My Little Man was Baptized

This past weekend, our little Jagger was baptized!

Jagger looked so cute in his white tuxedo and he never made a peep! When the priest poured water on his head, he looked perfectly content as the priest commented on what great hair he had. We were blessed to have our family travel from California for the big event. Trent, naturally, had to be escorted out of the church because he wanted to run around like the wild man that he is. Other than that, everything went perfectly!

Here are a few pictures.

Sorry for the short post but we are busy packing for St. Thomas! We leave for the Bay Area tomorrow because our flight leaves at 6 in the morning on Friday. We'll be gone for 12 days in paradise and we can't wait.

I'll post pictures when we get back :)

Rant About My Dear Husband Part II

My husband can be the sweetest, most caring, hilariously inappropriate man at times. He can make me laugh harder than anyone else can. Sometimes however, he can make me more mad that anyone else can. Today, is such a day. Today, he should be afraid to come home...very afraid.

God love him, he has this insane fear of Trent getting seriously injured on my treadmill; more specifically, he is afraid that this one cord is going to wrap around Trent's neck and strangle him. I appreciate the fact that he just wants to keep our little man safe but his paranoia about the damn treadmill has really, really gotten out of control. As with most if not all treadmills, mine has this little magnetic key that needs to be placed on the treadmill in order for it to start; the cord that dangles from this key is the cord that Mark is so afraid of. I typically leave this key in the cup holder on the treadmill. Not to mention the fact that the treadmill actually has to be turned on. Being afraid myself, that Trent would turn the treadmill on when I wasn't around, I ALWAYS turn the main power off on the back of the treadmill. Trent doesn't even know where this button is. So, in order for Trent to get the machine moving, he would have to turn on the main power button and then perfectly align the bright orange magnetic key to the little pad.

Mark has gotten mad at me several times for leaving the key where Trent could reach it. I've tried to explain to him that it isn't that big of a deal and that even if Trent were to turn on the main power button and insert the key and hit the start button which he can't even reach, and the cord were to somehow wrap around Trent's neck, it would never strangle him because the cord isn't connected into anything that would make it tighten; it would simply come off of the treadmill and the treadmill would stop moving. Whenever I finish with this explanation, Mark says that it is impossible because he doesn't know how the treadmill actually works seeing as he has never used it himself. The man has been to the gym one time in the twelve years that I have known him! He's not out of shape, he just doesn't work out.

The other night, Mark spotted the magnetic key near the treadmill and he flipped, lecturing me about how Trent could get hurt while I countered with the above explanation for the millionth time. Mark then took the bright orange key and hid it. Well, turns out he hid it so well that I can't find it, Trent can't find it and Mark can't even remember where he put it.

This morning, I took the video monitor out of Trent's room, aligned it perfectly in the family room so that I could watch the boys while I ran, hooked up my iPod, stretched, turned the power button on the machine and quickly noticed that the orange key is no where to be found. I remembered that Mark hid that flipping key. I looked everyone. I texted him and asked where he put it. After searching up and down in the place that he "thinks" he put it, I became well, pissed. I looked for that key for over an hour and cannot find it anywhere. I would have had a full work out in in the time it took me to find that damn key.

I have been on a good workout schedule. I have my routine down and he is seriously messing it up! His hiding and losing my key to the treadmill which is the only way to get it to start, is like me hiding and losing his hunting or fishing license. He would lose his mind!

Another story to illustrate the widely known fact that men are from somewhere further than Mars is an argument that he and I got into last weekend. I told him that I wanted to go tanning before our vacation. We agreed that I would go tanning and he would take the boys for a drive, to where, I haven't a clue and apparently neither did he. When I asked him, he said, "Just a drive!"

So, after Trent woke up from his nap, Mark told me to get Trent dressed, put his shoes on and change the baby's diaper all while Mark put his shoes on (this is an entirely different story altogether--I have recently complained to Mark that I am amazed that I can get myself and both boys ready before Mark is done).

I did as he asked and as I was gathering my purse to leave he tells me to pick up a pizza for dinner. Mind you, the pizza place he likes is in another town and in the completely opposite direction than my tanning place. I point this out to him and his response is to just find another tanning place in the other city. I had to laugh! After I finished laughing at him, I told him that he is going for a drive and since he wasn't going any place in particular, he could take his drive over to the pizza place seeing as he is the one who wanted the pizza in the first place. He began to argue with me. He couldn't believe that I would ask him to do an errand while he was "babysitting" his kids. I couldn't believe he wanted me to drive in two totally different directions when he was planning on driving in no specific direction himself. And then I understood why he was adamant about me picking up the pizza. He said, "I'm supposed to take both boys out of the car and get the pizza myself?"

