The Munchies

Yesterday Miss A.J. was 8 months old and tomorrow her older brother will be 25 months old.  I know that now he has had his second birthday I am supposed to stop counting in months, but that's just going to be really hard for me.  Alright?

I had this whole post planned in my brain about the two of them.  I was going to go on and on about how this month my daughter has not only learned to do push ups, but to sit herself up and that now she sometimes army crawls across the room.  She's also trying to pull herself up but so far has only managed to get onto her knees.  Then again she has gotten onto her feet with her hands on the ground too (similarly to how a little kid might walk like a bear or something) so who knows, she might be standing before I know it.

Additionally, I couldn't wait to write about how yesterday she finally cut her very first tooth and so to celebrate tonight she got to have her very own bowl of big girl non-baby-food food, meaning she had what we had, which was spaghetti and meatballs (and by the way how much fun was it trying to cut that up into teeny tiny pieces) but oh how she loved it and it really was worth the effort.

Then I was going to go on about Peter.  How he always has scabs on his kness and grass stains everywhere and he some how manages to always have dirt under his finger and toe nails even though I scrub them clean every night as if the stuff is breeding under there each night while he sleeps.

And how he's talking.  Like, I'd been told to expect a verbal explosion from him around his second birthday but really I wasn't fully prepared.  He calls his sister "da beebee" (the baby) or "J.J." which I find to be very cute especially when he's asking me if she's "dasweep?" (asleep) or when he tries so stop her crying by hissing "Sssss!" (Shh) at her while he tries to give her a pacifier.  He will, it seems, repeat almost anything somebody else says and if you pay attention he generates new "unprompted" words every day.  He makes fairly complex requests a thousand times a day like "Da! Peas, Out. Baseball!"  (Mom, Please can we go  outside to play baseball.) or "Da Watsh, Meeeemo?"  (Can I/Do you to want to watch Finding Nemo?)  Nemo is his new favorite movie and he wants "da watsh" it over and over all day every day it seems.  Sometimes he even play acts part of it out... like today in the tub when he connected his little whale bath toy with the whale in the movie and then he was totally moaning to it like Dori in the movie when she speaks whale.  When he isn't watching "Memo" I love to let him watch The Smurfs because this was a huge favorite of mine as a child and I'm not even kidding he loves it too and calls them the "Smoopfs."

Listening to him talk just makes me happy.

I think my kids in general just have that affect on me... you know, most of the time.

Except A.J. is seriously never going to sleep through the night.  Ever.  I wonder if this is going to make finding her a room mate when she goes off to college difficult.

And also... in the interest of full disclosure, let me just be honest.  They do a lot of things that horrify me.  That make me scream.  That make me want to throw up because they are so gross and well, you get the drift.

Like this evening for example when something happened that derailed my entire thought process for this post.

It was getting near to bath time.  The kids were in the playroom and I went to fill the tub and use the restroom myself.  Then when I came out, I found my daughter, well....

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I mean, honestly....

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ew.

She's totally happy and completely proud of herself!

Please don't call CPS on me.  I was less than 15 feet away, I was just in the bathroom, with the door open getting the tub ready.  And I had to pee.  Come on Mommy's out there, you have got to back me on this, sometimes we just need to go pee!!!  When I left her she was NO WHERE NEAR the dog's food.  I mean, sure I knew she was becoming mobile but, but...  she did it so fast and I can't believe she actually pulled the whole dish out like that and was happily chowing down on its contents.

Sorry the photos are blurry.  It works out in your favor because you can't see the slobbery bits of kibble she'd drooled out all over her onsie.  Obviously, I hastily snapped a few quick shots to share between digging out the kibbles she kept happily shoving in her mouth before I removed her from the situation entirely.  In fact, if the camera hadn't literally already been sitting right there, on the desk under which the dog food usually lives, I wouldn't have even stopped to take these photos, because, obviously, GAG.  But I really did NEED the photographic evidence to share with her father and also, maybe, to harrass her with someday when she's older.  Maybe if she ever becomes a teenager that says "Ew, that's, like, totally gross" about everything. 

Plus, I've been on this whole kick about complete HONESTY lately, and how much of a hypocrite would that make me if I didn't share this?

Anyway, go ahead and put another mark in the Parenting FAIL tally for me.

So. Gross.

A Distraction

Do you ever hear something, like a piece of news or whatever, and at the time you don't think much about it but then that piece of information stews in your brain for a few hours and before you know it you are entirely too worked up over it?

Well, this sort of thing happens to me all the time.

Anyway, when I left my teaching job in southern California a little over 2 years ago I knew that the district's music program was in trouble.  But they'd saved it up until that point, and I was moving out of the area, at the time I thought perhaps for good, and was starting my new career as a Family CEO and I guess I just assumed the program I had help to reestablish in the district would find a way to live on.

Except apparently not.

One of the other gals who taught music with me there put something up on Facebook last night about how she's so happy to have been hired to teach First Grade next year since her previous position had been cut. 

By morning this information had me all kinds of worked up.  So then I wrote something on Facebook about it, which, along with the associated replies and comments has me even more buzzing and I really just need to stop thinking about it.

Because I guess the truth is that maybe in another year or so, when my babies were a bit older I guess I'd sort of hoped to go back to work.  And although I knew there was no guarantee, I think my brain just naively went on assuming that when in doubt that district might have something for me again.

So much for that. 

Right now, the desire for me to start spewing SAVE THE MUSIC campaign slogans is practically overwhelming but don't worry I'll refrain. 

Instead, since my blood pressure STILL seems to be needlessly elevated over this very-late breaking news, I am going to distract myself with something else.

