I'm trying to decide today if I simply have a case of pregnancy sensitiveness or actual brokenheartedness. For the first time today, my son made me cry, and not in a good way. First, he was being a turd when trying to get dressed, and I got after him and it was the immediate, "I want daddy!" and requisite crying. This is what I deal with now. He no longer wants me, just daddy. Ok, I get the occasional love, but it's almost always daddy. It seems like Daddy gets to do all of the fun things. Jack and I just wind up going to the grocery store together while Daddy takes him out to search for animals (that Daddy is only going to shoot later...boo) while I am teaching class and to baseball games that take place before I get home from work. I wind up having to do the things that we have to do with him...not what we want. Granted, I play football and baseball and tickle him silly, but it's not the same. Today, I'd had it. I finished dressing him and stomped down the stairs and slammed the door without a goodbye. Then I silently cried while I finished blow drying. And I want to cry again. I wasn't prepared for it to happen this soon. It's horrendous and I can't believe my two year old son is already breaking my heart...I thought at the very least it would happen when he brought home a girl in a too short miniskirt, way too much makeup, entirely too much cleavage, and I sent her packing with orders to come back when she looked less like a hooker and more like a 16-year old. But two. Two. Two!

Hubby, Jack & I spent last weekend caring for my grandma who has had numerous TIAs (mini-strokes, you could say), and a couple of actual strokes. Physically, she is fine, but her short term memory is gone and again, I was almost brought to tears by her inability to remember what to put on first when getting dressed. She is terrified of being left alone because she knows that she won't remember things like getting to the bathroom or even whose home she is in. Of course, there are moments of the old Grandma as she laughs at Jack's play-by-play during his imaginary baseball game and throwing a plastic egg so that it ricochets off of the table and nails me in the forehead. But minutes later she will lapse back into a state of almost catatonic-ness and old grandma is long gone. G'ma M loves to play cards (and cheat!) and conquer the crosswords each day. She adores costume jewelry has all of the dangly earrings, cocktail rings, and bracelets that make dress-up complete. She makes ham & beans that no one could resist and taught us all how to make potato salad. My sassy little grandma...now frustrated and struggling at her forgetfulness and inability to do any of those treasured tasks any longer. It was not an easy weekend...not because it was hard to take care of her, any one of us would do it again, but because she is simply no longer herself and those moments where her spunky personality and scratchy voice shine are few and far between. I think most of all it's just sad.

Well, happy Hump Day has turned into crappy hump day, apparently...I promise to blog on happier thoughts soon.

If I were to give you readers (all 2 of you) a card today, it would say "Happy Hump Day! I'm pregnant!". Since I have finally told everyone I think I am supposed to tell, I suppose it's time to start telling blogger nation about it. It's true! I am 12.5 weeks pregnant...officially out of the Kenny Loggins danger zone and pedaling full speed ahead to absolute chaos. I'm due October 4. Everyone is already asking me what I want...what, like what kind of puppy? Orange kitten vs. gray? I just want a baby. Boy/girl, makes no difference. Jack has been spectacularly easy, and despite his orneriness, he is about the best you could ask for - so I'd be fine with another boy. I'd also be fine with a girl. So, let's get to specifics.

Again, hubby and I were extraordinarily lucky in the "trying" department. I attribute that solely to the laisez-faire attitude we share in that, if we do, awesome, if we don't, no worries. It's probably not that simple, but it's my theory. I'm not out there charting my temperature, sticking myself with needles and sobbing every month when my period comes. I hope none of you did that. I think we're just lucky ducks. Third time was a charm this time around, and I think it was more shocking than finding out I was pregnant with Jack. I mean, seriously? We're going to have another one? Trust me, four tests and a doctor's visit do not lie. Turns out I was knocked up on the cruise...whoopsies on the mass alcohol consumption on days 1-6. Not that I would have known...but it's weird, because I knew. As soon as we got back, I knew. Two days later, confirmed. I don't think I have ever been so calm - I wasn't nervous about getting a negatory because I just knew. The way you know about a good melon.

I've been feeling relatively normal. Except that my brain cells are being sucked out faster than a Dyson. I left my car running. For an hour. Under the awning at work. My purse inside. Nice work! It doesn't get much worse than that. It was 6,000 degrees inside when I finally realized it and who knows how much gas gone. I forget everything these days. I forget I'm pregnant sometimes - I'm much busier this time around, not just with work, but with Jack and a new puppy that is peeing all over the house. Each morning I wake and put my hand to my belly, expecting the "pop"...everyone tells me it happens so much sooner. Right now I feel like I'm just developing a nice case of muffin top. Hence the reason I did something I swore to the fashion gods I'd never do. I wore leggings. Not for working out, but to actual work. Everyone tells me this is ok, but it's not! I'm so ashamed...I've done it three times in the last week. Again, no brain cells.

