Coming clean: I'm a dirty eater.

First off, can I get an "amen" for two blog posts in less than a week? I must be a mom with three kids in school {haaaaay}.

Second, I have a confession to make. It's something that I've been wanting to get off my chest for a while now, but I was worried that I'd be judged for it.

Here goes...

I don't buy {or eat} organic. {Gasp}. I know. {Cringe. Are you still there?} But, really, this should not come as such a shock to some of my longtime readers. AS IF CMCP {cheapy mc cheaper pants} would pay MORE money for fruits and veggies that our kids aren't going to eat anyway. And I have to tell you, I kind of agree with him here {but don't tell him I said that.}

I know, I know. I'm damaging the tiny humans with pesticides and what not but no one is growing a tail or sprouting a chest hair yet so we must be ok, right?

Here's the deal, some {most} days I'm lucky to even get a meal into Saxon, let alone a well-balanced one. Truly, if it's not of the nugget variety, chances are he's not eating it. So before I give him a $2 bite of broccoli that he's going to give me the middle finger over anyway, I'd just as soon get the middle finger and save a few bucks in the process. Why add insult to injury?

It's actually kind of hard to admit seeing as how I live and work in the land of fitness and health. But, if I'm being honest, the reason that I live and work in that place is really so that I can enjoy the finer things in life like In N Out and pizza. Can I get another amen? Anyone? Bueller?

Don't get me wrong, my friends who live vegan and gluten-free lifestyles and nosh on quinoa for snack time are rock stars and I envy their will power. I just don't have it. And I bust my ass almost daily on a spin bike or a yoga mat so that I don't have to have it...And because quinoa tastes like poo. Just ask Sax. He's had both. And both times, I got the finger.

The closest that I'll ever get to a juice cleanse is a Nektar acai bowl - which I'm pretty sure is the equivalent of eating a king-sized candy bar for lunch just based on the sugar count alone. But I actually don't even really want to know about it because the acai bowls and the burgers and the french fries and wine {oh, wine} make me really, really happy. And you know what? I deserve it dammit.

I did a 24-day challenge over the summer and I literally would have cut a bitch for a sip of booze and a tortilla chip - if Eric hadn't removed all the sharp objects from the house ahead of time knowing that I would cut a bitch for a sip of wine and a tortilla chip. Such a love that guy. He knows me too well. I cleansed for 10 days {cleanse, btw, is just a code word for poop your brains out} - meaning no booze, coffee, dairy and limited {oh, gee, thanks for that} complex carbs.

"Yay! a brown rice cake. What a treat! Has anyone seen a knife so I can cut a bitch?"

That was kind of the sentiment on days 1-10. Then, at the end of the 10 days {in hell}, you get to have dairy. Hallelujah. It was at this time that I considered buying my own cow and creaming my own cheese. See, I'm just not very good at moderation. Ugh.

In total I lost 7 lbs, 4 inches off my hips and 2.5 inches off my waist. And after I recovered from my colossal hangover from literally diving off the wagon head first on day 25 {moderation, is that you? hello?}, I realized that I'm ok with those extra 7 lbs. I look pretty damn good with those extra 7 pounds and I am the happiest version of myself with those 7 pounds. Hear that? Angels singing.

If I want a burger, I'm going to have a burger. Pizza? I've got the number saved in my favorites. And in the morning when I wake up feeling guilty, I'm going to hop on a spin bike and pedal my little ass off until I don't feel guilty any more. {And hopefully I don't grow a tail from all the non-organic food...because having a tail on a spin bike could be problematic and, well, ouch.}

That's kind of the way our world works around here. And I'm good with that. And I hope you are too.

Ah, I feel 7 lbs lighter from coming "clean".

I went ahead and linked my spin class schedule so that we could work off the burgers together. Would love to have you in one of my classes. I'm teaching at YAS in Costa Mesa on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6am and Equinox in Newport Beach on Sundays at 8am.

Oh, and in light of this new found "honesty" I'm going to start a new tradition called "Confession Fridays" on the Three Before 30 Facebook page. If you haven't "liked" me. Please do. It's good for my ego. And then you can join in too. Every Friday I'll "confess" a "sin" from the week. It's the closest I'm going to get to "cleansing" again.



The Potty Diaries. Chapter 2.

