(Not So) Wordless Wednesday: Nocturnal Baby

My 9 month does not like to sleep nor does he think he needs to. He will do all he can to fight the zzzzz’s, including (but not limited to) babbling, screaming like a stuck pig, pulling himself up, crawling around, rubbing his eyes, using his hand to make the wah-wah-wah sound with his mouth, and throwing his bottle. I have been working on sleep training for the last 4 months, but it’s not helping much. I put him in his crib on Monday to cry it out at naptime as usual. He went through all the aforementioned strategies to stay awake and spent the better (or in my case worst because Jesus kid, just GO TO SLEEP!!!)  part of an hour screaming his head off.  At one point, I heard a giant crash, but since it didn’t break – or increase – his crying campaign, I didn’t worry too much about it. Here is what I found after he woke up from his whopping 35 minute long nap:

Notice anything out of the ordinary? If not, here’s another clue:

 

The giant crash? He broke his mobile. Snapped that sucker right in two. He has a St. Louis Cardinals themed roomed and that was a Fredbird mobile, was being the operative word of course. All that remained was one poor lone  little birdie. He ripped off the other three and the baseball that hung in the middle. Oh the carnage! Little shit, that stupid thing cost $40 and was the first item I tried to order once I found out he was a boy (I say tried because it was on backorder until August). I had big plans to hang it in the corner of his room when he got older since it was so damn cute. Yeah, scratch that one.

Why I don’t go out much anymore:

So I obviously survived the girls’ night over the weekend. I mean, I didn’t blog about awards from the afterlife yesterday or anything so I’m sure you all were aware I didn’t meet my demise. In case anybody was wondering, here is a brief recap of what I remember the evening:

Beer

Runs in the first inning? Suh-wheeet! High five friend.

More Beer.

Wow, way to blow the lead guys.

Have I mentioned there was beer?

Holy SHIT, our starting pitcher just hit a GRAND SLAM!!!!

High-fiving strangers.

Another beer? Well, I mean if you’re buying…

Wait, ANOTHER one? I still have one in my ha- oh fuck it, I’ll double fist.

Why yes, I would luuuuuuuuurve some Parrot Bay you snuck in!

I don’t even need a mixer, it’s like water!

More runs. Score is now 9-5.

More high-fives.

Here come the All-Star ballots.

I’m not coordinated enough to punch out the holes.

Guys next to us very interested by my rant on how Milton Bradley has a dumb name (it’s a board game company, come on!).

But not as dumb as Coco Crisp.

How did I get another beer in my hand? And where did the rest of them go?

Did we really drink all that Parrot Bay already?

7th inning stretch.

“Take me out to the ballllggaaaammmeee”

Drunk people behind us are very nice.

So very nice.

Yes, we would LOVE for you take pictures for us!

No, I don’t think it’s blurry. It just looks that way cuz we’ve had all those beers:

Last call?

Wait, the game’s over?

Trek to a bar.

Drink more beer.

Do a shot.

Run into girl in bathroom.

“OMG, you are SOOOOOO familiar looking! Why do I know you?”

Discussion involving work places.

Lightbulb! “You’re that nurse who fucked up my pregnancy test!!!”

“I didn’t fuck it up, the lab did.”

“Yeah, no, it was you. But it’s cool. I knew I was pregnant all along and forgive you for the ‘user error’ comment.”

Leave bar.

Take this dumb picture in front of the stadium:

Yes, I’m hugging Bob Gibson’s bronzed leg.

Walk to bars on The Landing.

Dancing.

Drinks.

Lots of dancing.

Lots of drinks.

Friend and I on stage for lively sing-a-long to Alabama’s Mountain Music.

More dancing.

God, I’m parched.

Wake up in hotel next morning.

I’d like to thank the Academy…

I was gone for a weekend and completely missed the fact that I was given not one, but TWO awards on Friday. Please excuse me while I pat myself on the back. And maybe take a bow. Is it presumptuous to give an acceptance speech? Hmmm.. I’ll refrain. I WOULD like to thank the fellow mommy bloggers who gave them both to me though. Thank you girls!!

First off, from Jennifer over at Circle of Love (go read it, I COMMAND YOU!), comes the Preppy Mafia Award. I went and checked out their site and it’s pretty cool too so give both some clicky love, would ya? I’m still pretty new(ish) to this whole blog world so forgive the what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do-ness about these awards. Apparently I am supposed to answer some questions. Fun for me because I love talking about myself that kinda stuff, so here we go:

1) Who is your style icon(s)?

I’m going to be honest – I don’t have one. Most days I’m doing good to put on a bra. Coming from someone who used to own over 80 purses and switch them out to match her outfits on an almost daily basis, I am pretty appalled at how far the mighty can fall. I’m sure if I had a job that required me to leave the house, things would be different…but I don’t….and these kids don’t give two shits about what I wear. Quick, somebody nominate for What Not to Wear.

2) What is your favorite Socialite lit book?

Um… what the frack is Socialite lit? Hold on, need to Google…

Okay, Google not helping on this one. If my mind is going in the right direction (it happens sometimes), let’s say The Gossip Girl series. So much better than the TV show, btw. If I’m waaaay off base then let’s just say False. When in doubt, always answer False. Or is that C)?

3) Favorite party theme?

Drink Yourself into a Stupor! Can that be a theme? Otherwise, I don’t know. I’m 27, the only themed parties I attend involve franchise-owning mice and down-on-their-luck-princesses.

4) Go in a Halloween costume?

I love Halloween. Back in my younger, wilder, wow-did-I-really-drink-all-that-and-NOT-die days, going out on Halloween Saturday was my favorite day of the year. Now that I’m lame old a mom, Halloween is all about my kiddos. I do secretly hope every year that someone is throwing an adults-only costume party though. So far, it hasn’t happened.

