Mind Numbing Chit Chat

Oh. My. Goodness. There are days where my brain literally feels like it is on fire. I spent the first two years of Josiah's life praying that he would talk sooner rather than later and that my fear of measles, mumps and rubella had possibly sent him into a vaccinated, autistic frenzy and now...it never ends.

Where we going today Mama? We going to the bank after that? Why we don't have any money for the bank? Daddy don't give you no money? Who would be on my sticker if I went to the bank? I get a kitty sticker at the bank? What's for lunch today? Where did you get that turkey? That turkey was at Yaya's house on Thanksgiving? Where did Bubby get those pants? Those pants is red? Why are you yawing? You tired? Mommy?"

That is just a brief interlude into my day with Josiah. And honestly, I feel slightly guilty for my responses to some of these questions after 7 plus hours of it. Sometimes I totally ignore him or sometimes I go for shock value. As in, " Whats that mans name?" (Random guy at grocery Store) "Handy Manny, honey". "That man is Handy Manny?!" "Yep."

Lately, I have been enforcing a very strict policy of not answering a question more than once. If he asks the question and receives no response (because I am ignoring him) he is allowed to repeat the question until getting a response. But once I answer it, I will not not answer it again. This policy does NOT work. He keeps asking after reciveing a response and I keep answering because I don't know what else to do.

AH! And thank heavens Oliver only says "cookie" over and over and it is still adorable. What the crap am I going to do when they are both talking non-stop? I tell Josiah all the time, "Talk to Oliver" and he says, "Bubby a baby. He dont' talk." To which Oliver usually shoots him a sideways glace that says, "Be quite!"

In all seriousness, he is pretty freaking adorable and the stories are hilarious. The other day he told me that heaven was in Wilmington. How sweet is that? And really, who can resist this guy?

My Lucky Day

Thanks to a wonderful mother who raised me to believe that I was the prettiest, smartest, best person to ever live I have grown to be extremely competitive by nature. From the moment I was born all I ever heard was how lovely I was, as any doting parent should tell their child. So, imagine my surprise when I started middle school about one foot taller than everyone else (boys included) and this weird combination of being skinny and huge at the same time. Wearing my duck head shorts and rusty t-shirt I thought I was awesome and later found out, I wasn't. Somewhere in those lost middle school years I had to make a decision; Cry about it and let others dictate the way I feel about myself or continue to believe that I am awesome. I chose the later. Thanks Mom.

So anyway, here I am 15 years later and if a camera is around I still stop to pose like I am at the end of a catwalk. These days my husband has replaced my Mama as my roommate but thankfully continues to make my feel like one in a million. This glowing self-esteem isn't without its downfalls... I am really hard on myself. I don't like to lose or ever feel like I could have done something better. I want to be the best at everything and I actually get pissed off when I'm not. Yep, I said it out loud.

Last spring was the first time in 2 years that I wasn't pregnant or had just given birth. So, I took full advantage and got into tip top fighting shape. Everything was almost perfect with one exception, The Shamrock 10K. It isn't just a 6.2 mile run, it is the 10K of death. The hills are killer and the climbs in between seem to last forever. When I first practiced the course last year it took something crazy like an hour and twenty minutes (I did get lost and added an extra mile or two, but still.) On race day in 2010 I finished in 1:05:52 and almost threw up at the finish line. I felt like Micheal Scott when he finished that 5K for rabies on The Office and ate so much fettuccine and no water. It was officially my worst race ever and it has haunted me for a year.

I began practicing for this years race in January. I ran the course in rain and ice. One day my lips started bleeding from the blistering winds. I ran with a friend who is way faster and every single time thought to myself, I am never running with him again. I pushed it as hard as I could and only got under an hour one time. Which is crazy, because I even ran faster per mile in the Asheville Half than that. What is it with this course?

