Friday, October 26, 2012
Granny Sara
Lest you think shingles only affects older folks, I have a brutal case. My doc said, "You know, they make a shingles vaccine?" I just stared at him. I'm 33 friggin years old. Wanna sign me up for AARP too? Shall I go ahead and schedule my colonoscopy? Hang on, I can't hear you, I must turn up my hearing aid. Whoops, let me move my life alert bracelet so that I can check the time. Yep, looks like it's time to take my water pill and go have a cup of coffee before bed. In all seriousness... this shingles stuff hurts. Daggum.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Pee, poo, and boogers (What is it with my titles lately?)
If you are single and think you want children, stop reading riiiiight NOW. If you are contemplating children, discretion is advised. If you are pregnant, you should have stopped about twelve words ago. You're emotional anyway, you cute little roley thing. Go eat some ice cream. Now. Stop reading. If you have children, forge ahead and commiserate with me...
I worked this weekend and the kiddos were with grandparents and the hubs. I love that they get special care with those that aren't constantly with them, not to mention, it makes leaving them so much easier. Anyway, I'm not sure what happened with our eldest child this weekend but we went about 344 steps backwards in potty training. He hadn't had an accident in about two weeks. We were well on our way to a diaper-free life (with him) and I was relishing that! Weeeeellllllll, I'm now off for 8 and woke this morning ready to take on the day. Within 20 minutes of taking off his nighttime diaper and putting on undies, he had an "ak-i-dent" of the pee variety. Whatev, I thought, wiped the "pieces" (seriously, that's what he calls it), and put on a fresh pair of undies. By the time I left for the gym around 10, he had had three accidents. What the??? Luckily, I was doing laundry. I headed on to the gym, let him pee in the "mini potty" at the gym nursery, then worked out for a bit over an hour. When I went to pick them up, sweet Mrs. Cindy, our beloved nursery lady, looked totally frazzled. We love that lady and, typically, my kiddos are the only ones there so she's quite fond of them. C was screaming and E was minding his own business building a tower. She informed me that C must have a tummy ache because she'd pooped all over her clothes, the car seat, etc. She had tried everything to make her stop crying but to no avail. C had already been changed and her dirty clothes were already rinsed and in a plastic bag. I covered her nasty seat up with a bib and loaded her up, apologizing to Mrs. Cindy as I worked. I took E back to the bathroom to go before we left and....seriously??? He had had another accident. "Hello, Sara. You have just arrived in children's excretion hell. Take a seat and get comfy." I had not packed another pair of pants but, luckily, had a Pull-up. E walked out of the gym with a Pull-up and no pants. C was hauled out in a poop-covered car seat. I'm expecting my phone to ring annnnny minute to notify me of my Mother of the Year nomination. Anyway, I get in the car and what is the first song that starts?? Darius Rucker's "It Won't Be Like This For Long." I almost shed a tear. Thanks, God, I def needed that. When I think of this song, I remember hearing it when E was 4 days old and we were headed back to the hospital to check his bilirubin level. I vividly remember being in the back seat with my newborn (because with that first baby, you just can't imagine EVER sitting in the front seat, a HUGE 2 extra feet away) and wiping the tears from behind my sunglasses. Now, all I could do was just laugh because isn't that the truth? It won't be like this for long. Then, to snap me out of my revery, E piped up from the backseat, "Here you go, Mom, here's a booger." All I could think (after I took and disposed of said booger) was, "Yay! He's not eating them anymore." It won't be like this for long, eh? Will someone give me a guarantee on that?
