Last month I hosted a baby shower for a sweet friend.  I had a blast hosting.  A very talented friend took pics at the shower and here are some of my fave shots...

My last blog was all about how someone in our house is always sick or injured.

That is still true.

Monday night/Tuesday morning Nic and I spent 9 hours in the ER after he knocked his noggin falling out of a playground climber.  I had no idea how awful head traumas could be, and even though his concussion is not bad by any medical measure, it still has him suffering nausea, headaches, and sleepiness.  

This afternoon I took the babies to their Doc.  Double ear infections.  For both of them.  I now have three bottles of antibiotics in my fridge for three different boys.

I am ready for a season of healthy.  Ready for everyone to be good. 

We have gotten the major sickies out of the way for the season and so should be good until Spring, right?  Isn't that how it works?

I know it isn't.  And I know several families close to us struggling through long-term diagnoses.  I will not take for granted that time and meds will fix up my babies just fine.  I will not take for granted that we have insurance that covers 99% of our doctors visits, ER visits, prescriptions, and have a nurse line to call with questions.  I will not take for granted all those good things and healthy times.

Having four kiddos means that probably we will have one kid sick most of the time.
Actually, I am going to count teething, runny noses, and headaches as "sick" so that I can confidently say four kiddos means that someone in our house is sick at any given time.
At the moment this is what we have going on in our house:
Nic has bronchitis/sinusitus.  His visit to urgent care on Sunday got him a confirmation of a nasty bug and a trio of meds.
Em woke up puking and has developed a stubborn and nasty fever (off to the doctor tomorrow morning).
Ande is teething (?) and running a low grade fever along with an acute case of the restless grumpies. He has also figured out that he can, if he wants, spit out any and all medicine.  Cool.
I spent last night on the couch with Em on puke watch.  Em does not sleep well any where but his bed, but that was airing out (ick, I know), so that he rested for five hours was pretty good.  He was at least good to cuddle and watch a movie while refusing to sleep.  Today I feel like I am constantly wiping noses and booties, chasing someone to get a temperature read, keeping track of who got what medication when and what and when they need again, cleaning (yay Lysol), and doing laundry.
Major respect for the nurses of the world.  Care taking is not my strong suit.  And any care taking involving vomit clean-up...nope.  Not where I excel.
It could be worse...we could all be sick.
Ugh.
Hopeful that the icks pass, that the Lysol kills the bugs and that the daily Thieves Oil mouth rinse keeps me healthy.

I have started, stopped, back-spaced, typed, deleted, and re-started this post several times this morning.

I am all jumbled up, don't know where to start or where to go once I get going.  So, where am I right now?

This morning...

-I am thankful for coffee, a happy baby (who slept all night), cuddly toddler (even though his cuddles are more like barrel rolls), sweet Big kids (who have finally nailed the morning routine), my Andy (who ordered an amazing coffee), my brother-in-law (amazing guy...even if he slurps his coffee).
*Side note:  I think I am  a bit coffee obsessed this morning.  With good reason, though.  I did some math (ok, not HARD math, but still some counting was involved) and figured out that for nearly three years I have had interrupted sleep and also been the source of food/nutrition for another little being. That's right...nearly three years of being preggo or nursing.  Bananas.  Totally deserve coffee for that. 

-I am homesick for Rockford, Honolulu, Lafayette and everywhere our family and friends are all at once.  Blessed to have lived so many lovely places and meet so many lovely people.  In a perfect world I would be able to pick my neighbors and we would all live in a cozy little town in a place that had all four seasons but also beaches and beautiful hikes where parades, farmers markets, art walks, and picnics happened at least once a month and schools were awesome.  If only.
-I am sad, noting the date, at the passage of time. Five years doesn't seem as long as it should.  I feel like we just said goodbye.  I thought of baking a lemon meringue pie, a small homage to a lady gone before any of us were ready.  But I think I would rather wait, and make one on a happier anniversary: her birthday.  I will look for birds today.  Maybe smile and wonder what she would think about the two lovies of mine she never met. Wonder what she would think about the two lovies she did know...five years older.  I did not think it was possible to feel the absence of a person like I feel her absence.  

-I feel like there are pieces of my heart all over.  And that is sad and happy and way more complex than I can try and figure out.

I am not any less jumbled.  But my coffee is gone.  And so is the happy baby; replaced with a tired and grouchy baby.  

