tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42808364598791690252012-02-18T06:17:19.484-08:00Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.comBlogger3611100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-56434297043146364252012-02-17T20:35:00.000-08:002012-02-17T20:48:54.829-08:00

It's so hard when you have two kids not to compare. I mean, really, I have absolutely no experience with kids outside of my own two (someone really should have told me a thing or two before I had kids!), so the only thing I can do is compare. So compare I do. And even though I was so lonely and unskilled and depressed after Bjorn was born, he was still easier than Peanut. He didn't have

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-71212234935464668632012-02-01T09:28:00.000-08:002012-02-01T09:28:58.385-08:00

Yesterday, when I went to pick up Peanut from the infant care room at the gym, I was told that she was being a "little ornery". No kidding. "She got a tooth this past weekend," I said. "So, yeah, she's a little ornery." The infant room facilitator looked at Peanut, looked at me, and said, "No, no. I think she got TWO teeth this weekend." She was right. Not one, but two little baby teeth are

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-15603695460353899412012-01-30T20:17:00.000-08:002012-01-31T06:57:08.882-08:00

When I told people I was going camping this past weekend, the most common response was "So who's watching the kids?" As if camping and kids don't mix. As if kids don't dig dirt and trees and rocks and hiking and running and playing. And dirt. Did I mention dirt? I think kids really like dirt. And my kids really love camping. When we first arrived, Bjorn grabbed his dump truck and shovel and

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-4337278400623284222012-01-21T19:54:00.000-08:002012-01-21T19:54:41.330-08:00

Apparently, the phrases I use the most are: "Sigh. . . OK. Let's do this!" "Ready? Let's roll!" "Wait a second. . . . . hmmmmmm. . . . " "You have two options." "I have a question for you." and "That is my answer." I know this not because I am on Candid Camera (although I often feel that I am), and not from family home videos I watch to reminiscence (although I often do this for fun). No

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-49052609738461294172012-01-20T15:07:00.000-08:002012-01-20T17:05:29.940-08:00

Dear Preggo Friend; Since you are flying in next week, I thought I would send you a little note to prepare you before your trip. NOTHING you see in my house is indicative of how your life will be. Don't be scared off, overwhelmed or freaked out by what you may see. Trust me. Having one - like that one little bun in your toaster oven - is totally different than two. . . .  and it's easier 75%

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-68551492791083308502012-01-19T14:06:00.000-08:002012-01-19T14:06:03.258-08:00

Every morning I wake up with the best of intentions. I won't yell at my kids. I won't get frustrated that neither one of them will nap, but desperately, desperatly need to. I will play cars/puzzles/color/play-doh/hockey in between the never-ending rounds of laundry, dishes and snack times.  I will teach my children patience through my example. And every day, my intentions go right down the

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-79637586560418269522012-01-08T21:21:00.000-08:002012-01-08T21:21:27.918-08:00

Technically, I go back to work in one month. From today. Sigh..... I have one of those love/hate relationships with my job. I love how fun it is - jetsetting across the country, meeting new co-workers every trip. If I find I don't like someone I work with, I probably will never work with them again. I don't have to deal with them in the cubicle next door everyday. In fact, I don't have a

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-29046421761077556562012-01-04T10:45:00.000-08:002012-01-04T10:45:02.363-08:00

Help!!! Spray and Wash Resolve worked wonders with Bjorn when he had his blow-outs. But apparently Peanut's are a little more, um. . . . potent. All her cute little outfits are getting ruined!! I need something quick - everyday is a blow-out day in this house! What do YOU use to get out baby poop stains? And will it work on stains already washed & dried?!

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-25916681823932673622011-12-30T21:55:00.000-08:002011-12-30T21:57:02.937-08:00

I'm so exhausted that I know if I tried to write a real post - a witty, entertaining read with a clear cut beginning, middle and hilarious ending - that I would wind up with fragment sentences and no real point. Because this year Peanut got me no sleep for Christmas. Gotta love the girl. She found the perfect gift for the woman that has everything! Waking every three hours to eat is no fun, but

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-36384306696852029792011-12-16T08:31:00.000-08:002011-12-16T10:06:42.413-08:00

Peanut is officially in the "grab and pull" stage of babyhood. She grabs my hair, my jewelry, my hands. If I am texting or talking, she grabs the phone - and has remarkably long Go-Go-Gadget arm reach. She grabs my purse straps and my food, and more than once I have seen her hands clenched in a fist and pried them open to find a pacifier stuffed in her little fist. It has become a little bit of

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-73411252110824985952011-12-01T06:01:00.001-08:002011-12-01T12:27:18.071-08:00

Dear Peanut, I'm sorry to be your alarm clock this morning. Really sorry. I know you like to sleep - your 14 hours of uninterrupted snoozing since you were 7 weeks old tells me this. I totally get it. I'm a huge fan of sleeping myself. And I also hate alarm clocks. But sometimes a Mom has to do things she doesn't want to do, including waking her baby from a wonderful, deep sleep filled with

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-40927851907868410052011-11-29T14:23:00.001-08:002011-11-29T21:08:01.029-08:00

When my girl gets going, there is no stopping her. Now she is constantly rolling. All the time. Everywhere. Which is great, because she should be rolling and moving and getting that little body going. (She also made forward movement yesterday. Forward movement. That's almost like crawling. But that's another story.) Except for one teensy little problem. Like Zoolander, she's not an ambiturner.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-15320573022122082452011-11-21T21:37:00.001-08:002011-11-21T21:54:50.664-08:00

