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.

Bring on the new day

Connor has been trying to show us that he understands the word no. He's not displaying this new found understanding by stopping what he's doing when we tell him no, but instead doing the things that he knows will result in "No" and shaking his head. Things like taking his pants off. There he stands, in the middle of the living room with his pants down around his ankles, the weight of his stare heavy with his seriousness and shakes his head no. He pulls the cats tail and shakes his head no. But best of all was his demontration that we don't hit Mommy with toys. He crawled up in my lap, a plastic drumstick in his hand, cracking me over the head so hard I saw stars and then making sure he was only inches away from my face shook his head no.

"That's right honey, we don't hit Mommy in the head with toys", I replied to him once I'd recovered. The look of pride beamed across his face while I just tried to take deep breaths.

I can't sleep tonight. I'm not sure why, I should be exhausted as it's way past my bedtime and the fetus is still sucking out all of my life force. I think it's because I can't stop thinking about this children's book that I read before bed, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. It's a book about a china rabbit doll, and it's SO DAMN SAD. It's about 100 pages so it was a quick read, but chapter after chapter it just gets sadder and sadder until he finds his way home in the end. I sat up in bed crying over this damn china rabbit and it was all I could do not to surrender to complete and utter sobbing. I'm so hormonal I can't stand myself. Jorma bought the book for us to read to Connor once he's up to chapter books as a bedtime story. I don't think I'll be able to do it though. It's traumatized me. Not to worry, I'm sure tomorrow my mood will swing the other way and I'll be so happy everytime I speak sunshine and butterflies will pour out of my mouth. Bring on the new day.

Everyone needs a guilty pleasure

When I first told Jorma that I watched seasons 1 and 3 of American Idol, he scoffed at me. SCOFFED! When I wanted to watch last season, he scoffed again. I told him he didn't have to watch it, but I was going to. And I did. And my husband, feigning his disinterest watched too and suddenly, he was also hooked.

Remember last blog when I said I was so tired I was about to fall over? And that I was going to bed immediately? Oh no. I was up for another two hours, because Jorma said, and I quote, "I was hoping that we could watch Tuesdays and Wednesdays American Idol". What is that dear reader? Do you hear you scoffing at my husband? Not so fast... one day you are bound to watch ten minutes of Americal Idol by accident and then you too, will be come part of the home viewing demographic.

I admit AI is not intellectual TV, but it's sort of like a train wreck. You know it's bad bad bad, but you just can't not watch. And it looks like it's going to be a good fight this year. Here are my picks for the top 10:

Ayla Brown
Paris Bennett
Lisa Tucker
Katharine McPhee
Melissa McGhee

Chris Daughtry
Ace Young
Elliot Yamin
Gedeon McKinney
Taylor Hicks

Now I noticed that Simon was talking to one of the contestants when they were up to 40 and said, "They will never put you through to the next 20". Bockwat!? Who is "They"?

Which leads me to believe that the first group that they get rid of, (remember they go into the rooms and tell each room if they are staying or going) are the judges picks, but the next night they get rid of another 20 or so. Who picks those 20? Jumps up and down raising hand, " I know, I know!" The marketing guys! That's exactly who THEY are.

I would bet the farm that the second round of picks is done by a bunch of guys in suits that don't know dick about singing, but do know a whole, whole lot about demographics, viewer ages, races and desires. It's these guys that pick the next round, basing their picks on likability and hotness.

Commercial airtime for AI is a whopping 1 million dollars per slot. The marketing guys aren't going to leave that kind of revenue up to chance and a couple of homosexual twins with an attitude problem. HA! It's rigged. But I'll still watch anyway. Everyone needs a guilty pleasure.

A burst of energy

I had a burst of energy this morning. After the initial shock of waking up wore off, I felt almost no nausea until early evening. This is good. Without an angry belly to slow me down, I took a brief look around the house and realized that I haven't REALLY cleaned anything in the past 8 weeks.
ew.
So, I started with the office, spending two hours cleaning and reorganizing, then moved on to the kitchen floor high chair area, which just was scrubbed by Jorma, but again was layered with refused carrots, cherrios and banana. I scrubbed it again just for fun. Then I did about three loads of laundry, washed-dried-folded-put away, because you know, laundry is my favorite. Then I made dinner, washed the dishes, ate dinner, got the fussy butt ready for bed and then came in here to blog. And now. I feel like I'm about to fall over dead. I can hardly wait another 20 minutes because I feel like 9pm is a reasonable bedtime, unlike 7:30 which is when I first wanted to go beddie-by. So g'nite y'all, hopefully I'll be feeling better soon and will be able to wow the internet with my insane stories of. um. hmm. laundry. yay.

