited about enjoying an occassional drink.  Let's be fair.) 

As Patrick gets older, he calms.  He has become very sweet and very affectionate.  He's constantly making us laugh.  He's funny and clever and imaginative.  He's almost impossibly bright, and with that has brought about its own challenges (trust me), but we are constantly figuring them out, and, at the same time, we've become good at being his parents.   

Then came Leo.  Our big boy.  And while he is not nearly as verbal as his brother, he is physical in ways Patrick never dreamed.  He's a jumper, a climber, and get-into-everything-er, and as much as we have to prepare ourselves to start each day on our toes with him, he has an infectious laugh and a beautiful smile...and it makes any exhaustion immediately fade.  He makes us want to play along with him.  We've become good at being his parents, too. 

As I've tucked them each into bed at night, I find myself thinking (or saying), "I would take ten more just like you."  But I know that won't happen.  This new one will be completely different (but how??!!), and we'll become good at being someone else's parents all over again...God willing.  I'm looking forward to getting to know who (s)he is, and while I think I may know what (s)he is, I feel more strongly as if we have a little thing going already.  I feel like I know this person.  It's difficult to describe, but I feel like we've shared so much up until this point that we're going to be great together.  Our little icing on the cake.  The culmination of all things that we have worked so hard for.  Our reward.  Our family. 

And then starts the real project; the building.  I start work.  Adam eases up a little in his.  We get more serious about selling the house (as I write this, we are having both bathrooms redone!).  We make our long-term plans. We transition from a young family in process to something a little more established.  What will come is still completely unknown.  Will we have more kids?  Where will we move?  Will there be any more big changes?  Your guess is as good as mine, but things are in motion.  Always in motion, and always in a state of (you guessed it): change.

I have fallen into a rut of blog posting. In truth, the rut goes much deeper than that, but that's the area most obviously affected from your point of view.  I wish I could explain it, but I'm falling short there, too.  I have a few entries started and, with my next burst of energy, I'll finish them. I promise. In the meantime, this is what you get.

Since school has ended, my restlessness has not let up. Rather than have a positive and productive impact on my daily living, as was the case last summer, I have experienced the opposite reaction. I don't want to do anything. I especially don't want to leave the boys (though I need to! I do!) It's that let-down that accompanies the end of all big things, but paired with the raging hormones of the third trimester. It's not fun. Not inspiring. And it makes me even more sad.

In truth, it's ridiculous. If anyone has reason to celebrate, I do. I just need to psych myself into it and shake off the dust that is settling all around me. I need to appreciate this lull...though I have come to accept that lulls are just not my thing. No, not at all. If I don't have twelve things going on at once, I obviously end up lost...and sad...and bored. Uninspired.

Things we need to celebrate:

1.) I passed my NCLEX! (Now officially an RN)
2.) Interviewed for two jobs immediately after graduation. Got offers for both of them.
3.) Accepted a job...a GREAT job with great benefits and a way-better-than-I-was-expecting starting salary.
4.) Five weeks until baby...

...which brings me to this: what the hell is wrong with me? Even if I want a pity party (and everyone deserves one periodically), now is not the time. I saw our baby's face today. I saw those incredible legs again. I saw the little heart beating...and I wanted to cry. Not because I was sad, but because I was embarassed...and happy...and ridiculously put to shame by this little thing who, thanks to the hormone influx, makes me feel crazy, but reminds me how fortunate I am. These kids...bless them...they are crazy and loud and more fun than any other human being I have ever met. And they are mine. Ours. (And cute...can't forget the cute part.) So, I don't feel very useful and I'm very out of touch with the great things everyone else is doing. I'll come back. I'll shake off these feathers...eventually. And it will be great.

Work Widowed, Again

Adam has started another round of traveling this summer, and though I don't have a school schedule to contend with when it comes to single-parenthood, this time around brings about its own challenges.  However, I am happy to report that we are managing just fine.  More than fine, really.  I'm getting good at this.  (I will never, ever tell Adam that.  There is no need to encourage his absences, voluntary or not.) 

