What kind of day is today?

That 'some days are good, some days are bad' thing is so true. This week has been a bit rough. Check it out:

Monday – I can't remember most of Monday anymore. I really only remember one big thing: I lost my 20 month old in our townhouse. I think the day had been going pretty well, or else was good by comparison, because there are really only about 20 minutes that stand out. The big boy had slept in that morning, about 2 hours later than normal, so he skipped morning nap. Gave him a slightly early lunch, rthen an earlier nap/quiet time. We weren't sure when Dad would be home, as it was his first day working in a new location, and they made him start later than norm, so we were going to do dinner ourselves. Boy got up from nap around 4:30pm, and we were playing for a bit, until I realized it was almost 5:30 and I hadn't even started to prep anything to eat (and we normally eat at 5pm – ack!) I popped into the kitchen and cut up some leftovers, nuke them, and go to get the toddling. Don't see him. Call out, no answer. Go into the living room, still calling, and looking into all the hidey holes. No boy. Panic starts to creep in – where the hell can he be? Check bookcases, as he's started climb, but no luck. Then hear a distant giggle – seems to be coming from below me. But that can' be, because the baby gate is still locked and he pushed a cart in front of it, and he still doesn't go down stairs without falling, so there's no way… um, right. Run down the stairs to find a grinning, laughing toddler trying to open the front door. I almost lost it, but it gets even more special. While searching for the boy, the dogs breach the kitchen, eat the food off the high chair and counter, & break a plate in the process. Mom point for me – no breakdown, just reheat more leftovers and get on with the consumption of fuel. So an overall good day with a huge scare and some super-stellar parenting on my part (um, sarcasm there, in case ya couldn't tell). Ugh.

Tuesday – Shrink appointment day. Mom came to help with the boys, since it's frowned on to take them in with you. Not to mention the office is super tiny and a single stroller won't fit, so the double is a no go. Then went to lunch, which was overall great. Only a few minor cranky bits, plus really yummy food, and leftovers for the next day. Oncew we got home it was nap until Daddy got home, hooray! So a good day.

Wednesday – I decided to stay home for the day, uh huh, good call there. The specifics are already fading in a blur, and I just don't want to remember. There was climbing, destroying, screaming, computer being turned off repeatedly, printer being broken, breaking into bookshelves, climbing other bookshelves, climbing on dog crates, screaming from getting feet caught in dog crates, climbing on little brother until he screamed, and several more things I've already made the unconscious decision to forget. It was bad enough that when the hubby called to say he was on his way home, I asked for mcfood. The last nerve was hit, patience was gone, hair pulled out. Not such a good day.

Today has overall been good. I woke up not tired for a change; not awake and refreshed, but not feeling like I needed another 50 hours in bed either. I was able to get some laundry done, remembered to turn on the dishwasher, and cleaned up a bit before the boys woke. Cheated a bit with the easy breakfast route, cheerios with cheese sticks and hot dog, and a side of pear. Took the boys to Target to make a few returns, and grabbed a bunch of super sale clothes for them while there (shorts under $2, shirts under $3 – even better than the mart of Wal can do) and came home to put the little guys down for a nap. Two and a half hours later (nice job, Fuss!) we have lunch of meatloaf and eggplant parmesan, with pear for dessert. Most of the meatloaf was fed to the dachshunds – using a fork – but the eggplant was a big hit. And then all hell broke loose. So two hours of climbing, cursing, throwing, hitting, and breaking things later, big guy is down for another nap/quiet time (he's singing and babbling in the crib), little guy is tied to my front and napping, and I get 3 seconds to wee. Hip hip! So about 2/3 of today has been good. Day's not over yet though! I need to decide if I should walk or drive the boys to Home Depot to get another safety strap, or just bag it 'til the weekend. Sigh.

