Just in case you need help getting your sibling and/or sibling-in-law to hate your guts for life, I recommend buying your neices and nephews knives for gifts

My boy, the one who says things like, "I don't know the date! I don't even know what month it is. (pause) I barely keep track of the year..." had a birthday recently.

Unfortunately, he kept track of the month and date well enough to figure out that two of his most difficult midterms fell on his birthday.

To make up for it, he got out of having his picture taken with his birthday brownies:

Just kidding! How can you let a kid have a birthday brownie without taking his picture with them first?

But it's okay. We're going to have him another birthday today. Meanwhile we're having fun hanging out with family and having conversations like this:

The Guy (to my nephew) - "Don't give the baby honey. It can give her botulism."
Me - "He's not giving her honey; he's giving her blood."
The Guy - "Oh. Don't give the baby blood."
Nephew - "I'm just SHOWING her the blood."

And also,

Me (to my nephew) - "How did you cut your finger the other night?"
Nephew - "That was my brother who cut his finger"
Me - "No he cut his finger twice earlier in the night. But then you cut your finger too."
My mom - "It was at the skiway, on his skis"
Me - "No, that was Jared who cut his finger on the skis"
Jared - "It was on the honey. He was trying to cut open a honey stick."
Nephew - "Oh that's right."

For some reason I thought it was a good idea to give my teenage nephews pocket knives as gifts. Needless to say, that turned out to be a less than wonderful idea.

If You're Ever Feeling Watched in You're Own Home, Maybe the Wii Fit is Spying on You

That Sweet Pea O' Mine told me this blog was getting to be "Babytopia" and I needed to put up some pictures of other stuff. She suggested pictures of herself perhaps, just for a change of scenery. Then she promptly left the country so I couldn't photograph her.

I tried to get my boy to pose, but his opinion is that I have a baby for that now. By his reasoning he shouldn't have to set foot in front of a camera for quite some time...or ever again.

Ultimately I took a picture of the Wii Fit. Because who knew that in addition to calling people fat and clumsy, it could also prey on my secret parenting insecurities?

How did the Wii fit even know he became a middle child last spring?!?!

Babytopia or not, I had to at least post this. It's only going to be cold around here for a week and a half (two weeks at most), so I might as well get pictures while I can:

Happy everything holiday to everyone!

Half a year's worth of baby under our belts

It's warm, sunny and six months old around here! That means we've been spending about a half a year trying to get this cute little thing to sleep:

And eat, of course.

But mostly sleep. Except for That Sweet Pea. She's been trying to shape up baby's taste in music:

That's about it from here - happy Thanksgiving all!

For the sake of putting up a few pictures before the kid turns six months old

The end of October and beginning of November flew by with so much excitement that we barely got around to pictures. Most unexpected was baby's first ambulance ride. She's fine but the things they thought she had sounded scary and what she really had was not exactly fun. We also lost electricity three times in a week. One of the times was only briefly, but the other two were for around six hours each.

Of course, we did manage to get out for just a few pictures. These are from about three weeks ago:

"Really? You think maybe I could prop myself up on my arms and sit up? Just long enough for a quick photo you say?"

"You remember I'm only five months old, right? Well...if you say so, I'll give it a try..."

"Woah!!!!!!!!"

"How about if you just keep holding onto my arm until I learn to sit up?"

In which we get to the good part of parenting: Dressing the unsuspecting kid up in ridiculous costumes

Baby is earning her keep around here by covering every possible surface in a quarter inch thick layer of barf. I'm pretty sure that will raise the value of our house enough so that we can move before she's in kindergarten. It's kind of a protective coating you know.

Except for that part where she's not allowed to eat any candy, she's all ready for Halloween:

While baby covers the house in puke, we've also been working on getting the boy's room under control:

Me - "It looks like a hurricane went through your room! It looks like you let a dozen monkeys loose in your room and told them to mess up as much as they could!"

Boy - "Only half a dozen! I only let half a dozen monkeys loose in my room!"

Notice my stellar parenting skills. Luckily enough for the poor unsuspecting parents of the world, I don't have much in the way of free time these days to teach these skills to other folks.

