Rinse, Repeat

I have hit a wall my friends.

I thought I had this three kids thing down.

All  are fed, clothed, and kept clean to a degree.

We have managed to keep our house in one piece. No visits to the emergency room...yet. We've made it to school, library story hour, play dates, grocery shopping trips, and even a few meals out.

I assume from the outside I look like I have it together. I'm trying to be brave. I'm trying to appear normal, but I'm not yet. Every night, as bedtime looms, my anxiety increases. Sleep is nothing but a joke right now. I've tried to keep it together as much as I can, but I lost it last night. Grabbing Bry and holding him tight I started to bawl.

I am at a loss.
I don't know how to fix it.

Margo is a shitty sleeper, and by default, I have become one too.

For my friends reading who have known me for any extended period of time know that I need sleep. Like, consistent, 8 hours plus a night. We're working on five and a half months of sporadic at best stretches of sleep for me.

I'm baked. I fried. I toasted. I'm melting. I'm completely and utterly done.

I remember vividly Moira sleeping well. I thought waking up once a night at three and half months old was bad.

Boy, did I have it wrong.

I will confess here, much of Maeve's first year is a blur. I assume it was a survival mechanism as I did have two kids under two for much of each day by myself. I don't remember yearning for sleep as much as I do now.

This whole third kid is another story. Thank God she's cute and has a good disposition.

Confession here, this morning after nursing Margo and setting up Mo with her usual cereal bar and milk, I spent an hour scouring the web for sleep solutions. I seriously contemplated typing:
Tell me, oh wise and powerful Internet, how can I get my kid to sleep for longer than three hours because I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown? in the google search window, but instead settled on sleep training + 6 month old.

Alas, from this little bit of research I realized it's time for this mama to suck it up. Cry it out commences today, or for you PC peeps- I'm using the extinction model of sleep training.

It's currently 3:19 pm. I set Margo up in the crib, awake at 2:00. She screamed for 13 minutes. I prepped Mo and Maeve for the worst.
Margo's got to learn how to go to sleep in her crib. I shared. I refrained from adding so mama doesn't go cray-cray. to the end of that sentence.
She's still asleep.

I won't peek.

Tonight, I'm going to try this extinction method again. (It does sound so much nicer than crying it out, right?)

God help me that it works, and she sleeps for more than three hours.

Hopefully this little hurdle can be jumped tonight or tomorrow, and my bed can become my refuge again.

Resolution

It's January. The time of New Year's Resolutions and promises.

Will it be the year to lose weight?
Clean out the junk?
Put yourself on the list of priorities?

I don't do it. I don't make resolutions.
Never had, never intended to.

Sure, there's a list of things running in my head that I need to improve upon, which I'm sure is no different than most people. However the first of January does not seem like the natural starting point, even with the excuse of having given birth nearly 4 weeks ago. I will admit, starting  the new year out like that is not my style.

However this year is different.

I have one,
Only one resolution.

Call it peer, I mean partner pressure, but I have succumbed and made one resolution this year.

I guess, it's actually more of a compromise, but given the time of year, I think the term: resolution may work.

This year: I will not be planning Maeve's birthday party. I have given up the manic planning and fully intend to hand over the reigns to her third birthday party to Bryan.

GASP!

Okay, I do realize to the average person this may not seem like a big deal.
I gave birth less than a month ago to my third child.
I have a newborn, a nearly three year old, and a four year old, it's January,and the last thing I should be doing is obsessing over crepe paper lanterns, yarn hair braids, cupcakes, and finding the right shades of purple and yellow while the soundtrack from Tangled plays in the background.

For normal people, party planning should not be all consuming.

However, I am not a normal person when it comes to parties.

I have dove in, head first, into planning these fun little fetes for my girls with dress ups, and games, and desserts galore. I have searched blogs, and party stores, pinned ideas on Pinterest, and scoured for recipes, all to create these fun filled days.

But not this party.

I just cannot do it, and I feel guilty.

Sure, she'll only be three, but for three, Moira got the Wizard of Oz. She got a dress, ruby sneakers, and a faux yellow chalked brick road. She got rainbow cupcakes, pin the heart on the scarecrow, and fruit loop necklaces.

She had hours of my life dedicated to the intricate details of goodie baskets and pinatas.

She had a great party.

And Maeve, well, who knows how this will turn out?

It will be fine.

Yes, it will be a good party.

