Driving Lenses

Aiding and Abetting

Yesterday was not one of my best days.  I inadvertently facilitated the death of two of my friend's chickens and Monica was there to witness the event. Not exactly what I had in mind for Monica's first "circle of life" lesson. She was a little disturbed at first, ("Mama, the chicken is broken!") but she's also talking about going to see the new chickens when they arrive.  At least three year olds are pretty resilient.   I think Reenie's comment sums it up best: C'est la vie!

RIP Frances and Geraldine.

Belated, but in Reality, Totally Timeless

The UM/ND football game last weekend was glorious mayhem to the last second and enjoyed immensely in our household, at least by those who know, watch and stay awake until midnight watching Michigan football. The next day, Kevin found this little gem in the combox on MGoBlog:

When I got back to my tailgate there was a car full of dame fans next to me. As we're both packing up our respective stuff I see this guy take off his ND shirt and put it on the ground, go into his truck, pull out a bottle of some form, pour the contents on the shirt, strike a match and lights the tanker on fire,then gets in his truck and drives away leaving the smoldering shirt. I do in fact feel for ND fan right now.

Yowza. That's some serious football fan pain. While I don't feel the general hatred and vengeance that some UM fans feel toward ND, I totally got a laugh out of this one. I also had some sympathy. Let's be honest. What Michigan fan didn't feel tempted to burn some Maize and Blue after the Appalachian State debacle?

But who wouldn't feel some Michigan love after seeing Little 'Nard Dawg?

Mad Skillz

Is it weird...

...that I'm sitting in front of the computer,
obsessively monitoring the live-tweeting of the birth of my friend's identical twin boys,
that's happening at the hospital five minutes from my house,
all while sipping a bottle of beer?

Nah.

Unprecedented

This Sunday's mass was a doozie for Monica and Kevin. I was out of the church, changing a diaper when this all went down so pardon any lack of detail.

Apparently, in her boredom, Monica started picking her nose and succeeded in finding a hefty booger. Once she had it on her finger, she began waving it around and talking loudly about "the boogie" on her finger. I had the diaper bag, so Kevin didn't have a wipe, kleenex or burp rag to take care of this really large boogie, and he really didn't want to wipe it on the dry clean only pants. So, Monica continues to wave her hand and yell about the boogie while Kevin tries to keep the boogie out of his face. This is, of course, totally hilarious to Monica so she tries to stick the boogie in his mouth. He deflected that shot, but then she shoved it into her mouth, laughing the whole time.

Apparently the boogie survived her mouth but no one's really sure where it actually ended up...ugh crusty boogies...smeared on clothes or a church pew, always disgusting. At least the people around us got a chuckle out of it. And, kudos to Kevin. Can you say that someone else has tried to stick their boogies in your mouth?

**********************************************************************

Yesterday we went to the grocery store just before 1pm...naptime. While that was defintely not ideal, it's just what happened. I knew it would be rough, but I just buckled down and readied myself for a meltdown.

It was all I expected and more, believe me. Monica actually tripped over her own feet multiple times in her sleepy/cranky daze, but the last time was apparently the worst because she walked down the aisle moaning "Boo boo...boo boo...boo boo!" I stopped and asked her, "Where is the boo boo? Does it need a kiss?" and she affirmed the need for a kiss but also told me the boo boo was on her bottom.

That's definintely the first time anyone has outrightly asked me to kiss their bum, in public no less. I love my kid, but I just wasn't willing to plant my lips on her behind in the middle of the frozen food section. I just kissed my hand, patted her bum, and moved on. Motherhood, you never know what it will bring.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Here's a little something to make you smile. I love the sock puppet narrator.



I also love that this is a "flannelgraph." Totally reminds me of Sunday School and learning Bible stories with huge flannel boards and little flannel people stuck to them.

h/t to Kresta in the Afternoon

Attempted Re-Entry

Here is my attempt at a re-entry into the blogosphere. It's not that I have been all that much more busy or stressed out. "Whelmed" would be an appropriate term for my day-to-day status. Not OVERwhelmed, just whelmed. But whelmed still didn't seem to leave a lot of time for blogging.

