Spring Break Fun Attempts...

Mission Get-Your-Life-Together-If-You-Can't-Handle-It-Now-You-Have-No-Hope-For-The-Future has not begun. Whoops. 

Yeah. So sorry. My life is nowhere near together, nor is it on track to be. Actually it may be a bit worse.  

It is spring break. Meaning this will be short and sweet, so don't worry all of you... holy crap how much can she write/aka ramble... people. I have once again failed and it is now Wednesday night, I am tired, two lemon drop martini's-in, and have nothing groundbreaking to say. Not that anything I say is ever groundbreaking, but I don't feel like getting deep right now. 

All I want to do is be happy and positive, which is what I have tried to do this week. The quick recap begins with last Thursday. Olivia was in preparations for her first big sleepover with Nana (Matt's mom) all by herself. She has sat by for her sisters leaving on many occasions. This was her time, and she couldn't have been more excited. Despite the fact that she was being picked up around dinnertime, this girl was packed and ready to go by 11:30am with her new backpack courtesy of our amazing babysitter Valerie. (How we got a sitter that loves our girls so much and actually buys them gifts on the side that they would actually like is beyond me. We really hit the jackpot). Anyways, the Minnie "bapack" is now ever-present, and was filled with her stuff for her first sleepover: 

She couldn't leave me fast enough. Nana's car pulled up and she barely gave me a kiss and a "bye mommy." It does make me happy that she is like that... when I was working, she would sob at the door. Ever since I have been home, I swear the child cherishes time away from me. 

Anyways, on Friday night Matt and I got to go an oh-so-heavenly date night. The wine fairy came to visit me (SO not a bad thing) and it was just a delicious night out. My sister watched our girls and two of them fell asleep in my nephew's bed: 

And Layla wasn't tired at all on the ride home through the neighborhood from my sister's...

The rest of the weekend was filled with a baby shower for my sister-in-law Katie, and then the latest activity addition: soccer. Last time we tried this out it didn't go so well. This time (with the addition of a friend on the team), Summer is a fan. 

Then this week began. I had high aspirations at first. Then I just wanted to have fun. 

We had swim lessons Monday where Layla swam completely by herself for the first time ever (huge), and Summer swam a half-length of freestyle by herself and an entire length of backstroke by herself (also huge). 

We got haircuts by the phenomenal Charity: 

I had an incredibly horrid (albeit cute) trip to the store with all three that made me have a minor breakdown of how difficult this summer is going to be: 

We made Gak: 

And I am exhausted. Yet my house is a disaster and we very nearly have no clean clothes to wear. 

Today we are off to the Baltimore Aquarium. Woohoo! 

So more next week of actual substance. I promise (maybe). 

Happy Spring Break!!!

The Potty, Schedules, and Softball...

Let me begin this post with expanding on the biggest event our family has experienced in a very long time. Olivia peed... IN THE POTTY!!! Celebratory dance is occurring as I type this. It happened last Friday night. It hasn't happened since, which I totally don't care. It happened once. Which means... dun dun dun... the end of diapers is in sight. In all honestly, I wasn't even going to broach the idea until the summertime when she could just run around naked all the time. If you have seen a lot of my pictures, you will realize that February or July, it doesn't matter... lack of clothing abounds in my house. I guess I should just say I was going to wait until it was more good-parent-appropriate for her to be naked. I shared this picture on Instagram and Facebook with the following hashtags: 

#theendofdiaperscouldbenear-- (I already explained above). 

#sixyearsstraight-- We have been in some type of diaper (we had a pull-up period with Summer before Layla was born) since 2007. I would really love to do the math as to how many diapers I have actually changed (clearly not enough, considering I let my child get to this point the other day: 

Terrible, I know. 

#ParentTMI-- I realize that no one else really cares about my child's genitourinary system accomplishments, and I figured more than ever that no one would want to see what was actually in the potty. It is just a milestone that felt necessary to document. Non-parents out there... just wait. 

#ihatethewordpotty-- I really really really do. Yet I use it 12309885 times a day. Like it is one of my least favorite words in the world. I cringe when people say it. But it is a major part of my life... as soon as everyone can say the word "bathroom," that horrid word will be banned from my home. 

So I know it very well may be months more of diaper-changing, but just to know that there is this potential end in sight is just so.incredibly.exciting. (Yet sad. I'm very nearly 97% sure). 

