It’s summer. Charlotte is out of preschool. These last two weeks I have squeezed my growing babes into the double stroller to workout. We have been to the playground and blown bubbles in the yard before going to the pool. I let her watch one more episode of “My Little Ponies” while Henry naps and I clean. (Wait, it’s “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic” now. How could I forget?) Some days she’s curled up in bed with me and we fall asleep, tired from the sun.

Summer is so sweet. Not a day goes by that I don’t bask in amazement that this is my life. I get to wake up in the morning and be with my children. Yes, we’re hurrying out the door, but I’m not going to work. I’m with them. I’m blessed a million times over. I love my life. The warm sun and popsicles only make life better.

We’re doing less camp and taking more free time this summer. The time with them reminds me to soften my tone and remember that they’re little. Tonight we tucked her in. I leaned over and whispered, “I’m so glad I’m your mama.” Charlotte smiled, held my face close and said, “I’m so glad I’m your daughter.”

Scrolling through my Facebook feed I came across another woman with kids the same age as mine. She proudly posed with her newborn as well. Her third baby. Then I saw another friend pregnant with her third. Last week I got the same question two days in a row from friends, “So, are you done? Or are you going to have more kids?”

Oh, wow. I really don’t know, ya’ll.

I ask myself that everyday. I look at my kids’ faces and think, “We make the most adorable babies. We already have two, why not have another?!” I love babies. I love being a mother. I soak up the sweetness of my children and wonder how a third child would change our dynamic.

I’ve read the articles about how families with three kids are the most stressed and heard how miserable and awful middle children are. I don’t believe any of that! First of all, I’m not buying that “middle child” garbage. I know some amazing middle children. My husband Greyson is an amazing, well adjusted middle child who grew up to be a successful business leader in his company after following his dream of becoming a sportscaster. He’s a loving husband, father and provider. My Aunt Wanda is a middle child and is the glue that holds our family together. She raised twins, welcomed another child into her home to raise, had a career as an educator and has been married to my uncle for more than 30 years. I pray my children, no matter their birth order, are like these middle children. Recent studies show middle children are pretty much as well-adjusted as the rest of the family and “Middle Child Syndrome” is totally exaggerated.

Courtesy: pixshark.com

Some people have told me that they assume we’re done having babies because we have a girl and a boy. I see friends with two of the same sex who may try for another. I get that. But, the friends I’ve seen lately are just like me. They already have one of each. Of course there is always the friend who…surprise! Just gets pregnant with baby #3.

But, I want to know. How do you/did you come to the decision to have, or not have, a third child? We’re not ruling it out, it’s just not as obvious as having two kids, you know? There was no question we would have at least two. SO MUCH goes into deciding about the third. Our ages, money, obstetrical health, parenting, careers and sibling relationships are just some of the things we weigh when thinking about this. Please, don’t think I don’t realize how freaking lucky we are that we COULD have a third. I know the struggles of infertility stop many parents from having more than one or two kids. We’re very blessed to have two healthy children. I have to imagine the impact of caring for sick children or kids with special needs may alter some parents’ decisions on family planning as well.

If we don’t have a third, I don’t think I’ll feel incomplete or anything. Life will still be great and our family will be fine. Again, we’re so blessed. Do we want to add another little blessing?

Last week in the car Charlotte asked from the back seat, “Mommy, are we going to have any more babies in our family?” I gave the answer I give everyone, “I don’t know.” I returned her question, “Do you want another baby in our family?” She said, “Yes! I want it to be a girl and I want to name her Starlight!”

Then she said, “How do you get a baby in your belly, anyway?” Oh, yikes. Maybe I’m not ready for another. Then my husband says, “Well, if we have three, we have to have four kids. You know…balance.”

Sure. Starlight and Fourthkid. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I will say, if we have a little Starlight, no one is allowed to buy him/her anything. We have everything. Starlight will live in hand-me-downs. That’s just part of being the youngest. (Says the oldest child with a smirk, as she writes this blog post.)

I am sharing with you now a great weakness and constant source of shame in my life. This is my car on a Thursday. Oh, full disclosure, this is the clean car my husband left on Monday. Never mind my actual SUV, the one I destroy drive most weeks when he’s not away on business.

My husband calls me a “car hoarder.” At the end of a week, my SUV feels like a vehicular landfill. It’s like a dirty old purse on wheels. Crumbs, crumpled receipts, granola bar wrappers, Hot Wheels, jackets, muddy socks, nearly dried lip gloss tubes and empty wipes packages litter this rolling shrine to my perpetual mediocrity.

