I knew the day would come...

This has been a week so far... It's been one of those kind of weeks that truly test you as a mother (and even as a rational human being). Honestly, I'm frustrated, frazzled, tired, and a little guilt-ridden all rolled into one bleary-eyed, coffee-addicted, teeth-clenching thirty-something who doesn't feel so great at the whole parenting thing this week. 

I knew the time would come that I would tire of the whole "make everyday a great day" mantra (not that I still don't try, but man it's exhausting), or when my rose colored glasses would get cracked (beneath the hands of a very trying toddler). I knew the day would come that I would just sit on the couch clutching my coffee for dear life as I succumbed to the fact that I was going to have to pick up the hundred-billion trillion Lego pieces and train track parts that were now littered across my entire downstairs (and do so for the millionth time that day). I knew the day would come that I would want to give Elmo a not-so-friendly pat on the back, or insist that Thomas just listen to Sir Topham Hat for once in his ever-tooting life!! Yes, I knew the day would come, but I hoped it wouldn't. 

I wanted to be the mom who always woke up with a smile, perfected sing-a-longs while making a scrumptious but healthy breakfast, the mom who made running errands with kids look like fun, or the mom who could just look at her toddler in the middle of a nice restaurant and know that that cute little face wouldn't dream of screaming like a banshee or insisting on going outside after just sitting down. I definitely wanted to be the mom who NEVER forgot an appointment and always turned in all important paperwork on time (and not ever at the last possible minute). I wanted to be the mom who truly enjoyed every single minute with my children, watching them grow, learn and play. I would never do anything that would cause me to feel guilty or to second and triple guess myself. Each day would be different and new and wonderful... Or so I thought.

This week proved to me three primary things:

1. Eventually, the optimism fades and you become a realist. You realize not everyday will go as planned (or not planned) and you won't always be able to see the silver lining in the chewed up, spit out food adorning the kitchen table, floors and the dogs ears. That's ok. Sometimes situations just suck (especially the ones you have to clean up). Own it. Admit it. Laugh if you can (or count to ten) and move on.

2. A "look" from you at your defiant, screaming, standing-up in his chair toddler in the middle of a crowded restaurant will NOT do anything, but possibly make him laugh (at you). Be ok with admitting that you alone are not enough to tame your wild child. You're not a failure either. It just means that you've now reached the point of your parenting journey when a discipline routine comes into play. To each his or her own, but for us the "1-2-3" warming followed by a timeout is starting to show our little tyrant who's boss (hint: rhymes with llama). We are both learning that consistency is key, and empty threats do nothing but take up needless time and energy. Caden may be headstrong, but my question to my little tyke is always "hey, buddy... Where do you think you got that from?" (Silence. Big brown eyes looking up at me.) "Yep. You got it. So, I'd suggest NOT doing that again."

3. There WILL be days when you will feel guilty because you think of all the things you did or didn't do, didn't do enough of or did too much of... You will second and triple guess your parenting decisions and reactions. You will question your questions. Why did you let your kid eat a cookie (or two) before dinner? How much of that stupid tv show did your child actually happen to see? Could you have prevented that spill on the sidewalk? Did you really just feed your baby store bought baby food?!? Why is your toddler so defiant... is it something you did? The guilt will always be there. Always. Every day. Some days will be better and some much worse, but I'm learning the guilt-ridden self-doubt is a motherly gift we all share. So, with that gift, I'm going to try my best to learn from it and with it, to adjust things accordingly,and move on as best I can on a better (or at least more experienced) foot. I'm going to try hard to NOT beat myself up or start planning my children's future therapy sessions (because I let one of them cry while trying to deal with another's tantrums). With self-exploration comes growth, right? As moms, we do a lot of both. 

This week has NOT been my favorite, but it has been a great one for learning, and for that I am grateful. That being said, let me be frank by admitting that if the bin of Legos happens to disappear into oblivion... I have absolutely no idea who took them and where they went. Not a clue...

