True Floridians

Sunshine and Lights

In light of the fact that Cole has turned four, it was time for him annual trip to see Dr. Wilson.

First words out of his mouth?

Do I get a shot?

Naturally it's what any four year old would want to know. And thankfully Dr. Wilson saves the shots for the five year visit, so we get to put that unpleasantness off for another 365 days. Due to recent anxieties the boys have about the doctor's office, I've enacted a rule that they can bring their Ruffie along for the visit.

Clearly Cole's Ruffie is not a dog. Mason's however, is. And when Cole was a baby and heard Mason calling his prized little lovey "Ruffie" Cole was sure that his little friend should go by the same name. Cause Big Brothers always know what's right.

Ruffie is Cole's best bud, and he doesn't get out much. I live in fear that he, who is in my opinion more valuable than gold, will be lost.

Ruffie, as you can see, if very well loved. He's so well loved that he's pretty much flat, his arms completely so, all the stuffing that once resided inside him having been hugged flat by an abundance of love. He needs a little plastic surgery, a nip and restuff, but I am deadly afraid Cole will flip with any alterations. So Ruffie slumps. He doesn't seem to mind.

Cole has a wonderful imagination, more colorful than the rainbow. He treats his Ruffie so well, making sure he always has something to eat and always gets to see the sights. He was so excited to show Ruffie all the toys in the waiting room, and as he was introduced, Ruffie barked his approval.

When I got the usual gamut of questions from Dr. W (any problems, does he sleep, does he eat, seem to be allergic to anything, does he like school, follow discipline) I really couldn't come up with a single issue to raise.

And it filled my heart once again that my sweet little Cole is such an easygoing dude. He lives in this world, soaking up every moment with a smile, showcasing his chipped tooth from one of his lesser moments. And despite those lesser moments that all kids have, right now, in his four year old state, Cole is the sunshine of my life.

The members of a family are like actors in a play--everyone has a part. Sometimes we trade parts so that other members get a chance to shine as the lead. Right now, Cole's our leading man.

And on a completely unrelated note, I am now the proud owner of a Canon Speedlite 580EX II external flash!! Ahhh, photography equipment.... There's just nothing like having a new piece of it. Now if I only had 45 spare seconds to put some batteries in it and try that bad boy out!

Monster Truck Sized Egg-Shaped Celebrations

I woke up this morning the way I always do--to one of my children staring in my face.

This time it was Cole. The birthday boy.

He climbed in bed with me and I snuggled him. Told him it was his birthday and now, at long last, he was officially four. And then I looked at the clock and noted the time.

It was almost exactly the same time it was four years ago when I met him for the first time, several hours after his tumultuous and highly dramatic entry into this world. And in retrospect, I can't believe after such an entrance he has turned out to be such a quiet, easy-going, happy-go-lucky child.

Have you heard of a Golden Birthday? It just learned of this phenom last week. Apparently it's when your age matches your date of birth. So since Cole was born on the 4th and he's turning four, it's his Golden Birthday. Imagine that.

Since today is Easter, we had his party yesterday. It would have been so nice to have his party today, on his actual birthday, but of course people would be celebrating the holiday with their families.

This year was awesome, because Cole told me exactly what kind of birthday party he wanted. A bounce house party, at our house, with monster trucks. Pirate monster trucks, to be specific (come to find out this means Captain's Curse from Monster Jam).

I thought all of his decisiveness would take the guess work out of it for me, but it just so happens that Monster Trucks are the hardest to find, hardest to plan birthday decorations. But I worked it out. Right down to the cake. After Target and Publix were both sold out of their monster truck cake decoration parts, I said eff it (literally, I was frustrated) and made my own cake.

Then I found these snazzy letter candles, but of course there was no "Cole." They were also sold out of most single letters. So how did I score this? There was a "Nicole." Ha!

Pre cake he's already got chocolate on his face. Donuts. We had a breakfast party. Getting the kids nice and jacked up on sugar. : )

Lila, in her very own pink monster truck shirt. With her very own chocolate donut face.

After the party, after the cleanup, after Cole and I went to Publix to order cupcakes for his class party on Monday, we switched out of Birthday mode and into Easter mode to color eggs.