And this is when I really started laughing because I have to "take both boys out of the car" about ten times a week when I run errands and we all survive. I continued laughing as I walked out of the door and into my car. He shook his head at me because he was so upset. I shook my head at him because I thought he was crazy to make such a request when it was easier for him to do it himself. I know that he thinks that my reasoning made absolutely no sense and I thought the same about him.

When they say that men and women are from two different planets, they really aren't kidding. I love my husband but sometimes I just want to ring his little neck!

Naughty vs. Nice

Let's just say, I have two very different boys. They are light night and day. And, for lack of a better term, one is very naughty while the other is well, nice!

Trent is and has always been super duper tall and skinny. He is the 90 something percentile for his height and the second (yes, you read that correctly), for his weight. He was a terrible, terrible sleeper when he was a baby and he is now, and always has been an insanely picky eater. He has always been a bit of a turd, testing me and pushing the limits every minute and every second of the day.

Last week, as I raced out of the door to get one of our dogs who I saw jetting down the street, Trent broke into the pantry, found a large bag of napkins I had left over from a party and tore 1/4 of the napkins up in the span of a minute, maybe two. He's spilled no less than 4 cups of water in the last week when he normally walks around with a big boy cup without a problem. He came up to me as I was nursing Jagger yesterday and promptly stuffed his hand in my face and said, "Mommy, I have poop on my hand." I almost threw up in my mouth; his shit stained hand touched my lips. Sure enough, he had pooped in his potty and then picked up the poop to throw it in the big boy toilet. I appreciate the fact that he wanted to clean up his mess himself. I don't appreciate the crap on my face. He will not stop taking all of his socks out of his drawer and throwing them around his room. He always puts them back but he still loves making the mess.

And today, ahhh, today takes the cake. As I opened the pantry to get my jar of delicious and filling protein powder for my shake (I hope you detected the sarcasm there), he apparently stole the jar of peanut butter behind my back and took off like a ninja into his room. Being the smart boy that he is, he's figured out that if he is silent in his room, I pop my head in every 30 seconds to a minute to check on him but if he's making noise, I check on him every few minutes because I can typically tell what he is doing by the noise that he is creating. That little Einstein happily sang the entire Itsy Bitsy Spider song while I was making my shake so I thought he was playing with the book of the same name. I couldn't have been more wrong. When I checked on him, this is what I saw:

He was not pleased that I was going to clean him up.

Here are a few of the other messes he's created in the last week:

Although Jagger is only 9 months old, he is short and big. He's not overweight with roll upon cute roll; he is just a big baby. He weighs as much as Trent did when he was 18 months old. He was sleeping through the night at 6 weeks and thankfully, he is sleeping 12 hours straight once more after a small battle of nighttime wakings. He eats everything in his sight and I mean everything. If that kid sees paper  of any sort of the floor, he will try to eat it. He loves paper plates and paper towels in particular. Odd, I know. For lunch, he will inhale an entire orange in mere minutes.

Recently, Mark and I gave him a slice of lemon just to see what his reaction would be. I had the camera ready, poised to capture the funny face that all kids make when tasting a lemon for the first time. Mark handed Jagger the slice, he brought it to his nose and gave it a tiny whiff and then he promptly put it in his mouth without making a single wince. He sucked on it and sucked on it and cried when Mark took it away. He is a beast. Even though he is still an infant, he is just a happy, always smiling, nice baby! Understandably, this may change as he gets older and I am sure that he will make plenty of messes like his big brother but for the time being, he is just a wonderful baby.

Here's the nice boy:

Even though my boys are so very different, I wouldn't change a thing about ant of them. To me, they are perfect!

1 kid + 1 kid = 1 Exhausted Mom

Recently, someone told me that one is not really a parent until they have two kids. If this statement were true, then someone who has three kids would be more of a parent than one who has two and so forth. I must admit, I disagree with both of these statements wholeheartedly. In my humble opinion, having one child makes you no less of a parent than someone who has two. Whether you have one, two, five or ten children, you are a parent.