However, there have been so many times lately when "I should blog about this" has run through my head, and yet I've done nothing about it. So, today is the day. I'm back.

My latest bloggy moment was one of joy and silliness. I put on some music and Monica started dancing, which looks like she's trying to launch into the air, but sadly, her feet are stuck to the ground. She throws up her arms and laughs hysterically, and that laughter is totally contagious. When she starts "dancing", how can I keep from dancing? So, Monica is doing her Monster Mash around the room and I'm dancing with James, who is also giggling and making a funny growly baby noise. It was the kind of moment that would look really strange to Joe Shmo on the street, but bring tears to my eyes when I think of it. Those are the kind of silly, heartwarming moments a mom of 2 under 2 needs.

The other blog-worthy happening was not quite so joyous, but funny, now that it has passed. I often take the kids to a near by park when the weather is nice to pass some of the morning. James is still in the "I can't be awake for very long without getting cranky" phase so I try to get out the door quickly when he wakes up from a nap. I try to feed him before we go, if at all possible, since nursing on a picnic bench while Monica roams free at a large, fence-less park is not ideal. However, James is the kind of baby who will only eat when he's ready. Yesterday, we really needed to get out of the house, so I took my chances with having to feed him at the park and I was reminded why I don't normally like my odds. James did eventually want to eat, at the exact same time Monica wanted to climb up the big climbing wall. I told her not to get on the wall because I couldn't help her, which only made her mad and so she decided to take off toward the parking lot. So here I am, running after her with James nursing under a cover and yelling at Monica to stop right there and "Listen to Mommy!!" Another parent was there with his toddler and he looked at me like I was a bit crazy. To tell you the truth, I felt a bit crazy. I can laugh now, but I'll probably just let Monica play in the backyard next time I'm hit with this situation.

Here are a few choice photos for you:

Snuggle Bug

Mmmm...Spaghetti (I know, I know...we really need to regrout the tub...)

Mr. Jowls

Swimming anyone?

Sugar and Spice, Meet Snakes, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

Over the last few days, I've been reading a couple of books, Why Gender Matters by Dr. Leonard Sax and How Do You Tuck in a Superhero by Rachel Balducci. Both have got me thinking about boys and girls and the changes that having a little boy will bring into my life. I have only one sister and so living with a little boy is still something of a mystery. Today I had an experience at the park that may be a glimpse of our future.

Monica is just learning to go up and down stairs without scooting on her bum so we were practicing this on a flight of stairs on the play structure. As Monica gingerly went down the stairs, a four year old boy went streaking passed. He stopped at the top and looked at her, fascinated. (keep in mind that I've never met or seen this boy in my life.)

Little Boy: I didn't know she could walk!

Me: Yup. She can walk. Sometimes she even runs.

LB: Wow. Run?

Me: Yes. Sometimes she goes so fast I have to run after her!

LB (totally intrigued): Run after her right now!

Me (Looking at Monica standing stark still at the bottom of the stairs): I don't think she wants to run right now. So, I don't have the chase her.

LB (considering this thoughtfully): She could race.

Me: I don't think she knows how to race. Maybe she'll run a race when she gets older.

LB: I bet I could win.

Me: I bet you could too. You can definitely run faster than her.

LB: I could win a race!

Me: You could race around the playground right now to see how fast you are.

LB: Yeah! (scurrying down the stairs) I'm missile fast!

Boy takes off and careens around the playground, Family Circus style. Returns to the stairs, breathless.

Me: Wow! That was missile fast.

LB: Oh yeah!
--------------------------

Boydom, here we come.

Hang Up and Drive

Can you form bad cell phone habits in toddler-dom?

If so, we should nip this in the bud.

Funny Find

For those of you more clued in to blogosphere happenings, I may seem a bit slow. However, I had to pass on the info for Cake Wrecks. It's a really funny blog showcasing seriously ridiculous, strange, and hilarious professional cakes. Worth the surf.

