I suck.

Chuck's

Image by kk+ via Flickr

I apologize for not updating. Again. I do believe this is the 4th time I’ve apologized for not blogging and given a list of reasons why.

I don’t think I have a good excuse this time…just more cakes and Chuck is now mobile and it snowed and I still can’t stand my in-laws.

Also, I’m working on re-vamping the whole blog and having Chef do regular cooking posts and talk more about how we raise the kids.

Right now though, I have to go grievously injure some of Chuck’s singing toys that someone nicely gave her for her birthday before I lose what’s left of my mind.

xo

An Open Letter to my Daughter

Randy Johnson

Image via Wikipedia

Dearest darling Chuck,

It’s been one year, one week and 6 days since I pushed you forth into this world. You’ve been a pretty awesome kid, all things considered.

You slept through the night on December 24th, at 2 months old. (I remember this because we were all staying at the Hotel Max and it was Christmas Eve and I thought that was the greatest Christmas present of all time, except maybe your brother.)

You’ve been fairly portable so far in your short existence…falling asleep in the car on the 90 minute drive to and from your grandparents, and generally being content to play with whatever while I go to the bank or the store or what have you.

Lately though, my tiny bubble of “I am an awesome parent” has been popped by shrieking at 4am.

And 5:15am.

And 7:00am, 8:19am and 9:22am.

This is after you made the decision that 12midnight – 1am is now your new bedtime.

I, your dearest darling mother who spent the first 3 months vomiting and the following 3 months in bed while carrying you in her womb, would really like to inform you that it is not a crime to sleep for more than 2 hours in a row.

Whatever agency (FBI, CIA, Army, Navy, etc) has already noticed your potential and is training you to be a terrorist interrogator needs to piss off. Using sleep deprivation as a weapon is a horrible idea and I would like to opt out of this exercise and defer your further training until you’re a teenager and I have ample time to obtain large doses of Valium so I can be tired, but really not give a shit.

(The Opinionated Grandma Squad has suggested I let you “cry it out”, but I’m pretty sure after 90 minutes of you screaming at 3am, I should probably let the terrorists win and just pick you up.)

I would also like to address your behaviour over the past few days.

Yesterday, while we were shopping at Target, you chose to pretend to be Randy Johnson and remove your boot and bean some poor lady in the face. She thought it was fairly funny, but I would like to emphasize that it is INAPPROPRIATE to hit people (AND ANIMALS) with anything, including (but not limited to) your shoes, my shoes, the remote control, and any/all of the tupperware in the kitchen.

I would also like to bring up the toilet paper issue.

Toilet paper is a tool you will get to learn about at a later date. For now, it is not a restraint for cats, a decoration for parties (or for the bathroom/hallway), or something to hide underneath when your mother (that would be me) is trying to figure out where you’ve gone, since she only had her eyes off of you for THIRTY SECONDS.

And last but certainly not least, PLEASE stop torturing the dog. Yesterday you managed somehow to obtain a hanger, locate Devil Dog and hook the inside of the dog’s nose all while I ran to the bathroom breaking land-speed records. The dog, to put it mildly, was not amused. So much so, that she’s been hiding in the basement ever since. I’m not sure she’s even eaten.

Later when you’re older and try to ride the dog like a horse (which we definitely frown upon in this establishment), we will have to have this conversation again, but for now, let’s not give the dog any more anxiety attacks. I’m fairly sure doggie Prozac is expensive.

I love you very much, because of all of your quirks, but I swear if you don’t let me sleep, I’m going to lose my mind.

And most of it’s already gone.

xoxox,

Momma

A note to the reader: if this doesn’t make sense, I apologize. I have averaged 5 hours of sleep a night for 3 weeks, but only at 90 minute stretches at a time…her interrogator training is going swimmingly.

I love NyQuil.

A man doing nasal irrigation

Image via Wikipedia

I know NyQuil is probably not vegan, but at this point in this ugly cold, the neti pot is just not touching it.

And for those of you who get grossed out by the idea of the neti pot, you totally need to try it just once. (We have the SinuCleanse brand, both for Chef & I and the baby version for Chuck.) Especially if you get insane sinus pressure like I do and your eyeballs hurt? A couple of minutes of running salt water through your nose will knock that right out.

I apologize for that picture over there, but it cracked me up and I couldn’t help it. That’s pretty much what it looks like when you use a neti pot.

SO! Before the cold meds kick in and I start talking about odd things like the fact that I’m only wearing one sock right now, let’s recap my weekend thus far.

The conveyor belt sushi place we went to on Friday was AMAZING. Needless to say, I told Chef I HAD to sit next to the belt so I could be the person grabbing all of the food. (Now I can see why Short Stack likes to go to the one near their house.)

I spent the first 15 minutes trying to figure out what was on all of the plates, and then I just started grabbing things that looked good. Chef had octopus and eel and I had asparagus rolls and seaweed something-or-other and California rolls. (Before you say anything, I know roe and surimi are not vegan. I did not figure that out before I put it in my mouth though :( ) We had a blast, and we’ll definitely be going out with the Baker and Baker’s Wife again.

Speaking of baking…yesterday, I made baguettes (from Garden of Vegan, I think) that we used for sandwiches today, and naanSpicy Veggie Curry for dinner last night. Everyone (including Chef’s BFF Bri & Bri’s momma) ate dinner with me, and judging by the fact that there were 6 very clean plates and no leftovers, I’d say dinner was a hit.

The baguettes were used for monster sandwiches for football-watching today, and despite being slightly doughy (I am not experienced in bread-making quite yet!) they were totally gone as well.

