This means trouble

I'm down in Darling Harbour with the kids today. It's school holidays right now, so there are lots of extra activities going on for kids.

Grace has, true to form, stolen my ice cream cone. She wasn't content to let me spoon feed little bits to her. And then, when I put my hand out and asked to have it for a bite, she looked at me. Then she threw it at me. Seriously--she hurled it from the stroller and it landed on my jeans. Then she screamed for me to give it back.

Clearly, I'm doing something wrong here. I thought I'd met my match when Ava was a toddler. But Grace has a few tricks up her sleeve, I think.

Send help.

Unmotivated

This is but a small portion of my current domestic state.
The kids wrought havoc on our Guess Who Game. So, now Bernhard and Maria and Philip are strewn all over the carpet. And poor Alfred--God only knows where he is by now. Grace likes pulling books off our shelves. A spiky dinosaur waits there for me to step on him in my bare feet. That sensation is only slightly less worse than the pinnacle of toy-related foot injuries: the midnight Lego crossing. Oh, the agony.

And, moving into the kitchen, my crumb-encrusted table.

The kitchen table seems to be the perfect place for Nate's swimming goggles and broken sword. And left over foil from Ava's fairy tiara.

This is the definition of a mommyblog, isn't it? Talking about how the house is a mess? I am the stereotype, aren't I? I texted Becky the other day after my shoe post--something like, "I can't believe I just posted about shoes." And she wrote back, "A momblogger saying that is like Paul saying, 'I can't believe I just wrote about Jesus!'" Well, there is that.

I am not sure that any of it is getting cleaned up today! Remember that Monday Malaise that I told you about before? The kind of emotional and physical tiredness that sets in for pastors after a weekend? Well, I'm feeling it today. It's all good, nothing is wrong or anything. I'm just so very not motivated to organize, clean or straighten.

Plus, I felt kind of sick all weekend--there's a tummybug going around. I woke up very early Saturday morning with Grace. As I was making her bottle, my stomach started to cramp. Then it got worse as I gave her her bottle. Then it got worse. And by "worse", I mean worse. I stumbled with her into our playroom and lay on the floor. And you know how pain can make you irrational? The cramping felt enough like labor pains that I actually thought to myself, "Wait--I can't be in labor right now...can I?" Like I wasn't sure! I actually had to tell myself that no, there was no way I could have been pregnant for the previous 9 months and not known it. (Y'know, ya hear those stories!) I went back to bed for a few hours and really feel fine now. So yeah, that probably contributes to me not wanting to clean today. But at least for now I know right where Nate's swimming goggles are!

I'm thinking about chocolate cake, though, as a healthy alternative to housework. That could be just the ticket. This is a really nice recipe. To have in moderation of course. Ahem.

Hope y'all had a great, less-weird weekend!

P.S. I know what you're thinking, especially cause I mentioned chocolate cake cravings. No, I'm not pregnant. Really. Yes, I'm sure.

"What Springtime Means to Me", by Amy

Well for one thing, it means that I finally get to wear these shoes!
Peeptoe+Bright Plaid+Rope Wedges=Instant Glee

I bought these at Target when I was in Atlanta last April. Of course, when I returned to Sydney winter was just beginning. So my new shoes had no choice but to languish in my closet, still tied together with that little elastic band. (Klassy, I know.)

And whenever I'd go to get my Uggs out, or my boots, or my running shoes, these new shoes would look hopefully up at me. Sort of like this:
"Not much longer now, my darlings," I'd whisper to them.

Last Sunday, I decided that The Time Had Come. I wore them to church and felt very sassy. After the service, one of the girls came up to me and exclaimed, "I couldn't stop staring at your shoes!" And I was like, "I know! Aren't they adorable??" And then we brushed each other's hair.

I'm sure some of you are chuckling at me just a little bit. Maybe you're not a shoe person? But I'm sure you have something that gives you a little dose of joy when you use it, cook with it, read it, or drive it. It's the little things, you know?

And that's what springtime means to me. Thank you for listening.

Wait, what?

Nate is in a phase right now of hating nearly anything that we serve him for dinner. There is always something wrong with it. He whines, he complains, he asks for a "snack" instead. So, while Ava gags on the one bite of veggies I make her eat, and Grace either throws food from her high chair or crawls around under the table, eating crumbs like a puppy, Nate slumps in his chair.

I'm not exactly serving him brussels sprouts or something. Last night's menu? Homemade chicken tenders with yummy mashed potatoes and green beans. But, no. The chicken apparently tasted like fish, and he didn't like his potatoes all mashed up and his stomach hurt and life in general was not working out.

In the past, we've made him eat some and then told him that he could be done eating, but that there would be nothing else till breakfast. Last night, Jason decided to take it to another level. He told Nate that if he didn't finish all his dinner, there would be no snacks whatsoever the next day. This is a child who likes to eat from dawn till dusk.

As Jason laid down the law, I gave him the look across the table. The look that says, Really? Are we prepared to go through with this? My mom and dad always talked about presenting a United Front in parenting, so I didn't say anything. But I'm thinking, great. Tomorrow is just gonna be buckets of fun.

Of course, Nate refused to eat any more of his dinner. Gauntlet? Thrown down. An hour later, Nate was asking for a piece of garlic bread. He cried when he was refused.

