My comeuppance for smugly thinking, "My kids never do that," whenever I heard about a child shoving a bead or other small object up their nose came this evening.
We were sitting at a nice Spanish restaurant, the husband and I both dressed up in work clothes, when The Lad shoved a pea up his nose. This was less than half an hour after the husband said to me, after I told The Lad to get his fingers out of his nose, "Yeah, that's his new thing. He's been shoving things up his nose all day -- crayons, the legs of the (plastic) lizard ..."
The pea went up his nostril after his macaroni-and-cheese-covered fingers.
The Lad thinks he's a comedian. (He's kind of right.)
So, there I was fishing a pea out of his nose, when I got the giggles. Then the husband and The Boy followed suit and The Lad, delighted to make everyone laugh, chuckled, too, which sent the pea farther up his nose. In desperation, I squished his nostrils together. He laughed again at the same moment, and the mangled pea went shooting onto the table.
"This is the funniest thing ever," The Boy giggled. (He was kind of right.)
The Boy did a lot of things at almost 2: tantrums, spilling milk, throwing food, etc. But he never NEVER stuck anything up his nose. And that is the difference between kids.
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Another couple quick examples of the differences between these two boys:
We went this afternoon to the Glazer Children's Museum in Tampa. (Highly recommend if you're ever here with your kiddos). They have this very cool net-and-wood-platform climbing structure, which The Boy wanted to do until he realized it was held up just by a net. Then, it didn't matter that it was enclosed. Nope, he was not going to do it. Meanwhile, The Lad, who is too young to get in the thing, had to be physically restrained from launching himself into the opening.
Later in the museum, we visited the fake grocery store. The Boy went zooming through the store, grabbing everything, just happy to be a pretend consumer. The Lad zoomed through the store, but picked up only a few, very specific things: bread (he loves toast), cookies, cake mix and toothpaste (he loves loves loves to brush his teeth.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
9 months old
Gizmo celebrated her 9 month birthday by cutting a tooth overnight, keeping us up most of the night. When we woke in the morning, I looked in her mouth and sure enough, there was a tiny slit in her gums where the tooth will soon be. Here she is chewing on her hand. I could not get her hand out of her mouth.
She is my wild woman. She is no longer Maddie but Madeline Sarah 90 percent of the time because I'm chiding her for getting into something, putting something in her mouth and generally wreaking havoc in her cute little baby way.
She is cruising, people. Cruising. As in walking with the assistance of a table or couch or window sill. The other day, she let go of the table like she thought she could stand there unassisted. When she fell over, she was Not Happy. I'm guessing that is going to fuel her to learn to stand on her own faster.
She's been waving. Kind of. I think. She puts her hand up high in the air and just holds it there. She's gotten close to clapping but mainly because her hands connect while she excitedly flaps her arms.
Gizmo will eat anything you put in front of her. The other day she ate some of my stuffed pepper. She would prefer to feed herself, even if it takes 45 minutes.
Dressing her has become difficult to say the least. She goes into an alligator death roll the minute I put her in on her back and reacts like an angry badger when trying to shove her arms into her 12 month clothes that she easily fits into. I feel I deserve a medal or at the least applause each morning after dressing her.
She doesn't have any words really. She's been known to let off a string of "ma-ma-ma-ma" or "da-da-da-da." She loves to give raspberries, showering the person holding her with cute baby spit.
She's still not sleeping through the night. For awhile, we were down to one feeding a night but she's back to two. Those are the only feedings that I can get her to focus and concentrate. Nursing during the day is not easy but she's quick, mainly because she wants to get down and play with her sister.
She is my wild woman. She is no longer Maddie but Madeline Sarah 90 percent of the time because I'm chiding her for getting into something, putting something in her mouth and generally wreaking havoc in her cute little baby way.
She is cruising, people. Cruising. As in walking with the assistance of a table or couch or window sill. The other day, she let go of the table like she thought she could stand there unassisted. When she fell over, she was Not Happy. I'm guessing that is going to fuel her to learn to stand on her own faster.
She's been waving. Kind of. I think. She puts her hand up high in the air and just holds it there. She's gotten close to clapping but mainly because her hands connect while she excitedly flaps her arms.
Gizmo will eat anything you put in front of her. The other day she ate some of my stuffed pepper. She would prefer to feed herself, even if it takes 45 minutes.
Dressing her has become difficult to say the least. She goes into an alligator death roll the minute I put her in on her back and reacts like an angry badger when trying to shove her arms into her 12 month clothes that she easily fits into. I feel I deserve a medal or at the least applause each morning after dressing her.
She doesn't have any words really. She's been known to let off a string of "ma-ma-ma-ma" or "da-da-da-da." She loves to give raspberries, showering the person holding her with cute baby spit.
She's still not sleeping through the night. For awhile, we were down to one feeding a night but she's back to two. Those are the only feedings that I can get her to focus and concentrate. Nursing during the day is not easy but she's quick, mainly because she wants to get down and play with her sister.
I'm going to save this picture for when they are screaming at each other in 10 years over clothes or the bathroom or whatever else will cause the husband to lock himself in a room and drink.
Dispatch from home
The Lad is home with the husband today. Beastie woke up with matty, red-rimmed eyes. We're out of the expensive, made-of-unicorn-tears, miraculous eye drops that clear up pink eye (or anything I suspect is pink eye), so we kept him home. If your child has ever had pink eye, you know it is an irritating illness: highly contagious so the child has to stay home, but not really affecting the child. So, instead of lying pitifully in bed with a fever, the child is zooming around the house while you're trying to work, scattering papers and demanding food. (And, if you're me and a little bit of a hypochrondiac, the child is getting WAY too close to you with his oozing eyes.)
Anyway. The husband is is a wonderful man for staying home with The Beast.
This is an email I just got from quarantine:
(The Lad) playing with the phone: Hi papa, blankies, Go Bruce, Daddy GOOOOOO!!!!! Go Bruce! Go Bruce! Boom boom!
I suspect he is talking about baseball (Bruce refers to Cincinnati Reds player Jay Bruce. Baseball is never just baseball for The Beast. It is "ball Bruce.") and his fall last night.
While waiting for the husband to get home, the boys went out to play. They were playing peekaboo, one of them on top of a storage bin/bench on the edge of our patio and the other bouncing up from behind a nearby bush. The Boy managed to truly surprise The Lad on his last turn, and in his shock, The Lad fell off the bench backward, landing flat on his back on our concrete stone patio. He's got a nasty knot on the back of his head, as he told the husband: "BUMP! Ow. (Boy) bump! Ow." Apparently, his grandpa needs to hear the story, too.
