So today was the "fun" run...

...and look what I did!

Y'all know that I am just more naturally inclined to sell baked goods than I am to run 2+ miles, right? So I stuck with what I knew. Steve did what he does best. (Physically exerting himself while making it look easy and enjoyable)

After the fun run (a couple of spouses looked like puking was imminent after all of that "fun"), everyone socialized and bought goodies (maple butter french toast muffins with BACON on top, holy whoa, our FRG leader can BAKE). I had a great time. Mostly because I wasn't forced to run. And also because there was iced coffee. Not gonna lie about my motives there. But I enjoyed getting to meet the new people that Steve is working with.

This was a big money-maker for the FRG's and people were allowed to make a $5 donation to run in jerseys or other non-PT clothes. Obviously, we took full advantage of the $5 and rocked our Auburn-wear. (First game of the season on Saturday! War Eagle!)

It is painfully obvious that we might never take a successful family photo.

After taking a few pictures, Sam had a legitimate meltdown and Molly somehow managed to sleep on the way home despite his erratic screaming and face-slapping. (Yes, he slaps HIMSELF in the face. Like that will somehow anger me. By all means son, slap away!) Despite it only being 9:45 in the morning, I chucked the little monster in bed and he is still sleeping after two and half hours.

Also? Molly slept til 4:57 this morning and around here, that is sleeping in!!! I was so thrilled with her perfect timing. (Was getting up at 5 anyway.) Now I'm hopped up on coffee and am on Cloud 9 with the simultaneous napping that is going on here right now. I feel like I can do anything; grocery shop at the commissary on payday? Clean the house? Do the laundry? Run 2 miles? Ok let's not get overzealous here. I'll probably start with a little nap..

Warning: Chub Overload

Molly, you are officially 5 months old today. I guess that might explain why you were up nonstop since midnight last night. God forbid we don't celebrate properly with a party-all-night-but-not-in-the-crib-with-our-eyes-closed mentality like you do. Seriously, child. You gave me such high hopes with your sleeping patterns as a newborn. Now you're all over the place.

Faker.

Stats-wise, the last time you were "officially" weighed (this past Friday), you clocked in at 19lbs 2oz. Your dad and I started trying to amass some sort of cooler-weather-clothes-collection for you and your brother while we were on vacation and y'all basically wear the same size. (That sound was my jaw hitting the floor because 24-month/2T clothing and YOU ARE ONLY FIVE MONTHS OLD OMG.) That badonkadonk of yours refuses to fit into anything smaller than size 24-months. Winter should be very interesting here wardrobe-wise. I have put your grandparents on alert to check all clearance racks for size 24-month capris, because that is just how short your legs are. They will fit like pants and be perfect.

You don't say!

You are sitting up on your own now, but I don't trust you enough to leave you sitting anywhere by yourself. You enjoy randomly flinging yourself backwards when we're sitting on the bed. You can also roll from back to tummy but get pretty frustrated if I don't flip you back over in a timely manner.

You hate pacifiers. Half of me loves this (no nasty pacifiers to keep up with!) but the other half of me is kind of grossed out thinking of what sorts of disgusting things your mouth will come into contact with by thumb-sucking (dirty hands!).

You look so so interested in food, but I'm holding off on letting you try anything til after next month. Although you would NOT quit reaching for a banana that your dad was holding the other day, so he let you attempt to taste it. You were not impressed. Hopefully that will tide you over for another month or so.

You ADORE Sam. I think you prefer him over me. If it weren't for the milk situation we've got goin' on, I'd bet money on it. And he loves you too. We were clearing out your closet today (you know, just bagging up the 9-month clothes), and Sam accompanied me on a potty break. (You were sitting in your sleeper/rocker in your room.) I assume you were a little peeved because we didn't bring you with us. (I'm sorry.) So I asked Sam if he would go talk to you. He ran away and when I peeked through the door, he was hovered over you, rocking you gently and speaking his little gibberish language that you probably understand perfectly. And you- YOU- immediately stopped whining and looked at him with happy eyes and a big, wide smile.

Yep, that one.

