tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49414719204390874122024-03-14T10:09:23.092-07:00nothing random overlookednrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-51610652482621401062012-10-24T14:02:00.001-07:002012-10-24T14:02:28.932-07:00to my 9 month old Benjamin<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My happy baby. You arrived into our family that was already blessed with the joy of a child. You brought more. You rolled into my heart quietly, unassuming, making no demands of my time or attention. Your brother entered my life like a freight train, loud and prominent, shaking the ground of those around him. You are more like a subway, smooth and stealthy, rolling efficiently underground so that sometimes, your moves go unnoticed by those standing directly above you until you roll into the station. </span><br />
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<br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You are happy to just be… </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To just be held as a newborn – which we did lots of – no more worrying that we would be spoiling you by “holding you too much”. I don’t believe there is such a thing. We held you and held you and held you some more. Good thing we did, since you are already over being held, preferring to explore on your own. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To just be around us as we move around the house – from laundry in the hallway upstairs to cooking in the kitchen to playing in the front room to hanging out on the couch. As long as there are voices and activity surrounding you, you are perfectly content. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To just be as you sit at the table with us while we fill your tray with more, more, more food. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To just be outside as we chat with the neighbors, ride bikes, play ball and run around in our circle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nobody can make you laugh like your brother! I will pull out all the stops with wild gestures and ridiculous noises, only to get a gratuitous smile. But your brother will just walk by you, and you will burst into hysterics. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you sleep, you shove your blanket in your mouth. No pacifiers – you look at them like they are food, then try to take a bite off the side of it. Instead, you shove the blanket in your mouth, and suck like it is a pacifier, leaving a soggy wet circle on the blanket after you fall asleep. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The newborn phase is long over, you are growing out of infantdom, and moving quickly (too quickly!) toward being a toddler. For now, though, you are still my baby. Squishy cheeks and all. </span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-53413458094705959382011-04-01T15:32:00.000-07:002011-04-01T15:36:52.399-07:00eighteen months<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">To my 18 month old son… </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I have now had to share you with the outside world for twice as long as I had you to myself. It is much harder than I thought. Each day, I patiently wait for the evening, when I can whisk you away from everyone and everything else, and it is just the two of us, snuggling together in our chair. You used to nestle into my neck, a warm little ball of mush, and I could hold you to me with one hand. You are now a wriggling ball of energy bouncing around, sliding off the chair to get your favorite book, Llama Llama Red Pajama – or as you say, “mama”. Not that you even call me “mama”, just the book. Hmph. When I finally get you on my lap, you are splayed out across my legs, chest, and the sides of the chair. I am happy to have you fall asleep in my arms – completely disregarding the books & rules & advice of all sleep training, but following the contentedness of my heart. Sometimes you do, and after I have refueled my snuggle tank, I hoist us both up out of the chair (you are heavy!) and try to sneak you down the hall without waking up… other times, you point to the door, and we walk to your crib hand in hand, and I will myself to let you grow up a little bit at a time, and let go of me a little bit at a time. But just so you know, I don’t want to. </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">You are hysterical, with a raucous laugh. Your laugh peppers the air like an automatic weapon, spraying the room with happiness and joy. Running is only done at full speed – I will always picture you running towards me, body forward, mouth in a wide open smile, yelling, with your arms spread out behind you, like the wings of a plane, collapsing when you crash into me, and my arms catch you. When I let you go, you run back to where you started, then take a few steps backward, with a twinkle in your eye, until you gear up and start heading towards me again… and again… and again. </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">You are rough & tumble – riding your big wheel off the curb, between garbage cans, and over the yellow bumps on the sidewalk. Falling doesn’t seem to phase you at all. I guess that’s good, but I sure do hope you pick up a smidgen of fear sometime soon. Not that I worry too much – I realized that I am already used to your style when we were at a party, and everyone was gasping and running towards you every time you took a tumble. You were pushing a toy lawn mower and ran right off the edge of the patio, and fell down two stairs… everyone went silent, and people stood up out of their chairs… you just popped up with a big grin on your face and laughed, promptly followed by swinging the lawn mower back onto the patio, and you were off and running again. Your father and I rolled our eyes and hoped it didn’t turn into performance art. </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Constantly saying… uh-oh<br />Just learned how to… knock<br />Want to be… outside<br />Endlessly flopping on… the dog<br />Hungry??? ALWAYS! </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I waited for 18 months to see the magical plus sign on the test announcing your arrival, and now you have been here for just as long... it was worth the wait. <span style=""><br /></span></span></span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Love, </span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Mom</span><br /></span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-26488727153635743772010-12-20T15:07:00.000-08:002010-12-20T15:12:34.147-08:0024 hours???<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHFzR2vLUT4g63Z0mhLrx0TiDVgpHZTVVsl0-EDIQnOFFHG3r1m9mFyAZU7d6PxfV2LeIsqJACsO8mjXef0b5-Hk_ZgzbY_rLNcMIP7gsXuiXwokH3DqDn_1b5Rwu2QtPZtlS2x8h-yU/s1600/toysrus24hrs.