6 Month Stats

I took Nora for her 6 month check up today...only a half month late! Whoo hoo! I decided to compare the two kids stats again. The gap between sizes of the two of them at 6 months isn't quite as monsterous, but still pretty big. Tate was gargantuan.

Nora's length: 27'' (79%ile)
Tate's length: 28 1/2'' (91%ile)

Nora's weight:16#7oz (46%ile)
Tate's weight: 22# (94%ile)

Nora's head: 44cm (81%ile)
Tate's head: 46.8cm (97%ile)

My kids have big heads.

These Are My Thoughts

There will be no rhyme, reason, or general organization of any sort in this post.

I'm already starting to oink out on Halloween candy. I hate that stuff. That sweet, savory, calling-my-name-seductively-until-I-succumb-to-it's-whorish-wiles-stuff. You know what I mean. I even bought the cheapest crap at Sam's Club I could find...no chocolate, not even any stinkin' Skittles. No, it's the hard as rocks suckers, those NASTY-ass flavored Tootsie Rolls (seriously, blue Tootsie Rolls? All kinds of wrong) and those Now & Later things that are named that because you realize that if you bite into them Now, you'll be finding little chips of teeth on your tongue Later.
So, not great stuff. Yet I delve into the bag with the intensity and despereration of a starving, sugar-deprived woman. I'm so weak.

I was in Nora's room rocking her with her bottle (which took 45 minutes tonight, incedentally. Don't know what's going on there) when I realized her room smelled pretty rank. Then I felt bad because the rank odor was eminating from my shoes that were by her crib.

Tate has this video game type thingie for toddlers. It's the work of the Devil. Huh, guess that's why he likes it so much. It's these freaky animal type creatures cavorting around begging people to count, sing, find things, worship at their altar of evil, etc. Their voices are what make me crazy. They sound like kids with stuffy noses hopped up on acid or something. And there's this line in one of the songs about "Having a Special Kind of Fun". Uh, no thanks. I'm not into badly animated blue rabbits who can't EVER find the red balloon that's ALWAYS in the same tree.
And now the thing is, Tate likes to turn "Bunny" on, but he doesn't actually play it anymore. He just likes the main menu page to play over and over. And over and over. The woman says "Slide the mode selector to select the mode of play". Redundant, yes? That's all it is. That one line. Slowly driving me insane. It's like Chinese Water Torture. American Bunny Torture.

I got up in the middle of the night last night to get Nora a bottle because the stinker refuses to sleep through the night. I came downstairs, saw Bob on the couch, yelled at him to get his ass OFF, and then ran after him to keep him from going upstairs. I don't like him sleeping in our bed because he breathes weird. Yes, I'm mean. But the dog breathes weird.
So I'm running through the front hall, and all of a sudden go flying through the air and land on my butt. I slid in freakin' dog pee. I think I yelled so loud people in Cuba heard me. So Eric comes bolting down the stairs in his undies, probably expecting to see me fighting off some scary intruder dude, and sees me sitting on the floor screaming at Bob to go to dog hell.
Yeah, for a few minutes last night all four people were awake in this house and REALLY not happy about it.

My friend Pam and her daughter Bella came over today, along with my friend Sara. I put Tate in time-out, mmmm....14 times? Something like that. At least the kid's honest. I would ask if he had just pinched Bella and he would look at me and say "yes" with a very "DUH, Mama!" type voice. Plus Nora's in her Strangers-Are-All-Evil-Doers-Who-Are-Out-To-Get-Me phase so everytime I would leave the room to put Tate in time-out she would flip out. At least Pam was cool about her kid getting pummeled. And Bella actually fought back once, which was sweet.

The kids' pictures from the other day turned out wonderfully. For anyone in Green Bay looking for a photog., go to www.photobyaubrey.com You can see some of our pics in her blog. Nora's rockin' the fuzz-head like it's nobody's business.

