The Tooth Fairy and a Glacier-Climbing Grandma...

Times I don't feel mature enough as a parent: 

-When giving instructions to babysitters (I always think in my head... I barely have a clue what I'm doing, why am I telling you what you should do?).

-When people mistake me as the nanny (The worst was when I was approached to join a teen mom support group after I had Summer. I didn't want to offend the poor girl but I somehow stammered out that I was married and in my twenties, but thank you. I swear my entire pregnancies I would awkwardly rub my belly with my left hand to show my rings and randomly bring up my husband. You have no idea the judgemental stares from people).

-When my oldest daughter LOSES HER FIRST TOOTH!!! I seriously can't get a handle on this, for whatever reason. I just don't feel old enough to have a child losing teeth. I mean, part of it freaks me out because I so distinctly remember losing teeth... which means that Summer remembers everything these days (actually, had no chance with her... she still reminds me of the time I went running around the house searching for the diaper bag when it was on my shoulder the whole time. She had just turned two. Elephant's brain, I tell you). It means that all the times I screw up, get mad, totally fail as a parent... she will actually remember it. And that sucks. You have a cushion for a while, because all those times you think to yourself, "Wow, I'm so glad nobody saw that" are actually okay because they are too little. 

Now I will stop being Negative Nancy, because the plus side to all of this is she will remember memories we make together. I was in complete and utter shock when she showed me one of her bottom teeth was wiggling. I just couldn't accept it. A nice accidental headbutt from Layla a few weeks later moved things along a little quicker. Last Saturday, I was running around the house cleaning and getting ready for my grandma's 89th birthday party I was hosting. Sidenote... while I was cleaning, I discovered something in our receipt drawer that doesn't belong. Hmmm:

Anyways, Summer would stop me every 7 seconds to show me how wiggly her tooth was and she was messing with it all day. In the middle of the party, my sister went downstairs to check on the kids and found them all locked in the bathroom... not usually a great sign. Well, it turns out, my little Summer was doing a show for all the little kids to see... and SHE pulled out her OWN tooth. I mean, who pulls out their own tooth?!?! She came running upstairs with a bloody mouth to show me, and I seriously just couldn't believe it. I saved you the grossness of the bloody mouth, but here she is: 

Obviously the tooth fairy is the first thing on her mind, so she ran to find her special box (given by dear friends Danny and Dawn): 

Since it was her first tooth, it needed to be a little more special. Apparently the going rate is $5 (which is so steep... I swear I got like a dime) and we decided to go with a pretty letter as well. My sister (who is a ridic artist... I will post pics of her work another time) was conveniently still at my house so she could do cute, swirly handwriting. I got her favorite colors to work with and we wrote it (and added glitter. Obvi). Very long sidenote: Summer has a bit of a hard time staying in her own bed (understatement of the year)... aka as a toddler she would make herself vomit from crying so hard when she was by herself. I asked the pediatrician years ago if they had any tricks and they told me to have her sleep on the floor next to our bed and she would get over that really quick and move to her own bed. Welp, after a year of her sleeping on the floor, I decided that didn't work for us. She now always starts in her own bed but usually finds her way to ours super early in the morning. I did the same thing until my brother was born when I was five... I may or may not be still bitter that he booted me. 

I managed to successfully get the tooth out of the box and the $5 in the box without her waking up (I was seriously nervous). The next morning she was THRILLED and even made a comment about how the tooth fairy somehow knew her favorite colors. 

As I said before, I just don't feel mature enough for this. I don't know why this specific life event is hitting me so hard, but it is. I mean, she is starting kindergarten next month, but this freaked me out far more. I don't have a toddler anymore, I have a legit little girl. I have been shopping for school clothes in the girls section (not toddler... which they have ridic cute stuff btw). BUT, the fact that attitudes and teenage years are looming make me nauseous. 

So, I threw my grandma's 89th birthday party this past weekend. Now if you know me on any type of personal level, you have heard about my grandmother. She is quite positively one of the most awesome people on this planet. I grew up with her living a block away, so seeing her multiple times a week was the norm. If I got into a fight with my mom as a teenager, I would just walk over to Ooma's. She took me on a three week Mediterranean cruise from London all the way down to Athens when I was 19 (just the two of us).  She has been to all seven continents (she waded to shore to make it to Antarctica in thigh-high boots just a few years ago). This past Christmas, I bought her waterproof hiking boots because she was climbing a glacier in Patagonia. 