Captivated by Jack's Big Music Show

The iPod Scuffle

Today when I first started playing with my new Valentines iPod, I decided that I hated it. I went into the living room where Jorma was sitting with Connor and said, I think the iPod might have to go back. I just spent 15 minutes trying to set the time and I still don't have it. I couldn't figure out how to work the controls. The instructions say, move thumb around click wheel. So, I was sort of doing that... using the center button like it was a laptop mouse. As a result, I was able to move around the screen, just never to the area that I was trying to get to... frustrating. Turns out that you just have to run your finger literally AROUND the click wheel, not clicking... just touching. It's kinda weird.

Jorma took a stab at it and once he figured out how to steer it, (because he didn't know either at first, HA!) I played with it for a while longer and have now determined, the iPod, is bad-ass. It holds 1.8 GB of music, pictures and games. It plays solitare. It has multiple alarms. It has a calendar. It organizes songs in play lists. It's barely bigger than a credit card. And best of all... it's shiny.
So now conversations between Jorma and myself sound like this:

Jorma: thuum ooo orr kearnmm haa sheseshn

Me: Huh? Removing iPod earbud from ear

Jorma: I said, Thanks for cleaning the kitchen.

Me: Oh you're welcome. Putting the ear phones back in

Jorma: Mumph hirrty

Me: Smiles and nods

Oh glorious day!

Dear Internet, Guess what I'm doing? Oh nothing, just blogging and watching Lost at the same time. That's right. I finally got the wireless card on the laptop working. Only thing is, after arguing with the laptop all day, removing viruses, configuring VPN connections, and getting everything installed the way I want it, I now find that the space bar on this laptop sucks. But hey, I have internet in the den now! That means that I might be able to get some work done during the day! Yay! I know that working during the day doesn't sound worthy of a Yay! but it is to me. It means that I have more time at night to relax with my sweetie. It's disheartening to spend the whole day entertaining the fussybutt and then once he's off to bed, the rest of the night working.
Now if I want to work in the evenings, I can! And watch TV at the SAME TIME. Oh glorious day!

I can hardly wait

We are buying a house in the spring and I can hardly wait. I think about it every day. Every day when I jiggle the toliet handle, every day when I try to cram all of the coffee cups on one shelf, every day when I worry about the space heater running in Connor's room at night because the heat just does not seem to work well in his room and a million other times each day.
A new house will save me.
A new house that doesn't have odd wiring hanging out of the sockets for our child to grab. A new house that doesn't have a mouse that pees in the front left burner making the house smell like fresh cat piss every time you get something warm even near it. A new house that can truly be child proofed so that Connor and I aren't confined to the den all day long. A new house with a new washer and dryer so I'm not resigned to running Barbie sized loads each time we wash. A new house with a yard to be planted and a fence to keep the little one from running up the driveway. A new house with closet space to rid us of the clutter. A new house with a garden tub and a standing shower. I think I might be nesting just a little bit.

How to order wine

waiterrant.net � HOW TO ORDER WINE WITHOUT LOOKING LIKE AN ASSHOLE

I've gotten to where I read this site almost daily. I LOVE it. I really wish I would have discovered it back when I was waiting tables. Instead I just have to read it now and atta-boy! with a sense of nostalgia. I don't think I've ever smelled a cork though.

Pink, I'm sorry

Pink, I'm sorry.
For being out of diving distance when Connor walked over and slammed you in the head with his jack in the box today. You have to understand that he didn't mean it really, but I know you don't, since you haven't clued in that every time you come into the living room some form of torture awaits you, but you still insist on coming back in when the baby is in there. Time and time again. I thought this might be because I was in the living room and you were trying to get to me, starved for attention as you are. I know this isn't the case however, as I will frequently have to go in and remove you from the living room when I'm in the kitchen washing dishes and hear your distress howl, because Connor has you cornered.

It must not be easy to have a brain the size of a walnut.

I'm also sorry for yelling at you last night, when you were jumping up and down on the bed on all fours making a very un-cat-like noise. I didn't realize that you had jumped up on the bed and landed with your paws directly on a disgarded Thermo-care heat wrap and had the tape stuck to your foot. I thought you were just randomly freaking out. My bad.

You take a lot of crap and for that we are thankful. I know it must be hard for you, not being the boss of your humans anymore, but hopefully, we make up for this, by rescuing you from the child when you cry in distress, since you don't have the brain capacity to only come into the den once he's asleep at night. Tomorrow, I'll give you a can.

Baby Steps

Today, Connor and I went to his 15 month check up. Because he was just at the Dr's office a few weeks ago with some other random virus he was happy as a clam until the nurse walked in. I could see it in his face- suddenly the memories all poured back into his little head and the clinging and howling began. She got out the stethoscope... he screamed like she was burning him, we laid him on the table to be measured... he bucked and squealed to get back into my arms, she walked out of the room, suddenly he only wanted to be down so he could get to the doctors cabinet under the sink to see what treasure awaited him.