Before.

During.

After. 18 freshly colored little cadets standing proudly in their carton.

And then this morning when Rey pulled out the white eggs to make Cole's breakfast french toast, Cole wondered what kind of trick we played on him to make the "painted" eggs plain again.

This morning, in a special hybrid Easter/Birthday mode... we stopped in our harried rush to make it from point A to B to C to Z and took a few quick Easter best pictures.

My girl.

My girl and her brothers who love her to bitty bits.

I almost made Cole change out of his blazing red Crocs. But he really wanted to wear them. And although some might think they ruin the "perfect" shot, I think the perfect shot consists of perfectly happy kids. It was his birthday, he was already sharing it with a holiday, and by george if wearing red Crocs would make him happy then it also make this picture perfect.

It also covers their perfect little personalities. Lila the Ham. Mason the Showman. And Cole, perfectly bored out of him mind and wondering when this would be over so he could get back to his Dragon Wagon.

I made it into a picture!

Tried to fire off some singles of the boys.

Mason poses.

Cole does not.

He would be very pleased for you to know that he's now four. That's four years old, people.

And lastly, a cake. Post egg hunt, post Easter brunch with one family and Easter dinner with another, we had the final cake. With four candles.

Egg-shaped for Easter, with four springtime layers.

Between the cakes and the candy, our entire family is poised to lapse into a sugar coma.

I think I did a good job of making the best of my boy sharing his birthday with Easter. I think I managed to make him feel special and still make a special holiday for my other Garanimals.

But I am dead dog-tired. And thankful that Easter doesn't fall on April 4th every year.

I assumed it would happen at some point again though, and I even took the time to look it.

2021. Easter will be on Cole's birthday again when he turns 15.

At least I have 11 years to recover from this weekend before I have to do it again.

Cole's Easter Birthday Bunny?

This year, Cole's birthday falls square on Easter Sunday. And I am at a loss.

Do I forgo a little of Easter for all three of my kids to properly celebrate Cole's birthday?

Or do I forgo a little of Cole's birthday to properly celebrate Easter?

I am an all or nothing kind of girl. So I am having a lot of trouble with this sharing the holiday business. Those of you with Christmas babies, my heart goes out. Although in a way this is tougher because it's difficult to explain to a three-almost-four-year-old why he has to share his birthday with Easter this one year only, when each are equally lofty to a kid his age. The 40 days of lent mean nothing to a kid who can only count to 14.

I'm looking at napkin rings that say "Happy Easter." But I can't use those on Cole's birthday....

Can I?

I'm looking at our typical tradition of taking the birthday child to breakfast with his or her parent of choice.

But we can't split up our whole family for breakfast on Easter Sunday...

Can we?

I feel like whatever way I throw it, someone's going to get shorted. Is this reasonable guilt or am I being ridiculous? I do have say that since he's the middle child I alway go above and beyond to make sure he doesn't feel shorted...

His party is on Saturday, his actual birthday/Easter is on Sunday, and the obligatory cupcakes at school come on Monday.

I am exhausted already.

Doing Really Dumb Things a.k.a. Making Enchiladas with Your Kids

Tonight, in a moment of less clarity, I did several unintelligent things.


1. I, a woman with no cooking skills, decided to make dinner.


2. I, in typical me fashion, selected an intricate recipe for what can be a simple dish. (Why do in two steps what you can do in ten?)


3. I, in an attempt to get my 5 year old more adventurous about food, enlisted said 5 year old's help in preparing said intricate recipe.


4. I also enlisted the help of the 5 year old's brother. His little brother. You know, the three year old.


We were making enchiladas.


While I was in the thick of it, I was excited and having a grand ol' time. The fact that we were making a monumental mess in my kitchen was in the back of my mind, but I was too busy preventing my kids from scalding themselves or grabbing a cilantro knife that the mess couldn't consume me. At least not then.


They had a great time smuggling shredded cheese when my back was turned.


They were so excited that I really was convinced they'd at least give the enchiladas a try. I know full well that they don't eat meat that isn't chicken and they don't eat chicken that isn't in nugget form, but they were so earnest and proud about the process that I really thought they'd at the very least give it the old college try.


