Merry Christmas!

It's funny that even though we got our Christmas shopping done weeks ago, and then subsequently got everything shipped out super early too, that I am still so insanely busy this time of year.

I have no idea why.

Oh, except that tomorrow night we're flying to Ohio to spend Christmas with Matt's family and have Peter baptised at Matt's family church (where Matt received all of the sacraments himself and we had our marriage blessed.)

And we're travelling, on the dredded red eye. (Wish me luck please. Or pray. Whatever you feel most comfortable with. At this point I'm open to any help I can get.)

So I've been stressed a bit about getting ready for that.

And since I'm not sure how much I'll be able to blog from my in-laws' house, let me just wish everyone a wonderful Christmas now. May you all be blessed this holiday and be able to spend quality time with the people you care about. Happy Birthday Jesus!!

Finally, before I go...

For those 3 or 4 random people out there (like you Olivia, I know I missed you) somewhere in America who I DIDN'T send a Christmas card too, well, I'm sorry I missed you (because I really did send out THAT many this year) but I promise, if you didn't get one, it is only because all attempts of mine to get a hold of your physical addresses broke down and failed to get them. And believe me I tried... between poopie diapers, and spit up and temper tantrums and stuff. (I'll let you decide for yourself who was throwing the tantrums.)

So with that, let me just include my family greeting card here and now... so that my guilty conscious can rest a little.

Happy Christmas EVERYONE!

Trying to teach the baby to sleep

Yesterday, what with the timing of everything, Peter managed to not actually take a nap.

Matt said he dozed off right before they left for church in the morning, but was woken up as Matt got him dressed and put into the car. He then nodded off on in the car for the 10 minute drive, but woke up again upon their arrival at church. He was awake the entire time we were there (but very fussy) and then he went to sleep again in the car on the way home only to re waken immediately, 10 minutes later, upon getting home. Once home, he refused to lay back down for another, real, nap.

I don't know what's wrong with that kid sometimes... most days I'd give anything to be able to take a nap.

Anyway, at his lunch time I tried taking him upstairs and feeding him in the dark and laying him down in his crib but he wanted no part of that plan.

He also stayed awake in his stroller while we were walking the dog.

At his dinner time feeding (which started about an hour before bath and bedtime) he fell quickly asleep nursing only to wake up hungry only a few minutes later so I gave him his rice cereal which he took like a champ.

But, by the time 7:00 rolled around, the little dude was a gigantic mess of tired whining and fussy crabbiness and tears.

We skipped his bath.

I changed his diaper, put him into his pajamas and laid him down in his crib. I gave him a pacifier, wound up his mobile, turned out the lights and left the room almost immediately.

He was so tired anyway that I thought it might be a GREAT evening to try to let him (GASP) scream it out.

He's been going to bed without nursing or rocking for about a month now. But always, Matt and I both stay in the room with him until he falls asleep.

*** Side note...
The fat cat is currently chasing a small piece of black lint up and down the stairs. You would think this was the single most entertaining thing in the world. Both the fat cat and Peter, who is watching him, seem to agree.***

Anyway. Peter started to cry a few moments after I left the room but it was very half-hearted. I heard him rolling around and fumbling with his pacifier, which he can now take out and retrieve himself, and most of the time, eventually he can even get it properly back into his own mouth if he so desires... that is if he hasn't already thrown it all the way out of his crib between the bars.

Also probably it didn't help that his (favorite) stuffed bunny was still in the dryer and not in his arms.

However, after about 4 minutes, he quieted right down, and went to sleep.

When I snuck in to check on him, he was out like a light, at the far end of his crib with his body running perpendicular to the length of the crib and one leg of this little monkey stuffed animal in his mouth.

So the first wave of the battle was won. I'd let him cry it out.

Of course, getting him to go to bed is never the hard part. It's getting him BACK in bed when he wakes up in the middle of the night that is the challenge.

Somewhere around 9, he stirred and whined a bit but quickly dozed back off.

And at 10:14 he started to cry again, this time for real.

At 10:19 I went up to check on him. I gave him his pacifier, and his fresh-from-the-laundry bunny. I put him back onto his back, in the middle of the crib, kissed his forehead and left the room again leaving him to cry.

It was possible that he was hungry since he'd had his "dinner" four hours earlier at 6:00, but everything I've been reading indicated that this close to 6 months he should be able to go longer between his feedings at night. And, when he was 3 months, he used to go A LOT longer than 4 hours between feedings at night.

So he screamed.

At about 10:30 I went back in.

But I didn't pick him up.

I tried to comfort him in any way I could, without picking him up and without giving him any indication that he was going to get to nurse.

Oh boy was he ever unhappy.

And so was I.

I think the hardest part is seeing him stick his little hands out through the bars at me.

And also when he started to flail and kept "ramming" his head against the crib rails. :(

Opinions are varied about whether or not having Mommy in the room makes the "crying it out" process easier or harder for the baby but I sort of feel that if I'm going to put him through it, then I need to go through it with him. Mostly, I sat quietly in the corner of his dark room and cried a little myself while my child screamed for me.

About 10:40 Matt came in.

I'm not sure how he missed the memo about my strategy for the evening, but he seemed to think that I was either torturing our child altogether or that something most be VERY VERY wrong if Peter could still be crying like that with me holding him.

I got him caught up.

So then he tried to comfort our child.

Eventually, he picked the baby up, changed his diaper and laid him back down again.

He kept asking if I thought maybe Peter was hungry. I kept insisting that, maybe he was, a little, but after all the milk he drank and the cereal he'd eaten he could go a few hours more.

About 10:50 Matt finally soothed our baby, by stroking his tummy and forehead and coaxed him to fall back to sleep.

We crept quietly out of the room and closed the door gently since there were still pathetic little upset whimper sounds occasionally coming from the baby.

We both got in bed.

And then...

At 11:04 Peter started to cry again.

I waited a few LONG minutes before getting up.

When I did I found that I must not have pulled the door to his room shut firmly enough because the cats had pushed it open. KC was sitting in the middle of the floor looking up at the crib. Chase, meanwhile, was standing on the side rail of the crib... looking down at my baby, who he'd presumably just jumped in on and woken up.

THOSE STUPID CATS!

