The Unexpected Joys

Nobody prepared me for the unexpected joys of motherhood. No book, no magazine, no tv show, no doctor. I knew that hormones from pregnancy can make people moody. But I didn't know that my brain was going to shrink 7%. And although the shrinking is supposed to reverse after the baby is born, I don't think it did before it shrunk another 7% with my second pregnancy. So now I've lost anywhere from like 10-14% of my brain but I'm still supposed to act like I haven't lost my mind? And nobody ever told me that I was going to have to tuck my tummy into my pants afterwards. I knew my tummy would get bigger and then smaller. But I didn't know that the skin was going to get bigger and then not smaller. And I didn't know that the chiropractor was going to be taking up space on my "favorites" list on my phone. I knew my stomach muscles would be shot, but I didn't know that was going to blow my back out too. I also didn't know that I was going to have worse acne than a teenager who eats pizza and chocolate as a staple, and that pregnancy and breast-feeding automatically make you a non-candidate for any dermatological acne treatment. I didn't know that, after I had my kids, I was also going to get eczema -- a huge perk when you already don't look good in a swim suit, I might add. I mean, what's better than a braindead, acne-ridden, tummy tucking-in whale in a swim suit? A spotted one!

I Hope That Wasn't Full

We keep two extra propane tanks by our barbeque. I'm not sure why. I think maybe they are backups, but maybe they're just the empty ones that we need to refill. I'm not the barbequer in this family, and my interest in anything pertaining to the barbeque (other than the food that comes off of it) is low to none. But every morning, I sit outside with the kids and drink my coffee while we eat our breakfast and Jordan digs in the dirt (although he's about to have his dirt digging privileges taken away -- just watched him empty his bucket-o-dirt into the pool as I'm writing this). The other morning was no different (except the pool stayed clean that day and the bucket-o-dirt was emptied onto the kitchen floor... he's a sneaky little boy). But as I watched Jordan wander through the yard, filling his bucket with dirt samples from every corner, I noticed that he stopped by the barbeque. He was touching one of the propane tanks, so I walked over there to redirect him... just in time to watch him turn the knob on the top from "open" to half way closed. I really hope that wasn't full. It's not anymore, either way.

Circus Act

We went to the circus yesterday. I thought it would be fun to take the kids to the circus. Well, really, I wanted to go to the circus, I'm not gonna lie. I went when I was four years old, but the only reason I know I went is that I came home with a tiger flashlight. But the circus seems like such a happy place and I really wanted to see what it was about. Besides, the tickets were pretty cheap. $44 for four circus tickets -- the "mom discount".

Oh, and...
$26 in hidden ticket fees, including the "facility usage fee" for each ticket
$10 for gas to get there
$12 for parking
$25 for two baskets of chicken strips, a soda and a water
$20 for a light-up toy for Jordan

So I was feeling a little stupid about my idea to have a cheap and fun family day. But I put that behind me and thought we could still have a fun family day. We got to the circus and began to unload the kids from the car when I noticed that Jordan didn't have his shoes on. Dave noticed it at the same time and asked "Where are his shoes?"... My reply: "You didn't get them?!" Haaaaaa! Fortunately, Jordan is still in the carry-able weight range. We got into the circus without a hitch though, and went to our seats. The uptight usher seated us. The show started. It was awesome! And then an entire family came shuffling down our row from the other aisle. They stopped when they got to us. "You're in my seat." Lovely. The usher seated us in the wrong row. He's got a really complicated job so it's understandable. But we got the situation taken care of and watched the rest of the amazing show -- it was everything I had hoped for and more. Well... I did hope for a fleeting moment that the tigers would eat the guy who was whipping them, but I changed my mind about that hope when I realized the traumatic effects it would have on 10,000 young children in the arena. Sometimes I hope bad things that moms probably shouldn't hope. Anyway, when the show was over, we were definitely ready to head home. Jordan was getting cranky. I put the shoeless child up on my shoulders to make it easier to carry him and started the walk up the two stairs to the lobby area when the uptight usher grabbed me. Okay, first of all, I don't like being grabbed. It makes me defensive. But secondly, I don't like being told that somebody is not going to allow me to take another step, particularly when there are another thousand people crowding behind me on the stairs, trying impatiently to get out, and I'm blocking their way. Uptight Usher explained, logically (and frantically), that he can't let me take another step with Jordan on my shoulders because "somebody is going to push you and the baby is going to die." Right. Because somebody would be pushing me down the stairs with my child when the entire crowd is struggling to get up them? UUsh was my favorite part of the circus. He was the undercover clown that the undercover ticket fees covered, I think.