The writer of one of the blogs I read extended a little challenge to her readers to answer the interview questions from Inside the Actors Studio.  Why?  I have no idea other than it seems she was a Drama major in college and perhaps she finds herself capable of getting just as worked up over things related to The Arts as I do.  You can see the original post here.

Anyway here we go:

1. What is your favorite word?
FABULOUS!

It's just so fun to say... and also there's a possibility I hung out with a few too many gay boys in college.

2. What is your least favorite word?
DEPLOYMENT

3. What turns you on?
Chocolate Covered Strawberries!! 

4. What turns you off?
Lying

5. What sound do you love?
My children laughing.  (Unless it's Peter doing that evil laugh that means he's getting into trouble again.)

6. What sound do you hate?
Lately, my car alarm.  Because if it goes off than it most likely means the dumb kids in the park across the street have hit my van with a ball AGAIN and that one, um, exceptionally "kind" neighbor up the street will probably have something to say about it.

7. What is your favorite curse word?
All of them?  That's terrible isn't it? Forgive me but I've been swearing for a really long time and I started doing it proficiently at way too young of an age.  I think I probably use DAMMIT most often, so I'll go with that.  Also, it really amuses me when my husband says POOP as a curse word.  Like seriously honey, that's all you've got? 

(These answers are way too long aren't they?)

8. What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
Well, my first inclination would be to put "musician" but, technically, since teaching music is the career I've put on hold for my current position as a Mama I'll go with something else.  Hmmmm... I think I'd like to be a personal trainer.  That's random probably but I LOVE going to the gym and really just wish I had more motivation to get me there and more time to spend there.  Plus, wouldn't it be cool to be the next Jillian Michaels?

9. What profession would you not like to do?
Accountant.  Math and I don't mix well.

10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
Put the past behind you, this is where the real fun begins.

What about you?  If you want, keep this going and share your answers to the 10 questions too in the comments, or where ever...

Doing as I say?

The other day after lunch I left A.J. with some toys in the playroom while I took Peter to sit on the potty.

A few minutes later after that whole mess I returned to her and found that she was now not smelling so good herself.

As I changed her diaper I found myself trying to decide if this was just a weird coincidence or whether she heard me saying "Please try to poop now" and "Push!" to her brother and if she was just trying to follow directions.

My Life as a Peanut

How much do you love Charlie Brown?

When I was a little girl, the Charlie Brown comics, AKA "Peanuts" were my absolutely favorite thing to read.  We didn't get the paper but our local library carried a large collection of the strip's compilation books and once I'd discovered this treasure, I rarely had any real interest in reading anything else.

I can't really explain why, but I just loved it. Charles Schultz so perfectly wrote (and drew) about childhood and as I child I remember relating so well to the lives of those little children. 

Trust me when I say that I got plenty of criticism for my chosen reading material.  

So anyway, I've been thinking about my old friend Charlie Brown a lot lately. 

I've been thinking about his personality and how, really, nobody seems to like him or understand him most of the time, even though, theoretically, he is every body's beloved friend.

That is just how I feel.

The thing with Charlie Brown was his insecurities.  His friends called him wishy-washy because he had trouble making up his mind.  He worried too much about everything and in particular about the opinions of people around him.

Exactly like I do.

Meanwhile, on the flip side, there was Lucy.  The bad girl that everybody loves.  She was crabby and loud and bossy and just, well, mean to the little round headed kid.  Wrong or right though, Lucy stuck to her guns.  She would probably go to her grave standing by something she did and nobody was ever going to convince her she was wrong.. 

So as things in my life have been brewing up for the storm, so to speak, I've been trying to decide which is worse: 

Is it better to be overly humble and always doubt yourself and care too much about what other people think?

or

Is it preferable to stick to your ways with confidence and defend yourself no matter what?

I mean, sure, ideally we would all fall somewhere in between the two right?

Except we don't.

And yes, I happen to be basically the first one these days, and maybe it's making me miserable, but there was a time a few years ago when I'd done a lot of soul searching and I thought I felt pretty confident in who I was supposed to be as a person and taking that approach to life just got me called a bitch by everybody and basically got me all but disowned by the few remaining members of my biological family who still deigned to speak to me sometimes.

And also, there are people who, in my opinion really should have seen what was coming with my mother, and my childhood and all of that drama, and probably could have prevented it or in the very least have rescued my brother and I from it, but they didn't.  To this very day those people, who, I'm sorry, absolutely COULD have and SHOULD have done something to help us didn't and yet they stand firmly behind what they did or did not do at the time.  Period.  They refuse to admit any mistakes.  Oh and by the way, Jen, you really need to let it all go.  Whatever. 

But people who can't admit they screwed up, ever, just drive me crazy.

I don't know the answer really.

But like I said, and getting back to my original point about the Peanuts.  I think the beauty of those children is that each of their little personalities represent different parts of what live inside all of us.

Hmm.  Here they all are:

Image respectfully borrowed from characters page on the Official Peanuts website.

Starting in the center with our star, working clockwise, we have Charlie Brown, followed by Lucy, Linus, Woodstock, Pig Pen, Snoopy, Schroeder, Sally, Franklin, Marci and Peppermint Patty.

Let's take a moment to look at how I relate to each of them individually:

Charlie Brown- I already discussed how I suffer from the same major personality flaw as him but also he wears yellow nearly all the time (yellow is my favorite color) and everybody insists on calling him by both his first and last name all the time no matter what..  As a chick named "Jennifer" along with the majority of every other little girl born in the late 1970s and early 1980s for many years there I was known simply as "JenBuckshaw" (one word,) end of discussion, just like our little friend there with the zig zaggy strip on his shirt.

