Easter Week

How was your spring break?

Whether you were eating bunny cake or matzoh with cream cheese, I hope your holiday was a great one.  Ours was fantastic!  Andy's family came in last week to stay with us until Easter.  My family came in for Easter Sunday dinner and visited all day long.

It was a merging of loved ones and colorful underwear hats (Abby).

Easter is the kids' favorite holiday so far due to the massive egg hunt awaiting them both inside and out.

Easter Bunny upped the ante this year and hid silver dollars in some of the Easter eggs (thank you, Aunt Jen) instead of boring old jelly beans (thank you, boring old me).

Andy and I were a little concerned the kids would grow up believing Easter was only about hidden eggs and Easter baskets so we thought we'd educate them about the Holiness of the holiday.  Through YouTube.  Yeah.  You can probably already guess how that turned out.  Even the cartoons are rather intense and there's virtually no way to sugar coat a crucifixion.  Grayson was riveted.  Abby asked for The Smurfs.

I'm thinking we need Sunday school.

Since I am still recovering from many days of visiting with relatives and having more free time than the usual eight hours a week, I am only good for a picture slide show today. 

I'll do my best to at least caption.   

Happy Spring, All!

The face of a boy who loves himself some Easter.

Sisters from Other Misters
 

How Many Can You See?

Grilled lemonheads, anyone?

 Bunny Prints

Larger and Biologically Incorrect (hour later) Bunny Prints

DIY Easter Decorations.  Yes, from Pinterest.  How did you know?

Easter Basket Loot

Our Buckets Runneth Over

Late Night OCD

I don't know when it happened.

Some time between 2008 and 2012 Andy's OCD seeped into my pores and now we share it.

Four days ago, I begged and pleaded for mentioned moving the play room from the main floor to downstairs, where the guest bedroom is located.  The noise and chaos from having the kids upstairs in my grill was becoming rusty nails down a chalkboard to my person.  Something needed to change and I was the last one to volunteer.  Thirty-seven years of stubborn doesn't blend well over time so I nominated our furniture instead.

 

Andy and I stayed up hiking twin beds, queen mattresses, box springs, headboards, footboards, side tables, couches, and more toys than I care to discuss down hallway after hallway and into new dwellings well into the night.

 

 (Grayson's bed turned Abby bed.  It's now donning a new princess sheet and comforter instead of that funky mattress bling.  That hurricane lamp was my grandmother's and it's one of my favorite things on earth.)

We were both driven like marathoners on mile 25.  It was going to happen or else we'd drop in a sweaty heap of granola bars and water bottles trying.

(Guest bedroom turned Grayson's bed.  This was my grandfather's headboard and footboard.  It sits up so high he almost needs a ladder to get in.  Abby thinks this is fantastic.  Grayson is in there, can you see him?)

Finally we managed to call it a night with a real deal play room in lieu of a guest bedroom. Unless of course, our guests are three feet tall with a penchant for canopies.

It's only been a few days but I can feel the wallpaper in my mind smooth instead of crinkle.  The carnal sound waves driving into our ear canals have softened and become muted hymns of children playing.

Downstairs.

On another floor altogether.

Way far away but Leave It to Beaver close enough to mix lemonade and eavesdrop at the same time.

It's how sanity must sound.

Sweet Reward, how I've missed it so.

A Stuffin' Mommy

We were on a mission to find Grayson a new red pillow today.

Our mission was aborted on our way to the second Target (first one fresh out of red pillows) because kids fell fast asleep in the car.

Silly me thought that meant we should circle back home and institute a nap day.  I try one every 23 days or so.

Silly, silly me.

After about 45 minutes of incoherent angry child warbling and less coherent PO'd bed linen shuffling, zero naps were being had.

In fact, I think both of them were a little sweaty in their efforts to not nap.

Finally I hear Abby say something to Grayson through the wall:
Gwayson?  What are you doing?  I'm makin' a stuffin' mommy.  Did you hear me?  Can you peas answer me?  I'm makin' a stuffin' mommy.  What are you doing, Gwayson?

The curiosity was too compelling.  Grayson and I met each other in the hallway.  We had to know.

Just in the knick of time, if you ask me.


Behold...

A Stuffin' Mommy!

She looks a bit deflated and droopy like the real one, doesn't she?

Abby might need to revisit her design but I quite enjoy the concept.

Stuffin' Mommy is undergoing a facelift in the backyard as we speak wherein Grayson and Abby are searching for twigs, branches, and I think she said pollen.  Where they're going to put those concerns me so I will sign off for now.

