Dem's some gooooood genes!

We were recently gifted with some previously undiscovered pictures of my dad as a little. It was a treasure trove of things to tease him about. Love that. But, when we found these little gems, it was the inspiration I needed to let the Jebbarber win the war of the haircuts.

If you couldn't see those awesome classic cars in the background, and if my dad's barber was as cute as our Kortni, I bet you couldn't tell these two boys apart! It looks like the Fluffy is more like his Papa than I thought! I see a tiny motorcycle in my baby's future.

It's too bad my dad already has a twin brother. I think Holden could give that guy a run for his money. Right? Tell me you see it, too!

My Fluffy looks cuter like this, I think. Although he does work a mean pigtails. Hey! Another thing he and Johnny Baby have in common! I'll have to work on getting a picture of grandpa in those to compare and contrast.

And more oldies but goodies. These two. The new trouble twins. Now I see why Fluffy is such a handful. He's full of Johnny Baby!

Strength of Samson

For some strange reason I have yet to figure out, I don't like to have the boys get their hair cut. I know. Weird. Usually we cut it really short, and then I let it grow until it gets unruly, and then let it grow some more. And then it goes past that awkward "growing out" phase, and then I start to wonder what we should do with it. And, as I wonder, it continues to grow.

I start thinking about Samson, and wondering what incredible strength these boys will lose if we cut their hair.

And then I realize that the boys don't have strength in their hair. I am the one who gets a super power from it. The power to drive their father crazy. (Here is where I begin to rub my hands together and laugh an evil laugh.)

Look at Fluffy. He's got the evil laugh, too! Why would I ever cut their hair and lose that? This is too much fun.

The fluffy tagger

I caught Fluffy engaged in his very favorite pastime again - coloring the walls of the house. On a side note, why is it that the 3 children who were born after we moved into this house are so bent on tagging it like little saggy bottom, diapered gangstas? Do they feel the need to let everybody else who lives here know that this is their territory? I wonder.

Anyway, after the requisite "No way, Jose. That is not okay" chastisements, accompanied by the mean mom mugging, it was time for a nap. Once he was all ready and given one more furrowed brow, I got the "I'm sorry" pout and cuddle. Which made me think, is there anything better than a little head snuggled into your neck, chubby arms wrapped around your shoulders, and dimpled hands patting your back? Not on this earth, there isn't. It makes graffiti removal so worth it. But don't tell that to him.

Our Friendly Neighborhood Deer

We get to have Bo come over every Wednesday night while the Jebyoungman goes to mutual. Let's hear it for church callings! After we make her clean our kitchen, make or provide our dinner, and then help put the kids to bed, she usually thinks it's time to leave. On one particular Wednesday night, after breaking free of the childrens' grips and making it out the door, she turned around and came right back inside. "Forget something?" I helpfully asked. "Nope. I can't leave. There's a deer in front of my car." So the kids flung open the front door to see the deer. And you know what? That crazy deer came right up to them! And then followed them around for the next hour, pushing it's head into their chests begging to be touched, and smashing it's nose into Hudson's for kisses. Thank goodness Leah had already fallen asleep or you would have been able to hear her scream all the way at your house.

It was the weirdest thing I have ever seen.

We kept telling Hudson not to jump or run because it would scare the poor deer off. But, being Hudson, he just couldn't help but to jump and run, and that deer seemed to love him the best. She followed the kids up and down the street, walking amongst them like she was one of the pack. We had to keep the front door closed because she kept coming up on the front porch waiting to be invited inside. See? Weird.

Hudson and the deer with the same look on their faces

The next morning she spotted my little herd on their way to school and followed them down until they reached the busy street. She caused quite the controversy in our neighborhood. It seemed half the people were frantically calling animal control or the Division of Wildlife, and the rest of us were wanting her to just be left alone. Half were saying she must be diseased or hurt to be coming up to people like that, which really didn't make sense to the other half.

