Garden Goodness

Kids and gardens and me just all go together. 
I love my kids.  I love my garden.  It's our favorite place to be.
I think Kole and Joey love it because they are free to eat whatever they want.
Their fingers, mouths, and spots they've touched on their bellies are constantly stained from fresh strawberry juice.  They also pick carrots out of the ground and eat those. 
Which is slightly less cool because it's basically eating a mud stick.  They don't even brush them off.  Yee-uck.
But picking beans off the vines and munching fresh raspberries and snap peas with my two little cubs- makes my life unbeatable. 

The boys light up when I say, "Let's go work in the garden!"  Of course, their idea of working in the garden is inspecting each plant, digging in the dirt for bugs, and eating what they consider to be ripe.  Poor Joey has eaten a lot of white strawberries this year.  But, he does so with a smile, and always says, "MMmm!  Love it!"

When the plants were just perking up. Circa mid to end of July.

 

When the boys checked on the potato plants they stuck their heads clear inside.  Very very thorough.

These gals are still cluckin' around.  And I've eaten a lifetime's share of omelets, egg salad sandwiches, and quiche.

After a hard days work- you gotta cool off in the kiddie pool and then get right back to tractorin'.  According to Joey.

It's a happy wonderful life at Crooked Row Farm.

Funny at the Literal Meaning

Two things have gone through my head that have made me laugh aloud at myself.  And my clever, coy style.  They are only funny when taken at their most literal meaning.

1.  "No way, Jose."  When I'm talking to Joey.

2.  I put up with so much Sh!t from these two.  Literal.  Come oooon. 

In other funny news, yesterday Joey bit Kole on the back.  Jaws style.  While I felt bad... as a member of the Maternal Justice League Kole really had this coming.  He gets about 45 cheap shots in on Joey for every one that Joey can reciprocate.  Kole was screaming and crying and I was cuddling him to make him feel better. (And make myself feel better for letting it happen.  I didn't sic Joey on him--- but I did loosen the leash quite a bit.)
Kole asked if he had "a bleed."  I checked.  He did.  I told him.  He cried harder.  After a few seconds he wailed, "This is what happened to Jesus!  They hurt his back and hung him on the cross!"
While I admire his biblical knowledge.... that's a tad dramatic there, Koler.  Your little brother bit your back.  No one is crucifying you.

A Mom Smell

If there's one thing I pride myself on as a mother...
Hold up yo.

There's a list 10 miles long of things I pride myself on as a mother.  Let's put a few in the display case 'ere:

1. Killer dance parties.  I teach them all the right moves. (They're as excited for a little Blurred Lines or Daft Punk as they are for Bob the Builder.)
2. I do Mommy Snuggle Time RIGHT!  Blankets.  Cookies.  Dim Lighting.  Stack of books.  BOOM.
3.  They know who Frank Sinatra is.
4.  I know how to naturally drug them to sleep: Play outside (when it's chilly), Big Hot Lunch, Bubble Bath
5.  I do voices for everyone in their books.
6.  We talk about Christmas everyday.
7.  We've had Family Home Evening every Monday the last 5 weeks.  Holla! And they've improved from our first shot at it.
8.  Kole is officially potty trained.  Even at night.  Take THAT last 6 months of cleaning poop!
9.  I know the characters from Thomas the Tank Engine.  Like know know them.
10.  I taught Joey how to growl like a bear.
11. I taught Joey how to say "Beep!  Beep!"  (He can't say Mom or Dad but he can say 'Beep! Beep!' when we are in his way.)
12.  I've rigged a contraption so Kole can ride his tractor and pull Joey along on his own tractor.
13.  I can build train tracks like you've never seen.  (I want to start photographing them and make a coffee table book.  Yeah.  That good.)
14.  I get in the pool with them.
15.  I know what all of Joey's cries mean and I know that making a sound like that of passing gas will make him stop crying.
16.  I'm a Love and Logic Master.  (and so is Koley.)


But if I had to choose one above allllll the others it would be my ability to not yell when I am mad.

Having a 3 year old and a 1 year old is frustrating.  And to all you mudders who are past this phase- who will tell me that they're precious and lovely and they'll grow up too fast and savor every second and they're God's children... let me say...

Yeah.
Thanks.
I got that.

But they also scream a lot.  And cry when there's too much sauce on their noodles. Or because the book ended.  Or because it stopped snowing.  And they hit each other.  And throw things (<-- socks, food, toys, drinks, trains, clothes, books, rocks, dirt, stuffed animals).  And they cry like 8 or 9 times an hour. Each.  So it's pretty constant since they switch off. And everything in life takes 40 times longer.  And they're sticky and hate getting cleaned up.  And...deep short sigh... enough.  It's a lot.

So- things are Ker-AAAA-zee with little guys this age and I do get frustrated des temps en temps.

