You know, three kids really hasn't been so bad so far.

Now, there have been moments... like the week after we came home from the hospital and went to pick up Ethan at school... I had a horrible migraine-like headache, so my MIL (that'd be mother-in-law) was driving. About five minutes from school, Sam started crying... which made my head start ripping apart at the seams... and then Laney started crying... which made the skin peel off my face... and then Laney threw up because she got so upset -- about nothing serious, may I point out, because she just didn't want to put her drink in her cupholder... WHAT?!?! -- which made my gag reflex kick into super-turbo-overdrive.

On top of all of that, we still had to sit in line for 20 minutes with two screaming kids (one which reeked of barely digested Chick-Fil-A).

That was possibly one of the worst moments of my life.

Anyway, so far it has been relatively peaceful. Sam is growing so fast -- I can hardly believe he'll be five weeks old tomorrow!

Thankfully, he hasn't lost his sweet, laid back temperament yet... unlike his sister, who is, at this moment, flipping out -- full-on screaming and crying -- because it's not time for Dora yet.

Like I can help that.

Anyway, Laney and Ethan have been in rare form lately, and I'm beginning to wonder if, somehow, their bizarre behavior is not because we're their parents.

Now, some behavior, I will not take responsibility for. This morning, for example, at 7:45 a.m., Laney and I were driving back from dropping E off at school, and Laney starts chanting like Rainman that she wants to moo.

This is all my dad.

It seems that when my dad took Ethan to school, they would drive by the big cow fields (like there aren't fifty of those around our house). Toad would roll down the windows, so Ethan could hang his head out and yell, "MOOOOO!!!" at the cows.

When we'd pass the big fields on our way to or from anywhere, E would clamor about wanting to moo, and so finally, I caved... and it was hilarious!

Cows make me laugh anyway because they're kind of wall-eyed and bumbly... but their reaction to this big-headed kid hanging out the window of my MV yelling "MMMOOOOO!!!!" at the top of his lungs was so funny. They definitely didn't know what to think and were extremely concerned.

I imagine those cows on the California cheese commercials talking...

Since then, the kids -- both Ethan and Laney -- are obsessed with mooing... so much so that every time we get in the car, one of them mentions going to moo.

Now, we've probably single-handedly reduced the milk production around here by 50% -- the cows look absolutely disturbed and probably don't give any milk.

Anyway, here we are @ 7:45 a.m., and Laney is hanging out the window like a happy dog, hair unbrushed and wearing only a summer pajama shirt and pull-up because she changed her clothes in the middle of the night, yelling "MOOOOOO! MMMOOOOO!!!" at the top of her lungs.

I take no responsibility for teaching them that.

On the other hand, some things are my fault, like their incredible silliness, which I encourage because it makes me laugh.

Take a gander at these pictures:

These are Ethan & Laney's sketch-o Halloween costumes. This year, they are going as Velma and Freddy of Scooby Doo fame while Emma and Reece, their beloved cousins are dressing up as Daphne and Scooby. Sam, because no one makes Scrappy Doo or Shaggy costumes for babies, is going as the proverbial monster that must be apprehended.

Now, I knew it would be funny, but I had no idea how funny. Laney (aside from the dirty face) actually kind of looks like Velma, and while Ethan doesn't look anything like Freddy, the wig in itself is enough to crack me up for days.

I can't wait to see the whole gang together!

(And yes -- the MV is going to be the Mystery Machine... well, at least a modern version without the crazy paint job BUT including a nice ding on the side from the mailbox that I hit this summer. :-))

When I dress them up like this and laugh, I can't help but think they may be the way they are because of my distorted sense of humor...

The First Step...

I hear, is admitting that you have a problem.

My name is Amy, and I am a Facebooker.

Holy cow. I don't think I've ever been so addicted to anything besides that chocolate cake that my girl Kelley brought last week.

I didn't even have a FB account until this summer. After a dinner with my peeps Tanya (who lives in one of those states with lots of tornadoes) and Laura (who lives here with me -- well, not in my house, but in the area) and I decided that we were going to do a better job of keeping in touch.

They both had FB pages at the time, while I did not.

I tried to get in on the MySpace thing, but I never really got it up and going... too much work for me.

