Two years ago, my mother in law and I walked down Boylston Street, pushing a 7 month old Colin in a stroller, as we watched the last participants of the Boston Marathon cross the finish line in front of Marathon Sports.

I had tears in my eyes. Here it was, 6pm, and they were still coming in. No fanfare, save for those of us still milling around. No tape to cross, no banners. The barricades were down. Business returned to normal. And yet, no matter.  They were going to finish. It was a real testament to the human spirit.

Yesterday, Kase and I took our two children to watch the start of the race. One of the fun benefits of our new town is that we host the start of the Marathon. Year after year, residents open their homes to host runners from all over the world. We even hosted a co-worker of Kase’s who was running in the race for the fourth time. I wanted my boys to have this experience- to stand among the crowd, feel the overwhelming positive energy of both the spectators and the runners.

My boys. We had no qualms about bringing our two small boys to the start line of such a momentous event.  I am sure other parents felt the same way. This was an event that celebrates the human spirit. The inherent goodness of people. That no matter what heat one participates in, whether in a wheelchair or as an Elite runner, they are celebrating their good health, their ability. Their gift. Runners recognize that no matter the reason behind that bib number, they are able to do something many of us cannot. They do it for themselves or charity. Some run alone and some run literally tied to another person, guiding them for 26.2 miles.

And for those who can’t run? We watch. We cheer. We smile like fools as thousands of athletes run by. We stand for hours on the streets of our communities and cheer for family. For friends. For complete strangers.  We cheer for their determination, for their spirit.

What I will remember from yesterday morning is the sheer number of people lining the streets of our small, quiet town. I will remember watching runners stretch on front lawns and mingle with their families as they got ready to join their corrals. I will remember the police officers who entertained Colin by revving their motorcycle engines and offering him a seat on their vehicles.  Who, quite possibly, became some of the first responders later that day. I will remember the young woman we spoke to, who was going to “hop in” to the race, to join her friend in the third heat. For fun. I will remember the race volunteers, hoisting bags full of discarded clothes into charity trucks.  I will remember the scores of children lining the street, including my own son, handing out high fives to the runners as they went by, “for good luck.” I will remember how he smiled and laughed, and how they did the same in return.

It was a magical experience.

And next year? We will do it again.

So here’s the thing about being postpartum again. None of my clothes fit. Yes, I would love to be that woman who bounces back to her pre-preggo weight and body a mere two months after pushing a baby out. The reality is: notsomuch.

Most of the time, I feel just fine about this. I am working out again, I’ve got a good amount of energy, and for the most part, I am eating well. But then? I step out of my sweats and try and put on a pair of jeans. And then I change my outfit eighty times because “I look fat!” which usually leads to me breaking out into a sweat from the sheer effort of it all, which doesn’t help to make me feel any less out of shape and/or fat. And then I cry. It’s a vicious cycle, really. Well, I assume it is. I’ve only ventured to get dressed in real clothes twice. It was exhausting.

Now, for the record, I know I am not fat. I don’t really even like the word. But I am too fat for my old wardrobe, and that’s the truth. The main problem is that in my sweatpants of denial, I hadn’t accepted the reality that lies between maternity wear and my old clothes.  I know for a fact that my body will return to me. One day. A day in the not so distant future, I hope. But in the meantime? Ain’t nobody got time for that. It was time to invest in some new clothes that can tide me over until then.

But you know me. I’m cheap. I like to shop. I just don’t like to spend money. You got me? I love me some J. Crew, but that store repeatedly makes me cry and then I must avow to never talk to them again, no matter how often they email me or text.

The beauty of this is that most of the places I like to shop? Love cheap bastards like myself. For instance, I’ve never bought a single thing at full price from Old Navy or the Gap or Banana. This is due to the fact that pretty much every single day, I get an email that tells me they are running an online sale. It’s like those Macy’s ads for their “One Day!” sales that just happen to be every day. Or is that just me? Anyway,  you go online, pop a few items into your cart, run the total above $50, and get free shipping. Then, a few days later, the magical UPS man comes and brings you pressies! I love pressies!  I try on my spoils in the comfort of my own home, cry in private and then return the crap I don’t like to the store. Old Navy is my recent go-to for flats. They are so cute. Love them.

My other favorite thing is that due to the economy, other stores seem to be following suit. I think that once a week for the past month, Loft has done a 50% off everything in the store thing. Or 40%. I went in before I had Jack and they were doing the 50% off thing. I thought maybe it was buy one, get one 50% off, or 50% off of one item, but no. It was 50% off everything. I went back a couple of days later (Kase and I were trying to walk the baby out at the mall) and they were doing a “Spend $100, get $50 off”. Soooo basically, another 50% off sale.  Just be straight with me, Loft. I’m no good at math.

The Gap also runs a lot of sales. And they often do additional off of sales prices. I got a pair of Boyfriend jeans for $12 and a pair of loafers for $10 at a 40% off sale. I’m not great at math, so I’m still not sure how that happened, but whatever. I don’t ask questions. I just swipe the old debit card and waddle out of the store.

Then there are the stores you scoff at. You know the ones I am talking about. But let me tell you. By just walking into those stores I vowed to never enter, I got some sweet deals. A J Crew knockoff bubble necklace for $10 at Wet Seal and  knockoff cap toe flats? $20 at Payless. Yes, Payless. And they aren’t the first pair of shoes I’ve purchased there. And loved.

