School's In

I'm not sure that anyone besides the grandparents really want to see my daughter squinting into the morning sun on our unfortunately-east-facing front porch, but I simply could not let this day go by without a post.

Today is Lucy's first day of First Grade.

*sigh*

And here she is among the masses of kids and parents creating The Chaos of the first day of school.
From 9 until 4, five days a week, someone else gets to enjoy her smile, her creativity, her silliness, and to help fill her eager mind. As much as I am so grateful for the wonderful opportunity for her to get an education so close to home, I can't help but feel just a little bit sad that this day came way too fast for my liking.

Sum-Sum-Summertime

Back in May, I was somehow under the misconception that summer break would allow a nice slow pace and all kinds of time to relax and catch up with friends and do whatever in the world we wanted. I was partially right, but "slow pace" will not be a phrase I mistakenly use again when speaking of future summertime fun. And in a word, it has flown by way too fast.

With the start of Lucy's school year just a few days away (you heard me, days), I realized how poorly I've done in blogging this summer. Not that I haven't written several dozen posts in my head, but getting to hash them out on the keyboard has been a different story (see above paragraph).

So, here are a few updates and highlights from our summer...

First, we had to use our friends' idea of making a "summer fun" checklist to make sure we didn't miss out on anything we had talked about doing. We've gotten through most of it (and a few, like "ice cream," numerous times).

Then we got a pool. Uh huh.

But apparently it wasn't big enough for daddy's liking. And when Lucy set up her 'waterslide,' she hit the far wall of the pool and went flying into the grass. So he took it back and got a bigger one. (I use the word bigger quite lightly.)
It made the kids hungry...

...and tired.
Shortly after the start of summer break, Lucy lost her first tooth. But in true Lucy fashion, it is still in her possession. She has a hard time saying goodbye. I have no idea where she gets that from.

We had several visits from family and friends. Grandma came, and Auntie and Uncle Chris, and some of our nearest and dearest friends who still like us (we think) even though we have all known each other since college. Just a year apart and both sporting gaps in their teeth, Lucy and Erikson have been pals from before they can remember.

And Libby was born the day after Josiah. With both of them approaching their 3rd birthday, they may share their smiles and their strawberry-blonde coloring, but nothing else.

Joey learned to help daddy in the yard.

This is his tough guy pose. Is it convincing?
And someone turned "this many."

And dear, sweet, "little" Adam. What has he been up to this summer? Growing. And growing. I love this photo because the perspective makes his chin and cheeks look extra huge. Oh, who am I kidding, they are extra huge.

These ham hock thighs remind me of Joey...that is, Joey at about one year old.
But he is rolling and laughing, cuddly and sweet, and always smiley.

Ah, summertime. You have been very good to us. Too brief, but very good.

Adventures in Nuclear Medicine

A little over a year and a half ago, we spent some quality time at Children's Hospital with our son, Josiah. So when we returned this morning with our 3-month-old Adam, it was a familiar scene. Just a slightly different cast of characters.

The MAG3 is a procedure performed to observe the function of the kidneys. Both of Adam's kidneys have shown to have an enlarged renal pelvis (the part that collects urine before it is released into the bladder), and his doctor ordered this test to find out why, and also to determine if it's something that will need to be fixed or something he will grow out of.

We did a little research and asked some questions and felt that we were fairly well prepared for what to expect from this day. We knew that he would have a catheter put in place to keep his bladder empty. We knew that he would need an IV to inject the material that would be traced by the scanning equipment through his little body. We knew that he would need to lie "still" for the better part of an hour, if not more. We knew that the staff at Children's is excellent and we could trust them. And we knew that it would be just as hard on John and I to watch as it would be on Adam to be watched.

What I was not prepared for was the sheer intimidation of the machinery when we were escorted into the room. I kind of had something in mind like an ultrasound machine in a little exam room. Maybe a few computer monitors and some wires. And of course a paper-covered table.

But the door opened before us into a room that seemed the size of a gymnasium, and the site of The Machine literally took my breath away, not to mention a wall covered with computers, and a door labeled "DANGER: RADIOACTIVE MATERIALS." Just to think this was necessary to look at the inner workings of my tiny son.


