My goal today is to take a shower, actually try to do my hair, and put some type of make up on before I pick up Alex on her last day of camp. This is in contrast to the homeless looking woman in running shorts driving the brown Honda Odyssey who has been picking her up this week. I am so jealous of the moms who pick up their kids with hair in place, pristine eye shadow, and a mani/pedi to boot. What the heck? How do these moms find the time to use hairspray let alone sit in a massaging, leather chair while their feet soak for an hour once a week? God Bless them. I hope they don't look at me and wonder what's wrong with me... Oh well.
After eight years being out of the baby game, I'm back in, baby. And let's be real, I think the "cocooning time" that we're taking right now is really for the moms. My Jesse Getiso is a champ. He's got this place down. Me, I'm learning to juggle motherhood with two, keep my house somewhat picked up, and not let the dogs drive me up a wall. I'm completely amazed when I walk into someone's house with four kids, and the house is in tip top shape. How does this freaking happen? I need a course. Today, I vaccumed the house with Jesse in his sling after two shedding dogs and attempted to do the couches and mop the tile. I didn't get to the upstairs. I figure I can "hide" that if someone comes over. Huh.
I scheduled pictures for Alex and Jesse for Tuesday. I'm totally excited, but realized Alex didn't have one thing that to wear that didn't have a stain on it. After Jesse and I picked up Alex, I thought we could make a "quick trip" to Old Navy to purchase a white shirt for Alex. Well, my eight year old has an opinion now. You could only imagine. She says to me yesterday as we're walking out of the dressing room for the third time, "Mom, I feel like you always say, 'no' to everything I say." This is what I get after four months of counseling with her after TJ passed; now she knows how to tell me how she feels. Don't get me wrong, this is a FANTASTIC thing, but it's hard to have a deep conversation with her while your 21 pound infant is attached to you, pulling your hair and giving you kisses (which I DON'T want to discourage because it's so stinking cute!), you're holding five white shirts, which are all too big or too small, and your "quick trip" to Old Navy turned into an hour of carousing through the girls section which may or may not still fit your eight year old because she's almost as tall as you. Whew. We just had to get out of there. I made an executive decision, told her to stop blowing in her brothers face because it was overwhelming even though he thinks it's funny, and paid the man. I didn't even get to pick out anything for Jesse.
Ok, so it sounds like I'm complaining. I don't intend for that. I'm adjusting. I'm learning the ropes. My son is teething like a lion, I'm a little short on sleep because he hates solids and is up every three hours, and I'm discerning with my daughter which battles are really the important ones to fight. We will be fine. Thank God we have a lot of love in this house, and I have a husband who could care less if everything is spotless and doesn't mind Lean Cuisine. My son is the most lovable person ever; he just loves to smile, laugh, and play; he's amazing. And my daughter...well, she's gonna change the world; she has the biggest heart & more passion than any of us combined. So, I'm certain we'll be ok. I just don't think my house will be too clean or a gormet meal will make it on the table.
Now, I gotta go. My kiddo woke up, and I'm typing one handed now. So, bye.
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