The Burger King

Last week sometime, randomly, amidst all the nausea and the dry heaving I had a hankering for a whopper so I went and got myself one.

Matt of course saw the Burger King bag in the trash when he got home and took it upon himself to promptly become thoroughly offended that I hadn't brought him something.

So naturally this meant that we needed to go to Burger King again today so that he could have his own craving fixed.  I didn't really care, I was just hungry enough to eat ANYTHING at the time, although, thinking about it now, this means I have eaten TWO Junior Whoppers with Cheese and no onions in the last 5 days and that just can not be healthy. 

Oh well.

While at Burger King Peter did not get to eat.  He did, however, get a crown.  :)

Daddy was thrilled by this... can't you tell?

Also, in a pregnancy induced moment of stupidity I'd left the diaper bag at home and therefore had NO toys for my son to play with while he sat and watched us eat.  Not to worry though, Daddy provided him with a straw royal scepter to play with.

He looks like such a big boy in his crown.  Except, well, I keep trying to tell him that if he wants to be a big boy, the pacifier is really going to need to start staying at home, preferably in his crib.

Kitty Cuts

As some of you may remember, last year, just before we moved to Monterey and I had Peter, I took my fat-cat KC to the vet to be shaved because I was completely over the idea of trying to bath him and cut the dirt and poop and knots out of his fur because he tends not to groom himself. 

At the time, I felt sort of bad for him because he looked so completely foolish but looking back on it now, I think it might have been one of the best pet-decisions I ever made.  Sure, my kitty looked pretty stupid for about 3 months, BUT since then he's also led a nearly knotted/matted clump free fur existance and his poopy cling-ons have been quite minimal.

Last week though, I found a clump.

And so, since both cats were going into the vet this weekend for shots anyway, Matt and I decided to ask if they could just go ahead and shave him again.

Here we have KC (on the left) and Chase (on the right) all crated up and ready to go.  (KC is very unhappy about this, as you can see by his "angry kitty ears."  Also, and some what unrelated, his eyes seem to be more crossed than ever in this picture.)

Matt took them, because it was Peter's nap time and somebody needed to stay home with the boy.  He came home about 45 minutes later with Chase alone.  KC had been left behind so he could be sedated and then groomed. 

We went back for him at 3:30.

Heeheeheeheeehee!

He looks a little less silly than last time (because this time they actually tappered the edgesaround his tail and paws) but I still can't stop laughing at him. 

Also, it's been pretty chilly here and I really think I might need to go find him a sweater....

Mother's of Sons

Something has been bugging me for awhile.

How often do you hear a wife complaining about her Mother-in-Law?

Pretty often is my guess, even if, like me, you are lucky enough to have a pretty solid relationship with yours.

That being said, I realize that no relationship is ever going to be perfect (and I've certainly wanted to scream in regards to my own M.I.L many times, sorry Terri.)

However, if you're a mother, of a son at any age, please do yourself a favor and don't kid yourself about it. Don't say to yourself "Well certainly I've never been that bad!"

Trust me. You have. At some time, or another, at least.

Or you will. When the time comes.

As the mother of the groom, it is YOUR job to get along with your son's wife. Because the minute he chooses to marry her, SHE WINS. Hands down. Your opinion will come in second (at best) and that's how it HAS TO BE.

As many of my friends have been struggling to get along with their own M.I.L.s and their husbands are all in AGONY because they feel torn and put in the middle, between the woman who WAS #1 in their life and the woman who IS NOW #1 in their life, just one thing keeps coming to my mind.

Scripture.

Genesis 2:24
For this reason a man will LEAVE his father and MOTHER and be UNITED with his wife, and they will become one flesh.

(I added the capitalization for my own emphasis.)

Ladies, Mothers, this sucks! I know. I have a son. I don't want him to leave me, ever, and I've only known him for 10 months.

But as a Christian, it is my duty to raise him up, rightly, so that he can one day be a fantastic husband to some lucky lady.

And before you all start protesting and saying, "But, but... it's not my fault, he chose to marry a horrible woman. She doesn't like me. She's mean...." etc etc, BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Well, it was (or is) your job, as his Mommy, to raise him up so that he picks the right (kind of) woman.

Period.

I feel very, very, very strongly about this.

Now sure, there are the rare few who get along. But, mostly, all around me, woman are at WAR with their M.I.L.'s, although many of them may deny it because they avoid the issues or the pretend and "play nice." But it's still a war. A cold war.

And the battle is taking place in the heart of the son/husband.

I'm telling you ladies, mothers and wife's alike, DON'T TRY TO MAKE HIM CHOOSE A SIDE.

