Routine

Things are finally starting to settle into place, and it has taken my parents being in town for me to see that. Brian is out of town on a fishing trip with his family for the week, and my parents have graciously come here to VA to help me with the three kiddos. Today, when we were all getting lunch ready for the kiddos, I realized how quick my pace of life is. I'm so used to rushing around - filling up one cup and tossing it to Em, then quickly making a bottle and handing it to Drew, etc., etc... - that I think I had my parents' heads spinning this afternoon!! And I'm now used to having to let one kid cry while I get the other 2 taken care of, simply because what that one child needs will take more time to do. For example, giving the girls lunch and then sitting down to give Drew a bottle - he will cry while I fix their food, but I have to feed them first, otherwise they'd be waiting for much longer than Drew would be to get his bottle. You have to make split-second decisions on priorities - whose crying is more urgent, whose needs are more necessary to meet at that exact moment in time? These are things my parents haven't had to deal with in a long time, and they just aren't used to the crying and activity of our daily routine. I feel kind of bad about it! But at the same time, it reaffirmed to me that I am surviving and thriving, and that's a great feeling :)

Get Over Yourself

It is SO easy sometimes to fall into the ridiculousness of vanity. Vanity is not just focusing on "Hey, I look good." Vanity is also "Dang, I look like crap" and then obsessing over it. After giving birth to three children in less than 4 years, there was just about no chance that I was going to emerge with no scars (I'm not Heidi Klum, after all). One c-section scar and innumerable stretch marks later, I look at my stomach and wonder what happened to my cute, flat belly. I know I will never see it again without some sort of surgical intervention, which hardly seems worth it. But before I allow myself to get too depressed about how I look, I remind myself of 2 things:

1.) For every stretch mark, new wrinkle, and gray hair, there are a thousand baby giggles and toothless grins. Each stretch mark is a reminder that I have grown and brought three new lives into the world, three lives that I wouldn't trade for anything.

2.) When we stand before the throne of Christ on that last day, it's not going to matter how many zits we had, or how flabby our belly was, or whether we fit into our pre-pregnancy jeans ever again. No, we won't even be thinking about that. We'll be too focused on how wretched we are standing before a perfect and glorious and all-powerful King. The only thing that will matter is whether or not we're covered by the blood of Jesus and can therefore say "I am not worthy of Heaven but by His grace and mercy in having chosen me to be His child."

Mentally Challenged

So, I'm pretty sure that all the people at Em's preschool think I'm completely inept. Ever since I had Drew, getting out of the house and doing ANYTHING is a challenge. Em's preschool likes to do special little events for the kids, especially now since it's the end of the year. These events have not gone particularly well for me:
Last Friday, they had a "summer birthdays" party at the park. This particular park has what they call a "Spray Ground"...it looks like a big mushroom and pours water everywhere. For some reason, in my brain, I thought it was more like a little sprinkler, so I thought "Oh, we don't need to bring anything!" WRONG! Em and Charlie were the only kids without bathing suits, towels, or sunscreen. Awesome.
While there, Em managed to walk off looking for me and I went looking for her all panicked, and the preschool teacher and other parents were helping me look for her. Cool - I'm the mom who lost her kid at a school function. (Things were made more difficult by the fact that the front wheel of the double stroller was locked, which I didn't know, so I thought it was broken and didn't use it, thereby making containing Charlie that much more difficult.)
Fast forward to today. There was an ice cream party for a few of the classes. Em doesn't normally have school on Mondays, so I went there specifically for this party. We got there, and it wasn't where it was supposed to be because of the rain, so I went to the front office to find out where it was. They told me it was downstairs...with the only ramp being all the way around the building. (Having to push a double stroller has made me much more aware of handicap access and its general lack in public facilities...) Anyway, we walk around the building, get to the set of doors and they're locked. There is no one there to open the doors, and frankly, I had no idea what to do. So, I left all three kids right outside the door and beat cheeks up the stairs, down the hallway, down the stairs, and down another hallway, just to get back to the door and have a couple of preschool teachers giving me nasty looks for abandoning my children. When I tried to explain that the doors were locked, they looked at me and said "Oh yeah, we don't unlock them until 11:30"...which is super awesome because the ice cream party started at 11:15.
Inside, the room was CRAMMED full of people, so the stroller naturally didn't fit in the room. I had to get Drew and Charlie out, and then try and get them maneuvered over to a table in the back. Charlie managed to run away while I was focused on Drew and one of the other moms caught her and brought her back (which is fortunate, or else I would have been the mom that lost 2 of her kids at a school function!). Em's teacher got her settled, which I really appreciated, and the mom who brought Charlie back was really helpful, but still...I felt like a moron.
So, to recap - pretty much everyone at Em's preschool thinks I'm a complete moron (which I'm starting to believe, too)...and I'm just a little bit discouraged about it. Sometimes, I don't know why I even bother. But I don't want Em to miss out on all the fun stuff just because it'd be easier for me.

