life ensues

the one that got away

2012-01-31T11:38:00.000-05:00

You wouldn’t think I’d have a One That Got Away since Joe and I have been together since I was 17, but...I do. He lives somewhere in the back of my mind and every once in a while I’ll think of him -- or dream about him, like I did on Sunday night.

In the dream, we’re sitting together in a place I don’t recognize and he asks me, “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we...?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

It was the summer before my senior year. I was working as a waitress at a certain all-night dining establishment specializing in waffles and “scattered, smothered, covered” potatoes, and he was home from college working there as a cook. We’d worked together before, and were social outside of work, too, since he was part of a larger group of friends that also happened to include Joe. He and Joe, as a matter of fact, grew up together, and had been close friends for years. I actually met Joe through him, which I guess is...interesting.

Anyway, during this particular summer, the dynamic between us was different than it ever had been before. We’d always had this sort of flirty, fun friendship. We had amazing conversations and witty banter that made everyone around us feel like an outsider. Our senses of humor were so compatible; to this day, I have never met a person with a sharper wit, or one who oozes sarcasm from their pores like he does. He’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever known.

This summer, though, there was a sort of tension to our interactions. There were things we weren’t saying and feelings we weren’t acknowledging. For me, I guess those feelings had been developing for a while. I can’t speak for him.

We started hanging out more outside of work, just the two of us. We’d go to the mall, to restaurants, or just drive around in one of our cars talking. One morning, after working a slow night shift together, we drove out to the reservoir and watched the sun rise over the water, sitting side by side with our hands curled around our cups of coffee rather than around each other. There was no torrid love affair; there was never even a kiss. The most intimate we ever were was at a movie, with a group of our friends, when we sat next to each other with our arms touching on the armrest between us, with his warm hand brushing against the outside of mine. That was all, but it was somehow so much. He was the subject of a lot of angsty poetry that summer (and oh, if you thought the stories were good, I really must share some of my teenage poetry with you. You'll LOVE IT).

I don’t think we would have had a Great Love. I think we would have had a summer romance, and I think it would’ve been fun, and that it would’ve ended when he went back to college in the fall. And I think that would have been doing a disservice to what we both wanted out of it. But the timing was wrong, and maybe it never would have been right. So we just...never acted. He graduated and moved to Maryland, and that was it. We lost touch.

He was supposed to be in our wedding, but backed out with only weeks left with a b.s. excuse (I have my suspicions about the real reason). I saw him for the first time in years in November of 2009, at our mutual friend’s memorial service, when I was pregnant with Will. After the ceremony was over, he made a beeline for Joe and me and gave me the tightest, longest hug. “It’s really nice to see you,” he whispered to me.

We all lingered after the memorial service, talking about the good old days and sharing memories of our friend. I found myself next to him at one point and he boxed me gently on the arm and said, “So, you good?”

“Great. How about you?”

“Great. I was thinking on the flight here about that summer. You remember that summer?”

“Of course I do.”

“That was a good summer.”

“Yes it was.”

I guess that was our closure -- our acknowledgement that something happened that summer, even if that something was really nothing.

He’s married now, and expecting a baby girl with his wife next month. I’m so happy for him, and yes, occasionally, when I think about him, I do get a little bit wistful.

But I also know that everything worked out exactly like it was supposed to. I am married to the most incredible person I could ever imagine for myself, and I love Joe completely, with my entire being. If something more had happened that summer, maybe Joe wouldn’t have called me that fall to ask me out on a date, because I was “off-limits” since I’d dated his friend. Maybe we wouldn’t have spent the last eleven-plus years together, building a home and a family and a life. I can’t imagine a life that didn’t include Joe or my sons. I don’t even want to try.

I don’t know why I dreamed about him the other night. But I’ve definitely been thinking about him more ever since then. Strangely, though, thinking about him and our summer is making me appreciate the life I have now even more. It’s confirming for me that I ended up exactly where I’m supposed to.

As if I need any more confirmation of that than my amazing husband, our rock-solid marriage, and our sweet sons.

is it too early in the year to take a mulligan?

2012-01-27T21:08:00.000-05:00

Oh, this WEEK. It's been rough. I was sick with that cold at the end of last week, and then mid-week this week, I got strep throat. But I didn't just get the "wow, it feels like I've been swallowing glass, my throat is so sore" version of strep. Oh no. I got the version that comes with EVERY SINGLE POSSIBLE SYMPTOM you see on all the medical web pages. Fever. Chills. Fatigue. General malaise. Headache. Body aches. And, of course, the swallowed-glass sore throat.

Guess what else I had this week? My period, and the cramps and yuckiness that come with it. Because that's just the kind of cruel joke the universe likes to pull.

Possibly the worst part of it, though, was not seeing the boys. I came home on Wednesday afternoon and didn't see Andrew and Will until last night. It was torture. I felt so miserable and I just wanted to see their sweet faces and hear their sweet voices, but I knew I was contagious, and there was no way I wanted them to feel the way that I felt. Joe handled everything while I was curled in a ball of misery in bed: the daycare drop-off and pick-ups. Dinner. Dishes. Packing lunches. Baths and stories and cuddles and bedtime. I was completely out of commission and he kept our household up and running. I was trying to thank him for that this morning, and I couldn't even do it without crying. I am so thankful for him, for the way he took care of our sons (and me!) when I couldn't. He is such an amazing husband and father that words simply aren't enough.They're just not. I have some nice things planned for him when I'm feeling completely better, including an entire week of his favorite meals next week and some other things that aren't bloggable (oh come on, we're married. I'm allowed).

Anyway, I went to the doctor yesterday morning and I'm on an antibiotic now, and I'm feeling a lot better. The doctor said it's not really common to see strep in an adult, and even less common to see it present with the litany of symptoms I had. And this is the second time I've had it in two years (it wasn't this bad the last time, though). I worked a half-day today, but my managers were so impressed with the fact that I came in at all that they practically forced me to leave early. I graciously accepted, so I could come home and relieve Joe, who worked last night and was staying up with Will -- who was home from daycare today because he was complaining that his head hurt this morning. Everything was going fine this afternoon until I noticed Will's hands -- they were super cold and red, with white splotches/bumps/blisters all over them. I was...slightly freaked out. I called our pediatrician immediately and she said she suspected it was just because his hands were cold, and that I should give him a warm bath and call her back if his hands weren't better in 45 minutes. The bath cleared them up, but I still think it was strange -- I've never heard of a kid getting a rash like that when his hands were cold.

While I was giving Will a bath, the daycare called: Andrew's ear was leaking all kinds of disgusting fluid. Apparently, he had an ear infection, and his eardrum ruptured? Or something? I have no clue, because he hasn't once complained of pain in his ear.

Of course both of these events would happen at the same time, on a Friday afternoon. Thankfully, both situations had easy resolutions: Will's hands were just cold, and we already have drops on hand for Andrew's ear.

The week did end on a high note, though. I called uncle and ordered pizza for dinner, and while we were waiting for the delivery guy to arrive, Andrew told me, "I'm gonna give the pizza maker [what he calls the delivery guy] a BIG HUG!" When the pizza arrived, I told the delivery guy (an adorable high school kid) what Andrew had said, and what do you know? The delivery guy got down to Andrew's level and said, "Come here, buddy. I'll give you a hug." And then he hugged Will, too. It absolutely made their whole nights, and mine. My hope is that I can raise my boys to be the kind of teenagers who are that sweet to little kids. I wish I knew who his mom was so I could give her a big hug.

So that's been my week in a nutshell. Here's hoping that next week is much, much healthier.

he wins this round

2012-01-23T11:53:00.000-05:00

“Hey Mommy, watchu makin’?”

“Tomato soup, bud.”

“What’s in it? Matatoes? I don’t like matatoes. I don’t like that soup.”

“You’ll like it, bud, I promise. You had it before and you really liked it. Remember how you dipped your grilled cheese in it?”

“Ohhh, yeah. Are you makin’ grilled cheese for us too?”

“I sure am.”

“Why aren’t you making it right now?”

“Because I have to wait for our soup to finish cooking.”

“But I want you to make our grilled cheese!”

“In a little bit, bud.”

“Mommy, what’s that bread for? Why you putting butter on that bread?”

“It’s for our grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Can I have that bread? What about that cheese? Can I have that cheese? Are you going to make our sandwiches now?”

“In a little bit.”

“Can I have just one piece of cheese?”

“You can have it when it’s on your sandwich.”

“Can you make our sandwiches now? I want you to make them now.”

“As soon as I finish the soup, I’ll make our sandwiches.”

“Mommy, NOW are you makin’ our grilled cheese?”

“Andrew, you are driving me crazy.”

“No I not, Mommy. I can’t drive.”

surfacing

2012-01-21T14:44:00.001-05:00

Even though it was a short week, last week felt very long. Will didn't sleep for two nights straight because he came down with an awful cough that made him gag and gasp for breath. It was the worst I'd ever heard him cough, and I was up all night for two nights in a row tending to him -- giving him water, making sure the humidifier was filled, administering breathing treatments as needed, checking for a fever that never came to fruition.

The lack of sleep, added to the fact that work was once again (and promises to continue to be) insane, means that I got an awful cold on Thursday afternoon. I stayed home from work yesterday and slept from 11 AM to 5 PM, then went back to bed at 10:00 and slept until 8:00 this morning. All the sleep must've been just what I needed, because I feel much better today. But I may have pushed it by going to the grocery store earlier, because by the time I got home I was absolutely exhausted, and my head was pounding. So we're having a lazy afternoon: Andrew is playing with a bunch of random stuff he found in one of the closets, Will's napping, and I'm blogging for the first time this week.

I hate that blogging has started to take a backseat to so many of my responsibilities already this year. My intention this year was to blog more, not less, because there are so many things I want to record in this journal of my life. I need to work harder at making more time for this.

The main recordable thing that happened this week is that Will had his two-year check-up on Thursday morning.

He threw a fit before we left the house because we weren't going to the doctor's office quickly enough. "I want to go to the doctor," he wailed, throwing himself on the floor and pounding his little fists. I bet he felt pretty silly when the doctor gave him shots. (Which were awful, by the way. He screamed and broke my heart and was literally incosolable for 15 minutes after the shots.)

He weighs 26.5 pounds and is 34 inches tall, and the doctor has absolutely no concerns about his growth and development. She said his lungs even sound completely clear, which baffles me because of all the ridiculous coughing. She was impressed with how "highly verbal, articulate, and understandable" he is. That made this mama pretty proud, I won't lie.

Tomorrow is a hard day for me; it's been a hard day every year for the past five years. I feel like the five-year anniversary of losing Mom should be some sort of milestone, that I should somehow feel differently about her death, that I should have something poignant to say about it all. But really, like every other day since the day she died, I just miss her. And wish desperately that she was still here.

friday the 13th

2012-01-13T21:04:00.000-05:00

I kinda like this idea of just sitting down on Friday night, after the week is over, and letting my brain guide my fingers across the keyboard. It's cathartic for me. It may not be writing with intent, but at least it's writing, right?

I'm happy to be at the end of this exhausting week. This is always our busy season at work, but this year the busy season seems to have started with a BANG, and it probably won't let up until May. This week was particularly rough, so I'm grateful for the three-day weekend we have this weekend. Christmas, then New Year's, then Will's birthday...Our weekends have been packed with activities and I'm ready to just relax for a little bit. The only thing we have planned for this weekend is my best friend's daughter's birthday party tomorrow afternoon, and I'm really looking forward to it. She's rented out a fun place just for the party, and there are only going to be a handful of kids there, so I know they'll love having the whole play area to themselves. If Andrew loves it as much as I suspect he will, I may have his birthday party there in May.

Speaking of Andrew, he's been sick this week. We kept him home from daycare yesterday just so he could have a day to rest. He went to bed before 7:00 last night and slept all night long, and he seems to be feeling much, much better today. Thank goodness. I know he felt awful, and I felt awful for him, but I was just about at my wit's end. His cold made him cranky and deliberately mean to Will, and he was extremely sensitive, crying over everything and absolutely nothing. Toddler colds > man colds.

A cold front/Alberta clipper/whatever it is that brings snow with it moved into our area last night, dumping a few inches of snow on us. It's also been extremely windy, with wind chills below zero. I've been trying not to complain about it, considering that it's the first real snow we've had all winter, but I just...ugh. I'm just not a fan of the snow. Looking out the window at it? Yes. So pretty. Driving in it? Not so much. This morning, on my way to work, my windshield wipers just randomly stopped working. This happened as the snow fell and blew across my windshield and semi trucks passed me in the opposite direction, spraying slush and ice and salt all across the front of my car. Needless to say, I put my drive to work on hold, and pulled into a nearby Burger King for a cup of coffee.

I called Joe to meet me there so we could switch cars, but of course this was the night he forgot to take his phone with him to work, so I had to wait for him to get home, get my message, and turn around and come back to get me. It gave me a lot of time to obsess over what could possibly be wrong with my car, and to get anxious about how much it's going to cost to fix. My car already needs work done to the heater (it blows hot air, but very gently, no more than a breath's worth, even when it's on high), and I have to get new tires soon. The few minutes I did drive it today were treacherous because I was slipping and sliding everywhere. It's both the most inconvenient time for it to need worked on (it's winter, and a heater, windshield wipers, and good tires are all must-haves for this season) and the most convenient (I'll get my bonus soon, and we just paid off Joe's car, so we have a little wiggle room for car-related expenses). Mostly I'm just trying not to worry about it anymore: It has to be fixed, and it'll cost what it costs. I really can't change that.

I'm starting to get distracted by Pinterest now, so I should probably stop. On the agenda for the rest of the evening: pinning, a bubble bath, Bones, and Project Runway: All Stars. Not too shabby, Friday night. Not too shabby.

will's second birthday, in pictures

2012-01-11T10:46:00.003-05:00

So now I have a two-year-old. It's still sort of unbelievable to me, that two years have passed by so quickly. Will has celebrated being two by forming even more complex sentences (“That’s Daddy’s car in the driveway, on the rocks”; “I want to read a story and go to bed with my elly” -- yes, my Will actually said that second sentence!), at least doubling his use of the phrase “That’s mine,” and throwing even more theatrical tantrums for our viewing pleasure. He’s also been singing “Happy Birthday” to himself ever since his actual birthday on Sunday, which I really need to get on video, because it’s super adorable.

We celebrated his birthday on Sunday with a small family party. I say “small,” but it was actually about 20 people crammed into our house. Despite the close quarters, it was a very successful party. And the weather was relatively mild, too; I told Will, who was born on the heels of a blizzard, that it was probably some of the best weather he’d have on his January birthday.

Here are a few pictures of the day:

We started off the morning with a batch of birthday pancakes. Days and multiple vacuumings later, I’m still finding random nonpareils all over the place, but the birthday boy absolutely loved them (and I think making these pancakes is a tradition we’ll continue on both his and Andrew’s birthdays from now on).

Here’s Will’s cake, lovingly crafted by me. For whatever reason the bottom layer photographed very yellow, but it really was more of a neon green.

Will, seeing his cake for the first time. It’s not a flattering picture of me, but I just love the expression of happy wonder on his sweet face.

Listening to everyone sing “Happy Birthday.”

He of course went for Buzz Lightyear first. Mmm, delicious buttercream Buzz legs.

He did such a great job of opening his presents, and he thanked every single person. And not one single gift was wrapped in Christmas paper!

Opening his gift from Andrew: his very own phone, so he won’t have to steal his brother’s anymore. He is skeptical.

This gigantic Buzz Lightyear (Will’s gift from Joe and me) has since caused lots of dramz in our house. Andrew absolutely loves it, and wants to play with it all the time. Needless to say, Will’s not down with this arrangement. As a result, we told Andrew he could have his own Buzz if he’s a good boy at school this week. He has been so far, so it’s looking like he’ll be getting a Buzz of his own in a couple of days.

(I even wrote Will's name in black permanent marker on the bottom of Buzz's foot, a la Andy in Toy Story. I cried a little bit while I did it. Is that dumb?)

It was at this point in the present-opening process that Andrew started flipping out because he didn’t have anything to open, so Will consented to letting Andrew help him open one of his gifts. You can see that this was pretty exciting for Andrew. I think his birthday is going to be really fun this year.

Since Will’s been coveting Andrew’s bicycle ever since Christmas, my dad and stepmom got him his own tricycle. He calls it “mah bike,” and he absolutely loves it.

It’s so hard to believe he’s gone from this perfect newborn, on his birth day...

...to this sweet chubby-faced baby, at one-year-old...

...to this darling, irresistible, two-year-old boy.

I can’t wait to see what kind of adventures we have during this year of his life.

letter to william, two years old

2012-01-08T10:48:00.002-05:00

Sweet William,

As I type this, the night before your second birthday, I just finished putting you to bed. You're wearing your Buzz Lightyear jammies tonight; you'd wear them every night if I let you. Tonight, just like every night before, I held you in my arms in your dark room, swaying back and forth as I recited your prayers. And just like every night before this one, you whispered "Amen" at the end, and played coy when I asked you for a hug. But then, just like every other night, you finally put your arms around my neck and burrowed your head into my shoulder. It may just be my imagination, but it seemed like tonight you hugged me a little tighter than usual and held on a little longer. Or maybe it was me doing the clinging, the squeezing, the holding on. Regardless, I enjoyed those extra few swaying steps with you heavy and soft and warm in my arms -- a few more cuddles with my one-year-old, before you wake up TWO.

The past two years with you in our family feel like they've flown by, while at the same time, I can't recall with perfect clarity what my life was like without you here. It feels like you've been with us always. And to know that you'll be in my life until the day I leave it is a bigger blessing than I ever could have hoped for. You are so cherished, sweet baby.

Here's something you should know: I will always call you "baby," no matter how old you are. I know in three years or five or eight you'll roll your eyes at me when I call you that, but that's just too bad. That's your cross to bear as the younger child -- you get to be my baby. Forever and always.

