The Baby's Birthday

He may have had a birthday, but Jack is a baby.  He will always be a baby.  I will change his name to Peter Pan if I have to.  Because what would I do without a baby?  I've had a baby for more than 11 years.  Babies are my jam. 

So seriously, don't tell me he's not a baby anymore or I'll cry.  Let me live in denial.  It's the right thing to do.

I will not allow him to grow up, but I couldn't deny him a celebration now, could I?

He's really obsessed with trains right now, so Thomas was a hit.

And I think he loved the stuffed Curious George from Grandma Linda and Grandpa Don just as much.

My Little Baby Jack

I can't help but picture God chuckling to himself as He sent Jack to our family 2 years ago. Not because He was amused to ruin our false belief we were actually in charge of our family planning, not because, despite my pleading prayers to send me the easiest baby on earth because I was already in way over my head, He wasn't going to oblige. I don't think He was laughing because He knew we would spend the better part of the first year in Colic Hell, and not because He enjoyed seeing us overwhelmed. No, I picture Him laughing because while He knew our life was going to be kicked into a whole new gear, He also knew how a baby can heal the aching heart of a sibling, He knew that camping and hiking were about to turn into real adventures, He knew a hole would be filled that we didn't realize was empty, He knew that Jack and Finn were about to be reunited, He knew that Jack would cinch us closer together as a family and cause us to pull into a true team, He knew how much we would love his laugh and his face and his hugs, He knew that Jack would keep us on our toes and that because of him we would be doing an awful lot more laughing ourselves. 2 years might be the limit for some folks, but I'm not sure I'll ever stop referring to him as my baby. Always, always my little baby Jack. And I know now, better than ever, that God was never laughing at us, but He is, no doubt, laughing with us. #happybirthdayjack  #two

Luke is 9

Luke really wanted to wear athletic clothes for his pictures but I insisted on a shirt with buttons. At 9 years old he is still so himself--smart, quiet, and good. I wouldn't mind if that never changed. 

Ava's 11 Year Pictures

It's that time of year again when I realize that my kid's birthday photo shoots are piling up.  So here is Ava, my beautiful Ava, who is growing up so much and turning into a really great friend.  

I try to use discretion when posting on Facebook but this here is my space and I'll post as many pictures of my kids as I want, without even a drop of shame. 

Isn't it Ironic?

Since my last installment, sharing my new found freedom of nap time on the days Ava has school,  the boys have been on a nap strike and as we speak, Jack is screaming from his crib, while Finn is sucking on his paci in my bed, watching a movie.

I'm sad to see my window of free time not work out and I think the hardest part is knowing that when they're all grown up I am going to miss this.  But even knowing that, it's still hard to "enjoy it".  But whatever, I will insist upon my quiet time (even if Jack screams through it.)

I've had my eyes on this horse property not too far from where we currently live.  I went through it on Saturday's open house.  I could really love it.  I told myself to forget about it though because our house isn't even on the market and the logistics seem impossible.  But while my memory fails me on a daily basis, I just can't seem to forget it.

We have no idea how long we will stay in Colorado.  There are things we absolutely love about it, like the weather (seriously, the winters aren't even that bad), and the mountains, and the endless hiking and camping options. While Dan and I differ on a few things (like trying to sell our house in the next two weeks and move to the aforementioned property) we meet in a great big bear hug around our mutual love of the outdoors. The scare with his job earlier this year really put us on edge though.  We could stay for a while, or we could be gone in a month.  When you work for somebody else, some things are just out of your control. I have a little gypsy in me too, so moving on to the next thing is never far from my heart. With those types of variables, it always makes you question how much effort to move is worth it.

We bought an older Yukon a few weeks ago.  We've been planning on getting something that can tow a camper for a while, but figured it would be down the road a ways.  But I saw this one for sale, mentioned it to Dan, and he blew it off.  It was older and only had 2 wheel drive (which is not ideal for the snow here). But it didn't sell and so I mentioned it again.  And then again.  Finally, he started to warm to the idea.  It was a good price and it seats 9, which has been a long standing dream for us.  So we bought it.  I was convinced that it didn't sell because it was meant to be ours.  He's prefers to think it was because it was only 2 wheel drive.

Now, maybe I should just hope for a similar situation about this house! Maybe it won't sell long enough for Dan to really consider it.  Actually come to think of it, I see a pattern.  He agreed to marry me after all, only after I had asked no less than 2 times. I try to stop myself from just wishing he would just recognize my ideas for the genius they are the first time I bring them up.  But between our marriage and the Yukon, I guess our M.O. has worked out pretty well.

I just really want out of the suburbs.  I want privacy for my kids to have fits on the trampoline and me not be instantly panicked about them disturbing the neighbors.  I don't want to awkwardly dodge the culdesac-beer-drinking-in-the-driveway-parties.  Do I sound like a hermit? A recluse?  I think I am.  Growing up I definitely identified as an extrovert.  But interestingly enough, as I've gotten older, I have shifted to the opposite end of the spectrum. I want to be in control of my social interactions. I need space. I don't want to feel we are on display when we go in the yard.  And I want animals.  And I want to be surrounded by nature.  I want to let my kids out the back door to run and scream and explore and discover.  Someday, it will happen, I know it. I just hope it's not before these paci-sucking, nap-dodgers are all grown up.

A Whole New World!

Nearly two years ago, Jack was born and Ava started homeschool.  It is no coincidence that is when this blog really started to suffer.  And you might be thinking, "Just give it up already! Blogs are so over." But I can't and I won't.

