Insert ExFiles Theme Here

I’ve always believed that children have a sixth sense. I think everyone has a sixth sense really, but children haven’t had the opportunity to have the intuition drilled out of them by our culture. So when Connor tells me something that sounds strange but is possible, I always believe him. A while back he looked at me and said in all seriousness, “Grammie is sad right now. Grammie is crying. Stop crying Grammie!” So I called my Mother. Turns out she was just fine, but it’s still hard not to believe him. Just in case.

The other day when I had laid down with Tristan for a nap, Connor woke up from his nap and proclaimed to Jorma, “Mommy is all gone. Mommy was with the monsters in the corner.” Jorma was afraid that I had one of my famous fainting spells and my heart had stopped while I was sleeping. He didn’t go in and check on me though. I guess he figured, since Tristan was in the bed with me, if I was dead, there was nothing he could do about it now and if he woke me up, he’d have to wake Tristan up too. We don’t wake Tristan up because the only thing that is worse than a grumpy two year old is a grumpy 7 month old. At least you can bribe the two year old with M&M’s and Diego, but the baby… not so much.

So yesterday morning, when Connor announced, “PaPaw is in a fire. We have to help him, Mommy. PaPaw can’t see. He can’t see, Mommy, he’s in the fire” I fought the urge to call Dad at 7:30 in the morning just to make sure that his house wasn’t burning down. I did call him at 9am and of course he was just fine, although maybe a little bit surprised that I would call over something so silly. But the thing that freaked me out the most about it is that I didn’t even know that Connor knew what fire was. I’ve never heard him say that word. We talked about how fire trucks put out fires, but he’s only seen fire one time. And that was at a birthday party about 6 months ago.

I’ll still keep checking on everyone when Connor comes up with these types of things, because I don’t want the one time that he’s right about something, to be the one time that Mommy didn’t believe him. If I could insert wav files into the blog, I’d add the ExFiles theme here. But since I can’t you’ll just have to hum it to yourself.

When Not Getting Your Way Is Really in Your Best Interest

If you were at our house tonight at 6:45pm, this is what you would have heard. This was the conversation between Connor and Jorma during our dinner, which consisted of three bean chili.
Jorma was just eating his last bite.

 

“I want that. I want that bean. I want your bean. I WANT THAT BEAN!!!”

“What bean? My bean?”

“I WANT THAT BEEAAANNN!!! I WAANNTT THAT BEEAANNN!!!”

“You want the beans in my mouth?! You have GOT to be kidding me”

“I WAANT THAT BEAN!!! THE BEAN IN YOUR MOUTH! I WANT THAT BEAN!” Begins crying hysterically… “BEAN! BEAN! I WAANNNTTT IT! I WANT THAT BEAN!” Starts bouncing up and down in the chair having a total and complete meltdown.

“You can’t have THAT bean. It’s in my mouth. It’s all gone.”

“BBBBBBBEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“OhMyGod. You have got the worst case of You Have That, I Want It, I have ever seen!”

 

Of course he didn’t get the bean because that’s just not how we roll in this household. We might pretend we didn’t see him eat a Cheerio off of the floor, but the regurgitation stage… that’s for the birds.

 

 

Monsters!

Connor has monsters that visit him at night. He’s pretty consistent with his story and we’re not sure where it came from. He doesn’t watch television shows with monsters and it only seems to happen when he’s sleeping. The first time that the monsters appeared we were alerted by a piercing scream from upstairs. Jorma went up to check on him and he was awake, staring off in the corner in a zombie-like manner screaming. Jorma couldn’t do anything to soothe him and it seemed that Connor might be having a night terror. It probably didn’t help the situation any that Jorma reported that the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up at full attention during this incident.

When we woke Connor up in the morning, we asked him about it. He said, “There were monsters in my room. They came out of the hole in the corner.” And pointed to the right corner of his room. We tried to spin it a little bit and said, “Really?! What did they do?!” in a happy excited voice, like monsters only come to lucky girls and boys and were just SO FUN! Connor responded that the monsters went to the grocery store after they left him and then brought him some cake. We played up the story so that in the event that Connor was seeing something that we couldn't maybe it wouldn’t freak him out. I even launched into an animated story about how monsters are friendly and only want to protect him and bring him sweets.

It seemed to work and the night terrors went away, although we still have regular discussions about the monsters. We don’t instigate these discussions and make sure that he doesn’t get undue attention for them, lest we be forced to listen to him talk about trolls in the attic and anything else he might be able to spin into a tale of mystery.

After the monsters made their first or second appearance I smudged the house. I mean that’s what any normal parent would do upon the appearance of monsters, right? My Amber resin got a little bit out of control at the top of the stairs, setting off the smoke detector and the husband. Jorma disassembled the detector, shaking his head at me and then wandered back downstairs more miffed that I had interrupted his game of NetHack than the fact that I had filled the hallway with smoke. He’s a good man, that one.

The monsters still return on a regular basis, but we haven’t had any more night terrors. It will be interesting to see if the monsters still appear when Connor moves into his new room. Maybe he’ll give up and move on to something completely different. Maybe dragons in the closet.

TV Emergency

I walk into the garage where Jorma is working out.

“Sorry to bother you, but this is an emergency. Gilmore Girls has been canceled.”

Cheese Patch Indeed

I remember being exhausted and giggly one night after working several days in a row during race on no sleep and having a conversation with Pattie and Dar. We were talking about the nicotine patch and I simply stated that I needed a cheese patch. It’s probably not funny to you, but come by after you haven’t sleep for a few days and have been dealing with drunken race fans for almost a week and I’ll tell you again. You’ll think it’s hysterical. Promise. It’s all in the delivery.
Jorma and I have been on a diet, for oh…about three years now. Sometimes it’s the South Beach, sometimes it’s the Midnight Ice Cream Diet, (when I’m pregnant), sometimes it’s the Bob Greene Diet and sometimes it’s the Let’s Eat Taco Bell Until We Are Completely Sick Of It Diet. For the past few months we’ve been on The Eat Healthy and Work-Out Diet. Or at least Jorma has. I jumped on the bandwagon officially about two months ago and I’m doing pretty well. I’ve lost 13 lbs so far and can actually say that for the past few weeks, I’ve been either lifting free weights or walking every day. The eating healthy diet consists of a lot of whole wheat pasta, salads and grilled chicken. Lots and lots of chicken. So much chicken that when Jorma says, “What do you want to do for dinner tonight?” at least once a week, I have to respond with, “Maybe we should get a little crazy. You know… have some chicken.”
Tonight we had girls night out at Outback and I decided, to hell with it all, I’m getting something delicious. And a salad. So I did. I started with a house salad, drank ice water and then moved on to my entrée. Cheese fries.
When they delivered the cheese fries to the table, I started to feel a little anxiety. My dinner was the size of a Volkswagen. They brought it on two stacked plates giving the impression that one of the large dinner plates would not support the heft. On top of my Volkswagen there was probably about a pound of cheese and at least half a pound of bacon. The anxiety was because I was afraid that I might try to eat it all.
Mostly I ate the cheesy fries off of the top, dipping each in blue cheese or ranch dressing alternately, occasionally picking up the bacon crumbles off of the plate so that none went to waste. I didn’t eat it all nor did I try, but The Eat Healthy and Work-Out Diet, my tummy isn’t used to ingesting such richness. And it’s not happy. Not one bit. I felt overly full for a while, but then it moved to nausea. From there I moved to “Holy Crap! I think I might vomit!”, which for me is monumentous since I am just not a thrower upper. I’m just not. I don’t vomit unless faced with the stomach flu or vodka with a Boone’s Farm chaser. I can drink tequila on an empty stomach  and don’t get me started on how Jagermeister is the cure for the common cold.

