And now, at 1:45pm, they're both awake from their naps well ahead of the mom-approved Anderbug wake up time of 3pm. The big one's in his crib talking to that creepyass monkey, the little one's in her swing filling her pants. So with that, over and out. I'm headed downstairs to grab another caffeinated beverage before braving the monkey. And the pants.
Friday, April 30, 2010
It's not good when your Friday starts this way: your husband, instead of delivering your morning caffeine fix to the bathroom while you're getting ready, calls out from the kitchen "um, honey? I think you're out of luck." And that's how you end up at Walmart at 8am with two babies, because that caffeine is a serious necessity and nothing to mess around without. (We needed cat food and TP as well. I'm not a total fiend.) And I didn't know it yet, but I was REALLY going to need that caffeine. Because what followed was a morning for the record books, if there were record books kept for "Least Fun Friday Mornings Ever". Nothing ground breaking, just the expected chaos that comes with a toddler and a baby and an undercaffeinated, overwhelmed mother. There was screaming from V when I tried to take a walk, the little missy making it very clear to all 450+ of our subdivision neighbors that she had no interest in being out in the stroller. Then there was screaming from A when I pushed the stroller back into the house because he DID want to be out in the stroller. Then more screaming from both littles while I scrambled to fill a sippy cup and a bottle at the same time and didn't deliver fast enough for anyone's liking (and in my frantic haste ended up not screwing the sippy cup lid on just right so when the toddler threw his sippy cup the whole kitchen got a milk bath). Then there was more screaming from A that pretty much lasted the whole morning through- one "terrible 2-ish" tantrum after another over a whole lot of nothing (not being allowed to stop the wash machine mid-cycle, not being allowed to play with my cell phone, having his nose wiped for the 85th time, being given GREEN vegetables when what he really wanted was ORANGE vegetables, etc.) And by the end of the morning, the screaming was MINE when I backed up the sink trying to shove a pound of carrot peels down the garbage disposal and was showered by a regurgitation of nasty carrot colored sludgy water. Nothing says "awesome day" like plunging your sink to a chorus of nonsensical screaming.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Oh, what a difference a
day Z-pak makes. You may have noticed a lack of updates. Or maybe you hadn't, since my blog isn't the center of your universe. (I sure hope my blog isn't the center of your universe, anyway, or you're kind of creepy.) Regardless of whether you noticed or not, I haven't been blogging this week. Or doing anything, really, that required mustering up any amount of energy or enthusiasm. (Besides raising my kids. I have been doing that with a little help from Sesame Street and Baby Einstein. Sue me.) My springtime allergies morphed into a sinus infection and I found myself last night at CVS once more, picking up some drugs. After I'd been attacked by my BBQ grill backing out of my garage. Or maybe I attacked the grill (with my front fender and lackluster driving skills). Details, details. As my papa would say, "they make new fenders every day! Grills, too!"
Anyway. I digress.
I'm on drugs now, and I'm feeling like life is good again. The sun is shining and the birds are chirping and my babies are happy and fun. And busy. A sampling of the busyness:
A's learning about fashion. I was pulling some things together for our upcoming California vacation (YAY! CALIFORNIA VACATION! BEACHES AND MARGARITAS AND GRANDPARENTS WHO WILL ENTERTAIN MY CHILDREN!) and the Mister took a liking to my beaded headband. I had to explain that black beaded headbands and navy striped t-shirts do not a chic outfit make, no matter how bright your smizing skills (that one's for you, Binky). (Smiling with your eyes, for those that aren't Binky. Or Tyra fans.)
Miss V continues her quest to outgrow infancy at record speed, and has started to sit in a Bumbo chair. Like it's no big thang. She's bored with herself, it's that easy to sit up like a big girl.
And she rolls, too.
She's also practicing her "but daddy, I realllllly want a lollipop/new dolly/pony/cute sports car" pouty face. J's many things, but pout-resistant is not one of those things. Vivi's going to put us in the poorhouse.