Things That Frustrate Me The Most:
 1.  Being bad and laughing about it.
2.  Not understanding the give-take of Mom played outside all morning and came up with all these fun ideas and gave 100% of her attention to you, little cubbies, and now its nap time. And they don't take a stinking nap.
3.  When I get head bonked or bit.
4.  Fighting a diaper change.
5.  Crying because they're so hungry and then crying because they don't like what I cooked and then crying because someone got more and then not eating anything and having a messy kitchen.
6.  "No, You're not listening to ME! You're a dumb Mom!"
7.  When Kole asks a question (Why is it snowing?) and I give a truthful informative answer (Insert Full Water Cycle here.) and he says, "Actually, you're wrong.  It's snowing because Christmas is here."  Sure it's cute.  But I'm wrong. All. Thetime.  Even when I'm right.
8.  Getting punched and kicked and getting my hair pulled when I'm hauling Kole to his room for time-out.

But during these times of trouble I hone in on Cora from Downton and breathe deeply and nod slowly.  I call them "Darling" and "My Dear" and stroke their little hands and calm them down.  We quietly and peacefully work through the day.

Inside, or course, I'm Carmela from The Sopranos.  I'm swearing.  I'm throwing things through the window.  My forehead and neck are all vein-y.  My chest is tight.  I'm my head I'm making fists.  I'm throwing back a scotch. I'm filled with rage.

But I keep it in.  I grit my teeth and grind them until my jaw hurts.  I purse my lips white tight. My eyebrows are up and my neck is long.  And I am fuming mad.  But I take that angry ball of Carmela Anger and push it inside of me.  As far down as I need to so it doesn't come out.

 +

 =

 Now.  My psychology courses (and Life) have taught me that this isn't healthy.  One day, inevitably, it will all come out- on the wrong person.  Or the little people.  Supposedly.

But I have a different theory.

You see, at the end of the day, especially those "trying" days- I have a weird smell about me. It's way worse than B.O.  It smells funky and wild.  Kinda animal-ly  And I'm a clean person! I wear deodorant.  I brush my teeth. But nothing masks this wretched smell at the end of my day.
I've taken notice of this smell for the past month.  And I've noticed that sometimes its just a normal, bad, stink smell.  When the day was just a normal, problem-here-and-there day.  But when the day was monstrous... the stink on me is also monstrous.  My hair is extra greasy.  And I have those radiation stink waves coming off of me.  I can't breathe it's that strong and horrendous.  I reek. And the angrier I was during the day- the stinkier I am.

I think The Stink is how The Anger gets out. 

It's unbearable right after the kids fall asleep.  It's just..blech.  Icky.  And gross.  But, I shower, go to bed, and wake up fresh and new in the morning.  No anger is left.  It's not pent up.  It's gone.

I believe my anger is coming out through the pores in my skin in the form of The Stink.

I really put some time and thought into this and when I shared it with Ken he said:
You smell worse because you sweat more wrestling the kids.

*blushing*

I mean... logically... that makes sense.
But...

Joey is One

July 23, 2012
You came July 2, 2012 at 8:27 AM.  You weighed 8 pounds and 9 oz.  You were 21 inches long.  And guess what?  You have LOTS of dark hair!  Like ME!  That made me so happy.  When you came out you were screeching like a man old alley cat.  It made me and Dad laugh.  You have a mark on your forehead just like Koley had.  His looked like a flower.  Yours looks like a butterfly.  What manly boys!  You are such a sweet baby.  You have big eyes and you love to watch us.  Oh!  And you eat like a pirate.  You're ALWAYS hungry!  You like to sleep sitting up.  Like PapPap "watching sports."  So you sleep in your bouncy chair most nights.  You get really smiley after meals.  And- of course- since you're a Poulsen like us... you love to snuggle.  You're very beautiful.  You're my best boy. 
Love, Mom

All that schmoopey doopey dewey-eyed mommy baby stuff didn't last.  Joey cried.  A lot.  Which made me cry.  A lot.

Recaps:
Am I sad or do I need a snack?
A Note to Joey
I decided to take control.
After 3 months... things worked out for the better.

And now... my little cubber is one.
He's still a little baby.  And he still needs me.  Which warms my heart. 
But now... gets to eat cupcakes and drink milk.

Salute!

The Mom Bomb Part 1

I've been a total bomb with my kids lately.  I wish I was a "bomb" in that ultra-cool way where, you know, you have donuts for breakfast or you let them watch back to back Thomas the Tank Engine episodes.  And you're kids clap and cheer and say, "You're the bomb, Mom!"  I think "the bomb" ran parallel to being "a bag of chips."


But I'm not the bomb in that way.

Because, we're not in the 90s anymore. 

Bomb #1

I've taken it upon myself as the matriarch to induce a little spirituality via Family Home Evening into my home.  Growing up Bradley... puts an enormously high standard on FHE.  The meetings are meetings of The Church.  With a program, a podium, and assignments to be taken very seriously.  So I wasn't about to shirk my mantle and say "We'll just spend 15 minutes together chatting on the couch."  Eh-uh.  I would conduct the meeting, there would be a review of the calendar for the week, singing time, a lesson, and refreshments.  While the kiddos were napping I went online and got a lesson out of the Nursery manual.  On Prayer.  I made visual aids, highlighted main points, tabbed my scriptures, and typed out a rough... oh who am I kidding... extremely detailed outline. I was pumped.  I was ready.  And so so excited to start this.

