Sleepy

Yesterday I was feeling kind of awesome.
At 5:30 a.m. Addison woke up crying, which is super unusual for her. I scooped her out of her crib and pulled her in bed with us. She immediately nestled down and starting snoring like a 60 year old with sleep apnea. She didn't wake to her Dad's alarm clock. She didn't hear him in the shower or leave for work. She lay in bed, snoring, until 9:25 a.m.
Amazing.
I had considered getting up and leaving her there. Maybe I'd make a pot of coffee, take an uninterrupted shower, read the news in peace. But let's be real, I lay in bed nuzzled next to my sleeping little dwarf.
We spent the day running errands, eating and playing. It was a good day.

This morning I am not feeling as awesome.
At 4:44 a.m. Addison woke up calling my name over and over. I plodded into her room, got her out of the crib and attempted to lull her back to sleep in our bed. It was NOT a repeat of yesterday. She tossed and turned. She sat up and flopped down. She smacked me in the face with a renegade arm and kicked her dad in the back - repeatedly.
I begrudgingly got out of bed at 5:25 a.m. and brought my darling daughter downstairs. She cuddled with me and the cat on the couch for a bit. She colored. She looked out the window. We watched The Little Mermaid...and next thing I knew she was curled up on the floor, snoring.
She was back up and ready to face the world by 8:20 a.m. So far she has spilt her milk, pinched her finger in the baby gate, taken a crayon to the couch and dismantled a Sex and the City season on DVD. I am not feeling so ready to face the world.

But the world will be faced. We have errands to run, lunches to eat and a house to avoid cleaning. The sun is shining and the weather is beckoning me, albeit slowly, off the couch.

Big Mistake.

Big. Huge.

When we got in the car to go to Grandma's for dinner on Sunday I said to Andy: "It smells nast in here. Like something is dead."
And then I pulled out of the garage, drove to Grandma's and enjoyed a lovely dinner of Beef Burgundy. As we drove home I was too distracted by a miserable toddler to notice the miserable smell of my car.

Yesterday, on the way to StrollerFit, I thought to myself: "It is rank and old smelling in here. I really need to clean this car."
And then I got to class, sweated a lot, drove home, put my sleeping baby down for a nap and immersed myself in the mountain of laundry that threatened to overtake my basement.

Today, I bravely decided to take the kiddos to Meijer for a quick outing. As I got the car ready for them (installing a carseat, putting snacks and juice in the front seat) I noticed a miserable, rank, old smell.
This time I decided to investigate. I found an empty straw cup. And then I found the dreaded, horrible straw cup that was not empty. It was full.

Full of fully curdled milk.

I have found many of these before.

According to another mommy, they are one of the Top Ten Things to Avoid. I should have heeded her wisdom or at least learned from my prior experience.

I have opened and attempted to salvage the utility of some of them. One even went through the dishwasher twice, but the smell never fully disappated.

I opened today's treasure. I then vomitted in my mouth, squeezed my eyes shut and threw it into the trash can. Ick. Ick. Double ick.

At least the Easter Bunny brought me a car jar. Tonight my car smells like putrid milk, by tomorrow it will smell like an Island Spa.

No. NOOOOO. No. NO. NOOO.

I believe that it was around this time last year that I had a flurry of food posts. I wrote endlessly about what Addison liked, disliked, gulped down or spit out. I feel I am about to be in another themed place, only this time it is words.

I love hearing her figure out new words and I think that it is hysterical that when she is trying to keep herself awake she'll practice her words over and over. She chats to me in the car, she chats on one of her 42 cell phones. She talks the kitty's ears off.

Some of the latest additions to her lexicon are: pink, white, purple, blue, Elmo, outside, shower, swing, sock, chalk, car, truck, choo choo, pee pee, thank(you), book, baby and cheese.

She also is getting good at repeating names when we tell them to her. With our plethora of visitors over the past month she can now say Steve, Kate and Mike. She also has the Ka of Karen. By the end of next week, and my mom and aunt's visit, I have the sneaking suspicion that she'll have some version of Janet learned and be sixty steps closer to saying Gramma.

