Have I mentioned that my two-year old is developing the attitude of a teenager? A teenager trapped in a cute little body with a cute little voice, but still teenager-ish behavior nonetheless. Being little and cute makes it a little more tolerable. If he acts like this at thirteen, let me just say it will not be quite so forgiveable. You're probably thinking, "He's only two, he can't be that bad." I don't know where this attitude is coming from, but Cale has it. Just last night, I told Cale to do something and he said, "you can't make me". And what could've been the best teachable moment...the moment when I said, "Oh yeah, let me show you how I'll make you..." was a flop. What did I do? My jaw dropped as I wondered where he learned that phrase that I will probably hear many more times in his young little life. He's only two. He's not suppossed to say thingsl like that. Yep, I froze. And I completely missed the moment. Oh yeah, we talked about it later. But, if the wrath would've come down in that exact moment it probably would have been much more traumatic and memorable.

Tonight we went to eat at McCalisters. I didn't feel like cooking. Big surprise. I don't EVER feel like cooking and if we were rich we would eat out every-single-night. And I would have my clothes laundered. And I would hire a weekly maid. It would be nice to be rich (gazing off with faraway look as suddenly I'm no longer typing) Hey,snap out of it. Ain't gonna happen. Okay, back to the subject. Cale has a really bad habit of getting loud when we get into any type of resturant. Really loud. Obnoxiously loud. I don't know if it's a "hey look at me" attention-getting thing or if he just gets that excited. We're trying to work on using a quiet voice but I don't think two-year olds have volume controls. In the middle of eating, Cale decided he wanted to try one of the olives from Carl's sandwich. I knew he wouldn't like it, but he went for it anyway. After a few seconds of chewing, he decided it was "yuck". So, as he started to spit it out, and with lightning speed only a mother or the Road Runner from those old cartoons can have, I put my hand up to catch it (the perks of being a mom). Well, I caught it. I guess I should clarify. I caught some of it. I took my hand away and then Cale decided to blow the rest of the olive-slobber-mess out onto the table. Thank goodness he was sitting by Carl and not me. This is the second time he's spit food out in a resturant, so Carl swatted him, which like a domino effect, caused him to start screaming at the top of his lungs. I could feel myself shrinking into the booth, hoping noone would notice. Because Cale wouldn't stop screaming, Carl scooped him up to head to the bathroom. Cale knows what this means. The whole way to the bathroom Cale kept loudly saying, "Daddy, don't spank me. I stop crying. Daddy please don't spank me!" I wanted to hide under the table at this point. But, I was holding Keaton and I figured it would be hard to get myself and a four-month old under a table. Plus someone would call SCAN on us for sure, then. I kept thinking, "maybe people will see that we have another little one and cut us a little slack." At least I didn't really know anyone there. Wait a minute. It's Russellville, of course there had to be someone there that I knew. As we were getting up to leave, I saw a teacher that I work with. With what I'm sure was an awkward, embarrassed smile and chuckle I said, "Ha..ha...I bet you heard us over there." I think everyone probably did.

On the way home, for some reason unknown to us, Cale started saying, "I don't love you, Daddy." I think two-year-olds sit around and think about how to get a rise out of adults. Cale loves reactions. I think it gives him a sense of power. Like he's pulling the puppet strings. I explained to him that we don't say that and that it makes others feel bad." I really think I got through to him because Cale followed up our pep talk with "I don't love you, Mommy." Strongwilled. Then, as if to put the icing on the cake, he said, "I don't love Jesus." It's like he knew that would be the worst thing he could possibly say. Now, I normally wouldn't tell people about my child saying something like that, but he is only two and is still trying to understand who this Jesus is that we talk about and say our prayers too. (At the moment Cale's a little confused and uneasy, that Jesus lives in the ceiling...Cale's interpretation of Heaven, or that Jesus is in his belly...Cale's interpretation of "Jesus lives in your heart") I tried explaining to Cale that we love Jesus and that Jesus created us. In his agitated two-year-old way, Cale was insistent that Jesus was a girl. No idea why he said that. I think he just wanted to argue. I kept telling him, "No, Jesus is a man." He just kept replying in an irriated tone, "No, hers a girl, not a man!" Poor kid is so confused.

