The Roost

Do you have a 2 year old? I'm sorry.

2011-12-02T09:54:00.000-08:00

I was talking with my mom and complaining about the sheer evil that is inhabiting my 2 year old and she responded that I was in good company. My sister's 2 year old has a similar list of evil-doing, and after talking with another friend with a 2 year old, she reported much the same behavior. Bottom line? Two-year olds are nasty. You may be convinced your adorable 1 year old would never and I am here to tell you that he would. And will. When he turns 2 that is.

So I've compiled a list in order to help anyone who might be wondering if they either have a 2 year old or some horrible demon from the underworld. Probably a 2 year old. Sorry.

You know you have a 2 year old when...

The phrase 'Get down' is undoubtedly the first words to every sentence.
Getting out of the shower is something like a horror film. The suspense of finding out what he/she has been doing while you've been pretending he/she is away at college is terrifying. And you are sincerely relieved to find that he/she has only lit half of the house on fire. Hey. It could have been the whole house. He/she must have been tired.
Someone tells you, "It could be worse," and you think to yourself, "But could it? Really?"
You wonder if you're the only one raising a soulless underling
During one of his/her bolts from the store/car/wherever you think, "Maybe someone will pick him/her up. Maybe someone nice who doesn't mind tending a power-hungry, opinionated little monster who generally thrives on chaos." Maybe. But you generally don't have that kind of luck.
Potty training is a source of constant confusion. Is he/she ready? What does 'ready' look like? Will he/she just one day inform me that he/she is ready to stop pooping on themselves? So confusing...
You spend most the day fantasizing about boarding school. For you.
Your house looks like a tornado on crack was there.
Your neighbors below you complain of earthquakes. Nope. That's just your 2 year old jumping off of everything and then laughing manically when he nearly breaks his ankle.
Going to the grocery store alone is some kind of spa retreat. There are no commands of "This way! This way mama!" pointing in the direction of the donuts the entire time. And definitely no apologies once he/she throws his sucker stick at some random shopper's head.

So yes, I most definitely have a 2 year old.

Uh Yeah

2011-11-23T10:17:00.000-08:00

Alright. Here goes a major picture narration. And if you're basically in disbelief due to the back-to-back blog posts, don't worry. It won't happen again. And if you really don't care about seeing 500 pictures of me and my family, skip this post. This one is for the sisters and mom.

Here is Halloween. I did not go as anything, Josh was some guy with a mullet, Rip was a dragon/dinosaur/we still don't know, and Chet was a monkey. We went trick or treating with some friends. Check out Rapunzel!

Here are the kids making Halloween cookies. Really I just love that Chet is sitting on the table like he belongs there. I worship him.

And here are my boys before church. I basically was going ballistic on how cute the boys looked in their sweaters with a collared shirt coming out. Seriously. Josh was like, "Then just take a freaking picture and stop!" So I did. Take a picture. Still didn't stop me though.

Here are Graham, Drew, and Rip watching Yo Gabba Gabba. I love these boys. But I might love their moms more. Sara and LIndsey are the bomb.

This is at a park a short walk from our house. Really, the fall was so beautiful. Note that I said 'was?' Fall is over. Winter is here.

This is just a glimpse of Rip's spatula obsession. He calls his spatula 'pancake.'

PANCAKE!!!

We went to Buttermilk Falls the other day on a hike. It was spectacular but pretty dang cold. Please don't take offense by my lack of makeup. I look scary, I know. But I'm at a point in my life where I don't really care. Not really .I still care.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and since we live in outer darkness and it costs at least $400,000 to fly home, we are staying here. But I'm actually excited because we're going to do it with a few other couples and we're doing it all ourselves. Like real adults!

The worst blogger? Nah...

2011-11-20T19:02:00.000-08:00

Josh told me yesterday that I am the worst blogger in the world. Now, pretty sure I fall in the bottom 5% but the worst? Come on...

So an update. Here it is. Rip is insane (not much of an update, but rather a reminder...), and Chet is very likely a genius. Seriously. I feel I have a pretty realistic grasp on my kids and their abilities, and Chet is honestly brilliant. He was trying to put a piece of toast on his spoon! Amazing! Doesn't sound like much now, but you would have been flabbergasted had you been there. Obviously. But really, I hate to sound cliche but Chet is so much fun right now. I forgot how much I liked this age (10 months). He's just so pleasant and he accepts most of Rip's abuse without too much complaining. We love him. He has started taking steps and eats well, sleeps well, and is snuggly. Chet is our rock star.

Rip, on the other hand, is clinically insane. He spends most of his day using a spatula to do one of two things. He is either using it as a sword and shouting 'Pancakes!' at me, or he is shoving the spatula in Chet's face screaming, 'Two bites!' or 'Mo bite Keck!' Apparently me forcing Rip to take 'two more bites' on occasion (every meal) has scarred him and he is transferring his frustration onto Chet. This is what Rip is taking from his childhood. Hmph. Yes, food is still an issue with Rip. He generally sticks to his basic food groups of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cold cereal, and yogurt. Oh. Toast. Can't forget toast. So feeding Rip is still the bane of my existence.

Also worth noting, Rip is obsessed with the movie Spirit. It's the Disney horse one (Thanks, Lindsey for letting us borrow this)? Yeah, so he has been waking up early and coming in our room at 6:30 asking for 'Mo neigh show?' When I say 'asking' I really mean he is demanding vehemently. He has watched it at least 4000 times just today. I think I am starting to like the show. If you've never seen it, it's definitely a must-see. It gets better by the 5 billionth time. Can't wait for tomorrow's showing.

Josh has been busy busy, which is really just a cutesy way of saying I hardly see him and the boys are starting to look at the produce guy at the grocery store as a father figure. I usually am okay with it, being that it gives me ample time to watch Say Yes to the Dress, but being that I have already watched all 86 episodes available on Netflix, I'm sort of sad right now about his absence. The only thing that helping with flying solo is that I don't have to make dinner. Rip doesn't eat anything I make anyway (except the aforementioned token 'two bites'), so we eat pancakes for dinner when Josh won't be home. We eat a lot of pancakes.

That about wraps up this random blabber. I'll post some pictures next time. Probably Halloween costumes or something original. Stay tuned.

Yearly Update

2011-10-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay, settle down. I was texting my sister-in-law and she replied that she hardly knew me anymore and that it was time I updated my blog. Fair enough. I will try to recap some of the events of the past month or two.

First off, my parents came to see us. It was amazing. Needless to say, I was pretty depressed to see them go. I should have taken more pictures, but considering I took any at all is a miracle in and of itself. Here we are at Taughanock Falls. My dad carried Chet in the backpack. It was pretty adorable.

We took my parents to see Cornell's campus, which really is beautiful. This is the only picture we took there. Again, it sort of is amazing that I got even one, so...

Here we are on a family hike. We are so active. Probably the only picture you'll see of Chet not in the bjorn. Hey, he likes it so I like it.

