Impatient

I think I have said this before, but I will say it again...you know, because it's my blog and no one reads it anyway. I really feel like Spencer is impatient to grow up. For the majority of his waking hours, he genuinely seems distressed that he can't be up and around and on the move like the girls. (Perhaps this is because he wants to be on the move from the girls.) He doesn't like to sit still, hates to lay flat (as evidenced by the crunches he does in a desperate effort to sit up every time I lay him down) and is perpetually leaning forward when I hold him facing out, as if he could go somewhere if he could just get the momentum to get started. (It is becoming near impossible to hold him facing in anymore because he spends the whole time craning his neck and body to turn around and then almost twists himself out of my arms.)

This might all be well and good, except for one thing: I am not impatient for him to grow up. I am still in the process of savoring every aspect of his babyness, from his crinkly smiles to his roly poly legs, to his sweet, fuzzy little head. I am not ready to even entertain the idea that that smile, those legs, and that head will soon be running from me in the other direction. Because even though he is already four months old (today!) and I know in my heart that he has to grow up even more, that doesn't mean that I wouldn't use the heck out of the pause button if I could get my hands on that elusive Remote Control of Life.

I mean, sheesh, would you look at this grown up boy?

How You Know You Live with Girls

I love the tell-tale signs that I live in a house full of little girls, whose little brother--though very present--doesn't yet have a voice in the day to day shenanigans and carryings-on around here.

 Little gems like this, for instance:

Big H, Little h, what begins with H?

He-man holding his Hairbrush, H H H.

And Hordak. He starts with H, too

My Little Negotiator and Other Alexa Humor

Oh, Lexa Boom. How do we love thee? 

We are so in love with Alexa's  emerging personality. She LOVES to sing, dance, and entertain the masses. (Usually she makes up her own lyrics, though occasionally she'll throw in a line from a Taylor Swift or One Direction song just to keep things interesting.) She literally sings her way through life. Truly, if we took video of every official and unofficial "performance" of this girl, we would have no memory left on the computer. Alexa's penchant for remembering lines in every book that has ever been read to her also reinforces the idea in my head that this starlet has some kind of future in musical theater. She is adorable and talented in every sense of the word.

Little Miss is also getting to that ripe old age of three and a half where just about everything that comes out of her mouth makes me laugh. I'm talking cracking-up, face-hurting laughter, not just the obligatory mommy chuckle. Today on our way to her nursery class, (where she has semi-recently started going on her own, but still needs a tiny bit of parent lingering to get her comfortable) I told her that I would only be able to stay with her for a minute. She held up ten fingers and asked, "How about this many?" I came back with, "How about two minutes?" She countered: "How about five?" I countered: "How about three?" Ever the negotiator, she came back at me one more time. "How about four?" Okay. Deal.

Some other funny moments:

1) Lex: Mommy, you're in-trusting.

    Me: I think you're interesting.

    Lex: No, I'm not in-trusting. I'm cute.

2) Chuckling in response to the talk radio tag-line, "the voice of Arizona": "Ha. Arizona doesn't have a voice!"

3) Me: Savanna, you're so vain. You probably think this song is about you.

    Lex: No! It's about ME!

4) Listening to the song "Two is better than one": "Actually, it's better than four."

The cutester herself. Getting ready to start (yet another) performance.

The Promise of a New Day

I am not a morning person. Not even the tiniest bit. And though I absolutely love to see my adorable, wriggly, gurgling baby in the morning when he first wakes, it can be a little bit of a chore to force myself out of my cavewoman-like slumber and over to the other side of the house for Spencer's early morning feedings. It's usually done with one eye half open and the other eye sealed completely shut. (If you have ever seen me smile, you know that this is not a difficult feat for me.) 

This morning I stumbled from our dark room into the bright hallway just in time to see the remarkable beginnings of a most beautiful sunrise from our upstairs windows. I felt like it was just for me, this shiny piece of heaven, especially when I went outside for a better glimpse and truly felt that I was the only one there to really enjoy it. 

A thankful prayer pounded in my heart as I thought about the promise of this new, pristine day, as yet unsullied by stress or negativity or trial. In that moment, I could enjoy this beauty on its own unique terms and silently commit myself to enjoying more moments with my children, ignoring the unimportant, and taking more time to focus on the elusive moments of my life that are slowly but surely slipping through my unwilling fingers. 

Morning person I am not, but it sure is refreshing to savor the promise of a new day when it is wrapped so beautifully and placed at my tired feet.

Supermarket Irony

Irony is fitting two weeks worth of groceries into your reusable shopping bags on one day, and then forgetting them the next time you go to the store for a few things and having the checker double-bag one cantaloupe.

I'm trying to help the planet here, people.

Speaking of supermarkets, (does anyone call them that any more?) I've started grocery shopping at night after the kids are in bed. It kinda stinks having to leave the house when all I really want to do is put my jammies on and sit in the couch, but I tell you, it is well worth it to go some place alone, my friends. And, if you go late enough, those rotisserie chickens are sometimes marked half off, for Pete's sake!