She is stringing together some words: Go Kitty Go! No RyRy No! Chalk outside. BUBBLES BATH! Go car. And her favorite as of late:

NO MAMA.

Whoa boy...I feel like the new RyRy.

I get told NO so much that I am starting to have flashbacks to middle school and asking my mom if I could DO ANYTHING. (Her response 99 percent of the time was "NO. You're grounded." My response to her response was usually something that got me grounded for even longer. It was a vicious, vicious cycle.)

Over the past several days pretty much anything I ask Addison is met with an immediate NO even though half the time she means YES.

Addison, do you want some milk? NO.

Addison, do you want to get ready for class? NO.

Addison, did you poo your pants? NO.

Addison, would you like some sausage? NO.

Addie, are you ready for ni-night? NO.

Really, I could just keep going, but I think you get the point. But in case you don't, let me drive it home with this one:

Addie, can Mommy have a kiss ni-night? NO.

Addie, please? NO NO NO.

Addie, that's not nice. Can Mommy please have a kiss? NOOOOO.

And, truly, only about fifty percent of the time do I get a booger smeared kiss.

Ouch.

Apparently, when she says no, she means it.

Just wait for tomorrow when she says:

Mama, chalk? NO.*

Mama, bubbles? NO.**

Mama, chocolate? NO***

HA! Take that! I'm tough too, little lady.

*Translate: Of course, if it's not too rainy or cold.

**Translate: Of course, it makes you so happy.

***Translate: HELL NO. It's mine.

M.I.N.E.

Addison and I were driving to StrollerFit yesterday, just the two of us, when she clutched her Doodle Pro tightly to her chest and said, rather emphatically, to the window:

No. RyRy. NO. MINE

And thus began the soundtrack to the rest of my day.

Rylan came over to play yesterday for about three hours. Throughout that period I heard No. RyRy. NO. MINE about fifteen THOUSAND times.

NO RYRY...don't touch my Easter Eggs. MINE.

NO NONO RYRY...don't play with my grocery cart. MINE.

NONONO RYRY...get your hands off my magnets. MINE.

NO RYRY NO...don't go near my kitty. MINE.

NO RYRY NO...don't pick up your cup. MINE.

NO NO NO RYRY...don't you dare eat your mac-n-cheese in my chair. MINE.

NO RY. NO RYRY...don't you hug my mama. MINE.

NO RYRY NO...don't look out my window or touch my chair or breath. MINE.

Oh, dear lord, has my bossy toddler reared her little head. Shockingly, for the most part, Rylan acquiesced.

Once in a while Ry would start to boss back, but he'd forget why he was bossing as soon a new toy entered his eye line, or a bird squawked outside, or the cat entered the room.

I will gladly welcome the word bubbles back into our daily lives, if MINE would hightail it out of here.

Eggs and Chocolate

The Easter Bunny has hippity hopped outta here.

A lesson we've learned is:

Addison LOVES chocolate. Chocolate with peanut butter = her HEAVEN.

Another lesson learned is:

The Easter Bunny who I grew up with must have retired and forgotten to leave behind a detailed job description.

The Easter Bunny of the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s delivered wonderful little baskets. He filled them up with bubbles and jelly beans and chocolate and jump ropes. Just enough spoiling to celebrate the start of Spring.

The Easter Bunny of 2009 is extravagant. He filled baskets with singing bunnies and stickers and shoes and outfits and books and candy. I mean, this bunny really rocked it out. He made sure he had things at Grandma's, at Gram & Papa's, and mailed to Addie from Gramma and from Aunt Ruthie.

This bunny is like Bunny Claus.

But you're not hearing any complaints from my house....bring it on, Bunny, bring it on.

*Sorry for the silly music. I can't figure out how to put my own music on the videos

Artichoke Bread filed under M

I can't blame her. It's really my own fault.

It's just that the kitchen was already tidied up.

