On the High Horse

So my children are growing, imagine that. Growing into little people with little personalities. Ok, so not so much Jacob. He is charming and all, but what he really likes to do is drool, poop in his pants, and stay awake all the time, this does not really count as personality development. He is a pretty mellow fellow, easy to please, and kind of just goes with the flow. Is this because he is the third child or that he is just about 4 months? I don't know, I suppose we will find out in about a year or so. I would never ever say it out loud, but does typing count? My three babies have been pretty easy to please on a whole. All issues that come up I make it my everlasting purpose on this earth to stay focused on nothing else but this sole issue until it is solved. We may not have clean underwear for a few days, but dag nabbit, I am going to get the baby to stop crying all the time, and he stopped, and I promptly did the laundry, but oh Lordy he is a cute little thing. I could just sit and smile at him all day. Ok, and so sometimes, I will admit it, half the day I do do this, or dream about doing this.


Wouldn't you want to come over and gnaw on those cheeks too? And what is this about growing so fast. Sitting in a Bumbo? This is just insanity. Wasn't he just coming out of me? In 2 weeks he will be eating cereal and fruits. Not fair.

So the personalities I am referencing in this post are the darling older children. Goodness parenting is hard, right? I mean because now I have to decide between if it is something that they are doing because that is just what they do, or if they are doing it to annoy me to the point that I want to sky rocket out the side window. How do I encourage a born leader as she asserts her assertiveness but at the same time try and explain to her that not everyone wants to listen to her and do what she wants to do all the time? That if she doesn't stop trying to get everyone in the neighborhood to be characters in some play she has made when they clearly do not want to, and thus she is upsetting them, then she will need to go inside.


With Kendall, I have now attempted to take a back seat with some issues. This is two fold. One, I am trying to get her to solve her own problems. And then there are some issues that just exacerbate me so I just let her work it out, so that I don't send her sky rocketing out of the side window.


Kendall is at a point right now of pointing out constantly what is just and unjust to her little mind. She is also all about making the profound statements that are profound, I suppose ,to a 4 year old. Today she told me with absolute seriousness on her face, 'uh Mommy, this house is bigger then us.' Thanks Kendall. 'And do you know why?' Why's that? 'Because we are people that is why, and people are smaller then houses.' Deep, right? To be 4, and to have these be the things that run through your mind must be just wonderful. And then she walks away from me with a look on her face that mimics Aristotle's.


Kendall has also recently taken her big sister role quite seriously. I mean any chance to be in charge, this girl is all over it. Some recent conversations I have overheard between her and Ethan are as follows:
(while brushing teeth)
K: Hey E, you should spend some more time on your bottom row.
E: Can I use your bubble gum toothpaste Dendall?
K: Ok, then I will show you how to floss, and swish this stuff around in your mouth.
a few minutes after brushing-
K: E, the dentist told me it is important to floss with this string and to rinse with this stuff, here.
K: Now, swish it and spit it out, it's poison, and can't touch your belly.
E: WHAT!?!? I not want that Dendall.
K: Well then if you don't your teeth will fall out. And you know, I don't want your teeth to fall out.
E: Me neither.
K: Because if your teeth fall out, everyone will laugh at me 'cause I have the brother with no teeth.

It's always good to hear where her concerns really are.

And over snack time:
K: E, when you chew like that it makes me sick, chew with your mouth closed, like this.
E: But Dendall, you have crumbs coming out of your lips.
K: Yes, but my mouth is closed, and that is minding manners.

I am going to go ahead and say that most first born girls are really like this. I am constantly reminding her that I am the mother. Like when Ethan is getting mad at her and so she tells him, 'E, if you can't get it together, you are going to have to go upstairs to your room and get it together because I have had it.'

But she is going to preschool this year. And this will do her wonderfully. Just yesterday she said to me, 'So uh, school starts in 2 weeks, are you guys gonna get me a school bag or something, it is coming fast you know? What do you put in those things anyway, like your toys and stuff you might miss and some make up?' Priorities.

"Don't grow up too quickly, lest you forget how much you love the beach."

So I love the beach. I think if I could choose to place a house anywhere it would be on the beach. Ok, so maybe not right squat on the beach, because then you have to worry about beach erosion and your house going right along with it, and waves crashing through your windows, and jelly fish on your kitchen floor. But most definitely ocean front. I want my bedroom to have a wall of windows facing the ocean and the sunrise, or sunset, but I really don't want to live in California, I heard somewhere that is going to fall into the ocean someday, and I don't exactly want to live in the ocean, just be able to look at it and hear it. I really don't think that is asking too much.

I love the beach in all weather, in all seasons. I love salt water effected hair, sand in my ear canals, and lying in bed at night still feeling as though you are being rocked by the waves. Don't you just love the smell of the beach? The sticky air? I even love the smell of the stinky sludge in the bay. That is love ladies and gentlemen.I love sand between my toes, I love getting home from the beach and seeing the sand in the carpet of the car, some might get annoyed by this, I love it.

I love the summer because I can decorate my house with shells from the beach, that I found, and this giant one from my Pop Pop's home that I took after I was living there for a bit. It isn't exactly stealing, it was outside, it had spider webs in it, this conch shell was left for the taking, so get off my case. It reminded me of him because he too loved the beach. I mean loved it like no other. He would be tan all summer, and inevitably most of the year. I honestly think the sand in his hair would stay there until at least christmas time. My ocd behavior would beg to peel his back when he returned home from the beach. That's gross, I know it is, try being me, I swear I was meant to be a dermatologist. I am obsessed with pores, skin, etc. Anyway, I got to keep this conch shell and his hat that said, 'Plumbers have Bigger Tools.' That my friends, is some good memorabilia of a grandfather.