Peanut rolled over. Or, at least, I think she did. See, last night, I put her on her back on her playmat, looking up at the toys dangling above. Then walked into the kitchen - a mere 10 feet away in an open floor plan - turned back to her. . . . and she was face down. Well, not really, because her face was very proudly up, looking around, not down, in the mat or anything, but she was very

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-10563211002381445552011-11-15T20:25:00.001-08:002011-11-16T20:50:11.108-08:00

When we bought our house, we were newlyweds who had literally just moved halfway across the country. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms and 1500 square feet seemed like way too much room for two 20-somethings and a 40 pound dog. In fact, for over a year, two of the bedrooms served as nothing more than storage for crafting, beer brewing and jackets we didn't need for Phoenix weather. Now the dog is

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-34768284411802865282011-11-08T20:29:00.000-08:002011-11-08T20:29:53.434-08:00

If you would to look through my blog editing page, you would see 6 unfinished posts. From the last week. I've tried to write. To keep you, and I, and my kiddos, whom I hope will read this in the future as a love letter from their mother, because you better believe I'm never going to finish those damn baby books - to keep you all updated. But I don't want to just write stats and information. I

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-16310993146703841942011-10-29T13:26:00.000-07:002011-10-29T13:26:00.415-07:00

I love Halloween, and now that I have kids, I have an excuse to dress up. And boy do I dress (them) up. Halloween 2009, 5 months old. Chewbacca (Princess Leia not shown) Halloween 2010, 17 months old. Oompa Loompa (with his Mama, Veruca Salt)     While I had many ideas leading up to Halloween, I discarded them all. Simpsons? Not a cool enough costume for Bart (except for the skateboard,

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-21648881594502436842011-10-25T13:19:00.000-07:002011-10-25T13:19:13.074-07:00

I've always been a little scared of my kids. With Bjorn, he was such a bad napper and I needed him to sleep so badly, that I would literally tiptoe around my house. Meanwhile, The Hubs would vacuum, watch action movies in the loudest surround sound we have, and carry on long phone conversations right outside his door. And he never woke. But I needed his nap oh-so-badly that I was always scared

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-40292621549757192742011-10-21T16:07:00.000-07:002011-10-21T16:07:44.536-07:00

I have toothpaste in my hair. I don't know how it got there, but I can only assume it happened during our morning ritual - the battle of teeth brushing. I have spit up on my shoulder. It mostly hit the couch cushion, so I took the time to turn it around (only to discover that I had done that once before with the same cushion), but it hit my shoulder too. And dribbled down my back. Bjorn thought

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-4698547940047721072011-10-20T21:29:00.000-07:002011-10-20T21:29:02.665-07:00

Before my first baby, I was told that as a mother, I would automatically understand my baby's different cries. I would know which one meant hungry, or lonely. It wasn't always going to be different in a way you could define, but just like when you met "the one" ("I just knew"), you would "just know" what each cry meant. I didn't. Not a bit. I pretty much figured out that "knowing" what each

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-74860207835781573692011-10-11T15:10:00.000-07:002011-10-11T15:10:43.515-07:00

A few weeks ago, a Mommy friend asked about Peanut and any sibling rivalry or jealousy with Bjorn. "We've been pretty lucky, " I said. "He really seems to love her. No jealousy here. At least not yet." She commented that her kids started to show a little jealousy only when the younger one was able to crawl and steal the older one's toys, and cry more for Mom, taking away some of the attention.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-42903496860916213932011-10-03T09:31:00.000-07:002011-10-03T09:31:44.932-07:00

So, we've had Bjorn in his Big Boy Bed for about 7 weeks now. How do I know its been 7 weeks?! Because we were stupid silly enough to start him in it when Peanut was about two weeks old. . . and she is now 9 weeks old. Thus. . . . .7 weeks. It has had its ups and downs. Literally. He gets up and gets down. Then comes running in our room. "Bjorn down! Down from Bjorn's bed!" Yeah, we know. If

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-72188069352043749812011-10-02T11:57:00.000-07:002011-10-02T11:57:45.115-07:00

I can't believe Peanut is 2 months old already. Am I the only one who thinks time is going by waaaaaayy too quickly?! We had her two month appointment this past week, and she did great. Well, she did as well as could be expected considering that she got three different shots, and one oral vaccine. I would've screamed too. She is now 23 1/4 inches long and 11 lbs 5 oz. WOW! She has grown over

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-71434878782415429492011-09-06T12:40:00.000-07:002011-09-06T21:10:47.954-07:00

Breastfeeding is not easy. Anyone who tells you that it is will also tell you that natural, drug-free childbirth doesn't hurt that bad. That she loves watching Sesame Street and Dinosaur Train over Glee and Law and Order. That you can't even see her stretch marks anymore. She lies. See, because breastfeeding isn't easy. Not at all. Sure, it starts great. While in the hospital, with lactation

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-42055023817510058042011-08-31T15:35:00.000-07:002011-08-31T15:35:29.261-07:00

I told The Hubs that following my 6 week check-up next week, I want to start training for the half-marathon in January. To lose some of this baby weight, get healthy, and maybe get a little free time - even if it is in running shoes. Then, today, I dropped the toddler at my cousin's to play and went grocery shopping to two stores with the babe. My quads hurt. My arms hurt. My feet hurt. I'm

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-15031194268845604652011-08-28T21:01:00.000-07:002011-08-28T21:01:22.508-07:00