Oh, and Nora is now OFFICIALLY crawling. For a few weeks she was doing this thing where she'd do an actual crawl up on her hands and knees for a few steps, then collapse spectacularily on her belly and pull herself along by her arms, ala Lieutenant Dan. Yes, I compare my baby girl to a fictional character who's an alcoholic/drug addict who lost his legs in the war and cleaned up to run a shrimp boat with his slow friend. Doesn't everyone do that?

I'm going to see Neil Diamond one week from tonight. I'm going to Chicago 2 weeks from Friday.

Ok, here's the sad thing. I had more thoughts. Now I can't remember them. I'm thoughtless. I have run out of thoughts. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

Banana Baby

So I had a bunch of stuff in my head to blog about, but I think I Zumba'd it all out of my head tonight. I'm sitting here on the couch marinating in my own sweat and I don't really think I can form a coherant thought. Yes, I know coherance isn't always my strong point, but shut up. So, untill I find something fun to write about, here's the world's cutest picture to tide you all over:

Are you a total pile of goo yet? That's just too much cuteness in one picture. I particularily enjoy Cooper (third from right). He looks like the hood of his costume is eating his face.

Photos from the Brink

Well, I got the pictures back of the kids in their costumes and I couldn't help but squee at the sublime cuteness of some of them. I don't know how it happened, but we got a couple of really great shots. It was a matter of excellent timing on the photographer's part, actually, since in a couple of the pictures I can tell Tate's just about to pinch Nora, which means she's just about to scream and faceplant on the floor while he scampers away cackling merrily. So for the 2 people on the planet who haven't seen any of the shots yet, there they are for ya.

I decided to be a complete and total idiot and try and get the kids pictures taken again for their 6-month and 2 1/2-year photos. This time I had a photographer come to the house since I thought they may actually do better in a familiar setting. Stop laughing. A woman can dream, can't she? Needless to say, the session did not go that well, not for trying on Aubrey and my's part. The kids were just not having it. Again. Again with the crabbiness and the stone-facedness and the pinching and nose-picking and just general disregard for Mom's sanity and pleas for cooperation.

Aubrey (the photographer) kindly agreed to come back another time and give it another go. I agreed. I just don't think a framed 11'x14' portrait of Tate pulling Nora's hair while she screams would really compliment the decor of my family room, you know? I see that in real life everyday anyway, and therefore don't really need it captured for posterity.

In other news, we moved Nora into Tate's old car seat and out of the infant carrier. It's pretty funny to watch her in the little mirror we have set up above the seat. She just kind of looks around in amazement, because she can actually see stuff now. You can just see the inner dialouge in her head. "Hey! There's a window right here! And, wha-is that-is that a TREE? I can see a TREE from my carseat now! And lookie! If I turn my head, I can see my BROTHER! Hey, this means I can have advance warning when he chucks his sippy cup at my head! Haha, sucker...I got your number now, pal!"

Tate's in a new carseat that does the harness thing and then converts to a booster. We found one where they can be in the harness til 65 lbs. Most of the other ones said only to 40lbs. Considering that Tate is massive and already weighs almost 36 lbs, I think we made a wise decision there. Graco Nautilus, if anyone's looking for a new carseat.

And get this, people. Get freakin' this. Tate has napped for the last two days in a row. Amen, Hallelujah, Rejoice, etc etc etc. Here's how it goes down. Around 3 pm he starts to get whiny, crabby, and generally making me want to chuck him out the window. So nothing new there. Then he gets really really upset about something, whether it be his toy caterpiller isn't playing the right song, or Mama's sitting on the wrong couch, or the whole economy crisis, what have you, and throws the mother of all tantrums until he's red-faced and panting like a fat man running after the ice-cream truck. Then he crawls into my lap, commands me to turn on Sesame Street, and passes out. Honestly, it's worth the tantrum. I can take 10 minutes of screaming no problem, if it leads to sleep. I barely even notice the whole banging his head against the floor thing anymore.

Of course, he wakes up in a totally foul mood so that kind of sucks too. But it's the nap, man. The nap. It's all about the nap.

So There Was This Monkey and This Banana....

I got the bright idea of bringing the kids to JCPenney to get some pictures taken of them in their Halloween costumes. Mostly I wanted to get them taken to use for humiliation purposes when they're teenagers. I had decided that Tate was going to be a monkey and Nora was going to be his banana. Pretty funny stuff.

