I got a fever. And the only prescription is MOAR BABYZ

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Approximately 9,000 of my dearest friends are pregnant, like no exaggeration here. Okayyy, slight exaggeration (I really only have 8,000 close friends). And I keep having these dreams where I didn’t know I was pregnant and I just thought it was gas and then I pull a newborn out of my shirt and it has a full head of styled hair and a 30 year old man’s face. Lots of totally normal dreams like that.

Sometimes I try to rock Jack to sleep and he gets all cuddly with me and tells me he loves me in his cute, half-English/half-caveman language and it’s awesome. Then I see the situation for what it really is and realize it looks like I am singing The Itsy Bitsy Spider to Tyrion Lannister while he sits on my lap and it’s just weirds me out a little that I’m pretending he’s still a tiny baby.

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Not that rocking a two year old to sleep is all that weird and I knowww, two is NOT old, but he’s gargantuan and can talk and everything now and I just catch myself thinking he’s still really young. Sometimes he’ll even go a few days without taking his poop out of his diaper and trying to hand it to me. He’s just growing up so fast, you guys!

(I wish that was a joke. Justin’s mom said when he was Jack’s age, he walked up to her, said, “here, Mom” and handed her a big giant turd and she totally wasn’t expecting it and she screamed. I thought that story was absolutely hilarious until Jack started pulling that crap on me — sorry, pun was necessary — and now I just want to cry/barf/send him to the zoo to live with the chimps.)

Wow, so I was totally leading up to saying how badly I have baby fever and that Justin and I are in the discussion phase of having another baby, but that last thing I wrote? I’M CURED! It’s a miracle!

I’ll host a drawing for anyone who can name the three pop culture references in this post. One is totes obvs. The winner can babysit Jack. Hope you have hand sanitizer!

And now, for the 2nd installment of: I randomly get out of my car and make things awkward

Disclaimer: I swear I’m not going to make a habit of this. But you guys, I did it again. Not in the same way, with an angry lady in the Starbucks drive-thru. This time it was someone’s grandpa. And it wasn’t so magical.

I was driving through my parents’ neighborhood. I had to make a quick stop at their house to borrow their umbrella because the kids and I had to run some errands and it was raining and Justin took the umbrella out of my car at some point and legit question, why doesn’t a family of four have more than one tiny, multicolored polka dot umbrella?

Anyway, picked up the gigantic Ikea umbrella from my parents (which was a savior, by the way, thanks Mom) and went on my way, weaving through the neighborhood. At my last turn, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. At the house on the corner, there was a little girl, probably about two years old, standing alone on the front porch, about to walk down the steps. She looked lost and like she had wandered out there on their own. The front door of the house was cracked and she was just standing there, you guys! I swear my heart stopped for a second. The night before, I had just read a horrible news article about a little girl and I was still very much raw to the mama bear rage that bubbles up every time I hear that some psycho has hurt a child. I can’t.

With Jake and the Neverland Pirates blaring in the background and my kids happily singing along while eating their Teddy Grahams, I stopped in the middle of the street. I was going back and forth in my head, waiting for an adult to step outside with the girl and prove my instincts wrong. No one came out. She just stood there, alone.

“Okay, guys. Mommy’s going to get out for a minute. You can see me the whole time, so –”
“YO HO, LET’S GO! Arghhh! — okay, Mom!”

I pulled in front of the house and walked up the sidewalk. I knew my approach here was critical. Don’t look like a child predator, Morgan. Stay 15 feet away. Talk loud enough for a nearby adult to hear. DON’T BE CREEPY.

I stood in the middle of the walkway, far enough away so she could hear me, but not EVEN close enough to look like I was about to do anything shady. “Sweetie, go inside and find your Mommy.” It was the only thing I could think of to say. Quick and to the point. She immediately ran inside and I stood there for a second, kind of like, “Okay, now what? Close the door so I know you’re safe, kid!” But the door opened wider. A man in his late 50’s-early 60’s barreled out and stood on the porch, glaring down at me. Well at least there was SOMEONE around.

“Hi, I was driving by and saw her standing outside by herself and wanted to make sure her parents knew and that she didn’t just wander out–” I don’t know exactly what I said, but it was something panicky, along those lines, because HOLY CRAP, there was an angry man looking like he was about to smack me!

With complete attitude, he said, “Uhh, WE’RE FINE.” and looked at me like he expected me to explain myself.

