Calling All Cell Phones

This is the article that I wrote for the Mom’s Club Newsletter. If you have a cell phone or clothes that you’d like to donate… let me know and I’ll make arrangements to grab it from ya!

Calling All Cell Phones

My 2 year old, has the worst case of, “You have that, I want it” anyone has ever seen. We’ve been working on sharing, but it’s hard for him. In fact, if he sees his 4 month old brother with a toy, he immediately finds a new one for baby brother and swaps it out for the one that brother is holding. About 3 seconds after that, he decides that maybe the toy he gave up when taking the first one away is the one that he wants. He almost always ends up taking both toys and after a brief intervention from Mommy, throws himself on the floor in a supreme fit of rage.

It’s hard being two years old.

This month, let’s show our kids that we are great at sharing and lend a hand to women in need by donating used cell phones and/or business attire for the Women's Commission Domestic Violence Services and Displaced Homemaker Program. Let the kids’ help you pick an outfit to donate, or drop a phone in the donation box so they too can be part of the fun.

Your donation will go to the Domestic Violence Advocacy Council based in Charlotte, NC who in response to the growing number of domestic violence cases has created a program for old cell phones to be collected. These phones allow victims to call 911 even if the phone does not have an active service plan. These phones are given to current or potential victims of domestic violence through the Women's Commission, the Shelter for Battered Women, the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department's DV-Unit, and Department of Social Services.

The Women's Commission also hosts a Displaced Homemakers program which allows women that are searching the job market in an effort to achieve independence, to acquire (borrow) clothing for job interviews. Maybe it will be your donation that gets the job, or makes the call to save a life.

If you are interested in donating, just shoot me an email to let me know you’ll be dropping something off and bring your donation by and simply leave it in the donation box on my front porch. You don’t even have to knock and say hello. You don’t even have to get the kids out of the car. Just drop and go.

Don’t feel like driving all the way to my place? No problem, just bring your items to either the business meeting or the potluck lunch and I’ll take it from there. Could sharing get any easier?

Dear Pink

Dear Pink,

While I realize that you own this house I would like to ask you respectfully and reasonably like a tenant would a landlord, to PLEASE STOP SHITTING IN THE BATHTUB. I realize that if you are going to shit in the house to show your displeasure that your cat box is not located at the foot of the bed where you lounge that the bathtub is a pretty ok place. But what I really need you to do, is to keep it in the box, Buddy. Your box is clean for goodness sakes.
Also, why must you insist on drinking from the toilet like a dog? Your water bowl has been cleaned and is full of fresh clean water. I won’t even allow Connor to put his fingers in it and scolded him the other day when he picked up the water bowl and poured it into your food dish. Don’t be angry with him, he’s just trying to help you multitask.
I realize that you don’t get near the attention that you used to. I’d be happy to hold you in my lap all day, if you would let me, next to the toddler and the baby, but you’ll not be having any of that. I can’t say that I blame you I guess, but your fear of the toddler makes it hard for us to give you the attention you are craving.
One more thing, I would like to gently mention. It is NOT OK to waltz down the hallway at 3am caterwauling like you are lost. You are not lost and we are not missing, since we are still laying in the bed that you just got out of so that you could go and use your loudest voice to wake the sleeping toddler. We do not like this. No, not at all.
I know that you are upset that you aren’t getting your can of food each day, but the vet said it wasn’t good for you and would stress out your kidneys. I only took you to the vet because I thought that something might be wrong with you since you were using the tub as your personal litter box. It only cost me 150.00 to find out that nothing is wrong with you, and that you shouldn’t get a daily can. So the lack of a can, buddy… you brought that on yourself.
We’ll try to do better with the attention thing. I’ll try to talk to you more, play with and brush you more and give you a little bit more catnip. Sometimes we forget that you were our baby first. Sorry about that. And the toddler… don’t worry. Sometimes he scares us too.
Love,
Mommy