So the morning of the photos, Nora woke up at 4:30, slept for about 20 minutes, blah blah blah. Tate woke up crabby and swingin'. I think he was in time out about 34 times before we even left the house. I drove to the store with that feeling of "OhGodIthinkthisisgoingtobenotsuchagoodideamaybeIshouldreschedule". Ever have that feeling? So then you know what I'm saying.

We get to Penney's, and as I park I realize I'm going to be having to do diaper damage control once we get inside. Ok, if you've ever read any of my other posts, you're probably realizing where this is going. Remember, this is my daughter of the majestic poos, and me, the most unprepared person on the planet. So we get inside, check in at the photo place and I take Nora into the dressing room to change her. Oh Lord. This was the mother of all blowouts. Down her legs, into her socks, up her back to her neck...I was shocked it hadn't somehow gotten in her ears. I swear, it's like that girl's intestines just explode and go shooting out of her butt. Do not stop, do not pass Go.

I clean her up and wrangle her into her banana costume and do the same to Tate with his monkey costume. Well, I do the same to Tate after I find him behind the counter opening the dwarers of the filing cabinet. If anyone comes to Penney's to pick up their pictures and gets pictures of some random unknown person instead, you have my kid to thank for it. We go into the photo room, put Tate on the floor, Nora next to him and prepare to take the cutest pictures ever.

Well, except for the fact that Tate refuses to do anything besides pinch Nora, and she refuses to do anything except scream about it. We'd get them in some semblance of a pose and it would last for about two seconds...just long enough for me to run back behind the photographer. As soon as I got back there, Nora would do a faceplant on the floor and Tate would see a piece of Kleenex or a fuzz or something else fascinating and get up to go grab it. When we would get them to sit for more than two seconds, they would reward us by refusing to smile. Tate would just look at us stone-faced while Nora stared at the crazy people behind the camera jumping around and acting like frenzied idiots with her mouth open and a general air of "duh?".

And of course it was 200 degrees in that little cabinet of a room. And according the the photographer lady, Nora "didn't like he costume" and Tate "didn't like sharing the limelight with his sister". Well, gee, thanks lady. Now I know everything that is wrong with my kids, and all because YOU told me!

I finally got to the point where I saw that we got a couple decent pics, and said "ok, done." So then comes the part where we have to sit and wait while they upload the pictures and do all that annoying stuff to them where they add fuzzy borders and fake crap to the pictures when all I want is ONE FREAKING PICTURE of my kids without them sitting in a superimposed pumpkin frame with the caption "The Monkey Loves The Banana". As I'm selecting pictures and deflecting suggestions from the photographer about buying this or that with this $80 frame and getting it as a 20x30 poster size blah blah blah, Tate starts meltdown 10.0.

He gets mad about something, who knows what...probably the fact that his goldfish crackers were broken or something and throws himself on the floor screaming. I try in vain to ignore it but seeing as I'm standing 3 feet away trying to talk to someone while holding a squirming baby, it proves a little difficult. I prevail, though, and push on. Must get this done.

We finally get everything squared away and I'm trying to get Nora in her carrier, the costumes on the hanger, my purse, the diaper bag, and oh yeah, Satan in his two year old form out the door. It was fun. Really. I was that lady dragging her screaming two year old through the store with grim look of determination on her face and the air of "God get me a drink nownownow!" about her. I always swore I'd never be that pathetic mom snapping at her kid to behave in public but there I was. All I needed was some stretched out stirrup pants and a sweatshirt with appliqued kittens and bunnies on it to complete the picture. Cause I already had the screaming kid and the baby in nothing but a diaper to start off the whole white-trash theme.

And then I got to the car, and realized that maybe instead of making my daughter look like Trailer Trash Baby 2008, I could have, oh...I don't know, BOUGHT her an outfit to wear since we were in a STORE? But again, dragging the devil by the hand through a public venue tends to kill a few brain cells.

And that is the story of the moneky and the banana.

