Mandajuice

And we were TWO

Dear Alex,

Today you are two years old. I could easily say that your birthday two years ago, in spite of all the pain and the exhaustion and the stitches, was by far the best day of my life. It certainly was up until that point. But saying that would be unfair to all the days I’ve had with you since – these days which are the best days I know I’ll ever have. I haven’t been happier in my whole life – and given what an obnoxiously happy person I am – that’s saying a lot. So when you’re thirty years old and reading this, I hope you’ll understand why I call so often, why I beg to baby sit your children and why your wife is probably already sick of me – it’s because you’ll always be my baby (unless you don’t give me any grandchildren and then you can FORGET ABOUT IT).

A few nights ago your Father sat in his big leather chair and remarked that it used to be just us – just him and me. And then you were born and for a little while, it was just him and me and this little blob of adorable baby. But now it’s completely different. When we go to a restaurant, we get a table for THREE. It’s obvious, I know, but it didn’t really occur to us until recently that we're an actual FAMILY now. You are a real person with your own real ideas and opinions. You even take up valuable real estate in our tiny little condo.

And I am equally sad and proud about your progress. On the one hand, you’re really not my baby anymore, a fact I can hardly bear to write, much less actually admit. But on the other hand, you amaze me every day with your bustling development. I don’t know very many two year olds who have complete conversations with their parents - conversations that involve logic, persuasion, feelings and frankly, a butt-ton of amazing vocabulary. Last night your finger was accidentally jammed between two grocery carts while we were shopping for your birthday supplies at Costco. When you started shrieking in pain, your father offered you an ice cream cone and you said “Ice cream help me feel better, Mommy.” And you were right! (It also killed me when I handed you my Costco card and you turned it over, saw my picture on the back, kissed it and said “I love my Mommy!”)

I never want to forget what you are like as a two year old:

• You have a total Mommy-hair fetish. No snuggle is complete without a handful of my giant fro.
•  You hide in the corner of the living room when you poop. If I ask you if you’re pooping, you ALWAYS answer no – even if your face is beet red and you’re actively pushing. You also hide in the bushes out in front of our complex to poop as soon as we let you outside. This might be funny now, but your pooping-in-the-corner days are numbered.
• You also think poop is funny. (Farts are funny too.) And your Father and I couldn't agree more.  Every time I sit down with a pen and paper, you ask me to draw “turds” and I do so because that is about the extent of my artistic talent.  Please don't ever ask me to draw bulldozers.
• You imitate all the bad words I say accidentally in front of you. Words I won’t even repeat here.
• You have a love/hate relationship with the dog. You love to chase him around and play keep away with his ball, but god forbid he touches your food! The other day I accidentally stepped on Harry’s tail and when he yelped, you told me “Mommy. Be nice to Harry. Harry loves you.”
• You are still insanely obsessed with watching Caillou on PBS. You’ve seen every episode AT LEAST five times, but you never tire of them. You’re also already accustomed to Tivo – the idea of a show not being on right now is completely foreign to you.
• You love Mac ‘n Cheese and would eat pasta for every meal if I let you. Such a good little Italian boy. You also like to help daddy make an egg for you, although it’s the making of the egg you like, not so much the eating of it.
• You wake up from your nap every afternoon in need of a major snuggle. Your hair is all wet and curly (from your amazingly profuse sweating) and you are CRANKY, but I love having that time with you on my lap.
• On the mornings when your Dad isn’t in a rush to get to the office, you come lay with us in bed. You pull Daddy’s finger and tell him his farts are “gross” and then you beg to play “FO FUM”. You hide under the covers and Daddy tries to find you while chanting “Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell an Alexanderum? Where is he?” (When mommy plays, she prefers “I smell Alexander’s BUM?”) Nothing makes you laugh harder.
• When asked what kind of a sandwich you want, you always reply “mustard and mayo”.
• You constantly ask me to “Build a choo-track Mommy!” You also love to line up your matchbox cars and then have me count them – although we can usually only round up about 20 of them at a time, even though you probably have more like 40 of them. You also love all things construction and we spend our time in the car searching for bulldozers in action.

I’m starting to feel guilty for not thinking up more things to say. But I write about you all the time, to the point where it’s going to take you literally YEARS to read all of the excessive bragging I’ve done. So I’ll stop now.  We can't wait for your party on Saturday and neither can you.  Your pinata and the donuts you'll finally get to eat for breakfast are about all you can talk about.  Admittedly I'm a bit freaked out that you're going to have giant tantrums and refuse to share the pinata bat with your friends, but I guess that's to be expected with you being two and all.  But even on your worst days, no one could ever make me happier.

