I’ll just lay out the scene tonight: It was intended for “date night at home,” one of our favorite– okay, lately that would be only– types of date night.  Stocked up with snacks, bevs and fave coconut-milk ice cream plus The Help via Redbox.  Just right for some downtime and couch time, right?

And now: We are in separate rooms, working (though I, obviously, found it blog-worthy enough to take a break from) on separate computers, listening to the same music, which we have to periodically  pause in order to carry on a shout-versation from kitchen bar-top (his workspace of choice) to office desk-top (mine).

I’ll just make it clear– so that you know we are functional and in love– that this will not suffice for many date nights.  But tonight, it is just date-y enough (thank you, shout-versation and “so delicious”!) and productive enough to provide relational catching up, restful time, and productivity all at once.

Oh and, I saved the best for last!  Baby/boy pictures!  {Yes, i do have a daughter.  She is beautiful and photogenic, but also, she is elusive.  And gone for many hours of the day.  But it will even out in the end.}

I miss this little spot.

Similarly, I miss any/all forms of thought/expression that do not end in ellipses. I can’t tell you how many journal entries from the past year have ended in … , or how many drafts currently reside in my WordPress account, incomplete thoughts awaiting my attention. Or how many other projects, large and small, await my attention farther away from my trusty desktop. Always.

All that to say, simply: I miss writing.

Have decided to let go of the angst of my littlest one’s first bout of sickness– which appears to be nothing more than ye olde common cold– and embrace the baby-sleeping-in-my-arms-ness of it all. A baby sleeping in my arms just never gets old*.

*It should be noted that this is probably b/c it is an uncommon occurrence, the Merrick-man having already embraced the solitude of the crib for most sleep times. There are circumstances under which it certainly could grow old, and in a hurry! But thankfully not tonight. Tonight is just pure sweetness.

The kids are concerned about this. Yesterday, Oliver paused during lunch to ask, “So what will we call our newborn baby?”

me: “Well, do you have any good ideas?” (He most always has some kind of idea about this topic. It might be “Chair” or “Poo-poo pants,” but he always has an idea.)

O: “Blueberry Bear.”

Me: “That’s an option.”

O: “And what about a middle name? [thinks for a moment] His middle name can be Froggy.”

Me: “That is a lot of animals in his name.”

O: “Yes, because it has to be something cute because he will be a newborn baby.”

Me: “Oh, okay. So will that still fit when he grows up?”

O: “No, it will change.”

Me: “To what?”

O: “Tom. Because that’s more grown-up.”

Well, good thing somebody is decisive on the matter.

“What’s ‘Dippy Downer’?” Stella asked. We explained what we were referring to.

She was quiet for a minute. “I think that I’ve been a Debbie Downer sometimes, even before I knew what that meant.”

(Of course we explained that we all have our moments, etc. etc, but we sure did get a kick out of it all the same.) Wise little woman, that one.

Based on my experience, this is the top phrase used by strangers toward moms with a young child (or children).  Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t count how many times I’ve heard it.

There was a time my feathers were greatly ruffled by that comment.  Now, though, I can’t seem to remember why it was such a big deal.  But my theory is that it had a lot to do with sleep deprivation and my large degree of pride. Also, possibly, lingering post-pregnancy hormone fluctuations and youthful swagger.

My reaction nowadays to “You’ve got your hands full”  is a smile and my agreement.  Yes, clearly, my hands are full.  I receive this statement as an offering of solidarity; of respect.  Yes, my hands are full.  And this is the glorious truth about my life.

But to many, this phrase is like gasoline on the smoldering embers of latent crazy.  Things will blow up if you use this phrase.  I don’t recommend it.  And I’m not calling anyone crazy;  I do think, though, that there is a lot going on inside the mind of any mom at any given moment.  A lot.  Things can get rather tense and emotional at times.

I believe that, to those who take offense, the “hands full” phrase communicates, “Whoa. This girl cannot handle all her children.” or  “Who let this inexperienced, clearly incapable person reproduce?  Oh, and the little one smells like sour milk.  Ugh.”   I do recognize that’s a lot to read into such a statement.  But, having been there…. yeah.

And now, I don’t know if it’s age, or actual maturity, but I see that reading so much into a comment that is so often made in innocence communicates nothing more clearly than that I have preconceived notions about how I appear to the rest of the world–  I have judged those around me for my belief that they have judged me! If I feel like I am not up to the task at hand, of course I instantly assume that everyone else knows i’m not up to it; that they can sense my insecurities and will prey on them.

Yesterday i was walking in to the gym (with my kids) in late afternoon, a time we are not usually there.  A man walked in behind us, I couldn’t see him before he spoke, “Well, what do you do in your free time?”  He’s being kind; making a gentle joke– he gets it.  “Free time?” I replied, “I hardly remember what that is.”  He laughs. “You’re doing good there, mama,” his parting statement.  I know there were times that I would have misunderstood the first statement; assumed that the stranger was unkindly commenting on the ‘luxurious’ lifestyle of the stay-at-home mama.  You know, that old “laying around watching soaps and eating bon-bons” thing.  Which is irrelevant, anyway. And had I acted on that former assumption and given the fella a dirty look like I probably would have done, well, there go two strangers thinking the worst of one another.  Lovely contribution to the world there, me.

The more I exercise the notion of pouring Christ’s grace and love that I have so underservingly received back into this world, I realize that a big part of it is just making the kindest assumptions about other folks; the benefit of the doubt, and leaving my hands open to give away grace as freely as I have received.

I had such plans to blog about it all, thinking that even if no one else was all that interested, I would want to go back and read it; to have this final pregnancy all documented and remember what it was like down the road. But that has not happened.  The short version goes like this:  I am so tired.  Oh, and also hungry and irritable.

