Growing Boys

Look at this guy.  He's all done pre-school.  (Sniff, sniff).  He'll start KINDERGARTEN, people.  Kindergarten.  I can't get my brain around that.  I expect I'll come to terms with his being in kindergarten around the time he graduates high school.

That picture, as you can clearly read in the background (I'd be an awful spy, or member of the witness relocation program) was taken at Dutch Wonderland, which we hit up while on a visit to New Jersey.  Wiggles got to decorate his own cookie.  (And he only licked one of the communal icing spreaders.)

Then there's this big man:

Yes, he's pulling himself up!  He crawls, ladies and gentlemen, but apparently that's not enough for him.  No, in order to keep up with Big Brother, he must walk, or preferably, run.

Oh, and did I mention he's talking?  Granted, most of it's babbling, but we've got one word that has a definite meaning:  "Bwa."  Sometimes, "Bwa-bwa."  It's brother, my friends.  Chicken nugget will ask for Big Brother by name.  This morning, he looked at Wiggles, said, "Bwa,", and then proceeded to make raspberries (one of his favourite things to have Wiggle Man do).

We've had a crazy couple of weeks around here, with trips and sick babies and sick kids, but maybe, just maybe, we can settle into normal for a while.  I've gone back to running, which I missed, but running brings with it the scheduling I have not missed.  Trying to find time for the Rev to be home when it's not dark out, or the heat of the day is hard.  I think I'm going to get some reflectors, or some blinkie lights so I'll be able to run in the dark.  The more I think about it, the  more I like that.  It's cooler out, and no one has to get a good visual of me huffing and puffing out there.

So, that's life around here lately.

Kisses,

Chicken Nugget

Chicken Nugget is 8 months old now.

He combat crawls with lightning speed.

He's already my little trouble maker, trying to see how many forbidden things he can cram into his mouth.

He still seems to have dairy issues, as I learned after I tried some yogurt melts with him.  And had reaffirmed after I mistakenly gave him lasagna...I forgot it had cheese in it.  Poor boy.

With the 2nd top tooth now through, Chicken Nugget officially has 4 teeth.

He loves big brother; no one makes him laugh quite like WM does. Even yesterday, in the grip of a fever (induced by the teething, I think...I hope...) he still giggled at WM's antics.

Blessings, by Laura Story, still calms him down when nothing else will.  In fact, it's playing right now while he naps.

And, while we wish he slept longer at night (le sigh), we're loving life with two sweet boys.

Here are my boys at (roughly) the same age:  (7, 8ish months.)

Chicken Nugget:

Wiggle Man:

Mudder's Day

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. "Mudder's Day", as Wiggle Man calls it. 

Except now I can't call him Wiggle Man.  He asked us, in a very big kid sort of way, if we could stop calling him that.  Le sigh.  So, we call him by his proper name now, and here, well, I guess I'll refer to him as W. 

Chicken Nugget is growing like crazy.  While he's average for weight, he's 80th percentile for height.  This means his onesies are super baggy around the middle, but barely button at the bottom.  Clearly, Mr. Tall and Lanky did not inherit my figure. 

He's also teething.  Again.  So between that and the constant growth spurts (are they spurts if it's all the time?) he's not really sleeping.  No, ladies and gentlemen, my baby who starting sleeping 8 hour stretches at 4 months is now waking every 3 hours.  And has been for almost 2 months.  If you see me with an eye twitch and glazed look, now you know why.

In the midst of the crazy, there's a card on the mantle.  W couldn't wait until tomorrow to give me the card he made in school.  There are thumbprint lady bugs, and fingerprint bees fly above foam sticker flowers and green marker grass. 

I think I'm going to frame it.

Mudderhood.  It's messy and joyful, heartbreaking and silly.  It makes me feel like a giant failure, and like the queen of the world. 
Happy Mother's Day,

Not Awesome

I'm sitting here waiting to see if Chicken Nugget is actually going to nap or not.   I gently laid him in his crib, drowsy but awake as per all the expert's suggestions.  Now we wait.  And I'm certainly not going to start anything productive until I know he's actually asleep.

So I thought I'd make you a list.  A list of things that are Not Awesome.  So here it is:

Things That Are Not Awesome:

Finding one of those hairy little spiders that look like teeny tarantulas in the car.

Losing him before you can squish him.

When your 4 year old walks in just as you've put the baby in the crib and loudly asks, "Whatcha doin', Mama?"

The face I make as I shoo him from the room.

Buying pj's for your 4 year-old's pajama day at school, because said 4 year-old only sleeps in his underwear.

Finding Scooby Doo jammies, only to find that the smallest size at Target is two sizes too big.

Buying them anyway.

Paying $17 for jammies that will, in all likelihood, get worn once.

Baby spit up.

Socks. 

Baby socks that never fit, but are darn cute anyway.

The fact that as soon as I finish this list and start doing something, Chicken Nugget will wake up. 

Kisses,

Little Comedian

Let me tell you--Wiggle Man has been on fire this week.  Just now, I picked him up to give him a kiss, and he informed me, "You smell like oven."  (Awesome.)

I asked him what he learned in Sunday School this week.  He told me his teacher taught him about clouds and storms, and that Jesus would protect him from "storms, and ghost-es and haunted houses."  (You should know at this point his favourite book right now is Scooby Doo and the Haunted House.)

So I said, "That's why we don't need to be afraid of those things, right?"
Wiggles:  "Nope.  But I don't think Shaggy and Scooby know that."

