I'll Be Peace, You Be Quiet

My sister has been here for the last week. She brought with her my 14 year old niece (to leave with me!!!!) her 13 year old son, and 7 month old baby and for part of the week, her husband. We have been piled on top of each other and at any given moment, 27 conversations have been going on at one time. Most of the time one or other of the babies are crying or squawking for his or her mama. And as a general rule, Avee is barking orders at one of her subordinates.

This morning was no exception as my sister and husband were trying to get their car loaded up to leave. A 13 year old distracted by cartoons, a post-nap baby who wanted her mama, Avee in need of a s'mores, etc. The noise escalated quickly and over it all, was a four year old trying to watch Jay Jay the Jet Plane, yelling, "Could I get a PLEASE get a PIECE OF QUIET!?!?!"

At which point, Avee came racing around the corning yelling, "I want a piece of gum toooooooo!"

Bo didn't get his quiet, but Avee did get a gum flavored jellybelly.

It's My Bertday

I'm racing at no cautious speed toward my mid-thirties.

Yesterday I was wearing daisy dukes and flipping my hair over my shoulder like I was ALL THAT.

Now I am all that, and I have no hair to flip. Courtesy of the world's worst haircut. (So bad, that this is the first you are hearing of it, and there will be no pictures to prove my point).

Today my niece had on a pair of daisy dukes, oh, I'm sure they are called something waaaaaaay cooler these days, like "phat shorts" or "fo' shizzle shorts" or whatever, but they were similar to what I wore, just a few short years ago in my teens.

Only, I filled mine out quite amply...

ANYWAY! I about had a coronary when I saw her. Those things are SHORT. That's how old I have gotten without noticing.

Avee wanted to "see the birthday", when I told her it was my birthday. I showed her some crows feet, stretch marks, and love handles. She was about as happy about them as I am. I'm more gracious about it though, when she saw them, she cried. I hear that sister, I hear that.

When I was younger I always thought the "I'm happy, I'm healthy, and I have my family" line was so cheesy. And lame. But now that's me. I couldn't be happier. I could be skinnier, and that might make me happier, but I feel like I couldn't be happier. I have a family I adore and they are with me today. My house is usually messy and it'll take another 32 years before I can get a handle on that, but I'm okay with that. Visitors who have to shift piles of laundry to sit on Cheeto crumbs on my couch might not be okay with it, but that's okay too.

This morning I got lots of cards and presents and my sister took me to breakfast and I got an ENTIRE Cheesecake Factory cheesecake delivered to my door. If you've read my blog(s) for any length of time, you will probably not fail to notice the consistent tendency for my good friends to send or bring me food. I cannot tell a lie. There is no greater gift. There is probably a direct correlation between that and having love handles or wishing I was skinnier, but I'm really not that big of a correlater, so I can't be sure.

I got this VERY cool magnet from my sister and my niece. They gave it to me last night because they couldn't wait. I'm glad they couldn't, I LOVE LOVE LOVE it. It pays to be Nobody.

That is all.

Oh, p.s. My astute friend Rebecca wasted no time in telling me I couldn't blog anymore because I had already made a big to-do about being soooooo busy and bereft about moving and whatnot. I would just like to say,

It's my blog, I can do what I want. Even lie.

For No Cool Story

Pay no mind to the lovely black eye that Avee gave Bo.

And dontcha think it's nice that I managed to get BOTH my kids picking their noses in a 2 minute span of time. I'm sure they hardly ever actually do that...

God Blessed Texas. And The Melting Pot

So, on Saturday night, my friends treated me to a night at the Melting Pot for my birthday.
Don't worry, you didn't miss my birthday, there's still plenty of time for you to send me chocolates and...and, uh---appliances or stereo speakers if you are my husband.

It was my first time going. And I had a blast. That's a given, I was with my friends.

However, and no offense to my friends, the highlight of the entire evening, was the birthday card from the Melting Pot. It was signed by a handful of employees who happened to be working the night we all decided to come in and get our fondue on. Or, perhaps it was pre-signed, like 6 months ago and it's a collector's item because maybe some of those employees are no longer part of the Melting Pot family.

When I opened the card, the only legible signature was Beth. At first I wondered which of my friend's alter ego was named Beth. I confess, I'm slow these days. You can imagine my delight to find it wasn't signed by my friends, but rather, Melting Pot employees. Just for me.

Thank you, whoever you are.

I mean, thank you Beth and Scribblers I, II, and III.

I haven't done my blog visiting teaching this month. I figure, any visit from me is a learning experience, so I'm going to take the liberty...

Part of the reason is because suddenly Danyo's all up in my grill with opinions and whatnot. He's become a little more demanding of food and less willing to wait and let me finish my yoga session grilled cheese sandwich and stuff.

