Parent Goggles

Can I be completely horrible for a moment?

No?

Well, stop reading then because I'm about to be:

Babies (and children in general) are gifts from God.  And as such, they are all beautiful, amazing wonderful things.

And, sure, beauty and cuteness is in the eye of the beholder and is only skin deep and true beauty is really found on the inside and...

Have I missed any?

I'm that sure I have.

But what I'm getting at here is, well, there are some pretty funny looking babies out there.

And sure cuteness comes in all shapes and sizes.  And there are lots of opinions about what constitutes cute.

But seriously, be honest with yourself. Be 100% honest... and admit that there have been times when you've seen a baby and thought sadly to yourself, "Oooooh Eeeeeem Geeeeee! That poor child. I hope they grow out of it...."

And then, hopefully, if you are a better person than I am, you realized that thinking such a thing is TERRIBLE and asked God to forgive you and went on your way. Perhaps you even smiled politely at the child's parents before you went and said something kind to make up for your internal meanness.

And good for you then. That's as it should be.

But what really drives me crazy sometimes is listening to other parents gush about how they just have the "cutest child on the planet ever!"

Except they never say that like a normal person, it always comes out like "ca-yute-est-ah chiiiiii-old on the plah-net EVAH!"

Really?

Seriously?

Ever?

Pride is a very dangerous thing.

It's like they've never realized that God makes you fall in love with your own child. Somewhere among the post-natal drugs and hormones He rearranges your brain and your eye sight so that you see the single most beautiful creature ever placed in your arms there. I'm not sure how it works, but He's God, he can do such things. It even seems to work in cases of adoption where I'm assuming the mother is without the aid of drugs and hormones.

You know what I think about that? AWESOME! Every child deserves to have parents who believe he or she is the single most adorable baby ever to be born.

I just wish more parents would realize they're wearing those "Parent Goggles."  You know?  They're like the "beer goggles" frat boys see girls through after they've drank too much and are looking to score. "Parent Goggles" serve a much greater purpose, of course, but it seems like sometimes they also come with a healthy dose of insanity for the parents.

"Oh my little Beauregard?  Doesn't he just look like a little angel?  Like something out of a painting at the Vatican?!?!?!"


or 


"Have you seen my son?  I don't know where he got his looks from because his father and I aren't any prizes, but isn't he just the handomest little man?  Looks like a tiny Brad Pitt!"


and

"My Chelsea?  Yes.  MY CHELSEA!!  She iiiis BEAUTIFUL isn't she?  We're getting her an agent!!!  I just know she's going to be famous some day!!"

Um... really?

Now obviously these are a combination of semi-made up, slightly exaggerated quotes, and the names are made up too, but the bits and pieces are all taken from real things I've heard.

It's like, we get it already. You love your child. You think they're beautiful. And they probably even are. But so are lots of other babies.  GET OVER YOURSELF.  And while you're at it why don't you teach your child something about humility? Concentrate on trying to raise an intelligent, polite, well behaved member of society rather than trying to create a star.

Also:

Another charming side affect of the Parent Goggles is they sometimes lead people to believe so completely in the perfectness of their own child that they will actually insult other people's kids.

"Is that your child?  My goodness... she just has a BIG head doesn't she?"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

Like gee, really? I hadn't noticed. BUT GUESS WHAT, I have on my goggles too and big head or not, I think she's perfect and cute too only I'm just too polite to go on about it!!!!

Oh and don't even get me started on the phenomenon as our babies grow older where those goggles lead parents to believe their child can do no wrong.

"Your son just HIT my child!!"


Well, yes, yes he did. And I will deal with that. But he's two. Your child is like, 5 and he was being a big bully. He wouldn't let my kid onto the play structure and he pushed him several times before mine finally got frustrated enough that he hauled off and whacked him. You would know that your kid basically started it if you weren't so busy talking on you cell phone about how perfect you believe your child to be and were paying attention to what was going on.*

Ugh.

Pretty sure we all WANT our children to behave like angels.

Just like I am certain that none of them always do.

Kids will be kids  They need to LEARN how to behave properly. And learning through their mistakes seems to be how they do it.

Anyway, that's just something I've been needing to vent about for awhile.

Pride is a very dangerous thing.....


*This one actually happened just as I'm describing it..

She's so sweet like candy....

Yesterday we were back at the doctor for A.J. again so that she could get her shots from the previous check up now that she is well.

It was an interesting appointment as Peter had himself a full on breakdown over fruit snacks and teddy grahams and he was screaming the whole time.  A.J. was just running around the little room picking up and eating the fruit snacks her brother kept saying he didn't want because they were the wrong ones and then chucking all over the floor (gag) while the doctor and I tried to talk.   I had been ordered to collect data on the head sizes of our family members so there was also all of that to discuss in regards to whether or not her disproportionally large head is cause for concern.  It's hard to gather all of the information, as Matt's father passed away a long time ago and I would only contact my own parents/brother for medical information in the case of something really, really super life threatening.  Anyway, there are a few larger heads on Matt's side.  And also our nephew has a big one too, but he's also 13 and clearing 5 feet 10 inches in height already, so he's just big in general.  I could go on about that but basically, again, since AJ is about 40-50th percentile for her weight and height yet her head is way up there at like 155th,  we're going to do an MRI on her head just to make sure there's nothing in there besides a lot of brains.

For the love of God, people, stop telling not to worry.

I'm not worried.

I'M NOT!

But we've got good medical coverage so why not check just to be sure?

Because no matter how cute she may (or may not be) with her gigantic bobble head, it is still a bit of anomaly and is worth looking into a bit.

Speaking of brains, (which I was, before,) she's talking more and more.  She loves to say "Hi Dada!" to Matt whenever he's on Skype (and also to the computer in general sometimes when she *thinks* he's on Skype...) She also now says "Yesh" (Yes,) "No" (but still normally just shakes her head for no,) "bahbah" (brother) and "itty!" (kitty.)  Oh, and of course she says "Mama."  A lot.  It's her very favorite word on Earth at this point.  She says it so much that Peter who had been referring to me as "Mommy" for some time now has reverted back to calling me "Mama" like his sister.  She is my shadow most of the time and while it's sweet it can also be very very very annoying.  A small child under foot, and a all of that.

