Bunny bounce-off

Landon has been very intrigued recently with the whole Easter Bunny concept. Questions abound regarding the holiday character's housing options as well as his favorite meals and his preferred mode(s) of transportation.

Our three year old detective has surmised that the bunny lives in a "big hole, not a 'whittle' one," that he definitely prefers broccoli to carrots, and while Landon himself has mastered the art of hopping on one leg, the Easter Bunny is, without a doubt, a two-legged jumper.

So insistent was he to prove his well-educated points, that he required a trip to meet the "real" Easter Bunny. Landon put him through his bunny paces and even insisted on a hopping demonstration to prove his point.

Thank goodness we had a good-hearted bunny who went along with the little guy and hopped two-footed until Landon was satisfied. We were so thankful as well that other less pleasant and personal inquiries did not require immediate proof.

Surrendering

Daddy's not here to wrestle with me and I miss him.

Sutton just left for a track meet and wouldn't take me with her.

Reagan just wants kisses and I'm not interested.

Keaton won't play with me because she doesn't like for me to punch her...I just don't understand girls.

Bubba won't let me stab him with my (make-shift) sword even though I promised I wouldn't hit him very hard.

Mommy's acting pretty grumpy (again) but she sure feels nice and soft and fluffy.

So I give up:

Rough day reevaluated

sales lady: "Wow, you are really pregnant. You must be due any day now!"

me: "No, I have about a month left."

sales lady: "You're KIDDING! Wow! You are really big!"
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neighbor: "Oh my goodness! You didn't look like this two weeks ago! Are you going to make it?!"
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Reagan (shuddering and turning her head): "Mom! Your legs and ankles are looking GROSS!

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Jimmy: "Cankles aren't sexy. Those things are looking nasty."

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Chic-Fil-A employee: "Your sixth?! Good luck with that."

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Fellow pregnant woman: "I can see you are waddling too."

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Keaton: "You want me to rub your belly?"

me: "No, thank you."

Keaton: "You want me to rub your feet?"

me : "No, but thank you."

Keaton: "Are you okay?"

me: "No. I think I'm losing my sunny disposition."

Keaton: "I think I'll go now."

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Later...

me: "What are you giggling about?"

Landon: "I just happy."

me: "Happy about what?"

Landon: "My little 'stister' is coming soon and I will kiss her and hug her."



Okay God, I hear You.

Daddy Dagwood

All Jimmy wanted was a pillow on which to rest his head. What he became was the center of a Landon-attempt at a massive "Daddy sammich." Each pillow represented a new ingredient which the little chef proudly announced as he constructed this paternal masterpiece. Of course Daddy was the 'meat,' but other layers included pickles, cheese, peanut butter and broccoli. Mmmmmmmmmm.

Granna's Gone Thong

Today's guest blogger is my mother-in-law, Granna. Evidently, the kids' birthday gift to her made for an afternoon of fun when she and Pawpaw got home.

**Warning I**
The following email is being reproduced without written permission from author/subject...so you better read FAST before I get the phone call to yank it from this blog! (My father-in-law is a licensed attorney so it could get ugly.)

**Warning II**
The following email is intended for mature audiences only. Children will probably be okay reading it. The rest of you immature adults out there, proceed with caution.

Dear Family,

Oh, Saturday was so much fun. Thank you so much for everything. Please tell the girls the gift was just perfect!! I put IT on to model for PawPaw and he fainted immediately---I ran to the kitchen for water and threw it on his face, and bent down to see if I should give artificial respiration, and immediately the thong popped. In my excitement I was fixing to run to the bathroom for a towel and I slipped in the water, fell on PawPaw's face, and this brought him around. I grabbed a throw rug to cover myself but the dust in it caused Paw Paw to choke, so I ran for a drink of water for him. The door bell rang and there we were!! Well, we ran and made ourselves presentable, but by the time we answered the door, we saw the Prize Patrol for Publishers Clearing House driving away from the house.

Oh gracious, I'll never forget this wonderful birthday gift. Now Reagan, please mend it for me!!

Granna

We will now return to our regularly scheduled blog and blogger.

Wrinkles

I have a weird little obsession...I iron every day. I have been ironing daily since I was about 12 years old. It's my own cheap form of therapy through which I solve all of life's problems, plus it gives me little flutter of excitement when I see crisp, clean creases and perfect pleats on the clothes my family wears.

I know it's weird and I realize, especially in this day of dryers with wrinkle-release and spray-on de-wrinkle products readily available, I'm probably working unnecessarily, but it makes me happy.

Yesterday morning after I had carefully selected clothes for the boys for church and the girls had their items for pressing, an absolutely terrible thing happened. My iron died. I was horrified and, sadly, felt a little lost. How could we go out in public with wrinkles? Jimmy just didn't get it and assured me that the congregation would probably turn us away and send us promptly home.