One month. My little Peanut M&M is one month today. One month ago, I was wondering if this little baby was a boy or a girl, with lots of hair or no hair, who would look like me or the Hubs or like neither of us, but her own little mix. And then she was here. And nothing has been the same since. We've had our ups and downs already. (Re: Bedtime battles with the toddler and Acid Reflux in

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-90710099034047317342011-08-23T14:02:00.000-07:002011-08-23T14:02:52.568-07:00

Because instead of trying to teach my child to love his big boy bed, instead of fighting with him for two hours like we do every day about taking a nap, instead of making him sleep in his bed like he needs to do, instead of listening to him screech that he wants "mommy to sleep floor" next to his bed. . . . I put on Toy Story. And will gladly let him fall asleep on the couch like he wants to.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-86264317466479717812011-08-21T21:18:00.000-07:002011-08-22T17:15:24.421-07:00

Oh, the joys of newborn parenting. This has been my week: I know it looks like that's my boob in the shot. It's not. It's my fleshy arm. Just FYI. This was at the end of an hour and half crying jag where they crying sounded like that the entire time. Seriously. I took the video for two reasons. 1) To prove to my friends that this was not normal newborn crying and there was a perfectly

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-2153105353828896542011-08-16T09:33:00.000-07:002011-08-16T09:33:03.032-07:00

I would be perfectly content keeping Bjorn in his crib until college. It's easy, it's there and he has yet to realize that he can climb out. And when Mama needs a break, I can put him in there and he can't escape. I kinda like that. The Hubs, on the other hand, has been itching to get him out of his crib practically since the first day he went in there. Something about growing into a man and

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-26513735032354906142011-08-13T08:54:00.000-07:002011-08-13T13:14:15.777-07:00

It’s different walking in for a scheduled c-section. It’s different walking down the hall in two paper thin hospital-issue robes and light blue non-slip thick socks rather than being rushed down a hallway, strapped to a hospital bed next to nurses holding IV poles while nervously clutching your husbands hand. It’s different walking into the operating room yourself, seeing the various surgical

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-70983142531874807862011-08-02T21:47:00.000-07:002011-08-02T21:47:52.515-07:00

OK, so I know that I owe you a birth story, and I will get to it eventually, but the birth story takes a while. And I don't have a while to think and sit and write right now. I'll get to it. . . . later. But for now? Snippets. That's all you get. Oh yeah - our little Peanut M & M was a GIRL!! Yeah, surprised the heck out of me, too!! I wrote a few weeks ago that she never stopped moving. That

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-31068234760103466502011-07-24T22:58:00.000-07:002011-07-24T22:58:31.368-07:00

I know, I know. It's been like two weeks since I've updated. No, we do not have a Peanut yet.  Lots has happened, but not that. I can't even remember most of it. So I'll highlight what I do remember. . . . My last Doc appt was this previous Thursday. Everything is looking good! Peanut's heartbeat is 156 BPM. And I weighed in at exactly 36 pounds more than when I started - which is good,

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-54708187797067028152011-07-14T14:58:00.000-07:002011-07-20T20:34:20.661-07:00

Bjorn and I were sitting on my bedroom floor playing with his cars when suddenly he stopped, came to sit on my mostly non-existent lap and began talking.  This is his story (with my questions because I needed to make sense of it): Uh oh, Roar coming. There's a dinosaur coming? Uh huh. Babble babble babble babble roar stopping car. Is the dinosaur trying to stop the car? Uh huh. Stop, Roar.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-85951282352378947582011-07-13T18:51:00.000-07:002011-07-20T20:34:41.868-07:00

I read recently that as it gets closer to D-Day, I may feel less of the babe's movements, being that they are starting to have less room to maneuver. Either I have the largest womb and the smallest kid, or those books are a bunch of crap. This kid is kicking the bejeezus out of me. Not the foot-in-the-ribs kind of kicking. That really only lasted about a day. Peanut is extraordinarily

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-938130096383170332011-07-12T13:12:00.000-07:002011-07-12T13:12:31.228-07:00

The time is getting closer to Peanut's birth (2 weeks, people - 2 weeks!) so I thought I should write the one post I have been putting off, telling myself it wasn't even necessary to write. But if it wasn't necessary, I wouldn't keep thinking about it, then, would I? So here goes. I am going to have a repeat c-section. Yes, even if my water breaks on its own. Even if I start to go into labor

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-63681329931793621942011-07-08T13:09:00.000-07:002011-07-20T20:35:00.760-07:00

This morning, Bjorn was eating a balanced breakfast of 1/2 Cheerios, 1/2 Cocoa Puffs when he comes running up to The Hubs and I. "Nose. Nose! Cer-e-ul. Nose!" "Ummm. . . Do you have cereal in your nose?" "Uh huh!" he nods emphatically. "Bjorn?! Did you PUT the cereal in your nose?" "Uh huh!" Another emphatic nod. And, sure enough, the kid had stuffed a cocoa puff up his nose. After a few

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-32656919354335417542011-07-06T13:35:00.000-07:002011-07-20T20:35:46.231-07:00

We've been asking him lately about Peanut, and which sibling he would like, occasionally throwing in a twist. No matter what, he always picks the last option we give him. "Bjorn, do you think Peanut is a brother or a sister?" "Sister!" "Do you want a girl or a boy?" "Boy!" "Would you like a brother or a puppy?" "Puppy!" But then he got to be a little too smart for us. At my latest OB visit,

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-41287889275288884082011-06-28T19:55:00.000-07:002011-06-28T19:56:49.407-07:00

This really needs no words. Instead, I'm just going to count this as my 35 week Preggo Pic. Enjoy! The view from the top. Notice anything?! Yes, that IS two different shoes that I wore. In public. Oops.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-18092228214206724102011-06-23T17:35:00.000-07:002011-07-20T20:36:24.827-07:00

With the amount of time I spend on Amazon.com and coupon websites and mommy blogs, I honestly thought that I knew about most cool products that were out there. Sure, there were a few newbie things I wasn't aware of, but surely nothing that I actually needed. Oh boy, was I wrong. I found out yesterday that there are probably thousands of things I absolutely-must-have-and-definitely-need. . . .