Tomorrow could go either way. We have relatives coming into town for the weekend (an aunt and second cousin( so I'm taking the boys to my folk's place to visit. I don't think my aunt has ever met the Boogie, but he's only 5 months old (today! Happy pseudo-birthday Boog!) I'll try to go over right after breakfast, hoping the big guy will be able to take his morning nap over there, then we'll have lunch and play, etc. Fingers crossed it's not a 'fussie' day!

Time for shopping

As counterintuitive as it may seem, I think I need to go shopping more often. Especially places like Target, where spending can quickly get out of control on bunches of little things. See, the less I go, the more I spend. I tend to go to the grocery store 3-4 times each week, whether it's for milk, fresh fruit, ice (stupid broken ice maker) or meal items. The hubby and I tend to go once or twice a month for staples (as in things you use often, not paper fasteners, you goofball). And I've become quite the bargain shopper at the grocery store. Between sales, coupons, bonus card savings and generics, I usually get out of there for $20 or less, but more commonly under $10.

At the mall, I tend not to spend much. First, I usually have a double stroller and two kids with me, and the stroller has almost zero cargo room. Granted, the younger, lighter child tends to sleep on my back, and his seat is used to hold things, but still not a lot of room. And sometimes I need to put him down, so I can't shove too much in there. Also, despite being one of the narrowest of side-by-side doubles (it's slimmer that a standard wheelchair!), it tends not to fit in most mall-store aisles or between racks.

And don't get me started on attempting to try on clothes – that's just laughable. The only way it's even remotely possible at this stage is to strap them both into the stroller, which never fits into a dressing room. So the options become 1) leaving them out in the store unattended, but securely strapped into the stroller or 2) leaving the stroller in the main area, placing one child on the floor and try not to step on him, and let the runner go free range. This would have me leaving one in the dressing room on the floor unattended and chasing down the toddling while half-dressed and hopefully not flashing the rest of the mall too much. It's never happened, but I've had nightmares. Either way, stellar parenting. So in a long-winded nutshell, I tend not to spend much at the mall.

So back to Target, my nemesis. When I go often, I know I'll be back, so that extra $7 tee shirt or $14 toy can wait until next time; I follow my list of formula, bottle liners, acetaminophen, and feminine hygiene products (all generic, mind you) and put off the splurges until when hubby is along. That way, if he agrees on a splurge, I don't feel like I'm being sneaky or self-centered (even if it's something for him or the boys – weird, huh?) and there's the bonus of he'll pay for it. Double win!

But days like today, when I haven't been there on a solo trip in 3-4 weeks (okay, there were 3 of us, but one was asleep and the other gets no real say in anything) I tend to go a bit bat shit and buy everything I can fit in the cart. For example, water shoes for a toddler who has never been to a pool. A single-toddler sized blow up pool (Thanks M! – I need a place to use those shoes!). Tee shirts for the hubby a size smaller than he has in his wardrobe, because his weight loss has been terrific and I noticed the past couple weeks that most of his t's are swimming on him. [note a pool theme….hmmm] More child-proofing items, two of which I already know need to be returned because I tried them as soon as we got home and they don't fit the doors they were supposed to go on. And those are just the things I remember! Gah, just when I think my shopaholic tendencies are under control, I have to skip my weekly shopping trip and screw it all up.

I may have to try to prove my theorem. Or just decide I'm right and go shopping more often.

Note to hubby: Don't worry sweetums, I have the receipt. Monday the boys and I can get out of the house by returning things to Target!

We soooo know who the father is

 

When I was pregnant with our Fuss, I had a celebrity crush. I hesitate to type his name, for fear we may eventually meet and he'll be able to point and say, "Oh, you're the crazy pregnant online stalker lady" or something like that. This way, if we ever meet and for some weird twist of parallel universe fate we're both single and he falls madly in love with me, he'll never need know, right? But I was very stalkery. My hubby and I had discovered his show, then in its 5^th season, during the writer's strike, and he bought me the box set of seasons 1-4. We pretty much watched them back-to-back. Several times. And then I started to Netflix some of his older work, and asked for more DVDs for Christmas, which my hubby bought for me despite having to order them from BBCA. I blame him (my hubster) for facilitating this obsession, seeing as how he watched the shows with me, bought me more fodder, and jokingly coined the term 'Papa Greg' for the character's relationship to our soon-to-be first born.

