Thursday, December 25, 2008
The epic bad road trip
I guess if a road trip starts off with your car engine crapping out on you in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, and ends with a shot in the ass cheek of your choosing, there's not a lot of need to fill in the details of what went wrong in between. And, truth be told, those were the two big craptacular bookends to a trip that -- had I known now what I didn't know as we excitedly piled into the car last Friday morning -- I would have run kicking and screaming from.
Jerry thinks this whole trip might have been a good thing. It's good to get out of our comfort zone, he says. And indeed, this is one of the things that makes me love him: his incessantly optimistic, Pollyanna-esque attitude toward life. Most of the time these days, I can keep pace with him on this stuff. Even Saturday morning, as we rolled out of our Amarillo hotel in our rental car (courtesy of the nice folks at Putnam Toyota in Altus, OK), with a mere four-hour drive between us and Santa Fe, I thought: "Yes, he's right. This is good. Shakes us up. Gets us back to the basics." But at that point, I'd had a mere three nights of bad sleep. By the time we got home, that had doubled. And, let's face it, when you don't get more than three hours of consecutive sleep for six nights, there's this slight tendency to not only not be very sunshiny in your attitude toward life, but in fact to want to curl up into a small fetal ball and cry and pout and pummel a soft object.
Which is pretty much how I felt on our descent into Dallas late Tuesday night. We'd been in the car for more than 12 hours due to a HUGE snowfall in Santa Fe the previous night. We barely made it out of the New Mexico driveway, and our neighbor, though he did not know us, shook his head in disbelief that we were even attempting to leave with two small kids in the car. We didn't have much choice. Not only were we not booked into that place another night, but my psyche was bound and determined that we would all sleep -- sleep real sleep -- in our own glorious beds that night, come hell or high water. Or, in our case, jack-knifed trucks, icy roads, idiot drivers in PT Cruisers, and god-foresaken pain-to-beat-all-pain ear aches.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Suffice to say the trip took a little longer than expected, and we were probably lucky to make it at all. We were on I-25 North for a bit when I-25 South was shut down completely. The boys were wonderful on the drive, and a baby-changing station near the New Mexico-Texas state line that didn't make me fear for Hunter's immune system had me thinking that maybe our luck had changed. Yes, it took something so simple as a place to change the baby that didn't look as if it might harbor Black Death germs to make things look a bit better.
Boy, was I wrong.
I had been sick since the previous week (and, truth be told, this probably accounted for more than its fair share of my bad attitude about this voyage). It's one of those cruds that's very hard to shake. Just when the head cold was starting to clear up, a sore throat would set in. Etc. About two hours outside of Dallas, I'd noticed my ears were starting to clog. I thought maybe it was the altitude and weather changes we'd experienced that day. But a little clogging quickly led to pain and, by the time we pulled up to our front lawn, I was white knuckling the dash, rocking in my seat. I had a breakdown outside of Dallas and Jerry just rubbed my head while I silently sobbed, partly from the pain but, honestly, more from the just horrible experience this trip had become, and that one additional bit of nastiness had been heaped upon my head. I was feeling epicly sorry for myself.
So we pulled up, I ran inside, peed, grabbed my keys and jumped in the car to the hospital. There was no way I was going to endure a seventh night of no sleep. I just couldn't. Well, that and the pain wasn't tolerable. I like to think I'm a pretty tough chick, but that pain was more than I could take.
So luckily, I only had about an hour wait in the ER. The doctor quickly saw me, looked in my right ear and summed it up: "Yep, that's pretty bad." He talked about numbing drops, a shot of antibiotics and pain relievers. I nodded, and nodded and nodded, thinking silently: "Yes, oh dear god in heaven YES! Drugs! Now!! Stat!!"
And then he asked if he could talk to me about something non-medical condition related. So, for five minutes -- five minutes of me thinking "What in the hell is going on here?" and physically restraining myself from jumping on this medical professional's head and dragging him to the meds station -- he talked to me about some group of critical thinkers he was forming, to talk about such things as global warming, climate change, etc. etc. I guess he thought I might be interested, although I have ZERO idea what could have given him the impression I could be an intelligent critical thinker. I hadn't slept in a week, my hair was greasy and I was covered in the general crustiness that goes along with being a mother of two small boys. I'm surprised he thought I had a home other than a cardboard box, much less gave some credence to my brain. Anyway, eventually I muttered something about how I'd pass him name and number along to my much-smarter husband, and then some very nice lady came in with a shot of antibiotics and numbing drops. The only thing she wanted to talk to me about was which side of my ass I wanted the shot in.
I chose my right side, and afterward I wondered how I came to that decision.
Now, before I go giving the impression that this trip was without its merits, let me say this: We had a wonderful time with our friends Jeff (who turned 40 while in Santa Fe) and Ginger and their son, Micah. Our friends Julie and Jim rolled in from Denver and it is ALWAYS good to see them. And we got to know Jeff's brother's family, and not only are they awesome, but Glenn and Emily's twin daughters, Cecily and Corrina (and I'm sure I'm spelling those wrong) are my babysitters of choice if we ever move back to Colorado. Those girls are the kind of girls that, if I had daughters, I would want them to be. I also had, courtesy of my amazing husband, a chance to visit the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, and that is always a soul-healer for me. I adore her. She makes sense to me. And I love her art.
So ... there you have it. Not much else to add. Our car is still in Altus, OK. We have no idea what we're going to do about that. We'll probably have to go down there to pick it up. Another road trip. Oh, joy.
I have some great photos from this trip, despite the details. I will post those separately, so as not to taint the general feeling of fun they represent (you'll note I'm not in any of them). Those and Christmas Eve and Christmas photos to come over the weekend.
Merry Xmas to all. Love, k.
Jerry thinks this whole trip might have been a good thing. It's good to get out of our comfort zone, he says. And indeed, this is one of the things that makes me love him: his incessantly optimistic, Pollyanna-esque attitude toward life. Most of the time these days, I can keep pace with him on this stuff. Even Saturday morning, as we rolled out of our Amarillo hotel in our rental car (courtesy of the nice folks at Putnam Toyota in Altus, OK), with a mere four-hour drive between us and Santa Fe, I thought: "Yes, he's right. This is good. Shakes us up. Gets us back to the basics." But at that point, I'd had a mere three nights of bad sleep. By the time we got home, that had doubled. And, let's face it, when you don't get more than three hours of consecutive sleep for six nights, there's this slight tendency to not only not be very sunshiny in your attitude toward life, but in fact to want to curl up into a small fetal ball and cry and pout and pummel a soft object.
Which is pretty much how I felt on our descent into Dallas late Tuesday night. We'd been in the car for more than 12 hours due to a HUGE snowfall in Santa Fe the previous night. We barely made it out of the New Mexico driveway, and our neighbor, though he did not know us, shook his head in disbelief that we were even attempting to leave with two small kids in the car. We didn't have much choice. Not only were we not booked into that place another night, but my psyche was bound and determined that we would all sleep -- sleep real sleep -- in our own glorious beds that night, come hell or high water. Or, in our case, jack-knifed trucks, icy roads, idiot drivers in PT Cruisers, and god-foresaken pain-to-beat-all-pain ear aches.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Suffice to say the trip took a little longer than expected, and we were probably lucky to make it at all. We were on I-25 North for a bit when I-25 South was shut down completely. The boys were wonderful on the drive, and a baby-changing station near the New Mexico-Texas state line that didn't make me fear for Hunter's immune system had me thinking that maybe our luck had changed. Yes, it took something so simple as a place to change the baby that didn't look as if it might harbor Black Death germs to make things look a bit better.
Boy, was I wrong.
I had been sick since the previous week (and, truth be told, this probably accounted for more than its fair share of my bad attitude about this voyage). It's one of those cruds that's very hard to shake. Just when the head cold was starting to clear up, a sore throat would set in. Etc. About two hours outside of Dallas, I'd noticed my ears were starting to clog. I thought maybe it was the altitude and weather changes we'd experienced that day. But a little clogging quickly led to pain and, by the time we pulled up to our front lawn, I was white knuckling the dash, rocking in my seat. I had a breakdown outside of Dallas and Jerry just rubbed my head while I silently sobbed, partly from the pain but, honestly, more from the just horrible experience this trip had become, and that one additional bit of nastiness had been heaped upon my head. I was feeling epicly sorry for myself.
So we pulled up, I ran inside, peed, grabbed my keys and jumped in the car to the hospital. There was no way I was going to endure a seventh night of no sleep. I just couldn't. Well, that and the pain wasn't tolerable. I like to think I'm a pretty tough chick, but that pain was more than I could take.
So luckily, I only had about an hour wait in the ER. The doctor quickly saw me, looked in my right ear and summed it up: "Yep, that's pretty bad." He talked about numbing drops, a shot of antibiotics and pain relievers. I nodded, and nodded and nodded, thinking silently: "Yes, oh dear god in heaven YES! Drugs! Now!! Stat!!"
And then he asked if he could talk to me about something non-medical condition related. So, for five minutes -- five minutes of me thinking "What in the hell is going on here?" and physically restraining myself from jumping on this medical professional's head and dragging him to the meds station -- he talked to me about some group of critical thinkers he was forming, to talk about such things as global warming, climate change, etc. etc. I guess he thought I might be interested, although I have ZERO idea what could have given him the impression I could be an intelligent critical thinker. I hadn't slept in a week, my hair was greasy and I was covered in the general crustiness that goes along with being a mother of two small boys. I'm surprised he thought I had a home other than a cardboard box, much less gave some credence to my brain. Anyway, eventually I muttered something about how I'd pass him name and number along to my much-smarter husband, and then some very nice lady came in with a shot of antibiotics and numbing drops. The only thing she wanted to talk to me about was which side of my ass I wanted the shot in.
I chose my right side, and afterward I wondered how I came to that decision.
