I spare you this*

I think I might vomit.

*This is not an actual entry, but a sample of what the entry would look like on the evenings that I do not write an entry. I spare you this.

The fun is just beginning.

I've finally figured out what was wrong with Connor all last week. We thought he had some terrible illness, when in fact he was simply suffering from demonic possession. Our willful, (but sweet) 15 month old has turned into our very own hell-spawn.

Shane said to Jorma once... "Write this down. When he turns about 15 months old you're going to think the terrible twos have come early... but they haven't. You ain't seen nothin yet."
I believe this.

It seems he's trying to test his limit and set some ground rules for mommy and daddy. They are*:

- You are not allowed to do anything that does not involve paying attention to me
- I will make the hungry sign every 30 minutes, at which time you will bring me a graham cracker. I will not eat the graham cracker at this time.
- I will not nap.
- Daddy will not be leaving the room.
- Mommy can leave the room, but only if Daddy is throwing me up in the air at the time.
- I will not wear PJ's.
- I will not eat while you are watching me
- I will not keep those ridiculous bear socks on my feet
- I will not show you where my nose is, or refrain from turning the TV off and on and off and on and off and on and...

* Misunderstanding of any of the above rules, may result in a spitting up pea soup, head spinning around, screaming, all out - temper tantrum.

Oh don't give up on the blog just yet my friends... the fun is just beginning.

The 2006 Bloggie awards

I was reviewing the top picks for the 2006 Bloggie awards and thought I would post them here. They are all so wonderful they make me want to stop writing my blog altogether. And I would too, if I was writing this blog for any reason other than to maintain my sanity. Take a look at them... funny stuff.


http://www.cuteoverload.com/
You will love this site. It’s nothing but cuteness. This is also a great idea.

http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/
This one is about Hollywood and tacky fashion.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/
This site is so awesome, I wrote an entry about it.

http://www.waiterrant.net/
This one you can both love and appreciate. Man, I wish I knew about this site when I was waiting tables. What a brilliant idea.

http://www.dooce.com/
I love this site. I read it almost daily. I actually stole her idea for writing letters to her child in monthly entries, celebrating milestones. I felt kinda weird about it, but it was such a good idea and I really wanted to journal for Connor any way. So stop by her site. It will be like guilt money from me.

Read it while you can peeps.

ok. This morning sickness thing. It IS as bad as it was with Connor. In fact, it might be worse because when I was pregnant with Connor, I had a call center full of technicians but didn't feel any guilt that they might not be getting the attention that they needed because I felt like I might vomit at any minute. It's hard to explain to a 15 month old, that jumping on the sofa that way while mommy is sitting on it, only makes the nausea worse. The good news is, only another month of this and it will be gone.
Connor's fever finally broke last night, allowing Mommy and Daddy to sleep through the night. Today he slowly regained his appetite and his desire to practice yelling for several minutes at a time. Jorma seems to be mostly recovered from his illness and I had an entire two hours this morning where I didn't feel like I was going to vomit. I took advantage of this time, giving the house the brief cleaning it desperately needed.
So now that all of the sickness is over, I can start again on my list of projects. I think I'm going to move the blog to the front page of dewchild.com. Overhaul the site again. I can always throw links up on the side for new pictures and the like. I don't really feel up to doing it yet, but it needs to be done before the second baby arrives. Although when that happens, who knows when I'll even have time to blog. Read it while you can peeps.