At two years old, my baby is rapidly turning into a bright, sweet, rascal of a little boy. A snapshot of you, at two years old: Your hair is so blond and your eyes are so big and brown and your dimple is so precious. You talk so much; I never really was keeping track of all the words you can say, but if I had been, I would've lost count long ago. You speak in complete paragraphs now, and repeat everything we say. You say "yeah" like someone from Germany -- "yah." You say "I wanna poop" after you've already done so (I think potty-training is just around the corner). You say, "Give me a rock!" when you want a fist-bump. When we ask you what a monster says, you growl, "I am scary!" You love to read, and have memorized many of our favorites (The Birthday Box; Goodnight, Little Bear; Smile, Baby, Smile; We're Going on a Bear Hunt). You sing the ABCs and Old MacDonald as loudly as you can, and you dance to them too. You are a fantastic dancer, Will. You are a fantastic boy.

You love Lightning McQueen and Buzz Lightyear, and you quote them all the time. "What Lightning say?" you prompt us to ask you, and when we do, you respond with a hearty "Ka-chow!" When we ask you what Buzz says, we get one of the following: "Beeta-on!" (which is your version of "To infinity and beyond"); "Buzz Lightyear space ranger!"; or "Buzz Lightyear got choo-choo train" (from the opening scene of the third movie). Our house is filled with more different incarnations of these two characters than I could possibly count.

You still sleep with your "elly" (elephant) and "atty" (pacifier), but your crib is filled with lots of other beloved items too. Your blanky. Your puppy Pillow Pet and the Mater Pillow Pet you got for Christmas. "Big Toe," the UglyDoll your Uncle Adam got you last year. Your plush Buzz Lightyear who's nearly as big as you are. Two different sizes of Elmo. You like to burrow underneath all of these items until only your feet are visible, and that's how you sleep. You sleep so well, by the way. I never would have thought I'd be saying that, given how much you didn't sleep for the first eight months of your life.

You throw the most spectacular tantrums. They are truly amazing. Like most kids your age, you don't like not getting your way, and you make that very clear to us with lots of stomping, throwing yourself on the floor, burying your head in your hands, pounding on things, crying huge crocodile tears, and wailing, "Why? Whyyyy?" It's so hard for me not to laugh sometimes when you're in the throes of one of these fits.

But when you're not upset about something, Will, you are light personified. You laugh and play and sing and dance. You get so excited about everything -- about life, in general. You have the most amazing laugh; I know I've mentioned it in these letters I write to you before, but I just can't get over how awesome it is. It's both guttural and squeaky, and it sounds like music. I wish I could bottle the sound of it. You are magnetic; people are drawn to you, to your adorable little face and your charming, funny little personality.

Andrew is your best friend. Seeing the two of you play together and have conversations in your own little language makes me feel something that words aren't strong enough to describe. You're learning so much from him -- his words, his mannerisms, his behavior (both good and bad, but mostly good). You fight, often, but only for a few minutes at a time, and then you're back to being buddies again.More and more I find myself just sitting back and watching the two of you interact, rather than joining in your play -- partly because you boys play rough, but mostly so I can just marvel at how awesome my sons are. Having each other is such a blessing, and I hope you always nurture your relationship. I hope you always learn from each other and care for each other the way you do now.

You speak to something soft in me, Will. It's a special place that only you can touch, a place that only responds to you. I cannot even describe how much you mean to me, how honored I feel to have the responsibility of raising you. This past year was such a rough one for our family, but when I look back on it now, all the good parts of it involved you and your brother. You came into our lives just when we needed you the most. On your birthday and every day, sweet boy, I hope you know how very much Daddy and Andrew and I love you...to infinity, and beyond.

Happy second birthday, my little love.

Love,

Mommy

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friday night free write

2012-01-06T20:56:00.000-05:00

I promised myself I'd post something today, and I'm following through. Even though I have a piercing sinus headache and my throat feels like I've been swallowing glass all day.

I don't know if I've just caught the man cold Joe had last week (I'm certainly feeling whiny and pitiful, the two major symptoms of a man cold) or if I just picked up some random something somewhere, or what. But this sore throat feels suspiciously like strep, and if that's what it is I will cry. I have too much to do this weekend. I CANNOT BE FELLED.

We're having a smallish, very casual party for Will's birthday this weekend. It was sort of a last-minute decision, only finalized yesterday. We're just having family over for finger foods and (Buzz Lightyear-themed) cake. It should be fun, and hopefully not too stressful for me. I'm excited about it -- and also disbelieving that my BABY is going to be TWO.

It was a pretty good first week of the year -- ridiculously busy, but good. Another of my resolutions (that I forgot to mention in my last post) is to get up earlier in the mornings to allow myself more time to wake up, have breakfast, get ready, etc. I've been getting up at 5:30 AM all week, and I think my body is starting to acclimate to the change. My hair certainly is -- I've been washing and drying it in the mornings, and my office's resident fashionista (and my best work friend) told me that it looks "sleek and shiny." I don't think my hair has ever been called either of those things.

Last night I went to my best friend's house to watch The Bachelor. I played with her sweet daughter and we ate Reeses Cup McFlurries and we talked and laughed and we realized how much we both miss doing that. We haven't made time for each other lately and a friendship deserves to be nurtured. We're going to work on nurturing ours this year.

It's Friday night, a night when my house is usually trashed, a night when I'm dreading the cleaning that awaits me on Saturday. Not tonight, though. I've been keeping up with the laundry all week (doing it! folding it! PUTTING IT AWAY! like an adult!) and aside from the usual detritus that comes with raising two boys, my house is clean. I only have minor cleaning to do for Will's party, and it feels amazing.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's like the second the calendar turned over to 2012, I just felt completely renewed. A new year doesn't erase all of our problems, but somehow I'm feeling more equipped to handle them. I've felt more energetic, more at peace, this week than I felt for all of last year. I think somewhere in the middle of 2011 I just gave up and called it a wash, and just started counting down the days until it ended.

Now that it has? I feel pretty great.

maybe this year will be better than the last

2012-01-02T19:11:00.001-05:00

Happy New Year! To say that I'm happy 2012 is finally here would of course be an understatement. The reasons 2011 sucked are numerous, and I have absolutely no desire to rehash them here -- or, really, to even think about them anymore. But, yeah. I'm happy that crap-heap of a year is behind us.

The word I'm focusing on for 2012 is "rebuild." I have a lot of that to do in my life after the toll last year took on our family -- financially, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. After spending the last 10 days at home with the people I love the most in the world, I feel like I have a solid foundation on which to start rebuilding my life.

Here are my resolutions for the year, if you want to call them that:

Worry less and be more spontaneous.

Yell less and be more patient.

Be more present when I'm at home in the evenings and less distracted by social media/internet/etc.

Visit my grandmothers more often.

Keep writing, even if I don't have anything important to say.

Read 112 books. (Why yes, I am ambitious!)

Fold the laundry as soon as it comes out of the dryer. I have spent most of my adult life living out of a laundry basket, because folding clothes is my most hated chore, and I need to stop it. I'm a grown-ass woman. I should be able to fold my laundry.

Do as much prep work as I possibly can for our weeknight dinners when I have time on the weekends. (I did an awesome job at this today, and managed to make noodles, prepare a casserole for tomorrow night, grate two blocks of cheese, chop vegetables, and roast garlic in just about an hour this morning. Totally worth the time it'll save me throughout the week.)

Wear lip gloss every day, even if I don't wear any other make-up, because it makes me feel pretty.

Be nice to Joe. He's my favorite person and he too often gets a wife that is stressed out and annoyed. I also want to be more vocal with him about the things I want/need, rather than just getting mad at him for his inability to read my mind (even though he should totally be able to do that).

So far, 2012 definitely does not suck. The boys rang in the New Year yesterday with coordinating shirts and mohawks (Will's hair is still too fine to sustain one for long, as you can see, and he's clearly thrilled about it)...

...and this afternoon, after Will's nap, I took them outside to play in the first real snow of the winter.

Right now, they're upstairs playing some sort of monster game with Joe that involves lots of jumping and growling. I'm listening to them over the monitor as I sit here typing in my favorite comfy shirt (a gigantic thermal shirt of Joe's) in my warm, cozy house.

As much as I'm not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow, it'll be nice to get back into our routine. More than any other year, this year feels like a fresh start, and I'm eager to start rebuilding.

2012, I'm counting on you. Be awesome, okay?

tidings of great joy

2011-12-28T15:26:00.000-05:00

Oh, you guys, Christmas was so amazing this year. It wasn't about the presents, although we were all spoiled way beyond what I could have imagined. It was more that I just felt so thankful, so blessed, to be surrounded by the amazing people who make up my family. The people who love us unconditionally, and have rallied around us again and again all through this long, awful year. Celebrating Christmas with them this year was absolutely priceless. More than ever, I felt the truth of the words, "Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more." (We're still watching The Grinch around here pretty regularly, if you couldn't tell.)

And then there was Andrew's face, when he saw the tree on Christmas morning for the first time. I can't look at this picture without my eyes filling with tears. His sweet little sleepy face, so full of innocence and amazement. This, right here, is what Christmas is all about:

This will henceforth be known as The Christmas Pixar Puked In Our House. The boys got enough Cars and Toy Story memorabilia to last them a lifetime, and they've spent the past three days doing nothing but playing with all of it. They're going back to daycare tomorrow, because I can tell they're anxious to get back into a routine, but I know they've enjoyed all the time they've had to play with their new toys. And I've enjoyed all the extra time I've been able to spend with them this week. My precious little guys. They're the best Christmas gift I could ever receive.

Here are ~~a few~~ several more pictures of our Christmas:

Christmas Eve. I could not get them to look at the camera.

After "Santa" came on Christmas Eve. Also the first photo I've ever successfully taken in manual mode on my camera!

Andrew's new bike, already missing a pedal. Will is just pretty darn happy.

Modeling his new Lightning McQueen slippers.

Yes, we got them a bag of pretzel M&Ms. They love those things, as you can probably tell by their faces.

Dinner on Christmas Day.


Their gigantic new Buzz Lightyears, a gift from my mother-in-law.

Lastly, check out the sunset as we were driving home on Christmas Day:

I feel like that was God's Christmas gift to us.

our christmas season

2011-12-23T10:28:00.000-05:00

We’ve packed a lot of fun seasonal activities into the month of December, that’s for sure. I didn’t get through all of the things on my Christmas list, but I made a pretty good dent in it.

We drove through the Fantasy of Lights with Joe’s family, all piled into one of the preschool buses. Will was underwhelmed, and mostly dozed on his great-grandma’s lap, but Andrew was so incredibly excited. At every display he’d gasp, point, and say, “LOOK AT THAT!” It was pretty awesome. (His favorite was the green-lit brontosaurus whose necked moved; mine was either the gingerbread house made of lights, or the display of Santa high-diving into a pool, complete with sparkly blue lights to resemble the splash.)

We also went to Wildlights at the zoo with our best friends. It was the best zoo trip we’ve had yet. We spent most of the visit in the barn with the goats and in the elephant building. The baby elephant was very playful, and was batting a ball around with his trunk. Will talked about that for days afterwards: “Baby ellewet, play wif ball!”

We visited Santa and had breakfast with him (“Will Santa have cereal?” Andrew asked me skeptically before we arrived.) We went to our town’s Christmas tree-lighting event. We made tons of cookies and delivered them to our neighbors. We made homemade gifts for teachers and friends. We’ve watched every single Christmas special that was on television. We’ve seen so many showings of the cartoon version of The Grinch that whenever we ask Will what The Grinch says, he responds, “Noise, noise, NOISE!” in his best Boris Karloff impression. We’ve read Christmas books (this year’s favorite, without question, is The 12 Bots of Christmas) and sang lots of Christmas songs. Tomorrow, we’ll be making Santa’s favorite cookies.

I remember so well the feeling of being a kid during the Christmas season, the magic of it all, the way time seemed to crawl until Christmas finally arrived. Now, as an adult, it all happens so fast, and it’s over in the blink of an eye. It’s such an absolute joy to see Christmas through my sons’ eyes. It’s made me feel that magic again. Seeing their little faces on Christmas morning is going to be so incredible. The most wonderful time of the year, indeed.

Merry Christmas!

wordless wednesday: what a difference two years makes

2011-12-21T10:37:00.000-05:00

January 2010:

December 2011:

pooh, resolved

2011-12-20T11:54:00.001-05:00

It’s been almost a month now since Pooh was lost. He hasn’t been found. We all had a brief moment of hope last week when my sister’s Bassett Hound was...blocked...but it turned out that he’d just eaten an avocado pit she didn’t dispose of quickly enough when she was making guacamole. For his part, Andrew was mostly doing okay with the whole situation; he asked for Pooh when he was upset, and there were a couple of times he woke up at night crying for him. For our parts, Joe and I were still just sick over it all.

One morning a couple of weeks ago, Joe called me at work. “Go to eBay,” he told me. I did, and then he said, “Okay, now search for ‘classic Pooh plush’ and go to page seven of the hits.” I knew immediately what he’d found, and my heart was literally pounding as I paged through the results.

And there it was: another Pooh. Our Pooh. I’d thought it was irreplaceable, but there it was in an eBay store called, appropriately enough, Lost Loves Toy Chest. Pooh came with a hefty price tag of $25.00, but there was no question in my mind that it was worth the money. I bought it.

The replacement Pooh arrived last week. Joe and I were initially going to wait until Christmas to put it in Andrew’s stocking, but we were just too excited. We couldn’t wait to see his reaction. I wasn’t sure how he’d respond, since the new Pooh is much fluffier and cleaner than the former one, but as soon as he saw it, his eyes actually lit up. I know that’s just an expression that people use, but I literally saw a light come into his eyes.

He immediately grabbed Pooh with both hands and brought him up to the corner of his mouth in an all-too-familiar gesture. “Pooh,” he breathed. “Pooh, you’re back. I missed you so much.” It was truly one of the most beautiful moments I’ve witnessed in my life. The reunion of my son with his best friend. It brought me to tears. I looked at Joe, and I swear there were tears in his eyes too.

We told him that Pooh had a really good bath, which was why he was so fluffy and clean, and he seemed to accept this explanation. And just like that, Pooh came back into our lives. Andrew treats him so gently now, and keeps him so close, and is constantly saying things to him like, “I won’t lose you again” and “I’m so glad you’re back.” It is seriously the sweetest thing.

Of course, it’s not quite the same to me. The new Pooh isn’t the Pooh Andrew had when he was three months and nine months and eighteen months and two years old. It makes me a little bit sad that that Pooh is still gone (maybe for good). But the important thing is that there’s no difference to Andrew. He has Pooh back. Pooh is home, right where he belongs.

cookie baking extravaganza 2011

2011-12-19T10:46:00.000-05:00

I began to suspect that the universe had it out for me when I woke up on Friday morning with a sore throat. Those suspicions only increased when my mother-in-law, who was supposed to watch the boys this weekend while I baked cookies, cancelled on me at the last minute on Friday evening.

When I woke up on Saturday, it was clear that I had a cold. And when I left to go shopping, I made it halfway to the grocery store(s) before I realized that I didn’t have my massive shopping list -- the one that I had spent days compiling, categorizing, and checking against my printed recipes and cupboards. When I returned home to retrieve it, it was in the trash can. Covered with -- you guessed it -- trash. At that point I was too irritable to even care, so I just brushed off the worst of it and went on my merry way. Ho ho ho.

I started baking cookies on Saturday night and finished last night at a little after 8:00. Here’s the end result, times 25:

Here’s what I made, with my sister’s help (both in the baking department and the kid-wrangling department):

Pretzel turtles
Buckeyes
Mint chocolate chip cookie dough truffles
Nutter Butter snowmen
Rugelach
Chocolate caramel cookies
Lofthouse sugar cookie bars
Oatmeal butterscotch coconut cookies
Red velvet crinkles
Hot chocolate triple chip cookies
Chocolate cherry blossoms

I had two failures: this peppermint fudge, which never sat up for me, and these soft sugar cookies. They baked up very dry, so I scrapped them in favor of the sugar cookie bars. The frosting, however, was divine.

I also made homemade hot cocoa mix for the boys’ teachers, along with dipping spoons:

I dipped plastic spoons in melted chocolate and sprinkled them with crushed candy canes, marshmallows, shredded sweetened coconut, toffee bits, and sprinkles. I also dipped a few in melted peanut butter chips, and sprinkled those with miniature chocolate chips.

I always forget how exhausting this gigantic cookie-baking weekend is. I was literally on my feet all day yesterday. I didn’t eat anything except a surreptitious bite of cookie or dough here and there. By the end of the day, my feet hurt horribly, and my back was unbelievably sore. But I had a great time baking cookies with my sister and the boys (who were really very good), and a long, hot bath and a full night’s sleep went a long way towards making me feel better. Today I feel like I could do it all again tomorrow.

(Except no. Not really. I definitely need some time to recover.)

in which my sons turn my frown upside down

2011-12-13T11:13:00.000-05:00

Last night, after a long day, I found myself stuck in traffic on the freeway for an hour and fifteen minutes during my commute home. We’re a little short on money this week due to Christmas shopping (Who am I kidding? These days we’re short on money every week), so I’d put five dollars’ worth of gas in my car after I left work, hoping that would get me through until payday. And it would have, too, if I hadn’t had to sit in traffic for so long. (No, this story doesn’t end with me running out of gas. But jury’s still out on whether or not I can make it home tonight!)

So I sat there in traffic stewing, my blood pressure rising as the gas needle crept lower. I tried to look at the bright side of things: If I hadn’t stopped for gas, who knows? It might have been me in that accident. But I just kept getting more and more irritated, and by the time I finally made it to the daycare (fifty minutes later than usual), I just wanted to be home already.

