Vacation- in Brief

We went to visit my parents for 2 and a half weeks and there are some um... stories (like my grandma's obsession with charlie sheen0 but instead of boring you with stories (like how we spent the night in bagagge claim or my son's newfound love of peeing on trees) I'll just bore you with some pictures and a little bit of detail. The only thing that could really make this fun is a bottle of tequila. And yet I feel compelled to share them anyway.
My parent's rented a bouncehouse for the kids thereby (hee!) ensuring their place in the Grandparent Hall of Fame.

Mini-early 1st birthday celebration.

Mmmmm.... Cake Good!!!!!!!!!

The neighbors fireworks display. David heard one boom and promptly began screaming. After I pried him from my leg and took him inside and played a Thomas movie at an insanely loud volume, all was well.

This is Farenheit. Was not drunk enough to ride Farenheit. Would possibly need to be a little bit of lot drunk before even contemplating this ride.

Daughter and husband went on. Sober. And I'm the crazy one?

Son is also afraid of water.

Also did not go fishing with kids, husband and grandfather. No tequila, no fishy-fishy.

Somewhere in the middle of our trip, Josie decided that every time she saw the camera she would make this face.


Not sure why.

In order to make up for this post, promise to tell of how easy it is to make an ass of yourself at a new gym. Er.... ok, make an ass of myself. It took a grand total of 2 minutes after walking through the door.

Random Meaningless Realization

I LOVE the PCD new song for some strange reason. Everytime it comes on the radio, I start singing along. Today I realized I've been screwing up the lyrics a bit.

They want Groupies.


Not boobies.

But you know? Either way.......

Like I'm the First Person to Ask For It

Employee of unnamed delivery company: *Unnamed company* How can I help you?

Me: Hi, I'd like to order an arrangement. Is it possible to just do a whole arrangement of chocolate dipped bananas?

EUDC: We do have a box of dipped bananas.

Me: No, I'm talking about like, a bouquet. Those are just chunks in a box.

EUDC: OK.

Me: Is it possible to do whole bananas and not just chunks?

EUDC: (long pause) Um, I don't.... know. That may look a little... odd.

Me: But is it possible.

EUDC: It will look rather.... phallic.

Me: EXACTLY!!

EUDC:...........

Me: You know, it would be really just awesome if you could maybe shape them into penises (Peni? What is the plural of penis anyway?) before you dip them.

EUDC: ..........

Me: Who wouldn't want an arrangement of chocolate banana penises?

EUDC: *click*

Color Me Beautiful

It had been 2 years since I'd died my hair and it showed. I didn't have roots. I had two-tone hair. It was flat and boring and I'd had it. I got a new haircut. Still long, but with some layers to give my thick hair some lift. I'm on a bit of a budget and though I probably could have afforded to let my stylist dye my hair, I'd become a pro at it over the years.
As I let the dye set into my hair I could feel my spirit lift. Who says moms have to sacrifice everything, including great hair, in order to be good moms? I knew the color would be good; chestnut brown with hints of deep red tones. And after rinsing the color and drying my freshly clipped locks I could see that I was right. No drips, no stains on the scalp. Just perfect color.
I had gotten one of those boxes that included a complimenting shade of highlights. I'd never done highlights before but how hard could it be?
I carefully mixed the dye and followed the instructions, slathering on the blue-tinted dye in sections around my head. I waited the suggested 15 minutes for those subtle, natural highlights. I daydreamed about my husband's certain reaction.
He would come home after a long hard days work and marvel at this wondrous beauty he was so lucky to be married too. He would run his fingers through my hair and refer to me henceforth as 'My Hot Wife'.
I imagined my hair in it's soft waves bouncing gently as I walked around the neighborhood, redeemed in my neighbors' eyes for who but an angel could have such glorious hair? Surely not the same lady who nearly decapitated herself with a shovel running away from a mole!
I was excited to rinse my hair and see the lovely results of my effort. I brushed through it slowly, wondering if maybe it was so.... bright? because it was wet.
I began to blow it dry and my horror only grew.

It was orange.

Ronald Mc-freaking-Donald Orange!

Not only RMD Orange, but not in those sweet little sections I had laid out. No, it was in giant clumps around my head! It looks like someone dumped orange paint on my head and I haven't bothered to wash it out.

I said nothing when my husband came home. He stopped and looked at me. He started to open his mouth but thought better of it and quietly went into the bathroom to laugh.

I bought new hair dye today.

Name that Post....

So I'm a month late in posting her 9 month shots but um.... I'm lazy.

After I moved to WA 8 years ago, I found this little blue dress with all my other stuff. I didn't realize exactly what it was until my sister sent me a bunch of my old pictures and I found one of me as a 1 year old in this little blue dress. Some day I may actually remember to scan and upload said picture but for now.. It looked something like this only more 70's-ish:


She blows raspberries into her arm and thinks the noise is just hysterical. She has no problem amusing herself!