The women need to work it out.

And Moms, if you disagree with me, and you think you can make him choose, and that you'll "win," you're freaking kidding yourself.

The man HAS to pick his wife. It's right there in the Bible. Period.

But making him choose is the wrong thing to do, and might just end up wrecking your son/husband, or his marriage.

Don't believe me?

Wonder where I'm getting my "facts" from?

MY OWN LIFE.

Let me tell you a little story:

Once upon a time a young man and a young woman started dating. The man's mother wasn't happy about the match, but the man paid no mind and eventually the man and the woman went off to college together. They were in looooove. It was them against the world. The man's mother, started fighting to "save" her son from the woman. She pushed him to make career choices and to put off settling down until later. The man was so infuriated at his mother's attempted manipulations that he only fought harder to stay with the woman, and eventually the couple decided to drop out of college and get married. Patience, and logic, and finances and their education could just be damned. Love was going to find a way. The mother was INFURIATED.

The couple were married for several years, and always the mother and the wife were battling each other. Eventually the couple had some children (and I swear to God this is how the story was told to me) in the hopes that some Grandkids might appease the man's mother and everybody could finally, just get along. It worked for a little while. But as the children grew up the man's mother found more things to disapprove about. She didn't like anything her son's wife did, and specifically she disagreed with a lot of the wife's parenting choices. Before long the wife had enough. She told her husband she couldn't take it anymore. Her husband was either going to have to stand up to his mother and defend her, once and for all, or she was going to take her kids and leave him. The man was in AGONY. There was a shotgun and threats of suicide and the cops were called and the children were shipped off to a neighbors for a while.... but when the dust settled... the man chose his wife and his children over his mother and ended up cutting off communication with her entirely. As I understand it, the mother was incensed. How could she lose? This was her son! HER SON. But the man had made up his mind, and rightly, sided with his wife (even if the request she'd made was unreasonable and mean.)

So what happened? Did the man and the woman and their children live happily ever after?

HELL NO.

The forced split of the man from his mother put a tear in the couples relationship. That tear grew and grew for a few years, until eventually the man came to totally resent his wife. Don't get me wrong now, the mother hadn't been the only issue, but she was the FIRST one. The man had an affair. So did the woman.

There was an UGLY divorce.

And at the "end" of the story, the story so far as the man and the woman were concerned, the man went back to his mother and reconciled.

Was his mother happy? No. She wasn't pleased with the broken man who returned to her. A man who had given up his family, in short, to make his mother happy.

The end.

People, what I just gave you was a brief history of my parents' disastorous marriage.

Ladies, I get that you love your sons. But the Bible tells us, SO CLEARLY, that we are going to have to let them go.

But don't despair!! So long as you can be a grown up, swallow some of your pride maybe, and GET ALONG with his wife you can still be a part of his life... a very important part.

And keep in mind, Mothers, as the elder in the situation, it is your job to be the GROWN UP.  Don't play the victim.  Don't fight dirty.  Don't throw around blame.  Think about what Jesus would have done in your situation.

And don't make your son choose.

You're not going to win, and its going to destroy him.

There is a bright side... if you have daughter, well she's practically yours forever. Practically. She's still going to leave you, but
everybody knows women rely on their mother's for advice for everything. (Usually.)

Still, I wouldn't recommend fighting with her husband either, because something tells me.... this whole thing can be a two way street.

And again....

If you haven't yet read my post from yesterday, scroll down and this next bit will make a lot more sense.

Because of course, last night Daddy really wanted to see Spider Baby repeat his climbing performance.

And then this morning, while both of us were sitting there watching (and readying ourselves to catch him) he started climbing back up:

He was hanging onto the window sill by his finger tips and shimmying along sideways over towards the toy box when he heard my camera take the picture. Then he stopped and realized he was in trouble.

And now I am here readying myself perhaps to rearrange the play area.

Spider Baby

This afternoon I was sitting at my desk here in our dining room/play room looking up information on the baby gates we have for a friend. (That friend, incidentally is one of the 2 people who have already heard this story... Sorry Christie, but I hope you like the gate!)

Brutus was outside.

The cats were hiding upstairs some place.

Peter was sitting on the floor, behind me, surrounded by far more toys and books than really any one baby needs, trying to amuse himself. (Normally his ability to amuse himself last about 15 seconds when I get on the computer and then he is at my chair trying to climb up.) He had been sort of zoned out since getting up from his nap though, so I didn't think much of it when he left me in peace on the Internet for a few minutes, practically undisturbed.

But then I heard the blinds in the window behind me rustling.