Furious, I booted them both out of the room. I picked up my son and let him nurse. I put him back in his crib just before he was ready to fall asleep and somehow, magically, he slept through until morning which in this case was about 7:00 am when I woke him up to relieve the pressure for myself.

I'm not sure what the lesson is in all this, or if I'll let him cry it out again, but I can tell you one thing...

Those cats are NOT getting in his room again at night!

Holiday Madness

Boy, oh boy, are the holidays ever biting me in the ass this year.

And honestly, that's the nicest way I can put that.

I already mentioned in a previous (and very controversial post) that my Christmas Wish for this year was that people not get me anything and instead, if they wanted to give my family gifts, that they should direct their generosity towards my son.

Don't worry, I'm not going to again get into how badly that one is working out for me.

But...

(oh, the sweet, glorious, fantastic, BUT...)

I was talking to my friend the other day when I ran into her at Target. We were NOT talking about my family at all, but she was telling me about how her large family handles gift giving with each child drawing the name of one of their siblings and then saving their allowance towards purchasing that one sibling a gift. Then she and her husband purchase just 3 gifts for each child.

Three.

Because Jesus received only three gifts.

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh.

And oh, yea, right! Christmas is SUPPOSED to be about celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Novel idea.

(If you forget about all the commercialism that has, apparently, brainwashed a large portion of the American society into thinking that it is supposed to be about STUFF.)

(Man am I ever starting to feel like Charlie Brown in his Christmas special.)

So I say, that if 3 was good enough for Jesus then it's good enough for Peter.

And the last time I checked, Mary didn't get any gifts that day at all.

But anyway.

All this is to say that what with my ongoing participation in the RCIA classes as I continue the process of officially becoming a Catholic (as opposed to a Lutheran baptised, used to attend a Presbyterian church as a kid, unconfirmed, unsure, wandering, confused, protestant Christian) I've spent a great deal of my time thinking about the Christmas holiday this year.

Plus, this is my first holiday as a parent and it seems that now is the time for Matt and I to make our minds up about how we are going to handle holidays for our own family from here on out.

And occurs to me, that the more I think about it, the more the whole "presents are the heart of Christmas" idea has just started to annoy me.

Please don't get me wrong. Sure, give a gift to the ones you love to celebrate the spirit of season.

It's nice.

But this business of children writing out multiple page lists to their parents or Santa Claus requesting hundreds of dollars worth of toys that, let's face, they really don't need anyway... of children waking up on Christmas morning to a heaping pile of gifts awaiting them....

it

just

seems

so

greedy

to

me.



And I'm not going to have it.

Not for my child.

This year, Peter will get three presents from "Santa."

Period.

Now, if I could, I would willingly buy and wrap up the entire world for my baby. I love him THAT much.

But come on...

If 3 was enough for Jesus, then 3 will be more than plenty for Peter.

Anyway. What occurs to me now, is that the part of celebrating Christmas that matters (or ought to matter) MOST is the part about how you spend quality time with the ones you love: your family.

(Quality time, in my case, being sort of a loose term, where many of my own blood relatives were concerned.)

Even still. If I HONESTLY sit back and consider my GREATEST holiday memories...

100% honestly...

...NONE of them are about presents.

NONE!

What I remember, so fondly, the memories that fill my heart with warmth, are of spending time with my family. You know, before everyone starting fighting all the time. Before anybody went and dis-owned anybody else.

I remember eating at the dinner table on Christmas Eve before getting all dressed up and going to church. I remember looking down the pew and seeing my whole family together at Church while we all sang Silent Night with little white candles in our hands. I remember cuddling up together on the coach to watch Rudolph on TV. I remember bundling up and going ice skating or piling into the car and driving around to look at Christmas Lights....

...TOGETHER....

AS A FAMILY.

The presents?

Sure, they were nice. They came in imaginatively wrapped packages and contained cool toys that I lost, gave away or broke years ago. Or they contained clothes which were so fashionable back then that I couldn't wait to show them off at school and now make me cringe at the very thought of them.

All those presents are LONG gone.

And pretty much, long forgotten.

Meanwhile those good memories of spending time with my family?

They live on in my heart.

I want Peter to have these kind of memories.

This whole Christmas thing is SO not about the gifts.

Oh.

And there's one more thing I need to mention this evening:

In a random fit of Christian induced love, and forgiveness probably, I took a risk and sent my Father a Christmas card this year.

In case you all forgot, I haven't exactly spoken to him much since I was in Elementary School. When he split from my Mom he turned tail and RAN for the hills leaving my brother and I well behind in the process. In college I reconnected with him for a few years, but eventually we became physically incapable of seeing eye to eye on, well, anything and parted company, unhappily, again.

And trust me... its better that way.

Neither of us were doing the other any good and the last thing I want for him is to be the cause of his unhappiness.

But like I said, as I was addressing Christmas cards a few weeks ago I randomly caught a wild hare and decided, on a whim, to send him a Christmas card.

To let him know how I'm doing well.

Let him see a picture of his Grandson.

(Who he'll most likely never even meet.)

I had NO expectations.

And to be honest, I sort of put it out of my mind and clean forgot about it the moment I slid the pile of Holiday Greetings into the mail slot.

But then today we picked up our mail. And in there was a card from him.

In the card was a picture of him proudly displaying the fulfillment of one of his life's greatest dreams.... something he's spoken about wanting to do his entire life (or, at least the parts of it when I was actually around.)

The picture was of him, and his wife, each holding a large hunting rifle and crouching in the snow behind what appeared to be a large, presumably recently deceased, Moose.

I can't really be sure, because I've never really actually met a moose.

In fact, the only reason I'm even assuming it is a moose is because, like I said, I know he's always wanted to "nab" a moose so he could mount its head and antlers proudly on his wall.

So, good for him...

He achieved one of his life's dreams.

And he decided to share his pride and joy with everyone via his Holiday greetings.

I'll just leave my own personal opinions about hunting out of this.

But what I will say is this:



(Matt's the one that actually pointed it out.)



In the photo, it really sort of looks like Daddy just shot one of Santa's reindeer.



And also, achievement of life's goal or not... it does seem like kind of poor taste to put a dead animal on a Christmas card.



If you ask me.

Which nobody did.

To each his own I guess.

(At least that's what I'll keep telling myself tonight when a dead Rudolph is chasing me through my dreams.)