Then the Dr. came in. More howling. More squirming. Until she ignored him for a few minutes, I let him down and he wandered around the room a bit more. Then the funnest part of all. I got to hold, while the nurse injected microscopic amounts of deadly diseases into our child. He really loved that part.

While we were there, the Dr. suggested that we go ahead and wean him from the bottle. It all looks good on paper, but it makes me a little bit sad too... 1. How in the hell are we going to get him to sleep at night? 2. Once the bottle is gone, part of our baby is gone.

It all happened so fast, why can't he be a baby for a another few years? Just a couple of little bitty years? Before we know it, he'll be rolling his eyes when we address him in public, slouching and involving us in general teenage angst. Noooooooooooooooooooooo. I like him now. How sweet he is when he's sleepy and how good his head smells when he rests it on my shoulder. How he points at something as says, um? because he wants it, how he charges the kitty yelling, GEE GEE! At the top of his lungs. Once it's gone, it's gone. I know I don't have to let go completely, after all I still have plenty of diapers to change, plenty of scraped knees to kiss and shoes to tie, but it's still hard letting go... even if we do it in baby steps.

The Chronicles of Narnia

Today Jorma and I escaped for a bit and caught The Chronicles of Narnia on the big screen. It was FANTASTIC! I knew the special effects were going to be good and I've read the books, (well the first two anyway) but I didn't know how much I was going to like it. Or how sad it was going to be. Plus, what's not to like when a movie has talking beavers.

I heard a lot about the religious significance or symbolism rather before I saw the flick, and remembering back to reading the books, was like, yeah... I can see that. But seeing the book played out, I noticed the details I had forgotten about. Details that made it profoundly symbolic, which suprisingly, I really liked.

It's not really a sad movie, but when you are pregnant and hormonal it's a little more dramatic. I started crying as soon as the White Witch spoke with Aslyan in the tent... and I don't think I stopped until 10 minutes before the movie ended. In retrospect the movie could actually be really crappy and just appeal to my hormonal emotional state. nah.

You'll just have to see it for yourself to judge. If you've seen it, leave a comment and let us know what you thought.

How splendidly the boys get on

Today, Jorma kept Connor off and on all day so I could get some work done. Actually I only worked for some of the afternoon, managing to squeeze in a hot bath and some TV. It was a good day. That's two days in a row I've had some child free time. Tomorrow Mom's watching the Fussy Butt so we can squeeze in a movie, so I'll have three days in a row. All the extra time to myself almost makes the morning sickness worth it... nah.

Here's a shot of how splendidly the boys get on without Mommy.

I think it's a girl

Today Jorma and I went to my first OB/GYN appt. I like the new midwife but before we start with all of the ultra-sounding stuffs, I'd like to go on the record to say, I think it's a girl. They didn't do an ultra sound today, because she was able to hear the heartbeat with the doppler. It's so amazing to hear the heartbeat. It makes me feel a little bit better to know that I've got morning sickness because the baby is thriving, rather than some mutant strain the 12 week flu.

Grammie watched the little man and then tested out her new car seat by taking him to her house for a few hours. Do the math people. That means. I was alone. In my house. For a whole three hours. THREE HOURS!

What should I do? Should I take a hot bath? Sleep? Clean? Run naked through the house? Go to the grocery store alone? Fold laundry uninterrupted? Listen to music really really loud? Eat chocolate? ooooo, I know, I could eat chocolate in the bath while folding laundry, listening to music loud and then nap! Nah, that's too much effort.

So paralyzed by my analysis was I, that I ended up working for a couple of hours, taking a short nap and running to the grocery store before going to pick up his majesty from Grammie's. And now tonight, all I can think about is all of the stuff I could have been doing instead of working during my free time. The thing that I wish I would have done the most though, is curl up in the bed with a new DVD and the cat, and just lay and watch a movie, eat popcorn and drink Coke and just do absolutely nothing.

Now I get a good daily dose of doing absolutely nothing as I feel on the urge of vomiting 24/7. The husband will attest to this, since I just don't seem to put as much effort into the things I used to, like doing laundry and sweeping the dropped banana off of the floor. But you see, there is a difference in doing absolutely nothing while a toddler grovels in your lap and doing nothing while laying in the bed with just the cat, who also grovels but lands on his feet when you accidently kick him off the bed. Not being responsible for another humans life for three hours. Real nothingness.

