Oh, remember.

I once again have totally dropped the ball with this blogging business. I suppose that is because it isn't really a business. Just something I promised myself to try and keep up with to remember all the sweet little things about this time in our lives. So much sweetness. Accompanied by so much chaos.

I try to sit down during my free time and write. And remember. And cherish the stories. But free time, what is that anyway? A twisted notion created by someone who surely isn't a parent. Okay, that was dramatic.

It's time (once again I know) to recommit. To stop making excuses, that's what I've been doing. Sometimes I'll sit down and log in the blog, and I'll just stare at the screen. My last post was in August, back to school, I mean seriously? Seriously. Then I think of all the things that have transpired from then until now. It's about to be Thanksgiving for crying out loud. How can I possibly backtrack? How will I ever catch up? I can't. It becomes a daunting task, then I get frustrated and so I move the cursor to that friendly "x" way up in the right hand corner and I quit. Aha! Problem SOLVED. Except for this doesn't solve anything. In fact, it compounds the problem, because then another day goes by, and everyday there is something ridiculously hilarious and cute happening, and probably somewhat insane. I want to remember the everydays, not just big things. The everyday typical madness that I'm submerged in. 

And with the blink of an eye, that one day has turned in to two months. So I'm not going to try and relive those moments. I'm just going to start over, from here, from today. I'm promising to just...well, write. And remember.

I want nothing more than to be able to look back and remember the way this guy still tiptoes down stairs every single morning and snuggles. He nuzzles right beside me, his head falls under directly under my chin. I don't even have to crack open an eyelid. I know it's him - this one.

Will he always fit so perfectly against my chest? He has unquestionably more then doubled his height from his newborn days, yet he still fits nestled alongside me the exact same. My ribs and his spine interlock. And it's dreamy and it's real and it's mine. I remember it vividly, but can't help and wonder - does he? Hopefully I can help him remember with stories like these. Stories full of my memories. And then it ends, sometimes mere minutes later, this peaceful morning ritual. It is quickly interrupted by restlessness and giggles, cartoon request and crushed cheerios. I want to remember that too, equally as vivid.

And please let me remember the way this little guy's hands feel when he presses them against my cheeks to make sure my eyes are focused on his. Contact. And then the adorableness just oozes straight from his soft cherub-like cheeks. I love you's abound. Melting me. Rarely in any volume but EXTRA LOUD. I want to remember the way he sings Twinkle Twinkle, and throws in various lullaby's to fill the missing gaps. The way he squints his eyes when he smiles this smile.

And though he is easily ten inches shorter than his brother, he fits my chest all the same. We too, have chemistry, we too are perfectly intertwined. His skin so delicate and soft, his hands still hanging on to baby fat. Oh those chubby little fingers! His thumb often propped in his mouth while his eyes drift silently. Yes, please let me  I will remember.

Of course, there is more. Memories yes, they've already been made with this peanut as well. Eight months really flies by, but all along the way, I am storing the treasures of this little person.  And oh the treasures he was blessed with. The way his face appears swollen and his eyes a tad puffy after a sweet slumber. I want to remember way he plays with his tongue. Tongue in cheek, tongue peeks out, surrounds his lips, blow raspberries all while looking ridiculously adorable, excited, proud, and mischievous. Repeat. This tongue, this baby. Swoon.

I want to remember the way his small arms and body fall lifeless after he has fallen fast asleep, clutched under my arms. The way his hand feels against my chest when he nurses, speechlessly claiming me, while I claim him. His breathing mimics mine. I want to forget the dinner dishes waiting in the sink downstairs, slip away in to the safe haven of the nursery glider and cradle my bitty until his sparkling brown eyes drift off. How long will he allow being rocked? Assuredly, not quite long enough. The way he tucks his lower lip in to his mouth, concealing it's plumpness. The way he coyly tilts his head, resting it on his own shoulder. And I need to remember the soft sigh of relief, of comfort and security. That simple exhale when his chest discovers mine. Our very own secret retreat.