She is always the last one off the dance floor at EVERY wedding she goes to, including mine: 

She went on an African safari, slept in tents on the ground, played with wild lion cubs and rode an ATV for three hours: 

And of course, she makes friends wherever she goes: 

She recently went through some major, super scary health issues and it was very touch-and-go for a while. The problem with being a nurse when family is sick is that not only does everyone ask you a million questions, but you really just know TOO much and essentially the worst that can happen. I wasn't prepared to face the reality of what all of her labs and numbers were showing... but somehow, against all odds, she bounced back like a champ. All of her doctors can't quite believe it. She is "taking it easy" on her next trip and doing a cruise. Nothing can stop this woman.  Everyone who knows her is amazed by her. I feel fortunate to actually be related to her (most people call her "mom" but I sometimes get territorial). She is truly the person I aspire to be like. 

Happy Wednesday! 

-

Runaway washing machine and Layla's Birthday...

Welp, I got a new one for you. Last Thursday morning I was making breakfast for the girls, starting on my endless to-do list, getting anxiety over everything I need to accomplish in the next few weeks, etc. I gathered the sheets off my bed and Layla's bed and threw them in the washer. I continued on with my morning when all of a sudden an incredibly loud banging is coming from the laundry room. The girls started screaming and I sprinted in there to see what the heck was going on. It literally sounded like someone was banging on the side of my washing machine with a cast-iron skillet. I went in the laundry room, and lo and behold... THE ENTIRE TOP OF MY WASHING MACHINE HAS COME OFF AND IS SHAKING AND SLAMMING INTO THE DRYER. WHAAAAAAAT?!?!?! Need proof? Here you go: 

I found these little guys on the floor: 

So we bought these the day we moved into this house (less than a year ago... and I'm seriously, we went straight from closing to Best Buy because we were moving just a few days later and I could NOT be without a washing machine for more than a day or two... because obviously whenever I don't have a washing machine, everyone goes into a peeing the bed, spilling all over clothes, destroying everything phase. We bought the extended warranty so my thought process was that there is no way this wouldn't be covered, I will get a brand new washer, whatever... but I was concerned about the fact that I barely get laundry done when I have a functional machine, much less one that wants to eat me during the spin cycle. I tore my house apart looking for the receipt with the warranty info (I am usually super neurotic about keeping that stuff, but conveniently I found stuff for every appliance we have ever bought dating back to the old house EXCEPT this washer and dryer). Couldn't find it, but called the Best Buy customer service line anyways assuming they could look it up. The woman I talked to asked what had happened, so I simply explained that the top part of my washer somehow detached from the rest of it during the spin cycle. The woman actually burst out laughing and said, "What happened?!? That's a new one." She transferred me to the appropriate person while still chuckling to herself. I pretty much got the same reaction from the guy I talked to. He kept explaining that he had never heard of this happening so it had to be extremely rare. My response? "I have a tendency for bizarre/crazy things to happen to me." 

So they told me they would send a repairman out to "assess" it Friday morning, despite the fact that I assured them that the entire machine body had been warped. So at this point I had wet sheets, a mountain of laundry, and no washer in the near future (Not to mention I was working on Friday morning and I felt terrible asking my babysitter to deal with the repairman). I tried to ask when I could possibly expect to get it replaced and he went into the whole, "That depends on the manufacturer, yada yada yada." I stopped listening because the only thing I really heard was "NOT ANYTIME SOON." I truly hoped that would not be the case. 

Now until this point, I have not had a single issue with my washer or dryer. I actually love them. Since there was no washer or dryer when we bought the house, we decided (aka I made a very good argument and won) to go with deluxe, heavy duty, amazeballs ones since we will have them the length of their little appliance lives. One of my favorite features is that both the washer and dryer play a little tune when they are done (instead of the evil MEEEEEEEP that yells at you to fold and put away your clothes). I have enough stress in my life, I really don't need my dryer screaming at me. So the only bad thing I could find in any of the reviews was, "If you are short, the washing machine is so big and deep that you may not be able to reach the clothes at the bottom." I am short, I have this issue, and I go on my tippy toes or I use a stool. No big deal. I have washed huge comforters and GIANT loads of laundry without a snag. I throw in two sets of sheets (which I do weekly the exact same way), put it on the bright whites setting and the spin cycle decides that today of all days, it needs to bump it up a notch and go PSYCHO. 

After work on Friday I called Matt to find out what they said and to see when my new washer would be coming. He stalled for a second, and was like, "The guy fixed it. He said it was our fault and we can't mix loads." First of all, WHAAAAAT? I'm sorry, that machine could and should not be fixed. Second of all, THERE WAS NO MIXING!!! IT WAS TWO SETS OF SHEETS!! NOTHING ELSE!! Can you tell I am a little irritated about this? I will take  full responsibility if I screwed something up, but I literally put my sheets and Layla's sheets in like I do EVERY week, without a single issue. One time (a very long time ago) I had a load of towels (JUST towels) and I guess I had put essentially all the towels on the left side of the washer. It stopped and started beeping saying it was an uneven load. I redistributed the weight and it was no problem. I expect even if I did put all of the sheets on one side (which I didn't), it should have stopped and told me it was uneven. I have not had a chance to call Best Buy back and say "No. Sorry. This was a really expensive washer that is less than a year old and "fixing it" is just not acceptable." You saw the pics. Now I am always slightly nervous to do laundry, which does not help when I barely have the motivation to do it anyways. Ahhh oh well. Just another day.

