How was your Easter?

I'm going to be honest here. How my Easter? It was a little awkward.

First we couldn't get this kid to give us an Easter "money shot."

For the entire Easter service, Collin sat outside playing with a very loud and disruptive Tommy. Every time we try to attempt to go to church we wonder why.

And for the first time, I did not see my entire family on Easter. My parents are getting a divorce (have been for the past five years, so it's not news...we're all just ready for it to be over) and my mom has a new boyfriend. Everyone just went their separate ways. It all made sense, but it was just sad. So Tommy, Collin, and I went over to the in-laws. It was a very nice day, just not what I'm used to.

Also awkward:

Try bringing this as your contribution to the Easter feast. Everyone looked at me quizzically. Yes, those are cornflakes...Yes, there are potatoes under there. I had to keep up some semblance of my family tradition and made the Sutter Creek Potatoes for my in-laws. There were gone in the blink of an eye.

Super easy, super unhealthy recipe...perfect for a complement to ham or some kind of breakfast situation with diced ham thrown in there.

Last awkward moment: practicing my photography skills on four (4) tubs of sour cream.

Mom Confessional, Part 2

Happy Easter! Jesus is the reason for the season, so please...make sure to eat your chocolate cross. Chocolate bunnies are so blasphemous. Aren't they?

By the way, I steal stuff now.

I used to be the person who would realize that the cashier hadn't scanned my water bottles underneath the cart and sprint back in to the register full of awkward excuses. "Uhhh....Oh my gosh! I can't believe I just did this...but uhhh....I walked out without paying for THESE!" Blush, blush....awkward laugh! With a cart cover, a diaper bag, my canvas bags (yes, I am a saint), and a boy who maxes out at about 37 minutes of shopping, there's always something that hides from the scanner. It's technically not too late. I'm at the car and it's a set of socks or a four-pack of Yo-Baby yogurt that is not bagged. And I know I haven't paid for it. But I just can't bring myself to go back in. Too much work....maybe? Principal...perhaps. The fact that I've already put a combative baby into his carseat for the fourth time today...most definitely.

It's not something I want to do. It's just something I do now.

Oh and how I know I'm not evil: my husband stole some Pledge under the exact same pretenses.

Why I Will Do It Again

I read Amber's blog daily. She has two beautiful kids, a boy and a girl and not to mention, she is beautiful herself. Holy crap, the woman wore a freaking midriff shirt the other night (she has a nine-month-old)! It's just not fair! The other day she wrote this post which said she has given birth at home with both of her children. I was in awe. To give birth at home seems courageous, it seems empowering, it seems like such an amazing accomplishment. It got me thinking about my next birth and why I won't do it. Not because I don't believe in it. I do. It's just that...well, I loved giving birth in a hospital. And I'm just pretty mainstream, I guess.

My sister and I talk about giving birth a lot. We call it "that day." We'd both give birth a million times over to relive "that day."

I'm a planner and list-maker. I loved packing my hospital bag (I know, I know) full of stupid things like playing cards (really?), ten pairs of socks bought specifically for the occasion, and loads of snacks for my husband to eat.

It's kind of like a vacation. You spend nine months waiting for the day you get to meet your little one. You've booked a flight to Hawaii, packed your bags, and you can't wait to board even though you know the plane ride will be five hours of general suckiness. Checking into the hospital for me was like having my boarding pass scanned. The journey had officially begun.

Along the hotel vein, people take care of you, do the clean-up, bring you drinks, and tell other people to wait outside. They teach you how to bathe your baby, come check on you every couple of hours, and make sure you haven't been too wrapped up in your bundle of joy that you've forgotten to order food before the cafeteria closes.

(Yes, this is amniotic fluid...everywhere. Collin actually helped clean it up. They had to bring five towels in to mop the floor with.)

The heart monitor. I could listen to my baby's heartbeat all day. When it decelerated a nurse rushed in to check on him and turn me to alleviate some strain on Tommy.

My epidural. I went into birth with an open mind about natural childbirth. When the subject was brought up by my first nurse, I dismissed it. My pain just wasn't that bad. At shift change, my second nurse (who was amazing) did not pressure me or coerce me, but she sold me on it. We talked about it like I was purchasing a product and that it made sense to buy it expediently. She was right.

