Words can not describe

I write this next post with a heavy heart. One of my dearest friends has lost her baby. She was due next month. She noticed he wasn't moving and then the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat. Last night she had to deliver her stillborn baby. My heart aches for her and what she is experiencing.

I know it is a cliche to say that I can not imagine what she is going through, but I honestly can not wrap my head around the devastation she must be feeling. This baby was to be her first.

I can not stop thinking and praying for her and her husband. Last night as I was cooking dinner, I turned around and saw Samantha dangling from the open silverware drawer and George up on a kitchen chair dancing. While this scene would have normally sent me into a tizzy of yelling, yesterday was different. Yesterday I felt thankful for my children and all the craziness they bring. I know my family is a gift and I don't know what I would do without them.

Dear baby Rocco, the world was a better place because you were in it. Although your time here was short, your life mattered. You were loved and you are missed. As you watch down from heaven, please watch over your parents and let them feel your loving presence.

The Marten Family Christmas Letter

It is this time of year that you take a look back and count your blessings. We have so many I don’t know where to begin.

Sammy’s wall art has really been improving and I think it has to do with the different mediums she is using. I think she finds she prefers markers to pen because they really cover the canvas better.

Riley has gotten much wittier in her backtalk. I mean she is so mature. the words that are hurled from her sweet eight-year-old lips are really something I would expect to come from a teenager. Second grade has really improved her vocabulary.

George has improved leaps and bounds on his Tae-kwon-do. Riley in particular has really noticed the progress he has made in his flipper kick to her leg.

Cooper, our half lab, has done a really nice job of getting nearly all of his throw up on the hardwood floors, sparing our carpet. I am also happy to report that he has kept the diaper eating to a minimum.

Ben and I collapse on the couch every evening at eight and congratulate ourselves on keeping the children alive one more day. We are also pleased to announce we have cut or wine drinking down to two bottles a night. Cheers!

We can’t even begin to imagine what 2010 may have in store for us and honestly can’t wait for the adventure to begin.

From the Mouths of Babes

Every Friday a friend of mine and me take turns watching each others kids for a couple hours. Just to give us two hours to do whatever we want without kids. Sometimes that means running errands that would usually take us two hours now take us 30 minutes. This is simply because we don't have to fumble with car seats when we are getting in or out of the car or dealing with tantrums in the aisles or having to stop to wipe noses. Sometimes we just go to a quiet place and get 30 minutes worth of work actually done in 30 minutes. Anyway, her husband is also a firefighter and we like to commiserate together about the joys of being a firefighters wife.

So yesterday I was watching her children (whom I really enjoy.) She has a three-year-old who is literally the size of a five-year-old, Tanner. He is exactly what I imagine my husband looked like when he was that age. She also has a very easy going six month old.

George had been DYING for someone to play the WII with him and he had found the perfect competitor. George and Tanner played for and hour and a half. They were both red cheeked with sweat dripping down the sides of their little faces. Do you know how hard a five and three year old have to work to get sweaty!? These two were playing their tiny hearts out.

I went to the kitchen to unload the dishwasher as George was being a not so gracious winner. That's when I heard Tanner, "George stop.... stop... (I could actually hear the tiny wheels in his head turning) stop busting my balls!"

"What?" George replied in genuine confusion, "what balls?"

"I don't know." Tanner replied in defeated desperation.

"What are you talking about?" George tried to understand.

"I don't know what I am talking about!" Tanner replied.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen I was trying to stifle my laughter like a child in church. Later, when I told the story to my husband he said, "Well, I know where Tanner got that saying," and I was nodding in agreement until he went on, "his mother."

School Pictures....bring it on!

First of all, I know, I know. I've fallen off the blogging wagon. Well, I am here to let you know that I am picking myself up by my bootstraps and climbing right back on. I will not let you down again, I hope.

Now, take a look at Georgie's school picture. He is smiling so sweetly you can almost see the halo over his perfect little blonde head. Let's rewind a couple hours to when we were getting ready for this angelic photo...

Crap! It is school picture day! Of course, it is also laundry day so
Georgies closet looks pretty pathetic. I rummage through the few shirts left hanging. Oooh, this one has a collar. Wait, that is the one he wore last year for pictures. Let me look through again. Ooooh, darn, that is the same shirt I just looked at. I glance over at George. He is watching me in his jeans and t-shirt that he has already put on in angry anticipation of what I would pick out. George does NOT like dressing up. Between Georgie's stare and the ticking clock I am begining to feel the pressure of finding something halfway decent for him to wear.

Then, it was as if the heaven's opened up and a ray of sunshine from the heavens came down and lit up a shirt with a collar! The angels were singing in my head as I lifted the shirt in victory. However, my choir was soon silenced by a scream coming from my son, "Noooooo! Not a shirt with BUTTONS!" Before I had even said anything he fell on the floor in a seziure like stop, drop, and roll. I just stood there and looked at the shirt. I was in genuine shock. He didn't even have to change what he was wearing. All he had to do was but this shirt on over his t-shirt and he could still wear the jeans.

Unfortunately for George his best attempt at dramatics don't hold a candle to what his sister is capable of so I know consider myself a trained professional in dealing with tantrums. I knelt down and wrestled the shirt on the boy. George contorted his face into what I imagine an angry pug would look like and he stomped his feet all the way from his room to the car.

I followed George to the car and took him to school. As the teacher unloaded him and I waved goodbye and I though, this is going to be a big waste of $25.

STREAKERRRRRR!