The boys were dawdling, wanting to stop and look every single Christmas decoration in the daycare, and they weren’t listening to a word I was saying as I tried to herd them to the car (because even though there are only two of them, they are a herd). I know I spoke to them harshly. I was so tired and so frustrated and so over everything.

As I was making sure Andrew had strapped himself properly into his car seat, I felt his little hand on my cheek. “Mommy,” he said. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Give me a hug.” And then my sweet boy, my darling intuitive little boy, wrapped his arms around me and patted me gently on the back. “It’s okay, Mommy,” he repeated, and then: “I just love you so much, Mommy.” And then Will spoke up, too: “Love you, Mommy! Very special Mommy!”

Well. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I immediately started bawling. Hearing my own words of comfort returned to me by my sweet little boys was the reminder I needed right then that I’m doing okay. I may feel like I don’t have a handle on some parts of my life right now, and there are things (like traffic) that I can’t control, but I am still raising two beautiful, gentle, amazing sons. And that is all that matters. I’m doing more than okay.

my son, the pacifier ninja

2011-12-08T13:50:00.000-05:00

When Andrew was 15 months old, I nixed his pacifier. I just...took it away. And he was totally fine with it, but looking back on it now, I’m struggling to remember why it seemed so urgent that I wean him from it. I’m thinking it may have had something to do with the fact that I was pregnant, and wanted Andrew pacifier-less by the time the new baby arrived. I do remember that I was pretty strict about lots of things when it came to parenting baby Andrew: sleep training, solid foods, pacifier weaning. It’s just amazing how much I’ve softened, because Will is 23 months old (today, actually, okay wait: That means he’s going to be TWO in ONE MONTH. HOLD ME) and he and his “atty” (as he affectionately calls his pacifier) are still going strong.

He’s hooked to the thing. And, for my part, I haven’t done a very good job (at least lately) of attempting to restrict its use in any way. For a while, it was going great. He’d wake up in the morning and we’d put his atty away (“Bye-bye, atty!” he’d crow, “See you tonight!”), and he wouldn’t use it again until his nap at daycare, and then not again until bedtime. I was okay with that.

Recently, though, he’s become a bit of a ninja with his atties. He’s started hiding them around the house, and I’ll be damned if I can figure out where he’s stashing them. Last night, on four separate occasions, he was walking around the living room with a completely different pacifier in his mouth. Another one would appear just as the previous one he was using disappeared. He must have a secret hiding place for them somewhere, but I can’t find it.

I haven’t been taking them away from him in the evenings, either, although I know I should. I think the reasons for this are twofold: 1. I don’t want to deal with the screaming that would result; and 2. He’s my baby. I just want to let him be a baby a little longer. I know all too well from his older brother’s example how quickly the vestiges of babyhood fall away, and I’m just not ready for Will to stop being a baby yet.

When he turns two (IN A MONTH -- CURSE YOU, TIME, AND YOUR SWIFT PASSAGE TOO), I know we’ll reevaluate. We’ll start regulating his atty usage more strictly, and we’ll start taking the steps necessary to take it away from him completely. But for right now? I’m just not in any hurry to take it away.

You keep your atty, baby. And while you’re at it, just stop growing up so fast.

weird crushes

2011-12-06T10:15:00.000-05:00

My sister and I have the most random conversations sometimes. She came over on Sunday evening, and was keeping me company while the boys were in the bath tub, and for some reason we got on the topic of weird crushes. You know -- the ones where when you tell people about the crush, they sort of raise an eyebrow at you and go, “Really?” Those types of crushes. At the risk of you all raising a virtual eyebrow at me, here’s my list of weird crushes:

Tim Allen. This crush started during the Home Improvement years and was recently revived with the boys’ love of Toy Story and Tim’s new sitcom. Yep. I have a crush on Buzz Lightyear. I’m not exactly sure what it is about him that I find so attractive, but I think it’s a combination of how funny and manly he is.

Owen Wilson as Lightning McQueen. Okay, I know this is bizarre, because I find Owen Wilson to be just okay-looking in general, but something about his voice talking for that car is just incredibly attractive to me. OMG SO WEIRD I HAVE A CRUSH ON A PIXAR CHARACTER.

Sig Hansen from Deadliest Catch. If I didn’t lose you on the whole McQueen thing, this is where I lost you, right? I mean, look at that man. Nothing about him is classically attractive. He has awful hair and his teeth aren’t so great. But. He’s really funny and charming in this tough, rugged Norwegian sort of way. I’m pretty sure that’s what attracts me. (And my best friend agrees with me on this one, so at least I'm not alone in my weirdness. That's why we're BFFs. She gets me.)

Cabot Rea. This one is really just for those of you who are local. Cabot is an anchor for a local news station and I’ve adored him since junior high, when he was just a beat reporter. I even met him once when he did Football Friday Night at our high school, and I have a great picture of the two of us. He’s looking at the ground, and I’m staring at him adoringly. I’m not even kidding. I’ll have to find that picture and share it with you.

Okay, your turn. Who do you have a weird crush on? (And why are three out of four of these men old enough to be my father? I should probably evaluate that.)

me vs. the universe. spoiler alert: i win.

2011-12-05T09:57:00.000-05:00

The universe really did not want me to have a good weekend. I was so excited for this weekend because of all the Christmas-related events we had planned, but, uh, it did not start out great at all.

Friday night, a couple of hours after I’d put Andrew to bed, I heard him whimpering and crying quietly in his room. I went up to check on him, and he’d had a major accident...a major number two accident. He was in a pull-up, but...it didn’t exactly do a very good job of containing everything. I felt awful for him because he was terrified and he kept saying, “I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m so sorry.” It was a pretty traumatizing experience for both of us.

So needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep Friday night, because I was up bathing my child and doing laundry and then doing it again for good measure and then one more time with the bleach.

Saturday was great, though. We went to the “Breakfast with Santa” event at church. There was a full breakfast, a puppet show, a toy train, lots of crafts and games, a dress-up station, a “live nativity” with a donkey and two goats, and of course, Santa.

It was super crowded and the line for Santa was long and pre-teens dressed as elves were handing out candy left and right, so the boys could have easily become over-stimulated. But they were so, so good. They waited patiently to sit on Santa’s lap and told him what they wanted without fear (Santa to Andrew: “What do you want for Christmas?” Andrew: “Presents!” Santa: “What kind of presents?” Andrew: “Lots of ones!”; Santa to Will: “What do you want for Christmas?” Will: “I wanna COOKIES!”).

Saturday afternoon, we went to an open house event at the preschool, where Andrew won a Lightning McQueen bicycle, I signed up for a semi-extreme couponing session, and we all ate too many cookies. Then we watched the Christmas parade, and walked up to the town square to watch the tree lighting and have hot chocolate. It was an idyllic sort of December evening, and the perfect way to cap off a lovely day.

Until Andrew woke up at 1:30 AM and threw up all over the sheets I had just washed and washed again and bleached. I’m pretty sure it was puke due to extreme levels of cookie intake.

So needless to say, I didn’t get a lot of sleep on Saturday night, because I was up bathing my child and doing laundry and then doing it again for good measure and then one more time with the bleach.

Yesterday, I cleaned. Because after the horror of the previous two nights, NOTHING COULD BE CLEAN ENOUGH. We didn’t leave the house all day, and we did lots of cuddling.

So I guess my weekend should have been pretty awful, right? On the one hand, there were lots of disgusting bodily fluids, which I definitely could have done without, and not nearly enough sleep.

But on the other hand, we spent so much wonderful time together as a family, and had so much fun, and there was this:

So, yeah. My weekend was fantastic. And I mean that without an ounce of sarcasm.

day thirty: christmas list

2011-11-30T10:10:00.003-05:00

I saw this idea on She Likes Purple a couple of weeks ago, and I thought it was just so much fun. A Christmas plan! A way to stay organized throughout the crazy month of December! Oh, man, lists make me so happy. So, without further ado, here are all the things I want to do in December to get ready for Christmas.

1. Decorate the house, including at least two homemade decorations. The homemade decorations will be easy ones; I’m thinking I’ll make some yarn trees, and use wrapping paper, 3D letters, and shadow frames to spell out a few Christmas words, like “Merry” or “Noel.”

2. Make a wreath for the front door. I already know the one I’m making; I saw the idea on Pinterest, but I can’t link to it right now. It involves one of those big wooden letters for the first letter of our last name, wrapped in garland, and attached to the door with a red bow. I think it’ll be simple and classy.

3. ~~Go to our town’s Christmas tree-lighting event~~. It’s actually this weekend, and I’m hoping it’ll be better than it was last year.

4. ~~Drive around to look at Christmas lights~~. There’s one particular neighborhood not far from where we live that sits right on a lake, and the houses are always so beautifully decorated and the lights look so pretty reflected in the water. We used to go every year before the boys were born, and I think they’ll be old enough to appreciate it this year.

5. ~~Go to Wildlights at the~~ ~~zoo~~. We missed last year because Will was sick, so I’m really excited to go this year.

6. Make ornaments with the boys -- you know, the cinnamon ones. Andrew, in particular, will love doing this with me.

7. ~~Finalize the plan for my Christmas cookie trays~~ -- and ~~make all the goodies~~. Last year I had my list entirely planned out by March, or something crazy like that. This year? Not so much.

8. ~~Make gifts for the boys’ daycare teachers~~. I haven’t decided exactly what I’m doing for them yet. I may give them cookies, like last year, but I’ve been coveting these crayon monograms for years now. If I can find the time, I’d really like to make those for them.

9. ~~Make gifts for Andrew’s classmates~~. This year, they’re getting “reindeer noses” -- eight Whoppers and one red gummy candy together in a decorative bag. (Yet another clever and adorable idea I found on Pinterest.)

10. Make gifts for the grandparents. I’m not quite sure what they will be yet, but I’m absolutely positive they will involve handprints and/or footprints.

11. ~~Visit Santa~~. This will happen this coming weekend, as we have the tree-lighting event on Saturday evening, and Breakfast with Santa at church that morning.

12. ~~Mail Christmas cards~~. Thanks to an awesome giveaway on Allison’s blog, I got 25 free cards from Shutterfly! I finally decided what card I want this morning; now I just need to build it. (And I would love to send each and every one of you a card, so if I don’t already have your address, please send it to me at cassiecraves@yahoo.com. Pretty please!)

13. Make some sort of Advent calendar. As much as I like the idea of the boys opening little boxes containing treats, I like the idea of doing activities even more (like the ones listed here). Since I have nothing prepared for this yet, I think I’ll probably just do the twelve days before Christmas so as not to overwhelm the guys, who are still pretty little and easily over-stimulated.

14. Go to the library twice a week to stock up on new Christmas books. Andrew and I went last night and picked out our first batch.

15. Have a family Christmas movie night, complete with hot chocolate.

It’s going to be a busy, and hopefully wonderful, month.

day twenty-nine: it's been awhile since i mentioned puke. so, you know, i'm due.

2011-11-29T13:45:00.000-05:00

I had trouble falling asleep last night. I was tossing and turning and couldn’t get comfortable. I couldn’t turn off my mind, and I just felt on edge. And then, at about 11:30, I heard those distinct, unmistakable gagging sounds coming from Will’s room. It’s a sound that usually fills me with dread, but on this night, I was resigned to my fate. On some level, I must have been expecting it. And with a sigh, I heaved myself out of bed to deal with The Vomit.

The Vomit, by the way, was covering everything in Will’s crib, including Will himself. He seemed more confused than anything when I walked in, and he actually tried to lay back down in the puke and go back to sleep; needless to say, I put a halt to that pretty quickly (although it wouldn’t have mattered if he did lay down in it, since it was already in his hair) (and all over his face) (sorry, I know it’s gross). Anyway, I started the process of washing everything -- boy, bedding, pacifiers, Pillow Pet -- and by the time I was done with that I was too awake to sleep. I washed everything again at 3 AM (just to be sure) and put it all in the dryer at about 5:00 this morning. I didn’t really sleep all night.

Will seemed fine this morning when I woke him up. As a matter of fact, he was fine last night in the bathtub, splashing and playing as if it wasn’t midnight and he hadn’t just made a colossal smelly mess of his bed. No fever, no other symptoms. So at this point I’m chalking it up to that old stand-by, Random One-Time Child Barf, Complete With Visible Chunks Of Food That I Will Never Eat Again (This Time, Spaghetti, In Case You Were Curious).

I’m so tired today, for obvious reasons. I have a headache, which is due either to my tiredness or too much caffeine (which I’ve been using in the form of lots of coffee to try to combat my tiredness). Plus, Joe’s search for Pooh today yielded no results, so I’m also feeling kind of sad. I’m ready to curl up in bed and go to sleep. Too bad I still have six-plus hours of work and responsibilities to hurdle before I can reasonably do that.

day twenty-eight: missing pooh

2011-11-28T11:46:00.000-05:00

I mentioned on Friday that Andrew spent the night with my stepmom on Thanksgiving night – and by all accounts, he had a fantastic time. What I haven’t mentioned, because I think I’ve been in denial, is what he lost while he was there: Pooh.

My phone rang on Friday evening, and it was my stepmom letting me know that she’d be taking Andrew to dinner at McDonalds before bringing him home. “Here’s the thing,” she told me, “We can’t find Pooh.” I sputtered out some sort of response, I can’t really remember what, and she assured me she’d do some more searching before she brought Andrew back. They showed up an hour or so later, Poohless. The search had been futile.

My stepmom was obviously upset, so I tried to downplay how upset I was as much as I could -- both that night, and when she called me the next day, clearly in tears, to let me know she still hadn’t found Pooh. She continued to search all weekend, and when she came over last night for her regular Sunday night visit, she still hadn’t located Pooh anywhere. I continued to downplay how I felt, because I really don’t want to upset her or make her feel guilty.

Here’s the thing, though: I’m absolutely devastated. I feel so awful for Andrew, first of all, although he seems to be taking it pretty well. I’ve been coming up with lots of silly things for Pooh to be doing whenever Andrew asks, like “Pooh is across the street playing with the diggy-dirt” and “Pooh went to the fire station to help the firefighters” and “Pooh went to the North Pole to tell Santa what you want for Christmas.” I’ve also, of course, told him the truth: that Pooh is at Neena’s house, and Neena is doing her best to find him and bring him home. He seems to accept the fact that he doesn’t have Pooh for the time being, and he’s gone to bed just fine without it.

But oh, I am so upset at the loss of Pooh. I knew Andrew would be fine without him (even if not right away), and I knew he would eventually have given Pooh up on his own anyway. But here’s the thing: When that day finally came, when Andrew was finally done with Pooh, I was going to save Pooh. I was going to put him away somewhere safe, so I could take him out every once in a while and marvel at the fact that my growing boy once loved and cherished him so much. I imagined myself stroking Pooh gently when Andrew left for college, crying for my baby that was all grown up, using Pooh to wipe my tears. I know that sounds silly and melodramatic, but the point is, I wanted to have that memento of Andrew’s babyhood forever. I wanted that so much.

Pooh has been lost lots of times (we even misplaced him once at the zoo; he was eventually found ogling the penguins, but that was the last time we took Pooh out to any public place), but he’s always been recovered eventually. I’m hoping that’s the case this time, too. Pooh has to be somewhere in her house; it’s not like he walked away on his own. My real fear is that my sister’s dog (the namesake for another of Andrew’s stuffed animals) ate Pooh. He’s been known to do that before, with things like socks and underwear and bras. My stepmom has assured me that things come out of Gus Gus the same way they go in, but, um, I don’t think I could ever look at Pooh the same way again if he’d once been covered in...you know...poo. If that is the case, I can’t imagine the things Pooh has seen. I don’t want to imagine them.

Joe is off tomorrow and plans to go over to my stepmom’s house and continue the hunt for Pooh. Keep your fingers crossed that he finds him -- for Andrew’s sake and mine.

day twenty-seven: making food memories

2011-11-27T15:37:00.000-05:00

Andrew and I just finished making egg noodles for tonight's dinner. We're having Swedish meatballs, which must be served with egg noodles, and since I made homemade egg noodles for the first time a month or so ago I can't seem to bring myself to go back to store-bought. I am so incredibly far from a food snob, you guys know that, but homemade egg noodles are so superior to store-bought it's ridiculous.

Anyway. This post is not, in fact, about the egg noodles themselves, but about the process of making them (and many other things) with my oldest son.

Back when I first learned I was having another boy, one of my greatest hopes was that at least one of them would be as interested in food as I am. In the absence of a daughter to pass my recipes down to, I fervently wished that one of my boys would be interested in food and get some use out of all of the recipes that generations of women in my family have been cooking. As time has passed, it's apparent that my wish has come true.

Andrew loves cooking with me so much that, the minute he wakes up in the morning, he's asking me what we're going to be making for dinner that night. The second we walk in the door in the evenings, he's pushing a dining room chair into the kitchen, saying, "C'mon, Mommy, let's make dinner now!" He's so enthusiastic about it, and it's definitely something I love, too, and try to foster. That's not to say it doesn't frustrate me sometimes, because there are evenings that it definitely does -- evenings when I just want to be alone to get the cooking done (last week's massive kitchen fail is a great example of this). Cooking with him is often a lesson in patience for me, but more often, it's a purely joyful experience for both of us.

He's so eager to please and to learn what I'm doing, and there are lots of great teaching opportunities. Last night, as a matter of fact, I found myself comparing making soup to building something out of blocks. "You know how you make towers out of your blocks? Well, Mommy's blocks are individual ingredients, and I use them to make our soup." He's learning about ingredients and measurements and kitchen safety. He asks questions about everything I'm doing ("Why you doin' dat, Mommy?"), to the point that I feel like I could host my own show on the Food Network with no problem, so used am I to narrating every single thing I do. He knows what flour does and what salt and pepper are for, and he knows that 350 degrees is the standard temperature for most recipes. He knows to stand back when I'm chopping an onion, because it will "make his eyes cry." He's becoming quite the little smarty-pants when it comes to food.

