Are you one of those people who sees something on pinterest and then totally wants to go create it too? So you do?

Yeah. Me neither.

However, I always want to be a little more creative, so a few times a year- usually coinciding with a major holiday- I give it a try. So, when we realized the kids had to bring in boxes for Valentine’s Day, I hit up Pinterest for some inspiration. Lily wanted princess/castles, Tyler wanted a robot.

A robot people. I am the un-craftiest person ever, and the kid wanted a robot. Sigh.

But, never fear, Pinterest to the rescue. Of course they had a robot box. Or twenty. So, supplies in hand we set out to make what they wanted. And you know what? The results weren’t half bad:

What did you get wrangled into making this Valentine’s Day?

There is something so unique about having a third child. Even having two already, with one of each gender, doesn’t quite prepare you. You have all the worries that come with any child. But once that baby is here, you have such a unique perspective that is different from times before.

When I’m hit with these feelings, I’m taken back to when I was headed in for my first ultrasound. I was so nervous, so concerned, even without having a reason. I expressed this to the ultrasound tech, who had been doing this for more than 20 years. She said by the third one, you’re so much more aware of how precious it is, and how many things COULD go wrong.

How right she was. I felt that way throughout my pregnancy, thinking once he was here it would lessen in intensity. However, I find myself desperate not to miss things this time. With a 7 year old and almost 4 year old running around, I know how fast it will all go.

How soon he won’t want to be held all the time.

How soon he won’t need only mommy for comfort.

How soon he will be moving on his own.

How soon he’ll be eating food.

How soon he’ll be running around.

How soon he’ll learn to roll his eyes.

How soon he just won’t be a baby anymore.

So I try to savor the moments, even at 3 am. I try not to get too stressed on the days I can’t put him down and ignore the discomfort of typing over him asleep in my lap. I try to fully appreciate each milestone, each memory- the good, the bad, the crazy moments. Because these moments? Are so fleeting.

And the realization of just how fleeting might just be the hardest part.

For the past five weeks or so, my oldest son has wanted to get a cheesesteak (and, as a result, so has my  daughter). Between having a new baby, relatives visiting, birthday parties and school events, there has always been something going on. Since it is not as convenient as about 20 other places we can grab something to eat, it kept being put off. And put off. And put off. “Next time, honey. We’ll go soon.”

The excuses were made, reassurances given, and the matter was promptly forgotten– until two days later when he would ask again. The cycle continued, none of us thinking it was of much importance.

As I watched the news unfold on Friday, my heart broke along with the rest of the nation. Shock, horror and dismay filled me as I resisted the urge to grab my children from school just to make sure they were safe. I didn’t hear about this until a little later in the day, and I simply couldn’t believe what had happened.

After much debate, we decided we needed to talk to our 7 year old about it. He is exposed to enough kids that we were concerned he’d hear about it in another way, and we wanted it to come from us. We wanted to explain what had happened, reassure him that he was safe, and that sometimes bad people do really bad things.

My husband and I tossed back and forth what to say, how to say it. I struggled to keep the tears at bay, because there’s just no way for a mother to think about this without them. We waited until the end of the weekend, sat him down, and tried to explain the unexplainable the best way we could. My son reaction calmly, bewildered as to why someone would do something so horrible. He called it dumb, and mean, and repeatedly asked why. Oh, my child. If only any of us knew why…

We reassured him that he was safe and that everything would be okay, even though for so many families, it won’t be. We told him to ask us any questions and not to worry if we kept giving him extra hugs. We told him to be grateful for each day because it was always a gift- something we too easily forget.

On Friday, I felt that fear that we all felt. Our worst fears as mothers, as parents, were realized in a horrific scene before us, slamming the most terrifying of realities into our faces. I held my breath a little while I waited for my son to bound off of his school bus, breathing a sigh of relief only when I could hold him in my arms. I hugged all three of my babies close, saying prayer upon prayer of thanks that I was able to hold them all.

And then we went for cheesesteaks.

My heart, thoughts, and prayers are so deeply with all of the victims and families in Newtown, Connecticut. 

Being a mom of any is tough; Lindsey is a full-time working mom of four kids under 5! When I first considered adding another to our family, I was a bit apprehensive and asked for input. Now that he’s almost here, I’m pretty much in a panic and thought it would be great info to revisit. Looking to her for sage advice, Lindsey talks about the transition from two to three children- and how she loves her pack.

Having your first baby, most of us will agree, means a relatively serious lifestyle change. Fortunately, it comes on slowly. They sleep a lot at first, and while you don’t get more than a few hours of sleep at a time either, you also don’t need to do much entertaining early on, and their needs are relatively simple. (That’s unless you have a Rebecca baby, who screams for no discernible reason… but that’s colic, and that’s another post).

For those of you who’ve added a second to your Oompa-Loompa army (tm my friend Dave), you’ll know that you get a new skill set. You get to do the baby things over again (which, to be fair, are a bit less intimidating and easier learned the second time), but you get to do them while also corralling what is usually a rambunctious toddler. (I’m unable to find statistics on this, but anecdotally among my friends, I’d say an average age difference between #1 and #2 is about 2-3 years; if you know anything better, please tell me, since I’m curious). What you learn in going from one to two children is nothing new, per say, it’s just doing two skill sets (one you learned with the first baby, one you’ve learned along the way) at once.

And how about three? According to the 2000 Census, the average number of kids in families with kids was 1.86. There are about as many families with 1 child as there are families with 2. What do you have to accomplish to live life as one of the outliers?

Let’s see. You have to, once again, re-learn your baby skills.

You have to continue to manage the other two children, at least one of whom is likely a toddler.