Anderson has made a few new friends- the dogs who live on the other side of the fence. Their names are BebaBulldog and ... um ... YappyLittleShit. I'm not exactly sure what YappyLittleShit's real name is, but trust me, YappyLittleShit fits better than whatever real name that dog has. You'll understand if you watch the video.
And finally, A & V in a less busy moment, just laying there being all siblingish. (For 2.2 seconds, because that's how long toddlers lay still for before they run off to throw something electronic into the toilet/eat dryer lint/ram their toy truck into the wall eight hundred times.)
Friday, April 23, 2010
Being a genius didn't last long. By day two, the Mister called my bluff and showed ME who the genius is in this house. He figured out that a whispering mommy sitting in a darkened room holding a baby on one arm and a bottle in the other hand wasn't going to jump up to wipe his butt. So we were back to Anderson ripping Vivian's room apart while V went from droopy-eyed and half asleep to BIG HUGE WIDE OPEN EYES following her brother all around the room as he dumped baskets out of the changing table and stuck his hands down the Diaper Genie.
Speaking of the boy genius, he's all about the foreshadowing the past few days. He started saying "uh oh" awhile back, and now, he says it just before getting his naughty on. This morning? Big "UH OH!" just before grabbing a huge glass of water and soaking the living room floor. This afternoon? "UH OH", crayon to the wall. This evening? "UH OH" just before that fork came flying at my Nikon.
Uh oh, indeed. At least he's kind enough to warn me that I'm about to need a roll of paper towels. (And a drink.)
You know what else happened this week? Vivian doubled in size. I'm not even kidding. Someone stole my infant and left me a giant baby. She napped for four hours yesterday afternoon, and she woke up busting the seams of her 0-3 month clothes. See? Doesn't she look GINORMOUS?
To finish off this week in review, I believe we experienced the end of 'nice springy Texas weather' and the beginning of 'it's so hot I can't move or I'll DIE' weather. The seven day forecast contains exactly zero days below 80 degrees. Today was 81 with 400% humidity. We tried to play in the yard, and this was all the enthusiasm my kids could work up:
They look thrilled, right?
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
We've just got too much on our plate lately, so we had to hire some help. Luckily, we found a fantastic dog walker for Griffin. And what a good dog walker he is! He's got boundless energy, he's of small stature (so not to intimidate the diminutive Griff), and don't tell J I said this, but he's also one of the cutest guys I've ever seen. OH! And he's a Packer fan! Bonus.
Best part? He works for free!
Enthusiastic dog walker in action:
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Last night when I peeked in on Mister A before I went to bed:
Anderson has approximately 485 stuffed pals to choose from, yet the past few nights he's insisted on taking that super creepy looking monkey to bed with him. He just looks so cranky. And last night, pinned beneath A in the crib, he looked especially furious. And it made me giggle. A lot. So I took a picture with my phone. And emailed it to my parents. And their responses reminded me once more that my parents are the funniest people I know.
Mom: "freaky little monkey, what the hell does he have his eyes open for, he's supposed to be sleeping!"
Dad: "the county jail called, they want their jammies back."
Monday, April 19, 2010
It was a good Monday. And not by Monday standards, actually, it was a good day overall.
It started with me realizing I'm a genius. You see, the worst and most stressful parts of my day are the times when I'm trying to get Vivian to nap. Not because of V, who is making progress in the nap department - it's because of her big brother who makes it his mission to keep her AWAKE. Barging into her room, knocking over the lamp, slamming the cover of her clothes hamper OVER AND OVER AGAIN .... he's about as handy as my other napping nemesis, the garbage truck. Today, I tried something new. When he bored of Sesame Street and came bolting into V's room, I smiled and whispered "hey Bug! Ready to go night-night?" He turned on his heel and ran out. Thoughtful kid he is, he even shut the door behind him. And when he came in three minutes later to try again, I asked him if he'd like his diaper changed. He sprinted out of the room, shut the door, and was quiet as a church mouse for the next five minutes. When I came out, he was hiding between the wall and the couch and "reading" a book. Nice! I think tomorrow I'll ask if he wants to go see the doctor for some shots. Outsmarting a toddler = awesome.