Sidenote to panic attack: The last time I got on my MySpace page, my cousin Lindsey (who is the apple of my eye) tried to help me find a background to suit. Since I l.o.v.e. shoes, I thought I'd find one with cute shoes.... and I did -- a leg/foot in a red stiletto on a black & white background -- very chic....

Or at least, I thought it was... until I posted it to my page and realized it was more Hooker-in-Red-Stilettos than I-Love-My-Red-Stilettos. When it posted, the little bitty thumbnail picture turned out to be a large picture of a lady's leg encased in fishnet stockings, standing in what appeared to be a very sassy pose in front of a man's pants legs.

About the time that I recovered from my shock and tried to delete it, the connection was lost, and I didn't get to take it down.

When I started this post, I remembered that, so I tried to log on. My school kids use MySpace all the time, and the last thing I need is for them to think their English teacher is some kind of dominatrix.

The problem started when I pulled up my page -- and the background was gone.

Now, that means one of two things:
1 -- I took the background off.
2 -- I have two MySpace pages, and I can only remember the log in to one.

I'm thinking it may be the latter because I am prone to forgetting log in info and then creating another account.

This makes me panic because you hear horror stories about companies and employers searching MySpace for their employees. Now, there's nothing on my page, but still... it's not like I want my students or co-workers or -- Heaven forbid -- my principal or superintendent to pull up my page and see that.

ANYWAY -- back to Facebook.

So, Laura and Tanya tell me I need to get a FB page, and I oblige. At first, because I didn't know how it worked, I wasn't too obsessed.

I checked it pretty much every day and doodled around here and there with games, but it all exploded when I got home from the hospital on maternity leave.

I think it's because I have had very little contact with adults other than K or my parents -- but I'm not really sure.

I also don't think it helped that we moved the computer downstairs... so now, while K watches 74 hours straight of TV, I can Facebook for 74 straight hours as well... and again when he goes to work... and again when the kids are napping... and again while dinner is cooking....

K, for the record, is annoyed. He has lodged minor complaints like, "Do you think you can get off Facebook long enough to help me load the dishwasher?"

No. Probably not. I might miss a chat.

To be fair, my contribution to household chores has significantly decreased since my obsession with Facebook began... not that my contribution was great, anyway.

I hate housework.

With a passion.

But still -- I don't see much difference between my obsession with Facebook and his obsession with TV... and movies he's already seen 97 times... or sleep.

I think we may have to sell our worldly possessions and become Amish in order to settle this fairly.

So, as it stands, I am addicted to just about everything. Gaming. Chatting. Messaging. So much so that I'm starting to recruit people to join FB just so I can talk to them.

Sigh.

I think it might be time for me to go back to school.

Excuses & Embarrassment

Well, I was going for a bigger record than 5 days, but then things started getting crazy...

On Monday, Clemson fired our head coach, Tommy Bowden, right about the time I started working on my blog. Needless to say, I totally got sidetracked and didn't make it past logging in.

On Tuesday, I went shopping with Mary, Laney, and Sam. By the time we got back and picked up Ethan from school, it was time to get ready for soccer. By the time that was over and the kids were in bed, I wasn't very coherent.

On Wednesday, Mary and I took Sam and Laney shopping again in order to finish picking up what I didn't get on Tuesday. Shopping with Mom & 2 kids sometimes takes longer than anticipated.

So here it is. Thursday. Let me tell you how my morning has started.

First, my house looks like one of those you see on "Clean House" or another of those intervention-type shows. After two days of shopping -- which involved carrying Sam in one of those baby-backpack type things and managing Laney the Diva--, I didn't feel like doing much... so I didn't. Last night, I decided that today would be cleaning day.

I intended for it to start early, but I fell asleep on the couch last night around 9:30. K apparently fell asleep shortly thereafter because at 3:30 this morning, Sam woke both of us up... and we were still on the couches.

K went to bed. I, having gotten 6 hours of sleep, was wide awake.

For the record, there's not much going on here at that time of night/morning.

So...I research nursery bedding (as we still haven't done anything to Sam's nursery) until my eyes cross and finally fall asleep somewhere around 5 am... only to have the cursed alarm clock go off at 5:30.

