Almost

Sometimes I am my own proof that nothing is perfect. On a day when everything could have been and already was going so smoothly...

(ie: Grayson playing nicely with new friend while not making satanic growling noises from the depths of his soul (although there was this for a good portion of the day)













new friend sits down with Abbaganoosh to chat:














old friends (the mommies) get to visit
dog isn't trying to alpha new visitors' leg
husband is still presently on leave and being Father of the Century by building forts, making play-dough everythings, and ordering pizza when the one I tried to serve tasted like stale bagel seasoned with basil, nasty, and mulch (and not the deep delicious dark brown kind either).

...I realized at the end of it? I had my shirt on inside out. All day long. With the tags and seams showing.

Not a huge deal considering I never left the house but still. Really? Can't even put my shirt on? I'm afraid to see what will happen on a bad day, when the stars aren't aligned as they were today. I'll be the girl strolling along at the park with toddler, baby, dog, and toilet paper streamer snaking hundreds of feet back to the house from which it came. Yep, that's what's next ya'll.

Snail Tongue

When she gets excited about what's going on, Abby's tongue goes a mile a minute - on the outside of her face. Here is the AbbySnail experiencing a fountain pool for the first time. Watch her enthuse-o-meter jump to red as she becomes more engaged in the new experience.


Picture 1- Still on dry land. No snailtongue to speak of.













Picture 2- Smack in the middle of fun slippery rainbow thingies. Snailtongue to speak of...














Picture 3 &4- Euphoric cool splishity wonderment and familiar Mommy leg combined. Full on snailness!
























But where oh where did she ever get this ridiculous nuance??






It's all quite puzzling really.

Confession

So I haven't been completely honest with you guys. There has been a noticeable lackluster in postings lately because I am preoccupied with something. Preoccupied with someone really. It's Eric. He's okay, so we'll start there. A good place to start I think. It's just that he's been experiencing some bad symptoms, lots of pain to be exact, since his thyroid was removed a few weeks ago. Things got much worse two days ago and to protect their privacy as much as possible all I'm going to say is that some really scary stuff happened for both he and Christie and the Pecor seniors who happen to be staying in an RV just a few feet away. The other morning, when I was unaware that all this horrifying crap went down, I called Eric to see how he was feeling because he wasn't doing so great the day before. I heard something off in his voice. Something in me told me to worry. Not my OCD but the other thing. It was the same thing that tells you your kid is in imminent danger before you hear him or her cry in pain. I'm not claiming to be clairvoyant although that would be cool but I do know I couldn't stop thinking about him after talking to him on the phone the day before. Anyway, as it turned out the morning I called him, some serious scary shit ensued and he and Christie were in the hospital getting him checked out. So my inclination to worry was right on.




















Again, he is okay now and the doctors are still doing testing but this doesn't make his pain go away. And for some reason he is all I can think about because when someone you've known all your life and have loved as much as your own beating heart is hurting that much it's all you can do to go on washing dishes, folding laundry, or answering question after million question from a toddler who knows his mommy is not focused solely on him. I understand Eric's pain is probably a direct result of the dosage of thyroid medication he is on right now. The doctors probably need to tweak it a few hundred times before they find the correct recipe that will make him more comfortable. Right now, however, he sits in his house wondering what the hell just happened to his completely healthy and robust body. What kind of horrible Boogyman snuck in his room at night and stole his youth and his ability to leap tall buildings on a pogo stick?

I won't even go into detail about how unfair this is or how much can a person (and a wife) go through before hulking out because that is seriously another seventeen pages long. This one is short and to the point. The point being if you know anything about thyroid cancer, medication, symptoms of all, please email me or comment on this post. My personal email is enpecor@aol.com Thank you in advance for anything you might have to say. Maybe just maybe I can collect a few informative tidbits for Eric so he has some arsenal to bring with him to the next doctor's visit. Or at the very least some ammunition to point at that effing Boogyman who seriously needs a good asswhooping if you ask me.

