Mamas day out

A few months ago my friend, Paige, and her husband, Danny, received complimentary tickets and VIP passes for the Carolina-Green Bay football game in Charlotte through their Budweiser rep at their restaurant. But then Danny was invited on a trip up to New York for the same weekend, leaving Paige with an extra ticket. And when she invited me to join her, I felt a slight twinge of guilt being that Chris has been a lifelong Packers fan and I haven’t sat through a full football game since college. But that remorse lasted about ten seconds, because after traveling across the country solo with kids and then coming home to whip everyone into a preschool routine had officially whooped me. Yep, Mama needed a day off.

And we could have been taking a roadtrip to watch paint dry for a day and I would have been happy. But we weren’t. We were going to watch Aaron Rodgers and the boys play some football. Oh, and did I mention that this absolutely fabulous adventure was scheduled for the day after Chris ran the half marathon? So I tried really hard to not act that excited as I kissed my family goodbye and left Chris laying on the couch covered in ice packs with a five-hour energy drink on the table next to him. Be good, kiddos! Mama love you all!

And not only was it wonderful to get a break from being a mom, but it was fantastic to be able to spend some one-on-one time with Paige. We get to see each other about every day, but it always involves policing our kids. So to spend a few uninterrupted hours with my bestie in the car, reminding her about how bad her labor is going to hurt, yet also repeating how fabulous babies are, was the best part of the whole day.

And by the time we actually parked and got to the stadium, we only had about 20 minutes of free beer before the VIP tent closed and the game started. And I became a woman on a mission, plopping down at the bar and forewarning the bartender that I was a stay-at-home-mom on a day off so keep ‘em coming. And she did. And I think everyone was thoroughly impressed by my skills.

VIP Baby Scully:

We’re VIPs. No one look us in the eyes!

And once we actually got into the game, I realized what a sweet set-up we had. Our seats were on the 50-yeard line on the home side, about 14 rows up. We were basically on the field.

When a hot pregnant lady asks for extra jalapenos on her nachos, you better believe they pay attention:

And it was a great game. As much of a Packers fan as I am, I was eager to check out Cam Newton and all of his hype. And just being in the presence of life football is always fun – The players, the crowd, the music. It’s awesome. Especially when your team wins.

It was the best Mamas day out ever. Thanks, Paige!

Family on the run

Last summer I was in the best shape of my life. I was training for the elusive Asheville half-marathon, and was able to run ten-miles at a time up the sides of mountains. I felt like a Nike ad. And then I got pregnant, and for the first ten-weeks Luke was living inside of me, I replaced all vigorous workouts with crippling bouts of morning sickness that would leave me curled around the toilet instead of sweating at the gym. Good thing he turned out to be such a lovely, happy baby. Otherwise I might be a bit resentful that I gave up my goddess-legs for him.

So a few weekends ago the annual JBL Memorial 5k came about, and because Chris works with the organizers of this race, we always pledge to have at least one member of family running in it and helping contribute. And because Chris had been training for the half – because he’s awesome and didn’t push a baby out of his body in April – even though he had promised to run in the 5k he was feeling a bit tired after running his ten-mile warm-up for the following weekend. And so I volunteered to take his place. And when he looked at me and said, Really? You can do it? I shrugged my shoulders and nonchalantly chirped back, Hey, it’s JUST three miles. It’ll be fun.

And so the next morning we got up early and I grabbed my super-wrinkled, bottom-of-the-pile running shorts off the shelf and we made our way to the race. And I’m not gonna lie, I was fidgety and anxious. The electric buzz that surrounds the beginning of a race is intoxicating, and if you’ve ever competed you know what I’m talking about. Your number is safety-pinned on your shirt, your shoes are laced tight and you check everyone else out while half-heartedly stretching out your legs and getting your head wrapped around what you’re about to accomplish. You line up like a herd of livestock, force yourself to take a few deep breaths in and out and then you wait for the bullhorn. It’s amazing. And it just takes one race to be hooked, so imagine taking over a year off from this overwhelming running-high and then be back on the starting line. I was soaring.

