My little darlings

These boys know how to make their momma's heart melt.

I've never read the book The 5 Love Languages, but I've heard enough about it, I pretend to know what I'm talking about when referring to it.  It outlines five ways to express love that Gary Chapman [author] calls "love languages": gifts, quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service, and physical touch.  The book helps to pinpoint what you're own love language is in addition to, and most importantly, your partner's.

One thing he left out was cleaning, which I guess could be under the "acts of service" category.  My children have picked up on my love language and enjoy "loving" on me.  Couldn't be the reaction they get when I see them reach for a vacuum, or ask to help clean the playroom.  I amp it up real good so they can see how much it means to me.  And they enjoy making me happy.

Sometimes.

:)

My new pal, Patty

Meet Patty.

She's my new little friend.

She's a beautiful, red, strong pressure washer and I love her being my friend.

Patty and I go way back.  You see, when I was dating Jim, back when I really should have been making the effort to impress him and his family, I met Patty and we clicked immediately.  Patty was brought out of the dusty barn, given some go-go juice and was ready to tackle the back patio at Jim's parent's house.  I don't believe I had ever run a pressure washer before, but it looked like fun and they let me start cleaning.  (I'm pretty sure this was one of the times when my in-laws realized I wasn't going to be the typical girl.)

The patio was not concrete.  It was brick with dirt in all the grooves.  So, big deal, you say?  Well, pressure washers have a tendency to make dirt fly.  Dirt that's attached to bricks and also dirt that's in between all the bricks.  Let's just say I needed safety goggles to protect my eyes from the spray and by the time I was done, I looked like I had stood behind a truck spinning out in the mud.  It made enough of an impression on my in-laws, they took pictures.  Who knows, maybe to build their case to Jim about never bringing me back. :)

Needless to say, I get a kick out of the pressure washing we do around the house and Jim knows that all he has to do is watch the kids and I'm busy for hours.  Curbs look like they've been painted white by the time I'm done.  The yucky, old paint on the driveway has felt the wrath of Kelle with some strong water heading it's way.  Any grime that's collected on the side of the house doesn't stand a chance.  It's design requires holding it like a machine gun so Jim has nicknamed me Rambo-ette when I start cleaning with it.

It's so bad, I get itchy to start cleaning other people's sidewalks that show years and years worth of grimy build up.  Like the nun who lives down the street.  Her sidewalk was hideous.  I was soooo tempted to roll Patty down there, knock on the nun's front door, and offer to clean her sidewalk in the name of the Lord.  No cost.  Just as a community service.  Jim would have thought I'd completely lost it, though.  So I didn't.  The nun must have been feeling my pressure washing vibes because she got her little plug-in pressure washer out and started cleaning the sidewalk herself within a month or so.  It was a dirty sidewalk, almost black, and I was a little sad I didn't get to clean it for her.

Random thoughts

Good news is, my sleeping is back on track and the horrid nightmares have been replaced by my normal wacky dreams. The kind that cause me to awaken and question, "How in the world did I arrive dry after surfing Hawaii Five-O size waves to the elementary school Jim and I toured for Katherine's Kindergarten, and why was I the only one privy to why Scarlett Johansson split with Ryan Reynolds?"

Hey, at least it's back to fairly normal around here. :)

So, after 3 weeks of accumulating LOTS and LOTS of ideas for blogging, the best scenario I have for solving my dilemma of how in the world I'll find the time to write about it all, is to list my random thoughts.

Warning: No rhyme or reason to follow.

Random Thoughts, maternity-style:

1. The Gingerbread House's demise...Yes, she is my child.

2. How is it that little boys can make a gun out of a state of Florida puzzle piece? We've never really approached the subject, and I frankly didn't think we'd need to for another couple of years or so, but how the 2-year-old boy (who doesn't watch anything remotely related to guns) figured out that you hold out the gun, point it at someone and make "uh uh uh uh uh" sounds mimicking an uzi, I'll never understand.

3. My children have both started declaring, "Mama, you wear me out." Hmmm, wonder where they've heard that from?

4. This year, the king and princess in our household got to partake in the heart-warming Father-Daughter dance. At least, I believe she felt like a princess. There is nothing sweeter to me than seeing my husband, the strong, handsome, manly-man he is, treat his little girl like a Lady. He wined and dined her, at Panera, escorted her in her carriage, while opening the doors, twirled her around the dance floor, teaching her the YMCA dance, and stopped by her favorite ice cream joint on the way home, McDonald's.

