leg warmer

Whenever we ordered pizza, as a kid (which wasn't very often), I liked to volunteer to ride with Dad to Pizza Hut and pick it up.  I'd jabber the whole way there and back.  My soft spoken Dad didn't usually have a lot to say in response to my ramblings (maybe he was ignoring me?), but I think it was just enough to let me get in some of my 7,000 daily words during our drive.

Once we had picked up the pizza, I got to ride home with the hot boxes on my lap.  I loved how they made my thighs warm, warmer, then hot.  It was nearly too much heat to take, but we'd pull into the driveway just as I thought the pizza would burn through the box.

Thursday afternoon got away from me and I was facing 5 o'clock without a dinner plan.  Thankfully, Daddy offered to "cook" and Papa John was called in as reinforcement.  I headed out the door to go pick up the pizza and my Kate rushed after me with a "Can I come?" on her lips.  She hopped in the backseat and chattered at me the whole way, talking about friends and school, games they play at recess and the boys she chases 'cause she's so fast.  It made me smile to remember my own talkative self as I stole a peek at my beautiful girl in the rearview mirror.

We grabbed the pizza and I slid the boxes onto her lap for the drive home. 
"Are your legs getting hot, Kate?" I asked. 
"I like it.  It is warm!"
And, as we pulled into the garage she said, "I want to stay under this pizza blanket forever!"

I guess she's better at handling the heat!

all for milk

Milk.  We drink a lot of it around here.  Like 8 gallons a week.  Or something.

I used to be a 'one trip a week' kind of grocery shopper, but since I have to two milk-addicted babies and a fridge that only comfortably holds 3 gallons (I need a deep freezer for extras, but that is another post for another day), I find myself frequenting the grocer's more often than I would like.

The other week I needed to make a milk run. At night. With all four children (plus an extra, just for fun...and because I told his mom I would bring him home from basketball practice).  Since we hadn't carved out time (pun intended) to find Halloween pumpkins yet, I decided the milk run would also serve as our 'pick your pumpkin from the bin' outing.  Not exactly the pumpkin patch experience of the mid-west, but kind of the way it is in these here parts.

Before exiting the car, I told the children that they needed to 1: walk, 2: stay with me, 3: not scream.  As soon as the van door opened, said hooligans children began to 1: run, 2: climb on top of the cart return poles, 3: scream.  This was going to be a pleasure, I'm sure.

I loaded Davis into the car cart (beep beep), the baby into the cart seat and tried to NOT let the other three kiddos get killed as we crossed the parking lot.  The pumpkin bins were our first stop, since they are on the way in.  Chaos ensued, but four plump ones were quickly chosen and loaded into the cart (and only the little guy dropped his 3 or 4 times on the sidewalk).

I walked into the store with the intention of going straight to the dairy case (which, by the way, do they HAVE to put it in the VERY back of the store?), but got a bit distracted by a few other things I needed to get.  By the time we had made it to the back of the store for the milk, and back again to the check-out, I felt a bit like someone stuck in the middle of the Tazmanian Devil's tornado.  Sheesh!  I was glad to get OUT of the store.

But, as we were loading everyone (and every pumpkin) back into the van, I noticed it....pilfered candy in the hands of the 2-year-old.  Eek!  My first instinct (I am ashamed to say) was to stuff it in the back of the van and pretend I wasn't harboring stolen goods.  I mean, the idea of hauling my crew BACK into the store for a $.75 bag of Skittles? Really?  But, the big kids saw the candy. Drat!

Thankfully, my often-shy-Dal was willing to go back into the store alone to return the snitched snack, while I ignored the shrieks of our thief who was screaming "TANDY, TANDY!" at the top of his lungs.  Dal was quick to tell the checker that is was the LITTLE brother who took it, not him.

And, we are honest in our dealings once again.

The moral of this story: Get a milkman.

halloween

It was a happy, sweet, sticky, gooey, friend-filled, sugary, partying Halloween!

