So. Proud.

She works hard for the money.

And yes, I did take time to video this even though my baby was crying in the car.  I'm pretty much an awesome mom.

Yep. They are Related.

Everyone wants to know who a baby most resembles.  At 8 months old, I still see so much of my husband in Brook-Brook, but there is definitely no denying she and the Ell-Monster are related.  Let's do a side-by-side and see what you think:

We are THOSE Parents. Laughing at our Kid.

I've totally neglected my bloggy-blog. This new year has started at a run, to say the least.

My Monkey had surgery on Friday to put a new set of tubes in his ears and to remove his adenoids.  Since his tubes have fallen out, he's had several ear infections and Chris and I are serious about stopping the antibiotic trend now.  Before taking the wee one back for surgery (he really had no idea what was happening--we just told him that the doctor was going to fix his ears), they gave him some twilight medication to ease any anxiety he might have.  The parents around us had concerned looks, but we weren't there yet.  Nope.  No, we were the parents laughing uproariously, and those of you who have heard me laugh know this is LOUD, because our kid was Funny.  Funny with a capital 'F.'  Being the solicitous parents we are, we even caught the goods on video for your viewing pleasure.  Yes, that is my snort.

Stoopid Desperation.

Remember when I told you about the coolest friend in the history of ever and how lucky I am to have her?  Yep.  This one.  Sometimes it feels like the proverbial gods are conspiring against us seeing each other--various trips, my job, sickness of the kiddies, sickness of the kiddies and sickness in the kiddies have derailed our plans of late.  When this happens, we get desperate.  Desperate to see each other.  This leads to foolish decisions.

What kind of foolish decisions could two moms in their mid-thirties make?  A night of drunkenness? Nope.  Driving recklessly? No.  Spending ridiculous amounts of money on shopping sprees? Guess again.

Our foolishness was based in the decision that we thought it would be great to put 5 kids under the age of 6 together for some fun.  One of my favorite authors in the history of ever, Laurie Notaro, once told a tale in which she awoke with the word "stoopid" written on her forehead.  To my memory, the word stoopid is reserved for acts beyond mere stupidity.

Our kids had fun.  We got to talk, in between wails of frustration and repeated asking for "Aunt Steph, come to my woom," and we had delish order-in Asian food.  We even got a couple of passably cute snapshots in between head bumps, cheek pinches,  tantrums and squeals of laughter.


Abby loves to mommy the baby.

 Addison is finally convinced Brook-brook isn't a babydoll.  She even likes her a little. . .as long as Mommy isn't holding her.

The boys finally have something in common--a love for "Cars."

Sometimes STOOPID is totally.worth.it.

On Sharing and Empathy

My Monkey is a sweet one, you know, when he's not being almost three and shouting "No!"  He shared a horrific stomach virus with mommy.  Horrific.  Seriously.  He was vommies for almost 24 hours and then was sicky even after that.  I was praying that the rumbling in my tummy was a foray into hypochondria, but alas, he shared.

As I crouched over the toilet, Monkey kept saying, "You shrow up, Mommy?  You shrow up?"  I grunted an affirmation.  Next I know, he has toddled off and brought back Minnie and Lovie.  "Here go, Mommy.  Minnie make you feel better."  This was the Holy Grail of kindness--anyone spending any time at all with my Monkey knows that these are his most prized possessions.  The boundless sweetness was not lost on my limp, listless body in the throes of nausea.

I was still proud of his sharing, even when 4 minutes later he came and reclaimed Minnie and Lovie.  He needed them.  Mommy had better recover fast.

Dinner, Anyone?

Monkey is in full-on pretend mode.  I love it.  I know it's closely linked with language development, so the speech pathologist in me is thrilled with his ability.  Tonight while I was getting Little Bit ready for bed and playing a bit, he set up a dinner with his favorite friends:  Puppy Dog, Minnie, Bunny and Olivia.  And take note, just because he pretends well doesn't mean any of it lasts very long.  Ah, the mind of a two-year old.

