dog shaming

I was just going to put this on Instagram and leave it at that, but then I thought to myself, no. This needs more attention.

**And where do you mommy blogger types find the time? Days just bleed into each other and when, exactly, am I supposed to write something coherent**

So, anyway, we have kind of started a new after dinner routine where we take Kellan for a ride in his wagon to get the mail and then we all walk to the park.

I say we all walk to the park because at the mailboxes – community ones, people. It’s why Coloradans are so healthy. Our mail is a quarter mile away – Kellan decides he wants nothing to do with the wagon and he would rather walk, holding my hand the whole time or walking short distances from Tim or me to the other person. Then we play at the park and walk home.

The whole thing takes maybe 20-30 minutes, tops.

Before yesterday, we would leave the dogs out. They had free roaming privileges around the house, because we wouldn’t be gone long.

Apparently that is not an option anymore.

Last night, when we walked into the house, we were greeted by a pile of leaves and branches from a plant.

And not just any pile. These pieces had all been meticulously placed in the family room, perfectly visible from any door we entered.

Okay, you guys. The plant? It lives in the computer room. There is a very long hallway that separates the family room from the computer room. A long hallway with an offshoot to a bathroom along with a potential detour to upstairs.

So, I beg the question, what, exactly, was the thought process, here, girls?

Let’s be honest, Maddie and Lexi. If you just wanted to destroy a plant, then I’d imagine you would sit at the plant and do that.

Why even bother going through the effort of carrying, ever so delicately, each and every piece alllllllll the way down the hallway and into the family room and drop them into a pile?

Over and over and over again?

There was not a single, solitary, leaf on the path between the plant in the computer room and the pile in the family room

When we came through the garage door and Maddie saw the look on Tim’s face, she high tailed it out into the garage, squeezing by just before the door closed automatically (it’s a heavy door that doesn’t stay open unless propped). She was so stealthy that Tim had no idea she even went out. He was so busy trying to get to Lexi, he was certain Maddie was with her until I was all, “She’s in the garage.”

And that she was, hiding behind the cars.

After Tim got her back inside, she ran upstairs and tried to hide in the bedroom.

Obviously, she was well aware she had made an error with her choices while we were gone.

Lexi, thinking she was off scott free, played dumb like, “I was so good! That mess definitely wasn’t me!”

And then we checked her mouth and it was full of dirt.

That little giveaway resulted in her immediately rolling over onto her back, legs in the air, full on submission.

I’m guessing their brains went something like, “Um. Hello? You’re supposed to take me with you. And you didn’t. So, now I’m stuck here while you’re out there in nature. You know what else is nature? This plant right here. And I’m gonna take pieces of this plant and put allllll of the nature in a big ass pile so you see what I’m talking about when you get home. You go into nature, YOU TAKE ME WITH YOU.”

The sign says: We were mad mommy and daddy went for a walk without us, so we had the gall to destroy the plant and put it in the family room. I’m sure mommy and daddy got the message. Maddie & Lexi

The best part? As Tim was giving the dogs the what for, half laughing, Kellan was sitting in the kitchen, yelling like a backseat driver as many dog commands as he could remember, “Yesth! Sit! Yesth! Out! Stay! Sit!”

sold a bag of…beans

I had dinner at a friend’s house the other night. It was just Kellan and me, along with my friend, her husband and their kid, who is about 6-7 months older than Kellan.

None of that is really all that important to the story, other than to know that we were all there together and that my friend is just as type A as me. Also, she does not like messes. AT ALL. I cannot stress that enough. NO MESS or else she goes crazy.

Kellan is a super messy eater. I mean, a bib is a requirement or else a full on outfit change will be needed. Sometimes a bib cannot even contain the mess and we have to put on a new outfit despite our best efforts. I have found a pea inside of his belly button and cheese in his diaper, and yogurt dries on body parts like cement – FYI.

My friend’s child takes after her mother. The bib? Just for decoration. If a teeny tiny spill happens, the kid will not stop talking about it until they can clean it up. They as in the child.

During dinner, their kid did not hesitate to point out all the bits and pieces and giant chunks of food that Kellan had dropped thrown onto the floor.

We had lasagna, so you can imagine what that was like for He Who Has Never Eaten Lasagna…look at all the layers. of. fun!

It was really good lasagna, so I have no idea why Kellan thought it was better on the floor…oh. Wait. Food is not just for eating when you’re a child. I am not sure when the switch happens in your brain that says DO NOT WASTE versus the one that’s all, “Hey! Neat! Did you hear the noise that noodle made when it hit the floor?! I wonder what broccoli sounds like?” The second one sounds like it would be way more fun, actually.

