June. What a month.

There has been lots of craziness for our family this month.

Shortcake will forever be known as Butterball. Or Little Ladybug. Either one. Little Monster still insists upon calling her butterball. Unless, of course, I actually call her butterball -- then he corrects me with her name.

Our home in Virginia has found new tenants, although it did take several thousand dollars in carpet and paint to get us to that point, I'm happy that it will have a family to take care of it for us until we can come back and fix it up.

Kleenex, our female dog, is no longer ours. It was a very sad and depressing few days for me. She wasn't handling the new addition to our family well at all and began shredding things. She shredded quite a few things, and had a few other behavior incidents before Not the Momma decided she probably would do better with a different family. I was sad, but happy she was possibly going to a family with older kids and a more stable, permanent home. Luckily, we are in California, land of the no-kill shelters, right? So, we dropped her off at the SPCA. The man at the front took her back for a behavior test, which she passed with flying colors. He assured us that she was cute and that she would be adopted quickly. There was even a family that was oohing at her as we were dropping her off. Two hours later, we got a call that she wasn't doing so well. The stress of being in the kennel was making her go nuts. She was growling, snapping, snarling and her hair was going up at the sight of everyone. They wanted to put her to sleep, or we had to pick her up. It was a very difficult decision, but we decided, after talking to their behavior specialist, that it was better for everyone if we signed the euthanasia paperwork. We told Little Monster initially that we gave Kleenex to another family, thinking she'd be adopted... But when we stopped by the SPCA later, he somehow knew (without getting out of the car and seeing anything) that we were at a "dog farm" and Kleenex was there. And was Daddy picking up Kleenex? He has done pretty well without Kleenex, and our other dog still seems content. I wish that stupid dog had been smart enough to look cute at everyone and be friendly so that she could have found a new home, but things don't always work out the way you want. I am not so happy with how everything turned out, being as Kleenex was really one of my children, but it was the best decision for our family. Being a grown up sucks sometimes.

We have had lots of visitors and guests here to help out since the birth. My mom and sister came out, which was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Then, Not the Momma's parents came out to help. It was nice to not have to worry about cleaning or doing dishes, or dinner. My PWOC sisters brought us meals for five nights -- and did they ever bring us meals! We could have eaten for weeks with the amount of food we received. It is amazing to realize how many friends you actually have. Sometimes (this time especially) it's humbling. I think I need to be a better friend for the rest of our tour here.

We've even gotten our family photos taken. A photographer in our neighborhood was good enough to take them for us, and I think they turned out wonderfully.

The day Butterball was born, we were supposed to have found out where we'll be stationed next (after our short tour in Rhode Island). After having everything postponed three times, we finally found out that our new duty station will be in San Diego. I'm not CRAZY about the fact that San Diego is in California. But that's about the only problem I have. I'm excited to be somewhere warm. Not the Momma's job won't be the greatest, and it wasn't our first pick, but it isn't the worst job he could have. And once again, we'll be somewhere warm. Warmer than Washington, more temperate than Norfolk, and though we'll still have June Gloom to worry about, when I am missing winter, I'll just drag the kids to visit family.

Tomorrow Butterball has her 1 month appointment for a weight check. Hopefully that turns out well, and I can kiss June goodbye. We can hope that July and August and the months after will bring a bit less stress (of the unexpected variety, at least) with them. In the next few weeks I have some funny stories to share about how Little Monster is reacting to the new addition, and I'll post the entire birth story. Wait, have I done that already? Who knows. You can read it again.

These are better.

I promise. Saturday Little Monster helped Daddy give the truck a bath. He ended up getting one too despite the cool temperatures. If you promise not to judge us for washing our car even though much of the area is hurting for water (we aren't on base, we make our own water or something) or letting our 2 year old get soaking wet with freezing water when the temp was below 70, I promise not to show you the pictures of goldfish cracker jammed so far up his nose you need a flashlight to see it.

Good. It's a deal.

