Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Happy Eleven Months, Miles!

...And I'm only two weeks late posting these photos (which were taken on time, incidentally)!


Oh, Miles.  What a joy you are.  You've started making a sweet little scrunchy face, your darling smile melts me into a puddle, and you are into EVERYTHING.  If it exists, you want to touch it.  And eat it.  And climb it.

Don't let the face fool you...this isn't "caution," this is "calculation." 

You love snuggles and sucking your thumb while cuddling your blankies. 

And your mama is totally wrapped around your itty bitty fingers. 

And I'm sure I've only mentioned this once.  Or a thousand times.  You have the world's most amazing sister.  You are absolutely fascinated by her, and the feeling is mutual.  If you're reading this as an adult, call her RIGHT now and tell her how thankful you are for her.  And then call me because mamas need to hear from their babies.  
 

Friday, July 18, 2014

Just a Friday in the Life...

5:50am – shut off alarm.

6:00am – shut off alarm again.  Blink.  Try really hard to pry eyes open.

6:15am – manage to finally get eyes open.  Roll out of bed.  Thank Jesus that the kids are both still sleeping.  Unplug phone.  Why is it not fully charged!?  Ugh.  The plug fell out of the wall.  It probably has enough juice to get me through the day, though.

6:16am – excitedly remember that cute shirt I just got at the consignment store.  I haven't worn it yet...been waitin' on Friday.  Hand wash only with pretty eyelet.  Very Friday chic.

6:17am – find the shirt, throw on some jeans.  Wrong jeans.  Throw on some other jeans. 

6:23am – look in the mirror – satisfied that the Friday look (finally) says something other than “product of the 90’s grunge era…but with earrings.”

6:24am – OOH earrings!!  Put on new favorite pair of earrings, courtesy of the ever-fabulous (and stylish) Miss Anderson.

6:28am – The hair.  Ugh.  The hair.  {brush, brush, brush, brush}.  The hair.  Decide on low over-the-shoulder pony tail.  Fine.  Great shirt, mediocre hair…I’m ok with it.

6:35am – tinted moisturizer, blush, mascara.  For once, there are no tiny little adventure-seeking hands trying to steal bobby pins from the vanity drawer…what is this Friday morning miracle?  And can we teach them to sleep in on weekends, too?

6:43am – {SCREAMING BABY}  Looks like the adventure-seeker is awake!

6:44am – walk into the hallway on the way to the nursery.  {OH MY WORD what is that heinously awful SMELL in this house?!  Did something DIE under the floor?!}

6:45am - go into the nursery to console the newly awakened dude.  “Good morning, my Miles!  Did you have a bad dream?”  {sad face.  Snubs} Scoop up the little guy and go to the bedroom to say good morning to Daddy.

6:46am – say something to the effect of: “Um…Eric?  Our house smells like a decaying chicken.”  (Eric):  “Oh yeah…it must be the uncooked chicken I threw away last night.”  Ah yes…that’d be it. 

6:50am – see the bleary-eyed seven year old stumble into our room.  Hear her make a whining, groaning noise that sounds very similar to “mmmggrrrmrrnnnnnnnnnnn.”  I speak this language.  It means [insert whiny voice]:  “why did he have to cry so loud and wake me uhhhhhhp?”

6:51am – spend a minute enjoying the early morning happies (or grumpies, as it were).  Seeing my kids in the morning:  easily one of my favorite parts of the day.

6:54am – prod the reluctant seven year old to go to the kitchen for breakfast.  Off to the kitchen we go!  Onward, Christian soldier!  

6:55am – EWWWWWWWWWW the kitchen smells SO DISGUSTING.  I am going to die of inhalation of dead animal.  GAG.

6:56am – pour cereal, pour milk, grab spoon from the drawer.  No spoons in the drawer.  Grab spoon from the dishwasher.  Imagine that I can't possibly be the only one who does that.  Baby is still on my left hip.  Pat myself on the back for all the things I can accomplish with only one arm.  Serve breakfast to the princess.  In the stinky kitchen.

6:57am – “Mommy, it STINKS in here.”  (me):  “Yes, dear.  It’s the chicken in the trash.”

6:58am – note that the hubs has whisked away the offending garbage bag and has lit a “clean linen” candle on the counter…our hero.

6:59am – Put the baby down.  He is *so* not ok with being put down right now.  “I know, buddy…it’s so hard to be a baby.  I’m making you a bottle.  I promise you’ll be glad that I put you down for this in just a minute.” {looks up at me with the saddest face I've ever seen.  SOBS.}

7:00am– Realize there are only two clean bottles on the counter.  Need four to make it through the day.  Two is fewer than four.  {ugh}.  Use one of the two clean ones to whip up some baby breakfast.

