An Almost Three Year Old

I haven't written in a while because a) I am exhausted, and b) nothing that interesting has been going on. I could write and tell you about our trips to the grocery store and the library and the likes, but that wouldn't be very entertaining for either of us.

The Boy WILL BE THREE NEXT WEEK. Oh Em Gee. Can you believe it? I can't. In case you don't have one, let me tell you a little bit about almost three year olds.

~ They ask questions about everything. All the time. Questions like "are wolves shy?" and "what's a minivan?" and "How jump can you high?" and "Can people save banana chips (for later)?" and "Why can't we get naked in front of the neighbors?" and "What are cucumbers made of?" and "Who is the boss of squirrels?"

~They talk. All. The. Time. If it's not questions, it's monologues about super heroes and cars and dishes and dogs and magic and Santa and blankets and Harry Potter and friends on rocket ships and a monster named Franken-celery, and that time we went to that place where we did that thing.

~They melt down. Not just about nap times and what to eat, but about other legitimate things, like a strawberry touched their mango, or their ice is too cold, or the blue spoon not being clean, or not wanting to go HOOOOOOME from the PLAYGROUNNDDDD or lightening bugs not being out during the day, or the pillow not laying the way they want, ie "waying cwazy" or not being able to find Hawkman's other wing after they THREW Hawkman's other wing.

~They think poopoo is hilarious. I really thought we would somehow dodge this one by not having any reaction to any potty words. Want to go on a poopoo ride? Sure. You want poopoo for lunch? Great. But it didn't work. Even a little. In fact, almost three year olds say poopoo 400 times a day, and then tell you 454 times a day that they just said poopoo words.

~They move. It's nonstop. We went to a three year old birthday party last weekend and they are all like gnats on speed. They ride scooters in the house. They do flips off their beds. They run until their little faces are red and their hair is dripping with sweat. They scoot on their bums down the stairs just to climb back up and start over. And they NEVER get tired.

~They tell jokes. Jokes that sometimes flop on execution. Jokes like "what do you get when you cross a cocka doodle doo? Time to get a new bed!" And lots of jokes where the punch line is "poo poo."

~They have their own sense of style that can't be beat.

~They are the sweetest. They give hugs and hold hands, and say things like "mama, I love you to the top of the moon" and they offer to kiss your booboos and they thank you for fixing their snack and ask you to marry them, then once you say yes they tell you they're kidding.

That's Almost-3-Year Olds in a nutshell.

Last week in preparation for The Boy's birthday I asked him some interview questions that I hope we will repeat each year and see how his answers change. Here they are.

How old are you? 

"Two and a half"

What’s your favorite thing to do? 

"eat pasta"

What do you want to be when you grow up? 

"a powice officifice"

What’s your favorite food? 

"cucumbers and pasta"

What’s something you’re good at? 

"pwaying puzzles"

What makes you laugh? 

"telling joke-es"

What’s something scary?

"a dinosaur or a monster or a witch"

Who’s your best friend? 

"Violette"

What do you like to do with your family? 

"pway outside"

Where do you like to go? 

"to a rocket ship"

What do you like to learn about? 

"poopoo"

Preparing for Parenthood: Pregnancy

Well, here we are in the 7th-ish month of my pregnancy with BeYoYo. While I'm no pro, this is my third pregnancy, sort of. I had a miscarriage before I had The Boy. Then, because The Husband and I didn't know yet that we are really good at getting pregnant (like, pass each other in the hall and we are pregnant) *blush*, we were immediately pregnant again. So if my pregnancy with The Boy felt like I was pregnant for a year straight, it's only because I was.  Now here we are again. So, while I'm no Michelle Duggar, I feel like I'm fairly familiar with the plight miracle of pregnancy. If you're considering this journey but aren't sure if you're ready, here are some simple steps to get you prepared.

How to Prepare Your Wife For Pregnancy

-Rent a circus elephant to sit on her chest and torso for five minutes. Once she can tolerate five minutes, work up to 12 hours a day. Have her work, clean, cook, or complete any normal daily activities with said elephant.

-Secretly invite over people who have (or who are recovering from) the stomach virus. You want your wife to be nauseated, vomiting, or on the verge of vomiting for about 6 hours a day for the first three months. If you want extra spousal points, offer to hold her hair back while she hangs over the toilet.