So,our family was coming from out west to visit again, and they wanted to go to the beach for the day. Now I have not been on a beach vacation since Ethan was born, so I am suffering from some major withdrawal. Not only that, my kids don't even remember the beach! Can you imagine that? This is some major neglect going on.

In preparation for this day, I explained the beach to Kendall and Ethan. I told them all about the waves and what we could do with the sand. They asked about sharks, I promised there was no sharks, what are they crazy?!!? I went to bed each night leading up to the day praying that the Lord would not bless Harvey Cedars with a shark sighting on the day we were to be there. They wanted to know why we were not taking a plane to the beach. I mean, we hardly ever went there, it must be far, like Disney World. I explained we would be taking the van, that it would take a little bit of time, but we could most certainly drive, Daddy is not Donald Trump, and we were not hitting up Atlantic City.

Jacob was running a high fever the day we were to go. I was panic ridden the night before, certain that we couldn't go due to this illness, and I would break Kendall's heart because it was all she talked about. I mean E talked about it too, but really, he talked about it because Kendall talked about it, much like everything else he talks about. In his little head, I am certain that the beach was simply a pool surrounded by sand, and we can do that any old day. So back to Jacob, you know him, the third child? Well he was burning up, and not only is it just plain difficult to take a newborn to the beach, but a sick one did just not fly. I didn't want to leave him sick and all with just anyone so I could worry and feel like s terrible mother all day. So in swept our hero, Daddy Dearest, who said he would take the day off to stay with Jake. What an awesome man, have you met him?

And we get there, much to Beatrice's, the british lady on the Tom Tom that wanted to get me lost, dismay. 'Turn right in 50 yards.' 'Opps, continue to the nearest turn around point and head back, make a left in 25 yards.' Seriously? Why are they british, telling me how to get somewhere in America, and how do I know what 25 yards is exactly? My grandmother informed me that a football field was 100 yards, so that should give me an idea. Again, what? Stupid GPS'.

So we arrive on Long Beach Island. Not only have I not been to the beach in a few years, but, I have not been to LBI since I graduated high school. I forgot how much I loved this little town. It's a classic beach town, nothing gaudy, and people ride the street on beach cruisers in bare feet. I guess you could do this anywhere, but doing it here makes it all that more nostalgic. We get all ready, load up our arms, and begin the walk to the beach. Because that is what you do, you set up a mini camp on the beach, you take all your arms can carry, because you never know what you might need, and the car is a 5 minute walk away, and that is far.

Ethan insisted that he be the leader. And he is getting pretty clever, more on that in another entry, but I can read that kid's mind like it's my job, which it is I suppose, and we are still attached by an umbilical cord, it's a medical phenomenon. So he does not announce aloud that he wants to be the first person to see the ocean, because that would mean he would have some competition, so his little legs picked up speed on the little boardwalk to the beach. Almost to the top he exclaims, 'I am going to see the ocean first!' And when he reached the top, of the dune he froze. His head slowly went from left to right taking in the size of it all. And then he takes off again.

Mind you. This child is the cautious child. Always proceeding to something new with a little trepidation. So I for certain thought that he would either a. take the entire day to even stick his feet in the ocean, and then love it when we had to leave, or b.not want to go near it at all and scream like he does at the sight of clowns at the mere suggestion of sticking a toe in. Did I ever mention this kid and clowns? I mean terrified, he screams like a mass murderer is coming after him with a hatchet when one is near. Panic takes over his face, and his facial expressions are so large and animated that you swear he is about to fall over and just die from fear. He looks at a picture of a clown and shudders. But he is not stopping and here I am tossing everything into a heap and racing to grab his hand before the first wave hits him. Thank goodness Jacob was not with us, he might have landed on top of the umbrella. It smacks into him and I let him fall. First lesson of the ocean, it is really strong. Since he was showing no fear, I wanted to instill a little, I have that healthy fear of the ocean, like if you don't mind your manners, you are getting a huge mouthful of salt and sand to choke on. But he gets up laughing hysterically, wanting more. Kendall right beside him, thinking that it is just hilarious that the water is not flat like a pool. She wants her swimmies so she can go swim out in it really far. Wonderful. You never think about the exact opposite of a situation being worrisome also. I found that out real fast. Kendall found out real fast about sand in the pouch of the bathing suit. That it feels real comfy. Nothing like feeling like you have a load in your pants that is chafing you at the same time.

So after some battles with the waves, they took to the sand. And they looked like sand monsters, sand sticks so well to suntan lotion, what fun!

Kendall and E played with Carson and Kaitlyn all day long.

At one point my sister took my begging daughter out into the ocean in between the yellow flags. I will just go ahead and say, that is what just plain sucks about the Jersey Beaches, you have to swim between the yellow flags so the life guards can save you a little easier. I call this laziness. So everyone is all crammed together like a public pool, and people who insist on body surfing in this tight space get to annoy the crap out of you. Kendall quickly learned that it is not so fun way out there with or without your swimmies since a wave took them in the first two minutes. Kendall was screaming and crying telling me she was 'never going in the deep end of the ocean again!' 'How could Aunt Chelley do that' to her!?!??! But once we got back to the 'little end,' in front of our chairs, she was happy to jump and splash again, and scowl at her aunt.

Now my grandmother. I say it like I am nothing like her, but I am just the exactly the opposite, and just like her. She believes firmly that when you go somewhere you are going to experience it all. And when you go to the beach, you get the sea gulls. She decides it might be fun for the kids to feed them and watch them swarm. Yes, she was the person on the beach you want to drop kick because they are feeding the seagulls.