5) Extravagance you cannot go without?

Name brand ketchup. That generic shit doesn’t cut it. And if that’s not extravagant enough for you, let’s say bubble baths. I love ‘em and soak up the suds quite often.

6) Living person you admire?

Ooh, I hate answering these kinds of questions. I always feel so much pressure to be sentimental and give an intelligent answer. Sigh. I’m going to go cliché and say my mom. She left a shitty situation (i.e. my dad) with no money, no plan, and two kids and she made it. Worked like a dog to provide for my brother and I, all the while letting herself go without. Love my momma.

7) Greatest fear?

Something happening to my kids. I physically could not go on without them.

8) Trait in yourself that you deplore?

S0metimes I let people treat me like shit. Which is odd because sometimes I am a raging take-no-prisoners lunatic when it comes to people treating others like shit. I need to work on that.

9) What talent would you most like to have?

Can making nauseating amounts of money be a talent? If not, I’d like to be able to sing. I mean, I sing  now but only in the car. And with the TV. And in the shower. And with commercials. And if I go to karaoke. But trust me, nobody really wants to hear that shit.

10) Greatest achievement?

Why, winning this award of course. Duh.

Nah, it’s those two sweet, adorable, little pain in the arse humans I grew! 

 

Okay, I’m going to pass MY Preppy Mafia Award on to……

 

Is the suspense killing you yet?

Liz over at Tickled PINK. I love the pictures of her little chunkers, who incidentally, is only a few days older than my little chunkers.

Here’s what you have to do:

Copy the above picture and questions. Post them in your blog, answer the q’s, and then pass the love on to a blogger you love. That is your mission, Liz – if you choose to accept it. :)

 

Wow, that wore me out. All that THINKING! But I’m not done yet, oh no. I’m just getting started. My other award is from Robyn over at The Journey. I love her blog too – and not only because she quotes Don’t Stop Believin’ in her header - so continuing with the do-as-I-say-theme, go check her out too. She’s bestowing upon me the:

 

It’s got a panda on it so you know it’s gotta be cool. Now on to the questions. Ya know, just in case you weren’t sick of finding out random bits of information about me. So without further ado…

1) Why do you blog?

Because I LOVE to write and I love to talk and this is like a marriage of both. Plus I have a lifelong desire to get published and sadly, this is probably the closest I will ever get. Unless one of you are a literary agent in which case, have your people call my people. I got some things for ya…

2) What are your three best memories?

It all involves my kids so I can’t just pick three. Sorry. Fail!

3) If you had to change your real name, what would you change it to?

I don’t know. I don’t really mind my name too much. It’s Nicole LeAnn by the way. The only thing that bugs me is the way it flows together and sounds like Napoleon. It could have been worse though: I was born two days after Christmas and was almost, like thisclose, named Holly Noelle. Yeah. If that had been the case, I probably would have changed it. But to what? I have no clue.

4) What are 5 things you can’t live without?

My family, my cell phone, the internet, DVR, and Cherry Chapstick. I’m so transparent!

5) What are the four best books you’ve ever read?

This is hard, because I like to read. A lot. In no particular order here’s a few favs:

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.  Because I’ve read it so many times and it always makes me laugh and cry.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Because what woman doesn’t love her some Mr. Darcy? swooooon!

Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married by Marian Keyes. Because she’s my favorite modern day author and this is my favorite of my favorite. It gives me the warm fuzzies.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by JK Rowling. Because well, hell, it’s Harry Potter.

6) Tell me something unique and interesting about yourself.

I can type about 100 words per minute. I can fit my fist in my mouth. I am double-jointed in my pinkies. Guess which one of those used to get me free drinks?

7) What do you like about yourself?

My sense of humor. I like make people laugh. I tend to think I’m funny so please don’t tell me otherwise. Physically, I like my eyes. I have captivating eyes like a… like a unicorn. Or a princess. (10 points if you can Guess That Quote!).

8) What is the best movie ever made?

This is hard. I have several favorites, but I don’t know if that necessarily qualifies them as the best ever though, does it? Let’s humor me and and pretend it does.  If that were actually true, that would mean the best movie ever made was actually Anchorman. Or National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Or Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion. Yup, cinematic masterpieces.

9) If you had a Freaky Friday experience, who would you want to change places with and why?

Barbie. The bitch has everything. <-----I read that on a bumper sticker once. I don’t know. It’s getting late and I’ve been getting sidetracked by babies pooping, and kids waking up from naps, and cats puking in the crib, and dinner, and errands, and now Real Housewives of NJ. I can’t think straight anyone, I’m spent for the day.

10) What is the best part about being a woman?

Boobs. Men are powerless against them.

 

Okay. Thank God I’ve finally finished. This post really has been about 7 hours in the making. I’m passing the Super Comments Award (and the questions that go with it) on to Carol at Knee Deep in Mommahood because she readily admits in her About Me section that she comments to the point of addiction. And good for her because admitting you have a problem is the first step. Does this award make an enabler now though? Hmmmmm…..

Tonight, tonight

You know you were born in the 80’s when your own blog post title  makes you start singing a New Kids on the Block song. Does that every happen to you? Somebody says a phrase and you just want to bust out in song? Like, whenever I hear someone say “free ballin’”, I get Free Fallin’ in my head. Oddly enough that happens more often than you would think.