I can hold my liquor. I can not hold my cheese.

I guess this could really be a blessing. Because I feel like if I ever look at a cheese fry again. It might be too soon. Cheese patch indeed.

 

Sleeping Like A Baby

Over the past few days, we’ve been trying to teach Tristan how to go to sleep on his own. We waited significantly longer with Connor to do this and we learned our lesson. When Connor was a year old, the only way he would go to sleep is if someone was holding him while walking and simultaneously patting his bottom. So we decided that it was time for Tristan to learn how to sleep. The previous method for Tristan was taking him upstairs, baby classical music CD, baby massage, clean diaper and pj’s. Then paci in mouth he would lay in the crib while I patted his bottom until he fell asleep.
Since we’ve started his sleep training, I’ve gained an hour of my life back. But it’s not the hour of quality time I was hoping for. This is mainly because Tristan is relentless with his screaming. We are doing the check on method, where we let him cry for 5 minutes, then 10, then 15 and so on, but in the end, he just screams until he passes out. And since we’ve started his sleep training, he’s started waking up again at midnight, 2am, 4am and 6am. Where as before we had an entire week where he slept from 8 until 6am. And now he has a cold.
Which makes us feel just awful putting him down and letting him cry when he doesn’t feel well. So we’ve been cuddling him a little bit more and listening to the screaming a little bit less. The screaming sessions are starting to get a little shorter though, tonight he cried for only ten minutes and I checked him after the first five so we are seeing an improvement.
Slowly but surely… we will all be sleeping like babies.

Too Funny

Pattie sent this to me earlier and it’s too funny not to blog it.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MR. JAMES THATCHER, BRAND MANAGER, PROCTER & GAMBLE.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.

But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi-pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills."

Isn't the human body amazing? As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from Aunt Flo.

Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.

In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."

Are you fucking kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness - is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out of your ass, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong"? Or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly sales of your asinine product, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere.

Although I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep.

Always.

Best,
Wendi Aarons
Austin, TX

My Fantasy

My ultimate kitchen is so large that when people come into the house, the first thing they would say is, “DAMN! That’s a big kitchen”. It would have granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, a stained concrete floor and a large drain in the middle so I could just bring in the hose and clean it like we did in the restaurant. Oh and a hose spigot inside so that I wouldn’t have to run the hose through the back door or an open kitchen window. In fact, I might just build a cabinet around the spigot so that I could keep the hose in there and roll it out when it was time to clean. This is my fantasy this week because Tristan is crawling at lightning speed. Today I was sweeping the floor as fast as I could and I couldn’t move the pile of Cheerios, puffs and other random floor crud as fast as he was coming at it. I’ve swept our floor three times today.

I guess the answer to this is probably to clean up the playroom and put up a baby gate and keep him caged like we did with Connor. But when we had the ghetto barrier, (as we called the gate that had cardboard taped to it so he couldn’t pull up and fall down the two stairs that led into the great room of our old house) we were in the great room all of the time with him. We are seldom in the playroom so I feel like barricading Tristan inside would just be mean. Instead I sweep three times a day.

Tristan has started pulling up and cruising too. He started cruising last Friday, using Mom’s coffee table to hold himself up and scoot from one end to the other after a toy. Connor walked at 10 months and I wouldn’t be surprised if Tristan walked at 9. He wants to follow his big brother around so bad that he busts his bottom on a regular basis, just letting go where he’s standing and taking a step. He doesn’t have the balance for it yet, so it always ends badly. Though not so badly that he’s crying. He’s a tough kid. Getting knocked over by his brother on a regular basis has proven something that I never knew… babies aren’t nearly as fragile as we think they are.

 

Kitty Litter Cake

This was so delightfully discusting that I had to post it.

How to make a Kitty Litter Cake

Even Better Than Blaming The Dog

On Saturday, Jorma and Connor were sitting at the table eating breakfast, Jorma pooted and then he looked at Connor and said, “Was that you?”. Connor replied, “Yes, I pooted upstairs and it just came down to see me!”

 

 

Elmo's World

Yesterday afternoon Larry and Dawn came for a visit. Connor was fascinated with them both, but followed Larry around like a puppy. Larry loves kids and was more than happy to push Connor in the swing and throw him up into the air, but the thing that made Connor decide that Larry was his new bestest friend, (who just happens to have a driver’s license) was this… Larry does a perfect Elmo impersonation.

When it was time for bed, we thought it would be fun to have Larry read Connor a Dr. Seuss book because we knew that we could count on Larry to use all of his cartoon voices. We thought that Connor would be impressed by this and he might have been if he wouldn’t have been so excited that LARRY! was actually in his ROOM! reading to HIM!, that he ran around the room and started rooting through his closet, trying to find something to impress Larry with. When Jorma came in Connor had pulled about 10 books out of his closet, found his ceramic baby shoe piggy bank and was wearing mittens. So much for story time. Larry kept on like a pro, the same way you would if you were in a band and a bar fight broke out while you were playing.

After the kids went to bed and we had a couple of glasses of wine, we too had some laughs at Larry’s Elmo impressions, although there is nothing that I could repeat here for fear of being sued by Sesame Street. I’m sure that Elmo would never say anything that four adults and two bottles of wine could come up with.

This morning when I was bringing Connor downstairs, he looked at me hopefully, “Larry and Dawn are downstairs?” he asked. I explained to him that Larry and Dawn had to go home and that they weren’t here. He looked at me with disappointment and then asked again hopefully, as if I would be able to produce them like new toys from the playroom closet.

Today Elmo is his favorite toy.

Dear Connor - 30 Months

Dear Connor,
I almost never have writers block when I write a letter to you or your brother, but tonight as I sit down to write this, I keep stalling. It’s not that I have nothing to say, but rather there is so much to say that I don’t know how to put it all into words. It’s like thinking that you hear the starting gun in a race, but realizing just before you are about to launch that no, it was just a car backfiring.You are such an amazing kid.

This month you are officially 2 and a half. We have made it halfway through the terrible twos and while sometimes it is really terrible at the same time it’s completely wonderful watching you grow and learn. Your vocabulary is amazing. Now when you speak you actually conjugate verbs. Correctly. Quite honestly I’ve heard 4 year olds that don’t communicate as well. Our house is filled with unbelievable cuteness. We’ve tried to catch some of this cuteness on film but we just aren’t fast enough. You seem to be a little camera shy by nature, even though I’ve recorded and let you watch the footage immediately. You are unimpressed. But even more unimpressed that Mommy won’t let you hold the camera and carry it into the kitchen where you can curl up in a corner with it and disassemble it piece by piece. Thus, if we will not cooperate with you, you will not cooperate with us. We have minimal cuteness on video.

You have a hard time keeping your clothes on and I guess I can’t really blame you there. It must feel great to be naked. Your general around the house attire is a diaper and one sock which might even be better than the sweatpants I wear day in and out, but not by much. Mainly because when I’m wearing my sweatpants, I’m not running around being grumpy because I’m freezing and still refuse to get dressed. There is something you should know if you decide to have children. You have to pick your battles. You see, you can’t punish for every little infraction and because you’re two years old, we have a lot of infractions. Thus, running around the living room half naked is not much of an offense in our house. We save our time outs for the other 5 million battles a day, like smacking your brother in the head with a plastic dinosaur.

