Monday, November 24, 2014

The good stuff is somewhere between hell and insanity.

I have this large rectangular picture frame that holds six 4x6 pictures in a line.  I keep it upright on the floor because I'm too lazy to find wall space for it.  At the moment, all the pictures feature D because we didn't have C when I filled it up.  For some reason, C thinks this thing is the greatest toy on Earth.  I came into the office for two minutes to print an email, and during that time, I heard the dreaded crash 'n cry.  You know.  When there's a crash from another room, followed by a pause, then pained shrieking.  Yeah.  That just happened.  Again.  I go in there to find C underneath the picture frame, very, very upset.  I'm not surprised.  You see, he's done this maybe eight times now.  The first time broke the glass, so every other time he just whacks himself in the head with particle board backing.  Apparently, neither of us learns, because I keep putting it on the ground where he can reach it, and he keeps crawling over to it and knocking it over.  Isn't that the definition of insanity or something?  And every time I walk over to him, he looks so surprised that there's a large picture frame on his head.

I really hate showings.  Every day that we have a showing, I turn into a raging harpy.  I feel like it's acceptable in that situation though because I'm pretty sure having a showing at a house with two small, mobile children is one of the levels of hell.  It's impossible to keep any one room clean, let alone the entire house, and show-ready condition?  Nope.  Not happening.  Since Eli and I would like to sell the house before we're both old and grey, we've had to take drastic measures.  We lock them in the living room while I clean the entire rest of the house, then we put them in the car while I clean the living room.  We have to leave anyway, and they're fine out there with Eli.  Just to be clear, when I say "we" I really mean me.  Eli usually gets home right before the showing, which thankfully is just in time for the "put them in the car" portion of the event.  I've learned that I hate the idea of strangers coming through our house and judging it.  Because that's what's happening at the heart of it.  Every person who doesn't want to buy is another way our house is found lacking.  They didn't want it, after all, there must be reasons.  I have to keep telling myself it's not a reflection of me personally, but it doesn't feel true yet.  Combine the stress of trying to keep stuff clean with the possibility of yet another impending rejection and my poor little brain throws me into raging harpy mode.  Either clean or get out of my way.

Big news today, people.  Oh yeah, I'm burying it way down here so you have to read the rest of my ramblings.  Eli is quitting his job.  Yes.  You read that right.  Eli is putting in his resignation today and only plans to work at his company through the end of the year.  Mostly because I want to go to the holiday party.  He's a giver.

Big changes coming our way.  In the spirit of keeping some things sacred, I have no intention of shoveling any of the snow currently falling.  You might remember last year about this time I was cursing Eli's absence and swearing that I'll never shovel again.  I'm happy to report that I've kept that vow.  Even though we're leaving before dawn tomorrow, I refuse to help clear any snow.  Is it petty of me to hope it snows six inches tonight so that Eli has to get up at 4am and shovel the driveway?  Probably, but maybe it will convince him to leave the frozen tundra just a little bit sooner.  Or we'll be hiring a plowing service.  Maybe both?

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Your face is delicious. Like my books.

I'm pretty sure C is part zombie.  If you put anything that resembles flesh near his face, he will lunge and try to sink his teeth in.  His two teeth.  His two bottom teeth.  He can't even get good closure, but those two bottom teeth are sharp.  He's also started to crawl for real.  Previously, he'd do that army thing that D did where he'd push off with one back leg and pull forward with both arms.  A few times I've caught him doing it with a toy clenched tightly in his mouth.  Now he actually moves his arms and legs independently.  Consequently, we've put the baby gate back up in the living room.  As an added bonus, we're hoping to trap some potential homebuyers there until they agree to sign.