The other reason is because we are moving in 11 days. Suddenly, it's 11 days away.
We are moving to Iowa. Or, as every person we've ever told likes to say, Ohio, Omaha, Dubuqe, Idaho, or Chicago. Or, as Ben likes to correct any of those people, "Oh-why-yuh!" And he's more right than anyone. Except Dubuque. That one's pretty close...

J is starting a job at John Deere. It is in Illinois, right on the border, next to Iowa. We've decided to live in Iowa, because it's more holy. And is a swing state. But if cheaper housing is found in Illionis, I'm sure we can find some virtue in the state...

We tried to get a tractor for his commute into the job offer, but it was a no-go. He's gonna have to stick with his 1989, 3 crash surviving, 174 thousand mile, multi-fender colored Honda Civic.

He won't be traveling anymore. Can you HEAR my excitement screaming through your screen?

Only, we have to leave our beloved Texas. And this is heartbreaking. As much for J as for me, but only I will be heard to say that. J's not in the habit of walking around talking about heartbreaks. Because he's a stud. But, we are both very very sad to leave here. More sad than I think we even realize at this point. This has been one of the most wonderful experiences we've had in any place we've lived. It probably would have been Utopia if J had not had to travel the entire time.

I have been walking around the house with a lump in my throat for the last 23 days. I just made that number up, but it's been a while.

Tonight I had to say goodbye to Amy. Before she came over to say goodbye, I spent a couple of hours with a friend and then had to say goodbye to her. Both of them are going out of town tomorrow. Because apparently, my leaving the state isn't enough to put family vacations on hold. Next week I have to say goodbye to Rebecca.

I didn't cry once tonight. But the bravery is starting to overwhelm me.

So, between packing, and being brave, I don't 'spect I'll do much blogging. Oh yeah, and there are some kids to take care of somewhere in there too.

However, once we are settled in Oh-why-yuh, I am certain there will be some blogging like there has never been blogging before. Brace yourselves.

Some Candids and Stories

This morning I was busy feeding the baby and Avee got hungry as well.
Apparently only one of the two still needs me to help him with his meals....

I don't mean to be rude, but how smart can she be if she thinks a table can scramble her eggs?

Also, that sunburn on her cheeks, I have witnesses, I lathered the girl in SPF 50. Stubborn cheeks and nose just busted right out of mine and NO AD's protection.

New neighbors moved in recently. They have a pet rabbit.

This, we call "Died And Gone To Heaven"

Or "Dying And Going To Heaven" depending on your perspective. And your belief of animals in heaven...

When my mom was here, she mentioned that if her dog lived with us (children and adults alike, dribbling their food on the floor at mealtime) he would think he had "died and gone to heaven." Bo thought about that for a second and then said knowingly, "Dogs don't like people food and it will make them die." I had no idea he was trying to make the phrase "died and gone to heaven" work in his mind. My mom (mother of 9, grandmother of even more) caught it immediately and explained to him what the phrase actually meant. I just sat there going on about how smart my kid is. And dribbled more food on the floor.
(I've been working on this post all morning, and one of the interruptions was to go outside. Avee was terrorizing the bunny and I told her not to pick it up anymore because she was being too rough. Bo chimed in, "Yeah and you will make it die and go to heaven.")

The other day I put in a CD with all the Primary songs Bo needs to learn this year. All of us were just puttering around the house doing our thing. Right after I turned on the music, the kids decided to watch TV. I sat at the computer, they watched TV, and Daniel bounced in his seat to the tune of some rockin' church songs. I kept hearing Bo singing right along, even though he was watching TV. I couldn't help but feel proud and think it endearing that he preferred his beloved church songs to even Curious George. Until he wailed loudly, "Mooooooom, turn off the music, I can't watch George when I'm singing all the time!!"

Poor little guy didn't even want to sing, he just couldn't help himself.

Last Sunday at church Avee found a little boy, about 1 year old, holding himself up by the couch. She was immediately enamored and began pawing at him, trying to pick him up, and generally being bossy, much like she is with the neighbor's rabbit. The little boy was clinging for dear life to the couch. At one point Avee tried to pry his hands off the couch. I scolded her, "Avee, leave that little boy alone, you are not in charge of him!" She turned around with her stern/condescending, "I'm tired of having to tell you over and over again how things work around here mom" look and said, "Avee's in charge of the COUCH!"

And finally, because I can't help myself:
Little Emporer Two Chins the Second and his crooked smile...

A full on laugh

And with his best little friend. They make a great team when it comes to that binkie...

You Can Learn So Much About A Person

By what they sing in the shower...

Aves this morning:
"I wuv me, I wuv ME,
I wike yoooouuuuuuuu,
You wuv meeeee
We a happy famawee..."

Thanks

(For some reason, Blogger is being rude to me and won't let me enter a title on my posts. It is also turning my pictures into little red X's a day or two after I post. If anyone has any ideas why they are picking on me, let me know. On with the post....)

When I was pregnant with Bo, a friend sent me a huge stack of burp clothes (those generic white ones) and warned me I'd need a lot of them. I waited and waited to put them to good use, but never did.