7:02am – pop the bottle into the bottle warmer.  Miles has stopped crying and is now trying to eat who-knows-what off the floor.  Realize I have approximately 3 minutes until the bottle is done warming…just enough time to start the pork in the crock pot for tonight!  Hey, time management! 

7:03am – put pork in the pot, snip thyme and oregano from the herbs in the window sill, pat myself on the back for finally growing something that doesn't die, pull other spices out of the cabinet, mix it all up, wash hands.  Because gross.

7:05am – bottle – warmed!

7:06am – scoop up the wee one.  Another foul smell has arisen.  And he has spied the bottle…this will not be an easy diaper change.

7:07am – grab a clean outfit for the day from the giant pile of clean laundry in the living room…might as well get it all done at once.

7:08am – fight a baby who seems to have grown five or six extra arms since being placed on the changing table.  Holy crap.  This diaper is for real.  He wasn't playin’ around.

7:09am – elbow deep in poo.  “Mommy, I’m done with my cereal!”  Smile and calmly inform the cereal-finisher (for the 28th time) what the morning routine consists of.  “Great!  Can you please go brush and floss?  And then after that, make sure you have your towel and sunscreen in your camp bag.”

7:12am – sit down in the rocker with the fresh-bottomed, fresh-clothed adventure seeker.  Watch as he downs the bottle like a boss.  Babies eating.  It’s the best. 

7:13am – “Mommy, guess what color flosser I have today!!” (there are always three choices:  pink, blue, or green.  We play the game every day.  Never gets old {ahem}).  “Umm…pink!”  “YOU PEEKED!”  “How could I peek?!  I’m sitting in a rocking chair with your brother!” I totally didn't peek.  But I might have been tipped off by the dad who guessed "green" incorrectly.

7:14am – “Mommy, I’m done flossing.”  {time for reminder number 29}  “Good job, honey…now towel and sunscreen.”

7:16am – see my husband walk in…likely to announce that he’s going to leave now for a long commute to CLT.  Bottle done…baby happy.  The hubs indeed announces his impending departure. 

7:17am – remember that Sadie is spending the night with a friend.  How much do we lack packing in her overnight bag?  Put the baby down so that he can crawl around and seek adventure in all available space between the floor and 26ish inches up from the ground.  The more dangerous the better, of course.

7:18am – breathe a sigh of relief to discover that the overnight bag is still mostly packed from the last sleepover.  Huzzah!  Sometimes laziness really does pay off!

7:20am – hear the baby thonk his head against the door in his sisters bedroom.  So much sadness.  Scoop him up for consolation.

7:21am – feel wetness against my waist right where the once-fresh-bottomed baby is resting.  {You have *got* to be kidding me.} Hold smelly, smiling baby out at arm’s length.  Look down at my soaking wet, poop-smeared shirt.  My soaking wet, poop-smeared, hand-wash only shirt.  My soaking wet, poop-smeared, hand-wash only, finally-look-moderately-like-a-grown-up-on-a-Friday shirt.  Look at Miles.  Resolve to just handle it.  What’s done is done.

7:22am – carry baby at arm’s length back to the giant clean laundry pile.  Grab a new outfit for him.  Take the little shirt-ruiner to the changing table.  Fight with seven or eight arms.  Also poop.  Which somehow, oddly, reminds me…“SADIE – your lunch isn’t packed yet!  Can you please go get all the stuff together to start packing your lunch?” Poop.  Everywhere.  {sigh}

7:23am – realize that I keep dragging my arm through the poop on the side of my super cute Friday chic poop-smeared shirt.  For real?  Take shirt off.  Throw it disdainfully out the nursery door and onto the floor in the hallway.  Oh look!  There’s poop on my undershirt, too!  Fun.

7:25am – Fresh diaper, fresh clothes, smiling baby.  (of course!)

7:26am – pick up the baby who I hope has a completely empty digestive tract at this point.  Put him on the floor so that I, too, can be freshly dressed. Scoff as I kick the cute poop-smeared shirt off to the side.

7:28am – stare at the shirts in my closet.  All of my not-hand-wash-only, not-Friday chic shirts.  Decide on a look that says, “product of the 90’s grunge era…but with earrings.” {oh well - here we go again}  Change earrings. 

7:29am – still shirtless.  And sad.  Help the lunch-packing princess pour bunny grahams into a snack baggie.  In my bedroom (why?).

7:33am – Dressed…relatively ready to go.  Scuttle to the kitchen with a happy, fresh-bootied baby in tow.

7:34am – Put baby back down on the floor (a.k.a., the “Danger Zone”) so that I can finish packing lunch for the happy camper.

