two times the lovin

Well some cool divas are entering the world of twos - and not soon enough according to some of them! The idea is to share your knowledge about the joys, and I mean JOYS, of having two - or three or four for that matter. You can check out the all legal schmegal HERE!

I do find it strangely ironic that I am going to spew advice to these kind ladies because most of the time, well, I have no idea of what I am doing - except going insane. I mean, recently there was the whole penis thing or the constant bickering over light sabers and match box cars. But then there are the fun times like playing rock-em sock-em robots and watching the older one teach the younger one how to hit a baseball. These are the moment I relish and try to draw upon when they are fighting over who gets to shut the garage door or eat the last Gogurt.

Going from one to two has also made me realize things about me that aren't pretty. Like my EXTREME lack of patience to whining, screaming and crying - of my own children. Wow! Where did that come from?? Not to toot my own horn - toot toot - but at work I have loads (butt loads to be exact) of patience. I have worked with handicapped and delayed children forever. I help them work through things that are difficult and challenging. I encourage them when they are crying and can tolerate their tears. I can even listen to their whining without batting an eye. BUT when it comes to my two - tolerance is absent most day, heck every day for that matter. So I guess this is where I would interject my world renowned advice - remember all the good and blog about all the bad - it makes for good material and helps the rest of us feel better!!

flashback - a dingo ate my baby and then i ate the dingo

I was going to do a flashback to three years ago today and then realized that it was also Friday Flashback prompt day. So, instead of not doing one or the other - I decided to do both. I know you are oh so glad and on the edge of your seat with bated breath. Come with me as I flashback to three years ago today. You see, I was 8 months pregnant and the size of full grown hippo. Scoff as you may, the images that you are about to see are, or should I say were, larger then they appear.
Being the over achiever that I am I tend to go big. Ask me about my first son... I dare you! You will run away screaming and crying at the thought of pushing him out.... I know you will! Thus the long expansion of time between my two boys. There was a lot of convincing involved to get this girl to, open up shall we say, to the idea of birthing again. Young children would run and quiver behind their mothers when they saw pregnant me coming towards them. Now, the picture you are viewing is of me at 35 weeks with an 80 pound belly. Honest. I put on 80 pounds and it was all in my belly. Ok, there was a good distribution to my arse as well, but it was not highlighted until after my son was born and the atrocity in the front shrunk. So for now I will claim that it was all belly weight. The picture was taken the night they began to induce me. My liver obviously did not like being squished out of the way by little, (fat chubby monkey) Grady and was revolting. It disliked him so much that it was deciding to shut down. Oh yes, great fun. So off to the hospital we went to save me and the monster child. And thankfully so because even at just over five weeks early he was 8 lb 10 oz. Did you know babies gain at least a pound a week that last month of pregnancy? Do the math... it would have been UGLY. Ugly like my first child. Come on, that dare is still out there...

So tomorrow is the big third birthday. A little fun to take my mind off the impending doom of next week. We have been practicing showing three fingers instead of two when someone asks how old he is. Maybe by tomorrow he will have it down but knowing him he just won't care!

embracing that which is flabby

I hate my stomach. After gaining 80 pounds - TWICE!! - to say it has seen better days is an understatement. My tummy and I go round and round. Some days I look at it and sigh, "Oh flabbiness, you come from spawning two beautiful boys. Without them, I would not have all these long and lengthy stretch marks, saggy skin and a belly button that looks as if it has a foreskin. Thank you for baking them and making it difficult to find clothes that don't make me look like an over sized muffin." Other days I look at it and curse, "Damn you flabby skin!!! Can't you just lay flat and not bulge over my pants for one frickin day?! Must you seep out from the depths of my waist bands and jiggle as I walk. Stop laying in bed next to me!!!" I was having one of the cursing moments as Drake was talking to me while I was getting dressed the other night into my "lounge wear". He was watching and had this silly little smile on his face as he cocked his head sideways.
Me: What is so funny?
D: Nothing. I just like your belly.
M: You like my belly? Why?
D: I like how it puffs out. (with this he stands up and starts poking it - I hate that) It's soft and warm.
M: (like a muffin I'm thinking) Really?
D: Yeah and I like to rest my head on it when I hug you. It's like a warm pillow. It's comfy.
M: Thanks bud I needed to hear that
D: How did I fit in there by the way?
M: You didn't. That is why it looks like this!
D: Oh. Will it always be puffy?
M: Yes, I can guarantee that it will always be puffy.

So I guess today I should embrace my fluffiness. Granted I may always look like a cupcake or over stuffed sausage in pants but at least it is comforting to a seven year old boy when he needs a hug.

i would like to say the project is finished

But alas, I cannot. The project that was started three weeks ago is still incomplete. So reminiscent of the time he ripped up our only bathroom the day I was due with Drake. Ok, maybe not AS bad, but approaching the same delays in finishing. At least he didn't saw out any windows this time....

The constant nagging view from my kitchen. I think the newspaper decor is starting to grow on me.

bet you can't say you have done this

A little background to help you further understand the following dialog between my father and myself. My father is the director of development for the Washoe tribe in Nevada. He is one of the few "white men" to work for them and has worked hard to be accepted by the people of the tribe. After a brief discussion, including all the pleasantries and such, we had the following conversation:

Kat: So Dad, how is work going?
Dad: Really well and I have been really busy. Want to know what I did yesterday?
K: Sure
D: Well I went to one of the ranches to check how many of the cows were pregnant.
K: You what?!?
D: I got to check if the cows were pregnant.
K: Really?? And how might I ask did you do that? Or don't I want to know....
D: The doctor and I did it together. I led the cows into the stable and put their heads in a contraption that would hold them still and the doctor did the rest

Side note - I did delve further into the whole process since my curiosity was peaked, but I will not share all the details of testing a cows fertility with you in this forum. Very interesting and definitely not a job on my top ten list.

D: Then I watched as he and one of the cowboys castrated a colt who was too frisky.
K: Too frisky huh? I think I have a lot of boys in my house that are too frisky. I wonder…..
D: (laughing) Now, now. You don’t mean that.

Guess my job just could not match up to that on most given days and on this day of Thanksgiving I am quite happy with that!