It's time for the fun blog party, typically sponosored by MckMama, although she says she's not doing one this week - "Not Me Monday," in which we get to talk about all of the ways we didn't fall short during the past week.
Because, of course, we didn't make any mistakes this week. Not at all.
We finished our weight-loss competition at work this week, with our final weigh-in on Friday morning. I am pleased to announce that I did not gain four pounds during the competition. Oh no. I have much more willpower than that, and if I made a commitment to lose weight - even being on a team with someone else - then I certainly wouldn't have gained weight, instead.
Friday night, my sister- and brother-in-law were kind enough to give my husband and me a few baby-free hours. At dinner, I did not indulge in two beers. I would never be so irresponsible as to have more than one at a time. I was not tipsy when we picked my kiddos up. No, not at all. (But all joking aside, I have to add that my husband most certainly was driving.)
Speaking of indulging, at the other end of the spectrum, I did not, today, have two lattes while sitting at La Vida Java finishing the book I've been reading. Too much espresso makes me sick, so I wouldn't have four shots in the span of about two hours.
After having coffee, I didn't go to the bookstore looking for a computer reference book for something I'm working on at work. I mean, why would I do something for work on my own time? And then spend my own money on it? I'm not that dedicated. Really. I did not sit, cross-legged, on the ground in front of the books looking for what I needed, and I most certainly did not grin and say, "Heh heh, that's perfect!" out loud when I found what I was looking for. Seriously. I am not that much of a geek.
I have not been letting my children watch TV for most of the time since I got home. TV rots your brain. No, really - I actually do think that TV is not that great for kids their age. So I definitely have not had the TV on for them for about three hours straight. Shudder.
When my son came walking into the living room this evening sucking on a kleenex or cloth or something, I did not just let him keep doing it without checking to see what he had. I did not, a few minutes later, hear my daughter making a mess in her room and check on her to discover that she had gotten into the baby wipes and strewn them all around the room. I did not then realize my son wasn't sucking on a kleenex or a cloth - he was sucking on a baby wipe. Ew. At least it was clean.
Oh. And when I asked my daughter if she had gotten the wipes out and thrown them all over the room, my 2.5-year-old did not reply, "Baby Guy pulled one out, too." As if that made it all better.
I also, after having not gained weight during the recent weight-loss competition, have a chocolate milkshake from Sonic after the kids were in bed. Seriously. What the heck is wrong with me??? (By the way, have you had a Sonic chocolate milkshake? Wow. Best fast-food milkshake ever. Yum.)
And you'd better believe I haven't forgotten everything that happened before Friday that I was going to put in this post. My memory is not that bad. And if it is, I make notes. Of course.
So, what did you not do this week? Tell me all about it!
Since MckMama decided not to do one this week, I'm putting a MckLinky on my post so at least my friends can pop around to each others' blogs and see what other people didn't do this week. To put the list on your page, enclose the following code in "pointy brackets" and paste it at the end of your "Not Me Monday" post:
(open pointy bracket)script src="http://www.mcklinky.com/linky_include_basic.asp?id=4602" type="text/javascript"(close pointy bracket) (open pointy bracket)/script(close pointy bracket)
I hope that made sense. If not, leave me a comment on this post and I'll try to clarify.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Not Pretty
Wow. That was majorly not pretty. We just made a big change in the bedtime routine. Ever since my son was born, he has been my responsibility to put to bed and my daughter has been my husband's responsibility. This has gone over well, because my Baby Guy is a Mommy's Boy and my Bitty Girl is a Daddy's Girl. This is the case about 99% of the time. If my husband is around, the Birdie wants him, and if I'm around, Baby Guy wants Mommy. They will settle for the "other" parent if their preference isn't available, but otherwise, this is The Way It Has To Be.
However, this creates the fairly unfair situation of my husband always having to put the "difficult" baby to bed and me having to deal with the "difficult" baby overnight. My daughter is tough to get in bed (as only a 2.5-year-old can be), but she typically sleeps all night. My son is amazingly easy to put to bed (and so precious, he will tell you "ite-ite" repeatedly as you leave the room), but he wakes at least twice overnight, sometimes for a long time (last night I was dealing with him for about two hours, although there was some dozing going on during that time).
So we decided that now that I'm not nursing the Baby Guy anymore, it's time for the situation to change. Tonight, I put the Girl to bed and Daddy put the Boy to bed. Not unexpectedly, my daughter threw a royal tantrum that started before we got off of the couch.
The first step of the bedtime routine is the Warm Milk. However, the past two nights, my daughter has requested orange juice instead. Last night, she had her orange juice, and then as Daddy started putting her to bed, asked for warm milk also. And threw a fit when he refused. She probably screamed for a good fifteen minutes, only stopping after my husband went in and calmed her down (although he did not give her the milk).
Tonight, I tried to make it abundantly clear to my daughter that if she chose the orange juice, she would not get the warm milk. She agreed to this stipulation and insisted on orange juice anyway. Fine.
So, fast forward to the point when she finished her orange juice. The moment the sippy was empty, it started. "I want some warm milk."
Me: "No, sweetie, you got orange juice instead."
Her: (starts bawling)
Me: "Honey, I told you, you could have one or the other, not both. You chose orange juice."
Her: "Iiiiii waaaaahhhhnnntttt wahhhhhrrrmm miiiiihhhhllllkkkk!" (bawling)
Me: (in the calmest voice I can muster) "Didn't I tell you you could have either warm milk or orange juice?"
Her: (silence. then, resentfully:) "Yes."
Me: "And what did you choose?"
Her: (silence)
Me: "Did you choose orange juice?"
Her: (silence, then nods once.)
Me: "Okay. Tomorrow night, then, if you want warm milk, you may have it."
Her: "I want to have it now!"
