Spring- let me count the ways I love you.

I love Spring.  This is the understatement of the century.  I love it to infinity and back.  I love it for many, many reasons.

One reason I love Spring is this...

They're cute and all, but, more importantly, THEY'RE OUTSIDE!!!  I am no longer feeling guilty about cartoons, hearing incessant whining about being bored, worrying about the effects of vitamin D deficiency on brain development and sad moods, and breaking up fights resulting solely from cabin fever.  My kids love outside.  They'll play out there for hours and hours during Spring and Summer.  It's a new kind of mommydom, that's for sure.  

But, importantly for me, Spring marks the beginning of bathroom privacy.  I have not used the bathroom alone since November 22, 2009.  I'm not joking.  It's like clockwork.  I get everyone settled with a snack or a cartoon or a coloring book or whatever it is that's designed to distract them for 4.2 minutes so I can use the bathroom and collect my thoughts for 4.2 minutes.  About 0.6 minutes into my bathroom visit, I hear, "MOOOOMMMMMM.  ARE YOU IN THERE??!?"  Although I do not open the door, I know these are the faces on the other side:

   

They're waiting for me...to interrupt me...while I'm in the bathroom.  I often get asked if they can just come in and talk to me while I'm in there.  Really?  Seriously?  

Now I gotta admit, sometimes I use the 4.2 minutes of bathroom time for something other than the bathroom.  Ryan has busted me on occasion.  He'll accuse me of just sitting in there, pretending to use the bathroom so I can be alone or read a book.   I always respond, indignantly, "Who would do such a thing?!?"  I tell him that I just want to be ready for my next go-around.  If you hold it now, you won't be able to hold it later.  He doesn't read this blog so I'm not worried about ratting myself out.  

But most of the time, I just want to go alone.  I don't want to answer questions about my anatomy or about their anatomies or why I can't go standing up or why we don't have a toilet on the wall (aka urinal) or why the tiles are pink or where the toilet paper goes after it flushes or why pee is a certain color or...you get the picture. 

Did I say I was glad Spring is here?  

Love,

Momma T.

Bringin' back fat back

You know that Justin Timberlake song about bringin' sexy back?  Well, it gave me an idea.

You see...once upon a time...back fat was hot.  So sayeth Renoir.

Then somewhere at sometime some one (all evidence points to a back-fatless man) decided that back fat was not that hot.  This would not matter to me except for the fact that I now have back fat.  And I got sad about having back fat.  I mean, I pilates my little heart out, and I still have back fat.  There is only one answer to me losing my back fat  - - no chocolate, no wine, no fun in eating anything.  This is not a real answer; this is hell.  

So, I've decided that I need a new solution.  I'm "bringin' back fat back."

Come on, how is this not HOT?!?

Poj has loads of back fat, and he is totally, utterly handsome.  I mean seriously.  He's also completely comfortable with his back fat.  I love his self-confidence.  He loves to rock his back fat in his diaper.

So, be prepared for random photos of back fat on this blog.  I need to get the word out that back fat is IN.  It's HOT.  It's what everyone wants to have for themselves!  Who needs six pack abs when you've got back fat?!?

Get the word out bloggers.  Back fat is in.  You heard it here first.

Love.

Momma T.

As the song is sung, so sing it...

One of my closest friends, my college roommate, has a lovely family tradition whereby everyone in the family gets a song - - some song that is morphed to include that person's name.  It's truly a great tradition, and I wanted to replicate it with my kids.  Funny thing about my kids, though, was they would not let me pick the song.  I tried; I chose a song for each of them when I was pregnant.  But by the time the little buggers were six months old, they had their own ideas about what they liked and what they wanted for their songs.  

For Maguire, I chose "My Girl."  I know that it's a little obvious and may be slightly overdone, but I still liked it and knew most of the words.  Magoo never really dug it.  When she was about six months old, she latched on to "Puff the Magic Dragon."  She loved that song.  She used to smile and dance and giggle and drool at me every time I started to sing it.  

MAGUIRE - AGE 1 - ALREADY A PUFFER

One time, Ryan, Maguire and I drove to South Bend, Indiana, from St. Paul, Minnesota, for a wedding.  It's a solid nine-hour drive each way.  Maguire was 11 months old.  With about two hours to go on the trip home, she became so distraught that she just whimpered in the back seat.  I sang "Puff" to her for those last two hours.  She wasn't happy about being in that car seat, but she coped.  "Puff" has carried her through the nervousness of starting a new daycare when she was a year old, every croup episode she's had, starting kindergarten, being sad about her best friend changing schools during first grade, and countless other sadnesses.  In terms of kid hardships, "Puff" has been the equivalent of Neosporin, a Dora band-aid, and a popsicle.  

When I was pregnant with Gannon, Maguire and I chose Elton John's "Levon" for him.  We'd sing, "And his name is Gannon, and he'll be a good man.  And his name is Gannon, in tradition with the family plan.  He shall be Gannon."  It was so very sweet to hear her sing it in her almost three-year-old voice.  

But again, Gan arrived on the scene and he had his own ideas.  Apparently, Levon was not depressing enough for him.  He chose Bob Dylan's "Hard Rain" - the one with the "Where have you gone my blue-eyed son?  Where have you gone my darling young one?"  I love those lines - but then Bob goes on to sing about the baby surrounded by wild wolves and the other freaky stuff.  Wonder what this says about my Gan.   

GANNON - AGE 1.5 - HARD RAINER FOR OVER SIX MONTHS BY NOW

Gan was a horrible sleeper.  He'd be up all hours of the night for the first two years of his life.  He and I would put Dylan's "Hard Rain" on repeat and dance in his room for hours until he fell back to sleep.  I'd sing it along with Bob, and I'd be praying the whole time that the kid had his eyes closed.  But then I'd check, and he'd be staring up at me.  If I stopped singing, he'd start screaming.  No other song would soothe him.  

And so it goes with Ronan.  For him, in honor of my dear college roommate, I chose Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee."  My roommate and I LOVED that song and used to sing our hearts out to it.  I had always hoped that it would catch on with one of my kids, and Ronan was my last hope.  I started singing it to him when he was in the NICU.  I'd change the words so it'd be "Me and Ronan Murphy."  

But, about eight weeks ago, Roj let me know that the song he really liked is "Baby Love" by Diana Ross.  In our house, Gan is the "Big Man," and Roj is the "Baby Man," so I change the words of the song to be "Baby Man."  He laughs his buns off.  

RONAN - 6 MONTHS OLD - THE "BABY MAN"

So, I got my wish.  They all have a song.  It's just not the one I would have chosen.  I like that about them.

Love,

Momma T.