On to happier things: Layla's birthday.  

It was a Sunday and she requested homemade waffles for breakfast and to go to the pool for the day. We obviously complied with her requests. Here is the birthday girl in the morning (I seriously cannot believe this little nugget is three): 

Then it was present time... a new Dora Bike! 

(And helmet... safety first, obvi). 

She was totally thrilled. After a quick ride around the neighborhood (and becoming totally soaked because it was disgustingly hot), we packed up and made our way over to the pool. It was a GORG day (if you are just sitting in the water of course). We ate there, had a few bevs, some neighbors came to hang out, we relaxed, and then left just before the crazy storm hit. 

Other than my crazy frizzball hair (I guess it is obvious where Layla gets it), 
I love this pic of me and my girls. 

All in all, it was just a really NICE, relaxing family day which seems SO long ago at this point (I mean... it was one runaway-washer-and-a-few-panic-attacks-over-work-and-childcare ago). 

Happy Wednesday! 

Dining Room Transformation and a Picnic-Themed Shower...

These past few weeks have been pretty busy and eventful, per usual. We went to the beach for the last week in June, celebrated the 4th down in Chesapeake Beach, had an immediate family get-together on July 6 for Layla 3rd and my nephew Tyler's 4th birthdays (actually the same day a year apart... and they are total besties), partied for Layla's actual birthday on July 7, had my whole family over on July 8 for my dad's dinner, and then I hosted my best friend's bridal shower at my house on July 13. Next up: Matt has a softball tournament this entire weekend, I'm hosting an 89th birthday party for my grandma at my house on July 27, throwing a bachelorette party the weekend of August 2-4, we are going to a wedding on August 10, then I am hosting another best friend's baby shower at my house the very next day. Exhausted does not quite explain it... but it is all fun things that are important to me, and I refuse to not put my all into everything. I'm going to do July 4th, Layla's birthday, and the beach in a separate post, but here is one dedicated to decor and showers and cuteness. 

So I have always had a really hard time with decorating and creativity. Both of my sisters are home decorating queens as well as amazing artist/creativity freaks. I just have never been like that. I have always wanted to, but I just have never felt confident in any of those areas. When I moved into this big house, I was semi/amazingly overwhelmed with the thought of decorating everything myself. I am terrible at making decisions like this, but I feel like my style has evolved a lot and I wanted to make it my own. In the beginning when I went back and forth between a million little things a million different times, one of my sisters said to me, "If you love it, then do it. You are the one who is living here. No one else matters." That completely changed my view on decorating. I no longer think of it as a stressful burden that I am going to screw up. I look at it as... okay if I really love it then I am going to enjoy looking at it and being around it in my home. Get over your insecurities. Get what you love. So that is what I am doing. I stopped the constant questioning of, "Is this weird or cute?" I just went with it. It is definitely a work in progress but I am really figuring myself out in the meantime. I always say that I'm not creative but my friend corrected me the other day. I have decided that I AM creative. But I am NOT artistic. There. 


Dining Room Transformation

Now if you remember a while back,  I posted a picture of my dining room in progress... I decided to randomly paint stripes on one of the walls one night, which turned out into a significantly larger project than I was anticipating. I thought, "Oh I just want two stripes, no big deal." Obvi I was WAY wrong. 

First I measured the space between my ceiling and molding (is it called sideboard?? See this is how home-decorating-illiterate I actually am) and divided by five (to keep the original paint color next to the trim and only make me have to paint two stripes). I borrowed a laser level from a neighbor and measured/taped away.

Mistake- apparently there is something called Froggy Tape that is the best for these kinds of situations. I used normal painter's tape. Bad idea. 

The little bits of tape were to remind me that I was NOT painting those areas (because that is something I would so do). 

I then took the leftover paint of the color that was already on the wall (and is in all of the other open areas of my house-- Techno grey. Duron. Love), and mixed it with some white I had on hand until it was a big enough difference between the current color and what I wanted my stripes to be. Major thing if you are doing this... you MUST make enough paint, because you will never be able to match what color you created ever again. Thankfully this was not a mistake I made. WHEW. So for whatever reason it took me THREE coats to make it even enough to my liking. Annoying. I then waited a while and started to take the tape off... along with chunks of the wall... in two different major places... 

My irritation could not be described, because I just wanted to FINISH a project. But no. So I sanded it down and repainted the areas. 

