My run.

I went for a run yesterday because kickboxing was closed (found that out after getting everyone ready and diving all the way in to find the parking lot empty...grrrr). So I ran outside instead and it was a better deal anyway. I got lots of vitamin D and I worked muscles I usually don't. I am pretty sore today.
I didn't have shoes so my mom let me borrow some of hers. I went on an old route, through Crissy Caughlin Park, to Idlewild and back. About five miles, but I might be stretching it. the reason I love it is because for a good while you're running right by the river, and listening to the sound of the running water makes me feel eighteen again, just like when I started running there.
I started running when I was dating Joey. He ran, you see. I sort of ran before, like around my block, but the first time I really ran anywhere longer than up my street and back was with him. In fact, I had my first kiss with Joey on a run. On my eighteenth birthday. I will be twenty seven on Thursday, which means that is my 9th first-kiss-with-Joey-anniversary too!
Anyway, back to my run. I saw a lot of runners and bikers. I think differently now that everything with B.D. has happened here, and maybe it's just because I am older too. When I see a male coming, I psyche myself up to totally be ready to rip his eyeballs out. I look around for other people so that I can scream my head off as I am kicking him where the sun don't shine. It puts a damper on the whole "nice, relaxing run by the river", but it is what it is. I have some cop grade spray I usually take with me, but I hadn't planned on this run so I didn't have it.
There was one guy these thoughts didn't go through my mind with though. He must of been eighty seven, at least, hair as white as snow. He was running. Slow, but running. I really didn't know whether to feel sorry for him or wish I could be like him. I settled on the latter. I mean, I run because I have my whole life in front of me and bathing suit season coming up, but why in the heck is he running? Whatever the reason, I want it. My knees where hurting but his must of felt like grinding gears. He's pretty much my hero.

A trip down Memory Lane...(I figured out how to work my camera).

For months I had this glitch with the whole camera/computer thing. That's the reason for the long absence of pictures here on the blog. But Joey helped me figure it out last night so I had to play catch-up. Noah is almost nine months old now. Craziness.
He's pulling himself up in his crib. It's pretty much the most awesome thing he's done so far. He's extremely proud of himself. When you walk into his room, he beams like he's just won a gold medal.
His hair for the longest time stuck. straight. up. It finally evolved into the nine-month comb over. Personally, I preferred the punk rockness of the spikes. Again, que sera, sera.
Buns! I still give Noah baths in the sink, even though he is way to big for it. He's starting to look like a man in a beer barrel, knees up to his cheeks. I think I am holding on as long as I can to his babyness. I think that's my problem. Also, Noah is a lot fatter than Ethan ever was. Especially in the upper thigh/behind area. Sorry, buddy, I tell him, but secretly I am kinda flattered he has some of my genes.
I love the look on Ethan's face here, so peaceful and grown up. As far as big brothers go, Ethan has been a champ.
See the hair? What I tell you.

I think Noah is really Santa Clause.

This one is old, but it's so dang perfect I had to put it on here. Look at those cheeks! Plus, I sort of have cleavage. Sort of. Ah, que sera sera.

Noah loves to bang his hands, on anything: the table, your face, his pants. It's like he gets so excited all he can do is bang bang bang. If he didn't have a huge smile on his face, you'd think he was angry, but he's not. He's so happy it's bubbling out of him. Also he has this incredible sparkle in his eyes, like he's a miniature Santa Clause.

Before Dinner.

Ethan came home today and told me we were going to have a "worship service." He then closed all the blinds in the whole house-"It has to be dark, mom."-and then got out his guitar and busted out, "How Great is Our God."
This was all pretty darn amusing and I smiled to myself as I made fried rice in the kitchen, listening, in the dark.
Then he came into the kitchen with his plastic microphone and said he was Louie and that I was his wife. "Lights, please. Someone get the lights." He went on with a mini sermon-" We worship God because He wants us to. Jesus died. He is our Saviour. My wife will tell you who he died with. Wife? Wife!"
What..what?? Oh right, right. That's me. "Um...I don't really know...a thief and some other guy."
"Yes, right. A thief and some other guy."
I listened like he was really teaching me something new, and he was: He is very aware of everything going on around him. He wants to be like certain people already. It's crazy.
When he first started with the whole play-worship-service business the first thought in my brain was Great. He's gonna be a Jesus dork.
I know, I know. It's horrible, seeing as I am the one who is taking him to church every Sunday. And I am, and almost everyone he knows is, a-hem, a Jesus dork. What do I expect? What do I want? Him to be make-believing he's Angus in AC/DC? Or even better, Axel Rose? Mercy, I am a horrible mother.
But by the end of the whole ordeal my heart broke and I was amazed and so proud of how brilliant he is. Every Jesus loving part of him.
I put Noah to bed tonight and he just cracked me up. I propped him up so that he was holding on the side rail and then we laughed at each other like we were drunk. Went like this: he laughs. Then I laugh. He laughs again. Then he starts to lean to one side, because he hasn't really figured out how to stand right, and we just keep laughing at each other until he loses it and falls completely over and the last thing I see are his jammy feet in the air, right above the crib bumper. Then he flips over like a fish and giggles like he can't stop. It's drop dead hilarious. You can't pay for better entertainment. We did it like five times.

