Must be Santa.

There is nothing more amazing then getting to relive all the wonders of childhood through your children's eyes.

We walked up to Santa's workshop at the mall.  All you could see as we stood in line was the back of Santa's hat.

"Is that Santa??"  Wyatt asked, his eyes as big as the snowballs hanging from the trees.

"That's Santa, Wyatt.  Are you going to sit on his lap?"

Wyatt waited a minute before answering, "YAH! And I'm going to tell him I want a BIG-BIG Powpow!"

Being in the middle of an Oregon mall, where it is perceived that any interest in guns may as well be your child's golden ticket into jail, I was a little concerned about Santa's reaction to Wyatt asking for a gun, but decided I had no choice but to roll with it.

We were up.  Bryan and I had been prepping Wyatt for weeks.  Months even.  Telling him stories about Santa, reminding him about being nice vs. naughty (though the latter is continuously favored).  Last year turned into a total meltdown as I forced him onto the big guy's lap, so I wanted him to be prepared.  Weston was a wild card in the equation but I figured with enough of my idiotic antics in the background I could get him to smile.  I just prayed no one I knew would be in the mall that day or they would surely take a video of me dancing around yelling, "TURK TURK!!" and it would go viral in a matter of minutes.

As the lady unhooked the red velvet rope, I could hardly hold Wyatt back.  He ran around to face Santa and climbed up onto his lap without any hesitation.

"Hi Santa!" he said with the biggest grin.

Santa proceeded to ask Wyatt what he wanted for Christmas.  Santa was a little hard of hearing at which point Wyatt yelled POW-POW for all of Washington Square to hear.  I had to get Santa up to date and let him know that daddy was a hunter and Wyatt wanted a gun for Christmas.  I'm sure Santa has those lying all around his shop... right?

Picture time.  I propped myself beside the photographer and smirked at her completely ineffective bell that she was trying to ring to get the kids attention.  Action time. 

I prepared her. "I'm going to act like an idiot just so you know."

"Lady I'm wearing an elf hat.  Who am I to judge?"

Point taken.

"Turk-turk-turk!"
*click*
"TURK-TURK-TURK!"
*click*click*

Don't ask why the turkey thing works.  Bryan started doing it when Weston was a few months old and it has managed to bring a smile every time.  At this point my stroller has a flat tire, I'm out of fruit snacks, and Santa looks like he needs a drink.. or may have already had one.  I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get a picture and get out of this wonderland.

Out of 5 pictures, the first one was a keeper but I knew we could do better.  The next two had Wyatt was staring in wide-eyed wonder at Santa while Weston was in a full-on perfect gummy grin.  In the 4th Weston was pulling Santa's beard and Wyatt was hitting him trying to get him to stop.  And in the 5th Weston finally figured out that the guy with the beard wasn't Papa and was ready to get off the imposter's lap.

So we went with the first and called it a day.  It only lasted a few minutes, but seeing the look in Wyatt's eyes as he sat there with Santa truly brought tears to my eyes.  To know that we have formed our son's imagination enough to believe in the idea of something as magical as Mr.Clause himself felt like a bit of an accomplishment, if not a miracle... though maybe not on 44th St., a miracle all the same.

Merry Christmas from the Dennis family.  As always, truly blessed.

Stay-at-homers anonymous.

How to know if your a stay at home mom

1. Getting dressed in the morning just means changing out of your pajamas and putting on yoga pants.
2. You base your hairstyle on how long it will take to do in the morning and if you can still pull it back into a pony tail.
3. The words 'Friday' and 'Weekend' are meaningless.
4. You dread the idea of your husband coming home early and seeing what the house (and you) actually looks like 95% of the day.
5. Going grocery shopping without kids is like a 10 year old going to Disneyland without parents.
6. You finally get a date night but halfway through dinner you both decide to skip the movie because you miss your kids.
7. You love coffee in the morning... when the reality is 90% of the time you take a few sips, lose your cup, have to reheat is 4 times and then forget its in the microwave until you find it the next day.
8. You love Target.

These are just a few things I have thought of over the last few weeks.  Some of them made me laugh... some of them made me think I need to get out more (see #6. Fail).

Now having two kids at home (a newborn and one heading full force into the terrific twos) the idea of going back to work and dropping them off at daycare every day for 10 hours or more sounds more appealing then ever.  But while it might not sound like 'work' (please try it for a week before making that comment) and the pay is in tantrums and poopy diapers... I can't picture myself doing anything else. The fun times outweigh everything else and I couldn't imagine letting someone else steal a single one of my kids kisses and smiles.