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 90px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHFzR2vLUT4g63Z0mhLrx0TiDVgpHZTVVsl0-EDIQnOFFHG3r1m9mFyAZU7d6PxfV2LeIsqJACsO8mjXef0b5-Hk_ZgzbY_rLNcMIP7gsXuiXwokH3DqDn_1b5Rwu2QtPZtlS2x8h-yU/s320/toysrus24hrs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552905657809703970" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">really? they need to be open 24 hours a day? their poor employees... yes, i know, tough economy... someone is going to say "they should be happy they have a job"... but are toys really that important that we need to shop 24 hours a day? i mean, who needs a set of legos at 3am? a light saber at midnight? don't answer that - i know you are out there, no need to call attention to yourself.<br /><br />people have been holiday shopping since OCTOBER, for crying out loud. except for you, mom... i know you are panicking about how christmas just "snuck up on you"... again.</span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-14442929456618065462010-11-15T16:19:00.001-08:002010-11-15T16:21:03.881-08:00In my rear view mirror…<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;">I had the windows rolled down, enjoying the crisp autumn air that I so love about this time of year. A peel of giggles escaped from the backseat, prompting me to reposition the rear view mirror. In my view, I saw a little face beaming with pure enjoyment. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;">The wind was blowing his blond hair back from his face, reminding me that he is still just a baby, although he often acts like a little boy. He turned his face left, then right, experiencing every angle of this new sensation. When the car picked up speed, and the wind came stronger and faster at his chubby cheeks, he gasped with surprise – as if he forgot how to breathe with the surge of air pressing against him. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;">I saw a foot come up into view, and a shoe fly onto the floor… then a sock stretching and stretching, not quickly giving in to the hands that tugged it, but finally meeting its fate on the floorboard. One lesson the little dude has learned so far in his short life is the great outdoors are best enjoyed with bare feet. </span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-59136677377963701042010-05-09T16:24:00.000-07:002010-05-25T15:48:34.605-07:00momhood<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsl5DIBLn8l527Xx9sdV54MxBIIjiU4cfqmYfwZE1ZOjkl3syLhREvwr_K0rQKjXSFtqVFIgxCPWsh3XHDzUrCvAzqPSbYVtB09fTRyafhr5m46u5hCeXDY81XvaaMNQ0mu0-y4CfB1GY/s1600/IMG_2178.JPG"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsl5DIBLn8l527Xx9sdV54MxBIIjiU4cfqmYfwZE1ZOjkl3syLhREvwr_K0rQKjXSFtqVFIgxCPWsh3XHDzUrCvAzqPSbYVtB09fTRyafhr5m46u5hCeXDY81XvaaMNQ0mu0-y4CfB1GY/s320/IMG_2178.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;">Mother's day morning with Little Dude (I know, posted late, but he was late, too, so maybe if I apply the laws of cascading time, this delay is actually on time?) Eh, it was worth a shot. </span></div><p><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475341953148717810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkdq-hLtGYcw3m8pF8BOsSe6hXq8_rTY9G18aHtFUS5UHmL5gxkpEC_7I1HpkDzRh7Cnmc8_SmuB3-Nw65lSjpbSoiQUcEQmMOy5HkUkIwHWqgqlb2CuNdQgnMKhDXpNLMZsNAV2TuvN4/s320/max+mom+rock.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-size:130%;">Raspberries on a rock at Folsom Lake. Grey skies overhead, but we managed to get the whole fam out for a quick walk at the lake before the sky opened up. We had to get inside before the raindrops started falling on our head.... might melt, you know. </span></p>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-18148716812390405372010-04-27T13:54:00.000-07:002010-05-04T09:06:30.246-07:00enjoying the moments<span style="font-size:130%;">Every night, I sneak into Little Dude's room after he has fallen asleep. To admire my creation. To watch his little being fill with air. To stroke his soft cheek. To check if he is hot or cold. To discover what position he has curled into. To see how far he has burrowed into the corner of the crib. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">He looks so peaceful. Quiet. Resting. Re-energizing for the tomorrows filled with growing and learning. Am I that peaceful when I sleep? Or is my mind filled with things that clutter it even when I am resting? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Some nights, he is so irresistible that I am compelled to take him out of his crib, and hold him close. My arms reach out for him before I can stop them. I draw him into my chest, and his warmth covers me like a blanket. I stand in his room, rocking back and forth in the shadows cast by the hall light. I have even been known to take him into my room, sit in our chair, and fall asleep with him in my arms. Usually I can return him to his crib before Scout catches me. But sometimes he finds us there, and I just give him a dreamy smile and say, "I couldn't help it." </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Everyone always says to enjoy these moments, that he will grow up too fast. Just so you know, I do. I am enjoying these moments. And when the day comes when I can't hold him as he sleeps, I will enjoy the memories. </span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-69724611972941576452010-04-22T21:33:00.001-07:002010-04-22T21:53:32.965-07:00he's got the moves<span style="font-size:130%;">Every day, a new move. Of course we like to name them all...</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">so last week: </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The kickstand - Lie on stomach, push up on hands, get ready to look like you're going to sit up, but not quite... swing one leg around to the side. Leg remains there propping the body up... like a kickstand. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The escape - Roll and roll and roll and almost making it out into the hall ('cause mom and dad didn't realize that they need to keep the door shut at all times), but get stuck on the door frame. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">currently debuting: </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Butt in the air sleeping - Cutest.Move.Ever. (disclaimer: on babies only). I've tried it. It is no longer comfortable as a sleeping position. Or an awake position, for that matter. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The drag - Not quite an army crawl, no grace, just power. On stomach, put both hands in front of body, and pull/drag body across the ground. Carpet. Tile. Whatever. Aim for anything electrical or shiny, ensuring identification of all childproofing yet to be completed. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The Base Jump - Lean out over the edge of anything (changing table, lap, chair, couch) and wriggle to the edge. Attempt to loosen the grip of those ever watchful parental hands. Drop body down as far as those hands will allow. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The Faceplant - Pop up on all fours, rock back and forth, and back and forth and -- SPLAT! faceplant! Follow with laughter. </span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-73184731530973905652010-04-14T15:31:00.000-07:002010-04-14T16:01:12.058-07:00come on down!<span style="font-size:130%;">Mark your calendars, people! Today is "Bob Barker day" around these parts. That's right - we are getting our pet spayed! Can't you just hear him in his crisp suit, holding that ridiculously skinny mike with the old fashioned wire, showcase showdown winner and loser in the background, pointing at the camera saying "and remember to spay and neuter your pets." I can, and man, he looks good - sorry, Drew, I'm sure you're doing a fine job as host, but it's just not the same.<br /><br />This morning, Scout hoisted all 146 lbs of the beast (that's right, we LIFT her) into the car, cause she <del>can't</del> won't jump in. She is there for her procedure today, and stays overnight. Which means... (drum roll, please)... that I have a dog free night! Which also means that I'll have to listen to Scout moan and groan about how he misses his girl.<br /><br />Why are we only getting around to this now, when most people get their pets fixed around 6 months old? Well, Scout did some research on large breed dogs, and there is some evidence that if they are fixed at too young of an age, they may not reach their full size. Now, I'm not exactly sure how that falls in the "con" column when one has a dog that is expected to reach 170(ish) pounds. But I agreed to wait until she is 18 months old so that she can grow GROW <span style="font-size:180%;">GROW</span>.<br /><br />After experiencing 2 heats, I hit my limit. I informed Scout that I can take no more. Her first heat started the day I got home from the hospital with Lil Dude. Yep. Uh-huh. In case I needed something else to worry about in my house. The second one was about 6 weeks ago, and I used an entire Costco sized package of Swiffer Sweeper wet cloths in 2 weeks following her around our downstairs, along with creating makeshift barriers around the area rugs (thank goodness for strollers, pack n plays and changing tables).<br /><br />And best of all, now I don't need to worry about teenage pregnancy! (For about 15 more years). Just need to survive my husband's temporary depression whilst his girlfriend is gone.</span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-71008559965942789222010-03-23T14:46:00.001-07:002010-03-23T15:23:28.371-07:00typical guy<div><span style="font-size:130%;">Do you see the toys on the car seat? You must... they are brightly colored, and I put them in your lap so you have something to do when I plop you in the back of the car, or swing you over my arm like an Easter basket, or set you on the floor while I frantically search for the car keys before we leave the house. </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">So WHY WHY WHY do you insist on chewing the long strap used for tightening your buckle? Do you not see that it trails on the ground, and has touched every nasty, dirty surface that I have ever set your seat down upon? It catches the dog hair on the floor in our house (my nemesis), picks up germs from the parking lot, snags anything that anyone's shoe has left on the ground. I take great care to clean your toys, washing them after they drag on the ground, after you yak all over them, after the dog takes an interest and gives them a big lick. But you don't care about cleanliness, do you? Typical guy. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451952705320205490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQCP4TtpexbOOeBc6XAn_CywCxhmewOc0N12ymPxmLVSqVdh4EtPhNs56FLd-apVh7qW0BZ86AHMAQTZU3bWIei3ZBDIVH8-iBt-wAhWcg1aEb4z4wRfBHiqds-orlHHejqvjyHsVcSeo/s320/max+car+seat.jpg" border="0" /></span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-12695243041275193522010-03-17T13:34:00.000-07:002010-03-17T13:41:04.141-07:00can i?<span style="font-size:130%;"> "Hey, mom! Can I launch myself off this changing table? How fast can you get over here after taking this picture? I would make a great paratrooper!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449704436011684530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqAKd-dEW5RXDuYG9xlGzeB8f3vGz-j7tHNy9P9lHvIpZYFOrUDONta4cETZop6-4xVS80uxUkajOqXDrdsGyGCDjO16uGMyUM90UioCSdKdQ0lykjZbdDYKz0zBjrH6nQvax2yrt3ug/s320/max+jumping+off+table.jpg" border="0" /></span><br /><p><span style="font-size:130%;">editor's note: no babies were harmed in the taking of this picture, and he did NOT launch himself off the changing table, much to his disappointment...</span></p>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-65746526638136126182010-03-16T10:01:00.000-07:002010-03-16T12:18:29.513-07:00snow day<span style="font-size:130%;">LilDude and I are home today. But it's not snowing. In fact, it is 70 degrees and sunny! What a great snow day. Not so great is why we are home...<br /><br />Day Care called me at work yesterday around 1pm - I had one hour to pick up the LilDude, because he had goopy eyes, and they thought it was pink eye. He was banished to quarantine in a high chair so he didn't contaminate the entire center by rolling his goop around the carpet, or smearing it on the other munchkins. I left work, and called the doctor's office to get an appointment, and instantly starting thinking how itchy my eyes were. I thought to myself (for the first time of many): don't touch your eyes!<br /><br />Upon arrival at day care, I saw my little king ruling his dominion from his high chair. He was having a good ol' time in quarantine - just sitting on the edge of the play area, chatting away, issuing commands to his minions: "Antonio, pick up the red ball, now roll it to Tommy... you, over there, yeah you, Carlo, chew on that orange toy... Madison, you've been busy rolling all morning, take 5 - you deserve a nap." Okay, fine, it sounded like babbling, but I swear that is what he was saying. I swept him up (taking his crib sheet and blanket for phase one of decontamination) and took him home. He played on the floor of my bedroom, and was only allowed plastic toys that could be sanitized (seriously, I am good at decontamination).