I've said it before. Parenting is poo. And what I mean is parenting involves poo. Lots of it. If I had known how much poo I'd be dealing with, I'd have asked for a raise. And then I would have hired a nanny with said raise to deal with all the poo. It's everywhere. And it never stops. Just when you think you've graduated to a non-poo related stage, the kids come home telling poo jokes. Shit.

And when it comes to po{o}tty training, I get an F. For reals. I hate it. I wrote about it here a few years ago when we were beating training Sawyer. So now I can't believe that we are knocking on the potty training door for Saxon. Well, we aren't actually. It's less of a knock on the door and more of a lock ourselves in the panic room type of sitch.

He's not ready. At all. He's 2.5 and if there was a kid who cared less than Sawyer about taking care of business on the potty, it's Saxon. Double shit. So for now, I'm enjoying my final months year as a mom with a kid in diapers.

Or so I thought...

...because it happened. I had heard of it happening before. I had felt sorry for friends who it had happened to {and secretly thanked God that it had never happened to me}.

And then it happened to me.

With the end of my diapering career in sight and nearing the finish line I kind of thought I was going to escape my early parenting years without having to deal with this, er, mess.

I walked into Saxon's room yesterday mid-nap time - and I saw what I thought only happened to my friends.

That's right. Saxon was PLAYING WITH HIS POO. And was ok with it. He was not upset. He was not grossed out. Actually, he was smiling now that I think about it.

MY SON TOOK OFF HIS DIAPER AND PLAYED WITH HIS POO!!

I don't really know what else to say about it because I'm still so disgusted.

Here were my initial thoughts:

OMG.

WTF!?

Who do I call?

Dammit. Where's the nanny?

Shit. We don't have one.

I really need a raise.

Is there a hotline for this?

There should be a hotline for this.

Call the pediatrician?

Too early for boarding school?

He's grounded.

Does he need a tetanus shot?

I really should have cut his fingernails last week.

OMG.

{Gagging}

And so on...

Really!? Three kids and it was bound to happen with one of them...what started as copying Daddy with one hand down his pants had turned into Columbus discovering new log land.

It was EVERYWHERE. So I did what any other mom would do.

Me: Eric! Get in here!

Eric {out of breath from sprinting to Saxon's room thinking that there was a real problem}: What! What is it?

Me: It's fucking shit. It's everywhere Eric!

Eric: Why are you yelling!?

Me: Because it's disgusting and {gagging} I'm upset that our kid plays with his poo. It's obviously your fault.

And then we {and by we I mean Eric} cleaned him up and {I} poured a glass of wine. And duck taped his diaper shut and pulled out the baby mittens. And went online looking for support groups.

Just when you think you've got this parenting shit down...



A time out...

I've been a bad mommy. Somewhere in between Facebook status updates, Instagram photo posts, online shopping and shaping my three young kiddos into awesome human beings through responsible parenting {more on that in a minute}, I've managed to neglect my one true love {ok, next to wine and Eric} - blogging about how awesome we are.

Seems slightly ironic that the title of my first blog post in over a year is "A Time Out"...seeing as how today was the day that my kids were placed on the biggest time out of their lives to date and gave me a reason to step back into my 3b430 blogosphere...basically they got into so much trouble and it would have been too long of a facebook status update. You can thank my two older children for my comeback. They're still in their rooms if you're looking for them.

Allow me to set the stage...

This morning, after I slept in until 8 {thanks for that, hubs}, I awoke to the chaos that is Sunday morning in our house. Kids screaming...wrestling...asking for their fourth snack of the morning...watching their ninth Bubble Guppies episode of the morning...you know, "the ushe." As I proceeded to assess the damage from the weekend {sand everywhere, wet beach towels, empty coolers, lunchboxes and Toy-Palooza}, I persuaded the kids to get on board for a little Sunday morning clean-up sesh. I mean, they're completely old enough to start carrying their own weight around here, right? {Ry, almost 7, Sawyer, 5.5 and Sax, 2.5- I know. It's been a long hiatus}.

I started breaking down some boxes from various shipments that we'd received during the week, including packing material from some new outdoor lighting that I'd ordered and installed by myself because I'm rad like that. Lamps Plus packs their lighting fixtures in these archaic boxes that include foam packaging that I'm pretty sure equals the opposite of eco-friendly...and I still use plastic grocery bags {sorry, I'm not sorry} just to put it all into perspective for you. It's no bueno. Moving on.

