Sara is Smiling

OK, now my feelings are hurt.

I can accept that you're a Daddy's girl. I even think it's sweet.
I'll even use it to my benefit when you're fussy and he tries to hand you off to me but you refuse, "Awww..she wants yoooou! Cuuute!" as I stroll away arms free and unencumbered.
Watching him try to put on his pants this morning and trying not to drop you because he couldn't stand the howling and sad face if he put you down gave me tremendous satisfaction. "Remember when Charlie was a baby?? This was my life. Every minute. Of every. Single. Day. A little sympathy finally? Big gold star? Pat on the head?"
But, Little Miss Quinn, you finally scrathced through my tough exterior this morning.
After a long night of pain from your molars coming through in which I stood in the dark swaying back and forth and humming softly in your ear, or awkwardly hunched over your crib rubbing your back for an eternity because you'd holler if I tried to tiptoe away you STILL punched me in the face this morning when I tried to take you from your Daddy's arms so he could leave for work.
That stung, little girl. I know Daddy's all horsey rides, tickles and wet kisses, but let's not forget who brought you into this world and raises you with blood, sweat and tears.
Ahhhhh...the plight of a mother. Where's the glamour? Maybe one day I'll get a thanks!

(By the way...thanks, Mommy!)

She was so ridiculous when he left this morning. The door closed behind him and she plopped to the floor and melted into a screaming puddle. My sympathy was waining so instead of picking her up out of her tantrum I got my camera.
Being the trained-from-birth-model that she is, she flipped the switch immediately so instead of the Devastated Daddy's Girl picture I was planning to get, I got the Red Eyed, Wet Faced Professional Baby Model picture.


And then seconds later while she tried to wrestle the camera away from me:

That's definitely going in the wedding slideshow.

Happy Birthday to Q

Yesterday was Quincey's birthday. We spent the day in the car. It was pretty bad. I should've known better, but I agreed to go with him to check on our displays that we had up in stores in every corner of the city.
He'd been away on business all week, and it was his birthday, and he wanted to spend the day with us.
On the bright side, it made this card I bought him so much more relatable:


Finally at home, we made pizza and had our Hello Kitty cake that Elly picked out.

Where's Max you ask? He's laying under the table in protest. He doesn't like pizza. Or Hello Kitty.
Quinny is across the table in her highchair. She couldn't be picked up for the picture without requiring a good hose down first.

Quincey doesn't like presents, but the kids insist upon it. We ended up getting him a new sprinkler hose because I ran over his with the lawnmower this week while he was gone, a bbq spatula, a book and this picture:

In the car in front of my studio before going in: "If you all co-operate and this takes less than 5 minutes I'll take you to McDonalds". We were done in record time.

No, It was not intended as a passive aggressive message!

My little sister introduced me to Lily Allen years ago and I've been a big fan ever since.
The first song I ever heard was Nan, you're a window shopper. I thought Emily was listening to some sort of parody or something:
...And you won't leave your house unless you're wearing your
thermals
You've covered all in cat hair and you're stinking like
Strepsils....
But nope, that's just Lily Allen :-)

Quincey stopped being cool when Cory Hart stopped making records so I'll often make him playlists or share music with him...not that I'm much better, but I have progressed past 1984 which is more than I can say for Q. (I'm at the very least solidly in 1994)
But people, think twice before sending this song to your husbands! You'll spend the rest of the week stroking his.....male ego.

In the middle of the night.

So at approximately 1:50am, I am rudely awaken by my loving husband.
ELBOW "What's with the alarm, Sara?????"
Hunh? I startle awake. I'm confused because there's no alarm going off, but my hand is resting on the clock.
"The alarm! That's like the 5th time you've pressed Snooze!"

Apparently, the kids had set the alarm to the middle of the night (accidentally, so they say). I was unconciously hitting snooze over and over and over and over AND OVER again.

I have no recollection of this, but it's been making me giggle all day.