And then there is the old standby: Target. I love me some Target.  Target is usually my go-to when I want something trendy, like a chambray shirt or mint colored skinnies . They are also a good spot for shoes. Love my leopard flats.

So while I restock my wardrobe, I’m not breaking the bank. Though sometimes I do feel like that girl in the Sears commercial when people inquire as to where my necklace is from, or that they like my shoes. I’m all “Erm, Payless?” But hey: At least I’m not crying, or sweating profusely from excessive wardrobe changes. So that’s a start.

One of the most popular posts on this blog is the one titled “So You’re Having a Baby. Congrats. Now Go Buy This.” It was basically a very long and long-winded list of know it all first time mom blatherings.

The comments are all very kind and agreeable. Which begs the question. Where are all the comments saying “Oh, first time mom. Young grasshopper. You have much to learn. Also? STFU.”

Because seriously? That list? Is stupid. If I had used it for this kid? I’d be up a creek.

Oh wait.

Let me explain. I had a kid not even three years ago. His name is Colin, though you may know him as the Despot. He was quite the little dictator. Still is, actually. And he dictated things to us all day long. All night long. And I took notes. And then I shared those with my friend. And then I decided to publish those thoughts on my blog. I was a Mom Who Knew Things.

For instance, while we had a slew of cute little pacifiers, Colin would only accept the Soothie brand they gave him in the hospital. Ergo, my declaration that Soothies are the only pacifier worth pacifying. Don’t bother with any other pacifier. Go with the Soothie. Your child and my child are the same. You will thank me later.

Guess what? Jack? The Tiny Tyrant? Who shares my son’s genetics? Turns out, he prefers the Avent brand pacifier. You know, the ones we bought in bulk when Colin was born and ended up tossing in the trash when it became clear he wouldn’t take one. You know, the ones we don’t have in bulk now, because we took advantage of the sale Target was running on SOOTHIE PACIFIERS and bought out the entire rack like we were on an episode of Extreme Couponing. Christonacracker.

Speaking of Avent, we got that pacifier as part of the “Bottle Starter Package for Indecisive Second Time Parents Whose Bottle of Choice Has Been Discontinued.”  That’s right: Our go to bottle, the one I touted as “The Bottle” has apparently been discontinued. So we found ourselves at the Target, all glassy eyed and slack jawed over bottles. It took two different trips to finally pull the trigger on a bottle. We chose the Avent because…..well, no reason really. Just because. It was there. I only bought one, so we could test it out first, and it worked. I guess that’s my new advice. If possible, buy only one bottle. Limit the damage.

Remember my little crack about how crappy Aden and Anais blankets are and how you only need them if you need to shield your child from the paparazzi? That was a cute joke. I still smile when I read that one. And remember how you only need a Miracle Blanket when swaddling your child? Because you will HAVE to, just absolutely HAVE TO swaddle your child because they become demonic and attack themselves when sleeping?

I lied. Again! I know!

I don’t swaddle Jack. Well, we did at first. With those “stupid” (actually not really at all) Aden and Anais blankets. They were awesome. Then we stopped. Laziness, I guess. We were tired. That was one more step standing between me and sweet, sweet sleep. That’s what happens with the second child, or so I hear.  (“So I hear” will be my equivalent of the lawyerly “allegedly”) Anyway, I only tried swaddling again the other night again after noticing Jack’s horrible acne won’t go away. And then? I used a WOOMBIE! Not a Miracle Blanket! See? I have become a lying liar who lies. PS- The Woombie works too!

Oh, but before I put him in the Woombie? I bathed him. In a baby bath tub. Yup, the same item I told you you don’t need. Confession: I have a house now, so I have room for a baby tub to hang around and kick and swear at.  So I got another one. And what did I use to bathe him? I got the super expensive California Baby soap. Why? Just cuz. I wanted to try it. And it makes him smell nice. I still use the Aveeno with Colin, but baby gets the $14 baby wash. Cuz I’m crazy. And a liar.

And just to top it all off? Jack loves the swing Colin hated. Jack hates the Baby Bjorn Colin loved. So instead of using the Ergo, we use a wrap. Yes, I WEAR MY BABY.

And folks? This is just the beginning. He’s only a month old….apparently, I’ve got a lot to learn.

A month into second child territory, I decided to venture back into the kitchen. Well, I venture into the kitchen about 80 times a day. Girl likes to eat. But I decided it was time to stop living off of takeout and frozen meals and actually cook my sweet little family a meal. A real meal, that I had to, like, go to the grocery store to provide. And didn’t come from the freezer aisle.

I decided to make steak tips. I don’t know why. I’ve never made them before. I’ve never even ordered them in a restaurant. I do know that other people like them, so I figured, why not?

I got home, and like any seasoned chef, googled “how to broil steak tips.” This was at 3pm. Apparently, I got a late start, given that I needed to marinate them for at least 4 hours. We’ve got a strict 7pm bedtime deadline in our house these days, so 4 hours was not on the table, so to speak.

Oh, and also? This marinade you speak of, recipe? How do I go about that?

So I googled again: “steak marinade recipe” and came across a recipe, that, miracles of miracles, I actually had most of the necessary ingredients for. And it was good.

Altogether, I marinaded the steak tips (cut into 1 inch cubes) for about 2.5 hours. When I moved the steak to the broiler, I took the leftover marinade and cooked it down to a nice sauce we drizzled on top. Yum town.  And I don’t think I am just saying that because I’ve only been eating pizza and Chinese takeout for a month….