She's also learned to give kisses.  This is so funny to me because of how she does it.  When Peter was around her age he would suck his top lip real quick with his tongue to make the kissy-smack sound.  A.J. on the other hand has picked up on how I often say "mwah!" after I kiss them and so now when she gives kisses she says "Mah! Mah! Mah!" I'll often hear her in her bed kissing her stuffed toys and multiple times a day she'll bring me her baby so we can give her kisses together.  When she wants kisses from me she always says "Mah" planting her slobbery mouth right on mine and then insists on a hug complete with her patting me on the back a few times with her little hand.  9 times out of 10 this will get the attention of her brother and then he'll be there too suddenly insisting on his own sets of hugs and kisses and I tell you we could loose a whole afternoon sharing affection that way, the 3 of us.  It's sweet.  But then again it just goes to show that there is just clearly NOT enough of me to go around for them if they demand my hugs and kisses so much when they can get them

Slightly off topic, but, It's funny because people keep telling me not to have a third child as that third child is the "game changer" when the parents suddenly find themselves outnumbered.  Um.... pretty sure I've been outnumbered for most of the past year.  Everybody is still alive, if not a little worse for the wear, but, so... whether or not we have a third child will decidedly NOT be decided based on the parent to child ratio.

So anyway, I'm waiting for the referral on when we can get the MRI completed, but probably it will end up waiting a bit until her Dad is home.  Not too much longer now on that.  Not soon enough either, but it's getting closer.

I still maintain that she is bound and determined to be Disney princess when she grows up and she's just growing accordingly with her big blue eyes and her giant head.  Watch out Princes of the world.... no matter how much I might try to fight it, there's another one coming....

The doctor, on the other hand, had another, better, answer to explain her teeny little body and big round head:  "She's just a bit of a lollipop!"

Ha.

So, sweet little girl, (who is  currently "sweetly" tackling her brother in his bean bag and trying to force him out and overtake his seat and steal his toys just because she can and it's so so fun to bug him) this one's for you:

Well, sort of, as they're singing about a boy.  But whatever, change the pronouns.

Oh those Shibas!

I received an email from my Mother-in-Law this morning that has me very amused, so I thought I would go ahead and share it here.

Quick back story to catch up everyone. When we went to Washington and Matt deployed, Brutus went with us, of course.  But it turned out to be too much for me to handle.  Brutus wanted to be outside all day but it rained all the time.  Brutus wanted a walk every day but it rained all the time.  Brutus wanted to play ball in the back yard  but I had two children to take care of living mostly upstairs and it was raining all the time.

And then we were going to go to Ohio to visit family for the entire month of September and I didn't want to board him.  So, in the end, he was put on a plane to Ohio himself where he's been ever since.

The plan had originally been that he would stay there with Matt's parents for 3 or 4 months, through my visit to Ohio and my return to Washington and then my move to California shortly thereafter and then we would bring him back right around Christmas.

Except, when I got back to California my yard was a mess. And the house needed all kinds of work. And for the first time I really was on my own with both kids.  My mother in law wisely suggested that they just keep the dog a while longer until I was better equipped to care for him.... like when I had a husband again.

My feelings on this are mixed.  Obviously I'm not exactly missing all the extra things to do that come with having a dog... feeding him, letting him in and out, playing with him, walking him, brushing him, picking up his poop etc.  I am however missing him... a great deal.  I wish he was here to snuggle on the couch with me after the kids go to bed.  I wish he was here to bark when there are strange noises so that I know he will (try to) protect me if something happens and also that I'm not hearing things.  And my feet are cold in the mornings without him sleeping on them.

But he seems to be doing quite well in Ohio so I suppose it's okay..  His Grandpa (Bob) is retired and very devoted to spending time with their Golden Retriever Rowdy, and together they seem to have welcomed Brutus into their routine quite well, however begrudgingly.  Brutus has even wormed his way into sleeping in their bed (something Rowdy has certainly never been allowed to do.)

Matt has long noticed that Brutus tends to be pretty happy in the company of larger dogs so we're sure he loves having Rowdy to play with.  Matt tells me Cesar Milan (the dog whisperer) would say that he likes having a pack.  Not long ago I heard that together, Brutus and his pack mate Rowdy, teamed up and caught themselves a rabbit!

Ew.

Boy is Brutus just going to go BANANAS when he comes home and discovers the little family of rabbits that's taken up residence burrowed into our hill.

Also, I'm really wondering if these means we're going to need to get another dog for Brutus to play with when he comes home....

So anyway, the email this morning:

(Hahha.  I'm laughing again just thinking about it.)

Matt and Jen,  

Wanted to give you a quick update on Brutus. On a daily basis (sometimes twice a day) Bob tries to play catch with the dogs. We use a raquet ball for Brutus as he brings the ball back to your feet and two tennis balls for Rowdy as he drops the ball about 5 feet away. After playing, Bob will bring the balls in and rinse them off. With the warm weather he has been putting them in the windowsill (window open) to dry. The other day Bob called me at work and told me that Brutus was just carrying on outside. He went out which quieted him down, walked around the yard with him and since he had calmed down went back in the house. As soon as he went in the whole thing started over, Brutus was just howling and barking and howling some more. So Bob went back outside walked around etc. Again as soon as Bob walked in the house Brutus started his act again. Bob was beside himself trying to figure out what all the commotion was about. So Bob went out and noticed that Brutus was sitting in the yard looking up at the kitchen window where could see his ball. He (Brutus) was persistent and patient with the remedial student (Bob). The light bulb went on for Bob and so Brutus and Rowdy got to play ball. We both had a good laugh and now Bob will dry Brutus's ball and put it in the drawer.  

Love,

Mom

Oh Brutus.

What a little stinker!

He knows what he wants, and he's very determined.

:)


** If I haven't said it enough lately, Mom and Bob, thank you so so infinitely much for taking such good care of my furry baby for the last 8 months.  I don't think I will ever be able to fully repay you.  Sorry he can be such a pain in the rear, but, actually, would you expect anything else from MY dog?

Just a Quick Update to Complain

If you need me, I'll be dying a slow exhaustion induced death as the sickness that has invaded my home has now gotten to me too.

