Cheese

Someday, when I'm a very old woman (please, PLEASE God let me live to be an old woman) I know that I will look back on these days with great fondness.  I will remember them as the sweetest days of my life.

Oh the joy.  My heart is overflowing with it.




Also: You know you're the child of a blogger/crazy-photo-taking-momma when, at two years old, you see a camera and automatically stop dancing and say "CHEESE"!

Teeny Tiny Tubes

Yesterday, we took Paige Elizabeth BACK to the doctor for ANOTHER horrific Hair Gel Torture Shot.

This time it was even more awful owing to the TRAINEE NURSE who did the injection.

My goodness, you should see the bruise.

And the baby cried and LIMPED for a good hour afterward.

Of course, so did the trainee nurse AFTER I DROP-KICKED HER.

Kidding!  Only kidding.

As far as you know.

The good news is: the kind, kind EVER SO KIND Ear/Nose/Throat doctor (who examined Paige DURING HIS LUNCH HOUR) confirmed our suspicions.  She needs tubes.  Pronto.

So, next Thursday we'll STRAP HER TO A BOARD, numb her ears, and give her tubes.

Boy, sounds fun, eh?

Oh, don't worry too much.  Turns out the entire procedure takes less than 7 minutes. 

If she complains about it later, I'll show her a my stretch marks and remind her that she was ALMOST NINE POUNDS and I endured THAT for 9 months.

Just kidding.  I would never say that to a toddler. 

I''ll wait until she's a teenager.

And feeling sick/grumpy/lethargic did not stop Paige from getting into William's bathtub FULLY CLOTHED.

And then she DRANK HIS BATHWATER.

Which pretty much sums up the way she feels about him.

Sixty

Today is my daddy's Birthday.

He would have turned 60 - and he would have spent today complaining about getting old.

He would have said "if I'd known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself".

He said that every year on his Birthday.  For as long as I can remember. 

If he were still here, I would have spent the better part of the last two weeks agonizing about what to buy him for a gift.  It wasn't so much that he HAD everything, as he just didn't WANT for much.

I think that's nice.  I love that about him.  And I feel the same way, really.

I miss him so much.  But not in a painful, heart-wrenching sort of way anymore.

I think of him fondly mostly.

I experience brief moments of sadness when I realize he's never met my daughter.  That he never heard William speak a single word. 

He's missing so much.

All the best parts of my life, really.  He just missed them.  Missed them by THAT much.

I hope wherever he is, that he knows it's his birthday.  That we loved him.  That a big 'ol gaping hole was left when he died. 

And I hope today he's eating angel food cake and playing a mean game of Scrabble.

Happy Birthday, Daddy.

A Long Shot

My baby?  Still sick. 

STILL!

How do I know?

What was my first clue?

Well, for one thing, this:

This picture was taken in the pantry.  Where the dog sleeps.  Where there are stained concrete floors.

The baby is asleep.  With the dog.  On the floor.

At 9am.

We went BACK to the pediatrician again today. 

Why yes, Dr. Hardzog, I HAVE missed seeing you... it's been almost 72 hours!

Turns out NONE of the antibiotics are working, so she resorted to giving the baby a shot of what she CLAIMS were antibiotics.

However, the goop in the syringe had the color and consistency of HAIR GEL and took fully TEN SECONDS to inject into my wee baby girl.

Ten.        Long.        Seconds.

And guess what?  We get to go back tomorrow and get another one!

And Thursday?  Yep.  Another one still. 

On top of the Hair Gel Torture Shots, the pediatrician also suggested we go see our Ear/Nose/Throat specialist again.  She believes we will not have resolution until Paige has ear tubes.

And guess what?  Our health insurance runs out on Friday.

Yes!  THIS Friday.

So, I marched myself over to the ENT specialist and stood in front of their receptionist and literally BEGGED for them to see me this week.  I even took the sick baby with me for extra sympathy.

And it worked!  The sweet specialist is seeing us tomorrow ON HIS LUNCH HOUR.

Wow. 

Makes me wonder what ELSE I could get if I used a sick baby for leverage. 

My sick baby would feel much better if you'd buy her a zebra.

I Want My Two Dollars!

We had a garage sale this weekend.

We made $400 for $100,000 worth of stuff.

And $500,000 worth of EFFORT.

Let me say, for the record, I will never, ever, EVER have a garage sale again.

Never.

