Michael, My Heart

For some reason I don't write about my brother a lot.

Or even, at all really.

I don't know why.

I love him more than almost anyone else. I think about him every day. I talk about him every day. Every thing I do in life, whether it be a major milestone like getting married, or having kids, or a small one like finishing a job project, or making my bed before I leave the house in the morning. I think about my brother.

I think about him every time I make peanut butter toast because once when I was about 7 or 8 years old I watched my mom take him out to the bus, like she did every morning, and I remember thinking to myself, "When I'm a grown up I'm going to take care of Michael and I'm going to make my toast like this and then I'll have to rush him out the door in a hurry before I grab my briefcase and rush off to my job." Because to me, being a grown up meant a lot of busy rushing around. But it also meant taking care of my brother.

I think about him when I put on Disney movies for my girls because Michael loves Disney anything. I absolutely cannot be in the room when they watch Lambert the Sheepish Lion because it is so my brother, like every single word of that movie was played a hundred million times when we were young. The combination of the fact that he was a kid, and a kid with severe autism, made it so that we watched the same movie over and over and over and over and over, until the tape literally crumbled from so much wear. So, when I hit play for the girls because they beg to watch it, I almost sprint out of the room because I am so overwhelmed with emotion I cannot be in there if I don't want to start sobbing.

I think about him every time I go swimming or get in a hot tub, because in the water is the one place he's sort of free. The weightlessness of the water, and the being surrounded by something with equal amounts of pressure on you must make him feel comforted and safe, because in the water is the one place he wants you to hold him, and hug him, and play with him. Outside of the water his autism makes everything too harsh, too uncomfortable, too much. We used to joke that he'd give you a hug and a shove. He'll lean in for a hug because he knows he has to, but it's an immediate shove away because it's too close. You're in his space. But in the water you can hug him for hours. In the water, he's free.

I can't call him on the phone like I can my mom and my sister, both of whom I talk to every single day, sometimes several times a day. I can set up Skype appointments with him and my mom, but it's dicey. He might not be in the mood. My kids might not be in the mood to let me talk. But when we do talk and he lets me sing to him, I will sing as long as he wants. I will sing a song we made up about the Galleria Mall a hundred years ago. I will sing Miss Mary Mack. I will sing Ant Go Marching until I'm hoarse and there are no more ants to count. So, I miss a daily connection with him. I miss being able to see him for dinner and call him "Sugarbutt" to his face which he love/hates. I want to feel him hug me and shove me away.

One day I'll write about him. Like, really write about him. The little things. The going out to dinner. The home magazines. The word books. The cloth corners my mom used to stay up late at night sewing so he'd have something to stim on that wasn't the shirt he was wearing. The lock on his bedroom light. The reading. The constant, horrible ear pain. The trips to Catalina. The snuggling. The swimming. The time he started to lose his hair like our dad, which was such a shock because he and Becky are still my little babies. My little twin brother and sister. (Who let them grow up?) The tantrums. The homes. The achievements. The laughter. The music. The smile.

But not today.

Not today.

Because I can't.

And I know you've all probably seen this, but this video made me so happy. So extremely happy. And this guy is so much more functional than my brother. Like, light-years more. But still. It's awesome. It makes me glad I worked at Starbucks once.







Whenever anyone asks me what my favorite job was, I always say Starbucks. Where I live now Starbucks is like a dirty word because it's corporate and not local, and that's a major sin for a lot of Bozemanites. But I loved it, I loved talking to people all day, and constantly working, and that's where I met one of my BFFs Jessica. Plus, I love lattes made the same way every single time. Sorry local coffee shop. Don't be weird and we can be cool.

(Just kidding local place, I love you too!)

Anyway, that video is great. And it reminded me that people are great to each other sometimes. And it reminded me of my brother.

My heart.

photo by Jimmy Bui

Nothing is Even Open Yet!

Well, I started doing something dumb. I signed up to take Pure Barre classes at 5:15 in the gee dee morning. 

That means I get up at 4:30 am. It's basically like taking a workout class in the middle of the night. When I show up the first thing I think is, "How did I get here. Am I still drunk from last night?"

I drove, and probably.

I take a glass of wine to bed with me the night before I have to wake up super early (my logic is ON POINT people!) because I want to be sure I fall asleep, but then I wake up like, "Oh my god I'm tipsy and I have to figure out how to put this thong on. Do my hands go here? What's this pocket for?"

But seriously, why is there a little crotch pocket in some women's underwear? Should I be storing things in my panties? Is it for love letters? No one has ever written me a crotch note. I feel a little gypped.  