A.J. seems to be on the mend, or at least she's acting normal again although as of last night she had just as much snot and coughing as ever and she was still running a bit warm.  My brother in law (who's a doctor) reminded me that this probably just means she got a virus as opposed to a bacteria so the medicine isn't really having an affect.  The only thing that's going to cure her now is time and her immune system. Awesome.  So, even though she still has all the symptoms, she's not getting worse and she's acting better which is something.

Peter is now coming through the worst of it.  His seems to have stayed in his head, with snot, watery eyes and a cough, but his lungs don't seem to be getting it like his sister.  I feel bad that he feels so poorly, but, honestly I can't help but think that it is as much his own fault as anyone's that he isn't mending faster as he doesn't want to sleep.  Ever.  The timing with the switch out of his crib and this illness just really stinks.

And, so help me, the next time he wakes me up at 2 in the morning for a potty run and then tells me he wants to go play afterward rather than going back to bed, I'm just going to run from his room screaming.

Then of course he wants me to lay with him in his bed until he falls back to sleep.  Except while I'm in there it seems to take anywhere up to and possibly beyond an hour for him to nod back off and good gracious, at that hour, I just can't take it.

Also, I don' know what was wrong with A.J. last night but she just kept waking up.  Nothing I did seemed to affect her or help her.  Perhaps she just wanted me to stay and lay with her too, I don't know.  What I do know is after the 4th or 5th time she woke up I gave up and I turned the monitor off and went to sleep for real.  Her room is right across the hall from mine so if she's *really* upset I'd still hear her, eventually, but my goodness I just needed to get some sleep!

I think the thing that's hardest about this situation: (me as a pretend single parent of two children under 3) is the natural selfishness of children.  That sounds terrible, I know, but I am just supposed to continually coddle them and care for them and tend to their every need while their sick.  All the while they are busy coughing and snezing and drooling and snotting and germing all over me.  So now of course I'm getting sick too and nobody gives a shit.

Like, seriously.  I fee like crap too!  And of course I don't expect the children to stop what they're doing and care for me, but I just want to sleep... if only for a few hours at night... so why can't they just let me have that????

Yeah, pretty sure they are still years from making the connection that Mommies have feelings too.

Last night I was texting with my friend about some of this, and she surprised me by summing up the struggles of my situation for me pretty darn well.

She said:

"You know, you ARE married and you have a husband who's supposed to support you and be there for you and yet because of circumstances beyond your control, he's not there.  And you have to pretend or act and feel like a single mom when you're really not.  You did everything the "right" way and in the "right" order and it's still not quite ideal."

I'm pretty sure she just went and summed up so many of my feelings for me, just like that.

It's like, look, I know that complaining and wallowing and all of that is just, silly.  But it doesn't change the reality of the situation and how hard it is for me to cope with sometimes.

In a lot of ways, I did do everything "right."  I finished college and grad school so I'd be able to have a good, solid career.  I fell in love with and eventually married one of my best friends so I'd be building my family on a solid foundation.  He has a good, steady job that we can depend on.  We waited to buy a house until we could afford it.  We waited to have children until we were mature enough and good and ready.  We also waited until he was supposed to be DONE deploying.

But the job I went to school for (teaching music) just isn't in very high demand out here.  I do feel Matt and I have a solid foundation and a solid relationship, and his job is still steady and dependable, and although it does come with it's own special set of challenges I feel that we are up to the challenge of handling them... when we're together.  The economy crashed out so even though we can still afford our house payments, it's a real gamble about whether or not we'll be able to rent it or sell it in the future and not suffer huge losses.  And the military changed the "rules" about his deployments.

And so, I know, you're all like, WAH! Jen, quit whining, but it's just, hard.

I miss him.

I need him.

My children need him.

I'm not single.  We're supposed to be a team.

And we are... he's just not here to participate, to help.

Even though days like today I really need him.

St Patty's Day Cookies

Back at Christmas I purchased a few packets of sugar cookie mix and canned icing and then never got around to making them.  So then I wanted to make them at Valentine's but the icing I'd purchased was either white or green and neither one of those seemed Valentine-ish.  So I decided to wait, and make them with Peter for today.

You know... to thoroughly test my patience.  :)

Now, if you're looking close at that last photo, you're probably wondering what shape cookie cutter that is.

I mean, these were supposed to be St. Patrick's Day cookies so, obviously, they're shamrocks.  

Right?

Obviously?

Except... see.  A few years ago I went to Michael's to buy heart shaped cookie cookies for Valentine's Day.  And at the time I could buy one, metal heart cutter for like 5 dollars or I could buy this super jumbo pack of about 100 plastic cutters for 10 bucks.  The super jumbo pack included several different heart shapes as well as all the letters, numbers, sports themed ones and a whole menagerie of other Holiday ones.  Clearly I got the jumbo pack.  

So, you know, I didn't even think twice about whether or not there'd be a shamrock shape in there.

Yeah there wasn't.

And when I dumped all the cutters out onto the floor and didn't find a shamrock, I let Peter choose what shape we'd use.  

At first he chose a circle.  A GIANT circle.  A giant circle that there was no way in heck I was going to use to make cookies that big.  So I asked him to pick again.  And he choose: Dinosaurs.

Yup, happy, Irish, Tyranosaureses and Stegosauruses.

Awesome.

Watching the cookies bake.

Playing with the rolling pin and the extra dough to
pass the time.

Do you think he made enough of a mess?

Finally, they were finally done backing.

Side note:

Do you see the difference in size in some of them?  

Yeah, well the first batch I cooked on stoneware and they came out all big and fluffy and great.  The second batch I used regular old metal, non stick cookie sheets and the cookies came out... lame.

Hmm.  Maybe I need to invest in some more stoneware.  THAT STUFF IS AWESOME!

Anyway....

Here are the finished cookies, once I got them iced.  

Peter seemed to enjoy them.  :)  He never stopped asking about them for the rest of the day.
I'm pretty sure if I went to check on him right now, and he woke up, he'd ask me for one again.

 And then of course, not to be left out, A.J. had one too.