Ever.

No, I mean it!

After the garage sale was over (and yes, it ENDED.  FINALLY. ) William asked how much money HE made.

And I should back up here and tell you that, while I was purging our belongings in preparation for the (GAWDAWFUL) garage sale, I culled many of the children's toys.  Toys they never play with.  Toys that were broken.  Or missing vital pieces.  Or were meant for teeny tiny newborn babies.

And every single time I put a toy (any toy.  ANY toy) William would moan and whine and proclaim it was his favoritetoyofalltime.  Ever.  His total Fav. O. RITE toy. 

I felt like the Wicked Witch of the East.

Like a bad bad toy-takin' momma.

And in a effort to explain the purpose (and JOY!) of purging, I told William how great it would be when he sold all these toys and got the money.  Then he could buy something new.  NEW!  Something he'd really love.

Something age appropriate.

Something NOT broken.

This promise of future money (and therefore purchases) seemed to stem the tide of clean out complaints.

And you can bet that, the very MINUTE we closed down the garage sale, William was standing before me, palm open, asking for his "cut" of our "take".

And do you think I kept track?  During the sale?  Do you think I meticulously recorded each and every kid toy purchase so that I could accurately track William's old-toy sales?

PLEASE.  Of course I didn't.

Instead, I consulted a fake list, added up fake numbers in my calculator and gave William a fake total.

Twelve dollars. 

He was THRILLED!  Twelve. Whole. Dollars.

He immediately began begging to go to the store.  Any store.  Anywhere.  "I MUST SPEND MY MONEY!".  Now!

Instead, Dave and I encouraged him to hold on to his money.  To think for a few days about what he might like to buy.

And then I suggested he might like to do a few extra chores around the house in order to earn some more money.  Money he could add to his Garage Sale Fortune.

And that is how "allowance" was born in our house today.

William helped me haul all of the un-sold garage sale merchandise out to our driveway to be picked up by a charity tomorrow morning.

(That's 1/10th of the crap we started with!)

The entire time, William repeatedly exclaimed "I'm working!  For money!  Also? I'm STRONG!".

He lifted this light fixture all by himself.  (While grunting, and exclaiming his strength).

In the end, I paid him two dollars.

(What's 12+2, Momma?)

And he immediately began asking to go to the store again.

And then he suggested we have another garage sale.

And then I think I vomited at the very thought.

Half Full

Today was one of those days where I could have chosen to see things differently.

I could have been frustrated that my pediatrician's office was difficult to work with.

Instead, I'm glad the baby was properly diagnosed and that we have the ability to get her the medicine she needs.

(Clearly a double ear infection does NOT hamper her fashion sense.)

I could have been sad that my sweet friend Kim is moving away.

Instead, I'm happy for her new home. Her new life. Her new start.  And I'm happy to have the opportunity to join her for dinner and wish her well.

I BLOVE you Kimmie!

Yes.  My glass is half full today.

And OH MY GAH after this chocolate cake, so is my stomach.

Rock Awesome!

One of William's very best buddies is featured in a real live music video!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14KhvAsv8s8
(Everett is the adorable boy on the front row)

William has no idea how Everett ended up on his computer. 

Magic? 

Probably.

The Blue Box

I'm sorry readers. 

About the corn blog post.

That was totally gross.

Will you ever be able to eat corn again?  Or bathe?  Have I put you off bathing and eating corn forever?

Clearly, the Great Corn Incindent has done nothing to Paige.  Or her momma.

Here she is at dinner tonight.

See that? Right there in the right corner of her plate?

Yep.  Corn.

Please God let that corn STAY, uh, where it's SUPPOSED to stay.

Amen.

Wanna hear something gross?

Of course you do!  Or why in the world would you have come back here after yesterday?

Honestly, you're just asking for it.

It's like you WANT to vomit.

Which is a perfect segue!  The baby vomited today!

Macaroni and cheese vomit.

And?

And she vomited while she was jumping on the trampoline.

And she didn't stop jumping.

No sirree.  She just kept on jumping in her own vomit.

And I didn't realize she'd done it.

Until she was covered.  TOTALLY covered in vomit.

Orange macaroni vomit.

The end.

(If you come back here tomorrow - well, you're just a glutton for punishment.)

Cream Style Corn

Sweet readers, I have to open my post this evening with a warning.

A disclaimer.

