Tuesday, December 31, 2013

On Facebook

And just like that, two weeks is gone and The Judy is leaving. I will miss her for many reasons, the least of which being that she takes out the garbage daily, washes and FOLDS laundry, and makes the bed. That's a good woman.

Dear Wendy's,

Thank you for furthering my child's musical education by including a recorder in her kid's meal. Because it's not annoying at all.

Your Friend,

The Kid: So. Mama. I was talking to that baby and he said he wants to go back to the hospital.

Me: Hey, we gotta name your elf.
The Kid: I already told you. His name is Crappy

Shopping for nursing bras at Target and The Kid speaks up loudly enough for the whole store to hear: Mama, we're going to need a bigger size. Your giant nipples won't fit in these.

My neighbor, who I see 2-3 Times/week saw me with TKPD today and asked me where I'd gotten him. Um. Out of my used-to-be-giant belly, dude. His reply? "You was pregnant? Well, sheee-it..."

The Kid put her ear up next to TKPD's head:

Me: What are you doing?
The Kid: Well, I'm trying to hear the ocean. Obviously.

Forget giving gifts at baby showers. The very best gift you can give a new mother who has other children at home is to come and pick up those older kids and take them to the park (or somewhere comprable). For real. 

The Kid to the Salvation Army bell ringer: You're doing a good job with that bell! But, I think I can do better. So. It's my turn now, ok?

If yesterday I needed coffee, this morning, I need a good, stiff drink.

Gave The Kid a ham, cheese, and cracker plate for lunch. I just looked over to find her rubbing the ham in her hair and on her face. When I asked her what she was doing she said, "Well, I'm gonna make friends with a bunch of dogs."

Me: What should we get daddy for Christmas?
The Kid: Something really, really nice. Like a donkey costume.

Two days before Christmas and I'm trying my hand at ham fried rice for the first time. And I can only think one thing: FA-RA-RA-RA-RA-RA-RA-RA-RAAAAAA!

This is the hardest part of the day...The Boy has his fussy time. And all I can think about is how everyone else is getting ready to sleep while I look forward to a night where the longest I'll sleep in one stretch is 2 hours. And I have to keep repeating to myself, "This will not last forever. It will not last forever. I will sleep again someday."

What I really want for Christmas: a 3-year-old who actually listens and obeys. Not all the time, because I know that's TOTALLY unrealistic. But maybe like two or three times a day...without her giving an excuse...and without whining. It'd be a Christmas miracle!

When I'm in charge, the minute you have a second child, you will also have the option to sprout a third arm. Because I could use AT LEAST one more...if not two.

Being projectile vomited on at 3 am? AWESOMEST. THING. EVER.

The Kid to The Boy (as he shall be known henceforth) while he was screaming this morning: Awwww! Poor little Tater Tot. Why does he cry?

Set out this morning trying to do a little de-junking. Unfortunately, everything I pull out comes with a "well, we can't get rid of this because...". This may or may not require third party intervention.

If last night was any indication, we've survived our first growth spurt. It sucked. EVERY. SINGLE. MINUTE. OF. IT. In other news, nine days till Christmas and we still don't have a Christmas tree.

If I wasn't Mormon, today would be the day where I'd drive myself down to Starbucks and get the biggest coffee money could buy. Good grief, but being up with a baby is for those who are MUCH younger than me (or those who don't have grandma sleep patterns).

Heard Feliz Navidad for the first time this Christmas season. If that doesn't put you in the Christmas spirit, I don't know what will. Ole!

Feeding a baby in the middle of the night = at least an extra 1.5 hours daily on Pinterest. And that = 75 more pins that I probably will never even try. And thus it must be concluded that feeding a baby is bad for my self esteem.

All I want for Christmas is a car with automatic locks...especially when I have to heft a car seat and buckle in two kids on opposite sides of the car.

TKPD had an unusually fussy day yesterday, much to The Kid's consternation. She grabbed the Netflix streaming iPad and made for the stairs saying, "That baby needs to be quiet. I can't hear my favorite shows."

Watching the NCAA bowl prediction show and there's a shot of the national championship trophy:

The Kid: Oh, my word! That is gorgeous. It is just beautiful. Maybe we can get that for our Christmas tree.

Breastfeeding in public = not as easy as other people make it look.