Shoe Trauma

Monica is nearly running now, so about a week ago, I decided it was time for *real* shoes. Up until recently, she's been toddling in Robeez, which just don't cut it outdoors, in stores, restaurants, etc. So, because she's little and we spend so little on clothes, (Thank you older cousins!) I decided to get her some quality footwear. Off to the mall we went.

When we arrived at the children's shoe store, Monica was her usual jovial self. She toddled about, picking up shoes, playing with little toys, and just enjoying herself. A sales woman soon approached and offered to measure Monica's foot so we could be sure to get a good fit. Right before she brought out the foot measuring plate, she warned me, "Some children really don't like this." I didn't respond, but thought to myself, "Eh, Monica won't be a problem. She's not the cranky type."

As soon as her little heel hit the plate, she let out the loudest, highest pitched scream I've heard in a long time. As long as she had a foot on that plate, she was bansheeing. It.was.painful. I was so surprised it took me a while to get my wits about me and shove the pacifier into her screaming mouth. That improved the situation somewhat while the sales woman went to the back to retrieve the requested shoes in the appropriate size, but as soon as the woman came back into view, Monica started to full out cry again. Even as the saleswoman kept her distance, the sound of her voice was enough to cause wimpering and high speed toddling for the exit. Another customer who was apparently shopping for older children was really sympathetic. She assured me her children did the exact same thing. So, apparently, this is a real childhood phenomenon? Is there an official diagnosis for pediatric foot-measuring-plate phobia?



The other circumstance that made the ordeal more painful was the fact that half of the shoes were out of stock in Monica's size so the saleswoman had to keep coming back to us with shoes only to listen to Monica's pitiful cries. Once I finally reached my decision on a pair of shoes, I made sure to apologize to the poor saleswoman. She was very gracious and assured me it was not the first time, nor would it be the last. I thanked her for her assurances and said that it was comforting to know your child isn't a freak. She replied, "Well, I didn't say that..." Then it was my turn to assure her that every parent, at some point (or many points, really) wonders if there child is a "freak," and it's always comforting to know you child is not the only one screaming at foot measuring plates.

That will be our first and last foot measuring/shoe store experience for a while. I was a little nervous that Monica would hate the shoes, but she really likes them. Sometimes she'll bring them to me so she can wear them around the house. Apparently, no permanent scars were made, and she has a cute, functional pair of shoes. Trauma survived.

Oops...Almost Forgot. Trick or Treating!

Here are two pics of Monica as a chicken/duck...whichever you want it to be.

I think the one of her standing is pretty funny because you can really see the funny-ness of the costume and she's missing a slipper.



Lounging in the stroller, chomping on the Precious is just classic Monica.

Failing A Test With Dignity

I got an email with these little beauties today and I couldn't help but share. I think my favorite is the rogue elephant.

At the bottom, there's a little story from Kevin's graduate student instructor days. I wish he had a picture of that one.









When I was teaching an undergrad class at Michigan, one exam problem asked the student to calculate the power output of a reactor given a host of information. One student had a bunch of calculations, ultimately crossed them off, wrote "1.21 jigawatts", and drew a picture of the Delorian from Back to the Future.

I gave them some partical credit due to the high quality of the Delorian drawing which included a driver that looked somewhat like Michael J. Fox.

Gathering More Evidence

A while ago I posted about a suspected alliance between Monica and The Dog. Well, let's just say the suspicion is confirmed, or at least there's quite a bit more evidence for it.

Last week, Monica and I went to lunch at a friend's house. They have a dog, and while we were there, Monica poined at the golden retriever and said, "Da! Da!" a number of times. It was most exciting because most likely, she was saying "dog." (Monica has said "Mama" and "Dada" a few times, but has not been quite so pointed as she was with the dog.) Since then, she has continued to say, "Da!" and there are many times when that obviously refers to Buck.

