Just read the first line

"Mama! You better get in here and wipe my butt before Papa does it!" Luna calls from the bathroom.

Yes, it's true.  My husband and I love our children sooooooo much that we knock each other over in the mad dash to the bathroom to be the one and only parent who gets the privilege of wiping butts.

At least, that must be what our children think.  It's pretty darn close to the truth, though.

Bedtime questions

Luna was up a bit past her bedtime.  So she was giddy.

Luna also had Mama all to herself in her own bed (Tulip fell fast asleep in the top bunk).  So she was even more giddy.

Mama had just come home from a boot camp class at the Y and try as I might to prop myself up with my arms while I leaned over to smooch my Luna, those arms just quivered and quivered which made me a bit giddy.

I sat on the edge of her bed, neither one of us ready to separate.

"Oooh, I like your ring, Mama."
"That's my wedding ring.  It's very special and I never take it off."
"What happens when you take it off?"
"I never take it off."
"Oh.  What happens when you take it off on Thursday?"
"I never take it off."
"Oh.  Why?"
"Because it's my wedding ring and I never take it off because it means I'm married to Papa and that's very special to me."
"Did us kids watch you get married to Papa?"

My arms are shaking.  This, and her question, make me laugh.  Hard.

"No.  You weren't at our wedding.  You weren't born yet."
"You mean, you left us at the house with no Mama and no Papa to watch us?"

I have a laughing fit.  Like, I actually look and sound like I'm crying.

"No.  We didn't leave you at the house.  You weren't at the wedding because you weren't born yet."
"But what happened when you left us at the house?"
"We didn't leave you at the house.  When we got married, there were no babies.  Then after we got married we had one baby, Wolfie, then another baby, Tulip, and then finally we had baby number three, Luna."
"What. Happened. When. You. Left. Us. At. The. House?"

She knows how to make me laugh so hard.

"Good night, Luna."
"What. Happened. When. You. Left. Us. At. The. House?"
"Good night. Luna."
"Mama?"
"Yes?"
"I like your ring..."
"Nice try, Luna.  Good night."

Legoland (or, the review I am writing on my own)

Our spring break staycation (do people even say that anymore or has it gotten old, like how my students tell me YOLO is old?  anyway...) is coming to an end.

We went to Legoland earlier this week and thanks to a tip from a friend, I am now passing along this tip to my loyal readers.

Stay at the Marriott in Schaumburg.  I am in no way being compensated for this review, but it is just too good to keep a secret.  The Marriott has a Legoland package for four people.  For $149 (okay, so after the hotel adds their taxes the package actually costs $168 and change) you get:

• a one night stay
• 4 tickets to Legoland (right there - that's $60)
• 1 free in-room movie (we watched Rise of the Guardians - typically $16.99)
• 4 free breakfasts (and this is no continental breakfast - okay, maybe it's a souped up continental breakfast but there is a real omelet chef waiting to cook you something delicious to order and there are crepes, bacon and sausage, biscuits, potatoes, fresh fruit, all the typical continental breakfast breads and cereal, oatmeal and salmon and cheese - yes, salmon ) 
• and there is a pool (priceless)

I'm serious - you get all of that.  What a treat.  Thanks Pam ;)

A bigger treat for mama and papa was an afternoon at IKEA.  Wolfie built his first IKEA item - a new chair for his room.

the babysitter forgot her "things"

Last week we had a babysitter.  Since then, it has come to my attention that at bed time, Luna asked her for some mama's milk.

Oh brother.

I couldn't resist.  I had to ask Luna about it to get her perspective.

"Luna, did you ask [the babysitter] for mama's milk?"

"Yes, but she didn't give me any.  She forgot her things."

"What things?"

"You know...the things with mama milk in them," she replies as she pulls up my shirt and pats my breasts.  "These things."

"You mean breasts?"

"Yeah, she forgot to bring her breasts."

Like I said, oh brother.

I'm a genius

Well, at least my husband called me a genius and I do have to agree with him.

Here's why:

Luna is no longer wearing a pull up at night so that means the sheets are inevitably going to get wet in the middle of the night.

On her mattress there is one mattress protector, one sheet, another mattress protector, and another sheet.

When she wets the bed in the middle of the night and wakes me up to tell me, all I have to do is pull off the top set and...voila...her bed is made.  The wet sheets go in the washer for me to deal with in the morning, little miss L goes right back into a clean dry already made bed, and most importantly, Mama goes right back to bed without having to wrestle a new set of sheets onto a bed at 2:30 a.m.

You're welcome.

Tell me, mamas, why are YOU a genius too?

8 years ago, I became a mama.

I love each and every one of his freckles.
I love the windows in his smile.
I love his beautiful almond-shaped eyes and how bright and engaging they are when he talks to me.
I love how he looks, how he smells, how he feels and how he, um, tastes.  (and if you don't believe me, see here)
I love the sound of his giggle and his hearty laugh.
And OMG I love the way he dances.
I love how he fondles my hair or my necklace or my shirt when he tells me something important.
I love to hear, "Mama, can I tell you something...?" before he, you know, tells me something.
I love how important it is to him to tell his Papa about his Legos.  ("Mama, will you text Papa and tell him that I just built a ________?")
I love how he is patient and eager to play with his little sisters.
I love to clip his toenails because when I get to that baby toe it reminds me that he still has a baby something that I get to take care of.
I secretly love it when he tries to tickle my armpit or tickle my feet or slap my butt (even though I tell him not to do that) because at least he still wants to touch me.  I mean, one day he might not want to touch me at all or, worse, he might not want me to touch him.
I love the way he draws.
I love his handwriting.
I love the way he still says "babing suit" when we get ready for swimming.
I love what an avid reader he is.  And I love that he recommends books I might like such as The Magic Treehouse "Dinosaurs Before Dawn." Riveting.
I love it that he loves art.
I love it that he finds the right occasion to say thank you and I don't have to prompt him.
I love how when I spend an afternoon in his classroom as a parent helper which really means I sit at the back of the room and do some clerical chores to help out the teacher (which I really, truly am happy to do), he turns and waves at me at least 87 times.
I love his posture and body language when he is explaining something.
I love that he wants to share his day with me.
I love that he appreciates a routine.
I love that he is willing to try new things.
And I love how he enjoys the simple things.
I love his imagination.
I love that he invented Ultrabot in kindergarten and that he has become part of our life.
I don't love that he is 8 because that is too big too fast but I do love that he is 8.
And I love how every single night he tells me, "Mama, don't forget to come up to my bed to give me a smooch."
And I love that I get to do that because he is what made me a mama.

The Cute Factor

When my children see something they think is cute, like a baby animal or a baby, um, baby, they make these "oooooh" and "aaaaaw" sounds with such emotion it sounds as if they are crying.  If I'm in another room, my ears have to hang on to the "oooooh" sound to see if it ends with a "it's sooooo cuuuuute."  This morning, I hustled into the girls' room thinking someone had gotten injured only to find them playing with their Littlest Pet Shop animals.

Oh, and in my house it's not "cute", it's more like "key-uuuuute."  And with that cringing-crying-but-actually-not tone.  And Luna balls her fists up under her chin.  Tulip is about one step away from biting her fist over the cuteness.

Me, I just get tears in my eyes when my kids, um, babies, are doing something cute.  So I guess they get that cringing-crying-but-actually-crying thing from me.

Oh, and don't watch Toy Story 3 on a snow day when you are feeling so fortunate and so full of happy emotion to be granted an extra day to be with your children unless you don't mind cringing-crying-but-actually-crying-way-out-loud-so-you-have-to-excuse-yourself-to-the-bathroom.

Sigh.  The good kind.