Please help me out here

I just had a conversation with The Husband about forever homes.  I'd love a large, beautiful home in Virginia with great schools and with lots of land so that the kiddies can run around.  The Husband is thinking more Florida-like, but definitely warm and close to a large body of water. 

I told him that it made me a little sad that when he's thinking of forever homes, he's not taking my hair into account.  His response?

"I don't take into account my hair so why would I take into account yours?"

Hmph!
 
Um, can someone please explain to him why this was the wrong thing to say?  Lester?  :)

Three

This weekend, my little Zachary turned three years old.  How old, buddy?

To help celebrate, lot of family came into town:  Parti, Parta, Nonna, Pop, Aunt Sarah, and cousins Kayla, Angel, Bailey, and Brielle.  Zachary LOVED driving them around in his Jeep.

I had a lot of trepidation leading up to this party.  We were lucky that a neighbor offered to bring a bounce house from work, and one of the moms of the kids invited to the party offered her gigantic water slide, but  these activities required great weather.  Thunderstorms were in the forecast.  I had no idea what I would do with all of these kids inside my small house.

We had invited Zachary's buddies from daycare, Matthew and  David (a.k.a. Bestest Buddy of All Time)

At 9am when the forecast still called for party-time thunderstorms and the bounce house was canceled, we did the only things we could do:  We warned the parents to expect chaos, decorated to the hilt, and stocked up on fixings for cocktails.

After raining all morning and into the afternoon, it finally stopped, and the party-time forecast changed to 75 degrees with a 0% chance of precipitation.  Game on.

The water was so cold that it took a good 15 minutes to talk Zachary into getting into the pool.

Once he got in, he had so much fun that there was a near meltdown when it was time for him to get out despite the fact that he was shaking from the cold.

Samantha and Conor, on the other hand, had no qualms about the cold water.  Both of them wanted to sit and play in it.

When we finally tore the kids away from the water, we ate corndogs and chips, and got ready for Mickey Mouse cake and cake pops.  Here's my boy, so happy before blowing out the candles.

He took a deep breath, got ready to blow out his candle, and (I'm not going to name any names here, but)...

...MATTHEW...

...leaned over and blew out the candle.  My sweetie only stared at the candle, and then me, in stunned silence. 

Then he took out his frustrations on the pinata.

4-year old Bailey ended up knocking it off the rope, the Husband started attacking it to rip it open, and the kids swarmed (poor Lightening McQueen).  Zachary picked out two toys, and waited for the chaos to subside.

The party ended up being so much fun -- not just for Zachary, but for the adults as well, who enjoyed good company, laughing children (and cocktails).  I have rarely had the experience when I think that a kids' party was over too soon, but this one really was.

Happy third birthday, my sweet, sweet little man.  I love you more than you will ever know. 

38

I have been so busy at work, so busy with babies, photography stuff, and cleaning, that I've been even more lax about posting.  (I haven't even had time to read blogs I love!)  And every time I go to post something that happened that day, I feel like I can't post until I catch up.  So then I end up posting nothing.  But I think I found the solution: You're going to get stuff out of order.  I'll start now.

Today I turned 38.  I'm not upset about that number.  I don't feel old.  I feel lucky to have what I have and who I have.  But it's not all good:  I feel tired and a bit lazy.  And fat.  I feel like I'm not taking care of myself. 

So this morning, I decided I would start 38 by exercising.  I was momentarily stymied (actually, I was stymied for almost an hour) as I weighed my need to exercise against my desire for a delicious Panera breakfast. 

I exercised.  Let's call that a win for 38.

An upside to fat:  Boobs.

Inside the box:  Awesome camera bag. 

Outside the box:  Silly boys, balloons, a somewhat messy (but oh-so-delicious) brownie and chocolate mousse dessert courtesy of the Husband and Roar, and lots and lots of tulips.

Photo Dump Part I

I've got so many photos that I need to get off of this computer now that it's working again, so I'll be photo dumping all this week before I get back to semi-irregular blogging.  This is mostly for the family, so if it's not your thing, I'll see you back here next week. 

But if you're sticking around, let's catch you up, shall we?

Yes, I am so far behind that Photo Dump Part I starts with the babies' first Easter at home:

and then at Grandmom's house with aunts, uncles, cousins, and of course, Grandmom:

 

Monday night on the town

Last week, I received an invitation to attend a National Geographic screening of an episode about POWs,  including a Q&A with Senator John McCain and Ernie Brace.   Given that my parents had to go back home, we didn't have a night time babysitter, so the Husband -- who would've loved it -- would be unable to be my plus one.

But Roar has inherited his father's interest in history.  When I broached the subject of going to the screening, I was just hoping that he wouldn't say "no" to a night hanging out with me.  But he actually said, "That sounds cool."  I can't tell you how ridiculously pleased I was to be the recipient of such teenage enthusiasm.  

So last night, we made the trek to DC for a Monday night on the town, both of us looking dashing in somewhat ill-fitting suits (his was a little large, mine was small (and more than just a little -- trying mine on, I started singing "Fat girl in a little coat...")). 