And I thought to myself, "Gee, that's strange, there aren't any animals around and all the windows in here are too high for Peter to get to the blinds. Maybe he has one of the cords or something."

So I turned around.

And then I had myself a heart attack.

Peter (who's not yet 10 months old) was standing ON TOP of his toy box, reaching for and pulling on the blinds.

I'll admit it, I tried to get the camera, or at least my phone off a nearby table to snap a picture. Unfortunately, as I was trying to get the thing to work with one hand, (while the other hand hovered behind the boy) he lost his balance, waved his arms in a full circle and toppled over background.

Needless to say, I dropped the phone and saved my son.

Once I restarted my heart beating, and calmed my frightened child, I surveyed the situation. The toy box, which measures apx 3 feet wide and 1 1/2 to 2 feet tall) sits against the wall, under the windows. Next to it was (And always is) an enormous Rubbermaid storage bin, which holds the diapers and the wipes, and is about 6 inches shorter than the toy box. In front of that was a small storage bin full of board books which came up just shy of half the height of the diaper bin. Apparently, he'd made himself a little staircase to climb.

Mama's little Engineer.

If it wasn't so terrifying, I might be proud.

If you're wondering, Daddy got a phone call, because I NEEDED to tell somebody about what what had just happened, even it that somebody's phone went to voicemail because he was in class.

But, when Daddy came home, he dubbed the kid "Spider Baby" and asked him to climb up there again.

Thankfully, Peter declined.

Eye Doctor

This afternoon I took Peter for a consult at the Pediatric Opthomologist regarding his perpetually goopy right eye. Aside from the horrendous smell of poo that began emanating from the area of my son's diaper precisely when the Doc called us back, I think it went pretty well.

Basically, the Doctor looked at Peter's eyes, confirmed that the right one is, in fact, goopy and therefore does have a closed tear duct. He said whenever we're comfortable, we can go ahead and schedule the quick surgical procedure to have it opened up at any time.

I will admit to being a bit floored by that actually. Our regular pediatrician tends to be a treat only as a last resort type of Doctor (a fact about which I have mixed feelings) and she had assured me that he would not be even remotely interested in doing the procedure until Peter was AT LEAST 18 months old. In fact, she only agreed to send us for a consult now because around the time Peter will be 18 months old I'm due to be giving birth and might just be too busy to be running around to eye consultation appointments. She feels that there is no reason to treat now when it could still open up on it's own, but to be sure that if treatment does become necessary, to get it done before the baby turns 2 when the "simple" procedure is no longer a valid option.

Anyway, this Doc said I am supposed to talk it over with Peter's Father and decided when (if) to schedule, or how long to wait.

Will do.

Then he did some other measurements and held little lenses up to my baby's eyes and started making more notes in the file.

I asked what on Earth he was doing, and he said that he was checking Peter's vision.

"No kidding?" I said, "You can get his prescription without any of those letter charts and and all that business, just by measuring his eyes?"

"Yup!" He told me. "Any one's prescription could be written just by measuring their eyes, its just not a skill that eye doctors for grown ups need to use because their patients can tell them what they see."

Huh?!

I find this information FASCINATING.

Why?

A few reasons:

1. When I told Matt we would be going to the eye doctor he wondered how on Earth the Doctor would be able to examine our baby.
2. I know of lots of babies who've worn glasses, and always wondered how they figure out their prescriptions.

AND MOST OF ALL:

(and also completely unrelated to anything)

3. I once had a 3 year old student when I was teaching preschool who I would have sworn was far sighted. This particular child was behind her classmates in many areas, including speech and fine motor skills. And, while I am no eye doctor, I noticed on many occasions her squinting at books and papers and she had almost no ability to track an object or finger when it moved slowly on the table in front of her. In conferences I asked her parents if they had ever had her vision checked and they said yes, but that the exam was unsuccessful because their daughter couldn't communicate what she was seeing to the doctor yet. UM? REALLY? Did they take her to a pediatric eye doctor or a just regular one for grown ups... because CLEARLY if they had been to the right kind of doctor they could have gotten an appropriate diagnosis.

MAN!

It's like 6 years later and my heart still aches for that little girl....

...even though if I think about it, by now she'd be like 9 and has probably (hopefully) moved way past any of the issues she had then.

Anyway, enough about that.

I'll keep you posted as to what Matt and I choose to do about the goopy eye and when.

Half Moon

Peter is at one of the unfortunate "between sizes" stages. He's too tall for the 12 months size pants but he's still too skinny for the 18 months. It's the same for diapers. He still fits in the size 3's just fine, but he tends to "overflow" them. The size 4's seem to suit the size of his bladder, but not his waist and hiney.

