The Day After Mother’s Day…

The day after Mother’s Day…all celebrating done.

The children all messy.

My hair in “the bun”!

The day after Mother’s Day…it is really true.

The children, once again, forget all about you (me too!).

The day after Mother’s Day…my coffee is old.

No one made me breakfast.

Everyone has a cold!

The day after Mother’s Day…it is really true.

Mother’s Day High…Like the sugar-rush flu!

The littles are crying – the teen is a mess.

PE clothes forgotten, the kitchen (don’t ask!).

The day after Mother’s Day…it comes all too soon.

Will our flowers last…Will they still bloom?

We need the reminders.

Oh, yes, it’s true…

That we do more than wipe bottoms.

And wash hands after poo.

The day after Mother’s Day…

It is not as divine.

Because they didn’t make breakfast or write me a rhyme.

They forgot about yesterday and my crown of glue and gold.

Sparkles and glitter.

Like I said—(big EMPHASIS) my coffee has gone cold!

But the day after Mother’s Day, they are still all mine.

And even though the windows are dirty (just like their behinds), I will remember to choose to smile because I know that it’s true…

Next year they will celebrate me, their mother, too!

(Right???)

Only 364 more days to prepare me a treat.

Hop to it, you children…

While I put up my feet!

-Insert: Crash; Bang; Boom-

***

Happy Day After Mother’s Day!

(smile and wink)

 

 

 

Babies Don’t Keep. It’s so true. So sit down and rock your sleeping one.

After my daughter’s end-of-the-year ceremony at school, I held my youngest as she slept.  I initially felt HORRIBLE sitting and holding her.  I had a mountain of dishes and laundry to do.  When you have two toddlers at home, every precious moment they sleep is a small miracle that needs to be used and abused by doing what you CAN’T === absolutely CAN’T do when they are awake.  Because, if you have lived with toddlers, you know that when they are awake they take over the world.  Serious world dominion takes place.  Especially when they are only a year apart, can’t breathe without the other, have no boundaries on climbing walls, and LOVE to take everything out of the trash.  And the mystery of it all is that they seem to do it all in one breath!

But I sat anyway.  And within moments, I felt so completely at peace with my decision that I held my daughter for an entire hour while she slept.  I literally did nothing but hold her and enjoy the peace of her being.  Her breathing.  Her cherub face.  Her small fingers.  Her chubby legs.

And I took in the warm breaths against my chest and I savored the feeling of completeness that my children bring me.

I loved it.

And I am so glad that I don’t look back at that moment with regret.  Regret about not using my time to do the dishes.  Regret about the time to do the laundry.  Regret about the time I had to sip a coffee and have a few mommy-alone moments (because right now I don’t even get those in the bathroom.  haha!).

Most of us have probably heard the story of the nurse from Australia that worked with hospice patients at the end of their lives—and the one thing she learned from them was that their lives were full of only 1 regret:  Not spending enough time with their families.

Therefore, I sat.  I smelled.  I held.  I cherished.  Through my baby’s sleep, I lived.  And through my quiet moments with her, I learned.   I learned that time spent with my children is the most valuable time I will ever spend.

I encourage you today—choose your children because Babies Don’t Keep.

“Babies Don’t Keep”
Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

Author Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

I am a consumer. And I like it.

I am a consumer.  And I like it.

Let me tell you why.

You see, I am a consumer of many things.  One, airline tickets.  We live in a foreign country, and we live in a day and age where we don’t have to take only boat and train.  We can fly.  And, therefore, to get where I am, I fly.

I am a consumer of medicine.  My son, very unfortunately, is one of “those” kids.  One of those kids that needs a bag of medical supplies when I even travel to the grocery store.  Gotta have emergency meds on hand at all times.  Gotta take daily meds without fail.  And gotta.  Just gotta do it.  No essential oils will heal this little man.  So we appreciate the consumption of medicine.

I am a consumer of diapers.  God bless throwaway diapers.  I live in a place that sells them.  I, precious people that use cloth diapers oh how I admire you, but I love taking off a diaper and throwing it away.  I am a happy consumer of diapers.  And I am so thankful I don’t have to wash my son and daughter’s dirty nappies multiple times every day.

I am a consumer of food.  Such yummy divine goodness.  Last night, we fed the kids breakfast for dinner (eggs, bacon, toast, fruit), and then we bathed them and put them down.  Then the hubs and I had a “date” at home.  Steak, salad, and sweet potato marital bliss.  He lit a fire, and we watched a Christmas movie.  It was relaxing, romantic, and a sleeping pill (as I fell asleep before the movie ended).  So, I guess I am also a consumer of wood and media.

