Before I write what I actually intended to write I have to put a note in here that I'm changing Little's name on the blog. It occurred to me the other day that I should probably stop referring to him as "Little" or he is going to get a complex. We've had so many nicknames for him over the past years that he probably didn't know what his actual name was until recently (maybe that is why he refers to himself in third person all the time), but I think it is time to phase this one out. And I know it's obsessive, but I still don't want his actual name on a public blog, so from hence forth he will be known as E.

Mostly because that is the only explanation for the fact that I can still stand up and carry on a semiconscious conversation when for the last week I've gotten twelve hours of sleep cumulatively. Two hours a night is not enough sleep. On the plus side, things are a hundred times funnier when you are delirious. For example, when your three-year-old wakes you up in the middle of the night by "whistling"--which basically means he yells, "Woot! Wooo! Woot!" over and over again--and saying,"Mommy, come to me NOW!" you laugh rather than cry. Or when one or both of your children somehow choose the exact moment that your head hits the pillow to start crying and it makes you giggle (most of the time). Or when you finally do get to get back in bed and not only is your husband taking up the entire bed, he is wrapped in the sheets so tight that you have to pry them from his sleeping form or freeze to death trying, and you laugh so hard you almost cry.
Life is so much more entertaining when you don't sleep.
Life is also so much more entertaining when it is finals time. This I owe to Bryce being the craziest sleeper known to man and when he is stressed it is even better. We have had so many sleep conversations in the last few weeks that have ended with him announcing, "Ignore me. I think I'm asleep." There have been remarkable few instances of spousal abuse this time around though, so maybe we are making improvements.

Gigi is growing like a weed, despite the lack of sleep, and Little is possibly the sweetest big brother on the planet. He still throws a fit every time someone holds her or looks like they might try, but we're working on it. He loves to play with her and make her smile--which she does quite a bit these days. The other day he was snuggling on my lap while I fed her and he said, "Mommy, baby Gigi is certainly beautiful." He could not love her more. He has also attempted to climb up into her bed or the changing table to try to talk to her on several occasions. To the point that I finally dragged a stool into her room and showed him an easier way to get to her. All day long it is, "Baby Gigi wants this," or "Baby Gigi is unhappy, help her!" or "Baby Gigi woke up. Woot! I'm so excited!" How in the world did I get such sweet kids?

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.

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?

We are now a family of 4. Whoa. Crazy.

Her Highness (hence forth to be known as Gigi since it is a bit problematic to continue referring to your offspring as royalty) made her appearance last Sunday and it was night and day different from our first experience. I will definitely take going into labor naturally over being induced.
I had been having regular contractions all night, which was not abnormal as she kept giving us false alarms, but by 3:45am I was so distracted by them that I finally woke up and fiddled around the house to distract myself (the only reason why even a part of my laundry was done when she came). As it turned out, we spent the day car shopping instead of laboring. However, by 5:30pm while we were driving away from the last dealership, the contractions changed from "Oo, that is uncomfortable," to "Oh my (insert fake expletive) I am going to die." We got home and luckily Little was exhausted, so we ate quickly and put him right to bed. By 8:00pm we were on our way to the hospital and she was well on her way. Once we got settled in the hospital there was a lot of laughter and plenty of sound effects as we walked the halls through the contractions, one close call with Bryce almost having to slap me out of being ridiculous, and lots and lots of "Keep going honey," and "No, you are not going to die."
We made it through with relatively little damage and eleven hours after it started, we welcomed the little miss into the world (much better than the 36+ it took for Little). 7 lbs 11 oz at 7:01 am.
When she came out, she had a bit of an unfortunate run in with her umbilical cord. It was wrapped around her neck a couple of times and she was a bit purple and not very vocal. I got to hold her for about 30 seconds while Bryce cut the cord and she looked up at me with surprisingly alert eyes and a little sigh that sounded like "Whew, we made it through...now can I rest?" After that she was whisked away to a nearby table where Bryce could see her, but all I could see was five nurses hovering around and pumping air for her. Not the best moment of my life, but in the end she let out a few good hollers and by the time I was sewn up she was back in my arms.
There was only one point where I really lost it and that was after all the shenanigans when we were in the room still recovering and the nurses came in to double check how everything was settling. The first nurse gently prodded my stomach to check how my uterus was settling, and then a second nurse came in and pushed on my stomach as hard as she could without warning me first. Lets just say it didn't go well. I caught myself at the last minute and what came out of my mouth ended up being "mother... of pearl," but it was a close call and I'm pretty sure I scared the nurse.
We stayed at the hospital for a few days and luckily Little was well taken care of at home by my parents (thank heaven a million times for that). He got to come visit a couple of times and the loves and kisses abounded. He immediately started squeezing her and making sure he was a part of taking care of her. That has only gotten more fun--albeit more intense--since we came home. He loves to snuggle and kiss her and he is always the first to announce that "Baby Ginny is awake!!"
We wanted to give her a strong name and so decided to name her after one grandma from my side and one from Bryce's. My grandma passed away in February, so I'd like to think that they waved in passing and she will hopefully get
to meet Bryce's grandma soon soon. We actually have some things from my mom that we used to wear when we were tiny and one of them just happens to be a sweater that my grandma crocheted. We're definitely passing that down. It is so fun to have stories and great memories to share with her about her name and about the wonderful women who it came from.

We've been home now for a week and she is a trooper. She has already slept for five and six hours for two nights since she has been home (knock on all the wood in the world), she's a great little eater, and I feel like every time I look at her she is already changing.
Welcome, welcome baby girl!! We are so happy that you got to come to our family!

So... I know all I write about lately is Little and his silliness, but I can't help it. He's just such a fun little man. The latest funnies have been mostly church related. We've been reading about Joseph Smith and Little is very intrigued. However, some lessons haven't quite gone over the way we thought they would.

We were waiting to drop some food off to Bryce the other day and decided to play on the lawn of the school for a bit. To be accurate, I sat on a bench while Little played. He was having a grand old time circling around a big tree when he suddenly stopped, sat down, and informed me, "I'm waiting for an angel, mom." After a moment or two he came running back over and said, "It's alright. The angel's not coming yet. Maybe he will come later." And scampered off to play some more. He's done something similar before (when he was tired of walking and sat down on the stair to "wait for an angel to help" him down the stairs), but I never put it together quite like I did when he was sitting under the tree just like the pictures of Joseph Smith.

The other thing is that lately Little has been informing me, "My Father wants me to do ... (fill in the blank)." At first I thought he was talking about Bryce seeing as he was using it for things like, "My father wants me to eat gummies." or "My father wants me to play with toys for five minutes." And then he started actually talking about Bryce and said instead, "My dad wants me to play." That is when we figured out that when he's referring to "my father," he is actually referring to his Heavenly Father. And although I'm pretty sure Heavenly Father doesn't want him to eat gummies all the time, I'm am equally certain that I have the sweetest boy on the planet.

In other news, we're still waiting for the appearance of Her Highness. She's making more progress than Little did after we had already been in the hospital for 24 hours though, so I'm counting that as a good thing. Everyone keeps asking if I am ready for another baby and I'm not completely sure how to answer. Do I have all the diapers/clothes/gear and what not? Yes (at least as far as I can remember). Am I ready to see her on the outside and stop the abuse of my innards? Definitely yes. Do I have any idea what on earth we've gotten ourselves into? Nope. Ah, well... another adventure I suppose. We are definitely excited to meet her, that is for sure.