We actually like Chet a lot more than Rip right now, but we seem to be taking only pictures of Rip. I"ll explain that it a bit.

Rip likes to dress in my clothes. No, he is most definitely not normal. Never claimed he was though.

This is Sapsucker Woods, the woods right in front of our apartment. Let me just say that they are incredible right now. So beautiful. I take the boys in them a couple times a week. So pretty. This was a few days after a lot of rain.

And then a few weeks ago we went to some sound maze. I'm not going to explain it other than Rip did not quite grasp the idea of following the paths. He liked best walking straight through the corn. Uh, he's 2 remember?

So basically here is the update. Rip turned two, waited a month or two, and then decided he was going to transform into what we call, 'El Diablo.' He is a monster. He isn't the worst two year old in the world, but he most definitely has a mind of his own and that mind is usually working overtime to prove how independent he is. Josh usually is wondering if we should discipline him more. I say yes.

We do catch glimpses of our old Rip right before bed when he is so snuggly and we can maul him to death. I love mauling the kids. Anyway, he allows it before he goes to bed and even asks for 'mo kisses' at times, which usually means I forget about the fact that he is sheer evil. He is still pretty hilarious, albeit insane.

Chet, on the other hand, is without a doubt the cutest baby in the entire universe (and that says a lot considering I typically don't like babies that much). Talk about good natured. Maybe I just compare him to El Diablo (Rip), but he is so pleasant now. He had a rough go, but once I stopped nursing and put him on soy formula, he morphed into such a happy baby, even when Rip is wrestling him (i.e. every hour of the day). He even seems to like the wrestling, to a certain point. He loves Rip and has even started acknowledging Josh (he pretty much couldn't stand the sight of Josh until a month ago). Imagine! It is soooooo nice having a kid who will eat. So nice.

So Chet is awesome, Rip is a demon, and Josh is at school A LOT. That about sums up our lives. Now here is a video of the good child and the bad child. Take a guess of who is who.

Old enough for a minivan

2011-09-12T11:46:00.000-07:00

Let me just start by saying that I hate those stupid secret questions you have to answer when trying to retrieve a forgotten password. I've been trying to hack into my own AT&T account and see what my current text messaging balance is (I got a text from AT&T telling me I was at least $20 over... not good), but I have no clue what my password is. So I've spent the last hour trying to figure out what famous person I would most like to meet, living or dead. Uhh... it seems like the secret question is a little too secret since I have no freaking clue and it's my secret question. I've literally put down every variation of Jerry Seinfeld I can think of and from there I'm plum out of ideas.

But that's beside the point (is there ever really a point?). I was talking to a bunch of ladies in the complex (our complex is considered the Wymount of Ithaca; scary), and they were all commenting on how Suzy (not the real name; I am protecting people's identity here) has the most amazing minivan (I really need to stop using these parenthesis to make side comments). They were lamenting on how Suzy's minivan has cameras in the back and tvs in the front and yadayadayada. What is so disheartening about all this is not that Suzy has a camera and a tv and I have a civic that barely holds two carseats, but that I have reached an age where a 'cool' minivan deserves the envying of my friends. I'm that old. Minivans! Imagine! I remember playing MASH as a kid and inevitably the car that was undesirable was either a garbage truck (which would actually be sort of cool... damn these parentheses!) or a minivan. Now look at me. Drooling over Suzy's van because it can fit a big stroller plus all your groceries plus the strangely huge umbrella I seem to be lugging around! Such luxury.

And it gets worse. It really hit me I was old when I was talking to all the ladies and someone mentioned bunions, which naturally led to comparing and contrasting bunions. I am fortunate to not have any bunions, but the fact that it did not strike me as strange or frightening that these women were comparing bunion surgery scars, leads me to believe I am no longer 26, but 86. Put me in a home now, because I'm looking longingly at minivans and thinking about the recovery time of a bunion surgery. I am old.

A Bad Day...

2011-08-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

Today has honestly been the day of living hell. And it's only 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I'm thinking about checking myself into the local jail. Based on today, jail is looking pretty good. Pretty damn good. Oh. Swearing offends you? Best you weren't around today. Chet's first word might be a four letter one. Let me explain.

We live in Ithaca, which upon today's analysis, is the worst place in the world. Period. So anyway, we live in Ithaca and do not have a washer and dryer. We can either pay a small fortune and use the washer and dryer in the basement, but to use any machine manufactured in the early 1800's makes me nervous. But we usually do anyway. Well, it just so happens that today I have at least 3 loads of laundry, which will basically take all day to do. So I consider braving the laundromat, which really doesn't sound that bad, only I have the two kids with me (Josh is at some pretend meeting all day), plus I haggled my friend into coming with her 1 year old so, yeah. Three babies basically. We are idiots.

I separate all the whites, darks, and sheets and towels and go to put Chet in his car seat. Upon returning, I find Rip has dumped all the laundry out and has been throwing it all over the house. I should have taken this as a sign of upcoming events, but I foolishly plunged forward. I separated them once again (this oddly takes me some time; why?) and went outside with two kids in tow, three laundry baskets, and one giant diaper bag. We get outside, I unlock the doors, and throw my keys on the front seat while I start loading laundry in the trunk. Rip gets in the car, I shut the trunk, he closes the door, and then locks all the doors. With my keys inside. I stand there shocked. Is my kid really locked in the car? My friend is with me and we are like, uhhh, what do we do? I quickly remember that there is some hidden lockbox somewhere on the car and so we start digging around for it. Neighbors start joining in the search, but no luck. We can't find it. I keep trying to call Josh, to which he texts me he is in a meeting. At this point I consider finding a gun and instigating some kind of school shooting on Cornell's campus, but I don't because I don't have a gun. I haven't reached hysterical yet, but Rip is starting to. He's probably been in the car 10-15 minutes, watching. He starts pouting, asking to get out, and for me to 'hold you, hold you?' Finally a neighbor asks if they can call AAA, I say yes, they say he will be here in 10 minutes. Those next 10 minutes Rip is screaming and at one point, starts slamming his head into the window. I stay relatively calm, but I can't stand watching this 2 year old screaming for his mommy, sweating, with snot pouring down his beet-red face. He tries desperately to get out and at this point I'm crying. My friend starts crying, my neighbor is crying, and Rip is crying. I'm pretty sure Chet was crying because that's basically his go-to. We're all crying. The AAA guy gets there and blah blah blah. Rip is saved!

So. Do we go to the laundromat? Yes. Should we have? Absolutely not.