Anyway, baby tried some cereal and it was fun:

But nowhere near as much fun as when mom sticks her in a basket in the front yard! You can't get much more fun than when your mom sticks you in a basket in the front yard:

Unless it's when she dresses you up like a pea pod and sticks you on some cloth in the living room, of course.

This time it really is a baby falling on her face.

I semi-promised a picture of my baby falling on her face, so here it is:



Never mind the fact that Older Gal is asking to do it "Again! Again!" while the poor kid was still floundering around trying to figure out what had happened to her. It's all in good fun. I'm just glad I didn't get to see it in person.

Meanwhile, here's a picture of me and the beeb under blankies. It must have been a thing back in 1968, because my mom had like a row of three of them I think:

That's about the news from here. We're plugging along just trying to get one into college, one out of college, one just into high school, not to mention knock over a baby here and there while I'm not looking.

Next Time I'll Try to Make it a Video of My Baby Flopping on Her Face. But this time, it has to be sad.

I usually try & keep this a happy blog, but sometimes one of your oldest friends up and dies, and silly seems out of place. I want to call this friend by a fake name because she considered the internet dangerous territory for many, many years. But I don't think I can, so I'll compromise by not posting a picture.

I first met Christine around 1990. I had inherited my cousin's job at the First Interstate Bank when said cousin returned to college. "Does she like beer?" Chris asked my cousin. My cousin turned to me, and I nodded enthusiastically. "I'll take GOOD care of her!" Chris assured us both.

And that she did. Disinclined to return to the world of waitressing, I soaked in Chris's every instruction, such as the fact that staples should be placed neatly and horizontally on the page, not diagonally (Or worse! Willy nilly!) in the corners.

I got a new job and Chris got a new job. Chris got married and I got married. And I got pregnant and Chris got pregnant. This was around 1995, before the days of internet, so we had to resort to faxing each other our ultrasound pictures.

One day I brought my baby in from a walk and heard the phone ringing. I knew something was wrong. And then I heard Chris's husband's voice and knew for certain something was so very wrong. The words, "We lost Julie Anne" didn't make any sense. It couldn't be.

I rushed to Chris's house, wondering even as I drove, "If SIDS got her baby, did that mean it's going to get my baby too?" My head knew SIDS didn't operate that way but my heart knew nothing, not how to help. Not what to do, not what to say.

A friend of my mother's who had also lost a child to crib death perhaps saved our friendship by advising me to concentrate my futile efforts on remembering Julie Anne. There was barely an internet back then and certainly no facebook, so I dialed the phone. But answering the phone would be too hard for Chris for many more years.

"You called her every year for ten years, knowing she wouldn't pick up?" The-Guy asked me last night. "Actually, it was twice a year for ten years, on Julie Anne's birth date and on the anniversary of her death." I answered him.

I may not know how to help a friend in need, but I know how to persevere.

Chris let me know on easier days that she did appreciate the calls. And it made no difference that she didn't pick up, because it took me just as many years to figure out what to say.

By year 11 she began to answer the phone and still, what did I have to offer? That I was thinking of her, that I knew the day must be hard, most of all that I remembered Julie Anne.

In typical Christine fashion, she held true on her promise to take good care of me right up until the last time I saw her at The-Guy and my wedding in 2010. Chris let The-Guy know in no uncertain terms that she had no problem using her gun should he turn out to be anything less than faithful. She assured him that her police officer husband would also use his gun to help protect me. Not every guy is so lucky to find out that "cheating" = "actual death" right on his wedding day.

Two weeks from today, baby Julie Anne would have been 17 years old. And I remember, even though Chris isn't here to remember her to.

So that's my not silly post for the day. Chris, this life was much too short for you or perhaps it felt too long. It could even have been both at the same time. But any way you look at it, you were a great friend.

My Kid Looks Like a Giant Mushroom Just Ate her Head. But She's HAPPY Mushroom Food. And most mushroom food isn't quite this cute either.

Did you ever wonder why sometimes you see kids with bows that are bigger than their entire heads and you're all, "I wonder what's wrong with that kid's head?"