So this past Saturday was the big day. Time to redeem myself. And when I say that I am competitive yes, I like to beat other runners, but when I am running the only person I am competing against is myself. It's all about self-improvement and being better than the day before. I put on all my lucky, green shamrock gear (If I can't win the race there was always the costume contest, right?) and headed over to Asheville Catholic School. I realized on the way there that I had forgotten my watch. Oh well, the finish line would have to be a surprise. I took off with the gun and ran down Kimberly really fast. I was thinking the whole time, "I am running too fast. I won't be able to make it up Cherokee. Slow down." but I just kept going fast anyway. Then when I reached Cherokee (hill to heaven) it was literally like downshifting in my little Red Jetta. I kept running but everything was in slow motion and seemed much heavier. I said a little prayer of thanks when I reached the top and took off up Sunset. And to be clear, sunset sucks. It is a such fake out because you can't see the actual elevation change (like on Cherokee) but it just keeps going and going and hurting an hurting. My ipod fell out of my ear at one point and the sounds I heard around me were like people gasping for their last breaths. The way I personally sounded made me grateful that the money I payed to the race went to people who were hopefully praying for me. The downhill portion didn't come soon enough or last long enough before I was pulling myself up that ginormous hill on Kimberly wondering what the outcome was going to be. On one hand I felt slow and like I was near death and on the other I knew I had given it everything I had. No matter what the outcome I couldn't have done any better and was already planning next years attack strategy when I rounded the corner and could see the clock. 55 something. What? I ran up the hill on Culvern with a new burst of life and a giant smile. Granted, it must've said 55:50 something because by the time I crossed the finish line it was 56:07, 9 minutes and 45 seconds faster than last years time. I won. Now what?

Oh, Oliver.

Somehow, someway...it has been over 18 months since little Oliver was born. At this point my life has become so fun and relatively simple. I have noticed that when I wake up in the morning my perspective has changed from, "What the heck are we gonna do to fill this day up and make it go by as quickly as possible?" To, "What are we gonna do today?!!" I actually miss Josiah when he is at school and am so excited for summer. I can't imagine not spending all day, everyday with these boys. And even though it is still over 2 years away, kindergarten is getting too close.

Oliver has grown into such a wonderful little toddler, who I will always refer to as my baby. He can talk and fight and makes sure to get exactly what he wants and nothing that he doesn't. He can sing and count to 3. He loves to climb on stuff and read books. He loves Josiah.

His little personality is developing too. Today I asked him what he wanted for lunch and he looks at me stone faced and says, " Cooo key." I started to laugh and then he started laughing too. Last night Josiah asked, "Can I have Bubbies strawberries?" and Oliver yelled across the table, "NO!" He has developed quite an attitude and has even started throwing some tanturums. Still, they are so much easier to deal with the second time around. Or maybe they are just easier because they are coming from Oliver and he is just so freaking sweet, even when he's mad.

His hair is crazy looking. The top just isn't growing. The back however, is beautiful and soft. Jaime gave me five dollars (Um, heck yeah this this stay at home mama took that!) in exchange for a promise not to cut it until after he turns two, so he will be rocking the mullet for a while longer. Here are some pics of my one and a half year old baby. Enjoy!

Healthy, Happy and Fabulous

First of all let me start by saying, wow and holy guacamole! That stinky little groundhog named Phil can actually predict the weather. This month has been fantastically glorious. Every weekend has been sunny and ranging anywhere from 50-70 degrees and it's FEBRUARY! We have been taking full advantage of the unseasonably warm temperatures and even spent a Valentines Day weekend alone at the beach. And even though I spent the better part of Friday in Urgent Care and Saturday indoors under the covers fast asleep...it was awesome! I mean, if you're gonna be sick might as well do it next to the ocean, with no kids and a good looking man. And Saturday night when I finally got my appetite back, Jaime was there to take me on super romantic date to the one and only J Micheal's Philly Deli. Ah, nothing like fried mushrooms and a 12 inch cheese steak after not eating for a week. The boys had a fabulous time at Yaya and Grandpa's house and even got to go to the motherland and soak up some salt and sand.Upon returning to Asheville we have been hiking in Hot Springs.

Practicing for the soccer team,And returning to business as usual with daily trips to the park, sitting on the porch looking for trash trucks and being outside as much as humanly possible. We currently have no broken bones or illness and life is great! It is truly amazing how much easier my days become when it isn't freezing outside.

Goals for spring include: Running LOTS, selling this house and finding Jaime a job being the CFO of an ocean front retirement community where he can work half days. That's all. And in regards to that crazy post about more babies... don't get your hopes up. I love to run and be skinny way too much in warm weather. Talk to me in the fall!

