A Tale of Two Poops

I had one of those days yesterday. Like, a "holy crap, THIS is my life???" kinda day.

It would be a shame to have to suffer through the memory of this day alone, so I present to you:

A Tale of Two Poops
A story of woe by M.L. Lundgren

Yesterday afternoon I needed to run some errands. So we all packed into the car and hit the DMV and then Target. On the way to the grocery store after, Isla started crying. "Mommom (that's what she calls me lately. I dunno where it came from and it's weird as fuck) I'm so very huuuuungry!!"

First of all, this child eats. She eats more than Jamie and Wren put together. Not to mention, I'm pretty sure she's about to growth spurt something fierce. We had just eaten lunch before we left the house and I had gotten them an ice cream treat to get through the DMV, so I was pretty sure she wasn't hungry. I told her we were going to the grocery store and we could buy a snack there.

She started freaking out, crying real tears and saying, "Ow mommom! My belly is so hungry!" This goes on for a little while with me telling her that I don't have any food in the car and her crying crying like she's a starving orphan. Then suddenly she stops and is pretty much silent until we get to the store.

As I'm unbuckling her from the car seat, she says, "I pooped!" And it all makes sense. (We're working on potty training but I'm not an asshole and still put her in diapers when we go out) In a moment of panic and horror, I realize I didn't grab my diaper bag and I have noooo wipes. I debate for a moment. I've already taken Wren out of the car and wrapped her on my hip, Jameson is whining because he got a Ninja Turtle mask and sword at the store which he is obviously wearing and is so mad that he has to wear shoes because "TURTLES DONT NEED SHOES MOMMMMY!" It's after five o'clock, I just fought rush hour traffic to get here, and I have NOTHING to cook for dinner at home. I stoically decide that CPS probably won't take my kids away for not changing a poop right away and besides I only need a few things. I ask Isla if she wanted to go home and change her diaper before we go to the store and she said, "Noooooo! I neeeeed my snacks!"

As I'm lifting her into the cart, I catch a whiff of her offensive load and think, "Oh God I am the trashy mom who takes her smelly kids grocery shopping" but, really there's no turning back now.

We were by the strawberries when it happened.

I leaned over to put the strawberries in the cart and see that Isla's back is COVERED IN SHIT. It's peeking out between her shirt and pants and as I lifted her shirt to grasp the full scope of the shitsplosion, Isla turns and I now have a palm full of ripe toddler feces.

I panic.

Jamie, I mean Raphael, sees my shit covered hand and exclaims, "Mommy is that POOOOP?"

Wren, who had been nursing at the time, unlatches, and here I am in the produce aisle of the Tigard Grocery Outlet, with one boob hanging out and holding up a fist full of crap.

It wasn't my finest moment. I can fully and truly admit that, but I looked at my cart full of groceries, and think of my bare cupboards at home and my three toddlers who are about to plow right into the pre-dinner hangry hour, and decide, fuck it.

I take Wren out of the wrap and place her haphazardly in the cart next to the chicken and ground beef, wiped all the shit I could see from my hand, Isla's back, and now the back of the grocery cart, and throw my once gorgeous, poop covered wrap on the bottom of the cart. I make my way to the check out, and to every single person we pass Isla says, "Hi, I pooped!"

I somehow make it through checkout without being arrested for public indecency or child neglect and load the kids, including poor poop covered Isla, into the car. I catch a store employee gathering carts and say, "I am SO sorry but my daughter had an accident and I think this cart should be washed." and squeal out of the parking lot like I stole something.

When we get home I usher her straight to the bathroom, and right into the tub. I get her clean and start washing her clothes and my wrap in the sink when Wrennie decides she also wants to splash. I throw her in the tub and continue my scrubbing, thinking about the giant beer I was going to drink when they went to bed. Isla's little voice squeals, "There's more poop!" I scurry to the tub thinking I can get her to the toilet in time and instead see Wren squatting over the drain and pooping straight into it, with one of her turds squishing in between her little fingers.

People, I could NOT make this up if I wanted to.

I'll spare you the rest of the details of the clean up. It involved a lot of bleach and me muttering, "Seriously? Seriously." a lot. To sum it up, I had a pretty shitty day. I'll take your official thanks for the free birth control in the form of beer. Or Lysol wipes.

Jamie is 4

Dear Jameson,

Today you turn FOUR. How is that possible? I still remember leaving the hospital after you came earth side and thinking, "So, they're just going to let me take this baby and keep it? Forever? I have no idea what I'm doing."

