How will it be with one more thrown in the mix??

I am now over 8 months pregnant...due next month! Still trying to convince myself that we're actually going to have three children, because it's a little scary!


With the two children we have now (you know the ones - I may have mentioned them on here a time or two before), I've begun to notice some differences in Donn's parenting style and my parenting style. I've always known that I'm more laid back than he is. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but it's just the way things are. Having Donn home now from his deployment for over a year, a few specific things are starting to become clear.

When I'm home with the boys I tend to let them clutter up the house with toys until I can't stand it and then I help them clean up. Donn pretty much makes them clean up as they go along. If I go in the bathroom and the toilet is not flushed, I just flush it for them and I might say something or I might not. Donn will call them in right away to take care of it themselves. I think his method is probably better, but I've come to the conclusion that I'm just too lazy to be so on top of things. The house falls apart during the day, I've come to accept that. Sort of.

As an example, tonight I found Dylann's dirty socks stuffed behind the door in the bathroom. Here is my dilemma: Do I take the socks over to the laundry room myself or call Dylann in to clean them up, which will no doubt result in him trying to throw them at Jack (don't ask me how I know this will happen, but it will) and then there will be a bunch of running and laughing and dirty sock throwing until I can finally reign them in by repeating myself over and over and over again, getting louder and louder?

Kids never do things calmly. Or at least mine never do and together they egg each other on until they've both reached a level of frenzy. If you ask them to throw something away they have to run all the way to the garbage can, slide on the kitchen floor, make a slam dunk and possibly spill stuff on the floor, and run all the way back. Sometimes I'd rather just do it myself in the interest of sanity. I realize this doesn't teach them any good lessons, but it keeps me from developing an eye twitch.

Notice to Little Boys (And rowdy little girls)

Please note the following:

1. Throwing rocks is pretty much never a good idea.
2. Climbing on things can end in disaster.
3. Hitting your brother or sister means they will probably hit you back. Don't start the cycle of violence.
4. If you're caught fighting with someone no one will care who started it, you will both be in trouble.
5. Never get too close to another kid holding a baseball bat.
6. Don't hold hands on the trampoline or you will eventually smack into the other person.
7. As soon as you yell, "Look how fast I'm going!" something very bad is about to happen.
8. Real baseballs are like flying torpedoes of death - stick with tennis balls.
9. If you mess with the bees, they will get revenge.
10. Superglue - don't try it.

Because we need more drama

The boys have learned from one of their friends what it means to "put on a show". Now they gather costumes and props and rush around in hushed voices until everything is under control and then they want me to sit quietly and watch while they pretend they are a bat, a ninja, chuck norris, or a bankrobber. It's pretty cute. And highly entertaining for about 5 minutes or so.

I remember doing that when I was a kid with my friends or my cousins. We wrote scripts. We acted very dramatically. Our reviews were always fabulous, unless we accidentally ripped down the smurf sheets being used as curtains during scene 1 of Act 2. A minor setback.

I could be a little bit bossy. I remember doing a play with my cousins in the basement that we were going to make my aunt videotape. If they disagreed with something I wanted to do, I would react by forcing them to go along with whatever I thought, because I was full of kindness and understanding.

So far the boys have handled their disagreements about the details of the play in a much more straightforward way. Dylann does the shouting and Jack does the beating.

No matter how the show begins, it always turns out to be Jerry Springer.

From the Vault

These are from blog posts I never published from the past 6 months.

Bird poop in the fireplace and salami handling.

There is a nest in our chimney. We can hear the birds chirping through the fireplace. Every so often a bunch of sticks fall down into the fireplace and I'm afraid at any moment that a bunch of baby birds are going to come plopping down. Then we'll rescue them and the angry parents will come flying out of the fireplace and attack us.

My least favorite job in the morning is making the boys lunches. There's something horrible about handling cold lunchmeat first thing in the morning.

I'm going through cat withdrawl. I am not a crazy cat person or anything, but we've always had a cat. We were planning to fly our cat here from the US this weekend, but they wanted to charge us over $1,000 for the flight and fees. Now whenever the neighbor's cat walks through our yard I want to run outside and steal it.

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Yeah, well, I wanted it to be funny...so there.

Last night when I was putting Jack to bed, I laid down with him for a while and he asked me to tell him a story about Star Wars. I would rather tell a story about just about anything else, but Jack always wants to hear stories that involve weapons and danger. I don't know very much about Star Wars, beyond the main characters names, so I made something up about Luke Skywalker when he was 5 years old. Jack kept smiling and looking totally into it, so I thought I was doing a pretty good job of making crap up, but just when I got to the part where 5 year old Luke has to battle some other kid named Damien from gamma quadrant 5 (I think that's actually from Toy Story), who has a gold light saber, Jack totally lost it and laughed so hard he couldn't speak. I asked him what was so funny about this very dangerous, perilous story. And he said, "THIS IS THE WORST STAR WARS STORY EVER!!! HAHA HAHAHAHAA!!!!" The end.

