No, it's One plus TWO plus One plus One...

Ha! So you thought that you'd stop by and see treacly endearments and cute photos of Noelle and Noah? In the words of the inimitable Dark Helmet: 'Fooled You!' (Okay, they are coming but something else happened today that I wanted to share and does not include my imminent demise and/or incarceration.) (Lucky you!)

I was driving home the kids home from Celebree Tuesday (okay, another aside; Noelle's schedule for this week is ree-DONK-u-LOUS. With a capital 'DONK'. She went 45 minutes on Monday, not at all on Tuesday, all day today (Wednesday), not at all on Thursday and (finally!) all day Friday and from that day forth forever and ever. Amen.) and we were talking about her first full day of kindergarten happening today, how she would meet more of her classmates and this is where things derailed, reminiscent of 'Clue':

Me: "...and tomorrow you'll meet four more classmates along with seeing Joshua and Kali and Chisom again."

Noelle: "Yes! And there will be seven of us!"

Me: "...No honey, that will be..."

Noelle: "But Mommy, there will be three and four and one. That's nine."

Me: "No honey, there will be..."

Noelle: "No, I mean 'seven'."

Me: "But..."

Noelle: "There will be four and three and one!"

Me: "...."

Noelle: "So that's seven new friends!"

Me: "...Wait! I've got it! You mean that there were three friends you met on Monday, yourself and the four new friends you'll meet tomorrow! I got it!"

Noelle (smugly): "Yes Mommy, that's what I said."

Her kindergarten prep teachers told me that she is a non-linear thinker, that she applies a different method to getting to the answer; I even shared that tidbit with her new kindergarten teacher and yet, fell victim to that classic blunder of getting involved in land wars in Asia underestimating my child. It's fascinating to see her approach problems and develop her communication skills but man, this will definitely put my linear-thinking brain to the test.

Good thing I've got a full wine rack.

Wish us luck.

Sheppard Pratt/GBMC, at this point, who cares

I had plans and pictures to write a post on Noah's birthday, Noelle's first day of kindergarten and how my child my gets screwed again because of age/needing to free up spaces for new kids/because the director hates me and I will but that all went out the window with this morning's fun and excitement.

Today is my company's annual health screening/wellness awareness day which is actually a nice perk - we can get our blood drawn to check for various levels of good and bad...things, check height, weight, blood pressure and fill out a physical and emotional health questionnaire to gauge how close we are to completely losing it all. I like to take advantage of the opportunity and bring the results to my annual physicals so my doctor and I can work as a team to manage my health. Unlike past years, I approached this morning with trepidation and not just because of the fasting but because of the blood pressure. Everyone knows that blood pressure has a direct hot-line to stress and to say that life has been stressful recently is akin to saying that Michael Phelps is an okay swimmer. And not just me, Dyl is under a tremendous amount of stress as well which translates into heightened tension at home; with the kids and with each other. We are both less than thrilled with where our career paths have taken us to date but the size of the mountain to scale to make any changes seems insurmountable. I'm trapped in the gilded cage and he's trapped by a limited skill set. (Not that he has limited skills, more that his skills are difficult to adapt to the typical business scenario.) Add to this Noah hitting the Tantrumy Threes with the force of a hurricane (ooh, look! Topical!) and you get the picture.

Because of the Tantrumy Threes, we were delayed leaving home this morning (why they can't pull this nonsense on the days when Dyl takes them so he can feel my pain is beyond me but there you go). My appointment was at 8:30 and I was fantasizing about drinking that first cup of coffee when BAM! We're at a standstill. OMFGYOU'VEGOTTOBEKIDDINGMEWTFBBQ is what ran through my head on a loop as we inched our way forward, me holding onto my patience by the thinnest of threads while the kids did what they usually do: sing, talk, ask questions, look for stop-lights, fight, drive me bat-shit insane, until we reached the intersection where I discover that the entire back-up was due to a traffic light being out. The only one around. Fortunately, people were not being people but took turns and everyone went in rotation. Still. Really? On the one day that I really needed to find my center.

I got the kids dropped off and scooted into work just a couple of minutes late (8:32) and ran for the training room for my appointment. Trying to get my heart-rate until control, I filled out the forms and waited, surprisingly not losing my appointment slot. Things went well until I got to the blood pressure station. I joked to the nurse about the traffic and the tantrums and how she shouldn't be surprised if my numbers were off the charts. She joked back that she always used a different scale when taking traffic and tantrums into account. We talked about what was a normal range for me and added that they were looking of trends. She had one of those fancy automated cuffs similar to the ones used in hospitals so I sat while it applied tourniquet force to my writing arm. It released and rather than telling me the number, she said that she got an error message and would check with the manual one. Applying the cuff to my right arm, she squeezed it old school style. Those results, 117/78, were right in my personal wheelhouse. While she never said exactly what the automated one read, she did remark that if the result had been repeated, her next question would have been if I was dizzy or not because apparently, it was pretty darn high. (I'm also sure that the dark chocolate M&Ms I had last night did not help matters either.)