Otherwise, my boobs are huge, I'm terrified of hemorrhoids (I don't know why, I've never had them) and we heard the heartbeat last week! A steady 160-170...good times! Little stinker scared me when we didn't hear it right away, but finally came around. I jog at the speed of a 90 year old with a walker and am so out of breath when I teach Pilates that I know my class thinks I am insane. It's all worth it...Come October, I'll have the proof.

Happy St. Patrick's Day! In my early-mid twenties, I would have used this day as an excuse to skip class (or get someone to cover a shift) in order to down green beers at the local watering hole...sitting out in the beer garden, enjoying the (almost) spring sunshine as I enjoyed some laughs. This year, the laughs are of a different sort - the kind only a two-year old can bring you in his tiny green polo and frog socks. "Good boy, mommy," he says, patting my leg as I use the toilet. "Mary Gordon, no!" he yells at me as I peel him from his perch on the counter while I'm cooking dinner. It seems mommy and daddy are now called by their first names around our house. "Jason, what doin'?" he says to hubby. "Mary, Maaarrryyyyy, come get me," he hollers from the bottom of the stairs (apparently these days he is also unable to walk up the stairs on certain occasions). I have to hide my smile and politely remind him that I am mommy and daddy is daddy.

Last week, and actually until just yesterday the poor guy was struck with the stomach flu and just could not shake it. The good news is that he was very adamant about having his diapers changed and did not appreciate Rhea Perlman sliding down his leg. We did ok, except for one day when each diaper warranted a bath. I thought the stench would never leave my nostrils and only realized this morning that it had finally vacated. Thank goodness the throw up part only lasted a day and I have gotten the warning signs for that beast down to a science (Ok, well, except for the first one, which hubby cleaned up as I comforted our crying child. I am gagging just thinking of it), so the key is just to see how fast I can race him to the toilet - or in a couple of cases, the sink, where I promptly bonked his head on the cabinet. Mom of the year.

I wish you all a delightful St. Paddy's Day. I hope everyone is enjoying some delicious corned beef (I came thisclose to ditching the vegetarian diet today and purchasing a Reuben down the street) and a delicious Guiness on this beautiful almost spring day.

Like most kids, Jack loves music. He has recently taken up serious dancing, saying, "Mommy, yet's dance," when the opportunity arises. He associates songs with people he loves, and therefore loves songs and sings along. When one of his favorites comes on he can hardly contain his excitement and a little smile starts to creep onto his lips. He knows a lot of the words, which means he must take after his mother, who knows the words to every song ever created, and not his father, who is the worst lyric figure-outer known to man. Besides maybe my brother-in-law.

Some of Jack's faves:

"Low" by Flo-Rida
"Chicken Fried" by the Zach Brown Band and he's partial to a "stars & stripes" portion of the song
"I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz (this is "Daddy's song")
"Love Story" by Taylor Swift (this is "Mommy's song")
"ABCD" - which is on a Little People cd in my car - he calls it "ABCBs"
"You Are My Sunshine" - sung by me and Jack - he calls it "Sunshine". I love that he loves it because my grandpa used to sing it to me as we walked from his shop to his house. It's my favorite song ever.
And finally...the KU Alma Mater, sung in a duet by mommy & Jack also. He calls this one "Golden Balley" after a few of the lyrics. He knows the whole thing...I'm a proud Jayhawk Mama!

Lately he has taken to reciting the Rock Chalk chant at any given moment. Another sign that I am teaching my firstborn some extremely important lessons about who is tops in not only education, but the world of athletics.

In other important news, Dancing With the Stars has returned and I'm tempted to spray myself a lovely shade of terra cotta, put on my sparkliest eye shadow and pick up a spangly little outfit to prance around the house in. I wasn't thrilled at first, but after seeing the premiere last night, I'm totally excited. Let's hear it for Shawn & Gilles (who we all know will get votes on the simple fact that the entire female population has seen his peen, but is actually very good. I'm sure Cheryl is thrilled).

Much love to you all...I am trying to be a better blogger and post more often.

I re-read my entire blog the other day - while I was at work. It's another semi-lazy Friday here at the office. The boss is away, most of my duties have been nicely tucked away in the "done" pile. Plus, I fear I have reached the end of the Internet, so I need a change of venue.

Jack Jack has turned two. This year's birthday was significantly more low-key than last year. A couple of family parties - no kid parties yet. Mentally, I am not ready for it, and I think Jack is indifferent as long as he gets to eat frosting. The day before his birthday, I took it upon myself to buy a new puppy. More than once, I have wondered, "What in the hell was I thinking?" as she chewed my Steve Madden pump or peed on our down comforter...but, she's truly a doll, Jack loves her to pieces, and she is learning not to pee on things. I still have to hide everything in the house from her. Yesterday I found a toy motorcycle tire with little puppy teethmarks in it.

