Post-Op Lewis

Whew!  It's been a while!  Not having a way to charge your computer really cuts down on one's posting.  Plus I was bored with it.  But whatevs.  I decided that this story deserved to break out the old blog.

Lewis went to the hospital this morning to have an endoscopy and stomach biopsy.  He's had some pretty miserable heartburn (in various forms of pain) for the past several years, and he FINALLY went to the doctor to do something about it (do I sound like someone who has been trying to get him to go for a while?).

The procedure will hopefully be able to tell us what has been going on, which is good cause it was stinking expensive!  But all of our pennies are well-spent based on Lewis' behavior while he was coming out of anesthesia.  I will give you the same warning Lewis gave me: he gets pretty foul-mouthed during recovery.  I didn't entirely believe it when he said that, but sure enough...

Some highlights:

-Lewis was determined to count backwards from 100 by sevens as soon as he was awake.  I heard him trying all the way down the hall as they wheeled him back to the recovery room where I was waiting.  He kept skipping from 86 to 59 and would get really mad when I would correct him.  And then he would make the same mistake again.

-Just as he promised, Lewis got sweary.  He said one swear, and then asked one of the nurses if he said the f-word while he was in there.  She said, "No... just the s-h one."  Lewis laughed hysterically at this.

-Speaking of the f-word, after our recovery nurse, Kitch, left Lewis rolled his eyes and said, "Kitch doesn't know anything.  He's just a [effing] nurse."  I smacked his shoulder, aghast at his language.  He was shocked that I would do such a thing and even more surprised when I told him what he said.  Then he laughed raucously.

-Along with the swears, Lewis gets really complimentary.  I heard "you're pretty" at least a dozen times.  This is also true when he is really tired.

-At one point Lewis yelled that his leg was falling off the bed.  It hadn't moved.

-While he was recovering, Lewis got really cold.  I offered him my sweater, but he said, "No!  That's a GIRL sweater!"

-He put his foot in my face repeatedly while I was at his bedside.

-I remarked that his lips looked dry.  He licked them enthusiastically then leaned up to give me a slobbery kiss.  More raucous laughter ensued.

Lewis doesn't remember taking this picture.

-The counting backwards from sevens continued the entire time we were in the recovery room.  Jumping from 86 to 59 was a constant issue.

-When Kitch left for the last time, Lewis sang his praises and decided we should fill out a comment card for me.  He told me to write, "Kitch was SO good.  Even when I was under anesthesia, he treated me as an equal."

-Before we left, I used the restroom.  Lewis tried to call out to me in a pitiful voice while I was in there, but he was giggling too much.

-I told Lewis he could have anything he wanted to eat before we went home.  He chose to have a cheeseburger.  From the hospital restaurant.

-Lewis seemed to be doing better on the way home.  Mostly he was just laughing a lot and pointing out the obvious such as, "I farted." and, "That's a horse."

We will get the results of the procedure in 7-10 days.  For now, though, we will just cherish the memories of Lewis waking up.  I will, anyway.  Lewis can't remember anything.

Infant Eating Disorders

Today it came to our attention that Jack has a problem.  An eating problem.

I've been trying to give him more table foods.  Kid's almost one, after all.  Tonight we were having spaghetti.  Perfect food for an infant, right?

Little did I know, Jack has a lesser-known eating disorder: Spaghetti-induced bulimia.

He didn't seem to mind the flavor too much.  Something about the texture stumped him, though, and he just couldn't bring himself to swallow.  When he finally did, well... it didn't stick.  And it brought the rest of the day's meals with it.

It's partially my fault.  Jack has this weird little cough he does when he doesn't like something and I laughed at it, so he kept doing it.  Combine that with the gagging, and you've got a recipe for smelly, liquid disaster.

So instead we loaded him up with bananas, blueberries, animal crackers, and chocolate chip cookies.  Yep.  We are definitely sending the right message.

Jack got animal crackers at the store because his mommy is a sucker.

Upping My BPMs

It has recently become clear to me that Jack does not think I do enough to get my heart rate up throughout that day.

He fell off the couch a while back.  He didn't get hurt or anything, but the mishap helped him figure out the proper way to climb off the couch - feet first.  He hasn't had any problems since.  I've been letting him up onto the couch (he made it on his own once, but he usually runs out of patience) to play around without any worries.

Until today.  Twice - twice - Jack decided to dive headfirst off the couch.  He took great joy in this and thought it was hilarious.  He was giggling like a madman when I managed to catch him enough to slow his fall, thankfully, both times.

He also thinks it's a great game to hightail to the top of the stairs whenever the opportunity presents itself.  Thank goodness I am still faster than him.  But for how long?  How long?!

Delicious Non-Food

Jack ate some sponge the other day.  He was quite proud.  He's been trying to eat it for months.

Allow me to explain:

We put a ribbon over the latch on his door so that it is quiet when it opens and shuts.  This ribbon gets in the way from the door latching, so ever since Jack figured out how doors work, he's been able to open this one, no problem.  Due to this, I no longer leave him in his room while I go to take care of messy diapers, since he just follows me anyway.

Whenever he is in the bathroom, if he's not trying to dip his fingers in the toilet bowl, Jack is trying to climb into the bathtub.  (Why it never before occurred to me to just put him in the tub while I handle his diaper, I'll never know.)  On this day, he was successful.  At climbing into the bathtub, not the toilet thing.

Well, almost successful.  Instead of climbing gracefully into the tub, he kind of just flopped, head first, inside.  I managed to catch him by the ankle, just before he cracked his head on the bottom.  In the process, I dropped his diaper.  It landed in the toilet, and while I understand that that was the best possible place for it to land, it was still disgusting.  Now, instead of gentle shaking his poo into the water, no mess, I had to remove the diaper from the bowl where it was happily soaking up as much murky toilet water as it could.

I think I cried a little.

Jack was more than content to play around in the dry tub (at this point any worries about him turning on the water and soaking himself did not matter), so I left him at it while I assessed the situation.

I'll spare you the details of what I did.  Just know that it was gross and I really feel for people who used cloth diapers before the world figured out how to make them so their clean up is sanitary.

Meanwhile, Jack got his hands on the sponge we use for scrubbing his head.  I looked over in time to see the sponge in three pieces - one in each hand and the third in his mouth.  Just as I reached him, he swallowed and gave me a glowing smile.  This was clearly his proudest accomplishment to date.

Maybe he would eat his vegetables more often if I mixed in bits of sponge.

Jack, after a snack of actual food.

Evelyn

My niece, Evie, is hilarious.  She says or does something noteworthy at least a dozen times a day.  My sister - her mother - will often quote Evie on Facebook.  After spending several days with her, I have only one questions for Cassie: How on earth do you pick what to post?

Some examples (I only wish I had written more of them down - she said some funny stuff):

Evie: I just wish the people who make car seats had thought to give big kids a shade like babies have.

After a day of Evie telling me all about her favorite dinosaur: the Lunar Raptor, which is not a real dinosaur.
Me: Where did you learn all this?
Evie: Well, I might have heard about it on TV, or maybe I made it up.  But I didn't.  It's all true.