Once it was done, this one gull didn't take the hint, and stuck around for leftovers. Carson named him Bob, and a friend was made. He just sat there amongst us. We fed him by hand and Kendall even stuck a goldfish cracker in her lips, and Bob came up and grabbed it right out. Now had she not thrown the goldfish crackers into the air, we would have never met Bob. See what I am saying? Experience life a little, feed the seagulls.

When it was time to leave Ethan did not want to budge. It was 6 pm, and him and my mother could have stayed there till dark. A beach bum in the making. We promised him that next summer we would stay over at the beach for a lot of nights in a house. OBX we are coming home...

So there is still some sand in my van's carpets. But it is almost time to vacuum it again, looks like we have to go back for some more.

Vacation All I Ever Wanted...

The Go-Go's wrote that song about vacation. However it was really 'all they ever wanted,' because she was trying to get away and over a guy, and she thinks that the vacation was meant to be spent alone. I don't know, even if I was trying to get over a guy, I don't think I would want to be alone. And that really doesn't even make much sense, I mean what therapist would recommend you going away alone after a bad break up? I could see some reflection time, but a whole vacation alone? How boring.

It's good to know that most likely for the rest of my life, I will never be on vacation alone. That is what comes along with reproduction, the insurance that if you want to be with someone, you can be. It's quite comforting really. Our friends and I take it one step further and think it's tons of fun to accumulate as much of our offspring all together and 'hang out.' Mostly all of our offspring are under the age of 8. We think that this will distract our children, and be great fun for us. But what it really is is, 'huh, what did you say, I can't hear you over the 76 children screaming their heads off! Wait what? Where's your Mommy, go tell her. Stop tattling. I don't care if Ryan only took two bites, you are taking five. Where's Tate? If you don't take time to go potty and you pee your pants, we are going home. No, you are not taking off all of your clothes and putting on a dress up. Where's Tate? I don't know if that is your juice box, who cares, just drink it, you all share the same germs anyway. Shut the gate! Where's Tate? Are you whining, if this isn't fun, we can go home, we can whine at home. There is 4,000 toys to chose from, why are you fighting over the same one? Where's Tate?' All this while attempting to have 'adult conversation.' What gets better is taking it on the road.

So year two, we head up to Shawnee. This year it was only two families since we only had one home to stay in. So there was only 7 kids under 8. Nope, I kid you not. Yeah, that's manageable, and sounds like a vacation, right? 7 kids, 4 adults, two bedroom home. And you say, this is where I make the u-turn on the highway and head home. However, these kids, they must have some good parents, because for the most part, you never would have known they were all jumbled together expected to be nice and play nice, and clear your plates, and go to bed at night, and sleep in in the morning. Oh wait...they all may not have slept in, but they were good. And I say it like I am shocked, because I was. Every night I would think, ok tomorrow is going to be melt down day, and it wasn't. Most especially due to minimal nappage, but they acted like troopers.

But here is the thing about vacation with multiple children. It's the packing. I tell you the van actually looked like I just folded up the house and put it in there. When you have a newborn, you really do take just about everything. Placing it all in the van so it fits with 3 children is another feat, and it is like a puzzle, and I am a control freak sometimes, so I loaded, both times. The makers of vans act like they are so smart. They brag about the comfort it provides for larger families. What about the families things? They give you this little box sized space the size of maybe a cooler and expect you to be ok. Get the turtle for the top...how dorky. Because if you really fill up the seats, that would be 7 people, now where are you going to fit 7 people's things? If we have another child one of these things will be occurring, we will have to rent a u-haul to go away, take an additional car, or promptly admit ourselves to the psych ward at the local hospital due to all the screaming that occurs from the lack of space for legs, arms, etc. I could hardly see the child that sat in the back row of the van. I could just see a head, maybe, if I peeked in at a certain angle.

If I may, I will just offer up the week in pictures, with captions, because when you do go away, some nice people want to see your pictures, and Trista wants to see them too, because her poor children will have no keepsakes of vacations when they were young because their parents didn't take pictures. For all they know they sat in their flooding basement and ate all summer. ;)

The annual pose on the stairs, this is minus 3 of the children. The oldest of the bunch was, 'too cool,' for the stairs and needed to have a better place...coming up, one of the youngest was asleep in his stroller, and can't sit yet, and the second to youngest was screaming her head off being me strapped into a stroller because she wanted to climb the stairs, but is too little.

Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head
I don't know, if you have ever seen the movie Toy Story, you know who Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head are. They are my favorite characters. They argue incessantly over the most mundane of topics because they are meant to resemble an old married couple. Enter, Gabby and Ethan. These two argued like this the entire week. At the time of this picture Gabby was asking Ethan in nagging tone, 'Why are you eating the green pop, you said you wanted the blue one, if you wanted blue why are you eating that?' And Ethan replied shouting, 'BECAUSE I CHANGED MY MIND!' And Gabby again,'but you wanted BLUE!!!!'

I don't know how these children do it a number of times a week and not jump off the trail in protest, but we make them hike from the home to the golf course while others are finishing golfing to meet them. It is not a long trail, maybe a mile total, but it begins with this steep hill, and usually there is only 2 of us convincing 7 kids that this is the greatest time ever! I bribe them with water and snacks. They can't have them until they reach the end destination with minimal complaining. I am all boot camp like that, don't call child protective services.

E on the hill, cursing his mother.

Then there was this child, who has grown so much in year. She thinks she has grown a lot more then that. So much so that at the age of one, she thinks she is an olympic swimmer and can be in the pool all by herself with swimmies on just like the other kids. This was the theme for her that week. Whatever the big kids did, she was doing too. You couldn't tell her otherwise, and how could you? Look how sweet she is.