It wasn't pretty.


There was begging.


Please no food! Please give me a cookie!


There was pleading.


I can't eat the food! My Band-aid will get dirty! (The Band-aid is on his leg. I don't understand this one.)


Despite the fact that it was a labor intensive process, I thoroughly enjoyed my new enchilada recipe.


My kitchen? A mess.


My major mistake--I should have anticipated the screaming, crying and carrying on that would accompany it and make a margarita to cushion the blow.

Live and learn.

Dear Life:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

1. I love Lila and her new interest in talking. She's a parrot and will repeat (or attempt to repeat) anything we say. My favorite is simple--"Hi". She stares, intently, at my mouth as I say "Hi!" "Hi!" like a babbling fool and she repeats to the best of her ability.



LilaGirl's Love Letter to Life would go something like this: "Dear Whoever Invented the Dolly, THANK YOU. Love, LilaGirl"




2. I love how much Cole loves school. He is happy-go-lucky to begin with, but he is SO happy on school days and always excited to go. He loves having friends and seeing them and opening his -ogurt (yogurt, he also things I do -oga) at lunch time "all by muhself." That's some fine motor skills for ya.






3. I love how Mason is a boy now. I'm not sure when it happened, but he is a child now, no longer a baby or a toddler, but a real child. I think I'm supposed to feel sad about that, but my gut is just ever so pleased at how he's grown, and the things he's learned and is able to do, like bring me the phone when I need to call poison control.






4. I love how Rey is stoked that the boys love Star Wars now. It is fake love since they have never seen a nano second of the movies, but all the same they love to play with Darth "Favor" figurines and R2D2. If anyone sees a C3PO somewhere, hit me up. That little gilded guy is hard to come by.




5. I love the new color of the boys room, even more so because I really detested the old color. New furniture (bunk beds!) will arrive on Saturday between 8:30 and 10:30, or so a computerized phone call from Pottery Barn tells me.

6. I love the thrill of Craigslist (recently discovered). Last week I sold a couple of no-longer-needed baby items that were cramming up my space. It gave me a high. I've never done drugs, but I imagine the high I got from trading my no longer useful crap from very useful money was akin to that.

7. I love that my buddy Amber is coming to the Sunshine State, bringing Mason's buddy Sebastian, the ever-lovely Siennah, and my and Rey's goddaughter Savannah with her. Yes people, there will be six kids living in my house for a week. Come by on August 1st and there might be one or two in the front yard with a "Free to a Good Home" sign hanging around his or her neck.


(KIDDING People! Only Kidding!)

Signed,
Ashley

P.S. Take advantage of my burst of positivity. It's a limited time offer!

I Am Tired

So very, very tired.

I am tired because I basically have not slept in five years. Cole gets up every night to pee, and while it is lovely that he no longer requires the use of a Pull Up, it'd be even lovelier if he just went in his own bathroom and went back to bed, instead of waking me up and requiring an escort for what is definitely a one-man job.

I am tired because, as usual, Mason was literally in. my. face at 6:48am asking when I was going to make breakfast, cause he's "really, really hungry." Probably because he barely ate his dinner because he "didn't love it.

I am tired because, all before 7:30am this morning, I made three meals for three children, each with its own variation, each with a different beverage, and each with a lot if whining.

I am also tired because one of the toilets was overflowing this morning (for whatever inexplicable, cruel joking-universe reason) and thus I had to use about a hundred towels to dry up the flood, do five loads of laundry to clean the aforementioned 100 towels, and mop the floor clean of toilet water (twice, to be on the safe side).

I am tired because my kids fight every second of every day. They fight over everything. And Nothing. At the same time. They are currently in two different rooms watching two different DVDs. It's bad parenting, but it affords me peace.

I am tired because to alleviate all this stress, I went to the gym this morning and ran three miles, at which point I decided it would be a good idea to run sprints up a hill. 45 second intervals of running at an 8.5 with a 4.0 incline. That will wear your ass out.

But, despite all of this, it is safe to say that I am not as tired as Cole.

Only Cole

Do you wonder how he managed to get himself into this predicament?

I would tell you, but I wasn't in the room to witness it. All I can say is that it was really, really difficult to get him out.