My Cup is Empty.

I drink a lot of coffee. Excessive amounts, really. It's the only way I can really keep up with the kids, especially when I don't get enough sleep. But I often forget where I have left my coffee cup. One day, I thought I had left it on the table, but couldn't find it. I figured I would find it later in the day. And I did. When I found it, the cup was empty, and Jordan smelled of French Vanilla creamer. Let me just tell you this: caffeine gives a nice little boost to sleep-deprived adults. For non-sleep-deprived-one-fifth-my-size babies, it works as turbo-charger.

Oooohhh Nooooooo!

The first time you realize your child just intentionally did something they knew was not okay, it's pretty shocking. Also, when sh** hits the wall in a literal sense, it's also quite shocking. Today, my dear little boy removed his diaper and flung its contents all over the bathroom. But that wasn't good enough for him. He then took the empty diaper and rubbed some of the "contents" into the grout, then swept other contents under the bathmat and stomped all over it. But that still wasn't good enough. After that, he waited for me to notice, then scrunched up his little nose and started laughing, then quickly turned, and his little naked butt went running down the hall. Somebody just learned how to make mommy angry.

Labels are Indigestible

Yesterday, while changing Jordan's diaper, I discovered that labels are indigestible. I saw something blue in what should have been brown, and, horrified, took a closer look. I always thought it was funny that there are nutrition facts on water bottles, but how ironic that the nutrition facts are the same before digestion as they are after...

Toothbrush-er

I recently started buying toothbrushes in bulk. They don't sell little kid toothbrushes in bulk; just adult ones. But we need them. Not because we brush our teeth overzealously. Mainly because I'm a nice person. You see, Dave keeps his toothbrush in a drawer that Jordan can easily access. Jordan happens to love toothbrushes. He loves brushing his own teeth with them, but even more, he loves to clean stuff with them. Since toothbrushes are normally kept in the bathroom, there are all sorts of lovely things for Jordan to clean with Dave's toothbrush, as you can imagine. And although Dave would never know what Jordan did with his toothbrush if I didn't tell him (and I admit that on the rare occassion I am tempted by supressed-diabolical-passive-agression not to tell him), I am a nice person a lot of the time. Afterall, I wouldn't want my "oth" switched with an "ilet" either, when it comes to brushes.

Jordan's Big Boy Bed

Jordan got his very first big-boy bed yesterday. It's a racecar toddler bed with rails that go from the headboard to the middle of the bed. It's about a foot off the ground, so if he fell out, he would be safe. Amazingly, the entire bed came in a box about 2 feet x 3 feet x 2 inches. It fit in that tiny box because it came in a million pieces. I wanted to surprise Dave and have it all set up before he got home, so I thought I'd attempt to put it together. So I counted all the pieces and had everything all set up to go before I started the assembly. I really can't figure out why things for babies come in so many peices. The Exersaucer came in about 200 pieces. This bed was about the same. WHY?! Do the makers not understand that we parents have a difficult enough time putting together a sandwich while entertaining our little ones, let alone an instruction-reading-required-multi-tool-assembly-hundreds-of-tiny-choke-hazards piece of equipment? Anyway, I got the bed put together most of the way, and was trying to attach the footboard to the frame when Jordan decided to come pretend he was driving the bed on my lap. Very cute, and a lovely bit of gratification for all of my work. Then I realized that I was missing some screws. Where did I find them? Oh, only in my son's mouth. Awesome. This is exactly why I hate that things come in a million pieces. Thank God he didn't swallow those! I finished putting the bed together at last, and was feeling very proud of myself. I turned around to grab the screwdrivers to take them back out to their spots in the garage when I realized there were three screws sitting next to them. Upon review of the assembly booklet, I found that no extra pieces were included in the box. I didn't know where they could be missing from, so I did what any safety-conscious mother may or may not do... I weight checked it. Myself. The good news is that: 1) the bed holds ALOT of weight; 2) the matress totally covers up the bent bars on the frame! Woohoo!

Do I Tell Her?