My daughter spends the majority of the day naked. Let me elaborate. First of all, it is the one-year-old, not the eight-year-old. You see, she actually is better at holding her pee if she doesn't wear anything at all. She also takes frequent trips to the bathroom. Many of you are thinking why would taking frequent trips to the bathroom warrant running around the house naked? Let me explain. When Sammy tells you she has to go to the bathroom, it is like a firefighter getting a call. You must stop whatever you are doing IMMEDIATELY. Then, you need to pick her up and run, because you can run faster than she can. Next, you must strip her down. This is partially Sammy's preference. While some are satisfied with merely pulling their pants down, Sammy demands that the pants come completely off. In her perfect world her shirt would also come off every time she has to go, but I have to put my foot down somewhere right? Then repeat this process 6-8 times every day. So in an effort to save time and improve actually getting it in the potty I usually just let her go in the buff after the first visit to the potty.

So yesterday evening was a day like any other day. Ben and I were getting things ready for dinner and Sammy was running around in the nude. Let me add here that calling Riley and George for dinner is one of Sammy's favorite things to do. She runs over to the staircase and cups her tiny hand by her mouth and screams at the top of her baby lungs, "Ri, Georgie, George, Ri!" Although they NEVER come when she calls, she will just continue until Ben or I go over and call them so they'll actually come. Then when she hears the thunderous sound of their feet overhead she takes off sprinting to get to the table first. Although the usually pass her about halfway there.

Back to yesterday evening.... Riley was outside playing with friends when it was time for dinner. I opened the door and stepped out. I couldn't see Riley, so I just yelled, "Riley it's time for dinner!" That is when I heard it. The high pitched, "Ri" giving it all her little lungs could muster. I looked behind me. To my horror I saw a naked one-year-old on the front porch with her tiny hand cupped by her mouth, "RI!" I do a quick scan of the neighborhood, no one appears to be out, thank goodness. Riley runs up and begins laughing at the site of her naked sister calling her for dinner. Oblivious to the situation, Sammy sees that Riley has come for dinner and turns around satisfied that her job here is done and marches her tiny heiny back in the house.

Well it has happened. I have become one of those old people who says, "they grow up so fast."

It happened recently when I noticed that the bath toys were beginning to overflow from their cute little basket on the toilet, to the floor and also in the tub. I thought, 'I should go through those and get rid of a bunch because Riley and George don't even take baths anymore.' It hit me like a bolt of lightning. Riley and George are so big that they take their own showers now. No more shampoo mohawks, no more "count while I hold my breath underwater" (I guess I won't miss that one, it kind of scared me.) No more Santa beards of bubbles for them.

I still have my sweet Sammy Rose to console me. But when exactly did all this happen? Although she is still taking baths, she is already out of her crib and pooping on the potty!

I also recently volunteered at Georgie's school. I was blown away by the changes he has made since last year. Not only was he the leader of the boys pack, but he was embarrassed when I gave him a hug and a kiss when I left school. Just one year before he was clinging to my leg when I would go to his class. Now, it was as if he didn't even know I was there.

STOP! I wish I could grab the planet and dig in my heals and keep it from turning for just a little while.

It is ironic that all this time I have been wishing and hoping for their independence (and I'm not gonna lie, I know how many years it is going to be before they all move out.) and now that they are getting a taste of that independence that I longed for I miss the way it was.

Well, Riley and Sammy have just come barreling down the stairs demanding breakfast and that I get off the computer. Nostalgia over.

The church incedent

So, you may have noticed, as I have, that all my posts have something to do with poop. Ben suggested that I change the title of my blog to the 'poop scoop'. While I considered that, I decided I would redeem myself with a poop-free story. I think it is just that I know that poop is always good for a cheap laugh.

When Ben had first started at the fire department, I was determined to be able to do things that we had once done together by myself. Just because I now had three kids I was not going to hide in my home and never do things just because he was away. So in a brave effort I decided to take the kids to church by myself. At this point Sammy was only a couple months old. I was scared but I knew I had to put on a brave front and not let the enemy (Riley and George) know I was feeling weak.

Things were going along well. I was beginning to feel very proud of myself. We stood up to sing a song and I heard George say, "I'm stuck". I looked down to notice that he had jammed his elbow in the little book shelf that comes out about three inches from the back of each pew. I bent down to pull his elbow out. Suddenly his cries became louder, "I'm stuck, I'M STUCK"

I handed Sammy to the people in the pew behind me. I was later relieved to find out that I knew them. The song is over and people are sitting and the only thing that can still be heard is George now screaming, "I'M STUCK!"

I know in this situation I am supposed to be the calm and cool mother who soothes her child, but for some reason I just can not stop laughing. It may have been a nervous reaction because I found I was also sweating profusely.

People from two pews up and two pews back start helping me get my sons elbow dislodged from the bookshelf. One man began to look in his diaper bag for a screwdriver to undo the shelf. (I was impressed to think he might have a screwdriver in his diaper bag) the people behind me gave me their chap stick to rub on his elbow. The man in front was pulling on the shelf to make in wider and get the elbow out.

I look up and see that our elderly priest has decided to ignore the incident and continue with the service even though it appears that not one person in the congregation is actually paying attention to him. All eyes are on George.

Scenarios start to run through my head. If we have to call an ambulance and Ben has to come to get the elbow out I am going to be so embarrassed. Am I going to have to go up and interrupt the priest and explain to him what is going on? Should I yell, "does anyone have a screwdriver?" in the middle of church.

Riley begins to laugh, I turn and tell her this is not funny. While I try to hide the fact that I myself can not stop laughing. Finally, someone two pews up hands me a tube of lotion that I squirt all over his elbow which slowly becomes dislodged.

And that is what happened when I attempted to take the kids to church by myself. I don't know, poop may be funnier.