Expect from me in 2009:

More:

• Laughter
  
• Movement
• Creation
• Appreciation
• Travel
  

Less:

• Complaining
• Wastefulness
• Procrastination

So Long, 2008. You were pretty good to me. You were fun while you lasted, but now you are almost gone. Welcome 2009.

My list is too long

I'm starting to think that my Christmas cards are going to be New Year's cards.  

It got up to 8˚ today.

Ed got a goldfish to give as his white elephant gift at a Holiday Party.

That's all.

Enjoy the lovely photo of yours truly contemplating her next viewing of Pride and Prejudice.  (Can you believe I just barely saw the A&E version?  I don't know how I have lived until now.)

Maybe if I stop gazing out of windows and watching 5 1/2 hour long movies those cards would get mailed.  Oh well.

The end.

We were headed west on the I-80, on our way to her favorite store (besides Target) when we had the following conversation:

Her: Mom, I know that the true meaning of Christmas is for Santa to come, but is Halloween really only about children dressed in costumes to get candy from all the people?

Me: Uh, no.  (I explained what the celebration of Halloween was all about, which she found quite interesting.)

Me: Christmas isn't really all about Santa, either, you know.

Her: (Disbelieving)  Yes it is.  You're tricking.

Me:  No, I'm not.  What do you think it might be about, besides Santa?

Her: Presents?

Me: No.

Her: Candy?

Me: No.

Her: Is it the stockings?

Me: No.

Her:  What is it, then?

Me:  You think about it.  I bet you can figure it out.

Her:  Hmmm.

I filed the conversation away, planning to have a discussion with all three of the rugrats, when we parked the car and entered Costco.  Which, although it was only the first of November, was all decked out in Christmas goods for sale.

Her:  (Looking around.)  Is it the wreaths?

Me: No.

Her: Is it the Christmas trees?

Me: No.

We stopped in front of the Nativity Set they have on display behind a glass case.  

Me: (pointing it out to her)  Look at this, isn't it beautiful?

Her: Yes, it's so beautiful . . . Is it the Ornaments?

Me: No!  Stella.  Look. at. this.  (Indicating the Nativity.)  What do you see?

Her:  A bunch of people.

Me: (is it bad that I'm stifling giggles by this point?)  Who are they?

Her:  I don't know.

So then we talked all about the people in the Nativity.  I pointed out Mary, and Joseph, and the baby Jesus.  We saw the Wise Men and the Shepherds and the Cattle who were Lowing.  I didn't once say the word "Christmas."  Her ignorance on the topic was genuine.  

Me:  Does looking at these people and talking about them remind you of anything?  Anything at all?

Her:  Church?

Me:  Yeah, let's go shopping.

It wasn't until she was pausing by the cakes to admire them that I saw her eyes gleam with understanding.  Her eyebrows went up as she turned to me.

Her:  Mom!  Is Christmas about Jesus?  

 . . . Yes, dear Stella, Christmas is all about Jesus.

On a totally unrelated topic . . . 

Yesterday, after church, this one said "I have no idea what Latter Day Saint means, but I did learn today that zombies are real.  I cannot believe that people are going to be climbing out of their graves.  Sheesh."

Clearly I have some work to do.

from the mouth of my babe

"You know, most people think that book is about a pig and a spider, but it's not.  It's really about friendship." ~on the topic of Charlotte's Web,  during a one on one lunch with his principal.

In Which I State the Obvious

Motherhood isn't always what I expected it to be.  Oh, I expected the sleepless nights and the poopy diapers. I had been warned about the worry I would feel and the need to constantly check their breathing in the middle of the night.  I remember friends with kids sharing trivial triumphs with me as I lazily thumbed through my fashion magazine.  "Little Gus put his toe in his mouth today.  It was just soooo cute!  You should have been there, I mean, it was unbelievable."  

I knew I was signing up for a thankless job with little pay and minimal vacation or sick days.  

I knew I would love the little stinkers.  

I wasn't prepared for just how much I would love them.  

Sometimes when he makes eye contact with me, it makes my day.