Cascade Failure

Everyone always tells me that I should do PC troubleshooting on the side. That I could make a business of it. And actually, I could. So I volunteered to take my friends, friends computer which had been decimated with Spyware and give it a little look-see and fix it. And I did. It only took about 6 hours, (1 to fix it and 5 to remove about 300 pieces of spyware, including lop.com) but it was fixed. Then the next day while troubleshooting the CD rom and minding my own business it turned off. And. Would. Not. Reboot. Ok so maybe we weren’t minding our own business and just happened to uninstall the Primary IDE driver trying to force the system to give us an option to enable DMA.

The oddity was that it was displaying a multidisk partition error upon boot and would NOT boot into Windows. Not no way. Not no how. After Luckily, we were able to save all of her files to CD by removing said, hard drive and connecting it with our home system where I drug files over and then burned them to CD. Phew. But still unable to get Windows to boot and without a copy of XP home, which has got to be the most pain in the ass OS since Windows ME.
I even did what I always do in times of technical crisis. I called Sam. He made me feel much better and even offered to stop by after one of his 20 hour workdays and grab the system to check it out.

Jorma ended up getting the system to boot, by reinstalling the Intel drivers found on the hard drive to itself while it was slaved to my system.
This is the reason that I in fact can not start my own PC repair business. Cascade failure.
Cascade failure is one of Sam’s terms that I love. It means that one little thing is broken, and little by little the system gets chipped away. Until in the end, the system is toast. You know, you are suddenly fixing the CD rom and then the virus software fails, and then you can’t get on the internet, one of the fans goes and then the hard drive crashes. Like that.
The other reason is, if you fix something one time on someone’s system most, (but not all) feel as though you are then responsible for the system.
If you remove a virus for someone and then six months later their CD rom stops working… it’s somehow your fault. And if you are really lucky, they might even be bold enough to say something like, “Do you think it quit working because of the virus that you removed… you know… before?”. Now we techies know that this isn’t possible and but try to explain this to someone that doesn’t know that the hard drive from the RAM and you’ve got problems.
The problem is though, as a techie, you are torn. You don’t really want to fix the system… you know you aren’t really responsible, but you just can’t stop your self from asking… “Are you getting an error message?” and so it begins. This is what you should take from this ladies and gents. When you fix a computer. You own it. Love it, or just leave it alone.

Dear Tristan - 4 Months

Dear Tristan,
Tomorrow you turn 17 weeks old. You’ve decided to prove to us that you ARE a member of this family and that you have a vote too. And your vote is that you be held, At. All. Times. We do our best really, because it’s easier to hold you in one arm while trying to make lunch, than it is to put you down and listen to you whimper. You’ve developed the cutest laugh. It’s mostly you sucking in air in one big gulp and letting out a noise much like a donkey would make. You love it. And it totally cracks us up.

You officially weigh 14lbs and 6oz, and have already gotten in both your bottom teeth. Because of this, your hands are so tightly pulled to your mouth at all times, when I gently pull them away to place them onto a toy that you like, I feel like I might break your arms.
You are able to grab things now and bring them up to your mouth, things like your toys or your brothers hands. We think you would probably like to put the kitty into your mouth because when he starts milling around in the mornings you watch him like a hawk, but lucky for you, big brother has already given him a healthy mistrust of children, so he stays far away. Connor is a constant source of entertainment for you and has taken to bringing you toys to play with, although usually after stealing the one that you had first. He’s doing quite well with you however, sometimes bringing you toys for no other reason than he likes watching you smile at him.

You’ve started cooing with a vengeance and are crying less often. When you get hungry or tired though, it happens all of a sudden. You don’t give us any symptoms… no eye rubbing or trying to latch on, you just simply start yelling. Probably in your little baby brain you are really thinking, “Hey, watch how fast I can make Mommy move. Tee hee!”
You can roll yourself over and elevate to a propping position, with your weight on both of your elbows all by yourself. You did it for the first time today in fact, and then terrified me by pulling your knees underneath you and kicking them out like wanted to go somewhere.