Her toys had been put in their bins.

The house smelled good and the news was on.

And I could sit and listen to it.

And she was being so quiet...it just seemed worth it.

I may never find another recipe again. That's okay.

She was quiet.

And content.

Of course, I have no idea what we're going to have for dinner and my recipe box was of no help.

Ridiculously Ridiculous

I woke up Monday, still battling the snarfily, gargily, phlegm-filled cold that has been kicking my ass for the past week. I am over coughing. I am done with not being able to breathe. I hate my raw, chapped nose. I am practically in a Sudafed, Benedryl, Advil coma. I decided it was in my best interest to stay home from StrollerFit and not spread my typhoid germs to the rest of the moms and babes.

Instead, I had the genius idea of taking Andy's car to get tuned up and get the out of state inspection that is necessary to get our Ohio plates.

[Don't even get me started on the four week debacle it has been to make the damn car legal in Ohio.]

So I packed up kiddo, we headed fifteen minutes down the road to our service appointment. No big deal.

Over four and a half freaking hours later we made it back home.

The dealership did the inspection in about six seconds and said the tune up would take a half hour-ish. I asked Mr. Dealership Man (MDM) to please check out our front passenger tire, as it seemed to have a slow leak. Thirty minutes later MDM informs me that both of our front tires are sad little pieces of rubber. The leaky one was too worn to patch and the other was practically bald. I okayed the replacement of both tires. At that point MDM informs me that replacing them will take about 90 minutes and their shuttle could bring us to the local mall to pass the time.

Technically, this is a great idea. We get out of the skeezy customer lounge and get to enjoy some pure suburban shopping. Realistically, I didn't put the stroller in the car and this could be a disaster.

Addie and I walked the pleasantly empty mall. We stopped in Gymboree and spent unnecessary money. We perused Payless. We checked out the bookstore. We rode the elevator. Twice.

We took a ride up the escalator. We ate chicken nuggets and french fries at Chick-fil-a. Addison rode the train in the food court. We looked in store windows. We avoided Cinnabon and Starbucks for fear that the sugar and caffiene may cause me to implode and her explode.

We found the Easter Bunny. And the obligatory mall fountain.

From a distance, and even up close, the Easter Bunny was pretty cool. He was a life-sized fuzzy freaking bunny. He waved. He nodded his head. He held Addie's hand. All was cool between them. Until, of course, I paid for her to sit on the damn thing's lap and take a picture.

Not one smile. Not even a smirk or a twinkle in the eye. In fact she teetered on the edge of the slow panic cry.

Of course we had to spend twenty minutes waving buh-bye to the bunny and blowing him kisses. Love from a distance, $22 worth of frown captured by the camera.

After the bunny, Addie spied the fountain. It was splashy, and cool, and pretty and FULL OF PENNIES. She wanted in that thing so bad it was ridiculous. She stretched and reached and climbed and tried so darn hard to fall head first in, but her mean mommy wouldn't let her.

And of course my thwarting those efforts ended in a fabulous public meltdown complete with blubbering, laying on the floor and flailing legs. Awesome.

I am willing to bet that even more than wanting to splash in the water, my little Alex P. Keaton wanted to scoop up those pennies, shove them in her pocket and get home to her piggy bank. She is so much more fiscally responsible than me.

After three hours of walking and shopping and a few minor tantrums later, the shuttle picked us back up and brought us back to the car. I slapped $400 worth of service on plastic, buckled up my baby and headed off to make our car legal in Ohio.

I know, I was playing with baby-fire, but I am brave like that.

No worries, when I got to the DMV I was told by those-who-are-in-charge that I either needed a) Andy with me or b) need a Power of Attorney from him to get the stupid license plates. So I buckled my baby back up, and headed home. Screw being legal.

And she passed out.

And I watched Oprah.

And cursed being in charge of the cars, but rejoiced in the fact that I baked apple squares last night...and ate one or three too many.

And I have yet to shower, but I did manage to brush my teeth.