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-84337300447185068572011-06-22T17:05:00.000-07:002011-07-20T20:36:52.111-07:00

Today we went over to a friend's house to play in the baby pool and hang out with friends. And I got a little boy who knocked over his 8 month old baby friend, wouldn't share any toys and liked to yell "No! No! No!" whenever anything was asked of him. Even if what I was asking was if he wanted to play outside in the pool. By the time the other Mommy friend got there with her 9 month old, I had

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-11688445980336852932011-06-10T08:10:00.000-07:002011-06-10T08:10:28.435-07:00

I have never actually learned to swim. I can kick and stay afloat and do all the things that will keep me from drowning, but I most comfortabe drifting along in the shallow end of the pool atop a raft that comes with a can holder. The Hubs, on the other hand, grew up a competitive swimmer and even now, at a big 6''1', can slice cleanly through the water. At one point deep in his scuba diving

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-62187894815976223782011-06-09T11:42:00.000-07:002011-06-09T11:42:03.251-07:00

I am totally addicted to Extreme Couponing. So much so that, I am ashamed to admit this, I actually DVR'd the show when I was out for the night. Yeah, I don't think that is what DVR was invented for. (And doesn't the whole concept of DVR - paying more for something that could be quite cheap, go against the whole idea of Extreme Couponing?) But, whatever. . . . I am completely addicted. I

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-12070132267356680952011-06-07T16:07:00.000-07:002011-06-07T16:07:39.435-07:00

Friday was Bjorn's 2 year birthday. 2! I can't believe it. And boy, did we celebrate! Thursday, because the Hubs worked early early to late late on Friday, his actual birthday, the Hubs and I made a "Mel-mo" cake for the little booger, sang Happy Birthday to him FOUR times and made him his favorite meal of pasta, pasta and more PASTA! Friday - Happy Birthday Bjorn!!  I took the little man to

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-13256228767454910912011-06-03T18:30:00.000-07:002011-06-03T18:30:24.426-07:00

Today I am the mother of a 2 year old. How did I get here and when did this happen?!

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-38495366176647183792011-05-29T20:48:00.000-07:002011-05-29T20:48:24.726-07:00

Friday was Peanut's latest sonogram - the big one, the whole shazamm, the exciting moment. Live, in 3 and 4D, was Peanut. S/he wasn't very cooperative, with his/her hand and arm always across his/her face and mouth. The US Tech tried to shake Peanut up a little, but right after he would move his arm and she would try to get the shot, he would move it right back. Stubborn little bugger. Also, to

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-87029225064369667462011-05-18T10:06:00.000-07:002011-05-18T10:06:19.817-07:00

As I get ready to start my maternity leave (yes, already!) The Hubs and I have sat down many a night to tackle some of the preparation questions. Will I go back to work? Will I go back to work, but at a different job? Will day care for two kids be affordable on my current salary? How about on a salary from a different job? Would I go insane not having an outside job and staying home with my

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-129449329427563262011-05-10T20:42:00.000-07:002011-05-10T20:43:15.502-07:00

I started a blog post today, got about halfway through and saved it. Or I thought I did. I swear it said 'Saved'. But I went to search for it tonight and. . . . nothing. Crickets. And I'm tired and all my good ideas and funny phrasing were used up in the earlier, deleted blog post. So here is the Reader's Digest Condensed Version. Tried to convert the kiddo's crib to a toddler bed this

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-82776446159425680032011-05-06T12:46:00.000-07:002011-05-06T12:46:03.366-07:00

I have been thinking in Top Ten Lists lately. And I don't even watch Letterman. Maybe it's because my life seems to be divided into lists: To Do Lists, Shopping Lists, Registry Lists, Grocery Lists, Sales Call Lists. (Did I mention that at 6 months pregnant I decided to get a part-time job. . in addition to my full-time one? Crazy!) Whatever the reason, my brain is hard-wired lately for

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-41501675843823241132011-05-03T16:10:00.000-07:002011-05-03T16:10:08.369-07:00

Lately we have been going on nightly walks around our neighborhood. It's a good time of year in Phoenix; it's still light at 7 pm, but the breeze begins to blow in and the sun isn't quite so hot. We are taking advantage of it while it lasts. Not to mention, Bjorn has discovered that he loves to walk the dog, and how can you resist the little scrunched-up face of my two year old saying "Zah-za*?