She's still the easiest baby. I expect her to turn into the mother of all nightmares by the time she turns 3. It's just the way it works with us. For now though, I'm loving every moment. Even the poo-filled ones because it gives me a reason to laugh at myself (not that I really needed more of those).

*I want to be 10 again. Not for long. Just one day. I want to be 10 again so that I can go to Bre's school for carnival day and be brave enough to go down this slide. I want to slip into a bathing suit and get all soapy in the kiddy pool and take a running leap at that long wet stretch of plastic. I want to slide and spin my way to the bottom. I want to slam into the pooled water at the bottom and feel it spray out and over my head like a big fan. I want to fall into the arms of my bff laughing because she is just as soaked as I am and dude! That was awesome! And I want to run back up the hill laughing, dripping and slick, excited to do it again, talking strategy and whether it's better to go straight down and therefore faster, or to spin and get a little dizzy. I want to talk about how if you turn just so right before you get to the bottom you can hit that puddle and really send up a big splash.

But it's just as amazing to watch her instead. To wonder at how she can be mine but actually have the guts to do this and to catch it on camera. For a moment I got to see who she is when she isn't with me.

Next year Bre will be in 5th grade. It should be her last year of elementary school. Instead she'll be going to a private school. We had talked about sending her and for us it was an easy choice. It's more structured and strict, something she thrives on. There's a uniform and better discipline but also added cirriculum that she can't get anywhere else. We asked her what she wanted. We went on a tour of the school and she was quiet. She saw the computer lab, the classrooms, met some teachers, saw the science club's work (she loves science) and the sports they offer. When we left, she turned and said 'Yes.'

And now, as excited as I am for her, I'm also a little sad. She's leaving all of her friends. She's leaving the familiarity and safety of people who already know and like her for a whole new school. A smaller school. I don't think it really hit her until today when we left for the last time and she started to cry.

And I did too.

I remember her first day when she was too shy to speak. She used to sit away from everyone else (3 feet back) during storytime. This is where she struggled- and thrived. I'll miss it too. I'll miss being a part of it in the small way that I was.

*Today was the last day of school so I thought it would be nice if I picked Bre up at the end of the day. As the bell rang and the kids filed out to their busses, I noticed that about half of them (and every kid from my daughter's class because her teacher was just that amazing) were in tears. They didn't want to leave! I wanted to shake them and yell at them "You have 2 and half months of glorious freedom! Play! Swim! Eat lots of ice cream! It's summer!" Seriously kids, the only people who should be crying right now are your parents because they are staring down 2 and half months of no school and wondering how they are going to occupy your time so that you won't drive them ape-shit. Or maybe that's just me.

I found the Poo*

There are some days where you wake up knowing that you should just not leave your bed. I have done this; staying in bed all day in order to avoid the inevitable hailstorm of shit that is lurking just outside my bedroom door. Now that I have kids I find the hiding in bed all day to be a bit more difficult. They are always demanding something; "I'm hungry!" (even though I swear I just fed them yesterday) or "I'm bored!" (Let's play a game of 'sleep'! That's always fun!). So, despite the bothersome feeling that this was going to be one of those stay-in-bed kind of days I did the resposible thing and got up.
I knew for certain it was going to be bad as soon as I hit the hallway. I could just smell it. This is what I get for letting Mishka eat those damn Gerber puffs Josie threw at her. I am also not so convinced that crating is so great. Sure it contained the shit to one small area, but now she was covered in it and the crate is too big to fit through our door in one piece. Plus our front door is down a flight of stairs.
It's 7 am and I am taking half a crate of runny poo down my front stairs chanting "please don't spill, please don't spill oh God *gag* please don't spill please don't spill David if you run your train through that I am throwing it away please don't spill....."
It's 7 am and I am spraying down a half a crate full of runny poo in the rain from 5 feet away because ew! poo splatters I'm still talking to myself and my neighbors just don't even wonder anymore.
I leave the crate outside and grab some towels so that Mishka can walk into the tub without her poo feet touching the ground and without me touching her. She was outside for a grand total of 20 minutes covered in poo and yet somehow managed to get even more dirty. She is definitely one of us.
Mishka is almost 2 years old. In the nearly two years that we have had her, we have never once been able to give her a bath without some sort of drama. For the first year of her life, she howled and cried and would frantically claw at us at the mere sight of the water. She would not even enter the bathroom willingly. She would run past every bathroom in the house even if we were not standing near it. In this last year the only thing that has changed is her howling and we can occasionally coax her into the shower.
This was not one of those times.
It's 7:30 in the morning, the kid's are complaining about the smell, I'm soaking wet and I'm trying to convince a shivering shit-covered dog into the shower.
This is not a good way to start the day. A good way to start a day like this is a strong margarita and hotel service.
After throwing an old towel (which will have to be burned now thank you) over the dog I was able to push her into the tub (all the while crying 'ewewewewewewewew!'). The very second the water hits her she begins her cry-dance routine. She whimpers and then lifts each paw, left to right front, right to left rear, lather rinse repeat. Her hatred of water is so ingrained she would rather be covered in shit then get clean. After about 10 minutes, she can't take it anymore, lays her head on the edge of the tub and covers her face with her paws and starts to whine.
And can I just ask why? Why can we not have just one 'normal' pet? Why do we always seem to end up with the neurotic, wanna-be human animals? Do we make them crazy (which may actually be true given who we are) or do we just have this special gift that enables us to pick out the most bat-shit crazy animals?
Auggie- loves to sing along to his favorite songs and commercials, though lately that singing is more like barely audible huffing. He's almost 16 and has decided that at his age there are no damn rules and he will eat out of the trash can any damn time he pleases thank you very much! When he farts, he will lift his head and bark. I'm not sure if he is just surprised that he did it and is saying "Dude! Did you hear that? Awesome." Or if he's warning us that he just let one rip- which he really doesn't need to do. Even the silent ones are evident within 2 seconds. He can wilt the flowers on the hydrangea bush by our front door from inside the house.
Mishka- eats anything. Slugs, wood, linoleum, moths, dirt, stones (will not whoever eat MIL's cooking. Says something, don't you think?)
Baxter- Once pissed on my husband's lunchbox for demanding that he perform some sort of trick in order to get his cat treat.
The birds- I almost miss them. But then I hear the theme song to the Andy Griffith (Griffith? Griffin? Bueller?) show on tv from time to time and remember why we no longer have birds.