Then we hosted a playdate. A big, loud playdate. Three other mamas, each with their own "2u2" (that's internet-speak for two babies under two years of age, if I haven't previously explained that). Four babies under six months hung out with their mamas, smiling and feeding and barfing on themselves (uh, okay, that was just V), while their four older siblings ravaged the main floor of the house, shared snacks, and ganged up on Ralph (who was characteristically unfazed by the toddler mob). The other moms were so much fun to chat with, and who doesn't love some sweet new friends who know exactly what you're going through in all this 2u2 madness?
To top off the good Monday, J got home semi-early (for J) and we stuffed ourselves silly with fettucini alfredo. I may not be physically able to get off the couch for the rest of the night, but it sure was yummy and worth the skinny-pants setback.
Our Sunday wasn't so bad either, namely, when we gave up on the housework list and went out to enjoy the afternoon with our babes. We took a long walk and ended up at the park. Where my kids made matching faces and my husband had more fun than a grown man should have at a playground.
ps: I'm a WINNER! I mean, I always knew I was a winner, but it's official. The very cool and funny Lacey gave me a blogger award! I'll prepare my acceptance speech (I mean, revelation list) and pass the bloggy-love along very soon. Thanks, Lacey!
Friday, April 16, 2010
Someone really missed his sister. After the Mister arrived home and I'd kissed him three thousand times, he took a nice long nap. When he woke up, we went to get baby sister up from her nap. I think he'd forgotten about her. Because when we walked to her crib and I lifted him high up to peer inside, his little face broke out into a big, surprised grin and he squealed, lunging out of my arms with his own chubby little arms reaching down toward baby V. "Beh-beh! Beh-beh!"
He crawled into her chair and they got reacquainted. Oh, how I love to see this interaction. I still have so many guilty mommy feelings about the one-to-two child transition. I don't like to dwell on it and try not to even mention it, but it's something I just can't shake. Guilt that A doesn't get my full attention all day, every day, and often has to wait to eat/play outside/do whatever it he reallllly wants to do right this second because Miss V is feeding. Guilt that V doesn't get my full attention all day, every day, and is often stuck in the Bjorn to bop around the park when she'd really prefer to be snuggled into her mama on the couch for a long and quiet nap. Just a whole lotta guilt that I can't be the "perfect mom" and give them BOTH 100% of what they need, every time they need it. (And consequently raise a couple of insufferably self centered, spoiled rotten children, right? Right.)
Then, when I experience these moments where I can feel the sweet little relationship blooming between my two sweet littles ... well, I forget all about that silly guilt. There's too much hope and pride and heart squeezing happiness to leave any room for it.
Since Blogger often seems to be video-challenged, I uploaded it to YouTube for those who can't see it. Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3oK0lQnytc
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Have you ever read my friend Sara's blog? She's a my over-the-fence neighbor who has become an amazing friend to me. And an inspiring friend, too. She's got two small children, she cooks like it ain't no thang, she does a bunch of fancy web stuff that goes way over my head, and she hand stitches freakishly adorable QUILTS in her spare time, for goodness sake! Anyway, one of my favorite features of Sara's blog is her Drewisms. She's got a 3 1/2 year old son named Drew who says some very off the wall things that make me wish I were 3 1/2 and full of imagination. This morning, I had Drew over at my house for a bit and he packed a lot of Drewisms into the short half hour he spent here before his sitter showed up. Pretty sure he talked from arrival to departure. I had to have a second Diet Dew to keep up.
Without further ado, I give you Drewisms from this side of the fence ...
D: "I'm a Texan, and you're a Texan, and my mommy is a Texan, and 'Ivia is a Texan, and daddy has a fast car and he's a Texan too .... he is NOT a Texan." ((pointing at my dog, Griffin))
Me: "Sure he is! He lives in Texas, just like us! Why don't you think Griffin is Texan?"
D: "Because he has food in his head and bugs in his tummy."
D: "Is An-erson here?"
Me: "Nope, he's with his grandparents."
((five seconds pass))
D: "Um, now is An-erson here?"
Me: "Nope, still with his grandparents!"
