Okay, so here's what I'm thinking.
I would like to have another kid (Gary, why do you look like you are going to throw up? Wait, where are you going? The snippy doctor?) but I don't want to actually be pregnant again, and I don't want do the first year so it would be really great for me if someone could show up at my front door with a nice, non-ugly, well-behaved baby. It would go something like this:
door: ding dong
random person: Hi, here's a non-ugly, well-behaved baby. I found it lying around my house and it doesn't really work for me, and you look like a great mom, so here you go.
me: awesome! Thanks! Gary, where are you going?
I know you are wondering why I might want four kids. That would mean four expensive airplane seats and a lot of grandkids to fit in the house for Christmas in thirty-odd years. But let's face it, I don't really have a lot of talents besides the fact that I can play mercy with my toes. I can't really sing, I can write but not THAT well, I'm not that stylish, can't really craft, and the list goes on and on. But I am good at kids. Not perfect mom good (Lord knows that's a fact), but I genuinely enjoy it and I like having a lot of kids in the back of my car. I like that we take up a lot of sidewalk on family bike rides, I like when we all pile on my bed to read together or watch movies and eat popcorn. I like watching their different personalities emerge, and I like knowing they will always have each other. Plus, the forced manual labor force is not bad either.
When I put away my kids clothes they have grown out of, I mourn for each piece. I know that sounds dramatic, but it is sadly true. I have memories attached to each outfit, and I know that that part of their life as well as mine is over forever. I know they are a little less innocent, a little less childlike. And that's okay, I enjoy watching them take the world on and witnessing their new phases, but it's hard for me to say good-bye. I kiss each little dress or baby shoe and put it away in the bin (or send it on to Goodwill). Then I close the lid on that part of their life. Oh my gosh, that sentence was so horribly sad I may need to go get a whiff of Jack's latest poopy diaper to pull myself back into reality. Either that or eat some chocolate while crying to the end of Moulin Rouge.
So that's what I'm thinking today. Geez, that was depressing. Now to cheer up, let's watch a funny video of Jack trying to say fudgesicle.
(Other funny things he's saying lately:
ek-kew me (excuse me)
tha kiwi! (that's scary!)
PUP KIN! (pumpkin!)
Last night, Gary had a meeting in Orlando, and the kids were all crabby, and the house was destroyed so I threw them in the back of the car and we went to get a pumpkin and a treat. By the time I got everyone in, and I climbed in the front seat Jack was poking Emma's eyes out and Laura was crying about some drama or another so I turned around and said, "Okay people, here's the deal. We're all crabby and tired but now we are going to have fun. So clam up." And they did. See what I mean about being an amazing mom? Gosh, I'm good.
Anyway, we got our pumpkin at the patch, and then went to Books-a-million for their frozen hot chocolate, which I love. And I counted calories ALL DAY for that baby. I had a rice cake w/pb on it for brunch, and an apple and almonds for snack, and a salad for dinner. I EARNED that frozen hot chockey (as jack would say) and yes, it was worth it. So I'm standing at the counter to get out treat, and Jack is saying, "Book! Book!" and Emma and Laura are looking at the treats and two people sitting nearby are giving me dirty looks because my toddler is not whispering about his love for books, and I'm like, People, it's a bookstore, not a library. So suck it.
Then this old guy says the ultimate insult: "Wow, you have your hands full with those kids, don't you?" This is the rudest thing you can say to me, besides, "Guess you haven't lost your baby weight yet." Because what this phrase really means is: "Your kids are loud and you are not that great at keeping them disciplined." And trust me, I can discipline them. My kids are not THOSE kids who run around a store and break things because I beat them regularly to make sure of it. (I'm joking DCF, joking.) Anyway, I kind of stared at him and tried to smile while the angel on my shoulder reminded me that he meant no harm. It's a good thing that my frozen hot chocolate made it all worth it. And I was happy when Jack ecstatically exclaimed, "I CREEM!" when he got his milkshake. I hope his joy made them miserable.