Helping me make dinner every night has also had another effect: He's much more inclined to actually eat his dinner now, since he had a part in making it. Last night's tomato soup is a great example: He tasted it when I did to make sure the seasoning was perfect, and after dipping his grilled cheese into his bowl at dinner, he declared, "That is some delicious tomato soup, and I helped Mommy make it!"

After our joint cooking ventures, the kitchen is usually a complete disaster. This afternoon, after our egg-noodle-making, everything was covered in a thin coating of flour (including Andrew and myself). And of course, Andrew's not so keen on the cleaning up part (he's a boy interested in cooking, but he is still a boy), so that's left all to me. But I honestly don't (usually) mind. I wipe down the counters and I sweep the floor and I wash the dishes, and I smile as I think about the memories my son and I just made.

day twenty-six: saturday story

2011-11-26T16:44:00.000-05:00

I'm a little bummed this afternoon, since my Buckeyes just lost to Michigan. However, I must rise above my distress and carry on with my mission: to bring you a Saturday Story. It is my duty.

Since this is the last Saturday in November, I wanted to ask you guys if you'd like me to continue this "feature," of sorts. Maybe not on a weekly basis and maybe not on Saturday, but would you like to read more of my childhood writings? Because oh, there are so many more that are just begging to be shared.

This week's tale is a bit longer than the others. However, do not anticipate that this story will have a point, or even make sense, just because it has more pages. Because it really doesn't -- have a point, or make much sense.

So, Zach's coat. That's really something, huh?

Oh how convenient that she happened to find a tame horse that spoke People!

"She dared not." What did I think I was writing, some sort of classical masterpiece?!

Yeah, I'm pretty sure her bag only changed colors because I accidentally used the wrong marker. At least I covered for my mistake seamlessly.

I'll translate. The medal said: "My name is Buttermilk. I belong to the Snow Queen. I am a friend to no one. I love the Snow Queen."

Yes, because that's just what you do when your brother has been taken by an evil woman (who, by the way, doesn't seem to have really done anything too untoward yet): You lay down and take a nap.

You guys, look at her HAIR. Was I a child of the early '90s, or what?

She got off the "ride." I even used quotation marks. Ha.

My first picture-less page. It was just too important for a picture.

Their grandma is so fashionable. I kind of love her outfit.

day twenty-five: just will and me

2011-11-25T14:26:00.000-05:00

Since he was born nearly two (!!) years ago, I can probably count on one hand the times that Will has had me all to himself. It's just not something that happens very often. I guess that's what happens when you're the second child; you get the benefit of an older sibling, but the drawback of not having as much time alone with your parents.

My stepmom kept Andrew overnight last night, so it's been just Will and me all day today, and it's been fantastic. He's been talking my ear off; he has so much to say, an audience who is more than willing to listen, and no one here to interrupt his tales. He can play with anything he wants without worrying about having his toys stolen. No one is bossing him around, and he doesn't have to share if he doesn't want to. That includes not having to share Mommy -- he's definitely been cuddling with me a lot today, which I obviously love.

He also very clearly misses his brother, though, as he keeps looking out the window and saying, "Where Andrew go? Andrew at Neena's. Andrew come home!" I know five minutes after Andrew gets home they'll probably be fighting about something, but those first few minutes of their reunion are sure to be pretty special.

I'd forgotten how easy only having one child around is. I cleaned the entire house this morning while Will watched "Lightning 2" (what Cars 2 is called 'round these parts) in a quarter of the time it would have taken me if both boys had been here. Now that Will's napping, I'm able to catch up on my blogging and even do a little bit of reading in a perfectly silent house. It's been refreshing, to say the least.

Will is such an incredibly bright, sweet little boy, and spending so much time with him one-on-one today has just reinforced that for me. It makes me a little bit sad that I'm usually so distracted I don't always get to give him the attention he deserves. I've spent the day doing my best to make up for that, and loving every moment of it.

day twenty-four: thanksgiving

2011-11-24T20:56:00.000-05:00

In a move that is so very unlike me, I only took one picture today. Instead of walking around with my camera, trying to capture the day's moments, I just lived them instead. I just sat back, enjoyed my family and all the delicious food, and thought about how very much I have to be thankful for. I had an absolutely perfect day.

Here's the one picture I did take, of two of the people I am most thankful for in the entire world:

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. I hope you all had a wonderful day!

Now if you'll excuse me, last night's episode of Top Chef and a bowl of leftover cheesy potatoes are calling my name.

day twenty-three: wordless wednesday: school pictures

2011-11-23T12:11:00.000-05:00

day twenty-two: the best part of my day

2011-11-22T22:22:00.001-05:00

Dear Andrew,

Today was a long day for me. It started out pretty hectic, as I dropped you and your brother off at daycare in the rain, my arms full of food for your Thanksgiving feast. It got even more hectic at work, as my daily tasks rained down. And then, when the day was over at last and I was finally on my way home, I got stopped in traffic in the rain. I wanted to cry, because I wanted so very much to be at home, with you and your dad and your brother. It was just that kind of day.

As I sat in my car, at a standstill as the rain fell and the red reflection of car brakes trickled down the windows, all I thought about was how much I wanted to cuddle on the couch with you. You and I get a magical half hour together every night after I've put your brother to bed, and I wanted nothing more tonight than to spend that half hour snuggled close to you.

When I got home, you could tell that I wasn't myself (you're always so attentive to my moods), and you said, "Whassa matter, Mommy? Are you sad? It'll be okay, Mommy." You pulled me down to your level for a hug, and then you whispered in my ear, "Mommy, you're a special girl."

Later, after your bath, after I rocked and sang to your brother, you curled up with me on the couch without even being asked. Your heart beat against my heart and the warm, heavy weight of you, so familiar to me now, immediately enveloped me in calm. I remembered holding you exactly this way when you were a baby. You were so much smaller then than you are now but you smell exactly the same: like the air after a storm, like maple syrup and clean sheets and every good smell rolled up into one. It is one of the very best smells.

When I think back on today I won't remember the rain. I won't remember how harried I felt this morning at your daycare, my arms full of food and boys. I won't remember the stress of work or the inconvenience of traffic. What I'll remember is the way your sweet little voice told me I was special, the way you let me hold you tonight as if you were still a baby, the way you let me just breathe you in. Buddy, you don't even realize it, but you completely made my day.

And by the way, thanks for laughing at my lame attempt to "steal your nose," even though I know you could tell it was really just my thumb.

I love you, buddy.

Mommy

day twenty-one: i bet you thought i wasn't going to post today

2011-11-21T22:15:00.000-05:00

I have had a spectacularly long, not-so-great day. It started with a phone call Joe made this morning regarding A Very Important Financial Matter About Which I Am Going To Be Very Vague, and I was literally so anxious before I heard from him that I was shaking and thought I was going to throw up. When he finally called (and informed me that everything was, in fact, okay), I felt this incredible release of tension that was wonderful, but also made me suddenly just want to curl up and take a nap.

A little later, I was thinking about how stressed and tired I've been lately, and how I just need to do...something...to release some tension and completely take my mind off of everything. But Mother Nature must have been listening to my thoughts because mere moments later she was all like, I don't think so, you little whore. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

So then tonight, after dinner, I had to make food for Andrew's Thanksgiving potluck at daycare tomorrow. I'd signed up for little smokies and sweet potato cupcakes with marshmallow buttercream, a new-to-me recipe that I thought the kids would really love. The little smokies were easy, of course, but the cupcakes? Not so much. In the oven, they spread out way too much and sank in the middle and the insides were jiggly and raw, even after I cooked them five minutes longer than the recipe suggested. In a fit of desperation, I (oh man, you guys, I still can't believe I did this) took the pans out of the oven, scraped the half-raw cupcakes out of their liners and into a bowl, and mixed them all together again and tried to re-bake them as a cake.

Ha.

For a while I thought I'd get away with it. The "cake" seemed to be baking up okay in the oven, but when I tried a little piece after it had baked, the texture was dense and spongy and just odd. And then, when I noticed how runny and messy and sticky the marshmallow frosting was, I literally dumped everything into the trash.

Epic. Baking. Fail. I'm a food blogger who can't bake. (That line is a lot funnier if you imagine me saying it like Ty from the movie Clueless when she says, "You're a virgin who can't drive.")

I started over and decided to make these instead. I made them last year for Andrew's potluck and everyone loved them, and I just should have made them in the first place. But because I'd just wasted three sticks of butter on the failed cupcakes/cake, I had to go to the store.

Where a lady driving one of those motorized carts ran over my foot. I'm not even kidding. (I'm fine.)

The doughnuts are almost done now -- I just have to roll them in butter and cinnamon sugar, and then I'm going to go pass out. Probably literally.

Valuable lesson learned: Never again will I try a new recipe for something like this. Tried-and-true is the way to go. Any other way just results in weirdly textured baked goods and lots of sticky surfaces in my kitchen.

Also? I'm totally leaving all the dishes for Joe.

day twenty: distracting myself from my to-do list with pinterest

2011-11-20T13:32:00.000-05:00

You know that feeling you get when you just have so much to do, and you look around and have no idea where to even start, so you finally just say, "Ah, screw it" and don't do any of it? That's where I am right now. The house needs cleaned and there are piles upon piles of laundry to fold and I haven't showered yet. So, screw it. I'mma just gonna sit here and eat Doritos and pin things instead.

Here are some of my favorite recent Pinterest finds:

Source: yourcupofcake.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: somethingshinyblog.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: smallchichome.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: greengiftsguide.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: Uploaded by user via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: pinchofyum.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: cookincanuck.com via Cassie on Pinterest

Source: ourlifeinfood.com via Cassie on Pinterest

All right. I probably really should go do something productive now. I should take a shower at the very least, for Heaven's sake.

day nineteen: saturday story

2011-11-19T12:16:00.000-05:00

Get ready to be swept away into a magical kingdom with this week's tale. I think this is the best one so far. And by best, I mean "the easiest yet to make fun of."

Lance and Jenifer: Who are they? You're about to find out.

You know a story's going to be good if it starts with "Once upon a time." Also if it involves mer people.

Obligatory horse page! Although I do think Samson is a good name for a big white horse with a long, flowing black mane. If I do say so myself.

Lance has dead eyes. And startlingly large nipples.

I remember modeling her bathing suit after a picture I saw in one of my mom's Newport News magazines. Quite stylish, right?

Let the record show that, although I did not use quotation marks properly, I did use the correct form of "you're." I knew this at eight years old, and some people struggle with it as adults. It's one of my major pet peeves...but I'm getting side-tracked. Back to Lance and Jenifer.

Okay, I know you probably have lots of questions. I have them too. What was it, exactly, that made her turn into a mermaid? Just swimming in the tank? Or perhaps something more...tawdry happened between Lance and Jenifer that the text doesn't reveal? Hmmm.

"It was hard to climb without feet." And that, my friends, is the line that makes me laugh so hard I snort every time I read it.

His question is, "What are you doing in there?"? Not, "Why the hell are you suddenly a mermaid?"? Huh.

"Just don't go wild"? What does that even mean? I was eight years old. In any case, I think "It had been a good morning" is my best closing line yet.

day eighteen: ask me anything

2011-11-18T16:13:00.000-05:00

So it turns out that posting every day is pretty hard! Huh! Who knew? Not me! Because I forget every year!

There are lots of things I would like to write about, but they are Deep and Thoughtful Things (or just posts that actually require a little bit of focused time to write), and I don't have the energy for that today. Or, if I'm being honest, most days. I think this might be my last gasp at this posting-every-day nonsense. Maybe next year I'll really torture myself and try to do the thing where you write a novel in a month. Because that doesn't sound like something that would stress me out at all!

Here are a few things I'd like to write about -- and will, when I have more time and energy (in other words, don't hold your breath):

Songs that evoke memories for me
Relatedly, my teenage obsession with the Backstreet Boys (OH YES)
A "Christmas list," of sorts, detailing all of the things I'd like to do with the boys this holiday season
Andrew's potty training progress
Will, his pacifier, and how I can't bring myself to take it away from him
Things that, for me, are "good enough," vs. things I make the time for (this will probably make more sense when I actually write it)
Lots of other things

In the meantime, what would you like me to write about? Ask me All The Things!

day seventeen: thankfulness, and lessons learned

2011-11-17T09:21:00.001-05:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about thankfulness as Thanksgiving approaches, as I try to explain this concept to Andrew and Will in a way that they’ll understand. It’s made me reflective, as I think back over the rough year we’ve had and everything we’ve dealt with -- some of which I’ve talked about here, some I haven’t. It’s been the hardest year of our marriage so far, which is really saying a lot.

When I look back at myself a year ago, I can’t help but feel foolish and naïve. I thought Joe’s new job was going to solve all of our problems. I was already scouring the real estate listings, searching for a dream home I just knew was practically in our grasp. I was imagining vacations, new cars, and investment accounts.

I was overlooking what was really important.

For about three months after everything that happened, I was so bitter. Why us, universe? After all we’ve been through, why more? You know that phrase about God not giving you more than you can handle? For a long time I was sure that was a lie, because so much of the time I felt like I was thisclose to breaking into a million pieces.

But now that the dust has settled, now that this year is nearly behind us, I’m starting to understand just how much I really do have to be thankful for. Every year I recite the things I’m thankful for as if they’re a list on a page: our family, our friends, a roof over our heads, food on the table, our health, clothes, heat. I don’t think I’ve ever meant it more than I do this year. Even though there are bills that haven’t been paid this year (and still aren’t being paid), we still have our home. We still have money for food and for our heating bill. My boys had warm coats to wear and an equally warm breakfast to eat on this cold morning. Every week our bank account is empty, but our bellies are full.

And so are our hearts.

Joe and I had a long talk about all of this last night, and I found myself crying (as I’m sitting here doing right now, actually), because I’m just so thankful for this awful, hard, tough year. It has taught me so much and refocused me on the things that are really important. It’s showed me my own strength. It’s confirmed how solid my marriage is, because if Joe and I have made it through all of this, nothing is going to break us. It’s helped me enjoy the sweet innocence of my sons even more. It’s showed me that there’s no shame in admitting that you’re struggling and that you need help. It’s taught me the true value of our family and friends, who have rallied around us and supported us through it all -- from Joe’s grandpa buying a new battery for my car, to my stepmom buying me a new dress and the boys new shoes for a wedding, to Joe’s aunt providing a place for our boys to grow and learn, free of charge.

And then there are all of you, people who I have never even met, who have sent me gifts, prayers and words of encouragement all year long. I have no words to express how thankful, humbled, and overwhelmed I am by these kindnesses.

I am just so, so thankful. Now more than ever.

day sixteen: not my day

2011-11-16T14:22:00.000-05:00

My morning:

I was running late.
Since I was already running late, I decided to stop at Old McDonald’s* for breakfast. Putting mustard on my sandwich was my fatal flaw, although I didn’t get it all over my shirt until my very last bite.
I forgot my umbrella at my desk, so I got to walk into my office building in the pouring rain.
Only to find out that my counterpart was out sick, thus doubling my work load.
All I wanted for lunch was chicken salad on Ritz crackers, but the convenience store in my office building was out of Ritz crackers (and saltines are not an acceptable substitute).

I realize that these are all very first world-y sorts of problems, but I’m still irritable, although my afternoon has been significantly better. I’m looking forward to seeing the boys and vegging on the couch with Joe tonight after they go to bed, watching all of the shows we’re behind on and eating tons of this dip (which I’m totally making, and feel like I deserve after my crummy morning).

*That’s what Andrew calls it, so that’s what we all call it.

day fifteen: i'm still trying to determine what breed of dog i am to further develop my character.

2011-11-15T11:21:00.002-05:00

I had so much fun with the boys last night. We worked on puzzles together, we colored on our chalkboard door, and I spent most of the evening crawling around on the floor pretending to be a dog, answering questions like, “Are you hungry, puppy? Do you want some yogurt or some carrots?” in my best dog voice. I even wagged my “tail” on command. Demeaning? No, not a bit. Empowering, is what it was. My boys were having a blast, and my doggy self was the star of their fun.

I was telling Joe the other day that this whole parenting thing seems to be getting harder instead of easier, for lots of reasons. Will can be demanding when he’s not feeling well or he’s tired, and Andrew is at an age where he wants to help me with everything. As a result, I always have one boy or the other quite literally right under my feet. And if I do manage to get a free moment, it’s only a moment, because they’re fighting over something within seconds. It’s all very exhausting.

But then there are nights like last night, when I’m smiling and laughing with my sons, and those moments are the reason that I wanted to be a parent in the first place. When I was pregnant, it was those idyllic moments I imagined. And although the reality is sometimes much more stressful and exhausting than I ever could have dreamed, it’s amazing how one really fun night can cancel out a thousand rough ones.

day fourteen: dad's birthday

2011-11-14T09:54:00.000-05:00

Today is my dad’s birthday. And I’ve now been sitting here staring at that sentence for 10 minutes, because I really don’t know what else to say. I don’t have any flowery sentiments to share, even though I really, with all my heart, wish that I did.

I’ve seen Dad a couple of times since everything that happened. Both times, it was...difficult. My anger at him (even though he was clearly sober, even though he was obviously trying to make amends) boiled just below the surface. He moved out of my stepmom’s house at the beginning of this month, and I’ve called him every couple of days just to check in. Even though I’m so mad at him, and despite all of my talk about cutting off all contact, I just can’t bring myself to completely sever the ties. I can’t stand on the shore and watch while he sinks. I’m tied to him, not just genetically, but emotionally too. He’s my dad. Despite all his mistakes, he’s still my dad.

He’s had a couple of slip-ups, but he is going to meetings. It’s his responsibility to beat the disease or let it consume him. For my part, all I can do is check in and pray -- and I’m doing both frequently.

