Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Every. Time

How is it possible that every stinkin' time Alex gets dressed, he puts his shirt on backwards?  Isn't there some sort of law of probability or odds or whatever that says at least once in a while he would end up with it on the right way?

We have the same exact conversation every time:

Me:  Your shirt's on backwards.
Him:  What?  No it's not.
Me:  Yes it is.  Look for the tag.
Him(looking inside the front collar of his shirt):  Oooooh!  Whoops!  That's silly!

Every.  Time.


Babies that decide to be awake from 3-5am should have to live in a mink den or with some other crepuscular animal that is awake at that horrid time.

Monday, December 28, 2015

Monday, December 21, 2015

New Words

By the way, if Sam didn't learn the phrase "Fucking FUCK!" this morning on the ride from Alex's school to daycare, he's never gonna pick it up.
We got Sam's Christmas present a little early from daycare...

Startin' this week off RIGHT!

We went to a friend's house to watch the Packer game yesterday and while we were gone, the lovely Miss Aiden helped herself to a big ol' Tupperware of holiday treats.  She gorged on about 15 chocolate peanut clusters and at least 5 peanut butter, cereal, and peanut thingys.  And the poor thing didn't have anything to wash her indulgence down, because we forgot to put her dishes back on the floor from the counter where we have to put them so the sweet little curious baby can't get to them.  All things considered, I "slept" on high alert all night, making sure to let her out any time she made a move in the general direction of the door.  She only took a couple trips outside and seemed right as rain this morning.

Over the weekend, Alex helped me make butterhorns for the teachers at daycare and all the first grade teachers.  I told him I was making them for the daycare teachers and he said, "Oh Mom!  Can you make enough to share with all the first grade teachers?  There are only 6!"  Well aren't you the happiest little shariest elf.  Sure.  Sounds good.  So, I decided to make a double batch.  And then I screwed up the dough for the first batch.  And I didn't have enough ingredients for 3 batches, so I had to go back to the store.  And then I realized, after baking them, that I forgot to add the sugar in the filling for the entire first batch.  Travis tasted one and said, "It's really fine...just give these to the first grade teachers...they've never had them before so they won't know they're wrong."  Good call.  And a little extra powdered sugar on top just sweeten them up a bit.

This morning, I was going through Alex's backpack and found a note saying he is supposed to bring in a board game today.  And he wanted to bring the butterhorns.  So I told him if he could help me leave a little earlier than normal, I would drive him to school and walk him in to help him carry things.  While I'm carrying Sam.  And it's raining.  Good good.  So we got to school, gathered our things, including a blanket around Sam because he refuses to put on a coat and one of Sam's burp cloths that he will go nowhere without, and we headed into school.  We made the cookie drop and left Alex to have hopefully a wonderful day.

A quick trip back through the parking lot in the rain, and Sam and I were once again engaged in the wrestling match known as putting a 19 month old child into a car seat.  That is when I noticed we dropped the beloved burp cloth somewhere.  Cut your losses kid; that one's a goner.  And that is also when I noticed the distinct smell of peanut butter coming from the truck.  The dog was innocently sitting in the driver's seat, so I buckled Sam and made my way around the car.  And when I opened my door, I saw the source of the peanut butter smell.  It was coming from the mound of barf on my center console/gear shift/cup holders.  The very same cup holder that had my coffee.  And the very same gear shift that I had to push back to get the truck into drive and therefore smoosh the peanutty barf all down into places I cannot reach.  And then I had to drive to daycare to drop off Sam and more butterhorns and then to the office.  All the while not being able to drink my coffee on account of it being covered in dog barf.

Happy fucking Monday.

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Dear Santa...

This is the first time Alex has written a letter to Santa.  And it's a pretty darn good one if you ask me:
Allow me to translate this mess of handwriting:

"Santa can I plees have at lese 2 presents or 3.  if you forget to bring a present it is owoky.  these are the 5 presents.  3 Diary of a wimpy 1 vedeoe tv 1 remote bowt.  Love Alex."

And now allow me to translate that mess of spelling:

"Santa, Can I please have at least 2 presents, or 3.  If you forget to bring a present, it is ok.  These are the 5 presents.  3 Diary of a Wimpy Kid Books, 1 video TV, 1 remote boat.  Love Alex."

He then went on to tell me he thinks we should give Santa a present because Santa brings everyone presents, but never gets any.  I asked what he thought we should give good ol' Kris Kringle.  "I want to replace the batteries in my remote control bumper cars and give him those so he can play with the elves when they are all done making toys."