My son, Mr. Potato, demonstrating for Mrs. Potato how not to get wet while wading in the water, because she, was not doing it properly. I got two words for this picture though in about 13 years...Black Mail.

My husband, my son, and my husband's really cool shades.





Trista and E. I do not think that Trista left the pool the entire time we were down at it, even after readily admitting her kids pee in it. Consider yourself warned!

The one that was too cool to pose with the 'little kids,' needed his own space and shot.

Ethan swimming by himself. Thank goodness for my husband teaching him how to swim alone with his swimmies before this vaca. My sanity appreciates it greatly.

Kendall and her dear friend.

One day another family of friends came up, with 3 children. So you know, now we have 10 children. But one thing we did not lack was food. And I must mention at this point that Jake ate four thick sliced pork roll sandwiches for lunch one day. I still can't decide if that is gross or amazing.

But they do have some pretty snazzy swimsuits.

E and his BFF who came up to visit for the day.

Apparently someone it is also uncool to get a photo with your mama.

Our little man, his Daddy, and his Daddy's really cool shades, again.

Stay Puff! I love chunky babies!

Waking from a nap in the sunshine...now that's vacation.

Gotta love catching them being silly.

So I am thinking 2 years into it, that going away on vacation with friends is a good tradition, especially when you find some friends you can live with in close quarters for a week and come out the other end smiling, knowing even more about each other, like who can and cannot do dive rolls. The memories the kids will have will be endless and silly. I hope one day one of them writes a book. I hope that they too cram as many friends as they can into a vacation home because if you look real closely, admidst all that chaos is smiling faces.

He might be a Giant!

So when does one become a little nervous about the eventual size of their child? I just have to wonder at 10 weeks old did Shaquille O'Neal's mom have a hard time bathing her child, because he no longer fit in the baby tub, but it was way to early to actually put him in a regular tub without him drowning or her killing her back?



As I look at these photos I envision the class photos with him in the back row on the end, looking as though he might be on stilts because he is 2 feet taller then his classmates. I think of his shins and feet hanging over the end of the twin bed because he is to tall to fit. I see him ducking through doorways or smacking his head on the ceiling fans.



This child is over the 100th percentile for his height at his age. What does that mean anyway? We know his brother is going to be tall, he already wakes up in pain in the middle of the night from growth spurts with his toes pointed yelling, 'my legs, my legs!!' But never in the 100th percentile. Will this child be like Andre the Giant? Will I have to build him a special house in the back yard like Emily Elizabeth did for Clifford? At least we know this for sure, that being in the 100th percentile for height means you will never get picked last in gym class.

But to me he is still a tiny little man, 10 weeks old. He still looks small and cuddly in his crib...for some reason I think, to me, it will always be like this super sized, or not.

'Any child can tell you that the sole purpose of a middle name is so he can tell when he's really in trouble.'

I can attest that the first exciting thing about having a child is getting to name it. Something about that sheer control that not only has the power to display your personality and style, but also shape someone for the rest of their life. I mean you can pretty much name your kid Dorkus if you wanted to, and they are bound to be the nose picker and eater, I am sorry but they are. And my kids pick their noses and have been seen taking a little lick time and again, but its all about the consistency of it, and Dorkus picks her nose and eats it all day long. That's mean, but come on.

The above child has been watching to much 'Toddlers and Tiaras' for my liking, every photo taken is now a model pose. Like she may just win Best in Show.

Now when we found out we were having a girl, right away we knew her name was to be Kendall. That is the thing about the first born, there are names you pick out for your kids long before you have kids if you are a loser like me, maybe my name should have been Dorkus, but anyway, these are typically the names of the first borns.

Back in the day, in the early days of reality t.v., on MTV there was this show Road Rules, and on one of the first seasons there was a girl named Kendall and I absolutely loved the name, I wished it was my name. You know you have wished for a name other then your own at some point in your life, I did this a lot, but when Kendall came about I was 16 or 17, and I decided that this would be the name of one of my little girls. I introduced the name to Andy when we were for sure that we were having a girl and bada bing, it was done. Now it is formally Kendall Anne, and Anne was an easy pick given that almost all of the first born girls in my mother's family's recent history has the middle name Ann. My mom messed a little bit with the tradition and put an 'e,' on the end of my Ann, so I did the same for Kendall. Once you mess up history, its imperative to keep it going, so that it eventually corrects itself, or the result is even better. Like I know what I am saying. I think my mom thought it was cool at 19 to give my middle name some flair, so she did, rebel I tell you. Now Kendall actually means; valley of the River Kent,and Ann actually means; gracious, so essentially she is named after a gracious river valley. Didn't really pay attention to name meaning on that one.

Above photo taken by the reigning Miss Prairie Ct. Supreme Princess.

Now Ethan was also an easy one. I love the name Ethan, love, love, love it, and that is really all there was to it. I just had to have Andy buy into it. And I simply said, won't it be fun to yell, 'Good hit, E!', from the stands at one of his games? Sold. I am really into boy names that have a nickname that is sporty and a little catchy, and E, is just that. However, he is occasionally referred to as Ebee as well. Quick background, there was a show Kendall watched when Ethan was first born and it's main character was, 'Ebee,' and there was a song, 'Ebee, Ebee, abee, abee, baby...,' and so on and so forth and I would sing this song to him. So when Kendall was learning to talk she referred to Ethan as Ebee, and she still does,let's hope for his sake, she stops soon. And with Ethan's name meaning I paid a little more attention, since my daughter is again, a river valley, Ethan means; firm, strong. Ethan's middle name is Thomas, which is my father in law's name, and I had no problem agreeing to his. Thomas is a good name when you are choosing to represent someones name in your offspring. Because let's face it, there are those that have father in law's with the name, Eugene, or Ralph, or Gaylord, or something, and I apologize, but father in law or not, no thanks. Thomas simply means; a twin, which neither of them are, but whatever, again it was a gesture of representation, recognizing Andy's dad. Just don't call him E.T.