But I was only flying emotionally. Because as exciting as it is to run in your first race back, it WAS my first time running more then two miles outside in a year. And while I may work out from time to time, not to mention carry the heaviest five month old in a carrier on my chest every day, I’m not nearly back in running-shape. So while mile one felt great, half-way through mile two I noticed there were old ladies passing me and my side started cramping. And after walking through a water stop near the end, I forced my legs to keep moving until I crossed the finish-line, and eventually ended up getting beat by an eight-year old son of our friends. Oh, and THIS is what I looked like:

Pretty hot, eh? Am I running a race or playing a piano? BUT. I am so lightening fast that Chris couldn’t take a clear picture of me. And I beat those two random other people. Kapow! I’m awesome.

And while I do make fun of myself, I did finish well, just at my thirty-minute goal. And after getting done, I didn’t barf. I actually was ecstatic. And then I got a couple sweet high-fives and hugs from my cheering section.

And you better believe that Taylor and I went straight to the refreshment tent after I was done, loading up on Krispy Kreme donuts and Doritos. Nothing says healthy start to your Sunday like housing a couple glazed donuts and a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos after huffing it on the flattest 3.1 mile-course in Asheville.

And after watching some more people finish, they announced that this year they would be holding a kid’s fun-run on the soccer fields after the 5k was finished. And because Taylor’s little buddy, Rell, was going to run in it, my daughter wanted to run in it too. And since she’d never shown any interest in running before, Chris and I were both like, Um, Sweetheart. Do you really want to run? Because we can just cheer if you want? To which she housed the rest of her pre-game chippies and answered back, I’m running too, Mama! And so we signed the waiver, transferred my race bib onto her shirt and put her on the start line.

How cute is that? It was way more adorable in person, with all the kids squealing and the parent’s cheering.

And when Taylor crossed the finish line, she had the biggest smile on her face and was so proud of herself. And we were so proud of her too. Our little runner.

As we were driving home, she sat back in her seat with a kung-fu grip on her ribbon and kept jabbering to Luke, YUKE! Mama and me run a race. You and Daddy cheer for us. You say, Go, Mama! Go, Taylor!

Well the following weekend Chris was able to get his running-high, but in much stronger dose, as he huffed it on the hardest, hilliest 13.1 mile-course in the Southeast. He had signed up for the half-marathon in February, and trained off and on throughout the spring and summer. And he’ll be the first to tell you that he was in much better shape the previous year, so when we showed up bright and early that morning for the start, you could see a bit of anxiety in his face as he envisioned what the next two hours of his life would be like.

But we saw him off, then I took the kids and we cheered him on at the halfway point, and then met him again at the finish line. And he did so well... Finishing just two minutes longer than his trained-for time last year. I am so proud of him.

Now, if only Luke could step it up and start racing with us, then our fanatical little running family would be complete. Come on, Buddy! You’re already FIVE months old. Don’t be a slacker.

Just kidding. Kind of. Hey, YOU try carrying 20-pounds on your chest everyday. Like I said before, Good thing he’s so cute.

Five months old

My little big man turned a whopping five months old this past week, yet every time I see him smile at me, it’s hard to remember what my life was like without him. He already has my heart completely and totally wrapped around his little chubby fingers. I mean, look at that face! I think it’s safe to say he’s going to make many other hearts skip a few beats before he’s done.

So while it’s already confirmed that Luke is the most beautiful baby boy I’ve ever seen, he’s also the biggest. We had his four month check-up right before we left for the farm and his then-updated stats were 18 pounds, 12 ½ ounces in weight, and 26 ½ inches long, putting him the 99th-percentile for both weight and height. Just like Taylor has always been. It appears that Chris and I produce giant children. What can I say... It’s a talent.