After dinner and the hose down of Kellan and a three foot perimeter around his high chair – which wouldn’t have been *that* messy, except….when my friend asked if I could bring his high chair, I was really proud of myself for remembering to put it in the car. And then when we sat down to eat, I went to grab the tray that attaches to the….oh. The tray. That is still at my house. The thing that contains a lot of the mess. Yah. Forgot it.

So, right. After dinner, my friend’s husband started showing me all of these tiny tomato plants that he was growing. When I say tiny I mean each was a little dirt ball had one thin, frail green shoot poking out. The dirt was in the form of a tiny pot…except without the actual pot. I’m not really sure how that all works but it is an important detail to remember: press formed dirt, no walls to contain it.

My friend is not fond of these plants because apparently they take over the house every spring and are dead before summer is over.

He had nine of the tomato plants on a plate that he had placed on a window sill behind their couch in the family room. I wasn’t paying any attention to them, really. My friend had left the room for a minute and I was sitting on the floor, also in the family room, playing with Kellan.

And then it happened.

Friend’s husband, who was sitting on the couch, picked up the plate of tiny plants – without pots – and started looking at them and then proudly holding them up, as if on display, all, “I have nine of these. I plan on sharing them with….”

He never got the rest out. It’s like all of a sudden one of those dirt pods realized it no longer had to confirm to its shape and it was all, “FREEDOM!”

And then it spontaneously combusted.

He looked up at me, frozen, still holding the plate, like “What. Just. Happened?”

I started laughing all, “Guess you only have eight to share, now.”

That must have jump started his brain because he quickly started picking pieces of dirt off of himself and the couch, saying “don’t tell her! I don’t want to get in trouble!”

My friend comes back and joins us at about that time and I tried to stop laughing and keep the secret. I really did.

But…seeing her sit on the floor with me, her back to ‘the incident’ – completely oblivious to her husband behind us, frantically picking up dirt, trying to be discrete at the same time, was too much.

I lost it. I was laughing without being able to explain why while my friend is staring at me all, “What is so funny?”

Finally, her husband fessed up and told her he made a mess, because I was unable to contain myself.

Sorry about that, husband to the type A wife. I tried.

Then, as I was leaving, I am treated to a story about beans. Apparently, during a recent Whole Foods shopping trip, friend’s husband decided he wanted a bag of a 15-bean mix from the bulk department. You know, the self serve section where you control the amount of product you buy?

Except, he had a slight issue with that concept and ended up with waaaaaay too many beans. So many beans he had a third of a gallon ziplock bag full leftover that he had no idea what to do with.

So, what’s a man to do who had already offered me bean soup with dinner (I thought he was joking) and whose wife had tisk-tisked the fact that they bought entirely too many beans and what are we going to do with all of these?!

I’ll give them away, he says.

As I was handed leftover lasagna to go, I also had a bag of beans shoved into my arms while I’m told of a great 15 bean soup to make and the husband saying, “See? I told you we’d get rid of them!”

Way to sell it, buddy. I’m super excited about this bag of beans, now.

My friend chimes in all, “Yah! I’ll send you the recipe! You can even put a ham cock in it!”

A……what?

I look at her and then look at her husband, who is looking at me like another plant pod had just exploded.

“Ham hock, honey. It’s ham HOCK.”

*****
And a footnote: I text her later all, “I was laughing about the ham cock all the way home.”

Her response?

Yah…I guess I don’t know my meat.

hula hooping

Guess what I dod this past weekend?

I totally hula hopped in Babies R Us.

While I was shopping for a myriad of things, Kellan and Tim were busy looking ridiculously cute doing this:

And then I saw them.

The hula hoops.

And they were just begging to be hulaed, you guys.

I used to be an excellent hula hooper….when I was probably seven.

I didn’t let that little fact and giant span of time stop me. I whipped one out and started trying to hula hoop in the middle of an aisle. Over and over and over. Hula hula hula…down to the floor. Hula hula…floor. Hula. Floor. Hula. Floor.

Kellan was staring up at me like whhhaaat are you doing??

Tim was all, “Judging by your face, that looks painful.”

Me, between attempts: It’s not painful! I’m concentrating!

Tim: Exactly.

End scene.

PS: I have zero hesitation to embarrass myself – and everyone around me – when there is a goal I want to accomplish. And yes, I did finally get the hip action rhythm down and successfully hula hoop.

PPS: If you want an amazing and cheap abdominal workout – buy a hula hoop. I guarantee you’ll feel it for days.

PPPS: Vote? Here is the link to his picture.

birthday boy

Just because I know this is imperative news for you: today is Tim’s birthday.

I have zero planned, other than a cake. I did that part right, at least.

He is super difficult to buy presents for because he doesn’t want anything small (read: inexpensive). He wants big things.