I made dinner that night too so there would be no dilly dallying when Ken got home.  Dinner.  FHE.  That whip was getting cracked.  By me. To me.

Interjection:  My children are 2 and 11 months.

Dinner went well and I corralled everyone into the living room.  Where they sat... on the floor.  Bad move boys.

Patty:  Hey!  This is a meeting.  Get on the couch.  Sit up, you lazies.
Ken: Patty.  They're kids.  This is good.

I felt uneasy.  But talked myself out of it.  Come on, babe.  It's their first time.  They don't know.  They can sit on the floor.  No biggie.

The night continued.  I stood at the front of the room and with a big smile on my face said:

I'd like to welcome everyone out to Family Home Evening.  I'm Mom, and I'll be conducting.  We're going to start with an opening prayer.  (kicking myself for not assigning someone) Can I get a volunteer for the opening prayer?

No hands.  Not one.  Not.  Even.  Ken.
He was just trying not to laugh at me.

I will not be defeated!
"I'll say it," I said as I thought of maybe turning around or something to make it seem like a different person.  But just awkwardly stumbled around and then shook my head and started the prayer.  Which Kole talked through. 

After the prayer I moved onto calendar review.  I expected it to take a little longer.  In the Bradley Home it was at least 20 minutes.  House rule was:  "If it's not on the calendar it's not happening."  So!  I took out my calendar and started in:

"Okaaaay.  This week... tss tsss tsss.... I have... Story time at 10: 30 at the library.  Ken?"
"I'm going to work everyday."
"Nothing else?"
"Nope.  Nothing else."
"Because if it's not on the calendar now, it's not happening."
He kinda stared me down after that.

Calendar wrapped up in 30 seconds.  I was starting to sweat a little.  I sweat more than other humans naturally but I was getting like beady around my face.  This meeting was really zooming.  And not in a "It is so good you don't even realize time is passing" way.  In the other... way.

Singing time was such an embarrassment.  I planned 3 songs.  All ones that Kole (and presumably Ken) knew.  "Popcorn Popping," "Once There Was a Snowman," and "I Am a Child of God."  No one volunteered to conduct the music so I suggested they just try following the natural rhythm of the music as I made my way over to the piano.
I sat down.  Got to the pre-tabbed page.  Played the intro.  Paused to cue the song beginning and played my heart out for one whole line before realizing I was putting on a real one man show.
A comedy act, apparently.
I kept my spirits up through "Popcorn Popping" but they fizzled significantly when "Once There Was a Snowman" turned into a dance party.  I tried taking the room down a level with "I Am A  Child of God" but Kole was just running around the couch as many times as he could by then and Ken was throwing Joey up in the air trying to make him laugh.

Welcome, Holy Spirit.  To my home.

My well-planned lesson got cut from 10-15 minutes to 2.
No one (again... not even Ken) answered my questions.  And they were eeeeeeasy.
Like what do you say at the beginning of a prayer?

Blank.  Stares.

I answered all my own questions with a big, cheery grin on my face.  I took out my visual aids at the appropriate time, but Joey snagged them and started chewing on them.  I planned to do some prayer role playing but when I knelt down in demonstration Kole jumped on my back and yelled, "Piggyback!"
Here's the real kicker (in case you thought it was way back at the calendar planning):  The lesson suggested ending with a song "Pray in Faith." Aaaaand, you know me.

I begin by saying Dear Heav-en-ly Father
Ken started smiling.  Joey starts crying.  Koley stares at me.
I thank him for blessings he seeeeeends
Ken's eyebrows are way way up.  My voice is getting the pre-cry shakes.  Joey is full on crying now.
Then humbly I ask him.... Kole tells me this song is a bad one.  Ken starts laughing.  Joey is red in the face crying.
for things that I need.  InthenameofJesusChristAw-men.

I thanked everyone for coming.  Said the closing prayer.  And made sure I blessed the stinkin' refreshments.

Andi, Me, Julie.  The reaction I was hoping for.

Pretty close to the reaction I got.  Certainly felt if not expressed.

Mom Bomb.

There's more instances like this one.  I'm finding I kinda excel at this.  Mom Bomb Part #2 tomorrow.

The Boys Flourished!

Right before we left.  Kole was running around telling us to "Get Out of Here!"
GLADLY.

Koley:  Hey!  We made cookies last night, Grandma.
Grandma Ginger:  Um...no we didn't.
Koley:  Oh!  Then we better make some now!

And then they made peanut butter oatmeal cookies.  The kid can play a card.

