It's probably no secret to you that I'm no fun. At least, I'm not the loud, boisterous, crowd-loving, outdoor activity enjoying, up-all-night-sleep-all-day kind of fun that our culture tends to value. And, I'm not sorry. Sometimes, I tend to be a bit too cautious. And territorial. And controlling. And set in my ways, also known as, "correctly."
I don't know what I'm going to do when the kids get involved in extra-curricular activities that require me to act cheerful and pretend I'm having a good time for their sakes. I'm still hoping that they'll all be into the arts and I can enjoy their activities in earnest.
Given the new kid's energy level and preference for watching grown men knock each other down to get a ball, I think I'll have better providence with the other two.
Anyway, four days from now, we will celebrate our fine country's independence and I will become Grouchy Smurf.
There will be fireworks. I hate fireworks.
There will be potato salad and baked beans. I hate potato salad and baked beans.
Everyone will be dressed in red, white, and blue. I hate dressing like everyone else.
It will be hot. I hate hot.
We will sweat. I hate sweat.
There will be barbecue. I could eat my weight in barbecue. (For my yankee and Canadian friends, that's smoked pork with heavenly sauce on it, not hot dogs on a grill.)
Oh, please understand that I love my country and am very thankful to have this day to celebrate. I just don't understand why we have to set ourselves on fire and terrify children and dogs until the wee hours of the morning to celebrate it.
Mayonnaise does not belong on potatoes, and pinto beans should not be sweet. Ick!
And, at the tender age of 37.5, I am at least 40 years too young to wear the ladies' required uniform of a blue denim shirt with American flag appliques, and denim capris that are a completely different color of blue.
No one should be forced to sweat. Ever. It's cruel. It's disgusting.
Don't fret. I will have fun. After we go eat some barbecue (again, pork covered in yummy stuff. Not burgers on a grill), I plan to watch the Nathan's hot dog eating contest. Then, I will eat my veggie dogs and my salad while DWH has his chili dogs and baked beans.
After that, I will spend the rest of the night trying to get my children to go back to sleep and explaining that the noise is just fireworks and it can't get them.
Oh, and, Hey kids! Get off my lawn!
June 30, 2014
June 19, 2014
Tie a String Around My Finger, Part 2
There's a movie, and I'm sorry but I don't remember the title, in which Sarah Jessica Parker's character says something to the effect of this: If you want to know how it feels to be a superhero, all you need is to be the mom of a two-year-old boy.
I could not have said it better myself.
And, I might need reminders one day that, when he was two, my Little Buddy was my best little buddy in the whole wide world.
I will want to remember the sweet way he flashed his gap-toothed grin whenever he laid eyes on his mom. I'm going to smile when I remember the time we ate lunch at McAlister's and he spilled some applesauce on my arm, and immediately grabbed a napkin so he could clean off my arm for me. I will remember how he warmed my heart every time he would hug me from behind when I sat on the floor, the way he saw his Daddy hug me in the kitchen.
I want to have a picture in my mind of the sweetest boy in the world, hauling around his blue pillow with the whale on it with one hand, while sucking the middle two fingers on the other.
When he gets older and his voice deepens, I want a clear auditory memory of his toddler voice, calling his sister, his hero, to come and play with him. I'd like to remember how he loved dinosaurs, rocket ships, and robots (is there a future scientist in our midst??) and how he switched loyalties from Batman to Spiderman in an instant. I hope I can always hear him saying, " 'Ook, Mom! It's Dark Bader!"
What a wonderfully thoughtful, intelligent, loving little boy.
He, too, will someday want to borrow the car and will eventually drive it away. But, right now, in 2014, when my Little Buddy is two, I get to be his SuperMom.
Who could ask for anything more?
I could not have said it better myself.
And, I might need reminders one day that, when he was two, my Little Buddy was my best little buddy in the whole wide world.
I will want to remember the sweet way he flashed his gap-toothed grin whenever he laid eyes on his mom. I'm going to smile when I remember the time we ate lunch at McAlister's and he spilled some applesauce on my arm, and immediately grabbed a napkin so he could clean off my arm for me. I will remember how he warmed my heart every time he would hug me from behind when I sat on the floor, the way he saw his Daddy hug me in the kitchen.