This One Isn't Funny

I'm not enjoying being a mother right now. This will not be a very lighthearted entry so beware.

I mean, it's 6 am and I've been up for an hour and a half. I think most people will understand that I'm not in the most chipper mood. Nora doesn't sleep worth shit and it's just deja vu all over again around here. I cannot go through this again. Can't do it. When I think back to when Tate was around this age and the horrible sleeping patterns started, I just get this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach realizing that it may be starting again. Nora does not get enough sleep and it worries me. She is developing permanent bags and circles under her eyes and just looks...tired and not well. And she isn't well. She doesn't sleep long enough to fight off this cold she has, or to develop or grow or fucking give me more than 20 minutes to sit down and try to keep Tate at bay for just a minute so I can take a breath and collect my thoughts.

I get so jealous of moms who get the revered afternoon break while their kids sleep. I have never ever known what it's like to constantly get that hour or two after lunch to have time to do things around the house, or to just sit and not have two sets of hands pulling and pinching and grabbing and wanting and needing and demanding. Tate never gave me good naps, and now he gives me no naps at all. Nora's on the same path...it's eerie, actually. She and I are EXACTLY where Tate and I were two years ago. Up by 5, not on any type of sleep schedule because she refuses to adhere to one, her screaming bloody murder when she realizes that I'm about to put her down to sleep...it's all the same. And it's going to make me crazy. Again.

I've mentioned this before, but I got hit with the post-partum depression stick pretty bad the first time around. It didn't really start to get serious til Tate was about 4 months or so. Oh, and guess what? That's the time he started not sleeping so great. I'm thinking there just might be a correlation between the two. Sleep deprivation is something I cannot handle. I physically and emotionally start to shut down until I'm like a walking zombie. That's hard enough with one kid, but two? I feel like I can't let myself get to that point again because it would be crippling for all of us. So I'm fighting it but I feel myself losing the battle again. And I feel like it could so easily be remedied, if Nora would just cut me a break and sleep. That's all I want, is a baby who sleeps more than 11 or 12 hours in a 24 hour period. I don't understand why I don't get that.

When Nora was first born, she was a great sleeper, and I would brag about her sleeping 14 or so hours a night, 3 hour naps during the day, etc etc. I would smugly say "Well, Tate wasn't a great sleeper so I guess I just deserved on this time around!" Well, someone up there decided to screw me with the karma stick, because lookie at me eat my words now!

I've tried getting her on a schedule. Putting her down at the same times everyday when she normally displays signs of getting sleepy. But if I put her down too early and she's not tired enough, she goes nuts and I feel like all I'm accomplishing is her hating her crib even more. I've never been able to put her down awake and not have her cry before falling asleep. Ever. She just won't do the same thing day to day. I've cut way back on going out during the day so we can work on it, but it's not happening. If I put her down for a nap at nine and she doesn't want a nap at nine, she will not take one. She'll stay in her crib and complain til I go get her, and then there's no nap whatsoever at that time. Tate did the same thing...I think his record was 2 and a half hours of sitting in his crib bitching for me to come get him. And he never fell asleep.

But, there's nothing I can do. She hates to sleep. She hates her crib, hates being rocked before bed, hates it all. And I have no choice but to deal with it. And now I just wait for her to get tired enough to get wrestled into sleep. It could be 10 minutes from now or 2 hours. But whenever it is, you can bet your bippy that Tate will be waking up 2 minutes after that. Because that's how my kids roll. Roll me right into the looney bin. Hey, maybe there I'd at least get some sleep.

Photographic Genius

Tate got ahold of our camera last week and started snapping away. I think he possesses real talent, no?




There was another one that he took that was actually really cool, with the sunlight coming in through the windows in an unintentionally etherial way but the total right half of the shot was my crotch. In jeans of course, but crotch nonetheless. Not something people want to see.

In other news, I cleaned my house yesterday.

I'll sit here patiently while you pick yourself up off the floor.

