Christmas 2009: Outtakes.

"Alex, can you please sit still?"

"Alex... sit down, hun."

"ALEX! DO NOT EAT THE BABY!"

"Alex... it's not bedtime, hun."

"Violet, can you get your crotch out of the picture?"

"Really? Do you have to look so SAD?"

"Yes, I know I haven't showered. And yes, I know I am wearing my husband's clothes. But this makes a total of THREE pictures of all of us, so let's not pass this oppurtunity up."

Merry Christmas from the Rinas Family.

Things ahead.

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. The holidays have overcome this house, and between visits home and decorating and getting ready here, I've had neither the time nor the energy, or for that matter, the motivation to get on here. But that will soon change.

I won't be picking anything up for now, because my son, my dear dear son, is trying to kill via sleep deprivation. Today marks his 6 month birthday, and still, we get up 3 times a night, every three hours on the dot. It's quite impressive, actually, how punctual he is. I would be more impressed, however, if I was able to get maybe 5 hours in a row sometime soon. See? No lofty goals. I don't need the whole night. I can be patient. But I need more than three hours. I NEED MORE THAN THREE HOURS!!!

On that note, I expect this blog to gather some dust in the next few weeks, and for that I apologize. We are not only getting ready for the holidays in this house; we are also preparing for Paul's deployment, which is just about a month away. I am getting possesive in a big way of our time together from this point forward, and I just don't have it in me to spend my time on the computer right now.

So check in from time to time, but don't expect much. Come January 14th, however, I will be on here diligently, as it will be my way of keeping Paul in the loop of our day-to-days.

See you in a few! Have a wonderful and very BLESSED Christmas! Savor the time you have with your loved ones, and keep those ones in mind who have sacrificed this time with family to protect our way of life!

PSA - Listen up, yo!

Yesterday was great. We had our family get-together for my side of the family. It was wonderful to see the kids again.

Yesterday was scary.

As many of you know, my parents have a house that's right on the water. I've posted pictures on here before of the backyard, on the back of which is a dock that we go fishing on, and in the summer it's our 'safe zone' for swimming in the channel, which has a pretty strong current the farther you get out. (Can you see where this is going yet?)

We were all enjoying the reasonably warm weather (for November) yesterday. All of the kids except for Eli were outside (which.... 4... 4 of them) doing various outdoorsy-activities. For a while, we were all throwing rocks off of the dock into the water, quite literally squealing with delight that it was not only ALLOWED to throw things, but ENCOURAGED (which doesn't happen often). After a while, Paul and I took the girls back to the lawn and started making our own mischief. My nephews stayed on the dock with my mother and my brother (their father). (Yep... you can see it now, right?)

As we were throwing various things for the dog to fetch, I heard a splash. I didn't think anything of it because they were throwing rocks into the river. A few seconds later I heard another splash. A BIG splash. I looked back, curious as to what kind of fish just jumped that would make that kind of splash, and I saw my brothers head poke out of the water, covered in seaweed.

And in comes the longest second of my life. It's quite comparable to that second you experience if you've ever been in a car accident. During which you have time enough to think that what's about to happen is really going to hurt, and crap, now I won't be on time for Thanksgiving dinner (in my own personal experience), and I wonder exactly HOW MUCH this is going to hurt, and so on and so forth.

At first I was thinking... "What the HECK is he thinking jumping in the river in NOVEMBER?"
Then I thought... "That's gotta be cold."
click
click
click
click
CLICK!
"Shit. There is only one reason why an adult would jump into the river fully clothed in winter."

Sure enough, I take one step to the left, and I see Logan's head bobbing right there alongside his daddy, covered in seaweed. He had tripped on a boat hook that is at the edge of the dock and fallen headfirst into the water, through a huge pile of seaweed that had gotten caught on one of the posts.

Things went really quickly as soon as we all realized what was going on. Paul ran and grabbed a net that they could grab on to, Mike (my other brother) ran and grabbed some towels, and I herded the other children together and kept a white-knuckled grip on them. Logan was fine, just shaken up because of the seaweed. And maybe the 8 foot fall into 14 ft. deep, very cold, water. With shoes and a winter jacket on.

Now, I just wanted to put this up here for one reason. To convince people to put their kids in swimming lessons. I didn't see it, but my mom said that Logan went under when he fell, but then popped right up and started swimming. He is only four years old. But he didn't go under again. I have been a longer supporter for swim lessons for children, but this just proves how absolutely necessary it is. He's been in swim lessons since he was 18 months old. So PLEASE, put your kid in lessons. Especially if you yourself are terrified of water. Because these things happen. Even when you are standing right next to them, as my brother was.

There's my soapbox speech. Hope you take it and run with it.

Mommy Confessional Thursday

I have been feeling guilty lately for not posting as frequently as I want to. To remedy that, I am going to (try) start posting at least every Thursday, with an update on awful things I do during the day that normally I would not post on the internet for fear of people coming and taking the kids away. Fun, no?

So let's kick it off with some food safety.

Yesterday, I was mixing up some corn for Alex's lunch when I accidently drooled in it. A big old wad of mamma drool plopped in there. (Don't ask why all of a sudden I am having trouble keeping said drool in my mouth... perhaps that gives you a bit of an insight into my day? At least none of the brain that continually drips from my ears dropped in there.) And that's not even the bad part. The bad part is that, after a short pause, I stirred it in and served it anyway.

Yay!

And I just ask those for who have eaten anything that I have made previously, don't worry. This only happens to one in every ten dishes I make. Odds are, your plate was drool free.

Halloween in Three Parts.

Act One:

Partying it up with some friends. Chose a family theme. Started with Alex as our bag lady (please notice the shopping cart... and fingerless gloves). Paul and I are homeless. And then we have our cat. ...Er.... Lion. (All the cat costumes were a bit too feline for my liking.) Upon arrival, first person who sees us says, "Oh good! You didn't dress up either!" Fail. Second person says, "No! They dressed up! They are Winter People!" Fail. I decided to rethink our costumes for the big day.

Act Two:

Buy tiger costume on sale. Also purchase huge bag of candy. Eat lots of the candy before nightfall (there is a reason I don't buy the candy till the day of). Have a wonderful time walking around the block with the kiddies. Night was saved by our wonderful neighbors and their wonderful wagon. Which I am now coveting.

Act Three:

Oldest must have been tuckered out. Fell asleep mid-paci-hunt. There is a reason we check on her before we go to bed. Surprisingly enough, this is NOT the first time we have found her under her bed.

Did you hear that? That's what CHANGE sounds like.

Not pocket change. I have none of that. (I am definitly one of those people who uses a debit card to pay $1.50 for a pop. Sue me. Also one of those people that uses the free address stickers I get from charities without donating anything.... aren't I awful??)

What I have are big BIG changes. Changes that, had this happened 10 years ago, I would have had to write several letters with PAPER and PENS and send them out in ENVELOPES after I LICKED A STAMP.

