Photozzzzzzzzzzzz

These first five are from the neighborhood parade, before during and after.




Wilder this morning, still in his hospital gown. He was promised ice cream by assorted medical staff for 10 hours straight and never got any (once they realized his glucose was reading high they'd reneg ... bastards!). So, at 7 a.m. when we got home and our poor little boy quietly suggested "ice cream" ... well, how can you say no.

Hunter weathered the night better than any of us. Here he is in his brand-spankin'-new jumper, which he hasn't quite figured out yet. Tonight he was mostly just launching himself wildly around, freaking himself out.

I love the sort of diabolical big-brainness this picture hints out. The seemingly huge forehead, the crazy glint in his eyes. You can't tell in the pictures I post, but Hunter can his right eyebrow and does quite often. In this photo it's raised, and it makes me wonder what he was thinking about.
All right, I'm off to the Land of Nod. Nite all.

One last observation on the night from hell

It can be difficult to entertain a 2-year-old in an emergency room for hours on end. After exhausting all the games I could think of to entertain a little boy hooked up to fluids and many monitors -- the opposite game, this little piggie, I spy with my little eye, etcetera etcetera -- Wilder spied the tiny TV up on the wall.

I turned it on and changed channels, Wilder repeating "no ... no ... no ..." until he saw something that caught his eye.

So what did we watch for an hour while waiting for our ambulance escort to hospital No. 2?

Octopussy. The best part? It was dubbed in Spanish. When you're 2, watching Octopussy goes a little something like this.

"Choo choo! Choo choo mama! ... Car! Ooooooh, helicopter! Mama, they crashed!!! Look Mama! Clown. Clown. Clown. Clown. Mama, mama, mama ... CLOWN!!!!"

Party interruptus

So, about that blood in the carpet ...

Well, that's the short part of the story. Betty tore a nail and tracked it all over the house. Some of our party guests got online to figure out how to clean it up. Then they did.

That's that. But don't feel cheated out of a story because the question is: Why were our guests cleaning blood out of the carpet instead of Jerry and I? Well, Jerry and I were at the hospital with Wilder. In fact, last night we spent, between the two of us, 12 hours in two separate hospitals, where Wilder was subjected to all manner of tests, including and culminating in a CAT scan.

Before I go any further, Wilder is fine. Today, he's running around the house -- pantsless, mind you, which is his favorite way to explore a house -- as exuberant as ever.

So here's what happened. The party started at 2 p.m. It was going fantastically. Lots of people showed up. Tons of kids in the pool, having fun, many of their parents with them. Hunter was being mellow. Wilder was having a ball.

Until about 5:30 p.m. At that point, he started to get very cranky. After a bit, Jerry and I came to the decision that he was really tired and needed a little nap. We got him out of the pool and, at that point, he really started to freak out. Lots of screaming, lots of body contorting. We took him to bed and left the room for about 10 minutes. He wasn't calming down, so I went into his room. I talked to him about taking it easy, but he was inconsolable. I mean he was either in a LOT of pain or he was competing for the Super-Mega Tantrum 2008 title.

At some point, I decided I was going to stay in his room until he fell asleep. Something just told me not to leave. I swear, this was like a crystal clear intuition. I just felt strongly, really strongly, that I shouldn't leave him alone.

About five minutes later, things got really scary. Wilder had calmed down briefly, but worked himself up again. It was like he was trying to stay angry and conscious at the same time. I was trying to figure out what was up when his eyes rolled back in his head and he started to throw up. I pulled him out of bed onto his feet. He stood there, barely able to keep himself on his feet, convulsing and puking for another five minutes. He was having trouble breathing. He didn't even seem to be in his body.

At this point, I lost it. I started screaming for Jerry. He came running and Wilder briefly came back to himself, refusing ice cream and still crying uncontrollably.

A few weeks ago, someone sent us an article on dry drowning. Basically, kids get water in their lungs while swimming, yet remain alert for a period of time. After awhile, they start to act strange and then get really sleepy. Parents will put them down for a nap, where they will drown.