Rylan asks me if she can play with the foam packing material. Here is how the conversation went:

Rylan: "Mommy, this looks like fun. Can we play with this foam?"

Me: "No, honey, that stuff is sooo messy. Be a love and go throw it in the outdoor trash cans for me. Do you know how to do that?"

Rylan: "Yes, mommy. I can do that."

Me {In my own head}: Aww, isn't she just the sweetest? So helpful. And such an angel. Every mom would be lucky to have a sweet Ry.

Or something like that.

Our Sunday morning was going flawlessly. House was getting picked up. Kids were helping. Life was beautiful. Time to sit down to check Facebook and make sure I didn't go rogue last night and post any pics after indulging in too much wine. Yeah, right, like that ever happens. Oh, wait. Dammit!

And then I paid bills.

And then I looked at the clock and realized that almost an hour had gone by and the kids were not fighting. Or screaming. But that they were still outside. Laughing gleefully. Red flag. And then it hit me. Something's not right.

So I went outside to check. And that's when I saw why they had been so content.

They had spent an hour breaking down the foam packing materials and making it "snow." My "sweet Ry" who I'd just had a conversation with about the effects of the non-eco-friendly foam had completely ignored my advice.

And here's the thing. It was a lot of fucking {this is really the best adjective I could use here} "snow." It was everywhere. In. Tiny. Little. Pieces. Sweet Jesus please save my children from the wrath that is their mother. "Snow" everywhere. All over the kids. In their hair and eyes. Covering Saxon, who, btw, loved it. Everywhere. It was like a white out. In Costa Mesa.

I lost my shit. Like seriously. Lost it.

I started spelling and attempting to edit my swear words {albeit, unsuccessfully. whatevs. A for effort?}. Mother effer. Darnit {which turns into Dammit real quick because Darnit just doesn't do my anger justice}. In hindsight I may have over-reacted. But, I'm serious here, folks. It was everywhere.

And then Eric came out when he began to worry about the safety of his children because he could hear my failed attempts to use only semi-bad language while I yelled at them. And he was pissed. Which meant I knew it was bad. And the kids knew we were pissed. And just sat there and stared at us like scared puppies.

So, I did what any normal parent would do. I handed them the broom and dust pan. And an hour later. It still looked like this.

The pictures don't even do it justice. Like I said. This was an hour after Snowfest 2013 had happened.

 

 

"Mommy, why are you taking pictures of us?"

"Because Mommy needs new material for the blog. Duh. Keep sweeping."

 

The aftermath.

Once they started picking up the disintegrated pieces that were now the size of grains of sand, I stepped in to help because I was pretty sure at that point I was violating some type of child labor law. And because I figured the neighbors had already called CPS and I wanted to cover my ass.

 

Here's the thing that I remembered. If you lose focus in this game for one minute, you're screwed. This was my big rookie mistake. I rarely have an uninterrupted hour. An hour to check Facebook. Pay bills. Online shop for things I don't need. And that's because usually I'm reading the kids books and tutoring them on their summer math studies. Ok, that last part was totally a lie. Just wanted to check and see if you were still reading.

I guess I just got too comfortable. And this was the kids attempt to put me in check.

On another note. My New Year's {yes, I know it's August. I'm a work in progress} resolution was to get back to blogging. I'm hoping that my next post won't involve me popping a vein in my neck as a result of my kids behavior. But, if it does, hopefully I'll have the wherewithal to stop and take pics so that someone can get a good laugh.

Well played little devils. Well played.

I'm {not} loving it

Some days I wish I had a ripcord. Or an option to take a blue or red pill. Or the ability to safe-surrender my four year old without getting arrested. If during the tensest of standoffs with Sawyer I was able to just remove myself from the situation, I'd probably be able to save myself a ton of anxiety and stress...and him a lot of money on adult therapy.

Case in point. Today, I thought I'd be an even more awesome mom than I already am and take the kids to McDonald's for lunch. But not just any McDonald's. No, I wasn't just going to force their tiny bodies to ingest pink slime after hitting up the drive-thru. I was going to take them to a McDonald's, dine there and it was a McDonald's with a Playplace. Yes. I said it. A Playplace. The worst invention ever and, in my opinion, the reason that there is flesh-eating bacteria on this planet. If I NEVER go back, it will be too soon.

Sawyer has been begging me to go to a McDonald's with a Playplace and I finally caved and decided today would be the day. Big mistake. Huge. Catastrophic.

