Little Lincoln?

To be perfectly honest, I did not have any thoughts, whatsoever, about who Baby No.5 resembled at our 20 week ultrasound. How can you really tell in those space-agey images if a kiddo looks like another kiddo or one of you two? I figured that arms up by the face (which pretty much all of our ultrasounds have looked like) was enough proof of being a Little Welschie and left it at that.

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And then I got a text from one of my dearest friends after she saw the image on FB that said, “That picture is SO Lincoln!” and when I went to look at it again, holy moly cow, I saw that she was SO right. Now I can’t see anything but Baby Lincoln’s little face and it is entertaining to think that our babe who did not resemble the others when born might end up with a little twin in November. In fact, I love it.

I mention all of this because I have actually been struggling a lot in the last couple weeks and the last time I remember being this constantly angry and discontent was the time April tried to do us in, the spring I was pregnant with – you got it – Lincoln. Do some of you remember the birth that month of Captain Cranky Pants? It’s a name I’ve come back to a time or four over the years, but I honestly don’t think it’s been quite so accurate of a connection until now. Because, whoa. Everything and everything is irritating the crap out of me these days.

The real culprit? Probably not a shocker, but my guess is sleep. The 4th of July put us behind and it’s not like I’ve ever really been ahead since, oh, mid-March, so I know I’m a very tired, fairly pregnant mama and I’m just not handling (any)things very well.

What occurred to me, beyond the CCP connection, relates back to something my OB said at my last appointment – the same one where that very image was captured by the ultrasound machine. We were talking about my going back to CO this month (sadly, I opted out because it was one thing I could take off my schedule, even if I didn’t want to, and the risk of another setback was just too much for me to take on, even if medically speaking, going wouldn’t have been an inherent risk for either myself or the baby) and I mentioned that I’m just so much more tired and worn down this time around, which led to her response of, “Yeah, you haven’t had an easy go of it with this one.”

Of course my immediate response was, “Oh, it hasn’t been that bad.” because tough as it’s been, I wouldn’t call this a bad pregnancy. But that’s not what she was calling it either. It’s not bad. But it certainly hasn’t been smooth sailing, and that’s where the still-behind-on-energy-and-appetite feeling, even at 21 weeks, comes into play.

The last time I heard her say something like that? Well, I tried to find it on the blog archives to verify and couldn’t, but I am pretty darn sure that she said something very similar during Linky’s pregnancy which was, yes, not easy. And then, as it did now, it took me a while for the reality to sink that if my obstetrician is pointing out the difficulty of my experience, perhaps it would be OK for me to acknowledge and accept that for what it is. And then, perhaps I could cut myself a wee bit of slack with the guilt over being a raging crank momster (error intended) and instead focus on doing what I can to get back to feeling good again.

Honestly, it might take some time. It might take 1,000 baby steps. It might take acknowledging and accepting that this too may just be a season in the tunnel that I have to ride out, because eventually this sweet Little Lincoln-clone is going to join us earth side and while I probably won’t sleep much in the immediate after (is it wrong if I start having daily convos with the bump promising favoritism if s/he comes out as our best sleeper ever? yeah? it is? darn.), someday I will again be rested and able to carve out a space for myself in our family of seven. And while I know that no human can be expected to never have some CCP flareups, I also know that eventually – whether it is tomorrow or next July – mine can be fewer and farther between, and far less cranky in general.

And in the meantime, I can be far less hard on myself for having (and seeing it as such) a hard time.

P.S. Just in case more evidence was needed…it was after Lincoln was born that I reached the point of starting therapy which lead to yoga and breakthroughs and all the work that I have spent the last four years doing to better take care of myself mentally, so again, no shocker here that his little buddy is putting those same tasks directly in my face again. And just as with Lincoln, I’ll be forever grateful for the nudge to do so.

 

He’s Golden!

I love Golden Birthdays. Do you celebrate them? Are you even familiar with them? I have no idea where my knowledge of them came, much less my fascination with them, although I’m guessing that the fact that I had to wait 26 years to celebrate my own may have had something to do with it.