Have I mentioned that the alarm clock is on my side of the bed? That means I have to turn it off because nothing wakes up Narcalepto, my insanely sleep-talented husband.

About that time, Laney starts bellowing from the top of the stairs. She -- after a year of climbing up and down the stairs just fine -- picks this morning to develop a crippling fear of coming downstairs by herself.

BUT -- she fully intends to have someone come get her and bring her downstairs to get in our bed.

Any guesses who that someone might be?

I'll give you a hint: It was not Narcalepto.

Once we finally get settled, she snuggles up next to me and falls asleep (which totally makes me forget that she is a voracious beast because she is so precious when she sleeps)...right about the time I realize my arm is pinned underneath her.

I have no other choice but to try to fall asleep before my arm does because I know better than to risk awakening the sleeping goblin unless I want to wake the rest of the house as well.

I drift off to sleep, my sweet girl in my arms, only to wake up approximately 2.5 seconds later to the sound of the alarm, signaling time to begin the morning mission of ejecting Narcalepto from the bed.

I am only semi-conscious at this point, so I don't know if I said the nasty things running through my head or just thought them.

To make a long story a little shorter, I realize moments later that I had done nothing to get ready for today... so I had to squeeze last night's prep into this morning's lack of time and patience. After getting Ethan up, I proceed to break out my Super-Mom cape and find suitable clothes, make breakfast & lunch & coffee, sign papers, accomplish homework tasks, pack bags, brush hair & teeth, corral younger siblings, and get into the car.

Proud of myself, I glance at the clock as I pull out of the driveway to take E to school... and realize we may be late.

Unless I engage the turbo-boosters.

So I floor it.

The MV roars off into the sunrise as I try to dodge squirrels and morning walkers, and I think we may have made it as we careen into the school parking lot on two wheels, barely missing the crossing guard.

When we pull up to the drop-off area, other kids are getting out of their cars and going in... but the doors are closed and there are no adults there to greet them.

Ethan, the ever-eager beaver, hops out of the car and takes off for the door right about the time my inner-honor student kicks in, and I start to panic.

Should I walk him in? Is he going to get in trouble? Oh my gosh -- is he late or not?!?!

Still, other kids are skipping in with no parents, but Ethan is little. He's in kindergarten. What if he gets lost? Should I go in, just to make sure he's ok?

I cruise slowly by the front door, craning my neck to see if he's crying in the office or something while simultaneously holding up traffic. Finally, my inner-honor student wins, and I pull into a parking space to go check on him. I know he's already gone to class, but I just have to make sure I don't need to sign him in or something.

It is at this moment that I realize being late is only the beginning of my problems.

1-- I let Laney pick out her own clothes because we weren't going to be getting out of the car -- or so I thought. I can't, of course, leave her in the car while I run into the school. Not because I am responsible but because she follows directions about as well as the tree in our backyard, and I have no doubt that she would wait until I got in the school to let herself out of the van and go play in traffic.

I say all of that to say that Laney is wearing a long-sleeved, multi-colored, striped, velour shirt embellished with a butterfly. The top itself is cute, but when paired with plaid shorts that are too small so her belly hangs out over the top and scuffed white tennis shoes with no socks -- not to mention her CRAZY morning hair-- the look is not flattering.

2 -- Sam's blanket does not match his outfit. (While not a big deal to most, please remember that I am a little OCD about things matching or at least complementing... and the outfit/blanket faux pas is bad -- navy on the outfit while there's black on the blanket -- huge problem for me. I am president of the Black and Navy Do Not Go Together club.)

3 -- I have not brushed my teeth.

4 -- I have a ball cap jammed on top of my unbrushed hair...which I wore curly yesterday... which translates to a rat's nest today.

5 -- (This is by far the worst.)
I am wearing a Tiger Town Tavern tshirt.
Leftover from my 21st birthday.
Which was 10 years ago.

Now, I love this tshirt. It is one of the most comfortable items of clothing that I own. It is not, however, something I wear out in public. First, it is ragged. Second, it has holes. Third, the back is decorated with a large tiger lounging in an even bigger beer mug framed by the words "21st BIRTHDAY! I'M LEGAL!!!"

