My nose is growing

So following up my last post about the success of making up stories that involve Princesses and Fairies to make mothering easier, let me share a couple more ridiculous fabrications that I told my daughter to avoid Taylor drama.

This past weekend we were reading her Bambi book before bed, and after I finished the story I gave Taylor a big smooch and hug and attempted to crawl out of her bed when she stopped me and said, Mom, where’s Bambi’s Mom go? And I held my breath for a second and then answered, I think she went on vacation. And she asked back, Why she go on vacation? And then I said, Well, because she really likes the beach. And then Taylor smiled and said, I like the beach too, Mom. And then I hugged her super tight, kissed her cheeks until they were slobbery and let her go to bed picturing a mama deer laying on a beach chair drinking a margarita and planning an iChat with Bambi, Faline and their two fawns.

And the other big fib I recently told the Princess happened a few weeks ago when I woke up and found Nemo the third floating belly up. And instead of flushing him, hiding the bowl and telling Chris to pick up another dark-red betta fish during his lunch break, I disposed of the fish carcass and put empty bowl back on the table, raised my voice a few octaves and squealed, TAYLOR! Oh my goodness! Nemo’s not in his bowl! I think his mom and dad came and rescued him to the ocean last night! And she came running over to the table and peered into the empty bowl and said, His mom and dad take him to the ocean? But how they get there, Mom? Fish can’t walk. And I blubbered at this excellent observation for a moment and then said, Well, they all went to the ocean in that big bird’s mouth. You know, like in the movie? Hey, you wanna watch the Nemo movie? And she thought about this for a moment and then said, OH! Like the movie! I wanna watch the Nemo movie! Thank you, Pixar.

So. Call me a Liar. But why would I want to dive into the death-talk with a three year old? Especially one so perceptive that she understood that it was impossible for Mr and Mrs Nemo to walk through the front door and rescue their kid from our kitchen table. She’s a smart one, that Taylor. And once movie-candy-toy distractions stop working, I’m going to have to step up my mothering skills. Or my story telling skills. Most likely both.

Cold turkey

So if you’ve followed this blog for awhile, you already know that my daughter has been a binky fanatic since she was a newborn.

Yes, YES! I know that she is now a fully functioning three year old and not a baby, but the pacifier was something that always soothed her, and whenever we would get close to yanking it something would come up, like moving into a big girl bed or her brother being born, that would cause us to look the other way and say we’d take care of it a little further down the road. But then a few months ago, while Taylor was snuggled into our bed and I was in the rocker feeding Luke, she turned and looked at me, popped the pacifier out of her mouth and rambled off a story that included such words as, Wonderful, Ridiculous, and Delicious. And right then and there I knew I had let this whole binky business go on long enough. If she could talk like a big kid, she needed to act like one too.

So at first I thought we had the perfect excuse to say buh-bye to the binky: Preschool. And while Taylor starting school for the first time causes me to have anxiety attacks, a good side-effect would be that I could play up the fact that only big kids can go to school. And big kids don’t use binkies. And when I told her that a few weeks ago, she just cocked her head to one side, squinted her eyes at me and chirped back, Okay. And then continued to color or play with her dolls or do whatever it was that she was doing. And I exhaled and thought, Well, THAT was easy.

And then earlier this week, as we were getting her shoes on to go to the Y, she started talking about how excited she was to go to school at the end of summer. And I kept agreeing with her, and then I reminded her that when she started going to school she was going to have to get rid of her binkies. And I could see the worry start to bubble up inside of her, so I dug down and grabbed a combination of all the getting-rid-of-the-binky stories I’d collected over the past months, and this is what I came up with: So, you know, Honey. Instead of throwing your old binkies away, something we could do is mail them to the Princess Binky Fairy. And you know what she’ll do with all of them? She’ll give all your binkies to the baby fairies that don’t have any. What do you think about that?