This weekend I hosted a baby shower for a super sweet friend.  I got to hang out with some favorite ladies I had not seen in a while and meet some lovely friends of the momma-to-be's.  One of these friends commented that my house looked like a Pinterest Board.  Once I confirmed this was, in fact, a compliment I was totally flattered.  My house--a Pinterest Board!
But, here's the truth: if she had opened a closet (any closet) or a cabinet, or the laundry room door she would have seen more Pinterest "fails" than perfection.  And had she gone upstairs...wow.  Not at all Pinterest-y.
What my house looks like when we are having "company" versus what it looks like when we are actually living in it are completely different pictures of family life.
We are not tidy.  Any given day there is clean laundry sort of folded sort of sorted on the couch.  There are dirty socks and playground mulch on the floor.  Dishes are piled up.  The tables (both dining room AND kitchen) are covered with school projects, sticky breakfast remnants, and books.
While the vacuum is run every other day, the floor mopped as often and the bathrooms cleaned at least twice a week, I am betting you might think differently.
Six people, one house...mess.
But that is not the "picture" we put out to the world.  We super clean, hide the mess, sanitize the reality and show off how great the house looks.
It seems silly to do.  And I hope it doesn't make people think that we have it all together and live in this Pinterest perfect house.  I hope though, too, that if they ever paid a visit, unannounced, on a week day they wouldn't run screaming from the insanity that greets them.  

It has been five years since our little (well, not so little) Ohana spent Christmas back home in Illinois.  

Five years of Christmases spent establishing our own traditions as well as honoring those Andy and I grew up with.
Five years of adventures and good stories (like the one time we were beach camping and a tornado made it's way within a mile of us).  

Five years of good friends (like the Christmas we gave up on a second attempt at beach camping because there were more centipedes than people in our cabin and returned home to no dinner plans and ended up spending the evening with our very sweet and welcoming neighbor friends). 

Five years of family members visiting and enjoying some Aloha Christmas Spirit (we spent good times with my cousin one year and my mother-in-law another year).  

Five years.

That is kind of a long time.

This year we decided to make the trip home.  

It will be crazy.

And probably stressful.  Ok, no "probably", it WILL be stressful.

But the boys are ridiculously excited.
I am excited, too.

I am also a little sad.

A lot of the magical parts of Christmas I loved as a child and even grown-up are not the same.  For a Navy wife who has lived in 5 states, 7 houses, and spent 10 years making plans with the understanding that more than likely those plans will change, I am a big baby when it comes to things back home changing. 

I know change happens, people change, places change, I have changed.  I know that just because those changes have happened does not mean that Christmas is gone or not as special.  

Five years is a lot of time and a lot of room for change.

I will miss my Gram.  I have not had a Christmas back home without her.

I will miss the childish perception (that lasted well into my adult years) that families are always and being family means forgiving and living and giving grace.
These two changes make me the saddest.

So as I am prepping my to-do list, my shopping lists, and gathering up ideas to participate in my family's infamous Christmas Eve white elephant exchange, I am also trying to mourn those things that are gone, changed, not ever the same and be all done with that.  I want things to be good, happy, memorable when we are home so that the boys can have a Illinois BIG family Christmas to remember and talk about and try and convince us to do again next year. 

I want us to drive around town and see the lights.

I want us to go to the midnight Christmas service.

I want us to eat, and eat, and eat all of those special and delicious dishes that our families have perfected.

I want us to bundle up.  Throw snow balls.

I want us to sit by a fire and talk story with my cousins and aunts.

I want us to decorate sugar cookies.

I want the boys to see what a rowdy, loud house full of people they love sounds like.  And it is good to know, no matter what changes have happened in five years, that there will always be those loud, rowdy, loving people.

Matt made it through the night no problem.
It was a relief and lesson to me to re-the heck-lax.
And now he has a good story.
As much as we seem to be in the ER, I have to say I am incredibly thankful that we are rarely in the hospital.  My children are healthy.  Accident prone.  But healthy.  I cannot imagine being a parent of a significantly ill child.  I always try to be aware and thankful for my blessings and pray for those families out there who cannot count their children's good health as a blessing.

Matthew just spent several hours in the ER.
I can't tell you how many times that sentence has been true.
And while a few times have been for "normal" things...stitches on a busted chin, high fever with a scary cough, you know, kid stuff that happens...a lot of the time his ER visits have been a little more exotic: severe arm fracture, mystery illness, and, now, a snake bite.
Yes.  A snake bite.
How?  Apparently during recess he was "feeling around in some bushes and brush trying to find a stick to swing around and felt a stinging/bite."  He thought it was a spider bite.  But he didn't mention it to any one at school.  Even when it stung and hurt through the rest of the day.
It did not swell, or bleed, or make his hand turn black.  So, I guess I can see why he waited until he was in the car on the way home to tell someone about it.

