New Girl in Town

Hi,

My name is Ranae, and I guess you could say that I'm the new girl in town.  Well, at least in the "blogosphere" part of town.  And at least for this particular nanosecond, until someone else comes along and starts jotting their random thoughts down and throwing them out into the deepest recesses of cyberspace...but that's neither here nor there.

A little bit about me: I'm a 26-year-old mother of three children under the age of four.  I know what you're thinking: "breeder!" but no...just certifiably insane.  I'm not particularly creative, but I've been dealt four aces in the "humorous anecdote" hand of life, and that, combined with the fact that I find it a positive outlet (read: necessary to keep me from ripping out my hair) to share some of the stories of this dream that I'm livin,' have brought me here.  I love God, my husband, my children, and the occasioanl long island iced tea...which I sometimes start fantasizing about by 9am.

At about any given moment of the day (such as, oh, say, now), I have at least one child screaming at me, one doing something destructive, and one pooping.  That's just how it goes.  Sebastian, my three-and-a-half year old, is convinced that it's time to go trick-or-treating RIGHT NOW (which makes total sense, since it's only a week premature).  Gabriella, my 20-month-old, has climbed her chunky little butt into the baby's swing and is yelling "stuck" around the paci firmly lodged in her mouth (guess what THAT sounds like), and is brushing between her toes with her pretty little pink toothbrush...note to self: if I get an extra minute, boil that thing.  If not, throw it in the bathtub with her.  And Maks, my sweet little 4-week-old, is, well, pooping.  See, I told you that someone is always filling one of those three slots.

Which brings me to a popular household phrase for the three-foot and under crowd of the house: "Smell it!"  It can be said as a command, as a joyful proclimation, or as a question...but undoubetdly it's said at least once-a-day.  For example, a short while ago, Sebastian and Gabriella were playing a rousing rendition of "follow-the-leader."  Gabriella was leading in tiny-toddler fashion, and, naturally, Sebastian was mimicking her.  Gabriella started crawling on her hands-and-knees, and Sebastian only a hairs-breadth behind.  All of a sudden, Sebastian started gagging.  "What?  What's wrong?  Are you sick?" (as a mom, I had to know quickly because if he was going to upchuck, I really wanted to make sure to get him to some sink or hard surface and not just let it hit our poor, pathetic, builders-grade carpet).

"No. Gab's just pooped." He said between gags.  Imagine my relief.  Thank-goodness!  At least I wasn't going to be up all night with a barfing pre-schooler.  Poop?  Now that I can handle.   

It's quite the exciting life I lead.  And honestly, I wouldn't trade this for the world.  I love being a mom and I find it quite an adventure to play "Survivor, Cleveland Edition" with these beautiful kids.  OK, so "Survior" might sound a little harsh.  I mean, I'm not trying to be melodramatic, it's not like any of us have to eat bugs...but it's probably a safe bet that some of us choose to.

I could ramble on forever, but now it's time to take my little herd of goats to Wal-Mart so I can find a few Halloween costumes--after all, it looks like we're going trick-or-treating tonight...