I think I can

This is the article that I wrote for January’s issue of my Mom’s Club’s newsletter. Let me know if you find it inspirational or just too overdramatic. Or you could all just lurk like always. :)

I think I can... I think I can…

This year I resolve to lose the baby weight. This year I resolve to exercise more and yell at my toddler less. To allow the person behind me with only one item at the grocery store get in front of me and my cart full of crucial foodstuffs like ketchup and goldfish crackers. To recycle more. To worry less.

Oh and one other little thing. This year I resolve to change the world… or at least my part of it.

It’s pretty hard to imagine changing the world when some days it’s all I can to do get the dishwasher unloaded. So here’s my plan. First, I’ve volunteered to head up the Service Project Committee in the Mom’s Club. Second, I’ve planned to lure you all to help with fantastic ideas and projects that are fun for kids. Third, I’m prepared to cajole any willing volunteers with promises of a feeling of accomplishment and the happiness that comes from helping someone else. If necessary I am also willing to bribe with goldfish crackers.

I don’t think it takes as much time as you think. If you don’t have the time that’s ok, just resolve to help out when you can. If you do have time, even if it’s just a little bit and you’d like to help change our world, drop me a line or give me a call and together we’ll figure out how to get started.

Happy New Year!

Janice

Big Red and the boys

Yeah, this pic was totally worth going out in the rain for.

Dear Connor - 26 months

Dear Connor,

I keep meaning to write letters to you and your brother each month, but it seems that when I can get around to it, is the best I can offer at this point. I’ll try to do better.

You are twenty six months old today. In celebration of your Dad’s recent extended time off from work last Tuesday, we decided to take you and your brother to the zoo. Getting out of the house was a major excursion and I truly believe that I’ve taken camping trips with less planning. You Dad made observation that the double stroller takes a lot longer to fold than the single stroller but then decided that once you have enough children to fit in a double stroller you’ve already realized that you are never leaving the house quickly again anyway.

Unfortunately it was naptime for all of the zoo animals. So many were sleeping in far corners that we determined that you would probably think that the zoo meant you got to see only rocks and waterfalls. You really dug the Aviary, because you got to get down and run around, although you were more interested in the puddles on the floor than actually looking at birds. You are such a little boy. The next day we decided that your favorite part of the zoo trip was getting to ride on the Zoo bus back to the parking lot. You were pretty into that.

You’ve been more independent lately, wanting to do things yourself, especially undressing. You sometimes ask for help, as you did the other night before getting in the shower when you had your shirt up over your head and were yanking on it so violently, that it was causing you to spin and disco dance around the bathroom, yelling, “HELP! HELP!”.

 I did not help, only because it was hysterical and I know you in fact, CAN undress yourself. I know this because you’ve decided to take every opportunity to show us that you enjoy being naked. This was especially fun when you were in bed for the night, and stripped down peepeeing all over your nice clean sheets… again and then again. We started putting you to bed in Pjs with the feet cut off turned around and zipped up backwards which seems to do the trick. This all started because we introduced you to your very own potty.

I thought it might be easy to potty train you because for a while you were on a schedule so strict that you pooped each morning at 10:30am. Since that time, you’ve become more sporadic in your pooping, so it’s a little more difficult. But you enjoy nothing more than stripping down in 10 seconds flat and sitting on the potty explaining to us that you needed to go “peepee on da poddy” to keep yourself from getting in trouble for getting naked, yet again. I would be fine with this, if you had actually taken your clothes off because you actually had to pee, but you never do until you decide to get up from the potty and sprint across the living room leaving a wake of urine behind you. You have peed on the potty twice now which you should be proud of, but might be canceled out by the fact that you have also pooped twice on the living room carpet. It’s because of this that we’ve decided to put the potty away for a few weeks and try it again.

Christmas is coming and you are getting pretty excited. You aren’t real clear on who Santa is, but know something about him and his reindeer are a big deal and that you get smiles when you tell people that Santa says, HoHoHo. You are doing really well with the Christmas tree in the living room which is surprising. I thought for sure you would have pulled the entire thing down the first day, but seeing as how we put most of the ornaments on the top three feet of it, you’ve become bored and are content to turn the lights on the tree off and on, until your Dad and I start to feel like we might be having a seizure.

I can’t wait for Christmas. I can’t wait for you to see all of the toys that Santa brings to you, or the excitement you will have getting to see both sets of Grandparents on the same day. I can’t wait for you to look through your stocking. I can’t wait to see what’s in the bag that the preschool sent home with you, that says, To: Mommy and Daddy, From: Connor. I can’t wait to let you tear into the Gingerbread house you are going to make with Daddy. You make the holidays joyful again. Merry Christmas, Baby.

Love,

Mommy

Expectations

They say that the transition from one to two children, is a hard adjustment and it really is. But I’ve heard from many that the adjustment from two to three children is not that hard at all. So I’m going to tell you the truth. Going from one to two children is hard because you think that it’s possible that the transition just might suck. When you go from two to three children you know it will. And it’s all about setting expectations.

Dear Tristan - 3 Months

Dear Tristan,

Last Tuesday you turned 12 weeks old. A whole three months you have been with us now and I think you’re coming to like us quite well. You are especially fond of my boob and your paci. I’ve seen you smile at both so we can see you are already starting to make a list of your likes and dislikes. You aren’t quite sure what to make of your big brother, because at times he annoys you and at times he cracks you up so we feel like the brotherhood bond is coming along nicely. You are also pretty into Daddy right now. The recent time off granted to him by his previous job has given you more time to gaze adoringly at him cooing, your little arms flapping around his face.

You know what the swing means. If you are placed into said swing and do not at that exact moment feel like napping, you turn your bottom lip inside out immediately and start hysterically crying. You will stop as soon as you are picked up again. You are amazed by the mobile that hangs over your bassinet.

There’s not much to say about your eating habits since you are still just drinking milk, but I truly hope that you, like your brother will pretty much try anything once, even if you have a genetic disposition for macaroni and cheese with chopped up hotdogs just like your Dad. Other than milk, it appears that nothing tastes better than your fist.

You aren’t a great napper, settling for a long sleep through the night and two short power naps during the day. That’s just fine by me. You have decided that you will be held at regular intervals. Especially if you have been put in front of your kick gym for a whole 10 minutes, deciding all at once that maybe you don’t like those flashing lights… even if they do play Mozart.

But the best part of all of this for me, is that you think I’m funny. I mean really funny. You can’t quite laugh yet, but you try and make a little squeaking sound. The squeaking sound, further cracks you up making you smile so hard that your head wobbles.

I predict that you will be a thoughtful child. The Yin to your brother’s Yang. I think you’ll probably be all boy and I’ll bet you are going to be a busy one too. But hopefully you’ll stop and think before tasting an earthworm.

Love,

Mommy

Of danger and opportunity

Originally I was going to post a piece about how the Asian symbol for crisis is formed from two words… danger and opportunity. Since I decided I should research it first, lest it be inaccurate and my lurkers be compelled to comment and found this.

http://www.pinyin.info/chinese/crisis.html

So today I would like to post a piece on how the Asian symbol for crisis is in fact NOT formed by those two symbols, but will not deny that if I am trapped in a conversation where that urban myth can be used to inspire or change the course of thought pattern in another person, that needs encouragement I won’t quote it.

 

Undergoing, ongoing reorganization

Last Thursday, I actually stopped and thought about how blessed we are. How lucky I am to be able to stay home with the children. How lucky we are to have a great house and how lucky our kids are that they’ve never wanted for anything. And especially how lucky we were that the husband is willing to go to work each day to provide it for us all and how lucky he is to have such a great job. I was feeling thankful. Grateful. Lucky. That was the same evening that Jorma came home and told me that he had with 9 other people been laid off due to, “undergoing, ongoing reorganization”. I thought about it later and was so confused that after my gush of admiration for the universe this could happen. So, we are trying to stay positive. Perhaps we are about to move on to bigger and better things. Perhaps the next job will change his life, (and ours). Perhaps the next job will be the opportunity of a lifetime. Meanwhile the kids are thrilled to have Daddy around full time and I don’t have to wash a bunch of dress clothes each week. Now, less laundry… that’s something to be thankful for.

The most wonderful time of the year

I used to have my Christmas shopping completed by Halloween. I used to have my presents wrapped and in the closet the day after Thanksgiving feeling smug that my shopping was all done. I used to walk through the mall with no shopping to do and look at the stores and holiday displays of Santa and his reindeer, complete with polyester and shaved white wax for snow... just looking. I used to go to holiday parties and drink Jagermeister and beer, eat nachos and go to work on 4 hours of sleep. I used to sleep.

Now that I’ve got children, I don’t sleep for other reasons… ear infections, midnight feedings or untwisting those bazillion twist ties they use on toy packaging. I don’t feel smug that my shopping is done early, because it’s not. I don’t go to party’s during the season unless they are from 11am – 2pm and involve balloons. When I walk through the mall I have a baby in the front pack a toddler in a stroller, a bag of diapers, a bottle and a bag of goldfish crackers, a purse, a cell phone and most likely… no makeup on. But all in all I feel pretty good about trading the parties and lack of procrastination for footy pjs and stories about Santa. I laugh more at my toddler explaining to me over and over again, that “Christmas tree, RITE DARE!!!” as if I can’t see the large spruce that has taken residence in the living room, than I did at Jager laden holiday festivities. Now I actually look forward to the holidays, instead of dreading them. Now I understand how people can accidentally spend so much on their children, because it’s just so easy to keep buying and buying and buying when you actually have an excuse. Everyone talks about the blessing of seeing Christmas through the eyes of a child, but I don’t really see it that way. Instead I see Christmas through the eyes of a mom and that in itself is a whole world of wonder. 