Poor child. When he gets all in a hurry he literally crawls right out of his pants...

Some day he's going to be angry at me for this photo.

Lawn Mowing

Peter is at that stage where he loves to walk so long as he has something sturdy to hold on to. He pushes his little music table around, and his little push car and small chairs, buckets or really anything else about the right size and weight he that might come across.

He also ALWAYS wants to go outside. This is a bit of a problem since he isn't really big enough yet to do much of the wonderful stuff outside offers, without a lot of help from adults. Not that he cares, he makes a b-line for the door whenever it is opened.

So on Friday afternoon when Matt went out to cut our grass I took Peter out on the porch with me to watch. Except Peter didn't want to just sit idly and watch.... he wanted to eat the grass clippings and crawl after his Papa!!

Then Matt came up with a happy solution: let him "help!"





Luckily, by this time Matt was already most of the way done, because with Peter "helping," I think it might have taken all year to finish.


Matt seemed pretty excited at how well the boy was doing, so he decided he would let him have a try all by himself.

Peter was less than thrilled and definitely wasn't able to go anywhere.


So he naturally did what any teething baby his age would do...

Praise!

What excellent news to wake up to this morning!  God is great!

Update

Sorry I'm sort of a posting slacker lately.  I've been busy and stressed out and have been suffering from a whole lot of "it's not my business so its best not to talk about it" and trying to live by the "if you haven't got anything nice to say don't say anything at all" rule that I am normally a complete failure at obeying.

Anyway... Peter is doing great.  He's into everything and he's so close to walking I can barely stand it.  He cruises all over the living room hanging onto the couches and coffee tables but is just too afraid to venture out away from them with out a hand to hold--  yet!

Matt seems to be doing well.  He has a very reading intense course load this quarter which seems to be treating him pretty well (I haven't found him asleep at his computer yet) but I fear there may be some very lengthy papers in his near future. 

I am also doing well.  I'm not able to get in to see my Doc until the start of the second week of May so I'm just trying to remember to take my vitamins and get as much rest as possible (although Peter the non-napper) often has other plans.  Most of the time I feel fine, just tired.  In the morning once I get out of bed I immediately want to get back in it or else lie on a nice cold tile floor for several hours until the nausea subsides.  It comes and goes and seems to be somewhat related to the eating choices I make, which, let's face it are rarely good ones.

Last week I had the munchies for like 4 days straight.  Munchies are never good because not only do you end up eating a bunch of useless crap, but you usually mix them in disgusting combinations.  As an example, one afternoon last week I polished off the second half of a bag of potato chips and the better part of a container of French Onion Dip.  Needless to say afterward I was very thirsty so for some insane reason I decided to rinse the chips and dip down with a couple large glasses of orange juice.

Ugh.

I mean, yeah for the dose of vitamin C, but that's just not a combination you want swirling around in a hormone ridden stomach.

This week I'm eating less, in general because the nausea is so much worse, but then I get sort of light headed, which is just not really a good thing when I'm chasing after Peter.

So like I said, I need to work on my food choices.

It was a little easier with Peter because I was working and therefore already had an established routine and diet.  Plus the Babies R Us was in the same shopping center as a Souplantation so nearly every weekend Matt would lure me out with the promise of baby shopping and then take me to lunch and make sure I got a good salad and some vegetables in me.

Pretty much 5 minutes after we found out we were expecting again he looked it up, and sadly, the nearest Souplantation to here is in San Jose and that is a good hour drive.  :(

Baby's First Easter

Considering how far we live from "home," Peter has been very spoiled so far and been able to spend both his First Christmas and his First Easter with some of his extended family. 

On Thursday last week, Gramma Terri and Grampa Bob arrived from Ohio. Here they are playing with

Peter and the blue bouncy ball they picked up for him from the drug store. 

 

The next day, they gave him his Easter present which was a Playskool Explore and Grow Push and Ride Car.  He liked the car, and also the box.

On Saturday, Matt's older brother Jeff arrived from Seattle with his wife, Amanda,  and their three kids.

We took all the kids to one of Monterey's more popular attractions, Dennis the Menace Park.  (Apparently the cartoonist for Dennis the Menace is from the area and donated lots of money.)

Here are Peter and I posing by the statue.  Peter was more interested in looking at Dennis than the camera.

We had a great time exploring the playground. 

Then we got a picture of Peter with his cousins and the statue.   I have no idea why Peter is kicking his foot up like that.

After lunch, Peter went down for a nap and the older children dyed Easter Eggs. 

Before long, it was time to eat a quick dinner and get ready for Church.  We had to go to the Saturday evening Easter Vigil Mass because I was being confirmed and receiving my first communion. 