Happy Birthday to the man who named me, who sang me to sleep when I was little, who has always been on my side, who cried the first time he met his grandsons, who has made and continues to make lots of mistakes but who, in spite of it all, still has his daughter's love.

day thirteen: a nice day

2011-11-13T15:16:00.000-05:00

First of all, I loved reading your comments on yesterday's story. Wait until you see next week's. I just picked it out yesterday, and it's hilarious. Like, "I laughed until I snorted" hilarious.

It's been a nice day. The weather has been a little weird -- it's mild but really blustery and cloudy, with the kind of wind that rips all the remaining leaves off the trees. I've been tied to the house all weekend because our cable box quit working, and the cable company was coming to replace it "maybe Saturday, but more likely on Sunday. It just depends." They ended up showing up today at a little after noon, and it was incredibly entertaining to listen to the cable guy narrate his every move for Andrew: "What are you doing? I don't know why you're doing that."

That was the most excitement we've had today, though. We've been doing a lot of relaxing. Will is sick ('tis breathing treatment season again; he's already had four of them this fall, and two in the last 24 hours), so there's been lots of cuddling. Since he's so vocal now, he's able to communicate to me very clearly what he needs: "I need a wipe nose. I wanna water. Nap now, yeah?" He's pathetic and adorable.

Right now Will's napping and Andrew's watching an animated Batman movie with Joe, so I'm enjoying a little bit of free time. I don't have much to write about today, really, but the truth is I enjoy days like this: peaceful, normal, uneventful ones.

day twelve: saturday story

2011-11-12T15:17:00.000-05:00

I know I promised another horse-centric tale today, but when I was going through all of my stuff I unearthed this gem. I think you'll find it filled with intrigue (and unnecessarily mean older sisters).

"She was pretty, but she was mean." Of course.

I don't know why our young heroine was asked to put on her nightgown before dinner. Also, I feel it necessary to note that I distinctly remember going back and adding in the older sister's chestal area at a later date. Ha.

Okay, I distinctly remember loving broccoli and potatoes when I was a kid, so I don't know where I was drawing my character inspiration from. Also, the mother in me wonders, where's the protein?!

Nice bunkbed, right? A triple decker! Also, why is their older sister so mean? Where was the hostility coming from, seven-year-old me?

So they woke up at 11:30, and were discovered at 11:32. Ahh, remember when you were a kid and thought you had all the time in the world?

I hate to disappoint you, but the content of that meeting will not be revealed. Sorry, guys.

Just for the record, I don't think this Bilbo had anything to do with Bilbo Baggins. I'm pretty certain I swiped this feline name from another book. Also, seriously, how cute is Bilbo the cat with his pink nose and thick whiskers?

Wow. Their parents are...attractive, huh? Look at all that glorious hair their mother has.

I seriously can't wait to hear what you guys think of this one.

day eleven: joe's no good, horrible, very bad day

2011-11-11T12:09:00.000-05:00

Normally I use my blog to write about my own bad days, but Joe had such a rough night/morning that I just have to vent on his behalf. Here’s a list of everything that happened to him last night and early this morning:

Got a nasty e-mail from a secretary admonishing him for not completing a training session she said she e-mailed him about weeks ago, but didn’t.
Was informed that, when he hit his head on a particular light earlier in the week, he broke the light, and thus damaged company property. (Never mind that HE HIT HIS HEAD and could have been injured; nooo, that’s not important AT ALL.)
Was informed that, because he damaged company property, he had to go take a drug test immediately. (I’m still not quite sure how the two are related, but whatever.)
Broke his debit card in half trying to use it as an ice scraper on his windshield, because he’d given me our only ice scraper last winter and never bought a new one. (This one’s on him, because I don’t understand why he’d use his debit card rather than, like, his Foot Locker Rewards card or something.)
Tried to start his car, but since Andrew had been playing with the overhead car light when Joe picked him up from daycare yesterday and apparently messed with the setting, his battery was dead.
Got home after his unnecessary drug test to find a broken cable box, so got to deal with the cable company for half an hour before he even ate breakfast.
Just texted me that, because he’s still so keyed up from all of these events, he hasn’t been able to fall asleep yet. And he has to work tonight.

Help me think of something special to do for him this weekend. The man deserves a cookie, at the very least.

day ten: fall photo dump

2011-11-10T18:48:00.000-05:00

I kept meaning to blog about all of these things, and include the pictures in the individual posts, but I never got around to it. There seem to be lots of things I never get around to these days. So you get tons of pictures of tons of different things, all in one post.

1. Trip to the zoo in September:

2. A walk to our bridge in October:

3. Trip to the pumpkin patch (during which we did not pick a single pumpkin because the boys were so enthralled with the other activities available to them):

4. Random fun things, and some proof that my firstborn has serious swagger:

5. A particularly rowdy bath:

6. General shenanigans and orneriness:

Okay. I feel better now that I got that out of my system.

day nine: bathroom inspiration

2011-11-09T11:44:00.001-05:00

Mentioning my bathroom redo yesterday got me even more excited about it, and I’ve thought about little else since. When we moved into our house in 2007, my tastes were a lot different than they are now, and as such I painted our bathroom bright green, with black and white accents. (You can see pictures here.) And while I still really like the color palette (and get lots of compliments on it), it is our only bathroom, so when we update it I’d like to do something much less bold.

I love the combination of gray and yellow -- not so much that I’d want to do our living room in those colors, but I think it would look great in a bathroom. I’m thinking gray paint and yellow accents in the linens (are towels called linens?) and artwork.

We’ll be replacing our vanity and bathtub/shower surround. The flooring will stay as-is, and I think it’ll complement the gray and yellow nicely. Come on, January bonus! Mama needs a new bathroom.

day eight: tuesday ten

2011-11-08T12:59:00.000-05:00

Ten Things I’m Looking Forward To Right Now:

1. The hot browns I’m making for dinner tonight. I’m practically drooling just thinking about them.

2. Taking a long walk after dinner. It’s 70 degrees and gorgeous outside, and I don’t plan on squandering our last taste of summer for the year.

3. A playdate with my best friend from high school on Sunday.

4. Drinking my first peppermint mocha of the season.

5. Re-doing our bathroom, which is finally happening early next year.

6. Thanksgiving -- my very favorite holiday.

7. Paying off Joe’s car (only one more month!).

8. Digging through the boys’ Halloween stash for Kit Kats after they go to bed.

9. Cuddling with Joe on the couch tonight, since he’s off work, and catching up on our shows.

10. [Redacted due to mature content.]

What are you looking forward to today?

day seven: 2011 books: the best of the third quarter

2011-11-07T11:28:00.001-05:00

I’m so tired today. I’m also pretty sure I’m coming down with a cold, since my nose is so stuffed up that I can’t breathe out of it, so much so that I almost had a panic attack this morning when I was coughing and couldn’t breathe. So that was fun. So I’m wearing my glasses, sniffling and sneezing and blowing my nose a lot, and wiping it with tissues from a box emblazoned with Lightning McQueen’s face, which was the only box I could find in the house this morning. Hotness: I am its very definition.

Aside from the cold, though, I know the reason I’m tired is that I stayed up way too late last night to finish a really incredible book. And after I finished it, I laid in bed wide awake thinking about it. And then I started thinking about how I never got around to writing a post about the best books I read in the third quarter of the year. And then Andrew lost Pooh so I was even more awake after Pooh-hunting for ten minutes, and then Will randomly started sneezing in the middle of the night, and then I had a weird dream about my co-workers and a bunch of former Top Chef cheftestants, and then suddenly it was 6 AM and my alarm was going off and I felt like I hadn’t slept at all.

So. I’m tired. But here’s a long-awaited summary of the best books I read from July through September. I know you’ve been dying to hear all about what I’ve been reading. (Spoiler alert: It’s mostly books about zombies and YA dystopian fiction. SHOCKER.)

1. Boneshaker by Cherie Priest. I didn’t even know that “steampunk” was a genre until I read this book. It’s set during the Civil War, sort of, except that the author takes lots of liberties with history. For example, the novel is set in Seattle, which is a city of thousands rather than the small settlement of hundreds it really was in the 1860s. Oh, and also? Seattle Proper is overrun with zombies. I’m pretty sure that didn’t happen during the Civil War. Anyway, the premise of the book is that an inventor created a machine that went haywire, destroyed most of the city, and released a gas that turned people into zombies. In an effort to contain the disease, walls were built all around the destroyed portions of the city. Years later, the inventor’s son ventures into the walled city, and his mother (the inventor’s widow) follows him in to retrieve him. It was a pretty cool book. The characters were interesting, the writing was solid, and the concept was original.

2. Divergent by Veronica Roth. People are hailing this book as “the next Huger Games” and while I didn’t love it that much, I did like it a lot. It takes place in a future in which people are separated into factions based on certain traits: Abnegation (selfless), Candor (honest), Amity (peaceful), Erudite (intelligent), and Dauntless (brave). At the age of sixteen, each person is given the option of choosing their faction. The book follows Beatrice, an Abnegation, in the days before and after she makes her choice. This book is exciting, fast-paced and well-written. I thought some of the characters could have been further fleshed-out, and some of the “twists” weren’t so shocking, but it definitely left me wanting more.

3. America Pacifica by Anna North. Another work of dystopian fiction, but this one is not necessarily directed at young adults, and the world of the novel is much grittier. North America has succumbed to a second ice age, so the surviving population is crowded onto an island off the coast of California. The island is called America Pacifica, and life there is dire for most, pleasant only for a lucky few. The book follows Anna as she searches for her mother, who’s gone missing from their apartment. It’s so atmospheric, and beautifully written. It’s the kind of writing that inspires you to be a writer, while at the same time discourages you because you know you could never write like that. And aside from the writing, the plot is interesting and well-paced too.

4. Bossypants by Tina Fey. It was hilarious. That’s all I can really say about this book. I tore through it and laughed the whole time. There was one chapter (in which she profiles each of the writers on 30 Rock and gives examples of their writing) that I thought was unnecessary, but I loved the rest of it. Seriously funny.

5. Birthmarked by Caragh M. O’Brien. Another YA dystopian novel (seriously, I can’t get enough of them, and thankfully there are a ton being published right now), and this one is incredible. The concept -- a futuristic world in which midwives are required to give a certain quota of children over to the authorities -- is one of the most original I’ve read. I loved the characters and the fast pace and the constant twists and turns, and I only had one tiny quibble with the entire book: the fact that the male lead is named Leon. LEON? REALLY?

6. Rot and Ruin by Jonathan Maberry. This is one of the best books I’ve read the entire year. It may be a zombie novel on the surface, but it’s so much more than that. It’s a coming of age novel at its heart rather than a zombie novel; it just happens to be set in a zombie-apocalypctic future. I LOVED IT SO MUCH.

Best of the first quarter

Best of the second quarter

What good books have you read lately?

day six: practically too tired to string two words together

2011-11-06T20:29:00.000-05:00

So, Daylight Savings Time. That happened. Honestly, the time change adjustment wasn't too awful today. The boys woke up at 7:15 (so, like 8:15! which is late for them, even!), and I put Will to bed at 7:00 and Andrew to bed at 7:30 tonight. That's a little earlier than usual (or, like, the normal time minus the time change; okay, now I'm starting to confuse myself), but they had a big day today. We all did, actually.

Joe and I spent most of the day helping my sister move while my stepmom watched the boys. It wasn't horrible (actually, it was nice to spend some time with my sister and my brother at the same time, even if we were engaging in strenuous physical labor; that doesn't happen very often due to our schedules), but it was exhausting. Her house was like a treasure trove of awesome things -- ornate frames, embossed antique mirrors, old lamps, chairs that were begging for reupholstering -- and I would have taken all of it home with me if I'd had the space in our car. I blame Pinterest for turning me into a person who sees possibilities for creativity in every damn thing. We did bring a few things home with us, though none of them were too terribly exciting: a few board games for the boys, an air mattress, a baby gate and a toolbox.

Right now, as I'm typing this, the house is perfectly silent. The only sounds are my fingers on the keyboard and the quiet buzzing of the baby monitor. As soon as I finish this post, I'm going to go take a long bubble bath until it's time to wake Joe up for work. Today has been a long day (both literally and figuratively), but it's been a good one too.

I'll leave you with a picture I snapped of Will this morning, which I guess proves that maybe he was ever-so-slightly affected by the time change, since this is what he was doing at about 10:30 AM:

Impromptu floor naps FTW! Also, in case you were wondering: I've been meticulously charting the data over the last 22 months, and I've successfully proven that, yes, he does in fact get more adorable every single day. I have the scientific proof, right in my mommy brain.

day five: saturday story

2011-11-05T19:01:00.000-04:00

Have I ever mentioned how much I love the hour of 6:00 PM to 7:00 PM? In our house, that's "my hour." It's the only time I really get to myself before the boys go to bed. Dinner is over, the dishes are done, and Joe is on Boy Duty while I am free to read, upload and edit photos, blog, or just sit still for the first time all day. Tonight, I'm using my precious hour to blog.

When I was little, I wanted to be an author when I grew up. During the summer, when I didn't have school, I'd sit at the kitchen table creating masterpieces of literature while my brother played outside. Every once in a while my mom would walk by and chide me for sitting inside all day, but when it came down to it, she encouraged my writing, and glowed with pride whenever she read one of my stories. I credit her with my love of writing, since she was the one who instilled a love of reading in me...and I'm not sure you can be a good writer if you don't also love to read.

When I was really young, I wrote picture books, then moved on to handwritten novellas and finally to "chapter books" written on the typewriter (and, later, the computer) when I could finally type with more than just my index fingers. In high school I stopped writing for pleasure and started writing for the school newspaper. In college, as an English major, I wrote essays and case studies and analyses, and as a writing tutor I helped other students do the same. After college, I got a job writing letters for a living. Writing for pleasure, just for the pure release of putting words onto a page, wasn't something I'd done with any regularity for at least a dozen years. (I'm not talking about blogging, of course; I'm talking about creating worlds and characters and conflicts.) I never stopped wanting to, though.

A few months ago, I got this Really Good Idea for something that I think could be Really Big. And on my lunch break one day, I started writing. It was as if no time at all had passed since the last time I sat down to write just for the pure pleasure of writing. It's been a couple of weeks since I've been able to revisit my Big Idea, but I will revisit it. I will write that novel. I will.

I thought it would be fun to share with you some of the "picture books" I wrote when I was a little girl -- if for no other reason than to give you a good laugh. I'm thinking I'll try to do this once a week, if I can, as a way to keep writing at the forefront of my mind.

This is the first thing I ever wrote. According to my mom's note on the "cover," I had just turned seven years old. Most of my stories were about horses when I was younger, and I'm pretty sure this one was heavily inspired by The Black Stallion.

I only missed spelling "archaeology" correctly by one letter. I think that's pretty impressive for a seven-year-old.

How convenient that there was a horse in the water!

The horses could swim very good, but then the baby almost "drond." Right.

I don't know what that purple thing is. Also I love that the boat is apparently transparent.

"Disko"? Really, seven-year-old me? ALSO LOOK AT HIS PURPLE HAIR. And Tyler changed his clothes before greeting his girlfriend? And the horse watched him? I'm pretty sure I didn't mean that to be kinky.

"They had oats" is not necessarily the most compelling ending sentence. I'm pretty sure I just wanted to convey that the horses were happy.

Anyway, that's just the first of many. Tune in next week, when I embarrass myself even further with another scintillating equine tale.

day four: teenagers should use this post as birth control

2011-11-04T11:15:00.000-04:00

Joe had his last softball game of the year last night, and I am secretly breathing a huge sigh of relief. His softball games take him out of the house two evenings a week, and doing the dinner/clean-up/bath/bed deal with the boys on my own can be tedious at times. I would never say anything to him, of course, because I think it’s good for him to get out of the house and socialize and do some physical activity, but man: Sometimes I really dread the nights he’s not there.

It’s not that the boys are bad. They’re not. As far as little boys go (at least the ones I’ve seen), they’re actually quite well-behaved. It’s more that they just require constant supervision. They’re little boy ninjas, is what they are, moving with lightning quickness from one activity to the next, and it’s nearly impossible to keep up with them -- especially when I’m juggling other activities like cooking and doing the dishes.

Last night was one of the crazier ones. It was like they got together beforehand and told each other, “Okay, here’s the deal. This is the last night Mommy will be all on her own for us to terrorize. Let’s make it a good one.” A brief summary of the events that transpired, with no exaggeration:

Andrew was helping me make dinner, and I turned around for five seconds to throw something away. When I turned back around, he was brandishing the kitchen scissors while balancing precariously half on the counter, half on a chair. While this was happening, Will ran in from the living room with his shirt covering his face, screaming in panic -- he was trying to take his shirt off and only managed to do it halfway before it got stuck. Meanwhile, Andrew was asking me, “Can I play with sharp things?” I somehow managed to remove the scissors from Andrew’s grasp before he cut himself, tell him NO YOU CANNOT PLAY WITH SHARP THINGS, and get Will’s shirt off before he ran into anything. I also somehow managed to get everyone their dinner without any additional mishaps.

Then, while I was cleaning up the kitchen and doing the dishes after we’d eaten, they took it upon themselves to destroy the living room completely. Every cushion was off both the couch and the loveseat, and when I walked into the room, Will was emptying the contents of his cup onto the floor. Deliberately. Just standing there with his cup upside down, shaking it and watching the milk fall. And when he saw me gaping at him in astonishment, he had the audacity to grin. Because he knows that his grin turns me to goo. Meanwhile, Andrew was busy intricately wrapping two of Joe's Ace bandages around the baby gate leading into the office. When he saw me watching him he said, “Look at that, Mommy! I'm being VERY FUNNY!”

