Lifeguard on Duty

So, I have this boy.

A boy who has only recently become a decent swimmer.

And by decent I mean that I trust him 98% of the time,

but there's still that 2% the scares me a little bit.

About a month ago we took a trip to Hume Lake with some friends.

The adults were sitting on shore passing around the Oreo's 

while all the kids were swimming.

Good times.

As is normal, I find myself counting heads every couple of minutes.

At one particular moment I am counting

 but can't find Bradley's head among the group.

In a brief moment of panic 

I find his little head bobbing out further than he was supposed to be.

(naughty boy)

So I go to the edge of the water and watch him swim.

Seriously, where is he going?

That's when I spot the tiny orange spec floating near him.

He grabs it, turns around to swim back and I start getting nervous.

He wasn't panicking yet, but I could see on his face that he wasn't going to make it all the way back. 

(For the record, all of this happened in a matter of a few seconds)

As Dave and I look at each other

(and do a quick round of Rock-Paper-Scissors)

our wicked awesome friend Ryan

[cue Baywatch theme song]

runs from his chair, rips off his shirt and goes to the rescue.

Thank goodness he's like 12 feet tall 

because he was able to reach Bradley in 1 stroke.

He lifts my little guy in the air and what does Bradley say?

He proudly holds up that Tampico lid, 

has the biggest grin on his face and yells, 

"I got it!"

Really?

Apparently he was unaware that he might sink to the 

deep, dark nasty lake bottom.

His only thought was that he must MUST rescue that lid.

For detail purposes, 

I must mention that Dave really wanted to be the one to go into that deliciously green water,

but he was far too busy flexing for me.

Priorities, you know.

Everything is Awesome

My Boyfriend: Edition 3 had his first soccer season this spring.

And I'm here to tell you,

they charged me 70 bucks to let him play.

I would have paid double. (but don't tell them that)

It was straight-up the most entertaining thing I've experienced all year.

(Ummm...upon further inspection, I'm to-the-bone-frightened of the creepy sunglasses man in this picture. Let's just pretend he's not there.  [shudder] 

Let's focus on that adorable very happy face attached to the flying leg.)

Every time it was time for soccer (whether practice or game) he was all kinds of excited.

Like, camping out in full uniform several hours before game time excited.

It was adorable.

And when his practice would get cancelled....
oh the tears.

He was known to sprint out onto the field doing a little jig and singing 

"Everything Is Awesome" (Lego Movie, anyone?)

which is basically the theme song for this boy's life.

I do enjoy live action sports pictures.

Some facial expressions are just...special.

Bradley's infamous backwards kick.

(The sunglasses guy looks way less creepy here.  Phew.)

And just so we all understand....

another of my boyfriends played as well.

It was fantastically fun to watch,

but more for reasons related to the kids actually knowing how to play.

As opposed to pure comedy.  :)

Jack got to put his speedy little legs to work playing forward.

It was fun to watch him understand the game more and more as the season went on.

And because I enjoy torturing my fluttering heart...

The Writer

Jack straight up hates writing.

Like writing a journal entry is pure torture.

You know, like burning in acid torture.

His teacher pulled me in for a Conference to talk it over.

In many less words than she used, here's the gist:

"Jack won't complete his writing assignments.  

His handwriting looks like cryptic hieroglyphics.  

And he gives me dirty looks."

Alrighty then.

So I sit the boy down and find out what his deal-io is.

He tells me that he just hates writing.  Period.  He just doesn't see the purpose.

And believe me, when that boy doesn't see the purpose in doing something, 

you better strap your boots on.

So what did I do?

I pretty much brought his world crashing down.

Me:  "You know Jack, any job you decide to get in the future will require writing."

Jack: "What?!  Every one?!"

Me:  "Sorry sweet thang.  EVERY one.  No doubt about it."

There's really no sense in lulling him into a false sense of reality, right?

Unfortunately, that statement didn't exactly seem to light his inner writing fire.

At that moment, 

a little light bulb appeared above my head.

Ding!

I told Jack about a person he knows that has always hated to write.  This person has always agonized over writing assignments and most recently practically perished trying to write a 100 page dissertation.

Who is this person?

None other than my hunk of a man.

(Who just happens to be floating on a giant orange floaty in what appears to be diarrhea water...)

I then proceeded to pull out our copy of Dave's dissertation.

It's a book that sits on the back of a shelf in plastic packaging because the mere sight of it is enough to cause convulsions in this poor man.