Yep. Sometimes that’s how I roll in this fabulous job called Motherhood. I spew total nonsense at my kid and then sit back, cover my face and wait for it to backfire. But it didn’t. And after telling her about Princess Binky Fairy – Do you like how I threw in both the Princess AND the Fairy? That’s skill. – Well, after hearing about the mythical ruler of pacifiers, all the anxiety of giving away her binkies absolved and she looked at me with a smile and said, Yeah, Mom. I wanna do that! I wanna give all my binkies to the baby fairies.

But then something unexpected happened. That night as we were upstairs going back and forth between bedrooms getting the kids ready for bed, Taylor went running into her room, grabbed her binky and came trotting back to us, announcing that she wanted to send her pacifier to the Princess Binky Fairy right then and there. She was all done. And Chris and I just looked at each other all wide-eyed and were like, Really? Are you sure? Because you don’t have to send them until school starts if you don’t want to. And she lifted her chin and said, NO MORE BINKIES FOR ME! And we were all, Sounds good to us! We are so proud of you!

And I’m pretty sure it took about four minutes after crawling into bed for storytime for her to truly start to regret her hasty decision, as Chris said she just laid there, twitching and fidgeting after he finished reading her book to her. And when he came downstairs and gave me the report, we relaxed for about two seconds before we could hear the pitter-patter of little, Taylor-feet scurrying around her bedroom above us. So I went upstairs, tucked her back in and gave her a big hug and kiss and told her again how proud I was of her. And then ten minutes later, Chris went back up the stairs to repeat the process, this time laying in bed with her and tickling her back until she finally calmed down and fell asleep.

And then at 11.30 that night, we were woken up by the sounds of Taylor howling and crying out from her room. And Chris jumped up first, stumbling and comatose, found his way into her room and tried to soothe her back to sleep. And after fifteen-more minutes of her sobbing, I tapped him out and took a turn lying in bed with her, wrapping myself around her little, upset body, running my fingertips gently up and down her arms and the back of her neck until she stopped shaking and slowly went back to sleep. Oh, it was heartbreaking! And I totally would have stayed in her bed all night snuggling her, but knew it was only a matter of time before Luke would wake up and need to nurse, so I gently slipped my arms out from under her and quietly made my way back to our bedroom.

And luckily that was our only real binky-withdrawal episode of the night, as the next morning my Princess trotted into our room and jumped into bed with us and proudly showed me that she only brought in her blankie and NOT her binky. Because, I no use binkies anymore, Mom. I send them to the baby fairies. And I just gave her big squeezes and cheek kisses and told her over and over again what a big girl she was and how proud I was of her.

And to make the process official, we went ahead and mailed the binkies to the Princess Binky Fairy that afternoon:

So we mailed them off on Tuesday and today is Thursday, and with the exception of Monday night’s binky-withdrawal, it’s been pretty smooth sailing. Well, other then the fact that she hasn’t taken a real nap in the past few days, but I’m hoping that is because our summer-schedule has been a bit crazy this week. PLEASE, UNIVERSE! Please, please, please let us keep our daily quiet time! Mama just got the third and final-book of the Hunger Games series and needs to read it NOW before I explode in anticipation.

And like all other transitions we’ve made with Taylor in the past three years that I fully expected to rock our worlds, she’s handled ditching the binky exceedingly well. I really am so proud of her, and totally admire that she is so proud of herself too. Never once in the past few days has she asked for a binky-fix. If anything, she just keeps reminding us how awesome she is because she doesn’t need them anymore because, I’m a BIG GIRL, Mom. Yes, she is a big girl. A big girl that sleeps in a grown-up bed, refuses to sit in booster seats at restaurants and, now, donates her binkies to baby fairies. But she’ll always be my precious baby T.

Three months old

Luke celebrated his quarter-year birthday this past week. And even though he still seems brand new to me, everyone else is mistaking him for a toddler. Or a teenage heartthrob. Yep, we’ve got a big dreamboat on our hands. Watch out, ladies. Because he LOVES to flirt.

