Motherhood, an honest rambling confession:

      I look like Rachel Maddow. No really. I am rocking her hair and by "rocking" I mean rolling out of bed looking like a fourth grade boy. The other day I managed to put on mascara and my husband told me I looked nice when he got home. "Nice" is now determined by real pants and mascara. Wow. Low point? Then I have to remind myself that no, I am actually miles away from bottom. I've been to bottom. Its a dark ugly place. There is no mascara at the bottom and there certainly aren't real pants. See, I'm a mom. I'm a REAL mom. I'm not going to bullshit you about how wonderful it is. I love my kids, they are wonderful, but day to day its pretty trying being a mother. I used to be a real person. With nice clothes, cute hair, actual makeup, and friends. I used to love art and music and local beer. Hubby and I were cool once. Now we're just old.
      I think when you have kids your memory of that other life you had should be erased. I think people would be happier and they certainly wouldn't wonder at least once a week, 'why the hell didn't someone warn me about this?!' I recently discovered the new Nelly song and I loved it and I wasn't even embarrassed like I knew I should have been, because well, at some point that becomes the new cool. The standards have been lowered. Remember when 8pm was go time? Getting ready to go out time? 4pm is like 8pm now and 8pm is like 1am. By 8pm B and I have both changed to our pj pants and are holding down separate ends of the couch, each of us holding an Ipad and our newest Netflix show queued up. This is my life.

      I have three sons. All they want to do is fight and eat. And play ball in the house. The little one doesn't do much of any of that yet. But he is constantly watching his big brothers and I know he is taking notes. He's just waiting for his body to cooperate with all the big troublesome plans he's got.  My two year old tells me the same knock knock joke ten times a day and I go along with it. "Mommy, knock knock." "Who's there?" "Ice" "Ice who?" "BOOK!" and then he laughs and laughs. The "joke" is driving me crazy but the laughter makes it worth it... to a point. The four year old, well, he can't stand me. I'm just the person he has to spend time with until his beloved father gets home from work. I'm the one who wipes away the "I miss my daddy" tears and plays cards and bakes cupcakes but he never lets me forget, I am number two in his book. It used to bother me more than it does now. I'm glad he loves his daddy in such a special way. But he needs to work on his honesty. As in, telling less of it. "I love you buddy." "I know." "Do you love me too?" "Yeah, but not as much as I love daddy." ::eye roll:: Wish I would have known that before I carried you for what felt like a year covered in Pupps in 100 degree Texas humidity. Oh and then you know, a day of laboring and then an emergency c section. Whatevs dude.

       So yeah, I have completely lost myself in these children who like me sometimes. I don't recognize myself in the mirror. I can hear my 17 year old self saying, "You mean we're going to get even fatter?!" Yup. Just something to look forward to sister. Oh and the stretch marks from carrying said children. How about how I always joke about drinking so much wine and needing so many margaritas? I hardly ever drink. I can't remember the last time I bought a bottle of wine because honestly, I'm too tired to drink. Too tired to drink?! Now my college aged self is appalled.

       My house is a mess, despite how much time I spend cleaning it up. It will never be clean. At least not for ten years or so. But I still just follow them around cleaning up the same messes they made yesterday. My favorite is when my husband looks around at a house that looks as though we've been robbed and says, "what did you do all day?" If looks could kill that man would have dropped dead years ago. It's not as easy as it seems it would be. The cleaning and cooking and lack of adult conversation. I've been a stay at home mom for two years this month and I am certain that I am becoming increasingly more socially awkward. I have nothing to say to any adult that they want to hear. And my knock knock jokes don't get many laughs these days...

      Truthfully, everything I've said is 100% accurate... but I don't care. I remember being a kid and thinking how uncool my mom was. And now? I think she's awesome. She gave up everything for me. No fancy clothes, no fashionable handbags or heels. She had mom hair, way too busy taking care of us to take care of herself the way she deserved. I thought that would change when we were grown but now she just does all those things for them.... for my boys. For her boys. My nearly 21 year old brother calls my mom almost everyday when he's away at school. She's the compass, helping us navigate our way through this crazy life. She was the only person I wanted to see last June. The only person I felt I could talk to. The only person I dared whisper "post partum depression" to and the only person I knew wouldn't turn away from me when I called her crying the words "Down syndrome." Our mothers are crazy and we made them that way, I am just in the middle of this transition from clueless daughter to crazy mother. I am at the point where all I want to do is fall into my mother's arms and say, thank you. thank you for loving me more than you loved yourself. thank you for never turning your back on me. thank you for being strong when I was weak. Thank you for letting me drive you crazy.