Why!? Oh, because once we finished our pink slime-infused chicken nuggets, and the kids got to play at the Playplace and it was time to go, Sawyer decided he'd found his new happy place at the TOP of the Playplace tower and basically gave me the middle finger. Yes, that's right. Sawyer climbed to the top of the tower, sat down and told me to eff off. In so many words. He basically called BS on me and knew that there was no way in hell I was going to climb into the tiny tunnel ladder and crawl my ass up to the top of that tower and drag his ass down.

Let me just go on record here and say that if you could have seen the look on my face and if my face could talk without saying a word, here's what it would have said:

"Sawyer Colt, you climb your little ass down that tower now or, so help me God, you are going to spend the rest of your life in a full-body cast."

And here's where I really needed the ripcord/blue pill/whooo-za/deep breathing option...HE WOULDN'T EFFING COME DOWN. Swear.

So there I am. Gritting my teeth. Armpits sweating. Saxon Crying. Cursing. And the ENTIRE McDonald's Playplace area watching me.

In case I haven't set the scene well enough. Here's a glimpse into the conversation I was having with myself in my head.

Don't panic. He'll come down. Right!? He's not coming down. Panic. Fuck. Shit. I'm claustrophobic. Can I even fit in that tunnel ladder? I certainly can't fit in that tunnel ladder while I'm holding the baby. Who in the Playplace area is not a recently released convict that I can trust to hold the baby while I go fish Sawyer out of the tower. {looks around}. No one. Fuck. Shit. McDonald's with Playplaces should really serve wine just like California Adventure does at Disneyland. Shit. He's still up there.

"Sawyer, get DOWN here."

He's still not coming down. Fuck it. I'm leaving him here.

"Sawyer, I'm leaving."

{Screams}

"Rylan, go get your brother."

Rylan won't go. She's scared of the tunnel and flesh-eating bacteria too. Fuck.

And so it went. For about 20 minutes. I've now spent approximately19 minutes more than I've ever wanted to spend at a McDonald's Playplace. And now I'm certain that the B.O. I'm smelling is mine. It's a full-on stand off. Sawyer knows that if he comes down, his ass is such grass that it actually behooves him to stay up there.

He's going to boarding school. No. Worse. Military school. Actually, I wonder if they'd take him at Juvenile Hall. This is a crime, right!? Having a stand-off with your mother in the McDonald's Playplace tower has to be a crime, right!?

Sweaty. On the verge of tears and down one less child because I'd lost him to the grips of the McDonald's Playplace tower, I gave up. I had no fight left.

Much to my surprise, a sweet and wonderful 7-year old girl {whom I later volunteered to swap for Sawyer} said, "I'll go get him for you." Omg. I think she was actually wearing a halo. That girl crawled up to the top, showed Sawyer how fun it was to go down the slide and down he came. Right into the arms of an abusive mother. I could have killed him right then and there. Of course, I composed myself and we walked out like nothing had ever happened.

Whatever McDonald's Playplace. I own this shit. Same time next week? Done. Ok, maybe not that confident. But it went something like that.

Oh Sawyer. Bless your heart.

Snip Snip. Sniff Sniff?

Remember when you were dating your significant other and people would always ask, "when are you going to get engaged?" And then you got engaged and everyone said, "when are you going to get married?" And then after you got hitched, no sooner then sipping your first pina colada on the beach in Hawaii on your honeymoon, some random couple would ask, "when are you gonna start trying?" And then you ripped your hair out because you just wanted everyone to stfu and leave you alone? No? Just me? Oh...

Well, newsflash folks, the questions never end. And it never gets any less awkward. Because it's usually people who you don't know very well who think that they should be privy to your ovulation cycle. Ew. Weird.

So after we popped out #3, I thought maybe these strange encounters would start to slow. Guess what? They didn't and now random people are asking me if we're considering getting a vasectomy. "Um, no, well, ah. I, uh, haven't. but..." is usually all I can utter as I'm deciding what bunch of bananas looks the best in the produce section. Really!?

But now that we're rocking and rolling in the Beach house and we're officially out of the baby stage, I've actually started thinking about sending Eric in for the big snip snip. I know, sad. We both agree that three is enough but aren't sure if we need to "make it official." And because we've both teetered back and forth about making the big decision, I thought I'd share with you my list of positives and negatives:. Here she goes.