We'll be surrounded by friends and family who love my kids. We'll eat, drink and be merry.
Bryan's at the helm, so at least we know the food & desserts will be kick ass. My good friend Lynsay has graciously taken over all crafting duties, so Maeve and her guests won't miss out on the homemade touches, and of course, Ashley will be there photographing the event.

Maeve will have a great day and enjoy every second in the limelight.

I know rationally I am not emotionally scarring  Maeve because her Tangled party won't be up to "my standard", but I can't help but feel a bit of guilt that I'm not in the driver's seat this year.

Until then, I'm keeping my resolution and not going crazy for her birthday...this year.

However, during late night nursing sessions, I have already started brainstorming ideas for her fourth birthday.

.

Me versus the sticks

I do believe to truly enjoy reading this one must start....

HERE. 

Great news, right?

However, the action of getting to this happy little place has been quite the roller coaster. After my miscarriage in December, my body and my mind were messed up. 

With support and love from friends, both in real life and through my virtual one, I was able to get my head back into a good place. However, my body would not cooperate. After years of being "regular" with my time of the month, things were off. 

Reassurance from a new OB-GYN group gave me the news I needed to hear. 

Everything was okay, and there was no reason to forgo baby three. 

And the incident with the pregnancy tests happened. 

Yes, tests, as is plural tests. 

I consider myself a fairly intelligent person. I have my Master's degree from a fairly reputable university. I pride myself in my knowledge of the goings on in the world, and I consider reading to be a hobby. 

I think I'm smart. 

However, I met my match in the bathroom with this:

Leave it to me to mess up peeing on a stick...

TWICE!

It was a Friday evening when I realize my period never really came as it should have on Wednesday. Like I mentioned prior, I have been quite regular prior to my miscarriage. These months after it is a bit different, yet still around the same time. 

Calling Bryan at work, I relay my suspicions. 

"Well, I gotta pick up some stuff at CVS" he says, "I'll pick up a pregnancy test. I mean, really? I don't think there's any way you could be pregnant again. You're all messed up right now, right?"

I agree.

I wasn't yet feeling one hundred percent back to normal and figure it is my body attempting to regulate itself. My body needs to find it's own homeostasis* so to speak. 

*GRE word I do believe

Arriving home, he tosses me the bag.

"I say do it while I put the girls to bed" he says "This way we'll know and we can go on with our life". 

"Sounds like a plan." I respond.

After kissing their heads and whispering sweet dreams into their ears, back down stairs to the powder room I head. 

Reading the side panel on the box, I do my business, and place the stick on the counter.

Waltzing around the living room, I slowly count down the three minutes.

Returning to find the test, negative.

Deflated, I toss the test into the garbage can. Ascending up the stairs, taking a deep breath in, I open the door to the bedroom. Standing in the doorway, I share my news with Bry.

"Nope". I mutter between gritted teeth. "Negative".

The girls look up. Their eyes glistening and smiles appearing on their face, as they chorus, "Night Mommy".

Blowing them kisses again, I return back downstairs for the night. A new baby not in the cards at this moment.

The next morning, still no period.

Since there were two tests in the box, I decide to try yet again.

My supportive message board friends are always insistent on using first morning urine for pregnancy tests, so this time I oblige. Following what I believe to be the accurate protocol, the pee hits the stick, the protective tab is returned to cover and I wait.

The girls sit mesmorized by their morning television dose, as I count down the three minutes yet again.

"Mommy, I come with you" Maeve asks, as I head back to the bathroom.

"Nope, babes. Mama needs to do this by herself." I say, closing the bathroom door again.

Lifting up the stick, I discover another negative sign in the window.

However, upon further review, my eyes focus on the empty control window.

Picking up the little box, I read,
"If no line appears in the little square box within ten minutes consider the test failed".

Huh?

Leave it to me to fail a pregnancy test.

Being the ever intellegient and wise woman, into the garbage can I dive, looking for the pregnancy test from the night before. Not surprisingly I discover, no line in the little square box.

I failed this pregnancy test...twice.

Only I manage to screw up peeing on a stick. I find a way to have an error... twice... with the EPT test.

You know, the Error Proof Test?!?

Of course, I refrain from sharing what I believe to be my inadquency with Bryan and instead search for solace and support from my message board community. It is there I am instructed to avoid the high priced pregnancy test for the cheap versions, the one from the Dollar store appear to be the universally approved version.