Happy Birthday Baby.

Love,

Mom

 

Fall Lineup

Pretty much all I can think about this week is that my baby is turning two.  TWO YEARS OLD, people.  MY BABY.  I'm putting a fair amount of work into giving him a birthday party that he'll actually enjoy, but he's only TWO.  I forsee much crying and tantruming and moaning that his friends are [GASP] touching his toys or his food or eating his cake.  Two is a very socially inept age.   So, while my brain is preoccupied, y'all are going to have to put up with some filler for a few days.  I'm also beginning to work on my Dear Alex, age 2 post, but it requires frequent time-outs to stop myself from crying.

So.  Here's what I'm Tivo'ing this season:

Nip/Tuck (totally unbelievable and the very DEFINITION of OTT, but irresistable and a must-see)
Over There (which pisses me off in more ways that I can even BEAR to mention, but I can't stop watching it and neither can my husband.)
Medium (even though Patricia Arquette turns out to be the worst actress of the century)
Gilmore Girls (which is much more like theatre than it is like television, but sucks me in nonetheless)
My Name Is Earl (I'm trying to give this show a chance, but will someone please tell my why everything has to have a positive spin.  This show would be TEN TIMES funnier if they just let Earl run around being a lowlife, boinking loose women and stealing from fast food joints)
The Office (they had me at the stapler jello mold)
Lost (of course)
Martha Stewart Apprentice (surprisingly better than The Donald's rendition)
Invasion (still waiting for a verdict on potential lameness)
ER (of which I've missed ONE episode over the past decade)
SuperNanny (I especially love that they've given her a makeover)
Inconceivable (the pilot actually had me hooked even thought I'm sure others will think it's fairly cruel and sensationalized)
And tonight we'll be watching Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy, two of my favorite shows.   And of course I'll watch Scrubs and Will & Grace (now with bigger boobs!) when they're on again.

Am I a total loser or what?  Because dayem that's a lot of TV.  Although I Tivo (if it's not a real verb yet, it will be soon) with conviction and copiously fast-forward through the fluff.  I'm not saying most of these shows are GOOD, they're just watchable. 

Hold yer horses

A point of clarification:  I decided during my last failed cycle to STAY ON the Nazi Fetus DietTM until I'm actually pregnant.  It certainly can't be healthy for me to gorge myself on junk food and Mike 'N Ike's every two weeks - I've actually been gaining and losing over five pounds with every cycle and that just can't be good.  At this point, I should be calling it the Nazi FERTILITY Diet because I'm really grasping at straws here hoping ANYTHING will help me get pregnant.

Don't worry, y'all.  You'll be the first to know.

Funk, but not the James Brown kind

I am SUCH a giant asshead.  I just wrote another LENGTHY post and then stupidly, STUPIDLY clicked "finish" when uploading my photos to flickr.  Bye bye post.  I'll try to recreate, but I am no longer so good-moodish.
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I decided to post again today because my bad mood finally seems to be gone.  (Aside from the giant stupidity JUST NOW!*&!$*^%*&)  This year's early season-change has put me in a funk and I've been in a terribly bitchy mood for days.  Fortunately, it's raining today and that greasy-pavement street-juice smell is in the air and it instantly cured me.  People warn me about moving to Washington and how much I'll hate the weather there, but they have NO IDEA.  This pungent stench and the sound of thunder are like Prozac for me.

On Friday, I met up with my adorable pregnant friends at the park, which was a good thing because I think I may have actually been in the worst mood of my entire life.  I was trying to pack us a lunch and Alex kept doing that thing where he wedges his entire body in between me and the lower kitchen cabinets while whining for me to pick him up and stepping all over my bare feet.  I had totally HAD IT, so I broke my no daytime TV rule and put him in the other room to watch Caillou.  I needed a friggin break already!  I think the week had been particularly hard on me because Dave was preparing for trial and was getting home after ten o'clock at night and I was just tired and lonely and exhausted.  Which I'm sure is exactly how he felt about spending all that time at work only with the added fun of TONS OF STRESS.  It wasn't our favorite week.

But the park? It was excellent medicine.  With the good conversation and the squirrels running every which way.  Twice I had to literally SHAKE the stroller to dislodge a squirrel deeply engaged in the CSI-like investigation of our lunchbag.  Squirrels are just lucky they're so damn cute or we'd have resorted to beating them with sticks to keep their flea-ridden butts away from our stuff.