When we got in our garage, Cale told me once again that he didn't love me. So I swatted his leg, scooped him up, and took him to the time-out chair where he screamed and cried the entire time. When it was time to get up, I squatted down beside the chair, and asked Cale to explain to me why he had been put in time- out...just like I always do. But, this time instead of explaining in his cute little sniffly voice, he turned around in the chair, and said, with his back to me, "I don't want to look at you." So, he earned himself a spot in time-out awhile longer.

It was a rough couple of hours, but by bedtime Cale was back to being an angel. Well, at least a pretty good boy. He was funny and full of "lovins", as he likes to say.

Being with a two-year old is like being around someone with multiple personalities, ADHD, and OCD, all wrapped up in one. One minute it's great, the next awful. One minute full of love, the next minute mad at the world. Constantly bouncing off the walls. And the rituals. Oh the rituals. Like shutting the door when we leave Nonna's. Opening up his own gum wrapper. Turning on his light in the morning. If even one is forgotten or interrupted somehow, we have drama.

As much of a trial as he was this evening, we love him like crazy. It's funny how that works.

May

Wow. It is finally May. The time of year every teacher looks forward to and every parent of school-aged children probably dreads. Secretly, I'm sure. Summer vacation is just around the corner. Can I get an amen? Every August, I think back to May and wonder why I didn't feel more excited and relaxed knowing that I was about to get some time off. But every year, May is one of the busiest times at school and there's no time to just sit back and bask in the sweet reality that school is going to be over soon.

This year, May seems even more busy, especially since I'm trying to finish things up in my classroom but also begin to prepare for being in the library. It feels like I have too many things on my mind and no one thing is getting enough of my attention and focus. I'm pretty much scatter-brained right now. Not that scatter-brained isn't my normal day-to-day mentality, it just seems I've just taken it up a notch or two lately. Not good. And my procrastination level is at an all-time high. Also not good. I've got clothes in the laundry room that have been waiting to be ironed for weeks. Oh, I still iron every so often right now, but there are two shirts that I avoid each time I begin to iron. Those shirts have been sitting there since early April. I do not want to iron them. They're button down shirts that come out of the dryer so wrinkly, you would think they had been wadded up in a ball for years. I despise ironing them. In fact, I usually won't wear them because I know that I will end up having to iron them again. What's worse is, there is a pair of shorts that has been hanging in the laundry room, all wrinkly, since last July. No, really. July. But, in my defense, when I took them out of the dryer all those many months ago, I knew that I would soon be too fat to fit into them since I was pregnant. So, I just left them hanging there. Through the fall and winter months every once in awhile I noticed them, hanging there amongst sweaters and pants. But, I knew I didn't need them at the time, so I figured, "why bother?". And now, those shorts just seem like a permanent fixture in my laundry room. I don't know what I would do if nothing was hanging on my clothing rod. Maybe I'll get all crazy one day and try it.

Things at home have been a little chaotic as well. Cale, the bundle of joy that he is, has been a little tempermental lately. Okay, a lot tempermental. Anything and everything causes an all-out temper tantrum right now. It feels like he cries twenty times a day. His crying, screaming really, is usually accompanied by kicking of legs and flailing of arms and, if things are really terrible, occassionally flopping face down on the floor. And it's over ridiculus, seemingly unimportant things. Let him stick a piece of ice to his tongue, pull skin off his lip as he rips the ice away, and have blood dripping down from the wound...no tears. But, let me cut his Pop-Tart in half in an attempt to make it easier to eat...and all heck breaks loose. He's hard to understand right now. One thing I know is that he wants complete independence. C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E. He puts things that I open for him back in the wrapper just so he can be the one to take them out. He must open every door himself and shut every door himself, and if I forget, I'm in for a punishment. Punishment in the form of a two-year-old temper tantrum. Yikes, the worst kind of punishment.

Sunday, as we were about to eat dinner on the back porch, I sat Keaton down in his walker...not that he can actually make it move now, but he loves to be sitting up where he can see all the action. As we were eating, Cale got up and started playing. I didn't think much of it until I looked up just in time to see "Baby Hulk" lifting Keaton's walker up and flipping it over on its side. With Keaton in it. On the concrete. I have never moved so quickly, but I was still too late. I watched as the walker landed and Keaton's head, thankfully slowly, hit the hard, concrete porch. I'll tell you the truth I just about went all "Mama Hulk" on Cale. I think I even turned green. I grabbed Keaton and swatted Cale several times while yelling, "You can't do that! You can't ever do that!" Of course Keaton was screaming and then Cale was crying. Thank goodness, no one was really hurt. I think Keaton was just a little stunned. What if Cale would've pushed Keaton off of the porch? It makes me sick to think about it.