Jack however (a true book lover) was suddenly beaming.

He had just learned that his very own father was an author.

(or at least that's how he perceived it)

His stunned little self strutted downstairs to congratulate his Dad for being awesome. 

He carefully looked through all the pages

and then asked if he could take it for Show and Tell.

Uh.  Ok.

I can only imagine how that went down.

Jack proudly standing in front of 30 second graders telling them about the book his father wrote, titled

"The Effect of Microphone Port Occlusion on Hearing Aid Directionality"

The boy hates to write but he should get some points for being able to read that title, right?

He said that his class loved the book.  (right)

Really, I am sure that his teacher just thought that we were absolutely nuts.

Which is mostly likely not true.

Just so we all can recognize that Jack actually has 2 amazing parents and not just one amazing author parent, here is a picture of my famous ear. 

Which just happens to be published in 1 book which exists in 1 library.

Does that make me a famous model?

Um yes. Yes it does.

Baby G

We've had Grant hanging around for 10 whole weeks now.

And I'll tell you one thing;

I think we'll keep him.

I had almost forgotten how fun it is to have a baby in the house.

I pretty much eat his face everyday.

Let's have a quick sum-up of Grant's life thus far.

1.  He's getting plenty to eat.

His pediatrician practically gave him a standing ovation for gaining 2 pounds in his first 3 weeks of life.

10 week weigh-in: 13 pounds

He definitely came with the understanding that he is the 5th child.

This kid can take care of dinner time in 10 minutes or less.

He gets enough to be a little fatty 

and takes some to spare since he tends to spew forth quite often.

2.  He's processing all of that liquid nicely.

No picture for this one, but just know that the "plumbing" is working.

He's nailed me more times than I care to count 

and he may have even decorated the wall at the pediatricians office.

3.  He hardly gets any attention.

I mean, it's like no one likes to look/touch/entertain the poor boy.

Riiight.

Of course,

all that attention can be a bit frightening sometimes.

Just ask the kid.

4.  He smiles and coos.

Which pretty much makes me melt into giant puddle.

For reals.

I practically want to marry him.

Which of course I can't.

Because see that hairy arm?  I'm already married to that guy.

5.  Most importantly, I think his first words will be "Let it go! or Do you want to build a snowman?"

Brooklyn has discovered the 'repeat' button.

Oy.

Biking Bradley

For several months (like 8) we have been trying to get Bradley to ride his bike without training wheels.

Every time we would get it out of the garage he would sit on it for a minute,

take a look around and then quickly get off and go inside.

What's your deal, dude?

If your big ol' pregnant mama is offering to huff down the street 

holding you upright 

the least you can do is try.

After many attempts, I did what any good mother would do.

I gave up.

I let that dirty rotten Spiderman bike sit in the corner of the garage collecting dust.

So of course,

as all rotten children do,

the other day he walked over to that bike,

rolled it out of the garage,

(you know where this is going)

got on and rode away.

Just.like.that.

Say what?!

There was no audience.

No expectations.

No mother in her flip flops running all hunched over to keep him upright.

There was just me,

standing at the top of the driveway doing a victory dance 

and wondering if he was going to bite his tongue off out of sheer concentration.

The longer I watched, the more amazed I was at 

A) how prevelant certain genetic traits can be, 

and B) how his lips were not incredibly chapped. 

I mean seriously,

that tongue was moving back and forth at lightning speed.

I took dozens of quick succession pictures and it appears that your brain and body function better if you've got your tongue hanging out.

Right Dave?  And Dave's Dad?  And my own Mother?  

And who knows how many other countless relatives?

Whatever the case, I was quite proud of my boy.

He does things on his own terms.

But when he decides he is ready - he is very ready.

We love him.

Even if he doesn't believe in wearing shoes.

Or his, um, helmet?!

Big Brother

Bradley is a really good big brother.

Well, let me rephrase that.

Bradley is a really good big brother to Grant.

To Aubrey, I'm afraid he is mostly just a big brother.

He has mastered the delicate balance of both taking good care of her 

and tormenting her.

A balance any good brother will strive for.

To Grant however, (for now) he is as sweet as can be.

He constantly asks if he can hold the baby (who looks HUGE in this picture)

and I often hear him singing his own lullaby.

Which basically consists of repeatedly singing

"Rock a bye baby here on Earth."

As opposed to "Rock a bye baby over on Mars?"