So one day when visiting his Dad and his Dad's wife, someone brought up my little infatuation. [Read this as not me….I was terribly embarrassed by it at the time.] No big deal, though I got a couple strange looks. Then, after dinner when I was alone with the FIL, I mentioned how excited we both were about our expected son, and how he was going to be Hubby Jr. His Dad looked at me a second and said, "Well, we always know who the mother is…" With ellipses. Because there was a trailing off, an implication. I think I looked stunned for a moment before giving a little chuckle, hoping he was making a joke. But it hurt, and it's stuck with me.

Fast forward to Fuss' birth. He has blue eyes, as all (or most) newborns do, but very bright, clear-sky blue. Just like that actor…. They still are the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen, and we get comments on them all the time. I have light eyes too, but not in his league. Daddy's eyes, of course, are brown.

A bit more background, if you'll indulge me. I'm a girl (duh!). In fact, I'm a pretty girly girl. I like singing and dancing, makeup and hair-dos and dressing up, reading and playing and horses and…you get it. And I'm an only child, so I never had a brother or any real experience with little boys. (Unless you count the 6 weeks one summer my parents made me volunteer at a day care center and I was placed with the 2 year olds, and had to quit because I was so embarrassed over how the little boys constantly had their hands down their pants.) So anyway, we have two boys, and I have zilch life experience with toddler boys. I knew they'd be a lot more physical than I was, but I wasn't quite prepared…

Speed up again, to today, 20 months and 1 day after the birth of our Fuss. We've been baby-proofing, toddler-proofing, re-toddler-proofing, moving things around, de-crapifying, and generally trying to make the house safe for the big boy. Today I had to pee. It is 100 degrees outside, I'm trying to keep up with liquids and not have to resort to stashing one of their diapers in my undies. I'm thinking I may have to though, because when I came back to the living room, Fuss was on the floor playing with flea and tick repellant. Yep, the kind for dogs. Luckily he hadn't opened it yet. (Funny thing, it was in a drawer about 3.5' off the ground. A drawer that sticks so hard I have to brace myself and give a hearty pull to get it open to get the repellant.) Anyway, I ran into the kitchen to grab a bag to put the rest of the hazardous material in, after first ripping the one vial from his hands (screeching from the boy), ran back into the living room and threw the stuff in the bag. I turned around and the boy was gone. Back into kitchen; don't see him. Heart beings to speed up, and then I notice the door to the deck was open. The little booger had snuck into the kitchen, out onto the deck, and was trying to climb the gas grill. Yikes. [Note to self and hubby: start locking deck door.]

I've checked with my husband about this before, and his mom. Apparently my big guy and his two brothers were a bit of a handful: climbing everything, destroying everything, trying to lock each other in dryers, hitting each other with snow-covered rocks. All sorts of emergency-room-involving activites. And aren't I the lucky one, my little boy is just like his daddy.

Oh, and I figured out how he reached the drawer – he climbed onto a dog crate. As to getting the drawer open, he's actually that much stronger, or more determined, than me.

Just when things are looking up

 

Today was supposed to be a great day. The hubby starts his new, full-time job, in an office and everything. We have (had by the time this gets published) a baby-wearing meeting to socialize, try another style carrier, and just get out of the house. Planned to get lunch out, then run to store for a few things and back home in time for afternoon nap. But things never happen as planned, right?

There are a bunch of old sayings, like "bad things always come in threes" or "the grass is always greener on the other side" or "if it looks like a duck, and sounds like a duck…" (oh, wait, that's something completely different ). So today's saying for my morning is that just when things are looking up, they're about to go into the crapper. Literally. Here's the day so far:

2am – woke up

4am – gave up trying to fall back to sleep and started to plan out the day

5am – went downstairs for midol (yep, a nice little added bonus) then back up to take a shower. Accidentally woke the hubby. Luckily it was about 3 minutes before the alarm was set to go off.