Evie: If Jack was a girl, I would like him better.

Evie: I could beat you up.  I take karate.

Evie: My mood ring is green.  Mom, what does that mean?
Cassie: I don't know.
Me: I think it means you're tranquil.
Evie: No, it means I'm calm.

Evie: Jack's pacifier is upside down.
Me: Yeah, he likes it like that.
Evie: I don't.
Me: Well, you don't use a pacifier anymore.
Evie: No, I don't like him to have it upside down.

Me: Evie, come cuddle with me.
Evie: I'm a werewolf.
Me: That's okay.  I just want my niece to come snuggle with me.
Evie: But I'm a boy werewolf.

Evie is also decidedly not Jack's number one fan.  I don't think she expected babies to do stuff like pull her hair or grab her face.  Jack, on the other hand, adores her and follows her around whenever they are in the same space.  It's good times for the quiet observer.

Mess Maker, Mess Maker, Make Me a Mess

Jack's new favorite thing to do is to take all of the rags out of our towel basket, one at a time.  He must receive great joy from this, because he does it several times a day.

I could put the basket up somewhere he can't reach.  But I'm not going to.  Because as long as he's removing with the towels from their basket, he is not removing the DVDs from their shelf.  Most of the time.

Up All Night

My family has been in town for the past several weeks.  Since they want to be close to us, but we don't have much room for everyone to sleep, they've spent the last week and a half in Park City.  Jack and I decided to join them there last week.

If you've read any of my posts over the past ten and a half months, you are probably aware that Jack is not a good sleeper.  His sleep woes are even worse if anything in his routine is even slightly out of the ordinary.  Say, for example, if he was sleeping in his pack and play instead of his crib.  In a place that is not his house.  Park City, for instance.

Lewis and Daniel had a hockey game (they won, beating their nemesis 3-2), so we got up to Park City late.  Jack was already overtired when we left the hockey game and he wailed halfway up Provo Canyon.  He finally fell asleep, only to wake up when I stopped for gas in Heber.  Then he wailed the rest of the way to Park City.

As soon as we got to the condo where we were staying (the one belonging to my in-laws - thank you!), I set up his pack and play, read him a story and sang to him, expecting him to start to drift off right away.  I would put him in bed, he would sleep all night (ha ha), and that would be that.  Except for the part where he didn't drift off.  He did pull my hair and pinch me in sensitive areas repeatedly, though.  That was fun.

By now it's eleven o'clock, four hours past his regular bedtime.  So I just plopped him in the pack and play, giving him the chance to put himself to sleep.  An hour and a half later he was still awake.

I had a queen to myself, so I decided to let Jack sleep with me.  One thing that Jack is famous for is getting up at the same time every stinking day, no matter what time he goes to bed.  I'm an early riser myself, so this is normally not a big deal.  Unless, of course, I don't go to sleep until nearly one in the morning.  But Jack was so tired, there was no way he was going to get up at his usual time, right?  Right?

Jack did very little of this in Park City.

Nope.  Not only did he kick me all night long (evidently Jack never stops moving, even when he's asleep), but he woke up at six AM on the nose.

A side note: Lewis and I don't let Jack watch TV.  It's not something we'd get on a soapbox about or anything like that, it's just not something we let him do.  It's just a personal choice, and it's actually been good for us, too, because it cuts down how much TV we watch.

Well, Jack got up so stinking early, and I was so stinking tired that I decided to set aside my parenting morals and turned on Sesame Street.  He could sit there, enthralled by the educational Muppets, and I could catch a few more winks, right?  Right?

Nope.  He couldn't have cared less about the TV.  He was much more interested in playing with my face.  I sacrificed my morals for nothing.

Eventually I carried him to where my parents were sleeping and they took over for me so I could sleep a little while longer.  This is why my parents are the very best around.

Scurvy

The other day, Jack's dear uncle gave him a lime to snack on.

I don't know which is funnier...

The face he made after he first sampled it:

Or the fact that he immediately went back for more:

Awesome Lewis

Remember when Jack fell down the stairs?

Well, I can't believe I forgot to blog about how amazing my spouse is.

You see, he fixed the baby gate so that it can now be used properly on the stairs.

He went to Home Depot, he bought some stuff, and he fixed it!  The baby gate will now touch the floor at both the top and the bottom of the stairs!  No more tumbles for Mr. Jack!

This man is the bomb dot com.

Yep.  I got a good one, didn't I?

Pathetic is My Middle Name

Whenever I am sick I turn into the most pathetic person you will ever meet.

It worked out really well that I happened to get sick at the end of last week when Lewis could be home to take care of me and Jack.

But then my sickness lingered into this week... When Lewis had to go back to school.

Anyone know any literature on training a ten-month-old to take care of his poor, infirm mother?

Mom Fail

If Jack managed to get his hands on a Tootsie Roll Pop...

And I let him keep it because he was just sucking on the wrapper...

And he used his two very sharp teeth to rip a tiny hole in the wrapper and suck on the actual candy...

And he had completely turned his nose up at his lunch earlier...

And I plunked him in his high chair, unwrapped the lollipop the rest of the way, and let him go to town on it because, hey, at least he was eating something...

Would that make me a bad mother?

Dirty Feet, Leaky Swim Diapers, and the Best Best Western in these United States

A few days ago Jack and I returned from the annual Hirschi Family Reunion.  This year the affair was held at Pinetop Girls Camp near Idaho City, Idaho.

Some highlights:

* Upon our arrival it was determined that there was no suitable place to put "No-Sleep" Jack to bed.  My awesome mom took us to a Best Western in nearby Boise.

* Boise's Best Western is actually pretty nice!  The shower was my favorite part (if was actually tall enough for a normal-sized human being, plus the pressure was perfect), closely followed by the muffins in their breakfast.

* Jack is very protective of me.  My uncle Mark started smacking me with a paper plate (it is unclear who started the fight) and Jack started yelling at him from across the room.

* You should not procrastinate changing a baby out of a swim diaper.  Even if it is clean when you exit the pool.  Also, you should recheck them for cleanliness before you take them off.  There is nothing worse than soggy poop from a soggy diaper.

* Pinetop Girls Camp has a lovely lodge.  But they should maybe invest in a quality vacuum.  Five minutes of crawling around on the carpet left him with streaks of visible grime on the tops of his shoes, socks (he took his shoes off), and knees.

* Jack is an incredibly pleasant baby.  When he's well-rested.  Which he was not for the duration of this trip.  Sorry, guys.

Jack with Andrew while I was off taking pictures.

* The Hirschi Olympics are amazing.  You should check them out.

* People in Boise are really polite.  I've never had so many doors held open for me, friendly elevator conversations, or smiles in passing.

* "Taco Bell Express" is a misnomer.

* You know those cups with the cool lid that you can put snacks in for babies to take out one at a time?  They suck.  There are puffs all over my car.