Now, before I go giving the impression that this trip was without its merits, let me say this: We had a wonderful time with our friends Jeff (who turned 40 while in Santa Fe) and Ginger and their son, Micah. Our friends Julie and Jim rolled in from Denver and it is ALWAYS good to see them. And we got to know Jeff's brother's family, and not only are they awesome, but Glenn and Emily's twin daughters, Cecily and Corrina (and I'm sure I'm spelling those wrong) are my babysitters of choice if we ever move back to Colorado. Those girls are the kind of girls that, if I had daughters, I would want them to be. I also had, courtesy of my amazing husband, a chance to visit the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, and that is always a soul-healer for me. I adore her. She makes sense to me. And I love her art.
So ... there you have it. Not much else to add. Our car is still in Altus, OK. We have no idea what we're going to do about that. We'll probably have to go down there to pick it up. Another road trip. Oh, joy.
I have some great photos from this trip, despite the details. I will post those separately, so as not to taint the general feeling of fun they represent (you'll note I'm not in any of them). Those and Christmas Eve and Christmas photos to come over the weekend.
Merry Xmas to all. Love, k.
Friday, December 05, 2008
From the "Words You Never Thought You'd Utter" files
"Wilder, get your hand off the dog's butt."
(And yes, I mean THAT part of the butt. Eww.)
(And yes, I mean THAT part of the butt. Eww.)
Thursday, December 04, 2008
And the award for best whine job in front of the mirror goes to ...
I might be too tired to do this post justice, but I really want to write it. So we'll see ...
Wilder has something of a dramatic side in him. He's been known to sit in front of the mirror when crying, looking at his face from all sides to, I guess, see which looks the most authentically crushed. Presumably he does this because he's both impressed by his own theatrics, and because he's plotting which of the teary-eyed expressions in his general grab-bag of sadness he'll use to manipulate me the next time I deny him a piece of candy or say no when he suggests we mainline sugar into his veins for breakfast.
This morning, he involved me in this little game. I'd called him into our bathroom vanity area to brush his teeth, which he half-heartedly didn't want to do. I say half-heartedly because, as soon as he saw that big 'ol mirror with that sort of torqued off little tow-headed boy looking back at him, he decided to really turn on the waterworks. He buried his head against my stomach and began the usual routine of having his little come-apart.
"Are we trying out a new crying jag?" I asked.
"YES," he pouted.
"How's slumping against my belly working out for you? Do you think it lends authenticity to your plight?"
He narrowed his eyes and gave me a crusty eyeballed look.
"No, seriously, why don't I cup your head with my hand? It might help even more ... oh wait, that's blocking your face, and we can't do that, can we? It totally takes away from your performance, doesn't it?"
Pause. Further narrowing of eyes ..."Yes." Very small, distrusting voice. Small whimper.
"Kid, that was an Oscar-worthy performance. Congratulations ... Shall we brush your teeth now?"
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Wilder hearts Hunter
Rarely do I get a chance to post here these days, much less twice in one morning, but I'm off work today, sick, and I can't lay face down in a puddle of my own drool ALL day. So a brief respite from rest for this:
It happened over Thanksgiving weekend, but Wilder and Hunter have embarked on a new phase of their brotherhood. I think I'll coin it the "Hey, I had no idea you were so FUN" phase. Sometime on Thursday or Friday night of last week, Jerry and I blended into the background while the two boys played an interminable game of peek-a-boo that had them both laughing and wrestling and generally forgetting they had parents for quite some time.
And I have to say, it was pretty damn cool.
When we found out Hunter was going to be another son for us, I suddenly had all these visions of the things my boys would do together: play catch, hunt for rocks and lizards, wrestle, climb trees, swim in lakes and dunk each other, have races. And, probably occasionally, yes, beat the hell out of each other. In other words, I envisioned them as brothers, yes, but also friends, playmates. Co-conspirators. Adventurers-in-arms.
And this past weekend I got a little glimpse into our future. The thing I saw is this: They ADORE each other. It was like a light suddenly went on, particularly for Wilder, and he saw the potential that this ever-growing little flesh monkey poses for him. Someone who, given a few months, will always play cars with him.
I can't really adequately express how happy this makes me. I'm not sure they'll have a ton in common; it's still too early to tell that, of course. But, for now, they make each other giggle and, more often than not, just when I'm about to tell Wilder to leave his brother alone, stop jostling him or squashing him or rubbing his head so vehemently, I'll notice the look on Hunter's face.
"Finally," that look says, "he's noticed me." And that look is accompanied by a HUGE grin.
Dissed by a 3-year-old
Last night, I was reading a Curious George book to Wilder before bedtime. In it, George makes a mess, as George often does, and a nurse scolds him. "A monkey!" she yells (or at least she does in my version; storytime is for bringing out your rarely used inner actress, after all). "And he's making a BIG MESS!"
Wilder stops me, mid-book. He points to George.
"That's me."
He points to the scowly-faced, stick-up-her-butt, no-fun-having nurse.
"That's you, Mama."
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sunday Scenes: Nov. 16
Here are few photos from our day.
Though he was emotionally allergic to all things hat-related for the first three years of his life, Wilder has recently discovered the fun of donning different hats. He finds one around the house, he puts it on his head. He's taken to wearing a winter hat advertising Jameson's whiskey to school on cold days.
Hunter fast asleep. This kid can -- finally and do I hear the angels singing? -- sleep. One night this week he slept 12 hours straight. Pretty much every night now he's in bed by 6 p.m., if not sooner. Of course, this means he's wide awake at 5:15 a.m. This takes a little getting use to, but sleeping (mostly) through the night is sleeping through the night. I'll take 5:15 a.m. There's coffee in this world and I'm not afraid to mainline it directly into my veins. I mean, drink it.
Sometimes, apparently, a boy's just GOTTA do what the baby does. In this case, fold his rather extensive limbs into a small sink for bath time. I have a feeling they'll both be bathing like this for awhile. Oh well, it's easier on the back.
Hunter in all his glory, post bath.
Just a cute photo of my little Hunter and his beautiful eyes.
Though he was emotionally allergic to all things hat-related for the first three years of his life, Wilder has recently discovered the fun of donning different hats. He finds one around the house, he puts it on his head. He's taken to wearing a winter hat advertising Jameson's whiskey to school on cold days.
Hunter fast asleep. This kid can -- finally and do I hear the angels singing? -- sleep. One night this week he slept 12 hours straight. Pretty much every night now he's in bed by 6 p.m., if not sooner. Of course, this means he's wide awake at 5:15 a.m. This takes a little getting use to, but sleeping (mostly) through the night is sleeping through the night. I'll take 5:15 a.m. There's coffee in this world and I'm not afraid to mainline it directly into my veins. I mean, drink it.
Sometimes, apparently, a boy's just GOTTA do what the baby does. In this case, fold his rather extensive limbs into a small sink for bath time. I have a feeling they'll both be bathing like this for awhile. Oh well, it's easier on the back.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Scenes from a week
Since I rarely have time to post here anymore, I thought I'd do more of these kinds of posts: taking photos with my iPhone and then getting them up every so often. I know it's the photos of the kids that most of you come here for anyway, rather than my idiotic ramblings. So enjoy, here's Round One in Scenes From a Week:
Wilder this morning before school. I thought he look so handsome. It took me probably 15 frames to get this and the one below. The others were a blur, because he NEVER sits still these days. He defines kinetic energy. He also embodies the dedication it takes to exhaust a mama.
Another photo of Wilder looking "sharp." That's what Jerry tells him when he's dressed, combed, brushed, etc. "You look sharp, sunshine." So Wilder has taken to looking in the mirror or at photos of himself and saying, "Oooh, I look shaaaarp."
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Hunter just before he and I took a long walk on Monday. He was out sick from school, and although it was just barely misting and we probably shouldn't have been outside, we went anyway. Sometimes, fresh air is the antidote. I didn't want to jinx it before now, but H is sleeping a lot more at night now. He's also trying like mad to crawl, has 7 teeth and will mimic many words, including Mama, Papa, Brother (brudda), up (as in, get out of bed now), and Jerry and I both have heard something akin to "I love you," which sounds more like "I-wuh-woo." Of course we don't think he knows what he's saying, but he seems to be a pretty good mimic of things he hears us say around the house a lot. And I expect he'll be talking a lot earlier than Wilder did. Of course, he listens to Wilder talk non-stop during the day, so I assume that helps develop that little language center in his brain.
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Wilder and his new kitty friend, "Blue," so named by us because of her piercing blue eyes. She's either a neighbor's cat or just the alley cat taken care of by everybody. Whatever her status, she's taken to Wilder. We've never seen her out of the alley, but the other morning we were playing in the front yard, and she must have heard his voice, because she came running. And she stayed as close by his side as she could until we decided to come back inside. As far as Jerry is concerned, she's the best kind of cat. Friendly, a way for Wilder to fulfill his need for kitty love, but OUTSIDE.
Wilder this morning before school. I thought he look so handsome. It took me probably 15 frames to get this and the one below. The others were a blur, because he NEVER sits still these days. He defines kinetic energy. He also embodies the dedication it takes to exhaust a mama.
Another photo of Wilder looking "sharp." That's what Jerry tells him when he's dressed, combed, brushed, etc. "You look sharp, sunshine." So Wilder has taken to looking in the mirror or at photos of himself and saying, "Oooh, I look shaaaarp."
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Hunter just before he and I took a long walk on Monday. He was out sick from school, and although it was just barely misting and we probably shouldn't have been outside, we went anyway. Sometimes, fresh air is the antidote. I didn't want to jinx it before now, but H is sleeping a lot more at night now. He's also trying like mad to crawl, has 7 teeth and will mimic many words, including Mama, Papa, Brother (brudda), up (as in, get out of bed now), and Jerry and I both have heard something akin to "I love you," which sounds more like "I-wuh-woo." Of course we don't think he knows what he's saying, but he seems to be a pretty good mimic of things he hears us say around the house a lot. And I expect he'll be talking a lot earlier than Wilder did. Of course, he listens to Wilder talk non-stop during the day, so I assume that helps develop that little language center in his brain.
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Wilder and his new kitty friend, "Blue," so named by us because of her piercing blue eyes. She's either a neighbor's cat or just the alley cat taken care of by everybody. Whatever her status, she's taken to Wilder. We've never seen her out of the alley, but the other morning we were playing in the front yard, and she must have heard his voice, because she came running. And she stayed as close by his side as she could until we decided to come back inside. As far as Jerry is concerned, she's the best kind of cat. Friendly, a way for Wilder to fulfill his need for kitty love, but OUTSIDE.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Wilder Wilder quite contrary
Wilder is going through a bit of a phase the last few days. He's all "I don't wanna" and "I don't want to" and "No" and "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" and "No no no no no."