Well, maybe the first change isn't so large. I got my hair cut. And really, all that means is that I have more in my face when it's in a ponytail. See, look. (Ignore the large bags under my eyes. Those are standard. As is the absence of my glasses. Because I usually don't remember that I wear them until I realize sometime during the afternoon that it shouldn't be so hard to read my child her books.)

The second change is a bit bigger.

This is where I would tell my poor father to take a seat had I not already told him the news.

If you actually know me or have been following me since I was on Xanga, you may remember that when Paul and I first got married, he was living in England. Six days after we married, we got on a plane and started our life together. It was a bumpy transition for the both of us, but we made it work. After a year, we moved back to the states to start our new life (and our family) together. Well....

Come July, we will be headed back over the pond. After a lot of back and forth, we decided that that was the route our lives were headed, and it wasn't long before the deal was final. We will be there for three years, and then who knows where after that (I am still holding out for the Denver area, though).

Initial thought.... CURRY!

Second thought... 8 HOUR PLANE RIDE WITH A ONE YEAR OLD AND A TWO YEAR OLD!

I am encouraged that the percentage of freak-out versus excitement is about 20/80 right now, so that's good. There is just so much to do between now and then, it's overwhelming. Especially since Paul's deployment is looming over our heads. But I am excited. We are all.... excited.

Things are changing. Aaaaaaagaiiiiiin.

DNA

I have an actual post that has been put on hold for a bit, but I just had to share this picture. Initially, I thought that it was one of those that would get deleted right away (because of the magnificance that IS digital photography that allows me to take 10 pictures in the hopes of getting one where all the fingers are out of noses and at least one eye is open on all involved). But... the resemblence between Paul and Eli is uncanny here, and it makes me laugh. Eli has that, "COME ON MOM JUST TAKE THE PICTURE" look down PAT.

Unnecessary Organs. Who knew there were such things?

So, you would think that our bodies are pretty put-together, right? Like we have everything we need, and lack anything that would just get in the way. We have ten fingers because that's how many we need. 11 would just be showing off. Only two eyes because if parents actually saw everything, childhood wouldn't be nearly as fun. We have a liver to... uhm... process alcohol? And an esaphagus because that would just be weird if our stomachs were right up there in our necks.

So it's weird to me that there are organs in our bodies that are so unnecessary that they can be completely removed without any dire consequences.

First, let me apologize to my mother. Because I know what it's like to grow a human. It's hard. It's nine long months getting fatter, heartburn, and general crappiness. You grew me from scratch, and here I am, just tossing organs away like they were scrap. So sorry. I'll make it up to you.

Oh, sorry. Did I forget to give a little backstory? Let me rewind just a little.

A few weeks ago I was sitting downstairs with Alex, minding my own business, enjoying an episode of Wonder Pets (who are awesome, and they save everyone). I started to have some uncomfortable pains in my chest, which soon spread to my back. To be short, it felt like someone had taken a hold of my rib cage and was trying to forcibly remove it from my body. Not comfortable. I squirmed a little, waiting for those darn animals to hurry up and save the day so I could put Alex to bed and lay down myself. It wasn't long before I had Paul come downstairs and start Alex's bedtime routine without me, as I tried to stretch and move and do anything I could to relieve the pain. I wasn't sure if I had stretched a muscle (just sitting there), or just had the worst gas pains imaginable. So I did what any rational person would do. I looked up my symptoms on WebMD. And do you know what I found out? I was having a heart attack. Now, I would like to say that I just laughed it off and then took some rolaids. I would like to say it. But... I was sold. I saw that women's heart attacks often differ from men's because they feel like really awful indigestion, and often lack the obvious chest pain that can accompany a man's heart attack. I saw that most women's heart attacks go untreated because they think they just have bad gas or don't have time to get looked at. And this wasn't helped when I called my insurance company and talked to a nurse who immediately told me to chew some aspirin and call an ambulance. I'm 25 and having a heart attack. But then, it could just be gas. I'm going to die, and all they are going to talk about is how I mistook a heart attack for a nasty byproduct of Mexican food. But really, it's probably just gas.

As the pain got worse, I became more paranoid that I was losing precious life-saving time by being stubborn. I felt silly then, and I feel even sillier now thinking back on it. I was convinced. There is a reason why you shouldn't self-diagnose.

Anyway, by 11, I was in alot of pain, and Paul convinced me to go up and just talk to someone at the ER. Which... thinking back on it, doctor's are probably not allowed to talk to you in the ER without you being admitted first. But, anyway, I went up there. I almost turned around several times because I was convinced they were going to tell me that I just really needed to fart and to stop bothering them. As I babbled on and on to the nurse at the front desk, a voice came from the back... "Sounds like a gallbladder. Send her back." And, let me tell you, that was the fastest diagnosis I have ever encountered. It ended up being exactly that. My poor little gallbladder was full of nasty little stones, and apparently the cure for that is to take the whole thing out.

During the following days, doctors were called, ultrasounds were taken, dates were set. I had to wait a week for the surgery to happen, which was unfortunate because if I had anything other than a plain salad, that nasty little rib-pulling pain would come back. And the constant nausea that had me peeing on several pregnancy tests wasn't fun either.

But it finally came, and Paul dropped me off bright and early that morning. I was going to be alone until Paul was able to drop the kids off at our babysitters later on that morning. Things went smoothly. I was checked in, got to get into that lovely little gown, swallowed some pills, got poked by some needles. I was nervous as the rolled me into the OR, which was quickly taken care of by a dose of what they called "I don't care" medicine. When they put it into my IV, they warned me that it might burn a little. It actually felt like someone had broken my wrist. It was an odd sensation, because I knew it hurt really badly, but all I could do was lift my arm and mumble something about it being broken now. And asking if everything on the ceiling was really moving. Which... I don't think it was. They gave me another dose of the loopy medicine, and this time my whole arm felt like it had been crushed. I mumbled again, and I heard the doctor say, "She's saying it feels like her arm is bro...." "Laura, you are in the recovery room. The surgery is over."

That's how quickly it went. Or at least it felt. The surgery lasted about an hour. I just have five little slits, ranging from just above my belly button to just under my rib cage. I am amazed that they have the technology to remove an organ without actually opening you up. Blows my mind.

I am a lightweight when it comes to drugs, so I was out of it for my entire stay at the hospital (which was only for a few hours after the surgery was over) and the rest of the day when I got home. I went straight back to my bed and slept off the anesthesia and the vicoden that was flowing through my system. Which, I don't know how long I've been wishing for a day when I could just stay in bed and sleep. There weren't the most ideal of circumstances though. Can I get a re-do?

It's only the day after, but I'm feeling better. I am really really sore. But the nausea is gone, and I can eat again. I'm pretty sure it's going to be worth it.