You were also whining while I was making dinner tonight (surprise! How dare anyone else eat around here..) and Sam creeped toward you, then quickly hiked up his shorts to reveal his BABY THIGHS!!!
(We squeal for that around here. He has such cute little skinny thighs, and he'll hike up his shorts to show them to us. So we hoot and holler and make a big deal out of them. I guess he thought Molly would think it was funny and stop crying. But alas. Even sweet baby thighs can't satisfy a baby during The Witching Hour.)

Do I look impressed? No? Good.

You are right on track with your development. The nurse-practitioner that saw you this past Friday was just so impressed with you. Your alertness, sunny disposition, willingness to cooperate during the exam, and of course, your size. People do a double-take when they find out that you are the product of breastmilk.

Say what now?

Goh-zillah!!!

And your cheeks are still defying gravity.

Also, I know you appear to never wear any clothes. But this little photo session was done this morning while we were the only two up. I didn't want to creep upstairs and risk waking your brother. So off with the swaddle and outside we went! You're in such a perfect mood in the mornings.

I love you!

The Good, The Great, The Ugly, The Bucket List- 5 Quick-Takes Version

To be clear, y'all know there isn't going to be anything "quick" about these quick-takes, right? Ok, good. Moving on.

The Good:

1. We had the most pleasant drive down to south Alabama last Saturday. The kids were PERFECT. And that NEVER HAPPENS. I think we might have been bracing ourselves for a drive like the PA trip of 2012, so basically, they could have been screaming like banshees and we could have picked up 12 hitch-hikers and it would have still been an easier trip than the trip to PA. So I guess this is not saying much at all. But there wasn't a ton of wailing and gnashing of teeth, so we call that a success around these parts.

This is how you change diapers.

2. My mom had wine in her fridge.

3. Molly didn't sleep horribly the first night (although she didn't sleep straight through either, so... meh).

4. Steve was able to successfully fill Sam's prescription for Epi-pens so that my parents could stab him in the thigh if necessary. We have good insurance, so the Epi-pens cost $12 instead of the $315 the pharmacist quoted Steve.

5. I left my camera at home. Originally, I thought this would be categorized as "ugly" but it was actually really nice. No worries about my camera getting sand in it or scratched or lost. No lugging that thing around. I just had my phone. No guilt for having crappy vacation pictures.

The Great:

1. WE LEFT THE KIDS WITH MY PARENTS AND FLEW LIKE THE WIND TO THE BEACH!!!!! (I cannot put enough emphasis on how great that is. The screaming caps-lock doesn't quite capture it all the way.)

2. We were on our own schedule (read: we did everything later than we normally would) and laughed at the frantic moms and dads that were freaking out over naptimes and feeding schedules and if the sun was too bright, etc.

Drunk off wine. Or shrimp. Maybe both.

3. We drank fruity drinks and wine. Although, I must admit that I did not drink nearly as much as I thought I would. The first day there, I practically killed a bottle all by myself. Then I took a 3-hour nap. Steve says the wine caused the nap, but I just think that I was TIRED (guess who got up with Molly the night before?) and I don't do 1-hour naps anyway. Talk about a waste. I would have slept longer than 3 hours, but someone was very insistent that we eat dinner, so I had to get up.

4. I ate more shrimp than is probably healthy, but the scale says that I lost weight. So..... new shrimp diet?

5. My kids apparently behaved like little angels while we were gone and only started getting whiny/misbehaving when we arrived back home. Of course.

6. WE HAD ENOUGH MILK!!!! Since my supply took a nosedive way back when this summer, my frozen stash was kinda weak-sauce, so I was worried that Molly would run out of food while we were gone. I left my parents with some water and formula, JUST IN CASE. But we got back (with 20 bags of milk) just in time. My mom also single-handedly eradicated Molly's raging case of cradle-cap and taught her how to sit up unassisted.

Moo.

7. Time away from the kids felt REALLY REALLY GOOD. I love them to death, but oh my word, it was so nice to have some one-on-one time with Steve and not have to worry about who needs a new diaper, if we even HAVE any clean diapers, food, pumping, allergies, yadda yadda. I knew they were in capable hands and that they were happy.

The Ugly:

1. It rained most of the time we were at the beach. This would seem ugly, but I think it was a blessing in disguise. Had the weather been super-nice, I would have over-planned the hell out of this trip and we would have come back exhausted. The bad weather gave us a chance to just chill out and enjoy each other's company.