From our schedule this past weekend, It came to my attention that we really haven't experienced an extensive amount of combined and conflicting activities. It hit full force on Saturday, much to my stress and annoyance. Matt had a softball tournament, with games at 8, 9 and 11am on Saturday. Their performance would determine if/when their games would be on Sunday. (Sidenote... why the tournament started at 8am, I will never know. An hour later makes a HUGE difference). So Saturday morning rolls around and Matt's alarm goes off. Since these were the first softball games of the season, he did not have all of his normal clothing out. Now I love him with all my heart, but as he was opening every.single.drawer in our entire bedroom in search, I had evil, somewhat violent thoughts towards my dear hubby. Add several times in and out of the house (the alarm beeps each time), and the garage door opening twice (I never asked him what he forgot), waking up on the wrong side of the bed is a bit of an understatement. I really shouldn't complain... with my insomnia/bizarre sleeping habits, I keep the poor man awake far too often. Love you honey :o) 

Already tired and annoyed with the day, I got up, showered, prepped Summer for ballet (remembered again! On a roll!) and got the other two dressed. As we huffed and puffed up the two flights of stairs and entered the studio, tantrum #1 occurs from dear Miss Olivia. They have a giant dish of lollipops, which she zones in on in seconds. I swear she has a radar for anything sweet. I contain her as we pass the dish, get Summer ready, and nearly sprint past said-dish to leave. Her class is only an hour, but the studio is five minutes from our house so I go home and have an oh-so enjoyable 30 minutes of attempted bike riding in the surprisingly windy but sunny outdoors. I load them back into the car, already regretting my earlier promise of walking down to the bagelry (in the same shopping center) after we pick Summer up. Tantrum #2 occurs at the original location: Lollipop dish. I manage to get all of us out the door, down the stairs, and we start walking over to the bagelry. We are just steps away from the door when I realize I had left my wallet in the car... and I had parked in the lot behind the shopping center. My little crew turns around and we trudge back, what feels like a mile, to my car in the back. Instead of repeating that long, windy haul, I throw them all in the car and park in the closest spot I could get to the bagelry. I grab my wallet, unload the crew yet again, and we go in... only to be met with the line all the way to the door. I pull a mommy no-no and renege my prior offer. This just wasn't going to happen today. So we leave. Some whining occurs in the car but it really could have been a worse reaction. 

We get home, and now I am in the dilemma of our next activity that we had really not planned properly for. Layla had a birthday party, but Matt wasn't going to make it home before I had to leave. It was at a BounceU (giant moonbounces everywhere). I know from birthday party experience that there is a specific number of kids that you can have, so bringing Summer and Olivia was just not something I was going to do. Like I said, we really did not plan well. I'm actually not sure what planet we were on. I am frantically calling and texting people seeing if I could get coverage for the girls. What I finally ended up doing was driving to the softball fields where my sister was, dropping Summer and Olivia off there, then taking Layla to her party. I grabbed coats, snacks, sippy cups, the gift, blankies, hangers, jackets, extra clothes, puke bags... you name it, I believe I put it in my car. 

The rest of the day went much more smoothly. 

What made all of the madness so completely worth it was getting in the car with Layla after her party. She said to me, "Mom. I had SO much fun." For the middle child that I don't get to spend enough one-on-one time with, I was thrilled. She even got me to go down the slide with her a few times. 

We grilled out that evening (yay outside!!!!) and thankfully Matt's games on Sunday did not start until 12. I actually took all the girls to the (first) game where unfortunately the major events included some type of flying insect getting stuck inside my shirt (stung me three times!! I have a pic, but I will spare you) and Olivia being her usual crazy self and actually pouring gravel and dirt on top of her head. Just a taste of what awaits me during the regular softball season...

My major "Aha" moment this week occurred when I randomly found out that I missed my day to bring in snack for Layla's class... two weeks ago. And also when the only reason I knew to bring in plastic eggs filled with treats on Monday was because of a lovely email reminder on Sunday. Mission Get-Your-Life-Together-If-You-Can't-Handle-It-Now-You-Have-No-Hope-For-The-Future begins now.

Happy Thursday!! 

Shopping Addiction, Running, and Nature...