Dear Connor: 15 months

Dear Connor,
On Saturday you turned 15 months old and to celebrate, you got to take your very first trip to the emergency room. You were running a fever of 103.7 and when we checked you again after giving you Motrin, it had gone up to a terrifying 104.6. Your Dad with the flu and I, pregnant with the future bane of your existence/lifelong friend, (feeling queasy) set off for our big adventure.
Your Dad took you in while I parked the car and when I entered the ER, it occurred to me that he had never been to an Emergency Room before or he was so wacked out on Nyquil Day that he had forgotten, because he looked at me matter of factly and said, “I checked him in, they said someone would be right out.” He was standing by the doors, not wanting to sit down expecting, a doctor to come bursting through the doors to save you. We stood there for a minute, me trying to decide if now was the time to say, “Uh, you know by right out they meant in 45 minutes or so?” but instead opted for, “Let’s go sit down”.
Now in your fathers defense there is something you should know about him. He used to live in Hawaii and Hawaii is a utopia. The emergency rooms in Hawaii have no waiting in line and if there is, a lovely maiden in a grass skirt will come over to serve you cocktails in a coconut. In Hawaii it’s a perfect 80 degrees year round and it completely ruins you for living anywhere else for the rest of your life. But I digress…
You didn’t like the ER nurses and didn’t want them to touch you. When they wrapped a piece of tape around your toe to get your heart rate, you screamed like they had just shoved bamboo shoots under your toenails. You kicked and screamed so, that eventually they gave up completely. After the trauma of the toe wrap, a rectal temperature reading and pretending that the stethoscope was a hot iron branding you forever, they sent us back to the waiting room, giving you a healthy dose of Tylenol to drop the fever further. Two and a half hours later, we were still in the waiting room and you alternated between fits of screaming and laughter while we played Patty-Cake for the 200th time.
I might have mentioned that your father had the flu and that I had morning sickness and by midnight we were both sick and tired and your fever had broken an hour before, so we opted to go home. You didn’t get to see a Dr. that night, but did get to go to the Urgent Care center in the morning, where the Dr, pronounced you to have strep throat.
Today, I took you to your pediatrician just so I could have one more person tell us that you were in fact going to live through this and because I was worried as first thing this morning, you chugged 8ozs of sippy cup and then promptly vomited the contents of your stomach into my lap. I drove home from the Dr’s office feeling relieved and wishing desperately that I could have a Margarita.
Right now, you are running wild around the living room, deciding for the third night in a row, that no, in fact you aren’t going to bed at 7pm, as you completely take advantage of the fact that Mommy and Daddy don’t want to leave you in the crib to cry with a sore throat.
So, happy 15 months, Connor! We’re so glad you won’t remember this one.
Love,
Mommy

The puppy noise

In addition to me being in a constant state of queasiness, both of my boys are sick. Jorma has a nasty flu and Connor, who has had a flu shot, has a nasty case of 103 temperature and diarrhea. I am of course, not feeling so well myself so it's hard to take care of the two of them. Luckily, after years of being a bachleor Jorma is pretty self sufficent and although we both feel crappy, we can meet in the middle to make sure Connor has all of the TLC he needs.
I'm probably going to get the virus next. I just assume when Connor gets sick I'm going to get it, (although I usually don't) due to sloppy baby kisses and the fact that he likes to get right in my face before he sneezes.
Today, I was eating an apple and I let Connor has a few bites of it. I know it's silly and yes, boring to have to read about me glowing over the fact that my child took a bite from an apple but it was his first and I'm proud. He took several more bites, chewing each thoughtfully and then offered up the apple, using his puppy-noise, (ump? in a high pitched lilt with a questioning intonation), eyes wide waiting for me to take a bite. Although he had slobbered over almost the entire apple, I obligingly took a bite even though - one, it was kinda gross, and two he's sick and contagious at this time but I can't resist the puppy noise. I am weak when I hear the puppy noise.
When he brings me the 8th book in a row to read to him I am powerless to turn it away and read my People Magazine because he has made the puppy noise. He could get me to drink the Jonestown Kool-Aide with the puppy noise.
Hopefully I'll grow out of my puppy-noise weakness before he's able to drive, bum money from us, or decide that he needs $100.00 a pair designer jeans. If not... we are so screwed.

The joy of morning sickness

When I got pregnant with Connor, we didn't want to announce it to anyone until the second trimester, just in case. I appeared at work each day, feeling like I was recovering from an all night drinking binge, because that is the joy of morning sickness. My boss at the time, wore so much perfume that I could smell her when she walked in the building in the mornings. We had a 9am meeting and I don't know how she never saw me gagging from the perfume in the room.
Worse than the morning time were evenings. By 4pm, I would start feeling like I was going to vomit and Jorma and I would quickly leave work and I would drive home clutching a plastic grocery bag, "just in case". It sucked.

This time I kept bragging to everyone about how I don't feel sick at all, so then of course, I have to start feeling sick. It's not as bad as the last time, but that's why I'm been slack with my blogging. It's hard to really think about something good and funny to write about while you are eyeing the near by techo-mesh trashcan trying to figure out if it will hold vomit, just in case.

