Operation Brunch KC

So, being in residency, having 4 kids, as well as always pregnant or nursing, has put a major damper in my dining habits.  Also, there seems to be a developing trend in creative brunches at most restaurants.  I suddenly feel totally out of the loop, and like I am missing out on a huge culture that has developed here in KC as well as some incredible food.  In addition, I can finally enjoy a Mimosa or Bloody Mary to boot!!!!  It is also easier to find sitters for a random weekend morning, than taking away someone's evening hours.  Therefore, I have decided to make it my goal to try a different brunch location, anytime the opportunity to get out arises.  Mostly, I hope to enjoy these with my husband, but some alone time with my adult friends is ALWAYS welcome (and occasionally preferred. Sorry honey - oh wait, who am I kidding? He doesn't read my blog; HE LIVES IT).

• The Bristol
• Oak 63
• Beer Kitchen
• Rye
• Room 39
• Urban Table
• Tomfooleries
• Farmhouse
• Succotash
• Louie's Wine Dive
• The Jacobsen
• Bluebird Bistro
• EggCt
• The Blue Moose
• The Classic Cup
• Andres
• Coal Vines
• Poco's
• Port Fonda
• Blue Grotto
• West Side Local
• Jerry's Cafe

Feel free to respond with any missing locations!! And I don't want to talk about the fact the Sharp's no longer exists.

Tid Bits

Brock asked to get his eyelashes trimmed, because they are "too long".  Nice problem to have...ugh boys.

As I was sipping my coffee and feeding the baby, Brock says, "Mom, are you giving Mitch coffee milk?"  I guess maybe I am.

Matt received a "pooper scooper" from his parents for his 30th birthday.  Apparently, Brock had suggested this gift, claiming, "it's what he's always wanted."

While on a walk, we were traveling West through a busy intersection. The light was red, so Brock  began waving to all the Eastbound traffic.  He was doing so by slightly waving his cupped hand and riding his too-small tricycle.  Every person smiled/laughed and waved back...every single one.  I'd like to think he made everyone on 71st and Mission at that time, a little bit happier.

Lately, we refer to Curtis as "the ladies man".  This is because he only talks to young (20-30's) attractive females when at the park or on a walk, and always starts the conversation with a "Wha, wha, what's yur name?"  Not a bad pick up line.

When driving home from Shawnee Mission Park (a huge park about 30 minutes away) after the Symphony in the Park event, Brock asked if we were in Kansas City yet?  I asked him where he thought we had come from, and he laughed and said, "St. Louis, Mom!!!!" As if I should have known this, because obviously we were just in the Lou.  Apparently, a 30 minute drive and a 4 hour drive are pretty equivalent in a 4-year-old's mind.

One night, we pulled in the driveway, and an item we had brought home from a garage sale made a load noise as we came to a stop.  Brock asked what it was, completely convinced it was something alive.  Matt insisted it wasn't, and told Brock he would show him, to which Brock began nervously jumping around trying to decide if he should take his father's word.  Eventually, Brock came up with a solution, and informed Matt that he was "fired from the house if something living is in the trunk."  I think Matt secretly wished something was living in the trunk and that he could, in fact, be fired from the household.

George twists an Oreo in half, eats the stuffing, then the cookie.  No one else does this.  It's just how he naturally eats it!

Brock often wants to "cuddle" which I put in quotations because his version of cuddling is like no one else's as he NEVER STOPS MOVING. Today, I asked him if he had "restless legs", so which he nodded and said, "Don't forget itchy ears..." then a moment later "...and itchy toes."  Speaking of which, the other day, I found him crying and whining in the hall about his itchy toes. And suddenly he calls out, "Ugh, I cannot itch my toes because my toenails are in the way!!"

Babies Don't Keep.

Song for a Fifth Child by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton (1921- )

Mother, oh mother, come shake out your cloth!

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

Hang out the washing and butter the bread,

Sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking!

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby, loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo

But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.)

Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby. Babies don't keep.

 I found this poem exactly a year ago.  I saved it.  I think about it a lot.  Then, after I had Mitch, I realized that I had never identified with it more.  Though he is only my 4th, not the fifth child, I completely know what this mother was writing about.  I am not ashamed to admit that with Mitch, and every previous child, I tear up a little every evening because it means my precious, sweet smelling, soft, innocent newborn is now a day older.  This will carry on for at least 2 weeks, then sporadically, perhaps for the rest of their lives.  Not that I am going to be the creepy mom from "Love You Forever", but sometimes I wish I could be...because as long as I'm living, my baby these boys will be.

