I got absolutely nothing done today

Naptime was a complete bust today. It was pretty much like a game of whack-a-mole: as soon as I got one child settled, the other one would get up (too soon). Then I would try and get the one that got up too soon to go back down, only to have the other one wake up (again - too soon) before the other one got settled again. I'm usually frustrated when this happens, but I decided to take a different approach today. Shorter naps meant more time to run errands in the afternoon (a much-needed Costco run and some returns at Old Navy) - and even some time to whip up a batch of cookies for a church activity tonight. I very well could have been grumpy about a virtually napless day, but I've actually thoroughly enjoyed the company. Thomas is the best errand-running buddy a mom could ask for. He produces a constant stream of chatter and we totally rocked out to Primary songs and nursery rhymes in the car. And he's quite the sous chef:

I secretly enjoyed the napless day. How could you not when you've got that face to keep you company?

I do not understand boys - #3

It's Mother's Day, so I should really devote this entire post to recounting the awesome ways in which I was pampered by my family. I'll get to that. But first, I must recount a troubling conversation before church today:

Kenta is super-helpful on Sunday mornings getting the kids ready so we can get to church on time. We usually go Splitsville on getting the kids dressed and fed: I take Abigail and he takes Thomas. I had forgotten to iron Thomas's church shirt last night, so I was frantically doing that this morning while Kenta was getting the rest of Thomas's clothes on. The iron had some red junk on it (I have no idea where it came from - maybe some red fabric that I ironed last week?) that got all over the sleeve of Thomas's clean white shirt. It looked like crayon. I tried washing it off and ironing it again, placing another piece of cloth between the shirt and the iron so it wouldn't rub more red on it. The addition of an extra layer did not help with drying the wet sleeve up, but we were almost running late, so I just tossed the shirt to Kenta, told him it was a little wet, and ran upstairs to fix my hair. Twenty seconds later I hear this:

"Kendall?"

Me - "Yes?"

Kenta - "Can I stick it in the microwave?"

Me - "Stick wh----" *immediately realize he is talking about Thomas's shirt, throw down my hair straightener, and race to the top of the stairs* "NoooooOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!"

Kenta - "Uh. Okay. Sorry. It's just really wet."

Me - "Ack! Don't stick clothes in the microwave! Use the blow dryer instead!"

Kenta - "Well, I thought it would just help the water evaporate more quickly...."

Me - *imagining the buttons on Thomas's shirt melting in the microwave before the whole things goes up in flames* "Okay, maybe the microwave might work, but I've never heard of microwaving clothes before, so let's not do that. Here's the blowdryer."

Crisis averted....or not?

Now that I've had a few more hours to process this event, I'm really wondering: is it safe to microwave clothes? Has the male species taught me a more efficient way to dry clothing in a pinch? All these years I have been using my blowdryer...should I have been using a microwave instead? Anyone have experience microwaving clothes? How did it turn out?

The time I took the kids on vacation for two weeks and left my husband at home by himself - Part 1: Air Travel. Alone. With Kids.

Friends, the title says it all. We're back from a two week vacation, in which a lot of playing and not a lot of sleeping happened. We are still trying to recover. And the sun (and our kids) rising before 5:30 a.m. is not hastening that recovery time. Anyway, when we got home and I looked through all the pictures I took, I realized that I captured very little of the fun. I guess I was too busy with the kids to really be able to document it on camera. But I want to remember the vacation in as much detail as I can. So, I'm going to have to break it down.

Before I left on our trip, I was super nervous about traveling by myself with the kids. After hitting up all my Facebook peeps for advice, I realized that I was probably worrying a leeeeetle too much. Pretty much everyone assured me that there would be super nice people to help out along the way. Which turned out to be true.

Here is a picture of The Load. For posterity and such.