Me: "No, you may have it tomorrow."
More crying ensues. This whole time, my son has been lying peacefully on my lap beside her, having finished his bottle of rice milk. But at this point, I have turned the TV off (yes, yes, more TV). He starts saying, "Hairbrush? Hairbrush?" This is his code for, "TV? TV?" As completely random as that seems, it actually makes sense. A forthcoming post will explain it.
Me: "Okay, time to get up." I stand up with both children, put my son in his chair, and start carrying my daughter to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Her: "I don't want you to brush my teeth!"
Him: "Waaaaaahhhhhhhh!" ("How dare you put me down!")
I stop by her bedroom, toss her blankie on the bed (to the tune of "I WANT MY BLANKIE!") and squeeze the two of us into our under construction bathroom. Before I can get the door shut, my sobbing son toddles in after us.
A side note: my son can not be allowed in the bathroom on his own (and "on his own" means even if you are in there, if you are doing anything other than watching him with hawk-like alertness). If you lose track of him for even a second, he makes a beeline for the toilet paper roll. (Spin. Oooh. Spin, spin. Wheeee! Spin spin spin-spin-spin-spin-spinspinspinspinspin until the bathroom looks like the front yard of the local high school's least-favorite teacher after a couple of teenage boys realize they have extra time and a few extra rolls of Cottonelle on their hands.)
Eek.
Back in the bathroom with two unhappy toddlers. My son looks up me, wailing, and says, "Bup! Bup!" (I have no idea where the preceeding "B" came from, but I'm sure you can tell that this means he wants me to pick him up.) So, while still holding my daughter, I lean over and pick him up. By now, I have learned the art of picking up a second child while already holding one of them. Absolutely necessary for survival, but my lower back may never forgive me, no matter how many times I try to appease it with visits to the chiropractor.
Oh well. No pain, no gain.
I deposit my son back in my daughter's room, in front of the toys (hoping to distract him, even if it means I have a mess to clean up before bed) and cross back to the bathroom as quickly as I can. He immediately catches on to the ploy, but I can move pretty fast when I need to, and I get the bathroom door shut before he can get there. His anguished cries haunt me as he staggers, heartbroken, back into the living room.
I ignore him as only a put-upon parent can, prop my knee on the toilet lid, and sit my daughter on my thigh. "NO! I don't want you to brush my teeth! I WANT MY DADDY!" I ignore her (remember, put-upon parent), grab her toothbrush and squeeze toothpaste onto it.
Her: "No, not that one!"
Me: Blink. Blink. Ohhhh. "That's your brother's toothpaste, isn't it? I'm sorry! You're right!" I wash the toothpaste off of the toothbrush and grab one from the cabinet. "Do you want this one?"
Her: "No."
Me: (getting her strawberry kids toothpaste) "How about this one?"
Her: "No. I want that one." (pointing to - you guessed it - the baby toothpaste I had already rinsed off the toothbrush, once.)
Me: Shrug. I start to put toothpaste on the toothbrush again.
Her: "No, not that one!"
Me: Eyeroll.
Her: "I want my toothbrush!"
Ah. Riiiiiiiight. Did I mention that I usually put my son to bed? So by default, I grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste. Whoops! My bad. So I get her toothbrush and his toothpaste, and the rest of the tooth-brushing goes fairly smoothly. At least something did.
Then we finish and leave the bathroom, only to hear my husband (who had just gotten home) soothing my distressed Baby Guy. This starts another round of, "I WANT MY DADDY!" We go in and say goodnight to Daddy, who is holding the Baby Guy. My daughter grabs her daddy and tries to get him to take her. He hugs her and says goodnight, and I finally pry her free. And there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.
I get her in bed ("I don't want you to put me in bed!"), sing to her, and start her music. She is wailing. I turn the light out and close the door. Screaming continues. I sit down and start to write this post. Still screaming. My husband comes upstairs after sharing some "ite-ite's" with Baby Guy. Bitty Girl still screaming. I get about a third of the way through this post. Screaming starts to die down. About halfway through this, it finally stops.
Whew. I just hope she sleeps all night.
Next obstacle: middle-of-the-night when Baby Guy wakes up and realizes Daddy is the one taking care of him. Hopefully without any more weeping and gnashing of teeth.
However, this creates the fairly unfair situation of my husband always having to put the "difficult" baby to bed and me having to deal with the "difficult" baby overnight. My daughter is tough to get in bed (as only a 2.5-year-old can be), but she typically sleeps all night. My son is amazingly easy to put to bed (and so precious, he will tell you "ite-ite" repeatedly as you leave the room), but he wakes at least twice overnight, sometimes for a long time (last night I was dealing with him for about two hours, although there was some dozing going on during that time).
So we decided that now that I'm not nursing the Baby Guy anymore, it's time for the situation to change. Tonight, I put the Girl to bed and Daddy put the Boy to bed. Not unexpectedly, my daughter threw a royal tantrum that started before we got off of the couch.
The first step of the bedtime routine is the Warm Milk. However, the past two nights, my daughter has requested orange juice instead. Last night, she had her orange juice, and then as Daddy started putting her to bed, asked for warm milk also. And threw a fit when he refused. She probably screamed for a good fifteen minutes, only stopping after my husband went in and calmed her down (although he did not give her the milk).
Tonight, I tried to make it abundantly clear to my daughter that if she chose the orange juice, she would not get the warm milk. She agreed to this stipulation and insisted on orange juice anyway. Fine.
So, fast forward to the point when she finished her orange juice. The moment the sippy was empty, it started. "I want some warm milk."
Me: "No, sweetie, you got orange juice instead."
Her: (starts bawling)
Me: "Honey, I told you, you could have one or the other, not both. You chose orange juice."
