the week

It was, you know, a week in January.  We wore a lot of pajamas.  Half the time, I couldn't get onto the internet from home, so that was obviously a quite painful experience.  The other half of the time, things like these were happening.  (I'm doing this in lieu of the old iphone week in review thing.  Because Blurb, you know?  STUPIDDAMNBLURB is STILL making me CRAZY.)  (And ALSO because Picnik isn't working right and will soon be dead for real, which is MEGA sadface.)

that'd be a vivi meltdown, folks.  bleeping molars.

oh, what?  you're not wearing your night vision goggles?  oh.  that's the PBK delivery truck that wedged itself in a snowbank, requiring many men and many trucks and chains and HOURS to be freed from the end of our driveway.  anderson?  THRILLED.

tired, runny nosed, and teething on the right.  sickie on the left.  that'd be my sad pale sickie face, people.  yikes.

then there was the day i left them with a box of mac n' cheese on a friend's porch and peeled out.  buh-bye!  i went home and attempted recovery via a nap.
*i'm kidding.  i waited until she pulled into her garage to peel out.

laundry detergent, dumped, then smeared to and fro with the broom.
*stock photo
*but it happened again and i was in no mood for picturing. 

and then ... saturday.  glorious, babysitter saturday.  i did this, ignored the stink eye for my unshaven legs, and i drank my coffee, and i went to the lake cabin and stared the the log walls.  the quiet, quiet log walls.  then i went home and squeezed my babies, because, you know, i actually kind of missed 'em.

It's a movie and early to bed night 'round these parts.  I'm contemplating Contagion.  But I'm also contemplating whether I might never leave the house again if I watch it?  I'll be back soon with pics of Vivi's big slash little girl room, that did FINALLY get assembled at 8:30pm when Willy got freed.  Our girl will probably be tented in that crib (ahem... princess castle) until college, but her new bed is most perfect for pre-bedtime reading and snuggles.

it's january which means blah

I don't even know what to tell you about my boringness of late.  It's January.  I've got the January blahs.  Don't we all?  At least those of us whose yards are frozen under a foot or two of snow and whose faces are a pasty shade of blah?  I mean, BLAH.  So I don't have much to blog about, except BLAH.  I only blogged that last post because my cousin (hiiiiii, Michelle!) was like "yo, blog!" and I was like "blah!  Fine I will!"

So, you know, it's cold.  And snowy.  Those are the days I like though, the snowy ones.  The ones that suck are the ones that are all "oh, hey, look at me, I'm sunshiney!" and then you go outside and your face freezes off in 2.2 frigid seconds.  Just be REAL, weather.  So due to the snow and the face freezing frigidness, more days than not these past few weeks, the kids stay in their jammies and we forgo the whole "leaving the house" thing.  (I do NOT stay in my jammies.  I change from my jammie black leggings to my "dressed" black leggings.  Fine line, but big diff.)  And as per usual, we've had minor maladies here and there.  Had you seen me at Walgreens on Sunday morning, you'd have seen laxatives in my one hand and diarrhea meds in the other.  (And Boogie Wipes and vitamins and Marie Claire under my arm because HELLO I need some distraction from the pooping.  And the non-pooping.  And the whining about the non-pooping.)  It's just been that kind of week(s), you know?  Blahville.

And speaking of blah, this presidential address.  BLAH BLAH BLAH.  How glad are we that MTV doesn't play the State of the Union?  Thank you, MTV, for priorities.  And Teen Mom 2.  I can't wait to see Jenelle bond with her roomie!

Don't get me wrong, people, I'm not complaining.  All is well.  The kids are healthy in all the ways that matter, the roof is over our head andsuch, the cats all sleep on one bed from time to time without biting each other.  I'd take blah over "ZOMGDRAMAZ!" any old day, you know?  And there was a break in the blah in the form of a plethora of good news in my inbox today.  Those whose news it was know who you are .... thanks for sharing.  And YAYSKIS all around!

ps: Vivian still thinks that thing is a princess castle.  She runs up to her "princess castle" at nap time and is like "in dah  castle!  Wip me in!"  Wip = zip.  Okay, kid, if you insist!  And her sleep?  Back to Vivi normal, which is real kid awesome.  Thank.  You.  GOD.  And also Megan (friend Megan not sister Megan) for being the voice of reason on the matter.  THANK YOU MEGAN.

nap time

Turns out, the pets like nap time as much as mama does.  And that's a LOT.

yeah, no.

You were wondering how the big girl bed thing was working for us?

She thinks it's a princess castle.  Tell her otherwise and I'll break your teeth.

perspective

I got a healthy dose of it this week.  Perspective, I mean.