But back to Tonight. Tonight is important to me. Tonight is something I planned months ago. Tonight has been giving me butterflies of excitement all day. Tonight is the lifeline that has gotten me through this hellavuh week. Tonight is…. A baseball game. But not just ANY baseball game. It’s a Cardinals game, which equals too much draft beer which equals a lot of laughing which equals more draft beer (and maybe some Malibu we’ll sneak in) which equals going out after the game which equals dancing like a fool. The greatest part of all that? Besides getting a chance to watch a game without Nut yelling, “No morh Birds! Watz Chuck (Shrek)!”, it’s also a Girls’ Night! Stop the presses. Did you read that? A GIRLS’ NIGHT. Girls. No men. No husbands making me drink water because I was nominated to be the DD so they could drink. No kids to chase around the entire stadium (that happened). No one putting nachos down when I stand up to help Nut and then “forgetting” they were there until I’ve sat down on them (that happened too). I get to be Nic tonight. Not Mommy, not wifey, just Nic. It doesn’t happen very often (seriously, me going out of town like this is comparable to  El Nino ~ quasi-periodic.  If I’m lucky) and I’m going to enjoy the 12 hours or so when it does.

Can ya tell I’m just a wee bit pee your pants excited? I’m sure tomorrow morning when I wake up with that draft beer headache (and missing my kids like crazy), it won’t be so cool, but for Tonight, I’m just going with it. Watch out, St. Louis!!

 

PS: I’m also probably more excited than rational about the fact that Andy Cohen – the guy who hosts all the Real Housewives reunions and Watch What Happens Live on Bravo – is throwing out the first pitch. I’m pretty much obsessed with those shows. But not in a creepy way. Just in an omg-if-you-turn-off-the-DVR-while-RHONY/NJ-is-recording-I-will-castrate-you kinda way.

I need to bleach the baby

First off, I need to point out that it’s raining again so a big EFF YOU goes out to Mother Nature today. I feel like I live in a frickin’ rainforest anymore. Well ya know, minus the forest part and all.

Earlier, I took Nut upstairs to change her diaper and persuade her out of her Tinkerbell jammies, leaving Bug down in the living room playing with his toys. I should mention he was out of my sight for all of maybe three minutes. Of course in baby time, three minutes is more than enough to get into something so Bug didn’t disappoint. Here is what I came down to find:

Little guy had been playing IN THE GARBAGE CAN. Queue the gagging. The shrieking. The desire to don a haz-mat suit and hose him down. Have I mentioned I’m a bit of a germaphobe? I probably have the only toddler who sees hand sanitizer and immediately starts demanding it be put on her hands.  Needless to say, this really grossed me the hell out. It was too good to pass up though -and he was already chewing on a banana peel for God’s sake, the damage was done – so I grabbed my trusty camera and took these. Good for blackmail the baby book. He was having a grand ole time though, check him out:

Yeah, he is whipping that peel around like it’s a damn party. Too much Miller Lite perhaps?

It was there that the picture taking stopped because after he started doing the helicopter, I about peed myself. And when I say about, I mean I actually did. But only a little. And we’re both cleaned up now. 

(Not so) Wordless Wednesday

 

I’ve never joined in on the whole Wordless Wednesday thing. Not because I dislike it, because I don’t. I actually really enjoy looking at all the pictures as it requires less brainpower than reading. I just have a hard time being, well… wordless. If you know me in “real life”, you know I like to talk. A lot. Being quiet around me really isn’t an option because I will hound you until you speak. It’s a gift really. That being said, I did snap some cute pics of the offspring that I wanted to share. DH was able to mow our swamp last night and it now resembles a backyard again, albeit a mildly soggy one. 

Mother Nature has also cut me a break by giving us not only SUNNY SKIES but also a nice balmy temp of around 72. Jeez, I sound like time and temp. And now your local extended forecast… er. Wait. What was I saying? Oh, right. The pictures. I was getting to that. Since it’s pretty damn gorgeous out, I ushered the kiddos (minus the napping 1 year old) out as soon as breakfast was finished. Granted there was the usual fighting over stupid shit, like dandelions and sticks, but for the ten minutes where they ran around giggling at the simple joy of being out of the house? That? That was bliss.

Being their mother (well for two outta the three), I did my part by stalking them around the yard with my camera.  Here’s a few favorites:

My Buggy Boy isn’t too sure about the whole grass thing yet, but he’s getting used to it.

 

  She wanted to climb in this tree.  I may or may not be responsible for showing her this new found activity. After I snapped this one, I had a flashback to my senior pictures (only she didn’t fall out of the thing like her graceful mama did). If I was artsy, I would name this something like “Nut in a Tree”. Get it?!?

So there ya have it, my VERY un-wordless Wednesday contribution. Happy snapping everyone!

D is for Damn, nobody comes to my blog

Guess what? I’m D-listed! Yeeeessssss! High fives all around. And as if that wasn’t enough excitement for a Tuesday afternoon, I’m also joining in on their blog hop. If you keep up with me, you know of my recent new-found love of the blog hop. Clickity click if YOU wanna join in on the fun:

<a href=”http://www.d-listedmomblogs.com/?page_id=66″ mce_href=”http://www.d-listedmomblogs.com/?page_id=66″ target=”_blank”><img alt=”MMButton” src=”http://i39.tinypic.com/j8cpq9.jpg” mce_src=”http://i39.tinypic.com/j8cpq9.jpg” /></a>

 

So for those that are popping over from the par-tay, welcome to my world. <----- Side note: It’s weird to say that phrase without a condescending tone in my voice since I use it on DH so often.

I’m Nic. I’m 27, a Capricorn, and I enjoy long walks on the beach. Wait. Wrong introduction. I’ll do a Twitter-esque intro instead. The last few years in 140 characters or less:

Girl meets boy. Boy knocks up girl. Girl needs insurance, marries boy. Girl has girl. Boy knocks up girl again. Girl has boy.

