Monday, September 29, 2008
It's not overly succesful, since he usually ends up blowing out his nose, more than actually inhaling.
And if that doesn't work, ask him again and you'll get this face:
Which, coincidentally is pretty much the same look when he's rocking out to Toby Keith...
Sunday, September 28, 2008
It wasn’t me who fed Itty Bit dinner from the hospital vending machine. Half a bottle of strawberry Fanta and 43 peanut M&Ms later, he was running laps in the waiting room.
In taking the kiddo potty, he stood next to the toilet and flushed it as we were getting his diaper off. The sound made him start to pee instantly. It wasn’t me who let him keep peeing all over the floor so he wouldn’t get his clothes wet in trying to move him. That would be totally unsanitary – you know how spotless those hospital bathroom floors are, right?
And I totally did not use 1,700 pieces of the non-absorbent paper towels trying to clean up the above mess. Cause that mess didn’t even happen, remember?
It wasn’t me who let Itty Bit play with the buttons on the hospital bed – the one containing the patient who’d had back surgery. Up and down and bend and straighten – really good for recovery, eh? (Actually, that really WASN’T me… and he figured out the “Nurse Call” button now… thanks a lot you silly goose, you know who you are :)
It wasn’t me (or Mr. Daddy) who taught Itty Bit that it’s fun to jump up and down in moving elevators. Uh yeah… but only when they aren’t chock full of hospital staff!
It wasn’t me who stole an unattended walker in the hallway and gave Itty Bit a ride.
I most assuredly was not the one who took Itty Bit to get his haircut and decided to get a trim myself… in a children’s hair salon. And when Mr. Daddy did not tease me about which seat I wanted (the Barbie Jeep or the Cop Car), the pretty young hairdresser did not say “oh, you’d fit… I just sat in the airplane one last night”. And I’m not telling how many pieces the airplane seat is in now… Nope, not me.
It wasn’t short little me who clambered onto my 15.3 hand horse today and rode her under the apple tree so I could pick the ones I couldn’t reach. And surely it wouldn’t have been me who freaked out when a bug crawled out of a rotting apple and onto my hand. I’m not that prissy. And if I’d freaked out, nearly jumped out of the saddle, screamed and thrown the apple – man, that would have been really dumb to do on an arab…
And it certainly wouldn’t have been me who parked near the barn and let Itty Bit hang out in the front seat so I could feed the horses. It couldn’t have been me – cause I didn’t hear the non-stop honking or see the lights going nuts. Gee, it really would have bothered all the neighbors if it had…
Check out what everyone else has not been doing!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Itty Bit was a tad distracted while I was trying to capture how he sings the "Chug Chug Toot Toot" song. Please give me a little grace here and remember that I am deaf and therefore logically exempt from the "wow, she's off key" stuff. The only reason I would post something so embarrassing is because what he now does in this song is cute enough to share.
You need to know this before you watch: I obviously do not know the second part of this song. I've just been throwing in a "ba-da-da-da-dum-dum" excuse for the tune to get us to his favorite "chug chug toot toot" part.
Little did I know that the kiddo would pick it up as an actual part of the song. Listen carefully and you'll catch him doing the "ba-da-da-da-dum-dum" too!
For some reason the high chair became insanely interesting in the middle of the song. Sorry - at least he still kinda sorta sings along. You know how kids are when asked to perform, right?
(p.s. - if anyone knows the actual words... I'd love to hear 'em!)
Friday, September 26, 2008
At my age, my mother was raising a 15-year old.
I cannot even begin to imagine what it is like to parent a kid who is smack in their teens.
In high school.
Begging to drive everywhere with their learner’s permit.
Asking to go to Homecoming.
Applying for scholarships and deciding what they want to be “when they grow up”.
Lugging a backpack that weighs more than my little 2-year old himself.
It makes me appreciate my parents all the more.
Somehow I am so not getting the “with age comes wisdom” thing… I feel unprepared and out of my element. How much more so if I was a young parent?!
I’m far from perfect, but I think these folks did a bang up job with the neurotic kiddo they had to work with. To their credit, much of what I think is good about parenting comes from them. I love you Mommio and Papa.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
No saddle, no bridle, no hackamore.
Just me, a big beast, and a halter and leadrope.
When I’m not feeling so great and want to just lunge her for a bit of exercise, I’ve been reminded of that fine line between buddy and alpha.
I’m not naturally a dominant character when it comes to a 1000 pound pet who could accidentally seriously injure me.