Anyway, off point again yes? Yes. Where was I?
Right, Shit-covered scaredy-dog, 7:30 am. Finally get said dog cleaned and reasonable dry. Now must burn down bathroom and towels. Or clean it. Too bad we didn't have any matches.

I foolishly believe that my day cannot get any worse as I've already been up to my eyeballs in shit.

I hear Josie wake up from her nap and she's talking to herself a bit. I leave her be for a few more minutes of peace and quiet. She starts to fuss a bit but I'm almost done with the laundry.

Then she starts screaming bloody hell.

She never screams.

I didn't even make it to her door before the smell hit me.

Karma has made me her bitch people.

There was poop on the walls, the crib, the floor, my rocker and head to toe on my baby. She had whatever Mishka had and it was just.... *shiver*. I have never bathed a baby fully dressed before today but it was necessary this time. And to make it just that much more fun she was wearing the palest yellow pant set with a WHITE sweater.

David stood at the door in wonder, "I think she had an accident..."

poopity-poop.


*Remember a few months ago? My hunt for the mystery poop? See also: How Stupid I am.....

I've seen the inside of my husband, and it ain't pretty.

I plead insanity. After 4 weeks of entirely too much togetherness (and after coming to the conclusion that my husband will never be able to retire because his instant boredom and irritating habits related to said boredom will cause me to force feed him copious amounts of bologna which would be far more torturous then pulling off his fingernails one by one) my husband was ready to return to work. Probably too soon for his doctor's preferences given that his ankle continued to swell after an hour standing but he couldn't stand it anymore. We celebrated over the weekend by discussing all the things we were looking forward to in the week ahead. He: getting up at 4:30 and spending 10 hours in hard physical labor and bull-shitting with the guys. Me: Not having to listen to his whining about not being at work or nagging him to put ice on his foot and maybe getting my baby girl back again (we'll get to that later).
Naturally Karma chose this moment to step in and say..... "Not so fast..."

By Sunday evening it was clear that Joe would be facing another surgery. This time it was the cyst on his back. It had swollen up to the size of a golf ball and he could barely move. I took him in the following Thursday to have it removed and promised myself I wouldn't think about the next 2 weeks with him home. We went over his care instructions with the nurse where she told me that I would have to change his dressing every 24 hours. This involved, and I quote "removing some gauze from his wound and replacing it with wet gauze, here's the instruction sheet. Bye!"
Some of you may read that and you know. You know exactly what's coming. I didn't.

The next night, my husband laid down and I removed his dressing. I slowly pulled the gauze that was laying there but had to kind of tug at it to get it off. And then I lost my mind.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT! THERE'S A FUCKING HOLE IN YOUR BACK!!"

If you ever want to freak your loved one out, this is exactly what you should say to them after they've had surgery- especially if it's somewhere they can't easily see.
It's about 1" long and 1 1/2 inches deep. It's a hole. A big fucking hole that I have to stuff gauze in every night and I'm not even sure that I'm doing it right. I told him I could easily fit 3 fingers in there and he felt the need to say "don't!" I said I could, not that I would.
He made me take a picture of it (and no, I'm not sharing it- ew!) which Bre asked if she could take to school (she also got a 'no' and that's why we're the worst parents ever).

But that's where I'm at. Stuffing gauze in the hole in my husband's back, trying not to go crazy, and trying not to be too sad that my baby went from adoring me and only wanting me to only wanting her daddy.

Apparently, pancakes are the way to my baby's love.