Freaky, right? Well, I'd forwarded the article to Jerry and, though we both knew that the statistical chances of this happening to Wilder were very low, neither of us could get it out of our minds. And we were especially freaked because he couldn't seem to stay awake, couldn't seem to keep his eyes open or his head up.

In a flash that now feels like a slow-motion blur, we decided an emergency room visit was in order. Jerry ran out the door without shoes on, still wet from the pool. I quickly enlisted friends to watch Hunter and feed him and, barely able to keep myself calm, drove like a madwoman to the hospital, about 10 minutes behind the boys. They were already in admitting when I got there. Wilder had thrown up twice more and was borderline catatonic when I arrived. Moaning, labored breathing.

They took him back to a room, hooked him up to some monitors and started an IV to take some blood. He came to when they did that, cried out once and faded back out. It was the lethargy that was really concerning the docs (and, obviously, us).

At some point I stepped outside to call our friends and check on Hunter. I was crying on the phone about how out of it he was and how scared I was. When I stepped back into his room, he was sitting up, looked at me and yelled out: "Mama!" An x-ray tech had stepped in to x-ray his lungs and he'd perked up, just like that. Just like someone had snapped their fingers and magically brought him to.

Strange.

So let me wrap this up because this is feeling like a novel ...

We stayed at Doctors Hospital a few more hours. Wilder had low potassium and high glucose and, though he was now acting almost totally normal, the doctors decided to transfer him to Children's Hospital to rule out diabetes or anything else more serious. So an ambulance ride and 12 hours later (I had to go home at about 2 a.m. to feed the baby and Jer stayed with Wilder for the remainder of his tests), he was released with a clean bill of health, the incident unexplained. I guess it was some strange mixture of sun, fun, stress, exhaustion and who knows what else.

Everyone here today is tired, but happy. We're together, we're healthy. There've been lots of cuddles and popsicle requests granted. On that note, I'm off ... my car is still at hospital No. 1 and needs to be picked up.

Love to all. I've got pictures from the weekend to post later.

Party gone bad

Let's just quickly say it's never a good sign when, the morning after you've had a party, you jump on your computer and the web page that's been left up is titled "How to Clean Blood From Carpet."

More to come later -- I'm operating on about 2 hours of sleep. Jerry is finally down after being up all night, and not at home. Hunter is napping. And Wilder, though he should be beyond sacked out on his pillow, is -- of course -- not even remotely sleepy.

Let me assure everyone that all is well -- but the party most decidedly did not go off without a hitch.

Summer shots

Brotherly love ...


For one of them, the love didn't last too long.


Wilder's third year to enjoy the local sprayground ...


He went two days in a row and cried both times we had to leave. He LOVES ... no, he lurrrrvvvvvessss it.


At the Dallas Arboretum's outdoor stage to see Asleep at the Wheel with some friends and their kids. The music was good, but the weather, company and atmosphere were even better. The kids had a ball.


Handsome boys No. 1 ...


No. 2 ...


And No. 3 ...


Wilder and Mama's sidewalk chalk masterpiece mural.


Sir Jerry gets attacked by two brave knaves, Wilder and his new buddy Luke.

Monday ...

It's been one of those Mondays so far. It started off innocently, and I even got a little play time outside with Wilder and his newest fascination, snails. Correction: putting snails on toy cars (I don't know what he thinks might happen, because I'm pretty sure a snail doesn't know a '57 Chevy replica from, say, a mushroom, but still, we persist in putting the critters on the cars and, I guess, waiting for the engine to start). But all too soon it was time for Jer to load the kids in the car for daycare. I went to grab Hunter, who was playing on his activity mat. And that's when things went south.

Some strange hiccup/sneeze thing happened and, within seconds, the kid had projectile emptied his entire stomach contents. Halfway through I snatched him up and he emptied half of it on me. Poor thing (him, not me).