I hold Mitch, and nurse him, and forget about everything else.  I let my other boys slightly destroy the house, piece by piece.  I don't even want to mention our current laundry situation.  Matt does the dishes every night because I can't possibly spare a moment to do them throughout the day.  I am only 2 pounds away from pre-baby weight because eating even takes a backseat to my newborn admiring, loving, kissing, obsessing time.  I'm annoyed he is not awake more so I can gaze into his beautiful eyes.  I am stressed I haven't photographed him enough, he changes every day, every hour, and I don't want to forget, or miss a moment. 

People continue to ask me if this is it for us.  If Mitch is our last baby.  I just cannot answer that question right now.  The thought that this might be the last time I ever experience the true joy, amazement and love of a brand new baby, is upsetting.  I go back to work too soon.  I have 3 other children to tend to, my time is all sucked up...these should all be reasons to not have another, but I don't see it that way.  Despite all of that, as we speak, I am holding my teeny baby, and I have never felt happier, more relaxed or less stressed.  I've said it before, newborns are like a therapeutic anti-anxiety medication to me.  I am in no rush to have another.  I will not be "trying for a girl".  But I am not taking anything off the table.  For now, I am enjoying my newest blessing.  I am looking forward to who he will become, but secretly hoping time will take a momentary hiatus, and stop moving for a bit.  And, until that happens, I will just hold my baby, rock him, love him, and cherish every newborn nuance, because babies don't keep.

The Dentist.

I know, I know. You should take your kid to the dentist much prior to him turning 5, like years, not just a couple months.  In my defense, I have been talking about making Brock an appointment for the past 2 or so years...just never got around to actually doing it.  Well, Monday, while making calls to schedule newborn appointments, my postpartum appointment, a dentist appointment for me, it dawned on me, Matt's home!  What a perfect time to get the kiddos in to the dentist.  So, I sucked it up, and called to get appointment's for Brock, Curtis and George.

Now, I am not sure how clear I have made it that Brock has a tooth obsession.  When he was little, he would insist on brushing his teeth much more frequently than once or twice a day.  He had his own brush at Mimi's.  We can use losing tooth brushing privileges as a threat to help bedtime run more smoothly.  Long ago, when Brock asked why we brush our teeth, Matt and I told him that they would turn black and fall out otherwise (which is only a slight exaggeration.)  That did it.  He would never miss a nightly teeth cleaning again.  Therefore, I didn't worry about his tooth hygiene.  We don't eat excessive amount of sugar (at night) and nor do I give juice or soda with dinner (90% of the time), and, my family has generally good tooth genetics (yes, some people are more prone to cavities than others, despite habits) so I didn't worry about it.

While out on a walk, the night before the appointment, we ran into one of our favorite neighbors.  The little girl, who is Brock's age, mentioned a possible playdate for the following day, to which Brock replied, "I can't, I have a dentist appointment." What 4 year old keeps a schedule!?  Well, the next morning, we found George covered in vomit, so his appointment was cancelled, but the other two excitedly headed out for their first dentist experience.  They loved it.  Matt said they behaved perfectly.  Brock carried home his little goody bag with a new toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, a sticker and bouncy ball, and did not put that thing down for the rest of the day.  In fact, he is still storing all the stuff in that little plastic bag and puts it under his pillow to sleep at night!

As a reward for their fabulous behavior, Matt took them to the zoo.  While there, and riding the "Sky Safari" (aka ski lift), Brock smiled at a lady passing on the other side, and yelled "look how white my teeth are! I went to the dentist!"  Also, apparently he exclaimed, "My teeth are so clean the girls' heads are going to pop off" while getting his cleaning.  Curtis, though slightly less obsessive (ok, a lot less obsessive) than Brock, also talked about this adventure for days.  He mostly just liked the fish tank at the office and the bouncy ball he acquired.

For the record, they both got a clean bill of tooth health.

Meet Mitch.

I don't care what number pregnancy it is for you, until that child arrives, the speculations, worries, questions, visions, never cease.  In fact, I wonder if it worsens with each one.  For some reason, I felt anxious throughout this entire fourth pregnancy. Though symptomatically, it was identical to the previous three, there was something very different about 4.O.  We found out his sex ahead of time, in big part, because of this inexplicable anxiety.  I had expressed major concerns about the delivery early on, to my OB.  The projected large size of my offspring made me nervous, I kept telling her that my old, tired uterus wouldn't be able to handle it, and that the baby's head would never come down.  Three, flawless, healthy, relatively smooth, prior deliveries made me even more nervous!  You'd think this would offer reassurance, but I was certain that something had to give, something had to be different.  All along, what I didn't know, is that 'something' was Mitch.  He is different.

