Ah Yes, A Happy Mother's Day to Me.

Just a few hours before things officially clicked over to mother's day, my children, who were supposed to be in bed, could be heard still pitter-pattering around our upstairs.

"Moooommmmmy - can you come here for a second pleaaaaaassssee??" could be heard, repeatedly.

Usually I would ignore such requests, but I was feeling generous, you know, it almost being a holiday and all, so I went to the bottom of the stairs to see what all the commotion was about.

The boys were at the top of the stairs, looking endearingly WT in their Lighting McQueen sleeveless undershirts. I notice that Hayden has a powdery-pink mustache and matching powder pink H's drawn on his arms and legs. Both of them seem to be covered in a surplus of bandaids. Just as I begin to put it all together, they held out a small pink canister of (chewable) Children's Pepto.

"Is this a treat?" Oh no. OH NO. This is not good. The treat inquiry? The pink powder? The semi-guilty looks in their faces?
I don't even want to admit it.

"How many did you eat?" I asked.

Cash held up one solitary finger. Hayden? He held up four (at least they know their numbers).

I quickly surveyed the bathroom and the hallway to make sure nothing else was consumed, and what did I see laying on the bathroom rug?

Scattered among the band-aids, lay an empty Rolaids wrapper. And I'd thought the time they'd cut open the toothpaste bottle was bad. Nope, this was worse. Was it possible to overdose on antacids? Was Hayden going to be stopped up for weeks? Why hadn't I paid more attention to what they were doing after I said my good-nights? Why on earth had I put all the medicine back within their reach?

So it was with great remorse and anxiety that I trudged back down the stairs at my husband's urging to put in a call to poison control. My first one ever, a fact for which I am actively counting my blessings.

Thankfully, we had little to worry about, but were advised to give the boys a little something to munch on and to drink . This means that in the end, my kids got exactly what they wanted, a tasty light night sack. Though I'm not quite sure they planned the side of lecture that they ended up getting along with it.

Yes, nothing spells Happy Mother's Day quite like the perfect cocktail of guilt and panic garnished with worry and topped off with a splash of regret. Mmm, motherhood. Yummy.

They Way Its Supposed to Be

Last night we did something we rarely do.

We all sat down.

We all ate.

And we did it all at the the same table.

Now, its not as if we never eat together, we usually do. Only at different tables.

Yes, its true, I make my children sit at a "kids" table.

Condemn me, will you? I am a horrible mother, forcing my children to sit at a separate table every time we sit down to break bread.

I'll admit, its part my wish that they had something their own size (leftover from when we retired their highchairs), part my love for their sweet little (cracked, stained) cartoony IKEA table, and part my, um, clutter issue. As in there's so much stuff piled on the kitchen table that there's really only room for two people to eat.

Lately, though, the boys have been begging to sit at the table with us, and this week I finally cleared enough room for them to do so.

Ah, and what gentlemanly dinner dates they were, chatty and (minorly) well-mannered. The topics of conversation were diverse - R2D2's native tongue, what will happen to this house when we grow up and move out, and how big of a truck will we need to move all that stuff. Plates were cleaned, seconds were requested.

I sat back a little and tried to take in the moment. Here we were, our little family, enjoying each other's company. These were my children. My children. My husband. When did I get to this point? And how did I get here so fast? It kind of felt like the first time in a long time that I'd had a second to block out my usual panic/stress/freak-out/overreact/grump/cranky/nervous/whatever-else-fits mode and just say to myself, "Yes, I wanted this. I needed this. I love this."

How could you not love two little kickers who's favorite fact of the moment is that IHOP never closes. How could I not love a husband who is in so much pain from keeping our yard looking nice (and it is much appreciated, my dear) that he suddenly acts like he's just turned 75 instead of 30?

Now if I could just find a place to put all that crap I cleaned off the table...

The Post In Which I Dote on My Little Sisters

We spent Sunday cheering on my sisters as they ran their very first marathon, so this is for them.

To Catherine and Grace...

You are my baby sisters. You didn't come along until I was 4 and 7 years old. I'd been ruling the roost for quite some time until you showed up, but you happened to come along just in time to burst my bubble before it got a little too big (though I'll admit, I do sometimes still have a little trouble getting through doorways).

You are my little sisters. I've always loved you, even if you did listen in on (and comment on) all my phone calls with boys. I still love you, even if you do make fun of me every time I let the occasional southern expression slip (I know it!). And I'll always love you, even if you do tell my kids all the things I got grounded for in high school (no comment).

You are my younger sisters, always a little bit cuter, a little bit hipper, a little bit cooler than me.

But this weekend, this weekend I realized that you are also a couple of awesome women. Watching you take on that race was awe-inspiring. Riding around the city trying to keep up with you was exhilirating, to say the least, especially with Dad and Mom (aka Crazed Racoon & Sleeping Bear) at the wheel (lets just say we are lucky we didn't take out any runners by accident).
Seeing you cross the finish line was an incredible and emotional moment.

You can't even imagine how much fun we had witnessing the two of you accomplish something so tremendous and look so good doing it. Every time we happened upon you on the course you were all smiles. Sure, maybe it was because we are all screaming and clapping pig clappers and holding ridiculous signs while we chased after you,

but whatever - you truly looked as if you were actually enjoying running for hours on end.

I am so proud of you. You set your sights on something and you tackled it beautifully. In fact, you tackled it, knocked it out, dragged it away and left it in the dust. I know how good it feels to set out to accomplish something and actually do it, and do it well. My wish for you is that you can take this experience and let it bleed into the rest of your lives. Sure, you've always been able to accomplish whatever you put your minds to, but now you've really done it. And you know you can do it.

This is just the beginning. Soon this will be just one accomplishment at the bottom of a pile of many other amazing happenings.

I am blessed to have you as sisters. My children idolize and adore you (whether you are good at shooting free-throws or not....) and they are so fortunate to have you in their lives.



I love you, my little sissies! (And please don't hate me for posting your sweaty marathon pictures on the internet.)

Love, Ems

Road-Weary

I just got back from my third out of town trip in the last month, and dang, I'm tired.

The boys and I went home to watch my sisters kick some serious pig booty in the Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon.

I'd tell you all about it now, but dang. I'm tired. I just spent 5 hours in the car with my kids who never. fell. asleep.

Not only were they awake the whole time, but holy crap were they ever loud! Even Def Leppard on 11 couldn't drown them out (instead they sang along, and asked me to TURN IT UP.)

So I'm gonna go try and get a good night's sleep, and hopefully regain my hearing, and um, maybe my patience.

And then I'm going to have a lot to talk about.

Because OH MY GOD. Its Kindergarten registration week.

Its About Time.

Last night I had the great privilege of FINALLY meeting my (sort-of former) partner-in-crime from Music City Moms, Tori!

We've been blogging side by side for over a year, and you know, now that our blogs are being phased out, we thought - Heck. its about time we hung out.

And hung out we did! We ate awesome food, drank tasty drinks, and talked until we couldn't anymore. Or more like we talked until they closed the restaurant and made us leave. But whatever. They couldn't stop us. We showed them by continuing our conversation in the parking lot! Ha! Take that!

If you're not already reading her blog, I suggest you start now. If not for her amazing insights and hilarious stories, then at least for the awesome pictures she posts of her and Russ from days gone by (not to mention she has the most extraordinary little fan club of commenters) .

I think this marks the first time I've actually linked to someone else's blog on mine. Not only that, I actually broke bread in public with someone I knew only via my keyboard.

Whoa. Hello, blogosphere. I've officially entered your realm.