I walk by, at the end of a long day, and see them scattered carelessly on the floor.
Somehow, they always miss the shoe shelf that I purchased specifically for the purpose of storing what covers those little feet.
But instead of shaking my head and sighing every time I bend down to pick up shoes strewn about, I only smile and choke back tears that spring up unwillingly from my eyes.
I can’t bear to make myself put the shoes away. Instead, I greedily hold on to the memory that I hope will never leave me.
This morning, my phone rang with an incoming call from my husband.
I paused the episode of “How I Met Your Mother” (I’m only on like Season 2, so don’t tell me the finale, ok?) that I had been watching as I huffed and puffed through my elliptical workout and answered.
“Hello?” I said breathlessly.
“Hey,” he replied. “I just wanted to let you know that I just dropped the kids off at the sitter’s and they immediately ran outside to the swing set. They are having a blast.”
And just like that, suddenly my day got a whole lot better.
My kids at the babysitter’s house.
Maybe it’s just me, but I have a confession:
I am secretly afraid that my children are the messiest children on the planet.
No, really. It would appear that they are, in fact, bottomless pits, intent on eating me out of house and home. I haven’t measured, but I’m fairly certain that my 21-month-on son actually eats more than me on a daily basis, which I guess does make sense considering how much trouble he also gets into everyday…
But every day, there are 5,000 requests for snacks, and what feels like endless rounds of kitchen duty and clean-up, and then, through it all, there are the crumbs, the trails of sticky fingerprints, the faces that always resist my best attempts at wiping off.
And the crown jewel?
Their clothes, smeared with every last remnant of the food they have just eaten.
I wish it wasn’t this way, truly I do. But it never seems to fail that whatever meal, snack, or dessert my kids are eating, it will inevitably fall upon their clothing. And in my attempt to rectify my poor mothering ways with baby #4, I am starting early and investing in the one item that I hope will save me in the years to come:
When I first saw that my cousin, Jacquelyn of j&j brusie photography, had taken her three-year-old son and not-even-four-month daughter on a Disney vacation, my first thought was one of incredulity.
What? I thought to myself. A baby to Disney? That would be torture!
But as it turns out, Jacquelyn and her family had a wonderful three-day trip to Disney–instead of the squalling, whining, exhausting fest I would be prone to imagine (I’m a fearful kind of mom, I guess), their family got to experience the fun and magic that makes Disney the stuff of memories that last a lifetime.
And although Jacquelyn is the adventurous, calm mom that would think of taking a baby to Disney in the first place, she also is passing along some tips for other moms for making a trip to Disney with baby picture-perfect.
With the announcement of our fourth pregnancy, I’ve had the slight feeling that the reaction surrounding this little one is a bit more subdued than say, our first daughter.
While obviously we all cherish the new life growing inside of me, there becomes a little bit of a “been there, done that” attitude after the second baby, doesn’t there? And not just for other people, but for us as well. We’ve got this new baby thing down to a routine at this point.
So I was definitely looking for a way to “spice” up the fun of our fourth baby–and with my husband’s birthday coming up, I thought why not make it a little more fun with a gender reveal cake? I did some research to find some adorable gender reveal cakes and set off to make our own easy DIY gender reveal party.