And if you're wondering, how THAT went, well, ladies and gentleman, I'd like you to introduce you to my daughter:

THE COOKIE MONSTER

Top O the Mornin' to Ya!

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

The weather here is AWFUL this weekend so that means any vague ideas I might have had about taking the kids to one of the local parades or festivals have been scrapped in favor of, well, doing a whole lot of nothing.

And, you know, because this is America, (Irish heritage or not.... my husband and children have some, I do not... unless you count the fact that I grew up in Dublin Ohio) we're going to celebrate with FOOD.

Over eating.  Ah, the joys of it.

So this morning began with me making the children a special breakfast of green pancakes.

I was actually pretty concerned that they would freak out and not want to eat them.  

(A.J. still never smiles for my camera.)

Happily, both kids did enjoy their weird breakfast.  

Peter didn't finish his of course, as the pancakes were HUGE and who on Earth could have eaten all of that?  Oh, that's right, my daughter.  She must be making up for the days last week when she wasn't eating much because she cleaned her plate and then a few minutes later I found her up on the table again, this time working on her brothers leftovers.

I'm just sort of wondering what kind of fun will follow this adventure in food coloring in about... 24 hours.   :)

Also, I found cheap holiday shirts for the kids again so here they are.

His says, "You're Lucky I'm not your kid!"  Ha.

Hers says, "Good Luck Charmer"
It was pretty hard to find a girly shirt for St. Pat.

Mommy's Little Irish Folk.

Have a good one everyone.

His Big Boy Bed

I did it.  Yup.  There's no going back now.  Well, not that wouldn't be a tremendous pain in the rear anyway.

(Can you tell I'm trying to convince myself again?)

I converted Peter's crib into a regular bed.

I've had the rails since we bought the crib and finally I purchased the mattresses a little over a month ago but left them in their plastic, in the garage, until after I moved A.J.'s crib into her own room and made space.  

I waited to move A.J. until after my friend came to visit so she could have the still open room and we wouldn't have to confuse the children by combining them again so soon after they got their own rooms

And then I procrastinated a bit because I was feeling lazy.

Then I finally did move her about a week ago.

And then I procrastinated a bit more because the reality that my baby, whom I first assembled that crib for just under 3 years ago is, in all ways but one, is not a baby any more, makes me cry.

But this week he's been climbing in and out of his crib all the time anyway (he's been able to do that for some time now but he almost never actually did) so it was time to just suck it up and make the transition.

Having seen his sister's big girl bed and the rest of her furniture be delivered and assembled a few weeks back (it was all purchased at the same time as his mattresses, because she needed a dresser and I wanted to get her bed at the same time to ensure it would match) he was just dying for a real bed of his own.  So when I showed him the conversion this afternoon, just before dinner, he was THRILLED.  To be honest I was a bit worried he was going to cry that he wanted his crib back, but, at this point, a good hour into his sleeping in there, he hasn't done that yet.  No, he seems to be making the switch easily.  Much easier in fact that his Mommy, who feels a bit weepy about the whole thing.

A very blurry photo of him climbing in for his first night.

All tucked in, snug as a bug... and making a really weird face because
apparently that's what he looks like when he says CHEESE!

If your wondering, he has his pacy in his hand.  His beloved, nasty, pacy, that's no doubt completely screwing up his teeth at this point.

But that nasty pacy is the one thing he still does like a baby.

*sigh*

A.J. at 15 (and a half) months

This morning I took A.J. in to her 15 month well baby exam.

Except she's not been well this week, so we'll be doing it all again in two weeks, but I'll get to that in a moment.

So far as her stats go:  she weighed in at 22 pounds 7 ounces, which is the 40th percentile.  (I'm fairly certain though that she's lost some weight this week having been sick and refusing to eat, especially since I weighed her last week on my digital scale at home and she was 24 pounds with her clothes on.) She measured 32 inches tall, which put her in the 87th percentile for her height (and further confirmed to me that she's lost weight this week.)  Then, of course, the real fun came when they measured her head, which is 51.5 cm, and is way above and beyond the 100th percentile.

The doctor said that she suspects her giant head is just a family thing since she doesn't (and hasn't) shown any symptoms to indicate there is another issue there.  She said we could do an MRI if I am still concerned but it would involve sedation, etc, and she doesn't see any real need since there are no other symptoms.   Instead, she ordered me to go home and measure the heads of anybody blood related to her to see if big heads run in our family.  (Do you hear that FAMILY, I need ya'll to measure your noggins and let me know the distance so I can hopefully go back and tell her that we all just grow big brains in this family.  Let me know if you need guidance on how to properly measure, I got a whole lecture.)

Because she's been sick, she has to go back in two weeks for her immunizations.

So then of course, the exam.  Obviously, girlfriend has loads of snot, and fever and horrible little cough.  So the doctor looked her over, a bit and then listened to her lungs.  She immediately grew concerned and made Peter turn off the sound on the movie he was watching on my phone.

I so KNEW this was coming.  Sunday, she had snot and a slight fever.  Monday she had lots of snot, a cough and that same slight fever.  Tuesday, despite the fact that she'd been on Motrin since the day before for the fever, she had the snot, the cough went to this frightening place and her fever shot up to 103.  She laid around most of Tuesday on me, with this glazed over expression like she felt really really awful and when she wasn't doing that she was asleep.  I think she took a good 8 hours worth of naps that day.  After she woke up at dinner time I noticed her little heart sort of racing, and her breathing kind of heavy and sounding very raspy.  I'm not going to lie... I pulled out my kids toy stethoscope (that really works, very, very well actually) and took a listen.  She sounded... awful.  I'm certainly no doctor but I have played with that toy stethoscope with my children often enough to know that breathing is not supposed to sound like that.

I thought about calling the doctor, but it was already late in the afternoon and I knew she had her checkup already scheduled for the day after next.

I also really thought about taking her to the ER, but I didn't have anyone to watch Peter and I didn't want to deal with him there and risk him too getting sick.  Heck.  Who am I kidding? I couldn't even think of anyone to call and talk to about it.  So I just tried to give her lots of fluids, kept a close watch on her temperature and kept dosing her with the Motrin and baby Tylenol, alternating.