-While she is sleeping, replace 3/4 of her wardrobe with children's clothes. Start with a large children's size, so that they almost fit. Then, gradually replace them with smaller and smaller clothes until her closet is filled with toddler shirts and pants. All yoga pants can stay.

-If you can manage it, find a way to replace some of her joints with silly putty. This will ensure that the joints occasionally give out and she collapses to the floor upon standing. You should also practice not laughing when this happens.

-Find a way to injure her without her knowing. This injury should involve the lower back, and should last for 3-4 months. Shooting sciatic pain down one or both legs is also acceptable. If you prefer not to injure your spouse*, you can also install a 25 pound weight in her shirt to do the trick.

-At night time, elevate her head to reduce heart burn. Elevate her feet to reduce swelling. Have her lie on her side with a pillow between her knees to help with sciatica. You may need to hire a professional circus contortionist for consultations. See if you can get a package discount with the elephant. 

-Monitor her diet so that she can no longer have alcoholic drinks, sushi, bagged salads, certain fish, queso, Gorgonzola, feta, blue cheese, sprouts, or deli meats. Go to restaurants that serve many of these newly forbidden foods.

-When your wife gets up to pee in the night, you must ask in a panicked voice what's wrong and if she's ok. Never, ever assume she just needs to urinate more frequently, no matter how predictable the pattern.

The same thing we do every night, Pinky.

*I do not actually endorse injuring your spouse. 


How to Prepare Your Husband For Pregnancy

-Cry. There should be no algorithm for this. Just sprinkle some tears around throughout your day (and his) with no warning and no predictable pattern. Good reasons include the death of Martin Luther King, Jr., and your toddler pajama shirt not fitting over your belly.

-Eat. Eat a lot, and especially eat the last of anything your husband was looking forward to. If he asks what you'd like from the grocery store, declare you need wasabi and brownies. If he complains, this is an acceptable occasion to cry.

-Gradually take up more room in the bed. I'd recommend investing in a maternity pillow, which will make this task dramatically easier. Ideally, it should be as big as a full grown person, or two.

-If your partner asks what you did today, say you grew new arms and legs and supported another life. Ask what HE did today.

-Each time you dine out remind your husband which foods you cannot eat, as well as which foods make you nauseous, so that he won't forget the sacrifices you're making for your family. This is most effective if you do so while he's enjoying a beer and sushi. If you feel guilty, you may tell him how delicious the wasabi is.

-Begin to leave the milk in the pantry and the cereal in the fridge. If he questions you about this, remind him that you are busy sustaining new life and can't be responsible for EVERYTHING.

-Set an alarm to wake him up 3-4 times per night. Walk around your room, turn the bathroom light on, sigh loudly, and return to bed. Be irritated if your husband asks if you're okay. Be irritated if he doesn't wake up.

                          ---------------------------------------------------------------------

That's it! After doing these activities for just 10 months (40 weeks = 10 months) you'll be prepared for pregnancy!

If these suggestions don't work, you may also try to simulate acid reflux, high blood pressure, swollen limbs, Braxton Hicks contractions, hives, poor body image, vaginal pain, acne, rhinitis, frequent urination, hemorrhoids, asthma, irritable bowel syndrome, alien embodiment, or general grouchiness. Just kidding, the grouchiness will come on its own.

10 Dumb Things I Said Before I Had A Baby

Dumb Thing #1: We won't be quiet when he takes a nap so he can learn to sleep anywhere.

Reality: Flash to me sitting on the floor beside his crib with my face pressed up against the rails so he can feel my face as he falls asleep. Also flash to me glaring at The Husband because HOW DARE HE open the door to come inside when he got home, when he knew The Boy was asleep. Even the dog tiptoes during nap time.

Dumb Thing #2: I won't use the TV as a babysitter.

Reality: Unless I need to take a shower. Or get dressed. Or dry my hair. Or cook dinner. Or do laundry. Or make an important phone call. Yo, Gabba Gabba, here we come.

Dumb Thing #3: I will breastfeed exclusively and it will be a peaceful, wonderful bonding experience that both baby and mom will enjoy.