So it happened. I'm officially 30. My true birthday came and went. I actually feel older... but perhaps that is my body telling me to stop doing what I did to it last weekend. In a nod to my youth, I was very irresponsible. More than irresponsible... Idiotic is a better word. So Friday night we had dinner plans with the family of an old preschool friend of Summer's. It was an absolutely great time. We overstayed our welcome (proof below): 

It was just a nice, relaxed evening with a great family. The absolute only downside of the evening was that they had a cat that Olivia was utterly obsessed with, and Matt kept hinting. No. 100% absolutely, positively no. We don't need another Boy Titty disaster. So after a great evening we come home, put the girls directly to bed, and Matt and I settle down on the couch to chat and have a nightcap... until 4 o'clock in the morning. I told you it was idiotic. At one point we looked at the clock and were like, "Oh wow, it is 2am. We REALLY need to go to bed." Then it was like, "CRAP, it is FOUR IN THE MORNING. WHAT ARE WE THINKING?!?" It was just so so VERY nice to sit and chat and relax with my hubby. Too often it really seems like those times are few and far between. I won't say it wasn't worth it (any quality time with the hubs is major priority)... but it did set us up to be insanely exhausted for the entire weekend, which was totally booked (per usual). We did get Summer to ballet in the morning (don't ask me if we have ever forgotten about that... twice), and then attempted to rally to go to party #1- a two year old birthday party. The dad is our friend from high school, and they just moved to a gorgeous new home. They also had super delicious food, a shockingly good cake (Wegmans... yellow with a chocolate pudding layer if I remember correctly), and lots of our good friends. The girls had a great time as well... despite a rather unfortunate diaper blowout by none-other than dear Olivia. A moonbounce just exacerbated the problem, and I had to borrow pants. 

Party #2 was an annual Saint Patrick's Day party hosted by great friends of ours. They actually changed the date of their party to accommodate mine, which was so incredibly nice of them. They are always fantastic hosts and have tons of great food (Rice Krispie Treats at all of their parties... you have no idea how amazing it is to be able to rely on that when attending). Party #2 was cut semi-short for us. I forgot to show Layla where the bathroom was and she had a minor accident. We got home by 8:30 and I nearly collapsed in bed. Sunday was the random blizzard, along with a "Mad Scientist" kids show we had signed up for at our country club (Sidenote: that sounds so snobby, I know. Our country club. I usually try to avoid that phrase, but I had no other option when trying to explain why we went to a science show). The girls enjoyed it, I got out of cooking dinner for the evening because there was a buffet provided, and shocker... we got home and collapsed in bed.  

In other news, I have gone temporarily insane. I decided to sign up for a 10K, something I initially laughed out loud at when a friend was trying to convince me. For you runners out there, that distance may be one of your quick jogs on the weekend. For me, my friends, it is a near impossible task. I am not a runner, have never been a runner, never will be a runner. I blame this, in part, on the fact that I cannot breathe. I broke my nose in my tween years, which not only created the most unfortunate bump, but (in my opinion) caused a deviated septum (which is why insurance should pay for my nose job that I have dreamt of for years and years. I told Matt that it can just be part of my mommy package in a few years... I don't want major adjustments or enhancements. I just want things back where they started.). Anyways, being a college athlete, working out was my life. The difference with diving is that although you need to be in shape head-to-toe, it really is so much more about core strength, toning, body control. Another problem with being a lifelong athlete is that I can really only work out when someone is yelling at me, telling me what to do/to keep going. I also have absurd expectations of what a workout is, so even if I do get to the gym and I am not completely drenched in sweat wanting to vomit, it doesn't seem like a real workout. Being sore is one of my favorite feelings ever. I feel accomplished. Instead of having realistic expectations of a regular workout schedule, I just usually don't do anything. Or I have aspirations to go several times a week and I make it to one spin class per quarter. So you get the point. I barely work out. I most definitely don't run. I have always been impressed/jealous of those who do. I may or may not complain of my lack of drive to workout... so (probably to get me to zip it) Matt baited me with something I couldn't refuse: $$$ for new clothes. I have written before of my love for clothes, particularly nice ones. I have been cursed with expensive taste. I'm not talking the need for particular labels. I'm talking give me an entire page of boots on Zappos without knowing any prices, and my favorite ones will without a doubt be one of the most expensive pairs on the page. You could say I have an online shopping addiction. I know it. Matt knows it. The UPS guy knows it. Do I buy $108 shirts? No. I buy the $108 shirt when it is on sale for $24. There is such a feeling of satisfaction when I find good deals online, or find that random coupon code to get that extra money off. And also the excitement when something is delivered. 

As I have said before, given the fact that I have been a schmillion different sizes over the past six years and am finally at my relative normal, I want new clothes. I did a first run of cleaning out my closet. I don't wear 80% of it, probably more. Project organized closet/only-own-things-that-I-actually-love-and-wear-and-that-fits has commenced... which is a major reason I fell for the 10K race money incentive. No questions asked, I can spend it on whatever I want without feeling guilty?!?! I will crawl 6.2 miles for that. 

