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.
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.
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.
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!