He slays me this one.

Monday, December 14, 2015

Shut it Doc

Oh!  And while I was at the doc, I had him take a look-see at my back.  After I dropped Sam off at day care on Friday, my lower right back felt a little weird.  And then it felt a LOT horrible.  Walking was difficult on Saturday and bending down was not an option.  The doctor asked where it hurt and if it spread anywhere other than that spot and then decided I pulled a muscle.  And when I said ok, but I didn't have a specific "ouch!  I just pulled a muscle!" moment, he said, "Yeah...well...welcome to middle age."  This bitch.  He's lucky I found his dry sense of humor funny before that moment or I'm pretty sure the back/throat/ear pain wouldn't have been too overbearing for me to drop that old man.

No Thank You.

So yeah, guess what?  When I woke up with half a sore throat and a shooting pain my ear, I most definitely didn't think it was strep.  Turns out my degree in not doctoring isn't so good for diagnosis.  Strep it is.  I don't think I ever had strep or if I did, I blocked it from my memory, because this shit HURTS.  And now I'm sitting here recounting all the times Alex stole a drink from my cup and Sam crammed his nuk in my mouth over the past day or so.  I might be being a big ol' wimp here, but I do not know what I am going to do with either of these boys if they get this.  Are you allowed to sedate them until it's over?  Am I allowed to sedate myself until it's over?  'Cause that sounds amazing.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Am I a terrible mother for eating one of the freakishly large king size Tootsie Rolls I bought for Alex's St. Nick stocking but forgot to put in there?  No.  Now, if I go ahead and decide not to tell him about the other one that came in the pack...?  That might be condemnable.

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

You Want Some Cookies?

You guys.  You.  Guys.  Daycare gave us the pictures they did for Christmas.  Too much.

More Synonyms

Alex went to play with one of the neighbor kids after school yesterday.  There is a farm feild at the end of our street, but between the dead end and the feild there is a strip of trees.  The kids call this "the forest," but it's really just a small barrier line of trees separating the farmer's land and the neighborhood.  There is also a walking/biking path running along the length of the tree line that ends at the park.  Tons of neighbors use this path every day to get exercise, take their dogs for walks, or simply get to the park.  Most times, each neighbor will smile at the boys climbing around in "the forest" and say hello.

Anywho, Alex came home after playing and I asked him if they had fun.

"Yep!  We played in the forest.  But.  Mom.  We saw a stranger.  But don't worry, we hided from them because we didn't know if they were a regular stranger or a child bed."
"A what?"
"A child bed."
"I'm sorry honey, I don't know what that is."
"You know, like if they would just take you."
"Ooooh!  You mean a kidnapper?"
"Yes, that.  We didn't know if he was a kidnapper, so we hided."

Monday, December 7, 2015

What does the fox say?

We got our Christmas tree this past weekend.  This is the first year we are trying having a real tree.  And since our ceilings are much higher and our living room much bigger than our last house, we had to get more lights and ornaments for the new bigger better fresher tree.  This meant a trip to Menards.
Now.  Menards trips with the boys are either fun or horrendous.  Usually they are horrendous.  Most times there are multiple trips to the bathroom, at least one rolling on the floor fit, and a few, "well, I'm leaving.  You can come with me or you can live at Menards now" conversations.

Saturday's trip was a fun one.  Both boys were in great moods and we only had one diaper change.  We milled about the entire store, but luckily found this hat within the first couple minutes of being there:

The best part about this hat is obviously how adorable my two children look while wearing it.  But.  The incredibly close second best part about this hat is how a 1&1/2 year old says the word "fox."  Turns out he hasn't quite mastered the "x" sound yet.  So all throughout Menards, Sam was loudly telling us that this hat was indeed a "fuck."

Don't mind us Juliuseseseseses...we'll just be over here classin' up the flooring section of Menards.


Travis brewed beer on Friday at his friend's house.  And since they drink as much beer as they brew it seems, he spent the night there.  Alex loves the nights Travis has sleep overs because he can then con me into letting him sleep in bed with me.

I tried reasoning with him that he would be more comfortable in his own bed.  "But then I won't be able to snuggle you and I will be lonely."  And that the monitor would wake him up if Sammy woke up.  "I'll get up with him so you don't have to Mom."  And finally I tried explaining that he moves too much when he sleeps and he inevitably ends up hitting me multiple times.  "Don't worry, Mom.  If I move around too much and smack you, you can just go sleep in my bed."  Check and mate.

And yes, I ended up going to his room around 1am.  Don't you judge me.