Another Year Wiser

Yesterday I celebrated my 35^th birthday.

I remember when the bartender at one of the restaurants I was working at turned 30. I remember consoling her and telling her that she wasn’t OLD, that she was being ridiculous and that she had so much more life to live. I was 21 at the time and while outside I was consoling her on the inside I was thinking that she really was OLD and that I didn’t blame her for being upset since her life was almost over. Now I’m 35… (that’ll teach me). How in the hell did this happen?!

Connor had a hard time not opening all of my presents for me and after a maddened frenzy of toddler fury and determination, he landed himself in time out while I finished my unwrapping. He went to the store with Daddy and picked out a chocolate birthday cake for me and my very own Dora the Explorer balloon, which he was content to show me, yelling, “Happy Birfday Mommy!” but would not allow me to touch. I think there might have been a little bit of confusion when we blew out the candles. I’m pretty sure that he thinks that yesterday was his birthday again, which is fine, as long as I don’t have to share my new books or bath and body works lotions with him. I might share my Ice Age 2 DVD with him but only if he says, “Happy Birfday, Mommy!” again and again to me, because it makes the pain of turning 35 totally worth it.

Yay Me!

Happy Birthday to me!

Short Attention Span Theater

Today while Connor was playing in the corner by himself, he was rambling so that I grabbed a pen and documented about 30 seconds of the conversation he was having with himself. It went like this.

“Giraffe! Stay awake! Oh Giraffe! Vroom! ABCDFG. ABCDFGD. That turns. ABCFG. Find W! Find W! Find W! Rite Dare! Hold on! Where’s Connor? Help! Help! Help! Help! Help us. Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! Help! again. again. Dragonfly. Dragon. Dragon butterfly. Two! I’m Two!”

The thing is that the conversation was going on for about ten minutes before I decided to start documenting. Short attention span theater.

It's raining, it's pouring...

One of the downfalls of having to shut the upstairs bathroom doors all the time is that you can’t see if something happens inside of the bathroom.

 

For example, if you ran into the bathroom to pee and then flushed and rushed out to pull the toddler out of the linen closet again, closing the door behind you… You might not notice that the toilet is overflowing. In fact, you might not notice it for quite some time, until you go to get the baby after his nap and are coming down the stairs and pause to listen to the noise of a waterfall that’s coming from the kitchen. Then you would yell your toddlers name as you ran through the hallway with a screaming baby under your arm, to find the toddler sitting quietly stacking blocks and smiling sweetly at you. You might then realize that whatever is making the waterfall noise is not toddler induced and walk into the kitchen to find that the light fixture in the ceiling is pumping out about 2 gallons of water per minute. You probably would freeze and just stare in awe at the sheet of rain that is dripping from the glass shades over the island. You might stare in confusion wondering why the water is only coming from the light fixtures and not through the ceiling and then in a split second know what happened. You would then, run into the downstairs bathroom with screaming baby still, and drag every towel downstairs onto the island under the light fixture. You would then run back upstairs and fling open the bathroom door to find about an inch of standing pee water on the bathroom floor. After jiggling the toilet handle you would drop all of your clean towels on the floor onto the pee water and shutting off the water supply run back downstairs to turn off the light in the kitchen only to find your toddler standing in a puddle of water on the kitchen floor pointing at the dripping water trying to sing the “drip drop” song from Jack’s Big Music Show. You might then call a plumber and have him come out and charge you $175.00 to tell you that the toilet overflowed. When the plumber is gone and the mess is all cleaned up, you might even think about having a margarita. But then you would remember that you are breastfeeding and alcohol is not allowed. Instead you just might continue on your day thanking the universe that the ceiling did not cave in.

Or at least that’s how it happened in my world.

STOP! Thief!

Recently my debit card number was stolen. Now I’m pretty tight with that thing and the only time it actually leaves my hands is once a month when we go to a restaurant for girls night out. But that didn’t stop the young Italian gentlemen from one of the kiosks in the mall from stealing it. I know it was this specific kiosk because I seldom use my card. The occasional McDonalds drive through for “nuggets and fry fries” as the toddler calls them and the bi weekly trip to the grocery store at which time, I’m actually running my card as debit, so it’s unlikely that someone is going to memorize the number. I explained all of this to the fraud specialist at my bank and he asked if I had any proof. It’s hard to state gut feeling as proof and you can’t even file a police report based on intuition, or even the basis that the kids were Italian and the next day, several plane tickets, all based out of Italy to back to Italy appeared on my card. I check our account on a regular basis and I’ve talked to so many people that said that they only check their account every few weeks so I guess I’m lucky. We caught the thief within two days of the charges. The bank refunds these charges, but only as a temporary loan until they investigate the matter and decide whether or not it’s a legitimate case. Joy. I get to wait for 90 days for the bank to let me know that I’m not lying about these charges. Yay.

Notice how I call the perps kids? They were actually in their early 20’s but they are kids to me. That’s what starts happening when you have your 35^th birthday right around the corner.

You kids be careful this shopping season.

What preschool tuition looks like

Besides coming home and explaining to me that the moon is scared or some other obscure reference that leaves me just smiling, nodding and wondering what in the hell my toddler is talking about; preschool is good for us. I hate paying the tuition each month, but know it’s necessary for both my sanity and Connor’s social skills. And things like this:

Help!!!

As you can see I’ve made some edits to the blog template. It’s written using CSS which I’m able to find my way around with relative ease. However, there are a couple of changes that just aren’t working out for me. I’m trying to add a sidebar to the left hand side, to put my flickr badge on, (the picture thumbnails on the bottom left for everyone that has no idea what I’m talking about.

Ahem. Pattie.

But I can’t seem to figure it out. I’ve tried using this code:

/* Sidebar Content
----------------------------------------------- */

#sidebar ul {
float:left ;
margin:0 0 1.5em;
padding:0 0 1.5em;
border-bottom:1px dotted #ccc;
list-style:none;
}

#sidebar li {
margin:0;
padding:0 0 .25em 15px;
text-indent:0px;
line-height:1.5em;
}

#sidebar p {
color:#666;
line-height:1.5em;
}

But it just isn’t showing up. Someone please tell me what in the hell I’m doing wrong. It’s driving me CRAZY! And believe me there is enough crazy going on in this household already.

Good bye sweet cream... I knew thee well

When I was pregnant with Tristan I was certain that he would not have colic like his big brother did. I was certain because I thought, what are the chances that God would do that to me twice? Well as it turns out, the chances are pretty good, although Tristan isn’t as bad as his brother was with it. I took him to the pediatrician after staying up until 2am (yet again) almost a month ago to see if she had any advice that I hadn’t already read on the internet or learned from Connor’s Dr. in CA who was absolutely fantastic. Tristan’s doctor suggested that he might be lactose intolerant and told me to give up all dairy. At first, I was in complete denial of this suggestion. Did she not understand who this child’s mother IS?! Did she not understand that Tristan was born into a family of cheese lovers, evidenced further by big brothers second word being, “cheese” even before he said Mama? How could this be? Did she not understand that I might not be able to nourish myself, not being able to remember ever eating a taco without cheese not to mention the pain of eating a plain hamburger… I mean, ewwww. But I was so desperate for sleep that I decided that it probably wouldn’t hurt anything to just try.

And do you know…

It actually worked. Not completely, but it put a stop to the projectile vomiting and gas until 1am in the morning that Tristan was experiencing. And I’ve lost ten pounds. Tristan still is super gassy and we have to burp him within an inch of his life every time he’s finished eating but it’s working. The Dr. said that I needed to keep up the dairy fast until I was completely finished breastfeeding. I’m going to probably try a glass of milk or something (mmmmmmm nachos!) in a few weeks to see if the internet is correct and this just needs to be done until the colic period is over.

It makes me sad that Connor suffered, (as did we) for three months, because although I tried giving up dairy with him also, I did it for less than a week before determining there was no change and going back on the cow. It took about two weeks for the effect to be seen in Tristan and we still find if I dare to have a piece of cheese on my burger that he’s incredible gassy the next day. Sometimes for me it’s worth it, although for Jorma who gets his fair share of gassy baby time, not so much.

Not napping

After using up the little bit of blogging time that I have daily to try to figure out my blogger template, I’ve decided just to cut to the chase and download movable type. It’s can’t be THAT much harder than trying to add a sidebar on the left hand side of a template that doesn’t use tables. I’ve made some changes using some basic html, but my skills are rusty, (yeah yeah, I bet you can’t change a diaper in 20 seconds flat so I don’t want to hear it).
I’ve decided to just continue on with the blogging instead of procrastinating until I get a design that doesn’t suck. Can you tell I got some sleep last night? Both of the kids are sleeping and I’m actually motivated to so something besides sleep with them. This is the power of not needing a nap.