I want to have a picture in my mind of the sweetest boy in the world, hauling around his blue pillow with the whale on it with one hand, while sucking the middle two fingers on the other.
When he gets older and his voice deepens, I want a clear auditory memory of his toddler voice, calling his sister, his hero, to come and play with him. I'd like to remember how he loved dinosaurs, rocket ships, and robots (is there a future scientist in our midst??) and how he switched loyalties from Batman to Spiderman in an instant. I hope I can always hear him saying, " 'Ook, Mom! It's Dark Bader!"
What a wonderfully thoughtful, intelligent, loving little boy.
He, too, will someday want to borrow the car and will eventually drive it away. But, right now, in 2014, when my Little Buddy is two, I get to be his SuperMom.
Who could ask for anything more?
June 5, 2014
Tie a String Around My Finger
This is a reminder to myself that once upon a time, when Sweet Pea was four, she called her bathing suit her "baby soup," and I didn't correct her because I thought it was adorable.
This is a reminder that she did her best to irritate her daddy by pretending to be an Auburn fan, and that she was the greatest source of entertainment for her baby brother.
This will also remind me that when my girl was four, she loved her two-year-old brother more than anyone else in the world.
And she actually wanted to go to the dentist because she was afraid of having green teeth like in the movie she saw at preschool and she loved grilled cheese but didn't like cheese and she named her dolphin bath toy Junie B. Jones.
Because, in December, she will be five and she's just going to keep on going to six and seven, and way beyond that. She's going to go to prom before I know it and she won't call her bathing suit her "baby soup" anymore.
So, I want to remember how cute it was in 2014, when she was four and wanted to put on her baby soup and go to the pool, where she would wear her swimmies like Peppa Pig and then use her Minnie Mouse towel to dry off.
So, this post is a string around my finger so I'll remember all of that when I'm old.
Next, I want to tie a string around a finger for my Little Buddy, who's two right now, but will be three before I have time to blink and then...
This is a reminder that she did her best to irritate her daddy by pretending to be an Auburn fan, and that she was the greatest source of entertainment for her baby brother.
This will also remind me that when my girl was four, she loved her two-year-old brother more than anyone else in the world.
And she actually wanted to go to the dentist because she was afraid of having green teeth like in the movie she saw at preschool and she loved grilled cheese but didn't like cheese and she named her dolphin bath toy Junie B. Jones.
Because, in December, she will be five and she's just going to keep on going to six and seven, and way beyond that. She's going to go to prom before I know it and she won't call her bathing suit her "baby soup" anymore.
So, I want to remember how cute it was in 2014, when she was four and wanted to put on her baby soup and go to the pool, where she would wear her swimmies like Peppa Pig and then use her Minnie Mouse towel to dry off.
So, this post is a string around my finger so I'll remember all of that when I'm old.
Next, I want to tie a string around a finger for my Little Buddy, who's two right now, but will be three before I have time to blink and then...
May 22, 2014
It's Not Supposed To Happen This Early
It's just NOT!
I just had the most heartbreaking conversation with my four-year-old Sweet Pea in the car.
We were stopped at a red light, talking about her day and Buddy's day, just like every other time I have picked them up from school this year. I noticed that both kids seemed really tired, which I assumed was due to the number of last-day-of-school activities. In Buddy's case, that was true and maybe that was part of it for Sweet Pea, too.
Then, she said something I hoped I would never hear her say.
"Mommy, Ava is better than me."
Huh?? Where in the world would she get an idea like that? So, I asked her what she meant and she proceeded to fill me in on how pretty Ava is, and how everyone likes her because she has so many dolls and toys and such pretty clothes. "Her clothes are a lot prettier than mine, Mommy, and she has a lot more bows than I do."
She went on to say that Ava brought presents for Mrs. Pam and Mrs. Pam's new grandson (these were actually gifts from the whole class, but I guess that's not easy for a four-year-old to grasp), and that Ava got brand new gold shoes and she even has an Elsa doll. But, I think the part that bothered me the most was when she told me that she doesn't like her own face and she wants to look like Ava.
"I just want to be Ava!"