Photo by Jack

Zat Gdavity, eet's a Killa

So far today:

I caught George in midair as he was rolling off of Stella's bed,

I caught a mug in midair as it tumbled from the top shelf,

And I stared at the effects gravity has had on my face for approximately four minutes.

All before 9:00 in the morning.

Is there anyone over the age of thirty who would consider gravity a friend?

George, the mug, and I will be taking our act on the road shortly.

And the Winner is . . .

The Cox Family!  Riverside, CA (English Speaking) won't know what hit 'em.

Where in the world . . .

. . . will Scott spend the next two years?

Guessing will now commence and I will send a handmade gift to the person who gets it right.

P.S.  The call is on its way here, so you have days.  Maybe hours.

Halloween

My fondness for Halloween springs from a lifetime of celebrating with the people I like most in the world. In Rosie’s World, holidays are family time. Even Halloween. Following is a synopsis of what we would do if we were near our extended family, and what we did instead.

The season kick-off is Karaoke Night the first Monday in October. Hubs and I usually rock the house with our performance of “Love Shack.” This year, Doug paid us a surprise visit the first week of October. He was taking a load (some kind of huge snowcat machine thingy) to . . . Vermont? Cross country, anyway, and he stopped in for a visit. It was an awesome surprise. Also, this happened to be my last healthy day of the month because . . .

. . . I got pneumonia, among other things. Maybe the bug hitchhiked with Doug to Kara in St. Louis. (I'm sorry if it was me.  Are you feeling better?  I don’t have a picture of me with pneumonia, among other things, but somewhere there is an x-ray of my lungs and a CT of my kidneys.)

In years past, we would go to the store or the pumpkin patch to pick out our future Jack-O-Lanterns. Not so, in Iowa. Around here, the pumpkin patch is in our backyard! That’s right, folks, our Jack-O-Lanterns are 100% homegrown. Seriously, folks, what don’t I do?

Trick-or-treating is always a big event. Complete with cousins and Lolo and Lola. Around here, we celebrate Beggar’s Night by trick-or-treating on October 30th. We had a huge group with all the kids on our street and their parents. Scott and Ed were the designated scarers at RosieHouse. They reported that the comments heard by the witches and ghosts on their way up to our door were as follows: “This is the scariest house yet!” Well played, brothers, well played.

In the Homeland, there is the Annual Family Halloween Party. And boy oh boy, do those Danes know how to PAH-TAY! Costumes, pinatas, ghoul-ash, singing, dancing, you name it, we do it. This is THE event of the season, the one that kicks off Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s. It is also the event that I pine for with aching in my heart. Uncle Bill walking in with a pumpkin on his head. Aunt Kim and her Billy Bob teeth. Combining children, a big stick, a paper mache creation full of candy, and a blindfold . . . it’s a recipe for a severe case of homesickness when you can’t be there in person.

We got the next best thing, though. Aunt Kathi scratched that itch for me with a wonderful and welcome surprise package. A homemade pinata that she filled herself. That’s Scott in the background working a pulley system to make my uncles swell with pride.

We celebrated on Halloween Night by attending a super fun Chili Supper and Trunk-or-Treat. And of course, we all had different costumes. Pictured below: Scott (Bomber Pilot), Ed (Mad Scientist), Bob (?), Jack (The Karate Kid), Stella (Witch), Creed (Zombie) Not pictured: Rosie (Dorothy Gale), and George (lion)

You’d think, by now, we’d be Halloween’d out. Not so, good sir. The next night, we were invited on a “cruise” during which there was a vicious murder to solve.

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly US that were invited. It was:

SHIRLEY FROSTY, actress, writer, director

and

EDUARDO MARTINI, Argentinian Singer and all around Ladies Man.

Rosie Recommends

Son of Rambow: an import from England about a couple of kids making a movie. I love this movie. I’ve watched it twice this week. The soundtrack alone is totally worth it.

Opi Nail polish in Lincoln Park After Dark. Quite festive for October and if you paint your four year old’s nails at the same time, she sounds so funny walking around saying the name of the color.

Celebrity Challenge: A great game you can play anywhere, anytime. Some people are skeptics before they try, but most become converts after the first round.