This leads into one part of my actual birthday that was unexpected. Part of our awesome shooting guns/fab lunch/massages day that I enjoyed with Matt was a little shopping spree. We dropped the girls off at my sister's and he drives me to the mall. We go to Nordstrom and Matt says, "Okay. What do you want?" You may think that this would be a dream come true... but instead I felt anxious, uncomfortable, and nearly embarrassed. This is Matt, my hubby of going on eight years. I never ever feel this way around him. What is my problem? Why can't I think of what I want? Why can't I make decisions? I know he knows that I like stupid expensive jeans, but I can't justify why I need them right now. If I am going to make a bigger purchase, I usually do my research and essentially agonize over exactly what I want and find the best price for it. That is usually why I can explain away my spending in my head (Matt rarely actually gets mad at me for this... he gets more annoyed by the hidden bags/boxes). Given free-reign, I am way too overwhelmed and feel strange. Fear not, I was able to sort of conquer this... with a pair of Tory Burch sandals (I never thought I would ever actually get. I just couldn't justify them), jeans, a few tops, and a couple other things that I had on my list (Yes, I have a list. My mother makes me). I really should have had a lot more fun, but instead I just felt bad. I really had thought that my party was my gift. I'm not just saying this because we went shopping for fab stuff, but the party really would have been enough. 

So other than my bizarre shopping anxiety, my actual birthday was delightful. These little nuggets were thrilled to serve me breakfast in bed: 

 We picked the girls after our adventures and Matt cooked me a delicious meal of steak (with a phenomenal rub he makes), twice-baked potatoes and sauteed squash and zucchini with parmesan cheese. Matt is amazeballs in the kitchen, I am a lucky lady. Layla gave me her gift that she was quick to explain she had found all by herself at the Dollar Store with Nana... totally adorable socks.

We had cheesecake for dessert and put the girls to bed... which then I followed promptly. At 8:03. On my 30th birthday. Before you judge, I had two beverages at lunch followed by an hour-long massage... and stress from shopping must have just taken so much out of me. :o) I was a zombie and I couldn't recover. And it was fantastic. 

Life continued yesterday as it does. Somehow I completely missed the memo that Layla had a field trip to a nature center. As I said on Facebook, the closest I prefer to get to nature is drinking wine on my deck... but for my little nuggets, I will withstand anything (Well, almost anything. No cat. And no camping. #resortkindofgirl). 

An hour of walking around in mud and getting near things I don't like, we were done and I wouldn't have missed it. 

So I think I will order some rain boots and new running gear... I mean, I need them if I am going to become a nature-loving marathon runner in my 30's. 

Happy Thursday!!!

Approaching 30...

So I began this post a few weeks ago with incredibly mixed feelings about turning 30. It was a very wah wah wah post that now as I look back, sounds utterly ridiculous. The first part is how I felt prior to last weekend. The second part is how I feel now, after this weekend. Here we go. 

Part 1: 

In the last several weeks, I have been to elementary and preschool parties, had parent-teacher conferences, considered joining the PTA (decided to do that next year), dealt with doctor's appointments, soccer sign-ups, swim lessons, signed up to be a field trip chaperone, and planned a mom's night out for Layla's class. 

Who am I? 

I oftentimes don't feel old or mature enough to do these kinds of things. I have spoken of this before, but quite frequently I feel like a child with children among all the other adults with kids. This post may make many of you roll your eyes for many reasons. My apologies ahead of time. 

In just a few short days, less than a week, I will be celebrating a milestone birthday that always seemed so far away. Thirty. 30. Three.Zero. 

So I have nothing really against turning 30. It's just that my 20's were the most insane, busy, crazy, life-changing decade of my life... so I have mixed feelings about leaving them.

I remember my 20th birthday, just being relieved that the past year was over. My dad had passed away, I transferred to UMD and had a very rough first six months there. My 20th felt like a fresh start, and I could move forward from the pain and negativity that had been the last year. 

Just a basic, slimmed down timeline of my 20's:

• 21 years old
• Started dating Matt
• Graduated college
• Did an internship in Australia
• Got engaged (in Australia... Matt came to visit)
• 22 years old
• Got married
• Moved in with Matt (obvi)
• First pregnancy
• 23 years old
• First baby
• 24 years old
• Started nursing school pre-req's (I needed two)
• 25 years old
• Started nursing school
• Second pregnancy
• 26 years old
• Second baby
• Third pregnancy
• 27 years old
• Third baby
• Graduated from nursing school
• Passed the NCLEX (nursing boards)
• 28 years old
• Moved to a new house
• Started first nursing job
• Started a blog :o)
• 29 years old
• Quit first nursing job
• Began life as a stay-at-home mom

I had really an amazing decade of life. I experienced SO many major life events. Thirty just sounds so much older than I feel. So with such an epic decade of craziness, what's left?

