Waddle and Bite.

Some days... I mean, most days... are so hard... I don't know how women have done this for thousands upon thousands of years. There are days when I just don't think I can do it anymore. Of course, it ebbs and flows. Of course I am grateful. Of course I know I am giving my children my love and time, as much of it as I can, and I know it's good for them.

But holy cow.

My brain is not my own. My time is not my own. My sanity is not my own. It's getting drop kicked and right-hooked.

Most days I wait for the nanny by the front window. And she never comes. I stare at the wall asking it for help and it doesn't budge :) I call my mom or my sisters and ask them how THEY survived or are surviving. Sometimes I call friends and we dream of peace. Of quiet. Of a tranquil beach holiday. Of help.

But there's something we have in common, mothers. No matter how much we'd love for things to be easier, for there to be easy answers and formulas that worked day after day, for our children to handle things reasonably, we ALL wouldn't have it any other way. We all are so deeply, irrevocably in love with our babies.

Like, today. Tada walks around like she owns the place. It's all about her. She's constantly hitting and loves to sink her teeth DEEP into whatever part of my skin is available. And if it's not available, she goes through clothing. She does the funniest fake laugh, it kills me every time.

When I was trying to get some work done and Tada came up to me and screamed (her normal mode of communication, because hey, it works!) and tugged at my pants. She wanted more goldfish crackers in her snack cup. She still had her snuggly ducky jammies on and she was waddling around, with a dribble of drool on her bottom lip, messy hair, big blue/gray eyes. I couldn't HELP but smile. It came with no notice, like a reaction. An impulse.

I truly, truly love my life. With all the tears and frustration and ridiculousness, I love it.

Urination.

Anytime my girls want to stop whining and go outside to play in the backyard unsupervised, I make absolutely no move to stop them. Quite the opposite, actually, I give them a nice swift kick as they run out the door.

So in the calm light of the evening, I usually find myself cleaning up the backyard. This time I found an orange bucket with some water in it and a roll of toilet paper beside it. I was understandably confused and my wheels started understandably spinning.

Kayla, my niece who spent a couple days with us this week, was the first on the scene when she noticed my staring. The facts began to spill from her mouth with hardly a breath in between:

"We wanted to make a toilet and Grace peed in it and so did Ruby and I had to really go pee, so I did it too".

You know what? It barely fazed me. I dumped it out and left it upside down to dry while I finished cleaning up the yard.

Such a seasoned mother I am.

Sisters sleeping and snuggling. Also, Ruby and I on my 32nd birthday. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than Ruby's neck.

My Place.

Me and a few of my babies.

Sometimes I look at the night sky. I'm dazzled by the few stars I can see with my eyes that are a fraction of the 100 billion stars that make up our galaxy and the 100 billion galaxies that make up our universe. Stretching into forever, incomprehensible with my teeny brain.

Then my mind comes back down, and I glance around my little house, with old carpet and thin walls and little beds tucked in between. We seem so small. So insignificant. So un-grand compared to all the people, all the problems, all the joys, all the triumphs on this little planet.

But our family is its' own machine, working and blending and becoming something wonderful. We're loving and living. I'm happy and content to only occupy my own minute place in the universe, as long as it's with them.

Every day I die at the cuteness.

I pulled into my friend's driveway today to drop her kids off. She stuck her head through the window of my van and looked at my four girls' faces. She said, "Do you KNOW what you have in your car? Do you even KNOW what you possess??"

I have to say I do know. Four delicate flowers, forces for good and motivators of change. Each of them with their own locket of talents and needs. I feel rich and full and happy to be their mom.

Fresh from the bath.

My baby. Having one of these in the house makes me SO happy. Just look at her skin. Her back. The smoothness of her arms. Her funny baby hair. The way her fingers point. Her double chin. I love that little curve right above her shoulders, right before the back of her head rounds back out into the air. She is the best piece of real estate in the country.

There's a great deal of self-consciousness that happens when your own body transforms into something lumpy, not resembling anything it used to before you had your babies.... but that all disappears when I look at my baby. Nothing matters except the way her eyelashes kiss the sky as she looks up at me. Those blue crystals searching my face, registering love and affection that doesn't recognize our beauty parameters. She sees only her mama. The love of her life. I'm happy to be her.

