It's Been Seven Years, Ashe

It's always amazing to me when another year has gone by and I look at my boy standing there, so proud, so excited that he is a new age, and yet, I can remember in vivid detail the day he was born. For each parent and child I am sure that this is common. But Ashe... Ashe is special. He was born on December 12 at 12:11 pm.

12/12 12:11

 

 

Do you know how many times, my lovely Ashe, that I have been asked why I didn't hold you in for one more minute so that you were born  12/12 12:12pm? Do you know how many times I have had to hold back from smacking those idiots? Of course, they do not realize that by that time I had been holding you back for ten minutes while the doctor ran as fast as she could to make it from the opposite side of the hospital, after already trying to keep you at bay from being born in the car during a five minute car ride to the hospital. Or that she barely skidded into the room when I yelled "Catch!" and you were born. And of course, they don't realize that, let's be honest here, there really is no such thing as holding you back.

The fact that you were born on 12/12 at 12:11 and not 12:12 is just another reminder that you are the writer, performer, and conductor to your own epic soundtrack of your life. You are the hero of your story, unstoppable, undefeated! No one can take that away from you, nor should anyone try.

Seven years, my love. Seven years you have graced us with your vibrant soul. It seems that not nearly enough time has passed for you to be seven while also trying to remember what life was like before you entered the world like a comet in a blaze of glory, hell bent to make your entrance to this glorious world known far and wide. I can barely remember life without you. I don't want to know life without you.

You make life so much more! More of everything! More fun! More loud! More inspiring! More chaotic! More frustrating! More fulfilling! More worthwhile!!!

You, my child, will go far in life in whatever you do. You own this stage called life, and you know it. And while sometimes this knowledge you keep creates many situations where I want to pull out my hair in frustration as you make some sarcastic comment with that little smirk on your face, totally confident in yourself, that confidence you exude as a child will be a huge strength as you grow and reach maturity. It will lift you up when you stumble and push you to move forward when many people would just stop and stay down after their fall.

My advice to you child, as you grow... don't stay down when you stumble. Don't ever stay down. You were made, not to fall, but to fly. And you will fly high.


I watch you now, at seven years old. So confident. So funny. So amazingly smart. So stubborn. So full of life. Everyone you touch is forever changed for the better. You make everyone laugh. You make them smile. You make them think. You make them wonder in delight. Seven years old and you can do all that and more.

Ashe, you are amazing. Never change your ways for anyone. And please, never forget that you are SO loved, that I can't even begin to describe to you in a blog, or through our chats just how much you are loved and cherished by me, your father, your brothers, your grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends.....

You are SO loved. And my love, may I wish for you today the most happiest of birthdays, and an awe filled year ahead of you.

Happy birthday Ashe!

Fairy Bra Mother

Wanna hear a funny story? Me too! Too bad you’re on my page and reading my blog. Summer boredom is the pits, huh?


But maybe this topic will keep you slightly entertained. I know it has for several of my friends. Today we’re going to talk about breasts and bras. Mine, in particular, and how at the age of 32 I finally met my Fairy Bra Mother and learned more about bras in 1 hour than in the rest of my life.

Plus, I now have the breasts I’ve always dreamed of.

Let’s backspace a bit for history’s sake to give you an understanding of how it came to be that as a woman, I have been completely clueless about anything bra related until my poor, laughing friends took pity on me.



First off, I somehow missed out on all those girly moments with my mom when it came to learning those important life lessons as I turned from girl to woman. You know those after school specials they used to show, where parents would lovingly sit down with their daughter and explain about periods, puberty, bras, tampons, and all that shit? I got nothin. I learned about periods in 6th grade at school, and what to really expect (and how to use maxi pads and tampons) in the girls bathroom in between classes in middle school. Bras are laughable. My mom never had an issue in the breast department so compared to her, she decided I didn’t have anything to worry about. I was always smaller than my friends and all of us were fairly clueless, so since no one took me under their wing I did what any girl in that scenario would do: I tried a few on by myself, thought whatever kind of fit worked, and left. With this said, I have always thought BC I was a 38A. Growing up I only had a small handful of female friends, all of whom had breasts by the time they were 8. None of my guy friends knew anything about bras, unless it was how to unclasp them with one hand. Yes, people, I learned how to unclasp a bra one handed, but not how to properly size one. That should explain a lot to you.