I'm here, I'm healthy (sorry Dyl if you were looking to collect on insurance money :)) so merrily we roll along until the next crisis hits which should be in 3...2...1....

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

Aw, how sweet.

Um.

Perhaps I should think about touching up the roots again.

Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time

I've learned some hard truths about myself recently. Mostly that I talk a big game but when push comes to shove, I will park my butt on the couch after putting the kids to bed to read or play Words With Friends or text with my sister or anything but trying to get a handle on the chaos of the house. That's why it surprised the hell out of me when my best friend was able to successfully browbeat/cajole/trick into participating in a giant local consignment sale with her. Her reasoning? "Well, you have so much stuff and you could make so much money!" And if I'm being honest, it's a hard battle cry to ignore.

So now the basement is in even greater disarray due to the emptying of boxes and wardrobes in the search to determine what will stay and what will go. Most. Most of it will go because I'm now in drooling lust with the thought of Getting It Out.

And it's been relatively easy; the system is completely computerized though I did have to go in search of white card stock that is not carried at Wal-Mart BTW and purchase a crap-ton of kids hangers which I didn't need as I was able to successfully cannibalize enough from the kids' closets and safety pins. I have almost 500 safety pins now which seems to be a bit of overkill. I'm also pretty sure that they won't work on Pinterest. After entering your items into the system, you print tags which you then have to cut and apply to everything you will attempt to sell. But you also have to punch holes in the tags to pin/tape/tie to the item which also requires a hole puncher so this little exercise is starting to add up in cost. But everything is added; all that remains is the matching up of each damnable tag with it's item then figuring out the best way to attach it. Which needs to be done by Wednesday since that is when my drop-off appointment is so can you guess when this has to be worked on? You got it. At night. After the kids are in bed.

And we've come full circle. Headdesk.

I'm a shameless overachiever. For my kids.

We do not believe in doing things halfway at Casa de Lange. (Fine, I don't believe in it.) Nope, we're all-in, all the time as evidenced by this past weekend when in a rush of parental super powered adrenaline, we moved Noah from his crib to a toddler bed and began the introduction of underwear. (For the record, monkey faces on toddler butts are completely adorable.) And fine, the crib to toddler bed transition only entailed removing the front piece with everything else staying the same but still! No more baby jail. *sad trombone* We'll have to do effective discipline and stuff now.

Before: Baby jail in all it's glory

Prison break! Go to DEFCON 2!

But! Noah loves it. He loves that he has a bed he can get into and out of by himself, he is tickled that Buzz Lightyear is on his new underwear, another stroke of genius on our part as we showed the kids the Toy Story trilogy for the first time this past weekend. Also? The final scene of Toy Story 3 absolutely WRECKED me and made even worse by the coincidence that I've been purging toys for a consignment sale. (I am ignoring your cries universe; the need for order in the basement trumps your shameless heartstring tugging.)

Aside, the kids loved the movies and weren't scared by it. In fact, I had a conversation with Noelle this morning on the way to camp about why Sid was such a rat bastard to his toys (my words, not hers. Der) which led into a soliloquy on my part as one can project how a person will treat others by observing the way s/he treats things/animals/others and to stay the hell away from anyone who acts like that. Teachable moment FTMFW, yo!

Now that I've good and what the hell is the word that means going off on a tangent that starts with a 'D' or is it a 'C' and I can't remember, everything's fuzzy and my life is RUIIIIINED. Diverged? Discourse? Deedlebopper?

Crap, the point. Right. The point is this: Noah is loving being a big boy and is adapting so well to the changes. Though scraping the poop out of the underwear on Tuesday was decidedly NOT the highlight of my week.

Monkey Butt!!!!!

And it was time seeing as he's going to be 3 next month. Where did MAH BAYBEE go?

Big Boy bed ain't no thing

Oh, there he is. Stay right there for a while buddy, mkay?

How to sabotage your week in 12 easy steps

Oh HAI. It's Monday and I'm so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open. This is either the sign of an awesome weekend (HA) or incredibly poor planning/judgement. Seeing as I have a preschooler and a toddler, the latter is the safe bet. How did it come to this? I'm so glad that you asked.

