Maybe I was born with it...

Today is has been a sun-shower day. One of those changeable days where the sky pours buckets, and then the sun comes out.  It's glorious, but it turns my world into a hot steam-bath.

Also mind-bogglingly metaphorical for my life right now, but perhaps I'll save that perusal for another post.

We were able to work in the garden this morning in fits and starts according to the will of our tiny mistress who currently dictates our daily routine, or lack thereof.  Yesterday, she was excessively demanding and needy, so today, I was just crazy to get out in the garden and move around according to my own will for a change.  However, Eleanor still wouldn't stay asleep in her bed for any length of time.  But whenever she was, or with her strapped to my chest in the baby carrier (hey, what's a little extra sweat?), we donned our boots and headed out into the sun and mud.

Ah, yes, it is challenging to maintain this level of high fashion.

Sometimes, pulling weeds can be so therapeutic.  Most of the time, actually.

Andrew was entertained for at least a solid 15 minutes trekking back and forth between me and the chicken run, carrying little handfuls of weeds to feed the chickens.  I was amazed at how cheerfully occupied he was, and I might have even been patting myself on the back a little for my mother-genius. Then I wasn't looking and he took his "help" in a different direction and pulled out eight cucumber plants.

Yesterday, Eleanor had a high-need day.  (And I try to remind myself when I get frustrated that a day is nothing when compared with months of high-need I faced with the boys as newborns.)

I couldn't seem to set her down for even a minute without immediate crying, until I set her on the floor by the train track.  She lay there quite happily for a good 10 minutes watching the little boys play.  Silly mommy, she just wanted to see something different and have a little fun for a change.

Of course, I didn't dare get very far away from her for fear she'd be trampled in a toddler-brawl or something.

She really loves a good, tight swaddle, but it's been so hot that she quickly develops a heat rash, even with a very light swaddle blanket.  So then I had another stroke of mother-genius:

I just pulled her arms inside her onesie.  It's not quite as good as a tight swaddle, but it has essentially the same effect and she calmed down quite a bit.

Nathan laughed when he saw her like that after he came home, but I just congratulated him on finding such a smart woman to be the mother of his children.

My other stroke of mother-genius (hey, I'm on a role, here) was yesterday when I might have sort of threatened Evan with No Birthday until he starts pooping in the toilet.  I'm so fed up with the poopy underpants routine and I've tried every trick in the book to no avail.  Desperate times, desperate measures, etc., so no birthday for you, kiddo.  It was a risky deal, for sure.  But he WANTS that cake.  He was really into the idea, so I said, "Hey, if you poop in the toilet, I will march straight to the kitchen and bake you a cake no matter what day it is!"

So.  Guess what we had today?  CAKE.  (Actually, brownies, but he doesn't know the difference.)  That's right, he nonchalantly went into the bathroom and took care of business all by himself.  Heck, he's probably just been waiting for me to "sweeten the deal" sufficiently.  "M&M's?" he thought to himself, "Nah.  I'm going to hold out for CAKE, baby."  Everyone has their price.

And it's a price I'm certainly willing to pay.  Hey, I got chocolate out of the deal, AND no poopy underpants.  We skyped Grandma to tell her the news and made a BIG deal out of being a big boy now.

And now that I've bragged it up on the internet, I'll await my great cosmic smackdown tomorrow.  Because every piece of mother-genius carries one.