On Wednesday she wasn't as bad off.... so I definitely ruled out the ER, knowing we'd get our answers this morning.

And so the doctor listened and listened to her lungs.

And our doctor, who is far more chatty that even I am, got kind of silent.

I broke in finally and asked her what it was?  Bronchitis?

I totally knew it wasn't bronchitis.  Mommy's know these things sometimes.

And then she confirmed for me, quietly, what I already knew (and that I probably really should have taken her to the ER Tuesday night) that she has a "little bit of pneumonia."

I love the way the doctors never really tell you anything when they give you that diagnosis.  I'm sure she knows me well enough that she didn't want to worry me but I could tell she was concerned by the way her whole demeanor changed.  She just went on to check her ears and confirmed they were looking a bit troublesome as well and then wrote us the prescription for 10 days worth of antibiotics.

She told me to MAKE SURE she's staying hydrated and having wet diapers every 6-8 hours and then told me to come back in a couple weeks for her proper well baby exam, and that was that.

Of course I left with a whole paper full of important things and what ifs to consider about babies with pneumonia.

And I big old lump of guilt in my chest for not taking her to the ER on Tuesday.

Don't even bother telling me not to beat myself up over it.

Because also, tonight, just before bed, Peter felt warm and was sounding rather horse himself so I took his temperature and he was already burning at 102 himself.

A Lot of Really Random Moments

Did I mention how I mysteriously broke my "every day" (point and shoot) camera last week when we were at California Adventure?

No?

Well, if you know anything much about me you'd know that this is just... rather, problematic.  Yes, I do have another, much nicer camera but it's bigger and expensive and a lot more breakable which is why I only bust it out for special occasions.  Also, it doesn't take video.  

I don't even really know what happened.  My trusty, always at my side camera, had been in and out of my pocket all day, just fine.  Then as we were heading out for the day I put it away properly, in its case, safe in my purse.  Then when I took it out in the car to look through the day's photos it had a lens jam and wouldn't start up properly.  I managed to get it to unjam but in the process it got realigned on the track and then even though it was on, the photos it took were all out of focus.  I gave it some more time and tried to realign it a little (as I've read can solve the problem) but this only managed to properly jam the lens again and now it won't budge at all and I've decided it's more than likely another camera casualty.  

This will be the 3rd one I've killed in about 4 years.  

(The last one suffered a similar lens jam injury and the one before that drowned when a can of soda exploded in my purse right next to it.  If you're wondering, that did teach me not to put cans of soda in my purse....)

This most recent one was fairly affordable, when I bought it, just before Halloween a year and a half ago, so it's NOT that big a loss other than the fact that Matt has a perfectly good point and shoot of his own that he bought to take with him even though he almost never uses it, so he has requested that I refrain from replacing mine for now as I can just use his when he gets home.

:(

But.  

Um.

What am I supposed to do in the mean time?

Oh right.  I have an iPhone.

And sure, I know loads of people who take wonderful, amazing photos and videos on their iPhones all the time.  I just don't happen to be one of them.  Not that the pictures I take normally are ever perfect or anything.  I'm no artist, but I do like to capture the moments, often above and beyond worrying about whether  or not one of the children has left a greasy fingerprint smear across the lens or if the lighting is adequate.

For the record, the lighting, when it comes to the pictures I take with my phone, NEVER seems to be adequate.  

Anyway, so the following random series of photos and videos are from the last week, as I tried to survive with *just* my phone...

So first of all, we were playing outside and A.J. was being pretty chatty...

You know, with one word, over and over and over and over again.

Then she started getting herself into trouble.

If you want to climb on the slide kiddo, that's fine, but can you stick to facing forward for now?

Getting into trouble, as it turns out, is my daughter's new favorite hobby.

It's bad enough she climbed up there into that chair, why can't she at least sit down?

Alright, so right around that point in our little afternoon outdoor playtime, Peter announced that he needed to go potty.  So I took him inside and got him started.  But his sister was still out back so I went to check on her and this is what I found her doing:

Fun times right there.

And also, Ugh, what a mess!  I'm pretty sure you can hear me groan when I get a good glimpse of her wet, muddy, bottom.

That'll teach me to water the grass right before we go outside to play.

Oh, and do you remember last week when I mentioned how Peter tried to flush the whole roll of toilet paper down the toilet?  Yeah, well, this is what I was doing when that happened.

Pretty sure the kids are winning this battle.

Anyway, later that afternoon, my baby decided she was done with her high chair and climbed up onto the bench to eat her snack just to prove it to me.

Any guesses as to why she's not wearing her shorts?  That's right, they were in the laundry....

Not sure where she got the idea that she was all grown up now.  Especially since Peter used that high chair clear up until she needed it, so she has a good 6 months left in there by my calculations.  Yeah, you can just go ahead and try telling her that.

These next two have absolutely nothing to do with anything, they were just cute, random moments.

She brought me this Teddy Bear that morning.
 (I think this was Sunday, but I'm not sure, because everything since
we set the clocks back has been kind of a blur.)
 The bear HAD been up in her room on a shelf and I suppose maybe it's
better off that I don't know exactly how she got it down.

Her brother's Mariner's Batting helmet, her bib and one of her brothers crocs... on the wrong foot
Awesome!

And then the next thing I know, every time I turned around she was up ON the table.

I suppose just climbing up into the chairs and onto the bench wasn't good enough for her.

She really just doesn't want to be in her high chair.

The proof?  She pretty much refuses to eat anything when I try to feed her there.

Also, I took this video to show Matt the little signs she uses.  I did NOT teach her these, she learned them all on her own by watching her brother.  Her brother, who I didn't even teach those signs to. Peter's Uncle mostly did when we first lived in Seattle, even though by the time we lived there the boy was more than capable (if not often rather unwilling) to just say the words "more" and "all done."

But still, Peter learned those two signs (all though I don't even have any idea if they are "real" signs or not) and he began using them and for whatever reason he still makes the sign for "more" all the time when he says it, which is cute, but also drives me crazy just a little bit.

Especially when he says something like "I want to go play at the park some more" and he makes the sign.

And now A.J.'s doing them.

Which I take as proof that you really don't need to invest any real effort into your kids after the first one.  Clearly whatever you teach the oldest will just trickle down to the younger ones.  Right?  RIGHT?