<br /><br />As the hours ticked by, the goop multiplied. By the time we got the the doctor (7:15pm was the first appointment available - at the after hours clinic), his eyes were just GROSS. But he didn't care - he was smiling and happy as could be. Which is interesting, since his usual bedtime is 7:30. The doctor came in and commented on how happy he was, and noted that his eyes didn't look very pink... just goopy. A quick look in the ears, and she diagnosed him with a double ear infection, not pink eye. Phew... wait? what? A double ear infection? That doesn't sound good! He is one tough LilDude - he has been acting like his same old happy self, eats fine, sleeps fine, no temp, doesn't even rub his ears. How are we ever going to know if he is sick?<br /><br />Off to play in the snow... um, I mean... SUNSHINE!</span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-81797498840842752992010-03-15T10:46:00.001-07:002010-03-15T10:57:25.170-07:00finally...<span style="font-size:130%;">My mother recounts the story of how I used to wish for blue eyes with laughter in her deep brown eyes. When my little sister arrived, with her bright blue eyes, I was taken by them. I would gaze into the mirror and ask my mother when I would get blue eyes. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">It only took thirty(+) years, but FINALLY... I got my blue eyes: <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448920864632344850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 318px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifBTJjU2eQk3buSPVBM47j43idD8B9QDTcW6Rq4EukKO_tcooRsuW3lNnQ-Nzd2w9ogsIXep_uXk-bmVQAN0LMpSq3Wm1hoZcFDmwq5QSbckJfMRc-0mLuVjr1pfwuq8vxcx0mR6WgB4/s320/max.4months.jpg" border="0" /></span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-55413457881434662332010-03-08T07:02:00.000-08:002010-03-11T10:22:03.397-08:00TWOoth fairy<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><p><span style="font-size:130%;">The TWOoth fairy made a visit to our house at 3am on Saturday night/Sunday morning (doing a drop-off, not a pick-up). I know she was there, cause LilDude started screaming, and he is generally a fabulous sleeper (which we thank our lucky stars for every night). So when the monitor began transmitting his screeches, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but <strong>two</strong> miniature teeth on my sweet little dear. That nice TWOoth fairy must have been saving on gas, since she did a two for one by launching them both on the same night. Which meant I only had one night of interrupted sleep... I'll take it! </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">You can sort of barely almost but not quite see the little white specs popping through. We only tormented him for about 17 pictures before I gave up and called this one the best. Just squint, use your imagination... and try to picture them straight so I don't have to spend every other Tuesday at the orthodontist in 13 years. </span></p><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNhAlE7M11bBUGiNKuYjroNg4c6AUUt08aavuQzdyAYEuqr4R5FOmG01VgFAewWn104JzIomHynjDck1Vcai1SmGICpm8AdysuxnPJodWFaLbrKC88MDVSKdlqxb8-psAMUru8dRP17A/s1600-h/IMG_1697.JPG"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNhAlE7M11bBUGiNKuYjroNg4c6AUUt08aavuQzdyAYEuqr4R5FOmG01VgFAewWn104JzIomHynjDck1Vcai1SmGICpm8AdysuxnPJodWFaLbrKC88MDVSKdlqxb8-psAMUru8dRP17A/s320/IMG_1697.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></div>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-23300185161939808502010-03-05T13:04:00.000-08:002010-03-05T14:14:56.278-08:00mess<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><p><span style="font-size:130%;">What a mess. But would you expect anything else from me? Organization, planning - definitely on my list of strengths (or obsessions, whatever). But neatness, not so much. I love making a mess. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">This is how we feed our child. We'll have to unlearn this sitting on the table business. Hopefully, he'll be so young he won't remember that we used to let him do this. Don't tell him! </span></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0D-hl4sGFq-b61Bk58Dyu_SeFTQFp4sc05Kgs3ZU-GvGhVWg3-Q29hjaGbXpaS_XkFr1hQXNL8-PzzJLg-6zjofmhwfUw1Cfw6YvNXzalwxEyOZfo2uVCGmnr7skON539RWViyqlI_tE/s1600-h/IMG_1635.JPG"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0D-hl4sGFq-b61Bk58Dyu_SeFTQFp4sc05Kgs3ZU-GvGhVWg3-Q29hjaGbXpaS_XkFr1hQXNL8-PzzJLg-6zjofmhwfUw1Cfw6YvNXzalwxEyOZfo2uVCGmnr7skON539RWViyqlI_tE/s320/IMG_1635.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">If you had the previous 30 minutes on video, here is how it would look: </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Scout and I sitting on the end of the table that opens to the hallway, LilDude sitting on top of the table furthest from the hallway. Two plates on the table, sitting just out of LilDude's reach. With his ever expanding wingspan, we underestimate his powers about twice a week, and have to use our catlike reflexes to block him. Or, we use our catlike reflexes to go get a towel and wipe up the spilled water, thankful that the glass didn't break, and make a mental note to use plastic cups tomorrow. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">LilDude tells us he is ready for dinner by groaning and pitching forward toward his food bowl with his mouth wide open. He will lean and lean and lean until finally, 3.2 seconds later, he is satiated with a tiny glob of sticky rice goo or vegetable puree from the hand that magically delivers the spoon to his mouth. Which will hold him over for 2.7 seconds. Mark this as the beginning of the feeding frenzy. LilDude has modeled his dance moves from the 'Hungry Hungry Hippo' 4-man group. He starts sitting up, then lunges forward, head tilted back, mouth hinged open until he meets with the spoon, then he CHOMPS down, whisking away the deliciousness into his hollow leg. Repeat. And do not stop, else he will cry. Yes, we have had real tears. Do NOT get between him and his food... you will be sorry. Scout and I eat our dinner with the "one rubber tipped spoonful for you, one metal utensil spoonful for me" approach. Of course we are eating different things. I have tried a speck of baby food, and honestly, it's just not that good. I much prefer lasagna. In between the dual spoonfuls, Scout and I also take turns defending our feast from the dog. She paces the hall, attempting to invade our space with a not-so-sneaky sneak attack. With her size, there is really nothing subtle or sneaky about her. Thankfully, she is not persistent, and after a few deflections, she tires, sinks to the floor in defeat, and gives us her sad eyes (which are her everyday eyes) from the hallway. She sits and waits, until we vacate the table, then she circles her spoils, and licks the floor clean of whatever fell beyond the edge of the table. Mess removed. </span></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mrY7GhhsptTfDarJThJr-Wy-BcwJycYSbyma7Ztunryjm1inMVParxZAhmCRAFR-8HC0Rkp474YYKQvTqSuoGo78DVPrfbt18cWojcPN524cw9L5lDWeKqTv0dn-HbMe_JYS11QWh6Q/s1600-h/IMG_1611.JPG"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mrY7GhhsptTfDarJThJr-Wy-BcwJycYSbyma7Ztunryjm1inMVParxZAhmCRAFR-8HC0Rkp474YYKQvTqSuoGo78DVPrfbt18cWojcPN524cw9L5lDWeKqTv0dn-HbMe_JYS11QWh6Q/s320/IMG_1611.