We drive over there, unload our laundry, and realize that even though there is a sign, the actual laundromat is on the other side of the strip mall. We haul our 4 bags of laundry, two strollers, and three kids across this strip mall, and reach laundry central. By this point, I'm coated in layers of sweat (I was sweating profusely during the Rip locked in the car I'm a terrible mother fiasco), and the blasted humidity that I hate is definitely not helping. The two babies are crawling around the laundromat floor, Chet is screaming, wanting me to pick him up, Rip is bashing people's laundry baskets into washers, dryers, babies, anything really, and I am hoping Child Protective Services is on their way to rescue me from this life. No such luck. We finally get the washers started, and Rip is crying for a snack. I brought him crackers, but by this time it's lunchtime. We get some bagels and muffins at a bakery/deli and this is when Chet decides that he absolutely is done with everything and everyone. He is screaming in this echo-ridden deli place and I am shoving apple sauce down his throat. I am honestly about to lose it and I put him on the ground (it is absolutely filthy, btw), and hope he finds a good home with owners who will love him, maybe let him sleep in their bed. He starts picking up food particles/tetanus and eating them. I don't care at this point. I'm hot, exhausted, and hating my life.

I'm sort of sick of rehashing this living nightmare, but just know that lots of crying later, we made it out of the laundromat. Will I ever go back? Not a chance. Will I ever leave this apartment? Only if promises of jail are made. As long as I don't have to take care of another human being, I am so for it.

As promised...

2011-08-17T11:31:00.000-07:00

Lucky you! You now get to spend the next 45 minutes (if it takes you any shorter, you either did not spend adequate time oogling or you skipped this post altogether; shame on you) seeing pictures of my apartment here in Ithaca. You are so blessed.

This is directly across the street. As you can see, there is our mailbox, nestled snugly in the midst of some poison ivy.

And the outside... Look! There's Rip.

And the kitchen... notice the knobs on the oven? You sort of have to guess what temperature you're using. I've guessed wrong now pretty much every time.

And this is our enormous bedroom. The picture actually makes it look smaller because we have an armoir and a desk fitting comfortably in there, but it definitely is a lot smaller than the luxury we're accustomed to.

The living room... yes. That's an AC unit in the window. Yes. That is supposed to condition the entire apartment (I say 'entire' as though the apartment is vast and spacious; it is not). Also, notice any lights other than the lamps? No? That's because there aren't any. We are lucky to have three lamps, but it still seems weird that there is no light fixture of any sort.

And just because we're all adorable, a few extras. Man, I wish the bags under my eyes were not the primary focal point. The boys in their Cornell hats and sweatshirts. We are very supportive.

And Chet last night in his skin tight pajamas playing with a balloon. I love skin-tight pajamas on babies and toddlers.

And a recap? There are two other bedrooms and a bathroom but they sort of just look like every other kid bedroom and bathroom you've ever seen. So not much there. But I was thinking how you're not supposed to put real names or locations on blogs and things, because it's dangerous. I agree. However, I'm almost 10,000% positive no one wants to come stalk me and my family. For one, they would have to deal with Rip and the constant battle of finding him the exact train he is currently looking for. That in and of itself is reason enough to stay away. For two, they would have to stare at the bags under my eyes and that is not only terrifying; it's somewhat grotesque. So I'm feeling pretty confident I'm not stalker material. Chet might be though. Wait. Never mind. He would vomit apple sauce, oatmeal, or whatever else he has eaten and he would promptly be returned. Yes. Chet no longer spits up, he vomits. And considering he's mobile, you pretty much step into vomit wherever you go. So yeah. No one is taking this family.

Here comes a doozy...

2011-08-12T19:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, we made it to Ithaca. No, this update will not entail beautiful, scenic pictures of Ithaca or our apartment or Ithaca really at all. That post will come when I actually take pictures of my apartment or Ithaca really. So stay tuned.

Until then, you get to read about the magic that is Rip. He turned two today, and I am here to document that I not only baked him a cake, I frosted a Thomas the train character on it (the kid takes obsession to a whole new level).. I, my friends, am amazing. Here is the said cake. Not that impressive when you compare all the cakes that are on the internet, but considering I have zero artistic ability and or creativity, this is like a serious work of art. This is comparable to when monkeys paint a circle or something.

And most importantly, it tasted good too. You can begin worshiping me now.

So like I mentioned before, Rip turned two today. Man. I would say it's gone by fast and all those cliche type things you're supposed to say in order to even pretend to be a good mom, but it really hasn't. I honestly feel like we've had Rip for at least 20 years. That would make him 20. But he's not. He's two. And very much so. Josh comes home and spends 30 minutes with the kid and always says the same thing. "That kid is on one. What is with him tonight?" Uhhh... He's two. And he has our genetics. Bad combination.

In spite of bad genes and being two, Rip is incredibly fun. Somewhat bizarre, he does and sort of says (he only talks a little) the funniest things. He's basically crazy. The phrase, 'Easy Psychopath!' usually comes out of my mouth at least 14 times a day. Not sure what the consequence for that will be...

Rippy the two year old. Here are some of his likes:

Trains. Not just a little, not just a lot, but an extremely frightening level.
Climbing out of his crib and climbing into Chet's crib in the morning. He likes to show Chet his trains, just in case Chet forgot what they looked like.
Bikes. He likes to look at other people's bikes and then cry about how I can't let him steal them.
Balloons
Hats
'Keck' (aka Chet). Although, if Keck (Josh and I both call Chet, 'Keck' now) approaches one of Rip's trains, Keck becomes less popular. Really, when Keck does anything besides laugh and smile at Rip, Rip is not impressed by him. But if he sees me getting frustrated with Keck, he comes over and hits me. Only he is allowed to abuse Keck, apparently.

These are a few pictures from the last couple of months. I will now begin to narrate.

Dayna took some family pictures for us right before we moved. I know she was busy so a shout out to Dayna is called for. Dayna, you rule. Move to Ithaca. We can stare at wildlife together. I'll post more of these fam pictures later. Just a sneak peek...

Two weeks before we left for Ithaca, we last minute flew to San Diego to see some friends and say goodbye to amazing weather. This was us at the beach. Chet was not impressed. Rip was. But then, Rip loves water. You wouldn't know it from his expression... his constant expression.

So for Rip's birthday we went to a kid science museum thing. It's the same thing as the Children's Discovery thing at Gateway in Salt Lake City. A little old for Rip, but he seemed to still like it. This is him and Nina doing arts and craft. Well, Nina is doing arts and craft and Rip was balancing markers on his head. It's a girl/boy thing.

After the discovery thing we went home for cake and ice cream (remember when I made that amazing Thomas cake? I rule). Here are the two points right after Chet attacked Rip's cake. Rip was ticked.

Oh, and my mom got Rip a train set that he idolizes. He goes ballistic every time Chet glances at it. But we also got Rip a bike which has been wanting since forever. Well, the second he saw the train set the bike took second fiddle. But Chet seems to like it so whatever. It works out. Here is Chet 'riding' Rip's bike. I do like Chet. How could you not like him? Oh yeah. He spent his first 6 months vomiting on everything. He still vomits but not as much. So we love him now.

This is what the porkchop used to look like. Amazing! He doesn't look anything like that now.

