You Might be a Mom to Three Short People If. . .

You are grateful for six hours of uninterrupted sleep.

You finish a phone conversation, take off your glasses, then realize you meant to hang up the phone.

There are days that you consider yourself successful if, at the end of the day, everyone is still alive and you got a shower to boot.

Your showers are accompanied by at least one other person, unless you take one at 6 a.m., 3 p.m. or 9 p.m.

Grocery shopping by yourself refreshes and renews you.

Despite your couch looking like this most of the week:

or at best, this:


your husband is just grateful to have something clean to wear to work.

A date with your husband consists of putting the children to bed and zoning out to a movie in the next room.

When someone at the store snidely jokes that you need to figure out "what causes that," you think to yourself: "I'm not sure I can remember."

You marvel at the thought that some people actually need to use birth control at this stage to keep from getting pregnant again.

You congratulate your children for doing things like this:




When pulling into a parking lot, your first objective is no longer to find the space closest to the store, but the cart corral.

A suggestion from your husband that you go to a coffee shop and blog for an hour makes you giddy with excitement.

You can't remember the last time you had both a warm meal AND two free hands.

Upon your infant's cry of hunger, two non-lactating short people offer--and attempt--to breastfeed her.

You let them.

You consider it "a break" to go anywhere with only one or two of your children.

You have found yourself in a public bathroom stall with all three children, holding 2 of them.

Throughout the day, you periodically burst into melodramatic and sarcastic renditions of theme songs from Little Einstein or Super Readers.

You wonder if your brain cells will ever regenerate enough for you to have an intellegent conversation.

You don't remember if or when you've ever had one.

You can tell what time of day it is, based on the cleanliness of your shirt

At bedtime, you can easily identify a half-dozen stains and/or bodily fluids on said shirt.

Almost none of said bodily fluids belong to you.

You are grateful for this.

You lose your train of thought mid-sentence.

It takes a few minutes for either you or your husband to notice. . .

and . . .

It really isn't worth the effort to figure out what you were saying .

Ruby's First Lesson

Today was Ruby's first Tap/Ballet class. And before you start thinking what a terrible thing it was for Ruby to be the only one in regular clothes (and the only one without ballet shoes), please let me explain that it was expressly suggestd by Ms. Deidre, the teacher. She said that with this young age, mothers often get over-excited and buy all the bells and whistles, only to find that their children aren't ready to take lessons. Her advice was to wait until the first class to decide whether we should even sign up for lessons and THEN get the necessary items. The awkward thing about it was that I was the only mother who actually did what she suggested. (I didn't want to literally throw away almost a hundred dollars!)
There's a bonus to Ruby wearing regular clothes: it's easy to tell which one is her!

I am not die-hard into dance for Ruby. But I do think some sort of class will be good for her in many ways (like learning the importance of listening and following instructions from someone other than Mommy or Daddy, and that no matter what others are doing, she must do what she knows is right). I believe this will also provide the opportunity to learn that Mommy does not have jurisdiction over all children, and will not be able to fix certain problems, and that other children may be allowed to do things that she may not do. This is a fundamental lesson for her whole life, I believe. Therefore, it is not "simply" a dance class to me. It is a chance to learn and practice several different things besides dance techniques.

In the tap video, you'll notice Ruby holds on for dear life to the barre. Can you guess she's slipped a few times on the tile at home? (By the way, these are very short videos, mostly for the viewing pleasure of Ruby's 'Lita, who sent her a garage-sale find of tap shoes and a Shirley Temple movie--ingenious!)

Watching Ruby, I think about how I struggle to follow an aerobic exercise video, and hope that she will do better than I in the coordination department. She reminded me so much of myself when she had to stop doing one thing before doing another, and couldn't quite manage to both "fan" and turn at the same time!

And by the way, she didn't seem embarrassed to not be dressed like the others. Thankfully, she's young enough to not notice it too much (and the other girls only noticed for a split second).

So, after class today (after getting an affirmative that she's ready) I asked Ruby if she'd like to take the class. She said "Yes, I'm happy. No, Mommy, I LOVE IT!"

All We Need is Smell-A-Vision

Talk to any New Mexican, and they'll agree: there really isn't any smell so very "New Mexico" like the smell of roasting chile (perhaps the pungent nasty smell of tar for flat roofing says NM too, but it's not something to be proud of). Thanks to Mrs. D., I was able to put up a few meals' worth of chile yesterday. Mrs. D. has been farming all her life, and has taught me that roasting your own is better than having it barrel-roasted. That method burns the skin (and much of the flesh, if the operator isn't experienced) and even though the smokey smell is still good, it doesn't compare to the soft fragrance of a batch roasted just enough to evenly blister and brown the skin (making it peel nicely).