The kids and I went to lunch with a friend of mine the other day. I've known her since high school, and after losing contact with her for several years, we finally reconnected. I was really excited to go to lunch with her and catch up a little more. So we went to a little Italian restaurant near her work, and we each ordered a little pizza. When we got our food, Jordan took a couple of bites of mine and decided that he wanted hers instead. It's really embarrassing when your child misbehaves in a restaurant. But I'm lucky enough that my friend happens to love babies, and she was happy to be Jordan's new lap host. She was giving him little bites of her pizza when I noticed that he was also helping himself to her pizza. But only the pepperoni. The thing is, he doesn't like pepperoni. I know this from experience. And as I saw him pull each pepperoni off her pizza and stick it in his mouth, I also witnessed him pulling the pepperoni back out of his mouth and placing it back on the pizza. Of course I immediately told her, and told him "No thank you, Jordan." (A social experiment I thought I'd try -- I never say "no"; I always say "no thank you", even if it doesn't make sense... I'm hoping it will help make my naughty little boy more polite.) Anyway, she said "Oh, it's okay...." Okay, 1) I never know if people really mean that when they say it. 2) Do I tell her that he regularly sits in our garden and uses his breakfast spoon to shovel dirt into his mouth?

Wake Up Time!

Jordan was always a terrible sleeper in his early months. He woke up every hour or so to nurse, but did this all night long. By the time he was six months old, his pediatrician told me to let him cry it out for three nights -- just ignore the crying, don't let him nurse, and see what happens after that. I was desperate at that point, and I trust her professional advice, so after enduring three of the most horrible nights of our lives (Dave even had to go sleep upstairs with ear plugs and extra pillows just to get enough sleep to go to work), we ended up with a sweet little boy who has slept until 8 or 9am almost every single morning since. So when little Emma was born and slept from 10pm-6am straight every single night from the get-go, we were very excited! She slept so well, and I told everybody how I got so lucky this time and how it must have been God's way of thanking me for dealing with such craziness the first time around. (As a side note, I'm not messing with God anymore. Who was I to think God would thank me for something?! God doesn't need to thank lowly little non-church-going-Bible-reading me.) Anyway, all of a sudden, four months rolled around and my sweet little sleeping girl decided to wake up at 3am. The next night, same story. This continued for a week. Now it is the following week. That little girl has decided that 3am is an appropriate time to wake up and start the day. WHY?!!!! She wakes up at 3am, and stays awake until Jordan wakes up. And the most frustrating part: as I peeled myself out of bed this morning after only a few hours of sleep, and headed up to go get Jordan out of his crib and start the day, I looked down at my little sleep terrorist only to see her look into my eyes and grin a huge, gummy grin, just before she drifted into a deep sleep.

Sandwich Shop Madness

I have recently become a huge fan of Beach Hut sandwiches. Whoever decided to put cream cheese, bacon, and avocado all in the same delicious realm of sandwichy goodness is a genius. The other day, I thought I'd make my regular trip over there for lunch, because the day was getting a little too chaotic for my taste and I needed a little consumption therapy. I eat for pleasure. Not gonna lie. Anyway, I loaded the kids into the car and headed over there with my two little screaming monsters. When I got there, I realized that I didn't have the stroller. Huge bummer, but Jordan can walk. I unbuckled Emma and carried her around to Jordan's side of the car, and then realized that I forgot Jordan's shoes as well. But I have two arms, and even if I am beginning to look like an Olympic bodybuilder from lifting two kids all day, the arms could always use another workout. So I picked up both kids and carried them into the deli to get my sandwich that I was even more desperate for at that point (my mouth is watering now just thinking about that lovely, fatty concoction). I think I'm addicted. I got inside just as beads of sweat began trickling down my face, and waited... and waited... Lines really stink when you're holding 24 pounds of squirming energy in one arm and 15 pounds of it in the other. Finally got to the counter and Jordan had a melt down. He wanted to walk around -- perfectly reasonable for a toddler. As I yelled my order over the counter, past the lovely cacophony of screaming children, I began to sweat profusely, both from the difficulty of holding both kids and from the embarrassment of being in an eating establishment with two screaming kids while trying to order and somehow get my purse around to the front of me enough to grab a credit card as people are staring. And the more I sweat, the more Jordan began to kick and flail and wriggle out of my now slippery arms. It was a disaster in the making, and suddenly, as quickly as it all began, my name was called, my sandwichy perfection was ready, and I made a mad dash to my soundproof car. Everything was all better. Until I showed up there again today and the employees rolled their eyes. The moral of this story is that, if you want REALLY fast service, you are welcome to borrow my kids.