Rip feeding one of his trains. He has to have a train to sleep, eat, ride in the car, etc. etc. etc. A train is his constant companion. Now you understand why I call him a psychopath?!!

This is Rip's fort. He loves hiding. So hiding in a fort while he watches Thomas the tank engine?

This is at his cake and ice cream festivity. He loves hats, as I mentioned above. A lot of time he climbs out of his crib and finds his hat and is just playing in his room with his hat on. We think it's hilarious. But then, we're his parents. We think most things he does are hilarious.

Wow. This post is a doozy. I'll post in a few days about Ithaca in general. I'm sure after this marathon entry, you'll remember why you don't actually like me. So maybe you don't care about what my apartment looks like or what across the street entails. Well, my mom does. So deal with it.

House for sale?

2011-06-24T17:50:00.000-07:00

Let me just start by saying that if you are currently in the market to buy a house, I hate you. But to be fair, you deserve it.

We have been selling our house for two months now, and have showed it multiple times a week. Do the math, and it comes out to 4 billion times I have had to clean the house for all the dumb looky loos. Now don't get me wrong. I was excited the first 16 million times someone came to look at the house. I would vacuum, wipe, and scrub each time, just hoping that my efforts would pay off and some fortunate family would get the privilege of sharing the same home I once resided in. Fool.

Inevitably, people would come to look at the house the same time I was trying to round up my children and get out. What this means is that while I'm walking out the door I'm hearing things like, "Oh wow. I could never live with a kitchen like this..." or "How did they manage with this paint color? Yuck." Really lady? You're thinking my neutral paint color is yuck meanwhile I'm watching your nasty little 5 year old wipe his snotty nose on your mom jeans? I've got another definition of 'yuck' and it falls somewhere along the lines of your hair. Wash much?

Not to be a nasty, but selling our house has bridged the final gaps into my final metamorphosis of biotch. I hate home buyers. Everyone thinks they are looking for the equivalent of Oprah's house, but only willing to pay $100,000. The math doesn't add up, people.

And on that note, our house is currently under contract and we hope all goes well.

Also, I was feeding Chet some of Rip's old baby food when I got the crazy idea to check the expiration date. It hasn't even been a year since Rip was eating-but-not-actually-eating that crap, so I figured I was okay. So I take a glance and realize the expiration date was April. According to my calculations, that makes the sweet potatoes currently being digested/thrown up by Chet almost 4 months old. The truly interesting point in this story is that I checked the expiration date prior to feeding Chet. That's right. I fed him rotten food. And I feel pretty dang good about it. Awesome, in fact. Serves pukey right.

Advice

2011-06-02T12:20:00.000-07:00

A word of advice?

If your husband runs up the stairs smiling and explains that he just sold his car and that it won't be a problem because he'll just work from home except maybe once a week, and it will kind of be nice living "the simple life," don't be a fool. There is nothing simple about being stuck at home with two babies for the fifth day in a row. See, he had some blah blah blah blah that he absolutely had to blah blah blah which means blah blah blah blah, which translates into your out of a car. Again. So don't let your husband pretend sharing a car between the two of you is an okay idea. It isn't. We are not pioneers (although I have a sneaking suspicion that pioneers did not have a car, let alone two cars so...). Or when he tells you he sold his car, you can say, "Oh good. Now you're going to take the bus! Go UTA!"

And if your husband decides to work from home every day, be prepared for the following:

Interrupted nap times. Husbands, at least mine, is utterly convinced that people enjoy falling asleep to him slamming doors, yelling, laughing boisterously on the phone, and or walking in and out of their rooms.

Hopeful lunch requests. Husbands, at least mine, figures I might as well make him lunch, since I'm already feeding two children plus myself. Uhh... no. When you're here and pretending you can't hear the baby crying in his crib, I'm here pretending I can't see you while I'm making lunch.

Advice on children?

If your child begins rolling over, begin mourning. All rolling over means is that they are hereby forfeiting sleeping in order to roll over to the exact side they hate to sleep on (i.e. their back). Nevermind he has been able to roll over for two months, he is just now figuring out the advantages to never sleeping and mom looking at him like she would love nothing more than to leave him in an orphanage in Russia (see absolutely no advantage). I come in to find him screaming on his back, and he opens his bloodshot eyes to find me hovering anxiously over his crib, willing myself not to smother him.

If your child still only has 4 teeth and will be two in three months, and you've been telling yourself that his crappy eating is due entirely to his lack of teeth, be prepared to be disappointed. It has nothing to do with his teeth and everything to do with his anorexia.

So other than Chet not sleeping, Rip not eating, and me not having a car, things are pretty blissful around here. We still have not sold our house and I'm wondering if it has something to do with the fact that whenever we show the house, one of the looky loos wakes up Chet and I may or may not give them a look that could sear stone. I'll try to cut back, so long as they take my "One of the kids is asleep downstairs, so maybe just peek in the bedroom quietly and if you wake him up I will literally strangle you right here in front of your Realtor and her weird hair" more seriously. We'll see.

I dunno

2011-05-19T22:19:00.000-07:00

Thanks Dayna for the picture. Josh and I realized we have very few pictures of Chet. Not because we don't like him (we do now, he's older and puking less), but because he doesn't necessarily do anything that merits a photo. Usually when we take a picture, it's because Rip made us laugh. Chet has not really done much of that. He smiles, rolls around, but he certainly does not insist on looking at us out of the corner of his eye (Rip), or kick Josh randomly in the head (Rip again), and he certainly does not make up his own sign language (yes, Rip not only signs, but makes up signs for words he doesn't know; genius). Still, looking at his little face does make me smile. Still can't wait for him to be one, though.

So we went to some friends' ranch, which ended up being seriously one of the funnest trips ever. I don't really want to narrate what's happening in each photo, but just know that if you see us sitting on a four wheeler, assume we went four wheeling. See horses? We rode them. Get the idea?

I do want to add that while on this trip I was again reminded how unattractive I actually am. It only takes a few pictures with no makeup to remember that God gave us mascara for a reason. That reason is to make my face less offensive. It also didn't help that the other wives all weigh an accumulative 85 lbs and have perfect hair (seriously people. How does your hair look that good while at a ranch with dirt everywhere? Defies physics is what it does). The funny thing is that it doesn't bother me all that much. I guess I'm coming to grips with my love handles.

Booty Shorts

2011-04-18T21:33:00.000-07:00

I thought about doing a post without mentioning the boys, but who am I kidding? My entire life revolves around these two and their issues.

Here is Chet with hair. Hair makes him angry. This must have been a month ago.

Here is Chet in the process of losing his hair. Rip lost his hair too, but a lot earlier. And yes, Chet spends a lot of his life in the bjorn. This makes him happy, only he doesn't look happy, he looks surprised. Either way, he doesn't cry in the bjorn, and so I don't feel like leaving him at a homeless shelter while he's in the bjorn. It works.

