Making #2 is Hard to Do

I know, I know, potty humor. I apologize. If you've been reading my blog for the last 2 years you know I have a 1st grade mentality when it comes to these things. However, today's post is not about the act of making "a" number 2, so much as growing one.

Yup, that's right. Here is the wee one now, vamping it up for his/her mama. If you notice the little white spot above the nose, that is it's hand, waving to us. Only 11 weeks old and already a charmer.

So if you're wondering where the heck I've been, you can pick any number of activities to visualize during the last 11 weeks. Firstly, blowing chunks in various locations around town (last time at Target!). Ok, so maybe you don't want to visualize that one....Second, sleeping whenever the opportunity presents itself, which isn't often considering I have a 2 and a half year old wild man. Hmmmm, if you REALLY want to get a good sense, maybe you can picture me stuffing my face full of powdered donuts, cool ranch Doritos, and stuffed olives while wearing Brian's sweatpants and old t-shirts. That's mostly what's been going on.

Oh that, and I've been growing a human. (This is the phrase I use with Brian when I want to get out of making dinner and take a nap instead. It's pretty useful).

If you give a toddler a donut.....

(If you've ever read any of the "If you give a _ a _" books by Laura Numeroff, this post will make much more sense to you. Ok that, OR if you've been a parent to a 2 year old.)
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If you give a toddler a donut, he's going to want some chocolate milk to go with it.

From January 2010

Drinking his chocolate milk will remind him that he found some chocolate in Easter eggs a few weeks ago at the park, so he'll want to go immediately back to said park just in case he overlooked any nooks and crannies.

Because he is going to "hunt for treasure" he'll want to wear his pirate hat. He'll also want to wear his pajamas with the treasure boxes on them, but will thoroughly protest to a diaper change.

While you are holding the bucking bronco down to change his diaper, he'll remember that he ALSO wants to bring a shovel to the park. Not the little shovel, but the BIG shovel papa uses in the backyard.

After searching for the shovel in the garage (and sticking his hands into numerous spider webs and other yucky things), he'll change his mind and decide that a ride in the car would be more fun.

On the car ride, you will pass by the library and he will scream murder until you stop at the library and find him a book on cats with swords. (This is directly in opposition to the grocery store trip you were planning to make).

You will use the library computer to reference "cats" and "swords" and while you are standing at the computer, he will disappear in 10 seconds.

You will find him easily, because he'll have completely forget his "inside voice" while doing a song and dance solo on the story-time stage.

From March 2010

The LOUD little ditty might go like this:

WHO MADE A FART? NOAH! NOAH!
WHO MADE A FART? BROTHER NOAH MADE A FART!
(sung to the tune of Raffi's "Who Built the Ark?")

You will be mortified. You will start to sweat. You will probably remember that you needed to go to the grocery store specifically to get more deodorant. You will think to yourself, What in F is wrong with me? Am I nuts? He's 2 and I'm 31. I CALL THE SHOTS! This crap needs to stop right now.

Sensing your parental epiphany, your toddler will cock his eyebrow and promptly take off running down the aisles.

Once you catch up to him and have a very concentrated grown-up talk about proper behavior, he will give you the raspberries. After that spectacular parenting moment, you might just give up and promise him a donut to get back into the car.

And chances are, if you promise him a donut, you are going to have to buy some chocolate milk at the grocery store to go with it.

Mama, Nooooooooo! Keep Your Face On!

It tickles me that I learn something new about parenting every day. And by "tickles me" I really mean that in the heat of the moment I want scream and throw things, but later I manage to find some semblance of humor in the situation.


Today, like many days, I dragged Noah somewhere we wasn't too excited to go. After a week of dark circles and the discovery of yet more fine lines (nothing "fine" about those jerks), I was in serious need of some beautifying. Since Botox scares me and is a bit out of my price range, I decided a nice brow wax would suffice. I think I read in Cosmo once that brow waxes are like a mini-face lift. Sure if your brows look like this, I guess...



