Don't Cry Over Dried Laundry

After a six month hiatus, my husband is helping with the laundry again. While this does speak for how much my love cares for me, it speaks even more for how much my postpartum hormones have finally started to normalize. This past January, Bill came under the harsh wrath of my after-baby blues while in the laundry room. He had made what should have been a harmless decision to switch a load of clothes from the washer into the dryer. Little did he know the chaos this would cause my fragile post-delivery brain, only a couple weeks following the birth of our beautiful Lydia. As the dryer came to a stop, I opened the door, and- to my absolute horror- realized the gravity of what my husband had done. In his attempt to help me, he had used regular heat on the normal cycle, and he had used a dryer sheet. A scented dryer sheet. My eyes immediately welled up with tears. I felt panicked. I didn't know what to do as I felt my entire world cave in around me. I knelt to the floor, picked up a warm onesie, and buried my face in it as I wept. My unsuspecting husband walked in at that moment, stunned to see me hysterically crying. My tears then turned to anger as I let him have it- asking him how he could possibly think it was ok to use a dryer sheet with baby items?! Didn't he realize that the high heat would shrink the clothes, and the normal, nongentle cycle would wear them out faster? And what if there had been a stain on something (which there wasn't) but what if there had been and he didn't know it and the hypothetical article of clothing would have then been ruined??? Bill looked at me- a crumpled mess on the floor wearing a milk-stained nightgown now soaked with crocodile tears. He quietly apologized, promising to not ever do laundry again. I wiped away the tears and removed myself from the floor, carrying my unperfectly laundered clothes with me. So last night, when I saw Bill switching clothes from the washer to the dryer, it took me back to that crazy moment. And instead of crumpling up hysterically crying in front of the washing machine, I gave my love a hug and kiss, and thanked him, happy that both my brain and my heart were finally in unison once again.

From the Diaries of a Homeless Dyson

Hi. I'm Dyson, the hard-working, floor-cleaning accessory in this non-bug-eating household. I am plugged in daily, and never feel neglected. My owner has even referred to me once or twice as her sexy cleaning companion. However, even with all this love, I have one major problem. I am homeless, usually left alone in the foyer, as there is no closet to call my own. The downstairs closet used to be called home, until a sudden shoe reorganization kicked me out a few months ago. With the upstairs closet dedicated to linens, I am now left to wander aimlessly throughout the day. It's ok, though- really it is. It allows me to join in family activities, even if it is in the background.

I enjoy watching male bonding in the foyer from time to time.

I also serenade Brooke on occasion as she listens to her music.

I help comfort Lydia in the car carrier just before outings.

(I know- I barely made it into the picture. But don't the floors look clean and shiny?)

I like to oversee the older girls make a castle out of blankets and pillows.

And I watch Isaac play with his mommy while she snaps a few pictures.

Yes, I love this family. I work hard to keep their floors dirt-free, and thoroughly enjoy being a part of the action, even if it is in the background. Maybe one day I will find a closet or space to call my own. (I mean, really- is it my fault that just weeks after I was purchased, my makers released a smaller, lighter version of myself?) Until then, look for me hidden in the background on future blog postings. I'll be sure to say hello.

Sitting Pretty

Lydia sat up yesterday! In the past, when one of my children reached this milestone, I scrambled around to snap a picture. This time, I decided to just sit still and enjoy the moment. This turned out to be a good decision, because seconds later I had to soften her fall as she slumped over to the side. Later on in the morning I sat her up again to take these pictures.

Just before the fall.

Isaac decided she needed some help and came over to take care of her.

I love that he takes it upon himself to take care of her.

I am amazed that just six short months ago, my baby girl was a tiny newborn.

I love you Lydia!! I'm so excited to watch you grow. Take your time before learning to crawl, at least until I have time to baby proof.

The Power of Advertising, Band Aids, and Hot Glue Guns

I'm linking up again to Julie's blog this week about things I've learned in the past few days. In my life I always seem to be learning new things, as the giant burn on my thumb is reminding me while I type this.

1. Don't try to hot glue something while pointing the gun in the air. This will avoid a giant glob of hot glue landing on your thumb, and then doing the crazy dance while trying to rip it off your burning flesh.

2. A Barbie Jeep will survive heavy rain. (I think. I'll tell you for sure next week.)

3. A toddler is not tall enough to be seen over a grocery cart. Remember this so you don't knock him to the ground if he happens to step in front of it. (Again, sorry Isaac.)

4. A Toy Story, Barbie, or Hello Kitty Band Aid immediately heals any wound, no matter how microscopic.

5. Allowing your children to start watching SpongeBob, or any other station other than PBS or Disney, will result in several requests for whatever item they see in the commercials. Your five year old may even explicitly tell you that the only reason she wanted that kind of cereal is because "that bee is so silly on tv."

6. Pop Tarts sold at Sam's Club state on the box that the product is approved for use in public school nutrition programs. Enough said on this topic, unless you would like to see smoke pour out of my ears and flames shoot from my mouth.

7. When picking out pottery to paint, be sure to take note of the price tags, or else you may end up spending twice (or more) than you thought you were going to be.