So now he's had a bath (and I a change of clothes). I got him dried and lotioned and dressed and fed again. He started yawning so I laid him down for a nap. He crapped his pants. I undressed him, changed him again, resnapped him up. He crapped his pants again. Repeat. Back down to bed and now he's fast asleep and seems immune to my repeated entries to make sure all is still right in his world and his diaper.

Funny thing is, he never cried once. In fact, he mostly smiled. Much like Wilder was when he was little, and probably all little ones are to some extent, Hunter is a trooper. Not much rattles that kid.

And so, I take a page from my kids' manuals, and just write this morning off as the kind of thing that happens when you have the wee ones. Sure, you might get puked on, you might change four diapers in 45 minutes, and somewhere in between all that, you might give yourself a near-concussion on the kitchen cabinet door and have to lie on the floor clutching your head for a couple mintues, moaning (yes, I did). But when it's all said and done and that little Biggie Smalls who's fast asleep in his crib right now gives you one of his killer, heart-melting, gut-wrenchingly lovable smiles, well, hell ... who really gives a damn? I'd get puked on every day for those smiles.

Hunter turns 3 months; Wilder skinny-fies up a little

Hunter turned 3 months old this weekend. I remember reading somewhere once that babies really don't become fully gestationalized (word?) until they're 3 months old ... how it's almost like they need to spend another quarter of a year inside the womb, cooking, but instead emerge early from mama's oven. (Bear with me; I'm reading too many cooking-related books recently).

So anyway, it's not with any small amount of excitement that I look forward to the 3 month mark. There is something more "realized," for lack of a better word, about an infant that age. You can start to see a glimmer of his future facial features. He can grab at things. He's checking out his hands, feet, can hold his head up better. You can see that he's checking out the world and seeing the possibilities. Example: "There's that big brother of mine that keeps screaming 'happy baby!!!' in my face at high decibels. Look, he's holding a wiffle ball bat. Hmmm, if I learn to use my arms and legs better I can take that bat from him and crank him over the head with it."

You get my drift.

So it was with some alarm that, at 4:30 a.m. on the day of Hunter's 3-month mark, I woke up to his curdling screams -- and I do mean SCREAMS -- as he slept nestled right beside me. It was somewhat akin to the night I woke up to a cockroach crawling across my body. I mean, one minute sleeping, the next minute: "AGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Jerry, who'd fallen asleep on the couch watching some movie about swords and war (those who know Jerry best have mental pictures in their heads now -- in fact, I swear this is not made up: I woke up the next morning and discovered the evidence in the living room of him dragging his sword, shield and arm bracers out to watch the movie with him. My husband = HUGE adorable DORK), came running back to the room.

We eventually got Hunter calmed down, chalked it up to being too warm and a bad dream, and drifted off back to sleep, all of us (on a side note, every single one of us, including Wilder, slept until almost 9:45 the next morning -- Jerry and I noted that that hasn't happened since before Wilder was born). But Hunter's newfound love of mood swings didn't end there. It wasn't a horrible weekend, but the calm, smiling boy we've come to know and love discovered that life can make you pretty damn grumpy sometimes. It was like he inherited a bit of my personality, because I = HUGE not-so-adorable GRUMP sometimes, especially when compared with my sunny-dispositioned better half.

Hunter was restless, didn't eat as much, fussed a ton, was obviously exhausted but would hardly sleep longer than 20 minutes, etc. We fretted a bit over this, and this fretting eventually led me to the 21st century parenting expertise that is Google. Har har. Anyway, I finally figured out what was bothering him last night when it hit me that his mouth had been leaking like a sieve all day.

Yep, teething. At 3 months. A dash to the pharmacy, we poured some Motrin down his throat, and 20 minutes later the poor fella finally slumped into a deep sleep on my chest. I think the teething has to do with the fact that he sits in his bouncy chair each night while Jerry, Wilder and I dine on any number of delicious things. That and Wilder running around the house screaming "ice cream," "sweeties," "cake," "snack" and "juice" all the time. Only imagine each one of those in bolded capital letters followed by many exclamation points and you get the idea of Wilder's general attitude toward food. It'd make me wanna subconsciously push out a chomper or two too.