I also took a TEENY brush and touched up the lines because they did bleed a little (froggy tape, I'm telling you, use froggy tape) and I knew it would drive me insane. 

Finally done and you could barely tell where I patched it: 

I realized that the room is completely square, so when deciding on furniture I decided to go with a round table (it has a leaf as well) and fabric chairs. I ordered my furniture (wayfair.com, great deal). 

And then I agonized over my colors... and agonized... and agonized some more. I have a very distinct fabric on my kitchen bench that I was planning on going with the robin's egg blue in it, but I couldn't find anything that really went or that I loved. I ended up finding a new fabric that I am going to re-cover my kitchen bench in that has yellow, navy, turquoise and lime. So my big decision for the dining room colors were: navy with pops of lime. If you have been to my house, you may notice that I am awkwardly obsessed with all things printed, moroccan, etc. I found a perfect 7' square rug (again, ridiculously hard to find) originally on rugsusa.com but ordered it from amazon.com for under $200. I got a knock-off Pottery Barn chandelier from Lowes for under $200, a few random accessories from Home Goods and.... 

At night, the crystals on the chandelier make a pattern all over the walls and it creates such a cozy gorgeousness, I loveeee it. 

I still need to find the perfect curtains, but I have something in my head and I am not going to stop until it is exactly what I want. I am just super happy with the results so far... and it is exciting to not have a totally empty room anymore. YAY. 


Picnic-Themed Bridal Shower

So one of my best friends (Liz) is getting married in September, and yours truly is the matron of honor. I wanted to go with "upscale picnic" shower theme... and here are some pictures from the event (no offense, I cut out all of the personal info from the invitation). 

Bevs: Drunken Palmer (Sweet Tea Vodka and Lemonade) in mason jars, white wine, lemonade, water. 

I am awkwardly obsessed with having specific glassware for events... I ordered these mason jars with handles from webstaurantstore.com. (For her engagement party I previously sprayed the bottom part of ikea wine glasses with chalkboard paint--you can see them in the top bevs pic to the right--to have stemware everyone can write their names on and not lose constantly. Gotta love pinterest. I'll do a post on it). I am accumulating quite the collection of party glassware and I LOVE it. 

Food: cucumber sandwiches, orzo/feta salad, veggies in individual hummus cups, mini chicken salads in pastry cups, fruit skewers, deviled eggs (all food courtesy of Caitlin, the future sister-in-law). Deeeelish.  

Desserts: Key Lime Pie, Cherry Pie, Triple Berry Tart, Apple Pie, Peach Tart (all pies courtesy of MY sister-in-law Karli). Seriously melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness. 

Decor: Karli did all the flowers (most of which were from her own yard. Out of control). We did hydrangeas, sunflowers, daisies, red checkered tableclothes, white tablecloths with burlap runners, twine. I also found (courtesy of my childhood of hoarding) two vintage wooden boxes (one coke and and one pepsi) in my basement that I flipped over on the food table. 

Favors: The groom's mom got different flavored jams and wrapped them up with little tags. So cute. 

 It was an awesome event for an amazing friend. Here is a pic of me and the bride-to-be (her hair looks amazeballs and I am a soggy, frizzy, sweaty mess... but I still love her): 

Can't wait for September!!! 

Happy Wednesday!! 

Dad...

So. Today is a weird day. Today, it will have been 10 years since my dad passed away. Ten years. That is a LONG time. It is such a bizarre concept, because in some ways it feels like it has been 10 years, but in other ways I remember the emotion like it was yesterday. It isn't a day I really like to dwell on, but it always looms before me and I am uber-aware that it somehow needs to be recognized. Three years ago I was 10324 months pregnant with Layla in the hottest week of the summer, and I went to my appointment on July 6 and actually broke down sobbing to my doctor that I couldn't have this baby on July 8. I just couldn't. (Thankfully I was induced later that day and had my little Layla on 7/7). I didn't want a joyous event to be in any way tainted by the actual worst day of my life so far. I always just feel strange all day, like I should be thinking more about him (I think about him everyday so that is just silly). It is just a weird day. 

I remember the actual day like it was in slow motion. I remember when I woke up. I remember what I was wearing. I remember being at a dive meet (coaching) and my mom called and all she said was, "Come home now." I turned to my parent rep with tears already flowing and said, "I have to go." She hugged me and I ran out of the pool. I remember the entire drive home. I'm not quite sure how I made it, because I was basically blind from crying. I remember rushing in the door being met with everyone standing around quietly sobbing. I remember Matt coming over later that night to be with our family (we have been family friends since I was five), having no idea that he would someday be my husband. I remember everything as if it were a movie.  