I worked this weekend and the kiddos were with grandparents and the hubs. I love that they get special care with those that aren't constantly with them, not to mention, it makes leaving them so much easier. Anyway, I'm not sure what happened with our eldest child this weekend but we went about 344 steps backwards in potty training. He hadn't had an accident in about two weeks. We were well on our way to a diaper-free life (with him) and I was relishing that! Weeeeellllllll, I'm now off for 8 and woke this morning ready to take on the day. Within 20 minutes of taking off his nighttime diaper and putting on undies, he had an "ak-i-dent" of the pee variety. Whatev, I thought, wiped the "pieces" (seriously, that's what he calls it), and put on a fresh pair of undies. By the time I left for the gym around 10, he had had three accidents. What the??? Luckily, I was doing laundry. I headed on to the gym, let him pee in the "mini potty" at the gym nursery, then worked out for a bit over an hour. When I went to pick them up, sweet Mrs. Cindy, our beloved nursery lady, looked totally frazzled. We love that lady and, typically, my kiddos are the only ones there so she's quite fond of them. C was screaming and E was minding his own business building a tower. She informed me that C must have a tummy ache because she'd pooped all over her clothes, the car seat, etc. She had tried everything to make her stop crying but to no avail. C had already been changed and her dirty clothes were already rinsed and in a plastic bag. I covered her nasty seat up with a bib and loaded her up, apologizing to Mrs. Cindy as I worked. I took E back to the bathroom to go before we left and....seriously??? He had had another accident. "Hello, Sara. You have just arrived in children's excretion hell. Take a seat and get comfy." I had not packed another pair of pants but, luckily, had a Pull-up. E walked out of the gym with a Pull-up and no pants. C was hauled out in a poop-covered car seat. I'm expecting my phone to ring annnnny minute to notify me of my Mother of the Year nomination. Anyway, I get in the car and what is the first song that starts?? Darius Rucker's "It Won't Be Like This For Long." I almost shed a tear. Thanks, God, I def needed that. When I think of this song, I remember hearing it when E was 4 days old and we were headed back to the hospital to check his bilirubin level. I vividly remember being in the back seat with my newborn (because with that first baby, you just can't imagine EVER sitting in the front seat, a HUGE 2 extra feet away) and wiping the tears from behind my sunglasses. Now, all I could do was just laugh because isn't that the truth? It won't be like this for long. Then, to snap me out of my revery, E piped up from the backseat, "Here you go, Mom, here's a booger." All I could think (after I took and disposed of said booger) was, "Yay! He's not eating them anymore." It won't be like this for long, eh? Will someone give me a guarantee on that?
Friday, October 12, 2012
Sibling love and Pooting
He's constantly requesting the I prop her up so that they can "hang out and watch Wittle Einstein's".
She adores him and is constantly smiling in his direction. Nobody can make that girl smile faster than her big brother.
E: Mom, set her beside me and take our picture.
Me: Okay, E, I'll send Daddy a pick-me-up at work!
(rumbling tummy sounds followed by an obvious expulsion of processed milk from baby sister right as the camera snapped.)
E: Mom, I don't want to take a picture with her anymore. You can have her.
I mean his face is the look of total submission.
Speaking of pooting, here's a typical convo with this observant almost 3 year old (strangest lead into a story ever):
Scene--driving down the interstate behind a garbage truck.
E: Ewww, Mom, something stinks. Did you poot or did C poot or did I poot?
Me: You pooted, E.
E: (Laughing hysterically--because poots are the funniest, right? RIGHT?) No, I didn't!
Me: No, I think it's actually that garbage truck.
E: (getting very serious) Mom, trucks don't poot.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Miss America
My other bestie is boozin' it up at Oktoberfest in Germany.
This week, this girl is praying for some serious world peace.Be safe and have fun, my girls. I'm trying not to think of the movie "Taken." .PNG)
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Mismatched
Last night, while watching the Falcons on MNF, Hom and I got to thinking...How could one have such white hair and such black eyebrows? 
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Life ain't always rainbows and cotton candy
Here's a Keeping it Real moment. I keep a journal for my son to read one day (who am I kidding? I'll be happy if his wife even reads it.)