I guess my kids won't find my gum in there. 

(I had to look up how to spell "gypped". I had no idea that's how it was spelled. Uh. . . is that from "gypsy". My best friend is Romanian, I'll take offense on her behalf. That's super racist ya'll. Now, if you'll excuse me I gotta go Jew someone down on a price.)

So, I'm way too tired from my ridiculously early Barre classes and my late night Bachelor watching (only three girls left! rumor has it he sleeps with them all! yay tv!), so I can't write anything else. But here's some pictures!

Matching hair and matching outfits. I don't dress the twins like twins, but I love dressing the girls like twins. 

Freedom!

Auntie Becky came to visit!

So did Auntie Elspeth!

Lukey is actually trying to hug me in this picture. He's so lovey it's insane. I want to have him permanently glued to me.

And Henry is just a card! Look at that face! Jokes galore!

The girls eat a lot of peanut butter toast. I'd say 9 times out of 10 that's their breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Goosey.

The sun came out and all the snow melted! The boys were in heaven!

"What's this fresh air stuff, Mom? It's Amazing!"

My silly little monkey

Bookers!

Why Isn't It Open 24 Hours

Me: Oh man, I want to go to Target by myself.

Becky: You should try it.

Me: I bet I would do a whole lot less yelling.

Becky: Ha! I would hope so.

This photo has nothing to do with anything. He's just very, very nice to look at.

You're welcome.

You guys. I yell a lot at Target. Mainly because I usually have at least 3, but most often 4 kids with me, and only two of them will stay in the cart. The other two promise me, every single time they promise me, that they will be good listeners and stay with Mommy. And every time I am fooled! I am definitely the idiot in this scenario, but they are master manipulators of cuteness. 

Things start off well, but then about 13 seconds into the trip Tula runs, like hauls ass, down the aisles toward where she thinks the toys are. Luckily for me she's always wrong. That girl has no sense of direction. Or memory apparently. She's been to Target a billion times in her short life. Then Addie takes off in a different direction, because she actually knows where things are, and I stand there fully prepared to abandon the boys in the middle of the detergent section but trying to decide who to chase after first. 

Usually it's Tula, and while I'm running I start yelling, "ADELINE LEIGH! Get back here and watch your brothers!" And then the staff rolls their eyes at me for leaving my invisible 4 year old in charge of the babies. 

Then I spend the rest of the trip talking very sternly through gritted teeth that they better stay with me or I'll blah blah blah. No one listens to me. I still chase after them through the whole store. At least we get some exercise in. 

The amazing thing is I NEVER forget anything. I always get everything I came for, and about 20 things I didn't need but now cannot live without. Such is the pull of Target.

I've seen women with their kids all standing attentively next to them, never going so much as a pencil's length away from them. How do they do that? Am I not strict enough? That's probably a question for a different blog.

The answer is most likely, yes. 

But you try having four teeny tiny kids and see if you stick to your guns constantly and still are able to love.   I could be a warden all day, but then I'd be a warden all day. 

A blog for a different day!

Is It Too Late Now To Say Sorry

So, my friend Tiana and I started sending pictures of ourselves (I hear the kids call them selfies) drinking wine back and forth to each other.

She'll send me something like this, with a caption that says something like, "Best parenting decision I've ever made!"

Drink up, Mama!

And then I'll send something back like this:

Way ahead of you!

(Also, yes that's my daily hairdo. UGH! My hair. Can I just shave it all off? Can I!?)

And the reason we started doing this is because being a parent is stress-mother-fing-ful! So is having a job. And a partner in life. And paying bills. And living through winter. Depressing, grey-skies winter. And listening to your grandma tell a story about her sprinklers. And running out of grapefruit La Croix. And realizing the reason your hand smells like poop is because there is actual poop on it. And listening to your grandma tell a story about her sprinklers, again. And trying to plan to train for a marathon, then realizing how much time it'll take away from your kids. And feeling guilty that the time away from your kids for the marathon training actually sounds nice. Like a break. Like a breath of freedom, paid for in shin splints, and pulled butt muscles, and knees that creak and crack every time you move. And making dinner no one eats. And forgetting to put the laundry in the dryer so now all your clothes smells like mildew. And stepping on a small pile of Cheerios and crushing them into a billion smithereens just moments after you just finished cleaning the floor.

Being a parent is hard. So, sometimes. SOMETIMES. You need to have a few delicious sips of wine to help you manage the evenings. Especially because 5pm is the witching hour. 