So, ya, sorry mom. Wish I could have kept it. You worked hard on that gallbladder. And I just tossed it away. Love you!

JSADILFJAIDFJSAISDJFIAJDSKLFJA

There's too many things going on at the moment. Paul and I have somehow landed at some major crossroad in our lives, where decisions must be made and 'adult' things accomplished. I am not sure how we got here.... one minute we were walking along just fine, and all of a sudden, there are 10 HUGE MAJOR LIFE-CHANGING decisions that NEED TO BE DECIDED NOW! NOW! NOW! And I have several different voices in my head saying, nay, yelling at me, telling me to go here, or do this, or eat that, or DON'T EAT THAT, IT'S TEN POINTS YOU FOOL! And it all starts sounding like the noises that Alex makes when you are making her food and she has lost all sorts of patience. It's the type of noise that makes your brain melt and your eyes cross and the dog howl. NOT PLEASANT.



So in lieu of all of these things that require me to use far too much of my brain power all at once, I decided to write a post about absolutely nothing. Enjoy.

Yesterday we took Alex to her 18 month check-up. (And here is where I say, I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW BIG SHE IS!!!) She checked out healthy as a horse... er... kid. She's right on course for verbal skills, motor skills, drive-da-mama nuts skills. And her weight. 20 pounds. Exactly. TWENTY POUNDS. To put that in perspective, Eli is 15 months younger than her, and weighs 14 pounds. Wow. I knew she was tiny, but that astounds me. She is in the 2% range for weight, and the 45% range for head circumference. No wonder she is always falling over. (Case in point, yesterday she was sitting on the coffee table [points for me] and for no good reason, she tipped over and fell off. Who knows?)

Well. I was planning on writing more, but I hear Alex screaming "UH....OOHHHHH" on the monitor, which is never a good omen. Wish me luck.

Today, I kicked a dog in the head.

...And I don't even feel bad about it. Isn't that awful?

But first, I just have to comment on this. I am watching the President's address to Congress right now, and though I like that any President must go through the gauntlet that is Congress when bringing his ideas to fruition, I can't help but laugh at the ritual it's become. Speech writers try to pack as many BAM phrases into one speech as possible, and by BAM phrases, I mean the hundreds of sentences that are probably underlined, italicised, AND put in BOLD PRINT because those are the ones that people are going to stand up and clap for. SAY THIS ONE WHILE WAGGING YOUR FIST!!! And no, I am not just dogging on Obama. I'm not his biggest fan, but every President does it. So, they say these phrases, and half (or perhaps if it was a good enough BAM phrase, the whole) room stands and cheers. And what I love is the OTHER HALF of the room. The part that's not standing. The part that is shaking their heads with that smile on their faces. The smile that says, 'Oh those silly Republicans (or vice versa)' when in reality they are probably getting really annoyed that these people keep standing up and cheering every time the President says the magic word (I think that's how they do it... they get together before and agree on a word that every body is going to stand up and cheer for... then the President is left confused as to why he got a big cheer every time he talked about demagoguery).
Well, that's all I have to say about politics.

Back to the kicking of the hounds!

I would like to start this out by adding a disclaimer that I didn't mean it. ... But that would be a lie.

BUT. I at least have a good reason.

I have been making an effort to get the dog out on walks at least every other day. Poor Violet has been neglected for a while as mom and dad adjusted to life with two kids. So tonight we went for a stroll, and because Alex didn't kick and scream and spin her head around mulitple times when I broke out the stroller, she went with us. I was having a nice, quiet walk, which was sped up by Violet pulling my left side a smidge faster than my right side wanted to go. As I was approaching one of the houses, I noticed that there were two guys out there (father and son I assume), both making half-hearted attempts to catch a dog. I assumed that because they were out front with a collar on the dog that this dog would not bother us. But as we passed, the lure of a dog, small child with her hands out and a sweaty, slightly overweight power-walker was too much to pass up. The dog (a puppy pit... quite cute actually.... ok, now I am starting to feel bad for kicking it.... ) (no... not really) came over and made aquaintences with Violet as dogs tend to do (BUTT-SMELLING). They were getting excited, bounding around each other, taking turns knocking into me. The puppy's owners were standing on their porch staring, not seeming too concerned. The dogs continued to bound and sniff, then started to bark, then started to growl, which quickly progressed to little snaps at each other. And all the while, Alex is straining to get out of her stroller, with one hand reached out towards the dogs. Now... I am not all about grabbing dogs I don't know. I am a firm believer in owners taking responsibility for their dogs, making sure to the best of their ability that other people will not be put in the position of having to restrain a dog they don't know. But, tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum were not moving from their porch. So, I tried to get in between the dogs, Violet backed off, puppy went for the next target, which is was my little one-year-old with her hand outstretched....

He didn't get her. But he did get something.

And after that, the owners came and got him. The father looked like he wanted to say something along the lines of 'how dare you kick my dog', but I had MAMA BEAR written all over my face, and I think he decided it would be safer if he just removed the hound from my sight.

Put. The dog. On a leash.




And I suppose I should add a disclaimer that this was not a wind-up-and-kick kick, it was more of a forceful redirection with my foot. The dog didn't yelp, limp, or even cower. He just went for Violet again. So... no hate comments pa-lease.

Morning Conversation

Scene: Eli laying on couch. Alex pointing to his various body parts.

Alex: (points to eye) EeeeyyyyyeeE?

Laura: yes, eye.

Alex: (points to nose) EeeeyyyyyeeE?

Laura: Nose.

Alex: (points to arm) EeeeeyyyyeeE?

Laura: Arm.

Alex: (points to foot) EEeeyyyyeeeE?

Laura: Foot.

Alex: (points to belly) EEeeeeeyyyyeee?

Laura: Belly.

Alex: (points to crotch area) EeeeeyyyyeeeE?

Laura: (thinking daughter will continue with previously set routine) ....Penis.

Alex: .... Peeeeniiiiii?

Laura: .....

If at first you don't succeed, do something else.

I have been trying again and again to upload a certain video of certain children. You may have noticed the blank post that's been on here for the past few days. Well, it's gone. I am going to for-go uploading that certain video (which starred a certain mini-man and his talkative nature), and head straight to this one (which I have yet to attempt to upload... so it may or may not be at the bottom of this post) which stars a certain toddler with a tendency to drop it like it's haaawwwwwt whenever there is any kind of beat in the background, whether it be music or Eli's very loud and creaky swing.

Enjoy. (maybe.) (...and as an added bonus, get to see some white lady in her pj's who has yet to brush her teeth or comb her hair or even look in a mirror get down with her bad-ars self.) (...and all credit of the music goes to the britney spears channel of pandora.)

Changes.

Things are changing.

I wear glasses now. And aside from a few days where it felt like I had been punched in the face (trust me, I asked Paul about 5 times if he would please just tell me if he hit me while I was sleeping... which he didn't.). Anyway, aside from that, the transition has been smooth. I was amazed (like, truly slack-jawed, with audible gasps and everything) at how much better I can see with them strapped to my face.