Grandma Ginger was explaining to Kole that she is my mom.  "Patty is my daughter.  I'm her Mom.  And now she's your Mom.  But first she was my daughter."  Apparently, Kole took at her with disbelief and then said:
"Yeah.  I had a daughter, too.  But she died."

So many shockers in that sentence. 

Joey wouldn't drink a bottle the whole time we were away.  But he didn't go hungry....

And Kole didn't cry the whole time we were gone.  But he got a little "defensive" on Thursday.  Telling my mom that this is his house and she should leave so Mom and Daddy can come home again.  Mom said he kept giving her a hard time and telling her to leave so she suggested they all go to the store and get a treat!  Good move, Grandma!  Kole of course loved this idea and yelled, "Yeah!  Let's go the gas station and get Cow Tales!" 

He gives away all my secrets. 

I loved that every time I called (twice a day) no one was crying.  No one was screaming.  Every one was giggling!  That made vacation more vacation-y. And my Mom kept telling me, "It's a vacation for them too."

Kole got a lesson in pic-a-nic-ing.  Aaaaand wants to have one everyday now.
Me too. I guess.

Popsicle WHILE riding his horse.  Talk about a perfect day.

Aside from absolutely no worrying, the best part was coming home and my house was super clean.  The dishwasher was empty and there were no dishes in the sink.  That... has not happened in my married life.  Then I kept finding little surprises around the house.  Our bed was fixed really well and the covers were tucked in so tight...  I love that.   A couple cans of fruit cocktail (which I la-HOVE) were in the cupboard.  I'd open a drawer in the kitchen and it would be all organized.  There were plug protectors where they hadn't been before.  Where they needed to be.  My shower drained super fast because mom took the drain off and cleared all my hair out of it.  Anytime I opened something up I was like, "Oh!  Mom did that!  Wow!"

And!  Best part.  There was a candy bar in my nightstand drawer.

O is for Obviously

 Very obviously blessed these days.
Strong boys.
Strong willed, bodied, and spirited.
Strong singing voices too.

They are happy.
Happy hearts, minds, and faces.
Super happy at cookie time.

They love to cuddle.
Cuddle me,  Ken, or one another.
Really love blanket cuddle time with all stuffed animals in attendance.

I'm blessed.
And it's obvious.

J Is For Joey. Poor Second-hand Joey.

Because Joey was not only my second child but my second son he's got a lot second hand.  Typical mom move.  Joey doesn't know anyway.
But as the last nine months have passed, I think Joey has gotten about 9 new outfits.  All the rest have been Koley hand me downs.  He's using Koley's old crib, drinking from Koley's old bottles, and bathing in Koley's old baby tub.  Joey bounces in Koley's old blue horse, get his diaper changed on Koley's old changing table, and takes walks with me in Koley's old stroller.
Sometimes I think Joey even gets second-hand parenting.  First class... but second hand.  Like with Kole I was so strict about bed time and naps and the duration thereof.  There was a strict schedule and there was no wavering.  When it was time for Koley to sleep through the night.... I quit going in there.  Kole never had anything sweet or sugary until he tasted cake on his first birthday... and then there was that 12 months in between his 1st and 2nd birthday that was pretty void of sweets also.  Wert.
With Joey... eh!  I nibble off a piece of my Oreo for him here and there.  I'll let him take a bite of cheese even though he's not one.  I'll take him out of his crib and let him watch The Wonder Years with me if he's gonna cry about.  It's a looser ship.  And when Ken gives me a sideways look that says Abnormal Patty Parenting Happening, I raise my fake glass and say with a smile, "It's 5:00 somewhere!"  Cheers!
With the parenting Joey has kinda lucked out with the second-hand stuff... but in all other ways... he seriously gets the shaft.  For instance:
If Kole takes something from Joe he has to replace it with something else.  If Kole takes a train from Joey he should give him another one.  I thought this was working pretty well.  I'd always hear Joey cry and then Kole chirp, "Here you go!" and the crying would stop.  So I figured all was well.  But Monday I heard Joey cry, looked in on the situation, saw Koley had taken a light up toy that played music from Joey.  I said, "Hey.  What do you need to do now?"  Koley, ne'er missing a beat, chirped, "Here you go, Joe!"  and threw a sock in Joey's general direction.  A sock.  Not a comparable toy.  Not a toy at all!  A sock that Ken took off after work and tucked under the couch.  Here you go Joey!  Sorry you were born second.  Sucks for you!
Yesterday, I saw Joey's tide had the opportunity to change.  He had outgrown Koley's old carrier car seat and it was time for his very own new one.  Mint condition.  Never before used.  Complete with leather trim and cup holder.  All his own to carry him through 3 levels of automobile safety.  During nap time I hauled it out to the Subaru and started reading through the Installation directions.  In case you've never had a modern day car seat... there's a reason it's called Installation.  It's a process.  And a bear.
As I read the new manual I found out Joey's seat can not be used as a rear-facing.  Only forward.  And all children under one have to be rear-facing. Sad turn of events.  My arms dropped, my heart dropped, and my head dropped... to see Koley's old stained car seat strapped into the car.  It was covered with Goldfish crumbs and mud from Kole's shoes.  It was wet from where he spilled his water that morning on the way to the store.  It just looked beat up.  But- it could face backwards. It took an hour and a half but I got both car seats in, attached, and facing the right way.
Koley, us usual, got something new and shiny and never before used.
And Joey got a worn out piece of Koley memorabelia.
But on the positive side, I kept Joey's streak of second-hand hand me downs in tact.
Go Joey!

