bird murderer!

I’m not sure if I ever mentioned that our super nice neighbors moved…last November. The ones who made us food when Kellan was born, the wife who took care of the dead bird because I was like. OMG. DEAD BIRD. And she was all, Um. Yah. And then dealt with it without me even knowing.

Anyway, we were really sad about them moving. Really sad. Even more so when the new neighbors moved in. I made them muffins. We tried to be nice. The wife was pretty much something that rhymes with itchy…always with a scowl on her face, never saying a word to us, never waving. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

So, we didn’t – and we haven’t – really made any further attempts to be friends.

And then last night? I was in the front yard/driveway with Kellan and she came outside and started talking to me. Out of nowhere.

I was just as confused as you are about this random act of niceness.

I’m still not sure what I did to be lucky enough to be graced with her smile.

The conversation started out okay….pretty normal stuff that moms talk about….sleeping, potty training…pre-school (she has three boys, one who is about to be in 1st grade, one in pre-school, one who is 4 months old).

Then it took an unexpected turn. A turn I had no chance to prepare myself for.

A bird flew by their roof and she was all, “Oh, yah. I have someone coming out tomorrow to block off their way in. They built a nest inside our roof. The babies are SO ANNOYING. Once mama bird can’t get in…” she trailed off…

Hear me, people. It took everything I had to inconspicuously scoop my jaw off the pavement and not say what was running through my head (Bird murderer!). I’m pretty sure my face gave me away because she quickly was like, “they aren’t nice birds, Starlings, so, oh well.”

Oh well?

OH WELL???

What is wrong with you? Who does that? What kind of lesson are you teaching your children? Something is irritating me, so I’m just going to kill it. Oh well.

Now I feel like an accomplice to her awful plan because I know it’s happening and I’m not doing anything to stop it.

I’m sure there is a more humane way to handle this, we live in Boulder for crying out loud, the place where they suck up prairie dogs with a vacuum that’s attached to a tank thing with padded walls and relocate them.

I’m totally serious.

Her method? Heartless. Cop out. Never something I would do.

I have no idea why she decided to come out and talk to me and tell me it’s macaroni and cheese night and how parenting only gets so much worse after you get past the two-to-one nap transition.

Question? If it’s so terrible, why didn’t you stop after the first one?

Follow up question? Why are we even still talking?

She acted more annoyed by her kids than she did happy to have them. She always acts that way, actually. The second I started paying attention to them as they started showing me rocks, they latched into me like white on rice.

That makes me sad. Sad for the poor baby birds. Sad for her kids. Sad for her husband, who is actually super nice. Ten to one his favorite drink is the one that allows him to tune her out.

All of this is exactly why we will never be friends.

I mean, what if she starts to think *I’m* irritating?

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.

headaches and dreams and help

This zero ability to blog is really sad.

I am…really tired. My hormones are changing again…it happens every few months. I guess my body is trying to eventually ovulate? TMI, probably. I had to fend off a migraine on Saturday…thankfully I’m learning how to catch and knock them out while they are still a headache behind my eye…but that’s the warning flag. The pounding knife sensation in that location.

Don’t ask me why but 500mg of Tylenol and a plain Coke is what works. It’s kind of disgusting, but it gets the job done. And it has to be a plain Coca-Cola. Nothing else works. It must have some kind of secret ingredient because it is not just the caffeine…coffee doesn’t help me when it comes to migraines.

I can’t even believe I have to deal with migraines, period.

Oh! Random question. If you can remember, if you had dreams about having a baby before you got pregnant and in the dream, the baby ended up being a boy or a girl, did real life match the dream once you actually got pregnant and had your child? I’ve had two such dreams so far and each time the baby’s sex was the same….

Also? Huge favor?

Kellan has been entered into (yet another) photo contest. It’s a one week voting window, so I won’t have to bother you for very long…but it would be awesome of he won! The ultimate prize is getting on the cover of Parents magazine. That’d be neat. And I would have a reaaalllly long thank you card list…of you all voted.

Here is the link to his picture.

And just so you know, he’s definitely the cutest one. I already checked the competition.