This is not the way I want to present myself to the office staff at my son's school.

I have no choice, however, because I am paranoid that he won't be admitted to school because we were late.

I take a deep (unbrushed teeth) breath and get out of the van. After I unbuckle Sam, who is unable to defend himself in light of the outfit/blanket fashion disaster, I get Laney the Ultimate Fashion Victim out of the car and start across the parking lot.

I'm pretty sure the other parents were staring, pointing, and taking pictures with their cell phones to forward to their friends.

I am mortified.

While I have relaxed my personal appearance standards since becoming a mom, I am not a sloth, and I do not make public appearances while inappropriately groomed. I brush my teeth. I at least pull my hair up in a casual-yet-somewhat-chic bun or ponytail. I don't put on full make-up, but I at least throw on some clear gloss and powder.

And I don't wear shirts with big beer mugs on them to any sort of school function.

Not only that, but my children look like I just picked them up from the homeless shelter... which is where I probably left them while I went out trolling bars and picking up ratty tshirts.

The walk across the parking lot is bad enough. I hope that I can just duck in and duck out without garnering any more attention, but of course, that would be too easy.

And, so, it gets worse.

The first set of doors of the school lead into a small foyer, where there are a second set of doors and a door to the office. The second set of doors stays locked during the school hours, so all visitors really have to go to the front office.... meaning there are about 10 people in the front office at this point.

We walk in, and all of them -- including the kids -- turn around and stare.

I'm not kidding.

After waiting in line for what seems like hours, it is my turn to talk to the staff.

I can almost see the fright on their faces.

I start explaining why I am there and, in typical Amy fashion, become totally flustered because a) I realize I sound crazy and b) I know that I -- as well as my kids -- look crazy... and the women behind the counter are looking at me like they are ready to call the police while using the tones of voice that crisis negotiators use to keep crazy hostage-takers from going over the edge.

I try to explain that I dropped Ethan off in the drop-off zone right around 7:50 and watched him walk into the school, only to realize I might need to sign him in... but I don't see him, so I'm assuming that he's made it into school...

And I realize that I sound like I pushed him out of the car while driving by but came back to make sure he actually went into school instead of playing hooky to burn down a local barn or something.

The secretary gives the school nurse a look, and they both start looking through their sign-in sheets and pass booklets, saying they don't think they signed him in.

I know they didn't sign him in because he went on into the school; I just want to know if I need to sign him in anyway.

So I start trying to re-explain, which only makes matters worse, and Laney is standing there, making loud sucking noises on her pacifier (which I didn't take away from her before we left because she'd just gotten up), looking like the poster child for a charity case next to her me, her mother, who looks like an illustration out of the Bad Mom manual that DSS gives out... and finally I just stop talking.

I realize that people in the office are looking at Laney and Sam and thinking, "It's not their fault, bless them. Look at their mama!" (In my head, I hear them saying this in Mary's voice because Mary has much sympathy and compassion for disadvantaged children and much disdain for lazy, good-for-nothing parents... and I'm pretty sure these people think we fall into these categories.)

I want to say, "Look. I wasn't planning on getting out of the car. I dressed in ratty clothes because I'm going home to clean house. My kids are not homeless or disadvantaged. I am a clothes-nazi, and they've never made public appearances before today in mismatched clothes or with unbrushed hair. I don't drink excessively in college bars while my kids sit outside in the car. I am a teacher, with a college education, on maternity leave because I just had my third child in 5 years because I am Fertile Myrtle, and I've been up all hours of the night because I couldn't sleep, and I am not irresponsible or a bad parent or a social derelict! I'm just having a bad morning!"

Right before I open my mouth to begin my tirade, I realize that saying all of this will only make me look more guilty... and so finally, with the school nurse looking at me with concern from behind the counter, I just mumble my thanks, back out of the office (so as not to give anyone behind the counter a full view of the Tiger in a Beer Mug graphic), and practically run to the car, Sam and Laney tow, cheeks aflame.

I'm not sure, but I'm thinking I won't be asked to be a class mom this year...

Things I Am Not Prepared to Deal With...

There are some things for which one can find little-to-no guidance in the parenting books.

