Ok, Tobago…

Before I start lamenting about being so sick of my belly button touching the counter top, not being able to get up from any position without help, or what a busy week we had, I wanted to help you know how to pronounce sweet Porter’s nickname.

Tobago.

Toe. Bay. Go.

As in, the 2nd island that is part of the duo Trinidad and Tobago.

I didn’t realize it was so hard to pronounce.

Toe.Bay.Go.

You’ll notice it’s in the Caribbean, and super close to South America.  It’s blue water and amazing scenery will host the Ferrell’s at some point in our lives for one heck of an adbenture, I’m sure of it!

And now that we’ve established all that, I can move back over to “We’re ready for you Tobago, baby!!!”

I feel like he knew that last week would have just been too crazy to show up.  The biggest hurdle was that my Doctor wasn’t even in town.  I feel like the baby has heard me tell the story of Amos’s delivery one too many times to even attempt his arrival while the good Doctor was away.  The short of it is just that the person who delivered Amos didn’t have the same bedside manner as my Doctor.  And that caused a lot of troubles for this quick-to-catch-an-attitude-mama.  Homie don’t play that mess.

Amos is here, I recovered, and that’s what matters.

But good work on not coming last week, Porter!  Mama’s proud of you!!!

We also had 2 t-ball games, Amos’s 2nd birthday, and Hank’s preschool graduation.  Too much to break for a 2 day stay 30 minutes away in the hospital.

So, again, sweet kid!  I thank you.

Monday started with tumbling, which Margaret Hannah is SO over.  Not even the promise of recital fun can keep her from complaining about having to put a leotard on.  She’s never upset when she gets picked up, and I know she’s not protesting while she’s in there, she just wants to be sure to put on a show for how she.can’t.even. one second longer.  She’s got 2 weeks left to whine, and then she’ll remember why she likes it so much when she gets to show an auditorium full people how to cartwheel your 3 year old heart out.

Tuesday was a late game (I realize 6:30 is not late in ball time, but it’s the last time slot for t-ball) and my ability to put actual food on the table is slowly waning.  It’s not the cooking that I’m over, it’s the NEVER ENDING DISHES I’m sick of dealing with.

Wednesday was the only day we had off, and I spent that afternoon in Walmart.  Almost 2 hours of me, alone, in the store.  Vacation almost.  Until I got to the checkout.  Nothing can ever be easy around me.

I unloaded 3 sets of 18 items & 2 sets of 9 items of things since I was getting end of the year gifts for my class & the 4 year old class.  The woman in front of me was holding up the line over a $1.50 off coupon for cat food.  Insert so many eye rolls.

It wasn’t like she was couponing her entire shopping trip, just the cat food.  The brand matched, but the specific flavor she had made the thing invalid.  We were waiting on a Customer Service Manager to let her know exactly why it wouldn’t work when 4 sets of light bulbs straight up dropped from the ceiling in front of the eye center.  Two little old ladies were near it and triage was being called in least they faint right there near the exit.  I even hear the words terrorists and Hillary Supporters uttered from one line over.  Insert even MORE eye rolls if that’s even possible.

I had to put everything back in my buggy, waddle my way down to the grocery section since the other 27 registers weren’t open on the side I was already on, and unload everything again.

But I’m not complaining. Especially since we ended the evening with supper outside, and while I was putting candles in Amos’s brownies, he took it upon himself to poop on the patio.  This is him showing us exactly where it happened.

Thursday was Hank’s official Preschool Graduation.  He participated last year because he’d technically  been with that group of kids since his babies room days.  But this was the real deal.  There were only 9 graduating, so it was a short program.  I’ve worked quite a few of these programs in my time at the Daycare, and it was nice to be in and out of there in about an hour.  He told the director, Becky, that when he grew up he wanted to be a police officer.  She asked him if she drove fast through town would he give her a ticket or arrest her.  He gave her a hearty “Yes, I will have to arrest you” in true Type A style.wp-1462737634875.jpgI can’t even begin to put in to words how amazing this daycare is, or the woman who runs it.  I started at 5 weeks old, left at 13, and came back at 25.  I’ve spent more than half my life there, and I’m thankful my pack gets to experience it as well.  Now, to just not break down between now and kindergarten…20160505_193151.jpgClasses of 1990 and 2016 with that fine woman.

Friday we were able to meet my dad for dinner.  But Saturday, it was back to the crazy.  Three different birthday parties spread out over the day (that we didn’t make) and Amos’s party that evening.  While not everyone was able to attend, he didn’t seem to mind a bit.  He still got to eat cookies and pie, and transfer all of the sand from his new sand table into the water table at the urging of his sweet sister. Fun times for sure.wp-1462737621343.jpgSunday had us living it up in honor of Mother’s Day with long naps, a rooster rescue after a Gypsy attack, and another evening filled with patio sitting and supper cooking avoidance.

We’re ready when you are, Tobago Porter boy, especially my belly button!

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