Today I found her wearing this rosary especially cute as she was also sporting her very first tattoo from our crazy weekend out on the river.
Tattoo's and Rosary's - a few of Liv's favorite things....
Tattoo's and Rosary's - a few of Liv's favorite things....
Why, you ask?
Well, in past years the kids and were always left at home while the Mr. took the river with all of his buddies and had an out of control weekend full of drinking, staying up too late, and partying way too hard. I understood why this was not a kid friendly enviroment, and went with it, letting him go for a "guys weekend" away.
But this year I decided I was getting tired of being left behind with the kids, and something needed to change, and change it did.
We decided to tie up with a different group of boaters this year. Ones that were less likely to be doing beer bongs off the top of their boats, screaming curse words back and forth at each other and mooning and or flashing whoever happened upon their boat. The kind of people who are more kid friendly in nature.
And I do have to say, it went very well. We are all very tired, still recovering from all of the festivities, and trying to get rid of these horrible "sea legs". But it was all well worth it.
Some pictures for your viewing pleasure:
Kids jumping into the new giant floaty Daddy bought. Great investment if I do say so myself...
Liv loving the fact that she got her very first tattoo. Yep, a tattoo AND licorice, all in one weekend!
A closer look at her tattoo....
Relaxing in Mom's chair - which turned out to be her favorite place to hang all weekend long...
Our lovely friend Jay keeping Lucas busy on the Kayak
The kids being silly, waiting ever so patiently for the fireworks to start....
Enjoying our last day out on the river together....
The End.
But, alas, I do have to stop having them at some point, or I will land myself a one way ticket to the looney bin. Really, I will.
With Brian's work schedule, and the schedules that my three oldest already have I simply cannot keep up anymore. There are Dr. appointments, play dates, karate classes, dance classes, summer programs. On top of all this running there are piles and piles and piles of laundry to be done, dishes to wash, a house to clean, yard to keep up, and all that other stuff. AND more importantly, there are bills to be paid, and clothes, backpacks, shoes, etc. to be purchased x 4 - which is extremely stressful on the pocket book. Whew. Too much. Right?
I remind myself of all this every few months, when I see Olivia getting bigger, learning new things, and growing up. I remind myself to try and scratch away that itch I have to have another baby, and the itch does go away, but not for long. It just keeps coming back.
What to do?
Us ladies all looked at eachother and started heading for the door, but of course, the kids had a different plan. They all grabbed their bikes and started riding in the rain. We all looked at each other thinking the same thing, what a mess this was going to be. The kids would be soaking wet, and no one had a change of clothes along as who knew it was going to rain and the kids were going to play in it for an hour? But none of us really cared. Looking out into the cul-de-sac, we saw 8 little kids having the time of their lives, laughing, smiling and playing in the rain. I remember doing that as a child, and it was always such fun.
After the all the fun rain play, we had 8 little kids shivering away in the garage pleading for towels. They all warmed up, snuggling together in the towels I brought out.
Then we stripped 'em all down to their undies and let them into the house to play, while we threw all their clothes into the dryer. It was quite a site seeing 8 kids running amock through the house in their underwear.
The party was officially declared over when everyone's clothes dried and they were able to leave the house clothed. Everyone left, and I was finally able to coax my kids into getting their clothes backk on. Apparently they just loved being able to run around playing in nothing but underwear with all of their friends, must have felt so freeing to them.
Somewhere along the way there was some miscommunication between the Mr. and I, as I thought he was taking care of this, and he thought I was. It was strange to hear that he thought I was responsible for cleaning, and checking the chemicals, as I have no idea how to do it, and have asked him numerous times to show me and he has not. He also thought I was responisble for getting the filter to run 4 hours a day. Again, interesting, as there is no way that I would be able to lift the 200 lb (alright, it is not that heavy, but close enough) generator from the garage all the way into the back yard to get it plugged in so that the filter is able to run.
So we had been using the pool on a daily basis ever since we had purchased it. I had Mr. Shelton going out there to check it and get the filter going pretty much every day. Then we hit a colder, rainy spell here in Minnesota, so the pool went unused for 4 days. Over those four days I asked the Mr. to get out there and check the PH levels, and to get the generator out there so that we could run the filter. I kept getting, "yep, I will get to it" or sometimes I would just get a quick glance in my direction as he ran out the door to work. So, you get it, the pool was not being taken care of.
On the fourth day the kids ran out to the back yard to play and minutes later came running in the house with looks of horror on their faces. "Mommy, the pool is all green!"
Wonderful.
I went out to see if what they were saying was true, and sure enough it was. The pool was pea green. You could not see the bottom if you even tried it was so grossly green. All that work to get the pool set up and filled, only to have it ruined 3 weeks later. Not Happy. At all.
I have spent the last 2 days emptying the nasty water out of the pool, and will now spend the next 2 days cleaning it and putting it away for the summer. No more pool. Mr. Shelton informed me that it was way too expensive to refill the pool, and that he clearly does not have the time to take care of it.
Oh well, it was nice while it lasted. For that whole 3 weeks.