My son is literally growing bigger and bigger everyday. He is filling out all of his six-month clothes, and barely squeezing into size-2 diapers. He is also getting super strong, holding his head up pretty steadily and putting a good amount of pressure behind his constantly kicking legs. And he’s already got the baby-deathgrip mastered, aimlessly pulling at my hair and clothing with such a mighty grasp that you have to pry each of his chubby digits away from whatever he’s managed to catch in order to release it. So here I am, packing away my cute earrings and necklaces again.

And I know I’m a bit prejudice, but Luke really is the happiest baby I’ve ever seen. He is constantly cheesing, giggling and cooing. You barely have to look at him and he’ll crack a big smile, hijacking your attention and forcing you to drop whatever you’re doing to watch him beam back at you with those giant blue eyes.

And other than growing and smiling, we have a handful of milestones to report going into month three. First swim, first time meeting his Uncle Will and Uncle Ryan, getting baptized, first fight. Yep, I just said first fight. Two weeks ago while Luke was snoozing in the baby swing at my gym’s childwatch, a kid Taylor’s age walked up to my baby boy and scratched at his face while the workers weren’t looking. And it happened right before I got back from my workout, so when I go into the room I hear this awful screaming and see one of the workers holding a hysterical Luke, who is bleeding out of his mouth and ear.

Yeah, it’s pretty safe to say I TOTALLY LOST IT. And after snatching up my newborn and trying to console him, which inevitably led to me feeding him in the back room of the nursery, he calmed down and returned to his happy, smiley self. And after a few more giggles from Luke and a few deep breaths from me, we both regained composure and the mother of the perpetrator came in to apologize. And she was more hysterical than I was, and immediately I flipped the switch and repeatedly told her, It’s okay! He’s fine! Because he was totally alright, and because I know that if in three years someone had to pull me off a treadmill because Luke attacked an infant I would feel awful.

And when I called Chris and gave him the details of Luke’s first fight and total recovery, he laughed and said two things, One that this would definitely not be the last time our son would get roughed up while we were away from him, and Two being that that Mr Scratchy-Pants better watch his back as soon as our future linebacker starts walking.

So I survived my son’s first scuffle without any gray hairs, but something that is totally stressing me out on a daily basis is trying to contain his, er, how shall I phrase it? His firehouse? Basically, my son is peeing all over the place. On a number of occasions, my morning routine is wake up, feed Luke, attempt to change his diaper and then scrub the walls clean. One morning he actually peed all over his own face. There he was, all smiley and giggly after waking up and getting his breakfast when – BAM! – in the split-second between me taking off one diaper to retrieve another he started peeing with an exact trajectory that hit him right in his eyes. And if you could have seen his little face, blinking and twitching and trying to figure out WHAT IS THAT?! Oh my, it was hilarious. But after cleaning him up and then jokingly telling Chris what had just happened, my husband balked and said, Ugh, GROSS! And I was all, Really? Your kid just peed in his own face. THAT’S funny. And impressive.

But don’t worry, folks. All of these little hiccups are making my son tougher by the minute. I mean, he has to guard himself against his big sister everyday, who is still giving her little brother lots and lots of love. Big hugs and smothering kisses kinds of love. And as nerve-racking as that is for me, he absolutely ADORES her. And he tracks her movement across the room with his baby blues, and always cracks a smile when she’s pays him any sort of attention. Even if it is aggressive-love, as long as he’s happy and safe, and Taylor’s not feeling neglected, I’m one happy Mama.

So, Wow!, here we are with a three-month old. I seriously cannot believe how fast the past months have gone. And how smooth everything is going. I almost don’t like to talk about it, and am kinda waiting for the bottom to drop out at any moment. But it hasn’t yet. So, for now, I’m just going to soak-up every second of this calm wonderfulness that is our family, and sit back and smile and flirt with my son as much as I can.

Deja Rubes

A few weeks ago I got home from the pool with the kids and Chris met us in the driveway with a grim look on his face. He then told me that he had been throwing the tennis ball for Ruby in the front yard when he heard her shriek and come back gimpy with the ball, hobbling around and not putting any pressure on her back right leg. And we just looked at each other like, Oh no. Not again.