Troublesome Tuesday?

That's Little Monster. His name is spelled T-R-O-U-B-L-E. Not because he's naughty and disobedient. Because he's smart. And curious. And he really likes juice.

This morning I was in the bathroom when I heard the backdoor shut. Immediately after, I heard Little Monster still playing in his room. So I knew he was inside the house and I wasn't terribly worried. He was inside, the door was shut, life was good.

Fast forward a few minutes when I got out of the bathroom and finished an email. I go check on him, and he's sitting in his playroom with a Capri-Sun.

Hmm. Capri Sun is stored in the garage. Unless... Was there one stashed in here? That can't be possible, we'd just cleaned that room a couple of times recently. We would have found it. Then I remembered that Not the Momma had told me we were out of juice boxes and that I should get some more next time I went to the store. Hmm. Even Odder.

"Little Monster, how did you get that juice?"
"BOOS!"

He had a stinky diaper too, so while I was changing his diaper, we continued our discussion about the 'boos.'

"How did you get that juice?"
"baraahhdg"
"Garage?"
"yes!"

That led me to think. That means the door I heard slam was Little Monster RETURNING to the inside of the house. He had gone into the backyard, walked to the garage door and opened it, found his juice, brought it back inside the house and shut the door, removed the straw from the 'boos' and had tried to get into it.

Trouble. That's what we've got around here. Not so much for Little Monster, but more for the grown-ups in this house. Now we have to figure something better out for the doors. Because, folks, my doors are 'baby-proofed' with those annoying handle covers and dead bolted. And he won't open them when anyone is looking. He's sneaky. Trouble. with a capital T.

It's a Love-Hate Relationship.

Ah, Monday morning. How is it going to go?

Little Monster is screaming HEY! HEY! MOM! MAAAAAMAAAAA! HEY! DAAAAAAAADEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEY! (BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG on the wall). I roll over and pretend not to hear. It is a little earlier than I want to get up. Not the Momma is loudly (it isn't his fault the cheap tubs creak) taking his morning shower. HEEY!!! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! HEEY!! NOOOOO! The sun is peeking through the curtains that didn't get pulled shut and shining RIGHT! INTO! MY! EYES! I roll over onto my back and try to coax my eyes open. I see that the dogs are staring at me from their perch at the foot of the bed. Their big eyes and ears laying flat on their head say "hello! I really have to go here!" UH-OH! rings from the room across the hall. I guess I do, indeed, need to get up.

Mondays are busy. I try to get the house cleaned and get the grocery shopping done. This week, I wouldn't have to go -- except I forgot to buy Little Monster waffles last week, and now we're out.

It's a new week. It's a new day. The sun is shining and the house is trashed from yet another weekend of craziness. I can do one of two things: grumble and get up, be crabby and ruin every one's day because I had to get up too early OR I can get up and get with it. This morning, I got with it. The bed is already stripped, I'm enjoying my coffee while Little Monster pulls at my sleeve so I'll help him into my lap for the fortieth time in the last five minutes only to want down to roll his car across the kitchen. I'm excited. I want the house to be clean, I want to feel that relaxed feeling when everything is in its place.

Okay, do you want to know the real reason? I want a chance to crawl back into bed. And if the house is clean, if my work is done, I'll be able to sleep when Little Monster takes his nap. And that, my friends is worth getting out of bed early for!

Questions Google thinks I can answer...

1. What Counts as Weaned?

If you are talking about nursing, weaning is when your child no longer drinks their milk from your breast. That does not, however, imply that months, even a year or more later your child will not suddenly pull down or lift up your shirt to show off the goods in front of everyone at the grocery store. It also does not imply that he will stop putting his hands between the 'ladies' while he comforts himself to sleep. After all, if weaning did imply those things, there are some grown men who would not be considered 'weaned.'