2. We stayed at a resort (*deal of the century*) but spent our last night there lying in bed, watching Teen Mom. We get about six channels here at home, so we caught up on the white-trash drama we used to watch in college. Sadly, not much has changed with these folks. Everyone is still desperate and stupid. When we turned off the TV, we felt like the greatest parents ever though.

3. A lady got out of the hot tub while we were still sitting in it and I immediately said, "Oh I miss Molly's thighs."

I am a firm believer that any bathing suit can be offensive if the right (wrong?) person is wearing it.

4. My hair. The frizz was out of control most of the time we were down there.

101 in 1,001 items checked off:

1. On our way back to my parents' house, Steve casually said, "Do you wanna go shooting?" Sure. Why not? Let the record show that I have never fired a gun before. I figured it would be very easy and fun. Almost like shooting a squirt gun. They give me this little "girly" gun and talk about how easy this gun is to use. Steve gets a big manly gun and it is very scary-looking. I stick with my girly gun and WHOA did I scream when Steve shot the first round. (To be fair, the casing flew back and hit me in the head, catching me off-guard... so... there.) After I shot my first round, I was thankful I did not request a shotgun because I'm positive I would have flown on my back and shot the ceiling. Little gun had some kick to it! (Steve agreed after firing it again later. Am not exaggerating.) Since I am an extreme novice when it comes to using deadly force, Steve would have me fire a shot, make sure I had my finger off the trigger, put the safety on, set the gun down, and check out the target. This made firing go v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y, as you can imagine. (Can you tell the man runs ranges for a living?) After the first few times of doing that, he encouraged me to just keep shooting. Get my sights lined back up and shoot again.

You know that saying, "Guns don't hurt people; people hurt people." Yes. But no. This gun turned on me. It hurt me. After firing a few rounds back-to-back, I felt the gun HIT me. Like, a whap on the hand. I wiggled it for a second and went back to firing. After finishing up those last two shots, I looked down at my hand and IT WAS COVERED IN LOTS OF BLOOD. Apparently, being the novice gun-shooting idiot that I am, I pulled my left hand up closer to the top of the gun at some point while firing, and when the gun kicked back, it flew straight into my poorly-positioned thumb. So yeowch. I had to take my bloody hands out to the gun-people and explain to them that my husband did not shoot me, but that I had done this to myself. (OH THE SHAME.) They gave me a bandaid and only charged me half price because I "spent most of my shooting time injured." Yes. How lame. After seeking the medical attention of the bathroom sink and its handsoap, I took my wounded butt back into the range where Steve was patiently waiting. He insisted that I shoot his gun. Not as much kick, easier to handle, blah blah. But no. I had already developed a healthy fear of guns (in 5 minutes!) and only wanted to watch. So Steve fired off the rest of our ammo and we called it a day.

On the plus side, the eight shots that I fired were all kill shots, with the exception of a groin shot. Which, let's face it, is basically a kill shot. So I'm confident that I can protect myself in the face of a very patient and non-moving intruder. "You just stay right there while I stick my bullets in this whatchamacallit and then figure out where the safety button is. This isn't like the one I shot that one day at the range. Now let me get my other hand outta the way. You wouldn't believe what happened the last time I shot one of these. Whoo boy, my stupid thumb got in the way of this gun ya see, and I swear I almost passed out from the blood loss. Kinda like what's fixin' to happen to you." *BAM!* Right in the baby-maker. See, I would distract him with my incessant babbling and then I would show no mercy. You can all count this as your self-defense class for the week. (#19)

2. We went to this very strange restaurant called the Waffle Shoppe for breakfast thanks to the recommendation of my parents. It was oddly decorated with spray-painted waves and dolphins and yarn-like tapestries of Greek(?) women.

There were a few other random holographic pictures scattered throughout, and at the checkout, they sold trinkets and sunscreen that had to have gone out of date at least ten years ago. The first morning, our server had on bright blue eyeshadow. On our way back to the hotel, I told Steve that this is where our 100% tip should go. He agreed. Then he said that he was so happy to help this woman quit dancing. I don't know if she was an exotic dancer or just made bad makeup choices, but we ended up not seeing her the next morning and another girl got the 100% tip. It wasn't much, but having worked crappy waitressing jobs in my day, I know how much a $20 tip means. If nothing else, a definite mood booster. And maybe she wouldn't have to dance as long that night. (#16)

Do you see the weird tapestries behind Steve?