Last year, I made the mistake of 1) buying chile on opening day of chile season, 2) buying chile from Wal-Mart and 3) having it barrel-roasted. Anyone who knows his or her stuff about chile will tell you NOT to do the first two. The flavor isn't there, the heat isn't there, and probably half of the chiles were so small and meatless that they weren't even worth peeling. My sister (visiting for the weekend) and I were putting up at least 7 bushels, and wanted to cut costs where we could. I really should know better than this. How many times have I decided to go with the cheap knock-off or low-cost item and regretted it? You really do get what you pay for. What does it matter if we saved a third of the cost, when we haven't really eaten much of it because it's so BLAH? We still have at least half of last year's chile. Normally by this time, we've been out of chile for awhile.

This year, I will make a better choice. Living in a farming community now, I am only a few miles away from beautifully big, meaty, broad-shouldered chiles like the ones pictured. Perhaps next year, I will grow my own, and thus be able to do a small batch like this a couple times a week. (With a newborn this summer, I opted not to do much gardening. Tomatoes are it.)

It took about an hour (not including cooling time) to put up this much chile. The time commitment is pretty sizable when doing a regular-size (i.e. much bigger) batch. Not really baby-friendly, either. I don't want to be nursing right in the middle of the peeling phase. It can be PURRR-TY dangerous for baby and mama.

In other news, Casey had his Friday off this weekend, and we visited Gram at her new apartment. Case took the big girls for a quick swim while we were there.

Claire's the water baby of the bunch. Ruby gets cold quickly, and spent most of the time in her towel on the concrete.

Just one more thing: Haley's cousin Alan must have taught her more than just rolling over while he was here. I didn't have a thumb-sucker until last week.

Haley and the Purple Crayon?

Did Ruby and Claire let Haley suck on one of their markers? Nope. This is our latest treatment in an over-a-month-long bout of Thrush, called Gentian Violet. I was turned onto this by blogger friend Becca, and later my pediatritian's nurse recommended it, since Nystatin didn't work a lick (no pun intended, but I'll leave it, since it's so fitting). Becca was so right--G.V. is an UTTER (as well as UDDER, if you must know) MESS. Upon first application, I thought it was not so bad, but that was before I knew that it easily transfers--especially when wet--and continues to stain everything that contacts it (skin is the worst--it doesn't wash off). That being said, I think we're in for an adventure (and TONS of laundry). As Becca so aptly put: Thrush sucks. I will also add that it is an utter pain (if you know what I mean). You do not want to ever deal with it, let me tell you.

Before Gentian Violet

After Gentian Violet. The stuff stains anything affected a deep purple, which is pretty much Haley's ENTIRE mouth. (After over a month, what did I expect?) Please also note the apparent teething of my baby and all the drool which so greatly helps spread the cheer.

I can see how having an older baby complicates this treatment for Thrush, such as the fact that newborns don't suck on their fingers . . .

Nor can they roll over and dig their faces into blankets, towels or carpet. Haley has been in her bouncy seat almost all day--I was pretty afraid of the purple monster. One good thing I've discovered: the stuff seems to come out in the wash pretty easily, so tomorrow, Haley will be allowed "down" again.

Fun, Fun, Fun Till Daddy Takes the T-Bird Away

On Saturday evening (Casey gone till Sunday) we decided to go to this tiny little carnival in our village (yes, it's technically called a village) that had a few cheesy rides. We walked around for a few minutes, then bought some cotton candy and R & C got to ride ONE ride. (I can't believe how expensive the rides were: it cost $3 a person to ride this car ride!!!)

Ruby and Claire's first taste of cotton candy. After a few bites, Ruby told me: "Mom, it's yummy, but I don't want anymore." My children never cease to amaze me.

How Can She be Three Months Already?

And I thought the second child grew up in a flash! Seriously, since she was born, I've been remembering so much about Ruby being a baby, but not so much Claire. I really hope it has more to do with the fact that Haley actually REMINDS me of Ruby, and not that I CAN'T REMEMBER Claire as a baby. I think at least some of the lack of reminders of Claire as a baby has to do with Claire's babyhood being so much busier than Ruby's was, even though I had a whole extra five months to enjoy her babyhood than I did with Ruby (Ruby was 17 months old when I had Claire). It made alot of difference to experience Claire's babyhood with a toddler to chase after.