FF to pregnancy. My breasts grew. And they were hawt! Yes, I am one of those women who (since I never had them and pined for them silently) thinks that penis = male, breasts = female. Yes, I felt less feminine with small breasts. I felt more feminine with my pregnant and nursing breasts. Im sorry, pregnancy sucks. So please excuse me if I thought the coolest thing about pregnancy (aside from that whole fact that I had a mini me developing) was that I had a REASON to wear a bra. I. Loved. It.



But after 3 kids born, all weaned, they deflated again. And by this point I had given up trying to find a good bra that fit my nonexistent boobs. I tried, folks. Seriously, for years, I wandered blindly through the bra department, trying on my very own. Nothing felt right. Nothing fit well. It was depressing. And frankly, I gave up. I wore camisoles or sports bras, or doubled up my tanks. Because I wasn’t going to pay good money for bras that pissed me off when I saw how little I had to fill them with, let alone never fit right.



/cue the tiny violin



Yet over the past few months I had some friends take pity on me. It started off as a joke, as they giggled that I didn’t wear a bra. They joked about it, throwing comments into conversations once in awhile. Little comments here and there that we would laugh about. And finally someone took the bull by the horn and said “You need a bra.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t have anything to fill them with.”

“Sweetheart, you’re an idiot. Tell you what. I’m going to take you bra shopping.”

And that’s how I found my Fairy Bra Mother.



Suddenly everyone started taking bets on what size I was. Anywhere from a 34A to a 38C. The betting got heated as the day  of bra shopping got closer, and everyone was excited to see what the result could be. It reminded me of horse race betting, minus the actual flow of cash. How big are B’s boobs and who will win???? Tune in Monday afternoon to find out!



My friend S is the sweetest woman. She will give you the shirt off her back if you asked, will bake you homemade scones when you come over for a play date, and can now add to her list of coolness factor, that she will take you bra shopping, and make sure you got the right fit, even if you’re a grown up. And she does so with a huge dose of humor.



I wont go into the details of measuring, pushing, lifting, hefting, and all of that, but lets just say my Fairy Bra Mother left no inch of potential chest to be forgotten as we tried bra after bra after bra. Adding to the hilarity factor, we had 3 kids 5 and under with us and they had a ball playing in the fitting room hallway as she tossed me bras to try on.



In the end I have to get on my knees and thank S. I snickered when she guessed I was a 34C but she was close. Officially I am a 36C, the size I kept telling J that after kids, I wanted a boob job to get to that size. And yet here I had them all along, unnoticed, disregarded, unknown.






It sounds weird to know that I went through my life having no clue about something you would think every woman on the planet knows. But simply put, if you don’t teach your kids these things, who will? I still barely know how to do laundry (no I do NOT sort. See what I mean???) I suck at cooking since meals consisted of McDonalds on an almost nightly basis when I grew up. It sucks knowing that I missed out on these lessons, and because of it, I went through many years of having a self esteem issue with my body. To think of those years spent wanting something I already had but didn’t know. It kind of sucks. BUT… it’s also incredibly cool that I have a nice wrack that are happily perched up where they should be and I can’t see my toes when I stand up straight, and I’m not pregnant either!!!!! I donthave to go through life wanting anymore. I just needed friends to say something and help a girl out. And I appreciate that type of friendship.



So thank you Fairy Bra Mother, and thanks to my friends who ribbed me enough to get my head out of my ass and show me that while breastss do not truly equate to femininity, it can make a huge difference to treat the ladies well when you are filled with the correct knowledge (and your chest fills the right cup size).



So Moms, take your daughters bra shopping when the time comes. And get them professionally fitted so they have that knowledge. And since I do not have daughters I promise you that I’ll be teaching the boys how to unclasp them one handed ;)

Hanging By A Thread

I'm going to assume it's bad that I've gained weight recently due to my increased consumption of alcohol. Right?

Kidding aside (well not really) I am about to finish week one of summer vacation with all three children home at the same time. Add to that a new medication that Xavier is trying for his ADHD and the wonderful roller coaster effects that has on us all and it's been an interesting week. So interesting that about twice a day I walk into J's office and ask him to shoot me in the head, please. He just laughs.

