What We're Reading Now

Mary Bullock is a girl with opinions.

She gets this from her father.
Not that I don't have opinions--I do. It's just that [maybe because I was a youngest child and my household sway was minimal] I'm just as likely to say ok to whatever anyone else feels strongly about.
Law & Order marathon for the seventeen bajillionth night in a row? Ok. [Just for instance.]

But whether its a genetic inclination or a first child phenomenon, she cares about all sorts of things, including her books. The ones she's loving now are a mix of pleasure and pain for me, the reader, but I'm slowly gathering that pleasure and pain are going to be the running theme of her coming third year of life.

Pleasure:

It rhymes. It has cute animal pictures. And it glorifies my role in my baby's life.

It also provides MB the opportunity to say super cute stuff-- like uppy duppies!! for whoopsy daisy. I like it when she says super cute stuff.  Kind of makes the whining more bearable, if you know what I mean.

Then there's pleasure and pain in combination:

I actually love this book. The only part that gives me pain is the glimpse into my future seen here:

Dear Lord, please don't let MB ever decide she'll wear nothing but a polka dot blankie. This is not a battle I can win, and there's not enough wine in this world to make up for it. Amen.

And then, of course, there's purely pain:

Yes--this is a Where's Waldo kids' meal book from Wendy's. If we're being honest, she requests this book about as much as anything else on her bookshelf. She's not too bad at it, either. But this book sends her normally kind of cute Uh-DAT???? questions into another stratosphere.  One page, for example, has about forty dinosaurs on it. And she must know what each and every one of them is before the page is turned.

As much as I dislike Where's Waldo, reading with MB is high on my list of Birthday Things, and I know one day, years and years from now, when she's too old to snuggle up with before bedtime, I'll miss even this.

Zucchini Bread

I wonder things like this all time:

Who was it who first looked at a zucchini and said: You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to take this vegetable, and I'm going to shred it. And then, I'm going to bake it in some bread.

I mean, really. Who thinks of things like that? 

 And then I stuff my face and remember: I don't even care.

I may be losing my mind...

Proof:
1. I realized this morning that the expiration date on Mary Bullock's milk is September 18th, which yesterday I remember thinking was some point in the distant future. Like, next week maybe? And then today it dawned on me that that couldn't possibly be true. A calendar check verified this. A smell check double verified. Ick. Sorry, baby.

2. I got into the shower this morning with my glasses on. And this was after 1.5 cups of coffee.

There is good news, however.

A. It's naptime.
B. I DVR'd Glee last night. Oh yes.

Don't bother me for the next hour. I'm re-programing my brain with teen melodrama in song.

After

What do you think?

I think it says a little more Mary Buck-Buck, a little less Hot Mess.

I'll mark that off the worry list

In Mary Bullock's two years of life, there have been a few things that I've worried seriously about.

And when I say I've only worried seriously about a just a few things, I'm of course eliminating all of the mundane daily worries that crowd my brain, like food choices, sleep schedules, whining, and so on. I'm proud to say that though I'm a worrier by nature, I've managed [with practice] to relegate those worries to fleeting thoughts.

But some of the big worries have been these:

1. When to unswaddle. Mary Bullock was very nearly walking by the time we set her free of her Miracle Blanket. Ok. I exaggerate. But not by much. Really. I delayed making this decision until I had polled all of my mama friends, my mother, my sister, a thousand internet sites, blah blah blah. In the end, I gathered my courage, put her down without a swaddle, said night night, and she slept on as usual.

2. When to wean. She decided she was done-zo when she was nine months old and let me know by using her feedings to bite me. But she'd never taken a bottle, and the idea of weaning her to formula and struggling with the bottle only to wean her to milk in another three months just seemed kind of pointless. So again I polled my mama friends, my mother, my sister, and the same thousand internet sites. What can I say? I like to know exactly what advice I'm about to ignore, you know? And so I weaned her to whole milk. She didn't starve, she didn't become anemic or any of the other scary things I was warned about. In fact, my shrimpy baby gained weight and thrived.

Do you see the pattern?
I worry.
I poll.
I wait.
I finally, finally decide.
And Mary Bullock goes on about her business as though everything is hunky-dory.