Time and time again people who watch the soap, 'All My Children,' asked me if I too watched it, apparently two of the characters on the show are Kendall and Ethan. The answer for the 459th time is, no, just a coincidence, I had no idea. But wouldn't that be weird if I named my kids after my favorite soap characters?

Then we find out during this third baby that we are going to have a boy. Before I could even show Andy the ultrasound pic with the goods as clear as day, he states, 'we are going to name him Jacob.' I immediately get the image in my head of Andy as some Indian tribal leader holding my naked son into the air, proclaiming, 'his name shall be Jacob.' I am really all random like that, it's not just for show, I promise.

Jacob's middle name is Michael, my dad's name. Michael is a good middle name, because set alone as the first name makes me nervous. Every Michael, my dad included, I have ever know is trouble, a rebel if you will. I have no idea why the name in fact means, 'who is like God,' but you know what the interesting part is is that when the meaning is listed, a question mark follows and it is written, 'Who is like God?' Like there was a little hesitancy there, like; 'really, are you sure about this one, did you see what he did to the neighbors garden with his dirt bike, did you hear he stole his parent's car last night and went on some joy ride across the interstate with all his friends?' And I love my dad, that is why Jacob has the middle name Michael, but I can't just have a freestanding Michael, especially for the third child. I am testing fate even having it sit in the middle, I can feel the personality of the name wanting to jump out. My dad would totally agree.

Jacob is the name of Andy's closest friend, and I couldn't think of someone better to name my son after, and I immediately agree with the chief and his name choice. The name Jacob was never in the list of baby names, so no, it isn't a coincidence, we did in fact name him after Jake. This did give my son a lot to live up to, again no coincidence. We were naming our son after one of the most loyal and loving people we know. He is an incredible person, friend, father, and husband, you lucky girl Trista, how could we not let our son have this namesake? The actual meaning of Jacob, is supplantar, but to us it means something completely different. We of course will let our Jacob know exactly why he was given his name. Andy is so fortunate to have this friend who will stand by him and lift him up through anything. We have already begun to pray that our little Jake becomes a man of such integrity and humility as well.

It is the first name out of our three children that holds a deep meaning and purpose to us, not just because it sounds pretty, or because it has a cool nickname. I mean I hope that Kendall and Ethan both love their names, I think they are pretty nice. But I hope to raise them to be people that hold names that other people choose to name their children after, beyond tradition, or juniors, or because it was my great great grandfather's name. We chose to name our baby Jacob because that is how much we think of Jake. And ok, so 'Awesome pass Jake!', does sound pretty good when yelled from the sideline.

Part Deux

And so it continues...

At this point one may become very relaxed. Third delivery, control of the tv remote, the newest edition of People Magazine to read, all that is missing is some food, and I was getting hungry. To all those preggos out there, my one piece of advice is to get yourself something to chow down on after you give birth. I don't mean like, call someone after you are all settled in recovery, and you are holding your sweet child that just tore up everything in the netherlands. I mean bring it with you, or have someone on call that once they have heard you have popped that sucker out they are in route with the goods. (and doing 95 mph, in route to the hospital) The hunger that overtakes your body is unreal. It's like some hungry beast has taken over your stomach and it will not calm itself until it has eaten a 12 inch hoagie, a bad of chips, some pickles, and a diet pepsi, because you know, you have to start the weight loss at some point.

Now once you are all in the birthing area and a few hours before, you are not allowed to eat. Now I lied and said I had nothing that morning, but really, I had a banana, they looked so good. And if I was going to have to have a c-section and vomit and then asperate on a banana, it was a good one at the very least. But that was oh, 9 hours ago, and I was in this in between stage where they were pumping the pitocin and all I was feeling was a little tension every few minutes, but nothing that would overtake the hunger. And in the corner of my eye I see the bag, and there they sit, my birthing team, chowing down on some Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. And I will go ahead and say it 'WTF!?!?!' Uh, hello, kind of in labor here. Don't mind me or anything, you just go ahead and eat your snacks like you are watching TLC from your couch. We are live people, and I can't eat!?!?!' My sister looks at me, and just asks meekly, 'did you want me to go and get you more ice chips?' I mean they are good and all. They were the ice chips that get all crispy on the outside and you can chew them bc they are a little mushy like that, but they were not Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Some team.

I was watching the Boob Tube and reading my mags once I promised to give them all sucker punches once I was allowed up again, and kept seeing previews for the Oprah of that day. It was the one with Laura Bush being interviewed. And for some reason I am intrigued by President's wives and children, and I wanted to see it. And I pronounced that I wanted this baby out so that I could watch Oprah that day.

Then my doctor, the 8th dwarf, comes in for the first time. I am at 6 centimeters and have been at 6 centimeters for 2 hours. He tells the nurses to keep pumping the pitocin up and up. He comes in an hour later, nothing. 6 centimeters. He starts to get a little concerned, he isn't going to make me sit there for 5 days like this, and if nothing was happening, well there might be a c-section. My contractions are not consistent or long enough. And I ate that banana! He tells them to keep pumping it up. I can now start to feel more and more pressure and some pain. Uh oh. I hate it when an epidural doesn't work like its supposed to. I want to be paralyzed people until that baby is all wrapped up and nice and clean and the placenta is planted in our front yard. But the baby's heart rate looked good, and he was showing no adverse side effects to the high level of pitocin, and I had come this far. This kid was coming out the vag, no turning back. They kept asking me how I was feeling, and I was getting queasy, but in no way was I going to tell them that the pitocin was getting to me. If Baby Jacob was sucking it up, so would I.