Somehow I manage to love him more every day. He always surprises me - yesterday he touched my face and said "mommy soft" and gave me a big kiss. I can't believe how fast he is turning into a little boy - doing ornery things like putting a handful of Spaghetti-O's into babysitter's hair or climbing up onto the kitchen table to draw a "football player" right on the wood. Mornings are the best...I think I have said before. He is a big cuddlebug and wants me to play and hold him constantly. How I dread work on those days and wish we could giggle and goof off all day. Each evening I look forward to walking into the door and seeing him jump out of his hiding place to say, "Mommy! I missed you!". I love his concern for others and his need to kiss their ouchies and hug away their pain. His constant need to see the picture of Dottie on the fridge - as if to keep her always in his memory, and how he loves to pretend he's daddy by wearing his referee hat. A few days ago at the sitter's, he took off his pants and diaper and pooped in the toilet without telling a soul until he was done. You have never seen a prouder boy than Jack that day. Of course, I am still changing poopy diapers and he still says, "I'm going poopy. I need to finish!" through his watery eyes and red face. I adore that he's such a little helper and insists on dragging the milk out of the fridge when he wants some - even though the gallon nearly rips his arm out of the socket. He constantly wants to be read to and loves the "Three Little Jayhawks" and "Curious George". I am trying to wean him off anything Elmo and have even hidden a few of those (I know, I'm horrendous, but I can't stand Elmo and his stupid third person talk!) to make him forget they are there.

We are truly lucky to have this little guy running around the house. He can wrap everyone around his chubby little finger in the blink of an eye and we all love it that way.

There has to be some way that I could slip, hit my head on the toilet, and as the flux capacitor forms on my head, I will discover time travel, buy a Delorean, and hit up Doc Brown for some plutonium. Maybe I just need to freeze time for moments like this morning at 6:30 when I brought Jack into our bed and he said, "lay on mommy's tummy", and conked right back out. These are not picture moments, but things that I want engraved in my memory forever. How can he be almost two? When we go places now, he wants to walk as we go inside and it breaks my heart. I thought surely I could carry him forever?

I am proud to report, though, that he has pottied four times on the pot. Before, he would sit for awhile, read a book, and then want to wipe. Now he has actually told me he has to go, and he goes! He loves the book about learning to potty and is enthralled by "big boy pants". My only fear is that he will be the boy peeing in a flower pot at the babysitter's or in the fish tank at my parent's - so for now, we are just sitting. Just imagining my child's "no butt" butt in a pair of Handy Manny underwear makes me laugh.

Our cruise was so fun for us. Hubby and I both loved watching Jack run through the water and build his sand castles. He runs with his arms back like he is prepared to take flight. He was so proud to sleep in his big boy bed that came down from the ceiling (I am embarassed to say it's my fault he fell off one night and landed on top of me). He slept like a charm. Why can't he do that at home? He ran and ran and ran...I don't believe we got one minute of r&r. No matter how much I love my son, there's something to be said for a vacation without kids.





He still remains obsessed with football (and most sports) and loves to yell "touchdown!" - mostly so I will tickle his armpits - but he gets so excited. "Fumble!" he will yell if he drops something and sometimes it's just a random, "interception!" My little baby Jayhawk...who loves for me to sing the Alma Mater and Rock Chalk chant each night before bed. I think Mangino needs to know he has a future superstar on his hands...

Christmas has come and gone and another year has begun. I feel like I should reflect on the past year and share my wisdom and wit. Not really, but 2008 was amazing and I do have a list of things that stand out:

1. My favorite little treasure, Jack Everett...he is an amazing, hilarious, loving, ornery, wonderful child and I want 5 more just like him. Wow, that's ambitious!
2. Husband, family, friends...even though I am a total heifer sometimes and everyone knows that families aren't perfect, never will be, but that's what makes them family, they are still our family and we love them.
3. April 7, 2008...my mighty and beloved Jayhawks win the NCAA National Championship! I watched in agony at the DFW airport. The Orange Bowl Championship and everything else about the Jayhawks was amazing in 2008. I love my school and don't know if anyone but an alumni can truly understand what it means to me. And don't think for one second that I don't have them both on tape and haven't watched them extensively. What can I say, it helps me.
4. For purses and shoes...without you my wardrobe will be nothing. You know who you are.
5. For Boulevard Wheat beer...because without you, watching KU games would not be as fun.
6. Now that I've written all of these things I've lost interest in my list.

So, hubby and I are headed on a vacation and taking our little peanut with us. Let's just say I will have to come home to the chaos to get any relaxation because I know it's not happening on this trip! I am really looking forward to it, but lounging by the pool will consist of catching Jack 4,820 times as he jumps in or riding with him down the slide the other 4,820. The good thing is...maybe he will sleep through the night??? Wishful thinking... Actually, I think it's going to be great fun. I plan on enjoying every second of it.

In conclusion on this fine Friday, I leave you with pictures of my son, who not only refuses to wear pants, but also refuses to take off his green boots. And wear clothes.

"Kitty bite my weener," Jack says as I change his diaper...this is the latest and greatest. "My weener needs food!" My weener, mommy weener go bye bye, daddy weener, everyone's weener. I can only imagine he gets it from his father - after all, this is the man I saw grabbing his crotch on local television while refereeing a championship football game. That's my honey! If it's not the crotch, it's "tooting". Everyone toots. He plugs his nose and laughs. I knew he'd be a really "boy" boy...after all, I wanted to be a boy for the first 10 years of my life.

