Happy Halloween 2012

Happy Halloween from zombie argentina soccer players

and a fat baby dressed up as a fat baby.

All good things must come to an end...

On Friday night, Elliott and I, along with many other members of my family, froze our little and big butts off at the Hunter High School vs. Fremont High School state tournament football game.  It was the first round.  Hunter was the top seed and we had high expectations.  Unfortunately, things didn't pan out the way we wanted and our boys walked away without the victory, losing 14-6.

My parents have always taught us kids that no matter what happens, when you are involved in something, you do your best.  You give it your all.  You go hard or go home.  You finish whatever it is you are doing knowing that when you walk off the field, the court, the job, you did your absolute best and be proud of your accomplishments.

Well, my brother did just that.  His football career has come to an end, and he finished the final game of his final season with his head held high and a game well played.  And the first personal foul of his entire career, just for kicks.

As Elliott and I left the game, we walked past Willie's car. I knew that he was going to be sad and wanted to leave him a little note. Not having any paper, I left him one in the next best thing.

Lip gloss.

Do the Haka....

IMG 8111 from Annie Howden on Vimeo.


One of the best parts of the end of every game where the wolverines are victorious (at home) is the Haka.  The boys shake the hands of the opposing team, gather at the center of the field and lay their helmets down in a long line.  Then the boys form loose lines themselves as they gather up, get riled up, and prepare to do their Polynesian war dance.

I've missed the Haka most of the season because I either wasn't at the right game or the boys and I left early because of the cold.  But, on senior night I wouldn't have missed it.  I especially wouldn't have missed watching my brother stick his tongue out all scary like while making his eyes wide and crazy.  I didn't know that the cuddly "meow meow daniel tiger" was capable of such warrior-ness.

Senior Night

My mom has already written about it here.

My sister copied and pasted what my mom wrote and added her own comments here.

I don't have a lot of thoughts of my own to add except that I'm proud of my brother.  He is a talented athlete, smart, handsome, and apparently though I didn't see it, has some pretty good dance moves.  It's hard to believe that all my years of watching this brother of mine play football are coming to an end, but there is just one, maybe two or three more games to his football career.

I've been watching him play football for 9 or 10 years, I cannot remember and I've never really been able to "see" him play.  But, I know he's on the field being big, being in charge, and smashing the little people that try and get past him.

He has done well.  He is finally bigger than me, but he was wearing cleats and I was slouching in the picture.  My grandpa came to the game and walked around the track to watch the senior night presentation.  I know that he was there representing all the grandparents - Willie's grandma's loved him dearly and I know that they were there in spirit yelling at him to play hard and ready to bop him with canes.

And now, the only thing I'm really good for....

The pictures.

Having three...

It's officially been 6 weeks since I became the mother of three boys.

The first time I saw Elliott, though I couldn't hold him, I knew that he was going to be THE BIG BROTHER.  I knew that there were children to follow him and that he would pave the way (poor boy!) for them.

No joking, the first time I held Wyatt, smelled his little baby head, wrapped his fingers around mine and looked at his giant monkey feet I thought to myself, "You my boy, are the middle."

Hopefully I am not the only crazy person who, the moment she first spies her newborn babe starts thinking about the next one.  Or, maybe I am.  But, I am a planner and a nerd and crazy so it just made sense to me to be thinking forward.

The first time I held my little Quinner six weeks ago I thought, "I love you, baby!  Thank you for getting here safely."

On Monday, at my appointment with my OB he asked me if I was planning any more babies.  I said, "No, I don't think so."  He asked how sure I was and I said that I was 80% sure.  He agreed that 80% was pretty sure. (My husband however, when I shared the conversation with him said he felt my answer should have been 95% sure.)

In the last few weeks, I've had hundreds of hours pinned in a chair holding a sleeping baby.  Feeding a hungry baby.  Soothing a crying baby.  Burping a baby that refuses to burp.  Yes, may of those hours have been spent playing on my phone with a free hand, but even more have been spent in deep reflection.  What better time to think about your family and your future than when you are nestled into a comfy chair, smelling the sweet head of a brand new baby?