And then it was 4 p.m. Oprah. Laura, hello. Barbara, Jenna, so nice. But it wasn't all that nice, because the pain was getting worse. The highest level of Pitocin is 30, and I was at 28. And then just as Oprah is about to say her goodbyes to the former first lady, it occurs to me that I feel like I have to poop. Like let all my insides out poop and that I need to massively push, NOW! The nurse comes in I tell her, she goes to get the 18 year old, and things start buzzing around the room. The ceiling opens bringing down the mega light. Now when the mega light comes down you know it is time to give birth. So when you see this light, if you don't know or cannot feel anything, I am here to tell you that you are going to give birth shortly.

Mind you, my husband, out at the bathroom. Yeah he is all on top of it like that. In his defense I was 6 centimeters when he left 10 minutes before that and all talking about the Bush's Texas Ranch, but in comes the resident and I am 9 centimeters, and I tell her, I am pushing. In walks speedy the 8th dwarf, and with the next push I am 10.

Here is my philosophy. They are going to turn your epidural down as you are giving birth so that you can sense when and how to push. So you better get as much as you can out of it while you can, and I push like a freakin' mule. They tell me to do two sets of 8 counts, I do three. That kid is moving. I grab onto the hand rails and show no mercy. My sisters are holding on to my legs and Andy buzzes into the room, saying, 'what we are pushing already?!?!' Was he not ready for me to push 3 weeks ago, now it is already?

He stands at my head and then goes to my feet, cheering me on like veteran he is. I then feel it. The burning! Everyone is cheering that they can see the head, and the burning. I feel like a forest fire is erupting, send in the helicopters with the giant vat of water to pour on me. I ask them if I am almost done. Mistake. 'No, sweetie keep pushing, the head is coming!' What? I am feeling all this and you are telling me that basically you can just see a tiny fragment of the baby's head when I push. I then start flipping out, and I am back to Ethan's birth. Nope, can't do it. Pack up my things, I am out of here, the baby is not coming out. Then my doctor tells me to push like I am mad at Nancy. Nancy is my nurse. And he wants me to push like I am mad at her? Why would I be mad at Nancy, the woman who has stood faithfully by my side all day? How about you for making me push!?!?! I am now screaming at everyone. It is when I look back on this that I think of the poor girl the next room over in labor for the first time, and she hears me yelling that I can't do it and it hurts so bad I want to die. Some mentor I am.

Then he tells me to stop pushing. This is the point where I want to push and finish off my imminient demise. A little turn of the head I am guessing, he tells me to push one more time, and there is Jacob, coming out, being lifted under the grand light, and being placed on top of me. Andy is handed the scissors to set him free, and there is my little man. And all of it just goes away. Everyone in the room, all the pain and there is my Jacob.

After a bit, they take him to his little baby area to clean him up and do his little testing. He is 8 pounds 15 ounces, and is 22.5 inches long, and he was born at 5:34 p.m. A good little steward, he let Mommy enjoy her Oprah before torturing her.

My sisters and my Andy were great coaches, they got to witness the birth of my little man, and pulled me through, and promptly gave me my Reese's Peanut Butter Cup and a diet pepsi, remember, post baby diet starts when you deliver the placenta...right...until...

My parents were called and the order for a Dairy Queen Blizzard put in. Which by the way was gigantic! My dad told the girl to give her the size she would want if she had just pushed out a 9 pound baby. Yeah, I ate every last bite.

And then in came the big sister and brother. Instant pros and instant sibling rivalry and love. 'I want to hold him,' 'No, I want to show him his toy!' 'I want to sit with Mommy,' 'No, I get watch Mommy feed him.' 'He is so cute!' 'Can we take him home now?'

My sister the next day texted me with, 'my arms are killing me,' from me pushing against them. I quickly text back, 'my vagina is killing me,' then prompt response, 'ok you win.'

Kendall and Ethan have over exceeded expectations and they have gone on with a few bumps, but no potholes, and are in love with their brother, and Mommy's big helpers.

I would like to comment on the disinterest upon the face of the child above. Like she is doing some terrible chore! And then comment further on the length of that baby, see his leg way over there? This kid is going to be huge. He will be taller than me in Kindergarten.

We are a family of five now, well plus our furry mascots, and although we are busy, we are content.

To those about to go through it, don't worry you forget the feeling of the pain...I forget it the instant I see the baby, and it is without a doubt, my most personal and best experiences of my life.

The Chubbiest Cheeks in America and that visual proof of the Lyons chin going on and on...poor family tree...oh yeah, and in the background is a little piece of my awesome Vera Bradley Diaper Bag, compliments of my really awesome P-Court Posse. Yes, I did just refer to them and use the word, Posse. And the really sweet blanket that my aunt made that I am pusing on Jacob to be his blankie. It is reversible, one side Phillies, one side Eagles, you know whatever fits your fancy.

Birth Story Part One: The Birth of the Child with the Chubbiest Cheeks and the passing on of the Lyons' Awesome Chin Gene to Another Generation.