Christmas is fantastic for us right now. I am like a child again, waiting for Christmas morning and all that it will bring Jack this year. Last year he was about 10 months and although he was running around, wasn't too interested in presents or Santa. As my friend Sarah says, Christmas is reason enough to have kids...he is so delighted at everything! The lights, the tree, the gifts, and Santa. He loves to say "ho, ho, ho" and "merry Christmas!" He thinks snowmen are Santa and he marches around the house laughing as he sings "Jingle Bells". Kids truly bring out the best of the holiday season. I can't wait to watch him tear into presents and marvel at all of the goodies Santa has brought down the chimney. I might cry just thinking about it. I tried very hard to get him to work with me on a Christmas card picture. Last year was so easy! I'll admit, they are cute, but I felt like nothing really captured his personality. Here are some of my efforts:

He is such a nutball and finally was only interested in opening the tin cans that had presents in them and I gave up completely. Those have now made their way to the top of the cabinet...for some reason I felt I needed a variety of packaging...needless to say, he hasn't bothered the tree much. I can't say the same for Rex Walters.

Speaking of the pets... some pics...they are becoming friends now that Dottie is gone. Just the other day we got her shot reminder and it left us a little sad for a day or two. I am sure Dottie won't miss those. I think I am still having a hard time with her being in the ground and wonder about our decision. I don't think we could have had her cremated under the circumstances and timing of her death and I love that she is close, but I constantly worry about her being cold...or struggling to get out. Holy shit, am I really talking about this? Stop. Enough digressing...it's Millie & Rex Walters wishing you all a happy holiday.

Christmas is Coming!

One Christmas when I was about 10, we'll say, I received a red Huffy dirt bike. I was not about to ride around town looking like a bad ass on some banana seat bike with a basket on the front. Besides, it wouldn't go with my hand-me-down football jerseys and baseball glove. I'm sure my parents thought I was confused about my gender and maybe even my sexuality, but in any case, Santa indulged me and I wish, wish, wish that I could find the picture of me sitting on it Christmas morning, wearing a football jersey nightgown. OMG, I know. Anywho, that Christmas was amazing! I got the bike, I ruled the neighborhood and kicked a lot of guys where it counts. So, the point of my story is that this may be the best one since. Thank you, Jack.

He runs around the house singing "Jingle Bells" and trying to open Christmas presents. He has his own tiny tree. He kisses each ornament on the tree and loves Santa. He says, "Merrrrrry Mismas!" and loves looking at lights. At this very moment, he is singing a song of his own creation in his Christmas pj's. Crazy how your kids make you appreciate Christmas and Santa all over again, and no matter what, he will always be a part of Christmas for us. I am a huge Christmas fan, but this has brought things to a whole new level. I can't wait - I have been transformed from a 31 year-old-mother (eek) to a 10-year-old waiting for her red Huffy bike to arrive.

On television: "Watch football!" On Barbie: "I yike Barbie!" On the Nuvaring commercial where they jump in the pool (I know. Don't ask): "I yike that kid!" Broccoli: "I don't yike dat". He gives Eskimo kisses, butterfly kisses, and "kitty" kisses, which is something he and I came up with together. He loves getting in "mommy bed" and going "with me" whether we are going to the kitchen or going to the store. He now says, "No mess with Texas!" on behalf of my great friend Sarah. Further proof that he is truly my child: his need for me to tell him he is funny. He loves it. Every day he asks about his entire family and wants to know where they are and if he can see them. He has such a huge personality and an even bigger heart.

Despite Jack's Christmas spirit, the house has still been significantly quieter without Dottie. We are still missing her like crazy and we always will. Jack constantly mentions her and explaining her whereabouts hasn't gotten any easier. He still asks to "see Dottie", to which we look out the window and look to where she is buried to tell her hello. Funny, even Jack has become increasingly protective of Millie, constantly wanting to make sure she's fed and has a belly full of biscuits. We are taking things one day at a time and we keep her close to our hearts, always. At least this year we know she will not be tearing open any presents - we'll leave that to Jack.

Goodbye, My Dottie Girl

I am writing today with a heavy heart...my beloved, wonderful, silly, lovey Dalmatian was killed about five days ago after she jumped out of our backyard and was struck by a car. I have woken up each morning and searched for her warmth under the covers and listened for the jingling of her collar or the sound of her bounding up the stairs to get breakfast. I keep waiting for her to show up. I occasionally glance in the yard and expect to see her chasing the cat. A member of our family has gone and it's heartbreaking. Poor hubby...I ran outside to find him carrying her across the neighbor's yard with tears streaming down his face. I laid on her and wailed. It's so sad. I didn't want to let her go...she was still warm. She always let me lay on her like she was a pillow and I felt like I was playing that game with her one last time. We wrapped her in her favorite blanket and buried her in the backyard in a place that only we can rationalize. I cry ten times a day. I drive by the place where she was stuck and want to scrub the ground clean. I think I will. I know it should be some consolation to us that she was gone instantly, but it isn't. It was too sudden, too violent, too soon. Jack has asked a time or two if he can give her a biscuit as he gives our other dog one, and I explain to him again that she is in doggie heaven. I am strangely protective of our other dog now. I worry she will get lonely, I worry that she is sad. She is taking care of me, too.