6 Months Later and Still Missing Her...

Last August, I got a call from my Dad that it was time for me to make the trip home to say goodbye to my precious Nana. We had known for sometime that this day was coming. In past couple of years she had experienced a decline in health and was living in a skilled nursing facility or as she affectionately referred to it, "The Home." As we get older the circle of life becomes so much more real. We begin having and watching our own children grow-up while saying goodbye to those who shaped us in so many more ways than could ever be conveyed in a single blog. I didn't just lose a grandparent with Nana.... I lost a friend, confidant and virtual savior. She was and is such a huge part of who I am today and six months later, I still think of her everyday and either want to laugh out loud or cry.

When making arrangements for the funeral I offered to speak about what she meant to me the past 27 years. It was very the least that I could do. So better late than never, I would like to share what I read that day:

"We are all here today because we were lucky enough to know Helen Smith. I consider myself most fortunate not only because she was my Nana but because I was able to spend the majority of my life, thus far, living just a stones throw away on a little piece of property that we all called, "The Sound."

I first moved to the sound when I was only 3 years old. I loved being able to go to my grandparents house for waffles in the morning and to swim in the pool. I would walk down the dirt road to my house later in the day only to hear my phone ringing and Nana asking if I wanted to come back down for a deviled egg sandwich and a coke... I always did.

I could count on her for almost anything. I would call and leave messages daily and even taught her how to punch in that 3 digit code on the back of her answering machine so that she could check her messages from her daily golf lesson at The Cape...and she always did.

The older I got, the more challenging I became and after I lost my license I became dependent on Nana, yet again. Only this time I was beyond embarrassed to be 17 and have my grandmother picking me up each day from Hoggard. Everyday I asked her, "Nana, please stay in the car! " and every single day at 3:30, I would leave class to find her in the middle of the forum talking to who else? The coolest kids in school. She would be asking them, "Have you seen my granddaughter, Kelley Smith?" I was mortified.

Then my freshman year in college, still without a license, I wouldn't even let her get near the campus. I would walk over a mile each away to avoid similar embarrassment. And regardless of the fact that I behaved like an ungrateful brat, who jammed rap music at the Sunbirds highest deciable...she still showed up faithfully each day and never once judged me. That is who she was. She very well may have been the strongest woman I have ever known. She was loyal and she loved her family more than anything.

So finally, after many wonderful years and more recently a couple of tough ones, she is at peace and reunited with her WG "Bill" Smith. And while we will miss such an amazing woman we are comforted in knowing that everything is as it should be. And not that I would ever have to remind the pro to do this, but I am confident that when she reaches her tee time in the sky we can all expect her to..."Sit down. Hug the Ground. Shift your weight and SWING THE CLUB!" "

Love you Nana, miss you.

Skinny Legs, Stopped Up Bums and Runny Noses

So I may have mentioned in previous blogs that my wonderful husband, who in spite of having a cardiologist for a father and a PA for a sister, doesn't actually believe in medicine. And no, he isn't one of those no vax believers. He totally thinks you should get all your shots and once you have them you'll never get sick, ever. And this is an actual Jaime philosophy... If you feel yourself getting sick your mind can stop it. You just have to concentrate really hard and push the sickness away. Seriously. And in the 9 years we have been together, I have never once seen him have a common cold, a fever or throw up (with the exception of the white trash party aftermath but that wasn't from germs). He also believes some diseases are totally imaginary. For example, allergies. Or arthritis. He is a funny one and I love him dearly.

That said, I have started to take on his philosophy somewhat (Although, NOT when I am shivering and sweating at the same time and vomiting all over myself and he looks at me like, "Push it away. Think better. Feel Better".) and our children rarely ever go to the doctor. In fact, our pediatrician disappeared last summer and we have yet to get another one, simply because we haven't needed one. I don't even call the nurse line because guaranteed I am smarter than most of those ladies and I do not have 6 available hours to hold... And after the time I called because Josiah slept until 10 Oclock in the morning ( this was an emergency considering he never slept past 4am as a baby) and they told me to go take all his clothes off and shake him...I have decided to just alternate Tylenol and Motrin every 4 hours for almost any problem and wait. The point of all of this is that when we finally do roll into the doctor's office we have a whole list of problems. They will ask, "How long has this been going on?" and I am like, "Since the middle of September" and then they look at me like I am confused.

