I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas....

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
(you know, before the roads turn to brown smoosh)
Just like the ones I used to know
(like before dinosaurs roamed the earth, and Micheal J. Fox was IT)
Where Santa Claus built us a fire
(in the fireplace, of course)
and we'd open our presents
(we took turns, and it took hooouuuurrrrs)
listening to the crackle of the fire
(especially if the wrapping paper SC tossed in was foil or extra-flammable)
and Mrs. Claus would make us scones
(for breakfast, or is that lunch, or was it brunch?)

I'm dreaming of a White Christmas
(not just the movie, either)
Just like the ones I used to know
(seriously, another lifetime ago, like when Nintendo 64s roamed the earth)
Where Mom made lots of goodies
(like toffee, mexican wedding cakes, and peanut blossoms - and Dad made pumpkin pies)
And Christmas Caroling was a tradition
(Ben had us add White Christmas to our caroling repertoire)
And we didn't have to make our own Christmas dinners
(seriously, Ham is easy as pie compared to Turkey!)


That's the White Christmas I dream of.......








Reality hits in.....

We woke up to a White Christmas
(seriously, cornea-searing bright white here, people)
Just like we've never had before
(well, at least not with our boys)
Filled with lots of legos
(which Baby Jack tried to eat)
And of course second only to the favored legos: candy
(which Baby Jack also tried to eat)
After which Santa Claus made us from-scratch pancakes
(which Baby Jack actually got to eat.)

Merry Christmas!

**WARNING** (ADULT CONTENT HERE, PEOPLE)

This morning my little (ok, so he isn't so little) baby woke me up a bit earlier than I wanted to wake up. I nursed him and laid him back down to bed. I climbed back into bed. Brent was getting dressed, and I had run out of water. He filled up my glass, setting it on the nightstand, and then started to tuck the blankets in around me, finishing with a kiss (and leaving me all giddy inside.......with looooo-oooove, no seriously people, I loooove it when he takes care of me like that.) As I lay there hoping to take a quick 30 minute nap, I couldn't help but think about how much I love my husband. I feel the need to insert this now, before I go any farther: I am not perfect. He is not perfect. We often disagree. And we both have annoying habits. I love the little things he does for me - those little things are what makes me feel that he actively loves me and cares for me. I love his little boy grin. I love his touch - when he grabs my butt (hehe) or touches my arm or leg in affection, when he rubs my back and especially my feet. His touch makes me believe in the healing power of the human touch. It could make me weep for little babies who never get held, for children who never get hugs. I love going to bed with him beside me every night (even if I only give him a full 5 inches of prime-mattress real estate......which he lovingly forgives me for, night after night.) I love (actually I hate it, but you'll get the point) kissing him goodbye every morning. I watch the clock starting about 5pm, knowing he's driving home and I can't wait for him to get here already! When he's with me, I feel safe and secure. Now, before you go thinking that I am a dependent, insipid, cliche female, I JUST FINISHED SHOVELING SNOW OFF OUR ENTIRE DRIVEWAY. (Beat that, suckas.)
I love the way he loves our children. All of life's cares seem to float away when I catch (what sometimes seems very rare) glimpses of oh-so-worth-it moments in our little family's lives: reading the same four books night after night, sometimes substituting wrong words here and there......the laughter that ensues is the best medicine for my soul. I love the way that he would let the boys stay up forever if I wasn't there to tell him to "put them to bed already." The way that he loves giving them special treats (read: junk food.) I love to watch them wrestle, or to jump on the trampoline - again, the laughter is soothing to my wearied soul. I love to see how he can get my two oldest sons to work together to build something, rather than the usual fighting. I just love him. This isn't to say that again, we don't disagree - we do. Especially when I've hit the Nordstrom Shoe Sale (hehe.) But there are truly times that I find myself overwhelmed with the love I have for him. I can't imagine a life without him. I want to grow old with him (but I am selfish, I want to go first, because I can't imagine ever going to bed without him.)

p.s. Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention: he finally changed the thermostat to 71.....gosh, I love him!

Barnes Family Portrait

We did it! Though they aren't perfect, I am uh-mazed at how well they turned out. It was tough to try to get all three boys picture-ready. We didn't even get there on time (turns out that traffic is still pretty bad going from KS to MO between 5 and 6pm,) and I had Brent stop by Target to pick up baby food for Jack because I had forgotten it - the whole process of just getting there seemed sooooo hectic, but we made it! We took the pics.......



Brent was feeling feverish, so I sent him home with the boys while the "girls" weeded out the bad pictures and decided (for MomB - that's a silent B, for Barnes) what pictures we thought she should get. Once we finally decided (my Dad would appreciate four woman trying to agree on anything, lol) we headed out for some Chipotle Burritos (thanks MomB - Brent really appreciated his burrito, despite his fever!) Brent was shivering, I was worn out. So.....we went to bed at an unprecedented 9:45pm! Fortunately Brent was feeling better the next morning, although I did have him sleep in.

October, Part Trois

We started off the night with dinner. Not just any dinner - Chipotle Burrito was giving away free burritos to anyone who dressed up as one, so we wrapped the boys up in tinfoil, wrote bf+g (barbacoa fajita style plus guacamole) and treated ourselves to some yummy, and free, burritos! Whoo-hoo! (Maxwell was very confused and didn't want to wear his "burrito" suit......he was playing swords with all the empty tubes (from the foil) that were lying around!)