Anyway. The husband is is a wonderful man for staying home with The Beast.
This is an email I just got from quarantine:
(The Lad) playing with the phone: Hi papa, blankies, Go Bruce, Daddy GOOOOOO!!!!! Go Bruce! Go Bruce! Boom boom!
I suspect he is talking about baseball (Bruce refers to Cincinnati Reds player Jay Bruce. Baseball is never just baseball for The Beast. It is "ball Bruce.") and his fall last night.
While waiting for the husband to get home, the boys went out to play. They were playing peekaboo, one of them on top of a storage bin/bench on the edge of our patio and the other bouncing up from behind a nearby bush. The Boy managed to truly surprise The Lad on his last turn, and in his shock, The Lad fell off the bench backward, landing flat on his back on our concrete stone patio. He's got a nasty knot on the back of his head, as he told the husband: "BUMP! Ow. (Boy) bump! Ow." Apparently, his grandpa needs to hear the story, too.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Music
My tastes in music seemed to have frozen between the years of when I was 16 and 21. I love Alanis Morissette, Third Eye Blind and Dave Matthews Band. Every once in awhile, I like to throw in some Dashboard Confessional (the husband always asks if I'm going to break up with him when I'm listening to this), a little Fall Out Boy and I can always get down with Fiona Apple.
Lately, I've been listening to A LOT of Sara Bareilles, Beyonce, Mumford & Sons, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals with a bit of Jay-Z and The Civil Wars.
(I don't know what you are going to make of my musical tastes. Judge me if you want. At least I don't still listen to *NSync, who I had a mild obsession with in college. And don't let Hillary fool you. She TOTALLY went to a concert with me once. I think she even had fun.)
I tell you all of this because I've been trying to figure out what is appropriate to listen to with the girls. Peanut loves her some Taylor Swift but I just cannot do it anymore. I can't. I (put my hands in the shape of heart) you, Taylor but I cannot listen to you anymore. We've been listening to her songs non-stop since Peanut could utter "Tawoor," which has been since she was about 18 months.
Gizmo hasn't really picked up a favorite but she does seem to get pretty excited when listening to O.A.R. (another college favorite).
Peanut can now listen to a song a couple times and Know it. Sing along to it in a freakish sort of way. The other day I had the VH1 countdown on and Katy Perry's "Friday Night" song came out. You know the one where she can't remember what she did the night before and talks about threesomes and puking in shoes. Yeah. My 3-year-old started chanting, "T-G-I-F! T-G-I-F!" and said to me, "I like that Friday Night song."
I was a little horrified. Not really the most appropriate song for the toddler age set.
I'm trying to find the balance of not listening to Barney and Teletubbies but also not exposing them to anything that would cause my mother to disown me should they repeat song lyrics in front of her (Jay-Z has been banned from the playlist when the kids are in the car).
My childhood memories are filled with Huey Lewis and the News, Julio Englesias, Willy Nelson and my favorite song as a toddler was Tina Turner's "What's love got to do with it?"
So what music do you listen to with your kids? Do you let them listen to grown up music or subject yourself to endless rounds of "The Wheels on the Bus"?
Sunday, September 25, 2011
While the husband was away
The husband was at a cousin's wedding this weekend in St. Louis. While he was having a grand time with his extended family at Irish pubs, the boys and I had some memorable moments of our own.
The Boy kicked the weekend off Friday by busting his lip wide open on our coffee table in the 30 minutes between arriving home and my leaving to go see a friend's art show. I was rushing around, trying to change clothes, make mac-and-cheese for the boys, give the babysitter directions to our house and supervise the usual after-school/work routine when I heard BANG!, "OWWWWW!"
I found The Boy with blood spraying out of his mouth. I'm still not exactly sure what happened, but he shredded his top lip with an incisor. Here's what nearly four years of parenting has taught me: Mouth wounds bleed a great deal, but rarely are that bad. Four years ago, I would have canceled my plans and rushed him to the ER to pay $1000 to have a doctor tell me there was nothing to do with his lip but let it heal. Friday, I wrapped a towel around an ice pack and told him not to swallow the blood, then left him with a babysitter.
And I didn't feel guilty at all. (It helped that he's been asking for a babysitter for the last month. There's another parenting lesson for you: Make babysitter nights special -- our boys get to watch a movie and stay up late -- so the kids WANT you to leave them alone.)
So, that was Friday.
Saturday, we went to a festival at the children's museum. We had a snow cone and a bounce house session. The Boy played veterinarian for a little bit, then the two of them spent a good half hour in the toddler play area flinging themselves into the padded mats. Seeing them play together despite being in a crowd of other kids was heartwarming; they really are buddies.
We waited in line FOREVER in 90 percent humidity and 90-degree heat so that The Boy could get his face painted by a middle-aged woman in a pink wig. Of course, The Lad had to have what his brother did, though in his case, the paint stayed on all of five minutes. We left after face painting and The Lad was whooped, so I carried him to the car. He laid his head on my chest --- and the shark smeared all over my cleavage. Attractive.
The Boy managed to keep his shark, his first-ever face painting, on through nap. It attracted the attention of every old person in the grocery store. They also might have noticed us because The Lad was singing in the cart at the top of his lungs.
When we got home, the boys ran inside to play while I carried in the groceries. My house is small; I turned my back long enough to take the seven steps from the kitchen to the garage to get the last bag of groceries and this happened:
The Boy kicked the weekend off Friday by busting his lip wide open on our coffee table in the 30 minutes between arriving home and my leaving to go see a friend's art show. I was rushing around, trying to change clothes, make mac-and-cheese for the boys, give the babysitter directions to our house and supervise the usual after-school/work routine when I heard BANG!, "OWWWWW!"
I found The Boy with blood spraying out of his mouth. I'm still not exactly sure what happened, but he shredded his top lip with an incisor. Here's what nearly four years of parenting has taught me: Mouth wounds bleed a great deal, but rarely are that bad. Four years ago, I would have canceled my plans and rushed him to the ER to pay $1000 to have a doctor tell me there was nothing to do with his lip but let it heal. Friday, I wrapped a towel around an ice pack and told him not to swallow the blood, then left him with a babysitter.
And I didn't feel guilty at all. (It helped that he's been asking for a babysitter for the last month. There's another parenting lesson for you: Make babysitter nights special -- our boys get to watch a movie and stay up late -- so the kids WANT you to leave them alone.)
So, that was Friday.