There are days that I feel like my purpose in life is to fold laundry and empty the dishwasher.  But then I remind myself that those are just a few of the daunting tasks my job title requires of me.  The majority of my time is spent with my boys... playing outside, running around out of town, visiting the zoo with friends. 

And just because I am wearing yoga pants while doing all of the above doesn't make it any less rewarding. 

2nd child syndrome.

I love Weston.

I think the difference this time around is that I love Weston more for who he is, rather than what he does and when he does it.

While Bryan and I were sitting in the living room a few days ago, we looked down and saw Weston on the verge of rolling over.  It took me a second to react, but I got up and ran to grab the video camera, knowing that this moment was captured for Wyatt (and later replayed over, and over, and over) and that it was my duty as a mom to make sure I caught it for Weston as well.  Sure enough the battery was dead and while this would have led to an all out mother (literally) of a melt down should I have missed this moment the first time around, I was able to shrug it off and know that we could easily recreate the scene the next time he looked ready to topple over and play it off as his 'first'.  No one knowing the difference... until he reads this blog someday that is.

When Wyatt was a baby I was always looking towards the future.  So excited for what he was going to do next rather than enjoying whatever he was doing at that moment.  With Weston I just love looking at him, listening to his little coos, and enjoying how much he loves snuggling... every second of the day, something his brother was not fond of and something that I love because its just 'our thing'.  With Wyatt I was always getting out the next batch of clothes, 3-4 months in advance, anxious for all the big boy outfits he was going to get to wear.  Now I live in denial, forcing little legs and arms into newborn jammies, not wanting to face the reality that yet another child of mine is growing up.

Sometimes I catch myself feeling guilty, like I really am giving into the idea that because he is the second child I don't have to do as much.  Its not that you don't car, but everything just comes a little easier the second time around.  The clothes are already there, the learning curve of raising an infant is a little smoother, and you already know the things that will make a difference in their lives... and what won't.  You know about when they are going to do what and instead of constantly anticipating it, you kind of just wait for it to happen.

But then I see Wyatt.  Anxiously laying by his brother on the floor, watching him hold his head up and yelling at me across the house, "MOMMMMMA! Brudder's head is up way high!!"  He is so excited and proud and I realize that for him, this is the first time.  He is living and feeling that action

packed excitement that I felt when he was a baby.  Watching him experience that gives me a whole new rush and I realize that this really is the first time for me too.  The first time I get to watch my oldest enjoy and relish in every new thing his brother gets to do.  Instead of me teaching and working with Weston the way I constantly did with Wyatt, Wyatt now wants to sit on the floor and do tummy time with Weston.  "Brudder needs to roll over today." he will tell me, much like a trainer at a gym as he prepares the blanket on the floor, making sure there are no wrinkles.

Now that I have realized all the fun that lies ahead, basking in Weston's 'firsts' as a family; I am so excited to see what the future has in store for him.

As Wyatt would say...

Ready... go... set... GO!

The joys of boys... plural.

Weston Richard Dennis

It has been too long since my last post and to say the least life has changed in the most beautiful way.

Weston Richard has arrived.

May 5th at 4:45pm our second little miracle arrived into the world.  Ahh, to be born on Cinco De Mayo, the joy I as a mother will have with that over the years.

After being in labor, both mentally and physically, for what felt like a week Saturday morning I awoke to what could only be the real thing.  I waited until 7:30 to finally wake Bryan up and tell him we really needed to get going.  This being the 3rd or 4th time I had said this over the course of the week, he decided to test this so called 'labor' and take a shower.  By the time he got out he was chasing me down he driveway as I headed off on my own to the hospital.  Husbands by your side at the hospital are overrated anyways...

We dropped Wyatt off with Grandma Nita and gave him the last of his only child kisses.  Even with the excitement of having a new baby, nothing makes you realize the huge change that is about to come into your life more than the last few minutes with your only child, who remains completely unaware.

We arrived at the hospital around 10:00, only after stopping for McDonald's and driving past the DMV to see if they were open on Saturdays so that Bryan could renew his driver's license.  I don't know what exactly was going through my mind at the time that was allowing me to remain so calm through all of this but alas we were finally checked in, dilated to a 4/5 with contractions coming every 3 minutes.  By this point the pain from the contractions was almost gone and I thought for sure they were going to send us home, but they checked us into room 327 (even though I requested suite 330 again).  Dr. Garvie-Loveland was on call and offered to break my water or give me an epidural.  After polling my girlfriends I decided to get the epidural and then break my water, just in case things progressed quickly afterwards.  1 sweet dose of drugs later, I was at a 6 and ready to have a baby.  Unfortunately the epidural caused my labor to basically cease and at 4:00 I was only at a 7 and they started pitocin.  By 4:30 I had to call the nurse because I thought something was wrong as I felt the need to push already and considering the 32 hours of labor I had with Wyatt, it almost felt like I was cheating destiny by things going so quickly.  Sure enough, I was at a 10 and ready.  4 pushes and 15 minutes later (would have been less but the doctor had to stop me so she could get her gloves on), Weston was thrown onto my chest.  With a perfectly round (and just as large) head, just like his brother.  My big-headed boys... ahhh, plural.