Her: "Iiiiii waaaaahhhhnnntttt wahhhhhrrrmm miiiiihhhhllllkkkk!" (bawling)
Me: (in the calmest voice I can muster) "Didn't I tell you you could have either warm milk or orange juice?"
Her: (silence. then, resentfully:) "Yes."
Me: "And what did you choose?"
Her: (silence)
Me: "Did you choose orange juice?"
Her: (silence, then nods once.)
Me: "Okay. Tomorrow night, then, if you want warm milk, you may have it."
Her: "I want to have it now!"
Me: "No, you may have it tomorrow."
More crying ensues. This whole time, my son has been lying peacefully on my lap beside her, having finished his bottle of rice milk. But at this point, I have turned the TV off (yes, yes, more TV). He starts saying, "Hairbrush? Hairbrush?" This is his code for, "TV? TV?" As completely random as that seems, it actually makes sense. A forthcoming post will explain it.
Me: "Okay, time to get up." I stand up with both children, put my son in his chair, and start carrying my daughter to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Her: "I don't want you to brush my teeth!"
Him: "Waaaaaahhhhhhhh!" ("How dare you put me down!")
I stop by her bedroom, toss her blankie on the bed (to the tune of "I WANT MY BLANKIE!") and squeeze the two of us into our under construction bathroom. Before I can get the door shut, my sobbing son toddles in after us.
A side note: my son can not be allowed in the bathroom on his own (and "on his own" means even if you are in there, if you are doing anything other than watching him with hawk-like alertness). If you lose track of him for even a second, he makes a beeline for the toilet paper roll. (Spin. Oooh. Spin, spin. Wheeee! Spin spin spin-spin-spin-spin-spinspinspinspinspin until the bathroom looks like the front yard of the local high school's least-favorite teacher after a couple of teenage boys realize they have extra time and a few extra rolls of Cottonelle on their hands.)
Eek.
Back in the bathroom with two unhappy toddlers. My son looks up me, wailing, and says, "Bup! Bup!" (I have no idea where the preceeding "B" came from, but I'm sure you can tell that this means he wants me to pick him up.) So, while still holding my daughter, I lean over and pick him up. By now, I have learned the art of picking up a second child while already holding one of them. Absolutely necessary for survival, but my lower back may never forgive me, no matter how many times I try to appease it with visits to the chiropractor.
Oh well. No pain, no gain.
I deposit my son back in my daughter's room, in front of the toys (hoping to distract him, even if it means I have a mess to clean up before bed) and cross back to the bathroom as quickly as I can. He immediately catches on to the ploy, but I can move pretty fast when I need to, and I get the bathroom door shut before he can get there. His anguished cries haunt me as he staggers, heartbroken, back into the living room.
I ignore him as only a put-upon parent can, prop my knee on the toilet lid, and sit my daughter on my thigh. "NO! I don't want you to brush my teeth! I WANT MY DADDY!" I ignore her (remember, put-upon parent), grab her toothbrush and squeeze toothpaste onto it.
Her: "No, not that one!"
Me: Blink. Blink. Ohhhh. "That's your brother's toothpaste, isn't it? I'm sorry! You're right!" I wash the toothpaste off of the toothbrush and grab one from the cabinet. "Do you want this one?"
Her: "No."
Me: (getting her strawberry kids toothpaste) "How about this one?"
Her: "No. I want that one." (pointing to - you guessed it - the baby toothpaste I had already rinsed off the toothbrush, once.)
Me: Shrug. I start to put toothpaste on the toothbrush again.
Her: "No, not that one!"
Me: Eyeroll.
Her: "I want my toothbrush!"
Ah. Riiiiiiiight. Did I mention that I usually put my son to bed? So by default, I grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste. Whoops! My bad. So I get her toothbrush and his toothpaste, and the rest of the tooth-brushing goes fairly smoothly. At least something did.
Then we finish and leave the bathroom, only to hear my husband (who had just gotten home) soothing my distressed Baby Guy. This starts another round of, "I WANT MY DADDY!" We go in and say goodnight to Daddy, who is holding the Baby Guy. My daughter grabs her daddy and tries to get him to take her. He hugs her and says goodnight, and I finally pry her free. And there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.
I get her in bed ("I don't want you to put me in bed!"), sing to her, and start her music. She is wailing. I turn the light out and close the door. Screaming continues. I sit down and start to write this post. Still screaming. My husband comes upstairs after sharing some "ite-ite's" with Baby Guy. Bitty Girl still screaming. I get about a third of the way through this post. Screaming starts to die down. About halfway through this, it finally stops.
Whew. I just hope she sleeps all night.
Next obstacle: middle-of-the-night when Baby Guy wakes up and realizes Daddy is the one taking care of him. Hopefully without any more weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Breaking News
This just happened. While I blog, I'm (gasp!) letting my son watch TV. Specifically, the Veggie Tales Silly Song Countdown. It's on The Yodeling Veterinarian of the Alps. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, in this silly song, Larry the Cucumber is "The Yodeling Veterinarian of the Alps," an unconventional vet who, instead of giving medicines, yodels to people's sick pets to make them feel better. Doesn't sound effective, you think? It isn't. After each verse, the vet's nurse, played by Pa Grape, gives each owner some practical advice that is really what cures the pet, although the yodeling vet gets all the credit.
Aha. Here it is on YouTube.
Anyway, the second verse is, "This is a song...for your pregnant kitty..." As it started, before Larry started singing, my 15-month-old son announced, "Kitty!"
I guess you had to be there.
Edited to add: Something else just happened. More Toddler Terrorism. I just happened to catch out of the corner of my eye - my daughter just took her socks off and stuffed them in between the couch and the ottoman. I often find her socks down there, so she must do this a lot. I thought they just happened to end up there, somehow. Now I know otherwise.