You see, V's had some odd bruising the past few weeks.  Her armpit, around her shoulder blades, the back of her calf.  Not places you expect a toddler to bruise, even a monkeyish 2 year old toddler with rambunctious 3 year old brother and a clumsy moose of a puppy.  I was nervous about it, but kind of did the ostrich head-in-sand thing.  Then, a friend saw Vivi without her shirt on (changing into a princess dress at a play date, not like we just walk around topless in January as a general rule).  And the friend suggested, kindly and calmly, that I make a doctor's appointment.  (Thanks, friend, for looking out for my littles like you do.)  And instead of being a rational human being and just making the appointment and keeping my cool, I went home, put the kids down for naps, and consulted Dr. Google.  I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW.  Dumb-zo.  By midway through naptime, I was having a full blown meltdown.  Don't ever, ever, ever google "2 year old, unexplained bruising" or anything of the sort.  Because you'll end up on a message board for something so scary I don't even want to say it out loud here.  And you'll read all these scary stories, and you'll cry, and you'll call your mom and make HER cry, and you'll have a really awful day and not even be able to look at your daughter without crying some more.  And then your sister will have to come over after work at 3:00 in the afternoon and answer your insane questions likesuchas "does she look PALE to you?"  To which your sister, being funny, deadpans "she's a white kid in the midwest in January.  I mean, duh?"  Touche.  But still, I worried.  Bumblebee?  She completes us.  She's our sparkle, you know?  We didn't even know we needed her, but now, I know she was JUST the sweet little thing we needed.  Any the thought of anything being wrong that I couldn't fix just absolutely tore me up inside and made me barf.

Let's just say there wasn't much quality sleep last night.

And this morning, we took her to her pedi.  Her new pedi, who I love, because she's The Awesomest Ever.  As opposed to her old pedi, who tried to double vaccinate her and doubted my instincts on the regular and greeted us at every appointment with "nice to meet you" even though we'd met her eleventy billion times previously.  Regardless.  I half expected the new pedi to be all "okay mom, you're crazypants, but here, I'll indulge your crazy and bill you a bajillion and a half dollars doing so."  That wasn't so much how it went.  The nurse looked concerned.  Then the doctor came in looking equally concerned.  Then they gave her a new puzzle, a juice box, and some animal crackers while we waited for the arm numbing meds to work before the blood draw, and I felt like they were being WAY too nice to her for people who I was hoping weren't terribly concerned.  And fifteen minutes later, they took five gallons of blood from my baby.  She screamed and screamed, and I laid beside her on the exam table holding her close and trying to hide the quiver in my voice as I sang into her ear.

And then, we left, and we waited.  J fetched A from the friends' house he was staying at, I drove home with shaky hands and a tear faced, hiccuping baby girl in the backseat, and we all went home for lunch.  The kids watched Dora, J and I sat silently.  He pretending he wasn't nervous, me pretending to believe him and distracting myself with internet nonsense.  And finally, the pedi called.  And, thank God, said all was well.  Everything looked perfect.  Nothing amiss.  Every blood test came back smack dab in the normal range.  It's likely she's just a fair skinned kid who's going to bruise, and the crawling out of her crib act she's been pulling probably wasn't helping.  And maybe that the daily dose of chlorine and sunshine she soaked up during our California trip irritated her sensitive skin and some of the marks aren't bruises at all but random irritations.  But all that matters is, we're not facing the Big Scary Things.  I all but fell to my knees in thanks.  I'm so thankful.

Puts it all in perspective, you know?  My babies are healthy.  Chocolate chip throwing, night waking, choo choo tug of warring, car seat fighting, grocery store screaming ..... HEALTHY kids.  That's all that matters.  Oh, I'm not saying I won't be back here by Thursday afternoon with a woeful tale of some random thing flushed down the toilet while I unloaded the dishwasher (Saturday it was my not cheap bottle of facial tanner) .... but this scare was a reminder to cherish every.  single.  moment.  They're all precious.  All of them.

Like this moment.  From tonight.

GULP.

She's in a toddler bed.  (And a tutu.  Because duh.)  Vivi was climbing out of the crib like a mad lady lately, and after today, we decided better safe (take toddler bed plunge) than sorry (headfirst plunge from the top of the crib).  I'm literally knocking on wood as I tell you she got all tucked in and ..... went to sleep.  Not a single teeny Vivi toe out of that bed.  Maybe it will be that easy?  Famous last words?  DUN DUN DUNNNNN.

fun

You haven't had fun until you've spent ten minutes on your hands and knees at 8:30pm (an HOUR after you put your kid to bed, mind you) in your pajamas picking melty chocolate chips out of his bedroom carpet while he looks on sobbing "DADDY!  DADDY!  I WANT MY DADDY!  NOT MY MOMMY!"  And this, just after he crept into his (sleeping) sister's room and tossed a handful of chocolate chips into her crib, which of course a) wakes her up and b) makes her scream as anyone would scream if they were sleeping peacefully and it suddenly rained chocolate chips on their face and c) alerted me to the choco-chip festivities going on overhead in the first place.  And all this, just after your beloved Packers are defeated, and not just barely or in one of those games you walk away from the TV set saying "oh, but they gave it their all" ... but in a sad, slow, came into our house and stole our thunder kind of game.  And J's team lost today, too, so there's that.  Football,  YOU'RE DEAD TO US.