Charlotte's antics

Just thought I'd share how NOT cool it is when Charlotte decides to use my newly increased stomach rolls as a ladder to the counter behind my chair when she's sitting on my lap. Yeah, love it.

On a happier note, she has learned how to tickle, and loves to go up to Drew and say "icka, icka, icka!" She also is learning how to say more things...we think. The other morning, she said "I want banana", and she asks "What's that?" all the time. She'll bring a book to you saying "Bah" and wants you to read it to her. I truly can't believe how big she's getting and how much she changes from week to week.

Wild Card

Well, the last few weeks have been...horrific, to be honest. Between giving birth, trying to adjust to having three kids, and getting the stomach flu, I have not been having a whole lot of fun. But even in the midst of it, I have to admit that God is good. I had a safe and healthy delivery, and I have three safe and healthy children. Yes, Em, Charlie, and I got the stomach flu, but PRAISE GOD that Brian and Drew did not! I was so terrified that my 3 week old son would get sick and have to be admitted to the hospital. Fortunately, my sisters were in town the day after everyone got really ill and were able to help, in more ways than one. My eldest sister, Beth, is a nurse, so that gave me comfort knowing that if anything did happen, she was there. In addition to being a nurse, her son got RSV when he was 4 weeks old and was hospitalized for 8 days. I knew that even if Drew did get sick, she could talk me through it. Again, I am so thankful that we didn't have to deal with any of that!
Now, you're probably wondering why I've titled this "wildcard"...I'll tell you. The longer I am alone with my three children during the day, I realize that at any given time, I have to assess which one of them is going to be my wildcard. At pretty much every moment, two of my children cooperate, while one could go either way. For example, in the afternoon, both my girls usually sleep for a couple of hours. Drew could either sleep or be fussy - therefore, he is my wildcard. Of course, there are those times when all three decide that they need me at once and cannot possibly wait for anything. Those times are NOT cool. But I'm learning that I can survive them when they come and just keep telling myself "This too shall pass". I'm even getting to the point where I can get through them without crying :P So in conclusion, I'll leave you with my sister's words :"God ABSOLUTELY gives us more than we can handle...otherwise, we wouldn't need Him."

No more breastfeeding

Well, I did it. I stopped breastfeeding and switched exclusively to formula. I know, it's only been 1 1/2 weeks, but after much emotional turmoil, I decided it was the best for my WHOLE family. With Drew being such a lazy eater, I was with him all the time and just couldn't give Emma and Charlotte the attention they needed from me. I spoke with my sister, who is a nurse and mother of 2, and she told me that I was under enough stress. Formula is wonderful these days and it's more important for me to be a good mommy to ALL of my children than to beat myself over the head trying to breastfeed one of them. I still struggle with my decision, but ultimately, I know that it's best. He actually seems to be doing better on formula - he's less gassy and seems to be more content than he was before. It's so tough! There's so much emotion attached to this decision because it's about the welfare of your child and it's permanent. Every mother wants to give her best to her children and everyone tells you "breastmilk is best"...but what good is breastmilk if you're constantly grouchy and screaming at everyone because your hormones are all over the place and you're excessively sleep deprived? I have to think about the welfare of all my children and I feel like this is the best way to do that.

Our crap-hole apartment

I really want to use a word other than crap, but I'll be good. It's raining, which means our window is leaking...again. The same window that supposedly FINALLY got fixed last time it rained cats and dogs. I can't even begin to enumerate all the things that are wrong with this apartment and how much I would love to move out of it, but it's just not an option right now. Brian is only planning on having this job for another year, so we'd be moving then anyway, who knows where to. I REALLY want to go back to Texas. I know it's probably because of the hormones, but I've been crying every other night because I miss it so much. I think of all the things we'd have that we don't have here and it just frustrates me. Right now, we are a family of five trying to survive on $40k/year in a super expensive part of the country. We're doing fine, but we have to go without things like tv, etc., because we just can't afford it right now. We can't even really go on dates because 1.) babysitting is expensive and 2.) we can't afford to do anything fun anyway...Wendy's gets a little old after a while. If we lived in Texas, assuming Brian gets a job that pays comparably or better, we could afford to go on dates (things are MUCH cheaper there...nighttime movie rates are cheaper there than matinee prices are here, for one). We'd also have both sets of parents nearby, which would be great not only for us, but for them, too...I know the grandparents miss our kids terribly and it breaks my heart that we've had to force them apart. Who knows, maybe we could even get a house. If not, we could definitely afford a better apartment than THIS one.
All that being said, I know that God moved us here for a reason. He has taught us so many wonderful lessons, like how to trust Him when things get tight financially, and how to be more frugal. Brian and I have gotten a LOT closer because we're all we have. Yes, Brian and my children are my home and I wouldn't want to live anywhere without them, but my heart still aches to be in Texas. So, right now, I'm praying that God will open up an AWESOME job opportunity for Brian in the DFW area, preferably in the Mid-cities, and that we can go home...if that is not God's will, I'm praying that he changes my heart so it doesn't get crushed.