Stay tuned

HA! I've moved the blog to the front page of my site and added a redirect from the old link, just in case anyone has that link book marked. Yeah, I know that the old page is much prettier than the blog template, but give me a break, I'm trying to figure out how the blogger language works so that I can change it. This is all just a temporary fix until I learn movable type, or until one of the web design programs is released with a blog feature, but until then I'll work on making it a little bit prettier. At least the links won't be as old as my other page!
I've been putting on updating until I got the changes done, well that and some days it's a choice between brushing my teeth or blogging. Yes, we are that busy around here. Actually we aren't but the toddler and baby are.
Stay tuned...

Happy Birthday Connor

Dear Connor,
A week ago you turned two years old and I can not even begin to describe how amazed your Dad and I are by you. You are like watching a million years of evolution unfold before our eyes. Right in the middle of our den… right in the middle of our lives.

I almost feel sorry for the people that we talk to on a regular basis and realize how much they must love me to endure me talking about my children non stop. I always swore when I had kids, I would not let them absorb me, not knowing where I ended and they began but that was before you came into our lives. You are so amazing that we can’t help but surrender completely.

I was the perfect parent before I had children. I never thought you would eat sugar or watch TV. But when I see you standing in front of Go, Diego, Go! With a pop tart in hand and only one sock on I know it’s going to be ok, because you are just so damn happy. We have a good life.

Often I complain about how hard it is to stay home with a toddler and how hard it is to keep the house clean and how hard it is to not have anyone to talk to all day but I do it because we love you so and it’s the best thing for us all. When I think about the mom’s in other places in the world, the ones that are in refugee camps or the ones that don’t have the money for medicine for their children, I feel a deep sense of shame that I should complain about anything at all. My two year old gets pop tarts and Diego. We are so blessedly fortunate.

And the TV isn’t so bad after all. You know by site, condors, spectacled bears and green eyed tree frogs. You were so obsessed with the Diego show on condors that you talked about it and asked for the condors non stop for three days until Daddy finally told you that the condors were broken. That seemed to make sense to you somehow and we were blessed with three days of peace until you then became obsessed with a baby tree sloth or something equally obscure from your favorite show. You should hear yourself say “chinchilla” there’s nothing cuter.

You are finally getting used to your baby brother. You’re not so frantically active around him anymore and I have actually seen you ignore him for hours at a time. Life is getting easier for us all. Your preschool teacher said that you sometimes take the class baby doll and throw it and yell, Baby! No! No! Baby! And that some times you hold it close and love it. I think that probably sums up your feelings about your new brother.

We’ve developed a new time out system that involves strapping you into your old high chair for two minutes. It seems to be working, unlike our previous method that involved one of us holding you down in your toddler rocking chair for two minutes. You thought that was great fun, coming up and hitting us and then specifically saying hopefully, “time out? Time out? Connor hit, time out?” so that we will put you into your chair. We decided there had to be another way.

We had a birthday party for you last Saturday and you had a great time. You got a new Harley Davidson tricycle, a ride in Diego Jeep and a fish tank among other fine things. You became so obsessed with your tricycle that you had a temper tantrum and didn’t want to open any other presents, which resulted in us allowing you to open them while sitting on your tricycle. Once we finished opening gifts you resumed your tantrum, which was over something about the bike, but mostly about the fact that you were completely exhausted. I tried to get it on film when you threw yourself on the deck in midst tantrum, but you were so quickly swooped up and cuddled by one grandparent or the other I didn’t get to archive the moment.

There are a million things that I don’t want to forget about the past year. Like the way you went from your two words, cheese and dada to complete sentences and phrases. Or the way that you remind me of a Labrador retriever puppy anytime your hands hit water whether it’s in a cup, the tub, the sink, the hose or a puddle. Or the way that you say “Sleep tight!” before going off to bed with Daddy, then curling up in your crib with the menagerie of stuffed animals. Or how when you want something instead of saying “Connor wants”, you just say the two words, your tiny voice filled with hope, “Connor? Cupcake?”. Or how there can not be a child alive that loves “Outside!” more than you do.
But mostly I want to remember what a joy you are to have and hold even when you are throwing yourself on the floor screaming my name 500 times in a row because you have been denied a strawberry pop tart. Happy Birthday, baby.

Why Jorma is the better parent

"Tristan just spit up. Can you hand me a towel or something?"

I go for the "or something" catagory and grab a dirty sock next to me from the floor, handing it to my husband.

"I can't use THAT!"

"Why?" (It's not like I expected him to use the dirty part of the sock)

Hubby sighs and gets to fetch a paper towel from the kitchen.
I remain sitting, remote in hand. After big brother goes to bed, I reward myself with minimal movement. It had just been one of those days.

Peepee towel remote

Yesterday, I was in the kitchen when Connor approached me with a worried look on his face. He had removed his pants and his tshirt hung down halfway to his knees leaving me with the assumption that he was still wearing his diaper.
"Mommy?", he said, " Mommy mommy mommy. towel? towel. towel! peepee. re-mote. re-mote. peepee. towel!" He then grabbed my hand and led me over to the remote control which was covered with some sort of liquid. My assumptions shattered I lifted his tshirt to find he had removed his diaper and yes, true to his word, pee peed on the remote control.
It's time to start potty training.

It's better than fridge art

Tomorrow Tristan will be 3 weeks old. It's all been a blur up until now but we are adjusting. Connor is loving his preschool class which thankfully frees up two mornings a week for me to go to the grocery store and shop without someone reaching in the back of the cart and tossing groceries onto the floor to distract me long enough for him to attempt a Houdini like escape from the cart.
We can tell what's going on at preschool by what Connor brings home. He brings home new words. Todays new words were, "take", "nice" and "share". I confess that his teacher did admit that he was a bit grabby today, only wanting the toys that other kids were playing with but I knew for sure that he had been talked to about it when he pointed to himself and announced, "Connor! Nice!" after handing me a ball. Later he demonstrated, "Connor! Take!" by trying to grab the pillow that his brother was laying on while nursing.
ouch.

Duuuude! check out the dogs ass

This is what happens when stoners don't have TV.

Welcome Tristan

Dear Tristan,
I wish I had an exciting story to tell about the day that I went into labor, but I don’t. There was no mad dash to the hospital with the police on our tail or contractions in the back of a taxi. Instead, your father and I chose to induce the labor.

This was because the midwife was concerned that you were going to be over ten pounds by the due date and it would be better to have you sooner, than later. Turns out you were only 8.1, more of a cantaloupe than a watermelon.

The day that we went to the hospital Grammie came to watch your brother and we loaded the car with our overnight bags and set out to have a baby. My hands shook the whole way. This is because going into labor on your own, is sort of like being pushed off of a cliff. There’s only one way down and it’s not you that’s deciding to jump. When the labor is induced, it’s sort of like jumping off of a cliff, rather than being pushed and well, I’ve never been a huge fan of heights.

Once my labor started it started off slow. The hormone gel they had used was taking it’s time to trick my body into thinking it was time to have a baby. Your father and I walked the halls of the birthing center hoping to urge you on. At one point they realized that you weren’t exactly in the correct position and had me sit on the exercise ball on the side of the bed so that you would realign yourself and start preparing for exit. It was at that point that I started to cry. This is probably due to the hormonal changes, the fact that I was in extreme pain and the talk that the midwife had just given me about how we might just have to wait another day and start trying to induce again in the morning. When the Dr. came in to break my water, he asked why I was crying to which I responded… “I’m never going to have this baby” and burst into tears again. During this time, your father sat rubbing my back, no doubt thanking God almighty that he wasn’t the one having to birth you.

After my water was broken the contractions started. I dilated 4 centimeters in 45 minutes, which basically translates to a whole HELL of a lot of pain. When the anesthesiologist came into the room, I was never so glad to see anyone. After 4 tries he finally got the medicine in and the contractions started to subside. Then, we were on our way to having baby. It didn’t take you long to decide to come on out. After a few pushes however, your heart rate started to drop and the midwife told me we needed to get you out in two pushes because you were in distress. I was terrified that if I didn’t get you out then, that something would be wrong with you so when she said push, I gave it my all and you shot out like a bullet.

They put you on my chest for a few seconds and then rushed you away to test you and clean you off, because they were concerned for the miconium that was found when my water broke.

After giving you an initial once over and pronoucing you perfect, they brought you over to me and laid you on my chest so I could take a look at you for the first time.Most babies straight out of the womb aren’t exactly pretty... In fact, most babies come out looking at bit like a boiled chicken. But you were absolutely beautiful. I decided at once that you didn’t look as much like your brother as I thought that you would, but didn’t look that much like your Dad or me either. You just looked like… well… you. As you started to round out however, we found that you did in fact look a lot like your brother, who was also a perfect specimen just after birth.

I think the second child is easier just because you aren’t scared of it. I was scared to death of your brother for the first few days I was home with him. What if I broke him? What if I didn’t feed him enough or he got sick? How would I know? What would I do? With you there wasn’t as much fear, but more fascination, confidence and ease. In fact, most of the fear I felt was how we were going to sell you to your big brother as the blessing that you are.