You are slowly becoming disenchanted with your brother. You are keenly curious about where he is and what he’s doing, eating or playing with at all times, but past that his presence annoys you. Especially if Mommy is holding him. And if Mommy is holding him AND talking on the phone... Make no mistake about it, you will unleash hell. But because Mommy used to work at the Speedway during race week on three hours of sleep each night, Mommy can withstand all kinds of torture. Even temper tantrums. But your Dad… he lived in Hawaii for a long time and a two year old unleashing hell is far, far away from paradise. Still, we manage. We are pretty sure that soon you’ll be loving on your brother again, just like the month before last but it’s hard waiting for this stage to pass. You will still eat almost anything and if it’s something you claim not to like, we just cover it in ketchup or offer ranch dressing for a dip and you’ll ingest it happily. You, like me, are a dipper. Sometimes I put ranch dressing or ketchup on your plate and tell you, “It’s to dip your Strawberries in”. This is mostly to gross out your Dad who always groans because he knows that you will in fact, dip your strawberries in ketchup. And like it.
You are also insanely curious about growth. You ask me almost daily, if Tristan is big, if Connor is growing, if Daddy is big or if Mommy is growing. I tried to explain to you that when you are a Mommy or a Daddy you stop growing. But that’s not true at all. When you are a Mommy or a Daddy you grow at lightening speed, just like you do, just in a different sort of way.
Love,
Mommy

A Deep Sigh of Relief

Sanjaya finally got kicked off American Idol last night. And suddenly, all is right with the world. He cried when he found out that he was leaving the show, but he had to know that it couldn’t last forever. I mean, not being able to sing and all. It’s not going to be a bad gig for him though. He’ll go back to high school, get laid for the first time, get a paycheck that no talent less 17 year old should be allowed to reap from the AI tour, spend all of his money on a flashy car and hopefully some singing lessons.
Me thinks we can look forward to seeing Sanjaya on an episode of Road Rules in the near future. But at least we don’t have to listen to him sing.

The Life of Pi

I just finished reading The Life of Pi for book club and I had forgotten how much I like it. I read it when I was pregnant with Connor and tried to get Jorma to read it when I was through. I guess I didn’t give the book enough description because Jorma thought that the entire book was about a kid trapped in a lifeboat with a tiger. I guess because it is.For me this book has it all. A survival situation, three religions and animals. What more could I ask for in a book? And it’s SO well written. The story is a little slow starting out, but it’s easy to read because the writing is so poetic. Once you are about a third of the way through the book though, you won’t be able to put it down. It took me a week to get through the first third, but the remainder of the book I read in two days. For me that means during naps and while I’m hiding in the master bath after putting Tristan in the crib, so that he doesn’t see me and can practice putting himself to sleep.
So this time, Jorma has vowed to read it and if you are looking for something good to read... let me know how you liked it.

Cinnamon Pecan Pull-Apart Bread - The Recipe

I have had so many people ask me for this recipe! So here it is:

Cinnamon Pecan Pull-Apart Bread

Butter, for greasing the bundt or tube pan
¾ cup pecan halves
25 oz frozen yeast roll dough, unthawed
¾ cup butter, melted (1 ½ sticks)
3.5 oz package cook-and-serve vanilla pudding mix (not instant)
¾ cup brown sugar
1/3 cup white sugar
2 teaspoons cinnamon

Butter a bundt or tube pan well.
Sprinkle pecan halves over the bottom of the pan.
Place frozen rolls over pecans.
Drizzle the butter over the rolls.
Combine the vanilla pudding mix, sugars and cinnamon in a medium bowl and sprinkle over the rolls.
Let rise overnight. Do not cover, as rolls will rise above the pan.

In the morning, place pan in a preheated 350 degree oven and bake for 25 minutes.
Invert onto a large platter and serve.

Makes 12 servings.

GIANT TURTLES!

Today Connor spent the afternoon with PaPaw and Nana. PaPaw and Nana have a collection of tortoises that they keep as pets, a few even being as large as a oval serving platter. The tortoises were the hit of the day and Connor thoroughly enjoyed following them around announcing, “This one is going to move in just a minute” standing half bent over so that he could watch them as close as possible while they moved.
On the way home there is an area on Old Charlotte Rd. Across from Stonewall Jackson Academy that has several very large stones. There is one rock that is set back from the road, but probably the size of the downstairs of our house. “Mommy!” he exclaimed as we drove past, “It’s a GIANT TURTLE!”
It must be so awesome to live in a world where turtles can be the size of houses, a giant bunny brings chocolate eggs and a mud puddle can be more fun that anything, except the bathtub full of bubbles that comes right after. It’s been a long time since I’ve lived in that world, but I’m so grateful to get a glimpse into it every now and again.

 

Dear Tristan - 7 Months

Dear Tristan,
And so it begins. This month you’ve learned how to crawl. You’ve been creeping on your belly for most of the month but the Saturday that we were in Alabama, you discovered your knees. You aren’t doing the typical baby crawl yet, mostly crawling a few steps, belly flopping a few, rolling and wiggling to get to your destination, but you are definitely crawling. Today, while cleaning up the playroom, I looked up for a minute to see you standing holding on to a blocks container. I thought, “awww, look how he’s just standing there looking out the window. Just standing there, looking. OHMYGOD. HE’S STANDING. LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW. STANDING!” Then I ran to the garage to get your Dad but by the time I there you had fallen onto your bottom and were happily gnawing on the side of the toy box. You tried it again but weren’t able to do it, falling each time. I felt a little bit of disappointment, although I’m not sure if it was because you weren’t able to get back up again, or because you had gotten up in the first place.

This is because you are going through a great phase right now. You crawl over to the toy that you want. You sit and you gnaw on it for a while. Then you drop it and move on. This makes you so happy. And because you are entertaining yourself a little, we are spared from chauffeuring you around the house to avoid the scream of boredom.

We’ve started feeding you sweet potato puffs which are little cereal like pieces that melt in your mouth. You are quite a fan of them, teaching us that the whole “The Baby Will Stop Eating When He’s Full” theory isn’t exactly accurate, although this seems to be true with other foods like green beans and squash.

We’ve spoiled you. It all started with you wanting to go to sleep while being held. You starting waking up frequently and so were we. So finally we got to where, in the name of sleep, one of us brings you to the bed so that you can sleep on my arm. Now it’s that you only want to sleep in the bed. I can’t actually say that I blame you for this. Our king size pillow topped mattress with it’s 5 million thread count sheets is what can best be described as, da bomb. It has the added benefit that when you are say 6 months old and wake for any reason, all it takes is a quick yell and someone is rubbing your back so that you, (WE) can go back to sleep. We’ve tried weaning you off of the bed, but in the end I know what it will come down to, a battle of tears. It is quite possible that we might have to let you cry in intervals until you learn that you can go to sleep without someone patting your butt. It will break our hearts and probably disturb your brother who we can look forward to calling either your Dad or myself into his room every ten minutes to explain "Tristan is crying" and then ask, "Are you going in dare?" It will be a week like no other for us. Don't worry, I'll blog all about it.