Shocking, isn't it? Well, I shouldn't claim too much. I actually only cleaned the first floor. And I didn't vacuum the front office. Oh, and I didn't bother with the laundry room either. But I got tired of seeing the clumps of dog hair come rolling towards me with a definite air of evil. Those things were about to grow legs and a tail and become brand new dogs. Kinda gross. I spent 20 minutes shedding Spencer outside and when I was done the deck was literally covered in dog hair and Spencer was about 15 lbs lighter. Lighter, but still stupid. Too bad I can't scrape out the stupidity from his brain along with the hair from his back.

Nora's upstairs rolling around in her crib. She slept for 20 minutes. Again. She had being doing so well lately...napping 2 and 3 hours at a stretch. Of course I let myself get all excited, which was my stupid mistake. Once my kids realize that what they're doing is making my life easier and less stressful, they put a screeching halt to that activity right away. I'm sure Nora's up there thinking, "GOD, Mom's such a sucker. Hasn't she realized yet that sleep is the work of the Devil in this house? That's why I woke up at 11:30 last night, then again at 3:00 and finally at 6:00. Poor, gullible Mom. I really must train her better."

Yeah, Nora's been partying like it's April, 2008 around here. Constantly eating, never sleeping...it's like she's 6 days old instead of 6 months. It better freaking be a growth spurt or something. She's getting heavy lately, so I'm thinking it must be. What happened to my little slip of a baby that I could carry around without really noticing she was there? She's starting to rock the Rolls 'o Doom on her thighs, and I love it.

Ok, I suppose I should go get her and release her from prison. I mean her crib. It's all the same to her.

It's OK. He's Got It.

So I know I'm always lamenting the Terrible Twos and how there are so many days where Tate wants to make me gauge my ears out with a banana just to not have to listen to him whine anymore, but this morning I had a "they grow up so fast" moment and it kinda made me sad. Tate was sitting at the laptop where I had my friend Gina's blog up on the screen and he saw a picture of her baby. He's all about babies at the moment so was saying "Baby, Mama! Baby!" He tried to scroll down the page to see more pictures but couldn't quite figure it out, so he graciously allowed me to come over and move the arrow to the scroll bar so he could just click it down the page. Once I did that, he kind of moved me away from the chair and said "Ok Mama, go away. I got it."

After I laughed for a minute I got a little teary. I mean, yes, Tate is a handful (and is currently standing next to me trying to chew on Carmex), but he still lets me hug him and snuggle him and kiss his boo-boos. He actually gets quite agitated when I DON'T kiss his boo-boos quickly enough. But I know this will not always be so. There will come a time when he won't want me offering to help or offering up a hug. Or to, you know, talk to him, look at him or breathe the same air as him. Thinking about it breaks my heart a little. I wonder when that day will come. When he won't lay on the couch with me for an hour watching Project Runway or take my face in his little hands and plant a smacker on my lips. We all go through stages of hating our parents as kids and teens and I have a feeling that with Tate having the fiery disposition he does, he's gonna hate us with the power of a thousand burning suns. Should be a good time. Maybe I should start stocking up on wine now.

On a lighter note, Tate's been really growing in leaps and bounds, and his vocabulary continues to astound me. Yesterday we were driving to a playdate and he says "We'll see Jamison? Let's go to HuHot first with Jamison. I'll have noodles with Jamison. HuHot, please?" The kid's got great taste. HuHot does indeed rock. Funnily enough, he just came scampering in here saying "HuHot first? When Dada gets home, we go to HuHot first?". Well, hey...it gives me an excuse to go to HuHot. How can I turn down such a sweet request?

And here's the conversation we just had about 30 minutes ago:

Me: "Tate. do you want cereal or toast for breakfast"
Tate: "Ummm...want FUCK"
Me: "Come again?"
Tate: "Fuck, Mama! Want Fuck!"
Me, as I'm trying to shield Nora's virgin ears: "Honey, you'll have to show Mama where the fuck is, cause last I looked, we were clean out." (Just ask Eric. Har har har).

Apparently, Tate's juce container with an alien on the top is also known as a fuck. Who knew? Hopefully he had enough this morning so he won't be yelling "FUCK!" at the top of his lungs out in public today.
And no, I don't think he was actually saying fuck...it sounded like a cross between fork and...I don't know. I got nothin'. I'm just trying to make myself feel better here.