I Hope Jabba Doesn't Come After Me For This

My husband's dreams have come true--I have allowed the world of Star Wars to enter the lives of our children.

Mason had taken to playing Lego Star Wars on the Playstation at the gym. Which is fine, I'm not anti-video games (anything in moderation, right?) but he was turning into a complete and utter freak show about it. Begging to play, being completely irrational about it, screaming bloody murder when it was time to stop playing and leave the gym... Seriously, it was behavior akin to a crack addict--except he is four and his drug of choice was an electronic game system. I tried many other solutions before I revoked his gaming privileges, but it came to a point last week where I just couldn't take it anymore, and I cut him off. At the suggestion of my ever-helpful friend Carrie, I took him to the store and let him pick a Star Wars toy in an attempt to move him from the fantasy world of the video game to the reality of imaginative play.

Of course he chose a light sabre. Lord help me now. And I actually bought it for him. Yes, I even shocked myself.

Now those of you who know me are aware of my bleeding heart liberal, anti-weaponry ways. My friend Tonya had to educate me on the Rules of Proper Swordplay (inasmuch as swords can only touch other swords, not people). But I suppose I'm loosening up in my old ways, or the children are simply beating me down a bit more effectively.

Mason picked a red light sabre, which was no shocker since red is his fav, and he also decided that Cole and Daddy should each have one too (isn't it sweet how he thinks of others?). Blue for Cole, green for Daddy, and we were on our way.

As I pushed the cart through the store I had a nagging feeling that I was going to regret this. And when Mason proudly displayed our purchases to Rey, he gave me a look of shock and disbelief that I am condoning this. But, being the Sci-Fi crazy Trekkie loving Star Wars Yoda wanna be that he is, pleased with the light sabres he was.

We went over the rules, which were taken to heart and understood. Over the past week there has only been one time each that have the boys struck a blow on one another, at which point the light sabre went to time out. This is not bad considering their propensity for beating each other down.

I have, on several occasions, been drafted to play "The Force Game" when Daddy is at work and therefore unable. So I don the green light sabre, run around making "vroom.... vroom" noises, and pray that one of my eyes doesn't get poked out. I hate every minute of it. But it makes my boys happy, and that is my purpose.

May the Force be with you.

Darth Cole

Darth Mason

Poor Lila.... mixed in with the wrong crowd.

She is the cutest little Star Wars villain I have ever seen though!

Picture of the Day

Just a standard view of my living room on your typical afternoon....

Differences Between Moms and Dads

My fellow Southwest Floridians can attest to the fact that there's been a lot of thunderstorms here as of late.

This has resulted in the revelation that Mason is very afraid of thunder. He's four now, and naturally more aware of things. Every afternoon during what has become the daily thunderstorm, he comes running and tells me he's scared. I secretly kind of like it because he actually wants me to hold him, a rare occurrence anymore.

But as his mother, it's my duty to make him un-scared of the storms. So as he sits in my lap shaking like a leaf, I tell him not to be scared of thunder. It's just the angels up in heaven bowling, I tell him. Don't they make a lot of noise? They sound like they are having a ton of fun!

Today, Rey attempted to take the boys on his dad's boat to the beach on Keewaydin Island, but when they all got to the dock and checked the radar, the weather wasn't going to be good. The boys were really wanting to go to the beach, and couldn't understand why they were turning around and going home. Telling them "there will be thunder and lightening" wasn't sufficient. They demanded an explanation.

Here's Cole, recounting what he was told:

In case you can't understand Mr. Pizza Face... Translation: You'll get killed.

I am told Cole and Mason informed everyone on the dock that they better go inside so the thunder doesn't kill them. Cole even told a boater and his dog that, "You better go inside or the thunder will kill you. And it will kill your dog too."

Something tells me my angels bowling story isn't going to do much good anymore...

If These Boobs Could Talk

Before Mason was born, I decided to breastfeed. I don't know why--the cost effective nature? The health benefits? My controlling personality? Who knows... I Googled books and decided that "So That's What They're For!" would be my boob bible. It was great--funny, informative, well-written. I had decided to commit, persist and be a nursing hero.