John Frieda Frizz Ease Hair Serum: It really does cut down on the frizziness of my hair, and it’s the right price.

The long tail cast on method: This has changed my knitting life by solving the problem of a crooked edge on my pieces of knitting. Seriously, I can’t stop comparing old projects to new for my brothers, though I think they are getting tired of feigning interest.

The Biggest Loser: By far my favorite show on television.

Really good kitchen knives: By far my favorite cooking gadget.

Making your bed: Even if it’s right before you get in. Is there anything better than getting into a made bed after a long day?

Sometimes science stinks, but that’s the game we play, baby!

I’m not fond of touching other people’s feet. I find feet to be, well, gross. I don’t think they are as gross as some people do. (When my sister was a girl, she was so disgusted by her own feet that she wouldn’t even touch them to wash them. Click here to read all about her stinky feet.)

Robert usually has to ask 9 or 10 times after a 60 hour shift on his feet at the hospital before I will actually go near those particular appendages. Honestly, now that I think of it, I can’t even remember the last time he bothered asking. Yes, I am that selfish.

When I first became a mother, it was a different story. I found that I like baby feet. I have been known to voluntarily put them in my mouth and nibble on the toes. I mush them all over my face, put them in my eyes, my ears, my cheeks. I blow raspberries on them. Baby feet are very cute. However, something happened the summer my boys reached 5 or 6 years old. When they started smelling like wet dog at the end of the day, their feet began to repulse me. Ugh, and they get this long, gross, big toenail that is downright disgusting and should have its own time zone. (Shut up, I know it’s my responsibility to teach them proper grooming. But, sick! Can’t they tell it needs to be trimmed? Do I really need to tell them everything?)

Imagine my surprise when I had this conversation with my 9 year old tonight.

Him: (after a fit of coughing.) Boy, that medicine Liz gave me doesn’t seem to be working.

Me: (perking up at the news that my friend/neighbor down the street had administered medicine to my son) Liz gave you medicine?

Him: Yeah. To help me stop coughing.

Me: Really? What was it?

Him: I don’t know. Something she put on my feet.

Me: (Thinking I couldn’t have heard right) On your feet? For your cough?

Him: Yeah. She said her grandpa used to use it.

Me: (clarifying) She put something on your feet. To make you stop coughing.

Him: (getting exasperated) Yes!

Me: How did she put it on?

Him: She just rubbed it on.

Me: You mean, it was some kind of cream? And she rubbed it on your feet? That is gross.

Him: Well, whatever it was, it’s not working.

I think he knew that this kooky stuff was not going to work, but was not about to pass up a free foot rub from his friend’s cute mom.

Now, where is my husband? I need him to administer some cough medicine.

I’ve worked in the private sector. . . they expect results

My two babies, joined at my hip.

This is Creed, just before his first ever flight in a sailplane. Grandpa and Scott hope it was the first of many.

(Added 7/23/11: I'm in the process of moving all of the entries from my old blog to this blog. This entry had many more pictures in it, but I don't know where they are. They included a picture of my dad with George when he drove up for a visit, a photograph of Eddie and Scott hacking up a few bushes in my front yard, and Eddie just before he left for his homecoming dance.)

Notes on my pillow

Upon arriving home from walking the kiddos to school, I went into my bedroom to make my bed. Resting on my pillow was a letter addressed to my husband and myself. Following is the response that I wrote:

Dear Jack,

Thank you very much for the letter your recently wrote to us. We are so happy that you think we are “the best mom and dad ever.” Likewise, we think you are pretty cool yourself.

In regards to your request to extend Xbox privileges to the weeknights, our decision is as follows:

We feel, after careful consideration, that while you are a hard worker and a responsible student, it would be wise to continue to restrict Xbox use to weekends and holidays.

We are so glad to have you as a member of our family, and we hope that you won’t hesitate to come to us with any future requests, concerns, or complaints.

Keep up the good work!

Love,

Mom and Dad

P.S. Your handwriting is getting so good! You are the best blonde nine-year-old in the whole wide world.