Update:
12/12/09 at 1:04 pm
After showing the picture to some of my hunting-savvy friends at church the current working theory is that the animal in the photo is, er, was, an Elk. And a big one at that. Apparently, quite the "catch" or, whatever the non-fishing terminology would be. As far as the awesomeness of the kill goes, all knowledgeable parties seem to aree that it is, like, really really awesome. Something to be very proud of. And that its a very cool picture. Just, maybe not a very Christmas-y one, particularly where the resemblence to Dancer and Donner and Blitzen is concerned. But opinions about that last part are divided.

***If by any chance, and morbid curiosity, any of you want to see the picture, shoot (no pun intended) me an email and I'll scan it and send it your way. I'd welcome your feedback on it actually 'cause maybe it's not that bad. Maybe i'm making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe.

The latest in pictures

Since yesterday all I did was vent, today, I will mostly keep my mouth shut and just post more of what everybody is looking for here: pictures of my baby.

We'll begin with the little shot of Peter who's finally able to get some interaction with one of the cats.... through the mesh screen of his pack and play.
I put him in his little baby prison when I need to run to the restroom, upstairs for something or if I need to run the vacuum and nearly evey time I find a situation like this upon my return.
I haven't caught a picture of it yet, but Peter pushes his chubby little hands up against the mesh sides and Chase, in true kitty form, tries to attack them.

Charming.

This next one was last Friday after dinner. Matt was talking to our friend Melissa, who was over to study and have dinner with us, while Peter was practicing his sitting up.... on the kitchen counter.
Don't worry, Matt was right behind him the whole time.

In other news, the inside of the house is all decorated for Christmas, which pretty much fascinates all the small creatures in my house. The cats can't keep out of the Christmas trees. The dog can't seem to stop barking at the random lights and music boxes and Peter (with the help of his Daddy) is in love with the jingle bells.

When I was a kid there was a string of a few jingle bells that my mother always hung from the kitchen light. It was the main holiday mission of my brother and I every year to jump up (or be lifted up) to ring those bells. I'm choosing to reinvent that tradition for my own son. :)

Here's a sweet one of Matt and Peter cuddling with Brutus.

I've really got to hand it to that dog. He is pretty darn patient with the baby, who in this picture really seems to be sticking his chubby little fingers IN his puppy's mouth. Hmmm. Quick check, yup, Peter still has ten, that IS a good Doggo.

Since "winter" has set in here the temperatures have been hovering between the very high 30s at night and the very low 60s at the peak of the day. "Cold" weather or not, Brutus still needs a walk every day, and Mama needs exercise so whenever possible we try to make the dog's walks a family affair. My friend Nikki gave me several of her son's old winter hats to use, so we take turns alternating between them each day on our walks.

This next one is just a nice example of the weird things Peter does to entertain himself when playing on the floor.

And in our last top story this morning, and major baby milestone breaking news... Peter has officially found his feet. He's been attracted them for awhile, especially when wearing colorful socks, but now even barefoot, he's noticing them and performing one of the most charming baby behaviors of all:

Yuuuuuummmmmmmmmy toes!

And apparently, when those yummy toes and the chubby little feet they're attached to have become the lad's new favorite toys.

If only there was some way to wrap them up for Christmas... we could save a fortune!

It's probably better if nobody reads this.

Twelve years ago today Matt and I accidentally went on our first date.

"Accidentally" because when I called him to go to the movies that evening I never in my wildest dreams would have thought that we'd eventually end up together.

Let alone that we'd STILL be together 12 years later.

However, that first date isn't really the point of this post.

The fact of the matter is that today it's occurring to me, again this morning, that one of the main reasons Matt was such a dear friend to me back then, and why I eventually fell so completely in love with him is that he might be one of the only people on the planet who ever actually listens to me.

I mean, he really listens.

Well, most of the time. (He is a man after all.)

He listens to my complaining. He listens to my funny stories. He listens to my dumb jokes. He listens when I just need to vent the pipes and get all the extra stuff out of my brain that makes me feel crazy or like my head might explode.

(I'm having one of those moments right now, but sadly, Matt is at school.)

Not only did/does Matt listen, but he pays attention.

Back then, by listening, he found out who I really was/am. Really.

Then he went and had the nerve to go ahead and love me anyway.

(Weird.)

So, why am I bringing this up now?

Because sometimes I swear, other than my husband, nobody ever listens to me.

I mean, people might pay attention and they might hear the majority of my words, but apparently, they don't actually take in their meaning.

And I get it. Fine. I talk (or on my blog, type) A LOT.

Its too much to handle.

I'm not that interesting anyway.

BUT OH MY GOODNESS sometimes it just drives me crazy.

Take for example, my family. I mean the ones I actually do, supposedly, have a relationship with. The ones who swear to love me and accept me for who I am. The ones who haven't disowned me or vice versa.

I can pretty much promise that if somebody were to actually ask them what it is I do (or did, technically, before I had Peter) for a living they wouldn't have any idea.

They might get the job title right. Although, honestly if they did I'd be surprised. But even if they knew what it is that I spent SEVEN years of my life studying in college and graduate school, I still really, really doubt that they could tell you what that means and how I spent my days at work.

Maybe they are just too busy with their own lives and that's fair.

Or maybe they just think that what I do is really, really dumb and I get that too.

I mean, who goes to school for seven years studying a subject that is getting cut on a daily basis? That's just dumb! There's no money to be made there surely! And who picks a career if not for the money to be made???

But, back when Peter was still very young and small I was busying myself for a few days about compiling a few CDs of music and children's songs just for him and one of them actually told me to stop wasting my time and go buy a Baby Einstein CD.

That's when it hit me that my own family doesn't know, understand or perhaps even care about what I do. About my love and passion for teaching and sharing music with others, particularly children.

So, see, that's bad enough. It bugs me beyond belief that they hold no value for my career but it's fine. That's their right.

Then again, that same person very lovingly suggested to me when Peter was about 6 weeks old that I not let him cry in his crib for more than a moment lest he stop trusting me.

As if to suggest that if my child were left alone to cry for a few minutes and possibly work it out for himself that he'd somehow just give up on the idea that his Mommy loves him altogether.