Lucy- As I said, she has a STRONG personality and nobody is going to convince her she's wrong.  I think it might be a natural part of human instinct for people to inherently be this way in some regards.  We naturally all WANT to be right even if it is absolutely infuriating to the people around us.

Linus- arguably the wisest of the little Peanuts children.  He's book smart, he manages to survive life with his mean older sister but he can relate to Charlie Brown because he also suffers from insecurities.  He however, has (wisely) latched on to his beloved blanket which will in his eyes, somehow manage to protect him from the cruel world.  Love it!  Somebody find me a blanket!!  Also, I firmly beleive that if you claim not to have any insecurities you're just kidding yourself.

Woodstock- nobody ever understands what he's talking about.  I feel like that a lot.  Because I am physically incapable of expressing myself concisely most people tend to tune me out when I'm talking or stop reading long before I ever reach my point.  (Are you still reading this?  I'm impressed!)

Schroeder- this boy loves music and he loves Beethoven.  I too love music and love Beethoven, obviously, but also the way he has found something he loves (as well as something he does not love, in Lucy, despite all her efforts to convince him otherwise) and he sticks with it.  I think he represents the drive within all of us to be good at something.

Pig Pen- He's, well, a mess.  And really, he doesn't care.  All of us have our messes and we all privately believe that our messes are okay.  Dirt doesn't really hurt after all, does it?  Except well, dealing with other people's messes for too long can get really old really fast...

Snoopy-  How great is that dog?  I love that he's so wrapped up in his world that he's never even bothered to learn his owner's proper name.  I love that so long as the Round Headed Kid keeps him fed he spends his days lost in his imagination.  He's a dog, he's a pro athlete, he's a pilot, he's a vulture.  He loves to dance.  He hates the cat next door.  He's like the child that we all still wish we still were. 

Sally- the younger sister.  My brother compared me to her often.  She's smaller.  She's less mature.  She never seems to fully understand what's going on.  She loves who she loves and that is just that.  I felt like this a lot as a kid and I still do some days.

Franklin- lets face it, he's the token black kid.  And because his skin is a different color he sticks out, even though in everything else he is just like everybody else.  Now sure I'm as white as the rest of the Peanuts gang, but I've certainly felt like I stuck out, for lots of different reasons, lots of different times in my life.  Probably we all have.

Marci- is, if nothing else, loyal and respectful.  She will follow Peppermint Patty in anything, piping faithful "Sirs" at her along the way.  We all have something we're loyal to, perhaps even to a fault, just like our friend in the glasses.

Peppermint Patty- literally, she's the girl from across town that doesn't quite fit in.  She's a tom boy, she's bad at school, she's bad at most things actually (besides baseball,) but she just keeps keeping on regardless.  She's almost clueless to how and why she keeps going wrong.   She can't even get her friend "Chuck's" name right.  I think she is the character I related to the most when I was a kid.  Most of my friends from school lived across town in another neighborhood, I was a bit of a tom boy and I was never as good at school as my brother.  But I just kept going, clueless as I was, because, well, that's what you do.

So yeah.

I guess I am the MOST like Charlie Brown, but there's a lot of Lucy and Sally and Peppermint Patty and all the rest of them in me too.  Nobody is just one thing. 

How about you?

Drama

So... I sort of let loose on SIL and BIL this evening.

This after their daughter put crystal light pink lemonade mix in the dog's water dish, which just so happens is the second time this week that she's been caught feeding the dog something inappropriate (last time it was little candies.) I found her hiding from me in her room and after she admitted it I told her to take a bath to get ready for bed and stay in her room for the rest of the night to play until bed. It was 6:30 in the evening and for a social butterfly like my little niece you would have thought I asked her to let me saw her arm off.

Anyway, when all this went down SIL was at work.  When she came home she got the story from one of my nephews and another version of it from her daughter (although thankfully she stuck with my punishment) and eventually she mentioned it to me as well.  She was mostly just getting clarification I think and suggested maybe I pursue another conversation in the future about the dog and what it is and is not appropriate to feed him when I sort of just lost it and four months worth of drama started to come spilling out of me.

Ordinarily I avoid blogging about the drama that goes one here, related to living in this house, with these people, but in this case BIL mentioned that he reads my blog anyway and he already knew I was unhappy (despite my best efforts to mask, um, most of it on the web) and also I mention this in particularly now because...

SERIOUSLY?

Who puts lemonade mix in the dog's water dish?

6 year old little girls that's who.

Anyway, none of that is really my intended point tonight though.  What I am thinking about actually is how in this situation, no matter how much I might be unhappy here, um... most of the time.... it's not their fault.

It's not them, it's me.

That's always suggested to be one of the worst break up lines ever but tonight, as we were going over so much of why this isn't working in my eyes I just kept thinking about how no matter what anyone has or has not done with this situation... it's honestly not their fault, it's mine.

They're just going along living their lives and most of the time trying to fit me into it.  (Or in the very least work around me.)

Me on the other hand, I've let everything bother me.

So it really isn't them. 

It's just me.

Oversensitive, unhappy, emotionally charged, perpetually anxious me.

Great.

A Special Sunday.

Yesterday was a VERY big day for us.  Though it start off simply enough, with glorious sunshine...

and warm weather and the sun was shining so we went swimming with Maureen!

And did I mention that the sun was shining?


My new absolutely favorite picture of A.J.