So I'm not sure why I thought that when I finally made up my mind to have her baby hair cut, the result would be any different.

I was so sure she would throw herself on the ground in hysterics and accidentally have her ear sliced off.
I had pictured it in my head very precisely. Well, the scissor part. And the ear part. But not the blood part. I don't like picturing my baby and blood.

And in the end, she sat in the chair with her Teddy Grahams looking very nonchalant, and in less than five minutes, all of my worrying was rendered a complete waste of time and energy.

I'm sure there's a lesson here somewhere. 

But right now I'm worried about the gaggle of bug bite looking things on her leg, so finding the lesson will have to wait.
I have mamas to poll.
There's google to consult.
And I might put in a phone call to my mother.
Just, you know, to see what they think.

Could be something serious.

A Postcard to Marissa

My hair stylist and my husband have been conspiring to have Mary Bullock's hair cut for a few months now, and I've finally relented. But not without a few words of warning.

And P.S. Good luck! I hope you are still on board with parenthood after this.

Seriously considering...

From here.

For the babies' room? Just a little shout to my home state.

You know, whenever I feel like dropping some change on a pillow.

Back to Work

Well, I guess it's a good thing that my blog was hacked last weekend--otherwise you three readers might think I had fallen off the face of the earth! For those of you who might have delighted in that possibility, I'm sad to disappoint you. ;)

I'm back from Chicago after my friend Jilly's bachelorette weekend-- a much needed break after a week of puke, snot, and nuclear diapers! It was so nice to relax with my besties, even if I can't keep up with our party days of old.

Jill is the one who looks not at all out of place in a cowboy hat. In a champagne bar. Leave it to Jill to make a combination like that look perfectly reasonable and precious.

You may have read about what Lee and MB were up to while I was gone, but there were some parts that he left out. Like a pink glazed donut with sprinkles...

These are the sorts of pictures Lee texted to me over the weekend: my baby, on the verge of a sugar overdose, at 7am.

And now it's back to real life, which means whole grain waffles for The Girl and the busiest week ever for me.  My girls weekend mani-pedi is already expertly mussed, but that's ok. I'll just have to work hard at deserving another one.

One day.

When the Cat's Away...

I admit, I have always secretly wanted to be invited to Guest Post here at BT*, but for some reason I've never been asked.  But because Suz is dumb efficient enough to only use ONE PASSWORD for every account she has...

We mice were left all by ourselves this weekend as Suz went to visit the other Five Feet for Jill's Bachelorette Weekend Extravaganza in Chicago.  Why Chicago?  For one, because Foot Kim is two weeks from her due date, and for two, Chicago is awesome.  Granted, neither of us country mice have ever been to the Big City, but we hear things.  Things like highs in the mid-70s.  And that, for folks around here, is plenty good enough to consider moving up there until, say, around mid-December.  We have beaches to mind.

And speaking of, Pretty and Dadu were gracious enough to invite us to their beach condo for the weekend, so we headed out to PVB for the day.  But not before we saw Day-Day finish FIRST in her age group at the Warrior 5k cruising through the neighborhood this morning  [Congrats Kaylan!].  The only thing MB enjoyed more than seeing the "runn-ahs" (who were everywhere) and the motorcycles (which were loud and everywhere), was the "Football."  I took pride in teaching her the word last weekend during the Wake Forest-Presbyterian bloodbath, but because this morning's 5k was sponsored by Football Fanatics, she saw a football-themed mascot up close and personal.  And then stalked it around the race for 20 minutes.  Every time "Football!" would turn around to her screams, Mary Bullock would get a look of panic on her face and run in terror back to me.  I'm hoping that she is someday able to distinguish between football the sport and Football the Creepy Mascot, but if not, I preemptively apologize to the future son-in-law.  I tried.

So after all that, we came home, packed, then headed out to the beach.  The morning was finished by building a sandcastle (complete with moat), then lunch and a nap.  The nap was well-timed, because Wake and Florida both kicked around noon, providing Daddy Mouse with his only chance of the day to actually watch his teams play (Wake won 54-48 over Duke, and Florida finally played a good half, beating USF 38-14).

I know you don't care, but it just feels good to put it on the record.