It turns out that I can answer that very pressing question for you. Nothing's wrong with the kid's head. It probably has a very gorgeous head. But it's like this: Mom's all walking around her favorite bargain store looking for notepads or whatever and spies this flower-dy hat. Since it's half price off of next to nothing, it seems kind of silly NOT to buy it.

Mom goes home and adds it to the building ranks of stuff that is coming for the still imaginary kid. You know, little band t-shirts, board books and little Levis with hide nor hair of anything practical. Like diapers or or wipes a changing table. Or a crib. The hat is the least of mom's worries, because honestly, "Who could fit her head into something so small?!?!?

And then the baby is born and mom puts the hat with a flower on the baby and suddenly it's like,

"Oh man! That thing just ate my baby's whole head!"

So then mom waits four more months and tries it again. Because now baby's head is bigger, but still looks like a mushroom just ate it. A really giant mushroom that knows how to work it's way center and front even though mom had on purpose put it off to one side.

They say you have to suffer for fashion. I wouldn't actually know if that's the truth or not. But I do know why some moms have hats and headbands that have the baby for lunch rather than the other way around.

Anyway, the kid is four months old now but is still hat chow. Maybe best to just make her another headband or two:

I Went in for a Chicken Sandwich and Came Out with a Used Corolla

I'd apologize again about the sorry state of my blog, but I figure real life has to come first and I was in the hospital (or as one of my little preschoolers used to say it "hoss'bibble") for what seemed like forever.

What can I say except that the whole "postpartum" thing doesn't really agree with me? Well...I can say this: One time one of those personal trainer guys called me fat.

And I can say that I fell totally and completely in love with The-Guy on our first date because he didn't have a TV.

While in the hoss'bibble, I discovered Wii Dance Games. But in order to play Wii Dance Games, it turns out you need a TV.

The boy and the guy went to buy Wii Games and a TV. But instead of dance GAMES, they came home with Wii FIT.

As far as I can tell, Wii Fit is like the more ambitious and aggressive cousin of Wii Dance. Personal trainer guy is only kind of distantly related and he more or less HAS to be polite. Because who's going to sign up for membership otherwise?

But that's not the point. The point is that that The Guy and The Boy have just paid for a machine to tell me I'm fat and clumsy. You'd think I could have told them that much myself, considering how much pottery I've broken around here.

But, whatever. Flab-wise, I can still get a lot of mileage out of this little cutie:

Baby was three weeks early, so when she arrived we had not a single diaper, no wipes, no changing pad, no crib...but I already knew what she would wear to her first pledge drive:

Her "Crawl the Line" shirt, of course.

Sorry if there are any repeats picture-wise. I was in the hoss'bibble.

It's Like Living in a Luxurious Hotel!

I used to have an elderly aunt who would declare (when speaking of the more or less okay skilled nursing institution where she lived):

"It's like living in a luxurious hotel!"

It was endearing and I wondered at the power of her rose colored glasses, although I've come to realize she might simply have meant, "I don't have to cook or clean."

You know what's REALLY like living at a luxurious hotel? Spending a couple of days in a luxury hotel.

And also? When you find out you have to fly halfway across the country on barely a moment's notice with a wheelchair bound 91 year old and a two month old infant, spend not quite 48 hours there, then return with the wheelchair bound 91 year old and SICK infant, a luxurious hotel is an incredibly awesome boobie prize.

It's impossible to describe the beauty of the La Jolla/San Diego area. Unfortunately, the only scenery picture I took doesn't quite capture it:

There were pelicans and dolphins and seals basking within easy reach of a camera. I only managed a photo of a piece of notebook paper someone shoved in a paper box. I don't know why.

Oh...except for that 91 year old and infant thing. I would have loved two free hands to put on the camera. Or even one, really. But here's baby in the courtyard of the luxurious hotel:

Just to update from my previous post: Yes. I WAS asked if she was a girl or a boy while she was wearing this cute pink and yellow ruffly blouse. But NOT while she was also wearing the hat.

I've also been asked if she was a girl or a boy while she was wearing this outfit. Notice she's in pink from head to toe:

So maybe she just has a cross dresser look about her. In any case, that's been our week - surprise travel and much gratitude both for luxurious hotels and for being back home.