Ethan, being the astute age of 5, is starting to notice and/or comment on sometimes funny, sometimes awkward things that catch us off guard.

I started noticing this around the time that Pop died.

I wasn't sure what, if anything, Ethan would understand or remember. As it turns out, he remembers a lot, and in the months that followed, he would ask questions or make comments about memories of Pop, the wake, or the funeral.

As it happens, I don't have great in-the-moment reflexes, so I'd start crying (because 1) that seems to be the one emotional reaction I really cannot control and 2) I really miss my Pop), and then K would have to explain all kinds of fun stuff about why Mommy acts like a moron.

I hoped he would outgrow this stage -- and he has stopped asking about Pop -- but now it manifests in different ways... like last night at bath time:

"Daddy, I think there's a hole in my hiney. I'm pretty sure that's where poop comes from."

Correct -- Yes.
Awkward -- Um hmm.

Thank goodness he addressed this one to K.

Sometimes, though, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing... like this morning.

Ethan and Laney got up around 6:30 (see yesterday's post for important background). Sam woke up around the same time... which meant that I got up, too, while K slept.

Impressive talent, I know. I think he's part sloth because he's able to sleep for 47 straight hours.

Finally, after much breakfasting, cartooning, and talking, K joined us in the den.

Ethan: "Daddy, why don't you get up with the rest of us?"

K: (Momentary pause.)

E: (Staring at Daddy expectantly, waiting for an answer.)

K: (Finally) Because I'm lazy.

I, meanwhile, tried not to laugh out loud but wasn't terribly successful. I ended up having to fake a coughing fit.

The thing is, I need warning. I have what I call "Inappropriate Response Syndrome," meaning I usually react in the exact opposite way that I should... like when K practically dislocated his knee-cap on the foot board of the bed last week.

He doubled over in pain while I, again, tried to disguise my laughter as a coughing fit.

Didn't work.

I should mention that it absolutely infuriates K when my IRS shows up when he hurts himself. Two of the maybe three times I saw K lose his temper before we got married involved me laughing at the wrong time... once when he whacked his head on a nail at a public picnic shelter and once when he spilled an entire bowl of salsa in his lap at a restaurant.

I should also mention that the more angry he gets, the harder I laugh.

I really do try to stop, but it's like laughing in church or at a funeral. I just cannot control it.

This got me in a heap of trouble growing up... especially in church or when I got in trouble. Something -- usually absurd, like Fanny J. Crosby's name in the hymnal or the way my dad's eyebrow hair sometimes grows over his glasses-- would strike me as hysterical, and the laughter would just have to come out.

I thought maybe I would grow out of it, but it really seems to be getting worse and extending to other areas, such as saying things that I shouldn't... like telling Ethan to "clobber that kid next time he grabs your jersey."

I, uh, don't like for people to pick on Ethan. It makes me angry.

You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

(Sorry. I couldn't resist. I loved The Incredible Hulk when I was growing.)

Anyway, I'm really not that scary when I'm angry, but I do have a little trouble controlling what I say -- or sometimes even coming up with something to say -- if I'm caught off guard. I think Laney may have inherited this from me because she, too, doesn't respond appropriately when angry or upset or startled.

Me: "Laney, would you rather eat your dinner or go to bed?"

Laney: "Go to bed."

Who chooses that option?

Me: "Laney, if you don't put these clothes on right now, I'm going to pop your hiney!"

Laney: "Pop me."

Hello?!?!? No one is supposed to ask for that!

Sigh. It's going to be a long rest of my life...

FIVE WHOLE DAYS!!

Well, now.

How proud am I of myself?!?!

Five posts. Five days. AND a new look.

I'm not sure if I'm crazy about it yet.... I love the background, but it's hard to find a text color that shows up across the page.

Hmm.

Anyway, here it is -- Saturday @ the Jennings' house.

Pretty dang eventful, if I do say so myself.

It started this morning around 7 a.m. when Ethan came downstairs and got in bed... where I was sleeping, sitting up, holding Sam because he refused to sleep in his bassinet for more than, like, 4.2 minutes at a time.