2. Signs your Baby is hungry?

It depends on the age of the baby. If you're having the same troubles my friend is having now, the fact that he is simply alive and breathing could be a sign that he is hungry. Another signs is crying. However, that could also mean the following things: Baby is dirty, Baby is tired, baby is over stimulated, baby wants to be held, clothing is pinching baby, the dog is looking at the baby, and the baby needs to be burped.

3. Smell of Mothballs and breastfeeding

I know, this isn't a question. But, um, yeah. If you are smelling that, it's time to change your shirt. You probably went to Grandma's house to dig through boxes for old baby toys and leaked a bit. Or, your husband sent you a box so saturated with moth balls that the entire tri-state stinks of cancer causing chemicals.

4. Why do I have to wait until my baby is 4 months old to wean him?

You don't. You do what's best for you and your baby. If you cannot stand the thought of nursing him, or you are not winning the difficult battle that can be nursing a child, you don't wait. You just do it. When it's right for you. Every mommy and every baby is different.


5. You Know you're married when...

You consider buying a fart blanket for the bedroom.

6. Are Mothballs bad for babies?

Um. Yes. Mothballs are just plain bad for everyone and everything. Even mice and bugs are smart enough to stay away from the toxic things. That's why they work.

6. Blow up gophers with propane?

Maybe. Just maybe. Let me know how that works out. If it weren't for the crazy amount of holes in the neighborhood, I'd totally try it too.. But I'm afraid I'd blow up the whole zip code.

7. Is it dangerous to let baby scream while driving?

You should be worried about the fact that the baby is driving. Babies are meant to scream, but generally they are too little to drive. How do they steer and reach the pedals at the same time?

Happy Father's Day!

Father's Day. Not the Momma seems to think that it's wasted on him. But I don't think so. I watch him with Little Monster and know that he deserves something to show our appreciation of what a good Daddy he is.

When we grew up I remember my mom telling me that anyone could be a father, but it takes someone special to be a Daddy. How true is that? My father was never around, and judging by the times that he was, we weren't missing out on much. But my DADDY, I miss him. Every day. My Dad is the person who, even though he didn't meet me until I was a teenager, helped raise me. He taught me to change a tire. He had the patience to teach me how to drive. In the snow. And ice. He is the person who bought my first (and second) car. He is the person who spent hours laboring to fix them and keep them running. My Dad is the person that loaned me money for rent when I moved out and lost my job. My Dad is the person that unloaded an entire POD into his garage, and built a loft for all of my stuff when we lived with him while my husband was in Bahrain. My DAD is the person who said he'd never change a diaper, but did anyway when he met his grandson. My Dad has been there for me since the day he met me. I have no doubt, that he'll be there for me for the rest of his life. That's just the type of person he is.

I know that Not the Momma won't always be around like my Dad was. He won't always be able to be there for Little Monster, because his job will take him away from home more often than he'll be home. But, the difference between an absentee father, and a Daddy, is the desire to be around. Little Monster will not grow up wondering if his Daddy loves him. He will not grow up wondering why his Daddy isn't there for him. Because, even if Not the Momma is in some tin box in the middle of the ocean, Little Monster will know that he's loved. He will know that when Not the Momma gets home, there will be living room wrestling matches, backyard camping trips and Smore's on the grill. He'll know that if he needs a guy to talk to, there will be someone to listen -- even if it is by email. He'll have someone who will have the patience to teach him how to drive. On the ice. And snow. He'll have someone to teach him how to change a tire, ride a bicycle (perhaps even a motorcycle if the XY chromosomes in this household get their way), and play catch with. He will understand that quality time is what is important- not quantity. Little Monster will know, that even if Not the Momma isn't physically around all the time, when he gets on that boat and sails off into the wide blue, he leaves his heart with us.

For all of the DADDY's out there. Happy Father's Day. Always remember that anyone can be a Father, but it take someone special to be a Daddy.

Not much to say...