But mine was nothing so dramatic. I just wanted a little pampering before a Valentine's Day date this weekend.


Anyhoo, off to the spa we went. I came armed with cookies, milk and a download of the Wiggles on my iPhone. (This is the part where I am supposed to seem experienced and wise as a parent).
I mean a brow wax is what, like 15 minutes? Surely he couldn't cause that much damage in such a short amount of time.


I waited until we were going down the hall to the spa to pull out the goodies and Noah began to wolf down the cookies as soon as the treatment door closed. 45 seconds after he finished the cookies (seriously there was a whole freaking bag of them. gone in less than a minute) he began to pay more and more attention to what was going on.


Noah: What Mama doing?

Me: Don't worry about it sweetie. Here, check out this video. It has Captain Feathersword, your fav-or-ite!!!

Noah: Hmmm. No thanks. What Mama doing?

Me: Well honey, Mama's getting her eyebrows done. I want to look nice for Papa.


*first strip is ripped off*


Noah (voice elevating): Noooo! I don't like it. Don't do it anymore!!!


*rip*
*rip*


Noah: AHHHHHHH. NO MAMA. KEEP YOUR FACE ON!!! DON'T. HURT. MY. MAMA!!!


This lead to inconsolable crying and screaming, which may have put a damper on the woman in the next room's therapeutic massage. The poor girl working on my brows is so freaked at the intensity of the crying that she actually backs up into the corner with her hands up.


So, yeah, I left with one eyebrow done.


Currently, I look less like Freida, and more like this:





But at least I kept most of my "face on."

Lesson learned. Good thing I didn't go in for a bikini wax.

Ya Scummy Scab Scraper!

After thinking about Kat's writing prompts this week, I decided to be bold, to be fierce, and to be more than a little gross. I have chosen to tell you about that scar. Or in my case, the many little scars.

(If you have an easily excitable gag-reflex, just know, you've been warned.)

It all started at the tender of I really don't remember. I must have been around 5? I remember doing a lot of running around at that age. You know, chasing boys around the playground in kindergarten, saying, "now you have cooties!" One of those times, in my attempt to spread my girly disease, I must have taken a tumble and ended up with a large scrape on my knee.

I was in love! No, not with the boys, but with my scab! It was fantastic! I was amazed that red liquid has slowly turned to a solid chunky mass; a band aid my body had made on its very own! I was so intrigued that i thought, this phenomenon must be studied. So I peeled that sucker off and put it in an empty baby jar.

Can you guess what happened next? (Well, after the initial tears and more blood) It came back!!! What resilience! This one wanted to hold on a bit longer, it must have known what was coming, but with the help of mommy's tweezers, it ended up in the jar too. (ha, ya bastard!)

Over the years the jar grew from baby jar to jelly jar. Sometimes, I would take it out from under my bed and stare at all the unique and amazing forms my scabs have taken. They were my badges of honor! This one from falling of my bike, that one from the corner of the coffee table (that one was long and straight!) Each time I would find one, off he would come, into the jar to join the others.

As you can imagine, all this "scientific exploration" had some backlash. I ended up with tiny scars from the places I picked, then picked again and again. I'd take a picture for you, but most have faded with the help of years and a little Mederma.

At this point you have lost a little faith in me. You are scratching your head wondering if I purposely injured myself. Keep heart. I never became a cutter. I never turned into a sociopath. I just kept a jar of scabs. Now that's not too weird is it? :P

2

Dear Noah,

Today you are 2 years old. As you can see, Mama hasn't been writing in her blog lately. This hasn't made me sad. I have been having so many wonderful adventures with you, that I am just not in front of the computer that much anymore. Gone are the 2 naps a day, with one spent on housework and the other blogging. We spend our mornings playing at the park or going to classes. Our afternoons are filled with play dates and you "helping" Mama out with chores. I can't believe how much laundry you go through, but after watching you fill your socks with sand this morning, and then later "paint" your hand and shirt with markers, I can kinda guess why. Lucky for me you are almost always as willing to help clean up as you are to make messes.