My kids aren't spitters. They are cry hysterically and uncontrollably and then belch themselves into oblivion-ers. But they aren't spitters.

I knew enough to not assume with #2 and #3, but they've remained consistent non-spitters.

And so I've never owned burp clothes. With all the accouterments that come with one child, it felt good to have one less thing I needed.

About 10 days into little Danyo's turn on Earth, I started realizing I was going through blankets fast. And clean clothing was passing quickly. As was a nice smelling neck. His, not mine.

He's not a spitter, he's a drooler. Only when he's eating. Because, the task of actually swallowing what he sucks out of the bottle is just too much.

Shortly after this realization, I got a package in the mail. Inside were two ADORABLE pieces of cloth and a big ol' bottle of baby lotion. The kind with shea butter and the scent that makes perfect strangers stop and inhale the top of your baby's head. Because smelling other people is perfectly normal behavior in Texas.

And now, things are as they should be with the Nobodys. Nice smelling necks, sufficient supply of clean blankets, and burp clothes to wipe away the spittle and protect that nearly nonexistent, wobbly little neck.

And a few days later when a lady at church was feeding my precious drooler and asked for a burp cloth, I deftly swooped down into my diaper bag and handed over with pride, one of my two very cute burp clothes. Which was much more gratifying than staring dumbly and saying, "Uh, he don't rully speet up."

So, THANK YOU SUZANNE!!!! I love them, they are very handy, and I loved getting a package from you.

In all honesty though, my favorite part about it all is telling people, "I got these from a girl I met on the internet." Next to having a smelly-necked kid, that gets the most interesting reactions from people.

1 Month

1 Month

Really, the only time in life that it's cute to wear your pants up to your armpits.

All That I Know

So, I was just perusing the pictures taken immediately after Danyo's birth. I was enjoying the pictures of things I was too out of it to have any memory of occurring. (I have no memory of posing for pictures, but clearly, I did.)

I noticed that J had taken a picture of the scale when Danyo was put on it to be weighed. It showed the grams, which were of course Greek to us. And we waited patiently for the conversion to pounds announcement. They told us 8 pounds, 7 ozs. And we believed them.

"Actually, almost 8 pounds, 8 ounces," they said.

"Wow, that's a big'n!"

"Hey Nobody, good work! That's great! A few ounces less and it probably wouldn't have been that noteworthy that you just BIRTHED AN ENTIRE CHILD."

You know, the usual.

So, being the random person I am, I decided to google the conversion of grams to pounds. And I punch in the 3848 grams that we have a picture of to prove. And guess how much my son weighed at birth? Well, google it yourself and you won't have to guess. Keep reading, and I'll tell you.

8 pounds, 4 ounces.

WHAT is THAT!?! All that I thought I knew has been shaken. My child did NOT in fact weight 8.8. How could they do this to me? I'm seriously doubting everything. Was he really 19 and three quarters inches long? Was he really a boy? Was he really mine!? I can't help but to doubt it all.

Particularly now, the scale when I stand on it. I just knew that had to be wrong.

Welcome To My Country

I was just telling my MIL that it's my goal in life to curb all annoying habits my children may try to develop. I think it's a mother's job. Mother's who send their children out into the world who slurp or chomp or snap their gum or scratch themselves shamelessly in public....shame on them. I'm kind of hard on Bo as he is getting to an age where he likes to try out new things.

Just a couple of months ago, he started slurping every 90 seconds or so. Or would punctuate whatever he said with a nice juicy slurp. It took negative 5 seconds for that to send me over the edge. And I nagged him relentlessly. He stopped in about 3 days. It could have been a lifelong habit. You are welcome world. In defense of His Cuteness, when I did ask him why he kept making that noise, he had a great answer. "Oh, well I do it every time I need fresh slobber."

Well, duh.

So, on Friday he started something new. And it could easily be an annoying habit, but I don't think I'm going to try and curb it because I find it oh-so amusing.

He has started clicking/clucking, whatever you call it, before he says something, while he's saying something, and immediately after he says something. It's so weird. And SO funny. My little red haired Zimbabwean.

My friend presented a paper she had written in college at some seminar/conference/smarty-pants-read-their-papers-for-other-smarty-pants thing and she made reference to this language and of COURSE didn't pronounce their words using the clicking sound. Because she is American. And speaks English. As did the people she was presenting to. However, there was a know-it-all in the crowd who actually had the nerve to come and correct her pronunciation as though she were the socially ignorant one. So, she and her pals, anytime this guy was around would talk according to his dictates. "Hey, you wanna go get some pi(click)zza?" I always thought that story was so funny.

As long as my son is just the random/weird kid who clicks for kicks, and isn't the obnoxious know-it-all correcting people, I'll be happy.

I will consider that perhaps I suffer from the mom syndrome that everything my child does is cute, but only consider it.