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-19275979796234314792011-04-20T14:17:00.000-07:002011-04-20T14:17:44.497-07:00

Before I had any kids, I knew knew that I was going to be the coolest, funnest mom out there. I was sure of it. I also knew my kid was never going to go pants-less into a walmart because I forgot the extra change of clothes and he threw up all his milk. My kid was not going to throw an on-the-floor, kicking and screaming tantrum in public, no less. And my kid was going to be interested in Shel

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-52994813565690831172011-04-11T15:06:00.000-07:002011-04-11T15:35:43.479-07:00

Last weekend the Hubs went out of town for work. (If you can call sitting 20 rows back at the ACM awards work. If you can call partying with the artists and friends and families work. If you can call seeing Carrie Underwood and Steve Tyler harmonizing on stage just a few feet from you work. Anyways. . . . . ) Bjorn started acting all grouchy and tired the day the Hubs left. From the truckloads

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-89336647398904824622011-03-29T17:25:00.000-07:002011-03-29T17:25:08.718-07:00

With Peanut starting to kick up a storm lately (how could I have ever worried?!), I've begun thinking more and more of what we are to expect when he makes his/her arrival. Will Bjorn be in big boy bed by then or is another crib in our future? Will Peanut sleep through the night? Nurse easily? Cry only when hungry and tired and then only infrequently? And the main question: Will the room I want

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-51180413496424530592011-03-26T14:50:00.000-07:002011-03-26T14:50:21.774-07:00

A few days ago my cousin, holding her quiet, content 10 month old son, asked me which of the phases of Bjorn's life has been my favorite. This as my adorably insane child is running in circles on the patio, carrying his football and grunting incoherently. "Whichever stage he just finished." I said, almost without thinking. And as I said it, I realized it was true. I have loved all the stages

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-13369983244290557272011-03-22T16:28:00.000-07:002011-03-22T16:28:26.116-07:00

I didn't believe it when I first heard it. Oh surrrrrre. My kid is just going to start talking one day and not stop. Sure. Uh huh. When all your kid can do is grunt "Uhh" and "Errr" as he reaches for things, you never think they are actually going to be able to speak to you. And, now, all of a sudden, the avalanche of words has come. This past week, I handed him his hockey game ticket and he

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-41529115497473640392011-03-15T19:38:00.000-07:002011-03-15T19:38:06.812-07:00

From Mango to Cantaloupe in just one week. Wow!

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-57514178448645615982011-03-12T22:50:00.000-08:002011-03-12T22:50:39.320-08:00

So it's not so much that I was worried lately as that I was. . . well, wondering. Wondering why I couldn't feel Peanut. Because at this point with Bjorn I had gained almost twice as much weight and was still feeling him kick and roll. (Which, if you know my kid, should not surprise you. He just.plain.doesn't.stop.) So I was kinda wondering what was going on. Wondering to the point that I

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-61853083719279705602011-03-08T19:05:00.000-08:002011-03-08T19:06:13.266-08:00

The first time around, everyone thought we were ca-razy for not finding out Bjorn's gender. Crazy. As in bats in the belfry, not playing with enough cards in the deck, one sandwich short of a picnic Crazy. This time around, I guess everyone expects crazy from us. Because now the not-finding out of Peanut's gender barely gathers a mention. They expect it.  And this time around, I hadn't begun

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-82861725529007740052011-03-05T20:57:00.000-08:002011-03-05T20:57:47.553-08:00

I'm not very good at keeping track of dates or special events. Never have been. If I had been keeping a blog when The Hubs and I began dating, I might actually know when we first said 'I love you', where we had our first real date and all about those first love butterfly feelings. But I don't. In fact, I don't even know our actual dating "anniversary". It's sometime in August - ish.I'm pretty

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-48143435321944684732011-03-03T19:45:00.000-08:002011-03-03T20:37:37.621-08:00

Yesterday, after reading Amber's blog and on the heels of changing what had to have been my 100th diaper of the week, I decided it was time. Past time, actually. I bought Bjorn a potty. And, as fitting a Baby Bjorn becoming a Big Boy Bjorn, he got this potty.  A baby Bjorn. How apropos.  I almost got him this one. Because I really like the idea of him sitting on his throne

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-49225492580346536332011-02-26T21:02:00.000-08:002011-02-26T21:02:56.431-08:00

I've always wanted to join the mommy groups. That group of girls who sits at Starbucks with their skinny decaf lattes, talking breastfeeding and breastfeeding poops, holding impossibly cute babies while trying to wrangle down their hyperactive toddlers. But this scenario takes duex (or whatever comes after duex in French. I don't actually know French. Or Italian. Or any other foreign, romantic

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-69621992214418745152011-02-25T20:58:00.000-08:002011-02-25T21:06:06.737-08:00

I was sitting in a hotel room in Buffalo - literally the absolute furthest I could be from my family - and made the requisite nighttime call home. The conversations with Bjorn don't vary much - they go a little sumthin' like this: "Did you have fun at school today?" "Uh huh." "Did you play with her dogs?" (He goes to an in-home daycare.) "Uh huh. Dog. Dog. Woof. Dog." "Did you play with her

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-63497335027760000092011-02-16T11:02:00.000-08:002011-02-16T11:21:17.754-08:00

I've been thinking alot lately about what I want out of life. Not my Bucket List sort of wants exactly, but more specifically in terms of career and life goals. I want to lose twenty pounds. But I'm pregnant, so I'm not even touching this one for a good year. At least. And I have come to realize that losing weight should not be a life goal for me. It's just something that is there. Mainly, I

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-77463384275437173812011-02-10T17:09:00.000-08:002011-02-10T17:11:20.228-08:00

It seems that every day Bjorn is learning something new. Earlier this football season, we taught him to throw his hands in the arm and yell 'Touchdown!' and just this past Sunday he learned how to wave a Terrible Towel. And the cutest Steelers fan was born. Before we leave the house each day, I gather up all the necessities for going anywhere with the kid. While I'm searching for sippy

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-50298773523870429932011-02-09T18:31:00.000-08:002011-02-09T18:31:29.715-08:00

Peanut is now the size of an orange! But I've gained 5 lbs now, so that is. . . . .   THIS many oranges! 