7.11 pounds
21.25 inches long
14.25 head circumference
Much louder then brother

I don't think it matters how many children you have.  That moment when you first see your child, whether it be #1 or #6, always takes your breath away.  Prior to Weston's arrival, I was afraid that I might not be able to love another little boy as much as I loved Wyatt.  I had my son, whom I adore and love more than I can ever put into words, and I just didn't know how I could physically love something else to the same capacity.  But, without fail my heart grew the moment my stomach shrank (well, kind of anyways) and I immediately knew that I loved them both equally, but in different ways.  I feel like this is how it will be for the rest of their lives, loving them so much for who they are, individually.

It hasn't quite sunk in yet that we have 2 kids.  I have already assured Bryan that I will be the parent driving down Hwy. 47 with a car seat on top of my car.  The boys on the other hand have already adjusted to their new positions as big and little brother.  Wyatt wakes up every morning asking for 'Baby Weston' or 'Brudder' and sometimes I will respond without thinking that he is upstairs and quickly have to chase after Wyatt as he proceeds to wake him up with morning moochies. 

This has all be too much fun and I know it is only going to get better as life goes on, all too quickly.

Wyatt and Weston

Accepting the unacceptable.

We are officially done with naps.

After 2 weeks of trying to find the perfect nap time solution, I decided it was better for him, me and the developing brain (and ears) of poor little Weston who is having to listen to the battle surrounding him.

It was clear from the start that I am not cut out to be a 'spanker'.  Not that I think there is anything wrong with this method, it just doesn't work for me.  I tried it once, only to feel terribly guilty after the heat of the moment wore off and my sweet little angel returned (he was definitely NOT present when the spanking took place).  The next day we were yet again struggling with the battle of to sleep, or not to sleep; Wyatt told me to 'pank it' while laughing uncontrollably, showing that whatever damage I had done the previous day only left me feeling like I needed to call child services on myself and him snickering at my pitiful attempt at spanking.  No, I am definitely not cut out to be a spanker.  I also found spanking to be some sort of gateway punishment, ultimately leading to excessive hand smacking, ear flicking and hair pulling.  I have an addictive personality so for the sake of my children, I probably need to steer clear of this tempting form of punishment all together.

We then moved on to repeatedly putting him back in bed.  As seen on Super Nanny, as soon as you hear their feet hit the floor you go in, pick them up and put them back in bed.  No talking, no eye contact and most of all, no cuddling.  After three hours of this I was passed out on the floor while Wyatt played Lego's next to me.  In the end I felt that not all was lost because one of us did get a nap, mission accomplished.  The following morning my back was aching and the thought of picking Wyatt up another 200 times sent my Braxton Hick's into overdrive.  I resolved to waiting until Wyatt just fell asleep on his own, which ended up being around 4 o'clock. I patted myself on the back, thinking a solution had been found... until bedtime rolled around... and continued to roll around until 10:30 that night.  Apparently the rule of not letting a baby sleep past 5 o'clock still applies to a 2 year old.

The next day, I did the unthinkable.  I decided to just let it be and if no nap got taken... well, no nap got taken.  Wyatt did great.  No break downs, no temper tantrums for Wyatt, and none for mom either.  Around 7 he started rubbing his eyes, so we got into our jammies, brushed our teeth and read a few books.  Bryan and I laid him down, kissed him goodnight, and walked out.  He emerged from his room the next morning at 8:30 with a happy, "Hi mama!" This has been the routine for the last week or so and so far, so good.  *pounding repeatedly on wood*

You have to understand how hard it is for me to relinquish this control over Wyatt's sleep schedule.  From the day he was born I have been watching clocks, knowing when he needed to sleep and when he would wake up, almost to the minute.  I loved being able to plan trips and play dates around his nap times, knowing weeks in advance when he would be sleeping.  We had a system that worked for us, years in the making... and it came crashing down in a smouldering pile of sweet dreams in less then a week.

But then I realized.  I made it through the hard part.  Thanks to that sleep schedule Wyatt was sleeping by himself and through the night by 11 weeks.  I was able to go to Church, to the grocery store, or to the gym without wondering if he was tired or hungry.  Now, at the awesome age of 21 months, he can just tell me!  Crazy, eh?  So I guess its okay and maybe its time for me to let him take the reigns.  All the sleep experts I have been praising the last 2 years would call me crazy and tell me that kids need naps until they are 5, but at this point I can only tell them that this is my son and I am the lucky author of this book. 