A few days later someone had her visiting their backyard, and we haven't heard from her since. Too bad. It was a great experience. Maybe we should look into getting a deer of our own.

Riddle me this, Batman.

There is an oldest child around here, who shall remain nameless, who came walking upstairs ready to go to school. Ready to go to school wearing about 4 layers of shirts. A regular shirt, a long sleeved one next, a fleece hoodie, and ANOTHER fleece hoodie on top of that. I was trying to brush out her hair amidst all the hoods, and asked what in the sam hill was going on with the layers.

"It's cold at school, mom."

"Are you going to wear your coat on top of all that?"

"I'm wearing this INSTEAD of my coat. My coat is puffy".

Golly, Batman! What adjective would you use to describe 4 layers of clothes that make it so she can't put her arms down? Why, Robin (or Robyn in this case), I'd say puffy, of course! Mmm hmm. Puffy.

Next riddle. The middle boy won't wear shirts. He'll put up with them when in public, but as soon as we drive up to the house, his shirt comes off before he can even cross the threshold. "I don't wike showts" he says, and by George he means it. The riddle comes in when I notice how stinkin' cute he looks in a turtleneck when I put it on him in the morning. I again noticed it at lunch, and again when the kids came home from school. He kept the turtleneck on! So, any regular showt, long sleeved, short sleeved, comes right off. But the turtleneck he keeps on. Weirdo.

The youngest (who is not the smallest, but just the youngest. Another mystery!) has decided to say no to everything. He flies through his bowl of oatmeal and then when you say "Do you want some more?" he says "No!" But really he is saying "Please, mum. May I have some more". He'll bring you a pair of pants and you'll say "You want to put these on?" and he'll reply with "No!" and then sit himself down in prime pants putting on positioning. When he really does mean no, he'll give you the most annoying whiney grunt, ala Stewart from mad TV. It makes facing homicide charges not just a possibility, but a SUPER possibility. I'll post a link after a warning. You'll want to stop the video almost as soon as it starts, because, just as in real life, it is the most annoying sound you have ever laid ears on. Alright, go ahead and watch here. See that? If you get that response, it's a definite no, but if he's said "no" you know you're in the clear. Curious? "No!"

Little sister also has something strange about her. It may be the fact that she looks just like Mike Tyson, only instead of some swirly thing covering her face, it's a cute gray mouse. Whenever I indulge the kids on the vending machines at the grocery store, Leah always goes for the sticker/tattoos. And then she applies it directly to her face. Why? Why, I ask the cosmos?

As for Harrison? Well he's always been a riddle wrapped in a mystery, and deep fried. Kind of like a corn dog, which he likes, but he doesn't go for just the naked dogs. No way. Will I ever figure any of these kids out?

It's crazy around here.

Dr. Drew told us it was time.

In all of the children's hospital bassinets, placed right next to our swaddled newbie, was a binkie. Abigail's was teeny tiny and smelled like vanilla, Harrison's and Leah's were the cheapie plastic ones with the pink or blue flapping circle handle, and Hudson's had the button. But none of them took it. They would gag and choke on it until their tiny little tongues forced it out of their mouths.

But not Fluffy.

Fluffy had a love affair with the ugly, big, green silicone binkie from the start. I was amazed. We had never had a binkie baby before. He was born addicted, it seemed, and nothing made him happier than his constant companion. It was his baby binkie crack. The power that thing had over this kid was incredible. It was our friend too in those early days. We didn't go anywhere without two, three, four of mommy's little helper. He had quite the collection.

Hudson laughing at the crazy thing the baby loves.

As he got older, however, we knew we needed to stage an intervention. We began the weaning process and I'm not sure who resisted more, the addict or the dealer. I loved him having the binkie. It worked every time! Who would want to mess with that, I ask you! But, I knew it would have to come to an end sometime. We did it slowly. Just a distraction here and there and miraculously we had it down to just naps and bedtime. And then I started to procrastinate. "After our trip", I would say. "He's getting a cold! We can't take it from him when he has a cold!", and a million other reasons why I couldn't completely pull the plug (so to speak).