Although your brother gets concerned when you are crying, he’s still in training to be a big brother. Sometimes, you’ll be sitting up minding your own business and he will walk by with a sippy cup in one hand and knock you over with the other hand. You usually aren’t phased in the least by this, you are so used to falling down but it kinda ticks off Mommy and Daddy. Big brother is also quick to take a toy away from you and if we aren’t watching carefully, will steal all of the puffs off of your high chair tray and eat them before we can smack him in the back of the head put him in time out. Your Dad and I, are your defenders. And I just want to let you know that the first time you stand up and knock the crap out of your brother for taking something away or for pushing you over… I’m going to pretend that I didn’t even see it. And maybe you can even have freebies for the second and third times too.
Love,
Mommy

Flirting. Old School Style

My widowed Step-Granddad is 94 years old. He’s on no medications, spry and sharp as a tack. He still travels a lot, driving his car and sometimes taking spur of the moment trips so that make everyone panic because no one knows where he’s gone or when he’ll return. So when he was invited to Grandma DJ’s 90^th Birthday party, he was glad to ride down with my Mom and my step Dad. On Saturday before the birthday party we went to the Campground Church. The church is an old country church set back in the woods that has our ancestral graves in the cemetery some dating from the 1800’s. Back past the church in the woods there is a spring where everyone would get their water for parties or weekend revivals. We all walked down the spring and on the way back Grandma, (also a widow) walked back up the hill, holding on to my step Granddad on her left and me on her right. Because of this positioning I was able to hear something that most people don’t get to. 90 year old people… flirting.
This is how the conversation went.

Him, picking up a stick and showing it to her. “I better hold on to this. I might need it”
Her, now leaning heavily on her left side where he is supporting her, “Oh? You gonna spank me?”
Him shaking the stick in a suggestive manner, “You never know. I just might need to”
Her, grinning, “If you spank me I will cry”
Me, thinking, “Dear Lord, now would be a good time for the Earth to open up and swallow me whole”
I can only hope one that I make it to that age and two that I’ll not be afraid to have a little fun.

In His Natural Habitat

Connor in the Woods on Tractor
Originally uploaded by Dewchild.

Connor would have stayed and played on this all day long if we would have let him. It is out back of the Community Center where Grandma's 90th Birthday Party was being held.

Roadtrip Southern Style

On Friday we packed up our children and filled the Mini Van with snacks, toys, strollers, Pack-n-Play and anything else we could possibly need or want and headed down to Alabama for Grandma DJ’s 90^th Birthday party. We knew that the trip would take us a little bit longer with both of the kids, but we didn’t anticipate stopping at every exit from here to Alabama. It’s usually a 7 hour drive, but our Super-Pooper boys created a 9 hour road trip with 8 stops. And after 9 hours in the car, by the time we got to our destination, Connor was like a top that had been wound tight, ready to spin out of control. It was colder than we had anticipated, which meant less outdoor time for the boys, a total bummer since Grandma DJ lives on 70 acres of pasture filled with old barns, tractors and a fish pond. Perfect for little boys.

We had a good time, some good food and saw relatives that I had not seen in 10 years at least. Connor discovered how fun it is to sit on a tractor, climb fences and look at cows. The boys were so exhausted that they were cranky on Sunday for most of the ride home, but passed out two and a half hours from Charlotte and sleep the rest of the way home.

Weary traveler had a new meaning for both Jorma and I. After spending 17 hours in the car over three days we felt like we had been rode hard and put up wet. I was so exhausted Sunday night when we got home, that Monday morning I took a pregnancy test knowing that no way in hell was a pregnant, but thinking that certainly there had to be some other excuse for this fatigue. There wasn’t as the test came out negative and after a full night’s sleep, a nap yesterday afternoon and book club in the evening, this afternoon I feel rested again. There is no sleep like the sleep in your own bed.

All Hail The Cinnamon Pull-Apart Bread

I’m in a Club for Stay at Home Mom’s and each month we have a New Members Tea. The members of the club rotate turns hosting. On Tuesday it was my turn to host. I like hosting these things because it ensures that at least once a year the house gets thoroughly cleaned. I held a Bake-Off and challenged anyone to beat my White Wine Cake, which is famous among dozens. In the running: Cheesecake, Danish Wedding Cookies, Bailey's Irish Cream Cake, Crumb Cake, Banana Pudding, and Cinnamon Pecan Pull-Apart Bread. It was all so delicious that I didn’t even vote for my own but the thing that you’ll never believe is… my White Wine Cake didn’t win. Now this doesn’t put me off in the slightest, since what I was really hoping for was some smack talking LAN Party style and as I mentioned I voted for someone else’s. But I know that both Sam and Mike will be aghast.

Because they too, believe in butter.

The party went well. Connor caused no other children to cry and actually managed to keep his clothes on until everyone left the party. But shortly after our last guest left I found him all keyed up and naked alternating between standing in a chair on the porch rubbing sunscreen (sunscream as he calls it) on his bare belly and running over to the cooler of ice that was tipped over onto the deck playing in it like a Labrador puppy in a puddle. His nudity phase makes me glad we have a privacy fence.
The Cinnamon Pull-Apart Bread was a well deserved win, Jorma and I eating enough cake that we spent the remainder of the day, lounging around the house in a sugar coma while Connor bounced off the walls. All in all it was a good day. All Hail! The White Wine Cake The Cinnamon Pull-Apart Bread!

The Evolution of a Toddler

Last night Jorma had boys nite out, I put the kids down early and played with Windows Movie Maker until 1am. This is what I created.

Sneetch and Song

We have a bedtime ritual for Connor because it seems the only thing we can do to convince him that it’s actually bedtime. Bedtime as opposed to a climb out the crib fest. Generally Jorma puts Connor to bed and I put Tristan down. I’m not sure how we managed to do it with the chaos that is our life but we’ve gotten both to the boys go to bed at the same time. Tonight, was Jorma’s boys night out so I put Connor to bed.
After brushing teeth and sitting on the potty we always read a book. Tonight we started with Cat in the Hat, about three pages in Connor decided that we had to read about the Star Bellied Sneetches instead. This is a bedtime ploy that he uses to extend the reading time of a book. He figures, if he just hands you a book once you get about halfway through and repeats with all 20 of the books next to his night time reading chair that you’ll fall asleep before he does. And then he would be free to run through the house playing in the toilets and throwing handfuls of cat food down the stairs.
And he’s SO convincing. We MUST read the SNEETCHS. NOW. Then in a wailing cry he starts saying, “SNEEEETCHS!” Until you are finally so wowed that your very own kid likes a book that much that you say, ok. Sneetchs.
Now I personally like the Sneetchs story and I’m always happy to read it. So I was a little bit put off when it was suggested three pages later that “I DO NOT LIKE DE SNEETCHS!!!” and Perky the Fish was requested. When I refused Perky he tried with 10 Little Animals and then Dora, explaining to me, “This one, Mommy! This one!”, but I, already beaten for the night, decided that maybe it was just time for bed. Because maybe Connor wasn’t tired. But Mommy sure was.

 

Just Say No

Jorma comes downstairs after going up to try to talk Connor out of screaming after being put in bed for the night and walks into the kitchen to make a sippy cup of ice water.

 

“This is my side of the conversation with Connor. No. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. OK.”

 

 

How He Pays His Rent

Barefoot in the Garden
Originally uploaded by Dewchild.

Speaking of Eliminating People from the Gene Pool

The problem with the girl going on a hunger strike until Sanjaya gets kicked off American Idol is, first, she needs a life, but secondly this pre-teen panty melter might just go another week on the show. If for no other reason, because it makes people like Big Dave, vote for Sanjaya just to eliminate someone that as he says, "Is stupid enough to go on a hunger strike over American Idol" from the gene pool.