I needn’t have worried about that however, as your brother is more obsessed with you than any of his cars, boats or planes.

In fact the first word out of his mouth in the morning is, “Tristan?” because he wants to come and look at you while he rubs your head and whispers, “soft” which is what we’ve told him he needs to be when he touches you. It’s so sweet I can almost feel my heart seize and break into a million little pieces.
Welcome to the world little soul.

Ready as I'll ever be

After having Braxton Hicks contractions for a couple of days now, I've decided that I'm never having this baby. He's going to just live inside of me sucking out my life force until he kills me and finds another host.
I've been saying for a while that I was going to have the baby on the 10th of Sept. I'm not sure why I choose the 10th, just seemed like a good day at the time and I've been telling the baby that will be his day to shine. We'll see if he listens to Mommy, or if ignoring Mommy is a trait that the boys will all share.
But one thing for certain. I'm ready. Wait. No I'm not. Wait. Yes I am. No. Wait. Yes. Dang it!
ok. Yes. I'm ready.
Ready as I'll ever be.

Shameless

What having no shame looks like.

Only at the Wal-Mart

On Friday I went to Wal-Mart and had three different women ask me if I was having twins. Three.

The first was a Wal-Mart associate, that said, "I'll bet you're tired" when I asked where the childrens backpacks were, then asked if I was pregnant with twins. I said no it was just a really big baby and she said, "It looks like it". When I walked off I heard her say to the other lady she was working with, "You got ta be nice to HER."

The second was lady that asked, seemed to believe that she was also psychic as she came up behind me and started talking to my backside.

Lady: When are those beautiful baby girls coming?!?!
Me - thinking: I KNOW she isn't talking to ME.
Lady: So when are the baby girls due?
Me-thinking: I have GOT to turn around and look at the crazy lady.
Me - Turns around.
Lady: When are the twins due? They are girls right?
Me - thinking: OMG. She IS talking to me.
Me: It's just one and he's due any minute.
Lady: Wow! You're really big.
Me: Yeah, heh. He's a big one.
Lady: Congratulations!

The third lady, tried to convince me that although we just had an ultrasound the day before and only have heard one heartbeat the entire pregnancy, that "You could never tell with these things". That I probably was going to have twins and one was hiding behind the other one, because I sure was BIG!

And you know what? I am big. And hot. And sweaty. And ready to have this baby. Well, ready after Connor's first day of pre-school on Wednesday.

Just five more minutes...

Today was the ultrasound at the OB. They usually don't do ultrasounds this late in the game but they wanted one to check both size and position of the baby. Last visit the midwife didn't think that the baby had dropped yet, meaning moved down so that his head rests in the pelvis (although I think he dropped that night), but was certain that the baby was pretty large.

In fact, the baby IS pretty large. According to the ultrasound a whopping 8lbs 10oz, with expectation to gain a pound a week up to my due date. That means if I don't go into labor until my due date that we are looking at at least a 10 lb baby. Which brings forth other complications, such as, that's a whole lotta baby to squeeze through such a tiny opening and possible C-Section.
So she recommended induction. I am a firm believer that the baby will come when it's good and ready, so I wasn't willing to have an induction next week. Plus, I've got stuff to do. Connor starts pre-school, and I still have floors to wash, grocery runs to make and surfaces to dust.
So, we scheduled induction for the 12th, hoping that I'll go into labor before then.

While I am looking forward to having the baby, right now he's easier to take care of inside of my belly. And once he's out, our whole world is going to change. Mine, Jorma's and Connor's.
Mostly I worry about how Connor is going to take it. I talk to him every day about baby brother coming and show him things that are for the baby, but I know he can't comprehend yet. Hell, he keeps asking if Papa is in every closet in the house, so I know he can't grasp the concept of a baby in Mommy's belly.

Last week after his pre-nap sippy cup he fell asleep in my arms, (due to the pedicare I had given him so he could breathe through his stopped up nose) while I rocked him and it was all I could do to put him in the crib. Not because of physical limitations, but because I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't help thinking, how he's starting pre-school and growing up so fast, but asleep in my arms in the rocking chair he still looks like a baby. He still IS a baby. I thought, this could be the last time that we get to just sit and rock and cuddle without me having to jump up and go check on a sibling. Without me having to jump up and toss him in the crib so that I can shower, brush my teeth and eat something that's not a triscuit. I held him for just five more minutes and just five more minutes again, until I had been sitting there for almost an hour in the dark weeping for the loss of my firstborn baby who still can't even wipe his own butt.

So, we've put off the induction until two days before my official due date, which gives me time to clean all of the corners of the house with a Q-tip and dust all of the light bulbs before the baby comes. More importantly though, it gives me just a little more time to spend with Connor while he's still the only baby in the house.

Dried nasal mucus

Today Connor was discovering that he could pick his nose and came up to me with the evidence and wanted to know what it was called. He ventured, "bug?" because I usually refer to them as "boogs" and waited patiently looking between me and the treasure on his finger.While grabbing the kitchen towel he insists wiping his nose on off of the floor I tried to think fast. What is it called? Isn't there some name besides, booger? If I tell him it's a boog, he'll just confuse it with bug, which is also a word that he's slightly obsessed with, since finding a dead bug in the window behind the entertainment center. This is the point where I wish that I had a really large audience so I could hear what everyone else has their kids calling boogers.Until then, I guess I'll just have to call them boogers as calling them, dried nasal mucus it probably just too much for a toddler.

Cars!

Connor has a car obsession.I'm not sure how it happened really. I pushed dinosaurs and baby animals. Jorma and I have never purchased clothing for him with a car or truck on it. We've never read books on cars, talked much about cars, or watched TV programs with cars. This has GOT to be some sort of specific boy trait that is buried deep within Connor's DNA.

It might be understandable, since to get anywhere exciting, we must travel in the car. But the obsession has also spread to boats, motorcycles and trucks. Now both grandparents have one or other of the above, so that's understandable too, except he's so obsessed that some nights in his sleep, we hear him yell, "CARS!" at the top of his lungs and then nothing else as he's fallen back asleep. One of the 5 million baby books we own has a picture of a bike in it, which is the only thing that he wants to look at in the book. He can look at that page for a solid 15 minutes at a time, which is astounding considering his attention span for ABC's or drawing is about 2.5 seconds.

Even now when he crys, he sobs the word car in between, Mommy, Daddy and No.
After his 45 minute temper tantrum on Saturday, in which the word car was said about 500 times, we tried to put him into the car, thinking that certainly he wanted to go somewhere, (and we were taking him to Grammie's anyway) but he refused to sit in his car seat, hysterically sobbing and pointing to Jorma's car and every other car in the cul-de-sac, yelling CARS! each time.

I would truly try to count the number of times I hear the word car on a daily basis, but I'd probably lose either the count or my mind by 10am, since cars, boats and trucks are all he wants to discuss first thing in the morning.Oh, and squirrels. But that's a discussion for a new entry.

Time

This past Sunday, Jorma made a huge donation towards his wifes mental stabillity and took control of our spawn for the day while I went up to Patties for a little bit of baby free time. In added bonus to my refreshed mental state, the belly floats in the pool, thus releving the constant back ache from carrying around what feels like a bowling ball in my stomach.

At one point, my mind cleared and I remembered that I had forgotten to brush my teeth. Not Connor's. Mine. This is the result of me allowing him to use my toothbrush instead of his own extra special Elmo toothbrush, so he will brush his own teeth or allow me to without resorting to our previous toothbrushing method, which is commonly referred to as the "Mommy Hold" but known to all else as a headlock.

After said announcement Darlene said, "You never forgot to brush your teeth before you had kids did you?"
I thought about it for a minute and said, "No, in fact it used to be the first thing that I did in the morning"
She then said," Wait till you are running around after two of them. You're not going to have time to throw yourself in front of a truck... and believe me... you're going to want to."

Search Results

Poor Connor. And he thought only Mommy was out to get him by not letting him, eat cookies for breakfast or run across the back of the sofa.
I ran across this link online. The only thing that it "clearly demonstrates" is that even crazy people can make a buck on the internet.

Catch up

Connor slept until 10am this morning. After waking up in a panic and making sure he was still breathing, I was unable to go back to sleep so I laid in bed for an hour before letting the paranoia win over and go in to wake him at ten. I mean what if he woke up, bumped his head and then fell into a coma?! More likely he was exhausted from waking up at 2am and 5am. I went in at 2am, where he demanded that we go either outside or swimming and Jorma took the 5am, where he wanted to know all about PawPaw's boat and truck.

This morning Connor decided to try out the word "Nasty" for most of the morning. He was trying to get into the diaper pail which I told him was "trash - nasty" which of course he had to mimic. In Connamese nasty is prounounced Nasa-gee-uh, which completely cracks me up. The fact that it cracks me up is probably the reason that he's said it about 100 times today.

I haven't been writing much because I'm just too fat to function properly. Between chasing the kid around all day the heat, the 54 lb belly I'm carting around and the fact that I feel like I need to eat every 17 minutes, by the time Connor is asleep, I'm so exhausted that I feel like doing absolutely nothing. I keep thinking that I'll get better after the baby is born, when in fact it will probably be worse. Only four weeks to go. Pray for us all.