Steak Marinade (adapted from here)

1/2 cup soy sauce

2 tbsp vegetable oil

2 tbsp lemon juice

2 tbsp brown sugar

1 minced garlic clove

Pepper to taste

Directions:

Cut steak tips into 1 inch sections and place into dish. Cover with marinade and refrigerate for 2-3 hours.  Allow to rest at room temperature for 3o minutes before broiling. Place 6″ under broiler for 4 minutes per side. Serve hot.

To use the marinade as a sauce, simmer under low to medium heat for 3o minutes.

I served the steak with, what else? Twice baked potatoes. That may or may not have been picked up ready made from the meat counter. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Today, I get thrown to the wolves.

The wolves in this scenario are my children. And yes, I know I chose this.

Kase returned to work today after a glorious month long paternity leave. The past month? Has been great. This next phase? Will be filled with lots of Sprout and AppleTV provided Pixar films.

We’ve adjusted to being a family of 4 pretty well. Colin, especially. When he can be bothered, that is. The things I was most worried about were non- issues. Things like Colin being aggressive towards his new brother, or just having a hard time adjusting in general. Of course, so far, no issues. It helps that we’ve been spending extra time with him, doing fun stuff like taking him bowling and going to 3D movies. That might change now that Daddy isn’t around to pal around, doing “hart” (Art), playing blocks and finding videos of rocket launches on Youtube. But for now? He’s great.

I didn’t know it was possible to fall even more in love with your kid. He’s becoming such a …kid.  He is still cracking me up- such a ham. Last night as I put him to bed (in his new big boy toddler bed, natch), Jack was crying downstairs.  Colin looked at me and did a spot on impression of Jack crying, saying “Baby Jack!”  Ham. The other night after dinner? He cleared his plate. Just got up from the table and cleared his plate. He looked a little lost as to where he might deposit it when he got to the kitchen, but still. Where do they learn this stuff? Bless his little heart. Makes me so happy and proud and sad at the same time. He’s really growing up. It’s probably a good thing we have a newborn to soften the blow.

Speaking of that new baby….

Jack the baby is great. He is a chill little character. Cries when he’s hungry or when you interrupt his feeding by burping him. But I’m the same way, so ….  Otherwise? He’s pretty easy. If we could just get those pesky every-two-hour feedings out of the way, we’d be golden.

We had some rough patches- I was basically, for lack of a better word, bullied into breastfeeding at the hospital and ultimately ended up getting a nasty case of mastitis on Valentine’s Day. Thanks, Jack! Such a little valentine. Mastitis? Is the worst. Maybe I’m a wimp when it comes to my boobies, but Jesus H. Christ. No. Just no. I’m not trying to join the debate on breastfeeding vs. pumping vs. formula. I’ve tried it all, so I consider myself informed. We knew going in what works for our family.  We were disappointed to have our confidence shaken by the staff at the hospital. Adding mastitis to the mix almost sent me over the edge. It took me out for a few days. And made up my mind to give it up. My boobies? As Colin might yell: “MINE!”. So formula it is.

With the switch over to formula, Jack had bouts of horrible projectile vomiting. I now understand the term projectile vomiting. Projectile is a very accurate descriptor.  We were encouraged to take him to the Emergency Room over the weekend. After 24 hours on Pedialyte, we switched over to another formula and it’s been a bit better since. He’s gaining weight and doing well, save for a recent and very bad case of baby acne. And male pattern baldness now that he is losing all his luscious baby locks.  But I read that comes from the maternal side, so I only have myself to blame.

We are desperately trying to catch up on sleep- of course, it’s been better since I stopped pumping. We love having a night nurse come every other evening. It’s been very helpful- though it makes the nights she is not here a little harder. But we’re just spoiled… I highly recommend getting a night nurse if you have the means. Not that we do, but we decided this is a short term solution to a (hopefully) short term problem. Oh, but I should say if you’re breastfeeding or pumping? Don’t bother with a nurse. You will only resent your husband as you death stare at him, peacefully snoring sleeping while pumping or feeding, and when he wakes refreshed, you might want to scratch his eyes out. MIGHT. You’ll probably settle for yelling at him. But if you formula feed, just go on and hand that baby over!  Enjoy 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep. That is, until your toddler wakes you up at 2:30am, screaming “Mommy!” and you bring him into bed where he lies on top of you. But enjoy it until then.

(For those of you in the Boston area, we are using Boston Baby Nurse.  Carol, the owner is wonderful to work with, and we love love love our nurse.  In fact, we hope to keep her on during days so I can get some one on one time with Colin to do activities and stuff.)

So that’s where we are at. Well, literally speaking, we are camped out on the couch watching Toy Story 2 and eating Cheerios. Later, we go to school. But so far? I think I got this…..

But say a prayer for me anyway.

Jack William is here!

And we’re hiding out here…..

#babysfirstblizzard

Luckily, we were scheduled for an induction on Tuesday, which went smoothly and quickly (!) and were able to discharge ourselves from the hospital before the big blizzard hit. We are enjoying being home, all warm and cozy, surrounded by family, and getting to know Colin’s little brother. Colin, surprisingly, is also excited about getting to know Jack, or as he calls him, “Aww, baby.”

I’ve watched the movie “Up” about 4,000 times. That is not an exaggeration. The first time I watched it I was pregnant with Colin. I might have cried.  Might have. Hormones.

