Listen Internet, I know I’ve been a bit patchy with the posting lately and I have good reason. All will be revealed shortly, but in the meantime please be patient. Just know that soon I will need you all more than you know. And just to answer the most pressing question – no, I have not won the lottery or decided to leave my husband for David Beckham and move to LA. I know you were curious.

Next spring when all the wonderfully, romantic gardening commercials start to air will you please remind me how much I hate gardening. This way when June comes along I won’t be sitting here stewing about how much time and money I have invested in plants that have produced approximately a dozen strawberries.

Earlier this year I lamented on the fact that I have a black thumb but was pleasantly surprised by my sudden production of strawberries. (If you need a reminder, go here). My Cilantro plant is dead. Apparently Cilantro is NOT a tex-mex herb but is actually Asian, and as a result doesn’t like the heat and sun that I get in Texas. WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME THIS? My strawberries have struggled through two bouts of fungus gnats and although the plant is beautiful I have really only harvested about a dozen strawberries out of it. During this same period I have spent at least $15 buying strawberries at the store. My Basil plant went from green and lovely, to tall and wilted. I don’t know why. I suspect I either have over-watered it or it also does not like the heat. Any suggestions? And last but not least my tomatoes. First of all, I don’t even like to eat tomatoes so why I decided to grow them escapes me. I think I was suckered by pictures I saw in my Martha Stewart magazine. I have babied these tomatoes and nurtured these tomatoes and I have exactly 6 tomatoes on my plants. Four are green and the other two just started to turn red this past week. I figured that I would go out of town and upon my return we would have beautiful tomatoes. Alas, this was not to be. Because, upon our return I found a rabbit had eaten my only two ripe tomatoes.

I HATE gardening. Trying to garden is like having additional pets. They require daily care and feeding and in the end you are left with crap. I think from this point forward I’m just going to support my local farmer’s market. I can’t handle the stress and responsibility of growing plants.

So Max and I were hanging out waiting for David to come home and Max was all like “Mom, I could totally fit into that play kitchen sink.” And I was all like “uh-uh. I don’t think so.” And then he said “oh yeah, do you dare me?” And I said “Oh you know it.” And then he did this. I’m so proud.

One of the bittersweet things about being a parent is the real-life reflection of yourself in your children. I’ve said before that Lucy is me and she is – including my faults. Tonight as I tucked her into bed we had the following conversation:

Lucy: Will you always be with me?
Me: I will always be with you – sometimes I might have to go to the store or school but mommy always returns don’t I?
Lucy: Yes, but will you always be HERE with me?
Me: Sweetheart, you are stuck with me forever
Lucy: What does “stuck” mean?
Me: It means that we will always be together. That I will always be here for you. That you can’t ever get rid of me. That I will always be here to help you, to love you, to support you.

At this point Lucy collapsed into my arms and hugged me tight around the neck. And this is when I realized that someday I will have to force her to leave me. That someday I will have to demand that she be her own person and not the person I want her to be. Why? because that is the kind of daughter I am. I would and did sacrifice myself in order to please my parents and it was only because of them forcing me to stand up for what I wanted that I ever did. And I never truly found my own personal freedom and strength until I moved five states away. Not because they were dictating me, but because my desire to please was so overwhelming.

Lucy will always be heavily influenced by my opinions and my desires and it is because of this that I will have to be so careful with what I say. I dread the day that she leaves my house but I fear the day I will have to push her to break from me emotionally. Much like my own parents, if I don’t do it she won’t ever be able to stand on her own. Motherhood is a bitch.

I’m tired. I’m not tired like “wow, didn’t sleep well last night” tired. Oh no, pregnancy makes you tired like “I’m sorry I think I took too much Nyquil and I may be unconscious for the next month”. And as a stay at home mom this kind of fatigue leads to several inevitabilities.

1.) I don’t know what my children are playing with during the day. Perhaps it is sharp knives, perhaps it is my makeup, perhaps their experimenting with what can be flushed down the toilet. I don’t know because the only thing I can see is a 6 foot radius around the couch.

2.) Their dietary habits have devolved into the following options; Waffles, Macaroni & Cheese, Grilled cheese sandwiches or whatever Daddy knows how to make (which is basically cereal). I’m sure all my nutritional smart friends are churning at the thought of what my children are eating. However, my sister-in-law was kind enough to share with me that she used to just sprinkle goldfish crackers on the floor and let her daughter eat on those all day while she was pregnant with her second.

3.) The dishes aren’t being washed. We are now in a “wash-as-need” mode.

