Slippery Slope

Y'all.  I know about a week (or 2) ago I wrote about how awesome not working all the time has been.

Since then? The work demands have been ramping up. 3 days of work turned into 5 (I know, cry me a river right?). I've started to look at my calendar, scratch my head, and think about the few hours I'll have to log at night and on weekends to get everything done.

5 day work weeks will be 7 before I know it. Again.

[insert profanity and fist shaking]

How am I getting here again?

I think it's the lure of the almighty dollar. I want new flooring on the stairs. I want a new bathroom. I want new shoes. I want! I want! Gimmee! VIVA LE CAPITALISM!!!!

I'm going to have to start dialing back to keep my health. And that will mean using my least favorite word in the world. The one that disappoints and liberates with one holy syllable.

No.

Breathing Room

We went to a wedding on Saturday.  Brendan's coworkers joked with me about taking up a third or fourth job.  You know, because I love to work soooo much.

If you've been reading me for awhile, you know I used to keep an insane work pace.  Motivated by efforts to escape Corporate America, establish independence, and be a financial baller drove me to work like a dog.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sustain that kind of life. No amount of coffee or crack cocaine could keep me working 60+ hours a week.  And no amount of money made it worth it for me to see my family so little.

Then Bridget was born.  When she was 2 days old, I sat in bed with her on my lap and churned out my last outstanding report.  And then?  I hung out. Just...hung out. I sat on the couch for hours nursing and bonding and exhausting what HGTV had to offer.

I made plans to return to work.  3 days dedicated to Corporate America. 2 days dedicated to my private biz.  I've been back to work for 2 weeks now. The private stuff is slow after my maternity leave and waiting for a contract to get re-upped for the new fiscal year.  The kids are in daycare.

And me? I can breathe.

I can go for runs.

I can go to the store without a child in the cart.

I can leisurely eat a sandwich without acting like I'm a prison inmate afraid of getting punked. 

I can take showers that last more than 5 minutes.

Suddenly, I'm more effective.

And happier.

I think I may be well-suited to this non-working, stay at home wife gig. 

Our groaning bank account says we're not financial ballers anymore but now I'm like a total life baller.  

Ikea Should Pay Me For This Post, But They're Not and I Love Them Anyway

Since my last post, I've  been getting a lot of questions about our toddler beds. Here's more than you ever wanted to know about them. 

Last year, this magical thing happened in Colorado.  A big, BIG event, I tell you.

Kind of like when Columbus landed in America. It was that kind of big. Only with less Dysentery and more excited anticipation from the locals.

Ikea came to town.

That big, bright box store with all of its glorious goods landed right here with the promise of affordable prices and assembly instructions in both Swedish AND English. And ZOMG, they sell furniture stuff and kitchen stuff and decoration stuff and bathroom stuff and closet stuff and kid stuff and ALL the stuff!

So, when it was time to transition the twins out of their cribs and into toddler beds, Brendan and I initially decided to stick them on mattresses on the floor. Because we're cheap as hell and it's kind of like camping to sleep on the floor and isn't camping FUN?! (It's not)

But when the grandparents heard of our campy plans, they launched an intervention. A plan to buy the kids toddler beds. Real beds. With headboards and everything.

God bless grandparents.

So my mom and I headed to Ikea to scope out some mini-sized sleepers.  And we found these beauties:

Not only are they super, crazy cute but they're also super, crazy practical. Hello? They totally extend to a mid-length bed before extending to a full length twin bed. I consider this feature far superior to the crib-toddler-full sized option which would never ever work in our 19th century home for 5 people. Plus, PLUS they come in White AND Black.  What more could you ever ask for?

Besides toddlers who will stay in said  magical toddler beds.

Unfortunately, Ikea hasn't started selling force fields yet.

Ikea did not pay me for this post. But should some Ikea executive decide they want to send me  money, I take cash, check, and money orders. Or store credit. Kthanxbai.

A Day In the Life

This is a genius idea I totally stole from another blogger.

A day in pictures. One an hour from the time you wake up until you go to bed.

So, here is our July 7.  From 7am to 10pm.  Enjoy, you voyeuristic folks.

7AM- Good Morning!

Brendan & I take turns sleeping in on the weekends. Sometimes we're greeted by the sounds of screaming from the twins' room. I was lucky. No meltdowns or assaults to get the day started.