Truth? Even though it was just nine short years ago, I can’t remember how I celebrated my own Golden Birthday. Isn’t that funny? All that hype and anticipation and now I don’t have a blessed clue what we did to mark the big day! But for my kiddos, well, that’s why I blog, now isn’t it? To mark time and serve as the memory keeper of this crew.

And so, today. Today, Lincoln is 4 on the 4th! And I don’t know if you can come up with a much more festive day on which to have a GB than the 4th of July, so we did our best to do it up in style (which included our typical Welschie anti-fireworks approach, just sayin’).

Now, in true Moore Family fashion, we’ve spread the birthday celebrations out over theimg_6647 course of a week or so (I loooooove that my family does this; it means that when my birthday comes, it doesn’t necessarily land on just one day). Last Friday it was a firecracker cookie from Eileen’s; this coming Friday it will be a play date/party with some of his buddies. But today was just the 6 (and counting) of us, hanging out and celebrating our awesome Lincoln Thomas.

img_6691We started the morning with donuts and Lincoln’s was, I kid you not, the size of his face and covered in frosting. Hence, candles! I totally grabbed four candles from the cupboard because this (along with some – ahem! – Golden Oreos later in the day) was it for official birthday confections, and I certainly didn’t hear anyone complaining (because his face was covered by a donut!).

The next official activity is actually an EVERY day ALL day event if Linky has any say in the matter, which is to say: baseball! The kid got his very first and very own (and unless Baby No.5 surprises us, will always be his very own) lefty ball glove and oh. my. goodness! He wants to play all the time. He’ll hit. He’ll pitch. He’ll zoom around the bases. He doesn’t care, as long as it is baseball!

In honor of the big day, we made our first trip of the summer to an actual field (instead of our yard or the neighbor’s yard) and the kids had a blast playing their typical Us vs. Daddy game. It was super fun to watch from my folding chair position of 3rd Base Coach (not that any of them listened to me because once they start running, they don’t stop!)!

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After we got home and hydrated (and had popsicles – oops – more treats!) we decorated the kids’ bikes and Trumy’s stroller for the annual YWCA Kiddie Parade and then hung out until it was time to actually go to said parade (to melt). We showed up just in time to get in line (and melt) to do a lap and a half through the Fisher Fountain parade route, and then it was time to hustle back home (to try to unmelt) for Trumy’s nap. By the way…can you tell that the mama is not handling the heat so well this summer??

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Normal Kindle time and then some water play and more backyard baseball with the neighbors followed, and we thought that was pretty much it until a storm rolled in (from the east – how weird is that?!) and all of the sudden all 6 of us (and counting) were outside playing in the beautiful, pouring rain. The kids ran and splashed and had SUCH a good time, and hey, I figure a shower from Mother Nature is just about as good as anything I can offer to wash off all the birthday treats and sweat from the day, so it really was a perfect ending to a lovely summer birthday celebration.

And now he’s four. For one whooooole year. And I love him, my sweet golden haired, golden smiled boy, more and more each day. img_6327

PPMS

So at the end of last week, afterI shared my previously written post, I thought things were actually on the ups. I mean, come the weekend, I survived our first Saturday Soccer Morning Shenanigans (we are coaching two kids on one team while a third kiddo is on a different team and naturally everything happened at the exact same time on far opposite sides of the field space for round one) AND Easter festivities on Sunday and was actually feeling OK. Not quite so much face-on-concrete, which is nice, you know? I was all Heck yeah, this B6 is working! 

But then the week came and I have been huffing and puffing my way through the nausea and back to waking up for hours on end during the mid-to-early-morning part of night and just Blergh. I’m not doing so great. Like any other human, I get cranky when I’m behind on sleep. When you add in the “nothing sounds good to eat and that I’m having a hard time swallowing water much less my little vitamin that’s supposed to keep me from urping” factor, I am not a terribly pleasant person these days. I never am in the first (and last, and maybe middle) part of pregnancy, and darn it – my oldest two are definitely old enough this time around for Pissy Pregnant Mommy* Syndrome to stick in their little memories.  *Note the use of my non-preferred mom name there, although I get called a little bit of everything by my children, including “ma’am” which is pretty funny. I’m using it here because I’d like to think this is my evil twin mom persona and therefore should not contain the actual word “mama” in it. Have I mentioned that pregnancy makes me both cranky and crazy?