* CDs created in 2005 to commemorate your freshman year of college make for fabulous road-trippin' music.  The conglomeration of Britney Spears, Eminem, and Dashboard with the occasional Dixie Chick thrown in for good measure made the trip fly by.  Especially since I still knew all the lyrics, even after seven years.

A very special shout out to the Boise Hirschis who planned the event - especially Jennifer.  It was a ton of fun and errybody should be jealous of my kick-bum family and our grade A reunions.

Chex for Dinner

Yesterday Jack sat on my lap and cuddled with me for a solid three minutes.  Possibly four.

I was shocked.  The only time he ever snuggles with me is when he's sick.

The best three minutes of my life.

And then it hit me.  He was probably sick.

Several hours later he woke up with a fever of 103.

So we gave him some Advil and ran a lukewarm bath for him to cool down.  He was not at all interested in going back to sleep in his bed, so I let him curl up under my armpit in our bed.  Jack lay there moaning for about fifteen minutes until the Advil kicked in.  Then it was time to play.

Jack sat up, gave me a toothy grin and a slobbery kiss.  Then he noticed Lewis, snoring gently next to us.  Not wanting him to miss out on the fun, Jack started patting his leg and yelling.  This was about the time I decided he was ready to go back to his own bed.

The rest of the night was miserable; Jack got up so frequently I lost count.  But we survived and he seemed lots better in the morning.  Still feverish, mighty clingy, and awfully whiny, but better.

I fed him a light breakfast.  He hadn't shown any signs of being nauseous, but I just had this feeling.  That he would vomit at some inopportune time, like when I was in the shower and he was supposed to be napping, or something.

Which is exactly what he did.

A few weeks ago Jack started chewing on his crib, so we bought these super handy gummy crib rail things so he wouldn't ingest any more crib stain.  The guy at Babies R Us insisted that the adhesive was so strong that no baby could possibly pull it up.  Lies!  Jack pulled it up almost immediately.  I'm in the process of making fabric covers, but since I haven't actually started that yet, they are not done.  In the meantime Lewis secured the gummy pads with zip ties.  Jack has managed to pull the gummies up around the zipties, but not enough to take them off completely.

Just enough to make a large enough hole to throw up in to.

The fabric crib rail making process will now be expedited.  Adhesive and puke do not go well together.

The rest of the day was bodily-fluid free (with the exception of drool, but, well, you know), and thanks to Pedialyte Jack stayed far away from dehydration.  He was acting relatively normal too, except for a serious lack of appetite for everything but Chex cereal.  But it's not all bad: I dipped them in sweet potato puree, so there was still some nutritional value to it.

The Bug Story

Let me preface this tale by saying that some people may have unreasonably high expectations for this story.  All I said was that this story existed, and that it was gross.  Both truthful statements.

I further preface with a warning: If you have arachnophobia, you will probably not want to read this.

I personally do not have arachnophobia.  Do I like spiders?  No.  Do they creep me out?  Certainly.  But there is no universally accepted term for arachnocreepmeoutia.  Perhaps there should be.

Lewis is in grad school and as such spends much of his time studying.  Saturday morning was no exception, and while he worked I was trying not to interrupt him with any "honey-do"s or the like.  So when I saw a spider waddling across our living room floor (this should have been my first warning.  Spiders don't waddle.), I resisted the urge to yell for Lewis and instead grabbed one of his shoes to take care of this little beast myself.

Wham! went the shoe on the spider.

Out spewed forth the bajillion baby spiders the waddling menace was pregnant with.

Just remembering the sight so that I could write about it here made me throw up in my mouth a little bit.

I don't remember doing it, but Lewis said I screamed.  I do remember calling for him to come to my aid which he did, post haste, thinking that something was seriously wrong.

I still maintain something was.

My alleged scream woke Jack up from his nap, so I took him downstairs to get a snack where I saw...

...Ants!

Yep, some ants had found their way into our home and were snacking on a piece of cereal on the floor.  Lewis investigated and found their point of entry.  Eliminating that effectively would entail replacing the weatherstripping around our back door, getting some bug spray and ant traps, and quarantining the area from Jack for the rest of the day.

Lewis did not end up getting much studying done at all that day.  And just when I was thanking him for being such a sweet spouse and sacrificing so much to protect Jack and me from the creepy crawlies, he decided to creep me out further by talking about how he probably didn't kill all the baby spiders and they would probably grow up in the vacuum cleaner and then come after me all at once.  So I made him empty the vacuum canister right away for being so rude.  AND I DIDN'T EVEN SAY PLEASE.

But seriously, Lew.  Thanks for making our house pest-free.

A Gray Hair Day

When I told Lewis that I was going to blog about today, he told me that it didn't seem believable.  To that I replied, "All the more reason."

The events that transpired today could each take up their own post.  But I want the world to know what my day was like and how I am positive that even more of my hair has turned gray because of it.

Allow me to explain.

At Smith's the other day, a smiling lady handed me a bag of samples from P&G.  Included in this bag was a travel-size bottle of Old Spice body wash.  Upon smelling it I determined that it was the same scent an old boyfriend and possibly one of my brothers uses and therefore could not be used by Lewis.  That would be weird.  It stayed in the bag until Jack decided to pull it out and play with it.

It being body wash and all (not exactly potable), I kept my eye on Jack while he played.  Should I have taken it away from him immediately?  Probably.  But I didn't.  He doesn't know how to open bottles like that yet.

Or should I say didn't.

As soon I saw him flip open the top I rushed over to take it away from him before he ingested any.  Before I got there, though, he turned the bottle upside down and squeezed.

I now have Old Spice-scented carpet.

As I was cleaning up the floor, Jack crept into the bathroom and did this:

***

My family is coming to town this week, so I have been trying to get the house ready for them.  One of the things I have been putting off is giving our guest bathroom a good once over.  I tend to not clean that bathroom as often as I should, for a number of reasons.  1) It's really only used for bathing Jack.  2) I do most of my cleaning when Jack is asleep and it is right next to his bedroom so cleaning it then would surely wake him.  3) The bathroom is right at the top of the stairs and up until this weekend we hadn't bothered to buy baby gates so I couldn't very well do it while he was awake.

I knew it had to get done, though, and today seemed as good a day as any.  So I dragged one of the baby gates upstairs.  As I tried to put it up, however, I noticed a problem.  It's a pressurized gate, so to work properly it has to be pushing into the wall in a straight line on both sides.  Well we have these lovely five-inch baseboards all over our house, so the gate has to go at least five inches off the ground.  But then at the top of the stairs the bannister thingy has a layer or something - You know what?  I'm just going to go take a picture to show you what I mean.  Here you go:

As you can see, there is plenty of space for a baby to slide under, particularly a baby with a small head and an intense desire to go down the stairs all on his own.  This would not do at all.  To compensate, I put a couple of boxes in front of it to block the gap.  I wasn't super satisfied with the results, but Jack tends to follow me around, so I figured I'd be able to stop him if he did try to move the boxes.

I was wrong.

