Saturday, January 28, 2012

Seeing Red...

And pink.

Ok, and maybe a splash of white.

Say all you want that Valentine's Day is a made-up holiday designed by Hallmark for the hopeless romantics like myself, but this Pisces ain't buyin' it. From the moment my parents placed a little cellophane bag of sugar coated hearts in my tiny palm, I was sold. Single, broken-hearted, quasi-committed or married, February 14 is one day I celebrate like most do Christmas.

Now if I could just convince the retailers to create a "red Thursday" or something to beef up their themed stuff. Anything with class is quite lacking I must say for this important event. But here are a few things up my sleeve this year:

Our family valentine that will hit a few mailboxes (cute back not shown here but featues Daddy high-flying our son and says something that might make you gag with the words "soar, love" and more:
Stationery card
View the entire collection of cards.

For little dude's pre-school exchange:

And for his wardrobe to capture the ladies' attention:

Gift for the hubs (the glasses he's been craving):

A half-day vacation to spend with my Valentines on a cupcake date:

Plus a slew of tacky decor posted in our home and my office.

So if you're planning on hangin' with me at all around this time, prepare for that obnoxious grin and squeals of delight in reaction to all the love around. And seeing lots of red.

And pink.

And a bit o' white.

Happy almost Valentine's Day!

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Oh Sh*t, II

“Hold on Mom, I gotta check this text out – it might be from Mike,” I said as I rummaged through the disaster that is my purse, tossing aside diapers, loose change, water bottles, toy trucks and more (yes – it’s a big handbag). Responding to its insistent dings, I found the iPhone screen to read:


Yep, it was my husband.

Torn between chuckling and being slightly alarmed, I respond:

Me: Waaaaaa? (as if I’m surprised a toddler splayed poo around his room at some point in his two-year old life).
Me: I’ll help detox when I get home – sorry honey. Do you need me now? (Note: this was a test. There is no way in the relaxed one hour I had to myself in the past month I was going to go home and clean poo…I can do that any day. Wait, I do that every day.

Feeling a bit guilty for missing this milestone event, I nabbed a few more things at Target, including a candy bar because surely I was going to need that to cope with the emotional disasters I was sure to be returning to at home. (Reflecting now, a chocolate bar was not the best choice.) A short drive later, tunes cranked up, I return to two boys still in shock from the whole thing. Little dude is feeling guilty and mortified about the happenings while the hubs is still lightly gagging in the corner.

Boys – clearly they don’t have enough experience with sh*t in their lives.

I enter little dude’s room to find it smelling mostly of Clorox and spot-free. As he reiterates the story over and over of how he just wanted the stuff out of his diaper and then wasn’t quite sure what to do once it got on his hands (he had reached into the back), I held him close and said: “Son – I love you and I’m not mad at all. Let’s just work to keep our poopies in our diaper or the toilet, ok bud?"

One squishy hug and a kiss later, I taught him one of life’s most important lessons:
“In life – sh*t happens. But you know what? We’ll love you anyway.”

A lesson we should all keep in mind as life passes us by.

Plus, it wasn't nearly as interesting as our first brush with sh*t.

Here’s hoping your week is sh*t-free!

Monday, January 23, 2012

Because I Have No Words...

I'll let Taylor say it for me.

I had no idea how much fun two would be. Every little bit of it.

It's not that I don't want you to grow up, little dude. It's just that all this, right here, right now, is insanely remarkable.

I love you more than anything. Thanks for the magic.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Top 10 Ways My Son is Like a Rapper

1.) He beat boxes. Literally. Thanks for the lessons, Biz Markie.
2.) Breakdancing is a regular occurrence, generally between the hours of 7:30 and 8:30 p.m. My guess is a rapper’s timeframe is slightly later in da club.
3.) His rhymes are original. Sure it’s more likely they include the word “reindeer,” “duck” or “clown” vs. something hip or hop, but hey, he’s rhyming.
4.) A head bob always follows a good beat in the car. And in rhythm. You go boy.
5.) Walking is not generally how he flows. He makes his way to a from with a bit of a swagger. And by swagger I may mean robot arms, leg bends, squats, skips, etc. Surely that’s swag for a two-year old.
6.) He digs bling, particularly heavy necklaces. In fact, he chose Daddy’s Jayhawk Mardi Gras beads as his show-and-tell item the other day.
7.) He’s constantly sporting shades. Recently he’s moved to aviators. So Kanye.
8.)“Hey gril!” is a frequent phrase used in public places when he’s talking to small female children who can’t really hear him. Gril=girl. And he’s more shouting because they are doing something he prefers to be doing, but this still counts as I imagine it will come out in a smug grin and smooth tone one day. PS: I dread this day.
9.) He likes to count money and throw it in the air. And yes, we catch it on video. Small differentiator: they’re likely pennies from his bank vs. the benjamins spotted on BET.
10.) Rockin’ the mic is his thing. He grips it close and does shout outs directly into it as he prances about the fireplace, aka “stage.”

Now whether this will help pay his way through college or our nursing home bills is still up in the air, but for now, it sure is a lot of fun to watch.

