Why we will always keep a full gas-can in the garage from here on

One of the things we negotiated into the final contract on our new house from the previous owners was that they included the riding lawn mower. With nearly an acre yard, Chris knew he would need to upgrade from the push-mower he had been using the past nine years at the old house. Plus he was pretty excited to have a new toy.

And the kids were happy about the new tractor mower as well. Luke loved crawling up on the driver’s seat, but would get pretty scared when Chris would start it and ride with him on his lap. The little man always gets a bit sketched with loud noises, especially motors. So once Chris got down to actually wanted to mow, Luke would run inside and hide.

Taylor, on the other hand, was thrilled to ride with Chris while cutting the grass, mostly because she got to wear the big, orange ear muffs and sing at the top of her lungs. She almost treated the tractor as a stage, and I could hear her singing on the farside of the yard while inside the house and over the mower noise. The girl’s got pipes. And she also loves being able to help her Dad steer once in awhile. 

But then after getting used to the noise from a distance, and after seeing how much fun his big sister was having on the tractor, the little man realized that he was ready to help Dad mow too.

Yeah. He REALLY wanted to get on that mower.

And because life can be cruel sometimes, as Chris and Taylor were finishing up the front of the house, the mower ran out of gas right before Luke’s turn. Bummer. But we made it up to him by letting him wear the ear muffs. 

And you can’t feel too bad for him, as I’m sure in about eight years he’s going to be pretty sick of riding that mower every five days in the summer. I mean, that’s why we had kids, right? For the free slave labor. And for the unconditional love and kissable cheeks. 

That's what little boys are made of

After Chris’s parents and brother came and left, Luke definitely missed the nonstop testosterone that had been surrounding him during the days with Greg and Ryan here. My son is turning into a BOY. Not a soft-skinned, cooing baby, but a real live boy. And he would rather be outside getting dirty than inside playing with toys. But it’s a million degrees out and we’re less than a month away from getting a good yard. So when we’re not at the pool or the gym or a playdate, we’re styling princess dolls and playing Candyland inside. Sorry, Buddy. It’s HOT out.

But when Chris comes home, he can barely get one foot in the door before Luke runs at him and throws his hefty-baby body at him and starts laughing. YEA! Another BOY! Save me from these crazy women.

And it really warms my heart that Luke is having this love affair with his Dad. Because Taylor has definitely always reached for me and runs for Mama when she’s happy or upset. Always has. But Luke... Luke just wants Chris. And my sweet husband can’t get enough. In fact, the other night after dinner, Chris realized he needed to grab a few home improvement project supplies before the next day, and because the boy immediately started shrieking and reaching for his Dad at the threat of being left at home with Taylor and me for the second time that day, Chris took him with. And they had a blast. 

And not only is he good at picking out lumber, but Luke is having a blast being out in the garage while Chris is working on house stuff. I’m not saying he’s the best Helper, as most of Chris’s hammers and nails have ended up in the garbage can, but he is having the time of his life. They both are. The little guy just follows the big guy around, touching different things and babbling and swinging his arms in excitement. It’s male bonding. Sweaty, awesome male bonding.

And the other day, after spending a few hours outside together, Chris brought Luke inside and peeled the little guy’s shoes off and a funky smell radiated off of them. And then I grabbed my son and breathed in the sweaty, dirty smells of his hair and my heart broke a little bit... He smelled like a BOY. Not a sweet smelling infant, but a stinky little man. And even though that boy-smell isn’t nearly as intoxicating as the silky baby lotion scent he has after baths, it was still pretty lovely. Because it came off of him. 

He's baaack. Our 2012 spring break adventure, Part 9

Guess who flew back down to the beach yesterday?

Yep… Dad's back. And we are all pretty excited to have him here to enjoy our final days in paradise.

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.