Aha. Here it is on YouTube.
Anyway, the second verse is, "This is a song...for your pregnant kitty..." As it started, before Larry started singing, my 15-month-old son announced, "Kitty!"
I guess you had to be there.
Edited to add: Something else just happened. More Toddler Terrorism. I just happened to catch out of the corner of my eye - my daughter just took her socks off and stuffed them in between the couch and the ottoman. I often find her socks down there, so she must do this a lot. I thought they just happened to end up there, somehow. Now I know otherwise.
Friday, August 28, 2009
An Unintentional Break
I haven't posted lately, mostly because I've been too busy reading in the evenings to turn on my computer and write. I apologize. Not that I feel anyone is expecting an apology, but I have intended to post several times this week, I just never got around to it. I tend to get fairly caught up in books, and have trouble putting them down, because, my goodness, what if I stop reading and miss something important? It might ruin the whole story.
I usually don't blog while my kids are awake, but I decided on the way home that I'd get something new out there, even if it meant neglecting not playing with my children. Right now, they are chasing each other around the house. My son is dragging around my daughter's nightgown as if it were a blankie.
I have no idea.
Every once in a while, my son stops by and commands, "Bup! Bup!" At that time, I am expected to stop what I'm doing, put my computer aside, and pick him up so he can hug me, wallow all over, and try his darnedest to get his pudgy little fingers on my computer keys.
My daughter is wearing panties instead of pull-ups for the first time tonight. Not long ago, I witnessed my husband chasing her around the living room, waving purple panties, as she threw a fit because she didn't want to put them back on after sitting on the potty (she wanted to change to her princess panties). He finally held her down and got them on her. Surprisingly, she's kept them on.
Now they're playing in my daughter's bedroom, where the sound of toys being strewn about would make the writers of Stomp jealous. If only they could clean up with the same amount of enthusiasm and creativity.
A mom can wish.
I usually don't blog while my kids are awake, but I decided on the way home that I'd get something new out there, even if it meant neglecting not playing with my children. Right now, they are chasing each other around the house. My son is dragging around my daughter's nightgown as if it were a blankie.
I have no idea.
Every once in a while, my son stops by and commands, "Bup! Bup!" At that time, I am expected to stop what I'm doing, put my computer aside, and pick him up so he can hug me, wallow all over, and try his darnedest to get his pudgy little fingers on my computer keys.
My daughter is wearing panties instead of pull-ups for the first time tonight. Not long ago, I witnessed my husband chasing her around the living room, waving purple panties, as she threw a fit because she didn't want to put them back on after sitting on the potty (she wanted to change to her princess panties). He finally held her down and got them on her. Surprisingly, she's kept them on.
Now they're playing in my daughter's bedroom, where the sound of toys being strewn about would make the writers of Stomp jealous. If only they could clean up with the same amount of enthusiasm and creativity.
A mom can wish.
The Biggest Loser Gainer
A few times, I've alluded to a weight loss competition we're doing here at work. Well, today was the big day - final weigh-in.
My result? I'm sure this will utterly shock you. Four pounds. Yup, four stinking pounds.
Gained.
Sigh.
My result? I'm sure this will utterly shock you. Four pounds. Yup, four stinking pounds.
Gained.
Sigh.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Just...say...NO!!!
Why is it so hard? Why? When the office triathlete - excuse me, Iron Man competitor - comes by with a box of doughnuts that I know he wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole - why is it that just as the words, "That's really nice, but no, thanks anyway," start to pass my lips, my traitorous arm is reaching out and I find myself saying, instead, "Oooh, I really shouldn't, but..."
But.
Of course, I did.
And now I'm 500 calories fuller than I was before the chocolate-covered cream-filled goodies came by. (Why did it have to be my favorite kind?)
Sigh.
But.
Of course, I did.
And now I'm 500 calories fuller than I was before the chocolate-covered cream-filled goodies came by. (Why did it have to be my favorite kind?)
Sigh.
A Fun-Filled Day
My family and I recently spent the day at my parents' house, celebrating my mom's...well, let's just say a milestone birthday. It was very low-key (probably a little bit too low-key, sorry, Mom) and we basically just took the kids up to hang out with Mom and Dad for the day.
We did a lot of different things while we were there, though:
Picked tomatoes with Granddaddy...
...ate the tomatoes right off the vine...
...wore crowns made from foam floor pads...
...got haircuts (before)....
...(after)...
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Laryngitis
I have something that's been bothering me for the past couple of days. I think I might be losing my voice. No, I'm not referring to the cold my daughter passed on to me this weekend or the barking cough you can hear from two states away. (Hear it? Wait - there it was again. Yes, that's me.) I mean my writing voice.
See, I'm one of those people who you could call...impressionable. I tend to pick up on the mannerisms of people around me and unconsciously mimic them. I was reminded of this recently, when my daughter's daycare provider remarked that my daughter is well-behaved, but tends to pick up bad behaviors from other people - she tends to copy them. I thought about that and realized something: she comes by that honestly. I do the same thing.
It's like when you've been in a foreign country for a while (is New England a foreign country?) and when you get home, people around you comment on your accent. (Where are you from? Oh, I'm from London. Aha...I thought so. You have a really cool accent. Uh, no...London, Kentucky.)
But who knows. Maybe you have a cool accent if you're from London, KY, too. Or, some kind of accent, that someone, somewhere, thinks is cool.
My point is, when I read and then turn around and write something, I think I tend to pick up the writing voice of whatever author I've been reading. And since I've been reading blogs lately...and now I'm writing a blog...I suspect I've let myself "sound" like other bloggers. Especially since I think there are quite a few out there with pretty funny writing styles.