Right after Taylor was born, Ruby injured her left leg and went into a period where she would hide under the guest beds and refuse to interact with us. At first we thought she was just peeved about the baby coming and knocking her down a notch on our attention totem pole, but then when she started walking on three legs, we took her in to our vet and he diagnosed her with a torn ACL. We were lucky to find a reputable canine surgeon in the area who operated on our four-legged daughter and replaced her knee with a titanium hinge. And after three months of recovery, which included six weeks of extremely limited activity, followed by six weeks of leash walks and no running, Rubes was healed. And back to her previous, hyperactive self.

So after her recent leg injury, we held our breaths and said a few prayers that it was just a sprain. But it didn’t heal. And last week, our fears were confirmed when Dr Crouch once again said that she tore her ACL and needed the exact same surgery she had three years ago. So tomorrow morning we’ll take our eight-year old canine child in to get her second bionic knee put it. We know what to expect this time around, and it’s going to be hard to keep her inactive and confined while her new knee heals, not to mention budget the mind-numbing cost of it into our finances. But we don’t have a choice. She’s a part of our family. And we will do all we can to nurse her back to her normal, spastic self. Wish us luck.

Taylor and her cousins

So Taylor and Luke are the only grandchildren on both sides. And while that is wonderful for extreme spoilage and undivided attention from all of their grandparents and aunts and uncles, it also means they don’t have any first-cousins. So when Chris’s cousins, Angel and Deanne, and their families came into town to help celebrate Luke’s baptism, Taylor was overjoyed to be surrounded by some pint-sized members of our family tree.

In fact, she stopped calling her new friends by their names after a while, and just started referring to them all as, My Cousin. As in, Hold my hand My Cousin. And, I’ll be right back My Cousin. And, Watch me jump into the pool My Cousin.

It really did make my heart smile to see her have so much fun with her relatives. And until Libba, Will and Ryan give her a first-cousin, I’m happy to know that she’ll always have her My Cousins to party with at family reunions.

Priest, prophet and king

I started taking my RCIA classes to become a Catholic when I was 10 weeks pregnant with Luke, and throughout my conversion process, all of my class members watching eagerly as my belly grew and grew and grew, and then one Sunday I showed up with my newborn baby boy to introduce to them. I had a lot of divine guidance and personal revelations during my pregnancy, and I do believe that my spiritual journey not only strengthened my faith, but made me a better person in general.

So for Luke to get baptized was a pretty important thing for me, as I feel like he has been my closest partner during my conversion. On Easter Vigil, right after I celebrated the Eucharist for the first time, I turned to my left and watched as Father Ed blessed Luke in Chris's arms behind me. And as our priest made the sign of the cross on Luke's forehead, my two-week old son smiled. A for-real smile, not just gas. And it made my special night that much more awesome. And I knew that his baptism would be a great event.

And it was especially momentous because both his godparents were able to be there with us. My brother, Will, is Luke's godfather, and Chris's cousin, Angel, is his godmother. Both of these people are so very important to Chris and I, and I know they are going to be great influences to my son as he grows up.

And while Luke’s baptism was a special event for our family, the actual Mass last Sunday was a big deal for our entire Saint Eugene’s Parish, as we were welcoming a new priest to our church. Father Pat is in his early 30s and comes to us from Charlotte, and Chris and I were thrilled to introduce our family to him with such an important celebration.

Luke played it cool the entire service, barely flinching when Father Pat poured the water over his noggin, baptizing him in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Which was awesome for us, but a bit boring for the rest of the congregation, who probably were hoping for a little more excitement – read, hysterical screaming – like they got when Miss Taylor was baptized.

It was a wonderful event, and I was so happy to have so many of our family and extended family members there to share in it with us. I know I have said this many times, but I am very grateful for all of my blessings. Especially for my loving husband and our healthy, happy children. I thank God for these gifts everyday.