Now see, there have been more frequent occurances of Quinny supposedly sleeping through the night lately, but when I wake up my monitor is mysteriously turned off. I'm afraid I've been turning it off in my sleep and not getting up! Poor baby!

I was trying here to get a picture of her on my make-shift white backdrop, but she wouldn't stop speeding away. Then Charlie, ever the helper, tried to bribe her with a chocolate egg. Baby plus chocolate egg equals no more photo shoot!

My Valentine

10. Treats me like Gold. People don't always see this because we work together and have our differences regarding that, but in real life he spoils me rotten and is fiercely protective of me.

9. We share a common outlook/philosophy on life, but tend to figure things out separately. I can't tell you how many of our conversations begin with "I had an epiphany".

8. He thinks I'm beautiful even though I'm not at my best, and although I tell him I don't I really do believe him.

7. He's got a cute butt.

6. He's given me some adorable albeit bull headed children. I feel like the qualities that make them hard to manage as a parent now will ultimately make them very successful as adults.

5. He lets me run the house. It's pretty much exclusively my house, my rules. He's good about supporting me and not challenging me much. He does what he's told, and the kids (sometimes) follow him like little ducklings.

4. He gives me the freedom to work as much as I want to or be home as much as I want to. That flexibility has been invaluable to me with the kids so young.

3. We think each other are hilarious. I don't think there are many other people who would agree. :-)

2. He's the only person I've ever met that I don't tire of (that includes my kids). I never get bored of him, and given the opportunity I'd spend all my free time with him exclusively. He's my best friend.

1. Yup, definitely his cute little booty.

The N Word

I just put Quinn down for a nap. It's 9:30am.
How great would that be?? Hmm..9:30 already? Time for my nap!
The life of a baby.

I posted her 6 month pics to facebook yesterday. Got loads of comments on them, but none on this one which just so happens to be my favourite from the shoot. Curiouuusss..

It's been a little chaotic at our house this week. I'm having a real hard time shaking this bug I have. I attribute that to my inability to get any rest.
Last night Quincey came home from work around 9pm. I was standing there holding a kleenex to my face, unshowered, hair a mess, no makeup, wearing a maternity shirt and ripped yoga pants.
"Be quiet, the kids are in bed." I said with a voice that sounded like I'd been chain smoking for 40 years and was about to die from emphysema.
"God, you're gorgeous." he says with every ounce of sincerity in him. I almost believed him.

Guess what..Quinn is up from her power nap.
So long!

Busy Dad

He's got his hands full and that's not even all of them.

Bumblebee watches longingly.

RIP Baby Bird

Last night Mickey tried to slip past us to her basement lair with a baby bird in her jaws.
Quincey - the guy who will catch and release a spider rather than kill it - wasn't about to sit back and allow this. No way. Not on his watch.

He sprang into action. Mickey ran back outside and dropped the bird in the grass, but she wasn't done with it yet. She grabbed it in her claws and her and Quincey did battle.
I was reluctant to get involved because all the neighbourhood birds were suddenly circling and squawking overhead. A few were even bold enough to dive bomb.
I'm no idiot...I've seen the movie.
But Quincey looked like he needed a friend out there as he tried to scoop up the baby bird onto his iPad while Mickey was swiping and no less than a dozen birds were kamakaze. When I saw an opportunity I ran out and grabbed Mickey and locked her in the basement.

With the immediate threat gone and the birds still circling, Quincey placed the bird down in a safe spot on the grass. We watched it for nearly two hours. The birds retreated. The baby bird had moved a few inches onto the rocks, but nothing else.
Quincey got a pot and made a nest in it then fed it water through and dropper and mushed up corn. (He looked for worms but couldn't find any.)

Then I was left to care for it forevermore....which is reminiscent of the situation I'm in with all these kids running around my house. (oooooo....I love a good burn on my husband!)
I kept the baby bird in his pot-nest on my desk with me all day. I (with the help of my mom and Eloise) fed him water and mushed up corn all day. It was like having a newborn. He'd cry, I'd feed him. He'd cry, I'd feed him. He'd cry, I'd feed him. On and on.


