Last weekend was like hands up, hallelujah...spring is here!

We did a few chores around our house that have been incredibly neglected all winter. 
Raking bags upon bags of leaves that fell starting in October and just kept a'comin' through the last several months. 
Washing our cars to get rid of all the winter gunk. 

And the kids just played.  And played.  And played.

We didn't go in until the sun set.  And everyone was happy.

And I realized it wasn't just me that had missed this, but really we all had.

Hoping for more of this tomorrow and Sunday.

What a sight.  Henry walked out the door like this, coming to greet us after he woke up from his nap in his undies.  He didn't bother with pants. 
Nor did he bother with wiping the residual donut evidence he left on his chin.  

And Nelle in her dots on dots, courtesy of Andrew.

That little pot belly might be the cutest.

I celebrated my 30th birthday on Tuesday with this little family of mine.  

Just a little impromptu dinner out where we sat down with a round of waters on a patio, looked through the menu and then decided we didn't want to eat there so mumbled some lame excuse to the wait staff and went to an old standby where the Nelle had a meltdown because she wanted "mo meh" (more milk) than her little cup held.  Thank goodness for a fully stocked bar ready to make White Russians...or fill a sippy cup.  

So this is 30, people.

At least it's mine.

I went outside yesterday with my tripod and camera and intended to take a new bump picture just like the last one.  Same dress, same spot.

And they all looked terrible.

I think I'm over same dress, same spot, bigger bump pictures this go'round.  

Not that I don't want pictures with you as you grow, baby bug.   

I just feel like doing something more...personal, thoughtful...real.

Plus, you should see me making sure no one is driving down the road or peeping at me through their windows, making a fool of myself posing in front of my garage door 10 times over because it's a lot harder than one would think, trying to look cute, smiley, yet nonchalant, but still hey! 

here's my belly, and I love it!

 

So, here I am at 18.5 weeks and next week I get to see you for the third time on that little black and white screen and wonder who you are, and willing you to know how much you are loved and how excited we are to meet you.  Andrew will get to see you for the first time too, and I think we're bringing Henry and Nelle.  I'm sure their little voices will help make you dance around on the screen for us.  They already do.  I almost didn't trust myself when I felt you nearly three weeks ago, but I've been pregnant since 2011 (yes, every year since 2011) so I knew.  Sitting on the couch, just like the other two, and those first little flutters just took my breath away, just like the other two.   

I thought for sure this would be the longest pregnancy ever since we found out so, so early that we were expecting you, but it has been the fastest.  Probably something to do with the aforementioned tag-alongs we call your siblings?

Maybe also because I was so debilitated by exhaustion for the first 16 weeks, and I slept away as much of it as I could manage.  Maybe not the fastest for Andrew because I've been nesting like I'm having this baby tomorrow since the very beginning, and he's possibly a bit over the rearranging and sorting and organizing and throwing away.  And we haven't even begun to plan your room, and H&N's shared toddler room.

Early August seems like a lifetime away, with days and days at the pool in between, but I know it will be here much faster than I anticipate.  And this time, I am honestly coming to be so much more at peace anticipating you.  This time, I know what to expect, what being outnumbered during the day feels like, and all I can think about still is what it feels like to hold a newborn and your smell and velvety head.

All in good time.

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.