"I need, I need..."

My poor baby is stuck in that stage when he's old enough to know how to ask for something specific to eat, but not old enough to understand when Mommy says that we don't have any.

Guess I'll just have to grow a banana tree in the backyard, so we always have them available...

kiss kiss

Is it weird that I just got one of the best kisses of my life from a little blonde boy wearing an Elmo t-shirt and no pants, holding a stack of Legos, and saying "hand" over and over?

Madness #22--ancient history

Sometimes, my little mommy self misses the days before my son...

...found out that crayons were edible, fun to brush his teeth with, and could break in half.
...thought that throwing every single one of his Legos down the stairs, one at a time, for Mommy to trip on, was a good idea.
...decided to be afraid of water, making bath time a nightmare for all of us.
...discovered the joy of glaring at Mama from underneath his blonde bangs.
...learned how to take his socks and shoes off when we're running late and trying to get out the door.
...would rather hang out with Elmo than his own mother.
...realized that screaming the word "TAT-tooooooo" while pointing at someone with a visible tattoo really embarrasses Mommy.
...started misbehaving badly enough to warrant spankings before breakfast.
...knew that he was capable of asking for something, then of refusing it when it's offered.
...understood that he was cute and how to use it to his advantage.
...felt it was just hilarious to blow his nose into my clothing or hand.

But you know what? I wouldn't trade that kid for any other kid in the world. Because with all these new things he's learning come other new things--like how to yell "lah-loo" to tell Mama that he loves her, and how to give Mommy sweet kisses through the bars of his crib at bedtime.

If that's my reward for wiping boogers off my pants every day, I'll take all the half-chewed crayons and missing socks I can get.

Madness #21--"Wake up, sleepy-head!"

My three all-time favorite ways to be woken up?

1. Having Legos thrown at me.
2. Getting my face slapped by a tiny little hand, while "MA!!" is yelled right in my ear.
3. Hearing the word "poop" being whispered in the other room, steadily getting louder and louder until I go in and find someone standing in his crib desperately trying to un-Velcro his very messy diaper.

Whoever said being a mom wasn't absolutely crazy is absolutely crazy.

sigh

You know you're a mother when a dishwasher full of clean dishes, a sleeping child taking his second nap of the day, two corn dogs, friends coming over tonight to watch the final "Bachelor" episode, a Dutch Bros blended annihilator, and a Tyra Show rerun make you blissfully happy.

slip of the tongue...

So, my dear dear friend Rachael said something at Moms Group last week that STILL has me cracking up at the thought.

When referring to Bobby and Candace, she accidentally said Bobbace and Candy. Instant, unintentional humor. We've been quoting her all week, trying to decide which Pecaut gets to be "Candy". Hard to say when they're both so sweet (ha ha--cheese, I know).

But all this Bobbace talk got me thinking. I started using Rachael's name formula, plugging in different friends and family members to see which couples sound extra silly in Rachael-ese.

I'll let you decide for yourself:

Marcky and Bety
Rychael and Rayan
Marah and Satt
Mess and Jike
Yadriana and Aori
Beather and Hilly
Manna and Att
Marty and Mimi (ha ha)
Baura and Len
Grannah and Hace
Rary Ann and Mick
Katasha and NC

I don't know. I think Bobbace and Candy still take the cake. Er, the candy.

Here it is, girls...

So, at almost every Stirring function, when a bunch of us women are sitting around, sipping coffee and gabbing about the latest vampire novel, somehow my huge pregnant belly always seems to come up in conversation. I don't know how it creeps in there, but it does, and I find myself smiling and nodding as these girls tell me how huge I was. And no one means any harm by it, it's just that apparently I was an anomoly to the entire church body--I was the new girl that was skinny as a rail with a belly the size of China tacked onto the front of me. I was the new girl that nobody knew but everybody knew.

And of course, at a baby shower this past week, my big ol' belly stuck it's big ol' belly into a convo some of the girls were having about pregnancy. I was chatting with someone else when I overheard someone mention my name and say the usual, "But you couldn't even tell she was pregnant from the back!" It's probably because I gained all my pregnancy weight in my face. All forty pounds, sitting in my cherub-y chipmunk cheeks.

Anyway, a couple of the girls at the baby shower met me after I had had Marty and was at least trying to squeeze into normal-people clothing. They know me as my much smaller, much less whoa-look-at-that-belly-there-must-be-like-five-babies-in-there self. So, friends, since you asked to see a picture of this pregnancy anomoly, I thought I'd oblige. Even though pulling this photo out again makes me feel like I have to pee--I swear, my bladder was flat as a pancake by this point:


So yes, I really was this big. Goo. I had to literally cradle my belly and support its weight with my arms if I walked for more than ten minutes, just to spare my poor aching back. And I was pregnant for another three weeks AFTER this picture was taken. So tack on another ten-or-so pounds, and you've got a great mental picture of me waddling into the maternity ward when Marty was finally ready to arrive, yelling at some poor nurse to "get this thing out of me"!

Fun times, gals. FUN times.

just hilarious...

Excerpts from a dog's diary:

8:00 a.m. - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 a.m. - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 a.m. - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 a.m. - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 p.m. - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 p.m. - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 p.m. - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 p.m. - Oh boy, Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 p.m. - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 p.m. - Wow! Watched TV with people! My favorite thing!
11:00 p.m. - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing.

Excerpts from a cat's diary:

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.

In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomited on the carpet.

Today I also decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight and I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. In fact, I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in my attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are Flunkies and Snitches.

The dog here receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly, and I am certain that he reports my every move. Unfortunately, my captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.

For now...

We're famous!

Or rather, my husband and his best friend Bobby are...

Today they've graced the FRONT PAGE of the Record Searchlight, our local newspaper, talking about the climbing gym they hope to open. There's even an adorable picture of Marty's smiling face as he rock climbs and Bobby belays him.

See, about a month or so ago, Bobby got a call from the Young Entrepreneur Program, which he had been involved with through the Small Business Development Center at Shasta College. They seek to help young people trying to open their own businesses. Well, they called Bobby to see if he'd let the Searchlight do a story about Jericho, highlighting the Entrepreneur Program. Well, of course he said yes.

So, a rock-climbing photo shoot and a couple interviews later, the boys are on the freakin' front page. We thought they'd end up in the back of the paper somewhere--in the business section. But instead they're the highlight today, the in-your-face-read-about-our-gym-while-you-drink-your-morning-cup-of-coffee highlight.

If you live in Redding, go grab a paper to support the guys. If you don't, check out redding.com, as it's the main story today! Marty's little smile, or HUGE GRIN rather, awaits the moment you type that address in.

And of course, it's only fitting that he's wearing his Wisconsin shirt. You know, the red one that says to "smell our dairy air"? The shirt that he wears just about every single day? I could be embarrassed that that shirt will forever be on display in this year's scrapbook, or I could just laugh it off and say, "That's my husband!"

Cow poop shirt or not, I really couldn't be prouder!