Bloody Morning

This morning William heard a siren. So he dashed into his bedroom and climbed on his bed to get a better view out his window.

"Maybe," thought his little 2-year-old head, "I can get a view of the firetruck/police car/ambulance from here."

Instead I heard a crash. And then a boom. And then a loud hurty cry.

A hurty cry is the kind where you know they're really hurt. They're not whining. They're not just scared. They're not just trying to get attention.

So I ran into his room and scooped him into my arms and cradled his head against my chest. It was when he finally caught his breath and his tear-stained head emerged that I noticed the blood stains on my white t-shirt. I cupped his face in my hands and saw the bright red streak on his left eyebrow.

Sigh. Boys. They can never let a dull morning just be.

The rest of the day has consisted of him begging me to lift him up so he can see himself in the bathroom mirror.

"Look at my battle wound," he says to the boy in the mirror. "RAAAAAR!"

Then he turns to me, "That's scary Mommy, right?"

But then again, maybe he's not all boy. Maybe he just wanted one to match the other side.

I'll Take Two Please

For the past four days we have been down one family member.

William has been at Nana and Papa's where things are much more exciting because his daily events include things like trips to the pool, chasing (terrorizing?) the puppy, talking to the man in the tree, listening to Papa's outrageous bedtime stories and letting Nana spoil him rotten with her delectable desserts and trips down the toy aisle at Target.

His past four days have not included any activities related to the selling and buying of houses. This is important because Brian and I have been eating, sleeping and breathing all things house-related.

We looked at about twenty houses this weekend and I can't even imagine what it would have been like to have had William with us. Well actually, yes I can. It would have been like this.

Buckle him in his carseat. Drive six blocks. Unbuckle. Wait for key in lockbox. Tell William to stop jumping off step while waiting for house to be unlocked. Walk in to prospective house. Discuss size of living room. Tell William to get off the couch. Discuss size of bedrooms. Tell William to get off the bed. Discuss kitchen area. Tell William to get out of the cupboards. Take a looksee at the backyard. Tell William to get back here. Right now. I'm counting to three. One...two...thr...good boy. Ask William if he has to go potty. Ask William if he's sure he doesn't have to go potty. Discuss reasons why this house isn't "the one." Walk back outside. Lock house. Chase William down sidewalk. Force him back in his carseat. Ignore crying. And whining. Drive six blocks. Wash, rinse, repeat.

You can understand why I was reminded this weekend how easy it is to have one child and how easy that one child is when she is a newborn whose carseat is easily clicked in and out of its base and whose needs require only mama's milk and gentle swaying of said carseat to fall asleep.

Brian and I took full advantage of having one, portable child this weekend. When we weren't looking at houses we visited cute pubs and had adult conversations. We accepted an invitation to a friend's house and stayed way past a toddler's bedtime. We didn't have set dinner times or lunch times. We went to mass and were actually able to listen to the homily.

All that said I missed my little boy. I missed his sticky hands and dirty feet. I missed his tousled hair and his stained t-shirt. I missed his incessant questions and his witty one-liners. I missed gazing at his peaceful, sleeping state as I check on him before I went to bed. I missed the click of the door when he woke up in the morning and his cute little announcement, "Mommy, I wake up." I missed "nuggling noses" and getting into that tasty little spot on the side of his neck right after he gets out of the bath.

Tomorrow morning I'm sure to be complaining about the unruly chaos that life with two brings. But all it takes is just a little time off to realize that life with two truly is a beautiful mess of wonderfulness.

Dear Blog,

I'm so sorry I've neglected you. I miss you and I still need you. You keep me sane and let me write out my life in neat little sentences and paragraphs when everything else around me is anything but neat or little.

Everything's fine, don't get me wrong. It's just that I'm on constant potty watch and/or cleanup. And then there's my little Lucy girl who, by the way, is the bestest baby in world. But she still requires her mama's undivided attention for feeding and burping and changing and cuddling and giggling.

And in between we're trying to squeeze out every precious moment of summer that we can. Minnesotans do that because we know it's all so short. Ninety five and humid? Bring it on baby. Meet you at the pool.

All of this has recently been followed by a phone call telling me that there's been a request for a showing of our house. In two hours. So I scramble to clean up the breakfast dishes. Make the beds. Arrange the house just so. Get the kids dressed and in the car. And, besides the crib, hide any evidence that kids live in this house.

It's this crazy, necessary chaos so we can get to where we need to be.

I've never felt so humble during prayer as I have in these past few weeks. I don't know how we're going to do this so I close my eyes and leap in faith. We'll get there.

And then there's the man who makes it all possible. He calms. He provides. And he has this wonderful way of putting it all into unemotional perspective for way-too-emotional me.

He doesn't care that there was no time to purchase a proper Father's Day gift. His idea of a great Father's Day was a day at the pool followed by a trip to St. Paul for mass and ice cream to remind us why we're doing all this maddening house stuff. We need to live in St. Paul. We become alive and energetic every time we enter that city. It's where we belong.

