Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing—Benjamin Franklin

In a surprising turn of events...

I have lost my mind. This may not be surprising for anyone who has had more than a one minute conversation with me lately, but I didn't know it was this far gone.

Things I have learned in the last two days:
If your husband asks you to pick up something from the grocery store, writing it down will not be enough. In fact, it is probably safer to have him just go buy it himself because that is what he will end up doing anyway when you return with a completely different thing. Ex: When Bryce asked me to get him some sort of soda with caffeine. I down "caffeine" and I returned with caffeine free Dr. Pepper. Not helpful. I wish I could say this was a one time thing, but unfortunately I am a repeat offender.

Also, I now know that if you boil eggs long enough that they run out of water, they explode. Literally. The yolk pops out from the inside and launches a foot. No joke. A sad lesson to learn. And I now I have no breakfast, but a new found respect for the average egg. Oh, and a yellow kitchen. However, the good news is that I still have a kitchen and did not succeed in burning it down.

I had a friend who once theorized that instead of your children forming their own brain in the womb, they just take half of yours. Thus your brain power goes down by half for every child you have. I am beginning to believe it.

The monster, the little miss , and the minivan

Adjusting to life with two kids has been quite the adventure so far. I thought that the hardest part would be taking care of a new baby because all I remember of these first few months with Little was a constant cycle of feeding him, changing him, and the occasional cat nap if I was lucky. As it turns out, taking care of Gigi is way less of a challenge than Little is proving to be. Everything they try to warn you about when they tell you that your first child will regress when your second is born... it is way worse than that. We're back sliding in language (I can't count the times Little has started "Whaaaa-ing" at me instead of using words), behavior in general (if I have to scold him one more time my brain might just blow a gasket), and don't even get me started on how much we're regressing on the potty training front (Ew). I'm about ready to pull my hair right out. He's still a sweet little man, but oh my laws above! Who knew my three year old would be way more of a handful than my newborn?

Little has also started talking in run-on story sentences. And not just run-on sentences, sentences that go on so long that by the time he reaches the end not even he knows what he started out saying. He cracks me up. The other day he was having a hard time staying in bed so I went in there to scold him. When I asked him why he was having a hard time going to bed he responded something like this: "The pirates were yelling at me and told me not to stay in bed and they were mean to tell me not to stay in bed so I was not nice and they went in a pirate ship and were mean and said 'Yar! Avast ye!" and were mean... (continue in this vein for a bit)...so I don't want the pirates to talk to me anymore." I've decided from now on I'm blaming everything on the pirates. I didn't get the laundry folded because the pirates told me not to. I like it.
I also have to brag about him though because for all his craziness, he is maybe the
best older brother of all time. He has been protective of Gigi from day one. In fact, when we were bringing her home from the hospital I thought Little might like to see how they remove the little umbilical cord tag. All the nurses were attempting conversations and a few managed to get a word out of him, but for the most part he was shy and hiding from them. Until they crossed the line. The umbilical cord tag looks something akin to a chip clip, so I can see why it set him off, but man was he unhappy with the nurse. She removed it and all was well until she held it out toward us to see if we wanted to keep it and Little completely lost it. He started yelling at her to keep it away from baby Gigi and under no circumstances was he about to let that woman come near his baby and try to put that thing back on. The nurse raised her hands in defense, but Little wouldn't rest until it was safely in the trash. He still has a hard time not yelling at anyone who so much as looks like they might touch her, but we're working on that. She is definitely going to be well taken care of.
Gigi is doing great. She has already started consciously smiling, which I didn't know was possible this young, but apparently it is. I joked with Bryce the other night that she is my baby of mass destruction with the frequency and intensity of her diaper episodes--she had just gone through about six layers of her own clothing and blankets and two of mine--but other than that and the lack of sleep, she is a pretty easy baby so far (knock on wood). She is getting more chub in her cheeks and is getting more and more vocal about anything and everything. Gosh! We love this little girl.
We have also had another addition to our family recently. Meet Agnes. I am a little ashamed to admit it still. I never thought I'd give in and be a minivan type of gal, but Bryce was right yet again. One look at those fold into the floor seats and I was a goner. Strangely, thinking of owning a minivan makes me feel like I'm five years old again. Not only because it is harder to reach the gas pedal, but because I should not be old enough to need/want one. Crazy. Where did all the time go? How on earth am I old enough to have two kids? Crazy.


Disclaimer: This is gross. Really gross. But I thought it needed to be recorded for posterity so that I can explain to him why when his kids do it, it is payback. 
My mother sent this email the other day and there is no way I could describe the situation better than she did. 

"This afternoon Haley, Little and Gigi napped together. Girls are still asleep. I took a few minutes and took jack for a walk and brought in my laundry. When I came in Bryce was home from school and polishing shoes. I went next door to move laundry around and start mine. Came back and started folding the clothes. A few minutes later a little voice from down the hall announced he was awake. He added, 'I have poop!' Bryce kept working so I asked if he wanted me to go let him out...they close the door when little boy sleeps. He said 'No, I'm almost done.' A minute later he hopped up and went down the hall. I was on the couch folding clothes and cracking up so this is an overheard conversation, I didn't see. :) When he opened the door Little must have been standing there.
Bryce: 'Ohhhh. Did you take off your diaper?' (Remember the 'I have poop' earlier?)
'Hmm. Where did that poop go???...
'Oh Little...
On your table? Oh Little. It's on your hands and most of your room....
By this time he has Little on the potty and he has Clorox wipes in the bedroom. Things like, 'What if I don't find it all?' kept filtering down the hall. Haley is still sleeping. I'm still laughing.
'Where else did you put that poop?!!!'
'No more reaching in your pants and picking out poop!!'
'Promise, promise, promise you will never do this again.' Repeated several times.
He said it was like finger painting on the play table. He threw away a book. Poop was on the pages, not the cover.
Haley is still sleeping. I'm still snickering. Bryce is proud he kept swear words to himself. He did mutter that one word in particular would have been appropriate. I'm guessing it starts with an sh.
I'm so happy I was here. Priceless experience. So glad Bryce went to get him. He said he was too, that it would have been worse to have me say, 'Come see what your son has done.' I'm proud of Bryce. He was obviously disgusted but he sucked it up and not only cleaned up little boy but the whole room. He's still hoping he found it all!!

Haley and Gigi are still asleep."

We were really hoping that it was a one time thing. And then he repeated it for my mom the next day. Seriously. What on earth do you do with a poop artist?

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