Yah, I Know. I Suck.
So, maybe I shouldn’t blog when I’m into a bottle of Pinot Grigio. But what the hell. What’s the worst that could happen? (Other than bad grammar and punctuation, which would embarrass me more than buzzy ramblings.) I’ve been battling the twin demons of depression and anxiety, and really haven’t had writing at the top of my list. Thanks to those oft-maligned pharmaceutical companies, I am now able to function in my usual snarky manner.
If you’re keeping score (which would be that one guy wearing a cat on his head who REALLY NEEDS TO PUT HIS PANTS BACK ON! DUDE!), I still have one more installment about our Spring Break trip to Niagara Falls. (I know, it’s summer and I still haven’t finished spring break blogging. Day late and a dollar short–story of my life.) I’m almost done with that. Meanwhile, we’re getting ready for our family summer trip. So, lots going on and I’m sure you will graciously forgive me if the posts this summer are few and far between.
As a parting (party-ing?) shot, I will post this picture. I am convinced that these people are my parents in disguise.
OK, y’all: Good Travels!
Three Is Still A Baby, Right?!
Since I mentioned the big kids’ birthday, I just had to throw up a little blurb about BabyGirl turning three today. I keep telling her that I’m gonna start putting bourbon and coffee in her sippy cup to stunt her growth. She’s not allowed to get big, I tell you! I need my baby to stay a baby.
She was a rather large newborn.
She says these are her "fingernails."
The Upside Is That I’m Not Dead . . .Yet
Well, the day has come. I turn 40 today. Many women have a lot of baggage connected with this birthday, and I have several steamer trunks’ full.
- My life is already half over.
- Yeah, I know 40 is the new 30; tell that to the skin on my neck.
- I’m no longer considered a “young mom.”
- Hot flashes are on their way.
- I’m older and wiser, but would give that back if only my butt wasn’t saggy.
This is a time when logic and emotions just can’t seem to agree on anything. Logically, I know that I have lots of wonderful, fun times ahead. Emotionally, I think my life will never be as magical as now. Logically, I know that I can still do anything I want with my life. Emotionally, I feel like my identity is wrapped up in being a mom and that’s going to be over way too soon. Logically, I know I’ll never be dancing with Riverdance. Emotionally . . . OK, so the pain in my knees breaks through any emotions here.
Two things to be thankful for: I’m not becoming forgetful and, hey, I’m not becoming forgetful, right? If you need me, I’ll be spending the day eating nothing but butter cream frosting. A friend told me that if you ignore the spoon and eat with your fingers, there are no calories.
I'm so happy because the backs of my arms don't jiggle when I wave. Give it 35 years, baby.
I’d Like to Buy One of Those Machines That Stops Time, Please
I’m gonna try to get through this without crying, but no guarantees. Please indulge me a little sappy sentimentality.
Today, my big kids turn 13. THIRTEEN! Where has the time gone? I know, it’s so cliche to say that, but it’s a cliche that is true. Thirteen years ago, our quadruplets were born–almost three months early. The biggest (DS1) was two and a half pounds, the smallest (DD4) was exactly two pounds. They sounded like little mewing kittens when they first made their appearance.
We went through a lot of medical crises with them in those first months. They all came home on monitors so that we could sleep at night knowing an alarm would wake us if one of them “forgot” to breathe. They were tiny, precious, fragile, and they pooped a lot.
At three months old and all home together for the first time. (Side note: I'm so low-tech, I don't have a scanner. Had to take a picture of this picture to put it up. Laugh if you must.)
Their first few years were so busy and they were so cute and wonderful. I always tell people that the Lord figured if He was going to give me the gift of four kids at once, he’d make sure they were good kids so I didn’t wind up in the nuthouse. They are all so sweet (well, maybe not with their siblings, but with everyone else) and sensitive and helpful and responsible. I may not have always been the mom that they deserved, but they have always been so much more than I ever deserved!
With our commander-in-chief. He didn't say much. (We were able to get close because security was so lax at Madame Tussauds.)
Happy birthday, Dolan babies! I love you and am so proud of you!
Even More Proof That The Baby Is Trying To Kill Me
Wait. You need to read this first:
OK, now you are properly prepared for my second installment of how BabyGirl is gunning for me. I’ve suspected for a while that the relative quiet on the stairs was just a period of planning. Today was the big offensive.
First, there was the seemingly innocent Japanese dinner party. Shoes left at the door and the royal table and chairs.
This tableau was only left on the bottom two stairs. Not deadly enough.
Shortly after that, every plastic food in the Fisher Price arsenal was added. A few steps higher to increase chance of death from a fall.
The Nintendo SP's on the lower step were an afterthought, but found to be effective and used again.
A few minutes later, with the addition of a headband, DVD box, and the formerly favored cones, the lower obstacle was complete.
Note how there seem to be empty spots to place your feet, but they are on opposing sides, thus throwing subject off-balance. Clever.
BabyGirl then turned her attention to the upper tactical area. Yes! A Lincoln Log castle would be the crowning touch! Those suckers HURT when you step on them, resulting in a stumble into the already-prepared lower threat.
"Let's see . . .castle here, teepee over here, canoe dead center. Perfect!"
Maybe, in the interest of my own safety, I need to get one of those chairs that will ride me up the stairs. Bet she’d learn the electrical skills needed to kill me that way, too. Can you call me in the morning to make sure I’m OK?
UPDATE: Seriously, y’all, I can’t make this stuff up. Within minutes of publishing this post, I walked past the stairs to see this:
Danger! Detour through the dining room! (Maybe she's going soft--the pile of unmatched socks might be to cushion my fall.)