7:36am – butter knife with a schmear of peanut butter in one hand, slice of bread in the other.  Suddenly realize I never washed up bottles for the day.  Look at ceiling for answers.  There are no answers on the ceiling.  “Sadie!!  Can you please bring me the two bottles that are in Miles’ room?!”

7:37am – {while handing me bottles}: “by the way, Mommy…I don’t know if you realize this, but you forgot to pack my wet bag for my bathing suit yesterday.”  Wha…what?  Can’t even.  Exasperation.  Must suppress the exasperation.  “Sadie.  Sadie.” {look at ceiling for answers…there are still no answers on the ceiling}.  [pause.  Look down from the answerless ceiling directly at Sadie.]:  “Can you please go put your socks and shoes on?” 

7:38am – finish packing lunch.  Start washing bottles.

7:43am – bottles washed, made, packed.

7:45am – need shoes.  Wait…Do I own shoes that go with this look?  I mean…ones that don’t have holes in them?  Ah yes!  Here’s a pair. {mental note:  toss the holey shoes.}

7:47am – count bags.  Purse, bottle bag, diaper bag, my lunch bag, laptop bag, camp bag, lunch box for Sadie…seven bags.  All present and accounted for.  WAIT!  “Sadie!  We almost forgot your overnight bag!  Go get your bag, your sleeping bag, and your doll…quick!  We’re late!”

7:48am – baby in car seat.  Bag lady and munchkins out to the car.

7:50am – start backing out (finally!  And I remembered both children and all 732 bags!). 

7:51am – {meanwhile, from the back seat}: “MOMMY!  My doll is missing a shoe!”  …

7:52am – sit in the car while Sadie runs into the house to retrieve the shoe. 

7:53am – back in the car…buckled up and ready.  “Did you remember to lock the door to the house again?”  (Sadie):  “Oh.  No, it was too hard for me.”

7:54am – out of the car, lock door, in the car, back out of the driveway…my brain hurts.  Reach for the radio dial…we can listen to music.

7:55am – “Mommy, let’s play a car game!”  Series of car games, prayers for our day, and then…music.

8:13am – wave at my office as I drive by on my way to drop kids all over town

8:22am – drop off Sadie at camp

8:27am – get stuck in a sea of orange and white road construction cones.

8:40am – get to daycare.  Decide to take Miles into the daycare without his car seat today…unsnap, unbuckle, place a (still happy!) baby on hip (no poo – yay!), in the door with baby and bottles. This is great!  That car seat is so heavy…maybe I’ll do this every day.  Much easier.

8:48am – get stuck (again) in a sea of orange and white road construction cones

8:55am – pull into the parking lot at work.  Make a mental note that Miles’ car seat is still in the car, but Miles is *definitely* not in it.  Is he?  No.  Definitely not.  Whew.  Good thing I remembered to make a mental note, or I might have panicked later!

9:00am – lots of coffee.  And work. 


10:55am – Oh. My. Gosh.  The CANDLE!  Did I remember to blow out the candle?  The stinky-chicken-combatting candle?  Ugh…think, Kendra.  Think.  I can’t remember.  I’ll see if I can remember.  Houses only really burn down from candles in the movies, right?  No…I must’ve blown it out.  I would have noticed.  Wouldn't I?

11:40am – can’t handle it.  I have to check.  Just in case.  Leave office.  Walk out to car.

11:42amWHY IS MILES’ CAR SEAT IN THE CAR?!  Omg.  Ok.  I remember.  I didn't take it into daycare today.  Ok.  Calm down. Never again.  Car seat goes in every time, I don’t care how heavy it is.  Get into car.  Drive home.  

11:43am - Phone is practically dead.  How did this happen?

12:00pm – rush into the door.  Candle is…out.  So I did blow it out this morning.  When?  I can’t remember.  Better safe than sorry.  Grab phone cord (good thinking, self!).

12:23pm – back at work.  Get out of car.  Mental note about car seat (Don’t panic.  Miles is definitely at daycare.)

12:25pm – out the door in a matter of literally two minutes to meet a co-worker from another department for lunch.

12:45pm – “You know, if you don’t mind, my phone is almost dead…I’m just going to plug it in the wall behind us right here.”  Pull cord out of purse.

12:46pm – where’s my phone?

12:47pm – for real.  Where is my phone?

12:48pm – “Well…looks like I left my phone in the car this time!”  [said Kendra with her crazy-lady, asylum-worthy, wide-eyed smile and slow blinks]

1:45pm – pick up Sadie from camp.  Drive her to her friends’ house to spend the night.