We waited in line FOREVER in 90 percent humidity and 90-degree heat so that The Boy could get his face painted by a middle-aged woman in a pink wig. Of course, The Lad had to have what his brother did, though in his case, the paint stayed on all of five minutes. We left after face painting and The Lad was whooped, so I carried him to the car. He laid his head on my chest --- and the shark smeared all over my cleavage. Attractive.
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| SHARKS! |
The Boy managed to keep his shark, his first-ever face painting, on through nap. It attracted the attention of every old person in the grocery store. They also might have noticed us because The Lad was singing in the cart at the top of his lungs.
When we got home, the boys ran inside to play while I carried in the groceries. My house is small; I turned my back long enough to take the seven steps from the kitchen to the garage to get the last bag of groceries and this happened:
To be clear: Both the lid and the seat were down.
So, in the 30 seconds my back was turned he lifted both and managed to fall in fully-clothed.
He was shouting, "PEE!"
Wanting to encourage my little Beastie's obsession with the bathroom, I tried to let him stand on the stool and pee, once I stripped off the toilet-drenched clothes. But I was afraid he'd slip in the toilet water drips, so I dumped him into the tub. (They needed a bath anyway.) He stood up and peed in the tub, proudly pointing and declaring, "PEE!"
The Boy, whom I had told to strip off because they were getting a bath, took one look at the situation, looked at me and said, "You need to rinse that out before I get in."
We ended the evening with pizza and Tangled, which is a very good movie -- especially for Disney. I might have had a beer -- or three.
So far today, we've had Target and legos, silly bands, sidewalk chalk, balls and lunch. The Boy is currently boycotting nap, though I'm insisting on quiet time in his room. Football and cartoons are on tap for this afternoon.
I miss the husband.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
How do you do it?
Wednesday morning dawned with Peanut crawling into bed with me. Her feet seemed exceptionally warm on my shins as she folded her body next to mine. I wrapped my arms around her and realized it wasn't just her feet that were warm. Her whole body was.
The husband was getting ready for work, only in his second week at the new job where he doesn't have any time off until he's been there for three months. That meant I needed to make plans to stay home. (When we worked at the same place, this was a little easier. I could come in a couple hours late, he could leave a couple hours early and we just traded the kids in the parking lot.)
Peanut said she felt fine but her 101 temp said otherwise. When I couldn't get it to stay down (probably because I was using expired advil ... mother of the year right here. It only expired in February.) I decided to call the doctor. When Peanut realized she was going to the doctor, she fessed up, telling me that her ears hurt. The doctor confirmed the ear infection and on the antibiotics she went.
Thursday dawned and she was cool as a cucumber. Seeing no need to stay home a second day, I took them both to the babysitter's only to get a call from the husband at 3 p.m. saying Gizmo now had a temp of 101 and had thrown up. We played a quick game of, "Whose going to leave work and get the sick kiddo to the doctor." He said he didn't have any time off. I told him I stayed home yesterday and that I had just arrived at work while he was almost done with his day. He agreed and made arrangements to leave a little early.
Thankfully, his brother and sister-in-law recently moved to the area. With no kids of their own to wrangle, they agreed tonight to come stay with Peanut so the husband could take Gizmo to the doctor.
He sent me play-by-play of the doctor's visit via text messages and updated his Facebook so I knew what was going on:
-There are six groups waiting.
-Been here 15 min called no one back.
-No ear infection. They r testing her urine. I think it's teeth. She's been her normal self.
-You would think children are being led to slaughter here at the Pediatrician. I am recording sound for next time Peanut acts up.
-Urine is fine. They just swabbed her throat.
-She has strep throat.
And guess who won't be at work Friday? This momma.
Besides the whole "I hate that my kids are sick and possibly in pain," I also hate the picking between sick kid and work and who is needed more at work - mommy or daddy. We both need to be at work but we both want/need to be there for our kids when they are sick. (One day in a week, I don't feel so guilty about. Two days in a week, I start to feel guilty. Why? I don't know.)
We've been lucky to have family help us. My dad recently retired and has stepped in. My mom has been known to take a day off in pinch to help out. The husband's mom has been there for us numerous times when needed. But even needing them makes me feel guilty sometimes. A voice in my head reminds me that these are my children, my responsibility.
So how do you balance sick kids and work?
The husband was getting ready for work, only in his second week at the new job where he doesn't have any time off until he's been there for three months. That meant I needed to make plans to stay home. (When we worked at the same place, this was a little easier. I could come in a couple hours late, he could leave a couple hours early and we just traded the kids in the parking lot.)
Peanut said she felt fine but her 101 temp said otherwise. When I couldn't get it to stay down (probably because I was using expired advil ... mother of the year right here. It only expired in February.) I decided to call the doctor. When Peanut realized she was going to the doctor, she fessed up, telling me that her ears hurt. The doctor confirmed the ear infection and on the antibiotics she went.
Thursday dawned and she was cool as a cucumber. Seeing no need to stay home a second day, I took them both to the babysitter's only to get a call from the husband at 3 p.m. saying Gizmo now had a temp of 101 and had thrown up. We played a quick game of, "Whose going to leave work and get the sick kiddo to the doctor." He said he didn't have any time off. I told him I stayed home yesterday and that I had just arrived at work while he was almost done with his day. He agreed and made arrangements to leave a little early.
Thankfully, his brother and sister-in-law recently moved to the area. With no kids of their own to wrangle, they agreed tonight to come stay with Peanut so the husband could take Gizmo to the doctor.
He sent me play-by-play of the doctor's visit via text messages and updated his Facebook so I knew what was going on:
-There are six groups waiting.
-Been here 15 min called no one back.
-No ear infection. They r testing her urine. I think it's teeth. She's been her normal self.
-You would think children are being led to slaughter here at the Pediatrician. I am recording sound for next time Peanut acts up.
-Urine is fine. They just swabbed her throat.
-She has strep throat.
And guess who won't be at work Friday? This momma.
Besides the whole "I hate that my kids are sick and possibly in pain," I also hate the picking between sick kid and work and who is needed more at work - mommy or daddy. We both need to be at work but we both want/need to be there for our kids when they are sick. (One day in a week, I don't feel so guilty about. Two days in a week, I start to feel guilty. Why? I don't know.)
We've been lucky to have family help us. My dad recently retired and has stepped in. My mom has been known to take a day off in pinch to help out. The husband's mom has been there for us numerous times when needed. But even needing them makes me feel guilty sometimes. A voice in my head reminds me that these are my children, my responsibility.
