Ohhhh Sundays.  We have 11:00 church and I still have yet to be there on time.  Erik has meetings Sunday mornings starting at 8.  So I have to get myself ready, and the 3 little kiddos.  That includes breakfast for all 3, a snack for 2, and a bottle and nap for one, all before leaving.  Erik comes home after meetings then usually goes ahead with the two older boys, and Em and I have to catch up.  Maybe one day I'll figure out how to make it work (I hear other people do…like LOTS of other people…) but for right now I am still struggling with being nice and happy or at the very least, tolerable, and making it to church only "fashionably" late, without an anxiety attack or biting anyones head off.

Anyway, one morning Erik must have thought our boys particularly handsome while I was upstairs putting the finishing touches on myself.  I found he had taken these pictures only when I uploaded the camera to my computer.  I always like finding little surprises like that.  I sure do love these goobers.

The following picture definitely deserves an explanation.  And if I had one, I would most certainly tell you . . .

1: I am the only SAHM who lives in Utah County and doesn't know how to use a fancy camera. Or Photoshop.

2: Emmett can't sit on his own.

3: Owen can't sit still.

4: Samuel can't smile without looking like he's in pain.

And thusly, 5: It is impossible to get three children looking decent in one picture.

It sure was an adventure trying, though!

We almost might have gone with one of these, but that leads me to number 6: I'm too lazy.

Merry Christmas from the Briggs!

My poor little boys.  One day I will feel well enough to get off this couch for more than a half hour at a time.  Erik asked me the other night, “How much longer are you going to feel like this?”  I think they’re all pretty done being forgiving and patient.  Well, I’m pretty done puking and feeling like crap all day every day and watching my whole family suffer because of it.  For whatever that’s worth.  Bleh.

I sat at the kitchen table trying to make it through by holding my head up, chin in hand.  Owen thought he would give it a try.  Erik took a picture.  Sam, not to be left out, “How about me, I can do it, too!

Breakfast one morning.  Frosted Flakes from the box.  On the sofa.  While watching TV.  I’m awesome.

And one night I made them (ALL of them, so I could puke in peace for 15 minutes) go out in 8 degrees to get me a mint oreo ice cream.

It’s kind of been a rough month.  Bleh.  Good thing I’ve got a trooper and a champ for sons, and a patient forgiving husband.  They’re my heroes.

On Tuesday, September 7, Samuel had his very first day of preschool.  Over the summer, we found a great place called Ventures in Preschool, with Ms. Laura, who I think is going to be the perfect match for our spunky Sam.  He has been beyond excited to start school, and talked about it for weeks on end.  He would wake up every morning and ask if he got to go to school that day.  When the first day finally came, Samuel was pretty disappointed that it was only an hour long Meet and Greet, and the mommys got to hang around.  He told me several times, “Mom, you can go now.”

About to pee his pants with excitement, and not about to pose for a picture. 

Sam spent Wednesday and Thursday morning talking about school and reminding me that I wasn’t going to come in this time, I was going to go back home with Owen and come get Sam later when he was all done.  When we pulled up, I opened my door to help Sam out, but he had already unbuckled and was half way out the door telling me, “Mom, get back in the car.  I’m going to school by myself.  I don’t need you.  I’m fine!”

First official day.  What a handsome.  Mom was smart enough this time to take pictures before leaving home.

So these last few weeks of school have been great.  Samuel enjoys it so much, and he gets excited for each day.  Last week for his first Show and Tell, he had to bring something that started with the letter A.  After some suggestions, he decided he would bring his big airplane.  He wasn’t super duper excited, and kept asking if he could bring other things but none of them started with A.  Then he said, “Can I bring a dinosaur?”  Ah ha!  “Well Sam, dinosaur doesn’t begin with the letter A, but can you think of a kind of dinosaur that begins with A?”  He thought.  I said a few that didn’t start with A to get him thinking some more.  Then he shouted, “Ankylosaurus!!!”  And that he was excited about!  He ran upstairs, grabbed his ankylosaurus (you know, the one with the club tail) and tried to bring his velociraptor, too.  Anyway, it was cute.  Samuel is already prepared to bring his soccer b-b-b-Ball for the letter B later this week.

I don’t know how my baby grew up so fast.  I don’t think I’m a clingy or protective mom.  But it’s been very strange to think that for 3 hours 2 days a week, I don’t know what’s going on in my little boy’s life.  Of course I get the full report, but I’m not there.   I can’t quite explain it.  It’s just very weird and I’m still getting used to it.  But Samuel is loving it.  He is learning, growing, and happy.  So Mom better start cutting those apron strings.  After all, Sam is almost 4.  He doesn’t need me anymore.  He’s just fine.