Dottie was such a lovely dog...full of personality, full of orneriness, and love. As most dogs are. She loved crawling under the covers and keeping my feet warm. She loved to give kisses, and she loved us. She let Jack pull on her ears and roll all over her. She loved for me to carry her...I did it from the time I got her and even at 45lbs, she always welcomed it. The house seems empty without her, even with all the commotion still going on. It's hard filling up one bowl of food and calling Millie's name without hers along with it. It's hard to walk in the door and not see her tail wagging. I know it's just a dog, folks...but it doesn't make it any easier to admit she's gone.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy. Daddy? Mommy, football? Mommy, shoes on. Mommy sleepy nite nite? Mommy, don't want to. Me drive? Mommy, mommy, mommy..." A typical conversation with Jack. He never stops talking...sometimes hilarious, sometimes maddening. I love that I can have an actual conversation with him. He is my favorite person to talk to. But on the other hand, I think I hear my name 1,000 times a day. I seem to remember my dad telling me to stop talking several times in the car, so I assume this is my payback. He talks and talks and talks. He knows a million words, he is brilliant and hilarious and sweet. He wants to kiss everything, including the Jayhawk on my back window. "Dayhawk, kiss," he says as we get into the car. "Dayhawk, nice. Me drive?" I officially need to get him a set of wheels. With a Jayhawk sticker, of course.

His latest is to jump off of the couches and ottomans. "Mommy, hand," he will say, and reach for my hand. He counts 1...2...3...and leaps in the air. And he can also count to 10, although he usually skips four and eight. Sometimes he will say "...nine, ten, nine!"



My new favorite is at night...he will lay in my lap as he drinks a glass of milk and when he's finished he will say, "nite nite" and either zonk out on my lap, or take my face in his hands and ask to be taken to his bed. The sweetest. I am amazed at his guestures and feel like hubby and I are doing a good job. He does have his moments, but I can only imagine that every parent has their share of worries or frustrations about whether or not they are doing it "right". I wonder about the hitting stage he is going through and the fact that he actually seems to enjoy time-out.


I am now reaching a crossroads...is it time to change the bed into a toddler bed? If I do, I am certain I will wake to find him sleeping in his closet (where he likes to hide) with the cat, or pulling all of the clothes out of his dresser amidst a sea of baby powder. My next dilemma is potty training. He understands it, and talks about it, but he is nervous about sitting on the actual toilet. I imagine I will find him peeing in a house plant or in the dog dish.

On another note, I have been placed on the IR with a ridiculous ankle sprain I received playing volleyball. I'm so annoyed because I have so many things to do and hubby (of course!) is out of town all week for work meetings. Jack can make it down the stairs faster than I can and he will also be disappointed when he finds out I can't run around the house in circles and chase him when he says, "mommy, run!" There could be a bonus to that...considering the last time we did it, the dogs played along and one of them took me out and I nearly broke my toe. I am a walking, talking injury. Good thing we have a bye next week in the ever-competitive women's league.

I keep this blog up, although I know that posts are sometimes few and far between. I have a lot of pictures I need to add...I think mostly this is something therapeutic for me, and I also know that I will forget half of the things if I don't put them down. I will do my best to get pictures up soon.

"Clean up!", Jack said this morning after emptying the contents of my armoire. He happily sat in a pile of my underwear, bras, pj pants, and who knows what else. He picked up approximately two pieces of clothing in his efforts to help. Then he runs onto the next project: unloading my jewelry box, leaving a wake of bracelets on the closet floor...and a few on his arm. "Bacebets," he says. He dances around to Hot Diggity Dog, then clambors up to the bed to test our poor dog's patience. "Mimmie niiice," he says as he lays on her belly and then slaps her face. I continuously have to remind him that the doggies are for loving. Then he says, "under?" and crawls under the covers to seek shelter. This week, he has been in time-out every day at the sitter's. A smack in the face, knocking off a chair, and even a hair pull. All for the same poor kid. This morning as we got to the sitter's, Jack happily shared his Cheerios with said boy and they were pals again. Half the time he runs off to play and forgets me in the doorway. Then, just as I'm leaving he runs and wraps his arms around me for one last goodbye hug. And then point at the squirrels in the yard. Or the bunny eating grass.


Jack is getting zanier than ever. Quite the headstrong little fellow...hmmm, I wonder where he gets that. He let's me know when I am wrong - "no, momma" and "mommy, don't say that". He is obsessed with his frog rain boots. He wears them all of the time, sometimes the right feet, sometimes the wrong. "Boots on!" he'll sing. He loves to wear them with shorts, wearing only a diaper, and out to play.