So how do you balance sick kids and work?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Loves
I love this time of year but am feeling out of sorts (Peanut has an ear infection. She's ok but I had to stay home with her today, take her to the doctor, get her meds, etc.) So to remind myself of all the good things going on, here is my list of loves:
New shows. I don't watch a lot of tv (with the whole working nights thing not because I am above it) but I try to catch Grey's Anatomy and I got into Glee last year.
That everything has a pumpkin flavor now. Pumpkin flavored coffee, donuts, cookies, muffins. I was beyond excited when I realized the cafeteria at work had pumpkin flavoring for coffee. (oh em geeee ... let me tell you about the easiest pumpkin muffin recipe, evah. Box of spice cake mix, 15 oz. can of pumpkin puree, mix and bake according to box. No need for oil, water, egg. Enjoy the loveliness.)
That smell in the air at night. You know that smell of a slight burning, like leaves burning? No? Just me?
Sweaters and boots. OK, it's a bit early yet but when the temps hover around 60, I'm in sweaters, boots and skirts. I got two great sweater dresses this summer that I can't wait to wear. I'm not usually a fan of sweater dresses but these look great (if I do say so myself).
Babies in footie pajamas. Do I need to say more?
New shows. I don't watch a lot of tv (with the whole working nights thing not because I am above it) but I try to catch Grey's Anatomy and I got into Glee last year.
What are you loving?
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Said
The Boy, upon receiving a pop (that's soda to most people): POP! I get pop for Football Sunday. Football Sunday is great. Football Sunday is LOVELY!
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The Boy: Momma, I'm awesome.
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The Boy, putting on his football helmet: Hike! Hike!
The Lad: Hi! (he runs into The Boy's room and runs back out with the Ironman mask on to tackle his brother) Hi! Hi!
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The Lad, upon seeing the husband get the laptop in the morning: Hi-ights! Hi-ights! Ball hi-ights!
(Translation: Highlights! Baseball highlights!)
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The husband: What are you going to do while I'm away this weekend?
Me: I don't know. Maybe the children's museum, maybe Target to make The Boy happy. We'll go grocery shopping to make The Lad happy -- free cookie. Survive.
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Waitress at Olive Garden, where we have to go every year for the husband's birthday: Cheese?
The Lad, before anyone else can talk: CHEESE!
The husband: I'm pretty sure he wishes that were an option in all places in his life. Would you like cheese with that?
The Lad: CHEESE! CHEESE!
---
The Boy: Momma, I'm awesome.
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The Boy, putting on his football helmet: Hike! Hike!
The Lad: Hi! (he runs into The Boy's room and runs back out with the Ironman mask on to tackle his brother) Hi! Hi!
---
The Lad, upon seeing the husband get the laptop in the morning: Hi-ights! Hi-ights! Ball hi-ights!
(Translation: Highlights! Baseball highlights!)
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The husband: What are you going to do while I'm away this weekend?
Me: I don't know. Maybe the children's museum, maybe Target to make The Boy happy. We'll go grocery shopping to make The Lad happy -- free cookie. Survive.
---
Waitress at Olive Garden, where we have to go every year for the husband's birthday: Cheese?
The Lad, before anyone else can talk: CHEESE!
The husband: I'm pretty sure he wishes that were an option in all places in his life. Would you like cheese with that?
The Lad: CHEESE! CHEESE!
Monday, September 19, 2011
Race day
The husband ran a 10K this past Saturday. Afterward, both of the boys ran in the kids' races. Some day, all the people the husband runs with are going to get tired of asking me if I run, too. I'm happy to be cheering at the finish line.
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| My boys stretching before the kids' races and after the husband's 10K. |
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| More stretching. The Lad is so roly-poly, this is what happens when he attempts to touch his toes from his back. Note The Boy's form. This is serious business. |
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| During The Boy's quarter-mile race. The husband is in the background, the tall guy in black shorts. Parents had to run with their kids, which totally bummed out The Boy who thought he was old enough to run alone. He IS 3 and a half, you know. We did not get a picture of The Lad during his 100-yard diaper dash. Just imagine my little Beastie and his deliciously chubby legs power-walking down a road. He started running and definitely sprints when racing The Boy at home, but all the people cheering kind of freaked him out, I think. |
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| Edited to add: I didn't capture The Beast in action, but our friend Maureen did! Look at those legs! |
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| He would like everyone to know that it's important to hydrate after a race. |
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Sunday, September 18, 2011
Life changes
So what do you do when you are a control freak and life-changing events are beyond your control?
If you are me, you have a few weeks filled with angst. Cry it out a few times. Think of every possible outcome, both good and bad. Cry it out some more. Over-analyze everything. Have one particularly bad day of crying and then come to the conclusion of, “This is out of my control. I have to move on and let things happen or else I’m going to be a puffy-faced mess for the rest of my life.”
Welcome to the last month of my life. There has been so much I wanted to write about but haven’t. We are a blog of two working mothers so it seemed logical that I should write about what is going when it pertains to work changes. But the thing is, so much was up in the air that I wanted to wait until there was a conclusion for fear of putting too much out there. Well, I don’t think there is going to be a conclusion for awhile so here goes:
The husband got a new job. It is a wonderful, exciting opportunity for him. For those of you who don’t know, we are both journalists. We have worked in the same newsroom for the past seven years with the exception of a six-month period. It’s worked for us. We have built good careers and have been successful.
However, the husband has always wanted to work for a different newspaper. When the opportunity came, he interviewed and got the job. It’s a place where I would like to work, too, but that would require walking away from a company that has invested in me, that made me a manager at 25, that has allowed to grow and be responsible for things before many other places would. I have a good future here.
Here’s the crux of the problem: The newspaper where I work now is not in an area where we want to raise our girls. It’s not a bad area just not where either of us thought we’d be for the rest of our life together. The different newspaper (where the husband is now) is exactly where we want to be, but could require a career shift on my part.
So. Family or career?
For now, we are trying to balance both. The husband is driving about 50 miles one way to work each day and I’m driving about 30 in the complete opposite. The girls stay in the town where we live.
It isn’t easy.
I still don’t work until noon, leaving me a single parent in the mornings and the husband a single parent at night, something we’ve been doing for 18 months. It is wearing on both of us but we don’t know of an alternative right now.
Staying where I am means I continue on a good career path (provided I continue to work hard, do what is necessary, etc.) Going to where the husband is (whenever there is an opening and if I am hired for it) could mean more odd hours, weekend work and taking a detour in my career BUT also means living in a place where we have always wanted to live AND being closer to family (like 10 minutes from my parents) AND could lead to more opportunities (but that is unknown).
These are not decisions to take lightly. The husband wants me to do what I think is best, even if that means I stay put. He’s been very supportive.