Oh, and guess who left the house at 5:30 this morning, leaving me to deal with the ravenous 4 year old? Jason was out the door! So he wasn't around at 6:50 this morning to hear Nate asking for a piece of cake. Before breakfast. (A little ambitious, this boy.) Or a croissant at the grocery store at 9:05. And so on. So, I'm left to enforce the No Snackage Rule. Nice moves, Jase!

It's like the new President having to carry out the policies of the former President. "Sorry Nate," I should say, "This was set in motion by the previous administration."

Dinner tonight should be interesting! Jason has already told him that he won't have any snacks tomorrow either if he doesn't eat. In that case, I think I'll sneak out of the house in the dead of night.

May God help us all.

Yeah I didn't go to my senior prom, either.

Last Friday, I got an email from The Wiggles.

What? You do know who The Wiggles are, right?

They're only, like, the biggest act in children's entertainment. Sold out shows around the globe. Packed arenas. The Wiggles are Aussie (duh!) and are based in Sydney. We've seen them play in smaller venues before and loved it.

Now, I know it's a thing for parents who are aspiring to maintain their pre-child identity to diss children's acts as uncool or whatever. But Reader, I will not. I love The Wiggles. (Um, did I just say "diss"? Do we still say that?) They are talented and genuine and you can tell that they really like what they do. And they're respectful of children. Plus, I enjoy a catchy tune. If their rendition of "Old Dan Tucker" doesn't make you tap your feet, you need to stop and evaluate your priorities in life. I will see your Yo Gabba Gabba "Don't Bite Your Friends" song and raise you The Wiggles' "Hot Potato".

No contest. Is all I'm saying.

They emailed me (well, me and a kajillion others) to say they'd be filming segments for their TV show that Wednesday and to respond to the email if we were interested in being a part of the studio audience. If we got a spot, the email said, one of their staffers would call us Monday or Tuesday to confirm. As their email had only come a few hours prior to my sending a reply, I thought for sure we'd get a spot in the audience.

I was so excited. I fired off a reply saying, yes please! We'd love to come! I realized later that the email asked for a few pieces of information that I didn't give--I'd been too eager to reply quickly and didn't read it closely enough. But I hoped that it wouldn't mess up our chances. I thought about sending another email, but then I thought that seemed pathetic. Like when you leave a message for the guy you like but you sound stupid, so you call back to correct it and leave another message that sounds even more desperate and pathetic? And then you wonder if you should call again? I'm speaking in hypotheticals here.

I decided to play it cool. Cause that's worked so well for me in the past.

I will allow my dorkiness to fully blossom as I tell you that I kept my phone on my person for the whole of those 48 hours. Every time it rang, I fully expected it to be a Wiggly staffperson. I kept thinking of how excited Ava and Nate would be. The anticipation of waiting for The Phone Call really brought back some memories.

(Cue violins. Softly, please.)

Alas, the Call. Never. Came.

I think it must've been some kind of mistake, don't you? I mean, if they could just meet me. If they could just get to know me, I'm sure they'd see. I'd make them see! Don't you think we would've been the Most Amazing Audience Members Ever? I'm sure they'd realize that I'm their Number One Fan. Right?

It's a bitter pill. But I am coping.

The jokes just write themselves.

My dad emailed Becky, Dave, and I today with some late breaking political news out of Alabama.

"There are two people running for public office in Alabama whose names are, no kidding, Young Boozer, and Buster Crapps."

Pause and reflect. Two guys. Young Boozer and Buster Crapps.

Mom and Dad were driving back to Florida from the mountains and saw their campaign signs on the road.

The extent to which this news made my day cannot be over-emphasized. As Becky wrote back, "You cannot make Alabama up!"

Dad said that Boozer is running for state treasurer and his slogan is, "Funny name, serious leadership."

In a really weird way, this makes me miss home. Where else, y'all? I ask you.

Things like this make me love life. You know what I mean? We can only hope that one day their children will marry. Then we would have the house of Boozer-Crapps.

Now, go. Enjoy your day, knowing that such things exist in the world.

(Am posting via my phone but I'll verify with links later. As if I could make this up.)

Early to bed and whatnot

I was full of ambition to head to the gym tonight as soon as the kids were in bed. A sizable Mrs. Field's cookie, along with a peanut butter and honey sandwich were heavy on my conscience. (I will not mention the pasta with cream sauce I made for dinner.)

Is there any better flavor combination than peanut butter and honey? No, there is not. Write that down.

But as the day went on, I got tired. See, I stayed up stupid-late last night telling y'all all about my scones. Cause apparently that was just *so* important it couldn't wait. Late-breaking scone news!!

Then, Grace started waking up this morning at 5:30. She had some emptying of cupboards and looking for choking hazards to do, and wanted to get a jump on the day. Thank the sweet Lord that Jason got up with her! But I lay awake, willing myself to go back to sleep.

So tonight when we tucked the kids in at 7:30, instead of changing and heading to the gym, I crawled into bed. It had to be done. And I'm still here.

As my mom says, I've got a severe case of the cain't-help-its. There are only a few cures--sleep or peanut butter. But not at the same time, obviously. I've got option 2 covered, so I think it's time for bed.

Good night! Be good to yourself. Xoxo