That's about all in Hunter news. In Wilder's world, he continues to love the pool. He probably gets in it at least twice a day on Saturdays and Sundays. He's learning to use a kickboard and is very comfortable in the water, even with me now. (For awhile, it was like he thought Jerry was a dolphin and I was some poor flailing cat thrown into the deep end, all evidence to the contrary.)

Whether it's because of all this swimming or because he's growing up or both, he's really thinned out over the last couple weeks. He was running around this morning in his shorts with no shirt on and I could see his little ribs. Incidentally, I was seeing those ribs in between flashes of orange material as he hurled the shirt he was intending to be wearing over and over at my head while giggling maniacally. Ahh, boys.

Anyway, it's morning and my coffee cup is empty and work beckons. Bahhhh, work.

xo, k.

Cute little brain-eaters they are

They appear out of nowhere -- three or four of them. Walking slowly and stiff-legged toward me, slack-jawed, eyes emotionless and round, almost buggy. The clothes they wear are tatty, often dirty with lord knows what. Sometimes their pale arms are extended, fingers grabbing thin air, as if to say: "You ... I want to eat your face, make my way to your gooey brains." They drool at the thought. I plot my exit -- grab the boys and make a run for the door, to the car, load everyone in, lock the doors and slam the car into drive. We all breathe a sigh of relief and start talking about afternoon snacks of sweeties, fishies, crackers. Maybe a little juice. Just some sugar to calm our jaggedy nerves.

After all, we've just escaped the soggy, clammy, death-grip grasp of the 10-month-plus zombie set.

Summertime summertime

I started back to work last week and the transition has gone surprisingly well. I almost cried as I left daycare the first day, and again when I pulled into the parking lot at work, but I managed to blink back the tears both times.

I wanted to do this post about how much my 12 weeks with Hunter meant to me, but I'm finding that being a mama to more than one boy and working nearly full time is a real time sucker. Well, that and we've been in the pool a lot. Yes, let's see ... blog? Swim? Blog? Float in the sun? Screw the blog!

I kid, I kid ... I'll try to do better, but in the meantime, here are some recent photos. And, for the record, my 12 weeks of maternity leave was for the most part heavenly. The second time around I stressed less and enjoyed it MUCH more.

One vodka tonic is not enough

So Jerry and I were just discussing how we haven't built up our two-kids callous yet and all that entails. The noise, the whines, the cries, the fusses, -- times two, of course -- the two baths, two bodies to clothe and feed and keep alive. At day's end, we're at our wit's end; we know in time it will get better. Like everything else we've gotten used to over the last two and a half years -- the having our bodies treated like jungle gyms, the deafening decibel levels at octaves that damn near pour blood forth from the ears, the endless diapers, the number of times one little boy can say "ice cream," with every possible inflection, in an hour -- this too shall pass.

This. Too. Shall. Pass.

It's just been a particularly rough day. Hunter fussed all day, wasn't happy unless I was not only holding him, but doing some heretofore unseen combination of walking, jiggling, swaying and cooing/shushing into his year. I only got it right about 3 percent of the day. Wouldn't fall asleep without a boob in his mouth. Wouldn't stay asleep without a boob in his mouth. And then Wilder ... well, Wilder was just Wilder as he is right now. Having total meltdowns over ice cream and then shocking the hell out of us at dinner by actually trying creamed spinach (but only after I implored "please? puuuullllllleeeeeaaazzzze?" as many times as he d "ice cream" earlier in the day).

Well, anyway, that's why this post is titled what it is. I've had my daily allotted alcohol intake, and I feel like I could use a couple more.

On that note, now my tiny -month-old Genghis Khan calls. But, that said, it's moments like those pictured below that make this whole parenting/slowly going gray one little-boy-moment at a time thing worth it:

I just really liked the motion in this shot, even if the crop is off.