 I first saw this swimsuit at Gymboree in January when A.J. was only a few weeks old.  I sort of rolled my eyes at it to begin with but then when I got home I kept thinking about how cute it was.  I checked the store again a few days later, but of course they didn't have it in the size she'd be needing this summer.  This is where my obsession began.  For a couple weeks I checked their website nearly every few hours, almost every time I had a moment to get online until they came back in stock then I ordered one IMMEDIATELY.

And since the suit was so cute I went ahead and got the hat too...  and a little cover up... and sandals to match (not that she ever wears shoes.)

She only gets to have one first swimsuit... and this is hers.  I think it was well worth the price and the effort.

Anyway...

Which is better-- the smile on Peter's face, the way A.J. is trying to bug her brother or the fact that I'm using my baby to cover up my blobby bits?

 After swimming we went up and hung around with Maureen in her apartment.

Peter particularly enjoyed peering over the edge of her loft and chucking things down onto the waiting couch below.

A short time later we were watching tv and he was playing with this toy taxi cab that Maureen has from when she lived in NYC when I noticed him scooting off into a corner and start to make his "pushing" face.

I laughed a little to my friend and asked him "Oh are you pooping?"

He froze and got all embarrassed and went and hid in her kitchen, presumable for more privacy but I followed him and asked him again what he was doing.  He danced a round a little and said "pah-eee" a few times and went into the  bathroom.  There he began searching, presumably for his little potty (like we have at home,) looking behind the shower curtain and in the hamper and stuff.
I explained that there wasn't one here but if he wanted he could sit on the big potty and try.  He said yes so I stripped off his bottoms and sat him there without expecting much.  Then he flexed his belly though and looked seriously at me and...

well... #2.

Honestly, I screamed (in horror, just ask Maureen)  but then I remembered that this was a big deal so I cheered and Maureen cheered too (from the other room.)

Then there was some trouble getting all of it cleaned up because he immediately wanted down and it
got sort of everywhere so THAT was fun, but in the end I was so happy because he did it.

Maureen gave him a cookie to celebrate.

My big boy!

I'm so proud.

If you're wondering, I'm still not really applying pressure for him to do it again, aside from occassionally asking him if he wants to do it again.  Some people, who apparently have opinions about everything I do and how it is wrong, have implied that I should be more forceful with this, but WHATEVER, the little dude just turned 2.  I'm letting him lead me on this and he's doing fine.  I'm in no hurry so why on Earth would I push him?

Bubbles

Because there was a time when that was his name...

Sidewalk Chalk

(Apparently he's right handed now.)



Drop and Give me 10 Baby!

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

oh...

you're still going.... um, eleven?

aw, I see what you're doing now, you're sitting yourself up now too.

Your Daddy was just asking me if you'd figured out how to do that yet....

Way to go BIG GIRL!

Our own version of Looney Tunes

If Peter could actually speak so clearly....


Hugo the Abominable Snowman Peter: [holding Daffy my cat Chase, whose shirt fur makes him look like a rabbit] Oh, what a cute little pink bunny rabbit!

[cradling Daffy smothering Chase]

Hugo the Abominable Snowman Peter: Just what I always wanted. My own little bunny rabbit. I will name him George, and I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him...

Daffy Duck Chase: I'm not a bunny rabbit meeeeerrrrow....

Hugo the Abominable Snowman Peter: ...and pat him and pet him and...


Daffy Duck Chase: You're hurting me. Put me down, please.  meeeeeeeeeeew!!!

Hugo the Abominable Snowman Peter: ...and rub him and caress him and...


Daffy Duck Chase: [shouts] I ain't no bunny rabbit! Reeeaaaaaaaawlgggghhhh!

and then

Mommy:  [after grabbing the camera and quickly snapping a photo] Son, will you please get off the cat!!!

*Classic original dialogue respectfully adapted from the Looney Tunes episode "The Abominable Snow Rabbit" (1961.)

Travelling Dog

So, this evening I was finally able to make reservations to fly my dog to Ohio where he will be spending the next few months with my in laws.  This was a very difficult decision and is all actually a really long story which I can sum up in about 4 points:

1.  Although nobody has ever been so bold as to actually say so, it is painfully obvious to me that Brutus is not exactly welcome in this house.
2.  Brutus likes to spend most of his time outside and the weather here refuses to cooperate. 
3.  I do not have the time to devote to him that he deserves.  He's certainly not being neglected but I really do wish there was more of me left over at the end of the day to shower love onto him. 
4. I'll be in Ohio for nearly all of September too... and by the time I pay to kennel him for 4 weeks, I might as well pay to fly him.

He'll hopefully be leaving in a few weeks and will stay there with my Mother and Father-in-law who are old and clearly have nothing better to do then take care of my dog.

I'm kidding. SHE, in the very least, isn't ALL THAT old (yet) but also has a job to go to most days.  And they have a dog of their own also....  :)

Anyway the plan is to leave Brutus there with them until such time as the insanity ends I find myself safely "settled" at our next duty station... which has been sworn to us by the Detailer will be San Diego, but I guess we'll see.  When, that time will be... whether a few month from now or whenever Matt finally gets home, I don't know. 

Trust me when I tell you I hate doing this.

But I'm trying to do what is best in the long run for my dog.

Now, I need you all to pray together with me now for the next two weeks that this heat wave that seems to be boiling every single part of the country EXCEPT the one I live in (high today was only about 65) to knock it off.  He's supposed to take a red eye, which should guarantee cooler temperatures, but I NEED it to be below 85 degrees that night in order for them to transport him.

Otherwise, what with me getting him there and ensuring somebody is able to pick him up, I just don't know what I'm going to do.