Your PawPaw told me last week that once you start crawling that it’s over, but in fact it’s been over since your brother learned to crawl, so I figure, how bad can it get? I worry about our tile floors and you hitting your head. I joke with your Dad that maybe you could wear a helmet or something once you start to walk. He laughs with me, but he knows in his heart that there is a part of me that’s actually serious.

Darlene told me once that with the first child all you want is to get them up and moving, but with the second child you are like, “STAY DOWN!”. I think I might know what she means.

Love,

Mommy

Because I have so much extra time

When we were in California and I was about 7 months pregnant, I took a painting class. I’ve had every sort of art class you can imagine, but never painting. The teacher was exactly what you would expect in a California Painting class. She was all about the idea of art, rather than the actual art. In fact, she never brought in any of her own work as samples but instead had another student bring in theirs. She wasn’t much on actual instruction and I got the feeling that she at one time, had been a kindergarten teacher. The class was more a place to go and sit and paint with other people that were painting. Which in itself wasn’t a bad thing. But I did learn something of value. When you are painting, you start with the background first. You work it all up in layers. Like a chess game, you have to know which move you are making several moves in advance.

After painting clouds on the playroom ceiling, we’ve now decided to paint a mural. I know that’s ambitious with two kids, but if I try to work fast I think I might actually get it accomplished in this lifetime. Maybe even by the end of February, which is my goal.

It was hard choosing a subject. Maybe we should do a jungle scene. Maybe we should do water. Maybe we should do a Lord of the Rings mural (I REALLY thought about this one for a while), maybe we should just slap up the hill and sky default background image from Windows XP. It was a hard choice without knowing what Connor is going to be into in the next few years. So we decided on a North American mountain scene with all animals that the boys might actually see in the wild.

So we’ve started the layering. The basecoat is complete and all we need to do it get to it. I’m going to layout and draw the mural. Some of the areas Jorma is going to do and then I’ll go back and paint in the details. Some areas I’ll create little paint by numbers and Jorma can do those, while I work on other areas. If I can remember to take pictures, I’ll post them to the blog. If you want to come and help, give us a call. Maybe you can help me draw foxes that don’t look like cows.

Easy to Please

“Hey Connor, do you want Mommy lick all of the cheese off of your Doritos for you?”

Connor beams with excitement, “Oh, YES!”

Oh Shit!

Yesterday morning, right before Connor was going to get his hair cut, I was trying to put on his sweater and he was being a little difficult about it. Actually he was so excited at the prospect of getting a haircut and actually leaving the house that couldn’t sit still for me to put it on. I sighed loudly during the tussle at which point he stopped looked up and me and said, “Oh. My. God.” and started helping by putting his arms in the sweater. I was able to be mortified by this, only because it’s the thing that Jorma says, not me. Connor did a pretty good impression too, with the emphasis on the “my” and sounding as frustrated as possible. But if someone had been around to hear Connor say, “Oh Shit!” as some idiot on his cell phone cut in front of us in traffic, (waving like that made it all ok), as I slammed on the brakes, yesterday on the way home from preschool they could be mortified too. As soon as I heard it, I responded, “Oh SIT! That’s RIGHT, Connor is sitting! Mommy is sitting too!” hoping that I might confuse him into thinking that’s what he actually meant to say. I checked him out in the rearview and he had that “Nobody ever listens to me” look about him but happily chimed in about who was sitting and standing, who was awake and asleep. I guess it boils down to what I’ve known all along… that now I have to start watching my language so that my little Myna bird doesn’t pick it up. Because there is nothing more attractive than a kid in a stroller in Target hollering, Oh Shit! each time we get near another cart. Yeah, that’s be great. Hi, my name is Janice… and we live in the trailer park up the road.