So yes, been thinking a lot about whether or not my family is complete.  If we are all here.  Or, if at least all of us that are supposed to get here through me.  I  am 34 after all.  If I were to think about another baby, it wouldn't be for at least two years, when I could mentally handle it.  That means I'd be having a 4th baby when I'm 37 or older.  It's something to think about.  My grandma, I believe was 42 when she had her 8th.  My mom was 40 when my brother was born.  My aunt was 40 (right?) when she had her third two years after my brother.

And what have I decided?  I have decided that I love my children and my husband.  I have decided that I am tired.  That I love babies, but not car seats.  That my body needs a long time to get fixed and better (blood sugars, blood pressure, weight, general health).  That I can already see ahead to the day when the 5 of us go to Disneyland and the four of them all get up for early entry and ride everything together before I even wake up and then I wander the gift shops with a diet coke and a Dole pineapple whip with some grilled asparagus wrapped in bacon for dessert.

Realizing that I don't know what the future holds, and that the plan isn't mine, but my Heavenly Fathers, at this moment I feel safe in saying, "Yeah, I'm done having babies."  As easy as it is for me to type that, and to think that, and to say it to someone, it's still sort of hard to come to terms with such a definite response.  I feel a little guilty and sad at the thought and I suppose I could change my mind.

But, I think instead, I'll be gratefully for what I've got.  Enjoy the life I've been blessed with and  I'll just ignore the questions until I'm too old to do anything about it.

Just a little bit tired....

I haven't slept more than three hours a night, for the last four nights.  Every boy in my house has found a way to keep me awake from peeing to crying to puking to eating, every one of the last 4 nights.

In four days, there have been 120 hours.  That's 12 hours of sleep and 108 hours of awake, give or take.  If I've done my math correctly, that's a 14.4% sleep rate.

I just thought you should know that I'm tired.

Since I'm up....

It's around 4:30 in the morning and I've been up since 1:30 and it doesn't look like I'm going to bed anytime soon so...

why not blog, right?

I woke up at 8:00 am on Saturday morning.  Adding a 5th person to our family makes schedules even tighter and we had to get out of the house in order to get to 10 am soccer.  Then it was 11 am soccer.  Then it was soccer pictures.  Then we had to feed the baby at the soccer field because he slept through all the games and his scheduled feeding time.  Then we had to change the blow-out post bottle diaper in the parking lot before we could head home.

Once home, the day got even busier than the previous three hours and we were pretty much swimming in a little bit of chaos and gassy baby for the rest of the afternoon.  I'm amazed my husband even got to the grocery store.

The evening was spent at my parents house - the boys and I hanging out and Ross going to Priesthood session of conference with my dad and brother.  When it was finally time to come home, Elliott decided that his stomach hurt.

"Do you need to poop or throw up?"

"It just hurts".

We drove home and he fell asleep before we were 5 minutes from my parents house.  You know where this is going, right?

Maybe the title of the post should be:  Why in the holy freakin' crap do kids get sick at night when it's dark and everyone is so tired?

We got all the boys to bed.  Ross and I finished our nightly rituals and routines and found ourselves climbing into bed around 11 pm and crashing immediately.

From 11 pm to 1 am, Wyatt woke up twice, one of the times Ross found him sitting on the floor by his bed, because he couldn't find his blankets.  At 1 am, I got up to check my blood sugar and spend some time with my "lactation station", my new nightly ritual.  Ross was with Elliott because he too had gotten up complaining that his tummy hurt.

As I was about to head upstairs I heard a scream for, "DAD!", and "Elliott, Nooooooo!" and then a sound that was, you know, that sound.  The sound of puke hitting the floor, not the toilet, from the body of a terrified 5 year old.  Dad got him to the sink before the next hurl and I ran back downstairs for some resolve (the carpet cleaning kind) and towels.

Since that time, around 2:00 am, that kid has puked 3 more times.  The baby has woken up.  I'm visiting my "lactation station" again, and everyone in this house, except Wyatt whose set to wake up in about an hour, ready for the day, is completely exhausted.

Remind me why I have kids again?

Oh yeah, they are cute and fun when they aren't puking at the top of the stairs.