Yesterday Owen got his first hair cut.  His poor little head of hair was just so uneven and his baby hairs (the few still left) would stick straight up with crooked little ends.  When we cut Samuel’s hair for the first time at 10 months, it was good riddance to a big ol’ mess of hair and I was glad to do it.  But when Erik took this scissors and just SNIPPED that first little wing off, I almost cried.  It’s still pretty sad to see my baby walking around with his big boy haircut.  I miss his Bubba J’s little wings.  But I’m sure I’ll get over it.

Content with a popsicle . . . for now!  Sam came running over demanding a popsicle, too, so I said Ok, you’re getting your hair cut, too?  Sam ran away and didn’t ask again.

The wings, and the 12 super long baby hairs still on top of his head.  All the rest of his hair is about 1/2 an inch long.

Just helping Daddy out.

He thought he was done, but Dad wanted a couple more pictures.  So sad.  And nope, not a close cut above the right ear, he’s just completely bald there.  Told you he has a sad little head of hair.

Handsome little head.

Handsome little head trying to eat a shoe.

Not too scarred afterall.  He just might survive.

Oh this 3 year old of mine!  Boy, how he and I butt heads.  He is probably my biggest trial right now.  Besides telling me “NO!” 672 times a day (most often while stomping his foot and shaking his fist at me) he tells me to “Move it” “Get out of my way” “Stop that” “I can’t” “Freakin’” and my favorite, “No, YOU [insert whatever I just told him to do].”  I am still trying to figure out the most (or even AN) effective way to deal with all of Samuel’s SASS!!!   

A few cases in point.

The other morning we were heading outside for a bike ride and walk.  I remembered I needed to grab something from upstairs, so I told Sam to hang on for just a sec.  He stood by the door and shouted, “No!  We are going outside right now!  Five . . . four, three, two, one.  That’s it, you’re on time out.”

Driving home from a doctor’s appointment in Provo, Samuel was looking out the window.  We had the following coversation.  “Mom, I see a big X on the mountain.”  “You know, that’s actually the letter Y, but I see it, too, and that was smart to notice it’s a letter.”  “That’s very naughty, Mom, you have to go on a time out.”  “What?  What’s naughty?”  “That’s very naughty you put that big Y up there, you should not do that.  Now you have to go on time out and sit on the naughty stool and I turn on the timer until you’re really really finished.”  “Samuel, it’s not naughty that the Y is there, and besides, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”  “Well you tell Daddy not to color with his crayons on the mountain.  It’s very naughty.”

And today, after 5 hours of being away from home playing and shopping and eating, we pulled into the garage.  Samuel was begging to go play in the backyard.  I explained that we needed to go inside and feed Owen, and go to the bathroom, and rest.  Sam got more and more worked up because he wanted to play outside, and I wouldn’t give in.  Clearly he’d had enough of the argument, and knew exactly how to end it in his favor as he shouted at me, ”You don’t get to tell me NO!” 

Oh boy oh boy oh boy.  Yes, the sass is bad, but even worse is the fact that every sassy thing he says, he heard it from me first.  Lesson learned . . . or at least, learning.

We have been so icky sick around here for almost a month now.  Coughs, colds, sore throats, fevers, and snotty snotting snotters.  One after the other.  We’ve been a pretty pathetic lot.  It’s hard on all of us.  But it might be hardest on Owen who can’t eat, can’t sleep, and can’t tell me what’s hurting him.  I hope this all clears out soon.  I’m starting to miss my happy little sugar pie.

It’s 10:00 pm.  Erik is still at work.  Samuel is still awake in his bed.  I still have dishes to do. 

We report to the hospital at 6:30 am for a 7:30 surgery.  Erik thinks it’s ridiculous we have to be there an hour early for a 15 minute surgery.  I’m think it’s good I won’t have all day to worry.  I am dreading walking away from Samuel, and picturing the nurses holding him down while he screams for Mommy and Daddy.

Myringotomy for tubes is the simplest most commonly performed surgery on children, both our pediatrician and ENT highly recommend it for Samule, the “recovery” is pretty much non-existent unless Sam gets a bit sick from the laughing gas, the results are immediate, and of course Erik and I would never make a decision like this without prayer.  I feel really confident that everything will go well and that this is what will be best for the Samster.