Expensive things like what, you ask?

Like a new camera + lenses (Nikon D600)

Or a GIANT television. I don’t even remember the brand or size. My memory says a Samsung and 60″ but I’m probably wrong…I really don’t pay attention to electronic desires other than to say, “send me a link with the EXACT thing you want.”

Or a deck in our backyard.

I have to admit, I want that last one, too.

So, suffice it to say his birthday gift is TBD because those things aren’t exactly cheap-o.

But now that I think about it, he did mention in passing that he needed new underwear…hmmm….

happy easter!

Okay…so…I’m sitting here with this chicken basket that my mom just handed to me and you’re saying I need it…but I’m not exactly sure why? Tell me again how this Easter egg hunt thing works?

I search for eggs that have been hidden and I put them where? In a basket?

Ohhhhhh! In my chicken basket!

(There are no actual egg hunting photos. Only a video. That I’ve yet to view)

Hey, look! An egg!

So, okay. I found an egg and I put it into my basket. What next….?

Wait…You say I get to keep it?! You’re joking right? Just pullin my diaper pins?….

No? You’re serious? It’s mine? This is shaping up to be the best day ever!

No worries, ‘rents. *I* can take it from here. I know exactly what to do. It’s time to shake-a shake-a shake-a the egg-a egg-a egg-a!

Thanks, Barnes and Noble! We just so happened to be in your store and heard an announcement about story time and an egg hunt! And kudos to your team for giving Kellan a few extra eggs since he only found a few before they were gone AND for getting something special for him afterwards since he was the only kid who didn’t win a raffle prize. This was his first official egg hunt ever and he had a blast!

Also? Good thing you had baskets available to purchase…we obviously were not prepared…as evidenced by the tag still hanging off the handle.

the grocery store takes on a whole new meaning with a kid

There are many, many, mannnnnny things that now make sense to me pre-child that are now crystal clear.

Like when I’m all, “Nobody touch me for five minutes! Including you, animals! I’m touched out. I’ve reached my maximum touchability. No more touching!”

Or how I told Tim the other day that the reason I think I’m so tired is because I am no longer able to zone out, Earth to Jessica style. I’m always ON. On on on on on. On.

The other day at the grocery store, I was pretty much running up and down the aisles, trying to get everything on my list. Kellan was ready to go and though he wasn’t crying, the urgency in his vocalizations and his throwing everything – toys, snacks, sippy cup, apple we had yet to purchase – out of the cart was enough to signal to me that the happy time meter was just about up.

Now, I always have to make a list when I buy groceries. Well, technically, this is nothing new. I’ve always made a list…who can remember a weeks worth of food plus weird random ingredients for a new recipe and household items?

If you’re all, Uh, ME. I can,” then you A: probably don’t have kids and/or B: may want to call somebody who tracks that kind of talent. You’d be a hot commodity.

Anyhow. Pre-Kellan, I would usually have the mental wherewithal to remember a few things not on the list that I had forgotten to write down.

Now?

If it isn’t on the list, it isn’t happening.

My brain is only partially paying attention to what I’m supposed to be grabbing off the shelf and mostly trying to make sure I pick up what Kellan decides should be on the ground, feed him a snack, oh, here, have some water…no? Well, here’s your toy…look! Balloon! You’re right!…No, we cannot grab glass jars from the shelf…wait. I forgot baby yogurt…Yes! A balloon again!….Here, have another cracker…please don’t throw the cracker on the ground…where did your toy go…why is your shirt wet?…Yes! Balloon!…I don’t know why the store puts balloons everywhere, either…what are we waving at?…oh! hiiiii giant stuffed animal on top of the dairy coolers (??)…what am I looking for again?….Your water? Ok, here it is….Where was I?…Right! Where is the yogurt…

And while all of that was happening, I overheard a mom who was wrangling her two kids say, “Just wait! Stop. Let me think for a minute.”

Before Kellan? I would have thought she was coo-coo.

Now?…I totally underst….where is your sock?…here, try playing with this….hi, balloon!…where is that damn yogurt?….

my parenting style isn’t winning me any popularity points

A quick hello to you guys! I wrote a super long post about mom friends and differing parenting styles and awkwardness on What to Expect and that pretty much exhausted my one long post a week quota, so….show a girl some love and click on over? I actually worked really hard on it, so, it really needs to be appreciated by those who know me best (you guys, duh).

And if any of my in real life mom friends read this? Please don’t take it personally. It isn’t directed at you. At all. I’m exercising my inner demons. Or something (Ace Ventura flashback…”I have ex-er-cised the demons!”)

In the meantime, this is my life, as of late.

And by “late” I mean a few hours ago.