Say Uncle

My brother, Will, and Chris's brother, Ryan, each made the trip to Asheville to meet their first-ever nephew this past weekend, and it was pretty awesome to see my little man surrounded by his uncles for a few days.

And both Chris and I loved spending time with our little brothers as well. With Ryan teaching at a high school in rural Montana, we hadn't had a chance to see him since Taylor's second birthday. Meaning we had a lot of catching up to do.

And we were also happy that Will's super fabulous girlfriend, Devon, came along with him from Colorado to join in the chaos. I had met her for the first time this past fall back at the farm, and it was wonderful to be able to spend some more time getting to know her and showing her around Asheville.

Will and Ryan had only met each other one other time, and that was at my wedding nearly eight years ago. So for both of them to be able to spend some time together and get to know each other was long overdue. And, no surprise here, they both got along marvelously.

I have a feeling these both these guys are going to be pretty big influences to Luke throughout his life. And I couldn't be happier. Just as long as they don't teach him how to rummage through Mom and Dad's pantry looking for the pineapple rum in the wee-hours of the morning.

Baby you're a firework

We had a super fabulous Fourth of July weekend, between bringing Luke in the pool for his inaugural float to Chris having a three-day weekend, we were so busy playing that I totally neglected all chores and housework. Which any other week would be totally fine, but with family coming into town in a few days to help celebrate Mr Luke's big baptism this upcoming weekend… Well, let's just say we're scrambling a bit to put our house back in order.

So while we had an awesome weekend and I would love to detail to you all the fun we had, let me just leave you with a few pictures and a brief rundown of our Independence Day.

So we got double-booked for Monday night's festivities, and went to a party at our friend's, the Andersons, for a few hours before heading to the Bounds for their annual Firecracker Spectacular. And while at our first stop, Taylor and her buddy, Marin, were having a blast running around the yard and showing off in front of all the beautiful flowers.

And then the sparklers were busted out, and Chris helped as Taylor grasped the night's first firework.

And then she held a second.

And on the third sparkler, in an attempt to show Miss Marin how beautiful the colors were, she burnt her buddy with a few sparks from her glittery, flaming treasure.

And, OH THE SCREAMS! It was almost in slow motion, as all the surrounding adults shrieked, NO!, coupling absolute terror with the straying sparks, and scaring poor Marin half-to-death and having her burst into tears. And then Taylor started crying too, and in between sobs you could hear her saying, I SORRY MARIN! I SO SORRY! And luckily there were no burns or damage to Marin, just two scared little girls and a lesson learned on sparklers. Show them to your friends at a distance.

And by the time all tears were dried and we made it to the next party, it was again time for the fireworks to be lit. So this time we stuck with the bombpops.

And we kept all Amys family members a reasonable distance from the combustable party-favors. And the night ended with Oooh and Aaahs, instead of third-degree burns.

Happy birthday, America.

Waterbaby

With the okay of our pediatrician during our two-month checkup, we brought Luke into the pool for his first-ever swim this past weekend. My little man has been such a trooper during all of our extended hours logged at the pool this summer, chilling in his bag under the awning or barely getting his feet while I sit with him at the edge of the pool. So to actually get him suited up - double swim diapered, I didn't want an accident on his part to shut down the pool on Fourth of July weekend - and put him in the water was a pretty big deal for us.

And even though the water was a bit brisk, he really seemed to enjoy it, never squealing and just keeping his big, blue eyes locked on his big sister as she jumped in and out and fluttered around him.

And I love how comfortable he is in the water, and it makes me think back to when I was pregnant with him and trying to modify my workouts around my growing belly and numerous growing aches and pains, and how the only activity that constantly felt good to me was swimming laps. So maybe his love for being in the water was predestined. Perhaps he's going to be the next Michael Phelps. Or possibly a future Jacques Cousteau. Or maybe a beachbum. Either way, I will always love him unconditionally. But for the present, our pool-time just got way more fun.