Reality: We both cried every time, and not in the good way. As much as I wanted it to work, it wasn't for us. See this post for more.

Dumb Thing #4: I won't buy any newborn clothes because I'm sure he's going to be big.

Reality: My almost 9 month old is still in 3-6months clothes.

Dumb Thing #5 (this is perhaps the dumbest): "Mom, it's not like you can breastfeed him, so what exactly are you going to do if you spend the night?"

Reality: There were some nights when he was new that I wish the entire hospital staff had come home with us.

Dumb Thing #6: We're not going to do it the way ourparents/family/friends/strangers did it.

Reality: Short of child abuse or neglect, I will never judge another person's parenting decisions again. You do what you've gotta do.

Dumb Thing #7: We aren't going to let the dog get in his face.

Reality: The Boy gets in the dog's face all the time. He tries to poke her eyes and grabs fistfuls of fur. We try to minimize it, but it's inevitable.

Dumb Thing #8: I'm not going to be one of those people who feels like I need an SUV just because I had a baby.

Reality: I doubled my carbon footprint upgraded from a Honda Civic to a 7 passenger Mercury Mountaineer when he was 4 months old.

Dumb Thing #9: Because I was a teenager when my sister was born, I know what it's like to have a baby.

Reality: That is just dumb. I feel like I should use you're and your appropriately now just to prove to you I do, indeed, have working brain cells.

Dumb Thing # 10: I'll make sure he eats a well-balanced diet.

Reality: Here's The Boy at 8 months having guacamole and waffles for dinner.

Never say never!

Why It's Okay That You Couldn't Breastfeed

I have friends right now who are either very pregnant, just-finished-being-pregnant-and-have-a-new-babe-at-home, or just barely pregnant and excited by the news. It's made me reflect a lot on our early days after The Boy was born. That, in combination with a lot of recent social media posts, and urging by one of my mysteriously and suddenly shy friends, has lead me to write another breastfeeding post. Feel free to stop reading now if this ain't your thing. Folks, we're going there.

I wasn't able to breastfeed. It's not that I chose not to. I wasn't able to. For me that means that physically my body refused. Ten years ago I had a breast reduction (I told you we were going there) and was told that there'd be a 95% chance I could breastfeed. At the time the benefits outweighed the risks, but apparently many of my milk ducts were damaged in the process.

Maybe you have a similar story. Maybe you had a medical condition, or a physical ailment, or you didn't have any support and you were doing it all on your own, maybe you had supply problems or your baby refused to go back to the breast when you needed to supplement. Maybe you had a jackass boss who wouldn't let you pump at work and you weren't willing to lose your house for your milk. Maybe you had a breast reduction or implants or breast cancer or some thing that got in the way of you breastfeeding your baby. Sometimes it's not a choice.

You tried to make breastfeeding work. You read, and listened, and tried everything you could imagine.  You were exhausted, and overwhelmed, and felt like a terrible mother. And sadly some of that guilt and terrible- mother-feeling was a result of other moms. When we need a community of supportive moms the most we hear other women say things like "well, so-and-so *said* she tried to breastfeed, but who knows?" Here are some well-intentioned things I heard along my journey that didn't help at all.

1.Breast milk is best for brain development. I knew that breast milk was best for my baby. I knew it would contribute to a healthier immune system and potentially higher IQ. What I didn't realize was that formula has come a long way, and while it might not be "best", it's still really good. Did you know that the IQ discrepancy between breastfed and non-breastfed babies is only 7 points? Before I struggled with breastfeeding I'd have thought my kid would ride the short bus if I couldn't get it right. Turns out it's a pretty small percentage. And, how do you take into account in the research how much of that is the actual breast milk, and how much of that is having the kind of parent who's willing to breastfeed, and thus more likely willing to do homework and read books and other brain stimulating activity?