I'm just kidding baby.

Obviously it shows how smart and wonderful you are that you learned these all on your own.  And in your case at least you don't yet have the words to accompany these signs so at least communicating with your hands serves some purpose.

In other news.... I obviously took that video during dinner and Peter, who had been sitting quietly in her seat apparently did not like that he was not the center of attention.  I know this because the next thing I knew he was up and out of his seat and I heard him call to me from the living room, "Yook Mama!  I doing twicks!"

Um.  So, yeah.  There was that.  

My children might just be the weirdest people I know.

And also, see what I mean about the pictures from my phone.  They're just not coming out very well.

Oh.  And one more thing.  

Once Peter was finished performing circus tricks on my recliner he ran off to his room and returned with the musical "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" book.  He was playing the song over and over again, marveling at the flashing lights on the cover and singing along happily to the tune.  My heart melted but he kept getting camera shy.  In the end, this is the best video I could get of him singing.

Conversations at Night

You know how when you see a dog sleeping and they're kicking or flinching or whatever and you can't help but wonder what on Earth they're dreaming about?

Well... I must admit that I've often stared at my sleeping babies and wondered the same thing.

Maybe it's just me.

But then again, when Peter went through his whole Night Terrors run last summer, well, I really got to wondering about it.

Except last summer his vocabulary was still pretty limited and even if I'd been able to get him to come out of those fits and talk to me, I doubt he would have even been able to put words together to describe his fears.

Well, I think we've finally come to a place in my son's life where this is no longer the case.

(Boy do I ever need to knock it off with the one sentence paragraphs today....)

Last night around 10 pm I was on Skype with Matt.  He gets a half day on Saturday and Sunday so he usually gets on the computer for a few hours those mornings (his mornings, my evenings) so we can talk without the craziness of the children running around distracting me. So anyway, we're sitting there just chatting along about nothing in particular when I hear Peter wake up and start to sort of moan for me.

"Maa Maaaaaaa?  Maaaaa mmmmmmaaaaaa!"

This carried on for a little while so I supposed he might need to go potty and went to check on him.  Why he can't just wake up and say "Mama, POTTY!" if that's what he needs is completely beyond me.  He normally just wakes up and moans uncontrollably for awhile until I go in there and fetch him and take him to the bathroom.  We're working on it, but I find myself just secretly wishing he'd go ahead and just pee in his pull up at night, although I know that's probably terrible to say.  But after finally reaching a place with his sister where she doesn't wake me up 2 or 3 times every night, getting woken up by him now for this is just... tough.

And if you're wondering, no I haven't converted his crib over to a big boy bed yet.  First I need to move his sister's crib into her own room and I'm going to have to take it apart to do that, so I'm procrastinating.  Also, yesterday afternoon I left him on the potty for a moment to check on his sister who was splashing around in the puddles on the back porch left by the sprinkler and when I returned to him I heard the toilet flush just as I saw him drop the ENTIRE roll of toilet paper (still on the roll) down into the bowl between his legs.

(Don't worry I fished it out in time, but OMG, I can't not deal with a broken toilet AGAIN!!!)

My point about all of that is maybe I don't trust him enough yet to be able to get out of his bed by himself to use the potty.  The Lord only knows what he might try to flush then....  Also, we're still working on his ability to work his pants and his remembering to wash his hands.

So in the mean time he still sleeps in his crib and I get to wake up to take him potty.

BOY OH BOY IS MY HUSBAND GOING TO BE PUT IN CHARGE OF THAT FUN JOB JUST AS SOON AS HE COMES HOME!!!!

(Love you babe!)

So anyway, getting back to the point of this post, I went in there to check on him, leaving Matt waiting for me on the computer.  Peter sat right up in his bed and mumbled something through his pacy I really couldn't understand.

"Da wheel bided me Mama!!"

Um, I'm sorry child, WHAT?

He repeated himself a few more times without getting any clearer so I just picked him up and brought him back to my room to sit on my lap and talk to me so I could figure out what on Earth he was stressing about.

Once out in the light of my room, his head seemed to clear and he grinned a little.  "Mama, the Shamu whale bit me!!!"  He kept saying.  And also, "Shamu whales eat fish!"

I looked at Matt repeatedly to see if I was hearing him right.  Matt confirmed what our son was saying and that I wasn't hallucinating or anything.

I asked Peter if that is what he'd been dreaming and he told me yes.  I reminded him that Shamu whales eat fish and not little boys and soon he revealed that in his dream he'd been a fish.   At least that explains why the Shamu whale had bit him.

"I was in his mouth."  he said.

So we (and Matt via the computer) talked for awhile all about how it was just a dream and he was okay and that he didn't need to be scared since Shamu whales eat fish.  I kept it to myself about how Shamu whales are normally known as killer whales as words pertaining to killing and dying are ones we've been working hard not to say around here.  I also neglected to tell him that killer whales have been known to eat loads of seals and sea lions and things, as he probably doesn't need to know that just yet.

Then he told me that Seals eat fish too.  And he likes to feed them.

Glad to know that he's taken something away from all of our trips to Sea World other than nightmare inducing memories of Shamu.

After that he asked Matt how his airplane was and if he was still high in the sky.  When Matt left after Christmas he told Peter he had to go away again on an airplane far away.  So far as we can tell, Peter seems to think his Daddy is still in that airplane flying around and not that he his plane has ever landed anywhere else.

I wonder if he thinks his Dad is a pilot.  Goodness, so help me if my son decides to be a pilot himself when he grows up. Mama can't handle that stress!!!

Peter soon said goodnight to his Dad and I put him to bed again but it didn't take.  He cried and moaned for a good long while until I went to him once more.  This time he said to me clearly "I want to go talk to Daddy."

And my heart broke.

Peter, being his Father's son, and a male, doesn't like to talk about his emotions.  Matt maintains that this has nothing to do with him as he never sat down with the boy and said "Son, you're a man and men don't cry..." or anything like that.  I, however, maintain that it's just genetic. Just like his Father, my son would much rather deflect and avoid any and all conversations about things that make him sad. Usually.