At least this time I know that it's going to end. I remember with Connor, saying to Jorma, "How do women do this more than once? I can't believe that any woman could experience this and then want to have another kid." And here we are. I think last time was worse, because I was away from all of my family and friends, I was terrified of the labor and delivery and because my body had never had such a hormonal rush. This time afraid of how I'm going to handle two little ones.
The first time I was afraid of the labor and delivery. The second time I'm afraid of the end product.

What I want.

I used to want to be cremated when I died. I always thought, hell, I'm not using the body when I'm gone, so we might as well just plant my ashes with a tree. Which I do think is a really good idea. But today I've changed my mind.
When you are buried at least there is a place where people that love you can go and commune. I don't know how much communing there would actually be around my gravesite, but I do think that it helps those that are left behind. So I've changed my mind. I no longer want to be cremated. (If you listen closely, you will be able to hear my mother breathe a sigh of relief.)
I also don't want a depressing service. I want good things said about me. Funny things. Amazing Grace, (even though it always makes Chelvis cry) is a fine song as long as at some point in the service, Clapton's Tears in Heaven is played. Don't roll your eyes like that, or I'll insist that Pink Floyds, "Dogs" is played, in it's entirety, length of 17:04.

Drink, smile, laugh. Celebrate my life. Have a good time and don't feel guilty about it.

Now, I'm not anticipating dying before the ripe old age of 100, but in talking with Amy today after her Dad's funeral... well I got to thinkin.
Part of what got me thinkin, was her saying to several of us, "Please tell someone what you want [in a funeral] or write it down somewhere, so they don't have to go through this." This being the sheer torture of having to grieve for a loved one and plan their funeral at the same time, the planning all based on assumptions.
So, not only did Jorma and I discuss it but I'm also writing it here, for the viewing pleasure of the entire internet.
I wouldn't bitch about a gospel choir being there either. That would rock.

I-Yi-I-Yi-I-Yi

It's been quiet on the homefront this weekend. Jorma was out of town all last week, which I didn't mention on the blog, because of well, stalkers... duh. When he got home he was anticipating squeals of delight, and a high pitched dadadada coming from the child with the chubby legs racing across the den towards him. Which is what he gets daily when he arrives home from work.
So certainly after being gone for five whole days, Connor would be thrilled to see him. Instead, when they first saw each other, Connor was like, "Dad, It's SO GOOD to see you. Let me go and get this new toy to show you." No squealing or running, just a heyhowyadoin and off to find a toy.
Connor has since made up for this mostly by being extremely cute and charming, randomly throwing himself on Daddy and lying on the floor doing the dada chant in homage.
The dada chant sounds like this:
dada?dada!DAda.dada. I-Yi-I-Yi-I-Yi. dada?
And it's pretty damn amusing. It's his way of saying, Daddy is home and all is right with the world.

You are letting the terrorists win!

It's national De-Lurking Week in the blog community. That's the week where everyone stops just lurking and posts a comment. So if you've been reading and not posting commentary, (which is most of you) please celebrate the maddness and leave me some love. Remember, if you are not commenting... you are letting the terrorists win!

You might be pregnant if

You might be pregnant if...
you get all misty-eyed while watching, March of the Penguins.

The most amazing thing has happened

The most amazing thing has happened here at Fussy-butt Central. I've waited to write about it because I wanted to be sure. I wanted it to stick just long enough for me not to jinx it when I did tell everyone the happy news.

Connor is putting himself to sleep at night.

I don't mean, he's getting off of the sofa saying, "Mom, Dad, I'm beat. That opening every door in the kitchen at Papaw and Nana's and then chasing the cat all over the place at Grammie's really did me in. I'll reshingle the roof tomorrow, g'nite"

Once he finishes his bottle, he tosses it across the living room like he's drinking shots at a Greek wedding and then we go into the bedroom, where after being put into the crib, he assumes the angel-baby position and falls asleep.

Since Jorma puts him to bed almost every night, this must have been his doing. It's so wonderful. No more wailing from the crib, no more baby not going down until 9pm, no more two hour fights to get the baby asleep by 9pm. Just blissful silence. Which is a relief since, his sibling will be arriving sometime in early September. I'm pregnant!