Forget the absurdity of that statement for a moment, and just consider who this sage piece of advice was given to: ME! And anyone who knows anything about me can tell you I am the Worrying Queen of the West. The woman who's Midwife prescribed anti-anxiety meds for in her second trimester. A woman who can't let any worry go... ever!

Why would somebody say something like that to me?

Its no wonder that almost 6 months into it my child can't sleep through the night or really get anywhere close. Because his Mommy is so scarred by the absurd notion that her baby might decide she doesn't love him that she is, like, PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE of letting him scream for a few minutes.

Surely, anyone who actually understood me, who actually paid attention, would have thought more carefully before suggesting such a thing lest they practically SCAR ME FOR LIFE.

*Ahem*

But forget that. Its in the past. Any normal person would just let itgo.

Christmas is coming.

And WAY back in September, probably, I sent out and email to everyone I could think of containing a Christmas wish list for Peter and requesting that people NOT get gifts for Matt or myself.

Matt and I spend MORE than enough of our money on ourselves. Too much. Honest.

So I requested that from here on out, people direct their Holiday spending for my family towards our child(or, hopefully in the future, our childREN.)

I actually sort of wish I'd requested no gifts ALTOGETHER since we buy him plenty of crap as it is so that maybe we could teach our son about the real meaning of the holiday. But it's too late for that now and it doesn't matter regardless because nobody seems to have heard my request anyway.

Yesterday cards came for us and for Peter in the mail from my Grandmother. My dear, sweet, lovely Grandmother who always has the very best and kindest of intentions. My Grandmother who came to stay with us in August to help with the baby and, so far as I can tell, hated every single minute of it. Not the baby part. The staying with me part.

(Which isn't surprising really, if you think about the fact that she, like everyone else mostly, NEVER really listens to me and has NO IDEA WHO I ACTUALLY AM. I'm pretty sure she was outright appalled but what she saw while she was here. )

Anyway, in the card for Peter was a gift card for Toys R Us. Perfect! I can use it to buy him any of the toys from his wish list.

However, in the card for us was a gift card for Red Lobster and a note telling us to treat ourselves to a night out.

*sigh*

The sentiment is so very, very sweet. Fairly new parents do need to get out from time to time.

But the thing is WE DO! We go out. Honest. Not often, but often enough.

And except for the part about how her little gift for us goes EXACTLY against my expressed, stated, wishes. Which, if we review, were that people NOT spend their money on us.

So what am I supposed to do? I can't return a gift card.

And it shouldn't be such a big deal, but to me, it is.

Probably we'll end up using it and to make myself feel better I will transfer the amount of the card from our bank account into Peter's college fund so that I don't feel like I'm taking the gift away from my child.

It's just so stinking annoying though.

That nobody ever listens.



And:

Probably this blog post is a really, really, really, REALLY bad idea.

Every member of my family has this blog address. (Although I'm not sure how often they log in.) I do have a theory, though, that most people actually only look at the pictures and, as usual, ignore whatever it is I ramble on about, which is fine and in this case everything might work out better if nobody ever reads all this.

But one of the reasons I started and I maintain this blog is as a place for me to vent my feelings and my frustrations.

By giving my family members this address I effectively eliminated my ability to vent about them in my posts. Which sort of defeats the purpose because let's face it, family members, even the ones you like, can absolutely drive a person crazy. So today I'm throwing intelligent, logical thought right out the window and venting about them here anyway.



Also:

It's been suggested to me that I NOT express myself in written (or typed) words either in emails or on this blog when I am feeling frustrated. A reader of written (or typed) words can miss the intended inflections, totally miss the point or misinterpret the emotions behind the words. While this is a valid argument I have to completely disagree.

I am MUCH MUCH easier to understand in writing. I express myself far better in writing where I can edit my thoughts and clarify things.

Out loud I suffer from verbal diarrhea. I rarely make any sense. Heck. I can't even stay on topic. (Not that I can stay on topic in this blog either, but at least here I can scroll back up the page to figure out where I was before I veered off course.)

Anyway, like I said, talking about all this on here is a really bad idea.

Grandma, if your reading this, I am grateful for your gift. Thank you. I just wish you would have respected my wishes. I also really wish you had any idea of who your Grand Daughter actually is.

Matt, if you're reading this, thanks for listening and for putting up with my crap and my drama for 12 years. I love you. Please don't bash me over the head with a pillow for posting all this.

Germs

I read some place a long time ago that after you get exposed to germs it usually takes about 10 days to actually show symptoms of the illness. Or maybe somebody told me that. I'm not sure.

So, LAST week at Bible Study we were getting ready to have our little Thanksgiving Feast and they asked for a few of us to go trade places with the Child Care Workers for about 5 minutes so that they could grab some food. I'd been planning on stating to leave Peter in childcare during Bible study starting in January (when he'll be 6 months old and had his Flu and H1N1 vaccinations) so I figured since I was standing around anyway I could go volunteer 5 measly minutes of my time and check out the nursery in the process.

I sort of wish I hadn't.

I've been warned about Church Nurseries. I'm not sure what kind of standards they are held to, as far as cleaning toys and adult to child ratios, but seeing as the only child care facilities I've really ever been exposed to are those run by the military which therefore have very strict regulations I was a little shocked by what I saw there.

The child care at church is divided into 2 rooms, for children under and above 2 years of age accordingly. I naturally went to the babies where I found two lovely and patient women with something like 20 small children running amok around them in a tiny room that was probably just over 12 feet by 12 feet.

Now, please don't get me wrong, all of these children were very sweet. I recognized about half of them as children of my girlfriends. But as I rolled in there, parking my baby, in his stroller in the corner, it was like Attack of the Germy-Snot-Nosed, Coughing, Crusty Face Yet Strangely Angel Eyed Children!!

And probably about 60% of those Germy-Snot-Nosed, Coughing, Crusty Faced Angel Eyed Children wanted nothing more in the universe at that moment then to meet my son. The descended on Peter with a great deal of excitement. They talked to him. They patted him. The held his hand. They looked and played with his toys. They pulled at his shoes. They ran their fingers through his hair. They pulled at his pacifier. One sweet little child stuck her finger RIGHT UP HIS NOSE.