Just when I thought Keaton was safe. Lesson learned: I guess a baby is never safe with a two-year-old around. Never.

Last night Carl and I decided to take Cale to see a movie. We tried about 6-7 months ago, Toy Story 3, and ended up leaving after only fifteen minutes. We were a little nervous this time around, but Cale has been to the movies a few times with his Mammaw and has done well, so we were willing to give it a try. On the way to the movie we got a call from my sister saying that she was taking her girls to see the same movie, Hoodwinked 2. Cale was pretty excited when he found out Abree and Kenzie were going to be there. I was a little nervous up until the point the movie actually started. Cale wouldn't sit down and was being a little rowdy. But, the minute the lights dimmed, he was in a trance. I never would have believed he would sit there the way he did. His eyes almost never left the movie screen the entire movie. About halfway through he leaned over and said he wanted a snack (aka popcorn and coke) It was so cute to watch him reach his little paw in the bucket, pull a much-too-big handful of popcorn out, and shove it in his mouth...all the while his eyes never leaving the screen. As silly as it may sound, it was a monumental moment for us. Now we know that we can take Cale to a movie, he can happily sit through it, and he truly enjoys it. This is probably the first of many family movie outings for us.


Cale has been saying some silly things lately. I think he's finally to the age that he knows it gets a laugh if he says funny things. Sometimes when I ask him something, I can see the wheels turning in his mind, thinking about the perfect silly response. On the way home from the park the other night, Cale suddenly said, "Daddy, you're driving too fast. You better slow down, or a 'pop car' will get you." Then I asked him, "What will the cop say to Daddy if he pulls him over?" Cale replied in a very deep, growley voice, "I'm going to get you, Daddy!" Then, I asked Cale "What will Daddy say to the cop?" Cale quickly responded, "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin." I sure hope that's not what Daddy says if he gets pulled over.

The other morning, as Cale was sitting by Carl finishing his breakfast, he let out a rather loud poot. I said, "Cale was that you?" He said, "No, it was you Mommy." Then, he turned to Carl and said, "Mommy just pooted in her panties", to which Carl reponded with uncontrollable laughter. Feeding the fire, aren't we there, Daddy? Who knows what Cale says about us when we're not around. So, to clear things up any misconceptions you might have about us after talking with our son...Cale has developed a little habit of stretching the truth or just twisting it up completely. So, if he tells you something embarrassing about us, then you should just assume it's not true. None of it. All fiction. Even though half of it probably really happened.

The other afternoon, Cale was sitting in Carl's truck. He loves to pretend he's driving. Makes him feel so big. He spotted a pack of gum in the cup holder. He asked Carl if he could have some gum. Carl said, "One piece". Yeah right. You can't tell a toddler, "only one" and then leave the entire pack in their reach. Carl said he turned his back for about two minutes. When he looked back in the truck, Cale was sitting with nine gum wrappers lying around him. And he didn't have a huge mouthful of gum. He did what I assume most 2-year olds do...he swallowed all of it. Each and every piece. We haven't noticed any side effects of it...yet.

This post is mainly about Cale, but Keaton is very much a part of our lives too. He's beefing up and grinning like crazy right now! He smiles so much...more than Cale at this age. All you have to do is hold Keaton up, facing you, and he grins and coos. He still wants to be held...a lot. But if you're holding him and looking at him, he's pretty content. We're really starting to get attached to Keaton. We've loved him all along, but now he's finally getting some personality.

I noticed a lot of people posted about Easter and I completely forgot to. We had a really good Easter this year. Cale loved waking up to the overflowing Easter basket sitting outside his door. Sundays are always hard around here, getting everyone ready on time, avoiding meltdowns...you know how it is. Well, I was determined on Easter to not feel rushed and to actually be on time, for once. *Snort*...yeah right. So, I woke up earlier than the boys, showered, and began getting ready. I was almost completly ready before anyone else awoke. Success. But, somehow we still managed to be rushed in the end. I was really wanting to get an Easter pic of the boys before we left. Keaton spit up on his initial Easter outfit just minutes after being dressed. More like drenched. I tried to handwash it and throw it in the dryer, but who was I kidding...there wasn't enough time for all of that. So, a little disappointed, I scrounged up another outfit...outfit number two.

