Older Than You Know

The other day I was chatting with my neighbor, Kate. 

Kate was super excited, because she had just met our newest neighbors. They had just moved in to the house next to Kate's "And the best part," Kate gushed "She's 25! Someone who's FINALLY my age. Well closer anyway."

Admittedly, Kate's still not old enough to legally drink, so it's kind of like asking Alex how old he think someone is.  Everyone is either; 1) younger than him. 2) his age. 3) The crypt keeper.

Okay, not really. He doesn't know anything about the crypt keeper. Now that I think about it, he probably doesn't know what a crypt is.

The point is, I don't appreciate being thought of as "old". I have been SEVENTEEN for years. Years, people!

Most people believe me without question. 

I remember when Alex was a baby. Strangers would approach me in the grocery store and ask if it was hard being in high school with a baby. I would be aghast that they would dare to make such an assumption, and quick to let them know that I was in fact, NOT a high school student. I really can't pinpoint when, or even why, but at one point I figured I should just embrace it. 

And that's when I became seventeen indefinitely.

(Me and my mom. Taken in May. My youthful looks come honestly!)

In the last year I've been asked if I was the boys' babysitter (and what my rates were). And my personal favorite, while ALONE at the hospital I asked for directions to the allergy clinic, the person behind the desk refused to give me directions for anything other than the pediatric clinic.

Unfortunately, as Alex gets older it makes it harder for me to tell people that I'm seventeen. He'll gasp and yell "MAMA!" 

When an older child calls you "mama", people have a harder time believing you're not old enough to drink. 

*sigh*

Sometimes kids ruin a good thing.

I can only assume that when Kate did the math (8 year old + 2 year old + sews(?!) + makes cheesy 90's references), she came up with the only logical explanation….

I'm 84 years old.

Sometimes It's A Need!

I never had real pregnancy cravings while I was pregnant with Alex or Spain. Oh sure, certain things sounded good, but I was never consumed by the overpowering desire to consume the object of my thoughts.

Until now.

Between my extreme morning sickness and my inability to drink most fluids, I've had to be very careful to stay hydrated. One evening, I realized a popsicle would be a fantastic treat for me. I waddled to the freezer and was slightly dismayed to see that we only had mixed berry popsicles. My pregnant senses do not like mixed berry flavored anything. 

I added popsicles to the shopping list, then took my customary place on the couch. 

Fast forward to bedtime. I couldn't sleep. My every thought was consumed by popsicles. I could all but feel my lips wrapping around the frozen piece of nirvana. My dreams were filled with me begging Sweet Husband to bring popsicles home after PT, and in one dream I remember crying because he only brought home four teeny tiny popsicles. FOUR. 

In another dream, I realized that I had a giant bald spot on the top of my head, but I didn't really care because Sweet Husband had brought home boxes of popsicles for me. 

By the time Sweet Husband got up for PT, I had asked him to grab popsicles on his way home no less than eight times. In my mind it was set in stone. As Sweet Husband walked past me on his way out of our room, I grabbed his arm like a woman possessed and rasped "Don't forget the popsicles!". It could have been my pregnancy induced dementia or the fact that I had been waking up all night long, but in the darkness I could see confusion sweep across Sweet Husband's face. 

"What?" He asked. In a moment of lucidness, I realized that I may not have vocalized my need for popsicles in reality. 

"Please stop by the store and get some popsicles on your way home. Not a ton of them, just two or three boxes."

He nodded, probably doubting my mental awareness.

The hours ticked by as I waited for him to return home. I fell into short sleeping fits, where once again, popsicles taunted me in my dreams. I was so thirsty, but I knew I couldn't drink anything in the house without spending the next half hour purging every trace of it from my body.

Finally, after an eternity, Sweet Husband arrived home. I groggily worked my body into an upright position, I slowly, made my way to the kitchen, I opened the freezer to see that Sweet Husband had arranged the popsicles by order of nausea-inducing properties (I LOVE HIM!).

I selected my popsicle and trudged back to bed, where I snuggled myself under the blankets and finally tasted the sweet frozen nectar.



(The first one stayed down. Every popsicle since, has not.)

Helpful Household Hints

Today's Helpful Household Hint comes from Alex.

