Friday, September 28, 2007
To be honest, I can't even remember what I actually mumbled out, but I do remember all the thoughts that went through my head. I was thinking first: wow-SO glad I at least showered today! But also I was a little embarassed, concentrating really hard to remember if I had even used perfume once since Carson was born! If I have, it certainly would not be enough to use the present tense of a kind of perfume that I "wear," but rather, "Well, once I wore ___________ on New Year's Eve." Also, perfume is approximately #382 on things I need/want to spend my precious pennies on. I can't afford present-tense perfume wearing! I've thought about that a lot since that day, kind of putting the act of perfume-wearing up on this pedestal of things that a woman who has her act together would do. I mean, a woman who is in her sweats all day doing laundry with no make-up does NOT need perfume. But I don't WANT to be in my sweats all day doing laundry every day. (some days...OK.) So, I have made it a goal of mine to have myself together enough to want to wear perfume at least a few times a week. That means, I'm bathed, clothed and going OUT of the house, where I will experience social interaction with other adults. Howie--thanks for giving us that little bottle of Abercrombie and Fitch perfume as bridesmaids gifts five years ago. I'm using every last drop, and it makes me feel like an active part of the adult world again!
Monday, September 24, 2007
Sigh. He's such a big boy!
Saturday, September 22, 2007
We start with some furry cupcakes. Actually, it started WAY before this picture, but this is when I got the camera out. These little babies were ridiculously time consuming, and the learning curve for cake decorating is pretty steep, but I still had fun. Have you ever tried to get a true red frosting? I hadn't. When decorating a few sugar cookies at Christmas, I'd settled for a holiday pink. It is insane! Not to mention, it is a MESS. Somewhere between staining my hands orange (the nose), getting red spots on my shirt and turning my sink black (Elmo's mouth) I began referring to the food coloring as The Devil's Paint.
Then we add some little eyeballs made out of marshmallow fondant. If you have made fondant, you know what a joke that is.
Little orange noses also with MM fondant.
And voila! Tower O' Elmo!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
You'll notice I tried a new interview technique: tape when the kiddo is strapped in! Carson is two days short of two years old, and we've been getting him excited about his birthday. He always just calls it "Happy." In case you can't understand, he's stoked about his Elmo cake, or "take" as he says. Don't you worry--mommy is working hard on Elmo, and he will be highlighted on the blog by next week.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Here's one of my favorite scenes:
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
I even got a little video of Carson and Nate tormenting Ethan. Obviously, the parents were quite entertained.
I am so BUMMED that I stopped filming, because right after I stopped, these guys turned into Larry, Moe and Curly. Ethan stopped dead in his tracks and all three fell down like dominoes, only to get back up again and chase and fall some more.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Now, when you dive into a battle situation like this, it's not like you haven't pulled out all the stops. Bribes. Promises. Threats. Tears. But it's like putting out a fire with a squirt gun. It just continues to rage. So, you buck up, camper, and just do it. (Holla to my Nike boys.) First, pants and shoes off. I've learned from past experience that trying to save time by keeping those on just backfires, and who needs poo on their Nikes? Next, hold toddler down with left arm, and unfasten diaper with right hand. Then while toddler is squirming, no: writhing, no: FLAILING with shocking strength, I am trying to hold his ankles with my left hand (you have no idea how strong my left fingers have become in the last year) and keep his twisting to a minimum with my left elbow. I am holding those little legs so tight that I'm praying there are no bruises. My friend Diane works for CPS. Please don't turn me in! With the right hand, I take the actual diaper, which seems to weigh as much as this child did when he came out of me, and try to use the small, untainted portion of the front of the diaper to wipe as much of the offending substance off the bum as possible. This is PRECISELY when screaming, thrashing toddler decides to explore--DOWN THERE.
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!" I scream, dropping the diaper on the changing table in my hurry, smearing fecal matter on at least the following: changing pad, clean diaper waiting to be worn, child's leg, container of wipes, baby powder, cute little basket holding clean diapers, AND MY OWN ARM. My frustration is quickly evident and transferred to my offspring, because he resumes his physical protest of the current situation. (Like I WANT to be here?) I'm in the middle of a sumo wrestling match, and all I can concentrate on are his hands, because his expedition is in a land that is UNCLEAN, people. I abandon all hope of doing something remotely resembling the initial objective with my right hand (although left hand still has death grip on kicking ankles in the air) and dive for the wipes. New objective: must. clean. little. hands. before. going. in. mouth. And then it happens.
Well, actually, one of three things happen. A) and most common: one wipe comes out of the little container, and the rest fall down to the bottom, and can only be retrieved by pressing a clasp and unfolding the wipes, which I dont' have to tell you requires both hands. B) While trying to take one wipe, I get about ten, and they are all connected to each other in a long line, like old school dot-matrix printer paper. Again--need both hands to separate. or C) NO wipes left. At this point "I need another hand" is an understatement like when I read that contractions are like a "slight tightening" in my abdomen. Doesn't quite cover it. Forget another hand, I need ten hands, a new diaper, new clothes for both of us, a stiff drink and a nanny. My frustration and anxiety completely errupts, but by the grace of God (and I'm truly not using that term flippantly) I decide that a room covered in caca is better than an abused child or an acoholic mother. I let go of my death grip, thus getting poopy bottom over changing pad, shirt, me and everything else. I let the child squirm, smearing even more poop, and I do whatever necessary to get those golden tickets: a handful of clean wipes. Or, as has occasionally happened, I ditch the room altogether in whatever state it is in and head for the shower to hose this kid off. (BTW--multiply this horror by 10 if you are on the floor of a changing-table-less bathroom in a fast food restaurant.)
As maddening as scenes like this are, there's usually a very sweet one to follow later so I don't completely lose my marbles. Like the other day when I was absent-mindedly singing a song in the car, and when I stopped singing, Carson erupted in applause, yelling, "Yeah, Mommy!" And it's moments like that when I remember another phrase like "I love you" that is also a tremendous understatement and it keeps me going through the rest.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Also, on a totally separate note, Carson started saying two new things this weekend while we were camping with Trent's family over at WiNeMa. First, and I think he picked this up by hanging out with a bunch of other toddlers, he started calling us Mommy and Daddy instead of Mama and Dada. But my favorite new thing is that he would come over to my chair, hunch over and hold up one finger with his eyebrows raised and say "I be yite back." This was a clear instruction for me to let him go on his own, because if I was suspicious and started to get up to follow, he would hold up his hand with the international sign language for "stop right there" and say "No! Stay!" I have a feeling we're going to have to add "Stop being bossy" to our repertoire of instructions. Although...he comes by it honestly. :)