It May Be a While

I know, like it hasn't already. We are getting ready to move and things are just hectic lately. Our new home is something plucked straight out of an L.M. Montgomery tale and I'm so afraid something will jinx it that I don't even want to write about it. To keep it simple, I'll tell you that it has a pasture and a barn. A nice barn with stalls.

July is turning out to be every bit as packed as May is and June wasn't much better. Summer needs to be much longer.

Also, I'm still working on posts about our amazing gender changing baby, Little's abrupt potty training success, and a cautionary tale about a lost/forgotten bag of bananas and a plague of fruit flies. So check back in.

Little Boys Play This Game Too, Right?

Little (shoving his hands into my bangs and pulling): "Mommy, I wix your haiw."

Mommy: "Ok"

My hair is already a frightening sight since I just let it air dry after getting out of the most chlorinated pool in Christendom, which makes me shudder silently to myself as I think about the man-hours it is going to take to fix this "fix".

Little : "Oh no no no no no no. I wix it."

He notices the grimace on my face as he knots and yanks and teases my hair and assures me:
"It be over soon Mommy."

He stops and waits for further inspiration to come to him. Or he forgets what he's doing and stares off into space while I discreetly try to smooth some of the tangles out of my hair. It looks like Edward Scissorhands hit the pipe and went to town on my head. I don't have to see it, I can feel it.

Little (being drawn from his stupor by my non-stealthy movements): "No no no no no no, I wix it Mommy. Hewe some yotion."

Hair products = lotion in Little Land. He holds his finger up like he's got an invisible lotion pump in his hand and puts it in my haiw. Hair.

"I wix it I wix it."

Severe mussing continues punctuated by him looking at my face and telling me it will be over soon. There is also about a gallon's worth of imaginary lotion pumped into my unruly mane. But it's ok, because every so often those little chubby hand will slide down my face and hold onto my cheeks while he looks at me and smiles. Once you have parented a toddler (or terrorist as a friend of mine has renamed the "toddler" stage), you know that moments like that can sometimes be few and far between and you'd go through anything- even the manual removal of each hair on your head- to get another one.

By now I'm nearly bald in the front, but as Little steps back to admire his handiwork, he realizes that somewhere in the rat's nest he's created, there is A hair out of place. He frowns and tells me he'll wix it and carefully reaches up to readjust ONE hair on the top of the pile.

Little: "Ahh, dat's beb-ber Mommy. All Done!!"

At this point, I am required to look at his masterpiece in the mirror. I want to tell him that I look (and feel) like Amy Winehouse's stunt double, but it's all I can do to smile and tell him it's "BEAUTIFUL!!". Then he runs away and leaves me to sort out the mess.

Don't Worry

It wasn't the stress of being bitten yesterday that made Little fall asleep so early.

He's got a stomach bug and has been puking all morning. It's just as hard as you would think to take care of someone who is puking while you are puking. The joys of motherhood never cease to amaze me.

U Bet It Is

I have been bragging about my week free from vomiting and TWO whole days free of nausea AND vomiting, so this baby has decided to kick me right in the ass and let me spend another day hugging my toilet bowl.

I really hate puking in front of the kids. It scares them and worries them and well, there are some things that are just easier done without a two year old putting you in a half nelson and screaming that he wants milk RIGHT NOW! Thankfully, Little fell asleep on the way home from school today. (He's had no nap and was vampire bait at school today and apparently the stress was just too much for him) It was just Big and I this evening.

I am getting pretty good at controlling all coughs, laughs and sudden shifts of weight that may upset the delicate balance of my stomach contents, but I was unprepared for the violent sneeze that sent me hurdling toward the bathroom. Big heard me and asked if I was ok. I managed to choke out that I was fine.

My stomach seemed to think that the only way to stop this was for me to puke out everything down to my small intestines so I was in there for a while. Big came in to check on me despite my feeble assurance that I was fine. He rubbed my back and asked me if I was ok again. I nodded in between heaves. When I finally caught a break, Big was still rubbing my back and looked at me and said:

"Being pregnant sure is hard work isn't it mom?"

Why yes, yes it is and the sooner you realize this and you start thanking your lucky stars that you got the easy end of life because you were born with a penis and not a uterus, the further you are going to get in a successful relationship with a member of the opposite sex- not that we need to be thinking about that for the next 20 years or anything.

(Small aside here, why is it not "an uterus" or "an unicorn" but it is "an umbrella" and "an usher"?)

The Case of the Missing Mint

I am lazy and hate to cook and that goes double for my husband, so we went to the local Nathan's/Bruster's for dinner on a lovely summer-like evening this weekend. In case you don't know, Nathan's serves "Nathan's hot dogs" which are so delicious and juicy that they are apparently approved by God. They are God approved animal by-products. Bruesters is an ice cream parlor which may also be human tested, God approved, but I'm not entirely sure. It's certainly human approved- even if it is entirely sinful.