So far this week I have wrangled the kids out to:
* A nature walk, where Soren cried for about 2/3 of the time wanting to be picked up and carried, while Xavier clung to me with desperation as he popped his head this way and that seeking out those evil flying bugs solely out to get him and his blood. Actually, despite bug spray, he did get a few decent bites. I joked that his blood must be super sweet.
* 3 trips to the playground, which included Soren booking it multiple times the nanosecond I turned my head, bumping into an old neighbor of mine whose name I had forgotten (and wracked my mind in vain trying to remember it so as not to look like an idiot. I failed miserably). Ashe asking to go home every 3 minutes because he was tired, and Xavier screaming for 45 minutes like a Tyrannosaurus Rex at all of the kids on the play ground.
* A trip to Monkey Joes, to let the kids get their energy out. Which upon the minute I put Soren down to pay he fell completely apart, assuming I was going to leave him like I do at the Drop Off Day Care centers when I have DR appointments for Xavier. It took me about 5 minutes to fully calm him down, but even then it took him 90 minutes before he ventured away from me.
*A trip to World Market ( my new addiction) to purchase a small thing for the boys to play with, where Soren broke a jar of jam, and the older boys refused to listen to directions. It didn't hit them that I was REALLY serious about my warning of being on best behavior until I held my ground and took their new toys away until they earned them back. Which created Xavier to have an EF5 meltdown in the middle of the store. Suffice to say he did not get his toy until hours later.
*Daily trips outside to our new mini pool in our driveway, allowing the boys to play as loudly as they wish, so long as they do not scream or kill each other. Or squirt Mom with the hose.

On top of this J and I are watching Xavier with his new medication. We're supposed to know within 4 days if it works. I think waiting 4 days is utter hell when off medication, Xavier is like Curious George on Speed. I can't keep him home because he is SO LOUD that J cannot concentrate on work, being even an entire floor below us, with the door shut and white noise machine on. I can't take him out (much) because he cannot behave long enough without getting into trouble. I'm damned either way.

But we survived. And I am lucky enough that my mom is going to take the two older boys to her house for a week+ on Monday. I'll only have Soren and he's so totable we can go anywhere without worry. Please let me make it to Monday!

There Goes My Sanity

I am so not ready for tomorrow. I always brace myself and prepare for this time of year. I always think I’ve got it under control. I always try to have a good list in my head of things to help make it easier. But that’s my own survival skills kicking in, trying to deny the utter truth of what is about to happen in just a few hours. Because it can never be easier.

My oldest son is going to be on summer vacation. And I will have 3 boys in the house for longer than a weekend.

I was the mom who turned the music way up and danced to the car the day I dropped him off of school for the first time. Does that make me a bad parent? No. It just means that I was confident in his ability to take on a new adventure and enjoy a new aspect of life…. while I had a few hours to myself to recapture my sanity and maybe even sit down to read a few emails uninterrupted before picking him up. I know I will also be doing the happy dance and getting glares from other moms dropping off their babies when I bring Ashe and Soren to their first day of school. I'm an equal parent kind of gal. While some moms may wonder how they will fill the time for a few hours a day while their little one learns math, science and writing, I already know what I want to do: run errands by myself, read in peace, and dance to my music without being yelled at to knock it off from a 4 year old.



However with two kids under school age I only got one year of having that freedom when Xavier started school. I’ve learned to adapt to having two kids at home for the most part. I can handle two kids at home. It's crazy but doable. But when you have three kids stuck together longer than a weekend hell tends to break loose and my sanity goes down the drain.



I could tell my survival instincts were kicking in as I opened my big fat mouth while offering up ideas to get us the hell out of the house most days when I mentioned camping. I haven’t camped since I was 9 years old. J’s idea of camping equates to a Red Roof Inn. Of course the kids jumped on this idea and decided that we HAD to go camping this vacation!!!!! Then, as they were screaming gleefully about roasting marshmllows over an open campfire, the logistics hit. Me, outside in the middle of the night with a flimsy canvas above my head, dealing with a 9 year old scared shitless of flying insects. Two boys poking each other at 2AM, dividing the tiny tent living space into his space and  "his" space, then whining at me to intervene when a brothers toe brushes against that invisible boundary line. The mosquito bites. The fear of a copperhead curling up in front of our tent entrance and accidentally stepping on it when I step out to pee. Uh huh. That’s gonna be AWESOME!





I already promised Xavier we’d go looking for a tent next week. Fuck.



It’s not that the boys kill each other (much) when they are together. It’s more like having 3 small territorial animals trapped in the same living area for 4 weeks. Try taking 3 badgers and putting them into a small house size setting, giving them 1 item they all want and watch the fur fly. That’s what my household will turn into starting tomorrow.