W and Papa enjoy time in the pool.
The pool makes living in Texas in summertime a WHOLE. LOT. BETTER.

Behold! Mister Happy!

I think this photos personifies Hunter's laid-back charm perfectly. He's getting an incredibly adorable repertoire of facial expressions that seemed designed to charm the ladies.

On that note ... I'm off to tuck in children and collapse onto a soft surface. xo, k.

Grrrr

Hunter and I are stuck at home today. , you ask? Well, because some shining example of Dallas' criminal element broke into my car yesterday in broad daylight, smashing out my passenger side window. Did they make off with my stereo? Was there an iPod sitting on my dash? Perhaps some credit cards laying in the console?

Why, no ... they made off with about $1 in change. Stellar work guys. Props to you and your mad law-breaking skills.

Wilder's favorite new inquiry

How many times can a giggling little boy ask "What you doin' Mama?" and be told, "mildewin'" before he gets tired of the game? Why, 34 to be exact.

Also, new to Wilder's lexicon: "Mini-van," which he pronounces "mini-man."

What's happening to the world we live in?

Oh the insanity. The absurdity. The bald-faced friggin' idiocy.

It strikes again.

And this is the world my boys will inherit? Jeez, at 2 months and 2 years, I'd guess that Hunter and Wilder are already capable of higher reasoning than the people who would complain about a scarf in a donut ad. And, I might ad, they already have more cojones than Dunkin Donuts, which caved into the pressure of these idiots.

On a side note, Bill O'Reilly was given the Governor's Honor by the people who hand out Emmy Awards. Comcast employee and journalist Barry Nolan protested the decision and was promptly fired. Clearly, having a spine no longer counts for anything in the journalism industry.

I have no idea what the Emmy Awards are named after, but if they're going to go handing them out to raging douchebags like O'Reilly, I propose something altogether new:

E(gotistical)
M(yopic)
M(isogynistic)
Y(ahoo)

Think I'm wrong? Click here or watch one of O'Reilly's greatest hits below (warning: NSFW):

Hunter: still big

Hunter had his two month doctor appointment yesterday. Here's the latest stats:

Weight: 14 lbs., 12.5 oz.
Height: 24.75 inches

He got a bunch of shots too, poor thing, but unlike his brother, who slept like 14 hours after his two-month shots, Hunter stayed awake most of the evening and not much would comfort him except nursing. At some point I decided I'd just lie down in bed with him and let him nurse his way through the evening. It was actually kind of nice and relaxing after a hectic day (heck, hectic WEEK).

Tomorrow our friends Bree and Chris from Colorado get here for a long weekend. I'm hoping we just eat, drink and swim our way through their three days here. I foresee Bree and I holding babies while watching Jer and Chris -- both men in their 40s, mind you -- do cannonballs. I'll get some video.

Hoping to post a bunch of pics I've compiled over the last few weeks today. A photo blitz post ... or, in other words, none of my usual blathering, ranting, etc. It's my gift to you. ; )

xo, k.

DUBYA TEE EFF?????

I simply cannot fathom the things that come out of this man's mouth. I am staggeringly appalled by his stupidity:

Tapping my inner stage mother

So OK, yeah, I think my kid is cute enough to be cover material. Don't all mothers?

Anyway, I've entered Wilder in the Parents magazine cover model search contest for this year. You can view the gallery of photos I submitted here. After receiving my June issue and seeing that they were conducting the search, I thought, "What the hell!?" and decided we'd conduct an impromptu photo shoot. I don't really expect this to go anywhere, but it sure was fun taking his pictures for half an hour while he ran around looking for lizards and snails until finally the session ended in a run up the block, a tackling session in the grass and, ultimately, a kneecap injury (me, not him).

You can rate and view his photos every day from now until some date in June, and while I don't think it has any effect on the outcome of the search, I sure would love to see him ranked highly. Because, you know, he's cute as a button, no?

For the record, Hunter begged me to enter his handsome mug too, but the minimum age was six months old. So, we'll just have to post his most recent spectacularly gorgeous photo here:

Cheers! k.