Whatever.

I chose other clothes for everyone and we went to church and lunch. Sure enough, no one rejected us based on a few wrinkles (I knew they wouldn't...really I did), but by mid-afternoon I began to sweat a little, worrying about my iron-less home and the probability of crumpled Monday morning outfits.

So I promptly went out and bought a new, heavy, BEAUTIFUL iron. After I post this blog entry, I am heading off to take my new toy on a test run. The clothes are lined up, my new ironing board is set up, and my iron is heating up.

It's going to be a good (wrinkle-free) day...I can already tell.

Almost forgot the best part

Granna got a couple of gifts. The best one, however, was given at the end of the day.

What could it be?












I think she has a clue! (Reagan sure got tickled.)













Could it be?!













Yep, Granna got her very own polka dotted THONG! Pawpaw asked her to try it on but she refused...party pooper.

A Granna Birthday

We celebrated a birthday today. Our birthday girl enjoyed a Mexican lunch, a serenade from the wait-staff, two cakes and lots of guests. They all came to our house afterwards for a wonderful visit.

Happy Birthday Granna! It sure was fun.

Unrestrained rockin'

Last night as Landon "danced" (stomped) in the living room "singing" (ear-piercing shrieks) while "playing" (pounding wildly) his guitar:

Landon: "I GONNA BE A ROCK STAR!!"
"I GONNA BE A ROCK STAR!!"
(gibberish)
(gibberish)
(gibberish)
"I GONNA BE A ROCK STAR!!"

Keaton (gently and sweetly): "Landon, why don't you be the kind of rock star that sits quietly and sings softly? That could be a lot of fun too, you know!"

Landon stopped singing and stared at her for a few seconds. I could tell his little mind was trying to fathom such a ludicrous notion...then he resumed, louder than before:
"I GONNA BE A ROCK STAR!!"
"I GONNA BE A ROCK STAR!!"

Keaton (admitting defeat, said to herself): "Well, that went well."

"Why do you get up so early?"...

...Is a question I often get when people read this blog and notice the times I post.

I would like to sound sacrificial and tell you that pregnancy is difficult and sleeping at this stage is unlikely, so I get up because I am just too uncomfortable. (Well, that's true.)

Or I could say that with Jimmy gone on a trip, that Landon is not only in bed with me, but that he likes to sleep on me for three-year-old security reason's and so I escape his, er, my bed for a little mommy-space. (Well, that's true too.)

Or I could tell you that since the girls get up at 5am each morning, I like to do my mommy-duty and be there to referee their squabbles help them to easily begin their days. (Also true.)

OR I could tell you the real truth and let you know that I like to get up in the middle of the night to admire my slim ankles before they turn into "cankles" by 7am... So incredibly gross.

(Because you might be eating while you read this post, I will spare you the evening cankle photos which are too hideous even for me.)

Constant cravings

I walk two times a day on my treadmill; nothing crazy, just thirty minutes in the morning and thirty minutes at night. I walk hard and fast, putting in four to five miles a day and averaging 600+ calories burned. You'd think with all that exercise I'd be nothing but baby belly. However, much to my dismay, I have noticed an ever-growing rear end and clear evidence of back fat...so gross.

You'd also think that after noticing my other expanding parts, I would be very cautious about what I am eating. So not so.

I have been obsessed with Braum's chocolate almond ice cream. I have been soooooooo very good the last eight months and have only partaken in this delectable indulgence the few times the whole family accompanied me to the actual restaurant. The problem is we decided to buy whole half-gallon of this sinfully sweet, calorie-laden, evil concoction a few days ago.

The tantalizing carton clearly calls my name from the garage freezer, though others in my home claim they don't hear its charming words. "Devin! Come and get me! You know how delicious I am, and you know you can't resist me!"

Of course, last night, rather than throw the ice cream out like I know should, I decided to get rid of it in a much more enjoyable manner. How much did I actually eat? Let's just say that while there are a couple of spoonfuls left, the next person wanting some of my ice cream will need to make other arrangements.

This morning I am guilt-ridden and don't feel so good. However, last night was pure Braum's-chocolate-almond-ice-cream-BLISS.

I must go now...my treadmill is calling my name and somehow even my children seem to be able to hear that inanimate summons.

Public Domain

For some reason (probably because I am carrying waaaaaay out front and I look like I have swallowed a very large dinosaur egg that's lying on its side, making my belly very pointed looking) my children think my pregnant bump is theirs to do with as they please.

Sutton (17) is the least invasive in her inquiries. Basically, she just stares at me, shakes her head and regularly comments, "Mom! You are so HUGE!" She doesn't touch me often--she does, however, walk big circles around me, obviously a little freaked out. She's kind enough to stifle the "Ewwww gross!" declarations clearly dying to come out.