I admit, I pushed for this outing for me, mostly. I was the one in tears watching him delicately hold her hand, gush about her beauty and sing her praises. He already spends lots of one-on-one time with her all the while inadvertently teaching her what to expect from a man. But, going on a date with a daddy who cherishes you instills a confidence in you that can't be measured or equaled. She thinks he has hung the moon, and he reciprocates by adoring her. I look forward to the day that every man must try and measure up to the standard her daddy has set, which from my own experience with her daddy, will be pretty dang hard. I pray she'll always be a daddy's girl.

5. We've entered the not-so-fun world of THREE CAR SEATS IN THE BACK ROW. I thought it best to hike my off-balanced self up into the attic the night Jim and Little Lady were off cuttin' the rug and get the baby gear down. There were a couple of moments while sitting up there looking down at Nathan scooting the ladder further out of my chubby toes reach, that I thought I might be stranded up there, without a phone, for at least another hour before Fred & Ginger came home, out of shouting range of any neighbors, and it made my heart skip a beat. But, he didn't push it too far, and I was successful and safe at getting it all down, knowing full well that I'd be in trouble from the "Bossman" for even trying to do all that by myself, in my condition and all.

So that night, because I had a great nap earlier and everyone else was asleep (that's when I get most of my work done 'round here), I attempted to install 3 car seats in the back of a 2007 Nissan Murano. Just in case you didn't know what the back seat of a 2007 Nissan Murano looks like, I'll fill you in... Yeah, you're right, doesn't look that roomy. BECAUSE IT'S NOT! The unanimous decision was made to put the oldest, more mature child (translation: the one that hits the least), in the middle to buffer the infant from Captain Destructo. So after wrangling/fighting with/contorting my 6-month pregnant body into uncomfortable positions (who am I kidding, sitting & lying down is uncomfortable half the time), I finally got all three back there. Whoo Hoo!

This car is nearly paid off and I'll be d@#$%d if we're getting another extended payment. Those car seats were going to fit, even if I had to get out the chainsaw. But luckily, I didn't have to wake the neighbors and all three car seats stayed intact.

So the next day, Katherine eagerly got in the car to try out her new Captain's Chair position. It was the day for the annual Boy Scout spaghetti dinner fundraiser, so daddy put in his volunteer hours down south, and me and the kiddos headed off to church on our own. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but daddy ended up not driving the car at all for that entire week and I was the one that realized the car seats were not going to work.

I had managed to combine my OCD tendencies with my type A personality and make all the seats fit so well that Katherine was unable to fasten her own seat belt. Her little hand couldn't fit in between the sardine-packed seats, so I got to lean over the infant car seat, pry it back and fasten her seat belt for her. Fun times!

My husband, who seems to have the wisdom of Solomon at times, after a week of listening to the woes of seat belt drama, calmly suggested I remove the infant car seat and put the other ones back the way they were. We would figure out something soon.

It was that night, I had what I thought was a heaven-sent epiphany: all we needed was a seat belt extender! I spent hours on line looking up the Murano handbook, reading it's policy on adding an extender to the back seat, locating Nissan parts, pricing them and emailing the parts department questions. The next day, I called our local dealer and they offered to supply us one, for FREE! Hot dog, thank you Jesus! You rock!

In two days, Nathan and I made the trek in the rain to go pick up the extender. But, we were in Jim's truck because he took the car to get the brakes replaced. Bad idea, Kel. Didn't realize until he got home that the extender only worked in the front seat. Not the back seat at all! Nada. Nothing. Can't even do a safety violation loop-ti-loop and rig something to work.

It's at times like these that I feel like I might have been a sailor in one of my past lives. Words spew forth out of my mouth that are normally foreign to me, but after much frustration, they flow out like we're best friends and visit every day with each other.

I'm at a loss. Our next option is to visit the junk yard, cut out a back seat belt and sew an extension myself. That is one place this gal from Sparr can say I have never visited and nor do I feel comfortable going there. I don't speak junk yard lingo, although maybe my sailor tendencies might come in handy. Who knows?