This was probably pre-Lego tantrum freak out when he was taking a moment to be "sweet"...

Most days...

Sometimes I feel a little guilty for not being able to keep up with a daily or even biweekly schedule for this blog, but then I remind myself that some days I barely have the energy to brush my teeth before bed (especially after negotiating with a certain 2-year old to brush his...). So, for anyone who may still be reading this, thanks for hanging in there with me.

Most days, I enjoy staying at home with my two little men. I don't mind the seemingly constant spills, the continuous cycle of cleaning up or even the pair of poopy diaper changing. 

Most days I can sit through an episode or two of Sesame Street and enjoy humming along. I can sit on that floor and play a seemingly endless game of car racing, or attempt to build a Lego castle (only to be trampled by an impatient toddler two seconds later). 

Most days, I'm fine being a human trampoline, milk machine, personal chef, sleep trainer, toy mechanic, pacifier retriever, professional piggyback transporter, bath giver and book reader. 

Most days, I'm OK giving 99.5% of my time and energy to two little boys (plus 2 dogs and a neglected husband), so that I can use the remaining 0.5% to drag my groggy eyed, spit-up stained self to the gym where I force myself to get through 45 minutes of exhaustion... Ahem, I mean exercise. 

Yes, most days I'm totally cool being a 24/7 go-to-mom convenience store, BUT some days and in some moments, I miss my freedom. 

I miss dressing up for work (where a dry fit tee and yoga pants were NOT part of the office dress code). I miss high heels (or even wedges) versus flip flops and sneakers. 

I miss conversing with people over 3 feet tall who speak in complete (and logical) sentences, drink coffee/tea (or something stronger) versus a sippy cup of milk. 

Dare I say it, I miss the adult world. I may even miss "work" (as in my former career, because what I do now is DEFINITELY very hard work). 

I don't miss the corporate world of invisible but obvious political lines that are not to be crossed. What I do miss is the thrill of turning a great idea into a useful reality, an issue into an opportunity, and most of all a blank page (or screen) into a one-of-a-kind piece I could sign my initials to... 

Don't get me wrong, I still use my creative side daily to come up with a fun, toddler-friendly, semi-educational activity or experience that will occupy our time (at least a few minutes anyway), but I miss using that creative side of my brain to create things beyond the playroom walls. 

So, after some soul searching this week, I've come up with a short list of goals I'd like to tackle in the remainder of the year:

1. Market my freelance writing/communications services:

I told myself I'd take the summer to just enjoy being a stay at home mom. Well, sadly the summer is coming to a close, so I'm starting up the press and getting the word out now. If you, or someone you know is looking for an experienced writer/communications professional, let me know! 

2. Begin writing and finish a children's book (or two):

This has always been an interest of mine and something I've wanted to accomplish for a long time, but as with too many things, I've put off. Now that I have daily inspiration for content, I know there is truly no time like the present. This is a gift I want to leave my children. So, I'm putting it out there for all to see...  Feel free to pester me about it. I'll need the nudge. Seriously.

3. Enjoy more time with my husband: 

This is definitely a personal versus professional goal, but it is something I don't take lightly either. Being a parent has been the greatest gift for both of us, but it has also been the most time-consuming thing we've ever done together. Even though we sit down for dinner every evening and sleep in the same bed every night, I know we aren't getting enough time to just enjoy each other, to share a meal without tiny hands reaching into our plates, or to sit in a restaurant without two highchairs and a mountain of miscellaneous crumbs under our feet. I haven't been good at setting time aside for just us, and I want to work to change that. 

So there you have it... My short list of personal goals that will hopefully yield satisfying results and keep the career woman me who shares residence with the mommy me alive and well. 

(Prayers, sideline cheers, and high-fives accepted and appreciated in advance.)

Transitions...