I decided today that it is time for this post to be well, posted. I think I started writing it a month ago. Maybe more. I'll be back soon.

Oh, Jack. My precious little pet...growing so fast. Knowing more than he realizes, and making his mom really understand that the swearing has to stop NOW. A slew of Tupperware fell on me yesterday and a GD-it slipped out. "Go damnit" I hear Jack say. Repeatedly. I tell him no, not nice to say those words, to which he replied "go damnit". Eff.

Tonight, determined to watch Hot Dee Dog (Mickey Mouse), he wandered into my dark bedroom saying it over and over. I do believe he thinks it is only on in our bedroom since that's where he hunkers down and watches it over his morning milk. I heard him yelling, "Mommeee..hot dee dog." and "no, momma" as I tried to coax him back into the toy room. We settled for watching Doofy (Goofy). He really is the sweetest...tonight I taught my Pilates class and drug him with me to the gym to play in the nursery while I toned my tush and abs. He clung to my legs, tears streaming down his face. I want to cry. Hubby is reffing football, no one is home to watch him, it's a pain to get a sitter for one hour. I rushed out, trying to talk myself out of the guilt I felt. As I went back to get him after class, he was standing by the door, waiting. As we went to leave, he patted all the rocking horses and said "nice horsey" and told them all bye-bye. What a gem that boy is.

Jack spent some time with me at work today - I never last more than 30 minutes at the office when he's around. He works the room like a tornado, leaving a trail of papers in his wake. He pushes every button and the box of toys I keep stored hold his attention for approximately 2 minutes before he wants "my puter". Today his puter was my calculator. I turned to try and get one last thing done and before I knew it, he had a huge stamp across his lips. If I needed to, I suppose I could have used him For Deposit Only at Sunflower Bank. Thank goodness for wipes.

In the meantime, I have turned 31. I spied hair growing in gray today. What the hell? I have been using wrinkle creams, sunscreen, and expensive make-up thinking I could defy age for awhile and I'll be damned if it didn't surprise me right on top of my head. Not so fast, mother nature! This is one thing I will not tolerate. Eff eff. However, hubby got me a glorious video camera, that I am itching to use, yet I am worried I will break it or that I need something really spectacular to use it on. I am thinking Jack will do.

I survived the canoe trip. Barely. Gi.Nor.Mous. sized bruises on each thigh and the back of one leg. I got beat down. Actually, hubby horsed around a little too often and I took the brunt of each shipwreck. I look like I've been mugged - by the White River. I survived without my Jack Jack as well, although I'll admit, it was difficult. I have not shown my thighs outside of my home for 2 weeks. Which could be a good thing.

It's amazing what a few days will change...he's taller, smarter, more talkative (is that even possible?), and more hilarious. He's obsessed with a baby photo on our calendar and repeatedly asks to see the "baby tiny". Today he grabbed the remote and flipped to Sportscenter, then sat on the bed with his milk and watched. He thinks all books are about animals and calls them all "anmal boot". Possibly the funniest thing is farting...which I should expect coming from a boy. He opens his eyes wide and his mouth into an "o" and says "poof" or "poop" - I can't tell which. Then he giggles. I'm not sure why farts are always so funny, except that they just are. He loves to try on shoes - and says "shoes on!" whenever he sees anyone with shoes. Maybe he does have a bit of me in him after all. He's so ornery and pushes the limits of everything. He does understand saying sorry which I find totally endearing. He says it and lays his head down on the person/thing to express his regret. So sweet about children - their emotions are so real and true, you never are left wondering how they feel. And it's evident every day when I walk into the house and see him smiling as he runs into my arms.

All Grown Up

So, my little bear got his first haircut (real one - me trying desperately to trim his little bangs does not count). It's so short. I liked his shaggy look and the way it was beginning to curl up at his neck. My baby walked in and this little man came out:

Not to mention, he got his first lollipop, so his mouth and his white t-shirt were blue (and red - I just realized there must have been two, unless it was a magical KU lollipop that turned from blue to red with each lick) by the time he was finished. I didn't go. I'm glad - I couldn't. I got tears when I first laid eyes on him. It physically hurt me to see it. Of course it was cute and obviously he's the most handsome devil around, but he looks so grown up. Sniff. I think hubby is pleased that the shag is gone.

These days, everything is "mine" or "my"...my bimmie (blankie), my mommy, my bed (which just happens to be our bed), my bobble (sippy cup). Everything is his and he is not particularly interested in sharing, which leads hubby to believe that a new baby is needed so he can get used to spreading his treasures around. Sure, whatever. He did manage to share one of his bimmies long enough to let our new friend Carter B. lounge on it for a bit.

He has excellent manners..."tan-too, mama", he says. Not just when he gets things, but when he gives them as well. It's darling. He says "scu me, mama" when he scoots past. He does have a bit of an issue with "please" - we had some drama in the car where he preferred to cry instead of asking nicely for his cup (that he had thrown on the floor for the umpteenth time..."uh, oh, bobble!"). Mind you, he was not thirsty, he just wanted to shake it up and down and get his pants wet - and continue to laugh at me each time I fell for it and picked it up.