Dear Connor - 29 Months

Dear Connor,

Some nights for entertainment, your Dad and I will sit back and listen to you chatter on the baby monitor after we’ve put you and your brother to bed. The chatter fluctuates from yelling for one of us, babbling absentmindedly about something that happened during the day to singing a song. You have several serenades in your repertoire, including what I like to call, The Twinkle-Spider Remix. It starts out with the first line of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and then moves to the second line of Itsy Bitsy Spider, then bounces around, like maybe you had too many Cosmopolitans before hitting the turntable. When you call for one of us, you start with Daddy. After yelling Daddy a few times, you switch it up a little and start yelling, “JOOOORMA”. I find this most amusing, but your Dad… not so much. Once you’ve given up on Daddy, you switch over to me. After a few fake coughs and MOOMEE’s you stop for a minute and say in your very best, sweet little puppy dog voice, “mama?... mama?” And sometimes it even works.

The Brotherhood is coming along nicely. You seem to genuinely enjoy playing with your brother and the site of the two of you laughing makes us laugh too. Tristan watches you constantly and sometimes he cries when you walk away. You want to know where he is at all times and if he’s sleeping, you will ask if he’s sleeping every 20 minutes just to be sure.

Tonight while I was upstairs folding 200 of the 700lbs of laundry I do each week, your Dad said you came up to him and asked, “Where did my shoes go? I need my shoes.”. When he asked you want you wanted your shoes for you replied, “Nothing” and wandered off. A few minutes later you came back into the kitchen with your shoes on and crawled up on the window sill that goes to the screened porch. From there you proceeded to climb THROUGH the window because you wanted to go outside. And while you know you aren’t allowed to climb through windows, you also know that you are not allowed to go outside without your shoes on. This is the reason that we have child-proof locks on every single thing in the house that will take one and gates at every angle. Because if you had access to it, you would walk right out the front door and begin helping yourself to all of the toys in our neighbors garage. You see, not only are you two years old… but also, determined, smart, independent and easily bored. Oh how I can’t wait for the teen years.

You’ve also started remembering things that happened weeks or months ago and randomly bringing them up. Like the time that you fell down and hurt your knee when we were at the beach, 2 months ago. Or asking me in the car on the way home from preschool this week, “Where did Santa go?” You listen intently as I explain Summer, Fall, Winter and Christmas time. I laid off on the gradual change of Christmas from a Pagan celebration to a Christian holiday lecture; I figure I’ll save that one until you are three. But with the long-er term memory, you are gaining other skills. Like being able to count and identify any color. You can work simple puzzles as long as you are willing to sit still for five minutes. You’ve started using pronouns correctly so you don’t sound so much like Elmo when you are talking. For a while we were really torn between proper pronoun usage and how adorable it is when “Connor needs a cookie”. Eventually you figured it out on your own and now patrol the house pointing our what it mine, yours or ours.

You still aren’t really into toys yet, preferring your new yellow rain boots and a stethoscope that came with your Diego Rescue Animal Kit that Santa brought to you. You bring it up to me and say, “Mom-MEE? Can I listen to your heart-beep?” You hold the stethoscope over my heart and say, “Fump-Fump. Fump-Fump”, then back away looking thoughtful. I know I should tell you it’s actually heart-BEAT instead of Beep, but it’s so cute I just can’t bring myself to do it. But I let you listen again and again, because what your plastic stethoscope won’t tell you is that before I met your Dad, that heart of mine, it was starting to get a little bit black and shriveled, but now it’s happily fump-fumping away.
Love,

Mama

Dear Husband

Dear Husband,
Industrial Strength Craft Glue is NOT an oxymoron. So there. Now the whole world knows it too.

Love,
Your Crafty Wife

Ab Fab

When we didn’t know if we would be having a boy or a girl, we decided that if we did have a girl, that we would not enforce gender rolls. Meaning, we weren’t going to push her into pink and Disney Princesses unless that’s what she wanted. We weren’t going to make her toys kitchens and babies but allow trucks and blocks and all sorts of toys. So it was only fair when we had a boy to also encourage all types of play. Even if it was baby dolls and a kitchen. As my Mom says, “We can all learn to nurture” so we don’t mind if Connor plays with one of the baby dolls that we bought him after we had Tristan, so he would have a baby too. And for the same reason, it’s difficult to discourage the clothing obsession that he has right now.
I guess I can’t blame him for wanting to change 5 times a day and being obsessed with new clothes. Clothes are a big deal. We put them on everyday and there are a lot of rules that go with them. Like not taking them off in Target. Like not taking Mommy’s off in Target. Like not being able to wear a tank top when it’s cold outside, even though it feels warm inside. Like not being able to dig through the dirty laundry and put on the t-shirt covered with spaghetti from dinner last night. Like having special ones that we sleep in.
On Friday I was lucky enough to get to go to the early shop at UMC, where Connor goes to school. I bought most of his summer wardrobe, a toy shopping cart, an airplane, a puzzle and a pair of yellow rubber boots. You see we had gone to the Arbor Day Celebration at the Matthews Community Center with the MOMS Club, because that was the service project that I had planned for the month. During the activities, Connor found another child’s yellow rubber boots and had a fit over them. So when I saw the same exact kind at the consignment sale for three dollars, it was sort of a no-brainer. I thought for sure that he would be so into the toys that I picked for him, but instead, his new favorite thing is his yellow boots. Which he wants to wear everywhere and even put to bed last night, before going up to bed himself. He puts them on and says, “Are these cute Mommy?” as he parades around the room. “Yes, Baby”, I tell him, “Those ARE cute. And they look so fabulous with that purple tank top.”

 

Just Plain Wrong

Dear Husband,
Sprinkling Fiber One on your ice cream is just plain wrong. Even if you are on a health kick.
Love,
Me

Dear Tristan - 6 Months

Dear Tristan,
Most children cut their first teeth around 3 months. Because your father and I produce some sort of vampire-hybrid children, both you and your brother cut teeth at three months. You already have the two bottom ones in completely and now are cutting 6 more teeth… at once. And now, no one sleeps through the night.

We went for your six month check up the other day and after counting your incoming teeth the Dr. said, “1-2-3-4-5-6. Wow! Mommy needs Tylenol with Codeine. Is anyone sleeping at your house?” At that moment, I could have sworn I saw a golden halo and tiny little fairies dancing around her head.
At the same visit you weighed in at 17lbs, and hit the 55% for head circumference and 79% for height and were pronounced, beautiful, healthy and strong. You cried for about 5 seconds after your shots were done and then stopped to gaze at the painting of a cat on the wall.

You’ve also determined that it’s more comfortable to sleep on your side or your tummy. I can’t blame you there, I don’t like to sleep on my back either, although that is the position that I assume when you’ve cajoled your way into the bed at 3am so that you can sleep on my arm. The problem with this is that when you sleep on your tummy you automatically push up when you come close to waking. This means that you wake yourself up, lifting yourself off of the crib, which seems to be quite scary. I reposition you on your side, you fall back asleep and then fifteen minutes later are pushing up again. Did I mention that we are sleep deprived around here? Learning to sleep takes time. But don’t worry, if you have even the slightest bit of my genetic make up… soon you’ll be really good at it.
You’ve now experienced sweet peas, green beans, sweet potatoes and applesauce. You’ve also had a goldfish cracker, (thank your brother for that), but never got to actually swallow it because Daddy fished it out of your mouth before you could fully ingest it. Some nights you still like a 2am snack, but mostly you sleep until 6am, (except for the past two weeks) and then can be coerced into going back to sleep until 8am.
Any second now you will begin crawling… but it looks like you are going to be a great swimmer so far. If they made a pedometer that you could use while swimming, (swimometer???) I’d buy one and put it on you to check your mileage at the end of the day. You are busy, busy. You are able to get completely up on your knees hang out for a second but then you fall over. And the falling over part… it doesn’t bother you in the least.
You have the 360 down too. You pivot on your belly stopping each 45 degrees to see if there is anything interesting. Anything that you might be able to grab. And put in your mouth.