3. Before heading down to the beach, I had googled "things to do in Panama City Beach." There was a winery listed that caught my eye. Check it out if you have a minute. If you don't have a minute, I don't know why you choose to read this blog, because there is nothing quick about it. ANYWAY, the wine is all fermented fruit, not fermented grapes. We had carrot wine, orange wine with coffee beans added, guava wine, kiwi wine, key lime wine, and I could go on and on because we basically sampled every wine they had. (The man giving the tasting was really intent on making us try the "award-winning" wines, like the blueberry. Oh yum.) I originally wanted to go because I thought that carrot wine was probably something worth tasting, and I thought it would give us a couple laughs. But Steve legitimately enjoyed every last one he tasted. Comments like, "So refreshing!' "Delicious!" "This would be great in the summer!" were popping out of his mouth left and right. I was making comments too, but they were mostly, "Oh my gaw... THAT'S interesting.." "Ummm... good..?" "Yeah that's different..." (#42)

4. So in case carrot wine doesn't count as my trying a new cocktail, I got a "sunshine rum punch" drink at the bar. It went down easy, don't worry. (#11)

5. And in other news, we're picking up our headboard on Sunday. But I don't wanna write an entire post about a headboard, so I'm gonna let this leech on to my bucket list checklist. (#8)


Notice how there were more than five quick-takes under "The Great" and only four under "The Ugly." Also, none of them were quick. Sorry for the lies.

Am I the only person who would pay good money for doctors to make house calls?!

Oh Internet. I wanna get on here and say so many things. But Sam brought home some sort of mad cow disease from the nursery this past weekend at church and he has taken to spreading his snot all over the house (as well as in his hair). By doing so, he has transferred this horrible disease to Molly and myself. So despite STARTING sleep training the other night, we have had to quickly halt those plans because even I am not cruel enough to sleep train a baby that can't breathe out of its nose.

After a night of no sleep, we hauled our sick butts to the allergist's office. Could not find Sam's shoes that morning to save my life. All I could find were these little church shoes that I think call for socks (technically). I skipped the socks. I also said the F word more times that I thought humanly possible in one morning. I must be out to beat old records or something. After screaming and flailing and running out of milk and falling on the concrete in the parking lot and running into a wall and simultaneous crying babies, we arrived at the conclusion that Sam is not allergic to gluten. I know. I'm sure Sarah is so stoked to get all of our special crackers and cereal. He is, however, severely allergic to peanuts and eggs. Like, stuff-can't-be-produced-in-a-facility-that-handles-nuts severe. Ugh. And I thought eliminating eggs would be easy (he won't eat scrambled eggs anyway!). Stupid, sick woman. Eggs are in EVERYTHING. So now I have to completely readjust my shopping strategy for all of his "normal" foods and figure out what he can have now that we've identified these new allergies. (I'M SO EXCITED, in case you can't tell through the computer screen.)

After lunch (he had Cheezits! Best day of his life!), I chucked him in bed, finally got Molly to sleep, and considered taking a nap. But then Molly woke up. Because who needs a nap longer than ten minutes? Now we're just staring at each other, breathing like crazy people out of our mouths.

Maybe I'll get on here soon and tell you about the air show we went to last weekend, or Molly's four-month appointment, or how Sam won't kiss me on the cheek, but will now blow me kisses before he goes to bed (MELTS MY HEART OMG). Maybe. If I ever catch up on sleep and am not constantly in the worst mood of my life. (So.... see ya in a year or two!)

Crappy iPhone photos for you!!

Do I see milk in the background? Yayeeeee!!!!

 Sam is trying to teach Steve the finer points of proper lawn mower maintenance. "Are you sure you refilled the bubbles?"

Sam, sporting his new-to-him basketball shoes. I'm thinking this is not his style...

But there is no denying that they are hilarious on him.

Happy baby

I don't see how they can legally call that "fun"

I have mentioned to a few of you (through email, twitter conversations, etc) that Steve is on top of his game when it comes to physical activity. I probably mentioned this to you while we were lamenting the fact that we are (or rather, I am) NOT good at physical activity. I used to be in really good shape. Sometime back in college. Before Steve started giving me rides to class, because after that started I had no way to burn off all that pizza we were eating and then bleh. Present-day Jenn. Chubs McGee.