Little Babies.

Tired today. It's all rainy and cloudy outside. I don't know if I like it or not but I know it's better than when it's freezing.
Today me and the little boys are going over to visit Adam. He was born on Tuesday, little darling. I haven't really seen his face yet because when we went to the hospital he was in the nursery and they don't do things like hold the baby up for you, even if that's what they show in the movies. The real nurses totally ignore you.
So all I saw was his profile, his right cheek round and swollen and his limbs bent and tucked like frog's legs. He had that white plastic bracelet on.
Then after work I went over to Heather's house, my best girl from growing up (we were like the three stooges, only there was just the two of us) to see her tiny twins. TWINS. Holy mother of God.
They were darling, quiet things all wrapped and burritoed in their blankets, but I know better. You know at three in the morning they are like miniature, wailing, starving aliens.
Holding them lowered my heart rate. I smelled their delicate breast milk breath. It was like holding two birdies, they were so beautiful.

Dates...at home.

On my way home from work today I looked up at Peavine Mountain and thought, if I didn't haven't children maybe Joey and I would hike up that mountain and have a picnic dinner.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HA!
Yea right. I am so ridiculous. It's like raining and freezing outside and we definitely WOULD NOT have hiked our behinds up that mountain, but I think ridiculous things like this sometimes.
Instead I came home and Joey had made a steak dinner with potatoes and salad and wine, and we ate together. Noah fell over on the laminate flooring and screamed for a couple of minutes and Ethan wanted juice right as we all finally sat down but it was home and it was good. What would life be like without them? I'll tell you what: it would be me WANTING them. That's what it would be.
I'm on my second glass of wine. We're having a date at home. Right now I'm on the computer (duh) and he's watching baseball, but eventually we'll end up all tangled together on the couch.
It's the Idol finale. We've been watching for the last three or four years, and each year I seem to like it less, but we still watch it.
Noah didn't want to go to bed. I tried to comfort him, sing to him, heck I even offered him the boobie (haven't breast fed for a while--I was just curious if he'd take it and if maybe I had a trickle left) and he acted like it was cauliflower. He scrunched his nose, turned his head and screamed louder. Guess it's really over.
I wanted to hold him, comfort him, but this is the difference for me on the second one: I know when it's just useless. With Ethan I would have held and sung for hours. But with Noah I try for like four minutes and then give him a kiss on his forehead and say, "Goodnight." He screams like he's being branded, or circumcised. Poor baby.
And then ten minutes later he's out.
OK. I think it's couch time, the wine is getting to me, making me sleepy, and I better quit before I write something on here I will regret in the morning.

Monday.

Mondays are long days and they are the best days because I feel so darn accomplished. However, they also completely wear me out and the rest of the week I feel like extremely tired and way older than I actually am.
Mondays I get up at a little after five and drive twenty minutes to kickboxing. Then I come home, have breakfast with the boys, and take a twenty minute nap, usually before nine o'clock.
I go to the chiropractor and then to work till five thirty, then race home and eat like a gorilla for fifteen minutes before loading the boys in the car and driving to the YMCA to teach a power yoga class by six thirty.
Then we come home and somehow crash through the bedtime routine, to which we've added rocket trips to the moon and back (on my bed, Ethan decked out in his "space suite").
My one advice to people with kids younger than mine: Don't even start a bedtime routine.
Just stick them in their beds and turn off the light. Forget trying to be mom of the year with songs and stories and sweet memories. Just don't do it.
Then, feeling like a burned up bag of pine needles, Joey and I somehow crawl into our own bed, tired and smelling like dried sweat. Yum.
And, like I said, the rest of the week is completely shot, but at least it always starts off well.
Oh children.
It's an hour after Ethan's bedtime and he is in bed (at least we got that far), wide awake, singing at the top of his lungs. Jesus.
Noah is still the angel baby. Happy, kind, happy. Always excited to see you. He really is wonderful except when he pees his body weight through the night and I wake up to soaking sheets and blankets and teddy bears and a baby that smells like urine. But even then he is smiling and you can't help but like him.
I'm re-reading my journals, all four thousand of them. Since like second grade. They make me feel good because I thought it was my children and marriage that have made me somewhat crazy and reading my old journals confirms I have always been a lunatic, and, in fact, my new family has mellowed my crazy tendencies to a degree.
On some days.

Onward.