We are putting the house up for sale. We've been clearing out all of the 'stuff' we've accumulated throughout the years (and... WOW) to be put into a garage sale this Saturday. Which... I've never taken part in a garage sale before, so it should be fun. We have been looking at houses around the area. Big thing we are looking for... 3 bedrooms on the same level. Right now, the master bedroom and one other room are on the upper floor, while the other two are in the basement. I had planned on having the kids share a room for a bit, so this wasn't a problem. But, considering Alex can not only climb out of the crib, but also into the crib, this won't be happening. I have seen her try to end his life once already (death by eye-gouging.... I walked around the corner to see her thumb IN HIS EYEBALL. That image will forever be burned in my memory....*shudder*), and I don't care to walk into their bedroom one morning to find her sitting on Eli's head. And there is no way I am going to put either of them on a different floor than us at this point... especially since the basement becomes ridiculously cold come November... So.... three bedrooms. Same floor. Also, no pool. We've had enough of sinking money into that, thank you very much. When the kids are older, maybe we'll give it another go.

Also, I am slowly trying to adjust my days to prepare myself for when they will get much longer. Paul is going on deployment for four months come January (WHIIIIIINE), and between now and then, he will be going on trips for work, a week here, two weeks there. I have been attempting to get to the end of the day not feeling like I am going to collapse if so much as an ant blows on me. At this point, I look forward to Paul getting home every day, offering some relief from these two angels of mine. Maybe 'look forward to' is too weak of a phrase. I NNNEEEEEEED Paul to get home and snatch these children away from me before I chuck them over the balcony. I think some days he gets home and he can just see the look in my eyes. The look that tells him to move slowly and not make any sudden movements and to remove the children from my line of sight right this second or so help me...

So yes. I am trying to do things while he is at work like go grocery shopping with both, shower, all those little things that get so much more complicated when you have children. I would like to have somewhat of a routine down before he up and leaves me.

That being said, if anyone wants to visit between January and May, feel free!

Today.

August 12.

Happy Anniversary, to my one and only.

On this day, 3 years ago (has it really only been THREE years?... or is it... has it ALREADY been THREE years? I can't tell), we said our vows, we walked down an aisle, we cut some cake.

On this day, 2 years ago, I threw up a few times, we ate a bland dinner because that was the only thing I could stomach (because something very special was growing in there), and we went to bed early.

On this day, 1 year ago, we were adjusting to our new lives as parents, oblvious to the fact that our lives were about the take another crazy step forward.

And now, 3 years in, this day no longer represents a walk down the aisle. It no longer represents a big party with some pretty awesome food (from what I hear... I didn't actually get to eat that much). It represents two beautiful children. It represents a year in England and two in St. Louis, with nothing but each other. It represents the loss of lives we cherished dearly, as well as the gift of so many new little ones in our families. It represents more trials and triumphs in the many years ahead. It represents so much. I am very happy and very proud to say that August 12, 2006 was not the best day in my life. I had hoped it wouldn't be. There have been too many days to count since then that sweep it under the carpet. And I hope that there will be many more.

Happy day, Paul.

Love,

Your Laura

Oh ya, I remember why this was hard...

For the first few weeks of my son's life, I was walking around the house saying some pretty silly things. Things like, "I don't know WHYYYY I thought this newborn thing was hard the first time!" and, "Man, I must have been a real whiner that last time around, because this is CAKE!" Now, granted, I wasn't saying that life with TWO beautiful little darling devils running around was easy, but that taking care of a newborn in comparison with taking care of a toddler who is intent on making you EARN a good night's rest is easier than I had remembered it being.

Silly me.

Silly, silly, stupid me.

I remember now. I remember why I cried so much the first night we had Alex home. I remember why this little person, this little person who couldn't move or talk so really what harm could they do, I remember why it's tough having an infant in the household.

SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

I miss the days of having a toddler and only a toddler who slept so nicely for twelve hours a night. I miss COLLEGE, where I could sleep so nicely for twelve hours in a row.

Granted, I would not go back. I would not change a thing (my husband, you see, he gave me a ring, and along with that ring, he surprised me twice more- so here is my lesson for all you crazy cats, don't sleep with a man, unless you want brats! ... sorry).

It could very well be easier the first time, because then at least you can sleep when the baby sleeps, even if it's in the middle of the day. Sleep is sleep, no matter how light it is outside. But with Alex, I can't do that. I don't sleep at night because of Eli, and I don't sleep during the day because of Alex. And it doesn't help that Eli is cluster-feeding right now, which for those of you who are not familiar with this lovely bit of motherhood, it's equivalent to setting an alarm clock to go off every hour and a half, then putting said alarm clock on a very sensitive part of your body and letting it chow down for about 15 minutes, and continuing to do this around the clock. It's lovely. I begin to lose my mind at about 3 am. Last night, he started crying for about the 5th time since I had gone to bed, and I sat up and held him without feeding him for about 5 minutes of screaming before it dawned on me that he is hungry. Again.

Plus, with the whole bed issue with Alex. The fact that she is not caged in (excuse my terminology, but really, what is a crib if not a cage?) has effectively cut 2 (sometimes more) hours off of her night's sleep. Effectively cutting 2 (sometimes more) hours off of MY night's sleep. 6:30 comes really early! Especially when the way you are welcomed into 'awake-land' is by two little hands slamming on the door across the hall. Repeatedly.



So, all of this leads me to this. I am thinking of turning our house into a bed and breakfast. You know, a place for all those weary travelers to come and get a good rest before they head back out on the road. After, of course, their filling breakfast of peanut butter toast (with the peanut butter mostly licked off) and half mashed, half chewed bananas. Let me know if I can book you a room.

A Glimpse.

Now Entering: The Land of the Toddler.

I promise I have a good explanation for the lack of posts recently. Actually, I have two. First, I wasn't home. I was in the land of the Island-folk, resting and catching up with family and kids and friends alike. It was a good trip, with the exception of the big void that was the absence of the hubby. Alas, he was off doing that thing called 'work', which apparently needs to get done in order to make it with two kids. Who knew?

Reason two: My children grew up. Really quickly. Eli has grown to the point where I feel silly calling him a 'newborn'. He's HUGE. He's awake all the time, he smiles, he talks. He's wearing 3-month clothing... which Alex didn't do till she was about 6 months. But this is not the big news.

My little girl. My little almost-17-month old little itty bitty wittle girl. She's grown, almost overnight, into a pint-sized little person. She is officially a toddler.

And what is it that I am using to judge her advancement to toddlerhood?

Just LOOK at her!

She eats corn! While it's STILL ON THE COB!