So this morning, after talking to his father about Obama's presidency and what it means and how friggin' cool I think it is that not only did my candidate get elected, but that America voted in its first black president and how that makes me feel just the tiniest bit better about this world my kids have been born into (Hell to the YEAH America!), I looked at Wilder and said, "Come over here and give me a hug!"
"Nuh-uh," he says.
"You're contrary," I replied matter-of-factly.
"I not."
"Yes, you're contrary son."
"I NOT. NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" (Yes, seven "nos" ... I counted.)
I love it when he proves my point for me.
So this morning, after talking to his father about Obama's presidency and what it means and how friggin' cool I think it is that not only did my candidate get elected, but that America voted in its first black president and how that makes me feel just the tiniest bit better about this world my kids have been born into (Hell to the YEAH America!), I looked at Wilder and said, "Come over here and give me a hug!"
"Nuh-uh," he says.
"You're contrary," I replied matter-of-factly.
"I not."
"Yes, you're contrary son."
"I NOT. NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" (Yes, seven "nos" ... I counted.)
I love it when he proves my point for me.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
One more thing ...
Three women walked by our house tonight, walking their dogs. As usual, Wilder acted as the neighborhood greeter, asking them to please join us. So they did for a few minutes, so that we could pet their dogs and so Wilder could socialize with his favorite demographic next to 3- and 4-year-olds: women who exceed his age by decades. One of them, Rosemary, has lived in this neighborhood forever. She's one cool customer, an observer, and you can tell pretty quickly that she has a wry sense of humor. She sat there looking at Wilder for a few minutes, not saying much. Then this: "I've seen you in the neighborhood, Wilder. You never walk. You're ALWAYS running."
So true, Rosemary. So. True.
So true, Rosemary. So. True.
Our costumed selves
Just a few pics from our weekend. We trick or treated on Friday. Wilder had the basic concept down, but he didn't seem to understand why he wasn't being invited IN to everyone's house. He got his candy at the first door, walked right past the woman and started walking around her house. The next he didn't barge in, but he did ask if he could come in. We had one more talk on the basic of trick-or-treating etiquette ("say trick or treat and thank you" ... "do not go through the fridge or pick up the remote control of the person handing out candy." etc...), and after that he did better.
He embraced the concept whole heartedly. After each door closed, he'd yell: "LET'S GO GET MORE CAANDYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" So I taught him that old activist's chant: "What do we want? CANDY! When do we want it? NOW!!"
Afterward we came home, had a little party with our friends Jeff, Ginger and Micah (who came over for the whole evening), and handed out candy until a group of trick or treaters taller than us inspired us to shut the doors. We let the boys stay up late. We found out that night that Hunter is a headbanger. I have some video that I'm going to try to edit down to a more manageable size. But suffice to say that kid had a noodle for a neckbone and loves to bop his head around to the music.
Last night was the annual costume party. It was fun and our friends wowed up with their costumes, as usual. There's a pic below of Jerry and I.
Off to a cup of tea. Oh yeah, it's party central here tonight. ;-) Love to all, k.
The cutest wee Superman that ever trick or treated.
The 'lil Booster (no costume this year, just a cool ghosty glow-in-the-dark shirt)
The Russian Assassin and her Jack Skellington.
He embraced the concept whole heartedly. After each door closed, he'd yell: "LET'S GO GET MORE CAANDYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" So I taught him that old activist's chant: "What do we want? CANDY! When do we want it? NOW!!"
Afterward we came home, had a little party with our friends Jeff, Ginger and Micah (who came over for the whole evening), and handed out candy until a group of trick or treaters taller than us inspired us to shut the doors. We let the boys stay up late. We found out that night that Hunter is a headbanger. I have some video that I'm going to try to edit down to a more manageable size. But suffice to say that kid had a noodle for a neckbone and loves to bop his head around to the music.
Last night was the annual costume party. It was fun and our friends wowed up with their costumes, as usual. There's a pic below of Jerry and I.
Off to a cup of tea. Oh yeah, it's party central here tonight. ;-) Love to all, k.
The cutest wee Superman that ever trick or treated.
The 'lil Booster (no costume this year, just a cool ghosty glow-in-the-dark shirt)
The Russian Assassin and her Jack Skellington.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Wilder turns 3!
Dear Wilder,
Wow, kiddo. You're 3 now. No longer any baby left there (you'll always be my baby ... I just HAD to say that); fully a boy. And what a boy you are. You go through your phases no doubt, where you try my patience hourly (I want to say minutely, but that word is such a misnomer in this instance) ... but lately, you are just a barrel of energy and fun and enthusiasm and belly laughs and one amazing discovery after another. We are gliding through one of those times right now where we just get each other. We are soul mama and her soul boy. It's pretty cool, kid.
This weekend was pretty fun. You'll likely not remember it. Maybe a snippit here or there, so let me remind you.
Friday, we went to the neighborhood family movie night (the first) up at the park, three blocks away. For the first time, you let me dress you for cold weather. A hat and gloves, no less. You loved the gloves so much you didn't take them off for like four hours. You were so very good at the movie. You actually watched most of it before you realized that most of the other kids your age were running running running behind us in the tennis courts. Then we had to get up and join them. And it was fun, but before that, just for a bit, I had you all to myself. Sitting on my lap, snuggling, sipping hot chocolate and eating a cookie. It was a mama's dream.
Saturday was your party. We threw a bunch of balls and stuff into the front yard and just had a low-key party. For days you talked about your party and your presents and your cake and something you assumed you'd be getting -- "super super cars" -- which I'm pretty sure is just any car that is cool and new. Thankfully, you got some. It was a ball. Owen, Lea, Brenden, Luke and Hank came. A bunch of your adult friends came, too, because I think they love you and because they know your mama and papa always have beer at parties. When you are an adult reading this, make sure to give them hell about that.
Last night you were so very tired, so wound up. You made me sing you to sleep. We both fell asleep in your bed just after the final lullaby.
Today we just played and played with all your new toys. Papa and I tried to help you learn how to ride your bike. It's still a bit of a challenge for you, but that has not dampened your enthusiasm for it one bit. You kept yelling "LOOK! I'm DOING IT!!" at the top of your lungs any time you made it move 3 inches. I love that about you. Afterward you let me whisper things in your ear to yell as you tackled Papa over and over again. We yelled: "Donkey butts!" "Pork bellies!" "Colorado!" "Cowabunga!" "Geronimo!" "Cowronimo!" "Gerabunga!" and, of course, "I LOVE YOU PAPA!!" until we wore him out. Oh, and ourselves, too.
This afternoon we broke out the finger paints that Aunt Tara got you and took them and our giant roll of butcher paper into the front yard. As much paint got onto our clothes and faces and arms and legs as the paper. (Thanks, Aunt Tara, for verifying the washability before buying.) We painted ourselves up like warriors and chased each other in circles around the front yard.
Somewhere in between we played a bunch of rowdy games of Hungry Hungry Hippos on the kitchen floor. You're very good at that game. You play with your usual all-or-nothing attitude toward life.
Did I mention how cool I think you are? I tell you that sometimes, and you just say, "Thanks, Mama," kind of like you know already.
So anyway, kid, it was a fantastic weekend, for both of us I think. I've never seen so many ear-to-ear grins on you. Three is gonna be a good year. I love you, and watching you grow has been the highlight of my life so far. It makes everything glow a little brighter and ring a little truer and sound a little sweeter. xo, Mama
Wow, kiddo. You're 3 now. No longer any baby left there (you'll always be my baby ... I just HAD to say that); fully a boy. And what a boy you are. You go through your phases no doubt, where you try my patience hourly (I want to say minutely, but that word is such a misnomer in this instance) ... but lately, you are just a barrel of energy and fun and enthusiasm and belly laughs and one amazing discovery after another. We are gliding through one of those times right now where we just get each other. We are soul mama and her soul boy. It's pretty cool, kid.
This weekend was pretty fun. You'll likely not remember it. Maybe a snippit here or there, so let me remind you.
Friday, we went to the neighborhood family movie night (the first) up at the park, three blocks away. For the first time, you let me dress you for cold weather. A hat and gloves, no less. You loved the gloves so much you didn't take them off for like four hours. You were so very good at the movie. You actually watched most of it before you realized that most of the other kids your age were running running running behind us in the tennis courts. Then we had to get up and join them. And it was fun, but before that, just for a bit, I had you all to myself. Sitting on my lap, snuggling, sipping hot chocolate and eating a cookie. It was a mama's dream.
Saturday was your party. We threw a bunch of balls and stuff into the front yard and just had a low-key party. For days you talked about your party and your presents and your cake and something you assumed you'd be getting -- "super super cars" -- which I'm pretty sure is just any car that is cool and new. Thankfully, you got some. It was a ball. Owen, Lea, Brenden, Luke and Hank came. A bunch of your adult friends came, too, because I think they love you and because they know your mama and papa always have beer at parties. When you are an adult reading this, make sure to give them hell about that.
Last night you were so very tired, so wound up. You made me sing you to sleep. We both fell asleep in your bed just after the final lullaby.
Today we just played and played with all your new toys. Papa and I tried to help you learn how to ride your bike. It's still a bit of a challenge for you, but that has not dampened your enthusiasm for it one bit. You kept yelling "LOOK! I'm DOING IT!!" at the top of your lungs any time you made it move 3 inches. I love that about you. Afterward you let me whisper things in your ear to yell as you tackled Papa over and over again. We yelled: "Donkey butts!" "Pork bellies!" "Colorado!" "Cowabunga!" "Geronimo!" "Cowronimo!" "Gerabunga!" and, of course, "I LOVE YOU PAPA!!" until we wore him out. Oh, and ourselves, too.
This afternoon we broke out the finger paints that Aunt Tara got you and took them and our giant roll of butcher paper into the front yard. As much paint got onto our clothes and faces and arms and legs as the paper. (Thanks, Aunt Tara, for verifying the washability before buying.) We painted ourselves up like warriors and chased each other in circles around the front yard.