Quinner: 1 month

Today my little Quinner, you are one month old.  This afternoon, after you shot milk out your nose all over my shoulder and then pooped all over my lap, you were a super content and happy little camper so Wyatt and I set you up for a little photo shoot.   You my boy, are one cute little 4 week old, 80 year old man.

The last month has flown by.  Just today I was thinking about how big you've gotten in the last few weeks.  I'm sure you weigh at least 10 pounds by now and know that you are on the path to follow in your brother's footsteps of "giantness" and I couldn't be more pleased.

There of course isn't much to say about a little guy who is one month old.  You have not yet won a Nobel Peace Prize, but you definitely bring some peace to our family.  Your mere presence has robbed me of most of my ability to yell at your brothers and I find myself perfectly content to sit in a chair with you all day long.  Yes, I get frustrated because I feel like there is just so much to do every day but when it comes right down to it, there isn't any other place I'd rather be.

At one month you are so strong. You can hold your head up so well, even when you are on your tummy.  You can clasp your hands together and fold your arms which fascinates your brothers.  You can smile and coo, and follow us around the room with your eyes.  Several times a day I catch you looking into space and desperately trying to talk.  I'm sure to the angels in heaven that are checking up on you, making sure that you are safe and happy and ready to be a part of this crazy family of boys and one uptight mama.

Little Quinner, everyone loves you so much.  Your brother's adore you.  Wyatt asks me a million times a day if you are awake so that he can talk to you.  Elliott wants to know the exact moment you do things and if he did the same thing when he was one month old.

I have never been more happy or exhausted in my entire life adding you to the family.  Life these days is a finely orchestrated series of feedings and carpools and bottles and pumps and sleep and lots and lots of diaper changes.  You are a bit gassy, a bit explosive, and seem to shoot milk out your nose at the exact moment you blast other stuff out your butt.  The butt causes you some grief but surprisingly shooting milk out your nose doesn't seem to phase you in the slightest.

Yes baby boy, we love you lots and lots and lots.  I'd say your first month in the family has been a success and we are ready for more.

I love you!

Homecoming 2012

Mr. President had himself a week last week.  You see, it was HOMECOMING and he and the other SBO's were in charge of all the activities and assemblies for the entire week.  And, Mr. President also had to play in the big rivalry game on Friday night and get ready for his hot date on Saturday - day and night.

Boys #1 and #2 attended the homecoming football game with me on Friday night.  It was so crowded we actually had to sit right next to people instead of having our usual section of bleachers all to ourselves.  It was great fun to see so many folks come out to the game and for so many of my family members to be there to cheer on Mr. President, #74.  The first have of the game was pretty lame with neither team scoring, both seeming super nervous.  But, the second half the Wolverines were on fire and blew out the Lancers.  Mr. President was even quoted in the paper.

Senior offensive lineman Willie Petersen said the start was a little frustrating, but the team was determined to change the energy of the game.

"We came out with a whole new fire in us in that second half," he said. "We were a different team out there; we felt it."

On Saturday, it was the day of the big dance.  Mr. President has spent most of Friday decorating the commons area at school and on Saturday, his group of 16 had a day full of activities.  While Mr. President was cavorting with his friends and their females his mother, sister, aunt and cousin spent the early evening slaving away turning my mom's backyard into the patio of an Italian fine dining restaurant.

I think that we did a pretty good job and had a lot of fun setting up, embarrassing the President (I wore pink and matched his date.  Momacita tripped and fell down while carrying dishes.  Parkie was very sweaty and has a crush on the President's date), and spying through the windows.

Homecoming dinner's dessert: Chocolate cake with salted caramel butter cream topped with a chocolate ganache

Fancy soda's on ice (Haley couldn't make it but this was her contribution)

Mr. President and his date. She was the cutest girl in the group. She was the best dressed of the group. She works at Chick-fil-a. It could be a match made in heaven.

The picture doesn't do our cute patio justice. Once the kids all left, we hung out, listened to our special homecoming play list and had a great time, making fun of me, of course.

The super sweaty wait staff. He was however, an excellent bus-boy.

Mr. President is lucky that he has three mothers who take good care of him.  And a nice auntie and cousin who are his surrogate mom and little brother.  It was a great evening and I was excited to help out.