So, like the sands through the hour glass, so are the Days of Our Lives...

6. I've got the answer for our seat belt problems. Jim teases me about buying a 1985 Suburban or a 15-passenger van. I'm opting for the van. Preferably one with a faded, dull white paint job so as to make it easier for me and the kids to paint it.

Katherine has already declared that she wants a princess/castle scene painted on her side and she said Nathan can have Monster trucks and construction equipment painted on his side. Abstract kid-style painting, nothing fancy. Maybe we could even find some dollar store wall appliques. Sweet.

I'm hoping to add some flowers, a green pasture and possibly a rainbow on the hood. Something pretty that I can look at while driving down the road. Something to take my mind off the lack of air conditioning and reminiscing about how nice our previous car was.

Oh, we need vinyl seats and vinyl flooring also. That way, cleaning up spills and vomit can easily be taken care of by hosing it out. It really is a win-win situation. We save on another year's worth of payments, our kids have enough room to each have their own basket of toys within arm's reach and the whole world would know where we are at all times. Better than a tracking device, really. And truly, most anything we got after that would be an improvement. Let's lower the standard a little bit so all we can see is up.

7. Katherine felt this was very important to document, so here goes.

Here, she's polishing her photography skills. Working on centering.

She's got the camera rotation thing down pat.

And she's even sporting the zoom. Not bad girl.
It wasn't long after this photo session that Nathan woke up and destroyed her masterpiece. Ugh, little brothers.

8. I have a theory on why Nathan will wake up in the middle of the night asking us to rub his feet. He moans and groans making it very believable that he is genuinely in pain. It goes like this...

Part 1: I remember having horrible growing pains in my knees. They ached and ached and the only relief I could find to get back to sleep was to contort one of my legs up underneath my pillow, lay my pillow on my leg calves and sleep like that. Something about twisting my knees this way took the pressure off and I could sleep.

Part 2: Jim has size 14 feet.

Part 1 + Part 2 = Nathan has growing pains in his feet.

Better get used to specialty shoe shopping little guy.

9. No, I did not temporarily lose my mind. I did think it would be cool for our kids to enjoy some Florida snow, a.k.a. shredder paper. Keeping it in the bathtub was my answer to a quick clean up. They loved it until it got scratchy.


10. I've been wanting to post this quote for a long time. Don't have any idea who this guy is, nor do I feel like Google-ing him.

"We obsess about the future and we get anxious, because anxiety, after all, is simply living out the future before it gets here. We must renounce our sinful desire to know the future and to be in control. We are not gods. We walk by faith, not by sight. We risk because God does not risk. We walk into the future in God-glorifying confidence, not because hte future is known to us but because it is known to God. And that's all we need to know. Worry about the future is not simply a character tic, it is the sin of unbelief, an indication that our hearts are not resting in the promises of God." Kevin DeYoung

Well said, Kevin. I've had this quote on my fridge for over a year now. Nice little reminder I say.

11. Katherine and I attended an official Tea Party with real china tea sets, a live 3-piece string band and little girls running around dressed up in princess outfits and hats. Too cute.
12. Every pregnancy of mine brings on the same things: Maxine-like attitude and major nesting syndrome. We are fortunate enough to have a 4-bedroom house, but not too many people know it. The 4th bedroom has been treated like a storage facility/garage rather than a bedroom for 8 years, until now. I have been working my tail off to clear out the final frontier of our house. This was the last room to be conquered. Every single room in our house has been re-floored, painted, or remodeled in some way, except this one. It has been the one to receive the "stuff" we've been hanging on to for - who knows why. Some of it is memorabilia, but most of it is borderline hoardish. If we haven't used it in 5 years, why are we keeping it?

So, an organizer worth their weight in organizing materials knows that all the stuff to be cleaned out either has to go somewhere else in the house, donated or it's trashed. I knew that the majority of stuff in there was mine, so "the process" began. I first cleaned out our closet, then Katherine's, then the hall closet, Nathan's closet, the foyer closet and finally the side shed. There is an astonishing amount of stuff piled up in our dining room, waiting for the yard sale next week.