In which I get put on antibiotics and Taylor gets a unicorn

So Monday afternoon I started to feel a bit rundown, which isn’t all that uncommon after coming off a busy Father’s Day weekend and considering the fact that I have been sleeping in three to five hour intervals for the past two months. And then I noticed that my chest was super tender, but chalked it up to getting a Taylor-elbow or running into something. Because I’m a total klutz, and my legs and arms are constantly flailing into objects, resulting in random bruises and scrapes. I’ve never been graceful, and throw in exhaustion and the fact that I’m constantly stepping over and around Taylor and Ruby while holding Luke, I’m bound to always have a few battle-wounds on me.

But then nighttime arrived, and I went from feeling rundown to completely whooped, and I started shaking with the worst body chills I’ve ever had. And my chest went from feeling uncomfortable to having red streaks running across it and being so painful I would scream if any pressure was put on it. And when I looked at Chris and said, I don’t feel very good, he got out the thermometer and took my temperature, which registered at 101-degrees. I was sick and miserable.

And when I finally got out of bed Tuesday morning I felt like I had been hit by a bus. I was so weak I could barely walk up and down the stairs, and my body ached like I had been hit to here and back with a sledgehammer. When I called my doctor’s office and let them know what was going on, they got me right in for an appointment and diagnosed me with Mastitis, which is a bacterial infection prone to mothers who are breastfeeding. And after prescribing me a super-duper antibiotic and telling me to alternate pain meds every three hours, I was sent home to heal and lay on the couch for the rest of the day.

And because Taylor had been cooped up in the house for two days, she had enough pent-up energy to run to the coast and back. Meaning her and I were on completely opposite wavelengths. So Chris came home early and was put directly in charge of exhausting the Princess. And because it was stormy and gross outside, I suggested he take her to the mall. And if you know my husband, you know his deep hatred for shopping. Despises it. Did I ever tell you the story about how he threw a tantrum while we were registering for our wedding? Right there in the middle of Bed Bath & Beyond, Chris spiked a bundle of washcloths to the ground and stormed out of the store because he couldn’t shop one second longer. So sending him and Taylor, the girl who LOVES to shop, to the mall to get out of the house for a few hours was a bit risky. But I didn’t care. I needed to sleep.

And when they got home, Taylor burst through the front door and squealed, MOM! MOM! MOM! and bounded up the stairs into my room to show me what she had suckered her Dad into buying her. A Unicorn Happy Napper, something she had seen many commercials for while watching cartoons and would always jump up and down and scream, I WANT ONE! I NEED A HAPPY NAPPER! And now she had one. And she was beyond thrilled. And Chris was beaming too. And I was all, Huh? I thought you HATED shopping. And he said that when they walked into the As Seen on TV store and she threw her body on top of the unicorn, all he wanted to do was to buy it for her. And the high that was accompanied with getting his precious girl a new treasure was enough to erase the pain of shopping. And I’m sure her squealing and bouncing around him in delight while clinging to her new napping buddy was enough to make the price worth it as well. He even said to me, Brooke, I would have paid $500 for it if I had to. Wrapped. Around. Her. Finger. And once I’m completely healed, I’m totally gonna take him to JCrew and try the Taylor-method of shopping, throwing myself on top of a few sundresses and pair of jeweled flip flops with pure joy and enthusiasm. Let’s see if it works.

Luke... You look a lot like your father

So it’s no big eye-opener that Taylor is a spitting image of me. She’s got my coloring, my eyes, my long legs and my round, chubby cheeks. Poor thing also inherited my booty. And every time I watch her reach around to de-wedgie herself, I cringe for her. Because she’s gonna be picking underwear out of her rear end for the rest of her life. Sorry, Honey.

And before we knew Luke was a Luke and not a Maggie, Chris and I would sit back and try to picture what kind of baby was growing in my belly, and what similarities and differences it would have with big sister Taylor. It was hard for us to imagine having a girl that would look any different then a little mini-Me, but if we were having a boy, I predicted that he would end up looking a lot like Chris. Which would be a major score, because my husband’s a pretty attractive guy, and I’ve seen pictures of him as an itty-bitty, and he was adorable. Except for the phase when he was in middle school where he had braces, glasses and a mullet. And I only bring this up to demonstrate that good looking people go through awkward phases too. And because it’s funny to think of my clean-cut hubba sporting a business-in-the-front-party-in-the-back haircut.