2. You've just got to keep trying. Let me tell you how I tried. I tried by breastfeeding every hour and a half around the clock. Feedings would take an hour, and I had 30 minutes before I'd begin again. I tried by forcing my screaming baby to nurse again and again as we both sobbed. I tried by pumping six times a day to come up with one 3 oz bottle a day. I tried by taking herbal Fenugreek supplements, changing my diet, increasing my oatmeal intake, drinking Mother's Milk tea, and laying in a dark room to increase production. I tried by taking my new baby weekly to weigh naked on a cold scale so that we could ensure he was getting enough to eat. I tried by inquiring about a non-FDA approved drug from New Zealand that allegedly increases production. I tried by going to lactation specialists and hospital lactation groups. I tried by using a supplemental nursing system, a canteen I held above my breasts with tiny tubes that I taped to my nipples to provide formula along with breast milk to encourage him to continue. I tried until I promise you I teetered unstable on the narrow bridge between sanity and psychosis.

That might sound familiar to you. All the trying in the world can't make it happen if it's not set up to happen.  I could try all day to fly but it wouldn't ever happen no matter how hard I tried. That doesn't mean I'm a bad mama, it just means I'm not a bird.

3. You've got to be willing to ride out the discomfort. Maybe you had Raynaud's disorder, which is a painful circulation disorder. You took prescription medication and used warm compresses to ease the pain when your nipples would drain of color from the lack of circulation after nursing. Maybe you had mastitis and blisters on your nipples. Maybe you had blocked milk ducts that created stabbing pains deep in your breast tissue when the milk backed up from having nowhere to go. Sometimes it's more than "discomfort", sometimes it's intolerable, ongoing pain that interferes not just with nursing but with your entire life, including your ability to be a good mama.

4. If you love your baby, you'd breastfeed. Girl, please. If anybody wants to go there with me and compare her heart to mine I will be happy to reach down her throat and pull her heart out so that we can fully examine how it is capable of loving more than mine. Of course you love your baby. Think about this. You've got a free moment right now, and you're spending that time researching more about this stressful breastfeeding dilemma when you could be sleeping or washing your hair. That's love, ladies.

5. In countries where formula isn't available, almost all moms are able to breastfeed.  In countries where formula isn't available, infants and children also die every day of starvation. I shutter to think that the hard reality is my child would've been among them. I send prayers of thanksgiving to the gods of powdered, processed milk that my child had such life-saving luxuries as formula from a can. In countries where formula isn't available there are also fewer breast surgeries, fewer women working outside the home, and often large support systems to help care for new moms as well as their babes, factors that likely contribute to the success of breastfeeding.

6. Formula is poison. See #5. Also, how is this helpful at all? When women say this, I wonder who their intended audience is. I sure hope it isn't mamas who have already chosen relented to formula. That would be judgmental and incredibly hurtful for us. Let's assume that they're just well-intentioned but less-than-sensitive educators for moms who haven't gotten here yet. Let's give them the benefit of the doubt that they think it's a choice for all women, and let's not hold it against them. Plus, I'm too tired to waste that energy.....

7. Breastfeeding is a beautiful bond between baby and mom. I'm sure that it can be. My child refused to do it, and screamed because he was getting next to nothing. It's also incredibly hard, and frustrating, and really, really exhausting. Let's talk about that. When I only hear about the good parts I feel like I'm doing it wrong if I don't have the same experience as you. Like there's something inherently wrong with me that I can't enjoy this screaming 6-8 times a day. I'm lucky I had my sister-in-law who reached out to me, let me know her struggle, and told me I was crazy. That's why I promise you all my friends know about my experience, whether they want to or not. If you're going to have to go through hell you might as well know you aren't alone.

8. People who don't breastfeed don't care about their babies as much as people who do. I wanted this for my baby more than anything. I wouldn't have tried all that foolishness you just read about if I hadn't. When you read posts online or hear conversations at baby showers about the beautiful utopian bond that someone has as they provide everything they need for their child, and how we really should breastfeed, maybe there is part of you that is genuinely happy that they are able to do that. And maybe there's another part of you that is still grieving that you weren't. And maybe there's more of you that is sad or guilty when you feel judged because of it. Hold your head up high. You're doing everything you can to take care of your baby.

8. You'll be sorry if you quit. When we stopped all breastfeeding at 3 months my life changed for the better. I was able to spend time with my child instead of my pump or a canteen. I got to hold him for no reason, for more than a few minutes at a time,  and I didn't have to try to talk him into something that wasn't working for us. I gained two hours that I'd been pumping each day, and was able to sleep better and engage in more fun ways. The clouds opened up and I began to see the sun. Without the stress of breastfeeding, I was a better mother and a better wife. I was less irritable and had more time to see my family, and I didn't even have to be topless and pumping when my girlfriends came by to visit.

