Winning. (Everyone Else is Saying It.)

I have tried to post yesterday's blog a billion times. For some reason, it won't let me. It's only taken me ten days, I think, to get back to blogging. Once again, I am way off the beam.

I suppose it must be this baby in my belly that has me drawn to do other things. For a couple of months it had me drawn to the bathroom. The smell of coffee or the kids soap was enough to turn me an even more horrible shade of green than I already was--24/7 nausea. It was like having the stomach flu, all day, every day, for weeks, no months, at a time.

It passed. Phew.

My much-needed, much-anticipated mommy's night away in Columbia with my ole BFF started as magically as one might hope. Turns out our Inn was right in the hub of Gamecock collegiate frivolity. We lunched at a hip coffee/cafe, complained about the high price of a sandwich, after all, we were the oldest people in the joint, and elderly folk complain about such things, right? We checked into our room at the Inn and promptly checked into our pajama pants. We did manage to make it back out into the world ever-so-briefly for a trip to the Food Lion, conveniently located behind the Inn. We treated ourselves to two pints of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia, kept cold in our loaded with ice from the Inn ice machine sink.

A local Chinese restaurant was kind enough to let us stay in our pajama pants for the rest of the evening. They delivered two obscenely large helpings of Bean Curd Family Style and soup. It was heavy on the ginger and garlic. In other words, it was perfect, especially while being consumed on two giant Queen sized beds and no one asking us to get up and get a single thing. No one complaining or screeching or bickering. Nothing. Well, not nothing. We did have endless episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras, Sex and the City, and Say Yes! to the Dress. It was perfect. Almost perfect.

Around 1:30am, I woke up cold. Then hot. Then freezing. And the aching. Bone-crushing aching. And the headache. And the cough. I knew what it was. I've had it before, but I was having a mom's night away. I was just out of the first trimester misery. I. WAS. NOT. SICK. AND IT WAS NOT NOT NOT the F-L-U.

So I drifted in and out of nightmares only to find myself awakened by what was not a bad dream about being twenty years old and drunk as a skunk in a hotel room, but was actually a group of KIDS next door, drunk as skunks, smoking like chimneys, and hooting and hollering like they were NOT in an Inn, and certainly not next door to two moms who just wanted twenty-fours of PEACE and QUIET.

We immediately went into what's that racket?/kids these days mode. It took multiple visits from the front desk and one final visit from a police officer to get them to do what most people really need to do at 3:30am--Go to Bed.

The following day is an unfortunate blur. I do remember the lovely in-room continental breakfast of coffee, bagels, and yogurt parfaits, but the rest of it is nothing more than a hazy, sickened trip home. I don't even remember the drive. All I know is it was official shortly after I got home: I was sick, and it was the flu.

It passed. Phew.

Baby Belly

You still got that for a baby in your belly? Heath immediately inquired upon waking this morning.

Yes, I assured him. Yes, I do.

And I went on to remind him that the baby would stay in my belly until August. I'd expressed this fact last night when we officially broke the news, but I don't think cooking-time has really sunk in. As a matter of fact, he was more interested in running off to tell Stella.

Stella, there's a baby in mama's belly, a baby just like you, and you'll get to play with it all the time, he exclaimed. His enthusiasm was contagious as Stella immediately began cheering and chanting, baby in mama's belly.

Heath placed his order for a baby brother, and Stella made her request for a baby sister. We will all find out together in August.

In the meantime, Mark and I are going to continue to adjust to the idea that come August, boy or girl, the adults will be totally and completely outnumbered.

Almost Here

The advantage of no one taking a nap today: everyone is in their separate quarters by 7:30 with nary a complaint. Now Mark and I are going to make one last attempt at watching American History X. If it doesn't happen, I'll be sticking that thing back in the good ole red Netflix envelope and sending it back.

The BFF and I have a mommy's night away planned for Saturday night. I can hardly wait to watch cable, eat chinese food delivered to our room at the inn, and miss my children. When I found myself in a public restroom at the park on Monday, desperately trying to change Stella's diaper while she was standing up, her limbs flailing wildly in protest, screaming, My penis, my penis, that phrase echoing through the cement block of a lavatory, I was comforted by the fact that I had this little getaway planned.

And not a moment too soon.

Studio 8H

Just as I suspected, no one stayed awake long enough to watch American History X last night. As a matter of fact, I woke up around midnight, the television still on, some SNL skit with Andy Samberg and Paul Rudd was playing. Something about Tumbling, or Tumbelina, or something. I haven't taken then time to investigate what we missed. Now we're deciding if Sunday evening at nearly 9pm is the right time to get into such seriousness as X. So far, Seinfeld is winning.

Stella went to her first "without Heath" birthday party today. Her friends, twin boys, turned the big 3, and celebrated at My Gym, a personal favorite when it comes to birthday party venues. It didn't take long to detach her from my hip, and she found her place in the ball pit. Head-to-toe, completely buried in brightly colored balls. She kicked her feet, made the occasional taboo toss of the ball out of the pit, and reburied herself in an ocean of smooth, circular plastic.

Eventually the party made its way to the "cake room," and indulged in pizza, Fire Truck cake, and juice boxes. During storytime tonight, I asked her if she had fun at the party. An ear to ear grin spread across her face and she said, Lummy, then smacked her lips.

President's Day tomorrow, no preschool. Just as Stella was going to bed, Heath popped his head in her room and said, Don't forget, park tomorrow. 70 again in February. How could I forget?

Hmmm...That 70s Show...looks like Mark and I will be watching someone get curbed tonight.

Wait a second, SNL Backstage. We have a winner.

