Desperation. 

My last post was all “tra-la-la, summer is amazing and wonderful and hot and we go to the pool every day! I love life!”

We’re on day, I don’t know, 7, maybe?, of rain. It feels like 87. And there’s no end in sight. 

The boys are coming up with new and more dangerous ways to pass the time. This is Bennett, Jack Henry and their friend Connor, aka my beloved fourth child, playing some game in the basement that resembles jumping in a leaf pile. 

  
Shirtless because their shirts are in the dryer, because I sent them out to play in the rain when my two children started to cannibalize. 

Send help. Or maybe just some good tequila. 

Pool Day

This boy, who I’m spending the afternoon with (his brothers are at a day camp), invited me to the pool. 

  
I think he knows his mama is never happier than when she’s in the sunshine. :)

  
I hope, friends, that you’re soaking up every single minute of summer that you can. And doing things like eating a watermelon-only lunch and drinking copious amounts of QT unsweet mango tea and never doing your hair (thank you, beachy, wavy hair for being in right now) and enjoying not wearing much makeup because you have a little bit of a tan that hides a lot of stuff. Tell me it’s not just me who’s doing these things?

Summer. :)

Five Days. 

That is how far into summer break it took the boys to have a bleeding incident. You guys, I’m declaring this a wild, unprecedented success. Especially because it was a no-biggie busted lip that happened innocently. 

 

He was fine in 2 minutes’ time.


It’s been a fun first few days. I swear NO ONE on earth loves summer as much as I do. (Except you, teacher and school admin friends. I see you.) A couple of hours at the neighborhood pool yesterday afternoon confirmed my joy…the boys swam/wrestled/nearly killed each other and I read and drank tea and mostly ignored their craziness and all was right with the world. 

 

one of them is super aggressive in the pool. guess who.

 
Sorry other moms at the pool with sweet little kids you have to monitor every second…this is your future, and it is glorious here. Yes, you have to trade those cute babies for loud, obnoxious bigger kids like mine, but it’s worth it. Carry on, Warriors. I’m feeling your pain. From over here in this chair. 

In other news, we have put the boys to work a couple of times in the yard, and they are actually helpful! 

 

finally.

  

cleaning up after edging.

 

Here’s to cold drinks, pool time, late bedtimes, baseball and time with friends! And a heaping measure of patience. 

also. my theory is that all boys are happy when there’s plenty of room to hit a ball or run. there will be lots of this.

Milestone. 

I know. I haven’t blogged in a sweet forever, and then I post the slightly-ridiculous following story. But give me a break…it’s the end of the school year and I’m soaking up my last moments of freedom. 

However, this is noteworthy and deserves recording, particularly when you are the mom of several. (Jack Henry overheard me say several, and he said, “You’re only the mom of 3,” to which I replied, “It sometimes feels like a lot, ok?”)

Anyway. Three paragraphs in, the whole point of this post is the following: Jack Henry just clipped his own fingernails. This is huge, as it’s a job I’ve despised for years. 12.5, to be exact, which is how long I’ve been a mom, and how long ago I first clipped Luke’s newborn fingernails and made him bleed. Just the other night I asked myself how much longer I might be doing this, so I’m really glad I got my answer so quickly. 

There are some things I miss about having really little kids, but this definitely won’t be one of them. Here’s to big kids with self-care skills. 

The Middle. 

Listen. 

When you have insomnia, and at 2:54am (while sitting on your closet floor, reading) decide that you are making the Pioneer Woman’s cinnamon rolls that day, and then your kid ends up with strep, so you can’t go to your other kids’ baseball games, and you’re home alone with the sick kid for lots of hours and he goes to bed at 7pm, and you finally make the cinnamon rolls, you get the middle one if you want it. 

  
(Also. There are seven other pans of these. Thankfully I stopped at one.)

Dear Boys of Mine, Do As We Say…

…not as we do.

Not a place I really intended to parent from, but, you know, sometimes you find yourself in situations where there is really no alternative but to utter those words.

For me, it’s been with my tattoos. I’ve told the boys repeatedly that when they’re fully grown ups (I’m going to go ahead and put myself solidly in this category), they can make choices like I did, but that no one better walk in the door at 18 with a skull and crossbones inked on his body. Matt has jokingly/not jokingly said that this is all on me, and he’s right.

And then Matt went and added his own example to the “not as I do” list last week.

He had a conference in NYC. His original flight on Monday was cancelled due to stormy weather on the east coast; he worked that morning to secure an alternate route, which ended up connecting through DC instead of being a direct flight.

Long story short: hours of delay on the tarmac in DC, with the flight eventually being cancelled. While Matt was trying to figure out what to do, a guy approached him about riding to NYC in the car he’d rented. Initially Matt wasn’t in; I mean, weird. But when another guy sitting close by said he was starting his new job in NYC tomorrow and he’d ride with the guy with the car, Matt decided to join them.

So yes. He drove 4+ hours in bad weather in the middle of the night with 2 strangers WHOSE LAST NAMES HE DID NOT EVEN GET (men, I tell you…3 women in a car together would have been Facebook friends before the end of the first hour).

So to my boys: we still do NOT get in cars with strangers. Ever.

The end.

Donating the Dress

5 years ago, I unsealed my wedding gown box so that I could try on my dress. I was thrilled it zipped, even if it didn’t quite fit like it had on my wedding day.

I mentioned in that post that I was thinking of getting rid of the dress, because I am just not terribly sentimental about things. Everyone in the comments (and there are a TON of them!) freaked out and insisted I keep the dress. Go read it…lots of great ideas about what I could do with it.

So I kept it.

And then we moved across town, and 5 more years went by, and during that time I lost 30+ pounds (I’m still so happy about this!). I got the gown out again in January to try it on while going through some things in the basement. Obviously, it’s way too big now.

And 5 years later, I’ve found that I am still not sentimental about keeping it. So really. Why is it still here?

The decision has officially been made: I am donating the dress…like it’s literally boxed up and going to the post office today. And I’m donating it while I still can: there is only one wedding gown charity that will take it because, you know, it’s ancient in terms of wedding fashion. (For the record: I still think it’s really pretty.)

I’m sending it to Adorned in Grace in Portland, where the proceeds will go towards eliminating sex trafficking in their city. I love that my dress will make another bride happy AND do good.

Here’s a list of several wedding gown charities, in case you might be ready to let your dress go do some good for someone else, too. If your dress is 5 years old or less, there are lots of different options for you to choose from!

I put it on one last time last week and had Matt take a picture…

um, once upon a time i, uh, filled out this dress a little better :/  it’s sad that we can’t choose WHICH part of our bodies to lose weight from.