The Squirt:: 4 Months

Oh my baby!
You are so sqishy.
And adorable.
And happy.

I love you lots and lots.

You weigh, unofficially of course, about 20 pounds and are about 26 inches long. You are wearing 12 month clothes and have no ankles.

You sleep through the night, from about 8 or 9 to 6 in the morning. I wish that there were some naps during the day, but since you'd miss SO MUCH if you were asleep, I guess three 30 minute naps a day is all that you need. Your grandpa says that your lack of interest in day time sleep must mean you are a genius - that would be cool. So would a long nap in the afternoon, too.

You are a hunk-a-hunk a burning love. I love to kiss you and tickle you and talk to you and tell you stories and listen to the stories you tell me in return.

You can almost sit up all by yourself and have two teeth starting to come in. Poor little guy. I'm sorry that mine and your dad's genes make baby teeth come in so early and in sets of two. You're being a real trooper though. A real slobbery boogery trooper.



Thank you for smiling.

Thank you for sleeping through the night.

Thank you for laughing and talking and giving me big slobbery wet kisses on my cheeks.

Thank you for being smart and alert and soft and squishy.

Thank you for "going with the flow" and taking life in stride.

Since the day you were born, I've called you my little Zen baby. It's so true. You are the calm in our home and the peace in our day. No matter what happens, what I'm worried about, or what our moods are, you make everyone around you happy.

I love you little squirt.

Full Circle, once again

This past weekend marks the start of one of the most stressful weeks of my life, last year. That of course, ended with glorious results.

You see, last summer we decided that adding another monkey to the family would be a good idea...no one wants just one monkey swinging through the trees because we all know that a solitary monkey has the potential to just be really desperate and sad and cooky and not just fling poo but maybe eat it (okay, gone to far, sorry).

Anyway - adding a monkey to the family. The idea of it was exciting and terrifying at the same time. What would I do with two kids? How could I take care of one busy toddler while another one, to be determined, was making me sick at the same time? What about all the progress I was making on weight watchers trying to slim down? What if it was a girl?

Well, in the grand scheme of things, we realized that those questions iron themselves out and that no time is the "perfect" time to add a monkey to the family...

You just wait and see and pray that it's in the cards. That there is another special little person waiting to join the ranks.

That gets us to this week.

Last year at this time I didn't feel well. I hadn't felt well for several days, but just blew it off and kept it to myself. It was Labor Day weekend and I was watering a friends flowers and then decided to just mow her lawn, too. My boys were going to run some errands and stopped to check on me on their way out of the neighborhood.

My husband asked me how I was doing. I told him that I was either pregnant or dying.

Shock to his system I'm sure.

Later that day we went to Target - as a family - and spent a ton of money on useless items to hide the fact that we were buying a certain type of test.

We got home.

I took the test.

Negative.

Ug!

I felt awfully sick and miserable, but those tests are 99.9% accurate, right?

Right.

So I resigned to the fact that I must be dying, threw on some clean clothes and went to a family barbecue.

The next day...still felt awful. Just decided to deal with it. When the awful didn't subside at all that day or the next, I did two things.

Took the second test from the pack.

Negative.

Crap!

And talked to my friends Mr. Google and Web MD about what could possibly be wrong with me.

Cancer?

Tumors?

Depression?

Psychotic episode?

Still didn't feel well.

Made Ross buy more tests.

Took two more.

Both negative.

By this time, it's Thursday night and I'm losing my mind.

We have a long discussion that night - about what's wrong with me. We decide that I'll take the final test in the morning, just to be sure. Then, when it's negative, I'll call my doctor and make an appointment to see if in fact, I am dying.

Ross alarm goes off that Friday morning. I bolt out of bed and pee on a stick.

I watch the digital timer do it's timer thing.

I don't have to watch long.

It's positive!

Holy freaking crap!

Positive.

After a week of negatives.

Positive.

I walk out of the bathroom and climb back into bed.

