How my life has changed since becoming a mom

1. I can quote the movie Cars in its entirety, from start to finish. I can sing every song, every note, and every background noise. I hear Mater and Lightning talk in my sleep. I sometimes catch myself singing the opening Sheryl Crow song while I clean the house.


2. There are socks everywhere. Little, white socks. They fall out of the laundry basket, and because Dylan hates to have them on his feet, they end up stuffed in very random places: the couch, my purse, his mattress, his toy box. And there is always one missing once I remove the laundry from the dryer. I have started counting the socks to make sure there is an even number going into the washer. And every time there is one missing. It drives me crazy.


3. I have bags... in more ways than one. There are bags under my eyes, there is a big saggy bag where my cute tummy used to be, there are 2 bags hanging from my chest that used to be all nice and perky. I also have diaper bags, wet bags for cloth diapers, purses (big ones that can hold sippy cups, snacks, toys, and the occasional renegade sock) everywhere. Each bags has a separate purpose. My life has been taken over by bags.


4. My life has also been taken over by laundry. I need to talk to someone from MIT to understand the mathematical equation that occurs when a family of 2 with 3 loads of laundry a week grows to a family of 3 with 9 loads a week. I don't get it. He is so small, and I have said it before, but, HOW CAN ONE LITTLE PERSON CREATE SO MUCH LAUNDRY? It is astonishing. And annoying. I hate laundry.


5. My conversations with adults have been reduced to snippets here and there between yelling "Dylan look out!" and running to get Dylan out of some sort of trouble. I haven't had an uninterrupted conversation since September of 2010. When I hangout with my girl friends who have kids as well, it is even worse. It takes us about 30 minutes to tell a "quick" story. We keep having to pause to tend to our little ones, then it takes a minute to remember what we were talking about, then, because some time has passed since we started the story, we usually have to recap part of the story to refresh the audience's memory. It is really quite taxing.


6. I haven't been out of the house past 7:30 pm in 16 months. Okay, I have been out a handful of times with Jeff on dates, but for the most part, we are home by 7. I used to make fun of parents who let their child's nap and bed time dictate whether or not they go somewhere. Now, I am a slave to his naps and bedtime. I will sacrifice a night of fun for a calm night in, because it means that the next day Dylan will be happier and less likely to drive me crazy. Although a little crazy is a constant in this household. And we like it that way.


A picture of my crazy little man playing the the dirt.

Forget everything you thought you knew about Carrie

1. I run. I didn't used to. I actually fainted in Jr. High. I used to only run if I was being chased. And let's be honest, I wasn't getting chased that often (these love handles, stretch marks and all the other visual gifts given to me by my 2 boys prevent the men from doing much chasing anymore). You can read all about my first run here.


2. I like to clean. I know I know! My reputation is at stake by admitting such truths, but I cannot hold it in anymore. I like to clean.


I got a new vacuum and it sucks. I mean seriously, it is awesome. The first time that I used it I was disgusted by what was in the canister. I vacuumed with the old vacuum only 4 days prior and thought that the house was relatively clean. Until I saw what was sucked up by this awesome, sucky vacuum. I was appalled. My house was filthy. 


Now however, the vacuum works so well, that the carpet looks awesome. This is a problem. Why? Because now, when something gets on the carpet like crumbs, dirt, or the dreaded black sock fuzz from Jeff's terrible socks, it is more noticeable. So now I have to vacuum more. I have become obsessed with keeping the carpets and floors looking perfect. It makes my day to see the lines in the carpet from the vacuum. I am a loser. A loser who likes to clean. Just call me Monica.


3. I only eat 3 to 4 Double Stuf Oreos in a sitting. I used to be able to eat 10, and when I say 10 I mean 20, and when I say 20 I mean the entire bag and Jeff would get mad because I left him no oreos, the only cookie in the house that he can eat that doesn't have eggs, and he would look at me with disgust, and a little bit of horror, but mostly awe because he has never seen anyone eat that many oreos in one sitting without being paid or without being at a county fair. Speaking of county fairs, did you know that they have deep fried oreos there? Oh my gosh, so good. 


Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, I only eat 3 or 4 in one sitting now. Because running with a stomach full of oreos makes me want to throw up, and throwing up doesn't make me look good while I run. And let's be honest, I need all the help I can get, because not only do I look like I am about to pass out while I am running, I also jiggle a lot from all the excess, ahem, skin. Again I blame the boys.


So those are some things that I never thought would become me. I have changed. I am grown up. Sorta. I still like The Little Mermaid and I collect magic wands. Because some things never change. 

The last cookie

I was eating cookies tonight. This is something that is a regular occurrence in my house (well, recently I have been eating just 2 or 3 because I want the size of my tookas to decrease in 2012). But tonight, something terrible happened. 

You see, Jeff and I were watching The Office. Not the recent episodes that are lame, but the ones with Michael Scott. The good ones. The funny ones. Anyways, as we were watching, I was eating my second favorite cookies: E.L Fudge Double Stuffed (yes, double stuffed is always better). *Side note: there are 6 or 7 Walmarts in Knoxville. Only one carries these amazing cookies. One. And it is not very close to my house. They all carry the regular E.L Fudge cookies, just not the Double Stuffed. This is not acceptable. Therefore I am forced to drive about 30 minutes out of my way just to get the double fudgy goodness. I think that I am going to write to my congressman.* Anyways, I was reaching my hand in and grabbing the cookies one by one. I was enjoying them, but was distracted by Michael Scott and his shenanigans.

I had eaten 3 cookies when I realized that there was one cookie left in the bag. I was looking forward to eating that last cookie. I was prepared to fully enjoy it's chocolatey goodness, fully prepared to savor the double stuffiness, when something awful happened.

There were no cookies left. The cookie that I thought was still in the bag was just a figment of my imagination. I had already eaten the last cookie. And I didn't get to fully enjoy it.

It is a sad day indeed.

I had already eaten the last cookie.

I went running today

I don't run.


Seriously. I passed out in 8th grade and came to with Mr. Tarr standing over me making sure I wasn't dead.


I don't run.


Unless I am being chased. And I don't get chased that often.


I can run for about 10 feet before I feel like crawling into a hole and dying.


I can power walk. I am great at power walking. I am great at power walking  while pushing Dylan in the stroller or carrying him in the backpack carrier. But I do not run.


Until today.


My neighbor called this evening and said that she was going for a run and asked if I wanted to join her. She was at lunch with me today and saw me eat like 5 pieces of pizza. If I said no, she would judge me. And if she didn't judge me, then I would judge her for not judging me. It's all very technical.


I said yes.


And I ran. Okay, well it was not running as much as it was slowly jogging while simultaneously trying not to trip and keep up with Angie.


I ran a mile. I actually ran a mile and I didn't trip. 


I ran for the first time since 8th grade. 


And guess what? I didn't die.


I may have to try this running thing again. Because those 5 pieces of pizza are not going to burn themselves.

Mommy's arms

I am watching Grey's Anatomy. There was a patient that went into multi-system organ failure and they had to unplug him. It reminds me of Brendan. Granted, we didn't have to "unplug" Brendan. But he was very sick and we chose to let him go to heaven peacefully, without machines beeping and tubes attached to his little body. 


I am glad that Jeff and I made this decision. Brendan had 2 great weeks at home and he went to heaven while in my arms on the couch. We both fell asleep (I tried to stay awake and talk to him and tell him not to be scared until he passed), but at 4 am I couldn't take it anymore and I just closed my eyes for a few minutes. When I woke up, Brendan was already in heaven. 


I think that God did this on purpose. If I watched Brendan turn blue and stop breathing I may have tried to bring him back and keep him here. That was not God's plan. Brendan needed to be home with his Father. I am so very glad that we got 2 weeks at home and that my first born son died in my arms, snuggled up warm and tight. 


That's what we all want, after all isn't it? When we are sick and not feeling good, we just want our mommy. And I am glad that the last thing I did for Brendan was to be there for him and let him snuggle in his favorite place in the world: my arms.