C turned 9 months on Friday.  It snowed this weekend.  These two things are connected.  I have a 9 month snowsuit, but it doesn't have hands or feet, so his little hands freeze when we go outside.  The Beks and I went to Pleasant Prairie this weekend for, well, let's face it...we went for the Ghirardelli store, but we stopped at the Old Navy outlet too.  I saw baby snowsuits for 30% off and went oh hells yeah.  Now, my first inclination was the light grey and white striped one.  After a few minutes of contemplation (and remembering the previous night's dinner where C only got a bottle because of his white snow suit), I chose the navy/dark grey one.   We bought our stuff, went home, all was well with the world.  The next day, Eli and I try to get the kids ready to go to the gym.  I throw the new snowsuit at him and tell him to put C in it.  A couple of minutes later, Eli gives up and tells me it just doesn't fit.  Let's be clear here.  I bought a 6-12 month snowsuit.  C is in the 25th percentile, so he's small for his age.  He should be able to do laps in that snowsuit.  Nope.  We couldn't get his chubby little legs into the leg holes.  Le sigh.  We had to return it.  They didn't have baby snowsuits at the Old Navy near us, so now C still freezes his little hands off whenever we go outside.  Stupid polar vortex.

New taggie blanket for some friends who are letting it be a surprise.

The other side of the taggie blanket.
Flannel baby sheets for a Noah's Ark nursery.
Noah's Ark sheets for a Noah's Ark nursery.
Why are all my sheet pictures so yellow?  They're all blue, I swear.
This is how D watches his shows on the tablet.
Trying to escape the living room.
Still trying to escape.
Giggling while sitting up.
The knowing smirk.  As soon as I leave the room, he books it for the front door.
This is how we "read."  Books are delicious.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

It's the year of the tutu.

This just happened.  I went upstairs to get C up from his nap.  He was making unhappy noises, but that wasn't usual.  I turned on the light and said hi to him without really looking.  When I got to the side of the crib, I could see why he was unhappy.  At some point during his nap, he'd managed to get both legs into the same leg hole of his outfit.  It was one of those sleep 'n play kinds that look like pjs with the feet.  He looked like a mermaid.  A very unhappy mermaid. 

Earlier in the day, I was holding C while D played with his cars on the floor. C reached down toward D's face (he's been obsessed with D's hair for a while now), and D swatted him away.  Unfortunately for D, he still had a car in his hand and whacked himself in the head with it.  Of course, he started crying, but I was laughing so hard I had to put the baby down.  Ah, good times.

The Halloween party was a blast.  I hope everyone who came had as much fun as I did.  For once, no one puked in the house or had to go to the hospital or accidentally set a couch on fire.  In fairness, I'm pretty sure the couch caught fire all on its own that year.  It was ridiculously cold outside, so we didn't have a bonfire, but the empty basement provided plenty of room for stupidity.  Everyone's costumes were really creative, even the ones I had to provide (you're welcome, green fairy).  Here's a small sampling:

The fox and the hound.

I see you.

The (Hungry) Mad Hatter and Broken China Doll.

Slash and his 80s groupie.

The (Still hungry) Mad Hatter and Jango.

A hippie and Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (loony bin version).

The March Hare.

I honestly have no idea who he was, but he was very proud of it.  Also, his machete had real blood spatter action.

A suicide bomber and a green fairy.

Grandmother Wolf and Red Riding Hood.

A little Audrey Hepburn ice queen.

A lady lumberjack and a lady (?) nerd lover.

In retrospect, the Mad Hatter was always eating.  Ace Ventura was an eerily accurate costume.  Grandma Wolf creeped everyone out because he never took off his mask.  The suicide bomber was anti-climactic.  The China Doll wins best face paint, but the March Hare wins best mask.  The nerd lover, though, wins strangest overall.  And no, we don't want to touch your boob.

Up next: Thanksgiving in Florida.  We're still waiting on the go-ahead for the super secret news, so we'll be looking at houses in the Tampa area while we're there.  Our house is still for sale, and though we've had a lot of interest, no offers means we lowered the price.  It's too bad, but it is what it is.  We'll be in the area through Christmas and New Year's, but no promises after that.  There will probably be a lot of changes happening right around C's first birthday.  The least of which will be that hopefully I'll be able to fit into my pre-baby jeans.  Fingers crossed.

Fine, here's a picture of me and the hubs:

Leonidas and his goddess.