Luckily, all of these worries, the anxiety, were for nothing.  From the moment my water broke to the delivery, everything went great.  I would like to note that once most of the fluid had finally flushed out, my belly was half the size!  Even the nurse noticed a significant change.  It's no wonder I would contract with every movement.  The baby wasn't so much gigantic, just his living conditions.  The labor was a bit slow, lasting 8 hours, and the baby's head was in fact, not coming down as I had predicted.  Until it did.  Then, one contraction and he was free!

With all of my births, I remember seeing the baby for the first time.  I can remember all my initial thoughts.  With Mitch, I saw his quivering lip, and thought, Curtis!  I saw his little nose and thought, Brock!  I saw his cheeks and thought, George! Then I held him, cleaned him up, inspected, kissed, and hugged my new baby, and realized, he was none of them.  He was just Mitch.  I saw my husband next to me with tears of joy.  I sensed a room full of happy, relaxed nurses, doctors, and techs.  I knew that we had done it again.  We had created another healthy, happy, beautiful, perfect little baby boy.  For the remainder of the hospital stay, and even today, I continue to smile to myself.  I reflect regularly, and think, "I have never been happier."  Never.  I couldn't put into words why I felt this way, I thought maybe some of it was relief that all had gone so beautifully.  Or perhaps, because Mitch turned out to be so incredibly cute, and dark haired, and familiar to me.  But then, Matt sat across from me the morning after Mitch was born.  I look over, and he is holding the baby, kissing his forehead.  And Matt says to me, "This is the happiest I have ever been."  To which, I reply, "Real nice, what about your other 3 son's?" Matt doesn't even hesitate in his response, "They are part of  why.  I now have 4 perfect, healthy sons.  I have never been happier."  It's amazing how frequently my husband of little words can exactly capture a moment in one phrase.  Or one photograph.

Because of the late delivery, the big brothers did not get to meet Mitch until the following morning. This is one of my favorite parts of becoming a new mom.  These little boys reactions are always so adorable, somewhat predictable and fun.  Brock, being the veteran, came in smiling, took one look at the baby, perhaps said "Hi", then moved on to exploring the many, many buttons which fill the hospital room.  Happy boy Curtis, was all smiles.  He loved that baby from the moment he saw him.  He worked on saying his name.  George.  Haha.  Little George was absolutely bewildered.  He kept looking at me, very disturbed by my hospital bed and gown.  He did not know what to even think of the baby.  You could see the wheels spinning, but he could not quite put it all together.  This was somewhat upsetting to him.  I had to get up and change into normal clothes before he would have anything to do with me.  He has kissed and helped with the baby a lot since then.  He loves giving Mitch hats and pacifiers.

One last thing, I will always remember about his birth, is that this is the first time I birthed a child that I did not immediately think, "O'Laughlin!"  He has a full head of dark hair. Eyebrows! Fuzzy little arms and legs and ears.  I think he might look the most different from his brothers.  Perhaps even a bit like me?  Or, as some people have put it, "my breed".  Maybe he will enjoy the Summer and heat like me!  I did say that I was breeding an Olympian while I was pregnant with him, and judging by his HUGE hands, long arms, ability to hold up his head from birth, and activity in utero, I don't think I'm totally wrong.  Fingers crossed he not only got my dashing good looks (boy version) but my athleticism.

Mitch loves to cuddle.  Nurses like a champ.  Sleeps soundly and for long stretches. Has only just begun to open his eyes for brief periods.  Apparently, he thinks if he is awake, then he should be eating!  He was not quite back to birth weight at one week, but over halfway there.  He does enjoy a pacifier.  He can tune out nearly any noise.  He's not so sure about the swing, but we'll get there.  I cannot decide if he likes to be swaddled. His finger nails are really long, but oddly attached the the skin below. His skin is the softest I've ever felt.  His eyebrows give him quite the expressions. He has Matt's chin.  He smiles in his sleep.  He is perfect.

Everyone else seems to think he is perfect, as well. It makes me over-joyed to see how much everyone accepts and loves Mitch.  Not just his brothers, but all of my and Matt's family.  All of our friends.  I've said it before, and I will always say it, but bringing a child into such a supportive community makes this experience all the more overwhelmingly amazing.  And wonderful.  And relaxing.  And joyous.  I get to spend a couple days int he hospital, admiring my miracle. Absorbing the baby smells. Noises. Feel.  Serenity. All while knowing my other children are happy as clams.  Hanging with their aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

 MITCHELL FRANCIS O'LAUGHLIN

SEPTEMBER 26TH, 2013 at 9:46pm

9lbs 8ozs and 21.5in