Voicemail

As you already know, having a child changes everything in your life. And raising a toddler really changes everything in your life. My sister, Laura, is [un]lucky enough to be raising two toddlers at once (twin boys. I pray for her every day).

Even minor, day-to-day tasks, like leaving a message on your sister's voicemail, can be an ordeal that has you succumbing to your child's every whim against your better judgment in an effort to put a cap on the whining. I posted this because it made me laugh out loud when I listened to it (and we all know as moms that we're laughing only because it's not us.  If it were happening to us, we'd be yelling and grabbing the chocolate).

So here it is. Verbatim.

Laura: Hey Vanes, it’s Lor, ummm...

Leo: [in a pleading voice] I want to talk.

Laura: Well, we’re leaving a message, O.k.?

Leo: Hi, Auntie Jenn!

Laura: Auntie Nessa.

Leo: Hi, Auntie Nessa!

Laura: And Ry Ry.

Leo: Hi, Ry Ry!

Laura: And Uncle Joe!

Leo: Hi, Uncle Joe!

Laura: And, call me back!

Leo: Call me back!

Laura: It’s Leo.

Leo: It’s Leo.

Laura: O.k., let me talk. [*clicking* as phone switches hands]  O.k., so, umm... [Laura proceeds to leave real message]  

Leo: [emphatically in the background] I want to talk..I want to talk....I want to talk to Jenn & Beana!

Laura: (whispering) No, Jenn & Beana are not there, this is Auntie Nessa’s house.

Leo: I want to talk.

Laura: Well, we’re just leaving a message. [fast *click* as phone switches hands]

Leo: Hi. [silence]

Laura: We’re just leaving a message, she’s not there.

Leo: What? Oh. Auntie Jenn coming? Aah booo (unrecognizable words in exhuberant voice)....  call me back.... oh yeah, ummm...

Laura: Ok, C’mon!

Leo: Call me back.  Call me....[Leo giggling, then click].

Butterfly

Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.

-anonymous

Italian Appetite

This photo was not staged.  This is really what my son ate for dinner last night.  Oh, all right, he didn't eat it all - he left an inch or two of bread.  This is about the size of the meals he's been eating for the greater part of this last week...  All I can say is I'm hoping it's a growth spurt cause if his portion sizes keep rising exponentially, I think I might have to add a profession on the side to teaching just to keep the fridge stocked.

Toga Boy or The Lighter Side of Sickness

I had to pick up Reilly early last Thursday at preschool cause of diarrhea/vomiting. Yuck. Because diarrhea happened in the morning and Reilly had to be changed, he didn't have another change of clothes to be put into when he vomited in the afternoon. So Reilly's innovative caregiver made a toga out of his blanket so he wouldn't be naked/cold!!  My opinion of her went way up after this in at least three ways that I can think of right now: one, who would have thought this could be a substitute for a change of clothes?  Two, Reilly's toga had some darn intricate parts (of which I've attached pictures) - I mean, it was nice, and third, it made me laugh at an otherwise serious situation. I just couldn't hold in my laughter when I saw my little guy looking like a Greek philosopher.

He Topped Me Again!

I seriously have NOT had a sick day this winter.  I don't know what it is about this particular winter, but if I have a sniffle, my husband has a full-blown cold.  If I have allergies, he has an asthma attack (before you panic, remember who's writing this and the literary license she takes in stretching the truth).  If I throw up, he throws up all night long.  Why is this important?  Because no one wants to take care of the baby when they feel like pond scum.  And WHO do you think trumps WHO if he's sicker than you?  Yep.  We love our husbands.  But will someone do some research and find out if they plan these things?  

Things You'd Never Thought You'd Say

Thinks you'd never thought you'd say to your perfect children.

*Stop climbing on the piano!

*Put the knife down.

*Stop chewing your food then dropping it on the floor!  Swallow!

*Get off the dishwasher!

**Stop unloading the dirty dishes in the dishwasher!

***Stop grabbing knives in the dishwasher!

****You cannot be in the kitchen when Mommy is working on the dishwasher.

*Don't bite my foot, ok, honey?

*Don't wipe snot across your entire face.

*Don't jump into the bathtub with your diaper on!

*Please stop licking the window.

I reserve author permission to add to this blog when new sayings arise. :)

I Blog, Therefore I Am

Yeah, yeah.  Cliche title.  But I don't care.  There's nothing new under the sun, right?  Anything to settle for mediocrity at this trying time in my life.  There I go feeling sorry for myself again.  Isn't self-pity ugly?  

