Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Note, these were my thoughts from Thursday's trip to Black Butte, written in route.
So we’re on the way to Black Butte again. I work insanely hard, which is ridiculous, because I should just accept the fact that I have absolutely NO control), to time the carride perfectly for the best napping time for all three beans. Case in point:
Here’s an update on the past hour and a half of our lives. Ellie falls asleep within 10 minutes (to wake up 30 minutes later), Quinn FINALLY falls asleep after fighting it for about an hour, then sleeps for 30 minutes, but meanwhile, Henry wakes up and has a poop that weighed as much as he does - have I mentioned he’s a ginormous baby? - and now needs to be changed and wants to eat, based on the progressively louder agitated moans, groans and cries. So we stop at Detroit Lake, rather the minimart at Detroit Lake, and I nurse Henry on the front steps (no space in car, due to tremendous overpacking, and ginormosity of baby). One woman sits in her Mercedes eating her minimart sandwich, and keeps giving me nervous smiles - smiling, eating, smiling, eating. The chubby, aging punk rocker in a black t-shirt, cargo shorts, and socks pulled half way up his calf, who is probably about 40, but looks more like 60 from presumed drug use (when did I get so judgmental?), is lingering a little too long with his beef jerky and Starbucks in a can, hoping, it seems, to catch a glimpse of my boob with about 53 sideward glances. And there are three pretty good looking tan REI guys who are just down from the mountain for a few days, who stop to chat about how the breastfeeding's going. Then the endearing 70 year old man, who just came up and said, Best milk there is. My wife did the same for all four of our children. One minimart, so many opinions.
Anyway - so Quinn wakes up when we stop, angry, tired, sad, screaming, NOT happy. Henry is happy: dry diaper, milk - it’s all he needs, really. Ellie wants a snack, so they all go into the minimart, get snacks, Quinn gets his poop changed (eventually stops crying), and Ellie finds a dozen eggs in the car, which she cracks and puts in Henry’s carseat.
I’ll just repeat that last bit. Ellie found a dozen eggs in the car, four of which she cracked and put in Henry’s carseat. There were an additional four that she sent down the chute between the seat and the wall of the car, presumably to see if they would fit.
Hour and a half to go on the ride. Stress level, like the fire danger level today, Extremely High.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
Sweet jesus. Getting out of the house for a weekend is such is a freaking feat with three kids, even when I have someone helping me. It makes me CRAZY. Dino, bear, fishy, froggy, car blankets (2), blue blanket, pink blanket, dolly with rasta hair, naked baby doll who is not permitted to wear clothes (some bizarre manifestation of Ellie wanting to be naked all the time, I think), baby who giggles the most annoying giggle you’ve ever heard in your entire life (even more annoying at 3 am, I would imagine Chris would agree, when someone has rolled over on it on the queen sized air mattress that is being shared with an adult and two 32 lb mini humans, though not so mini when you’re sharing said air mattress), ipods, ipod speaker docks for going to sleep music and white noise, baby monitor, baby monitor base, baby monitor charger, Sleepy Cadillac book, toothbrushes, toothpaste. And that’s just so we can get the little buggers to bed. Not to sleep, mind you... but at least into bed.
Then there’s the food, the snacks, the shoes, the raincoats, the sweaters, the jackets, the Car Race pull-ups, the pink princess pull-ups, the size 2 Swaddlers. The big kid pacis, the baby pacis, the mini tennis rackets, the grown up tennis rackets, bathing suits, suntan lotion, sunhats, bouncy seat, baby playmat, the 548 outfits that we will need to have all three kids make it through the potential rain, sun and dumped bowl of soup or flung ketchup that will inevitably get on someone or everyone at least once a meal.
Shit, I think I forgot the Sleepy Cadillac book - why did I just remember that? Because we just drove by an RV with a goddamn antique Cadillac on it’s trailer. Seriously, what are the chances of that? You don’t believe me? Ask Quinn. He’ll tell you all weekend. We saw Sleepy Cadillac on a camper. Where’s Sleepy Cadillac, Mommy? I managed to pack the 927 other things that we need. And I forgot Sleepy Cadillac.
I need a beer. And a copy of Sleepy Cadillac.
post script - I also forgot coffee. Life could be over as we know it.