Kona is rather passive-aggressive. Instead of turning into a psycho horse and rearing and bucking… she’ll just make something as choppy and unenjoyable as she can, until both of us have had enough. In realizing that EVERYTHING is a teaching moment, I have been trying hard not to let her get away with things.
My trainer was a big believer in lunging before riding. Since Kona is usually so mellow, the only reason we do it is to warm her up and get her focused. She is absolutely pushbutton… does everything by voice commands or clicks and kisses.
She’s just gotten a bit lazy lately and is not enthusiastic about cantering clockwise. So she likes to turn her head in and do that crazy “running sideways” thing that drives me nuts. If she really doesn’t want to canter, she chops it up while running sideways until she pulls her front up and is facing me. Even a lunge whip doesn't seem to do me much good at keeping her faced to the side.
I usually keep her in a good circle – but find myself chasing to stay behind her driveline during the clockwise canter. I don’t think pain is an issue (she’s fine while being ridden).
It’s a scary thing for me – and I struggle to be the Alpha in those situations (my first horse reared AT me – groundwork scares me more than anything). You can tell from my body language in this picture that I am intimidated by my horse. You don’t hear me yell at her, or see me again get behind her driveline and make her canter. I did – and I made sure to end on a good note.
On another note… she LOVES working with trot poles! I would absolutely love to find her former owner (most likely a dressage rider) and find out what her training included. She becomes a different horse when she sees them – it’s obvious she is eager to work and enjoys it.
On the lunging issue - any tips from you horse-lovers out there? I don’t consider Kona to be dangerous – she has NEVER displayed aggression toward people. The refusals are just bratty, but I don’t want her to fall into the habit of bossing me.
Here’s what the lovely scene looked like:
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Check out her post this week!
We’re a day early, but play along!
It wasn’t me who cleared the dining room table by brushing the crumbs onto the floor.
It wasn’t me who handed the kiddo my vanilla frappucino on the way home so he’d quit hollering.
It wouldn’t have been me who started signing to freak the mall survey guy out so he wouldn’t ask the list of questions.
And I certainly didn’t polish off a whole bag of white cheddar popcorn during Itty Bit’s naptime.
Not me who bought a spinning light-up remote control car for my two-year-old because I wanted to play with it...
It couldn’t have been me who started patting the little guy’s mouth so his whining turned into Indian whoops ~ in the store ~ LOUDLY.
And it certainly isn’t MY kid who has been sitting in his high chair for the last hour with veggie puffs and Jay Jay the Jet Plane…
(this little NOT ME better go get him into the bathtub)
The seller's friend warned us repeatedly not to let him rub on us.
I kind of took it with a "yeah, yeah, uh-huh" (I'll admit I like an affectionate horse).
She said again, "don't let him rub his head on you".
So I went up to meet him and the first thing he did was start to rub on my arm.
"Don't let him do that!"
Apparently, Bogey had gotten too friendly... with a bridle on.
The metal had torn into the teenager's upper arm and left a nasty scar.
Now, my horse doesn't usually rub. She's super about respecting your space. The most she'll do is put her head down and lean into your touch.
Cassie on the other hand... is all horse.
She swings her head around to look at things - without giving a thought about what might be in the way (like say... YOUR head). So you can't be too subtle with her. She gets pushed away and swatted frequently when she gets a bit too close. Not a mean girl at all, but can leave a mark when she's not paying attention.
She had me trapped yesterday. Got curious about that little bag of carrots in my hand. And probably thought the one in Itty Bit's hand would be an easy score.
Here she is making sure I can't get away. Good thing she's not aggressive - how much of a chance would I stand against a horse built like her???
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Uhh, what swooping thing? That bird?
No, that's a bat.
But that's not why I ran inside.
I ran inside because I remembered that I had one of those stories.
About a bat.
And I needed to write it out before the post slipped away into Mommy Brain.
You know the kind of story.
They were TERRIFYING at the time, then gradually you begin to join in when others chuckle at the retelling.
Till it's almost as funny to you as it seems to be to everyone else.
Here's the scene:
I'm at deaf camp (yeah, they have a camp for everyone these days, don't they?)
I'm 10-11 years old and a really small kid
Though I have a big mouth on me, I'm not overly brave about all things camping.
Especially not the fact that the girls bathroom is down a trail from the cabin.
And little Miss Mini-Bladder is dreading the night she wakes up and has to take that walk.
So it's something like 2am, pitch black outside except for the scattered orange lights on the buildings. I gather my courage and step trembling onto the dirt path.
I admit that if they'd had laundry, I would have just peed in my undies right there. Except they didn't. And no one wants to hang around the kid whose backpack smells like pee.