I like funny. I like to be funny. I have a pretty decent sense of humor, but I can not tell a joke. For the life of me. If you tied a rope around my ankle and dangled me off a bridge and told me I'd be hanging there until I told you a funny joke...well, I'd probably scream something like, "I'm hanging from a bridge by my ankle! MY ANKLE!!! AND YOU WANT ME TO BE FUNNY???" But I can guarantee that I wouldn't make you laugh. Unless you were mean like that, and then that's just not cool. Not cool.
But I'm not sure how naturally I come by "funny," even in writing. Maybe I've learned to write funny (funnily? - haha, that must be correct, Blogger didn't put a red squiggly line under it). Maybe I'm just copying others' styles. Probably it's a bit of both. I'm going to work on sounding a bit more like me, though...and try to still be funny while I'm at it.
So if all of you stop following me in the next week or so, I guess I'll know why.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
"Not Me" Monday
It's time again for "Not Me" Monday, a blog carnival sponsored by MckMama-
What? I should take a look at the link I just posted? (Really, Blue? Do you think there'll be another clue? Oh - sorry. Got carried away.)
Well, look at that. It's actually not a blog carnival, according to Wikipedia. Apparently in a blog carnival, the "host" of the carnival collects entries and publishes them on his or her own blog. When a group of bloggers all post about the same topic on their own blogs, it's apparently called a synchroblog, or synchronized blogging.
So I guess "Not Me" Monday is not a blog carnival (do you think maybe that was intentional?) hosted by MckMama in which we get to post about all of the things we shouldn't have done did not do during the past week.
I did not sit up way too late pretty much every night this week, writing blog posts and reading blogs and message boards. My rest is much too important for me to do something like that, especially with a baby who wakes up wanting his mommy multiple times in the night.
Speaking of that baby, I did not let my son suck bathwater out of the washcloth in the tub to keep him happy while I washed his hair. Yuck. Bathwater is gross, and I wouldn't let my baby guy drink even a very small amount of it!
I also did not get "scolded" earlier this week by some of my co-workers for picking up lunch for one of them but not offering to get something for everyone else. I wouldn't be that thoughtless. I mean, those poor guys can't leave their desks for more than a few minutes at a time, so if I were bringing back something for one of them, I would never forget to ask and see if the other guys wanted something.
I definitely did not let my son play with a full, unopened can of ginger ale to distract him while he got his hair cut.
(Notice the color of the can. Yeah. He's that predictable.)
I did not laugh and take pictures as he pretended to drink from the can.
He did not drop the can many, many times.
I did not let him continue to walk around with the can after we were finished with his hair. My husband didn't see him and say, "Don't let him put that in his mouth! It's dirty!"I certainly didn't respond with, "Do you wash them before you drink out of them?" and let my son keep playing with it.
I did not, as I was strapping my daughter into the high chair for a little Time Out, hear a suspicious SSSSSSsssssssss noise from the kitchen. Oh, no, definitely not. Because that would mean -
My son was not sitting in a puddle of ginger ale, gleefully watching golden stickiness spray out of a pin-sized hole in the top of the can all over my parents' kitchen floor. No, that certainly didn't happen, because I never let him play with the can in the first place.
I also didn't wipe the ginger ale up with a dry paper towel without washing the golden stickiness off the floor. Oh, no, not me...I'm a much better daughter than that. I wouldn't leave that type of a mess for my poor mom, whose milestone birthday we were there celebrating, to clean up. Cough cough. (Sorry, Mom.)
Speaking of my mom's birthday, I didn't help myself to a second piece of cake and ice cream when no one else was in the dining room. Because, remember? I'm not in a competition at work to lose weight. (Sounds like I'm going to lose something, doesn't it?)
Whew. I think that's enough for this week!
Oh, wait. How about one more: I did not stay up too late tonight writing my "Not Me" Monday post! I do not still have to shower, which means it will not be pretty close to midnight by the time I get to bed. That would be awfully irresponsible of me, wouldn't it?
Wouldn't...it...?
(Edited 8/18 to add: I also did not spend all that time writing my "Not Me" Monday post just to completely forget to add it to MckMama's Mr. Linky list. Nooooo...I would never be that scatterbrained. Not me!)
Fun Post With a Contest
My husband just started his blog, Can I Get That In Writing? two days ago, and tonight he put up a funny post with an amusing contest attached to it. (Please note that this is not a giveaway contest, just something so that everyone can have a little bit of fun.) So if you have a couple of minutes, head over there, check out his blog, and play his game. You'll probably get a laugh or two out of the comments (at least out of mine, I hope!)
He's a great writer (as you probably saw from my post the other day), so I'm sure you'll enjoy what he has to say!
He's a great writer (as you probably saw from my post the other day), so I'm sure you'll enjoy what he has to say!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Movin' On Up
Have I mentioned that my Baby Guy is a tiny thing? He was a whopping 6 lbs 9 oz and 18.5 inches when he was born, and he's stayed on the small side ever since. He's consistently in the "less than 3rd" percentile in both weight and length/height when we go to his well-baby checkups. So, although he has a low weight, it's consistent with how short he is. He's healthy, just small.
(Although since he has switched from primarily nursing and being fed from jars to drinking rice milk and self-feeding, his weight has dropped a bit, but we're working on that.)
We went to church tonight (we typically go on Saturday evenings, which is so much easier with parents who like to sleep in two young children). We were running a bit late, so my husband dropped the three of us off near the door and went and parked while I dragged hurried my children in, while praying there would be room in child care for both of them.
As I got to check-in, my heart sank temporarily. We go to a somewhat larger church, and I was dismayed to find a surprisingly long line (although why I was surprised, I don't know - it's not like we're the only family with small children that tends to run late sometimes). My turn came up, and I checked my children in - my son into "Suite C" and my daughter into "Suite E."
Suite E? I thought. That sounded weird, but figured I was just confused. That happens frequently from time to time.
