Jones, Party of Five

Throughout this pregnancy, I've gotten hundreds of judgy stares and raised eyebrows (along with the occasional comment) because seriously...who in their right mind has more than two children?? Right...?  Somehow, the number 2 has become the socially acceptable maximum as far as the number of children in a family goes. Coming from a family with seven kids and twenty-five grand kids (not to mention all of my aunts and uncles and cousins), I just don't get it. Not that I think every person in the world needs to run out and birth at least 5 babies, but....so what if someone does?

"Well you've certainly got your hands full already, and here comes another one."
"Your cart is all filled up! Where are you gonna fit that next one?"
"Whoa. You're certainly going to be busy."

Huh?  Are you....trying to be funny? Or...?



Some people ask me how I'm going to manage. Well. It's only 3. I get that it's more than 2. And I understand that my life is about to become slightly more stressful. Quite possibly I'm being naive. Because, two years ago when Bryan and I began discussing the possibility of adding another child, I was scared. But now? I'm completely calm about it (thank goodness, right? Not exactly probable to turn back now at 38 weeks pregnant). This time around I've got two little minions that I know will be excellent helpers. They are both dying to "help take care of the baby."  Feed her. Rock her. Play with her. Get her diapers. It's going to be baby heaven - especially for Jean. And the fact that they can get their own cereal or toast, fruit, sandwiches, drinks, and snacks, and can dress themselves and use the bathroom on their own, also makes a big difference. Last time I had a baby, Jeanie was just shy of 2 years old and basically still a baby. Meaning, she was still pretty dependent on me. That was tough. And a big reason why we waited awhile for another one (although, I thought she'd be here a year ago maybe. But God obviously had different plans).

Here's what I wonder on days like today when it feels like my to-do list just won't quit:  is it harder to be pregnant right now with these 2 kids to look after? Or will it really be harder once the baby is here?  Cause honestly, I'm pretty convinced that it's harder right now, before she comes out. I'm sure that after she comes, my life will be more hectic maybe. But harder?


Like I said, it's been 4 years since I was last pregnant. Even though I don't consider myself old, yet, I can certainly feel my advancing age compared to my last baby. I'm way more tired and my body hurts a lot more.  It's physically tough to hold my 32 pound 3 year old when he needs his mommy. And getting up the energy to finish all of those to-do items to get myself and the house ready for baby is hard to the point where I get angry about it. I just wanna sit down, put my swollen feet up, and maybe even fall asleep for 20 minutes. I really, really don't want to finish those dishes or sweep and vacuum the floor. It's not a joy to pick up toys alongside my whining kids, with a huge tummy that's periodically contracting. And I most definitely do not want to go grocery shopping. I really have nothing left in me to dig through and find the baby boxes so I can wash all of the blankets and toys and things. I seriously don't have the energy to break up that fight going on over there between the kiddos. And a hospital bag?  Maybe when I'm finally in labor I'll throw some things together. I realize my crummy hormonal attitude makes things about 80x more dramatic and seemingly worthy of all of my irritation and anger in all the wrong moments, but....I just. can't. help. myself. I'm looking forward to the baby coming just so I can slowly begin to feel like myself again.

So, yes.  Toting around three little ones will for sure make my life a little more crazy and chaotic. But I'm not convinced that it will be more difficult than what we're experiencing right now in this moment. And I'm beyond excited to add this sweet little girl to our chaos. I can't wait to meet her and hold her perfect tiny body in my arms, and kiss her adorable little hands and face.

Don't worry. If I'm wrong, I'll amend my words and ask for the forgiveness of all mothers with more than two children out there. But for now, this is how I see it.

Catching Up With the Jones'

I'm back by popular demand!   Just kidding. No one asked for new posts. I decided it was time to grace the world with our presence once again and let you all know what we've been up to.

Let's tune in again to the Jones' life and take a look at the last few months, shall we?

Jeanie discovered selfies

We apparently started eating yogurt straight from the big tub

Family time on Daddy's birthday

More birthday parties

Birthday nails from the 5 year old daughter

Snow days

New additions!