Matt got the all clear from the ER doc.  Professional opinion being that it is not a venomous bite.
Mommy fear: it is actually a coral snake bite (which can take up to 18 hours to show symptoms).  So, if we assume that dude got bit at approximately 1:30 in the afternoon, we can also assume that I am going to be bugging the crap out of him, checking vitals, not sleeping, etc until 7:30 a.m. tomorrow.

I will let you know how it goes.

As I write this morning, my house is loud.  Big boys are playing a video game.  Em is jumping around with his brothers.  Ande is sitting babbling and shrieking, excited to see his brothers excited.  The cat and dog are play fighting.  The dishwasher and laundry are starting their very full day of work.   Coffee is cooling next to me and we have zero commitments for the day.   It's good.

Yesterday we got to see my cousin and her new husband for an impromptu lunch date as they traveled through on their way to their honeymoon destination. 

Fun fact: I had a bad sinus infection on our honeymoon and spent half the time of our cruise ugly sleeping in our cabin.
It was fun to see my little cousin as an adult and married and hear her and her husband talk plans for the future.  It made me think of how different my life is now from those early married times.  How I could not ever, in a million years, have anticipated any of what the ten years have brought.  The biggest surprise: having a cat.  

Yesterday we also took part in a Buddy walk benefiting the Down Syndrome Society and the Spread the Word to End the Word movement.  It was a really fun morning with about 5,000 other people enjoying the gorgeous weather in the park with us.  
It was challenging to try and explain to the Big boys about Down Syndrome.  Matt wanted to classify the genetic disorder into strictly either a good or bad thing.  Trying to get my super logical, scientific, one-track-minded child to think outside very linear boundaries is a challenge.  But, lucky for us, he and Nic are very good at observation.  And it was easier for them to SEE how Down Syndrome effects a person than have me explain it.  And by see I don't mean just observe that people with Downs look different.  I mean the boys saw that there were a bunch of kids running around, playing at the park, swinging, climbing, singing, hanging with friends, hanging with family, playing fetch with their dog, dancing to music, bouncing on jump castles, having meltdowns, being impatient, walking a mile around the park to show support for a really great set of causes.  There were so many kids just like them all over the park and some of them had Down Syndrome.  

Teaching the boys to find ways to empathize rather than sympathize, have a conversation rather than ask a million questions, see the person and not the disorder, and give friendship instead of pity is hard sometimes, most times.  But I can remember growing up and just wanting people to stop staring, stop asking me questions, stop needing it explained, in detail, down to the chromosome with the busted gene, stop wanting to know WHY my brother was different and just play with us.  And if they didn't want to play, fine.  I just wanted them to be cool.  I noticed and my brother did, too when people stared, laughed, or (worse, even) gave pitying glances and shook their heads.  I want my kiddos to just be cool.  To know they can come ask me about stuff later, but to be cool in the moment.  I want it to be normal to be around all types of people.  And to be courteous and friendly to all kids.  
Hopefully we are doing ok with that so far. 

10/3/14

My lunch sits on the table, luke warm and (probably) missing bits courtesy of cat.
Ande jumps happily in his bouncy thing, oblivious to his temporary lack of "mama".
I am perched on the corner of EmmyJ's bed, a to-do list running through my head.  At the top of the list: get Em to nap.
The countdown clock is ticking until we leave to pick up the Big's from school (if he falls asleep this instant, he will get a solid hour and forty-two minute rest).
I am thinking of my unfinished (probably) cat raided lunch, of the calendar updating needing done, the laundry, the dishes, of Ande and how long it is before he realizes I am not in the room and starts wailing.
And then Em hands me the book.
Bear Snores On.
I know this book by heart.
As does Andy.
And probably Matt and Nic, too.
This book is Em's bedtime ritual.  In recent weeks, despite my every effort to thwart it, the book has become naptime ritual as well.  I do not want to read/recite.  I do not want to do special voices.  I do not want to read.  I want to eat my lunch and begin making progress on my to-do list.  I want this small child to sleep so that we can enjoy our evening together and not be tempted (oh so tempted) to move up bedtime by an hour.
But his face is set.
Stubborn.
His expression more determined than mine.  I pause, listen for Ande, listen for cat choking on a piece of stolen pasta, and then, grudgingly, begin to read.  Hurriedly,  rushed, half-assed (if I am being honest).  I am turning pages as fast as I can.
And then I glance at Em right before a particularly exciting, usually over-acted by the reader, definitely silly but maybe to a toddler scary part.
His face.
His sweet little face glances back at mine.  Eyes wide.  Mouth forming a funny, over exaggerated, I-know-what's-coming-but-still-am-thrilled-and-loving-this-moment "O" shape.  And I cannot help but play.  Cannot help but read crazy and loud and fake crying and a little bird twittering in to save the day.  He is delighted.
I close the book and snuggle for a few minutes.  Em settles in on his pillow, big smile, sleepy eyes. I take a deep breath.  I lean over to plant a kiss on his head.  Another deep breath.  He smells like sunshine and Fall and a tiny bit like the shampoo from last night's bath.  He doesn't fuss when I leave. My lunch is suspiciously missing meat.  Ande is fine and bounces gleefully when he sees I am back.