So anyway. Interesting week around here. Back to more of the face-across-concrete to get through the daily routine, not to mention the finishing of a semester in adjunct world and the maintaining of a new business and a house and yeah. Don’t get me wrong. These are all wonderful blessings. Even the extreme exhaustion and 24/7 icks in my tummy are good because I know every single day brings me closer to not only 14 Weeks when I’ll start to feel human again, but also to meeting this newest sweet peanut and while I obviously would give back the tireds and the tummy troubles, I wouldn’t actually trade this opportunity for anything in the world.

And, to be fair, not all has been lost this week. In fact, today, Lincoln and I had the sweetest darn moment when he was helping me clean the house (because I had to, people, NOT because this was anywhere on my actual list of wants or even priorities) and I thanked him, mid-load of carrying crap from one room to another, and he responded, “We’re a great team, Mommy!!!!” (see, he’s one who “mommy”s me a lot and therefore I don’t hate it, but you know a name’s a name, and I just like “mama” better), which melted my cranky heart right to puddles (and even, almost, made up for the massive fit he threw later in the day when we had to return an overdue library book that he very much wanted to keep forever and ever and always, apparently).

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Zero bits to do with the post, except that it’s a great shot of Lincoln showing off the bird feeder he made this week at preschool. Again, heart melted. 

So it will probably go for the next 5-30 weeks. We’ll have our moments of crankiness and we’ll have our moments of sweetness, and somehow we’ll get from one chore to the next and one week to the next and not all will be lost. Not even when I’m at my crankiest and my craziest, because we are in fact all a very good team.

Fourth Kid: A Short Essay on How I Do It

Just kidding. There is no way I am about to get all pontificat-y on parenting. If anything, you know that when people ask me how (or praise me for doing) what I do as a mom, I have a hard time not laughing and saying, “I have no idea how I do it either!”

But really, there is some truth in that. Much of my mom life is completely winging it, just like everyone else, because – as we all know full well – there is no one right thing that works for every kid and every parent. That’s life.

While I will stick to my long-ago claim of it doesn’t matter how many kids you have, raising tiny humans is hard, I will admit that some things have changed about me as a parent since I wrote that post. For one, I’ve let down some of my standards.

Before you think I’ve lost it, let me clarify: I have learned to let some of the minor shit go so it doesn’t become major, and that too is a personal and unique journey for each of us as parents (or as individuals). In my parental life, the best (albeit maybe silly) example I can give you is this: I no longer force the children to stay at the table when they eat (snacks, that is).

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Yes, I legit took a picture of floor sweepings. Yes, I had just swept this flour in the last 36 hours. 

Ground breaking, eh? But it’s actually an interesting progression of control and what it means to relinquish some of that in the name of embracing the mess. No, really, because this slippery slope has led to waaaay more mess in my house and it’s the really annoying kind where you step on pretzels and Cherrios all the time, but honestly, I just don’t have the fight in me to make them stay put anymore while they snack.

For one, I don’t want to be at the table for 80% of my day, and as my friend Megan’s blog name will attest – being a Keeper of the Snacks is a legit part of motherhood as far as any of us can tell.

For 1.A, I have other shit to do. Most of it involves picking up after my little crumb spillers and mess makers, so you know, Catch 22, but seriously. When it comes to battling over keeping them in their seats versus following them through the house with a broom, well, fine. At least I’m up and moving.

But what this phenomenon is really all about is The Tunnel and the fact that I know have one, almost two!, kids out of it. And this is why it doesn’t matter so much how many children you have, but how far apart they are in age. Because once your littler one(s) see your bigger one(s) doing something, by goodness, they are going to want to do it, which should mean that my older children have been setting wonderful snack consumption manners examples for my youngers (because the Bigs actually did have these rules enforced), there’s just a bit too much coming and going and here and there to worry about where so-and-so is when they eat an animal cracker. Or a graham cracker. Or a WheatThin. Or Ritz. Goodness. Why do we eat so many crackers in this house?

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This guy is Culprit No.1, followed by LT at a close second. 