More pics to follow....!

***********************************

Here's where the Stuffin' Mommy ended up.

Tillie was hoping I knew how to put it back together again so she could have a giant stuffy all to herself.

Her wish came true.  It's back in pillow form and sitting on her bed, next to her other "babies."

Our Pretty Little Secret

Ok.

(Deep breath.) 

Where do I start?

I've been keeping something from you guys and it's been gnawing at my soul.  It's a good something.  Definitely not a baby something but a pretty little secret nonetheless.

Her name is Tillie.

 And we love her already.

About a month ago I was looking on Craigslist for musicians who might want to play crappy 90s love songs with me in their garage on dusty futons.

I didn't find any of those so I clickety clicked on over to the "Pets" section just for a look-see.

Yep.  I did that.  Felt like a giant neon WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU DOING sign was blinking hot red above my head but my husband didn't see it.  He was snoring.  Thankfully, so was Sadie.  Afterall, I was just looking. 

And reading this while sobbing into my nightshirt: 
 www.tillieandpuppies.blogspot.com

And filling out an application for Tillie an hour later here:  PetConnectRescue.org.

So now you know.

I feel lots better coming clean.  You deserve to know the truth.  Especially when she's such a pretty little truth, isn't she?

It was a long month, you guys.  It took weeks and weeks of email stalking to figure out a.) Lease  b.) Sadie c.) Husband but all ended well and here we sit, good friends with Easter eggs to find.

Tillie is a beautifully onyx wiggly girl made of head leans (hugs) and sweet puppy breath kisses.  She is a blessing for us and for Sadie who has come out from her bathtub to chase squirrels in our backyard on more than one occasion.

  

 

 

The incredible care Tillie received from her foster mom and volunteers through her harrowing birthing story and subsequent hip surgeries is evident in her sweet demeanor and kind eyes.

 

She trusts every person she comes across.  She barks and pulls at the leash to go toward every dog at the park.  Tillie is the most outgoing girl I've met in a while.  She and Sadie complement each other very well.

Pepper to Sadie's salt.

(Tillie has quite a lot of healing left to go but she gets around well for just being out of surgery a few weeks ago.  She won't ever be able to run her legs off like a typical lab.  Her hind legs are a bit wobbly and weaker compared to her front but she is getting stronger by the day.  Our stairs still intimidate her sometimes but Sadie is cool with owning the second floor of the house for now.  Tillie is a resilient and strong little force of will and a pleasure to love on and spoil rotten.)

I must say how proud I am of the way our Queen Sadie has handled a newcomer.  She makes no apologies for her alpha rank but she also shares space more willingly than I thought she might.  Sadie's chest is puffier and head held higher in reverence (to herself) but her tail is feathered up and her legs definitely prancy as she tries to keep up with the new three year old.

I think she's happy we have Tillie now too.

Tillie was mopey and obviously sad about missing her family that it broke my heart for the first two days.  We distracted her with playtime and hugs but there was no mistake she was confused and sad.  I felt like a world class dog nabber; the transitioning was palpable and quite painful for everyone.

 

By the weekend, however, things started to gel for all of us and Tillie seems more relaxed and less depressed, wouldn't you say?

What's your pretty little secret you've been keeping?

Do you need me to dog sit for you?


**************************************************************************

I just found this in my saved email box and had to share.  It's from me to my unsuspecting at work husband:

Honey?

Tillie needs a forever home.  She has had a rough life until now.  Go see her 
before you say no.

xoxoxox

http://tillieandpuppies.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2012-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2013-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&max-results=1 

And then this one:

 
Omgoodness, i want to meet her.  

What do u think?  

No more adopting baby talk ever, just Tippies and Tillie :)

Xoxoxox,

http://www.petconnectrescue.org/Adopt/adoptadog.html?action=detailℑ=20


Sent from my iPad

It's All About the Girl

You may have noticed the last couple of posts have been centered around Grayson.  You may have not, I'm not sure I did.  At least not right away.

Truth is Abby and I are at an impasse.

I know.  She's three.  What kind of impasse are we talking here.

It's a Girl Impasse, I'm afraid.

I think the complicated relationship between mother and daughter starts at birth.  Or at least ours did.

I was quite sick when I was expecting Grayson but was absolutely going to die from poison coursing through every ounce of my body with Abby.  The hormones made me throw up so much I gave up trying to get leave the bathroom but instead camped out with my toilet while Grayson (not yet 2) ate applesauce from the jar.  With probably his fingers.