So as the story goes of course, preemie, NICU, me on meds not compatible with nursing, pumping and dumping round the clock for two weeks until....

The day came that he could nurse. And he actually did it.

Wonder of wonders, this should be recognized as a miracle. Anyone who knows anything about newborn babies knows that it's 1 kid in 1000 that will spend two weeks bottle feeding and switch to breastfeeding. Not to say it was easy--it wasn't--freaking hard would be a much better description. You will recall my commit, persist and nursing hero declaration from the beginning. But soon enough he got he hang of it, I got the hang of it and before you knew it he was 10 months old, still nursing, and I was pregnant again.

Due to Mason's preemie status, I was immediately pressured from all angles to wean him due to the new pregnancy. I held off for a month, and weaned him at 11 months. It was sad, a little, but I knew there was another nursling coming 'round the bend.

Cole was born the nursing champ. I swear, if there was a contest on nursing, he would win it, hands down. It was great! Until.... he got sick, calorie counting became an issue and he refused to take a bottle. Or a sippy cup. Which basically sentenced me to a life of a little man hanging from my boob.

Months and months I tried to get him to take a bottle or a cup. I bought every brand, every variation. Frustration doesn't even begin to describe it. Tried formula, pumped milk, cow's milk, water, juice, beer... only kidding about that last one. Just checking to see if you're paying attention.

Finally, right around his first birthday, I broke him. And you'll never guess how. I put Nesquick in his milk. Judge me if you will, but he finally drank it, and after a week or so on the chocolaty goodness he would drink anything from his prized sippy cup. And so he joined the ranks of the weaned. And boy, was I glad that struggle was over.

Which brings us to Miss Lila. She didn't eat for four days after she was born. Stubborn little thing. The lactation consultants at the hospital had all been laid off, save one part timer who never stopped by to see me. She didn't have enough time to see everyone, and I wasn't a new mom so I was low on the priority list apparently. I had no help, but I knew we'd be fine--my will was stronger than hers. If she had been my first baby, I would have definitely given up. Pressure came from all angles that shall remain nameless that I should give her a bottle. No, she'll eat when she realizes she's hungry, which was confirmed by the Good Dr. W. (who everybody who knows him know he knows everything). : )

Sure enough, Day 4 rolled around is seems she realized she was hungry because she started nursing. Like I said, my will was stronger.

I had learned my lesson (the hard, hard way) with Cole and offered her a bottle more often. Somehow in the haze of having three small kids with a husband who works out of town, I fit daily pumping into my schedule and built a little freezer stash. It was prized.

It didn't take long to realize how much LilaGirl loved her bottle. She's see one and bounce shake jump cry wretch to have it. So I hid them, and continued to nurse her. I would hear from time to time someone speak of how her baby "weaned himself." Baloney, I thought. I rank that up there with people claiming to not make enough milk, which is about 1% of the population of mothers. But that's another post. There came a point around seven months that I thought how quickly she would wean if I let her. But I didn't. I struggled with her, and it sucked. (Pun intended? I'm not sure.)

And once again we have come to what seems like the theme of all my stories--how each of my kids has been so different. The boy who nursed despite the odds. The boy who wouldn't give it up for gold. And the little girl who loved her baba.

But the point of this whole diatribe is that a couple of weeks ago, Lila was weaned. I swear she felt like she won a victory, but I'm probably reading into this a bit. But I'm almost certain I saw a little smirk of victory on her face as I handed her the baba that morning...

Pardon me, but I don't feel sad. Not happy, but not sad. Relieved, perhaps. I have spent nearly three years of my life lactating. Much longer and I might very well begin to moo. I know more about milk production, storage, health benefits, cost effectiveness, pumping, increasing supply, support, criticism, nursing strikes and growth spurts than I ever though possible. I am my own personal La Leche League. And truly, I believe it's extraordinarily important. BUT, I counted it up, and there's only been four months out of the past five and a half years that I haven't been pregnant or lactating, and boy do I deserve a break.

Taking Pictures of People Taking Pictures, Part Two

Allow me to start by saying that this is a very long post. There are a zillion pictures to share the rest of the day we have last Thursday after the photo session. (And I might add, Blogger's photo uploader is absolutely terrible!)

