Guess How Much I Love You?

If you have a little one, you might have read this book.  It is a darling little story where a daddy and baby rabbit are trying to to win the “No, I love you more!” contest.  Big Nutbrown Hare keeps out-doing Little Nutbrown Hair because he can reach higher, stretch his arms out wider, and jump higher.  But Little Nutbrown Hair keep persisting to prove that he loves his daddy more.  Until eventually he gets all worn out and falls asleep.  Just precious.  Well, the other day at the trift store I found a giant collectors edition of this book.  It was in perfect condition, and I got it for 66 cents!  I spent days envisioning this as the theme for my next baby’s nursery.  Yes, I’m referring to the baby that is not in existence yet.  I was going to display this oversized book on a wall shelf and take it from there.  I had it in the sitting area of the kitchen for a few days and Stu said at one point, “you need to put that somewhere safe”.  That was mere hours before this happened:

My love for my son never ever wanes.  But at this moment, love was not the emotion overwhelming me.  He was so proud of his creation.  Obviously a time-out was involved and he was a little more sorry after that, because we do have rules about what you can, and can’t, color on.  It has taken a couple of weeks for me to decide that this is just one of those funny moments in life, although I knew my mom thought it was immediately.

Mom, I hope you feel like you’re getting some retribution for all of those beautiful paintings you created that have little chubby fingerprints in them.

*edited later, because I wanted to make Mom’s response a part of the story:

“My first response was full out laughing but you know….where are all those “prized” paintings now? They are stuck away in closests or whatever. All that energy to protect my paintings instead of hugging those little hands that were interested enough to touch… now feels like a huge waste. They grow up so fast. Hug that little artist and give him some more paper to create his own masterpieces. I love you guys so much!”

Oh Mom, well put.  I needed that.  I love you.  You can hug my big hands next time I see you.

The Juice is Loose

He did it.  Right in front of me, he tossed one leg over the rail of his crib and lunged himself right out to the floor.  I sat dumbfounded.  He looks up at me from his minor crash and says, “Good Job Bake!  High Fife!”  I couldn’t pull my hand away from my mouth, so I totally left him hanging.  I’m not high fiving that.

I am totally not ready for toddler beds and a baby that can escape his nighttime prison bars.  He plays happily in his bed during naps when he doesn’t want to sleep, and I fear what will happen when he can get out.  I will admit that I resist many changes.  I very much didn’t want him to crawl either.  I liked the consistency of knowing that if I can leave the room and he’ll stay where I put him.  Huh, come to think of it, this is the same issue.  It’s a safety issue, really.  It has nothing to do with me not being able to accept that my baby isn’t a baby anymore.  Nope, that’s not the problem at all.

It Happens Part 2

This is (so far) the prize jewel in my Mother of the Year crown.  I do hope there are only 2 parts to this saga.  I told a friend this story the other day.  She immediately said that I must blog about it.  But I’m really embarrassed  about this one.  She assured me that my readers wouldn’t judge me.  You wouldn’t, would you?

The other morning I go into B’s room to get my happy baby (ok, toddler) out of his crib for the day.  This was during Snowmageddon, and we had nowhere to be so I was bringing him straight to our bed for some quality snuggle time.  I plop him on my beautiful duvet to change his diaper (I know, I never learn).  I pull his socks off.  They are wet.  Wha?!  He has on dark pants, so I couldn’t tell until I felt them that his pants were soaking wet.  Wha?!  Of course, I get him off my dry clean only duvet quickly (we outfitted our bed before we had a baby).  I rip off his jammies to find the most surprising thing: he wasn’t wearing a diaper!!  This is just the kind of slip up I would have eventually expected from Stu.  And then he points out that I dressed him for bed the night before. Without a diaper. The washer was very busy that morning.  Can you even imagine how soaked his entire crib, stuffed animals, blanket and pillows were after a 12 hour night of this poor child peeing everywhere?  My oh-so-forgiving child honestly never knew anything was wrong.  Bless him.  I hope he always feels so generous toward his mom.