Pounds have slowly but surely (emphasis on SLOWLY) been coming off since Molly's birth. Nowhere near as fast as I want it to obviously, but the scale is still moving. Down. Sort of. I mean, I uncovered the secret to making loads and loads of breastmilk (spoiler: it's CARBS. Tons and tons of CARBS. Preferably of the pizza variety.). So consuming carbs and then burning carbs to make milk has sorta evened me out weight-wise, but THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT WEIGHT OR BREASTMILK SO LET ME GET BACK ON TRACK HERE.

Ok. I haven't officially "worked out" in quite some time. My sister and I did some Jillian Michaels over the summer and I hobbled around like a centennial for about four days, but that's about it. So it is no surprise that I am out of shape. Steve recently came home from work and told me CASUALLY that there is a family fun run on the 30th. I asked how far fun was. He said two miles. I might have said a curse word or seven. Because two miles?? Seriously?? How is that fun? How is running anywhere fun? I mean, running out to get wine is one thing, running around in a big circle "for fun" is another. So since Steve is the resident heckler about people falling out on runs, I obviously canNOT fall out on this run. How would that look? And how would I ever be able to tell his coworkers all of the other things I am very GOOD at instead of running? Like, for example, wine-drinking? Fudge-making? Cute-baby birthing? I think I would be too winded to explain, in proper detail, all of the things that I am very proficient at. (I know I'm not supposed to end a sentence with "at" but OMG- have been staring at that sentence for five minutes now and can't figure out another way to say it. ARREST ME NOW, GRAMMAR POLICE.)

So my question to y'all IS:
What is the easiest, non-time-suckiest way to get into shape QUICK? Like, two and a half weeks quick? I am hoping all of your responses sound something like, "Be sure to rest and hydrate yourself, occasionally with water. White wine is best though. Antioxidants and such. Chocolate is good for the legs. Pizza is known for its endurance building; carb-loading and such."

How I feel when someone mentions running

Also, I know good and well that I just need to get out there and sweat. But ugh. Sweating. I hate it so. Almost as much as I hate running.

Sam's major milestone and I'm gonna have to make a lifestyle change (or get really good at hiding)

Since Steve switched over to a new battalion recently, we had the honor of being one of the farewells at his old battalion's most recent hail and farewell. It was supposed to take place last Friday. No one could be bothered to tell us that it got rescheduled for this Friday. (Yes, I have many words... but won't share them here.) We arrived (late) yesterday evening to the always classy and kid-friendly Buffalo Wild Wings. Steve received his plaque and I got a rose, which Sam then used to beat the ground/my leg/Molly's carseat with. Also, during some of the other hails, Sam started chewing on my straw. The child is still clueless as to how to suck anything out of a straw (this might explain some of our breastfeeding issues?), so I always let him chew on my straw no matter what is in the cup (although, for the record, I had a cup of water last night). But lo and behold, I felt something cold touch my fingers and Sam was DRINKING WATER FROM A STRAW!!!! Miracle of miracles, I wanted to stop the speech and announce this to everyone.

The huge upside to this major milestone is that there is no more pressure for me to remember his sippy cup whenever we go out. The gigantic might-almost-outweigh-this-little-milestone downside to him learning this is that he is now going to demand we share whatever we're drinking, which, in my case, is usually Coke Zero. And I do not want my child drinking Coke Zero. So I guess I will have to start getting water when we go out so as not to create an unhealthy influence on my child. Do kids under two years old understand the phrase "do as I say and not as I do"?

Molly slept for most of the evening, despite the weirdies that wanted to keep touching her feet and commenting on how gigantic she is.

Guarding her milk like her life depends on it (and it does).

This is how I looked at them when they touched my sleeping baby.

After arriving home, everyone became partially-dressed in a matter of minutes. Sam drank so much water out of my straw that he was thoroughly soaked up his back and Molly was drenched too. So after everyone got changed/undressed, we went outside and played. Ok, Sam played. Molly watched in adoration and I guarded my straw like my life depended on it. (Was secretly drinking more Coke Zero.)

So there you have it. Twenty-two months old (today!) and he finally learned to drink out of a straw. I wanted to document that properly. Here on the internet, of course.