Turns out, despite the fact that I’ve watched it over and over and over again, I’ve failed to really listen to it. It’s always on in the background- a placeholder for me to get things done around the house. But yesterday, as Colin and I enjoyed a lapless cuddle on the floor, I was touched by a quote by Russell:

“That may sound boring, but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most”

Preach, Russell. Preach.

I have to try and remember sometimes that my life is not my blog. I would love for you to think that, but it’s not.  My life is not always Pinterest or Instagram worthy. My life is yoga pants and the miracle of DVR. But you know what? It is those “boring” moments of being a stay at home mom that I remember the most. I need to stop whining about useless contractions, being tired and achey  and just take in these last days of my time with my first baby. And sure, most of that time will be  ”boring” stuff: Building blocks, cajoling naps, negotiating school outfits, imitating plane noises, making “sammiches” that are then thrown out whole, because now someone wants yogurt instead. But hearing his sing song “Thank you, Mommy!” and “Lub you, Daddy!”  I’ll try and remember that these boring moments *are* life.

My life. And I love it.

Yes, I’m still pregnant. But besides that? I have a confession: Over the holidays, we deterred from our normal schedule. That schedule included nightly baths. We got lazy and complacent and when we asked if it was time for bubbles, we were met with a “no!” and we went with it. And getting out of that habit? Was a bad, and smelly, idea. And may have resulted in pink eye.

Now, this is only significant because Colin used to love love love bath time. Literally, he would run up the stairs when you asked if it was time for “bubbles.” Once we moved, he also got into the habit of doing “rain” – showers, in our new bathroom. We went with that, too. Some days, the kid got washed up all nice twice in a day.

But then? He just decided he hated baths. Just in time for me to be 36 weeks pregnant and not able to fight him on it. Every night. I dreaded it. And then he got pink eye and I put my foot down. He was *not* going to be that dirty kid with the pink eye. Gross. But for nights, as I wrangled him into the tub, he screamed and screamed and broke into hives, he was so upset. And being 800 months pregnant and emotional, I was at a a loss. Who wants to literally fight a two year old into a bath tub using force? Not this chick. I mean, I love getting kicked in the belly as much as the next pregnant lady, BUT. He needed a bath. He needed to like it. What the hell happened?

One night I actually asked him that. I said to my two year old, “What the hell happened!?” That is when you know you have hit a wall. I had nothing.

He scrambled out of the tub, climbed into my lap and wanted to cuddle, right there on the bathroom floor for a good ten minutes, just sniffling. We both may have cried. This couldn’t go on.

I’ve noticed lately, Colin’s been on a “Super hero!” kick. This mild interest started after Halloween, so I can only assume someone came to school dressed as a Superhero. Now? Mild interest has morphed into full blown obsession.

I love obsessions. They translate really well into “incentives.” Lay people, or people without children may call these “bribes.” Such an ugly word.  Don’t judge till you’ve been there.

So I did what any mom of a two year old expressing interest in Superheroes might do: I got him a fun Superman t shirt with detachable cape for Christmas. He wanted to wear it every day. He discovered a Batman soap dispenser at Target and decided it must be his. He loves his “badman.” Santa gave him some big boy toothbrushes for Christmas, too. Spiderman and Wolverine, I think. Loves em. And his new race car ramp set? Has a “Daddy,” also known as Superman.  The resemblance is shocking. Every night as we get dressed for bed, he asks for his super hero shirt. We’ve got a couple in rotation now- Spiderman, Superman, Batman- so we’re set. I just do laundry more often. That’s fine.

When I was cleaning out our linen cabinet while nesting, I found the Batman soap dispenser, which had somehow gotten crammed behind some other toys. I got him, along with “Daddy” and some other super hero race cars and put them near the tub. And for the second time that evening, I asked Colin to come for “bubbles.” I was met with a resounding “NO!” until he spotted them: the superheroes. And that crazy boy? Broke into a run.

And then the kid stripped himself butt naked.

Every night, and every afternoon since, if I’m being honest, Colin runs upstairs for “bubbles.” Getting dressed every day has gotten a lot easier as well with our plethora of Superhero options. We just got a Superman vest and long tee combo, and a new Spiderman soap dispenser, too. Thanks, Target Clearance Section! Today, he warmed my heart when he pulled out his bathroom stool, got his toothbrush and brushed his teeth without prompting.

Maybe he was just tired of being stinky. I don’t know. I just hope this trend continues.

Superman to the rescue.

A little secret I haven’t mentioned here on the blog is that we are hiring out help this time around. Which means a few nights a week, we will be welcoming a stranger into our home.  She will help with the baby while Kase and I sleep. I’m still pinching myself over that one. Kase and I agree that hiring a night nurse is cheaper than divorce. Or so we assume. That is generally how we come about to most major financial decisions, by the way: Is it cheaper than divorce? If so, we tend to go for it. Not sure Suze Orman would agree with this strategy, but it’s working for us.

But the point is: This (highly qualified and welcome) stranger will have access to our home. To our bathroom. To our laundry. To our kitchen. To the nursery. So in my nesting frenzy this weekend,  I walked around the house like a stranger and tried to figure out what needed organizing. I asked myself questions like, “Where would I find this?” “Where would I look for this?”  And then (30 minutes later, after a much needed break) I walked around again as my lazy self and said, “self, how can you avoid going upstairs again?”  But that has nothing to do with the actual organizing aspect of this post, just illustrating I was tired.

Another little no so secret I have? An addiction to trays. My motto should be “Put a tray on it.” Or rather “Put it in a tray.” Seriously. Trays. Everywhere. Mostly from Target or HomeGoods. Cheap, in other words. Cheap and holding all my crap. But freeing up usable space. And making it pretty to look at, which is just as important in my opinion.