Just as we were about to go outside for the picture, already being a minute or two past the time in which we needed to leave, Keaton had a dirty diaper. No big deal really. I didn't panic, just headed to his room to change him. But, then as I opened his diaper I realized it wasn't just any dirty diaper, it was a blow-out. If you're not a mom and you don't know what that means, you soon will when you have one of your own. It was all over Easter outfit number two. At this point, I was beginning to hit that panic-level that I hate to reach...especially on Sunday mornings. I tried to get the oufit off of him without making a mess. Unsuccessful and nearly impossible with a onesie. So, I cleaned Keaton up, but left everything else to be cleaned up later. By this point I was a sweaty, stressed mess.

So, we ended up being about 15 minutes late for church. Grouchy, sweaty, and with no Easter picture. About halfway there I calmed down, cooled down, and realized that little things don't matter. Funny ending to the story. When we picked Keaton up from the nursery, he was no longer in Easter outfit number three. No, he was pantsless with a plain, old onesie that the nursery workers must have found in the bottom of his diaper bag. Outfit number four. Yes, another blow-out.

Welcome to our not-so-perfect life. Some days are just like that, even on Easter Sunday. And I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.

Boogers and Strawberries

It just seems like I can't get a spare minute to blog these days. And when I do have a minute, I just don't have it in me. By the end of the day my brain is pretty much shot. But as crazy as life is right now, we're having a lot of fun. Cale is saying and doing new things each day. He now tells a few knock, knock jokes. So that I don't forget years from now here's the one he tells the best: "Knock, knock. Who's there? Och. Och who? Bless you."

Cale has also gone to the movies two times now. I can barely believe it, but his Mammaw has taken him both times and says he sits through the whole movie. And he even kept a pair of 3-D glasses on through one of the movies. We're looking forward to taking him to the next good cartoon movie that comes out.

Today when I picked Cale up from the babysitter, the school-aged boy who opened the door immediately informed me that Cale had picked a booger and eaten it. I knew this day would come. I see it everyday in my second graders. Some are closet eaters. You know the ones. They sit at their desk and nonchalantly dig one out. They glance around in an attempt to be inconspicuous all the while being completely obvious and then lean down pretending to tie their shoe while quickly shoving the booger in.

Some eat freely, out in the open, not caring who can see. They take their time, really trying to get in there and get the best one. As if they are eating something innocent and socially acceptable like a cookie. Then, two minutes later they come and give you a hug. Gross.

Well, I've been dreading the day that Cale ate his first booger. Oh, I'm not naive. I know this is probably not his first rodeo. He's probably eaten many 'a booger in his day already. But, this is the first time he's been caught.

When I walked in and heard the news, I could hear some of the other older kids chanting, "Cale ate a booger. Cale ate a booger." I cringed. Is he seriously the gross kid already? Cale just stood there with this happy-go-lucky look on his face, having no idea that he was becoming the resident "cootie kid".

Then, his baby-sitter told me that she asked Cale why he ate the booger. He stood there a minute and said, "I don't know." Then, she asked him what it tasted like, in hopes of getting a response like, "yucky" or "gross". But no, not from Cale. He said it tasted like strawberries. Strawberries, which are red, juicy, and delicious. It's really kind of strange because the day we had the "poop eating" incident, he said his poop tasted like grapes. Maybe he has some kind of unhealthy relationship with fruit. Heaven knows what he thinks of vegetables.

Well, being a school teacher and knowing that booger pickin' and eatin' can follow a kid through their elementary days, I realize that we must to put a stop to this now. How, I don't know. I just have to keep telling myself...at least it's not poop...at least it's not poop. Is that something to be proud of?

It's crazy how one minute having two kids doesn't seem so hard, but the next minute I can barely find any spare moment throughout the day to relax...or blog...or really do anything. Whew. The past few weeks have been filled with moments like the latter. Thank goodness for coffee. And lots of it. I drink it in the morning, I drink it in the evening, and if it wasn't for work...I would probably drink it in between. It's becoming the new 'Coke' for me. Well, if only it was taking the place of Coke. Instead it's just become a highly addictive addition to my soda habit. But, I actually think I look forward to it a little more than my Sonic drink now, which says a lot.