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-27646716973602283132011-02-05T13:52:00.000-08:002011-02-05T13:52:07.960-08:00

This morning, I thought it would be fun to take Bjorn to a Parent-Tot demo class at the local gymnastics center.  My kid is an active kid, I thought. This class will be perfect for him! And then my kid became that kid. And I became that mom. That kid who can't sit down, but zooms around the room, while the rest of the kids are sitting patiently, waiting for their turn on the bars. That kid

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-35900229617417136802011-02-03T11:47:00.000-08:002011-02-03T11:59:05.185-08:00

I don't like Valentines Day. (There. I said it. Do I get my girl card taken away?) I think at one point I did like it. That point where you still get little Smurfette and Garfield cards from everyone in your class and you and your friends pour over the ones from the boys, wondering what "Have a Great Valentines Day" really means when he writes it. I liked Valentines then. Before I got sucked

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-88580443599587594532011-01-28T07:12:00.000-08:002011-01-28T07:12:42.582-08:00

I know I'm barely pregnant (if there is such a thing!) at 13 weeks, but I'm also a planner. A planner and procrastinator. Which means I like to plan months and months in advance, but I won't actually do anything until it is almost too late. Like my 30th birthday (!!!!) happening in a few months. I've planned it all to perfection. . . in my head. On paper nothing has been done. But that's another

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-34225341182681546882011-01-19T14:01:00.000-08:002011-01-19T14:01:34.635-08:00

I know it's not politically correct or the popular idea, but I've said it once and I'll say it again. . . I love being pregnant. I love eating as much as a small horse or two. I love maternity clothes with stretchy panels and built-in space for growing. I love leggings and sweatpants and t-shirts that are finally long enough to cover the crack of my hiphugger jeans. I may just have to make all

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-24857093180792396042011-01-16T14:17:00.000-08:002011-01-16T14:17:40.434-08:00

I am in the midst of simplifying my life. Call it nesting, call it throwing away. Whatever. I'm simplifying. This simplifying means I am getting rid of everything from clothes and shoes to books, papers and, yes, friends. Well, not friends, really, because if you are a friend, I am obviously not going to get rid of you. But yesterday Bjorn was fiddling with my phone and began dialing. #6 on my

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-30608220491805326042011-01-15T06:49:00.000-08:002011-01-15T06:49:33.408-08:00

In one of the many magazines I find at work on the plane, I read that a while ago Brooke Burke made a Bucket List, with one of the items being "Appear on the cover of Shape Magazine". I thought "Well, I want to be on the cover of Shape, too." Immediately followed by "Ugh, no I don't." Because then I would have to work out really hard, eat healthy all the time and spend Saturdays and Sundays at

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-78326936735860706672011-01-13T17:01:00.000-08:002011-01-13T17:01:46.143-08:00

The day after Christmas, my scale broke. Which is not necessarily a bad thing being that it was the day after Christmas (i.e. "your-tummy-hurts-so-bad-from-all-that-food-day") and I am pregnant, so who really cares what I weigh, right?! Except I gained 51 pounds with the first babe. 51. That's about 40% of my total weight before preggo. Yeah. That's ALOT of weight. And I really don't want to

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-62909961120913317612011-01-10T03:00:00.000-08:002011-01-10T18:46:38.391-08:00

This is my final Christmas post. I think. Merry Christmas from The Terror! Waiting for Santa. . . or Amazon. Whoever brings the most presents! Rudolph. Ugly Christmas sweater included. Finding out they are going to be grandparents again. We found out he likes cars. ALOT. Camping in Parker AZ, NYE 2010-2011 C'mon in 2011 - I'm ready for you!!!

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-45933853101640276902011-01-09T12:35:00.000-08:002011-01-09T12:36:02.014-08:00

I feel a little silly writing about Christmas when all the bloggers I know are already talking Martin Luther King Day and Valentines Crafts, but my Christmas break was looooong, people. LONG.  (So long that I went back to work only two days ago and I needed a bit of a refresher. "Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where the emergency exits are?") So I have alot to tell. Expect Christmas posts

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-43543272432448659382011-01-04T18:44:00.000-08:002011-01-04T18:45:48.145-08:00

We are driving across town to the awesomest restaurant ever (and the only one we ever take out-of-town- guests to). Hubs is driving, I'm in the passenger seat and Bjorn is in the middle of the backseat flanked by his grandparents. "Ball." Bjorn says insistently, pointing ahead. "Ball. Ball." I look ahead and see some of those huge balloons that fly above the local car dealership. "That's right

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-20027462683225606812010-12-30T18:00:00.000-08:002010-12-30T18:00:02.703-08:00

This year, without any kind of planning, The Hubs and I wound up giving our parents exactly what they wanted. A New Baby!! Of course, I had some cute, elaborate way to tell them we were pregnant. I wrapped the sonogram in a picture frame and wrote on it, "The Newest Baby: Coming August 2011". To which The Hubs' and my parents both said "Oh, that's nice. An old sonogram picture of Bjorn. Cute

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-47056483493543604542010-12-29T15:52:00.000-08:002010-12-29T16:44:19.957-08:00

We all know how much I hate Heidi of the What to Expect When Everything You Do Could Hurt Your Unborn Child books, but when my little boy hit the stage of Terror that is an Almost Two, I ran crying "Help me! Help me!" all the way to the bookstore. Well, actually, to my computer. Because it turns out that my health care plan provides me with free copies of What To Expect when Expecting, the First

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-71585952692504903192010-12-16T19:29:00.000-08:002010-12-16T19:29:27.076-08:00