Romantic, huh? Don’t get me wrong, we were planning on getting married anyways, but I like the above version better. Makes me seem edgy, even as I sit here and type this in my baby food splattered shirt. On February 24th, 2008, we had our daughter, known as Nut around these parts. A 7 lb, 3 oz red-headed ball of fire, she hasn’t stopped making life interesting since. Let me just say, hell hath no fury like a red-headed 2 year old.  When she was 9 months old, I got pregnant again and on August 23rd, 2009, our son, aka Bug, came screaming into the world. He hasn’t stopped screaming since.  Nor has he slept.

On top of the two kids in 18 months thing, I also babysit a 3 and 1 year old. I know what you’re thinking – and you’re right. I’m nucking futs. And so I blog to get through it all – the Terrible 2’s, the naptime destruction, a milk allergy, the not-by-my-choice co-sleeping, the tantrums, the fighting, the over excessive pooing, and the fact that my infant is not only Nocturnal, but also a stalker. I curse (once or twice or twelve at my kids), I yell, and I consider beating my head against the wall. But I don’t. Because at the end of the day, I love them. And I also love laughing at myself. So sit back and enjoy the ride - but please fasten your seatbelt. It’s a hellava ride around here.

 

Our Christmas card photo from last year. This pretty much sums it up:

I wanna make love to ya, front yard

Wow, I followed up a week of super blogging with a week of... nada. I could be philosophical and make a paralell between that and how my life goes, but I'll refrain. I blame my absence on two things:

#1 - All of YOU. That's right. It's your fault. I log on with every intention of posting and instead get sucked into your feeds. By the time I read what all of you witty people have to say, the small window of time I have to blog - i.e when the kids aren't crying, fighting, climbing my leg - has passed. So there ya go. Stop being so interesting.

#2 - The rain. The God forsaken, never ending rain. For the last two weeks, we haven't gone more than a day without it. And do you think those few blessed days of non-rain could be sunny to dry up my backyard? Oh no. I've got a fricking pond in my backyard. As a result, it's been pretty boring around here.


Today I woke up at 6:44, very confused by the odd feeling of warmth on my face - wait, that didn't sound right did it? I feel like I should follow it up with that's what she said!. Ahem. Moving on though, it was BRIGHT in my room. Like, blindingly bright. Know what it was? Sunlight. Holy shit balls, Batman. THE SUN!

Here's hoping my lake backyard dries out soon. I've got a couple of toddlers whose stir craziness is making me crazy. Plus, I'd really like DH to be able to mow. Our lawn mower crapped out in the midst of his last mowing and thanks to all the rain, we have the tallest grass on the cul-de-sac. I'm surprised the senior citizens we call neighbors haven't come knocking with torches and pitch forks to banish us for tainting the street of otherwise perfect lawns. Not that ours is really all that bad. No woodland creatures are hiding out or anything. But compared to THEIR lawns, it looks like an effing prairie out there.

Our neighbors seem to have a few favorite hobbies: looking out the window, standing around in groups gossiping, and fucking their lawns. They are obsessed. We bought our house back in November when the grass was all but dead. The first time DH cut it this spring, the neighbor next door remarked, "oh, you're winning the competition now!" Uh, do what?? That's right. They compete with each other. The man across the street takes scissors to the grass along the sidewalk in front of his house. We have a cul-de-sac brush pile. Sprinkling systems. Lawn treatments. A lady was pulling weeds in the rain last weekend. One guy tools around on a riding mower while WEARING AN OXYGEN TANK AND MASK. Call me paranoid, but doesn't that make him some sort of geriatric explosive device? If a man showed me HALF the adoration, love, and attention these people shower their lawns with (no pun intended), I would be putty in their hands. And so would all of you.


ps: It's cloudy again. I give up.

Gimme an A!

Gimme a D! Gimme a D! No wait.. scratch that. Just give me some alcohol. Or a nanny. Or better yet, a nanny who comes bearing alcohol. Do they make baby Ambien? They should. I'll even offer up Bug for the clinical trial. Hear that, drug companies?? Call me. Please.

Nocturnal Baby doesn't sleep. Ever. I know I bitch about it all the time - and have for almost 8.5 months now - but I'm serious people. He. does. not. sleep. I can't take much more of it, I'm losing my mind at a rather rapid pace. I just don't get it. It's not uncommon for him to go 12 hours with only a 30 minute nap. I put him in his crib to cry it out and he screams like he's being murdered. For long periods of time. He's so fecking LOUD that I can't concentrate on doing anything else. Try to put dishes away, there he is screaming his head off. Try to unload the dryer, there the sound is traveling through the vents and bouncing around the walls of the laundry room. Try to sit down and watch TV, shit don't even bother 'cuz you can't hear it over his crying anyways. The other night I went to take the garbage out and I could hear him when I was in the front yard. With the air on and the windows to our house closed. Did I mention his bedroom is on the 2nd floor too? My mom always asks me why the baby sounds hoarse all the time... uh, because he CRIES ALL THE TIME. I really fear for my sanity at times.

Bite me... but not literally

Hi, my name is Nic, and my kid's a biter. I can't believe I am THAT mother with THAT child. I don't know how or why Nut does it and I don't know what to do to get it to stop. I've tried time outs, a swat or two on the bottom, and even biting her back. Nothing is working. I know the books will say it's a way for her to show her frustration since she can't fully verbalize what she's feeling, but that's not really helping ease my mind. Today she left two marks on the arm of the 3 yo I watch (prior to today that was the only person she's ever bit) AND chomped down on Bug this evening. At least - if this makes any sense - she was actually "fighting" with the one I watch. She got shoved back into a door, complete with a re-bloodied lip of the wound she got yesterday when she biffed on the sidewalk. All that was over a pink dress up shoe, by the way. Girls! It doesn't make it right but it was provoked so to speak, so I feel like maybe I can control that. Teach her a different way to show her frustration. With Bug though... I don't even know what that was all about. Sibling rivalry, maybe? Whatever it was, I need it to just stop. Any suggestions? I'm at a complete loss here. Help.