Forward March

Watch your bookshelves, picture frames, and tip-able treasures everyone, Abby is mobile. She learned to crawl forward today. About 12 minutes ago to be exact. She had been doing a nice reverse downward dog motion for weeks but this morning was the first time she moved forward. And boy does this change our universe. No longer can I lazily plop her down on a soft blanket and run to the kitchen to prepare a sleepy breakfast for Grayson.













No longer will she be complacent with sitting in her Exersaucer, car seat, or high chair for any length of time. Hell, she probably won't even be able to sleep because moving forward and having things within your reach at all times is the baby equivalent to us waking up one day and realizing Holy Batnuts you can fly! All I know is that you too would probably find flying a lot more interesting than your crib bumper. And probably practicing those novice gliding skills from state to state is a tad more invigorating than a carousel horse on a stick. No bruise or scrape would stifle your newly acquired freedom of the skies; you'd press on with a vigor so passionate that it would be weeks before you'd remember that perhaps you should come back down to your earthly home and feed, bathe, or rock someone.
"Where to next? Baltimore Aquarium? Eiffel Tower? Galactic planets not opressed by space, gravity or time? Possibilities are endless and sleep would not be one of them. All worth it to see this face on this girl who, minutes ago, learned she can fly.

To Be Small

Two nights ago I found this barely there guy right before tucking Grayson in to bed. It's amazing how perspective works. This little frog made our own little frog seem like a giant human tower of face, arms, and legs. I went to bed that night wondering if its mother thinks the same thing when coming across a meal worm or a breadcrumb. "Look Papa Frog," she would say, "Frauberto (Italian frogs are prolific round these parts) is simply a turret of huge proportions next to this preciously small dust mite!" Probably she kissed his little Frauberto face, turned on his buglight, and wished him the sweetest of dreams because no matter how big he would seem in their world or ours, he'd always and forever be her little froglet.

Thick as Thieves

Wordless Wednesday's Winners:



































Not sure if this is the sweetest thing I've ever seen or the saddest. You might not be able to tell from the angle, but this is a picture of two horses in different stalls who are facing one another. Their heads are touching through the wooden slats. And they were both leaning forward with enough weight to crush a brick wall.

We either witnessed equine bonding or a slow, steady, and masterful prison break.

Some Cold Hard Truths

Grayson: Though convenient, the kitchen table is not your dirty laundry basket. Your socks should not be next to your plate. Pretty much ever.

Laundry: You are formidable, determined, and tireless. I have tried to anticipate your next move for years and yet you outrun me every time. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Tomorrow is fine. No hard feelings.

Computer: I'm breaking up with you during the daylight hours. It's not you, it's me. My children miss their mommy and my husband is on to us. He knows I can't possibly need to "go to the bathroom" this much.

The twenty or so Mommy blogs I "follow" that are freaking hysterical: I will see you tonight. No one else has to know.

Abigail: You will, in fact, have to get your face washed with a napkin, tissue, or washcloth after you get bananas and peaches in your eyebrows and/or up your nose. This will happen several million times in your young life and I promise you will be able to breathe through the entire process.

Daddy: I am never going to get everything on your grocery list. I try but after 2 hours, walking those aisles, I cannot keep up the search for smoked almonds and Crystal Light. They are elusive and I am new here.

P.S. While I'm on the subject, I'm pretty sure SurvivorMan's camera crew - and there so is a camera crew- sneaks him smoked almonds and Crystal Light (and matches too). Sorry but I think we should move on. Mike Roe needs us.

Sadie: We come home every single time we leave the house. It's never turned out any other way for you. Not sure which part of this is confusing but we'd appreciate the red carpet treatment more if it was without the dumpster diving.