Saturday was KITE DAY, the highlight of which was Alex saying "I'm a kite pilot", a soundbite I badly need to capture and somehow post for the internets to hear.  You think he's cute in the pictures?  Well just wait till you hear him TALK.

Sunday my parents treated Alex and me to a lovely day at the county fair, where Alex was totally in his element.  What with the tractors and the bulldozers and the LIVE ANIMALS and the pig races and the award winning pies and the awesome Thomas the Train set-up complete with bubble-blowing caboose.  I kept trying to lure him away from the trains with things like "Want to go see the cows?!?  How about the Llama!!?"  But no.  The rest of the fair was pretty much over once he laid eyes on the trains. 

I think my good mood today was also furthered by the addition of greasy fast-food to the Nazi Fetus DietTM.  We were in the neighborhood picking up our vacuum (!!!!), so we took in some In 'N Out Burger, which is not only healthy and delicious, but apparently also good for the soul.  At least it is for mine.  It had been almost FIVE WEEKS since I'd eaten fast food.  That may be a personal record for me and may also be the true scientific explanation for my recent bad mood.  Go check out the Flickr photos as I am the kind of mother who, without flinching, can take thirty pictures of her child eating a cheeseburger (fortunately for you, I only posted half of them).

Lately we've taken to watching Family Guy, both the re-runs and the recently-renewed season on Fox.  And after seeing several episodes and truly absorbing their complete and utter indecency, I can share with you the happy fact that WE ARE THE REAL-LIFE GRIFFINS.  Specifically, my husband is the real-life Peter Griffin.  If you doubt it, you clearly haven't seen the show or you've never seen my husband in his underpants.  The best part of this recent discovery is that Alex, our own little Stewie, ADORES THE SHOW.  Every time I even so much as HUM the theme-song, he pipes up with "I wanna watch Family Guy!!!  Put dat show ON!"  I figure it's safe for a few more years.  Once he can actually GET the humor, we'll have to watch it after he goes to bed.

Toodles, my minions!

It's MY gynocracy, what can I say

I'm sadly behind with my posting lately.  I did attempt some flickrage last night, though, so you can keep up with me there.

Coming soon:  Crazy squirrels in the diaper bag, Alex flies a kite (although that's basically all on Flickr), a day at the county FAIR and why I'm sending fan mail to Fox.

Somebody loves his new shoes

We tried them on in the store and he STILL hasn't taken them off yet.

This may be my favorite photo of all time:

Can I say I LUUURVE me some Mervyn's?  Because I just got Alex  3 pairs of pants, a sweatshirt, 4 long-sleeved shirts AND those Chuck Taylor's - ALL for fifty bucks.  He's totally set for winter.  And so am I! A few pairs of pants from Old Navy did the charm.

What's a (California) girl to do?

Yesterday we had a fun playgroup at the park, which was made even more fun by the fact that the park is conveniently located near my favorite Target store.  As we were dining on our packed lunch of turkey sandwiches (no crust), cheese sticks and Trader Joe's yogurt, we ran into some friends who also came to Target straight from the park.  (Have I mentioned before that Dave thinks we should just pop a cross on top of the double red circles and call it a church already?)

Anyway, there are all these fun money-sucking devices (like a carousel, a train ride, even a NASA rocket ship) for kids to ride on out in the mall in front of Target. (I always tell Alex that I have no money!)  Alex's friend was playing in the Ice Cream Truck while we ate our lunch and he kept leaning over and his mom would help him ask us "What flavor of ice cream would YOU like?"  When it was Alex's turn to answer, he thought it over carefully and then responded "IKEA".  Turns out the only real-life ice cream cone we've been crazy enough to let him dribble all over himself was the .99 cent one at IKEA.  The funny thing is that it's been like six MONTHS since he had that ice cream cone and he still remembers it.

In other news, I'm having a complete wardrobe crisis:

I HAVE NO PANTS.

Don't laugh.  I'm not kidding.  I LITERALLY have not one single pair of long pants to wear.  Capris? Skirts? Shorts? PLENTY.  But when I quit my job in April, I gave away ALL of my work clothes.  Apparently without thinking.  Turns out the only long pants I owned were technically "work wear" and the thought of ever laying eyes upon those haggard, not to mention hideous clothes made me want to scream.  I kept ONE pair of jeans, which are now ONE size too small (5 lbs damnit!!).  So, no pants.