I'm not really in a 'blogging' space today. My head aches so much I want to have it surgically removed. My throat is all scratchy. I really just don't feel good. I probably would feel better if I had 1) gotten dressed today, or 2) done anything at all. I did play with Little Monster. He tried to get me to ride his little car. Can you picture that? Yeah, a grown woman riding on a baby toy. Not a kid toy, or even a toddler toy, but a baby toy.



I certainly hope no one walked by and saw me, stink lines from my armpits because I didn't shower, bra-less because I didn't get dressed, still in my pajamas, house a mess, riding this:

Next thing you know, I'll be sitting in the exersaucer drooling and making the apple play peek-a-boo with me.

Varicella.

Please, Please, Please tell me my kid does NOT have chicken pox. He can't, RIGHT? RIGHT?

You see, in December, I took him to the doctor, and they got out all the little vials with the medicines and the mercury, and the needles. I stood by while they stabbed his perfect little thighs until his face turned the color of blood, and dogs cowered throughout Nebraska from the sounds that escaped his mouth.

I didn't really want to give him the chicken pox shot. Neither did my husband. I did it, though, because the doctor said he wouldn't be let into kindergarten if he didn't have the shot, and it was safe, and blah blah blah.

So. Tell me, these little pimply looking insect bites that are on his abdomen are something else. They've gotten worse since this morning. If they're still there tomorrow, I'm calling the doctor tomorrow. (Ha, I took him to the doctor last Monday. I wonder WHERE he got the freakin' disease!) Also, who do I complain to that the vaccine didn't keep my kid from getting the chicken pox. I paid good money for that shot.

I'm itchy all over now. yuck.

Bathtime Conversations

We've been trying to get Little Monster to sing the ABC's.. or something along those lines. He now refers to ALL Letters and Numbers as "S." Here's how our bathtime sing-along went:

Not the Momma: AAAA

Little Monster: EEEES

Not the Momma: AAAAAA

Little Monster: EEEESSSSSS

Not the Momma: AAAAAA

Little Monster: EEESSSS

Not the Momma: BEEEE

Little Monster: ESSSS

Not the Momma: BA BA BA

Little Monster: BA BA BA

Not the Momma: BA BA BEEE

Little Monster: BA BA ESSSSS

What a BORING day!

PRAISE GOD! I finally am able to enjoy a boring day.

In the past two weeks, I've endured never ending bicycle rides, earthquake anxiety, more earthquake anxiety, trying to kill my child, and escape artist dogs. This all after my week of Mondays.

I am so grateful to have a day that started off with a shower, and has been full of chores and work. I am grateful that no dogs escaped, no children were harmed, and nothing crazy has happened.

Today, Little Monster figured out how to put on his own shoes. *sigh* They were crocs, so it wasn't like he's tying shoes, but this whole idea of him growing and learning to do things on his own, it's sad in a way. It's like one moment I was trying to figure out if he was really mine, if I actually baked that baby, and now he's turning into a little boy. Tomorrow, I just know he's going to figure out how to start up that car and drive to Burger King to get him some chicky nuggets when he doesn't like the lunch I set out. And right after that, he's going to be packing up and moving out of the house.

Maybe those weeks full of Mondays and days full of crazy stuff, that's not so bad. Then I don't think about all this sappy stuff.

And now for the continuation of my boring day: I'm going to work on laundry. Matching socks, no less.

National What?

National Napping Day.

After the day I've had. I'm on board. Why is it that I manage to schedule AM Dr. appointments for the first Monday after a time change? We made it there okay, on time, but thank heavens I didn't stop for that cup of coffee I so desperately wanted.

When we got home, a neighbor called and wanted to take a walk. Fine, we went. It was about a 3-4 mile walk (maybe?). About 3/4 of the way there her tire on the front of her stroller started to come off. I set the brakes on Little Monster's stroller and set about helping her, because with two kids, the stroller can be heavy. As we were finishing up we heard lots of honking and someone yelling "HEY HEY".. I looked up. And my baby. My stroller. It was gone. No, no one stole my baby. But, the brakes didn't set, so the stroller went barreling down the hill and toppled over leaving my poor Little Monster with a bruise from his eye to the middle of his cheek. And leaving me feeling pretty badly as well. I already hated that stroller. Now I'm thinking of running it over with my car.