I feel like a split personality - on one hand, life is SWELL GREAT WONDERFUL.  I have a supportive, unconditionally loving husband and a beautiful bouncing baby boy who makes me laugh whenever I am with him.  But on the other hand, life is so hard right now cause I have a jumble of emotions concerning how I spend my day.  I'm not talking about making dinner or cleaning the house - I gave up on those a long time ago.  I'm talking about not having a job.  It's such a fight to have your lack of employment define you.  And I'm learning to accept that It's So Hard To Look For A Job!  You get called and go for an interview, and your emotions soar (even though you are trying with all your heart to just be level-headed) cause it feels like someone likes you!!  And even though you know that's not what it means in your head, that's what it feels like it means in your heart!!!   It's times like these that I wish I was a boy - men are able to separate emotions from logic easier, it seems to lil ole me, than women.  Then you get rejected via phone or the dreaded letter* (more in a moment about that).  And you say, ok, it's not me, it just wasn't a good fit.  God has a bigger plan for me than the small one I have for myself that was confined to that job I obviously was not supposed to have.  (yeah, if you're me, you're not only long-winded with other people, but to yourself as well)  *

The last thing I'll say about this topic is that the letter REALLY isn't necessary, people.  If you call the person and tell them they don't have the job, you really don't need to send a letter.  I think we get the point.  I guess everything has to be put in writing, but this, really?  It's not like I'm going to go down to the school and pretend like they offered me the job.  Although I admit that on a recent nameless interview, I parked in the Teacher of the Year spot because there were no other visitor spots available, I swear.  I felt like a criminal ducking away from my car as quickly as I could before anyone could associate me with the slacker car who took the Precious Spot.

So I blog, something that makes me feel human again.  I turn on Bob Marley, dance with Reilly, and I'm ready to wipe the slate clean and try job searching again tomorrow.

First Day of New Preschool

Today, when I picked up Reilly at his new preschool, he did not want to leave. All a mother can ask for is for someone to love their child and give them the attention they deserve for the 7-8 hrs you leave them in their care. And I believe we got it. Reilly felt comfortable from the moment we walked in, let the director (a male, to boot) carry him to his class (while Joe & I tagged along to drop off his "gear"), was greeted by 3 nice ladies, one of whom immediately grabbed Reilly and started playing with him on the floor. Amazing what these little things do for a child. Reilly was immediately at home and smiling and laughing and playing. I had a good feeling leaving him there, and then felt even more elated when I picked him up tonight. When I walked in, a teacher was still playing with him (Reilly wasn't sitting in front of a t.v.) and he was still having fun!!!!! I know these things seem elementary, dear Watson, but I have first-hand experience that told otherwise. And then I got his glowing report. He ate all his food, was comfortable enough in this new place to take 1.5 hr nap, and played nice with all the other kids. Of course, I didn't need a report to tell me what kind of day Reilly had - I know it sounds arrogant, but I can tell what kind of a day he had from the look on his face. I think you moms understand what I'm talking about. And he smiled, laughed, and kept playing. I actually had to say to him, Reilly, it's time to go now, and even after that he still kept playing as I chatted with the director and gathered up his stuff. Can we say, halelluiah? 180 degrees different than preschool #1. Here's a look at my happy, excited boy when we got home. I am soo grateful that I have one less worry tomorrow. It's been an awfully long, worrisome January, but so far February is looking up!

My Little Maestro

Reilly's last day at daycare #1 was Fri, Jan 30th and we were all eager to start him in his brand-spanking new daycare on Monday. Would he cry? Would he feel comfortable? But, alas, God had another plan and we were forced to delay his attendance for one week while he got over a double ear infection and conjunctivitis in BOTH eyes (a parting gift??). His pediatrician suggested I give Reilly a break from the outside world so he could have a chance to get better without picking up any more ailments. Since it would take 48 hrs to be sure he wouldn't spread his illness to other unsuspecting children (and, gulp, parents) we decided that it would be in Reilly's best interest to stay home for a week. In my structured mind, that fit well, because it gave processing time and complete closure of daycare experience #1 and complete readiness to encounter daycare experience #2 (yes, my affinity toward psychology trickles down to how I interpret my son's life, too). I realized very quickly that the "extra" time was a gift from God before I went back to work (no, I don't have a job yet, but I have a feeling one is sneaking up very soon). Happily, and most contrary to my blog name, this mommy didn't "run" around like I normally do. It was a wonderful time.  Yes, he wanted me to hold him more than usual because he didn't feel well, and boy is my boy getting heavy! Yes, he threw up on me a few times which incidentally doubled my overwhelming laundry obligation (his puke-y clothes + my puke-y clothes plus whatever else got in the way). And, yes, I did finally get sick with exactly the same ailment as my little cookie. But guess what? I don't care. All I could see (by the grace of God, which luckily stamp out my OCD tendencies) was the extra time I was allowed to spend with my little buddy and all I could feel was the urge to do any and everything I could to make him feel better. Once again, note to self: THIS is what unconditional love is (more on that in another blog). And today, Mon, Feb 9, my boy was 100% ready to go to his new daycare where we were all greeted with the wonderful news that Reilly was the only child in his class today. This meant he had 3 smiling ladies greet and encourage him to join them on this very iffy first day, not just one. Not one single tear was shed (like at the other daycare).  Rather, he actually seemed excited to play with new toys and people. Now, I don't mean to be getting ahead of myself, but let's just say my mommy instinct is telling me that FINALLY, finally, FINALLY, everything is going to be all right.