One Moment

It's been rather hectic lately, dear baby. I know that this has disrupted your schedule a bit and since our lives are normally rather hectic, well, we have tested the very limits of your good nature and found them to be fairly far reaching. We have been running back and forth, place to place. Your car seat has certainly exceeded it's mileage and yet you've taken it all in stride. This week your father needed surgery and has been lounging about, unable to run you wild around the house ( something you previously rewarded him for with loud giggles) as crutches have turned out to be a bit prohibitive to his normal routine. The only form of stress we've seen from you is your sudden need to snuggle a bit more, your need to be held just a bit longer; something I've been happy to indulge.
You've been sleeping through the night since I realized that why yes! That crib we bought is an excellent place for you to sleep and of course that's what it's for! I've kicked myself quite a bit for not realizing it sooner.
So when you woke me up last night at 2 am, I was a bit surprised. And as we rocked in the quiet dark of your room, it struck me that these days are passing far too quickly for me. I remember being impatient with your brother and sister when they were smaller, wishing they would just go to sleep already because I was just so very tired. I don't know what it is that has changed; I was certainly tired last night when you woke me. Maybe it's that you are to be our last. Or maybe I've simply mellowed.
When you laid your head on my shoulder and reached your arm up around the other side of my neck, and all was right with my world. I could feel your breath on my neck as you settled into my arms. I knew you were falling asleep and I should just put you back in your crib so you could sleep.
Instead, I kept rocking.
I could smell the honey from your shampoo. I could feel how warm and secure you were. I could feel your heart beating it's little rhythm against mine. It felt so right to just be in that moment and scary to realize how soon you will refuse me those moments. I promise to take advantage of them each time they come.
The street light flickered outside your window and you shifted a bit in my arms. You sighed and I kept rocking.
I wondered if my own mother had ever spent a night like this with me. Your grandmother and I did not have the best of relationships, but I like to think that she loved me as much as she was capable of loving someone else. I hope, for her, that she did feel what I felt last night... what I feel for each of my children.... that undefinable love. It's what gives me hope when I watch the news and there is nothing but tales of the awful things people will do to each other.
I watched the minutes pass on the clock and knew, again, I should put you in your crib.
We rocked back and forth and I smiled.
I hope you wake me again tonight.

Wake me when he's 4

Now that Hurricane David has decided that sleeping in his own bed is kind of fun, I'm actually getting some sleep at night. Actual sleep where no one is kicking me in the head or trying to measure my head by rolling their butt over it. It's just one more little victory I get to claim.
But, with every victory, there is a new challenge. And challenge?
Thy name is Food.
There are 6 things (non-candy related) my son will eat. Mac and cheese, crackers (but only orange crackers and it has to be the right shade of orange and they have to be square), pancakes, chicken nuggets (but only from McDonald's or if they're shaped like a dinosaur) and grilled cheese sandwiches. Even if I make one of these pre-approved food items, chances are pretty good that he won't eat. He's even picky about his candy.
He loves M&M's so I got him a little bag of blue M&M's for Easter.
He won't eat them because they are light blue and his M&M's have to be multi-colored.
Still, I didn't fully realize how deeply his issues with food ran until this afternoon when he asked for smarties (small pressed powder candy) and I said he had to wait until after dinner,
"But I juss did that lass night!!!"

"Did what?"

"Had dinner." (Oh Lord, I can already hear the desperation in his voice. This is not good.)

"Yes. You had dinner last night, but we have to eat dinner every night."

"YOU MEAN I HAVE TO DO THAT AGAIN???????????"

After dinner, which he grudgingly ate after learning that the smarties would not be forthcoming otherwise, he sighed, "That's the lass time I do that, right?"

The Boss

6 months and already in command.....

Paparazzi friendly......

...Everybody was kung-fu fighting......

You may notice that any time David is close enough, she grabs at him or is holding on to some part of him. She does this every time he gets close, all day. Most of the time he lets her.

David refused to kiss her cheek. He agreed to kiss her head but did it so fast we couldn't get a picture.

How Stupid I am.....

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS POOP! CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE IF YOU SMELL THE POOP.