So anyway, tonight I was talking to Matt for a bit on Skype about all of this.  He was trying to help me not to feel heartbroken for sending my dog away and was reminding me why this is best for him right now. 

And then, we started wondering how difficult it was going to be to get him back to us and which airports we'd end up using and all of that sort of thing and then suddenly my husband randomly goes, "Does he accumulate airline miles?"

Seriously?  I nearly fell out of my chair laughing.  Not that for what this is COSTING me we shouldn't be able to earn miles, but I just never would have thought of such a thing. 

I guess I'll have to ask if I can enroll him in their frequent flyer program.

To be Big

I'm sure I'm not the first person to struggle with watching my son grow up.  No doubt mothers, since the beginning of time, have struggled with that odd mixture of pride and heartbreaking loss as they witness the slow transformation of their precious babies into children and then eventually into men and women.

I want to protect Peter.  He only gets a short time to be a kid.  He'll have the whole rest of his life to be an adult.  I want him to enjoy being a child.  I want to nurture his interests and growth but spare him from knowing the harsh realities of this world for as long as possible.

But it's impossible really. 

He's going to go out there and discover how much of this world really does suck despite my efforts.

I think my first realization of this came early.  He was still very small, younger than A.J. is now, and I remember taking him with me shopping and watching his sweet little face light up and smile at strangers, fully expecting to receive a greeting and a smile in return each and every time.  Of course since he was a baby, most people returned the favor.  But then there was our cashier that day.  She was older and seemed tired and like maybe she was having a bad day, or perhaps even a bad life.  I don't know, but she was completely immune to his charms.  I don't know if she even noticed him there with me because she seemed to ignore him completely.

How could she ignore his sweet little face?  That charming little smile?  Why couldn't she just give him a little smirk?

I remember at the time sort of wanting to grab her and shake her and make her notice him.  (I didn't.) Make her do him the little favor of returning his grin that day because I couldn't stand the thought that he was already going to start learning that not everyone in the world is kind.

Of course that was a long time ago now.  He's learned that lesson for sure already.  Children in childcare have been mean to him.  Adults and his parents probably have too.  He's learned that he can't always have what he wants or do what he wants to do.  And that he can't have fun all the time.  He's learned that sometimes things hurt and he has even learned how to be mean himself.

Everyday he grows older and more of his innocence is lost.

He wants so bad to be big.

At the park across the street from our house there is a little gang of middle school aged boys that seem to be there perpetually.  Sometimes they play basketball and baseball and run races and seem like nice enough children.  But at their age they walk that fine line where trouble is always tempting them as they attempt to define themselves so they also frequently blow up things with fireworks they've managed to obtain, and fight and swear and talk about things I'd really prefer not to hear about.  Seriously boys, I don't need to hear about your bathroom humor.  I was that age once, not too terribly long ago and trust me when I say ONCE was enough. 

Middle school boys, I believe are inherently at least two thirds evil.  It's their age, they literally can't help it.

And if you're wondering, I'm pretty sure if they were girls, they'd be worse.

So anyway yesterday after walking Brutus, Peter and I stopped at the park so he could climb on the big toy and go down the slide a few times just like we do every day.  I was sort of extra interested because there was another Mom there with a small girl who seemed to be around my son's age and I thought maybe they could play together.

The middle school crowd of boys was out on the grass running around.

I chatted with the mother and Peter soon went to run around in the grass with the little girl.  For a moment they were both a blur of blond hair and smiles and giggles and bare feet on that grass and it was beautiful.

It was funny because as we watched them run the mom was afraid her daughter wouldn't stop at the street and would just "keep going."  She seemed surprised that I was fairly sure Peter wouldn't, but then again, he was a little older and immediately on the other side of the street, I assured her, was our house.  So really how much trouble could he get in to?  Crossing the street by himself not withstanding....

Soon one of the older boys called for a race and all of his friends lined up on the sidewalk to wait for the call of "ready set go!" 

And then Peter left the little girl behind and went and lined up with them.  For a moment he studied them all and then took up a little starting lunge stance just like them and everything.  When they all ran, so did he, trailing behind of course, but going just as fast as his little legs could carry him.  Like maybe he thought he really could catch up to all of them and win. 

My heart broke a little.

Why does he have to go and think he's so big?

The boys ran a few more races and Peter ran with them.  Kudos to those kids, who did largely just ignore him, but at least they were still nice enough to just let him be and allow him to play along.

And then when they all tired of racing they stumbled off to their next adventure and Peter stood there and called "Bye bye!" to them and waved. 

I think one or two of them humored him and returned the farewell over their shoulders as they went.  I'm still trying to decide if those ones must have little brothers, if they were acutely aware of me standing there or if, maybe, they really were that nice. 

Literally, I had to hold back tears.  He really thinks they're his friends.

So after our walk today we started at the basketball court.  Peter scampered around the basketball court after some high school aged kids that are related to friends of my nephews for awhile and then headed over to the big toy where the middle school crowd was.

He smiled and yelled greetings at them while he climbed aboard and they went on about their business of swearing too much, mocking one another and laughing as one of  them tried and failed repeatedly to ride his skateboard down the slide.  Peter climbed around among them for awhile until, probably, they got tired of him being there and the unwanted adult supervision he came with, standing there in the form of  ME, so they all left again. 

And of course Peter smiled and waved and told them all "Bye Bye" again completely unaware that they were leaving just to get away from him.