Privacy?

Our house has no privacy.  None.  It's a good thing that my husband still loves me after witnessing me birthing two darling children, because there are horrific moments when he's seen me pee.  On the toilet.  Which makes me think our marriage is doomed just like Janene Garafolo's character proclaims her parents' to be in the ultimate 90s movie, Reality Bites.

All of this is to say that my. . . ahem. . .you know. . .my period is back.  Shh.  This makes me blush like an 8th grader.  I promise that I only share this news for the purpose of humor.  My child is the epitome of curiosity.  For the first time in what I am sure will be a long, long tradition--I stumbled over the answers to his questions.  Stuttered.  Sputtered.

"What dat, Mommy?  What dat?  Dat for me?"

"Uh. . . it's for mommies.  It's just. . .a. . .thing."

"What for, Mommy?"

Silence.

"What for, Mommy?"

Now I know why my mom used to say things like, "I just want to poop in peace."  No 2 1/2 year old BOY is ready for the truth about tampons.

I don't do product endorsements. . .

typically, but today, I will.  Gladly and with gusto.  There was a tiny fender bender in our family last week, and per manufacturer's instructions, we knew B's infant carrier carseat would have to be replaced.  I scoured the website of The First Years to determine the fate of Elliott's two hundo carseat.  Nothing.  I suspected this meant the worst.

Today I put my proactive panties on and called the company to find out the damage.  I listened to the typical recorded message, pushed the right number to speak to a human and then waited for my turn while the reps were busy taking care of other callers.  Katie came on the line and I described my issue.  I expected her to quickly say that the seat had to be replaced, too bad, so sad.  Or something along those lines.  And I was right--the seat need to be replaced.  Sigh.  She then asked me to complete a report about the accident and I did--going on to give the site of the crash, who was present, my boy's birthdate, our address, etc.  She then asked what color our seat was.  Easy enough.  Then Katie politely informed me that she would be sending out a new carseat and that we would ship ours back to the company.  She even went so far as to ask what color I wanted.  I sucked in my breath and asked the dreaded question.  "How do I pay for this?"

Her response?  "Oh no ma'am, we'll ship you a new seat FREE.OF.CHARGE."  My immediate response? "You have a customer for life with our family."

Was she kidding?!  I thought maybe, especially as she called me back to ask if tan would be okay, as she didn't have a blue one that matched our model in stock.  Evidently not.  I am so beyond impressed.  This is customer service for the ages, and that kind of service will sway me anytime.

Moral of the story:  If you need a new carseat,  The First Years True Fit Premier is worth your money and your business.  Even better?  It's got the highest ratings of carseats on the market for both rear and forward facing and for ease of installation.

*I was not compensated or encouraged in anyway to write this post.  I only speak what I know and in this case, I know good service.  

Sneak Attack

Toddlers are stealthy. I know, I know, no one describes them this way. More often they are described as loud, clumsy, curious beings. But turns out that in the wee hours? Stealthy. At approximately 5:37am this morning, I heard a wee voice emerging from the dark. "Mommy, I wanna eat."

No warning swish of the diaper, no padding feet, just the stealth of a tired toddler (can I still legitimately call him that at 2 1/2+?). Sheesh kid! I'm not good with surprise wake-ups. . . I mean, I wake-up when your sister wants to eat, but that requires very little thought besides throwing the appropriate body part out there. This response? This took thought.

In a voice heavy with sleep, I managed to stumble through saying that it was still dark outside and when it's dark it's time for sleeping. I even went so far as to offer acceptable choice options: getting in my bed and going back to sleep or returning to the BBB and going back to sleep. (Impressive, aren't I?)

Guess which one he chose? No really, guess.

The BBB. Amen and amen because that boy has some seriously dangerous moves in his sleep. Like he's training to be a ninja. . . which could also account for the stealthiness.

That's it. It all makes sense now. I'm raising a ninja. Hrm.