((five more seconds))
D: "Why isn't An-er.... OH! YOUR HOUSE IS BERRY TALL!"
D: "That's your baby sister!" ((pointing at V))
Me: "She's my baby daughter, actually."
D: "I know. That's what I said. Baby sister."
D: "There's a bucket in An-erson's sandbox!"
D: "'Ivia pukes in buckets!"
Me: "Poor Olivia!"
D: "Poor dogs! Cats can jump and dogs can't!"
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The week of the girls rolls on. While Anderson visits the zoo and the park and meets his great-grandmother for the very first time (and has no idea how much his mama is missing his cute little Bugness back home), Vivian and I are keeping busy. Busy napping together on the couch, busy getting caught up on Tori & Dean, busy soaking up all this one on one bonding time before the house is toddler-ized once more and there's no time for sitting or watching things on TV that aren't about Elmo.
We had a girls' night in last night with our very good friend L. Vivi clearly needs to work on her social graces, because she drank too much and puked on her friend. Now, I was in a sorority, it's not like I've never seen that happen before ... but this was a particularly abundant barf we're talking about. Poor L. Nobody likes to go home covered in smelly baby barf, ESPECIALLY baby barf of a baby who isn't your baby. Ew.
And of course, I'm taking lots and lots of pictures. Since I've got approximately 900 photos of A's first two months and maybe 25 of V's (55 if you count the ones where A's sticking his head into the shot), I figured I would use this time to try to even things up a bit. I'd forgotten how easy and fun it is to photograph a precious little who is immobile and quick to smile at the sound of mommy's voice. Oh, Miss V. You're a natural model, darling.
How east side girls wear bows. Yo.
Oh! And after a two month wait, V's bedding has arrived. No thanks to Pottery Barn Kids and their ridiculous backorder wait times. And see that crib skirt? It shrunk a full three inches all around when washed and dried (following exact instructions). PBK was happy to send me a new one ... whenever it becomes available again. Probably about the same time V starts kindergarten, the way it sounded.
Shrinkage and shipping issues aside ... pretty much in love with the cuteness of it all.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Miss Bumblebee, two months old today, a day we celebrated by doing what mommies and their little girls do. We snuggled and we shopped and we read a book about a fairy princess and we tried on three outfits before settling on the official two month photo ensemble.
She also "celebrated" by waking every 2-3 hours all night long, just for funsies. Baby girl can't make life too easy around here. She didn't usually cry though, just sucked her hands until I woke up, then she turned those big bright eyes of hers my way and looked at me like "oh, hi, there! Since you're awake now, you wanna feed me?" So considerate, this girl of mine.
Happy 2 months to little V, my Princess Sparklepants, the most fabulous little girl I know.
And big brother? Looks to me like he's having a very good time. I received this one around 9am. Something tells me his Mimi and Papaw are going to be in bed very early tonight.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
This week, I won't look in the mirror at 5pm and see peanut butter on my chin (and think back through the day and realize it's had to have been there since I last served peanut butter at 11am). My cell phone probably won't end up in the sand box. There will be no yogurt on my walls, no Goldfish on the baby, no boxes of tampons hurled into the toilet. I won't say things like "please don't bite the cat" or "no, sweetie, the baby doesn't want a tractor in her bed". With my little Mister at his Mimi and Papaw's for the week, it promises to be pretty tame around here. J's out of town for work and Anderbug hitched a ride along with him to the in laws' for a few days of fun grandparental spoiling, so it's just me and my girl. Though tears were flowing when my boys drove off together this afternoon, I'm excited about the girl time, too. The afternoon-long nap on the couch with sweet V snugged up on top of me was long overdue. Vivi's first mother-daughter trip to the mall is most certainly in order. Maybe a chick flick at the local theater's baby day showing. Hair braiding, nail painting, talking about boys while eating ice cream, practicing her Alpha Phi songs. We're going to have fun.