Or co-author I suppose.

Truly blessed. 
And a little sleep deprived.

A recollection of rants.

I just finished a book, Naptime Is The New Happy Hour, by Stefanie Wilder-Taylor and was blown away by the things she said (not to mention curse words used so while hilarious, this book is not for ears virgin to the F-word) and her openness and honestly about what its really like to be pregnant, have a baby, raise a child... and hopefully still be married when its all said and done. She talks about everything and anything from moms freaking her out at the idea of overdosing her baby on high-fructose corn syrup to petitioning to move the time for happy hour from 6 at night... to 6 in the morning. 

On that note, while reading this a few thoughts of my own came to mind that she didn't cover.

1. People who  feel the need to  remind you of things you said you were going to do... that you didn't do.

While I was pregnant I said I couldn't wait to work out and get back in shape. After Wyatt was born, the only thing I used my Jillian Michael's DVD for was a coaster for my coffee, for at least 6 months. After awhile I realized I couldn't use the excuse that I 'just had a baby' and kicked it into gear, but my jogger stroller that I had envisioned running marathons with after 6 weeks definitely had a nice layer of dust on it by then.

2.  Women who say that their epidural didn't work and they could feel everything.

First off, unless you have had a child without an epidural, I feel you don't have anything to go on to know what everything is.  Secondly, I understand that this really does happen and that sometimes epidurals are done incorrectly or your body rejects them and they truly don't work or at least don't work as well as others.  I just find it hard to believe though with the amount of times I have been told this, read about it, or heard someone whine about it on some TLC baby show that medical professionals could suck at their job that much, that often.  I had an epidural, it worked amazingly and I wouldn't want it any other way.

3.  Husbands that don't do anything... but only because their wives have scared them into thinking they won't do it right.

One of the best things anyone ever told me was to never, under any circumstances, tell your husband how to change a diaper, because he will never try and do it again.  If you are standing on the sidelines of a daddy diaper change, it doesn't matter if you see a giant chunk of poo fly up and land on your babies forehead.  You wait until dad has his back turned at the diaper genie to wipe it off and re-sanitize the area.

After having Wyatt I couldn't get out of the hospital bed thanks to a ridiculously awesome epidural (yes, mine worked and I gladly admit it!) and an oddly positioned catheter.  Bryan had to take the reigns and besides nursing, pretty much meet all of Wyatt's needs for the first 3 days in the hospital.  He changed him, dressed him, got his binky, woke up with him, took him to get his shots and was their at a time when only a dad should be, when he got circumcised.  By the time we got home, Bryan was calling the shots and was showing me how to change him or apply Vaseline.  This confidence that he gained continued through the first months and is still there 20 months later. 

4.  First time moms that don't take advice.

I get it.  I've been there and I totally understand what its like to be bombarded with information and whether you want it or not other mom's are dying to tell you how they did it.  Whether its delivery, nursing, sleeping, or feeding we all have a story to tell and being moms we obviously feel like our way is the best way.  Looking back, I learned more from other moms then I ever did from a book.  I learned how to change a diaper by watching my sister-in-law practically do it with one hand.  I learned how to nurse by my other sister-in-law grabbing my boob and not leaving my side until Wyatt latched on properly.  I also learned things that I wanted to do differently just based off my own needs but that didn't mean that I wasn't still open to hearing what worked for other people.  Now if once you have the baby and people still tell you the way your doing it is wrong, you have every right to tell them to shove it.  Your a mom now and only you know whats best.  But as long as your still living in the naive bliss of pregnancy, at least listen, even if it goes in one ear and out the other.

Point is, everyone does things differently and has a difference experience (yes, including poorly placed epidurals).  And that's okay.  If you wouldn't let your husband near a diaper because of the possibility of improper poop removal, I get it and that's your choice.  I on the other hand would have been lost if it wasn't for Bryan's help.  I had Wyatt on a schedule by 4 weeks and refused to feed him more then every 3 hours.  I know, definitely not for everyone but it worked for me and I WILL share with you why I thought it worked, but won't judge you when you devise a plan to attach a straw to your boob so you can nurse while driving.

Pregnancies are different.  Babies are different.  And that makes moms different too.

And thank goodness for that because I would hate to be stuck in a room with 10 moms who did it the same as me, wrote a blog about it, and swore by the power of BabyWise like it was the Bible.

And when I come home from the hospital in May, swearing my epidural didn't take... NOBODY better bring up this blog.  Got it?

Truly Blessed.