Emily Post Would be so Disappointed

Is it bad manners to post about your horrible, no good, very bad day and then disappear from the world for a month? It is? Oh.

The good news is that I, apparently, am not alone in my mommy tantrums. Seriously, I am aware that I’m probably not the only one who has bad days, but the women I know (which is mostly all of you) seem to have it all so . . . together. Thanks for all the moral support, interpeeps (to borrow a term from Christie over at My Favorite Things.)

Just in case any of you are still reading, and just in case my posterity wants to know what their granny was doing back in the olden days, I’ll continue to contribute to the mess of stuff on the internet.

Here is a picture of Stella modeling the contents of a package that arrived from St. Louis in the mail recently. Pacifiers for the baby, and a very useful item in her lap called a Hooter Hider handmade by Kara. If you are a nursing mom and you don’t have one, you should get one. Kara, you are a rockstar! Thank you so much, you have improved my daily living once again.

I just asked Scott what I should include in this entry and he suggested that I talk a bit about CrossFit. CrossFit is the Devil. Click Here to visit their website. Every day a new workout is posted. My husband has hung gymnast rings from a tree out back so that we can work on the goal of doing a muscle up. I’m still working on my first pull up on the bar in the doorway leading down to the basement. CrossFit is the devil, but if you are looking for a solid, no fuss workout, and you are into punishing yourself, I recommend you give it a try.

Plus, they have great names for their workouts. Like “Fight Gone Bad.” It’s a description of how you feel after you finish the workout.

See you next time!

Hormones?

Sometimes, in the middle of a really bad day, I feel like I am outside of myself watching someone else mother my children.

It was not me going nuts because, once again, every single horizontal surface in the house is covered in everyone’s crap. An empty table is not an invitation to your crap to throw a party for itself and everyone else’s crap.

It was not me demanding asking my oldest son to make lunch because I was feeding the baby. Again.

It was not me being irritated with my seven year old because all he wanted was to sit Right. Next. To. Me. while I nursed the baby. Again.

Then, when the three year old started crawling on me from the other side, it wasn’t me who elbowed her off and said through gritted teeth “STOP MESSING WITH THE BABY WHILE HE’S EATING!”

It wasn’t me, locking myself in the bathroom to cry, after stepping in dog puke. Twice. On my carpet. In bare feet.

I wasn’t that grown woman throwing a tantrum because the brand new pacifier was lost and the baby was crying and dinner wasn’t made and I smell like rotten milk and the floor needs to be vacuumed and the baby was crying and I can’t find the pacifier and the dog is sleeping in the clean laundry and the dog found and ate another used nursing pad and I wouldn’t mind if he would just consume the whole thing, but he leaves little bits and pieces around for me to find and there’s clutter everywhere and the awning over the front porch is leaking and my tomato plants are infected with some sort of fungus and where is that stupid pacifier? and did I brush my teeth today? and what IS that smell?

sigh

nope. that wasn’t me.

I don’t know who that was, but I think she’s gone.

It amazes me that at the end of a day like today, they still climb all over each other to sit next to me during scripture study, they want to kiss and snuggle me and whisper in my ear “you’re the best mom” and the only thing that Creed has to say to his dad about his day is that he is the one who found the pacifier and it “made mom really really REALLY happy.”

Thank goodness he found that {insert explicative) pacifier.

Time Flies

Happy Birthday to the Guinea Pig of our little rose garden. A few of Jack’s favorites for your reading pleasure:

• all things science
• all things Star Wars
• anything Ed likes (ie: Weezer, Halo, duties of a bus boy)
• the printed word, or more accurately, any printed word (he gobbles up books like his mother eats cookie dough)
• National Geographic (His grandpa got him a subscription. They come every month in his name, and he devours each issue as though it were coated in sugar.)
• maps
• prayer
• gum & tic tacs (Is he concerned about halitosis?)
• Stella
• music
• swimming
• the approval of his Uncle Scott
• Cross Fit
• The Aquabats
• movies
• snacks

Thanks for turning me into a mom, and please stop growing up so fast . . .

Let it be a lesson

He’ll be telling this story ten years from now, and I’ll be feeling guilty and sick.

And I’ll deserve it.