So I look at this nine week old and I think, 'where did the baby go?' He is cooing, he is smiling, he is jibber jabbering. Which is my favorite thing to do. Have a conversation with a jibber jabber. You can make up any old story and they will make noises and sounds that seem to follow suit. I was sitting next to another mom the other day with an 8 week old, and she was watching Jacob and I. She leaned over and said, 'is this something he picked up in the last week. because my baby doesn't do this.' A genius I tell you! Baby Jacob is advanced and the smartest baby on earth! No really, I gave this explanation, and it is simply this; Jacob is the third child. It is noisy as all get out in our home, therefore he needs to chime in to keep up. It's merely a survival skill. Whomever is the loudest clearly gets the most attention. I also will admit that to keep my sanity, there are moments when he and I go off to some quiet corner and I tell him all my troubles, and he answers me with sweet smiles, and jibber jabber, and it is very therapeutic.

I suppose I need to add a birth story or it will be awkwardly late to add one I think.

Jacob, the moose, was late. I marched into my first overdue doctors appointment 5 days after his due date, and exclaimed, 'I do not care what you think, I am uncomfortable, this baby measured large, therefore he is large, he is past his due date which I know for certain is his due date due to going to a fertility specialist, and I want him out!' The doctor looked at me, it was the first time I had seen this doctor in my practice, and I think she wanted it to be the last time she saw me. In her Jamaican accent she asks me, 'Is this your first child?' To which I reply exasperated, 'NO!! My third, I know when the goose is cooked!' She looks at the ultrasound I had gotten two and a half weeks before when I was certain they were taking me that day, and she says, 'you poor woman, yes, yes, lets get him out of there.' Uh, hello? Where was she in the middle of April!?!? That is what I have been trying to tell you people!

I go to check out, with instructions to schedule my induction with the girls up front. I am 2 days, just 2 days away from being 41 weeks, and she says, 'oh that is too bad, we could take you tomorrow, but you aren't 41 weeks yet, your insurance wants you to be 41 weeks to induce unless there is an emergency.' I look at her and say, 'Just click the delete button, and put me at 41 weeks, I won't tell a soul.' She didn't, but assured me she was making the call, and would have me put in early the next week, since inductions did not happen over the weekend. She then gave me a pep talk saying, 'I bet you will go over the weekend anyway.' Apparently she had not met my uterus. My uterus is as thick as a concrete wall, there ain't nothing come out of there unless you have got yourself a jack hammer.

She calls, first available date is Tuesday, but the doctor who will deliver Jacob, Speedy, the 8th dwarf, wants me to go for testing on Monday, and to get my cervix covered in some cream that was going to "help me dilate". Mind you, uterus of steel, same dilation since 37 weeks; I was sitting pretty at maybe 2 centimeters. Well, pretty might be a stretch, I was sitting fat, swollen, and miserable at maybe 2 cenitmeters.

We go to the testing at 8 a.m., baby is as snug as a bug, and not in the slightest bit of distress. We then go back to the hospital at 6 p.m. for the cream. Andy wanted them to take me right then and there. He was ready for this baby to be out 3 weeks ago, and his patience was growing thin. I really think he wanted some time off work, and hey a baby is a pretty good reason. The delivery rooms were a wall away and when you are that close to the finish line, when it comes to my husband, come what may, he will get there. Apparently he does not get my anatomy while pregnant. No matter what modern science has come up with, I will not go into labor until my body is good and ready, or has given up the fight against nature, and just releases the beastly thing, which takes a really long time.

We go home to my parents house, because they were going to watch the kids and were much closer to the hospital. I start having contractions, pretty strong ones. But they sit 6 minutes apart maybe lasting a minute, and they never get more consistent, and they never get stronger. I give up and go to sleep. So much for the miracle cream. I think it was just Vaseline and they put it on to make whiny mom's shut up at least until the next morning.

The next morning the hospital was going to call anytime from 5 am to 9 am for me to come in. So I am piddling around, and Andy is pacing. Waiting is not really a strong suit of his. He can't even wait for water to boil. Every 5 minutes he would ask, 'did they call yet,' to which I would reply, 'are you not in the same room as me? Did you hear my phone ring?' I go to get a shower and at 8:30 they call. The Hallelujah chorus begins. I am at the hospital by 9:30.

I am dropped off at the door while Andy went to park. I am excited about this silent walk to the Labor and Delivery part of the hospital, the last time waddling anywhere and to collect my thoughts. But almost every other person I pass is a woman, saying, 'oh been there,' or something of the sort, or a doctor asking if I need a wheelchair, or someone giving me the silent smile, that holds the expression, 'yup, know just how you are feeling,' and then I would have to give the same smile back. Like a soldier going into battle passing the soldier that just left the battle or will go in after you are done. It is similar to the wave that one person that is riding a motorcycle gives to another. Which always cracks me up. Seriously. I am thinking of maybe when I pass another van of the same make as mine, squirting them with a juice box and vice versa, as a recognition that we are both listening to whining kids, and the same songs over and over again, while sitting on snack crumbs and driving with sticky fingers from the juice that spilled on the car seat buckle two weeks ago, and driving the same van. Look out Cherie!


I get all dressed up in my really hot hospital gown and those fun scratchy socks and waddle my way over to the bed. Andy comes in right after that. 'Did they hook you up to the pitocin? Where is the pitocin? Let's get this show on the road!' You know, checking my vitals, giving me some fluid, getting the proper supplies, all not valid reasons to my husband as to why I was not on the pitocin, contracting, pushing out a baby all in 20 minutes of arrival. Again, the whole waiting thing, not so much a fan of it, try living with him.