What to Wear...

It's been 16 months and I have yet to find a color that I can wear as a parent. In the beginning, when it was just Jordan, I wore a lot of white to hide the spit up. But now I have two. If I wear white, I end up covered in Jordan's dirt and food within minutes -- right now I'm actually covered in squished up peaches from breakfast and dirt from the planter box that Jordan dug through. I thought it would be less messy if we had breakfast outside this morning, but I didn't think about the fact that the mess maker is mobile when not confined to a highchair, and there is DIRT outside. But I can't wear black either, because Emma still spits up so much. If I wear white, there are handprints on me; black, I've got puke trails all down my back and on my shoulders. So I've tried a number of different colored shirts, and all of them seem to have a similar problem -- some colors even display both sets of baby mess. I finally found a shirt that I felt would hide the fact that I can't seem to stay clean ! Dave and I were going to go to a movie, so I thought I would wear the shirt for our date, and not only have a break from the kids, but actually look like I was having a break from the kids by my "clean shirt" standard. On the way to the movie, I was feeling proud of my find. Until Dave looked at me and commented about the color. Really, rotten asparagus green doesn't look good on me?

Diaper Free

I know it's not time for Jordan to start potty training yet. He's only 16 months old, afterall, and doesn't even understand what pee-pee is at this point. But we bought him a musical potty chair, hoping that he would get used to seeing it, and maybe accidentally pee in it someday and realize it makes fun music when he does that. So far, the only time the potty chair ever made music was after Jordan watched Dave clean the regular toilet with the toilet brush. Jordan decided to clean the baby toilet on his own after that. Really no good. It was messy and disgusting... water and gross germs everywhere. Thank God for Chlorox wipes, seriously. I don't know what parents did before those were invented. Anyway, because I want to encourage Jordan to use the potty, every once in a while I let him go without a diaper when we are in the bathroom. So far, this has never ever proven to be useful in any way, other than allowing me to tell him he's going pee-pee on the floor. One time, I got out of the shower and I was putting on my makeup when Jordan walked over to me, diaper free, and started slapping my legs. Then I felt him drop something on my foot. So I looked down only to find that what he dropped on my foot was brown and stinky. Thanks, lovely son. I dutifully cleaned it up without a hint of disgust on my face (wouldn't want to give him a complex, right?). Shortly after that episode, Jordan decided that he liked being diaper free, and that if I wasn't going to take the diaper off, he was. The first time I cleaned up poo off the carpet, I was upset. But I should have been grateful that it was just on the carpet. It has been in some way worse places since then. For example, once he decided to pick it up off the carpet himself. And spread it artistically about the bedroom... on the television, on the shutters, even on the wall. That was lovely. Once again, Chlorox wipes to the rescue. Thank God they sell them at Costco. But I think the worst of all of these little lovely moments in parenting was when I walked into the dining room to find him standing on the table, diaper free, yelling and pointing at a lovely pile of poo he left. On the table.

Fountain of Youth

I have discovered the fountain of youth.

"fountain" = a structure for discharging a liquid
"youth"= early life
Therefore, "fountain of youth" = a structure for discharging a liquid of early life.

We call her Emma. She frequently discharges liquid of early life down the back of my shirt. What I can't figure out is why the fountain of youth would be a desirable thing to find.

Miscommunication?

As we sat outside enjoying our coffee and the fresh air this lovely Saturday morning, we were watching the kids play. Emma smiled and laughed at us while we switched off holding her in our laps. Jordan, on the other hand, likes to play on his own. He wanders through the back yard and finds sticks and rocks to play with, and every once in a while finds a toy that he left outside on a different day. Today, he was most interested in getting his big blue ball out of the swimming pool. Normally, he will lay down at the edge of the pool and splash in the water, trying to get the ball to come his direction. Today was no different. He layed at the edge and splashed around, and at one point even grabbed a stick to help him. But the ball didn't move. It was too far toward the middle of the pool. Jordan stood up and looked at us, then pointed to his ball, wanting us to help him out. Jokingly, I looked back at him, shrugged, and said "jump!". Today I learned that, while Jordan understands the word "jump", he does not understand "just kidding." I quickly fished him out of the pool. Dave took him inside, dried him off, and put some dry clothes on him. They came back outside and we watched the kids play for a little while longer. Until Jordan decided he wanted that ball. That little goof DOVE into the pool head first to get it. He doesn't know how to swim! I ran over to rescue him, when I realized that he was just as far out as the ball. This time, we both had to change our wet clothes.