She is four. FOUR! It's not supposed to happen now! I know it happens and that self-esteem plummets when girls hit middle school, but we have been giving her the Aibileen Cooper pep talk for four years now, trying to postpone that as long as possible. She IS kind. She IS smart. She IS important. She is also polite, funny, affectionate, beautiful, and the best big sister her brothers could ever hope to have. I don't think she has gone to bed without hearing how wonderful she is in four years.
I want to know who told her she's supposed to look like or dress like someone else.Where did she get this mess??
Don't get me wrong, I have experienced the same thing. I, too, wanted to look like the other girls - the ones who were cutesy and petite (which I've never been), blond (which I've never been without paying for it), and had more cute outfits than they could count and name brand shoes and all that. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes sit in my second grade classroom wishing I had a cascading mane of blond tresses adorned with one of those barrettes that had the ribbons woven around it. Remember those?
If you were born after 1982, probably not. I don't think my thick, mousy brown waves would have held one. And, then there was the perm. Oh, Lordy, the perm. Oops, sorry. Repressed memories are flooding back.
But, I was older. I wasn't FOUR.
At four years old, I'm pretty sure my self-esteem was still intact. I knew that I was smart and housed and clothed and fed and loved and that was all that mattered. My cousin was a petite blond, but I didn't want to BE her. I just wanted to share my Strawberry Shortcake doll with her. I didn't realize that I didn't look like the other girls until someone pointed it out.
I do not want that for her!! I want her to know how incredible she is and that there is no such thing as someone who is pretty or better than she is. I want her to know that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, that she is perfect just the way she is and that her hair and clothes and how many toys she has just DO NOT MATTER! It's all just stuff. It's crap. None of it will make any difference in the big picture.
I wish that, when I was an eight- or nine-year-old envying the other girls for their bird legs and Care Bear collections, someone had shown me a snapshot of myself in my thirties, with a husband who adores me, three fantastic kids, taking a brief hiatus from a career I love to hang out with them for a while, good friends, a wonderful church...need I go on? Maybe I still would have wanted to look like someone else, but maybe it would have helped to know that in the grand scheme of things, I was going to be happy whether I had Sam & Libby shoes or shoes from Payless.
Part of me wonders if this is my doing. Does she feel left out because I don't dress her in ruffles the size of lampshades and bows the size of her head every time she leaves the house, like all the little preppy preschoolers? I honestly don't want her to be someone who thinks the sky is going to fall if she doesn't have exactly what the perceived, "everyone" else has. I mean, she's a well-dressed child, but I want her to look like a four-year-old who's going to climb stuff and have fun, not a doll.
So, I said what I think, I hope, I was supposed to say. I told her all the things I love about her, and that God made her wonderful, exactly the way she is. I told her that only Ava can be Ava, and only Sweet Pea can be Sweet Pea. I told her how much I love her.
I hope she believed me.
It shouldn't happen at all. But, really, it's not supposed to happen this early.
:(
I just had the most heartbreaking conversation with my four-year-old Sweet Pea in the car.
We were stopped at a red light, talking about her day and Buddy's day, just like every other time I have picked them up from school this year. I noticed that both kids seemed really tired, which I assumed was due to the number of last-day-of-school activities. In Buddy's case, that was true and maybe that was part of it for Sweet Pea, too.
Then, she said something I hoped I would never hear her say.
"Mommy, Ava is better than me."
Huh?? Where in the world would she get an idea like that? So, I asked her what she meant and she proceeded to fill me in on how pretty Ava is, and how everyone likes her because she has so many dolls and toys and such pretty clothes. "Her clothes are a lot prettier than mine, Mommy, and she has a lot more bows than I do."
She went on to say that Ava brought presents for Mrs. Pam and Mrs. Pam's new grandson (these were actually gifts from the whole class, but I guess that's not easy for a four-year-old to grasp), and that Ava got brand new gold shoes and she even has an Elsa doll. But, I think the part that bothered me the most was when she told me that she doesn't like her own face and she wants to look like Ava.
"I just want to be Ava!"
She is four. FOUR! It's not supposed to happen now! I know it happens and that self-esteem plummets when girls hit middle school, but we have been giving her the Aibileen Cooper pep talk for four years now, trying to postpone that as long as possible. She IS kind. She IS smart. She IS important. She is also polite, funny, affectionate, beautiful, and the best big sister her brothers could ever hope to have. I don't think she has gone to bed without hearing how wonderful she is in four years.