You brother has taken it upon himself to be your personal interpreter. Sometimes when you start crying he comes over to me and demands, “MOMMY! Feed Tristan.” Or my personal favorite, “mom-EEE! Tristan is cry-ING”, over and over and over while I make your bottle. The other day you were crying in the car and he looked over and said, “It’s ok Tristan. It’s ok” over and over. You actually calmed down a little bit and I suddenly felt all warm and fuzzy. It was the first time I realized that you and your brother… you might actually love each other. Maybe even as much as we do.
Happy Half Birthday Baby.
Love,
Mommy

Go Jorma, Go! Oh.

Today Jorma began the day racking up major points. Although his back was hurting him, he folded and put away 4 loads of laundry, washed another three, opened all the windows to air out the house and cleaned up our bedroom. By himself. Without being bribed. I was totally set to write this blog tonight about how awesome he is, but he did the unthinkable. He tried to pass off a turkey burger as ground beef.
You see, I’m kinda funny about meat. I don’t like it to squirt when I bite into it, bleed or smell odd. I don’t like strange textures. I think eating snails is absolutely ridiculous.
I’ve had frog legs, bear, turtle and other strange things, but I just can’t be comfortable with ground turkey. And as soon as I took a bite, I was greatly concerned. The meat was too soft, squishy even. It had kind of a familiar funk about it. The funk was just a tiny wisp of flavor drowned out by garlic and powered Ranch dressing mix. I looked at it. It was that, “been hosed off of the floor and compressed into meat-like rolls” color of grey. I stopped burger in hand and looked at him accusingly. Is THIS ground turkey? He shrugged and said. “Maybe”. I was disheartened. I resigned myself to picking off the mushrooms, Swiss cheese and guacamole and leaving the burger laying on the plate. The nerve. I guess the laundry and cleaning give him a break even… maybe even a few extra brownie points, but tomorrow night, I’ll make the burgers.

Cranberry Chicken - A Review

When I was talking to Pattie the other night, (before remoting into her system and fixing her email) she said she had found a really great recipe for Cranberry Chicken. This is how she explained the recipe to me.

“I’m going to tell you what’s in it. And I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to stop for a second. Think about it. Digest it. And then tell me what you think. It’s a bottle of Catalina (8oz) dressing, a can of whole cranberry, cranberry sauce and a packet of dry Onion Soup Mix. Poured over baked chicken.”
I couldn’t fathom it. “Tell me again”, I said. She did. It sounded crazy. But she said it was delicious.
Being one to try anything that only has three ingredients and minimal prep, we tried it. And it wasn’t bad. Not at all. It was a little bit strong on the onion and not something that I would serve at a dinner party… but for a Thursday night, oh crap, what are we doing for dinner… it was damn good.
I actually Googled the recipe before we made it and found a similar recipe that uses the onion soup mix, a jar of apricot preserves and Catalina dressing that sounded even better, but we’ll have to save that one for another night. Maybe a Wednesday.
If you are feeling brave, here is the recipe.

1 can of Whole Cranberry, Cranberry Sauce
8 oz of Catalina dressing
1 Packet of dry Onion Soup Mix

Mix ingredients together and lay 4-6 breasts of chicken in a glass baking dish, (that has been first sprayed with non stick cooking spray… or you could get a little crazy and use butter)
Dump sauce over the top. Bake uncovered at 350 for an hour or until you get that feeling that if you don’t take it out RIGHT NOW you might have to order pizza. Email me to let me know what you thought.

Where the Word Bad-Ass Isn't Appropriate

Me to Jorma:
"OK, I just accidently hit the delay start button on the washing machine with my elbow and it's a timer. You can set it for the laundry to start at 7am and set it up before you go to bed. That is BADASS!"

Jorma to Me:
"Wow. You're old."

It's Family Night and We're Feelin Right

Tonight was family night at Connor’s pre-school and the whole family went. Everyone else’s whole family went too, evidenced by the traffic jammed hallways and sno-cone line 30 people deep. But we had fun. They had blow up bouncy house and a bouncy climb –n- slide that the kids could go on. We had Connor all pumped up for the climb –n- slide but when he got up to it and heard the air pump on the side, he determined that he was “ALL DONE!” and clung to me so tightly that were my uterus available, he would have climbed back inside.
We moved from there to the book sale, where he pillaged the racks and was carried out crying and from there to the pizza line where he tried to see how many people he could trip by randomly throwing himself on the floor in front of on coming foot traffic. After we ate we headed back to the classroom where we made a donation to purchase his “art” from the gallery. The highlight of his night however, was the walk back to the car with Mommy and Daddy each holding a hand swinging him through the air.

Tristan also had a great time, snuggled down in the front pack facing outward as Daddy toted him around. He had the best seat in the house and was radiating such baby cuteness that women began spontaneous ovulation just by looking at him. Yeah, he really IS that cute.

Why I Haven't Returned Your Phone Call

If you are wondering why I haven't, called you / returned your phone call / fixed your computer / come by to visit or returned your email this is the reason. Click on image to view larger.
You can see the rest of the images if you click on the "Recently Posted" link on the lower right.

DeepThroat

DeepThroat
Originally uploaded by Dewchild.

This is from the Lazy5 Ranch on Saturday.
I'm attempting to post to my blog from my flickr account. Hopefully the font won't be all screwy but there is only one way to tell.

Making the World a Better Place

The Associated Press has put a ban on Paris Hilton stories. And suddenly the world is a better place.
Click here for more info.

Dear Connor - 28 Months

Dear Connor,
You are like a little boy explosion. I’ve got to tell you over the past month we’ve had some issues. All at once, we were stunned by your complete disregard for any rule or anything that we had to say. You were totally and completely out of control. And so was I. Turns out you have a sixth sense. It lets you know when Mommy is sleep deprived. You take advantage of this special power by getting into anything and everything that you aren’t supposed to, because you know that Mommy is probably too tired to deal. Because for a while, Mommy was. Nothing was working. Not spanking, not time out, not the naughty spot, not taking away toys, not having a talk with Mommy or Daddy. Nothing. I began to think that maybe for the next few years we were doomed to live in the wake of your tsunami like tantrums, trapped by the flood of your two year old emotions. But after reading a couple of different, How The Hell To Do This Parenting Thing books, I came to several conclusions.

One, I had to calm. down. Speak softly and carry a big stick. Two, when you have your talk with Mommy because you’ve done something wrong you have to make eye contact. You absolutely hate this. I hold you in my lap until you are ready to look at me, (we’ve had marathon sessions of this) and then we have a little chat. That’s all.