Kase told me I am in full on nesting mode. I’m not so sure because I thought you nested when you had energy.  Something I have been severely lacking since about week 3 of this pregnancy. I didn’t think you nested simply because your brain finally allowed those awful sweet memories from the first month flood back into your consciousness, sending you into a mild panic.  Or maybe the issue is that I am having horrible contractions, am in constant pain and can no longer fit into any of my maternity clothes. All of which means that (I hope) this baby is coming soon. It also means that I better get this house in order because soon enough? A baby disaster is about to hit it. Yay!

One thing that I never realized the first time around is just how much stuff a baby brings along with him. Stuff you never considered before: Sure, you’ve got pacifiers, wipes, bottles, etc. But beyond that? There is also the stuff you require if you’ve given birth. Basically, I had “stations” in every part of the house. All willy nilly like. I just moved stuff from place to place as I needed it. And then I would call to Kase from the bedroom and be all, “ACK! I need ______! Hurry, please!”

In the family room I had a makeshift side table with all my nursing crap scattered on top.  Since I was pumping, there was also all the pump crap  that goes along with it. If we had visitors? I got to pick it all up and bring it to my bedroom, where I just dropped it wherever worked and then spent the entire time looking for things that got left behind. Rinse. Repeat.

In the bathroom, I had all my medical necessities. Mamas know what this means: creams and pads and spray bottles and I don’t even know. I blocked it out. Just know that the top of the toilet was a little pharmacy. Not cute.

Basically, I was just a hot mess. Not organized at all. Which isn’t a huge deal when it’s just you, your partner and a tiny person. There’s no problem in yelling down the hall for your husband to bring you more nipple cream. Add a toddler and visitors sharing a bathroom and it’s better to get it under control. It makes things so much easier as well. And not as awkward. Though shouting “nipple cream” is fun. Especially in front of your dad. Try it.

The main thing? Is to have organized and usable surfaces. There never seems to be enough *room* for all that stuff. So I started with getting my stuff contained and organized, which then makes more space available. For the stuff you forgot about but desperately need. That happens more than I like to admit.

Saturday, I tackled the nursery. We still didn’t have a side table for the glider and if I nurse or even pump, I will need a table. I learned that much the first week last time. I managed to snag this awesome table at Target this past weekend and I love it. It ties in the modern lines of the nursery with the natural wood of the lamp. And it’s nice and compact, so it fits. Which is important. But it also holds my necessities, which I corralled into a cute little basket (also I think from the new cottage line at Target). And there is still space! For more crap!

When you are nursing or pumping or just rocking a little baby to sleep, I find it useful to have the following right on hand:

• Pacifiers (if you use)
• Water or something to drink (I got this cute water bottle at Target on clearance for $4)
• Snacks (Welch’s Fruit Snacks were evidently my snack of choice the last time around. I found these in my pump bag)
• Lanolin or nip cream
• Baby Lotion
• Breast pads
• A blanket (on the back of the chair)

Now, the last time, this was all scattered about. This time? I’m a pro. So I got a little basket. I recommend a basket. Or tray. Or box. Whatever. Just contain the crap.

I will make a similar basket for the family room. Or use a covered box of some sort since we’ve got a toddler who has. to. touch. everything. And then dump it out. The important thing is to have everything at hand, but contained as well. And to avoid climbing stairs. Can’t stress that enough. AVOID THE STAIRS.  And hey, if you or your husband need to pick it all up and take it to the playroom? All the better. I’ve got diaper stations around the whole house, and that system seems to be working, so we’ll just do it for the new baby as well. Live, learn and all that jazz.

The other area I remember needing some organization and clutter control was the bathroom. So on Sunday, I headed out to HomeGoods and got some organizing stuff for the bathroom, and more importantly, for the post partum aspect of this epic journey.

On the back of the toilet, I added a canvas tray. This will hold all those post partum goodies I narrowly avoided discussing earlier. Sorry! I’m only familiar with what I dealt with last time (I didn’t have a C Section, so can’t speak to that recovery) but I know I’ll have some awesome stuff hanging around on top of the toilet, like Tucks pads, ice packs, spray bottles and creams. Last time I just kind of threw them all up there and let me tell you: trying to pick off the floor your various medicines three days post partum? NO BUENO. Crying may ensue. Or hysterical laughter. Either way, people will think you are unbalanced when they hear you through the door. Do yourself the favor: Put it all in a box. Shoebox, cardboard box, what have you. Contain it. And for God’s Sake. Don’t drop the soap  spray bottle. Oh yeah, and keep a waste basket nearby. For now, you can pretend those pretty makeup brushes and Q-Tips are those other essentials I’m talking about.

And of course, I straightened up our bedside tables. I needed this for right now, not just for when the baby comes and my room turns into the nursery. This is what happened last time. All available surfaces were taken over. It was all very hostile and aggressive. So I am expecting that to happen again.  In reality, I should have done this a while ago. But we only got bedside tables about two weeks ago so there’s that. Before that? I just kept everything on the floor next to our bed, which is also sitting on the floor. But we finally buckled down and bought some IKEA lack tables and our bed frame is on order. It’s time to straighten things up.