I tried very hard to let them be. Sure, there were 12 or so odd toddlers raging a friendly attack of love and curiosity on my child who was strapped into his stroller and powerless to escape or even really defend himself... but there were also 8 other babies who needed my attention. My friends child was attempting to the scale the wall trying to retrieve his backpack since he'd seen grown ups enter the room and naturally assumed it was time for him to go home. Another little girl managed to take a head first flying leap directly into the wooden shelf.

Ugh!

An image kept flashing in my brain of the humongous, well staffed, and spacious FANTASTIC baby nursery at the Church in San Diego that we attending briefly last year. I know it can be better. I know that there is another way.

And, all judgement aside, I don't know if I will ever be able to leave my child in there.

Which could pose a problem for me attending Bible Study as he gets older...

And I possibly have another child.

After I left, I scrubbed myself and the boy down with disinfecting wipes to try to chase away the germs. But I knew it was probably too late. Another child's finger went IN his nose after all.

So anyway, back to my original point, which is that all of that this visit occurred on November 24. (Happy Belated Birthday Julianne... I think. I get all the Thanksgiving week Birthdays confused, because there are about a million of them.)

But November 24 just happens to have been 10 days ago.

And yesterday I noticed I'm starting to get a sore throat and uncomfortable pressure in my sinuses. Matt said the same thing.

Peter, can't really tell us how he's feeling but spent nearly the entire day yesterday eating or sleeping or crying to me that he needed to be doing one of those again. His nose is ever so slightly snotty and he has this occasional wheezy little cough when he sleeps. The "best" part is his voice has gone horse and its just pathetic enough to break my heart.

Last night he woke up to cry for his lost pacifier around 10:30 and I could barely hear him through the monitor because even though he was yelling with all his little strength.

It breaks my heart.

It's just so pathetic.

As far as Baby's first colds go, this is not too bad. He doesn't even have a fever.

But still.

Stupid nursery.

Catching Up

So, November is supposed to be National Blogging Month or something like that. Who decided this I don't know, but apparently to celebrate you're supposed to post on your blog (if you have one) every day in November. I think there's a contest and prizes or something. I don't really know actually, because I didn't enter.

What I did do is made a personal challenge to myself to try to post a blog each of the 30 days last month. It was part of my new efforts to create personal discipline for myself. It went along with my efforts to maintain a steady bath and bedtime routine for Peter and trying to stay home more frequently. Because I am not generally a very disciplined, routined person. But children, most of the time, do better with routines and discipline. So I'm challenging myself, to try to be more of what my son needs.

Anyway.

So I was doing pretty good. I posted stuff every day for 28 days in a row. Maybe not good or interesting stuff, but daily stuff none the less. And I was proud of myself.

But then, just 2 days shy of my own, self-imposed goal, I let it all fall apart. On Sunday, I posted nothing. Which is really ridiculous because I had the pictures all ready to go. But, I just never posted them.

And of course once I missed Sunday, I just decided to skip Monday as well because it didn't matter anyway.

Sorry 'bout that.

Then again, I do have the pictures ready. So let me catch you up.

Sunday
After Mass there was a luncheon and Advent workshop for the church members to enjoy fellowship, food and make crafts for the Advent season. Knowing that I wanted to attend I'd signed Matt up to work one of the craft tables so that he couldn't try to drag me out of there.
I'm nice that way.

So Matt helped families build little wooden Jessie Trees while I made crafts, stuffed my face with food, took pictures and hung out with my girlfriends. Mostly, we all sat at one end of the Fellowship Hall and passed around each others' babies and, when given the chance each and every kid took the opportunity to crap all over themselves when they got into my hands.

Apparently I'm spectacular that way. I'm, like, "poop-spirational."

Which is actually a bit of an improvement, since before I was a Mommy myself babies mostly just threw up on me. Poop, gross though it may be, is usually (mostly) contained and is a lot better than projectile spew.

Anyway, here is Peter, looking up at me, amidst the chaos, probably wondering what was going on, from his stroller.


And Matt was absolutely the cutest thing ever helping all those children and families with their wooden trees (just don't tell him I said that.)



Monday

I spent the better part of the day, babysitting my girlfriend's 10 week old son since she is technically active duty and technically her maternity leave is over so technically she's supposed to be doing office-type work each day until she can technically re-enroll in classes and technically there is not yet a space for her baby at the CDC.

All that to say that I've had her son for a grand total of something like 5 hours over the week and a half since she "went back to work" because she's managed to work it out that she doesn't have to go back in again until after the Holidays.

In case your wondering, yes it was actually sort of an adventure taking care of my own 5 month old son and her 10 week old for all 5 of those hours none the less. This is particularly true since her child absolutely loves to cry and can scream bloody murder with a lot more vigor than my own child has ever yet to ever manage. Seriously. That little dude can turn his whole head purple with the effort of it all. But, I hope sometime (possibly soon-ish) to have another child (if I might be so blessed) so I figure its good practice for me.

Peter, mostly, did well sharing his Mommy with our little visitor. He rolled around on the floor and played ending up in positions like these below, which to me just have "Future Trouble Maker who swears he isn't Doing Anything Wrong" written all over them.

That evening, since my son has had so very much trouble sleeping at night, lately, I decided to try giving him a little rice cereal to possibly help fill his tummy before bedtime.

I didn't want to put it in a bottle. He's old enough, in my opinion, to try giving it to him with a spoon. And, in my opinion, if he doesn't take it very well with a spoon, then I figure he isn't ready for it at all.

So first we sat him in his high chair and bibbed him up.

Then we gave him a few tastes.

I'm not really sure how it went, since, I've never done this before and had no clue what to expect.

Initially, he seemed to take each spoonful and let it sit in his mouth for awhile and then let most, if not all of it, ooze back out and down his chin. Maybe he'd mush the liquidy mixture around in his mouth a bit in the process. Sometime he stuck his tongue out.

So then daddy had a try:

Don't get all impressed. Yes, those two look like naturals, but Matt was hardly more successful than I, despite adding his own chorus of inspirational "Num num num num num!" sounds.

Eventually I tried letting him (Peter, not Matt) play with spoon for a bit to get used to it. When he threw it at me I tried feeding him some more and eventually, when I started leaving the spoon loosely in his mouth for a long moments he'd sort of slurp on it a little and I could hear a few audible gulping sounds. Then the rest of the liquid oozed out of of mouth and down his chin again.

So, yea. Thus endeth my baby's first attempt at food.