Positives {pro-snipping} because a "surprise" would...:
- Another baby would put me over the edge. No, seriously, I swear. Like Thelma-and-Louise-style. Off the cliff.
-We've run out of bedrooms. Another baby would have to sleep in our room. And you know my feelings on co-sleeping.
- 4 kids is like two steps away from joining the ranks of the Duggars. We'd have to have a reality show.
- I would have to trade my Denali in for a school bus. Or one of those Mercedes van/bus things. Oh, wait. Mercedes? Maybe this one switches to the negatives column.
- No more pill-popping pour moi. I recently read that one of my facebook friends got preggers on birth control. She said that this happens to about 1% of women. OMG. I started to sweat.
-Grandma Sue Sue won't babysit 4 kids. Remember, I'm an only child. 2 was challenging. She watches 3 because, well, she can't say no. 4 is deal-breaker which means we definitely can't have another baby...until Rylan is old enough to babysit for long weekends. So, what's that, like 2 years?
-College. Putting 4 kids through college is craaa-zy. And since Eric is buying me that Birkin bag for our 10th wedding anniversary, Rylan already has to graduate in 3 years {I chose Ry's college fund because I figured, as a girl, she'd understand the need to sacrifice education for fashion.}

Negatives {leave the goods alone and pray}:
- Our kids are rad. Seriously. I don't even really like kids. But ours are awesome. 1 more would just be contributing to the awesome-ness we've already created. Yeah, I said it.
- I could maybe talk Eric in to getting the Bugaboo Donkey if we got knocked up with #4
- I would have to listen to Eric complain about having surgery on his manhood. Oh geezus.
- I would keep taking the pill and live in fear of the 1%
-What if I died and Eric got remarried and that chick decided that she wanted to have a litter of Beaches too? Ha. Good luck chick.
     *While, I'm at it. Here's my letter to Eric's new wife in the event that I die. Can one of you please direct her here? K, Thanks. Here goes.
     Dear Mrs. Beach: I just wanted to let you know that in the event you think you'd like to go for one kid of your own, I wanted to let you know in advance that the child will not look like you. The Beach DNA is no-joke. Seriously, look at my kids. They didn't even get my eyelashes. You will, in fact, just be contributing to Eric's ego and adding one more mini-Eric to the universe. I hope they get your brains and handyman capabilities. Think about it. xo, L

I hope this clears things up. For now, here's to really good birth control.

I blog {finally}, therefore I am no longer a crappy blogger

Seriously, If Amanda Bynes can retire on Twitter at 26 only to un-retire a few months later, I figure, so can I. And I'm way more interesting than Amanda Bynes. I mean, the chick hasn't been in a movie since she was like 12. Nobody cares.  OK, moving on.

Don't judge me. I was depressed, remember?

Here's what you've missed. Hold on tight. It's real exciting.

Mama -
I'm off the Prozac. This was huge. The side effects of the anti-depressants were, well, depressing. I had night sweats so serious that I'd wake up in the middle of the night thinking I'd wet the bed (don't act like this has never happened to you) and need to change my pajamas. Sexy, right?

Or how about how the anti-d's made me a borderline narcoleptic? The kind where I'd sit down for two seconds, pass out and wake up thinking it was the next day. This makes for super responsible parent as I'm sure you can imagine. "Mommy, can we juggle knives?" "{Snore}".

The truth is, I was just feeling a lot better. My anxiety was gone and I was able to NOT sweat the small stuff. Pun intended. It feels good to have my shit together. I mean, sure, come 5pm, we're all a little crazy. But it's nothing two glasses of wine can't fix. Keep calm and drink on.

Daddy-
Eric has been super busy on the campaign trail and also working on his new Solar company. He traveled to Hong Kong a couple of months ago. In true CMCP {Cheapy McCheaper Pants} style, he spent more time trying to book his ticket for a decent price than he actually spent on the ground in Hong Kong. God, I love that guy. He leaves again in a few weeks for China.

When he's here, we split almost all of the work evenly. It's one of the perks of having a work-from-home husband. It's also the result of having a super-competitive husband. When he's gone and I have to get all three kiddos up, dressed, fed and to school before 8 am, I seriously get home at 8:05 and fist pump my ass off. It sucks when he's gone. But I also like to feel like I'm stepping up my game.