It had been a long day and it was barely noon. David is sick again and was having a monster fit because he did. NOT. NEED. PANTS. WOMAN!!! And I was pretty insistent that he should at least wear underwear, but his spiderman underwear was in the wash and that was the pair he wanted. Like, the red spiderman underwear was just not going to cut it, you know? What the hell was I thinking? It's Tuesday, it can only be the black spiderman underwear and why the fark don't I know this already? He expressed his distaste for me by throwing himself dramatically across the bed (which he had to climb up on first) alternately wailing incoherrantly and whispering woefully for his "black spideyman undies". Meanwhile, Josie is in my arms smiling away because "Dude! Dinner theater! Awesome!"
And yes, it was sort of dinner theater because she was waiting ( with increasingly less patience) for me to give her lunch. "Yes! Lunch! Let's have some! Woo-hoo!" (I swear one day she's going to be one of those annoyingly perky women I see getting their starbucks early in the morning. You know the ones, hair and makeup perfectly done, all smiles and fast paces wishing you a good morning until you just want to punch them square in their shiny little noses.... what? Just me? I'm really not a morning person. Ok then, moving on.) Yes, she is perky and happy all the time and I don't how that happened except to say that eventually she will turn three and I will get what's coming to me because that's just how it works in this house.
Anyway, lunch. Right. I was getting ready to feed Jo-Jo some applesauce when I smelled it. It was pretty faint at first so I thought that maybe David, with all his wailing and drama queen-ness had farted. But then it got a little stronger as I stepped into the hall.
One of the dogs had pooped in the house. It was now my mission- before feeding the very hungry Josie- to find that poop!
"Yay! A game! I love.... wait. What? You're not going to feed me right now? But I want food! Now! This very second or I shall cry! Very well then, take this... WAAHHHHHH!!!!"
"Look Josie! Paper!"
"Woo-hoo! Paper! Let's party!"
Yes, my other family secret (aside from David's insistence that certain pairs of underwear are worn on certain days) is that my baby loves paper. Screw the playmat, the blocks and the exersaucer, she'll take the Wall Street Journal.
So, on to the poop finding mission.
I walked out into the dining room where Mishka's crate is and wondered how my dog managed to transmit her poop from the backyard (where she was at that moment) somewhere into our house. Hmmm... not likely right? Besides, she hadn't pooped in the house in a very long time.
No, the culprit had to be Auggie, the old man of the house who had very recently taken to letting his bowels loose as he pleased. The dining room was clear and I couldn't smell it as strongly there so I went back down the hallway to check the bedrooms.
I could definitely smell it stronger here but I wondered how our old dog had managed to get upstairs without me seeing or hearing him. Especially since he so rarely comes upstairs anymore. Despite being able to smell it really strong at this point, I couldn't find anything.
Then it hit me! The vents! Auggie must have pooped in one of the rooms downstairs and it was being carried upstairs through the vents! Yes! That's it!
"Paper is boring now. Want food! Want now! Waaahhhhhh!!!"
"Look Josie! A mirror!"
"Oohhhh! Pretty!"
"WANT BLACK SPIDEYMAN UNDIES!!!! AAAHHHHHH!!!!"
Right. There was that too. Fun!
So, Josie and I ran downstairs (or more accurately I ran downstairs with Josie in my arms playing with a little mirror and laughing at herself) to Find That Poop! Because it's such a fun game.
I start checking the rooms. I notice that I can smell it very clearly in the hallway, but not as much in the other rooms.
There is nothing there.
My nose says "POOP!"
My eyes say "NO POOP!"
It is all just to much for my poor little brain to handle.
I sit on the steps, smelling the poop, not seeing the poop, wondering.... Where is the poop??????
I see David's black spiderman undies waiting for the washer, but no poop. I see the sock Bre left on her desk because the 5 feet to the laundry room was just to much for her to walk, but no poop. I see the intricate display of trains that David set up before I asked him to wear pants thus beginning his spiderman-undies meltdown and having to revisit the lecture on what days he requires what colors, but no poop.
Maybe I'm going crazy? I'm smelling things that aren't really there. Isn't that a sign of dementia? Or maybe I'm having a stroke! Just instead of smelling copper, I'm smelling poop! I'm starting to panic. I don't want to smell poop for the rest of my life! I'll become that crazy lady who never leaves her house. She just sits by the window randomly yelling "POOP!" at people and the neighborhood kids will dare each other to ring my doorbell on Halloween because they heard that if you ring my doorbell I'll throw poop at you.
WHERE IS THE POOP?????


"Hey mom, do you think before you feed me, you could maybe change my diaper? My butt is gettin' good and squishy in there and it's really starting to stink. Ooh! That reminds me... Can I have sweet potatoes?"


Dumbass.

No pants and I'm an asshole

After much searching and serious effort (read: thank God for Google), we have found David a preschool. There has been much excitement over his starting school (next week) and it's all he talks about (well that and going to a certain amusement park this summer where 'there will be rides and water and maybe you can come too!') day and night.
We wake up in the morning to the same one-sided conversation; "I'll go to school and make friends and learn and write my name and make letters and play and sing and it will be fun and I will not be scared because I am a big boy....." So very glad that he is confident and excited. However, there is a small problem that we have to somehow fix before then.

He has to wear pants.

The only time this boy wears pants is when we go out. To the store, the park, library... and once we are there he is asking how long it will be until he can take his pants off or would it be alright if he just took them off right now?

I give it a week before we're kicked out of preschool.

******************

When David was a baby, he required constant motion to sleep. I do not want to even consider revisiting his sleep issues (especially since they are still there), but I remember trying to put him in his crib to sleep and it just never worked.
So, when Josie was born, I just figured that it was more of the same. Into the swing she went and it worked for the first few months. Last month, it stopped working. I was averaging 3 hours a night and it showed.
Here's where I show you what I gigantic asshole I am.

You know that large piece of furniture previously mentioned? The one with the matress and slats specially designed for babies to sleep in?

Turns out, Josie really enjoys sleeping in it.

Imagine that. A baby sleeping in her crib.

Such an asshole.

How To Give Medicine To A 3 Year Old

Step One- Take note of crusty eyes, green snotty nose, barking cough, and Chewbacca-esque cries.