Hope yours was, too!

delay

My cute bitty boo has made such strides in his speech over the past few months.  He can say so many more words for food, for how he is feeling; he can tell me when things hurt and where and if he is cold or hot or sad.

But, sometimes, with some words, it is oh, so evident that he still struggles with his little speech delay.  He'll bound up to me, excited to tell me all about something that just happened.  And, when he is excited and trying to string many words together quickly, it comes out as garbled goop.  He repeats what he just said several times, using inflections and signs to give me clues, ever patient with my quizzical face, but often I still don't know what it is he is trying to say. In those situations, I just scoop him up and give him a hug, because what else can a clueless mommy do?

Today, however, our misunderstanding made me laugh.  Davis came to me and excitedly said "Snow!"  It snowed yesterday and the glorious sunshine of today makes it all so bright and beautiful.  Of course, he wanted to go out and make tracks in the snow.  So I said, "we need to put on your boots."  "Okay. Boots." We found them in the garage and tugged them on.  "Now we need your coat." "Coat!"  We zipped it up.  "How about some gloves?" "No. No gyuves"  But, I insist, because I know he'll try and pick up the snow and then his little fingers will be cold.  So, we pull and tug and tuck the gloves into place.  I walk over to the door to let him out.

"Ready to go, buddy? Ready to play in the snow?"
"No outside.  No snow.  Watch a show!"
"No, go play in the snow.  We put on your boots so you could play outside in the snow!"
"Watch a show!"

He runs (as best he can in his boots) for the steps and races down to the TV.

Oh, boy.  Well, at least he won't get chilly in the basement!

four weeks

Did I tell you we moved?  Here is what we've been doing for the past four weeks:

 

learning to walk

playing in the snow

unpacking boxes cupboards

running

making treats

enjoying the wind in our hair

It's been fun so far! Hope you'll come visit soon!

related

note: Another belated post, waiting for a picture.  So glad to have it now!

Ellie-Bee: Kate, you are my best friend!  Actually, you are my cousin.  No, I think you are my ancestor.

Kate: Mom, are both boys and girls called ancestors? Why are boys an-sisters?  They should be called an-brothers?

To our fabulous Burton Cousins....So glad you are ours, and you would come to visit!  Come back soon!

breathe

One of the things I look forward to the most is my Thursday morning Yoga class.  Michelle is the best teacher, so in order to make it to her early class, I load up my dressed-fed-packed brood at 8:10 am, drop the big kids off at the bus stop (waving 'I love you' til the bus rounds the bend), check in the babies at child-watch ('look bubbles!' and toy distractions as I sneak out and try to ignore the tears), and {finally} enjoy an hour to breathe.

Delightful.

Last night, sleep was alluding my Davis (although he refused his nap, so I'm not sure why).  He was awake for a good portion of the early morning hours, which means he, of course, fell back asleep about 5am and slept until 9am.  I missed yoga.

As a {not very close} substitute, I trudged my babies and mat down to the basement to yoga with a recorded teacher on the DVR.  She's not as good, and, quite frankly, the focus isn't there when young ones are crawling all over your downward dog and piggy backing on you child's pose.  But, what can you do?

I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself until I noticed my Doobie Doo following along.  He had spread out a blanket as a mat and was working his sun salutations with the best of 'em.  "I did it!" he shouted, when he bent over for down dog.  My self-pity melted away in my awe of this cutie and his desire to follow in my footsteps, do the things I do, garner my praise.

My 'class' was cut short by a little body crawling into my lap while I was trying to forward fold.  But, as I lifted her up, and she arched her back toward  my mat for a belly tickle (her favorite giggle pose), I felt like my morning had gone BETTER than planned.  And, my body felt good.  Not because I had been sufficiently able to stretch, but because I took a minute to breathe, to see my children for the wonder that they are, and to just 'be' in this blessed time of my life.

Ahhhh.