On the Ranch

Oh man. We had the perfect day one time. We took the kids to a nearby ranch. Edmond got to hold hands with Abbey and her friend and they ran all over the place. I stalked them and took pictures. But mostly I stayed nearby because ponds and children make me nervous.

And Charlie walked around admiring the horses and smiling at people.

Charlie is my little snuggle bug. He loves to put his head on my shoulder and cuddle with me. Today after his nap I picked him up out of his crib and he burrowed his head into my neck. I sat down in the glider in his room and we rocked. He didn't move but I could feel his eyelashes moving against my neck, and I could hear him breathing. Every now and then he would lift his head and switch to my other shoulder. I softly caressed his perfect little baby thighs and he played with my hair. I cherished the moment and prayed that I would always remember it.

Next week he starts nursery.

Time, please slow down.

Baby #3 Gender Reveal

Photo taken today - 5 months pregnant


"Balls. I see balls," I informed the ultrasound tech.

"Balls! Ha! You mean testicles?" she laughed at me.

"Yes. I see them."

"Well, I don't see anything yet. it's legs are crossed." She wiggled the ultrasound thingy around and pressed on my belly to try to get the baby to move. "Well, whatever it is, it sure is strong willed!"

"It's probably a girl then," contributed B.

Meanwhile my mind started to wander as I began to weave a tapestry of life with my three boys. Edmond, Charlie, and Henry. Henry, the blonde and blue eyed youngest boy. Henry, his brother's guinea pig. Henry, who wears lots of hand-me-downs and looks so much like his brothers that people stop to ask me, "Are they triplets?"

After much prodding , the ultrsound lady had me drink some cold water and lay on my side to see if we could get the baby to move. Finally, after we were nearly out of time, she snapped one last photo.

"There," she said, "it's a girl."

Silence.

Sniffing. (coming from me.)

Tears. (coming from me.)

B squeezed my hand and we looked into each other's eyes. A girl. A daughter. We had hardly dared to hope for one. A girl. Someone to bring balance to our boy house. A mini-me of my very own.

We pulled it together and said goodbye and thank you to the ultrasound lady. Then B left to pick up the boys and I left to go to a boutique close-out sale down the street to buy baby girl clothes. $125 later I came home to show B all the pretty outfits I found for her.



And I found B with his mini-me playing "Bad Birds, Naughty Birds" as Edmod would call it.

And poor Charlie is sick with a teething fever and teething pain.

The Couch

We caught wind of an amazing furniture store sale. We decided to go right when the store opened so we could beat the crowds. But even though we got there when the store opened, we still found that most of the merchandise had "Sold" signs on it.

However, we did find an amazing sectional for an amazing price. And even though we weren't in the market for new couches, we decided it was a deal that we couldn't pass up.

So, we said goodbye to the old couches...


And hello to the new one.

Welcome, Couch. We love you. Thanks for being so clean and bright and comfortable.

We actually were able to sell our old couches for the same price as the new one. It was one of those rare moments where things somehow worked out perfectly.

And Edmond wanted to show you his firetruck that Daddy drew him.

Hooray!

His Big Cousin

Baseball season is now over, and it's a bummer because we were having fun going to Chase's baseball games. I liked snacking on snowcones and red vines and chatting with Jenn. And, of course, watching the games...

Edmond likes riding on the scooter with Tanner.



They go super fast and take big jumps. Edmond just loves it, and Tanner's a sport for hunching over like that and pushing him around.

On the Bikes

Charlie rides on the back of Mamma's bike. He could do this all day. He likes it when we go fast and the wind blows in his hair and takes his breath away.



Edmond rides his own bike and usually leads the way.

He likes to go fast, too.

We've spent lots of mornings wandering around our neighborhood on the bikes.

The Gross Kid

B took Edmond to the Father and Son's overnighter. I packed Edmond three outfits, two pairs of shoes, and two jackets for their 24-hour rendesvous. Edmond returned home wearing the exact same clothes he'd been wearing when he left the house the day before.

A white T-shirt and grey shorts. Only now they were covered in camping grime.

"Why didn't you change his clothes? Did he sleep in these?"

B was pulling camping gear out of the car. "He wouldn't let me change him! He wouldn't even let me put a jacket on him. He wanted to wear his white shirt."

"Well, it's not his choice! He says the same thing to me every day, but I just tell him he can't do x or have x until he puts on the clothes I give him."

B shook his head and continued to unpack the car. I looked over at Edmond sleeping soundly in his carseat and said quietly to B, "He looks terrible. How embarrassing."