Now, I know that I am very fortunate because although I was only 19 when my dad died, I spent a lot more time with him than most. My dad was able to retire early from the World Bank (he worked there for like 10293808 years. I know you all love my exaggeration in numbers), so he was home with us since I was pretty young. As a little girl, everyone at ballet class always wondered how I would start to gather my things and then all of a sudden he would appear 30 seconds later... it was because I knew the sound of his cracking knees SO well coming down the hall. I can still hear it in my sleep. He would always have an orange or grape soda waiting for me in the back seat after he picked me up. He drove me to dive practice every day after high school. He taught me to drive. During those car rides every day, we wouldn't just sit in silence... We would actually talk. If there ever was the random silence, he would scare me to death by randomly breaking out into a "tribal song" (we are part Seminole Indian. Yet another fun fact). I was allowed to listen to my favorite radio station only until "Mambo #5" came on (which was every 12 seconds), then we had to switch to his favorite smooth jazz station. He drove me hours and hours to dive meets, whether it be Buffalo, NY (we went to Niagara Falls together), Kentucky, Florida, anywhere. He would have to sit super far away to watch all of my meets (his place at Robin Hood was the bench at the top of the hill) because he got stressed out and wouldn't want to get mad at the judges if I got crappy scores (obviously always deserved). He was SO proud when I got a diving scholarship to University of Richmond. He drove me to my recruiting trip and chatted excitedly the entire time despite the Friday evening traffic on 95. 

His jokes were both corny and witty (the more I think about it, the more I believe I just didn't understand a lot of them). He actually was the funniest person I have ever known. He bought himself Christmas presents, then would have my friends write the tag so that no one would recognize the handwriting. Everyone was shocked and confused when we would end up buying him the same thing... and this happened two years in a row. He wore track suits and Sperry's (if that doesn't spell awesome, I really don't know what does). He could fix or build anything (which is where I think I get my strange drive to install fans and do plumbing by myself). He loved his Miller Lite. He loved to cook and create random dishes. No matter where we went or what we did, question number one when we walked through the door was "What'd ya eat?" 

During my fall semester at Richmond was the whole sniper thing. I was home one weekend (this was before he got sick), and I left my house at around 7pm to do the two hour drive. The sniper shot someone at 7:15ish right off 95 South. I sat in traffic all night and didn't pull into the parking lot at my dorm until 5am. My dad stayed up and talked to me all night long so I wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel. I definitely received the gene of the over-reacting gasp whenever something falls or tips over (which usually makes the situation far worse). If I ever had lip gloss on, it was known as "greasy chicken lips." 

I don't really like thinking about when he was sick. I came home every single weekend my second semester at Richmond, which is why I transferred to UMD. We didn't know how long he was going to live, and I knew I couldn't do another semester like I had just done. He hung on for eight weeks after they told us it could be any day. We had hospice come to the house, and my mom was by his side every other minute of the day. 

My biggest heartbreak over all of this is not how much I miss him (which is a ridiculous amount)... it is that my girls won't ever get the opportunity to know the most important man in my life for 19 short years. I would die to see his reaction to just one Summerism. I guarantee he would call her a 35 year old midget (what he called me). Layla would be "Squirt Jr" (I was the first Squirt. I did fit into the same bathing suit for seven years). And Olivia... he would be obsessed with how much she eats anything and everything, and how she will just dominate people if they get in her way. They would have absolutely adored him and would have had him wrapped around each of their little fingers. I don't think I talk about him enough to them, because it's hard... and I hate crying. I know I need to, because that is the only way that they will ever be able to understand how awesome he truly was. 

So. Today will always be a weird day. But life keeps going... and I know how fortunate I was to have had him at all. 

The Doctor's, Target and Derecho...

So I often think that maybe I have these utter debacles just so I can write about it and make other people feel better about their own chaos. I mean, the events that go on just sometimes can't be real... but they happen... to me. I am not claiming I have a terrible life. Quite the opposite, really. I just tend to have the "when it rains, it pours" kind of thing going. I feel like there are people that just seem to have it all together and things run smoothly for them, like ALL the time. That is not me, nor will it ever be. Well, I hope it will be someday... I have just accepted that it won't be anytime soon.

So last Thursday we woke up, made super delish sour cream pancakes (Pioneer Woman recipe), and watched the sky get out-of-control dark from that Derecho business. 
The girls were bopping around playing while I was trying to clean up. On Tuesday evening I had noticed a Olivia had a slight wheeze when she exhaled. Wednesday it seemed okay in the morning, but Thursday morning I could hear it when I was five feet away from her. She didn't seem upset by it or in major respiratory distress, but it was definitely not something I was comfortable with. I called the pediatrician (it is 10:15am at the time), and they said come in at 11:10. 