I will say, it is SLIGHTLY better now that I don’t have a breast pump in there all the time. Occasionally it’s become a point of contention in our marriage. My mom has even said she doesn’t like to ride with me. I see the looks on the faces of the preschool teachers when we go through carpool. They help my child out of her Goldfish encrusted car seat and watch her stumble over toys that have become buried on the floor for at least two weeks. That’s next to the half-filled water bottle graveyard. Sometimes I squeak out a meek “Excuse our mess!” I cringe whenever someone helps me load something in my car.

That’s when they see my shame. They see my nastiest, sloppy habit. Our house is nice. It’s not pristine by any means. A 4-year-old and 1-year-old live here, but it’s not terrible. But my car…it has always been a problem. In college I drove an old 1992 Toyota Camry. My sister always said I “smelled like my car.”

I see moms with their immaculate minivans and sparkling SUV’s. How do they do it? I do clean it out, sometimes. At least every other week I have to overhaul and take everything out. I have reflected on this flaw and have figured out why my car becomes an auto wasteland every week.

• We are always in the car- We are out the door every morning. I like to consider myself an “In The Car Mom” instead of a “Stay At Home Mom.” Oh! Look out Twitter! I’m gonna start #ITCM. Oh, that’s already been taken by a seemingly fine international educational institution. Never mind.
• We eat in the car- I only let the 1-year-old eat the applesauce pouches in the car for fear of choking, but the 4-year-old can down an Egg McMuffin or some Chick-Fil-A Icedream in the good ol’ Peg Perego Convertible seat any time. I half-heartedly scold her for tossing the spoon on the floorboard when she’s done. What can I say to her? I know it lands on car mat where empty Starbucks cups go to die. She knows it too.
• I let my kids take toys in the car- I try to hurry them out the door and I hear, “Wait! I gotta get my My Little Pony-Sofia The First-book-ball-figurines-or-whatever! Please! I just want to play with them in the car!”
• I don’t take everything out everyday- When we pull in the garage in the afternoon after preschool, a workout, errands, lunch, pickup and a play date, my kids are wiped. I drag them in, often hungry and tired. I grab my keys, my phone, the baby and the kid. I leave the rest. We tumble into the house only to find a dog ready to be let out before they run to the pantry for a snack. Unless there are groceries in the car, I rarely go back out there.

I guess I’m writing this to hold myself accountable. This is my confession that will hopefully spur me to clean up my automobile act. I’m getting my stuff out of the car each night. Starting tomorrow.

On the night of the last day of November, that’s when parents suddenly remember.

Tomorrow is December 1st. Thank goodness, the kids’ behavior is the worst!

Christmas will be here really soon. We’ve been using Santa as a threat since June.

Our little friend with the creepy smile hasn’t been here for awhile.

The Thanksgiving holiday has come to an end. It’s time to succumb to a Pinterest trend.

Scrolling through your Facebook feed, you see parents preparing for their children’s greed.

They use a toy as behavior modification, as we all prepare for winter vacation.

The “Elf on the Shelf” is back in suburban homes. Your Instagram will be nothing but those weird little gnomes.

Last night brought intense pre-holiday panic. My child’s excitement for Christmas is manic.

She said, “Mama, my elf comes tomorrow!” as she went to bed. I thought, “Wait, where did we put it?” I smacked my head.

I scoured each closet, every drawer and each box. I found an old bottle opener and some missing socks.

I Facebook messaged my friends like, “Oh shit!” They were like, “Uh oh, girl you better find it!’

I have no idea where my husband tucked it away. Ugh! He’s in Vegas on business til’ Friday!

I started making an elf contingency plan. An elf letter saying “I’m still helping the big man!”

After preschool drop-off I’ll head to Barnes and Noble. That may prevent a meltdown ‘a la Chernobyl.

I gave it one last look in closet junk piles and racks. It was in a box with dry cleaning hangers and an unused Camelback.

My preschooler will not be a disenfranchised douchebag! “My ‘Elf on the Shelf’ is here!” she’ll brag.

Fellow parents! May your holiday tantrums be few and light. Don’t forget to move the damn elf each night.

My Santa hat is off to the authors of “Elf on the Shelf” not only for your fortune-making genius merchandising, but for your ability to rhyme that book. This poem, written in “Elf on the Shelf” style, took me for freaking ever.