*sigh*

Don't get me wrong.  I don't want to keep my kid in a bubble.  I know he's going to get older and grow up eventually.  He'll learn what friendship really is and that there are always going to be children who won't be your friends no matter how nice you are to them.  I fully acknowledge the fact that at some point his peers will become more important to him than I am and that someday a girl will win his heart and take over his little world.  I can deal with the fact that along the way he'll get hurt and be heartbroken and he'll learn the true reality of just how much so much of this world sucks.

But I'm not ready for it yet.

He's only two.  He still wears diapers and obsessively wants a pacifier and loves his bunny immeasurably.

Then again he scaled the chain-ladder up the side of the play structure with absolutely no assistance from me yesterday... something he definitely couldn't have done when we moved here 4 months ago.  He's growing up to spite me.

I just don't want him to learn that those big kids aren't really his friends.  Not yet, it's too soon for a lesson like that.

I don't want to see the look of disappointment on his face when they leave him behind.

When he realizes he isn't yet big.

Why can't he just be happy to be as his now?

Why can't we all just live in the moment and enjoy whatever it is we're up to now instead of always trying to move on and hurry toward whatever comes next?


Hmmm...

I should really listen to my own advice sometimes.

Silly Celebration

When I mentioned to my SIL this morning that it was out "big" 100th day she was all for the idea of having a little party.  My oldest nephew left yesterday for a week long Boy Scout camp and BIL flew out today for travel so why not embrace this little opportunity to make what would have otherwise just been a pretty ordinary Monday something special?

She picked up a bucket of KFC for dinner and even got one of their little cakes.

She dug some old candles out which were perfect for the occassion... a little tank and a star.  :)

 She said that when we get to 200 days we can have two stars.

Peter helped me blow out the candles.

And apparently, at KFC even the desserts are "finger licking good."

And I'll just never get tired of the messy baby vs. cake pictures.

100th Day

You know how back when you were in kindergarten and you were learning to count you counted the days of school until you got to 100?  And then you had a big party?

No?

Well, actually, I remember counting the days (the teacher had a roll of register tape with the numbers written on it that she kept unrolling around the top of the room as the year went on) but I don't remember having a party either BUT when I used to teach most of the younger classrooms at the schools I worked at did.  This was particularly fun the year of the fires because we missed a week of school but it didn't count against us (meaning we would owed make up days) because it was a natural disaster so nobody could seem to decide exactly when that 100th day was.

Anyway....

so TODAY is our 100th day of this deployment. 

Oh.  Boy.

I sort of feel like somebody has given me an extra large pizza to eat and I am like contractually obligated to finish it and I have only just eaten the first 3 of 12 slices and I'm SO SO full and I don't want to keep eating but I just have to.

I asked SIL if we could have a party.  (You know because we haven't had enough birthdays around here lately.)  She said okay.  Hmmm... maybe I need to make a pie.

Ok, who am I kidding, maybe I just need to buy a pie.

(Oooh pie.....)

Anyway, 100 down, 295 (ish) to go.

Nap Time Follies

So, you know, it's nap time.

A.J., having recently been cut down to only one nap a day to help her sleep better at night, is out cold in the pack and play in my bedroom.  I'm playing with my label maker attempting to better organize the toys in the playroom and Peter is in his crib in his room doing everything possible besides falling asleep.  I let him go on for awhile since I know he sometimes takes a while to wind down.

Then he starts to make some grunting noises.

Anxious to avoid another finger painting episode, I decide to go check on him.  It might be that he's just straining to reach something outside of his crib, or it might be something a lot stinkier. 

As I walk down the hall towards the room I can hear him sort of bouncing around in there.  And then as I open the door, I kid you not, he hurls himself down flat on his bed and flings his little blanket over his legs.  By the time I am peering down at him over the side rails his eyes are closed and he's making little fake snoring noises.

Where the heck does he learn this nonsense?

I mean, honestly, is it, like, instinctual that a kid who's supposed to be sleeping will pretend to be asleep when their parents come to look in on them?

I check on him and he's fine and smells well enough so I kiss him farewell again, remind him not to play in his diaper but to call me if he goes poo and tell him to go to sleep.

I leave the room and go back to my bins and my label maker and the disaster area of toys everywhere.  I've barely regained my focus when I hear him again.

"Poot!  Poot!"

...a pause and then...

"POOT!  Mammmmmma!  Poot.  I go poooooot!"

Seriously?  I think now one of 3 things is happening.

1.  I interrupted him before and now he really has gone "poot" and needs changed.
2.  He wants to go "poot" and is hoping I'll take him to the potty to do so.
or
3.  He's one hell of a lot smarter than his mother and has figured out that after scrubbing poop off every inch of his crib I will coming running at the first mention of the stuff. 

I go to him again and he still smells like roses.  Okay, well, actually, no. He smells more like peanut butter and cheese and fruit snacks since that is what he ate for lunch but more importantly than the specifics, he still did not smell like "poot."

So, since apparently today I am playing the role of the completely naive idiot parent I fall into his little trap and ask him if he wants to go sit on the potty.

Obviously he smiles widely up at me and says "Yesh!"  He'll do anything to get out of his bed after all.

So he goes and he sits.  And he sits and he sits.  Nothing happens except eventually he insists that I too sit on my potty.  I do, fully clothed mind you, just to humor him and maybe even inspire him a bit.

Nothing happens some more.

Okay and don't judge me too harshly for this next bit because then I sort of leaned over a bit and grunted like maybe I too was going in the potty.

He leaned over and grunted back.

This went on for awhile, but still nothing happened.

So now he's back in his bed, still definitively NOT sleeping.  I turned the monitor down so that he won't wake his sister and I am silently praying in the back of mind while I type this that there isn't a mess in there when I do finally go get him up in a few more hours because honestly, I just can't let him lure me back in there for nothing one more time.