5:50am – back downstairs to mind the bambino, who was starting to smile and coo in his bassinet. Changed his clothes and put on cloth diaper.

6:15am – heard the stirrings of the toddling over the monitor (really? You usually don't wake until 7:30 or so); begin force-feeding morning bottle to Milk Shark, so I'll have a few minutes to attend to his older bro in a bit

6:45am – let dogs out back (one refuses), prep morning bottles and breakfast

7am – retrieve a Fuss from his crib. Note that this is easier than normal, as he's still dressed, hasn't eaten any diaper bits, and the diaper is still on under the pajamas. Say quick thank you for small favors. Change him into cloth diaper and shorts.

7:15am – breakfast for Fuss, put Milk Shark in bassinet, and he falls asleep (again, easier than normal – double bonus!) (and yes, this is where I should have begun to get worried)

7:30am – realize Fuss has thrown most of breakfast to the hounds (aka dachshunds) and wants fruit. Only have canned beans and tomatoes on shelf, and one last cup of diced peaches. Give him peaches and cheerios.

7:40am – Shark awakens with brain-piercing shrieks – wet dipe and spit up all over himself. Quickly clean up infant.

7:45am – Realize I'm hungry and nuke 2 taquitos, gulp them done while too hot, then take both offspring to living room for morning tv (luckily able to change channel before "the drama that is Charmed starts now".) Position baby on lap to accommodate feeding/burping/sleeping ritual.

8:10am – Hear/feel seismic quake on lap & laugh at baby as he's grinning smugly up at me. Decide to wait a couple minutes to ensure bowel is completely evacuated (don't want another "play dough factory" incident.)

8:12am – Fuss comes over & hugs little brother (adorable!) but squeezes a bit too hard eliciting a large amount of spit up (not so adorable!) Grab burp cloth and wipe spit up off leg, sneeze, wipe nose with….. wait for it….. poopy burp cloth. Try not to puke in mouth as the realization hits that it was only a tiny bit of spit up, and the great spreading warmth all over my legs and stomach was the first ever Milk Shark diaper blow out.

8:13am – Place baby on changing table, remove shirt and pants and roll into a ball and throw on kitchen floor to rinse out later (but hopefully soonish), and proceed to clean up baby. So glad I bothered with that shower since I now smell like baby poop, at least my hair is still..um, yep, still clean.

8:20am – morning time resumes; call folks to see if they have withdrawal and want to see their grandkids (yes, but visitors
company uninvited-by-them guests should be there any minute, can you come over tomorrow?)

9:10am – retrieve Fuss from top of dog crate he just learned to climb

9:11am – ask Fuss to get off dog crate or have a time out

9:12am – repeat 9:11am

9:12:25am – again

9:13am – ask Fuss to not stand on the drawer he just opened (I can't even open it it's so tight, how the hell…?)

9:14am – get Fuss a bottle of milk and snack cup

9:30am – change Fuss' diaper and take him up for nap/quiet-play time at his request; feed more ammo to Milk Shark

9:50am – Put sleeping baby in bassinet again, take crap-filled laundry to machine, let dogs out again (same one refuses)

10:15am – Pick up crying baby, insert bottle to block sound, start hunt-and-peck single-digit typing

10:35am – Currently listening to toddler talk on the monitor, with sleeping baby on lap, twisted to side to use both hands to type, and trying to decide if leaving the house this afternoon is a great idea and diversion, a necessary evil, or just plain necessary.

 

10:42am – trying to decide to laugh, cry, or sleep.

 

How's your day?

 

P.S. 10:51am finish re-reading post, noticed several grammatical/spelling/tense errors, but just don't care to correct them right now. Will publish post and let friends point them out and feel like an idiot about it later.