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?

random hello

Ahhhhh so what’s happened lately?

My brother came to visit. Kellan is now 15 months (!!!!!!) old and is teething like CRAZY. Drool everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Also, I have a multitude of projects going on, zero completed, and we’d really like to plant some flowers outside, but I always seem to kill them (the sun is apparently hot and plants need water. Two obvious concepts I seem to forget).

(How is it flowers live just fine, all by themselves *in nature* but the second they grace my yard? Brown. Brittle. Dead.)

I am actually working on something kind of exciting, I think. I’m not sure when it’ll be finished but you’ll be the first to know when it is. Promise.

Until…well, the next time, here’s a little eye candy. Also known as my life.

Yes, I realize my hair is crazy in that picture below.

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.

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.

stop

When you’re halfway finished with your run and your child all of a sudden tries to sit up in the stroller and begins pointing, asking to get out to touch dead leaves on a tree…what do you do? Dead leaves? Really??

I’ll tell you exactly what you do.

You stop.

You get out.

You touch the leaves.

And then do this.

And this.

Over and over and over again.

And then, once your curious child has had his need to learn and play and have fun doing important kid stuff met, then and only then, do you finish your run.

Because, you see, none of that would have ever happened “later.”

You’ll both return home happier and more fulfilled than if you had ignored his request and run on, past the trees and the water and the rocks. Past his desire to experience what he sees right in front of him, just begging to be explored.

In my pre-mommy life, I would have never stopped. NEVER. Not even to enjoy a simple, beautiful thing. I wouldn’t have even seen it, truthfully. My head would stay straight, my mind solely on the task at hand. Run first, relax later. Get the job done first. Don’t stop. That will make it take longer. Push through. Ignore. Just keep going.

Now? I stop. My runs are disjointed. They take longer or the route is cut short because it’s colder or windier than I had anticipated. Or Kellan needs something. Or dropped something.

Or he sees something that fascinates him to the point of doing everything he knows how to do to get my attention so I will stop and show him whatever it is that, at the current moment, is the coolest thing in the whole wide world.

I stop. Willingly. Happily. Unselfishly.

I’m building a relationship with this little person and I want him to know that his needs are important and that it is a good thing to stop. To take a minute – or 30 minutes – to learn about something we happen upon that was not on our original agenda.

Today was such an important reminder for me. I hope it is a good reminder for all the other parents, too.

Stop. Touch leaves. Throw rocks. Smell the roses.

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.

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.