If you are at all squeamish (*ahem* AUNT SUSIE), please be advised that the following post contains graphic references to, uh... um... well...

POOP.

There.  I said it.

Consider yourself warned.

Today was a long mommy day.  Nothing too bad really, just loooong.  Dave had a meeting after work, so I was with the kids from sun up to sun down. 

That's a lot of togetherness, folks.

By bathtime I was dragging my feet.  I was moving slow. 

I let the baby linger in the bath and play while I meandered around the room wiping down counters and putting away towels.

Honestly, I was just sort of burning time before I could tuck those little munchkins into bed for the night.

I was running out the clock.

(Please tell me I'm not the only mother who counts the minutes until bedtime)

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the baby picking up tiny things out of the bath and throwing them out onto the rug.

The tiny things?  CORN.

CORN from DINNER last night.

CORN mixed with POOP.

OH MY GAH SHE POOPED IN THE BATHTUB!

Now, I've had this happen before.  I'm no rookie momma. 

But never, in all my years could I have imagined the, uh, Corn Cocktail that my daughter was marinating in.

I dont' have any other way of saying this folks: IT WAS DIARRHEA.

In the bathtub.

With corn.

I tried not to panic.  I immediately began to mentally devise a plan to remove the baby from the Poop Soup.

Tongs?

Pot holders?

I opted for a beach towel.

I wrapped her up and ran downstairs to the other bathtub while yelling at William "Do NOT go into that bathroom FOR ANY REASON.  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

Instead he followed me asking things like "What's that SMELL?" and "Is that CORN?"

I didn't answer.  I was afraid if I really explained the situation OUT LOUD that I might vomit.  Or pass out. 

Or cry.

I managed to scrub the baby (it was even UNDER HER FINGERNAILS), and then I went and ahead and scrubbed William.

And then - just for good measure - I took a shower myself.

Dave returned home from his meeting to find all of us in a heap on my bathroom floor.

I hadn't worked up the nerve to return to the upstairs bathroom and clean up The Corn Scene.

I want you to know, my husband changed out of his suit and went upstairs and cleaned it himself.

Which is really a good thing, because I'd decided the only solution was just to set the whole house on fire.

Kick Me

My 7 year old neighbor stayed with me all morning today.  He was sick and didn't feel up to attending big brother's outdoor (cold! rain! wind!) track meet.

At one point, he and baby Paige happily sat together and colored.  Adorable.

Me: Oh Charlie!  Show me the beautiful picture you colored.

Him: Alright.  But first, I need a piece of tape, please.

Me: (thinking) Aw, isn't that cute?  He wants to hang it on my wall. This boy is adorable.

Him: Ok Mrs. O, you can look at my picture now.

I turned around to discover he'd taped his picture to the baby's back.

I took one look at her and ROARED with laughter.

And, although she had no idea what was so funny, Paige ROARED with laugher too.

Then the sign fell off.

Then Charlie chased Paige around and stuck it to her again.

And we ROARED again.

Bahahaha!  We *heart* Charlie.

Just us Girls

It's Friday.

Which means that, I should be PACKING to go out of town.  Instead, I'm TYPING.  And COMPLAINING.

Because?

Because I have a sick baby.  Which means that Dave and William will be going out of town this evening while baby Paige and I stay home and convalesce.

Fine.

I'm nothing if not flexible.

Oh who am I kidding?

This morning (knowing that the baby was sick) I dragged my lazy body jumped out of bed and excercised with Dave.  Then I went to Walmart.  At 7am.  So I could leave the kids home with Dave.

Walmart is an interesting place at 7am on a Friday morning.

Lot's of sweaty people.  Apparently, I'm not the only person who went shopping post-workout.

As I was standing in line to pay, a Walmart employee (a man) approached my lane and spoke with my checker (a woman).  The man apologized for being late to work.  The woman simply pointed to the mop bucket nearby and told him he'd earned himself bathroom cleanup duty.

Bahahahah!  Bet he's never late again!

OH!  And lookie here at what I scored at Walmart this morning:

Isnt' that a cute dress?  AND IT WAS $14!  FOURTEEN DOLLARS YOU ALL!

Click here to buy one for yourself.

Oh, and try to only notice the dress in that photo -  and not my legs.  (Holy WHITE BLINDNESS Batman!)

Alright.  I have to go rock the baby now. 

She's currently laying in the middle of the kitchen floor moaning.