4.) Mommy ain’t happy. Unless of course you think it is fun to live with a person who ends every sentence with a disgruntled sigh, a rolling of the eyes or a loud verbal “ugh”. You might find it nice to live with a person who is irritated by your sheer existence and the idea that you are breathing near her and the sound of your breathing is making her want to throw up.

5.) Oh and that “pregnancy glow” that everybody tells you about? That’s acne. Yeah, they don’t tell you that when you have visions of this inspiring experience of carrying your child. You aren’t going to “glow” you are going to look like you entered puberty for the second time.

6.) And the tears. The tears come at everything and anything. I’m on the brink of tears at all times of the day and night. I’m tired – I cry. I’m sick – I cry. The new Visa Olympic commercials come on – I cry. My kids tell me they love me – I cry. David says he’ll be a “little late” – I cry. You get the idea.

And yet David turned to me this weekend and said “I’m going to be far more patient and understanding with you this time because I know this is all normal and in a couple more weeks you are going to feel much better”. I cried.

Raising girls and boys are amazingly different and I’m lucky to have the opportunity to experience this. For example, Lucy slept through the night at 8 weeks old. We sat down, we discussed the importance of a schedule and that mommy really needed at least 6 hours of sleep. Lucy reflected on this issue, agreed with the idea that she would be better served by a rested mother and instantly started sleeping through the night. This is raising a girl, or perhaps it is because she is the eldest. Max, on the other hand, had no regard for my lack of sleep. As a matter of fact he thought it was rather selfish of me to even request such a silly thing when it was obvious that he was both hungry and had no desire to be alone in the middle of the night. This is Max, flagrant disregard for rules, social conventions and a zest for life that can only best be displayed by his painting escapades documented in the previous post. And I wouldn’t want them any other way. Lucy reminds Max of the rules and Max shows Lucy that sometimes it’s fun to draw outside of the lines.

And yet, something has been missing. Somebody is not here. Its like when you sit down at the dinner table and the empty chair is a reminder of an absent person. David and I have an empty chair in our house.

So, about two months ago I peed on the stick of pregnancy fate and it came up positive. Yes Internet, I have returned to the serving counter of babies and said “Yes Sir, may I please have another?” I’m scared. I’m excited. I’m scared. It’s funny how with your first baby you are scared of child-birth. With your second baby you are too ignorant to be scared, but by your third you’re scared of that first year of life. That first year that is marked by not sleeping, a baby that seems to cry for no reason, and carrying enough supplies with you no matter where you go to exist on a small deserted island for at least a month. And at 38 that seems like a really daunting obstacle. And I knew all that when I decided to stop taking the pill. That is the power of being a mother. As women we voluntarily jump into 9 months of feeling terrible, followed by a year of not sleeping and a life-time commitment of worry and devotion. We can’t help ourselves, it’s like a crack addiction.

So Internet, if my posting is late it is because I’m busy trying not to throw-up. If my posts are angry it is because I have enough hormones in me to kill a horse. Welcome to, “Pregnancy: Operation B3”

I so wanted to collapse into the fetal position and go into a full panic attack when I checked in on the kids painting. I remained relatively calm and ran a bath.

The kids experiment with creative expression from Beth Morley on Vimeo.

Memorial Day was spent at the family lake house this past weekend. The focus of going to the lake house, of course, is the lake. I’m not one for swimming in a lake. Did you know that there is DIRT on the bottom? and FISH swim in there? and BUGS? All of which are things that you don’t find in a pool and somehow lessen the swimming experience for me.

Visiting the lake house almost always follows the same pattern. We spend the first day trying to get the whole family swimming in the lake and somebody ends up crying through almost all of it. This time it was Max. He would have NOTHING to do with the water, which provided me with the perfect excuse not to swim. Lucy LOVED swimming the first day and by bed time she was lamenting the fact that we wouldn’t let her swim any more until tomorrow. On the second day, the sun rose on a different Lucy who was TERRIFIED of the water because it was DIRTY!! That didn’t mean she didn’t want to wear her bathing suit all day, because she did. She just didn’t want to actually do any bathing in it.

Lake house weekends almost always include a large home improvement project. This weekend was no different. The “Man-Folk” were required to fix the boat dock which had fallen into the lake. I wish I could properly describe the visual of 4 WHITE urban professionals trying to fix the dock in the lake. I can’t, so instead I will just refer you to the video.

Fixing the Dock, Memorial Day 2008 from David Morley on Vimeo.

The most important things about lake house weekends though are spending time with family. From the time I was a little girl I wanted a big family and I am so blessed to have married into one. The time we spend laughing, playing, eating and talking are priceless. David refers to the lake house as his “church” and in many ways it is a sanctuary of love and togetherness.