In the half hour that preceded bath time, they fought over the following things: “Little Buzz,” (a Lego figure of Buzz Lightyear), “Big Buzz” (a regular-sized action figure), a baby wipe, a toy forklift, and Will’s discarded shirt. I finally gave up, and bath time came about ten minutes early.

They had a relatively splash-free bath, and right after I got Will out of the tub and was toweling him off, Andrew decided he had to use the toilet. So he hopped out of the tub and onto the potty, dripping wet, and asked me to help hold him steady (since he was all wet and didn’t want to slip). While I was helping him go to the bathroom, Will took off, naked, running and squealing through the house. When I had assured Andrew that he wasn’t going to fall in and went to retrieve Will, he was standing on the open door of the dryer (which had previously been closed). Meanwhile, Andrew was hollering for me to help him wipe, and when I returned to the bathroom I discovered that was something he’d tried to do on his own before asking for help, using wads and wads of toilet paper that was all over the floor and stuck to him, too, since he was still all wet. I finally got them both dried off and dressed, and just when I’d put Andrew’s pajamas on, he decided he wasn’t quite done going to the bathroom. So back to the potty he went, while Will ran off again.

When I finally got them in bed, I raided their trick-or-treat buckets for some well-deserved candy. Later, while putting a load of laundry in the dryer, I discovered a harmonica amongst the clothes and flashed back to Will, standing on the dryer door.

Little boy ninjas indeed. Very cute, very exhausting ones.

day three: a few happy things

2011-11-03T15:25:00.000-04:00

I’m sort of irritable today, for no reason I can really pinpoint. It’s quite possibly due to the fact that I’ve been staying up reeeally late all week long -- voluntarily, not because I can’t sleep. I was talking to a co-worker about this, and she said she wonders if it has something to do with the circadian rhythms in our bodies as they relate to the upcoming time change. Maybe my body is subconsciously preparing itself for the end of Daylight Savings Time. Or something. Who knows. I’m tired, is what I’m saying.

However, a few good things about today:

The burger I had for lunch. Totally delicious.
The carbonara I’m making for dinner, which I’ve been looking forward to all week.
The season premiere of Bones tonight. As corny as that show can be sometimes, I really love it.
The fact that I made a co-worker laugh really, really hard today with this comment: “Nickelback is the music Ed Hardy listens to when he designs clothes.” (We were talking about how Nickelback is, for some ungodly reason, playing the halftime show of the Lions game on Thanksgiving Day.)
My P!nk station on Pandora, which makes the research report I’m working on significantly less horrific.
Almond Joy Pieces, which I discovered last night while rifling through the boys’ trick-or-treat buckets (don’t judge me). They’re like Reese’s Pieces, but with Almond Joys instead. I had no idea such a wondrous product existed. I’ve instructed Joe to pick up a big bag at the store so I can immediately bake them into cookies or brownies, or more likely just eat them straight out of the bag.
The fact that I scheduled my time off for the rest of the year this afternoon, and I’m off the day before and the day after Thanksgiving and the entire week after Christmas.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think that last bullet point requires a Happy Dance. Off to the restroom so I can do one in private.

day two: andrew says the darndest things

2011-11-02T10:41:00.000-04:00

Andrew is saying all kinds of wonderful, silly, awesome things these days, and I feel the need to record as many of them as I can remember. So, more for my own memory than anything, here are some recent Andrewisms:

Whenever it’s raining, he says, “Mommy, the sky is spitting on me.”

One night a while ago, he was sitting at the dinner table and told me out of the blue, “Mommy, I don’t feel good.” I asked him what hurt, and he paused, looked at me significantly, and said, “My feelings.”

His bedtime prayer, one night last week: “Dear Jesus, thank you for tractors. I love tractors. Not diggy-dirts, though. And not backhoes. And not big backhoes. Not today.”

One night he was doing number two on the potty (oh yeah, by the way, he’s potty-trained; I’ll do a separate post on it sometime soon), and when he finished he said, “Wow, that was a pretty cool trick!”

On the way home from daycare on Monday night, Will was irritated with me because I wouldn’t let him hold his lunchbox (which was leaking milk everywhere, awesomely), so Andrew said, “Will’s mad at Mommy. But I’m not mad. I’m happy. Like a Happy Meal.”

His main insult when he gets angry is telling me (or Joe, depending on who’s disciplining him), “I’m not gonna be your buddy today!”

If he has something that looks similar to something someone else has, he says, “Hey, we both match [whatever the thing is].” An example from this morning: The boys are both wearing sweater vests today (it’s picture day at daycare, and they’re doing a sibling photo so I want them dressed similarly, although not exactly the same), and when Andrew saw what Will was wearing, he said, “Hey Will, we both match sweaters!”

Every morning I comb his hair while he brushes his teeth, and when I’m finished he looks at himself in the mirror, smiles, and says, “I look AWESOME today.” He has no shortage of self-esteem, that’s for sure.

If he’s really, really excited about something, he yells, “OH YEAH, BABY!!!” I assume he picked this up from someone at school. It’s hilarious, if ever-so-slightly inappropriate.

He loves helping me cook dinner and bake. Every night when we get home, he grabs a dining room chair, drags it into the kitchen, climbs on and says, “What we makin’ tonight, Mommy? Andrew’s gonna help you!” with his eyebrows raised and the most adorable, excited expression on his face. To keep him occupied during the parts of cooking he can’t be involved in, I’ve been giving him old spices from the spice cupboard to play with. While it definitely keeps him busy, it maybe isn’t the neatest strategy I could have employed. This picture is from last night:

It’s a mixture of marjoram, mint, cilantro and black pepper, with a little bit of butter for good measure (I’d melted a couple of tablespoons in the bowl in the microwave). His name for this particular spice blend? “It’s buttercream, Mommy! I makin’ buttercream!”

Thankfully, he did not try to spread it on a cupcake.

day one: halloween

2011-11-01T10:34:00.001-04:00

Well, another Halloween is in the books, and it was the best one we’ve had with the boys yet. They were so polite and well-behaved, and the meltdown count stayed at zero ALL NIGHT LONG. Considering that it was wet and chilly and they were obviously getting tired after an hour or so, I was pleasantly surprised by this fact.

A couple of days beforehand, we started practicing saying “Trick or treat” and “Thank you.” But all of the practice was for naught, because when they’d go up to a house and I’d ask them what they were supposed to say, Andrew said, “Can you give me some candy please?” while Will demanded, “More candy!” and then added, “Peese?” as an after-thought. It was not exactly traditional, but it was adorable, and they said “thank you” every single time. I was super proud of them.

Our best friends C and G came over with their daughter to have dinner (pizza from the best place in town) and go trick-or-treating with us, and it was just such a wonderful night overall. We hadn’t seen them for a while, and it was fun to get our kids together. We ventured farther into our neighborhood than we ever have before, and all three of our little ones were happy campers -- with the full buckets of candy to prove it.

Spiderman, right before we left the house. He was so excited.

We took the wagon just in case the littler two wanted to ride -- but Will ended up making it his mission to pull the wagon. He pulled it up to the door of every single house.

Will and O, walking together. I'm pretty sure they're going to get married someday. (Ha. Just kidding. Sort of.)

Adjusting his mask. Amazingly, he kept it on all evening. Check out the muscles!

Andrew took advantage of the wagon on the way home. He was pretty tired, as you can probaby tell by his expression.

every weekend needs a balloon party.

2011-10-31T11:19:00.000-04:00

Saturday was One Of Those Days. If you’re a parent, you know the kind. The kind where your children are whiny and tired but they won’t nap. The kind where one of them has fluid coming out of every single orifice in his face (Will has a double ear infection! And a cold! Raise your hand if you’re surprised! LET THE RECORD SHOW THAT MY HAND IS NOT RAISED). The kind where one or both of them is climbing all over you, touching you when you really don’t want to be touched. The kind where they’re fighting over every little thing and doing things to deliberately piss the other one off. ALL. DAY. LONG.

Sometime on Saturday afternoon, after Will had spent an hour refusing to nap, they got into another fight -- this one over a stupid yellow balloon. I have no idea where the balloon came from and I have no idea why they both wanted it so badly. Honestly, these days I don’t understand a lot of their motivations for doing what they do. The sibling relationship is so complicated, and I’m watching it evolve before my eyes.

Anyway, I was so sick of listening to them fight that I was all, “Fine! You want balloons?! I’ll give you balloons!” and I proceeded to blow up nearly every single balloon I could find in the house. I blew and blew and blew until I ran out of breath, just to keep myself from screeching at them anymore.

And thus, the Impromptu Balloon Party That Improved Our Moods was born.

The next morning, they were still finding ways to amuse themselves with the balloons.

Thankfully, after the IBPTIOM, the weekend got much better. We carved pumpkins and made cupcakes and roasted pumpkin seeds and yesterday evening my sister came over (with a delicious local beer in tow) to watch The Vampire Diaries (which I’m enjoying in spite of myself) after the boys were in bed. We stayed up way too late talking and I’m paying for it today, but it was a perfect way to end the weekend.

Tonight is trick-or-treat night. Tomorrow: lots of pictures of a fiercely adorable dragon and the sweetest Spiderman ever. (And I will post them tomorrow, because you know what tomorrow is, right? It’s the first day of November, which means it’s time for this. Again. I don’t know why I keep subjecting myself to this torture, but maybe this year it’ll get me out of the habit of only posting once a week -- or less.)

my weekend, in 140-character tidbits

2011-10-24T12:14:00.000-04:00

My phone’s 3G coverage wasn’t working for most of the weekend. I have no idea what the issue was, but part of me suspects that Apple has decided to make the older version of the iPhone suck now that the new version is out. I don’t know if that’s really the case (although I wouldn’t be surprised if it is), but I was pretty irritated. And I didn’t call them to ask what was going on because I didn’t feel like being pressured to upgrade my phone.

What it did make me realize, though, is how much I’ve come to depend on my smart phone, for everything from Facebook to Twitter to blog-reading to accessing recipes. I tried a new recipe for pumpkin coffee cake this weekend (which I’ll post here later this week), and I couldn’t access the internet on my phone for the recipe. When I tried to print it from the desktop computer, my printer wouldn’t work. Technology: It failed me majorly this weekend.

Anyway, it did teach me that not being so tied to my phone is a good thing, so going forward, I’m going to be using it a lot less on the weekends.

I do love Twitter, mostly so I can record for myself all the little things I’m thinking that aren’t lengthy enough for a blog post, so I did miss it over the weekend. If I had been able to tweet more regularly, aside from the couple of tweets that made it past the 3G of Doom, here are some of the things I would have said about my weekend:

Joe’s off today, so I’m going grocery shopping BY MYSELF. I’m going to take an extra long time, I think.

Great Clips is having a $6.99 haircut sale. I have a $5.00 off coupon. I just got my hair cut for $1.99 (plus tip, obvs). #recessionistaFTW

Also, the woman who cut my hair was really chatty, specifically about her toeless roommate. Can’t unhear it.

The boys are playing a game they’re calling football, but it seems to be more of a golf/hockey/curling hybrid using brooms.

Andrew is becoming such an awesome little helper in the kitchen (face blurred due to excitement over chopped butternut squash).

I just let my boys climb all over the coffee table, just so I could listen to their shared laughter. Squeals of excitement > rules.

Pinterest and ANTM: my recipe for a perfect Saturday night.

I just made homemade egg noodles for the first time. I can’t wait to see how they turn out! [They were amazing, and I’ll never buy egg noodles at the store again.]

Watching the first couple episodes of The Vampire Diaries with my stepmom and sister. They keep telling me it gets better. I hope so.

Hello, dramatic barometer change! And hello, resulting sinus headache! Just so you know, I hate you both.

doing what i pin

2011-10-17T12:29:00.000-04:00

Recently my best friend from high school added me to a Pinterest group on Facebook, which I found so hilarious for some reason. I mean, how social-media-centric can my life possibly get? Also, the name of the group is something like “Pinterest Crap We’ve Made.” Classy, yes? But once I got over my amusement, I really started enjoying the group. It’s fun to see what other people have found on Pinterest, and what they’re making.

For my part, I use Pinterest mostly for recipes. It’s one of my most-utilized sources for recipes now. (I’ve posted a couple of recipes I found there over on my food blog: these sweet acorns and this roasted cauliflower and garlic soup. Many more recipes are waiting in the wings.)

I have made a few non-food-related, crafty-ish things that I found there, though, so I thought it would be fun to share them with you.

I’ve wanted to do something involving chalkboard paint in my kitchen for quite a while, and when I saw this pin, I knew I had to finally do it. Our basement door (in the kitchen) has two separate panels, too, so I knew it would be perfect. My generous stepsister had some magnetic paint and some chalkboard paint left over from when she did something similar in her own house, so she let us have what she didn’t use -- making this project completely free. Here’s how my version turned out:

I love it. The top panel is perfect for my weekly menu (although my chalkboard writing obviously needs some work), and as you can see, the bottom panel is the perfect place for the boys to play (out of my way!) while I’m making dinner.

I also made scarves out of a bunch of my old tee-shirts, inspired by this pin. This was such an easy project.

Please excuse my hair, and the general messiness of the scarf. I’d just come out of the grocery store, and it was really windy, and I guess I didn’t straighten myself up very well. I realize this isn’t the best photo to demonstrate how cute the scarf is, but you’ll have to trust me on this one. I got lots of compliments on it while I was shopping! I made the scarf in the photo out of an old Cleveland Browns tee-shirt that was too garishly orange for me to ever wear. But I think it works as a scarf, perfect for the Halloween season.

The most ambitious thing I’ve tackled so far is this thimble necklace (seen here). My stepmom, who loves to sew, recently had a birthday, and as soon as I saw this charm I knew I was going to try to make it for her. I say it was ambitious, but really, it was pretty simple. Andrew actually helped me with this one by choosing the pins and carefully placing them in the thimble. I chose gray lace for the necklace part.

I think this took about 20 minutes to make, and I was really happy with the result. The birthday girl loved it, too, which is obviously the most important thing.

Three pins down; only 1,054 more to go! (As of this morning. I’m sure that number will go up by the end of the day.)

in which i bore you with a discussion of my personal hygiene, then try to make it up to you with cute photos

2011-10-14T14:24:00.000-04:00

Something happened earlier this week that has revolutionized my mornings.

I stopped taking a shower.

That is, I stopped taking a shower in the mornings.

It all started on Tuesday evening, when we were outside raking leaves. The raking turned into jumping and the jumping turned into tumbling and rolling around, and I ended up in the middle of the fray.

Not pictured: Andrew's bottom as he scuttled out of the frame.

It was so much fun, but when we came inside, we were covered in leaves. The boys took their usual bath, and after they were both in bed, I jumped in the shower myself to de-leaf. I washed my hair and let it air-dry (which I much prefer to do, anyway), and I went to bed with the intention of showering again in the morning.

But when I woke up, my hair looked and felt really good (I barely needed a brush!), and I still felt clean. So I just washed my face and put on some lotion and fixed my hair and got ready as normal. And Wednesday was the best hair day I’d had in a long time. I have one of those hair types that requires daily washing, and what I’ve discovered this week is that washing it at night means that my peak good hair time (tell me you have one of these too) falls during the next day. When I was washing it in the mornings, my peak good hair time started pretty much as soon as I got home from work, which wasn’t really ideal. Thursday morning, I got hit on by a guy in the break room at work, no doubt because he was dazzled by my luxurious locks.

I’ve never been one of those people who needs a shower in the mornings to wake up. Once I can physically pull myself out of bed, I’m up for the day and I’m fine. So showering at night isn’t taking a single thing away from my morning routine; in fact, it’s making my mornings better. Since I’m showering at night, I have a lot more time in the mornings. I’m actually able to sit down and have breakfast instead of just stuffing something in my mouth on the way out the door.

Showering at night has also seemed to help me decompress. It’s relaxing, and the perfect way to wash off the day and reflect on everything that happened. It’s a few minutes of time to myself when I’ve spent all evening playing with and cleaning up after two very busy little boys. It’s a treat in the evenings, rather than the chore that it sometimes felt like in the mornings. I wish I would have realized this a long time ago.

This is probably the most shallow post, ever, right? Anyway, this just felt like such a revelation to me. To reward you for reading it, here are some more photos of our leaf-jumping fun from earlier this week:

Serious boy is seriously raking.

For some reason this picture reminds me vaguely of the Alice swagger. I crack up every time I look at it.

I didn't do any sort of processing on this photo; it was totally a happy accident. I love this picture, and may frame it.

Andrew wouldn't look at me at all, but I finally spouted off a string of silly words (something like "stinky yucky slimy worms") to at least get him to smile.

I love the way Andrew is looking at Will in this picture. LOVE.

a-little-bit-at-a-time makeover: home edition

2011-10-12T10:11:00.000-04:00

Last week Joe and I got a letter in the mail from the county auditor. It said, basically, that although they’re reserving tax reassessments until after the November elections, they can estimate the new value of our house based on the current economic climate and neighborhood changes. And the new appraisal value that they estimated, thanks to a crappy economy and a foreclosure two doors down from us, is a lot less than the previous one. I won’t tell you the exact amount that it’s less, but here’s a hint: It rhymes with “schmenty schmousand schmollars.”

“This doesn’t include improvements made after January of 2010!” the letter cheerfully informed us. Which means that all the updates we made to our house in 2007 -- new roof, new windows, new furnace, new flooring, new PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING -- are already included in the new appraisal. So basically, what we owe on the house right now is just about what it’s currently worth, according to the auditor. This year just keeps getting better and better! See also: SOB.

Actually, though, it’s okay, because it feels like a Big Decision has been taken off the table, at least for the next few years. Are we going to sell our house? No. No, we are not. Is the house we’re in right now going to be our “forever home”? Quite possibly. And that’s absolutely, 100% okay with me, because our house has amazing potential, and I’m starting to fall in love with it again, now that the good old economy has mandated that we’re going to be here for a while.