8. Your three year old looks adorable in pigtails, leaving you wondering why you hadn't been fixing her hair like that long before now.

9. Don't let your kids improve on their game skills with hide and seek, or it will backfire on you when you truly want to hide.

10. Children who have an internal alarm clock that goes off at 6:30am will inexplicably turn off that alarm on the ONE DAY that you need them to get up at such an early hour. (Why, oh whyyyyyyy.........)

For other things that people learned this week, go on over to Julie at Inmates.

Elusive Perfection

I'm not sure exactly why I'm about to post this picture, except to say that if I were to see this image in someone else's house, it would in a wierd way lift my spirits to see that someone else is imperfect like me. I seem to live with a subconscious belief that every other young mother's house is spotless 24/7. And why exactly do I believe this? Think back to the last playdate you had at your house. How much time did you spend cleaning beforehand? Especially if that mother had not been to your house before? In my case, not only will I try to make sure my house is spotless, I will even reorganize closets on the slight chance that someone will need to look in there. I act as if my home is a model house up for sale. I have in my head that every other mother, including the one coming over, lives in a spotless home nearly every second of her life. But unless this elusive, perfect mother has given birth to robots, I should know this is not true. I work throughout the day keeping up my house, cleaning to the best of my ability while still  maintaining a life outside of Pledge and bleach. But perfection is always just out of reach. I wake up in the morning, determined to maintain and end the day with completely clean rooms, no laundry to be dealt with, children engaged with their mother all day long, and no project left undone. Which means I go to bed disappointed. Every. Single. Night. And I'm sick of it. So, here is a picture I took the other day, just five minutes after the kids and I had completely cleaned and organized the playroom from top to bottom.

I am not exaggerating in the least. Seriously, this is what my children can do in five short minutes. And that is ok. That is ok. That... Is... O... K...

Let that sink in. It's ok that my children play, and have fun, and make a mess. It'll get cleaned up. And it will get messy again. And so will the kitchen. And the laundry. And the unmade beds. It's all fixable. And cleanable. Because one day, I will have a clean, spotless house, 24/7. And there won't be fingerprints on the wall. Or peanut butter on the ottamon. Or crumbs under the table. There will only be memories. Of the time when my children were small, and laughed, and played, and made messes, and reminded their mommy of what really matters. And it didn't include Pledge. Or bleach. Or even, perfection.

Kindergarten Tears- Advice Wanted

I became teary-eyed at church this morning. It had nothing to do with the fact that I left my six month old in the nursery for the first time, or that I was overwhelmed managing four children in four different classes/nursery rooms. It had to do with walking away and leaving my oldest daughter Brooke in Kid's Church. She was promoted a few weeks ago to the school age class, and so there are a lot more "big kids" around her. On this particular morning I could tell she was nervous because she couldn't find a familiar face right away. I saw a friend of hers out of the corner of my eye, and brought Brooke over to her. My baby girl was visibly relieved, and settled into her seat. Yet I immediately choked up. I flashed backward in my mind to all the times I was scared as a child, looking for a friendly face, and then I flashed forward to next month when she will experience the same emotions. I walked away quickly before she could see my face, and then let the tears flow at the nursery door while dropping off the baby. The sweet nursery workers thought I was crying about leaving Lydia.

As much as I know for a fact that God will take care of her, I can't imagine walking away from the school on that inevitable day in one piece. So I am asking my blog-world friends with school age children- how did you do it??? I can't think about it for more than a second or even drive by the school without the tears welling up in my eyes. She will always be my baby, and I am viewing the school system as a loss of her innocence- as the start of pain and hurt from bullies, and possibly even worse, her friends. I'm even more scared that she will be going through pain and I won't know about it because she won't tell me. I always tell her she can come to me about anything, but is that enough? So I ask, in practical terms, how did you do it? Submit your story in the comment section below, and I may use your story in a future blog post.

Wonderfully Ordinary

It happened, finally! A picture with all four of my children looking into the camera and smiling. The one and only other time this has occured was on Valentine's Day, when Lydia was still a newbie. Bill was able to snap this pic on the steps of our house this evening.

Today was so much fun, though somewhat unexpectedly so. Bill was scheduled to work this weekend, and I ended up taking all the kids to Sam's Club by myself. It sounds like torture, but it was actually- dare I say- fun! Everyone was in a good mood, no one cried, and I only knocked one child down with the grocery cart. (Sorry Isaac.) Then, all five of us came home, ate lunch, and took a nap. ALL of us. I woke up two hours later and wasn't sure if it was morning or evening. Glorious. After my dad stopped by to play with the kids, Bill came home and we traveled a half hour north to paint pottery. Here are some pics of our artwork.

Here are the finished products, before they are put in the kiln.

I'm thinking of hanging the plate in my dining room -unless it doesn't turn out as well as I hope it will, in which case it will be used to serve food.

We rounded out at the day at Chick Fil A. Once home we were surprised to be able to view fireworks from an upstairs window. I love days like today, so wonderfully ordinary. The kids are now tucked into bed, and Bill is sleeping soundly beside me. I've said it over and over, but it is so true- thank you God for all you have given us. Each and every day is such a gift.