Green hat, blue and white sweater, red snow pants, and brown shoes. We are stylin!

(It’s the end of winter and I refuse to buy anything new so that he is all cold weathermatchey-matchey. We all know he will wear said new outfit one to zero times in his entire life. So, yes, I realize he looks like a hobo, and yes, it was kind of on purpose, and no, I’m not really very concerned.)

a day in the life…

First? Happy 13 months, Kellan!!

Second?…..This:

Scene: Tim reading to Kellan on the bedroom floor, me on the bed, supervising.

Tim: A cow says moo. A sheep ::yawn:: A sheep says ::yaaaawwwwn:: A sheep says baa. Three ::yaaaaaawwwwwnnnnn::

Me: Can you not read without yawning?!?

Tim: Um, no. You know that. It’s a psychological problem.

Well, ok then.

****

Me: Kellan needs pants and socks and a sweater.

Tim: Did you lay them out?

Me: No. Just pick something. I have to go to the bathroom.

The next sounds I hear:

Drawer open, close.

Drawer open, close.

Tim, yelling from Kellan’s room while I am *trying* to pee in peace: Where are his pants?

Me, yelling back from the bathroom with the door open because I don’t even bother closing it anymore: Bottom right drawer…..

A minute goes by….

Tim: What sweater?

Me: Just pick one! Hell, have Kellan pick one!

I wash my hands, leave the bathroom, and find them downstairs, playing.

Tim looks at me, smiling, proud of himself for successfully dressing Kellan, and then…he sees my face.

He takes a second look. Sweater. Check. Pants. Check…and then it hits him.

He realizes why my face looks slightly perplexed.

Tim: I forgot the socks.

the starry lights penguin, wait-and-sneeze technique.

Kellan is sick.

Again.

I can’t even…I just…really? REALLY?!

REALLY?!?!?!!!

If you have any homeopathic, natural, grandma remedies for severe nasal congestion that is baby friendly, hit me with it. All of it. I’m desperate.

Des-per-ate.

I was awake at 10:30pm, 1:00am, 2, 3:15, 4:15, and finally 7:30, with a child who could. not. breathe.

We did all of our cold congestion relief steps, including a new one: eucalyptus oil in the water during the steam treatment (shower with hot water, closed door, etc).

Nothing seemed to help.

It was so bad, I had to sit him up in bed and bust out this bad boy – our starry lights projected on the ceiling penguin to distract Kellan (Tim’s idea, which worked) because he would just start crying and crying, completely distraught at the fact that he could not breathe, and, therefore, could not do his favorite comfort activity: nurse.

So, I would sit him up and turn on the penguin, which was immediately met with lots of over exuberant “whoas!” from Kellan (really, kid? At 2am?) along with him trying to say “stars” while I would wait for him to sneeze so I could wipe away the snot.

Also? Kellan is currently in an argument with the nasal aspirator, so using that without a severe meltdown isn’t an option. After the first few times, I didn’t really want to deal with another round of screaming, head turning, pushing everything away, tears and that really pitiful I-can’t-catch-my-breath cry, especially at two in the morning, which is why we went with the starry lights penguin, wait-and-sneeze technique.

At 4-whatever-time, Tim took Kellan into the bathroom for round two of the eucalyptus steam treatment while I tried to sleep a little before Tim brought him back to me for food train (our phrase for nursing) and sleep.

That got us to 7:30.

And now I’m trying to think of and do anything within the realm of possible to ensure tonight is way less snotty and sleep disruptive for everybody.

I’m tired, universe. I’m tired and I probably have lots of run-on sentences and everyone is over hearing about my oh woe is me problems.

All I want is one weekend that is illness free.

Is that really so much to ask?

Now, your turn: cold remedies.

Annnnnd go!

very funny, universe

So, remember how in my last post I was just DONE with sickness?

Hahaha universe. You’re so funny.

Turns out it was MY TURN last week, thank you migraine so awful I puked to the point of dry heaving and then a super terrible cold that lasted all weekend.

Migraines are the worst. I would never wish one on my worst enemy. In my WHY ME research, I learned that I’m part of the “lucky” one third of people who actually puke, versus just get nauseous, during a migraine.

Twirly fingers in the air.

Ok. I’m not going to talk about sickness anymore because I’m not about to anger the headache snot gods again.

Instead?

Go check out a pretty hilarious (I think), albeit true, post I wrote for What to Expect about baby milestones. Hint: friend?…or foe?

Let me know what you think, too!…if you don’t mind.

Mind you, my post went live on Valentine’s Day, but I was just informed it was there yesterday, so….my apologies on the tardiness of my relaying of said information.

Anyhow, Kellan and I are off on a secret mission today. More news about that….soon.