Jorma said

Jorma said:
"I think it's funny when he's in the crib for the night crying for Elmo. He wants anyone to come and save him from bedtime. It reminds me of Ricky Bobby running around the track yelling, Help me Jesus, Help me Oprah, Help me Tom Cruise with your witch magic!"

Connor's First Beach Trip

Dear Connor,
This weekend you went to the beach for the very first time. We stayed in a house with PawPaw and Nana a few blocks from the shore. When we did get you to the beach it was so windy that we couldn't really put down towels and the surf was much to rough for you to play in. In fact, it was much too rough for Mommy to play in. The belly that your brother is living in, throws off my balance and I spent most of the time I was in the water, getting up from being knocked over and trying to pull my swimsuit bottoms back on.

You had a grand time in the personal lagoon that Daddy and PawPaw dug for you and seemed to think that the seashells shouldn't be on the beach. Bringing them to us and saying, Thank you when we took them from you. You weren't as impressed as I thought you would be, when I started throwing your Teddy-Gram cookies to the seagulls that flocked around us, swooping them up from the air. In fact, you seemed more concerned that I was wasting your cookies.

You learned the word seagull, beach, seashell and lizard which you pronounced FeeDid. Because Nana brought the iguana with her you got to watch her feed it and let it soak in the bathtub. You touched it a couple of times, but were more content to talk about it constantly than actually touch it or look at it outside of the cage.

The sleeping conditions were a mess, with you, me (and the belly) and Daddy all sharing a full size bed. Because it was hot in the room and it's hard for all of us to sleep with you kicking the crap out of us every few minutes during the night, you woke up frequently, sometimes sitting straight up in bed, and yelling, PawPaw, FeeDid, Nana or Boat before falling back over and resuming you sweet baby snore.

I had vowed to not expose you to any other children before we went, but took you to a sprinkler party on Monday before we left, where you of course contracted a cold the day before we were to leave. I was hoping for some fantastic beach shots, but since your nose was oozing green snot at each opportune moment, not many pictures were taken. So I'll just have to tell you. You had a grand time, were coddled and spoiled and relished being the center of attention.

Hopefully on our next trip, we'll have less wind, calmer surf and more cookies for the gulls. Maybe you won't squirm to get down in the restaurants and stores and will be able to dedicate some quality time to sand castle building. Maybe Daddy and I will bring an air mattress just in case...

Although I was with you almost every waking second during the trip, I missed you while we were there. I'm so used to you climbing all over me all day long and while it seemed like a bit of a vacation to have you climbing all over Daddy, PawPaw and Nana, instead of me, my arms felt a little bit empty. I was glad to be home today to have you all to myself, while you laid in my arms quietly requesting cookies and pancakes and insisting on giving me snotty kisses.

Free at last

Connor’s vocabulary is growing fast and furious. It would take a Doctorate English Linguistics Scholar to figure out what he’s talking about, but he tries. He repeats almost anything, and will sometimes repeat on command. When he’s going to say a new word, he makes you first say it a few times, while he studies the mouth movement and then tries it on his own. Frog is actually, Gawk, and Beads sounds like Beez, Duck is Uck, Papa Chuck is GaGuck and Grammie is Mamme, but he’s coming right along with it.

We've also been watching Seasame Street and he's developed a slight Elmo (Melmo) obsession. He digs Cookie Monster too, (cookie) but can't grasp the concept that Big Bird is not a duck. I explain to him, no no, that's a bird, to which he looks at me like I'm crazy and says, noooo. Duck! He's become commanding now that he has some words to use, especially when he's decided that he wants a cookie. Help, (phelp?) Cookie? He'll say while he points to the pantry. Peeessee? He'll throw in, since sometimes that word works for him. And it does. After wiping his bottom and feeding him for almost two years, it's nice to hear a please and a thank you, so at least we can begin to establish that Mommy is not the slave. Free at last!

The library class

Today we attempted a library class at the local library. I have a couple of friends that go to the library classes and they all say that they are fantastic. We were there getting our, (my) library card renewed, and went ahead and signed up for the available space left in “The Young and the Restless” library class.
At the beginning of the class, the librarian requested that any child that wasn’t into the program be taken out. I’m not sure what they meant by “into the program” but I think Connor might have fit that description. Kids are allowed to walk around if they want to, just so long as they are, paying attention to what’s going on.
When they were having the puppet show, Connor was into the librarians keys laying behind her, the basket of shakers on the table and another kids sippy cup.

I was watching Connor when he suddenly froze, watching something across the room. This freeze that he does is the 5 seconds that it takes him to work out how he’s going to get something. If you want to see the look I’m referring too, check out one of the Animal Planet shows on Lions. The look that the lion gives when a gazelle just happens to wander across his path… it’s that look. After explaining to him, “That’s not yours, honey” and wondering why someone’s kid is so dehydrated that they can’t go without a sippy cup for a 30 minute library class, he finally moved on. Moving on consisted of trying to climb into other people’s strollers, purses or baby car carriers. Or, even more fun, walking up to all of the other kids in the class, stopping and looking them over for a second to see what they had that he wanted.

So basically I walked around behind him for 20 minutes of the class. Or waddled rather, since the belly doesn’t let me move as fast as I usually do. The librarian only had to stop the story once, however, because he was trying to take her keys away again, which should have been put out of reach in the first place. He was really into the bubbles they blew and I thought for one brief shining second that he was going to settle down and clap to the Monkeys jumping on the bed song, but it never happened.
The other kids amazed me though. They all just stood by their Mommies and jumped and clapped. Sometimes they would walk away, but only about six feet or so and then they’d go right back. It’s like they were on an invisible leash. WHERE CAN I GET ONE?!?!

A couple of kids wandered up to the librarian while she was reading and stood and watched, only to be bulldozed out of the way when Connor tried to take the book away from her during the story. I’ve come to the conclusion that my kid isn’t a just hang out and check out the scene kinda kid. He’s not one to sit and listen to a story, or clap and sing along. He’s more of a running, climbing, not sitting still for a second type of kid. I guess I need to take that into consideration before taking him to library classes, restaurants, funerals or china shops.
Although I think we might try the library class again next week to see if he does better once he knows the drill. My instinct is that he will just get comfortable and be even worse, but we’ll just have to see. Certainly getting asked not to come back to library class before you’ve even hit two years old, is good for bragging rights at least.

The alien fungus

Yesterday I was in the middle of a project that I like to call Really Bored Housewife, which consisted of hanging all available tools on the pegboard in the garage. Connor was running around on the deck stark naked alternating between his pool which is right at the back garage door and the garage itself.
At one point, I looked over at him and he was standing on the deck with a look of confusion on his face. When I said, " What's wrong?", he just gazed at me with a look of complete consternation and looked down pointing at something on the deck.
I walked over to see what was causing the confusion and immediately became confused myself. What was I looking at? Laying on the deck were tanish shiny clumps of something that I could not pinpoint. Adding to my bewilderment were the tiny, bright orange, crystal-like hairs sticking up that covered it all over.
What in the hell was it? Was it alive? Was it a fungus? How did it get on the deck like that? What was the puddle of foam it was laying in? I looked at Connor and he pointed to it again, looking worried. I too was worried. What alien creature had landed on our deck? And in such a close proximity to my CHILD!
Then a revelation hit me with a surge of both relief and ickyness, Connor had pooped on the deck. The tiny little hairs that were sticking straight up, were the tiny little pieces of mandrin oranges from breakfast that were undigested. No wonder Connor was so confused, he's never seen poop outside of his diaper.
My next task was to grab a handful of wipes before Connor grabbed a handful of alien fungus. I rushed into the house, but wasn't to worry. What I came back, Connor was standing far away from the poo, half hiding behind one of the deck chairs eyeing the pile with suspicion. Isn't potty training going to be fun?

The Tarbucks Challenge

Well, I have some bad news... we didn't win the lottery yesterday. But I also have good news. I actually like steak. But apparently if it's served at Ruth's Chris which is where we went for dinner last Saturday night. By far the best steak I've ever had. The blue cheese crust that was braised on the top and the pound of melted butter it was served in, didn't hurt it either. But man. That was some steak.
Connor's vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds. Yesterday while talking on the phone, I said, "Well, that sucks." And of course instead of picking up, that, or well, he latched onto "sucks" and practiced it a few times while lolling around on my lap. Luckily, he quickly forgot it, remembered I was on the phone and started yelling, "HELLO!?" about 20 times in a row. He has that word down too.
He also apparently has the word cookie down, because while waiting in line in the Target Starbucks today, (the Tarbucks as Jorma and I call it) he pointed at the Scottish Shortbread cookies that Mommy uses as a scream deterrent whenever she wants to shop in peace for more than 15 minutes and started having a meltdown, yelling, cookie! cookie!, until I had purchased it and he was happily trying to cram half of it into his mouth at a time. See the sacrifices I'll make just to get a Frappacino? And just for the record. Decaf Frappacino. Sucks. See? There's that word again. I guess I'll just have to keep the use of inappropriate words to a min, until well, until the kids leave the house. Dang it.

Another year bolder

Happy Birthday Jorma!

