Monday, September 12, 2011

My Bundle Of Joy.

HA!


A bundle of poop? Yes.

A bundle of tears? Yes.

A bundle of diapers and laundry? Most definitely.


I forgot what it’s like to have a new born.

Feeling like a cow.

Not being able to keep up with the messes.

Changing ANOTHER diaper.


I had a breakdown the other day. I’m embarrassed but can now talk about it without bursting into tears. Matt had to come home early from school to save me (or the kids...) and I felt awful to ask such a thing... but I really forgot what this stage is like.


As I was being screamed at, the phrase, “bundle of joy” went through my head. I think whoever said that never had a newborn.


After Matt got home I left the house for some me time. (Isn’t he the best husband ever?) I went for a massage, got adjusted at the chiropractor, went to McDonalds... It was awesome and it gave me some time to think. And not just time.... QUIET time. I started to feel a bit guilty for the mom I was today. And I still do. But this passes. Right? Right??


I remembered a book I read last May called The Hand That First Held Mine. (Don’t read it on account of me saying that I read it. It’s.... questionable at times...) It goes through Lexi’s life starting when she was a teenager. She falls in love, moves away, makes questionable decisions... and she becomes a journalist! She wrote an article later on in her life about being a mom:


“We change shape...we buy low-heeled shoes, we cut off our long hair. We begin to carry in our bags half-eaten rusks, a small tractor, a shred of beloved fabric, a plastic doll. We lose muscle tone, sleep, reason, perspective. Our hearts begin to live outside our bodies. They breath, they eat, they crawl and - look! - they walk, they begin to speak to us. We learn that we must sometimes walk an inch at a time, to stop and examine every stick, every stone, every squashed tin along the way. We get used to not getting where we were going. We learn to darn, perhaps to cook, to patch the knees of dungarees. We get used to living with a love that suffuses us, suffocates us, blinds us, controls us. We live. We contemplate our bodies, our stretched skin, those threads of silver around our brows, our strangely enlarged feet. We learn to look less in the mirror. We put our dry-clean-only clothes to the back of the wardrobe. Eventually, we throw them away. We school ourselves to stop saying. ‘[crap]’ and ‘[darn]’ and learn to say ‘my goodness’ and ‘heavens above’. We give up smoking, we colour our hair, we search the vistas of parks, swimming-pools, libraries, cafes for others of our kind. We know each other by our pushchairs, our sleepless gazes, the beakers we carry. We learn how to cool a fever, ease a cough, the four indicators of meningitis, that one must sometimes push a swing for two hours. We buy biscuit cutters, washable paints, aprons, plastic bowls. We no longer tolerate delayed buses, fighting in the street, smoking in restaurants, sex after midnight, inconsistency, laziness, being cold. We contemplate younger women as they pass us in the street, with their cigarettes, their makeup, their tight-seamed dresses, their tiny handbags, their smooth, washed hair, and we turn away, we put down our heads, we keep on pushing the pram up the hill.”


Look at him!



I’d never give up my huge purse life. Ever.


Tuesday, August 16, 2011

No Clothes For Me, Thanks!

The other night Joe was watching Charlie while we went out on a hot date. He sent us this picture of how he found her in her crib...


Yes, those are onesie PJ's that are still zipped up.

Tonight Charlie had a rough time falling asleep. (I'd assume it was because she was using her crib as a trampoline.) It took her about an hour and half to finally doze off.


This is how I later found her.



My mom told me that how kids act around 2 years old is a good indication of how they’ll be at 16 years old.


If she can't stand to have her clothes on now, I think we might be in trouble... ;)


Until then, though, I'll just enjoy her little kisses.




Wednesday, June 15, 2011

What A Difference A Month Makes.

Sooo.... Just over 7 months ago we thought that we'd like to add another person to our family. I mean, Charlie’s the most easy going lady this side of Earth. Why would we waste her? Yeah, she liked to climb things, but it was fun and exciting! What harm could adding another human do?


This is her then.


Easy, right?


This is what we have now.



I guess 7 months is a long time to grow up when you’re only 9 months old...


At least she’s cute?



Silver Lining:
I figure it won’t be long until she learns to actually use the microwave. Then I could just leave the pizza pops out and she could make her own lunch.


But now, if you’ll excuse me... I have to go put the knives in the convenient location on top of the fridge.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

A Kid at the Candy Store.


Seriously. We went to Mac’s.


We made, what was supposed to be, our short journey to Mac’s to meet up with Matt (so he could pay). I’ve never taken the time to appreciate sticks and other people’s driveways the way Charlie did...