The Bros. Scott: an update

Well, Bright Eyes McPoopshispants has finally fallen asleep after much protest, so I figured I'd update the blog a little with some details on the boys. Not much to write, really, but it's been so long since I posted anything of substance that I figured it was time. 

We'll start with Wilder. After many weeks of being just the absolute sweetest, best behaved boy on the planet, his, err, wilder side has re-emerged. Don't get me wrong, even Wilder being a bit of a turd is still not that bad, but he's definitely learning to push the envelope. It's kind of funny really. I'll be all like: "Hey Wilder, let's not treat the dog like he's living at Guatanamo Bay, OK?" And he'll be all like: "Umm, OK Mama, I'm thinking about what you're requesting of me and soundly rejecting it as utter nonsense. I think I'm going to go ahead and suplex the dog." 

What's really most amusing to me (or frustrating, depending on the day) is how he knows he's being bad and testing out what his inner-James Dean can get away with. I'll ask him to quit doing something and he'll kind of trepidaciously shake his little blond head and then dart his adorable blue eyes over at me and look away quickly. He's gauging how quickly he might have to do a 180 or, you know, run for his life if I react poorly to his pathetic attempts at rebellion. A lot of times when he's in trouble I'll ask him to look at me while I explain to him how he's SO not getting away with this and he has SUCH a hard time looking me in the eye when I'm mad or disappointed. I take this as a good sign. I remember experiencing the same with my own mom, and I remember that I couldn't meet her eye because I was in awe of her power and scared to death of her judgment. 

Anyway, I'm sure all this with Wilder is just another phase. Hopefully, however, it's not a phase that's going to last until he's 4. 

In other areas of Wilder's world, there is no semblance of potty training going on. He has ZERO interest. Jerry thinks he's starting to be interested. I think that's the eternal optimism of a man who's tired of wiping poopy boy butts and dealing with what we call "fromunda" around here. (By the way, I suggest NOT doing a Google search of that word ... very colorful and, uhh, GROSS.) I recently bought some Buzz Lightyear and Diego underpants, explaining to Wilder that he could wear them when he was ready to try the potty. Nada. If any of you veteran parents and grandparents have advice on this front, holler. I'm pretty much decided to address potty-training as I've addressed everything else with Wilder — let it happen when it happens and trust that it will happen w/o much fuss sooner or later. It might be laziness, but it's a parenting style that seems to work best for me.

As much as I'd like to provide an update on Hunter, he is currently contemplating intensely protesting the fact that he's woken up and IS NOT IN MY ARMS!!!!! Oh yes, there fly the first yells. 

I'll be back on later to write more and hopefully post some pics.  

Wilder and Hunter in 20 years?

This is priceless:

The Womb Bear Speaketh: Part Deux ... and other babbling

This happened weeks ago and I meant to post it. The Womb Bear told me who Barack's running mate will be. I want it on record that my WB is psychic, in case it comes true. Wait for it ...

Colin Powell.

I swear I'm not nuts. Sleep deprived, yes, but not nuts. It's just that this contraption talks to me. Hell, my breast pump talked to my sister Tara while she was here. It said to her: "Etiquette. Etiquette."

All messages from inanimate objects must be taken seriously. So I'm sure Tara is perusing Miss Manners columns as we speak. I personally prefer Dear Prudence, but that's just me.

New pictures TK before the week is up. And guess what? Jerry and I have a baby sitter Saturday night and have a wedding to go to, at which I'm almost certain there will be an open bar. Cha-ching! I see a shower, tooth brushing, heels, make-up and stumbling in my future!

Pajama Tuesday

I was home with two sick boys today, though you can't tell it from these photos. I wanted to get some good shots of Wilder, since he's been a little neglected lately -- both on the blog and in real life. It was my first day home alone with the two of them, and I have to say, it went pretty well. I slammed a beer at 6 p.m. but hell, it wasn't like it was 10 a.m., right?

