I love spending time with my kiddos.  My husband and I work full time and I cherish the time I have with them before and after work.

On the weekends, of course exhaustion sets in at about 2pm.  Our 3 year old and 17 month old wake up at 6am ready to go and it’s basically non-stop.  But I don’t need to tell you about that do I?

So this afternoon we’re in the park with all three kids (1 is a dog).  After we all play for a while I say I’ll take the dog back to our place, across the street, and we’ll all go to the playground.  There were a slew of kids there and I didn’t feel like dealing with finding a place to put her out of reach of grabby kids.  As I was leaving the park, alone, with the dog, my husband minding the two kids, who had not napped, yells: “Enjoy your vacation walk!”

Yes, that 8 minute walk to our place and back, was a vacation of sorts.  But I missed the crazy that only comes after a weekend of crazy followed by an afternoon of no naps.  Tell me you know what I’m talking about.

Just when I feel like I’ve reached a calm, good spot, I get an overwhelming feeling that I’m not doing great at anything, just doing a half-assed job at everything. Anyone else?

Tomorrow will be better.

I had no idea what to expect but it’s basically a lot of exercises to stretch and build muscles and exercises for us to do with her.  It’s been a little fun even.  Except when she cries because this strange woman is trying to massage her back and legs and neck.  Have you seen my baby’s legs?  They are huge.  They look a lot like this:

That’s right.  Her juicy, fat thighs are full of rolls and squeezability.  I’ll take an actual picture that will put that turkey leg to shame.  Hmm, evidently squeezability is not recognized as a word by WordPress.  Neither is WordPress.

Anyway, thank you for the good thoughts and vibes on her PT.  Now go outside and do something fun with your family like I plan to.

Back to the story, as I’m walking next to 2 year old wonder boy, a man comes jogging up to me across the park, out of his way, and asks me to tell my little boy “not to chase the geese. This is their home.” Am I out of line?

I basically tell him that he’s not hurting them, not getting anywhere near them and that he loves animals and is interested in them. That’s all. The man points out a goose to us and points out his hurt wing that looks broken and says “that one has a hurt wing.” I tell him that he’s right, it does look broken, but my little boy didn’t do it. That he’s in fact a little kid and interested in all animals and I am here to be sure he doesn’t hurt them and that he doesn’t get hurt. What better way to learn than to be here. There is no “don’t chase the geese” sign posted. Just a sign that says to not feed the wildlife, and we didn’t, and to not throw stones in the lake, so we stopped.

Is this a thing? Kids can’t chase a goose?

I tell you what though. As minor as this is, I teared up at the doctor’s office. I hated hearing that something wasn’t quite right with our baby girl. Look at that smile! Look at those chunky thighs! Nothing could possibly be wrong with the future first female president of the United States.

Our first PT appointment is next week. Did you know that physical therapy is sometimes done on newborns? I had no idea. I’ll keep you posted.

And he always brings at least one train in with him.

The un-funny thing is that he ALWAYS comes to my side.  It doesn’t matter if I pull the covers over my head or am asleep, or pretending to be asleep.  It’s my side.  Which is sweet, and I try to embrace it and get up and psych myself up and be happy that I have time to play with him… but ugh.  At 6am it’s a bit tough.

I was going to try to capture the audio on the whispered wake ups, but that would require me getting up earlier. So no.  You’ll have to use your imagination on that one.

That thing is this: I told my husband I’d be fine with moving to Australia, to be closer to his family.  I told him this before we were married, about a dozen years ago.  We met in Australia, his family is split between Australia and New Zealand, and my family is in California.  When we were young, childless and full of our own awesomeness, I said of course, let’s move to America for a while and then of course, lets move back to the Southern Hemsiphere to be near your family.  Why not? We have no ties.

Now we have 2 kids and they are adored by their grandparents here in California.  Their only grandkids.  It will just kill them, not literally, but really hurt, if we move away.  And I want them to visit their grandparents more than once a year.  Husband’s parents have 6 other grandkids, not that it’s relevant really, but sheesh.  I know, Husband needs to see his family, fair enough.  I’ll be the first to say he doesn’t spend near enough time with them and he misses them, and he wants his parents to know our kids.  Fair, right?  I know it’s fair, and right.  but still.  I really don’t want to.

Ugh.

Toddler boy is 26 months old and baby girl is 6 months.  The crazies have moved in.  Toddler is certainly testing the waters, and his parents in every way he can, but he’s also loving his little sister.  What he calls “my baby”, which is pretty sweet, especially when he brings her her toys, completely unprompted.  Baby girl is rolling over and drooling all over herself.  It’s such a fun age, but I suppose they all are.  I’m just trying to enjoy the 2 year old right now while recognizing that all kids go through this stage and it will be okay. Right?  It will be okay right?  They are pretty fantastic and I love them to bits.

In other news, if I hear one more person tell me that their little boy wasn’t potty trained until he was 4 I may scream.  That’s not right.  There must be something between applying a little assertiveness and waiting until he is ready because I can tell you that we are not looking forward to 4 year old boy poop.  No thank you.  I’ll bribe him with whatever, but I’m done.

Please tell me your thoughts on this one.  He’s not interested in stickers or seeing progress on a chart leading to a reward.  He’ll tell us when he’s gone, after the fact, but not before.  He’s interested, to a point.  Really, sanity is at stake people.  What say you?

Also, I’m in the final stages of interviews for a new job, wish me luck!

Ugh.  In other news, we are moving again, back to the Bay Area and my husband and I are both in final rounds of interviews. And I have bangs.

I am at the same time overwhelmed and anxious and nervous and excited.  I was hoping to be able to just freelance part time for another year but with Husband’s job ending and our resulting move back to civilization we can’t afford for me not to.  So of course I do what my family needs me to do and my little family needs me to go back to work full time.

I’m dreading finding a new place to live, finding a day care, or possibly a nanny, and going through this final round of interviews.  A little excited, but mostly dreading right now.  Not the actual working, but the process of looking. Can I hire someone to house hunt for us? We’re just going to rent for a year and no realtors so far have been interested in helping us out.

Anyway, it’s true. As you get older time goes by faster. I want my 6 month old baby girl to stop and stay this size for a while. I want my 2 year old little boy to just slow down and stop growing up. Except for the potty training. Potty training can continue on please.

Where does the time go?

A woman about my age, sporting a fantastic pair of slacks, heels and fitted cute jacket, great hair and perfect makeup, came through those automated doors just as I was wiping a major bogie off my son’s face while wearing a pajama top, yoga pants and fleece with spit up on the left shoulder.

That was ME people. 2 1/2 years ago, before my first born was born and before we were even considering a second child.  I had my shit together.

Even after my son was born I wasn’t one of those women who went out in public in their pajamas. Heaven forbid.  I regularly showered and even applied a little lip gloss and mascara before I went out.  I didn’t realize how much of a mess I had become until she walked out.

Inspired by Becky at Suburban Matron, here is how I spend 100% of my day.  Although I hate graphs so you’ll have to scroll.

90% picking up poop (dog, baby, toddler)

9% working at a job that actually produces some income

.1% making a meal or snack

.1% exercising

.1% errands

.1% sleeping

.1% waking up, thinking I heard someone sneeze or cough

.1% asking husband to smell that diaper

.1% looking for chocolate in the cabinet

.1% drinking or making coffee

.1% seeing myself at other stores

.05% blogging

.005% showering

.005% stepping on legos

How about you?  I’ve decided to make a concerted effort to get my act together. I’m not sure what that entails but considering I haven’t washed my hair since Sunday, that might be a good start.