Good Clean Fun?

This is going to save us gallons of water each evening and also some valuable time in the evenings when I'm struggling to get the kids to bed.  Trust me when I say that I've been eagerly awaiting the time when she is big enough to sit steadily in the tub with him.  Of course, he does still struggle to listen and share and be nice sometimes so in some ways, bathing them together is going to be much more difficult them doing it seperately.

Like, for example, let's just say if a small well aimed rubber hippo just happened to go flying and magically managed to bonk the baby right in the middle of her forehead.

Obviously.

Oh. The. Horror.

I can't remember if I've posted about this before, but Peter has been going through that really charming phase where he alternates between telling me immediately if his diaper is stinky so I will change him or playing in it.  I know this is normal, and a positive step towards his some day (soon hopefully) going #2 on the potty (because he's realizing that it's in there) but it's just SO gross. 

I mean, in his defense, thankfully, he's only ever done it when he's in his bed so at least the messes have been contained.

But still.

It was really bad and happening practically every single day about a month ago and after several little talks about how playing with poo is NOT okay it hadn't happened in awhile.

Of course then there was yesterday. 

My new game plan lately is too avoid leaving the house as much as is humanly possible.  The weather has been nice enough for us to play in the backyard and take the dog for short walks so there is less of an urgent feeling in me to get out and do stuff just to get out of the house.  Also, staying home means we stick to a pretty defined schedule and the kids get good naps.  Some days so do I.  :)

Unfortunately, I can only avoid needing to go out for so long... the kids need diapers and food after all.

So yesterday we took a big trip to Babies R Us to stock up since they were having a big sale.  By the time we were done it was well into our normal lunch time so we went to Red Robin to eat and then busted a move to get back home and get the kids in bed for their afternoon naps before that magical time period where they're tired passed us by completely.

Except, Peter had himself a cup of juice in the car and 1 cup of water along with 2 more cups of juice at the restaurant so his diaper was bursting by the time I got him home.  Anxious to keep him half asleep as he was I quickly changed him and then whisked him into his bed, leaving his jeans off since it was warm in his room.

Boy was that a mistake.

When I heard him awake and start talking to himself over the monitor a few hours later he was being pretty quiet.  From whatever he was saying it didn't seem like anything urgent was going on in there so I left him be for awhile to see if he might go back to sleep for awhile longer.

That was another mistake.

It quickly occurred to me that he was almost being TOO quiet.  He has plenty of things to occupy him in his crib when he wakes up but normally they don't occupy him quite so well.  It was almost like he'd found himself a project....

Boy had he ever.

I cropped *most* of the HORRIBLE diaper out of the shot.  I left just enough so you'd get the general idea, and lucky for you most of the mess blends into the wood of the crib.

 Duh.  Obviously he'd had like 2 gallons of apple juice.  We all know what that will do to a kid's diaper.

And I can't say I blame him for taking it off.  I wouldn't have wanted to sit in that either.

I'm still trying to decide if the smears everywhere were, like, artistic impressionistic finger painting with his new found all organic home made paints or if he was just trying to get it off his hands.

He took a shower WITH his shirt still on and the bunny got to stay too because seriously, they needed the cleansing as thoroughly as he did.  That poor bunny seriously may never be the same though.  Oh, and if this seems gross to you, well, just take a moment and imagine what is underneath the overhang of his tshirt.  Obviously I'm not going to post a picture of his private area but since that is where the diaper BEGAN... just... wow. 

I do need to add, that while my poor husband has been very sick himself lately with a terrible stomach bug, and I feel badly for him having to work so hard and feel so bad while being so far from home and the caring arms of his wife... IT'S JUST NOT RIGHT THAT HE'S MISSING OUT ON ALL THIS FUN!

This definitely needs to be a included in that book I'm going to write someday on all the horrific parts of parenting that nobody likes to talk about.  I think the title will be "This Definitely wasn't in the Parenting Handbook!!!!!" and this chapter will be called "And I really just wanted to run away screaming."

My Birthday

We met with my friend Maureen for lunch.

She made me cupcakes.  They were chocolate and coffee flavor.  YUM!

Before we left for the restaurant she took Peter down by their little lake to show him the Canadian Geese.

She smartly didn't let him get too close.

Although this young one didn't seem to get the memo on that and came over to check us out.

Then we went to a lovely Italian place with outdoor seating that overlooks the Sound.

Peter had spaghetti.  So did his face.  And his hands.  And his hat and shirt and shorts and shoes.  And his chair.  And the floor....  I bet the bus boy was just thrilled when we left.

After lunch we ran a few errands then went back to check out Maureen's community pool.  The unheated pool water, naturally, was FRIGID.  Seriously.  Think Ice. 

Peter alternated between making me climb into the polar waters of the pool so he could jump in off the side and I could catch him and then scurrying off to the hot tub to sit on the step with me and warm up. 

A.J. sat with Maureen and just watched.  And tried to eat the camera.

That night after we got home, SIL had made a big dinner and obtained a chocolate and vanilla layered Oreo cake.

Peter approved of her choice.

So did A.J.

It was a good day.

Another Year Older

I have this one memory that haunts me on my birthdays now that I am a mother.