B laughed and said, "Yeah, he was kind of the joke of the camp. He kept going up to other guy's who were eating their foil pack and saying, 'Please sir, can I have some food?'

I groaned and looked at my husband. "You let him be the gross kid?"

We all know there is a gross kid at every campout. The kid who's clothes are covered in food and snot and fish guts. The kid who jumped in the river during the first hour of the campout and has to wear dirty soggy shoes for the next four days. The kid with smore's in his hair. The kid who has to borrow everyone else's gear and food because he didn't pack correctly.

Just then Edmond, who was no longer sleeping, looked up at me to inquire, "Mom, am I the gwoss kid?"

"No baby. You're not gross. I was just talking to Daddy."

"Mamma, don't call me 'baby'. I'm not a baby."

"Well then, what should I call you?"

"Call me 'big boy Edmond'."

"Ok, Big Boy Edmond. Let's go take a bath."

What I will say if she dares

Our new ward is wonderful. There are TONS of young families that will meet us for play dates at parks like these. There are a lot of older people as well because we have some retirement communities in our area. We generally arrive to church about ten minutes early so we can get a good seat for our family. A "good seat" for us means not in the very back on the hard chairs in the gym because our boys would never sit still if they were surrounded by so many escape routes, but not too close to the front because we don't want to be a distraction to the speaker.

Last Sunday we arrived at our usual time, sat in our usual seat, and began our usual routine of trying to keep the three-year-old and the one-year-old happy, reverent, and quiet. Things were going great. No one was crying or whining. Edmond was sprawled on his Father's lap while Daddy softly tickled his face with his tie, and Charlie was pushing a tiny tractor on the bench and making little baby sounds. I tried to clear my mind and focus on the speaker. His words were finally clearing away the clouds of distraction in my brain when I felt the heat of someone's eyes boring into the side of my face. I turned to meet her gaze and found an elderly woman sitting in front of me. I automatically smiled at her, and then realized she was scowling at me. I tried not to be offended, I decided she probably didn't intend to look at me that way, and I pretended to direct my attention back to the speaker.

The woman kept staring. I stole a peak at her again out of the corner of my eye. This time she gave me the stink face again, then pointedly looked down at Charlie, then pointedly looked back at me. My jaw dropped a smidge as I realized what she was implying. Charlie was bugging her. The baby sounds he was making behind her were bothering her.

My mind raced as I pretended not to get her message and stared ahead of me at the speaker. Charlie's noises were NOT loud. He's a tiny little person, making tiny little sounds. And it's sweet. He's always making sounds. Does she seriously want me to take him out?

One quick look in her direction confirmed that yes, she did.

I stared at the speaker who's words were empty to me. There was only one voice I could hear and it was my own. "Oh, no. There is no way I am going to back down to this old grouch."

And so I stood my ground, ignoring her silent messages and her stink eye, although she tried her best to get through to me. I was hoping she would just verbalize her complaint so that I could sweetly turn to her and say, "Oh, he's fine! Maybe next time you should sit closer to the podium, where there are less children. Or how about turning up your hearing aide just a smidge?"

I know. I'm cruel and heartless. But I had every right to be there. I spend the 2nd and 3rd hour of church roaming the halls with my 17-month-old, my growing belly and my high-heels. There was no way I was taking my kids out during Sacrament meeting if they were being good.

Well, hopefully she learned her lesson and she won't sit by ME again. And if she ever dares to tell me that she has a problem with my baby's chatter, well, she's not going to like what I have to say.

Waiting for the Train

Once a week the train rides for little kiddies are free. That's the day we show up.

That night I was working on Edmond's quiet book. He approached me as I was cutting felt to inquire, "Mamma, can I help you? I'm a really good help..."

I raised my eyebrows and looked over at him with my scissors open mid-cut. I spend a lot of energy these days hiding my laughter. My ignorantly hilarious child must know that his mother takes him seriously. And so I swallowed my mirth and put down the scissors. I turned and put his cheeks between my hands (I do this any chance I get) and said, "Yes! You are such a good helper! I love it when you help me!"

And so I gave him his kid-friendly scissors and some scrap pieces of felt. He was in heaven for about ten minutes, then lost interest and wandered off to find his "soda truck", a large cardboard Coca-Cola delivery truck that has seen better days but for which he has an inexplicable devotion.

I love my little helper.

And as for Charlie, you should know that if you were to ask him what the duck says, he will smile, lower his baby voice to an alarmingly low octave, and tell you in a scratchy little man voice, "Kwaa kwaa kwaa."

None of us can hide our laughter when he does this.