I never thought it would happen, but my kid has turned into a Blanket Kid. Or, as he calls them, a "Nani" Kid. He has to have his Nani's with him everywhere. In the car. On the couch. While he's eating. We have set limits - no blankets brought into daycare, no blankets in restaurants. And I won't let him drag the blanket around in public either. Not because I'm afraid of germs. Pssshaw.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-27543641693653602352010-12-02T22:39:00.000-08:002010-12-02T22:39:40.659-08:00

As you may have noticed, I am not in the Christmas spirit lately. But I'm trying, so I hauled out the decor and waded through the millions of old cards. (Seriously, who needs to save those things?! Toss 'em!!) But amidst the madness, I came across the Christmas card The Hubs and I sent in 2007, our first year in Arizona. I had composed my own Christmas poem - a 'Twas the Night Before Christmas,

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-52511156213940748432010-12-01T19:38:00.000-08:002010-12-01T21:47:55.510-08:00

My day started out with a Terror of an Almost Two. He didn't want to be held. Didn't want to walk on his own. Didn't want to play or sleep or sit. He wasn't hungry. Or thirsty. He just wanted to whine and throw temper tantrums. The kind where he throws himself on the floor and when I try to pick him up, he goes completely limp. And we all know it's impossible to pick up wet spaghetti. When

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-47669188605979004392010-12-01T11:32:00.000-08:002010-12-01T11:32:44.010-08:00

Oh, friends, I am Bah-Humbugging big time. I can't figure out why. This year the weather in Phoenix has actually reached almost-record lows, hovering in the 20's and 30's overnight, so I should be feeling more Christmas-y than last year's no-need-for-a-coat December. But I'm not. I don't want to take Bjorn to sit on Santa's lap. Why wait in a three hour line so I can get a $20 picture of my

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-47390581072638948402010-11-18T21:06:00.000-08:002010-11-18T21:20:04.204-08:00

I am the world's pickiest eater.Ask anyone, they'll tell you it is true.My parents will recall the tale of one fine Lenten Friday where I spent over SIX hours sitting at the kitchen table because I refused to eat one stinkin' fish stick. I still refuse to eat them.My husband can tell countless stories of the lip-smacking cuisine he has poured his heart into (bacon and jalapeno wrapped quail,

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-50014385597082969202010-11-17T17:45:00.001-08:002010-11-17T18:17:25.524-08:00

If this morning you missed TMZ, Extra or every morning news program known to man, I have some exciting news for you.Kate Middleton and Prince William are engaged.Oh, ahem, excuse me. . . Katherine Middleton.Yes, the Katherine Middleton the British press pegged 'Waity Katie' because after eight years of dating, The Prince still had not proposed.God Forbid a girl be all of 28 years old and not be

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-54839999521382709752010-11-09T06:36:00.000-08:002010-11-10T20:56:44.742-08:00

I'm not allowed (by strict rule of The Hubs) to bring out any Christmas lights, trees or decor until the day after Thanksgiving.Not even the hand-painted blocks that count down the days to Christmas, held by a teddy bear in a tacky Christmas sweater.The boughs of holly and wreaths of ribbons and pinecones must stay wrapped in their boxes in the back of the garage cabinets, stuffed behind all the

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-89206448334712389522010-11-08T20:36:00.000-08:002010-11-08T20:47:44.469-08:00

Oh, friends, it is my pleasure today to receive the Worst Mommy of the Year award.Not for forgetting my camera and not being able to take Halloween pictures.Not for bugging my friend to take pictures and then bugging her again and again and again and again to send me the pictures so I could post them on my blog.Not even for having Halloween pictures posted about a week after every other Mommy

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-15963984618364540052010-11-07T07:09:00.000-08:002010-11-07T11:44:48.405-08:00

There are many things I thought I would do as a Mama. Clean up poop. Wipe up snot. Cry. Laugh. Not sleep.But I never thought I would be posting a picture of my toilet on my blog.Why, yes, that is my toilet. Why did I post a picture of this? Because sometimes as parents we get excited about the littlest things and sometimes those little things are toilets.Because you see the lid of the toilet?

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-26274638884012327402010-11-03T11:49:00.000-07:002010-11-03T12:08:21.840-07:00

I'm not saying The Hubs isn't helpful - he does change a mean light bulb and kill big bugs - but sometimes I feel like I have three kids. One's furry, one says "Joooo" for "Juice" and the other can't remember where he put his sunglasses. (On the counter. Right there, Hon.)What I really want is some help around here. You know, a maid. Like Rosie.But my Hovercraft is in the shop and Astro's been

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-72986665208982013252010-10-28T09:08:00.000-07:002010-10-28T09:09:47.489-07:00

When my son was a few months old, I received a text from Daddy. “You’re a goof mom.” Followed almost immediately was another text, written somewhat frantically. “Good, not goof. I meant good. You’re a good mom.” I just laughed, knowing that he was right on both counts.I am a goof mom (and a good one, too). I like to play on the dirty wood floor, being tigers and zebras stalking each other across

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-34983205823336839442010-10-26T21:04:00.000-07:002010-10-26T21:26:43.830-07:00

This was intended to be another step-by-step "Crap to Craft" post, but things don't always go as planned around here.Here are the chairs I bought at Savers (while still pregnant - that's planning ahead!) and the table I bought a few weeks ago at a consignment store. Here is what I wanted to "craft" it into. After enlisting the Hubs help, this is what we wound up turning it into. (Why, yes, that

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-83992951490414392832010-10-21T21:04:00.000-07:002010-10-21T22:22:51.753-07:00