10:35 on a Saturday Night

The weather has been perfect for park visits. Yesterday was my turn to take the kiddies to Princeton Park. 70 in February--we were not alone in thinking this was the place to be. Today was Mark's turn. They doubled-up the fun by frequenting both the outdoor Chick-Fil-A playground and a neighborhood park close to our house. By the time they got home, they were starving for lunch and ready for an afternoon snooze.

If that wasn't fun enough, Papa and HeHe took them out for dinner and ice cream, then brought them back home for bathtime and bed. Mark and I had a lovely date night. Cantina 1511 for dinner, then a visit to the Presbyterian Maternity ward to see our friend's twin boys. Sleepy babies with little fingers and fuzzy heads. I tried not to hog up all the new baby smell. So sweet.

Almost as sweet as coming home to a house full of quiet, Heath and Stella fast asleep. Now we're settled in bed with some ice cream and American History X. That is, if I can stay awake. I feel a night-night snooze coming on.

My Funny Valentine(s)

I started the day off with telling two of my favorite loves, Happy Valentine's Day. I officially got around to asking them to declare their love while they were eating breakfast. Stella responded, More 'ogurt, please. Then I asked Heath if he would be my Valentine. He initially said, No, then managed to have an unprompted change of heart, and gave me a rather unenthusiastic and loaded with burden, Okay.

But I already knew I was pressing my luck with those two. Lately it seems Heath has much love for one particular person. It started yesterday, running in the glorious sunshine, when the topic of our Holden Beach trip came up. We all expressed our anxious desire to get that date, ASAP. And later in the day, Heath expressed his desire to have a certain sleeping arrangement during our HB time. I want to sleep beside Stella, really close, because I love her so much.

And even later in the day, when it was bathtime, in usual fashion, Heath ran as far away from the tub as possible, claiming he would get in when Stella was finished, and Stella stood by the tub, alternating between throwing toys in the warm, sudsy water, and taking her clothes off. Just as I was making my way to do the actual body cleaning portion of bathtime, it seemed Heath beat me to the punch. He was kneeling by the edge of the tub, giving Stella a bath.

Now, let's put shampoo on your head, he said calmly, and Stella calmly let him rub soap all over her head. Now, I'm going to dump water on your head to rinse it out. I'll do it five times. One, two, three, hold your hands over your eyes like I do, Stella, four, five.

And she let him. Dump water. On her head. Five times. Without a peep. And not just without a peep, but a sweet smile on her face. When I dare to mention rinsing the shampoo out of her hair, I am met with screeches that can be heard across our backyard.

His next course of action was to wash her face. He put a small amount of body wash on the cloth, then began to run gentle circles about her face, neck, shoulders, belly. Again, not a single protest.
Here, you're all finished, Stella. I'll help you out and I'll get in.

A without-fuss bathtime. Those don't happen here everyday. After he completed his own bath, Heath came into Stella's room and complimented her on her flowery footie pajamas. Cute, he called them. Then he gave her another hug, because I love her so much, he explained.

Of course, when she knocked over his expertly lined-up series of trains across the living room floor this morning, I assure you he gave her a good shout and shove. I guess he figures it's good to keep your Valentine on their toes.

The Sand Box 2011

I just saw 58 degrees and sunny on Tuesday the 15th. I'm not sure I could be any more tired of the winter.

Which is why we made the decision to book our dear Holden Beach house for the week of Heath's Spring Break. A fun-filled week of sun (of course it's April, so...), sand (rain or shine, the kids can roam nature's sand box, pushing trucks to their heart's delight), and running on the flattest 5K beach sidewalk known to man. Oh, and that incredible ice cream joint in Southport. How many more days 'til we leave?

Heath woke me up last night at midnight inquiring about his bowl of grapes and milk. I'd been asleep for about an hour, needless to say, I was disoriented and had no idea what he was talking about. As I corralled him back to his bed, he further explained that daddy had given him grapes and milk just before he went to bed, woke up thirsty and hungry, and was surprised to find that what was leftover was no longer bedside. I told him I would be back with some water and grapes momentarily, but he needed to stay in bed, further pressing the point that it's the middle of the night.

As I rounded the corner of the steps into the kitchen, the downstairs (we have one of those rockin' 1969 split-levels) caught my eye. All the lights were on, and the guest bedroom door, momentarily housing Granny, was wide open. I carefully walked down the steps, mentally preparing myself for finding a bewildered lady.

Sure enough, Granny was walking circles around the playroom. I sort of gave her the same It's the Middle of the Night speech I'd just given Heath, but kept it short and sweet, while corralling her back into her room. She was out of her pajamas, fully dressed in day clothes, bed made, bags packed, and expressing thoughts that led me to believe her whereabouts were currently a source of confusion.

She mentioned Stratford Road, a street in Winston-Salem, and asked me did I drive up there tonight, and then said, I won't go back outside again, because I don't want to get lost. The word again was most jarring. I asked her if she'd been outside. She said, no, and I believed her because the backdoor had clearly been untouched and not unlocked.

I got her back in her pajamas, and back into bed, but was not certain she was any clearer on where she was and what she was doing when I found her. There was just something in her face. Confusion with a sad mix of trust. I could tell she genuinely knew who I was and was safe with that, but not much else.

Meanwhile, Heath was waiting for his grapes and water with surprising patience. He directed me to put them by his bed, then inquired about the original grapes and milk from earlier in the evening. Did you take those? he accused.

No, Daddy brought those to you.

Did he take them? he asked further.

I'm sure he thought you were finished.

You go tell him not to do that ever again, he instructed, then rolled over on his side, giving Puppy a hearty squeeze.

I'll be sure to pass the message along.