Now our pediatricians are absolutely amazing. They actually are the same ones I went to my entire life and dealt with all of my kidney/peritonitis issues when I was five (I'm going to assume it was a newer practice when I started because none of them are old). Now we used to live five minutes from there. Now we live 25-30 minutes away. So (obviously we are all still in pajamas), I start throwing clothes on the girls and myself, and trying to call my sister to see if I can possibly drop the older two off at her house. She was at the hospital visiting my grandma, but she was leaving anyways so she came straight to my house to pick up the girls (and literally saved my life and sanity... little did I know how much). We got to the doctor's office by a little after 11 and were brought back within five minutes to a treatment room. Now, the following events have actually never happened in my entire 29 years of going there (well you would have to ask my mom I guess... but they are always super timely and I am in and out fast. Always...) Well, we were put in a room that appeared like it was geared for older kids. It had one plastic truck and three books in it. A far cry from the plastic house, toys, etc in the waiting room and the umpteen toys that always seem to be in the other rooms. I tell myself not to worry, they are always quick... 50 minutes later (I am awkwardly sweating trying to entertain Olivia, per usual), the doctor comes in apologizing profusely. There was a mixup on which room we were in (because apparently they never use this one since it is for older kids). She does her exam and Olivia's wheeze is obvious and even worse when she would push on her chest to help her take deeper breaths. Her squeaks were so pathetic sounding! So, the doctor said she wanted to do a breathing treatment right now to see if she could get Olivia a little more comfortable, and then they would send a nebulizer machine home with us and we need to do it every four hours as needed, or at least three times a day for the next week. She said the medical assistant would be in to set it up in a minute. She apologized a bunch more times for it taking so long, and said she would be back to check her after the neb treatment. 

It is now 12:15, and my stomach is literally making the loudest noises EVER and Olivia is beyond cranky, tired and hungry. We wait for the neb treatment... and we wait. And wait. Twenty minutes later, the doctor comes flying back in, and she was like, "Wait, they haven't come done it yet??" She goes to find the medical assistant (who is the same one as when I was a child and is absolutely great), who comes in and is apologizing profusely because somehow no one had told her that this was supposed to be done. Anyway, they set up the machine and I put the mask over Livi's face and at first she seems content. It is supposed to go for five minutes, so as soon as the doctor and medical assistant left the room, Olivia started screaming bloody murder. Fighting me, pushing the mask away, sobbing hysterically (which doesn't help when you are trying to breath). I had to try to pin her arms back so I could keep it over her face but she is a strong little thing! The medical assistant walks back in and Olivia goes silent. (I swear she likes to keep up appearances or something, because she is an angel for everyone else but me). After the neb treatment, Olivia apparently sounded slightly better so the doctor called in the order to Target (right by them) so I could go run and pick it up. 

We pack up, go over to Target, and get in line behind SEVEN PEOPLE to pick up the prescription. Olivia is sobbing, starving, exhausted. She randomly coughs and wheezes super loud and several people asked me if she was okay. We finally get to the front of the line and somehow, it is not ready yet. I am kind of in disbelief as I am awkwardly sweating, holding a flailing, squeaking child. Okay, I will be back in 15 minutes. Sure, I can easily blow $100 at Target in 15 minutes. It's okay that we are both starving to a new level. So I grab a coverup for me, three rompers for Olivia and Layla (they wear the same size), a dress for Summer, milk, eggs, boxed lemon bar mix (See this is how hungry I was. Most random buy ever.) string cheese, bananas. I go back over to wait behind FIVE people for the prescription as Olivia is wailing, gripping onto the string cheese, trying to open it like she has never eaten before in her life. We finally get the prescription, go check out and make it to the car. 

McDonalds is in the same shopping center so obviously I make really good food choices when I am about to pass out from hunger (i.e. lemon bar box). We go get in what feels like the longest line ever in the drive thru. There is one car in front of us at the getting the food window when this van comes flying around the very narrow lane beside me (totes almost hit the Nav. Not okay). She gets out of her car and starts yelling at the McDonalds worker that she needs sugar. I couldn't hear what the worker said, but then the woman started screaming at the person in the car in front of me to move. A screaming match ensues as I sit in my car, mere feet away from chicken nuggets, fries and a mocha frappe. Finally that whole mess clears up and we get our food. 

My gas light is on (natch) and I have 8 miles left in my tank. Fantastic. So I go through the McDonald's parking lot over to the gas station next door (I actually drove right next to the woman with the sugar issue... I was tempted to stop and ask her why she was so evil but I made a better decision and kept driving). I pull up, give Olivia a few fries (she smashed them in her face so fast I thought she was going to choke). I go set up the gas, and of course, I chose the pump that the lever was broken and wouldn't go unless I stood there and held it. So, I go back and forth between pumping gas and running to give Olivia food. More awkward sweating. Finally my tank was filled ($90 later, downside of the Nav), and we are off to pick up Summer and Layla. After Olivia inhaled a few nuggets and a ton of fries, the poor baby was out like a light. 