Normally, I wouldn't hesitate to run out and just buy some damn pants.  But we're trying SO SO hard to stick to our budget for the rest of the year and that means I should buy two or three pairs to last me the whole winter.  And therein lies the dilemma:  we're also trying SO SO hard to get pregnant, so if I buy pants now, it's possible they won't last the winter.  So do I buy maternity pants and jinx my chances to get pregnant?  Or do I just buy some regular pants and hope they last?  Sweat pants are not an option, as you all well know. 

After I resolve the pants issue (I welcome your advice), I'll move on to the flip-flop dilemma: ALL OF MY SHOES REQUIRE A PEDICURE. 

Nightmare on Elm Street

Yesterday we found an old hat in the trunk of Dave's car.  We all thought it was adorable, including Alex, who wouldn't take it off.  Finally, at bedtime he concluded "not outside anymore" and threw it on the floor next to the couch.  The dropping of the hat went completely unnoticed by all of us until two o'clock in the morning when Alex started SCREAMING from his crib.  After putting a shirt on (so he wouldn't want to nurse), I ran in there and rescued him from his apparently HORRIFIC nightmare.  The child was hysterical.

The source of the screaming?  "I LOST MY HAT!"  Which he kept trying to locate on the floor under his crib.  Finally it dawned on me,  "Did you have a bad dream where you lost your hat, Baby?"  He thought about it for a second and then responded "I DID!"  Fortunately, he was easily placated with a snuggle and a reminder that the hat was safely sitting on the living room floor, right where he left it.

Just like I love imagining that the dog is catching a squirrel while he barks and squirms in his sleep, I've often wondered what babies dream about.  Now I know. 
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Wouldn't you think it easy to locate a simple KITE?  We bought one a couple of weeks ago at Walgreen's for seventy-five cents, with which Alex was instantly enamored.  Until it flew away (amazingly quickly) when Dave handed Alex the string and he let go of it.  So, we thought we'd simply buy another one and take him to the park on Saturday afternoon. 

But we were sadly mistaken.  Apparently kites are seasonal and thus, no longer for sale in the state of California (a state in which one could argue we experience maybe two actual seasons).  Three stores later we ended up at Toys 'R Us, the bane of parental existence, where alas, THEY HAD NO KITES.  The boy was so disappointed, he pitched a monumental fit.

Who am I kidding - he climbed around on the mini-Hummers making car noises and grunting at the other children until the mere idea of ever going to the park again, (you know, outside) was only for boys whose severe parental neglect had kept them from the bliss of the toy-car aisle experience.  All I can say is if you can somehow manage to remove your child from a miniature but fully-functioning John Deere bulldozer without inciting a Tantrum of Doom, well then you're a much better parent than me.  Although, it's of interest to note that we left the store without a single, solitary toy for that child, not even a kite.

Age two is just around the corner

Alex just came to the gate (the one that separates the kitchen/garage from the living room) crying hysterically.  Seriously: blue lips, crocodile tears, the whole bit.  He was so upset, I actually started looking for where he must be bleeding.  It didn't help that all he could manage to say was "Harry!", I thought he probably tormented the dog ONE too many times.  After at leaast five minutes, I finally figured out the source of his injury:

"Harry ate my sandwich!"

What else?

It seems that the very SECOND I took the final exam for my stupid investment class, summer decided to end.  It's been windy-ish and cooler than usual and it's about time I sat the weather down for a good "we need to talk".  I thought I had another month left of sunshine and swimming and enjoying the heat and now I'm certain I'm not getting my money's worth out here in the land of so-called perfect weather.  (I did end up with a nice, even "B" in the class though!)

Living without a vacuum is bothering me more than I expected it to.  Yesterday I went back to Sears, who originally wanted $95 to repair it, but I got a different and much-improved sales woman and she figured out that if I bought a one-year warranty for $42.16, all the repairs would be included.  Now I have to wait three weeks before going barefoot in my own home, but the vacuum dilemma is resolved.

There was one respite from our boring weekend that I failed to mention: my parents hosted a lovely BBQ on Sunday and invited my grandparents and Cousin Licia's family.  Grandma bought Alex this adorable horse toy, which he insisted upon riding upside-down so he could see the horse's face and which, if you think about it, makes a lot more sense.  We had a great time playing with cousins and even had a nice swim.  I'm pretty sure every time Alex enters a pool from now on, he's going to expect his Uncle Tommy to entertain him and throw him around in the water.  Uncles are INFINITELY more fun than Mommies.

The weaning is going well too.  I can't remember the last time he had any daytime boob at all.  I'm going to wait until after his birthday to work on the night weaning.  After we wean, we'll head straight into full-time potty-training.  For now, I'm providing ample nekkid-time and he is happy to pee in the potty when he feels like it.

Any other questions?