Because these little things are what is worth writing down. And remembering. Because these little things, well, they are the big things.

Easter. In July.

As I was browsing old camera cards, I stumbled upon Easter pictures. That's right EASTER. I know, I know, it's July. I guess that just goes to show how chaotic my life was this past Easter. You know with adjusting to a new baby and having to keep two other children alive, fed, and bathed (okay, so we missed a lot of baths that month too).

This Easter was extra special, because it was our first holiday as a family of FIVE. Well, besides St. Patrick's' Day. Who celebrates that anyway? Plus it wasn't like I was being served any delicious green beer in the Labor & Delivery Unit, so we'll stick with Easter as the first holiday. Party of five, bunny style.

(So maybe a great picture of all of us isn't gonna happen this year. Or maybe ever.)

A family tradition on Easter is fried chicken. I have absolutely no idea when or how it started, but it is what it is. This year was no different. Except for the mounds of sushi. It's a new tradition. But fear not - fried chicken was still there. (I mean seriously is that enough soy sauce or WHAT?)

Picture recap - better late then never right? Right.

As you can see we ate chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. I thought Valentine's was going to be a holiday topper for Max with all the candy that comes with it. I somehow forgot or never realized that Easter has even more chocolate then Valentine's days.

AND PEEPS!

 

Those kids were some sweet, sticky messes after Easter. You better believe they got their baths that night. I *think*. Yeah, you're right, they probably didn't. But no one complained.

Mason did his best to find EVERY golden egg at EVERY egg hunt he participated in. He was so stoked. (Disclaimer: he was the oldest kid participating in this said egg hunt....but hey, he still found it!)

 

Mason got a beloved Slinky Dog - he was so excited that the crazy huge bunny he saw at the mall "read his dreams" and remembered this slinky dog.  A slinky dog and chocolate for breakfast. OH YES, YES,  AND CROCS. *insert happy dance* Forget Easter people, it was like Christmas over here.

As all holidays are with the munchkins, it was a busy day full of chaos and fun. Hopefully next Easter I'll remember to blog it sooner, unless of course, I'm busy cleaning sweet, sticky Peep fingers and snuggling chubby cheeks covered in melted chocolate that is. Priorities and all, you know?

Happy Easter. In JULY. (And now it's already August, whoops!)

Say what???

This is really a just for mama post. After all the whole purpose of the blog is to remember these bitties in all their glory. Things were hearing a lot of in this house.

Max

Max does this crazy like "HUH"? I need to capture it on film. He says it about 50 times a day an hour. No matter how many times we repeat ourselves to clarify what we are trying to tell him we get the same response. HUH? Its high pitched and hilarious.

At any given moment, Max might bust in to song as well. His song of choice - Happy Birthday. Except it sounds a lot more like appy bow-doe. The words are a little unclear, but the tune is perfection. He hums it, just right.

I was sure, absolutely, that one of Max's first words would be Mason. Or some cute variation of his brother's name. He admires all things Mason, yet two years in he refuses to attempt to say his name. He calls him brother, except it sounds nothing really like brother - more like baby. "bay bay". But it is for sure what he calls Mason, no doubt.

And in classic two year old fashion were hearing a whole 'lotta NO and whole more "I DO" (die do). You do it baby, you do it.

Mason
 

Mason has this weird obsession (lately) with the middle. Not just any middle, but every middle, and "the really middle" . Yeah don't ask, I don't know. Generally he is really gentle with his new baby brother and looks out for Max when were out and about, but he is not above pushing either, or both, brothers out of the way to make sure he is snuggled in the middle. Natrually, the middle IS the best. We can thank Oreo cookies for that phenomenon. I'm not really sure when it started or better yet why it started, but it is big news around here.

