14 days.

This came in the mail last Thursday:

A friendly little reminder that the only thing traveling faster than light is time.

Four years. Zap, bam, boom. Gone. My baby's heading off to kindergarten next year. As a working mom, I wonder how I will feel on his first day of school. Will it be any harder than handing him over to a stranger for 10 hours a day at four months old? Peeling him off my legs every morning for two months straight after a childcare transition? Listening to him scream my name as I walked down the hallway and back out to my car for a quick cry before heading off to work?

Last night as I snuggled with him before bed, Calvin asked if he had to go to school again today. I said yes, and he said "I don't want to go to school tomorrow! Can't we just stay home for 14 days?"

That kindergarten letter hit me hard. But it was nothing compared to the wave of grief I felt hearing him ask "can't we just stay home for 14 days?" Because, no. We can't. We can't stay home for 14 days this month or next month or any month in the near future. We can't stay home for 14 days while you're small and needn't be anywhere but home, and I'm not sure we'll be able to stay home 14 days when you're big and off for summer vacation and all your friends are home, either. Your mom works, so…no. We can't stay home. And it breaks my heart, because I know how much of your childhood I'm missing. How much we're asking of you to spend 10 hours a day somewhere other than your home with people other than your family. How unfair it is for you to have a school schedule before you've even reached school age. I know you don't want to go to school tomorrow, buddy. I wish you didn't have to.

I didn't say that. I hugged him tight and told him I understood, that I don't like Mondays either, and that I wished we could spend 14 days at home together because that would be so much fun. I sang to him, prayed with him, kissed him goodnight. And then I went downstairs and watched last week's Grey's Anatomy. The main storyline? How much it sucks to be a working mom.

Does it ever.

I know I'm a good mom. My kids are loved and treasured and safe and happy and we make the most of the time we have together. I work because my family needs me to and because I (mostly) like to, and I try not to feel guilty about that.

But sometimes? Sometimes it just sucks.

Driven to insanity.

We are insane, you guys.

INSANE.

Our dear, lovely friend April got married in Detroit the weekend before last, and we decided to drive.

To Detroit.

With our children.

To Detroit.

With our children.

Like I said, insane.

It was a whirlwind 1,400 mile, four and a half day adventure, but we survived. (Barely, at times.) And it was totally worth it. My children got to experience some memorable road trip moments, like eating sandwiches and Cheetos out of the back of the car on a dirt road. April got her happily ever after. And I got to spend time with my best friends, whom I miss every day.

Jeggings and tiny toes in the backseat.

The dirt road where we had lunch in Michigan.
As far as eating on dirt roads goes, I think we could have done much worse.

My cuties.

Roughing it.

Pre-wedding, post hair and makeup.

Baby Hutch attempting his escape.

My sisters (from other mothers).

With the beautiful bride...and the Hutchster.

Snackin' it up at the kids table.

Checking out her leg bows. Or maybe her gold sparkly jelly shoes?

Fun mama.

Ben and Jackson kept tackling each other.
Cal didn't know what to do, so he just ran around them.

Mama and her Bub. I forget how freckly I am sometimes.

Hooter Hiding.

Powow.

Cal making a very Cal face.

My kids opted-out because one was difficult and one was asleep.
I'll let you guess who's who in that scenario.

Beautiful bride and sleepy baby.

This nice, normal moment quickly turned into

...something a little less nice and normal.
We might be old and toting around babies, but we can still bust a move, yo.

April and those sweet DeKorne girls. They are the cutest.

Gang's all here. A miracle, for sure.

Tired mamas in formal earrings with night owl babies.

11 kids, ages 5 months to 7 years. Two moms, ages ??

I loved every minute of being with my friends and I wouldn't have missed April's wedding for the world. It was so much fun.

But, oh, was I ever glad to get home. Next time we are definitely flying.

Light.

What a summer, you guys. And I don't mean that in a good way. For one thing, until last week it was about a zillion degrees with 300% humidity here. July was gross, and we spent most of it indoors. Which is slightly less than ideal when one of your two children has enough energy to fuel a rocket and you're the kind of mom who doesn't like having a messy house.

For another, most of the summer has been spent with one of us at work and one of us at home. Nate and I haven't seen much of each other, our kids haven't seen much outside the four walls of our house, and we have only seen the pool TWICE, which is a real travesty in my opinion.

Finally, we've taken three trips this summer. Two of the three were to funerals, the most recent of which was for Nate's beloved Grandma Adele.

This probably goes without saying, but extreme heat, opposite schedules, and burying people you love does not an awesome summer make.

June and July: good riddance to you both.

But August? Well, August is looking pretty darned good.

This past weekend it was in the 70s. The 70s! Do you know how good the 70s feels after weeks and weeks and months (ok, exaggerating just a bit) of 90s? Really good. REALLY REALLY GOOD. Calvin got to play outside at home and go to the park twice. We had a picnic last night. Audra went on the swings for the first time. I could breathe without my inhaler and my hair wasn't of Monica-in-Barbados proportions. It was perfection.

Also, Nate starts a new job next week. A new job during regular business hours. This probably means very little to anyone who doesn't know us well, but our families, close friends and anyone else who has ever tried to make plans with us can attest to the magnitude of this news. Eleven years of crazy hospital schedules and multiple jobs and never seeing each other is about to become evenings, weekends, and holidays together as a family. I can't even fathom how this is going to change our lives. There are some negatives, of course — next Monday I'm returning to work full time, Calvin's returning to preschool full time, and Audra's starting daycare full time. I won't lie: I'm brokenhearted about those changes. But I know the trade-off — a normal schedule that includes time for our family, each other, and our friends — will be worth it.

Finally, I get to see my besties in two weeks, because our dear friend April is getting married in Detroit! The five of us haven't been together in nearly two years, and this will be the first time we've had all of our husbands and kids together. And when I say together, I mean together...eight adults and 11 kids in one house for two days. It's going to be a little crazy and a lot of fun and I can't wait to see their sweet faces and hug them all tight.

So, hooray for August and all it will bring. I feel like there is finally, FINALLY, a light at the end of this long, hot, craptastic summer tunnel. And just beyond that light, well...I'm pretty sure there are cooler temps and a pumpkin spice latte waiting for me.

I'm so ready.

Inevitable.

Well, I knew it was coming. At some point. Seems no parent can escape it.

I just can't believe all it took was one time, one silly lapse in judgement while my hands were full with Audra.

Friends warned me about its addictive nature, but I didn't listen. And given the number of requests I've been fielding since then, I have a feeling I will come to regret that deeply.


At least it's not Barney.

I guess.

Sweater weather.

I look at this, and I just want to sit down on the floor and cry.


I don't want to cry because the humidity is 83% (my hair looks awesome, btw) or because it's going to storm all day today (don't mind that a bit, actually). I want to cry because I am so. sick. of. summer.

Upper eighties and sun every day for the foreseeable future? Waaaaaaaaaaaah!

I hate being hot. The only thing I hate more is the thought of being stuck in an elevator or constricted in some way (just a tad claustrophobic over here). Being hot is gross. Frizzy (or, in my case, frizzier) hair, sweaty skin, sticky clothes...blegh. Unless I am parked in a chair next to the ocean or a pool, I don't want anything to do with heat.

So, I think we can all agree it's a good thing I live in Minnesota. Although — you may want to sit down for this — Minnesota summers get hot. And really, really humid. Contrary to popular belief, we do not spend our summers wearing snow pants and scraping ice off our car windshields. We spend it sweating in shorts, just like the rest of you.

Minnesotans — They're Just Like Us!

Between hot and cold, I prefer cold. When you're cold, you don't sweat. Your hair might be dried out, but it doesn't look like you just put your hand on one of those electricity ball things. Your (okay, my) pasty white skin remains covered at all times. And when the cold becomes unbearable, you simply add another layer. Whereas with heat...well, you can only get so naked.

I enjoy the early months of summer. June is lovely here, early July is tolerable. But by the time mid to late July rolls around, I'm over it. I'm dreaming about fall — crisp leaves, pumpkin scented candles, brisk air. I'm ready to go shopping for new jeans and sweaters. I'm ready to light a fire in the fireplace I wish we had. I'm ready for — dare I say it? — a little bit of snow.

