Yankee Drawl

I Promised To Make It Up To Her

2009-07-16T22:36:00.000-04:00

Tiptoeing to the side of Mommy's bed every 20 minutes.

Being hauled back to bed all night long.

Hearing Mommy curse louder and louder as morning came, with still no sleep.

Starting the day off with a snotty nose.

Moving on to a super early, no protest nap.

Waking up on fire.

Getting hotter and hotter.

Add in some swollen tonsils and white spots in the throat.

More snotty nose.

Higher fever.

Plus a brand new tooth.

That's how you bring on some major Mommy guilt, if you're Miss E.

Well, The Roster Made It

2009-07-14T23:23:00.005-04:00

Yes. Despite my movers' shortcomings and lack of spelling abilities, the Roster has been delivered. And so has the Cristal.

After 8 long months, all of our worldly possessions have been crammed into a 10'x20' storage unit up the road. Or, I should say, they were crammed in there. Tossed and haphazardly stacked is actually a better description. (Apparently me asking them to put the boxes "here" really meant to balance them "there" in between furniture pieces.) The husband and I re-stacked and sorted every single thing in there. And I only cried once over the destruction.

I've since moved on to bewilderment over the stupidity in the situation. Three bookshelves, a bathroom vanity, a computer desk and E's little wooden table all left our house in Georgia in one piece. They arrived here in Ohio in many, many pieces. Some genius along the way took it upon themselves to bust down anything that could come apart - even if it wasn't meant to come apart. Parts of the bookshelves were literally ripped apart. It's not like they were smashed or crushed during the moving process. No. Someone took the time to sit there and pry my kick-ass, heavy duty bookshelves apart.

I still am struggling with the why on that one.

Days were spent opening and resealing boxes, searching for our treasures. My summer clothes, baby clothes for the (rapidly) growing girl, toys for both of them, our good infant carseat and stroller, and so many other things I've missed. I refrained myself on each trip from tossing everything in the bed of the truck, repeating over and over to myself that someday we'll have a place of our own to fill again.

So, that's where I had disappeared to. Hours upon hours in a storage unit . . . and at the pool, and the park, and sleeping, and buried under laundry, and knocking out tons of sewing. But, I'm back . . . and ready to write again . . . while curled up in the most comfortable gliding armchair ever, that somehow hopped into the truck and brought itself home from the storage unit.

"If This Is What Happens After Dark . . .

2009-07-05T23:44:00.000-04:00

I think I'll stick to my normal bedtime."

Duct Tape Would Be Appropriate, No?

2009-07-02T22:45:00.002-04:00

The Pillow Snatcher. She's back. It's been something close to three months since I woke up, night after night, to find her sweaty little head on the middle of my down filled piece of heaven. Like clockwork, 4am comes and she thumps out of her own bed and creeps into our room. Some nights she makes it all the way into bed and under the covers before I notice. On others I'll sense her standing there and open my eyes to see her staring right back at me. Even better are the nights when I'm downstairs with MJ at that time and can hear the crash as she tumbles out of bed, and then I get to dread going back upstairs and having to haul her out of my spot.

I don't have the slightest clue what's so terrible about being in her own bed past 4am. If I dare to ask her, she'll either tell me she has to go potty, or that she's scared of the thunder (that isn't thundering at that time), or that the tiger is going to eat her (thank you, bed time stories). I am completely chalking this up to a "two" thing. And, I'm sure I'll be still chalking it up to a "three" thing next year . . .

Really though, it isn't so terrible. I could totally deal with having to give up my pillow every night in exchange for the snuggles I get. The giant problem we've got though, is the kid's inability to sleep past 6-something. And, her inability to wake up in a nice and quiet way. It's all "HI! I HUNGRY! MOMMY! HUNGRY! DADDY GET UP!!!! POTTY! HI! HI! HI! DARBY! OUT! MJ WAKE UP! MOMMY OPEN EYES!!!! MOMMY WAKE UP!!! HUNGRY!!!"

Yeah, so the whole "Shush! The baby is sleeping!" . . . not so much in the morning. MJ gets jerked out of her peaceful slumber right along with the rest of us. And she's getting less and less tolerant of that. I see lots of retaliation when they're older.

For a while there, I was terribly concerned, thinking there's no way they'll be able to share a room soon. But really, it should work out well. With duct tape. Lots and lots of duct tape.