So, fourth baby.  Third boy.  The second is in relation to the post all about firsts– Stella is now training-wheel-free on her bike too! I was amazed at how quickly she picked it up, since she’s been a little more timid in her bike-riding.  She is super excited.  And Asher can finally reach the pedals on his tricycle– a.k.a. I no longer have to bend down awkardly to push him.  Hooray!

This week is Spring Break.  (From kindergarten and preschool.)  We are living it up– a park playdate yesterday, pancakes for breakfast on a Tuesday, a beach day today… it is possible I am enjoying this more than my little spring breakers!

-first time in nearly six years we are diaper free! (Daytime, that is. Although Asher is hellbent on night-training himself, evidenced by his waking up at least once each night to “go potty!” I had no intention of going ‘all the way’ with it yet, but he is actually staying dry, so, well, good for him.) It is amazing how quickly I have grown accustomed to not changing diapers. Perhaps some of the glory is offset by the fact that taking a newly-diaperless kid to the bathroom eighteen times a day takes far more time than diaper changing did… and ends in my getting sprayed by pee probably twice a day (it’s a boy thing), but wow, we always imagined it would happen someday, and here we are!

-First kids’ birthday– ok, we’re not there yet. But my party planner asks me at least daily whether I’m getting all the plans together for her big sixth-birthday shindig. Which i am not, exactly, since there is nearly a month left until the big day. In true form, if we run to the store for, say, bananas and bread, she’ll mention, “Don’t you think we should at least pick up the gummy bears and icing for my cake? Why not today? How do you know you won’t forget?” Ahh, she knows me too well, that one. And i can’t write about it yet, but the impending “first” of her ear-piercing will happen along with the birthday too.

Sometimes everyone just gets so big around here. And i find myself feeling like there is just too much going on to stop and take note of it all, which is really just an unacceptable condition to be in, as far as i’m concerned. They’re speeding up, so i got to slow on down.

Later this, “Me and my brothers, all my pretend brothers {Ed. note– these include Max, Zach and Mayonnaise} traveled to Hawaii to see a volcano and it was abrubting!”

Also have caught him several times this week crooning “Let it Snow” and “Baby it’s Cold Outside;” meanwhile Asher is hooked on “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer,” “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” and “Deck the Halls.”

Oh, speaking of Asher, i mentioned that we’d begun the potty process.  At first, there was much (dramatic, tantrumy toddler) resistance.  Until i started with the bribery.  (One Skittle per bathroom attempt is apparently a very strong motivator.)  And now, I’m happy to say we’re off diapers (except nap/nighttime) AND Skittles!  I’m surprised and delighted.

Our new yard has a small pond in it, however, so in addition to the occasional set of pee pants, i’m also changing pond pants.  They’re not IN the water, but they do like to “fish” and scoop and whatever else, so, yes, pond pants.

Since the move, it became apparent each morning as we drove past the elementary school two miles away to drop Stella off at her school, almost ten miles away, that we should not be commuting to kindergarten.  So she switched this week after the Christmas Break.  And it’s great!  The decision was wrought with some parental (okay, really just maternal) pseudo-guilt (“We’re tearing her away from her friends!” and such), but we were confident it would be the wisest move for us as a whole family.  Plus, this is the place we’re planning to stick around a while!  The school all our kids will attend together in a few years. (Can’t you see them in their little backpacks walking into school together?  I mean, really.) After the first couple of days, it would seem the decision was certainly the right one.  And i don’t necessarily think that this means anything deep, but whereas she didn’t really say much about school before, she is now talking about her new friends, teachers, what this kid said to that kid, what the teacher did in class, that stuff, and that is definitely a good thing.

Oh, and now that it’s done, i can say that I have survived my first stint flying solo.  Can you believe I’d never had overnights all alone since we’ve had three kids?  When B has traveled, i’ve either gone to stay with my fam or they’ve visited us.  But, yes, we not only survived several days (and nights. Oh, the long kids-waking-up-at-all-hours-for-no-good-reason nights!) but got to school on time and got everything else done (on time) too.  So, feeling pretty good about that.  And also pretty tired.  Yeah, at this point, the feeling has faded to mostly just tired (note decline in my linguistic skills here).  And that’s pretty much it.  (Yes, total brain shut down is beginning now.  Time. For. Sleep.)

But not on New Year’s Eve.  I have had a lot of fun evenings celebrating with friends, but that pesky countdown; that dang ball dropping on tv, and don’t even get me started on “Auld Lange Syne.”  Because all of that just doesn’t do it for me.

This year, a different approach.  Knowing I have a very busy week ahead, I embraced just letting go of all those things that drive me nuts– something that, here in this new year,  i shall commit to doing more often. We went to a party for the whole family– a PJ party. And for about 3/5 of our household, just the act of wearing pajamas to a party is enough to make it a good night.  We ate pizza and drank 7Up.  The kids stayed up late (for them),  and we turned in early.  When the tv was on, there was none of that Times Square “sea of  humanity” stuff that makes me claustrophobic even in the best of times.  I imagine I am sounding more like a crotchety old grandma every minute that I’m writing this, but all that Ryan Seacrest stuff just makes me feel so overstimulated.  And sad.

So, I gladly chose watching my eyelids over watching a frenetic cable broadcast, or feeling some pressure to get all fancied up (happily, I just had the chance to do that for a fancy Christmas party) and have the most memorable night of forever.  And this morning, we slept in till almost 7:30, and woke to find that it’s sunny out.  French toast for breakfast, and some pajama-cartoon-couch lounging is going on now.  Happy New Year, indeed.