Then at about 5pm Charlie came to check on him.
"Why's baby laying like that?"
"Hunh? ... Oh dear.."
He had rolled onto his back and was taking slow gaspy breaths.
"I think he's dying." I said.
She spun around so she wasn't facing the pot anymore and immediately started crying.
"It's OK!" I assured her, "he was very sick. We were hoping he'd get better, but he just didn't."
"I don't want to see!" she said through sobs, "I'm scared!"

I let her call Quincey and then we went out to bury it in the garden.
Max blamed me for the death, "Why did you let Mickey get him!?!"
Quincey also blamed me, "You didn't feed it, did you."
Eloise had no idea what death was. She was happy to help me bury him, but afterward said "Birdy out now!"
"No, Birdy is not coming out. Birdy is dead. Birdy isn't breathing. Birdy doesn't work anymore. Mickey killed Birdy."
"Mickey bad kitty!" she said as she started running toward the cat, "Mickey! Bad! Bad!" Then she tripped and fell flattening poor old Mickey under her big barrell toddler chest.

Charlie wanted to mark the grave. I wasn't quite expecting the huge flag, but I let her erect it anyway. I'll take it out in a few days and blame the weather.


Birdy!!!
Yup, what more is there to say?

Will it End?

I've never understood why people take time off work BEFORE the baby comes. Seems like you'd be wasting your time off when you don't even have baby to spend it with.

I've always worked right up to having my babies and then been back at work shortly (like..days) thereafter. (with my baby in tow, of course.)

But now I get it.

I am having a seriously killer time not totally going psycho on people. I have zero tolerance and no ability to "play the games". Someone "makes a suggestion" aka criticizes something I've done and I want to stand up and overturn the desk all the while roaring like King Kong. In the movie of my life this would be shown in slow motion and there would be a close up of my raging face. Fangs and all, spit flying. And all you'd hear would be a million consecutive BLEEPS.

Then the work day is through and I cannot keep my eyes open. Literally. I fight it and fight it because I need to make dinner and spend some time with the kids. But I just end up being snippy with them because my fuse is so short, I can barely stay awake, and the skin on my stomach feels like it will rip wide open at the slightest touch...including hugs. My poor kids. :-(
Then I order pizza. My kids don't even like pizza.

Last night I was going to take them on a little date to Chuck E Cheese. I couldn't do it, though. My energy was run dry. I had nothing left. In the back of my mind I'm thinking I'll try it again tonight. But who am I kidding. Why would I suddenly have an explosion of energy tonight? Maybe I'll take a nap with Elly this afternoon....come on, you're not going to do that either, Sara. There's too much to do.

BIG. FAT. SIGH.

I guess the good news is that because I have so much going on right now the last few weeks of this achingly long pregnancy will fly by. Right? Please tell me these last few weeks will fly by! Promise me that! or shoot me...either one is fine with me at this point.

Have I mentioned how wonderful Quincey is with all of this?
He hasn't once shown any frustration over my bad temperament. Hasn't snapped back. Hasn't even avoided me. I can't say I'd behave the same were I in his position.
He just gives me hugs and tells me I'm beautiful.
And on his birthday last week when I made him bbq his own birthday dinner, got him a cheap grocery store cake, reused the candles from my mother's birthday cake (no, he's not 62!), and then didn't clean up the mess for 2 days it didn't seem to bother him at all.
He's a good man, people. And no, I don't share. :-)



I just LOVE this picture of Eloise lovin' on her Daddy.

Swagger Wagon

This weekend at dinner Quincey and my brother in law were talking about Beamers and Ferraris and Porsches and such. Pros and cons..you know..because they're both such high rollers. *eye roll*
Truth be told, they both pulled away in minivans full of kids. Then this morning someone sent me this link.

Favourite part: When the Dad wipes the tea party table clean.