Behind the Scenes

We have been working our building up the business side of things for a month now. It is crazy-town, I say. I mean, clients would be awful nice (I'm not picky, just poor!) but other than that we've managed to organize an office, build a website, get some ads going, and generally think about business-y things quite often. A win, I think.

So much of our time and energy (mostly Derek's, lets be real here) has been devoted to getting things going, but a fair amount from me as well, that sometimes things fall to the sides, like, say, dishes or laundry because we have a day of running around, meetings, and a photo shoot.

I use the term "photo shoot" loosely here. It was Derek and I sitting on the couch trying to get a good shot of his sweet face without 1. Children 2. Crap in the shot. Harder than one might think.

Henry kindly documented the entire process via my phone, using both the camcorder AND the camera. Neither of which I was aware of at the time. When I found my phone later I found it full of shots like this:

From August 2011

Children and crap everywhere, Derek and me trying to get ONE usable picture for the website.

Goodness. Rome wasn't built in a day and frankly neither is this therapy practice.

Anyone want to come take a decent picture of Derek? Anyone? Bueller?

I am a grown-up

So, Derek and I have been looking into life insurance lately.

Nothing says, "I love you" like breaking down one's spouse's life in monetary definitions.

It's actually been pretty hard to face the reality of NEEDING to be protected. I mean, imagine if suddenly one of us found ourselves widowed with all these kids?

Scary.

So, we're sucking it up and we're being grown-ups.

Thing is, I feel like taking this step is like saying I'm EXPECTING Derek to die. I so am NOT!

This is NOT Field of Dreams, there is no "if you buy it, you will die."

NO NO NO!

Right?

I mean, it's just being prepared, self-reliant and smart adults right???

A confession on a Friday

My friend Jae sometimes does Friday confessionals. While I don't have nearly as much to confess a she does, I do want to confess one little thing.

See my header? See my cute "suns"?

I want to get those four little suns tattooed on my foot. I wouldn't do it with the pictures OBVIOUSLY! Don't be ridiculous.

I want them to be tiny of course along the top of my foot.

My friend Sara (she is CRAZY talented! If you want a header that is ALL YOU then I strongly suggest dropping her a line. Her prices are totally reasonable too!) designed the header and I have wanted a "sun" tattoo since Henry popped out. Now with FOUR sons, well, let's just say the desire hasn't lessened one tiny iota since then. She nailed the design and it's exactly what I could never quite find and certainly nothing I could do myself!

But. I won't get it. My daddy calls it vandalism.

While I don't actually for one second think that a tattoo is equivalent to eternal damnation, I still won't do it.

But please know that if I could, I would. Four tiny suns as seen above on the top of my right foot.

Yessiree.

Four suns. With room for more.

What is your dream tattoo? I think everyone has one.

Picking Up a Chick, UPDATE!

So, remember when I asked that girl out at Burger King?

Interested in an update?

I thought so.

So, after an awkward phone conversation a few days after I got her number (awkward because apparently Spencer and Henry called her on accident while playing with my phone and then she called back to say she was sorry she missed my call, that I had never made... but whatev), we went and played together. Six boys (plus Ez) running around in Super Hero costumes. It was HILARIOUS!

Pretty much a dream play date if you know what I mean.

After that, we had trouble connecting and I thought it was because she was breaking up with me. Turns out her two year old flushed her phone down the potty.

So she got a new phone and then invited the boys to her almost-six-year-old's SUPER HERO birthday party.

If you ever want to watch my children writhe in ecstasy, tell them they get to go to Logan's SUPER HERO birthday party. Seriously, I dare ya.

So, I'd venture to say this is the start of a beautiful friendship.

However, the green-eyed-monster-of-jealousy did hit when Henry realized we had to give AWAY permanently Logan's birthday present. Wanna see?

Of course you do.

From March 2011

Inspiration from here. 

Yes, every six year old boy needs a jet pack backpack, I do believe. Henry did say, "Maybe you could make me one TOO!"

Probably, but not today, cuz let me tell ya, that one was WAY more involved than I thought it was going to be.

So, yes, we're all getting on famously! It's awesome. :) Burger King... who knew?

Why my phone makes me make bad choices

So, you guys. I have this new phone. Have you ever gotten a new phone? It makes life like BEAUTIFUL again.

I've had it for a few weeks now. I am a FAN!

No, it is NOT an I-Phone. No. I don't believe (personally) in I-Phones, but if you have one, then I am slightly jealous.

ANYWAY.

So, my new phone has pretty much every kind of fun and funky app a girl could dream up.

I like apps.