It happened so quickly.  One moment he was playing happily in the doorway of the laundry room while I loaded it with towels from the linen closet and the next he was gone.  I rushed out of the laundry room in time to watch him tumble down the last few steps onto the landing in front of the window.  Thankfully he only fell down the top part of the stairs, before it turns and goes the rest of the way down.  That worst part was that I could have caught him after only the first three steps if that gate hadn't been there.

As soon as Jack stopped his rapid descent he rolled over and started wailing.  I gently picked him up and made him move everything to make sure he wasn't hurt.  As soon as he was in my arms he stopped crying and, in fact, started giggling.  He must think that his mother sobbing is funny.  Oh, did I not mention I was sobbing?  It was the scariest mommy-moment I have every had.  And he wasn't even hurt!

Once I was satisfied he was fine, I just held him close and rocked him, apologizing over and over (while he chuckled).  Then he abruptly pushed off of my stomach and took a flying leap towards the rest of the stairs.  He was evidently ready for round two.

Heaven help us.  We have a thrill-seeker.

***

Around the time we were expecting Lewis home from school, he called to say he would be late.  While he was at school, someone stole his car's catalytic converter from the commuter lot by the bus stop.  Fantastic.  Jack and I arrive just in time to see a police officer taking finger prints.  Jack's first crime scene!  What a milestone!  I hope the thief steps on a Lego.

***

Other fun things, scattered throughout the day:

- I let Jack eat a tissue because it was the lesser of two evils.

- Jack discovered that Chex make a delightful sound when they hit the floor from the height of his high chair.

- Jack dumped the contents of his toy basket all over the floor.  Twice.

- Jack pulled over a trash can containing poopy wipes, effectively distributing the wipes throughout the bathroom.  I was holding him at the time.  I still haven't worked out how he did that.

It was certainly a day during which I had to keep reminding myself to laugh instead of groan.  Mostly I compromised by just sighing.

If nothing else, I feel confident we will look back on this day and laugh, although perhaps with an eye roll or two.  Except the catalytic converter part.  That part will always suck.

Adventures in Churching

Until yesterday, Jack hadn't spat up in months.

Okay, that might not be entirely true, but it has felt like it.

He was never a big spitter-upper, but even the little bits here and there were not missed when they went away.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday we, being the good Mormons we are, went to church.  Throughout our first meeting - Sacrament Meeting - Jack acted like he had bees in his head.  He wanted to be held.  No, he wanted to be put on the ground.  Just kidding, he wanted to be held.  He tried to eat the tissues someone left under our pew (yuck).  He ripped some hairs out of the head of the little girl sitting behind us.  Twice.  He stuffed handfuls of puffs in his mouth.  He threw handfuls of puffs on the floor.  He tried to eat the program.  He tried to escape.  Again and again and again.

The only redeeming thing about this behavior was that he was pretty quiet.  Which is weird for him.

This look of innocence is just a ruse.

Lewis took him to the back to crawl around and let out some energy.  Didn't work.  I took him to the mothers' lounge to nurse him and try and calm him down.  Didn't work.  Finally I just took him to the foyer and let him go nuts while I listened the rest of the meeting on the speakers.

I let Jack be until he tried to climb into another baby's car seat - with the other baby still in it.  I'm sure he just wanted to grab her face and give her kisses, but still.  Car seats are not made for two.

So I picked him up and hauled him over to the chair I was sitting in, hoping to distract him with one of his toys (and when I say "toys," I really mean recycled garbage that he likes better than any of his actual toys).  Suddenly I felt something warm in my lap.  Crud, I thought.  He peed on me.

I immediately snatched him from my lap to see how wet he was.  Much to my surprise, he was not wet at all.  But he was laughing hysterically.  I looked down at my lap and discovered a lovely white pool of spit up, splattered all over my skirt.

Fabulous.

My first thought was to grab my phone and text Lewis to come save the day.  But of course I had left my phone - and everything else - with Lewis in the chapel.

Did I mention we were sitting in the front?  Yep.  Fourth row.

By this point the spit up had soaked into my clothing enough that I was not in any danger of getting in on the church floor (it had also cooled off considerably) so I just held Jack in front of me and made my way back to our pew.  As soon as we arrived, I deposited Jack in Lewis' lap and hissed at him to get me the keys and my church bag.  I held my bag in front of me and hightailed it out of there.

Thank GOODNESS we live so close to our church.  I was back home in no time at all.  My plan was to just put on a different skirt and hope no one noticed, but of course Jack had managed to get some grossness on my blouse as well.  It would have to be an different outfit entirely.  I changed quickly and was soon on my way back.

While I was walking I remembered that Lewis had been asked to say the closing prayer.  Great.  If I didn't make it back in time, he would have to take Jack with him and everyone would probably hear less praying and more Jack grabbing the microphone, trying to eat it, and then growling into it.

As soon as I walked into the building, I heard the closing song playing.  Excellent, I had made it.  I speed walked into the chapel and all the way to the front.  As soon as my bum hit the bench the song ended and Lewis stood up to pray.  Perfect timing!  And with any luck no one noticed that I had changed outfits.

No such luck.  Right after the he finished the prayer, the second counselor in our bishopric asked him if Jack had peed on me.

And then our neighbor and I had a good laugh about how perfect my timing was in getting back right before the prayer (Lewis had arranged with the people behind us to hold on to Jack in case I didn't make it, but still).

Pretty much, everyone knew something was up.

Stinking kid.

Tidbits o' Jack

Exceptional Baby

I've always had a dream that my children would be exceptional.  It doesn't matter what they are exceptional in (well, it matters a little.  I don't want them to be exceptionally good at drugs or something), I just simply hoped for them to be exceptional in some way.

Jack, in his ever-constant desire to be ahead of the game, has already proved to be exceptional.  Exceptionally skinny.   For his age he is in about the fifth percentile for weight.  For his height, he does not even approach the chart.  

I can't decide if his skinniness is nature or nurture.  On the natural hand, my mother tells me that all of her children were skinny ones.  On the nurturing hand, Jack moves all the time.  All of it.  To the point that he has actually very nice muscles in his arms and legs.  I think Lewis put it best when he said, "Jack's fat is like our bank account.  As soon as any is deposited, he spends it."

That's not a roll in his arm.

Teething

Slowly but surely, Jack has been destroying his crib.  Whenever he is awake and in his crib, he is snacking on the inside of the railing.  I didn't anticipate this happening until he got some top teeth, but he has been apparently unsatisfied with how sharp his one tiny tooth is.  And of course our local Walmart does not sell crib rail protectors.

Jack after a mid-morning meal.

Suspiciously Quiet

As is the case with most children, the only time I really need to worry about what Jack is doing is when he is being quite.  Much like his inability to be still, Jack also has an inability to be quite.  Unless, of course, he is making mischief of one kind or another.  Naturally, I never notice the silence until it is too late.

One such quite time occurred this morning.  When I located the troublemaker, he was under the kitchen table with a bag of bread in his lap, snacking on one of the pieces.  Between yesterday and today, Jack grew just enough to pull stuff off the table.  Thankfully he got the bread bag with only two pieces in it (heels, both of them) and not the full bag.