Whatever you do will be the right thing for your child. I know that breastfeeding comes easily to a lot of women. And I know that a lot of women struggle like I did for whatever reason. Some choose not to nurse, because it isn't for them. For others of us, it's not a choice. But either way, we are providing for our children. I'd like to think we could get behind each other and support any parenting decisions that we make in the best interest of our kids, even if they're different. I would like to think that in an age where women can vote and blacks and whites share lobbies and water fountains and families can come in all shapes and sizes (we're even letting gays get married!) that we could also respect differences in how we take care of those families. In the end no matter what happens you will give your child something he needs more than your breast milk: you.

Greatest Christmas Pageant

Every year I have unrealistic expectations about Christmas. I don't know why I don't learn. The elf brings matching Christmas pajamas, and I think that we will have a sweet picture of the boys sitting still, reading the Christmas story and enjoying each other and the spirit of the season. Fast forward to Christmas Eve, The Husband locking both boys in the sun room while he swept the kitchen and calling to them "you're going to be together for the rest of your lives- you might as well learn now!"

Forget the summer solstice, Christmas Eve was the longest day of the year. The Boy asked 100 times when it was going to be Christmas Eve, and I told him 100 times "today is Christmas Eve." Then he'd respond "but when is it going to be NIGHT?" You and me both, buddy. On Christmas Eve Eve he decided that if Christmas is about giving he'd like to get a gift for Santa's elves. WHO can say no to that?  I let The Boy pick out elf presents when we needed to go to CVS. He chose some Monsters, Inc. monsters, which he decided he could play with before the elves came.

The rest of the day vacillated between anticipation and irritation for all involved. We threatened at one point to cancel all of Christmas. We were going to church at 5:00. About 3:30 The Husband asked if we could leave yet. We got the boys ready in their Christmas sweaters in 75 degree rainy weather. Walking outside felt like being in a boy's locker room. This is where I'd want to get a picture, but everyone was whiney. One was sitting in a corner like Little Jack Horner, so that his brother couldn't get his snack. The other was tired and frustrated that you have no power when you're one.

I asked The Boy if he wanted to make a holiday video of him singing a Christmas song. He did, and I placed him strategically in front of the scenic fireplace, the stocking holders spelling out PEACE behind him. But then when I pressed record his song was all about butts and I walked out of the room, a director on strike over an actor being unprofessional.

We went to church and The Boy's class joined the big kids' Christmas pageant to sing This Little Light of Mine. Somehow a 3 year old girl got a hold of the mic, and while all the kids were singing her voice was loudest. Then maybe the other kids realized that she was the songstress, and they all got louder until they were yell-singing I'M GONNA LET IT SHINE all on top of each other.

BeYoYo was thrilled that grandparents were there, and he grunted to be passed back and forth between them. While the congregation sang Silent Night he shreiked and shrilled, and was anything but. I thought to myself it was a good thing that Jesus came as a baby because he would appreciate this. When the pastor was explaining that all are welcome to the communion table, The Boy started to get up and walk toward the front. I told him it wasn't time yet, and he said "but mom, I'm just going to the nativity scene." I shook my head and gave him The Mom Eyes, and he said too loudly "but MOM! The animals here aren't breakable!" Apparently he was planning to go up and play with the nativity scene during the service. It was all very The-Greatest-Christmas-Pageant.

By the time we got to The Husband's grandmother's house BeYoYo had fallen asleep in the car. We woke him up and took him in to eat and play with cousins.The kids played and ran through the house and thoroughly enjoyed each other. They opened gifts and it was loud and chaotic. Kids yelled for parents to open things. Parents yelled "who was this from? Did you tell them thank you?" Kids yelled their thank yous robotically, while searching for the next gift.

Thankfully both boys fell asleep on the way home. We paused to let them tell the elf goodbye and carried them straight to bed. We went soon after. Santa came in the night and left a few gifts for the boys. The Boy was happy, and said "can you believe Santa got me everything I wanted?!" Santa had brought exactly 4 things, and I smiled a mama smile inside knowing that Santa had not brought the hot air balloon or other elaborate things he'd wanted, and he was content all the same. For a minute at least.