Chocolate Milk and Spring Break.

We've been doing a whole lot of nothing. Woke up late (8:15), watched tv, watched the rain outside, whined (all of us). We made some breadsticks then played in the rain (not all of us).

And the most peaceful moment of the day... was when they all had a cup of chocolate milk corked in their mouth. I could have died in that wonderful moment of complete silence. They all watched me do yoga and sucked on their cups. So I had to stop and take a photo because it was SO quiet and they were SO cute. Bunch of little babies.

Beauty and Bombs.

They get more gorgeous as time goes on... their faces changing over and over again.

This last baby is the surprise... she's SO bossy lately! She went from the perfect baby a few months ago, laying in the middle of the floor, no complaints, calm classical music playing as her soundtrack, to a screaming, wrestling, aggressive little bomb. She screams to communicate. And my brain throbs. But she's so CUTE at the same time. And when she's tired from all the screaming and wrestling, she still lets me swaddle and rock her.

If she would just let me, I'd chew on her all day.

Bring me home.

The grown-up girl is sitting there, playing with a little-girl princess toy. She took her pants off because they were stuffy. So she sits there in her underwear. Playing.

The world will swallow her whole. But not if she doesn't let it.

She's beauty and spice and a warm drink and some vinegar.

She opens me up. The majority of the time, she hoists me on her shoulders, clasping my hands as we wade through truth, tragedy and hundreds of normal days.

My girls bring me home.

They make being me possible.

Hot.

I'm having my morning hot chocolate. Sitting down at my computer to "get a few things done"...  Which usually entails:

Put baby by the toybox

She crawls over to me

I hold her

I put her by the toybox

She crawls over to me

I hold her

I put her by the toybox

She crawls over to me

I hold her

Meanwhile Lillie wants personal attention. 

By this time, my hot chocolate is cold. But I keep reading and learning and paying bills and updating my calendar and planning for trips and school and our future and grocery shopping and lots of other mom stuff.

I have yesterday's hair and Tuesday's jeans. I feel uninspired and spent. I feel comfortable and blessed.

And Matilda crawls over to me again.

This is called a "Mom Mauling".

It's what happens every time I lay on the floor... these two go into full body attack. They are only momentarily distracted before they once again zero in on the prize.

Man.. today was a DAY. Jake is out of town for work and the emotions in our house ran high... ran a marathon, in fact. Some days, I really think I wasn't cut out for this. Like maybe I was meant to be in International Relations, traveling around, seeing sights, listening to the hum of a jet engine or drinking a red bull in between business meetings in my pin-striped chick suit. Using a different part of my brain...

I prepared to be a mother all those years and now, in the thick of it, I question my ability for managing chaos. I'm a lover of peace. And there are moments of it. But twice as often, moments of chaos so intense my brain starts to disintegrate.

It's not half bad. And I think most people understand that. But I want to be honest. Especially to those with young children. Let's take a collective sigh, together: tomorrow is a new day and children are forgiving. And if I can just reach deep enough I know there are some wells of strength and patience I deserve to draw from.

This time is so short, when they're young. When they squawk and scream and squeal and need and bite and pinch and cry. I, among everyone else, hug my babies close with stinging eyes as I tuck them into bed. They are growing up. So fast. And all this struggle, all this hard-ness that I call my "stay at home mom" days will pass so quickly. Like my childhood. Like high school. Like college. Like my almost ten-year marriage. Flying by like a bat at twilight. Waning. Disappearing. A memory in its place.

I sit here wanting more than anything to deserve my babies. To look them in the eye and tell them I am doing everything in my power to be the mother they deserve. After all, I brought them here. I accepted the responsibility. It's time for endurance. For patience. For speaking kindly. For leaving my phone and computer. For grabbing them, one by one, and letting them know how utterly important they are to me.

{Starting tomorrow.}

Ordinary.

These two are so much alike...

Very particular. Easy to anger. Possessive. Headstrong. Determined. Memories like a vice. Not too good at bedtime.

In other news, today was an ordinary day. What do I remember? Lillie didn't scream too much. Every time we arrived home from a school pickup or errand, she wanted to be naked. She stripped down and got her swimsuit out of her drawer and wore it most of the day. 

Grace practiced the piano. She's so musical. She told us that she sees music in art, in color. When she sees blue, she hears classical music. I really love her brain.