This is Rip sucking down a bottle. He is off bottles, only he isn't when he asks for one. What can I say, I could care less if the kid gets a bottle of milk (Josh feels differently, but as soon as he spends 24 hours a day with the offspring, his feelings will matter). And you can't see, but he's pointing to Chet. Usually when Chet is crying and I'm not in the room, Rip will find me and pull on my legs until I go and pick Chet up. He doesn't like it when he cries. Chet isn't crying, but he might have made a noise. Rip likes to point out anything Chet does (i.e. nothing) to me. Chet makes a noise, Rip laughs and points at him. Yes, Rip. Chet is absolutely fascinating.

And this is our newest solution to Rip being obsessed with the computer. Strap on the headphones and then we don't have to listen to the annoying kids' stuff he insists on watching (for some reason, Rip has no interest in Shark Tank). Never mind that the headphones are huge. With this kid's genetics, he's doomed for a life of small headedness. Headphones will always be huge.

Yup. Rip has discovered the toilet to be the most fascinating thing in the entire world. He loves finding things to put in it, putting his hands in it, and driving his cars in it. He has only just realized he can actually put his feet in it, and this has taken his love for the toilet to the next level.

But I do think it deserves mentioning that I played in the UVU alumni game this last Saturday. Now, I know I'm old and all, but when did girl soccer players start tucking their shorts into their underwear? And why? We were playing at 6 pm; no chance of tan lines. I'm still not over it. All I could focus on was the 25 feet of thigh (these girls were tall) being exposed and the inevitable wedgie you know where. Disturbing. Very disturbing. So if you're 18 and playing soccer, please explain to my why rolling your shorts to sheer skankiness helps you play better. Maybe a diversion? Can't be sure. Only thing I'm sure about is that the length of the shorts on these girls could not be more than 2 inches and Barbie wears more fabric. Hmm. Maybe I'm older than I think.

Also, Josh got the fellowship so we will definitely be heading to New York this fall. So if you're interested in buying basically everything we own, since we are bound to live in some kind of glorified bomb shelter and will be unable to fit any of it in the said bomb shelter, please email me. Items for sale include house, lawn mower, car, computer, skis, soccer shorts measuring longer than 4 inches, Chet, and couches that Chet has redecorated with his puke. Remember, these items will go fast, especially the puke couch, so email me soon.

Update Update!!

2011-04-07T13:13:00.001-07:00

Here is an update with no pictures. Sorry. A combination of not taking any and not being sure how to get them off the camera makes for a very sad blog indeed. Pretty sure I was born in the wrong time period. Here goes anyway.

Chet is still a baby. Although he is just barely 3 months, it seems like he should be 12 years old by now. Time stands still when you have a newborn. He smiles, laughs, and does basically nothing. Chet loves the bjorn and will sit strapped to my chest for hours. He even falls asleep that way. Again, he basically does not have much going on.

He did sleep through the night for a week or two, but has since decided that going too long without eating is completely out of the question. He even reverted to waking up twice a few nights ago. Needless to say, I was not impressed. I have also not been impressed with his reflux. If you've ever had a baby with reflux, I'm sorry. It's awful. Projectile vomiting throughout the entire day plus crying while eating makes for one sad baby and one angry mom. However, we've been giving him some medicine for it and it has worked wonders. He still spits up and still doesn't nurse for longer than 5 minutes at a time, but it's a vast improvement and I'm sure very interesting information for everyone.

Rip is 19 months old and is way more interesting than Chet. He is NAUGHTY but way more entertaining. His favorite things include using my makeup brushes to apply makeup on Chet, making out with Chet, and thinking about making out with Chet. He likes Chet. A lot. He is also loves all things boy. He loves cars, balls, wrestling, and being wussy.

Josh is currently in Ithaca, New York, interviewing for a fellowship that will pay for the entirety of school. If you don't know, Josh is going back to school for his MBA. We plan on going to Cornell this fall (yes, the same school as the Nard Dog), and are still unsure what we're doing with our house, so don't ask unless you want to buy it for millions.

Me. Hmm... not much going on. I'm currently not pregnant so that feels sort of eventful. I'm preparing for a half-marathon, which only involves running at the most twice a week. Yeah, I'm either going to die or just run the first mile and then call it quits. I should probably train better, but when am I going to manage that? I'm a full time breastfeeder. Chet eats every two hours and sometimes sooner (again, reflux is the bane of my existence). I feel like my entire job is feeding that kid and trying to keep the puke down. It's exhausting. Not to mention disgusting. Anyway, nothing that new or exciting about me, other than I just ordered a new breast pump. Josh got a new computer and asked me, "Hey, since I'm getting a new computer, do you want a new breast pump?" Wow. So that's where things are at, then? Sad. Even more sad that I took him up on it. Hello Medela!

The Robbins Curse

2011-03-16T12:31:00.000-07:00

Yup. I'm in one of those moods. You know what mood I'm talking about. That mood where you feel like telling the woman at the grocery store who just smiled at you to go to hell. The mood where your kid is desperately trying to hand you the same book you've already read 40 million times that day and all you want to do is huck that flipping book into a wall as hard as you can, just to get your point across that you absolutely hate Dr. Seuss' Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb book. The mood where you are seriously considering leaving your 18 month old in charge of the 2 month old, geared with a couple of bottles and some spare diapers and a slip of paper letting Child Protective Services know that you'll be back when the kids are potty trained and uninterested in being held 24 hours a day.

Now you might be thinking that this isn't as much a mood, but rather my personality, and you might be right. But regardless, I'm feeling especially irritable today and I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that my bathroom is torn apart (Josh was going to re-tile it, found mold, ripped up all the subfloors, midfloors, and whatever else was keeping us from falling into the basement, and is now waiting until Saturday to fix it all), the garage door stopped working and Josh spent last night replacing that, the blinds in the front room got broken and I'm told they can be fixed and not to just buy new ones, and finally, Chet is doing is very best to puke on every last available surface in the entire house (reflux anyone?). I think what it comes down to is that Josh has spent every waking minute working, ripping, fixing, or replacing so I've been left with both kids day in and day out. I'm sort of sick of them.

It doesn't help that the small one seems to always be awake. He takes 30 minute naps and then is livid when I do not tote his small person around, showing him all the wonders that is our house. Needless to say, he spends a lot of time either in the bjorn or crying his little face off because he is not somehow strapped to my body. I've told him to man up, but he doesn't seem to understand. He has taken to trying to talk to me and although sort of cute, I've told him it's pointless since his brother doesn't really talk, I doubt he will either.

The big one isn't any better. He is turning 2 this year and is doing his best to demonstrate what 2 means. Many more dramatic tantrums to come, I'm sure. He is still refusing to speak, but he does use sign language (no, he is not deaf) to communicate. Very likely the reason he does not speak. Oh well.