Next came Laney, just a few minutes later...Yes, that's right. 5 people in our bed. Not ideal conditions for sleeping, unless you are K, who just rolled over and continued his peaceful slumber while Laney and Ethan fussed and argued and wrestled for "sleeping" positions.

I say "sleeping" because neither of them slept.

Obviously, I didn't get to sleep either.

Ethan whispered to himself. Laney sang. I tried to pretend I was asleep until Ethan pressed his nose to mine, at which point my claustrophobic tendencies came out and I had to move away so I could breathe. That disrupted Sam's sleep, so he started snorting loudly and sort of crying.

Finally, I just said, "To heck with it!" and got up. (I didn't say it out loud, however, because it would be something Ethan would pick up and start repeating... like he did with "Dadgummit!"... in Sunday School... except it came out "Damgummit!" instead...)

K at least waited until we were all out of the bed before he sprawled out across the sheet, still sleeping.

So, I made breakfast for the big kids... fed and changed the little kid... watched some cartoons with all three kids and Lindsey, my favorite little cousin/au pair... and still, Keith slept.

I showered, got dressed, got Ethan dressed, refereed a couple of fights, had meaningful conversation with Laney... and still, K slept.

FINALLY, right before I took Ethan to the birthday party, K got up and moved to the couch... where he's been for most of the day, watching football, while I dropped Ethan off, came back, fed & changed Sam, left with Laney and Sam and Lindsey to go pick up Ethan, ran some errands, took Lindsey home, visited with my parents, came home, fed Sam, checked on Ethan, took Laney to the potty, and Facebooked in between.

K is not asleep at this moment, but he is laying on the couch.

Still.

And, since LSU doesn't play until 8 pm tonight, the couch is where he'll stay until late tonight.

I thought we might actually accomplish something last week because both Clemson and LSU had Saturday off... but he developed a short-term infatuation with the other 12 teams that were playing that day...

Don't get me wrong -- I love some college football, and I do enjoy spending the day watching games... IF I could actually watch the games in peace.

Have I mentioned that we have three kids and that peace is not really something we have a lot of around our house?

In addition to some rare form of narcolepsy, I also think K has incredibly impressive selective hearing... as in he only hears what's coming out of the TV.

I love him, but sometimes, I think I may have actually married Bernie... as in the dead guy from "Weekend at...".

I don't see how anyone can block out that much noise and mayhem unless he/she is actually lacking a pulse.

As a result, though, I have developed my own sort of malady which doesn't have a technical name yet, but I believe it is equally annoying to K.

I call it the I-Don't-Cook,-Clean,-Or-Do-Anything-Productive-While-He's-Watching-Football disease.

It's crippling, really.

I can't seem to find the energy (or will) to do anything remotely related to housework... which means that around 6 pm tonight, K will rouse from his stupor to ask, "What's for dinner?" to which I will respond with " " accompanied by a blank look.

This will annoy him beyond words... although not quite as much as the imprint of his body on our sofa annoys me.

Yeah... he's asleep again... rough life, camped out on the couch, eating pop-tarts and holding Sam (who sleeps 20 out of 24 hours in a day...)... has to require sleeping in and taking 47 naps in one day...

I may have to resort to fifth-grade slumber party techniques, like dipping his hand in water and freezing his bra....

Four days; Four posts!

I really do think four days might be a record of in-a-row posts, and I'm so excited that I decided to celebrate by having cookies for breakfast. Yum!

Now, these are not your average cookies.

(For the record, I feel that I should've taken a picture of cookies -- plural -- since I'm writing about cookies -- plural -- but... I've already eaten all but this one. Sorry.)

Anyway, these cookies are honestly the best cookies I have ever put into my mouth... and this girl has had her share of chocolate chip cookies.

My friend Lindsay made these as part of a dinner that she brought for us in honor of Swimmer's arrival.

Now, Lindsay is known amongst our friends as the cook, which is something because we have quite a few chefs among us.

No one ever misses Bunco at Lindsay's house unless it's absolutely neccessary because Lindsay always makes the best food (and she's a fabulous hostess).

When we have events that require us to bring food, everyone always asks what Lindsay brought, and whatever the dish, it always disappears pretty quickly.