Ruby drew a picture for me and wrote, "My Mama..." "I wish I can be with you all day and that you can be with me all day too". She wrote on the front, "[look at this] every day win I'm at school". She asks me every day when she gets home if I looked at my card. Always, always, I say yes.

Matilda. If there were words to describe... even with sleep deprivation from that little piece of bone pushing through her top gums, she is a joy and a pleasure. Funny how much more I appreciate her baby-ness when many have come before.

Jake helped me with some things tonight. He made the funniest jokes. That laughter, the one where I close my eyes and tip my head back... it feels so good. I think it's going to be a really good week.

Sick Day.

Fantastic excuse to drop out of life and not step one dainty foot on the frozen desert tundra. We hate the pukes but love our jammies.

Some of the strongest memories I have of my mother are when I was sick and she took care of me. I specifically remember having strep throat when I was young and my mom brought me sprite and toast in bed. I felt like a queen. She put a cloth on my forehead and told me I would be okay.

I hardly slept last night and dealt with a lot of sickies today but I tried to be that mom. The one they could use for comfort when their bodies were taken by a strong flu. Ruby asked me to sit with her on the couch. I had just put the baby down and had so many other things to do, but I plopped down beside her and held her until the baby woke up again.

And shhhhh... Grace stayed home from school, too. She's not sick, she's just really really helpful!

Food Art and Realizing.

Today, I realized more than ever, I can go from one end to the other. From thinking specifically, "I have it all", to wanting to bang my head against a hard, flat surface.

Lillie screamed for hours at a time, Ruby played with Tada so well their faces lit up like Christmas trees, Grace told jokes and threw fits, Lillie gave me the funniest belly laughs in full-on joke mode, all four girls cried long and hard at bedtime, I wanted to leave the chaos but having nowhere more important to be I stayed here, cleaning-cleaning-cleaning-cleaning, Grace played Noel on the piano perfectly, I couldn't talk on the phone because of all the noise, watched Lillie wash her hands and change her clothes a million times, wanted so badly to be close to the girls today tomorrow and always, thought of a thousand ways I could be doing better, tried to be "fun" and ended up being annoyed, realized-really realized how blessed I am, and at the very end of today-- wanted peace.

The girls are all asleep now in their beds, eyelashes fluttering against their cheeks, their small red robin chests rising and falling. Safe, warm, resting. Another day is gone and I can hardly believe it's late December.

What will become of us? Our tiny little family, the six of us lost in this big, huge world. Will we stay close, arms locked together, us against the world? Hopefully. What kind of opportunities will we be afforded, which ones will we deserve?

Jake and I grow and change with each new hurdle the girls put in front of us, that life puts in front of us. We grow together, closer, more understanding of each other, and for that I feel incredibly lucky.

I hope everyone out there (hi!) has a really great Christmas.    

Breathe -- Smile -- Laugh.

And for now and always, do the best you can.

Today.

Do you ever find yourself in a predicament? And ask yourself, how did I get here?

Today I found myself in Les Schwab Tire repair waiting area with several other men wearing Carthart jackets. Ruby was laying under the coffee table with one shoe on and one shoe off and her head resting on her sweater. Lillie was laying down on the ground by my feet, she was barefoot, with Matilda's blanket around her. Chewing a piece of popcorn she had thrown on the ground a few minutes earlier.

I just held Matilda and watched NFL Primetime.

I gave up and let it all happen.

Thighs.

Here is Tads and me after a walk. She fell asleep on my hood and slept most of the way. I love her. Our flesh is the same, there is no line where I end and she begins. We just are.

My friend is adopting a baby. After waiting years, she and her husband are getting a newborn in March. A little boy from Georgia. She is elated. Her husband even more! How incredible it is to have a baby!

Sometimes I want so much for myself, I want to be so many things, I have so many dreams that I'd love to fulfill. But at the end of the day, when I'm kissing that mouth with those blue eyes piercing straight to the soul that is no longer just mine, I can't imagine me without them.

Hands off those chunky polka-dot thighs. They're all mine.

Something Fantastic.

I will confess, I've never really liked Halloween. I really don't know why since I do like little kids in costumes and I definitely like candy...

Above is Ruby at her Halloween carnival. She even has the uncombed hair of a little witch.