Reagan (12), the most touchy-feely child since the beginning, rubs me like Buddha from morning 'til night. She focuses on my belly button, poking the popped out "ready button" incessantly until I snap.

Keaton (9) is the soft-belly-rubber and sweet-belly-kisser. The problem is, after the hundredth rub and kiss, this mom is ready to scream and is constantly redirecting her attentions elsewhere.

Hayden treats my belly like that great-aunt we've all had. You know, the kind that when giving you hugs, slaps your back instead of gently rubbing...causing you to question her true feelings for you. Surely she must despise you, but in reality that's just how she says I love you. Hayden proclaims his baby-love by simulating life-saving chest compressions on my stomach until I squeal in pain. The word 'gentle' is not in his five-year-old vocabulary just yet.

Landon (3) has decided this belly is perfect as a racetrack for his hot wheels. He likes to have me lie down, raises my shirt (better traction on bare skin?), and the races begin. Our Nascar-like playtime involves car sounds and is complete with devastating "crashes" as the miniature cars go hurdling over the side. He completes each session with raspberries, those loud blowing kisses against my skin that obviously scare the baby, forcing her to jump and squirm each time he does it, leaving me with a seemingly traumatized baby girl unable to settle back down for some time.

I asked him last night as he pressed his ear to listen to the baby after their late night play session, "What is she saying Landon?"

Landon (dramatically): "She sayin', 'Get me outta here!'"

I beg to differ. Surely she's making plans to hunker down where she is for a while longer...safe and in relative peace from strange looks, pokes, rubs, prods, and loud raspberries.

My body is currently not my own, yet I don't complain. Just like every pregnancy is different, each of my children is unique and their displays of affection vary with age, stage and gender. Each child is essentially saying the same thing: They already love this new baby so very much.

And this mommy is so very thankful for that.

I'm worth how much?!

My first year out of college I made $18,000 a year as a high school English/Speech/Theatre teacher. Pretty sad...but it was a job and I was thankful.

The more years I taught, the more my salary increased (ever so slightly). I eventually got my master's degree and noticed a more significant salary boost. Still a pretty sad amount, yet I remained thankful.

I recently read an astonishing article claiming that a mom's true worth is $761,650! That's what the annual salary would be for mothers if they were paid for all the work they do--from raising kids to cooking, cleaning, and generally maintaining family harmony (not to mention one or two dozen science, reading, and international projects and a few hundred sports/music events thrown in along the way)--according to an Edelman Financial Services LLC study.

It's a good thing hugs, kisses and "I love you Mommy!" expressions of gratitude are so prevalent around here. Otherwise, I might feel underpaid.

Difference is...

...I know what they are really thinking:

Homecoming "How-do-you-do's"

First words to me after they've been gone five days:

Hayden: "Hi Mom! Did you get your baby out yet?!"

Landon: "Hi Mommy! Did you cry for us while we were gone? You did? Show me!"

Both boys: "Okay, bye! We're going outside! Be back later!"

sigh.

A surge of bravery

Landon, since birth, has been relatively fearless. Little frightens him and he is always eager to be first in line for new experiences.

Big brother Hayden, on the other hand, is very cautious and will not venture into uncharted territory unless pushed...often shoved. The results are typically the same. Once he is convinced the danger is minimal (usually after watching little brother jump head-first into the experience), Hayden will begrudgingly oblige.

It's taken five years and a number of "close calls" in Hayden's mind, but on the last day of being on the farm, kitties and cows became approachable and trees ripe for the conquering. Rumor also has it that even an unexpected dog visit didn't cause a panic.

Landon kindly refrained from any "I-told-you-so's."

Fish Tales

All those perch they hand-caught the day before sure came in handy yesterday as the perfect bait for these whoppers.

Direct quote from an email Jimmy sent, "Caught 10 in all.....boys loved it, even had Granna out there with a rod/reel and she was getting into it as well. I was SOOOOO PROUD of my country boys this week. They got dirty, wet, sweated, spit, peed in the field and loved it all! I was getting a little worried they were going to be too much like city boys and not know how to do some of this fun stuff."

Hopefully we girls won't have to spend too much time acclimating our "men folk" to our "city ways" when they return. I don't think I'm ready for the "spittin'" and I know the neighbors will frown upon "peein'" in the yard.

Fun on the farm

Riding in Pawpaw's trailer













Finding cow poop

















Fish caught by hand in the spillway













These will be perfect for their fishing trip today













Landon's night is not complete until he styles Granna's hair.

Bowling boys

The weather didn't cooperate so Jimmy took the boys bowling. Please notice Landon's form. Oh, and the picture of the score highlights Hayden's strike in frame 7. He was just a little thrilled.