The problem is we have to stay very, very consistent. Because you are a both determined and smart, you are constantly testing the perimeters and letting you slide on an offense could cause our new manifest to come crashing down around us. It’s the same reason that people play the slots. Because once out of 20 times… you are going to hit the jackpot.So there isn’t much relaxing around here. Although there is nothing more that your Dad and I would like better than to just lay on the sofa and watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer re-runs while your brother coos in our arms and you quietly play with blocks at our feet. For the WHOLE ENTIRE EPISODE. But since that, nor anything close to that has ever happened… we just have to settle for watching in 5 minute increments, (Thank you DVR!) while we pull you off of the top shelf of the linen closet.
Because oh how you love to climb. I recently finished the mural in your room and the first time you saw it completely, you tried to climb up onto the rock that the wolf is standing on and kept saying, “Mommy? Want to climb up it. Want up.” I guess it says something for my skill at realism, but also that you truly would, climb a flat wall.

OhMyGod are you obsessed with the toilet. And putting things into it. And flushing them. Thing like plastic alphabet letters and Daddy’s toothbrush. Things like wads of toilet paper. You will poo and pee on the potty, but get so obsessed with the toilet paper that I have to take it off of the holder so you can’t reach it and move away items like magazines and the hairdryer. Everything must go into the toilet. I’m so glad that you don’t have access to the cat.
You are so sweet to your brother. You bring him toys and try to share your goldfish crackers with him. You offer your sippy cup and don’t understand why you aren’t praised for sharing your V8 juice with the baby. That’s right. You drink V8 juice. But only because Daddy told you it was coffee and since you see what a big deal coffee is in the mornings, you figure it MUST be all that. Even if it tastes like spaghetti sauce over ice.

You sing everything you say. We love it. It’s not intentional… but even if you say, Mommy is folding laundry; you say it in the cutest little sing song voice. It sounds like mo-MEEE is fo-DING Laun-DREEEE!

You are starting to drawn conclusions on your own. The other day you asked what a sound was and I told you it was a police car. You said, “Must be zoomin!” which totally cracked me up because actually it was driving very quickly… you could tell by the sound. Although you never saw the car. You’ve got such amazing listening skills. If we could just get you to hear us when we ask you to please stop jumping on the sofa.

Love,

Mom-MEEE!

The Hotdog of the Potato Chip World

When we had our parent teacher conference at Connor’s preschool, I asked how his behavior was at lunch. Did he try to grab food from someone else’s plate, (like he does at home)? She told us that sometimes he does if another child has fruit snacks or Pringles. We had no idea. I never bought fruit snacks for him, because they are neither fruit nor snack, but candy and because I’m completely paranoid about choking hazards and we seldom buy Pringles just because. So the next time that he had school we saw to it that his lunch contained both fruit snacks AND Pringles with the obligatory pimento cheese sandwich. His teacher said when he opened his lunch, his eyes lit up when he saw what awaited him. He ate all his lunch that day.Since then, we’ve had Pringles on hand. Today when I was enjoying a stack of them I started thinking about the texture. Pressed, molded chips how tasty. And then I had an epiphany. The Pringle is the hotdog of the potato chip world. Where do all of those little pieces of chips come from? I can answer that for you. Most likely from the rejects and broken chips. From the potatoes that don’t make the “cut”. Just like a hotdog. Extra parts. Ew. Tonight when I was eating a couple of Pringles with our Philly Cheese Steak wrapped in whole wheat flat bread I was thinking about this again and they just didn’t taste the same. As a result, I think I just don’t like Pringles anymore.If I could just have a similar epiphany with ice cream, my diet would be a whole lot easier.

A Little TLC at the DMV

How to enjoy the DMV.
Have your husband take both kids and put on your comfiest sweatpants and shoes and then grab the latest copy of O magazine. Drive to the DMV at a leisurely pace preparing to enjoy some quality child free time with yourself and your cup of coffee. Of course this will be the day that it only takes you 20 minutes to renew your license.

Cause I Like Rock and Stuff

We purchased a GE Adora Washer/Dryer when we bought the house. I like to call them my 4.2 cubic feet of heaven. You wouldn’t believe how much laundry you can cram into the washer at once, which for me that’s a good thing, because, well, if you’ve never heard me bitch about it before… I do A LOT of laundry. But the washing machine stopped draining. And my clothes were left sitting in a murky mess of water. It was happening every now and again, just often enough for me to start to panic and then calm back down again, but when I washed the last load of sheets the other day, I couldn’t get the water to drain. I didn’t want to call a repair man, mostly because I washed my screen cleaner shammie mouse in it and it exploded filling the washing machine and our clothes with thousands of little white plastic beads… (Because we don’t have enough other crazy stuff lying around on the floors). I knew that it wouldn’t be covered under warranty because there is no way that the repair man wouldn’t see any beads, since they seem to multiply like Gremlins when exposed to water. So I ran the rinse and spin cycle 5 different times and rewashed twice with hot water, hoping that something would free up. It didn’t. So… I Googled it. I read several reviews of people having the same problem and then found one guy that had called a repair man, only to have the repair man, open the front cover and dump the trap. Although when I pulled out the trap, it was so clogged that I had to put a trashcan under it to catch the gallon of water it released, it wasn’t clogged with the 5 million plastic beads I found inside. Instead it was clogged with three baby socks, two bolts, a washer and a drill bit and now, it works like a champ again. The guy that wrote the post mentioned that the trap cleaning isn’t listed in the owners manual, (it’s not) which means there could be thousands of people having this problem because GE didn’t add this to the manual. I hope those people find this post.

So if you have one of these washers and you want to save yourself a hundred bucks or so here’s how you do it.

Remove front panel > Unscrew the large white plastic core on the front to pull out the trap. Clean out trap > Go spend the $100.00 that you saved on not calling a repair man at the mall on Starbucks, Cinnabon and new shoes, (I skipped this step and it’s still working just fine, so it can be optional).
And those sheets that got rinse and spun and then washed two other times in an attempt to drain?
Man, those are some clean sheets.

 

Because We All Know Valentine's Day is Really About the Sugar

Dear Tristan - 5 Months

Dear Tristan,
We are all so in love with you. If I could save a memory to play over and over during times of despair it would be the little nose wrinkle thing that you do before you smile. It’s beautiful… and most amusing. I also might include a clip of the excitement you seem to feel when your feet are released from your footie pj’s and you grab them to bring to your mouth. “These THINGS! They are SO SOFT! They taste a little bit like BOOB!” Today I sat on the bed and folded two loads of laundry as I watched Ice Age II as you lay next to me wriggling with delight, playing with your new toys. I will be sad when you are like, “These old things? No, let me destroy the living room instead”. That day is coming.

I say this because you are starting the motions of crawling. You push up with your elbows locked and look around the living room at your new perspective. Sometimes when you are in the bassinet, you pop up with your eyes and forehead showing over the rim like a little prairie dog all, “Why did you guys put me in here again? What’s going on out there?!”

You really want to be able to get from one place to another, but you can’t quite figure out how. You know instinctively that it involves moving your feet, so you teeter-totter on your little belly back and forth, kicking your feet and flapping. I’ve seen you put your feet under you and push a few times, but I don’t think you quite have the coordination to pull it off yet. Never fear child, its coming. Leave the fear to me.

You’ve also been delighting in your rice cereal in the evenings. At first when I would feed you, you would start flapping and wiggling so that I had to pin your arms to get a bite into your mouth. You’re getting better at eating it now, actually swallowing instead of pushing it around with your tongue, reveling in the feel of something that isn’t milk. Don’t worry, we got the entire 15 minutes of your first cereal feeding on film… it’s riveting. I have to take a minute here to tell you that your brother pretty much wants anything that you have… even if it’s rice cereal. He wants anything that I have too, so don’t take it personally. Yesterday after demanding a bite of your cereal over and over again, (although he knows that he doesn’t like it) I fed him a spoonful. His face turned beet red and he started gagging. Now, your brother will eat anything. Even salad. But apparently the taste of rice cereal is too much for him. In between gags he was trying to make out a sentence. That sentence was, “Mommy, maybe Connor sick?” I really tried not to laugh. Really.