Thanks for keepin’ it real, little buddy. Thanks for keepin' it real.

What She Said

This little doozie was all over the web today, gobbled up by mostly Moms that likely feel just like her.

You know, like me.

Lesson learned: "So, maybe instead of tearing each other up, we could each admit that we're a bit torn up about our choices, or lack thereof. And we could offer each other a shoulder or a hand. And then maybe our girls would see what it really means to be a woman."

Well said, Momastery, well said.

Little Bit at a Time

So the whole New Years resolutions/vision board/just write it on a post-it at least thing didn’t so much happen this month. And now that we’re rollin’ into February, I’m just going to go ahead and return those paints and artsy fartsy fun things that would have made for a killer goal-oriented piece of art to hang in our bathroom. My guess is that’s ok, since things like “hanging a picture” is generally on about a two to three year timeline these days. Instead, we’re taking a stab at plan B:

The declutter and organize calendar. Found on Pinterest, of course.

Admittedly we’re sitting at January 21 with only two items crossed off, but hey, it’s a start right? And speaking of new beginnings, I tackled our junk drawer at 6:42 a.m. today:

And I’m not even nesting or hormonal. That’s how you know you’re house has driven you to the brink of insanity.

Secretly, I’m so pumped about the junk drawer cleanup that I nearly posted a picture on Facebook. And texted 10 of my closes friends. Ok, and I did show a photo to my Mom. I mean, it’s been one of those dark crevices that you constantly have to open because a guest asks you for the one item that rests right inside that drawer, right? Totally. And then you have to do that whole announcement about how it’s a place to stash your trash, yadda yadda.

I’m quickly discovering I don’t have an excuse for the rest of the house. And also? I don’t know what to do with the crap that I took out of there and requires a home, so I stuck it in a Target bag to deal with another day. But still:

The junk drawer is a breath of fresh air.

Little bit at a time, right?!

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Loads of Laughs

An accent that sounds alarmingly like all of my extended family members. Takes place in one of my favorite stores. Includes ridiculous one-liners, particularly about home decor (remember the baby sneakers and now the one-eye?) that's totally worth the lines around my face.

Target Lady, I love you. Thanks for the loads of laughs.

Sock Monster

“Oh my gah, those are SO CA-YUTE!” the voices of nearly 20 girls echoed across the family room of the Mom-to-be as she tore into an adorable pair of pink and white tights. The shrieks had been going on for nearly 30 minutes as sparkly shoes, princess onesies and tutus were emerged from tufts of fuchsia and purple tissue.

“Are those Little Miss Matched?” an adorable guest with admirable amounts of energy nearby asked. Perking up as the Moms in the room began a rich discussion around matching socks and their process for insuring they stay that way that I…

couldn’t identify with at all as my track record for sending my little dude to pre-school with one brown, one blue is about 3/5 days. Shameful, but true.

But a brand that offers socks that are intentionally mismatched and calling it creative and fun? Count me in. Because I’m here to tell you people: that sock monster is real. Either that or Ellie has buried them in the backyard. Or I’m incredibly lazy.

So if you’re anything like me or just really into fashion, check out the Little Miss Matched site, grab your own set today and look at your relationship with that sock monster in a whole new light.

Lucky in Love

I have the kind of husband that:

...takes our son to music while I'm away at a baby shower, dancing, prancing and singing like no one is watching

...has a hot meal on the table when I walk in the door after an intense day at work.

...picks up Sour Patch Kids and a Vitamin Water about every 28 days when I crave them most.

...doesn't flinch when I steal all the sheets after finally arriving to bed at 12:48 a.m.

...silently completes my thoughts and embraces them, despite they make no sense at all.

...spends hours standing nearby as our son shoots the same basketball into the air over and over and over again, followed by a series of "you did it! good job buddy" and "you're a superstar!"

And so very much more.

Which is why I'm over the moon to spend MLK Day with him tomorrow. And all the days after.

So blessed to be lucky in love...

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Sleepless in Shawnee

in·som·nia noun \in-ˈsäm-nē-ə\
Definition of INSOMNIA: prolonged and usually abnormal inability to get enough sleep
— in·som·ni·ac adjective or noun
See insomnia defined for English-language learners »
See insomnia defined for kids »

Latin, from insomnis sleepless, from in- + somnus sleep — more at somnolent
First Known Use: circa 1623
Related to INSOMNIA

Synonyms: sleeplessness, wakefulness

I don't know if it's the merger at work, ever-changing hormones, a full moon or the fact my little dude appears to quickly be sprouting into a young boy, but I seem to be in that space again where Ambien should become my friend. Or at least have a house that is spruced head to toe or lots of crafty projects done. Whoops.

I've been down this road for many months in a previous life and hadn't intended to go back. In fact, I used to pride myself on how little sleep I needed and cherished all I could get done in those extra hours. These days - keep the trophy, I'll take my sleep. So far to combat this bout I've tried sit-ups (thanks Sarah!), journaling, reading, blogging, television watching, exercising, yoga and straight up Unisom.

