This is my baby girl.

She "graduated" from kindergarten today.

During her completion ceremony today, the teacher read one thing the students said they were best at. Hers was:

"Finding things. Especially four-leaf clovers."

This. This is why we moved.

Hatchling #2 wanted a hair cut today "just like Daddy's," complete with hair gel. And he wanted it "sticking up a little bit." This stylist aims to please, so with the help of Disney Jr., he was able to sit still long enough for me to cut my big boy's hair.

His shirt says "Mommy's Super Hero" but today I think he's "Daddy's Rock Star."

Lemonade is so passe.

I've written about this before. How H#3 suffers some of the stereotypical treatment of beyond-second-borns. But I've now learned, and here documented, that it's not about how we treat him differently than either of the other two. It's just how he's wired. The kid has been waking up between five and six am, then hardly able to keep his eyes open for lunch. I've slowly been inching lunch prep earlier, until today I was getting lunch ready at 10:40.

Still not early enough.

On the way home from school today, H#1 announced she had a project she needed to do. This is a regular occurrence, these projects. Sometimes they involve a stick, some tape and paper to make a flag. Other times it might be some leaves, a pine cone and glue to make a peacock. One time she even made an entire centerpiece arrangement made from rocks, a vase, some dried hay and Queen Anne's Lace. As my mom said today,

"She has more imagination than I ever dreamed of having..."

Today's project involved finding some leaves and some dirt, to which she needed to add some water.

But these were no ordinary mud pies, no sir, and how dare you suggest something so base? There was a very specific order to this project, as there always is, and her little brother fell into line next to her, asking her for instructions along the way. By the end, they were covered head to toe in mud, Gramps' and Granny's newly painted deck was a swampy mess, H#3 was throwing his food Pollock-style, as if to join in on the artistry, and the new furball looked on with questioning puzzlement.

My mom followed up her comment on the Hatchlings' combined creativity, saying,

"...or if I did have that much it was certainly stifled before it got to this point. I guess that's why I let them do it."

I guess that's why I swallowed my protests when H#1 brought it up. And why I choked on my shock when I walked out and actually saw the extent of their project. And why I quit thinking in complaints about the running around, cleaning up, tick removal and lack of naps today brought. And why I quickly grabbed my camera to document this mess-making extravaganza. Because life is messy. And sometimes, even though it's not what we pictured, that's what makes it fun.

Just for the record, and I know you may not really care, but so I can get it off my chest (pun intended) here's what I think about the latest "Momtroversy." In case you haven't heard, there is a Time magazine cover photo (I refuse to give it more publicity, so you won't find the link here) making the rounds of social and traditional media that accompanied the magazine's story on attachment parenting. When a local news outlet posted it on their Facebook page with the also provocative question of "What do you think?" the following was my response.

The fingers anyone decides to point should be at the media. Forget whether or not you agree with extended breastfeeding. Forget whether or not you think attachment parenting is brilliant or bogus. Focus on the fact that this photo was used to shock and provoke to get a reaction and create an argument. I'm so tired of the sensationalization. Did any of us wake up thinking about a 3yo breastfeeding this morning? I didn't. And I refuse to let the media dictate what I care about today. I have more important things to do, and I'm guessing I'm not alone in that.

I don't know about you, but I'm tired of us taking the bait. As moms, as parents, as citizens, as people. Let's think for ourselves. Let's stop buying into what we're told to think. And let's stop feeding the beast.

I was reading this post today about a SAHM who feels like she isn't living up to her expectations on the homefront. Conversely, being on the homefront isn't living up to her own expectations.

Funnily enough, I've felt this struggle during the past year-and-a-half. Those feelings usually bubble up when I'm trying to juggle several things at once (like a new puppy in the midst of everything else) or after several days home with sick kids (which has happened all too often this year).

And so it was on Monday, when H#1 was home from school again with the latest illness and after a morning of the same-ol-same-ol, but with a new puppy thrown into the mix, when I said to my mom,

"I feel like I should be doing something."

What did I mean? I don't know. Some fabulous craft. Or outing. Or playdate. Something stimulating. Or exciting. Or amazing. Or. Or. Or...Something.

To which she replied,

"You are doing something. You're doing something you used to pay someone else a lot of money to do."

Indeed. Thanks Mom. I needed that.

The Husband is upset with me for not sharing more Furball updates. Here are a few, in the form of how having a baby and a puppy are similar:

1. I find myself carrying both, even though they can walk. A lot. Often at the same time.
2. Neither one follows the commands "No" or "Stop" when they want to go in a different direction than I want them to.
3. Both like to chase the cat, run into the woods, chase the chickens and venture too far down the driveway.
4. Both whine or cry several times a day because they can't tell me what they want. And when they're in their crates. (JUST KIDDING!!)
5. Both like to roll in the grass. A lot.
6. Both like to try out their new teeth on anything that comes within 12 inches of their mouths.
7. Both are pretty darn cute and make the two older Hatchlings pretty happy.

Thankfully, only one needs deworming. We just started meds for that today. I'll spare you the details and photos of those results. At least unless The Husband bugs me again about not giving enough updates.

 

So let's just get it over with.