Up until now, I don’t think I’ve had a harder life decision to make. Deciding where to go to college? No problem. Deciding to marry my husband? Probably the easiest. Deciding to have children? Jumped in with two feet.
But this? I just don’t know. I feel selfish if I decide to stay. I feel anxious if I go.
Stay tuned …
Friday, September 16, 2011
And the winner is ...
Commenter No. 9, Amy L. Congratulations!
(Full disclosure: This is how the random number generation happens in our house. I yelled from the living room to the husband in the kitchen. "Pick a number 1through 16!" "9 ... Why?")
And thank you all for playing along. As a friend put it, it was nice reading about all the good things happening in the world, even if they weren't happening to us.
A couple good things from my last two days: cool evening breezes have returned, allowing for walks after dinner again, and The Beast has started singing the ABCs. You only can understand about the first five letters, but it is adorable.
Amy, email me --- hrcopsey (at) gmail (dot) com --- and let me know your address and a couple other things: favorite color, chocolate or peanut butter?, favorite candy and favorite thing about fall. I'll have a box headed your way soon.
(Full disclosure: This is how the random number generation happens in our house. I yelled from the living room to the husband in the kitchen. "Pick a number 1through 16!" "9 ... Why?")
And thank you all for playing along. As a friend put it, it was nice reading about all the good things happening in the world, even if they weren't happening to us.
A couple good things from my last two days: cool evening breezes have returned, allowing for walks after dinner again, and The Beast has started singing the ABCs. You only can understand about the first five letters, but it is adorable.
Amy, email me --- hrcopsey (at) gmail (dot) com --- and let me know your address and a couple other things: favorite color, chocolate or peanut butter?, favorite candy and favorite thing about fall. I'll have a box headed your way soon.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The great hair debate
All cute and newborn fuzzy, dark.
Fauxhawk. Awesome.
More fauxhawk awesomeness
Bam-Bam. Awesome.
Where her fauxhawk once was is now just a strip of long hair that is always in her face unless I put it in a ponytail on top of her head. It's weird because most of it is still fairly dark but where it is growing in, it is lighter. The rest of her head is covered in nice, even, light hair. (Unlike Peanut who sported a mullet for the first 18 months of her life. Sorry, kiddo, it's true.)
The bangs are driving the husband crazy. He said I have a week to cut them or else he's going to do it himself. Here's what she looks like without the pony tail:
My girls' hair is sacred to me. No one is going to cut it unless I OK it. I don't want her hair cut for a variety of reasons, the biggest one being that I spent too much of childhood dealing with poorly cut bangs - too short, crooked, permed (shudder). If we cut her bangs now, we will just have to keep doing it and we might as well put $5 in jar for every time we cut them so that she has enough to pay for her therapy (excuse my melodrama.)
But really, if we just wait it out, the rest of her hair will grow out, it will gorgeous and we will laugh when we look back at this silly debate ... ha, ha ... ha.
Who takes care of hair cutting in your house? When did your kids first get a hair cut?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Mood-lift giveaway
I'm in a mood. I'm not going to whine about the reasons why; it's not productive and none of them are big. (Well, except for the fact that the transmission in our second car, the one paid off, might be shot ...) I'm trying to look on the bright side. My children are mostly well-behaved. The husband and I had a date last weekend. We've got lots of fun things on the horizon. I've been counting little blessings like midday chats with my mom and emails from my funny little grandpa.
But still, there is a mood.
So, I'm trying a new tact. I'm going to do something nice for someone else, for one of you. It's been a long time since we did a giveaway and now seems as good a time as any.
To enter, tell me in the comments section one good thing about your day. You have until 12 a.m. Sept. 16. I'll pick a number randomly and announce the winner that day. Winner gets a box of goodies from me -- probably including baked goods of some sort -- and the chance to say, as The Boy has recently learned to do, "Winner winner chicken dinner!"
But still, there is a mood.
So, I'm trying a new tact. I'm going to do something nice for someone else, for one of you. It's been a long time since we did a giveaway and now seems as good a time as any.
To enter, tell me in the comments section one good thing about your day. You have until 12 a.m. Sept. 16. I'll pick a number randomly and announce the winner that day. Winner gets a box of goodies from me -- probably including baked goods of some sort -- and the chance to say, as The Boy has recently learned to do, "Winner winner chicken dinner!"
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Things I want
An app that connects my fridge and my phone. A scanner would survey what is in my fridge and the amounts of the food and then send it to my phone so that I know if I have enough cheese to make a pizza or if I need to go to the store (I needed to go to the store.)
To know if Gizmo is getting all of her teeth now or I should expect a slow and painful process every. single. time. a tooth comes in. Said slow and painful process includes days of fever, diaper rash and just general crankiness from my normal happy baby. (Just break through already, for the love of everything holy and pure ...)
A new laptop since ours just kicked the bucket and now I can't download my library ebooks to my nook to read. (I think that made me sound whiny.)
To get this for Gizmo ( Beelieve in magic):
To get this for Peanut (Hold on to your dreams):
And this (Hug it out):
(Oh tinyrevoluntionary.com, I love you so much)
To get this for me:
What do you want?
Monday, September 12, 2011
Simple but true
We were the first of our close friends to have a baby. Like many new parents, the husband and I were determined not to let having a baby change everything -- though, of course, it does. We took The Boy to book clubs and parties, and while it was easy because babies are highly portable and he was a particularly easy-going newborn, I found it hard to follow a discussion about dialogue when I busy trying to get the baby to burp. Also, juggling a baby and food while doing the Momma-sway and carrying on a conversation is a talent. We left earlier than we used to and had to clean up baby spit-up instead of a spilled drink. We persevered, but things were different.
When other babies arrived -- the first, exactly nine months after The Boy -- things changed even more. We all still got together for dinner or special occasions, but instead of debating politics or making music, we sat around and watched the babies while we discussed diaper rashes and teething remedies. I don't think any of us really minded the change, though we acknowledged it self-deprecatingly. "What parents we've become!" we laughed. "We're old and boring." But we all were ready to be parents, and the babies were chubby and adorable. It was different, but good.
Now, all those babies are toddlers and preschoolers. When we get together, we have to remind them to share and be nice to their friends. We watch them race around our yards and dig in the dirt. Things are changing again.
We hosted a dinner party the other night, inviting the parents of the baby boy who arrived nine months after The Boy and new friends, the parents of one of The Boy's school pals. Their children are 8 and 4, then we had The Boy, 3, and The Lad, 1, and The Boy's best buddy, 2. I set them up in the living room, laying out a spread of fruit and pretzels and pizza on our giant coffee table. They watched a movie while we retreated to the kitchen and dining room. When they got tired of the movie, they played in the boys' rooms. We could hear them, but not see them.