I do have a back up plan though. My mom has been dying to take the kids for an extended stay. I jokingly offered to give them to her for 3 weeks and she didn’t bat an eye. I may have hope here. Please, let me have hope!





Send me good vibes, folks, and let’s hope the Beaulac family can survive summer vacation sans any ER trips. Slainte!

Swimsuit Season Sucks (A Whine)

I’d like to think that even after having three boys my body looks pretty ok. I totally understand that my body went through hell and back three times and there are battle scars to prove it. I’m ok with not having that perfect teenage body where the stomach is conclave when you stand up. I’m a little bit ok with the conclave effect I have due to my lower body being stretch 3 feet forward three times. It’s gonna happen and even if I work out 5 hours a day 5 days a week, it will always be there.




I’m ok with that.



I’m kind of ok with the fact my boobs are on the smaller side. They always have been. In fact I didn’t have what you would call boobs UNTIL I got pregnant with Xavier. I love my boobs when I’m pregnant or nursing. In fact it’s the only time where I can stand in front of a mirror and feel like a real woman. Causein my warped mind boobs means female. Just like penis means male. Alas, most of the time I don’t have much boobs. Maybe that’s why I’m not a girly girl. I must think more on this theory.



I’m ok with that.



I tell myself I’m ok with my not so perfect body for 9 months out of the year when I wear my jeans and tank top, or jeans and long shirt. And then I hit the pool. And each year as I sit in the shallow end, having water splashed up my nostrils by one boy or another, I wipe my sprayed sunglasses off and watch those women who wander around in bikinis, holding the hand of a child or two. And then I glance down at my tummy poof and small boobs, and I’m not ok with my body anymore.



I can honestly say it’s not long I get to have my tiny pity party. I get a moment or two to let out a melancholy sigh and straighten my top to cover my pooch (again) before I get rammed from behind by Soren trying to dive bomb me into the 3 inches of water I’m sitting in. Or a water torpedo gets chucked at my head while Xavier and Ashe play catch a little too close. But dammit I want to whine right now. It’s my blog and I can whine if I want to.



I’ve tried the diets, Ive tried the workouts, blah blah blah. I’ve lost most of the baby weight. I look ok. But swimsuits suck. They just suck. I’ve never had the boobs to pull off a bikini. I wouldn’t even dare try one now. The two piece tankinis (which I currently own) suck because the moment I sit in the water the bottom of the shirt starts riding up. I can act like an idiot, drawing attention to myself as I keep shoving it down every 5 seconds, or pretend to ignore it.



I’d love to find a nice one piece swimsuit that doesn’t cost two thousand dollars, and when it gets wet, doesn’t cling itself so tightly to my torso that it gets sucked into my belly button like a mini black hole. I’d also like to go swimsuit shopping sans kids, so I can take my time and not be half naked in the dressing room when Ashe or Soren decide to go exploring and crawl under the door. I did it to my mom at their age, cause the local Marshals to go on lock down in case I had been kidnapped. They found me 2 hours later asleep in a cupboard. I know if I take my kids swimsuit shopping, the genetics will stay true. There is not enough alcohol in the world for me to deal with both the horror of swimsuit shopping AND little kids.



I think though, if I’m going to be swimming as often as we have been (at least twice a week and school will be out next week) I need to pony up and find something I can live with. I really don’t feel like going to the pool that often and having a mini moment pity party every time I see those women who look like they never birthed a child (yet did) with their perfectly toned bodies in a bikini holding up size C boobs.



Wish me luck on finding something decent.

Costumes and Candy Tax

I was yelled at the other night for not blogging fast enough lately. On the one hand with a sick husband and preparations for Halloween I haven't had time to slurp my coffee down hot let alone blog. On the other I felt pretty dang happy I got yelled at. It means people actually read my ramblings. Yay!!! (and as I sit here frantically typing as fast as I can I hear Ashe whining for me to fix Lego batman on Wii, despite the fact I told him 86 times I refuse to do Wii and if he wants to play it he's on his own dude.)