Anyway, here are the photos ... there were so many good ones I couldn't narrow it down more than this. I color corrected these in Photoshop: Can you tell the difference from my normal pathetic attempts at photo editing? Hope so.

PS. I also got some amusing if not exactly slick video today of Wilder being Wilder (it's hard to hold the camera still and be professional-like when you're being tackled). I'll try to get it up on YouTube later and link to it from here. You know, in my free time. Har har.

Laughing at Mama being a big dork

He's just so darn cute

I think this boy might look a little bit like me, no? Am I delusional?

Sitting still for one brief moment.

Little brothers make good dinosaur prey.

4 week update: Hunter's a chunkachunk

We had our one-month appointment today and Hunter weighed in at 11 lbs., 11.5 oz. That's a weight gain of 1 lb., 10 oz. in two weeks.

Uhh, note to self: You can officially stop worrying about whether this child is getting enough to eat.

Other than that, he's completely healthy and fine. We had to cauterize the lower part of his belly button with silver nitrate. The doc said it would hurt him, but he hardly cried a bit. That's my tough little dude!

Not much else to report. Jerry's had this week off and so the four of us have been able to spend lots of great time together. Next week my sister Tara arrives on Thursday for an almost week-long visit. I'm really looking forward to her being here; she loves to take long walks so I'm hoping we can do a couple of those a day ... our new neighborhood is great for walking.

We've also fired up the hot tub the last three nights. Soaking in it makes for very relaxing evenings and helps me get to sleep faster. Oh, and the last two nights Hunter's eliminated one middle-of-the-night feeding, so hopefully this is a trend that continues. I'm GREATLY looking forward to eventually sleeping for longer stretches at a time.

Enough babbling. Here's some pics from this week:

Hunter's first tub bath.

Snuggling with Pop

Jer works at the community garden.

There's those peepers.

Thirsty from not gardening, Wilder drains a juice box in record time.

Hunter shows off that frenulum that his Mama's been blathering on about.

Reason No. 5,718 why I love my husband

Because yesterday, during Wilder's pre-naptime book reading, when a broken-down Bertie the Bus asked Thomas the Tank Engine if he could take Bertie's passengers for him, Jerry ... err, Thomas responded: "Hells yeah!"

The womb bear speaketh ...

We have one of those teddy bears with the little contraption inside that emits what is supposed to be sounds similar to what babies hear in the womb. It soothes them, and the damn thing actually works. So, even though with this second kiddo I find the womb bear SUPER annoying, we put it on nearly every night to help lull Hunter back to sleep after his first or umpteenth nighttime feeding session.

And I swear, it speaks to me. I noticed it with Wilder. It's very rhythmic, and every so often you'll start hearing it say the same word over and over and over again. Luckily, so far it hasn't been "kill. kill. kill" or "eat at TGIFriday's. eat at TGIFriday's." or "Watch Oprah. Watch Oprah. Watch Oprah." But it can be somewhat random. Most nights though, due to sleep deprivation, I forget what it whispered to me in the darkness by the time I awake the next morning.

But last night, about 2 a.m., I swear this is what I heard: "Barack. Obama. Barack. Obama."

For the record, I have no idea who I'm voting for in the next presidential election. But based purely on the endorsement of the Womb Bear, I might have to go with the man who my father thinks might be a Muslim plant here to destroy our American way of life. (Sorry for outing you on that one, Pop, but you did forget my birthday this year, so we'll call it even ... oh, but honestly, I didn't even realize you'd forgotten it until you told me you had. I swear.)

Anyway, if I receive any more secret messages via the bear, I'll let you know. If only he'd chant out lottery numbers to me.

Wilder ...

hanging out by the window screen asking me "Whayoudoin' Mama?" (I was outdoors taking pictures of pretty alive stuff around the house that I'll post later.)