Lately he is obsessed with football and he runs around with a Nerf football saying, "DOWN!" waiting for hubby to say the "SET, HUT!" and then proceed to tackle each other in a fit of laughter. When he does it with me, he says, "no, mama" after he is on the floor. I apparently not allowed to play. . It is, however, important to me, for Jack to know that Mama is athletic, therefore he will be attending my volleyball games come October. So, between this and the random swinging of his pint-sized baseball bat, I think I've got an athlete on my hands. If he wants to be a concert pianist, we are surely out of luck. Did I mention tv? He doesn't watch much, but he runs around saying, "Mama! Hot diggity dog!"... a delightful little ditty he learned from a Mickey Mouse show. He can hardly contain himself when he says it.


This weekend, hubby and I are off on a canoe/float trip with our cousins. Despite my excitement at getting out of town for a few days, I am not thrilled to be leaving Jack. I've had no time to prepare myself for this extended vacation and I don't appreciate how I'm feeling. I know he will have a great time and wear his grandparents down to stubs. It will be fine, I just don't like it. Am I too attached? I think this is how it should be. I miss him already.

Still Golden

I sit at work on a lazy Friday afternoon, pondering a new post or another game of Makos - this ridiculous puzzle game I have become addicted to (and that is frankly, making my eyes go crossed). I'm feeling slightly sorry for myself because not only did I run in the baking sun yesterday, but I ran to play volleyball, which, normally would not be a big deal, except for the 103-degree weather and the fact that my last volleyball match was in April. I want to go home and lounge in a bubble bath and then beg hubby to rub my aching shoulders. Oh, did I mention that my shin splits (est. 1990) also made an appearance last night? Pair this with my painful hip flexor, lower back pain, and you've got a mother who's pushing 31. Feels like 61. Maybe even 71.

Anyhoodle, on a sad note, the beloved Estelle Getty has died... you may remember her as the fabulous owner of Prince & Co. on the fantastically, horribly, awesome Mannequin, starring Andrew McCarthy (swoon) and Kim Catrall (Samantha Jones at her finest). But I hold her dear to my heart as a cherished, sassy, spunky Golden Girl, Sophia Petrillo. It's one of my favorite shows, all-time. Her wicker pocketbook, sausage and pepper canolis, 27 layer lasagna, and numerous money-making escapades warm my heart. Moment of silence, please.

Jack is still frollicking around, building pillow forts and keeping everyone in stitches. He is going through a bit of a hitting stage. Not a lot, just a little, and I know in my heart that no child of mine would ever hit intentionally, so he must be learning it at the sitter's house. I think he just gets excited. As soon as he does it, he immediately gives a kiss. Which leads me to believe that he will probably be hitting a lot of girls on playgrounds as an excuse to kiss. Oh shit.

We're spending this weekend being lazy. Baseball is finally over and we are making no plans except for our little family to spend some quality time together. I feel like I haven't seen hubby forever and I know he's glad to be home for a few weeks before fall comes and we start the whoel thing over again.

I have been taking a lot of pictures of Jack Jack lately - he is doing the silliest things. The other night I heard him working and working and he had made a "bed" on the living room floor and was "sleeping" ... "hoooonnnn shhhhhhh" he says, pretending to snore. He had to arrange his blanket just right, get comfortable. He didn't even want to eat dinner - just play in his makeshift bed. Which was fine, I suppose, because the dog had eaten half of it off of his high chair tray anyway.

He has also taken to calling his grandparents by their first names. The other night he went up to my mom and said, "Hi, Pam!" "Bye, Steve", he told my dad. He knows and remembers everyone's name, and pulls them out on random occasions. Animals are a whole 'nother story...watching Animal Planet the other night we saw a cat..."TIDDY! MEOOOWWW!" A dinosaur, "DINO! ROOOAAARRR!" in his little high-pitched voice, which frankly, sounds about as scary as a baby bunny (hop hop! he would say at that!). He lays in bed with me, watching, perched on my head/shoulder and trying to snuggle in as close as he can when he sees something really wild.

I can't say it enough - the kid is amazing. A little sponge running around, absorbing everything he hears and sees. I truly believe that he is one of the smartest kids I've seen - of course I may have a rollicking case of biased-ness, but hey, I'm his mom.

A quick update on G'ma...after some back and forth and I think general uncertainty on her part, G'ma decided to let them do the surgery. She has a new lease on life...granted, her road will be long and tough, but she is ready for recovery and anxious to get home. Yay!

Let's chat for a few moments about my son. Oh, Jack. Leave it to my glorious child to love having me kiss his feet. I loathe feet. Seriously. I can't stand to have hubby's feet touching me in bed, I don't like being near other people's feet, etc. etc. Most of all, I hate poorly groomed feet - it's just my thing. Pedicurists are brave souls. Anyhoodle...Jack. When he hurts himself, head, hand, nose, knee, doesn't matter - when I ask if I should kiss it for him, he immediately raises his foot to my mouth. He insists on having both kissed. That said, I don't mind kissing his feet. His are the only ones I will touch - besides my own.