His head measurement, however, was completely off the charts. And when Dr Childers brought up the growth-graph and it was that far above the norm, he got a bit concerned and started feeling his fontanel cautiously and checking his eyes, which, of course, got me super-duper alarmed. And then he looked at me and said, So. Is there a history of big head’s in either your and your husband’s families? And I was like, Well, I think I’ve got kind of a big head. I mean, my hats always leave marks on my forehead. And then he let me know of a condition called Hydrocephalus, which is also knows as water-on-the-brain, where an infant’s head might swell because there is an abnormal amount of cerebral fluid in their brain. And when he was explaining this, all I heard was, Hey. Something’s wrong with your kid’s brain. And, obviously, my reaction was to freak out.

But then he told me the symptoms of Hydrocephalus, which were constant irritability, excessive vomiting and eyes that gaze downwards. And I was all, Um. No, no and no. That’s not Luke at all. And because my son is so giggly, bouncy and just totally on track developmentally, and even though we don’t have giant heads in our gene-pool, Dr Childers said we didn’t even need to do an ultrasound to determine that he is more than likely totally perfect and just has a big melon. Yep, my son has a huge, handsome head full of super-smart brains. And we’re just going to be stretching out his sweatshirts from here on out to fit over it.

And even with that big noggin, he has really started to rock tummy-time this past month, using his super-human neck muscles to lift his gaze up to the world while laying on his stomach. He has turned into such a roly-poly little baby, and whenever you put him down on the carpet upstairs, he coos and shrieks with excitement, rolling over to show off his upward dog pose and then rolling back over and grabbing his feet and trying his hardest to put them in his mouth.

Oh yes, EVERYTHING, goes straight to his mouth these days. And he constantly always soaked in his own drool. And I blame those two itty-bitty bottom front teeth for all of it, as even though they still haven’t popped all the way through, they catch absolutely everything that he manages to cram inside his mouth: His teething-toys, his sister’s artwork, my boobs. Nothing is exempt. Luckily he’s so freaking cute, otherwise it’d be easy to get mad that everything’s tender or covered in spit.

We have also graduated from the bouncy chair to the exersaucer, as we had to put those rock-hard monster thighs to use. He just bounces and bounces and bounces, and drools and drools and drools, and smiles and smiles and smiles.

And, more than once, I’ve had to remind his big sister to STOP SPINNING YOUR BROTHER! But it’s really hard to reprimand her for it, because every time she gets near him, he beams from ear-to-ear and squeals in delight. He just adores her.

And that brotherly-love is something I’m constantly reminding Taylor of when he slobbers all over her stuff and grabs for her hair. Honey, Luke is just a BABY. He doesn’t know any better. And then I turn to my son and whisper, Hey buddy, I don’t know how much longer I can keep covering for you with that excuse. Especially when you're smiling that big while pulling her hair.

He is also becoming super vocal, always cooing and screeching and singing like a bird every time his big, blue eyes catch a glimpse of something he fancies. Whenever I need to set him down in a safe, secure place – read: Away from his sister’s reach - to do a chore or take a shower, I put him in his crib and turn on the mobile. And you can hear him all over the house, shrieking at the tiny, moving objects. I’m almost positive he tries to talk them down from above to get into his mouth. He’s going to be like his father – A constant negotiator.

We’re not sleeping through the night yet, as he is still getting up once to eat. And even though Taylor was totally sleeping straight through at this point, I can’t complain that much because he goes down easily at 7.30 or 8, wakes up around 3 or 4, and then goes back down until 8 or 9 the next morning. That’s good sleeping, for both baby and Mama. We were worried that with him and Taylor now sharing a room we would be up constantly, and while there have been a handful of nights that we have been awake at all hours, for the most part they are cohabitating very well. Thank you, Universe! I am starting to forgive you for abandoning me in the Atlanta airport with two kids.

So here we are, just a few weeks away from Luke’s half-year birthday, and while it pains me how fast the past months have flown by, just watching how much his charming little personality has started to poke through recently makes me so excited to watch him grow and see what kind of person he will become. He is such a precious gift to me, Chris and Taylor, and our family dynamic has improved a hundred-time over since he joined us. And knowing that it’s only going to get better from here makes it easier to watch as my teeny-tiny son grows up before our eyes.