Alex loved his new car seat so much, he took a nap in it fresh out of the box.

Happy big sisters

Easter egg hunts

Loot from the egg hunt - promptly followed by many sugar highs

Pictures from Jeanie, waiting in her new baby sister's bed.

First wiggly tooth!!

Just a few more weeks before they can finally meet their sister!

I love my kids!!  

Cookies!

There's nothing like sitting down at the end of the day on your big fluffy couch with a bowl full of ice cream and cookies (and water. Never milk with ice cream - it's way too much dairy coating your mouth or something weird. Blech.) while you enjoy the silence in your nice clean house. You see, in order for anything to get done in my house, I have to offer myself rewards for doing work. In my heart, I am the laziest person you will ever meet. Ever. If I could have my way, I would thwart all responsibility while I lie on the couch, dosing and reading all day long. And this, after I slept in until 11 am. And I would love my life. Unfortunately, my family would go hungry, flies would buzz over the sink full of dishes, we would all smell, and you would have to kick a path through the living room as you walk. But thankfully this is not reality, and it is all because of my reward system. Example:

        "Go take a shower, and then you can look at facebook."

        "Go through that pile of mail that has been building for two weeks, then you can read your book."

        "Just go do the dishes, get it over with, then you can have some ice cream."

        "Clean up dinner, wipe down the kitchen and sweep, then you can go get in bed."

I feel like I should incorporate a sticker chart after seeing out written out like that, but I'll just stick to the less embarrassing mental checklist. Anyway, to get my ice cream tonight, I had to get the kids' rooms, living room and kitchen clean - everything put away and dishes done. So worth it. 

The kids and I decided to make Daddy some cookies tonight after dinner because of how hard he has been working. The eighteen week semester is coming to a close with four finals and a practical done, and three more finals to go. So as a pick-me-up, we made him his favorite (I think) chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.

 As you can see, the kids had a fabulous time making and eating the goods. Daddy loved them also, and of course he did because no one in the world could eat these cookies and not love them. Seriously. No one. Unless you are kind of crazy like my sister-in-laws (on Bryan's side), and not like chocolate. (??)  Hi, you two! I promise I don't hold it against you, and I love you in spite of this. But for all of you normals out there, TRY these. They are amazing and you will make them for the rest of your lives. And I can totally brag about them, because it isn't my recipe; I copied it from a Relief Society (church) cookbook from when I was in college. Definitely. The. Best. Cookie.

Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookies

1/2 cup butter

3/4 cup packed brown sugar

3/4 cup white sugar

2 eggs

1 tsp. hot water

1 tsp. vanilla

1 1/2 cup flour

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. salt 

2 cups oatmeal

1 bag (16 oz) chocolate chips

1 cup walnuts (optional)

Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs, water, vanilla. Mix in dry ingredients. Add chips and nuts. Bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes.

Perfection for your tummy.

The Truth

Believe it or not, I think about this blog every night, feeling guilty that "once again, I didn't record anything." Most of those days though, there's a reason I don't write a post: my life is the same day, after day, after day. The main events being, breakfast, dressing everyone, snack, lunch, nap, snack, dinner, bedtime. Everything in between consists of a variation of children's play, learning numbers/letters and colors, enduring tantrums, breaking up fights, and time outs. Oh, and let's not forget the never ending cleaning, heaps of laundry, and mountains of dishes (with no dishwasher - what a joy). Every day. Always the same. Slight changes to our routine are always welcome: trips to the library, grocery shopping, outings with friends, or even the rare outing with Daddy.

This life may sound depressing (and sometimes it is), but I would never trade the way things are for anything else, because I know for sure that I would never find as much satisfaction anywhere in the world as I do from being a mommy to somebody. Two somebodies. Two amazing, absolutely incredible somebodies.