And so. Along with the mountains of laundry, I sweep the floor umpteen times a day. My couch cushions are at times crunchy feeling, and Lord in Heaven, I once found the 7yo eating a graham cracker in my bed (that was NOT okay, btw!). In other words, motherhood is messy. Literally and figuratively. And what I’ve learned from/by the fourth kid is that that is perfectly acceptable.

 

Someone Loves Scissors (and other random Tuesdayness)

Oh my word. I guess the full moon before Christmas is always an interesting one, but my children have been in FINE form today. I give you a semi-chronological list of evidence:

  1. The Bigs emptied every blessed book from our shelves this morning into two huge piles on our couches in a counting contest to see who could get more in their pile. I’ve never thought there was such a thing as too many books until today. Bright side – the shelves now look impeccable because I sorted them as I made the kids bring them back to me after breakfast? img_4482
  2. Lincoln, the child I can never for the ever loving life of me get dressed in anything img_4478other than pajamas, flat out refused to wear PAJAMAS for PAJAMA DAY at preschool. Last night? Totally stoked. Going to wear footies. Today? Not having it. Not one bit.
  3. While waiting in between drop off times for preschool, Raegan was like a loud pinball in the hallway – literally bouncing off the walls and chairs and floor while she played with the baby and some other friends that play the same waiting game we do every T/Th. Seriously. Who caffeinated my children this morning?!
  4. Truman has become the Mad Thrasher any time I go to pick him up for a diaper change. He wants so badly to do his own thing that clearly my desire to keep him dry and smelling so fresh and so clean, clean is totally insulting. Also, he wants to walk. And he gets mad when things or his feet or poor balance get in the way. Also, he is fighting a cold. And he gets mad when I try to wipe his face. Basically, he’s just having A (MAD) WEEK.
  5. The Middles tend to get into a lot of shenanigans while I nurse the baby for his afternoon nap, but today each one had their own infraction. Lincoln, I discovered after coming back downstairs, had taken his glass glass from lunch and chucked it on the floor, which resulted thankfully not in it breaking, but in orange juice (also fighting a cold) being all over the floor. Perhaps this explains why I did not notice RL’s issue until I went to wash my hands in the bathroom and discovered hair in the sink. img_4481
  6. Yep, the girl who loves love loves to color and then cut paper, finally took the scissors to her hair. It doesn’t help that two boys have haircuts today and she doesn’t, but thankfully I can’t even see where she took the chunk out of her hair, so I guess all is well still for her preschool program at the end of the week and we don’t have to add a third cut to the hair dresser docket.

And you guys, this was all before 1:00 p.m.! These children, I tell ya!

But in some not-exasperating-at-all news, I picked up a post at Her View From Home this week and it is live on their site today. It’s about telehealth which I totally didn’t even really know what a legit thing until we tried it over the weekend. Have you ever used it? Fascinating stuff!

So – the rest of Tuesday….well, TBD, I guess. Here’s hoping the shenanigans are out of the way!

Game OVER

In what appears to be an alarming trend this month, we – the Welschies – find ourselves in the midst of another long and rocky week. Like FULL to the max with commitments for the grownups and still not done as tomorrow is a 12+ hour-long day for Ben because of PTCs.

Apparently the Little Welschies wanted to add to the fun and hilarity of our schedule because they started their Wednesday at 5:30 a.m. – except neither Ben nor I realized that because the little buggers SNUCK DOWNSTAIRS AT 5:30 IN THE MORNING AND TURNED ON THE WII AND PLAYED MARIO KART UNTIL WE GOT UP AND FOUND THEM AT 6:45.

WTFAYFKM – all rolled into one – is how one might describe the looks on our faces when we realized just how early they had gotten up and just how they had been spending their time.

A little backstory: weekend before last, we attended a fundraiser for Food4Thought, one of our local faves when it comes to mission, donating, and events. They do amazing work in the community and are excellent at engaging kiddos in their cause. They have this not-so-little fall shindig with a Mario Brother’s obstacle course that our crew adores, and this year the event also included a projector hooked up to a Wii with Mario Kart on tap. img_4517

Now, Mario Kart is not entirely foreign in our house. I am positive my kids have seen Ben play it before (but not nearly as obsessively as he did in college, tyvm) and have maybe even tried it themselves, but not extensively, by any means. But they got a chance to try it at the fundraiser and liked it (even though, really, a 3yo? Not exactly the best racer skills…), so we’ve played a few family rounds with our own copy of the game since then.