The beautiful baby. Of course, the baby is the part you get regardless of where you give birth. But, that moment where I held my baby for the first time and the outpouring of love that ensued...that is what I want over and over again.

The visitors, the bad food, the sweet nurses, my husband bringing me McDonald's coffee the next morning, ceremonious cutting of the hospital bracelets, the woman asking me what my level of education is (why is this relevant?), my baby hicupping in the bassinet all night long, the balloons, the going-home outfit, the million conversations re:when we should install the carseat, the squeeze bottle to clean off my lady parts, the smell of baby shampoo on my sweet baby's head, the screened-off roommate, learning how to swaddle, the doctor coming by to check on me the next day, being able to compare my quiet baby to the ten other squalling ones...it's all such a beautiful blurry memory. I can't wait to do it all again.

Feeling Like a Real Mom

Inspired by another internet friend of mine, Hilary, I woke up super early with Tommy and made him these. Banana teething biscuits. Since no teeth have broken through, maybe these will help a little bit. They taste a lot like banana bread and they made the house smell delicious, but after three total hours of baking (yes, these took practically all day to make) they are super hard like biscotti.

Bought myself a new iron. And I'm legitimately excited about it.

Spent way too much money at Target. (This makes me feel like a real mom because my mom did this all the time).

Found this on my shirt when I got home from Target. Don't know how long it had been there.

 (The squeezy pouches are his favorite, but are almost $2 apiece, so I consider these his baby Easter candy).

And I made both of my guys their Easter baskets. But forgot to get cellophane to wrap them up. Moms always forget something, right?

Angel in the Front Yard

My husband could watch sports all day. Sports are boring. But, since my husband pretends to be enthusiastic about my crafting, decorating, and even blogging, I reserve a little zeal for our good ol' local team, the Anaheim Angels. Food can get me to go anywhere and their food is delicious; this is not your average baseball stadium fare. Also, I once read that couples who go to baseball games together have a lower divorce rate.

So, my dad bought tickets today. And my husband had to work, so I don't know why I prefaced this story with that little tidbit above.

If you can believe it, my nine-month-old boy was a perfect gentlemen throughout the entire game.

He even cheered at the appropriate times. I'm telling you...he had fun. 

My dad says to me today, "You know the fan giveaway today at the Angels' game is a blanket. I really want that blanket." The season just started so people are still gung-ho about going to games. The cheapest tickets he can find: $50 apiece. While he's purchasing them, "It's worth it though, for the blanket." 

The blanket was definitely the worst blanket on Earth. But I guess I would say it was worth it. Love my dad and his hare-brained ideas. And yes, my dad still wears visors.

Flashback

I am in the process of moving all of my old picture files onto my new computer and I love going through old photos. At this point, I may even call it a hobby of mine. I could spend hours looking at the ones of Tommy when he was just a scrunchy newborn.

Here are some pictures of what we were doing on March 20, last year:

Five, six months pregnant.

Pensive.

Scoping the waves.

Who knew pregnancy could be so sexy awkward? This pic is so reprehensible. I'm posing like this with all of these people around. "Check out the weird pregnant lady."

Scoping the hotties.

Here's what we did today:

Edited to change title. I already had another post with the same name!

Mom Confessional

I am always comparing myself to other moms. And I always fall short.

I hate baby play sometimes. There are rare times when it comes naturally to me and it's a blast. Most of the time, I can't even do it. It numbs my brain.

I have internet friends. Like never-met-in-person, message-board-chatting, digital-world-only internet friends. I love them and wouldn't like to know life without them.

About 90% of the time, I feel like I'm going through the motions. I have moments where I think, "Yes, this is what it's all about." But most of the time, I feel like there is something missing and I wonder why my life isn't more like Kelle Hampton's.

I miss being pretty, not fat, and having a flat tummy. And I miss my husband (not just in this picture, but every night):

I love my son more than I love my daughter. But it's okay for me because I don't have a daughter. Yet.

I worry constantly about autism. Tommy has hit all of his milestones on time and is a perfectly normal baby. But if he doesn't respond to me when I call him by name or babble every second of every day, I get a little panicky and Google-crazy.

I miss his hair already. My mother-in-law cut it and I cried (pre-op photo-op).

Lastly, I drink two Diet Cokes each day. I wish I could stop, but I can't. Aspartame = crack.