I tell my husband that I just took the last test.

He says, "And?"

I say, "We're going to have a baby, probably in May."

But just to be certain, I made him go and buy a few more tests, that I took. They were all positive, too.

And now, a year later, look at what we've got. A little squishy squirt of our own. The most adorable, squishy, even-tempered, brilliant ball of goo on the face of the Earth.

And he's all ours.

And we love him lots and lots.



Full Circle, the first time (incase you want to read it again)

Beer, Brats, and the Brilliantly Dressed!

As an ode to Labor Day, we spent the night with my family up at Snowbird and had a glorious time. Thanks parentals! (more details and pictures later....)

Because we just aren't in "the know" about such things, no one in our party knew that it was Oktoberfest this weekend at the resort. It didn't really matter except that there were a billion people and that the lines for activities like the Apline Slide were super long.

No worry though - while I was waiting for members of our party to come down the slide from their hour long wait, I couldn't help but take pictures of some of the cooky folks hanging around, having a great time. There were more people than I dared to take pictures of during the day, but these are of course, some of my favorites, that just needed to be shared with you all.

Enjoy.

Get the flash player here: http://www.adobe.com/flashplayer

One of the ways we communicate

When my brother was little, we played a game. I would say a word, then he'd say a word, then I'd say a word. We'd tell stories that way, usually cracking ourselves up about 10 words in and starting over.

We're both older now, and have moved onto more mature forms of communication.

Now, we text.

We text movie lines. I'm not sure what the "rules" to our new game are, but we both seem to know when the rules have been broken, and how to play the game.

We play when sitting in the same room, laughing at each other from across the living room carpet.

Here was our game from the other night.
Willie: Ferris Beuhler, you're my hero

Annie: When Cameron was in Egypt land

Willie: Nein........................ten?

Annie: Dude, where's my car?

Willie: I was hiding under your porch because I love you

Annie: Nobody puts baby in a corner.
I love you so much it's retarded

Willie: Nobody stabs my bus

Annie: Wuv. Twoo wuv.

Willie: I want to be a sweater vest enthusiast
He's only part dead

Annie: Kick boxing. You know, sport of the future.

Willie: You guys aren't a-the-letes....Since when does athlete have 3 syllables

Annie: If you can't be an athlete, be an athletic supporter

You get the idea. There was more, much more but most of it had to do with HomeStar Runner and Strongbad, and I've just got to spare you that.

33 years

Today is my parents 33 wedding anniversary.

I've been scrolling through my online pictures and I cannot find one of my parents together.

Funny.





33 years. That's a long time. My parents are pretty young. They got married pretty young. With the exception of my brother, they had kids pretty young.

They have both always worked and worked hard to give their kids (and grandsons, and sons in law) the best in life.

I love my parents.

Very much.

I had the thought this morning that when my mom and dad got married, my dad was in school, finishing his bachelors degree. And now, 33 years later, my dad is back in school.

Starting over, so to speak.

You see -my dad has always had a job. A J-O-B. He's always been a hard worker and taken care of us. But now, after a bit of soul searching I suppose, my dad is going back to school. He's truly starting over.

He quit his job.

Jobs are funny things. Most of us want one, all of us need one to feel good about ourselves and be productive members of society. Some of us are lucky enough to have careers - a profession that we love and are passionate about - but most of us...we have jobs.

I read once that the average American has about 14 jobs in their lifetime and switches careers a couple of times these days.

My dad's old job had been his for the last 17 years. But, after a lot of thinking, soul searching, whatever you want to call it - he decided that the time was right to jump ship and finally find something that he WANTS to do - instead of HAS to do.

You have to have a job - I think it's super cool that my dad finally has the chance to find a career, a path, a future.

Even if he's a grandpa.

And a little scared of his computer technology class.

He's doing it.

Taking the plunge.

Being bold and brave.

It's awesome.

Life always seems to take us full circle - lots of times I suppose.

This is just one of those times.