Apparently the crib did not offer enough nutrition.

Mom Can be Sneaky Too

Jack recently decided he does not want to eat vegetables anymore.  Up until last week he had been having vegetables every day without issue.  Then he abruptly decided eating them was more than a little torturous.  He will still eat some as finger foods, but absolutely none are acceptable on a spoon.  Fruits, however, are just peachy.  (Pun.)  So today when I was pureeing some pears for him, I threw in  several handfuls of spinach.  He had a bowlful for dinner and I've never seen him eat anything so quickly.  As a bonus pears and spinach create a lovely hue just the same shade as peas, so maybe I can trick him into eating some of those sometime.

Mom: 1 Jack: 0.  For now, no doubt.

Be a Jitter Bug, Not a Litter Bug!

There is little in this world I hate more than littering.  Ooh, it really cooks my grits!  It's one of those things that I am honestly surprised people still do.  I thought we had all figured out that it's not okay.  Like smoking.  How do people in this day and age when we now so much about how crappy smoking is for your health get into it?  I'll never know.

Last Saturday we were at Costco.  I know, bad idea.  Going to Costco on a Saturday is like going to Disneyland over UEA.  It's crowded, smelly, and there are a lot of crying Mormon kids.  While we were on our way out, this toddler sitting in the cart in front of us dropped his napkin on the ground.  Obviously he didn't know any better.  But his father - who watched the napkin fall and made no attempt to catch it - did.  So did his mother who glanced over to see what her husband was looking at and frowned slightly at the napkin before stepping over it.

Now I don't know about the rest of the sane world, but if my kid drops garbage on the ground, I will pick it up (or make him do it, if the circumstances allow) and show him the proper way to dispose of it. Just leaving it on the ground is absolutely, positively not cool.

You may think I should go easy on this family.  After all, we were in Costco, and on a Saturday!  There were a bajillion people around and picking up that napkin could have proved difficult with the surge of people all trying to leave the store at once.  Oh except, wait, it wasn't.  Cause I picked it up myself, causing no significant break in the exodus.

Coincidentally this family was parked right next to us.  I kept shooting glares at them through the backseat window while I buckled Jack in.  I was secretly hoping they wouldn't put their cart away (another thing that bugs me) so I could judge them more, but a parking lot attendant happened to be collecting the carts from the closest corral as they finished up loading their car and took the cart for them.

But seriously, world.  Don't litter.  It's rude.

Big, Bad Dad and Uncle

Every week Lewis heads down to Provo to play a hockey game on a team with my brother, Daniel.  Their games usually start at some ridiculous hour like 9:45 at night, but occasionally the scheduling gods smile mercifully upon their team and grant them a 7:30 game.  Such was the case last night, so Jack and I came to support two of our favorite guys.

Shortly before the game started, Lewis poked his head out of the tunnel that leads from the locker rooms to the ice, so Jack and I went over to say hello.  Since the game was about to start, Lewis was in full gear: skates, monstrous shoulder pads, beefy socks, a helmet with cage, and of course, his stick.  As soon as we greeted him, Lewis said hello to Jack and offered him a big smile.  I turned to Jack just as he was opening his mouth to give his pop a cheeky grin back -

And watched him scream in terror instead.

This was a noise I had never before heard escape my baby's throat.  Not to mention one that I hope to never hear again.  Jack did not appreciate something about Lewis' getup.  Thinking it might be the helmet cage, Lewis took that off, and Jack was just fine.  Until Daniel came out of the locker room.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

In the future, when Jack love sports like his mommy and daddy do,
we are going to show everyone this picture and tell them this story.

Jack was as happy as a clam during the game.  He flirted with some of Daniel's friends that came to watch.  He tried desperately to catch the eyes of the fans sitting behind us (no luck - they were serious about the game).  He giggled ferociously as his uncle Andrew tickled him.  He blew zerberts on my cheeks.  In other words, he was regular Jack.

Then the game ended (in victory) and Daniel skated over to say hello.  We were sitting about seven or eight rows above the penalty box, so Daniel skated right in to that.  Apparently the distance, glass wall, and fact that Daniel had already taken off his helmet and cage didn't matter to Jack.  He absolutely, positively freaked out.

As Lewis was going into the tunnel, he waved us over.  He apparently did not see Jack's reaction to Daniel mere moments before.  I took Jack over cautiously.  Instead of meeting him at the bottom, we looked down on him from the top of the bleachers.  That was still too close for Jack.  As soon as he spotted his father, he made a sound I've come to associate with banshees and began sobbing uncontrollably into my shoulder.

In the lobby we waited for Lewis and Daniel to change back into their street clothes.  After all he had been through that night, as well as the fact that we were now multiple hours past his bedtime, Jack was more than a little clingy.  He wasn't crying anymore, but you could forget about anyone else holding him.  That is until Lewis came out of the locker room and joined us.  As soon as he saw him, Jack dove into his arms and snuggled right in.

Here is our theory as to what brought on the fear: We think Jack saw his dad in all those pads and gear and maybe thought something was attacking Lewis.  All he could see of Lewis that was familiar was his head.  When we were up close, that was enough to settle him.  But when we were far away, looking down on Lewis from above, all Jack could see was his daddy's face on top of fatty pads.  And then when Lewis came out of the locker room after the game, Jack went to him for reassurance.  He needed to see that his dad, his buddy was okay.  It was a heart breaking, and then heart warming evening.

Except Jack was still scared of Daniel.  We'll work on that.

Constructive Compliments

So... Pandora.  It's great!  I use it daily.  Jack and I love rocking out and dancing like crazy people and Pandora provides the music, for which I am very grateful.  We would look pretty silly rocking out and dancing like crazy people without music.

And far be it from me to criticize something that is offered to me for zero dollars, but... I'm going to anyway.  Call it constructive.  File these away into your suggestion box if you ever feel the need to improve.

1. When I thumbs up a song, I expect to hear it more often.  And yet there are some songs that I have thumbs upped that I hardly ever, and others that I have not thumbs upped that play daily.  Sometimes more than once.  I know that I can thumbs down such songs and not have to listen to them anymore, but it's not like I hate them.  I just don't need to hear them that often...

2. ...Which brings me to my second point.  Didn't Pandora use to have a "play this song less frequently" option?  Where did that go?  It was so handy.  Is it just not on the tablet app?  Somebody tell me; I'm too lazy to go check.

(Bee tee dubs, I just hit the command button right before I typed that semicolon, fully expecting it to make my keyboard switch from letters to numbers and symbols.  The mischievous iPad, messing me up!)

3. Adele.  While she is lovely and undoubtedly talented, I found that I can only listen to her in small doses.  And you, Pandora, seem to be having a love affair with her.  No matter which station I select - lullaby, Disney, Billy Joel, MoTab, Muppets Holiday (word) - she shows up.  Frequently.  Except not anymore cause I got so sick of them, I thumbs downed all her songs - but really I just wanted to listen to them less frequently.  Hmm, I feel like there is something that could have been done about that.