My bedside table looks like a pharmacy. For a very unsexy old person with health issues. I’ve got my stretch mark cream, lip balm, hand lotion, about 18 packets of Zantac 75, empty water bottles and my glasses. Since not only am I a sore pregnant lady with indigestion, but I’m blind, too! I don’t know how I got pregnant, if you are wondering. All that’s missing is a heating pad. But only because I didn’t need it this week. Hot mess. Anyway, I threw out all the trash and then finally used my white storage box from Ikea and threw all the various bits and pieces in there, along with phone and Kindle chargers. I don’t know what the box’s purpose really is because the design is actually horrible, but it’s a wood box with two inserts, and I bought it, so I might as well use it. I added another clearance water bottle (for taking my Zantac before bed and around 3am each night) and my new alarm clock. Did the trick:

Now when the baby comes, I’ve got room for my nipple cream. Yay!

Kase’s side also got a little spruce up. Mostly because I was excited we finally had tables, and also because  someone got a new alarm clock/ iPhone player for Christmas and it needed a home. Bonus? Now he has room for more of my nipple cream when the baby comes! ;P

So thoughts? Do you have any go-to organization stash tricks? Any vets out there with more suggestions?  What am I purposely forgetting? Tell me.

I’m in serious countdown mode here. I am done being pregnant. I feel pretty confident this baby is cooked and can come anytime he wishes. SO COME ON BABY. DO YOUR WORST.

(JK, baby!  Please don’t do your worst. That happened last time. You can be the easy baby. I won’t mind. At all.)

Anyway, it’s time to pack the hospital bag. Yes, if I learned anything the last go around, it is that ONE hospital bag will do. Unlike this:

That there? Is a first time mom’s packing job. We’ll call it “Packing Your Hospital Bag: 101.”  Three different, too-small-to-be-useful bags. And full disclosure? That’s not even the half of it. Cute purse? Check. LV bag? Yup, got it. Special baby tote bag, embroidered with name? You know it. I’ll admit, I was embarrassed to send Kase back to the car to get our things after we checked in. A purse, Kate?  Really???   We weren’t on vacation- we were having a kid. And as it turns out, when you are recovering in your room with wristbands that read “FALL RISK” and there are notes on your white board about how you may not leave your bed unattended, and you lose entire hours being passed out,  you’ll find you don’t require a whole lot of what you brought with you.

Like, your own clothes, for starters. I’ll tell you. I didn’t need even one pair of those cute pajamas I bought special for the hospital. And I brought three different pairs. THREE.  I never even changed gowns. Toiletries? Forget em.  Okay, maybe you could use a toothbrush. Yeah, you probably should have used your toothbrush. Visitors would have appreciated that. But the entire baby book? No. Just bring whatever you want them to stamp the baby’s foot on and call it a day. You don’t need the whole book. Despite your best intentions, you probably won’t be journaling. I mean, if you haven’t once “journaled” in your 30 years, the likelihood that you will while experiencing pitocin induced contractions isn’t high.  Not trying to be a know it all, but….Trust.

This is not to say I didn’t have time to kill. Oh, did I. I was wide awake while this was happening:

That’s my blanket and my pillow. Oh, yeah. And my husband (i.e. emotional support system.)  Don’t let me bother you, honey. Just getting ready to birth a baby over here. You go ahead and rest up.

Maybe this time I’ll bring my hair straightener. Do something worthwhile with my time. So I don’t look such a hot mess. Oooh, and I hope there will be a Real Housewives on, like last time. Oh who am I kidding. Of course there will be.

My point is, I packed all wrong. For instance, I had a whole “homecoming outfit” planned out for Colin. I was going to dress him and swaddle him and I was going to be all Sarah Jessica Parker leaving the hospital looking ah-mazing in my cute sundress and bejeweled sandals and holding my dear sweet child in his Ralph Lauren get up. There would be pictures. I even packed a razor for Kase. We were going to be a FAMILY. It needed to be documented. We were going to look the part.

But let me tell you a little something. I was lucky to get myself showered and presentable before leaving the hospital. During the checkout process I just remember thinking that this nurse better hurry it up, because I would not be sitting on that hard chair for much longer without punching someone in the face or punching myself in the face to put myself out of my misery. We left the hospital with even more crap than we came with. I don’t mean the baby. I mean doughnuts. FOR SITTING ON. And spray bottles. And witch hazel pads. Let that marinate.

So for all my planning and fantasizing,  Colin left in the same kimono top they gave him to wear in the nursery. Yes. A used Kimono top from a hospital. Our official family picture is me sitting in a wheelchair (totally necessary and well received) in a badly lit hallway, doing my best impression of a smile, but can only be described as a grimace, with my sweet (unshaved) husband wearing days old clothes (I believe it was a Hanes undershirt and ripped jeans with flip flops) behind me. I believe I had just snapped at him that we didn’t “need a damned picture. let’s just go, please!”

But I will tell you now: I’m bringing the kimono and blanket back to the hospital with me for new baby, too. Yup, even the hospital issued swaddling blanket.  So what if the first time around I brought a special monogramed chamois blanket from Pottery Barn Kids with me to the hospital. Or maybe I brought two. Can’t remember. It was in the third bag there, the one labeled “Colin” if anyone bothered to look. That blanket never even touched his sweet little body before we got home. Just a pilled, used and repeatedly laundered hospital issued receiving blanket. But I like that the new baby will be swaddled in the same blanket his big brother lived in for three straight days. I mean, I washed it. It’s fine. Just a little more pilled.

Here it is. Yes. Singular. It’s a duffel bag.

May I present: Packing Your Hospital Bag: 201. This is for the advanced students. Ha.