Part 2: 

If last weekend is any indication of what my 30's are going to be like, BRING.IT.ON. I was blessed with the most amazing, fun, phenomenal surprise party in the history of the world (in my humble opinion). 

I really just felt so incredibly special. Around 90 of the most wonderful people in my life lied to me for the past several months. Like, really lied to me. And I fell for it. 100%. If you know me well, you know that I am nosy and will get to the bottom of anything. Fortunately for everyone, I have been very busy these last few weeks and probably disregarded a lot of things because my mind was in other places. 

The whole ruse that I fell for started a few months ago when my sister and I planned a beach weekend. We did it last year, it was phenomenal, and we would love to make it annual. Since that was the only open weekend we have until nearly August, I agreed and majorly looked forward to the time away. A week or two ago, my sister apologetically informed me that she needed to attend her husband's grandmother's birthday brunch. She is in her late 90's and is really most lucid in the morning (apparently not true, but I believed it). We decided to still go, but to come back Saturday evening. To help make up for our shortened weekend, our hubbys were planning a fun night out for the four of us. Perfect, right? So they got me out of the house for Friday and Saturday, AND made sure that I looked presentable when I arrived at the house. Had we not had the night out planned, I for sure would have showed up in sweats and a top knot. 

Clueless as all get-out, we get to my house and I go to open the garage door. I hear the motor go, but it doesn't open. "That's weird." I commented, but fiddled with the door and tried the code again. The second time worked, and I make my way in the house. Apparently, Matt had attempted to disable the garage door to force me to come in the front door, but I foiled that plan. 

Poor Matt hiding behind the door as I miraculously fixed the garage.

Everyone started pouring into the kitchen as I stood there in disbelief, laughing hysterically/crying. Between Matt, Stacey, BFF Liz, and plenty of other friends and family, they pulled out all the stops to give me a party I would remember forever. There was a DJ (love Mattie Fresh!!). The couch was moved to create a dance floor. There was catered food. There was sushi. There were Georgetown Cupcakes (I die for red velvet. Thank you Scott and Karli!!!). 

There were personalized napkins. 

There was a new mural on my chalkboard area AND my own hashtag... #stephsimmonsflirty30. 

There was a photo booth set up with props. 

There was a book made by my mom, little brother Tim and Liz that lots of people signed.

There was a margarita machine. I repeat, a margarita machine. With two flavors. Yes, you read that right. A margarita machine in my house. With two flavors. Everything was thought of. 

As if I wasn't already shocked enough, I had another amazing surprise. If you remember 'The Bostons' you will remember that I love love love them. Well, they CAME!!! (One couldn't because she is a rockstar and is training for the marathon... We missed you Chrissy!!!) They actually flew to MD to come to my party. I really could not believe it. For people I love to take the time out of their lives, to come party with me... I just could not ask for anything more. 

The night was perfect. Pretty sure I was on cloud nine and didn't stop smiling for a second. Everyone was dancing like crazy (there was a legit conga line at one point), drinking, and having a blast. 

I have never felt so loved and special in my life. I have the absolute best family and friends. Who cares about turning 30??? Not this gal. 

The older I get, the more I am aware that age is truly just a number. If you look at my friends, their age range spans many decades. And I don't even process that. 

I can't explain how grateful I am for Matt. He worked like a maniac to pull off an absolutely perfect night. He said to me, "I wanted to give an amazing party to the person who is always throwing parties for everyone else." I love him. I don't deserve him... I really don't know how I got so lucky. I love my girls. I love my family. I love my friends. 

So, what else is left to do in my life? ENJOY IT. Cherish my relationships and the time I get to spend with people. Be grateful for everything I have. I have a husband who really, truly loves me for all my quirks and crazy. I have absolutely amazing girls who are healthy, happy, and (for the most part) sweet and good. I have wonderfully supportive friends and family. I live in a beautiful house with awesome neighbors. 

On my 20th birthday, I could not have even dreamed of being at this place in my life just ten years later. No wah wah wah here... I know how good I have it. And I'm sure I will look back at this post a few decades from now and scoff at my stupidity and how young I was. 

So here's to my 30's... Let a new, amazing decade begin (on Tuesday)!!!!

Happy Thursday!!! 