I have no idea where his patience comes from

This kid….we were checking out the grocery store the other day and our cashier said, “Wow. he is SO patient!”

And I looked at Kellan, who was content and just happily watching everything that was going on, and I was just like, “You know, he really is.”

And I’m really not. Like, reaaalllllly not. Nor is Tim.

Recessive patience gene?

I’m not sure if this is typical 13-almost-14-month-old behavior but the weekend, Kellan woke up at 6:30, had breakfast, played, fought a nap – we tried to nap at 9 and I gave up around 9:35 because he kept yelling “dinosaur!”

So, we walked over to the neighborhood park to see the dinosaur and play. I thought maybe he would fall asleep in the stroller, but he didn’t, so we decided to run errands, hoping he would fall asleep in the car.

He didn’t.

We finally made it home around 12:45 and he crashed. We were begging him to stay awake most of the way home because if he falls asleep in the car, there is no picking him up and transferring him to a bed. Once he wakes up from a car nap, be it five minutes or forty five, he is UP.

But, all morning long he was awake and happy, everywhere we went. Zero complaint. Zero fuss.

What a great kid. I am so, so thankful for him.

We are off on another secret mission today. To be revealed eventually….

Until then, check out my latest post on What to Expect? It’s about how Tim forgot to feed Kellan. Definitely worth an extra few minutes.

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.

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.

it’s the giant diarrhea poo that gets you

We have had a ridiculous amount of sickness in our house this year.

And I don’t like it.

I’m not used to being sick or getting sick or dealing with SICK.

Tim pretty much has to have a 104 degree fever before I relent and become sympathetic. I know. My sympathy bone isn’t very strong. It’s a work in progress.

When it comes to Kellan being sick, I’m always sympathetic and patient and all the things a mom should be (snot rag, barf catcher, all night nurse). It’s kind of disgusting to be able to add being both thrown up on and pooped on to my list of life achievements, but there it is.

The thing that took me by surprise the most is that when those things happen, I’m not grossed out. It’s like that queasy, gag reflex, freak out reaction gets put into a closet in my brain and I just go to work and do whatever needs to be done. And here’s the kicker – I do it in a completely calm state. I don’t even think about the actual reality that is warm barf running down my arms.

I guess that’s what happens when you become a mom. I would end that sentence with a question mark but there really is no point in doing so. That IS what happens. At least in my case.

Since the winter started, we (as in Kellan) have had probably three colds, two (possibly three…one kind of stopped and re-started with a few days respite in between) stomach bugs, a random virus that came with a fever and then turned into a cold, and herpangina. And probably a few other things I can’t remember.

O.M.G.

I don’t think I’ve had that much sickness in my entire life.

The h-e-double hockey sticks?!

Suffice all of this sickness to say, I’ve learned how to decontaminate. And how to get at least a few hours of sleep with a kid-turned-snot-factory.

Our routine for colds goes something like this:

Constant-on cool mist humidifier in the room where he sleeps.

Roll up towels to elevate the top part of the bed to allow gravity to assist in the snot drainage.

Bulb syringe snot evacuation and then squirt saline spray in his nose throughout the day.

At night, Tim turns the shower on as hot as it will go and sits in the bathroom with Kellan for fifteen or so minutes, with a towel blocking the crack under the door to keep it as steamy as possible. Then he takes a bath in the steamed room to give him extra steam time.

Post bath it’s more bulb syringe time (we tried Nose Frida…didn’t work as well/Kellan freaked out). Saline spray. Baby Vicks on his feet and then cover with socks. Keep the humidifier going and if he seems like he is in pain, Tylenol.

I really think colds are the worst. When Kellan can’t breathe, he wakes up AT ALL HOURS. If he has a stomach bug, at least he sleeps….until his stomach starts hurting and he wakes up crying and then takes the most giant, smelly diarrhea poo that no diaper will ever – ever – possibly contain, so much so that the poo has defied gravity and traveled all the way up to his neck in the span of the five seconds it takes you to realize what is happening and pick him up. So, now, we both require a complete outfit change and a bedding swap out and by the time everything is all said and done, everyone is wide awake and probably needs a shower. At 2am.

Oy.