The kids are clean, house relatively clean, and I even manage a few hours each night to study for my state boards (finally scheduled...and soon.)  However, there are drawbacks to not having our beloved Adam around.  Here are a list of pros and cons.

PROS
1.) Vegetarian meals every night, and nobody says, "This is it?"
2.) Limitless documentaries after the kids go to bed.
3.) I'm the favorite parent by default.

CONS
1.) I hate bathtime by myself. 
2.) Indy (the dog) gets crazy in Adam's absence.
3.) I have nobody with whom to have a real conversation.
4.) Sleeping alone...and waking up alone is the pits.
5.) No reinforcements, obviously.

So, while we have learned to manage while Adam is away, it'll never be as good as when he is here.  Work trips are no good at all.  This Mom still needs a break.  I'm sure Adam does, too.  Life is better when there are two of us.

Indecisiveness seems to have struck our newest little one.  Much unlike his/her brothers, this one has not found a position of choice and stuck with it.  (Patrick was breech until week 31.  Leo was vertex until week 38).  As soon as the baby was big enough to allow for a position to be noted, it was transverse.  No big deal.  Then it was vertex.  Then breech.  Transverse.  Breech.  Vertex.  Breech.  Transverse.  How is there possibly that much room in there to move around so much?  And, with every turn and flip, I can both see and feel what is going on.  It woke me out of a dead sleep this morning.  Since the baby also seems to have quite a bit of umbilical cord, I am now starting to worry that we're going to end up with a nuchal cord at the end of all of this.  Settle down, tiny one.  Find a spot and stick with it.  Oh, and if it could not be breech, that would be best for me.  As of this morning, I could feel kicks in places nobody should ever feel anything that jolting.  Wow.

I'll love you regardless.  But help me out here.

Pica...and Other Bothersomes

Fourty-four pounds of ice consumed in a week.  44. By me alone.  Hello, pica.  You have reached an all-time high.  I'm almost embarassed to admit that I actually ate this much ice in seven days, but it could be worse.  It could be cheese, or sour gummies, or brownies.  All things considered, ice doesn't cause any hard-to-shed pounds (though it will make your teeth bleed.  I know from experience.  Today.) 

I am now in my 33rd week, which means I am 32 weeks plus a couple of days pregnant (the whole counting system is very strange.)  Whichever way you look at it, he baby will be here shortly.  I am suddenly very excited and very, very nervous.  Very.  Patrick is so big and self-sufficient, and though I fear that this new baby will affect him more than Leo, I worry more about handling a new baby on top of our fort-building, obstacle-course-creating, ever-falling, house-tearing-upping littlest boy.  He's a mighty hurricane, and though he is about as sweet as they come, he's no joke.  He's made of steel and is not afraid to test it.  Oh, and his iron lungs and fierce temper?  Add those in, too.  We're going to be tired for a very long time. 

That being said, I again came across a new blog this weekend, which offered an outstanding viewpoint on pregnancy, parenthood, and kids in general.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, I seem to welcome unsolicited advice and comments from strangers--characters who comments range from the creepily-complimental to the downright inappropirate (need I bring up the gas station checkout guy who, in his very thick accent, pointed to my belly and asked if I had been doing "naughty things"?  I couldn't grab my Skittles and race out the door fast enough.)  For that reason, I appreciated this post so much that I absolutely had to share.  I offer you this:

DOMESTIC ENEMIES OF THE PREGNANT MOM

The Stephen King Storyteller. Gather round kids, it's Birth Story Time. Want to hear about a horrible episiotomy? No? Tough, you're pregnant so that means that it's compulsory for you to hear about every disgusting birth detail from the woman in line at the bank. After all, it's important to know how your next door neighbor lost her mucus plug at a BBQ. (Gork)

The Lame Namer. It’s doubtful that you and your partner have put a lot of thought into choosing a name so it’s important these folks weigh in on this decision with a couple of names they thought of on the way into work. Plus, they hate the name you were thinking of because if reminds them of a girl in high school that had a funny birthmark on her chin. Just nod and say you'll consider KanDi with a heart over the "i" and leave it at that.