My apologies...

So I fail this week. I got nothing. This is going to be a fake-me-out post. I know that no one really cares if I post or don't post, but I was just trying to be consistent for my own goals. I kept sitting down to write, and while I have two posts in limbo, nothing was really giving me the oomph to finish them. Instead, I got an annoying cold and cramps (sorry if you consider that TMI. Clearly I don't). I have actually gone up to lie in bed at 8pm the last two nights (which is always my prime writing time since that is really the only time of day that I don't have three adorable little girls climbing all over me). After the last two weekends of craziness (the shower and then we had an awesome annual Saint Patrick's Day party at my neighbor's the next), I just sort of crashed and burned. And I just felt like being lazy as much as insanely possible. And Matt basically forced me to watch True Detective (I have two episodes left, don't say a word!!!!). 

So I am utterly thrilled to be leaving tomorrow. My sister and I are going on a super quick beach weekend where pretty much all we do is shop, laugh, eat fatty foods, and sleep. I can't explain the phenomenal-ness. Burnt out from this winter doesn't begin to describe the way I (and I'm sure everyone else in this area) am feeling. I need a minute. I need to get out of this stinkin house and away for my kids for like a nano-second. I will be a better mommy when I return.

So anyways, I didn't create this blog to cause stress on myself. If the words aren't flowing and I feel like crap, my apologies. It isn't happening. I will, however, leave you with a few pics from the week. Not too much that hasn't been posted already, but here you go: 

This one totally creeps me out because it looks like the legs could be either Summer's or Layla's. 

The only pic I got of the leprechaun balls I made for my neighbor's party... pretty potent (Jameson and Bailey's were involved) but good: 

A paper I found in Summer's school folder. Melted my heart (and made me want to plan a mommy/Summer day stat. This girl knows how to have a good time!): 

Dance party... I don't think her tutu could get any higher: 

I'm thinking the girls are getting to know my sleep style... they were so excited to match me. 

Livi has no care about the camera. All she is worried about are those pancakes. I'm obsessed with her expression: 

So. My apologies again. I promise to be back with a vengeance next week. But for now...

Happy Thursday! And HAPPY SPRING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Another Baby Shower, A Non-Surgery, and Red Vomit...

I can't wait until the day that I begin a blog post saying, "This week was completely calm and nothing eventful happened." Actually I can wait, because that would mean I am dead. And I would prefer to stick around for longer. 

I hosted a baby shower at my house on Saturday for my sister-in-law who is having TWIN boys. I did the old fashioned paper invitation which I think turned out absolutely adorable, in my humble opinion (I cut out my personal info, sorry!): 

While decorating, we did have one laugh-so-hard-I-am-on-the-floor-possibly-peeing-my-pants moment. I had ordered a bunch of decor, one item being an extremely large (supposely) ball to hang. This is how it opened up: 

I mean... yes. My mind goes there. I die. I apologize for my immaturity. But that is stinkin hilarious. 

So then I had like 85 people at my house. Fear not, I had help from my sister, mom, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and friend Liz. I did get lots of comments on how much everyone enjoyed the open house style of it. A bit unconventional, but I thought it would be so much nicer than sitting there and having an already uncomfortable pregnant gal open 23049838 gifts and try and ooh and aah over them all. It just isn't fun for anyone. The gifts are always appreciated, but let's be serious. It is torture for the opener and the viewers. It was really just a nice time for everyone to be able to visit and hang out with no pressure or games. Definite success. 

In the busy-ness of the day, I failed to take pictures, so I will post them at a different time. The only one I did take was the absolutely amazeballs chalk drawing that my sister did on my new addition above the entertainment center. After redoing my gallery wall and hanging the massive clock, that space was asking for something. I painted a big rectangle of chalkboard paint to appease my decor ADD. I can write anything I feel like up there, whatever the season. It was the perfect spot for this: 

Ridiculously adorbs, right? My sister is out-of-this world talented.

I was an utter lazy mess on Sunday and Monday from sheer exhaustion. One hilarious moment occurred while I was vegging on my sister's couch. The two little ones happened to get into some...er... womanly items she had gotten recently (For free actually. Yes, she gets those ridiculous CVS deals). I die. Again. 

We also spent every waking moment possible OUTSIDE because it was finally WARM ENOUGH!!!! 

So despite all the absolute craziness of the weekend, nothing beats the mania of yesterday. It was a downright horrid morning. Let me begin.