Somewhere in between we played a bunch of rowdy games of Hungry Hungry Hippos on the kitchen floor. You're very good at that game. You play with your usual all-or-nothing attitude toward life.
Did I mention how cool I think you are? I tell you that sometimes, and you just say, "Thanks, Mama," kind of like you know already.
So anyway, kid, it was a fantastic weekend, for both of us I think. I've never seen so many ear-to-ear grins on you. Three is gonna be a good year. I love you, and watching you grow has been the highlight of my life so far. It makes everything glow a little brighter and ring a little truer and sound a little sweeter. xo, Mama
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Texas in October
It's that time of year in Dallas when we all tumble out of our houses, grateful that the heat is behind us. It really is a beautiful time of year here, and we've been enjoying it by galavanting around the city, most recently to the State Fair of Texas (yesterday) and the Arboretum's pumpkin festival (today). Jer's pop, Jerry Ray, is here visiting us for a long weekend, and he's so good with the boys. Wilder has always loved having his grand-daddy around, and Hunter has taken to him just as much.
Anyway, not a lot of time to write, though I wish there was. Here are some photos from the last couple days.
Anyway, not a lot of time to write, though I wish there was. Here are some photos from the last couple days.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
A post for a friend
A lot of you know I'm not deeply religious. But I do believe in something, and I believe that we have the power within us to shift how things happen in the world. I don't pray much, unless I feel like there's something that just can't be solved in another way. Today, I feel that way, so I'm going to be saying a lot of prayers. Let me tell you why.
Two months ago, my good friend found out her husband, who was 28, died in a car accident on his way back to his offshore oil rig job. She was at work when she got the call, and I hope to never see anything again so heartbreaking in my life. They had two young boys together: ages 4 and 1 and 1/2. They didn't have a perfect marriage, but there was never any doubt that they truly loved each other.
This friend of mine is having a tough, tough time. You'd think losing your spouse like this would be enough. But for her, hurt just seems to keep piling on top of hurt. She's in a new house and her neighbors are horrible. She has a new job because of this, and her boss is awful. She is having a REALLY tough time making ends meet -- until she receives her husband's death certificate, she can't get Social Security death benefits, and the paperwork takes a long time.
Yesterday I was driving home from work, looked down at my phone and her name and number were on my screen. I take such things as signs, so I called her. And I'm glad I did; she was in tears, in a dark place. She can't catch a break and it's getting to her pretty bad. She's tough ... one of the toughest women I know. But she's reaching her breaking point. By the way, she's also one of the nicest, most generous people I know, and she's a kick-butt mom to those boys.
I don't know how to help her. I listen. I tell her it will get better. I tell her I know those are just words, but that we have to believe them. "Because it sure as hell can't get much worse ..." one of us will say. And then we laugh a little through our tears.
So anyway, here's the thing. Could you say a little prayer for my friend today? I know throwing a prayer request out in the inner-web-tubes seems like a strange thing to do, very un-Kris-like. But indulge me, please. This girl really, really needs a break. Her boys really, really need to have a mom that doesn't have so damn much on her shoulders.
And honestly, at this point I'll try just about anything to help her, to get the good, positive energy in the world shifting back in her direction.
Her name is Kristen.
Thanks, k.
Two months ago, my good friend found out her husband, who was 28, died in a car accident on his way back to his offshore oil rig job. She was at work when she got the call, and I hope to never see anything again so heartbreaking in my life. They had two young boys together: ages 4 and 1 and 1/2. They didn't have a perfect marriage, but there was never any doubt that they truly loved each other.
This friend of mine is having a tough, tough time. You'd think losing your spouse like this would be enough. But for her, hurt just seems to keep piling on top of hurt. She's in a new house and her neighbors are horrible. She has a new job because of this, and her boss is awful. She is having a REALLY tough time making ends meet -- until she receives her husband's death certificate, she can't get Social Security death benefits, and the paperwork takes a long time.
Yesterday I was driving home from work, looked down at my phone and her name and number were on my screen. I take such things as signs, so I called her. And I'm glad I did; she was in tears, in a dark place. She can't catch a break and it's getting to her pretty bad. She's tough ... one of the toughest women I know. But she's reaching her breaking point. By the way, she's also one of the nicest, most generous people I know, and she's a kick-butt mom to those boys.
I don't know how to help her. I listen. I tell her it will get better. I tell her I know those are just words, but that we have to believe them. "Because it sure as hell can't get much worse ..." one of us will say. And then we laugh a little through our tears.
So anyway, here's the thing. Could you say a little prayer for my friend today? I know throwing a prayer request out in the inner-web-tubes seems like a strange thing to do, very un-Kris-like. But indulge me, please. This girl really, really needs a break. Her boys really, really need to have a mom that doesn't have so damn much on her shoulders.
And honestly, at this point I'll try just about anything to help her, to get the good, positive energy in the world shifting back in her direction.
Her name is Kristen.
Thanks, k.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Oh balance where art thou?
There are 593 unread emails in my Gmail account.
There are 5-7 loads of laundry waiting for me to do.
There are a bunch of unpaid bills to my left.
There are dishes in the sink.
The front-yard bushes need to be trimmed.
I need to train for the Muddy Buddy.
I haven't picked up a book in two months.
I haven't bought one Halloween costume or 3rd birthday gift for Wilder.
I haven't sent out invitations for either the birthday party or the Halloween party.
I need a haircut.
I got a taste of what 8 hours of sleep feels like again and I want more, more, more.
Sigh ... self pity isn't really my style. But right now I just feel overwhelmed. And instead of addressing any of the above matters, I'm sitting here blogging and thinking about watching "How I Met Your Mother." Because I'd like just half an hour of mindless lack of responsibility today. No websites, no poopy butts, nobody climbing on my head, nobody crying when he's not cradled in my arms, no spreadsheets, no conference calls.
Yep, that's what I'm gonna do. Because Neil Patrick Harris makes me smile.
There are 5-7 loads of laundry waiting for me to do.
There are a bunch of unpaid bills to my left.
There are dishes in the sink.
The front-yard bushes need to be trimmed.
I need to train for the Muddy Buddy.
I haven't picked up a book in two months.
I haven't bought one Halloween costume or 3rd birthday gift for Wilder.
I haven't sent out invitations for either the birthday party or the Halloween party.
I need a haircut.
I got a taste of what 8 hours of sleep feels like again and I want more, more, more.
Sigh ... self pity isn't really my style. But right now I just feel overwhelmed. And instead of addressing any of the above matters, I'm sitting here blogging and thinking about watching "How I Met Your Mother." Because I'd like just half an hour of mindless lack of responsibility today. No websites, no poopy butts, nobody climbing on my head, nobody crying when he's not cradled in my arms, no spreadsheets, no conference calls.
Yep, that's what I'm gonna do. Because Neil Patrick Harris makes me smile.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Sundays are good days
We just got back from the Cottonwood Art Festival. Lived here seven years, just now making it. We'll definitely go back every year now. We had so much fun. Now Jer's run off to work for a few hours, Wilder is coloring quietly in his bed and will nod off soon, and I'm just waiting for His Lord SirFightsTheSleep to close his eyes and drift to the Land of Nod. Then, it's lights out for me too. How I love the nap hour.
Here are some photos of our day so far:
We spent a good amount of time just sitting on the banks watching ducks, geese, etc. Wilder is relatively obsessed with birds.
My three guys; gosh, they're cute, no?
OK, one more of the three fantastic men in my life. How I love them all.
Wilder inhales some animal crackers.
W's art project. He got to imbed plastic toys and stuff into a sand square (in his case, bugs, shells, dinosaurs)and then they poured plaster in and waited for it to dry. I didn't have high hopes but I think it actually turned out pretty cool. It was fun to do, anyway.
I'm off to my mid-day nap. xo, k.
Here are some photos of our day so far:
We spent a good amount of time just sitting on the banks watching ducks, geese, etc. Wilder is relatively obsessed with birds.
My three guys; gosh, they're cute, no?
OK, one more of the three fantastic men in my life. How I love them all.
Wilder inhales some animal crackers.
W's art project. He got to imbed plastic toys and stuff into a sand square (in his case, bugs, shells, dinosaurs)and then they poured plaster in and waited for it to dry. I didn't have high hopes but I think it actually turned out pretty cool. It was fun to do, anyway.
I'm off to my mid-day nap. xo, k.
To sleep, the impossible sleep
OK, I made a post a couple weeks ago alluding to Hunter sleeping through the night. It was kind of a desperation post, made to self-delude and all; because he really only slept from about midnight to 5 a.m. and, well, that's not really through the night, is it?
But, this morning ... this morning the sun is shining brighter. I have a spring in my step. The air feels crisp and cool and the birds are chirping and I have a new lease on life. Why? Because from 8:30 p.m. to 6:30 a.m. -- count 'em, 10 GLORIOUS HOURS -- he slept. Didn't cry, didn't fret, not so much as a peep. I of course woke up at some point and had to fight the urge to sprint to his room to make sure he was OK. Eventually I nodded back off and he, of course, was fine. At 6:30 he even crawled in bed with me, nursed and then went BACK to sleep for almost 2 hours. Wow.
The funny thing is that last night we had some old friends from Denver over. And I was talking to one of them, Ann, about how he still hasn't slept through the night. And she made the comment: "Well, you willed him in the womb to be a good baby, just will him to sleep through the night." So, I swear I did this ... went to bed last night and sat there with my eyes closed and all my concentration and sent vibes to the baby's crib while thinking: "Hunter, you CAN sleep all night. You can. You can do it." I thought it until I believed it. And then I nodded off.
And then I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and smiled. Man, life is GOOD this morning.
And, because no post is as good without photos as it is with photos, here's a totally random one of Wilder and Ann and Rob's son, Kieran, from last night:
But, this morning ... this morning the sun is shining brighter. I have a spring in my step. The air feels crisp and cool and the birds are chirping and I have a new lease on life. Why? Because from 8:30 p.m. to 6:30 a.m. -- count 'em, 10 GLORIOUS HOURS -- he slept. Didn't cry, didn't fret, not so much as a peep. I of course woke up at some point and had to fight the urge to sprint to his room to make sure he was OK. Eventually I nodded back off and he, of course, was fine. At 6:30 he even crawled in bed with me, nursed and then went BACK to sleep for almost 2 hours. Wow.