And that's not even the half of it. Two days before we left Michigan, she decided she was through with the pack-and-play she was sleeping in. She crawled right over the top and landed on her head. I will say right now that that was probably one of the worst noises I have ever heard in my life. One that I wasn't willing to chance hearing again. So she slept in our room the next two nights, in her pack-and-play but within an arm's length so I could throw her leg down everytime it popped up. And the first thing we did when we got home was go out and get a toddler bed. ... A BED. FOR A TODDLER. THAT DOESN'T HAVE ANY RESTRAINING BARS ON IT.

It's probably one of the cutest things I've ever seen. I was very nervous going into the first night, especially considering that we were coming off of a ten hour road trip. We were already tired, and this bed meant that there was probably not a full night's sleep ahead of us. (which... I don't get anyway, but it's nice to go into the night with the illusion of a good night's rest.) But, after about 45 minutes of picking her up as she ran down the hallway and putting her back into bed, she passed out. It was.... well, I don't know how to describe the absolute euphoria one feels when her child goes to sleep. Especially when there's more than one. My spirits were dampened a little by the 6:20 wake-up call the next morning, but really, that was more than I expected anyway. Then, first nap, went down without a peep. Second nap, only 30 minutes of chasing her down the hallway. (Which is amazing, because before this we weren't even getting a second nap.)

She's fallen out of it only once, which is good. She learned within the first 30 seconds of being up there that she shouldn't play the spin-until-you-fall-down game. Because the fall is alot longer. But, it's not as long as the fall from the top of the crib.

So, all in all, the transition is going smoothly. She's been on of the most adaptable children I've ever seen. Hopefully this continues.

I will try and post some pics from my last few weeks soon. Thanks for being patient. :)

SON OF A....

Showing us up... AAAAGGAAAAAIN.

God, that is. Here are all of my upstanding neighbors trying to put on some fantastic firework shows, and there He goes, making bigger booms and brighter flashes (read: incoming thunderstorm) than any of them can manage. Showing off that 'All-poweful-creator-of-the-universe' thing again. That is so LIKE Him.

But, I must admit, though the lights and sounds are better, He cannot compete with the entertainment that is coming from the streets. Lightning is cool... but watching my neighbors shoot roman candles AT each other? Way cooler. And watching them miss terribly (because how accurate can you be with a stick of dynamite, really?) and instead hit their own cars and houses? Even cooler.

So... nice try, Lord. I will give you props for creating the whole idea of 'light' first... but... roman candles. AT each other.

Very southern neighbors: 1
Creator of the Universe: 0

16 Months.

I've grown a new appreciate for my eldest since the birth of my son. I can see clearly now how much work and love and tears and just-plain-craziness went into to getting where we are at today. There was a time during my pregnancy when I feared that the newest addition would take away from the relationship and the bond that had formed between Alex and I and her father. I am very happy to say that that is not the case.

Baby's first ponytail.

Alex totally has a mullet. This was my attempt to make that mullet really cute. Turns out it just looks like a mullet with the back tied up. Her front hairs need to catch up with the back.

...But I still think it's adorable.

In which there are copious amounts of awesomeness and pain.

"...and then they brought this thing home with them..."

Life with a new baby. Always exciting. Especially when you get to see it through the eyes of a 15 month old. Which, if you look at it from that perspective, it's more annoying than fun, and kind of irritating because here is this brand new toy and nobody will let me play with it! Alex has been adjusting well. She is mostly not so interested in the newest arrival, until of course said arrival is on mommy or daddy's lap, than said arrival turns into the most awful thing on this planet and we must be rid of it as soon as possible!! And then she goes for the kill. Let's just say that I have been keeping her nails short and as dull as possible lately. She pets him nicely until she's gained your trust, then it's GO FOR THE EYES! GOUGE GOUGE GOUGE! Then she walks away and play with her toys like nothing happened. But she's getting better. But it would be a bad move by mommy to leave baby in a room unattended with her. Baaaad move. (Hence the lack of pictures of the two of them together... I have one, but there's only half of Eli, and one arm of Alex's that's going for the eye gouge. My hands are too occupied trying to keep Eli alive to be able to take pictures. When things calm down, I shall record their childhood together. Until then, use your imagination.)

Eli is a good baby. Nay, he is a great baby. He doesn't spit up. He's very patient; it takes alot to make him scream. He doesn't cry during diaper changes. He doesn't cry at bath time (not even his first bath!). He's two weeks old, and he's got his days and nights securely in place, giving mommy 3-4 hours in between feedings at night. He nurses like a champ, and quickly! We are done in about 10 minutes usually. He's so alert. And once he is asleep, he sleeps through EVERYTHING, which he didn't really have a choice in, because if he wanted to sleep at all, he would have to be able to ignore his loud loud sister. And... he's only peed on me three times! Good boy!

It's rough. I know.

And, he's a thumbsucker. Now I understand what that feeling was way down south when he was still in the belly. It was him raking his hand across to get it to his mouth! I get it!

As I've said before, nature is God's lullaby to an infant. He loves it outside. I just wish it wasn't so dang hot!

We did alot of this the first few days. We would just move from the chair to the couch to the bed to the basement. I've been able to really enjoy these first few weeks (aside from a few bumps... to be addressed later). I've been much more calm with him than I was with Alex... mostly because I am not petrified of him. I know he won't break if I touch him. I know that babies just cry sometimes, and it's unneccessary for me to join in (although... come on... I did forget how powerful an infant's cry is... goes straight to your core!). I've really just been able to take it all in and love every bit of it.

Our time in the hospital was a good start. It was relaxing, and not as painful as last time. (I have to confess that the entire time in the hospital, my son was referred to as a 'she' and 'my princess' the ENTIRE time... apparently masculine pronouns went out the window when I had a daughter... but I am glad to say that it's been at least a week since I have referred to him as a girl. Yay for great moms!) My parents were able to make the trip down and take care of Alex, so I knew she was in good hands (although it was very hard dropping her off at her babysitter's the night we went in. That was the first of the tears...). And when they brought her in for the first time... WHO IS THIS GIANT CHILD RUNNING TOWARDS ME! Still, two weeks later, I gasp when I unzip her sleepsack in the morning... such large feet! And those hands! (Better to gouge you with, my sweet!) She's huge! (And not even 20 pounds yet!) But it's so fun to be able to enjoy the sweet little nothings of an infant and then jump right in to this huge personality that is Alex. I feel like I get the best of both worlds right now! (Although... really overwhelming when those two worlds combine and there is no backup on hand!)


(I took a chance with this picture... hoping he didn't blow out his diaper on this quilt! Grandma made this with her own two hands... BEAUTIFUL!!!)