So I took Peter back to my room and he talked to Matt some more on the computer. The conversation wasn't really anything substantial, because mostly I think Peter was just enjoying the clearer than usual picture and liked simply seeing his father. The entire time, though, his voice sounded dry and low and his lips kept pointing out in a sort of pouty face.

Normally I only see that face and hear his voice sound that way when Peter is deeply, wholly upset.  Like if his bunny is in the wash or something very traumatic like that.

Sad.

The poor kid.

He's at this age where he's really starting to understand some things, and I feel like this stupid deployment is just something he'll never be able to wrap his little mind around.

50 something more days.

And watch out for those whales in your dreams kid.

Thoughts and realizations....

On Monday evening, after Disney, McKenzie and I met up with a friend of ours from school who now lives in LA. It's strange, actually, how small the world is and how even though I am so far from where I come from that there are people near here with basically the same roots as me. It was an interesting conversation. I was tired and my kids were in rare form from their long day at Disney and all of it got me thinking.

It's weird how seeing somebody from your past again can affect you so completely.

So now I'm about to write down a lot of the stuff we talked about, etc, even though nobody is going to want to read this. And you know what? I'm just fine with that. I don't have a blog for anybody but me... and well, sometimes Matt and the occasional Grandparent who just want to see pictures. And I am so tired of hearing "complaints" about how I don't put up pictures often enough. Like, seriously? First of all I need something for my kids to be doing that is interesting to post pictures of. Second of all, does anyone but me realize just how much time and energy goes into taking those photos, uploading them, editing them, posting them and then writing about them? Apparently not.

Because you know, it's not like I'm busy or anything.

It's almost as exhausting as hearing from folks how they don't need to call me or email me or in any way make real contact with me because they can read my blog and see how I'm doing.

For the record, that is SO not the point of this blog.

I've said this before and I'll say it again now. This blog is posted PUBLICLY on the world wide web. Yes, I share lots of personal details about our lives but there is also, so so much more that I leave out. My husband deployed for over a year. I can't write for an entire year about how it literally feels dead in my chest. That I have to remind myself a lot of afternoons just to keep on breathing. That there have been times when I seriously considered calling a babysitter and checking myself into some sort of mental health facility because for days on end I couldn't even taste my food and looking at my children's beautiful sweet, smiling faces just made me want to run away from them and cry. I can't write publicly on the world wide web about the months and months with a screaming baby who would never sleep for more than a couple hours at a time and about how sometimes at 4 in the morning when I hadn't even had the opportunity to hit REM sleep for about a week that I would start to secretly plan all the hypothetical ways to escape the hell I was living in. Because seriously, even in prison there's got to be a better than decent chance that you'll get at least a few hours of good solid rest every night.  I didn't write about the sad toddler with night terrors who didn't even know it was Daddy he was missing or have the words to talk about it yet anyway.  Nor could I write about their tummy troubles and the weeks and weeks of diapers filled with... horror.

I can't write about that stuff.  People would call the cops on me.  CPS would show up at my door and try to take my children away from me even though I'm fairly certain that if more parents were honest with themselves about how hard babies can be to take care of this world would be a lot better place.

And also nobody wants to hear about that stuff.

In reality, nobody even really wants to hear about it, let alone do anything to help.

I think the one thing I've learned from this year is that, I mean sure, people open up their homes to you, and they take your dog off your hands for a few months but really, they just want you to go ahead and get your act together.  They want to tell you that you made your choices and you have to deal with the consequences.

So my children are mine alone and I shouldn't hope or expect anybody else to really help me deal with them, ever.

I'm fairly certain that when I get into any of this crap on my blog that everybody just logs back out.

I can't say I blame them.

But, anyway, this is MY blog and I'll write about whatever the hell I want today, because that's the mood I'm in and if you all out there in internet land don't like it, well, then don't read it.

So anyway, my old friend:  Amanda.

The first clear memories of her are from 5th grade when she was in my class although I'm fairly certain I knew of her from 3rd grade on as that is when I transferred to the same Elementary school as her.  She and I went to different middle schools, and of course I lived in Florida for 9th grade, but once we went back to Ohio in 10th grade she was there again.

Amanda had twin sisters who were a year ahead of her, in my brothers grade. The three of them were beautiful and yet still, always, so nice to almost everyone.  Trust me when I tell you that in my high school girls that looked like them could have easily gotten away with NOT being nice.  The thing about the town I grew up in is it was a town of HAVES. Most of the kids there had everything.  I feel like the HAVE NOTS were few and far between, and my brother and I seemed to have made up the overwhelming majority of them. The HAVE kids always seemed to have the advantage over the likes of, well, me, maybe for no other reason than they didn't have to have jobs eating up all their time so they could pay their own way for everything.

Seriously, don't even get me started on the havoc working from 10th grade on did to my GPA. I mean, I can't guarantee I would have done better if I hadn't had a job, unless of course some (or any) pressure had been put on me by my parents to do better, but I can definitely say that working didn't help.

Anyway, Amanda, to me, always seemed to me to be a HAVE.  She lived on the right side of town, in a nice neighborhood and all of that, but yet she had a job.  With me (and my brother actually) at the movie theater.  I don't actually know why she worked, or all the details behind it, but she was always a good reminder to me that maybe things in those "rich" kids lives weren't always as hunky and dory and they seemed to me.

In 10th grade, after a particularly long away game bus trip with the marching band, I developed a bit of a crush on this boy.  What on Earth I was thinking is completely beyond me at this point as clearly his parents were LOADED and even if he'd ever been interested in me our two completely different lifestyles would never have meshed well.  So anyway, this particularly boy had an interesting habit of being in like 90 percent of my classes.  And as his last name was alphabetically close to mine, he often sat next to me.  *Groan*  None of this helped me with my crush.

I'm sure he knew.

I'm also sure he didn't care, except of course that it's always flattering to have someone crushing on you.

But then, see (because I'm sure if you are actually still reading any of this nonsense) you're wondering what on Earth that boy has to do with anything... not long after that bus ride, he began dating Amanda.  She and I weren't really friends at that point, as I'd literally just moved back from Florida, but I was happy for her.  For them.