The funny thing is that last night we had some old friends from Denver over. And I was talking to one of them, Ann, about how he still hasn't slept through the night. And she made the comment: "Well, you willed him in the womb to be a good baby, just will him to sleep through the night." So, I swear I did this ... went to bed last night and sat there with my eyes closed and all my concentration and sent vibes to the baby's crib while thinking: "Hunter, you CAN sleep all night. You can. You can do it." I thought it until I believed it. And then I nodded off.
And then I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and smiled. Man, life is GOOD this morning.
And, because no post is as good without photos as it is with photos, here's a totally random one of Wilder and Ann and Rob's son, Kieran, from last night:
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Pictures pictures pictures
Playing in the sunroom
We don't call him Captain LongCrack for nothing!
Naked, post-path, in repose
Handsome Hunter
Hunter's first bike ride. Per the usual Scott Brothers behavior, Hunter chilled and didn't make a peep. Wilder implored his Papa to ride faster. FASTER. FASTER!!!!
Papa giving Wilder land-boarding lessons -- 1 of 3
2 of 3
3 of 3 ... and Jerry declares the boy's got natural talent. I'm sure he'll be snowboarding in no time (if we ever see snow again)
Love to all, k.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Congratulations Pop
This post is for my dad, who most of those close to me know I call Pop. This coming Tuesday will mark my dad's last day of work. After many decades, he's retiring. He'll be 67 in November (hope you don't mind my broadcasting that, Pop), but he doesn't look it and he sure doesn't act it. I'm pretty sure my dad probably started working more than 50 years ago, and he hasn't let up since.
In fact, the point of this post is to thank my Pop, on many levels. For starters, he worked his tail off our whole young lives to support my sister, brother and I. I remember days where he would work two jobs, come home and take care of us kids because my mom worked nights at a local department store. He'd get us fed, get us ready for bed, pile us into the car in our PJs, go pick up our mom (we only had one car, of course) and the whole family would drive home and pile sleepily into our beds. I was very, very wee when this was going on, but it's one of my earliest memories. I remember the sleepy dreaminess of driving through the dark streets with my whole family in the car, snuggled into my warm pajamas, probably with my hands clutched around a stuffed animal. I felt so safe and so happy with all of them there. But I know now, especially since I've had kids, how much work that was for my Pop (and my Mom, of course), how long those days were, how much he probably would have loved to come home and sit on the couch and watch TV. Growing up, my dad often worked more than one job to make ends meet. It wasn't something I ever heard him complain about. I don't think he even thought twice about it. He had a wife and kids and bills to pay and food to put on the table, and he just did what had to be done. I'm tremendously proud of and honored by my dad for doing that.
The other thing is that, by those actions, my Pop taught me the meaning of hard work. I'm sure I don't do it with half the grace and stoicism that he did, but I do know how to work hard. That's not the kind of thing you're born with, I don't think. You learn that by a really excellent example being set. And both my parents did that for me. So thank you, Pop ... you can't imagine what that's done for me in my grown-up life. Or maybe you can, but I'm glad as hell that I've got that.
So I really can't imagine what my dad will do now. I know he'll be even more of a dedicated Starbucks customer (the giftcard will be in the mail soon, Pop). I think he'll do some fishing. He'll probably watch more Fox News and maybe we'll have some good political debates. Maybe (hint, hint) he'll get a wild hair and decide to come visit the Scott Brothers of Dallas.
Whatever you do, Pop, I just wanted to write a little something to tell you how much I love you and how proud and thankful I am of and for your lifetime of hard work. Happy Retirement ... I sure hope you enjoy every second of it. You deserve it. Love you, k.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Hunter's Tale of the Tape
Hunter had his 6-month appointment today. I don't think anyone really cares about his stats, but I like to remember what they were, and someday Hunter might like to compare his own height/weight to his own no-doubt freakishly large kid's stats. So here they are Future Hunter. And might I add: You are a back-breaking beast, but Mama's getting some killer arm and back muscles!
Weight: 20 lbs, 11 oz.
Height: 28 and 1/4 inches
Nice growing little dude! I'm going to be posting some pics and maybe even video soon. We just got a new computer (Warhammer-related, don't you know? All the best Warhammer players have TWO graphics cards!!) and I still have to figure out getting photos of the camera on this one.
Weight: 20 lbs, 11 oz.
Height: 28 and 1/4 inches
Nice growing little dude! I'm going to be posting some pics and maybe even video soon. We just got a new computer (Warhammer-related, don't you know? All the best Warhammer players have TWO graphics cards!!) and I still have to figure out getting photos of the camera on this one.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Hunter = six months old
Here's our guy. He spent his 6-month mark crying and cranky. We thought it was teething until he projectile horked on me three times at midnight. Poor thing. But this picture was taken by Jerry just a few minutes ago, so as you can see he's feeling better. Happy half year, baby boy — you have brought much love and light and laughter into all of our lives. Wow ... look how adorable you are. Love you.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Happy Birthday, Mama
Today is what would have been my mom's 65th birthday. I want to make a little joke about how she'd still be giving my father and lawn-mower repairmen everywhere hell if she were still alive, but the truth is I don't really feel like it today. Humor doesn't really help much on days like these ...
It was a bad day, sprinkled with some goodness. I took Wilder for his haircut and we had lunch at Starbucks and that was my highlight. He told me afterward, unprovoked, "I had fun, Mama." And that was wonderful.
But honestly, today just sucked. I miss my mom. When your mom is gone, you no longer feel like a child, really, I can't explain it, but it's a feeling that just plain sucks. I walk around the house still, nearly eight years later, wondering who it is I want to call so badly and just open up my heart to ... is it this friend? No. That friend? No. And then it hits me. I want to talk to my mama. Some days I want to talk to her so badly it hurts my heart. There is no one for the little piece of me that still very rarely feels like a little girl to call. No one to make it feel OK again.
Hunter turned 6 months old today and Wilder ... well, I looked at Wilder today and realized there's very little baby left in that boy. I would give my arm for my mom to come back for a day to meet her grandsons and get to know them. I wouldn't even have to see or talk to her, if she could just meet these boys and see how freakin' fantastic and awesome they are. If she could just see that I'm doing my damndest to raise them up to be fine young men. That would be important to her, and I know that.
Anyway, happy birthday, Mama. I wish I could give you a hug and tell you I love you. I wish I could get your recipe for Frito Pie and that frozen drink you used to make and put in the freezer and pour vodka on top of. I think you called it Good Drink. I wish I could ask you how you handled a willful preschooler. I wish you could see my sons' laughing eyes and feel their hugs and have it melt your heart the way it does mine. It grieves me knowing how much you would love these boys, and knowing they'll never know that love.
I don't want to be maudlin, but I need to say this. If you are lucky enough to still have your mother in your life and assuming she's a mother worth having in your life, call her. Call her, tell her you love her, you miss her, send her flowers for no reason, ask her a question you won't be able to when she's gone. Tell her the way she raised you means the world to you now. Call the woman who gave you life and let her go to bed tonight thinking, "Now what brought that on ...?" with the biggest flippin' grin on her face.
Don't even think about it. Just do it.
Much love, k.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
What's that noise? Oh yes, it's the angels singing ...
Guess what I got last night? Guess! Guess!
A FULL frickin' night's sleep for the first time in months and months. Probably eight months.
Inspired probably by the gigantic bags under my eyes — each big enough to pack a small child into — Jerry offered to take Hunter's first feeding and give him a bottle. So I toddled off to bed about 10:30 and, when Hunter woke up for his second feeding, I rolled over, hit the button on my phone and ...: WHAAAA? 6:10 a.m.??!?
I did wake up a couple of times in the night. Once briefly when Jer got up to feed Hunter. And once to hear our cat TEARING all over the house like her tail was on fire and she was looking for bucket to put it out in. I listened for about 20 seconds, thought to myself, "Man, that cat is NUTS," and drifted back off to sleep.
Turns out she'd somehow gotten attached to one of the leftover glue traps from our days of roach infestation (OK it wasn't a literal infestation but my pregnancy hormones sure made it feel like one). Anyway, there were about 50 pieces of soggy glue trap all over the house this morning. Poor cat must've worked all night chewing that thing off of her.
Tragic if it weren't so funny.
Anyway, thanks to the best husband in the world for letting me have that sleep. Lord did I need it.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Wilder's heart's aflutter
Forgive me for not blogging more — with this website launching, things aren't looking good for many blog posts over the next few weeks. But I had to put down this little exchange Wilder and I had as we were tucking him in last night:
Me: What was the best part of your day ...?
Wilder: [pause] ... Kate. (Kate is a friend from daycare, all blonde curls and a sassy nature.)
Me: Oh yeah? Is Kate your girlfriend?
Wilder: [sheepish and shy and barely a whisper] Yes.
Me: Is she pretty? Do you luurrrrrrve her???
Wilder: Yes ... Kate a BAD GIRL. She BAD BAD GIRL ...
Me: Why? Did Kate do something today?
Wilder: Yes ... [enter rambling non-sensical monologue about Kate and a red ball and lord knows what else in which I'm quite sure Kate was unfairly impugned.]
Me: So Kate took your ball and had to go to timeout ... but she was still the best part of your day?
Wilder: Yes ... sing now, Mama. Sing.
Awwwww. My boy has his first crush!
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Happy Day to our Grandparents!
Dear Grandpa, Grandma, Gramma, Grand-daddy and all our great-grandparents ...
WE LOVE YOU!!!!!
xo, The Brothers Scott ... a.k.a. Wilder and Hunter
ps. Our parents love you too.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Friday, September 05, 2008
Wilder: charmer, bully, personal trainer
It's nearly 8:30 in the morning and I should be headed off to work already. I normally don't work on Fridays, but the launch of my new work website late this month means I'll not only be working every Friday in September, but long days and weekends as well. Given that, I thought: Why not one quick blog post over coffee and then I'll place my nose to the grindstone and don my professional shackles?