You brother is still having some issues with your arrival. Sometimes he’s cute about it, “Mommy! Put Tristan down... hold Connor”. When I say, “No, I want to hold Tristan, Come sit with us.” he responds with, “Connor go get the bouncy seat” and brings over the bouncy seat insisting that I put you down. I don’t. I can’t, simply because it’s not fair to you. You are only 5 months old and I’m already trying to balance the fairness between siblings. One thing that I feel may be a lifelong trait in your brother is determination. He’s sometimes so relentless in his tantrum that I consider putting your down just to make it all stop. But I can’t. I fight for you. For my right to keep you in my lap as long as possible, because you are just growing so damn fast.
I fight for you.
I will always fight for you.
Love,
Mommy

Stage One

I’m on week 2 of the Oprah, (Bob Greene) Best Life Diet and so far it’s not that difficult. The first month, you drink water with every meal, take a vitamin supplement and don’t eat anything 2 hours before bedtime. You are also supposed to up your activity just a bit and eliminate pasta and alcohol. You weigh yourself at the beginning and then don’t weigh yourself again until the month is up. After that you move one to stage two, adding more eliminations and increasing exercise again. The premise is if you get the mind-set right the first month, the remaining stages shouldn’t be so difficult. We’ll see. I’m bound and determined to lose this dang baby weight. I feel awful. And because I don’t fit into any of my old clothes sweatpants have become my standard uniform. If you’ve seen me in the past five months, you’ll be nodding at that last line. That’s not to say when I lose the baby weight I’m back to stilettos and mini-skirts. Although that’s mostly because I haven’t worn either since my clubbing daze back in high school… but I might be tempted to pull out the overalls again.

 

Letting Go

Two Zen monks walked along a muddy, rain-drenched road. They came upon a lovely woman attempting to cross a large mud puddle. The elder monk stopped beside the woman, lifted her in his arms, and carried her across the puddle. He set her gently down on the dry ridge of the road as the younger monk discreetly admired her charms.
After bowing politely to the woman, the two monks continued down the muddy road. The younger monk was sullen and silent as they walked along. They traveled over the hills, down around the valleys, through a town, and under forest trees. At last, after many hours had passed, the younger monk scolded the elder. "You are aware that we monks do not touch women!" he said, "Why did you carry that girl?"
The elder monk slowly turned and smiled. He said, "My dear young brother, you have such heavy thoughts! I left the woman alongside the road hours ago. Why are you still carrying her?"

Dear "All Pediatric Offices"

Just a quick rant tonight. Why in the hell do they even bother taking your kids temp at the Dr’s office when they are going to use one of the digital underarm devices with a rubber sleeve on it?! It NEVER reads right. It always displays a normal temperature. Connor’s temperature was 103.7 at 11:00 and we gave him Motrin and went to the Dr. The nurse checked his temp, and declared it normal. I said, “There is NO WAY that thing is reading accurately. His temp was 103 when I left the house. So she replied, “Well you said you gave him Motrin so that probably brought it down.” I said, “FEEL HIM, he’s burning up.” “I dunno” she said and walked out of the room. So when we got home from the Dr, his temp was 104.8. So his temp went from 103.7 to normal and then back up to 104.8?!

All Pedia Doc’s read the temp this way. It’s ridiculous. If it doesn’t show a super high temp like that, what does it take to register a temperature? I mean… WTF?! I understand that they don’t want to do a rectal each time, so fine, don’t… but why even waste my time and energy holding a child who states, “All DONE!” and tries to climb down from my lap as soon as she touches him with it. THIS IS SO STUPID. You people went to MEDICAL SCHOOL!?!? God help us all.

 

Mother Knows Best

When my mother-in-law came to visit in August, during the tour of the house, she asked if we used the dining room each night. I told her that we’d been living in the house for three months and hadn’t used it yet, but would probably use it over the holidays. She gasped, “You mean this is just wasted space?!”. I told her that it wasn’t really wasted that we intended to use it we just hadn’t yet. It was just easier with the kid to eat in the kitchen where if spaghetti was thrown you didn’t have to wipe it off of an antique china cabinet. She was aghast and suggested that we remove all furniture and turn it into a painting studio for me. While the thought of having a space all my own made my toes tingle, I explained how that would be wasted space for sure since by the time the kids are in bed, I’m too tired to do much painting.
But in the way that a mother-in-law’s comments can, it began to chip away at my resolve. It kept popping into my head. I started seeing that it WAS wasted space. She was 100% right. So, on Monday while Connor was wrecking havoc at preschool, (that’s a whole other entry) we moved the china cabinet to the attic which involved packing up all of the china and Jorma and I carrying it upstairs, breaking down the dining room table and chairs, and moving down the sofa from Connor’s room.
We moved all of the toys and kids crap from the living room into the dining room and do you know… I absolutely LOVE it. Our living room is so unbelievable clean that it makes me happy just looking at it. I mean, spotless. And for our house… that’s quite a feat.

This means if you come over for dinner, you might have to eat in the living room, but at least it will feel like you are eating in a living room and not a daycare center.

Mommy Magic

To Connor after kissing the finger that he hurt running through the kitchen after being ejected from the pantry… yet again.

“You know, Mommy’s kiss always works. Sometimes it takes a little longer, but it always works. Broken arm, Mommy’s kiss might take about six weeks but it still will work. It’s true. We only go to the Dr. as a secondary precaution.”

How we roll

With two pack and plays, a grocery bag filled with snacks, a portable DVD player and two duffle bags full of clothes, diapers and anything else we could possibly need, we left for the beach on Tuesday. Both of the boys did surprisingly well in the car, which is nothing short of miraculous since it took us 7 hours to arrive at our destination. We missed our turn by about 50 miles and when we checked the map, “Oh Look! We are way over here!” we ended up taking a detour.

There isn’t any furniture in Pawpaw’s beach house yet, only a bed, a few chairs and a couple of air mattresses, which I thought was good since Connor wouldn’t be able to hurt himself on anything in the house, but he ended up breaking an electrical outlet with his head, cutting his ear in two places from spinning and falling into a table, and puncturing his knee on a magazine rack. I guess if that stuff wouldn’t have been around, he might have tripped on say, air and fallen down anyways.

We had a good time, took a tour of the area and visited the local aquarium, where Connor was allowed to run free, his light up shoes, acting as a tracking device in the dark and Tristan, was held up to see the fish, fascinated by the blue lights of the jellyfish tank. After Connor's temper tantrum in the gift shop, (an actual laying on the floor and screaming tantrum) over the 500 magnets that I wouldn’t allow him to pull off of the display we went back to the house for lunch and naps.

The nap never happened, although it was desperately needed, later resulting in the hyperactive spinning that caused the ear injury later that night. We learned Wednesday night that it was going to snow so we opted to leave Friday instead of Thursday due to icy roads. The boys missing their chance to play in the snow broke my heart, but when I remembered that Connor had outgrown last years mittens I figured it was just as well. We made it back safe and sound on Friday, with not a speck of snow left on the ground, but due to the magic of digital photography, email and the most awesome neighbors in the universe, we were able to see our new house covered with snow.