Luckily, a trip to Wegmans is in the near future and it is there I pick up the cheapest store brand tests I can find.

Again, the girls sit glued to the tube while I excuse myself to the bathroom.

Carefully I unwrap the test, read the directions twice, and do my business.

It's not first morning urine.

It's not an "Error Proof Test".

It's not even a test with words like pregnant or not pregnant.

However, this time in the minute it takes for me to pull up my pants, flush and wash my hands the clear positive sign appears.

I think I'm pregnant, or at least the stick in front of me leads me to this conclusion. Based off my earlier track record, I share my news with Bry and we both decide that redoing the test the following morning is probably the best thing.

Again, first morning urine replicates the results from the afternoon before, another positive pregnancy test.

Yippee! I think?

My excitement is hesitant as I can't help but think about my issues with the first two tests. Thus, only with confirmation from my OB-GYN a few weeks later do I allow my mind to grasp the idea of a third baby.

A third baby due on December 26, 2012. Good planning for tax purposes, poor planning for Christmas!

In conclusion, here's a little math to recap this event:

(2 trips to stores + 4 Pregnancy tests x lots of urine) - confusion of 2 mistaken pregnancy tests + confirmation of 2 positive tests / hesitation and anticipation = 
Baby #3 

Mommy Fail

It's the afternoon of Mother's Day.

While Maeve quietly naps in her crib, Bry has taken Mo up to the third floor playroom giving me the chance to curl up in my bed and nap.

Ah, sweet sleep.

It's only been about forty minutes when I hear the footsteps descending the stairs. Into our room they walk. Bry  first, nodding his head, while Mo follows behind. Her own blue eyes failing to make eye contact, as she enters our room.

Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I lean against the pillow. Without words, we share a glance. That parental look where without words, the shared experience that something big has gone down.

I gulp as he begins, "Tell your mommy what just happened."

She fails to lift her head, as she whispers, "I don't wanna. You tell daddy."

"We were having a great time upstairs, right Mo?"

"Yeah, daddy", she mutters, still head downturn.

"We played with some toys, and then Mo asked if we could play a game. She chose Zinga. What a great game, right Mo?"

Her eyes lift for a second here, and meet mine, "Yeah daddy."

Her focus returns back to the floor.

"Well, we played a few games. Do you know that Mo is really good at Zinga? She beat me three times in a row! We started another game and she got a little messed up. She picked up a piece she wasn't suppose to and then she said something naughty. What did you say, Mo?" he has taken a seat next to me on the bed, as she has moved behind his body, trying to hide her eyes from my own.

"I don't know" she mutters.

"Yes you do" he says forcefully. "Tell mommy what you said."

"Shit" she says.

Biting the inside of my mouth I try unsuccessfully to keep the laughter from escaping. "Why would you say that?" I ask. "That's not really nice."

Bry cuts me off, "You didn't say 'shit'. Tell mommy what you really said."

"What did you say Mo? I promise I won't be mad, if you tell me the truth." I plead.

Bry continues, "It's alright right now to say that word. You won't ever get in trouble for telling the truth. Mommy needs to hear what word you said."

The tears fill her eyes as her glance meets mine. "I don't want to" she cries.

"You need to tell mommy what you said." he goes on. "I know it's not nice, but tell her anyway."

Shaking her head, she looks up again, "No. I'm scared".

Brushing her bangs from her hair, he pulls her into his arms. "It's important you tell her."

"Okay daddy." she says. Turning her face to me, "I said fuck."

Fuck me.

There's only one person who made the mistake of saying this word a few times in front of Mo and Maeve.

It's me.

This is all my fault.

"Well Mo, that is really not a nice word. It's wrong when Mommy says it, and it's really hurtful. I'm sorry I said it, and I really hope you don't say it anymore. It hurts peoples' feelings and is not nice." I stammer.

Bry chimes in, "It really is the meanest word you can say, Mo. We don't want to hurt people, right? So let's not say this again, okay?"

"Okay daddy. I'm sorry" she concedes.

"Okay babe. I need you to go play in your room for a few minutes while I talk to mommy, okay?" he asks.

"Of course daddy. I'm so sorry." she adds, skipping out of the room.

I'm at a loss here.

I know this is entirely my fault. The girls are with me all the time. I know my loose lips are too blame. All too often I have let these things escape, falling on their ears.

He doesn't have to say word.

I'm wrong.
I'm to blame.
I messed up.