I have big dreams for our house, which include adding a Florida room to the first floor and another bedroom and bathroom right above it, on the second floor. I want to plant peonies along the fence, move my herb garden to a place where the rabbits can’t use the plants for a snack, and plant more trees in the back yard (I’ve always wanted one of those beautiful purpley-black maple trees). I want to put in a patio. I want to rip up the ugly carpet on our front porch and re-cement it. Since my tastes have changed a lot since I decorated the house as a 24-year-old, I want to re-do every single room (except maybe our bedroom, which I still love): gray with yellow accents in the bathroom, a neutral living room with pops of bright color, a dusky blue office with feminine touches like lace and antique frames, new artwork for the kitchen, a complete overhaul of the dining room. And carpet, because our downstairs flooring was a mistake and is a pain to clean. And new siding and gutters, and some foundation work, which are less fun but necessary.

Of course, all of these things take money, which is something we don’t have a lot of right now, so I plan to start small and just do a little bit at a time. Here’s hoping that the taxes on our property do what the value did and go way down next year, and we have a little bit more to work with. I will of course keep you up to date with the changes we do make.

We live in a quiet neighborhood with mature trees and pleasant neighbors, and we’re mere steps away from lots of nature to explore. In a few years, the fact that we’re on the same street as our town's pee-wee football field is probably going to be convenient, too. Yes, there's certainly lots to love about living where we do.

making a memory

2011-10-07T09:13:00.000-04:00

I distinctly remember having McDonalds picnics in the front yard of our house when I was a little girl. Mom would bring my white Care Bears table and chair outside, and I’d sit there with my Happy Meal and my orange pop in my Donald Duck cup with the three-dimensional beak, duck feet, and orange handle, and have a picnic.

This picture was taken in May of 1985, so it was either right before or right after my brother was born. That puts me at just over two years old. I was clearly already pretty stylish, with my purple velour and brown shoes. I wonder if I actually ate all that food? I was a sturdy little thing, obviously.

Anyway, these McDonalds picnics are one of my first memories, and one of the things I look back on fondly when I think of my childhood. Last night Joe had two softball games and I was initially going to take the boys to watch him play, at least for a little while, but at the last minute I decided to get them some Happy Meals and set up a picnic in the back yard. The beautiful autumn evening seemed like the perfect time to pass down a memory.

We had so much fun. It was one of those magical nights when no one was arguing or being facetious or misbehaving. The boys sat on the blanket I’d laid out and ate their entire dinner before getting up to play, nicely, together. After a while, the seven-year-old neighbor boy asked if he could come over to play, too, and the three boys had a blast playing basketball and defending their castle from the bad guys. Andrew kept calling him “my friend” instead of by his name, as in, “Hey, my friend, let’s shoot some hoops!” It was adorable, and also eye-opening, to sit back and watch how Andrew copied his every move, and how Will copied every move of Andrew’s.

We had a perfect evening, my sons and I, recreating one of my favorite memories from 26 years ago. I hope they remember nights like last night as clearly as I know I will.

wild, wonderful will

2011-10-04T10:55:00.000-04:00

A few things about Will today (and lots of pictures!), because he moved up to the two-year-old classroom yesterday and I’m feeling very “Sunrise, Sunset” about it all.

Looking so little and so big all at once.

I’m trying really hard not to lament the speed at which time is passing, and I’m making a real effort not to get all sappy about my baby and how quickly he’s growing up, but I’m not doing very well on either count. I just can’t help myself. He’s getting so big. Where has the time gone? Trite, but so true.

He’s becoming such a little boy, right before my eyes. Running and jumping and speaking in real, honest-to-goodness sentences with five and six and seven words in them. It’s hard for me to even know how to begin to describe him, because no words are grand enough. He’s larger than life, this boy.

He’s such a ham, always consciously doing and saying things to make us laugh.

I swear to you, no lie, he was saying "Haaaaaay" while I was taking this picture. A la the Fonz. He may or may not have been encouraged to do this by one or both of his parents.

He regularly fake burps at the dinner table, and promptly excuses himself (“Me me!”) with a giant grin on his face. If he’s been naughty, he puts himself in time-out, and then he stands there like this:

How am I supposed to discipline that face? Seriously, HOW. I need help, people.

He can be pretty emotional, prone to fits of hysterical screaming when he doesn’t get his way, but he’s quickly coaxed out of it with lots of cuddles and tickles (he’s so ticklish you can’t even touch his feet without him giggling). When he wants to be held he wants to be held right now, and he’ll stand in front of me with arms in the air, fists opening and closing, demanding, “UP. UP, Mommy. UP!” until I comply (which I’m always happy to do). He loves wearing my shoes around the house but loathes wearing socks. He has a pair of pajamas with dinosaurs on them, which are his favorite, and whenever he sees them he immediately growls in his impression of a prehistoric beast. He’s so happy and smiley most of the time, and if the life of a dimple is measured in smiles, his is going to be there for a long, long time.

He idolizes Andrew, and is easily influenced by him, too, in a number of amazing (and less-than-amazing, sometimes) ways. When they’re playing together, Will is a bundle of pure joy and delight. He never glows more brightly than he does when he’s in the sunshine of Andrew’s attention. Up until very recently, he called Andrew “Doo-Doo,” but just this week, it’s evolved into “Ah-doo.”

He’s so, so verbal. He can easily communicate whatever it is he wants, and he understands a lot of what we’re saying to him. He repeats everything he hears. He knows his animal names and sounds, most of his colors, and can count to ten. Over the weekend I actually found myself carrying on a conversation with him, one that consisted of us actually talking to each other, and I stopped for a moment to marvel at that. My sweet, smart boy.

I gave him a hair cut last week, because, as you can see, it was high time for one.

As you can also see, he wasn’t really happy with me. But by the time I’d finished, he was resigned to his short-haired fate.

And in true Will fashion, mere moments later, he was literally running off to his next adventure, all unpleasantness forgotten.

He’s so special to me. Both of my boys are, of course, in such different and wonderful ways. Will is my spot of calm, my moment of pure happiness in any situation, even the tough ones I’ve been in lately. Just hearing his sweet little voice saying “Hi, Mommy” or “I wuv oo, Mommy” makes me feel something beyond the scope of any words I know. He is my reminder of how good life can be. How good life is.

From this...

...to this, in less than two years.

I’m so excited to see who he is one year, three years, five years from now. But for right now, I’m going to hold on to the last little bit of baby in him for as long as I possibly can. I have a feeling (or maybe it’s just a hope) that the little bit of baby will never go away. I think I’ll always see it there when I look at him.

it's been two weeks since my last confession (or blog post, whichever you prefer)

2011-09-29T10:05:00.001-04:00

It’s been a couple of weeks since I posted, but I have a great excuse for it: Joe won us an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii, and we spent 10 days in glorious child-free bliss, watching the sunset from our fancy hotel room’s balcony (right on the beach!), taking walks by the ocean in the moonlight while the waves lapped gently against the shore, taking helicopter tours and hiking on volcanoes, but mostly just relaxing and enjoying the peace.

That is, I wish that’s what we were doing. Unfortunately, the closest we got to Hawaii the past couple of weeks were these pulled chicken sandwiches, which were just okay. However, if anyone would like to purchase us a trip like that, well, all I’m saying is that we wouldn’t be opposed.

Just to catch you up, here’s a summary of the past two weeks in my very exciting and glamorous life (in bullet form, natch):

I bought Andrew two pairs of new tennis shoes from Wal Mart for $20.00. Oh, Wal Mart, that’s how you suck me in, with your ridiculously low prices.
I finally found some pumpkin puree, so I’ve been baking with it a lot.
I’ve also been pinning a lot.
My best friend and I took our kids to the zoo, which was really fun until Andrew had an epic meltdown at the playground by the polar bears and screamed the entire way out of the zoo.
We had our first bonfire of the fall.
I started my Christmas shopping. That’s the only way we’re going to be able to afford it this year -- buying just a little bit at a time.
I just looked at my Twitter stream to see what else I did, and it was just a bunch of boring stuff not even worth repeating, but here’s a sample anyway: I tried peppermint mocha creamer, I gave my kids chocolate pudding one night, I complained about weak coffee, I discovered that chocolate mini rice cakes + peanut butter = best snack ever, etc. etc.

Sorry about how boring this is. I also got my first real cold of the season recently, and it seems to be hanging around and making my head fuzzy.

In an effort to save this entry, I give you a blurry but adorable picture of the boys holding hands.

I have many more better-quality photos of them to share. Hopefully it won’t be another two weeks before I get around to doing that.

bright spots in the foggy-fog

2011-09-15T09:59:00.043-04:00

The first spot of brightness being the fact that Andrew actually calls fog “foggy-fog.” He insists upon it.

Thanks for your support on my last post, guys. I know it’s really hard to know what to say in a situation like this, but your virtual hugs and words of love really, really helped.

I’m still having kind of a rough week, though, if I’m being honest. All this stuff with Dad, a couple of sleepless nights, a surprise increase in our mortgage payment for the upcoming year due to an escrow shortage, an increased work load and technology issues, and even a pimple on my eyelid (ON MY EYELID. Who does that happen to? Me, apparently) have all combined to make me a ball of stress and nerves, ready to cry or scream at the drop of a hat.

It hasn’t been all bad, though, and I know the only way to pull myself out of this funk is to think about some of the happy things that have happened this week. Here are a few of them:

Monday morning on the way to daycare, Andrew told me out of the blue that Daddy’s name was Joe. When I asked him what my name was, he said with awe, “Dangerous.” He unknowingly bestowed upon me my new superhero name. He and Joe have both been calling me “Mommy Dangerous” all week long, and it’s sort of awesome. I totally think I should re-name my blog that.
Yesterday I saw this on Pinterest, and in the car on the way home, I said it over and over and made myself laugh until I almost cried.

The boys helped Joe weed the herb garden earlier this week, and they had such a blast getting dirty. Will loved the dirt so much that he even ate some. Dirt is awesome.

Andrew found a snail (well, one without a shell, so...a slug?) in the garden, and he named him Fluffy. He carried Fluffy around for a while, letting him try out different habitats, and then he gently placed Fluffy in the grass because “he’s gonna go see his mommy.” It was impossibly cute, and it warms my heart to see him being so gentle.

So yes, the week has had some high points. Enough of them to make me feel like we're all going to be okay.

in which 2011 continues to suck

2011-09-12T11:47:00.000-04:00

I had planned on having a really nice weekend. Andrew was going to spend the night with my dad and stepmom on Saturday night, and Will and I were going to have a fun weekend, just the two of us. One-on-one time with him is practically non-existent, so I was looking forward to that -- and I know Andrew was looking forward to spending the night with his grandparents.

But when I got to my stepmom and dad’s house on Saturday morning, my dad was out golfing, and my stepmom told me that she’d caught him drinking again on Friday night. A subsequent search revealed that alcohol was in hidden in random places throughout the house.

I probably shouldn’t have been so shocked by it, given my dad’s history with alcohol, but I really, really was. Since he’d come home from the hospital at the end of July, he’d been doing so well. He and my stepmom were working hard on their marriage, and were getting along better than they had in years. When I visited, he was a different person -- a man I’d forgotten existed underneath the effects of the drinking. He was funny, patient, kind and self-deprecating. He was going to AA meetings regularly.

I don’t know what triggered him. Even after talking to him on the phone on Saturday afternoon, I still don’t know what made him take a drink (whiskey, this time, a step up from his usual beer, disguised in an A & W pop bottle). What I do know was that I was very angry, very disappointed, and very hurt. Immediately I told my stepmom Andrew couldn’t stay the night -- and she agreed that was the right decision. She asked if she could keep him for the rest of the day -- they had plans to visit my sister’s coffee shop, then go to the zoo -- and I told her she could, as long as he wasn’t around my dad. She said she’d bring him home in the afternoon.

On the way home, I cried and cried. I thought a lot about my mom, and how sick she was with her disease, and how she would have given anything to just be able to say, “I don’t want to be sick anymore.” That’s the power my dad has right now, but he’s just choosing not to do it.

I called him on Saturday afternoon in a last-ditch effort to get through to him. I was completely honest about how I was feeling. He was remorseful and full of excuses and promises that I’ve heard a million times. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he chose to drink, he would not see me or his grandsons. I said I wasn’t going to let him hurt them, and he said I wouldn’t, I never hurt you, and I told him Dad: You’re still hurting me. I got off the phone feeling so much better -- not necessarily because I thought what I said was going to make a difference, but because I told him everything that was on my mind. I put it out of my mind, and instead chose to focus on the fact that I couldn't find canned pumpkin anywhere, and OMG, if there is a shortage again I'm going to be so pissed, you guys.

In a blatant “F you” to my ultimatum, he apparently spent most of the day yesterday in the garage, taking swigs of whiskey out of a French’s mustard container that he’d hidden amongst his tools. My stepmom has asked him to move out by November 1, my sister and both of my brothers are furious, and as for me? Well, I’m just done. I don’t have room for this stress in my life right now. Raising two little boys, being a good wife, and dealing with continuous financial issues are just about all I have room for in my brain. I put everything out there, I said everything that needed to be said, and he made his choice.

I know addiction is complicated. I know just not drinking is so much easier said than done for an addict. But I have to protect my sons so that they don’t grow up like I did, and I will do that at all costs. Dad has been through AA successfully before, so I know that he can do it, but I’m not feeling too optimistic about the fact that he’ll even try at this point. I don’t know how to help him. So I have to help myself at this point, and take care of my sons, and just stop hoping.

speaking of household projects...

2011-09-07T10:38:00.000-04:00

One of the small projects that’s been on my list to accomplish (or should I say lists, because it even made it onto my 30 by 30) is doing something with my cookbook bookcase. A little bit of background on my cookbooks: When I was pregnant with Andrew, we were remodeling our kitchen, and I couldn’t cook a damn thing. So I became ever-so-slightly obsessed with food -- even moreso than a typical pregnant woman would be. I kept buying more and more cookbooks, and I’d read them before bed, bookmarking all the recipes I wanted to try when I could finally cook again. Every time I got a cookbook offer in the mail, I accepted it. I inherited all of my mom’s cookbooks after she passed away. I picked up more from the library dollar sales and the book fairs at work. And before I knew it, I had an entire four-shelf bookcase full of them.

Four years and two children later, here’s what that bookcase looked like:

Here’s what it looked like in its natural state, with two little boys playing with their trucks on it (a daily occurrence):

With years’ worth of magazines piling up (that Will often enjoyed ripping to shreds), tons of recipes I’d printed off and neglected to put in binders, cookbooks precariously balanced on every single shelf, and yes, even a BB gun making its home on the top shelf (I don’t know, you guys), it was a hot mess. A total eyesore. It was way past time to do something about it.

I started the process of going through my magazines months ago, and I ended up clipping the recipes I wanted to keep and recycling the rest. I also recycled most of the recipes I hadn’t organized in a binder, because I figured I probably have them starred in Google Reader or posted on my food blog. I didn’t even go through them, because if I had, I know I would have wanted to keep a bunch of the recipes, and I still probably would never have made them.

I was originally planning to leave the bookcase where it was and just straighten it up a bit, but I decided I didn’t want it blocking the window anymore. It just so happened that I had the perfect spot for it elsewhere -- in a little nook in my dining room. The space honestly looks like it was meant for the bookcase. Here’s what it looks like now, after purge and reorganization:

I think it looks so much better. It’s neat and out of the main traffic path and the boys generally leave it alone. I still need to go through the cookbooks themselves, because I’m sure I could donate quite a few of them that I never use, but I’ll tackle that later. And now I have enough space in my kitchen to add a small two-seater table for crafts and quick dinners and weekend coffee, and another window for more natural light.

I also have another fun little kitchen project that I’m tackling this weekend, so I’ll be sure to share it when I’m done!

who knew a bag of baby clothes could make me so reflective?

2011-09-06T11:43:00.000-04:00

Last Friday, I took the day off to get a few things done around the house. One of the things I needed to do was go through all of Andrew’s 24-month clothes, which were sitting in a garbage bag in Will’s room, so that Will would have clothes washed and ready to go for fall (apparently I did this just in time, too; fall weather seems like it’s here to stay now, all least for the next 10 days as forecast on my Weather Channel app). While the clothes were in the washer (four loads’ worth of them; I didn’t realize how much we had, and yet again, poor little Will won’t have anything new for the season), I decided to tackle Will’s closet. I’d neglected it for months, and there were still 9-month clothes hanging in there, which is the size he was wearing last year around this time.

Our neighbor is due with her first baby, a boy, in December, so I figured I’d bag up the clothes and take them next door to see if she could use them. Even after being worn by both Andrew and Will, a lot of the clothes are still almost like new -- and some even still have the tags on them (she says shamefully). And, the thing is, and I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while: I don’t think I’ll have any use for them anymore.

I’m about 90% certain that Joe and I are done having children. I’m not quite certain enough that I’m ready for Joe to do anything permanent about it, but still: I’m pretty sure our baby-making days are done.

Everything that’s happened to us this year -- financially, emotionally, and all the rest of it -- has made me really reevaluate my priorities. And frankly, another child is just not one of my priorities right now. My priorities are (in no particular order) achieving financial security (or at least financial okay-ness, for lack of a better term), working on making my marriage healthier, and enjoying the hell out of the two wonderful children I already have. I’m in a place right now where I’m looking forward to what’s ahead for our actual family of four, not looking at what could be for a hypothetical family of five.

Joe and I have some big decisions to make in the next few years concerning our living situation. Do we want to move to the country? stay in town? build our dream house or buy it? stay where we are and do a huge remodel to the house we live in right now? And where is the money coming from for all of these potential changes, anyway? Whatever we decide is going to be a Major Life Change, and I’m actually excited about that. And I can’t see any room in that picture for another baby.