I know it is SO cliche to say "I will always have a to-do" list.  But, it is true: I will.  But I won't always have a two-year old who loves the Bear book.  Or cat who will steal food when I am not looking.  Or Ande who is so content to just chill and play and bounce along.
It is difficult in the real-ness of parenting and running a house to pause and play or not be annoyed at the questions regarding spaceship construction or allow the boy's to try something I know I can do in about 5 minutes but will take them at least 20.  It is hard for me to do these things.
Funny thing, though, is that when I do...when I do slow down, toss out the to-do list (temporarily), read the book, play peek-a-boo, whatever...I end up part of a moment.  Maybe it is a moment only I will remember, maybe it is one I won't but one of the boys will years down the road.  Maybe no one will remember.  However it ends up, they will all be moments spent well.
Life lesson: play more, be there more, give the boys (my sweet growing too fast boys) more time.

Anderson Marshall

I suppose I should "officially" introduce Anderson Marshall.
I feel a bit like a slacker as he is nearly three and a half months old and has yet to have a word written about him.  Well, at least not on this blog, I have been a pro at keeping up his baby book.  And I have facebooked/Instagramed about him plenty.  Anyway...
I think the biggest and best part of our sweet baby is that he IS a sweet baby.  The kind of sweet baby that you want to have a dozen more of.
He is relaxed.
Easy going.  Not one to fuss (except if he is hungry or overly tired).
He sleeps solidly through the night and has for nearly a month now.    It's crazy, but the relief of knowing we will not ever again have a newborn sleep schedule to struggle through is bittersweet.
Anderson gives out smiles and coos to his brothers any time he has their attention.  Emerson is his favorite (and is a fantastic, gentle, and clumsy but adorable big brother).  Anderson has long conversations with us in the evening before bed.  We think it is probably because that is when he can have 100% of Andy and my attention (as the other kiddos are asleep).
He enjoys being part of things.  He likes sitting up watching his brothers play.  He prefers to sit in his high chair at dinner and watch and babble.  We figured this out when he was fussy (but not hungry or tired) every time we sat down for dinner.  No matter where we put him--the swing, bouncy chair, play mat--he cried.  Until I held him on my lap one evening.  And there he was as happy as could be.  A few days later we tried out the high chair and that is where he now spends dinner time.
When he does hang out in the swing, he LOVES the little bird mobile on it that spins and tweets.  We can always tell when it has automatically turned off because he protests quite loudly.
He laughs.  This is a new development.  He laughs big, beautiful belly laughs.  I had forgotten the absolute joy of hearing baby's first laugh.  And while each of our littles found a different prompt for their first bouts of laughter, they all made Andy and I melty melt and do whatever we could to replicate that happy sound.
Also, despite being our littlest at birth, dropping quite a bit of weight his first few weeks, and struggling to gain weight back, he is now chunky chunky.  His arm dimples have dimples and his little thighs are thick.  I love a chunky baby.  Matt and Nic were SO very chunky and it made me so sad that Em never really chunked up.
It's been funny to not totally confuse people when talking about Anderson--usually shortened to "Andy". While not a huge issue among just our family, when talking about Andy's adorable bout of bath time giggles other people some times need clarification that we are referring to baby Andy and not grown-up Andy.
Anderson has fit right into family life.  It is loud. Crazy. Happy.  And made even better by having sweet little man with us.

This is real.