We pick up Summer and Layla (I explained to my sister that she truly did save my life), FINALLY get home, I successfully transfer a sleeping Olivia to her crib, and collapse on the couch. Within 10 minutes, I get a text alert about tornados from the Derecho whateverness. I saw that is said Poolesville, Gaithersburg, etc. I'm like "Okay, whatever, we are fine." My sister calls two minutes later, "Are you in the basement?!?!" Me: "Umm no." Well, I missed the second alert that mentions that we needed to take shelter immediately and there was a tornado in Olney. Awesome. Fab. Just dandy. I have to go upstairs and get a SLEEPING child out of her crib, grab the other two, and go in the basement. I pulled one of the couches away from the window into what I thought was the safest area. We hung out down there until everything passed (One of the girls was crying because she was scared. One kept trying to look out the window. You guess).

A few positives I saw in these situations: 
-We are all safe with no damage to our house or anything. 
-My sister had Summer and Layla. I truly cannot imagine having all three during this.
-There was no Derecho issues while I was driving, getting in and out of any car, etc. 
-The doctor thinks Olivia's breathing issues are due to her fever virus thing. Hoping for that over something like asthma. She is a champ at home with it: 

-My new Tory Burch flip flops were super comfy and cute running around, even with the awkward sweating (A minor positive, but still important). 

-I didn't run out of gas. 

Happy Monday!! 

Time flies...

So the last week has been a bit nutty. 

Monday: Strawberry picking debacle. See previous post. 

Tuesday: up at 4am, work, home at 3:30pm, chaos, to be totally honest I absolutely cannot remember what else we did that day other than some awesome dance parties, collapse in bed. 

Wednesday: up at 7am, attempt to straighten up the house, leave for work at 12pm, home by 11pm, collapse in bed but can't fall asleep till after 1am. 

Thursday: up at 7am, Kohl's trip with my mom, lunch at Panera, chaos, Matt is gone for the evening playing in a golf tournament, collapse in bed. 

Friday: up at 4am, work, home at 3:30pm, Olivia wakes up from her nap with 103.9 degree fever, Matt is gone all evening again, up all night with Olivia, take a cool shower with her, (she randomly only wants to cuddle and kiss me--which was adorable/I wanted to die at 3am), Matt is a champ and we trade off shifts all night, Olivia's fever breaks at 5am and she does not have another symptom. 

Saturday: up at 6:30am, Matt gone (still the same tourney), make cookies, shower, Terminix shows up early (a preventative spray) while I am still in the shower, throw on clothes, go to the door looking like a drowned rat with mascara running down my face, let them in, wrap a birthday gift, birthday party at 4pm (but only for an hour because we had a sitter coming at 5:30pm), get ready frantically for our lobster dinner night out with Matt's brother Scott--Matt's 'guest' for the tourney-- and his amazeballs wife Karli, along with our neighbors Tammy and George and lots of other fun people), out for the evening, lots of food, too many drinks, live band, home after 1am, collapse in bed. 

Sunday: up at 7am, stay in bed but can't sleep, Matt takes the girls down to Easton to help his sister move, I walk to the Farmer's Market with my neighbors while eating leftover cold pizza, somehow buy no produce but find adorable Redskins headbands for the girls, walk home, collapse in bed (again), sleep for like four seconds, shower, drive to work (I was filling in for someone as charge nurse so I could go on vacation at the end of this month), have an utterly boring shift (other than having to catheterize one man and give a shot to this murderer who keeps telling everyone he is a doctor... but clearly isn't), get home at 12:45am, collapse in bed. 

Monday: up at 7am, find out my grandma is in the ICU with pneumonia, watch my sister's kids while she goes to visit, leave the girls with her to go visit her myself (and have a horribly awkward Starbucks experience... involving comments like, "My day is now better that you're here," interrupting every time I say my order to 'try' to be funny, refusing to give me my credit card back (making me pry it out of his hand), and a super awkward parting comment that I won't share... see my grandma in the ICU, go back to my sister's, watch all the kids while she goes to the store, pack up my girls, go to pick up my Harris Teeter Express Lane order (best invention ever), 

(which was beyond necessary due to the fact that we had less than one roll of toilet paper left in the entire house) get home, make dinner (shrimp cakes with a mango/pineapple salsa. Yum), 

put the girls to bed, collapse in bed. 

Tuesday: up at 4am, work, go straight to the hospital to see my grandma again, home, scrounge up some leftovers for dinner for the girls (Matt ended up having a work dinner), write up some plans for the bridal shower I am hosting in July, the bachelorette party I am planning in August, and the baby shower I am hosting in August (I actually have about 10239809 ideas for each of these so this is all exciting stuff. No stress yet), touch up some of my dining room paint, attempt a few loads of laundry (at 10pm on Tuesday night, this is how my laundry room looks after already doing three loads): 

And I think this next picture makes it obvious that the girls were clearly traumatized by the lack of toilet paper in the house, and took matters into their own hands after our Harris Teeter trip: 

Matt gets home around 11pm, we get into a super deep convo, collapse in bed around 1am (stupid, I know... but I missed him). 