I’m at peace with this choice, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still wonder what it would be like to do it all again. But as I sit here trying to think of things I miss about having a baby, in general, I can’t think of anything. There are things I miss about each of the boys’ babyhoods in particular (the way I’d sit for hours rubbing my thumb up and down the bridge Andrew’s nose to get him to sleep, because it soothed him so much; the way I’d kiss Will’s cheeks when he was hungry, just so he’d turn his head to mouth my face, thinking it could offer him food). Those specific things, about each of my boys, I do miss. I wonder what I’d miss about a third child, but I’m okay with not knowing.

I’m so ready to move past the baby-having portion of my life. I really, really am. I’m excited about the freedom that being past that stage offers. But still, even though I’m more than satisfied with the decision, bagging up those baby clothes was surprisingly hard for me. It sounds silly, but: Those clothes, they’re attached to my babies. And I found myself wondering what a third baby would look like in things like this vest. The answer: probably very cute, just like the first two did.

But if we ever do change our minds about this, it will be years down the road, and we’ll be completely financially stable and that third baby can have an entirely new set of clothes, which he or she will also look very cute in. And although giving those clothes away felt like losing a little part of my boys’ babyhood, I’m eager to dwell in their toddlerhood, and soon, their boyhood. I’m okay with babyhood being in the past.

Sunday, the four of us went through all the toys in the loft and put aside quite a few to donate to the daycare. And then we spent the afternoon completely rearranging the space and talking about upcoming household projects we’d like to tackle.

Our house is our baby now. And I’m ready to nurture it.

weekend by the numbers

2011-08-29T13:42:00.000-04:00

Number of books started and finished: 1 (this one, pretty good)

Number of books I've now officially read this year, reaching my goal four entire months early: 60!

Number of times I left the house: 1, to go grocery shopping.

Number of Very Important Items I forgot to buy at the grocery store: 3

Number of times Andrew insisted upon dressing himself: 2 (Saturday, his windbreaker and Lightning McQueen shoes and nothing else; Sunday, this.)

Number of times Will asked to get on my lap and then immediately wanted down: approximately 700

Number of times Will asked to get on my lap to read his favorite ABC book: approximately 200

Number of times Will wouldn’t let me go past the “Q is for quiet puppy” page because he kept whispering, “Puppy! Shh! Night-night!”: at least 50

Number of different versions of the ABCs Andrew sang: 3, and I am going to share them with you, because they are awesome.

     1. “ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNO...Poop!”
    2. “ABCDEFspaghetti, HIJKLMNOspaghetti!”
    3. “ABCDEFG, HIJKstinkystinkybutt!”

Number of colored ice cubes that were added to the bathtub to provide some bath time fun but which did nothing more than melt too fast and turn the water green: 16

Number of times Andrew lost his Lightning McQueen car: 3

Number of times I found his Lighting McQueen car in the refrigerator, just chillin’ in the produce bin: 1

Number of times Andrew opened the refrigerator without permission: about 20

Number of times Andrew laid on his back on the kitchen floor and kicked the freezer door with both feet: about 50

Number of times Andrew was sent to his room for not listening when I told him to stop doing the two previous things: 2

Number of times Joe threw the football on the porch roof just because the boys liked the loud sound it made when it bounced off: at least 50

Number of times I threw the football: 3

Number of times Joe made fun of my girly throw: unknown, because it's ONGOING

Number of gorgeous, sunny evenings spent in the back yard: 3

Number of times Will wanted to spontaneously cuddle with me: 3

Number of times Andrew came up to me out of the blue and said, “Mommy, I need to tell you something. I love you SO MUCH!”: 1

Number of days until I get to do it all again: 3 (because I have Friday off!)

i don't have a lot to write about, but i felt like posting anyway.

2011-08-26T13:46:00.000-04:00

It’s been kind of an odd week. It’s been long, first of all. And then there was the earthquake, which was an interesting way to jazz up a Tuesday afternoon at the office. (We didn’t feel anything more than a slight tremor, but it was still strange.)

Tuesday night and Wednesday night we were hit with ridiculous storms, with thunder that literally lasted for hours. They didn’t cause any damage except to our sleeping patterns. I didn’t even hear Andrew when he woke up crying for me on Tuesday night (I was at my best friend’s house pretty late watching Bachelor Pad)(yes, I watch that ridiculous show), but thankfully Joe did, and he brought Andrew to our bed without me realizing it. I dreamed that I was being kicked in the back by a tiny person, and when I woke up, that very thing was happening. Wednesday night was more of the same.

I don’t like being close to people when I’m trying to sleep, so that, added to the fact that Andrew is a restless, loud sleeper who prefers to lay sideways on the bed, meant that neither one of us got much rest. It turned both of us into jerks, frankly. At one point on Thursday, when Andrew and I were bickering about something after dinner and I was yelling and he was screaming, Will looked at both of us and said, “Mommy time out. Doo-doo* time out.”

And then he went off to play the harmonica. This child is random and adorable.

Anyway, all of that to say this: Bring on the weekend. May it include much sleep for my entire household. And maybe some fun stuff, too, since the weather is supposed to be beautiful.

*Did I ever mention that Will calls Andrew “Doo-doo”? Because he does. Cutest thing ever. Andrew is going to hate it in a few years, and Joe and I are going to tease him about it mercilessly, I’m sure, probably forever.

summer lovin', had me a blast, happened so fast, etc.

2011-08-24T12:34:00.001-04:00

Alternate post title: In Which I Attempt To Summarize Our Entire Summer In One Post And Also Share Way Too Many Pictures, Or As Andrew Would Say, “Lots And Lots Of Ones.”

This has been the Summer of Broke-Assness for us, since we’re still trying to catch up from all that business that happened during the first half of the year. So we haven't been able to take the boys anywhere that requires actual money. I was a little bummed about that for a while, but when I look back on our summer now, I can say with total sincerity that we had a really, really good one. We did lots of fun little things that cost almost nothing, and I know the boys still had a great time.

One sunny Sunday, Joe ~~was nagged to death about washing~~ decided to wash the cars, and I put the boys in their swimsuits so they could go outside and help him with the task. Will and the sponge quickly became BFFs:

"I shall call you Squishy, and you shall be mine forever and always."

Once the cars were clean, Joe turned the power washer on his sons, who had a delightful time running through the water, as I think is evidenced by Andrew’s expression in this picture:

It was all fun and games until someone decided to play in the grass clippings:

You know how as soon as a dog is wet it'll go roll on the ground? Yeah, that.

One day during the week we were on vacation, we took the boys to our local state park beach. I am not too keen on the filthy water, so I didn't venture in above my calves, but the boys had no such compunction. In fact, even though it was tightly-wrapped and water-proofed, I'm pretty sure this water is responsible for the infection Joe got in his leg. The boys had a blast, though. And I'm learning (slowly but surely) to just sit back and let them get dirty.

After we left the beach, we went to our local ice cream/greasy delicious food place, where Will got to have his first ever ice cream cone. He attacked it with gusto. Andrew, who had his first ice cream cone experience last summer, ate his much more calmly.

"OMG this is the most amazing thing EVER, I wonder if I can fit THE ENTIRE THING IN MY MOUTH AT ONCE."

"Ice cream cones are delicious but not all that exciting. I'm so above all of this."

Later that same night, we ate dinner at a fast food place with a play area. Andrew was a climbing fool, while Will mostly stuck to the areas closer to the ground, but still had a blast. The whole day was exhausting, but also so incredibly fun.

We also got to go to a bonfire/cook-out with Joe's family. There was corn on the cob...

...and strawberry cake...

...and s'mores...

...and cornhole. The boys bent the rules just slightly.

We've been going to the farmers' market every weekend, and this past weekend there was a fire truck there, open for the kids to explore. Andrew had a blast sitting inside it, and I didn't think I'd ever be able to get him to leave.

I don't know why they look so surly in the second picture. Also I don't know what they're looking at.

I know that we'll be back on our financial feet soon. I know that there is Disney World in our future, and trips to beaches that are actually connected to oceans, and frequent visits to the zoo or the aquarium or the science center. But I want to remember how much fun we had this summer, without spending very much money at all.

And we really, really had a lot of fun.

30 days of fun. or something like that.

2011-08-23T11:35:00.000-04:00

I dropped the ball on sharing my 30 days of fun things with you on a weekly basis. I blame vacation: I was too relaxed to worry about uploading photos and writing blog posts. Thus, I completely lost track of all of my fun things and the days on which I did them. I’m pretty sure I missed a few days here and there, too.

But I want to share the ones that I do remember, so, in no particular order, here are some of the random fun things I did:

I got a pedicure! My first one ever! And I think I’m hooked. I chose turquoise polish to match the dress I wore to Joe’s cousin’s wedding. Incidentally, the pedicure was also the first thing I crossed off on my 30 by 30 list (which I really need to get cracking on). (And in case someone asks, the shoes are a $3.00 pair I bought at the grocery store, of all places).

During the week we were on vacation, Joe took me to see the final installment of Harry Potter. I managed to unearth $35.00 worth of movie theatre gift cards in my wallet, so it was free, including snacks and drinks. The movie was amazing. And so was the date with my husband.

We don’t do this very often, but some nights it’s just fun to eat in front of the TV. It’s a nice treat for everyone. On this night, we watched Cars. SHOCKER.

We’ve had some gorgeous, mild, lovely weather this month -- perfect for driving with the windows down. I usually hate having my hair in my face, but one evening on my way home from work, I just decided I was going to let it blow around. It didn’t bother me nearly as much as I thought it would; it was actually kind of nice.

One evening when the boys were driving me absolutely insane, I used an almost-overdue book as an excuse to escape the house. I wandered around the library shelves for a good half hour, just picking out random books. This is the reason I currently have 30 books on loan from the library, but that silent, peaceful half hour was totally worth the pressure I now feel to read all of them before they’re due.

We did some really fun little things as a family this summer, too, which I was going to share in this post, but there are so many pictures that it would just be way, way too long. So maybe I’ll write about those tomorrow.

Wow, three posts on three consecutive days! It’s good to have goals.

pinspired

2011-08-22T10:38:00.000-04:00

Well, I finally caved. I joined Pinterest. And while I am absolutely loving it, I sort of wish I hadn’t signed up, because it is such a ginormous time suck that I’m actually considering giving myself a time limit for how much time I can spend pinning things a day. If I don’t, it’s entirely possible that I could end up spending entire days falling down the Pinterest wormhole without ever reaching the bottom.

That said, though. I am so inspired by all the things I’m finding, and I feel like I’ve barely even skimmed the surface. I hope there’s no limit to how many things I can pin, because I have been a pinning fool -- and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

food fight

2011-08-17T09:39:00.000-04:00

I’ve been meaning to write about this particular topic for a while now, and something that happened last night in our house has given me the perfect opportunity. The topic is this: Toddlers and Their Picky, Maddening, Frustrating, and So Many Other Adjectives Eating Habits.

A long time ago, shortly after Andrew first started showing signs of real pickiness, Joe and I decided that fighting with him over food just wasn’t worth it. Not only did fighting with him almost always fail to get the results we wanted (for him to eat), it completely ruined our family dinner time. We ended up frustrated and angry (me and Joe), throwing a fit (Andrew), or looking on in confusion (Will). At that point, we established a set of rules regarding dinner time. They’re flexible, but here’s the gist of what they are:

1. The TV goes off.

2. Dinner is eaten together at the table (except on special occasions, like movie night, when we eat in the living room).

3. Everyone is served the same thing. (The exception is on nights we have Mexican food. They’ve tried it and I know they don’t like it, but I’m not going to stop making it because Joe and I love it, so on those nights they have some sort of toddler-friendly food instead.)

4. Andrew and Will are required to take at least one bite of each food they’re served.

5. If, after they’ve taken their one bite and decide they don’t like a certain food, they can ask for something else to eat. This happens exactly NEVER with Will, as he will eat anything. It does happen sometimes with Andrew, but if we can just get him to try something, he usually likes it.

6. If they’ve taken their one bite and say they’re just not hungry, they’re allowed to stop eating. We don’t force them to eat if they’re just not hungry. But they have to sit with us at the dinner table until everyone is finished eating. And they’re not allowed to have any snacks later; dinner is their last opportunity to eat for the evening.

Generally, this system works out really well for us. I’ve never been of the “sit there all night or until you eat all your dinner, whichever comes first” mentality (although my mom was; I have a very clear memory of my brother sitting at the kitchen table for hours after dinner, crying over cold peas), but Andrew knows he has to take one bite of everything in order to a.) get another food, or b.) get up from the dinner table.

And then there are nights like last night, which are still infinitely frustrating. I made this pasta, which is a family favorite. Joe loves it, I love it, Will loves it, Andrew loves it. In fact, Andrew loves it so much that he always asks to take the leftovers for lunch at daycare the next day. As I was cooking dinner last night, he kept coming into the kitchen and saying, “Is dinner ready yet? I’m hungry, Mom!” But when dinner was finally in front of him, he started playing the procrastination game. “I need to fix my Lightning [McQueen],” he said, then, “I need to drink my juice first.” Etc., etc. He wouldn’t take a single bite of the pasta. The more we urged him to do so, the more he resisted. “I AM eating it!” he said, although he clearly wasn’t.

I asked him if he was hungry. He said yes. I asked him why he wasn’t eating. He didn’t answer. Breaking my own rule, I even asked him if he wanted something else to eat. He said, “No, I eat this.” But he still didn’t take a single bite.

I decided to try a new tactic. We were planning to take the boys outside to play after dinner, so I told Andrew that he couldn’t go outside until he ate just a little bit of his dinner. Furthermore, he couldn’t watch Toy Story (his current movie obsession) if he stayed indoors. The choice was his. Meanwhile, Will finished all of his pasta and asked for more, and we told him, loudly so that Andrew could hear, “Good job, Will! You’re eating a great dinner! You can go outside to play soon.”

“Andrew wants to go outside and play too!” my older son chirped.

“Well,” we replied, “you have to eat your dinner first.”

Eventually, Joe, Will and I were finished eating, and Andrew still hadn’t touched his food. I was already regretting the ultimatum I’d given him (it was a beautiful night, and I really wanted to go outside myself, and I was going to be the one stuck indoors with him if he called my bluff), but I knew I had to stick to it. Joe took Will outside, and I headed to the kitchen to clean up.

As I suspected he would, Andrew got really upset when Joe took Will outside -- especially when Joe brought out the lawnmower to begin mowing part of the back yard. I kept calmly repeating that he could go outside to play with them after he ate his dinner. I think it took about 15 minutes for that message to sink in, but finally, it clicked. And he sat there and ate his entire bowl of pasta with no more arguments. It was a Dinnertime Battle, and Mommy won. Andrew was gracious in defeat.

Disciplining a toddler -- especially when it comes to food -- is not an easy thing to do. Just as often as not the parent is punished just as much as the child is. But when it works? When you lay out an ultimatum, and you see it through? And it works? It’s so incredibly rewarding to see your child get it.

And so, we got to spend the rest of the evening doing this:

(Why yes, the wagon is hooked up to the Jeep. My husband is nothing if not resourceful.)

rant, mama bear-style

2011-08-16T11:46:00.000-04:00

This morning, as I was getting Andrew situated in his daycare classroom, a father walked into the room with his son. His son was clinging to his leg and was obviously unsure of his surroundings. The father smiled and introduced the little boy to the teacher, who welcomed him warmly. So I assume that it was the little boy’s first day, and the reason for his hesitation and shyness seemed obvious to me. New surroundings, new people, new circumstances. I think any kid would be a little hesitant. I know that my own would be.

As I watched, the little boy wrapped himself around his father’s legs and started to cry -- sniffles at first, and then sobs that broke my heart a little bit. The father sighed hugely and said, not in a nice way, “This is ridiculous. Get up and don’t be such a little girl.” The little boy continued to cling to his father and cry, until his father grabbed him by the arm and forcefully yanked him to his feet.

I left without saying anything to him, because I didn’t know what to say, and anyway I knew it was my place to say exactly NOTHING. But as I walked to my car I got more and more upset about it. My first thought was that I wanted to march right back into that room, give that sweet little red-haired boy a hug, and tell him he was going to be okay. And my second (and third, and fourth) thoughts were these:

I could understand the father’s frustration if the child was throwing an unreasonable tantrum about something that actually was ridiculous. Like, for instance, if the child was playing with a dirty tupperware container and the parent took it away from him to wash it, and the child proceeded to throw himself on the floor, kicking and screaming. Not that that’s ever happened to me (last night) (with Will). But in this case, the little guy was upset and scared in a new environment and was clinging to the one source of familiarity in the room: his dad. And his dad’s response was to call him ridiculous, and to accuse him of being a girl.

Which brings me to the second thing: It is not cool, ever, to use the term “little girl” -- or “girl” in general -- as demeaning. It implies that girls are weaker, more emotional, and more fragile than boys, and I do not for an instant believe that is the case. It doesn’t send a good message to the child, either, who is at an impressionable age and should already be being taught to respect girls, not look down on them as something weaker. Being upset or emotional about something should not be equated as “girlish” behavior. I know plenty of women (including myself, if I’m being honest, and all of you reading this) who absolutely kick ass. And take names.

Which brings me to my last issue with the exchange I witnessed: Little boys are allowed to be emotional. I think there’s this emphasis in our society on little boys (and boys and men in general) being tough, and while I personally get a kick out of asking my sons to show me their muscles, Joe and I also believe it’s important to acknowledge their feelings when they’re upset -- and discuss them. Sensitive does not equal weak (and weak, of course, doesn’t equal “girlish”). In this particular case, I think any other viewpoint is just ignorant.

I can’t stand it when men interact with their sons in the way that I witnessed this morning. I just can’t. And I’m so thankful that I married a man who comforts and cuddles his sons when they’re upset.

I hope I see that little boy tomorrow morning at daycare drop-off, because I want to know how his first day went. I really, really hope it went well, in spite of his ignorant father.