 

Then we cut out the middle man and finally got a PICC line put into my arm so I could both eat and drink through a tube so it could stop coming back up my throat.  It's not morning sickness at that point.  It's hyperemesis and it's the reason we will never hear the pitter patter of more baby feet around here.

 

When she was born, we had about one hour of blissful sleep and then the screaming started.

This child screamed when she was awake, before she ate, after she ate, and any time in between.  Getting her to sleep was an act of God.

The night she screamed for seven hours straight was the same night we decided she was suffering some horrible ailment and only qualified doctors at the ER could help.

All the nurses whispered, "colic," as we rushed through the door.  They were right.  Abby was perfectly healthy other than not being at all down with existing outside the womb. 

I had a nervous breakdown.  Andy probably did too, I don't know.  I'm not sure we knew the other one was even in the house at that point.  All we could hear was the screaming.

Even though we had the "diagnosis" we still didn't have the answer.  Abby still hated oxygen and other earthly realms.  She was fighting mad and still screaming.

Finally, my friend Monica sent me the blessing of Dr. Harvey Karp's Happiest Baby on the Block.  His 5 steps to soothe a baby were the absolute only thing on this hemisphere that got Abby to stop screaming.  If you know anyone who knows anyone who might need this book, buy it for them.  It saved my life and probably Abby's too.   

Everybody in our family and our extended family had exhausted arms and worn out eardrums until we all were proficient in swaddling, shooshing, bouncing, and holding sideways.  I know, it sounds insane but I swear on my life it works.  In fact, it was the ONLY thing to work.

Needless to say it was a rough start.

We made it through though and somehow she turned two.

Now she's three and she is testing me to the limits again.  She is loud.  All the time.  She is whiny.  Constantly.  She is a dichotomy of dirt and glitter, co-dependence and oppositional defiance, of ballet and a mosh pit.  She is Yin and Yang all wrapped in one little amazing body. 

Abby is something to behold and always a delicious surprise.  I just wish I had Cliff Notes to help me out because I am utterly spent from being 12 steps behind her.

Bird Feeders

What began as a keep-the-kids-from-self-destruction-while-I-cook-dinner activity turned out to be pretty cool.


The kids chose materials thoughtfully and according to what they felt the birds would like.

Grayson's birds must be of northern descent (notice the snowflakes) and have allergies (yep, that's a tissue.)

 

Abby's are more a southern breed with an appreciation for Easter pastel and googly eyes.

Both are creations almost ready to occupy our backyard as soon as I brave up and cut feeder holes into the plastic.

Or maybe I can jam some Christmas lights in there and call it shabby chic.
We're down with the shabby,

still working on the chic.

Resuscitating My Machine

 

I think I almost did myself in, you guys.

I almost wallowed in caffeine, lost sleep, and skinny fat for too long.   I almost forgot that I was a machine.

Most of the time we walk around feeling like ghost bodies encased in a big fat fuzzy cloud brain instead of hard bodies controlled by an acute thought of precise action.

(Or maybe that was just me in my Starbucks haze.)

The last month and a half in the gym have reminded me I am first a system of movable parts, second the brain that guides it.

Since having babies my hamstrings and quadriceps have been tossed to the curb left for dead.  Let's not even talk about biceps or stomach muscles.  Not only were those left for dead they were found by turkey vultures, picked to smithereens by time and most definitely Easter candy.

Bathing suit weather has made me hyperventilate for years.

But this year? I'm taking my body back.

Along with weights, cardio, and even the occasional medicine ball to bring back my machine, I am no longer able to go without a meal.   

Fat must not get that hungry but muscle?  Holy cow is that stuff made of the munchies.  But not Cheetos and brownie dough munchies.  Muscle wants raw vegetables, cottage cheese with peaches and lately a whole lot of broccoli and chicken.  Muscle is a sixteen year old just home from basketball practice, raiding the fridge.

The best byproduct won't be getting to wear a bathing suit without that little skirt bottom this summer.  It is the fact I can think like my old self without cobwebs of fractured ideas to murk up connectors and receivers.  So many times I started conversations and abandoned them willingly because the effort was greater than the result.  My social self was mired in fatigue and Pop Tart crumbs.

My physical body could hardly will itself off my own driveway as my sharks children circled and begged to go to the park.


My machine needed serious attention and for the first time in a very long time, I'm beginning to feel like myself again.