Afterward, while playing before bed Matt seemed intent to check and see if the cereal would stay down.

It did. And its a good thing too, or else this next picture might have had a very different ending.

But really.... how sweet is that?

And, it should be noted that Peter was his normal often-waking self until about midnight last night, after which time he slept THROUGH until about 6:30.

Yeah!

Yes, I know it that is only six hours. Yes, I know that last night he managed to achieve at 5 months of age what he was doing without fail when he was only 2 months old. But I don't care. I got a lot of sleep last night and I'm excited!

Which bring me to today....

Tuesday

Matt came upstairs with the baby a little before 8. I would have been angry at him for the "before" part if I hadn't just had almost 8 glorious hours of uninterrupted sleep and my chest wasn't on the verge of a lactation eruption.

While I started, painfully, to feed the kiddo Matt happily showed me some picture of his own which he'd taken earlier in the morning.

Apparently Peter was trying to grab at the coffee cup, so Matt checked that it was empty and handed it to him. Peter immediately did this (which isn't too surprising, because he pretty much does this to anything you hand him.)

Except that that picture is actually the second photo my husband snapped.

His first attempt came out like this:

Which, while actually is only Peter squinting at the bright light of the flash is much funnier if you look at like he's really jonesing for his morning cup of java and giggle at how thoroughly he is mine and Matt's son. :)

Our son, who, incidentally, is 5 months old today.

And what a big awesome, healthy, wonderful boy he is at that!

But can someone please tell me how this is even possible? How can that little boy upstairs sleeping have been alive for 5 whole months already? And how is it that I've only known that little face for just 5 short months? And wasn't it just the 4th of July and we were nervously strapping him into his car seat for the first time to bring him home? How can I even be sitting here typing this, under the lights of my Christmas tree?

Where the heck has the time gone?!?!?!

Okay, seriously, I need to change the subject, because if I think about this much longer I think I might suffer a panic attack and start to cry.

So, where was I?

Right, today.

When Matt came home Peter was in his Pack and Play wearing nothing but a diaper as I was recovering from the absolutely overwhelmingly humongous amount of crap I had just finished cleaning up off my child. Seriously. There aren't even words. But to give you a general idea, let me just use two....

arm pits.

Yep.

The mess made it all the way up under his arms.

G-R-O-S-S is all I have to say about that.

At some point later we decided that we were going to go walk the dog and then go out and do some Christmas shopping. This meant that I was first probably going to need to put some clothes on my son, lest he be out in the 50 degree weather in his diaper alone. The trouble was I didn't have any of his socks near by, so instead I decided he should wear some of his Dad's.

If nothing else, Peter seemed to think it was funny.

Eventually, some proper baby socks and shoes were located and the baby was bundled up and we were off to do our shopping.

I just never get tired of looking at him when he wears his little bear suit. It brings out the blue in his eyes. :)

After shopping, Peter had his dinner, followed by more rice cereal, which was met with similar results. Then it was bath time.

Matt decided to really let him soak for a bit since he'd basically bathed in his poop earlier and my little water baby held true to form with his love of the tub and pretty much just hung out for awhile. Lately, he's learned to push himself up onto the top of the tub's built-in ledge which is supposed to keep him sitting upright. Now he can "float" on his back while balancing on top of that little ledge like this:

And before you start panicking he is absolutely supervised every moment while doing this and is in no real danger anyway since his head is on the back of the tub and couldn't possible get any deeper into the water.

The thing that I think is really amazing is if you compare this photo to that of his first-ever bath back in July. It can be found at the bottom of this post. Forget how different he looks.... just look at the difference in his size. Wow.

I think I'm going to start to cry again. All over his homecoming outfit, which I dug out this evening to compare and it looked like doll baby's clothes to me.

So with that ,I'll leave you with just one more shot....

Because eating orange-whale-strainer-toys in the tub is a great way to end any day.... at least according to Peter.

Brain Lapse

I had something clever and interesting to write about this evening. HAD being the key word there. Past tense. As in, I lost it putting my baby to bed. Apparently, whatever it was that I'd been planning on telling you all about all day decided to fall out of my head while Peter cried and whined and fussed in this evening's installment of the "I don't want to go to bed" show staring my stubborn son. Now where on EARTH could he have picked up stubborn? Sheesh! It's like a battle of mules up there between him and I sometimes and Matt just stands by to play referee.

Anyway, I've been sitting here staring at the blank white box where I'm supposed to type my posts for the better part of 15 minutes and an entire turkey sandwich and still I'm not remembering what it was.

Sorry folks.

Black Friday

You should all be proud of me... I stayed in my house ALL day today. I didn't even go out to walk the dog (on account of it was cold and rainy so Matt went without us.)

If you know anything about me, you'd know that this is a substantial feat for me for a couple of reasons. First of all I L-O-V-E to shop, so it is sort of strange for me to miss the "biggest shopping" day of the year. Not that I've ever been much of a Black Friday madwoman since most of the really really good sales start at stupidly early hours and I just don't do early mornings if I can help it, but I have been known to visit the mall in the afternoon for the start of the holiday shopping season after Thanksgiving. I think my staying home might be an indication of just how lame the shopping opportunities are in this town.

Also, I can go stir crazy very very quickly staying in my own house all day. Seriously. I find a stupid reason to leave my house and run errands almost every day. But sometimes I worry that it makes Peter cranky getting drug around with me all the time. So I'm working on it... the staying home more frequently thing. I'm hoping to start staying home ALL day (besides walking the dog) a minimum of 2 days a week. It's a goal. A lame one maybe, but it's mine.

So anyway, the fact that I was home all day yesterday for the holiday and then I stayed home all day today AND missed all the shopping mayhem seems kind of news worthy to me.

But, the odd part is, Peter seems to be more fussy than usual lately... so maybe he's like his Mama and needs to get out as well.

Giving Thanks

When we first moved to Monterey and were surprised to find small herds of deer frequently wandering down the sidewalk in our neighborhood a friend warned me to be on the lookout for wild turkeys.

I thought she was kidding.

But, then I started going to church over at what used to be Fort Ord and there is a little flock of them that frequent the church lawn. Since its Thanksgiving, here is a picture of some of them taken about a month ago after services.

Let us all hope and pray that they all made it safely through this season, as it is arguably perhaps the most dangerous time of year for their species.