2:25pm – back at work.  Mental note about Miles *definitely* being at daycare and not in the car seat in my back seat.  Definitely. 

Thankful for the alarms because they mean I have a job.
Thankful for the cries because they mean I have a baby.
Thankful for the groans and whines because they mean I have a big girl.
Thankful for Eric’s commute because it means he has a job.
Thankful for the poop because it means everything’s working like it’s supposed to.
Thankful for the overnight bag because it means we have good friends.
Thankful for the holey shoes because they mean that I can walk.
Thankful for the dead phone because it reminds me of small luxuries that I “can’t live without.”
Thankful for the panic because it means I love my kids intensely. 

But mostly, I’m thankful that I have friends (and a husband) who don’t expect me to be Pollyanna every time something crappy happens (pun intended, of course).  And I’m thankful for the vacation we’re going on in exactly three days.  Yep.  Mostly that.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Have You Ever Had a Morning...

...where you hear the baby spitting up - a lot - in the backseat?
...and then you pull into the YMCA parking lot (because you're a member!)
...and you get out and peek into his car seat
...and he's COVERED in spit up.  And so is the seat.  And he smiles at you like he's proud.
...so you arm yourself with spare disposable diapers and wipes.  Because you are a mom.  You've got this.
...and you pop the car seat out of the car.
...and you lug it into the YMCA
...and you check in as if you were going to "work out"
...and then the check-in system laughs at you like, "Whaaa?  This is so confusing.  You've never worked out before."
...and you lug the pukey car-seat-strapped baby into the girls locker room silently praying that none of the elderly water aerobics crew stop you so that they can "look at that sweet baby."
...and you plunk the car seat down the counter
...and you make that "ewwwwwwwww gross" face as you unsnap his puke-drenched car seat buckle
...and he smiles again.  Super proud.
...and you smile back.  Even though you're elbow deep in regurgitated milk and last night's veggies.
...then you take him out of the car seat
...and you completely undress him.  Because gross.
...and then you put him in the sink
...and proceed to use his weight in paper towels and baby wipes to get him cleaned up.
...also the car seat.
...and then you realize that you don't have a change of clothes with you.  So you put him back into the car seat wearing only a diaper.
...and he smiles again.  Because naked.

I'd like to think I'm not the only one, but sometimes I wonder.  Here's to the next adventure!

Friday, July 11, 2014

Having a Sister...

...means sometimes you endure a mid-nap frocking.

He has no clue.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

That one time...

...when the baby had impetigo.

Saving the photo here for posterity.  One day, I'm sure he'll want to see it.  Yes, he was this happy the whole time. This kid has no idea how to be miserable...he loves life.  And mommy loves him.  



Tuesday, July 8, 2014

The Bad Dream (or "The Best Big Sister Ever")

This morning, at 5:09am, I was awakened by a sobbing seven year old down the hall.  Between sobs, she was crying for “mommy,” so I ran down the hallway to her bedroom, managing to avoid the baby gate and the random beach towel that were forgotten obstacles in the middle of the floor.  When I got there, I held her tight and kissed her forehead and told her everything was ok.

“Mommy, [sniff] I had such a bad dre-e-e-e-eam [sob]”

“It’s ok!  I’m here – you’re ok…everything is ok.”

“Is Miles in his [sniff] room?”

“Yes – Miles is in his room.”

“I have to tell you about my dream, Mommy.  We were in the woods, and you accidentally lost Miles, and you kept saying ‘my poor baby, he’s going to die of [sob] starvation if I can’t find him.’ And I was [sob] looking for him everywhere, and I couldn't find him, and I was [sob] calling for him, but we never found him!”

“Oh, Sadie!  Honey, Miles is ok…I just heard him squeak in his room.  He is safe and sound, and so are you, and no one is in the woods.  We’re all ok.”

After I got her tucked back in and sufficiently reassured that Miles wasn't missing, I went back to bed remembering the last time she had a dream like this (that particular time, two pirates were trying to take Miles, and she was trying to save him, but they were too strong for her…same scenario: sobs and reassurance).  I fell asleep wondering when they’ll realize how lucky they are to have each other.

Fast forward to 6:15.  Miles is awake and jabbering in his crib, and Sadie is asleep.  I walked into Miles’ room to say good morning and pick him up, and he crawled toward me, grinning.  I scooped him up and told him we needed to go see his Sissy.  When I walked into her room, she rolled over toward us, blinked her sleepy eyes once, and then shot straight up and grabbed Miles’ sweet little face and kissed his cheeks and said, “MILES!  I LOVE YOU!  I’m so happy to see you – sissy was so worried!”

And I let her pat him and talk to him for a few more minutes before we started our routine.

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