Anyway, when Lindsay brought these (packaged in a stack wrapped in clear cellophane and tied with a blue bow -- typical Lindsay presentation that looks like it came straight out of a magazine), I knew I'd have a hard time keeping K out of them.

I do love a good cookie, but K is, like, Cookie Monster compared to me. The man loves his cookies and milk more than any preschooler I've ever met...

Anyway, he got into them within minutes of getting home, and he said, "Wow! These are great!" but I kind of took that with a grain of salt because 1) Lindsay made them, so I didn't expect any less, and 2) K loves cookies but I don't trust his taste buds' discernment. He also loves Oreos, which make me want to vomit.

Anyway, I held off until yesterday. I noticed that K had broken a cookie in half for Ethan for a snack before dinner the night before (yes, I know -- Parents of the Year material for feeding our kid a cookie before dinner...), and I thought, "Hm. I think I'll finish that off."

Let me insert here that I fully intended to save the other cookies for dessert for dinner tonight.

Now, let's go back to the top of the entry where I stated that I'd eaten all but the one lone cookie pictured.

Obviously, I finished off more than just that half.

Once I took a bite, those cookies became a sort of obsession. I kept thinking about them yesterday until finally, I ate another... and then another last night... and then finished them off for breakfast.

Sidenote: This is the second food obsession I've had this week. Earlier, my cousin Paige and her mom brought a delicious dinner complete with cupcakes decorated with monogrammed flags inserted into each cake. Now, I love monogrammed things, and I love cupcakes, so you can imagine my sheer ecstasy at having monogrammed cupcakes!!!! So excited that I ate, um, most of them.

So, here I am, at 9:43 am on Friday morning, having polished off the rest of these incredibly fabulous cookies and a Diet Coke for breakfast, and now I have a dilemma:

What am I going to tell Keith?

I mean, honestly, the man won't be surprised. He's been married to me for almost 9 years; it's not like my appetite is really a secret. It's just that he says I always finish off the good stuff... chocolate chip pizza, pizza, good leftovers... before he has a chance.

He's not going to be pleased about the cookies.

In my defense, I tell him that if he wants something, he needs to let it be known. If you don't put your claim on something in the fridge, I feel like it's up for grabs... and I'll probably grab it.

Maybe I can get Lindsay to send me the recipe, and I can make some before he gets home....

Three Days in a Row

I'm pret-ty proud of myself. I'm going for a bigger goal, but I won't say what... don't want to jinx myself.

Anyway, you might've noticed that I've added some stuff to the layout... like a "Followers" section (feel free to jump on the bandwagon) and a "Blogs" section. FYI, Clemson Girls -- Whoorl is pretty much back to her normal self.

At any rate, I'm sure I had something in mind to write about when I started, but this football game on tv is doing a number on my concentration abilities.

I may, at any moment, go into cardiac arrest if somebody doesn't do something soon!!!

Will write more tomorrow when I can focus...

Ahhh Yeah....

Two days in a row! I'm going for a record....

First, I have to laugh because I snapped this picture of Laney this morning:

I fell asleep last night after dinner, and I didn't see what she picked out to wear to bed. (Have I mentioned that she's a little headstrong and that we go rounds over what she wears in public? I have relinquished the bedtime battle as long as she's not spending the night away.)

Anyway, sometime during the night, she came and climbed in bed with K & me, but it was dark. This morning, sometime way before I wanted to get up, the alarm went off, and I began my daily routine of trying to oust K from the bed.

(It goes something like this:

The alarm goes off at 5:30-ish.... Keep in mind, I just went to sleep after feeding Swimmer. -- (Me): Keith, get up.

(Keith): *muffled snarffle*

I hit the snooze.

This repeats every five minutes until around 6:30, when I finally lose patience.

"Keith! Get up right now! It's 6:30, and you're going to be late for work!"

I won't type what I really want to say... and I've tried all the alternatives... Putting the alarm clock on the floor across the room... putting the alarm on his side of the bed... not waking him up... setting the alarm later since he never gets up the first 564 times I try... none of it works... I've decided this is my curse in life.)

After I FINALLY got him to get out of bed, I got up and started getting Ethan ready. Sometime between 6:30 and 7:15, Laney decides to wake up. I was fixing Ethan's hair in the bathroom, when I hear this really annoyed little voice demanding, "Whah's mah pink banket?!?!"