2 years, 10 months, 9 days 9-16-12
My son. Some moments you make me beam with pride, astounded at how much your little sponge brain absorbs. Some moments you make me absolutely crazy, not seeming to listen to a single thing I say. Yesterday was the typical mix of the two. Some phrases you would’ve heard me say were, “Don’t stand on the couch!”, “Why is there pee on your shirt?”, “Don’t touch your penis and then go touch your sister.”, “Get your foot out of your cup!”, “Why is there blue crayon on your teeth?” You get the idea. I do NOT understand most of your little boy antics but I have to remind myself that they are a result of your mind figuring out this complex world of weird smells, textures, emotions, etc. You’re doing great, big boy, even if it seems I’m always lecturing you. Last night was one of those wonderful never-want-to-forget memories that I had to include in your journal. One of those fleeting, please, God, don’t let me forget a thing about this moment. We were in your sister’s nursery around 8 pm. The room was dim, lit by one lamp. I was attempting to nurse your sister.
As you will realize, I nursed you without a single problem for your first full year. You had not a sip of formula. I will do this for your sister too. During my pregnancy, my determination to repeat this was clouded with doubt. How could I possibly have another child with no “latch” issues, the same enthusiasm for nursing, etc? I just didn’t think it was possible to have two years worth of easy, painless, blissful nursing experiences. Lightening surely wouldn’t strike twice. However, she was born and we have had, virtually, no problems. One “issue” we’ve had that I cannot solve though is your sister’s CONSTANT motion. Even while nursing, I feel like I’m wrestling a cat on speed. I feel like I’m chasing her around with my boob like a crazy person. Usually she’s oblivious and gets her nourishment regardless of the fact that, when finished, I’m sweating, my ponytail is sideways, shirt is backwards, and left eye has developed a twitch. It seems to bother only me.
Well, last night, something was bothering her. I was, as usual, chasing her around but she was screaming. She would latch on, suck for 3 seconds, let go, scream, and then root around to latch on again. Rinse and repeat for 30 minutes. I had tried the “low stimulation environment” (aforementioned dim nursery) despite wanting to watch my football. I had even tried unbuttoning her gown and placing her skin-to-skin. I had tried Mylicon and burping her about a million times. Nothing. was. working. You walked in and caught me crying along with your sister. I so rarely get frustrated breastfeeding as I have the confidence of your year under my belt. Perhaps, though, it was the fact that, when I woke with her 4 am feeding that morning, your Daddy and I chatted easily until you woke up. Those are some of my favorite moments of the day and “just us” moments that we so rarely get. However, now we were both going on about 5 hours of interrupted sleep. Not a good combination. Anyway, you looked at me with a shocked expression. I so rarely cry and you didn’t know what to think about this change in roles. You patted me on the back and asked what was wrong. I told you, “I’m just frustrated because your sister doesn’t feel good and I can’t fix it. It makes me sad when I can’t make you guys feel good.” You nodded your head, so wise beyond your two and five-sixth years. About that time, your Daddy brought in 3 ounces of my previously pumped liquid gold. “This will give you both a break. We have plenty,” your Daddy said. I took it, put it in your sister’s mouth, and she began greedily sucking it down. You asked to help and held her bottle for about ten seconds. “Here, Mommy, you can feed her. It is frustrating feeding her.” (Though she was doing nothing but eating at this point.) You started rocking on her rocking horse (yeah, the one that’s actually yours but you don’t have space in your room for it.) You looked over, rocking gently, and said, “You’re strong, Momma. I know you can do it.” I couldn’t do anything but laugh (and ask you if you were going to be a motivational speaker when you grew up.) You wanted to know, “What’s so funny?” I took a deep breath, looked at my two healthy kids, and smiled. Perhaps I would, in fact, survive another day of raising an infant and toddler. Thank you, my boy. Now, go get your helmet out of the toilet.
2 years, 10 months, 9 days 9-16-12
My son. Some moments you make me beam with pride, astounded at how much your little sponge brain absorbs. Some moments you make me absolutely crazy, not seeming to listen to a single thing I say. Yesterday was the typical mix of the two. Some phrases you would’ve heard me say were, “Don’t stand on the couch!”, “Why is there pee on your shirt?”, “Don’t touch your penis and then go touch your sister.”, “Get your foot out of your cup!”, “Why is there blue crayon on your teeth?” You get the idea. I do NOT understand most of your little boy antics but I have to remind myself that they are a result of your mind figuring out this complex world of weird smells, textures, emotions, etc. You’re doing great, big boy, even if it seems I’m always lecturing you. Last night was one of those wonderful never-want-to-forget memories that I had to include in your journal. One of those fleeting, please, God, don’t let me forget a thing about this moment. We were in your sister’s nursery around 8 pm. The room was dim, lit by one lamp. I was attempting to nurse your sister.
As you will realize, I nursed you without a single problem for your first full year. You had not a sip of formula. I will do this for your sister too. During my pregnancy, my determination to repeat this was clouded with doubt. How could I possibly have another child with no “latch” issues, the same enthusiasm for nursing, etc? I just didn’t think it was possible to have two years worth of easy, painless, blissful nursing experiences. Lightening surely wouldn’t strike twice. However, she was born and we have had, virtually, no problems. One “issue” we’ve had that I cannot solve though is your sister’s CONSTANT motion. Even while nursing, I feel like I’m wrestling a cat on speed. I feel like I’m chasing her around with my boob like a crazy person. Usually she’s oblivious and gets her nourishment regardless of the fact that, when finished, I’m sweating, my ponytail is sideways, shirt is backwards, and left eye has developed a twitch. It seems to bother only me.
Well, last night, something was bothering her. I was, as usual, chasing her around but she was screaming. She would latch on, suck for 3 seconds, let go, scream, and then root around to latch on again. Rinse and repeat for 30 minutes. I had tried the “low stimulation environment” (aforementioned dim nursery) despite wanting to watch my football. I had even tried unbuttoning her gown and placing her skin-to-skin. I had tried Mylicon and burping her about a million times. Nothing. was. working. You walked in and caught me crying along with your sister. I so rarely get frustrated breastfeeding as I have the confidence of your year under my belt. Perhaps, though, it was the fact that, when I woke with her 4 am feeding that morning, your Daddy and I chatted easily until you woke up. Those are some of my favorite moments of the day and “just us” moments that we so rarely get. However, now we were both going on about 5 hours of interrupted sleep. Not a good combination. Anyway, you looked at me with a shocked expression. I so rarely cry and you didn’t know what to think about this change in roles. You patted me on the back and asked what was wrong. I told you, “I’m just frustrated because your sister doesn’t feel good and I can’t fix it. It makes me sad when I can’t make you guys feel good.” You nodded your head, so wise beyond your two and five-sixth years. About that time, your Daddy brought in 3 ounces of my previously pumped liquid gold. “This will give you both a break. We have plenty,” your Daddy said. I took it, put it in your sister’s mouth, and she began greedily sucking it down. You asked to help and held her bottle for about ten seconds. “Here, Mommy, you can feed her. It is frustrating feeding her.” (Though she was doing nothing but eating at this point.) You started rocking on her rocking horse (yeah, the one that’s actually yours but you don’t have space in your room for it.) You looked over, rocking gently, and said, “You’re strong, Momma. I know you can do it.” I couldn’t do anything but laugh (and ask you if you were going to be a motivational speaker when you grew up.) You wanted to know, “What’s so funny?” I took a deep breath, looked at my two healthy kids, and smiled. Perhaps I would, in fact, survive another day of raising an infant and toddler. Thank you, my boy. Now, go get your helmet out of the toilet.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Baby Weight
So, Baby Girl is 7 weeks old and I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight. A little running and a LOT of breastfeeding. 20 calories/ounce! Holla! Anyway, that's good and all, right? Well, I've got a problem. Something has happened to my body. I fit in exactly one pair of jeans from pre-pregnancy. Any other moms out there with this problem? I'm trying to lose just a few more pounds (to be below pre-pregnancy weight) in hopes of squeezing into my skinny jeans but I'm starting to think it's futile. I'm refusing to wear maternity jeans so my one pair is wearing out fast. I'm up for ANY advice, even if it's just to inform me that it will take a while longer. Just tell me that I won't have these "child bearing hips" the rest of my life. If that's your advice, than I advise you to zip it. I'm still hormonal, after all.
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