Grayson again: You will probably, at some point at school or at home, have to eat something. Milk and Juice does not count as breakfast, lunch or dinner no matter how far you push your belly out to show us that you are "so full from the grilled cheese you ate last night." That wasn't last night. It was two weeks ago. I'm guessing you're hungry by now.

Mommy: Peppermint patties and olives don't count as breakfast, lunch or dinner for the record. And it probably won't kill you to sit down while you consume things either.

Delicious Surprise

I can still remember the day I found out that Abby was going to be an Abby and not a Cole or a Noah or a Ryan. My dear friend, Marni (pictured left with Abbyworm) went with me to that ultrasound (Andy didn't want to find out the gender -read about that here) and we were all giggly like two girls on our way to Neimen Marcus with someone else's wallet. We stared at each other in the waiting room with that sisterly face that says, "This is a big deal. Today. This. All big." Then my name was called. It was time. We made jokes with each other and laughed like cats. We then tried to absorb the technician into our Girl Club but she wasn't into us. We were cheerleaders and she was black lipstick and ceramics class. She was officious and Marni and I smelled blood. We had to make her laugh. We made tasteless jokes. Nothing. Not even a giggle. We made even filthy jokes or as bad as we could come up with on a day like the day you find out the most important bit of news you'll ever want to know and were met with that same flat expression. This Ice Queen would not crack!

Then it happened. She asked if we wanted to know the sex.
"YES!" The two mommies said. C'mon the entire scene was funny but she continued to temper us with her whispery voice and big words. Then the humorless tech waved her magic goth-wand over a certain part of my nonexistent oblique area and there they were!

"Look, Marn, do you see the testicles!" I announced. Because I'm a doctor. And because I was SO sure this was another boy baby. Would have bought an entire wardrobe of dinosaurs and dump trucks sure it was another boy baby.

"Those aren't testicles, ma'am." Says the technician. Who is finally smiling a winning grin like she was the wolf and we were the canaries. Two delicious air-headed brunette canaries.

Needless to say, I spent the next several seconds spinning into a vortex of disbelief. I did not even look at Marni who was already crying. I could hear her sweet muffled tears from my distant land of make-believe. Marni who had been saying I was going to have a girl the day we announced we were expecting. Marni who always gets things right. Seriously, somehow this girl is never wrong about these types of things so I should have known too. I should have believed her. But I did not.

"Those are her girl parts," says the technician who was reveling in her glorious trump card.

"Her? A girl?" I ask from a universe away. Still not sure I'll be able to stand up without falling right back down like a gigantic piece of soap in a very small shower.

"A girl." This time it was Marni's voice. I caught her eyes and locked into her expression. I fell to earth with her warm tears and beautiful told-you-so eyebrows.

"Are you sure?" I asked to two people who were clearly amused at my reaction and absolutely positive about what they saw.

"Funny," says the tech, "people never ask me if I'm sure when I point out a hand or a foot but when it's a girl or boy part they always ask me to check again."

And there we were. All four girls in a room with nothing left to say.













Abigail Kate. You are my delicious surprise and you continue to delight me with your sweet self every single day. You are my Smiley Rousse. You are my Boom Boom Bow. You are my Sassyass and every moment I spend soaking you in or making you smile is a memory that I store in a place that is locked. I won't forget this baby girl you. I am holding on to your sweetness like it might vanish in your crib one night. Every time I lay you down for your nap I see less of the tiny mattress and more of your delectable doughy arms and legs. You are stretching into a new little person by the second. A little person who is still so much baby and yet so much little girl with a carefree personality, engaging even and individual desires all your own. I am looking forward to knowing you tomorrow, don't get me wrong. It's just that I cannot let go of you today.

Tonight as I lay you down for the third time (it's not your fault, your foot was stuck) I kissed that little puckery peony pink mouth of yours, risking waking you up. You didn't wake up. Instead you sighed that comfortable baby exhale and snuggled further into the corner, next to your blue bird and pink giraffe. I stared at you for a few minutes to memorize the shape you made in your bed. A lower case "k." All rosy and hair damp from when I rocked with your little head on my shoulder. How hard it was to leave you and know that already tonight, I have one less night to remember you this way.