That face, that hair, those eyes.

I swear, I thought he was downstairs playing with the other kids.

I thought he had run ahead of us after we enjoyed our fireworks display in an unfamiliar neighborhood.

I was surprised a half hour later that my friends had someone knocking on their door at 10:30 pm.

I was totally shocked when I saw a man on their porch whom I had never seen before handing over my child: scared, sniffling, and relieved.

That’s when my panic set in.

“Well, I was running back to the house, and I tripped, and when I looked up I didn’t see you guys. My knee really hurt. I just waited on the corner for you to come back and get me. But you never came.”

“What did that guy say to you when he walked up to you?”

“He asked me where my parents were. I told him we were visiting our friends and I told him their names, but he didn’t know them. He got me a band-aid and asked me if I wanted a drink. Then he sat with me and waited.”

and waited and waited. But we never came.

They finally figured out where we were, and my child was deposited into my arms.

I thought he was downstairs playing.

Somehow, that statement is not very comforting.

I almost lost him.

Apparently I need leashes. Four of ‘em.

I should have just gone to Auntie Kim’s barbeque, but with the price of gas I couldn’t justify the 1066 mile drive.

Now, go hug your kids, I can’t seem to stop hugging mine.

I wonder what Homer would have to say . . .

The first two weeks of June were fan-dootelley-tastic. That’s how long I was visiting the homeland because that’s how long it took me to recover from the drive. I think it took so long because I was feeding a newborn around the clock and that was messing with my sleeping schedule. I just never felt like I had any energy at all. Anyone who has ever had a baby knows how it is. To those of you who I love dearly but didn’t go visit, I hope you will forgive me. (sara, dana, tricia, princess p and the Royal Court.) There is not much to report about my time in Utah because all I did was sit around.

Here is a picture of the storm we hit on our drive back to the middle of the USA. It was taken at 7pm. Shortly before this shot, the clouds directly ahead of us were swirling around in an ominous way. We saw a funnel cloud that didn’t touch terra firma.

I came home to this beautiful site:

These are the flowers I planted in the front yard before I left, and that bare spot in the back is what is left after Bob pulled out the ugly bush I didn’t want. He also trimmed up our juniper bushes. Have I mentioned I love him?

This was also exciting to see:

This is a portion of my vegetable garden. We have already harvested and eaten all the lettuce, the kids snack on the peas all day, the cabbage is almost ready, the beans have teeny tiny little fruits on them, the peppers are starting to flower, we have a few small tomatoes, more squash than we will be able to eat, swiss chard, corn, cucumbers, pumpkins and melons.

This, however, was the sight I most looked forward to upon my arrival:

Though not necessarily the fussy baby part. He just happened to be making a funny face that day. Or maybe he wanted to live up to the nickname his Grandpa Creed gave him: Toad.

In the past two days, Ed and I have dug up and planted this little patch in the back:

We have also dug up a flower bed all along the south side of the property. Sod is a pain in the butt. That’s right, I said butt. It will fill in, I’m sure. The flower bed, not my butt.

Is anyone still reading? If you are, I’m sorry.

After ten plus years of apartments and rentals, I guess I’m excited to have a piece of land to tend. Bob says I am becoming more and more like his mother every day. It’s probably true. I am obsessed with my yard. Oh well.

I’m also on a quest to find the perfect shade of grey to paint my front room. Anyone out there have any good ones? More blue than green is all I ask.

