So I guess this is growing up

We're in the market for a new car. While we have three cars, two of them are old and break-down prone. Jake has this theory that we should have three cars because if one of them breaks down, there is a back-up. I have a theory that we should just have two cars that actually work. The only problem with Jake's theory is that occasionally, both of his cars aren't working. I have been trying to convince him for some time now to get rid of the two crappy cars and get one decent car, and I finally got him to see the light. The only problem is, now he wants my car. And he wants me to get a...

Ugh. I can't even type the dirty word.

Minivan.

Barf.

To be clear, I don't have anything against minivans for other people. I totally understand their usefulness and practicality. I've always said that someday we will get a minivan. I mean, after a certain number of children and associated gear, its kind of the only option, right? The sliding doors that open at a push of a button, the built in tv, the non-cramped seating...oh, there are so many features that make me sigh and drool. Right now I spend most of the time in the car yelling "Micah! Don't touch your sister! Stop stealing her blanket!" or "Wyatt! Stop pulling on her feet! No more kissing the baby!" I have fantasies of all my children spread out, unable to touch or bug a sibling. Mmmm. Wouldn't that be nice? Soooooo nice.

But then my pride and ego show up. Here's the thing. I KNOW, logically, that there is no part of me that is cool or hip (as evidenced by the fact that I use the word "hip"). I just have to run a few errands at the mall to be reminded of how out of touch I am. And I get reminded of my oldness every day when I look in the mirror and see the growing number of "fine" (hah!) lines on my face, the bags and dark circles under my eyes, and the saggy-jiggly bits that don't perk up post-pregnancy. I turned 30 last year. I have three children and an obnoxious dog. I have regular conversations about retirement accounts and college funds. I know all this and yet, there is still a part of me that pretends otherwise. There is a part of me that is clinging to my youth. There is a part of me that is in denial of who I actually am. This part of me says that even though I'm a MOM, I can still be a young and cool mom. Right? Then the image of me driving a minivan interrupts, like a big fat needle popping my little fantasy bubble. See, a minivan is part of my someday. Like, someday I will be able to stay on top of my laundry. Someday I will stop eating cheetos for breakfast. Someday I will do a pull-up. Someday I will stop letting my kids wear the same pair of underwear two days in a row. Someday I will get the garage organized. And someday I will drive a minivan. But when I get a minivan, then I am totally acknowledging the fact that my youth and carefree-ness are gone baby gone. Gone and not coming back. Gone like the days of not having to wear under-eye concealer are gone. I'm not happy about it. I can stay in denial all I want, but time marches on anyway. And time is marching me straight towards a minivan.

Jake keeps trying to get me excited about it. He tells me I can get the most tricked out minivan out there. He points out all the cool features. When I complain about the kids bugging each other in the car or how the car seats don't fit in the back row, he reminds of all the space in a minivan. He tells me that road trips will be so much more enjoyable (well, less miserable anyway). The car doors open at the push of button. I won't have to worry about hitting neighboring cars every time I open a door. The storage. The gas mileage. So many plusses. (Does anyone else think its weird that my husband is the one pushing the issue? Shouldn't these roles be reversed?) But it is still a minivan. I've tried to tell Jake we just need a bigger SUV. But then he brings up the gas-guzzling nature of such vehicles. And I REALLY don't like driving or parking big cars. And three car seats is really hard to do in an SUV. I know its hard in a van too, but its not as bad.

Now to be clear, I don't think other people who drive minivans are stodgy old farts. Just more in touch with their reality. And I'm not quite ready to accept my reality.

The Change is coming soon. Jake really does need a better and more reliable car (mine). I really do need more space. I can't avoid it forever. I'm sure once I start driving the minivan I will love it and wonder why I put it off for so long. Sigh. Growing up is hard.

And here are some gratuitous baby shots. I know that's why you're all reading this anyway. There is more to come soon. Promise.

And yes, she really is that cute. :)

Home for Christmas

As I mentioned in my previous post, Georgia and I were able to come home from the hospital on Christmas Eve. My parents were here helping us out. I was so excited for Christmas this year. Not only because I knew that by Christmas I would no longer be pregnant, but mostly because Wyatt was beyond pumped up. This is the first year he really understood what Christmas is all about (both spiritually and secularly). And as cliched as it is, I'll say it again. Christmas is magical with children. Talking about Santa Claus and reindeer and elves and stockings is so much fun when you have a 3-year-old hardcore fanatic hanging on your every word.

Wyatt loved every minute. But Micah, poor Micah, was sick. It ain't Christmas if you don't have a sick kid, right? He got a really bad fever the day before, and was still pretty wiped out on Christmas day. Just kind of listless and pathetic. He only wanted to sit on Grandma's lap and watch everyone else. In 99% of the pictures of him he is sitting on my mom's lap looking at the toys that Wyatt so helpfully unwrapped for him. My mom was not happy with the fact that I have so many pictures of her in her jammies and morning hair, so out of respect to her, there's only the one picture of Micah. We forced him to sit on his toy and act happy. This is the best he could do:

Wyatt got a new bike. He was all excited about the bike in the store and for the two months leading up to Christmas, but now he won't touch it. Micah has had more seat time with the bike than Wyatt has. I'm so glad that Santa spent the time and money to get it for him. Sigh. So it sits in our garage for now.
But Wyatt WAS excited about his new Lightning McQueen garage. Note to Santa: Just stick with anything Cars related, and the kid will be happy. Stop trying to get him to branch out with his interests.

This is Wyatt's excited face:
Um, and that's all there is. I was in charge of pictures, and since I was a little, shall we say, jet-lagged (by which I mean, heavily medicated and veeeeery tired), I kept forgetting to snap pictures of the process. And I was distracted by a baby who wanted to eat. So there aren't many pictures. Sorry, future Wyatt and future Micah. I hope if ever one day you are reading this, you won't hold it against me. Fortunately, you're male, so you probably won't care.

So, yes, moving on. We had dinner with my uncle and family, as well as my grandma, who live nearby. It was delicious. Waaay better than that hospital crap I had been eating all week. And it was nice to spend the holiday with family. I'm so glad I was able to be home and with my family and have our newest little angel with us. It was a wonderful Christmas.