Now my head hurts, the Little Monster is napping. (I was told today he's not a baby, so I guess I shouldn't call him that anymore? SADNESS!) I think I am going to follow suit. After all, it is National Napping day.

Our 15 month old is addicted to STARBUCKS???

Tonight started out like any normal night. Immediately after dinner, Little Monster started running around and asking us if he was going to get his nightly Baa-aaah? baaa-aaaah? Translation: bath.

Yes, Little Monster, you're going to get your bath. We went through our normal routine of him tossing about 3/4 of the water out of the tub in various entertaining ways. First there was the splashing, then the pouring, then the splashing again. He even let us lay him on his back to rinse his hair without too much ado. He got his vitamins, dried off, and got to run around and be "NAAAAKEEEEED BABY!" for a while. Then we got him in his jammies. Not the Momma put him to bed so that I could make an important phone call to my dad. All was fine. He said "niiieee niiiieee" made the kissy smack sounds, and rolled over to sleep.

3 minutes later he started crying. We ignored it a bit. Sometimes, he whines while he's falling asleep. 10 minutes later, the crying got a bit worse. He went to sleep. 20 minutes after that, there was a loud thud. Thinking perhaps that Not the Momma forgot to put the crib rail up, I went up to check on Little Monster. Turns out he wasn't asleep yet. Seeing Mommy come into the room, and then leave severely upset the poor child. I tried to get him back to sleep, but every time I tried to return him to his crib after that, he acted as if I was dumping him into a vat of sulfuric acid. He would let his heels and his head touch, and arch his back so high it looked like he was trying out to be some sort of gymnast. After a few minutes of what I like to call "let's torture Mommy time," Not the Momma and I decided we should take him on a car ride. It might help him forget whatever was bothering him so much.

Now, Not the Momma and I, we're bad. REALLY BAD. We both love Starbucks. So much, that when I lived in Virginia Beach, I stopped there every day. I stopped there every day until one day when I drove up in my husband's truck instead of my car... and the dude at the counter said.. "So, you traded in your little blue car for a truck, huh?" I was mortified that I spent so much money in such a regular fashion in one place. That day I resolved to quit drinking the stuff. It worked, because shortly thereafter (3 days later) I found out I was pregnant, no more heavily caffienated drinks for me. But now, Not the Momma is back, and I'm not pregnant anymore. Now, NOW we go to Starbucks, A. LOT. Until tonight, I didn't think that Little Monster understood where we were going, or even cared. But tonight, on our drive, we stopped to get a 'sip for the road.' He wasn't asleep yet, and when he saw that glowing green circle of friendly goodness... I'm a bit embarrassed to admit... His face lit up with a giant smile, he clapped his hands and said.. "YAY!!" more enthusiastically than he has in a long time. Why does he like Starbucks? Not sure. It isn't like we share our drinks with him on a regular basis, no seriously, he's only had a few sips his whole life. Nevermind that his first drink out of a straw was a frappuccino-like drink (thanks Mom). Tonight, though, we paid the same amount of money for a half gallon of milk for about 12 oz. He drank it, and is happily sleeping in bed, with no trauma, and no screaming this time...

But.. When? When did we brainwash our 15 month old kid to be excited about Starbucks? I'm concerned, and maybe... Maybe it's time for Not the Momma and I to lay off the expensive frozen coffee drinks. But then, I hear Not the Momma say "bah" and I totally agree. I'd die without the stuff.

Why people like us shouldn't be allowed to own dogs:

Our dogs aren't perfect. In fact, sometimes they're downright rotten. The girl dog has been known to leave packages in the house from time to time, and so has the boy dog, albeit less often. Until tonight, it had been awhile since either one had misbehaved like that. Until. Tonight.