I want to know who told her she's supposed to look like or dress like someone else.Where did she get this mess??
Don't get me wrong, I have experienced the same thing. I, too, wanted to look like the other girls - the ones who were cutesy and petite (which I've never been), blond (which I've never been without paying for it), and had more cute outfits than they could count and name brand shoes and all that. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes sit in my second grade classroom wishing I had a cascading mane of blond tresses adorned with one of those barrettes that had the ribbons woven around it. Remember those?
If you were born after 1982, probably not. I don't think my thick, mousy brown waves would have held one. And, then there was the perm. Oh, Lordy, the perm. Oops, sorry. Repressed memories are flooding back.
But, I was older. I wasn't FOUR.
At four years old, I'm pretty sure my self-esteem was still intact. I knew that I was smart and housed and clothed and fed and loved and that was all that mattered. My cousin was a petite blond, but I didn't want to BE her. I just wanted to share my Strawberry Shortcake doll with her. I didn't realize that I didn't look like the other girls until someone pointed it out.
I do not want that for her!! I want her to know how incredible she is and that there is no such thing as someone who is pretty or better than she is. I want her to know that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, that she is perfect just the way she is and that her hair and clothes and how many toys she has just DO NOT MATTER! It's all just stuff. It's crap. None of it will make any difference in the big picture.
I wish that, when I was an eight- or nine-year-old envying the other girls for their bird legs and Care Bear collections, someone had shown me a snapshot of myself in my thirties, with a husband who adores me, three fantastic kids, taking a brief hiatus from a career I love to hang out with them for a while, good friends, a wonderful church...need I go on? Maybe I still would have wanted to look like someone else, but maybe it would have helped to know that in the grand scheme of things, I was going to be happy whether I had Sam & Libby shoes or shoes from Payless.
Part of me wonders if this is my doing. Does she feel left out because I don't dress her in ruffles the size of lampshades and bows the size of her head every time she leaves the house, like all the little preppy preschoolers? I honestly don't want her to be someone who thinks the sky is going to fall if she doesn't have exactly what the perceived, "everyone" else has. I mean, she's a well-dressed child, but I want her to look like a four-year-old who's going to climb stuff and have fun, not a doll.
So, I said what I think, I hope, I was supposed to say. I told her all the things I love about her, and that God made her wonderful, exactly the way she is. I told her that only Ava can be Ava, and only Sweet Pea can be Sweet Pea. I told her how much I love her.
I hope she believed me.
It shouldn't happen at all. But, really, it's not supposed to happen this early.
:(
May 12, 2014
I'm Sorry, Noah.
For the greater portion of my elementary school years, and in most of my middle- and high school classes, my name was not Heather.
No, it was Heather L.
And, I hated it.
Don't get me wrong, I like the name Heather. It's a perfectly fine name. I just didn't like being Heather L.
You see, in 1977, the year I graced the world with my presence, Heather was the fifth most popular name in the country. Therefore, I was hardly ever the only Heather in my class, and there were often at least three of us sitting in the same classroom, looking up every time someone said our first names, getting the wrong papers back, and confusing the teachers and other students.
My mother always asserted that she had no idea the name was so popular when she gave it to me, and I never believed her. How could she not know?? Didn't she pay attention to what other people were naming their babies when she was considering names for me??
Now, I believe her.
We deliberately gave our first two children names that were not even in the top 100 for that very reason. Classic names, yes, but not common among today's babies.
I'm sorry, Noah. I only know one other person with a little boy named Noah, and he's older than you. I had no idea that it was going to be the number ONE name in the country for baby boys last year. I just didn't know.
So, in a couple of years, when you become Noah H. and remain so for at least the next twelve years, you can put all the blame on your dad and me. We should have paid closer attention.
My bad.
No, it was Heather L.
And, I hated it.
Don't get me wrong, I like the name Heather. It's a perfectly fine name. I just didn't like being Heather L.
You see, in 1977, the year I graced the world with my presence, Heather was the fifth most popular name in the country. Therefore, I was hardly ever the only Heather in my class, and there were often at least three of us sitting in the same classroom, looking up every time someone said our first names, getting the wrong papers back, and confusing the teachers and other students.