Me:  "Well, someone should tell them."

Wiggles:  "Maybe Fred."

Earlier this week, he asked me about breastfeeding.  Pointing to my chest, he asked, "Mama, did I sip out of those when I was a baby?"

Me:  "Yes, for a couple of weeks, and then you drank bottles."

Wiggles:  "Did Chicken Nugget sip out of those?"

Me:  "For a couple of days, and then he got bottles, too.

Wiggles:  "Oh.  Do you make chocolate milk?"

No, Wiggle Man.  Mama has enough trouble making regular milk with these things, let alone specialty varieties. 


Kisses,

Life With 2 Boys

I'm slowly adjusting to my new life as mommy to 2 boys.  Granted, one of them does a lot of sleeping, and the other has learned to, you know, poop in the potty and stuff, but still.  Mama to 2 of the little stinkers. 

Most of the time, they manage to make me laugh.  So what if that laughter occasionally verges on the maniacal, and I'm telling Wiggle Man that he may have to come visit me in the Asylum. 

Wiggles is at that lovely point in life where he knows enough about certain of life's, um, more delicate procedures, but not enough to understand when and where to talk about them.  For instance, a hushed furniture store is not the place to happily prance out of the restroom and loudly annouce, "Mama, I just made a GIANT poop!"  (Complete with hand gestures approximating size of said poop.)

Wiggle Man is convinced that the Rev's sinus issues have to do with rogue beard hair that has traveled up his Daddy's nose.  I'm not sure if he thinks the hair has grown upwards, or if it traveled there post-shave. 

Then there are his Wiggle-isms. 

"Mama, I want to eat with chomp-sticks, so I can be like Kai-lan."  (Thanks, Nick Jr. for your foray into multi-culturalism.)

"Don't leave fer-out me!"  (Oh, Wiggles.  We'd never leave home ferout you.)

"My day is RUINED!"  (He's a bit of a diva, what can I say.)

"Police la-di-da."  (Feliz Navidad, judging by the tune.) 

His baby brother, whose nickname we are still debating, has his share of humour, as well.  Cranky Man, as the Rev seems to think he should be called, causes fits of laughter every time he sticks out his sad, sad little lower lip to cry. 

Chicken Nugget, as I like to call him, still has a slightly odd shaped head.  I can't remember if that's normal still at 3 months, or due to the torticollis.  Regardless, it makes him look a little like a cartoonish evil genius.  So when he gets really angry (like, say, his bottle is 2.56 seconds later than he'd prefer) his face gets all red and he shakes with tiny, tiny rage, I keep waiting for him to shout, "Curse you, Perry the Platypus" or something like that.

Anyway, that's my life these days. Diapers, preschool, bottles, stories, and occasionally, to curl up on a chair with Wiggles and a Cranky Chicken Nugget, and have a bit of a nap. 

Police La-di-da, and Happy New Year, y'all. 

Kisses,

Good News/Bad News

It's been a while since I've done one of these posts, but I thought it might be fun to bring it back, so here goes:

The Good News is that Wiggle Man is feeling better after a weekend long cold, and is actually eating normally.
The Bad News is that eating normally right now includes informing me that the mac n' cheese I made him for lunch "tastes disgusting."  I then attempted to add some shredded cheese to it for him, but was told that I had "scrunched up" the cheese. 

The Good News is that Bam Bam has a new nickname.  While he's as strong now as he was in the womb, he's so laid back that Bam Bam doesn't seem to suit him.
The Bad News (for him) is that I've taken to calling him Chicken Nugget.  I'm sure he'll love that in about 10 years.

The Good News is that the humongaloid spider in Wiggle Man's room this morning was not, in fact, a Brown Recluse as I suspected, and that the Rev graciously, and without mocking me, removed it for me.
The Bad News is that there was a honking humongaloid spider in Wiggle Man's room when I woke him up this morning.  UCK.  (*Cue extensive shuddering*)

The Good News is that Chicken Nugget is perfectly content to sleep through his big brother's temper tantrums.
The Bad News is his big brother's temper tantrums.  I am not as adept at blissfully ignoring them.

The Good News is that I can zipper and button my "big" pre-pregnancy jeans, and zipper and almost button (using the good ol' hair elastic trick) my "tiny" pre-pregnancy jeans.
The Bad News is there is a serious case of muffin top in both instances.  Also, I'm trying not to get too optimistic, since the first couple of weeks after Wiggle Man was born I was almost back to my pre-pregnancy weight.  Then things got very, very scary.
The Good News about that is that my midwife thinks she knows why my body did that, and what we can do to prevent it this time around.  Here's hoping.

The Good News is that I love banana bread, and made a pretty awesome healthified version of it last week.  Whole wheat flour, applesauce instead of oil--next time I may even throw in some flax seed.
The Bad News is that I cannot imagine banana bread without chocolate chips.  And I may have consumed the entire loaf myself over the course of the weekend.  There's nothing wrong with banana bread for dinner, right?  (Before any cyber-detectives jump on this--yes, I know eating tons of banana bread and popcorn is not likely to prevent the scary weight gain from recurring.  I promise, I usually eat very well; my calorie intake is not the cause.)

The Good News is that Chicken Nugget slept long enough for me to eat lunch, and type this post. 
The Bad News is that I have to now wake a sleeping baby to feed him...and waking a sleeping baby's never good.

Kisses,