(Semi) Wordless Wednesday: It Was Once My College Fund

2009-07-01T00:30:00.000-04:00

But somehow that '67 Stingray stuck around, despite my bachelor's degree, and now . . . the toddler waves at middle-aged men that get whiplash and have to wipe drool off their chins.

It's summer time, baby!

It Was So Worth The Pain

2009-06-29T17:19:00.000-04:00

9:45

That's what time the husband and I slept in until on Saturday morning.

Ah, sleep. Glorious sleep.

Sometime last week, we were sitting around the in-laws kitchen table when someone mentioned Miss E sleeping over their house. I'm fairly certain it started in a completely joking manner, but we jumped on that right quick. Friday night rolled around and we had dinner over there, hanging around till just after 8, instead of rushing out the door before 7 like normal.

Yes, I know. What jet setters we are, enjoying a night of babysitting AT the in-laws. I know you're all jealous.

E was enjoying a bath in their gigantic jacuzzi tub when we left. She was only an hour behind her normal schedule and we went on our merry way, trusting the in-laws to put her to bed at a reasonable hour.

Nope.

After our gloriously full night of sleep (apparently MJ will sleep all morning if she isn't woken up by E bounding into our room at 5:45 yelling "Hi! Hi! Hi!"), we headed over to pick up E. Instead of a perky and cheerful toddler, we found ourselves with a fragile, emotional, extra special clingy and ridiculously cranky one. Piece by piece, we figured out that not only did she go to bed waaaaaay late, but she was up twice in the middle of the night and woke them up at the crack of dawn.

There is nothing but pain and suffering to follow a toddler only sleeping for 5 hours at night. But it was so worth it to roll over and see that 9:45 in the morning. So worth it that I'm plotting how to do this every weekend while we're close enough to ship her off to the grandparent's.

Toddler Cool Down: Ohio Style

2009-06-26T17:05:00.000-04:00

Start out with the "pool" your cheap-ass, redneck parents rigged up for you. Be careful not to rip off the duct tape keeping the drain valve shut.

Move on to bigger and better things at the local splash park in Amish country. It's great for your cheap-ass parents again, because it's free free free.

Make some new friends for about five minutes.

And wonder if she's thinking just how much it blows to be standing there in the 90 degree heat, stuck on the sidelines.

Spend the next afternoon lounging in the cushy new pool at Grandma and Grandpa's, while those lazy parents of yours sip margaritas with their feet up.

Then, cap off the week with some new friends at a favorite spot.

Contemplate getting soaked.

And, watch those pesky parents dunk the baby in the water - again.

It's been a good week.

Keeping Out The Riff Raff

2009-06-25T23:32:00.003-04:00

Klassy. With a big, old capital K. That's us.

Miss E has a serious shoe shortage, with only one pair of pink flip flops, and we've been working on remedying that situation as quick as we can. The girl barely can walk straight as it is, let alone walk right in cheap flippies. She's done more nose-dives than I can count lately.

So, we decided on a brand and searched high and low for somewhere that carried them, so she could try a couple on, get the right sizing, and go home to find them cheaper on the internet somewhere. 'Cause compared to those pink suckers from Old Navy, these things are expensive. If Miss Bigfoot is going to grow out of them before the leaves change, I need to at least feel like I've found a great deal.

Tonight, we headed out to the nearest retailer . . . Nordstrom's. At the mall. At the fancy, schmancy, hoity toity mall. The mall where you won't find a Spencer's or a Dollar Tree, and where the food court is tucked way far back, all posh and lounge-like. No soft play or kids running around screaming. As we walked along, we were passed by $1000 strollers, teens with keys to Land Rovers and Mercedes in their pockets, and the suit and tie set. It's a fascinating experience, this mall.

On we rolled, E in her $20 stroller, the husband and I in our t-shirts and jeans. Past the Swaroski crystal store, the Godiva store and the L'Occitane store. Into Nordstrom's and up to the kid's section of the third floor. We had left home a mere twenty minutes ago, and our newly potty trained toddler had gone before hopping in the car, chattering about her 'Cinderwewa' underwear.

You see where this is going, right?