I was getting the baby ready for his bath, undressing him, etc. I usually undress him, get the water running while he chases Not the Momma, threatening to shoot him with his "fire hose." I walked into the bathroom, and stepped in it. Barefoot. It was a big pile of dog doo. A Giant pile of dog doo. A pile that looked like it had been left by a Great Dane rather than one of my 20 pound terriers. I immediately started yelling. Both dogs looked equally guilty. Not the Momma came out and took the dogs out to their kennels in the garage for a time-out, while he yelled at them too. Meanwhile, I'm gagging, trying to clean it up. After about 10 minutes of this, I notice it's tracked all over the upstairs. The upstairs I just spent the entire evening cleaning. The baby was oblivious to Not the Momma's and my frantic cleaning spree...

... apparently, we were oblivious to something else. After Little monster played peekaboo with me... IN MY CLOSET... IN MY CLEAN CLOTHES, he ran out of the room and into his bedroom. That was when I noticed it. The streak running down the back of his leg and on his foot. There was dog doo ALL OVER THE BABY. HE HAD been PLAYING in the DOG DOO.... Immediately I freaked out and started cleaning him off. While I was cleaning I noticed something. The dog doo that was all over him... Seemed to have come FROM him...

wait... that means.....

THAT GIANT GREAT DANE TURD IN THE BATHROOM CAME FROM LITTLE MONSTER! And now the dogs were being punished for it. Oh lord. We got the baby in the tub, and I went down and made up with the dogs, giving them their favorite treat.. Greenies (don't tell me how I'm killing my dog either, because they've eaten millions of them and have been fine every time). Not the Momma wondered why the Girl Dog, who normally sulks and rolls over into the submissive position whenever she's in trouble, came over to him wagging her tail and licking him after the whole ordeal... The Boy Dog... Well, he looks guilty every time anyone gets in trouble, so that explains his behavior...

We are the WORST. DOG PARENTS. EVER. Yes. Ever. But they don't seem to know. And Little Monster? No more dried apples for him. ;)

HELP US ALL!!

That's right.. We're officially in trouble. Little Monster... Well, he's kind of an adrenaline junky. I didn't know that was something you would find out at such a young age. He's spent the morning standing on all fours with his head at the floor (much like he does when he's getting ready to stand up), keeping his head down for a while.. Then, standing up fast... He likes the head rush.

For the past thirty minutes, he's been running around in circles, making himself dizzy.. Then giggling and yelling as he falls down to the ground. He's crazy that kid. But, I love him anyway.

Grocery Shopping can be fun....

... and no, I'm not on drugs. Not yet, anyway. The other day I went grocery shopping. I have to say that it was probably the most enjoyable experience I've had while shopping by myself with the Little Monster. He was very well behaved, and enjoyed the trip. Not because I drugged him, but because I picked out a "fun" cart.

Rather than have him sit in one of the rusty old carts that they have sitting out in the open, for the first time I opted for the cart that has two steering wheels at the top of the cart (where he'd normally be sitting anyway), because it was plastic, and not likely to give him tetanus if he opted to chew on the cart like he normally does. This was the best. decision. ever. He spent the entire time "driving" around, and flirting with people. He loved the fact that he could see where we were going and had his own steering wheel. If he started to get unruly, I'd just tell him he needed to help drive, or we'd crash. Sometimes we did crash, because I'm a terrible driver and the cart is a bit bigger than normal. And then there's the fact that I put him in the "passenger" side, rather than the driver side. Not an issue until the 15 month old starts grabbing everything within reach because he's on the wrong side of the cart. What is in reach? Just about everything! But all in all, I love these carts. I think I'll look for them whenever I grocery shop from now on. Now.. if only Target could get some of these carts.. Who knew that he was already old enough to enjoy things like "driving" around the grocery store? Not the Momma kept telling he he isn't old enough to enjoy that stuff. Is it because he really isn't, or is it because we aren't ready for him to be the little boy and not the baby? I don't know..