I need to write.  I need it.  My kids love to look through the blog books.  And a few weeks ago, I was looking back through the archives and found a few references to Max being a horrible child.  And that made me SO HAPPY!!!  Wanna know why?  Because Max isn't half bad now and those posts gave me HOPE.  HOPE! Hope that sometime in the not so distant future, the adorable hellions, Jack and Finn, may turn out okay and that Dan and I, if we can just hold on a little longer, may turn out okay as well.

Don't get me wrong.  These kids are our heart and soul.  They simultaneously make me weep with joy and want to stand in front of a bus.  They are what gets me up in the morning and what keeps me awake at night.  They are the most precious commodity I could ever possess.  I love them.  And they are hard.

But the point I'm getting at is, for the first time in 2 years, I now have a potential time for myself, a time I may be able to more regularly write. And that makes me happy too!

Ava floats between the satisfaction of homeschool and her desire to experience middle school and be "normal".  I've tried over and over to explain that normal doesn't exist and that middle school is nothing more than a pulsating conglomeration of all that is gross and wrong with life.  Seriously, no offense to middle schoolers (I'm sure yours are lovely), but middle school is horrible.

We discovered a homeschool charter school that is a great compromise.  She attends on Tues and Thurs.  She has different classes and teachers.  And luckily, its not all "weird homeschoolers" (I'm allowed to say that because we are).  But the kids are generally "normal" and very nice. It is a classical school and operates under what they call a "university model," meaning the classes meet once or twice a week and assignments are to be completed at home and turned in on various due dates.  It's pretty great so far. The only real downside is that it's 25 minutes away.

Finn is going, a little bit reluctantly, to preschool on Monday and Wednesday.  We may add in Fridays once he gets used to it, but right now, 2 days a week is plenty.  He does ok, but every time I pick him up, the teacher (who used to teach Max) wants me to know, just in case he mentions it at home, that he screams, kind of loud, when he is upset.  I would try to act like I have no idea what she's talking about but I'm a horrible liar.  I kind of hate to send him to school this year, though I think it might do him some good, "See Finn, not all 3 year olds scream when they are upset.  Some of them use their words.  You should try that." But the truth is, right now Finn is taking one for the team.  I need Mondays and Wednesdays to work with Ava without absolute hell breaking loose the whole time.  I wondered how Jack would do all on his own on those days, but so far he's doing great.  He empties out the entire pantry (all the shelves he can reach) as well as the silverware drawer but I don't even care because that's so much better compared to what we're used to.

Max is liking school okay.  I'm feeling lucky there are no major issues for him, I'm not sure I'd have the emotion fortitude for it.  Though we've really got to step up our reading game.  He lost a lot of ground over the summer.

Luke is doing well too.  He really hates that he's in 3rd grade instead of 4th.  Had he started kindergarten in Colorado (half day), we never would have held him back, but we can't change it now.  He is in the determination process for the GT program and part of me wants to just go in and ask if they'd move him up a grade instead.  I know it will only continue to be an issue as the kids grow, but while I want him in the program if it's what he really needs, I don't want him in there if it will cause a sore spot between him and his sister.

But with all of these children in their respective places (the three bigs at school and the two littles in their beds) naptimes on Tues and Thurs have brought a new meaning to my life.  I can't even take it! I know there are plenty of things I should be doing, but it has been SO long since I have had even the slightest bit of discretionary time, I'm fighting away the guilt of the dishes and laundry that constantly plague me, and the YW planning I should be doing for my calling, and I am doing whatever the heck I want, and it's this!

Last week was a terribly hard week.  I felt like I might drown, and the thing I kept feeling I wanted and needed, was to just write it all down.  All of it.  Writing things out somehow allows me to process through things so much better.  I have missed it desperately.  And after last week, I was reminded that it is more than just an enjoyment, it's more than record keeping, it is a very necessary outlet to keep me afloat. And now I hope to be able to take advantage of having a little time to do it.

A Day in the Life of Jack

Just minutes after taking the boys to school for their first days of 1st and 3rd grades, I heard what sounded like the rustling of a cereal box from the other room. But I reassured myself that I replaced the Cheerio box on the counter, well out of reach, after I poured a bowl for Finn. 

But the sounds continued, followed by what was, unmistakably, a shower of cereal being poured out onto the floor. 

I ran in to find this.

Don't you remember the No Eating in the Family Room rule, Baby Jack? 

And sure enough, after looking in the kitchen, I had left the box exactly where I thought. But unfortunately, I forgot there was another smaller box, in the pantry, just calling Jack's name. 

Later, he pulled his usual trick and emptied the silverware drawer no less than 3 times today.

And we're proud to announce that Jack is 6 days sober. He hasn't hit the bottle since last Friday. That is a big deal because he basically used his bottle as a paci. It was rare to see him without it dangling out of his mouth at any and all hours of the day. You could say it's been an interesting week :/ I swear though, the amount of whining and crying has been the same. He still asks for, "Baba! Baba!" But we just tell him that "we gave it to the  babies." And for some reason that always makes him smile, at least for a minute before he asks again. 

Everyday he asks for it less, but more and more often I notice him doing this.

Which I have no idea how to remedy because, staying true to his form, while all the other kids took paci's, he never did, always preferring a bottle or now, his hand and he just keeps reminding me that my previous experience means nothing and I still don't really know what I'm doing.