He also has decided that when I'm carrying baby up the stairs, he is suddenly paralyzed and unable to climb the stairs either. Needless to say, my new exercise routine involves carrying both invalids up the stairs 40 times a day. I should be skinnier, but eating 28 cookies a day seems to be my undoing.

This is from this last Sunday where we blessed Chet. Nice background, I know. Whatever. Just oogle at our incredible family.

Boys

2011-03-03T13:36:00.000-08:00

First off, I did not do that advertisement thing. In fact, I just noticed it and asked Josh what in the hell it was. Josh said he put it on there, so I take no blame/responsibility for it. FYI.

I have to say though, that I'm getting more and more excited about these two boys. *gasp* There. I said it. But I am. I get even more excited when I come in the room to find Rip laying on top of Chet in his swing and I go to rip him off when I realize that Chet is smiling as big as ever at his older brother. Can't be sure whether this has more to do with the brain damage he just suffered from being suffocated, but either way, if they aren't screaming, I'm not stopping it.

And when Rip is in the bath and Josh holds Chet in the bath with Rip and Rip can hardly contain his sheer excitement and begins diving all over the bath and thereby drowning Chet, but Chet seems to think this is sort of cool and smiles and tries to watch Rip, that sort of makes me happy about the two boys too.

And even when Rip is trying to shove Chet's binky in his mouth and is convinced that if he pushes it in Chet's eye hard enough, it will eventually make it in his mouth, this makes me happy too. Because Rip doesn't want Chet to cry and has seen me do the same thing (except in his mouth, not his eye), and is really only trying to help his brother, or so I like to believe.

And when I'm nursing Chet while Rip is watching Sesame Street and Chet is straining his little neck to stare at Rip, I like that too. Except I don't really and I usually tell Chet to knock it off. But it's sort of sweet for a second.

The bottom line is I sort of like these boys. Not all the time and usually not during breakfast, lunch, or dinner since Rip is a complete nightmare when it comes to eating and that is usually when Chet decides he is starving as well, but in between the awful feeding times, these boys are pretty cool. Can't wait for Chet to become more conscious and Rip to become less caveman-like (the boy refuses to talk and opts instead to sign random nonsensical things to me. "You ready to go to sleep, Rippy?" Rippy: Sign for banana. Okay... Yeah. He watches a lot of Signing Times).

Cookies

2011-02-19T10:15:00.000-08:00

This is me making sugar cookies while holding the Cheddar Chet (I just made that up; I amaze myself). I am both domestic and nurturing. Be impressed. Yes. He fell asleep within 3 minutes of being in this position. I, however, did not.

I've been looking at pictures of Rip, comparing the likeness/dislikeness (I'm aware it isn't a word... back off know-it-all) of the two boys, and I've ultimately decided that 1) They actually sort of look alike 2) Chet has way more hair at this stage than Rip did (not very hard to do... ) and 3) For some reason my kids look shocked and frightened by the world around them. Rip still carries that expression. I'm sort of hoping that Chet will not follow suit.

Oh, and Rip was at least 90 lbs fatter than Chet. Chet isn't scrawny, but he isn't a buddah baby. Rip was a fatso. I do love me some fat babies.

Chet is the first picture and Rip the second. Rip doesn't look that fat in the picture, but keep in mind that this was him at 6 weeks and he was always 90th percentile in both height and weight until 6 months.

And for your viewing pleasure, a quick peek of what we do all day. Well, not all day or I would be skinnier. But rare is the day without some form of Chet attacking Rip. With my help of course.

And please excuse both my love handles and my 'undies.' Apparently it's too confusing for Josh to mention that half my bum is hanging out of my pants. Either that or my bum is always hanging out of my pants and so this is the 'norm' while anything else would be confusing. Can't be sure. Too confused.

6 week update

2011-02-14T11:05:00.000-08:00

Two things. Well, three, but who's counting?

First, Chet tried to sleep through the night last night, but being the psycho that I am, I woke him up at 5:30 to feed him because I couldn't sleep after 3 am. I just kept sitting there anticipating him waking up but he never did. So I did it for him. I'm furious with myself. I'm feeling pretty confident that Chet will now never sleep through the night due to me confusing his first and final attempt. Hurray for me.

Two, Chet is 6 weeks today (you feel like he should be 4 years old by now, too?) and he has finally started smiling. The past few days he has kind of smiled at me, to which I informed Josh that Chet is really going to like me; I might even be his favorite (Rip very much favors Josh; real wonder there). Well, Chet looks at me lovingly most of the time (if you count a blank scowl a look of love), and so I figure Rip will love Josh most while Chet will love me most. I discovered that I am horribly off on that, as I am with most things. I was trying to feed Chet and he was trying to stare adoringly at Rip. He then did his best to win Rip over by smiling repeatedly at him. I couldn't believe it. I mean, seriously? You love the guy who has almost crushed your little head about 50 times in the last 24 hours? But it's true. Chet seems quite interested (as interested as a 6 week old can be) in his older and more experienced brother. So here is the order of things. Chet loves Rip, who loves Josh, who loves Rip and Chet. I hate being the only odd man out. Maybe I'll adopt a fish or something.

Third thing is that I am starting to like Chet. Rip hit the 6 month mark and I started liking him. Chet is only 6 weeks and I think I like him. Wonder of wonders! It's probably a combination of me being more prepared and Chet being more likable. I mean, even though he has only sort of smiled at me, I'm pretty sure he likes me. And not just because I'm his 'lunchbox' as my mom describes it, but because he appreciates me for not killing him the first 3 weeks of his life. You're welcome, Chet.

So that's about it. I like Chet, Chet likes Rip, and Rip has not stopped 'patting' Chet's bum since he saw me burping him this morning and is in love with the idea of an acceptable form of hitting. He starts getting a little aggressive after a while so I have to keep an eye on Rip's bum patting. It does make me laugh, though and Chet doesn't seem to mind, either. We have so much fun at our house. Contain your jealousy.

Them two

2011-02-01T12:36:00.001-08:00

My friend Dayna did me a huge favor and took some pictures of the boys last week. Thank goodness she did it before this week, since Chet has opted to embrace adolescence and enjoy a huge dose of baby acne. I don't know if anyone remembers Rip's acne, but it about killed me. It's disgusting. I swear no one else's babies get it like mine do. Great.

Anyway, considering neither boy was very cooperative (most of the time Rip was trying to push Chet off his lap and/or simultaneously crying), these turned out pretty well. Thanks Dayna!

Notice that every single picture of Rip he has a confused/angry expression? Yeah, that's pretty much his constant expression.

This last one is of Rip and Doggy. He loves dogs. Loves them. He has a picture of a dog in his bedroom on the wall and every morning he wakes up to it and barks at it. I guess he takes after his mom in that way (I also love dogs, I don't wake up barking though).

Oh, and Chet has redeemed himself this week. The last couple nights he's gone to sleep at 9 pm, woke up at 1 am and 5 am, and slept until 7. He's lucky. I was close to tossing him out.