My mother always asserted that she had no idea the name was so popular when she gave it to me, and I never believed her. How could she not know?? Didn't she pay attention to what other people were naming their babies when she was considering names for me??
Now, I believe her.
We deliberately gave our first two children names that were not even in the top 100 for that very reason. Classic names, yes, but not common among today's babies.
I'm sorry, Noah. I only know one other person with a little boy named Noah, and he's older than you. I had no idea that it was going to be the number ONE name in the country for baby boys last year. I just didn't know.
So, in a couple of years, when you become Noah H. and remain so for at least the next twelve years, you can put all the blame on your dad and me. We should have paid closer attention.
My bad.
May 2, 2014
Say What?
I always used to write about the cute ways Sweet Pea pronounced words, but I have been neglectful in recording those things for Buddy. Mom of the year, folks.
I hope you are as amused by these as we are.
"Mennerade": Lemonade. As in, "I have some mennerade wif my famwich? Peez, peez?"
"Yes, it doesn't": No.
"No, I am!": No.
"Yes, I not!": No.
"Mah-Win": Madeline
"Ollange": Orange
"El-woe": Yellow
"Squirrled": Scored
"Pillow": Could be pillow. Could be Pluto. Sometimes we have to clarify.
Speaking of pillows, he is as attached to his pillow as Sweet Pea is to her lovey. He carries it with him everywhere and chews on the corner. So, so sweet. I really just want to gobble him up.
"Grill": Girl. Now, this one has been confusing not only for us, but for Buddy himself. Hence, the following conversation -
Me: "Do you want to try a grilled cheese?"
Buddy: "No! I want a boy cheese!"
Which brings us to our final word, which is,
"Yuck!": Any food that is not a pb&j or fruit. Of these two, the child eats only enough to keep himself alive, no matter how much we try to encourage him to eat or to try new things. He even refused a marshmallow I tried to give him.
He has picky eaters on both sides of his family, but he also has people who are obsessed with food on both sides. And, of the picky eaters, trust me, we still love to eat.
So, that's what it's like to talk to our middle child. Our wonderfully sweet, affectionate, intelligent, rambunctious middle child.
Don't you just want to squeeze him?
I hope you are as amused by these as we are.
"Mennerade": Lemonade. As in, "I have some mennerade wif my famwich? Peez, peez?"
"Yes, it doesn't": No.
"No, I am!": No.
"Yes, I not!": No.
"Mah-Win": Madeline
"Ollange": Orange
"El-woe": Yellow
"Squirrled": Scored
"Pillow": Could be pillow. Could be Pluto. Sometimes we have to clarify.
Speaking of pillows, he is as attached to his pillow as Sweet Pea is to her lovey. He carries it with him everywhere and chews on the corner. So, so sweet. I really just want to gobble him up.
"Grill": Girl. Now, this one has been confusing not only for us, but for Buddy himself. Hence, the following conversation -
Me: "Do you want to try a grilled cheese?"
Buddy: "No! I want a boy cheese!"
Which brings us to our final word, which is,
"Yuck!": Any food that is not a pb&j or fruit. Of these two, the child eats only enough to keep himself alive, no matter how much we try to encourage him to eat or to try new things. He even refused a marshmallow I tried to give him.
He has picky eaters on both sides of his family, but he also has people who are obsessed with food on both sides. And, of the picky eaters, trust me, we still love to eat.
So, that's what it's like to talk to our middle child. Our wonderfully sweet, affectionate, intelligent, rambunctious middle child.
Don't you just want to squeeze him?
April 19, 2014
OK, I know.
It's been more than two months since I've written anything. That's not good, considering this is my baby book for all three kids, now.
Do you know how weird it sounds to say that I have three kids?
So, here's what's going on:
If you're not familiar with Frozen, I will be happy to have my children come to visit you at the rock under which you live, decked out in an Anna t-shirt because we can't find an Elsa one anywhere, singing "Let It Go," and arguing as to who gets to be Elsa and who gets to be Anna. Yes, even boys are into this princess movie, even those without big sisters, because Olaf and Kristoff are awesome, and they don't have to rescue any damsels in distress. All the women in this movie are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, thank you very much. I won't lie to you, I love it as much as they do. It's based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen, and it's just a really good story.