Learning Explosion?

For some reason I had the impression that children learned things gradually through exploration and observation. Except that for some reason, Little Monster has suddenly learned all kinds of things, EVERYTHING. The amount of sudden "understanding" is amazing! The other day he performed his new trick of "Where's the ear, where's the nose." Today. Today the dogs ducked, because our socks were knocked so hard that they went flying across the room. Why?

Grami: "LittleMonster, why don't you let me change your pants?"
Little Monster, who is playing with his music table, looks up.
Grami: "Go get me a diaper and bring it here so that I can change your diaper."
Little Monster leaves his most beloved of music tables where he is rocking out to the tunes of "Jimmy Cracked Corn" and the "ABC's." Begins to walk towards the area where his toybox and diapers are kept.
Grami & I share a look that says "If he actually does that it's going to knock my socks off."
Little Monster goes over, and digs in diaper box. Pulls. Out. A. Diaper.
Another look is shared between Grami & I. We take off our shoes so that no one is injured *just in case* he actually follows the directions.
Grami: "Little Monster, bring me your diaper. I'll change your pants."

And then it happened. It's a good thing we removed shoes. Windows could have been broken from the force of the flying socks.. and that would have let all of the snow in.

Yes, he brought the diaper to my mother. Then let her change him without making a fuss.

I think I'm too easy on that kid. If he can do that, shouldn't he be able to fix his own food? What about let the dogs out? Can he pack the boxes and supervise the movers? If he can do that, he should be able to go to the store and get his own milk. Because it's snowing. and it's cold. And my Passat doesn't like to be taken out of the garage in all of that cold. And if that's the case, I might be able to get some work done around here.

Amazing, Truly Amazing.

Tonight Little Monster was running around, like he always does: getting into everything, throwing newspapers around, chasing the dogs, etc. He bent down at one point, touching his toes, which led me to make up a little impromptu song: Touch your toes, la la la, touch your nose. His response: He. put. his. finger. ON. HIS. NOSE. Maybe this makes me a bad mom, but I had NO idea he would actually listen to the words of the song and then follow the directions... correctly. I was floored. After we cheered his ability to follow those directions (and partially to get his finger OUT of his nose) I added to the song "Touch your ear." He did that as well. He had done that a few days ago, but I thought for sure it had been a fluke. He refused to show us his ear again until tonight. In one moment, I realized how stupid I've been for underestimating how much Little Monster actually understands.

This motherhood thing, it's amazing. How can one job make you feel like the biggest idiot that ever walked the face of the planet, entertain you with such simple things and at the same time make you feel like the most important, most loved person ever. Ever. I love it. It's amazing. Truly Amazing.

Temper Tantrums?

When I took the baby to the doctor, a nurse said "He might begin throwing temper tantrums now." I laughed, because I honestly thought I had experienced Little Monster's temper tantrums. Oh, how wrong was I. I now believe that until that moment, he didn't know he could throw temper tantrums. He heard her say that, took it to heart and began practicing the art of throwing temper tantrums immediately. After watching him the past few days, I'm sure he is still perfecting the art of throwing himself to the floor and screaming a sound so shrill that only dogs can hear. Its no wonder the poor creatures have been running around looking like they are going to throw up. They think they are being summoned by some new sort of satanic dog whistle.

That very afternoon, he got on the floor, grabbed both of my ankles, one with each arm and proceeded to scream and cry when I took something away from him (even though I said please and thank-you), thus beginning the "temper tantrum" stage. He hadn't quite perfected the art of getting to the floor. Initially it was more of a squat, kneel, then lie down. The "landing" has gotten a bit more dramatic in the past few days and now is becoming more of one fluid motion, rather than several awkward steps.