• Change of clothes for Kase (he will be staying with me at the hospital). PJ Pants. Apparently it’s not comfy to sleep in jeans. THOUGH YOU WOULDN’T KNOW IT (see picture above).  No razor though. Maybe some real shoes this go around.
• Makeup bag/toiletries (I did use this last time. My vanity knows no bounds. Especially after seeing those photos of myself with no discernible chin. Once they started fluids, I lost my jawline. Just…poof! Gone. Yikes.)
• PJ’s (a girl can dream)
• Nursing tank tops (comfort over style)/ Yoga pants/ Cozy sweater for wearing home. (I learned last time that US Weekly would not be covering my exit from the hospital. Sadsies.)
• Throw blanket and pillow (I definitely used this. When Kase was finished with it, that is.  Also, I had a nice pillowcase on it, which made for a good background in photos. Not planned, but appreciated later. It’s the little things when you lose your jawline. Paisley makes everything better, no?)

My last morning in the hospital. Three days later. Pretty sure I gave birth in this gown. Not nearly as cute as my Target PJs.

• Kindle/ Apple/ chargers/electronic crap
• Outfit for the baby/ hospital blanket (the hospital apparently wants their stuff back. Rude.)

See? I’m gonna keep it simple this time around. No breast pumps (I mean, really who suggested that on TheBump.com?), no Boppy. No baby book. One set of PJs will do. If I even get to change into them before I’m discharged, I’ll consider this go around a success. Hell, if I get to shower or do anything bathroom related unattended before my last day I’ll consider the whole thing a raging success.

So, thoughts? You think I’m missing anything obvious? Do tell…….

PS- Do check out your hospital’s website for more direction if you are confused about what to bring. My hospital provides pretty much everything I could possibly need during my stay, so I can simplify this time around.

Maybe you’re like me. Maybe you don’t have an original thought in your head. Maybe you’re just plain nosy. But I like to search the old internets for gift ideas. I live for them. I thought I’d share the hits (and misses) of a toddler Christmas.

The first present had some negotiation behind it. One day, Kase came home from work and asked me how much was too much to spend on Colin for Christmas. I gave him a round number and then discussed the whole concept of the “four presents of Christmas” I was almost laughed out of the room. That’s an only child for you, people. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.

Anyway, Kase thought it would be appropriate to buy our two year old son a set of 800 blocks.  Yes, you read that right. 800 PIECES OF WOOD. I laughed him right back out of the room.  I won’t even get into the cost of it all. Which was ridiculous. I mean, Colin is getting the concept of cleaning up after himself, but I can’t think of a single person who would want to clean up 800 blocks. I certainly don’t. Nor will I.

So we compromised on a set of Melissa & Doug wooden blocks. Okay, fine. Two sets. For a total of 120 blocks.  They were a big hit. Even I like them. I’m pretty adept  (coughtalentedcough) at building towers. Tall ones, too. We like them so much, we got two more sets after Christmas. I have to agree with my husband. 120 blocks is just not enough to create the types of complex towers and structures we do here. Did I mention my neighbor is an architect? Yeah, we needed more. Not 800 mind you, but a good 240 does the trick.

Another big hit in our house was a set of Play Doh.  This is usually the second item Colin asks to play with on a daily basis. It goes, “BLOCKS!” and we play blocks, and then he spots his play table and runs over to play with his Play Doh. Works for me. I feel like he’s taxing his little brain. Especially when not shortly after that he asks for “Mater” which means he wants to watch TV. But the Play Doh keeps us occupied for a bit- we mostly like to task Daddy with making airplanes. Then we cry when they fall apart. (Daddy needs to work on his skills, me thinks.)

A loud and obnoxious present he and other kids love is the Little Tikes Bowling set. Not much to say here, other than if you want a constant headache and backache combo, I recommend this toy as a present. But the kids? They love it. We have a nice little straightaway we call our bowling alley right in our living room.  It’s loud and makes crashing noises and is fun. I got it for Colin because it is just the type of thing I would have wanted as a kid. But now I understand why my parents played deaf to that request.

Kase’s mom gifted Colin with a couple of big hits, literally. They take up a lot of space, but he loves them:  A play tent with attached tunnel (similar to this), and a Little People Car Ramp. He loves both of these, and the kids who stayed with us (ages 2-6) loved them as well. The sight of *three* toddlers playing nicely with *one* toy is all the proof you need that it was a hit.

A couple of things he hasn’t taken a real shine to? A Little Tikes Basketball hoop. He was kind of into it on Christmas, but it has sat pretty much unused since then.  Also, we got him a big *ss fire truck that has stayed in a corner since its receipt. And those cute Toy Story Potato Heads?  Haven’t seen hide nor hair of those since they were put away in the play room. Aww, Buzz.  Womp womp….

So what did you get your kids for Christmas? What was a hit? Any misses?  Did you stick to 4 presents? Or more like 400?  I’m nosy so fill me in.

Whew! What a nice break.  Since the 17th, Colin has been on school holiday, and then Kase took off from work for the holiday week, which means no internet time for me, which was a welcome break. I really enjoyed spending time with my boys before the holiday rush, and then my time with family was too fun and busy to worry about the ol’ blog. And to put the nail in my blogging coffin: I barely have any pictures to prove it.

Did Christmas and New Year’s happen if you don’t blog it? Dunno. But here’s the best I can do for you:

We started off the holiday break by taking a little road trip down 495 to Edaville Railroad where a Christmas Village and train ride were promised. We didn’t stay too long, but Colin loved the train ride and the various amusement rides offered, despite the 35 degree weather.

