The unveiling

Pay no attention to the rashy stuff...apparently its all the masses of HAIR growing back. The tattoo is based on the Celtic knotwork for "motherhood", with each sphere representing one of the children. The Princess tells me she's the one on top, since she came first.

No picture, still crusty

So this tattoo thing. I really love it. I feel all sexy and rebellious. But also a bit fat around the middle, since I have to lift the back of my shirt up to show it and the muffin top is clearly evident. But I'm still showing it to anyone who asks. But no photo yet. It's healing, and it's a bit weird looking.

Also? It's surrounded by pink dots. I thought at first it was a weird ink reaction, but then my husband gently told me that it's probably from the hair growing back in...from where they SHAVED MY BACK.

I don't need to shave my back. I mean, don't get my wrong, lots of women get it waxed, it's a genetic thing. And believe you me, I know from waxing hair....I also know it's just something they do before a tattoo, regardless of the area. If it has hair (downy and fine or coarse and wiry) they have to shave it.

But dammit if my sweet hubby doesn't have the way with words.

Happy Anniversary to you too, my dear. Seven years married, Lucky Thirteen together. I love you, baby. Enough to offer to wax those hairy patches off your love handles.

Tattoed, baby!!

It's done, and it only took a bit more than an hour. It looks BEAUTIFUL, if I do say so myself. Best mother's day present ever. I'd show a photo, but it's a bit gross and bloody right now. By the end of the week. Promise.

Children will listen.

Seeing "Into the Woods" with good friends this weekend has me really thinking on its messages. "Careful the things you say, children will listen" has a certain resonance this week. Scene: dinner. Players: the Royal family.

King Jer: Eat your chicken, boy.

Wee Prince: No! Orange!

KJ: You have to eat some chicken before you can have oranges, buddy.

WP: NO! Orange!

KJ: Chicken first.

WP: Orange!

KJ: Prince, chicken.

WP: DADDY CHICKEN!!!

DQM and KJ just lose it laughing at this point, as the Prince has taken his chicken nugget and held it out to his father in defiance, daring *him* to eat the offensive piece of processed white chicken parts.

The Princess: You guys, DO NOT encourage him.

Little Big Man

You are the smallest "big guy" I've ever seen: you are a full person, shrunk to two feet tall. Charming and devious, with a grin that lights up the space around you. You're my commedian. The one that can get away with anything by doing it with a goofy grin and asking for reasurrance: "Good boy, mommy"? People are drawn to you. They want to hug you, touch your cheek, ruffle your hair, just be near you. You, on the other hand, want to run, jump, play, and run some more. I can snuggle you for all of two seconds before you tell me "det down, Mommy", and jump out of my arms and on to the next adventure. Stubborn as the Taurus sign you were born under, and always wary of new people. You cling to my leg and hide your face, but are sure to peek out to be sure the stranger is still trying to make contact with you.

You're the welcoming committee...just tonight at Wendy's, you said "hi" to no fewer than fifteen people, who were all charmed by your toothy smile and big wave (from the safety of your chair planted firmly next to me, of course). In the same twenty minutes, you managed to chase half of these diners to the opposite side of the dining room with a rage induced by us making you actually EAT those chicken nuggets.

You're a powerhouse, only behind your big sister by 9 pounds. You bowl through life with more energy than any person I've met. How you do it on so little sleep amazes me...you're up at least twenty minutes before I am, before the *sun* is, holding the edge of your crib and jumping up and down. The squeaky crib has become my alarm, followed by the persistent call: "Mommy....Mom-may....Mooommmm-mmmaaayyy".

You make me laugh every day. But seeing you turn into a toddler and become less and less a baby every day...just makes me teary. You're an amazing little man, Wee Prince. And I can already tell you'll be a heartbreaker. Mine breaks just a bit every time I hold you close and know you can't be my baby boy forever.

I am not dead

Though I feel sorta like I could be. And this place I live in is just some holding area before God figures out if I'm heading north or south. Life is exsisting in two parallel universes: I am happy with it, loving the kids, in a great place with my husband, nice house, finally in a career I can get behind. On the other plane, I'm confused, lonely, freaking out and wondering what's next.

There isn't one thing I can point to that is making me feel so anxious. Possibly because my last baby boy is turning two on Thursday. I'm incredibly sad about that, even though I know in my heart that stopping at two kids is a good choice. My two best friends in the world live what seems like worlds away from me. My job is sketchy right now, as business has dropped to an all time low and my paycheck dropped with it: if it doesn't pick up in the next month, I'm looking at staying home for the summer with the kids...daycare is more expensive than what I'm making right now. And though a summer of pools, bike rides and possibly a few beloved naps sounds fun, the thought of attempting to be employed again in the fall makes my skin crawl. Also the thought of my husband's mental state when we're back to one paycheck...not a happy one.

I'm a firm believer in "what is meant to be will happen". God puts us on the right path, wether we buy it at the time or not. So purgatory it is. And I'll just keep plugging along until the next choice has to be made.

So that's it: I'm still alive, though I have nothing brilliant or funny to share with you. And I'll be back in two days to write something sappy and sweet for my son, who, did I mention, is going to be an official TODDLER in two days?