It was WONDERFUL.
I love my kids, but it was so nice to have adult conversation without being interrupted by baby babble or whining. And I think it was nice for the kids, too, to have time to themselves to socialize with their friends. Some of my favorite memories are running around our house or my aunt and uncle's house with my cousins, having our own little party while the adults played cards in the kitchen. Every so often, we would sneak into the kitchen to listen to conversations way above our heads or ask the parents to referee a particularly nasty disagreement. Usually, we were quickly shooed, though if you were quiet or especially wronged, you might get special dispensation. The same thing happened at our party, with only The Lad -- who is still so roly-poly cute, it's hard to shoo him -- getting special dispensation to sit on my lap in the adult world for a bit.
I thought when I started writing this that I might have something profound(ish) or helpful (10 tips for having a dinner party with kids) to say. I don't really, other than:
When other babies arrived -- the first, exactly nine months after The Boy -- things changed even more. We all still got together for dinner or special occasions, but instead of debating politics or making music, we sat around and watched the babies while we discussed diaper rashes and teething remedies. I don't think any of us really minded the change, though we acknowledged it self-deprecatingly. "What parents we've become!" we laughed. "We're old and boring." But we all were ready to be parents, and the babies were chubby and adorable. It was different, but good.
Now, all those babies are toddlers and preschoolers. When we get together, we have to remind them to share and be nice to their friends. We watch them race around our yards and dig in the dirt. Things are changing again.
We hosted a dinner party the other night, inviting the parents of the baby boy who arrived nine months after The Boy and new friends, the parents of one of The Boy's school pals. Their children are 8 and 4, then we had The Boy, 3, and The Lad, 1, and The Boy's best buddy, 2. I set them up in the living room, laying out a spread of fruit and pretzels and pizza on our giant coffee table. They watched a movie while we retreated to the kitchen and dining room. When they got tired of the movie, they played in the boys' rooms. We could hear them, but not see them.
It was WONDERFUL.
I love my kids, but it was so nice to have adult conversation without being interrupted by baby babble or whining. And I think it was nice for the kids, too, to have time to themselves to socialize with their friends. Some of my favorite memories are running around our house or my aunt and uncle's house with my cousins, having our own little party while the adults played cards in the kitchen. Every so often, we would sneak into the kitchen to listen to conversations way above our heads or ask the parents to referee a particularly nasty disagreement. Usually, we were quickly shooed, though if you were quiet or especially wronged, you might get special dispensation. The same thing happened at our party, with only The Lad -- who is still so roly-poly cute, it's hard to shoo him -- getting special dispensation to sit on my lap in the adult world for a bit.
I thought when I started writing this that I might have something profound(ish) or helpful (10 tips for having a dinner party with kids) to say. I don't really, other than:
Have a party.
Give your kids and yourself some space.
Enjoy.
Or maybe this:
Kids change things, but change isn't bad.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Where were you?
I had a 9 a.m. history class. It was my senior year in college. We didn't have cable hooked up in the sorority room Hillary and I shared with our good friend T so I hadn't even seen what was happening in New York. Had I known, I would have never went to class that morning.
After my history class, I had an elective 2 hour, 10 a.m. English class. This was before we carried cellphones around so no one could get in touch with me. I remember walking into the class and hearing whisperings of something happening. Something bad. Our crotchedy old professor actually told us it was no big deal. A small plane had flown into the World Trade Tower. Nothing to worry about.
I felt anxious and contemplated leaving so I could get to the student-run newspaper, where I was an editor. Instead I stayed put even though I couldn't concentrate.
Just shy of two hours later, I strolled into the newsroom and was greeted by a chorus of "Where have you been?!" and "Your mother is trying to find you!"
People were rushing around. Some stared at the television watching the replay of the plane hitting the tower and the buildings crumbling. Others were crying. Lots of people were on the phone. The enormity of what was happening hit me and I remember being very angry with my English professor (of all people).
I quickly called my mother to let her know I was safe in our small college town and no, I hadn't been transported to New York or Washington. We had a hard time tracking down my sister and letting her know what happened because she was at funeral for a friend who had died suddenly in his mid-20s. My dad was in the state highway patrol so he was working at the state's security command center. Thankfully everyone we knew was safe.
Those in our newsroom worked non-stop for hours. Dozens of people contributed as we watched the horrible news unfold. It was mind-numbing to see what was happening and to hear the predictions of how many people were dead.
I remember walking down the street with Hillary. I told her I feared it would just keep happening. What about all the planes that hadn't landed yet? I had never been so afraid and felt my world shift so much.
The next couple days were a blur. We did a lot of work at the newspaper and not so much of going to class. The Sept. 12 newspaper hangs framed in the newsroom now along with papers of when Kennedy was assassinated, the Vietnam War riots and other historical events. Ten years later, it makes me so proud to think of the work we did in those days.
After I graduated college, Hillary and I moved to D.C. for summer internships. My mother wasn't so thrilled by the move, fearing something could happen again. We were on the National Mall for the first July 4th celebration post-Sept. 11. I had a surreal feeling. Everyone was celebrating the holiday and yet still anxious. I think we had to go through three or four checkpoints just to walking around the Mall area.
Ten years, a marriage and two kids later, that time seems far removed. We haven't explained to Peanut yet what happened then even though it was hard to avoid the images on television this week. She and Gizmo will never know any different time but it will still be just a historical event to them. Just as the assassinations of JFK, Martin Luther King Jr. and the Vietnam War are historical events but my parents lived through them.
It is the reality we live in. With the threat of a possible terrorist attack this weekend, I spent three hours Friday afternoon putting together a worst case scenario plan for our newsroom. It is a sad thing that it didn't seem odd to me to do such extensive planning.
Where were you?
After my history class, I had an elective 2 hour, 10 a.m. English class. This was before we carried cellphones around so no one could get in touch with me. I remember walking into the class and hearing whisperings of something happening. Something bad. Our crotchedy old professor actually told us it was no big deal. A small plane had flown into the World Trade Tower. Nothing to worry about.
I felt anxious and contemplated leaving so I could get to the student-run newspaper, where I was an editor. Instead I stayed put even though I couldn't concentrate.
Just shy of two hours later, I strolled into the newsroom and was greeted by a chorus of "Where have you been?!" and "Your mother is trying to find you!"