So, yes, life has been good. BUSY. And CRAZY. But good. As I said before, however, there have been a few bumps. My recovery has been slow, and at some points just plain backwards. Within three days of being home, I got hit with a bladder infection. Ok... no big deal. Got some meds. Finished those on a Friday. By that Sunday, ahhh, bladder infection is back! Doc gives me a new prescription, which has two different pills that I take together. I take 3 doses of those, and... what's this? Hmm... hives. Breaking out in various parts of my body. Especially my hands and feet. That's no good. Ohhh, and tightness in my chest. That's probably bad. And fun! Body aches! Yay! Oooo and a fever!! Call my doc, they tell me to GO TO THE ER RIGHT NOW. Find out while we are there that not only was I having an allergic reaction to one of the pills, but I also just happened to get some random virus that was ripping through my body. I got to do various tests while I was while they checked for pneumonia, blood clots and so on and so forth (yay for my first catheter!! <---mildly uncomfortable). They send me home, tell me to take tylenol for the fever, and to stop taking.. let's call it pill #1. So that's what I did. The next morning I took my next dose of pill #2. Guess what! MORE HIVES!! Ahhh they guessed wrong! Awesome. Call my doc, he prescribes me a new pill. So now, here I sit, after 2 days of bedrest that included lots of sweating and not alot of sleep, on my third round of meds for the SAME DAMN UTI. And, to top it all off, I had something really awful happen that set my recovery back alot... so icky that I won't go into detail, but I assure you that I deserve your sympathy. It's cringe-worthy. So... it's been an interesting two weeks to say the least. It makes me feel good, however, that I can look back on them and I only see the bright spots that are the newest addition to the family. It's been so easy and so natural to have him in this house. It's right. My children are beautiful. My husband is gracious and patient and loving. My God is good. I've not a thing to complain about. (...except my bladder...) :)




... I should note here that I have been working on this post for almost two weeks, which is why it says I posted it on the 18th... it gives the day I start the post, not the day I finish it. These pictures are not the most recent. Be patient. :) I'll catch up eventually. Maybe.

In which my son pees in his own ear.

Other titles considered for this post:
In which I get no sleep.
In which my boobs triple in size overnight.

Hello internet!

Sorry for the delay. I have been taking a hiatus from the world for the past almost-week, choosing to handle only those things that were necessary, most of which concerned diapers and boobs and sleep (kinda) and pain meds. I haven't felt like interneting, or phone-talking, or going-outing, or interacting at all, and I figured I had a good enough excuse to forgo all of those things. So thanks for being patient.

God. Is. So. Good.

I have been blown away each day. I've sunk myself into the role of motherhood like never before, taking everything in and wondering how I've come to be so lucky. I look at these two children of mine, and my ever-loving and ever-present husband and just smile. We are so blessed.

So let's start at the beginning. I think this post will mostly be just the birth story. I am not sure if there will be many pictures, but those will come in time.

Monday night, 8:00 pm: Contractions start. They are about 8 minutes apart, not really painful at all. I don't think much of it because this has happened several times already and I don't want to get my hopes up.

10:00 pm: Contractions still coming every 8 minutes. Starting to get uncomfortable. Notice that I am bleeding when I go to the bathroom. Call doctor, who tells me to head in.

10:30 pm: Finish packing up the house, the dog, the child, and head to babysitters. Would have taken pictures, but needed both hands to hold bucket because I am this close to vomiting. Having hot flashes. Yep, this is it.

11:30 pm: Make it to hospital. Get checked in (NOT admitted to Labor and Delivery yet). Get asked about 200 questions concerning the medical history of my entire family. Started to have to breathe through my contractions.

11:50 pm: Told to walk around the hospital for an hour to see if I make any progress. While walking, contractions go down to 5 minutes apart, and each one makes me hold on to the wall and cringe and sway and breathe and curse.

12:50 am: Get checked by nurse with shortest fingers in the entire world. Ouch. She says I have not made any progress. She goes to call my doctor. I continue to pant and breathe and sway and curse.

1:30 am: Get asked a bunch of questions by a nurse who was the most intimidating woman I have ever met. Wet pants a little.

2:30 am: Am told I am being SENT HOME. They say it's because my doctor told them to send me home (but find out later it's because they have no rooms. Doc had told them to admit me). I immediately begin to cry. I beg and beg and plead and pant and breathe and curse and beg some more. They shake their heads and tell me to get dressed. I weep.

3:00 am: Arrive home. Crawl in bed. Weep.

3:05 am: Cringe, weep, breathe, curse.

3:10 am: Cringe, weep, breathe, weep, hit husband, curse.

3:15 am: Weep, curse, hit husband, assume fetal position, weep.

3:20 am: Curse, curse, curse, cringe, hit husband, weep.

3:30 am: Get in car and head back to hospital.

4:00 am: Arrive at hospital. Must answer all 200 questions again. Cringe, curse, sway, breathe, cringe. Curse.

4:30 am: Nurse arrives in room, tells me that they are sending me home. I begin to weep. Nurse then says, "Just kidding!" then starts laughing. I take nurse by the ponytail and slam her head into the wall... in my head.

5:00 am: Get IV number one. Botched. Hand is swollen and bright blue now. Ouch. Get IV number two without a problem and while being wheeled over to Labor and Delivery, beg for epidural right away.

6:00 am: No epidural yet. Lots of cursing. Lots of pain. Lots of 'bathroom breaks' with lots of cursing.

7:00 am: No epidural yet.

8:00 am: No epidural yet.

8:30 am: Oh blessed anaesthesiologist! Begin to get the epidural. Assume the position: Sitting up, hunched forward, holding husbands hands. Get initial numbing shot. Not a big deal, a little burning. Nurse then puts the 'big one' in. Can feel it, but it's more uncomfortable than painful. ZING! Nurse hits nerve, tailbone erupts. I yelp, tears come to eyes. Contraction. More tears. Nurse tries to move needle. ZING! Left side erupts. I cry out, begin to weep. Nurse tells me to tell her where it hurts. I yell something. Contraction. Weep. Nurse moves needle. ZING! Right side erupts. I weep. Hysterically. Contraction. Nurse tries to get me to breathe with her. I'm gone. I'm hysterical. The pain, the exhaustion, the weeks of building emotions. There's no stopping this. Weep weep weep. ZING ZING ZING! My whole spine is on fire. Contraction. I hear HEE HEE HOOOO HEE HEE HOOOOO as my nurse tries to get me to breathe through the pain. I feel wet rags being dragged across my face, clearing the snot that is rushing out of my nose. I'm told not to move. Contraction. ZING! HEE HEE HOOOOO.

8:45 am: Needle comes out. I pant and weep and open my eyes for the first time in 15 minutes. Shaking. Paul looking at me with a face I've never seen him wear. Later he tells me that that's the worst he's ever felt in his life. I apologize profusely to the nurse and to my husband. Legs start to tingle.

9:00 am: Sleep.

10:30 am: Wake up because I feel something. PRESSURE. Oh my gosh. Page nurse.

10:35 am: They call my doctor. Am told I have to wait for him to push.

11:00 am: Vomit. Several times.