So, on to ailment number one: Josiah got his cast off last Thursday and we were all relived to see it go. No more trash bag baths and two legs for soccer season starting in March, hooray!
However, since the removal of the cast he has been dragging his leg behind him and refuses to bend his knee. His foot turns out too. It is a sad little walk to watch and I long for my hyper active boy to run around in circles again. Also, his right leg is very skinny and has little muscle left. Where did it all go in just 3 weeks? If all this continues he may have to go to physical therapy and I guess all we can say is that thank goodness he will eventually get better...even if it is taking longer than we thought.

And number two: After getting the cast he stopped pooping. I know, TMI, but he NEVER poops! It is super freaky and he is so uncomfortable. He spins around and grabs his bum screaming, "MY BUM HURTS!" which in the grocery store is a little embarrassing for everyone involved. We have tried suppositories and OTC meds but nothing is freeing his poop. AH! And for the third and final ailment: This weekend he got a fever and seemed so dazed that I drove halfway to the emergency room. Note: I turned around and went back home when he started asking me about all of the princesses and "Where do they live?" But he had finally gotten my attention. I found and made an appointment with a new pediatrician Monday morning. When the Doc came in I had to explain that Josiah had a fever, seems out of it, can't walk right and hasn't pooped in a month. He looked at me like, "Hold up, start over." I explained all of our issues and thankfully they are all unrelated. The fever is because he has a cold, his walk will get better when the muscles gain strength and the pooping or rather the absence of pooping, is really common around toddlers who are potty training and become afraid of poop. He gave him some Myrolax to clear him out (Great. Can't wait for that).

So all in all, poor little Josiah is have a rough time! He is the sweetest little boy and I can't wait for him to feel better. Being a parent is a bizarre experience. Someday's it feels like I am on that show Wipeout (but much louder) and people are just throwing obstacles in my direction to make me fall. Still, I wouldn't change my life for anything in the world. I am so in love with all three of my boys! Please say a little prayer for Josiah and another one that neither he nor Ollie ever gets diagnosed with allergies. That we could NOT handle.

Am I Crazy?

Josiah likes to sing a little song that goes something like this, "Cause when you're up you're up. And when you're down you're down. And if you're only half way up you're neither up nor down." Is he singing to me? In the mornings I feel like I can barely get out of bed when one of the kids inevitably starts screaming at 6:50am. Then I get up and turn into the energizer bunny. Changing and dressing kids, making breakfast, working out like a maniac, chugging coffee, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, building castles out of the 7 legos we can seem to locate, breaking up fist fights, reading Tangled AGAIN, sit-ups and push ups, potty training, begging and bribing, crying, laughing and eventually crashing at nap time (Me, not the kids...they usually stay in their rooms banging on the walls waiting for me to get up again.) Seriously, I am like a walking ad for Ambilfy. And then I start to think, should we have another baby? Initial response: Um, hell no.

More carefully thought out response: Maybe. Pros: Three kids seems like a fun family eventually. Like a picture out of Pottery Barn Kids with the three twin beds in a row and that awesome storage cubby on the wall. Three kids playing and entertaining themselves like half a soccer team. Support from one another and an untouchable closeness. Sharing secrets and building forts. Having each others backs. Being able to have a Conley take a Gold, Silver and Bronze all in the same Olympic marathon. You know, fun stuff. Cons: Having 3 children under 4. Considering that I have already broken one of their legs and sent the other one into the emergency room after an incident with a shower curtain and minor head trauma, I can only imagine how I would handle 3 kids. Gaining and losing 40 pounds AGAIN. Not being able to run as far and as fast as I want for 40 more weeks. Possibly getting another stretch mark on my perfect 6 pack. Figuring out how I would get them all into and out of the car. Not sleeping (Major CON), nursing every 2 hours for a year, not drinking or taking meds (surely needed with 3 kids), not knowing where we would put them all or where we are going to live (our house is for sale), paying for three kids at Ivy League schools all at the same time- oh wait, they'll probably get scholarships. I guess that can be a pro. Another pro?


Look at how sweet babies are! The first is a picture of Josiah (1 day old) and the second is Oliver (also 1 day old but so much bigger than teeny, preemie Sisi ). Getting pregnant in the next few months would make baby number 3 and Oliver 2.5 years apart. Which is exactly twice the amount of time in between Ollie and Josiah (15 months). So that should be easy, right? And really, what is one more?

So, what do we do? Right now I am going to assume that yes I am in fact crazy and go take a nap.