The Husband and I got BeYoYo a seat for my bike, and The Boy a 4 wheeler from Craigslist. I figure with the money we saved we can pay for all the urgent care bills we're sure to accrue. We all went outside to play in our pajamas, and neighbors had gotten crazy carts, which they were playing with in the cul-de-sac too. The Boy got mud all over his appliquéd Christmas pajamas while digging for worms, and they are now ruined. I tried SO hard not to let that bother me. Apparently making children come inside to change clothes is not the spirit of the season.

Christmas Day worm

Later on Christmas Day more grandparents came over with more gifts. Aunts and uncles too. The boys got matching spiderman pjs that they immediately put on and left on for almost 36 hours.

The next day we were back at the mother-in-law's house for more gifts and cousin play. Then the next day we went to Atlanta to be with my family at my cousin's brand new house- more gifts and cousins and fun and chaos and karaoke. One of my boys bled on one rug, another got red velvet on another. I walked in the kitchen to find The Boy fully outstretched on the island, helping himself to some cookies out of his reach.

Someone this holiday season posted a Brene Brown quote that said "the magic is in the mess." If that's true we're the David Copperfield of the holidays. Deep breaths.

This picture is a little perfect for a quote on messiness, don't you think? 

The holidays are a whirlwind for us. They are busy, they are exhausting, but they are fun. Mostly. Here's our version of Rocking Around the Christmas Tree.

Riding around the cul-de-sac

letting the wind blow through our hair

Who do you want to bet will be

The first to go to urgent care? 

You will get a sinking feeling when you hear

Grandma and Santa bought the same Darth Vader, 

you mixed up the lists this year! 

Rocking around the Christmas Tree

All the cousins having fun

Line them up for the paparazzi

Two elves are better than one

Rocking around the karaoke machine

Which song are you going to sing? 

Which kid just ruined their brand new rug?

And can you pass mama a drink? 

You will get a vicarious hernia when you see

All these gifts the boys were given

Blame the grandparents, don't blame me!

Rocking around the Christmas Tree

We're drowning in Dinotrux

Star Wars, Ninja Turtles, Superman

All the pieces make me want to cuss

Rocking around the Christmas Tree

Our only caroling is about butts

The baby got a remote control dog that poops 

These boys are making me nuts

You will get a nauseous feeling when you hear

Sure it's been more than two days, but can't we just wear our spiderman pjs? 

Somebody remind mama at the next holiday

Toss out the expectations

This is our new old fashion way......

How To Be A Toddler: Going to the Doctor

The Boy is now 21 months old. That's almost two, for those of you who don't measure time in months. Twenty one months is the perfect age for playing, and jumping off things and exploring, and is not the perfect age for sitting quietly or waiting patiently. Today I had an appointment to go back to the orthopedist about my shoulder (see this post for more on that), and The Boy can't get rid of his hacking cough, so The Husband and I decided this morning he didn't need to go to school as I'd planned. That meant he'd be going with me. Challenging. And he was much like a toddler should be at an adult doctor's appointment.

If you are interested in becoming a toddler in the near future, read these tips on the proper methods of going to the doctor with a parent. 

1. Sit in every chair in the waiting room. You must sit in every single chair, and when other patients smile at you, look at them like you are both angry with and terrified of them. Smile broadly in a way that conveys you are cute at waiting patients who ignore you.

Sit with your parent to read a farm book. Loudly and excitedly announce all the farm animal sounds to no one in particular. Shriek animatedly for at least one minute. Make sure it is a happy noise so there's nothing anyone can do to quieten you. If someone comes out of their appointment and points at you and says "there's that baby we heard screaming" beam proudly at them. 

2. When you get into the exam room, touch every surface. Once you've touched every surface, put your hand completely in your mouth and leave it there. Attempt to take things out of the trash can. When you are redirected, put a magazine into the trash can.  Ask for a cookie from your bag, and while your parent fetches it, try to sit on the doctor's wheelie chair. Fall out. Take your cookie and place it on every surface that you previously touched. Take a bite of your cookie, put it down on the dirtiest surface in the room and use that as a drum. Smile and announce "I dwummin!" 