I've been attempting to narrow down my To Do list lately and the top three items that have been carried over from list to list for months now all have to do with crafting.How is it that I can keep the Hubs in clean clothes, the kiddo in diapers and the dog out of the trash, but I can't manage to get a teeny-weensy little crafting done?Thanks to the help of my very-soon-mom-to-be friend Meg, who

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-74093251941133352992010-10-17T19:52:00.001-07:002010-10-17T20:00:44.975-07:00

The Irish author Brendan Behan once said "There is no such thing as bad publicity."**I think Bjorn knows this quote, only he doesn't know what publicity means, so he decided to make it his own."There is no such thing as bad attention."So when I say "No" as he starts to put a rock in his mouth, he thinks 'Wow, I have Mom's undivided attention. This is so cool!'He knows it's wrong. He really does.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-3789075277407109022010-10-09T09:21:00.000-07:002010-10-09T09:38:36.058-07:00

Most of the time, I can't think of two good reasons why we live in AZ.Then, fall slides in on the tails of 115 degreee weather, and in one short week, the doors and windows are kept open and walks around the neighborhood begin.And, of course, there are the pumpkins. And the fairs. Oh man, all those photo ops. . . .

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-48269014816139763362010-10-01T18:21:00.001-07:002010-10-01T18:55:08.355-07:00

It started as a game. Just a simple game.I, in the hallway, picking up dog hair, kids blocks and random miscellaneous crap, and Bjorn, in his room not ten feet away, closing the door from the inside, knocking and laughing hysterically when I opened it again.A game. Which lasted until I was done picking up crap and went to open his door for the last time.Only to find it locked. With Bjorn alone

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-83965450940687004002010-09-28T18:25:00.000-07:002010-09-28T18:44:02.883-07:00

I blog so I can think.So that in the midst of chaos and reality, crying and poop, I can think.I write so that all these thoughts that swirl around in my head can finally be laid to rest in the simple, black lines of Times New Roman font.At least, that was why I started this blog. As a fountain of extraneous thoughts and worries. So that other momma's and friends could join with me on a journey

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-50303215970095741902010-09-17T16:04:00.000-07:002010-09-18T14:33:14.227-07:00

Today, as we battled through yet another clothes and diaper changing, Bjorn threw himself away from me with the force of a hurricane.Smack dab into the corner of the wooden dresser.With his forehead.Ouch.After the initial screaming and mama-clinging, he seemed ordinary Bjorn-like, but I know that head injuries can be deceiving and the three-inch-long-two-inch-wide mark and bruise on his forehead

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-84626742203745938752010-08-28T12:10:00.001-07:002010-08-28T12:11:47.987-07:00

Have you visited the world's funniest blog yet? (And, no, it's not mine!)Check it out here.And while you're at it. . . go here. You won't regret it.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-44349801882473805252010-08-26T18:33:00.000-07:002010-08-26T20:30:22.380-07:00

A few months ago the Hubs decided to grow out his hair. After a few weeks in the awkward growing-out-his-bangs stage, he has finally hit long(ish) male Baywatch type hair. It looks pretty good.But now that he has this long hair, he has taken to using it as a towel. Or, in place of a towel. (Not that I mind, because, really, let's face it, that's one less towel I find on the bathroom floor after

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-23463182790612113252010-08-24T14:47:00.000-07:002010-08-24T15:23:50.795-07:00

Today was a baby-free day for me.Today, a day off work but sans toddler, was intended to be a day to get all my non-baby appropriate chores ticked off my to-do list. (Scrubbing floors, bikini wax, finally get my much talked about tattoo*.)After dropping Bjorn at daycare, I dressed in my gym clothes only to realize that I really didn't want to go to the gym. So I didn't. Instead I took a nice,

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-27479336975425575662010-08-16T11:18:00.001-07:002010-08-16T11:42:41.425-07:00

10 years ago today, I met a boy.(Well. . . it might have been 10 years ago yesterday. Or tomorrow. I'm not very good with dates. It was sometime around this time. . . . . )Anyways.10 years ago today(-ish), I met a boy.It wasn't the first time I had met this boy. The first time was a year earlier, my what-the-hell-is-college-all-about freshman year, when I saw this blue eyed, sorta wild looking

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-48222380715731712472010-08-13T12:36:00.000-07:002010-08-13T17:05:08.154-07:00

We are now in the stage of "throwing things".And when I say "things" I mean everything. (Including fits.)On one hand, the kid has a great arm and I am super excited to start teaching him to play football and baseball.On the other hand, I no longer give him my phone, the remote control or anything else I may ever want to use again.

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-60939923432574768352010-08-10T21:50:00.000-07:002010-08-13T17:05:28.160-07:00

In the book "Little Earthquakes" Jennifer Weiner writes (through her lead character) that she always thought "pregnancy was the great equalizer" where skinny women get fat and fat women are fat and finally there is no competition between the two.Which we all know to be a load of bunk.Pregnancy is not equal among women. In any way.I gained 51 pounds. In the last two weeks a road map of purple and

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280836459879169025.post-19129256686718925452010-08-08T22:18:00.000-07:002010-08-13T17:05:42.697-07:00

While I was pregnant, all my Mommy friends dumped loads of advice on me. Whether I wanted it or not.And I never understood some of it. 'Til now."Enjoy going to the bathroom by yourself." said a friend with a rambunctious 2 yr old. " After the babe is born you will never be alone in there again."I laughed, thinking that was a strange thing to say. Of course I will be going to the bathroom by

Me Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02217022145109147260noreply@blogger.com5