I am not the run to the emergency room every day type of hypochondriac. Nope, I tend to sit and worry for days and days, think up the worst case scenario in my head. It usually goes like this:
My god. I cannot believe I have [insert whatever disease/ailment I am thinking I have that month]. I am going to be given 3 months to live, I will be in horrible pain the whole time. I am so scared to die. I have four kids that need me, what would they do without me? And Brian, what would he do? My gosh, he would probably remarry because he is so young. I would hate that, some other woman raising my four babies. Gosh Maria, get a grip, you are just fine. Stop worrying about everything so much and thinking you have every disease known to man. Geeze. But gosh, I think I really do have [insert whatever disease ailment I think I have at the time].
This is usually when my panic becomes to the point where I need to unload on someone, that someone being my husband, and sometimes my Mom. I usually get the same sort of response from both of them every time:
"Maria, what now? No, you do not have [insert whatever disease/ailment I think I have at the time]. Why do you think you have that? Let me guess, someone you know has it, and it got you thinking, and your imagination got away from you, and here we are thinking you are dying. Again. You have to stop this worrying, it is not good for you. If you are that worried about it and obsessing that bad, go to the Dr. and he will tell you everything is alright."
And this is when one of two things happen. I realize I am being ridiculous, and shut off the worrying in my head. Or, I can't seem to get past it and I make an appointment to see the Dr. And Monday, when my latest worry came to a head, I decided to do the later, and call the Dr.
What was my worry, you ask?
Well, last Wednesday I was at my sister's house for my niece's birthday party. She came out of the house to greet me and I noticed a bunch a strange burn marks all over her body. When I asked what the heck happened she told me she had been to the dermatoligist to check out a rash she had on her body. While there, he removed a bunch of flat clear warts that were on her legs and arms, and also removed a mole off of her back that seemed odd in shape, not cancerous, nor even precancerous, but he removed it anyway.
So, of course, I went home and started thinking about my skin, and skin cancer, and my moles that are all over my body. The moles that I have had my whole life. I took a gander at my one raised mole on my back and decided that it looked different. It looked a little bit pink.
Oh my goodness. My mole is changing color. It looks like it is turning pink. I think the Dr. told me once that if my moles ever turned red that meant they could be cancerous. It is not red, but it looks pink, which could mean it is on it's way to turning red. Oh my. My brothers friend found a mole too late on his toe, and when it was removed they found the cancer had spread all over his body and he died months later. He was only 24. I could be just like him. I know one of the leading causes of skin cancer is not being protected properly as a child. I know my Mom did not put sunscreen on us all the time when we were little. I remember burning a lot. Why did my Mom not make us put sunscreen on.
This is when I told Brian of my worries (Friday morning.) He laughed at me and said the mole looked the exact same as it did ten years ago, that it was fine, that I should not worry. But I could not let it go. And by the time I decided I wanted to make an appointment, it was already too late. I would have to wait until Monday, which meant it was going to be a long weekend.
I spent most of the weekend looking at my mole from different angles, with mirrors held close, far, having Brian look closer at it. Just being plain old obsessive about it. I was exhausted by Sunday evening from worrying so darn much I fell into bed,waking occasionally during the evening, worrying, panicking. Monday morning could not come soon enough.
I made the appointment right away that morning, made arrangements for my dear friend Mari to come watch the kids, and then headed out to the Dr. The drive is a quick one, but it was spent with me going back and forth in my head I am fine, no I am not, I am fine, no I am not.... I got into the dr's office, met the Dr. gave him some background on my mole, and then had him take a look. Drum role.....
It was FINE. He said it was a completely normal mole. Texture, good. Shape, good. Color, good. Nothing to worry about, but if it bothered me and I wanted him to take it off he could. It would just take a moment, he would numb the area, cut it off and cautarize it. If I did not mind a small scar, it was really no big deal at all. So I opted to have him remove it. Why not? Seemed easy enough, and then I would never have to worry about it changing or becoming cancerous. He performed the procedure quickly, told me as the numbness wore off I would feel a burning sensation as he had to burn the area afterward. Yuck. He then told me to keep antibiotic ointment on it and a bandaid for 10 days so that it would heal properly. No problem. Right?
Wrong.
That evening I had Brian remove the band aid to apply more ointment, and this is when he gave my mole removal spot the name "bullet hole" as it was so big, and grey looking from the burning part. It was really sore too. Over the last few days it has become red around the outer edge and is still painful. It is not infected, but does hurt and is a pain to change the bandage and reapply ointment to it 2-3 times a day. Not to mention it looks like it will be a bit more than a "small scar." I bet you are dying to see it, aren't ya? Well, here, take a look.
Pretty gross, right?
I wish I could say it is all over with and I am happy to put this behind me, but I know me. I know next month it will be something else. Some sort of cancer, incurable virus, neurogical disorder, something. It is crazy, weird, and frustrating (and not just for me). I would love to know where this over the top fear of getting sick and dying comes from, and why I am this way so that I can change it. As I am getting tired of worrying all the time about things that have no business being worried about. This is for the birds, and it needs to stop. I need to start spending my days enjoying my kids, husband and family. Boating, going on trips, playing in the yard, swimming, watching movies, and NOT worrying. I need to start living life to the fullest, and enjoy every minute of it.