(Translation: "What did you peons do with my pink blanket, and why isn't it waiting on me when I get up?! Off with your heads!")

The princess has arisen. Let the bowing down begin.

I turn and see her standing on our bed, hands on hips, in a white tank top and a pull-up, hair all askew, pacifier in mouth.

"Uh, is she wearing a wife beater?" I ask.

"I don't know." K answers. He's obviously a morning person.

"Laney. What do you have on?" I ask.

"Shaht, Mommy. Wid pig." (That'd be "A shirt, Mommy. With a pig on it.")

Oh. Um. Ok. Now, she's worn this before, but it has a cute little matching bottom that goes with it -- as in a matching set of pjs. In that context, it is not wife-beaterish, at all.

When paired with a pull-up... it's a little scary... like she's going to be the cover of Gretchen Wilson's next single, "Redneck Princess."

So, knowing my semi-conscious state of shock at her wearing a wife beater, you can imagine how much more shocked I was to come into the den to find her wrapped up in our cheetah print blanket.

Now, I love this blanket, and -- until the kids got a hold of it -- it was a lovely accent piece. Like the cute pig tank, when used in this fashion, it looks a little park-ish.

And I don't mean the kind of park where we go to play.

I'm thinking Laney could be a regular on "My Name is Earl."

It's Me, Again, Margaret...

Did anyone else listen to Ray Stevens growing up? Ah, those were the days... riding to school with my mom and brother, listening to our favorite Ray Stevens' tape... My favorite song was "Clyde the Camel."

Little makes me laugh harder than Ray Stevens making camel sounds.

Anyway, I'm way behind, I know with the whole posting thing, but now... now I'm on maternity leave.

Let the posting begin!

Obviously, a lot has happened since that last post way back in August.

First and foremost, Swimmer has arrived!!! Samuel ("Sam") Keith is here, and Ethan in 2-0 for baby predictions! We're going to pimp his talents on ebay to finance college for our growing brood of children.















Anyway, Sam was the smallest of our three at birth -- 8 lbs. 3 oz. -- but he's gaining weight at an oddly rapid rate, so we're sure he belongs to us. He likes to eat like the rest of the family.

Laney and Ethan are adjusting well to his arrival, as are we. He is a great baby -- sleeps anywhere from 3-5 hours at a time, eats, and then goes back to sleep... loves to snuggle... doesn't cry unless he's hungry or wet. Now if we could only get him to teach the other two those behaviors...



















The hardest thing thus far is explaining certain things. Even with the other two, there are certain things I just haven't been prepared for... like Ethan wanting to feed Sam... from his own chest.

That's a moment they don't cover in the Mommy books.

Fortunately, the vague "Only mommies can feed babies" explanation seems to have worked. I didn't want to scar the kid for life.


Laney, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be too concerned about present technicalities but is more confused by the fact that Swimmer is no longer in my belly.


















She keeps trying to communicate with him via my belly button (which she learned from Ethan, who swears that's how babies hear when they're in the belly), and I'm like, "Hello?!?! He's in the bassinet, not in the belly." She gives me this quizzical look -- "Are you serious?" and then we repeat this at least once a day, every day. I hope she'll give it up before she goes away to college.


Other than minor issues as such, things are going well. On occasion, K & I look at each other and wonder what we've gotten ourselves into... like on Saturday mornings when all twelve kids come bounding in at once and climb in the bed with us... or when we try to go somewhere in public (like Wil's football game last night) because it seemed like a good idea at the time..., but for every "WHOA!" moment, we have many more "Sweet!" moments... like when Laney bumbles over to Sam, kisses him, and proclaims in her best Princess voice, "I wub Sam so!"... or when Ethan tells people that he's going to teach Sam to read and play football and soccer.


All kidding aside, we really are blessed with an incredible family as well as amazing friends and relatives who have gone out of their ways to make Sam's arrival unbelievably special. We thank God every day for our blessings. Since most of the blog readers are also our peeps, that includes you guys. Thanks so much for all of the love, meals, gifts, and well-wishes you all have sent our way. We love you!