People were rushing around. Some stared at the television watching the replay of the plane hitting the tower and the buildings crumbling. Others were crying. Lots of people were on the phone. The enormity of what was happening hit me and I remember being very angry with my English professor (of all people).
I quickly called my mother to let her know I was safe in our small college town and no, I hadn't been transported to New York or Washington. We had a hard time tracking down my sister and letting her know what happened because she was at funeral for a friend who had died suddenly in his mid-20s. My dad was in the state highway patrol so he was working at the state's security command center. Thankfully everyone we knew was safe.
Those in our newsroom worked non-stop for hours. Dozens of people contributed as we watched the horrible news unfold. It was mind-numbing to see what was happening and to hear the predictions of how many people were dead.
I remember walking down the street with Hillary. I told her I feared it would just keep happening. What about all the planes that hadn't landed yet? I had never been so afraid and felt my world shift so much.
The next couple days were a blur. We did a lot of work at the newspaper and not so much of going to class. The Sept. 12 newspaper hangs framed in the newsroom now along with papers of when Kennedy was assassinated, the Vietnam War riots and other historical events. Ten years later, it makes me so proud to think of the work we did in those days.
After I graduated college, Hillary and I moved to D.C. for summer internships. My mother wasn't so thrilled by the move, fearing something could happen again. We were on the National Mall for the first July 4th celebration post-Sept. 11. I had a surreal feeling. Everyone was celebrating the holiday and yet still anxious. I think we had to go through three or four checkpoints just to walking around the Mall area.
Ten years, a marriage and two kids later, that time seems far removed. We haven't explained to Peanut yet what happened then even though it was hard to avoid the images on television this week. She and Gizmo will never know any different time but it will still be just a historical event to them. Just as the assassinations of JFK, Martin Luther King Jr. and the Vietnam War are historical events but my parents lived through them.
It is the reality we live in. With the threat of a possible terrorist attack this weekend, I spent three hours Friday afternoon putting together a worst case scenario plan for our newsroom. It is a sad thing that it didn't seem odd to me to do such extensive planning.
Where were you?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Developmental differences
This is Iron Beastie.
Both of the boys thought The Lad in this mask was hilarious. Like whooping, squealing belly laughs and trilling giggles hilarious. The Boy decided The Lad was a monster and he should run from him. The Lad was happy to oblige. But several minutes into this, after I watched The Lad in that mask crawl under an end table, run into our TV console (he giggled) and climb onto our coffee table all in The Boy's exact path, I realized the kiddos were playing two distinctly different games.
The Boy was being chased by a bad guy.
The Lad was playing follow the leader.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
That person, talking about her dreams
The Lad had some sort of half-hearted sickness over the weekend, and he gave it to me. I'm not really sick. I'm just lethargic and have a slight tickle in my throat. But the crud is disturbing my sleep. Maybe it's the low-grade fever, but I have had the most terrible dreams this week. They're not nightmares, exactly, no one is chasing me with knives or anything like that. But they leave me unsettled and anxious and wanting to touch my sweaty-headed, sleeping boys to remind myself what's real.
First, I dreamed the husband had died. I don't know what he died of, but he was gone and I was trying to figure out finances: could we afford to keep the house? should I move myself and the boys back to Ohio with our family? how could I make life OK for the boys when their daddyman was gone? It was the kind of dream that lingers even after you wake, and I kept drifting in and out of it. One minute, I was awake in my bed, fingers tangled around the husband's and the next, I was sitting at a table with my mom looking at bills.
Then, last night, I dreamed The Boy had come just inches from getting crushed by a semi on the state route where I grew up. I was traveling by myself with the boys in an SUV (which we don't have), and we stopped at a sort of private park to visit with people I haven't seen since high school. While I was chatting with these people, The Boy ran after a dog and, knowing how busy the road was, I went tearing after him, snatching him away from harm just as a giant blue semi rolled over the pavement where his toes have been. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I was so grateful to see The Boy's smiling face in the living room.
I've always had unsettling dreams when I'm ill. Growing up, I always knew I was getting sick because I'd have the same recurring dream: a trampoline and my grandpa, who is a very nice man in real life, yelling and just crushing me with nastiness.
Nights like these make me want to let my boys take whatever they want into bed with them. I have the husband to snuggle up with and pull me back to reality. If they need a zillion stuffed animals, a stinky blanky and a nightlight, who am I to judge?
Any weird dreams disturbing your sleep lately?
First, I dreamed the husband had died. I don't know what he died of, but he was gone and I was trying to figure out finances: could we afford to keep the house? should I move myself and the boys back to Ohio with our family? how could I make life OK for the boys when their daddyman was gone? It was the kind of dream that lingers even after you wake, and I kept drifting in and out of it. One minute, I was awake in my bed, fingers tangled around the husband's and the next, I was sitting at a table with my mom looking at bills.
Then, last night, I dreamed The Boy had come just inches from getting crushed by a semi on the state route where I grew up. I was traveling by myself with the boys in an SUV (which we don't have), and we stopped at a sort of private park to visit with people I haven't seen since high school. While I was chatting with these people, The Boy ran after a dog and, knowing how busy the road was, I went tearing after him, snatching him away from harm just as a giant blue semi rolled over the pavement where his toes have been. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I was so grateful to see The Boy's smiling face in the living room.
I've always had unsettling dreams when I'm ill. Growing up, I always knew I was getting sick because I'd have the same recurring dream: a trampoline and my grandpa, who is a very nice man in real life, yelling and just crushing me with nastiness.
Nights like these make me want to let my boys take whatever they want into bed with them. I have the husband to snuggle up with and pull me back to reality. If they need a zillion stuffed animals, a stinky blanky and a nightlight, who am I to judge?
Any weird dreams disturbing your sleep lately?
Monday, September 5, 2011
baseball
This is the transforming power of love: One of my favorite things in the world is to sit at a baseball stadium with a beer and a hot dog covered in spicy mustard.
Ten years ago, I had never been to a baseball game and didn't feel like I was missing much. I am spectacularly clumsy and so don't participate. Probably because of that, I don't much see the point in sports. I think it's ridiculous that grown men get paid millions to play a game. Before I started dating the man who became the husband, I had, at most, loitered for an inning or two around a Little League game or my high school's baseball field. It is the American past-time. You can't avoid it completely.