It's Time for a Timer

In an effort to try and subdue the terrible two’s we’ve decided to put Connor on a schedule. He’s been in a routine for quite a while, where we do the exact same thing in the same order each day. This time however, I’m setting up a multiple alarm clock on the PC to see if doing things each day at the EXACT time makes a difference to him. Or at least keep him from throwing a tantrum long enough for me to complete a thought. We are going to start putting him to bed a little bit earlier too. Maybe more sleep is the answer. I know my last few entries have been about how terrible it is at our house right now, but I don’t want to give the wrong impression. He’s such a good kid. He is amazing, cute and often downright hysterical. Which is good because at this point it’s the only thing that’s keeping us from trading him for a puppy.

Welcome to the Terrible Twos

I told Jorma that I didn’t want to assume that Connor was going to go through the terrible twos because I didn’t want to create his destiny. Meaning, if we expect him to go through this stage… he will. We tried to remain positive, or I did at least, but it’s come time to accept the fact… The terrible twos are officially here.

And it hurts.

It’s not the testing, the willfulness or the sneakiness. It’s not the temper tantrums, every sentence beginning with, “Connor wants”, it’s not the refusal to listen. It’s the whining that gets to us. The whining that makes me understand why some animals eat their young. The whining that makes us wish the OB had given me more than only one refill of the prescription Motrin. The whining that doesn’t care that Mommy is holding the baby, while stirring pasta sauce and unloading the dishwasher with one hand. Because at that exact moment, “Connor wants” a cookie… or to put his choo choo in the pasta sauce or to play mad scientist by pouring water from one cup to another in the middle of the kitchen floor, or my personal favorite… whining, “Mommy UP!” over and over and over at that exact moment.
He is like a little boy explosion. And I don’t know what to do.

Last night I was at my neighbor’s house lamenting about the terrible two’s blossoming at our place and how the past few days had been unbearable.
Her parents are in town and her Mother was sitting at the table listening and said, in her charming Dutch accent, “There is a wind coming, yah? Sometimes, the wind comes through and some people, it makes them crazy.”
“I think I gave birth to one of those people, “ I said.
But ya know what... I’ll take that, because I would rather believe that the wind is causing the problem than accept the fact that it’s going to be this way for quite a while. It’s amazing what a powerful tool denial can be.
Everyone keeps saying it’s a stage and I know it is, it’s just so damn hard to live through. If it’s this bad now, I’m going to have to pickle him before he gets to puberty.

Wicked Book Club

Last night I went to the second meeting of my Book Club and I have to say, I love it. I’ve never been in a book club before but I read all of the time. Mostly when I read something I want to talk about I pester Jorma until he reads it, or just whine because he is finding some Second Edition Statistical Distributions book more interesting than my Oprah Book Club book. The nerve.

Our last read was Wicked. I’ve read it before, but I couldn’t get through the sequel, Son of a Witch, because I could barely remember the details from the first book. Now that I’ve read it again I can go on to the sequel. Yay!
It’s great fun to talk with someone that just has just finished the same book, and to add to the evening, it’s child free. Last night we had it in the cozy little coffee house around the corner. I love this coffee house because it has a little living room seating area, great desserts and a quiet atmosphere. Perfect for book chat.
I was able to appreciate it all the more, because we had a meeting in the same coffee house one morning when everyone at the mom’s club brought their kids. I sat in my chair, looked around and saw all of the same things that were there that day. The highchairs that Connor was obsessed with climbing to the top of. The chalk board where he played happily until an older child came and took his chalk away causing a screaming fit. The bathroom where someone kept leaving the door open, causing him to go racing into it so he could play in the toilet water. The din of all of the other children doing the same thing.
Last night was quiet, relaxing and even stimulating. I’m reminded how much I miss talking to other adults. How much I miss using my brain for something other than, trying to figure a way to organize the bathroom counter so that nothing on it can be touched by someone under, say, 3 feet tall. The only thing that would have made it funner was sneaking into the bathroom and pouring Vodka from the hairspray bottles we had hidden in our purse into our coffee. But there was none of that. I guess because it’s a book club meeting and not a Sadie Hawkins dance. But I enjoyed it all the same.