Stuck in Hot-lanta. Our adventure to Iowa, the finale.

So other then the gum-swallowing incident on our first flight of our trip, I must say that my initial adventure as a mother-of-two on an airplane went exceedingly well. I felt like I stayed cool, calm and collected the majority of the trip, thanks mostly to the portable-DVD player Chris bought us the day before we left. And also partly to the promise of the giant beer I would be able to drink after getting off the plane. So even though I was sorta anxious about our flying back home, I fully expected us to have another drama-free trip. Silly me.

Getting through security at the Omaha airport was the easiest part of the journey, thanks to the fact that my sister was able to walk through with us because she was flying out later that afternoon. Let me tell ya, trying to get a three year old’s shoes off, your own shoes off, liquids out of the carry on and then a baby out of their carrier, bribe a toddler to walk solo through a large metal detector and then put everything back together... It makes flying a bit unbearable. So having Libba helping us take off shoes and push things into trays was awesome. And after saying our goodbyes to Beeba, we boarded our on-time flight to Atlanta and I called Chris and told him we would be smooching his face in just a few short hours.

And here’s where it gets dicey, folks. Here’s where the wheels start to fall off the bus. So about two hours into the flight, the pilot voices over that we’re beginning our initial decent into Atlanta and should be on the ground in about thirty minutes. But then, about an hour later, he comes on again and says we had been circling the airport, waiting to be cleared because there were several tornados in the area. Yep, TORNADOS. Big funnel clouds of destruction in the air with us. Awesome. And then twenty minutes after announcing that, he says we’ve been cleared to land, but that the flight attendants must take their seats immediately because it was going to be a bit turbulent. And, y’all, I have flown many times on many small planes before, and that was the WORSE turbulence I had ever been through. We were dropping and jerking from side-to-side, and all I could do was fasten a death-grip on both kids, feed Taylor two packs of Dora gummies and say about million Hail Marys.

And when we finally touched down, taxied to our gate and got off, I realized we were about an hour behind schedule, but after looking up the gate for our next flight home, everything looked to be on time and totally doable. So, with Luke in the Ergo, Taylor on my arm and two carry-ons strapped around my body, we weaved our way though the evil abyss knows as the Atlanta airport. We went up and down escalators, on and off trains, in and out of bathrooms, and then we finally found our gate. And after getting our new seat assignments, I asked the lady working how much time we had before boarding, because there was a Ben and Jerry’s directly across from our gate that was screaming my name. And after she promised we had enough time to get a tasty treat, I walked my little entourage over and got Taylor and myself a wonderful, sweet reward for making it thus far.

And six minutes later, with non-licked ice cream cones in hand, we walked back across the concourse to our gate and I stood there blinking at a digital screen that instead of reading Asheville, NC, now said Monroe, LA. And I looked to a guy sitting there and said, Huh. Did they change the gate to Asheville? And he snapped back, No. They cancelled the flight to Asheville. And I sucked in a deep breath and shrieked back, Cancelled? Did you say CANCELLED? And with one swift movement, I spiked my not-even-tasted ice cream cone in the trash, grabbed my phone out of my pocket, called Chris and started crying.

And after my husband talked me off the ledge, I let Taylor finish her ice cream and we packed up our belongings and made our way to the Delta customer services counter, which had about a million people in it. We stood in line for about twenty minutes, and then Taylor tugged on my arm and said, Mom. I gotta go potty. And my response was, Of course you do!

So we lost our place in string and went and found the nearest bathroom, did our business and parked ourselves in the back of the procession of other angry fliers for another forty minutes before it was finally my turn to whine to the person working. And after unsuccessfully trying to get on board any flights to any of the airports within a two-hour radius of Asheville, I was told my options were to either accept the fact that we were rebooked for a flight that left at 9.30 the next morning, or I could sit around and be 27th on the stand-by list for a flight that left for Asheville at 11 that night. So basically I was stranded in Atlanta overnight with two kids and no luggage. And it was all I could do to not slam my forehead on the counter in front of me to put myself out of my misery.