I'm pretty little... 4 maybe 5.  It's my mother's birthday, February 1.  (The adult in me who remembers this thinks now that it must have been her 30th, based on how old I was, which might actually explain some of what the big deal was.)  Because on this particular birthday my mother had been fighting with my father.  Things have quieted down for the time being and they've each gone to their separate corners to, um, be separated.  She is in the kitchen crying... probably a little too overly dramatically... over the cake she is making.  It's chocolate and she's frosting it with home made icing she's tinted pink.  My brother and I don't really know what she's upset about, but we know it's her birthday and suppose that she's mad she has to make her own cake. 

I don't think that cake ever got eaten.  I'm fairly certain it got thrown in the garbage when the next round of their fighting began.

And, also, the logical part of my adult mind, who tends to think my mother often acted rather selfishly and picked fights over everything also remembers hearing a story about how early in their marriage he did try to make her a cake one year.  Something had gone wonky with the recipe and it had puffed up like a big round basketball so my father had iced it a bright shade of orange accordingly.  Seeing as she always made fun of him for that cake, I can't imagine why she would have been so upset to have to make her own.

Except I guess if he hadn't always had been so oblivious and clueless he might have asked a friend to make her one.  Or ordered her one from the store. 

Or maybe it wasn't really about the cake at all, but she was upset that he hadn't made the effort to get her a special gift.

Maybe there wasn't any money for a gift.

I don't know.

What I DO know is this: 

My parents got married very young because they wanted to prove something.  They had children, um, less than intentionally a few years later, and I can say that definitively they each have told me on multiple occasions once I'd grown up that they either should have waited a lot longer to have kids or perhaps wished that they'd never had them at all.  Because they both had a lot of things they never got around to doing....

(Neat.  That's something every child likes to hear from their folks.)

I certainly can't speak for my husband but let me just assure everyone out there that I absolutely wanted both of my children when God gave them to me and I have no regrets at all about the sacrifices I had/have to make for them. 

So, today is my 33rd birthday.  And quite honestly I couldn't really care less.

Matt did, send a very nice box of chocolate covered strawberries and a bath gift set.  So maybe since my husband has always "made the effort" I can't really understand why my mother was so upset back then.

Or maybe she was just full of regret on her 30th birthday and it wasn't really about the gifts or the cake that day at all.

But it's not like that for me.

I don't have a lot of regrets.

Two years and ten days ago the Lord blessed me and made me a Mom.   And at that moment, this life of "mine" was no longer all about me or any of the things I might want.

SIL has asked me at least a dozen times what I want for my birthday, or in the very least what I want for dinner.  It's becoming more and more clear to me that SIL comes from a "happy home" and really will never understand a lot of what makes me tick.

Because about this birthday:  we can just skip it if you want.  I'll go ahead and be a year older but I don't need the ado.

All of the things I want for these days aren't possible and can't be wrapped up in a box.  Can you bring my husband home?  Can you get my baby to sleep through the night?  Can you potty train my toddler?  Can you get us our official (funded) orders to our next duty station so I can start figuring out the next phase of my life?

No?

Well than thank you anyway, I'm just fine. 

I have the two most precious gifts already.

And God just reminded me of that this evening.

Which explains why I am still up, at a quarter past 1 in the morning.

A.J. is quite possible one of the worst sleepers, well, ever.  It's a long, long story really, only bits and pieces of which have appeared on this blog.  Every time I think it's getting better, it gets worse again.  So tonight she woke up just as I was wanting to go to sleep at 11 pm.

And she cried and she drank a bottle and she cried and she burped and she cried and she farted and she cried and I rocked her and she cried and I changed her.... etc etc etc.  Rinse and Repeat.

She woke her brother up too.  And he cried too.

And just so help me if I hear from my nephews in the morning that she woke them up too.  I know I'm a guest in this house and all, but do you want to know what the ABSOLUTE last thing you want to hear about first thing in the morning after being up for hours trying to calm a screaming baby....

Because really, it's ridiculous.

Why can't or won't she just sleeeeeep?

Anyway.  By the time I got her back down (about 30-45 minutes ago) I was all kinds of worked up and I knew it was going to take me a good while to settle down enough to start sleeping myself.  I pulled out my laptop and started blog hopping from Blogher.  This is something I do often at night to help me wind down.  I find a lot of good advice and humor on those other Mommy Blogs and also, when I read about some of the hardships/tragedies that other mom's are having to endure, well, it makes me and my deployed spouse/horrible sleeper seem not QUITE so bad after all.

So tonight I just happened to jump over to a blog written by a mother of several children one of whom I came to find out was a toddler who was recently killed in a tragic accident where a dresser fell over on him.

The blog post I originally stumbled upon was on his clothing and things and how she was struggling with letting them go and giving them away for good use, etc, when they are in large part all she has left of him. 

Obviously I became intrigued and just kept clicking back until I found the story of what happened.

And as I read my eyes filled with tears.

This poor mother lost her son to such a random, almost silly accident.  Her description of that day is just... wow...  heartbreaking.

What the heck is MY problem?

Why am I being such a big old grump about my babies not sleeping?  AT LEAST I still have my babies!!!!!

For some reason, as I was reading that, Peter started to cry again in his bed.

I went to him and I calmed him down and I stroked his hair and I just watched him for awhile after he fell back asleep.  I love him so very truly much.

I came back to my room and stared down at sweet A.J. clutching her bunny to her cheek and sleeping soundly (for now) in the pack and play beside my bed.  My heart melted.

I have my babies.

I don't know exactly how or why God made sure that I stumbled upon this little reality check this evening but I'm very grateful.

So today, even though this birthday finds me in some less than stellar circumstances I'm not going to sit around and pout like my mother. 

I may not have my husband for my birthday... or many of the other THINGS I desire... but I have my babies.

Forget the cake and presents, my kids are all I need.
Happy birthday to me.