Step Two- Retrieve bottle of children's Motrin from bathroom along with medicine dropper.

Step Three- Properly load medicine dropper with precise amount of medicine.

Step Four- Lay sick, pouty 3 year old back on your pillow and place medicine dropper just inside mouth. Squeeze.

Step Five- Wipe medicine that child has spewed all over your face off with washcloth. Note that none actually made it past child's tongue.

Step Six- Reload Medicine dropper.

Step Seven- Pry child out from under the bed while yelling for back-up.

Step Eight- Have Husband pry child's hands from mouth while you attempt to push dropper past the teeth.

Step Nine- After wiping medicine off of face, hand towel to husband so he may do the same.

Step Ten- Reload medicine dropper while husband distracts child with goldfish crackers.

Step Eleven- Watch horrified as Husband yells 'NOW!' and then attempts to tackle three year old only to miss and land face first on the floor.

Step Twelve- Make lame attempt to not laugh and fail miserably.

Step Thirteen- Realize that in the midst of Husband's mad tackling skillz, child has run off.

Step Fourteen- Find child hiding under the table, coax him out with promises of cartoons and juice.

Step Fifteen- Wait until child starts to put goldfish in his mouth before popping in the dropper and squeezing, quickly close child's jaw shut and hold until he has no choice but to swallow.

Step Sixteen- Comfort angry, sick child as he screams bloody murder.

Step Seventeen- Take a victory shower to get all the motrin out of your hair.

Dear David,

This year, despite your many objections, you turn 3. By many objections, I mean that every time we mention your new age, you scream and cry and demand to be 2. We finally gave up and decided that you could be 2 and 365 days. This seems to be a fair compromise to you. I'm not sure what this says for your future because if it's this hard for you to turn 3, I can't imagine what it will be like when you turn 30.

While you have been busy denying your age to everyone who asks, I have been busy trying to accept that the two's are over. I know that it's often referred to as the terrible two's, but that's just to keep parents distracted from what comes next. Let me give you a photo example.
This is the two's:

And this is what we refer to as the effin' three's:

It seems that overnight you have gone from a very sweet little boy to raving lunatic who loves to scream.

Still, I know it could be worse. Your sister used to throw shoes at our heads and as of yet, the only thing you have thrown is a feather.

It's not all screaming and fits though. If I'm to be completely honest, you are more of a ham than a handful. You are constantly on the go. It's just that you have decided that you want to be the one that says when we go, where we go and how we go and being told that you have to do it our way is just not something your little mind can handle. After all, you are 2 and 365 days and you know exactly what you want. How can we argue with that?


Above all, I think you should know that you are adored. Not just loved, but honestly adored. Your family, friends and a few people who have just been lucky enough to catch you when you feel like being charming. You love to make people laugh, you love to dance and you love attention. You still make your monster face.

This year you have become fascinated with everything to do with outer space. You like watching the Discovery channel with Daddy and talking about the planets. You told me that you are going to be an 'astanot'. I find this much more hopeful then when you told me you were going to be a kitty.

As many changes as we've had this year, the biggest has been the addition of your sister. I was fully prepared for you to be jealous.

I was not prepared for how much (and how quickly) you would come to love her. Everyday you ask to read to her, to play with her to hold her. When she's falling asleep during feedings you whisper in her ear. I don't know what you say and I don't need too. She smiles at the sight of you and if she's not in the room, you ask for her.

I know you love your big sister too, but I think it's easier for you to be with Josie because she's not playing with your toys, she's not telling you to get out of her room and she's not fighting with you. Someday, yes. But not now.

For now, you kiss her and hug her and you are gentle in a way I didn't know was possible from a boy who takes flying leaps off the coffee table at anyone walking by.

You are a handful, rambunctious, lively. You have a wild sense of humor and a need for physical play. You can be so very gentle and sweet. You are smart and surprise me all the time with the things you know.

You are 3. But don't worry, we'll keep that just between the two of us.

Happy Birthday crazy man.

Love,

Mom

The Return

Why is it that when you return from vacation, you always feel as though you need to take a break to recover? Or is it just me? Of course, I think our situation was not helped by the absolute madness that has been our life for the last month with house guests. major school events, a birthday and then of course, our trip to Disneyland. And then there's the fact that we all ended up getting some nasty stomach bug that has left me about 6 pounds lighter and my abs aching. Thankfully, the kids didn't get it so bad though I felt awful for them when they were so miserable. Anyway, more on the trip another time. We're still recovering.
This morning we returned to our normal routine. David wakes up far too early and I pretend not to notice. He softly whispers 'tv', hopefully. When this doesn't work, he points to the TV ( in case I didn't know what he meant?) and repeats 'tv'. I pretend to snore. At this point he becomes almost manic in his desperation. He violently jabs his finger as bounces up and down, his eyes wide and pleading, 'teeeee veeeeee'! I smile and for the first time, decide to respond. "Yes, that is a TV." I think I broke him. He stopped bouncing, his jaw just dropped and he stared at me for a moment. Then he rolled onto his belly and went back to sleep.
Now I wonder, and am doubtful but still must wonder, if all this time he's just wanted me to agree that yes, that is a tv he's been pointing at and not actually wanted to watch whatever cartoons are normally on at 5 am?
Unfortunately, I think he's just a morning person as his father is.