Of course before we left we got a few pictures of everybody all fancy.

(Please try to ignore the fact that half of Jeff's face is hidden, Peter seems bashful and my husband looks rather sinister.)

The one of just the three of us isn't much better, but we were running late.

The Easter Vigil mass starts out by candlelight and Aunt Amanda took these awesome photos of my nephews and neice with their candles. (Thank you for sharing!)

After all the readings, it was time for the Confirmation bit. 

Here is the back of my head during the proceedings.

Here is Father Peter blessing me and tracing the sign of the cross on my forehead.

And here we are being formally introduced as the newest members of the Congregation.

Finally, here I am taking the Blood of Christ for the first time.  (Amanda missed the Body of Christ part)

(Thank you Amanda for all the Confirmation photos.)

The next morning, of course, was Easter Sunday.  Happily, since we'd been to church the night before we were able to take it easy and really enjoy all the surprises left by the Easter Bunny. 

The trouble of course, was keeping Peter out of those surprises until his cousins came over from the hotel.

The first thing he noticed was the eggs all over our back yard, (not that you can really see them in the photo.)

Not long after, he discovered his Easter present from Mommy and Daddy.

A bubble blower!!!

So many BUBBLES!!!!

The cousins arrived soon after, found thier baskets in no time and were soon tearing into them.

And Peter seemed to want to know where his was.

So Mommy helped him to find it, and see what was inside.

The cousins also had a great time doing their Easter Egg scramble. 

Peter really wanted to play, but it was far too muddy outside.  

His cousins sure did well though!

Over all, Peter seemed to have a great first Easter!  He was thrilled to have Gramma and Grampa there, as well as his cousins, but he especially seemed to enjoy playing with his Aunt and Uncle.

Nine Months!

And here we are at the start of another month.

Let me just tell you that the urge to try to be funny and make some sort of April's Fool joke is great, but, alas, I never have been any good at those sort of pranks. 

Peter, my boy, you might be off to a better start, since a few minutes ago when I went into the big closet under the stairs to get my paper cutter you shut the door behind me and then sat in front of it so that I couldn't really get out.  Well, that's what you thought anyway, because you only weigh about 21 pounds so I could easily just sort of gently push on the door until it moved, and you scooted out of the way.

Anyway, in honor of your nine month birthday you tortured Mommy and Daddy with over 3 hours of terror last night.  I think one of those top teeth might be coming through, because, well,  HOLY SCREAMING!!!!   Also, I think maybe you might be starting your "attachment phase" because you were mostly fine so long as one of your parents was holding you but so help us if we tried to put you down.   I'll give you one thing kid, you've got endurance when you want to get your way.

Also, this morning Daddy tells me you stood, unassisted for 5-6 seconds.  I didn't see it though because I was looking at Facebook.  So sorry about that.  Years from now you'll complain to your shrink that your Mama spent too much time looking at Facebook or Blogger and somehow scarred you for life.  Oh how I hope that doesn't turn out to be true, because Mommy has a lot of good friends on Facebook and Blogger that give her advice and support and some days, sorry though she may be to admit it, she's not sure if she would make it with out the internet.  

Except, that the internet went out for nearly a week not too long ago and she survived just fine, so, maybe not.

Oh, dear, I'm having a difficult time staying on point today, which is supposed to be about you.  Wonderfully, miraculous,  little you!!!

Not much new has happend this month.  You stand easier, you can push stuff around to walk, you click your tongue and blow raspberries and occassionally you sleep through the night.  (Very occassionally!) Oh, and you've definitely learned to tell us what you want and don't want.... by screaming.  *sigh*  Heaven help the person who tries to take something away from you (like their keys) or make you eat something you don't want (like beef anything.)

Oh and you absolutely torture the dog.  You pull his fur, you pull his tail, you try, very hard to pull his, um, boy part.  You take his toys.  Yesterday I actually caught you slobbering all over one of his chewy treats (GAG!)  The poor dog.... let's just say he spends a lot of time in the back yard these days.

And I can't help but marvel at how far you've come.  You've been alive OUTSIDE of my body only nearly just as long as you were INSIDE of my body and yet... WOW!  You're becoming such a big boy.

I've decided to give up on thoughts about "WHY" you're in such a hurry to grow up.  I'm not going waste any more of my time looking at other babies around your age who barely roll over or crawl and wonder why I got the kid on the fast track.  As it, turns out, it's going to be a very good thing, probably, that you're on the fast track.

Because, if all continues to goes well, and God continues to pour unbelievable blessings on us... my dear sweet amazing boy, in 9 more months, you're going to be a big brother.