So when Chris’s parents came to visit after Luke was born and kept remarking about how much he looked like Chris as a baby, I was thrilled. Because to me he just looked like a perfect little person. But after comparing pictures, the similarities between baby-Chris and my son are pretty remarkable:

And when I mentioned the resemblance to my Granddaddy over the phone, he just snorted and said, It just doesn’t make any sense when people say a baby looks like the mother or father at this point. It just looks like a baby. And I agreed, but after comparing the above pictures, I still believe that Luke will grow up and follow in his father’s handsome-footsteps. And hopefully also inherit his golf skills, sarcastic sense of humor and ability to do long division in his head. But NOT the mullet. I’ll make sure of that.

Great times with great friends

About six months ago I was on the phone with Emily, my college roomie and bestie, gabbing on and on about how much we missed each other, our respective crazy lives and common interests, and we started talking about running. Both Em and I had started running-running during the beginning of the year, and were remarking on how awesome it felt to up our distances and how much better we felt physically and emotionally after a good run. So then I threw it out there – Hey, Em. Why don’t you come down to Asheville and run the Half-Marathon with me in September? To which she answered with an enthusiastic, Okay!

So last weekend, after nearly three years since the last time we saw each other, Taylor and I waited anxiously at the airport for Emily and her husband, Mike, to arrive in Asheville. And it was all I could do to not tackle her to the ground the minute I saw her. This woman is my soul sister, and just the sight of her made me get tears in my eyes.

And, of course, she and Mike were pretty excited to meet Taylor. And Taylor was more than happy to show-off for company the whole weekend. In fact, Miss T kept referring to Em and Mike as HER friends, as in, Mom. I wanna go play with MY friends.

And even though the primary reason they came in last weekend was for the Half, a race that both my body and my doctor wouldn’t let me run, we all got up bright and early on Saturday to cheer on Chris and Em as they rocked the grueling 13.1-mile course.

And I am so proud of both of them. Especially my husband, who killed it with an amazing time of 1:59:59 on one of the hilliest half marathon courses in the country.

It was also a super treat to be able to watch an Iowa game with other true – read, OBSESSED – Hawkeye fans. And even though the final score wasn’t in our favor, we all stayed up into the wee-hours of Sunday morning cheering on our Hawkeyes in that emotional rollercoaster of a game.

And after sleeping in a bit on Sunday, we all drove North on the Blue Ridge Parkway to soak in the sunshine and marvel at the views.

And for their final night in town, we opted for a toddler-free night of drinks and dinner at the Grove Park and downtown. Not that having Taylor with isn’t a good time, but sometimes it nice to indulge in places that don’t offer kiddie-meals.

All-in-all, it was an absolutely amazing weekend. And other than it going by way too fast, I was so happy to be able to spend some quality time with my friend. Even though we are so far apart in distance, Emily holds such a special place in my heart and in my life. Thank you so much, Friend. Best weekend ever.

Go Daddy Go

Yesterday morning we got up bright and early to cheer Chris on as he ran in the JBL Memorial 5k. And because I ran in this event last year, I gave him the same pep-talk he gave me while I was stretching for last year’s race – Babe. If you’re not first, you’re last.

Inspirational words that he pretty much took to heart, being that he finished 14th out of the 200-plus runners with an impressive time of 22:40. Way to go, Speedy!

Taylor cheering on Chris at the finish line.

Enjoying a post-race treat.

I am so proud of my husband, and can’t wait to cheer him on at the Asheville half marathon next weekend. Yep, I said Cheer not Run With. I hate even talking about it, but after training so hard for so long, I pulled a muscle in my hip during a long run in July that I never was fully able to recover from. And after suffering through a seven mile run last week and then talking with my doctor, we both decided that it would be best to sit this race out and listen to my body.