A hot dog and ice cream picnic-esque meal on a summer night- how Americana. We even called in the grandparents who came to to join us for ice cream. (someone call Norman Rockwell)

I have never been to Brusters and being pregnant an naturally picky, I couldn't decide what I wanted when it came time to order the ice cream. It's a walk up window and we were the only patrons, so I was taking my sweet time. Big ordered first- Mint Chocolate Chip. That's what he gets every time he comes here. DH ordered for himself and for Little next. MIL decides that she would like 2 scoops of Mint Chocolate Chip in a waffle cone. FIL orders. I still don't know what the hell I want.

I'm going to throw in here that Brusters must be run by an ex-football player or retired female gym teacher as EVERY ONE of their employee's is fresh off the cheerleading squad of the local highschool. I mean it's ice cream and hotdogs- should be cake- even for them.

Suddenly, there is a problem. Cheerleader #1 comes back to the window and says

"We're out of Mint Chocoalte Chip- well, we only have enough for one scoop."

So MIL starts perusing the board to find an acceptable substitute for her one scoop of minty goodness.

MIL: "Ok, I'll have a scoop of Vanilla and the scoop of Mint"

Cheerleader#1: "We're out of Mint." Huh?

At this point Cheerleader #2 comes by with Big's ice cream. It's a scoop of regular Chocolate Chip. I told Cheerleader #2 that this was supposed to be Mint as well.

Awkward silence ensues. I ask is there or is there not a scoop of Mint Chocolate Chip- if there is, Big would like it and MIL says she will get something else.

Cheerleader #1: "We're out of Mint Chocolate Chip." (Maybe she's Robot #1)

Cheerleader #2 steps in to save the day: "You can have this (sliding the Chocolate Chip ice cream toward Big and MIL who are standing together in a united mint front). It's just like the Mint Chocolate Chip, but without the mint."

***

I don't have any words. I can't even look at FIL because if I do, I am going to lose it in a fit of laughter right in this bewildered girl's face. So everyone (including me) gets regular Chocolate Chip as I was afraid any more confusion just might make one of their heads explode.

Thankfully, it was quite tasty- even without the mint.

It better be a girl

Recently there was a discussion in one of my online mom's groups about chin/facial hairs. At first, I avoided the topic as body hair gives me the heebie jeebies. From the neck down is pretty much a free-for-all for my razor and has been, for the most part, hair-free for about the past 10 years. Life is good.

It was a normal Tuesday about 3 weeks ago when I climbed into my car to leave for work and flipped down the visor mirror to do my makeup (whatever, I was running late). I began with my foundation as I sat in the driveway- there is a routine (I'm late a lot); driveway-foundation, first stop light-powder, second light- blush and lip color, work parking lot- mascara, which equals me arriving at work looking like a million bucks. Or at least not like I just got out of my pajamas 10 minutes before I rolled into work (which I did).

So anyway. Normal Tuesday. Foundation. Right. As I casually glanced in the mirror to make sure I didn't look like the illegitimate child of Two-Face and the Joker, something dark and sinister caught my eye.

I'll cut to the chase. It was the beginnings of my own hormone induced pregnancy mustache. I almost passed out and I won't lie- I got a little teary. I thought "this is it. The beginning of the end." and then I vowed to never look at myself again. Except that didn't work because now I looked like Wolverine came over for a threesome with Two Face and the Joker and I work with children and would probably be fired for scaring them.

BTW- someone out there educate me. I sat here for 10 minutes looking for a hairy, moustached villain from Batman and came up with nil. I had to pull out Wolverine which made me think of Hugh Jackman and the word "threesome" in the same sentence. Which made this post take much longer than it should have.

So it has been three weeks and while I have not been able to not look at my mug in the mirror, I have specifically tried to make it as quick as possible and am sure not to let my eyes wander to places that would upset me. So I have avoided noticing if I have advanced from Justin Timberlake faux-stache to a Burt Reynolds special. Until today.

As if my body sensed the coming nervous breakdown, all lip hair has returned to a non-seizure inducing peach fuzz color and cinsitency<----holy shit that is actually how I spelled that because I am typing one handed and my brain is melting from watching Sid the Science Kid----consistency.

On that happy note (the hair update, not the brain melting part), I'm going to go take a nap.

I'm Starving!!!!!

Seriously husband. You leave at 7:30 to go get a nice steak and potatoes (the word potatoes is the bain of my existance- I have spelled it every way imaginable, but it still looks wrong as hell) for your pregnant wife for dinner. Nice thought until you decided to spend an hour and a half looking at mother forking FISH for YOU when you know that even when not pregnant, I can't STAND the smell of fish. Plus you still have to MAKE dinner. You really can only speed up cooking a baked potato so much. I'm going to eat you if you aren't careful.