My little guy, well the biggest of my little guys, turns 4 tomorrow.
I can't even believe it. Where has the time gone?
Oh wait, I remember, I was pregnant 27 months out of the 38 months that are between my three boys.

But let me tell you what, I look like I took my sweet ole time.
I know at least two women who have me beat.
One has just 34 months between her oldest and youngest, and that's not all; she breastfed all three of them.

I was at one of my Mom to Mom events the other night and somehow the subject turned to breastfeeding, I don't know much about it, since I tried with my first a week before I said no thanks, formula is my friend.

All I know is that after one week of pain, and scabbed over nipples, I decided that it just wasn't my cup o tea. I'd rather give birth than breastfeed.

So these women were die hards, and I love that. Breast milk is the best thing for your child, and I fully support women in that choice.

This is dedication. This deserves an award. I believe we need a PURPLE BREAST AWARD, for all those women out there who have rolled over in the middle of the night, for the highway pumping moms, for the moms who have gone back to work and pump in the ladies room during their breaks. I mean really it's a well deserved award. Putting up with leakage, let down, engorgement, and all the other wonders of breastfeeding, all because they are dedicated to providing the very breast, I mean best.

Purple because yes, like the purple heart it takes courage to wield your breast in public to feed your young, and PURPLE, (as in black and blue).

So if you, or any woman you know deem yourself or another worthy of this award, write me (include your cup size please) and we'll get that breast right out to you. You can put it in it's rightful place, on your mantle, for all the world to see.

I'm feeling totally defeated. Actually I have been for about 2 months.
Ever since the death of my Aunt Louise. She did not just die. She was murdered and her killer is still out there.

It pretty frigging hard to go about your business as usual.
I want justice. I want to find this (I can't write the word I wish to use here, actually I can; look this up in the Dutch dictionary: KLOOTZAK) and put him in a rotten jail cell for the rest of his miserable life.

You know what is the queerest thing? You find yourself trying to come up with a bright side? You tell yourself all kinds of nonsense to make it more tolerable. Only it isn't.

It makes me wonder what I have done bringing kids into this world. I just really wish we could put all the rotten people on an island and blow it up.
Tonight that sounds absolutely ideal to me.

You know what is the worst part is, that there is not a single thing I can do. I want to make it go away. Sometimes I have an almost normal day and then bam... suddenly I'm thinking, oh yeah your aunt is DEAD!

I can promise you all this much: I will not rest until we get this scum of the earth, and put him away.

Just got back from family reunion. the boys were very well behaved and we had a potty training breakthrough.

Ruben, my oldest, who will be turning 4 in 18 days, has been able to pee on the pot successfully, but pooping had eluded him.

He has been wearing underwear for quite some time, yet he would just treat them like a diaper when it came to poop. Oh the fun.

So we started instituting a (clean your own underwear) policy. However that is not what did the trick. While we are not out of the woods yet, we can at least see the light at the end of the tunnel. Here's how it went: he ran out of underwear, so I ran to the store and grabbed some in his size.
I accidentally got boxers!

Guess what? The kid dances around with them and corrects anyone who calls them underwear. He says, "These are not underwear, they are boxers."
He adores them and does not wish to poop in them.
Who knew?

Actually one of my aunts did. When I came out of the bathroom, after Ruben had come to us and said he needed to poop, I was singing hallelujah,
one of my aunts turns to me and says, "oh yeah , if you want to get pregnant put your man in boxers, if you want to potty train your boy, put em in boxers."

Wish someone could have told me that about a year ago.
Oh well, I have two more boys waiting in the wings.