I'm lying here listening intently for a newly-turned two year old to shout for "mama" or for the sound of books being torn and thrown off his shelf, but so far... I just hear the sound of sweet, silent slumber. Tonight is the very first night Caden is sleeping in his "big boy room" in "his big boy bed." I knew this day was coming. We've spent a lot of time in his new room lately, reading some new books, examining the many "choo-choos" on his new train sheets, staring at the letters hanging on the wall that mama painted for him when he was a baby. We've become very familiar with this room, but until tonight my little boy still slept in the nursery in his crib. 

Until tonight, I held on to that little piece (the crib) of him being a baby, and because of that I guess I thought he would hold on to the crib too...but he didn't and he's not. He's peacefully snoozing in his roomy new bed with all his favorite blankets and stuffed animals (and a few cars) tucked by his side. He's breezing through this milestone while I'm stumbling across it, teary-eyed and not quite ready for my "baby" to become a boy overnight. 

I've felt like that a lot lately, like I'm observing my sweet little men approach, tackle and pass milestones without second glance, while I am the one who constantly and longingly looks back. 

Cooper is sitting up on his own now, eating solids, grabbing everything in sight and blowing raspberries like a raspberry-blowing king (if ever there was one)! He's the most delightful, content, jolly, cherub-like baby that I've ever witnessed and I'm so very lucky that he's mine. He is "supposed" to be the next one to transition from our room to the nursery next week, but I'm feeling pretty weak right now, very sentimental and I'm not so sure this sappy mama can handle another transition so soon... I'm not so sure I want to... 

Yes, I know that when my alarm goes off tomorrow (either the one next to the bed, the one sleeping next to me, or the one snoozing in the other room), I will wish I had more time to sleep, but I'm hoping that I can think of just how quickly time passes while I'm wide awake watching my children grow up. Sleep can wait. They can't. 

To my Cadebug on his 2nd Birthday...

I'm thinking I can safely say at this point that this has become a weekly blog (with some exception), and I'm OK with that. I can manage that. There will be weeks I'll post more, but for now, I can commit to weekly(ish). Now, that's that's settled, I'd like to dedicate this post to my baby boy, Caden who isn't a baby anymore. He's two! 

In some ways, I can't believe it has been two years since I welcomed my first baby to the world on July 18, 2011. I still remember the tee shirt I wore as we checked into the hospital after having one of my required bi-weekly ultrasounds and stress tests, as I had low amniotic fluid (discovered at about 30/31 weeks). At exactly 37 weeks and 1 day, knowing our little boy was healthy and with strong lungs, I basically begged the technician to tell me my fluid was low enough to induce, because I was so tired of having to spend the night in the hospital getting pumped full of IVs that I knew were only a temporary fix. I wasn't allowed to go into the office anymore. I wasn't permitted to exercise, or do much of anything other than leave the couch to use the restroom. In other words, I WAS more than READY to be done being pregnant. My hospital bag was packed and loaded in my trunk, the carseat installed, and cell phone charged. So, when my doctor said it was "go time," off we went! 

I recall strolling across the walkway from my doctors office to the hospital (the two buildings are connected) and laughing with Phil that this "was not how we pictured getting to the hospital..." Before I knew I had low amniotic fluid, I just assumed that I would go into labor on my own and (just like in the movies) Phil would rush me in to the emergency room doors, frantically grabbing a wheelchair as, sweating profusely, I screamed in pain. Then, we'd go straight to the delivery room, I'd push and then we'd having our wailing, healthy baby boy! Instead, here we were calmly walking up to the maternity ward, neatly registering with the triage desk, and waiting in the waiting room to be called to be induced so we could jump start labor. The whole ordeal felt very surreal, extremely exciting, but very surreal.

Fast forward (except change fast to exceptionally slow) to 13 hours later, and the news was broken to me (by the nurse and then the doctor) that unfortunately I "was not progressing as expected and therefore a cesarean section would be needed due to the stress on myself and the baby." In that moment, I remember looking at Phil and knowing that this was it. I had done the best I could, and my body wasn't ready and far too tired to finish the job on its own.  I was at peace, and ready to meet my little man! Ok, I'll admit it, I was nervous too... Not for the surgery, but knowing that in just a little while I would be a mama, and responsible for a life other than my own. I had 37 weeks to get used to that, but it remained a very daunting realization. 