But luckily my husband is fabulous at crisis management, because even though his first response was to drive the four hours south through the tornadoes to rescue us, he helped me calm down and come to terms that the only logical solution would be for me and the kids to shack up at a hotel for the night and come back the next morning for the rescheduled flight home. So Chris called and made us a reservation, and Taylor, Luke, our two carry-ons and I reworked our way on and off trains, up the escalators and out the doors of the airport towards the hotel shuttles. And I must have looked at frazzled as I felt, because the minute I got outside, a loud guy in a Best Western shirt screamed at me, Hey! Lady with a baby! Where you going? And even though my response was the Hyatt North and not the Best Western, he smiled and said, That shuttle won’t be back for another 20 minutes and you’re right next to us. Get in!

And seven minutes later, after generously tipping Mr Best Western, I walked into the Hyatt where, after speaking with and being forewarned by Chris, they were waiting for me with my room key and a room service list. And after getting into our suite, I finally let Luke out of the Ergo for the first time since landing in Atlanta, and OH MAN! it felt good. And after having a crib delivered, we adventured back down to the lobby to grab a bite for dinner and a few beers for Mama to take back to the room. Then I fed Luke and put him down to bed, turned on a movie for Taylor and took a much needed shower, followed shortly after by all three of us snoring like logs, eager to end the day.

And, Thank Goodness!, I had packed an extra set of clothes for both kids and an extra shirt for me in my carry-on, so when we ventured out of our room the next morning to catch the shuttle we only slightly resembled gypsies. So we chowed down our continental breakfast, got in and out of the shuttle and found ourselves at the evil Atlanta airport for the second time in the last 24 hours. And before walking in, I raised my arms and shook my fist in the air and said, Today, TODAY, I shall win. We WILL be leaving this city TODAY! And then I tripped over Taylor while coaxing her to go into the giant revolving door to get us inside.

And that should have been indicative of what the next five hours would hold for me. Like when I took Luke out of the baby-carrier to walk through the metal detector, and realized everything under the Ergo, including myself and my son, was warm, wet and covered in poop. Or like when after we finally got down the escalator, on and off the train and back up to our concourse and designated gate, I saw that our new, rescheduled flight was delayed another two hours and on the other side of the airport. I mean, it was just getting comical. I was almost waiting for someone to pop out of corner with a video camera announcing that I was the latest contestant on a gameshow called The Universe is Messing with You. But after putting our last diaper on Luke and depleting the final surge of the portable-DVD player’s battery, we finally boarded our flight home, which, ironically, only lasted 45-minutes and both kids slept the entire time on.

And the minute we touched down onto the Asheville runway, I let out the deepest, longest breath ever. I retrieved our luggage from the Delta counter just in time to see Chris walk in to greet us. And even though we smelled and looked awful, he gave all of us big hugs and kisses to welcome us back home. Finally.

Taylor becomes a bona fide farmgirl. Our adventure to Iowa, Part 6

Chris and I moved to Asheville over eight years ago, yet when people ask me where I’m from I boastfully say, Iowa! See that Tiger Hawk license plate on my car? I represent. But as much as I like to deny it, I am raising a southern belle. Taylor was born here, and this is her home. And including the fact that, until recently, she refused to wear anything but dresses, my little Princess can be quite the priss-pot. So I was interested to see how Miss Girly would handle ten days on the farm.

But after catching fish and mooing at cows, Taylor continued to get down and dirty, whether it be soaking herself, and her Yaya, with the hose in the front yard:

Jumping off the dock into Taylor Lake:

Riding in the back of a pickup truck:

Or climbing to the top of the sand pile:

But don’t worry, folks. Even though she took on the rough-and-tumble persona, she was still all princess at heart. Check out the awesome Toddlers and Tiaras inspired pose my sister taught her:

Thanks a lot, Lib. Don’t worry, I shall remember these fabulous quirks you taught my kids when you and Dirk bring your own impressionable beings into the world. Yep. If anyone ever asks why whenever they try to take a picture of Taylor, she strikes a pose and says, Fabulous!, I’m gonna totally blame her Aunt Beeba.