These things don't talk you know

I generally try to teach Connor things during the day, things like how to put shoes on my feet, how to balance a frisbee on his head, you know, important life stuffs. But I think the thing that he learns the most is what he learns just by watching us. I once spent an entire hour trying to teach him to clap, but it took him all of about 3 seconds to learn that if I'm in the kitchen with the pantry door open, (which he can see from the doorway), if he simultaneously moans, crys and says the word cheese, I'll give him a cookie. How can you say no to THAT?! It's the cutest, most pitiful, most annoying sound all rolled up into one baleful cry, it's coming from your child and you just want it to stop. And well. A cookie works pretty well.
Although it just occurred to me tonight when Jorma walked over to the pantry and opened it and Connor started cranking up the fussy butt machine, (That's going to be his bands name one day), that I had created a monster. But how do you ignore them when they say they are hungry and they really aren't? How do you know they really aren't, when it's been an hour and a half since breakfast and they've been running around at full speed all morning. These things don't talk you know... Although, I'm pretty sure when they do... they are still always running up to you asking for cookies.

Hello old friend

Hello old friend. That's right. I've been on hiatus for the past two days and I haven't written one thing in the blog. I would like to say it's because I've been so busy cleaning the house until it sparkles and teaching Connor the Latin names for all of the plant life in the backyard, but it's mostly because I've been trying to recover from Christmas... Still. You know, making some returns, napping, moving all of the toys from the middle of the living room floor so that you can see it, moving all of the toys, moving all of the toys and mostly moving all of the toys.

If you remember, recently I discussed the tetris-like process of putting away the Christmas loot. Connor has discovered that if he balances like a seal on the medicine ball lying on the floor he can shimmy up the side of one of the dining room table armchairs. Once he's up in the chair, he has access to all sorts of fun things... like the trash can and the space heater. So, one by one, the chairs are being moved from the living room into any other area of the house that doesn't already contain either dirty laundry or other furniture.

It makes me sad when I have to remove him from something he's climbed on top of. I sit across the room and actually watch him climb to the top and then go and remove him. He always looks so shocked too. Like, "MOM! What are you doing? I was just on top of the dining room table!!! Didn't you SEE ME?!"

I'm ready to rent a storage building and just dump everything from the room inside of it, leaving our 18x18' great room, desolate and barren except for the 500 lbs of plastic toys, a TV mounted to the wall (thus completely out of reach) and one plastic lawn chair. Except he would move the chair over to the mounted TV and I would come in from the bathroom to see him swinging from the TV shelf like a monkey, the batteries from the TV remote safely hidden in his mouth.

A healthier New Year

Jorma's New Year Resolution is to quit smoking and I'm so proud of him. It's a hard resolution to keep, especially when you are going cold turkey, but he's going to make it, I just know it.

We didn't quit at the same time so we wouldn't have to spend an entire weekend with sentences spoken through gritted teeth, each ending with please or thank you. And although I had planned for the worst, it was pretty smooth sailing. I get to quit next, but hopefully Jorma will be completely through his own withdrawal by that time and will be able to handle the emotional mess that is his wife undergoing nicotine withdrawal.

When we were living in Fremont and I was pregnant I quit smoking. It was either the first or the second day of my abstinence and we were in the elevator going down to the parking garage on our way to Target. We lived on the 5th floor and for some reason, by the time we hit the 4th, I started uncontrollably sobbing. Jorma looked at me and naturally said, "What's wrong?" to which I responded, "WHAT'S WRONG?! I'M TRYING TO QUIT SMOKING AND I'M PREGNANT, THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG!?". We had reached the first floor by then and he said, "So do you not want to go to Target?". I simply glared at him and hit the 5th floor button. We went back up, I locked myself in the bathroom for half an hour where I sobbed inconsolably then came out and was fine. Although I don't think we ever made it to Target that day.

Quitting is hard. Most seasoned smokers, if denied food, water and nicotine for 24 hours, given the choice, would choose nicotine over food and water. And what's harder is that you don't realize how many people smoke, until you've quit and are walking into the mall and smell a cigarette that's just been lit. You want to grab the person that's smoking and French kiss them just to see if you can suck the smoke out of their lungs. It's hard to quit when everyone smokes but you. Or at least that's what it feels like.

But all in all, it should be a healthier New Year for us. If you have Jorma's email address drop him a line and give him some support. You’ll probably have to send him a support email when I quit too, mostly because me quitting smoking is enough to make another person start.