This whole time, my daughter had been whining. "I want my Daddy! I want my Daddy!" Sigh. Then it became, "I want my Kitty!" and I realized we had potentially made a grave mistake - we had left her Kitty at home. My daughter and Kitty are inseparable, and there was a good chance we were in for a rough ride since we had left it behind.
As she was sniffling, red-nosed, beside me and I was trying to figure out where she was supposed to go, a volunteer walked up. She gave my daughter a sticker, cajoled a little smile out of her (which disappeared the moment she walked away) and smiled at my son, whom I was holding.
"It's Promotion Weekend," she informed me.
Huh? My cluelessness must have shown on my face, because she continued, "Your daughter will be moving up to the next class today. Your son won't be moving, though."
Ahhh. That's right - two weeks ago we were told that our children would be moving up in two weeks. That would make it today. That would also explain the reason "Suite E" sounded odd. Since my children are only a year apart (from a school perspective), my daughter has been in Suite C for a year, while my son has been in Suite A. So "Suite C" still sounded familiar because that's where she has been, while Suite E sounded weird because neither of them has been in it before.
Promotion Weekend. What a funny thing to call it. And then I realized something else hadn't sounded right.
"Why won't my son be moving up today?"
She smiled. "Oh, he'd have to turn 1 by October 1st to move up today! How old is he?"
Uhhhhh...."Fourteen months."
Blink. "Oh! Well, you're a little guy, aren't you?"
Yup. My little bitty guy.
But...wow. October 1 is still a month-and-a-half away, and she thought he still wouldn't be a year old yet. I know he's little, but does he really look that much smaller than he "should?" Wow.
Anyway both of my children "moved up" today. I actually thought it was strange that my daughter was moving up so soon...until we got to the room and I realized she was moving into the two-year-old class. She'll be 3 in December.
When I picked up my son after the service, I had to laugh. Clutched in his left hand was - you guessed it - the green ring from their stacking toy.
And - bonus - it was star-shaped.
(Although since he has switched from primarily nursing and being fed from jars to drinking rice milk and self-feeding, his weight has dropped a bit, but we're working on that.)
We went to church tonight (we typically go on Saturday evenings, which is so much easier with parents who like to sleep in two young children). We were running a bit late, so my husband dropped the three of us off near the door and went and parked while I dragged hurried my children in, while praying there would be room in child care for both of them.
As I got to check-in, my heart sank temporarily. We go to a somewhat larger church, and I was dismayed to find a surprisingly long line (although why I was surprised, I don't know - it's not like we're the only family with small children that tends to run late sometimes). My turn came up, and I checked my children in - my son into "Suite C" and my daughter into "Suite E."
Suite E? I thought. That sounded weird, but figured I was just confused. That happens frequently from time to time.
This whole time, my daughter had been whining. "I want my Daddy! I want my Daddy!" Sigh. Then it became, "I want my Kitty!" and I realized we had potentially made a grave mistake - we had left her Kitty at home. My daughter and Kitty are inseparable, and there was a good chance we were in for a rough ride since we had left it behind.
As she was sniffling, red-nosed, beside me and I was trying to figure out where she was supposed to go, a volunteer walked up. She gave my daughter a sticker, cajoled a little smile out of her (which disappeared the moment she walked away) and smiled at my son, whom I was holding.
"It's Promotion Weekend," she informed me.
Huh? My cluelessness must have shown on my face, because she continued, "Your daughter will be moving up to the next class today. Your son won't be moving, though."
Ahhh. That's right - two weeks ago we were told that our children would be moving up in two weeks. That would make it today. That would also explain the reason "Suite E" sounded odd. Since my children are only a year apart (from a school perspective), my daughter has been in Suite C for a year, while my son has been in Suite A. So "Suite C" still sounded familiar because that's where she has been, while Suite E sounded weird because neither of them has been in it before.
Promotion Weekend. What a funny thing to call it. And then I realized something else hadn't sounded right.
"Why won't my son be moving up today?"
She smiled. "Oh, he'd have to turn 1 by October 1st to move up today! How old is he?"
Uhhhhh...."Fourteen months."
Blink. "Oh! Well, you're a little guy, aren't you?"
Yup. My little bitty guy.
But...wow. October 1 is still a month-and-a-half away, and she thought he still wouldn't be a year old yet. I know he's little, but does he really look that much smaller than he "should?" Wow.
Anyway both of my children "moved up" today. I actually thought it was strange that my daughter was moving up so soon...until we got to the room and I realized she was moving into the two-year-old class. She'll be 3 in December.
When I picked up my son after the service, I had to laugh. Clutched in his left hand was - you guessed it - the green ring from their stacking toy.
And - bonus - it was star-shaped.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Toddler Terrorism
I want to share something special with you. This is the story that started it all. The original Toddler Terrorism. There's just one thing about it.
"Where's the doorknob?" I asked my daughter. Silence. Also a look that clearly says, "I have no idea what you're talking about but will try to humor you anyway."
"Do you remember where you put it?" Pause. "No." Sigh.
At this point, with my focus largely on finding the doorknob/getting us out of the room, I somehow FORGET that I have a half-naked toddler who needs to potty in the room with me. Continuing the search, I discover a decent-sized puddle right next to the laundry basket that I am pretty sure had not been there previously.
"Did you pee on the floor?"
"Yes."
"Why did you do that?"
"Oops."
Here we paused in our search for the missing doorknob to clean up the pee puddle........ Having cleaned up the pee, the search continues without success. I try other options. How about putting two books around the doorknob stem to gain some leverage? No dice. Same result with everything else I try. I call my wife to advise her of the situation and my plans to deal with it. She is not amused. Time to dial 911.