Who knows.

Whatever the case, I find it terribly charming.

He has also been found to share his very favorite book with Grant.

Pete the Cat is not something we take lightly at this house.

That book is coveted by all children under 6 at this house.

Enjoy it Grant, 

because in a few short years these "sweet" big brothers will be sitting on you,

giving you wedgies and making you lick their armpits.

Grant Foster Bowen

Look what I got 3 days after Christmas!

I'm going to share the birth story, but if you're really just here to see pictures of more baby yumminess than one can possibly handle, then I will throw in several pics of my sweet boy.

Let me preface the story with the fact that I (for insurance reasons) decided to deliver in Clovis.

Which is located 1 hour away.

This little fact caused a fair bit of worry 

and at least one hour of reading "what to do if you deliver your baby in the car."

Thankfully, (not to ruin the ending) that information can now safely be stored 

in the "thank goodness I didn't have to use it" section of my brain.

I started having contractions every 15-20 minutes apart about 2 weeks before Grant was actually born.

And for the week before he was born, they would get to 8-10 minutes apart.

Not painful, but very consistent.

In other words, confusing.

I did this with both of my other boys,

but with them, I went in and stayed to have the baby.

This time however,

I drove an hour, was sent to walk the halls, 

was told I was only dialated 2 and then 3 centimeters aaand was sent home.

TWICE.

Hmph.  I was slightly offended that I had hoofed it around the hospital for an hour in my super attractive hospital gown only to be told to get out of town.

That whole hour from the hospital thing was seriously messing with me.

Those nurses were not about to do me any favors either because that hospital was one busy place!

Lots and lots of babies.

Finally, on the morning of the 27th I woke up to some painful contractions.

I told Dave to go to work, but to be ready just in case.

In the meantime, I spent all day contracting every 15 minutes or so.

They kept going and finally around 10 pm 

(why do they always speed up in the pm?)

they were 5-7 minutes apart and I decided that we should take another trip to the hospital.

I felt pretty certain that we would actually get to stay this time.

And if not, I was going to be one grouchy pregnant lady from several hours of painful labor.

Lucky for me, those contractions kept on going 

(causing Dave to drive a bit faster than normal)

and when we got there I was 4.5 cm.

BUT, the crazy nurse didn't have the monitor on correctly so she didn't see any contractions for those first 30 minutes I was laying in that triage room.

She came in, told me I might need to walk the halls

and I gave her a super friendly look and told her she might want to adjust her monitors because these contractions were definitely happening. 

I finally got my "ticket to stay," around midnight

but once again, that place was packed!

So, I got to "hang out" in the triage room for what turned out to be all night.

For the record, those beds are wicked comfortable...

Oh wait, no they aren't.

Not at all.

Truthfully though, I didn't really mind that much.

I was just happy to be staying.

And happy that Dave said I looked cute when I was all flushed in between contractions.

Thanks honey, you really know how to make a girl swoon. :)

The worst part of the whole experience was the really loud and animated hispanic lady that was just one curtain over.  

I thought for sure I was going to have to listen to her deliver a baby right there.

Which I am not going to lie - made me want to head for the hills.

It turns out that she was only dialated 5cm.

But I also know that she swore she wouldn't have anymore kids, she asked for a C-section just to get it over with, she's very skilled at switching between English and Spanish - neither of which made much sense, and she wanted to kill her husband.

I wonder if Dave thought I was cute 

when her yelling and moaning drained the color from my face and made my eyes pop??

At 9am and 8cm I was finally moved to an actual delivery room.

Thankfully my epidural was keeping me pretty comfortable 

because the OB on call was running from one delivery to another 

and I was fairly low on the pecking order.

Finally, at 1:06pm we met our sweet 8lb 3oz baby boy.

I was (am) completely in heaven.

I am a total sucker for the newborn stage.

I am thoroughly enjoying spending many hours a day holding, 

kissing, smelling, feeding and squeezing him.

You just can't beat having a new baby in the home.

My bigger kids seem to think he's ok too.

Sometimes I can't believe that these people are all mine.

They are mostly completely out of control.

Our house is very loud and very busy.

We've got too much laundry and plenty of messes,

but I think I'll keep them anyway.

For the record, it may look like we have already taken Grant to the barber,

but that "combed over" look is all thanks to the giant hurricane going on on the back of his head.

That hair is going to be a whole lot of fun to cut later on.