The other night it was very stormy and loud. Of course Keaton woke up, that's nothing new. But, Cale also busted out of his bedroom in the middle of the night, bawling like crazy. I guess the storm scared him. So, I decided it might be a good time to try letting him sleep with us again. Maybe he would actually go to sleep in our bed...which is something he has never in his life done. Really, never. Well, the 'never-in-his-life' record still stands. He didn't make it. But, I must say he gave it a good effort. For about 30 minutes, he sat there halfway quiet, but not halfway still, unfortunately. He wiggled and flipped and flopped the entire time. Every few minutes he would lean into my face and in his best attempt at a whisper say, "It's still raining." I kept telling him to be quiet and to be still, but it just didn't happen. So, back to his bed he went, without much protest thankfully. That was at 4:45. My alarm went off at 5:15. Oh how I miss sleep.

Tonight in the car on the way to the park Cale suddenly informed us that he was a "cwack baby" No son, actually you're a caffiene baby, not a 'cwack baby'. Get your addictive substances straight. (I'm sure he meant quack, as in duck) I wish I could bottle up Cale's sayings for those teenage years when he's not quite so endearing.

When we got to the park, Cale started trying to swing. These days he has to do everything himself. And I mean everything. He would rather sit there on the swing, completely still, instead of letting me push him. At one point as I began to give him just a little push to get him started, he said, "Momma, get away from me." And he said it in this, two-going on-thirteen, hateful sounding tone. And in front of another set of parents who were pushing their sweet, content little girl on the swing beside Cale. I was a little embarrassed. I told Cale to be nice. So he said, (and I'm sure I noticed a hint of huffiness) "Please, will you get away from me?" Not exactly the "be nice" I was hoping for. But, he did say, "please".

A minute or two later, Cale was sorta-successfully making the swing move just a little, I started to tell him "good job, keep pumping those legs, blah, blah, blah." He quickly cut me off in a loud voice, and said, "You stop talking!" Again, in front of the other parents. I cringed on the inside, as I scolded him yet again.

Needless to say, we're having to work on using a nice tone and asking, not telling.

The Incident

Cale, you were doing so great...right up until the end.

Today we ventured out to the train depot for a safety train ride with Cale. Cale is completely obsessed with trains right now...almost to the point that he has forgotten about tractors. Which is saying a lot. The train ride went about as well as it could have. Cale loved it, and even though he was getting bored by the end, he still remained a good boy. So far, so good.

The rest of our day consisted of me cleaning out closets and hanging out with Keaton while Carl and Cale did yard work outside. Still a great day.

At one point while Carl wasn't watching, Cale got all three strollers out of the garage one-by-one and pushed them down the hill into the fence. Carl caught him on about stroller number three. He said Cale gave the stroller a big push and then as it hit the fence he said, "I wrecked." Now, this was a bit of destructive behavior, but the strollers weren't harmed so it was okay.

We even flew Cale's new jet plane kite, which he really could've cared less about because he was busy "hammering" things with the hammer that he found. Cale with a hammer, scary, I know. Nothing like a great, productive day outside.

At about 7:00 Keaton's eyes started becoming red and he got fussy. This was my cue, it was time for bath and bed. So, I gave him a quick bath, dressed him in his jammies, swaddled him up, and began to feed him. Suddenly I heard, "Lori!". I looked up to see Carl and Cale. The strange thing was Carl was holding Cale upside down by his feet. At first I assumed this was some kind of trick and I was suppossed to laugh or cheer at Cale's amazing upside down act. But I could tell by the look on Carl's face that they weren't playing. And then I saw it. Well, I smelled it and I saw it. The reason Carl was holding Cale by his feet is because his shirt was covered in poop. His hands were covered in poop. And I'm ashamed to say his mouth...was covered...in poop. That sweet mouth that gives me kisses. That sweet mouth that can say the funniest things.

Yes, it was a complete disaster. And of course this all happened right as I was trying to put Keaton down. So, I helped Carl get the poop monster undressed, scolding him the entire time. We got him in the bath, kicking and screaming, turned on the cool water, not warm (this wasn't suppossed to be an enjoyable bath) and attempted to de-contaminate him. I say we, but what I really mean is Carl. I guess you could say I was with him in spirit. Yes, since I had already started Keaton's bedtime routine, I don't think Carl had the nerve to give the clean-up job to me. So, he manned up and handled it himself. I must say, I usually want Keaton to hurry up and guzzle his bottle. He is sometimes a frustratingly slow eater. But, tonight I savored every minute of rocking him as he slowly ate. He even fell asleep about 15 minutes in and I sat and rocked him awhile longer. Not that my husband knew. As far as he's concerned, it took me about 25 minutes to get Keaton to sleep. Shhhh.