Spending time with Beeba. Our adventure to Iowa, Part 5

Even though my sister only lives five-hours-and-change from me and we get to see each other more often then we do other immediate members of our family, there was something truly special about being able to spend time with her at the place where we were both raised. And even more awesome than that was being able to watch her share some marvelous moments with my kids.

They really do love their Beeba. And so do I.

Our nonstop midwest playdate. Our adventure to Iowa, Part 4

Since our trip back to the farm was for ten days, it allowed me enough time to see and spend quality time with members of my extended family and many hometown friends. And because Taylor is quite the three year old socialite, she was more than happy to show off her Yaya and Papa’s digs to everyone that visited us. And so was I.

And the very first visitor we had was my college roommate, Emily. Funny that Em and I only lived together for one of the five years I was at Iowa, but she will always remain the only person, other than my husband, that I successfully cohabitated with. She’s my soul-sister, and the fact that she and her husband moved to Lake View from Colorado a year ago makes me extremely happy that I can see her whenever I get back to the farm.

And our very next visitors were my Aunt Sandy, Uncle Scott, cousin Angie and cousin Erica and her two super loveable kiddos, Cole and Ava. And while T is always excited to spend time with her Auntie Em, having some pint-sized cousin-buddies at the farm was a true treat. She showed them Taylor Lake and they patrolled the farm, looking for frogs, mooing at cows and acting thicker than thieves.

Our following playdate was with none other than the infamous Stella Doxtad, daughter of my brother-from-another-mother (and father) James and his lovely bride, Emily. They were kind enough to lend us all the baby gear we needed for the trip, and I was so happy to see their smiley faces for a morning playfest while we were back. Miss Stella was super pumped to see “the baby”, which could only be referring to my little big man, who is equal in size to this sweet toddler. But she still insisted on “holding” Luke, and then was very excited to show Taylor her new, fancy swingset.

On Thursday my sister, Libba, flew in and we took a trip up to Storm Lake to have a park playdate with our fellow blogger and fellow Pirate and Hawkeye, Billi, and her two girls. What’s wonderful about this thing we call the blogosphere is that even if you don’t see a certain hometown friend for, like, nine years, you can still feel like you practically know her, not to mention her fun-loving girls. We adults had a blast catching up and rubbing Billi’s pregnant belly. TOO much fun, actually, as while we were busy gabbing all three of our little misses decided to soak themselves in the lake. Whoops!

Friday morning, Libba, my Mom, my Dad and the kids and I took a trip back up to Storm Lake to run errands and get in-and-out of the car a million times like circus clowns. And the most important of those stops was to see my Grandma, who has been living at BV Manor and fighting Alzheimer's, and introduce her to her newest great-grandchild, Luke. And while it’s always tough to see a loved one in such a deteriorated state, seeing the smile on her face as she held my son made my heart ache. It was a moment.

And our final big playdate of the trip was the soiree that Lib and I hosted at the farm for some of our fellow bloggers. For the past three years, I have been documenting my and my family’s life experiences on this site, as well as following other hometown friends adventures as they navigate through motherhood. We are a tight-knit group. And I couldn’t be more happy about it.

And the blogger-babies seemed pretty happy about getting to know each other as well.

And I must give an obvious shout-out to a special blogger that is overly near-and-dear to me, and that is my high school bestie, Steph. And she made a special trip up from Kansas City with her kids to join us for the fun. And it made my trip all that more special.

So there you have it. Lots of playtime during this trip, and I feel so happy and blessed to have all these fabulous people in my life. And I wish we could play together more then once or twice a year, but I will always cherish all the memories that we snapped together this trip.