But then I looked around and saw Dumbo and Winnie the Pooh on the walls. And I saw the smiles on the faces of our wonderful technicians. And none of it phased Adam who seemed to be grinning with his whole body at anyone who would come close enough for him to see.

You know, it wasn't fun -- being strapped down for over an hour, the placement of the catheter, the concept of nuclear medicine, and the difficulty of finding a vein for his IV (who knew that baby fat made it so difficult? -- oh, and does my boy have rolls!).

But none of that is what brought me to tears.

It was the kids.

It was the families walking through the lobby, or waiting their turn in admissions along with us. It was the kids with casts and leg braces and wheelchairs. Kids with masks and rolling IVs. Kids with oxygen tubes. Kids who were visibly ill. Kids who clearly were used to this place because of how often they were there.

I remember having these same thoughts and feelings a year and a half ago, but in the distraction of getting Adam there this morning, I had forgotten. And I was not prepared. It broke my heart all over again.

We don't know what tomorrow brings, but we are relieved that this morning is behind us, and as grateful as we are to have a place like Children's Hospital so close to home, we hope and pray that we won't have the necessity to become too familiar with that amazing place.

I hugged all three of my 'babies' a little tighter today.

On why I don't use the phone

I wish I had my video camera handy tonight. Or at least a witness. But I'll try to paint the picture for you...

John wasn't home yet, and I was working on getting dinner together.

Adam was crying (simply because this is the fussy time of day for my two-and-a-half month old baby).

Josiah was in his own little world, playing with his cars and singing 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' at the top of his lungs.

Lucy decided that this was THE moment she just HAD to explain something to me about the game she was playing on the computer. In a voice loud enough to be heard over both of her brothers.

And I just busted out laughing. How could I help it? This is my life. And I love it. I love my little noise-makers.

But next time you try to call me, realize that this is probably what's happening on the other end. Which is why I most likely will not answer.

Give me a year or three and I'll call you back.

In honor

In honor of Memorial Day, I wanted to direct you to one of my favorite blogs and this amazing spread of photos that brought me to tears for so many reasons.

Kindergarten: The End

There she goes. The last time she'll look so tiny walking into her school, carrying a backpack that is half as large as she is. The last time she'll be among the smallest and youngest kids going through those doors.

A whole year of school is behind her. Finished. Accomplished. She's grown so much, and I don't just mean that she's taller.

Today was the end, but really it's just the beginning--of our first summer break! And of realizing and trying to grasp that I have a six year old first grader. *Gulp*

We had a fun morning celebrating with her class, but as she gave her teacher one last hug the tears began to flow. I almost lost it, too, but managed to hold it together and give her a comforting hug. Phew!

From those who have gone before me, I'd love to hear that it gets easier with each year, or at least with each child. But I have a feeling there are very few words of comfort out there for this sentimental mama to hear...

Celebrating Six!

My sweet Lucy is six years old today! About two weeks ago, John and I realized how quickly her birthday was approaching. We also heard her telling other people she was going to have a party. Hmm, interesting. We thought we should maybe put something together for her. We let her invite a handful of friends, and she chose fellow Kindergarteners from both school and church. Kind of last-minute, but it worked out great!

Lucy wanted a Littlest Pet Shop theme, and she and I went last weekend to pick out some decorations and party favors. We kept it simple.

When the girls arrived yesterday afternoon, each one got to pick out a Pet Shop temporary tattoo to wear. Then, because of my utter lack of planning, we gave them a few ideas and sent them into the backyard to play. John set up this game of "hoop freeze tag," and they loved it.

Then it was on to "pass the hoola hoop" without breaking the circle.
Pizza and cheesy bread were on the menu for dinner.

And while they ate and chatted and giggled, guess what I was getting ready to do?
Mmmm, homemade whipped cream!

At her request, we sang regular "Happy Birthday" (with no "cha cha cha" at the end, which they apparently do at school, and which she apparently loathes). Lucy nearly caught her hair on fire. In fact, I think I saw a few little extra puffs of smoke as she leaned over to blow out her candles...

...until I came to the rescue. Phew!