Haley laughed for the first time today, as I was singing "Pat-a-Cake" to her. I couldn't get her to do it more than twice, but it was so sweet. Since we've been back from Oregon, she's also been giving me a long break between nursing at night. The last few weeks she's been going anywhere from 4 to 9 1/2 hours between night feedings, usually somewhere around 6 or 7. It has been a real blessing to be able to get several hours of sleep in one chunk. There were a few weeks toward the end there when I would be in tears, wanting to have even just a couple of hours of sleep where she didn't have to be in bed with me or actually ATTACHED TO ME. (Maybe it's because I have lots of other sleepers in my house that I don't think I can let her cry it out too long. I did try it once and I cried the entire time she cried [two hours--I know--what a terrible mom, right?]. It wasn't something I could do again. I still feel guilty for letting Ruby cry as much as I did.)

Footprints, finally!

Tuesday: Haley and cousin Alan (who is 4 days older and at least 3 pounds heavier!)

Casey's gone camping for the weekend with the guys in my family. Even though it's harder on me in a way, I really wanted him to do it. He doesn't have many chances to go and do things he enjoys and be with guy friends. Camping hasn't been as enjoyable since we have a couple very little ones who can get into danger very easily (we usually come home from camping completely exhausted). This trip was adult guys only. I think he'll really enjoy himself.

With Casey's being gone, the girls and I are trying to do some fun things. While more difficult to parent alone, it is also a little easier, since I don't have the same pressures of meal preparation or cleaning. Today, we were able to just go with the flow. Walk to the park first thing in the morning while eating a granola bar breakfast, lunch at 10:30, naps at 11:30, hair cuts for R & C, then dinner at 4 o'clock, and bed at 7. It went fairly smoothly, but it's the beginning of the weekend. We'll see how we do by Sunday night.

Home after our errands this afternoon. Next stop: bedtime!

Ahhh . . .The Sound of Silence!

I am up BEFORE ANY OF MY GIRLS this morning (They're still sleeping--Yay!) After a leisurely shower sans children (I usually have at least one in there with me), I decided to have a cup of coffee and blog for a moment. That's when it hit me. As I poured a spoonful of sugar into the mug, I could hear it "break" the coffee. Its wooshing sounded like a piece of paper being torn. (And it really wasn't that much sugar, I promise!) I realized how long it must've been since I've experienced something like that (i.e. silence) early in the morning. And I must say I liked it enough to blog about it. Silence is certainly golden!

Once upon a time, I was a newlywed bride, waking with my husband to get his clothes and breakfast and pack his lunch for the day (often including a note), waving goodbye to him every morning as he drove to work. Upon starting his civilian job only months after we got married, his new co-worker commented that my waking with Casey wouldn't last long. I think he gave him a timeframe of a couple of months or something. Years passed. Babies came. Still I would wake with him and get his clothes and food. Only a few breaks here and there when I was sick or just had a baby, but even the baby breaks weren't ever more than a week or two. Then I got pregnant with number three. In the very beginning and then toward the end of Haley's pregnancy, I was not even getting up with my hubby, let alone packing his lunch. And this has become the norm. I still pick out his clothes most days, but now it's the night before. Kinda cheating, I know. Once in a while I'll pack him a lunch and put it in the fridge for him to grab on the way out the door.

When I think about it, it makes me a little sad. And when I think of why, it makes me more sad. My children take so much of my waining energy (can it be called "waining" if it's barely even there?), and my husband is suffering the consequences. I've read and heard about husbands getting jealous of a new baby, since it is now getting all of his wife's attention, but until this baby, Casey has still had much of my attention and affection. Now that we've switched to a zone defense, we have to work very hard at (and communicate about) "us." I can totally see why couples fall into the trap of being all about the kids and forget that they're married. It would be easy to do. And it's so sneaky--we work together like a finely oiled machine; we usually know what the other is thinking and make a pretty good parenting team, if I do say so myself. But here's the catch: we become such great partners in this parenting thing, managing the household and the like, and lose sight of the fact that WE are also an entity. Marriage certainly becomes harder when a child is introduced into the picture, and three little ones are no exception.

There are other factors that contribute to my not getting up with Casey anymore. Most mornings, I am nursing (in bed--trying to get a few more minutes of uncomfortable sleep) when the alarm goes off. And since Casey changed jobs a couple years ago, it is no longer helpful to have a lunch packed. (It used to be that if I didn't pack him one, he wouln't get lunch because he was so busy all day--never had much time at his desk. Now he has the opposite problem.) I also asked him last year if it discouraged him when I didn't wake with him and he said no. Put those together and add a few incidental other reasons, and what you get is a mommy who wakes when her girls wake, possibly in time to wave goodbye to her husband, but not get him anything.

Perhaps if I asked him today if it matters whether I get up with him or not, his answer would be different. At any rate, I am going to try get back into the habit just to show him again how much he means to me. Even those little things can make a bigger difference than we might think.