OK. Fine. No harm done.

Until this morning when one of them got a freaking wild hair to wake up his (I’m guessing here) siblings and entice them to go downstairs where they raced for an hour and fifteen minutes unawares to their parental units.

Actually – that’s not entirely true.

I was totally woken up by thumping above my head, but since I don’t (can’t) sleep near a clock, I have no idea what time that was and, at the time, I just assumed it was bathroom breaks (except then no one came down to tell me good morning and after a bunch of tossing and turning I fell back asleep only to be woken up later in the middle of a really weird dream to the news that my children were downstairs helping themselves to video games before the crack of dawn. Awesomeness).

As you can imagine, their behavior and awake factor was wonderful the rest of the day.

Actually, I could already see the ill effects of that much screen time that early in the day before anyone left/went to school, and I honestly considered sending apology notes to their teachers but that would have involved explaining the apparent free-for-all nature of our house and that just didn’t seem like a good idea.

Somehow everyone got through the day without falling asleep (except for the sweet babe who still naps), but the end of the day was not without tears and extra long stalling, because that is what overtired children do best. They also excel at getting up really early instead of sleeping in to recover, so you can bet we are unplugging and hiding the Wii to avoid future such adventures.

For Pete’s sake. Or eff’s. Take your pick.

 

3yo Body Snatchers

You know all those posts out there about how three-year-olds are a**holes? And all those memes that echo the same sentiment? And you know how they are all funny because they are rooted in deep, dark truth?

Well, let’s see if we can find some humor here, because, holy mother of Threenagers, something ate my kid and I’d really like him back. Now.

Case in point? The kid who doesn’t want to wear long sleeves or long pants, much less a coat, has no morphed into the kid who doesn’t want to go to preschool. Ever. Silver lining side note: I should probably pause for a second to give thanks for the fact that I am getting him to wear long sleeves and long pants, that is, 3/7 days of the week (the two he has preschool and the one we have church), so technically this is a win, and I think that any and all wins should be celebrated with 3yos, so yay me for successfully wrestling my kid into actual clothes a little less than half of the days a week in Nebraska in November. My awesomeness can’t be stopped.

But, as it goes, the second you get over one hurdle, another one appears and it often seems not only taller but also louder than the last. Mixed metaphor you say? I invite you to my house any morning between the hours of 7-8:30 a.m. on Lincoln’s preschool days because his displeasure at the prospect of going to school (and not just dropping RL off, which is what he does – in pajamas – the other three days of the week) is NOT quiet. Nor does it ever seem to end, so I think mixing metaphors is only expected at this point, don’t you?

This concern of his started with swimming lesson days which happen just twice a month, but when you only go to preschool two days a week, I guess that actually seems like a lot of swimming days, but then suddenly, this week, his “I don’t WANT TO GO TO SCHOOLs” have seeped over into the nonswimming days too. And this from the kid who spent ALL OF LAST YEAR wishing to go to school like his Bigs, every blessed day. AYFKM? How is this even happening?

Body Snatchers are the only possible answer I can find. Do you have anything else to propose?

Because ultimately, once I get him to preschool and he goes in his classroom (which thankfully is without tears or tantrum), he is fine. His teacher and I talked about the situation this morning and sure enough, when I came to get him at the end of the morning, she reported that he was totally good the whole time. And when I asked him if he had fun, he said yes! And when I asked him if he was excited to back to school next Tuesday, he said NO!

Crap.

And so we here we are: at the place where I am so glad that the next four mornings I get to tell him, “Nope – no school for you today!” when he inevitably asks first thing in the morning but will most likely still be faced with the stressful why-are-on-earth-are-we-paying-for-preschool-for-this-kid-if-it-is-just-torturing-all-of-us dilemma next Tuesday.

The growing number of gray hairs on my head is not shocking. Their source, not hard to identify. But are they funny? Well, maybe someday. img_4079