Here's Joseph sporting Kole's old Boise State sleeper.

Last Year's A to Z:  J Is For Justified.  I was entering my third trimester of pregnancy and had some happy and unhappy things to say about it.

E is for Every Time

Today.  Well recently.  The last 2 years and 9 months it has seemed like every time I have something planned or something I need to do... the kids interfere or find a way to meddle.  Every thing.  Every time.

Say we have to get to church at 9:00 AM.  I purposely set the clock for a half hour before they get up so I can shower and start getting ready before they are up and at 'em.  But, wouldn't you know it, they both wake up early that day.  So it's all the regular frenetics just an extra half hour of it.
Say one of them has a doctor appointment.  We're all set to leave on time, everyone is strapped into their car seat, and.... hmm.  Suddenly it's very smelly.  And Kole is smiling.  I change him in the trunk so we don't have to go back inside and as soon as he's strapped in again- Joey is giggling.  And smelly.  Every time.
Say I get a Redbox and plan for an evening in with a special snack and a horrible romantic comedy (because really the worse those are... the better they seem).  I get dinner and baths done a little early, put them into bed, take a long shower, slip into my Soma jammas, set up the movie, turn off the lights... and as soon as the previews are over... Kole is knocking on his door needing something.  Anything!  Anything he can think of.  Fresh water, another train engine in bed, different pajamas.  After settling him (and myself) down I head back to the movie.  Push play and....Joey is crying.  Every time.
Say I have plans to meet a friend... one of them will be sick.  Every time.
Say I finished cleaning the kitchen... there will be an unexpected spill/sticky mess/mud exhibit.  Every time.
Say I am making an important phone call... someone will get hurt and scream.  Every time.
Say I get dressed and do my hair and get everyone's shoes on to go to the store... Joey will puke on me.  Right on my head.  Gross and smelly and warm in my hair.  Every time.
Say I want to go to the bathroom... there will be little attendees in there with questions and questions and questions.  Every time.
Say I buy a Coke... it gets spilled... or shaken.  And then spilled.   Every time. 
Say I want to _________.  The kids will  interfere, spoil, or wreck.

I know they're cute.
But you can save all your "You're gonna miss this" and "they are blessings" and "have patience" comments today.  I'm mopey and frustrated and deprived of personal time.  I'd rather just have a commiseration party. 

Last year's A to Z: E is for Everything As It Should Be.  I was apparently also in a grouchy mood this day one year ago.  Yoiks.

Joey's Veggie Tales

Joey has Cradle Cap.  Which I often call Cradle Crap on accident.  It's a tongue twister in my book.  The name Cradle Crap makes more sense.  It's crappy that there is no reason for it.  It's crappy there is no real cure for it.  It looks crappy.  And makes me feel like a crappy mom when people look at Joey's head and then give me one of those squinty eyes head shaking looks.  That say, "Give that poor urchin a bath.  Scrub his poor peeling head."
I do!, I plead, It doesn't go away!  Nothing makes it go away!  Cast your looks elsewhere!

This is the Wikipedia's baby.  He has Cradle Cap too.

 It doesn't cause any pain or discomfort.  It just looks snake-y.  And not in a cool Slytherin way.  (Who am I kidding? Slytherin isn't cool, you Death Eater.)  When Joe had his 6 month check up the doctor said he heard a wives tale that you could rub oil on it and let it soak for a half hour and then it would be gone.  When I asked what kind of oil, I expected to hear something like Patchouli Oil imported from Egypt.  But he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Baby oil?"
Yeah.  Duh, Patty.  Baby oil.  That makes sense.  And it's like $1.50 at Walgreens.
However, Joey's appointment was over a month ago and I still haven't committed that $1.50 to help his head.  So, I got it in my head that if Baby Oil would work... wouldn't any oil?
Wouldn't Vegetable Oil?
Wouldn't Wesson's 100% Natural Best Blend A Blend of Pure Vegetable & Canola Oils ?

I had that in the cupboard.  Couldn't hurt.  Right?
I convinced Ken to rub it onto Joey's little head.  Joey just smiled and smiled.  Like all puppies, Joey likes getting his head rubbed.
We let it soak in for 30 minutes and then threw him in the tub.
And....

Healed.
Plus... his hair is super soft and shiny now.  I'm thinking I might bring the Wesson bottle in the shower with me and see what happens.  Couldn't hurt.  Right?

Teeth!

Joey has 2 teeth coming up on the bottom.
Ken found them on Sunday.