Next time I have three hours alone, I'm totally doing that. although by then, I probably won't be feeling like crap anymore and will have so much catching up to do from the past 12 weeks of nothingness, that I'll just end up cleaning the crap out of the house. Won't that make a fantastic blog entry? sigh~

The 2006 Grammy Awards

Did y'all see the Grammy's last night? I actually saw them about 2am this morning, (Thank You DVR) because Connor decided that he didn't want to go back to sleep when he woke up in the middle of the night.

I have only a few comments.

Dear Kelly Clarkson, you have got to appear on at least one awards show with a speech. You know, something besides your traditional, "Ohmygod. Ohmygod. I won. I'm crying. I'm crying on national TV. Ohmygod. I won. Thanks. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod." Like totally. You thanked your publist twice and most likely because, he must have quite the job keeping the world from thinking you are a total dumb-ass.

Dear Gwen Stephanie, You are beautiful. Why were you wearing leopard print drapes? I know you are pregnant and believe me I understand the whole hormonal thing, but why did Gavin let you out of the house like that? You could have done so much better, girl.

Dear Bono, Wow. You are so hot, I can't even think of anything else to write about you.

Dear Bruce Springsteen, I'm so glad you are still alive. Thank you. Love the soul patch.

Dear Lead Singer of Green Day, Stop with the eyeliner already.

Dear Madonna, How are you in your mid fifties with legs like that? Go ahead and admit it on the dewchild blog girl, you're really an alien.

Dear Time Warner Cable, DVR, It's so fantastic to be able to ff through all of the commercials and condense a 3 hour show into an hour and 15 minutes. If it weren't for you, we would never be able to watch TV at all.

Nesting

Tonight I'm supposed to be working. Tonight I'm not working. I'm blowing off work. Do you know why? Because I've been wanting for years to take my bazillion back up CD's and move them to my system, sort them and then burn them to DVD, thus turning 50 CDs into 5 DVDs. And tonight I decided... I'm doing it. And I did it. Well, half of them anyway, although I haven't burned any to DVD yet. Right now they are just living on my hard drive which is just chugging away with all of the extra weight.
Isn't it amazing the things that you can come up with to do when you are procrastinating something?

I think I've decided to undertake this task because I felt so crappy (morning sickness) all of the time. I'm not getting anything done because of this and am sorely missing a sense of accomplishment. So now I'm organizing. Or maybe I'm nesting.

24

Are y'all watching 24? Why in the hell are they still hooking up Jack with Audrey? He would have done so much better with the chic that used to be on Frazier, Diane. One, Diane is totally like, oh you love someone else, that's cool. While Audrey likes to call Jack in the middle of a hostage situation, to ask him questions, like, Jack, I was just wondering... is it true you still love me?
Jack would get so much creditability for going... Sorry, Audrey but, I'M A LITTLE BUSY RIGHT NOW.
Plus, Audrey has a weird nose and always has a look on her face like she's just eaten 2 week old sushi. So Jack is sending Audrey to go and pick up his daughter... so you know that the two of them are going to end up in some sort of hostage/bait situation. Especially since his daughter doesn't even know he's alive.
Thank God I don't watch soaps anymore.

The Silly Squirrel Face

We call this the Silly Squirrel Face. Doesn't it just make you want to start feeding him peanuts from a paper bag?

Best seat in the house

Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda

There's a whole list of things I could have written about last night, had I not taken a Chlor-Trimaton; since I haven't been able to breathe since conception. I was ready for bed by 8:30, and asleep by 9.

- Proving that no good deed goes unpunished, my car would not start after dropping off a meal for the Mom's Club helping hands program. One of the battery cables had come loose, nearly sending me into a panic, as I had a meeting with my new web client, scheduled within the hour.

- The meeting with my new web client, in a Lutheran Church, where the pastor has a golden retriever that lives in the church. "Goldie" sometimes helps with the sermons and sleeps under the piano during choir practice.

- The sea of plastic kids toys I found outside of a consignment shop, shortly before learning that they only took cash

- The fact that I no longer carry cash

- The saga of Connor thumping Pink on the head with his plastic T-Ball bat

- The glorious relief of only feeling a little bit sick all day long

- My date to stop smoking, (currently weaning down)

See how exciting is this life of mine?

I'm feeling it

I'm old. It's official. Today when Connor and I went for a walk, we were heading up the gradual incline that is the back road in our neighborhood. It's one of those hills that doesn't look like much of a hill and actually isn't, until you walk it and realize that half a mile of gradual incline really sucks.
Today while we were happily wheezing up gradual incline hill, we passed a little girl about the age of 6 who was picking up her scooter from the driveway. We had probably half a block on her before she got started, but she zoomed past us. Uphill. On one foot. And by the time we had reached the top of the incline, she was no where to be found.
Old I tell ya. I'm feeling it.

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.