It's interesting really, when you're crushing on a boy with a girlfriend.  You hate the girlfriend right?  I mean, obviously.  Except with Amanda I could just never hate her even though they were together for... years.  I could never hope anything but the best for her and that boy.

All that to say just how neat a person she is, I guess.

So, Monday night, was an interesting reunion.  I guess when you know somebody that moves to Hollywood and eventually  marries a screenwriter, you develop certain insane assumptions about them.  But almost immediately Amanda proved me wrong, asking me about having children and said she was hoping to have some soon too.  I already mentioned how we were meeting up after our long day at Disney.  I was tired.  The kids were grumpy and tired and hungry.  She definitely wasn't seeing me at my best but she seemed relieved to hear me admit how hard it is/was.  She said something about how she wished more mothers could be honest about how tough it can be.  Then maybe it wouldn't be so scary having children and worrying that you won't be able to be as good as all the rest.  I couldn't have agreed with her more, although it's weird for me to imagine her being anything other than really good at something.  Then again prior, to that conversation, I'd been thinking she probably had no plans of ever adding children to her fabulous Hollywood lifestyle.

When will I ever learn the dumbness of making assumptions about people?

So anyway, at dinner we got to talking about the long, slow, painful death of her relationship with that boy.  That was entertaining.  :)

To be honest my crush on her boyfriend never fully went away, even though I dated a few other boys and crushed on loads more before we finally graduated and I never saw him again.  I blame this of course on the fact, which I mentioned before, that he was in so many of my classes.  He was just always there getting perfect grades and knowing all the answers as I was struggling to make up excuses for why I hadn't done the assignments.

I guess it's odd, really, realizing now that high school was 15 years ago and that even though it was so long ago, in lots of ways it feels like it was just yesterday.  It's crazy to me now, to see old friends and realize we're in a position now to look back and laugh about how everything (and everyone) turned out.

Amanda, looks amazing.  If I didn't know how old she was now, I'd never believe it.

And when she saw me she went and said that I looked exactly the same.

I've got to say that made me a bit sad really.

After dinner in the car driving home I mentioned this to McKenzie.  Like, honestly, all these years later, I guess I think I should look way better than I did in high school... and not just because I got my teeth fixed and I work out but because I'm happy and I feel loved now.  And because I was just so freaking clueless back then..

When I said this to McKenzie she first reminded me of all the people from high school we'd giggled at over dinner probably a little too meanly for having put on loads of weight and things.  Then she reminded  me that high school was 15 years ago.  "15 YEARS, Jen!" she said, you're not 18 anymore!  But you still look it!!"

Well, okay, I don't know about all of that, but it did change my perspective a bit on the compliment.

Weird.

Somewhere in the course of our conversation at dinner I also had another light bulb moment:

We were going through all the people we do and don't keep in touch with on Facebook (etc) these days.  At one point we came to a girl who I remember to have dated at least briefly, several of all the cutest boys in high school.  This girl was nice enough, and cute enough for sure, but at the time I remember clearly wondering what on Earth she had that I didn't.  Why did all the boys like her and none of them liked me?   I'm sure when I was young and had awful teeth I assumed it was because she had a perfect smile.  HOW DUMB IS THAT?  Amanda, laughed at my confusion (even though I didn't mention my tooth paranoia to her) and pointed out plainly that the girl in question had "huge ass boobs."  (Amanda's words, not mine, but they're true and kind of funny, so I'm quoting them directly.)

Oh. Right.

High school boys like boobs.

And I never had any of those. (Shoot.  Who am I kidding?  I still don't.  If anything, after nursing two kids, I have less!)

Duh.  No wonder I had so little success with boys in high school!

Hahaha...

It's a bit amazing how that never occurred to me back then

It's just interesting to me looking back and realizing how foolish I really was.  I feel like I need to make note of all of this so I can use these realizations to help advise Peter and A.J. when they get to high school.  Like, sometime around the age of 16 A.J. is probably going to come to me crying (assuming we have a good mother/daughter relationship) over why some boy or another doesn't like her.  And I'll have to explain to her about high school boys and boobs.  I mean, she's my daughter so I HIGHLY doubt she ever get any boobs either.  "But don't worry," I'll tell her, "because even though you may never get boobs, when you're 33, people will say you still look as good as you did when you were 18."

And that's a whole other kind of gift.  :)

Ha.

I suppose I realized a lot of this stuff a long time ago.  In college, boys I'd known for years suddenly did sometimes show interest in me.  It was like once we were out of that weird little high school world, and I no longer needed or wanted their approval, all the rules changed and only then did they pay attention to me.

Oh gosh if I only could have seen that nonsense coming a few years earlier.

Desperation to fit in can be very unattractive I suppose.

Also, peer pressure and cliques have this nasty tendency to dictate who can acceptably date whom.... IN HIGH SCHOOL.

Ohmygoshitsnotlikethatintherealworld!?!?!?!

Furthermore, as for that whole bit about the town I lived in with what was basically a class system based on wealth.  Well, first of all, I've got news:  I've seen a few parts of the world now thanks to my marriage to the military and the wealth floating around that little town is... NOTHING.  So get over yourselves little rich kids in Dublin, Ohio.  You're Mommy and Daddy's money is great now but you're still going to have to go out into the world and make a life for yourself some day if you want to be happy in the grand scheme.

Like, seriously, I know it's the cliche that high school is supposed to be the best time of your life.  But, REALLY?  If high school (or even college) is/was the best time of your life I'd say you've failed, miserably.
High school had some fun times, sure, and so did college.  But those years of your life should be about hard work for your future because life after the short years you spend in school goes on one heck of a lot longer.

The world, as it turns out, really is, kind of a fair place.... once you get out of high school.  And karma really can tend to be a bitch.  The kids who were awful then end up paying for it when they're older somehow.  However, if you worked hard in those early years, and you continue to work hard and be a good person, there's all kinds of success to be had out in the real world.  Maybe it won't be the success you wanted, and the life you get won't be what you expected, but happiness is just waiting out there to be found.

If only I had really known back then what I know now.

It's odd thinking about all of this.  I've been so unhappy for so much of this last year.  We still have two months to go until this damned deployment is over with, and that IS awful, but if I can look forward... past this trial, I remember just how great my life really is.