       Moms are not glamorous. They are not put together and stress free. I have more stress now than I ever did. Moms are lonely. Its hard to bear the weight of all the bad stuff. The preschool prep, the speech delays and potty training, and in my case the appointments. Therapy, specialist, pediatrician, therapy, specialist, specialist, specialist, another pediatrician. Being a mom is miserable. It feels like you're always failing. Your tears, their tears, your screams, their screams. It's all just one big mess. And then....

a two year old boy runs up to you with the most beautiful smile and hugs your knees and says "My Mommy!" Win.

a four year old smiles excitedly when you "speak" robot right on cue. Win.

an 11 month old baby beams up at you from his crib. He can not sit on his own. He can not eat without a feeding tube. He has tape marks on his face from his nightly oxygen. But his little face says so easily, "There she is.. my compass!"

Its a beautiful life and I wouldn't change a thing.

No, not even my hair.

It's Lent...

which means I've decided to give something up.... because let's face it I always need time away from something. Usually its wine but alas I am indeed knocked up... again. So that leaves Facebook, Celebrity Gossip and online shopping.... I guess I could have given up soda. But no soda or wine? Not happening so I went with Celebrity Gossip because since I'm in my safe place I will tell you just how pathetic my habit for that crap has gotten. The US Weekly app on my phone was getting way more play than any other even Bejeweled- hot damn! (Sidenote: When my iphone starts spitting out cash like the Bejeweled at the casino we will be set for life because I can rock that shit) B would get home from work and it went like this:
Me: How was your day?
B: Work talk... funny stories... eyerolls about work. How were things around here?
Me: Oh my god. Guess what?
B: What?
Me: Beyonce bought the lucite crib that I love! Baby Blue is already my hero. Then Kristen Bell was on Ellen and she was totally cracking me up! I still can't believe she's engaged to Dax but whatev they seem happy and you know I just want her to be happy. And then Angelina took Zahara to shop at Limited Too for a whole new wardrobe! Can you imagine running into Angie at the mall?! Apparently it caused quite a fuss.
B: Let me rephrase. How were things with our sons today?
Me: Oh. Good. You know. Good.


What a loser.

Its a WHA?

So here's the deal.
Wives tales- bull shit. Online baby gender quizzes- bullshit. Friends with claimed psychic powers- bullshit. (Yeah that happened)

So this is how my ultrasound went down today:
Ultrasound Tech: "Are we finding out the gender of your baby today?" Starts squirting the gel on the scanner o' power.
B: "Yes and she'd like to know as soon as possible." Motioning to me and chuckling at how funny he ISNT.
Me: "Yes please!" And I lay back all calm and collected and think about the fact that just this morning I dangled my wedding ring over my belly with a piece of yarn and it went in a circular motion for the third time. Bitch, I dont need your power tools. I got my own power tools and they say girl. I got this.
Tech: As she's putting the nastiness on my bump "What do you have at home?"
B & I: Two boys.
Tech: 45 seconds later "Whelp! There's the penis."
Me: Jaw dropping to the floor...... at this point I would have started thinking maybe she can't see clearly because I know its a girl....except that the photo she's taking is so clear that it will embarrass him later in life. Him. He. Penis. Three. Boys.
B: Turns to me nervously, squeezing my hand and reading my mind.....

And that's how the shit went down. So as a recap I will soon enough be the mother to three sons. Whom I adore, because let me tell you they love me. I am like Home base. Be all, end all. I dont want you B I want the real deal, I want my mommy kind of love.

But the moral of the story is this: Boys are good. Wives tales are bullshit.

ps I've decided I've been given all of these men because growing up I was (and essentially still am) Boy- crazy... God's like oh you like boys? I'll show you boys...

Sick...