At exactly 11:23 p.m., Caden Patrick entered the world with the same vivacious energy and enthusiasm he brings with him today. Before I could see him, I heard him and at that moment, though heavily sedated, I felt a very strong twinge surge throughout my body. Although I couldn't move from the shoulders down, immediately I wanted to be with him. Already, my motherly instincts were awakened and charging fast. 

After checking his vitals and weighing him, Phil anxiously brought him over to me and said, as I locked eyes with Caden for the first time, "hi mama." I wanted to reach for him, but I couldn't actually hold him yet, so he just touched him against my cheek. My whole body surged again. It was like electricity quivering from my head to my toes. We were connected in a way I had never experienced before. It was primal and unbreakable. In that moment, I began to love unconditionally and unequivocally. That tiny 6 lb. 8 oz and 19.5" human being changed me immediately and forever for the better.  In that moment, I became a mama. 

Now, two years later my baby is a boy, a curly-headed, car-obsessed, sprinting, jumping, cookie-craving, baby-brother-tackling, water-loving, giggling, shrieking, healthy, silly-face making, determined, dancing, smart, loving little boy. I couldn't be prouder of him. I couldn't be more blessed to get to spend every day with him, and I couldn't be more in love with my spirited guy. That twinge that I felt when I first heard him cry still surges through me every morning I wake up and realize what lies ahead of me - another day of protecting, comforting, shaping and loving my baby as he slowly (and all too quickly) grows into an incredible man.

I love you with every ounce of my being, every fiber of my soul and every drumming of my heart my little Cadebug. "You are my sunshine..."

Surrounded by heroes...

It's one of those rare times (sadly) where I'm actually making another post in less than 48 hours! I'm really trying to be get into some sort of consistent pattern with my entries, but it's a little hard to do these days with two under two (ugh I still feel like that's such a cop out though...). Anyway, here's what is top of mind today...

I'm having one of those moments right now where I'm caught in a paradox of feeling grateful and blessed while also feeling guilty and heartbroken. If you've felt it, you know how heavy this particular emotional combination sits inside you. If you haven't felt it, you most likely will at some point in your life as a parent. For me, it happens when I hear about something really challenging and unexpected occurring in the life of a friend, the kind of thing that really shakes things up and forces them to face their worst fear as a parent, the fragility/mortality of their child's life... I've known several friends and acquaintances that have had to confront situations like this and I am still in awe of the strength, grace, humility and sheer determination they have each shown when thrown their own personal curveball. I don't know if they truly realize how amazing and inspirational they are to me (and many others) as we navigate through our own set of challenges (although much lesser in comparison). 

I feel so grateful and blessed that (thus far) my children are primarily healthy, and I promise you there is is not a day that goes by that I don't lift my head and heart in prayer and thank GOD for that. I don't take it for granted. I'm fully aware that things change quickly and life is a series of challenging ebbs and steady flows. I thank my "lucky stars" every night and yet I can't shake the fear, the worry and the sadness/guilt. I fear for my friends facing tough situations with their families, and I fear the unexpected for my own family. I worry constantly (seriously, ask anyone who knows me), and I go to bed feeling guilty that, for now, my life is pretty good and my children are OK. I feel guilty because it hurts my heart to know my friends are muddling through tough territory and all I can do is try to understand and be there for them in any way I can. I can pray for them and I do.... Every single day. 

I may feel defeated, at times, by an endlessly energetic toddler, needy baby and an ever-growing list of "to dos" but I know that's NOTHING compared to the REAL trials and tribulations that exist for parents that are just having to take things one day at a time... 