I said I felt like a negligent, unobservant, inattentive, and careless mother.
Ken said he felt like Christopher Columbus.

Yes, really.  Christopher Columbus discovered the New World and Ken discovered Joey's baby teeth.  I see the similarities.

No I don't.

Ever since those little tooth buds have popped up Joey's been wanting porterhouse steaks, prime rib, whole apples, caramel taffy, beef jerky, bacon & blue cheese burgers, kielbasa, hard shell tacos, licorice, corn on the cob, hot wings, fried won tons, duck a l'orange, sausage and peppers, Skittles, a nice BLT,....

... he's settling for carrot sticks and pepper slices.  I slide him a graham cracker when I'm feeling generous.  But he'll shake his bottle at me and yell gibberish that I translate to mean, "This food stinks!  Where's the good stuff, lady!"

 

Somedays are just good.

Today while I was effortlessly feeding and dressing the cubbies, I realized "I can do this!"  I said it in an upbeat and manifesto type voice.  (Yeah.  Out loud.  There was a 2 year old and a baby present... talking to yourself out loud is productive.  Not cray cray.)  It's taken just over 7 months but I am in the swing of having 2 kids.  My next thought was "I AM doing this!"  So much for can!  I'm there!  In it to win it, bay-bee!
And then I cocked my head and looked way out on the horizon and thought These two are alright.

Moms complain more about their jobs than any one else.  You never hear a receptionist, or a waitress, or an engineer, or the president go on and on and on and on about how much their job stinks and how much it wears them out.  But ask a mom and she will let you know exactly how bad she's got it.  And I am capital "G" guilty.  I think it might be because Mom's can't get fired.  But is that because they are the boss?  Or is it because the boss is 7 months old and can't speak?  Hmmm.  Are Moms employees or employers? For me?  It depends on the time of day.  First thing in the morning, I am very much the boss.  I make Koley call me Sarge.  Sometimes he cheats and just calls me Mom.  We are on a timed schedule.  Everything is chip chop "this" and scrub the decks "that" and mind your p's and q's.  But... when we roll to around 5:00 pm.  It's all pretty loosey goosey and the kids can have their way with the house.  And rules.  And snacks.  (Just kidding on the snack part, Ken!)  If the topic is "Complain About Your Kids" I might take a while to chime in... but when I do... prepare for a concerto.

This is wrong.

So!

Kole is so stinking tender hearted.  I yelled at him.  Bad!  Last week and he didn't even react.  He just said, "Oh mom.  You're upset.  Come get a snuggle."  I hope he learned that from me!  And he's been a member of The Clean Plate Club at dinner more nights than I have lately.  He was eating broccoli a couple nights ago and saw I hadn't really eaten much of mine and said, "Try it, Mom.  It's not so bad!  It's kinda... good!"  He loves our daily craft time.  I lucked out there.  He doesn't even care if the craft is dumb.  Or unplanned.  Today I got construction paper and drew on it with a glue stick then poured glitter on top.  Wow.  Was he impressed.  So easy to make him happy.  But my very favorite thing about Koley-Q is that he is my cheerleader.  If I am doing dishes he'll pop his head in and say, "You're a hard worker, Mom!"  If I'm putting the vacuum away he'll say, "WOW!  That's better!  Good job, Mom!"   He's just a gem.

And my little Joey.  2 days ago Joey figured out that he can roll as a form of transportation.  Not just for exercise.  And it seems he finally considers himself part of the clan.  Now, when I walk to my room to get the next load of laundry and Koley-Bubby is following me... Joey sets off with a determined roll.  He struggles around corners.  But bless his heart for wanting to be close.  Joey also is a good eater.  No.  Joey is an over-eater.  Which the pediatrician said is okay and will fade.  No signs of that yet.  He eats four jars of baby food any time he sits in his high chair.  And then he wants a couple graham crackers and a 9 oz. bottle to slam it all down.  Porker.  Joey loves to get his head rubbed.  And he loves it if you sniff around his ears like a dog would.  Can't say I remember how I figured that one out.  Joey's best traits:  patient and long-suffering.  Typical little brother stuff I think... and hope. 

They are good good boys.  They are a lot of work.  But today I see it as enjoyable. 

