Friday, August 26, 2011

A close call.

Peanut butter, water, batteries, canned and bagged food of questionable nutritional value, full tanks of gas, cash. . . .check check check.

And in a serendipitous melding of true efficiency on the parts of UPS and Target, "Harper's" new rain boots were delivered yesterday.

Bring it, Irene.





Wednesday, August 24, 2011

a watched pot, woe is me and all that jazz

I'm doing my part to obsess over the hurricane this week so that it won't actually come. Everyone knows that's how it works. Won't you join me?

My outwardly identical actions lie in stark contrast to growing up in North Carolina and obsessing over a hurricane because, good Lord, there was nothing more exciting than the 'eye' of a mild to moderate hurricane passing over your town and being able to walk out into your yard and survey the first half of the damage.

..I know it wasn't just a kid thing - Dad thought it was fun, too.

Today, not one part of me is the least bit giddy as I stalk weather.com - I won't get out of school. A power outage will not be 'fun.' The cost of a basement flood scares the bejeezus out of me. And if that big ass tree in our front yard falls on our house. . . .

((yep.. there's the eye twitch))

I'm forsaking my roots in the name of safety, hot water and electricity.

And I can't even drink beer while we watch the whole thing.

Oh, adulthood, you fickle minx.

..and here's a random video of a drunk weather man. At least they'll be excited. Whooo! I like it!

Monday, August 22, 2011

the quiet after the flash

Harper has had a flair for the dramatic for the last couple of weeks..

Now, I don't mean that she'll throw down her blankie and delight the crowd with a sonnet from Henry VIII. No, no, I wish.

Instead, we'll be in full-on tantrum lookout, after which a tooth will erupt, a rash will develop or she'll suddenly grow out of her shoes. And as cagey as I like to think I am in thwarting, snuffing out, and pinpointing causes before they even become the single dissatisfaction, she sometimes surprises me.

Like last weekend when we had to make an unplanned trip to see a patient with Brandon, which Harper usually loves, but Brandon put on a scary headlamp and turned the lights off so that she couldn't see him and then she saw him with the scary huge black headlamp and decided she needed to save him from the headlamp eating his head while I carried her kicking and screaming out of the clinic and all the way to the car, but not before she pulled down my tube dress in a fit of rage and I flashed at least 10 old men.

Get all that? Good. The wound is still too deep to separate into sentences and paragraphs, and there's a long version that includes much cajoling and coddling and niceness and mothering, but I'm waiting for it to actually be funny to me before I post it.

The good news is, the general malaise scooted on out the door sometime late last week and we had an absolute peach of a toddler this weekend. Meanwhile, I can only hope those old men suffered from vision-clouding maladies.

As evidence of her airy disposition, she allowed me to gather and photograph her very first ponytail.


Thursday, August 18, 2011

the great debate

If there's anything that gets a mom's blood boiling, it's when someone treats their child unjustly. ..even another toddler. How does a 2-year-old become Enemy #1 of a 27-year-old? Simple: Push Harper down on purpose. 

Yes. We stoop that low.

But want to just make a little steam come out of a mom's ears without spastic toddler violence? Question her parenting choices to her face.

Because we're all doing the best we can. We're doing what we think is right and we're all making sacrifices to do it. And if we aren't sure we're doing the right thing? You can bet we're losing sleep over it every night. And for Pete's sake, whether a mom works outside of the home or inside the home, she's doing what she thinks best for her child and her family. Period.

I used to think that this was a one-sided assault, that 'working' moms bore the stink-eye brunt of stay-at-home mom hens, who cluck superiority over chilly martinis from toile-upholstered perches. Mmm.. martini.

Nah.

If I had a quarter for every time a woman has shaken her head back and forth, in calmly rehearsed disbelief and pity and warbled something to me about, "You stay home full-time?!  I just don't know what I'd do all day," Harper and I could ride the carousel at the mall 24 hours/day.

Maybe I should tell them what I do, but instead, I catch myself a little red-faced and embarrassed.

I nurture, I teach, I play, I feed, I wipe, I hug, I correct, I hug some more.

But maybe this is a beautiful secret I should keep to myself, if they refuse to see.

For now, I think I can convince Harper to tell them that all we do is play dress-up, ruin our eyesight, wear pajamas and eat messy popsicles all day.


 Because what they don't know might hurt them.



Friday, August 12, 2011

in which a classical education includes pop culture phenomena

Today, I really hammered home the difference between Harper's top teeth, bottom teeth and front teeth, so as to hopefully decrease the number of monkey shine fits she throws when I'm trying to brush them. or pull them out one by one sans sedation.. b/c that's how it sounds..

She learned how to pick up super pesky and slippery items with her fork.