Rylan-
Ry could not be doing better than she is in Kindergarten. She's reading. And spelling. A lot. The other day I caught her sounding out F-U-C-K. Eeek. No more spelling out our curse words. Seriously, the time has come. What's a mom to do now!? She's doing after school cheer and spring soccer. Loves to draw and play with her baby brother. She's also getting super sassy...a trait I'm certain she didn't pick up from me and most likely borrowed from one of the other girls in her class. Because I am perfect. Duh.

Best Buds

Learned to ride a bike...huge.

Sawyer-
In March, Sawyer turned 4. With a few {a lot} of behavioral issues, we seem to be getting back on track. Wow. Boys really are so different than girls. And whoever dubbed the two's as "terrible" hadn't met Sawyer at age 3. We got him signed up for soccer. This, after he'd spent weeks "playing" on Rylan's team with the girls - gotta love a boy with an older sister. Once it was his time to shine he, well, kinda choked. It was one of those {cringe} moments.

Me:"Sawyer, get out there and play with your team!"
Sawyer {in tears}: "Mom, they're not letting me score."

Apparently, he doesn't come from a family of soccer players.
Me: "Sawyer, they're not just going to give you the ball and LET you score. You have to work for it honey."

Sawyer: "No thanks mom. I'm just gonna sit on the sidelines and eat oranges and wait to run through the tunnel at the end of the game. Do you know what the snack is gonna be?"

FML

Coach Beach could have died.

Shit. Our little athlete gamer. For Christmas, we got the kids a Nintendo Wii. We always said we'd never raise gamers. Within one night, Sawyer had memorized all the dances to Just Dance 3. Double shit.

I actually think we've turned a corner. We're working with him on lots of positive reinforcement and encouragement. Oh, and we put his ass in preschool for two FULL days a week in addition to the two half days he was already going. Yeah, made him someone else's problem. Oh, whatever, you totally would have done the same thing.

See. Totally under control.

Proof that he's not destined to play video games for the rest of his life.

 Super Hero Birthday Party

 Saxon-

Saxon Cash turned one a few weeks ago. Our little slow poke is still not crawling or walking. We started physical therapy in January. We go 90 minutes a week. We're working on strengthening his core and so far have seen really positive results. After 1 week of therapy, he was sitting up on his own. He's this close to crawling now. But he's still just my lazy little guy that is happiest when he's being held. A lot of my friends have asked if there was any diagnosis or why he had this gross motor skills delay. No one really knows how it happened, although, I'm guessing it has something to do with the fact that if he cries for something, his odds are pretty good that 1 out of the 4 other people in the house will jump up and get it for him. There was never a whole lot of motivation to do it on his own. But he's progressing in all other areas right on track. The doctor had given us a referral to a neurologist to rule anything else out but even when he handed it over, he said "I don't think you need to go." So we haven't.

I have to tell you that I seriously cannot imagine not having Sax. He might be the sweetest baby that I've ever met.

Susie Cakes excitement. It happens at any age.

The first of three kids to eat the cupcake on their birthday.

We survived our first year with three. Barely.

Ok so that was a seriously freaking long hiatus. Who knew having 3 under 6 you'd have zero time to sit down and blog?...let alone just sit. Not to mention the fact that one of us has been sick since the beginning of sick season. I actually think we may have whooping cough...although not enough to take us to the doctor and pay the co-pay {who's the cheap one now?}. Yesterday, Saxon threw up on me at the park. It went down my shirt and in my pants. I had to go home and change everything. Bra. Underwear. I know, you're jealous. I haven't dealt with this much barf and spot treatments since college.

Anywhoo, now that you've been updated. I promise to do a better job at keeping up. Blogging once every 8 months is about as lame as you can get. I'm a work in progress. Bare with me.

Hope and Change. No, seriously. I swear.

As Summer comes to an end and we face some big changes ahead in the Fall, I thought it appropriate that I update y'all on the happenings of the Beach fam. So, here it goes...

#1 {Rylan}
Sweet Ry turned 5 last week and heads into Kindergarten after Labor Day. Eeek! So excited for her and this humongous new journey. At first, it made me feel old...but then a good friend reminded me that since I basically got knocked up right out of college, I'm actually quite young to have a 5yr old. In fact, I'm so young, I could even be mistaken for an elementary school-er. Ok, maybe not THAT young. But you get the gist.