So, I finally, finally went and purchased new bras. I haven't bought normal (and by this I mean ones that aren't so gargantuan as to hold first trimester growth/lactating boobies) bras since before I was pregnant. Isn't that sick? Needless to say, it was a bit of a trauma. I got measured and low & behold, my around size has gone down almost 4 inches. Seriously? My boob has gone down 2 inches. I'm not sure if that's actual size or just due to deflation. Well, due to the fact that my boobs are in my pits, I still had to buy the normal around size, not the one I actually measured for. Really? (Insert f-bomb). However, cup size, minus one! Yahoo! Who am I kidding, they're still monstrosities. Give me an A cup any day and I swear, I'll be happy. Is it possible to donate your extra to charity? There has to be some poor woman out there dying for a new set while here I sit with an unwanted pair. Maybe that's something I will invent. In any case, my old friend Victoria did me right - they're real, and in these bras, they're spectacular.

What is it that makes Jack the neatest kid ever? Well, I'll tell you...it's the casual way he says "mom" when he wants my attention. It's hilarious. The way he tells everything goodbye - for example, he wanted to bring my tennis shoes with us somewhere and when I said to put them down, he said, "bye shoes". He tells me how the bunny goes "hop hop". He roars like a lion and flexes his muscles. He's a genius, I tell you! He is the best buddy to hang out with (sorry, friends). He will always give love, he is always excited to see me. I love walking in the door after work and hubby says, "Mom's home!" and Jack runs - full speed - yelling my name to run into my arms. These moments make my heart burst.

Lately he has taken to calling everyone "Daddy". I'm not sure if he's actually looking for Daddy or just thinks that I am extremely promiscuous and isn't exactly sure who Daddy is. He is obsessed with baseball (yay!) and will swing the bat, then run laps around the bases (our house). He makes a swishing noise when he swings. Today he hit a ball off of a tee and I thought hubby was going to burst into tears. Such a proud papa! Last weekend he learned all the boys' names from hubby's baseball team. Each morning as we are driving to the sitter's, he repeats them all. He'll throw in a "bakball" (basketball) when we pass the goal on Bret Street. A "bay-ball" as we pass the high school fields, a "bus" when he sees a big truck or camper. I am amazed at this little guy's knowledge and vocabulary. He heard "hot diggity dog!" on a Disney show the other day, and it's the new saying. He's so pleased with himself and can barely contain his smile when he says it. I love this little boy. I love, love, love him...having him is truly the best part of my life.

G'ma

My grandma is dying. I am so sad...it's not a sense of, oh, she's almost 93, of course she is going to die. It's a poor circulation/infection that is slowly draining the life out of her. Right now she is in a lot of pain, but she is still functioning "normally" and going on her daily business. But it's happening - faster than I want it to. I haven't talked about this very much..ok, actually the family and I have discussed it thoroughly because G'ma has some big decisions to make in the next several days. She can either let them take her leg (her other one was taken above the knee 5 years ago), or she can get sicker and sicker until it finally takes her. But I haven't really grasped what this will mean. I think I have been in denial because she still seems like G'ma. For me, it means losing the person who used to pretend to make my sister and I into sandwiches. The woman who opened up her glorious shoe closet and square dancing dress collection for sister and I to play hours upon hours of dress up. When I baked with her as a child, standing on my tiny step stool, she'd ask me to pour in the sugar and I'd say, "all of it?" and she'd answer "allofit!" She meticulously crafted a miniature dollhouse and hat shop with my Grandpa, two gifts that will be bestowed upon my niece. It almost feels like I'm also losing the last link to my beloved Grandpa. Isn't that weird? Every time I see a geranium, I will think of her...first when I was younger and watching her tend to her garden...later as a woman and how I finally had to begin planting them for her in the brick garden off of her front porch. The one that I used to jump over instead of taking the steps. And the tire swing...how many afternoons did I spend twirling and flying hanging from that big old tree? Those sweltering Kansas summer days, when I'd stop by and she'd say, "Go get a Coke from the garage", and she'd get out the Yahtzee or Tri-ominos for a cutthroat game at the kitchen table.

I can't imagine the thoughts going through her mind. Is she tired of being without Grandpa and ready to go plant flowers with him again? Is she just feeling the strain of her 92 years and ready to take a final rest? There are times when I believe this to be true. Then, there are times, when we're sitting at Sunday dinner and she's making some sassy remark and trying to get my Jack Jack to quit throwing food that I wonder if she really is ready. Maybe she's just relishing what could be her last few moments here. Time is truly precious and I know that I take it for granted more than I should. I know that whatever my G'ma might decide to do, I will understand and know that through this whole ordeal, she has been so brave and so strong - much more than I could ever be.