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></p>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-10601424025325064682010-03-03T13:56:00.000-08:002010-03-03T15:00:48.981-08:00the day after<span style="font-size:130%;">I can't hear out of my left ear.<br /><br />My feet hurt.<br /><br />I am exhausted.<br /><br />But it was all worth it... cause look at our seats! Jon Bon was RIGHT in front of me! I could see the beads of sweat on his face, and his gorgeous smile, and the pixels on the big screen that I didn't even need to look at, cause LOOK HOW CLOSE WE WERE!<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy_2r0S3NzLeF2cFzKc0dXPzo1XH-7a840qTb83PCooD9GyLD0WbE74rEIdbaHokS3bB0aOpQMWpmJHTb89PmQfbWZjV8npW1VwQU-YF49S0hOydubJIiiPHStNUzuwbyhUKr1zyu8DN0/s1600-h/bon+jovi.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444530514323714418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy_2r0S3NzLeF2cFzKc0dXPzo1XH-7a840qTb83PCooD9GyLD0WbE74rEIdbaHokS3bB0aOpQMWpmJHTb89PmQfbWZjV8npW1VwQU-YF49S0hOydubJIiiPHStNUzuwbyhUKr1zyu8DN0/s320/bon+jovi.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I have Bon Jovi songs stuck in my head.<br /><br />I'm not sure how that is different than any other day.<br /><br />Fabulous people watching place - the young (a 10 year old in the pit who got a high five from Richie Sambora), the old (60-somethings in front of me with their glow in the dark earplugs, a man in a wheelchair who was no less than 80), the mulletted, the lace and leathered, and of course, the hoochies (statistically prevalent in the first few rows).<br /><br />* full disclosure: i stole this pic from </span><a href="http://trailmomma.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size:130%;">TrailMomma</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">... because I am lazy, and didn't feel like uploading mine... also, i think mine are blurry... or my vision is blurry... did I mention I'm tired?</span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-6762309791166979262010-02-28T21:07:00.000-08:002010-03-01T16:01:29.850-08:00rock on<p style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><span style="font-size:130%;">Whooooaaaa-ooooaaaa... we're halfway theeee-eere... that's right, ladies and gents (or whoever it is that reads this thing)... I am going to the Bon Jovi concert tomorrow night. I am a Jersey Girl through and through (mellowed with a heavy influence of a decade of California living), and there is nothing more Jersey than Jon Bon. Except for fake nails. And the Shore. And malls. And Bruce. But tomorrow, it is all about Jon. He's so dreamy. And he totally has nicer hair than I ever will. And have I mentioned that I love him? </span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://trailmomma.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size:130%;">TrailMomma</span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"> (formerly known around these parts as RunnerGirl) and I have been waiting to rock out to Jon forEVER. At least, we have been waiting to rock out to Bon Jovi in person - we are very serious about our dedication at weddings (whilst my husband takes cover behind a plant in the corner and pretends he has never met me), perhaps requesting Livin on a Prayer from an unsuspecting DJ; and any other time their music fills the air (say, every time her phone rings). I am so excited! Yes, there are other girls going, too. And I love them, too, even if they aren't from Jersey. Nobody's perfect. </span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><span style="font-size:130%;">But I am also a little bit sad that tomorrow night, I will miss bedtime. When I get home and peek in on my LilDude, he'll probably look like this: </span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px" align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5XFLL5Wdlhyphenhyphen_o3JpXaYrwDC508cuME6fUfZ5THOOUXg0BUwa7RNXH0BzJuAVXrC85OfV09dLkDoVIoNrBlm1U5CoI5LQOFway82130rNnEiVwptqymzEJLSOIQQOufBJ3yQ8gnlG5eo/s1600-h/IMG_1583.JPG"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj5XFLL5Wdlhyphenhyphen_o3JpXaYrwDC508cuME6fUfZ5THOOUXg0BUwa7RNXH0BzJuAVXrC85OfV09dLkDoVIoNrBlm1U5CoI5LQOFway82130rNnEiVwptqymzEJLSOIQQOufBJ3yQ8gnlG5eo/s320/IMG_1583.JPG" border="0" /></span></a></p><p style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></p><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="http://www.idahokids.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size:130%;">Suzi </span></a><span style="font-size:130%;">- this pic is for you... I know you just can't resist a sleeping baby for the perfect chance to snap the camera. </span></div>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-39601549413142532082010-02-24T13:32:00.001-08:002010-02-25T14:56:33.462-08:00daily routine<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">After a wonderful 4 and a half months home with the Lil Dude, I am now back at work. The best part of the day is when I pick up his smiling face and take him home (with second place awarded to the moment before I drift off to sleep). After we get home, this is what we do:<br /><br /></span><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442309186705996322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 242px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjkP9qvIqyeF5plDQESSkCc-UbV4m386OCyMkxmO2rTQ-G8wB3JjA2RCCdENqoVOh_VG1MJmY9I-flQlo1H9MGMefCk88AflPG0AXENA8zfgZG-5cH04pfC-KeZrWm5yYjW93IZKl9Tc/s320/max.crush.jpg" border="0" /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">We have wonderful trails in our neighborhood (one of the reasons we moved to our current house), and with the extended daylight hours, walks have become part of our new weekday evening routine. It was pretty easy to take the dog for a walk when I was home... mid-afternoon, perfectly timed to pass the elementary school so the dog can get lots of love and attention from the ogling kids - most of whom are shorter than my giant four legged puppy. But it has been difficult to make time for everyone (including me) with the new "working mom" lifestyle. I have been trying to get back into <del>running</del> jogging, and in the name of efficiency (walk the dog, get in run, nap for the kiddo), this is my <del>running</del> jogging group. I can only imagine what people think as they see us barrelling (at the speed of molasses) down the trail - what a sight! The dude doesn't (currently) mind riding in his personal limo - sometimes he naps, sometimes he laughs at the dog, sometimes he just babbles on and on. A good time is had by all. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">**Crush: 13 months, 135+ lbs; Lil Dude: 5 months, 18+ lbs</span></p>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-44870201206789128302010-02-17T10:44:00.000-08:002010-02-17T11:27:18.798-08:005 months of fun<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Lil Dude is five months old today. He has many skills for his resume: You need someone to roll over? You need someone to giggle hysterically when you make ridiculous faces? You need someone to nap at noon? He's your guy! </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">One of the jobs I hired him for is my grocery shopping partner. Don't call the child labor union, he is generously compensated for his work with milk whenever it strikes his fancy. He is so portable (see picture), and just smiles at everyone we pass. The lady at the deli counter loves him, and it is a good minute or two before I even place my order after she is done oohing and aahing over him. But how can I complain? She is smiling when she looks at him, he smiles at her, and I am beaming the whole time... win-win-win. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Since he can't walk, I carry him in the Baby Bjorn (aka, frontpack). I can tell when he is excited by a swift blow to my left lung, appendix, or muffin top - he looks like a little marionette driven by someone who just stuck their finger in an outlet, still pulsating from the stun. Since his wing span is still fairly small, and he has no idea what cookies are, he is a cheap date. I'll have to reevaluate him as my shopping partner once he starts asking for things, or dropping miscellaneous items into the cart.<br /> </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439285529214892594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisA5WOAQRfXOGgeG1kqUXlk4a6k5s9lNlWwaNUJApY7FgecSrVb59_viZ_BZTBIFeXVWcj53uEygY3_xPbaUBklZelVEoNvlF3HKtUTOqXBgcpIHiJG1GXklE6pCYJ0p5LLIG7vYWDDYs/s320/nikki.max.raleys.jpg" border="0" /></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">*pic taken from my phone (in the frozen pizza aisle) on our Valentine's morning date - I'm still testing the best way to post pics here</span></em>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-75258603166729731762010-02-16T13:56:00.001-08:002010-02-16T14:35:53.526-08:00now what?What do I do now? Do I write random posts about things I notice each day that make me smile or cry or want to throw something? Do I go on and on about how wonderful the LilDude is? Do I start posting pictures (okay, I know you all want pictures) and daily activities... I'm trying to figure out how this blog fits into my life at this very moment... I sure do wish the Magic 8 Ball would come up with some new answers, 'cause the generic answers that worked in earlier years of my life just aren't cutting it these days. Answers in essay form would be most helpful right now.nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-89093153314975554922009-11-11T22:03:00.000-08:002009-11-11T22:08:27.735-08:00thank you<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Every year on Veteran's Day, I call my father (Gulf) and my grandfather (WWII) to say thank you for their service. Every year, their responses are the same. My father replies with a "No, thank YOU... it's not just the veterans who have sacrificed and served, it is also their families who have given up time with their loved ones who are serving." My grandfather reminds me that he was the lucky one, since he survived and was able to live his life, while others did not get that chance. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">So today, I say thank you to all the veterans who served this great country... the ones that came back, the ones that didn't and the ones at home that love(d) them. </span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-63734972588714183992009-11-06T19:56:00.000-08:002009-11-09T20:35:37.073-08:00it's official<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">It's official... I'm a parent! Well, I suppose that statement was true on September 17, when Maxwell Stephen joined our family. Scout and I are thrilled to have him in our lives... and someday, he'll be able to take out the garbage, mow the lawn, and walk the dog. Child labor benefits in 10 years aside, I am so in love with this little guy in this moment when he is helpless, and relying on us for his every need. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">For some reason, motherhood and parenthood have different duties in my mind. Motherhood (and fatherhood) duties are loving and caring for your child. Parenthood requires setting rules and limitations. I don't think Webster will back me up in my definition, but whatever. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">On his birthday, I realized that I was a mother, and responsible for this little life. Loving him, caring for him was my role - and that is what I have done. Hugged, kissed, loved, adored, changed, bathed, rocked - check, check and check. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Today we went to get his birth certificate. As if his presence isn't enough to qualify him as a person, he needed the official stamp from the county records department. Thirty four dollars later, we had two copies (come on, you KNOW he is going to lose one when he sends it away to get an expedited copy of his passport so he can go to spring break in Cancun... what? who? me? maybe... ) and he was official. So I guess you could mark that point as my intro to parenthood, but nope - didn't hit me yet... until our drive home. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">We were cruising on a beautiful country road, and in my rear view mirror, I saw a Beemer zoom up to our back bumper with the windows open, and three teenage boys leaning out the sides. They were swerving from side to side, and I can't be certain, but the passenger riding shotgun may have had control of the steering wheel. Since I had my precious cargo in the backseat, I panicked, and looked for the nearest place to pull over and let them pass. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">In my fifteen years of driving history, I can't recall a time when I EVER let someone pass me. But as a PARENT, I felt like those crazy teenagers (I guess you could also mark this moment as recognition of the fact that "I am OLD") were endangering my little dude. So I protected him, and thought immediately, "I'm a PARENT now!" Next, I guess I'll have to learn how to set curfew, issue groundings and deny requests for increases in allowance. </span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-47102525613856698632009-09-08T13:37:00.001-07:002009-09-08T14:58:22.661-07:00the end is near...<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">The end of my pregnancy is near... not "here"... I didn't say "here", people, so just settle down. Believe me, we will let you all know when the baby is here. :) We are at T <del>minus</del> plus one day, and for the record, I would like to nominate "due dates" as one of the dumbest things ever. The only thing it has been good for is acting as a date by which I could start my "pregnancy leave" from work. Other than that, fake deadlines that really have no bearing on actual delivery dates are just dumb. But whatever, I am "one day overdue" on the imaginary deadline. Which he missed - I don't know if we had a miscommunication, or he just wasn't ready to present, but this is definitely showing up in his performance review for this year. Ha!<br /><br />Since I am almost at the end of my pregnancy, let me share a few things that I will miss about being pregnant, and a few things that I miss about NOT being pregnant... we'll go in reverse order...<br /><br />Things I miss about not being pregnant, and am excited for upon said deadline...<br /></span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">BEER: seriously, I have been thinking about beer for months. No, O'Douls is not the same. Yes, I have tried. </span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">seeing my feet (for 2 reasons): 1. to actually be able to see down to my feet - honestly, it is very strange tripping over things cause I can't see them. 2. that my ankles will be revealed beneath the current sausage casings surrounding them. </span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">beer (I already said that, huh?)</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">not having to answer the questions: September 7th, boy, no name (yes, we have a name, but honestly, it is just easier to not have the conversation with people... plus, we aren't telling people, so why should the lady at the grocery store know the name if we aren't telling our family?)... yeah, I'll probably have to answer questions about the baby, but at least that will be a little variety (until I get tired of that after a month). ;) </span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">having people comment on my weight/size all the time... or the worst: "really? you're NOT having twins? are you SURE?" </span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">beer... nuff said</span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span></p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Things I will miss about being pregnant...<br /></span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">having a legitimate excuse to nap at 2pm</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">unlimited ice cream (which I suppose I could continue, but it will be a bit difficult without the next item)... </span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">elastic pants - seriously, these things are comfy! I am so showing up at Thanksgiving with maternity pants this year. </span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">the excitement and anticipation </span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">having the lil dude all to myself... yes, I want him to come out, and to meet him face to face, but then I'll have to share him with the rest of the world</span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Until then... I'll keep twiddling my thumbs, answering phone calls and emails with the requisite: "Nope, no baby yet". </span></p>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-7229475606973923402009-09-03T15:02:00.001-07:002009-09-03T15:07:55.205-07:00ejection authorization<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Lil Dude - </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Since we have reached September, you are now authorized to eject any time you want. Nothing against August (your dad's bday, our wedding anniversary, auntie's bday), but I really wanted you to have a nine-something-nine birthday. You know, cause that sort of thing matters in life. Riiiiight. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">If you really want to hit the jackpot, give it a few days and shoot for nine-nine-nine. Super cool - all the chicks will dig you because of your catchy birth date. All you have to do is pull that ejection cord (I know there is a cord in there with you... umbili-something they call it, but since I am not a doctor, I imagine it has something to do with parachuting out of there?) and out you'll come. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Thanks, </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">the Management</span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-49956981404695386682009-09-02T09:14:00.001-07:002009-09-03T15:01:49.621-07:00procrastination<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">As my college roommate can attest to, I am a master procrastinator. Yes, I am also a </span><a href="http://nothingrandomoverlooked.blogspot.com/2007/08/party-planning-addiction.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">master planner</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">, but that is for things I WANT to do. When it comes to the things I HAVE to do, I can come up with any number of excuses to postpone. Which is why, 3 and a half weeks into my "pregnancy disability" leave, I still had not completed traffic school. Yes, even with the impending birth of my child that would leave me no time to finish traffic school, and nothing else to do, I chose to park my rear on the couch and watch four thousand episodes of "designed to sell" and "house hunters" and "property virgins". I Just.Can't.Stop. Scout asked me if I was planning on moving while he was at work one day - he was getting concerned about my interest in house selling and purchasing. I can only imagine what he was thinking when he actually SAW me watching them, and I'm yelling at the people like it's the bottom of the ninth and they are down by a run... "You people are crazy - you aren't going to buy that house because it doesn't have stainless steel appliances? You don't like the paint color? REPAINT IT!"