A letter to my firstborn

I'm late on doing this, but yesterday was a busy busy day and besides - better late than never, right? In honor of Mother's Day and the final day of Mother's Day Mania over at My Little Life (link is in the post below this; Blogger is being wonky and not liking my links today).


A Letter to My Firstborn.




Dear Reagan,



It has been 2 years, 2 months, 2 weeks, and 2 days since you made me a mommy. And what a ride those 2 years have been. From the moment I first saw you, I loved you, and I didn't think it was possible, but I love you even more each day. You are my pride and joy, my mini-me, my girl. I love that you look so much like me (except for that red hair!) and that we have so much fun doing girlie things together, like shopping. I promise not to spoil you too much, but it's hard when you ask so sweetly for a "surprise" when we are out. I love your fiery personality. Even on the days where your stubborness tries my patience, I love that you stand your ground. I hope that you take that with you as you grow older and never let others lead you down a path you don't want to go. I love how hilarious you are, how you live to get a laugh out of me. I love how sweet you are, how you wipe my tears away if you see me crying over a book or movie (Mommy is a pretty big sap), and how you are quick to offer to kiss a boo-boo if Daddy or I so much as stub a toe. I hope you keep your creativity and love for anything artistic. I dream big dreams for you, little one. You are a very smart girl and while I don't want you to grow up too fast, I can't wait to see what you become. Know that Mommy will always be here for you, that I will always lend an ear, a hug, a dollar, advice, whatever you need. We will probably not always see eye to eye, but I will never turn my back on you. You make me proud to be your mother every day and I'm so happy God chose ME to raise you. I love you, forever and ever and ever, Nut.



Love,

Mommy







Now go check out some other letters. You'll laugh, you'll cry (I did. I told ya I was a sap), you'll get all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

I Love My Stalkers

It's 9:30 at night and I'm feeling old and tired and lame, but I am going to muddle through this post before dragging my tired arse to bed. Keeping up his usual tradition, DH left me to stress the fuck out worry about finding something for his grandma for Mother's Day. I suggested a hanging basket ("Don't know where she'd hang it"), a potted plant ("My grandma's old. She just wants to smoke her cigarettes and take care of her dog"), jewelry ("She's old and has nowhere to wear it") and was shot down each time. Finally I took Nut to the mall after dinner and bought a candle. Unoriginal but whatever. I'm tired of freaking out about it. So much for a stress-free Mother's Day, right? It's been a long day and my brain hurts. That being said, let me move on to the real reason for this post: Mother's Day Mania!

I've been having SUCH a good time with that this week, I'm kinda sad to see it go tomorrow. Today's theme is what you love best about being a mother (or an embarassing mom moment but I'm skipping that. I'd like to end the day with the warm fuzzies, not feeling like a jackhole). So here it is, a random - because that's the way I like it - compilation of just SOME of what I love best about being somebody's mommy:

I love my kids. Love, love, love, LOVE them. It's true that you don't know just how much you're capable of loving someone until you become a parent.

I love the way Nut yells, "Mama!" when I walk in the door and runs to me for a hug and kiss, no matter if I've been gone at work for 3 hours or at the grocery store for 15 minutes.

I love the way that Bug is such a Mama's Boy and grabs onto my neck for snuggles.

I love the way Nut says "Wuh ooh" (Love you) right after I give her a kiss at bedtime.

I love when both kids have their jammies on and we all cuddle up on the couch for a bedtime story. I even love the way Bug grabs the book and tries to eat it while Nut screeches at him in a decibal so high that the dog runs away.

I love that they make the house more lively. I love watching them learn, seeing the world through their eyes, and sharing their excitement at the littlest thing.

It's true. My kids drive me absolutely bonkers at times but I can't imagine my world without them in. Don't want to. Not to quote Jerry Maguire, but my babies complete me. :)

I'll end this with a story from Wednesday night. The kids and I ran a couple errands and on the way home, I swung by Starbucks. My 2 year old, who idolizes her mama, started bouncing in her carseat as soon as she saw where we were pulling up too. "Mama, icee too pease?" She calls Frappucinos "Icees" btw). "Peeeeeassse?" Who could say no to that? We came home with our drinks, I put Bug down and then ran Nut a bath. At her demand, I got in too. When DH came home from class, he walked into the bathroom to me and my girl soaking in a tub full of Dora bubbles, me at one end with a caramel Frap, Nut at the other with her Vanilla Bean (i.e. coffee-free) Frap. After he saw us, he started laughing whichh gave me and Nut the giggles. Once DH shut the door, Nut leaned back against the tub just like I was doing and remarked with a smile on her face, "Mama, I happy". She wasn't the only one.

May I interest you in a cup o'poo? and other Q's

I have been on a blogging roll this week, huh? Go me. Today marks day 3 of Mother's Day Mania. If you haven't been joining in, give a little clicky love and do so. The theme o'the day is 5 Question Friday so without further ado...

1) What is the worst memory of your siblings?

Having three younger brothers, I have a whole plethera of can-you-believe-he-did that/said that/threw that stories. I'm going to brush those aside though, as I'm sure they all have their own can-you-believe-she-did/that/said that/threw that stories about ME. Instead, I'll take the Debbie Downer route and regale you with the tale of how my oldest youngest brother, J (got that?), almost drowned. Uplifting, right?