 

Painted Ceiling

I haven’t been writing for the past couple of days because we’ve been involved in a project of enormous proportion. We’ve painted clouds on Connor’s ceiling. Now that may not sound like such a great task, but we have popcorn ceilings. First Jorma had to tape off and put plastic over everything in the room. Then he scraped. Then he sanded. Then he scraped. Then he sanded. Then we primed. Then we painted almost three coats of blue. Then we added clouds. It’s a relief to have it all completed and finally after two exhausting days of cloud painting, I feel a sense of accomplishment. Connor’s pretty proud of it too. Although he’s more proud of the fact that Mommy paints the sky for him.
Coming out of pre-school yesterday, Jorma pointed out the clouds in the sky. Connor looked up at them and pointed and said, “Mommy paint?” Jorma explained to him that yes, Mommy paints the sky.
It’s good being a Goddess.

Happy Christmas!

Our Christmas was spectacular. We woke up early morning and got everyone fed and diapered before going downstairs. We reminded Connor that Santa had come and brought him presents, to which he responded with a blank stare and a shout of “Santa Claus!” breaking into smile. It was pretty clear that he just wasn’t clear on the entire Santa thing, so we took him downstairs pumping him up about Santa and gifts. He at first was blind to the toys laying all over the floor because he was stunned by the piles of packages under the tree. He then started noticing that there was a whole lotta stuff that wasn’t there the night before and went running into the tent that Santa had left up for him.

Grammie and Papa Chuck came by to eat brunch with us and open presents and then we packed up the car and headed up to see PawPaw and Nana.
Everyone assumed that Connor would get so much stuff from everyone else, that the toys he received were limited. (Limited being, filling the entire toy box in our living room and covering the floor.) He was so exhausted when we got home from Pawpaw and Nana’s that he said softly to Jorma, “Daddy? Connor tired” and later climbed into the crib of his own free will. Absolutely Amazing. We should have Christmas every day.

Tristan, also rather enjoyed himself, in the way that babies do, being held and fussed over by Grammie in the morning and by Nana for most of the evening. He was content to giggle and smile and everyone who held him and made sure he got some cooing in so everyone could see that no, in fact, his brother wasn’t cuter than he is at all.
At the end of the evening it was determined that a good time was had by all and we settled in for a long winters nap. Or at least until one of the kids woke up hollering. Back to normal again.

 

I think I can

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

I think I can... I think I can…

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year!

Janice

Big Red and the boys

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

Dear Connor - 26 months

Dear Connor,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Mommy

Expectations

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

Dear Tristan - 3 Months

Dear Tristan,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Mommy

Of danger and opportunity

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

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

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

 

Undergoing, ongoing reorganization

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

The most wonderful time of the year

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

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

Another Year Wiser

Yesterday I celebrated my 35^th birthday.

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

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

Yay Me!

Happy Birthday to me!

Short Attention Span Theater

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

STOP! Thief!

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

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

You kids be careful this shopping season.

What preschool tuition looks like

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

Help!!!

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

Ahem. Pattie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good bye sweet cream... I knew thee well

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

And do you know…

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

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

Not napping

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

Stay tuned

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

Happy Birthday Connor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Jorma is the better parent

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

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

"I can't use THAT!"

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

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

Peepee towel remote

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

It's better than fridge art

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

Duuuude! check out the dogs ass

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

Welcome Tristan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ready as I'll ever be

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

Shameless

What having no shame looks like.

Only at the Wal-Mart

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just five more minutes...

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

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

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

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

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

Dried nasal mucus

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

Cars!

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

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

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

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

Time

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

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

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

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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.