What's In A Name

I love coffee. And Amy Schumer.

I used to think other Amys were weird. My mom told me she chose my name off a list of names teachers liked. (Great story, Mom.) And that about summed up my experience with other Amys. And my existence. We were well like by teachers and other than that we had nothing in common. I probably should have been named something else, but now we'll never know because once you name someone something that's what they are. My friend Tiana - she could never be anything but a Tiana. Henry, is totally a Henry. My old friend Sung? He is Sung and that's it. 

But, Amy? I can't even say it correctly when people ask me what my name is. I just end up saying it all nasally and weird, and ultimately the Starbucks people write "Emmy", or "Auntie", or once I got "Meat" on my latte cup. I must have had a cold that day.

I used to turn my head when someone called another Amy and I'd look and my initial thought was always, "I look nothing like that girl. Like, absolutely nothing like her." Which is the dumbest thought I could ever have because OF COURSE I look nothing like her. We have the same name, not the same parents. But my brain takes its own path down the road of crazy sometimes, so there you go. I not only feel connected to people named Amy, I also feel very weird about them.

UNTIL, that is.

Until recently.

Recently the Amys in the world are being a little less weird. My sister-in-law for instance. We now have the exact same name. She's totally cool. She's exactly what I thought an Amy would be like, funny, smart, pretty, short(er than me) and blonde. We look nothing alike. And then there's Amy Poheler and Amy Schumer. I don't know them, but they are both funny, smart, pretty, short(er than me) and blonde. 

My point is I'm coming around to my name. 

A little bit.

My other point is that naming children is hard. Because that is what they will be called forever! It's like you pick a name and you hand them a personality. It's very serious business. You want to name your daughter Bambi, that's cool. But I think we all know what she's going to be like. (A Jewish surgeon from Connecticut, obviously.) You'll never meet an unfriendly Sam, but a girl Sam, that's a whole different story. I named my daughter Tula and it was the best decision I've ever made. She is a Tula to the bone. Addie on the other hand, she might actually be a Suri. Only time will tell.

(Kidding.)

Speaking of Addie!

Guess who lost her first tooth!

Yes, she's a little too young to lose her teeth, but she fell out of bed a few months ago and knocked her teeth. They wiggled slightly, but the doctor assured us they would "harden up" again. But Adeline Leigh sucks her thumb, so I have a feeling that kept those pearly whites wiggling. And then one day, she could flip it totally upside down and I was like, "OH HOLY MOLEY GET THE PLIERS!" and Josh kept saying, "Come here. I'll just give it a quick chaw!" while he made a fast pulling motion. This of course made Addie scream and cry and run away. All the while Josh followed her around the house going, "Just a little chaw!"

"No, Dad please!"

"Chaw!"

"Daddy, stop!"

"A little chaw chitty chaw!"

"No! Please no chaw!" *totally crying now*

Being a parent is so fun. 

It fell out, all on it's own with no chaw-ing at all, in the bathtub and she found it through all the soap and toys. And the tooth fairy did indeed show up. And even wrote her a letter which she carries around with her everywhere.*

She has never been so proud of herself.

How is she so big already?!

*The tooth fairy letter was written by the manly chaw-er himself. He is a really good dad.

It's Exactly Like That

Ok, I actually DO promise I'm back this time. I can't do a major catch up because I don't remember what I had for breakfast (chocolate and cold coffee), but this will be picture-heavy. Because I have a lot of those.

SO!

Life gets in the way of things. A lot of things. Like, doing my hair, or checking to see whether or not I still have Cheetos in my socks. (answer: 9 times out of 10 I have Cheetos in my socks. I don't know why. I don't eat Cheetos very often, but I have a feeling Tula had a big "Treasure Hunt" day and decide to hide all the Cheetos in my socks. I have a question for you Tula - WHERE'S MY WEDDING RING?! Oh, but that is a post for a different day. A day Josh doesn't want to kill me. He blames me for the missing ring, meanwhile his daughter is like a black hole, losing things faster than . . uhm. . . a black hole. That simile didn't work out so well, but you know what I mean!)

And I used to see these depictions of moms on TV sitcoms or commercials, back before I was a mom, where they were all frazzled and unkempt and wild-eyed, and I kinda got it. Like, I thought it was comical because it was an exaggeration. It can't be really like that. I mean, they're just babies. How much trouble can they really cause?!

I mean. . . don't you ever wish you had a time machine just so you can go back and slap yourself?

Except that wouldn't really do any good, because you can't know. You. Can't. You can tell someone a billion times that it's going to be that way, but until they walk a mile in your puke covered shoes, they will. not. get. it.

And I didn't realize that today until about 1 pm when I was scrubbing fresh, bright red poop (color courtesy of antibiotics) out of my favorite blanket, while Henry was eating toilet paper out of the toilet (pee only if that makes anyone feel better), Addie was sticking her new necklace up her butt so she could "poop it out", Luke was wildly humping a pillow (hopefully he did not get it pregnant), and Tula was systematically chewing and swallowing every single piece of cinnamon gum she found in my purse, the contents of which are now splayed out across the entire house so that later I can play a fun little game called, "Where the f is my driver's license!"

And I was still in my pajamas. 

So yeah. This is not an unusual occurrence. This is not even an upsetting occurrence. This is just what happens. There was no anger or yelling, no time outs. There was just triage. 

Wash hands. Take toilet paper out of Henry's mouth. Wash hands. Take gum away. Throw necklace in sink. Wash hands again. Throw blanket in washing machine. Wash hands again. Let Luke have his way with the pillow. He's not harming anyone.

And that was it. 30 seconds and done.

And then the cycle repeated in a new way.

And that's why I was still in my pajamas, with no make-up, and hair that resembled sadness. Because if the kids are awake, there is no time to take care of my appearance. 

So, yes. The movies are right. I leave the house looking like a zombie sometimes, and I don't really care. As long as no one is pooping out a necklace in public we have won as far as I'm concerned. 

Plus, they're so cute no one is really looking at me. 

I hope. 

Best. Bath. Babies. Ever.

Cousins! James is so coy.

I've just come to accept the fact that family pictures are not going to work for a while. 

Gangsta ballerinas, just chillin' with some peanut butter toast.

My ladies.

They were really sick, and all they wanted to do was cuddle with each other.

Straight to my heart.

Sometimes Tula and I get to go to the museum alone and we love it!

I rarely take all four to the grocery store by myself, but when I do we're ALL in pajamas and we have to take Elmo and Sofia too.

Waiting for dad at the airport.

So, I actually did get out of my pajamas once. For a wedding. 

I wish I lived near these girls!