Payback

2011-01-26T08:52:00.000-08:00

I'll admit it. This felt good. Chet deserves it. If he slept at night, I would not invite danger into his crib. Maybe. I am kind of mean like that.

&amp;lt;/iframe

So awesome

2011-01-23T09:26:00.000-08:00

So Josh has been in Germany for the past 9 days. Yes. He left before Chet was 2 weeks old. Yes. I have considered a massive murder/suicide multiple times. Mostly at 7 am when both babies are awake and demanding something from me after only 4 hours of sleep. But Josh gets home tonight around midnight so starting tomorrow, I'm going to ignore both children as much as possible.

To give you a glimpse of what goes on at my house, let me give you a peak of what has been happening for the last 2 hours. I decided to forgo trying to accommodate either child and left Chet in his crib, half sleeping half screaming and Rip pulling out all my pots and pans and putting food crumbs in them so I could shower.

I started the water only to hear Rip sprinting towards the bathroom at a hundred miles per hour. I jumped in before he could see what he was missing out on. No such luck. He made it just in time to see me disappear behind the shower curtain. He responded by getting all the dirty clothes in the dirty clothes basket and throwing them into in the bathtub with me. Rather than fight the inevitable, I pretended nothing unusual was going on. I let him continue to toss a heap of clothes into the shower with me. He quickly tired of that and started dumping out the garbage can. Again, I ignored it (I mentioned that I'm tired, right? Normally I am only half as negligent). I think he sensed my surrender so he stopped the garbage dumping and found the floor air vent (something I'm usually very adamant he doesn't touch) to be much more interesting. He pulled that up and started shoving tampons he found under the sink down there. I only caught glimpses of this, since I was now trying to hurry out of the shower as fast I could so I could try and prevent some of the destruction.

After the worst shower ever, I brought screaming Chet downstairs to feed him and Rip followed us. While I was feeding Chet, Rip insisted on trying to cover Chet's face with a dirty spit-up blanket. Rip then took Chet's binky and threw it behind the 400 lb dresser I'm too wimpy to move. Rip got what was coming to him though when he continued rubbing his face all over Chet's face and Chet projectile vomited into Rip's eye. Rip started crying while I laughed my face off. His eyelashes were dripping spit up. It was so awesome. The words, "Well, you deserved it" were spoken multiple times in place of the sought-after comfort.

I'm sort of hoping that I just pass out unconsciously for the next 12 hours until Josh gets home. I mention I don't do newborns right? I hate the lack of sleep, the spit up, and the nursing 24 hours a day. I sort of am just waiting for Chet to be a year old. Although I suppose when he's that old he will also be throwing clothes into my showers and dumping out the garbage cans. Oh well. At least I won't smell like spit up.

Chet Robert Robbins

2011-01-11T18:24:00.001-08:00

He's here. In all his glory.

Chet Robert Robbins
January 3, 2011
Weight: 7 lbs 15 oz
Height: 20 1/2 inches

Some might wonder Rip's reaction to his little brother. Well, here he is trying to twist off his head. Not really, but it does look that way, doesn't it? For the most part Rip ignores him. He does like to rub his face all over Chet and give him 'kisses,' though. The first day he threw a remote at his head and tried to rip his head away while I was nursing Chet, but he's mostly adjusted to having this new pet at home. I'm pretty sure he thinks Chet is a dog since he's constantly petting his head. Needless to say, Chet's hair is usually pretty greasy.

I've intentionally never mentioned Rip's skin disorder. Probably because it's both a little weird and a little psychotic. See, Rip loves skin to skin contact. And when I say he loves it, I mean he goes into a ballistic rage if Josh ever dares get out of the shower without holding him and letting this psychotic child caress his chest. It worries us.
And this is our little snowman shoveling the walk. He's oh so helpful.
Anyway, we're all doing good. I'll admit, this has been a completely different experience than with Rip. For one, Chet doesn't frighten me the same way Rip did. I remember being absolutely terrified of taking Rip anywhere, scared he was going to cry or do some absolutely horrible baby thing I couldn't control. Anyway, I feel way more prepared this time. Not to say that I think newborns are especially awesome, I still prefer a 6 month old. But I don't necessarily want to throw myself in front of a bus this time. It's an amazing feeling.

Twin Pigs!

2010-12-20T12:34:00.000-08:00

I thought an update is in order, since I'm due in less than two weeks and I most definitely will not be posting before then or immediately after.

I really do deserve credit for posting this picture. For Halloween (yes, two months ago), Josh was a zookeeper, Rip was a monkey, and yes, I was a pig. It seemed like such a good idea, until I went to one house and the person handing out treats was ecstatic to point out that their dog was also costumed as a pig for Halloween. I was only mildly humiliated. I have very little pride at this point and so someone telling me that my twin was an overweight bulldog has little or no impact on my self-esteem.

This is a picture of Rip 'eating' in his high chair. Rip does more throwing of food than eating, but we're currently trying to stop that. What I mean is, I tell Rip 'No, no throwing food' and he holds his arm cocked back, fist clenched around something edible, and stares me down until we hold eye contact for a minute, and then he launches whatever he was holding. He keeps eye contact throughout, curious and eager to see my reaction. Fantastic. Mealtimes are such a joy. To add insult to injury, Rip is sure to throw food on your back the second you bend down to pick up his previously discarded food. Look how happy he is about it! Bad seed.

And this picture is the two boys eating popcorn together, watching a little tv. Twins!

So I'll probably have this baby January 3rd. I don't know why I think that, but I do (I'm due Jan 1st). But I like to keep Josh on his toes so I usually call him a couple times a day and claim to have had the baby. Our conversation goes like this:

Phone Ringing...

Josh: "Hey."

Me: "Hey. Guess what? I had the baby! At the grocery store. He's so chubby!"

Josh: "Oh yeah?"

Me: "Yeah! And he told me he loves me, unlike Rip who has made it pretty clear with most of his facial expressions that he sees me only as an obstacle to keep him from having fun (i.e. tearing off tree ornaments, jumping out of the shopping cart, etc.)."

The conversations vary, but I usually pretend to have had the baby at least 3 times a day. Sometimes when we go to bed and I'm in bed reading and he's brushing his teeth, I shout out, "Agh! I had the baby! He's in our bed snuggling with me!"

The News and the Weather

2010-11-16T20:53:00.000-08:00

I think I'm a blog failure. I only update once a month, and usually there are no pictures in which to ogle at. Yes, that definitely identifies me as a failure as a blogger. I hate blog failures. Why even keep a blog if you aren't going to update it with all the many exciting events in your life that make your life seem way more action-packed than most everyone else you know (that is the point of a blog, btw)? So I'm a hypocrite. I've been called worse. Seriously. Probably by you, the person reading this.

I think this month's blog topic is going to call attention to an issue much in need of such attention. The weather. Not the weather itself, but the weather being broadcasted 6 billion times a day on the news.