All Babies are Boys Unless Proven Otherwise

All babies are boys unless proven otherwise. I can tell, because even when I used to dress the Sweet Pea in pink overalls people would ask me how old "he" was.

So you see, this baby has on a little white shirt with grey hearts and a pink butterfly. Yep, she's definitely a boy. Because...grey pants.

But you know what automatically changes any baby suddenly into a girl? Frilly pink head things. So when I put on this sunhat, she's magically a girl:

The problem is, it's hard to wear a frilly hat when you don't really have the whole holding up your head thing down pat yet.

The Guy doesn't like it when I put frilly head things on the baby, but I still do it anyway sometimes.

Because when she's dressed like this:

And even like this with all the flowers...

Everyone asks "How old is HE?" But that just doesn't happen with a frilly head thing.

In other news, all the warning labels are right: the baby's safety device tried to kill me. We got one of those kind of baby monitors that tells you if they stop breathing. The problem is, we get a false alarm or two now and again. Needless to say the first couple of false alarms sent me careening towards the crib, heedless of things in my way. Such as the baby swing. I won't show a picture because...I only rush for the camera when one of the CHILDREN is injured. But, so much for the safety devices keeping us safe.

So that's it from around here - the baby is a girl and her baby paraphernalia, previously happy to just endanger the baby, now has it in for the adults too.

Babies Like to Live Dangerously. Those daredevils are always on the edge!!

Colic seems to be abating a little around here. Part of this poor kid's problem is that she wants to do everything they don't let babies do anymore. She wants very badly to sleep on her stomach (SIDS risk). She wants to be extra bundled and warm (more SIDS risk), and she wants to use her baby products inappropriately.

For example, she loves to sit on a this baby pillow on the bed and watch the ceiling fan. She smiles at the ceiling fan. She talks to the ceiling fan. My dad says she speaks fan-ese. The-Guy says she's a fan fan.

Unfortunately, she's taking a deathly risk with this seemingly innocuous activity.

Here's a picture of the pillow with the warning label on the front.

Other warning labels hang off the back. It's a VERY VERY dangerous product! And one of the warnings clearly says, "Do not use in crib, cradle, bassinet, playpen, play yard, bed, or on any elevated surface."

ALL her products are equally likely to kill her. Apparently.

She loves this play gym:

It's every bit as dangerous as her pillow though:

In fact, ALL her baby paraphernalia has umpteen warnings of your child's untimely demise.

The labels should really just say, "Watch your kid you idiot! And don't blame us when tragedy strikes because we TOLD you this product was intended to knock off your baby!"

So that's the story from around here. The colic is getting a little better and all her toys want to kill her off.

She's getting more resigned to the fact though, and dare I say even happy now and again?

It Turns Out That This Has Turned Into a Baby Pictures Blog

Two months old today and baby has taken over my blog. Apparently.

What does she have to say for herself? Sources close to her report that her exact words were something along the lines of "I stole your blog! Nanny nanny boo boo, so there!!!"

Happy Fourth of July from Baby

No babies were harmed in the making of this photo. One may have been slightly traumatized though. And a couple of silverfish may have been rendered homeless.

The Internet is Afraid of My Husband. And also the baby is accidentally turning us into vampires.*

We had no internet for awhile. Well, The-Guy-Who-Knows-A-Song-About-A-Chicken had internet only on his computer. But probably the internet knows he's the one that pays the bill and so it came on when he needed it to work.

It's fixed now though so here are some pictures of the little nocturnal one:



We're trying to get her to do that sleeping thing during the night time, so we don't accidentally turn into vampires. I think that's what happens when you have to turn nocturnal against your will.





I have this book called "What to Expect the First Year" that's supposed to be helping us get her to sleep and do other fine baby stuff, but I think it should be renamed, "806 Pages Worth of Ways You're Doin' Your Baby Wrong" or maybe "806 Ways You Might Accidentally Kill Your Baby".





Or maybe they should name it something simpler like, "Everything You Did With Your First Two Babies Was Wrong."



Baby says she's going to be just fine DESPITE what the baby book says though. Because...BABY POWER!



(*Sorry about the pictures. Something has changed on my blog & I don't have any more time to figure out why it's suddenly lopping off the sides of all the horizontal pictures)