Fluffy was on to us, too. He began hiding his habit. He would toss his binkie under his bed before I came in to get him. Then later in the day he would pull it out, all covert like, and hide in his room to have it. That's right. He became a closet binkier. A bad sign for sure. Hudson would discover him and narc him out. "Mom! Holden has a bwinkie!" he would holler, and then Fluffy would come running. No, really. RUNNING. Like a tiny, husky Forrest Gump charging down the hall. Sometimes he would manage to find two of them, and tuck one under his arm like a short little Heisman trophy, strong arming me out of his way to keep that binkie in his mouth.

There was a bonus to him being wise to our plan, though. He would hang out in his crib until 10:00 in the morning to enjoy the time he had with his forbidden love. Did you just read that right? 10:00? Yes, yes you did. Yet another reason why I was resistant to ending the relationship.

Alas, I could put it off no longer. I had it in my head that he would be finished by his second birthday. With that day approaching us, and no illnesses circulating the house at this very moment (a sign for sure!), I put him down without one last hit. The cries from his crib confirmed that yes, indeed, I am the meanest mom on the planet. He begged, he got angry, he promised just one last time. "Mom! Mommy! MOOOOOMMMMYYYY!" was probably heard by all the neighbors around us.

And then it ended. It took only a half an hour, and then was over. Ah my you yah, as Leah would say; Hallelujah as I would say.

But then he was up before 8:00 the next morning. All good things must end, I suppose. Farewell, binkie. You have served us well.

Conversations with Leah Boo

Leah had a friend over the other day, and I overheard the conversation they were having.

Leah - "We have to be quiet because my mom is working."

Friend - "Where does your mom work?"

Leah - "Oh, she just works over there in the study. She works for a talking computer."

Yep.

My 2012 Motto

I think I am going to use this for my theme this year. I've never had a "theme" before, but this one really speaks to me on a deep, personal level. Ready?




















I think I'll go get some marshmallows right now!! Cover those bad boys in chocolate and you've got yourself a darn fine day, I tell you what! Excellent!

Well, this time of year always has me waxing reminiscent. I start to think back over the year that has passed, and even more over the break my monkeys just had (A solid month off! Glorious!), and it turns me into the poster child of post holiday blues. I hate sending my babies back to school. Hate, hate, hate. Those geniuses at the acronym department really had it when they said that Seasonal Affective Disorder makes you sad. Give those guys a raise, why don't you.

But, all in all we had it really good, I think. I think a corner was turned back in February when, after my lovely trip to Baltimore to hang with the 'rents, I realized that I really, really love the Jebhusband. No, like, really. That boy really tries. And although he may fall right on his face quite often, he still gets up and tries some more. Especially when he is trying for me and the kids. Gotta love him.

After that, the Fluff turned one, and my life has always changed once the babies turn one. It's like some kind of proclamation in my head that says in one of those loud, booming inspiration voices from the movies "And now you may officially be post post partum. So let it be written". And then a crack of thunder is heard and the skies clear, and some harp music starts. Crazy, right? Or should I say no more crazy, right?

And after that it's just a blur of constant motion, until we get to today. The day I send my babies back to school and they are all one year older than this time last year. I really, really hope they remember the times that I was so incredibly proud of them, and forget the times that I was mad when I shouldn't have been. I really, really hope they know that the line of people who really, really care about them ends with mom, and forget when I have told them to wait just a few more minutes to get my attention. I really, really hope that today when they get back to "real life" that they know, somewhere deep within them, that they are my "real life" and that I would move heaven and earth for them. I just really, really hope they know that I will miss them so.

So, I guess that's my new year's resolution. Just to make sure they know. And to make this a really, really good year for us all.

I found these quotes over here.

“I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you’ll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you’ll make something that didn’t exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind.”

“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.” - Neil Gaiman