4. Why, oh why have you let the Shane Company be one of your sponsors?  I know, I know, they sponsor everything.  I have received a beanie, backpack, chap stick, and beer bottle cozy all emblazoned with their logo at various sporting events.  But I will never, ever, EVER purchase anything from the Shane Company.  Why?  Because I absolutely, positively loathe their commercials.  I don't know who their spokesperson is (Is it Shane?  I feel like it should be Shane), but he has the most grating, irritating voice I have every heard.  I frequently play Pandora while I am in the shower and the last thing I want to hear while I'm scrubbing my bum is that voice.  I would take the creepy Cars dot com confidence falsetto voice than Shane's.

5. You know what, Pandora?  You deserve a compliment.  A nice surprise to pull out of you suggestion box at your suggestion box meeting.  So here goes: Yours is probably the app I use most frequently these days.  For the most part, Jack and I just love you.  Keep up the good work.

Love from,

Alyssa

Everything But The...

The following is a conversation Jack and I had.

Me: Jack, say da da da

Jack: Da da da

Me: Say ba ba ba

Jack: Ba ba ba

Me: Cough, cough

Jack: Cough, cough

Me: *Blowing raspberries*

Jack: *Blowing raspberries*

Me: Da da da

Jack: Da da da

Me: Ma ma ma

Jack: Da da da

Me: Hey!  Pa pa pa

Jack: Pa pa pa

Me: Ma ma ma!

Jack: Pa pa pa

Yep.  My son is a twerp.

Time Paradox

Jack is nine months old today.

Here's the thing.  I was pregnant that kid for an entire nine months.  And now he has apparently been out and about and living in the world for just as long.  Or so the calendar tells me.  Cause there is no way that those two events represent the same amount of time.

I always scoffed at old people talking about how fast time went by.  Psh!  I thought.  Time is time is time!  I thought.  It's the same for everyone!  I thought.

And then I had Jack.

Holy cow time goes by so much faster now.

In my brain I was pregnant for about the gestational length of an elephant and Jack has been here for maybe - maybe - three months.

Hmph.  I do not approve.

Jack's Nemesis

Jack and the vacuum have a complicated relationship.

When we first got our new vacuum, Jack was mildly curious about it.  Not enough to really do anything.  Just enough that he tentatively rolled away from it whenever they were in the same room.

And then we turned it on.

I am still somewhat convinced that the noise from that vacuum is what motivated Jack to learn to crawl so early.

It got to the point that I couldn't vacuum unless either Lewis was home and could occupy Jack in the opposite side of the house or I let Jack cling to my neck the entire time.

Then Jack grew up and got a little braver.  Suddenly he was okay with hanging out in baby jail (the pack 'n play) while I vacuumed.  And by "hanging out" I mean glaring daggers at the vacuum and tracking it all over the room we were in.  Oh, and screaming if it got too close and insisting I pick him up so he could cling to my neck some more.

Then one day, after I had vacuumed the living room and left it sitting there off to one side, Jack went up to it.  He touched it.  He tried to chew on the cord.

And he pulled it down on top of himself.

Facepalm.


You would think that the whole reason Jack was scared of the vacuum cleaner in the first place was because he thought it would hurt him.  And then when it actually did hurt him (nothing serious), his fear would return anew.

You would be wrong.

I can no longer leave the vacuum out.  As soon as it is shut off I have to put it away or Jack will go after it again.  Maybe he thinks this time he will fall on top of it?  I don't know.

Today was a big step in the evolution of Jack's relationship with the vacuum.  Today when I vacuumed the TV room, Jack just sat there in the middle of the room.  He didn't even move when the vacuum came close.  Which turned out to be kind of a problem because I needed to vacuum the carpet under him, too.  So I gently nudged his bum with the front of the machine, fully expecting him to shriek in terror and to be clinging to my neck in no time.

Never has being wrong made me so proud.  Jack has matured, you see.  Instead of reacting out of fear, Jack merely gave the vacuum a withering look and crawled haughtily away to play in the kitchen.

Sometimes my son kind of acts a little bit like a cat.

Next step?  Jack will vacuum for me.  He will be the master of the vacuum.

Cheeky Children

Apparently we in America today are raising rather forward children.  They have no inhibitions whatsoever.  Kiss anyone you like?  Sure!  Ask someone of the opposite gender over for a sleepover?  Absolutely!

Allow me to explain.

On Monday we went over to Mary's house for a barbecue.  You know, cause it was Memorial Day.  And we could.  Since Jack is cute and a baby everyone wanted to hold him.  Something you should know about Jack is that his way of saying "hello" is to grab your face.  If you pass inspection, he will hang out with you.  If you do not, he will either dive back to my arms or to the ground, whichever is closer.

In the midst of the barbecue, Jack happened to be sitting on my friend Becca's lap.  She passed the face test so Jack was happily sitting there, trying to remove her sunglasses when all of the sudden he leaned up and kissed her.  All open-mouthed and slobbery.  And right on the lips.

I think he may have a bit of a crush.

This is Becca and me at Disneyland.  She's a hottie.

Tonight we went to Lewis' and Daniel's hockey game.  The game started after Jack's bedtime, so he was pretty sleepy.  While I was bouncing him in my arms, trying to see if he would drift off, this delightful little lady of about four came right up and introduced herself (actually introducing herself was the last thing in our conversation she did - she ran up and told us her name after the conversation was over because she apparently had forgotten).  After praising Jack for his adorability and blue eyes (along with her brown ones and sassy shoes), she invited him over to the slumber party she was having that night with several of her friends.

Even when he's out of focus, Jack is too cool for school.  And sleepovers.

As much as I would appreciate a full night's rest, I had to decline.  Somehow I didn't think Jack is quite ready for a night away from home.

Kids these days.

A Rooster in a Crib

Reason number 26 why I love Daylight Savings:

No matter what time he goes to bed the night before, Jack gets up each morning with the sun.  Without daylight savings, he would have been up at five this morning, instead of the much more reasonable six o'clock hour.

I'm an early-riser already, but five AM is a little too early, even for me.  The good news is that Jack is absolutely charming when he gets up in the morning and is (usually) perfectly content to play in baby jail while I catch a few more winks.

Tasty Treats

The following is a list of things that have found their way into Jack's mouth today.

- The one piece of broccoli that I missed when I was cleaning up after dropping the blender jar on the floor.  I think it was under the fridge.

- An old remote that I had just used to kill a spider.

- The wash cloth Lewis was trying to use to scrub him during his bath.

- Toilet paper.  He figured out how the rolls work.

At the end of the day all I can do is point out that he is still alive, thankyouverymuch.

I guess he did get some real food in there, too.

Kisses for Jesus

Jack is a fan of giving big, slobbery, open-mouthed kisses.  I am frequently woken up in the morning with such kisses, along with a good tug to my hair.