And Jake carved the pumpkins to the girls' specifications. He did a fantastic job as they hounded him and climbed on his shoulders and jumped about as he cut.

I just really really love my girls. Like, head exploding love. They're different and amazing and creative and funny. And even when we're at the park and someone's pooing in their underwear and another is crying the entire time and the other needs to be nursed and the other's ignoring me when it's time to go...

Even then and especially then.

I look at my life and am astounded. That I had a great childhood and I don't need therapy or drugs or an outlet for pain. That I'm a mother, a strong one, with four girls.

I hope we take the world in the palm of our hands and do something fantastic.

Realize.

It's 1:15p.m. and I'm still in my pajamas. I have done lots of things, but showering is not one of them. Oh! And as I write, the Little One just spit up on my pants. How appropriate!


On another note, I don't know what to do with Lillie. She's given up naps. If she takes one, she's up until  11p.m. So we're done with naps. Which makes functioning in the afternoon impossible. Take for instance, yesterday. She cried on the 15 minute drive to gymnastics, she cried for the first half hour of me attempting to watch the girls while she pinched her fingers in every single door in the building. She cried on the way to get french fries. She cried on the way back. She cried when I went in to pick up the girls, which I was late to do, so they were trying to phone me from the front desk, Grace with tears in her eyes. She cried while we drove up the road to get on the freeway.


I entered onto the 90th south onramp, and noticed that traffic was at a dead stop. There was an accident up ahead. Rush hour, Matilda and Lillie crying, stopped in four lanes of traffic trying to merge onto a stopped freeway. I almost did a lot of things... including smash my forehead into the steering wheel to dull the pain.


How do other people do it? I can't be the only mother in Utah stuck in a mini-van at rush hour with screaming kids. No wonder women lose it. No wonder some are on medication. No wonder moms are on edge, and are known for it.


Four kids has really tested me. Before this, I'm going to say that motherhood was challenging at times, but I felt I could handle it. It was fairly easy. Since Matilda was born, Lillie has entered into a constantly changing tide of emotions, personal problems and breakdowns. She doesn't leave my side. Which makes everything else so difficult. I love her. I tell her a thousand times a day. I am here for her. I tell her that, too. But the bad, the bad is so hard.

My life is now filled with so much noise and distraction it's hard to even remember my name. At times I want someone to come and relieve me, like a relay race, you would run through my front door, I would hand you my apron and take off for a long run. I would run over hills and past houses and stores and little neighborhoods until I found a hill top somewhere with green grass and trees. 

I would sit down to be alone with my thoughts and enjoy a little peace. 

There I'm sure I would find my mind wandering. Over my life, over my husband, over the faces of my beautiful daughters, the shadows and valleys of their noses and lips, their questioning eyes. I would think about their hair falling over their shoulders and bouncing as they ran. Their shocking beauty as they sleep.


Then I would realize it. That I want them so badly I could cry a billion tears. And I would haul myself up, as fast as I could, and run home again.

It's about life.

(You know those kids that you don't know that wait out in their yard and say hi to you as you walk by? And you say hi back but then it's kind of awkward because they're kids and you just want to keep walking and they look super bored and where the heck is their mom? Ya, those were my kids today.)


Today as I had my grocery cart full of food and all my little girls in tow, Grace struck up another chat with me. If you don't already know, it's really hard to talk to a seven year old and grocery shop at the same time. I deserve an award.

Anyway...

She asked me why our basic cable does not include Nickelodeon. I said because I don't want her watching Spongebob and iCarly every day after school, I like her to play with her sisters instead.

She asked me if that was the only reason.

I said, well, it does cost more money, too, so I didn't want to pay extra for all those channels that we don't need.

She said,

...

"It's not about the money, Mom, it's about life."

Me and them.

The girls had a piano recital this afternoon.

Ruby played her piece, "Magic of the World" and then second, "Magic of the World Ever Seen".

Grace performed, "Magic" and "Katie loves her kittens".

Great pieces, all of them. Really great emotion and dynamics.

They bowed, that was the best part.

Lillie's piece, "I paaaayyy daaat" was also followed by the Most Adorable Bow of Any Wild Two-Year-Old.

As an aside,

Ruby brushed her teeth with peanut butter yesterday.