We found the shoes, requested two sizes and the sales lady brought them out. Just as she walked back to us, the husband's phone rang and the baby started to fuss in the sling. No one had their full attention on E as she was freed from the stroller and plopped on the chair. The sales lady slipped a pair of the shoes on her feet and she hopped down from the chair. The husband was chattering on the phone, trying to have a three way conversation with me and that person. E walked across the aisle. She twirled and admired the shoes on her feet. And then she stopped. And I saw that her pink dress was two different colors.

A dark pink spot on the back of a light pink dress is a bad thing.

A very, very bad thing.

Everything stopped, and slowly all the evidence registered. The puddle in the stroller, the wet spot all over the chair, the horrified sales lady backing away from the situation . . . and E, standing there in a ridiculously expensive pair of shoes - sopping wet.

We will never be allowed back into Nordstrom's again.

Wordless Wednesday: Not So Impressed With The Nature Thing

2009-06-17T00:31:00.000-04:00

Lost: Two Chins

2009-06-16T10:00:00.002-04:00

We're down from a triple chin, to just an adorable round little face. She's still tipping the scales and coming in at the top of the percentiles (97th, to be exact), but all those little rolls are proportioning out.

I'd forgotten how sweet it is to have someone this little sleeping, snuggling and snuffling on your chest. The husband is pretty fond of that type of naptime as well, so we often end up bickering over who gets to take her in the afternoons.

I sure wish he would put up that much fight to change her after a major blowout, or when she's lost her lunch all over herself. Somehow I always end up with the worst ones in the middle of the night. The kind where you just keep pulling out wipe after wipe after wipe, wondering if you'll ever manage to sop up everything.

It's such a glorious job.

I think that should be part of health class in school. Automatic birth control. Hand the peppy teenager a squirmy baby covered from head to toe in excrement. And then make sure the baby projectile vomits all over them while they're in the middle of cleaning the first mess. And then pees on them.

I think I would almost pay to see that happen to some teenagers I know.

The Problem With Potty Training . . .

2009-06-15T05:20:00.000-04:00

. . . is that your pants all start to fall down on their own.

Accidents are getting fewer and farther in between. We've braved the car, the park, the playground, resturants and the store. Naptime is next, and night shouldn't be too far off. The best part though? She's practically doing it on her own. Pleased as punch with herself when she wakes up dry, or when she gets to pick out her undies. Yay for less and less diapers!!! But boo for having an entire summer wardrobe that's too big in the rear end!!!

A Breath of Fresh Air

2009-06-14T19:51:00.000-04:00

I'll admit it. I've slinked away from the rest of the world. I've had a permanent scowl, ready with snappy remarks and armed with a pint sized fuse. I've spent hours cursing in the middle of the night, mornings groaning over being dragged from my warm bed and evenings bitching over fatigue, vomit, laundry, unemployment, and everything in between.

Yesterday, I spent the entire afternoon working and playing outside with E and my mom. Flowers were planted, patio furniture was cleaned, landscaping was done and a short horseback ride was thrown in there for E. We came in with our cheeks glowing from the sun, our feet wet from the hose and our fingers black from dirt. They came in hungry and tired. I came in renewed and refreshed.

The tight quarters, the craming our lives into two bedrooms, the walking on eggshells . . . it all gets washed away with the scrubbing away of the dirt. I may get out of the house every day, to the store or another parent's house or the park, but I never escape anymore. The yard is not mine, and when it is, there's no shade for the baby. I have not spent hours wandering up and down the aisles at a nursery, carefully planning the locations for vegetables and annuals. None of my pots are overflowing with my favorite blooms.

Yesterday was the turning point. I've carved my space. The baby was safe and cool and shaded with M. Vegetables are on the horizon and pots are ready for the perfect blooms.

I've found my joy again.

I woke up this morning ready to start over.

And all it took was a sunburn and some dirt.

Bubbles. And Rotts. Oh, The Joy!

2009-06-06T21:15:00.004-04:00

"Behold! The Bubble Master is here!"

"Bubbles, you say?"

"Let me just get my trusty bubble fighting stick."

"Avast ye pesky bubbles!!"

"Die bubbles! Die! Or . . . well . . . Pop bubbles! Pop!"

"Fighting bubbles is such great fun. But so very tiring. There must be a better way!"

"Surely something can pop the bubbles better than me and my toddler aim . . . but what?"

"Oh yes. That. The Slobbering One is quite the bubble popping expert. We'll leave him to the job now . . ."