My biggest concern: If he doesn't have the "landing" perfected, is he still working on that scream too? If that scream gets any shriller, any louder, I'm worried that some nuclear missile in some silo somewhere out here in the Midwest is accidentally going to go off. Car alarms all over the city will ring out. If he can make that scream better, I'm doing what the dude at Faslane told me to do if the Nuke siren went off "Go to one of the buildings listed on this card and take cover... but what I really mean is pitch it and run."

TWO DAYS LEFT!!!

There are only two days left of Nabloplomo. I am pretty proud of myself. Even on days when I have been unable to post to the internet, I have written something to post. There has been something each day, and I haven't resorted to photos or one-liners, most of the time.

I must apologize that as soon as Nabloplomo is over, the posting will probably slow down A LOOOOOT. You see, we have movers coming next week, Not the Momma returns home next weekend (not this one, the next one.) We have another week, then we're off to CA. I can only hope that I won't be trapped without internet for too long, but then, who knows?

Oh, and for those of you who are interested: The baby weighed in at a little over 24 pounds, a little over 31 inches, and is doing great. No anemia, etc. yada yada. The shots however? They sucked. DO NOT watch them jam the three inch needles into your baby's thigh. You will think they have scratched the bone. The finger prick and squeeze was the worst. He was traumatized by that. Every time he saw the band-aid on his finger the tears would resume. It has been pathetic.

Why I'm going grey before 30:

Just a few minutes from my day today:

12:20 PM: On the phone with work, trying to work out a design "crisis." Baby is smearing peanut butter all over his hands, but making mmmm sounds because he likes it sooo much.

12:35 PM: Baby is done with lunch, but covered in peanut butter. Start bath water.

12:37 PM: Take down baby gates so as not to kill self/baby while carrying him around.

12:39 PM: Remove tray from high chair and put in sink to rinse contents.

12:40 PM: Get baby out of high chair carefully, so as NOT to get peanut butter all over myself.

12:41 PM: Get baby in bathroom, unsnap top of outfit. Doorbell rings.

12:42 PM: Race stupid dog to the door, kicking him off of the baby and me while trying to figure out who in the world would be so stupid as to show up NOW.

12:43 PM: Watch the FedEX man run away after he left package at door. Set baby down for ONE SECOND to open door and grab box, while trying to beat off the dog who really wants to attack the FedEX man and smother him with kisses.

12:44 PM: FedEX man drives off, dog busts through the door and finds a technician from the city's electric company to bark at while chasing their truck/trailer. Hang up on poor guy from work, pick up baby, because there are NO baby gates up, and the bath water is running. I pick up peanut butter covered baby, run outside screaming like an idiot at the (*&#@^* dog, who instead of going inside when I threaten to send him to Doggy Heaven runs the other way. Continue this for what seems like forever. In my pajamas and slippers, in front of the guys from the electric company, the neighbors, and God. Continue screaming and chasing dog until he realizes that certain death is near if he does not GET BACK INSIDE THE HOUSE YOU STUPID DOG! RIGHT NOW! I MEAN IT! YOU GET BACK INSIDE THIS VERY INSTANT BEFORE I KILL YOU! BUSTER! GET INSIDE NOOOOOOW! INSIDE! INSIDE!INSIDE NOOOOW!

12:53 PM: Finally get stupid dog back inside, shut door and get baby into the bath. Notice the house looks like a herd of tazmanian devils have torn through it. Forget about the mess and bathe the baby.

12:54 PM: Baby decides he is done with the bath and tries to climb out of the tub, but slips and barely misses having his precious head smashed into the floor.

1:10 PM: Baby is washed, cleaned and dressed. I can finally relax. RIIIGHT. I still have to clean up the lunch mess, pick up toys, shower, dress and become presentable, finish up the "design crisis" artwork, call work back (because I hung up on them, remember?), email about 4 other clients back about their design work and go grocery shopping, all before 4:00 so that I can leave to head to in-laws for dinner on time.

That, my friends is the reason for the big grey hair in the middle of my forehead. The one I want to pluck, but am afraid to for fear that seven friends actually will show up to mourn its loss.