Anyway, everyday I look back on what happened and  have a hard time coming up with things to write about that I think might be entertaining to somebody else. Because, let's face it, snack time and piles of laundry really aren't that interesting. And as dramatic and loud as fights and time outs can be, I just can't seem to figure out a way to write about them that will hold everyone's attention. I just can't. Because, I'm not naive; I know that the everyday events of other people's lives are usually boring. Unless you're living it, it's really only fun to hear about other people's lives for two reasons: if there is humor involved, or if there happens to be an exciting, out-of-the-ordinary event. And the 10 times a day I wipe someone's butt, or sweep the floor, or chase down a tantrum throwing child through Walmart, just don't make the cut.

I follow and read several Mommy blogs out there, and surprise surprise, they are all funny! That's why I read them. If you can't find the humor in the things that happen while being a mommy, you will go crazy. Psyco, maniac, I'm-going-to-run-away-and-never-come-back crazy. So I read the humorous antics of other mothers to help with that not going crazy thing. Sometimes though, what you need is a, "This mommy thing is really hard, but you are doing great and here's why" type of read. One of my favorites (if not my most favorite) blog for when I need that type of fix, is written by a lady with seven kids. Her main focus is finding the joy in motherhood and it's genius, heartfelt and relatable. Her post from today was all about the monotony of your days with young children and how to survive. She calls it, the days of "treading water," which is exactly how the majority of my days feel. It gave me some validity in feeling like I just don't have anything worth writing a blog post about. Some days I don't. And that's okay. My life, and what I'm doing with it right now, has more value than anything else I could be doing. And that's the truth.

Who Needs Sleep?

What's the deal with my kids when it comes to sleep? They each have their own separate issues, but seriously, where do those issues come from? I love to sleep. If I could, I'd go to bed every night at 9 o'clock, and not wake up until 10 or 11 the next morning. And I'm a dead rock. I don't move, and I don't make a sound. And from what I gather, Bryan was a tremendous sleeper as a kid; falling asleep quickly and peacefully at home, in the car, anywhere. So seriously, what's wrong with our kids?

Jean was terrible from day one. Fighting and fighting every single nap and bedtime. She cried every night for 45 minutes or more for the first two years of her life. Whether or not anyone was in the room trying to comfort her. Then she started waking up in the night All. The. Time. Which meant, I was up All. The. Time. (And listen, don't tell anyone, but I've been known to slip a tiny amount of over-the-counter sleeping stuff into her milk at night when we have stayed at hotels or someone else's house. Don't judge. After multiple nights of 2 hours of sleep because your daughter just can't function with the excitement of her new surroundings, you'd do the same.) Then, she began having night terrors. If you don't know what those are, good! I hope you never do. I'm not sure who was more frightened, me or her? And sleeping in the car? Forget it! What a total joke. She has now grown out of most everything, except the whole waking up early nonsense. At least it isn't 5 am anymore. Now she can usually sleep all the way to 6:30!

Alex, once again, is totally opposite. If he's tired, he will sleep. Anywhere (except in our bed. Both of the kids think it's play time if they are snuggled in bed with us). However, we found his weakness:

Sharing a room.

How do you parents do it?? How do you get your kids to sleep in the same room? I shared a room as a kid. So did Bryan. Neither of us remember having issues. But Alex just can't handle it.

A few nights ago, I had this brilliant idea of putting Jeanie's bed into Alex's room for a night, just to try it. We thought it might be fun for the kids, and also might be good practice for when we go to G/ma's house (where they need to share a room). Bad idea. The boy just cried. And screamed. And yelled. At one point about 15 minutes into this, Jean came out rubbing her eyes and said, "I think Alex is crying." Which was funny, and I felt bad for laughing, but we told her to let him cry for for a little longer until he fell asleep. She was fine with this, but after another half an hour or so, I felt so bad for the poor girl, that we moved her bed back into her room so she could get some sleep. Within 2 minutes of her bed leaving the room, Alex went to sleep.

So does anyone else have children with troubles like this? Or are mine just sleep handicapped? I mean, I know they are; there's no reasonable explanation I can come up with. But I assume I'm not the only parent doomed to no sleep for the next couple of decades, right??