"I feel like crap. I really messed this one up." I say. "Happy Mother's Day to me!"

"Well," he starts, "You do have something to be proud of. She knows how to use it in context."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"She had messed up the little plastic piece, and looking up, with an exasperated sigh, she said, 'ah, Fuck!'. It was in a totally appropriate context, I mean, if you're looking to use fuck in context, this was the place. That's one of the reasons I figured we should talk it out. It wasn't like she just randomly threw it in conversation. She used it appropriately. Our kid already knows how to curse the right way." he finished, nodding his head the same way he did when he came into the room a few minutes before.

"Well, I guess I should be proud, right? She's pretty damn smart then, right?" I sighed.

"Ah, we all mess up, and I'll be honest. It's kind of nice seeing that this is pretty much all your fault. You're not a perfect parent after all." he says.

I'm nodding now as I say, "hardly the case of perfect parenting here. Sucky mom, that's what I am!"

He leans over and wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "Not a sucky mom" he says, "just one with a potty mouth".

Linking up with Erica M, and the best little blogger challenge:  Yeah Write.

Not to be Modest....

How often do we really take the time to celebrate those things for which we are good? Often, it's lists of things we need to improve or work on, (Hello New Year's Resolutions?).

Mommy Padawan offered this topic for Monday Listicles. She actually suggested two topics: gave us an option of writing a LIST ABOUT THINGS WE ARE GOOD AT or THINGS WE WOULD DO IN 48 HOURS WITH UNLIMITED MONEY AND RESPONSIBILITIES. 


Initially I was drawn to option two, with ideas of dining out, refurbishing our home, and a sit down with Martha Stewart, but I felt option one was the better. 



Not to be modest, but there are a few things I place myself in the exceptional category, and so I offer:

A List of Things For Which I Am Exceptional

1. I plan kick ass parties. 

Just look at the pictures: Sunshine, Pirate, Winter Wonderland, & Wizard of Oz. Our wedding was quite the fete and I'm currently immersed in Bridal Shower prep for my sister.

Speechless, right? 

From what I'm told and the parts I remember, our wedding was pretty fun. 

2. I can parallel park and drive backwards with ease. 

My dad was smart. When it was time for me to learn to drive, he passed the buck onto my mother. She grew up in a row house which was situated on a road classified as an alley. Navigating and parking a car was an adventure, and in turn she became quite the mistress of parallel parking and driving backwards. She passed her knowledge to my siblings as well as me. 

While my dad still struggles with parallel parking, the three of us are pretty damn good at it. 

Thanks Mom! 

3. I make cute kids.

Grant it, Bry had some hand in this one, but I'd like to think, since I birthed them and sustained their life for another 13 months breastfeeding, I can take most of the credit. 

4. I have a pretty accurate internal clock. 

I could, for all intensive purposes, remove the alarm clock from our bedroom because in the event I need to wake at a specific time, I will, within ten minutes prior. 

5. I can swim. 

It will be twenty-seven years in September, the first time I swam competitively. I still get in the water, and do at least 2500 yards twice a week. While it's nothing compared to my prime (see photo below) I still believe I could beat most people in a race. 

6. I can write. 

I know I'm not in the Pulitzer category, but I do realize that when I write here from the heart, I get a great response from those in my life, both in the cyber world and the real one. 

7. I am good with other people's kids. 

This is in reference to my former job as a first grade teacher. 

8. I remember things.

Kids' names, play date locations, who wore what to which event: those bits of information permeate my long term memory. If Bry ever does decide to run for Political Office, I know I'll be an awesome partner, whispering names into his ear. 

9. I can read quickly. 

I don't know if this is a good thing all the time, but being an avid reader, it does come in handy. I learned to read quickly during my short tenure at Catholic School with some individualized film strip quick reading program, and it has only helped me throughout my time in school and beyond. 

10. I am social.  

I rarely get nervous at events where I don't know anyone. I have no problem speaking to new people. Bry just might disagree and say I am too social, in that I have no problem speaking to new people anywhere- restaurants, sporting events, or even the line at the grocery store. 

I'm just nice, and I like to talk. 

What about you? What are your Ten?

Link up!

Parrrrty Day!

I have blogged about my excess, that purely neurotic goal I have set for myself to out do myself.

I have teased my loyal readers with a little list of my insanity. 

And, most recently I have shared the turmoil that ensued that morning, which earned me sympathies and applause alike.

What I have yet to disclose, is the actual party itself.