Mmm...

One of my least favorite parts of parenting is probably when I pull disgusting things out of Jordan's mouth. I was trying to remember what grossed me out the most when I thought of a recent trip to Truckee. We were in Safeway picking up some things for dinner, and since it's really the only grocery store in Truckee, it's a pretty highly trafficked Safeway and it's extremely dirty. The carts are filthy, but we set Jordan in the basket of the cart anyway, thinking that it would be cleaner than the seat part near the handle. As we were browsing through the produce section, we noticed that Jordan was chewing on something. Dave walked over to check what was in Jordan's mouth, and pulled out a wad of somebody's old ABC gum that they had stuck to the cart. Lovely.

Oops, that's not bread.

We made our weekly trip to Costco today... always a fun excursion with two babies in tow. Ever since Emma grew out of the infant carseat (at three months old), it has been a challenge to get through any store quickly -- especially Costco. I now put Emma in the front pack and Jordan is either 1) in the basket of the regular cart or 2) tied to the flat cart by his leash. (Side note: I was totally against leashing one's children until I had two of my own... it's amazing how I became a hypocrite) So Emma was in the front pack and Jordan was in the cart basket on this particular occassion, and if you have ever tried lifting a flat of bottled water and getting it into the cart with a baby in a front pack, it's not an easy task. Costco trips become tactical feats when accompanied by my kids. While I was planning my next move in order to make it through the store as quickly as possible, I must have experienced a little brain-death. I saw a three-pack of freshly baked bread by the bakery so I grabbed that, thinking it would be a convenient and tasty treat for Jordan. We made it through the rest of the store with only a few mild hang-ups (again, I wasn't paying attention... and crashed into a woman with a cart full of more toilet paper than an elementary school could go through in a year, but I guess it was my fault even though she obviously couldn't see where she was going). After getting the kids loaded into their carseats and packing the car full to the ceiling (forgot to take the double stroller out of the trunk), we finally headed home. When we got home, Jordan was hungry, so I pulled out a loaf of the three-pack of fresh bread and cut off a hunk for him. He INHALED it. I gave him another slice and was shocked when he finished more than half of the loaf. Until I noticed a small label on the side of the packaging. "Pound cake." First ingredient: sugar. Always good for babies. I really need to pay more attention.

What is that?!

I was sitting outside this morning enjoying my cup of coffee when Jordan walked over to me and tapped me on the leg. He frequently does this tapping thing, and it usually means he wants my attention. I turned to him and lovingly grabbed his chubby cheeks before I leaned in to kiss him. Only moments before my lips touched his, my dear little son opened his mouth and spit. I caught a wad of something with my hand that was already on his face. What is that?! It wriggled in my palm, in all its sliminess. There were hard pieces of something all over the slimy gob. And then I realized my angelic little boy had been chewing on a snail, shell and all. Mmmm....

There are some things Drano just can't fix.

I would like to know what plumber sold his soul to the children. I thought that the devastation my son felt after shoving his rubber ducky down the shower drain would deter him from putting other things down the drain. Wrong. Big fat wrong. The ducky was rescued with a pair of industrial sized tweezer looking things that Daddy-the-Hero found in the garage. Since then, Jordan has been smart enough to avoid putting his toys down the drain. Instead, I have lost my pumice stone, a travel-sized bottle of shampoo, a pair of tweezers, an eyeshadow applicator, some coins, an expensive make-up brush, several Q-tips, a toothbrush, a travel-sized tube of toothpaste, a razor, some cotton balls, a lip gloss, a pen, toilet paper, an eyeliner, nail clippers, a nail file and a baby spoon. Not all of these have been retrievable. I have been terrified that, at some point, one of those nasty hair balls that occasionally accumulate in the drain would tightly weave all of the irretrievable items together and end up costing us thousands of dollars to fix. Because that's something I just don't think Drano could possibly fix. However, my fears were relieved when I recently discovered that those hairy gunk magnets never make it very far down the drain. How did I discover this phenomenon? I took Jordan into the shower with me the other day to let him play in the water. He looked up with me with a huge grin on his cute little face. And stuck out his tongue.