The Moments

I'm sure many of you out there can relate to me on this:  a child that refuses your love. I mean, sure, they take the food you make (eh. some of it anyway), the juice you offer, your help to clean up their toys and junk, and your willingness to wipe their bum. But when it comes to hugs, and snuggles, and kisses, they raise a huge fuss.

My two children are polar opposites in this area. Alex looooovvves to be loved on. Loves it. He comes searching for it. He cries for it. He pushes his head harder into your lips as you kiss his forehead. He wraps his little meaty arms tight around your neck as you hug him. And he will sit in your lap, or snuggle under your arm for long periods of time as you watch a show or read some books. But my little Jean? Pffffff. 

From the time she came out of me, she was ready to be on her own. "Oh, you want to hug on me? I'm going to arch my back and grunt as I try my darnedest to get out of your reach. Yes, I am only a week old....your point?"  "I'm terribly, terribly hurt because I just ran my head into the door frame and have a huge purple lump sticking out! Owwwie!! BUT IF YOU TRY TO HOLD ME CLOSE IN COMFORT, I'M GOING TO TURN AND TWIST MY WAY OUT OF YOUR ARMS!"  "Can you read me this story, Mommy? Just, don't try to cuddle me as we read."  "I know we're walking across the parking lot, and I know the rule, but LET GO OF MY HAND! If you don't, I'm going to scream, 'Ow, ow, ow! You're hurting me!!'"   Oy. It's exhausting. Not to mention, pretty defeating and sometimes depressing. 

So, when nights like tonight come along, and you're getting ready to put her in bed and sing some songs, and she says, "I want to give you a hug," you drop to your knees and pull her in close. You hold her tight and close your eyes as you wrap one arm around her tiny back, and the other hand rests on the back of her head. You push everything out of your mind as you relish in this beautiful moment that comes around so rarely. And you feel so lucky that this busy little independent girl that always pushes you away so readily, actually stays in your arms for a whole entire minute. The knowledge that she sometimes actually does need my love keeps me going until that next moment decides to come along. And it will. Hopefully soon, because I really, really love those hugs. 

The Good and the Bad

I've been struggling the last few days, wondering how to write another post, because there are many different things I could write about. So how do I write without sounding jumbled? I still haven't come up with any kind of solution. Just bear with me.

The last few days of Bryan's break have been slow and wonderful. A much needed rejuvenation for all of us, including the kids. Spending every day with their daddy has been a special treat, and I'm sad to see the end is here already. When Bryan isn't writing a paper or waxing up some teeth, we are wandering around the toy section of various stores, letting our kids let loose a bit. We spent time looking at all of the lizards, birds, turtles, hamsters, and fish at the pet store while Daddy was getting a haircut. The four of us hang out together having tickle fights and playing hide and seek. There's no doubt about it: we love having Daddy home with us.

The only blemish in our great week, was actually a pretty horrible and traumatizing thing for me. And little Alex of course. I was making dinner Thursday night when I heard, "thump, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, thump, BAM! silence." Within a 3 or 4 second time frame, my heart stopped, I pieced together, "The stairs. The door to the stairs is open. That was Alex falling," and I flew through the room and around the corner to see my poor baby boy looking up from the second to the bottom stair, and his daddy (who had flown just ahead of me), scooping him up just as Alex began to scream and sob. I cried too, as we looked him over for any damage. He, thank God, is just fine.


He was shaken up of course, but other than a big goose egg on his head, he was okay. In fact, the little tumbler was running around and laughing less than half an hour after the fall. I, on the other hand, was a wreck all night. I laid in bed for a few hours after everyone else fell asleep, with horrible imaginary images of my little boy falling. Scariest moment of my parenting life, by far. And you better believe, I will never forget to check that door. Ever again.

                                                                                   
                                                                                   

The bump doesn't show up that well in the pictures, but it was big and sad. It's all gone now, though. Just a tiny bruise left. Poor baby. I have this immense relief that it was nothing worse, and I hold him a little bit tighter now. Which, I'm happy to say, he doesn't mind.