I'm sorry buddy, but most days I still have no idea what I'm doing. You have the distinct disadvantage of being the first everything. You were my first, and mostly failed, attempt at breastfeeding, my first (and only) attempt at sleep training. I spent so much time keeping track of feedings, and wake up times, trying to get you to soothe yourself, and waking you from sound sleeps so that you would sleep later. I wasted so much of our precious time together and caused us a lot of unnecessary stress, and I'm very sorry for that. You were my first attempt at potty training. We're still perfecting that one. In the fall you'll be the first that I send off to school.

I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I'm supposed to drop you off and put someone else in charge of caring for you. We've been partners in crime since the very beginning. You were the only one who didn't have to share me for any period of time. You got every ounce of me. I fondly think back to our days before I found out Isla was growing inside of me. Our midmorning naps together, our walks around the neighborhood together, where I felt silly talking to this tiny bundle against my chest, but still pointed out ever squirrel and flower that we came across, our late nights and early mornings in the dark, you fighting sleep, and me fighting to stay awake.

I cried when I found out I was pregnant again. Not because I didn't want your sister, I very much did, but because I suddenly felt selfish for forcing you to share me. The first time I saw you, I discovered the meaning of true, fiery, unconditional love. I was so terrified that it simply couldn't be possible to feel that again. While I now know that this is a love that multiples instead of divides, YOU were the one to teach me about this love. I'll never be able to thank you enough for that.

My biggest hope for you is that you find the same contagious happiness in life that you've given me for four years, because everyone deserves that kind of joy.

I love you Jameson, Happy birthday ❤

For Islabean

Jameson's "terrible two" phase lasted about a month. Right before he turned 3, I remember him being a little extra tantrumy, and mostly, being a misery at bed time. After dropping his nap and making some adjustments to our "schedule", he turned back into a functioning member of society. I mean, as much as a toddler can be. Jamie definitely has his own quirks, but I'm here today to discuss my middle child.

Andy calls Isla Uday. As in Uday Hussein. I call her my Sour Patch Kid, sour then sweet.

She's a love bug. When she's tired she will snuggle right up, and rub your arms and ears with such vigor that sometimes I'm afraid the friction may cause a fire. If anyone gets hurt, her little eyebrows will furrow and she'll lament, "awww you got a booboo? It's OK!" Her kisses are something magical, I wish I could bottle them and keep her little puckered baby lips with me always.

I spent the first two years of her life teaching her to walk and talk and now I spend most days telling her to sit and be quiet. I wish I more often had the grace and patience to realize her tantrums are her passion bubbling to the surface. Everything Isla does, she does BIG, a trait that would be admirable in any adult, but for some reason we try to squash in our children.

People the world over will call her bossy. A boss. A leader. Independent. I want her to be all these things, forever. I want to cultivate those traits now so she never compromises them.

My feisty spirited little girl, will some day be a feisty spirited woman, and I don't want anyone to stop that, myself included.

Dear Isla, I promise to spend more time working on myself instead of trying to dim your spirit because someone says you're too much of anything.
I know you're going to grow, even though I've tried to put a stop to that since I became mommy. So. Grow. Blossom. Learn and flourish. But never ever change.

Home

Crazy, but a cross country move with three toddlers was NOT the time to begin a new venture, even one as small as this little blog.

But here's an update on our lives, regardless. We made it to Oregon entirely unscathed. Really, things could not have gone smoother, given the ages and temperaments of my travel companions. We saw so much of this beautiful country and did it without killing each other or getting arrested.

Things haven't been as smooth since arriving in our new home. Still no murders or arrests, but hard times nonetheless. Andy, thankfully, was hired at a great job just a few days after we arrived and we figured, smooth sailing from there, right?

Not so much.

We had a god awful time finding a place to live. The rental market here in this part of Oregon is just a horror. Between application fees, wait lists, and scouring every ad on Craigslist ever, I was convinced we would be living in a hotel indefinitely.

Do you have toddlers? Have you ever spent any time in a hotel with them? It's basically the worst. After over a month in a hotel room with three toddlers, and many meltdowns, by children and adults, we finally moved into a little apartment over Memorial Day weekend. Emphasis on little. It isn't what we were hoping for, but after hotel hell it feels like a mansion.

So, we're settling in and the kids are..adjusting. I keep reminding myself that we've all experienced a year of chaos and hard life changes and all things considered, they're doing great. We've spent endless hours exploring and being outdoors relishing in the climate and nature that we never had in Florida. Really? Things could be worse.

