(...and in charge)

One more tidbit about doing every single piece of laundry...

When I got to the socks, specifically Luke's socks, I slowed down.  I stared at the basket of mismatched sad old things and wanted to cry.  I imagined myself up-cycling them into puppets or, I dunno, what else do you make out of old worn-out socks? I thought if I did that, I could buy new ones that were all exactly the same as each other and the sock-matching thing wouldn't ruin my life anymore.  I stood there feeling guilty about the unrealistic puppet idea for a minute and then I put them in the trash.  I went to the store.  I bought new ones.  The sock matching thing is not going to ruin my life anymore.  I am pregnant, I get to decide things like this.

This was me, today.





Clark calls this an "umbrella kiss" because you pooch your lips out and they look like an umbrella.


That sound would be my heart melting.


you capture: water

When your kids try to come in the house looking like this...


You get out the hose.




When I was younger I used to dream, almost nightly, that I was swimming.  Usually I was in the ocean but sometimes I was holding onto a raft in a river, going over rapids and hills. Those dreams have pretty much stopped but I had one the other night and it made me remember what it felt like to be little.

Clark is a lot like me.  He is full of energy and he skitters around from one thing to another.  Sometimes he gets all charged up and somersaults around the house, crashing into things, unsure what to do with his arms and legs. He has started swimming in the deep end of the pool, this year, with a life jacket.  He fearlessly jumps into the deep water over and over. The water plunges way over his head and he pops back up smiling and then he climbs out and does it again. You can tell how happy his usually restless arms and legs feel with the viscosity of liquid working against them.  I wonder if he dreams like I do.

This post is part of You Capture.  As always, you can see the rest of the linker-uppers over at I Should Be Folding Laundry.  I am off to check them out myself, now.


bloop Bloop BLOOP

And then it was like someone turned on a faucet. 

Or something.

Or you know how on video games the guy takes a drink of something and bloop bloop bloop, his sad little tired about-to-lose-the-game life-hearts get refilled? That's how I've felt the last couple of days.

Bloop bloop bloop. 

My energy came back.  I credit all of you for making me feel ten zillion times better with your words.  They  rolled around in my head all weekend and comforted me and put me back on my feet.  Thank you thank you thank you.  Times ten zillion.

And guess what?

In addition to energy, I have also had motivation.


I cleaned my whole house yesterday and today.  Every single room is clean.  I also did all of the laundry. All of it.  Every single piece.  This has never, in my recollection, been done before.  Every single thing has been washed, dried, folded, and put into a proper place. 

My laundry room holds only empty laundry baskets.  Our closets are full of choices.

Oh, the choices.  As it turns out, we actually have quite a lot of clothes. Especially the kids.  Whoo boy.  I think I could dress Alice for two months and she wouldn't run out of stuff to wear.

(Okay, not really, that would be if she went through a sensible grown-up allotment of one outfit per day when we all know kids go through 3-4 outfits per day.  Right? Or is that just my kids?  Don't answer that.)   Most of this is hand-me-downs and the rest is thrifted or from Target, but STILL, looking at it all hanging up together like that? Ridiculous.

Once I filled all of our closets, I decided to get the baby clothes down from the attic to see what things our January-born boy could possibly pass down to his little August-due brother.  I hoisted my 31-weeks pregnant self up the rickety fold-down attic ladder and poked around until I located the proper box.  It was heavy.  I am wobbly.  I got it to the top step but quickly felt myself losing control of it. I knew the kids were standing at the bottom of the stairs so I screamed "MOOOVVVEEE KIDS!  MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!  RUN AWAY!  ALICE RUN AWAY!" but of course she didn't flinch and instead stood doe-eyed and curious as the box came flying at her from the top step.  It clocked her in the face.  There was nothing I could do but watch it happen and give her kisses.



The funny thing is that the actual little newborn baby boy, the one coming in August to live in our house and wear those clothes and be part of our family?  I am practically shouting, "ALICE!  A BABY!  A REAL LIVE BABY! WE ARE HAVING ANOTHER BABY!" but she just stares at me, doe eyed and curious.  She is so gonna get clocked in the face by his arrival.  There is nothing I can do but watch it all happen.  And give her kisses.


three, in ten weeks

There are three carseats in my backseat.   I thought having an empty carseat back there would make it seem more real that we are having a baby, but it does not seem real.

There is an empty crib in our room.  Alice moved to a toddler bed (seamlessly, I might add, thank you Alice) and I put the crib in our room.  I thought an empty crib with a new crib sheet would make it seem more real that we are having a baby, but it does not seem real.

I am so busy, lately, with my other tinies.  I am constantly shouting "NO BITING" or "TOO ROUGH" or "GET YOUR FEET AWAY FROM HER" or "GIVE HER SPACE" and when I am not saying those things (not just to Clark, by the way, Alice is a biter and a pincher) I am doing my best to bend my un-bending stomach to pick things off of the floor and when I am not bending I am thinking about how I am not bending and feeling bad because it feels too hard and I just don't want to do any of the normal stuff I do.  The floor is covered in STUFF -- crumbs, clothes, toys, and a messy house makes my brain feel bad.

I've tried all of the usual things that help me get my act together (plus lots of extras) but pretty much all I have the desire to do is go to the pool.  I leave breakfast on the table (and floor) and we go swim. 

I don't feel prepared to give birth or hold a newborn.  Our baby doesn't even have a name. Are ten weeks enough time to mentally get there?  The first 30 weeks flashed by so fast.

My blog posts will maybe be few and far between for awhile. (Like how I said "maybe"? I don't like committing to things.) Most of what I've written lately has been all gobbledygook anyway.  I don't like the way I feel right now and I don't like writing about it and I don't like reading about it and you all probably don't either.  I am frustrated, out of patience, emotional, tired, and huge.  The inside of my brain is like a mirror reflecting those traits.  I want to feel like me.  I want to have some joy during these last ten weeks instead of impatience.  I want feeling good and being kind to just, you know, happen instead of being things I spend all of my energy trying desperately to squeeze out.

I need encouragement, if you have any to spare.

At least we have the pool. 

Yes, this is at the pool.  My land-locked children call the sand pit at the pool "the beach", the poor dears.

PS.  Thank you for your "get well" wishes.  I am very thankful we are healthy again.


sick days

We've only had one sort-of healthy day in the last week.






Even when he's sick he's silly.

Cough and fever, go away.


I am older, today

When I was a little girl I thought my birthday was the most important day of the year.

JUNE THIRD was the beginning of Summertime and it was always swimsuity and warm and happy all over and I could feel a wheel turning and myself getting a little bigger while staying safely little.

But I've been counting time in trimesters and weeks old and dirty diapers and trimesters again, in a circle, since I was 22.

JUNE THIRD doesn't feel very much like the start of anything anymore.  It feels like 29 weeks pregnant, three years old, 21 months old, crummy floors.

And just as I was starting to feel the tiniest bit sorry for myself about this, thinking that kids have sucked the "Erin" out of me and turned me into an ageless functional person called "Mom". . .

 Clark, telling me a silly story about a pencil with a pom-pom on top, stopped talking and grinned at me.
"Happy Birthday" he said.
He grinned again.
"This is gonna be a loud one," he warned.
"HAPPY BIRTH-DAY!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Happy Birthday" he whispered.
"Three Happy Birthday-s.  I love you."

No one has said "Happy Birthday" to me with so much genuine enthusiasm since I was safely little.

My name is Erin and today I am 27.

June 3, 1986