The 4th bedroom and closet are cleaned out and ready for painting. (as I pat myself on the back)

One way all this was possible was a sweet trip Jim took with the kids. His brother R invited them to go fishing. I wouldn't have considered it a relaxing trip, but Jim's tolerance level is much different than mine and he knew that the side shed was my goal for that Saturday. Fishing with 3 pre-schoolers is a challenge, but cleaning out that side shed with two of them running around would have been enough to push me over the edge. Thank you daddy, for your sacrifice. (I'm pretty sure he had more fun fishing than helping me, though.)
Nathan on his best behavior.
13. One of Nathan's presents for Christmas was tickets to Monster Jam. He is an official Monster truck fan and so carefully points out while I'm driving down the road, "Dat monser twuck gonna cwash ovuh dose caws and smash 'em, Mama!" The trip was cut short because of crazy cold temperatures in Tampa. But he did make it to half-time and declared, "Dada, I cold. I wanna go home and git in da baf." His favorite truck is "Gavedigger."

Jim said you know your mom is a redneck at heart when she tears up over her toddler "getting to experience a Monster Jam." I can't help it.

14. Katherine and I got to see the Rockettes before Christmas and a Beauty and the Beast play. The Rockettes seriously made me want to lose some weight and take a dance class and the B&B play convinced me that if only I had less fear of being on stage and a better body, I would have been a great actress. Just ask my parents! I thought so back when I was 7 and seriously think I could pull it off. Oh well, my kids will have to suffice for an audience.

15. We all took a family trip to the local tractor pull. You know who LOVED it!
And Jim's duplicate in the sleeping department managed to FALL ASLEEP during the tractor pull, that was housed under a metal roof! Seriously! She is so his child. I'm suffering from major insomnia for a couple of months and she's able to fall asleep during a tractor pull. Unbelievable, I swear.
Thankfully, I've updated from months worth of falling behind.

Pigsty Playroom

I remember wondering why my mother periodically referred to our home as a "pigsty." I knew that was a place where pig's lived, but I couldn't really understand the correlation to our house, because there was no poop or mud covering the floor. I knew it was something she was passionate about, because of her tone and body language, but truly understanding what it meant, was foreign to me. Basically, it translated into: I have to stop playing.

Well, enter in my "mini-me" and our conversation about a month ago...



Me: Katherine, does this room looking like this not bother you?

Katherine: No.

Me: Well, it bothers me. I can't even walk through here without the fear of stepping on something and breaking it.

K: Don't step in here.

(Heavy voice inflection here)
Me: I don't WANT to, but you've been asking me where stuff is a lot lately and I know it's in this mess somewhere.

K: You can't find it in here?

Me: No, can you?

(Nathan dumps an entire bin of trucks on the floor)

K: No.

Me: Well, then it must be time to clean it up, because we don't live like this in this house.
(The dreaded statement all us mom's eventually resort to because we're trying to reason with an "infant" in the reasoning-department and heaven forbid someone actually see us live like this: mere mortals)

K: Why not?

(Frustration level rising)
Me: IT'S DISGUSTING! Bug's can very easily find a home in your baby's clothes. You can't find anything and I'm tired of tip-toeing around this room and mentally blocking it out because of it's horrid appearance!
(Throwing in the bug comment to appeal to her sense of gross-ness doesn't work. Bottom-line: kids are not playing in the playroom anymore. They've started dragging the mess out into other areas of the house because they can't maneuver around or find anything in the room either)

K: Can you help me find my baby's bottle?

Me: See? That's what I'm talking about! If this room were clean, you'd know exactly where to find it. Where is it normally kept?

K: In that purple bin with the other baby stuff.

Me: Thank-you. Let's start cleaning up. I've decided today, is clean-up day.

(In a pitch so high, dog's have a difficult time hearing it)
K: But I wanted to go to the li-bary and go see AC and then go to the playgrrrrrooooouuuuuunnnnnnddddd!

(Nathan trips over something and hurts himself. I take a 30-second break to console him)

Me: Maybe later, but for now, this room must be cleaned. I thought if I left it messy for long enough, you'd eventually want it cleaned also, but I guess not. Start picking up all the dress-up stuff and put it away.

(Lots of bantering back and forth about why, I don't want to, yes you have to now, but I wanted to go to the playground, maybe later, how about clean the room after the playground, it's time to now, why isn't Nathan helping, I'll give him something to clean up,outing, poochy-lip, etc.)