I have the stomach flu. Couldn't sleep. It's 2:41 am I'm eating saltines and sobbing to the damned Say Yes to the (Effing) Dress.....

*$#!*&#!(*@!#@!

Is it the 26th yet?

Fancy Meeting You Here...

So... Since I have no readers I think its a little silly to apologize about my absence but I will say in my defense that I'm a busy woman. Busy how? You might be asking yourself- remember how I told you I really wanted to grow my hair out? Well I've been busy growing my hair out... and growing my third baby. My bump says hey what's up.

When you're pregnant people say "Oh! Do you want a boy or a girl?" and then you rub your bump and say "Oh! We just want a healthy baby!" And that is always true of course and ALWAYS the most important thing. So that's what I said. The first two times. Now when people ask I say, "Of course I want a girl!" I have not hidden my preference well this time, because frankly its the first time I've had a preference. The fact is this is my last baby and I do want a daughter. I called my best friend one day and asked her if I'm a terrible mother for being so obvious about my need for pink. She assured me that I'm not a terrible mother that we'll reconveign on the subject if I have a boy and start dressing him in girls clothes. Fair enough. And that is why she's my best friend.

Speaking of girls. If you're pregnant and you're begging God for a girl. (Like every night when you go to bed and all you can think about is decorating a girl's nursery, or picking out hair bows and leggings or having a relationship with a little girl like the one I cherish so dearly with my own mother ..... oh god that's like a whole other post.) Anyway, if that's ever you do not.... ever.... stay up until 2am watching 'Say Yes to the Dress' and sobbing when the mothers and daughters find that perfect dress- or even worse when they bring the Father of the Bride and he's the one crying. Agh! But I'm trying my best to put it out of my mind... at least for the next week and three days til the big gender reveal ultrasound... not that anyone is counting down or reminding every single person in her life of the count....

In other news... Baby A is coming to the end of his time as a 'baby' he's less than a month out from his first birthday and I'm heartbroken about it. There's something so special about my sweet baby. He and I have such a special bond. It makes me teary eyed just thinking about him following me around the house (almost walking!) and shouting my name "Ma Ma Ma Ma!" He is much more of a lover than a fighter which is why I was so surprised he bit his brother last week.
:-/ E was not sharing well and A let him know he wasn't happy about it....

What can I say? We're all a work in progress around here :-)

I'm with the band....

For those of you who don't know this is Fabrizio Moretti. I just call him Fab, for various reason I'm sure you can't figure out. He is the drummer for The Strokes. And I adore him. Sometimes I refer to him as my "boyfriend."
I also refer to Eduardo Verástegui, Charlie Hunnam, Marcus Mumford, Naveen Andrews and Henry Ian Cusick with the coveted title. (Even my husband has been known to refer to a guy as my boyfriend! Such a good sport that one.) You should know that the title of Pretend Husband lies solely with the beautiful Jeffery Dean Morgan. Or Jeff if you're me, the Pretend Mrs. Morgan.... talk about a coveted title. I digress because clearly you get the point and now I really want to go watch Grey's Anatomy reruns.

There is a point: I told you guys about my "boss" on free night. He just turned 21 and he is so precious. I imagine one of my boys wearing their hair shaggy like him and what is with these boys and the tight pants? It's like he's wearing leggings, but he's so nice that as a mom I don't care. And he likes really good music. Like good music. And he blasts it in the back room and we all act like we don't see the other dancing. A couple weeks ago we were jamming to The Strokes and I made a comment about Fab my boyfriend.

Fast forward to last night:
"I told my best friend you dated one of The Strokes. He thinks you're the most awesome person in the world now. They're his favorite band. He wanted me to ask which guy it was."
You can imagine my face right about now. I waited for two beats.
"You know I was joking right?"
"No!"
I am an idiot. Note to self: Not everyone gets the sense of humor. Or your affinity for celebrity men.
"If I'd actually dated Fabrizio Moretti I wouldn't work here... I'd just be off somewhere being awesome!" He and I both had a good laugh about it. And when I stopped being mortified I realized something. He thought I dated......

this???????????????

I take it back... I take it all back...