I digress. All is quiet at the camp. I scurry to the bathroom and push the big door open. It is so dim inside, that when I close the stall door I am almost completely in the dark. Through my hearing-aid, the few sounds I hear are jarring. The loud door hinge protesting the early morning intrusion, the toilet roaring with the flush, the water pounding into the sink with enough force to spray everywhere.
I look strange in the mirror. Everything has an orange hue and the shadows make me look paler than usual. Suddenly I see something.
A flash of movement in the mirror from behind me.
I am suddenly terrified.
I have no idea who/what it is, but I am certain it is not earthly.
So I let out an unearthly scream.
Raw and loud, it floods my hearing-aid and rattles my head.
There is nothing behind me.
My heart is pounding and my chest feels tight.
Then again. From the corner of my eye.
It is airborne, speeding directly toward me.
It doesn't register. I am shrieking again and whirling to track its flight.
Again, the beast divebombs me from the left, then heads to the safety of the rafters.
Through my panic, its identity is finally clear.
I am in this dark freezing bathroom with a bat.
This does nothing for my panic - instead I flee to the door and slam against it.
Instead of cool air and sweet freedom, I am greeted with a bone-cracking rebuff.
I am stuck in this place.
I turn locate my enemy. He is hiding in the rafters.
I bolt across the room to the other wall and clamber atop the benches.
I stand on the tips of my toes and attempt to reach the windows.
They are too high.
They are open. Why doesn't this freaky thing just FLY OUT?!?
I begin to scream.
Over and over again.
The reality of the situation begins to fall into place.
I am too little to reach the windows to climb out.
I would surely break my neck on the dismount if I could.
It is far too freezing to stay in the bathroom much longer in my pajamas.
My screaming is getting me nowhere... this is a deaf camp. Even the counselors can't hear.
I start to cry. Scared I-want-my-mom-cry. But I can't close my eyes. The bat might come at me again. It's hard to cry with your eyes propped open.
By now I'm praying. Out loud.
I gather myself for one final assault on the door. I hurtle all measly 72 pounds of me at it and am rewarded with a groaning budge. A good smack and another budge.
I finally am outside - where the air feels strangely warmer.
Pampers never looked so good...
Isn't it frustrating that you find the CUTEST clothes for your kiddo... right after they're too big for them? Case in point: there are a million infant cowboy outfits now.
I found exactly ONE before Itty Bit was born.
Well, now that we've been introduced to Itty Bit and the gotten used to the idea that he's a TRACTOR man - his closet contains a decent number of John Deere items.
Here are his first three scores from Etsy:
Here's the scoop:
The first one was super cute - and still fits the kiddo. The official John Deere print is priceless.
The second one is SO vivid! The original shipment was actually lost in the mail, but the seller immediately sent another one. The tractor is bigger on the front, but I love that it is repeated on the back in a smaller size! It has not faded one bit.
The third one is one of my favorites. And you won't know why unless you come over or get one of your own. This is hands-down the softest shirt I have ever put on my kid. It has faded a bit (check out the fresh pictures on Etsy), but is an insane combination of soft and wrinkle-resistant. It's organic to boot.
A little secret is that most of these sellers include a little something extra in your shipment. I got some great notecards from giltgoods and marching ants magnets from Jaime (previous post).
I think all three of the above t-shirts started out as listings for onesies. Most sellers are delighted to make another size. I've gotten custom colors too and more choices than are originally advertised. It's like being the boss of your own little boutique!
ps. don't tell Mr. Daddy that I've already got another shirt on order for the little guy...
Thursday, September 18, 2008
One of my very favorites was a custom order of refrigerator scrapbooks from Jaime. They are made from altered tins.
“Altered tins” you say???
You know those purse-size mint tins? This cool mom orders them directly and turns her creativity loose on them. She adds her scrapbooking skills and creates mini photo-albums.
“Gotta see it” you say?
Here’s the one for my sweet niece with her affectionate nickname:
She searched her local stores and offered to order cherry paper. She found the perfect combination – then I threw a wrench in it. I asked for matching magnets. She found a little cherry stamp and did them all by hand. Can you say ADORABLE?
Here are her pictures of an additional one currently listed:
Anyway, it was a great experience meeting someone (who I still keep in touch with!) who was creative and willing to go the extra mile. Stay tuned for more Etsy finds!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
(yes, those are pliers in his hand... don't ask)
I really did.
I'm only popular for so long. Until my kid figures out that is not cool to dance with Mom. But for now, I'll put Toby Keith on and spin him around and around. And kiss his rosy cheeks while he half-laughing resists.