... Ahem, excuse me. Sorry, I get a little carried away watching home shows. See? I am even procrastinating WRITING about my task of traffic school. Moving on...</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">I think we all know that I </span><a href="http://nothingrandomoverlooked.blogspot.com/2009/06/speedway.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">got a speeding ticket </span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">recently. To avoid getting points on my pristine record, I opted for traffic school. Which, last time I took it (12 years ago), was in a dingy room somewhere in Virginia for 8 hours that felt like 8 days. God bless the advent of the internet. MUCH more pleasant experience this time... 49 minutes total, including interjections of emails, yelling at Scout about how stupid the questions are, and of course, taking notes for this post. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">After registering for the course (twenty dollars), I was informed that it would be 5 chapters, with a quiz at the end of each chapter. Passing grade for each quiz was 80%. The reading material for each chapter was 4 pages long, with much scrolling down on each page. I browsed the material, then decided to just click through the pages, try the quiz, and see how I did. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Quiz 1: 70%.... so close</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">try again</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Quiz 1: 70%... arghhhhh</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">copy/paste results into a word doc so I can reference the ones I got wrong, and not pick that same option again (narrowing my guessing to 1 out of 3, instead of 1 out of 4)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Quiz 1: 80%... YAY! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Here are some of the dumbest things from chapter 1: </span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">"<em>In a recent study conducted it was found that 40 hours are spent in traffic that is NOT moving in 1/3 of US cities</em>." Now, I can only IMAGINE how much money was spent on this study, and it makes me want to cry. 'Cause that statistic... MAKES NO SENSE. It has no time qualifier - is it 40 hours PER WEEK, PER MONTH, PER YEAR? Also, it had no point. Just that statement. </span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">"<em>In a study recently, the average driver would rather spend money on public transit than on: a) new cars, b) roads, c) bridges, or d) private investments</em>." As I was yelling to Scout in the other room about how I was coming up short in passing the quiz by 1 question, he retorted, "well, maybe you aren't as good a driver as you think you are". But I'm not sure how this question has ANYTHING to do with my driving skills. </span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">For Chapter 2, I did a quick peruse (by "peruse", I really mean: glanced at the top portion of the first page), and scrolled down page 3. No method to the madness. I did note that they used a Wikepedia reference, and had pictures of a dude on a bike using hand signals. Which I still don't know what they mean. I prefer the method of: point in the direction you are turning when you are on a bike. All that studying led to me passing (80%) on the first try at the quiz. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">I got cocky on the third chapter. Didn't even look at the title. Just clicked through to the quiz. Where I got a 40%. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. So I did. 100%. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">For the fourth and fifth chapter, I also used the "no read" approach, and passed each on the first try with an 80% score, and only taking 2 minutes per chapter. Great use of my time! </span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">I thought I was done, but there was more... a FINAL EXAM! I don't remember reading anything about a final exam (but then again, I didn't really read much at all, so it was probably there). Fortunately, it had almost all the same questions as on the chapter quizzes, and I passed on the first try with an 88%. Woo-hoo! So, my license remains pure, and I just have to drive nicely for the next 18 months, cause apparantly you can't do this every time you get a ticket (and honestly, if I learned anything from this online class, it is how long you have to wait between "get out of jail free" cards). </span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Now I am free to have this baby... or, um, watch more TV. Off I go... </span></p>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4941471920439087412.post-198076191167737942009-08-17T13:39:00.000-07:002009-08-17T13:42:58.913-07:00to my son<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">To my son,<br /><br />We are 3 weeks away from your due date, and I can’t wait to meet you face to face. In some ways, I feel like I know you, since we have spent every second together for the past 9 months; and yet, I feel like I have so much to learn about you.<br /><br />I know that you are a VERY active little guy – you are always bouncing around, busy doing flips and kicks and punches. You like loud music in the car (or you are kicking and screaming in there for me to turn it down… not quite sure, but I’m going with the “you like it” theory). You sleep well when we are taking walks, and you have a tendency to wake up between 3 and 4am. Your father’s voice and touch calms you – when he places his hand on my belly, you are calm and quiet.<br /><br />I wonder what you look like and what you sound like. I wonder about your personality and your expressions. Soon enough, we will meet face to face, and begin this wonderful journey together – you on the journey of life, me on the journey of motherhood.<br /><br />I have been thinking about all the things I want to share with you, show you, and teach you… the smell of the ocean, the beauty of a sunset, the excitement of the first day of school, making friends, celebrating successes and coping with failures. Then I realized… all the things I want to pass on to you are memories that I have collected in MY life, not necessarily things that I can tell you about and you will understand. Instead, I am looking forward to watching you and guiding you as you collect your own personal experiences that will shape your life… as a bouncing baby, a curious toddler, a growing kid, a tenacious teen, and ultimately, a magnificent man. We have quite an adventure ahead of us…<br /><br />Love,<br />Mom</span>nrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14032633233672924622noreply@blogger.com5