Nora has become addicted to Orajel. Is there a 12-step program for that? As soon as I get the bottle, she opens her mouth and tries to grab my finger to cram it in her mouth faster. I swear her eyes glaze over just a little bit as she gets a hit of the good stuff. Poor thing is getting 4 teeth in at one time. She's a trooper, though...still as smiley and sweet as ever. Her new favorite thing is when Tate blows on her head. She'll laugh for like an hour. I keep expecting her to wipe the tears out of her eyes and say "Ohhh, man, that was a good one! I tell ya!".

Finally, here are my rules for taking an aerobics class with me at the Y. Specifially, the abs/glute class.

-When there are only four people in the class, do not put your mat down 2 inches away from my mat when there's like 70 square feet of open space
-Do not grunt loudly each time you come up from a crunch
-Do not softly count along with the instructor.
-Do not go "ahhhhhh!!! I'm totally feeling the burn! Man! Oh yeah!" or any varient of such comment
-Do not smell like dirty feet dipped in armpit sweat rubbed in garlic with a little bit of asparagus thrown in.

Thanks.

Blah.

I have a cold. Allow me to whine about said cold. My nose is stuffy, which is creating some very interesting blocks of snot around my nose stud. I keep going to blow and wipe my nose forgetting that I have a fresh piercing there, so the blowing usually ends up with me swearing and perhaps wiping a tear or two from my eye.

Speaking of eye (smooooth segue), I took the kidlets to Target again yesterday. Yeah, yeah, you think I'd learn but no. Why would I do that? Tate was actually pretty good. I had a little fun at his expense in the Halloween aisle. I told him to go up and say hi to the skeleton dude they had at one of the displays, and while he was standing in front of him I pushed the button to make his eyes start flashing and his disembodied voice basically start telling Tate he was going to eat him. I've never seen that kid run so fast without me chasing him. But you're probably wondering what this has to do with eyes. I was really stretching for a good lead-in to my Target story. Anyway.

We were at the checkout and I stupidly thought TAte was standing right behind me. Why I would think that when it has never, EVER been true I do not know. But I turn around and see him about four check-out lanes over, in the little space where the checker-outer stands with the scan gun in his hand. He then proceeds to scan his eyeball over and over. I'm thinking that shooting a laser gun straight into one's cornea isn't the most sensible move to make, so I boogie over there and pry the gun out of his hand. What ensues? Why, screaming and kicking, of course! Well, hopefully he'll thank me later when his retina ISN'T falling out due to prolonged exposure to searing lights.

I decide to prolong my torture session and head to the grocery store. On the way there I start to notice that sickly sweet smell of baby poo permiating the car. Great. I pull into the parking lot and lay Nora on the floor to change her quick. Well, I hook two fingers inside the waistband of her pants to pull them down, take my fingers out and happen to notice that they are completely dripping with poo. Upon closer inspection, the poo is all down her legs, up her back, and thanks to her grabbing onto my hand, all over her fingers which leads to being all over her face. Oh, and there's a nice batch of poo soup puddling in the seat of her carseat.

Since I don't believe in ever being prepared for such situations, I had no spare clothes for Nora, only about 4 wet wipes, and nothing to get the damn poo off my hands. So I plop the poor kid back in poo soup and drive home to do damage control. Luckily the store is only about a mile from our house. Tate is fine during all this, singing his latest favorite little ditty, which is "Mamma Mia" by ABBA. He like to switch it up and say things like "Dadda Mia! Spencer Mia! Baby Mia!" Apparently we all belong to him.

Anyway, we got through that little incident unscathed. Today Tate and Eric are going to the Brewers game in Milwaukee while Nora and I hit the neighborhood block party. Everyone has to dress up in '80s gear and I got the MOST kickass dress ever. Bright teal, silk, huge sequined thingie on the shoulder, shoulder pads, shirred bodice, etc. I look like I should be pushing some broad into the pool on "Dynasty". Totally hot. Or should I say gnarly.