The point I believe this person was trying to make was that that being a parent to two kids is much more difficult because you have two little beings that rely on you for everything, rather than one. Thus, among other things, there is twice the work, two times the diaper changes, and two little faces to wipe. This I agree with. Having two children is significantly (and even this is a gross understatement) more difficult than having one. I cried for the first few weeks after my second son, Jagger, was born because I had no idea how I was going to do it. It was just so, for lack of a better term, hard.

After I had my first son, Trent, I could nap or clean the house or read and write whenever he was sleeping or playing independently. I was even able to work out at home, shower, do my hair, put on make-up and have time to dress in something other than the previous nights pajamas. Sure, I was tired and could never go to the bathroom by myself, but I was able to get some things done and have a little, albeit very little, time to myself.

Now that I have two kids, things are oh so different. Although they are pretty much on the same sleep schedule now, this didn't happen until recently, so for the last eight months, when one was down, the other kid was awake and wanting me to feed him, play with him, change his diaper or cuddle. I thought that I had little to no free time with one but now that I have two, any "me" time is non-existent. Truly.

With two kids, I have no time for myself. I don't go to the bathroom alone and often times, rarely take a shower by myself because little Trent whips his clothes off and hops in with me if Mark is not around to wrangle him out of the bathroom. I don't get my nails done or go out with friends alone. There is no "me" time at all! Although I usually have time to do my make-up, I rarely do my hair (throwing it back in a ponytail is as good as it gets unless I have to run errands that day) and get fully dressed. I either wear work out clothes in the hopes that I can sneak it in at some point during the day or Mark comes home from work to find that I did manage to put on a bra and clean shirt but just didn't quite get to those pants as I'm often wearing the plaid pajama pants that I wore to bed the night before. God bless him, he never says a word about it even though I know what he must be thinking.

With two kids, sex can often be a challenge. Typically, we are both too tired to do the hibbity at night so we have to sneak it in at some point during the day. We just got Jagger to nap in his crib (one of us would hold him) so sex during Trent's nap was impossible. If we are lucky, we can put Sesame Street on for the boys and sneak into the other room but undoubtedly, they notice that we are gone and soon, Trent begins to scream, bang on the door and jiggle the handle furiously while Jagger screams "Mama" repeatedly and all romance is lost. At least, for me it is, Mark can go through anything! He is, after all, a man!

With two kids, the house is always a mess...always. Before kids, I was a total clean freak. Now, I have to ignore the toys on the floor. I can't let the mess agitate me or I will lose my mind. The second I clean anything up, Trent pulls it out again because he is reminded that the toy he just saw me put away is so cool, he simply cannot live without it and must play with it right then. When I know that my husband is on his way home from work, I run around the house and throw all of the toys in the baskets and put them back on the shelves. The second he pulls into the driveway, however, the toys are out on the floor once more and it looks like I've done nothing. Hand prints mark not only the counter (which I wipe down 5 times a day--I actually kept track the last few days) but every cupboard Trent can reach. The counter is littered with bottles or cracker crumbs or dried applesauce that I didn't even realize was still on the counter from Trent's lunch. I try, I really do, but it never ends. Ever. If food or toys are not the things that I am cleaning up, I am scrubbing markers off the walls, paint off the kitchen table, spilled juice off the couch and dog prints off the floor. It is exhausting! I am in awe of my mother. She had three kids and the house was never a mess. Toys were always neatly packed away and she rarely lost her patience. She is a friggin superhero. I honestly don't know how she did it.

With two kids, you are needed twice as much. For example, the other night I put Trent to bed and the second I sat down on the couch to relax for the first time all day, he walks out of his room, crying and requesting more mommy cuddle time. His cries awoke the baby who had been sleeping for an hour. Now, there are two kids screaming at once. I went into the nursery to put the baby back down because he won't calm down with Mark, while Mark took Trent back to his room. As I was rocking and singing to the baby, Trent began to scream, "I want my mommy" over and over and over again. His screams kept waking the baby up. Again, there are two kids screaming for me at the same time and I am obviously one person. And that is how it always is...always.

With two kids, the simplest of tasks are twice as difficult. Going to the grocery store or my second home, Target (diaper and wipe purchases are never ending) is a large feat and if I can get in and out without any of the boys having a meltdown, I feel like I just completed Mount Midoriyama from American Ninja Warrior...twice. Trent sits in the cart while my 23-pound nine month old is strapped to my chest. Do you know how difficult it is to bend down and lift a 24-pack of water off the shelf and load it into the bottom of the cart without banging the baby's head into the metal cart as it begins to slide away from you the moment the water makes contact with it? It's hard and I'm sure, quite comical to watch.