**Oh, and the pics above show what insisted upon doing most of the week. No, no concertos yet.**

Rock Paper Scissors

Just a word of warning to pregnant and/or new moms: don't be surprised when you and your spouse jockey for position in your baby's life.  No, I'm not talking about being baby's #1 "person" (as Gray's Anatomy terms it) but being baby's #2 person when he/she screams during the night or wakes up exceptionally early.  Teach baby DAILY to say, Da Da.  Trust me, it'll help later on when the cute wears off (not permanently - just at 3 AM).  Enough said.

Choices

You know you're a wearied mother when you let your baby play in a spilled-out pile of potato buds instead of cleaning it up JUST so you can finish emptying the dishwasher.  

Cleavage Drool & Other Signs of Endearment

I had a Bill Cosby moment.  In Himself, the great comic genious recalls how his newborn baby girl didn't just have a bowel movement, she [insert Cosby cutsie voice here] "made a poo poo."  While I'm certainly past the stage of loving my boy's poop (yeah, that love wanted real fast after odor started), he has other habits that not only can I not resist, but actually endear him more to me.  I have recently had a silent celebration in honor of getting my "pregnancy brain" back, but yesterday I realized that motherhood totally circumvents your good sense forever.  Tonight, my little boy drifted off to sleep in his car seat as I was driving him home from daycare.  Because he's had such a rough time adjusting to daycare, I decided to gently remove him from his car seat and hold him so he would stay asleep a little longer (who wouldn't sleep longer when hearing the thumping of a heartbeat and squishy noises from your stomach digesting your lunch).  I delicately removed my sweet sleeping boy from the car seat and carried him into the house whereupon I sat on the couch with him still in my arms.  He bristled a bit from being slightly jostled before settling into an even deeper sleep.  His breaths extended to a steady rhythm and suddenly I felt an odd sensation down the front of my shirt.  Reilly was so content that his mouth had dropped open so it was slightly ajar, and a thin line of drool extended and traveled southward in between "my girls" toward my perfectly-toned post-pregnancy belly (ok, my slightly lumpy post-preg belly).  My reaction landed somewhere between surprise and amusement when I realized that not only didn't I mind my boy's drool, but I loved it.  I loved that he was so content that his mouth casually fell open and I didn't mind getting wet from yet another naturally-created body fluid that makes my little one who he is.  Scary.