I struggle with eating issues.  
Food issues.
Eating disorders.
I could sugar coat it, pretend I don't struggle, gloss over it like it is all no big deal that I am 32 and still cannot get a handle on things.  But, I won't.  Not any more, at least.
Because I am trying to fix some bad, bad habits that I've been holding onto since high school.  Because I am trying to find other ways to manage my anxiety.  Because I want to get my body to look nice in a way that is sustainable and not in a way that will destroy my bones and my teeth.  Because I want my boys to learn to be kind to their bodies.
When I finally stepped on the scale after having Anderson (at 4 or 5 weeks postpartum), and I saw 220, I about died. 220 pounds.  I cried.  Two and a half years (give or take) of being pregnant or nursing, using the pregnancy as an excuse to not eat well and nursing as an excuse to eat extra had caught up with me.  Two hundred and twenty pounds.
Overwhelming.
Suddenly I was aware that I was the obese lady on the late night infomercial with fifty or more pounds to lose.  
Two hundred and twenty pounds.
Without thinking, I went into planning mode: water and gum and coffee. Creamer every other day.  Vitamins. Purge any and everything else.   Ready, set, go...
Except.
I am responsible for feeding a baby.  I can't do that.  I can't even, really, restrict my calorie intake too severely.  Not enough calories=not enough milk.
So, then what?
Two hundred and twenty pounds, and I hated how I looked.  How nothing but maternity clothes fit.  Hated my body with no idea how to change because everything I knew to fall back on to drop the weight was absolutely off limits for as long as I nursed Anderson.
I decided to try something new and hit the gym 3-5 times a week.  Get some kid-free time (the YMCA child watch ladies are gems).  Sweat.  Learn how to use weight machines.  Find the tiny, mirrored room of free weights that no one ever uses and perfect my squats and lunges.  Get blisters and callouses.  Get sore.  Feel so much better.
I also decided to scrap the word "diet" and try just eating better.  More water.  I subscribed to a farm box.  Lovely, fresh, organic fruits and vegetables delivered weekly.  I started cooking more fish and less red meat, incorporating whole grains, keeping less junk stashed in the pantry.  Less going out or picking up fast food.  Being aware of what and how much I ate by keeping a food diary but not stressing if frozen yogurt happened to be an entry.  I started thinking about what I ate instead of not caring about what I ate because I was just going to throw it up anyway.
I started this seven weeks ago.  I started all of this knowing I would have to have patience.  I set non-weight related goals like: "keep track of  all the food I eat this week", "35 hard minutes on the elliptical," or, "no after dinner snacking" because I knew losing weight the right way takes time.
I have been consistent.  I have worked hard.
So when I stepped on the scale yesterday and saw 220 register, I wanted to scream.  And with that scream came the temptation of old habits.
It was hard to ignore.
And today, when the old lady in the store asked me, as I held my three-month-old IN MY ARMS, when I was due, I wanted to cry.  I did cry.  The whole way home.  And with those tears comes self criticism. And ugly feelings of failure.  And feeling out of control.  And the old habits, the ones that I know can get me 50 pounds lighter a lot quicker than I am getting there with the new habits, the ones that make me feel better by quieting anxiety, become so tempting.
This is a struggle.
It is frustration.
So this,writing then hitting the "publish" button when I am done, is to hopefully lessen some of the struggle. Get it out of my head.  Where some one can see it.  And maybe not ask me when I am due.  Or how I plan on losing the weight.
Or maybe, really, it is so there is no judgement about my 220 pounds because I am trying to lose it.
The right way.
Without being hungry and grouchy and hiding my tooth-scraped knuckles.  Without being irresponsible as a parent.  By trying to instill some new ways of doing things that are not completely ridiculous.
I am trying.
I am.

Wait, what...

So yeah, it's mid to late January...I haven't posted since pre-holiday December.  I am a slacker.
And you'd think that I would use this "first blog back" to catch up on all the craziness of Christmas, my sweet husband and our 10th anniversary, New Years resolutions, the pregnancy, or the adorableness of our kiddos conveyed via cute anecdotes.
No.
Ya'll, I am going to talk about our cat, Zu, and the fact that she is in heat.  At four months old.  And that is crazy.
I feel bad for her.  Like, really bad.  Not bad enough to do some of the "home remedies" I read about on the interwebs (ew, seriously).  But bad.
And I feel bad for Buddy.  Poor dummy dog is being propositioned constantly and has no clue.  Which is fine.  I actually prefer it that way.  Cause if he did get a clue I would have to be the jerk who breaks up an inter species hook up and nobody wants that job.
Also, she is in love with Matt's Croc.  And Andy's dress shoe.
Shameless.
Thankfully the vet will be fixing her on Monday.  And while the surgery recoup is going to be challenging as far as keeping Em away from his beloved "Kitty!!", it is going to be a relief to not have the insanity and weirdness going on in the house.