Sisters . . .

2009-06-05T20:55:00.003-04:00

Our chunker MJ.

And Miss E.

The Month Flew By

2009-06-04T10:51:00.000-04:00

So, just a month ago I was traumatizing poor E and shoving our little butterball out into the world.

Amazing.

We took the obligatory monthly posed picture, and then I ran right back to the computer to compare it with the ones I was taking two years ago of E. And? There is just no comparison. Poor little MJ is so very much not little, and often resembles Jabba the Hut with a Conan haircut. E looked like a starving orphan next to that.

Sidenote: They weren't kidding when they said how important it is to keep a baby's 'neck folds' clean and dry. E never had 'neck folds', not a one.

MJ's one month appointment isn't until next week, so I don't have any of the fun stuff they measure, like percentages and poundage. I do, however, know that she's a healthy growing girl. The pile of newborn and 0-3 sized clothes she's outgrown says so. So does her ridiculous appetite and ability to make your arms tired after ten minutes of holding her.

Seriously. I was convinced E was a big baby and fast grower and all that. No comparison. None at all.

Now, me on the other hand . . . I haven't seen a scale since a week before I delivered . . . and it is killing me. Driving me absolutely nuts. It shouldn't. I should be satisfied that I'm back in my old clothes and that I only have one jelly roll around the middle, but there's just nothing better for the spirit than seeing it in numbers.

Or, it could end up being a crushing blow to the ego.

I'll decide which if I ever find a scale . . .

Wordless Wednesday: Someone Needs Some Real Friends

2009-06-03T07:22:00.000-04:00

Cake Is My Favorite Four Letter Word

2009-06-01T21:24:00.003-04:00

On Sunday we had MJ baptized. Little girl was wonderful, chilling out for the whole service, looking adorable in the dress I made her (the night before, in less than two hours - nothing like procrastination). E was even mildly excellent. I was breathing big sighs of relief for that, given the fact that we had to relocate from our usual back row pew to the very front of everything. Nothing like being in eyesight of the entire congregation to make a busy toddler act like a goofball.

Afterwards, we headed to the in-laws for a party of epic proportions. Turns out, MJ's day ended up being a great excuse for a family reunion. Over 50 people were sardined into the in-law's house, and a grand total of 4 of those people were from my side. I lost sight of both kids as soon as we walked in the door, with one being passed around the room like a hot potato and the other loaded up on cookies and fruit juice, and showered with attention.

I've decided I'm slighly enochlophobic.

And really not a fan of puting a highly sugared toddler to bed.

The cake was pretty darn good, though.

Our church has this lovely orange glow that is impossible to take good pictures in.

But we did manage to get the typical family photo - M zoning out and staring off into space, E fiddling with her clothes, the baby crying, and me not paying attention to anything but them. Yup. That's our family.

E really does love MJ though. So much that she didn't even need any prompting for this one.

Yes. I Have An Addiction

2009-05-30T23:38:00.005-04:00

I just can't hide it anymore. I have a problem. A big one. A growing one. And yet, a very cheap one.

I am addicted to garage sales. And craigslist. Craigslist rocks, too.

Today I found that there is nothing more thrilling, tiring and empowering than taking the toddler and the infant out for a morning of garage sale-ing. Especially an entire community garage sale.

Thank God for the double stroller and some good walking shoes.

We wheeled and dealed and E learned the fine art of negotiating. We walked miles, balanced treasures all over the stroller, and fended off nosy biddies peaking in at MJ. The loot was shoved and stuffed in the car and home we went.

A kiddie tent, a bouncy seat, books, a box full of pretend kitchen items, the Little People school bus, the most awesome Little Tikes dollhouse ever, old school Tonka trucks, a wheelbarrow, a doll cradle and a bag full of clothes for E from Gap, Children's Place and Old Navy . . . for less than $40.

And then there's my favorite steal lately - the $200+ easle we got for $40 a few months ago. The thing is built like a tank, is ridiculously easy to clean, and has a chalkboard on the other side. E loves it.

There's another community sale next weekend (and probably every weekend after that somewhere). And us girls will be on the hunt again for sure.

Don't Make Me Come In There!