Anyways, after a 5 minute walk turned into 20 minutes, we made it!! And I tell the honest truth here when I say that she walked straight over to the mini-eggs. I can’t blame her, really. She’s only going for what she knows is right. But then she saw the possibilities!


Chocolate Clusters??



Or candy, candy...


Which ones??


These are tough decisions we must all face in life. It's too bad she had to make it at the young age of 1.

The guy who worked there didn’t like us much. We were there for probably 15 minutes before we settled on the ring pop. (Which is genius for a kid! A candied soother?? Heaven, to say the least.)












Monday, November 15, 2010

A Bully In The Making

Charlie LOVES older kids. But one in particular. Her best friend? The cute little/big 2 year old upstairs, Madilyn. If they're not home, Charlie will cry. If she hears Madilyn screaming upstairs, she bolts for the door. If Madilyn says, "Chowly, come pay!", Charlie run-crawls after her.
I mean, look at them. They love each other.

They help each other out...

They clean together...
(if you couldn't tell, that's a swiffer in Madilyn's hand. She gave Charlie
the cool red broom.)

They admire themselves together...

And after all their fun, Charlie pulls her hair.


This is definitely my favorite picture of all time. I know that's a bold statement... But while Madilyn thinks her life is over, Charlie is soo... content.

Kids, watch your weaves.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

He's not a He. She's a She.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have prayed to have a boy first... I guess this is what I get for that... And, honestly, I understood the first few times even though she was wearing purple because, hey, newborns are funny looking. But now that she’s 9 months, it’s getting old.


Here’s a few stories of people who insist on calling my daughter my son:


1. A few weeks ago I dressed Charlie in a hot pink shirt and leopard print pants and I made my way to the bank. These boys were sticking their fingers in Charlie’s mouth while their mom was right next to me with the other teller. Instead of telling them to stop, she commented on how cute he was and wanted to know how old he was. Do I look like the kind of mother who would dress her son like that? Apparently so. Anyways, I kindly said that “She is almost 9 months old.” Then she looked at me incredulously and replied, “This is a girl?!”


2. That same day I went to the mall. (Big day for me!) THREE different people commented on how cute HE was. I let it go the time they asked what HIS name was and I replied, “Charlie.” I guess there was no going back there.


3. My Grandma always thinks she’s a boy -no matter what she's wearing or how many times we tell her that she's a she. She also has Alzheimer's.


4. At church the other Sunday, I saw an old friend that I hadn’t seen in years. We got chatting and I was holding Charlie (who was dressed church appropriately in a cute frilly dress). But no, he asked what his name was. People can always see past our girly fa├žade...


5. This week it was Matt that got to experience what I always seem to. They had just mentioned to him that we had a cute son... When he got home that night, Matt told me the sad story. This followed:

Me- We should’ve gotten her ear’s pierced before...then they all would’ve known she was a girl.

Matt- No. They’d just think she was an early-rebellious son.


Dang it.

Headbands are now mandatory.



Friday, November 5, 2010

I'm In Love... And It Hurts.

I really felt the need to blog about this. Yes, I have a cute daughter and a wonderful family... but this is going to kill me.

Guys... Girls... I don't know what to do. As you may well know, Christmas is like fifty days away, or something like that. So what's on my mind? Buying presents for loved ones? No. Boots!

bootsbootsbootsbootsbootsboots

No word of a lie, I've looked at over 3000 boots tonight! Zappos told me so. And that doesn't include the 7 other websites I thoroughly scrutinized. (Check out lavintage.com! So cool.) And why am I looking at SO many boots? I'll tell you why: This boot that I love is just too darn good for me and I don't feel I deserve it (or that I don't want to have to pay above and beyond my own Christmas gift limit) ...so I'm looking for one in my league. Which I can't find. Woe be my life.

It just teases me by saying, "Look at my gorgeous, buttery leather. My soul (or sole -whatever) molds to your beautiful foot. I could go with ANYTHING!" And then adds, while smirking, "But I'm too exorbitant for you." Oh Frye Melissa Riding Spur -you torture me.

Here. Look at it mocking me.


So yes. 3000 boots later and I haven't found one that tickles my fancy just as this one does. Or even a little less, to be honest. And I'm not sure what exactly makes me love this one so much above the rest. But something just fits me...and my foot. (I tried it on at Gravity Pope but it jumped $100 there compared to the WWW. Yikes!) I have exactly one week to decide.

What do I do?!?