Just when you thought it was safe...

ok. I'm back. I know, I took quite the hiatus there, but it was needed. We've been living in chaos for so long it seemed necessary to get the house in order. Or maybe I'm just nesting.
There are good things and bad things about moving when you are pregnant. One of the bad things is well... moving while pregnant. If I want the china cabinet moved over 8 inches, I can't just do it myself. It makes me feel sort of helpless which I'm not accustomed to. One of the good things is that the nesting instinct is strong. I've organized and reorganized to the point that we might actually be organized. Well, sort of. I reached critical mass with the whole organization thing when I requested that Jorma purchase a label maker, "While he was out" one Saturday. My intention was to label every shelf and box in the house. But then I determined in a moment of sanity that in fact, Connor can't yet read and Jorma can tell that the pantry shelf that contains the canned goods is the shelf for the canned goods because of all of the cans on it. He's smart that way. I'm a lucky girl.
So, instead I'm settling of labeling other things. Like the label maker. Which proudly boasts "Label Maker" on a fresh shiny label across it's front. Just in case anyone gets confused.

Connor's list of words

I keep meaning to write down an official list of Connor's words to date, but I keep forgetting. Since I haven't written about anything else over the past week or so, I figure I'll go ahead and do it now.

Connor likes to say, Dada, Dadee, Mama, Cheese, Uh-Oh, Nah?(no), DayDo (Thank you), Sissy (Sippy), Ball, Bye!, Hey!, bubble, side (outside)

Connor can say" Gege (kitty), Glasses, Cookie, no, nose, game, hello, more, nite, juice, outside and bottle, TV, all done, gentle, silly

Connor mostly says, Dadee, Mama, Bye, Hey, Nah, Side, Bubble and Uh-oh

It's hard being Mommy

I've been trying to get the house together like a mad-woman. The nesting instinct is strong and I'm doing all I can to hurry up and get it done. I know I have gobs of time before everything needs to be set up and I have the rest of my life to decorate, but I'm just so anxious to be settled. After living in apartments and rental houses for the past several years, I still stop before putting a nail in the wall to think about the patch job I'm going to have to do when we move out. I guess it hasn't completely sunk in yet.

Because we are officially in a new place and now have the space for it, we've set up the pack and play to begin "Time Out's" for Connor. It just so happens that right about the time that we moved, Connor began his testing phase. So he completely ignores, "No" and does whatever he's doing, again, and again and again and again to see what happens. Now that we have his "Time out" area set up, it basically means that we are just putting him into time out, again and again and again and again and again. He's not much phased by this. I've tried yelling at him. Which he thinks is funny. I'm tried the pop on the hand, which he also thinks is funny. The thing is, there is nothing that you can do to phase the kid. He's just going to keep on keeping on, because certainly stealing a full cup of coffee off of the kitchen table that he has climbed onto is worth sitting alone in his pack and play in the dining room for three minutes. Or five minutes. Or ten minutes. Now he's like, "SWEET! I'm in the pack and play. Now I can continue working on ripping off the floor pad on this thing." Is this a boy thing? Or is this a kid thing? Right when I had gotten the baby thing down now there is something new to learn. How to deal with a toddler. A toddler and is teaching himself how to have full blown throw yourself on the floor and cry because Mommy took the plastic spork away from you. Temper tantrums about not being allow to flush the toliet 15 times in a row. Temper tantrums about coming inside from the yard because it's started raining. By the end of the day I'm ready to throw myself on the floor and cry. How good would that feel? Just to lay on the floor and inconsolably cry until suddenly you were fine enough to wander over and harrass the cat for a while.

What? You think I'm being silly? Just you try to install child proof locks on all of the cabinets with a drill, 20 plasic pieces, 40 screws, a drill, a screw driver and a toddler who wants to either sit in your lap and while pointing at your nose or take advantage of the fact that the cabinet door is open during the project, which is a perfect time to remove everything from the cabinet and take it into the living room for further inspection. Yeah, you'd be wanting to have a temper tantrum too. Or at least a hot bath and some ice cream. Which is tonights method of medication.
It's hard being Mommy.

Who needs sleep?

It's done. We've moved to the new house! The new house currently looks like a bomb has exploded inside but we are making some headway. Connor is helping with the unpacking, (sigh) so the process is really slow.
We've only been here for 5 days but I feel like we've lived here forever. It feels like home. It's so nice to actually have SPACE! We have CLOSETS! We have a PLAYROOM! We have a mouse-free kitchen!
Connor is adjusting quite well, but the cat, not so much. He still wanders around the house yowling in the wee hours of the morning, only content when in the same room that we are in. The problem is, he wants to explore the house and exploring the house removes him from the room that we are in, thus the howling begins. We have a squirt bottle but have discussed purchasing a super-soaker. Hopefully his walnut sized brain will have the house mapped out by the weekend and he'll stop howling. I hope so, we need sleep around here.

Just shoot me

I haven't been writing that much lately because we've been trying to get everything together for the new house we just bought today! We love it! Unfortunately however, the little one is still sick with his ear infection and had to have his antibiotic changed. I also, have somehow while on an antibiotic for bronchitis managed to aquire a sinus infection which is making me completely miserable. I must not have had one before because I can't remember feeling this miserable, well, since I got my tonsils out, but hell, I expected that and it was for the greater good, so it wasn't so awful. This is awful. I really wanted to be excited about our first house today... but in between the thoughts, of, We just bought a house! We have a yard! We have an upstairs!, were the other thoughts that were generated by my illness. Just shoot me. Ohmygod my face hurts. This sucks. I'm miserable. You know... sick-like thoughts.
So, I'll blog again soon, provided my sinus infection hasn't killed me first. I can't wait to brag about our new place.

Mommy the elephant

Jorma to Connor while they look at Jungle Animals Placemat: "Can you show Daddy the elephant?"

Connor: Turns and points to Mommy

Me: "NO,NO, Baby. We do NOT point at Mommy when Daddy says, where is the elephant!"

Connor: Laughs, (mostly because we are) and then high fives Daddy.

And we are having another. God help me.

The mom cut

HA! You thought I was just threatening to do it didn't you? You thought I would never have the courage. You thought I would never go through with it. Well I did. Yesterday, I cut off all of my hair. That's right. I now have a "Mom cut".

I always, always swore that I would never get a mom cut. I always swore that I wouldn't cut my long luscious locks even if I had ten children. I always swore this... before I actually had kids. What I didn't know is, it's fine to keep your long beautimus hair, as long as you don't mind it being stuck together in sections by dried banana and baby snot.

I did mind so I started putting is back in a knot at the nape of my neck. That's right, you've seen it... the bun. And that's the way I wore it. Each. And Every. Single. Day. So I figure... cutting it short couldn't look WORSE than wearing it back in a bun everyday, could it? And if it did... well the one thing that is certain is that hair will grow. I'd just grow it back out. It's about 2 inches above my shoulders and I LOVE it.

This morning I took a shower put some goop in it, towel dried and in an hour it was completely dry. And because it's down and not back in a ponytail it actually looks like it's semi fixed, even when it isn't.

I definately think that I look better with long hair. When the long hair is freshly washed, blow dried and curled. But as my husband can attest that hasn't happened since Connor's birth so what the hell, right? Everyone always says that short hair is easier to take care of. Do you know why they said that? Because it is.

How to prepare a Brussel Sprout

I've always hated brussel sprouts, but Jeff who is a chef swears it's because I've never had them prepared properly. Jorma hates them too. So when I brought home a bag of fresh brussel sprouts from the grocery store and showed him, our conversation went like this.

Jorma: I hate Brussel Sprouts
Me: Me too, I think they are discusting.
Jorma: Ok just as long as we are on the same page. Walks off.

I explain to him that I've always wanted to cook them correctly. The way that Jeff says I should. The way that Jeff swears they aren't nasty. So I did. This is what you have to do to prepare Brussel Sprouts properly.

1. Remove the outer leaves
2. Chop off the woody part of the lower stem
3. Cut an x on the bottom of the steam
4. Boil in heavily salted water for about 6 - 8 minutes.
5. Remove and shock in ice water
6. Cut in half lengthwise
7. Saute in white wine, garlic and butter
8. Serve

And do you know what? They still taste like shit. They are too bitter. They don't absorb the white wine flavor well. I guess any vegatable that you have to do that much crap to in order to prepare it properly, you know is going to be nasty.

I guess if I removed more of the outer leaves and we just ate the hearts. If I maybe boiled them until ALL the flavor was gone, carmelized them in sugar, dipped them in chocolate and then rolled them in crushed almonds... they might be alright.
But for now... they still suck.

You GO girl

ESPNOutdoors - Bear crashes hockey game, mom saves kids

I've always been amazed by these types of stories. She didn't lift a 2 ton car off of her kid, but she definately was willing to take a stand when the odds weren't in her favor.

How to pack a box

This is what it's like to pack boxes for moving with Connor in the room.