My delicious surprise, Abby Kate. There's nothing in the world that is more divine than you. Now or tomorrow or thirty years from here. Go get 'em baby.
And tell 'em Mommy sent you.

Kitchen Karma

Yesterday was just one of those days when my patience dried up like an earthworm in the sun before my feet ever hit the deck. There wasn't one thing about the morning that didn't irritate me:

Baby cried to get out of the high chair. Annoying.
G asked for the kind of toast we didn't have. Ugh!.
Sadie stalked her cookie bin. Grrrr!
The tissue box had sand dollars on it. Ahhhh, the injustice of it all!

To cement the notion that I could not deal, after breakfast I tried to catch and clip little darting fingernails. Twenty of them. Believe me, don't try that one if you're feeling the least bit provoked. One more fingernail and I'm pretty sure there would've been flames shooting out of each stretch mark and injured pore on my body. I was spitting bullets before 8:30 a.m. and this was just a typical morning.

Definitely has to be hormones. Hormones are usually to blame for most of my issues (the others are from the mountains of insecurities brought on by being human and female) This one is probably due to dropping night time nursing. For some reason, when my body undergoes any shift in hormones whatsoever it acts like someone poured tar all over the nice-nice part of my personality. All that's left is impatience and her half-sister Moody.

Because my husband can relate (he has had his own trials and tribulations causing some weird physical side effects ) he wasn't harassing me to "chill out" like he totally could have been (and surely would've been dealt were the shoe on the other foot.) He simply grit his teeth and picked up where I left off. I locked myself in our bedroom (aka: ran away from home) for 5 minutes, showered, dressed and we ended up having a really lovely afternoon.

I think there are times when admitting you need a break is the hardest part. As a stay-at-home parent, there's some kind of innate shame in not being able to be on duty every second of every day. I expect myself to be able to function like a mommy robot and be amazing when amazing starts like a hangnail on a splinter first thing in the morning. Well, yesterday I did better to realize there is a time to turn the wheel over and take a back seat to parenting. Oh how I hate to admit that I can't do it all because on a good day, I CAN do it all and I do. I am proud of that. Anyone in my situation can probably relate. On those other days, however, when the mood is all wrong and there's someone else to pick up your slack, let go. It's all right to let go of the controls for a bit and ohm out. I did and even G had a good time watching.


Here I can be seen rocking out to Grayson's balloon musak
P.S. Those are his Bob the Builder safety glasses; I'm not trying a new look:













And here we are reconnecting with our chi or some beatnik thing like that:

Fire Drill

Evidently they teach a Martha Stewart Living class at Officer Candidate School. That is the only way to explain this anomaly. My husband, the Marine, was giving me a break from entertaining the eldest of our troops here yesterday. The two boys were looking for something fun to do in the garage (nevermind that it was crayon melting hot in there and oh yeah, we have an actual air-conditioned sun/playroom with every toy ever invented in it).
We have tons of boxes left over from the move so I suggested maybe they could make a fire engine out of one. Well, when you lead a (higher than average achieving Clydesdale) horse to water, this is what you get:

BEFORE:




(Plain old cardboard box, plain old tape, plain old husband. Love jab, it's all good.)













AFTER!













So not a plain old firetruck with flames and a firehouse and paper plates for wheels and a little boy's head peering over top of it.







The best part???

















This model also doubles as a Hookah Lounge.



















And lest we forget, what good's a firetruck without The Chief??





























But what's this she's doing?














Not sure who her supplier is but I'd have to guess it's one of the uncles. I'm so going to have to be better at hiding her father's tobacco.