I will also include the disclaimer that as you get further down, it might look like I'm a very mean mom. I promise, I am not.

So, Terrilyn brought seamless background paper for Lila's photos, and left behind a big piece of it for the boys to create a little art with. They were really excited by this prospect!

First they didn't believe me, and kept looking at me like, "Really? This thing you were just yelling at us to stay off of we're now supposed to color with markers??"



But once I convinced them it was okay, they were off!


Cole began with his standard "Scribble Scrabble."

And Mason began by yelling at Cole for the aforementioned "Scribble Scrabble." Seriously, he's the scribble scrabble police.

Cole was having a super fun time though.

And Mason got to work writing letters.

They were being so sweet and peaceful, just drawing away. So I decided to hit the kitchen for a quick snack. And returned to this:

Seriously? A piece of paper bigger than he is and this boy must draw on his legs.

Oh, and his face.

The result of a fun project:

And also... I have a standing rule that we keep markers up high so that Lila doesn't get into them. So we typically use them at the bar in the kitchen. Well obviously this wasn't conducive for this project, so on the floor we went. Lo and behold, the necessity for my rule was confirmed.

Thank God Crayola markers are non-toxic. (And you have no idea how difficult it was to return her tongue to a normal shade.)

Moving on...

Afterwards, Mason headed into the kitchen and noticed we had a new roll of paper towels. I always always always buy white paper towels, but Rey made the purchase this time, and for whatever reason he chose to buy some with a country print on them. Mason saw them and could not get over it. "Hey, what's with these paper towels? They're drawed all over! "

And then he said something that brought a tear to a proud mama's eye. "I better grab the camera and take a picture!"

And off he went, to fetch his little VTech KidZoom.

And of course, I grabbed my camera to document the time that Mason grabbed his.

Cole was furious, tirading that he was left out of the picture taking. He was begging Mason for the camera.

And Mason was shooing him away.

What you're about to see is such a rare occasion, such an event of nature that is has never before been documented. Cole had a tantrum.

And since Mason recognized that, much like the paper towels, this tantrum was a rarity, he started taking pictures of that too.

I have a general rule that I don't take pictures of my kids during their really ugly moments. After all, who wants to remember that? But those of you who know Cole understand that he is the happiest boy on the block. Always jolly, jovial, and agreeable. I couldn't help but laugh because it was so out of character for him.

Cole ran off to his room, enraged. Mason and I stayed behind and started taking pictures of each other taking pictures. He understood the irony and got a real kick out of it.

Mason ran off, and soon I heard Cole screaming at him. I went to investigate.

Cole had gone in his room and started playing with blocks and cars. Mason came along to take more pictures. Cole was not pleased.

First he covered his eyes, because as far as Cole's concerned if he couldn't see Mason, Mason couldn't take his picture.

Perhaps he realized this wasn't effective, because he ran across the room and slammed the door.

Mason thought it was great. A super fun game.

So he opened the door, and the whole scene replayed itself again.

And again.

And again.

And soon, Cole was laughing too.

And Mason and I were allowed to come in and play.

Something, don't ask me what, set Cole off again. The most easygoing kid you've ever seen was launching into his second tantrum.

I like to call this series "Meltdown a la Cole."

And just like that, Cole was laughing again too.

I'm yelling you, the whole thing was like the Twlight Zone.

Mason decided we should take self portraits at about the same time Lila arosed from her slumber to join us. Cole wanted no part, and I wasn't about to push the issue lest he launch into another tirade!

Later, just before naptime, Cole finally got his mitts of the coveted VTech KidZoom camera. Earlier in the day when Terrilyn was here, we were in the boys room at another ill-fated attempt to get them to simmer down and take some pictures. While we waited she sat Lila on top of the boy's nightstand to take some shots of her. When I went in to tuck Cole in for his nap, this was the scene:

My little imitator. He was pleased as punch to be photographing his Ruffie and his 'Poster Ruffie. Just like "Princess Terrilyn."

And that was the end of our morning of crazy happenings. Since then I've been wildly working on Lila's birthday party. I would say I can't wait until things return to normal again, but are things ever normal when you're the mom of three kids?