K: This room isn't that dirty.

Me: You don't think so?

K: No. It's pretty clean.

Me: That's enough trying to change my mind. This place is a pigsty so start cleaning.

The vicious mom-cycle continues...

The cruds, Columbia, coupons and cleaning

It's been a while, where do I begin...

Since the last post, Nathan was feeling yucky. Monday's Dr. appt. yielded no ear infection, but by Friday it was official. Start the meds, get him feeling better 'cause daddy is supposed to watch the kiddos all weekend for my girly-girl weekend (because I don't want to leave nor will I have a good time if my baby is sick). Thank goodness, he was feeling better before I left.I remember when Katherine was 6-10 months old. At one point she had 7 ear infections in a period of 4 months. She was on antibiotics for 70 out of 120 days. It broke my heart. I'm so thankful he hasn't been anywhere near as sick as her. This is only his 2nd.


Good new was I did get to attend my annual Girly-Girl weekend guilt-free. This year we went to St. Pete Beach. It was very relaxing. Saturday, I think we laid on the beach for about 3 hours, sometimes throwing in a conversation or two. It was a struggle to make myself be still. I'm so used to trying to rush to get things 'done', but I managed to force myself.

We've started a tradition of eating at The Columbia for our girly-girl weekends and thankfully we didn't stop this year. The Columbia in St. Pete is bee-yu-ti-ful! The outside makes you wonder if you're at the right place, but 4 floors up the restaurant is surrounded by glass windows looking out over the pier, harbor and inlet. They must have set us at the best table in the joint because the moon was just starting to rise and its reflection glimmered on the water. And to top it off, at just the right height in the sky, the moon coupled with its reflection, was joined by a sailboat lazily carving a path through the black and silver ripples of the sea. The pictures I tried to take on C's camera didn't do it justice. This weekend provided me much needed forced rest and 4 hours of uninterrupted drive-time to think. My time away always makes me miss my family therefore I was soooo happy to see them when I returned on Sunday. And the feelings were reciprocated.


Monday we started cleaning up the yard, trying to prepare for someone's birthday party coming up. Katherine enjoys helping me pick up the wretched Magnolia tree seed pods that can cause a mean twisted ankle.These things are as big as my fist and EVERYWHERE.
Nathan even likes to join in on the fun of picking up sticks.

I went to a Coupon workshop Monday night. Don't think I'll be able to take it to the extreme T does, but I did learn this:

• Manufacturer's coupons can be coupled with store coupons
• Publix takes other store's coupons
• At Publix, you can use the manufacturer's and store's coupons on top of a Buy One Get One (BOGO) promotion (which is where some people actually make money)
• Cut coupons in doubles, for the BOGO deals. It is possible to walk out of there getting 4 of something and only paying for one or a portion of one.

I just don't think I'm that interested in having 4 bags of Chex mix in my pantry. I'll then feel compelled to eat them before they go bad.


Tuesday, we got some much needed haircuts. This is Nathan's second and he did awesome and Katherine sat there like a mannequin.


To wrap this up, I took a look at one of Katherine's school papers before I dropped her off this morning. It was a sheet her teacher filled out after she asked all the kids how they show their families they love them, then made a copy and gave one to all the students. Her response has me wondering whether or not I should be proud or ashamed. She said she shows her family that she loves them by: helping to clean the house. The other responses were hugs, kisses, take care of baby and read a book.

Should I be ashamed that she feels obligated to 'clean the house to keep mom happy' because that's what I put emphasis on? Jim and I have had many discussions about how I don't make enough time to do house stuff because of my strong desires to spend time with our children and enjoy them while they're little. Just yesterday I put away 12 loads of laundry. Yes, its been that long. And many times sections of the house are so disgusting they should be condemned.

Or, should I be proud that her definition of showing love is larger than just hugs and kisses or that she even may find it fun to help me clean. Go ahead, laugh. She might, just might, like cleaning. I used to beg my mom to clean my brother's room. It was always a disaster. I'd move all the toys around, vacuum, rearrange the furniture, all while irritating my allergies so much I'd be hopped up on Contac and sleeping for the next 4-6 hours. Just the other night Katherine was begging me to help scrub the tub.

I'm going with being proud of her for many different reasons.