And also because they frequently walk across the roads. Very. Very. Very. Slowly.

In other news, I discovered back at Halloween that I am apparently one of those parents who will, in fact, waste money on an outfit that my child will wear only once. Not to be outdone, um, by myself, this meant that when I saw the "Baby's First Thanksgiving" outfits at Babies R Us, well, I just had to have one for my child. And, for the record, I am remembering on this day, to be thankful that I am able, financially, to be a little frivolous on occasions like this.

And since he will only really ever wear this adorable outfit once, I naturally had to take about 10 billion pictures of him wearing it. (As if I, of all people, EVER need an excuse to take MORE photos.)

Anyway, here is a random sampling:

For some reason, the bib kept ending up turned around like a cape and that pleased the boy a great deal.

Except maybe when he started to see purple spots or something from too much of the flash from my camera. Then he started looking at me like this:

Not to worry though. I just started taking picture of everything else.

We ended up with a lot of guests today. :) We were eleven people total, counting the baby. This is actually one of the best parts, in my opinion, about holidays in the military. That is, there are always a lot of people who are a long way from loved ones who want to get together and celebrate. In the past we've hosted a few times, we've been the guest a few times and we've even spent a few holidays on board the ships. While its a bit odd, at first, being away from family and those traditions, there is something special to be said for the tradition of military people and families coming together to make special memories even when far from wherever their homes might originally be.

So here are some more photos of our celebration:

One of our guests, also named Matt, "introduces" Peter to his younger son, Asher. They see each other each week at church, but let's face it, during social hour there are donuts involved and we can't be sure the boys notice anything besides all the sugar.

Peter spent the meal time playing in his high chair, even though he's not ready to enjoy any of the feast himself:

Everyone (except me of course, because I'm taking the picture,) settling down to eat:

At the back table there is the other Matt, his wife Elissa and their two boys, Isaac and Asher.

At the front table: Peter is behind my Matt, who's next to our friend Melissa. Across from my Matt is Mark, who's next to his girlfriend Nicole and at the "head" of the table is Mark's little brother Chris.

Not that you care.

So let me move on...

Here's one of just our little family:

This is what I am MOST thankful for. I am very blessed in this life overall, and I know that. But I love having my own family. I feel like it's what I've been longing for forever. I LOVE my husband. Today is actually the 7 year anniversary of when we eloped. My husband was the original answer to my prayers. But now, all these years later, I feel so truly blessed that God allowed us to have our son. I LOVE my son. These two boys are my everything.

Today for some reason, aside from a healthy supply of milk and an occasional clean diaper, Peter desired nothing more than to be able to blow raspberries properly himself. He was bubbling spit accordingly all afternoon in his attempts to do it. Here he is watching his Daddy demonstrate the proper technique:

This next one is totally random, but it makes me laugh. After everyone left and the dust settled Matt finally dug into the pies. The dog, meanwhile, held true to form by begging for his share and Peter watched quietly in complete awe of his beloved furry friend:

Here I am shortly before bed and bath time, snuggling my little man:

And finally, one pooped little turkey after a long, fun filled day:

Happy Thanksgiving everyone and God bless!

Dirty Deeds

I realize that I don't talk about our cats very often. Especially since the baby was born, we don't see them all that often and they tend to keep to themselves unless they are hungry and its 4:00 in the morning.

So let me sum them up for you to refresh your memory:

We have 2 beautiful Long Haired Flame Point Kitties that we adopted from a shelter in Georgia.

KC is about a week older than his "brother." He has very thick, plush fur that he has real difficulty keeping clean (especially on his back end,) and crossed eyes. He's obsessed with his food and is fat enough to prove it. He purrs loud enough to shake the whole house when he wants attention. Generally speaking, he's also an asshole. He fights with the dog ALL THE TIME (probably because before the dog, he used to beg for our leftovers,) he beats up on the other cat and even when he comes to you for petting he will randomly swipe at your hand or bite you mid-pet. Finally he's dumb as a rock and he frequently shuts doors behind himself and locks himself into and out of rooms he wants to be in which will be the point of this story in a minute when I get to it.

Chase on the other hand is smaller and very skinny, probably because he doesn't get his fair share of the food. His fur is thinner and shaggier and his tail is about 4 inches longer than it really needs to be. He's very needy and demands huge amounts of love and affection and petting to satisfy him. He hates the dog but prefers to swipe at him from a table as he runs by over any actual confrontation. He's obsessive with his cleanliness, is always grooming himself and will attempt to bury anything he finds on the floor that he feels shouldn't be there. Usually this means he's trying to bury a mess the dog or KC made but he's not specific and I've seen him trying to bury my shoes many times.

So then this morning...

Last night sometime, without us knowing it, the door to the downstairs bathroom (and therefore the litter box) was closed meaning neither kitty could get in to do his business.

Matt first discovered a stinky pile by the back door. (YUCK!) Naturally, he blamed the dog. (That poor dog.)

A while later Matt found a puddle in the middle of the kitchen rug (double yuck) but still he did not realize about the bathroom door.

Finally then, Matt heard a small commotion coming from the dining room near the dog food. When he went to investigate, this is what he found:

Chase, apparently could not hold it any longer and had left his own stinky pile next to the dog's food dish. He had then pulled a large amount of the dog's kibble out of the bowl and attempted to use it to bury his mess.

That's right you read that right.

That cat buried his crap in dog food because he couldn't find anything else to bury it with.



I'm not sure whether to be disgusted or proud.

Chewy

Well, he's either really trying to cut some teeth or else he is part hamster.

The Rock

So this evening while Matt and I were walking the dog we stopped at Matt's friend Jake's house to harass him some. Jake was out in his garage fiddling with his bicycle which has recently become his primary method of transportation to and from school since he killed the engine in his very cool vintage late-model Chevy truck by failing to notice when coolant somehow started leaking into the cylinders.

For the record, I don't know what any of that means, but it sounds bad as far as engines are concerned. And also, its an interesting story because you really gotta hand it to those Marine pilots like Jake because when they outright kill the engines in their very cool vintage Chevy trucks they don't just bite the bullet and take it to a local repair shop. No, instead, they beg a few of their buddies, who by the nature of their jobs in the military have varying levels of experience working on airplane and tank engines and stuff, to help them, as he attempts to do to all the work himself as he REPLACES the ENTIRE engine.

Wow, is all I'm saying.

Anyway, Jake also happens to be the proud Papa of a boisterous bunch of 7 children. Yes you read that right. He has 1-2-3-4-5-6-SEVEN kids. (Wow again, I know.) Because of this, Matt and I often ask him and his AMAZING, awe-inspiring wife, parenting questions when we have some.


So today as we were all standing there chatting about his truck and stuff I looked down at my son in his stroller and noticed that he had somehow managed to pull down his silly fishy hat so that it was eating his entire head and face. Seriously. Where there was supposed to be my baby's face there was just a fleece fish turning slowly and confusedly from side to side. As I jumped to unmask my son, Jake noticed Peter, who he hadn't seen in a while and expressed some surprise at how much the boy has grown. This led naturally to a short conversation on my feeding him and what his own wife has done with all of their children.


After that I asked Jake to name all his children, because other than the oldest two I can never, for the life of me, remember what any of them are called. Then Jake struggled to remember them all before he commented that "Peter" is such a good strong name.

"THE ROCK!" he said and shook his fist powerfully, referencing the meaning of my son's name.

Later, as Matt and I were headed home I started joking that I was going to give up the jokes about Peter's healthy, solid stature leading to his future as a football player in favor of his ending up as a wrestler as per that guy Dwayne Johnson who used to go by "The Rock."

Matt suggested we teach him to say "CAN YOU SMELL WHAT THE ROCK IS COOKING?!?" because apparently that is what The Rock used to say.

I honestly have no idea about what The Rock used to say, but mostly all Peter's got cooking these days are some very nasty diapers and I'm not suggesting anybody should willingly smell those.


But, I am intrigued by the wrestling idea though because this week Peter has perfected the art of hurling himself out of his Father's arms and into mine as soon as I come within reach. He's a strong one that child and Matt is nearly powerless to hold him back.

Also, last week Peter and I were playing on the floor and before long he'd pin me down like this:


Just like a little wrestler if I do say so myself.


Now, if only the WWE wasn't just so very very stupid.

Oh Those Baby Blues

So this is Peter making his "Please let me out of my carseat Mommy. Don't you love me Mommy?" face.

I'm just hoping he never learns to use it as a "Please buy me that toy I want Mommy. Don't you love me Mommy?" face because if he does, my bank account is doomed.

The Rivalry

In honor of the big Ohio State vs. Michigan game today (GO BUCKEYES!!) I would like to share with all of you a picture, which I feel, pretty much sums up my feelings toward the whole state of Michigan:



Which is to say that I don't give a damn for it.
:)

In the off chance that you are not well-versed in all things baby, this is Peter's Diaper Genie. In our house, all poopie diapers go straight to M*ch*g*n, which, in my opinion, is probably a whole lot MORE than they deserve.

Since I haven't featured the crazy dog in awhile...

Today as we were driving home from getting our holiday family pictures taken, it started to rain. As it turns out, Brutus has a REAL problem with windshield wipers.

Apparently, they are quite evil.

More Fun under the Coffee Table

After I posted the pictures of Peter's neverending adventures involving rolling under the coffee table his Gramma expressed some sadness that I didn't have video for her. Well, now that a few more weeks have gone by and my little Rolling Stone is getting much faster in his explorations, I do have one.
Enjoy!

Also, for the life of me I just could not understand why he thought it was so stinking cool under there. My husband, however, informed me that he figured it out this morning after joining our boy under the table.
The answer, in fact, is quite simple.... it echoes.
And as you will probably remember from your own childhood, echoes are just plain fun.
PS... Please excuse my Darth Vader style breathing in the background of that video. Sheesh!

Long Day

Let me just start by saying that things with the sleeping, or rather the lack there of did NOT improve after my post last night which meant that today seemed to drag on like an eternity as I was just so darn tired.

So, needless to say when Matt f-i-n-a-l-l-y returned home to me this afternoon I practically threw our son at him so that I could lay on the florr in a fetal position for awhile and rub my tired eyes. When I opened them, what I saw was this:

 My boys. :) Kind of made this day worth it to see them all together like that.

(Also, kudos to Brutus for not flipping out since his baby is apparently attempting to pull the fur off his tail.)

A while later we found ourselves at Island's, one of my preferred restaurants, owing to their enormous fatty burgers and their large baskets of delicious fatty fries that always seem to hit the spot when I've reached my wits end. (As an example, we ate there the night before Peter was born, because, if you remember, I was so very over the whole idea of being pregnant at the time.)

On the way there Peter had himself a full blown earth-shattering end of the world style meltdown. Then at the restaurant Daddy changed him and eventually he stopped being so upset that he actually ate a little and he was okay again, except that it was really his bed time and his bed he was not in. I figured he spends so much time fighting with me not to go to sleep about this time every night that for this one evening he could just hang with us for awhile longer and try to pretend that he was not, in fact, really really sleepy.

See?  That child isn't sleepy at all!

How come I got the unsleepy child?

Ok, I just need to say that I'm beginning to seriously wonder if I'll ever get any sleep again.

We're absolutely moving in the WRONG direction as far as the night time feedings are concerned, with the added bonus of his not wanting to go back to sleep afterward.

He's currently waking up, on average, 4-6 times between 7:30 pm when he goes down and morning, which I consider to be 6:30 am at the absolute earliest but would really rather prefer it to be much later.

For the record, I try not to feed him each time he wakes up. I try not to even pick him up. I just give him his pacifier and his little bunny and I try to soothe him. This works maybe half the time and if it is going to work at all you can completly tell by about 45 seconds into it.

Those other times he screams and hollers like his little world is ending until I pick him up and feed him, change him, rock him, etc... and when I am all done I put him gently down into his crib and he snaps awake and just refuses to go back to sleep usually for at least another 30-45 minutes. Sometimes longer.

In fact I'm only writing this now to give myself something do for a few moments while I wait to see if he's actually down this time or if there is soon going to be more screaming.

So far, so good.

Oh, and he doesn't really nap either, unless I'm holding him and everything is very still and pretty quiet. Heaven forbid I should sneeze or something.

A couple 30 minute naps are the absolute best I can hope for.

How much longer can this go on?

By that, I mean me. How much longer can I go on like this?