Anyway, after being instructed to take dozens of pictures, 5 minutes in the camera said "Card Full," so I guess somebody still has some learnin' to do on our new-fangled camera.  Despite no photographic evidence, the afternoon also went well and gave us just enough time to put The Girl down at her regularly scheduled hour, and now this Mouse is shutting down the engines and getting myself back to neutral with a great recommendation from Uncle Derby.

And that was just Saturday.  Tomorrow we're planning a big trip to the "Yoo" to see lots of Raffes.  I just hope The Cat comes home ready to assume command - this full-time parenting business is for. the. birds.

But blogging I could get used to.

Bubble Teddy

This morning as still-poopy MB clung to my hip, I explained to her that Aunt Kay Kay was coming to play while Mommy went to Bible Study. I could feel her getting desperate and a whine starting up her throat. Her little knees dug into my hip.

When she finally let me put her down, she said Bubble Teddy, Mama!
Bubble Teddy? I repeated. Do you mean you want your Freddie?
No. Bub-ble Ted-dy, she said slowly, enunciating. I love it when she talks to me like I'm a two year old. The irony-- it kills me.
I don't know what you mean, sweetheart. What's a Bubble Teddy? I always feel bad when I don't know what she means.
She went over to the desk and got her Bible flap book and opened it.

Bubble Teddy, Mama.

See? See why I love her?

Tender Mercies

Nie Nie and CJane talk about tender mercies a lot, which is where I first heard the term. I love it and think of this concept often: those small bits of shiny-ness in otherwise very awful days.

Like, this weekend, while I lay in stomach bug misery on the couch, Lee was reading Mary Bullock You're All My Favorites, and my baby started calling me Mommy Beaw [Mommy Bear, if you pronounce your r's]. I heard her calling me down the hall as she ran over to pat my head. Mommy Beaw! Moooommy Beaw!

Possibly the sweetest words I've ever heard. 

Then today, after a long, tedious day of entertaining a too-sick-to-go-to-school but not-sick-enough-to-notice-she's-still-sick baby, this:

Which, if you're wondering, and you probably are, is Mary Bullock wearing the following:

One Pajama top
Next year's tankini top, with tags
One ERNIE diaper
One pair of Big Girl Panties
Next year's tankini bottom
ANOTHER pair of Big Girl Panties, for kicks.

Because she likes to try on clothes. All at once. And then she sassed me with her eyelids. TWICE. Which made us both giggle after a long, tedious, poopy-diaper day. I know that maybe there are parents who wake up one day to punk ten year olds who probably also laughed when their two year olds sassed them with their eyelids, but today I did not care.

Eyelids, sass, 14 layers of inappropriate clothing: tender mercies.

In Sickness and in Health

Alternately titled: Worst Labor Day Weekend Ever
or: How to Keep Pregnancy Weight Down
or: Playschool Teaches Your Child to Share [Germs]

Really, take your pick.

The point is, we have been sicky-sick sick in the Wedekind household, starting with Mary Bullock on Friday [she got the easy version] and me on Saturday [I got the I'd rather die version].  Lee has somehow avoided the stomach bug so far, but I'm not sure he'd say taking care of us was any more delightful. Mostly me. MB doesn't have nearly the language skills required for full-on complaints and drama.

But really, I wanted to die.

But we're recovering, if there's a bright side. And we still have half a day of vacation! Woot. Woot.

Whistle While You Work

I went to Sam's Club this morning. I had two things on my list:

List
Diapers
Wipes

And I was annoyed before I even got into the store because my general feeling about Sam's is annoyance. And also, I got stuck behind an elderly lady that took 14 bajillion years to get out of her car, which was parked in the middle of the road. And I was in a hurry.

Why was I in a hurry? I don't know. Other than that I'm always in a hurry at Sam's. I'm always in a hurry, and I'm always annoyed.

And then after I'd gotten through the line I noticed a manager of some sort, who was walking up and down the line of cashiers, shout-singing to each of them about what a great job they were doing, pumping her fists in the air.

I love people like that, don't you? She made my day.

And I left not annoyed at all [except at myself for having been annoyed at something so stupid] and somehow no longer in a hurry. And then a man in the parking lot took my cart back to the store for me. I love it when people do that. Don't you?

I'm going to whistle while I work today. Even while I [shock!] put away laundry.