I am a consumer of electricity, and coal, and internet (although no one really owns that—so I guess I am a consumer of companies that deliver it).

I am a consumer of coffee and soda.  And dog food (for I have 3 dogs).

I am a consumer.  And I like it.

But you know what I love to consume more than any of the above, including Christmas gifts from the store?

Love.

I love to consume hugs.

And kisses.

And tickles.

And backrubs.

I love to consume smiles.

And cheers.

And giggles.

And tears. Because that means at least I am there.

I love to consume wrinkled papers that come from backpacks with markings from school.

And half-eaten candy canes smothered in drool.

I love to consume wet towels and laundry and dishes galore.

I love to consume it all—and a little bit more.

For with all of these above that I consume, I am reminded each day that I live in a house full of love.

And as we await the holy night,

I know in my home that all is right.

After the bath, all cosy in bed, I cover my three with a happy gait.

And then I slip quietly off…

To sit and eat, sleep and wait.

Before I know it, tomorrow is here.

And I get to consume a little bit more.  It’s truly a dream, this consumption of mine.

But, no matter what it looks like in the heart, it does cost plenty of dimes.

For even though my love is free…

To feed and diaper and take care of my 3 takes a grocery store connected to a clothing store connected to a school supply shop.

And more.

But I gladly consume because I know what it’s for!

Adelyne.

Maxwell.

And Sweet Cheeks, Little Miss Josephine.

For these three, I would gladly buy out the store.

So, you see, I am a consumer.  And I like it.

But OH HEAVENS NO…there will be no number four!

The Saga of the Nursing Mom

There once was a baby playing happily in bed,

Until Mom walked in…

Baby Must Be Fed!

by Brooke HJ Nungesser

(at this time in my life)

Bottom 5…We’ll give them a shout out today!

So, I gotta admit.  Usually when I mention the J or the G words (Jesus or God), I lose a few followers.  Yep.  It’s true.  A few less people follow me on And 2 Makes Crazy.  So I was expecting that, for sure, with Porn on Sunday.

But I read once that if people don’t stop following you every now and then you are doing something wrong…I am not sure if that theory is true, but I’ll stick with it.

Anyhow, you, my dear And 2 Makes Crazy audience, pleasantly surprised me.  Not only did Porn on Sunday have the second most hits these past 7 days, not a single one of you stopped following my blog.   Whoa.  Pat yourself on the back for being able to be a part of a blog that sometimes you may agree with—and sometimes you may not.  I am proud of and for you!

Anyhow, moving on…Today I am going to give a shout out to my least-read blog postings.

Why?  You may ask.  Especially if they are the LEAST read.

Well, to be fair…Sometimes the “last” get overlooked.   And it’s nice, sometimes, to be remembered—even super true in the human world.  Plus…even though they are some of the least read, they are still some of my favorites (#s 5, 4, 3, and 1—but #2 holds its own, too).

So, if you have not had a chance to read my least-read blogs since I’ve started this journey, take a few moments today to go back in history.

Here they are…from the 5th least read to the 1st least read.  Hope you enjoy!

xo  brooke

(The better half of 2 making crazy, right?  Right?!  Okay…I know I’m fooling myself.)

5.   My husband had a comb over.  Yep.  And I almost didn’t date him:  http://wp.me/p3Bh9m-w

4.  My Angel in the Dirt:  http://wp.me/p3Bh9m-sU

3.  Planting the Stinky:  http://wp.me/p3Bh9m-oZ

2.  Infertility made me hug a goat…in Norway:  http://wp.me/p3Bh9m-Y

1.  And my husband made me cry:  http://wp.me/p3Bh9m-j

(Actually…number 1 is the entire reason I started the blog in the first place—that particular story.  Then it made me laugh to see how crazy we have actually had it over the last 13 years together)

My Angel in the Dirt

Sometimes I dabble in poetry…this one was written the day I took this picture of my daughter.  Oh, and that’s strawberry smoothie all over her face.  Hope you enjoy.  xo b

Written by Brooke HJ Nungesser

2007

My angel in the dirt

You should sit and watch her play

Her golden curls caress her face

In the most angelic way.

When she tilts her head back and smiles,

It makes the sunshine dull.

For it’s her blue eyes that steal the skies

And her spirit that steals your soul.