She Can Can

I took the kabibbles today and went to Tyson's Corner. We had a mission which was to find Uncle Eric a birthday present. Who knew that sometime between leaving my house and entering the department store that I'd become one of those incredibly pasty frumpy mall moms that teenagers roll their eyes at and store owners abhor. You know the pesky store workers who follow around those poor exhausted moms anticipating their stroller (or the limo as I like to call mine) sideswiping merchandise and continuing to do same until half their shit is broken?

That was me today; I was that mom this afternoon. I guess that was even me yesterday but I don't know how this came to pass! I'm thinking it was sort of there with my firstborn but time hadn't yet taken the big poop on my physicality. It waited until number two arrived. THAT'S when all attempts at self preservation(and decoration) became muted by the sheer will to not scream and yell and become that kind of parent. Somehow making sure there isn't a constant pool of urine on the backboard of our toilets (potty training would be so much easier with a urinal) is taking precedence over me plucking my eyebrows or hiding blemishes (read: entire face) with foundation.

So, as we entered Macy's, Grayson announced that he'd like to walk. Like hell you will. You will not walk. You will keep those gangly legs immobilized and neatly tucked on their foot post thing for the duration of this shopping trip. I simply cannot make this work any other way. But what he heard was, "Hey look, Auntie Anne's pretzels! Let's get one!" I'm nothing if not the world's most unhealthy distractor. But it worked! Those little hands were so busy fumbling around with said huge twisted dough that he continued smacking at pretzel with all he had for over 45 minutes! Genius for a day. Ha, one for Mom.

So the cat-nappy baby and the carbohydrate-high boy were good as gold for me; sitting dutifully in their stroller, watching the fluorescent world go by. I totally took advantage of their graciousness by chatting on the cell phone for over one hour (it was a dear old friend but still- an hour!) while they were held hostage strapped in hot nylon seats staring at the trunks only of people walking by. It must've been one solid hour of belly overhang, exposed knees, and an occasional swishy floral skirt. Who am I kidding, we were at Tyson's and everybody was impeccably dressed. Think New York black and California coiffed. My first thought was, "Man, I need to go back to Target where my people are." And my second thought was, "Why are you people even here? You obviously already have some serious wardrobe to work with!"

After finally hanging up with my dear friend, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of those mall store mirrors. Jesus! Who WAS that? That woman didn't even look at her own reflection before leaving the house! She has not one ounce of make-up on that blemished and ohsofreaking spent face. That hair, OMG that hair. She obviously raked her fingers through that lifeless train wreck and called it done. Defeated before leaving her driveway! I can't even look at the pitiful rest of her. If those raggedy black flip-flops make it out of her house one more day I'm going to call Stacy and Clinton myself to remedy this situation. 2007 spring flip flops people. Need I say more?

Has that ever happened to you?

The sad thing? I was feeling pretty good about myself before starting out that morning. All of us had on clean clothes. We all had sparkling fresh teeth. Nobody had foul smelling socks. We even took the time to eat something not processed, drink something not apple juiced, remove the trashcan from the kitchen so it wouldn't be Sadie's last meal, and be on our merry way. Not bad for the three of us-and all before 2pm! Life was chipmunks and BRAVO until I passed that motherless mirror.

Wow, that's me. That really unattractive baggy bodied woman is really who I am right now. And what's worse? I'm all shiny from sweat. Sure I'm pushing 50 lbs of kid and pretzel but how unlady like to be profusely sweating all over these pretty and primped up mall go-ers?

So leaving myself no choice, I deny the urge to bolt from the mall entirely and own myself as I am. I am here, a shvitzy mom of two who needs to purchase a nice gift for her brother. I walk into Brookstone to buy some cool and useless stuff for Uncle Eric and the young guy at the register watches as I throw my hair up into a hideous nestwad because now I'm just marinating in the ugly. He smiles because I probably remind him of his own mom and I feel free.