I want my hair back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I tried loving it. I even tried liking it. Now I'm trying to hate it less. It sounds silly to say I worked my ass off to grow my hair out because in reality I did nothing but wait.... and wait... and wait... for two years but it was finally at the point that when I looked in the mirror I got to think, "YEAH! It's the perfect length!" And then my hormones had to get all crazy because having a baby wreck you physically and emotionally isnt enough he also has to cause you to lose your hair like George Costanza. No. Really. Good thing I'm head over heels for my littlest guy. My nickname was "Wookie" for the three months it took B to convince me that it was "time." Don't worry I've been guilt tripping him as often as I can manage without pissing him off. The real turning point for B was when one of my long and luscious hairs got wrapped around three of the baby's toes. Now I'm a bitch but I would never want anything to happen to my child because of my hair. So I cut it. Wait- more like chopped it. The good news is that Baby has all of his toes intact, there is not more cursing when B showers after me and I dont have to spend half hour blow drying all of that hair that I busted my ass growing. I do however have to spend thirty minutes with a hot iron trying to tame my "wash n'go" style..... or I just walk around lookin a hot mess. hmm.... I wonder which usually happens. In an even more entertaining note I found myself saying to B "Instead of waiting another year, let's just hurry up and have our third (and planned to be final!) baby so I can grow my hair out." To which he said, "I'm going to go ahead and pretend you didn't just suggest we have a baby so you can grow out your hair." Ugh...

I'm alive!

Hi. I'm still here. Yippee for you right? Seriously though I have been busy. But I don't know what I've been doing. Hmm. The life of a housewife (stop giggling). So there are two things on my mind... drum roll please....

1) Hubby turns 30 tomorrow err.... right now. I know- he's ancient. He hasn't so much as glanced this thing yet (remember, 'you should write a blog, it would be hilarious!'?) anyway, he's not seeing it so I can tell my two readers that my husband is old. Like dirt. I don't really care, I'm so looking forward to the big 3-0! I have always felt that your 30's 40's and 50's are when you really live life. Your career (hehe) takes off, your family life really begins, and you realize that you're the only one who doesn't like your hair- or even notices your hair really. You're you so just live with it. B on the other hand is all "why do you insist on saying that number?!" Because that's all it is, a number! I make the dirt joke for one reason- when I met B he was 21. That math makes me feel old as dirt! Last week he said "How did we know all those years ago that we'd still like being together? We're still best friends, we still have fun. How did we know?" B is not a sensitive guy, that was a big statement for him but he's right we're still having fun. Its just that now sometimes that fun involves me laughing at him for asking for the fourth day in a row, "Am I losing my hair?" :-)

2) This isn't even a 'sidebar' conversation so bare with me... I hate my living room. As in it makes my skin crawl. Which is unfortunate since it's kind of my office these days. I keep telling B it would be different if he would let me buy new furniture, then I get the side eye and keep online shopping in silence and disgust. The truth is we're able to live comfortably on one income but in this house 'comfortable' doesn't involve $7000 French sofas.... what's that saying about champagne taste and beer budget... yeah you guessed it I'm beer... I'm freakin Natty Light with a horrendous living room. I am also not a moron. (Stop acting so surprised you guys.) I don't believe in financing that crap, especially with two kids and a perfectly good working if not good looking couch.

Free night....

So here's the deal: when I left my job as a Starbucks store manager I was able to stay on with the company part time. When I say part time I mean five hours a week.... from 7p-12:30a. One night a week (or two nights if I'm really lucky) I do not have to change diapers, wipe noses or load that friggin' washer. So last night was my 'free night' which is a sad way to refer to a job but none the less I do and this is my safe place so don't judge me. I'm making lattes and looking forward to my ten minute break when I get to drink a free Frappuccino and read a book without any guilt. Did I mention free Frappuccino?
I knew I was doomed when my 'manager' (he's twenty one and I helped hire him into the company last year because I thought he was precious and now he tells me when to go drink my free drinks) tells me that B is on the phone. Let me just tell you I thought hell had frozen over. B never calls me at work- EVER. I get on the phone and its worse than hell... its an all out screaming bloody murder baby. Screaming over said baby B says, "You have to come home! I don't know what to do! Something is wrong with your child!" Oh no. He's no longer our child but 'my' child, this is serious. In an absolute panic I find someone to cover for me (I absolutely love the partners at my new store. They rock and make free night a blast. Or maybe I like them simply because they can go pee on their own and don't beg to watch Cars over and over and over....) and jump in my car. By this time I have the husband and screaming baby on my cell phone. As I start pulling out of the parking lot something miraculous starts happening. Bloody murder baby stops crying and becomes happy smiley baby... because his Mama is on speakerphone.
I get home and pick up the again crying child. B glares and mumbles inappropriate things as the beautiful child smiles at me as if I am Jesus himself. His little eyes were red and swollen from all the missing Mama tears but his little heart is happy because here she is in all her coffee smelling glory- Mama to put him to bed. Little adorable jerk face. Didn't anybody tell you its free night? I didn't even get my Frappuccino...