I swear he's just not steady on his feet

Poor Sam. He is such a "trial baby." I will readily admit that I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to parenting. I do what I think is best (obviously), but in the end, it has definitely come down to trial-and-error. The errors this week?

1. Falling off the bed = bloody nose (Lesson learned? No more monkeys jumping on the bed.)

2. Falling off a curb = bloody head (Lesson learned? Children cannot be trusted to do what I say, not even for two seconds.)

3. Waiting until "school season" to think about (and act on) signing Sam up for preschool. I don't know why it never occurred to me that parents would sign their kids up any sooner than August (ok, MAYBE late July). But after calling every preschool I deemed acceptable and finding out that they were booked like, AHAHAHA, MONTHS ago, I realized that I could just add it to my list of trial-and-error mom fails. When I was younger, my mom took my siblings and me to Mother's Day Out at a local Methodist church. So that is my vision of normal when it comes to a preschool setting. Being Catholic, I decided to call the Catholic church downtown first to see if they had any openings. I think I could hear the lady snicker on the other end as I explained that my son would be in the 1's class and were there any openings? Nope. They were booked in APRIL. You know, when registration started.

Next up? The Methodists. Booked, but I got on the wait-list. "Something might come available mid-year, maybe." I asked how far down on the wait-list I was. Ninth. Yeah, probably not happening at the Methodist church. (Called three other Methodist churches after that- same answer.)

Moving right along. Episcopalians. They don't even offer a preschool.

Finally, Baptists. I don't know why they are ranked last in my little ill-informed, no-research-done list of church preschools. My mom's family is Baptist and she was a Baptist herself until she converted after marrying my dad, but I just always think about going to church with my Baptist friends when I was younger and how MASSIVE and overwhelming Baptist churches always seemed to me with their mazes of hallways and classrooms. And everyone (over-generalization here) was very touchy-feely, which Sam is most definitely NOT (try to hug him, and you might experience the painful feeling that is your ear-drum shattering). So I just felt kinda "meh" about it. They took care of the issue for me and just never returned my call. I have a feeling that they are booked anyway, judging by their website and "curriculum."

After that, I was all "woe is me!" because I took so long to come around to the idea of preschool, and now that I'm finally on-board with it, I can't even find a place to send my child! Gah!

Enter Aggie. She has many Protestant friends with young kids and I begged her to ask them where they send their kids. She did, and told me about the Presbyterians. Gah! The Presbyterians! How could I have overlooked them in my search-based-solely-on-my-childhood-feelings-about-other-churches-I-may-have-only-visited-once?! I have never been to a Presbyterian church before (I think), but they seem traditional and good and OMG MUST CALL THEM AS SOON AS THE CLOCK STRIKES EIGHT AM! I called and found out that they had two openings left in the 1's class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. That was exactly what I wanted for Sam anyway, so I was all SIGN HIM UP! And God bless the Presbyterians!!!

We go for the open house in a couple weeks and that sounds Very Official. Like, we-must-bring-shot-records-and-allergy-lists-and-disposable-diapers-and-possibly-a-backpack official. Not gonna lie, y'all. I'm excited. Excited for Sam to have this structure for two days a week, having activities geared towards his age level, possibly making some new friends. Don't get me wrong, he always has a few playdates a week, but let's be honest. Playdates are for moms, right? (Right?) And I'm excited for ME because hello! One kid!!! For THREE HOURS!!! Errands will be so much faster and easier, and when we're not running errands I can just spend time giving Molly and her cheeks my undivided attention. So now you can all breathe a big collective sigh of relief for me. I will survive. The Presbyterians have come to my aid bearing finger paints and animal crackers and juice.

Side note: Y'all should really go visit Aggie's blog. She is AWESOME in-real-life, and just as hilarious on her blog, which is all design-y and fashionable and pretty. She has two boys that are the same age as Sam and Molly and I honestly wish we lived next-door to them so we could hang out more than once a week. But go make friends with her. Seriously. 

The whine that broke the mommy's back

What's a SAHM to do when she needs a break from her whiny needy poopy sweet children? First, she raids her secret stash of dark chocolate. (And in order to call it a successful raid, the stash must be completely. wiped. out. So... mission accomplished.)