Halloween was last weekend. I am a huge fan of Halloween, as a person and as a mom. It means making goofy crafts, figuring out the best faces for Jack O Lanterns, finding awesome costumes, begging strangers for candy instead of me (ha!) and of course, my candy tax. I started the candy tax the first year Xavier was old enough to eat candy and actually go out begging for sweets. When he was so little he couldn't eat half of the stuff he got so by default it became my own. Ok I shared with J a little bit. He got the Baby Ruths and other candies I don't like. As I sat there sorting his plunder the first year, my feet achy from carrying the little tyke all over our neighborhood, I realized that parents deserve some of the candy for all the hard work we do on Halloween Eve. We lug our kids around from door to door, off and on carrying their masks, their pumpkin baskets, flashlights, capes, and sometimes kids themselves. Yet society on the whole frown upon Moms and Dads asking for candy too. Yes, we can go buy our own, but seriously, whats the fun in that? Not to mention you get a much better variety of treats on Halloween. So thus the candy tax was born. Depending on the age of the child and how much work I have to do while they gallivant from door to door determines my percentage of candy commandeering. The older they get and the less work I do, the less of a percentage I take. So I figure by the time they are 10 the candy tax will be no more. Ok maybe down to 1%. Now before you start thinking I'm this evil mom who steals her kids candy, realize I don't take much. And I'm lenient and let the kids offer to me the candy they don't want for the most part. Honestly, the kids fully understand this concept and are down with it, no complaints. Instead of sneaking candy from their baskets without them knowing I'm upfront and honest about it and we have some good respect and communication vibes going on.

This year we had a little theme going on costume wise for the older two. Xavier was Darth Vader and Ashe was Yoda. In order to ensure Ashe knew who he was dressed up as we taught him the Weird AL Yancovich song Yoda (sung to the tune of Lola.) For 2 weeks we listened to him sing it. Non.Stop. Oddly enough it never got old. I think hearing a tiny 2 yr old voice singing Yoda just cant get old. Of course with 2 Star Wars Enemies in the house there have been a lot of light saber battles going on, with full out sound effects, the occasional bonk on the head, a flurry of apologies before Mom comes stomping downstairs to take said light sabers away and hugs. I'm normally not a proponent of toy weapons (no toy guns in the house although we do allow swords and shields since not many people walk around with swords these days) but after the past week of them play fighting and all the apologies and hugs since they wanted to keep their light sabers I may have to rethink my stance on it. I haven't seen the two boys get along and act so affectionate towards each other before, barring the bonked heads.




As for Soren, I finally got my way in regards to infant costumes. When Xavier was an infant I found the coolest costume. Everyone dresses their babies as pea pods or pumpkins or cats. Of course I wanted something unique because I'm weird like that. I searched online until I found what I was looking for. A Pine Fresh Air Freshener costume. Unfortunately fate was against me for 2 out of 3 kids. Js mom had made a costume for Xavier so we couldn't say no. Then by the time it was Ashes first Halloween he was too big to wear it. But this time around Soren was small enough this year. So I bought it, and persevered despite Js comments that I was going to emotionally damage our child by humiliating him when he was old enough to see the pictures. I retorted that sometimes that's what kids are for, especially for their first Halloween costume. I don't care what anyone says. You don't dress up your babies for themselves. You dress them up for your own entertainment. They cant have candy, they don't have an opinion on costumes, and they wont remember it without visual reminders later on. And if it really bothers them they can take it out on their own children when they become parents! =)



However I doubt we have to worry about emotional damage. Despite J's grumblings Sorens costume was a hit. And when it came down to actual trick or treating, he wore it for all of 10 minutes before he passed out costumeless in the Moby wrap. So Soren, if you read this blog 15 years from now, I love you, you were not emotionally damaged, everyone thought you were the coolest baby, and you only wore it for a little while. (There, hopefully that caveat covers my behind in therapy bills in the future.)

Trick or treating was normal. We went out for about 90 minutes, Xavier racing as fast as he could from house to house trying to garner the most candy. He did pay more attention to his surroundings this year as last year he whcked his head on a mailbox as he ran. I was thankful for that. Ashe tried to keep up for about 20 minutes then decided he had enough and hung out in the stroller, only popping out every third house to go ring the doorbell. Soren was comatose on my chest, and J and I strolled along the sidewalk calling out which houses were ok to go to and which were not depending if porch lights were on or off.

By the time we got home Xaviers pillow case bag was dragging from the weight of candy and Ashe had a decent haul himself. We sat down for some serious negotiations. I got away with 15 minisnicker bars, 2 twix, 1 kitkat, and 1 nestle crunch. Xavier was given a full Hershey Bar that he was kind enough to try and share with me, but I told him it was special and thus all his to eat. Both boys came away with enough candy to last them until Christmas easily, I got my chocolate fix, and all was well with the world. Already the two older ones are thinking ahead of what they will dress up as next year. And I'm starting to plan ahead for the next big Holiday.