That is, until now.

From the people who brought you A Sunshiny Music Party and A Somewhere Over the Rainbow Celebration, in cooperation with Ashley Pierce Photography, Bryan's tolerance level, Pinterest, and the blog, Not Wifezilla, I proudly present:

Moira's Fourth Pirate Parrrrty

Setting the stage for the event, patches, streamers, and bunting took over the rooms. Meanwhile, shirts and jeans were traded in for, jackets, hats, eye patches, and even a wig! 

Our Entry Way

Black, Red, & White streamers & bunting

Rowdy our stuffed Pirate Dog

Happy Birthday Moira Banner

 My Girls in their Pirate Costumes

Even Grammy with the bracelets found her Pirate costume!

Uncle Joe-Joe, Popsie & the Birthday Girl

Activities

As the guests received their Pirate Hats, and spy glass, they sat down to create their own Pirate Treasure Map. Next, it was time for Pin the Patch on the Pirate. 

Spy glasses & Make your own Treasure Map

Maeve's turn to Pin the Patch on the Pirate


After a lunch of hamburgers, hot dogs, and various chips and fruit, our Pirates headed outside for

Game Time

Off they ran

 Gold in the Sand

Each child dug through the sand looking for 10 coins, 1 ring, and 1 bouncy ball. 

Go Fish!

Our Pirates took turns using their poles to catch some fish. 

Even I took a turn fishing!

Walk the Plank

Those brave souls tested their balance as they walked across the plank

Jump if You Dare

What's a kid party without a moon bounce? 

Dessert Time

Before long, it was time for Happy Birthday!

Cannonballs (malt balls) 

Devil's Food with Buttercream

Chocolate coated marshmallows, some with graham crackers, others with M&M's

Oreo Cupcakes with Oreo Cream Cheese Icing
At the request of the Birthday Girl

Daddy helping out the birthday girl 

 Final Treasure Hunt

As one last activity, my brother AKA the ultimate Pirate, led all the other pirates on a scavenger hunt, collecting clues they headed from the powder room sink, to the bathroom tub, then the mailbox, sliding board, and as a finale, they discovered their final bounty back on the front porch. 

Cap'n Joe-Joe and his first clue
He made a fabulous host for this final event. and
I do believe he is available for hire in the greater Philadelphia area

Reading the clue to his audience

Mo holding clue #3, sending the group to the SLIDE!

And they're back to the front porch where they find the treasure!

Eagerly they discover their booty,
Goodie bags for each pirate.
Inside two ring pops, two candy necklaces, three gold strands of beads, three Pirate tattoos, and a pack of fruit snacks.
Hopefully it was just enough candy to keep the parents on my good side.
I searched online for pirate names, and in turn each gift bag featured their new name.
They included: Horrible Harper Hughes, Red Legged Raegan, and First Mate Shiny Maeve

 What a fabulous parrrty! 

After all the hullabaloo and craziness these past few weeks, (okay months), I feel it is only appropriate I link up with Yeah Write. I do believe this may be the first party submission!
Perhaps I'll start a trend? 

As always, click over and read these fabulous bloggers, and please vote for your favorites on Thursday. 

Also Linking up with 5 Minutes for Mom's Ultimate Blog Party 2012

Ridiculously Out of Control

"I'm just not looking forward to today", he says between deep sighs. Bry is leaning against the sink in the kitchen, while I sit looking through the doorway, at the expansive dining room table, various pirate related material at my fingertips.

It is nine o'clock, the morning of Moira's fourth birthday. Between running around making last minute goodie bag additions, I am navigating my to-do list to the best of my ability. His words and the disgusted look on his face stop me dead in my tracks.

"What are you talking about?" I mutter, lifting my eyes from the gluing to the living room where the girls sit, their own eyes glued to the television. Gesturing to our daughter, I continue, "It's Mo's fourth birthday! How can you be anything but excited? She's thrilled!"

On cue, she focuses her attention to us and chimes in, "I'm so excited for my Pirate party today!".

"Me too, baby!" I squeal. "Me too!"

Putting the glue stick down, I shuffle hesitantly into the kitchen.

"You just don't get it" he starts, "You do all this shit. Plan this party for what, months? You're the freaking ring master here, while I get to be the labor. Seriously, what do I do this whole party? Run around like a madman. Cooking shit on the grille, setting up all these ridiculous games outside, then cleaning them all up. I never get to enjoy these parties, while everyone tells you how wonderful they are. I've been dreading this since the moment I woke up."