The husband is a baseball fanatic. You cannot be a part of his life without knowing about RBI and on base percentage, Barry Larkin and the best new Reds prospect. When we moved to Florida, he was still a reporter, and I'm not sure what excited him more: the fact that we could live together or that he would get to cover Spring Training. In college, he took and talked me into taking a class called "History of Baseball," and it was that class that started changing baseball for me from something to be tolerated to something to love. The professor was old and class was in a theater; it felt like storytime with Grandpa. He wrapped American history around the baseball diamond so it became hard to separate the two. Combine that with the novels of W.P. Kinsella -- "Shoeless Joe" is the book on which the movie "Field of Dreams" is based -- and I created a very romantic view of the game that made it easier to listen to the husband wax poetic about the season, though the reality of a baseball game still was tedious. I grew bored, and stadiums were crowded and hot. The hot dogs always a little rubbery and the beer watery.
But I went to the games because that's what you do for people you love. You do things with them, for them. And we live in Florida, so spring training and minor league games are cheap and easy entertainment. The stadiums are small and often, they let you hang out on a grassy berm to watch the game. Maybe it's just getting used to things, but there are far worse ways to spend an afternoon.
And then we had the boys and, of course, they love baseball, too. The Boy can identify players and stadiums at a glance. Today, he hit a pitch from the husband -- he refuses to play with a tee -- and sent a line drive back at his Daddyman so fast that the husband couldn't get out of the way and ended up with an egg-sized welt on his arm. Friends joke that The Boy only dresses in Reds jerseys; some weeks, he does. The Lad recently learned to say, "BrUUUUUUCe!" (Jay Bruce is a pretty good Reds player) and clamors to watch "Bruce. Bay-ball, Bruce!" Today, to drive home his point, The Lad smacked his little hands on the back of The Boy, who was clad, as usual, in red. One night last season, I was nursing The Lad during a game and the husband was asking The Boy who was up next to bat and before he could answer, I surprised myself by blurting out the right name.
I still don't love the game the way the husband does. I don't want to play it for hours like The Boy does. I don't even love the stadium hot dogs as much The Lad does. But we took the kiddos to a minor league game this weekend and, sitting in the stands with the husband, sipping a beer in the sun and watching the boys try to get close to the players, I realized I couldn't think of a better place to be.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Bits of weekend
4 a.m. Saturday, peanut wandered into our room and said, "Momma, I've got poop on my hand."
Fearing a poop smeared bedroom (both hers and mine) I popped out of bed and quickly assessed the situation, which fortunately was not nearly as bad as it could have been. Still gross but manageable in under 10 minutes.
Someone is still not pooping on the potty regularly causing her to do it in her pull-up at night. Why she felt the need to touch it is an issue I am not prepared to think about.
*****
We've had storms all weekend. The husband and Peanut were outside when yet another one rolled through. Peanut came running into the house telling me all about the thunder.
"Momma, there's thunder and it's gonna scare the cows! The cows by McDonald's!"
I have no idea what cows she is talking about nor why they are so afraid of thunder but she was very, very concerned about these cows. She had a very serious look on her and emphasized her point by using choppy hand gestures. It was all oh so dramatic.
*****
We originally planned to get out of town with the girls this weekend, hitting up one of two nearby cities with zoos and children's museums. Instead, we shipped the girls off to my parents for one night.
So what did we do? Buy a much needed new washer and dryer. My parents had given us their old set when we got married six years ago. Those things were so old then that we figured we'd be lucky to get a year or two out of them. The dryer started making a squeaking noise a couple months ago and required two cycles on high to get a load mostly dry. We put our big kid pants on and decided it was time for a new set.
Other projects included finishing up the bathroom project, cleaning out the basement and gathering up as much as possible to donate or get rid of. I need the clutter out of my house.
*****
We also went to a going away brunch for a friend/co-worker deploying to Afghanistan for a year. While it was a good time, it took everything in me not to cry in front of him when we said good-bye. I am so very worried about him. I had no good words for him but to tell him to come back to us. I can't even imagine what he must be going through.
We will be saying lots of prayers for the next year for him and all the soldiers still deployed.
*****
And, finally, I'm going to end this on a happy note with cute pictures of the girls, celebrating the first Buckeye win of the year. Here's to hoping the season will be scandal free.
How's your weekend going?
Fearing a poop smeared bedroom (both hers and mine) I popped out of bed and quickly assessed the situation, which fortunately was not nearly as bad as it could have been. Still gross but manageable in under 10 minutes.
Someone is still not pooping on the potty regularly causing her to do it in her pull-up at night. Why she felt the need to touch it is an issue I am not prepared to think about.
*****
We've had storms all weekend. The husband and Peanut were outside when yet another one rolled through. Peanut came running into the house telling me all about the thunder.
"Momma, there's thunder and it's gonna scare the cows! The cows by McDonald's!"
I have no idea what cows she is talking about nor why they are so afraid of thunder but she was very, very concerned about these cows. She had a very serious look on her and emphasized her point by using choppy hand gestures. It was all oh so dramatic.
*****
We originally planned to get out of town with the girls this weekend, hitting up one of two nearby cities with zoos and children's museums. Instead, we shipped the girls off to my parents for one night.
So what did we do? Buy a much needed new washer and dryer. My parents had given us their old set when we got married six years ago. Those things were so old then that we figured we'd be lucky to get a year or two out of them. The dryer started making a squeaking noise a couple months ago and required two cycles on high to get a load mostly dry. We put our big kid pants on and decided it was time for a new set.
Other projects included finishing up the bathroom project, cleaning out the basement and gathering up as much as possible to donate or get rid of. I need the clutter out of my house.
*****
We also went to a going away brunch for a friend/co-worker deploying to Afghanistan for a year. While it was a good time, it took everything in me not to cry in front of him when we said good-bye. I am so very worried about him. I had no good words for him but to tell him to come back to us. I can't even imagine what he must be going through.
We will be saying lots of prayers for the next year for him and all the soldiers still deployed.
*****
And, finally, I'm going to end this on a happy note with cute pictures of the girls, celebrating the first Buckeye win of the year. Here's to hoping the season will be scandal free.
How's your weekend going?
Thursday, September 1, 2011
More cuteness
I was playing on the floor with The Boy, making him "fly" on my legs. We've done that since he was wee. When my legs get tired now, I lie on the floor with my knees bent and he goes down the "Momma slide," landing headfirst on my stomach. It's as comfortable as it sounds. After one particularly forceful slide, he was flopped across my belly and legs and I marveled at the size of him. He's 42 pounds and more than half my height.
"Just think," I said, "you used to be in my belly. And now look at you."
"I'm GIANT!"
---
"Just think," I said, "you used to be in my belly. And now look at you."
"I'm GIANT!"
---
This is how The Lad woke up this morning.
This also is how he went to school. His hair would not go down.
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