Me, still trying to plead my case that I’m not a child abductor, just a friendly neighborhood watch mom, looking out for the TWO YEAR OLD STANDING ALONE IN THE FRONT YARD, LOOKING LOST AND SCARED, finally decided on a simple, “Okay, good.”

As I was driving away, I was so shaken up by what had happened. I know I know, I’m dramatic, but I promise you I wasn’t trying to create another life changing scenario on my own, just for the sake of writing about it. I just saw a kid alone and could not continue driving away with a clear conscience without making sure her parents knew she was out there. I would have wanted to know. If they were aware and were okay with the fact that she was in the front yard without any adults around, that’s extremely upsetting to me and something I would never be okay with letting my own children do, but that’s their territory. I think? Is a child, standing alone, off limits to talk to at all times if you think they could be in danger? I mean, it was their front yard and all, but it was “out” and “alone”. Two factors I am never okay with when my kids are involved.

Bear with me as I talk through this.

I have a hard time being defensive toward “Grandpa” about his anger toward me because I was talking to his little loved one and bottom line: I am a stranger. I completely get that. It’s just a weird situation, you know? She shouldn’t have been out there in the first place and my motives were absolutely 110% pure, but what if the first person who came up to her wasn’t me? Gah, I can’t handle even going down that path right now.

I’m sure there are some people who would think I was overstepping my bounds as “the stranger” and should have driven on without a thought. Grandpa probably thought that, by the look on his face. If I were him, my immediate reaction would have been close to the same thing. Then I would have thought it over and been relieved that someone had noticed and cared and then would have promptly DEADBOLTED MY FRIGGIN FRONT DOOR. Maybe she did wander out there alone and he didn’t realize it and was freaked out by the sound of an adult’s voice talking to her outside. SEE, I GET IT. I can keep analyzing this over and over, but the thing is, I don’t regret what I did for a second. I didn’t expect to be thanked. I’m actually okay with the territorial Grandpa approach. The whole thing just sort of makes me sick to my stomach.

What would you have done if you were me? What would you have done if “Grandpa” was you?

Proof that I don’t fold laundry, like ever

Guys, it’s so bad that my kids have made a game of climbing to the top of the gigantic pile of clothes and jumping off. Maddie gets quite a bit of air too… it’s actually pretty impressive.

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So while I was taking the above photo, Jack took Maddie’s lead and climbed up. In a flash, he was at the top and had hold of that big frame and was sliding it back and forth across the wall. It was JUST about to fall off when I decided I should probably stop taking pictures of the madness and go handle the situation like a grown up.

But not before I caught mine and Maddie’s reaction…

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That was .2 seconds before I made that loud, unintelligible Mom-Terror noise thing, “AGHHNOOOOOSTOPPP”.

Clearly, something has to be done about these clothes, because yeahhhhh.

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Raging and not raging at Starbucks

Something a little out of the ordinary happened yesterday that I wanted to share with you all. It may not seem like a big deal to most people, but it had a big impact on me.

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It was 8:20 and I was still in bed. The kids slept in and I had no reason to get up, other than to try to make it to my 9:30 moms Bible study, whiiiich let’s just say I wasn’t really wanting to do. I had actually told myself the night before that I wasn’t going to go, simply because I was tired right at that moment. I mean, I had just watched 5 straight hours of Downton Abbey and it was late, yo. Totally valid excuse! I’m sure you’ve all had those times when you know you should get out of bed and start getting ready for that ‘thing’, but the bed! It’s just so warm! And I’m just too tired! And I’ll never make it on time because I’m late already so why even try! And the lame excuses! Just! Keep! Coming! It was TOTALLY one of those mornings. Whether it’s work/church/appointments/school… I’ve always been this way. Procrastinator to the core. I know very well I’m going to get up and get ready for ‘the thing’ and I will only make it harder on myself the longer I stay in bed, but IT’S JUST SO DANG COZY ONE MORE MINUTE WON’T HURT I MEAN 10 MORE MINUTES WON’T HURT, RIGHT?

I got out of bed. The kids woke up and we all were fed, dressed and out the door in record time. This never happens. I did my usual “I’m late, but there’s still time for Starbuuuucks!” run because obviously I have priorities.

Some of you might remember my road rage post from last year. Well, the Starbucks over by my house attracts the most interesting people and never fails to provide unique and memorable experiences (or, weird and slightly terrifying experiences). Yesterday was no different. I was in the drive-thru, and if you can imagine this, there’s no physical barrier for the line. It’s surrounded by painted parking spots and people push their way into the line ALL the time. It drives me nuts! They will flat out cut in front of you and act like nothing’s strange or rude about it at all.