Had a dream last night that I was invited to attend a school for physically and intellectually advanced adults. What I didn't know was that my role was basically that of Seabuscuit - I was there to bolster everyone else's confidence by being the slow, dumb one. What a nightmare.

Me: Hey, go get your seat ready and I'll bring you some dinner.
The Kid: Mama, tonight I will be eating in my rocket ship.

All by myself (with two kids)...don't wanna be all by my-seeylf (with two kids) anymore...

In other news, cramps and a baby that poops his pants EVERY SINGLE time he eats...both of those are for the birds.

And just like that, two weeks is gone and The Judy is leaving. I will miss her for many reasons, the least of which being that she takes out the garbage daily, washes and FOLDS laundry, and makes the bed. That's a good woman.

The Kid was running around outside in her undies:

Me: hey, you can't just run around outside naked, dude.
The Kid: But I'm covering up my nipples, so it's ok.

I believe that at the tender age of 10 days old, TKPD has already learned an important and vital survival skill: never cry within hearing range of The Kid or you will find yourself with a binkie being shoved in your face. Whether you want it/need it or not.

The Kid: Why do I have a mole on my hand?
Me: Because that's the way God made you.
The Kid: Well, God shouldn't have done that.

Grandma Beryl's caramel corn and bon bons done in the style of Aunt Chris = Christmas in my mouth.

Dear People Who Put Up Christmas Lights:

Thank you so much for making my holiday better. I love driving by your houses and seeing your masterpieces. And I glory in the fact that I didn't have to lift a finger to make it so nor do I have to participate in the clean up. Winning!

Your Friend,

Fine. I admit it. I'm totally that girl who's all like, "I'm not shopping on Black Friday because there are too many people out and blah blah blah..." And then I sometimes feel superior. But then I'm also the idiot who is out on December 23rd with two little kids in tow, fighting just to get in line at Target. Note to self: all shopping to be done by December 20th next year (and when I say that, I mean ALL of it - stocking stuffers included).

Sitting down to wrap presents...aaaaaaaaand no tape. None. Not in the entire house. Because the beloved 3-year-old has wrapped ALL OF IT it around the legs of the chair in the corner sometime within the last six months without you noticing. Assessment: FAIL.

Husband was chatting while receiving a medical check up compliments of Dr. The Kid and her new medical bag when Dr. The Kid shoved the thermometer in his mouth:

The Kid: I put that in there so he can't speak to me.
Me: Because the best patients are those who don't talk back.
The Kid: That's right, mommy. That's right.

The Kid keeps crashing her new bike but turns to me and says, " Well, I'd be a good biker but my bike keeps falling out under my bum."

That's right. Blame the equipment. Good thinking, daughter-o-mine.

Dear People at the Mall,

My dressing my baby in a hat with a beard on it in no way suggests my interest in the Duck Dynasty nonsense that's going on. Its JUST A HAT. We're not making a political statement, just a fashion statement. And we've obviously succeeded.

Your friend, Erin

The Kid: Are you going to take a bath, too?
Me: Naw, man, just you and Tater.
The Kid: But mama! You stink!

Justs sewed myself up a Moby Wrap. Because apparently my goal in life is to be a hippie.

Pacifiers, car keys, and remote controls...all things that should come with those locator alert dealies.

It is apparently my lot in life to have the pukiest (that's a word, right?) babies on the face of the planet. FOR. THE. LOVE.

Today would have been Dad's 70th birthday. I dreamt about him last night and woke up missing him. I think I'll make some raspberry icebox cake in his honor.

I was feeling quite smug because after five weeks of changing a baby boy's diaper and I hadn't been peed on once. Well...it was nice while it lasted.

I have to say it: I am 100% against man leggings. Especially metallic ones. Sorry, Lenny Kravitz.

When The Kid coughs, I almost always say, "Oh, my goodness!" So, as she's eating spaghetti the other day, she started to cough:

The Kid: This spaghetti is making me goodness.
Me: You mean it's making you cough.
The Kid: No, it's making me goodness.

I'm sorry, but I just can't roll with a hot wing sauce where the first ingredient is vinegar. Hooters says no and since Hooters is so high class, I follow their lead in all things. Except those orange shorts. Can't roll that way.
If this past week is any indication, looks like we're dealing with Colicy Baby Part Two. Oy vey! I didn't do so well with Part One and fear for my sanity over the next sixish weeks. Guess it's time to just plug in my iPod and let 'em at it.

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