When I was roughly around 3 years old, my mom worked the 3pm-11pm shift at the hospital. As a result, my brother and I were left at home with our dad. Brief backstory: The man was a raging alcoholic. Most of the time, he at least waited until we were in bed before getting completely shit-faced but there were a few times he drifted off into unconsciousness before we were tucked in. One night, he started a bath for J and me, plopped us in the tub, and left the room "for a minute". That minute stretched on and on and the water got higher and higher. I remember yelling for him to come turn it off but he didn't appear. I hopped out of the tub and went into the living room looking for him. He was out on the couch. I went back into the bathroom and that's when I saw my brother, who was a year and a half at the time. J had slipped back under the water and while trying his hardest to get up, the water was too high and instead he was just flailing about. I screamed for dad but nothing. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed my baby brother my his hair and hauled him over the side of the tub. He was out of it, but I kinda think the thud from falling over the side of the tub onto the floor knocked the water out of him. I was terrified (and obviously traumatized since I remember it so vividly), but he was okay. That is my worst memory of my sibling, thinking I was going to lose him.

2) What was YOUR naughtiest childhood memory? (Must be something YOU did, no pawning it off on someone else!)

This is a bad one. Looking back at it, it's no wonder my daughter is a little turd. Don't they say you get what you give, tenfold? I seem to remember my mom yelling that at me a lot when I was a kid. lol. Okay, so my mom and dad divorced shortly after the above incident (surprise, right?). She was still stuck working that 3-11 shift so my great-great aunt would drive into town and stay the night with us on the evenings my madre had to work. Let me preface this by saying my Aunt Cil was one of the sweetest most caring and loving individuals I've ever known. She'd give you the shirt off her back, no questions asked. Yet at one point I was six years old and at many points, I was a shithead. One evening my brother and I decided to play a practical joke. We had just read a book in school about practical jokes and I was obsessed with the idea. Somebody pooped. I can't remember who, I just know there was a big ol' floater in the toilet. I got the bright idea that it would be HILARIOUS to scoop the poop out of the comode, put it in a cup, and fill the cup with water. J was then going to ask Aunt Cil if she wanted her a drink, offering her the aforementioned cup o'poo. I must have thought it wasn't going to end well since I had J give her the cup, effectively taking credit for my prank. So the turd is in the cup, I send J on his way, and I wait, giggling, behind the wall. I see J offer my aunt the cup. I see her take it. I see her put it up to her mouth. And then I see her stop dead in her tracks. Thank GOD she didn't actually drink it. Things didn't go as I'd planned after that. Despite my genius idea that J would be the fall guy, Aunt Cil saw right through that one and came looking for me. And let me tell ya, that was one pissed off senior citizen. My sweet, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly aunt picked me up BY MY HAIR and beat my ass with a RULER. The wooden kind. No lie. It was my first (and last) brush with old school disclipline and it was pretty damn effective. Really, though - can ya blame her???

3) Where do you like to go to relax?

Oh, this one is so EASY! I have two places that just melt away my stress: my bathtub (when it is filled up with nice warm water and a butt-load of bubbles) and Target. No lie. Nothing calms me down like going to Target. I make excuses to go there. Like, "Oh hey, the kids are outta wipes. I gotta go to Target" even if, in fact, we have six refills of wipes sitting in the bins under Bug's changing table. Honestly, if it weren't for Target, I'd probably be in a padded room by now. Someone once asked me why I didn't get a job there (instead of my p/t gig at the mall) and I used this analogy: It would ruin it. Like finally having sex with your celebrity crush and then realizing they have the smallest penis you ever -barely, cuz it's soooo tiny -seen. I don't want to taint the fantasy.

4) What was the last thing you won?

$2 on a scratch-off Lotto card. How depressing. Somebody should award me a prize so I won't feel so bad about myself....

5) If you could go on a game show, which would you choose?

This is a great source of frustration for me but Wheel of Fortune. I LOVE LOVE LOVE that show. And I'm good at it. Reeeeaaaaalllllly good. People are constantly amazed by my mad puzzle solving skills. I'm like a Wheel prodigy.

Sadly though, the folks at WOF will never know that. 4 years ago (this weekend actually), The Wheel Mobile came to a town about 35 minutes away for a contestant search. I was elated. This was my chance! But no. Every other self-proclaimed Wheel prodigy within a 100 mile radius showed up. Wearing homemade t-shirts. Carrying signs. It was nuts. The line was longer than hell 10 minutes after the mall where they were holding "auditions" opened. The process went as follows: Stand in line. Get color-coded wristband. Fill out stupid questionaire they would judge you off of. Stand in line some more. Listen to people around you screaming in excitement. Stand around some more. There was a lot of standing. Finally get to the head of the line. Ushered like cattle into a game ring with hundreds of other people sporting the same color wristband. Cross your fingers they drew your questionaire out of a bin. If they did, you played a mini game on stage. They asked you dumb questions. Made you dance. Or sing. Said it DIDN'T MATTER WHO SOLVED THE PUZZLE b/c they were looking for personality. What?!?!? Now I know why they have some real dumbasses on that show though. Needless to say, my name was not drawn and I slunked back to my car for the loooong 35 minute drive home listening to DH bitch about how he'd wasted half his day for nothing. Yeah buddy, how do you think I felt? It was like learning there was no Santa all over again.

Lordy, I typed a book. What can I say, I like to talk. Now for your reading pleasure, go check out some strangers' answers. You know you want to, you creeper....

Happy Accident

~Today's Mother's Day Mania theme is birth stories, which I'm pretty pumped about because, well, what mom doesn't love rehashing her harrowing tale of popping out a human?

So here we go:

Our pregnancy was not planned. Not by any means. DH and I had been together for a year and a half but kids were not on the radar at that point. I went to Florida with my aunt and cousin in early June 2007. While there, I jokingly told my aunt, "This alcohol just isn't tasting good. Something must be wrong with me." Prior to rearing children, I thought it was an unforgivable offense to waste liquor you see. That was my first clue something was off. The last few days we were there, I felt like crap. I got 2nd degree burns on my shins, got bit by some stupid native bug called the yellow fly and was dealing with a disgusting pussing welt left in its wake. When I got back home, I still couldn't kick whatever I had, so I went to the doctor. They took one look at the freak show that was my thigh and diagnosed me with an infected bug bite. I was given Amoxicillan and sent on my way. Instead of making me feel better, I just felt worse. After about the 15th time of informing DH I felt as though I could puke if I just opened my mouth, he pipes up, "Maybe you're pregnant." I laughed at him. What a man. Pregnant. I assured him I wasn't, it was just the meds upsetting my stomach and besides, I was having cramps so it must be any day now. Before kids, I had a really screwy cycle so I never counted. I just expected it sometime around the 31-33 day mark. I woke up the next morning, June 27th (I remember b/c it was my half-birthday...random) and got into my calendar on my phone. After figuring out when my last AF was, I did some quick math. Huh. It had been 41 days. Weird. I went to use the bathroom and when I saw clean undies, I thought 'eff it' and went digging for a leftover pregnancy test I had from a prior scare. I peed on it (and my hand) and set it on the counter to wash my hands. I look down and PREGNANT immediately pops up on the screen. I stared at it, waiting for the NOT portion to show up. The directions said results would take 3 minutes and it had literally been about 20 seconds. When, after ten minutes, it became apparent that it would not be making an appearence, I started laughing. Like, manically. I'm a really bad inappropriate laugher so I'm always the idiot giggling at weddings and funerals. Once it hit me exactly what the hell I was laughing at, I started crying. Bawling in fact. I HATED having pap smears, how the shit was I going to squeeze a baby outta my lady bits??!!!??

I decided to put the whole birthing thing out of my mind and concentrate on the issue at hand: puking my brains out non-stop. Whoever invented the term "morning sickness" was a God damned liar. I was sick 24/7. I carried a shopping bag in my purse for emergencies and by the end of the first trimester, DH was immune to me whipping it out to throw up while we were out I lost 25 lbs in a month and wound up in the hospital. With as sick as I was, you'd think I would have known I was having girl. But no. I was convinced it was a boy and actually cried on the sono table when told otherwise because I thought I had a defective maternal instinct.

Fast forward to Februrary 2008. I was put out on "take it easy rest" (my ob's words) due to a spike in my bp (my normal 110/60 had jumped to 140/95) so I spent a few weeks bonding with our couch. After a few pointless trips to L&D - I HATE when you call to ask a question and they immediately tell you to come in - , I was still pregnant and dialated to ZERO four days before my due date of the 24th. I was so pissed, I thought for sure I would be pregnant forever. My ob told me we wouldn't even discuss an induction until I was two weeks late. 2 weeks. WTF. On Friday the 22nd, DH and I went out for what was probably our fifth "last night out" meal. I came home, zonked out, and had the best sleep of my entire life. I awoke the next morning and felt something liquidy exit me. My first thought was that I'd peed the bed (I peed myself a LOT that pregnancy) so I got up to go to the bathroom and investigate. Some more trickled out. I honestly did not think it was my water breaking because it was nothing like the tsunami you see on television. I busted out the baby books and got on the internet and both said if it was amniotic fluid, it would smell sweet and not at all like urine. I put on my game face and decided to go sniff my sheets. Too bad when I go into our bedroom though, one of the dumb cats is rolling around and purring like a fucking freak all over the wet spot. I took a big whiff but after that, it just smelled like a wet cat. The books said if it WAS my water, it would stop if I laid down and start back up once I got up. I put a towel down for this test, climbed back into bed.... and fell asleep. I woke up at noon, nothing happened, I wasn't having contractions so I decided it was nothing, made a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats, and settled in to watch a Spongebob marathon. I talked to my mom on the phone a few hours later and after an ass-chewing from her, called the on-call doctor at the hospital. I was told to come in to be checked (big surprise), which really irritated me. I told DH to just drop me off - I was too lazy to hike through the parking ramp - since he had a big paper due the next day and there was no use for him to waste hours of his time when they were inevitably going to be sending me back home. I got dropped off about 3:00. The registry nurse asked if I wanted to be wheeled up, but I was all, "nah! I'm fine!" and waddled my happy ass up to triage. They hooked me up to the monitors, swabbed me to check the fluid and said they'd be back. Mind you I wasn't feeling ANY contractions at this point. Imagine my surprise when they come back at 5:00, interrupt my People crossword puzzle and tell me, "It was your water! Call Daddy, we're having a baby!" I felt so stupid. Do you know how many times I had to explain why my water had broken at 9am and I didn't come to the hospital for six hours? "What were you doing?" "Uhhhhh, watching Spongebob."

They started my pitocen around 6:15 and having to turn it off a few times and give me shots to stop contractions (baby's heartrate was going goofy), I was finally 10 cm dilated around 5:30 am. I was so numb from my epidural - I swear to God, I was hitting that pump button like a damn feign - I couldn't feel a damn thing, so DH and a NICU nurse (they were there as a precaution due to her heartrate) had ahold of my left leg while another nurse had my right *. 45 minutes later, at 6:24 am Reagan Leigh made her grand entrance into the world. She was 7 lbs, 3 oz and 20 1/2 inches long. Full mullet of strawberry blonde hair. She was born on her due date, \February 24th. She was perfect, albeit tempermental - the heartrate issue turned out to be her tugging on her cord in anger at being evicted from the womb - and has been raising hell ever since.