Your family wants you to shower!

We are snowed in.  We have been for almost a week, but got to leave the house Monday in between snowstorms.  Snowmageddon 2010 has truly been something to behold.  The first storm dumped 38 inches on our town, and this one, well, it’s been alot.  My guess is, like, 6 feet of snow.  But that would be an exaggeration.  It does look that way though.  This one has been a blizzard, so the way the snow is flying around building ginormous snowdrifts, it’s hard not to exaggerate.  I think the latest count was about 20 inches.  Still ridonk.  Here are some pictures, for those of you who still refuse to use facebook (;-)).  I have a story to tell you after, so don’t touch that dial.

I have made some interesting observations during this “staycation”.  We ladies don’t feel so much need to dress up for the family.  During the first snowstorm, I made lots of bread (ok, I did it during this one too).  I thought it would be cute and neighborly to deliver steaming hot cranberry almond bread during a snowstorm.  I went to one neighbor’s house to find her looking (ahem) like maybe she’d been napping.  Please don’t get the wrong idea.  The only reason I looked presentable was because you couldn’t see me.  (snow get-up covers all)  I quickly said, “Oh, I’m so sorry I got you out of bed!”  She responded, “I wasn’t in bed.”  Huh.  On to the next neighbor.  Similar situation, only I didn’t have to remove my foot from my mouth.  Later, Friendly Neighbor shows up to give Blake some old toys that she was cleaning out (awesome!!).  She catches me looking fancy with some of my hair in a ponytail, and my no make-up booty is wearing a snuggie!  Answering the door, oy.  I guess we’re even.  I brought this up with a friend who mentioned that she was considering a shower.  She put make-up on for the first time since Snowmageddon began and her kids were so impressed with how pretty she looked.  We discussed how funny it is that when we don’t need to leave the house, we don’t feel the slightest push to get dressed.  You know you’ve all seen some woman stick her head out of her front door to ask her husband a question (while he shovels snow) and you’ve thought, “Dang”.  Well, friend, you need to ask yourself if that woman is you.

So I’ve made a few decisions:

1. I’m going to shower before I’m asked.

2. I will put more than moisturizer on my face tomorrow.

3.  I will blow dry my hair tomorrow and not just stick my wet hair in a ponytail.

4. I guess I’m going to have to find cuter sweats, because you are not getting my butt into less that 2 layers right now.

5. If I fail at all of the above, there’s always summer.

It Happens

This morning, I woke up to a (still) congested baby, so we began our morning shower routine.  Blake will sit in the shower and play with cups of water while the steam helps him breathe easier.  Afterwards, while I’m trying frantically to get ready to go (and wondering for the millionth time if that extra 20 minutes of sleep was really worth it), Blake is running around my room naked.  I’m not a complete idiot, I made him pee in the potty before I let him galavant around just to ensure that the ‘ol bladder was empty.  You can see why here. So, he’s playing hide and seek with me under the covers of my bed, which is just me saying, “where’s Blake?” until he jumps out giggling.  He gets quiet.  Just as I look out to do my next “Where’s Blake?”, he says, ” I tee tee”.  Oy.  I run over to my bed to see.   Now, if you can, imagine my voice rising a couple octaves and saying, “THAT’S NOT TEE TEE BLAKE!!!”  It’s poop.  I must have scream-whispered “that’s not tee” 10 times.  He pooped smack dab in the middle of mine and Stu’s bed (on his side-whew).  Blake is saying “AW MAN!”  I have now regained composure and am trying to sound normal while explaining that you have to put poop in the potty or your diaper-preferably the potty.  Pretty much anywhere but my bed.

I know the gross chronicles have some pretty disgusting pictures, but even I have my limits.  I do have a very vivid one seared onto my brain though, thankyouverymuch.