Give me all your food and nobody gets hurt!

I've always been warned by people that my boys will eventually become starving teenagers that will try to eat the very house down around us. They will eat you out of house and home! They will eat and eat! You won't be able to keep the refrigerator full! Non-stop eating!!! And I believe these warnings, because I grew up around a lot of boys and witnessed the eating and the eating and the chompchomp gimme that burrito chompchompchomp.

But it seems to have started a little early. Dylann is 7 and over the past few months he seems to be increasingly starving to death. It's like living with a raccoon. He's always rummaging around in the cupboards and the fridge asking if he can have this or that and if I say no, he looks very sad and neglected and malnourished. I am continuously trying to think of things that will fill him up and keep him that way for more than an hour, but it ain't easy. Even after he eats an entire meal, he will be starving to death and wasting away two hours later. Peanut butter sandwiches and milk are my two standbys for staving off hunger, because they're quick and fairly filling. And yet, he can polish off 2 or 3 peanut butter sandwiches and a glass of milk without stopping to take a breath.

Meanwhile, he gains nary a pound. Well, I think he's gained about 4 pounds in the last year. He is growing taller and more hungry every day.

Our supplies are running low. The neighbor's chickens are growing anxious. The number of milk jugs in our recycling bin is threatening to bury the house.

I think it's his metabolism. He's metabolising and I can't keep up. Help.

I had a new car...

Up until yesterday my car looked brand new. And it is pretty new, it's a 2008. However, in the span of two days it has become used. Yesterday I was driving on one of the little country backroads to our house when a white van came flying by and smashed my mirror to pieces. Of course, his mirror got smashed to pieces also, but maybe he should have MOVED OVER! On these country backroads it seems like half the time you encounter really polite drivers who slow down and move over and the other half it's these maniacs who go flying by like they have the right of way no matter what else is going on around them. Maniacs. Maniacs!

Today I drove the boys to school and then went to the grocery store. When I came out of the store and popped the trunk open, I noticed that there is a dent on my rear bumper. A dent where there was no dent yesterday, even after the mirror-smashing maniac incident. I have no idea if it happened this morning parked outside the school (probably) or at the grocery store. All I know is, I don't want to drive my car anymore. I want to buy an armored vehicle or a tank or something.

I have been in no shape lately to deal with car problems or any kind of problems at all. I can't help but overreact about every frustrating thing that happens. Everything is suddenly tragic. It's like I'm a toddler with no ability to step outside the situation and be rational. I don't know what is going on, but I blame it on hormones. Forgot my keys? Hormones! Bursting into tears because my favorite yogurt is gone? Horomones! Eating the last chocolate chip granola bar? Definitely hormones! I think the children are wondering what the hell is going on around here and pretty soon they will probably start hoarding food up in their rooms before I get to it first. But I would find it. I would find it and eat it all!! And then we could cry about it.

But I'm not a fan of pastel pink...

Hello again! Here I am more than one month later writing another post here...to myself. We found out about 2 weeks ago that our little pea in a pod is a girl....a girl! A girl?? A girl. Isn't girl a weird word?

I wanted a girl...or a boy, actually. Either one. But it's strange having been a mom to only boys for the past 7 years, I feel unprepared. I imagined myself with 3 boys so I could keep referring to my kids as "the boys" and pass on their faded, worn-out clothes to the next in line. Having a girl seems a little bit scary. I was kind of a tomboy growing up. I liked bugs and animals and playing baseball, even though I was no good at it. I'm not a fan of the color pink. I don't want to buy stuff that says princess on it. Is that sexist of me to assume that she will even like that stuff? She probably won't. She'll be just like me and want to play baseball. But then she'll turn into a scary, unstable teenager and join the army and leave.

Jack said he didn't want a little sister because he doesn't want any Bratz dolls in the house. I told him she might not like Bratz dolls (lord, I hope not - why don't they just call them hoochie mamas?), but he doesn't seem to believe me.

It still seems unbelievable that I'm pregnant with a girl. Why do I feel so different about it than with the boys? I feel like I'm pregnant for the first time all over again, not knowing what to expect. A girl....a girl? A girl!

Updated - 5 May 2009 - I've been thinking about this and I think the main reason I feel weird about having a girl is because of the way everyone reacts like I'm finally getting what I've been waiting for! Like having a girl is going to be somehow more fun for me than having a boy. Or how people would ask if we were going to "try for a girl" like we wouldn't really want another boy. We knew we wanted another baby, and the rest didn't matter! I guess I'm just defensive about the subject. I love my rowdy boys and I don't want them to feel like I was any less excited about my pregnancies with them.