Okay, so there ya go. Now it's YOUR turn. Yeah, you. Go!


*It's just not my birth story without this tidbit: DH and the nurse both failed miserably at the leg holding thing. As soon as Nut was born, DH left to take pics and the nurse just kind of forgot. Once she dropped her hold, my left leg flopped into THE most unnatural position I have ever seen. I actually wound up pinching a nerve and didn't fully regain feeling in my thigh for a few weeks after. True story. If it had happen to somebody, of course it had to be me.

Whoopsie Wednesday

Being newish to this whole blog thing, I am amazed at all the stuff I DIDN'T know, example of the day being the blog hop. I'm partaking in my first today, losing my blog hop virginity to MY LITTLE LIFE. She is hosting Mother's Day Mania, a 5 day blitz of themed blogging, mommy style, where you can link up with other blogging mamas and read their posts for the day. How cool is that?? First off is Whoopsie Wednesday, the day to confess your parenting blunders, and I have to say I LOVE this one. How else to feel better about your flub ups then to laugh at others' misfortunes know you're not the only one in the Bad Mom Moment Club?



That being said, I present my whoopsie moment:



First, let me set the scene... St. Patrick's Day, 2008. Nut had just turned 3 weeks old and was sporting THE cutest shamrock covered sleeper, complete with a hat that proclaimed LUCKY CHARM across it. DH's grandma's sister's sister-in-law (or something like that) had passed away over the weekend and it was deemed that we were to attend the visitation in a town about 35 minutes away from us. DH and I went back on forth on the best way to save time and get there and finally decided that I would drive him back to work on lunch so I could pick him up when he got off and we could leave directly from there.



Fast forward to 3pm. I get a text from DH telling me he wants to stop by home when he gets off instead. Whatever. I finish getting ready and load up the wee babe to go pick him up from work. When he gets in the Jeep, he looks me over, and says, "Oh. Nevermind about going home if you're all ready. It's not a big deal. Let's just go straight there. Do you have a bag for R?" I told him I had a full bottle and some wipes and diapers in my purse, but not the actual diaperbag. "We should be fine," I told him. Oh how very very wrong I was.



We had no more than walked into the funeral home when we were greeted by my in-laws.

"She looks kinda red in the face, what's she doin? Shittin'?" my ever-eloquent FIL asked. I looked down and he was right.....then I smelled her. Good Lord, the child coulda gagged a maggot. I lifted her out of her carseat, grabbed my purse, and took her into the bathroom. When I walked in and saw our reflection in the mirror, I panicked. Poop. All over the back of my sweet baby's clothes, clear up to her neck. This was my first blowout and I had NO idea where to begin cleaning up the haz-mat that was my child. There was no changing station in the bathroom so I wound up having to lay her on the sink, praying nobody would come in and witness the horror of my shit-covered newborn. I used all the wipes I had and she was still half brown. I used all the papertowels they had in the bathroom and she still wasn't clean. Not knowing what else to do, I WASHED MY BABY IN THE SINK. Seriously. Desperate times call for desperate measures, people. On a side note though, let me just say my actions are precisely why public restrooms gross me out. You don't know what people have been doing in there.



I finally got her all cleaned up and into a new, fresh diaper. It was then that my stomach dropped. I had no diaper bag which means I had no change of clothes. What. the. hell. I tried washing out what she'd been wearing before but that was pointless. With no other choice, I wrapped her up in a receiving blanket, slapped on a bib that said "Beauty Queen" across it and took her out of the bathroom. I handed her over to my in-laws after hearing all about "first time mother" mistakes (thanks people, I already feel like enough of an a-hole) and got in line with DH to pay my respects. A few minutes later, I hear bits and pieces of the conversation of the women in front of me: "Who brought a naked baby to funeral? It's 30 degrees out!" I shrugged my shoulders and looked away. It would be the first (but not the last) time that I didn't claim my own child.





So, there ya go. My Whoopsie moment. Now, who else is going to join in? Come on, all the cool kids are doing it! Go HERE to read about it and DO IIIIIT!

The C-Word

Sunday morning Nut woke up in A Mood. Capital letters needed. Granted she has been waking up this way for a while now - Terrible 2's, anyone? - but that day she had an especially strong desire to make everyone's lives hell. I'm standing in the kitchen after a particularly brutal fight over candy when she comes in, looks at me with a glint in her eye and says, "Princess cunt." Uhhhhh.... what? Confused, I asked her to repeat herself. Eyes narrowed, she accusingly spits it out again, plain as day. "Princess. cunt."

Many thoughts ran through my head: She must have felt pretty strongly about her desire for Hershey Kisses. Where in the hell did my toddler learn THAT word? And how does she know the practical application of it? Should I scold her? If I make a big deal, she'll use it more out of spite.

Finally I took a deep breath and told her it wasn't nice to use that word and that it hurt Mommy's feelings. I even pretended to fake cry. Making Mommy cry really seems to strike a chord with her. I use it often to elicit remorse from her. Don't judge. I made her sit in time out while I got Bug's breakfast ready and filled up her sippy of milk. After she'd served her time, I told her to come get her drink. She ran into the kitchen, giddy as can be, yelling "Yeeeaaahhh!!! Princess cunt!!!" and pointing at her - what the helll - princess CUP. Cup. Not cunt. Whoops.