Be Nice

I took the kids out to play at the McDonald's playplace today. I know, they probably contracted six diseases and played with a bundle of dirty needles, BUT we desperately had to get out of the house so Andy could pack.

Side note: I kinda lucked out in the husband department and Andy has packed 85% of the house, and usually waited until I was out so that I wouldn't yell at him for not doing my way. Gold star, husband. Gold star for you.

It is also hotter than a sack of balls here. People are always in awe that we're giving up living on an island off the Gulf of Mexico, in a land of constant sunshine. No. The humidity was 700% today and the frizz in my hair has it's own frizz. So, the idea of a place to let the kids run and play while I sat in the air-conditioning and drank a milkshake sounded like heaven on earth, diseases be damned!

I have to paint you a picture of what it looks like, us going basically anywhere when there's a 3:1 kid/adult ratio. I usually have Wrennie on my back. This is purposeful and well thought out. If there's a chance that she will need to nurse, I'll hip carry so she has boob access, otherwise, she's on my back so that I have full field of vision to see what my other two are getting into. We ALWAYS hold hands. I generally think my kids are pretty well behaved. They listen appropriately for their ages and usually know when it's time to run around and when it's time to stick with mommy. That being said, they're also toddlers. If Isla sees a butterfly on the other side of the parking lot, she's going after it unless I have a death grip on her hand. Because butterflies.

So, one on my back, and one in each hand. As I'm trying to juggle a tray of drinks over to a table, Isla kicks her shoes off and then screams, "OOOOOHHHH NOOOOOOOOO", as if amnesia as set in and she immediately forgot that she kicked those shoes off on purpose a mere 3 seconds ago. Meanwhile, Jameson as spotted the playplace and is trying his very hardest to remove my arm from the socket and take it right down the slide with him.

I used my best logic and began kicking Isla's shoes across the room while holding two toddlers hands in one of mine and a tray in the other. And one on my back.

After letting the kids loose and sitting down, a woman came and sat across from me.

"You are Wonder Woman!", she said. "All these babies and a smile on your face, they're lucky to have you!"

And she walked away.

I've been thinking about her all day. Taking the time to tell me that it at least looks like I have my shit together, well it just made me happy. Just be nice, everyone. That's all.

Moats and Boats and Waterfalls

One of my April resolutions is to become a famous blogger and make a ton of money talking about how ridiculous my kids are and doing it all while in my pajamas and eating BonBons (you guys, what are BonBons anyway? Are they good? They must be, all those housewives hanging out eating them all the time. Send me some BonBons and I'll do a review right here on this very blog). 

My April resolutions are coming at a pretty convenient time because the Lundgren (and Ferrie!) family has some big news! 

April 20th begins our journey along our own Oregon Trail. We're moving our little clan to the West Coast, and we couldn't be more excited! 

I'll spare you the details on how exactly this came about, but it was something like,
 "Hey it would be cool if we moved to Portland." 
 "Definitely. We should totally do that"

And here we are, two weeks away from moving our whole existence over 3,000 miles away. 

The kids are so excited. Every time we get in the car Isla asks, "We're going to Oregon today?" And I'm like, "No Isla, we're just going to WalMart because we're out of Goldfish crackers and beer." And then she cries the whole way to WalMart. 

Jameson has watched too much Toy Story, and is mostly concerned that his toys are going to get lost and have to find a rocket and fly into the moving van. So, there's that. 

Wren is a baby and has no opinion on the matter, however, she will also be coming and I feel like I have to mention her on my first blog post so that when I DO become famous and she reads this some day, I won't have to pay for an extra therapy session for leaving her out of my maiden entry. 

Well, there you have it. We're moving and I'm blogging. All good things, all good things. But in all seriousness, I'm pretty thrilled to be sharing  all this big stuff with everyone.

Jamie's favorite song lately is called "Home" by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros (although he has unofficially titled it, "The One with All the Whistling".  I'll leave this right here for you to enjoy, because it perfectly describes how I feel about our big adventure.


"Moats and boats and waterfalls
Alley-ways and pay phone calls
I've been everywhere with you

We laugh until we think we'll die
Barefoot on a summer night
Nothin' new is sweeter than with you

And in the streets you run afree
Like it's only you and me
Geeze, you're something to see

Ahh home, let me go home
Home is wherever I'm with you
Ahh home. Let me go ho-oh-ome
Home is wherever I'm with you"