To all my friends that are facing the unexpected and unfair, you are amazing. Absolutely amazing. You are also human and allowed to breakdown and throw up your hands every so often. It's ok and if doesn't make you weaker. It makes you even stronger and more admirable. If I, as a friend and fellow mom, can take away even an ounce of your pain (or however pain is measured), please hand it right over and let me lessen your load. I'm ready and willing. 

I'm truly surrounded by heroes - big ones and little ones. They don't wear capes or masks. They wear bruises, a few scars, tough skin, determined minds and hearts of gold...

Back to our abnormal normal...

Well, we've been home for a few days now and most of the aftershock of our tumultuous trip has died down, or at least blended into our already zany day-to-day life. Caden is still a firecracker, but at least he is in a safe, familiar place where his brilliance can be enjoyed and any damage contained. He's home (one of his favorite words to say) vs. trapped in an unknown hotel room or thrown into a crowded new place with mostly new faces. He's surrounded by all his favorite toys (cars), foods, his dogs and his yard. Basically, he's got his mojo back (if toddlers can have mojo)...  And that means that mama can at least resume a somewhat normal semblance of a routine (both for me and the kids)! I found out the hard way last week that Caden is NOT the only one who self-destructs when removed from his routine. Mama and DaDa don't do so well either. In fact, out of all our wear travelers, baby Cooper won the "best behavior" award hands down! He certainly lived up to one of his nicknames, "Cooper the Trooper" (thank you, God once again for giving me such a loving, content baby the second time around). 

How cute is this guy, anyway?!

Here are "a few of my favorite things" that I (thoroughly) enjoyed at home this week: 

- my OWN bed! Don't get me wrong, the beds at the Marriott are ah-maze-ing compared to many other hotels, but there is NOTHING like climbing on to your own bed and sliding underneath your own covers (especially after the never ending 2-day trip home crammed in the back of an overstuffed SUV with a baby, 3 adults, way-too-many-bags-and-miscellaneous-items and a cranky, overstimulated iPad addicted toddler). I am currently OBSESSED with my bed. Seriously. Sadly, I'll never spend enough time there, but anytime is quality time for sure.

Here's a sprawled out toddler in our hotel bed - I was balancing on the edge next to him... 

- my own BATHROOM/SHOWER... I don't have to tell anyone who's traveled this I'm sure, but when you're road-tripping it and have to make a few pit stops and begrudgingly use the filthiest commodes America has to offer (I still can't believe Britney Spears went barefoot in one of those!) you truly learn to appreciate and even yearn for your own regularly cleaned and only mildly used toilet. I also couldn't wait to enjoy a flip flop-less shower (ok maybe I'm paranoid) topped off my using my OWN towel. I also couldn't wait to bathe Cooper and Caden in their own tub surrounded by their favorite bath time toys and non-travel size shampoos and lotions. 

- our KITCHEN with REAL non-restaurant food! Again, I appreciate that the Marriott Residence Inn serves complimentary breakfast every morning, and thank god NaNa and PaPa took Caden off of our hands for a few minutes each morning to enjoy this amenity... BUT I am sick of all restaurants, greasy spoons and road trip snacks from now until a-long-time-from-now. Bring on the home-cooked meals (and yes even the dirty dishes)! Caden is also LOVING eating all his favorite snacks at home, because let's face it, there just better that way...

- the LAUNDRY ROOM... Yes, I said it. I actually missed my washer and dryer! My mom and I ended up doing a couple light loads of wash at the hotel, but I felt like I was slumming it in the dorms again with my ten dollars worth of quarters and my overstuffed small laundry bags slung over my shoulder. There's nothing like hanging out in the community laundry room guarding your underwear and socks! I was pretty pleased to use my own detergent and dryer sheets this week and most of all to not worry about getting it out at the allotted 30-minutes-per-cycle per the hotel policy.