Yes, I've been gone a while. I haven't written very much and I'm not sure why, because I have at least five brilliant thoughts a day for posts. Unfortunately, life interferes with my writing. Which is ironic since life is also what feeds my writing. But, such is life (ha!) and writing for me, and as I said to one friend in an email, I don't know how other writers do it. I choose time with my kids and sleep over writing almost every time. And that's not to say others choose blogging over time with their kids (though I know for a fact that many do choose writing over sleep), I only mean that I really don't know how they do it in addition to taking care of their kids and everything else that goes along with it. And throw in a paying job and my head might pop off just thinking about how to write in the midst of all that. I mean, that's why I didn't start a blog until I didn't work outside the home anymore. So until I totally figure that out, or until someone is paying me again to do some writing, there may be some absences here and there.

Adding to that, the past couple of weeks at our house have included pink eye, eye drop trauma, horrible pollen allergies, awesome visits from dear friends, more pink eye, doctor visits, more eye drop trauma, soccer games, school field trips, yet more pink eye, a new puppy...

What's that? You were with me until I mentioned the new puppy thing? Felt sorry for me or at least you were able to empathize with me up to that point? I don't blame you. I'm a sucker and I know it.

It all started innocently enough (don't all puppy stories start out that way?) with us on our way to a customer appreciation picnic at Lilly Den Farm, an awesome local farm that we buy almost all our meat from. (In fact, as I write this, I realize I can't remember the last time we bought conventional meat from a grocery store...interesting.)

We went to the picnic with good food on our minds and left with a mutt in our arms.

Now you might remember that my background is in marketing and PR. I have worked with some of the best in their field. Giants of the industry. Brands of all brands. The Puppy Lady can give any of them a run for their money.

I don't even know her name. What I know is she was savvy enough to go to that customer appreciation picnic, where she knew there would be big-hearted animal lovers, good ol' Southern folk, transplanted Yankees, liberals, conservatives, the tatooed, the pierced, young families with kids...in other words, a broad target market for her product: puppies who needed a home, pronto. She had them in the middle of the yard, all snuggly and cuddled up with each other, all so darn cute in their puppiness.

I paid them no mind. Didn't even give them a second thought. The Hatchlings played with them, pet them, held them, but I wasn't worried. The thought of taking one home didn't even cross my mind. For a year and a half – the entire time we've been down here – I've said no way to another dog.

Our last rescue dog, a retired racing Greyhound, was awesome. Best dog ever. And I absolutely love dogs, but one more thing to take care of, clean up after, “potty” train, feed, water, doctor, keep alive? Hell no, thank you very much.

Best. Dog. EVER.

(Unless we're talking about another Hatchling, but that's a whole different post. And no, I'm not pregnant. Yes, I may be a bit imbalanced. Hence, the reason for this post.)

Where was I? Oh, right, hell no, thank you very much.

As we chatted with some new friends we met at the picnic, I began to notice that H#1 and 2 seemed to be more and more taken with the puppies. I still wasn't worried. Then, in mid-sip of my beer and mid-conversation, I felt a warm furry thing in my lap. The Puppy Lady had placed one in my lap. In. my. LAP. And H#1, obviously her co-conspirator, started with the octuple-E-pleases.

Pleeeeeeeease? Pleeeeeeeease? Mommmmmyyyyyyyyyyy, pleeeeeeeease?!

Then H#2 took his cue from her and he started in.

Pleeeeeeeease? Pleeeeeeeease? Daaaaddddddddyyyyyyyyyyy, pleeeeeeeease?!

I should've known we were doomed, but I still naively thought we could deflect the assault. Then The Husband did it. He broke rank.

“It's up to your mother.”

The Puppy Lady hungrily turned to me, my cover blown. Now she knew who the holdout was. She started in on me, telling me how cute, how small, they won't grow very big, there's only one boy, wire hair, easy disposition, so sweet, yadda, yadda, yadda. I looked at her and said, “You just put a puppy in my lap–that's evil!”

She looked me dead in the eye and said, “No, that's strategy.” Talk about hard ball.

We spent the next hour discussing why we couldn't get a puppy, why we didn't need one yet...oh whatever, that's the boring part of the story. We got one. A her. To protect her Internet profile, I'll call her Furball #1. 

Just kidding.

Introducing Patchblack. Yes, Patchblack. H#1 wanted Patch or Patches, H#2 wanted a name that ended in Black. So they compromised, without us even interfering. See? Already paying off. And the Hatchlings are soooooo over the moon, it's impossible to be bitter about my sucker-born-every-minute moment.

I've lost my damn mind. But more on that later. I've gotta go let the puppy out.

I'm no Ann Geddes, but I know someday I'll look back on these pictures and smile.

Like tomorrow.

Or 10 years from now. Gah! Ten years will fly by. Just look at the last 10. So for now, I will contiue my mantra of living in the moment. (Which, believe me, I aspire to do this, as I don't always achieve it.)

Today is here.

I will enjoy it.

Tomorrow will come.

I will savor it.

Along with the seeds

I sow.

And the inevitable weeds,

pests,

storms

and droughts.

Because love

When planted

Grows love

My harvest

is plentiful

and good.