- Open box and attempt to tape, removing toddler every few minutes
- Once box is taped turn on side and allow toddler to crawl inside, thus avoiding temper tantrum.
- Remove toddler from box
- Begin to fill box with stuff to be packed
- Walk around the room picking up items that have been removed from box by toddler
- Place items back into box, while telling toddler, "no!" and having toddler reply, "NANANA!" (which is no in toddler language) as he tries to push your hands away from the box
- Fold box
- Tape up box
- Put knee on box while taping to keep toddler from opening box while taping
- Ignore temper tantrum
- Get new box and start process again

Mi Casa, We Casa

When you are pregnant, people have a different way to greeting you. Instead of the usual, "Hi, How are you?" you get, "Hi, how are you? When are you due?" My belly is protruding much quicker than it did with Connor, so when I tell the person asking, "September" their response is, "WOW! You're so BIG!" This is not what the pregnant lady wants to hear. Another common question that follows the due date query is, "Is this your first?". Now that I have Connor in tow most of the time, I don't get this question, but I got it alot when we were in California. It's mostly people that have children that ask this type of question and when you answer, yes, it's our first, they just smile and nod and get that knowing look behind their eyes. I never knew what that look meant, until I found myself asking another preggo, if the baby was to be her first. When she said yes, I just smiled and nodded... That knowing look, actually means, HA! Aren't you in for a suprise. You have no idea how this is going to change your life. Enjoy that Starbucks now sweetie, because after the next year, you'll never be able to even go to the bathroom alone again.

I haven't been blogging much because we've been busy with the new house we are purchasing. There's a ton of red tape that has to be written up, signed and filled out. There are five million people to call and scheduling those five million to call the other five million so that when you are ready to write up, fill out and sign all of the official stuff, everyone is in communicado. It's alot. I didn't bring up the house, because I didn't want to jinx it, but it appears that everything is going smoothly and we are set to close the first week of May. Moving is going to suck as usual, but hopefully, we can find enough strapping, young lads to donate their time that it won't just be my husband and his pregnant wife that is only able to lift 25 lbs or less. If you feel like doing some community service, just let us know... we've got some good karma just waiting for you. Good karma... and maybe some beer.

Procrastination

These are the things that I have been doing instead of blogging.

- Trying to buy a house, (that's actually a we thing, but I've been doing the legwork)
- Stressing over trying to buy a house
- Working
- Sleeping
- Trying to teach Connor that we do not ride the kitty
- Trying to teach the kitty that if you do not want to be ridden, you should not come into the living room

Lizard in a pail

I know! I've been slacking. Mostly because we've been tied up trying to purchase a house that we're probably not getting anyway. No big though, there are plenty of others out there. Plus, it's the shopping that's the fun part.

But now I'm back and ready to tell you about the today's playgroup. The older kids are out of school this week and we had playgroup in one of the member's backyard today. It was a beautiful day to be outside and the kids had a blast. In addition to our troop of 5 toddlers we had two older brothers join us, (since they were out of school), both 4ish in age.

The two older boys caught a lizard and brought it over to the sand box where they put it to watch it run around. They then moved it to a sand shovel and started building a house around it. The architechture consisted of putting dead leaves, sticks and grass on top of the lizard in the shovel, forming his "house". The boys were having a great time at it, but the lizard, not so much. He came to an untimely end, smushed by his own new home. The boys then moved the lizard to a sand pail with grass in the bottom so that they could keep him captive, which worked well for them, being that the dead lizard wasn't much for moving. At one point, a small argument developed that the lizard could not be moved to a smaller bucket because he needed the room to exercise. Although they had been told by one of the Mommies, the boys were in denial that their new pet was no longer of this plane.

Our child, during this commotion was playing in the sand box and grabbed one of the sand pails. He was trying to tug the lizard house-sand pail away from the older boys when one of the Mommy's interviened. Peering in at the lizard she explained to the boys that the lizard was dead and that he had to be kept away from the baby, (Connor) because babies aren't allow to play with lizards. This was most appreciated by me, who sat a short distance away pleading with the interviening Mommy to please make sure that my child did not eat the lizard. The two older boys, both struggled and reached to take the pail out of the Mommy's hands, and ended up, milling around at her feet whining to get the lizard back. The entire time she was explaining that they couldn't have it back, Connor was reaching up and taking swipes at the pail just out of reach. The Mommy won,the two older boys, quickly absorbed in playing with cars on the patio while Connor resumed his investigation of the sandbox. While the lizard hung in his tomb from a fence post for burial at a later time.

We'll see ya. Thanks for coming out.

Dear America,
THANK YOU for finally voting this guy off of Idol. I'd like to talk some smack about ole Kevin Covais and how old all of the sex symbol jokes were getting but I don't want to make his mom cry.

At least now I can watch Idol without cringing... well, unless Bucky starts fixing his own hair again.

Pick your battles, redeem your prize

Although not yet two years old, Connor is already learning that he's got to pick his battles. His battles mainly consist of having something he's not supposed to and trying to keep it from Mom or Dad. He knows some things just aren't worth it. Like ink pens. Because he doesn't yet know that in ten minutes he can destroy a 1500 dollar sofa with an ink pen, they just aren't as much fun. If he manages to grab one that's rolled down within baby reach and gets caught, he takes a good long look at the pen and then gives it up. Well, he doesn't give it up, but he makes minimal effort to keep it and doesn't have a temper tantrum when it's taken. After all... how much fun can he have with a pen?
But let him get a hold of a two hour old cup of coffee with two inches of liquid left at the bottom... now that's something worth fighting for and yesterday he did just that.
One of the things I have to remember about our son, especially as he approaches his teenage years, is that he waits... and he watches. He knows at some point we are going to slip up. We the parents in our constant vigil to put things out of reach and maintain order eventually trust the child and think that something will be ok... just for a minute. But Connor watches, waits and checks.
Yesterday my coffee was old and cold, so when the phone rang the "keep the hot beverage away from baby" alarm didn't go off in my head. I sat the coffee on the desk thinking that it would be fine... just for a minute. Connor, seeing me leave the office went into check to see if there might be anything new to investigate. My coffee was just close enough, that standing on tiptoe he was able to slide it off of the desk.
I was only on the phone for a minute, but he heard me coming and decide he had better take the goods and run.
One thing I've learned about taking things with spillage potential away from our child is that you have to treat him a bit like a horse. You must walk slowly and speak softly because if you startle him or he thinks that you might take away his new prize he's off like a shot. I don't know if you've ever see the gait of a running toddler but it's not so smooth and trotting across our off-white carpet with a cup of half finished coffee can quickly spell disaster. Luckily however, I was blocking all access to the carpeted areas of the house and he only had two choices for escape. Back into the office or into the foyer. He choose the foyer, clutching my cup to his chest dropping his head and running full speed until he hit the door and was trapped. I slowly walked towards him, softly telling him how impressed I was that he was able to hold a cup like a big boy, but he wasn't falling for it, wheeling around and spilling cold coffee down the front of his shirt. Still desperate to maintain his prize, he tried to make a break for the carpeted dining room holding the cup at his side to pick up speed and spilling it all over the foyer. When I reached down to take it, he bobbed and weaved going back the other direction, non chalantly setting it down on the pedestal in the foyer and suddenly becoming interested in a leaf laying on the floor by the front door.
"Huh? Coffee? Me? I don't know what you are talking about." At least he never made it to the carpet.

Yeah, I'm a quitter.

So the other night when I was trying to post an image and Blogger wouldn't let me, this is what I was going to post.










It's my quit statistics from SilkQuit, a program that I downloaded from the web! They have similar programs that you can use to track anything you are quitting, Candy Bars, Starbucks or beers. I'm suprised that the money amount isn't higher though.
It's been almost two weeks and I still want a cigarette so bad that I might actually be willing to pay that $36.41 for one smoke. What's suprising to me is the number of cigarettes NOT smoked. Holy Crap that's a lot!
The life saved is pretty nifty too. 17h and 20m. That's alot of time. That's enough time to drive to the beach for one last skinny dip in the great blue sea. It's enough time to fly to vegas for one last spin of the roulette wheel. It's enough time to re-write the will or talk the eldest child into taking all of the cats. It's enough time to tell everyone that you love them for the 9 billionth time... and that's why I quit in the first place.

Damn you Blogger!

I just had a nifty little post written and it had a picture to go with it! But when I tried to post the picture it gave me an error that said, I couldn't upload at this time, (and that the engineers are working on it). So I tried to save my post as a draft but it got lost and didn't appear. So it looks like I've already wasted some time tonight. Thank you, Blogger.
This is the reason I need to get off my ass and learn movable type.
So I guess I'll just have to tell you about how last night, Connor held his Vanilla-Ginger gourmet cookie up over his head like it should have rays of sunlight shooting from it and said clear as day... "Coo-Key".
and has refused all bribes and cajoling to say it again.

I'll try to re-write my first post and post it in the morning.

The habitual Mommy

Tonight Pink was sitting in my lap looking at me. Before I knew what I was doing, I took my finger and pressed his nose and said, "Nose!".
I was too horrified by what I had done to even be horrified by what I had done. My Mommy brain is such Mommy brain that I can't even remember that the cat, who is ten years old, does not need to know the names of his body parts.
I'm a habitual Mommy.

Ahhh, the Slurpee

One of the things that I miss about California is the Slurpee. You see, in Fremont, they still have 7-11s. The 7-11's still have Slurpees. Here we have the Icee, but they are just carbonated air and flavor. I miss the Slurpee. So if you are reading this from CA. Have a Slurpee for me. I'll make sure that next time I walk past an Icee machine, I flip it off for you.

