Mr. Sandman

Woah. Remember when Joey Lawrence used to say Woah? I do. That... was funny. I even had a Joey Lawrence doll that I used to keep wearing only his underwear and a leather jacket. Cuz that... was funny.

Anyway. I say "Woah" cuz I'm so tired. Are you? I am. In fact, I don't even want to write cuz I'm so tired. I just want to cuddle up in the family bed in between Effie and Celia and go to sleep, and have some weird dreams. Speaking of weird dreams, I'll never tell you how weird my dream was the other day cuz you'd have a heartattack. Alex on the other hand, thought it was hilarious.

As tired as I am, I can't help but think of my 5 blog followers "ahem.. cough cough, hint hint" (see below), and how much I want to please them and write a tad bit.

For the first time ever, Effie fell asleep just after I put her down, covered her up, and let my sister say "shhhh" to her for about 12 seconds. If you are a mommy, you know how amazing this can be after you usually either rock, nurse, sing, drive, stroller, or do whatever you can in all your power to put a kid to sleep. It was so nice. Thanks Cathie. She should go to bed at about 8 tomorrow night, so please get there a little early ok?
hehehehe.

Some of you may or may not know that weaning never really happened. Well, it did for about 3 weeks, then the little sucker was waking up at 5am wanting to chill out, read, eat, or whatever, and she wanted to do all those things with me OUT of the bed, so I said - "what the hell" and let the child have ze ze again. You should have seen her. She was SO happy.

Having a few hours more sleep really did me some good, and to my surprise the milk was not gone, but after another month, the little addict started to get a little coo coo for her ze ze, so I decided to wean again the other day before things got worse or more difficult. She was like a little crack head, getting all crazy and jittery and having anxiety attacks for it, and now - again, after a couple nights of peace and no more ze ze again, I vow to stand my guard. I even had a dream that someone I used to know said to me, "Sara! Stick to your guns" (when talking about weaning) So, I'll take that as a sign/message, and do so. Even though, it's a little sad when your kid grows up.

We asked her the other day if she was a baby or a big girl now, and she said "baby". The destructor would get mad if we called her a big girl. Oh well. I don't mind. I don't want her to grow up and get an attitude. It's already bad enough.

Besides all that fun stuff, another fun thing happened the other day. It was another Sunday, and Alex once again said "Let's go to the beach". This time, I didn't freak out, cuz I had food ready to go, we had a full tank of gas, and the children had eaten a proper breakfast, and I had an hour to prepare, so I plopped the kids on the couch with their babysitter "Clifford the Big Red Dog dvd#4" and packed up in no time.

It was too freakin windy at the beach. I mean, blow your children over, and get lots of sand in the eyes too windy - so we went to Malibu State Creek. Which was cool. If you haven't been there, you should go. But don't go on a Sunday, cuz very loud Central American Churchy groups go there to sing real loud at the creek, and they might ask you to join them.

Anyway, Celia and Effie had fun walking in the creek that was about 2 degrees warm, and then they stood in bike paths making sand castles, then we took a little walk, and then we ate some berries, and then we changed Effie's diaper on a tree stump, and then Effie fell asleep in my arms carrying her back to the car, and then Alex and Celia raced each other to the parking lot, and then Celia tripped and cut up her knees cuz God forbid the child ever wear pants - cuz princesses do not wear pants, but after all the blood she saw she said she can make an exception now and wear them when we are "hiking at the creek".

Needless to say, that was torture. Being a mom can really suck when you have to watch your kid scream bloody murder while her dad flushes dirt out of a deep, fleshy, nasty, dirty, dirt infested wound. Yuck. Yucky yuk yuk. Ewww. Yuckz. Nasty. Wakala. Fuchy. I pray that my kids never get a cut like that again. And if they do, I'll just let the emergency room handle it, even if it's a paper cut, cuz I'm not doing that again. No way. Well, if it does happen, maybe I'll run them over to my mom's house, cuz she's tough. I bet she can handle it. But no. Not me. Not again. No mre. Yuck.

OK. Enough again. I'll hit you cats up next week for more stories. Hopefully they are pleasant. But knowing "The Destructor" and my little princess, I'm not sure if they will be. But lets all hope.