She's swimming like a fish. Loves Rapunzel and Mary Poppins. Starts soccer in the fall. And is fascinated by hair feathers, nose rings and temporary tattoos. Sound familiar?{FML}.

#2 {Sawyer}
I'm thrilled to report that Sawyer Colt has finally figured out that poop goes in the potty and not his pants. I potty-trained the un-potty-trainable. It only took a year. And a shit-load of m&ms. Pun intended. I am super-mom. Hear me roar. Next step: peeing standing up and learning to "aim."

He is also swimming. Another huge step. The confidence Mike O'Brien gave Sawyer in just one day of lessons was amazing. In 10 days, he turned Sawyer into a mini Phelps. In fact, I'm pretty sure Swim-to-Mike had something to do with potty training him too.  I think I'll keep Mike's number close for when it's time to teach him how to ride a bike with no training wheels . The guy's a freaking genius. {And in case you're keeping track, this absolutely means that I won the swimming lesson argument and Eric lost. Neener. Neener. Neener}.

Sawyer will start preschool 4 days a week come Fall. He's moved to room 2 {The "big boy room" as he's dubbed it} and each day he becomes more of a little man and less of a little boy.

#3 {Saxon}
Sax is busy being a baby. You know, sleeping {through the night}. Crying {usually between the hours of 5:30-6:30pm}. Pooping {Duh}. He giggles and laughs. And talks and sings. He's got no teeth yet but if it were possible to chew your finger off with just your gums, this kid could do it. So I'd say he's close. And most of the time he just sits there and watches the crazy happening right in front of him. He has these great big eyes and if he could talk I think he'd be saying "WTF did I get myself in to here? These people are nutso."

Mommy {The crazy one}
Speaking of nutso, {and this is where I try to make you laugh while writing about a serious issue because I've learned to deal with uncomfortable topics with humor. I'm a work in progress} I realized recently that my post-partum depression returned {like a freaking tornado}. Boom. It hit me like a ton of bricks. And it was a few weeks ago when I was at the park and could barely pull myself off the park bench to push the kiddos on the swings that I realized something was wrong.

I was treated for PPD after I had Rylan when she was about 8 months old and I'd just stopped breastfeeding. With Sawyer, I was very ready for it to return and thank God it didn't because, as a baby, that kid was enough to make you need a sedative on his own. No depression required.

With Saxon, I thought I was out of the woods. I stopped breastfeeding when he was 8 weeks and didn't notice it then. People often asked me, "how is it with three kids?" and I would give them my standard answer: that I struggled more with two kids, 18 months apart, then I have with 3.

But somewhere along the line I started to have high highs and really low lows. And then the high highs were fewer and far between. And I was just low. And even though I was sleeping. Laughing. and loving being a mom. I just didn't feel like myself. I felt like I was just going through my day, waiting to get to my next sleep.

I went and saw my doc and she confirmed what I already knew. I'm a headcase. No, she actually told me that I am susceptible to PPD because of my previous history. She wrote me an RX for Prozac and the rest is history. I felt better almost instantly. I struggled with the thought of being a "pill popper" the rest of my life but then got over it real quick when I was actually able to pull my head off my pillow and blog again. One day at a time, I guess.

I'm still teaching spin 4 days a week. It's been challenging and {at times} hard, given my schedule and the nature of my state-of-mind. But it's also been hugely rewarding and a way for me to clear my head and make some money again. You know, so I can spend it on really expensive swim lessons and huge cars that I don't need.

Oh, I also decided to be uber-practical {considering my full-time "job"} and get hair extensions. I'm very lucky that my hair stylist is also a very good friend and she offered to give me extensions as part of a training she went through. I've always wanted extensions but didn't want to come out looking like Britney after she'd had a rough night {think barefoot, sipping a frappucino and walking out of a public restroom. Eww.} I'm happy to report that I look NOTHING like that. In fact, they're awesome and look super natural. And considering that since I stopped breast-feeding my hair is basically falling out in clumps and balding {think Britney the night she shaved her head} I actually think the extensions were a necessity. At least that's what I told Eric.

The Big 5 Yr Old. A "Tangled Swim Party". Obv.

The Fish

Gorg

Kamikaze Sawyer

These people are crazy

But at least they can make me laugh

If Rapunzel had the stomach flu,

she barfed all of her accessories in our house

See. Told ya.

Because every Prozac-taking SAHM should have hair like this. Duh.

And, yes, Sawyer thinks he's Zoolander.