103 fever will do that to a girl.

Poor baby.

Have a Nice Trip!

Dammit!

The baby is getting sick.

AGAIN.

(Stupidstupidstupid Mother's Day Out with thier slimy germy messy KIDS and GERMS and KIDS... BAHHHHH!)

Another sickness is bad. (Oh my GAH how many times will this baby get SICK this winter? Huh?  HOW MANY TIMES?)

But, what makes all this REALLY BAD is, we had a playdate today with our sweet friends the Bowdens.

And I didn't realize Paige was running a FEVER until she'd slobbered ALL OVER tiny baby Lily.

That's bad.

But what makes THAT worse is: the Bowdens are leaving on a TWO WEEK vacation in a few days.

I'm assuming A Few Days is exactly what the incubation period will be for this particular virus.

I'm assuming the Bowdens will be on vacation in a few days BLOWING THEIR NOSES and thinking very bad thoughts about baby Paige.

And baby Paige's momma.

**ahem** Baby Paige's momma would like to take this moment to apologize to the Bowdens.

Uh.  And... uh... I hope you have a really great vacation.

Remembering the Future

I have a feeling that, years from now, when I'm looking at my grown daughter, I'll still see this.

That face.

And those pigtails.

I assume that's still how my mother still sees me.

Of course, I still wear pigtails.

That could have something to do with it.

Possibly.

Duct Tape

My step mother, Jane, remarried in November. 

In two weeks, she's moving away.  Far away. 

Four hours away by car.

That seems like far to me.

And even worse: she's moving out of the house my daddy built for them. 

I remember he scratched their initials in the wet concrete when the foundation was poured.

As happy as I am for Jane  For her new life and her new husband and her new future.

I"m also sad she's leaving.

I'll miss her.

And I still miss my daddy.

Sheesh.  It's been almost 5 years.  What's the matter with me?

Dave went down and helped her pack last Saturday.

I didn't go.  No childcare.

I felt bad for not helping.

But now I'm glad I didn't go.  Seeing the house all packed up might have been too hard on me.

Dave returned home with a few things of dad's.

A toolbox with his company name haphazardly stenciled on.  (Totally typical of dad - looks were never important to him).

And daddy's guiltar case.  With a wee hole he'd mended with DUCT TAPE.  (Classy, daddy.  Very classy.)

I waited for Dave to turn his back, then I just stood there staring into his truck full of daddy junk and cried for a minute.

And then I dissolved into a fit of giggles about the duct tape.

Because: seriously daddy, what were you thinking?

Barking Orders

I was in a crummy mood today. 

I was down on myself.  That little voice in my head wasn't... well... it wasn't a very kind voice today.

The Voice said: What's the matter with you?  You're a 35 year old mother of two, you have no business wearing braided pigtails.

You look ridiculous.

And when I managed to buckle the baby's chin INTO THE CARSEAT BUCKLE.  (OHMYGAH doesn't that make your hiney cringe?) Ouch.

Cue voice-in-head: What kind of mother ARE you?

And at lunch with Will, I realized I was feeding him a cheeseburger.  AND HE HAD PIZZA FOR DINNER LAST NIGHT!

Voice: I'll bet his little 5 year old arteries are already clogging.  He'll have YOU to thank for his cardiovascular disease.

My inner voice was sort of bitchy today.

And I let it get the best of me.  At least until I saw this:

Yes.  I saw the twisted, gnarled bark of a tree.

Just a tree.  That's all it took to quiet that voice in my head.

I suppose I should explain.

Oh my goodness, I have a thing about trees.

Trees feel like a little whisper from God to me.  A peaceful message from heaven. 

And oh how I needed that little whisper today!

Yes.  I'll take a whisper from God over that rude voice in my head any day.

Hurts so Good

Motherhood is so full of heartache.

It pains me to see my children hurt.  Physically.  Mentally.  My heart literally aches for them.

But, honestly, my heart also aches sometimes just by being in their presence.  When I watch them doing little things that kids do.  Discovering things.  Exploring.  I ache because I know these moments are so fleeting.  Soon (according to other, more "seasoned" mothers) they'll be teenagers.  They'll actually hate me.  And (though I can hardly conceive of it) I'll not like them much either. 

It pains me to think that someday, I'll actually WANT them to leave.  I'll want those surly teenagers to graduate from high school and go away from me.  From my home. 

I cannot even fathom.