We stopped by the Wing's house and Brent and I took turns taking the boys trick-or-treating up and down their street. Maxwell had no problem running up to front doors and getting candy - but he made us carry his hat and his trick-or-treat pumpkin. He's even learned to say "tank you." Blake was very casual and nonchalant about the whole thing - the perfect Indiana Jones, lol!

I have to say that this is only the second photograph of Blake and Maxwell together, smiling! Each month we add a minute or two to the amount of time they actually get along.......we are up to 12 whole minutes each month (lest you think by this photo that they are best friends and get along well!)

October Part Deux

Fall wouldn't be complete without a trip to the pumpkin patch. We decided we'd hit the same one Maxwell went to with his preschool class. It was fun, and extremely windy! We started off at the zip-line, and it was fun to see our boys old enough to do this on their own!



Next we moved over to the air pillow (or whatver it is called) and Maxwell was a little unsure at first, but once he gained a little bit o' confidence, he took it very seriously! Blake was very helpful.......which was ah-mazing.




Then we pumped our way through some rubber ducky races:




After the races, we rode the "tractor train," played on the Train and pirate ship playsets, all while Maxwell went down the slide 100 times!




Did I mention Brent bought the boys doughnuts and kettle popcorn (which, by the way, is the worst type of popcorn - pure fat and high calories!) It was fun though - even Jack enjoyed it well enough. It is fun to see our boys finally be able to enjoy these big kid things!

October, Part Un

This one is dedicated to Aunt Aurelia, who can answer any text with lightning speed, but can't actually answer her phone......

We love you Aunt Aurelia!

Update on Number Two (my child, that is.)

This morning was our parent-teacher conference for the Number Two Child. Before I go into what we learned, let's rewind a little bit. I love my Number Two. Up until I had my Number Three, Number Two was my baby. He was cute and sweet and lovable; he got away with everything. At some point, whether it was because he was no longer the baby, or the terrible twos (which drags on into the threes, and fours, and fives and.....) or if it was just who he is, he had become quite a handful. He has always wanted to be anywhere but home. He seems fearless (which scares me to death!) and is definitely NOT a mama's boy (which is the extreme opposite of Number One, btw.) When we became pregnant with our little Number Three, I decided that preschool was not an option, but a requirement for our Number Two. Well, preschools can be pricey, with inconvenient times and locations. My solution? Enroll him as a peer model with the school district. I got the process going and what I got was totally unexpected! We went through all these long evaluations, filled out copious amounts of paperwork, surveys, questionnaires and I even signed something about my parental rights. I was lauded for bringing my child in for testing and getting him the help he needs. Turns out, he isn't quite up to their developmental mile markers. Um, I just wanted to get him into a preschool. My feelings about Number Two's development is that he just waits until the last second to manifest his progress. Example: if the norm is that babies start crawling between 6 -12 months, then Number Two started crawling at 12 months and one day. This is pretty much true for all of the developmental areas. Just as soon as I would start to worry, he would wake up one day and start doing whatever it was that he was supposed to be doing. I still don't believe that there is anything wrong with him. My faith in my child started to waver as I kept hearing these child psychologists and teachers tell me how wonderful I was for seeking help, and how they never know how the parents are going to react. I started worrying that there must be something terribly wrong for them to be saying these things! I might be wrong, but if you take a three year old, set him up with licensed, trained, experienced educators and wait it out, won't he overcome any delays they think he might have? What am I supposed to be worried about here? It's developmental delays, not cancer! You can't even truly test a child for learning disabilities until the second grade! I honestly believed that if he had professionals working with him, he would be able to accomplish any task they set before him.

They started him off with a trial two week preschool run. The night before he was to start I couldn't fall asleep. I woke up around 5am and cried for my little baby. At least crying in bed was better than crying at the school! He met with the teacher, an occupational therapist and a speech pathologist. It only took them about 2 days to determine he qualified not as a peer model, but as one of the "other ones" (I say that because I have no idea what they are called in reference to the peer models.)

Ok, so I was happy. He got into the preschool I wanted him to. Ok, so I was worried. Kind of. Again, I truly believed that he would be just fine, especially working with professionals. I still believe that, you know. Mornings were difficult, as I had to have Numbers One and Two to school at the same time, but they were attending two different elementary schools. Within a week, Mrs W., the preschool teacher, told me that we could use the bus service if we would like (I think it might have had something to do with him always being late.) Hmmm, tempting. She pointed out it would be free. How could I refuse that?? Ok, so now I was ecstatic. By the end of that day though, I was feeling sad. How could I let my baby ride the bus? How could I put him on the bus every morning and just hope that he would make it to school? What if there was a car accident? A hijacking? The scenarios poured through my mind. I slept horribly. What if Number Two felt abandoned and hated riding the bus? (I am a worrier. I have gray hairs, and I have had them for a long time.) The day came for Number Two to ride the bus and HE LOVED IT! Every morning he asks, just to be sure, if he gets to ride the bus today! There haven't been any accidents and there obviously haven't been any hijackings. I mean, think about it people: who would want to hijack the "short bus"? Yes, my son rides the "short bus." As a parent of a "short bus" rider, I feel that I can, in confidence, make jokes about the "short bus."

Back to the parent-teacher conference this morning: he is progressing with all the goals they have set for him, even at a faster rate than they normally see in these situations. I was relieved. But again, I always believed (except for those few moments when their comments made me doubt myself and my son) that he would be fine, especially if he was working with professionals! He still has progress to make, he still couldn't care less if he pees his pants, but by golly, he's going to be ok!