Yesterday we had a procedure scheduled for Layla. Apparently the enamel on several of her teeth did not form properly either in utero or if she had a high fever as a baby. She basically has zero protection on these teeth, which is quite a problem. So she needs two molars capped and due to several factors, they said it would be best if she was put under general anesthesia to get it done. I initially hesitated, but decided it was better than her being terrified of the dentist for the rest of her life (like I am). She actually told me a few days after her most recent visit that she wants to be a dentist when she grows up. Score for one dislike that I am not passing on to my children! In all seriousness, I am selfishly happy that it wasn't something that I failed on... you never want to be the mom that doesn't brush your children's teeth well enough. But then I feel utterly horrible that this is happening to her and there is nothing we can do about it except monitor her teeth. 

Anyways, we were scheduled to get there at 11:30 with the procedure occurring at 1:30. She could have clear fluids (popsicles included) up until 10:30am but nothing else. I prepped her for the no-eating situation but she was utterly thrilled to be able to have a popsicle in the morning. (She had her pre-op appointment at the pediatrician last Thursday where they noted that she was congested but said there was no issue with it for anesthesia at that time. She also puked on the way home from there. Fun times. I swear over 20 minutes and we are done-zo). So yesterday we tried to have a leisurely, relaxed morning to calm her nerves. That idea sort of failed when I received two emails from PayPal that were my receipts for iPads I apparently purchased that are being shipped to England. Sorry Brits. I will not be buying you $1000 worth of iPads. I dealt with the resolution center, fraud department from my credit card, etc. While I am writing this, one charge has been resolved. The other is still being investigated. 

At 9:55am, my phone rings and I see that it is the hospital is calling. I am already nervous (being an RN, I dislike the knowledge I have of possible complications) so I answer it quickly. It is the pre-op RN asking me where I was. I panic, explaining that we were told not to be there until 11:30. (Sidenote... I am uber paranoid about time and being late to important things. I swear Matt and I get in a fight pre-weddings because I am psycho about being on time. I think it is the epitome of rudeness to be late to a wedding. He doesn't understand the passion). She then asks me if I am on my way to the hospital. I re-explain that we were told to be there at 11:30. She sort of explained that they are trying to move people up and can we get there by 11? With my heart racing from the initial panic, I say yes. She then asks me about the food/water thing. I told her Layla had apple juice and a popsicle around 9:30am. She then starts chiding me on how I wasn't supposed to do that. I calmly explain, yet again, that we weren't supposed to be there until 11:30. Our original time was 1:30, and we were told that she could have clear fluids until 10:30. Basically, it is not my problem that you are annoyed she had juice. I am following our pre-op instructions to the T. You could tell she was annoyed when she just sort of hung up exasperated. Now all previous experiences with pediatric nurses have been phenomenal. I didn't know what was up this particular one's butt. I was nervous, Layla was nervous, usually all people going into this type of situation are nervous... be nice. Don't be annoying and stress me out further please. 

Anyways, I hurry us up to get out the door. Matt had arranged to stay home from work to watch Livi. We are on our way, just a mere 1/2 mile from the hospital, and the inevitable happens. Red vomit. All over her puppy, jacket, pants, AND the floor. Awesome. I disregarded my note to self from last week like an idiot. We pull over into a random parking lot for her to throw up a tad more on the pavement. My last two baby wipes later, we are back on our way with red stained pants. We check in and get rushed back where I meet the lovely nurse from the phone. No additional friendliness exuded her as I had been hoping. She is doing her thing and I inform her of Layla's congestion. I explain that it had been a non-issue before and the pediatrician had completely cleared her, but she just seems pissed off. She hears some congestion in her lungs and I am apologizing because obviously had I known this, we would have rescheduled... but I purposely try to be fully mommy versus RN mommy in these matters. Sidenote- I didn't tell her or anyone I was an RN. It didn't really come up and she was already making me feel like an idiot. I just wasn't sure what to do at this point. She calls the anesthesiologist down (a totally sweet and lovely man) to evaluate Layla who then determines he wants to postpone the procedure. 

Let me clarify a few things. I have ZERO issues with them postponing. Did it suck? Yes. Was it a complete waste of time? Of course. Would I rather them postpone than have a complication occur during anesthesia? I don't need to answer that. I just wish in this situation that the nurse had been a bit kinder and not so blaming and weird. I have been congested this past week because of the weather change and allergies. Layla had not been coughing or acting sick in any way. She had a stuffed up nose. End of story. Don't treat me like I am a mom who doesn't know when my kid is sick. I am with her every waking moment. I know when she poops or sneezes. Then the nurse tells me that I should "really take her to the doctor because she doesn't sound good." Thank you. So very much. I am officially on defense mode. Which is not where I like to be. Just be pleasant and happy. That is all I am asking. You should be rainbows and smiles and an Elmo stethoscope. I have always been of the opinion (which is a reason I went back to school) that nurses can truly either make or break a situation. They can make it so so SO much better, or so so SO much worse. I am not making this woman out to be the worst nurse ever. She just wasn't very nice, warm, or friendly in a department that I think requires those attributes in spades. 