Dear Bre,

This year, you are turning 10. The big 1-0. You have been obnoxiously excited about hitting those double digits. I have been at a loss.
It's not that I haven't enjoyed these past 10 years. I have. Immensely. It's that I can't believe 10 years have passed already. When you're a kid everyone tells you to slow down, time passes so quickly. And you laugh because it seems like such a joke. Time is slow when you're young and want to get your driver's license, or be old enough to wear make-up and date. And then one day you are old enough to do all those things. Older, in fact. One day you have kids of your own and you realize that those people weren't kidding. It's too fast.
I've been thinking a lot about this birthday letter, wondering what I would say, if I would be able to put into words just what I want you to know. I don't know if it's possible. I've tried but I always seem to forget something and then I have to start all over because it's just not right.
But I think you said it best when, upon seeing the birthday cake I had made for you, you said you loved the way I made the CD and when I told you it was a record you asked me what a record was. Because that's it isn't it? The basics of it anyway. You are in an era where records don't exist and I am from one where they did.


This year has been a difficult one for us. You have been pushing for more independence while I've been trying to keep you from moving too fast. I think we're starting to find a balance that we're both comfortable with except when it comes to make-up. I say there is no way I'm letting you out of the house wearing it and you try to do it anyway.
This is also the year you finally got a little sister. You've spent much of this year dreaming of pink dresses and braiding hair. I can't tell you what it does to my heart to watch you with her, to watch both of your faces when you smile at each other, all the wonder of it, that bond that you have instantly. It's different then what you have with your brother. While I know you love him just as much, there is something in a sisterly bond that is just special.
You are doing much better in school this year than you have in the past and that gives me hope. I've said before and I've meant it that I want your hands to always be full .

We are coming close to a time when you and I will find it nearly impossible to understand each other. We will be speaking a different language, you of 'teenager' and me? I'll be speaking that dreaded 'mom'- speak. But I promise that despite this, I will never let you get lost in my shuffle as my mother did with me. I will never stop loving you. I will try to remember what it's like to be a tween-age girl.
Your dad has promised to remember what it's like to be a boy at your age and as you get older.
I'm afraid you'll never be allowed out of your room but I promise to push saltines under the crack of the door and maybe a hose for water.
I know you think that we are too often unfair because we don't let you on the phone past 7 pm and we don't let you watch r-rated movies but I'm ok with that because it's our job and as much as I hate saying it because it sounds so much like my father's voice coming out of my mouth (and if you ever tell him I said this I will torch your Hannah Montana CD's) but... when you have kids of your own, you'll understand.
After Josie was born, when I was still in the hospital and enjoying my vicodin, you asked me if I thought you'd make a good mom someday. I tried to picture you in that moment, staring at your nine year old daughter, holding your newborn, and I knew that you would.
But please, don't rush it. Time passes oh, so very quickly. And before you know it? Your ten year old will be asking you that same question and rolling her eyes when you get teary.
Happy 10th Birthday Bre......

Love, mom.

Little Boys

You'd think that someone who does nothing but talk all day long would know the words 'be quiet'. He hears them often enough after all.
But I guess maybe not because as my sister and I were talking through an episode of 'Word World' he turned to me with that little frown on his face and asked me to please 'Stop your mouth mommy!'

Yeah. OK. Look who's talking buddy.
*********

It seems to be a thing about boys- or at least the little boys that I have known. And I should perhaps admit now that the only little boys I have ever really known are my brothers, my nephew and my son. Still, when I tell this thing about David, I notice that other moms nod their heads in agreement.
Gas. That great bodily function that is so fascinating to my little boy.
When the baby does it, David lays claim to it. When he hears someone else do it, he happily announces it to them....
"Ha! Ha! You farted! Good job!"
He thinks it's some great magic trick to make your "butt make music" (as he puts it).
************
Since his cousins have been here, I've actually gotten him to eat. He's been eating 3 meals a day for the first time in a very long time and not even fighting about it. I'm going to be very sad when his cousins leave and he returns to poking his chicken nuggets a few times before saying "This chicken is too brown for me. I can't eat it."
I've noticed that anytime there is something he doesn't want to do, eat or wear it's either too small, too big, too brown, or too whatever for him. He wasn't too thrilled with me when I told him his blocks were too wooden for me to give to him unless he cleaned up his other toys. I guess it only works one way.

How It Is............