3. Before the doctor arrives, dance excitedly around the room. Exclaim "I a el-phant" and make large elephant gestures and stomps. Try to get under the exam table. Ask 45 times where "mommy docta is?" and throw your hands in the air. Knock on the door and yell out "Hey Docta!" when you hear someone in the hall. 

4. When the doctor comes in, do not make eye contact with him or her. Put your cookie on your mouth, but do not eat it. Let it turn to mush and let said mush ooze out of your mouth. Be weird.  When the doctor speaks kindly to you, be afraid. Act like you cannot talk at all, then only speak when grown ups are speaking, at which point whine for more cookie. You'll get it. 

5. When it is time to check out, run in circles while you're waiting. Other grown ups will take pity on your parent and let you go to the front of the line. Announce to the kind lady doing her job "I READY!" if it takes more than 30 seconds to check out, pay, and make another appointment. If she doesn't comply with your readiness, run away. When you have been drug back to complete your parent's business, take all the osteoporosis pamphlets off the desk. Talk obsessively about the bicycle that it features. When it's finally time to go, hop down a flight of stairs, one stair at a time. 

6. If you are with your parent because you are sick, do not cough at all. All day. 

Happiest (Crappiest) Place on Earth

Last week we went to a family Christmas function in Florida, and we left a day early for a one day jaunt at the Magic Kingdom.

We left early Wednesday morning, drove for 100 hours, and arrived at the Disney resort by 4pm. The Husband and my dad went to check us in while I waited in the car with the kids. My dad came back. My husband did not. We texted back and forth about a confirmation number, which we did not have. I called Orbitz and talked to a non-English speaker who said there was no record of our reservation. Our reservation which we got on black Friday for $100 off.  And not only could we not take advantage of that deal anymore, the regular price had gone up too. What a great way to start the trip. But at least there were rooms available, so we were able to stay. We checked into a little Little Mermaid room. It was very.....Little Mermaid. 

                                                                 You might miss The Boy in this pic

Y'all, this was the shower.  I expected to find a dinglehopper for the faucet but did not. 

We went to Downtown Disney for dinner. We ate in a rainforest like good little tourists and came back to the hotel. We told The Boy to go to sleep. He did not. Beyoyo has a cough, so we gave him an albuterol breathing treatment.  The Boy finally went to sleep, just as Beyoyo coughed so hard that he projectile vomitted.  All over our bed. The Husband called me to help, so I got him and held him at arm's length while I looked for something to clean him with. Then he started vomitting again. I held him out like a fire hose. We cleaned up and called for new sheets. My sister came in from the other room and asked if I wanted to sleep in one of her extra t-shirts. She pointed out that my pajamas had vomit on them. Winning. I put her t-shirt on and pulled it up to my neck so that I could pump some breast milk. So, no pants. Shirt around my neck, pumping breast milk while smelling like vomit on the floor in a Little Mermaid room that we were lucky to get. In hindsight I wonder if the first Christmas was anything like this. Stinky, cramped, crowded in a room you had no reservation for ans wasn't quite what you'd expected. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! 

Next I spilt the pumped breast milk in the hotel sink. I cursed. I was mad at the hotel, Orbitz, The Husband, and Walt Disney himself. It was actually none of their faults.  My sister was lying in the bed with The Boy. I knelt down and got in her face without warning and said "birth control!" because 20 year olds love that almost as much as they love sleeping with 3 year olds. "Tell me about it" she said, laughing through her jealousy at how glamorous my life is. 

The next day we went to Disney and it was great. The Boy rode rides like a boss. We saw a parade. He met THE REAL Woody and Jessie, which is a BFD when you're three. 

             Beyoyo was like "hey, I'll be over here not remembering any of this if you need me."

We got to meet Cinderella and both boys kissed her hand. She asked them to, if you were wondering about consent.

It was a great day. We closed the place down and headed an hour away for the family weekend. 

We stay at a fish camp. Some stay in houses, we stay in a hotel. The hotel caters to the fishing crowd and their website boasts amenities like large parking spots for your boat, as well as...ice. Except it was a lie because the ice machine was broken. And I went outside at 9pm and told some hooligan teenagers to please look for Garrigan somewhere else because they'd woken up my baby. Keepin it classy. 