It wasn't the finest Sunday ever, is what I'm saying to you.  I might be slightly crabby.  I might have went on a little FB defriend-athon after that game, and it felt GOOD.  You're safe, my friend, unless you're a Viking fan gloating on FB.  And if you ARE a Viking fan gloating the Packer loss on FB, I've got a select three words for you: three and thirteen.  And also: your outfits are purple.  Sadface.

But.  My husband kindly offered to do the grocery shopping while I took a bath and watched the Globes, AND came home with a hot fudge Sunday in hand.  And my kid, while wily and tooth-grindingly-challenging these past seven or so days, is healthy and will someday not be three anymore .... so there's that.

The week will only get better from here.  Right?  Right?  RIGHT?!?!

in which i go BLABLABLABLA!

I'm alive.  And semi-well.  I just haven't been feeling the blog thing this week.  Or anything requiring concentration, creativity, or patience, really.  Mostly because my kid?  The bigger one who I love so much I typically want to smush him with hugs 200 times a day?  More often than not this week, I've been stifling the urge just to SMUSH HIM LIKE A BUG.  (Ha.  Bug.)  Like, putting them down for naps (thank you Lord Jesus Christ in heaven for naps) and laying in my bed crying for ten minutes because I just.  can't.  deal.  Why did everyone lie and tell me the twos were terrible?  LYING LIARS WHO LIE!  They were, like, the terrifically non-terrible cakewalk twos in comparison to the threes.  The Totally Terrifying Terrible Threes.  I say yes, he says no (ten times).  I say go, he says stop.  I say put some pants on for the love of God before you freeze your penis right off, he says "NO PANTS TIME OUT MOMMY."  Water must have ice, and crushed, or ELSE.  Shirts must not have hoods.  Puppies must not touch socks, or socks are tainted and will not be tolerated.  Ketchup must go in that spot on the plate, not that other spot.  Sisters must not touch choo-choos.  Mommies must not get coffee on the way to the gym, because that involves STOPPING and WAITING, neither of which are allowed.

It's not just Bug, though.  (Because really, he's three, and this shall pass.  I know.)  I'm just ..... irritable with many things.  My car smells like something died in it and I don't know what (all three cats are accounted for.)  I can't keep up with the laundry to save my soul.  The puppy bit the kitty and now his tail is broke.  I still have a Christmas gift on my dining table that I didn't even SEND.  I wasted two hours of my life last night on TM2 (just get your bleeping GED already, Chelsea!)  My internet keeps blinking out on me.  Every picture I take this week has blurry eyes.  I haven't backed up my iPhoto in, um, forever and that sometimes keeps me up at night.  My Blurb book isn't working right.  You know the weekly iPhone photo week in review I've painstakingly dedicated myself to week after week?  That I even upgraded to the $5/month Picnik to make happen?  Well, it's not transferring into the book well, because the pictures are SQUARE and BLURBFORBID we have a format for that, so as of now I've got a book with one stupid (title) page done because the rest of it is frustrating me too much to even look at it.  As I told a friend complaining about her own Blurb struggles, at this point, I'm putting my faith in a magic Blurb fairy constructing my book perfectly and sending it my way when it's done.  Perfectly.

Ahem.  Deep breath.

I want my villa back.  With a nanny, this time.

Aren't you glad I came out of hiding for this (Aunt Tammy?  Are you?  Ha!  Love you for caring.)

I'll end this on a better note.  Upon the recommendation of my friend Katie (who, fortunately for her, is on the short list of people/things that have NOT made my shitlist this week, quite the opposite really) I joined a Project 2012 this year.  This one here.  Because, obvi, so much free time on my hands.  But no, really, I wanted to do this for me.  I love playing with my camera and want to get better.  Not because I want to be a fancypants photog or anything, but because I'd like to one day have at least half of the eyeballs in my pictures be in focus.  Andsuch.  So anyway, I decided to combine the project's monthly inspiration challenge with the Project 52, and come toddler hell or high water, I'm making it happen.  January's word is "fresh", so my personal goal is one picture each week illustrating "fresh."  Weeks one and two.  Both of Vivi, because she's not three.

1 | 52
funky fresh, this girl of mine.

2 | 52
freshly fallen flakes