I'm Not Bossy. I'm The Boss.

I was talking to my sister this morning and she asked what Tula was yelling about in the background and I was like, "Oh she's in the bubble bath and she wants me to bring her some bacon."

And then we both paused because - Tula's life right now you guys, is pretty much platinum.

She's in a bubble bath I made for her with my favorite shampoo (because it makes the best bubbles and I'm a pushover), playing with about forty different Barbie dolls, and she's just randomly demanding people bring her bacon.

She's basically Beyonce.

Remember That?

I know I'm like the little boy who cried wolf with this blog, but I REALLY am going to start writing more because I want to be able to remember things. I remember nothing at this point. 

That's not true, I remember the minute the kids went to bed, when they woke up, how many bites they ate, and how much water they've had. I remember every single detail of their lives that is important to their survival. My brain only thinks about what the kids are doing, what they need to be doing, and how I can get it done. I am constantly thinking about these four other little people, so I can't let anything else in. If you want me to remember your birthday you better send me an email telling me to call you. If you want me to remember what to buy at the grocery store you better tattoo that sh*t on my forehead. And if you want me to remember when the last time I shaved my legs was, you better talk me into getting to third base because that's the only way we'll be able to tell.

Aw, remember third base?

Nope.

ME EITHER.

Anyway, the kids are cute. They ate three minutes ago. They need to eat again in 38 minutes. The end.

I actually have been squeezing in extra work, at night when they're asleep, and it is so nice. It is so nice to be using my brain for things that don't involve poop or making toast. And I'm getting paid to write tiny little things which is beyond my favorite thing in the world. It's pretty much like my birthday every day I do it. Even if it's something I have zero interest in writing, I still love it so much. I could write people's grocery lists for them and be thrilled.

Ok, so real stories coming later. For now, pictures!

But first, are we all on the same page with what third base is? Who the hell has time for that?! 

Please tell me you have time for third base. Someone out there! Maybe when the kids are all in preschool? MC, I know you have time for that. You sexy minx.

The kids!

Tula is totally ready for whatever.

Addie loves her new scooter! She's super serious about it.

Bath time love!

Oh these boys! My heart.

Friends are the best.

It's almost June, but they still rock the Christmas jams.

Oh my god I went on a trip. To a wedding. BY MYSELF.

No kids at all.

For the first time in 5 years.

More on that later, obviously.

Mother of the Year

So, Addie's school had them do a little Mother's Day project last week and when I walked in to pick her up on Friday one of her teachers was already laughing. When I asked her what was so funny she said, "Oh just waaaaait!"

Yeah.

FIRST OF ALL!

I was laughing so hard/almost crying.

But, ALSO! 

I don't know why she thinks I like cleaning so much. I genuinely hate it. I like to have things clean. I adore a clean house. I just dislike doing it. Like, with a passion. As soon as she's old enough, Addie is taking over the majority of the cleaning. 

ALSO! 

She's not wrong though. I spend all. damn. day. cleaning the ding dang house.  That's what happens when you have four small, highly destructive children who claim paralysis and young age when I ask them to pick up after themselves. When I told Luke to pick up the blocks he threw all over the living room this morning he just looked at me, said, "Bee!" and ate a Tic-Tac he found on the floor that I'm pretty sure is over 2 years old. 

"Some help you are!" I yelled at him as I walked away to have a talk with Henry about how he shouldn't eat tin foil. In response Henry giggled and spit out the tin foil and something else I couldn't define, but I'm pretty sure it was a hardened piece of orange I lost 3 months ago.

"Henry, go home you're drunk," I told him as I moved onto Tula.

Tula was sitting on a sea of laundry spilled onto the floor, so large I could no longer see a single square inch of floor. I didn't even bother with that.

"Call me when you're 12 and I can ground you," I said walking away to the next mess.

And the next. 

And the next.

And that's why she thinks my favorite drink is "alcohol."

For the record! I only drink wine after I put everyone to bed! And I can barely get through a half a glass before I fall asleep in my ice cream.

Little stinker. Now her teachers think I'm an OCD lush, with a salad-eating disorder. 

Such a typical mom.

My babies and me on Mother's Day. 

I am so lucky.