Triple chocolate sour cream cake, strawberry ice cream, freshly-whipped cream, extra sprinkles, and a cherry on top made this worth all the ear-piercing squeals and please-don't-run-in-the-house-with-lemonade-in-your-hand reminders.

You know you want some.

The birthday girl thoroughly enjoyed her special Birthday Cake Sundae.

After loading them up with sugar, they all sat in a circle...
...and I taught them how to play spin the bottle.
Oh, yes, I did.

Tattoos, sugar, and spin the bottle. That's how we roll!

Okay, before you judge me, realize "spin the bottle" was to decide whose gift Lucy got to open next.

And we'll all pretend that's the ONLY way to play.

Each girl went home with a goody bag. Honestly, this has always been one of my favorite parts of throwing a party. It's not only fun to send the kids home with something to say thanks for coming, but I have fun picking out and creatively packaging the treats for the kids ahead of time. These included a mini notebook, pretty pencil, temporary tatoo, and a bead craft. (I got to re-use the tulle from Adam's diaper cake to put these together and make them look extra frilly and special.)

It was a very fun afternoon. John and I feel we did a pretty good job for it being our first time to host a kid-only party. And I just wish I could have bottled the giggles that filled the air and the joy of my sweet girl getting to celebrate her special day with some fabulous friends.

My Monkeys

I've been relatively quiet over here. Just hiding out at home and enjoying a little of this:
(I know, the dimpled double chin is almost too much for me, too.)

Not to mention watching this one take after her mother. (I would have lived in a tree when I was her age, if I had been allowed.)

And of course, little brother had to give it a try, too, with a little help from the slide.
Love those chubby feet! It means summer is almost here...

Of Southern Drawls and Garage Sales

It seems that someone has been subtly influencing my two-and-a-half year old. Or perhaps someone has cloned him and replaced the original child with an identical duplicate.

A child with a Southern accent.

Very recently we started to notice some interesting verbal trends. He is dropping his r's and adding unnecessary syllables to certain words. For example, over there has become "ova they-uh." Snack is now "snay-uck." And bath is either "bay-uff," or a whopping "bay-ay-uff," if we're lucky enough to hear it.



If you are reading this and happen to live somewhere below the Mason-Dixon line and see my sweet boy wandering the streets, would you send him back to us?

But if not, this one is pretty cute and I suppose we'll keep him.

On another note, we are entering garage sale season, and I could not be more thrilled. I love the hunt and the bartering and the victory of finding a great deal.

But this year I'm switching things up and I'm going to be the seller. Since my children have entered a lovely phase of sibling squabbles, I've decided to sell everything they have. They fight over the same object so many times throughout the day that I lose track. And nearly lose my mind.

Sometimes it's a bouncy ball. Other times it's a book. Or a toy car. Or a pencil. Or a-- you get the point.

So I've decided to sell the playroom. All of it. Okay, I might keep the carpet and light fixtures, but everything else must go.

Except for one toy.

I haven't decided which one yet, but since they always want the very same thing at the very same time, what's the point in keeping all the rest of it? It's just more for me to have to dust.

Think it will work? No, I don't either.

*sigh*

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some dusting to do and a silly little boy who needs a bay-uff.

Late night delusions

It goes without saying that I've been up a lot during the night lately. Having a new baby in the house means lots of wakefulness at odd hours.

The other night while I was up cuddling with my new little bundle of joy, with my hubby softly snoring beside me, I heard what I believed to be illegal activity going on in our neighborhood. I snapped quickly from my drowsy state into wide-eyed alertness, wondering if I should be calling the police to report these shenanigans.

In my sleep-deprived state, it sounded distinctly like there were drag races going on outside on our street. I was sure of it.

I listened for a bit, not knowing exactly what to do. But my sleep-deprived body took over, and the next thing I knew I was waking up to silence. I knew I had to tell my husband in the morning, and he would help me decide what to do if it happened again.

A few nights later, my sweet hubby was up, changing a diaper, and he heard it, too. He went to investigate (by looking out a window, go figure) to find the culprit:


Yes, our milk delivery truck sounds like a hot rod.

And apparently they deliver our milk at 2:00 a.m. Ugh.