And, requisite for any golfer's child, she perfected her old-man golf yells, "Go ball!" (for shots off the tee) and "Get in the hole, ball!" (for exciting putts) because yes.. we may have watched a little of the PGA Championship after nap time.

and 'round about 4:00 p.m. (what-on-Earth-do-we-do-until-Brandon-gets-home-o'clock) I taught Harper how to plank. She's a natural! ..even planking on an unsafe ledge! Reason 876 we like her. A lot.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Meet Henry

He's Harper's little brother. She's very excited!

After the 2 seconds it took to confirm that he is, indeed, a boy, and for my heart to grow two sizes and fall madly in love with a slightly scary 3-d ultrasound image of him opening and closing his mouth, Harper jumped on the bandwagon.

"Harper! You're going to have a little brother!"

"A bruh-ber?!"

This is a huge improvement over last week's ultrasound. When asked by the ultrasound tech if she wanted a brother or a sister, she replied matter-of-factly, "A dinosaur."

Today, we asked what we should name him. Enthusiastically, she deemed him, "Snake."

While we're still certainly considering this as a nickname possibility because it's just so awesome (and I'd be lying if I said I hope it doesn't stick, at least for a few days)...

We're going to go with Henry. Henry Butler Our-Last-Name.



We promise he'll gain some weight in the face between now and December.

Friday, August 5, 2011

Babygate - the saga continues

On Saturday, we'll know the baby's gender around or about 2:30 p.m.

Thanks to an out-of-pocket boutique ultrasound that'll probably be waaay fancy, I'll finally be able to saddle the baby with some ridiculous, yet gender specific clothing.

And post a couple of super high resolution pictures that are weird, . . . in a "that really doesn't look like a baby, but aww, how cute. you say that's the face?" sort of way.

Oh, and officially name the baby. Don't worry. I won't set up a poll for that, too. We plan to bestow upon the baby an appropriately haughty, Southern name that'll take them at least 15 seconds to say until they just shorten it to "Beau" or "Bette." I kid, I kid.

Continue to vote, unless it annoys you.


Do I need to say that this isn't my baby and that I found it on Google images?

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Possibly Unpopular Opinion of the Week

Wanna know the quickest way to sound like a 12 year old, even if you're 30 or older?

Go ahead and add the made-up word "awesomesauce" to your daily vocabulary.

funny gifs

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

the one where things don't turn out like I thought they would.

After 1.5 hours of belly prodding - which does not a happy fetus make. . . classic in utero tantrums ala Harper circa '09 were felt by one and all - we know the baby is a ....

wait for it..

we don't know.

Kinda want to hit me right now? Yeah.. I know the feeling.

Boy, did we have a peach of an ultrasound tech.  It's fine, though. My honor was defended as I lie there. Beached, with a ky jellied midsection.  Harper yelled at her. More than once.  

Which may have been why she didn't give us any pictures of the baby to take home.

After 1.475 hours of prodding in a dark, empty room, she did swivel the screen our way and take approximately 7 seconds to point out the head and the spine (thanks for that. . . because those aren't the two most obvious parts of the fetal anatomy)

and direct us to an empty space between the baby's legs and indicate that.. "it could possibly be a boy." Oh. Yes.. as indicated by the blank space between the baby's legs. Again. Thank you.

And Harper had her first sip or 8 of Pepsi as a reward for a monster fit she threw after said 1.5 hours. 

...desperate times.. desperate measures.. all that jazz

I'll be tapping my toe to a different unsubstantiated rhythm tomorrow morning when she wakes up with a black tooth.

And disconcertingly, we then left the room with no answers, but punctuated our exit with the haughtiest "Good.Bye." an otherwise jovial, freshly caffeinated and sugared two-year-old can muster.

I'd post a pic.. but.. how about this one?

Because it makes me laugh. And I need one today:

Monday, August 1, 2011

Boy or girl?

In the realm of motherhood, tomorrow is a big day - the full anatomy scan of baby2. While I sit, fidgety and nervous and full of anticipation regarding the health of our newest doodlebug, I'll admit that my mind occasionally wanders to the fun aspect of this visit. . . we'll find out if the baby is a boy or a girl.

In my heart of hearts, I feel like its a boy and since I 'knew' Harper was a girl, I'm resolutely sticking to my guns until they tell me otherwise.

Brandon's poignant weigh-in last night was, "This time you think it is a boy. Last time you knew Harper was a girl. I am going to say that I believe it is a girl because you think it is a boy and last time you were right so statistically, you probably aren't right again." ..So there.

The Chinese Gender Chart says that I will have a girl.
I haven't been as sick with this pregnancy.
I have way more energy.
..and I'd like to go ahead and smugly say that I've been far less moody, alas, equally emotionally stirred by anything from TV commercials to a kiss from Harper.

What do you think? Answer to follow tomorrow night.