Fast forward to Wenesday. Monica is eating lunch in her high chair. Toward the end of her feeding frenzy, she grabbed a chunk of potato, threw it on the floor in a very purposeful manner, pointed to the ground (where the dog usually lies, waiting for such an event) and said, "Da! Da!" My first thought was, "Nah. She's not calling for the dog." But then, she did it again. The dog was outside at the time, so I let him in and he careened over to the high chair and inhaled the potatoes. Monica just grinned.

Partners in Crime - The Plot Thickens

Kevin and I went to a family wedding this weekend. Good times had by all. Monica had her first Bouncy-Bounce experience, though she can't really bouncy bounce as of yet. She smiled for this ridiculously cute picture, but then promptly got rather fussy when Dad-o started bouncing around.



Here's a picture of The Baby-Dog Alliance:



I've definitely seen Monica purposely drop her food on the floor so she can watch the dog trot over and slurp it up. More evidence for the unspoken deal between them: toys for food.

The Not-So-Altruistic Gift

Has anyone else ever given a gift to someone, namely their spouse, because you would benefit from it, at least in part? I fully admit that I have. I bought a 1988 Little Caesar's Red Wings Commemorative glass with Steve "Silk" Yzerman and Gerard "Spud" Gallant on ebay in order to get a dog. (See Buck's story) I admit that gift was 80% selfish. The other 20% was guilt from having broke the glass.

One of Kevin's more creative ideas for my 29th birthday was to pay off my student loan. We were a few payments away from being done and he thought it would be "so great" to pay it off on my birthday as some sort of gift to me. Here's an email he sent me today:

Here is a screenshot of your student loan page. Note that all the amounts say “Paid in Full”!!!

Congrats on your college education!



Now that piece of paper is all mine. Ha ha!

Thick as Thieves

I'm pretty sure Buck and Monica have formed an alliance against me.

As you'll recall, Monica and Buck have taken to sharing toys, much to my chagrin. While I've resigned myself to the fact that a baby playing on the floor usually means a baby eating things off the floor, I just can't handle her mouthing Buck's nasty licked and chewed stuffed animal. I made a pact to prevent it at all, well, most costs.

Yesterday, I was cutting watermelon in the kitchen and keeping the occasional eye on Monica (who is very mobile now) when I saw the dog skitter through the dining room. I peeked around he corner to see what was going on and caught a glimpse of Monica with her hands all over the mangy Garfield. Her little tongue was about to make contact when I yanked the slimy, crusted thing away and put it in the dog toy basket on our raised hearth. I knew she couldn't get it there, at least. She was less than pleased but soon scooted off to other amusement.

I went back to my watermelon and saw the dog streak by. I peeked around the corner and found the mangy Garfield in Monica's mitts, again! That crazy dog went to the basket, got the Garfield, dropped it on the floor in front of Monica, and fled the scene.

Now, I really hesitate to believe that this was premeditated, but you have to wonder. Maybe I should just give up my quest. I am outnumbered, after all.

You Always Want What You Can't Have

Monica is getting better at crawling/creeping, and her main motivation has been Buck's toys, namely this mangy thing:



That is Buck's Garfield toy that gets mauled and licked on a daily basis. As you can see...



...it is a toy coveted by those who get around the house on all fours. At least they're sharing I draw the line at food and drink, though.

Preserving a Relic

I am at my mom's place this week since Kevin is jetsetting. On Thursday morning, my mom announced that one of her coworkers is looking for bowling balls so that she can do this little craft. "Hm, interesting," I said.

It got a little more than interesting when my mom said she thought it would be a great opportunity to get my dad's old bowling ball of her hands. My father passed away about 15 years ago, and we still have many relics of his old hobbies hanging around the house. At first, the idea of giving away my dad's old bowling ball that had not been used since the early 70s seemed pretty benign.

The next morning, my mom brought the ball upstairs, and once I saw it, I just couldn't let it become a dippy ladybug lawn ornament! That bowling ball is heavy and black and polished. It even has my dad's initials emblazoned on it! It seemed a total insult to his memory to allow a prized, if little used, possession of my beloved father to be turned into something so sissy. So, the bowling ball is still around. If anyone knows of someone who needs a bowling ball to use for actual bowling, leave a comment. I think I could let that slide.