Walking back into Macy's I release my hair from the dollar store hair clip it choked on. I rock my head back and forth to feel how long its become since having Abby. I'd blame the growth and new thickness on the prenatal vitamins but I stopped taking those (gasp!) during my second trimester with her. They weren't agreeing with the copious amounts of Zofran coarsing through my veins and believe me, I wasn't giving up my Zofran. I let my hair down and shook it out. Just to make sure I didn't resemble something dead on the side of 495 I risk another glimpse of myself in the Macy's mirror. And wouldn't you know, suddenly there was an entirely different woman looking back at me. She wasn't frumpy; she was well-oiled. She wasn't sweaty; she was glistening. And she wasn't pale; she was pink and she was strong. I smile at her, find a sampler of perfume and spray it on my wrists as we strut out the mall. "Can Can" was the scent. Perfect for today. Perfect for right now. I don't think I'm going to wash my wrists tonight. Let myself marinate in that for a change.

IndePANTence Day

Wordless Wednesday lets me cop out in picture form. My lethargy and I thank you very much, middle of the week, you are too kind.

Explanation of picture show:
Grayson is becoming "I will do eet myseff."
Mommy is becoming increasingly entertained by the outcomes.
Little Abby is his number one cheerleader through it all. Such devotion.

Today's step into inde"pant"ence. You may have to click each picture to really see the funny.




















His determination is palpable, right?
And then there's the heartbreaking rest. See for yourself.















"Den I pull dem up yike Mommy doss."





















"I check dis side, den I check dis side. Yep, dat looks good."




















"Den I pull dem up high."

and....





















"TA DA!" I did it!"

My little boy put on his very first skirt. His father will be so proud.

Dear Cesar,

This one is a doozy.


Love, Sadie's Concerned Parents

Field Trip

On Saturday we went on our first local field trip. We decided on the Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum in VA. Let me tell you, it did not disappoint. For a woman who is in fast forward these days, even I slowed down enough to read the signs, learn some history, and finally get to see a MIG close up and personal. These aircraft are UHmaZING and the fact that we have real people who are smart enough to design, fly, and keep track of parts (a little love for the Major there) is astonishing to me. It's an entire hangar of achievements, breakthroughs, and a torpedo launcher or six. Grayson was a little boy body with an owl head, swiveling complete circles to see, "that big one!" or "that HUGE one!" A little boy's heaven and a big boy's playground.

While we were there, we noticed the lines for riding the simulators were short. Grayson and Daddy manned right up and they climbed in that blue R2D2 together to chase down bad guys. Here's the after shot. Grayson was a touch green but Daddy held him close during and after so he didn't have to fend off the enemy alone.













We were only able to stay a short while as Grayson's bladder outmatched his trousers but we can't wait to go back so Abby and I can ride the simulator. And not the little blue one either. We want to ride the red one that rocked and spun around so violently she will think she's back in utero and so will I! (Of course I'm only joking about Abby coming with me. She's holding out her hopes to ride in the zero gravity simulator.)
This little beauty here was called a Flying Wing. Of course I liked it because it reminded me of the Jetsons and I thought it was pretty. Daddy took the picture anyway.

The Anti Matisse

Should I...

a.) Frame it and hang it up in our living room?

b.) Take it to therapy?

c.) Enroll it in Jiu-Jitsu?

d.) Hide all the ice picks and pizza cutters?

Thoughts?

Confiscated Goods

Turns out my son's a hoarder. I found these "borrowed" items under his pillow this morning as I made his bed. His sister and I have been looking for her brand new teapot and teacup set since I plopped her down in front of an empty plastic Playschool plate late last night. This does not bode well. According to the evidence, perpetrator is armed, dangerous, addicted, and British. Use precaution when approaching. Call for backup immediately. Perpetrator will flee the scene if ambushed. K-9s will be of no use, he will probably be nakedie...or at least in a Pull-Up.

The good news? We found those missing items.
The bad news? I have no idea what will be under those pillows tomorrow morning. God help us all.