This morning Jack was chewing on Lewis' copy of "For the Strength of Youth."  ("For the Strength of Youth" is a pamphlet produced by our church outlining our standards for teenagers to live happy, clean lives.)  As he was enjoying the tasty pamphlet, I noticed he was continually pressing one page in particular to his face with his mouth wide open, like he was giving it a kiss.  I pulled the booklet away from him (he's generally not allowed to eat paper products) and saw what was on the page he was kissing.

It was a picture of Jesus.

All together now: "Awww!"

I turned the book to other pages to see if he would kiss those too.  He would not.  Then I turned back to the page with Jesus on it and he kissed it again.

Coincidence?  I don't believe in coincidences!  But probably, yeah.

Still, that kid sure knows how to melt my heart.

Talented Toesies

I have incredible toes.

I tell you this not to be braggy.  No, this is just background information for the forthcoming story.  My toes can pick up pretty much anything.  They've always had this gift, but when I was pregnant and too large to properly bend down, well... that's when my talent flourished.  You name it, I can pick it up with my toes.  Laundry?  Challenge me!  Coins?  Not a problem!  Books?  Piece of cake!

See that foot in the background?  It has a gift.

This gift really came in handy earlier this week.

Jack decided that he would like nothing better than to be held.  All.  Day.  Long.

If you've ever held him, you know that you can't just hold Jack.  He doesn't just sit there, being held.  He wiggles.  And squirms.  And tries to see whatever is behind him - even if what it behind him is what was just barely in front of him.  It's quite tiring.

On this particular day I had quite a bit to do.  Lewis and his students were putting on a program and I had to get dinner made in time to bring it to him beforehand.  I had finally gotten Jack distracted with toys enough that I could get stuff done.

Jack decided he'd had enough of the toys the very second I had germed up my hands in raw chicken.  He's splendid with the timing and all.  There wasn't much I could do with chicken hands, so I just let him cry and fuss at my ankles, while I cut the chicken as quickly as I could.

Meanwhile, Jack gave up on trying to crawl up my legs and instead turned his attention to my iPad, which was playing music on one of our barstools.  So there I was, with germy chicken hands and a baby perilously close to destroying my iPad by pulling it off of a relatively high surface.  What's a girl to do?

Enter my talented toesies.  I was able to successfully move the iPad from the barstool on to the counter, out of Jack's reach (an elbow or two may have been involved in pushing the iPad to the requisite height).

Yep.  My toes push me over the border into Super-Mommydom.

Open Mouth, Insert Food

Jack's new favorite thing to do is share.  Several times a day I am offered a pacifier, graham cracker, or bath toy.  And by "offered," I mean I have those items shoved in my mouth.

Want a bite?

It's very sweet.

Except for the part where Jack thinks that this sharing thing should be reciprocal.  I can't eat a bite of anything without him crawling over, pulling himself to his feet by grabbing onto my legs, staring at me with those irresistible baby blues, and opening his mouth wide in the direction of my food.  If he happens to be close enough, he will just grab a handful of whatever is on my plate without even skipping a beat.

Another thing Jack has mastered is guilt.  If I happen to finish my meal without offering him any, he won't cry; instead he will look at me with sad eyes and then slowly crawl away as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.  All he wanted was a taste of ice cream!

Somehow I feel as if I have been wrapped around some short dude's little finger.  Hmm.

Happy Mothers Day to Me

For Mothers Day, I asked Jack for two things.  He could either sleep through the night (har, har) or he could figure out how to say "ma" consistently.  He has "da" down pat, and I'm insanely jealous.

Apparently he had a different gift in mind altogether.

That's pee.

Happy Mothers Day, one and all!

What a Pain in the Knee

I ran a 5K today.

I'm not telling you this to get you to think that I am awesome.  You should think that, regardless.

No, I am telling you this so that you understand how I have been slowly dying ever since.

While I was out jogging last Tuesday, my knee started to hurt.  It is not unusual for something of mine to hurt - just a few weeks ago I had a broken toe from when a bottle of shampoo fell on it in the shower, and I stubbed a different toe a mere half hour ago - but it is unusual for me to have an unexplained pain.  I inflict enough pain on my body all by myself that there is hardly any room for anything else to be hurt.

The knee thing was different.  It wasn't swollen.  I hadn't twisted it funny or done anything strenuous with it.  My knee just hurt.  For no good reason.  So I cut my run short and took it easy for the next few days, so I could still do this run today.

The 5K went beautifully.  Running is just amazing, let me tell you what.  I was on such a high after it was over.  And my knee didn't bug me at all!  Well, not until the last stretch anyway.  It was all downhill, but I ignored the pain and let my momentum carry me through to the end and to my kid who had just realized I wasn't with him and who was a bit displeased about this fact.

Jack wouldn't let me out of his sight after I got back.

Then the pain really began.

Pretty soon I could barely walk.  Stairs were excruciating.  The pain started shooting to my ankle.  I was THIS CLOSE to just cutting my whole leg off and growing a new one.

And then there was the mail.

I love getting mail.  It's one of my favorite things in the world.  And no stinking knee was going to stop me from getting it today!

The walk to the mailbox was agony.  I'm sure I looked a sight to all of our neighbors.  But it would be worth it, just to get the mail.

But there wasn't any.  I'd made the torturous walk for nothing.  Nothing!

My life is so hard.

In other news, Lewis ran too.  As is common for many runners of such races, Lewis experienced a bit of mild chafing.  He attempted to alleviate the issue with some of Jack's extra-strength diaper cream.  He said it "feels like my bum is sitting in a bowl of ice cream."

Lew's triumphant finish.

Jack is Behind Door Number One

Jack figured out doors.

Not the knob thing, so much.  Just that they can be opened or closed through pushing, depending on which side you are on.

What does this mean for me?  It means that whatever little privacy I had has now evaporated.

You see, I usually leave the bathroom door ajar when I use it, just in case Jack gets into any trouble.  But now that he figured out how to push open the door, instead of just sitting outside, waiting for me to come out, he now welcomes himself right on in.

I learned quickly to shut the door all the way.  So instead Jack will lie down at the bottom of the door, stick his weeny hands under it, and make the weird noises he makes.

When he's not infringing on my me time, Jack likes to shut himself in the closet with the light off.  I don't even think he noticed he couldn't see until I opened the door.  He was just sitting there, happy as a clam, snacking on the shoe lace of my left hiking boot.

He's very proud of his cleverness.

Our Little Prodigy

Remember this?

Yesterday, Lewis stepped on it.  Now, it's no Lego, but it can't have felt good.  In anger and pain, Lewis kicked it across the room.

Where it bounced off of a large blue ball.

And headed straight for Jack, at a rather high velocity.

Jack didn't even flinch.  He just calmly opened his hand and freaking caught the fence.

It all happened so fast, I didn't even have time to flip out.

Between this and his height, Jack clearly has a future in some kind of athletic competition.

We just need to get some meat on his bones.