What do you do when the clock strikes 12 and your peepers are still wide-eyed?

Baby, It's Cold Outside

So yah, I was one of those that longed for winter never to arrive here in KC. Yet 'ere she blows, making me slightly grumpy about my drive in tomorrow and the fact that layers have become a necessity of my 30s. Therefore, I'm thinkin' this may be the perfect moment to start fantasizing about spring, don't you?

Not that I'm ungrateful for this time, this moment. Nor do I want time to go quickly at all. In fact, my two-year old is seemingly more like five every day I pick him up from school. Melt my heart. You know, kind of like this snow should melt here soon...

Twoish months and counting...

Monday, January 9, 2012

It Could've Been Worse?

As the sun sank between the slats of our kitchen blinds, I caught a few minutes to myself to quickly throw dishes in the cupboard, wipe up the crumbs that lined the faux-granite counter tops and fed the dog who waited patiently nearby, her eyebrows raised as if suggesting she may starve if I keep up this whole feeding her late thing we have going on. A few sponge swipes in, I heard the dreaded:


Never good with two boys in the house. Even if one of them is thirty-something.

One deep inhale later and knuckles whitening waiting for that deep-throated cry to follow, I was surprised to only here: "MOOOMMMYYY! Come see!"

Now with a real sense for alarm given that the man down was the hubs from their wrestling match, I sprung into the playroom to find his face only lined with concern. No blood, completely coherent and even smiling. Trying to assess exactly what was going on here, our son cleared it up by pointing fervently and noting:

"Oh no, Mommy! Daddy has a BOO BOO!"

Looks of confusion were swapped between the perfectly-fine husband and myself. "Where buddy? Show Mommy please," I said in a supportive, you're-not-crazy tone. Slowing approaching his Daddy with careful sea legs and a pointed finger he aimed for:

The back of his head. Way back.

Directly on: the bald spot.

Fair enough, little buddy, fair enough.

I assume your Daddy is now just as concerned as you are! Guess it could've been worse, right hubs?! Right?!

Thursday, January 5, 2012

'Twas the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

The Christmas season marked some of the most incredible times, from cookie parties, ornament exchanges, multiple attempts to visit the big man, trips to Crown Center and Nell Hills, giving to Harvesters, swapping gifts with friends, family and colleagues, decorating the halls, his and her traditions and feeling the magic that wraps itself all around this time of year:

But perhaps what was most remarkable about it all was seeing it through our two-year old's eyes, so filled with genuine innocence and kindness, full of questions and excitement in the tiniest of things.

When asked what his favorite part of it all was he had two responses: a) taking bites of Santa's cookies and discovering they were nearly demolished the next morning b) "slipping." Notice it wasn't the abundance of toys that overflowed the stocking and tree, the millions of events we dragged him to with an "ok I'll try it" smile or all the red and green. No - it was cookies baked lovingly and messily with his Momma, all with a signature look just by him and a pile of wrapping paper he built again and again, only to run through and come crashing down over and over.

And that my friends, is what Christmas should be about.

So glad it was and for the family and friends who helped make it that way. This season and always, we are incredibly grateful for you.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Santa Baby, II

“No – I NOT gonna sit on his lap,” he said, his brows furrowed and his eyes slightly slanted to really let us know he means it. “No – he’s s.c.a.r.y.”

The hubs and I exchanged looks as if to silently ask, do we really torture our kid like this? He’s only two after all and right at that age where he’s just not down with things like inanimate objects that truly don’t really make sense. I mean a dude with lots of facial hair and a slightly ridiculous outfit that rolls with animals you don’t even see in western Shawnee? Tentative. But after a few moments of quiet, the car trekked on and so it was, like the super-awesome parents we are…we took him anyway with hopes he just might perch on the knee of Jolly Ol’ St. Nick.

And so we enter the Santa Photo workshop at Town Center where the same grinning Santa that had held a sleeping three-month old, a confident one-year old and now hopefully bonded with a two year old sat patiently as one red and green plaid clad child climbed up on his lap after another. Juggling the toys and catching a few shots of a Disney flick (genius Jordan Photography), our son peered around anxiously as if awaiting his turn, chattering on how he was going to score a candy cane and share his deepest desire for a blue motorcycle. Feeling more at ease with our position to push him outside of his comfort zone with the chimney-shimmying man, we poised to take the turn behind the curtain and wander in when…

All hell broke loose.

I personally can’t remember much but my parents trying to be helpful, the hubs making cut noises at his neck and a photographer sweating and trying desperately to make these parents’ Christmas wishes come true while at one point Santa just went ahead and hid behind the tree behind us. Not a set of crayons, candy cane or Mommy right by his heels was gonna work, so kudos to Jordan Photography for at least catching these:

I mean, my heels are literally touching his behind and there’s a dog toy in his hand, but hey – it matches his sweater, right?

So thank you Santa, for still bringing that motorcycle despite our minor freak-out at your version of Kansas City’s North Pole. And to Jordan Photography gal with the funky hair cut for not giving up.

We owe you.

See you next year for Santa Baby, III???