This little elf is mine. Sleep can wait.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I’m still kicking myself because I’m missing one more picture.
A few weeks ago (okay, seven to be exact), I was the lucky recipient of a great giveaway. Stacy is way cool and she manages to showcase her sewing/jewelry/cooking/photography/cute kids without being obnoxiously braggy. I love that she has her own sense of style and packs some serious wit into those blog posts.
So I was delighted to learn that I was the lucky winner of this:
I had been in the process of deciding whether or not to keep shelling out for that outrageously expensive moisturizer at the department store (one of my few luxuries remaining from pre-mommyhood), or find something cheaper.
To be honest, my decision was less about money than the salespeople who were getting a bit too snobbish for my taste (I mean, come on… you are all dolled up in your white little lab coat and are looking down on ME? I’m the one in jeans who gets to hang out at the mall with my precious kiddo at 2 o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. You just aren’t gonna make me feel bad about that. No offense meant to you NICE salespeople out there).
I wasn’t too keen on going back to Proactiv. I hate being in some kind of program where you get stuff in the mail before or after you need it – you either end up with a huge stash or running out.
I have combination/sensitive skin. The worst type (as solemnly pronounced by the pageant administrator – who also happened to be a Clarins rep).
My favorite in the Skin Medica was the Rejuvenative Moisturizer - I found that I had really been missing the extreme moisture. All those “sensitive skin” ones are pretty thin or medicated to the point of being oily. This stuff rocked. It was a treat to feel like I was doing something good for my skin (which is suddenly deciding to show my age… Is that when you hit your thirties or when you have a baby, or both?)
The exfoliant is totally different. You apply it to DRY skin – it is wax based and will ball up and remove the yuckies on the surface that way. Leaves your skin almost waterproof when you’re done!
I have to admit I haven’t tried the sun defense yet. But in MY defense… there hasn’t been much of a need lately!
So a big Thank You to Stacy for the giveaway. Check out her website…
Stay tuned for more online scores this week!
Monday, September 15, 2008
The kid finally made it to the DL yesterday... with one giant bonky-bonk and a whole lotta ruckus.
He snuck up Mr. Daddy's quad ramps into the back of the truck. Successfully.
Then attempted to navigate his way back down the ramps. Unsuccessfully.
Mr. Daddy said that he took about one step on the ramp, then tumbled down onto the gravel.
I turned in time to see Mr. Daddy pick up a screaming Itty Bit and wasn't quite prepared for the close-up.
He had one mother of a goose egg - complete with purple bruising and some cuts on his forehead and cheek. He cried like the dickens (which is heartbreaking to hear from a normally tough kid who brushes off a lot of owies).
Yeah, I'm a real problem-solver.
For some reason, the only thing I could think of that would distract him was to show him his bonky-bonk in the mirror. So off we raced to the bathroom counter where Itty Bit stared in quiet astonishment at his newly colored face.
"Yes, honey. That was a big bonky-bonk"
"Yeah" "Red Truck Fall Down BIG Bonk Rocks"
"I'm so sorry. Let's pray that Jesus heals it"
"Dear Jesus, please heal Tristan's bonky-bonk and make it not hurt anymore"
The "yeah"s and "Amen" were said with a bit of a trembling lip, but he was so wistfully earnest, it was heartwarming.
Looking back... we've been awfully blessed. By his age, I had already had a broken wrist and my fair share of klutzy injuries. For this knot on his head to be blogworthy - it makes me grateful that it isn't worse.
He finished it off by insisting on a bandaid. On his hand... Go figure?
(and, no, that wet stuff on his face isn't from two sips of Mountain Dew... are you kidding me?!? A good mom would never give her crying injured kid something like that, right?)
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
This is Itty Bit picking apples in our backyard. The heartwarming moment came next when Kona very carefully plucked them from his outstretched hands.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
So farewell to the cute pj's.
Reminded me of the recent shopping trip with my mother when I was dumbfounded by a preemie sized onesie.
Until I realized that MY KID used to fit in one of those.
The hospital didn't even have something small enough for him. He swam in the NICU standard issue sleeper.
The funny irony is that while I was pregnant, Mr. Daddy brought home exactly ONE outfit for the new baby.
It was an adorable little suit - complete with a tie and jacket. My heart silently sank when I saw the tag... "preemie". The obstetrician had already chided me for getting so big with 2 months left to go, so I was not expecting a baby on the small side. I thanked Mr. Daddy and sadly figured we wouldn't be able to fit our kiddo in the outfit.
As it turns out... even that preemie outfit was a bit big on the little guy.
Take a peek at the little guy, then and now: