To potty train or not to potty train...

Yeah, it is probably over due time that I potty train Quincy. I mean, she is perfectly capable, but admittedly, I have been unable to bring myself to start. I was trying to wait and take my cues from her, but...she's really indifferent to the whole thing. So, I decided to go ahead and take the plunge whether I am ready for this or not. My wonderful mother said I should be philosophical about it. I said, "Oh! A new blog topic." I don't think she was amused, so I will do my best to be philosophical and possibly even funny about it. I need to find the humor in it because a half day and five pairs of panties later...I need to find some humor.

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Can we pretend that the one time she went potty in the potty she was excited? She wasn't. She looked at me like, "WHAT WAS THAT?!", shuttered and asked if she could play yet.

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Her first accident this morning, she looked at the puddle, then at me, said "Gross" and ran off to play. Notice a theme yet?

Oh, Q. I will apologize now for giving you a reason to see a therapist (my mom BLOGGED about my potty training!), but I assure you, kiddo, the hilarity that is about to ensue will be because we are about to see how truly terrible I am at this. I will probably apologize several times in your life for you having to be the kid I experiment everything on. Thank goodness you are such a good kid with an amazing ability to bounce back from my never-ending mistakes. So, kid. It's you and me and the potty. We got this.

Jennifer and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

With thanks and compliments to Judith Viorst who wrote Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

I went to bed way too late with too much on my mind and when the two-year-old climbed into my bed at 5am she smashed my face with her knee and then I couldn't fall back asleep and the one-year-old woke up screaming which isn't normal and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

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At breakfast no one wanted to eat and cereal ended up all over the floor and banana ended up all over the baby's head and my breakfast shake half melted before I could even take a drink and every time I stepped away from the table to get the two-year-old something new both girls yelled or screamed until I came back.

I think I'll move to Jamaica.

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At the doctor, the wait was long, the reality was frightening and the delivery rushed. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

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I could tell because upon my return home the babies were fussy. Nap time came late. The girls didn't sleep as long as usual, and they both woke up on the wrong side of the bed or crib. My husband claimed he "forgot" to call me on his way to an important meeting and had me worried that something was seriously wrong.

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Picked up the house to have the girls drag out every toy again. This is fine, but then I walked into the back playroom to discover melted ORANGE  Popsicle on the carpet, and the tile and the dining chairs. Dried orange Popsicle from morning snack.

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Then everyone wanted to know how my doctor's appointment went, and I didn't want to talk about it but I did and everyone seemed to have an opinion about what I should or should not do and while I am sure that comes from a place of love and concern, it really just feels like no one trusts me to make my own decisions for my own life and I really hate being told what to do and how to do it and why to do it. This happens a lot lately from people who know and love me and people who have no idea who I am. Someday my life will be my own again. Until then,

I think I'll move to Bermuda.

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There was spaghetti for dinner and I love spaghetti, but I couldn't eat it. There was Denver Broncos football on TV, and I love the Broncos, but we had to watch Curious George instead.

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Bedtime came. We completed our routine. Bedtime went. Two little girls cried and cried and cried. I snuggled and played and pleaded and lay on their bedroom floor. I begged and threatened and cried too. Around 1am, they both finally screamed themselves out. Then I cried myself into a stupor and drifted off to sleep.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Some days are like that.

Even in Colorado.

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Powderhorn 2013

As you may or may not have gathered, there is a tradition amongst the Mahan family to travel to the Powderhorn Ski Resort over Labor Day Weekend to relax together. Last year, we didn't make it for the first time in a really long time. This was due to multiple babies being due close to the usual weekend. We had a nice June family function in Denver last year, but it just wasn't the same.

This year, at least a small some of us were able to make the trip for our usual weekend. It was a small group. Really small, but it was so good to get away. As usual, turning into the long drive leading up to the condos, my jaw loosened, my grip became less white knuckle, and I am pretty sure my heartbeat evened and slowed a bit. I love this place. More importantly, I love the people with whom I share this place. Just some pictures from the trip!

Quincy practicing for her future career as a librarian. 

We went early to avoid traffic, so we got to go and visit Gramma at her library. For those who do not know, my mom runs the library at one of the elementary schools in Montrose, and she ROCKS at her job.

A little light reading! 

Heaven on Earth!

Celebrated Kelli's 22nd Birthday--which isn't until 9/11

Dad and I might have put all 22 candles on one cupcake. It was a fire hazard. Hilarious, but a hazard.

My awesome parents

The Newlyweds

Sisters...book ends of the Mahan clan.

Watching the light change from the top of the Grand Mesa

Me and my babies

Momma and Q

Momma and T

Dad and me

Mom and me

Blessed to live in this place!