See Mommy Contend for Her Sanity

There's never a dull moment in Mommy's world.  This morning, instead of getting Reilly ready for daycare and waving goodbye to Joe and him as I contentedly sipped my coffee, pandemonium struck.  I should have known, because contention began at 4:30 this morning as I was summoned (by my crying baby and eventual kick from my husband) to attention.  After calming my baby boy, I proceeded to stay awake for an hour as I tried, to no avail, to block out my husband's sick-snore [if you've never heard of "sick-snore," that is the louder, more pronounced snoring that erupts from men when they are congested due to illness].  At 5:30, I put in earplugs and drifted off.  I was awakened at around 8:30 to a violent sound in the bathroom where I heard Joe's shower running.  Ever the optimist, I told myself nothing was worse than yesterday (Joe JUST had a cold) and dragged myself out of bed to get my cutie ready for daycare.  After fulfilling his baby duties (crying, resisting as I tried to dress him), I heard a faint voice from the bedroom utter, I need you to do me a favor.  From years of experience, Joe never asks anything of me PC (pre-coffee) in the morning, so I knew something was up.  He asked me to call his job to let them know that his "cold" had progressed to dizziness and vomiting and he would not make it into work.  Here is where I made a fatal flaw for if I had descended the stairs with Reilly at that moment and called Joe's work, none of the following would have happened.  But, selfish me, I attempted to brush my teeth before the phone call which meant that I brought Reilly into the bathroom with me (as I've done millions of times before without incident) as I plunged my toothbrush into the nasty abyss of my morning breath.  To remain standing, he held onto the toilet and watched this process in wonderment, as he always does.  Suddenly, without warning, he lost his balance, hitting his head on the ceramic trash can before he fell onto the tiled floor in between the toilet and the vanity.  I quickly put down my toothbrush to console my now hysterical boy and walked into his bedroom with him so his bathroom-amplified cries wouldn't continue to disturb my sick husband.  As you may suspect, it took a few minutes to calm him down and then he decided he wanted me to read him a book.  I tried to trick him by quickly turning the pages and saying "fox" and "hound" (instead of reading all the words) because my mouth was still filled with toothpaste.  I then closed the book so I could finish brushing my teeth to which he loudly declared his protest. Although a mess of toothpaste and snot, we both succeeded in getting down the stairs in one piece and I called Joe's work and then the daycare to tell them we'd be late.  Reilly had been so difficult as I was dressing him this morning that I decided to actually just leave the soiled shirt on him and change him when we got to our destination, which by now seemed light-years away.  I brewed some coffee so I could properly handle my 2500 pound car and smelled a poopy diaper to be changed.  I instinctively glanced at the clock which read 9:30 AM, aka breakfast time, so I decided to feed him breakfast before I changed his diaper.  I put him in his high chair and he screamed as I strapped him in.  As again you may suspect, he refused to eat anything and still screamed, so I took him out, deciding to just change his diaper and go.  No big deal on a normal day - but not today.  As soon as he identified the diaper and wipes in my hand, he started crying and got more hysterical as I lay him down to change him.  Still hoping for the best, I told him in my best soothing voice to calm down, that everything was gonna be alright, etc.  He basically ignored me and started wriggling away with all his might.  I'm used to some figitting so I tried to continue changing him.  It was at this point that he had a total and complete meltdown.  He arched his back, tried again and again to roll over and screamed all while his rump, covered in poop, threatened to stain my family room carpet by getting dangerously close to sitting down.  With all my might, I had to fight my son to stay on his back and let me lift his legs to clean him off.  Suffice to say, I've never had a battle like this one before simply to change him, and I actually had to sit on his legs to hold him down.  Every step in this changing process was a battle, but we finally finished and Reilly instantly stopped crying (don't you just love that, moms?) but then he got his eye on an empty bakery box we had indulged in during last night's movie and proceeded to shake all the crumbs onto the floor.  At this point, I actually considered letting him make more of mess of my family room than already was, but then in an insane moment of superheroism, I decided that I was still in charge.  I took the container away from him, and again he broke into hysterics (for the 4th or 5th time today - I don't know, I've lost count) and I told myself silently, get this boy into the kitchen and get some Motrin for that early-morning head smack in him ASAP!!  Again, no problem on any other day, but today, he refused to ingest the Motrin and screamed as though I were poisoning him, convincing me to drive him to daycare and then give him the Motrin while he was strapped in the car seat (something I never thought I'd resort to).  I strapped him in (as he screamed) and prayed that the Elmo CD was in the box and that no random electronic glitch would thwart my DVD player from working.  God heard my plea and the DVD played happily for the entire 15 minute ride there.  I was able to give Reilly the medicine, and then turn off the car/movie to take him safely into daycare.  I knew the separation part would be killer today from the morning we had had, so I braced myself, brought him inside, and tried to ignore his crying and  clawing at my neck as I tried to wrap up the "instructional" conversation I seem to have with his daycare providers every day.  I guess this is partly my fault: I did answer the question, did he have breakfast? with a too-long explanation about how he hit his head so he didn't want to eat and could you feed him now?  to which the daycare lady said, well, he didn't eat much yesterday, is he feeling well?  and I answered, well, maybe not, he's still got a cold and his gums are really swollen from teething, and all the while Reilly is freaking out more and more because he knows that this is when the "separation" takes place.  When he practically pulled my entire shirt off, I finally asked a nice lady who was unsuspectingly rocking another child, do you think you can just take him cause he's really off today and not letting go of me, to which she took one look at me, surveyed the situation, Got It (thank you Jesus), and grabbed Reilly, his bag, and his winter coat.  I was almost in the clear until the lady I had the first conversation with asked me for Orajel for later in the day and I said, I think it's in the outside pocket of my diaper bag... can you look so Reilly doesn't see me? and she said, well, I can't right now, and I sighed and said, OK, leaned my head back into Reilly's view to check the diaper bag pockets, located the Orajel, caused Reilly to get even more hysterical when he saw me, and announced my find.  As I again hid around the corner out of Reilly's view, I assured them I'd pick Reilly up if he was crying uncontrollably or if they couldn't handle him today.  I power-walked out that door, and in a fit of selfishness entertained the thought of turning off my ringer and curling up into bed next to my sick husband.  How silly, I thought, because THIS Mommy germaphobe would never lay down next to her now-vomiting husband and actually relax.  Turning off the ringer, however, still danced lazily in front of my ever-throbbing head.  And so after I made a mental note to never again judge a mom who brought her child to school late, my day began.