Next? Research mother's morning out and any and all available child-related activities where it is acceptable to drop my child/children off and GO. I don't have grand plans to wile away many peaceful hours sitting in a Starbucks, drinking cappuccinos and reading Hemingway.  I will be happy to sit in my car and eat an egg Mcmuffin, so long as I can be guaranteed to hear nothing but my own thoughts. No whining, no crying (unless I feel moved to do so myself, and let's be honest, if I get some peace and quiet, there will be many tears of joy), no bodily functions occurring on me. I don't think this is asking too much. I have gotten to the point where I need some time. Some space. Some peace. Kerri once said, "I need some distance to make my heart grow fonder," and glory hallelujah if I don't agree.

Get ready kids! Time for you to become socialized!!!! YEEHAW!!!!

I'm calling some of you out at the end of this post.

If you follow me on twitter or instagram, you are well-informed of the saga that is my hair. In case you missed out, I went to get my hair cut at a salon the other day, by a lady who "specializes" in curly hair. I had the highest of hopes. She asked whether I would like it styled straight or curly. Having never been to anyone before who even pretended to know what to do with curly hair, I asked for it to be styled curly. And this was the end result.

As she kept telling me that this was "so so cute," I started wondering whether I was just.... not with it enough to recognize cute when I saw it? But many of you confirmed that in fact, this is not cute. This is a hot mess. My mother (always the first one I complain to, always the first one to offer rays of sunshine) reminded me that it was not as bad as "that one time in high school when a "stylist" blew it out straight" for me. My hair looks awful every time I come out of a salon so I cannot remember specific horrible experiences, but THANK YOU MOM for reminding me that I have looked worse. I reminded her that that was 50lbs ago, and it's easier to deal with bad hair when you're skinny. She countered with "you are healthy, have beautiful babies, a handsome husband..." I struck back with, "I live in HELL and my cute dog smells like ass." Then she called me and I had to own up to the fact that I was being dramatic. For reference, this is what my hair looks like now.

A little frizzy and frazzled at the end of the day, but Molly seems to like it, judging by her near-constant death grips on it.

LOOK AT THE CHUB CAN SHE GET ANY CUTER?! Also, she does own clothes, she just never happens to be wearing any when I take my camera out.

My parents came to town this past weekend to visit and to take my sister back home since school starts up soon. I love having them around. Always funny stories, good food, and hands that are looking to hold or play with a child.

Sam was already in bed during that particular "photo shoot." But the next morning, he was back to work, demonstrating to his adoring fans the fine art of properly separating shapes.

Molly watches with anticipation. "When is he going to pull some milk outta that box? Isn't that what we're all waiting on?"

I also made this monstrosity.

Back home in Alabama, my dad's shop caters to BOTH teams (I know, the things people do to make money), so I made him a little decoration to hang some tshirts from. Fear not, I'm making an Auburn one too. AND IT WILL BE BIGGER AND BETTER WAR EAGLE!

Why won't they come live with me? Are those cheeks not sweet enough? (Rhetorical question. Those cheeks ARE sweet enough. Too sweet, actually. Sweet enough to give you the die-uh-beetus if you kiss them too much.)

Yes, this is as happy as Sam can muster on-demand while sharing the spotlight with his sister.

He much prefers some one-on-one time with Pops.

And then, after these photos, they packed up and left us. (I don't know why they would do that either.) So now we're back to the usual: pumping, feeding, errands, diapers, laundry, dishes, timeouts, playdates, cooking, sweating. (Ok, to be fair, the sweating never stopped.)

Now that it is almost the weekend, and I am done recapping LAST weekend, I need to ask y'all a favor. More than anything, I love when y'all leave me comments and let me know what you thought about what I've written. I try to respond to every! single! comment! Seriously, I do. But if you're wondering why I haven't responded to your comment (I know you all sit on the edge of your seats, checking your email, waiting for me to respond...), it's because you don't have your email address set up for me to reply to. Stupidly, I reply to every comment, even the ones that say I'm emailing noreply-comment@blogger.com, but I would much rather respond to YOU! Repeat offenders being:

Ruthie
Kerri
Stephanie
Aggie

I'm sure there are more of you out there, but those are just the most recent comments I've tried replying to. Also, Kerri, I am flattered you think I look like that Olympic swimmer. I wish that was the reason I haven't been blogging much lately. I also wish I had an Olympic swimmer's body. Amen.