Gardenin' fools

So we started the Great Gardening Fiasco of 2008 today. I mentioned here a few posts ago that we had reserved a plot in Dallas' newest community garden in the Lake Highlands neighborhood. After a few weeks during which people other than us worked to clear off weeds and debris and build garden beds (at least we had a good excuse for our laziness ... "Oh, we would have LOVED to pull weeds and perform back-breaking manual labor, but alas, we were having the baby!"), there was finally an official groundbreaking today, complete with city officials and politicos coming out to "blah blah blah blather blather blather" about what this means for the community. Don't get me wrong ... I think it's great and I'm excited to be a part of it. But I can ALWAYS do without the self-promoting white guys in suits tooting their own horns.

So we arrived an hour late.

So in no time at all, the whole family had found our plot and dumped out 12 bags of gardening soil and couple bags of peat moss, spread it around and called it good. We need more soil (in fact, Jerry just got back from picking up about 10-12 more bags) and we'll go back later and spread that out. We're not planting until the irrigation system gets put in.

So here are some observations from today:

1. Thankfully, we are not even close to the only people with younguns out there. There were TONS of kids pitching in and running around in other peoples' plots and having a fine time in the way that kids are supposed to. Wilder, who is going through a super-sweet and obedient phase right now, was even pretty good and stuck close to Jer and I and had not one meltdown.

2. At 3 weeks, Hunter probably takes the youngest "gardener" prize.

3. Speaking of Hunter's age, our very nice plot neighbors introduced themselves. They're a young married couple that have two little girls and a dog. The male half of the couple mentioned that it was impressive that I was out there working three weeks after giving birth. I told him I was a fast healer and, as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized that -- he not knowing I'd had a c-section (how could he? He just met me ... dumb Kris dumb!!) -- this implied my, err, vajayjay was a super-speedy bouncer backer. Which would explain why he got away from me as fast as possible. Oh well ... I guess they might not be sharing fertilizer with us, eh?

So, all in all, it was a good trip, particularly for a girl who hasn't been out of the house much lately. I could have stayed all day. There were people to talk to who weren't attached to my breast (ahem, HUNTER ... JERRY ... kidding about that last one), and the noise of chatter and electric tillers lulled the baby into a deep sleep that gave me an hour of freedom.

So, without further ado, here are a few photos:

Can you believe he never woke up and pitched in? Man, this one's gonna be a total slacker.

Wilder shares his cookie with me (such a good boy ... of course, I threatened him with a pitchfork, so there's that)

Old & Young MacDonald

I save Wilder from certain death at the hands and tongue of this adorable Spaniel mix puppy.

Me with a pitchfork in my hand pretending to work.

More blathering and five photos

Hunter had his two-week appointment yesterday. He now weighs 10 lbs, 1.5 oz (he gained 11 oz!) and he's grown 1/4 of an inch, now measuring 22.25 inches. Don't know where he's at percentile wise, but suffice to say he's a big, hungry kid. His pediatrician says he has two chins and four cheeks.

Teri (Jerry's mom) left today. We were so sad to see her go. She was a TREMENDOUS help both with the boys and around the house, and it was great having someone besides ourselves to talk with all week. We're hoping she'll visit again soon. I know Wilder grew very attached to her over the week, even if he never let her cut his hair (he's sporting the "Nick Nolte" again. Sigh.)

I'm here by myself next week ... will be interesting to see how that goes. I'm so much more mellow this time around, though, that I'm not freaking about it like I did with Wilder.

Jerry got the pool cleaned and shocked a couple days ago and today he and Wilder have been out there, mostly just splashing and wading. No full immersions yet. It's much to chilly still for that, but it sure was great to sit there rocking Hunter while I watched the guys play. Wilder is doing awesome with Hunter. He's accepted him as a full -fledged family member. He hates it when Hunter cries and will race to find Jerry or I, and searches desperately for a bink he can stick in the kiddo's mouth.


Chillin' with the boys


Gramma gives Wilder his bath and encourages splashing with abandon. Wilder thinks "best gramma ever!"


Could there be a surer sign that summer is approaching the Scott household than this?


What's up Spike?


Handsomest boys ever.

New pics

Too tired to write captions. Enjoy. Love, k.