And yesterday, I was rocking a VERY VERY VERY fussy baby in the mother's lounge at church. ("Lounge" is an extremely misleading term as it is a closet that shares space with the janitor's closet and holds two old and very rickety arm chairs). I finally got him to sleep.

Rather than risk waking him up to go to Sunday School, I just stayed there and rocked him.

Enter my PHONE.

Guys, my phone has a "Nook" app on it. This means I can access my Barnes and Noble e-library ONMAPHONE!

Seriously.

I also have the scriptures on my phone.

So, what did I do? Did I pull out my scripture app and read like a good Latter-day Saint?

No I did not. Thank you very much for asking.

I pulled up my Nook app and read about Helen of Troy.

I am NOT a good person.

"Perhaps you should leave your phone at home?" you kindly suggest.

No. Because then what would Oliver play with during church?

See? I am stuck. And clearly incapable of making good choices.

That is all.

Folks, it is a CELEBRATION!

Look what I got! Isn't Felicity nice? She and I bonded over birth-y type stuff a little while ago. Now I really enjoy her blog and her thoughts on life. It's a total throw back to being 18! Which shockingly unto my soul, was nearly 10 years ago.

WOAH!

THANKS Felicity!
***
So, this morning, I was FRUSTRATED!

Here is why:
1. FREAKING day light stupid time is totally messing up my house.
2. Derek had a meeting. No biggie.
3. I needed a shower. I couldn't remember the last time I had washed my hair. This isn't an issue until I turn into a greaseball. Which I had.
4. I needed to weigh myself, which is something I do sans clothing. It makes me feel good about myself.
5. The dishwasher needed running, so I couldn't shower, or weigh myself.
6. I wanted a Diet Coke so bad I was almost dying, but I couldn't HAVE a Diet Coke until I weighed myself. I couldn't weigh myself until I could shower. I couldn't shower because the dishwasher was running. And Derek was gone. And Ezra thinks napping is silly. And Oliver thinks following me around and begging to eat is fun.
7. I needed to also rewash a load of laundry I had left over night. I didn't want to do the washing until I had showered. I need hot water!
It took ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL morning to get everyone to a point where I could 1. Weigh myself
2. Shower
3. Have a Diet Coke.
4. Start the laundry

But friends, it was ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL worth it when I stepped on the scale. OMGOSH! I am only 7 pounds away from my goal. I now weigh less than I have in three pregnancies. My SMALLEST pair of jeans button without complaint. I mean, life is pretty good.

AND Derek brought me a rather large diet coke in celebration.

And Ezra still won't sleep.

But JIMENEY CHRISTMAS I am starting to get skinny. WOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

To be completely 100% clear and honest, I have lost 38 pounds since Ezra was born.

You may now tell me how incredible I am in the comments section. I also accept Diet Cokes sent to my home address.

LOVE YOU!

In Which I Pick Up a Chick

So, yesterday we went on an epic grocery shopping trip. Two stores and a bazillion dollars later, our kids were FRIED. It was late afternoon, it was cold outside and everyone was DONE.

Rather than go home, we decided we ( "we" is the parents) needed Diet Coke. There is a Burger King Play Place right there in the very same parking lot. Ever since we discovered that my kids like the BK play place, it's been our go-to place for cold winter afternoons.

It was nice to let them run off their Walmart//Sams Club frustration.

Spencer wore his Batman costume.

(This information is indeed vital to the story. Hang in there, friend!)

About thirty minutes into our visit, I was kinda over the whole thing and about ready to go. We had been the only ones there and so they were fighting with each other, blah blah blah.

But suddenly! A miracle!

A mom and three little boys in tow showed up-- a 5 year old, a three year old DRESSED AS IRON MAN and little 18 month old. Immediately my children had made best friends. Batman and Ironman went off to save the world, the five year olds started a game of tag and the babies just kind of followed each other around.

We stayed for 30 more minutes, in which time everyone got along swimmingly. The other kids' mom was desperately trying to work on her laptop and still manage to keep all her kids alive, while Derek did the same, and I fed Ezra.

NICE!

When we left, I sat in the car and confessed to Derek, "I kind of wished I had gotten her number. I mean, it was PERFECT! Three boys all the same ages!"

So, Derek suggested I head on back in and get it.

I hemmed and hawed and finally went in.

I felt REALLY stupid.

I said to her, "This is going to sound SO weird, but do you play here often?"

HA! I am the best pick-up-line-deliver-er ever!

Some pleasantries were exchanged and next thing you know I GOT HER NUMBER!

Guys, it was a mom-date!

Crazy, right?

I was SO nervous!

And now, I wonder, how long do I wait to call?

I mean, I don't want to seem like a stalker or anything...