5pm is the time kids decide to lose their marbles, freak out about any and everything, make every mess possible, and start fights with each other the second you think they're playing nice. This probably happens because you're trying to make dinner and unwind, and kids cannot handle your focus being on anything but them.

And since Tiana has been my friend for 20+ years I can call her and say stuff like, "OH MY GOD, my kids needed attention all day long. Like, it just did not end. They're so needy! Oh! And then! My husband came home."

And she'll say, "Oh they're the worst. They want you to say hi to them and stuff. As if there's time for that!"

"Right?! You know what would be romantic? If he walked in and just started sweeping. Like, didn't even take his coat off, just started really getting into those floors."

"Oh, and then if your kids would actually sit and read books. Quietly."

"YES!"

Aaaahhh. We can dream can't we?

(**I guess I have to put a disclaimer in here that we both love our kids and husbands times a thousand. Obviously, those five people are my favorite five people in the whole damn world. But occasionally you need to let off steam. And if you're one of those people who doesn't do that because you keep it all bottled in, or even more crazy, one of those people who doesn't do that because you "don't feel stressed by your young family" then good for you! I'll bet that Xanax tastes delicious washed down with that gin and tonic.)

Anyway, instead of a picture I sent a short video to her (and Alex, my other bff living the Kid Life). Because a picture just did not do my feelings on my wine justice.

I had just found out my husband wasn't going to be home until after bedtime, the kids were going bonkers being that the clock had literally just struck 5:01pm and Justin Beiber was blasting on the radio. I had two choices - Get all sad and mad and stressed that I had another 3 hours alone with the crazies, or get down with it. Laugh it all off and dance my mother fucking ass off.

I chose option 2. Because I like not crying. 

That continued for a good while. And yes I drank that whole glass in two swallows.

HOW COULD YOU NOT? Especially when Justin is asking if it's too late to say sorry.

Nope. Never, Justin. You say sorry all you want!

Part of the reason I started with the wine. Someone is her own canvas.

Addie was covered in paint too, but then she got cleaned up and looked downright adorable.

Gorge.

Phrases That Have Different Meanings In Your 30's, No. 174

"Hold on, I need to find my pants."

In my 20's if I would have said, "Hold on, I need to find my pants," it usually was because of some fun night of sexy stuff with someone I barely remember, and I was trying to pretend to find them but knew I probably didn't really need them anyway because I was about to get right back into bed.

But in my 30's? Not so much.

Now it's because I need to hide my insanely white booty from the neighbors, and to protect my legs from the one year olds that like to use me as a chew toy. If I have pants on at least I have a barrier between their teeth and my bare skin.

I yelled "Hold on, I need to find my pants," last night to my husband, but it was in no way sexy. No way at all. I was standing in the girls' room with no pants on because I'd just gotten back from a run and was halfway through taking my sweaty clothes off before I heard a crash and a gag which could mean someone broke something and then someone else is currently gagging on a broken shard of something, or it could just mean someone broke something because they're choking on something. Either way the outcomes are not good. So, I raced across the house pantsless to find a broken bedside lamp courtesy of Tula (the 4th in a year) and Henry gagging on a wad of newspaper. All in all not as terrible as it usually is.

20's - Sex.

30's - Naps at the movie theater because I can't stay awake past 9pm.

20's - Drinking til 3am, then waking up and going for a long run.

30's - Drinking some Emergen-C at 3pm and hoping the boost of Vitamin C doesn't keep me up past my 8:30pm bedtime.

20's - Reading a whole book in a day, then going out to dinner with friends.

30's - Eating leftover mac 'n cheese off the floor for dinner, then looking at my new book on the counter and just thinking, "I want to read you but I need to fold these socks."

20's - Moving across the country on a whim.

30's - Moving to the other couch because the other one is caked in day-old yogurt.

20's - Think I know what depression feels like.

30's - Deal with postpartum hormones and feel the world break apart.

20's - Think I've fallen in love a few major times.

30's - Have kids, know that I was an idiot in my 20's, truly, madly, deeply fall in love with four little kids. World is amazing.



So, yes. Things and phrases are different from decade to decade.

I'm cool with that. I like this decade.

I couldn't find the boys the other day, and then I heard some cooing from the bathroom. Guess who learned to climb into the cabinet!

Grant is so happy to be part of the girls!

Also, you can totally tell which two are mine because they don't stop eating for anything.

Lovin' up on Auntie Judy.

Me: Tula, that's beautiful! What is it?

Tula: A tent.

Me: A tent?

Tula: A tent for a dragon.