Phantom Lullabies

I grew up in a home where music was constantly playing.  In the car the radio was always tuned to the oldies station.  At home there was always a CD on; usually either the Beatles or some musical.  My mom is a big fan of the musicals.  Two of her favorites back in the day (and still) were Les Miserables and the Phantom of the Opera.  I got to know the soundtracks to these musicals very well.  Especially the boy parts.  My sister would want to sing the pretty songs and duets with someone, but my brothers weren't interested, so that left me.  Eleven-year-old Alyssa could do a pretty dang good Marius, if I do say so myself.

The Christmas season was more of the same, except Les Mis and Phantom were replaced by "A Christmas Spectacular of Carols and Songs," which was a recording of a Christmas concert by the casts of various Broadway productions, and Michael Crawford's "A Christmas Album."

If you didn't already know this, Michael Crawford originated the role of title character in the Phantom of the Opera.  And if you've heard him sing, you know he's got a pretty unique voice.  The only thing I knew hims from was Phantom.  So when my mom would play his Christmas album, little ol' me thought that it wasn't Michael Crawford singing those beloved carols, but it was actually the Phantom singing them.  Now, don't get me wrong - he sang them beautifully!  I was and am a big fan of his cover of "O Holy Night, " s'matter of fact.  I guess at the time I just figured that the Phantom did a Christmas special, a la Charlie Brown.

I believed this for an embarrassingly long time.

Smash cut to these days.  I take after my mom in that I have music going pretty much all the time.  Since I had Jack, I've been spending a lot of time playing the lullaby station on Pandora.  It's actually a pretty sweet station.  It plays a healthy mix of traditional lullabies, soft Disney tunes, big-time singer covers of traditional lullabies, and even some music you might hear on the radio today.  The chill stuff.  It's very hip.  At least I think so.  I'm not so sure what is hip these days.

The other day we were listening to it when "Baby Mine" started to play.  I smiled inwardly, wondering if Jack would recognize it from when I sing it to him (it's one of the songs in our bedtime rotation).  That is, until the singer began and I found myself hastily switching to the next song.

Why?  Because the singer was Michael Crawford.

Again, don't get me wrong.  He has a lovely voice!  Divine!  But in that moment when he started singing the song Jack and I know so well - one of our songs, I just couldn't get past the idea that had formed in my head all those years ago with the Christmas album:  That it was the Phantom - of the Opera - singing that sweet tune.

And even though it didn't bother me that we listened to his Christmas album when I was a kid, and I didn't find it creepy at all back then, I just didn't feel right allowing the Phantom - of the OPERA - to serenade my child.

I'm a Runner. I Run.

I've always considered myself a runner.  Even when I go embarrassingly long stretches between runs.

Tonight I went on my first run in a really long time.

Oh my heavens, it was miserable.

My lungs burned, my ribs ached, my legs throbbed.  I hurt in places I've never hurt before.  Something about having a watermelon-sized human being in my uterus eight months ago must have moved some stuff around.  Or something.

And I loved every second of it.

Running has always been a good release for me.  I started running in middle school after I beat one of the fittest guys in school in a PE run of the mile.  Later, when I was bullied, it became a way to escape the crappiness that was junior high.

Of course the mean girls tried to take that away from me too, but luckily for me they were kind of dumb.  Back in the diz-ay, I was really skinny.  Like woah.  I think my siblings described me as "a toothpick with a crash helmet on."  So the mean girls used to tell everyone that I was anorexic and bulimic (yes, both) and the only reason I did so well during races was because the wind would push me around the track.  Sound theory, if it wasn't for the crucial little fact that tracks are ROUND.

I'll let you work out the physics of it all on your own.

In any case, I'm running again now.  Just in time too, cause Lewis' school is hosting a 5k fun run next week.

Mercy Me!

If you saw me today and thought that I looked tired, allow me to offer an explanation for why that is.

I'm tired.

We all are actually.  All of us in the Young household.  We were doing great with the whole sleep thing.  We had a system going that was working.  Everyone was getting the sleep they needed.  Every night.

And then it all EXPLODED.

Because Jack - dear, dear Jack - decided that pulling himself to his feet and screaming is a much more better thing to do than sleep.

This is how it has gone over the past week, at every nap and bedtime (and a couple of times in the middle of each night, for that matter):

-We go through our nap/bedtime routine, same as it has been for all of the year two-thousand and twelve.

-Jack starts to nod off in my arms, so I start to put him down in his crib (I usually put him in bed before he is asleep so he can get there by himself, but not lately because of...well, this).

-Jack touches down in his crib, his eyes fly open, he looks around wildly, sees he is in his crib, and starts to sob as he flips over and crawls in the most pathetic manner possible to the edge of the crib where he pulls himself up and wails towards the door that I have just exited.

-I hug myself in the fetal position and rock back and forth in my own bed hoping and praying that maybe this time he will remember how to self-soothe and will go to sleep all on his own.

Now I come to a request for you, dear blog readers.  If I, in the four years of my blog's existence, have ever amused you or tickled your fancy or made you nod your head in passionate agreement or even made you gasp in offense, I ask you this: commiserate with me.  Offer a kind word, a "This too shall pass."  I don't need advice.  I've heard it all.  I've tried it all.  I just need an "I've been there.  Sucks." or a "Keep your chin up, Champ."

Kthnxbye.

Jack, plotting my doom.

Whatever Floats Your Boat

This is Jack.

This is Jack's favorite toy.

It's a fence that clips on to a Little People zoo thing.

He doesn't really do anything with it.  He just drags it around with him all over our living room while he explores, plays with other toys, and mischief-makes.  He doesn't seem to care if he doesn't have it, and if you take it away from him he just shrugs and moves on.  But if he happens to pick it up, it's always with him.

He's so weird.

A special thanks to the Boise Hirschis for donating the Little People zoo.  Jack is a big fan of the whole thing, not just the fence.

Frumpification

I ran out of eyeliner a couple of weeks ago.  When we went shopping on Friday, I finally remembered to get some more, but the store was fresh out of my shade of choice.  No big deal, I thought.  I've got no one to impress.  I don't wear much make-up anyway, and I figured I could get by with just mascara.

Getting ready for church this morning, all I did for my hair was pin my bangs back, although to be fair this is more than I usually do.  I'd love to be one of those ladies with nicely coiffed hair, but I don't have the patience or the hairspray.  Or the skill.  My bangs are currently at that awkward phase where they are too short to be incorporated into the rest of my hair, and too long look great.  So pinned back they went.

Family pictures consist of Lewis, Jack, and me trying to make Jack smile.

During the first hour of church as I was headed back to the mothers lounge to feed Jack, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and discovered that I look decidedly motherish.  Inside I still feel the same as I did when I was fifteen.  But between my frumped-up face, practical hair, and squishy post-baby belly, I definitely do not look it.  I like to think that when people see me out and about with Jack they think that I am just his spunky baby-sitter.  After that look in the mirror, I know that that idea is more than a bit deluded.

Whatevs.  I can always hold on to that moment when that realtor came to my door last week and asked if my parents were home.  And my legs.  I've got good legs.

This pictures is an illusion.  I don't look like this.