Justifying Oprah

Andy laughs at me, because he recently found out one of my many dirty little secrets. I am a blog-aholic. I check the blogs of all of my friends daily and almost daily I check the blogs of several strangers. Yes, pretty much all of the stranger blogs I read are about surviving parenthood. Yes, they are super enjoyable with a cup of coffee.

I can't help it. It's like peeking through a neighbor's window, seeing her house is a total mess and then feeling slightly better about your trainwreck of a kitchen. Reading about people who I will never share a cup of coffee with is oddly comforting. Maybe something about a shared chaos makes me feel more at peace, or maybe I am just an internet voyeur.

According to the blogs it's okay that I haven't showered and it's 5 p.m.
It's fine that Addison essentially ate goldfish crackers for lunch.
It's not a problem that sometimes, as I am getting ready for bed, it dawns on me that I never brushed my teeth that day.
It's totally okay that I've let Addie sit in her crib calling my name over and over while I finished the article I was reading.

It's nice to have strangers completely rationalize and normalize my flaws.


After our ridiculously ridiculous day at the mall (more on that at a later date) Addison went down for a wonderfully long nap (translate: is probably covered from head to toe in pee from her over worked diaper) and I chose to log some couch time. I flipped on Oprah, a show I admittedly used to watch religiously, but rarely see now. What fortunate timing.



The entire episode was dedicated to mothers and our dirty secrets. She interviewed at least one blogger I follow and introduced me to more to feed my addiction.
I laughed out loud, loudly, several times. I texted and called some of my mommy friends to clue them into the fun. The only thing that could have made that hour of television better was if I was getting a pedicure and drinking a martini while watching it. The entire show addressed not showering, ignoring your children, justifying pizza for breakfast. It was worth the hour on the couch...if I had a DVR I would have taped it.

Then, on a night when Andy was out and Addie was snoring, I'd make a martini, settle onto my couch, push play, paint my toes an offensive color of red and laugh.

Ogres and the toilet

It's no secret that I, on occasion, turn to Mr. Samsung to keep my daughter occupied and happy. Lately, when she wakes up around seven, I pull her into bed with Andy and I, flip on whatever perky Disney show is being aired, and try to eke out 20 more minutes of shut-eye.

No, it's not the best precedent to set, but the few extra minutes of sleep/kiddo cuddles is 100 percent worth it.

This afternoon, after playing and snacking and dancing I decided to treat Addie to The Lion King, which we haven't seen in weeks. Whooops, turns out we haven't seen it because I can't find it. Addie saw the cover to Shrek, forgot about The Lion King and said "Ek? ek? ek?" - which I foolishly put in the DVD player, thinking she was asking to watch it.

I should know better, we tried Shrek once before and when the donkey started to fly my daughter started to freak out.

This time, as soon as Shrek opened the door to his house and stepped out, my brave angel jumped into my lap with huge tears filling her eyes and saying "NO MAMA NO".

Shrek was quickly replaced with Finding Nemo and little lady is now happily snuggled up with her juice and stuffed Nemo watching her favorite fish.

Fish and Lions = Good.

Ogres = Bad.

Lesson learned.

In totally unrelated news, I went to Meijer today and bought a handy dandy 3-in-1 Toilet Training System. I am in no way looking forward potty training. If I could have it my way Addie would wear diapers until kindergarten, in which case it would then be her teacher's problem to teach her this necessary and lovely skill.

Nonetheless, Addie knows what potties are. She knows they are for peepee and poo. She loves to visit you when you are on the potty, and she very much wants to look in the potty before you flush it.

So I thought we'd just do a gentle introduction. She, thus far, loves it. She's sat her bare bum on it (without pottying) and then ran around the house like she just won the lottery. She has been carrying it back and forth between the kitchen and family room and has been perching on it and playing with it.

A few minutes ago she used it to store her juice cup.

So, the conversation has begun.

I told Andy that if I am tackling potty training, the birds-n-bees conversation is all his.

Sucker.