I started my holiday preparations. I love this part of the holidays- hanging stockings, wrapping last minute presents, baking cookies. Eating butter. You know, the usual stuff.

On Christmas Eve, we headed to Kase’s mom’s house to celebrate with his side of the family. My sister joined us as well, which made for a very special holiday this year. When we came home, I doled out the Christmas jammies.  Had to be done.  My sister and mother-in-law are good sports.

Then it was time to play Santa. Er, I mean, then Santa came! He went overboard.

Colin actually woke up on the later side on Christmas morning, which I suppose was his present to us. Such a sweetie.  We eventually made our way downstairs. Too distracted by the train around the tree, it took him a while to take in his loot.

(still obsessed with his train, but adding his brand new blocks to create a tunnel)

We were able to lounge around all day at the house, taking cat naps, playing scrabble and cooking up a yummy dinner:

We even celebrated with Christmas Poppers, or crackers, as the Brits call them. Oh and those are some Faux Bois silver chargers I got on Clearance at Target. They made me happy in a way that is not normal.

Unfortunately, we had to cut our after dinner conversation short since I started to experience contractions. Damn that Honey Baked Ham!  I continued to experience annoying Braxton Hicks for the rest of our break, and we took a quick trip to the doctor on New Year’s Eve. All systems were fine and dandy, so we headed home to our full house to celebrate the New Year with my family who made the trip up to see us. It was so nice to have my parents, sister and niece and my brother’s family with us. A perfect example of why we wanted to purchase a house- to fill it with family over the holidays, like the hermits we are.

We even hosted our neighbors for NYE- my neighbor is *not* Martha Stewart, but she comes pretty darn close:

We ushered out 2012 (note: we didn’t quite make it to ushering in the new year. We are lame) surrounded by family and new friends, 6 rambunctious  kids, a whining dog and about 5 new pounds according to the scale. And I have to say: this was one for the books- I so enjoyed our holiday break this year. Hope you did too. Happy 2013!

I thought I was into wrapping presents. I used to take real pride in my wrapping skills. In fact, I must have liked wrapping presents, because I remember helping all my family members wrap up their last minute purchases on Christmas Eve. So this love of wrapping gifts can’t be all in my head. I mean, just last year I was really into it. Maybe this year, it’s the whole 9 months preggo thing, or maybe I am just finally owning up to my own laziness, but I. Just. Can’t. Get. It. Together. Or maybe it’s more: I. Just. Don’t. Wanna.

Don’t get me wrong. I had the whole scheme ready to go. And this year, rather than Christmas being brought to you by Maria Von Trapp, who is awesome, it’s being brought to you by the USPS. Also awesome-ish.

Not really the USPS, but you can secure all of these things in the mailing section at your local Target. This year, I went with Kraft paper and red accents again. But instead of Kraft paper from Paper Source at $800 per roll (I still spent approximately $500 there this week, just not on wrapping paper,) I skipped on over to the packing/mail section at Target, and bought a big old roll of packing paper for like $5.  And then, I spotted and picked up some red and white chevron Scotch packing tape. Umm, I don’t knew where you came from, but you had better get in my cart you she-devil.  I did head to Paper Source for some cute mailing/gift tags and some other stuff that I never knew I needed but couldn’t live without another second longer. But just imagine how much worse it could have been if I hadn’t stopped at Target first and been in a really cheap mood.

All together, it looked like this as I got ready to wrap:

I also had a little fun with the gift tags, which were plain jane tags from Paper Source. I decided to jazz them up a little with my packing tape. I like my packing tape. It’s cute and beyond that? It holds the packing paper really well. Go figure! If you want to check out some other fun patterns, check them out here (Birds!!). I’m saying it first: Packing Tape is the new Washi Tape.

I finished them off with a little ribbon. As they say in Arthur Christmas (cute movie btw), “There’s always time for a BOW!”  Do knots count as bows? In my house they do. I wrapped about 8 presents and called it a day. There’s about 80 left in my “secret present closet.”  I guess I have three days left really to tackle the rest.

Ugh. I am tired just thinking about it. Anybody like to wrap presents? I offer competitive pay (read: unlimited Real Housewives reruns)

So I want to ask a question: Is there a rule somewhere that says you *have* to decorate a tree?

Kase and I bought a nice skinny *real* frasier fir this weekend for the family room, where we plan to open presents with family. As discussed, we went with a “Scandi-simple” theme in the family room. We allowed Christmas to explode all over the playroom- Colin has his own tree with his own ornaments, we put the creche up, and an old family heirloom from Kase’s side of the family is decorating the windowsill as well. I topped the mantel with some clippings from our real tree and we plan to hang our handmade family stockings from Grammie in there.

Anyway, on Sunday we placed the frasier fir, we strung some lights and I topped it with a bow. But now?  I kinda like how it looks as it is. I’ve got two tubs of ornaments hidden away in the butler’s pantry, but I’m tempted to tell Kase to bring them back down to the basement.  The look of the tree is simple and natural. Added bonus? Colin can’t break any ornaments. So far, he hasn’t shown much interest in the lights, which is good, too.

My only concern is that my pregnancy induced laziness is overriding my holiday spirit. But I really don’t think so. I just think it’s a good looking tree on it’s own. But is there a rule that you *have* to decorate it? Tell it like it is, internet friends. Tell it like it is.