11:20 am: Doc walks in, gets suited up. Tells me to push. Push. Push. Push. Push. And out he came. Four pushes.

I hate the first nine months. I dislike the following six weeks. But those moments when I am pushing and then when I see these babies for the first time... those are the most awesome moments of my life. I would do it a thousand times if I could.


I'll update again soon. But for now, Eli is sleeping, Alex is sleeping, and something tells me that I should be doing the same. :) I promise to get some pictures up as soon as I can.

A Short Introduction.

I would like you to meet the newest addition.

Elijah Samuel

Born on Tuesday, June 9th at 11:27 am.

7 lbs, 11 oz

19 3/4 inches long

(And, as an added bonus, this is what happens when you give your husband camera duty with a camera that has fun features on it, like the 'Make new mother look like she did exactly 10 minutes prior to giving birth' feature. Lovely)

More to come later. It's quite the story, I assure you. From being SENT HOME while I was in labor, to the epidural from hell. It will come in time. :)

I am so excited....

to not have heartburn 24/7. So close. SO CLOSE.

Doctor's Update: Week 39 (!!!)

Dilated 3 cm. (voice in my head says ALLELUIA!)

The heartrate was a little low, which subsequently had me strapped to a table for the next half hour for a non-stress test to make sure that Little Buddy is doing alright. I watched as his heartrate went from 118 up to 150, back down again, back up again. He was all over the place. But Doc assured me that he is perfectly fine, and that I should not worry (but keep track of movements... just in case... and he's been kicking the crap out of me since then... so no worries).

Doc also says that if I am at a 4 my next visit, which is Wednesday of NEXT WEEK, he'll just send me in right after. Which I am perfectly happy to do. I'm ready to lose this extra 40 pounds (yep) that I've been lugging around with me for the past few months. And of course it will all be off as soon as I deliver, correct? I am pretty sure that's what happened with Alex. Also, I seem to remember it more a tickle than a pain while I was in labor. Ya, pretty sure that's how it went. And it was done in less than 10 minutes. So, what do I have to worry about?

(Really? My logic is finally coming back and my head is trying to yell and scream to let the rest of my body know that PAIN IS ON THE WAY! But then my heart is trying to be all noble and saying that it will be worth it in the end... And so they go, back and forth, and all I have to show for it is a constant layer of perspiration that some would mistakenly call a 'glow'.)

So, there is a possibility that I will have another child in my arms come the end of the next week. Which I am excited about. And petrified about. And shocked into stunned silence about. Paul just walks around saying, It will be fine, it will be fine. Then he fixes something. Or cleans something. Which tells me that he could very well be quite as anxious as I am about Little Buddy. But... We'll be fine.

I have come to accept, however, that this house will never be ready up to my crazy hormone-driven standards. I think it just may be impossible to truly nest while you have a toddler waddling along after you, undoing everything that you've just done. Like now, for instance, she is standing over her diaper bag, pulling everything out, one by one, and chucking it across the living room. The work never ends. I should just stop trying. I've forced my mother to promise that she would clean my house when she arrives post-baby, assuring her that she didn't really have to mean it, but just say it SO I CAN STOP CLEANING. (And now, my daughter's eyes are glassing over, a sure sign that she is now doing to her diaper what she's just done to my living room... a mother's work is never done!)

And yes, the kitchen is done (aside from new light fixtures, but we are waiting for some that match to go on clearance... so those might be a while). I've been lazy about getting pictures up. But really, the weather hasn't helped. Every time the kitchen is clean and up to internet-sharing standards, it's crappy and cloudy outside, and I really want sunny, happy pictures of the completed project, and every tine I get nice weather, the kitchen is a mess. So... soon. Pictures will come soon. Or maybe I won't post any. That way you have to come HERE to see them, and while you are here, you can take a kid or two so I can get some sleep. Perfect.

Wish me luck for this coming week. I won't mind going in before Wednesday. In fact, I would have to say that it would be preferable to go in before Wednesday. COME ON, LITTLE MAN!

Before + Sneak Peek!

Before:

(All those boxes on the counter? Our dinner that night. SUSHI! YUM!)

Sneak Peek:

The After is being completed as I type. We painted that little pantry door, and Paul is at the moment drilling back in. Yay! A project that got completed in the time we alloted! This is a first for our house! I'll get some good pictures of it tomorrow when we get some good light.

In other news, I thought I would share this. Alex has taken a liking to dressing up (already), and whatever clothes she find around the house usually get draped on and layered in pretty awesome combinations. Alot of the time I am running after her as she is attempting to wear my bra as a necklace or my underwear as a hat, but this time she kind of got it right. She found a sweater of mine and threw it on, and found a hat of Paul's to finish the look off. She look so darned good that she couldn't help but stop and check herself out in the oven every time she passed it. Which was once every 45 seconds or so. This child is mine, there is no doubt. (If having her pass through my birth canal left any room for doubt in the first place...)

Awkward In-between stage...

Are you getting overwhelmed with my influx of posts lately? I am not going to apologize. I will remember this and point it out to you when I don't post for 6 months after this baby is born. 'See? Remember when I used to post alot? It was to hold you over.'

I find myself in a very awkward stage right now. It's that stage of being very pregnant and on the verge of popping, overwhelmed with the instinct to make my house nice and neat for this new child that's about to join us. But also, being a mother of a fifteen-month old. That right there should show you the tug and pull that's going on. I am sitting in my dining room right now, and behind me is my kitchen. It's spotless. For the past few weeks, I haven't been able to tolerate things on the counter, dishes in the sink. So I've been a little neurotic about keeping it tidy. But on my right, my living room is staring at me laughing, because in only a half hour, THIS is what my daughter does to it:

Didn't I mention in one of the lasts posts about how rare it is for her to sit still and play with just one toy? I wasn't exaggerating. So now, in the amount of time it took me to clean the kitchen, Crazy Toddler ripped apart my living room, and upon seeing it, I got all twitchy and spazzy, and was thrown down on to my knees involuntarily by this blasted nesting instinct until I managed to get control of it (read: throw all of her toys into that big boat thing that you see at the bottom left there...). Honestly. It's sick. Paul will vacuum for me, and I want (and maybe HAVE on one or two occasions) to throw myself down and make out with the vacuum lines on the carpet. Paul can barely get me in the mood to do anything these days (tmi? sorry.), but those vacuum lines? WATCH. OUT. I'm getting all fired up just thinking about them.

Opinions wanted: Out-of-the-ordinary Nice? Or Out-of-the-ordinary Creepy?

I had a run-in with a fellow today, and I am stumped as to how to feel about it. So I am asking you, internet.