Speaking of working late ... that's just what I did on Wednesday. So when I went to pick up the boys at daycare, Wilder was giving me a funny look as I walked across the lawn toward the playground. I figured he was either giving me the nasty stink-eye for being so late, or he was thinking who the heck is that woman (I was wearing a nice dress and heels, and let's just say that happens rarely enough that my co-workers tend to make snide comments about how I must have a job interview, har har har ...).
So I commented on the look on his face, and his teacher, whom we adore, says: "He probably looks like that because he knows he's in trouble." Only, in my head, is was more like TROUBLE. Because this was the moment I'd been dreading: The day when I pick my child up and find out he's not been acting like the fine little gentleman I've been trying to raise him to be.
Turns out he'd been pushing another little boy around at school. All day. So much so that his teacher finally made them hold hands the rest of the day.
I knew it would come. I know it's normal to test the boundaries of acceptable behavior, and I've made sure his teacher knows that I want to be informed of any shenanigans from the get-go so I can address it immediately.
Which is what we did. We talked about it on the way home. I asked Jerry to talk to him about it when he got home. We talked about it again that night as we had our final chat before closed eyes (this is when I lie down in bed with him for a few minutes and we talk about the important stuff that happened that day -- which is usually just, "Hey, what was the MOST fun thing you did today?").
As an aside, this is where Wilder the Charmer comes in. As we were having that last chat to try keep him from hammering his daycare buddy around, he looks at me in his big, sweet Wilder way and says: "Mama ... your eyes are pretty ... they're green." Now, I knew I was being manipulated, but damn if I wasn't a little proud of my son for manipulating me so well.
Anyway, cut to the next day, yesterday, and me picking him up again. I walked in and the first thing that happens is one of the little girls comes up (God bless the little girls ... they're like the daycare broadcast department) and says: "Guess what, Wilder's mommy?" My heart sank. "What?" I answered. "Wilder was BAAAAAAAAAAD today." My eyes cut over to Wilder's teacher and she just nodded. "Same boy?" I asked. "Different one," she says. Not as bad, she adds, but still, Wilder was the instigator. So I made Wilder go over and give that little boy a hug and say sorry (I'm sure the kid was loving me for that; he was probably thinking, "Get your Genghis Khan off me!") .
So Jerry and I repeated the whole thing last night. But instead of saying anyone's name, as in: "Jackson is your friend, and you shouldn't push him," we opened up the realm of who you should and should not push, hit, kick, perform suplex maneuvers on, etc. to include the whole world of people you know.
I'm really hoping the problem was that we weren't specific enough, but I'll find out here in a few hours. But lord, please, don't let my child become the modern, daycare version of Idi Amin.
So there you have it -- Wilder's newest incarnations. Bully. Mama charmer. And oh yes, personal trainer ...
I have recently been trying not only to drop the remainder of my baby weight, but also trying to get in shape for the first time in years. I'll see how that goes, but to help, I bought an elliptical trainer. It has an iPod docker, so when I work out, I play music. Wilder is absolutely fascinated by the whole thing. "Cool!" he yells when I'm on it. He also yells: "Faster, mama! FASTER!!!" And he dances around the room with the dog, maniacal-mosh-pit style, with a huge ass grin on his face. And I tell you what: It really makes me want to go faster and have as good of a time as he's having. So there you have it, Wilder is my personal trainer, and he doesn't cost a dime.
Speaking of working late ... that's just what I did on Wednesday. So when I went to pick up the boys at daycare, Wilder was giving me a funny look as I walked across the lawn toward the playground. I figured he was either giving me the nasty stink-eye for being so late, or he was thinking who the heck is that woman (I was wearing a nice dress and heels, and let's just say that happens rarely enough that my co-workers tend to make snide comments about how I must have a job interview, har har har ...).
So I commented on the look on his face, and his teacher, whom we adore, says: "He probably looks like that because he knows he's in trouble." Only, in my head, is was more like TROUBLE. Because this was the moment I'd been dreading: The day when I pick my child up and find out he's not been acting like the fine little gentleman I've been trying to raise him to be.
Turns out he'd been pushing another little boy around at school. All day. So much so that his teacher finally made them hold hands the rest of the day.
I knew it would come. I know it's normal to test the boundaries of acceptable behavior, and I've made sure his teacher knows that I want to be informed of any shenanigans from the get-go so I can address it immediately.
Which is what we did. We talked about it on the way home. I asked Jerry to talk to him about it when he got home. We talked about it again that night as we had our final chat before closed eyes (this is when I lie down in bed with him for a few minutes and we talk about the important stuff that happened that day -- which is usually just, "Hey, what was the MOST fun thing you did today?").
As an aside, this is where Wilder the Charmer comes in. As we were having that last chat to try keep him from hammering his daycare buddy around, he looks at me in his big, sweet Wilder way and says: "Mama ... your eyes are pretty ... they're green." Now, I knew I was being manipulated, but damn if I wasn't a little proud of my son for manipulating me so well.
Anyway, cut to the next day, yesterday, and me picking him up again. I walked in and the first thing that happens is one of the little girls comes up (God bless the little girls ... they're like the daycare broadcast department) and says: "Guess what, Wilder's mommy?" My heart sank. "What?" I answered. "Wilder was BAAAAAAAAAAD today." My eyes cut over to Wilder's teacher and she just nodded. "Same boy?" I asked. "Different one," she says. Not as bad, she adds, but still, Wilder was the instigator. So I made Wilder go over and give that little boy a hug and say sorry (I'm sure the kid was loving me for that; he was probably thinking, "Get your Genghis Khan off me!") .
So Jerry and I repeated the whole thing last night. But instead of saying anyone's name, as in: "Jackson is your friend, and you shouldn't push him," we opened up the realm of who you should and should not push, hit, kick, perform suplex maneuvers on, etc. to include the whole world of people you know.
I'm really hoping the problem was that we weren't specific enough, but I'll find out here in a few hours. But lord, please, don't let my child become the modern, daycare version of Idi Amin.
So there you have it -- Wilder's newest incarnations. Bully. Mama charmer. And oh yes, personal trainer ...
I have recently been trying not only to drop the remainder of my baby weight, but also trying to get in shape for the first time in years. I'll see how that goes, but to help, I bought an elliptical trainer. It has an iPod docker, so when I work out, I play music. Wilder is absolutely fascinated by the whole thing. "Cool!" he yells when I'm on it. He also yells: "Faster, mama! FASTER!!!" And he dances around the room with the dog, maniacal-mosh-pit style, with a huge ass grin on his face. And I tell you what: It really makes me want to go faster and have as good of a time as he's having. So there you have it, Wilder is my personal trainer, and he doesn't cost a dime.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
This one's for Jefe
The title of this post refers to my good friend (and probably brother from a past life) Jeff, who -- after months ... nay, years of my keeping this blog -- has finally deemed it worthy of reading and therefore has added it to his Google Reader and commanded me to blog more often. I briefly considered making this post with a picture of Wilder flipping Jeff the bird, but decided that would just give those who love me one more reason to feel great disappointment at my juvenile behavior. Well, that and I figured we'd get a call from daycare about W's indiscriminate use of rude finger gestures.
So anyway, Jerry and I have been on a vacation this week. In Dallas. I'm told there's some crazy term called a "staycation" that's destined for the 2011 Webster's list of stupid new words that everybody's using, but saying that -- staycation -- just makes me cry a little into my coffee (cough, beer). So we'll stick with vacation.
It's been a good one so far. Wilder has discovered his inner Scarlett O'Hara and will literally sit in front of the mirror crying and observing the drama from all angles to see which is his best. And Hunter has unearthed his inner volume AND pitch control. But in between contrived conniption fits and brain-freezing bloodcurdling screams, it's been a damn fine vacation. Hold on ... I have to go pop another pill.
Not much else to report. On a less sarcastic note, the love between Wilder and Hunter continues to grow. There is lots of hugging, kissing, sniffing ("Baby smells so GOOD!") and general drooling on one another going on. I know one day they'll pummel each other to bits, but for now it's one big Wilder-Hunter Love Fest, and it does a mama's heart good.
Jerry and I are trying to get in shape, swimming and biking and -- I am SO psyched to report -- we recently bought an elliptical machine that will be delivered tomorrow. Inspired by our friends Chris and Bree, we'll be doing the Muddy Buddy this year for our 5th wedding anniversary. It doesn't really sound too difficult, but we've decided to train anyway. After a few months of swimming, we're both in better shape than we have been in quite some time, but it can always get better. Might as well fight middle age with every ounce of muscle we've got, I say.
Tomorrow night we have a very rare night away from home. Our good friend and saint Judy is coming over to care for our monkeys, err boys, and we've got a pool-facing suite at the Belmont Hotel here in Dallas. We're going to swim, eat, drink and revel in the quiet. It'll be a nice last hurrah before we return to work, and I specifically return to next few weeks of what I can only assume will be hell as we're supposed to launch the new website the end of September and we'll be going through training, quality analysis and testing. I have a very deep sense of foreboding about this. If I don't blog much in September, forgive me (or, if you're Jeff, piss off!).
On that note, here's some recent photos from the month of August.
Scarlett, err ... Wilder has developed a little shoe fetish. This is but one photo of him walking around the house with my shoes on. I have more. Don't make me use them, son.
Oh, wait! Here's another!
Happy Hunter!
This photo is totally overexposed, but I love it because it highlights those amazing Hunter eyes. Wow.
Jerry calls this one "NINJA WILDER!" I think I was tackled a millisecond after I clicked the button.
The community garden. It has really flourished and they're getting ready to double the plots. We're psyched for our fall crop.
Wilder picking banana peppers, which was our most successful bounty this season.
Yep, they really do like each other. For now.
One more of 'lil Hunter
Cheers friends. XO, k.
So anyway, Jerry and I have been on a vacation this week. In Dallas. I'm told there's some crazy term called a "staycation" that's destined for the 2011 Webster's list of stupid new words that everybody's using, but saying that -- staycation -- just makes me cry a little into my coffee (cough, beer). So we'll stick with vacation.