So. Today, I am exhausted both physically and emotionally. Matt got up early to go visit my grandma before he went to work (yet another reason he is the best) and he even went back out to get her a donut (cleared by the nurse). I just feel like time is flying SO fast. I apologize that this is a very boring post and not well-written in any way, but sometimes I feel the need to think about what the heck I did for the last week and process it so maybe I can do things better next week... be a better mom,wife, and friend somehow. All I can do is try, right? 

Strawberries and the mattress pad update...

First things first: THE MATTRESS PAD WAS FOUND!! I can take no credit for finding it. Matt found it tucked under Olivia's crib. I don't feel quite so crazy anymore!! I still have absolutely no idea how it got there and it was there for a solid month. YAY!!! 

So I had a bit of a debacle on Monday... shocking, I know! My sister called me Sunday night at 9pm (Sidenote: I was already lying in bed. Don't judge). We usually *attempt* to do fun things with the kids on Mondays. She has the bright idea to go pick strawberries and make our homemade jam the next day. I was exhausted at the time (another shocker) and there had been a torrential downpour that day so I was less than enthused to go out in a soggy field with five kids, ages ranging from almost 18 months to 5 years. I said we will see how the weather turned out in the morning. Fast-forward to the next morning, it was overcast and slightly drizzly... I was still less than enthused (it perhaps also had to do with the literal mountains of laundry that were staring at me), but my sister was still extremely determined. We go back and forth for a bit, and finally decide that if the 70% chance of rain at 9am passed, we would make the effort to go. Well, it passed. And we went. Butler's Orchard may have the most random and bizarre back roads to get to it and you really aren't quite sure that you are actually going to end up at a location... but then it springs up out of the windy roads and woods, and we follow the very specific signs to the strawberry patch to begin our adventure. We had already decided that the kids would pick whatever amount of strawberries they wanted, and we would buy the rest down at the market/store/whatever it is called. They started off excited, digging in (sidenote: don't judge the outfits. I didn't want to care if they got destroyed): 

Then they focused more on eating: 

Then Layla decided to whip Tyler with a dead strawberry bush and refused to say sorry, so she had to sit alone and not pick strawberries: 

Let's zoom in for effect: 

She finally apologized to Tyler and was back to happy in 0.273 seconds: 

So, what felt like HOURS later (but was actually barely 30 minutes), we called it a day and went down to purchase the strawberries we actually did manage to pick (and not eat) which did not seem like many: 

The market/store/whatever only had two teeny baskets of strawberries left, which were like $6 each... so our jam-making was in serious jeopardy. We had an oh-so-lovely drive home with one child (who will remain nameless, but happens to belong to my sister) screaming bloody murder the entire ride home (I forgive her. It is SO not like her), which distracted me so much I missed my turn, which then caused it to be a much LONGER horrific ride home. She was crying so hard that we thought she was going to vomit strawberries all over my car... but she didn't. (It could have been good payback for last Friday when Layla peed Tyler's bed and Olivia took off her poopy diaper in my sister's pack n' play. It was bad. I offered to send Summer over to puke but she didn't take me up on it). 

We got home, fed them lunch, and may or may not have had some champagne with strawberries (again, don't judge). We tried to watch one of our stupid/trashy shows (which will remain nameless because I'm pretty sure I've had enough judgement for one post) while cutting out the strawberry tops, but every four seconds a child would pop in and we would have to pause it and try to redirect them. Olivia refused to nap and we actually watched her on the video monitor jumping on her bed like a lunatic. We attempted to make the jam... but didn't buy enough of the pectin boxes, so we both ended up with two and some jars each: 

Which to be honest, is so not worth the hassle that it all was... but what WAS worth it was the kids' happiness while we were there (minus the Layla/Tyler/whipping situation), the excitement when we found a robin's nest with eggs in it in the strawberry bushes, smashing the strawberries. Sometimes it is so hard to just go ahead and DO things when I know how it usually turns out. I end up thinking to myself "I don't know why I even try." But I do try. And I will keep trying. Because I want to keep making memories with my girls, and I want them to experience things despite our crazy and hectic life. 

These last two pics make me die laughing because here was my attempt at all three girls smiling together, but Livi is trying to swipe more strawberries and the sun is blinding Summer:  

Then Layla is clearly yelling, "NO MORE STRAWBERRIES WIVIA!!!" and poor Summer has her eyes closed: 

Until the next debacle...