The ride in was fun.

 

So was our pre-event dinner at the illustrious Potbelly where we snarfed down sandwiches and milkshakes.

When we arrived, the schedule was off.  We speculated that it was because of the alerts in DC and the explosions in Boston.  But they had set up food and open bars, and for the next hour, we mingled.  It was interesting watching Roar next to me, looking like a grown-up, and attempting to participate in grown-up conversations.  My little guy.  And when, for no good reason, he dropped into a conversation that I was a lawyer, it occurred to me that he might be proud of what I do.

So I had to embarrass him by taking a picture with my hot pink phone.  I even made him carry it for a bit.  It was the only logical thing to do.

When the Q&A started, we were both riveted.  What Senator McCain and Mr. Brace went through in Vietnam is unimaginable.  Regardless of your politics, I hope you appreciate that they were -- and are -- brave, resilient, patriotic heroes, and appear to be genuinely nice men.  In the end, I think Roar was enriched in many ways by being there.

Special thanks to the Husband who made our outing possible.  He single-handedly (and without complaint, I might add) fed and bathed 3 children, took them on a trip to CVS to pick up the babies' prescriptions (they both have sinus infections!), read stories, put babies to bed, played with Zachary and put him to bed, and then cleaned up.  This morning, Zachary was telling me that his daddy had found one of his balls outside, and had cleaned it up for him.  I told him that I'm pretty sure his daddy loves him.  He said, "Yep, my daddy loves me a lot."  Good daddy.

Thank you God, Universe, Whatever.  Thank you for all of this.

On religion and baseball

I believe in a higher power, that life, that existence, had to start from somewhere.  That's just plain logical to me.  I also believe that death is not the end, though admittedly, it is a "belief" because it's something I need to believe in.  But in all the explanations I've heard about why things happen, how things began, why we need to behave a certain way, I've never heard anything that sounds right on.  Everything -- including (and perhaps especially), the Catholic religion in which I was raised and in which, essentially, we're raising our children because the Husband identifies himself as Catholic -- sounds wacky to me.  But who am I to say that millions of people are wrong?  All I can say is that I don't know. 

Still, I'm fascinated by people who are steadfast in their assertion that their "religion" is the one true correct one.  The answer I've received as to what makes it so they "know" and I don't?  "Faith."  They believe because they believe.  Yes, it's circular, but there are books and signs and miracles and everyday occurrences and once-in-a-lifetime occurrences that reinforce their beliefs.   And so they go on believing.  To be honest, at one time, I was all judgey about this "faith"; but now?  I'm envious.  But I am who I am, and I'm not going to know for sure until I know for sure, and I guess I'm okay with that.
 
Many, many years ago, a friend introduced me to the idea of reincarnation through the book, "Many Lives, Many Masters" by Dr. Brian Weiss.  The basic gist is that the purpose of your life is to learn a lesson.  When your life is over, you review your life with higher beings, you take from it, you learn from it, and ultimately, you are reborn for another life lesson.  Past-life experiences follow you so that each time you are born, you are born more highly evolved.  This explains child prodigies, strange accounts of young children speaking languages other than their native tongue, how many people are drawn to certain hobbies or are "gifted" in certain areas, and how sometimes "old soul" is just the best way to describe someone.  It also explains why you've met someone and you've felt a spark of recognition or that you've known them forever -- the theory goes that these are souls that you've known before.  I love that thought.  And it sounds no more wacky to me than anything else I've heard.  It's equally plausible and implausible.

Let me get to the point of this post:  Zachary and his baseball.  We are not a baseball family -- we're a football family.  We don't watch baseball, we don't talk about it, and other than t-ball, we don't play it, and as far as I know, he doesn't come into contact with anyone who plays it or talks about it.  But lately, Zachary has been having batting practice with Parta.  He doesn't need the T for t-ball, and he hits pitches with surprising accuracy.  Don't get me wrong -- I'm not saying his skill is prodigy material, but it's still surprising to see that little guy find his target about 80% of the time (more often if he's not worried about whether I'm watching him).  And he's even better at throwing.  And he's not yet three. 

A couple days ago, out of nowhere, he told the Husband:  "When I was little, I used to play baseball for New York."  He told Parti this again this morning.  And so I asked him what position he played.  Without skipping a beat, he said, "Outfield." 

Now, I suppose he could've heard the terms "outfield" and "pop-fly" (I heard him use that before), and he's certainly heard of the state of New York.  And maybe his skill just reflects an above-average hand-eye coordination. 

But maybe, just maybe, my boy was a New York Yankee in a past life.  If so, I'd like to think it was a good life with talent and wealth and fulfillment, and that he learned a lesson that has made him the sweet, funny, beautiful soul that he is today.  I don't know.  But it's certainly something to believe in.

Bliss

Yesterday, we fed the babies dinner while sitting out on the deck. We watched as Zachary played baseball with Parta. In between pitches, Zachary called out, "Mama, watch me!" every time.

Funny how my view of "bliss" has changed with age.