Step 1: Get new smart phone

Step 2: Decide to be Greatest! Mom! Ever! and load games for kids to play

Step 2A: Decide to load a game or two for yourself because hey, it IS your phone

Step 3: Make one of those games Words With Friends (my user name is 'momofnandn' bee-tee-dubs)

Step 4: Encourage husband to also add games so you can essentially play Scrabble while sitting next to each other on the couch nevermind that the actual Scrabble game is downstairs as that's too plebeian

Step 5: Start first Words With Friends game with husband at 9:30 on a Sunday night

Step 6: Continue play until he resigns from game at 11:30 even though he was crushing you because there was nothing you could do with three 'Gs', a 'H' and an 'E'

Step 7: Go to bed as 5:30 am comes very early. At 5:30 am

Step 8: Be startled out of sound sleep somewhere between 1 and 2 am by said preschooler saying that her tummy hurts and can she sleep with you

Step 8A: Let her on the bed and pray that she doesn't barf in your hair

Step 9: Share your space (including pillow) with her until you are on the edge of the bed leading to a fun new game: Extreme Sleeping!

Step 10: Doze on and off until 4:30 am where husband takes preschooler back to bed.

Step 10A: Immediately flop onto stomach and dream about luggage

Step 10B: Hold out a tiny hope that she actually is sick so you can take a day off and encourage her to sleep, leading by example

Step 11: Awake with a start at 5:30, no vomit in sight damn it all

Step 12: Drag self out of bed; start week off in glorious fashion featuring vats of coffee

Now if anyone needs me today, I'll be hiding under my desk taking a nap. Until a new Words With Friends game starts of course.

Bigger-ish Boy

So. It's come to this. Other than the diapers (which seriously, this kid is messing with me. I know he can use the potty. HE knows he can use the potty. So just...USE THE DAMN POTTY ALREADY) the only remaining thread connecting Noah with babyhood is the baby jail baby containment force-field crib. He doesn't climb out, he doesn't mind it, why mess with what works?

Um. Well, have you MET my son? (Of course you haven't; that was a dumb rhetorical question.) The point of said dumb rhetorical question is that the child is ginormous by any rational standard and let's face it, it's getting hard lifting him into and out of the crib without whacking his head on the ceiling fan. (Thanks Bob Ward builders for the 8-ft ceilings!) The top of his head comes past Noelle's shoulder who is 5 and a half and ridiculously tall herself. And...he's going to be 3 next month, well past the age for jettisoning the crib altogether. AND we're going on vacation in August where he won't be sleeping in a crib as I refuse to pay for a crib for an almost-3 year old so we need to transition him SOMETIME, amirite?

Because I'm all about traumatizing surprising my children, I got the bright idea last night that hey! he's going to a birthday party on Saturday, wouldn't it be cool if he came back from the birthday party to find his very own big boy bed in his room! Dylan was less excited about this plan but I got my way because I have control issues am like a freight train going fully speed ahead once an idea has taken root. We have a conversion kit! This is a lifetime bed! T'will be a cinch!

(If you know me at all, you know that this is called foreshadowing.)

Digging underneath the crap-ton of stuff in the basement on Sunday night, I finally located the conversion kit. It was intact (Huzzah!) however...in our elation of getting the forever bed for Noelle lo these almost 6 years ago, we neglected to read the fine print. Mainly that it went right from a crib to a full size bed. Do not metaphorphasize to toddler bed, do not collect $200. Generally, much hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth would commence but oh ho HO! But what to my wondering eyes should appear....but a white toddler bed, and away I wiped a tear.

Yes, my packrattiness laziness forethought saved our butts once again. We had never gotten rid of the toddler bed that Noelle had used and it would return from the dead to save us once more. (Zombie furniture, zombie cars, you name it, in my house it's been resurrected.) But this still leaves the problem of disassembling the crib (which we are totally saving for, well, next year: see pack-rat), moving the toddler bed upstairs and the rocking chair downstairs. (Hey Noah, let me mess with your mind. You don't have nearly enough fodder for therapy.) In come the big guns: my dad is coming up on Saturday to help me with the Extreme Makeover: Nursery Edition while Dylan hides takes Noah to the party. It'll be like clipping toenails or ripping off a bandage (also high on the traumat-o-meter): just do it fast and get it over with

Aw Boo-Boo, isn't growing up great? (I'm thinking that a trip to The Cow will probably end up being in order. It's so important to have an escape plan. Also, I'm not above bribing acceptance with new sheets.)