About an hour later, in prance my sisters, Meghan and Michelle, the last two members of the birthing team. I had given them the option when I got pregnant with Jacob to be in the delivery room if they wanted to. I had never witnessed a live birth before having Kendall, and I kind of wish I had, to kind of know what to expect. You know I like to start with my best foot forward, and I didn't, and I was a royal mess with her, and had no idea what was going to happen to me next. So I graciously presented them with this option of witnessing a gory mess that produces a beautiful child. My sister Meghan had been prepped by my mother for a week or so before hand, 'Meghan, if you feel like you are going to pass out, step away.' See my sister has this whole fainting thing going on, and she isn't really a fan of blood and bodily fluids, not so much an m.d. candidate.

So like I said, the prance in, and they sit, and they look at me in all my birthing glory, hooked up to monitors, wearing a hideous garb, and basically just a big fat blob. It is written all over their faces, 'wonder how long this is gonna take.' If this experience taught them anything, it taught them that birthing a child is no episode of 'Baby Story,' and over lickity split. This is an all day process, make yourselves comfortable.

So I get hooked up to the pitocin at about 10 am, and things start going, and it is a little mind game I begin to play with myself. Let's see how long I can wait before begging for the epidural. I see the computer monitor, I see the mountains going up and going down.

Then a resident comes into break my water. Welcome to the Big Show girls. The resident is with a medical student who looks like she is 16, and she is going to assist a girl, the resident, that looks like she is 18, with breaking my water with what looks like a knitting needle. My sisters come over to the bed to hold my hand, and the 18 year old begins her journey to my cervix, and twists and turns as I writhe in pain about to kick the 16 year old in the face, and then 'pop!' The floodgate is opened, and I am about to tell everyone to hop on the bed and grab life jackets on the way out because this water came rushing out in mad force, I thought we were going to be floating down Old York Rd. within seconds.

By 11:30, I am pissed about the pain. People are asking me questions and I am pissed that they even bother asking me how I am. How dare they even talk to me!?!? When in pain I am one of those crazy people that wants people around them but doesn't necessarily want the people addressing them or the issue at hand. I want them to be concerned, but not ask me what they can do to help. It's a little twisted, I know. But it's pain, it is my cervix that is going crazy, and it is my vagina that is going to birth a child the size of a large watermelon. I agree with my mind that I am going to make it to noon, and then ask for the epidural. Not so sure why I had to play this mental game with myself, its like I was trying to prove to myself that I am in fact She-ra. So at noon, not a minute later, I ask for the epidural. At 12:45, the anesthesiologist that my husband almost knocked out comes in. (long story, but in the end he conceded to keep his mouth shut, which was a good idea since the man was about to stick a needle into my spine) By 1 p.m., I am in another land, a peaceful one with no pain or unhappy endings.

To be continued...Birth Story Part Deux, The Birth of the Child with the Chubbiest Cheeks and the passing on of the Lyons' Awesome Chin Gene to Another Generation.

You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance. ~Franklin P. Jones

Holy Moly life with three is absolute chaos. Nope, I ain't going to lie and sugar coat it, you know you won't find that here. It takes at least 2 hours to go anywhere, including the mailbox, and I said, 'at least.' My Grandmother is still doing my wash for me, otherwise we would be all strutting around here naked. My kids do not eat meals at normal times, it gets to be 2 in the afternoon and I look at them, and go, 'what you are hungry again, we had breakfast at 8 a.m., your day certainly cannot be going as fast and as slow as mine.'

It is possible people to have your day move fastly slow. For instance today, we took Jacob to the doctor, bright and early. I had to get 3 children fed, dressed, peed, and in the van by 8:30 a.m. This began at 6. By 10 a.m. we had been to the doctor, Kendall stunk up the restroom there while she and E laughed hysterically out loud for all to hear that it was quite possibly, 'the worst smelling poop ever!'Ethan then promptly got his fingers pinched by an elevator door, then fell in the parking lot and skinned a knee, and Jacob, following in his sister's footsteps dropped a major deuce, which went up the back of his onesie, that Kendall then stepped on on her way out the door when we got home. And then I looked at the clock again and it was 3 pm, and I really feel as though I have done nothing, but we are all alive, and this is all that matters. And yet I sit and wonder, why am I not in my jeans yet? It is pitiful. I also laugh when I think to myself, 'gosh two was so easy.' My two tyrants, 13 months apart going for over 3 years now was easy, if I could go back in time and tell myself that I would have said this I could have saved myself alot of sanity.

But I love little Jacob. My little red headed screamer.

He cries a lot, and let me tell you that if this was my first child I would have secured that baby in that little bouncy seat, informed a friend, and ran straight out my front door and would not have stopped until I reached the Pacific Ocean. We are still trying to figure out the tears, and I do exaggerate a lot, I suppose. I mean he does coo and smile just as much. But with the tears you feel such empathy and tension at the same time, and all he is really doing is telling me that he; a. feels like a piece of crap, b. has to fart, c. is exhausted, d. is hungry, or e. wants to drop kick his brother and sister because their terroristic shouting is driving him crazy. Red headed boys have this connotation surrounding their existence that they are 'fiery.' I will keep you posted. He does have a lot of explosions out of the caboose,one might categorize as fiery, but we shall see. All I know is that it goes fast. Soon he will think that passing gas is hysterical, not life threatening. So for right now I am going to just kiss those chunk cheeks all day long. I mean they were made for that.

Birth Story to come...

In Hibernation Mode

When I figure out how to blog and take care of an infant and 2 needy preschoolers, I will certainly update. But for now I am just going to sit around and sniff, 'big red's', head and snuggle and snuggle some more. Officially, Jacob Michael's arrival came on May 4th at 5:34 pm. He weighed 8 pounds, 15 ounces and was 22.5 inches long. He was induced, he was all back labored, my tail bone still hurts like heck. I will provide the birth story soon. He has some nice red, well orange, hair, and he is mine all mine!