I. Love. Football. LOVE. FOOTBALL. I was born into a family of football players and women who love to watch football. My grandpa was a football coach, and at one point or another, every male in my family (including my sports-averse brother) played football. Short Stack is expected to play football. It’s in our blood.

So when we start getting closer to football season, I start getting antsy. It’s part of me to want to turn on the television on Saturday mornings in the fall and watch football ALL WEEKEND LONG. And most Monday nights, and now some Thursday nights. (For the record, I like watching college better than pro football.)

So now that Chef and I are together, his family has a fantasy football league. Which adds a whole new level to my incoherent hollering at the football.

Now I’m rooting for individuals as well as teams, and if my players are playing each other, I am often screaming at one team to “GO GO GO” and the other team to “HIIIIT HIIIIIIMMM“!!!!!!

I don’t know why my family doesn’t do this fantasy football thing.

Anyhoo, Chef and I are “playing” each other this weekend in our fantasy league, so I’m off to go gloat that I’m winning….while I still can. To geek for a second, Peyton Manning (my QB1) AND my kicker are screwing me with their stats, and Chef’s QB1 (Kolb) is still up to play today…..

Enjoy your Sunday!

We don’t need no stinkin sleep.

Chuck (my 10 month old daughter, for those of you just joining us) has decided that sleep is for lame-o’s.

Chef (her loving father and my fabulous fiance) loves his sleep. (In fact, it’s a freaking miracle most mornings when he’s out of bed before 11 without a heavy dose of harassment from yours truly.)

Which means that after 2 months of The Great Sleep War of 2010, I am looking somewhat like this:

Except maybe my clothes aren’t as clean. And I’m certainly not that thin. But the sleep deprived sallow skin is definitely me.

So I am now on Hour 2 of fighting with Chuck to get her to go to sleep. She had a bottle with a scoop of cereal in it. Gave her a bath. Mille & Fille took her in the pool to wear her out. She hasn’t napped since 4:00. Yet, she’s sitting in there SCREAMING HER HEAD OFF.

The “magic seahorse” (which was far and away the GREATEST BABY SHOWER GIFT EVER, and normally knocks her right out) is not working.

Gripe Water is not working. (our fall-back…we normally give her half a dose if the seahorse isn’t working.)

Orajel, just in case her teeth hurt, is not working.

So I just went back in there, dipped her nuh-nuh (paci, nuk, pacifier, binky, what have you) in Gripe Water, and am waiting it out.

If she keeps at it, I’m going into my bedroom with a glass of ice water and chucking it on the peacefully sleeping Chef.

Anyone have any advice? I’m starting to resemble a vampiric zombie.

Cloth diapers and crawling?

So up until last week, we were cloth diapering Chuck. She wasn’t moving around much (just rolling, pivoting on her bellybutton) and wouldn’t sit up for very long.

I just assumed she wasn’t ready to crawl (i never did, and neither did Short Stack) and didn’t think anything of it.

Then we unfortunately (or “fortunately”, depending on who you ask) decided to take advice from the “Opinionated Grandma Squad” (aka my mother “Mommy Dearest” and Chef’s mother, who we’ll call “Mille”) and switched her to disposable diapers to see if the cloth diapers were hindering her movement.

Within hours, Chuck was sitting up for 10-15 minutes at a time and by the next day, she was sort of crawling.

(by “sort of crawling”, I mean doing a dead-leg, full-body drag, not wholly unlike when Lieutenant Dan falls out of his wheelchair in Forrest Gump.)

So i have a few questions for my cloth diaper mommas out there (and anyone else who wants to chime in:

1. Are cloth diapers really hindering her movement? Have any of you had this happen?

2. We’re using Chinese pre-folds and Thirsties wraps. Can anyone suggest another brand/type of cloth diaper?

3. Am I horrible for listening to the Grandmas? (on second thought, don’t answer that one.)

Since you read all the way to the end, I will reward you with a small anecdote.

Yesterday, i was telling a story to Chef and his BFF Bri about the time I got punched in the face by a “little person”. I started out by reminding them how much little people fascinate me, and how I’m shocked I don’t watch the reality shows with the little people on that one channel.

Mille walks by and says “with all the television you watch, I am too.”

RUDE.

Testing Pictures

image

image

Just ignore me.

Nothing to see here.

Move along. :)

A Missed First

When Short Stack was little, I was a single mom. I lived with my parents for some time, but I worked a lot to try and pay off debts to get out if my parents’ house, and I was pretty young, so I was selfish and ridiculous and did a lot of stuff that kept me away from my baby.

I was, however, there for all of his “firsts” but one: his first haircut.

My mother decided one morning that he needed a haircut (which was super true…he looked a bit like a tiny hippie), so without saying anything to me, she took him for a cut. I came home, took one look at my tiny boy, and promptly burst into tears.

So you can imagine my heartbreak when, despite being home with Chuck virtually 24-7, I missed her first haircut. Which was performed without my knowledge/permission.

(One time a month, I’m gone for a roller derby bout almost all day. The Overlord is nice enough to watch Chuck while I scamper about and play with my derby friends and yell at people.)

I don’t know if I’m being unreasonable, but I’m upset. It’s not like Chuck’s hair was life-threatening and The Overlord had to cut it or Chuck would cease to exist.

How far is too far? What would be your “line” you’d draw with your parents/in-laws with what they can do with your kids without checking with you first?

All images, ideas and text here is property of Mia Cupcake/Bruises in the Frosting, unless otherwise noted. Please do not copy without express permission from blog author.
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