Bald is Beautiful?

Maybe I have mentioned this before, but boy oh boy do I dislike the post-partum-y stuff that happens after you have a baby.

And this week has begun that which is the WORST! You'd think having a 2 month old, I'd be all good, right?

Wrong.

My hair is now falling out at alarming and rapid rates.

See, during pregnancy my locks are full, thick, curly as always and basically, fantastic. I won't lie.

But two months after I pop out the newest of the crew my body catches up with me and says, "No more! Too bad, so sad!"

And next thing I know, my dearest partner in life is buying Drano in gallon sized jugs, because, Dude, I am clogging up drains everywhere!

The saddest thing is how grossed out my kids are. See, we have no master bath. (Oh, sweet master bath, how I miss thee!) So, we ALL share the same bathroom frequently. Tonight, Spencer was just straight up horrified because a long brown hair had affixed itself to his toothbrush.

Sorry bud.

Then, Oliver takes great please in handing me "hairhairhairhair!" when it sticks to him in the bath.

I DO try to clean out the drain and bath when I use it, but I can't catch every single one.

Wait, I take it back, the SADDEST part of all this how freaking bald I'll be before it's done.

Very, that's how. I can see the hair that fell out after Oliver and then grew back in, and it's so sad, cuz it's about to get sent packing again.

Just call me Morgan the bald-headed clown.

Cuz it's a freak show around here, people. A regular freak show.

Another Confession (this is becoming a habit!)

Oh my.

So, our TV is kind of dying. I mean, it WORKS most days, but it's an old monster, who seems to have lamp issues.

It has brought us much enjoyment over the last eight years.

But still. It's time here on earth is coming to a close.

And while I don't want to be cheating on my still-alive TV, thanks to our TAX REFUND, I've given the "go-ahead" to Mr. D to shop for a new one, with a strict budget.

I'm mean that way.

See, I love me some good granola-living. Homemade, yes please, home birth, of course, home school, NATURALLY. Organic, well.. yeah, sure.

Dude, if I could live on a freaking compound and farm my life away, I would. Well, at least you might convince me to try it.

So, um, why do I love me my black box?

We do not have cable. Or Dish.

I literally LITERALLY watch three shows. Maybe four if I'm super bored.

I limit my children's indulgence. I'm somewhat hardcore about what they watch.

Honestly, with our computer access, we could TOTALLY survive without a television. Hulu and all that.

So why am I so addicted to the actual BEING of a TELEVISION in my home? Is it that my mantle is crying out for a flat screen to hang above it?

Is it so I can be like everyone else?

Is it because the picture is SO much better?

Why? I wonder.

I mean, I'm all excited about it! I'm worried about our poor new TV getting smashed by renegade toys.

I WANT A NEW TV!

There, I said it.

Phew. Confessing is good for the soul.

A Confession...

So, since we've made the change to Spencer sleeping in his own room, I am discovering something...

I like mornings.

SHUT UP! I know!

To be clear, I like mornings that start AFTER 7:00. If I'm really spoiled, 7:30!

5:30 is still ridiculous, and never a good time for me. Middle of the night, that is.

But when there is a bit of light creeping up over the mountains, yeah, that kind of morning I like.

I am finding joy in dragging my keister out of bed. Derek usually gets up and takes the kids downstairs (what will I do when he works 40 hours away from home??? So spoiled!) and I head on into the kitchen. The lights get turned on, the dog is sent out, the morning meal is prepared. I like "waking up the house."

It's morning! A new day!

I'm starting to see why my kids are so annoyingly happy in the morning.

We've discovered that cold cereal, while thoroughly loved by my children, is not enough breakfast to keep them full past 8:30 in the morning! So, I've taken to making breakfast. Cuz it's not like I had anything better to do, right? Some warm muffins and hot chocolate out of the Cocoa-latte (not for me, it's not worth my weight watchers points!) seems to just kick off the day better than early morning grumps and chaos.

I like mornings. Getting started with a day seems more peaceful, more how it should. And since we've got really no where we MUST be in the mornings, it's all the better.

Did I mention that I am spoiled? I know, I am!

My Babies

The other night, I was feeding Mr. Ezra. This is not new, I do this multiple times a night. He had just drifted off when Mr. Oliver decided to wake up. This is new. He doesn't usually do that. He used to, a lot, even just a couple of months ago, but lately, since the stomach flu hit, he's been sleeping through just fine.

I hauled my tushie out of bed, a bit irritated but at least grateful that Ezra was back to sleep. Oliver was really hysterically crying for "Mooooommmyyy!!!" So, I went. Sigh.

I picked him up and kissed him, rocking him a moment, and laid him back down.

