So THAT'S what an aneruysm feels like!

Yesterday I put Critter and SmudgeE in the playroom so that I could feed Moose without constantly yelping "SmudgeE Smith! Get that shoe out of your mouth!" or "Critter! Don't you pop SmudgeE's hand for eating shoes! Only Mama pops!"

After Moose finished eating I checked on Critter and Smudge. Since they were both curled up in the playroom reading, I put Moose on his tummy for some tummy time while I took a few blessed minutes to check facebook (insert Mama guilt here).

I logged on, read my notifications, and looked over to Moose. His back didn't appear to be rising and falling. I watched for another second. NO movement. I looked at his face: bluish tint. The laptop and floor now have dents where I dropped the computer out of my lap as I stood up and crossed 4 feet with one step. I touched Moose's hand. Nothing. I flipped Moose over onto his back while yanking the blanket from his legs and screaming "MOOSE!!!" Nothing. One part of my brain told me to start banging on his chest while the other part of my brain began to frantically search my memory for where I'd left my cell phone.

With the first punch to his heart Moose opened his perfect little eyes and let out a wail to wake stone mountains.

Turns out, he'd finally fallen into that sweet, perfect slumber that only babies are capable of. The blue tint was no doubt a result of the angle of the morning sun and the BLUE blanket I'd laid him on.

Moose was ticked off to say the least. I keeled over with giddy giggles.

An HOUR later my hands had stopped shaking enough for me to feel safe cutting up grapes for Critter and SmudgeE's snack. I cut the grapes, keeping one eye on my knife holding hand, the other on Moose.

I put Critter and SmudgeE in their seats, divided up the grapes between them and then decided that I would sit at the table with them and read a chapter of my new book. I read a page. I looked at all 3 babies, and read another page. I looked up. Moose- eating his fist. Critter- eating grapes. SmudgeE- keeled over in his highchair.

I dove across the table screaming SMUDGE!!!!!!! louder than I thought possible. I yanked his head back ready to jerk him out of his seat and dislodge a quarter of a grape from his windpipe.

Turns out, he'd fallen asleep-that deep baby sleep- in his high chair.

There is a definite possibility that no one in this house will ever sleep again.

You Know You're a Mama When...

1. Your middle child says "Muhhh, wa, WA, w.a.!" and you know that means he wants water.

2. Your oldest child says "Mama, you read Christmas book wi us" and you know that means he wants you to read "Spot's First Christmas"

3. Your youngest poos (yep, as is POOPS!!!- blech- poop *shudder*- sensitive gag reflex) on the floor, and you step on it, in YOUR BARE FEET, and you don't, in fact, barf all over him.

4. There are more dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets in your freezer than there are free countries on the planet.

5. The last 5 movies you downloaded contain at least one of the words "veggie" "tale" "tail" "train" "cartoon" "part 2"

6. You realize that at some point you stopped praying to live a long life "so that you can really live before you die" to "so that I can help my children through their own lives"

Oh so well, but not at all

Each night, after the babies are all sleeping deeply in their beds, I tiptoe in and watch them slumber. I look at their little noses. Chubby cheeks. Pinkish purple eyelids. I make sure they are breathing. That their toes are covered by their favorite blankets.

And I think, at this moment, I know them best. I know their likes and dislikes. I know when they need a nap. A snack. A cuddle.

But, my omnipotent knowledge of them is fleeting. One day I will sneak into their rooms and recognize their faces but not really know them at all.

One day, I won't be the one they cry for when they are hurt, lonely, scared. One day, very soon, they will roll their eyes at me and call their friends. Soon after that they will barely glance at me as they skip out the door for their girlfriends' houses.

I know the babies that they are. I don't know the men they will become.

My greatest hope is that during this fleeting time I can make enough of an impression on them that even when they disregard me, the morals I have instilled in them linger.

I won't know their deepest secrets. They won't tell me. They will, odds are, hide them from me and confide in one another. I won't know their deepest fears. They will, odds are, hide them from everyone.

But I pray nightly that they know no matter the secret, I love them. And no matter the fear, I'll do everything in my power to keep that fear a fear and not a reality.

The Firemen

Some where, in this town, there are a group of heroes. In the fog of panic, I cannot remember their names.

On September 2, a completely hysterical Mama called 911. She yelped "My son is dying! Send SOMEONE! ANYONE!!"

A band of men later burst through the door and made a gray baby pink again.

Thank you, Big Burly Men.

I loved you then, I love you now, I'll love you always.

Mamas Don't Have It Easy!

Mornings? We don't do mornings.

The laws of Slothville:

1. Bed Time is BED TIME. Once Mama puts on your overnight diaper and jammies, brushes your teeth, puts you in bed, and sings you those ridiculous personalized Night Night songs, Mama is done. Capital D. Done.

2. No one old enough to call "Mama!! Moo Milk!" is young enough to have the request/demand answered during Sleepy Time. If I can go 8 hours without wine, you can go that long with no dairy products.

3. Any time before noon is an unholy hour, and Waffles won't be served. With or without peanut butter.

4. If it seems that the sun is high in the sky, but I come in your room and say "Not time for waking, time for more sleeping" it's in your best interests not to question me.

Isn't this boat big enough for all of us?

Noah's ark and the Stay at home Mom

What's the same? Noah had a BIG boat. It was full of tons of different animals. It was alone in a big old ocean.
There are LOTS of Mamas. There are lots of different types of Mamas. We are all trying to stay afloat.

So, why, why? can't we all just see that we are all in this big old ocean together and make the best of it? Why must some Mamas make other Mamas feel like crud?

Yeah, I get it. Your kids eat nothing but organic food and my kids survive on Hot Pockets. At least they all eat, right? (Well, sometimes.)

On the flip side, since we don't have a maid, my kids know how to clean up after themselves. Booyah.

I know that each Mama is different. Each Mama has the way they think is the way to be the best Mama. But just because another Mama co-sleeps and your kid does Cry It Out, does NOT make you, or her, better. It just makes you different.

So let's make a deal. Since we are in the same neighborhood/playgroup/wine club I won't let my kids draw on your kids with permanent marker if you won't let your kids make mine feel like dumbasses because they aren't bi-lingual. And I won't tease you about the fact that your roots are showing if you won't tease me about the fact that my butt is bigger than yours. Bless your heart.