And like all children, it's also big news about "who has the most" and "what's cooler" and "whose is better". This usually ALWAYS happens throughout our day. I especially love when he throws me a curveball toughie. "Mommy, what's cooler: staying home and taking a nap (because he's smart, he knows this is Max's afternoon destiny) or going to the movies with my cousins and Grandpa?" See, toughie. Like, hmmm, let me think for oh, five seconds. I'm just thankful (that for now) Max can't sense the gloating and sarcasm that this pint sized four year old exudes. And ak-shully (as Mason says it) I think I'll vote for a nap. Because that'd be awesome in the next century guys.

Say what? That's what (is being said in these parts).

our weekend: snapshot edition

We had an action packed weekend. It was so much fun. We celebrated Fiesta and even though we've lived here pretty much forever, we've never taken Mason to ANY Fiesta events. So 2011 marks his first of many crazy parades outings. He really liked it, it was pretty hot, but surprisingly cool.

Max really loved it, I hesitated on my decision on whether to take him or not but ended up deciding he could join us. He jammed out to every high school band that played, he dug in to his (and everyone elses) snow cone - with his hands. Mason begged for a "chicken wing" which was really a turkey leg, but in all my brilliance I forgot cash. Actually I brought just enough cash for a cheap plastic sword...yup, just one. You know my car ride home was barrels of fun. MEMO TO SELF: TWO OF EVERYTHING (someday I suppose it'll be THREE).

Mason's school parade & pinata  festivities. Even Max got a chance to hit the pinata. He made the most of his two swings, thrusting the stick with every ounce of energy his little body possessed. Apparently Alexander is not amused with this Fiesta business.

We swam.

Grilled.

Then swam again.

We ate lunch in our pj's.

We cracked open cocoons, to collect red berries. This is a very serious occupation when you are four years old. Or so it appears.

Some of us just slept the entire weekend. Okay, really he doesn't sleep that much considering he's a newborn. Or a very small infant. He's more alert and awake more hours of the day then either of the big boys were. He must know if he's asleep he'll miss out on the craziness. And there is a lot of crazy. Obviously.

We played scrabble, sipped Sangria and ventured out to NIOSA (which was quite an adventure).

And then...you guessed it...we swam. SOME MORE.

Santa Claus.

Santa Claus is such a crucial part of Christmas for little kids. In Mason's eyes he is the ONLY one bringing gifts. We never even made a big fuss over Santa, but he IS Christmas for Mason. I was excited that this year, Mason was old enough to get the notion behind the magic of this holiday. His exhilaration for Santa and reindeer and tree lights is endless. We had reservations for breakfast with the one and only - yup, pancakes with Santa Claus. Mason seemed pretty excited yet a little apprehensive to actually meet Santa. All fun and games when that big man in the red suit is just an abstract concept, a picture on the page of a book, ya know?

So breakfast with Santa approached last Saturday. Mr. Fancy pants one and two in their ties loaded up for a feast with the bearded man, Mason excited and Max having not the slightest clue of what was to come. A few mentions of "I'm going to ask Santa for ____" blurted from the backseat on the ride to eat, a few shrill screams from Max in regards to the tie he hated so much. Excitement abound.



When Santa finally came out, Mason was strangely uninterested. Max was paying so much attention to the chocolate chips sprinkled atop his stack of pancakes that a real reindeer standing on our table wouldn't have made for much distraction. I was a little bummed, no one even cared. Was I more excited than my children about Santa Claus? Apparently I was.



Max was less than thrilled. Completely distraught. Hysterical. He took one look back at the exhausted, characterless Santa Claus and lost himself. I couldn't help but laugh irritatingly and snap away, while my poor helpless toddler sat there reaching for help, desperate for his life. Mason stood back just watching it all, refusing to render aid to Max. I finally nudged him over towards Santa and he let out his famous, ear to ear grin just long enough for a picture. Then he briskly forfeited his space next to jolly (er...barely breathing) old, St. Nick. Max was bailed out of Santa's lap and we were done. Done with Santa.



So we like the idea of Santa Claus, sneaking in to our house while were all snuggled in bed, leaving lots of goodies beneath the tree. But meeting Santa, conversing with that man, no thank you.