More goin on than just baths...

So now that Father's Day is behind us I feel I should be honest.... the sink that the guys installed.... doesn't work.

Yep. Mama is rinsing dishes in the bathtub until Thursday... that's when the part that got 'broken' during the installation is expected to arrive UPS. Please God let it be here Thursday because in my opinion the bathtub is for, you know, bathing. Crazy right?

On a positive note I promise not to take the proximity of my kitchen sink to the dishwasher for granted again. At least for a little while.

Happy Daddy's Day!

So here's the deal.... parenting is hard. I mean sometimes it is HARD. And our oldest isn't even three yet so come back in fifteen years and I can only imagine what I'd have to say. I don't think it was a mistake when God created woman and man because this is definitely a two person gig. Even if its just taking turns walking said two year old back to time out.
My point is: I am so lucky to have such a great partner in parenthood. From the moment that I met B he told me he wanted to be a father and not to brag, but he's pretty great at it. E is an absolute mini daddy. If daddy does it it's the thing to do. That being said B gets the side glance a lot- like the other day when E apologized for holding his "junk" on the way to the potty. Wow Daddy. Now in hindsight I give it a chuckle because again- parenting is hard (don't even get me started about how E refers to himself as Lady Gaga sometimes- Nice one Mama). Brian also manages to juggle having two boys that demand his attention, a job that demands his time and a wife who demands his money (what? I thought we were being honest!).
So short and sweet- the boys and I are lucky to have him! I try to tell him as much as I can just how thankful I am for his love, support & friendship and for giving me the opportunity to make raising our children my purpose.

*edit*
So I started this post on Saturday night and am finishing it on Sunday night... anyone want to guess how my wonderful husband & dad spent Father's Day afternoon?
...............putting a new kitchen sink & faucet in our kitchen because it kept spraying me in the face......... even on their special day they manage to take care of us. :-)

June is more than just a month...

So let me just kick this thing off by acknowledging the obvious: I am well aware that every third person in this world is now a blogger. Some of my best friends have wickedly entertaining blogs. So don't think that I am here to enlighten the world. I'm not. I'm here to create a journal for myself, my sons, my husband and any of our friends and family that are slightly interested in hearing about our adventures. This is for me.

That being said let's get on to June. No not the month... the other more famous one...


I recently became a stay at home mother or as they called it back in the day a "housewife." HA! I know. The word itself terrifies me. I am outspoken. I have been lovingly referred to in a derogatory term that rhymes with itch. And I like it! I'm a feminist. My husband and I bicker every single day because I am right and he is wrong. There is no "yes dear" in my marriage (even though I admit sometimes there should be- or at least a firm handshake and a truce) I am not June Cleaver. I've entered into a whole new world that I once thought myself incapable of enjoying. Don't get me wrong, I adore my sons and love my husband dearly, but I am a woman that likes working. I had a job I really loved (ok they all have their days- but mine was pretty great) and I had the pleasure of managing a staff of amazing people (friends). Now the only thing I'm managing is our new front loaders and a pail of cloth diapers... we'll get there... I'm not going to scare you in the first post. (Read: Diaper sprayer) So I am the new Household Manager aka I do the dishes, clean the toliets, wash the diapers, and cook the meals- oh!- and I run the budget... that part I enjoy a little too much however. So I'm toting the line today as I line up the ingredients for my Hubby B's favorite dessert on the kitchen counter. I know June would be proud and I'm drinking a beer... because I'm proud too.