But at the end of it all, you better believe I'll be pacing the front porch awaiting Bug's return (J's too!) and looking forward to peanut butter faces and sandy cell phones.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Today is the day our neighborhood holds the HOA approved semi-annual garage sale. I don't take part. First, because I lack the spare time to gather my useless junk, price my useless junk, and haul my useless junk onto the driveway so I can spend the early morning hours haggling over a twenty five cent markdown on my Banana Republic tee shirt from four seasons ago. Second, because (sorry- it's true!) most garage sale shoppers are batshitcrazy (aka: BSC) and I don't get enough sleep to have patience for BSCs.
And today, the BSCs brought their finest crazy. First, my next door neighbor reported seeing a woman pushing an HEB shopping cart through the 'hood to gather her goods. Now that, my friends, is class- stealing a grocery cart and hauling it hood-to-hood on your Saturday morning garage sale excursions. Then, when the kids and I took off to drive to a park outside the 'hood and away from the BSCs, I opened my garage door for the thirty five seconds it took to load up our stroller and get into the vehicle. I was bum rushed by some woman asking if the baby swing (INSIDE the garage, shoved in corner and leaned up against the wall) was for sale. Lady, does it LOOK like a garage sale in here? Do most garage sales you shop feature a lady backing her car out, no tables or price stickers, and ONE swing up for sale? If they do, your garage sale selections kind of suck. Now kindly move along before I run you over. And just before we exited the 'hood and left the carnival of craziness behind, I spotted a truck hauling a lawn maintenance trailer with a crusty old mattress piled amongst the mowers and weed whackers. The part truly worth mentioning? The THREE SMALL CHILDREN LAYING ON THE MATTRESS. Did I also mention the truck was MOVING?
Oh. Em. Gee.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
If every day were like this day, there would be nothing all that hard about this mothering job.
It started with the maiden voyage of our double loaded double stroller. Jillian can huff and puff her way through her stupid Shred by herself. I'm hauling 37 pounds of baby around the 'hood in a 34 pound stroller, and that's as good as any dumbell row or squat-and-press that crazy lady can come up with.
The babies in their Bumbleride:
(Not going to lie, Vivi didn't put up with this for too long before she was fussing and had to be put into the Bjorn I had the foresight to pack along for when this happened. Oh well. It's a start.)
Then, my children decided to totally rock my world and sleep for THREE hours. The SAME three hours! From noon to 3pm, I was a lady of leisure. Well, a lady of leisure who cleaned the hall closet and neatened the kitchen and paid a few bills and scrubbed a toilet and folded eight thousand pieces of freshly laundered baby clothing. Okay, and who played on the Internet and read my Kindle and drank Diet Mountain Dew like water. (And who checked each of my children twice to make sure they were still breathing, so unlikely the fortune of this dual nap seemed.)
After naptime, we were back outside to enjoy a drop dead gorgeous Texas afternoon. We walked and we played and one of us ended up naked. Fortunately, it wasn't me. Any day that ends with a buck naked toddler laughing and playing (and not barfing or pooping!) is pretty fantastic in my book.
Buttcrack concealed to protect the innocent.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
And then: after the insanity that was Saturday and Sunday, a new week started. A fresh and calmer week, I hoped.
And then: Anderson started barfing Monday night, then switched it up to the 'other end' by Tuesday morning and there weren't enough diapers in all of Austin to keep up with him. The dog got lost, the dog got found. The husband started a brand new job. Both kids got hauled to the pediatrician for check ups and one screamed the whole time. The other was a total angel, weighed in at a healthy 11 lb, 10 oz, and barely batted a sweet little eye when jabbed in the leg for her first shots. (For good measure, she started sleeping through the night this week as well.) My "gunk" stuck around and made me miserable until mid-day Tuesday. A's "gunk", while improving, continues to make him cranky and, uh, messy. And today, our pro bono nanny/cook/cleaner/Gatorade fetcher (my FIL) caught the "gunk" and puked his way back to Houston.
Not much going on around here. Not at all.
(Did you know food poisoning can be contagious? I didn't know that, either, but apparently it can be. How weird is that? We have no idea if it actually WAS the Panera or whether J and I somehow caught a bug at the exact same moment, but either way, it's been a big ol' ickfest around here and we're hoping the end is near- send your stay healthy prayers to Miss Vivi and her Mimi, please.)