After we were told we could go (and she made it abundantly and very rudely clear that she took no part in rescheduling and just call my doctor), I literally start racing to the car to try to get out within the free parking window. I am down to minutes here, so I am holding Layla and running. Of course there is a massive, awkward traffic jam as everyone is trying to clamber for my parking spot... and I miss the cut-off by three minutes and have to pay $3. Clearly not the end of the world, but just par for the course. Oh, what do you know. Just a 1/2 mile from HOME, Layla is throwing up again. Oh, what do you know. I forgot to mention that (a different) nurse gave her a RED popsicle before we left. Because that is awesome. And now more red vomit is all over my car. I am pulled over and holding her teeny little shaking frame trying to throw up in the grass. My poor baby. She was such a trooper. And I really really don't know what to do about this car sickness thing.

The procedure is now rescheduled. The most important thing is Layla is still untainted by it all. I will have to say, probably top 10 worst mornings though. So very happy it is over. And so not looking forward to attempt #2. 

Happy Thursday!! 

Note to self...

Note to self: Always look to make sure you purchased the correct replacement light fixture prior to taking the other one down. It is extremely unhelpful having no light when trying to reorganize and clean a room. On the same note, always take said-light fixture (in this case, a fan) down in the proper way. It is not helpful to be standing on a ladder, holding up the base of the fan, while trying to unscrew the blades and unwire the fan. AKA... Think. First. Please. 

Note to self: ALWAYS bring the diaper bag or have an extra diaper in the car, even if you are only running to the gym for a 45 minute class. You will be summoned 17 minutes into the class because your child pooped. And you will have to go home, wasting all the effort it took to get there. But you broke a sweat, so going anywhere else requires another shower. Diapers. Always. 

Note to self: Keep a puke bag in the car at ALL TIMES. I repeat, ALL TIMES. You will become a ninja at getting it to the correct child in the nick of time, but only if you actually have one. 

Note to self: Do not attempt to open the plastic cover on an Ikea frame by intensely stabbing it with your thumb. You will break through the plastic and gouge said-thumb on the bendy metal piece, resulting in a gushing wound that probably should have had a few stitches (but since you are a nurse and don't go to the hospital unless you are dying, you will just wrap it up and continue on with your life). You will not realize how critical said-thumb is to your life until it affects you doing absolutely everything-- from putting your hair up, to wiping your kids' butts, to building the latest Ikea shelves you bought. This incapacitated thumb is not helpful to the endless to-do list prior to the large party you are having at your house on Saturday. Just get the freaking scissors out.

Note to self: Do not start massive projects in the days before hosting a large party at your house. You will curse yourself in the midst of exhausted reorganizing/painting/hanging frames/installing new light fixtures/whatever idiotic thing you have decided to attempt at this point.

Note to self: Always keep wine in the house. Just do it. 

Note to self: Always talk to your hubby prior to said-major projects, especially when it includes more money than you were anticipating. The hard work won't go quite as appreciated when he enters the closet and everything is everywhere. And he was previously clueless that this was even something on your mind.

Note to self: Seriously, get the scissors out. Your thumb will be the bane of your existence. 

Note to self: Move to a location where snow days don't exist. Because until kids are older, the cabin fever is excruciating.

Note to self: Wait until your hubby gets home (after talking to him, of course) to attempt to move two large boxes containing Ikea Expedit shelves from your car, all the way upstairs to your closet. Your freaking thumb is still bleeding. What are you doing?!?!

Note to self: Seriously, stop with the projects.

Note to self: Avoid Ikea. At all costs. 

Note to self: Don't wait until the last nanosecond to write a blog when all you can do is rehash your utter stupidity from the past week with a gimpy thumb. 

Note to self: Go get stitches when you need them. 

Note to self: Count your children when you go inside, particularly when you have friends along with them. That is all that will be spoken of this. But just count them. 

Note to self: Keep the blog post short. Your thumb is bleeding again. 

Note to self: Enjoy your girls. They are perfection. 

Chocolate wasted

I'm ready for the snow, mom!

Happy Thursday!!!