First off, I love the news. More specifically, I love the Fox evening News. Probably because I love Hope and Bob, and even Sandy who is looking a little more like a drug-addict than a news reporter. I accept Arrika, even though her name is spelled ridiculously and I have a hard time respecting someone who didn't take the initiative to legally change the spelling of such a horribly derailed attempt of an 'original name.' It's disgusting, really. But I digress.

I digress because I'm missing a key player in the Fox evening news. Brett Benson. The meteorologist. I like Brett. I like that he can laugh at himself and he takes the teasing of the anchors in stride. I like that he played 'college ball' and that I can use phrases like 'college ball.' I like the way he looks, the way he talks, and I like the way he does his hair. He seems like a good guy. The problem I have is not with him as a person, but what he does. And same goes for Jodi, Kevin, and the other local meteorologists for news stations.

See, I cannot stand, I repeat, cannot stand the amount of weather they shove down our throats during the evening news. And aside from it being repetitive, it's minutes upon minutes of satellite radar blurps of wind speeds and forecasts on pressure and humidity. No one cares, no one understands it, and no one wants to spend half their night praying Hope or Bob signs Brett out with, "Thanks Brett. That sounds like a bunch of crap I couldn't care less about. Next time, start and end with the seven day forecast and leave it at that. Let's not get fancy with something no one but God himself can predict." That would be refreshing.

So while I'm trying to find out how to avoid bed bugs aside from never going out in public again, I'm being informed through swishes of color and cycling clouds of mist just what the dewpoint is going to be for that night. Its outrageous! I feel like calling the station and giving them a piece of my mind. And after spending an entire day with a one year old who ultimately has decided to embark on a permanent fast, I have a lot of mind to give (literally, the boy maybe eats 300 calories a day. I'm dumbfounded how he's lasted this long). I just want to watch the news without the endless updates of highs and lows and just keep it to a simple, "Tomorrow is going to be cold. The next day not so cold. See you tomorrow."

Nice genetics!

2010-10-17T21:35:00.000-07:00

Someone should have told me. Yes, definitely. Someone should have told me that whatever bugs you most about your spouse, your kids will inevitably inherit those same aggravating traits.

Take Josh for instance. He has a horrible gag reflex when anything (i.e. toothbrush) goes too far into his mouth. This, like many of Josh's 'cute' peculiarities, irritates me to no end. So naturally, Rip inherited this. Rip barfs regularly and for no other apparent reason than he stuck his fat little fingers in his mouth. He has an impressive two teeth and he likes to feel them on occasion. This inevitably leads to a vomit attack. Awesome. Spontaneous vomit. Many a night I go into Rippy's room to check on him before I go to bed, only to be greeted by the ranking smell of puke. Josh thinks it's child abuse, but I usually just let him sleep in it until morning. Hey. It doesn't bother him, it doesn't bother me... until I have to clean up dried up puke in the morning. Then it bothers me a lot.

And what about Rip's disinterest in food. I mean, the kid can't be mine since he is most definitely not motivated by food. He likes a snack here and there, but he really is not a great eater and has no real passion for eating. Neither does Josh. Josh is a good eater and eats most everything, but the guy forgets to eat sometimes. Really? I never knew that was possible until I married him. I plan my schedule around mealtimes and even go so far as to plan what that mealtime will entail (yes, I'm disgusting). It drives me absolutely insane when Josh doesn't get excited for good food. He eats quite a bit, but there isn't that intensity and passion that true eaters have. I have it. Rip does not. Josh has failed me. Sometimes I get excited for Rip to try something truly spectacular, only to have him push it out of his mouth, throw it on the floor, and look at me expectantly like, "What else? Got any goldfish crackers?"

But Josh isn't the only one to blame for crappy genetics. I have man child hands (small like a child and masculine like a man, hence, man child hands). My fingers are double jointed as well and so when I point with my pointer finger (index finger?), it sort of bends down. Rip's does the same thing. And his fingers are sausagy like mine. Really. Nice genetics. It doesn't help that Rip is a caveman and rather than trying to use real words he points to everything. He points with his sausage finger and I retrieve what he points at. We have a system.

Ultimately, I think someone should be out there informing the masses that you really need to consider your spouses 'quirks,' because you will be dealing with them in multiples. I know if someone had told me I'm going to have a family of barfies, I might really have reconsidered. Probably not since not many guys would find double-jointed man child hands attractive. I'm not sure Josh does either, but it's a trade off for me putting up with his getting queasy every time he brushes his teeth.

New shoes

2010-09-30T15:47:00.000-07:00

Remember when I mentioned the Asay weirdness and that Rip is definitely afflicted with it? Well, he is. And today was further evidence of that fact.

Rip only wears those Robeez shoes. You know, the soft-soled ones that are kind of like slipperish things? Well, anyway, since he walks now and the weather is going to start getting cold, I decided to spend my birthday gift card on some new shoes for the little cretin. So off we went with my mom in tow, to the real happiest place on earth (Disneyland is definitely not that place) -

Nordstrom.

With so many ridiculously cute shoes, I had a hard time picking some but settled on some lime green pumas. Let's just say, they're probably the cutest shoes I've ever seen and I would easily have no problem wearing them myself. Anyway, I find this amazing shoes and put them on Rip. I wasn't too surprised he refused to stand in them, let alone walk. He was used to a moccasin-like shoe, so anything with real soles would naturally be confusing. We all laughed a little, looking how adorable he looked in his cute shoes. But after 10 minutes or so of Rip buckling his fat little legs underneath him and flat out refusing to stand on the incredible shoes, I started to lose patience.

"Seriously? I mean, seriously? Are you suddenly paralyzed? You forget how to walk?" I was so mad 20 minutes later when he was still plopped down on the ground like a 4 month old. He wouldn't even crawl. Both my mom and the sales lady assured me he would inevitably get used to the new shoes and walk again. I'm not so sure.

I brought psycho baby home and tried to get Josh to coax him to walk. Nope. I made Josh show him while he put his own shoes. Nothing. I even tried to lure him with treats, chocolate milk, a balloon, etc. etc. etc. Zip. After screaming, "What is wrong with you?!!" 17 times, Rip managed to cry. He pulled at the Velcro desperately, sure that the shoes were breaking his legs. No Rip. The only thing likely to break your legs is me if you don't start walking in those awesome shoes. I told him that, and yet he still refused to walk.

A whole day later, the kid is still not walking in his shoes. And yes, I made him wear them the entire day, sure he would eventually give up and walk. Nope. Here is a picture depicting what he did most of the day. Nothing. Lots of crying and whining with a whole lot of sitting.

I'm pretty sure he's doing it to drive me crazy. I initially thought he was concerned about the feel of the shoes. Now I know he's doing it out of will and spite. I'm starting to admire his determination, until I look at those green shoes sitting on his useless legs, and then I get mad all over again.