8AM- You Betcha

Mornings are frantic. Feeding the twins, feeding the baby, feeding the dog. I don't get my coffee until 8am. God, I love coffee.

9AM- Kissing Time

The twins take a break from dumping their blocks all over the floor to kiss Bridget.

10AM- Time for twin love/wrestling/assaulting

The twins love each other. Sometimes.

11AM- Cause it's not the weekend if Home Depot isn't involved

Brendan always takes the opportunity to do some house projects on the weekend. This usually means Home Depot. I was lucky and got to stay home with Bridget for some quiet time.

12PM- Lunch yo

 

1PM- Cause it's not the weekend unless a project gets started

2PM- Napping

Nap time. We love nap time. The twins usually go down after lunch around 1pm. Sometimes they sleep.

2PM- Not Napping

Other times, they don't.

3PM- Sister love...or not

Cassidy insisted on trying to change Bridget's diaper. Afterwards she gave her this hug. I'm not sure Bridget enjoyed the experience all that much.

4PM- Taking a break

Brendan got the yard work done just before it started to downpour. He took advantage of some quiet porch-sitting in the rain.

5PM- Chillin like a villain

Bridget spends some relaxation time in her swing in front of the fan. Our 119 year-old house doesn't have air conditioning, which is super fun in the summer.

6PM- Heading upstairs for bath time

The kids like to give kisses through the railing.

7PM- Jumping on the bed + Trying not to die = Best time evah

Our kiddies like to live on the edge. This means thrill-seeking behavior like eating dirt and jumping on the bed. Good times.

8PM- Story Time

Bedtime stories are a must.  Favorites include "Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumbs" cause it has a lot of drumming in it.

9PM- Beer thirty

After bedtime, the fascist beer is opened and the television is on. I usually have one a night. Brendan usually has a few more and drunk dials everyone he knows.

10PM- Somebody's hungry. One last meal before bedtime

Bridget likes to hang with the grown ups until it's time for bed.

And that's a typical weekend day.  Don't you feel like you just shacked up in our guest room?

My Baby is 12 Weeks Old and I'm STILL Talking About "The Birth Experience!"

Yep, I'm totally going to talk about The Experience. Again.

Want to get me twitterpated and sweating with rage? (It ain't pretty, people)

Tell a reluctant post c-section mother she should "just be happy you have a beautiful, healthy baby."

Gah! Cause you know she must have been thinking, "I don't give a crap about my baby's health."

Why do women and fellow mothers respond this way? If you are a mom, then you gave birth. You carried a child and then you made a choice about how it was brought into the world. A choice that either happened the way you wanted. Or didn't.

And when your precious baby was born, I'm pretty sure you were in the room. And I'm pretty sure you had some feelings when that happened. And I'm pretty sure, good or bad, that was an experience for you. You cannot NOT be in that equation.

Birth is an experience. Period.

And for me, both of my births (one jacked, one awesome), were 2 of the most defining and life-altering experiences of my life.  Insinuating (or hell, downright saying it) that a woman is selfish or a bad mother for grieving the way a birth went down is effed up Dude.
 
And to start motherhood off by neglecting your own feelings, neglecting your self-care, and denying your personhood does not bode well for your future, mah friend. Why do we feel like being mothers means we are no longer entitled to have feelings?

Because unless you have the emotional depth of a surge protector, you can have more than one feeling at any given time.

Excitement over your new baby.

Love for your new baby.

Grief for how you met your baby.

So, if your birth experience went off the rails, it's okay to be sad. And we can hug and cry and talk about it.

And you can bet your ass I won't call you selfish.

Giggity

The twins have been progressing nicely in their language.

Even though they mostly scream, "Mine!" and "No!"

Or demand pie.

But recently, Finn has started to try to say Cassidy's name. Which is so damn cute, my head wants to explode.

The only problem? He calls her Giggity.

Like this dude:

Which I only know about because Brendan has terrible taste in television. Seriously, can we just watch The Bachelor already? (See how hilarious and quasi-self-deprecating I am? I told you Zoloft rules people.)

And if you've never seen Family Guy (I'm looking at you, Mom), consider yourself lucky.

That way you can fully appreciate how damn cute my son is without it being sullied by the above cartoon character.