Stunned, his words hit me like a swift blow to the gut.

"Are you fucking serious?" I ask. "You decide to tell me this the morning of the freaking party, not over the past few weeks while I was planning."

He looks up, as our eyes meet.

Those green eyes tell me everything, a result of sixteen years together. I know he is down.  He doesn't need to say another word, but instead he goes on.

"You seriously just don't get it. You are so fucking selfish. Look at the pictures from the past parties, Jac. Where am I? I think Maeve's party this year was the first one where I'm actually in photos, and that was just luck."

I am flabbergasted, confused, and mad

What can I say?

In three hours my house will be filled with friends and family.
In three hours I will be the happy hostess as we celebrate my Mo's fourth birthday.
In three hours my backyard will house a moon bounce.
In three hours Bry will be manning the grill.
In three hours we need to get our shit together.

What should I say?
What is the right thing to say in a moment like this?

I choose to say nothing.

"I've got to go add sand to the sandbox, and then set up the Walk the Plank. I just want you to realize how out of control this shit gets. I mean, really? Do you think anyone else does this crap? She's four not fourteen. She doesn't need half this shit. Seriously, it would be nice to not have to do anything." he finishes, leaving me in the kitchen with my thoughts.

The rest of the morning flies by in a blink as we respectively finish our to-do list just as our guests arrive at noon. The party goes on without a hitch, as our Pirates craft, eat, run, jump, fish, balance, and dig their little hearts out.

It is a success, but those words resonant through my brain even as the compliments start rolling in via texts, emails, and facebook status updates.

Am I selfish? 

Am I out of control? 

Am I ridiculous? 

Yes. I am. 

The problem with Bryan's argument however is that he thinks I should be upset by this, and over the course of the party, I realized that I am not. 

I cannot be upset, because this crazy, out of control, ridiculous person I am with my children is genetic. 

Don't believe me?

Consider the following evidence:

This is Mo, my brother, and my father at Moira's party. 

Yes, my brother in eye liner and a wig, while my father is in the eye patch and my mom's white blouse. 

This is who I am. 

I am the daughter of the man who would stand in line for an hour at Busch Gardens so we could ride Alpine Geist. 

I am the daughter of the woman who when I asked for a swimming cake for my birthday, figured out that using my trophies as swimmers, and lifesaver candies as lane lines would make a fairly good representation of a competition pool. 

I am the sister to the man who dressed up as Buzz Lightyear for Halloween last year because he thought his third graders would enjoy it. 

I am the sister to the woman who forgoes sleep to bake brownies for the nurse's birthday at the office where she is a pediatrician. 

I am the woman who plans ridiculous, time consuming, over the top parties, because this is the only way I know how to do things. 

It's in every fiber of me to get giddy over celebrations, to search for the perfect favors, to bake cupcakes and dip marshmallows in melted chocolate, to plan parties like this one. 

This is who I am.

And I can't be sorry for that. 

I can, however, realize that my out of control planning does affect the people around me, primarily Bry. He is right to extent, that I don't need to do all the activities I think. 

Editing has never been my strong suit. 

However, I did make sure this year that when it was time to sing Happy Birthday, Bryan was immediately at my side behind the birthday girl as she blew out her candles. 

Our girl is four, her party was a success, and this year I realized that I don't have to do it all.  

Hopefully I remember that in January when Maeve's third birthday comes around. 

Linking up with Shell of Things I Can't Say

And because it's Wednesday, linking up with the best little Blog Link up around, Yeah Write #51

In conclusion, this post won me, from the Yeah Write Duchess herself, Erica M.

Almost time to Parrrrrty!

Did someone ask for a Pirate Party?

The only evidence thus far is as follows:  

1. A woman is running around the house maniacally decorating 

2. The same woman is covered in flour as she attempts to do her all of own baking

3. Two children are scurrying around aimlessly, almost unsupervised, including one incident with the bathroom sink. 

 4. Amazon left an abnormally large box on the front steps yesterday after same crazy woman discovered it would be more economical to purchase a bounce house than rent one

5. Upon arrival home each night, the man continues to shake his head in disbelief of what said woman has thus far accomplished. 

6. This is what happens when the woman dedicates an entire Pinterest board for Pirate Party Planning:

Shiver me timbers, T-Minus two days until our Pirate Parrrrrty!