Yeah, no. I shouldn't have said that. Because before I know it, the forecast is going to look a lot like this again.

Oh, Minnesota. I have such a love/hate relationship with you.

Is there a state where it's always fall?

Copay.

Most years I have a hard time using up the money in my health savings account. This year we've already used it all up, and it's only March 1.

Three weeks ago, Nate went to the doctor on a Friday afternoon with back pain, was told it was muscular, and was sent home with a mild muscle relaxer. By Saturday night he was in severe pain and unable to get up. We took him to the ER at 5am on Sunday morning where he was diagnosed with a bulging disk and sciatica. He was pumped full of morphine and sent home with muscle relaxers, steroids, and pain pills.

That same weekend, Calvin and I both came down with colds. After a week of dealing with constant snot flow and a very irritable baby, we took Calvin to the doctor. She said he was fine, just teething and crabby from the cold. He seemed to get better, but then this weekend he came down with a cough, and yesterday he woke up with a very high fever and was wheezing. So again, we headed for the ER at 5am on a Sunday morning. He has a sinus infection, which antibiotics have helped greatly in the last 24 hours. And he finally cut that tooth this morning, thank heavens. Poor baby was so sick, but so sweet in his little hospital gown. The nurse said he was her first patient in a 12-hour shift, and she was certain he'd be her cutest patient all day. :)

I've been sick off and on since I had The Swine in October. I get better, I get worse. I got much worse this weekend, and ended up going to urgent care yesterday after Nate convinced me I might have pneumonia. The doctor took one quick listen to my lungs and thought the same. Two chest x-rays later, I was diagnosed with a sinus infection, a respiratory infection, and asthma. (ASTHMA? I'm almost 31! I thought that was a diagnosis most people got in elementary school.) So now I'm on antibiotics and steroids, and have my very first inhaler.

So...yeah. Good times at the Breyer household. Here's hoping that two visits to the emergency room, two visits to the doctor, a trip to urgent care, and seven prescriptions are all it takes for us to be a healthy family again.

Give peas a chance.

I think peas are disgusting. They are the only vegetable I cannot, will not, eat. I was forced to eat them as kid, as was every kid, and I've tried them numerous ways as an adult. I'm an adventurous eater, but it doesn't matter how they are prepared. Hate them. HATE THEM. Gag.

Nate, of course, loves them. So we were curious to see how Calvin would like them. I was certain he'd think they were disgusting. Mushed up baby food peas? Couldn't be anything worse (except maybe those Gerber stage 2 meats).

He scarfed that container down. And every subsequent one, too. Nate gloated, visions of father/son bonding over heaping plates of hot peas dancing in his head.

I was a little put out, as I was hoping for an ally in my fight against the nasty green buggers. Just as Nate swore he'd never make his kids eat beets, I swore I'd never make them eat peas. I wasn't counting on them wanting to eat peas.

So, imagine my delight when I gave Calvin regular old steamed peas on Saturday night, and got this reaction:



And moments later, he tried this old trick:














Which, when it comes to peas, I will totally let him get away with.

Oink.

I'm not entirely sure what I've been dealing with for the past SEVENTEEN days, but there are some theories that include swine flu. That's what the doctors who wouldn't let me come to their offices said it sounded like, and what my husband the healthcare worker has been telling everyone I have. So, fine. Swine flu it is.

Pigs 1, Abby 0.

Thanks to this lovely (and beautifully named) virus, which I still think was just the worst cold of my life and not H1N1, there has been very little fun in the Breyer household for the past two weeks. Unless you consider obsessive hand washing and surface sanitizing to be a barrel of laughs. I don't, but they certainly are effective in halting the spread of disease — Nate and Calvin are both healthy. Which is hard to believe given the severity of my symptoms, the smallness of our house, and the amount of time I spend caring for my child. (Thank you, God and Lysol!)

Today I'm back to work with little more than a headache and a lingering cough. Glad to be on the mend — hopefully we'll be back to having fun again very soon. But, until then, here is an eight-second video of Calvin and Matilda to tide you over.