"Mom? I have a small problem." My mother is incredulous that I have managed to lock myself in a room with a toddler while my 10-month old son is enjoying the rest of the house to himself. She agrees to come over and release us.
In a last ditch effort to save my ailing mother a trip over, I start digging through the folded laundry to see if my daughter could possibly have stowed the $%)!! doorknob in the basket. Lo and behold, with a loud THUNK the thing comes plopping out of the laundry onto the hardwood. We are saved. I phone Mom with the good news and turn my attention to the half-naked toddler.
"Are you ready to sit on the potty?"
"I want some apple juice."
"Of course you do." Ain't kids great?
I didn't write it.
That's right. My blog's catchy title? I may have forgotten to mention this, but I didn't come up with it.
My husband did.
And now he's insisted I confess that - and share the story he wrote. So, without further ado, I give you the original
Toddler Terrorism
Does anyone else have a toddler who does things like this? This morning I took my daughter into her room to get her ready to sit on the potty, shutting the door behind me to keep my son from following us in and pulling all of her clean clothes out of the laundry basket. After removing her (already disgusting) diaper (and wondering why she still needed to sit on the potty) and heading toward the door, I discovered something was missing. Something important. Namely, the doorknob. It's a type that requires tightening with an allen wrench, and had been loose for several weeks while I was too busy to retrieve said allen wrench from the downstairs workshop. Apparently my daughter had found time to remove it this morning when she wasn't strewing the contents of a new box of diapers all over the room. So now I am trapped in a bedroom with my naked-from-the-waist-down toddler (she needed to sit on the potty, remember?) who is now prancing around the room and singing Veggie tunes.
"Where's the doorknob?" I asked my daughter. Silence. Also a look that clearly says, "I have no idea what you're talking about but will try to humor you anyway."
"Do you remember where you put it?" Pause. "No." Sigh.
At this point, with my focus largely on finding the doorknob/getting us out of the room, I somehow FORGET that I have a half-naked toddler who needs to potty in the room with me. Continuing the search, I discover a decent-sized puddle right next to the laundry basket that I am pretty sure had not been there previously.
"Did you pee on the floor?"
"Yes."
"Why did you do that?"
"Oops."
Here we paused in our search for the missing doorknob to clean up the pee puddle........ Having cleaned up the pee, the search continues without success. I try other options. How about putting two books around the doorknob stem to gain some leverage? No dice. Same result with everything else I try. I call my wife to advise her of the situation and my plans to deal with it. She is not amused. Time to dial 911.
"Mom? I have a small problem." My mother is incredulous that I have managed to lock myself in a room with a toddler while my 10-month old son is enjoying the rest of the house to himself. She agrees to come over and release us.
In a last ditch effort to save my ailing mother a trip over, I start digging through the folded laundry to see if my daughter could possibly have stowed the $%)!! doorknob in the basket. Lo and behold, with a loud THUNK the thing comes plopping out of the laundry onto the hardwood. We are saved. I phone Mom with the good news and turn my attention to the half-naked toddler.
"Are you ready to sit on the potty?"
"I want some apple juice."
"Of course you do." Ain't kids great?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Toddler Tidbits
I'm lounging on the couch with my laptop (love laptops!) doing two of my favorite things: writing a new blog post and drinking hot chocolate. Mmmmmm.
It occurred to me today that it might seem odd to my readers that, despite the name of my blog, I often post about things other than my children. The reason for this is simple: I never intended my blog to be entirely about my children.
What? Then...why did you call it Toddler Terrorism?
Because it's catchy! Don't you think? Is there really any better reason than that? And I do have toddlers (officially two, now, as my baby guy has been walking on his own for about a week). And I am going to post about them a lot. Just not exclusively.
Just thought I'd get that out there for all of you who were wondering. Because you were wondering, right?
I do, however, plan to talk about some toddler terrorism tonight.
Toddler Timing
I took the kids out for a walk with my in-laws tonight. Of course, first I had to get home from work, then we had to eat dinner, then I had to chase my son around with a bottle because he had to have it (whine, whine, whine!) until the very moment I gave it to him, at which point it was time to play. By the time all of that was finished, it was approaching 8:00.
Yes, I leave the house with my kids after 8:00 sometimes. So sue me.
I called my in-laws and told them I needed to change a couple of soggy diapers, then I'd be ready to go. Changed diaper #1. Changed diaper #2. Herded the kids into the living room to get my daughter's shoes.
Then, when we were two minutes from getting out the door - we had almost made it - I heard the last thing a parent wants to hear when they're trying to leave the house. Seven dreaded words that (at least in my house) mean it's going to be a minimum of another fifteen minutes before we can even consider hitting the road.
"I need to sit on the potty."
My initial response was some wishful thinking. "No you don't." (Yes, yes. I know. Bad Mommy. But - fifteen minutes. At least.)
"Yes I do!"
Sigh. Yes, in fact, she did. And she went on the potty. And I didn't have to change a dirty diaper. I should have been thankful for that, but all I could think about was that we had been this close to getting out the door.
We did go walk, even though it was getting close to 8:30 by the time we left the house. It was 9:30 - and dark - by the time we finished walking, but it was a nice night and a pleasant walk and we even got to see a deer.
I know you're jealous.
Toddler Logic
As part of my daughter's bedtime routine, she sits with her daddy and drinks a cup of warm milk. Sitting on the couch. In the living room. (Remember this. It's important.)
While waiting for him to get her milk ready, she started complaining remarking that she was cold. I was sitting on the couch giving my son his bottle and she commanded politely asked me to get her a blanket.
Me: "I can't get it right now. It's in the other room."
Her: "It's not in the other room!"
Me: "Then where is it?"
Her: "In my bedroom."