The XS XL Examiner. This is the person that will ask you if there's two in there or are you sure you aren't due tomorrow instead of three months. This is the same person that will point out how tiny you are if they feel this the case as well. "Where are you hiding it?" "It looks like you've swallowed a grape." It's hard to say if it's supposed to be funny or a compliment but they usually make you feel like you should either be shot and mounted over a fireplace or that something is wrong with your now creepy, peanut baby.

The Eliza Boo Little. Just you wait Henry Higgins! This person jumps in anytime you look like you're  just a little too happy about having a baby and says "Just you wait until the baby comes. You'll never sleep, eat, laugh, breathe, screw, or go to Cincinnati again!". Clearly you don't realize how difficult it is to have a baby so it’s up to them to make sure you don’t get too excited. Babies are awful. Stupid babies.

Dr. Oz It really is amazing that you made it as far as you have considering how reckless you're being with your diet and daily routine. Normally, they wouldn’t care of course, but seeing as there’s a baby involved, they'd better get in there and smack that coffee out of your hand; or better yet, just give some dirty looks and shake their head. That will teach you. After all, they don’t want their tax dollars going towards your kid’s tail removal some day.

The Accidental Whorist. Such a charming question to ask someone if their pregnancy was an accident. It's important for these folks to let you know that they don't approve of your reproductive schedule and perhaps you should consult them next time. Clearly you are too young, old, fertile, fat, funny or tall to have a baby at this juncture in your life and frankly, they are surprised at your utter lack of judgement. These are the same people that say, "Didn't you see that?" when you stub your toe and who don't like pizza. They're just pointless.

The Sex Obessesed. Surely if you already have a girl, you're going to want a boy and vice versa. If you don't have any children they may assume you want a girl and your partner wants a boy because that's how it works. These are also the people that will swallow their tongues if you say you aren't finding out the sex. "Don't you want to know?!", "That would drive me crazy!" Perhaps it has, Asshat. Perhaps it already has.

The Egg Inquisitioner. This is the person that asks you if you've conceived naturally. It's classy because, if you've used fertility treatments you have to reveal a very personal, private part of you life and if you didn’t, then you also has to reveal a very personal, private part of you life. It's a delicious catch 22 and there is no tactful way to answer this so feel free to just fart and walk away.

The Surprised Blow Up Doll These are the folks that chime in around 37 weeks and say things like “Are you STILL pregnant.” and “Haven’t you had that baby yet?” and extra helpful “I guess it just doesn’t want to come out” – which is nice because it points out the delivery you are *clearly* putting off and it’s a little gross too.

The Silver Back Belly Toucher. Oh, you just knew if was coming. We all love the folks that just walk up and start molesting your stomach. It's especially nice when your cousin's boyfriend who smells like cheese does it and makes a “MMmmmm” noise at the same time.

This is my personal rule of thumb with this one: if you would be comfortable with them touching your thigh when not pregnant, then they would probably be okay to touch your belly....with permission.....and a hazmat suit......holding chocolate. You know, like when your girlfriend taps your leg at the movie theatre and says, "Oh my God, I forgot to tell you that I slept with David Beckham!" – I feel she would be okay to touch your belly.

Most of you are going to totally get this list yet there are always a few people that think they just can't win when it comes to pregnant woman. I would argue that pregnant gals have to deal with things like heartburn, nausea, hemorrhoids and learning what perineum is and none of us should have to know about the taint, so no. No, you can't win. Sorry. I hate to be the one to break it to you but it's best you know [insert thigh pat here.]