Um, no. Not good enough. I tried to leave, and his hysteria started up anew.

I considered waiting for a bit, but I didn't want Henry awake at 2:30 and really, he was, for reasons unknown, very upset.

I scooped him back up and sat on Spencer's empty bed. I rocked and rocked and rocked. He snuggled in and clung on like a baby monkey. (Oliver has ALWAYS reminded me of a monkey!) I closed my eyes and just kept rocking. For thirty minutes I rocked.

And as I rocked, I thought. When Spencer was born, I automatically considered Henry a "big boy." When Oliver was born I automatically considered Spencer a "big boy." Sadly, this effected my reactions to their behaviors. "You're a big boy! Stop acting like a baby!" I'd think.

In my brain, their behavior was ridiculously immature! "GROW UP KID, YOU'RE A BIG BROTHER!" I'd think.

And now, four children in, I have learned a lesson more valuable than gold:

Having a new baby does not negate the "baby-ness" of your next oldest. Bringing home a new baby does not automatically mature your other children. They are still who they were the day before. 

Seriously. Not eloquent, but true nonetheless. Every one of my kids was 20 months old when the newest addition came along.

I have learned that 20 months is still a BABY.

It has made all the difference in how I view my kids and their behavior. There are even moments when I think, "Spencer is just a baby! It's okay that he's crying like an irrational hormonal woman."

He is three. And sometimes he is a baby.

And I am so glad I finally figured this nugget of wisdom out. It has allowed our transition to a family of six be gentler than other times babies have come.

And so that night,  I rocked and rocked and rocked.

Because he is still my baby.

Puttin' On My Big Girl Pants

I love being an adult. I mean, I get to do anything I want...

On the downside, I have to do a whole lot I don't want to do.

Today, on my list, were a few things that I didn't really want to do.

1. Go out to the garage and find the baby blessing outfit.
2. Go out in the garage and find my box of "regular" clothes.
3. Sort through said box and swap out clothes, no more maternity!
4. Cut out all dairy.

See? A busy day for sure.

But I prevailed. I hoisted up my grown-up-big-girl pants and went on outside, to the cold, scary garage (with the help of the husband!) and found the blessing outfit post-haste AND my clothes box. Then I sorted it all out. SO well-behaved, am I.

However, it proves difficult to GET outside in the freezing-ness when a small, helpless three-week-old won't let you lay him down, even for a bathroom break. No matter.

From December 2010

Oh yes, he's in there. See?

From December 2010

Snug as a bug he was. Snug as a bug!

And then there was the matter of sorting my "real" clothes from my "pregnant" clothes. Turns out, it's all the same. My "real" clothes ARE my "maternity" clothes. I am not sure when/how THAT sad little truth occurred. Made for a quick sort and swap. So, that wasn't so bad. 

Finally, cutting out dairy. The Zantac seems to be helping a bit with the reflux, but I'm still getting puked on way more in a day than I would like. Ezra hasn't gained any weight in almost two weeks. NOT GOOD when your baby is three weeks old. So, bye-bye dairy. 

I can live with soy cheese, but oh my, I already miss chocolate. A lot. It's been half a day. 

But I am wearing my big-girl pants today. I can and will prevail. 

There's no milk in Diet Coke right?

This is YOUR life

So, the other night, I got down and dirty with Microsoft Word and typed up "The Care and Feeding of the Hagey Children."  I am inclined to do this each time I have a baby (I forgot when Oliver was born, which resulted in some trauma for Henry wherein a cup of white milk sent him into a tailspin...) Basically, it lays out our day. Who wears what, who eats off which plate, which show they are "allowed" to watch, etc for the various aunts that will be care-giving post-baby-birth.

Three pages of TINY print later, I thought unto myself, "Woah, does any of this really matter???"

And it does. Weird, isn't it? I am not the mother to children who will happily do whatever, whenever. They do indeed get all hot and bothered if you try to give Spencer the baseball bowl and Henry the basketball one. It's NOT RIGHT!

Oliver, as discussed previously, is OCD about his sleep habits. There is no pretending it's not true. He is a nut.

My extensive list of "Do's and Don'ts" for my children CAN be ignored if necessary. It really DOESN'T matter for a day, if they watch TV for 9 hours. Really.

But it's funny. To look at my life, my JOB all typed up nice and neat and see what it is I do all day, really. My life, my moments, my entire purpose for BEING at this point, all written down on three sheets of paper. In size 8 font. :)

That's my life folks. The Care and Feeding of Henry, Spencer and Oliver. Soon to include baby #4. And Derek is of course thrown in there.

Morgan: This is your life.

From December 2010