Having young children allows an adult to experience childhood all over again.  To remember what it's like to stomp in a mud puddle.

To squeeze sand through your fingers.

To discover an army of ants marching single file across the backyard.

Oh the heart-swelling, chest-aching, joy of being a mother.

I am so very honored that God thought me worthy of this privilege. 

And I ache with the weight of this responsibility. 

Room with a View

Dave called this afternoon with exciting news.

"I moved into my new office today."

"And honey?  It has A WINDOW."

A window.

The man was beside himself.

So much so, that he came home, loaded all of us up in the car and took us straight back to work. 

He wanted us to see the view.

See that, kids?  Waaaaay out there?  Through those trees? 

That's that LAKE!  I can see the LAKE from my WINDOW!

"Ok son, please stop pulling on the blinds.  Let's not break daddy's new office on the very first day."

**Spoiler Alert!**

Today was Mommy & William Day.

(more about this later)

You know, the day when I drop the baby off (crying/kicking/screaming) at Mother's Day Out so that I can spend a few hours with my Big Boy. 

And today I was feeling a little guilty because I didn't have anything fantastic planned for our day.  No museum visits, or (God help me) a trip to the Lego store. 

When I asked William what he might like to do, he simply said "I'd like to know how they make ice cream".

Um, well, alrighty then.

We went to the store and bought the ingredients.  Cream.  Eggs.  Milk.  Fresh Strawberries.

And then we came home and put all that stuff in the refrigerator. 

That's it.  That's as far as we got with ice cream today.  Apparently, my Krups ice cream maker requires at least 24 hours in the freezer before it's ready to do its magic.  And **someone** (ahem, HUSBAND!) thought that ice cream maker was taking up too much room in our freezer, and removed it.

Hrumph.

I've promised William we'll be making homemade ice cream at the crack of dawn tomorrow.  

He's only moderately excited.  I think the feeling/curiosity/desire has passed.  Or, it could have something to do with the cold snap we've experienced.  The temperature dropped steadily all day today.  By tomorrow morning, it'll be in the 40's.

Stupid Oklahoma weather.

After our failed ice cream attempt, I had just enough time to run an errand.  An ERRAND.  On Mommy and Will Day. 

The shame.

However, this particular errand required me to drop off a few things to my mother at work.  So, the errand included Nana. 

That makes it better, right?

So, we pull into Nana's office parking lot and we see what appears to be a NASCAR rig.  You know, the big 18-wheeler hauler thingy?  The thingy that pulls the racecar around?

Yeah.  That thingy.

I ran inside and asked mom what in the world was going on.  Apparently, one of their vendors sponsors a NASCAR team and offered to bring the car for everyone to see.

And so we wandered back outside and watched the men unloading an actual, bona fide, racecar from that hauler truckie thingy.

And William's head just... just... well, it just exploded.  That's all.  It just exploded.

So, I would like to thank NASCAR for accidentally making today the Best Mommy and Will Day Ever.

A Beutiful Day in the Neighborhood

Yesterday was a Regular Monday.

Dave went to work.  (Work! Job!  I will never grow tired of saying it.)

And I took the kids to the zoo.  Just a regular day, really.

Except, yesterday, our sweet neighbors came with us to the zoo.  Which is extra special because the neighbor boys are Big Boys.  School-Age Boys.

But, yesterday those Big Boys were out of school.  Which meant we could all play together in the morning before William went off to Pre-K in the afternoon.

And allow me a moment to gush about these children.  Henry is 9, Charlie is 7. 

Now, my William is only 5.  And the neighbor boys just could not possibly be any kinder to my child - The Little Kid.  They play with him as an equal.  But they also baby him like a little brother. 

At one point yesterday I caught Henry (the 9 year old) examining William's injured arm.  Henry looked like a pediatrician.  "Does it hurt when you do this (moving arm around)?"  "Have you fallen recently?"  William stopped and let Henry do his thing, and seemed to feel better after a little attention.

OMG, I melted into a tiny puddle on the floor.

These boys see each other almost every day.  Meeting up in my backyard to jump on the trampoline or play in the sandbox or to kick a ball.  They rarely fight.  They're always polite.

In short, I adore them.

And don't even get me started on their mother.  (Susan, from Friday Playdate)

Here we are at the zoo yesterday. 

What a day. 

We *heart* our neighbors.

Wordless Weekend