At one point as I was feeding Keaton, I started laughing. Like, out loud laughing. I'm not sure if I was laughing at the thought of Carl having to handle the poop monster (it seems like it usually always happens when I'm around) or if I was laughing as I pictured Cale hanging upside down covered in poop. Maybe I was laughing at the fact that though my son seems to be fairly bright, he goes and does something like this. Oh, he can have a full conversation with us, remember almost anything we tell him, but he can't resist touching and now eating (gag) his poop. A smart guy who eats poop. It's like an oxymoron. No, I didn't just call my son a moron. A kid with a weird obsession, yes.

After I put Keaton to sleep, I headed into the playroom where Cale had been laying watching TV when he became...curious. Let's just call it curious. I was armed with a wet cloth, a scrubbing brush, some resolve, and my nose. The last thing may not seem like a tool that could help in a situation such as this, but it did.
I went around on all fours sniffing the carpet for suspicious odors. I ended up just cleaning the entire area near where Cale was laying. And I also picked up every.single.Thomas Train and took a whiff, trying to decide if they had come in contact with "the poop hand".

So, tomorrow I will be making a trip to Wal-Mart for come Clorox wipes, since I am out. I will wipe down each and every one of Cale's trains. I need peace of mind.

I guess it's just one of those things you have to look back on, laugh, and just remind yourself that crap happens. Literally.

Mom-ish

So today I officially felt old. Not that it's the first time or anything. It's happening more and more these days. As I shared my vehicle this afternoon, I felt like the "soccer mom" in a car full of younger girls. The sad thing is these girls were actually about my age, one even a tiny bit older. Tiny as in about 6 months. If that counts.

To explain, I am in a wedding tomorrow. My life-long best friend is getting married to her childhood sweetheart. The rehearsal was this afternoon. After the rehearsal we had to drive about 15 minutes to the dinner. The bride asked if she and several other girls could ride with me. I smiled and said, "Of course. That will be great! (fake smile)" But, in my mind I panicked. I mean, I now have two car seats in the back. And if you have ever had car seats in your car, you know how dangerous it can be to pull those things out. You never know what's hiding beneath them. It could be living. It could be gruesome and rotten. Most times it is the latter. Seriously. I have had to pull Cale's carseat out, carry it sideways to the grass, dripping the whole way, and pour smelly, mysterious, syrupy liquid out of it and then spray it down with a water hose. And who knows how long that, whatever it was that had liquified or fermented in the hot summer sun, had been there. At least I had found the source of the smell.

Back to this afternoon. So, I crossed my fingers as I unhooked Cale's seat and carefully lifted it out, hoping no one was looking. It was messy underneath, no doubt. But luckily the mess just consisted of Goldfish crackers (some whole and some crumbs), and sweettarts. No mysterious liquid stains or moldy food. I breathed a sigh of relief.

But once the car seat was out and the crackers were swept off, my job was still not finished. I had to get the baby blankets, bibs, four or five Thomas trains, cars, and plastic toy dinosaur out of my floor board. As one girl sat in the front seat beside me, she pulled the visor down, trying to look in the mirror. But, she couldn't even get to the mirror because of the visor-case holding the sea of cartoon DVD's that now help us survive all car rides with a two-year old. And once my car was "clean" I couldn't help wondering if there was a smell. Like a sour spit-up, urine-ish, dirty toddler/newborn smell. You know, a smell that you can't detect because you live in it, but a smell that hits others like a punch in the gut. I didn't notice anyone cringing or gasping for air, so hopefully the smell wasn't too bad.

Yes, I felt old. These girls weren't married, yet. They didn't have kids. They were about my age. But here I was in the mom-mobile, complete with carseats, spilled food, toys, and mysterious stinky smells. And why is my passenger side visor mirror not accessible? Because I no longer have time to look in the mirror.

Yes, I am old. Maybe not in actual number years. But, I'm "Mom-old". Having kids will do that to you. Occasionally I miss that feeling of being young and carefree. Sometimes I miss having a clean car complete with the scent of air fresheners. Sometimes I miss having a back seat that people can actually sit in, without the hassle of carseat removal or fear of contamination.

But always, those moments of reminiscing about my carefree days, are replaced with moments of being so thankful for our two little ones. They are a lot of work. They do make messes. But they are truly worth it and life wouldn't be nearly as much fun without them. More restful, but not as much fun!