It's been a good one so far. Wilder has discovered his inner Scarlett O'Hara and will literally sit in front of the mirror crying and observing the drama from all angles to see which is his best. And Hunter has unearthed his inner volume AND pitch control. But in between contrived conniption fits and brain-freezing bloodcurdling screams, it's been a damn fine vacation. Hold on ... I have to go pop another pill.
Not much else to report. On a less sarcastic note, the love between Wilder and Hunter continues to grow. There is lots of hugging, kissing, sniffing ("Baby smells so GOOD!") and general drooling on one another going on. I know one day they'll pummel each other to bits, but for now it's one big Wilder-Hunter Love Fest, and it does a mama's heart good.
Jerry and I are trying to get in shape, swimming and biking and -- I am SO psyched to report -- we recently bought an elliptical machine that will be delivered tomorrow. Inspired by our friends Chris and Bree, we'll be doing the Muddy Buddy this year for our 5th wedding anniversary. It doesn't really sound too difficult, but we've decided to train anyway. After a few months of swimming, we're both in better shape than we have been in quite some time, but it can always get better. Might as well fight middle age with every ounce of muscle we've got, I say.
Tomorrow night we have a very rare night away from home. Our good friend and saint Judy is coming over to care for our monkeys, err boys, and we've got a pool-facing suite at the Belmont Hotel here in Dallas. We're going to swim, eat, drink and revel in the quiet. It'll be a nice last hurrah before we return to work, and I specifically return to next few weeks of what I can only assume will be hell as we're supposed to launch the new website the end of September and we'll be going through training, quality analysis and testing. I have a very deep sense of foreboding about this. If I don't blog much in September, forgive me (or, if you're Jeff, piss off!).
On that note, here's some recent photos from the month of August.
Scarlett, err ... Wilder has developed a little shoe fetish. This is but one photo of him walking around the house with my shoes on. I have more. Don't make me use them, son.
Oh, wait! Here's another!
Happy Hunter!
This photo is totally overexposed, but I love it because it highlights those amazing Hunter eyes. Wow.
Jerry calls this one "NINJA WILDER!" I think I was tackled a millisecond after I clicked the button.
The community garden. It has really flourished and they're getting ready to double the plots. We're psyched for our fall crop.
Wilder picking banana peppers, which was our most successful bounty this season.
Yep, they really do like each other. For now.
One more of 'lil Hunter
Cheers friends. XO, k.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Couldn't pick just one
So I know there's a lot of takes on the same photo here. But oh, I so love pictures of Wilder and Hunter together. Not only are they developing this cute little relationship, but it never ceases to amaze and perplex me how different they look from one another. For the first time in these photos, I think you can see that Hunter looks quite like me. Actually, he looks quite like my own dad, Grandpa Jon, who I think will be quite happy about that (yay Pop!).
I'm off to peel Jerry out of Wilder's room (we're both so tired tonight that he fell asleep rocking Hunter to sleep and I fell asleep in the "big bed" with Wilder watching cartoons; then I woke Jerry up to lie Hunter down and he crept into Wilder's room to say g'nite and I think he's passed out in there now. We need an early-to-bed night.)
Here are the pics:
This is the photo where I think you can most see Hunter's resemblance to my family, particularly my Pop. Also, check out the grasp Hunter has on Wilder's shirt. He LOVES to grab handfuls of Wilder's hair or clothing, much to W's dismay.
There often seems to be a hint of bemusement in Hunter's eyes to me. As if he's saying: These people are strange, and just how the hell did I end up here anyway?
Another good H face: Agggghh Mama! Help me!
And finally, here's our littlest one on his own. I think his T-shirt says it well -- he is so adorable. And I think here you can see a glimpse of the little boy he will become. And seriously, could you not eat those cheeks up over and over again?
G'nite blog readers. Love to all. k.
I'm off to peel Jerry out of Wilder's room (we're both so tired tonight that he fell asleep rocking Hunter to sleep and I fell asleep in the "big bed" with Wilder watching cartoons; then I woke Jerry up to lie Hunter down and he crept into Wilder's room to say g'nite and I think he's passed out in there now. We need an early-to-bed night.)
Here are the pics:
This is the photo where I think you can most see Hunter's resemblance to my family, particularly my Pop. Also, check out the grasp Hunter has on Wilder's shirt. He LOVES to grab handfuls of Wilder's hair or clothing, much to W's dismay.
There often seems to be a hint of bemusement in Hunter's eyes to me. As if he's saying: These people are strange, and just how the hell did I end up here anyway?
Another good H face: Agggghh Mama! Help me!
And finally, here's our littlest one on his own. I think his T-shirt says it well -- he is so adorable. And I think here you can see a glimpse of the little boy he will become. And seriously, could you not eat those cheeks up over and over again?
G'nite blog readers. Love to all. k.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Humor: Making the hard times easier since ... well, forever ago
Sometimes I do things knowing that I'll forget I've done them, but also knowing that my future self will get a kick out of them when I discover them again. Yes, I crack myself up. If I didn't, l probably would have offed myself ages ago.
So I've gone from pumping twice a day at work to once a day. Soon I will go to no times a day because it's just TOO. DAMN. HARD. to keep up with it and still, you know, get the job done (Translation: Keep a job.). So it was with some degree of satisfaction that I went to my iCal today to delete the second pumping reminder I set up for myself every single day (the very fact that I should have to remind myself to empty my breasts of milk should tell you just how crazy my job gets sometimes — "hmmm, my boobs feel like they're in a vice grip and my shirt is a little damp down there ... what the? ohhh, I guess I shouldn't have zoned out on e-newsletters for the last three hours.")
So as I deleted the reminders, I got this message: "You have invited people to this event" ... and then something about how those people would be notified about the event no longer taking place. "Hmmm," I thought. "Now who would I have invited to join me while I'm the cow version of myself?" (Not that the whole office hasn't invited themselves in at one point or another to talk to me about, shudder, marketing or, you know, whether I've made the coffee yet or not.)
So who DID I invite to my pumping sessions? "My boobs."
Best laugh I've had today.
So I've gone from pumping twice a day at work to once a day. Soon I will go to no times a day because it's just TOO. DAMN. HARD. to keep up with it and still, you know, get the job done (Translation: Keep a job.). So it was with some degree of satisfaction that I went to my iCal today to delete the second pumping reminder I set up for myself every single day (the very fact that I should have to remind myself to empty my breasts of milk should tell you just how crazy my job gets sometimes — "hmmm, my boobs feel like they're in a vice grip and my shirt is a little damp down there ... what the? ohhh, I guess I shouldn't have zoned out on e-newsletters for the last three hours.")
So as I deleted the reminders, I got this message: "You have invited people to this event" ... and then something about how those people would be notified about the event no longer taking place. "Hmmm," I thought. "Now who would I have invited to join me while I'm the cow version of myself?" (Not that the whole office hasn't invited themselves in at one point or another to talk to me about, shudder, marketing or, you know, whether I've made the coffee yet or not.)
So who DID I invite to my pumping sessions? "My boobs."
Best laugh I've had today.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Potty training: a glimmer of hope
I don't talk about potty training too much on the blog. Mostly because it really hasn't happened to any significant degree yet. So far, the dialogue has consisted of questions like: "Wanna go potty on the potty?" Answered usually one of two ways: "No" or "noooooooooo!!!!!!"
Until this past week. I finally got motivated and made a potty training sticker chart. I bought super kickass stickers (to a 2-year-old boy anyway): Speed racer ones, Cars ones, etc. I put the chart up in Wilder's room and showed him the stickers. Suddenly, he was willing to at least sit on the potty. First with pants up then, after he informed me it was "not scary mama," (I think he'd previously thought some green-eyed turd monster lived in there)with pants down. He was even trying to pull his own pants up and down, down going better than up. Up usually results in a wedgie of mind-boggling proportions or, my personal favorite, he front-side business end being covered up but his ass hanging out for the world to see.
Anyway, so we sat. Despite much encouragement to pee or poop, he just sat, unrolled toilet paper, flushed and yelled "bye water! byeeeeeee!" as if it was embarking on a trip overseas, not to return for months and months. If he'd had a hankie, I'm sure he would have waved it.
So no actually "potty" yet, but still we press on. This morning, I asked Wilder if he wanted to go pee or poop on the pot. Noooo, he said.
And then, there it was, our little glimmer of hope. The dog throwing the proverbial bone to his long-suffering, aromatically offended, butt-wiping parents ...:
"Not YET, Mama."
Not yet? Not YET????? Surely this means, that at some point in the future -- though I'm willing to admit in Wilder's mind it could be when he's 47 -- he plans to go on the potty.
Thank you oh lords of potty training. Thank you.
Until this past week. I finally got motivated and made a potty training sticker chart. I bought super kickass stickers (to a 2-year-old boy anyway): Speed racer ones, Cars ones, etc. I put the chart up in Wilder's room and showed him the stickers. Suddenly, he was willing to at least sit on the potty. First with pants up then, after he informed me it was "not scary mama," (I think he'd previously thought some green-eyed turd monster lived in there)with pants down. He was even trying to pull his own pants up and down, down going better than up. Up usually results in a wedgie of mind-boggling proportions or, my personal favorite, he front-side business end being covered up but his ass hanging out for the world to see.
Anyway, so we sat. Despite much encouragement to pee or poop, he just sat, unrolled toilet paper, flushed and yelled "bye water! byeeeeeee!" as if it was embarking on a trip overseas, not to return for months and months. If he'd had a hankie, I'm sure he would have waved it.
So no actually "potty" yet, but still we press on. This morning, I asked Wilder if he wanted to go pee or poop on the pot. Noooo, he said.
And then, there it was, our little glimmer of hope. The dog throwing the proverbial bone to his long-suffering, aromatically offended, butt-wiping parents ...:
"Not YET, Mama."
Not yet? Not YET????? Surely this means, that at some point in the future -- though I'm willing to admit in Wilder's mind it could be when he's 47 -- he plans to go on the potty.
Thank you oh lords of potty training. Thank you.
Monday, July 28, 2008
The house of brotherly love
A few photos from the last few days:
Hunter in his exersaucer. He's growing like a weed!