What the heck?
I am a bit confused and frustrated with this Minnesota weather. But the kids seem to be rolling with the punches, and acclimating to the change in weather quite nicely. As I came down the stairs after my shower I found them out in the front yard wearing this: [Lucas was in the same sort of garb, but had no interest in being photographed. Stinker.]
It's as if she woke up, decided she was going to get up to go to the bathroom, realized she was too tired, and just fell asleep while in the process of getting out of bed.
My question is, how in the world could she possibly continue to sleep so soundly in that what looks to be an incredibly uncomfortable position?
First, Miss Ava finally got up the courage to get her ears pierced. I have been asking if she wants them pierced now for two years. The response has usually been "Noooooo! It is going to hurt." Or "No, I want to wait until I am [insert whatever age she will be the next year]. " Sometimes we would go so far as to walk into Claire's Boutique, look at the earrings, and decide it is still a "no."
Somehow yesterday was different, yet it started out the same. We walked into Gap looking for some Fall fleece's for the kids, and while walking in I eyed the Claire's Boutique on the other side of the street.
"Hey, Ava, should we get your ears pierced today?"
"Nooooo. Not until I am 7."
"Are you sure? It would be so much fun, we are having a girl's day out, what fun would it be to come home with pierced ears!?! Daddy would be so excited!"
"O.K. only if you and Livi get your ears pierced too."
"Well, Liv can't, she is too little, and I already have mine pierced."
"Maybe... we can go look and then see if I want to."
We did our shopping at Gap and made our way over to Claire's. She spent a good while slowly walking around the store, looking at every last thing. Staling.... I told her she could pick out a pair of earrings, any pair she wanted. What did she pick out? A pair of loooong, dangly, heavy earrings in the shape of a guitar. Nice, the one pair I would have to say no to. After perusing a bit more, and choosing two pair of earrings that were more acceptable for the lobes of a 6 year old, she finally got up the courage to sit in the chair and get those ears pierced.
She ended up crying (which I knew would happen), but it did not last for long. Once the girl handed her the mirror to take a gander at her newly pierced ears she was all smiles.
As we walked out of the store, holding hands and pushing Liv's stroller, she looked up at me and said:
"Mom, you lied! You said it wouldn't hurt that much, and it did."
"I said it would hurt, but only for a quick minute. It was worth it though, wasen't it?"
With a smile that seemed to stretch ear to ear "Yes, it was."
Onto good thing #2.
Lucas started Karate classes a few weeks ago. And let's just say he loves it. Adores it. Thinks it is the best thing ever. This makes me very happy to see him so happy, so it is really a win, win.
Anyway, he has been going for a few weeks now, working toward the goal of getting his very first belt, the white belt. And yesterday he achieved this goal.
At the end of class the instructor noticed that it was a special day, that Mr. Lucas had earned his very first belt. He instructed Lucas and the other four little boys in the class to line up facing the mirror. He then asked everyone to sit down, everyone except for Lucas. The instructor walked away for a moment to retrieve the belt. The other little boys were sitting down, looking up at him in approval, noting what a big deal this all was. While the instructor was gone, I glanced at Lucas to find that he was beaming. He stood there full of pride, with a huge grin on his face, he seemed as if he could barely contain his excitement. I could feel his sense of accomplishment, and it was one of the best feelings ever.
The instructor returned, had him do a few kicks and punches, and said a few words to him about working hard and giving his best to achieve his next belt, which would be orange in color. Lucas replied with a very strong, loud, "Yes, Sir!" He bowed to his instructor, and then was given his belt. Everyone clapped for him, including Miss Olivia Grace.
It was all so very sweet. I was so proud of my Lucas Alexander - what a moment. I only wish that Mr. Shelton could have been there to see it.
The kids tend to stand in one big line, waiting for a balloon. I fill one, tie it (which hurts the fingers, especially by the 20th tie) and place it carefully in the child's hand. I do all this only to have said child turn around, and throw the balloon on the ground, breaking it and getting back in line for another one. Throughout all of this I tend to hear from the other kids things such as "Do I get one yet?" "It is taking too long!" "You just got one, no fair!"
So, like I said, I don't like this task so much. [It is ranked up there with my dislike for pushing the kids on the swings.]So I planted my butt on the front step this morning, and began the arduous task of filling up a bunch of water balloons. After about 20 finger numbing balloon tie's later , I handed over the hose to Ava to do some filling for me. As I was sitting there in a balloon filling induced type o' coma, I noticed something. Something strange. So strange that I had to look twice to see if what I was seeing was actually correct. Ava was standing on the sidewalk, hose between her legs, filling up water balloons. Nothing strange about that, I know. But as my eyes moved upward I noticed two small, round, bulges in the chest area of her swimsuit. I moved closer only to find that she had stuck to small water balloons in her swimsuit.
Mom: "Ava, what are those?"
Ava: "Oh, these? They are my boobies. Just the right size for little old me."
One messy little boy.