The Little Things

I'm sure you all thought I was dead, buried in a pile of diapers as high as Mount Washington that collapsed when the sound waves of the boys' screaming produced an avalanche of massive and smelly proportions.

Well rest assured, I'm not dead.
It's just that the boys used to do this adorable thing where you could feed them into a coma and then put them down, where they would inevitably sleep for a few hours.

Now that they're bigger, they eat, and want to, like, do stuff.

They're all, "hey Mom, we're gonna try to figure out how to work our hands for a while. Want to get in on this?"
And I'm all, "Nah, thanks, I'm actually gonna try to get some work done."
And they're all, "Are you sure? Because we each have, like, a bunch of fingers and it's totally cool when they move around. See? Plus they taste good.
And I'm all, "I'm sure they do, but really, I have stuff I have to get done"
And they're all, "well, okay, but don't go too far. Simon's going to try to eat his foot in about 5 minutes and he's probably going to cry when it doesn't work. Like...a lot."
And I'm all, *sigh*

But I can't really complain. They suddenly figured out that night is for sleeping, and have slept for 6 or 7 hours straight the past few nights.
It's glorious.
I always thought the most exciting day in my life was the day I got married (either time), or the day I bought my first horse, or my first trip to Disney World, or something like that. Turns out the most exciting day in my life involved me, my tempurpedic, and suddenly waking up, looking at the clock, and realizing we were an hour past the normal feeding time.
YESSSSS *fist pump*

In other news, now that I'm more rested and the boys are ever-so-slightly on a schedule, I've suddenly looked around for the first time in 4 months and realized that my house is a DISASTER. And everyone who knows me knows that I've set the bar pretty low when it comes to homestead organization. But when you're looking around your living room and it's strewn with clothes, baby equipment, dirty bottles, and what may or may not be a possum living under your coffee table, you realize that maybe it's time to take the house back.

I've started small.
I finally replaced our comforter. Which doesn't seem like a big deal, until I explain that the comforter were were using up until last week had actually been used to cover and transport a piece of furniture from Brian's parents' house to ours. They left the comforter, saying that we could probably use it as a drop cloth or something.
It ended up on our bed.

Disgusting, I know.
We're animals.

I also got a napkin holder for the table.

It's the little things in life, people.

It's funny how once you have kids, you suddenly realize you're an adult. And this realization comes with all these little unexpected reactions, like buying life insurance. And keeping on top of the laundry. And obtaining a napkin holder for the table.
Did I mention it holds napkins upright and keeps them clean of the crumbs that tend to accumulate on dining surfaces?
So Cool.

I also ended up with my first pair of mom jeans, although in my defense, I needed a pair of flannel-lined work pants for the barn, and these types of pants only come with a 3-foot-long front zipper. S0 while my barn jeans may come up to my ribs, I'm also warm up to my ribs, which is preferable to being cold down to my fashionably low waistline.

So as we round the final turn to our 4 month mark, I'd say that things are looking up. The boys are sleeping, and I'm making a concerted effort to be a grown up, as opposed to a raggedy 20-something who uses ratty, hand-me-down comforters and lets their napkins lay on the table to collect crumbs and dust, and allows their barely-covered midsection to go cold in the name of fashion.

And while I hope I don't continue to mentally age at such an alarming rate, admitting that I'm 30 and that it's okay to care about my house and forego fashion for warmth once in a while is probably a step in the right direction.

After all, I'm a mom.

Maybe I should start acting like one.