2009-05-28T22:36:00.000-04:00

Dear Eldest Child O' Mine,

It's been weeks upon weeks since I've been out of this house alone. Alone, minus someone's hand to hold or someone's carrier to lug around. And my stay in the hospital most certainly did not count. So, when I conspired with your father to have a few short hours alone tonight, I was actually planning on escaping this house. Alone.

I was not planning on taking you potty 13 times before bed. I was not planning on spending an hour listening to your hiccuping screams. I was not planning on attempting to comfort you and coax you back into bed 17 times in that hour.

You peed in the potty. Three times. You pooped in the potty. Twice. You, my child, must be empty.

Your diaper is not wet. And I will not change it just because you lay out a new one for me.

Your water bottle is full. I will not get you more.

Your bed is comfortable. I've slept in it. Many times. However, I could care less if you want to sleep on the floor. But I will not come and arrange a bed on the floor for you, no matter how many times you beg for Pooh Bear (your blanket and pillow) once you're already lying down there.

You do not sleep in a crib anymore. I'm sorry we've left it up in the corner of the room. But no matter how enticing it looks, unless you're climbing in yourself, you do not sleep in the crib anymore.

Please, dear child, keep your butt in bed and let your mother have just a tiny bit of freedom.

Love,
Your Slowly Going Crazy Mother

Wordless Wednesday: I Know It's Been Boring Around Here . . .

2009-05-27T02:34:00.001-04:00

Visions of Things to Come

2009-05-26T22:32:00.001-04:00

Blossom Time. The best time. Parades, random spottings of people from high school, junk food and carnies. We look forward to this every year . . . almost as much as the county fair.

Want to know just how lame I am though? I'm sure you do. I seriously had the thought of how cool it would be to spot this blogger there. Yes. I'm almost guilty of blog stalking. Lame-O.

Anyways, we would have been the easy ones to spot. A spectacle in ourselves, with the toddler permanently covering her ears and burrowing up my shirt ( sirens! and hot air balloons! and clowns! dear God!) and the fiery haired baby being shielded from nosy strangers crowding around in gaggles. Apparently the baby boom generation has never seen a redheaded baby. We seriously had people IN the parade ON floats calling out to the husband about the baby. It got a little freaky towards the end there.

Lesson learned. Buy sun hats. Lots and lots of sun hats. There is no end in sight.

One Year Ago Today . . .

2009-05-24T13:17:00.000-04:00

Someone please take me back . . .

If Only I Could Go Through Life That Way

2009-05-22T23:54:00.002-04:00

I'm getting hives. Oh, so fun. The joys of my own personal postpartum hell. I got them with E, too. Something about the whole having a newborn and a deployed husband at the same time seemed to bring out the best in the situation. And now, something about the whole having a newborn and a toddler and an unemployed husband and living with a crazy mother seems to be prompting a repeat performance.

Really, really fun stuff here.

But, I've found the cure. Really. It's a miracle cure, so long as I can figure out how to make it work. It starts out very simple . . . All I have to do, is figure out how to live my days like my husband. Simple!

Oblivion. Nature's miracle cure.

Baby screaming in the middle of the night? Not at all stressful if you never even hear it. Toddler falling out of bed and screaming in the middle of the night? Again, not the slightest bit stressful if you never even hear it (despite being in the next room over). Crazy mother skulking around the house about some unknown issue? No worries if you don't even notice she's home, let alone in the same room at some point!

Big plans are in the works to bottle this oblivion stuff. The marketing possibilities are endless!

Wordless Wednesday: Let The Sun Shine!

2009-05-20T00:01:00.001-04:00

At Least One Is Happy About The Situation

2009-05-18T20:26:00.000-04:00

Bathtime. Henceforth known as How To Use Time Most Efficiently.

The baby tub fits perfectly in one half of the bathtub. The toddler fits perfectly in the other half of the bathtub. So, a joint bath time was the logical progression in this whole parenting of two thing.

E thinks it's just the coolest thing since a crustless sandwich. Not only does she get to share with her most favorite person ever, but she gets to see just how many toys she can toss in the baby tub, or just how far in she can stick her feet in, or how much water she can dump over MJ's head with her cup. It's made bath time the most wonderful playtime ever!

On the plus side though, the two of them will always end up squeaky clean. E plays, I wash MJ. E stops playing, and must help wash MJ. Double wash. E gets washed. MJ gets taken out. E must climb into the baby tub and get washed again. Mucho cleano.