- my mindless TV shows... I didn't dare even switch on the television in the hotel room for fear of waking two sleeping kids that were taking up the ENTIRE bed (while the husband and I awkwardly occupied our tiny sections). I couldn't watch anything on my iPad, as my toddler hijacked it for the whole trip (and I let him because it kept him somewhat entertained and not-so-insane). Anyway, let me tell you what a complete luxury it is to flip on the tv while sitting in my OWN bed eating my OWN food while having somewhat more space (although I'm still surrounded by 2 dogs, a baby and a husband). It's pretty flipping fantastic! 

- finally, I'm just glad to be H-O-M-E... Because being home means that everyone's more at ease, more well rested, and therefore less moody, and therefore less inclined to act like a maniac (here's looking at you, Caden). I'm home with our hyperactive-but-oh-so-devoted pups. I am back at the gym (otherwise known as my addiction) and near my own coffee pot (that I don't have to sanitize and re-sanitize and still feel totally anxious to use). I'm captain of my ship again (or co-captain if the husband is reading this entry) and commander of my own tiny army. My little corner of the world has been reclaimed and things are once again back to our abnormal normal. 

Godspeed to all the mamas and dads out there getting ready to hit the road or board a plane/train/boat with young kids. Stay strong brave soldiers, try to enjoy the ride and make some memories and remember... You'll be home soon.

These little rascals look pretty happy to be home too... 

Post-traumatic trip with a toddler stress syndrome...

Sorry it's been so long since my last my post! We've been away for a family wedding and I've been recovering from what was undeniably one of the most stressful trips in my lifetime. For nearly a week, we were at the complete mercy of a unbelievably rambunctious, overstimulated, moody, too-smart, overtired and unpredictable almost-two-year-old. There are many things I learned the hard way over the course of the last six days. Perhaps the most important is: if you take a toddler away from everything he knows, mess up his routine and then expect him to "behave," you might as well throw yourself in a ring with a raging bull and expect he'll leave you alone. In other words, it's best to either have no expectations or to expect the worst (because it just may happen).

Is it possible to experience PTSD as a result of road-tripping it with a 23 month old? Over the past week, it was as if my beloved tot had been possessed by a tantrum-throwing, shrieking, kicking, hitting, sleep-resisting, absolutely-insane demon-child who I sincerely considered trying to exorcise. Now, I know I mostly jest about Caden's adventures (or misadventures) and his very colorful personality, but I kid you not when I say that I have NEVER experienced this side of him before the last few days, and I sincerely hope (and pray) that I NEVER experience it again (at least not without a glass of two of wine or a Xanax first). We are embarking on another long road trip and vacation in August, so to ensure I've learned something from the insanity that transpired last week, I'm going to list the worst offending moments of the trip and corresponding lessons I've learned as a result. 

1. Cracker Barrel is the WORST possible place to stop for breakfast on the road with a small child. Don't get me wrong, the foood itself is wholesome, hearty and tasty, but the fact that they have a shop that you HAVE to walk through to get to your table is TREACHEROUS for toddlers like mine who absolutely believes that EVERYTHING is his, or MINE as he screams over and over and over again (while white-knuckle clenching 5 toy cars and a giggling stuffed pig). I literally had to pin Caden down and forcefully carry him into the dining area of the restaurant while he shrieked as loud and as sharp as he could muster while kicking me, arching his back and flailing all his limbs wildly. The whole restaurant clearly understood that there was a very unhappy kid who had no problem disturbing everyone's meal and any hope of peace. A few screaming minutes later, as my husband swiftly exited the building (with a flailing Caden slung over his shoulder), he actually heard a man say to his wife, "are you sure you want to stay here with that kid screaming like that?" When he told me this, I shuddered (inside and out), because I remember being the lady (pre-children) who asked the guy (my husband) that very same question at least once before, while rolling my eyes and scoffing at the parents who obviously couldn't control their child. I swore that my children would behave simply because I would not permit them to misbehave (ironic much?). Anyway, I will now avoid Cracker Barrel like the plague when Caden is with me, or put a blindfold on him when we go. 