You have to do this all at the same time.

But really… it’s not that bad. No, seriously.

Going from zero to one is a culture shock. Going from one to two is a whole new level of juggling people. But going from two to three… for me, was just a matter of degree. It was much like one to two, only I already had the juggling skills. Also, by the time I had three, my oldest was almost three, and she was starting to be useful. You know those times when you discover a diaper was much dirtier than you expected, but it’s already off, and you don’t have the wipes, and the baby wants to roll, and the toddler is climbing on your back? Yeah, a 3-year-old who knows where the wipes are comes in really handy then! Not to mention… she does great at keeping her sister occupied while I’m taking care of the baby. Or keeping the baby occupied (now that the baby likes peekaboo) while I’m taking care of the toddler.

In short, going from 2 to 3 kids is nowhere near as difficult as having your first or your second. It is harder (I mean, it’s one more to get dressed in the morning and fed at mealtimes), don’t get me wrong- but the transition is easier. I remember being nervous that we’d be outnumbered, but it hasn’t been that bad- really, once two are toddlers or older, they don’t demand as much attention, and it’s rare more than one REALLY needs attention at any given time, much less all three. And again… sometimes, they just pay attention to one another, which works out well. We do fine dividing them into 1/2 combos between us when the situation warrants.

I’m proud to be a mother of three… growing up in a family with two kids, it’s a new dynamic to me, and I’m glad I feel somewhat in control of it (well, so far). All kids are special, but I feel a little bit extra-special that mine are a crowd. (Two would be company. And whatever.) A flock. A brood. (I can’t go for a pack. As my old paralegal liked to point out, the smallest pack she can think of is gum, and that has 5.)

For more on life with three kids, I also recommend On Having Three Kids- a brilliant essay, and I can completely relate to the points she makes. (She’s got other good essays on that site, as well.)

It seems like yesterday that I just brought him home… this tiny little bundle of which I was completely responsible for. I spent the next few years holding on so tight…

Then I brought home his sister. Anxious to be like her big brother, she did everything she could to keep up with him. I tried to hold on to her just as tight…

Today, I had to do the exact opposite, and let them both go. Oh, it’s only for a few hours, and they will return to me at day’s end. But it’s a symbol of things to come, of growth continuing, and of what the future will hold.

1st grade and Preschool never seemed so grown up…

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With summer winding down, my kids are getting a bit restless. We’ve been out of school down here in Georgia since May, so suffice to say, it’s been awhile. With back to school looming on the horizon and baby on his way in just a few short months, I figured it was time to take a look on the bright side- and at the things I love about being a mom.

Watching my children grow, learn and change.

I love watching my children learn new things. The excitement they get when they achieve a new task or activity is one of the most awe-inspiring things I have ever seen. For example, my 6 year old has been working through first grade learning books all summer long. More often than not, I sit down to help him and only have a few words to say before he goes “Ohhh” and starts figuring the rest out on his own. Or, watching my three year old work on her name, biting down on her lip with determination while trying to make letters and asking me how to spell every word under the sun (“Mommy- how do you spell refrigerator? Um, let’s save that for later…) Watching them learn and figure things out is such a gratifying experience.

How much my kids teach me

While it is not only our job, but our responsibility to teach our children, sometimes I am amazed at how much I learn from them. I have learned that sometimes chores and tasks can wait and that it is more important to stop and smell the roses (or to play race cars and baby dolls). My kids have taught me that what I do affects them and sometimes it’s important to say you’re sorry. Most of all, my children have taught me that there is no limit to how much the heart can love and that I am so lucky and blessed to have them in my life.

The feeling I have when they call me “mom”

Whether it’s my son’s increasingly older-sounding voice or my daughter’s sweet (loud) one, there is no greater feeling than being called mom. They look to me to guide them, to comfort them, to teach them. They count on me to protect them, to kiss their hurts better, to snuggle the monsters away. They hold an unwavering trust and confidence in me, an all-encompassing knowledge that mom can make it all okay. The depth and responsibility that comes with the expectations my children have of me is down right humbling. But there is nothing in this world that inspires me to be a better person than hearing those two little voices calling for mom.

What are some of your favorite things about being a mom?

My daughter was in our bed again.

Sleep has never been a friend of hers. Why rest when there is so much going on? Why sleep alone if I can sleep in my mother’s arms?

Bedtime rolls around. Her brother is easily tucked in, mumbling good night as he falls asleep before we even hit the lights. We try to settle her down, tucking her into her bed, assuring her that everything will be all right.

Rounds of hugs, kisses, and see you in the mornings ensue. Eventually, we finally close the door and say good night.

Within half an hour, as we enjoy some quiet before we turn in for the night, she comes sneaking down the stairs. She pauses, waiting to see when we will notice she’s there.

Tucking her face behind her bear, she slowly comes over to the couch, pausing to see what we’ll say. With a shake of my head and a small smile, I open my arms, and snuggle her close.

Sometime around 4 am she came quietly into our room. She pulled at the covers until she could climb in, snuggling down as if it were her rightful place to be. With a soft sigh, she turns over, grabs on to me and drifts peacefully off to sleep….

Sleep has never been her favorite thing- unless it somehow involves me. With my occasional travel, she sometimes grabs on even tighter. With the baby coming, I sometime grab on even tighter.

Because this time around, I’m even more aware of how fleeting time can be. I know how soon she will be claiming more and more independence, and that the day will come when she wants to be left alone. So for now, for each night and each morning that I wake up with a three year old flung over me, I just hold her close and think of how fast time flies. And how soon I’ll miss her climbing into our bed.