I'm three days late but it's still important that I say it here: Happy Father's Day, Brian! I couldn't have handpicked a better daddy for my kiddies. It is so evident to every one you meet how much you love and adore your children. But more importantly, it's so evident to your children how much you love them. Oh how easy Lucy smiles for you. And those belly laughs from William. No else can make him roar like that.

And so, dear blog, that is why I have been absent. I love you too but there's a pecking order and unfortunately you're pretty far down the list. But soon enough I know it will all be back to normal. Soon.

Greener Grass

The other day my sister called to ask for the name of the gas drops we gave to William when he was a newborn. Her little Sally was experiencing some intestinal challenges just as William had when he was a baby.

I clearly remember being at Brian's parent's house for Christmas when William was just a month old. He cried ceaselessly even after he was fed, changed and well-rested. His poor tummy just had too many gas bubbles for him to handle. The only thing that would give us just a 30-minute reprieve was the blessed Mylicon.

After I hung up with my sister I realized that Lucy is already a month and a half old and we haven't even had to think about gas drops. I felt guilty for having a newborn who was giving us little to no challenges.

But then I remembered. My sister isn't having to deal with potty training and toddler tantrums and making three complete meals a day and trying to figure out how to get two kids confined inside the shopping cart at Target and the non-stop-go-until-you-fall-down action from the moment his eyes pop open in the morning.

This is my life and these are my challenges. Yesterday it might have been a gassy newborn but today it's this and not that.

It's just further proof that the grass isn't always greener on the other side. It's pretty much that dried-up burnt brown color everywhere you look.

Oh I kid, I kid.

I Baptize You...

Thank God for Video Posts

Yep, still crazy busy so I'm cheating and posting another video. Enjoy!

Ms. Smiley Pants

William wasn't a very smiley newborn so excuse me while I gloat.

This Old House

Good afternoon blog, welcome to Potty Trainers R Us.

No? Not what you wanted? OK, how about...

Good afternoon blog, welcome to Home Staging Extraordinaires.

Figured it out yet? We've been busy.

The Potty Clock goes off every 20 minutes and when we're not trying to get his buttsy on the little green potty we're touching up paint or packing up stuff for storage or arranging and rearranging our mantle, our shelves, the tops of tables, dressers, nightstands and so on and so on...

All in an effort to get our house to appeal to the right buyer.

The photographer was here this morning which means our house will be on the market by the end of the week. I'm excited, nervous and stressed all at the same time.

What if we have no showings?

What if we have too many showings? How am I going to deal with being out of my home so much with two kids?

What if William pees on the couch and I simultaneously receive a call that a potential buyer would like to see the house in five minutes?

What if doesn't sell for months?

Or even scarier, what if sells right away?

Have we saved up enough money?

What if interest rates continue to rise?

What if we can't find our perfect home in time?

What if we find our perfect home and someone else snatches it up before us?

How the heck am I going to move all of our household belongings while raising two kids; one of which is potty training and another who is nursing every few hours?

These are the questions that pound in my head as I'm lying in bed at night.

But deep down I know we're not the first family to go through this and we're certainly not the last.

I can't control the housing market and I can't control the latest interest rate. But none of that really matters. The situation is such that we're busting at the seams in this tiny house so we forge ahead. We've been planning and saving for this for years. We can do it! And somehow, because we do it all for the good of our family, it all works out in the end.

Before 9:30 I've...

• Nursed the baby. Twice.
  
  
• Finished the breakfast routine including clean-up.
  
  
• Watched Dave Matthews Band on The Today Show. (Was it just me or was Dave super weird during the interview segments?)
  
  
• Made two successful potties and one poopy in the potty. (OK, this was William but I'm still patting myself on the back for it.)
  
  
• Fixed the handle on the dishwasher. (This has been bugging me for a couple of weeks now. We received the new part in the mail yesterday and I was going to wait and have Brian do it this weekend but I decided to tackle it myself this morning. And I did it! I admit, every time I walk into the kitchen I open the dishwasher and giggle with satisfaction.)
  
  
• Watered my flowers. I'm on track!
  
  
• Poured myself a cup of coffee and wrote this short post.

The Perks of Mommyhood

Until further notice I'll be camped out here for, well, for as long as it takes.

With a gleaming prize at the finish line.

That's right. I'm not ashamed of using a good old fashioned bribe.

Although there have been some questions as to its effectiveness. We repeatedly told him yesterday that if he goes "poopy on the potty" Daddy will bring home a special surprise: Cars on DVD! (His all-time fave.)

Then we reviewed.

"William what do you have to do today?"

"I go poopy on the potty!"

"That's right. And what will Daddy bring home for you if you go poopy on the potty?"

Pause.

"A shirt!"

Hmmm. We really got through to him don't ya think?

Feel free to sympathize.

Now, back to Potty Central.

A New Reason to Love Going to Grandma's House