The Three Month Columnist

Hi.  It's Joey.  Being a full 3 months of age now I feel it necessary (not to mention needed) to clear my name.  That tenderest of tender names that my dearest mother has apparently pulled through the stinky, slimy mud.
I am a good baby.
Somewhere in the last 90 days I've gotten a bad rap.  Unjustly, may I add.  May I remind you that it takes time to adjust to being alive.  It takes time to adjust to all the lights and noise and weird feelings going on.  It takes time to figure out how to make that old mom-bee happy.  Apparently she likes a quiet baby who sleeps all the time.  Well excuuuuuuuse me for breathing!  I am doing my absolute best here.
As proof of my hard work and sincerity in the endeavor of my life I would like to point out that I now have a fairly regular bed time.  6:00.  In the PM. I retire.  That's right.  I am tired at 6 and wish to go to bed.  And I go down without a fight.  Normally without even a slight whimper.  It just feels good to be in my crib in a dark quiet room (without that "Koley" running amok... who is that guy?) I then sleep until at least 1:30 occasionally as late as 3.  Then, and only then, do I politely ask for a little food.  And I mean little.  I'm not trying to step on anyone's toes here.  I don't need you to open the kitchen or call the Ritz.  Just a night cap.  Who doesn't like a night cap? Amiright?
After, I fall right back to sleep and I sleep until 7.  Now.  Deep down I wish mom would come get me and cuddle me right at 7 when I start my bearish grumblings.  But I understand the lady needs rest (selfish broad).  I try my darndest to keep it down... but once the engine is running... I just gotta rev it.  Force of habit I suppose.
I am happy when I am awake.
Aunt Julie may attest otherwise as I had an off day when she was here yesterday.  But, generally, I like to laugh.  Deep, hearty belly laughs.  Especially if you bite my belly or tickle my ribs or sniff really fast around my neck or rub my head.  I love getting my head rubbed.  Sometimes, when mom is changing my outfit I get the giggles just from the shirt popping over my head.  It cracks me up.  You know... if you even just talk to me... chances are I'll give you a courtesy laugh. Yeah.  I'm that good of a guy.
My resume of skills consists of:
Scooting backwards to rub all the hair off the back of my head.
Swatting those dangle-y bugs that light up and sing on my bouncy chair.  They never shush up.
Holding mom's hand.  I'd hold your hand if you came to see me.
Splashing in the tubber.
Rolling over.  (I've done it 4 times.  It's WILD!)
Sitting up on my own.  (not really... but it sounds good, huh?)
I'm a good, good baby.
I like being in my family.
I'm a little wary of the "Koley"  but I can see his heart is good and big.
Please don't believe all the hog-wash my mom puts on here.
She's always telling some sob story or another.
But, dang it, I love her anyway.

Not a Good Week To Be My Kid

Before I started laying down the hard law on these 2 kiddos.... they had a couple... accidents.
As if the confidence I had in my Motherhood wasn't dwindling enough right?

First.  Joey.
I was carrying him downstairs to make breakfast and I fell.
Down 5 steps. 
I was on my back and sliding and the baby came with me.
I swore (The "S"-word.) as I saw and heard Joey's neck bounce off his arm pit.
I was pretty sure I killed him.
He cried for like... an hour.
Nothing was injured.  I checked over and over and over again.  I didn't even take him in.
He was just really shaken up.
I got a couple bruises on my legs and back and right forearm.

Second.  Kole.
I was in his room nursing Joey. 
Kole was turning his fan on and off.
I tried getting him to play with something else.
Not working.
Then he unplugged his fan.
Playing with outlets isn't something kids should do.
It's not something anyone should do.
I stuck a wet paperclip into a light switch once and it knocked me clear over!
So, obviously, I immediately told Kole to stop and I stood up to go over to him to make him stop.
Not quick enough.
He put the plug in his mouth...
.....and.....
ZAP!
Oh the tears.
He wasn't hurt.
He was shocked.
And shocked.
Shocked by his shocking.
Shocked by his shocking shocking.
That's kinda a funny word when you think about/look at it.
He kept holding up his fingers and looking at them.  As if he was surprised they were still there and looked normal.  Instead of black and shriveled.  Like Dumbledore's in Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince. 
I bet Kole's blood was just zooming through his veins.
He kept asking, "What happened?  What happened?"
I explained that he got shocked and that's what happens when you touch plugs.

And then a light dawned on me....
"You can also get shocked if you jump on the couch, or smack the baby, or don't listen to Mommy."
He looked at me with his eyes real big and nodded.  Knowingly.

You gotta look for that silver lining.

I'm Melting! Melting! Oh What a World. What a world....