Yesterday, that happened. I was about to scoot up and a woman sped in front of me with the foulest expression on her face. Out of habit, my arm flew up in a “HELLOOO??!” gesture, but I stopped mid-flail and realized something. I didn’t feel angry. The arm came down. You guys know I’m almost always raging about something, but not this time. In fact, in that moment of clarity, I realized that she had been sitting in line when I drove up, and though she was not in the ‘correct’ line, she had still been there before me.

So this is the weird part. I said to my kids, “I’ll be right back, everything’s okay!” and I stepped out of my car. I calmly walked up to this scowling woman’s car and tapped on her window. (WUT. Do I have a death wish?!) She opened her door and harshly said, “Can I help you with something?”

I responded, “Oh no… I just wanted to apologize for cutting you off back there. I didn’t realize you were waiting in line before me and didn’t want you to think I was trying to jump in front of you on purpose.”

Her reaction? Tears in her eyes. She completely softened and that scowl on her face just melted away. Her face didn’t melt away… I might’ve explained that wrong, but you get what I’m saying. She said, “Thank you for saying that. I really thought you were trying to go in front of me.”

I said, “I just wanted to make it right with you before you drove away. Have a good day!” And she said, “You too.”

Now this is the part where I get a little deep and tell you what that meant for me. Some people would call me crazy for leaving my kids in the car and walking up to a complete stranger who was VERY angry with me, but I can’t say I regret it. Would I do it again? Well, if I had time to think things through, I would have probably come up with one of my famous excuses not have done a thing. Like, “She was the wrong one…You were in the real line… you don’t owe her anything but your middle finger” or “Don’t leave your kids in a car alone in a parking lot” (to be honest, they were only 10 feet away from me, but still… I wouldn’t have done any of this under normal circumstances). The woman would have driven out of that parking lot hating me for life and I would have probably been angry with her for quite a while as well.

I went on to my moms group. Our leader didn’t actually have any scripture for our lesson, she just talked about some things that were on her heart. One of the things she said went along perfectly with my Starbucks experience, like how we should not being so quick to judge others when we don’t have the full story or know what hardships they may be going through in their own lives. THAT. I ALWAYS do that. I struggle with feeling proud and entitled and angry when someone thinks I’m in the wrong, but I don’t often stop and think about where they’re coming from. So I was about to go off on this lady and — you all know I’m a Christian by now, so I feel completely comfortable saying this — God totally intervened. Those tears could have been anything — embarrassment, the wind in her eyes, relief… it’s not for me to say — I am just glad things were made right with her. One of those non-resolutions I’ve been working on is my anger and entitlement, so I view that crazy, out of character thing I did yesterday as a total victory. That wasn’t me. There’s no way I would have done that on my own. Shoot, I didn’t even want to get out of bed that morning because I’m lazy and entitled and imperfect in every way!

I’m being worked on. Changed for the better. I’m so excited about that.

For Sale: 2 year old boy. Chunky. Cuddly. Excels in the art of destruction.

In search of: A cliff. Preferably high off the ground, with large jagged rocks reaching out for me with their arm-like spikes, waiting patiently to bring me in for a warm hug at the bottom.

I’m dramatic and kiddingbutnotreally. It’s just been one of those days, guys. First, well, just look.

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Those would be greasy, hot pink, chunky toddler handprints. Jack demolished some more of my beloved lipstick. Not only is it in the bathroom, but it also trickles down the hall and into our bedroom where it explodes into a something truly grand. Apparently, ladies and gentlemen, WE HAVE AN ARTIST.

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Hey, Sir Artist. Would you mind explaining your work to your fans?

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No? Oh, don’t be so humble! Really, WE ARE ALL ACHING TO UNDERSTAND.

Anyway, jolly good show. Can you imagine going to gather your children for your favorite time of the day — NAPS! MOM’S ONLY ALONE TIME EVER IN HER LIFE! — only to find that mess in your room? Then you have to give your children baths (yes, “children”, because, don’t think for one minute that Maddie wasn’t drawn like a moth to that hot-pink flame), where they will proceed to dump three gallons of dirty bathwater all over the floor.

Sir Artist is now asleep, probably dreaming up some inspiration for his next masterpiece. His understudy is supposed to be in her room, but has crept out quietly and is now hiding around the corner and peeking at me with one eye as I type this. And she’s not wearing pants.

This day is weird.