Wednesday, April 22, 2015

potty time... the travel series

Because I am one of those totally prepared Moms, says the same woman who never has baby wipes with her and has to always bum them off other Moms/strangers in moments of need, I like to keep a small kid potty in the back of the Tahoe for those days where Harlyn will downright refuse a public bathroom. I like to think she's a clean freak and the germ infestation corroding public restrooms is more then she can handle but girl is nasty, like find random straw off the ground in the parking lot and pop it in her mouth nasty, so lets rule that out immediately. She's just wishy washy and cant fully commit to the idea that not all public toilets are automatic flushers attempting to suck her up and rid her from her ever loving Mommy.

And I do love her. But, more so when she's not doing this

No, that is a whole new low, even for her; using the travel potty while potty seat is located on leather seat in the back of the vehicle while said vehicle is parked in our driveway and there is a completely clean, automatic toilet free zone for the taking. To me this seems like an easy one, but then again this IS Harlyn were dealing with. She stripped down and did her business, both uno and dos and with total and complete pride because after all it happened not in her romper.

As a mother, I choose to pick my battles and for this she earned my praise.

Could have been worse... I know this because it has been before. Alotta times before.

And high five to the kid sitting right next to the Nasty Nast completely comfortable reading a book. Barbaric, these ones. Their parents should be proud.

ding ding ding

There's a little problem with dinner time at my house. Its not the strain of cooking night after night, or even the pile up of dishes that I can manage to dirty in a single meal preparation... no, its the company.

I hate eating with these people.

Correction, Brad isn't a bad dinner partner. He could stand to use his utensils more and fingers less... but I practically, and sometimes literally, lick my plate clean so who am I to judge on table manners? But, eating with my children. Ugh. Worst.

Proven by the photo below.
One on timeout and the other passed out.

Its like they hate me and love to prove it during dinner time. I'm not talking like they fight me on their vegetables... oh they do that too, but they also fight me on everything else.

And forget it if I baked a casserole... that scenario goes a little something like this:
*boxing bell sounds, Mom puts on oven mitt boxing gloves and approaches her opponents.
Son throws first blow, ew, whats in that?
Mom blocks said jab and goes straight for the gut, nutrition and you need to eat all of it off your plate!
Daughter comes in as Son's back up, uckies.
Dad throws in kitchen towel before the fight gets dirty...

And don't let those delinquent masterminds above fool you, Khage's gut appears to be huge like he ate a massive amount of dinner... he didn't. Beer gut is just his normal body shape. And Harlyn's tray looks clean as if she devoured every last morsel but instead it remained spotless all throughout dinner only because Brad was spoon feeding her as she alternated back and forth between being shaken awake and the REM cycle.

See what I'm dealing with over here? And lets not even discuss the mishaps, shenanigans and complete food related nonsense that I must endure during breakfast and lunch, all in the sake of nutrition. Am I a bad Mom if its fruit snacks and string cheese from this moment on?

Don't answer that.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

baby roo | week 22

For the sake of the record keeper I am actually 24 weeks at this exact moment. Its also 3 pm and I am still in my pajamas if you wanna get real thorough about it all.

Really, as long as your out of the first trimester weeks don't truly matter anymore. Sized like a banana, pineapple, or carrot... they all seem to be relatively similarly sized so either way I'm confused and not entirely sure why we keep comparing my baby to produce. The only reference I ever understood was the "watermelon" sized fruitage being pushed out of my body during birth, because I can unhappily attest to that.

Can I just brag a moment about how good I am feeling right now. So good infact I think I may have gained energy with this child. I haven't been sick a smidge, I am constantly running around and haven't yet felt the need to slip it into neutral. I think I could honestly be pregnant with this baby forever. Throw that back in my face in 16 weeks when babies 4 days past due. "It" also moves around all of the time so I get that extra little piece of mind that Roo Baby is happy where it's at as well. For those of you who have suffered through tough pregnancy, don't punch me just yet... after all I have already gained a solid 16 pounds and counting and lets not forget I'm just at the half way mark. My goal (and previous pregnancy's weight gain) of 25 pounds doesn't seem to be at all likely this round. What I lack in discomforts, I gain in weight. Your welcome.

Look at those kankles. I'm sorry their not sorry. I wish they were.

Here's another shot a few days later, incase you found those undefined ankles too distracting. Concentrate instead on the whole squinty eyed family. Eye balls get lost on the smiles of the faces. Deal with it. I know I have to.
can everyone just open their eyes please
- were trying.
yada yada yada

See you in a few weeks when I am busting out of jeans and my flip flops start feeling tight.

happy and he knows it

I must be running a pretty happy household, it isn't every home I'm sure that a child wakes in the dead of night to bust a gut... like full on belly laughing while simultaneously sleeping. And the real shocker is that it wasn't even the obnoxiously happy child that is Harlyn. It was Khage... the miserable one. The one who has been known to continuously label each and everyday as "not fun".
The one who is often times found to be loudly proclaiming how boring his life it. But it was he who woke up laughing like he was at a comedy club and every punch line was fresh and completely hilario.

Strangely enough, I initially thought he was crying. That's how hard he was cracking up. His outlandish giggling reached a point of laughing so hard that your almost crying but stopped short of the point before you pee yourself. I checked.

And a week later my gloomy guy was at it again... and again with no recollection of what uproarious thing he was dreaming about.

All I can say is that deep inside he's not as unhappy as he claims to be.
Way down.
Down deep he's giddy about his life and he knows it.

Caution, video will remain annoyingly dark as it was close to midnight and I was not about to turn the lights on and risk waking up the during-the-day-happy one. Not to be confused with the other: midnight-happy one.