With two kids, I feel so torn. I constantly feel like one child is being neglected. Jagger is going through the early stages of separation anxiety and he always and I mean always, wants me near him if not holding him. I feel like all of my time is devoted to the baby and Trent is getting the shaft which is where his acting out is arising from. He just wants my attention, good or bad. I try to make it a point to give Trent his alone time a few times a day but it is never enough. We lay down and cuddle each other or tickle or just run after one another and play. At these times, the baby is usually staring at me and screaming because he wants me too. If I'm with Trent, the baby is screaming. If I'm with the baby, Trent is either getting into trouble or looking at me sadly because he wants my attention too. Again, it is exhausting!

Perhaps if Trent were a bit older, it would be easier. He is getting quite self sufficient. He can play by himself and be happy but that still doesn't stop the guilt. The gut-wrenching, heart breaking guilt that only a mother of multiples can understand. You can never give each child enough time. I don't think Trent holds it against me as much as I hold it against myself. I want to be the best mother possible and I rarely feel like I am doing it right.

That Family Guy commercial in which the kid says, "Mommy, Mommy, Mama, Ma, Mommy," couldn't be more accurate! If Trent is not screaming my name, the baby is crying, "Mama" knowing exactly what it means. I've tried to get him to say Dada and he looks at Mark but then he turns to me and cries for his Mama. I don't think this makes Mark too happy :)

Please, don't take it the wrong way. I am not complaining in the least. I wouldn't change my life if you paid me, but it is exhausting. I recently told my husband that when I worked, I would stay up half the night, worrying about what I had to do the next day. Now, I literally am asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. My FitBit confirms this. The longest it's taken me to fall asleep in the last month is four minutes. Typically it's about two. Even though Jagger is sleeping twelve hours a night now and I'm not waking up five times to feed him, I am still tired all the time because I never stop going or I still wake up and stare and the video monitors to make sure both boys are sleeping soundly. I am so very lucky that I am able to stay home with my boys. It is a tiring, often times thankless, but rewarding beyond words, job.

With two kids, I have a little less patience, which I didn't have much to begin with. I find myself often snapping at my husband because my day was full of temper tantrum upon tempter tantrum all while lugging around a super cute potato sack on my hip. I often snap at Trent because I get so frustrated that he knocked his trucks off his shelf for the tenth time that day and the baby won't let me put him down. And when I see those big brown two-year-old staring back at me, I feel horrible. I have to constantly remind myself that Trent is two and not fifteen and therefore, he is growing and learning not only how to push his limits but how to become independent. Although I have less patience, I also have more love.  I often stare at my boys and can't help but tear up because I love them more than anyone else possibly could. I love them so much it hurts and the thought of anything happening to them makes my heart skip a beat and my chest tighten beyond comprehension. I love them to the moon and back and then even further than that.

With two kids, sometimes I am so tired and frustrated from my day (cleaning spilled paint, scrubbing couches covered in markers, sanitizing poop that was smeared on the crib) that I cannot wait for my husband to get home so that I can have a cocktail to relax. Some days, although it's rare, I can't even wait for him to get home before making a glass of mommy juice. Some days, it is just needed. Some days I have so much fun with the boys I can't wait for Mark to get home so that I can show him the new dance move Trent and I made up or so that he can taste the cookies that we all made. Some days, I pray for the hours of the day to fly by so that my kids go to bed and then the instant they are down, I miss them and want to hold them and smell them and kiss them.

Although two kids is twice the work, there is also twice the reward. There are two butts to wipe but two little men to cuddle. There are two faces and two sets of hands to keep clean but two mouths to kiss. There are two sets of tears to wipe but two smiling, giggling, laughing faces to love. No matter how tired I am or how much I crave time for myself, I love my boys more than anything in this world. I would rather have messy counters and glass smeared with little mitts or paint or stickers than a quiet, pristine house with no screaming, crying or laughter. I wouldn't trade my messy life for anything.

And to think that we want to have another kid at some point! As I recently shared on Facebook, my husband told me that he thought I would get pregnant soon. I wanted to punch him in the face. I want to try for a girl but not just yet. If we were to have a third at this moment, I might be asking someone to wipe my behind because I would be too stinking tired!

I wouldn't trade this...

  Or this...

Or this...

for anything!