To properly wash a sippy cup, one must first remove the lid.

Throwing up is hard to do.

I know, I dropped off the face of the blogosphere, but I promise that I have a really good excuse.


Hyperemesis Gravidarum


That's right. Baby #3 should be making an appearance next Spring.

I wish I could say that the last few months haven't been that bad, but the truth is that they have been hell. However there were a few positive things that came out of it… You know, besides a baby.

1. I can say with absolute confidence, bulimia is not for me!
     In fact I would be very happy if I never had to throw up again.

2. Weeks of bed rest meant I got to catch up on some reading.
     My 13 year old sister very sweetly lent me several of her books, so as an added bonus I feel caught  up in the popular topics found in the YA book section.

3. Weeks of bed rest also gave me some time to catch up on some knitting.
      Aren't these booties sweet! I made them for a friend who will be welcoming her baby any day now.

4. I had the most restful vacation ever!
     Sweet Husband took me to see my mom (sometimes a girl just needs her mom). I spent two weeks laying on her couch and throwing up. Seriously I barely moved. The part that made it amazing though, was that I didn't have to worry about where the boys were and what they were doing. I could be sick and miserable, and have complete confidence that they were safe.


At this point, I feel confident that I am harboring a baby (YAY) And not just one too many croissants.

Exercising can be hazardous

So Sweet Husband found a bakery by our house that makes glazed croissants.

Let me just say that again. Glazed. Croissants.

That take everything flaky, beautiful and majestic about a croissant and then put doughnut glaze on it. 

I don't have enough words in my vocabulary to tell you how much I enjoy these. 

They're better than unicorns people.

Sweet Husband being the sweet husband that he is, started buying a box of these every time he made a grocery store run. I felt like a kid at Christmas time, and I made sure to do my part and eat at least a few of them, every time they appeared.

But, then my pants starting getting a little tight. I sadly resigned myself to the fact that I needed to start working off these croissants before everything in my closet got too tight.

I dusted off the workout DVDs, grabbed a set of weight bands and got to work. 

Three weeks into sweating off the croissants, tragedy struck. 

My band snapped. While in use. 

The rubbery tube of doom wrapped itself around my upper torso, shoulder and face leaving angry red welts in it's wake. 

I spent the rest of the night icing my injuries and letting Sweet Husband take care me.


I should probably take up yoga.

Sleep Is For The Weak!

I've suspected for awhile that Sweet Husband secretly believes I'm overly dramatic about Spain's aversion to sleep.

To put everything into perspective, during the last deployment The No-Cry Sleep Solution never left my bedside. I read it daily, putting everything into practice. It would still take me HOURS to get him to fall asleep.

We've finally reached a plateau of understanding; bedtime takes a minimum of 2 hours every night, that covers: pajamafication, stories, cuddling, teeth brushing, diaper changing, and nursing, not in that order.

I don't let him sleep past 3pm and he normally lets me fall asleep before midnight.

Last weekend, after unsuccessfully attempting to get Spain to nap, I tapped out. Sweet Husband was planning on dropping a friend off at home, and I had high hopes that the gentle lull of the drive would help Spain fall asleep. Spain and Sweet Husband left.


An hour later I noticed they still weren't back. As I was deciding whether or not to start frantically calling Sweet Husband's cell phone, I heard the back door open. Spain's voice filled the house as he chattered away, shrieking in delight over something outside. Sweet Husband walked slowly into the living room. Shock, disbelief and horror radiated out from him.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Sweet Husband shook his head slowly, "Spain started to go to sleep in the car, but every time his eyes drifted shut, he would open them, stare into the mirror above his carseat and yell "HEY! YOU! NO SLEEPING!!!!""

I stifled a laugh.

Sweet Husband's eyes filled with horror as he continued "We drove around for a long time, but the same thing happened over and  over. He just kept yelling "Hey! you! no sleeping!!!!!"".


I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I found Spain slapping himself to stay awake a few days later.




Not gonna lie, I'm a little worried.

The Newest Super Hero On The Block

Haaaaaaaave you met Aquatot? 

He guards the city from sea serpents, kraken and giant jellyfish. Strategically placed water messages, or "puddles" to the untrained eye, assure the citizens of our landlocked city that Aquatot is there. Working silently and until now, anonymously to protect our city from villanious sea creatures.  