And after pounding the pavement for the past year to get ready for the half, I would be totally crushed about not being able to run if it weren’t that one of my bestest friends and old college roommate, Emily, and her husband, Mike, are coming into Asheville for the weekend. And the chance to spend time with such a great friend is way better than crossing any finish line.

28 months old

Earlier this week Taylor hit her 28-months-of-being-alive mark, meaning it’s time for me to post a recap of the last month of our daughter’s life. And I’m sure many of you think it’s weird that I still observe her monthly birthdays, but since this site is basically the only form of a baby book I have for my little monkey, I’ve got to record all the milestones and memories we celebrate through this journey called parenthood. Ah, the cuteness and chaos that comes in raising a squishy, sassy little person named Taylor. It’s a journey, people. And I’m glad you’re along for the ride.

So this month was a lot like last month in that every day we managed to find something totally fun for the peanut to do. Swimming, boating, fountains, parks, movies and lots of play dates. And while some of these morning and early-afternoon activities were mother-daughter duets, Chris has been leading us through the majority of our adventures. And T and her Daddy have become as thick-as-thieves lately – Making projects in the workshop, playing hide and seek, building castles. There are now set boundaries as to what I am allowed to play with her, and many times I have heard, No, Mom. I do that with Dad.

Yes, everything about the two of them playing together makes my heart smile. Especially since Chris is a total sucker when it comes to telling his sweet princess, No. Like last weekend when Taylor kept squealing at Chris to get into the Splashville fountain with her, and he was all, But Daddy doesn’t have his swimsuit on, Honey. And she was all, Daddy! COME HERE! And then he spent the rest of his picnic walking around in soggy shorts.

And later that night, when I finished reading her our before-bed books and then asked her my nightly, What was your favorite part of the day? question, it was no surprise that she smiled real big and said, My Daddy.

She seems to have lots of adorable phrases coming out of her mouth lately, and I feel like I stop her about a hundred times a day and ask her to repeat something just so I can hear it and all of it’s cuteness again. Like on the way home from the park a few weeks ago when she announced, That was PERFECT. And Chris and I laughed and said, What? And she repeated herself, Park was perfect. And then Chris asked her where she learned the word Perfect, and she responded, Oh. I learn it to myself, Daddy.

But while it has been about 90-percent loveliness these past weeks, no Monthly Milestone post would be complete without my Temper Tantrum of the Month story. Oh yes, we had quite a few contenders for this title, but, hands down, the big winner happened earlier this week at a play date. In fact, I believe I explained to Chris as, The most embarrassing, gigantic melt-down I have ever witnessed. A true dumpster fire, folks. It started with Princess Taylor morphing into the Terrible T, and then shoving her friend down to the ground over a toy. At which point I grabbed my daughter by the shoulders and physically had to hold her down to the ground in a time out, all while she’s screaming at the top of her lungs and flailing all her limbs in the air. And after about five minutes of that scene, we had to abruptly leave the party with me carrying her like a football under my arms out to the car. Only this football weighed over 30 pounds and was convulsing and shrieking like a demon on crack. And I’m all, Hey, Katie. Thank you so much for having us over. Let’s do this again another time when my kid isn’t a raging lunatic. And she just laughed. Because it’s funny when it’s not YOUR kid that’s acting rotten, right?

And as I drove home with the screeching background noise of, TAKE ME BACK TO LANEY’S HOUSE! TAKE ME BACK TO LANEY’S HOUSE!, I could physically feel my blood pressure reaching dangerous levels. And I had one of those, Am I gonna be able to do this? moments. Very similar to the feelings I had in my chest as we left the hospital with newborn-baby Taylor and my emotions were on overdrive and I kept looking over my shoulder like, Are they really going to let us leave with her? What now? And now, over two years later, I still get those same uncertain feelings when she has a giant melt-down, or when someone asks me why I approach something in mothering the way I do, and I respond by shrugging my shoulders and saying, I don’t know! I honestly have no clue what I’m doing. But, Hey, we’ve made it 28 months. And we’re all in one piece. And we’re happier than we’ve ever been. So we must be doing something right. Right?

Daddy's little helper