White Pants

With the exception of skirts on Sundays, and my stretchy workout pants on Zumba days, all I wear are jeans. Currently, every last pair I have either a) don't fit -or- b) fit and have holes in the knees from excessive wear.

Yet somehow here I am, a solid week after Labor day, wearing white pants.




weird.

I received them from a friend who was getting rid of some old clothes. Anything from this friend, being super hot and ten bazillion times more fashionable than myself, had to, at the very least, be tried on. I didn't think the white pants would even come close to fitting. Especially since earlier that day...

someone asked me when my baby was due.

guuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Even though i'm 80% robot and don't cry ever, even when we're watching Toy Story 3 or Up and Blair is sobbing next to me, this got to me hardcore. I cried in my car like an emotionally disturbed four year old. (something with which I have loads of experience)

So when I tried on the impossibly small white pants with no hope whatsoever, only to find them pleasantly closed, I decided I would wear them today just on principle.

No I am not pregnant. Thanks for asking.

So, dear lady who just happens to work at my FAVORITE bookstore, please try to have a little more tact next time I come in to buy charmingly used copies of Rebecca, or to order some more Steven Milhauser.

Thanks.

Recent quotes of awesomeness from my kids:

Elliot:

• "Mommy, don't call daddy a terrorist."
• "Please? just a few more minutes?" (in response to my efforts to wake her for school. I thought it'd be a few more years before I started hearing this. guess not.)
• (eavesdropping while she wishes on a star) "I wish that I can be big so I can be smart like daddy and exercise like mommy, and I wish that I can be big so I can drive a car"
  

---

Astoria:

• "I have Snow White poop. Because I'm a princess."
• (after giving her a kiss on the cheek outside on a breezy day) "Mommy! the wind blew my kiss away!"
• "You're the biggest Mommy in the WHOLE WORLD!"

---

Rou:

• "bababababababababadadadadadadaaaaaaaaa...." (you get the idea)

Thanks to Chelsey for the photos. You always save my bacon. Or something...

Be Nice

I am not a very neat person. So I really don't have seizures or anything when my kids have toy explosions in the living room, or decide that it's a good idea to eat popcorn in my bed.
I am, however, a reasonably nice and polite person. So it stands to reason that all my kids should be the model of affability right?
Not so much.
Astoria is... well, (how do I say this nicely?) A bully? A terribly violent and sadistic bully?
No day is complete without an episode involving Astoria grabbing Elliot by the hair, pulling her down to the ground, ripping the toy she was playing with out of her hands, then run away top speed. This is not a joke, nor an exaggeration.



Maybe it's a middle child thing? I don't know.

I know that at times I put some unrealistic expectations on her. I mean she is, after all, only two. But because of the fact that she is so ridiculously smart, I sometimes forget that she is not the same age as Elliot. For example, Astoria is obsessed with letters. OBSESSED. Her favorite song is the ABC song, she reads every letter she sees no matter where we are, and she can even read a couple words by sight (to, we, me, go, and jump). It's pretty amazing. But even though she has the literacy skills of a four-year old, her emotional level is still definitely TWO.

So we've tried time-outs, spankings, taking away privileges (like toys and treats). Nothing seems to be sinking in. All I can really hope for at this point is that is just a phase, and that someday her, uh... assertiveness will turn into positive adult traits, like confidence and determination. But as for now, i'm just trying to figure out ways to keep her from getting us kicked out of nursery (again) or the play room at the gym (again).

sigh...

The French Woman who Lives in the Jungle

I know i'm not exactly the greatest at posting things frequently... but this time I actually have a legitimate excuse.

Her name is Rousseau Evangeline Einfeldt

Statistics:
Girl
7 lbs. 10 oz.
18 1/2 inches long
Beautiful.
Lots of dark red hair, and dark eyes
Little mole on her left knee. (it's freaking adorable)
Name is pronounced roo-SO e-VAN-gel-een
She was named after Jean-Jaques Rousseau, a French philosopher, and incidentally, the character Danielle Rousseau from LOST. Evangeline is a poem by Longfellow (As well as a character in the film Nanny McPhee... though I probably shouldn't be admitting to that :) )


Enjoys:
Milk
Spitting up on her parents
Her loving sisters
Angels and Airwaves

This picture would be great if it weren't for the fact that Elliot was a little less than diligent in keeping Rou's head up. ")

The birth story is as follows:
She took her sweet time getting here. I was induced on December 8th, (4 days after the due date) and while the pitocin definitely got things started, it didn't do much else, except make me throw up. As with my other two girls, I chose NOT to get an epidural (a topic which I have VERY strong feelings about, but probably should not go into at this time. Let me just say that bragging about natural childbirth is like bragging about being a vegetarian or running marathons. Yes it is awesome, and yes you should get a gold star... but as much as you'd like it to be, it's not for everyone). Once She finally decided to come out (10 hours later) it was very very quick. I pushed once. Did you read that? ONCE! It took less than 2 minutes. Wow. I attribute it all to prenatal Yoga and Pilates. ;)

For the last 3 weeks we've been enjoying our little french woman. Elliot is beside herself with happiness. We are constantly having to tell her to stop touching, patting, and trying to pick up the baby. But it's better than the alternative i guess. Astoria loves her, but is a little bit more concerned with the baby cutting into the attention she feels she needs. Blair loves his little cat-napper, and is happy to hold her after spending the first week of her life so far away (I took the girls to SLC with me for a week after she was born).


As for me, i'm tired (obviously) but recovering nicely. I've been to the gym only once so far, but i am really antsy to get back in the habit. I'd also like to fit into my clothes again someday. I'm back at work, but only a little.





My iTunes alphabetical adventure is now to Believe by Yellowcard.

The Clean Gene

I live in a messy house.

I would love to say that this is a problem that I'm constantly combating... but let's be honest here, I'm not trying THAT hard.

However, yesterday I was immensely blessed with two toddlers deciding to sleep in ridiculously late, while I was up and awake earlier than usual. Not only did I get to enjoy a quiet and solitary shower, a cup of tea and frosted mini-wheats (or wheaty-wheats as Elliot calls them), I also had the motivation to really clean my kitchen.

Usually it takes company coming over for crock-pot Sunday to get my fat fat bottom off the couch (or computer chair) and tidy up.

There are these people who have clean houses all the time. I've been inside these houses, and I know they exist. These people have kids and babies, and yet there are no mysterious pink stains on the carpet, no orange crayon on the walls, and no food caked on the the backs of their kitchen chairs. Who are these people?!?

I keep thinking... someday when I'm a stay-at-home mom i'll have time to clean, and I'LL be one of those clean house people.

But let's be honest... probably not. I wasn't born with that obsessive cleaning gene that it sesems most women have. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry to my husband, my kids, and anyone who leaves my house with a Pop-Tart stuck to the back of their t-shirt (yes... that happened).

Then again, who knows? Maybe i'll wake up early tomorrow, enjoy a cuppa Bengal Spice, and hose down my bathrooms with bleach and glass cleaner.

It could happen.