The next time you come across an unconventional puddle, know that Aquatot is keeping you safe*.

*Please watch your step. Aquatot assumes no responsibility for water related injuries.   

In which we are food snobs...

Today has been one of those days where I just feel frumpy and awkward. I've been really tired lately (No Dad, I'm not pregnant) and I think today it just caught up with me.

I was in the kitchen baking cookies for Sweet Husband's soldiers as Sweet Husband washed the dishes for me (*swoon*).

Sweet Husband sighed and said "I have to tell you something, and you're not going to like it".
He paused briefly before continuing "I've been seriously craving spaghetti with that powdered parmesan cheese in a can..."

My spoonful of cookie dough dropped to the counter with a clunk, and I gaped at him in horror.

"I will buy you real parmesan cheese." I gasped, as I waited for my heart to resume beating again "I thought you were going to say 'Those jeans look awful on you.' I was prepared for that."

It was Sweet Husband's turn to look at me in horror "Why would I say that?!" he gasped.

I held up my cookie dough encrusted hand "Because it's true. I was prepared for that. You can't just spring cheese flavored potato starch on somebody!"

He grinned "I did say you weren't going to like it."

I grimaced "You know how I feel about it. There is nothing worse than cheese products that don't need refrigeration." I grinned as I saw him shudder slightly.

I was mentally giving myself a point for messing with him when he turned and gave me a slow grin "Babe, you know I'm a classy guy. It's all about eating *trashiest fast food restaurant ever* off of your stomach."


I mentally erased my point. He won. Hands down.

I need a shower.

Expect The Unexpected & All That Jazz

After six long months of Army purgatory, Sweet Husband has received his orders. Our family will be embarking on a new adventure starts next spring.

But let me back up.

In December, a mere six weeks after Sweet Husband returned from deployment, his unit made the announcement that it was deactivating in June and everyone would be up for orders. This was unexpected for us, as Sweet husband had re-enlisted with the added bonus that we would remain at our current post for a minimum of 12 months after the deployment ended.

We began to prepare for the move. Sweet husband became proactive in trying to choose a new post. But because of the “you-don’t-have-to-move bonus, he had to jump through extra hoops to “voluntarily” forfeit the benefit.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months.  

We found ourselves in Army purgatory.

We were finally given the green light to proceed and Sweet Husband contacted his manager to request orders. He had been given a list of available options and together, we chose our top two choices. One was a mere four-hour drive from our hometown and families.

The other was six-hours away from our grandparents and seven-hours away from our parents.

We floated on marshmallow clouds as we went back to our hometown to visit our families. We had practically been assured one of our picks. We were just waiting for the official confirmation.

Then Sweet Husband checked his email.

Your space has been reserved in the recruiting school. See you next spring….

(I’m paraphrasing)  

Recruiting?

Next Spring?

……………?

I’ve had a couple weeks to really let this sink in.

Recruiting is a three year commitment.

That means for three years we won’t have to worry about deployments or moves.

That’s pretty exciting!

I was sharing this with my dad over the phone one night.

Me: We’ll actually get to live together for three whole years!!

My dad: That’s great!

Me: I know! The last time we actually got to live together for three continuous years was… Never-

That’s right. Sweet Husband and I have never lived together for three continuous years.

We’re getting ready to celebrate our ninth wedding anniversary.

What’s more, since we’ve become a military family six years ago, we haven’t lived together for a solid year. There’s always been some type of deployment, or out of state training that lasts longer than a month.

I won't lie, I'm freaking out a little. 

So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of. I called a friend and asked if I could spaz out for a minute. 

After all the spazzing, I talked to Sweet Husband

Me: I'm freaking out about living with you for three continuous years. What if you finally figure out how neurotic I really am?

Sweet Husband: I knew you were neurotic before I married you. You can't scare me.

Best. Husband. Ever!

Learning new things....

The boys were sitting in their room playing with Legos on the floor. Alex was narrating the scene.

"This is a bomb. Mama told us not to touch it, but we didn't listen and it exploded!"

Lesson of the day: Always listen to mama!

Tip of the day:

Always check to make sure the camelback you're sitting next to doesn't have a slow leak.