So we cozied in for the family weekend. What fun! People started getting there late Friday night. Saturday morning we woke up and gave everyone the stomach virus. I thought it was something I ate so I went over to the house and exposed everyone. Next the husband fell victim and joined me in quarantine at the hotel. Thankfully my dad, sister, and stepmom were still okay so they looked after our boys. I told The Husband it would've been a nice little movie watching weekend cuddled up in bed if not for the vomitting and nausea. We missed the big redneck family Christmas party, where The Husband, Beyoyo, The Boy and I were all going to wear matching tuxedo t-shirts.  But alas, they returned the children to us just in time to get fall victims themselves. People were throwing up in toilets and sinks. Also, The Boy's pullup leaked and wet the bed and we had to request new bedding. We had now thrown up and peed in two sets of sheets in two hotels in two towns in one weekend. It was the worst. No wonder this hotel catered to fishermen and not families. 

Dear Housekeepers at the Liars Lodge, sorry 'bout that. 

Sunday it was time to come home. Except 1/2 the traveling party didn't feel like traveling. We waited a little while but no one seemed to be improving and the sick really wanted to be sick at home, so we packed up some trash bags and hit the road. My sister was in the car with us, vomitting. And the baby blew out his diaper and pooped us his back. And I had a zit (am I 15?) that popped and wouldn't stop bleeding. Luckily The Husband and I were greatly improved, but it's safe to say when we stopped for lunch no one had much of an appetite.  

The other car slept much of the way home, and thankfully our car slept a good bit too. After nap we stopped at a truck stop for a snack. The boys wanted to get their grandmother a diamond, and I obliged. After all, she did keep Prissy for us while we were gone so she deserved a little something. 

Here Beyoyo shows off the diamond, and tells us what he really thinks of this trip. 

Sure, a diamond might not have been what she was expecting as a token of our appreciation but at least we didn't yet give her the stomach bug. That's the seasonal gift that keeps on giving. I bet Cinderella is in a bathroom stall somewhere now.....

In The Loo

After a very busy weekend we are at home today with the dreaded stomach flu. The Boy has projectile vomited on both of his parents and the majority of his grandparents. Imagine our horror when he turned a 3 year old's family birthday party into a middle aged wet t-shirt contest on Saturday. The Husband assumed initially that he was throwing up because he ingested something when he choked on the plastic the day before. We didn't know he had the bug before the party, but I imagine we infected several children there. My apologies to their parents in advance and a big Happy birthday to Maher! When the vomiting continued and was accompanied by diarrhea when we got home we knew he had it. Luckily The Husband and I didn't have any symptoms. Thinking I had dodged the bullet my mom and I went to Taste of Athens last night since we already had tickets. The Husband stayed home with the Vomitter.

I love Taste of Athens, the annual fundraiser where dozens of Athens restaurants give samples of their best fare. This year it also coincided with Mardi Gras, so I indulged before I give up meat for lent next week. I sampled sushi, seaweed salad, wings, ribs, crawfish gumbo, cupcakes, shrimp and grits, wine, pure cider, BBQ, squash soup, onion rings, burgers, tenderloin, salad, lasagna and more. It was delicious!

It was much less delicious at 4am this morning when it came back up. Lying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night with the stomach flu is no time to realize that your Pepto expired. In 2005. The Boy hasn't thrown up since last night so I'm hoping we're at the tail end of it almost through. I only feel bad when I stand up or move, so we've been cuddling in the bed most of the day. Our house is a messy mix of Pedialite, bottles, and Sprite. Every baby blanket and pajama set that we have is in the hamper. Here's hoping none of you get it. 

Since we are virtually immobile I decided to check on the blog and found that I've had 596 page views so far! Crazy, since I started this for friends and family and thought probably 10 people would tune in. Blogger gives me lots of stats, and says that I have had readers in Russia, Germany and England. I figure the Brits are our friends Sarah and Ammon, but I'm not sure who the others would be. To the Russian readers I say Zdravstvujtye. To the German readers I say Guten Tag, and to the Brits I say 'Ello, Gov'nah, because I think all Brits talk like the chimney sweeps from Mary Poppins.Thanks for reading, and I'll keep 'em coming as long as you keep reading.