And the youngest child thinks we are heathens…

Jun 15, 2011 // by Jen // OurBlogs // Comments Off

Well, we have officially kicked off summer break! The kids and I met Auntie B at our favorite beach for fun in the sun and sand in our pants. Long gone are the days of Matthew being afraid of the sand (which I secretly loved because he would perch on the end of my lounge chair and happily watch the goings on around us, contained by his fear of that gritty floor) now he is only slightly timid about the water. The older two spent the majority of the time laying on the edge of the water letting waves crash over them. This is of course the part of the waves that churns the sand up like a blender, then depositing it in the tops and bottoms of unwitting children so that when they stand up their bottoms sag like the old days before swim diapers. We usually try to get lunch in before the sand completely envelopes them, a futile effort of course. Matthew is ready to dive into his sub hands coated like sugared doughnuts when I stop him. I tell him to go rinse off his hands in the water and he looks at me like I have sprouted a second head. Mary takes the lead and brings him to the water and I watch like its a silent movie. She gestures to him, he stares at her. She immediately drops to the ground and covers her own hands in sand, as a visual aid, and goes to the water and rinses her hands. Simple enough. He is still staring at her like she has just lost her mind. She just shakes her head and shrugs at me like “that’s all I got Mom”. She admits defeat and heads to the towel to eat her lunch. After a few minutes he finally gives in to the lack of civility and washes his hands off. A man’s gotta eat after all….

It's never easy letting go…but come on!!

Mar 4, 2011 // by Jen // OurBlogs // Comments Off

I am an emotional freak. I cried over plastic cutlery today. I have the hardest time letting go of things as my youngest child grows out of them. He is my last, and I am grasping at everything I can as though my life depends on it. I was washing dishes and realized that the while the kids still used the plastic animal shaped forks and spoons, Matthew prefers the metal, grown up, kind. Recap, he is the youngest. The logical side of me said “they don’t need these, it’s just more dishes to wash”. However the predominant side of me, the emotional, sentimental mess, immediately welled up with tears. Heaven forbid I find a onesie that somehow got shoved into a corner in the linen closet. You will find me on the floor, smelling it and hugging it and rocking back and forth. I don’t think I want to have a baby every two years for the rest of my life but I resent the hell out of the fact that I can’t. I still have my sling, I was just about ready to hand it off to my girlfriend whose first baby just turned one and still gets picked up a lot. Just the other night though, our next door neighbor invited us over to his yard after bedtime to enjoy a fire. The little guy woke up and wanted to come outside too. I knew he was soon to crash but not watching out the window. So I said he could come out but only if he stay in the “sling a ding”. I knew he would want to be picked up most of the time and it saves my back and arms. He said “yeah, mum, sling a ding!” and so it was and he fell asleep just like when he was tiny. I contemplated hanging onto it but visions of myself with a college student hanging off my hip (not in a good way at all) popped into my head and logic and sentiment began that familiar battle again. My need to share “the awesome” I’m sure will prevail and I will hand over my very, absolute favorite baby gear. My husband will be ready that day, I’m sure, with Margarita fixings and a very absorbent shirt…