My AI picks

Damnit! I was wrong on my American Idol picks. Ayla Brown got the boot and so did Giddeon. And now we are down to the top 12.

Ace Young - Paula LOVES your falseto. Quite frankly it scares me. Good thing you are so easy on the eyes. I don't think you will make it to number one, but then again I should never underestimate the 13 year old vote. Did I mention you are fine?

Bucky Covington - You have GOT to get a hair stylist. I can't remember what you sang last, but I do remember that it looks like you desperately need a shave.

Chris Daughtry - You so rock dude. I hope you make it just so we can buy your album.

Elliot Yamin - Love the voice, although, I'm not sure that the rest of America will put you through just based on looks. Our culture is just a little bit shallow, in case you haven't noticed.

Katherine McPhee - Yeah, you're cute. But that "smoldering look" more borders on annoying to me. Keep it real sister.

Kellie Pickler - Someone has got to tell you so I guess it's going to be me. Dumb does not equal cute. Someone has got to stop the all Southern Women are dumb stereotype. It could be you. So can the "blonde" act and get real.

Kevin Covalis - HOW IN THE HELL ARE YOU STILL HERE? Oh that's right. 11 year olds watch the show. You're never going to make it to number one, but at least you'll get laid when you get back to high school.

Lisa Tucker - I think you might be better suited for Broadway. It's just unnatural for a 16 year old to love Barbara Streisand so much. I think you were a gay man in a past life.

Mandisa - Girl, I hope you make it. (See Elliot's comment above)

Melissa McGhee - You look so much like the girl next door. Unfortunately you are much to average to make it all the way, girl.

Paris Bennett - You're cute girl. You might just make it all the way!

Taylor Hicks - STOP with the "seizure on stage" dancing already. It's getting OLD.

Force of habit

There are some things that I do that are just a force of habit. I'm not quite sure from where the habit arose but I do them none the less. One day Jorma said to me, "What do you always drive in the far right lane?" I thought about it. hhmm. Why do I always drive in the right lane? It's not because I drive that slowly. It's just something I do. And to prove to myself that I didn't have to drive in the far right lane, I immediately got into the far left lane. I drove for a few minutes fighting the urge to get back into the slow lane and then took a minute to ask myself why I wanted back over to the right. Myself answered with, "If the car breaks down you won't be stuck in the middle of the interstate." And there I had it. I always drove in the slow lane because up until now, I've always driven cars that were more likely to break down than say, your car for example. So I've always drive in the right lane. It's a product of always having a piece of shit car.

I had forgotten that Jorma and I had this conversation until the other day when I realized that I never put ice in my glass when I get something to drink. Why do I do this I pondered? And then I realized. Aside from a brief stint with one of my roommates, I've never had a fridge with an ice maker until we moved to California. Using ice was a luxury, because it meant that I would have to fill up the ice cube trays when they were empty. Yeah, before you snort and call me lazy, you just ask yourself, how long have you been living with an icemaker, eh? I would fill the trays... it just sometimes wasn't worth the effort for a glass of apple juice that was already cold in the first place.

This one's for you, honey

Every time I even start to talk about when I moved in with one of my old roommates, Jorma stops me and politely says, “Yeah, you already told me about the skin”. That’s his way of hoping that I don’t repeat the story. He doesn’t want to hear it again. But I lived through it and I’m not sure that I’ve told anyone else, except Shane who intervened later that evening to help me move some heavy stuff. So I thought I’d share it with you all. Nothing like making the entire internet gag.

My old roomie is a fantastic guy and when I needed a new place to live, he was more than happy to rent out one of the rooms in the three bedroom house that he was living in alone. It was cool for me to bring the dog and two cats, he had two dogs of his own, the rent was decent and I trusted him not to try to turn the arrangement into anything that it wasn’t. I looked forward to having a male platonic roommate, for reasons of safety and just a general change of scene.

The day that I moved in was the Friday before 4th of July weekend. New Roomie was at the beach but had given me the go ahead to move into the house, which worked as an added bonus since I could watch the other dog, he didn’t take with him. She was a Carin Terrier with a severe skin condition. She had eczema and almost no hair. Sadly, she very closely resembled Yoda.

When I first brought in my first load of stuff, I noticed the smell. I had noticed a smell when I came in to look at the house a few weeks before, but thought it was the same sort of smell you might expect in a frat house… it just needed to be thoroughly scrubbed. I was willing to do the scrubbing - after all I had all weekend. Once I had all of my stuff in my room, I decided I could no longer stand the smell and started cleaning the den.

I started by sweeping. I had a pretty good pile, but was trying to be thorough so I started sweeping up the corner where the two sofa’s met. The smell was stronger there, and as I was sweeping I noticed a good bit of coarse grey matter. I moved one of the sofas and swept where there was more of the mysterious sand waiting to be swept. Soon, I had the sand all around me and stuck to the bottom of my feet, as I was barefoot. At this point, I still thought I might be standing in crumbed cement, so I wasn’t bothered that the bottoms of my feet were covered in this mysterious substance.

I was baffled. It seemed like the smell and the sand had some sort of correlation. I bent down and scooped up some on a piece of paper. I observed. Once of the pieces of sand had a piece of hair coming from it. A hair follicle actually. I think then I knew what it was, but my mind would not accept it. Suddenly my feet started itching. As if on cue, the dog trotted out from behind the sofa, sat a few feet in front of me and started scratching, causing a rain of dry, sand-like dog skin to come raining down around her.
I gagged. I was standing in a pile of dog skin. I immediately started wiping off my feet on the side of the broom bristles, and raced into the kitchen. I climbed up onto the counter and scrubbed my feet with anti-bacterial soap. I washed my legs. I filled the sink with warm soapy water and a little bit of bleach and soaked my feet. I changed clothes. I sat down on the couch and cried. What had I gotten myself into?

The situation was such that I really didn’t have a whole lot of options. I scrubbed and scrubbed, aired out the house, Febreezed, burned scented candles, but we could just never get the smell to go completely away. It had been absorbed into the hardwood floors and paneling in the house. The fact that the dog liked to show her distress by urinating and pooping on the floor also didn’t help the smell. Eventually after I moved out, the terrier died and he was able to get the house under control. In the end it wasn’t so bad. There’s nothing like being able to make your husband gag just by saying the words, “dog skin”.

Climbing the walls

Oh. My. God. This stopping smoking thing really sucks. The second day is harder than the first for sure. Last night in my dreams I was screaming at everyone and just mad at the world. When I woke up in the middle of the night the cat was in the spot that my feet needed to be in, Jorma was snoring and the covers were wadded up at the bottom of the bed. I just couldn't sleep - I was too mad. Or rather, I was just going through nicotine withdrawl. If I wasn't pregnant I would be able to take something... you know, Tylenol PM or something to knock me out for the night... but I can't really take anything. I took a benedryl, (safe for preggos) but it didn't do much good.
Today, Jorma took Connor and I just lazed around the house like a slug, doing anything to avoid going outside and longingly looking at the pot filled with cigarette butts next to the back door. I did watch three movies, Rent, Just like Heaven and The Island. All were B-rate, but it kept me from climbing the walls. I napped. I ate. I took deep breaths. I ate more. I knitted a scarf on my knitting loom.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.

My love affair with cigarettes

I first started smoking at Western Carolina. I made it all the way through high school without smoking and always swore I'd never be a smoker. But when attending parties at Western Carolina, it seemed like the thing to do. I never started smoking, just to smoke. I just wanted to blow smoke rings. After a while, my friend and supplier of cigarettes, Carrie, pointed out that she like the rest of us was dirt poor and that if I wanted to bum cigarettes to try to blow smoke rings, I needed to buy my own pack. It never occurred to me that I might get hooked. Hell, I was just having a little fun.

Smoking later turned into the actual thing, but only casually at parties and the like. Then I discovered that if I was up late studying, it helped me stay awake. If I was hungry, I could smoke a cigarette instead of eating something and it would get me through. If I had been up late the night before, smoking a cigarette before class helped wake me up. Coffee probably would have done the same thing, but we didn't have a coffee pot in the dorm. In fact, I didn't develop my love affair with coffee until some time later when I discovered how good it went with a cigarette first thing in the morning.

I'm telling you this because today I end my love affair with cigarettes. If quitting smoking was easy we would have a lot less smokers in the world. It's hard. It's really, really hard. One of the things that makes it really hard is that quite honestly, I love smoking. It's relaxing. It's soothing. It relieves both anxiety and depression. It's an appetite suppressant. It's a friend. It's a reward system. I'm not quitting because I want to. I'm quitting because I need to. Because I have to.

"Smoking is out of style" 'you say. To which I would like to point out, in every generation looking like you just don't give a shit... is always in style. But I do give a shit, which is why I'm quitting. Not just because I'm pregnant, although that is reason enough, but because I want to be able to attend Connors high school graduation without an oxygen tank strapped to my back. Because I need to be able to catch my breath chasing around two little ones. Because I unlike the generation before me, I waited until my early thirties to have kids and I would like to be around as long as possible.

All in all, it's still really really hard. Thus, I'll be welcoming all thoughts, prayers, comments, phone calls and emails of encouragement. Cookies are nice too. Wish me luck.