2. See above and apply the same bad behavior to a quaint (read: not kid-friendly) little Italian restaurant that my extended family chose for what was supposed to be a pleasant rehearsal dinner. True, we didn't have to deal with a jam-packed shop directly inside the restaurant, but we DID have to deal with an overtired, hungry, way-too-energetic toddler who refused to sit down or even stay in one place for more than a few seconds at a time. My aunt put together a sentimental slideshow of the happy nearly-newlyweds and it took every ounce of my strength to hold Caden back and prevent a disastorous finale to the end of the sideshow and dinner. The true testament of just how exasperated we all were at the end of the evening came when I glanced over at my dad who had the same stern look on his face that he used to get when my brother or I were very close to getting a swift kick in the "bee-hind." It's been a long time since I've seen that look.  know I know... Caden's only a toddler and is still trying to figure out the crazy, confusing world that he lives in, BUT the way he was acting was truly unruly and just downright naughty. He for the second day in a row was the "bad kid" I used to roll my eyes and shake my head at. He was THAT kid, and THAT kid was mine. It's a mighty humbling moment when you, as a parent vs. a pre-childbearing adult, come to that stark realization. For me, that moment required another glass of wine and a swift exit to the car with a (thankfully) sleeping baby and a tantrum-ing toddler. 

3. Evening weddings (or anything past 6 p.m.) are NOT conducive to young children doing much of ANYTHING you want them to... This includes: eating, staying in one place, playing with anything your brought for them vs. everything you don't want them to touch, not running around almost tripping already tipsy adults, etc.  At this point in our journey, I felt as if I was in a nightmare (except this one was starring a  particular pint-sized tow-headed monster vs. the one under my bed) and I REALLY wanted to wake up from it fast. We lasted a whole twenty minutes at the wedding reception (Phil had previously been sitting with the kids in the car during the actual ceremony to help keep the peace), and in that brief time, I spent the majority of my time chaperoning Caden on the sandy playground (in 3 inch heels too!) near the reception area. The worst part is that we all got dressed up (the husband looked so handsome in his crisp white shirt and pink tie, and the boys so dapper in their matching seersucker overalls...), and we once again ended up sitting in the car for the majority of the evening (while watching other kid-free adults have a good ole' time). In fact, our rental car saw the most action during our 6-day jaunt down south.

4. Anticipate getting little to NO sleep when trying to get cozy up  in a king size hotel bed with your husband, baby and toddler. Cooper is used to sleeping in our room at night and often in our bed, as I'm still nursing, but Caden has been sleeping on his own (still in a crib) for awhile now, and had no idea or any interest in bed-sharing with the fam. After being kicked in the head/stomach/back/jaw and "sleeping" with one eye open, as I carefully guarded baby Cooper from his big brother's violent tossing and turning, I can honestly say that whoever practices the "family bed" lifestyle/parenting is much more patient/tough/not in need of sleep than me. I need a sleep vacation after my vacation. 

5. When road tripping anywhere with a toddler for a distance over 100 miles (or more than a couple hours sitting in the car), do yourself a giant favor and try to find places to stop with space for your child to stretch their little legs and act like a maniac for five minutes or so (Bonus points if the place has clean-ish restrooms too). We didn't do this as much as I believe we should have, but we WILL be doing this in August IF I decide I'm brave enough to venture out with Caden on the road again (I literally just trembled again thinking about it)... Kids, especially really young kids, have short attention spans and lots of energy, so expecting them to sit still without issue for more than a couple of hours is asking far too much. Plus, if you're fairly active like me, a quick walk across the parking lot in the fresh (or not so fresh) air feels party darn good after being cooped up in a car with kids for awhile. 

In summary, I leave you with the ONLY proof that we actually were at my cousin's wedding... A series of photos taken in one of those suddenly trendy instant-photo-booths. I believe these photos appropriately show the progression of what a "good time" was had by all throughout our trip to the Deep South. I'm pretty sure what we won't be hearing (anytime soon at least) is "Hey, y'all come back now ya' here..."