{and now there are} Four

Posted By on November 23, 2014

Introducing (finally) . . .


Apparently it takes four times as long to finish anything once you welcome the fourth child into a home. Not that I’d ever complain, since all of my free time has been spent cuddling and inhaling that intoxicatingly sweet baby smell, but whoa. Whatever the husband and I did in our past lives to bring such an initiation period upon ourselves, we’d repent in a heartbeat. All of the big kids have been sick, hacking up lungs into the wee hours of the night, and a certain three year old has decided that right now is the best time to assert his very strong will and independence.

But still. Baby. Sweet, sweet baby that is so happy and easy and lulled to sleep by the sounds of chaos all around him.

On November 12th, I thanked my lucky stars that I had vigorously cleaned the house, packed lunches, prepped school clothes and braided unruly hair before going to bed the night before. At 3am, the husband jumped out of bed when I whispered his name and nearly sprinted to the car. I will always remember him impatiently waiting at the bottom of the steps as I painfully slithered down them, stopping for a contraction, and wanting to punch him for the level of impatience. My kingdom for a childbirth experience just for men.

A mere two hours later, I had a newborn on my chest and was high on that quick, not-a-chance-to-even-think-about-drugs, get-everybody-in-here-now kind of birth. He nursed like a champ and the husband and I watched the sun rise over the mountains out the hospital windows, marveling that it was all over, just like that again.

The heavy-weight of the family so far, he came in at 9lbs 6oz and was 21 inches long . . .

And we were nearly as shocked as when MJ was born, with all that red hair, to see that he has the blondest hair and lightest features we could imagine. After Tater with his shock of dark hair and crazy eyebrows and lashes, it’s quite the change.

Babies are awesome. Four kids in the house is awesome (despite the bumpy patches). And if the past 11 days are any sort of indication, this guy is going to be all sorts of awesome.

40.1 {what belly? oh! that belly!}

Posted By on November 10, 2014

(come out, come out, whenever you want . . .)

Lemondrops {and quiet, sunny mornings}

Posted By on November 8, 2014

Good morning, Saturday morning. Greetings from a sunny spot in the kitchen, next to a cup of hot tea with heaps of honey in it. I dare say that if I could carve myself an hour like this every day (ha!) I would write every word I possibly could.


There is a cupcake place here in town that has a famous claim that their lemon cupcakes will send women into labor. My entire family has rushed out on this chilly Saturday morning to bring some home. I mean, realistically, they’ve probably rushed out to pick their own favorites from the mouth watering display, but I do have to wonder if there is some sort of motivation behind trying every last trick at this point. I sent them off skeptically, as last time we tried this there was a full day between copious amounts of lemon cupcakes and the quick entrance of Tater, but I’m willing to take one – or two – for the team if they want to hold out hope.

Tomorrow is officially my due date. My father is here staying with us for middle-of-the-night childcare, which has thrilled the kids to no end. They love them some Papa time. Between him and the husband, though, I may be driven insane, as they question, nag and blatantly beg me to hurry this whole thing up. Apparently I’m not the only one around here that is completely over it.

The last few weeks have been nothing but a flurry of activity, as we rushed to cross each and every thing off of a massive Before Baby to do list. There were a couple “yeah right” tasks thrown on there and, surprisingly, even some of those are done. I suppose it would be called nesting at this point, but I’ll just stick to calling it insanity when I spent last Saturday painting all of our upstairs trim, touching up our bedroom paint and refinishing a crib.

Tossed in with all the to-do activities has been the routine of millions of lunches to be made, school work upon more school work, animals that cause nothing but trouble, and three sick kids. Tater had me worried this week, crossing my fingers he would hurry up and get better from the general crud that seemed to have settled in his head. He did, of course, aside from a leaky faucet for a nose. And he also shared graciously, allowing me to usher in that due date with a wicked sore throat, chills and a head that feels like it just may explode. Kids are so kind.

The house is quiet, save for the hum of all the chore laden machines humming in the background. Dishes are about ready to be put away and the laundry never folds itself. I’ve been sternly instructed to get my ass in gear and pack “at least something” that will serve as a hospital bag and I supposed I should go ahead with that in hopes the mythical cupcakes do indeed come through on their promise.

A Black Cat, Evel Knievel and Tinkerbell Walk Into {a crowded street for trick or treat}

Posted By on October 31, 2014

(major props to the girls for picking insanely easy costumes this year. tatey’s was finished in the wee hours of this morning and, if I may, I’m going to pat myself on the back for sewing the entire thing on the fly over the past three days. power to the sewing machine and midnight oil.)

In The Evenings

Posted By on October 26, 2014

Every fall and spring since we moved in, the skies above our neighborhood have been filled with hot air balloons on clear days. They follow the sunrise and sunset for some amazing views of all the mountains on either side of us. Usually we exclaim over them in passing, rushing off to school or inside for dinner. Lately, though, no matter how perfectly cooked and hot our dinner is, when someone cries out “Balloons!!” we all come running. Out the door in bare feet, chasing the bright colors from one viewing spot to another. They disappear behind the trees and everyone waits impatiently for them to reappear somewhere else.

The other night was no different. Vegetables were left to get cold and pizza was greasing up the boxes on the counter as we all rushed out behind the kids. Bare feet on the cold driveway, we started to count all the bright spots in the sky. One by one, they popped up over the treeline, five in all. They surely looked as though they were heading far away to the south, but then all of a sudden, as we tried to usher everyone back in the house, they started floating right up and over our yard. Over they went, skimming past the chimney and brushing the trees. The girls stood in the yard, waving and yelling, hoping to be heard over the roar of the fires.

I stood in the yard, snapping away, determined to get every ridiculously awesome shot I could before they drifted away. Somewhere along the way, I noticed that the husband had disappeared. Assuming he had just gotten hungry enough to go in, I kept clicking. And then, all of a sudden, into my frame comes . . . the husband’s newest toy, buzzing along. Yelling at him from behind the camera, I fussed over how close he was trying to get his drone to the balloons. Laughing, he kept trying, hoping for an awesome video.

And then, a gust of wind sent his drone across the street, where it lost power and dove into a tree.

It was a magical evening, as the sky slowly turned pink behind us and the whooshing sound of the balloon fires faded away. An hour later, we had eaten our cold dinner, marveled over the amount of balloons we saw, and watched the husband climb a dead tree to retrieve his precious toy. Which, thankfully, was completely unscathed and ready to charge up for the next adventure in attempting to harass unsuspecting people out for an enjoyable evening ride.