Things I learned last week

• When packing your vehicle for a cross country trip, keep a close eye on your 3 year old, she might leave your car door open which may result in a dead battery when you want to leave.
• When jumping your car, make sure that all air, radio, and movie players are off before you assume you have a bad battery and spend 3+ hours looking for the right size wrench to remove said battery.
• When taking your four children on a cross country trip, send your seven year old ahead with your mother and father in law. He’ll have the time of his life in the R.V.
• R.V.’s are cool.
• R.V.’s are scary in tornadoes.
• Minivans are scary in tornadoes.
• Tornadoes are scary.
• If you are caravanning across the country with your mother, be sure her wiper blades are good before you leave, and don’t believe her when she tells you that they are working fine in the tornado you are leading her through.
• It’s really easy to replace the wiper blades on your car.
• When you accidentally drive into a sandpit, don’t panic and slam on the gas to get out, you’ll just dig yourself in. All the way.
• Once you have dug yourself into a sandpit, it is nearly impossible to dig yourself out with your bare hands. Definitely impossible to do so, or attempt to do so, without being covered in mud.
• The only way to get out of a sand pit, once you have dug yourself in, is a tow.
• If you are lucky, two guys named Mike and Kevin will pull over in their giant truck, laugh at you for a second, hook up a chain, and drag your sorry behind out of the sand pit.
• It is not fun to drive cross country covered in mud.
• If your husband is not coming with you, it’s invaluable to have your little brother with you on a cross country trip.
• When driving cross country, Ed gets tired of having to replace the binky over and over again.
• When I grow up, I hope to be as hospitable and generous as my sister and the family that I am privileged to be a part of through my marriage.
• Seriously, I made a good choice marrying into this bunch.
• When driving cross country, it’s better if your husband comes with you.
• But if he doesn’t, you’ll be all right without him.
• Even if you drive though a tornado storm from Omaha to Kearny, into a sandpit in Nebraska, rear end someone in Rock Springs, WY, and have to find a mechanic to replace the rear wheel cylinder. You can do it.

Ed jumps into the pool while we wait for the car to be fixed.

Our sleeping arrangements at April’s house. You can’t see her, but there is a nine year old little girl on the floor in between the two air mattresses.

George, 6 weeks old.

Ritual

It’s an important aspect of RosieLife. We have daily rituals of mealtimes, bedtimes, and mornings. We follow rituals of reading together, praying together. These rituals keep our family running smoothly. We all play our part in the whole.

We also have rituals of which I am not especially proud. We have the after-school-kids-get-in-a-fight-mom-loses-her-temper-and-yells-kids-storm-off-to-their-room ritual. And after that there is the I’m sorry/I forgive you ritual. There is the ritual which, after four pregnancies and four births, I’ve learned is unavoidable. It’s the one that comes with a three to five week old baby and all the hormones and lack of sleep. It’s the weepy mom who is over tired and impatient ritual. Don’t worry, I have a strong man to lean on during these days. I know from experience that it will end soon.

I’m sure there were many rituals in my childhood household, but today, in honor of my mom’s birthday tomorrow, I am going to discuss the ritual of Mom’s Fountain Drink.

Picture this:

We are in the car going through a fast food drive through. We have all placed our orders, and my mom has her usual Diet Coke. As she takes her first sip, she exclaims “I don’t think this is Diet! Did someone else get my Diet Coke?” We all shake our heads “no” and she takes another sip. She turns to the person sitting closest to her. “Taste this,” she says. “It’s not Diet.” This person sips my mom’s drink, replies that it does, indeed, taste like Diet Coke and hands it back to her. The drink is then passed around to Every. Person. In. The. Car. and we all affirm that it is Diet Coke. Only after we have ALL tasted mom’s drink is she convinced that she got the right drink. And though she may only have half left, she is satisfied.

This is truly a ritual. This is the experience virtually every time my mother orders a fountain drink through a drive up window since my early childhood. It’s a ritual I count on, and a ritual I miss when I’m not with her.

Happy Birthday, Mom! Here’s to sharing your Diet Coke with everyone in the car. I love you.

And for the rest of you, here is a photo fix:

George 3 weeks (couldn’t you just gobble him up? Yes, Christie, he does smell as good as he looks, and you are welcome to come and sniff him all you want. Bring your kids, I think they would be great playmates for my little ragamuffins.)

Fun in the back yard.

Papa and baby bear. or toad. Whatever.

It’s a tough job being the glue . . .

. . . that holds it all together.