POTTY UPDATE 4/6/2009....21 months old

After I wrote about our new potty yesterday, Addison wanted to sit on it with out her pants (thank you Gramma, I would have never figured that out on my own ...sarcasmsarcasmsarcasm). She plopped her hiney down and, my god, she tinkled. Granted it was a teaspoon of pee, but it was there. And she was proud.

She jumped up off her potty and did a victory lap around around the house, giggling hysterically. And before bed, she tinkled another teaspoon. And this morning, the first thing, she asked for was her potty...

She sat, tapped her toes, drummed her fingers and waited patiently. Nothing happened, but I think we are on our way to some great potty adventures.

She's sleeping right now. She is wrapped around giraffe and her juice cup.

Yes, I said her juice cup. In bed. Yes, I know that is a parenting sin.

C'est la vie.

We had a whirlwind day fighting off our colds and spreading our germs to unsuspecting Costco shoppers. Genna, Sharon and I did a little Costco grocery shopping experiment (as suggested by Real Simple) to see if we bought in bulk together,and then shared, if we would save money. We are giving this technique a resounding "Hell Yes". It was fun to shop together and just as fun to separate out our goods on the patio table while the kiddos ran amok in the yard.

The point being, by the time Addison went down for a nap, it was about three hours past her normal nap time and when I suggested she put down her juice cup, she practically turned herself inside out and went into the silent scream.

It was not a war I was willing to wage. I threw up the white flag, sang her "her" song and tucked her in. And it's quiet now. And the groceries are put away. And I'm blogging....

I thought that you might enjoying knowing that after my (almost well received) diatribe on Tuesday I have been super productive. The dry cleaning has been dropped off. The oil in my car is changed. Five loads of laundry are folded and two cycles of the dishwasher have been emptied. I've cleaned the kitchen at least four times. The credit card bills are paid and the final deposit for vacation has been mailed.

And, somehow, I also found time to play baby baby beauty shop (SO FUN!):

One year later

This week marks our one year move-iversary.

Unbelieveable.

In this short year we sure have lived a lot of life.

Addison is almost unrecognizable now compared to then. Since we left Chicago she has gotten almost all of her teeth.

She has learned to crawl, walk, and now run. She has learned the meaning of hundreds of words, and has even claimed a few as her own.

She has grown like a weed. The clothes she wore this time last year would be hysterical on her now. She outgrows pants on a daily basis.

She has developed an endless imagination and can play for hours on end with her dolls, blocks, trucks, and puzzles. She loves to draw and thinks crayons and finger paints are the coolest.

She has gone from eating pureed mangoes and sweet potatoes to slurping down milkshakes and chomping on shrimp.

She is no longer just a blobby baby... she has all sorts of emotions and ideas. She can be painfully shy or the ring master. She can be patient and giving or irrational and territorial. She can be all rainbows and bluebirds or can give a tornado a run for its money. She is total little person.

She can sit quietly and watch Elmo's World so that mommy can hang out on the computer.

Andy and I have slowly turned our house into a home. At long last, there are pictures on the walls, a pool table in the basement and a seasonal wreath on the front door. We are making landscaping plans and talking to exterminators and picking up paint swatches everytime we are at Home Depot. Neighbor's wave from their cars as they drive by and notice if we are out of town.

At times I look back and cannot fathom that over 365 days have passed.

We have lost loved ones, faced family health crisises, and welcomed new babies into our circle of friends. All of this from our new home. Our new life. And while there are days that I miss Chicago so much it is palpable, I never have once wonder if we made a mistake by moving here.

This is where we will celebrate a thousand new experiences. We will watch Andy's baby sister leave for college. We will put Addison on the bus for kindergarten. We will fight over wall colors and plant choices. We will host birthday parties and Christmas mornings and family game nights. We will have friends come down to cheer on the Cubbies and we will plan family vacations to warm destinations. We will live our lives.

Here.

Not there.

And it will be wonderful, and mundane, and hard, and exciting.

It is home.

And I like the idea of that.