From December 2009

From June 2009

You should know that your 2 year old self is quite a character. Anyone that doesn't think a toddler has personality yet needs to spend a few hours with Noah. Like Mama, you have a love of people. You often introduce yourself to older kids with a friendly handshake and a smile. Right now you are saying, "Hi. I'm Noah. What's your name?" to children (and often strangers) you encounter. It's pretty adorable until you tell me "Mama, your turn," and you drag me up to strangers in the grocery store and make me introduce myself. No one can ever accuse you of being an introvert.

From December 2009

From September

Not only do you enjoy meeting new friends, you also enjoy spending time with them. Right now you tell us your best buddy is Elsa. When you see her you give her a giant hug and the two of you end up in giggles. I love to watch you play chase and run and scream. I can tell you are going to have lots of great friends when you go to school, even though the thought makes Mama just a tiny bit jealous.

From September

From July 2009

From July 2009

Now I know this may surprise you (especially if you are a teenager and reading this), but your very BEST friend right now is me. Often you will voluntarily (gasp!) grab my hand and says, "friends." One of my favorite memories from this year was when we were sitting on a bench, eating lunch and you reached for my hand, leaned your head on my shoulder and said, "best friends." My heart melted into a million pieces.

From October 2009

From July 2009

Your Papa and I are continually surprised with how much you understand of the world already. You identify emotions with ease. You know that people have the power to make others feel happy and sad. When Mama is sad you say, "You ok, Mama?" and give me a pat on the back. You also observe and will note, "Papa's happy!" or "I hear a baby crying. It's sad." You certainly got your perceptiveness from your Papa. He may be quiet, but he always somehow know what people are thinking and feeling. If you ever need a good judge of character, go ask Papa.

From October 2009

From November 2009

A trait you received from Mama is your incredible imagination. Right now you are enamored with pirates. You have a pirate sword and hat and love to make believe you are a pirate. Today at the park, you climbed the rope ladder and shouted, "Avast, you scurvy dogs!"

From December 2009

As I know from experience, with great imagination often comes great (and often irrational) fears. Currently you are scared of a man that lives in your window. We can't quite figure that one out, but we let you sleep with your night light and your pirate sword in case the man gets any funny ideas.

From December 2009

Dear sweet boy, there are so many more things I would like to write about you; your love of music (singing and instruments - this year you were so into the drums and guitar!), your interest in anything with wheels, and your fascination with football (despite the fact Papa and I couldn't care less about sports). You however, have other ideas. Right now you have woken up from your nap and are saying, "Mama, where ARE YOU?!? I need you Mama!" And I simply can't resist.

Here I come turkey. Ready for new adventures and challenges with you. Thank you for all that you make me feel and how much you fill up my life.

From July 2009

I love you Noah James.

oxox,
Mama

Lucky

It's been a while since my last post. Thank you for those of you who are sticking around to see how it all turns out. :)

I usually try and write with a sense of humor, (What?!? You don't think I am funny?) because I feel like life with a toddler can be full of shits and giggles if you only look at how ridiculous getting angry about things like pooping on the carpet is. However, the last few weeks I think my sense of humor got a case of H1N1. My "funny" has been stuck in bed, replaced by a more anxious/tense self who has little patience for people or difficult situations.

I actually had a post written, then edited, then re-written, then deleted and it was all about anxiety and how crappy I have been feeling lately. (I was anxious about my post even. Irony, much?) Reading it made me want to upchuck. I have way too many things to be thankful for to let myself be dragged into a pity-party. So I am making a list, lest I forget what a beautiful life I am blessed with.

Things I am LUCKY for:

1. HH. Is there a stronger word than "amazing?" I don't think that quite describes him. He puts up with my multitude of moods and still wants to come home early from work to see me. (That's usually when I shove Noah into his arms, grab a glass of Merlot and throw on Gossip Girl.) I can't believe how lucky I am to found a man so supportive and selfless.