Three weeks ago, my 17 year old brother moved in with me and started at our local high school. My evenings have been consumed with Spanish, Absolute Values, American History, and “have you started your book report yet?”s

Since Ed chose to move in with me, my mother decided that she would change her plans as well. She had planned on staying with me for a month or so to help with the baby, and then she was going to move back to Salt Lake and continue her employment with Nordstrom. With Ed being here, she felt that her place was here as well. She is now looking for a local job and sharing a bed with my 3 year old daughter. Stella kicks. She talks in her sleep. She is not a great bedfellow. Last night, in the middle of the night while sound asleep, she said “Mine is bigger than yours. Ha ha!” Poor grandma.

Ed’s ride to my house from Texarkana was with my other brother, Scott. My family is so much fun to be around, and, well, let’s face it, we are pretty much WAY AWESOME, and so he doesn’t want to leave, either. I hope he doesn’t.

We also now have a cute little dog named Frankie (who came with Ed) to whom Jack and Bob are both allergic.

Oh, yeah, and I gave birth to a beautiful little guy named George two weeks ago.

Are you counting? Our Rosie household has doubled in size in the past three weeks. We were Mom, Dad, Jack, Creed, Stella. We’re now Mom, Dad, Jack, Creed, Stella, George, Ed, Grandma, Scott, Frankie.

I guess we had better start work on finishing a few bedrooms in the basement. Feel free to come and visit, but you had better bring your work clothes if you do!

At home stitches on Scott’s eye. He was trimming a branch on a tree in the backyard so that he could hang some gymnast rings, and missed his eyeball by mere centimeters with the clippers.

George’s lips are purple because we had Thrush and I tried a homeopathic cure. If you have never had Thrush, be glad. It feels like your baby has needles on the end of his tongue that he pokes you with every time he eats. At least it wasn’t Mastitis.

Watching the Klockenspeil in Pella, IA.

Spring Tulips and Spring Babies.

Baby resting in a giant pair of wooden clogs.

Okay, I am officially in love . . .

Ch. . .ch. . .ch. . . Changes.

George Andrew

Born Apr 29.

Taken this morning.

This is Bob typing again.

We named the little guy George Andrew. He is doing great. He does not fuss at all. Just sleeps and eats. Liz is doing well other than needing to feed the baby about every two hours.

The kids cant get enough of George. I would have thought they would be bored by now, but they laugh at everything he does.

Referring to his cowlick Stella said, “Oh look daddy, George has a lollipop on his forehead.”

How would you like someone my size in your face?

Here are the facts. Written by Bob

• We came to the hospital at 6:30 AM
• Baby was born at 7:09 PM
• Boy
• 9 pounds
• No epidural
• No complications
• 20 1/4 inches
• Will likely be named George
• Black hair. Huge cheeks. Great looking.
• Outstanding appetite
• Jazz fan despite terrible loss
• Great nurse
• Good doctor
• Really good looking mom, who does labor like a walk in the park (a really big painful park)

The Name Game

In no particular order:

• George
• Earl
• Homer
• Oscar
• Matthew
• Scott
• Charles (Charlie)
• Gordon
• Doug
• Arthur
• Edward
• Max

Now, feel free to weigh in, mock, tease, and express whatever opinion you have. I promise not to block you from my blog (because I don’t know how to do that) and I also promise to name my baby whatever I feel like naming him regardless of what you say. I hope we can still be friends even if I name my child something you said you didn’t like.

P.S. The due date is in one week.

BANG(s)!

First of all, a big old shout out to my Uncle Scott, who debuted in the comment section a few entries ago. *waving* Hi Uncle Scott!

Here is my hair. If you look over my right shoulder (your left side) you can see part of my garden. Will the lettuce grow? Will it?

And, just to keep it real, here is a view of my choice of footwear for this photoshoot:

Through an unfortunate series of events, I ended up with a pair of socks on in addition to my thongs. I mean flip flops. Sorry, Sara. And, let’s be honest people, the pajama pants are pretty much all I wear these days, the hose is still haphazardly arranged on the patio, and why, yes, Stella is sharing in her mother’s affinity for wearing her pajamas all day. We won’t mention the yellow grass.

And, finally, for your viewing pleasure, here is a picture of last night’s dinner pot AFTER it came out of the dishwasher. Yes, the dishwasher had been run.

It was sweet and sour meatballs, rice, and broccoli, for anyone who cares. This was the meatball pot.