Toddler Terrorism Turned My Brain To Mush
After the kids were in bed, as I was putting together in advance my son's midnight (or 2 a.m.) bottle - yes, yes, my 14-month-old still gets a middle-of-the-night bottle, at least he's no longer nursing for an hour and a half every night - I conscientiously followed the instructions on the rice milk package and shook it like the kid in first-grade music class who gets to play the tambourine vigorously.
I discovered that those instructions excluded one thing that this mind-numbed mom apparently needed to be told, as she wasn't quick enough on the uptake to figure it out on her own.
Hold down the cap while you shake it, because the seal isn't strong enough to withstand maniacal vigorous shaking on its own.
My husband walked in shortly after I finished mopping up the mess.
Me: "Make sure you hold the rice milk closed before you shake it."
Him: "I already knew that."
Oh, reeeeeeeeally.
Me: "You didn't find that out the hard way, too, did you?"
Him: "No comment."
Heh.
Not Me...Wednesday?
As I sit here (or wander around there) doing things that I probably shouldn't, or would at least prefer not to admit doing, I realize I could probably do a "Not Me" post every day.
For example...I did not just eat two pieces of the cake that one of the Transmission Operators (at work) brought in to share among the other Operators.
Did I mention I'm not one of the Operators?
Oh no...not me. I wouldn't swipe cake meant for someone else. Twice.
(Okay, okay, they did invite me to have some. I don't want you to think that badly of me. But still. Technically for the guys who are slaving at their desks for twelve-hour-days on shift work...not for me in my cushy 8-5 8:30-5:30 9-5:30 with-lunch-at-my-desk office job.)
Just had to get that out. Now it's back to the grindstone Access database.
(Speaking of Access databases, if anyone knows how to do charts in Access, I'd be ever-so-grateful for the info.)
For example...I did not just eat two pieces of the cake that one of the Transmission Operators (at work) brought in to share among the other Operators.
Did I mention I'm not one of the Operators?
Oh no...not me. I wouldn't swipe cake meant for someone else. Twice.
(Okay, okay, they did invite me to have some. I don't want you to think that badly of me. But still. Technically for the guys who are slaving at their desks for twelve-hour-days on shift work...not for me in my cushy 8-5 8:30-5:30 9-5:30 with-lunch-at-my-desk office job.)
Just had to get that out. Now it's back to the grindstone Access database.
(Speaking of Access databases, if anyone knows how to do charts in Access, I'd be ever-so-grateful for the info.)
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Favorite Photos
I don't have much to say tonight, so I'm just going to join in the MckLinky Blog Hop and post a few of my favorite pictures. First, a picture of my beautiful bitty girl:
I can't remember what that look was all about, but I thought it was too cute not to share!
And a picture of my baby guy, too:
Notice the green star in his left hand? Yeah. Here is probably the #1 crazy quirk about my baby guy: he loves the color green, and will gravitate towards green toys. Particularly stacking rings. If we visit someone's house and they have stacking rings, he will take out the green one and carry it around with him for the entire rest of the visit. Seriously, he does not put it down for anything. Just imagine, for a moment, the episode of tiny baby fury that occurs when he has to take a bottle and he can't hold both it and the toy.
Not a pretty sight.
If there aren't stacking rings, then he will find another green toy and carry it around, instead. He's not that picky. It just has to be green. And small enough to carry around. The. Whole. Time.
But, quirky or not, he's a cutie. See?
Monday, August 10, 2009
"Not Me" Monday
For the first time, I am going to participate in MckMama's "Not Me Monday," in which I write about all of the crazy (and marginally embarrassing) things I did not do this week.
First of all, I did not procrastinate writing a blog post this past week. I never procrastinate, so the idea that I might have put off putting some words down on my blog is ludicrous. Completely.
I also didn't have a Starbucks "Double Shot" every morning this week. And the week before that. I certainly wouldn't consume 220 calories of caffeine-laden goodness unhealthy beverage every day when I'm trying to lose weight. Of course, since I'm not currently competing in a weight-loss challenge at work, then it wouldn't be a big deal if I did drink it, right? But, of course, I didn't.
Furthermore, I did not think, after a week of being fatigued and nauseated every evening, "Uh oh, what if I'm pregnant?" I did not, with this thought in mind (because it wasn't in my mind, of course) take four home pregnancy tests that I did not buy at Dollar Tree while not hiding in the next aisle over from my mother-in-law who did not happen to walk in while I was not searching frantically for the tests, which the Dollar Tree staff did not, for some ungodly reason, decide to put in the checkout lane instead of with the bathroom/pharmacy/hygiene supplies.
And I did not breathe a huge sigh of relief when the test was not negative. Er. I mean, it was negative. I mean, I'm not pregnant. No, no, really! I mean it this time!
Whew. Where was I?
Oh, yes.
(By the way, the fatigue/nausea did, um, not happen to go away when I stopped drinking the Double Shots. Who knew?)
Anyway. What else did I not do this week? Well, I didn't take the whole bag (the. whole. bag.) of my daughter's chocolate goldfish grahams to work to have as a snack. I mean, geez. What kind of mom parent person would do something like that?
I also did not take a look at some pictures taken of myself on Saturday and realize my face does not look just like it did right before each of my children was born. Ohmygosh where did that second chin come from???
And with that in mind, I did not turn around on Sunday and have a chocolate milkshake, followed by four chocolate-covered strawberries, followed by two pieces of baby shower cake, followed by a Coke on the way home. And that was just my mid-day snack. Or, um, it wasn't.
I also most certainly did not chase my son around with the aforementioned second piece of baby shower cake trying to force bites on him so I could feel more justified in taking that second piece. After all, my son wanted some more cake.
Not me.
I hope you enjoyed my first "Not Me" Monday post, in which I did not go a little overboard in talking about all the crazy bizarre embarrassing perfectly normal things I did this week.
Er, did not do.
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