As far as the Head trio is concerned, Sweet Pea and Little Buddy are best friends and practically inseparable. Buddy had to go to a birthday party sans his big sister (she was sick), and DWH texted me to say that Buddy was lost without her. He just didn't seem to be having a good time and kept asking for her. he also made it through a pb&j, cake with red icing, and his drink without making a mess, then stained his entire outfit with a couple of jellybeans. Such is life with Buddy.
They have both teamed up to give their baby brother the nickname, "GooGoo ShooShoo." We don't know why. Just go with it.
Sweet Pea is hilarious and very bright. I'm amazed at her vocabulary, because I know I didn't know half the words she uses, quite correctly, at age four. Here's my thing with her: Her teacher, Ms. Pam, oh how we looooove Ms. Pam, always sends notes home and tells me how well Sweet Pea does with her letters, letter sounds, and recognition. Then, Sweet Pea comes home and we ask her to identify letters. Her response? "I dunno." Really, kiddo? Because I've heard you tell your teacher and I've seen the work she sends home. Little stinker. She looks like such a big girl now, and I don't know if I like it.
Buddy has to do everything his sister does, except try new foods, so he is getting pretty handy with the letters and numbers, too. And, if I didn't know those words and phrases when I was four, I certainly didn't know them at two and a half!
GooGoo ShooShoo (Gooey for short) is healthy, happy, and thriving. He is three months old today, and has met all his milestones. He smiles and giggles most of the day, but when he's hungry, you know. So does everyone else in the neighborhood. Oh, and he has to eat every three hours, no exceptions. You can set your clock by that baby's stomach.
So, that's it for now. Tomorrow is Easter, and I'll try to remember to post some pictures.
Peace and Blessings.
Do you know how weird it sounds to say that I have three kids?
So, here's what's going on:
If you're not familiar with Frozen, I will be happy to have my children come to visit you at the rock under which you live, decked out in an Anna t-shirt because we can't find an Elsa one anywhere, singing "Let It Go," and arguing as to who gets to be Elsa and who gets to be Anna. Yes, even boys are into this princess movie, even those without big sisters, because Olaf and Kristoff are awesome, and they don't have to rescue any damsels in distress. All the women in this movie are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, thank you very much. I won't lie to you, I love it as much as they do. It's based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Snow Queen, and it's just a really good story.
As far as the Head trio is concerned, Sweet Pea and Little Buddy are best friends and practically inseparable. Buddy had to go to a birthday party sans his big sister (she was sick), and DWH texted me to say that Buddy was lost without her. He just didn't seem to be having a good time and kept asking for her. he also made it through a pb&j, cake with red icing, and his drink without making a mess, then stained his entire outfit with a couple of jellybeans. Such is life with Buddy.
They have both teamed up to give their baby brother the nickname, "GooGoo ShooShoo." We don't know why. Just go with it.
Sweet Pea is hilarious and very bright. I'm amazed at her vocabulary, because I know I didn't know half the words she uses, quite correctly, at age four. Here's my thing with her: Her teacher, Ms. Pam, oh how we looooove Ms. Pam, always sends notes home and tells me how well Sweet Pea does with her letters, letter sounds, and recognition. Then, Sweet Pea comes home and we ask her to identify letters. Her response? "I dunno." Really, kiddo? Because I've heard you tell your teacher and I've seen the work she sends home. Little stinker. She looks like such a big girl now, and I don't know if I like it.
Buddy has to do everything his sister does, except try new foods, so he is getting pretty handy with the letters and numbers, too. And, if I didn't know those words and phrases when I was four, I certainly didn't know them at two and a half!
GooGoo ShooShoo (Gooey for short) is healthy, happy, and thriving. He is three months old today, and has met all his milestones. He smiles and giggles most of the day, but when he's hungry, you know. So does everyone else in the neighborhood. Oh, and he has to eat every three hours, no exceptions. You can set your clock by that baby's stomach.
So, that's it for now. Tomorrow is Easter, and I'll try to remember to post some pictures.
Peace and Blessings.
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