2. My family. We don't always see eye to eye, but I know no matter how many grumbling texts or angry emails are sent, we are still there for each other. It's also nice to realize that EVERY family has problems. I mean, sheesh, turn on a daytime talk show. It least I know who my "real" daddy is and stuff. I will try to keep this lovely thought in my heart as we enter the holiday "how long are you staying at our house, again?" season.


3. My son. Oh baby. I get heavy in my heart just thinking of how much he depends on me. Its funny how that feeling can lead to such guilt and joy at the same time. BTW, Noah: Thank you, thank you for not crying when you got the flu vaccine. Mommy had a REALLY hard time wrestling with her decision to get it for you. I cried. You didn't. You are angel to trust your mommy so much. I hope I deserve that trust.


4. Friends. Amanda, Ali, Lisa, Sarah I am calling you out. You have helped me so many times the last few weeks. You are my sunshine. Oh and the trashy mags and champagne brunches haven't hurt either...


5. Health. Every day is truly a gift. We only get a set amount of days. I need to be more thankful that I can be active and have the opportunity to pursue the things I want to do (even if that is cleaning, doing laundry and chasing Noah as he runs out of the park).

As a last little nugget to myself, I need to recognize that all the above CANNOT be bought, so I need to worry less about money. With Christmas coming up, you may be feeling the pinch too. This year I will try not to stress to much about what to buy people and realize that happiness isn't something to be bought, but something you have to appreciate and nurture. I am hoping my list of "Lucky" does this for me. And maybe, when you are feeling stressed this holiday season, make yourself a little list of "lucky." I hope it helps.

A Bedtime Story

While I was busy sipping cocktails and dancing on tables in Vegas, I left HH with toddler-sized problem and guess what...he fixed it. For this I owe him big-time, though I have tried making payment with blueberry pancakes and a 6 pack of Guinness. That counts as currency in man world, right?

What fantastic feat did HH do to deserve such service, you ask? He taught our 21 month old how to sleep in his toddler bed. In one weekend.


Don't you wish every problem could be like that? Your toddler gives you yet another puzzle to solve and you promptly leave on a trip, letting hubby figure it out.

Me: What? Noah's biting his friends again at the park? I think I will fly off to Italy tomorrow and let YOU handle this one honey. Have it solved by Monday morning, ok?

Ummm, yeah, so it didn't totally go like that. It was more like... "Oh frick. Oh frick. Noah's jumping out of his crib again and I am leaving for the weekend. Please God, what is this crappy timing about? Can't this wait until he's 5? Yes, I think 5 is a good time for a toddler bed..."

Then later:
"Double frick! Now that he's in his toddler bed, he won't stay in there. I think we have to lock his door at night...Does this make me a bad mother? Am I damaging him emotionally?"

Yah, so I was a little stressed out. I left for Vegas with a very guilty mommy conscience.

So how did HH perform his miracle? With a simple little trick - a nightlight. On Saturday, he and Noah went out and bought this:

It charges on a dock, so you don't have to worry about a cord and it doesn't get hot. It also turns many different colors and has a timing mode that shuts off automatically in 15 minutes.

For some reason this little gems works wonders. I guess, like his Mama, Noah is not a big fan of the dark. HH, knowing his wife so well, thought maybe his son might benefit from a night-light friend he could hold while he slept (I call my friend my iPhone).

Phew, what a difference it made! No more screaming and banging on the door. No more hyper-ventilation crying. At the end of his bedtime routine each night, we hand him is GlowMate. He whines briefly when his door is shut and sometimes will check the door knob, but mostly he just lays in his bed, playing and talking to his light until he falls asleep.

I no longer feel guilty for locking his door, because I know he is much safer not roaming around the house. And I can sleep easy, with a happy heart, knowing his "friend" is keeping him company.

Thank you, thank you, HH for making this story have a happy ending.

BTW, Noah's still peeing on the carpet. I think it might be a good time for me to visit Sufia in Africa. Be back in a week...