Started Friday night.
Joey went to bed at his normal time.  After Arsenio Hall was over.
An hour later he was up.  Wanting to watch infomercials.
We don't have cable... or an antenna... but
3 hours later he was still up.  And screaming.  Screaming himself into rigamortis.
I propped myself up with pillows on the couch so I wouldn't drop him when his cries became my lullabies and I would fall asleep.
Around 4 AM I noticed between his wicked cries there was coughing.
Once the rest of the world woke up I called the pediatricians office and in we went.
On a Saturday.
The doctor made me feel like an idiot.
It was the "on-call" doctor not our normal guy.
Some of her ringers:
"Don't you have other kids that have been sick before?"
"He hasn't even had these symptoms for 24 hours yet?"
"Apparently, you've never heard of the common cold."
I wanted to punch her in her big buck teeth.
I settled for Joey doing an explosive dookie on her exam table after she put a thermometer in his booty.
One point Team Poulsen.
The rest of Saturday was a daze.  A sleep deprived, snot infested daze.
I fell asleep at the bottom of the bed as I was changing Joey's diaper that night.
Sunday me and the baby skipped church.
Kole skipped his nap.
*Lightning Strikes.*
Never is there a good Koley after a nap is skipped.
All I heard was "No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  No."
In all different voices.  In every different pitch.  Occasionally with a toy thrown at me.  Always with tears.
I blamed it on the no nap.
Monday proved me wrong.
Kole took a nap and added smiles to all his "no's."
His aim was more accurate when he threw.  There was more force behind it.
At least he was smiling.
He tends to wait until I am nursing the baby to act out.
Like I've got a baby on me and he'll start jumping on the couch.  Or climbing on the piano.  Or hanging off the TV.
What can I do?
I'm basically stranded.
And he knows it.
Beyond that he seems to have found out that there is no consequence in this house for bad behavior.
Good behavior is well rewarded.
Bad Behavior... is....
... becoming more popular.
In a small attempt to feel in charge of something...
I did some rearranging in the house.
I wanted to do something to feel like the baby was taking over everything in the black lagoon.
So I moved the computer and desk down to the kitchen with the intention of moving the crib out of Kole's room and into my room.
Pros:
I can get work done (you know Facebook, blog-gawk, read Post Secret) while Kole eats breakfast or lunch.
And the baby will be 15 feet away from me at night instead of 18 inches.
Cons:
It ended horribly.
I only got as far as lugging all the computer wiry stuff down to the kitchen table.
I tried hooking it all up.
I couldn't get the Internet to work.
Neither could Ken.
We worked on it until 11.  Went through several customer service reps... who all told us to buy a new router.
Do they feel like failures when they can't solve a problem?
Or is that just me?
So after 2 trips to Walmart... we bought the stinking over-priced modem.
Ken bought some ice cream novelties on the last trip... because I had been sobbing for hours by this point.
Nothing seemed to be working.
Joey wasn't sleeping.
Kole wasn't listening to me.
I didn't feel like a good wife.
My grand DIY rearranging project was only half done.
The Internet went kaput-sy on me.
The good little girl from Kansas threw a bucket of water on me and I was certainly melting.
And then my mom called me. 

And I saw a rainbow.

Today...
I'm in control.
Joseph has started sleep training.  No more sleeping until noon and expecting me to just pick up after you. You little pip squeak.
...
Well, I'll still pick up after you because you're practically paralyzed at this age... but I'm serious about the no more sleeping until noon.
And Kole?
You've got rules now.
No more hitting the baby.  Even if you're just pretending.
No more jumping on the couch, piano, bed, or stairs.
No more sneaking into Joey's bouncy chair.  You're going to break it.
No more fighting the diaper changing.  When you stink, I will change you.
No more whining, crying over nothing, and no more throwing yourself on the floor.
And!
You're gonna eat what the rest of us are eating for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  (The rest of us... being me.)
Your days of open menu have just ended.
I'm not a chef.
I'm not your best friend.
I'm not interested in your excuses.
I'm your mother.
If you break a rule, if you talk back, if you yell at me....
...No trucks.
I know.  Major pressure point.
You are not a grown up.  You're 2.
I'm the boss around here.

Good luck getting used to it little cubbies.
Just try and stay out of my way.  Just try!

A Note For My Joey

Little Joey....
There are so many things I love about you.  Starting with your name.  Joseph.  You were named after PapPap and your name suits you so well.  I like that there are lots of variations.  Joey, Joe Joe, Joe Schmoe, Jozeppi, Joseph B. Smurflin, Joe Cool.  We like calling you different versions of your beautifully stable name.
Next, I love your fuzzy ears.  You have black hair all along the outside (and a little on the inside) of your over sized ears.  Another reminder of PapPap.  Your hair is gorgeous by the way.  Thick.  Black.  So so soft.  Your brother was bald until he was one.  I've never been a "Bald is Beautiful" type of girl so your locks have completely entranced me.  I want to give you a faux hawk.  I think it would suit you.
I love that your legs are all bow-legged and bent funny.  You like to tuck your knees into your armpits when you snuggle.  You look like a little boulder when you do that.  Perfectly rock-shaped. 
I like that you are becoming musical when you are nursing.  Every gulp carries it's own little tune.  And when you finish you let out one long sigh.  Like you are saying, "Ahhhhhhhh.  That was good." And you wiggle your little butt in real tight.  You seem so happy.  And I know all those smiles you give me are supposedly gas... but I don't believe that.  I think you're truly happy.  It's a big smile too.  Complete with dimples. 
Something about your face is very cartoon-y to me.  You have big big eyes and a pouty nose and luscious lips (especially for a boy) and it's all squished onto your little head.  Just looking at you makes me smile.
I even love your super buttery poops.  And I don't mind the fact that I have to change your diaper 12-15 times a day.  If you could work on only peeing on me half of those times... that would be great. 
You are a beautiful baby.  I just sit and look at you all the time.  I've come to the conclusion that you're perfect.  In every way.
If you could just do me one favor:

QUIT ALL THE BLOODY CRYING!