Me with a) Abby strapped in a Bjorn on my front b) a big honkin' Britax carseat on my back c) pushing a stroller d) Thomas in the stroller e) my backpack one hung one handle of the stroller and f)Thomas's backpack hanging on the other handle of the stroller. Obviously this was not taken in the airport, as we all look very happy and relaxed (and there is a frog potty in the corner of the room). I didn't have actual airport footage of me with my load, but I decided it I needed a visual reminder of why I never want to do this again.

We were quite the spectacle. In fact, as we neared the security line for our departure, the TSA agent informed us that Kenta could have gotten a gate pass to get help us through security to our gate. We didn't have enough time to go back and get one, but I made a mental note to DEFINITELY take advantage of this on the return flight.

Getting ourselves on the plane was a little tricky, but lucky for us, there was a sweet flight attendant that was more than happy to strap Thomas's car seat in for me, almost amputating her hand in the process. We had a very nice lady sitting on the other side of Thomas, who endured 2+ hours of Thomas driving toy bulldozers across her notebooks and "accidentally" dropping pretzels in her lap. I actually have a picture of this nice lady which, coincidentally, happens to be the ONLY picture I took of all of our air travel.

Thank you, nice lady.

I was super nervous about making our connection in Atlanta, but a small miracle happened when I discovered that our connecting flight was 7 gates away from where we landed. I might have pumped my fists in gratitude towards the heavens and softly yelled "Victory!" after I discovered this news on the terminal monitor. I'm pretty sure a few people heard.

The second flight was quick. There wasn't a nice stewardess to install the car seat, but there was a really nice steward (????) who, when I asked him if he was okay holding a baby, responded, "uhhhhh, I can't remember the last time I held a baby". I promptly handed him Abigail, so I could get the car seat and Thomas situated. It was the happiest she had been the entire day. I let him know that.

The trip home wasn't quite so smooth. I was cutting it extremely close getting to the airport in enough time to get through security. The kids and I had been partying a lot and sleeping little for two weeks, so we were T.I.R.E.D. I was banking on getting my sister-in-law a gate pass to help us through, but no dice. The ticket agent said that because of security, I didn't qualify for help "just because I had a baby" (never mind the OTHER kid, stroller, car seat, and two carry-ons). I made my way grumbling to security. I was running late and trying to get through quickly, when we were stopped because of a "suspicious" item in our carry-ons. Actually, two suspicious items: water. I had forgotten to empty Thomas's sippy cup and my bottled water. I just threw my water away, but I had to unscrew Thomas's cup so they could examine the contents (for what? I have no idea). Once we were deemed to not be a threat to national security, I then gathered all of our belongings and tried to find a place where I could put my shoes back on. My hands were shaking because I was running so late, so I could barely buckle, snap, or tie all the things that I needed to. I was a mess. I might I have mumbled "airport security can die in a hole" as I scrambled to our gate.

Thankfully, all flights to Detroit were running a little behind, due to weather. I was grateful for a little breather. When it was time to board, though, I realized it was one of those little planes that you have to walk out on the tarmac to board. Bless all those beautiful strangers who scooped up my stroller and carry-ons so I could focus on getting my children safely on to the plane. Really, they were the best.

And it didn't stop there. The passengers on our last flight were just as amazing. After Thomas entertained everyone at the gate with his break-dancing skills (I'm sure some people were staring at me in horror for letting my child roll around on the floor - whatever), it was time to board our last plane. The flight went fairly well, for the most part. The lady across the row from me held Abby while I tried to snuff out a major tantrum that was brewing. Thank goodness for the magical bribery powers of mini M&Ms.

Before we knew it, we were home. If I hadn't had so much strapped to me, I would have knelt on the ground and kissed it. And I have never been happier to see Kenta. Okay. Maybe the day we got married I was happier. But this was a close second.

I might travel by myself with the kids again, now that I know what to expect. I'm going to need a little while to recover from it. And never again will I judge the noise level of a child on an airplane. And never again will I see a mother traveling alone with children and not offer to help in some way (assuming that I am also not traveling alone with kids.....).

So, all in all, traveling wasn't too terrible. I survived. Thomas earned his wings

And when one of your little travelers is this happy:

Why not give it another shot some day?