As for what we all should say to a pregnant woman, I love this comment that was left on the blog:

"I could see this guy eyeballing me in the elevator despite my best efforts to focus on the numbers. Right before he got off the elevator. He paused, looked at me and said, 'I bet you will have a beautiful baby.'"

I like to think he looked like David Beckham.

The majority of this post brought to you by the very clever mothers at http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/.

Honestly in Blogging

I have begun to appreciate the honesty that can be found in the blogs of people I know (or even don't know.)  As Facebook is seeming to run its course, the pretty-perfect facade that is created by the ever-positive profiles is growing old  This is not to say it's avoidable...I really don't think it is. Who doesn't want to paint a pretty good picture of his/her own life? Who hasn't un-tagged bad pictures, kept quiet during rough times, and been over-the-top excited during the good ones?  It's just normal, I think.

However, in reading the blogs of friends or even friends of friends, it's refreshing to see how alike we all really are.  Not that we share the same tastes, but that we all deal with life's day-to-day struggles.  We are driven crazy by our kids.  We suffer from infertility.  We've thought/said/written terrible things and want to take them back.  We don't like everyone.  We fight with our spouses.  We make mistakes.  We're human. 

As I sit here, the kids are eating lunch.  Cucumbers, asparagus, and BBQ pizza, followed up by yogurt stars.  We've had a great day.  Still, the kids aren't dressed yet and neither am I.  The dishes are done, but the laundry isn't.  I look a mess.  I have eaten nothing but Swedish Fish today.  But my toes are painted and my shirt smells nice.  I'm not perfect at all.  Neither are my kids, my husband, our house, our cars.  We do well in some areas and fail in others.  But we do what we can and we do it simply.  I do things I regret and I've cried out of exhaustion.  But I wouldn't change a thing. 

I do wish I was that perfect mom.  You know the one...she always looks great, her kids are dressed to the nines (in clothes obviously folded as soon as the dryer finished its cycle), perfectly mannered and well-behaved.  She smells like soap.  I'm not her.  Case-in-point:  Saturday morning, Patrick and Adam were enjoying some superhero cartoon that I probably had no interest in watching.  Instead, I was in the bathroom putting on my makeup.  I heard Patrick talking to Adam.  It went like this:

P: Daddy, can I say "shit"?
A: Absolutely not.  You know that's a bad word.
P: But Mom says it, you know.
A: Your mom says that word?  She knows better than that. 
P: Yes, she said it when she was driving.  And she didn't say she was sorry. 

Cringing, I walked out of the bathroom.  I read Adam's lips, "Catie...your mouth."  I wanted to tell him that it was only because I almost hit the basketball goal on the way out of the driveway and it had been a truly terrible day up until that point, but it wouldn't have mattered.  I was guilty.  I mouthed back, "I know.  Sorry."  Case closed.  No awards for me that day. 

Less recently, while on vacation, I was watching Adam in the lake with the boys.  While one was riding on his back, he had the other one on his hip.  The kids were squealing, hanging on tight.  They were all laughing (Patrick very nervously, as the water scares him a little.)  I was sitting on the dock, reading, and as I looked over at Adam, I thought to myself that, if I wasn't married to him, I would wonder what it was like to be married to someone like that.  It made me so proud of him.  I did well for myself, despite my occassional trucker's mouth.  While eating dinner one night, I happened to tell Adam what I thought on vacation.  He just laughed a little and said, "I'm really happy to hear that.  Sometimes, when we're out in public, I look at you and think I married out of my league."  Sigh.  Classic Adam.  Good answer, honeybee.  Good answer.

As of today, we're back to one income.  Our disposable income may as well be non-existent, and I am most bummed about this.  I don't have a job lined up (not officially, anyway), nor do I have any immediate plans to get licensed (out of my control).  I'm sleep deprived because our youngest sprouted two new teeth over the weekend and I desperately want to move.  The boys have finished lunch and are now fighting over the canopy to a flotation device.  We're so not perfect.  But we're good.  Normal.  Happy.