There's got to be a phrase equivalent to the dog days of summer, 

although I'm sure it's not fondly thought of, 

in fact often despised, yes, make that completely despised, 

when referring to this part of winter.

 

Cold, dreary, dark, windy, bitter, just enough snow left on the ground to not look pretty, and the cold air sends tears down your face because it's just that cold, plus you're so, so incredibly tired of bundling everyone up in the car just to walk 20 feet across the parking lot only to unbundle while you grocery shop, just to bundle up again to go back to get into the car, remove the coats, buckle the carseat straps and finally drive home.  Although the days are short with such limited daylight, they feel so, so long when you're at home with little ones because there aren't enough toys in your house to keep everyone happy, entertained, and quiiiiieeeetttt.  And not crawling on you.  Like everyone is touching you all day long...body slamming you on the couch, crawling their way up onto your lap.  Someone is always touching.

You are all desperately needing a break from each other and your house, but there's really nowhere to go when one of those tots is sick again.  At least there's no where to go where you'd be welcome.  Not Chick-fil-a's play area, not storytime, not the gym drop-off center, not play group, not Kids Day Out, not the lame mall play place, not Barnes and Noble to play with their train table since it's screwed into the table so little sisters can't pull the tracks apart, probably not even Cabella's to visit the taxidermy-ed bears and deer.  Even the ladies at the grocery store are giving you the eye when they see the snot rocket coming out of your little one's nose, asking "you doing okay today?"  

 

I'm talking about the days where you've already colored.  Twice.  And had snacks.  And watched Thomas the Train.  And folded laundry with toddlers which is really more like throwing clean clothes all over your master bedroom to see who can make the bigger mess.  And maybe getting one towel folded.  But not put away.  And you've played trains.  And trucks.  And then pretend kitchen.  And then trucks again.  And dodged a football flying at your head.  And read 15 books.  And read the same book 15 times.  And tried to clean the floors, only to turn around just as there's a box of dried cereal being emptied onto those exact just-cleaned-floors.  And gosh, how can't it be naptime yet?  And then finally it is.  Except your oldest doesn't nap.  So there goes the two hours you thought you'd have to refold the laundry, clean up the kitchen from lunch, and maybe squeeze in a little bit of work time/eat the M&Ms from the potty training jar and read blogs.  

 

I'm talking about the days when you spent all weekend house-bound potty training your oldest, watching him like a hawk, and he's totally got this peeing in the potty thing down and then before you can even say, "tell me when you need to go potty, ok" he destroys the fresh pair of underwear he's proudly been rocking because he doesn't understand the concept of tending to some more serious business than pee on the toilet.  

 

And then while going to get paper towels and cleaner to wipe up your bathroom floors, he runs into your bedroom, sits on the bed and leaves a nice poop imprint on your husband's pillow.  (Not that this really happened, I'm just saying.  It could.  It's hypothetical.  Hypothetical-ish.)    

And I know you are all feeling it too because everyone's kids are coughing, and throwing up, and making messes you didn't even know could be made.  

 

You love your job.  You love being at home with your kids, but sometimes it's hard.  And more work than fun.  And not fun work.

So, the phrase to describe this part of winter may not be known to me, 

but the phrase I keep repeating at my house is, 

it's just a phase, it's just a phase, it's just a phase.

 

That and "tell me when you need to go potty, ok?"

And get a *$#%^* move on, winter.  We're over you.

Henry's on day three of acting like a rabid animal trapped in his bedroom during naptime instead of actually napping.

It's been a phase the last few weeks and makes me think of all the fun we'll all have 

when he and Nelle have to share a room come late summer when the baby arrives.

Oh my poor, sweet, sweet Nelle.

 

Sometimes he takes his drawers out of his dresser and pulls his clothes out and throws them all over the room.  

Sometimes he removes every book from the bookshelves and puts them in a pile on his bed, beside his bed, or under his bed.

One time he wiped butt paste all over the back of his door.

Sometimes he takes his pants off.  And puts on different pants.  Or just takes his diaper off too.

This week he's been a combination of destructive and just plain loud.  Which makes it impossible for me to nap even though I'm practically falling asleep by lunch time and very difficult for Nelle to nap who reallllly needs it as she's currently transitioning from two naps to just one.

Yesterday he sat on his bed screaming, "MOM!"  "MAHMMMMM!" reminiscent of Will Ferrell in Wedding Crashers.  

(If I find Ham in a robe asking me for meat loaf, I'm going to lose it.)

30 minutes ago I just found him chewing on one of his semi truck wheels he disassembled yesterday 

hanging on to the curtain rod he just pulled out of the wall.  Andrew will be psyched about that one.

 

And just now he was staring at me from the top of the stairs after removing the child lock on the inside of his door 

and walking through the house to find me.

I mean, I probably sound like a broken record.

But, there are toddlers.

And then there are toddler Hams.  

Oh. Emmmmm. G.  

--

And then he is the sweetest.

photo featured in week six of i carry your heart

 

Like the time when he looked at me while I was making him a PBJ for lunch, and he said, "I really love you Mommy."

 

Or when he says, "I love my familyyyyyy!" out of nowhere.

 

And says, "Otaaaaay Mommy" to everything all the live long day.

 

Or when I told him we were going to meet Andrew for lunch at Jason's Deli, and he said, "I can't believe it!"

 

Or when he told me he could fix the remote because "I a man Mom."

 

 Or when he unprompted started rubbing my belly and asked if the baby was going to to come out of my belly button.

 

--

These are the things I will tell your future wife, Henry, when you have a son, and he's a sweet, loving, terror of a child just like you.  

Hang in there.  The sweet moments make the ridiculous ones just a teeny less ridiculous.

 

Now take a flippin nap. 

I'm on day three of my weekly laundry charge.  Every week I can't figure out how only four people  produce enough laundry for so SO many loads.  And I should be switching loads from the washer to the drier to my bed where I've always folded and sorted and piled until the end of the day when all I want to do is get in my bed and pull the covers up to my chin and sleep, but then I walk in and see the piles that have been folded and sorted and not put away.  And then I put them away.  At 10 o'clock at night.  On day three.

So you know what I'll be doing tonight...such a wild and crazy night for this almost 30-year-old!  

Except this week, I don't think day one of the laundry battle should count because I was sick.

Again.

I don't know if it's just been that bad of a winter for illness, 

or having two tots running around touching every possible germy surface when we are out in public, or that I'm tired and my body feels totally depleted or that I'm pregnant and I'm tired and I've self-diagnosed that my body is totally depleted.  

 

But the kids got another round of colds this week, and Henry got a ticket to the pharmacy today to pick up some nice pink gooey medicine to knock the sinus infection right out of him, and on Wednesday morning after a couple of not so great nights of sleep, I woke up totally nauseous, achy, fevery, chilled, and headachey.  Of which I powered the best I could.  Ish.

Meaning, I sent Henry to Kids' Day Out when he was borderline maybe-he-should-stay-home with that buggered nose, but I just can't today so you're going.  And then when the kids got up from really terrible naps that afternoon, I laid on the couch and tried to get Henry to stop jumping on me and at one point tried to hide in my room, but he just followed me in there and laughed as he tried to jump on me some more, 

and I watched the clock until Andrew finally walked through the door and made me some tea.

 

I'm very, very happy to be feeling better. 

I'm very, very happy to have warmer weather here, even for just a bit, so I can open our windows and Lysol the schnikes out of our house.

And, I'm very, very happy it's Friday.

A good weekend to you and you and you.

Better go switch the laundry.