Sunday, April 4, 2010
The Easter I'd envisioned was something like this: A & V looking preppily festive in their finest pastels, eggs hidden throughout the house filled with Goldfish crackers and little treats, Anderbug's face lighting up with each egg he discovered and stashed in his sweet little bunny basket, a chance to torture my second born with this bunny hat (ah, the memories). Basically, I looked forward to J and I enjoying the final day of his never-before-seen three day weekend by celebrating this very blessed day with our son and daughter.
The Easter experience I got instead: I woke with puke in my hair, wore a bathrobe all day, and thought I was dying. J felt a smidge less deathly, so he got A detail while I snuggled V and prayed she wouldn't cry and exacerbate my pounding headache. Let me back up. About 6pm last night, I felt vaguely nauseous. Figured it was the excess amount of sun/heat I'd gotten out in the yard planting flowers. Around 7pm, J said he was feeling nauseous. Hmm. He hadn't even been in the sunny/hot yard. We ate about fifteen minutes later, and fifteen minutes after that, my beloved's head was inside the toilet bowl. Ew, I thought, and resigned myself to a night running solo with the bebe while J slept it off on the couch. Then ... my tummy started rumbling and well, let's just say it's a good thing we have more than one bathroom in this house. (We weren't so fortunate when we were 1 bed, 1 bath apartment dwellers returning from a Mexican vacation. It got ugly up in there real fast.) So last night was a blur of the two of us stumbling from the bed to the bathroom to the couch to the bathroom to the bedroom floor right beside the bathroom door, where I finally passed out at 5am atop a baby blanket, sweating and shivering and crying for my mommy. And slept for one whole hour before A woke up. V, bless her sweet sweet heart, slept peacefully through the night, waking just once for a bottle before heading right back to sleep. I'm ordering her a pony.
And while we are blessing sweet sweet hearts, can I just say how abso-freaking-lutely grateful I am for kind and thoughtful in-laws who make the three hour drive from their house to ours for the second time this week to provide us with a few extra sets of baby holding arms and give us some much needed rest? Seriously. Grateful.
So the point of the story is, our Easter sucked. The babies' baskets are still stashed away in my closet, eggs unfilled, not a single photo taken. I'm just glad A's too little to understand holiday traditions, because I'd hate to have to explain why the bunny stood him up. I'm still laying in bed looking like something that crawled out from under a rock, I haven't eaten a thing all day, and I'm hoping that at very least this "diet" will put me back into my skinny pants. J's regretting that burger he tried to eat for dinner and hoping to make it through his first day at his new job tomorrow (yep!) without crapping himself. Good times, folks!
Oh, and the second moral of the story is, I'm never stepping foot inside Panera Bread again, MARK MY PUKEY WORDS. J and I both had turkey sandwiches and salads for lunch, and one of the two is the guilty culprit. You've been warned, internet people. Beware-a the Panera, unless you'd like to get very intimate with the inside of your toilet bowl and pretty much feel like you were run over by a big stupid Easter-ruining truck.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Despite the day starting with Bug eating my last Chapstick and Bee spitting up on two pairs of my clean pants in under an hour before I gave up and pulled on yoga pants I grabbed from the hamper ... it was a very good 29th birthday. A very low key one, for sure. Just me and my sweet babies doing what we do best - walking and park playing and food throwing (A) and non-napping (V) and such. There were thoughtful surprises as well - not one but TWO friends who know my love for cupcakes and delivered sweet treats right to my door (love you, Lisa & Sara!) A Skype session with my family in Spain, who stayed up until midnight Barcelona time to sing me happy birthday and manage to make me laugh AND cry in the first five minutes just by being their funny, awesome selves. My always thoughtful in laws coming to town tomorrow to give J and I a whole day to do whatever we want without kids in tow (and give A and V a fun Mimi and Papaw day- a win all around!) And of course, the many kind Facebook messages and emailed wishes and text messages and e-cards and "old school" cards (very funny, Kay!) ... I feel very loved.
Thanks, loves. Here's hoping 29 is a good age to be. (Because I plan to be 29 for many, many years to come.)