I had to run up to the grocery store right before we put Alex to bed because both Paul and I had forgotten that we were out of milk. Paul was on the phone and happened to be more exhausted than I was at this point (which NEVER happens anymore), so I grabbed my keys and ran up there. On my way out, I passed a younger gentleman who was coming into the store with a few other people (not sure if they were in the same group or not). Right when I passed him, I heard him say, 'CONGRATS!' I turned, and saw that he was still walking, but glancing back at me. Now, I can only assume that he meant 'Congrats on that enormous belly of yours!' But it just seemed so random. And it was made a wee bit more uncomfortable because there was another young man walking extremely close behind me (because, well, I walk slowly, no, excuse me, I waddle slowly these days. And people seem to think that by walking really closely behind me when there is not enough room to pass will make me go faster. I just want to turn and hit them and remind them that I would walk faster if I COULD.) Anyway- I am pretty sure that creepy/nice man thought that close-walker dude was my baby-daddy.

So. Out of the ordinary nice? Was he just telling me congrats in a situation when our culture usually has us walking by each other with our heads down? Or out of the ordinary creepy? Was he just being an ass while in front of a few people who could have been his buddies that know him as the guy that will say anything to anybody?

Doctor's Update: Week 38

Dilated 2 cm (!!!)
Everything else the same.

Progress is progress, right?! I'll take it. It took me hours and hours of actual labor to hit 2 cm with Alex.

In other news, Paul and I are silly. Silly silly silly. And maybe you could substitute 'silly' for 'STUPID STUPID FOOLS'. Either one is acceptable.

We've decided that NOW would be the perfect time to finally get some of these silly little house projects done that we've been putting off, oh I don't know, since we've moved in. Maybe he is trying to make me go into overdrive so my head finally spins and pops off and he won't have to listen to me whine anymore. Or perhaps it's sympathy nesting. (Because he certainly isn't gaining sympathy weight. The jerk has been LOSING weight and looking great. I hate him. SO insensitive.) Either way, hubby went out at butt-crack early yesterday morning and came home with buckets of paint and various items needed to apply that paint. I am not as concerned as I probably should be. I understand that my only role in this will be to take Alex somewhere for a day to escape the fumes. But still... as much as I am going to enjoy having my kitchen painted (FINALLY!!!), I can't help but wonder what it's going to look like when I call Paul after he's done half of a wall and tell him that my water broke and I need him to DROP EVERYTHING and come pick my wet butt up. I have a feeling that that half a wall will be all that's painted for quite some time. But... it's all hypothetical, right? Sure.

We also have this big list written on our dry-erase board. List of things to do to the house to put it up for SALE. AFTER THE BABY IS BORN. BECAUSE WE WANT TO MOVE. AND WE LIKE PUTTING OURSELVES THROUGH AS MUCH UNNECESSARY PAIN AS POSSIBLE. Things like, hang curtains, weed, clean the pool (which... HUGE undertaking, that one. Our pool has a colony of tadpoles living in the water that's gathered on the cover. And thanks to our brainy dog who decided to take a dip one day and jumped right on top of the cover, causing Paul to have a mild heart attack while screaming at her to get out, and then tearing several holes with her nails in her attempt to escape the furry of said husband... most of those tadpoles are now living in the actual pool. High five, Violet.). I don't know. I think we'd get the same effect if we stood in front of our garage and let people fling rocks at us. But... whatever.

(Side note: I am watching my daughter sit and play with a toy. Like, SIT STILL. And play with just one toy. She's been there for about 3 minutes, which is a record. I don't want to take a picture, because I feel like the flash might throw her off and set her running again. I am not even looking directly at her for fear of distracting her. Oh... wait. It's done. She's up and running now. Up and down the hallway. I'm still impressed with how long that lasted.)

So, that's where we are at now. Lord help us.

My Apologies.

Sorry for that last post. It was a weak moment during which I had access to the internet. (Stupid accessible wireless technology.) Thanks for not coming back at me with totally justifiable comments that told me to suck it up. I appreciate it.

To make up for it, I have alot of random photos for you! Yay! (I am loading these while Alex is sitting on the kitchen floor reading a Reader's Digest. Gotta love pint-sized magazines!)

This one is just to prove that I do put pants on her occasionally. Well, I should say 'outfit'. But really, most of the time we are in the house, she is in a diaper and a t-shirt. And if that t-shirt happens to have buttons, it's never buttoned. Yay for lazy parenthood!

And this is an example of what happens when you use potato salad as hair product. Just in case you were ever tempted into trying it out.

This is what usually happens at night. It takes as many eyes as possible to watch Violet go retrieve her ball. Alex and daddy are a tag-team. They even share a beer or two. Now that's love.

CORN ON THE COB!!! BEST FOOD EVER!!!! (smothered in butter and parmesian cheese - if you haven't tried it, do it. Then understand that I am pregnant and I get to like whatever I want to like. Don't judge.)

And finally, this one needs some explanation. And perhaps this part could count as an actual 'update', so get ready. Paul and I are in a funny place right now. Our future is so jumbled and confused and changing on a daily and sometimes hourly basis, both of our heads are spinning. We don't know where we are going to be living, where Paul is going to be working. We could very well be here in this house doing the same job in ten years (please, Lord, NO!). But we don't know. We aren't very happy in this house, in this neighborhood. We've thought about moving out of state, and those choices include Colorado, maaaaaaaybe Michigan, Hawaii, overseas again... who knows. All of those are dependant on Paul getting certain jobs that he can apply for. Anyway, long story short, we are starting to look in to options that would keep up in St. Louis, but get us away from the area in which we currently reside. One of those options would be a community called New Town. It's almost a Stepford Wives kind of town, with it's own ammenities, shops, lakes, pretty much anything you can think of. And all of the houses/apartments/lofts look alike (for the most part). We had looked into it when we first arrived, and it did not take us long to cross it off the list. Buuuuutttttt.... Now, having seen just how hard it is to be sure you are getting into a nice neighborhood around here, the idea doesn't seem to bad. So we went there to check on some displays and kind of get the feel. We were both impressed with the houses, and were kind of impressed with everything that you have access to while living there. As we were leaving, I happened to ask if there was some type of list that had the bylaws on it, and the woman nodded and went to the back to retrieve this:

FOUR PACKETS OF RULES. I don't think Calvin had this many rules. I went through them last night and most of them are common sense, but some are pretty interesting. They definitely take it upon themselves to make sure that at least the fronts of the houses all look similar. No signs, a limit to how many garden accessories you can have, curtains must be white. All sorts of things. But there was one that mentioned that pets must be kept quiet so as not to disturb anyone that had Paul and I salavating at the mouth and ready to put a down payment on it. Although I don't know what I would do without a chorus of dogs to put me to sleep at night. Anywho, it might have stayed on the possibility list if it hadn't occurred to me last night that none of the houses we saw had backyards, which probably means that none of the houses COME with backyards, which would definitely mean that I would be dragging my sorry butt out with two kids every time Violet had to take a pee. Awesome.

Uh-well. We'll keep looking. Keep changing our minds every day. It will come to something eventually.

Hope this made up for the last post :)