I miss Joey today (oh go cry me a river), and am eating my way through an entire bag of Kettle Corn. I thought about myself in a bathing suit for a second and then dismissed it and put another handful in my mouth.
Went to church today. Louie spoke on forgetting what lies behind (even the good stuff) and reaching for what is ahead. This hit my heart because the thing that God has been whispering to me is that part in Proverbs 31 where it talks about the perfect lady "laughing at the days to come" or something like that. Like she actually looks forward to the future.
Revolutionary stuff. Anyway.
I am singing again. In the shower, in the car especially. Ethan tells me he doesn't like my singing and he doesn't want me to do it when he's around. I told him he could at least ask nicely. It hurt my feelings.
Then I dropped the "I'm the mom" bomb and told him I can sing where and whenever I want to.
Boo-ya.
We play our guitars and sing together. Sometimes he bangs on his drum with a maraca, shooting up an occasional fist pump when the music gets especially loud.

These Boys.

My marriage lately has been a safe place to land and when I look at Joey, we might as well be making love because that's how safe I feel. You all can hate me if you want to because I know marriage normally sucks but that's how it's been the last couple of weeks. Safe. And sweet.
Ethan, on the other hand...why did God make four year olds? He has decided he is a dog and his bark is higher and shriekier than Fiebe's. Like a bark way out of tune. He also has worn the same Curious George socks for two weeks now. They are cobalt blue and mustard yellow and he wears them with everything (they match nothing). I just don't see the point in fighting it.
Noah is quiet and curious. There is not a mean bone in that boy's body. When he sits in his high chair he bangs his hands on the tray- BAM BAM BAM! but it's like he doesn't even know he's doing it. It's all rather spastic and crazy. He still will occasionally grab my face and suck my jaw bone, leaving my face all wet and sticky. I love it.

I forgot the boys.

This is incredibly embarrassing and somewhere deep down it REALLY makes me wonder why God gave me children, but here it is: I forgot the boys. Not once. Two days in a row.
Both times I didn't even realize it until I came into the house and Joey asked, "Where are the boys?"
Boys? Ahhhh CRAP. and then turn around, get back in my car which I just spent thirty minutes driving home, and drive back to the babysitters, round up and load up two tired and hungry honeys, and then drive back home.
One and a half hour car rides home from work are not fun.
Neither is making what feels like the most stupid and irresponsible mistakes.
I talked to Joey about it, and I felt, due to my incompetence in anything out of my normal routine, that I needed to ban my use of my cell phone while I am driving. Other than that, I am at a loss.
I use a day timer and a calender, all which served me ZERO the last two days. Joey even texted me yesterday because I forgot them the day before: don't forget to pick up the boys.
I texted back: Thank you for reminding me!
Can you even begin to imagine how maddening it was driving BACK to G. Patty's?
Crazy hospital worthy maddening.

Waiting for the Heat.

LOVEing the warm weather, when we have it. There is something healing in sunshine and inspiring in growing trees, especially my little aspens. I could look and listen to them for hours. (Think Lakes Basin, where hundreds of them sing like nature's chorus, like the sound of a giant waterfall). Our backyard is beautiful and even when it's freaking freezing outside it calls me out. I pull weeds. And then I pull some more weeds. Their roots are shallow and they come up easy, except the dandelions. I'm looking forward to the day its so hot I am dying to come inside and take a shower after hours working and laying out in the sun, my skin warm and sweaty and dry at the same time. Heaven will be summer, year round.

Morning Moment.

I am sitting at the table eating my cinnamon toast and coffee with honey and half and half, the sun coming in through the slider surprisingly warm and comforting on my skin. I forgot how wonderful it feels. My eyes are sleepy and blurry, even thought I got up thirty minutes ago. Ethan is singing, making up his own songs. He is constant. He is becoming Buzz Light Year. "This means, mom, I have to take my pants off."
He's flying around in his whitie tighties and a towel on his head. He has a washcloth. New song, "I get rain on my towel, I clean my planets..." He's awesome.

Annual Spring Funk.

I am in a funk and blaming it entirely on the weather. It's warming up, thankfully, but it fools you: you put on shorts and a tank top, step outside, and are fine until the wind blows the tiniest bit and you're freezing your butt off.
I don't think I am going to be happy until we are consistently in the 90's.
Joey ran a half marathon this morning and I am quite jealous about it. I mean, he doesn't really even train for these things anymore, he just does them. It's pretty incredible. At least I can do power yoga. That's what I keep telling myself.
We went to church this morning. The thing that touched me the most was a lady I barely know- but respect-called out my name, just to tell me I looked "beautiful this morning." I told her she did too (totally sincere) and we gave each other a hug. It sounds so stupid but it's what we crave, it's how God made us thank you very much.
Reminds me of a post I wrote a long time ago. Joey and I had been arguing and he said something like, "The only way you are going to be happy is if all I ever say to you is I love you and you are beautiful." To which I thought, that would be so wonderful if that is all you ever said.
Ha ha. Not really. My husband has a lot of good things to say, it's just as a girl I can't get enough of I love you's and you are so pretty's.
You girls know what I am talking about.
Anyway why the heck am I writing about this dumb stuff?
I'll tell you why. It's the Annual Spring Funk. It's wanting the warm sun so bad it's messing with all my hormones so all I can think about is my hubby telling me he loves me and thinks I am hot.
I'm serious. This is legit and documented somewhere. Or at least it should be.