Fall has always been a busy season for us, not that I'm making excuses or anything......., I think this one has been the worst. Or the best, I suppose, depending on how you want to look at it. For someone like me who has spent so much effort to not be near people for so long... I'm not sure really how I should view it. I am enjoying being busy. I think I have a pretty good handle on the tasks I am responsible for (though I will admit my anxiety at having to do the taxes when I don't even do my own) and I think I'm even enjoying most of it. It's just meant that this blog, writing about my stresses and the stupid things I do, has had to take a backseat.
Bre is in that dangerous 'tween age range. I go from loving talking to this new version of my child to wanting to boot her mouthy little butt to military school. I know we'll get through this stage eventually but in the meantime I'm finding myself frequently counting to 100.
David will be 3 in just a few more weeks. I've so enjoyed his twos- never understood that 'terrible twos' nonsense. I think it's just to distract people who are thinking of kids from thinking about the f'ing threes. I'm already catching glimpses of it- the random screaming, the "I can't" whining, the motherload of tantrums.... Still, I can't really complain. He's a good kid, mostly minds me and loves Josie. He talks non stop from the moment he wakes to the moment he falls asleep. Lately, he's been talking in his sleep too.
"Mom look! A pinecone! See the pinecone? I like pinecones! Shhh! There's a bird in there, he's sleeping, can you see the bird mommy? I can see the bird he's blue and he goes like this (makes snoring noises) and we should be quiet so he doesn't wake up and fly away don't you think we should be quiet mommy I'm hungry can I have crackers I bet the bird likes crackers I'm going to show daddy the pinecone with the bird and maybe we can keep it and I like goldfish do you like goldfish do you want to eat some goldfish too does Josie want goldfish where's 'Branna' she likes goldfish I like playing with 'Branna' mom can I have choco milk I like choco milk wanna' see my funny dance it goes like this can you do it too can we watch word world I like word world let's build a word woo-hoo can you build a word let's build pinecone can you see the sleeping bird shhh I don't want to wake him let's play cars I like fast cars I like to crash cars can you build me a house here's my blocks build a big house I want to crash my car in it see like this wiirrrrrr boom! look it's the sun look it's a car look it's a dog who's that with the dog can we go to the park..........."
And that's my day. His stamina is amazing. Every time I think he's done, he's not.... he's just taking a breath.
The other day I caught him letting the dog lick his lollipop before sticking it back in his mouth. When I asked him about it he said the dog was "just cleaning it for me, see?" He is fantastic. I love my time with him, but he is also exhausting. There are times where I think my ears are going to start bleeding from the non-stop chatter. But then I worry on those rare moments when he's quiet.
And that's just the way it's supposed to be.

When all else fails........

Be lazy and post baby pictures. Maybe no one will notice how much you suck.


Isn't this sweet? This is what it's like. She's totally a mama's girl.

Because when Daddy gets to hold her this is what happens.
He's trying not to take it personally but I feel for him. She can be happily 'talking' and smiling at me and all he has to do is say 'hi' to her and she starts to pout. If he smiles at her, she cries.
They have their good moments too, but I think it's taking her longer to be OK with her dad than it has for the other two. It's like those sitcoms where the dad picks up the baby and baby screams. Dad holds baby away from him and baby is fine and so on.
This is her 'I just farted' face. I can't always tell the difference between her cries, but the faces? Those I know.


This is her 'I'm going to scream if you don't pick me up you bitch' face.







She was sound asleep and then I set her down. She opened her eyes and they snapped the picture. She promptly snorted and flipped off the photographer. Obviously unintentional but funny anyway.
All that aside, she really is a sweet and happy baby.

Happy 2 months Josie!

The Things Babysitting Never Prepared Me For

Have you ever seen those talk shows where the really stupid girls are talking about how they want a baby even though they aren't old enough to drive because it's just like babysitting???
Have a good laugh with me on that one.
Then I thought about all the things that I learned in my rather brief foray into the wild world of babysitting and all the things that it could never have prepared me for.
Like the time that those two little darlings locked themselves in the bathroom and the 6 year old shaved off her 3 year old sister's beautiful blond curls. I learned that no matter how sweet they look, they are evil and never believe them when they say that their mommy loves a bald headed child.
So, my current top 10 list:

1) What to do when your child uses your very expensive facial cleanser wipes in place of the baby wipes.... Or worse. When they use the lysol wipes instead.

2) What to do when your husband teaches your daughter how to burp and now she can't seem to help showing off this talent to everyone.

3) What to do when your child announces to the airport bathroom that your behind is HUGE.

4) What to do when your child tells your grandparents to pass the fucking potatoes (at the age of 3) please.

5) What to do when you're in labor and the child who begged to be there is telling you it's 'too gross for words!'

6) What to do when one child takes advantage of the fact that you are nursing another and decides that it is the perfect moment to stick your shoes in the toilet to see if they'll float.

7) What to do when said child then flushes the toilet- with your shoes in it- to 'clean it up, see?'

8) What to do when your child asks to borrow your favorite shirt because she wants to be a hobo for Halloween.

9) What to do when your children decide to play hide and seek, but forget to tell you that you're supposed to find them until you and your husband are in a panic and decide that maybe it's time to call the police.

10) What to do when your child cleans the toilet with your perfume.

I don't know what it is about the toilet, but that is my kids' go-to place for all things naughty.