Wilder climbed onto the table to be close to Hunter and give him his bink. For now, at least, he really loves his baby brother.
Here he is crushing ... err, I mean, hugging Hunter. He learned to pin his hands down after Hunter twice grabbed deathgrip-handfuls of Wilder's hair.
Hunter in his exersaucer. He's growing like a weed!
Wilder climbed onto the table to be close to Hunter and give him his bink. For now, at least, he really loves his baby brother.
Here he is crushing ... err, I mean, hugging Hunter. He learned to pin his hands down after Hunter twice grabbed deathgrip-handfuls of Wilder's hair.
Toothiness ...
This post is purely for Hunter's future self's information:
Honey, you cut your first tooth on Sunday, July 27, 2008. One step closer to real food!!
PS. You were characteristically tough about it ... not much fussing. You did, however, fuss quite a bit after you pooped your drawers on the way to TCBY and we didn't realize it until we got home. Pain: You can handle it. Sitting in poo: not so much.
Some photos of the boys TK soon.
Honey, you cut your first tooth on Sunday, July 27, 2008. One step closer to real food!!
PS. You were characteristically tough about it ... not much fussing. You did, however, fuss quite a bit after you pooped your drawers on the way to TCBY and we didn't realize it until we got home. Pain: You can handle it. Sitting in poo: not so much.
Some photos of the boys TK soon.
Friday, July 25, 2008
My new best friend
On Fridays, I stay home with my boys. They're a handful, and I'm usually exhausted by late afternoon, but I'm finding more and more that Fridays are just magic days. In particular, lately Wilder seems to regard me as just the coolest thing since sliced bread. Which is a far cry from the "go away mamas!!" of a couple months ago.
Today, for example, Wilder and I started the day by watching "The Land Before Time" while Hunter snoozed. Wilder ran and got us two pudding cups and two spoons and it was so cute and sweet that, even though it was 8 a.m., I couldn't say no.
At lunch (again, Hunter was napping) we had a picnic on a blanket in the sunroom. We built "ships" out of Legos.
After his nap, we went to the sprayground (Wilder calls it the "waterfall") and then quickly visited the adjoining playground. Hunter was all smiles until he crapped all over himself and me. Then lots of boo-hooing until I went and stood by the sprayground pumps (loud!) and the noise lulled him to sleep.
Then the boys and I drove around our neighborhood, just for something to do, looking at houses. Our new 'hood is pretty well established and it's pretty cool what some of the people here have done with their homes/yards. So we took 30 minutes or so to explore. Hunter napped. Wilder yapped at me happily. I voyeured. Perfect.
Then we all tumbled into the house and into the "big bed" to watch cartoons and let Hunter nurse. Jerry came home, we had dinner and then Wilder and I walked to the park to play and kick the soccer ball around. I let him stay until well past his bedtime. He met a new friend and had so much fun, happily chattering to me all the way home.
I just wanted to write about this day because, for me, it was near nirvana. Happy sighs ... happy sighs.
Today, for example, Wilder and I started the day by watching "The Land Before Time" while Hunter snoozed. Wilder ran and got us two pudding cups and two spoons and it was so cute and sweet that, even though it was 8 a.m., I couldn't say no.
At lunch (again, Hunter was napping) we had a picnic on a blanket in the sunroom. We built "ships" out of Legos.
After his nap, we went to the sprayground (Wilder calls it the "waterfall") and then quickly visited the adjoining playground. Hunter was all smiles until he crapped all over himself and me. Then lots of boo-hooing until I went and stood by the sprayground pumps (loud!) and the noise lulled him to sleep.
Then the boys and I drove around our neighborhood, just for something to do, looking at houses. Our new 'hood is pretty well established and it's pretty cool what some of the people here have done with their homes/yards. So we took 30 minutes or so to explore. Hunter napped. Wilder yapped at me happily. I voyeured. Perfect.
Then we all tumbled into the house and into the "big bed" to watch cartoons and let Hunter nurse. Jerry came home, we had dinner and then Wilder and I walked to the park to play and kick the soccer ball around. I let him stay until well past his bedtime. He met a new friend and had so much fun, happily chattering to me all the way home.
I just wanted to write about this day because, for me, it was near nirvana. Happy sighs ... happy sighs.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The coolest website I found today ...
One of the coolest part of my new job as web editor — when the new site launches anyway — is a little something we call Link Lounge, which basically means I'll get to surf the internet a good portion of the day looking for interesting, funny, profane and downright useful stuff. Right now I'll need to change the links daily, so right now I'm trying to build a library of sites that I can go back to again and again.
Today, here's the most fun site I've found so far. It's so pretty and so whimsical ... I love it:
Small Magazine
Click on Small Spaces and look at those swings! Wilder would die with pleasure to have either one of those.
Speaking of Wilder being happy, this weekend he will be. We have — count 'em! — TWO birthday parties to go to. One on Saturday and one on Sunday that I just found out about. Since he pretty much wanders around the house saying "happy birthday" and yelling "Party, mama! Party!!" ... he'll be so pleased.
Today, here's the most fun site I've found so far. It's so pretty and so whimsical ... I love it:
Small Magazine
Click on Small Spaces and look at those swings! Wilder would die with pleasure to have either one of those.
Speaking of Wilder being happy, this weekend he will be. We have — count 'em! — TWO birthday parties to go to. One on Saturday and one on Sunday that I just found out about. Since he pretty much wanders around the house saying "happy birthday" and yelling "Party, mama! Party!!" ... he'll be so pleased.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Oh my achin' back
Hunter had his 4-month checkup today. He's healthy and strong and getting ready to push through a couple teeth. He had four shots, hollered bloody murder while getting them and then was done by the time the nurse was finished band-aiding him. Tough little dude.
So, yeah, about that back ... it's aching because he is:
18 lbs., 5 oz. and 27.5 inches tall. Off the charts for height. I think he's going to be tall like Jerry and built more like my dad, whom I've often referred to as being built like a brick shithouse. Perfect for rugby. Or football. Or watercolors ... whatever makes him happy. Really.
Here's a recent pic:
He continues to be a mellow and happy baby. He rolled over a couple days ago and is now quite happily exploring all the possibilities that increased mobility can provide. Sometimes I lie him down only to come back a few minutes later and he's spun himself around and is halfway turned over. He's also developed a deathgrip to beat all deathgrips. Which is great, except when it's my boob he's got in his killer clenches. YEEEEEEouch!!
Wilder has returned to a sweet stage. He takes care of me these days, bringing me snacks to share with him and wanting to cuddle with me watching "TB (tv) in the big bed!" as often as possible, often imploring Jerry to "GO AWAY Papa." Luckily, Jerry thinks it's pretty cool that Wilder wants just-mama time. Good man that Jer. :-)
Well, I hear the little one protesting the mama-imposed nap. Aren't shots supposed to make a baby sleepy? This one ... not so much.
So, yeah, about that back ... it's aching because he is:
18 lbs., 5 oz. and 27.5 inches tall. Off the charts for height. I think he's going to be tall like Jerry and built more like my dad, whom I've often referred to as being built like a brick shithouse. Perfect for rugby. Or football. Or watercolors ... whatever makes him happy. Really.
Here's a recent pic:
He continues to be a mellow and happy baby. He rolled over a couple days ago and is now quite happily exploring all the possibilities that increased mobility can provide. Sometimes I lie him down only to come back a few minutes later and he's spun himself around and is halfway turned over. He's also developed a deathgrip to beat all deathgrips. Which is great, except when it's my boob he's got in his killer clenches. YEEEEEEouch!!
Wilder has returned to a sweet stage. He takes care of me these days, bringing me snacks to share with him and wanting to cuddle with me watching "TB (tv) in the big bed!" as often as possible, often imploring Jerry to "GO AWAY Papa." Luckily, Jerry thinks it's pretty cool that Wilder wants just-mama time. Good man that Jer. :-)
Well, I hear the little one protesting the mama-imposed nap. Aren't shots supposed to make a baby sleepy? This one ... not so much.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Hunter's first video!
Our littlest boy has discovered he can blow bubbles. And boy does he like to show off his new skill.
The background noise is Wilder enjoying his bath. We have not, though it might sound like it, adopted a wild monkey.
Hope you enjoy!
The background noise is Wilder enjoying his bath. We have not, though it might sound like it, adopted a wild monkey.
Hope you enjoy!
Our weekend? Craptacular!
Not much to report from this past weekend. For me, at least. I was wrapped up in stomach cramps and, err, other assorted gastrointestinal distress for most of it. Make that two crap weekends in a row.
Jerry probably would want me to point out that he picked up my slack. And did a damn fine job at that. In addition to having to endure my colorful stories of lavatory adventure, he also had to clean poop off a couch (Wilder's) and puke off the carpet (Betty's).
Man, the fun NEVER ends in this household, I'm telling you!
So we're keeping our fingers crossed for this coming weekend. May it not involve moaning, hospitals, vomit, poo or any other assorted unpleasantries.
Here are some photos ... discomfort be damned, it will not stop me from taking heli-cute photos of my boys. Take that, intestines!!
Practicing the future faces they'll no doubt make right before they do something like dress the cat in my wedding dress and teach it to swim.
Wilder holds "the bebe."
Truck sheets are cool.
Hangin' in the sunroom.
Handsome Hunter.
Because this is what most of my photos of my sons really turn out like.
Jerry probably would want me to point out that he picked up my slack. And did a damn fine job at that. In addition to having to endure my colorful stories of lavatory adventure, he also had to clean poop off a couch (Wilder's) and puke off the carpet (Betty's).
Man, the fun NEVER ends in this household, I'm telling you!
So we're keeping our fingers crossed for this coming weekend. May it not involve moaning, hospitals, vomit, poo or any other assorted unpleasantries.
Here are some photos ... discomfort be damned, it will not stop me from taking heli-cute photos of my boys. Take that, intestines!!
Practicing the future faces they'll no doubt make right before they do something like dress the cat in my wedding dress and teach it to swim.
Wilder holds "the bebe."
Truck sheets are cool.
Hangin' in the sunroom.
Handsome Hunter.
Because this is what most of my photos of my sons really turn out like.
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